#the indomitable human spirit pulled me through

[alfredosauce50]

One More Night

[Boxer! Denmark x reader] 12 (draft)

Wordcount: 519

“Free?”

It wasn’t something he’d associate with a trip to Sin City because you either spent copious amounts of money or sold your soul, neither of which, he was willing to do.

The draft is on my Patreon ❤️

[pengujoon]

WRECKAGE OF A ONCE-MIGHTY MAN

cont. gojo x reader, angst. satoru’s tired of being the strongest. (he did not do anything irrational.) established relationship!au, gojo is alive, specific timeline unclear but it’s after the meguna incident, intentional lowercase.

a/n. you cannot tell me that gojo is not tired. he’s gone through so much, too much.

you quietly left the living room and made your way to the balcony, your footsteps barely making a sound. the moonlight guided your way, casting a soft glow on the night. when you reached the balcony, you found satoru there, his unfocused gaze fixed on the distant horizon.

satoru stood there, bathed in the soft, silvery light of the moon. his hair flowed gently in the night breeze, a stark contrast to the darkness that surrounded him. the gentle night breeze tousled his silvery white locks, as if they were strands of moonlight itself.

he leaned against the balcony, his posture relaxed, but his eyes betrayed the turmoil within him. his usually vibrant cerulean eyes, filled with mischief and confidence, were now distant, as if they were peering into the depths of his own soul.

there was an undeniable weariness etched into his features, lines of exhaustion that hadn’t been there before. his lips, usually curled into a cocky grin, were now downturned, a reflection of the thoughts that weighed on his mind.

yet, there was an undeniable allure to his presence. the moonlight painted him in an almost ethereal beauty, emphasising the contrast; he was a man of contradictions, a powerful sorcerer who, in this moment, looked so human, so fragile. it broke your heart seeing him like this.

“satoru,” you whispered softly as you walked towards him. the cool night breeze rustled your hair and his disheveled white locks, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to stand still.

you stood there with him, side by side, the moonlight bathed both of you in its gentle glow. it illuminated the unspoken pain in satoru’s eyes, the guilt that weighed heavily on his heart.

“i’m just so tired of all of this,” he whispered under his breath a few moments later, his voice shaky. “i’ve lost too much, and i don’t know how much more i can take.”

he turned to you, the soft glow of the moonlight revealed the faint traces of exhaustion, etched in the lines around his eyes and the subtle furrow of his brow. he never had a good night's rest, not since shibuya, not since shinjuku.

“i killed suguru,” he whispered, his voice barely above a hushed tone. “my best friend, the person who knew me better than anyone else.” his words trembled with the pain of the memory.

a heavy silence hung in the air as you stood there beside him. satoru continued, his voice filled with remorse. “i had to end him because of what he became. the person i once knew was lost, consumed by darkness, and i had no other choice.”

his shoulders slumped, and he leaned against the balcony railing, as if the weight of his guilt was physically pulling him down. tears welled up in his eyes, glistening in the moonlight.

“i lost the person who knew me best,” he repeated, his voice breaking, tears flowing down his face. “and i can’t even mourn him properly. it’s a pain that’s been eating at me for so long.”

as he cried, he found comfort in your embrace, clinging so tightly as if you were his lifeline in the storm of emotions that had consumed him. his white hair, once a symbol of his indomitable spirit, now hung disheveled and damp with tears.

“and then there's megumi,” he continued, his voice breaking further. “i promised to protect him, but i couldn’t. he’s gone, taken by sukuna. i failed him, just like i failed so many others.”

the pain in his voice was palpable, and he buried his face in your shoulder, his sobs wracking his body. it was a gut-wrenching sight, seeing the man who had always been the strongest, the unbreakable wall, crumble so completely.

tears streamed down his face, each one a testament to the anguish he had been carrying.

“being the strongest, carrying the weight of the world,” he choked out, his voice barely audible through his tears. “it’s exhausting. it’s a never-ending battle, and i can’t save everyone. i can’t ever keep anyone close.”

you gently ran your fingers through his disheveled white hair, providing what comfort you could in this moment of despair. his cries intensified, and it was as if he was pouring out all the pain and anguish he had been holding back.

“everyone looks up to me, relies on me,” he gasped for breath between sobs. “but who can i rely on?”

his cries intensified, clinging onto you as if you were his lifeline. his shoulders shook with the weight of his emotions, gasping for breath between sobs.

the night grew colder and lonelier as satoru’s tears continued to fall, his sobs echoing through the stillness. he held you tightly, as if seeking refuge from the storm of his own emotions, a broken man seeking solace from the abyss of his own despair.

you traced your fingers through his disheveled white hair, your touch gentle and reassuring, though your heart ached with the futility of it all. the moonlight painted a scene of profound sorrow, and as you watched his tears glisten in its soft glow, you couldn’t help but feel the overwhelming weight of his pain.

satoru cried himself into a restless sleep in your lap, his breathing slowly evening out, but the sadness lingered in the lines of his face, etched there like scars. his vulnerability was laid bare, and you were left feeling utterly powerless, unable to mend the shattered pieces of his heart.

the night was unforgiving, and you felt the weight of his pain pressing down on you, threatening to suffocate your own heart.

as he slept, you continued to caress his hair, your touch a feeble attempt to alleviate the agony that had consumed him. the night seemed to stretch on endlessly, as if time itself had stopped to mourn with you.

the moonlight, usually a source of solace, now felt cruel and mocking, casting long shadows that mirrored the depths of your despair. you yearned for the power to rewrite the past, to erase the pain that had brought satoru to this abyss of hopelessness.

in the oppressive silence of the night, you were a silent witness to the wreckage of a once-mighty man who had been reduced to nothing. the weight of his anguish pressed down upon you, a burden too heavy to bear.

if only you could do something, anything, for him.

if only.

i really want to give him a hug, he’s gone through so much pain. i literally cried while writing this

[bellelvrs]

HOSTAGE / HOMELANDER

summary - while on a mission, homelander saves beautiful hostage, then fucks her. what else was he supposed to do?

warnings - smut, foreplay, possessive behavior, slight yandere, slight sub/dom, fingering, masturbation.

a/n - 1536 words, afab reader.

That simmering, crimson ray of light pierced through thick shadows of the warehouse.

A bright beacon of hope?

Or sign that the day of reckoning has come upon you?

You had lost feeling in your limbs, which were tightly bound to a small chair. Each breath heavy on your tired lungs as your captors slowed the torture. Had they left? Was your innocence finally proven? The restless buzz of worry calmed as you lost consciousness.

His presence was enough to silence an army of men. If there were even any alive. A man symbolizing the indomitable grit and spirit of America, yet something vile, morbid writhed beneath the perfected facade.

Homelander loomed over your limp body, appreciating every feature of yours, even with the rusted spatters of blood and golden bruises.

There was something about you that stirred a hunger within him. It made him squirm with impatience, the way he didn’t understand why. The fresh wounds left by those imbeciles made his heart ache and blood boil.

Why would people do such disgusting things to a beauty like you?

This was all for show…right? All of it was choreographed and staged to raise his ratings. Fans were practically hanging off of their seats waiting for the broadcast of Homelander’s newest heroic act. The ideal situation-ship: Homelander defeats terrorist cartel and saves young hostage! A shining knight accompanied by his damsel in distress. You were so pretty. So pathetic. You were merely human. A puny, sensitive, frail creature in need of guidance from a god.

A god like him.

He dropped to his knees, breaking you free from the chains easily, letting your body fall helplessly onto his. Cradling you like a fallen angel, his mind distorted with desire. That strange feeling flourished inside of Homelander like an untamed fire.

No human should have that strength over him. It was insulting. These urges had long been repressed ever since…

He wanted you in ways that he thought he could only have within his imagination.

The stray lightbulb above illuminated the glow of your skin, which had been blanketed in muck and gore. A hand caressed the swollen plush of your face.

His eyes focused on every part of you. You had more purpose than just being a measly subject.

Then he came to realization.

He could have you however he wanted.

You were something to be protected, prized.

All he had to do was make you his.

-

You quietly rose from a bed that was not yours. There was a silhouette standing against the sparkle of the city that beamed through the window. Your vision, a tired blur, could clearly identify the Homelander watching from across the room. Just after your eyes fluttered open, he began to approach you with slow, menacing steps.

‘Well, well, look who’s awake,’ Homelander spoke softly, a hungry gaze piercing through your skin.

You whined a bit, a throbbing ache rang inside your head like an unsteady heartbeat.

‘Wh-‘ a twinge of pain made you sit up with a jolt.

‘Shh, no need to be in a hurry,’ he sat at your side on the bed, a hand cupping your jaw. The slight force he applied to keep you in place was daunting. Despite the possible concussion you might have had, that stirring sickness within your stomach was from the panic.

‘I’m going to take care of you.’ Homelander cooed, tracing your cheekbone with his thumb.

‘Take…’ you croaked, struggling to formally speak, ‘Take me home.’.

Homelander, confused, slightly offended, shook his head. His gentle hold on your face became a tight grip, pulling you closer to him.

Why would you want to leave?

He carried you to the safety of his penthouse, bathed you in his tub, let you nap in his bed. You were more than just some obscure guest.

‘You’re here, you don’t need to go anywhere.’

A threatening, shark-like smile stretched across his face.

‘You are home.’

Though both of your bodies were now pressed against each other, there was little warmth that radiated from Homelander. Soft, yet cold lips cool upon your skin. A body of pure muscle restless as it straddled you, almost suffocating with it’s pressure. Just as though you were pressing a fresh bruise.

The pain felt good.

Dizzying heat blossomed within your body as he breathed you in with every kiss. He was desperate to devour every inch of you, teeth pulling on your lip, tongue dancing along with yours. You bucked your hips against the bulge hiding beneath his pants. In that moment you didn’t want to fight back. Fear hid in the shadow of bliss. Desire swayed your rationality.

His lips fell from yours and brushed against your chin.

‘They won’t touch you again.’

He steadied himself on his knees, beginning to undress.

‘No one will. Only me. Only ever me. And if they do, I’ll tear those dirty bastards apart.’

You had just noticed you were completely bare underneath the sheets, the chilling satin tickling your skin. Homelander quickly tore them away, revealing your body. It took great strength for him to avert his eyes from your chest.

‘But if you let them,‘ Homelander muttered under his breath, still focused on the every curve of your body.

‘I’ll fucking kill you.’

Blinking slowly, you furrowed your brow,

‘What?’

Homelander smirked at the concern in your tone. He fixed himself between your legs, spreading you like a whore.

‘Just let me…help you.’

Bowing his head to your chest, he allowed his lips to graze over your tits. Every swipe of his tongue across your nipple made your entire body pulse with a euphoric feeling. Homelander relished every whimper and moan that escaped your throat.

It had been quite a long time since he felt in power. He didn’t enjoy assimilating with humans, acting as if he was one of them. They were weakening him. His strength needed to be recognized. No charity galas, no photo shoots, or movies. He needed the respect. The submission.

The love.

You were a symbol of rebirth, of enlightenment. With you, he could prove himself a god. A hero and his muse. Oh, what damage he could do to ruin such a beautiful thing.

A hand snaked down to your cunt, immediately massaging your swollen clit. You could feel him smile while still sucking on your tits.

‘Fuck me.’ You gasped, twitching as his sheer body weight refused to let your back arch.

‘What’s that?’ Homelander looked up at you, nose brushing against your chest.

Your chest heaved, legs shifting as he fastened his pace on your clit.

‘Fuck. Me.’

Homelander rose, tilting his head. Before you could even finish, that same hand, now slick from the wetness of your cunt, wrapped around your throat. He positioned himself so that one of your legs draped over his shoulder. The head of his cock teased your entrance.

Slowly, with a faint whimper, he pushed himself inside of you.

Almost softly rocking his hips closer, and closer to you, you bucked your own in impatience.

‘Tsk, tsk,’ Homelander disapproved,

‘Tell me you love me.’ He stated firmly.

The pace of his cock sliding in and out of you gradually quickened.

You turned your head, burying your face into the pillow in shame, muffling your moans.

‘Tell me.’

Your lip bled, begging for mercy as you bit it as hard as you could.

‘Tell me!’ Homelander barked, giving a rough thrust into your cunt simultaneously.

‘I love you,’

This wasn’t casual? There was love somewhere within all of this mess? You were barely awake, all you knew was that the touch felt invigorating. You didn’t mean to be disingenuous to taunt him, but he certainly seemed to feel hurt.

‘I love you.’ You restated breathlessly.

‘Good..good girl.’

Homelander trailed off, too invested in ramming himself inside of you now. He grunted and moaned louder than you, almost as if he was in a trance. His grip on your thigh was painful, nails digging harshly into skin. The girth of his cock didn’t fail to widen and please every area and nerve of your cunt. Beneath both of your bodies, the bed creaked alarmingly, threatening to snap at any moment.

You reached out a hand which wrapped around the forearm holding him steady. A sudden flash of light blinded you eyes and mind. Letting out a ragged breath, you struggled to keep your limbs strong as your entire body fell limp.

Immediately after, you fought to not laugh as Homelander finished with a vulnerable moan. His head drooped as he let his cock drain the cum into you.

Nonetheless, he wasn’t done.

Chest heaving with every long drawn breath, Homelander pulled himself up directly above your chest, and began to rapidly pump his tired cock. With another grunt, he let the final cum spread across your tits. Like a brush on a canvas, he wiped what was left across your chest.

‘Good, good,’ he murmured, weakly laying down beside you, then hugging your body against his.

As much as you might have wanted to stay awake, to process what you had done, you couldn’t help your conscious drift into a sea of black.

[resident-idiot-simp]

Thank you! You inspired the hybrid au in the first place with feeding your God and silkie Soap so of course I had to bug you with it lol.

Now please enjoy your meal (I can’t let the people go hungry)!

Between everyone posting about Deity Ghoap at the moment (hot damn), my tik tok fyp being full of the “indomitable human spirit” and being a PJO fan I had a thought

Soap who became the God of Despair after he opened a very specific jar… and Ghost who became the God of Hope because he stayed

Sometimes having hope just really fucking sucks even when things do go your way and other times it’s a beautiful and amazing thing easy to bare. Despair on the other hand so often and so easily leads to destruction and yet sometimes it’s what motivates you to the end instead. Either way you can’t have one without the other, both driving humans to unimaginable lengths and extremes.

I'm flattered I was the inspiration Feeding Your God is one of my favorite things I've ever made I'm very glad it brings joy to other people .

I love the deity Ghost stuff going on right now so hell yes. PJO!! YES YES YES AAAHHHH!

THE SUBVERSION OF EXPECTATIONS! Yes I've always stood by the fact that it's really cool if you make Ghost the exact opposite of what you think same thing with Soap. A matter of fact I was just talking about this on discord with @forestshadow-wolf about a wing kink idea where Ghost ends up being a dove.

Indomitable of the human spirit is another one of my favorite things so hell yes. I may act like I'm a pessimist but I'm a realist leaning towards the optimistic side. I truly believe that we want to do the best we can and are good people at heart. The human spirit is a wonder to me because I've experienced some hard times and usually I pull through out of spite.

And it really is true that you can't have one without the other and lots of times they go hand in hand. Two sides the same coin if you will.

I genuinely think this is a lovely idea and I would love to hear more because THIS IS EVERYTHING I LOVE

[gc-genshin]

Echoes of Immortality, Threads of Mortal Hearts

Zhongli x Fem!Reader

As [Name] and Zhongli strolled through Liyue, the city bathed in the golden hues of the sunset, memories of their shared history resurfaced. [Name], not originally from Teyvat, had known Zhongli for years by this point. He, along with Xiao, had been one of the first to take her under their wing when she first arrived, a stranger in this unfamiliar realm.

Sharing tales of their past became a journey through time, a testament to the enduring bond forged in the crucible of experiences. [Name] spoke of the initial struggles of adapting to Teyvat, of the guidance and wisdom provided by Zhongli and Xiao during those formative years.

Zhongli listened with a keen interest, memories of those early days etched in his immortal mind. He marveled at [Name]'s resilience and growth, a testament to the indomitable spirit of humanity. The bond between them transcended the passage of time, becoming a bridge that connected the mortal and immortal realms.

"You were there when I was just a lost soul in this vast world," [Name] mused, a nostalgic smile playing on her lips. "You and Xiao gave me a sense of belonging, a purpose. It's because of you that I've come to appreciate the beauty and complexity of humanity."

Zhongli, touched by the sincerity of [Name]'s words, nodded in acknowledgment. The sunset cast a warm glow on their shared history, weaving threads of connection that spanned beyond the confines of Teyvat. In that moment, as they continued their journey through Liyue, the ancient archon found solace in the enduring nature of their friendship.

[Name] turned her head and studied Zhongli's enigmatic presence, contemplating the paradox of his immortal existence. "You've observed humans for centuries, Zhongli. What's your take on us?"

Zhongli met her gaze with a thoughtful expression. "Humans possess a curious blend of virtues and flaws. They forge civilizations, yet their ambitions can lead to turmoil."

A soft smile played on [Name]'s lips as she moved closer. "But even with our shortcomings, there's an undeniable beauty in our resilience, our capacity to learn and evolve."

Zhongli felt the gentle pull of connection and reciprocated with a gaze that held a hint of affection. "Indeed. Mortals create stories, build connections, and find meaning in the transient nature of their lives. It's a delicate dance of existence."

Their shared musings became a dance of words, and [Name] sensed a connection blooming between them. "We stumble and make mistakes, yet there's an inherent drive to improve," she confessed, feeling the unspoken warmth between them. "In a way, our imperfections are what make us strive for greatness."

Zhongli's gaze softened further, his proximity conveying a subtle intimacy. "Precisely. Life's impermanence is the catalyst for growth. Mortals, in their fleeting existence, leave an indelible mark on the world."

As [Name] and Zhongli continued their stroll through Liyue, the city wrapped in the warm embrace of the sunset, their shared memories and musings created an invisible tapestry of connection. The ancient archon and the wanderer from distant lands found solace in each other's company, their bond weaving through the fabric of time.

The romantic undertone lingered in the air, subtly acknowledged yet not fully realized by the two companions. Unbeknownst to them, their words and shared experiences painted a portrait of a connection that transcended the boundaries of time and realms—an enduring friendship tinged with a hint of something more.

"You know we might not be the greatest things, but I don't think humans are all that bad," [Name] remarked, a sentiment that hung in the air like a gentle breeze as she looked amongst the crowds of people bustling through Liyue.

Zhongli, the wise and contemplative archon, gave a soft look towards the young woman while she looked ahead and nodded in agreement. "Indeed."

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the city in hues of twilight, [Name] and Zhongli continued their journey through Liyue. The shared warmth of their history and the unspoken connection between them illuminated the path ahead, a testament to the enduring beauty found within the intricacies of mortal and immortal hearts.

In the tranquil moments of Liyue's evening, the bond between [Name] and Zhongli stood as a testament to the delicate dance of existence—a dance that embraced the resilience, imperfections, and the ever-evolving nature of both mortals and immortals alike. And so, they ventured forth into the night, their shared journey illuminated by the ethereal glow of a city that held the echoes of their past and the promise of an unknown future.

[dynmghts]

Jeanist passes a Jift Box (Jean Gift Box) to Bakugo. And suddenly he's gone. Like a fine morning mist. Inside? It's a pair of jeans that fit him... almost too perfectly, and a small, travel hair-care set. Along with a card that reads: "It is only a fool to believe himself above any man, and for that reason, I have been a fool, as I have seen, through watching you, that I have many things left to learn, about the human spirit, about hardwork, about tenacity, and of course, about what it means to truly be a hero. Like the fibers of this well-crafted denim, you have interwoven yourself and your unbreakable spirit amongst the threads of my life. It has been a pleasure to watch you grow, and while I cannot take credit for your growth, or your journey, I find a selfish sort of pride in knowing the great hero, Dynamight, once looked to me as a mentor. I am looking forward to the day I work alongside you, once again. Hopefully in a more peaceful time. Happy birthday. Your friend, Best Jeanist."

❛ oi, what the hell's- ❜ before katsuki can even apprehend his mentor about the stupid and weird jift box ... [ it has a name ? ] ... placed in his hands, he was gone. crimson stares blankly in the general direction of his last sighting with a sense of bewilderment across his features. he glances to the box. back in the direction of jeanist. ❛ ... seriously, what the fuck ? ❜

maybe it was his way of avoiding whatever repercussions would come from gifting a kid with an explosive temper. not that there'd be any real ones, since one of them was a pro and the other was just an intense and foul-mouthed hero-to-be.

nonetheless, calloused hands work to pull apart the jift box ... [ seriously, that's what it's called ? is it made of denim ? ] ... and ultimately reveal the present inside. his gaze turns quizzical at the pair of jeans he lifts out. as he'll find out, they fit him too well and it's maybe a little concerning how well they work with his frame - as it stands, though, he slings it over an arm to check out the hair care products next. huh. travel sized ... maybe he could use that.

his attention finally settles on the card, and he pulls it out to read properly.

it feels like forever ago since the blond won the sports festival, prideful and arrogant in his capabilities, the first year to topple everyone else with unabashed confidence. since he applied to intern at best jeanist's agency with the express desire to witness a top five pro-hero in action, feeling like he'd chosen the wrong agency, enduring the week he felt was fresh from hell - as his hair was styled in an unnatural manner and he had to wear jeans with his costume.

he was also the one to guide him, to show him how to start interacting with the public. because patrols weren't just for deterrence ; they were to show the people who you really are. and because a hero name isn't just a callsign for other heroes to call you by ; they are a wish, a reflection of how you want to be, how you should be. best jeanist made it clear he did not like bakugou katsuki straight away, but he was also the one who put him on the right path - and how could katsuki be ungrateful or ignorant of everything his first mentor offered him ?

and now here he was at the beginning of his third year. here he was, having learned from many mentors now, having gathered knowledge from each since they all had value. but best jeanist was the first.

katsuki may have made his journey on his own accord, but just as he's woven himself into jeanist's life - as he describes, in his stupid thread-related speech - the pro-hero had done the same for him. after all, was it not best jeanist who assured the other heroes that his stubborn and indomitable spirit would mean he'd never cave to the villains ? was it not best jeanist he wanted to intern with again, even if he couldn't since the former had disappeared ? and was it not best jeanist who was the first to hear his hero name, shouted across the battlefield with the same unyielding confidence as if he wasn't bleeding out ?

❛ damned jeans. couldn't come 'n say it to my fuckin' face ... ❜ but katsuki is not any less appreciative for the gifts, or the well wishes. he puts everything back in the box for safekeeping. if he can catch the hero again before he goes dashing off to who-knows-where, the blond will find ... some way of expressing his gratitude. even if it ends up being less than pleasant.

and best jeanist should keep an eye out : bakugou katsuki has every intention of interning at his agency during his last year of ua.

[ so long as he can go without his hair being styled - he'll even put up with the jeans, whatever, if it means he doesn't end up with the embarrassingly uniform and slicked-over hairstyle from his first year. ]

@eclipsemuses / katsuki's bday wishes! <3

[flaybynight]

A New Host

(wesker x steve drabble)

Notes: first time sharing one of my drabbles. I hope someone enjoys it. I have no idea how to tag this obscure ship... dm me if you know.

A deep laugh vibrated out of Wesker’s chest as he saw his prey collapse to the ground in agony. If he had only spent more time to slow down the rate of his infection, he wouldn’t be here beneath Wesker’s feet and at his mercy.

His pursuit of the boy had been relentless. This one, so different from the others. So self-sacrificial. Time and time again he had put himself into the line of fire to rescue his weaker teammates. It reminded Wesker of that same indomitable spirit that had driven his former allies to continuously pursue him across the globe, risking their lives countless times to save a feeble and dying race.

Redfield. Valentine. So many others, pointlessly flinging themselves into danger. Incapable of realising that they were only delaying the inevitable evolution of the human race. As each head of Umbrella was cut off, another soon grew to take its place, each better than the one before it. Yet the same fire his enemies possessed burned within this one. This teenage boy with the reserve of a soldier. 

Steve. He had heard the others call his name like a lifeline. He could feel the virus writhing inside his body. The former scientist, clad in his heavy coat, stared down at the pathetic state of the boy before him as he struggled to resist the infection. To those who could tolerate it, Uroboros was a rare gift: the next stage of human evolution, like Prometheus’ gift of fire to the primitive human race. To those unworthy of greatness, it was simply a poison, violently spreading itself across its host’s body before consuming them entirely. Soon after, it would begin feeding itself on all nearby biomaterials until it reached a stable baseline once more, always with monumentally destructive consequences.

In truth this one had proven more of a challenge. Wesker felt a mixture of respect and disgust for the boy. While the fight Steve had put up was admirable, for his mistake of playing into the role of the martyr, he would die. As his will was decided to end his life, the living tendrils of Wesker’s Uroboros infection had become animated, wriggling out from under his coat and piercing through the dense fabric.

Agreement?

As he reached for the boy’s throat, ready to crush his airway and end his struggle, they suddenly shot out and blocked his path. The tendrils interlocked into a black, fleshy wall that writhed over Steve’s neck, but showed no signs of being aggressive. If anything they seemed to be displaying defensive behaviour.

“How unusual,” he observed, pulling back.

While Uroboros usually worked in tandem with its host, now it seemed to be actively fighting him. Somehow, the viral-host connection had failed. He tested the action again, this time his open hand taking on a knife-like shape, but as he thrust his hand forward with intent, the tentacles sprang forth once more and wrapped around his arm entirely. 

Anger and confusion clouded his judgement. Never had Uroboros betrayed him like this before. He stared down at the male with a critical eye, the scientist in him growing curious, struggling against this insatiable urge to kill that he had been feeling as of late.

The Entity.

That creature and the power it had over him, crept up like a rising tide, pulling his deepest, most primordial impulses up from the depths until he was flooded with an overwhelming hatred not unlike the one he had felt back in 1998. At the Arklay mansion, when he had first died and been reborn by the power of the T-Virus. Somehow, it was as though The Entity was intensifying that instinct. Feeding it.

It had been so easy to allow himself to be consumed by it up until now that struggling had seemed out of the question. But now, with Uroboros restricting him from following through, he realised something important. Something he had forgotten.

Uroboros could not be tamed.

The virus was natural selection at its finest.

Fine-tuned. Effective. Merciless.

While he had struggled with the Entity for dominance over his own mind, Uroboros had always had control over his body. Its own plans required neither of their consent. It seemed that in the battle between three masters, Uroboros had won. Up until now it had merely been playing along, its own goals uncompromised by the trials. How fitting... 

He let his hand drop, fingers flexing. He could not kill Steve. The virus would simply not allow it. But why? The Entity would be displeased, and yet Wesker was grateful. Grateful to have experienced this correction in his thinking. He would reclaim his free will, first over The Entity, and then with time, tame the powerful virus within him once more. 

But first, he had to discover what exactly the virus wanted with Steve. He removed his glove and moved to check Steve’s pulse, pressing his fingers to the sweaty skin of the male’s flushed neck, only to feel an agonising shockwave course through his body. He instantly recoiled with a snarl, staring in disbelief at his own hand. What?! Had Uroboros decided that he was still a danger to the boy?

He took a steadying breath, willing the last disturbing ripples of that terrible, all-consuming feeling of hatred from his psyche. Once he was calm, he tried again, moving slower this time and with more conscious intent to simply inspect.

His little experiment had worked, for this time the virus allowed the physical connection without any negative side effects. The boy’s pulse was erratic but acceptable. He could feel the virus taking full root within its host’s body; could sense it through that inhuman connection that the virus offered amongst its hosts.

“Most impressive. It would appear that Uroboros has accepted you.”

He doubted the boy could hear him. The initial stage of infection was agonisingly painful and usually ended in complete rejection of the host. Somehow Steve’s body was a lot more durable than he had first assumed. For now, the virus was stable.

He knelt down and scooped the boy up into his arms, a mess of pitiful limbs held in his iron grip. He’d have to put Steve somewhere he couldn’t escape while he focused on finding the others and quickly disposing of them. They were of no use to him now. Perhaps The Entity would be pleased enough by his actions to be lulled into a false sense of security, causing it to overlook its soon to be missing playmate. Steve was no longer a captive of The Entity. For now, he belonged to Uroboros. 

(tbc... maybe.)

@captaincatboytisms

[shadowtechteller]

Enduring Spirits: The Metamorphosis of Resilience in Literature

Embarking on a journey of resilience and perseverance isn't just about conquering physical landscapes; it's a testament to the indomitable human spirit. As an avid mountaineer who has trailed the awe-inspiring 14-ers of Colorado and the daunting peaks of the Canadian Rockies, I've learned that the mountains aren't just earth and rock—they're the greatest mentors of life.

Since the late 1970s, my passion for climbing has led me to some of the most majestic yet challenging terrains. Picture the ascent of Little Bear, where each step on the ice demanded precision and composure, or visualize the harrowing traverse along the Little Bear-Blanca ridge, where thousands of feet of exposure on each side required a rope and nerves of steel.

Climbing is filled with euphoric highs and perilous lows. I still recall the electric tension in the air as lightning danced dangerously close near the summit of Mt. Harvard, and the exhilaration of reaching the apex of the Canadian Rockies, each experience fortified by the resilience and faith within. These moments, testing the limits of human endurance, require a deep reservoir of mental strength and physical stamina. Pushing through fatigue, discomfort, and sometimes even pain, individuals tap into their inner fortitude to overcome the obstacles before them. Whether it's an athlete competing in a grueling marathon, a student pulling an all-nighter to study for an important exam, or a mountaineer scaling a treacherous peak, these scenarios demand a certain tenacity and perseverance.

Faced with such challenges, people often discover capabilities within themselves they never knew they had, forging their character in the fire of their trials. They learn valuable lessons about patience, determination, and the importance of preparation. Moreover, these experiences can teach the power of positive thinking and the need to maintain concentration and focus, even when the goal seems distant or difficult to achieve.

Furthermore, embracing these moments can lead to a sense of achievement that goes far beyond the immediate task at hand. It can lead to personal growth and a sharpened resolve to confront future challenges with confidence and resilience. After all, it's in these tests of endurance that individuals not only demonstrate who they are but also begin to define who they will become.

In literature, these trials of human endurance are often personified by characters who endure physical and psychological tests that push them to the brink of their capabilities. Classic novels are replete with such figures, each embodying the spirit of perseverance in their unique contexts.

Take, for instance, the enduring plight of Pi Patel in Yann Martel's "Life of Pi." Stranded in the Pacific Ocean on a lifeboat with a Bengal tiger, Pi must muster all his knowledge and courage to survive the ordeal. His journey is not only a test of physical survival but also a profound spiritual odyssey that challenges his beliefs and his very identity.

In a more dystopian setting, Katniss Everdeen of Suzanne Collins' "The Hunger Games" trilogy becomes a symbol of resilience within a repressive society. Thrust into the deadly games not once but twice, Katniss confronts physical battles and the psychological warfare of manipulation and surveillance. Her survival and defiance become a rallying cry for the oppressed, showcasing the endurance of the human spirit against tyranny.

Looking further back, the epic struggles of characters like Ahab in Herman Melville's "Moby-Dick" highlight the obsession and relentless pursuit that test the human soul. Ahab's relentless hunt for the white whale is a physical quest that consumes his body and mind, leading to his tragic downfall, but also underscoring the thin line between perseverance and obsession.

In Charles Dickens' "Great Expectations," we witness the young protagonist, Pip, endure a different kind of trial. His journey from an orphaned boy to a gentleman is fraught with both physical hardships and emotional tribulations that test his character. His endurance through the societal pressures of wealth and class systems demonstrates a nuanced exploration of moral and personal development.

Each of these characters showcases the varying aspects of human endurance, be it in a physical, emotional, or moral sense. Their creators use them to explore deeper themes of existence, the human capacity for suffering, and the inner strength that enables individuals to overcome extraordinary circumstances. These stories and their protagonists resonate across generations, providing both entertainment and insight into the human condition, reflecting our own struggles and the timeless quest to persevere in the face of life's many challenges.

[thecreativesophie]

Verses of Persistence

For my final creative project, I have decided to write a series of poems. My inspiration was the motto written on Temple's campus, "Perseverance Concurs," and my own journeys as a nontraditional student, having to retake courses and experiencing other moments of adversity in my life. I am also fascinated by the concept of the indomitable human spirit and hope to capture that in my work.

In my poems, I explore a range of experiences—from the sparks of initial determination in "The Spark Within" to the grinding, day-to-day battles depicted in "Forge Ahead." I touch on both the solitude of personal struggle in "The Unseen Flame" and the shared burdens and eventual relief found in "Bridges Over Troubled Water."

"Paths Repeated" and "Against the Current" highlight the sometimes cyclical nature of challenges, emphasizing that setbacks are not failures but part of the path toward growth. "Mountains Within" shifts the perspective inward, suggesting that the greatest barriers to success are often the doubts and fears we harbor inside.

In "Echoes of Effort" and "Resilience," I attempt to honor the quiet, often overlooked moments of decision and the breakthroughs that define the perseverance journey. The concluding poem, "Conquered Realms," encapsulates the essence of what it means to conquer—not external foes, but one's inner turmoil and despair, transforming them into wisdom and peace.

While these are my intended messages, I recognize anyone may take anything from these, and I am interested to hear what these poems mean to all of you. Most of all, I hope you enjoy.

The Spark Within

In the quiet corners of night's deep shadow, where doubt seeds sprout in whispering rows, there lies a spark—not seen, but felt— a tiny star in a dense, dark belt.

This ember of will, this flicker of spirit, endures the winds, so cold, so austerely; it dances alive, though hidden from view, fuelled by the trials it’s destined to subdue.

Each challenge faced, each failure met, are kindling gathered, on fire set. The flames surge high, then low, then high, a testament that spirits never truly die.

For in the marrow of every weary bone, amidst the echo of every stifled moan, burns the unwavering desire to prevail— a light undoused by the fiercest gale.

And so it thrives, through tempest and through trial, this indomitable force, neither meek nor mild. A beacon that burns, relentless, within, urging the heart to strive, to win.

Paths Repeated

Footprints fade on trodden trails, paths repeated in the vale— where once I stumbled, now I stride, upon these loops of trials tried.

In the echoes of my steps, linger lessons of missteps; each falter taught, each slip confessed, in every fall, a future blessed.

The road retaken speaks of grit, not of failure, nor of quit. A testament to steadfast will, climbing steadfast, higher still.

For wisdom lies in routes rerun, in courses charted, re-begun. What once seemed endless, cyclic plight, now guides me forth in renewed light.

Beneath the canopy of time’s repeat, new strength is found, and hope replete. Each journey back through what was known carves deeper grooves where light has shone.

Against the Current

Against the torrent, harsh and cold, the waters fierce with stories old, I swim upstream, a path alone, fighting tides like hardened stone.

The current claws with chilling grip, against my skin, a biting whip. Yet forward I press, through froth and foam, where weaker wills might cease to roam.

In relentless push, I find my pace, in every stroke, a small embrace of hopes that buoy me through the rush, of dreams undrowned by river's crush.

For upstream lies the source, the peak, the place where rivers dare to speak of beginnings pure, untamed, unspent, from which all waters are descent.

So with each pull against the flow, within my heart, a fire aglow. It’s not defiance fuels my fight, but love for paths bathed in right light.

And though this journey marks me sore, each scar a badge of all I bore, onward I swim, with spirit fierce, my course by stars of destiny pierced.

Mountains Within

Mountains loom in mindscape's mist, Formidable in their silent call, Each peak, a story of a clenched fist, And the silent roar after a fall.

I tread paths wrapped in stony skin, Where echoes dance in hollow winds, My breath—a vapor thin and worn, From lungs of dreams yet to be born.

These heights, they whisper ancient tales, Of those who've walked before and bled, Their footprints left in rocky trails, Their spirits steep where I now tread.

Climbing, climbing, never cease, Each step a stitch in pain's release, The summit far, obscured by clouds, Yet each ascent, silently vowed.

Within these climbs, the heart finds beat, Stronger than the rock beneath my feet, And with each peak, my soul's own plinth, Forged in the fires of the mountains within.

For every mountain stood, every summit kissed, Reveals the vastness of the grit I enlist, Not just to conquer peaks that rise, But to own the mountains within, where true triumph lies.

Echoes of Effort

In the quiet corners of the striving heart, Echoes of effort resonate, part by part. Each pulse, a drumbeat in a silent war, A rhythm that stirs the core to explore.

In sweat-soaked echoes, the whispers rise, From depths where dormant courage lies. They speak in tones only the soul understands, Murmuring of trials faced with shaking hands.

The whispers grow louder with each new test, As resilience builds its enduring nest. In the realm where echoes blend and bend, The spirit's mettle meets its transcend.

Efforts, like stones thrown into vast lakes, Ripple outwards, each wave overtakes The calm, the still, the formerly placid— Transforming the quiet into vibrant vivid.

For every echo returns to its source, Carrying tales of an unyielding force. Each reverberation a testament, pure and deft, To the indelible marks of steps hard-left.

And when the night folds heavy, dark, and deep, When body lies down with shadows to keep, The heart slows, and the echoes meld Into dreams of battles bravely quelled.

Here, in the echoes of efforts past, Lie the seeds of victories, vast. In each echo, an infinite story unfurls— Of perseverance conquering, echoing through worlds.

Bridges Over Troubled Water

In the fabric of a tempest tossed, Where waters rage and lines are crossed, There stand bridges, old and worn, Over troubled waters, sworn.

Built by hands that knew the ache Of loss, and the strength that stakes A claim on futures yet unwon, Underneath the unforgiving sun.

Each plank, a story, a battle faced, Each cable, a bond, not easily erased. They arch across the churning fears, Weathering storms of a thousand years.

These bridges are legacies of the brave, Spanning dark waters with the hope they gave. For every soul that ever dared To reach the other side, prepared.

We walk these bridges, step by step, In the echoes of those who never slept. Their dreams cast long shadows in the mist, Guiding us through climes unmissed.

For troubled waters will always be, But so will the bridges that set us free. They stand not just in stone and wire, But in every heart that dares aspire.

Through trials that toss, through swells that sweep, The bridges we build are the ones we keep. Over waters that threaten to drown the fire, We build our bridges, ever higher.

So let the waters rise, let the tempests roar, Our bridges span to an open door. On foundations strong of those before, We cross to shores worth fighting for.

Resilience

In the hush of a twilight dim, Beneath the heavy clouds' brim, Stood a figure, cloaked in doubts, Amidst the life's brutal bouts.

For long, the road wound, tight and steep, Through canyons cut so wide and deep, Echoing with the cries of strife, A solitary, endless fight.

This figure, cast in sorrow’s mold, Bore burdens of stories untold. Each step a testament to pain, Each breath a whisper of strain.

But there, where shadows grew and merged, Upon despair's very verge, A flicker—a light within that fought, Igniting thoughts long sought.

"Enough," a voice within her broke, A spark amidst the enveloping smoke, Her spirit, coiled like a spring, Unleashed the force of everything.

Walls she built from past defeats, Now crumbled at her very feet. The air, once thick with fear's embrace, Cleared as truth took its place.

With hands that trembled, yet were sure, She reached for what felt so pure; A freedom that comes from within, Breaking chains that long had been.

The ground beneath her firm, at last, As if anchoring her to the past, Yet pushing her to realms anew, Where skies take on a brighter hue.

There she stood, no longer frail, Not merely a survivor’s tale. But a force, fierce with might, Forged in depths, brought to light.

The night receded, dawn’s gold spread, New paths appeared where she tread. From the fight, the fear, the fall, Rose a might to conquer all.

For resilience is not merely to endure, But to face the storm and secure, A life rebuilt on stronger ground, Where once lost, now is found.

The Unseen Flame

In the quiet corners of the unlit room, Where shadows loom larger than the moon's soft bloom, Burns a flame unseen, with a gentle hiss, A testament to the silent battles, amiss.

No grand stages here, nor applauding crowds, Just the flicker of light, veiled by silent shrouds. Yet within these walls, the world is shaped, By quiet decisions, in the nightscapes draped.

The clock ticks on, relentless, in its pace, While thoughts race wild, in a tireless chase. Each moment a crossroad, each choice a path, Crafting destinies with a quiet wrath.

The scholar's lamp burns deep into the night, Casting golden circles, a lonely sight. Words on a page, theories taking flight, A mind wrestling shadows into light.

The artist, too, keeps the vigil’s peace, Before the canvas, where all turmoils cease. Brush strokes that dance in the silent air, Creating visions from sheer despair.

And in the weary hours, before the dawn, When the world's asleep, and the night is drawn, The unseen warriors make their stand, Not with weapons, but with trembling hands.

They fight not for glory, nor for fame, But for the whispering call of their own name, To rise from ashes, to find their way, To greet with courage the coming day.

For in this silent forge, away from sight, Is tempered the will, with gentle might. The unseen flame, though quiet it seems, Is the forge of more than just dreams.

It is here, in the silence of the long night’s hold, That the truest forms of courage unfold. Invisible, yes, but oh, so keen— The fiercest fire the world has never seen.

Forge Ahead

In the heart of the forge, under ember’s glow, Where the fire burns fierce and the bellows blow, Stands the blacksmith with his iron clasp, Gripped by tongs that hold it fast.

Hammer raised, eyes narrowed tight, Focused solely on the transformative fight, Each strike a lesson, each spark that flies, A symbol of the sweat that from his brow dries.

The iron, once brittle and cold as stone, Now bends and twists, its purpose newly shown. He molds it with might, with the strength of his arm, Forging through fire, shielded from harm.

The anvil rings—a choir’s call, Echoing around the stone-cold hall. "Forge ahead!" it sings, with each hammer’s pound, "Shape the future, where hope is found!"

Through the sweat of his brow, the ache in his back, The blacksmith labors to keep his life on track. Each pounding strike stretches iron thin, Turning what was weak into strength within.

He knows the secret, as all craftsmen do, That resilience is born in the struggle to pursue. Not just in the ease of a gentle flame, But through the fire that claims no shame.

So, forge ahead, through doubts that sear, Through the heat that exhausts, yet makes visions clear. Bend not to the strain, nor cool under pressure, But become the steel, a true heart’s treasure.

Forge ahead, though the fires roar, In the blistering heat, refine your core. For only through trials, as the blacksmith shows, Does the strength of steel—and of spirit—grow.

Conquered Realms

In the quietude that follows the storm's roar, A stillness settles, deep and core. Here, in the hush, let us wander and gaze At conquered realms, through the lingering haze.

Not kingdoms of land, nor treasures of gold, But territories of spirit, vast and bold. Realms where every hard-fought day Carved pathways through jungles of disarray.

Conquering here isn’t the vanquishing of foes, But the planting of gardens where wisdom grows. It's the nurturing of seeds once sown in despair, Now blooming in rows of the earnestly fair.

Each step, each stumble, bore fruit of its own, Lessons learned in the marrow of bone. Where once was naught but unyielding night, Now stars are born from the grit of the fight.

Wisdom—the spoils of the steadfast and true, A tapestry woven with threads of every hue. The richness found in the quiet satisfaction Of having persisted with heartfelt action.

This is what it means to truly conquer, Not the clamor of acclaim, nor to anchor In harbors where praises are sung loud, But in the silent pride of having plowed

Furrows in fields fraught with doubt, To harvest the grains of a life fleshed out. So here we stand, at the end of our climb, The summit of persistence, transcending time.

For conquered realms lie not underfoot, But in the heart, where once only soot Of burned dreams lay in disarray, Now gems of triumph in bright array.

This quiet joy—this treasure trove— Is the realm conquered by those who strove Not for the world, but a peace reclaimed, In the knowing that nothing ventured is nothing gained.

Cheers to the end of the semester!

[mythicamagic]

Enemies to Lovers - Sesshoumaru is injured - "Lean on me" prompt

AN: Because there’s a lot of prompts to get through I probably should have/could have spent more time on this one due to the heavy subject matter buuut since in the anime Sesshoumaru only gets 11 episodes to recover from the loss of his arm, I don’t feel too guilty XD

Warning: body trauma

---

Inuyasha's wench had found him around an hour ago. Unlike Rin, she'd deliberated approaching for a few moments. Unsurprising. They were still foes after all. Crimson eyes remained burning, glaring listlessly at her face.

She'd seemed to silently decide something, determination steeling her expression. The yellow nekomata he vaguely recalled belonging to the slayer was her sole companion, who growled at him warningly not to try anything. As if he would.

The miko carried a large cumbersome bag, so he assumed she'd been headed somewhere before running into him within the forest.

Kagome cleaned his wound as best she could, before binding it to try and stop the excessive blood loss. She'd then approached with the beast, proceeding to kneel beside his bloody form. Sesshoumaru remained where he was, reclined against a tree and settled at its base.

Kagome winced, arm secured around his waist after having removed his armour.

"I can't just leave you like this. Lean on me. I'll take your weight enough to move you onto Kirara."

Sesshoumaru turned his head, gazing at nothing.

His lips moved, speaking too softly for her to hear.

"What?"

He repeated himself in a tight voice. "What is the point?"

Kagome stiffened against him. Her heart thudded quicker, fear brushing his senses.

Sesshoumaru allowed his hazy red eyes to dull into empty gold, staring right at the woman.

He could survive a missing arm. Had adjusted his fighting style enough to manage.

But the Killing Perfection could not survive the loss of a leg too. His body would save him from blood loss, but his spirit lay broken, irreparable.

Kagome swallowed loudly, resting a hand on his upper thigh. His leg ended below the knee.

"T-this… it's nothing for you," she mumbled quietly. "You're going to be okay. You'll find a way to walk again."

Sesshoumaru chuckled dryly, resting his head back against the trunk. "Why do you care, wench?" he flashed sharp teeth at her. "We are not allies. Leave me."

"I won't," Kagome moved closer, grabbing a handful of his hankimono. "Listen, I might not be your friend and you've tried to kill Inuyasha more than a few times, but…" her hand shook. "But you're the strongest person I've met. If you fall, then what hope do the rest of us have?" she questioned softly. "Despite myself, I admire people like you and Kikyo. Always so crazy strong."

Sesshoumaru scoffed, gripping her hard by the hair and forcing her head down to look at the stump of his right leg. "Do I look strong to you, miko?" he hissed in her ear.

Kagome braced her hands on his available leg, twisting in his grip to look at him.

Sesshoumaru stilled.

Unshed tears lay in her eyes.

"Yes," she muttered with conviction. "So long as you don't give up now."

Sesshoumaru stared. Inky black hair slowly fell limp around his fingers. He settled back against the tree.

Kagome straightened, winding an arm around his waist again. "At least come with me to find shelter. You can't stay like this out in the open."

Sesshoumaru remained dead weight. He did not see the point in trying.

He could not hope to recover from this.

Kagome tugged and heaved at his body, his mass much too big for her to hope to move.

She sighed with frustration, blowing air at her bangs. "I'll tell Inuyasha about this," she grumbled.

Sesshoumaru blinked, sliding his gaze back to her. "I would kill you before you managed to leave."

Kagome smiled a little, patting his shoulder. "That's better. You look a bit more like yourself when you're threatening someone."

He wanted to snap at her. To snarl and bite the soft looking skin of her neck, frighten her enough to leave.

He was tired. A part of him felt content to die after his pride lay in such shattered tiny pieces.

And yet…

And yet a part of him, instinctive, strong and indomitable, refused to lay down and perish. It appreciated her continued efforts.

The thought of him hobbling about so pathetically was almost too much to bear, but Sesshoumaru closed his eyes, realising very wretchedly that this meant he did not in fact wish to die.

"We can do this," Kagome was muttering, trying to angle him enough to lay on Kirara, who pressed in close, offering assistance.

Sesshoumaru stifled a sigh, making a silent choice. He begrudgingly leaned against her, shifting his remaining leg beneath him.

Kagome gasped, "that's it!" she encouraged, helping him into a crouching position before he fell forward onto the beast. Kagome adjusted his leg, ensuring he was steady, before nodding for Kirara to stand.

Sesshoumaru did not pay attention to their surroundings, the forest passing in a blur.

If he'd just been quicker, the bull demon who had humiliated him would have perished sooner. The beast had produced a second weapon out of thin air, axe cleaving through muscle and bone. All he could do was pull back- lest he lose his entire lower half.

He felt no pain. Surprisingly, everything remained numb. His flesh was cold and clammy, and he lay as if outside of his own body.

Sesshoumaru closed his eyes, lapsing into unconsciousness.

---

The scent of rain stirred his senses.

Sesshoumaru turned his head, finding himself laying down upon a strange futon that resembled a squashed cocoon. The nekomata lay behind him, keeping him warm.

Sesshoumaru blinked. The miko had found them shelter. He soon located her sitting at the mouth of the cave, looking out at the rain while a fire lay in the centre of the cool space.

When she noticed he’d regained consciousness, Kagome rose and offered some water from her strange water container.

She’d changed clothes, donning more unusual clothing Sesshoumaru was unfamiliar with. Her pants clung to her form distractingly.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, hovering close.

He tsked, passing back the water after taking a swig. “Like I have one leg and one arm. How do you think I am feeling, mortal?”

She winced, “shitty.”

“Indeed,” Sesshoumaru lay back down, staring at the cave ceiling soberly.

“Do you want something to eat?” a crunchy noise rustled from her pocket as the woman produced a rectangular bar of some kind.

He couldn’t keep the disgust out of his voice, eyeing a picture of the food on its strange packaging. “What is it?”

“A peanut butter and chocolate energy bar,” Kagome winced. “Look I don’t know how to hunt-” he scoffed, “-so this is the best I’ve got. Sorry, your Highness.”

Sesshoumaru sneered, “you may keep it. I do not eat human food. Least of all bizarre creations such as that.”

“Fine but it's your loss.”

His expression became blank, noticing her wince and start apologising for the wording. He wasn’t listening anymore though. The initial shock was beginning to wear off, and now he was more than painfully aware of the shooting pains running up and down the remainder of his leg, from stump to upper thigh. Sweat began to bead on his forehead, refusing to show his discomfort.

“...You’ve used a human arm before,” Kagome said carefully, sitting beside him and crossing her legs. “And what looked like a dragon one. By that logic, you could attach a demon leg to yours, right?”

Sesshoumaru slid his gaze to her, silently thankful for the distraction. The coming agony would be something he’d already dealt with due to the loss of his arm. Phantom limb pain was a real bitch.

“Yes,” he managed, before taking a steadying breath. He managed to arrange his features into something smirking and lofty. “Are you implying you will fetch me a new limb, little miko? How very generous.”

Kagome’s eyes turned flat. “I’m not about to go out and lop off some poor demon’s foot just to help you. But...if…” she said slowly, “if I’m attacked- which happens often because of the jewel shards- maybe I’d…”

Sesshoumaru dropped his smug expression, frowning softly.

The rain continued to pour, pelting the ground hard. It was a sobering reminder that if she’d left him to the mercy of the elements, he’d be in a much worse state.

He ran careful attention over her features. “Why?”

Kagome’s deep blue eyes held his probing stare, not a flicker of deceit in them. “I don’t know,” she admitted softly, “things can’t go back to normal for you right away- or at least, they shouldn’t. You should take the time to recover. I don’t know how the hell you managed to come after us so quickly after losing your arm. It likely wasn’t healthy for you.”

He arched a brow. Repressing every single fibre of the experience and any feelings about the fate that had befallen his left arm had worked wonders for his recovery. Granted it made sleep difficult at times, but none had ever had the audacity to lecture him about his decisions before.

“But- I also don’t want you to be vulnerable to attacks or starvation,” Kagome kept rambling. “Giving you a leg won’t solve everything but it’ll help- ah, are you burning up?” she noticed a bead of sweat roll down his temple, reaching out automatically.

Sesshoumaru snatched it mid-air, pushing up with a burst of speed and yanking Kagome down, simultaneously rolling atop her. Her back hit the ground, punctuated with a squeak from her startled lips.

Silver hair hung down, creating a curtain that blocked out the rest of the world. Those blue eyes widened, breath hitching. Their lower halves pressed intimately together, stomachs meeting as Sesshoumaru leaned closer, using his hand to brace his weight above her. A fire burned within the back of his throat, ancient, tattered pride stinging. He found that he resented her slightly. Resented her for seeing him so weak. It hadn’t mattered when Rin had found him wounded. A battered child had no relation to him. But this girl, Kagome- was an enemy. She should not have seen him thus.

“Do I seem so very vulnerable to you?” he asked in a hushed voice, mouth inches from hers. The fire crackled, rain pouring. Her breathing sounded a touch quicker, heartbeat loud in his ears. Drumming.

Against all logic, he felt her body relax beneath his. She even smiled a little, “no,” she muttered.

“Is something amusing?”

“I’m just glad you proved me wrong. I’d rather you kept acting like a jerk than look so...defeated like you did earlier,” Kagome gave a nervous giggle, gesturing between them, “uh...if you could let me up now though that would be great.”

She tried to rise, but he let more of his weight sink down upon her soft, warm body. “No, I do not think I will.”

Kagome gasped, drawing a knee up and inadvertently opening her legs, allowing him to fit snugly against her. If he hadn’t lost a limb several hours earlier that same day and wasn’t experiencing agonising, blinding pain, Sesshoumaru had to say, the feeling was enough to make him...consider something previously thought impossible between himself and humans.

As it was, he hissed a breath through grit teeth, the stump licking phantom flames of blazing fire around the wound.

“Sesshoumaru? Sesshoumaru!”

He shuddered, trying to prevent himself from crushing her beneath his weight, arm shaking.

It hurt. It suddenly hurt like hell- and nothing was working. No distraction could take him from the blistering, lonely, maddening sensation that holy fuck his leg was missing. He wanted to do something as meaningless as wriggle his toes and he could not-

Suddenly, her arms were around him. Pleasant fresh scents assaulted his fractured senses, citrusy and clean. Kagome pulled him down while rolling herself, flipping their positions.

“I don’t have anything for the pain,” her voice strained apologetically. She quickly moved off him, but Sesshoumaru wasn’t paying attention anymore. He panted, temples pounding. His body shook, pain shooting through the nerve endings in the remainder of his leg.

Something cold and wet lay over his marked forehead. Cracking the burning suns of pained golden eyes open, he watched Kagome adjust the cold compress, before checking his leg.

“You heal quick, but you need new bandages. M-maybe that’ll help until I can go home for painkillers,” she muttered, grabbing her bag and digging through it.

Sesshoumaru panted softly, seizing the fretting miko’s wrist.

“Your...scent,” he grunted.

“What?”

If he were sober he’d never request something so undignified, but Sesshoumaru kept talking, somewhat delirious now that all sense of shock had worn off. “Come here...again. I want your scent.”

Kagome’s shocked features were lost to him as the Daiyoukai hissed, squeezing his eyes shut.

The scent of citrus returned after a moment. Soft, curling locks of dark hair brushed his nose as Kagome gingerly embraced him.

Sesshoumaru wrapped an arm around her shoulders, burying his face into the black fall of citrus-scented strands. He lost himself to instinct, gripping onto the stable, pleasant sensations that took the form of Inuyasha’s wench. She let out a tense breath but soon relaxed against him, verbally assuring Kirara when the nekomata growled.

For the second time that day, Sesshoumaru unwillingly lost the battle for consciousness.

----

She was gone by the time he awoke in the morning, but the nekomata remained. She growled and hissed softly whenever he looked at the beast for longer than necessary. Kagome left a note, explaining that she’d be back soon.

Sesshoumaru had little to do except wait. The pain had become a continuous throb, which was easier to deal with but equally as irritating, exhausting him.

When Kagome returned several hours later, she produced wrapped pieces of cooked chicken from her bag, cheerfully explaining that she’d returned home. Sesshoumaru turned his nose up slightly at the food.

“I would have preferred the bird...raw.”

“Wait like freshly dead?”

“Alive, favourably.”

Kagome gaped, leaving the lunchbox with him. “That's terrible!”

Sesshoumaru stared at her flatly, opening his mouth and drawing out his tongue, transforming his features into something more monstrous and canine while placing the food into his mouth and eating it in one quick snap of his jaws. “Demon,” he muttered pointedly.

She rolled her eyes and let him finish his meal in peace.

---

They fell into an odd routine of planned visits for several days, talking about the strange things she brought back from home. He came to learn she was from the Future, of all places. They discussed its advanced technologies while she bandaged his leg.

He suspected the miko felt some sense of responsibility for him now. The thought set his teeth on edge, mildly humiliated.

When he brought up the subject of his vassal, ward and steed, Kagome shrugged and told him they’d been accepted into Inuyasha’s group for the time being. They worried about his continued absence and Inuyasha complained about having to share a space with Jaken, but bared with it. Not one person knew about his situation except Kagome, for which he was thankful.

By the end of five days though, Sesshoumaru needed to move. He began by pulling himself along the ground via his hand and knee, which proved awkward but not impossible. Next came standing, which- after many failed attempts- he finally managed to do, gripping onto the cave wall.

Walking was impossible, of course. And by the time Sesshoumaru realised the very sobering truth that he’d have to hop everywhere the rest of his life or walk with the use of a cane or crutch unless he could grab a demon leg- he wondered why he’d bothered moving at all.

“You’re standing!”

Dulled golden eyes slid to the miko, who stood at the mouth of the cave. In her arms was a large sack faintly marred with blood, and he could tell from the wrinkle of her nose exactly what it was. Surprise slammed into his gut.

“Miko-”

Kagome set the bundle down, hurrying over and steadying him when he tipped too much to one side. “Are you alright? You should be resting-”

“Give me the leg, miko.”

Kagome fell silent, eyeing his stump. He’d stopped needing bandages two days ago. She didn’t protest, merely looking at him carefully. “Are you sure?”

Sesshoumaru leaned against her, allowing her to help ease him down into a sitting position. He briefly touched her cheek, gliding a thumb there and watching it redden. His heart thudded with gladness. “I am sure.”

She nodded, soon bringing the bloodied sack over. She explained that he’d gotten lucky, as while the first two demons they’d faced in a group of three had been too large and bulky to fit his build, the third had been smaller. Inuyasha had been extremely disturbed and suspicious when she’d asked him to hack their leg off once all three were dead.

“It’s not been easy, avoiding his questions, you know. He’s tried to follow me here more than once. I managed to convince him that this leg was for my weird Grandpa.”

Sesshoumaru blinked, finding himself watching her instead of studying the leg as it was revealed to him. The miko had been astronomically helpful and considerate in all the ways one could to a demon lord. His chest felt strange. Warm, upon realising the extent of her actions for his sake.

“Well, do you like it?”

Sesshoumaru jolted, focusing on the red-scaled leg laying before him. From its scent, he knew it to be from a lizard demon. Not his first choice, but this was no time to be picky. Sesshoumaru grabbed it and pressed the severed end to his stump after aligning it. He didn’t so much as flinch as muscle and bone wove together, the process over in seconds. Kagome gaped with amazement.

When he moved to stand, she quickly assisted, pulling him to his feet. Sesshoumaru took a step and staggered, looking downwards.

Ah.

Kagome’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh. Oh no...it's too short isn’t it?”

The height was off by a few inches.

He made to reply- before stiffening, scenting salt. “Why are you crying about it, foolish woman?”

“I-I’m sorry,” she waved it off, some tears escaping down her cheeks before she roughly brushed them away. “I just wanted it to be perfect but now you’re kind of...tilted.”

Despite the situation, a smile tugged at his mouth. A noise bubbled up from the back of his throat, escaping as a quiet laugh.

Kagome froze, tears clinging to her lashes.

“It is fine, miko. More than...fine.”

Sesshoumaru held onto the wall for support, feeling the bite of putting weight onto the leg, his stump flaring. It would take time for his body to adjust. Despite this, his warrior heart filled with purpose again, powers working to heal him. Just having the ability to walk after having it stolen away renewed his spirits.

Kagome watched him with a smile, occasionally offering aid but largely keeping her hands off. He could sense various soft emotions rolling off her in waves. Admiration, relief and something else. Something he could not name. It remained untouched and unnamed long after he left the cave behind one afternoon.

He had no writing utensils to leave a note, instead carefully tearing out a segment of his sleeve, leaving the red and white flower symbol of his family crest for her to find.

---

Kagome panted hard, catching her breath and folding down into a crouch, gripping her bow tight.

“Are you alright, Kagome?” Rin asked, closely followed by Shippo as they approached from Ah-Un, having kept away from the random attack on the village. Thankfully the hoard of boar demons had finally been dealt with, but Kagome’s nerves were shot to hell after racing around so much, trying to protect villagers.

“I-I’m fine, guys, thanks,” she smiled, looking between them both. The orphans had bonded quickly, and she felt a surge of warmth, happy they had a companion their age to talk with. It had been two weeks since she’d last seen Sesshoumaru since his disappearance, and while she loved having Rin around, it did make her worry. Sesshoumaru always returned to his group. Where had he run off too?

Maybe he went to find a better leg, she thought, taking the children’s hands and walking towards Miroku- who was helping up an old man from where he’d fallen. Perhaps he needed time to get used to walking on what’s essentially a prosthetic.

For humans- such a thing took up to one year. Demons really are something else.

Kagome’s lips curved, picturing the burning, determined gaze of the Daiyoukai.

Or rather, Sesshoumaru is something else.

“Kagome, look out!” Miroku yelled.

Jerking, Kagome sensed a lone boar youkai barrelling towards her through the forest, knocking trees aside. It was quicker than anticipated- and despite Kagome grabbing the children and trying to run out of its way, it charged straight for her, grunting, throwing its head wildly.

People were screaming her name, but they were too far away. Kagome twisted her body, pushing the kids aside and in order for her to take the brunt of the hit-

Red light exploded to life, consuming the boar demon before it could reach them. Hide and blood were caught up in the attack, leaving Kagome mercifully free from the boar's flying carnage.

She panted, shaking a little and gazing at the steaming remains of the demon. A pale figure floated to the ground, landing elegantly.

“Lord Sesshoumaru!” Rin cried happily.

“Lord Sesshoumaru?!” Jaken’s distant yell could be heard.

Kagome straightened, heart doing a funny thing in her chest. She immediately looked at his leg- finding him clad in white hakama pants and black boots. The same as always.

Blue eyes widened. He appeared completely unchanged. Somehow, he must’ve found an inhuman demon and took their leg so that he could masquerade as his usual self.

His tiny group circled around him joyously, while Kagome’s friends gathered together a little ways away. Inuyasha’s ears pinned back to his head with displeasure.

Jaken hopped up and down. “Where have you BEEN, mi lord!”

“Nowhere."

“Tch, bastard,” grumbling, Inuyasha raised his voice a touch. “Hey- you could at least thank us for babysitting your damn group while you were probably out doing power-hungry shit.”

Sesshoumaru’s gaze slid over the Hanyou dismissively, stopping on Kagome. Her breathing hitched.

“I am not here to thank you, Inuyasha.”

Kagome remained frozen as a shadow fell over her face, his head of silver hair blocking out the sun. Golden eyes replaced the burning circle in the sky, blazing and intent. Slit pupils pinned her in place.

She was vaguely aware of her friends exclaiming in surprise and alarm, thinking he meant to harm her. The sound of Inuyasha drawing his sword was enough to make her mutter ‘sit boy’ absentmindedly, paying no attention to his subsequent impact with the ground.

Sesshoumaru raised a hand, resting pale knuckles against her cheek in a slow drag down to her jaw, skin cool, clashing against her warmth. White lashes lowered, becoming half-mast.

“You’re okay?” she breathed.

“Hn, I merely needed some time,” Sesshoumaru’s low rumble melted her insides.

She cleared her throat, cheeks tinging red because of his proximity, his dark youki brushing her senses, his touch- his everything. Reaching into her pocket, she produced the segment of his clothing, the pattern of his clan. “Did you want this back-?”

“Keep it,” he closed her fingers over it, catching her eye. “You have my loyalty for what you have done for this one, miko. Keep it,” he said softer.

Kagome nodded slowly, opening her mouth to ask more-

Firm lips slanted over her own. Stiffening, she became deaf to her friend’s even louder exclamations of surprise, Miroku quietly voicing his awe, impressed.

The miko inhaled sharply through her nose, feeling Sesshoumaru’s mouth move, brushing against her own in several lingering kisses. Blushing, it took a moment for Kagome to get over her stupefaction. But then she pressed a little closer, kissing him back perhaps a little nonsensically. But it felt right. Her toes curled at the feel of him.

A low groan rumbled in his throat and his lips softened against hers, mouth parting to brush his sinuous tongue against hers.

Kagome shivered and wondered if he could hear how her heart hammered in her chest. His palm felt steady upon her back, arm encircling her waist. When they finally pulled away, their lips lingered close.

“What...what was that?” she breathed, cheeks flushed.

Sesshoumaru’s lips quirked, “that was this Sesshoumaru conveying my deep sense of gratitude, miko.”

“Funny way of thanking someone, but I’ll take it,” Kagome’s eyes glittered. She could think about the consequences of such an action later. For now, she was content to hold his gaze and keep his secret safe- for however long the prideful Daiyoukai needed.

[saanphoenix]

“Why do so many old-school FFVII fans think that Cloud took Zack’s memories?”

Alright, so first things first. We gotta start from the beginning. We gotta start with Jenova.

Jenova is the name given to the alien entity known as the Calamity. “Heaven’s dark harbinger.” This being, assumed to be female because of the body she was in at the Crater, was basically godlike in her natural abilities. Historically, she was able to shapeshift. She was telepathic. She had a nigh indomitable will. And she used her abilities to infect the race of human(oid)s that happened upon her crash site--the Cetra.

Now, Ifalna, within the English translation of the OG, states that Jenova turned the Cetra into monsters, nearly wiping them all out, and that the wee few that remained basically had to be sacrificed to seal Jenova away before she could do anymore damage to all life on the planet. The notes Sephiroth finds within the Shinra Mansion seem to corroborate this version of events, as he tells Zack that the Cetra chose to fight the Calamity while the other humans “hid”, thus being spared Jenova’s shenanigans, allowing them to become the dominant race on the planet, but ultimately being cowards unworthy to be the shepherds of any star, to quote Emet-Selch from FFXIV. Stay with me now.

We also know that the notes Sephiroth reads within the Shinra Mansion do not, in any way, call Jenova the Calamity. They still refer to her as a Cetra. Meaning that those notes are outdated, before the discovery of a living Cetra, a Cetra who is 2000 years removed from her own people’s history. Right? So.

(’Ah, but what about Genesis point-blank telling Sephiroth the truth? He knew what was up!’ Yes, because Hollander and Hojo found out from Gast’s recordings, and Ifalna herself, what Jenova actually was, and then Hollander told Genesis, who then said some stupid ass shit to trigger Sephiroth into looking into the wrong information, and now Nibelheim is not Nibelheim anymore and Cloud is missing one more family member than he was when he joined Shinra. Also, fuck Genesis. Anyway.)

HOJO, yeah? Hojo, in two separate novels written by Nojima himself, states to Aerith and Tseng separately that Jenova 1) will inevitably infect all life on the planet with her “cells” because of the very nature of the Lifestream and 2) turned the Cetra against each other via subtle manipulation and illusions of their loved ones, dead or alive, conceived from their own memories. She didn’t show up looking like the Eldritch horror with the eyeball nipple, she showed up looking like a run-of-the-mill Cetra. And she would further disguise herself as people a Cetra knew in order to gain their trust. And then, after she had gained that trust, she would say shit like, “Hey. Your friend over there hates you,” or, “Hey. Your friend over there wants to kill you.” And thus the Cetra, at the very least morally but probably also physically, became monsters and tore themselves apart.

You ever wonder why everything the Cetra had was booby-trapped and hidden behind riddles and self-sacrificial bullshit like their Temple? My guess is because Jenova made it so they couldn’t trust anyone, even themselves.

“Why did I read all that? What does that have to do with Cloud voring Zack’s memories?”

Because we gotta understand the mechanics of this bitch first so that we know what to look out for.

Now, we have an alien in stasis--presumed dead but definitely not--and a buncha scientists who really want a coveted spot sucking President Shinra’s dick as head of the Science Dept. who all think that taking the genetic material of a Cetra and splicing it into a modern-day human’s DNA will give them a Geiger counter to the Promised Land. Which they want to use as fuel because only some of them really understand what mako is and the others are just fucking stupid. Anyway, my guess is that they archeology their way to Jenova’s still-kinda-alive corpse and do some DNA testing and go, “Ah! We’ve found a Cetra. It has to be one! She’s by the crater, after all, and that’s where some of them were nuked by a Meteor! :) We’re geniuses!” And Jenova, in the Lifestream, went, “GOTCHA, BITCH!”

And through the power of dino DNA, out pops a lot of nonviable lifeforms, some monsters, and, eventually, a relatively normal kid with a flare for the dramatic who will become wholly obsessed with apples and very boring literature that he will insist on repeating every five goddamn seconds. As he was no Geiger counter to the Promised Land, out pops another relatively normal kid who will grow up to have dreams, and honor, and steal food from his neighbors because he was so damn honorable that he just could not ask for a handout.

With Hollander and Gillian’s experiments not producing anything of note other than children that need love and support, Hojo and Lucrecia decide to take a slightly different sample of Jenova’s cells and just start sticking them everywhere. They’re in Lucrecia. They’re in Lucrecia’s fetus. And...something strange starts to happen.

Lucrecia starts to feel the effects of Jenova. Lucrecia’s mind and body start to kind of deteriorate. Not the way that Genesis’ and Angeal’s do later on, but she is plagued by shit like severe depression and fatigue. She falls out on the floor multiple times. Her bodyguard is a little late on pulling the trigger of the gun aimed at her husband and, instead of doing anything productive about her husband proving he’s an amoral murderous fuckhead, she just decides to play doll with her kinda undead bodyguard, get even sicker, and then, finally, pops out a very strange looking baby. In fact, he looks a little alien.

“No, seriously, what does this have to do with anything?”

Genetics. How Jenova cells work. Whatever clump of cells they injected into Lucrecia, clearly different from those used in Project G, seemed to focus more on the mental fuckery aspect of Jenova than the physical, shapeshifting aspect of Jenova. I would also argue that one of the reasons Lucrecia was so adversely affected by the cells and Gillian was not is their mental well-being. Gillian, even when we meet her, seems very upbeat and doing pretty okay despite her husband having died from exhaustion a coupla years back. Lucrecia was depressed and very subservient even before she married Hojo. Losing her mentor--Vincent’s father--probably exacerbated that. And, later in Advent Children, that sort of mentality--hopelessness and despair--is what Sephiroth’s Geostigma feeds off of. That and thoughts of death/dying. But that is more speculation than anything.

So, Sephiroth’s cells are different from Genesis’ and Angeal’s, and they were all three bred differently, but they’re all kinda chimeras of Jenova’s. And once Genesis learns about his origins, it’s like the lightbulb goes off. This guy’s creating clones by infecting his 2nd and 3rd Class SOLDIERs with his own cells. And when he does that, their physical appearance becomes his own. As does their will. Whatever Genesis wants, the clones also want. And then he just grows a wing for shits and giggles. Once he tells his BFF Angeal the sitch, behold! He’s got monster clones--maybe because he realizes how fucked up overwriting a human being with yourself is--and wings, too. ...Why?

The power to do all of this shit was always there. It was genetically always there. They just had to be made aware of it, to have the puzzle piece put into place. When Sephiroth dies, that puzzle piece is put into place. And then he starts fuckin’ with shit. And turns into monstrous angels. And then dies again. And then comes back and finally grows himself his own wing. He did it, fellas. He’s a big boy now.

But we’re not here to talk about Sephiroth--ignore how much I talked about Sephiroth and his mommies previously--we’re here to talk about ZACK and CLOUD.

“What’s up with Zack and Cloud?”

First, what we must realize is that even though Hojo says that both Zack and Cloud are failed clones because they 1) didn’t take on any physical characteristics of Sephiroth, 2) didn’t seem controlled by Jenova (or Sephiroth) and, 3) didn’t exhibit the other signs of a Reunion impulse like the other clones in Nibelheim that does not mean that Sephiroth’s cells, Jenova’s cells, are not working on them.

As we’ve observed in other 1sts, abilities do not always manifest immediately or even noticeably. Clearly, Sephiroth’s physical appearance is a bit of a hint, but Genesis and Angeal look pretty damn normal and, if it weren’t for their mako injections, they probably wouldn’t be showing that much of an increase in physical capabilities. Theoretically. Maybe 10-year-old Angeal had biceps the size of a man’s head. I mean. Pff.

Zack’s tolerance to Jenova was strong due to his previous exposure in the SOLDIER program. Cloud’s mind broke pretty early on. Neither of these results matter to the fact that they both now have Sephiroth’s cells within them--just as Genesis’ and Angeal’s clones had theirs--and that their very wills are now going to be affected by Sephiroth’s. But they are also going to be a little bit like him in terms of power.

Zack’s hair, when ingested by a Genesis clone, a clone of a Type-G SOLDIER, transforms that clone into a monster. Zack doesn’t even have to do anything. The Jenova/Sephiroth cells within his body can just Do That, cause that change in another life form, of their own accord. I’m honestly shocked that, whenever they gave Zack these S-cells, HE didn’t turn into a monster. But that’s neither here nor there. I wanna talk about Cloud.

Cloud has mako poisoning, which the Remake describes as his spirit/soul being stuck between his body and the Lifestream. Weird. Anyway, he’s not fully aware of his surroundings at all times, and he clearly can’t control his body that much. He somehow has the ability to kinda get his feet shuffling, and I’m going to go on a limb and say he can chew whatever food Zack gives him, but most of the time, he’s a puppet with cut strings.

But he is also still recovering from a mind break caused by Jenova cells. The same cells that are just chilling in his body, like they are in Zack’s. And all the months Zack is dragging his ass across a continent, an ocean, and another continent, they and Cloud are listening to whatever the fuck Zack is saying. Cloud is also constantly in physical contact with Zack.

In The Kids Are Alright: A Turks Side Story, Kadaj has the power to not only read surface thoughts and memories just by being near someone, but he can also read deeper ones by making physical contact with someone. Because Jenova. And Sephiroth, whose cells Cloud and Zack have, in the OG demonstrates that he, too, can glean thoughts and memories from others. Because Jenova.

If this power is a genetic trait, as it is with Genesis and Angeal, then, sitting pretty underneath their skin, Zack and Cloud have this ability. Dormant. Snoozing. Kinda like the 1st Class Trio’s wings.

But Zack has a high tolerance and a high ignorance to Jenova and just what he might be capable of. Cloud’s mind is floating in and out at best. He’s not in control of himself. And when you have a situation like that, it is very, very easy to come to the conclusion that Cloud’s Jenova cells are passively absorbing the memories of Zack’s time in Nibelheim. That they are knitting these memories together with what little remain in Cloud’s head. That when Tifa comes across Cloud at the train station and calls him by name and remembers who he is that Cloud’s Jenova cells latch onto those memories in Tifa--as Sephiroth tells them they did--and they knit those memories with Zack’s and Cloud’s and the end result is the man we get at the beginning of the OG.

Because Cloud has visual memory of shit he never saw. It’s not just a visual medium telling a visual story. You wanna know how I know that for a fact? Because, in the Remake, Cloud remembers Sephiroth walking up to Jenova’s tank in the reactor from Sephiroth’s perspective. He is looking through Sephiroth’s eyes, through his memory, up at “Mother.” In that moment in the Remake, Cloud is Sephiroth. He’s not Cloud anymore.

Cloud sees Sephiroth delivering the speech of being an Ancient. Cloud wasn’t there. Cloud didn’t see that. Zack did. That is Zack’s memory.

The man writing the Remake is the same man who’s been at the head of MOST FFVII writing. He was on the OG, he wrote Advent Children, he wrote the novels, he wrote Crisis Core, he’s writing the Remake. He knows what these cells can do because he’s crafted this world-building for decades.

Cloud didn’t take all of Zack’s memories. He didn’t need to. Kadaj, in the novel, doesn’t glean everything from someone right off the bat. Because he doesn’t need to. Only when he needs to learn something else does he go digging. The same is probably true for what Cloud’s cells most likely did to be able to know what he knows. Hell! Kadaj gets punched in the novel and he ACCIDENTALLY picks up the emotions and memories of the guy who punched him. He didn’t want ‘em but he got ‘em!”

There is evidence within the OG, and even more within the Compilation, that lend weight to the theory that Cloud unintentionally read Zack’s mind when it came to the events of Nibelheim.

For years, people have wondered, “How the hell does Cloud know that if he wasn’t there?” For years, people have wondered, “How can he use the Buster Sword if he was just a little grunt that used a gun all the time?” The logical answer is, “Because of his Jenova cells. They can just do that shit.”

[twstarchives]

Mirror of Darkness Show

This show has been screened at several events: ■ Twisted Wonderland pop-up shop in Animate (Aug 1 - Sept 6, 2020) ■ First Anniversary livestream on Abema TV (Mar 17, 2021) ■ Halloween 2021 virtual event on Cluster (Oct 18 - Nov 18, 2021)

I’ve translated the script below ↓

                           ・━━━━✥◈✥━━━━・

Crowley: Allow me to welcome all of you who have gathered here to hear about this academy. I am the headmaster, Dire Crowley. I’m overjoyed to know that so many of you are interested in our Night Raven College. Heheh.

Now then, I will leave it to the first-years to attend to you all. Freshmen, please be very welcoming and professional with them. Alright, I will take my leave. Ah, I’m so busy, so busy!

Grim: Oi oi, the headmaster just left everything up to us and ran off somewhere.

Ace: Bleugh, I don’t wanna be here.

Deuce: C’mon, Ace. Some of these people might be new students next year. Pull yourself together!

If we get to have juniors... then we’ll finally be considered upperclassmen!

Ace: Now that you mention it... if you had a junior, then you could force them to take care of flamingo feeding duty for you! That’d be a win!

...That’s what you were imagining, right?

Deuce: Ah! Don’t act like I’m you.

Grim: But... they wouldn’t be in Heartslabyul with you guys unless the Mirror of Darkness picked it for them, right?

We’d always welcome anyone to Ramshackle! Hehe! If I get more henchmen, I could push them around everyday and make them bring me all the tuna cans I want!

Jack: Hey, Grim. You’re telling everyone too much of your internal thoughts. This is a job the Headmaster entrusted us with, so let’s do it right.

Ace: There it is—Jack’s always-on-task voice.

But anyway, you guys. The looks on your faces all scream “I don’t know anything!” but... don’t tell me—not just about Night Raven College obviously, but you don’t know about the Great Seven either?! Oi oi, I’m getting déjà vu here!

Grim: These guys are just like my henchman—they need you to walk them through everything.

Ace: Whaaat, but I’m too lazy to give the same explanation again. So anyway, Epel! You can take it from here!

Epel: Huh?! M... Er, me? I’d like to help, but... I don’t know if I’d be able to explain it right.... um... ¹

Jack: He’s stumbling right from the start... Alright, guess I’ll do it.

Night Raven College is a mage-training boarding school. There are seven dorms here based off the Great Seven, a group of powerful figures who once existed in the past. Whichever dorm you’re put in is determined by the Mirror of Darkness at the time you enroll. They say it’s chosen based on the essence of your soul.

Epel: Thank you, Jack. I’m sure all of you here must look up to the Great Seven too, and are hoping you’ll be able to get into Night Raven College as well.

Ace: Hello—? Wait, did they all fall asleep?

Sebek: What?? Oi, all of you! WAKE UP!!

Jack: Agh! Sebek! Don’t start yelling without warning us first!

Deuce: Both of you are being too loud! Everyone, I’m sorry if that startled you. Is it alright if I continue?

I’ll explain about the dorms and the Great Seven.

Heartslabyul is the dorm Ace and I are in, which is said to be founded on the severity of the Queen of Hearts. Everyone here lives by the law of the Queen of Hearts. Dorm Leader Rosehearts is very strict about the rules, but he and others like Clover and Diamond are all respectable people.

Ace: “Respectable,” huh? Deuce, that’s such a basic way to put it.

Everyone! If you end up in the same dorm as us, you better be careful. Our scaaary dorm leader will give you hell if you break even just one rule!

God, don’t you think things would’ve been better if they hadn’t kept in that aspect of the Queen of Hearts?

Epel: Um... The Queen of Hearts was also an amazing woman who reigned over a kingdom that was chaotic by law.

Grim: And so, anyone who broke those laws was said to have been put on trial and exiled from the country.

Jack: I’m part of Savanaclaw, which models the indomitable spirit of the King of Beasts. There are many students here, including Leona and Ruggie, who excel in athletics.

Which is why... I wanted so badly to have a serious fight at the Magift Tournament.

Deuce: I know exactly what that feels like!

The King of Beasts used his wit and magic power to climb his way to the top. A MAN AMONG MEN! Doesn’t he just amaze you?!

Epel: Yeah, he’s so manly and cool... isn’t he?

Grim: But ya know, the dorm leader Leona is just a do-nothing who sleeps all day.

Ace: You say that, but you never know—someday he might just knock you dead with a POW!

Next up is the dorm founded on the mercy of the Sea Witch, Octavinelle.

Jack: Octavinelle is a group of intellectuals who are always getting the highest scores on written exams. Along with the dorm leader Azul Ashengrotto, it’s full of really clever students. They also run a café called the Mostro Lounge.

Deuce: The Sea Witch lived in a grotto deep under the sea, and granting the wishes of pitiful merfolk was something she lived for.

Ace: The price was a little bit expensive, but just for that you could get anything you could ever wish for!

Epel: After that... we have Scarabia, the dorm founded in the tactical spirit of the Sorcerer of the Desert Kingdom. I hear there’s a lot of students here who are good at Astrology and Ancient Curses. The current dorm leader is Kalim Al-Asim!

Jack: The Sorcerer of the Desert Kingdom was someone who excelled at anticipating the future, often gave advice to the king, and acted as a support for the entire kingdom. That “tactical spirit” of his has definitely been passed down through this dorm, hasn’t it?

Grim: So what you mean is, they’re really smart?

Deuce: Yeah. And the people here also use their own power to strengthen themselves! You could say they climbed their way to the top too!

Ace: I could never put in so much effort and motivation just to get good at something.

M’kay, next! This is the one Epel’s part of—Pomefiore! It kinda has a sparkly, really aesthetic vibe to it.

Epel: Pomefiore models the heavy efforts of the Fairest Queen. They say the Queen was the fairest in all the land, and that she spared no effort to preserve her beauty.

I wonder if that’s why... the dorm leader Vil is so strict with both himself and all the students here.

Jack: The Queen was also supposed to have been a master at making poisons. And it’s true that a lot of the students at Pomefiore excel at potion-making too.

Grim: Next, we’ve got that guy Idia’s... Hngyi... Hngyahyde Dorm.

Ace: I-G-N-I-H-Y-D-E! Try to remember it right!!

Grim: Yeah, that! The dorm leader Idia is so rude; he’s always trying to pet my fur like I’m a cat! Me, the almighty Grim who’s going to become a powerful mage someday!

Epel: Huh...? You’re not a cat...?

Ace: Ignihyde was founded on the diligence of the Lord of the Underworld! Cater told me that a lot of the guys here are strong in magic energy engineering and digital gaming, but their lifestyles tend to be real quiet.

Jack: The Lord of the Underworld ruled over a kingdom of writhing spirits by himself. He never once neglected his job, even though anyone else would fear it. He was very dedicated and earnest, and worked without taking breaks.

Deuce: One, two, three, four, five, six... We’re at six now, so there’s only one left, right?

Ace: Last is Diasom—

Sebek: With Lord Malleus working as its dorm leader, this is Diasomnia!

Ace: BLEHJG!

Epel: Ah...

Ace: You know cutting in yelling like that scares everyone, right?!!

Anyway, you’ve been gone this whole time... Where’d you run off to?

Sebek: Yes, I was receiving a lecture about gargoyles from the Young Master.

Grim: Gar.... ghnghyle? Do those taste good?

Ace: I don’t really know what that means, but I’ll let you introduce Diasomnia ‘cause it’s too much of a hassle for me.

Sebek: Of course. This is far out of your depth anyway.

Ahem. Are you ready? HUMANS! Diasomnia, the dorm I’m part of, is founded on the nobility of the Fairy of Thorns. The current dorm leader is Lord Malleus Draconia! He is a descendant of the faeries, and ranks as one of the top five... No, the strongest magic-wielder in the world! He was born in the Valley of Thorns, his birthday is January 18th, he’s 202 cm tall, he’s part of the Gargoyle Research Society, both of his eyes are—

Ace: This isn’t a introduction on the dorm anymore; you’re just talking about the leader!!

Sebek: Hm? This is the dorm that Lord Malleus runs, so what’s so strange about talking about him?

Ace: This is obnoxious... 

Deuce: He won’t listen no matter what you say, huh?

Grim: Right?

Epel: I feel like the students of Diasomnia can wield magic much better than the other dorms can.

Sebek: That is correct. The Fairy of Thorns, who lived on the Mystical Mountain², could cast magic that was extremely powerful even among the Great Seven. It’s clear that Lord Malleus is the most suited for running this dorm, isn’t it?

Epel: ...And that concludes our explanation. Everyone, thank you for listening all the way through.

Jack: Every dorm has its own set of quirks, but in the end, the one you join depends on the Mirror of Darkness. You shouldn’t worry too much about it.

Deuce: Jack’s right. No matter what dorm you get assigned to, let’s all do our best together to become powerful mages!

Ace: What’s with this beautiful ending you’re leaving off with? Well, I’m not complaining, getting some cute little freshmen around doesn’t sound too bad.

Let’s go to the next Unbirthday Party together!

Sebek: This orientation is not over until you return home safely. If anything happens, we’re the ones that will be held responsible. Do you hear that, humans? Be on your guard as you make your way back.

Grim: Next time you stop by, make sure ya don’t forget my tuna cans!

1. Epel: M... Er, me?

I wasn’t able to convey this correctly, but Epel starts off by using the pronoun “Ore” (a rougher version of “me”) and then pauses to correct himself to “Boku” (which is a bit softer).

2. Mystical Mountain

It’s called the “Forbidden Mountain” in the EN dub, but the term engraved on Maleficent’s statue on Main Street is “Mystical Mountain.”

[frostsinth]

Burdened by the Stars - Pt. 1

Huzzah! A new story! I have had this one in my thoughts since about halfway through Royal Flush, and am happy to finally get it underway. I’ve already got most of the next part written, so I hope to keep ahead of myself that way I can post more regularly again.

Please enjoy this new (and old!) cast of wonderful characters. Tell me what you think! Drop an ask, reblog, or comment! Check out my MasterList for more of my stories, and please feel free to BuyMeACoffee while you are there to help out.

All the best!

The sun was a blessing warmth that day, shining bright in a clear blue cloudless sky. The gardens looked almost endless, and I had to admit I was impressed with the gardeners’ skill to maintain such a vibrant green despite it being nearly the middle of winter. Of course, a fair bit of that was due to the addition of a pair of goblin gardeners a few years back, who imbued some of their innate magic to make the gardens far more beautiful year round than they had ever been. With their aid, the grass grew thicker and greener. The blooms grew larger and more colorful. Everything seemed to have a beautiful sparkling splendor.

Despite the loveliness of the gardens, and their impressive expanse, I was, as always, innately aware of the towering white stone walls surrounding it. One would have to squint to see them from where I stood, but I felt their press as plainly as if I were standing in a four by four box. My own personal gilded prison.

Not that those walls had ever succeeded in keeping me in for long, I thought to myself with a tickle of amusement, crossing my arms as I watched my two Ladies in Waiting struggle to notch their arrows. I had never found it too much trouble to sneak out when I put my mind to it. But I would give my older brother some credit, as he had gotten quite good at two things over the years; convincing me to stay in, and, when that failed, hunting me down to drag me back.

Honestly, I didn’t understand what all the fuss was about. I just wanted to explore! I wanted to see far off places and go on adventures of my own! Nothing ever happened at the castle! There was only ever stuffy, boring nobles and endless soirees and balls and galas. I had no head for politics, no patience for court affairs, no interest in parties. I couldn’t sit still long enough for anyone’s satisfaction, nor did I like wearing the fancy dresses. Certainly I was often told I was clever enough to outwit most anyone, but I just lacked the focus. It was a hollow old song who’s tune had long run dry to my ears.

My brother did try. He was always trying to engage me in court life. And I knew he wanted me to be happy, in his own way. He just didn’t understand my wanderlust and adventuring spirit. He loved being King, and running the country. And he was good at it; the best in centuries many said. Our Kingdom prospered, our people flourished. For him, there was nothing more exciting than negotiating contracts, solving disputes, or meeting foreign dignitaries. He would try to appeal to my curious nature. Come meet this fellow, my brother would say, he’s from the far off Kingdom of somewhere or other. He’ll tell you all sorts of fascinating stories! 

...They were never interesting people. I could almost predict how quickly I would become bored with them by how highly my brother sang their praises before I met them. But we had vastly different tastes, my brother and I. Though when I was younger, I had always admired him. My serious and indomitable older brother, more than 20 years my senior. Still, despite his cold and stoney exterior to the outside world, he was the one who had taught me to shoot a bow. And he had always been there to support me, whatever new interest or hobby I picked up each week. He made a point to spend almost every dinner with me, and to listen to everything I had to say. But when he looked at me, he still saw a Princess. A fine Lady of the Court, not a discontent prisoner. And the older I got, the less and less he seemed to see it.

This afternoon I was especially restless, as I knew it would be soon time to go to the castle where I usually spent the winter months. My travel had been delayed this year due to weather, and I was anxious to be leaving. Especially as my older brother and his spouse had a few younger foreign nobles that they seemed particularly interested in pressing into my company. I nearly groaned at the memory of them. Boring, all of them! One was from a fishing kingdom, but he had never met a pirate! Nor did he even seem remotely interested in discussing them. Another journeyed from beyond the mountains, near the deserts of Sandspire. And yet seemed more prepared to wax poetic about my hair than discuss the inter politics between his Kingdom and the Nessiim.

“Your Highness!” Called one of my Ladies, waving her little arm at me and bouncing up and down in her overly sparkly shoes. “Did you see that shot? I believe I’m getting better!”

I waved my hand back to the small goblin standing a few yards away, smiling. “Keep your elbow tight, Safa, and you’ll hit the target every time!”

My other Lady, Lisbet, giggled behind one delicately gloved hand, giving Safa a light and playful shove and saying something I couldn’t quite hear from the garden gate where I stood. The goblin squealed, her grey-green skin becoming flushed far darker than before, and attempting to poke her human counterpart with the end of her bow. Lisbet merely laughed louder, swatting her back with her own. They were doing well. Neither had much of a hand for such things; their arms were far too unpracticed at pulling the bowstring, and their fine clothes tended to get in the way. But still, it was amusing to see them try. And it never hurt that they might learn a thing or two in the process.

I watched them quietly for a few minutes, leaning over the short wooden fence that separated the open field where we had set up a makeshift target practice from the vegetable garden the kitchen utilized. The two had been incredibly good sports about entertaining me today; both willing to look like absolute fools as they attempted to replicate one of my favorite pastimes. I knew they weren’t trying very seriously anymore, but I didn’t mind. I rubbed my hands together, clearing the dirt from my palms left over from picking some produce for our afternoon snack. Cucumbers and melons were always more delicious picked straight from the vine. I considered my bounty, sighing deeply to myself. It certainly wasn’t all bad being Princess. I knew I should be grateful for living in such a beautiful white stone castle, being waited on hand and foot without a care in the world. And I was!

But I swore I would trade it all for just one great adventure.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I almost didn’t hear the soft crunch of boots on the gravel behind me. Originally I must have passed it off as just a servant running an errand on the path lining the outside of the garden or a guard making their rounds. Then a large, broad shadow passed over me, bigger than any I was sure I had ever seen before, and I spun in surprise.

The man standing behind me was tall. Taller than me, taller than either of my older brothers who were not small people. I ventured to guess he was close to seven feet, either just shy of or just over. His shoulders were broad, almost the width of two men standing side by side. And their breadth was certainly no illusion of his clothes, seeing as he wore next to none. His chest and shoulders were bare save for a dark leather pauldron on one side with a pair of thick straps that were cinched tight to his muscular torso. About his waist he had heavy furs wound back and forth into layers from his hips down to nearly his knees, but I could see his thick thighs through the slashes cut into either side to allow ease of movement. He also boasted a huge axe strapped to his back, possibly as long as I was tall, and a matching dagger on each hip.

Certainly this man was no castle guard, based upon his garb alone, but despite all that, it was not his clothing nor weapons nor size that made my eyebrows flick up in surprise. The man’s flesh (most of which was quite visible to my curious eye) was a deep, yellowish green. Like a lemon still halfway to ripening, though a fair bit darker than one. Besides that, and his broad, flat nose, as well as the mohawk of hair neatly braided down the top center of his head with short shaved sides, a pair of sharp looking little tusks protruded out from behind his lower lip.

The greenish skin and prominent brow originally had me thinking ‘goblin’. But combined with the small tusks and his gargantuan size? I quickly corrected that to ‘orc’. Though this was only a homely guesstimate, as I had never met a real orc before. A pair of bright green emerald eyes settled on me briefly as he approached, then flicked over my shoulder to consider my Ladies. Perhaps I should have been afraid of him, or at the very least wary. Yet instead I found myself intrigued. He carried himself with a slow saunter, confident, but not aggressive. And though he looked completely out of place in his furs amid the polished stones of the fine castle, he didn’t seem particularly on edge himself. Perhaps a bit exasperated, but otherwise relaxed. I shifted, cocking one hip and leaving just one brow raised. Wondering just exactly who this man was, and why he was wandering around inside the castle grounds unaccompanied.

He paused beside me, and I considered him from head to toe as he placed his meaty hands on either hip. I watched him looking over my Ladies again, then he jerked his rounded chin at them.

“Which one of them is the goblin Princess?” He asked, his voice thick with an accent I had never heard before.

I almost laughed out loud at his question, privy to information he apparently was not that made it intensely humorous. But I quickly hid my smirk and turned to consider my two Ladies in Waiting with him. Certainly they looked quite regal and elegant; Safa always preferred large poofy dresses, most almost twice her size, despite how much I preached their impracticality. She also boasted an over the top hairstyle that was the current goblin fashion and gave her an extra inch or two on her height. Meanwhile Lisbet, who’s tastes were much more subdued, looked no less refined in her lovely scarlet frock on top of cream and pink skirts that brushed the grass as she walked. She had also done up her hair in a delicate braid, with a few long cherry blonde curls flowing loose over her shoulders. Both had more than a few bobbles and bangles, and they squeaked and squealed like typical high class ladies who had never needed to worry about a thing in life.

“That depends on who’s asking.” I returned to the stranger, leaning back forward on the gate again over my crossed arms.

The young man gave a snort, and shot me a look out the corner of his eye. I wondered if he was appraising me now. In comparison to the bright and decadent Ladies across the way, I was sure I looked quite plain. A cream colored sleeveless blouse that looped around my neck and a soft lavender skirt complimented my dark umber skin. Topped with my soft white fur shawl to keep off the chill that I had pushed back out the way of my arms while I worked. My own hair, a wild auburn that was so dark it was nearly black, was pulled out of my face with a simple maroon ribbon and nothing more. It spilled around my head in an untamed cloud of softness, each tiny curly fluffed out to be almost indistinguishable from the next without close inspection.

“I mean her no harm,” he assured me after a moment, “I have come very far seeking to be heard by the King.”

I looked him over again, and couldn’t help feeling my curiosity having been thoroughly piqued. “And what does that have to do with the Princess?”

“Who are you to her?” He growled. At first I was surprised by the tone, but I quickly realized it was not in an unfriendly manner. It was almost a secondary quality to his deep voice and thick accent. 

“Oh, we’re very close.” I confided in him, nodding conspiratorially to hide the twitch of my continued amusement. “She doesn’t do anything without taking my counsel first.”

“Hmm.” Green eyes turned back to consider me more carefully, and I could see the same spark of interest in his own eyes. “And you would help me?”

“Depends on what you need help with, I suppose.” I mused in return.

He sighed heavily, then took his hands from his hips and crossed them over his chest. “I’ve come to speak for an alliance between my people and the humans. The King is… reluctant.” He jerked his chin at Safa and Lisbet again. “But if I marry the Princess, I can change that.”

I nearly fell over in disbelief. “You want to marry the Princess??”

He scoffed, his brow scrunching up angrily. “What? An orc can not marry a Princess?”

I laughed, unable to contain the ridiculousness of his proposal. “Is that what you are then? An orc?” I scoffed at him myself, my voice becoming heated. “And I can’t believe Val… erm, I mean, the King, would even suggest that!”

“Yeah, I’m an orc!” The big beast shot back proudly, then hesitated to reach up one hand and rub the back of his neck sheepishly. “Well, half orc, anyways. And King Valeri-whatsit didn’t exactly suggest marrying the Princess… I did.” He glanced at me out the corner of his eye once more. “And he would have laughed me out of the room too. But I think he might be half stone.... He’s hard to read.” He grumbled and shifted his weight. “So what’s her problem? Who am I rescuing her from?”

“Rescuing her?” I exclaimed, still off balanced from his first admittance to begin wrapping my head around his second question.

“Princesses always need rescuing.” He pointed out patiently, as if it were a common fact of life. “Is there a monster here? Or some… riddle or something that she can’t solve?”

I hid a smirk, shaking my head. “Nope. Nothing like that around here.” I kicked the fence with my toe. “Just a regular old boring castle.”

He chewed that over for a moment, scratching one finger on his chin as he did. “Hmm. I suppose her brother the King must be secretly wicked or something. Maybe he never lets her leave the castle.”

My eyes jerked up to him in surprise. As I watched though, he seemed to be chewing on his thick lower lip, and his brow was scrunched. Just thinking out loud then. A coincidence he had nearly hit the truth of the matter perfectly square. I glanced back at my oblivious Ladies, then to the half-orc.

“So you fancy yourself her rescuer then?”

He nodded, becoming more confident as he thought about it. “Yeah. I think that’s how it works.” He gave a hefty shrug of his shoulders. “I mean, I don’t want to marry some soft, spoilt Princess, but if I rescue her then the King will have to listen to me.”

I would have groaned, and had to fight hard to resist narrowing my eyes instead. What an arrogant prick! Honestly, who did he think he was! I brushed my hands down the front of my dress, straightening.

“Soft?” I scoffed again. “Spoilt?? And who says she needs rescuing!” I argued bitterly, moving to open the gate beside me. “I think the Princess is quite capable of taking care of herself, thank you very much.”

“Hey, wait!”

I jumped slightly, turning to find his hand scooped around my upper arm. His grip was firm, but gentle, and his skin seemed a warmer color against the contrast of my own. I glanced at it, blinking stupidly for half a second before looking up at his face. He too seemed to realize perhaps he had been a bit forward, and dropped his hand. Suddenly looking more uncertain than I had yet seen him. I paused, considering him. He shifted sheepishly.

“You ah… you said you were going to help me.”

I snorted. “I said that depended on who you were.” I crossed my arms, craning my head back to look up at him with my lips set in a stubborn line. “And you never actually said who you are.”

He gave me a small grin, baring his small tusks at me. I couldn’t suppress the little jump in my pulse at the sight as his whole face lit up with the smile. He stood a little taller, spreading the breadth of his shoulders out then solidified his footing. The stance of a soldier, I noted. A stance my other brother had taught me during our sparring sessions. He looked… big. And I couldn’t deny the impressiveness of his fit body. I realized he was probably about my age, or maybe a year or two older at most. But I shook myself internally as my eyes lingered on him perhaps a moment longer than necessarily appropriate and brought my gaze up to meet his as he opened his mouth to speak.

“I am Erramun Klin’wahid, son of Unvar, of the Broghuz Valley.” He proclaimed proudly, then thudded one fist against his broad chest. I raised one brow, and he tilted his head to the side. “So, now you know me. Will you help me?”

I considered him again, a small frown settling in the corners of my lips. Was I supposed to recognize that name? And how exactly did one get rid of an unwanted orc suitor? I didn’t want to have to call the guard, that was far too dramatic for my tastes. Nor did I think I could wrestle him, given the disproportion of our sizes. I would have to use my wit to win this encounter, and I started to tinker with the notion as soon as I had properly assessed the situation. Then a thought occurred to me, and I had to work hard to hide my smug smirk. Instead, I gave a flourished sigh, placing my hands on my hips. As if I was giving in to his request. His lips twitched eagerly.

“Have you ever heard of the Masiir flower?” I asked him innocently. He shook his head, but his bright green eyes filled with curiosity. “Well, it’s very rare. So rare, it only grows in one place! Out past the craigs of Almayit, deep in the forest of Pyejara.”

“What is the point of this flower? Flowers are useless.” He growled, frowning and sneaking a glance over at my Ladies.

Safa and Lisbet had just noticed our visitor, and I saw them huddling close together fretfully. Whispering quickly to one another. I relaxed my stance, showing them clearly I was not concerned, and hoped they would stay put for the time being. It wouldn’t do for them to reveal my hand to this stranger.

“This particular flower is famed for its beauty.” I explained. “But it grows in such a dangerous place, very few people have ever seen it. If you got one for the Princess, she’d have to talk to you, no?”

Erramun frowned, and looked over at Safa and Lisbet again. “For a flower?”

“Not just any flower!” I insisted, building quickly upon my lie, “The Masiir flower is supposed to be the flower of unity! It’s a symbol! And it’s magic!” I added, because hell, why not? If it got him out of my hair, all the better. “Just look for a big flower with white petals that have purple tips, and a red stem.”

The half-orc ‘hmmed’ deeply, a rumble that seemed to form deep in his broad chest. I saw him glance over at my Ladies again. Perhaps he scowled, but I couldn’t quite tell from my angle. After another bated breath that remained trapped in my throat, he gave a sigh as strong as a gale force breeze. 

“I suppose Princesses must really like flowers… And that would make her marry me?”

I would have blanched at the word, had I been working so hard to pretend otherwise. Instead, I had to swallow a bitter sneer at the notion, hiding my disdain for it with an assured nod. “Very few Princesses would be able to refuse you if you brought her back a Masiir flower.”

After a few more quiet moments of deliberation, the man nodded resolutely. “Then I will just have to go get this flower.” He shot a charming smile to the watching Ladies, who erupted into feverish sputters and squeals. “Speak well of me to the Princess, yes? I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Oh, of course, Mister Erramun.” I replied, cupping my hands in front of me as a smug smile tugged at the corners of my lips. More than a little satisfied my ploy had worked so seamlessly.

He thumped his fist across his chest, then reached out and scooped up one of my hands so quickly I almost didn’t notice the gesture. My eyes quickly widened in surprise as the half-orc bent low. Pressing a light but warm kiss to my knuckles. I could feel his small tusks scrape against my skin as he did.

“Thank you for your help.” He told me, still bent over my hand, green eyes dancing in the afternoon sunlight. “I am in your debt.”

I shook my head quickly to hide the slight flush rising to my cheeks. “Think nothing of it. But you should get going!” I tugged my hand quickly from his grasp with the pretense of gesturing towards the main gate. “Almayit is at least a day’s ride from here!”

He smirked a little too smugly for my liking at my rushed words, then looked over my shoulder again. His expression shifting into confusion. 

“But who-”

“I must be going, and so should you!” I told him before he could ask. I didn’t want to give him an answer for it. Especially if it might put one of my Ladies in danger in the future. “I’ve already spent far too long lingering here to speak with you.” I waved my hand again. “Off you go! And best of luck.”

I turned, gathering up the basket of melons and cucumbers and scuttling quickly through the gate. I was glad to hear it clunk behind me without delay. Meaning the man had not followed. Still, I didn’t dare look back just yet, though Safa and Lisbet were watching like hawks on my behalf. I stopped a few feet away from them, finally giving in to the burning desire to peek over my shoulder. But Erramun was already almost out of sight. His broad shoulders seemed to catch the sunlight vibrantly as he walked away. Which left the air catching in my throat again. I didn’t realize my Ladies had taken the liberty to close the remaining gap between us until they spoke.

“Your Highness!” came a gaspy breath, and I turned to see Safa with her usual excited bounce peering up at me. “Whoever was that??”

I scoffed, shaking my head and passing her the basket. “Just a fool, that’s who.”

“A handsome fool.” Lisbet added, leaning to look around me and watch the half-orc disappear around the corner. I could see the flash of interest in her honey brown eyes.

“And tall!” Safa added, sounding just as interested.

“Everyone’s tall to you.” Lisbet shot back, which had the smaller goblin lady squealing in displeasure. Lisbet only laughed, then turned back to me. “What did he want then, Your Highness?”

“Eh?” I mumbled, my eyes still stuck on the spot where Erramun had just disappeared. I blinked a few times, then realized what she had asked me. I quickly cleared my throat. “Oh, erm… nothing. He was just lost, I think.”

“He seemed quite smitten with you,” Lisbet teased, taking up my hand and skimming her fingers over my knuckles, “At least based upon that little kiss he gave you.”

I snatched my hand back, scowling at her a little. “Oh posh. I told you, he’s just a fool. Don’t think I’m as boy crazy as you two to fawn over some knuckle kisser.”

They both laughed at that, and after a moment, I couldn’t help my own little smile. Then I cleared my throat, shaking my head.

“Come on.” I told them, turning and marching off back towards the castle. “We’d best get going, the day is not so young anymore!”

I noticed them exchange an alarmed look out the corner of my eye before darting after me. 

“Where exactly are we going, Your Highness?” Safa asked breathily. She always was a little winded trying to keep up with our longer legs.

“To the goblin kingdom.” I announced. “I’m tired of waiting for Val to make up his mind that I can go. There hasn’t been new snow on the ground in days. I’m leaving now.”

Especially because I wanted to make sure I was long gone before that Erramun fellow got back. If he did… I felt a pang of unease on having sent him on such a dangerous wild goose chase. I scoffed quietly to myself; he was a big lad. He could handle himself. Or, more likely, he would realize it was just not worth it, and would return to his own lands. Which might be even more the case when he searched in vain for a flower that I had simply created on the spot.

“B-but… But Princess Morgana! King Valerianus said-”

I shook myself loose from Lisbet’s grip as she went to grab for my arm again. “Liz I am 22 years old! I don’t have to wait for my big brothers to decide when to ship me back and forth between them like some annual royal tithe.” I skipped up the castle steps and brazenly shouldered open the door. “I’ve been packed for days now! So if you don’t want to ride horseback the whole way, you might want to go to the stables and have them get the carriage ready.” I spun lightly on one foot, grinning at them as I walked backwards towards the main stairwell. “We leave in an hour.”

Safa groaned lightly, slowing with a huff and placing her free hand on her hip. I laughed, turning around to sprint up the stairs, two at a time. I would have to change into my riding slacks before we could leave, and have the servants bring down my bags. Not to mention my Ladies’ things. But having made the decision after days of restless waiting, I already felt lighter than air.

“Honestly I’m surprised King Valerianus was able to delay her as long as he did.” I heard Lisbet sigh as I rounded the corner at the top.

“We’d better do as she says and get the carriage.” Safa replied. “I am not riding horseback.”

I laughed again, and I heard them both intake a sharp breath of surprise as it echoed about the hall. But I was sure they would recover quickly from their shock. Safa and Lisbet had been my Ladies in Waiting for over a decade. They both knew me well enough to know I preferred they always speak their minds, and not to try and change mine. With the promise of departure lightening my step, I felt my heart skipping with delight. It was almost enough to push the thought of my strange wayward visitor from my thoughts…. Almost.

...

UPDATE: Part two HERE

[polarishymn-blog]

I'm bored so here is another theory. Be warned HERE BE SPOILERS!

Tacking on to the Elgar'nan theory here:

I discussed how I think the Evanuris were originally spirits. Well folks I have a personal head canon for my Inquisitor. Let me make this clear MY LAVELLAN INQUISITOR. NOT SAYING ANYONE HAS TO AGREE. I JUST USE THIS WHEN I PLAY THROUGH.

Ok? Ok.

Get your tinfoil hats on. This one is a doozy.

Lavellan is the spirit of sacrifice.

I hear people now like "that's ridiculous." Give me a chance to explain before you scroll on.

The Inquisitor is in the fade after being part of an explosion that kills EVERYONE ELSE. Even Corypheus takes a big ol L on this one.

Everyone is dead. What happens to Divine Justinia? A spirit that identifies with her so much it takes on her persona and memories. As does Compassion who becomes Cole. So we have a precedence for this.

Cole shows us that a spirit can take physical form. Justinia shows us that a spirit can fully believe they are that person. And the ancient elves just...these guys...looking at you Solas.

Var lath vir suledin!

I digress. So a spirit can not only retain the thoughts and memories of a person but take physical form.

"Then how come she doesn't know she is a spirit?" You ask?

Simple the spirit doesn't want to remember. It was a traumatic event. The person they identified with, quite possibly has been watching for some time, died a horrible death trying to save Justinia from that red lyrium blight infused ballsack. They basically ran into a situation any of us would have noped out of. All to try and save (for Lavellan) a woman that made no nevermind to them.

Instead our intrepid little elf is like "nah I should definitely fuck with that big scary guy and grab this clearly magical item."

In the immortal words of Sandal "BOOM!"

Everything goes to shit. Our lady elf wakes in the Fade with no memory how she got there. She recovers her memory later but not all of it. After the explosion there isn't shit until she wakes up.

Sus.

So she wakes up and spends the rest of her time throwing herself into one hellscape after another. Putting herself in constant danger and giving up whatever life they had before to save the world. Spoiler: and her fucking arm. Thank Solas. You lying manipulative beautiful bastard you.

Var lath vir suledin!

Speaking of that wolfish sex pistol...he has some...odd dialouge.

Solas: spirit wish to join then living. Demons are that wish gone wrong.

Interesting. He doesn't say they can't. Cole is proof they can. So lets look at some Cole and Solas exchanges:

Solas: The rifts draw spirits through, and the shock makes demons of them.

Cole: Pushing through makes you be yourself. You can hold onto the you.

Cole: Being pulled through means you don't have enough you. You become what batters you, bruises your being.

Solas: Yes, exactly. Deliberately crossing the Veil requires that a spirit form will, personality.

Solas: That concept of self gives a spirit the chance to maintain its nature.

So according to Cole a spirit that comes through willingly doesn't necessarily become a demon. Solas follows up with a spirit needs the will to do so and to form a personality. If the spirit has a blueprint...say...a person they identify with...they could assume that person's personality and indomitable will and focus.

His voice....sigh.

Let's move on to:

Solas: You may well become fully human, after all. I never thought to see it.

Cole: When did you see it before?

Solas: I did not say that I had.

Cole: No, you didn't. It's harder to hear, sometimes. Sorry.

Solas: Good luck, Cole. You have taken a difficult road.

Ya'll Cole can see/sense that Solas has seen this before. And he also knows who and what Solas is. Our murder bebe all but outs him several times. After Tresspasser you see the breadcrumbs clearly. This exchange could on the surface just be about them but as Solas is also a spirit taken form I find it interesting he doesn't say "You where once like me Solas." If he doesn't out him here he may not out the Inquisitor.

Next! Ah...the balcony scene. WHY MUST YOU BE SO DAMN CHARMING!

Solas: Has it affected you? Changed you in any way? Your mind, your morals, your... spirit?"

Lavellan: If it had do you really think I'd have notice?

Solas: No. That's an excellent point.

Lavellan: Why do you ask?

Solas: You show a wisdom I have not seen since... since my deepest journies into the ancient memories of the Fade.

Solas: If the Dailsh could raise someone with a spirit like yours. Have I misjudged them?

Ok...why is he emphasizing her spirit. Not soul. Not you. SPIRIT! He asks if the mark has affected her. But it could be his way of prying information without "hey bitch are you aware you are a spirit. I know crazy, right?" Js he does this "I like your spirit" talk more than once.

I enter into evidence a snippet from the heart shattering breakup conversation:

Solas: You have a rare and marvelous spirit.

I'm not crying. You're crying. DRINK MY TEARS PATRICK WEEKES YOU BEAUTIFUL BEING!

A rare and marvelous spirit huh...Cole what was it he said to you?

Cole: I didn't know there were spirits of wisdom.

Solas: There are few. Spirits form as a reflection of this world and its passions.

Solas: We will never lack for spirits of rage, or hunger, or desire. The world gives them plenty to mirror.

Solas: The gentler spirits are far more rare. We can ill afford the loss of even one spirit of wisdom, or faith...

Solas: Or compassion.

Or sacrifice! If compassion and wisdom are rare. How rare would sacrifice be?

Solas says the Inquisitor changed everything for him. He is someone who is ready to do whatever it takes to restore his people. Surly he would value sacrifice. If he came across a rare and marvelous spirit of sacrifice would he not at least be intrigued? Or inspired?

Let's face it he is an artist. His lady would definitely be his muse. Especially after she accidentally gives him permission to destroy the world.

...Dammit Lavellan.

Finally, why didn't our precious lying egg not mention this? When the Inquisitor is having the very terse elven conversation and the city elves are brought up this is the dialogue:

Solas: Why? What would it benefit some poor man in a Ferelden alieanage to learn his ancestors strode the land like gods? It would only make him bitter. Or inspire him to take a foolish risk and get himself killed.

Lavellan: You have decided his reaction for him.

Solas: Perhaps I have.

Clearly wolf boy has no problem keeping information from someone he thinks will only serve to harm them. If the Inquisitor knew they were a spirit perhaps Solas would think their reaction would be troublesome. Or even dangerous.

There is more but this is already ridiculously long. All this is to say my Lavellan was a real elf. She was killed during the explosion and a spirit of sacrifice identified with her so much she became her. The elf Solas falls in love with is (in my rp) like him. A rare spirit that became flesh and blood. She chose to be real like Cole can. Her lack of memory of the moment it happened is both self serving and part of the effects of becoming real. I know it is most likely all bs but it makes for an interesting thought.

Solas is the force that will end Thedas. Lavellan may be the sacrifice needed to stop it.

I hope you enjoyed this rant nobody asked for.

Oh and:

SOLAS! VAR LATH VIR SULEDIN!

[yetremains]

Yang, has the impression of Commander Hasashi / Scorpion change ever since becoming romantically involved with him? How do you feel, knowing that Hanzo’s indomitable soul still resides in the specter?

Reference of @kathexismania

It was like a physical strike on her spirit, to have such an inquiry delivered onto her with the unexpected timing. And perhaps it was that such suddenness that forced her to be more honest with the answer that swam about in her head. Needing just a few moments to gather herself back together. How may long years had it been? Too many- the old veteran had long since lost count. Especially after Aku. The timelines. Living through the eras until proper modern day that she truly remembered. What a mess her mind could be anymore. Yet the weights remained forever, the memories of every year still crisp, perhaps far too much, and she’d already gone completely insane once or twice before pulling every bit of her essence back together on her own. There were no true heroes, only survivors, and those willing to throw them selves into danger to protect others.

“Mostly, no, my impression never changed. For I have always respected the Commander and saw great things in him. Just because he and I had became romantically inclined and fell in love during our years so long ago, didn’t mean we saw each other any different. We were, and always have been, warriors in our very souls. Soldiers to march on the front lines and protect those less fortunate behind us. Protectors, warriors. But we are- were- still human with beating hearts and souls that refused to give in... Even after everything, here I yet remain, still refusing to go down. But still, I always recognized how deeply he felt. My empathy never could ignore it... Every tragedy that befell the unit, every lost soldier, he held onto their memory tight. It hurt him hard, like loosing family. And I stayed there every step of the way, as much as I could of course.” Yang’s voice was spoken powerfully, full of confidence and sure of herself tone. Despite the pain and upset that coiled it’s way around her lacerated heart, and the strings precariously holding it in place. It was like the ages had taken barbed wire around every chunk of her being, inside and out, then tightened it’s strangulating hold without mercy. “I will spare you the details further than that, but long story short: The only thing that changed was how entwined we could be. Once upon a time.”

“Times change, however. As do people.” The woman crossed her arms together tightly then. Taking time to think over every unfortunate truth and fact she knew and would rather she didn’t. It was cruel to have knowledge of certain events that would unfold and not be able to do anything about it. Time was so god damn confusing. Once upon a time, the old soldier had entertained the idea of laying down arms, finally lowering those fists and weaponry and retiring once wars had been won. But nothing was truly over, just a temporary reprieve. And none knew that better than tortured souls like his. “As much pain and suffering, the loss, can drag someone down, and change certain aspects? It can never truly shatter the way someone is at their core. If given the proper chance, anyone can shine better than the chances or options given too them. I know for a fact that while he is different now, and his soul is currently used and animated as the fire oriented wraith bent on vengeance and revenge- he can still be brought back. It’s heart breaking yes, but I know for a fact it’s not hopeless. He’s not beyond becoming himself once more...”

“I made a promise... While I’m not someone he may know the same way, nor is he the same as my Commander, it’s still his soul, the same essence that makes up Hasashi. And I’ll be the Lighthouse to help guide him. I know it’s not going to be me alone, it never will be. But so long as he can become the radiant Sun for his loved ones and memories once more, his remaining family, that’s all that matters. Even if it is not I.”

[jtownraindancer]

Chuck Shurley x Reader: Penitence of the Light

*

Forgiveness came in the small moments, stolen away while prying eyes were guided elsewhere.

Your anger had at last abated to a faint thrum in your veins, a lingering bitterness that haunted your subconscious, appearing as annoyed annunciations whenever casual citations to His splendor chuckled past chapped lips.

Nevertheless, you could not deny the strength of your relief, the magnetizing moments of pure, unbridled joy at His presence, your compassionate nature and unconditional love an indomitable force prompting each welcoming embrace, clinging desperately to the person you had thought gone for so long.

You forced away all doubts of His attachment, comforted in the strength as He pulled you even closer, steadfastly securing you against his frame.

The brush of lips against your temple, the cautious brush of fingertips tracing moisture from your eyelid, the tremulous cacophony of emotions roiling in His eyes-

Frantic fingers dug deep into clustered curls, dragging His crown back to your shoulder, holding Him once more in your arms.

For years, you had thought Him lost, heart always aching in the unspoken goodbyes and declarations of the depth of your attachment. And now, just on the fragile, feeble cusp of having forced yourself to finally move on, He was here again, fingers fondly forming familiar figure-eights across your back. The newfound discovery of His divinity dimmed your relief, feeding distaste and the distant strands of distrust.

"You’re such an asshole."

Your proclamation only partially passed your lips, vexation puncturing the discreet outburst.

Judging by the small sounds of amusement softly escaping Him, a preamble to another firm hug, desperation solidifying as He crushed you against Him, molding Himself around you in a cocoon of everlasting devotion and protection-

"I know." A sigh escaped Him, full of feelings you couldn't possibly hope to unravel, breath teasing your neck as He turned to murmur into your hair. "I'm sorry."

The apology, sincere and certain as the steady progression of a stream, whispered past His lips, three simple syllables which certain celestials would sacrifice essentially anything to have them grace their ears. The certitude mustered more confidence, a soft-spoken guarantee that assured you of His affection.

“I missed you.”

The simplest truth, murmured into His shoulder, bewildering timidity preventing you from seeking out His gaze.

His grasp shifted once more, a soft spoken grouse grumbling against your skin.  

“You have no idea how times I wanted to spirit you away.”

There was an irritated puff of air, a possessive pressure applied through His grip, His fingers clawed in the unanticipated yen.

“Hell, I’m tempted to run away with you right now.”

Flattery triggered a series of fluttering in your pulse, the burst of bashfulness thrown aside in favor of playful pitch.

“But my Lord- Aren’t you supposed to be above temptation?”

His retorting growl rendered gooseflesh, the slight slash of clawed digits signifying His displeasure at your teasing.

“Don’t push it.”

Despite evidence to exasperation and the weight of warning worming its way into His words, familiar fondness filled your spirit, falling out in fading fragments of laughter.

“I’m sorry,” came the first, followed by a soft kiss against His temple, candor and acquiescence offered in your refrain. “I’m sorry.”

Moments passed, insignificant in all conceivable ways when compared to the continued clasp of the Creator, the familiarity of the gesture, the fondness between you, the comfort elicited by such simple means-

Not even passing footsteps padding past the open doorframe were enough to pull you away, fleeting apprehension of an unanticipated audience an anxiety quickly dismissed, eyes drifting shut as you made sure to commit the moment to memory.

There were more to follow, each brief gesture carefully hoarded as deeply into your heart as you could possibly dare.

 

You drew comfort from the lingering presence of His fingertips across your shoulders whenever He paced around the table debating tactics with Dean, the consistent contentment in glancing up from tedious tomes to look upon longing lividus irises, the brimming affection you tried to obscure from Sam's suspicious gaze.

You were falling into near forgotten habits, every encounter electrifying your veins, harmonies to familiar tunes carrying across the hectic kitchen as you would cast carefree jests and mocking expressions behind the Creator's back.

Despite the prolonged denial of your pardon, the fall back into friendship was fully consuming you.

Your condemnations still sometimes sought center stage however, damning His pride and His severance in some of the more heated moments of strategizing. Wary Winchesters were woefully unable to dissuade your accusations, worry turning to wrath when your words were espoused by an equally enraged Archangel.

Lucifer proved an unwavering ally when presented with the vengeful visage of God, borrowed eyes narrowed as he shielded you from retaliation. The combined strength of your indivisibility- Archfiend, Seraph, and Humane- often proved enough to drive the Despot away, merited meekness heralded in His return, muted atonement bequeathed to His sons before sequentially seeking the ultimate source of His consistent distress.

You were always waiting for Him, hidden away in small enclaves, sometimes perched beneath the telescope, other times stationed precariously upon tabletops.

He always returned to you, quietly affirming your accusations, apologetic litanies weaving around you in the very next breath.

It was in those stolen moments, away from the curious glances of Heavenly Host, Darling Devils, and Haggard Hunters, when He fully revealed His true vulnerabilities, a collapsing star tumbling headlong into your arms.

One such moment, more memorable than most, an epilogue to a particularly dreadful disagreement, He ensnared you while you had been exiting the library, earning your ephemeral exacerbation at His precipitous gesture of devotion.

Distress departed soon enough, drifting away as His fingers entwined your own in a nonsensical cluster, His concessions cascading in a cluttered, cynical cry, sodalite irises shining in subdued contriteness, knees pressed to the floor as He pleaded for your forgiveness.

Confusion and concern had you pulling Him upright once more, dragging Him to the nearest seats. Embarrassment prevented coherence to your words, a muss of sensibilities too extreme to truly comprehend.

Upon somehow detecting your acceptance however, He was once more surrounding you, falling into you, entire galactic clusters gravitating into your embrace.

You slowly carded your fingers through His hair, crescive contentment creating a cozy cover contrasting the crassness of the utilitarian backdrop.

In this moment, it was easy to pretend you were home again, sharing a couch and cocoa as He considered the next clauses for His gospels.

In this moment, it was easy to pretend your companion was nothing more than the verified persona of inelegance and timorousness.

In this moment, it was easy to pretend that the cradling hands that had carved the very cosmos, carefully placed on your cheeks, that the gaze that had beheld the birth of starlight, searching your eyes with endless yearning, that the words of adoration-

“Why would I be lying?”

The query shattered your resolve, reduced the armor so carefully assembled throughout the time of His absence to ash.

You longed to believe, longed so wholly for the words He wove to be true that you were willing to overlook His past sins, forget all previous transgressions, ignore the crushing Reality of who He was, what He was, and how utterly insignificant your presence must be in the grand scheme of Infinity.

 

And how dare He continue casting this charade after claiming deference.

 

“Chuck, stop. I’m not-”

 

“You are, though.”

 

His interruption, authoritative and succinct, annihilated your attempts of dismissiveness, silencing you with a long-suffering huff.

 

Calloused hands lifted yours, blue eyes sweeping you into their eternity. His expression elicited temporary surrender, candidness crafting a transitory calm to your customary fretfulness and self-doubt.

 

“When I first wrote about you, not once in a million years did I expect to care about you so much.”

 

Perfect sincerity played a part in the small stuttering of your heartbeat, irregular rhythm harassed by the small upturn of His lips, the delighted mirth hovering around Him.

 

“Then you come crashing into the story with a clusterfuck of chaos and compassion- I couldn’t help being drawn to you. Everything you had for me kept me on my toes; you drove me nuts.”

 

He offered a sweet assurance, but your discomfort was far from assuaged.

 

“There’s a big difference between writing about someone and truly knowing them, Chuck.”

 

He offered a small tilt of His head, a trait common to His celestial children, curiosity carved into His features. “I know.”

 

Clarity suddenly presented itself, His mouth opening in a small breath of understanding, closing once more in pensiveness. His silence lingered for some time before He was speaking again, softer, sweeter, more somber.

 

“It’s not your character that I love. It’s you.”

 

The phrase fell upon your ears with a finality that offered no space for contention, an edict burned into your very soul.

 

“That character I created? They’re nothing compared to you. The real you. The person who cares so deeply for everyone else that they constantly forget to worry about themselves. The person who constantly chooses kindness over violence. The person who decided that the Devil would enjoy Denny’s, whose most embarrassing moment was-”

 

“Ah!”

 

You started, quickly shushing Him by pressing your pointer to His lips, panic and annoyance and gratitude overlapping in a jumbled mess of nerves, making your thoughts near impossible to decipher.

 

Recognizing that you had no further reprimands, He lifted His hand once more, tenderly taking yours to draw you nearer, crown bowed in reverence as He pressed His lips to your palm, eyes closing in penitent praise.

 

“In this entire Universe- You’re the only person I’d be lost without. I just hope one day you can actually believe me.”

 

Outside this small circle of clandestine serenity, a war beyond all reckoning was brewing. Duty dictated dedication to the cause, a devotion to developing strategies to combat Chaos and concepts that had plagued the Cosmos since its conception.

But for this moment, for this brief, fleeting moment, you would allow yourself a single slip of selfishness, succumbing to the sublimity of simple bliss.

 

For this single moment, hidden away from prying eyes while their attention was needed elsewhere, you savored the wisdom that you, with all your limitations, with all your mistakes, with all the flaws that made you so tragically human-

You alone had brought God to His knees.

*