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dontmindmyshadowhunting · 3 years

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Welcome to Faerieland (Fan Fic) - Chapter 9 - The house in the hollow hill

This is Chapter 9 of “Welcome to Faerieland”, a sequel to my Kitty Fan Fic "To never being parted" although it can be read as a standalone story.

AO3 Link to the full story here.

****

“Livvy? Livvy, is that you? I should have guessed I would be the first one to join you.”

The girl - the one he had met in the weapons room, the one from the drawing - shivered in his arms. Ash tightened his embrace, shielding her as best as he could from the chill and the wind as they soared through the night sky. He flapped his wings harder and winced. It felt as though a thousand needles were piercing through them, but he couldn’t slow his pace. He needed to get her to safety and tend to her wounds. She didn’t have much time, the demon poison was spreading through the long gash in her leg. Already, she was hallucinating.

“Livvy.” She sighed and smiled. Her eyes were half-open, but they were blank as stones. “I have so much to tell you.”

Ash could now see a familiar landscape stretching ahead of them, up to the white sea cliffs and the hollow hill in which the golden cage he called home stood. It was risky to bring her there. Save for the usual cleaning and kitchen staff sworn to secrecy, there had never been anyone but him, J, and very occasionally his mother in this house since they had moved in three years ago. But he needed the potion to draw out the poison in her system.

“I am… I am not Livvy,” he whispered back.

She blinked but her blue-green eyes remained unfocused, their pupils fully dilated. Her gaze set upon his wings.

“Are you an angel?”

Ash swallowed the lump in his throat.

“If I were, it would be the fallen kind,” he replied grimly.

Her eyelids were heavy now. She was mumbling something but it no longer made sense. Just as he thought she would pass out again, she jolted back to consciousness. She was suddenly staring into his eyes, a look of recognition flashing across her face.

“Clary?” She said, startling him, before she blacked out, her body once again limp in his arms.

****

When Dru came to, she registered dimly that she was no longer flying but half lying, half sitting on a mattress - much softer than what she was used to at the Academy or even at the Institutes - and propped up against plush cushions. There was a funny taste in her mouth and she idly remembered having been forced to swallow a liquid. She no longer felt cold, and she realized that a silk blanket had been pulled over her.

Was that what the afterlife was about? An everlasting sleep in a comfortable bed? What a letdown.

When she blinked her eyes open, she was greeted by a beautiful sight. Her faerie prince was staring at her with his grass-green eyes, a lock of his tousled fair hair falling across his outrageously handsome face. He brushed it away with an impatient gesture, tucking it behind one of his pointy ears, and she noticed that his refined velvety clothes had been replaced by a plain long-sleeved black shirt.

“You,” she breathed. She narrowed her eyes. “I knew it! I knew you were too hot to be real!”

“Er- What?” His lips parted. He looked utterly dumbfounded.

Dru’s hands shot up and she started pinching his sharp cheekbones.

“What- what are you doing?” He tried to articulate, but she made it somewhat difficult, as she was squeezing his face and kneading his cheeks.

She could not help it. She giggled.

“Look at you. You are so… perfect. This is ridiculous.”

One of his blond eyebrows raised.

“So that’s the part where we kiss and there are fireworks and romantic music playing in the background?” Dru pursued.

She grabbed him by the collar, drawing him closer and his breath hitched. When their lips were so close they were almost touching… he turned his head away in a swift motion. She was left staring at his jawline - again, she marvelled at its sharpness - and noticed a wide X-shaped scar on his neck that had been hidden by his collar when she had first dreamt of him.

“What is it? I am not your type?” She said jokingly. Maybe her fantasies involved a bit of resistance to make things more fun.

He slowly turned to face her again. There was no trace of humour in his expression. His gaze was intense and serious.

“Not my type? On the contrary. You are exactly my type. You defined it, actually.” The sharpness and bitterness of his tone startled her. She swallowed.

“Then... why won’t you kiss me?”

“Because I don’t kiss girls who are under the influence of alcohol, drugs or - in this instance - demon poison.”

He started standing, but she grabbed him by the arm and almost cried out at the sudden throb in her right leg. She blinked and noticed for the first time that she had a long gash across her limb. The bleeding had stopped but it still looked awful. Several Iratzes had been drawn on her skin, near the wound. She remembered the searing pain she had felt as the demon’s claw had ripped across her flesh… It all came back to her then. The battle. Ty. Kit. Jaime.

“We need to go back! My brother and friends are still out there on the battlefield!” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “Raziel, how long have I been out?”

The faerie lifted his hands hesitantly to rest them awkwardly on her shoulders. He stroked lightly in a reassuring gesture, as his green eyes bore into her.

“The battle is over. King Kieran’s knights and the Wild Hunt swooped in, right after you were injured, and saved the day.”

She exhaled a sigh of relief as she fell back on the soft cushions. She felt dizzy.

“They are all alright.” A dark veil seemed to have covered her eyes. “I can’t-” I can’t see.

“Shhh. Stop talking. Spare your strength. Get some rest.”

It was suddenly all dark. An unbidden image came to her... black wings smeared with blood flapping furiously against the cold wind...

“You carried me… Your wings… you are hurt,” she said, before she fell back into unconsciousness.

****

Dru woke to a soft breeze tickling her skin. She immediately sat up, wincing at the pain in her right leg, and took in her surroundings.

She was in a vast high-ceilinged bedroom, illuminated by a soft light that spoke of dawn. The windows were equally huge, framed by velvet curtains.

Bookshelves were covering almost every inch of wall, and though they were entirely filled with books, there did not seem to be enough space for all of them.

More books were stacked in piles, others scattered haphazardly across the floor.

A latest generation laptop was resting on a large mahogany desk in the corner, as well as several tablets - what was the point of having so many? Dru wondered - video game consoles and controllers, a huge sound speaker in the shape of a silver skull and… more books.

The room harbored several collections of various items, weapons mainly, but also figures from comic books and fantasy novels. A real size shiny C-3PO seemed to serve as a valet stand, a black leather jacket comically wrapped around its shoulders.

The contrast was odd, as if an enthusiastic teenager had decided to set up his headquarters in the ballroom of a palace.

A pillow and a crumpled white blanket had been spread on the floor, next to the bed. They were tainted with smears of blood that could be traced on the thick carpet toward a half-open wooden door. Artificial light was pouring through the gap.

With strenuous efforts, Dru whirled her legs out of the bed. She blushed as she realized she was no longer wearing her dress - which had been torn and covered in ichor anyway - but in a plain black shirt. On her, it was long enough that it covered her thighs. She tried not to think too much about who must have dressed her and picked a long staff made of oak wood, probably a rokushakubō, that was resting against the wall. She used the weapon as a walking stick as she limped across the bedroom, looking out the windows as she passed them. All she could see in the dim light were large stretches of green grass. She was still in Faerie, she knew that much at least.

When she reached the half-open door, she peered around and... gasped.

It was a bathroom, much bigger than her own bedroom at the Academy, and to say it was luxurious would be an understatement. Everything was built in the most precious and refined material, even the taps looked like they were shaped from gold. The blond fey was seated at the edge of a huge circular bathtub with his back to her, only wearing boxer shorts. His pale skin was covered in Marks, some freshly inked, others faded, as well as battle scars. He was clutching large cotton pads and seemed to be struggling to clean the wounds on his black wings. Vials filled with different colours of liquid were scattered all over the marble floor as well as boxes of dried herbs. He whipped his head at the sound she made.

“I- I am sorry,” she said, feeling her cheeks flush at his nakedness.

“Sorry for what?” He replied, in his euphonious voice.

“I didn’t know you were…” She replied, waving her hand at him.

“Didn’t know I was what?” He looked puzzled.

“Naked!” She rolled her eyes.

He just stared at her for a few seconds before he let out a short back of laughter.

“I don’t mind,” he finally said and went back to tending his wounds.

Dru swallowed.

“Let me help you with that,” she said, as she slowly crossed the distance, and sat behind him. She picked a few bandages and started working on the cuts on his wings that were the least accessible to him.

They remained in companionable silence for a moment.

“You are a Shadowhunter,” she eventually said, breaking the stillness. “Why didn’t you tell me so when we met earlier?”

He shrugged. “You didn’t ask.”

“That’s not it. Your skin was covered in clothes. You are hiding it.”

He tensed. “So were you. I assume you had your reasons. I have mine.”

Okay… He had obviously decided to close the subject. And she didn’t want to pry. She redirected the conversation.

“About earlier… What I said…” She swallowed and blushed at the memory of her throwing herself at him. Ugh. How pathetic she had been.

“Did you speak earlier? I didn’t hear a thing,” he replied, casting a knowing glance at her over his shoulder, his lips suppressing a smile.

She exhaled.

“Thanks,” she said. “You know what, I do think you are beautiful. But so are Michelangelo’s sculptures. And you won’t catch me snogging them.”

He was still sitting with his back to her and she couldn’t see the expression on his face but he seemed to be smiling as he replied. “Message received.”

“So… is this where you live?”

“It is.”

“Alone?”

“No. It’s just me and my uncle J, though.”

She fell silent for a moment and he heard her unspoken question.

“I hardly see my mother. And my sorry excuse for a dad is dead. Good riddance.”

She flinched at that. She had noticed there was a darkness about him and wondered if it was linked to all the scars on his body or his evident hatred for his late father. Or both.

“I guess I never thanked you. For saving my life earlier.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“I am Drusilla, by the way. Drusilla Blackthorn. People call me Dru, though.”

He nodded, as if it confirmed something he already knew.

“I am Ash.”

“Ash…?”

“Just Ash.”

“Don’t you have a last name?”

He shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” She playfully quoted Shakespeare.

He chuckled, shaking his head.

“Your turn.” He suddenly stood and turned to face her, folding his wings. Dru realized that it brought her gaze right at the level of his… She swiftly turned her face away, blushing. When she glanced back at him, shyly, he was sitting seiza-style on the floor, in front of her. He gently lifted her right leg to rest it on his lap, a small smile playing across his face. She could not catch the look in his eyes, under his silvery eyelashes, as they were focused on inspecting her injury, but she was pretty sure he knew exactly what was going on in her head. He slowly brushed his long and deft fingers across her skin while his other hand cupped her calf, and she couldn't stop her leg from shaking. Holy crap. He had barely touched her and she was already a flushing mess, her breath now coming in short gasps. She was very much aware that her toes were nudging at the waistband of his boxer shorts and that if she brought her foot a few inches lower…

They both startled at the sound of a loud banging on the bedroom door.

“AAaaash,” uttered a man in a slurred speech through the wooden material. “You self-righteous b-bastard. Open the f-fucking door.”

The voice sounded familiar but Dru couldn’t pinpoint exactly where she had heard it before. It didn’t help that it belonged to a man who was obviously inebriated.

Ash cursed. He brought Dru’s leg down and put a finger over his lips.

“You. Are. Not. Here.” He mouthed to her, his green eyes suddenly deadly serious, all of the earlier playfulness gone from one moment to the next, and she almost cringed. He stood and swiftly exited the bathroom, closing the door behind him. She grabbed the staff and lifted herself up from the edge of the bathtub to get closer and hear the conversation.

“Asssh,” the voice repeated. “I know you are ho-home. You left a m-mess in the infirmary. Anything you wish to tell m-me? You got into a f-fight again?”

Dru heard the bedroom door open with a creaking noise.

“What about you, J? Went out for liquor again?” Ash’s voice replied sharply.

“Ash. I d-don’t tell you where to put your d-dick. You d-don’t get to tell me what goes into my m-mouth.”

“The fact that you just said that with a straight face is evidence that you had one too many, J.”

“F-Fuck you, Ash.”

“Hmm… I’ll take a rain check on that. Not that I don’t find you attractive, but you know I don’t screw drunk guys. Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

When she heard the door close behind them, Dru came out of the bathroom, in search of her phone, on the off chance it had survived the battle. There it was, resting on the nightstand, plugged in for battery charge. That was… thoughtful.

She grabbed it, swiped the screen open and tried to call Ty, but there was no service. Crap.

She rummaged through Ash’s drawers to pick a pair of shorts that she pulled on clumsily, and gathered a few weapons. She headed for the door, opened it and… ran straight into a pale white torso. Ash clutched her arms to steady her, then brought his lips against her ear. “Going somewhere?”

Dru jutted her chin out. “I need to find my brother. He will be worried sick.”

He didn’t move his mouth from her ear as he softly whispered. “You only need to ask.”

She stepped back to stare into his green eyes. His expression was unreadable.

“Okay,” she replied hesitantly. “Can we… go now?”

“Whatever you wish. Can I show you something first?”

She smiled at him. “Hmmm sure. I have to tell you though, I have four brothers, including one who has absolutely no issues with nudity. Trust me, I already know what it looks like.”

He laughed softly, shaking his head, and went to confiscate C-3PO’s black leather jacket. He put it on her shoulders. The sleeves were so long she had to roll them three times so her hands could peek out of them.

As Ash shrugged on his black shirt and black jeans, Dru cast a quick glance at his body. He had broad shoulders and was definitely muscular, as all Shadowhunters were, but not in a bulky way. His long and pale limbs emphasized his tall, overall narrow figure. He was like a spear, shooting up and deadly.

He caught her watching him, and gave her a lopsided smile. In turn, he allowed himself to look her up and down, but it was quick, efficient and not in the lazy, lingering, creepy way guys usually eyed her.

“You look good in my clothes,” he said finally. He came to stand in front of her, and gently grazed her cheek with his knuckles.

“Your skin is so translucent that it feels like a splash of red ink leaked from a pen underneath when you blush.”

She was pretty sure the red on her cheeks must have spread even farther, the colour brighter, and she did something she had never done in front of a man before. She looked down.

“Grab my neck,” he said, and she complied.

In a swift motion, he swept her off her feet and carried her in his arms like a damsel in distress.

He moved to the open window and… jumped out.

It was different now that she was fully conscious and aware of her surroundings. She let the wind blow through her hair, allowed herself to be overwhelmed by the surreal feeling of being suspended in the air without the fear of crashing to the ground.

She whooped in excitement, crying out “I am the queen of the wooooorld!” and he laughed.

They landed on a narrow patch of grass on top of a cliff. A nightmare for anyone who had vertigo, but Dru didn’t mind great heights.

They both sat at the edge, enjoying the landscape. It was absolutely breathtaking, an unobstructed view of Faeries lands, patches of dark forest, small lakes and plains of green grass extending farther than the eye could see.

Dru understood why Ash loved this spot. It looked like you could see everything while not being seen. It was a spot no one could access, unless well, they had wings…

“Look,” he said, pointing towards a chain of rocky mountains. The sun came out lazyly, spreading its first rays to scout the sky before making its glorious appearance and altering all the colours of the picturesque landscape from one moment to another.

Her breath hitched and she grabbed his hand reflexively.

He whipped his head around to look at her and she pulled it back immediately. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

“Don’t be,” he said gently. He cocked his head, a questioning look on his face. “Do you have a boyfriend, Drusilla Blackthorn?”

She smiled at his use of her full name. “I don’t.”

“A girlfriend, perhaps?”

“Nope. No boyfriend, no girlfriend.” She exhaled. “There is a guy, though…”

She looked up at him and he was staring back, his expression unreadable.

“I have had this crush on him since… Well, since forever. He seems to like me too, but he won’t act on it. I think he’s afraid of my brothers.”

He lifted his eyebrow. “He’s a bloody coward, then.”

She punched his arm. “Don’t say that! You don’t know him.”

He shrugged. “The question is… does he know you?”

She looked at him then, and was struck by the intensity of his gaze. There was a hidden message there, as if what he had really been asking was “Does he know you like I do?” But that could not be it, right? They had just met. It would be quite presumptuous of him.

“That’s not all. There is another reason, I think, and that’s why I haven’t made a move myself. I think… he is still figuring things out about himself...”

“Clearly,” Ash muttered.

“...And of course, there’s the issue of... my age.”

She waited for a change in his expression, a question, but he remained silent, his gaze steady.

“Aren’t you going to ask me how old I am?”

He shrugged. “Does it matter? Age doesn’t really mean anything in Faerie. I’d love to know your birthday, though. So I’ll know when to throw you the most decadent party you’ve ever been to.”

She let out a free, careless laugh. It was as if a weight had been lifted, that she didn’t even know had been there.

“What about you? Do you have a girlfriend or a boyfriend?”

He crossed his arms against his chest. “I don’t date. I screw around, though. A lot.”

“Why don’t you date?”

He shrugged. “I guess I have major trust issues. Oddly, it’s the only way I know how to get close to people I will never see again anyway. And of course…” He smiled crookedly. “I like sex. Don’t you?”

“I wouldn’t know.” She cleared her throat, rubbing her thighs nervously. “So... I am ready to go when you are.”

“Sure, your carriage awaits. Where to?”

“If possible… the New York Institute?”

He tensed. “Is this where you live?”

“Oh no, I was just there to attend a birthday party. I study at the Academy, so that’s where you can usually find me these days. My real home is the Los Angeles Institute, where my family lives.”

Ash didn’t say anything. He was watching her with a thoughtful expression. She looked down, at the frightening drop into emptiness.

“Is this the moment in the movie when the guy turns out to be a psychopath and leaves the wounded girl on top of a cliff and she is left to choose between jumping and starving to death?”

“You have a lot of imagination,” he said, his expression still musing. He grasped her chin to lift it slightly toward his face. “I rather thought it would be the moment in the movie where they kiss and there are fireworks and romantic music playing in the background.”

“Heeey! I thought you hadn’t heard anything !” She swatted at him and he grabbed her wrist in a motion so swift it was almost a blur.

“Heard what?” He said, and she didn’t reply, she couldn’t reply because the next moment he was kissing her, his incredibly soft lips hesitant at first, leaving her plenty of occasions to withdraw. She didn’t.

The kiss grew deeper and it was as if the ground was a rug that had been swept from under her, she was in a free fall, tethered to reality only by his gentle fingers holding her chin while his other hand moved to cup the back of her neck. He smelled like the best Faerie had to offer, all at once, rocks warmed by the sun and fresh grass, luscious petals twirling in the wind, a storm turning a gentle stream into a torrent.

They both jerked away at the sound of an ear-splitting noise.

Before them, a giant eagle was flapping its wings steadily, observing them through narrowed eyes. Josephine, Dru vaguely remembered. And it was not alone. Behind it, an even larger creature, that made the first look one like a fly in comparison, was hovering.

“Drusilla Blackthorn?” The smaller bird screeched.

“In the flesh.”

“I am Josephine. And this is my father Rocky. These are the names Tiberius Blackthorn blessed us with. Our real names cannot be spoken by your mere human tongues. Your brother is looking for you and we are to bring you to him. You can ride on my father’s back.”

“Wait, are these… rocs?” Ash said in awe, his green eyes glittering. “These are thousands of years old legendary birds of prey thought to be extinct. The most dangerous predators among birds. And your brother actually named one Rocky? How cool is that guy?”

“Where is Ty now?” Dru asked.

“He is with my mother, looking for you,” the bird answered. “But we are to meet him at the polyamorous cottage.”

Ash turned to look at her, amusement mixed with curiosity plain on his face. “The polyamorous cottage?” He mouthed.

She elbowed him playfully.

“Okay, let’s go,” she said with more confidence than she felt.

“Wait-” Ash shot an arm in front of her. “I am not sure how I feel about you riding on an unearthly predator.”

“What do you suggest?”

He pondered for a moment before giving her an answer, his expression clearly torn. He finally sighed, seeming to have come to a decision.

“Well… You can ride me,” he said, gesturing at himself and giving her a wicked grin. “And that’s not a one-time offer.”

She rolled her eyes but could not help to feel relief.

“Are you sure you are up for it ?”

“Are you kidding me? A private invitation to the polyamorous cottage? And of course, I can’t wait to meet your brother Tiberius. It will be fun.”

She threw her hands up. “Wow. Don’t get your hopes up. My brother is very difficult to befriend. I love him, but “fun” is definitely not the word I would use to describe him.”

Ash turned to look wistfully at the two giant creatures waiting in front of them. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Well, he sounds pretty fun to me.”

****

Tagging @gabtapia and @bookeater34 ;)

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the-blue-fairie · 4 years

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Soul and Body - A Cassunzel Fanfiction

AO3

Note: This began as a brief prose-poem of Cassandra meditating on her self-image, but soon grew into something greater. I hope that you enjoy, and if you do, that you can leave a comment. Thank you.

***

At first, her armor made her feel invincible.

Made of the very rock that shattered worlds, sent them splintering and spiraling in shards.

No longer would she recoil as her own sword spat back shards, brittle against the rock.

No longer would she be a shard herself – a fragmented thing once thought strong – the finest sword she could find – her pride – an extension of herself – herself – revealed to be… spinning, spiraling in flimsy air, helplessly broken.

The very thing that revealed to her, her own fragility – now her protection.

Indomitable.

Let others feel the fear of their fine blades becoming brittle against herself…

Herself.

This armor was of her and that made her feel strong –

At first.

Blood bleeds – but molten light did not.

Molten light encased in stone – magma of the moon.

Moon-glow that burned brighter than all the furnaces of the sun.

No longer would this shard shiver in the light of a thing stronger than herself – glinting before the brilliance of the moon, fragmented metal pale as skin…

She was the light.

To have been the light before, indisseverable as moonbeam – when all her life had been hewn – when all her life had been a history of armoring the scars – not armoring for protection (although she convinced herself it was that) but armoring when it was already too late –

Binding steel over blackened skin –

Armoring her burned claw to protect it (mask it), to cover it (there were two meanings in that) –

Self-hatred that called itself self-preservation.

As in childhood when she was first drawn to the artistry of a knight’s armor in a storybook.

A tiny thing with pale face and frightened eyes, eyes that grew round with almost-wonder, almost-hope.

Almost-hope of being something other than a tiny thing with frightened eyes, large and dark as a celestial plane whose lights had already gone out.

Shining steel could light the firmament anew, the sun-blaze, star-blaze purging the blackness of heaven of the weak and fragile thing whose eyes – for all their serious darkness – still shone with the lustrousness of tears, pitiful tears, child-tears wishing the star-blaze could burn the memory of her mother (the tiny child choked back the sob in her throat, choking was steeling, was putting on armor) away.

As when she was first dazzled by the guardsmen’s helms.

Golden and gleaming – worthy of her and yet unworthy – unworthiness reflected in their glinting mirrors, but what did mirrors reflect but her own heart?

(Armor yourself to guard yourself. Skin is soft. Skin is weak. A child’s face is doughy and weak. It needs knight’s armor to transform it. A young woman’s face is sharp and weak, the sharpness of its edges only another kind of armor. An illusive armor. The childhood transformation was illusion, dream. You are still the same pale flesh. The same trembling flesh. The same pitiful flesh, choking to stop from crying – the weakness, the imperfection, the flaw in you – and the flaw will remain even with a golden helm, but a golden helm can guard – does it? can it? The flaw, is it in you or is it in the world? In both, but especially in you.)

What did mirrors reflect but her own heart?

In the spikes that rose before her, there were many mirrors.

Tall and black as taloned reapers, as corridors in dreams that engulf the dreamer in darkness, stretching on forever as the unsettling quality overtakes the heart, making the dreamer shake upon awakening, body shuddering in spasms.

For Cassandra, there was no awakening.

The black rock stood glossy before her, glossy enough to be a mirror and yet its glossiness never glinted, but only seemed to drink in light – absorb it to itself.

She was the light –

A child desperately trying to assure herself of her own worthiness in the face of her mother’s indifference.

A young woman pleading with the universe for something – anything – to –

The heart races in your sleep, the realization of nightmare closing in, pounding – pounding –

On her breast the Moonstone gleamed, a heart that did not pump blood – but like all things of hers, there was something wrong in it, something wrong in her – even when she finally felt untouchable, the fingers of the darkness touched her…

They caught her arm in an iron grip, clamping to her skin, clamping over her body in an armor that was a prison, a protection that was a wound – a wound she still nursed and let fester, like her burned hand, nursing the spite, because there was something wrong in her – in the world too, yes, but in her.

She dared not peel the armor away, rip the rock from off her skin, lest below she saw blue veins of blood – light, only a child’s faith in her mother, a futile hope – blood that ran and soaked and dried, that mottled and purpled like a charred hand – always armoring too late – thinking for once she was more than the mess of twisted flesh and bone she was, she only ever was…

Or, if she saw the light below, that would mean her even more… aberrant… broken…

In a frenzy, she smashed her arm against the rock – over and over –

A child flailing in its tears –

That was all she had ever been, ever would be. She knew it. Even when she told herself otherwise, she knew –

Hoping rock would shatter rock, rip free a raw and bloody arm – a mangled, mutilated visage – half-hoping the spike would spear her – and if the light ran in her veins, if all the cracks burned blue – then she would be without an arm, without this hanging flesh, this bone case – she would hate the blood to see it, hate the light to see it, hate herself to see herself – She hated the armor most of all.

She had always hated the armor.

Armor yourself in childhood – what aberration was that?

Yet – without it –

More rocks rose with every shattering strike. Cassandra charged through the labyrinth screaming – almost ready to fling herself from the brink, cast herself down from the spire, in hopes that the spikes at its base would skewer her…

Almost, but not.

Cassandra screamed in rage, futility, and fear – and collapsed before the darkness.

Collapsed before the darkness.

Black rock chips away from long stalactites, the silver tears of subterranean waters wearing it down until only slivers remain…

Silver tears ran down the sliver of Cassandra, stark without the Moonstone on her breast.

“When you laughed. You had this look in your eyes. I don’t know. It was like seeing you – the real you – for the first time. And that’s the Cassandra I became best friends with.”

The real me?

The real me isn’t a thing to love, Raps.

Even I recoil from… me.

Could it be possible?

That the thing she was, inmost, was worthy?

That trembling, pitiful thing of weakness, thing of fragility, was –

“There is more in you, Cassandra.”

Armored, Cassandra hurled herself into battle with a demon.

It was so different from the thought of hurling herself from the spire – though both deeds could have ended in self-annihilation.

It was not the self-annihilation of despair.

Nor was it the self-annihilation of futility.

It was not rebirth.

To be reborn means to cast away all that once she was – and Cassandra did not do that.

Even in the light of awe, Rapunzel’s tears wet upon her face, it was not rebirth.

It was a continuation of life – life with all its mistakes, its griefs, its hope, its strength, its love.

The battle done, Cassandra stood alone in her chambers.

Gathering herself in silence.

Her heartbeats like the ticking of the clock in the stillness.

She removed her armor.

Removed her garb.

Stood nude in the silence, then sat down upon her bed.

Felt the silk against her skin.

(Skin was soft, but it was not weak.)

Felt her heart beating, her blood flowing.

Breathed.

Hugged herself to process this thing she was.

“Thing.” She was more than a thing.

She breathed gently, steadily.

A gasp, but not Cassandra’s. Cassandra started, wrapping her arms around herself.

Rapunzel stood in the doorway, blushing.

“I’m sorry, I –”

Two apologies, spoken by two voices, then sheepish smiles – meek smiles, lightness.

Seeing Rapunzel’s eyes were soft, not offended by… herself… in this state, Cassandra felt more at ease. Shame had coiled back into her heart – fear that she had done wrong (though in her own room alone), that she had broken the brittleness of her and Rapunzel’s reforged bond.

But she and Rapunzel had been to the abyss and back. They knew each other’s souls stripped naked by cataclysm. This choice of hers was nothing to that.

Rapunzel delicately departed, but a trust glistened in the air. Cassandra sank back into bed, the rhythm of her breathing soothing her.

Her own self… soothing her.

That trust twinkled like – no, not like anything. Not like the moon at Cassandra’s window, its beams a soft caress. Not like the sunlight fluttering impishly at dawn. That trust was theirs. Their own. Unlike any avatar of sun or moon entwined to them. Of them and of their hearts.

Cassandra continued her casual nudity – in private – her experiment in vulnerability, experiment in strength.

She knew Rapunzel knew, respected the boundary of the door. The princess, the queen, respected the boundary of the lady-in-waiting, the hero, the equal – not out of fear of an indomitable force, but out of understanding.

Understanding in two hearts that melded unlike a blade at the forge, unlike Sundrop and Moonstone, unlike the paints of Rapunzel’s palette.

Until, a request, gentle, earnest, fragile and strong:

“May I… join you? Cass?”

Earnest.

A part of Cassandra supposed Rapunzel unashamed by nudity – the flower child, the free spirit bounding across the world in her bare feet. Another part of her felt awe and tenderness at the request – from Rapunzel, the girl who had been objectified – been made an object – a thing – a flower to be used – not in control of her own destiny for years of her life – reaching out –

Cassandra felt a deep tenderness for Rapunzel’s bravery in all its forms.

Still, she blushed, not so ready yet for personal nudity to extend to social nudity.

In time.

In time, it was, when Cassandra finally said, “Of course,” so softly – a faint smile on her lips – when Rapunzel smiled in turn, her dress falling away, laying a towel down lightly upon the chair beside Cassandra’s bed and sitting…

No flow of gold to wind about herself, Godiva-like, her hair jagged and brown and beautiful as leaves in autumn – and yet she was not exposed.

They sat and laughed together, talked together – freely.

It became routine, this time that was their own, this time of trust to mend the wounds of dis (dis – a Latin prefix meaning apart, asunder; dis – a Plutonian realm, a city in Hell – so many distant dreams away now) distrust.

Trust.

And when Rapunzel the flower child, Rapunzel the free spirit, Rapunzel the artist, made another request in all the tenderness of trust, Cassandra accepted it – accepted what she durst not dream accepting so many months ago.

They found a glade secure as a jewel-box, strewn with as many emeralds in its leaves. There they disrobed – Rapunzel taking a moment to drink in the sun, feel the twirl of the wind about her – Cassandra pausing to experience the world in a way that was akin and yet different, standing as a tree stands, indomitable in its presence, letting the light of the world wash into her – not dancing as Rapunzel did in an instant of elfin abandon, but being.

She was the light.

Then Rapunzel set to work. Rapunzel the bohemian. Rapunzel the artist.

Dipping her brushes in golds to rival the sun, greens to rival the lushness surrounding them, in azures brighter than the river nearby, in blooming pinks, purples – and gliding them across Cassandra’s skin.

Face painting was a staple of Corona festivals, but this went beyond…

The brush tickled Cassandra’s belly as a sunflower unfurled its petals from her navel, the sun’s rays spilling from them so that Cassandra hardly knew if the splendor was a blossom of the earth or a celestial body, the star that gave the flourishing flower its name. More flowers flourished, flowing into river-patterns, rhythms given voice in visions, constellations scattered upon her shoulders, elbow, buttocks... Various flowers bloomed upon her buttocks and ahhh, how they tickled with each daub and Cassandra could not help but smile.

Theirs was a free union of ideas, images, wonders – for this was theirs. Cassandra spoke concepts and Rapunzel painted them – more than mere suggestions, the interweaving of two minds. Cassandra was not simply a canvas; she was a collaborator in this cornucopian cavalcade, an artist in herself.

Yet, there was an intimacy in being a canvas, in being artist and artistry both.

She had gone from yearning for the artistry of armor in storybooks to shield her body to being artistry herself.

So long she had striven to be untouchable.

And here she was, letting herself be touched by the stroke of the brush, letting herself feel the cool ribbon of the paint guided by hands she trusted. Here she was, trusting hands other than her own and at the same time, trusting herself…

Rapunzel was not subsuming her.

This was not royalty and lady-in-waiting.

Not a maker molding clay.

Not Pygmalion projecting upon Galatea.

Owl-eyes glinted through the starlight on her shoulders, the golden patterns on sword-hilts coiled like dragon-fire upon her hips…

There was a messiness to Rapunzel’s exuberance that made her a work of art as well, splashing the painter with her own paints until she became the image of kaleidoscopic delight. The two had lain a paper down to catch the splashes that might have hit the grass. Upon return to the city, they would have these abstract streaks of color to show the world.

But this –

This was theirs alone to keep.

For a finishing touch, Rapunzel painted a single rose on Cassandra’s cheek. She drew close, making the green of the stalk delicate as a thread. Then she turned to take up red, and as she raised her brush to stipple the gentle flush of Cassandra’s cheek, the berry-red seemed not so rich as the bloom there, and as the bloom on Cassandra’s lips.

They kissed each other then – for kissing seemed natural to them, natural as the air about them, as the earth beneath their feet.

Natural to two who had learned each other’s souls.

Paint smeared; the kiss deepened in the halo of the sun.

The moment was not prelapsarian.

They had fallen, the both of them, many times before, for life is a series of falls – but not every fall is a cataclysm – and even in cataclysms, they pulled each other up.

Until they carved their way back to Eden.

#cassunzel #cassandra #rapunzel #rapunzel's tangled adventure

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songofsoma · 4 years

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A Chance Meeting

31 days of wayhaven | day 17: au

a scene from @rosejellyy, @aelwen-art, and i’s au blades of dawn :)

fandom: the wayhaven chronicles pairing: nora bishop x iris lee x cecilia beck word count: 1,750 rating: general

read it on ao3

Her eyes opened with a groan.

Everything hurt. There were muscles she didn’t know she had that ached.

The sound of bowls clanking together and a soft humming pulled Nora back to reality. She tore her eyes away from the dark ceiling, the fog creeping out of the edges of her vision.

Her head fell to the side as she surveyed her surroundings. She had no idea what she was up against. The last thing she remembered was falling to the ground next to the unconscious knight she had been fighting.

The knight in question appeared in her vision.

Nora sat up quickly, her head spinning.

Hands grasped desperately at her belt, fingers wrapping around the hilt of her dagger, metal singing as it was drawn. But before she could plunge the blade into the sleeping figure, a silent force stopped her hand.

“Hasn’t anyone told you that it is incredibly rude to draw weapons in other people’s homes?” A voice called.

Panic was surging through her veins. She couldn’t move her limbs.

It all clicked.

She was in the house of a witch—a powerful one at that.

Memories came flooding back: the wind whipping across her cheeks, the trees seeming to part around an approaching figure, the feeling that she could barely breathe. It had been magic.

Nora hated magic. It made her skin itch.

The woman was ethereal in the dim light of the candles, the lines of her body silhouetted beneath the sheer dress she wore. Gods, she could see every damned curve.

As she grew closer, bare feet padding against the wooden floors, Nora could begin to make out the features of her face.

Warm brown skin harbored an intoxicating smile, complimenting the amused twinkle in the depth of her dark gaze. She was quite short but was at an advantage to where Nora sat up on the makeshift cot. Bending down so her face hung inches away from hers, her fingers wrapped around her jaw, forcing her head to turn in her direction.

“Now if I free you, do you promise to be a good girl?” Her smile transformed into a smirk as she tugged the dagger free from Nora’s grip. “Otherwise, I think I shall make you a new piece of décor. You would make such a pretty statue I must say.”

Her heart was hammering in her chest. She struggled with a small nod.

The witch pulled away and Nora found herself a bit regretful at the loss of her touch. Thorns of magic released her from their grip. She was able to move again.

Her gaze scoured the room once more.

A variety of dried herbs and flowers hung from the ceiling, seemingly filling every inch, and leaving no hint of the wooden beams beneath. The room they were in was small. Most of the space was littered with books, spell jars and bottles, and more plants cutting through the earthy tones with their lively greens. A few more rooms were hidden by old wooden doors. Nora had to pause and wonder how they managed to stay up.

The witch had turned her back to Nora and had resumed her humming. Long tendrils of hair, the color of rich soil, spilled down her back, reaching just above her waist. Her fingers ached to touch it.

A sweet aroma was beginning to drift over from where she stood. Nora was not kept waiting much longer for a steaming cup of tea was offered to her.

She stared at it tentatively before her eyes flicked up to the witch’s face.

“It’s not poisoned,” she sighed. “If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t have bothered dragging you both to my home. You’re lucky I let you keep your armor for it made you both significantly heavier.” A hint of irritation colored her tone.

Nora wordlessly took the cup, straining to tear her eyes away from the addictive gaze that threatened to swallow her whole.

But she found it impossible not to follow her.

The witch paused beside the knight, bending down to whisper something inaudible into her ear. A few moments later, drowsy dark eyes blinked open.

“That’s it, sweetness,” she cooed, helping the girl sit up.

Nora stared at them wordlessly. For once in her life, she felt helpless and vulnerable. Iron and silver were useless against a forest witch. She had heard tales of such beings but never expected to meet with one face-to-face. Although, in the horror stories told to her by the elders, forest witches were something out of nightmares with monstrous claws, skin falling off the bone, and needles for teeth. The image used to keep her awake at night when she was a child.

“Something on your mind, my hunter?”

She bristled back at the pet name. It only widened the woman’s smirk.

“That is what you are, is it not?” She purred, pressing her knee onto the edge of the rickety cot.

Nora couldn’t find the words to answer her question as she leaned down, the ends of her hair tickling her face. She was struggled to continue to meet her eyes for the already sheer fabric of her dress dipped lower.

Warm fingers trailed over her cheekbone. “Truly a shame. I do enjoy watching you use that pretty little mouth of yours to try and wiggle your way out of problems.” The witch’s thumb brushed her bottom lip so lightly, Nora wasn’t even sure she had done it.

“Who are you?” Was the only thing her mind could pull together as the intoxicating woman pulled away.

She was gifted with a lovely smile. “I have many names. The Witch in the Woods, the Forest Guardian, sometimes hag by those who are feeling quite bold,” she laughed at the joke meant only for herself. “But you may call me by my given name, Cecilia.”

“Cecilia,” her lips wrapped around each syllable, savoring the way the name sounded on her tongue.

“What are you going to do to us?” A panicked voice sounded from beside her. She had almost forgotten the knight’s presence.

The humorous quirk of Cecilia’s lips was back. “Eager I see. I do take requests.”

Deep brown eyes grew bigger as she looked the woman up and down, perhaps she was sizing her up.

For the first time, Nora had the chance to study the appearance of her opponent.

Dread filled her once more upon realizing her beauty.

Delicate features sat upon porcelain skin, mirroring the sweetness of her voice. Eyes, so dark they were nearly black, held a mixture of anger and fear. Unlike Nora, a significant amount of her armor had been removed. Hints of a thick, white bandage could be seen peeking out from the loose collar of her undershirt.

An odd pang of guilt shot through her upon noticing it. She quickly turned her gaze away.

Why should she feel sorry? This woman was her enemy.

Still, Nora hadn’t realized she had truly wounded her.

“If you plan on killing me, I would rather you get it over with.” The knight complained, wincing as she shifted.

“Why is the first thing travelers’ minds go to is that I want to kill them?” Cecilia huffed, crossing the small room to busy herself with a bunch of flowers waiting to be dried. “Have none of you ever been taught manners? Especially you,” she turned to point at the knight who curled on herself at the attention. “Someone of noble birth should know to at least introduce themselves to their host.”

“How do you know I come from nobility?” The question was almost accusatory.

Rolling her eyes, her fingers began to bundle the flowers together. “Your sigil is on your breastplate, sweetness. House Lee, if I am not mistaken”

The knight said nothing. She only looked away, pretending to study a ginger cat sunning itself in one of the windows.

“For a forest witch, you’re quite familiar with human affairs,” Nora snapped.

She raised a shaped brow. “‘Tis a matter of my survival. I have not lived in these woods for centuries without knowing what goes on in the world around it—that would make me a fool.”

Centuries.

The thought made Nora’s stomach churn.

“Now, if neither of you has anything more to accuse me of, I have duties to attend to. I shall allow you two to rest.” Cecilia dropped her task back onto the counter, making her way to the door. “Oh, and please don’t kill each other, Lucius will be very unhappy with you both.” She gestured to the corner of the room to where a large, scrupulous wolf she hadn’t noticed before was watching them closely.

The knight squeaked in sudden fear, scrambling away, breath hitching from jostling her injuries.

Nora’s jaw hung open as she looked at the beast.

“Worry not, he only bites when he must!” And with a bell-like giggle, she disappeared out the door and into the forest beyond.

They were quiet for a long time, both of them staring warily at the wolf. The animal, however, seemed entirely unbothered by them as he laid his giant head back onto his paws, eyes drooping from boredom.

“What do we do?”

Nora’s gaze slid over to the rigid figure of the knight, watching as she wildly began to pat her waist.

“My sword, she took my sword!”

“Yes, she took my weapons as well,” Nora grumbled.

She chewed at her bottom lip and Nora was unable to keep her eyes off of the small movement. Luckily, the other woman did not seem to notice. “Should we run?”

“I doubt we’d get far.”

She rubbed a hand over her forehead in thought, skin smeared with dirt and blood from their earlier scuffle. “Then I suppose we have no choice than to wait for the witch’s return.” Her eyes shut as she sank back into the furs with a defeated look. “Surely my mother will notice my absence and come looking.”

Nora snorted. “Fantastic, just what we need so she can execute me immediately.” Venom coated each of her words carelessly.

“It’s better than your people raiding this hut!” She protested, eyes flying open once more. “Pillaging this entire forest while they are at it!”

She pursed her lips, looking away from her. “Then I guess we will wait, preferably in silence.”

“Fine.” The knight crossed her arms, pouting like a child.

Just like that, Nora decided she was not sorry she had wounded the girl after all.

#blades of dusk #31 days of wayhaven #31daysofwayhaven #twc #nora x iris x cecilia #the wayhaven chronicles #wayhaven #wayhaven au #oc: cecilia beck #nora bishop #iris lee #twc fanfic #wayhaven fanfic #my writing #whc #rosejellyy #aelwen #aelwen-art #au

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aion-rsa · 4 years

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Zack Snyder’s Justice League vs. the Whedon Cut: What are the Differences?

https://ift.tt/38SVA8s

This article contains Zack Snyder’s Justice League spoilers.

Whether you love or hate his style, there is no denying Zack Snyder is an original. From 300 to Watchmen, and Man of Steel to Justice League, his characters often hover above the screen as much as occupy it. They’re mythic figures who’ve stepped off a Botticelli canvas, or at least Frank Miller comic book panels, and they’re imbued with such a sense of scale from their director that the aesthetic is nigh impossible to duplicate. That is only clearer now thanks to Zack Snyder’s Justice League, a restored four-hour edit of Snyder’s original vision for the DC superhero movie team-up and their universe at large.

Admittedly, you’ve seen the movie’s tale before, back when Warner Bros. released a truncated, heavily reshot version into theaters in 2017. But that two-hour theatrical cut of Justice League, assembled by director Joss Whedon, really is a night and day different film. It shares many of the same scenes and story beats, but it lacks Snyder’s singular grandiosity and tonal consistency.

Comparing all the significant changes between the two versions—which we’ll hereby distinguish as the “Snyder Cut” and “Whedon Cut”—creates a fascinating juxtaposition of the different choices filmmakers can make with similar material, as well as the drastically disparate visions the directors had for these six superheroes and the larger DC Extended Universe. So join us as we contrast all the major changes (and by and large improvements) made by Zack Snyder’s Justice League.

The Opening

One of the most surprising changes made by the Snyder Cut comes immediately. Back when the ostensible Whedon Cut of Justice League opened in theaters, one thing many assumed was unchanged from Snyder’s vision was the opening credits. With imagery clearly filmed by the director—including unused footage from the Superman funeral sequence in Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice—the downbeat credits were edited to Singrid’s rendition of “Everybody Knows,” a cover of a song from one of Snyder’s favorite musicians, Lenoard Cohen. I’m also fairly certain only Snyder would film a homeless man with a cardboard sign saying “I tried” in a superhero movie (the destitute figure may still appear in the Snyder Cut in an overhead shot when Cyborg is later surveying the bleakness of the world).

Indeed, quite a bit of the Whedon Cut’s opening credits scenes are used elsewhere in Zack Snyder’s Justice League, including breathtaking imagery of the Superman symbol draped in black over London’s Tower Bridge. But the new edit foregoes a traditional opening credits sequence for a more restrained montage that returns to the climax of Batman v Superman, and to the moment when Henry Cavill‘s Superman dies. In pained slow-motion, we again experience the moment of Doomsday’s spike piercing Superman’s heart and see how his scream reverberates throughout the world.

The Snyder Cut is more directly linked to the previous movie with Jesse Eisenberg’s Lex Luthor, complete with hair, hearing Superman’s cries from deep in the bowels of the Kryptonian ship. Meanwhile the echoes of Clark’s anguish reverberate all the way past Zeus’ magical cloak to Themyscira where the Amazons (rather impressively) have an entire army guarding the Mother Box they obtained 5,000 years ago. When the Mother Box hears Kal-El’s death rattle, it begins to crack, drawing a terrified Amazonian closer to its new glowing light.

And finally, we end with the cries being heard by Cyborg. It is on the image of a hunched over Ray Fisher that Snyder chooses to include his “directed by” title card, indicating a strong sense of solidarity with the character and the actor who plays him after Cyborg was largely sidelined in the Whedon Cut. Clearly this is going to be a different movie.

Batman

Ben Affleck’s Bruce Wayne remains the focal point, at least in terms of leadership, of both the Snyder and Whedon cuts of the film. But right down to how they’re introduced, these are subtly diverging interpretations of the character. In the Whedon Cut, Batman has the first scene of the movie that isn’t shot on an iPhone. It gets Affleck in costume immediately and features archetypal Gotham City imagery as Batman uses a criminal as bait for a Parademon, an alien from the planet Apokolips that Batman is already familiar with. He’s so aware of these creatures that Batman ignores the thief spelling out the subtext of Justice League’s first act: With Superman dead, where does that leave us?

By contrast, you intrinsically feel that absence in the Snyder Cut. Whereas Whedon and WB got Batman in the costume faster for a tongue-in-cheek action sequence with screaming crooks and flying aliens, Zack Snyder’s Justice League ignores the Batsuit for a clean two hours. Instead, it opens with Bruce Wayne already “north” in a remote part of Europe near the arctic. We get the impression he’s been traveling for weeks on a horse and over mountains, sporting a bushy beard as he reaches the fishing village Arthur Curry (Jason Momoa) has provided supplies to.

The scene where Batman meets Aquaman is more or less the same, but tonally Snyder evokes a funereal quality by letting the scene breathe in Bruce’s desperation instead of Arthur’s flippancy. And rather than Bruce noticing an inserted mural of Mother Boxes being what upsets Arthur, it’s Bruce pulling a trick from Momoa’s on screen wife on Game of Thrones which sets Aquaman off: he reveals after his hosts have made fools of themselves that he too can speak Icelandic. (There is also no longer a joke where Bruce says, “I hear you can talk to fish.”)

This somber opening is strikingly different and a vast improvement (see the Aquaman section for more). After Arthur rebuffs Bruce’s request to team-up, Bruce’s defeated return trip home is also subtly changed. For starters, we see his journey to his private jet where Alfred is waiting. In the Whedon Cut, the pair’s conversation after Bruce has shaved is a reshot sequence with some admittedly amusing character-building dialogue, like Alfred saying, “I miss the days when one’s biggest concern was exploding wind-up penguins.” The Snyder Cut’s version is more expository and ominous. As neither has seen a Parademon yet in this version, Alfred doubts whether Bruce needs to build a team based on the ravings of a now incarcerated and visibly insane Lex Luthor. Batman says he isn’t just doing this based on Luthor.

“I made a promise to him on his grave,” Bruce broods about the Kryptonian alien he hounded to near death in the last movie.

The next time we see Bruce Wayne is in a scene that appeared in the Whedon Cut, if slightly different. It’s when Gal Gadot’s Diana Prince breaks into his “building” with million-dollar security. However, the Whedon Cut led viewers to believe this airplane hangar-like space was the Batcave (even though it visually looks quite different). The Snyder Cut confirms it is a decrepit warehouse near the docks in Gotham harbor. Gone also is the cheeky line, “Yeah, it looked expensive,” from Diana when Bruce mentions the cost of his security equipment.

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In this off-site Batcave area, it’s also established by Alfred that he and Bruce Wayne have built new gauntlets that absorb energy (they come in especially handy later when they save Bruce from Superman’s heat ray vision).

The first time the gauntlets are used occurs when Batman leads a nascent Justice League beneath the tunnels of Striker Island in Gotham harbor. Up until that point, most of Affleck’s scenes remain the same, even if they breathe or are edited slightly differently. Batman recruits Barry Allen (Ezra Miller) to join the Justice League while talking about competitive ice dancing, and looks positively exhausted when Barry sees the Bat-Signal. The early Commissioner Gordon scenes are also the same, albeit now without composer Danny Elfman’s Batman theme from 1989.

In the tunnels, Batman’s scenes diverge again though. There is more of the misterioso act when Victor Stone (Cyborg) says, “I heard about you. Didn’t think you were real.” The Dark Knight answers, “I’m real when it’s useful.” Additionally, Batman doesn’t really mentor the Flash in this sequence or in any other going forward. Gone is the Flash admitting he’s terrified at seeing Steppenwolf and Bruce advising he “save one” person and will then know what he needs to do.

Instead, the Flash says, “I guess that’s the bad guy” in the Snyder Cut, and Batman stoically responds, “Good guess.” Bruce also drops his sense of humor, losing some solid bits like “Sorry guys, I didn’t bring a sword” when the Knightcrawler starts shooting up Parademons. Now he simply says, “My turn.”

However, Bruce remains the stoic team leader, harnessing a steadier team dynamic. There are no insert shots of Commissioner Gordon telling Batman it’s good to see he’s playing well with others after the Striker Island fight, and rather than berate Wonder Woman and his team members into bringing Superman back from the dead, Bruce and the rest come to the same conclusion, silently.

During the sequence where Cyborg reveals the Mother Box can bring Superman back from the dead, no one says Kal-El’s name out loud. The Flash even asks, “Is everyone thinking it or am I going to have to say it?” The camera pans around the table and lands on Bruce, who is watching Cyborg’s projected image of Superman’s cape. It’s a nice moment for Affleck, who looks much more alert in this version than the Whedon Cut. The dialogue in the Snyder Cut can often be perfunctory and expository, but the vast four-hour running time leaves room for the actors to indulge in quiet moments. The only person who doubts the idea is Alfred who in another scene warns Bruce, “If you can’t bring down a charging bull, then don’t wave the red flag.”

Batman counters, “I’m operating on complete faith now.” Quite the about face from the last movie.

The team otherwise staying on the same page, even after the Superman fiasco (more on that below), is a stark difference with the Whedon Cut. Here Bruce invites the team into the Batcave proper after they lose all three Mother Boxes, with teammates regrouping; in the Whedon Cut there is a strained attempt to create tension. Particularly between Bruce and Diana….

Wonder Woman

Gal Gadot has spoken in the past about how she was unhappy with the Justice League reshoots. While still not knowing the full details of what occurred behind the scenes, Zack Snyder’s Justice League makes apparent why she’d be disappointed with the direction of her added scenes.

To be fair, Wonder Woman is still objectified to a certain degree in the Snyder Cut. Her non-warrior attire still revolves around several low-cut dresses, and there is still a (much more understated) flirtation between Diana and Bruce. In an early scene of her and Bruce discussing their prospective teammates in front of a computer—with an awkward stab at humor where she coaxes out of Bruce that Arthur said no—there’s a moment where their hands trip over the mouse at the same time, like they’re in a teenage rom-com. Similarly, when Barry and Victor are digging up Clark Kent’s grave, Barry asks Victor if he thinks Wonder Woman would “be into younger guys.” Victor dismisses the thirstiness by saying, “Barry, she’s 5,000 years old. Every guy’s a younger guy.”

But these moments are few and far between. In the Whedon Cut, they’re constant with Alfred teasing Bruce about Batman inviting Wonder Woman to a candlelit team-up dinner, and a gross gag where Flash saves Wonder Woman during the Striker Island fight but then awkwardly lands on top of her body and gets flustered. Perhaps most frustratingly though, her character arc is reduced to a lot of flirting with Bruce, and coming to see he is right when he chastises her for “still being hung up” on Steve Trevor. She then helps him undress from his armor and shares a drink with him, like co-workers with a forced “will they or won’t they” chemistry.

All of that is gone in the Snyder Cut, which instead focuses on presenting Wonder Woman as the most ferocious and noble of the film’s six superheroes.

Her first scene is much the same as in the Whedon Cut, although it’s another film school-ready example for what a difference post-production makes. We see a group of eco-terrorists take a school group hostage, and Wonder Woman stops them. But in the Whedon Cut, the scene is nimble and brightly colored with a tongue-in-cheek quality, right down to the way Elfman uses an orchestra to play Hans Zimmer’s previously electric “Wonder Woman” theme. In the Snyder Cut, the sequence lasts nearly eight minutes in a desaturated, gray color scheme. The sadism with which the terrorists want to kill their hostages is belabored, and Junkie XL uses a fearsome version of Zimmer’s Wonder Woman theme while introducing one of his own, which relies on a haunting choral harmony.

In the new cut, Wonder Woman not only throws the bomb through the roof but jumps with it to make sure it explodes faar above the skyline. And when she returns, her power move to stop the head terrorist from killing the school children is to obliterate him into dust, with his hat blowing out the window and before the faces of shocked and unnerved London police officers. Meanwhile Wonder Woman then turns around after slaughtering this man (plus another terrorist who’s head she smashes into a wall) to rather jarringly smile at the school children. She leans down before one girl to say, “You can be whatever you want to be.” It’s actually sweeter than her saying “[I’m] a believer,” but I’m not sure it works given the new tone of the scene.

The next time we see Diana is a longer version of the scene where she discovers her mother has fired a burning arrow into the Temple of the Amazons in Greece. Snyder actually uses an impressive long one-take shot where Diana remains in focus, cleaning a statue at the Louvre, while her co-workers stay out of focus and needle her with questions. It’s a genuinely dryly funny, restrained moment, unique for this genre.

There is also an all-new scene of Diana going to Greece and retrieving the arrow from the temple. It’s one of the better additions that feels like a pseudo-Indiana Jones scene of Diana using the arrow to unlock a hidden chamber beneath the ruins, and then descending with a torch. Below she discovers a spooky room filled with spooky murals containing even spookier images of Mother Boxes and war… and a godlike monster DC fans will recognize as Darkseid.

Diana’s narration of what these images tell her is also different (more on that in the Darkseid section), with no lakeside chat with Bruce. Rather than using romantic imagery, Snyder favors to-the-point storytelling between colleagues as Diana tells Bruce in his new Batplane that the Age of Heroes defeated Darkseid. That age is over.

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While Bruce is recruiting Barry, Diana has a nice scene with Alfred about making tea before Victor Stone summons her by hacking the Bat-computer. She has no idea who he is in this scene (as opposed to having seen him earlier in the Whedon Cut), and there is no conversation where she convinces him to meet her. Instead, he designates location, summoning her. Their next scene together is more or less the same as in the Whedon Cut.

Overall, Diana has few added scenes and is honestly one of the less developed characters in the Snyder Cut despite being one-half of the team’s leadership. So the inclination of giving her more to do than discover Darkseid/Steppenwolf’s backstory was a prudent one, but all it left her with was smiling longingly as Batman drives off in the Batmobile during the third act. Ugh.

The Amazons on the other hand…

The Amazons

While Wonder Woman’s scenes in the Snyder Cut largely remain the same, the Amazons are given subtle but fierce new texture in their few added moments.

The movie opens with the Amazons tirelessly on guard when the Mother Box awakens. The next time we see them, Queen Hippolyta (Connie Nielsen) is arriving to inspect the phenomenon for a prolonged build-up to Steppenwolf’s attack. When one soldier tells their Queen maybe the box will go back to sleep, Hippolyta remarks, “Evil doesn’t sleep. It waits.”

Steppenwolf eventually attacks, leading to one of the best moments in the Snyder Cut. When he says his Parademons will feed off their fear, Hippolyta calls to her Amazons, “Daughters of Themyscira, show him your fear!” In a tribal yell matched by Junkie XL’s score, they chant back, “We have no fear!” Slaughter commences.

The battle is much bigger and more reliant on slow-motion, including shots of Hippolyta flipping off walls and hesitating to bury the other Amazonians alive. Yep, when she tells her sisters to seal the cave, it’s a death trap. The door collapses, and then the whole structure also falls into the sea. There is then A. Long. Beat. of Hippolyta thinking she’s killed Steppenwolf before he and his Parademons ascend from the sea to slaughter more of the Amazons.

The Amazonians’ defeat is largely the same, although there is now a long denouement, with the Amazons having a musical prayer that grieves their dead and brings magic to the arrow they’ll fire to warn Diana. The Amazons and Wonder Woman iconography are also much more heavily featured in flashbacks to Darkseid’s first attack on Earth 5,000 years ago. We get better shots of Zeus and Ares (David Thewlis from Wonder Woman), and Amazonian Venelia (Doutzen Kroes) being filmed like she’s one of Snyder’s 300 Spartans in the ancient war. But all of that is just background for…

Steppenwolf and Darkseid

Steppenwolf is one of the most dramatically improved characters in Zack Snyder’s Justice League. Beyond more spikes being added to his armor (and his chin being slightly shrunken from its ridiculous size), the Ciarán Hinds-voiced baddie’s motivations are wholly different. In the Whedon Cut, he was a generic “conquer the world” supervillain who was defeated thousands of years ago on Earth by an alliance of men, Amazonians, and Atlanteans. He then returns and refers to his Mother Boxes as “mother.”

While he still chases magic boxes he wants to use to conquer the world in the Snyder Cut, he’s at least a little more nuanced and a lot more despairing toward the whole endeavor. Steppenwolf is revealed to be a meek middle management malcontent with dreams of coming home. As we eventually learn in dialogue exchanges over BvS’ weird molten metal intergalactic telecommunication technology, Steppenwolf is a pariah back home on the planet Apokolips. Long ago, he was party to a failed coup against comic book creator Jack Kirby’s ultimate space fascist, Darkseid (Ray Porter). Think Thanos before there was a Thanos.

“I fall before you,” Steppenwolf moans during his first conversation with Darkseid’s minion DeSaad (Peter Guinness). “Let me make a plea that I may come home after I take this world in [Darkseid’s] name.” But DeSaad will not hear it, saying Steppenwolf is basically on probation for helping an attempted coup against Darkseid millennia ago, even if Steppenwolf then changed sides and killed Darkseid’s other betrayers. Now Steppenwolf has a debt of a 150,000 worlds he must conquer in Darkseid’s name if he wishes to return home.

Basically, Steppenwolf is a putz. Hence he can be both menacing and pathetic when he first attacks the Amazons and remarks of them, with a hint of resigned boredom, “Defenders? Defenders have failed a hundred thousand worlds. They always fail.” And it’s with exhaustion he decides to create his home base on an irradiated scrap of Russian land because it’s toxic.

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Darkseid, by contrast, is introduced to be Emperor Palpatine meets Sauron. Aye, there’s a real Lord of the Rings level of ambition to Diana’s flashback to the Age of Heroes. Rather than Steppenwolf, it’s Darkseid who first steps foot on Earth, turning some of the soil into the scorched cursive hellscape that Kirby fans will be intimately familiar with. We also get a better look of his foes, including an alien Green Lantern whom Darkseid personally kills by cutting off his hand. The green ring flies away before the fiend can grab it.

The sequence is filmed to mirror the opening moments of The Fellowship of the Ring, with Darkseid’s defeat harkening back to the glorious day the people of Middle-earth were victorious. However, personally speaking, it doesn’t reach that height, with Darkseid coming off like more of an overpowered Orc who’s out-flexed by Ares. Yep, David Thewlis’ villain from Wonder Woman is revealed to be the guy who whoops Darkseid’s ass in the end, planting an axe in his shoulder blade and leading the Greatest Evil to be carried from the battlefield, screaming.

Much later in the movie, Darkseid is introduced properly when Steppenwolf reveals he’s learned Earth is home to the Anti-Life Equation. It’s a pretty vague secondary MacGuffin in the context of the Snyder Cut, although Steppenwolf says it would give Darkseid power over the multiverse—it’s unclear why Darkseid did not know it was on Earth when he lost to Ares and the band of heroes, or why he never could come back for it.

However, Darkseid then appears on the telecom with Steppenwolf, causing the Spiked One to take off his armor for the first time and show his bare flesh in fealty to his space dictator. Darkseid promises Steppenwolf he can come home once he’s taken Earth and brings Darkseid the Anti-Life Equation.

We also get a glimpse of how Darkseid plans to use it. Elsewhere in the movie, Cyborg has an inexplicable vision the moment right before a Mother Box is used to bring Superman back from the dead: It’s of an Armageddon much darker than the Knightmare scene in Batman v Superman. The sequence begins with the Amazons finally off Themyscira. They’re burning Wonder Woman in a funeral pyre after putting two coins on her eyes for the boatmen. Hippolyta cries.

Elsewhere in a montage, Superman grieves over the scorched body that can only be Lois Lane (Amy Adams) and Darkseid appears to place a not-so-comforting hand on his shoulder. Later we see the ruins of the Hall of Justice that diehard Superfriends fans will recognize, with an evil Superman flying over it with heat ray eyes. Finally, we see Darkseid himself murder Aquaman with his own trident…

This appears to be an inevitable future of “the Snyder Verse.”

Aquaman

But that is not the destination of the current film. The Snyder Cut, after all, has to lay a lot of groundwork that’ll make us care about these characters in the here and now.

Aquaman is the first to get that treatment in his early scene with Bruce Wayne (detailed more above). The Whedon Cut includes Arthur Curry saying, “You’re out of your mind, Bruce Wayne” as he gets into freezing cold water to swim away. In the Snyder Cut, we don’t see him shoot off. Rather Arthur disappears quietly beneath bubbles between shots. Snyder’s desire to emphasize the godlike wonder of these characters is then underlined in neon when several villagers see him off by singing a worshipful Icelandic hymn in Aquaman’s honor.

If the point is missed, after several minutes of crooning, one woman walks up to caress the sweater Aquaman took off and sniff it, savoring his undoubtedly godlike musk.

The sequence of Aquaman saving a crew from a shipwreck is almost exactly the same in the Snyder Cut, although there are no added jokes about him calling the captain “Ahab” in the bar. Additionally, there’s a really nice grace note of Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds’ “There is a Kingdom” playing when Aquaman goes to brood stoically before a raging storm. It’s exactly the same as in the Whedon Cut, but Whedon makes it generic blockbuster filler with a White Stripes song playing in the background. Snyder goes for a mournful, reflective tone that resembles the better elements of his version of Justice League.

Afterward Aquaman makes his first of two trips to Atlantis in the film—meeting Vulko (Willem Dafoe) in a scene that was entirely deleted. It turns out the effect of Atlalnteans only talking in air bubbles was always a Snyder affectation, although what was lost in the Whedon Cut (and eventual Aquaman movie) is that all the properly born Atlanteans speak with English accents. Dafoe’s Vulko is a bit hammier, seeming adjacent to Dafoe’s wonderful turn in The Lighthouse. But Amber Heard’s Mera speaking her lines in a purely Posh London accent after a whole movie of her using an American one in Aquaman is a real trip.

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What brings Arthur back the second time is Steppenwolf diving below the waves for the Mother Box. He learns of its location (which is unexplained in the Whedon Cut) by torturing Atlanteans whom Parademons have dragged from the ocean, reading the water dwellers’ minds with some gruesome sci-fi spider robot.

Steppenwolf’s actual attack on Atlantis is much more coherent in the Snyder Cut. With action beats given time to pause, and Steppenwolf’s surprise appearance underwater less hilariously cringe-inducing. Mera also gets a cool moment where the villain has her pushed against the wall and says she can’t run away, “I wasn’t trying to,” she responds. Previously, we saw her use superpowers to suck water out of air pockets; now she uses it to suck the blood out of Steppenwolf’s face. He of course throws her back into the water and almost kills her if not for Arthur’s chivalrous, splash-page rescue of his future love interest.

Most of Aquaman’s subsequent scenes play out the same, although he is much less brutish and frat bro-y. There are at least three fewer “yeahs” and “alrights!,” and there is no scene of him sitting on Wonder Woman’s Lasso of Truth, blurting out he’s scared and horny at the same time.

The Flash

Interestingly, the Flash is both the least developed of the superheroes in the Snyder Cut and also the most unchanged by Whedon. It appears that Ezra Miller’s seemingly improvised humor was the element of least importance to Snyder, and the most useful thing Snyder filmed for Whedon’s purposes.

Maybe that’s why the Flash’s first scene in the Snyder Cut does not occur until nearly 70 minutes into the film. It’s also a wholly different introduction scene to what we saw in the theatrical cut. In the restored sequence, Barry Allen is applying for a job as a dog groomer at a pet shop when the unnamed woman who just left—or as fans know her, Iris West (Kiersey Clemons)—is almost pancaked by a semi-truck. The driver, in a rather crude cliché, is a simpleton reaching for his food on the cab’s floor when he slams into Iris’ convertible.

Luckily, Barry sees it coming and slows things down for another somber needle drop on the soundtrack. The whole thing plays like a more wistful, alternative rock version to one of Quicksilver’s big scenes in the X-Men movies. In extreme slow-motion, Barry catches a hot dog from an exploding hot dog vendor, placing it in his pocket, and then catches Iris out of her shattered car. When time returns to normal, Iris realizes she was saved by this cute dork, who then rushes back in time for the pet shop owner to be unsure who broke her window in the blink of an eye. Barry’s feeding the hot dog to her canines.

Otherwise, by and large, the Flash’s scenes remain the same until near the end. Snyder has removed Whedon’s unfunny addition of Barry drawing glasses on the eyes of someone in line while waiting to see his dad at prison, but the Miller/Billy Crudup scene remains the same but longer. Bruce Wayne still breaks into Barry’s loft and tells Barry his superpower is that “I’m rich.”

In the Striker Island action sequence, rather than “save one,” the Flash leads an exodus of civilians to the surface. And when debris nearly falls on them, he creates a shield by running so fast he looks like lightning in the sky blocking the falling rubble. He also is wounded by a Parademon laser blast so sharp it leaves him bleeding from the side of his leg, temporarily hobbled.

The one significant change before the climax is Barry and Victor digging up Clark Kent’s grave. It’s a sincerely quiet moment that (Wonder Woman leering aside) is refreshingly earnest and hushed for a superhero movie.

“I could do this in a second,” Barry says. Victor responds, “Yeah.” The implication is they should take their time and give Superman the honor he deserves. After his body is exhumed and wrapped up, Barry says, “He was my hero.”

Cyborg

Of the main five heroes in Justice League, Cyborg turned out to be the most important by far. Whatever occurred behind the scenes between Whedon, the producers, and Fisher, the actor had reason to be frustrated simply because his character arc was removed. In its place, he was forced to say, “Booyah.”

The Snyder Cut restores Victor Stone/Cyborg’s importance from the opening credits onward. It begins by basking in what isn’t sad between Victor and his father Dr. Silas Stone (Joe Morton). Initially, we spend more time with Silas, as the father throws himself into his work at STAR Labs to better understand the Mother Boxes.

Eventually, Cyborg gets his own flashback to a time when he was more man than machine. Under an aching musical theme written by Junkie XL, it’s revealed Victor was a gifted genius (his dean even says so!) at Gotham University. Victor is so intelligent, while also being a football star, that he can get away with hacking into the school’s database and changing a friend’s grades.

We also meet his mother who defends her son’s kind heart from the dean in a sequence that’s intercut with his slow-motion football glory, plus a side of melancholy because daddy wasn’t there. Only mom shows up for the game. Afterward they argue in the car about whether Dad really cares about Victor. A car is then seen rushing (unsurprisingly) into frame, T-Boning their car.

The process of Victor becoming Cyborg is only hinted at in scenes through various other flashbacks. But we do see Silas being told his wife is dead and that he’ll soon have to let his son go, too. Hence the bad blood between the two nearly throughout the Snyder Cut’s whole four hours. When we see Silas come home to Victor at their apartment, the son will not even speak to his father. Instead he reluctantly agrees to listen to a recording his father left for him. On the tape, Silas tells his son that the fate of the entire world is now “in your hands, Vic.”

Thanks to the alien technology of the Mother Box used to resurrect Cyborg, Victor has superpowers, which we see him fumblingly try out by flying on his father’s Gotham rooftop. But that’s “just the tip of the tip” of the iceberg, according to Silas’ voiceover. Victor’s high-end computer body now gives him the ability to control the world’s nuclear arsenals and the world’s economy.

This is visualized in a CGI mind palace created in Cybrog’s digital brain. There Fisher gets to play Victor as whole, and without a red eye. Some of it is effective, like floating missiles above his head. Other bits are just ludicrous, like financial markets being personified by a CGI bear slapping a CGI bull. It’s… weird.

But there are nice elements too, like Victor choosing to use his superpowers to see folks suffering, and giving a struggling single mother $150,000 out of an ATM machine. Through it all, he remains hooded and lonely, catching glimpses of people staring at his glowing countenance. It’s why he destroys his father’s recording when Dad tries to stop talking about Cyborg’s powers and instead address Vic as a loving father.

What draws Victor out of his proverbial cave is of course his father being kidnapped by Parademons. He seeks Diana Prince’s counsel but ignores her when she says his powers are a gift—I did miss the line, “If these are gifts why am I always the one paying for them?” Still, as in the Whedon Cut, he shows up on GCPD’s rooftop to join the team.

The one big addition during all the fighting is that when Cyborg flies now, his famous comic book face armor that protects everything but his red eye is finally used on screen. Plus he gets to save his father. Silas is shocked his son came for him, but Victor only says, “You’re my father.” Nothing more needs to be said.

After the Striker Island fight, however, Victor again takes center stage when Aquaman accuses him of possibly being compromised by his alien tech body. Cyborg reveals in a visual flashback, which Victor walks through in his mind palace, that the Mother Box was acquired by the Allies during World War II, taken from the Nazis’ collection of occult goodies in 1944. For nearly a century, it sat undisturbed in the Department of Defense until his father Silas realized it was similar to the technology used by the Kryptonian ship in downtown Metropolis.

That’s how Silas discovered its power, and in a horrifying flashback, he uses it when he looks at his son’s body on a slab, Vic’s lower torso gone. When Silas uses the magic box on Victor, the son screams bloody murder.

It is Victor Stone who puts the pieces together for the nascent Justice League and gets the heroes to begin acting like a real team. He puts together for the others that the Mother Box can be used to bring Superman back from the dead, and projects an image of Big Boy Blue for everyone to see.

Vic leads the team into STAR Labs to do the deed. And when Silas sees his son, still not talking to him, walk by with Batman and other weirdos, Dad doesn’t call it in. In fact, Vic and Silas are why the heroes win in this version, because after the Superman resurrection is bolloxed up, and Steppenwolf arrives to retrieve the third Mother Box, rather than run away, Silas sacrifices himself by heating the box with a laser so hot, that Batman can conveniently track wherever it goes in the world.

One could argue Cyborg was the most crucial of the heroes in organizing a true team team. Well, him and the legacy of another…

Superman

One imagines Superman’s treatment by Snyder and screenwriter Chris Terrio in what we now call the Snyder Cut, and Batman v Superman before it, played a major role in Warners’ eventual lack of confidence in the filmmakers. The beginning of the Whedon Cut even starts by course correcting where Whedon might’ve thought Snyder went wrong. Hence the awkward smartphone video of Superman talking to some children with a big smile on his face (and mustache unconvincingly erased from it).

Honestly, though? The depiction of Superman in the Snyder Cut is at times quite heroic and sweet. Certainly sweeter than the abysmal “no one stays good forever in this world” line of dialogue from BvS. However, there are major caveats.

Someone who unequivocally benefits from the new version is Amy Adams’ Lois Lane. While she again has relatively little to do, the rare moments where she is on screen in the Snyder Cut count a hell of a lot more. For starters, there is a genuinely heartfelt sequence about grief—one that it’s fair to wonder if Snyder has added special emphasis to. We follow Lois as she begins her morning routine by getting out of bed, buying a cup of coffee, and going to spend an hour or so at Superman’s memorial in downtown Metropolis.

The soundtrack plays Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds’ “Distant Sky,” and the scene bleeds a dignified sorrow as Lois unfurls her umbrella in the rain and walks up to Superman’s memorial to lay flowers. The cop she gives her morning coffee to asks Miss Lane if she ever skips a day, and she says there’s nowhere else she’d rather be. This is the transition to the Superman flag in London.

Afterward Lois goes nearly two hours before appearing again in the film, while Diane Lane’s Ma Kent (who is seen early in the picture leaving home) vanishes for well over that amount of time. It makes their reunion scene in Lois’ apartment feel awkward and obligatory after such a long pause, but the restored scene is still better than the “Clark told me you were the thirstiest girl he ever met” in the Whedon Cut. At least until the Ma Kent of this scene is pointlessly revealed to be Martian Manhunter. (Sigh.) It’s almost as bad a bit of forced world-building as future Barry Allen warning Batman about Lois Lane in BvS.

Meanwhile the League all comes to the idea of resurrecting Superman at the same time, and there are no second guesses other than Alfred’s skepticism. Thus begins a resurrection sequence where it’s genuinely affecting to hear Zimmer’s Superman theme again as Kal-El’s body is placed into the Kryptonian ships goo-room. Similarly, Snyder achieves another grace moment when Lois sees Superman flying in the sky right after his resurrection. Before this moment, Lois made the decision in bed that morning for this to be the last time she’d visit and grieve Superman’s death at the memorial. We’re also teased to the fact she keeps a pregnancy test on the nightstand. So she made her final trip to his memorial.

And on the same day, Superman came back.

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Unfortunately, his return is much the same as it was in the Whedon Cut, with the gloomy gray cinematography and the outright sinister version of Superman who’s apparently forgotten his identity. In fact, he’s more menacing than the familiar footage of him smacking down Wonder Woman and Aquaman. Now he takes time to study his monument before still coldly attacking the other superheroes and using his heat ray vision to try and murder U.S. soldiers stationed by his memorial.

If not for the interference of Batman, Superman would’ve killed servicemen. For what it’s worth though, he tries to kill Batman too. Gone is the “do you bleed?” callback to the previou cut. Instead Superman uses his heat ray vision to try and cook Batman inside his own cowl—which is only stopped by Bruce’s special “energy absorption” gauntlets.

As with the Whedon Cut, Bruce’s death is prevented when Lois shows up, but now of her own volition, and she and Clark fly away to Smallville. And once there, Superman’s soul returns and we get nice Americana scenes of Clark Kent watching a butterfly land on his hand, and Lois joining him in the wheat field.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says of the engagement ring he planned to give her before his death, and which she keeps on her hand. Soon Ma Kent joins them and it’s a lovely moment of reconciliation with the women in his life. It’s also far more emotionally effective than the version of Lois apologizing to Clark for “not being strong” after he died in the Whedon Cut.

And yet… it’s compromised by the constant foreshadowing of another heel turn in Superman’s future. The Kryptonian ship keeps warning, pleading even, with Cyborg that there is “no turning back from this action” as he prepares to resurrect Superman. Only then does he have a vision of an evil Kal-El drifting over a smoldering Metropolis. This muddle created by these conflicting sensibilities—folksy domesticity versus foreboding doom—do not mesh. At all.

At the very least, Clark returns to the Kryptonian ship to find there was a black Superman suit hidden all along in the corner. Additionally, he hears both of his dads’ voices, Jor-El (Russell Crowe) and Pa Kent (Kevin Costner). Some of it is old audio about “they’ll join you in the sun” from Man of Steel. Some of it is new recordings, which don’t really make sense as both men are dead. But we hear Pa repeat, “Fly son” and Jor-El intone, “Love them as we loved you.”

Black-suited Superman then flies into the orbit, taking the same Christ pose he had in Man of Steel, visually suggesting the Lord is risen, hallelujah. Superman then flies to the Batcave and meets Alfred, who tells him where to go… for the end of things.

The Ending

It is the ending, when everyone comes together, where the Whedon Cut and Snyder Cut perhaps most definitively diverge. It’s still technically the same ending: the five main members of the League show up in a nondescript Russian town to fight Parademons. Superman returns at a desperate moment and they all prevent the Mother Boxes from becoming one ungodly MacGuffin that would destroy Earth, knocking Steppenwolf on his CG ass.

Yet how these elements are incorporated, and where they leave the DC Extended Universe, are like on different planes of existence. From the top, the gore level (as with the Striker Island fight) is just more extreme in the Snyder Cut. Batman shoots Parademons with his Batmobile and then later uses the aliens’ own plasma guns against them; Wonder Woman beheads and cripples more computer generated baddies than all the armies of Gondor combined. Even Aquaman’s trident tastes blood.

There is also a much stronger sense of teamwork in the Snyder Cut. Batman’s suicide play of driving headlong into carnage makes more sense in this version as he crashes his plane into one of Steppenwolf’s magical machines, which brings down a force field and lets the team enter beneath the villain’s dome. And instead of Wonder Woman coming alone to Batman’s rescue, the whole team fights alongside his Batmobile for a freeze frame worthy of a splash page. It really is bizarre that Whedon, who was so good at these kinds of images in his Avengers movies, took this one out.

Once inside Steppenwolf’s evil lair, things are also far more exciting. There are no civilians (or randomly shoehorned in Russian family) to save. But there are enormous stakes as Cyborg has to stop the Boxes by merging with them. In the process, he enters his proverbial mind palace to face the three boxes in the flesh, as they’ve turned into literal witch crones. At first they appear as his dead parents, promising mom is ready to be reunited with her “broken boy,” but it’s a ruse that torments Victor to an even greater degree.

Meanwhile Steppenwolf has opened a Boom Tube portal to Apokolips where Darkseid, DeSaad, and Granny Goodness are waiting to take over Earth and claim the Anti-Life Equation. It was always “save the world” stakes in both versions, but you actually feel them in the Snyder Cut, particularly since… the heroes fail.

In a development that maybe would’ve left a Flash solo movie with nowhere to go, Darkseid and Steppenwolf briefly win, the three Mother Boxes merging despite Cyborg’s best efforts. The world instantly begins being ripped apart by a CG blur which presumably will turn Earth into a hellscape. The Flash, who is further afield from the action and bleeding from a gruesome wound in the side of his stomach, knows he has only one choice: to run backwards in time fast enough to reverse the flow of time.

It’s a trick that is expected to play heavily in DC Films’ upcoming Flashpoint inspired film, and Barry executes it here to undo the heroes’ defeat. Running into a seeming tornado of blue computer generated lightning, Barry undoes the damage and gives Cyborg a little more time, with Superman’s help, to stop the boxes from combining.

The action prevents the world’s end and allows Aquaman to skewer Steppenwolf like a fish on a hook. In the Whedon Cut, Steppenwolf is slashed by Wonder Woman and unsatisfyingly undone by becoming so fearful that he triggers his Parademons’ scent, and they eat him alive. Essentially, it’s a dippy retread of The Lion King where Scar is devoured by his own hyenas.

While certainly more bloodthirsty, there’s no denying there’s a satisfaction in Aquaman stabbing Steppenwolf, Superman punching him, and finally Wonder Woman beheading him. That is justice for her fallen Amazonian sisters.

Afterward, the whole direction of the DCEU still pivots toward darkness in Snyder’s vision. The Boom Tube to Apokolips stays open long enough for Steppenwolf’s head to return home. Darkseid crushes it beneath his foot. He also accepts that, for whatever reason, they cannot reach Earth through the Boom Tubes due to this defeat. “We will do things the old way,” Darkseid hisses. He summons the armada to head to Earth, setting up a very different future for the DCEU.

Epilogue

Continuing on the divergent paths between the Whedon and Snyder Cuts, the epilogue of the latter (complete with a title card) essentially presents the road not taken in the DCEU. Many of the elements we saw in the Whedon Cut remain, such as Bruce and Diana opening up Wayne Manor to become the headquarters for the Justice League by building a table “with room for more;” we also see Barry tell his incarcerated Dad he got a job at the Central City crime lab; and of course there’s Superman’s beloved shirt rip.

However, there’s so much more added on by Snyder. Some of it is very intriguing, such as Diana taking the arrow from her mother and looking out at the horizon of the Aegean Sea by the Temple of the Amazons. The implication is she’s begun yearning to return home. Could this have once been the plot thread of Wonder Woman 2? Could it still become the plot thread of Wonder Woman 3?

The most effective element is, again, Cyborg as he reconstructs his father’s broken audio recording and hears Silas’ love as a “father twice over.” It’s bittersweet Victor never got to verbally reconcile with his papa, but just saying, “You’re my father” might’ve been enough.

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Yet the epilogue ultimately becomes a teaser for what Snyder’s original vision for a Justice League trilogy might’ve looked like. In the Whedon Cut, the sequence of Lex Luthor on a yacht with Deathstroke (Joe Manganiello) comes as a post-credit sequence. In the Snyder Cut, it’s part of the body of the story. The build-up to Lex’s escape is longer, and once on the yacht he has no quippy joke about “forming a league of our own.” But he does tell Deathstroke that Batman’s secret identity is Bruce Wayne.

That captures Deathstroke’s attention and seems to set up potentially catastrophic events for Bruce’s future in Affleck’s now defunct The Batman movie. It also would appear to further set up the Legion of Doom Justice League sequel with Deathstroke and Luthor.

But that’s pittance compared to the far bigger stinger for the future. In one more “Knightmare,” and another vision of a future where Darkseid has turned Earth into a Mad Max apocalypse, we once more see Affleck’s Batman as a road warrior in a desert, this time with Amber Heard’s Mera, the Flash, Deathstroke, and Cyborg as his road trip buddies. Clearly Cyborg’s vision earlier in the film came to pass, with Mera swearing she’ll kill Darkseid in order to avenge Arthur.

The biggest bombshell here though is that this is where Jared Leto reprises his performance as the Joker. I wish I could say it was better than this grubby, grinning, awkward reshoot moment where he talks about giving the Batman a reach around. Bruce’s dialogue isn’t much better as he mumbles, “When I held Harley Quinn, and she was bleeding and dying, she begged me with her last breath that when I killed you—and make no mistake I will fucking kill you—that I do it slow.”

We’re a long way from Adam West, eh? The sequence ends with Evil Superman appearing with heat ray vision, coming to kill all of them. This clearly stands as a trailer for Justice League sequels that almost certainly will never be. It’s also a vision for the Justice League trilogy Snyder originally planned with Terrio that’s making its rounds across the internet. Part III was meant to be about Batman and the Flash in the ruins of a destroyed Earth traveling back in time so Batman could make sure that Lois Lane never died—sacrificing his life so Superman never turned to evil. Again.

I can’t say this scene adds a lot to this movie, any more than the final, final tease of Harry Lennix’s Martian Manhunter showing up one more random time to give Bruce Wayne a pat on the shoulder. He says your parents would be proud of you and that he wants to join his team. Affleck’s Bruce is strangely not perplexed by any of this and gives off a general “Cool story, bro” vibe.

Martian Manhunter travels into a future we will never see, setting up a sequel that has been abandoned. It’s a shame, but it is so brazenly, defiantly Snyder’s vision—and so far removed from the Whedon Cut’s goofy ending on Superman and Flash having a happy go lucky race to the Pacific—that one can at least give this to to the director: He did it his way. There’s something to be said about that.

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one-leaf-grimoire · 4 years

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“illusion”

Chapter 15

Hi! This chapter has some sad parts but MC finally stands up to a big threat. LMK what you think!

Warnings: none, this chapter is SFW

A03 LINK // SFW LINK

The true nature of my Illusion Magic is in the way that it effects the human brain. My magic can trigger responses within the mind of another, forcing their brain to release the hormones and electric signals necessary to conjure up what I want them to perceive. Images, sounds, feelings... but one spell does this better than any other; the spell I have only cast once before.

Fear Landscape.

This spell targets a single region of the brain, the amygdala. Stress hormones are released in a massive stampede, causing pupil dilation, heart rate increase, and restriction of breathing. All of these things compound upon each other until the body shuts down.

The first time I used it was an accident. We were on a mission in the woods, and were almost done, when a massive wolf appeared out of nowhere. The spell manifested in that moment, probably triggered by my own fear. I don't remember it very well, since I blacked out in a similar fashion to today, into a warm, golden sleep. But according to Alice, the wolf collapsed into a whimpering pile, giving us enough time to escape.

I never really thought about what happened to that wolf. I wonder if it died, just like the dozen or so men that were unlucky enough to be around me today.

But now, lying silently in a hospital bed while the nurses checked up on me for the fifteenth time tonight, I have plenty of time to reflect.

I killed that man... the general. I killed all his men.

The nurses and doctor keep talking among themselves. From what I've gathered so far, the slime mold penetrated my body much farther than they thought at first, and kept proliferating even after the caster was dead. It'll take a while for me to heal completely.

It's been around three days since the attack- at least, I think it has been that long. My mind has been foggy and disoriented, so I can't be quite sure. My only reference for time is the light coming in through the curtains, and the three times per day that a meal is brought to me. I'm barely able to eat, but it could be worse.

After all... someone was hurt much worse than me that day.

The door creaks open once all the nurses are gone, and none other than Captain Hervey and his two vice captains come in. My gaze flickers up to Julius's face first, catching a glimpse of his worried expression. I quickly look to Hervey next. "Captain..."

I start to sit up, but Hervey raises his hand to pause the movement. "Stay still, you're injured enough as it is." He lets out a heavy sigh, his eyes narrowing for a moment. "How are you feeling?"

"As good as I can." I motion vaguely at my right arm, where green mold veins still linger under my skin. "The doctor said maybe two more days before my system gets flushed of this stuff."

"I see." Hervey nods a little. "It'll be good to have you back on your feet..."

I gulp nervously, scared to ask the next question.

"Captain... is Alice-"

"She's still in her coma."

I fall silent.

"The doctor doesn't think she's going to wake up."

... she's... not going to wake up?

"Like... not today? Or-"

"Not ever." The words come out sharply, freezing my heart.

I was told as soon as I was conscious enough to listen. The other Shining General was a powerful ice mage. He managed to trap Julius in Ice before making a break for it. Hervey took off in pursuit, but it was too late; The general ran into Alice's group, and in the fight...

"People don't recover from a frostbitten brain." Hervey muttered, a little callously. I'm too weak to even summon tears, but I feel every part of my soul being shredded apart.

Alice... you have to wake up... you have to.

"But I told you; My ice magic countered his. I killed that Bastard... both of us felled Generals in this battle. That's why I'm here today."

I look back up at Hervey as he walks to the side of my bed, producing what looks like a small plaque. "Captain, what's this for?"

"It's a special commendation from the Wizard King himself," Hervey explained, giving me a strained smile. "You've been promoted to Senior Magic Knight."

"Congratulations," Malota says, giving me a rare smile of her own from the other side of my bed. "You're basically at the top now."

"You've impressed all of us. Well done."

I look at the foot of my bed, where Julius still stands, and he gives me the same smile as the others. He's happy for me, I can tell, but that tenseness is easily explained; today feels like no time to celebrate, while Alice lies unresponsive in another room.

Impressed... congratulations...

The words feel bitter in my mind.

"I... I'm getting this now... because I murdered someone, right?"

My voice is numb, cold and emotionless. My head falls back onto my pillow, and I stare blankly up at the ceiling.

Hervey exchanges a glance with the other two before clearing his throat. "NO! Well, yeah... but don't think of it that way. You defeated an enemy of our Kingdom, and now he will never harm anyone again."

That general... his magic hurt. I remember how Giles writhed in pain, and how my mind snapped as he pushed me past my limit. But, I saw something in his eyes. He had a family... there were things in this world that he loved. But me... I can't love anything. Love was ruined for me, so I ruined it for all of them, too...

"I didn't even mean to do it." Slowly, my eyes flicker close. Maybe if I pretend to be asleep, they'll leave me alone. "I was trying to escape..."

"Our bodies do unexpected things when we think we're about to die."

Julius's voice pulls me out, and my eyes open again. I can't bring myself to move and look at him, but I'm listening... I'm listening.

Julius...

"You did what anyone else would have done... but you deserved this promotion before that, trust me."

Even from where I lay, I can hear the smile on his lips. This time, there is no tension.

How many people have you killed, Julius? You've been to battle far more than I have... and I've heard the stories of your terrifying power. That power scares me, too, but at the same time... I know it protects me.

If I had any less restraint, I would have reached out to him, begged him to take my hand, pleaded for him to stay. I don't care who sees, I don't care who disapproves, I just want him here with me, forever.

But there's just enough restraint within me to keep me still. After that awkward moment, Hervey leads the others out, leaving the plaque on my bedside table.

------------

It's not until later that night that the full gravity of the situation dawns on me. Alice, my closest and oldest friend, was going to die, and I could do nothing about it.

"You're in my group, right? So I'll protect you! No matter what. And you're going to protect me too!"

Alice said those words to Cecelia. She promised that she would live.

Alice... I'm sorry I ever doubted you. You're my friend, nothing less, and I know in my heart that you could never hurt me. As sure as the sun rises, as sure as it sets... you would have never betrayed me.

But why...

I roll over in the dark, my delirious mind breaking down as tears and wet sobs rip from my throat.

Why did I have to realize that after it's too late?!

I clutch a pillow tightly as I cry, holding onto it for dear life. And maybe it's just my imagination... but I feel it hug me back, warm and soft.

-----

When I wake up the next morning, there was no large pillow that I could have been curled up into. The side of the bed next to me is warm; at least, I think it is. But I can't see anyone there, and my fever makes the entire world burn.

Maybe that was just my imagination.

-----

"There you are! Oh, god-"

Two days later, I'm sitting up in bed, feeling good enough to eat. I look up from my soup to see the door open, and two very familiar older people come rushing towards me. I drop my spoon in surprise.

"Mom? Dad?"

Indeed, it's my parents, and a moment later they both tackle me in a hug that's definitely more rough than they should be giving me right now. I let out a hollow gasp as the air is knocked out of my lungs, but I quickly get over it and smile. "Hi... It's good to see you two."

I hug back, burying my face into their shoulders, and am suddenly overwhelmed with... nostalgia. Both of them pull back and start fawning over me, telling me how proud they are of me, and how worried they were before they could visit. It's bittersweet, and it takes everything I have in me to keep from bursting into tears.

All the pain and trouble I've gone through, I did it for them. For the hope that I could free them from the path they think they're trapped on. Marrying a Kira will give us status for life, but now that I'm a Senior Magic Knight, we don't need that status. By myself, I can support them, and then...

"Oh!" My mom's eyes suddenly lit up. "Look who insisted we bring him with us!"

"Huh? Who-"

I look around her shoulder, and my blood runs cold.

"Hey."

Lawrence Kira stands there in the doorway, not even the faint ghost of a smile upon his face.

My heart starts to pound.

He's here... oh god...

"Congrats on your promotion." He walks inside, and I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. "Looks like you got pretty hurt, though..." He comes to a stop at the foot of my bed, and I resist the urge to scoot back further. My grip on my mother's hand tightens slightly. "How long are you going to keep this up?"

Uh oh. I open my mouth, not sure what to say. He better not use this time to confront me... he's evil. I look over at my parents, who also start to look worried. In front of them, too! He knows that if he pressures me here, my parents will join them. They're looking forward to the wedding, and they don't want me to get hurt again... I start to panic. SHIT!

Finally, I manage to cobble together a response. Play dumb! "Um... well, they should let me out of bed tomorrow-"

"I'm not talking about that-" Lawrence snaps. "I'm talking about you playing Magic Knight for years and years. Face it, you're not cut out for this." He motions at my fading injuries. "You almost died, I don't want you to face something like that again before our wedding."

"He has a point, Darling," Dad pipes up innocently. "If you died... I don't know how I would go on living."

"I know, but I'm not going to die." I tighten my hold on my mother's hand again. She doesn't say anything, but I see something flicker in her eyes. I look back over at Lawrence, his stone cold grey eyes staring right into my soul. "Lawrence, I killed a General. A Diamond General. And I just got promoted. Do you think I'm weak or something?"

"Not weak..." He crosses his arms, and I see his cool exterior waver for a moment. "But you're not strong enough to avoid this type of injury... you Captain knows it too." His confidence returns, and he points at my plaque. "Have you ever heard of a pity promotion? It's not unusual for a weak magic knight to receive a big promotion right after they sustain a bad injury. It's supposed to convince you to leave, because you've done enough. And that's true for you."

I feel my heart sink. No, I've never heard of pity promotions before, but that adds up.

Am I... am I really that weak?

"I... I- er-"

"FILLER WORDS-" Lawrence snaps, shutting me up immediately. He calms himself after the momentary outburst. "Stop using filler words, remember?"

I nod, my hands shaking.

"Listen... you're not being disgraceful." Lawrence offers me a shallow smile, stepping forward. I feel my heart jolt again, like a deer cornered by a hunter. "But it's time to leave this path and become what you're meant to be..."

I... I can't... I have to... I-

"My wife-"

"No."

The word slips out, and Lawrence freezes. His eyes widen a little, somehow getting colder.

"What did you just say?"

Shit, shit, shit! My heart pounds, but it's too late to go back.

"I- I said no." I take a shuddering breath, ignoring my parents' shocked faces. "I don't want to marry you, Lawrence, and I'm not going to."

The words don't quite register for Lawrence, ricocheting around between his ears. But once they do, it's obvious. His cheeks start to redden, and his wide eyes crumple with rage.

"You... you can't just say no now! We've been engaged since I was ten!"

"Honey, what on earth are you thinking?" Both of my parents look scared. Their whole lives, they placed their entire future on this marriage, not considering any other way to protect us. But now, I've found another way.

Yes... through my own strength, I forged a path! With the help of Alice, I created a fate far different from what Lawrence tried to create for me. I won't let Alice's work go to waste! I found a life I can live with pride... and I found someone that I want to love with all my heart!

"I am a Magic Knight, Lawrence." I sit up, shaking off my parents' hands, and point accusingly at the man who's caused me so much pain over my entire life. "You are the lowest of the low. You forced me to do things I wasn't ready to do. You hurt me, and manipulated me- and I'm not going to just lay down and take it any more!"

My voice raises steadily in volume, and so does my courage. Somehow, a smile starts to grow on my lips, and I clench my fist as I say the words I've always wanted to say.

"For my family, and for my own pride, I reject you, Lawrence Kira-"

Just as I utter his name, I see something in his gaze snap.

Oh- God-

Instantly, mana caves in around him then shoots out at me. I don't have time to finish my sentence. Poisonous, thistly grey vines hit my throat, wrapping around it and blasting me backwards. My parents both scream, and I hit the wall above the bedframe with a resounding CRACK. My mouth opens with a silent scream, the thistles pricking my skin and drawing blood. My back hurts, my legs kick helplessly, and my fingers claw uselessly at the tight chords that choke the life out of me. But at the same time...

That's it Lawrence. Show the world what a monster you really are.

"YOU WENCH!" he basically gargles, still overcome with indignancy and rage. A vein starts to pop out of his temple. "Do you think I'm going to just let you leave? After all the work I put into you?! YOU'RE NOTHING BUT AN UNGRATEFUL SOW WITHOUT ME!"

The thistles tighten, and I start to taste blood too.

More... more... show me more of your hate!

Lawrence looks unhinged as he clenches his fist, controlling his magic. "So... I'm going to teach you a lesson... and then you're coming right back to the castle WITH ME-"

He's cut off suddenly. I crack open an eye to see both of my parents on their feet, hands and Grimoires up. Both are already forming magic in their hands, Eye magic and Memory Magic, and both are targeted at the prince. Lawrence's eyes widen. "What- What do you think you're doing-"

"Let go of her." My dad's voice is deadly soft. Both of them aren't freaking out, but I can hear the urge to tear into Lawrence in his words. "Now."

"I don't care if you're a prince. You don't touch her ever again." My mother's voice holds the same quiet threat.

Lawrence opens and closes his mouth a few times, and I feel his thistles weaken slightly. All I can do is hold my breath and stay still as the edges of my vision start to blur.

yes... both of them stood up for me... Mom, dad, I promise this wasn't a mistake!

"If you defy me... your status will mean nothing. Society will ostracize you," Lawrence threatens. "Are you really going to throw everything I gave you away?"

"Status means nothing, now that we know what you really are like," my dad's voice starts to waver. "Let her go before I show you what I'm really like."

After one more tense moment, the thistles disappear. I let out a deep gasp before collapsing back down onto my bed, a trembling mess. My parents immediately retract their magic and rush to my side. "I-I'm fine-" I wheeze, sitting up with their help.

Lawrence still looks mad, but that calculated coolness in his eyes returns.

"You... you'll regret this."

Without another word, Lawrence turns dramatically and storms off, slamming the door behind him.

The nurses are called back in, fixing up the wounds on my neck. They aren't deep, but Lawrence's Thistle Magic leaves millions of microscopic wounds. It hurts like a bitch, too.

But the whole time, up until my parents leave, only one thought circles through my mind.

I did it...

I'm free.

#illusion #fic #julius novachrono x reader #black clov

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sereisstuff · 5 years

Text

ｗａｔｅｒｓｐｉｒｉｔ

merman!jungkook x chubby reader

summary of the tale - jungkook was the son of Poseidon and you were a mortal what more was to come when you were saved by him, friendship?. or will this end in a tragic tale of war between love and law.

genres - romance, friendship, comedy and angst (further on)

part 2 / part 3 to be continued...

The tender sound of the water crashing against the sand soothing your intense battle of mind, occurrences of the past slowly easing from your image, embracing the intense energy of the moon that controlled the tides as the gentle beach breeze brushed through your locks, carefully dragging in a long sigh, tilting your head back to relax the rising tension in your shoulders with eyes closed tuning in with the sound, the endless battle of sand and the ocean.

How soft the ocean could make you feel, the intense feeling of being free from the caged you fought to unlock all your life. the profound scenes you would imagine in any moment given time, cliches being played out when you would no longer cage your imagination.

The stars blanketing the sky blessing you with an unnoticed smile, a genuine smile.

Tides coming in and out against the reflection of the moon emitting a light that could comfort you through thick and thin, you flicked a piece of water splashing its substance across the oceans blanket a chuckle leaving your reddened lips as you constantly bit at them anxiously.

You gripped the edges of the wharf staring out into the distant, searching for another constellation to steal your attention away as you admired the intense warmth of the sky and all its gifts, but your train of thoughts halted when a tug came at your ankle, thinking it was all in your head you ignored the feeling.

But when it happened again you grew mortified with the possibilities of what could possibly be tugging at you right now, watching enough horror movies to make you suspicious of anything “don’t look do-” your sentence was cut short when you were forced under the tide with the fearful giggles of children.

You couldn’t scream under the odorless liquid, the water covering your vision making you fear for what’s to come, hands wrapped around your ankles pulling you further and further into the deep of the ocean tossing and turning to regain the anchor of life within yourself.

Swallowing water seizing your endless screams, you gazed down lifelessly. the bright tint of blue scales was the last thing you pictured before crossing the line of death, sinking further into the next realm.

Amidst you sinking the mythical children released your feet, their advanced ears catching on to the low vibration of their prince, fear-stricken they fled the scene leaving you surrounded by the dark seas with your arms reaching out to salvation, hair messily straddling the current.

You were ripped from your place as the male who gripped your waist swam as fast as he could to reach the air before your lung com busted with over fulfillment of saltwater, a judgment he felt had no place in his mind but a raging feeling of familiarity enticed him to rescue you if he could.

“oh, please don’t be dead!!” he panicked, shoving past the wharf to let you rest against the wood supporting you, his Finn restricting him from crossing any further from his world to yours, using his abilities to release the water in your lungs fingers tensed to help strengthen his power.

Once he saw you move his eyes widened watching your back arch up as you coughed out numerous amounts of water, a hand residing on your chest to calm the racing pump of your heart, Jungkook let his wet strands cover his forehead, glittering skin shining under the moonlight with desires drawing forth from his mind.

“Hello” he greeted kindly, his presence shocking you hence the scream exiting your purple dawned lips, quivering in fear despite knowing he saved you “w-who are you??” you muttered nervously shaking from the light breeze nipping at your skin.

But he saw this as an opportunity an opening to a world where he wasn’t known for his status within the kingdom but as an average being a commoner if he could define his dreams, as the half-blood son of Poseidon he wanted nothing more than to be known for himself, not his father and definitely not his mother.

“I’m jungkook” he smiled, reaching out for your hand as he placed all his weight on the support of his arms resting them against the wharf, you breathed in a shaky breath crawling closer to his gills “Y/n” you replied in a monotone shaking his wet hand in your own replying with a stretched smile.

“Sorry for back there, those little shits love messing with mortals” he chuckled at the memory, in all honesty, this isn’t the first time he witnessed those children doing that but it was the first time he decided to act upon it for a mortal a love that was forbidden he couldn’t help but admire your humanity wishing for more of that for himself, yes he was able to grow legs but that was only for times of need.

“M-mortals” you repeat inching away from him, but as the guilt began to build up his doe eyes pulled you back in, tinting themselves with sadness when you removed your presence from his reach “yeah, you’re a mortal, mortal meaning human as you can tell I’m obviously far from that” he joked turning his eyes into crescents helping you to warm up to him.

“Your a mermaid then” you implied analyzing his tail, hints of turquoise and pink ombre through his scales with a large finn swaying beneath the water “a what” he barked back with a frown, confused as to what that meant “you know half fish half human or at least in your case similar to a human” he nodded in understanding whispering under his breath “ah, so that’s the word”

You tilted your head waiting for him to continue “ we’re usually referred to as water spirits, so mermaid is new” he admitted gazing into your hues with delight “thanks” you said slicing the silence with a gesture of thanks, he did indeed save you and saying thanks was the least you could do “no problem, you were just my damsel in distress” you rolled your eyes at his subtle joke.

“My knight in shining armor” you replied back as you both settled in fits of laughter “oh, how cliche of you”

Jungkook splashed some water your way making you tense your way in the most unattractive way ever “you did not just splash me in the face” you growled playfully, crawling to the edge of the wharf, jungkook swimming away from your threat with a smug smirk dangling from his lips “I’m gonna get you back I swear you just wait” you shouted, splashing him in endless groups of water.

Which didn’t even make him flinch causing you to think about the logic of that “You mortals are so clueless you know that” he sighed swimming back up at you “it’s nearly sunrise, you should get going” he questioned sadly, you patted his damp locks with a reassuring smile?

“I’ll be back” you reassured him waiting for that bunny smile to make it’s way up onto his lips again “really!!” he clapped his hands in excitement, bewildered by his reaction you sat your plump body onto your knees “of course, from this day onwards I y/n will always accompany you Jungkook after sunrise at this time and place” you declared waiting for him to shake your hand in return.

For a second he hesitated, was this his truest desire to have a mortal friend or were the tales true and the friendship between a mortal and a water spirit forbidden “okay, deal” he punished those thoughts beginning a friendship of which he imagined to be one filled with purity and joy.

“But wait, here have this” he lowered his hand into the water forming something before gifting you with a necklace “my gift to you” you gasped in surprise towards the luxurious item, how was he able to do that in such short time, and last time you checked mermaids didn’t have pockets “I’m so sorry I can’t give you anything” you muttered apologetically, resting the necklace on your chest, admiring it for its unique beauty.

“It’s alright this will just seal the deal” jungkook glanced at you with a warm gaze, watching a light within your eyes he unknowingly fell for, you bent down to his gaze puckering your lips to place an innocent kiss on his cherub cheek “deal, sealed” you finished.

Standing on your feet “I’ll see you again...jungkook”

He wished for time to speed up to see you once again under the gaze of the moon “you too y/n” and with that he watched you walk away from him, mind racing with thoughts of you, his first mortal friend who will finally treat him like an average being and that’s all he wanted.

#jeon jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook X #jungkook x reader #jungkook scenarios #jeon jungkook x chubby reader #jeon jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x oc #bts scenarios #bts reactions #jungkook reaction #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook fanfic

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undoundue · 4 years

Text

a season in hellsite - chapter 1

chapter 1. in which horatio and bacchus play chess

now the tale tells that darkness gave way to light, or else light filled a space where light had not recently been. the issue is theologically contentious, and at the time no one could be sure.

the light played an important role in the events that were to come. first it hit bacchus’s eyes. then it hit horatio’s eyes. then it hit bacchus’s eyes again, then it hit horatio’s eyes again, and this process repeated several thousand times in the next few seconds, until the light took a break.

the light did not hit the same spot each time, because of angles. it hit a narrow circle very well, and then a wider circle less well, and then an even wider circle far worse than that, because light is by nature a specialist.

now individually, these halos were not exciting, though everyone had his or her preference: but the width of the aureoles varied intriguingly, unlike the areas the light had not touched, which were all the same shade of black. so the boys ascended their subjectivities, refracting the light from their convex lenses as it bustled to describe the scene.

we may morbidly wonder how horatio and bacchus felt in this moment as the red sun dawned and with it their damnation. however, it took them a minute to realize what they were looking at, and in the interim they did not have interiority, so we cannot truthfully comment upon their thoughts or feelings, though we can surmise that in a certain qualialess way they too felt the soul-crushing dread of existential freedom—this being the onus upon all souls who wander the afterlife accurst, unguided by the voice of instinct that, after all, is only borrowed from God.

but what the tale says with confidence is this: one day horatio and bacchus looked up and noticed that they were in hell. neither of them remembered how they had gotten there, but neither of them were surprised.

“—,” horatio said, and he moved as if to speak, but then he saw bacchus starting to speak, so he stopped.

“—,” bacchus said, and then stopped for similar reasons.

“—,” horatio said, starting up again, but then he saw horatio starting up again, so he stopped, and then bacchus stopped as well.

“your move,” bacchus said.

“sorry, i was developing interiority,” horatio said.

“it’s ok,” bacchus said.

“yeah it’s okay,” horatio said: and he played 1. e4.

now when it was bacchus’s turn he did not blithely reach for 1…e5, nor the sicilian. oh no. instead he conjured two quartz goblets and poured in blood-red wine.

horatio said, “where did you get the wine?”

bacchus said, “i can infinitely generate wine, it’s one of my god powers.”

(note at this juncture that bacchus is class DYING-AND-RISING GOD, level 1, while horatio is class GEOMETRICA FRAUDULENTUS, level 1.)

“what the fuck,” horatio said.

“yeah, it owns,” bacchus said. “except it doesn’t really affect me because my blood is like 30% GABA at baseline? but it’s cool at weddings and such.”

so they drank. and bacchus made like he was going to move 1…e5, but instead he just grazed it and said “j’adoube.” horatio gave him a look.

and bacchus said, in a voice of ambiguous irony: “if i did move that piece, we would be much akin to those frozen center pawns: stuck in the zugzwang of existential freedom.”

“and also we can only capture on our diagonals,” horatio said.

“yeah,” bacchus said, “or, i don’t know, man. i suspect it's my history of epub piracy—that, or sometimes i've said something that sounded like it was nice, but by adhering too close to the letter of the law, i was actually deconstructing that niceness, mocking it, and God knew. that, or it was a sin of omission. that, or—and here's what's most likely—every decision i’ve ever made has been five degrees off-course. i trusted my instincts, and my instincts were good, but then i ran into the error margin, and unfortunately, i was too consistent, too kantian, too tragically good, perhaps, which—and i’m not trying to exculpate myself here, because if i did something wrong i would be the first to admit it—which could happen to anyone.”

now bacchus drank. and he stood and dusted the knees of his toga, and looked up at the heavens, and down at the earth, as if the two had been briefly confused.

“look,” horatio said sagely.

“yeah?” bacchus said.

“in the field of anthropology, it has been found that nearly every system of morality prohibits acute angles,” horatio said.

“yeah?” said bacchus.

horatio said: “so i suspect i went wrong in a similar way.”

now horatio took a drink. and from whence he was prone, he rolled supine, and felt the wind move over him: west, then east, then west, then east, a little weaker with each breath, folding in on itself like a blanket.

“also, my only charitable cause was wikipedia,” horatio said.

“same, of course,” bacchus said.

“dude, seriously,” horatio said, “it’s your move.”

but bacchus did not want to move. and so a long time passed in which they were kind of bored and did not know what to do. every few days one of them would feel the urge to eat or sleep, and so they would do

that, though the summoned pad thai got samey after a while and sleep was a time-skip without rest or even a recuperative panel of black, and their ghostly eidolons didn’t have to eat or sleep or perform any other bodily function for that matter, but it was a distraction. even so, now and then they looked up and noticed they were in hell: and neither of them were surprised.

“okay,” horatio finally said, “do you want to play a chess variant?”

so they played:

courier chess (german chess)

fortress chess (russian chess)

xiangqi (chinese)

jangqi (korean)

scottish chess (white moves once, then black moves twice, then white moves three times, and so on)

senterej (ethiopan; both sides start playing at the same time and make as many moves as they like until the first capture)

shatranj (persian)

shatar (mongolian; in which the king cannot castle, and the knight cannot deliver mate),

and then they briefly played connect 4. they thought about but did not play scrabble. they played checkers. and then they played:

turkish checkers

canadian checkers,

and then they dropped canadian checkers like so many rules and played go: go was fun, but lacked a certain je ne sais quoi; they switched to blue-red hackenbush. then they played chess. they played:

shogi (japanese chess), including but not limited to: micro-shogi, whale shogi (pieces with variant movesets, named after whales), tori shogi (birds), hasami shogi, trishogi, hexshogi, masonic shogi, space shogi (nine 9x9 shogi boards stacked vertically), and taikyoku shogi (402 pieces of 209 types on a 36x36 board)

atomic chess, kamikaze chess, avalanche chess, dunsany’s chess, and hexagonal chess (variants: brusky’s, de vasa’s, mccooey’s, shafran’s, gliński’s);

meanwhile bacchus kept them amped on high-tannin wine—tossing aside used goblets and summoning new ones—it was a cantrip that cost him not a soul point (SP), the class equivalent to horatio’s knack for summoning abstract games.

"do you think tannins are funny?" bacchus asked shyly. then, hearing his voice and finding it mellifluous, he became bold: “yeah…i'm thinking tannins are funny.”

“tannins are kinda funny, yeah,” horatio said.

name prime numbers (basically, they competed at naming large prime numbers, but eventually horatio named the biggest one and they had to stop)

but they felt like they were running out of steam. so they played all the games listed above, but as drinking games, wherein every time one spotted a pattern one had to take a drink. as a consequence of this behavior they became quite drunk.

“i don't know…….” bacchus said dysarthrically, “i feel like i messed up….…”

“what is this! i thought you didn’t get drunk!” horatio exclaimed.

“no!…i said, wine didn’t affect me,” bacchus countered, “but my ebriety [vocab word] can still be perpetuated by the endogenous, xanax-like molecule that floats in my ichor, i.e. the blood of the gods…!"

bacchus tripped and then caught himself. he smiled at gravity with the warm antagonism one holds for a cartoon villain, then turned his 18 charisma on horatio. but horatio, whose alignment was lawful neutral, was unimpressed.

“well, you did mess up,” horatio said, “you’re in hell.”

“yeah, but i don’t think i should have to feel guilty on top of that,” bacchus said, “guilt is un-dionysian! it’s bluepilled!”

“okay, so then don’t,” horatio said.

“okay,” bacchus said, “then i won’t!”

“okay!” horatio said.

“okay!” bacchus said.

they both felt better after this interaction. soon bacchus was puking into an ink-black river.

"yeah, i'm feeling it," bacchus said.

"you're feeling it?" horatio said.

"yeah, i'm feeling this is dionysian as fuck," bacchus said.

now the river was utterly opaque to light, so one would expect it to have the consistency of tar, but the boys were surprised to observe that to the touch it was thin as water. so they went uphill and upstream to a slow-moving pool and rinsed their hands and splashed their faces and hair. in the pool, dark nymphs with sporty swimsuits swam until they became silly with paresthesias; and the satyrs leapt in chortling menacingly like hoo hoo hoo and ho ho ho and the nymphs would giggle with elusive allusive illusive knowledge, and within a few minutes both had forgotten lifetimes, staring at each other like babies in a warm and curious fog.

by the time the boys had looked up from the river that did not show their image, they had forgotten most of the engrams their souls had contained.

“word,” bacchus said; though this should have come earlier.

“yo,” horatio said, “i’m pretty drunk.”

“yeah,” bacchus started to say, but for some reason he stopped and instead stared blankly.

“yeah,” horatio thought about saying; but he was too tired, so instead he stared blankly too.

the next one hundred years were spent in a hangover.

some of the games they played during the hangover include:

moving their hip flexors

moving their knee extensors

moving the plantar-flexing muscles of the feet

moving their hip extensors (meta-breaking)

moving their knee flexors

moving the dorsi-flexing muscles of their feet

by this point their enthusiasm for the lower extremities had dimmed—horatio bored when he had solved the path to the game’s solution, bacchus discouraged when the flapping of the map recalled to him the territory—and the psoas and quadratus lumborum muscles were given only a cursory trial.

their attention moved superior (we are skipping over the reflex arcs and smooth muscle contractions that took place automatically, such as laughter, sneezing, and vasodilation, though the boys became skilled at those too) as the boys practiced other forms of iterated narrowing choice: the brash trapezius giving way to the stoic biceps, the careful flexors, the presumptuous precision of fingers and thumb closing three pixels away from the yearned-for dimensionless point. they considered past encounters with such discrepancy: ah yes, these were the angles who ached to lose themselves in intersection. three pixels. electricity clenched efference on no choice at all.

“we could play chess,” horatio attempted to say.

but he had forgotten how to speak. horatio gestured with his hand (though not in a way that was interesting or original or which had semantic meaning) and briefly he felt good (due to dopamine) because he had moved (which felt like an accomplishment) but soon he stopped moving (and the dopamine faded) and then he was still.

“uhn,” bacchus said.

to explain these profound deficits is difficult. we must note that, in addition to the known amnestic effects of alcohol and the river lethe, their circadian rhythms were off. managing the boar-driven chariot that drew the sun across the sky was not a highly-sought position: the black sun rose during the day, and the red sun rose at night; but the red sun did not rise every night, and though the black sun was more timely it was directionally impaired: rising in the south and setting in the north, rising in the northwest and setting in the northeast, or rising in the north and taking a strange zig-zag pattern to the south and back—possibly an attempt to draw a “cool S”. we can also say with confidence that the grayish vapors disseminated from the cracked obsidian of the forsaken earth did not have a salubrious effect. finally, we must note that the boys’ amnesia could have resulted from the omnipresent rule of demonic soul magic, in which what is attended to becomes real, and what is not attended to, does not.

now at this time horatio and bacchus girded themselves with determination, even though it caused them sadness, and tried to recall language. it started with a sharp inspiration and then a slow expiration, “ooooooo”; which got a laugh, and with pursed lips they varied the number of oo’s for a while before settling upon 6 to 8 as the optimal (i.e. funniest) range. then they widened the distance between their lateral commissures to make eeeeee, and they dropped their mandibles and flattened their tongues to make aaaaaah, and these too were amusing, if admittedly juvenile in the way of all unperturbed air. hence the consonants: one would lead off with a gggggggg and the other would breathe the metronome of expectation and listen to gggggggggggggggggggggggg continuing past all semantic purpose until with some internal wrenching of sockets this noise would give way to eeeeee, and they would laugh.

various orderings of consonants and vowels were tried as the sophistication of their humor increased. now with words they recalled meanings, and with meanings they became capable of irony, and shortly thereafter they were back to their old ways.

“1…e5,” bacchus said.

“holy shit,” horatio said.

and so the boys continued to game systematically, but not as systematically as they once had; and they continued to drink, but sometimes in moderation.

“do you think there's a psychological typology of chess openings?" bacchus asked, “like, certain types of people prefer certain openings, to clarify?”

“yes,” horatio said.

“yeah, i think so too,” bacchus said.

2. Bc4 Nc6

3. Qh5 Nf6??

4. Qxf7#

now by this time horatio fundamentally understood bacchus, and bacchus fundamentally understood horatio, but not in the way that allowed them to make predictions about individual actions, so they kept being surprised. for it was evident that the light that limned them had exhausted innumerable other options before settling upon this one, because the scene had purpose and harmonious proportion. and even though the light vacillated across moments of perception, in each moment, it seemed that it could be no other way.

“yeah man,” horatio eventually said, “my take is, you can be in a bad place, and still make a good thing of it.”

horatio tilted the white queen and rolled her base across the fatal square.

“in fact, maybe it's better to have a good time in a bad place, on your own terms, than to be in a good place, conditional upon doing what you’re told,” he said.

“well,” bacchus said, spinning the board, “maybe.”

and with a desultory sweep, horatio brought pawns and knights errant to the frontier of their steady-state, while bacchus, kneeling, with three arcs of divine manumission lifted pawn, queen, and bishop directly to their native squares.

chapter 1 - END

#a season in hellsite #ash #horatio #bacchus #chess

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awkwardplantwrites · 5 years

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Finding Magic: Chapter Two

Find the chapter on wattpad here

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That night, Renato had a dream. In the fields surrounding the town of Llantry he saw a rocky hill. On that hill stood a crumbling tower that wasn't attached to any castle. The sky was dark and overcast, with rumbles of thunder banging on the clouds. A brisk wind pushed Renato in the direction of the tower.

He noticed someone sitting at the top, on the edge of the battlement merlons, swinging their legs with no fear of the great height. Renato walked to the tower. Rocks stabbed him through his leather shoes and grazed his hands with its sharp edges when he pulled himself up the hill.

The tower's entrance was a large wooden door with ornate decorations. It was wide open and Renato walked through. There was no room, only a stone staircase; it spiralled within the tower and he couldn't see where it led. Slime from the walls covered his hands when he touched it.

"Aw gross!" Renato wiped his hands on his shirt and continued walking. Eventually he saw the malevolent light of sky, then he was at the top of the tower. The figure turned out to be Pepi. Pepi turned round to face him.

"Why are you wearing a crown?"

"I- I am?" Renato felt atop his head and there sat a golden crown which he took off and examined. Carved onto it was an image of a knight fighting a dragon, and next to it, a healer touching the forehead of a person who knelt before them. "I think it has pictures of me. That's odd, it's showing me face without the glamour spells."

The crown became heavier and Renato buckled under its weight, nearly dropping it. Pepi jumped down from the ledge and rushed over.

"Are you alright? Let me help-"

At the same moment Pepi touched the crown, lightning struck the tower. The building blew up in flames and the floor shook beneath them. They lost their footing and tumbled off the edge. Renato braced himself for the face-first drop onto the rocky hill. But he landed back on the top of the tower.

"What?! Why am I- I was just falling, how…" Renato looked around to see the tower was no longer worn and crumbling. It was as if it had somehow restored to a brand new building.

Above them the sky turned blue, which continued without end. Renato saw Pepi again - who now wore a red cloak - he didn't seem to remember falling seconds before. With one hand he held a globe, in the other hand, two long branches. Pepi and Renato gazed upon the scenery. It was no longer Llantry's fields, but a lush meadow next to a massive lake and mountains with snowy peaks. A smile reached Pepi's lips. He glanced at Renato, bekoning him to come over, then handed one of the branches to him.

"Look down there." Pepi pointed at the bank of the lake below.

An angel with large crimson wings wore a long white robe that reached their feet, one foot was in the water, the other on the grassy bank. They poured water from a goblet into another goblet. Raising their hands, they held up the goblets as if making a toast. The goblets disappeared and the angel flew up, somehow still floating even when their wings vanished. Renato quickly averted his eyes when their robe morphed into a scarf of liliac fabric. The angel flew towards them, taking the branches out their hands.

"Watch this, I'm going to do something amazing." The angel hit them on the head with the branches.

"Ow!" Renato rubbed his head. "What was that for?!"

"Are you wanting to fight, huh? Square go!" Pepi threw the globe at the angel.

Dodging the globe, the angel apologized. "Sorry, oh gosh, I'm so sorry. I forgot to change them."

The branches shrunk and transformed into two white drumsticks. "It's my first time delivering a dream, please don't tell my boss." The angel tapped them on the head with the sticks.

Renato woke up. He sat up in bed, peering into the darkness. Across the room, Pepi slept in his chair, guarding the bedchamber door as usual.

Renato lay down again. "What was I dreaming about? I can't remember. That's so annoying." He drifted off to sleep.

At dawn, Pepi woke Renato as he tidied something up. Then Pepi left the bedchamber for an hour, saying that he had something to do. Renato didn't really care. His bed was warm. He didn't want to move. Pepi's stupid face irritated him. He didn't know why, and not knowing why made him even more irritable.

When Pepi returned, he helped Renato get dressed (despite the knight complaining like a child not wanting to take a bath). Later in the morning, Pepi gathered the knights in the manor's courtyard and informed them of Renato's magic loss. A few knights began fidgeting and adjusting their armour, failing to mask their panic.

"I know of a man who can help him. In fact, this person can help everyone in Llantry. His name is Danov and he lives on the Isle of Adhar, where I'm from. It's off the North-West coast of Costia. But it's a long journey. Two or three weeks, even if you go by horse. Though I'd suggest taking a wagon, since you don't know if Renato could start feeling worse and become unable to ride."

Ladwef, a knight with a nasal voice and who constantly looked like he was sneering, cleared his throat. "Ahem, you know of him? Have you actually met this healer? He's not a myth is he?"

"Uh no, my relatives know him." Pepi combed fingers through his hair. "They've met him personally. It'll be fine. But I can't go. Someone else will have to take Renato to Adhar-"

"What?" Ladwef squawked. "That doesn't make sense. You're the only one who knows of this healer so you should be the one to track him down."

Pepi spoke through gritted teeth. "I would be a liability. I might not seem like it, but I'm not doing too well either. And before you ask, I'm not sharing those issues. Now. Does anyone know how to read a map?"

Another knight called out. "Don't be daft! You travelled down here so you know the way back. And if your family are the ones who know him, I don't reckon they'd be friendly to one of us."

"Hey, my family is full of nice, friendly people! Although Tammy's a different story, she'd make you pay a large sum. But the rest of them would always help someone in need," Pepi insisted, and surveyed the knights. His shoulders slumped. He crossed his arms, looking down at his feet with a grimace. "I'm the only one who can travel with Renato, huh..? I barely even remember how I got here."

Renato raised his hand. "I don't want to go."

"Hush, oh brave knight." Pepi pulled Renato's hand down. "We need you to get your magic back as quick as possible. And to represent the people. Show the healer how serious this is. He can examine you or whatever."

"You shut up." Reanto huffed. "This healer… he's not going to slice me up to do that examining is he?"

"Only when you die on the way there, I promise." Pepi patted Renato's shoulder. "That’s why I’m bringing the wagon. I suppose we best start packing."

In Renato's bedchamber, Pepi organised items and put them into bags like he was arranging puzzle pieces. Renato had opted to gaze at his reflection in his pocket mirror, poking at his acne. There was some sort of burning itch of irritation he couldn't shake off. If he opened his mouth he'd start a fight with Pepi.

But when Pepi held a white sphere the size of a child's fist that lifted off his hand, and started to fly around his shoulders, Renato blurted "What's that?"

"Oh, this?" Pepi rubbed the sphere with his index finger. It leaned (or flew?) into his touch. "It's a floating dragon egg. Just joking, it's a crystal ball made of Calcite. I got this from the diviner who lives right outside South Gate. She says it can detect animosity and danger."

The ball flew towards Renato then began pulsing with red light. It quickly flew back behind Pepi, looking over his shoulder. "Well. Since you're the danger, I suppose I'll have to defeat you." Pepi held a dagger like a sword and aimed it at Renato.

Renato crossed his arms. "Stop it. if you go anywhere near me with that daggar I'll stab you with it.”

“What’s wrong with you today? Yesterday you couldn’t care less about being killed by a dragon and now you’re being mean to me,” Pepi pouted.

“I don't know why I'm mad. It’s the illness,” Renato sighed. “I’m sorry. Anyway, why did you see the diviner? She doesn't use real magic, she's a con. She told me I’d “meet the spirits of water” then I fell in a puddle the next day."

Pausing, Pepi glanced at the white ball. "I had a weird dream last night. One of the knights is her nephew, he told me about her a while back. She was helpful, I think. A bit vague though. I would've been much more stubborn about going on this journey if I hadn't seen her."

"Why? What did she say?"

"Stuff about symbolism. She told me the things I dreamt of represented new beginnings, a partnership, travelling, maintaining balance, broadening my horizons, and finding peace."

"Yeah, crap like that means nothing," Renato scoffed. "She asks questions so she can pretend-"

"She didn't ask me anything. Apart from how the dream made me feel. It made me feel peaceful, it did. You were there, y'know. And it was a vivid dream. Maybe seeing you was a representation of God in my head, since you talk about Lidion a lot. Or it could've been a message from him. Did you have any dreams last night?"

"No. I don't remember anything." A spark of envy tickled Renato's stomach.

Surely Lidion hadn't… really unchosen him. There was no way he'd replace Renato with Pepi, right? Lidion had chosen Renato to be his father's successor as head knight, and it couldn't be revoked just like that. Right?

"That's too bad," Pepi replied. "If you're not going to help me pack, go outside and get the wagon ready."

"Ugh, fine! Anything to get away from your stupid face!" Renato stormed out the bedchamber.

Renato made his way to his mother's house to say goodbye, kicking the ground with his foot the entire way. He didn't get to see her often since he'd moved into the manor. Renato defended the town during the day and have healing sessions in the evening. If there was nothing to fight, he'd spend more time healing. If there was no-one to heal or fight, he'd be improving the town's defences or giving speeches at the temple. But now he couldn't do either of those. And because of that he wouldn't get to see her for yet another month.

His mother never had anymore children. She earned a living from making and mending clothes, even though she lived amoungst the gentry, and refused to have servants. His father had been head knight, but he’d died last year. Renato worried about his mother, given she had known his father better than he did and lost the man she loved, but she never lost that spark of hope in her eyes.

"Mam? I'm ho- Uh, I came to see you." Renato opened her door, scanning the room. An empty laundry basket sat in the corner. He nearly left to check outside, but then he saw her on the bed. "Are you sleeping?"

She stared at the ceiling. Her eyes, full of despair, slowly drifted over Renato's face. "It's been a whole season since I saw your face. Or anyone's face. No-one talks these days, not even to themselves."

Her voice trembled and tears fell down her cheeks. "No-one wants me to make their clothes. There's no-one to buy food from. I really wish your dad was here. He'd bring their souls back to these people just by saying a few words."

Renato's previous irritation faded. "I'm sorry mam, everyone's just… not feeling themselves lately. That's why I'm here, I wanted to tell you I'm leaving Llantry to find a cure," He told her, leaving out the fact that he was as ill as everyone else.

"Pepi knows someone who can help. You remember him, the man who sang at the top of his lungs to promote his sweets when he came into town, and gave all the kids a sugar rush." He held her hand. "And while we're gone I need you to stay strong. You'd make dad proud."

Her eyes remained misty but she smiled. "Thank you, darling. Come home soon. I'll be waiting for you with that apple pie you love so much, even if I have to loot ingredients from the Lord's pantry."

Renato kissed her cheek and said goodbye. He marched back to the wagon waiting by the North gate, seething with fury. How dare this illness make his mother feel so lonely. How dare she and all these people be forced to suffer. Renato passed by Dempster, the knight from Lord Paule's gatehouse.

"In my bedchamber, inside the desk drawers, you'll find three defense spells held in bottles," Renato told him. "Smash them on the ground, but only use them when things get dire. They'll last an hour each. For the rest of the time," He placed his hands on Dempster's shoulders, staring into his eyes.

"I'm counting on you and the other knights to prevent anything getting inside these walls, magic or no magic." Without waiting for a reply, Renato climbed into the back of the wagon and shoved the bags aside.

A man, held back by knights, shouted at Renato from the crowd, "Why weren't you making your healing rounds last night? I’ve got a sore stomach, I had diarrhea all night!" A few others joined in, complaining about their illnesses and the lack of healers.

"We'll be back before you know it," Pepi called out from the jockey box. "Complain to the noblemen in the meantime, though. Renato can't help you yet, I'm sorry."

Renato stared at the crowd through the wagon’s rear. Lidion, why didn’t you protect us from this illness? He thought. Nobody answered his prayer.

The gates opened and they rode out of Llantry. Renato had never left Llantry; this would be the furthest he'd ever travelled. He watched as the town's walls grew smaller the further they travelled, until it was replaced by grasslands.

At this point, Pepi started a conversation with the crystal ball that flew around him. The ball pulsed a faint yellow light.

"Can I give you a name?" In front of Pepi's face, the ball dipped up and down, which seemed to mean "yes".

"Can I call you Kezia?" The ball flew left to right, "no". "Russell?" Another no.

"Ok, I'm not the best at giving names. Try again. Uh… how about Finlay? It means "white warrior"."

The ball slowly floated in a figure eight, then motioned "yes".

"Great! Hello Finlay, welcome to the team. So far we have me; a candy delivery boy, turned over-worked squire. And Renato; a helpless wee baby inside the body of a twenty-three year old man. We're off to a great start."

"Why are you talking to that ball? It doesn't have ears." Renato grumbled. "I'm not a baby."

"Oh, hello Grumpy! You were so quiet back there I thought I'd left you back in Llantry." Pepi chuckled. "Finlay moves when I speak. It moves up and down for yes, and side to side for no. Plus it changes colours depending on how I feel, so I reckon Finlay can hear me just fine. Isn't that right?" Finlay motioned yes.

Pepi continued to chat with Finlay. "I wasn't born with magic. I couldn't make my own candy like the rest of my family, so I got stuck being a delivery boy. Walking through all kinds of weather, having people yell that my prices were too high, or that it made their kid too energetic. It really sucked, I tell you!" Finlay rubbed against Pepi's cheek as it pulsated a faint red light.

Renato groaned and slumped against the wagon bed. This was going to be a long journey.

"I do like the song my dad wrote to advertise the candy, that's always my favourite part. I usually put my name in the song. It makes more sense that way. Do you want to hear it?" Pepi cleared his throat then began singing.

"Ally, bally, ally bally bee ! Sitting on yer mammy’s knee, greeting for a wee bawbee, to buy some Pepi’s candy. Renato, sing with me!" Pepi called over his shoulder. "There was a wee lassie awfy thin, a bundle of bones wrapped up in skin, now she’s getting a wee double chin, with eating Pepi’s candy…"

A very, long, arduous journey.

#writeblr #wip #original writing #writing #writblr #fantasy #fm tag #finding magic #awkwardplantwrites #reblogs > likes

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sunnydaleherald · 6 years

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The Sunnydale Herald - Monday, February 11th

Cordy: "So, sorry about the dying, but if you try to escape - we *will* hit you." Wesley: "On the head." Cordy: "With very large and heavy objects. Okay?"

~~The Trial~~

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

Feast of the Dead (Angel/Buffy/Spike, T) by cornerofmadness

Fanfic Whinging (Spike/Angel, M) by Hello_Spikey

if i could give you the world (T) by HellmouthHeartthrob

Glitter Sores (Buffy/Angel, T) by butimbroken

[Chaptered Fiction]

The Only Good Vampire Chapter 29 (Spike/Angel, M) by Evilida

Tales From a New Body Chapter 32 (Buffy/Spike, E) by OffYourBird

Loving Buffy Complete (Willow/Buffy, E) by SlayerOfSunnydale

Forward Without Seeing Chapter 153 (Buffy/Spike, M) by queen_insane

Faith’s Dark Knight Chapter 18 (Batman crossover, E) by Peanutbuttertoast

I Was Your Girl (In the World That Never Was) Chapter 6 (Willow/Buffy, M) by ScienceOfficerWillowRosenberg

this cold heart never bleeds Chapter 8 (Sherlock crossover, E) by Mentalguerilla

Unprecedented Chapter 7 (Giles/OC, M) by mattthedungeonbat

B's Butt Bitch Chapter 3 (Faith/Buffy, E) by MTL17

Imperfections Chapter 63 (Jenny/Giles, T) by The_Eclectic_Bookworm

Buffy the Vampire slayer REIMAGINED Chapter 15 (K) by Stuart Reinke-williams

Special Delivery Chapter 9 (Buffy/Spike, NC17) by Behind Blue Eyes

Skipping the Stone Chapter 16 (Buffy/Spike, R) by sandy_s

The Odd Couple Chapter 1 (NR) by ILLYRIAN

[Images, Audio & Video]

Icons: Three of a Kind: - Icons (Spike/Various) by blondebitz

Artwork: Sarah Michelle Gellar pencil drawings (SFW) by ladysummers

[Reviews & Recaps]

Rewatching Buffy 1x12 by soullessgingersociopath

PODCAST: S05E22 - The Remix - The Gift by Pop Culture Role Call

PODCAST: After Life/That Old Gang of Mine by Once More With Commentary

PODCAST: When She Was Bad by Buffy the Vampire Straya

PODCAST: My Life Closed Twice by anaross by The Sunnydale Fanfic Club

[Recs]

When Unmixy Things Become Very Mixy by angelus2hot by petzipellepingo

[Fandom Discussions]

Dawn’s Age (aka Incompetent Monks) by stalwartsandall

Tara and Willow for the ask meme and Fuffy by daisys-quake

Dawn Summers Character Analysis by myfandomrambles

Keep the plot, change the character by nightshade

Spike or Angel

Stuff on Buffy that doesn't hold up now by BtVS fan

A couple questions about Angel (AtS) by lnoland

Dolly Parton’s production company Sandollar Entertainment had a hand in producing BtVS by theblankpages

First time post here, just finished my first watch through of Buffy! by Plaidhanger

Buffy’s Basement by nofourthwall

Anyone else want to see inside the real-life Buffy house? by howtheeffdidigethere

Buffy and Joyce talk- one of my favorite scenes by ericdp5122

Love how no one is ever affected by the deaths at school, not even for a day by ChanelBuffy

Who would win: Gwendolyn Post or Sunday? by AmericanTouch

Which comic storylines would of worked in the shows? by JoshJul

Do you Americans talk like Buffy? by LePalrizo

Why I watch Buffy by noncarcinogenic

Still so much hate for Riley! I think he was necessary for Buff. by xandslay

Angel Season 1 by Samof94

Episode 105 (S5 E17): Underneath

Episode 106 (S5 E18): Origin

[Articles, Interviews, and Other News]

PODCAST: Felicia Day Previews Voyage to the Stars by Sci Fi Fidelity Podcast

PUBLICATION: James Marsters to Attend Lexington Comic & Toy Con March 22-24 by dontkillspike

PUBLICATION: Body Swap Sex and Issues Of Consent In Alias, Buffy, Fringe, and Orphan Black at Syfy Wire

PUBLICATION: What Are You Reading This Month? by The A.V. Club

#buffy the vampire slayer #btvs #angel the series #buffy fanfic

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fgodestinyawakenings · 6 years

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FGO Destiny Awakenings: Fuyuki Singularity Section 8

Emiya pointing to the Caster: Look at this idiot with you. Emiya pointing to the left: Now imagine this idiot being a Lancer. Emiya: The point of this explanation is to show you that regardless which form they are summoned, they are both idiotic dogs. But the difference is that they are both different kind of Servants. Ritsuka & Ritsuko: *nods* I understand... Caster Cu: *vein marks popping* You're really an itching for a fight, are you?!

The Dark Cave

“Stars, cosmos, gods, animus…”

Inside a cave, Olga Marie squatted down and planted small pieces of rock in the heart of the glowing magic circle. After deemed that Mash had adequate training, they made their move into the cave leading to the grail.

Decided they required a 10-minute break before pushing on, Olga Marie cast spells for their own defense at their enemies. The siblings and Mash sat on the ground with Romani’s voice guiding them.

The Director wrote another symbol on another piece of rock she took while chanting.

“Hollow, void, anima, Animusphere…”

Once the symbol glowed and went into the rock, she continued the renewed process. Caster manifested behind her and his head peered over at the magic circle. “You’re working hard.”

“Better than nothing, right?” Olga Marie answered without glancing at him.

“Hmm,” Hummed himself with a smile, Caster casually picked up a few of the rock pieces into his hand.

Spun her head upwards, Olga Marie glared. “Hey, don’t touch without permission!”

As Olga Marie stood up to retrieve her rocks back, the Fujimaru siblings stared at the data presented on Ritsuka’s projected holographic image from his wristwatch. Romani’s voice ended. “And, that’s how you can find the Servants origin list and Noble Phantasm.”

“I see,” Ritsuka nodded as he used his finger to scroll through the information. He paused for a moment to pinch the bridge of his nose from a headache before continuing. “A defensive-type of skill and Noble Phantasm…”

“This is the data that have collected from Caster’s training,” Romani explained. “Even though her agility is weak with the heavy shield, Mash can carry on with her Rank A endurance at any attacks hurled at her.”

“Her mana strength is great too,” Ritsuko pointed at the Rank B MP bar on the image. “You say she’s able to cast her skills quite well, no?”

“Yes, but it’ll take a moment before she could use it again normally,” Romani added.

Her violet orb examined at both, Mash tilted her head. “Senpai, did my training with Caster improve?”

Ritsuka’s orbs focused on the subject matter under the Noble Phantasm heading and murmured, “So, when it unleashed… It nullified any attacks thrown at her, including Noble Phantasm.

“Also…”

“Senpai?”

“Y-Yeah?” Ritsuka moved his head and spotted that Mash still awaited for her answer.

“After what the Doctor said, analyzed and what we’ve seen,” Ritsuka tilt his head to her and grinned. “You definitely did, Mash.”

“You improve a lot when we first arrived here,” Ritsuko raised thumbs-up from her hand and grinned too. “Good work, Mash-chan!”

Mash’s face lit up with a happy beam and bowed. “Yes, thank you very much, Senpais. I’ll work harder to make both of you proud!”

“Just don’t push yourself too hard, okay?” Ritsuko went over to Mash and patted her shoulders.

Eventually, Caster and Olga Marie moved over and the siblings stood up as they approached. Caster then said once they reached close to them. “The Greater Grail is back here. It’s a little further back, so stick close.”

With an agreed nod, the four followed Caster from behind deeply into the cave.

-0-

The natural dark cavern shape caught Mash’s attention as they continued walking. She shifted to the front and pointed out. “This place looks like a natural cave… Did this always exist in Fuyuki City?”

“Probably, it’s half-natural, half man-made.

“It’s the underground workshop expanded by mages over several years.”

Olga Marie explained.

She suddenly changed her gaze towards Caster. “Anyway, Caster. I forgot to ask you something important.”

Seeing that one of his red orbs glanced at her, the Director went on. “Do you know Saber’s True Name? It sounded like you’d fought several times.”

“Yes, I notice it,” Caster nodded and his lips set into a straight and thin line. “Anyone who gets hit by Saber’s Noble Phantasm will find out that bastard’s True Name…. The other Servants were all defeated because Saber’s Noble Phantasm was that powerful.”

“A powerful Noble Phantasm, is it? What was it like?” Mash prodded.

“The sister sword of the Sword in the Stone. It’s the most famous sacred sword in your time. Its name…”

Before Caster could reply finished, an unfamiliar masculine voice interrupted him.

“The Sword of Promised Victory, Excalibur. Wielded by King Arthur, the proud King of Knights.”

Fou stood up on Mash’s shoulders and growled at the figure before them. Ritsuko’s orange orbs widened at the surprise of the strange intruder before them. Ritsuka stood in front of his sister and wondered, “An enemy Servant?!”

Before them at the exit of an open field in the tunnel, a mysterious man stood in the middle. It was a youthful man in his mid-twenties with a muscular build. He had short white hair, gray eyes, and tanned skin color.

He put on a black body armor, which comprised a black tight and a sleeveless shirt. And black pants that had two black straps on his thighs, and another two strapped around his shins separate from each other. The said man also wore black metal plated shoes, which appear tied to his trousers.

“Archer!” Olga Marie deduced the identity of the enemy Servant.

Caster expressed a peeved look and glared at Archer. “Ah, speak of the devil. Or shall I say, the faithful follower? As always, I see you’re still the loyal knight.”

“Hmph, I don’t remember becoming a follower of anybody,” Archer replied. His hand manifested a black metallic bow and continued. “I’m just here to chase away unwanted visitors.”

“In other words, you’re the gatekeeper,” Caster stated. His staff raised and pointed at Archer while continued. “I don’t know why you’re protecting Saber, but let’s end this here. Isn’t a game that never ends boring? For better or worse, we need to move the pieces forward.”

“From the way you talk, I think you understand the circumstances. Yet you are still absorbed by your own desires,” Archer’s hand manifested a blade and converted a drill-shaped arrow.

He lifted and drew it back with his bow. “You still haven’t changed despite being a mage now. In that case, I will knock some sense into you.”

“Ha, big talk for a mere Archer,” Caster scoffed. One of his red orbs shifted to Mash and warned. “Hey, why are you standing there, young lady? He’s an Archer. Without your shield, I won’t have the time to cast my spells.”

“Ah… R-Right!” Mash shook up after pulling her attention back to the reality from their bantering. She stood beside Caster with her shield armed. “Sorry, I was out for a second there. But no problem, I can do this. For guarding, leave it to me!”

Gray orbs narrowed, Archer pulled back the bowstring and fired the projectile towards the two Masters. Before it was a quarter of its course towards them, Caster chanted. “Eihwaz!”

Flames came from the tip of the projectile and ignited into fires.

Archer remained unfazed and summoned another sword into his right hand.

As he placed the sword-turned-drill-shaped arrow, Caster grinned at him, “What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you don’t have the confidence to take two Servants on?”

Swiped his hand swiftly across in the air, a line of runic words emerged and launched out fireballs towards Archer. Flying towards him, Archer gritted his teeth, “Tch!”

The fireballs collided with him and exploded with thick black smoke covering their area. But as the blast of wind blew the smoke elsewhere, Archer jumped out from the smoke and discharged another shot to Caster. Mash intercepted by moving to Caster’s front and intercepted it with her shield.

Caster raised and spun his staff before tapping it onto the ground, “Ansuz!”

A runic word appeared beneath the staff on the ground. It glowed crimson as a burst of flame flared up and glided towards Archer. But, Archer leaped up into the air much to Caster’s chagrin.

With another drill-shaped arrow attached to the bowstring, Archer pulled it back and exclaimed. “You’re wide open!”

“Young lady!” Caster’s red orbs glanced to the violet-haired Servant.

“Right!” Mash again stood before Caster and raised her shield against the streaming energy bolt.

Caster twirled his staff and tapped it on the ground. “Beroc!”

Tree roots erupted from the ground and ascended towards Archer. It slammed Archer against the rocky cliff, receiving a painful groan from the enemy Servant. Despite the bruises, Archer raised its bow with his projectile and shot at them.

Caster shot a startled expression before pushing Mash to where her two Master stood. Ritsuko caught hold of her, “Mash-chan!”

The four now stared at a large blue bolt of energy heading towards them. As fear showed on their faces, Caster now showed a confident smirk at Archer. Soon, Ritsuka heard Caster’s voice in his head. “Look away, kid!”

The raven-haired gave a brief confused expression at Caster before shouting and turning his head away. “Everyone, close your eyes now!”

“U-Understood, Ritsuka!” Ritsuko replied with confusion mixed in her tone while closing her eyes.

Mash nodded and shut her eyes too while Olga Marie closed her eyes and lifted her hands to shield away whatever that’s coming in front.

Noticed at the sudden awkward movement before him, Archer shot a wary expression before realization dawned upon him. With the smirk remained, Caster shouted while his staff traced the ground behind him in a crescent formation. “Here we go, grand-scale! Ath nGabla!”

With a loud tapping from his hand that slammed the ground, three runes appeared behind him and glowed in a brilliant bluish light. Multiple magical circles appeared on the ground in front of him and the sides around him and Archer.

With a sword manifested, Archer slashed away the tree roots and leaped up to escape. But, he got knocked down to the ground with a powerful impact by the rune above in the air behind him.

Another painful groan emitted from his lips, Archer slowly pulled up and threw an accusing expression at Caster. “You put Runes in the air!”

“Yeah, my mentor had a spell that summoned the Gate of the Underworld. I ripped her off, basically. It won’t do any good to shoot each other at long-distance,” Caster twirled his staff and maintained in a position like holding a spear and declared. “From here, let’s go all out and do our usual fight between you and me!”

“From a Caster class?” A pair of black and white swords manifested in Archer’s hands and he smirked back at him. “Maybe you’ve become smarter than usual.”

“Heh!” Shot a grin back at Archer, Caster charged forward as Archer raised his sword readied. Once in front, Caster retorted before swinging his staff high. “One’s cleverness and tastes are two different things!”

Archer swung one of his swords forward to block. The other raised and whirled towards Caster. Caster tilted his head aside but the sharp blade of the sword slashed across his face with a small laceration.

Letting out an irritated grunt, Caster shouted. “Tch! Eihwaz!”

The wooden staff set aflame by his command. Archer jumped out of the hole at once before Caster swung the burning staff at him. The blue-haired leaped out too and his staff at Archer.

Moved his arm to swing and deflect the blazing staff, Archer grunted from the scorching pain he got on his arm when the Caster moved his staff. In revenge, the Archer knocked the staff away and swung his blade down.

Another bleeding cut made on Caster’s face, earning an irritated growl from him. Burning flames from the staff and sparks from the blades exchanged against each other. Burnt marks and cut wounds appeared as the further they waved their weapons.

“Anything about that Archer?” Ritsuko turned her eyes aside from them to her brother.

Ritsuka among the four had his mind focused a while on the projected holographic screen. He shook his head while his blue orbs moving left to right at the data he’s reading. “Definitely nothing about that guy, Ritsuko. There’s nothing about an Archer who could dual-wield and use a bow too.”

“E-Eh?! Then, what is he?!” Ritsuko gasped.

“Who knows, But…” Ritsuka replied off-handedly while his hand motioning to scroll through the data.

Ritsuko gulped with her eyebrows furrowed, “Caster is still hanging on. That Archer too even when they are about the same state as each other…”

Turned her view to the front, Caster swung his blazing staff quickly and smacked the black sword away into the air. The enemy Servant looked at his empty hand and grunted, “Tch!”

He turned his head high and saw Caster leaped up into the air and whirled his staff down. The impact from the swing produced a puff of smoke that absorbed them into it. It soon blew off revealing Archer using his remaining weapon to intercept.

Ritsuka had darted up to view before shifting back to the screen and murmured to himself. “There should be something else for the Noble Phantasm other than protecting when it hits us…”

Nevertheless, his blue orbs widened as Caster’s earlier words evoked in his mind. “Without your shield, I won’t have the time to cast my spells.”

An idea brightened up his mind as he scrolled back and paused a certain part of the information. “Unless–!”

“Game over. I think you’ve gotten rusty,” Caster taunted, pressing his staff down against the blade.

Archer narrowed his orbs and quipped with a smirk. “You’ve come this far, and you’re worried about someone else.”

Followed his gray orbs, Caster’s red orbs glanced behind and recognized the white sword he knocked away spinning in the air towards them. As it zoomed towards them like a boomerang, into a glowing blue energy.

Ritsuko followed and whirled around to spot the sword. “Director!”

“Kya!” Olga Marie turned and dashed from the spot she stood.

Ritsuka had realized it too and ordered, “Mash, deploy your Noble Phantasm now!

Ritsuko stared at her brother in disbelief. “But, isn’t it–!”

“True Name, Pseudo Register. I can do this!” Mash nodded and rushed to the spot Olga Marie stood.

Though as Caster turned around ready to deflect the energy bolt, he didn’t look the growing smirk on Archer’s lips. Mash raised her shield high in the air and recited, “Deploying Noble Phantasm! Lord Chaldeas!”

With a powerful slam onto the ground, a white magic circle constructed in the air above with green light showering to them and Caster. The blue bolt clashed with the magic circle and the power surrounding sword disappeared after it swerved away.

Ritsuka stared the white magic circle faded away and sighed in relief. “What a way to verify this analyzed data of her Noble Phantasm…”

Olga Marie rose and scowled at Ritsuka. “Hey, you wasted Mash’s mana for a small attack like this!”

“Hold on Director! I have a good reason to do so–!”

Before Ritsuka could explain finished, Archer’s smug voice stopped them. “It looks like this is the end.”

Swung their attention to Ritsuka’s back, Archer now holding Caster with one blade pointing at his neck and the other at his gut from behind. The earlier diversion of the sword had Archer retrieved back into his hand. Ritsuka’s blue orbs widened and exclaimed, “Caster!”

“So, It’s a trap after all!” Ritsuko glared at the Archer along with Mash who shared the same wary gaze at the enemy Servant.

“Hmph,” Caster, but, offered an unconcerned expression and stared at Mash’s shield. “What do you think? Will that shield resist the sword? Or will that sword pierce the shield?”

Puzzled expressions shot at Caster while Archer hummed for a minute before responding. “A long time ago, I heard something like that.”

“Yeah? And, what was the answer?” Caster asked.

Archer replied without a beat, “The answer was ‘a paradox.’

“Only a contradiction is produced.”

Caster snorted and snickered, “Hah, I don’t know about that. I always think the same thing about that story. If both things are equal, then isn’t it all down to the skill of those wielding them? Or let me put it another way.

“If you’re losing because of the weapon’s performance,” Lifted one of his hand up with a piece of rock, Caster continued. “Then it’s humans that compensate with wisdom, yes?”

He flipped the rock into Archer’s view and it exploded into an intense light before detonating. Olga Marie noticed and shouted accusingly. “Hey, that’s one of mine!”

Caster elbowed into Archer’s rib cage as the latter being paralyzed by the bright light and released himself. But, before he could move further, the noise of stabbing rang in everybody’s ears. Despite being blinded, Archer went to stab both his swords into Caster’s back.

“Caster!” Ritsuko’s shocked voice yelled as Mash and Olga Marie gasped at the sight before them.

Ritsuka paled and inhaled in fear while Archer produced a triumphant smirk to the predicted outcome. But instead, Caster’s proud voice spoke instead. “You did a good job, kid. Witty of you to draw the young lady’s Noble Phantasm out.”

“Huh?” Before he realized it, Archer found both of his arms entangled by the tree root growing out from Caster’s back. Struggled to tear away, his movement gave him to catch a familiar magic circle glowing in the green light. “That’s from the Servant’s Noble Phantasm earlier…!”

The memory of the earlier unleashed of Mash’s Noble Phantasm dawned upon him. Despite his sword thrust inwards, the green magic circle prevented it from plunging into the body. The body of Caster turned to a wooden statue, and he emerged out completely unharmed.

Caster leaped aside and proclaimed with a loud snarl. “Don’t underestimate the Sage of the Forest!”

As the Caster wooden statue transformed into an intense light, Archer pulled his arm with all his energy and leaped away before it exploded. He touched down on a safe spot and studied his surroundings for that blue-haired Servant.

“Sorry. This is all new to me,” Caster landed on a tree branch behind Archer. As the white-haired Servant turned around, Caster twirled and pointed his staff as it glowed crimson.

A flame circle ignited and encircled Archer and a familiar large wooden hand that the four recognized grabbed hold of Archer into its grip. While it soared high from the flaming circle, Archer tried to move his arms to break open the wooden hand. “Guuh!”

The wooden hand then slammed onto the ground with an enormous puff of smoke as it diffuses away. It dissolved in golden light revealed critically wounded Archer on the ground.

The white-haired Servant shot a glare at Caster who tossed the Olga Marie’s pieces of rock in his hand. “I guess it’s better than nothing at all.”

As he scoffed weakly, Archer glanced over at Ritsuka and congratulated with a proud grin. “Well done, Mages of Flowers’s Apprentice-Master! Who knew her Noble Phantasm could be used that way!”

Ritsuko expressed a bewildered look and shot to her brother. “Mages of Flower?”

“I’m just as confused as you, sis,” Ritsuka rubbed his chin to contemplate.

As Archer disappeared in golden light, Caster yelled at him. “Hey, it’s time for you to take a hike! The young lady and I will take down the Sacred Sword!”

Once Archer disappeared, Mash heaved a sigh of satisfaction and shifted to Caster. “I’m glad you trust me, but do you think I can guard against it?”

Her brows furrowed and the violet-haired Servant continued, “I’ve heard about the Sword of King Arthur. My fingers are trembling, it seems too much for me…”

“Well, you’ll just have to overcome it with courage,” Caster answered in a forthright tone. He turned to Mash and reassured her. “But from where I stand, you seem to be perfect for the job.

“That shield will never shatter, if you were to lose, it would be because the young lady messed it up. If you let go of that shield, your two Masters behind it will evaporate instantly. Listen, don’t think about beating the Sword. All you need to think about is to protect your Master. That’s right up your alley, no?”

From her nod, the Caster showed a pleasant grin to her. “Well, anyway. Leave it to me to finish off Saber and just do what you need to do.”

A period of silence later, Mash finally nodded and smiled back, “Right. That advice will be great of help.”

Olga Marie’s body lax as she breathed a sigh, “Before we do that, let’s rest up ahead. I’m tired. And, I’d like you to return what was mine!”

“Right,” Mash nodded and followed Caster whom ignored the annoyed Director going after him.

As Ritsuko followed too, Ritsuka followed behind as well while pondering. “Mages of Flowers… I didn’t become no one’s apprentice. Wait, unless it’s that guy–!”

But as he picked another step forward, a giddy spell strike him and caused him nearly tripped over nothing. Ritsuko spun around to see what had happened, but Ritsuka quickly reassured. “I’m okay, just trip over a rock.”

Watched her sister nodded at him, she turned back and proceeded walking. Ritsuka looked at his Command Seal and assumed to himself. “There’s nobody other than him who offered that role, to begin with. But, only one way to find out his identity and confirm is to hear it from King Arthur himself.”

With another deep breath, he continued walking again before picking up his pace to catch up with them.

End of Section 8

#fgo #fate grand order #fgo destiny awakenings

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saidelia-draconis · 6 years

Note

💚- A memory that makes them feel guilty

“Once you leave with me, you know there’s no turning back, right, kid?”

“Yes, Sir Dominicus. I’m ready.”

“Very well. Get your bags packed, say your goodbyes, and meet me at the inn. You have two hours.”

The young girl shivered as she plodded along the path of the rustic seaside village. The words kept echoing in her mind. “No going back,” she thought. She didn’t have much to lose, but the creeping sense of dread that came with the unknown still persisted in her mind. With that creeping sense of dread, she strode down the path that she had gone down a hundred times before.

Soon enough, the acrid taste of salt in the air and the squawking of gulls heralded a view of the ocean. She stopped for a few moments, gazing out over its endless reach. A sight she was unlikely to behold again any time soon. One day, perhaps, she could sail the seas. As she marched to the door she had been headed towards, she took a deep breath, bucking up as she knocked on the door. One… Two… Three… Silence. Just as she had time to regret her decision, the door opened, and a disheveled woman stared down at her. Her hair was frazzled, and the apron she wore was stained with what looked to be fish entrails. Once the older woman recognized the girl, she knelt down, a smile gracing her features.

“Saidelia! What can I do for you, sweetheart?”

“Uhm. Is Jonah there? I need to talk to him.”

“No, dear, I’m afraid he’s out on the dinghy with his father. I’m just prepping tomorrow morning’s stock. Come in!”

The stench of the sea’s bounty was more pungent in the house than usual. As the girl awkwardly wandered into the house, she could understand why. She nearly tripped over a bucket of chum that the woman was emptying the fresh fish into. Easing herself into the seat she normally took, she watched the woman work with her cleaver and carving knife. The heads were removed and slid into another bucket, then the bellies were opened. She stopped looking after that.

“How are you, love? Francis and Jonah should be back in a half-hour or so. I’m glad you could get out of… helping your father early.”

There was a hint of derision in her tone. She was only too familiar with Oreyn’s level of dysfunction. The girl sat silently, staring down at her hands. It was more than obvious that she had big news that was about to break. The mother seemed to sense it with her particular brand of intuition, stopping with her fat blade resting on the chopping block. She dropped her task, taking to the girl’s side. The girl who she had always viewed as the daughter she never had. She took the girl’s hand in her slimy grasp, kneeling as she gazed up at her.

“Saidelia? What’s wrong? Something seems to be bothering you. Did something happen? I hope you know you can tell me.”

“I… I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.”

“Please, dear. At least try to tell me. Is something wrong with your father? Did you have another… ‘accident’ in the stables?”

“I– No. Not that. I just. I have to leave.”

“Where are you going?”

“You know that caravan? The Argent Dawn one that came to the inn? There was this man who talked to me. His name is Sir Dominicus. He says he needs me to be a squire for him. He says that he wants to make me a knight.”

The woman stopped. She squeezed the girl’s hands gently before pulling back. When the woman made for the girl again, it was to wrap her arms around the child, pulling her in for a tight, yet oddly soothing embrace. The contact was welcome. Even if the smell of fish seared her nostrils. The world seemed to melt away as the girl savored the final moment with the mother she never had.

“I understand. You’re worried what we might think about you leaving. I don’t want to sound cruel, but I think it’s for the best you went with this Sir Dominicus. At least stay, and have one last dinner with us. Who knows? Maybe you’ll come back to town at some point.”

“I… I’m sorry Mrs. Pyrde. I can’t. I have to leave soon, and I gotta get all my stuff packed.”

“Oh… Alright.”

The woman’s tone was crestfallen. Nevertheless, she pulled back to regard the girl with a warm, caring smile.

“You’d better get packing, then. If you can’t make it back to see Jonah and Francis, I’ll tell them where you went. I can’t say how proud I am of you for doing this. Just remember, if you’re ever back in Southshore, you’ll always have a home with us. We love you.”

“I love you too, Mrs. Pyrde.”

A kiss on the forehead and a tearful goodbye was all the girl needed before she was ready to depart. The last thing she needed was to gather her things and leave. She started to jog her way through the town square to the flat that she and her father shared. By the time she had gotten to where she needed to be, the familiar wheeze in her breathing had returned. She could feel the burning pain as she gasped for air. Just one more reminder that she was doing what she knew was right.

Inside the apartment was a ruin. Various bottles, or amounts of uneaten food lying about. Some of it was beginning to mold, or even rot. She could hear the familiar snoring thundering out of her father’s room. She knew better than to wake him. She made hardly a sound as she scurried to her room. What little she had could be crammed into an old duffel. Cracked leather, and faded white and blue. Her father’s old kit from his days as a Lordaeron guard. A pang of guilt surged through her as she repurposed the bag. No doubt he wouldn’t even notice.

As she made her way out to the living room, the mantle caught her eye. Dusty, and weathered were the armaments that she gazed upon. They were older than her and even older than the man who had used them before her. Her grandfather’s sword and shield. Though the crest had changed, the rest remained a relic of the first war. She had gazed longingly at them for hours for as long as she could remember. Now, she had a choice to make. In the end, she forsook her better judgment. She eased the coffee table as close to the fireplace as she could. The grinding of wood on stone and the clattering of bottles was all that she could hear. Her knees shook. Her palms began to sweat. She could only think of the recompense for trying to steal the family heirlooms before running away from home. She climbed up onto the table, gingerly nudging a bottle filled with a nefarious brown liquid out of her way. It was a dance of stealth and strength to pry the bulwark off of the wall. She had never imagined it would be so heavy. It seemed almost as big as her now that it was actually in her hands. When she finally pulled it loose from its mounting, it jostled the blade. The weapon fell from the mantle, clattering down onto the table and knocking bottles to the floor. The sound of shattering glass rang in her ears. She clutched her chest in horror.

“Who in the fuck is that?!”

She had done it now. All she could hope to do was flee the scene unscathed. She lept from the table with surprising agility, her plundered goods in tow. She came barreling out of the door, a full-on sprint through the town. She didn’t dare look back. Cruising on adrenaline and hear, the woman charged forward. As the inn loomed in sight, she could see the image of the raven-haired man standing out front with his caravan packed and ready to go. She was a few yards away from him when she felt a staggering force against her back, sending her toppling to the ground. As she rolled over, she could see the man standing over her, his eyes bloodshot, and full of rage, unsteady on his feet. As he drew up like a snake, a fist raised, he bellowed at her.

“You little cunt! I’m gonna make you wish you were never born! I’ll fucking kill you!”

The girl closed her eyes, waiting for the blow to land. Instead, she heard the rustle of plate, the sound of a blow landing, and a heavy thud. When she finally dared to open her eyes, she could see the man who she had always seen as a juggernaut on the ground, whimpering as he clutched a bleeding temple. The knight stood over him, his eyes burning with fury. When he spoke, his voice was barely contained by his clear ire.

“You’re going to hit a child, you drunken sack of shit?!”

His plate boot broadsided the man’s ribs. He mewled weakly as the knight interjected himself between the man and his daughter. He spat on the man.

“Get up. Now.”

The plaintive stablehand crawled up onto his knees, large, fearful eyes set on the black-haired knight. The Crusader remained calm as he could in the circumstance. He grabbed a handful of the man’s stained shirt, pulling him up until their faces were inches apart.

“If I ever see you so much as look at the girl again, I’ll skin you from eyes to ankles, do I make myself clear? She’s keeping the weapons, and you get to live. Get the fuck out of my sight.”

The Draconis was thrown a few feet away by the collar of his shirt. He half-crawled, half-ran from the inn, either to find a healer or a bottle to numb the pain and the sting of humiliation. The knight stood tall, stooping briefly to pull his charge up from the dirt, brushing her off.

“You sure know how to make a first impression, kid. Get your shit to the cart quickly. We’ve got a long journey ahead of us. And we’ll be having a conversation about you lifting your old man’s weapons. Understood?”

“Yes, sir. Understood.”

#Asks #Backstory #Prompts #Writing

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roni-westbrook · 7 years

Text

She’s A Bad Mama Jama Part 3 (Steve Harrington x OC)

Here’s part 3! Hope you all enjoy!! It’s another long one!

Part One Part 2 Part Four

“What do you mean you’re going to hang out with Steve Harrington tonight,” Lucas asked as Val drove him home from school. She glanced down at her cousin before looking back out to the open road. It felt weird to just be able to drive. There was hardly any traffic lights and even the stop signs were few and far between. She did admit that was one plus to this town. She could just cruise and not be in stop and go traffic till the break of dawn.

“We’re working on English Homework. That’s completely different from ‘hanging out’,” Val replied, exasperated at her cousin. She didn’t know why she felt like she had to defend herself in the first place.

“Homework, hanging out, whatever you want to call it. It’s still weird that you’re doing it with Steve Harrington of all people,” Lucas replied. Val sighed, a wave of exhaustion hitting her.

“I don’t get why this is such a big deal! We have class together, we’re working on homework for that class because we sit next to each other and he’s the first person that tried to be my friend. What’s the problem here,” she asked him, her hands clenching and unclenching the wheel as she waited for his answer.

“Because he’s the most popular guy in this town. All the girls want him and all the guys want to be him. And he’s a grade A asshole. He bullied Jonathan Byers and had called Nancy Wheeler a slut when they had first gotten together. There was a huge fight between him and Jonathan at one point too,” Lucas told her. She took a deep breath as she absorbed his words. The image her little cousin painted didn’t match the boy she had met today, but she knew better than anyone that people aren’t always what they seemed.

“Is it not possible that he’s changed? Or haven’t you’ve done or said things that would make you seem like an asshole even though your closest friends and family know you’re not. People put on facade’s all the time to protect themselves,” Val asked him, her brow arching as she watched him digest her words. She always felt surprised when she looked at Lucas. In some ways, he’s grown up so much but then in others, he shows how much of a kid he still is.

“You’re right I guess,” he finally conceded, but his tone told her that he wasn’t happy about it, “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I know,” Val said before placing an arm around his neck to bring his cheek close to her, “You know I love you kid.�� She placed a big wet kiss on his cheek, laughing at the way he pretended to squirm away from her. She gave him another kiss before releasing him, laughing at the way he wiped the area she kissed.

“You’ll always be my knight in shining armor Lucas,” Val told him, her voice falling serious. Lucas looked over at her, his face becoming serious as well at her words.

“And you’ll always be my hero Val,” he replied. His words made her choke up a bit. They had always been close despite the distance, writing letters or calling whenever they could. Lately, they’ve fallen by the wayside and she was hoping that moving to the same town would help bring back that closeness that they had before.

“Alright, enough of this sappy shit,” Val exclaimed loudly before turning up the radio, singing obnoxiously along to Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go as it blasted from the speakers. Lucas laughed before joining in with her. Val felt her heart settle with happiness as she finished the drive to his house.

0~0~0~0~0

Steve paced his room with nervousness as he waited for Val to arrive. His mind was still reeling from what he had done earlier that day, kissing her cheek and leaving his address in her locker after asking her over. He was still in love with Nancy, at least he thought he was, but there was just something about Val. The way she talked, the way she walked; all of it intrigued him and made him want to get to know her more. He felt like he was barely touching the surface that was the vast ocean of who she was as a person. It was very different from how he felt about Nancy. He knew that Nancy also had many layers to her as well, but he felt like he just got her instantly whereas Val was definitely a mystery.

His heart skipped a beat when he heard the doorbell rang. His parents weren’t home once again so he wasn’t worried about her meeting them but he still raced down to the front door, excited to see her. He swung the door open and looked at her, a wide smile on his face. She smiled back at him nervously, the scar on her cheek tightening. Seeing the scar again made him feel protective of her suddenly. He wanted to know who hurt her so that he could take revenge for her.

“There she is,” Steve said in a breath, enjoying the confused look that entered her face. Her nose gently scrunched up, her brow furrowed, and he had to bite down the urge to kiss both.

“Here I am,” she replied, “Why did you say it like that though?”

“Why did I say it like what,” Steve asked as he stepped to the side to let her enter through the door.

“Like I’m somebody special,” she told him as she looked around the home. She didn’t see the way his face fell at her words, how his heart broke for her. She didn’t think she was special, but he could tell having known her for a day that she was like no one else, that she was special.

“That’s because you are,” he told her softly, his words making her whirl around. They both stood there for a moment, just looking into each other’s eyes. The energy began to crackle between them and Steve took a step forward, his fingers twitching with the want to touch her. He sucked in a breath when he saw her glance down at his lips, waiting, hoping for her to do it.

“Shall we get started on this homework,” Val asked loudly, trying to break the spell that had fallen over them.

“Oh, yea, sure. My room is this way,” he said, leading her through the main hall to the staircase. Val took a few deep calming breaths, still shaken from the moment before. Even though they had changed the subject the air was still heavy from the electricity that had pulsed between them a moment before.

“Where are your parents,” Val asked, curiously looking around, smiling softly at the family and childhood photos of Steve that graced the walls.

“They’re gone on some business trip or something,” Steve told her nonchalantly, shrugging lightly. Val could tell that his parents being gone was a common occurrence by his tone and said no more.

“Can I ask you something,” Val said as they entered his room, absorbing the sights around her. His bed had been barely made, the comforter simply tossed over his pillows to make it look more presentable. His large desk was filled to the brim with knick-knacks and school supplies, a few photos of him and Nancy and his friends gracing the wall. Beside his closet was two bookshelves, one filled with books and the other filled with cassettes, VHS and vinyl records with a fully equipped sound system and turntable closest to his bed.

“Shoot,” he said as he settled on his bed. Val instantly sat in the desk chair, feeling that it was the safest option for both of them.

“Why did you defend me today with that Billy guy? You barely know me.”

“Billy shouldn’t have said that about you, no matter how well I know you,” Steve replied earnestly and honestly, his genuine concern for her melting her heart once again.

“Alright, then why did you kiss my cheek,” she asked. She hadn’t meant to be so straightforward but the action from lunch had been following her all day and she needed to know, “You’re still very clearly hung up on Nancy, so I don’t get it.”

“I’m sorry if I was being too forward.I won’t do it again. We should get started on this homework,” Steve told her, his energy turning dark. His words tried to shut down the conversation, the mention of Nancy clearly upsetting him but Val wouldn’t let it go. He started to stand to grab the various materials they would need.

“You wanted to be friends right,” Val asked, scooting the chair closer to the bed. She placed her hand on his to stop him, the action forcing him to look at her. They both ignored the way their hearts began to beat hard against their chests as skin touched skin, electricity floating through them.

“Well, yea. You seem like a pretty cool person,” Steve said, sitting back down on the edge of his bed.

“To be honest it’s been a long time since I’ve had a friend,” she told him, vulnerability entering her features, their hands still clutching to one another, “I’m probably not very good at making them. Mostly because I say what I think and people can’t handle that.”

“I think I might be able to,” Steve said, smiling softly at her. Val smiled back, relieved that he was no longer upset with her. In one day he had become a lifeline for her, a rock, and she didn’t want to lose him so quickly.

“Alright, so amiga to amigo, go talk to her,” Val said to him, her words like a bomb to Steve’s system, “I can tell how much you care about her and I think you owe it to yourself to at least try to talk to her.”

It was silent for a moment as Steve absorbed her words. Val waited, watching as his features went through different emotions. He looked into her eyes and she saw such pain and sadness that her heart broke.

“I’m not good enough for her. I’ve always known that. I’ve done bad things. Hurt people,” Steve whispered. Val scooted even closer, reaching for both if his hands.

“People make mistakes, do things that they shouldn’t do. You saying those words though, tells me you’re not as bad of a person as you think you are,” Val told him, a warm smile lifting her lips. Steve nearly believed her words.

“I’ll talk to her,” he replied, finally releasing her hands. They both felt empty at the loss of contact, “Now, let’s get started on this homework.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington x oc #steve harrington x poc #stranger things season 2 #steve harrington x fem oc

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