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warrioreowynofrohan · 3 years

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Aredhel, Reborn

This is a fragment that I started putting together a long time ago, and it stops in the middle, but my writing isn’t cooperating right now so I’m posting it as-is for @tolkiengenweek . It’s a sequel to my two previous Aredhel pieces (but not my Aredhel and Eöl one, which isn’t in continuity with it). Hopefully I’ll manage to follow up on it.

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Aredhel leaves the Halls, permitted to return to life for no reason that she can comprehend. She has not sought mercy for herself, though she has asked it a thousand times for her son and been met with a deafening silence. She chooses to return because Fingon is doing so, and he might not be able to bring himself to go if he left behind both of his siblings as well as his dearest friend. Turgon should have returned - would have been permitted to return, yeni ago, not tainted by kinslaying as his siblings are - but he is being stubborn, out of some mix of reluctance to face the survivors of Gondolin and reluctance to face the Lord of the Waters.

They reenter life to be almost immediately caught in their father’s embrace. Through all that follows - returning to Tirion, reunion with their mother and cousins, an apology to the Lady Eärwen that clearly terrifies Fingon more than any battle he’s ever fought in - the world seems faded and distant to Aredhel, as though some part of her fëa had never left the Halls. She cannot stay in Tirion, she cannot seem to hold the thread of a conversation with anyone, even her parents and brother. She knows, distantly, that she loves them, but it all seems so far away.

Her aimless feet take her to Valmar, and she find herself at the one place in the Blessed Realm that is shunned by Eldar and Ainur alike, climbing from the foot of Ezellohar to the two broken skeletons that were once the purest light in the universe, and as she collapses to the grass she feels, for the first time, a connection with the world. How did you do it? she whispers. How do you continue when what you hold dearest has been turned to darkness and ruin and ash? And something connects within her mind, something that never did through all the years in the Halls, never did during her return to Tirion, though all the reunions and necessary, distant apologies. Her feet carry her south and east, to the seashore and the white city, the city of pearls.

She does not go to the throne room of the king and queen, but to the docks, cloaked and hooded and unnoticed, seeking for faces she remembers. She finds one, working, holding a small curved knife in her hand that she uses to shell oysters.

Aredhel raises her hood, sees the Telerin woman start at the sight of her, and falls to her knees. The knife stops its work, poised in midair.

“What are you doing here?”

“I…I wished to apologize. To say that I was wrong.”

“So? What does that mean? What will that mend?” The woman lays down the shelling-knife, goes to a ship, and picks up another meant for carving wood. She lays the blade to a piece of wood lying nearby and the hands, their movements so smooth and deft when shelling oysters, begin to shake, leaving jagged, uneven cuts, leaving it useless. “I built the ships your people so wantonly destroyed, shaped them as you Noldor shape steel, and now I live again, but that which gave me life has left me. We did not hoard them and hide them in vaults, we sailed them and lived aboard them until they were more our home than the shore, and all you left to us were blood and ash and tainted memories.” The tremors through her body come in waves now, and her voice is choked. “My life was the least of what you stole from me. And now you seek what? Absolution? Resolution? This does not end for me. Why should it end for you?”

Aredhel hunches in on herself. “I surrender. What would you have of me?”

“Why come here, and not to the king?”

Olwë wouldn’t do anything to me - for Uncle Finarfin’s sake, if not for my own. He wasn’t who I attacked. He wasn’t who I killed.

“I thought you had more right. I…I know what it is to be betrayed by one whom you trusted. I know what it it is to see what you love dearest cast into ruin. And if I had - him - apologizing to me, truly and sincerely, as I am to you” - her voice breaks - “I would bury a knife in his guts.” She is shaking. “I came here because I didn’t know what else to do. Only that I needed to do something. I surrender. Say what you want from me, and you will have it.”

The Telerin woman just looks tired. “I don’t want your blood. What use would that be? I don’t want you locked up. What good would that do anyone? You cannot give back what you have taken. You cannot restore what is destroyed.

“Leave us in peace. Go.”

Aredhel goes.

....

She flees to the wild lands she once loved, which no longer feel so narrow as they did in the years of her youth, before Gondolin and Nan Elmoth and the Halls, before she knew that duty was a chain and love was a chain. Fear, too, is a chain, as she find when she wanders into the woods of Oromë where she once hunted with her cousins and stops, trembling, as the treetops cut off the sky, frozen, her thought a thousand miles away in drowned lands where the forest went from wonder to horror to prison. She works her way stumbling back to the light, her arms clutching at branches and tree-trunks to pull her onwards, until she emerges again into the free air.

She goes, instead, to the open plains, where she can run and ride and hunt, and take joy in feeling alive again, with a heart that beats and mouth that tastes and limbs that ache. In time she returns to the forest, first to edges and sun-dappled clearings, later to the denser woods in autumn when the leaves turn yellow and brown and fall to create openings where light and warmth enters, and nuts and fruits and berries surround her at every turn. Regaining the woods in summertime takes longer, where leaves create deep pools of shadow, and it is longer still before she wishes to be in the woods after nightfall, looking up at the stars.

(She no longer wears white. She dresses in greys and browns and tans, and in plain or woodland she might be mistaken for part of the landscape.)

She cannot say, for certain, how much of her escape is driven by avoiding walls, and how much by avoiding people, avoiding the need to hear or speak of (or hear people deliberately and delicately not speak of) a son she cannot defend and will not condemn. Did she shun the woods because they felt a cage, or because it felt that at any moment a pale-skinned, black-haired boy might step out of them with a present for his mother of hazlenuts or newly-caught game or skillfully-carved wood? A boy who is gone, who is become something she cannot and will not name.

Fingon finds her, from time to time, with uncanny ability, though he was never her equal as a woodsman. They share meals, wanderings, conversations light or serious. He does not tell her to return, though he speaks often of their parents and at times ventures to say how much they miss her. She does not know how to explain. Fingon can feel that their positions, failing and pardoned and returned and grieving for the lost, are the same, but it does not feel so to her. He fell in battle, and with a host of heroic deeds to his name. Her father fell in combat, the greatest one in the history of Arda. She died because she trusted the wrong person, loved the wrong person, ran off, was irresponsible and impetuous as always, led an enemy back to the one safe home she still had; her place in the First Age’s history is the dislodged rock or careless shout that starts an avalanche. Turgon has never blamed her for Gondolin’s fall, but that is because she never spoke to him while they were in the Halls, never knowing what to say. I am sorry that my son existed? She isn’t. She isn’t. She isn’t. She is only sorry that his father orphaned him, left him alone among strangers in a strange city with no parent to guide him.

One morning she awakes at her campsite to find her father there, tending the embers of her fire. She does not know how he has found her; he is gifted in scholarship, in diplomacy, in governance, in craftwork, in all the arts of war, but not in woodcraft or tracking or the arts of the wildnerness (save, by necessity, of keeping thousands of people alive in bone-chilling, soul-numbing temperatures).

They speak a little of other things, of her life in the woods and his in Tirion, but he cannot long restrain the question he has come to ask. “Aredhel, can you not come home?”

She offers the easier explanation first, the other being too painful to place in words. “I don’t want to go back to be pitied as a failure.”

“We all failed, dearest. Every one of us.”

“You did not. Not like me. You died fighting Morgoth and every Elda and I expect every Vala respects you for that. Fingon died fighting a balrog. My younger cousins died in battle. Even the philosopher did better than me! I was one of the most eager to go, I killed people in order to go, atta, and I have nothing to show for it, no achievements, nothing to boast of, and I will not go back to be petted and pitied and patronized, I won’t -” and she knows she still sounds like a spoiled child even now, when the others have grown wise and thoughtful and penitent.

Her father simply looks at her, long and quiet, as if trying to perceive all the words she has left unspoken, and they finally struggle to her lips.

“I don’t want to know what they all think of him. I do know what they think of him. I don’t want to be consoled for what my son did or became by people who didn’t know him and can’t understand him, and to know they are thinking of it every time they look at me, I’ll hate them for it and it will break out and I’ll cause trouble for everyone again - ” she’s stopped looking at her father, not wanting to see in his eyes his opinion of such a grandson, not wanting to feel the wrath against him that would come from it. “Why does everything I love fall to evil? My son, Tyelko, Curvo, my - ” she cannot bring herself to say husband, “- him? Do I have no judgement, no discernment? Am I being punished? I loved him when he killed me, I love my son and my cousins yet, and I don’t want to explain or to justify or to live among people that hate them -”

She is weeping now, and her father pulls her into an embrace. “You did not deserve this, Aredhel. Not what happened to you, or what happened to your son.”

“I don’t know.” Her voice is quiet now. “I think, sometimes, it is all of a piece. If you do evil to gain something, whether it be ill in itself or not, it will burn you when you find it. As with my cousins and the gemstones. I killed to gain freedom from limitations or constraint, and when I took it it burned me.”

#tolkien #the silmarillion #aredhel #fingolfin #fanfic #tolkiengenweek #cw trauma

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brvathlvss · 2 years

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[ zion moreno, trans woman, she/her ] WATCHTOWER DATABASE LOADING… carol ferris also known as star sapphire is 28 years old and currently resides in star city. our systems tell us they work as president of ferris aircraft by day and a villain by night. their psychological evaluation determines them to be resilient, yet stubborn. when asked to describe themself, carol used the visible tenderness of an apartment carefully crafted for two but only occupied by one, the love of flight so natural that it lifts you of its own accord, compassion setting your soul alight until all you smell is smoke. PROFILE IS NOW COMPLETE—

- Carol Ferris was never a child who wondered what she would be when she grew up. Her earliest memories date back to the absolute awe of watching her father’s planes in the sky, wanting more than anything to be in one of them, flying one of them. It was like she was born for it. By five, she’d told her parents what she wanted, though it didn’t come as a particular shock to either of them, and by ten, she already had her future planned out.

- This, unfortunately, did not come to pass. Although Carol got her pilot’s license at 17--acing the test with flying colors--the world had other plans. Right before she turned 18, Carol’s father Carl announced first to her and her mother, then to the world, that he was too sick to carry on as president of Ferris Airlines. At that point, all of the decisions, all of the potential her future held, vanished in an instant.

- It’s important to note that her father would have never forced Carol to give up her dreams, but the reality of the matter was that if she didn’t take over as president of the company, things got very complicated very fast. And furthermore, the company was her father’s secondary pride and joy--he’d spent most of his life putting everything he had into making sure the company not only succeeded, but flourished. She felt it was her responsibility to carry on his legacy.

- So, Carol took over. Arrangements were made for a temporary president while Carol went to college, where she majored in business, and when she graduated, there was a gradual transfer of power. She’s been running the company from the top since she was 22, and in the past six years, Ferris Aircraft has thrived, pushing the boundaries of possibility and staying one of the top competitors in the industry.

- There is of course, unavoidably, the matter of Hal Jordan. Childhood friendship set aside, Carol and Hal have a strained, complicated relationship that bounces back and forth between overwhelmingly positive and overwhelmingly frustrating. She loves him, though the chances of her admitting that out loud are slim at this point in time, but she’s also his boss. And he’s not been, strictly speaking, the most reliable employee in the last two-or-so years. She’s come to accept that it’s part of who he is, but it doesn’t make things any easier.

- The arrival of the Green Lantern to Coast City sparked an interesting time in Carol’s life. Though she was far from the only one, she grew somewhat infatuated with the masked hero, with his dashing antics and valiant heroic deeds. He even saved her, once or twice. And that’s... well, that’s where infatuation turned to something a bit more. If you were to ask Carol if she loves the Green Lantern, she would respond with something sharp and clever and ringing of denial. Something about not being able to love someone you don’t even know or how she’s not just going to fall for the first person to sweep her off her feet (literally). But she’d be lying.

- Though there’s some confusion about the how and the why, it can safely be said that the arrival of the Star Sapphire is intrinsically tied to the Green Lantern. It could even be said that it’s Carol’s love for him that drew the gem to her in the first place, though this would of course be speculation. What can be said without a shadow of a doubt is this: the Star Sapphire takes away Carol’s agency. In fact, the Star Sapphire takes control of Carol’s body and access to her memories, and operates with an an extreme prejudice against the Green Lantern. She hates him and will readily declare so if asked, though the precise reasons for her burning hatred remain at least moderately covert at this time.

- The Star Sapphire is, notably, not the same person as Carol. They are distinctly different entities with distinctly different motivations--and in fact, the Star Sapphire can and has been removed from Carol in the past. This came along with removing Carol’s memories of being the Star Sapphire altogether, in an attempt to keep her safe and keep the gem hidden. The problem with this is that, whether by fate or happenstance or perhaps by some intention of the universe, the gem keeps finding its way back to her.

- Last year, the decision was made to open a new location for Ferris Aircraft in Star City. Land was bought, buildings were constructed, new business deals were put into place, the whole shebang. And as of a few short months ago, Carol came to Star City to oversee the final-laid plans herself. Officially operational for about two months now, the Star City location has taken the brunt of her attention--so much so that she’s taken up a less-temporary residence in the city.

- Though you could more often than not find Carol on-site at the new location, she does get out occasionally. Mostly for business meetings and social events where she rubs elbows with the influential and business-savvy of the city, always working to make more connections and further relations for Ferris Aircraft. But sometimes, if she’s looking for peace of mind or needs a break from the world, you can find her in the air, soaring through the skies in one of her company’s latest models. That’s where she’s happiest. That’s where she’s free.

#vengeance.intro #✧. buried her dolls and lost her curls :: about carol

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turtletotem · 4 years

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Betrothed

Behold, @ikeracity‘s Cherik fic reward for winning a Star Bright party challenge! Prompt was "I never knew it but apparently I'm heir to the throne and have been betrothed to you since I was three" -- came out as something close to a Princess Diaries AU + arranged marriage! (Also on AO3.)

"But why should I have to marry him?" Charles wailed, knowing he sounded like a petulant toddler instead of a nearly-grown-man of sixteen, but feeling helpless to stop it. He'd felt helpless quite a lot lately, ever since the prime minister of the obscure little nation of Genosha showed up at his door and told him he was now their king.

"I mean, technically you wouldn't exist if not for him, so it's the least you can do," said Raven, and sucked frappe foam through her straw with an amazingly obnoxious noise. Sprawled against the sofa at one end of his dressing room—he had a dressing room now—Raven looked completely at ease in the rich royal surroundings, which she ought to be, having grown up in them. Lady Ravenna Evangeline Penelope Margaret Mystique Darkholme was Charles's newly-discovered first cousin, and the single best thing to come out of all this mess.

"What do you mean, I wouldn't exist?" Charles said as his stylist staff—he had stylist staff��continued zipping and buttoning him into a sinfully expensive tuxedo.

"No one told you? Erik Lehnsherr's parents saved your dad's life. They were on their way to the hospital to have Erik when they saw your dad being hustled into a van by terrorists. Erik's mother—Erik's pregnant, in labor mother—fought them off with her handbag. So your dad promised that their child would marry his heir and become prince consort of Genosha."

"Well, that was ever so nice of my father," Charles said. "To give his eldest child away in marriage before I was even born."

"To be fair, even after you were born, no one really expected you to be heir to the throne. Brian was supposed to get married and have legitimate children at some point."

Which, Charles supposed, was why no one had ever bothered to tell him his father was not just from Genosha, but king of Genosha. No one had ever bothered much with Charles anyway, unless they needed a punching bag. At least now that he'd moved to this ridiculous palace in Genosha, Charles would never have to see his stepfather again.

"But this whole marriage idea is barbaric." He was wailing again. "The Lehnsherrs deserve a reward, certainly, but can't we just give them money? A lot of money? As much money as they want? Instead of making me marry some strange guy I've never met? I mean, it's lucky I'm even open to marrying a guy at all, what if my father's heir had been straight?"

"Sexual attraction isn't a required element of an arranged marriage anyway," Raven shrugged. "And same-sex marriage has been legal in Genosha for over a century—honestly it was never not legal, but it got made explicit… yeah, over a hundred years ago now. And Erik's not gonna be some strange guy you've never met. You're meeting him now! By the time you get married in two years, you'll be old friends."

Charles made a face, and Raven laughed, handing off her empty coffee cup to a passing staff member and unwrapping the cookie she'd bought with it.

"This is just how it works for royalty, Charles," Raven said, a little more seriously. "Sucks that you weren't able to grow up with the idea, but it is what it is."

"You're royalty, do you have a betrothed lurking somewhere?"

"I'm not royalty, I'm nobility. If you kick the bucket without an heir, then I might end up royalty. Until then, my parents know I'd scratch their eyes out if they tried to arrange my life for me." She grinned, all teeth.

"Oh, so it's all right for me, but when it's your life—"

"I don't mean it's all right for you! Just that this is how it is, whether you like it or not."

"Yeah? And what if I just refuse to do it? Then what?"

"Then probably they won't let you be king after all and you'll have to go back home to your mom and stepdad."

Charles's face crumpled in disgust.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Raven said, and shoved her entire cookie in her mouth.

Charles made a frustrated whining noise. "But it's so wrong! For someone else, someone who's dead now even, to decide who I should marry? Who I have to spend the rest of my life with, and tough luck if I ever fall in love with someone else?"

"Close your eyes, Your Majesty," murmured a stylist, and brushed powder over his face, making him sputter.

"Raven, what if Erik's terrible?" Charles said as soon as his face was free again. "What if he's mean and selfish and greedy? What if he's like Kurt and just out for himself? What if he's some narcissistic jerk who's going to make my life miserable? What if he's stupid? There's nothing morally wrong with being unintelligent, but I don't think I could stand it, Raven, being trapped all day every day with a stupid person, I'd go mad—I don't mean to sound vain, but it's no use pretending I'm not bright, my test scores—"

"You haven't even mentioned 'what if he's ugly,'" Raven said, sounding amused.

"His looks are hardly the most significant thing," Charles said stiffly. "It's much more important that he be a good companion, a good partner, and a good co-ruler for Genosha." His bottom lip trembled, but he held it together while the stylists finished tweaking him and left, before the words burst out of him. "Oh, Raven, what if he's hideous? What if I'm trapped with him forever and I can't even stand to look at him?"

"What if he can't stand to look at you? None of this was his idea either, you know. Oh, Charles, I didn't mean it!" Raven cried when Charles gave her a horrified, near-tearful look. "I was just teasing! Come here." She folded him into a tight hug. Raven was like that; the first thing she'd done when they met was hug him. Charles wasn't used to hugs, but he'd already decided he liked them, at least from Raven.

"Charles, listen to me," Raven said. "You are adorable. You are sweet and clever and good and full of love, and Erik Lehnsherr is lucky as hell to get you. If he doesn't appreciate you like he should, you divorce his ass and tell the prime minister and the whole cabinet to do whatever they dare about it. You hear me?"

Charles sniffled, wiping away the tears Raven's hug had squeezed out, and nodded. "I hear you."

"Good. Now let's go introduce you to this guy and see if he deserves you."

"It's not about whether he deserves me," Charles said as Raven tugged him out the door and down the corridor, past museum-quality oil paintings and crystal statuettes. "It's about the fact that a marriage arranged without any input or consent from the couple themselves is a human rights violation! It's about the fact that when we marry I'll still only be eighteen years old and that's an insane age to make a lifetime commitment! It's about the fact that Erik's mother doing one heroic deed almost twenty years ago doesn't mean her son will make a good ruler! It's about the fact that the heart cannot be legislated and sexual compatibility is important in a marriage and I don't want to marry Erik Lehnsherr—"

He stopped dead as Raven opened a door, revealing the young man within, and a very tiny internal Charles-voice said very sheepishly, Never mind.

Erik Lehnsherr—and so it had to be, there was no one else in the room—was absolutely gorgeous, with the whip-thin grace of a hunting cat and the cheekbones of a god. He had intense, enigmatic eyes the grey-blue color of a winter sky, and he was using them to stare at Charles just as speechlessly as Charles was staring at him.

Raven pushed Charles ahead of her into the room. "Charles, this is Erik. Erik, this is Charles. Good luck."

And she backed out of the room and closed the door.

"Raven, come back—!"

Charles's wasn't the only voice who had said the words. Startled, he turned back toward Erik, who had a hand extended toward the door as if to pull Raven back into the room.

"Do… you know Raven?" Charles asked.

"Of course I know Raven, we've grown up together." Erik continued staring at him, and it was hard to say whether he looked annoyed or terrified. He shifted his feet awkwardly and scratched at his dark auburn hair. "Um, hi. I'm Erik." He put out a hand.

"Charles." He tried not to visibly react as Erik shook his hand, tried not to let on that the most beautiful person he'd ever seen was touching him. "I wish I'd grown up with Raven, she's much better company than my stepbrother. How did you… why…?"

"King Brian was basically my godfather," Erik said, a shadow of grief passing over his face. "I've spent as much time at this palace as I have at my own home, being trained and educated for the day I would help rule the kingdom… For a while I was afraid I'd have to marry Raven, until the council confirmed you come before her in the succession."

"Afraid? Don't you like her?"

"Oh, I like her very much, but she's not…" Erik's cheeks reddened. "I mean, she's a girl, and I prefer… um…"

"Oh, good!" Charles couldn't help bursting out. "Me too!"

"Really?" Erik's smile, Charles thought, changed his whole face, transforming him from an incredible chiseled artwork into a real person, slightly odd and awkward and imperfect and wonderful. Charles blushed and looked away.

His gaze landed on a chessboard, on the table in front of Erik, and he belatedly realized that was what Erik had looked up from when Raven opened the door. "Oh, do you play?"

"I'm head of the team at my school," Erik said with shy pride. "Sometimes I could even beat Brian. Do you? Play chess, I mean?"

"I'm head of the team at my school," Charles said, unable to keep from laughing. "Or I was. Now that I live in Genosha, I might end up competing for your spot."

Erik's smile widened. "You're welcome to try. Don't think I'll go easy on you just because you're the king. And my betrothed. And—" But he didn't finish that sentence, just got redder in the face, and turned to reset the chess board.

So Charles sat down with the young man he was being barbarically forced to marry, who was not stupid, not ugly, not any of the things Charles had feared he would be, and played chess far into the night.

#my fic #cherik #ikeracity #i picked an awful time to post this just as all the secret mutant stuff came out #oh well

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g00d1uckch4rm · 3 years

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Chasing The Sun

Chapter 1: Story Time

Summary/Info Rated M

____________________________________________________

The Importance of Understanding Type Dynamics Version two: for coming-of-age young adults, patients and caregivers. By Doctor C. T. Tony

Section One

Introduction to Type Dynamics

These Types only influence the Human* reproductive system, also known as secondary-sex and holds no restriction over one's gender. There are four different Types Dynamics and; in most cases, are undetermined until one reaches sexual maturity. However, much like blood types, the parents Type Dynamic can influence what their children will have.

Listed here is a summary of information to do with sex and most common; but not limited to, behavioural patterns or traits. Further details well be addressed in Section Three and Four.

[*Other races such as Giants, Fishfolk, Minks, Sky People, Dwarves; including hybrids of previous races do not have Type Dynamics. While tribes/subraces of Humans have Types, it is even more rare for one to be Type A or O]

~~~~~~ ҉ ~~~~~~

It's a moment much like that of Fishman Island; the battle had been hard, the people almost lost hope, but they prevailed in the end. Sure, things hadn't gone according to plan, but everyone fought hard and like always, the Straw-Hat's pulled off miracle somehow. It felt like it was the same-old-same-old, and yet, oh so refreshing and new.

So here everyone was; wounded, sore, and still having the energy to throw the biggest party Wano has probably ever seen. Music and merriment flooded the air. Bonfires and free spirits lit up the night. Food and drink seemed to be endless. Which was probably a good thing, considering who the heroes were.

Jinbei chuckled as he sipped his drink, Luffy may still deny it and give whatever reasons against it, but the facts remain. The truth remains. That people saved by the Straw-Hat Pirates will always believe that they are heroes. That Luffy is their hero. Not to undermine the others in any way, Luffy just has this aura, this energy that pulls people in. And the rest of the crew, they seemed fine with Luffy in limelight. Perhaps some even a little proud.

"Amused by Luffy's impressions?" Robin smiled up at him. For the most part they had sat in peaceful silence, or rather whatever they could get with all the celebrating going on.

At first his response was simply a hum, but it only took a second to survey the crowd for Luffy. It appeared that the captain was making a show of his powers and making a fool of himself. Arms and chest inflated comically, with the ends of his kimono tucked into his sash, all the while jumping from pose to pose. While a number of onlookers were getting a good laugh and others simply smiled in amusement, Usopp and Chopper at front row appeared to be dying.

Jinbei was just confused as to whom Luffy was trying to impersonate. Till Luffy brought his fists together above his head and stood with a slant to one side. "Franky?"

"Mm-hm. Though, it took you awhile." She teased. "Did it really take his signature pose for you to figure it out?"

"I haven't exactly gotten familiar with everyone. The most I've interacted with any of the crew was back on Fishman Island and even those moments were brief." Totto Land had just been one mission to another, with even less personal interaction. It's not easy to get to know someone when you're constantly running for your life or fighting for it.

"Aside from our captain, that is?"

Our captain. My captain. It was still new, but it left him feeling light, reassured. Jinbei smiled a little. "Yes. Aside from our captain."

"Well, it won't take you long get to know the crew. A few in particular may become your shadow. For the first month or so at least."

"Oh, and why would that be?"

"Because you're new and someone important."

Important? "I don't follow."

But Robin didn't clarify and Jinbei didn't press the subject. It seemed like she wasn't going to completely open with him, not yet anyway. Which was fair, they didn't know him that well either.

"You know, with more practice, Luffy could become very skilled with disguises." Jinbei mused as he watched the young man shape himself like an hourglass and spun around with a stick in hand. Nami..? The ginger woman then came bolting straight for Luffy with beat-red cheeks and then proceeded to chase him around. Nami.

"It would be handy with infiltration. To be any shape, any size." Robin agreed and then they shared a moment of soft laughter. "But his acting would never hold up."

"Indeed. There are better odds in a plan actually being followed."

She giggled a little more before they returned to comfortable silence between them. Enjoying their drinks while they watched Luffy and the others. It wasn't long before one of the samurai joined in on the antics, offering paint and the boys were quick to take up the idea. Messy work and Luffy's roaring laughter drew in Franky's interest. Before long; Usopp having taken charge of the painting, the four goofballs are dramatically dancing around with serious looking faces of red and white.

~~~~~~ ҉ ~~~~~~

"Oi, helms' bro!" Franky greeted, now taking a cola break and held out his free hand to Jinbei as he approached. His face paint was a bit smeared after horsing around for a few hours. "Lookn' forward to workn' with ya!"

"Likewise." While they were close in size, the cyborg's main hands were still massive, leaving the handshake a bit awkward. But Franky appreciated the effort and firmness, the fishman's strength had his struts giving some resistance. It even gave Franky the momentary thought of challenging him to an arm-wrestling match sometime.

Releasing the hold and taking a seat next to Jinbei, Franky took a huge drink before continuing. "Heard from the nav' what you and Sunny were able to pull off back in Big Mom's territory. Pretty super stuff!"

"You share in some of that praise. Your craftsmanship is like nothing I've ever seen."

"Thanks! Oh, hey, by the way. I got a question for ya, but just don't take it the wrong way. Kay?"

"What might that be?"

"Do ya want me to adjust one of the hatches to the tank for ya?" They were definitely not big enough for the man to comfortably access as they were now.

"Tank?" Jinbei blinked, it had certainly not been along the lines of what he was expecting and was left puzzled.

"Ya, the aquarium around the bar? I'm sorta' in charge of accommodations an' stuff. But bein' a fishman, I don't know if you would feel more comfortable sleepin' the water or not."

"I was not aware that there was one on the ship. But it won't be necessary, just proceed as you normally would."

"Cool, sure thing-wait... Have you not seen the whole ship?"

"Afraid not, my brief times aboard has been spent getting everyone to safety."

Franky then clapped Jinbei on the back. "Well, can't have that, now can we! I'll show you all the gloriousness that is the Thousand Sunny!"

"I look forward to it. The more I know the ship, the better I'll be able to handle it."

"I would sure hope so, Sunny's full potential can't be reached by just anyone! I may have brought the lion to life, but I sure as hell can't tame that beast!" Franky howled with laughter.

"Hey, guys. Mind if I join?" Usopp asked as he came up to the group with a platter of food.

"Of course." Jinbei gestured for him to take a seat. Robin; having been simply enjoying the company, couldn't help but laugh a little. When the fishman looked her way, he was met with a knowing smile.

Usopp quirked a brow at her. "What's so funny, Robin?"

"What is the paint for?" She deflected.

"One of the samurai bros suggested it. Kubuki, I think is what he called it?" Franky offered before reaching to take some of Usopp's food. But he was not as swift as Luffy and Usopp moved his plate out of reach. "Come on, don't be stingy bro."

"Then ask, don't try to steal it. I was going to share, but now I don't think you deserve the courtesy."

Franky was quick to provide an exchange. "I'll share my cola with ya?"

"Sure." He grumbled and now offered the food to his crewmates. "Robin, Jinbei? Would you like some as well?" Each gave their thanks and took something from the plate to snack on. Not a moment after, Usopp was grinning. "So, Jinbei."

"Yes?"

"With you now officially a part of the crew, it makes sense that I; the Great Warrior Usopp, bring you up to speed of my grand adventures and heroic deeds." He said with great pride and fists posed on his hips. While Franky made the comment that; this was the real reason he brought food to share, Usopp either ignored him or didn't hear. Jinbei gave a mild expression of interest, but mostly wasn't sure what to expect.

Usopp began with a tale about befriending a pair of rival giants and helping to save their honour. Which was fascinating and Jinbei found the young man quite talented in storytelling. However, he ended up unintentionally raining on the sniper's parade when he began the next part. "-on a winter island, were a cruel King forces his people to support him by restricting access to doctors-"

Jinbei cuts him off when he recognizes the tale. "Oh, Drum Island. Not a huge fight, but it was Luffy's first notable appearance since Logue Town and the first kingdom he saved."

"Oh, so you know where we met Chopper." Undeterred, Usopp began anew. "Well, this next one is one of the Straw Hat's greatest moments! And one of our greatest secrets." Motivated to impress the helmsman with one of their adventures kept more under wraps. He sets the stage, does his buildups and is about to deliver the shocker. "-turns out she is none other than the Princess of Ala-"

When Jinbei speaks up and becomes a bit enthusiastic. "Alabasta. That was when Luffy fought his first Warlord, Crocodile. Quite the tough fight too, he had to figure out a way to defeat the Logia user before even knowing what Haki was."

"In much fewer and underwhelming words, but ya. Robin also joined the crew afterwards. I'm surprised you even know of this, the navy even covered it up and took credit for all our hard work."

Franky decided to chime in a little and tease Usopp. "You also messed up a little on the order there, Sanji said that you all knew who she was before Little Garden."

"Shh, you!" He scowled for a moment before going back into story mode. "So, the next adventure and this one you may have a hard time believing! It takes place on the mysterious White Sea-"

"Ah, the one about Skypiea. I would have certainly had trouble believing it, if not seeing some sky people myself."

At this point, Usopp deflated and lost most of his zeal. "... I probably should have started with asking what you've heard."

Jinbei felt bad for ruining Usopp's storytelling and apologised. "It was not my intention, but that was all rather rude of me wasn't it? I'm sorry. Though, I believe that I have heard most of Luffy's feats up to the point where we met."

"Where did you end up hearing all of this?" Robin asked, both amused and curious.

"On Fishman Island mainly, over the two years that the crew was separated, I-" Then Jinbei paused, coming to a realization and bringing a hand over his mouth. Oh... Oh, that's what they meant. Gods, he could hear them all laughing at him again and Aladdin was the worst of the lot. Why couldn't they have called him out on it sooner?

"You?" Usopp echoed.

Jinbei just hoped that his embarrassment didn't show on his face. Which it did, in an ever so slight flush. If anyone noticed, they didn't comment. Dropping his hand; to not bring further attention to his face, he continued. "I had many opportunities to speak to all sorts of travellers and some stories I even overheard."

"That would explain the focus on Luffy in the stories and why you didn't mention the points of new crew-members. You're hearing about it through the people that witnessed bits and pieces." Usopp was bitter that his spotlight had been taken from him. But he supposed that he still could fill in all the blanks. Along with the events of Punk Hazard, Dressrosa, and Zou. "I'll have to tell you the full stories."

"I'd like that." Jinbei then added. "It would good to get the whole truth of the events."

"Pft! Ya right!" Franky burst into a huge fit of laughter, to the point that he was on the verge of tears. "You'd best ask Robin, if that's the case!"

"Hey!" Usopp clearly offended does a karate-cop like gesture towards the cyborg. He likely had more to say on the matter, but his attention, along with everyone else was drawn to a rather loud, passing argument.

It was between the bear mink, Bepo and Law. "Captain, we understand-"

"Don't you dare-!" Law hissed in anger and pain; aside from Luffy, his injuries were some of the worse. It hurt to stand, let alone go for a walk. "None of you do- none of you can!"

"But Captain, you need to at least try to rest! You shouldn't-"

"Shut-up! It's my bloody body!" Law snapped, his harsh glare anchoring his first-mate on the spot. "Leave me alone." Then proceeded to the outskirts, with Kikoku held in his white-knuckle grip and a slight limp in his step.

Having witnessed that, Usopp felt bad for the mink. Whispering as he glanced from Bepo to Franky. "Yesh, that was harsh. Even for him. Do ya think maybe...?"

Franky knew what he left unsaid and while he didn't like it, he didn't think it was the place to interfere. "Ya." Tapping his nose as he replied, a cue to let Usopp know he was on point. "He's definitely off, but asking about it now might just make things worse."

"I get that, but what if Luffy," Usopp does a few uncertain gestures before holding his hands out towards Law's general direction. "...ya know?"

Though, Jinbei didn't want to wait on a group decision and as their conversation carried on, Jinbei took it upon himself to go talk to Luffy. He didn't want to be the one to jump to conclusions, but being aware that Law had gone through a great ordeal in the past couple months. It didn't help matters. However, he knew that there was nothing he could personally do for Law. Nothing that would likely be meaningful anyways.

It didn't take long to find Luffy. Giving the young man a wave, Jinbei made his way towards him.

Their captain waved in return and met the man halfway. A light bounce in his step despite his own terrible injuries. "Hey, Jinbei! You having a good time?"

Jinbei gave a small nod as his answer, but glanced over his shoulder, at the direction the other captain had gone. "Luffy, you're close with Law, are you not?"

"Ya, we are! He's a really good friend." But then his grin became more of a smile. Still cheerful, but figuring something was up. "Why? Something happen with Torao?"

"I just saw him and he said some rather worrisome things to Bepo."

"A fight?"

"No, no... Not exactly. I only overheard bits and pieces. His crew is worried about him; while Law is obviously gravely injured from the fight, he appears to be refusing to rest. As a doctor, Law knows very well what he should be doing... Yet he doesn't seem to be in the right mind. He doesn't seem to be himself." Jinbei's voice was quiet. This situation was stirring too many unpleasant memories and it wouldn't be right to speak so freely of someone else's internal conflict where so many people could overhear. He didn't want to cause more trouble for Law, especially if Jinbei had the wrong idea. I hope I'm wrong.

Luffy was silent, waiting to hear the rest. An odd moment of him being completely focused. Well, perhaps not entirely odd, the wellbeing of his friends and crew were of the utmost importance to the young captain.

"I can't deny that I am worried for his safety and of those around him. But I think it would be best if you make sure he is alright."

"Hmm." Luffy tilted his head as he mulled it over, for a second. "I can do that. Where's Torao at?"

"He was headed that direction, but I'm not certain where he's at as of this moment."

"Kay, just need to do one last–" He then looked around quickly, till he spotted his doctor. "Chopper! You got a sec?" He took off and left Jinbei to return to the festivities.

~~~~~~ ҉ ~~~~~~

It was the first hour after dawn, most were still asleep and honestly, Jinbei would be too if not for old habits. Still groggy, having only got a couple hours of sleep, he decided he would go down to the water for a soak. Geta in hand, he did his best to remain as quiet as possible for the others still passed out in the room. On his way out of the building, he couldn't help but look into the other room as he passed. The door was left open so it wasn't his fault and he hadn't expected anyone to be in it.

He froze as his eyes met with Luffy's and then they smiled. The young captain was clearly awake, however the same couldn't be said for the other captain curled up behind him. Law was still peacefully sleeping, yet keeping a hold on Luffy. They were sharing a blanket and looking dishevelled as some of their bandages had come lose. Jinbei opened his mouth to apologize, to say something, but Luffy quickly brought a finger to his lips. Shh!

While Jinbei snapped his jaw shut, Luffy's sudden movements had irritated Law. He wasn't sure if it was a grumble or a growl that came from the man, but it was in a threatening manner. Pulling Luffy into a tight embrace and placing his nose to Luffy's exposed shoulder. Though Luffy appeared to be slightly unhappy about something, Law did not wake, returning to a relaxed state and Luffy did nothing.

Jinbei hadn't realized that he had been staring till the soft sliding of the front door startled him out of it. Looking to the entrance, he saw Sanji quietly slipping off his footwear with a plate of food in hand. When the blond looked up, he paused and gave the fishman a questioning look. As if he wasn't expecting him to be awake yet. Jinbei on the other hand, glanced back toward their captain and the... state he was in.

Carefully he reached for the door, for reasons he wasn't sure of, but stopped before he could lay a hand on it. Sanji gave him the same hushing gesture and slowly made his way towards the room. As the cook peeked into the room; as much as Jinbei felt the need to keep him from doing so, Luffy lit up at the sight of him. Even giving him a little wave, which was briefly returned.

A hidden tension faded away, but the whole situation was becoming too much and full of unexpected chain reactions. With someone else on the scene and to deal with the matter, Jinbei was swift in making his escape.

Jinbei had expected a fight, even if it had been a small one. But this... he hadn't expected that. Whatever that was meant to be. His mind was spinning around in confused, hazy laps of the few brief seconds of what he witnessed.

Next Chapter -->>

#JinLu #One Piece Jinbei #One Piece Luffy #A/B/O verse #Chasing The Sun FF #Mpreg #Written Work #Fanfic #Rated M #Rated R

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adazieht · 4 years

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Initially, I wrote an article for a Russian-speaking audience. I TRANSLATED WITH THE HELP OF AN ONLINE TRANSLATOR. WITHIN A FEW MONTHS I WILL TRANSLATE MYSELF, BUT MOST LIKELY TO THE GERMAN LANGUAGE.

Attention: I love the world of "Harry Potter," but I think the main character is antihero.

The system of roles that I have described for the story's characters is based on the Writer's Way (the old edition was called the Hero's Way), a classic Hollywood typology. Briefly about the typology Of " the way of the Writer/Hero's» The author believes that by giving a group of first-and second-plan characters clear roles that affect the plot and the Main Character, it is possible to create a strong story. Its typology was at first critically accepted, as proponents of chaotic plot creation thought that it would kill the individual. But in the end, everything turned out exactly the opposite and indeed the best pictures of American and European cinema were created using this typology. Proving once again that random writing can't create a clear and understandable story for female viewers.

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In my opinion the path of the Writer/This is a very strong system, which has been present in the stories of Pixar, Disney, paramount, especially 20th century Fox and others for twenty years (or even more, it should be clarified). However, it creates at first glance clear restrictions that the authors first see and therefore decide to work within the framework, although the typology is intended to adapt to the authors, their mentality, mentality and territoriality (for example: the plot in Germany from an Irish immigrant will not be similar to the plot of an American, although they strictly followed the system of the role of heroes in the plot).

Let The Writer/The hero does not give full will in what characters to use and how. Since it has a total of 7 types (Hero, Trickster, guardian of the Threshold, Mentor, Werewolf, Partners and Shadow). Around which is usually built a dynamic, but short story, which is not easy for everyone to work through and yet is mostly suitable for a movie in the last 1.5 hours.

But it really can be useful, it's just better to Supplement it with your own interpretation and other typologies. It should be clarified that I will not touch on the manner of writing a story using the writer's Path system, since I do not share the opinion about its convenience. Although it is definitely more convenient than the classical system, which is actively taught in Russian universities, where thank you that there are not 25 steps in the story, which are told to put in 40 minutes of narration.

I used The Writer's Path/the hero to quickly think through what classic conflict/action should occur in connection with one of the characters.

Mentor. The mentor was the same Yoda from Star Wars. That is, the character performing the function of a Mentor should teach something to the Main Character/Hero, perhaps even accompany the story, like Merlin. Or teach a lesson and die provoking the Heroine / Hero into action (Uncle Ben from Spider-Man).

False Mentor. Negative Mentor, so to speak. He is trusted by the main character, he even teaches him, but leads thereby to destruction because he is actually an insidious manipulator. Dumbledore from Harry Potter.

The topic of Harry Potter as a character will be touched upon later to demonstrate how we can be manipulated by writers and writers who keep in mind the ideal image of the Main Character-Hercules.

The trickster. Tricksters are the most independent characters. People like to say that Loki from marvel is a Trickster, but in fact he only has trickster elements in his system of action. Namely, to act not only during the main actions on the screen, but also before, between, and behind them. Tricksters don't care about the goals of the Main Character, the Villain, or anyone else. They have their own goals and want to achieve them. Tricksters are always active and do not stand still, so they are rarely in the focus of the cameras or suddenly appear on the scene and thank you if they decide to support Hero. We can say that Tricksters are one of the most powerful characters, both mentally and physically, some of them therefore decide not to go into the main plot especially (if they are not interested in the reward for help or the object of the Main Character's hunt), because why should they go into what they decide with one hand? This is boring, and boredom is not for them, and they like to pretend to be physically weak. As a result, I will write that Tricksters exist so that the world in which the actions take place is alive. So that the tower over there will explode and attract attention, so that at this moment the reader will be hooked by its mystery trickster. To create an active and complete world atmosphere.

Guardian of the threshold. Always on the side of the villain. In the story, it serves to become the last obstacle for the hero, after which he is convinced of his strength and that he definitely needs to defeat the Shadow (the main villain). Sometimes it can take the side of the Hero, since the main role of the Guardian is educational and inspiring during the contact between them. The guardian can decide that the Hero is perfect or that his strength has earned his loyalty, and the Shadow will lose. Usually in the arches of the confrontation between Batman( the Hero) and the Joker (the Shadow), the role of the Guardian is performed by Harley Quinn, who is not rarely disappointed in the Shadow and tries to start living again. But most often the Threshold Guard is killed.

Werewolf. An inferior type in this typology. The author is still not completely sure how much it has the place to be, as a separate type, and not a special quality of other types. For example, a False mentor can also be called a Werewolf who seemed to be one, but turned out to be another. But a Werewolf takes place when the differences from the original image are so strong that it seems that it is a completely different character. That is, There was little red riding Hood - cute, but it turned out to be a serial killer who kills grandmothers and blames the wolf.

The shadow is always the main villain of the story. The shadow has similar features to the main character, not rarely the same weaknesses, desires, but unlike him, the Shadow does not restrain anything and it creates hell that. At the same time, because of similarities, they may have mutual understanding and dialogues, but because of differences, they can not coexist.

Partners-partners and there is nothing to describe here. Just the Hero's partners. All.

And now about the Hero/Heroine and what does the deception I mentioned earlier in the story about Harry Potter have to do with it?

A hero in the classical sense is all good deeds in one person and the desire to do everything for the best. This is a great image of a person who overcomes difficulties and solves the problems of the plot. Their personal plot is easy to understand and always equals the plot of the story.

However, there is also a plot about an anti-Hero. An antihero is a hero who tends to self-flagellate, do stupid things and negatively tune in to the world around him, trying on the mask of an often beaten person who can justify his negative outbursts, bad treatment of his Partners (including sitting on their necks). Antiheroes usually arise from an attempt to make the Trickster the main character, or to arouse pity from readers, often ending with the death of this antihero in order to teach the audience something.

And this is a description of the main character of "Harry Potter", that is, Harry himself. And classics stories about anti-Heroes he was also dragged through the plot, through his "do not want", while its true purpose (which is at least not entirely overlap with the purpose of his environment and history) a large part of the plot was not formed, and after the trigger 4 in the book, he started to want revenge for parents who didn't idealiziruete the image of his cause (revenge for ideal people and for the lost perfect life in complete comfort, instead of to create comfort; despite the fact that he also, like a typical anti-hero, clung to those who would give him this comfort). Then he learns information that tells him that perfect people are not completely perfect. And it is during this period that he begins to physically threaten other people, even committing actions that can kill someone, giving in to anger. Around the characters begin to die, which of course puts pressure on the antihero, but emotionally he does not often remember the deaths, quickly moving away (if it is not the characters who gave him either hope for comfort, or already giving comfort).

Like all anti-heroes, he also exhales sharply, then flares up, then sees that darkness is happening around him. Dies for the sake of achieving a good future (because the decision of the plot is always either in the death of the anti-hero, or because he can do nothing else). Sometimes the authors at the same time give the antihero during or after death a chance to solve the main conflict of the story plot with their own hands, organizing their rebirth, as if they are Phoenixes and are born again bright and clean.

Where do the legs of a typical anti-Hero story grow from? From Greek myths, where heroes often performed "feats" in which they not infrequently killed those who did not harm them or creatures that logically ate those who wandered into the heart of their territories, or killed deservedly villains, but again in the name of Victory, Revenge, to Order, and not justice.

Greek mythology as a whole can be characterized as an anti-Hero cult, which serves to satisfy and encourage the fact that at that time Greece was a very negative country in terms of moral appearance. However, these feats of HEROES were presented to all of us as something beautiful and truly heroic. The same disney cartoon about Hercules could not become anything else either. At the same time, thanks to the development of critical thinking people, it was noticed that the only one who had motivation - was Hades, and the same Zeus asshole.

And if you superimpose Hercules from the beginning of the story and Harry Potter, will there be a special difference in functionality? There are great forces and all around say that he is special, the world around him does not understand, he wants more and feels that somewhere there is a true comfort for him. He wants justice for Himself, not for others. Then something happens that gets him involved in the story's plot. He is given the opportunity to enter the magical world, where he seems to be in the theme, allowed to practice their own powers. At the same time, he does not want to return to the old world, as he is inclined to devalue all the good that he received there. He wants to become a Hero, feeling that he is an inferior classic Hero and something is wrong with him ( he is an anti-hero). And a sense of inferiority develops. There is a trigger that causes him to have a clearly formulated goal, but his goal is not perfect in fact. He is disappointed, but decides to act like a Hero, without showing empathy for others, emotionally distancing himself (he does not understand someone's reasons why they do this, but sees how they do it). There is a dangerous situation for their lives with the deaths of other people (or near deaths). The final, where he is white and cleared of doubt.

Very often, the Shadow of the anti-Hero in the final finally goes mad, reflecting the anti-Hero's obsession with his own goal. Remember when Hades and Voldemort had their roofs blown off?

This is the end of the article. Good luck to all and enjoy writing any texts.

#character #characterdesign #blog #blog post #writing #The Writer's Way #Hero's Way #How to write #Harry Potter #Online translator #:d <3

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petitprincess1 · 5 years

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My Heroic AU (Now With OCs)

Warning: Long(er) Post!

I’m back at it again with another thing explaining my Heroic Au. Figured that I should probably explain some of my OCs (even though the main four are technically OCs too, but shush). So, for those who are interested, click here to read my first post (for those who read it, now they got heights and ages) about my AU. I would say you don’t have to read that one, but it helps to get a gist of things. But if you dont want to, here’s the main idea:

Central/Main Idea: Mine are more on the chaotic good side of things than lawful because I find it more fun and they kind of explore the whole “if villains can kill and destroy and people just accept it, why can’t a hero do the same, especially when justified and with a corrupt justice system?” Basically, whenever a hero does anything like kill or destroy, no matter the reason, they are automatically seen as corrupt or they have a dying need to be stopped, even more so than villains. My Heroic characters basically exist to prove such a thought wrong…even if they aren’t the most mentally balanced people.

Also, I will be using imaged from others that I have commissioned/requested, while also tagging them. If they do not wish for me to use their drawings, then that is perfectly fine

Sayua Kobayashi/Cross-Boa (created by @little-geecko) Age: 34-35 Height: ~7 foot at full height, but can be about 6 foot 8 Job: Hero for hire/Archer Species: Naga (even though she doesn’t know how to shape-shift) Background: Very little is known about Sayua’s past, due to her being found as a baby in the middle of the forest…and her not willing to tell anyone about her background. Her parents, who were elders, often taught her to stay within the wilderness and often keep moving, due to them being nomads. They also taught her how to live off the land, how to defend herself, teaching her archery and how to create/fix her own weapons.

Her parents ended up dying, due to natural causes, when Sayua was 19, forcing her to live on her own. She didn’t really bother moving from where they last had made shelter, since it was in a pretty well-protected and bountiful. And because she didn’t want to leave her adoptive parents’ graves. Everything was pretty calm as she did whatever she could to take care of herself, until a year or two later someone had ransacked her place and her parents’ graves were dug up.

Sayua was able to track them down easily to a small town and had gathered information from people (who she snapped at few times from them taking too long to answer her) from where the thief seemed to be located. When she found them, it seemed like she had found them also having an illegal pawning business where they basically stole whatever they could from people, sell it off, and run before cops are notified. Needless to say, she was going to give them hell for disrupting her peace and interrupting her parents’ eternal peace.When she came out with a few wounds, bruises and only a fractured arm, as well as the criminals being taken away, Sayua was approached by a man with a white top hat that was very interested in her deed. Personality: She’s a very strong-willed woman with a fiery temper, while also taking absolutely no shit from anyone. if you ever tell her that her short temper and snappy behavior is from being alone in a forest for so many years, she’ll tell you it’s not, while also holding a sickle to your throat. Despite her behavior, she also is a natural leader and will often take the lead or make the first move.

She also tends to be very indifferent to what your status is and what you have down. So, it’s pretty hard to intimidate her, but she does have her limits. just hardly ever shows them. Don’t expect her to be terrified of people like Demencia or Flug because the moment they breathe to even say one sentence, Sayua will yell, “HOLY SHIT! JUST KILL ME ALREADY!” …She’s impatient.

Despite all these “negatives”, she does have a soft spot that she shows from time-to-time and will often try to inspire younger heroes to work harder to be their best. …Does telling people that they will die if they don’t man up count as inspiration? Also, she may or may not be asexual. She just says that she would rather not figure out how snakes have sex. That and Lucius doesn’t make it any better with all the sex jokes he makes.

~~~

Lucius Wickes/Heartbreaker/Reaper (created by @skribblie) Age: 25 Height: 5 foot 8 Job: Hero for hire/Womanizer Species: Incubus Background: Lucius did live a pretty normal-ish life with his dad being a former demon from Hell that was one of Satan’s warriors, banishing all those that dare get in his way, and his mom being an accountant. He was raised and born in New Orleans, where his dad retired and met his mom. Lucius also met his ex-fiancee, Maria (yes, I know that Metauro’s ex-wife is named Maria. I made these backgrounds a long time ago…I am not changing anything). The two hit it off very quickly, due to Maria being immune to his passive infatuation ability and being more into just him, which he found absolutely incredible. He hadn’t really met anyone that wasn’t into him for simply being an incubus. Plus, Maria was also really into the supernatural, so that was something that put him at ease.

The two ended up leaving out of New Orleans to a smaller town that wasn’t even really on the map. Maria wanted to go there because she had always wanted to live a small, simple life and Lucius wanted to go there to propose. Unfortunately, neither got what they wanted.

Lucius refuses to say what all exactly happened, being vague on purpose to seem guiltier, except that her death was on his hands and that Maria’s last words were: “It’s not your fault.” …A man with a white hat also found him covered in blood, in the middle of a city that was littered with bodies, and had a thousand mile stare in his eyes. The only thing that made him snap out of it was of the man promising that he will make him atone for his sins. Personality: Lucius is a quick-witted smartass that really knows how to and when to get on somebody’s nerves. He has an extreme ego and isn’t afraid to boast about his best qualities He always looks for any opportunity to make an explicit joke or even to seduce someone. He will fervently deny that it’s some kind of self-medication and just say that it’s the price of being a demon. He also loves to play around or mess with people in any way that he can, even if it means that they may want to punch or kill him afterwards.

He’s the kind of guy that likes to cheat death or toe the line of danger, whatever gets his adrenaline pumping and unleashes a bit of the sleeping hellish beast within him. Whether that be through sex or even a bit murder, he’s all up for it. His preferred weapon is a hatchet or an axe.

Lucius can also barely control his demonic side and often keeps it under wraps. The only time he uses it is when in an emergency or when they both have a common end goal, which rarely happens. White Hat must be present when his demon side is let loose or else he’ll lose control fairly quickly and go on a rampage.

Lucius also often attends bars and even will be a bartender or even put on a show for the people. Anyone of any gender or configuartion loves him and loves them for helping him forget how much he hates himself.

~~~

Mari Belmont/The Marionettist (created by a friend and @redmoondragon-art) Age: 16 Height: 5 foot Job: Assassin for hire/Student Background: Mari was born without any powers or anything really all that unique. However, her father was researching a way to genetically engineer a hero. He didn’t really have any other test subjects, but Mari, who was 5 years old at the time, had volunteered to help him. Mari’s mom was against her helping her father, but after a long argument, she realized that she wasn’t going to win. So, she just only wished for her to be closely monitored and safe. There isn’t much to her background, since she’s so young, but the process to become what she is now was very long and grueling. She often remembers times waking up in the middle of the night in her test tube, almost drowning. Personality: Despite her age, Mari often is the mother of any group that she’s a part of. Always making sure that everyone is ready and taken care. She also had taken dancing and aerial silks lessons when she was around 10. It was just something that she always found interesting and graceful. Mari also loves any activity that requires any bit of creativity or using her hands.

Her powers also allows her use her strings like a tightrope, aerial silks (without even hurting herself), and that she can swing on. Not only that, but she also can use them to control peoples’ minds and make them like her puppet, which she often just makes them kill themselves with whatever is nearby.

She also is extremely playful and hyperactive. She will also defend the actions of her parents, especially to those that dare pretend they know better. She also attends White Hat hero academy whenever she has free-time. ..What do you mean you have to register?

~~~

Panna “Pan” Ward/Pandora (created by @lightpudding) Age: 10-12 Height: 4 foot 4 Job: Freelance hero Background: Pan was very sick when she was born, an illness that attacked at her throat. Luckily, she was saved, but it cost her her vocal chords, rendering her mute, excluding a few small, quiet noises. Her parents were pretty kept in the shadows, even keeping some of their life away from Pan. All that is known that they were into the dark magic and even, rumored, satanism.However, they made sure that Pan was given as much care and love that she deserved, even home-schooling her and teaching her a bit of sign language.

Unfortunately. Pan only knew her parents for 9 years, due to a random attack that happened in her house. She had no idea what was happening because her parents hid her away in a closet. When everything had quieted down, she found her house completely in ruins and her parents dead bodies. She also found a jack-in-the-box near their bodies that was latched shut with a note, reading, “Take this and defend yourself. You’re the new Pandora.”

Pan wasn’t afraid of the demons that lurked within, especially if it meant that they could help avenge her parents’ death. Personality: Pandora makes sure that everyone is okay before herself. It can even just be a random villain that she’s fighting. She’ll always come up to them with a small first-aid kit that she keeps in her box and makes sure they’re okay to go home. Although, a bandaid in a large, gaping hole in someone’s stomach may not help all that much. They still appreciate it though.

Her favorite demon in the toy box is a large creature that has hundreds of eyes all over his body, gnashing mouths, large, skin-tearing claws, and deep, timber voice that shakes the very ground. He has caused many deaths, made Satan himself even tremble in fear, created many widows, and has devastated thousands of armies. …Pan named him Lord Fluffybottom. He takes that name with great pride.

Pandora loves learning anything new and often will not ask for help, even if she’s too short to reach for something or has a hard time understanding. Pan also realizes that she is pretty much useless without her jack-in-the-box, but that doesn’t stop her from trying to help or fight, even if her hits amount to nothing. Luckily, not many people are willing to fight a defenseless child, even if she does take that as an insult.

Pan created the dress herself as a way to remember her parents, since it’s made from several pieces of fabric from their and her clothes. Not only that, but she doesn’t live in one place for too long and often moves from place-to-place. ~~~ I have more OCs, but they don’t have images and this going on for a bit long. I may make a part two. I hope that you guys like them and sorry if their stories may be edgy.

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multiversal-excursions · 4 years

Text

Strange Visitors

It wasn’t often that Maria dreamed.

Technically, she wasn’t even supposed to, with her current state being a soul in a power core powering an android. The closest she could get was mentally retreating to a mindscape-equivalent space that looked like it was straight out of Tron. Except it was filled with buildings that were important to Maria, and no people.

That had been the plan for Maria that night, but as soon as she’d crashed into bed for the night and found herself in her memory banks, plans changed abruptly.

“Where shou--hrrk!”

Maria only had a moment to reach for her chest before she suddenly found herself yanked backwards and out of her mindscape. Her already dark surroundings of the Tron-like area blackened completely.

And then Maria found herself opening her eyes in the middle of a new place. A world of soft pinks and yellows, covered in clouds and fog. She couldn’t make out much more than that.

“...What the scrap?” Maria looked around in confusion as she sat up. There was something soft underneath her, probably one of those clouds. She looked down at herself with a deep frown, noting that she was in her civilian clothes. The only difference was that there was a glowing blue circle in the middle of her chest.

“Okay, that doesn’t normally show up.” Maria raised her gaze and started to look around again. “What is going on here...?”

She’s aware! I wasn’t expecting that.

She isn’t organic, and has been alive for longer than is normally anticipated for World Jumpers. It is to be expected.

The two voices definitely caught Maria by surprise. “Who’s there?!” She rose to her feet and started to look around, only to be met with the unchanging landscape. “What the scrap have I been dragged into?!”

Calm yourself, World Jumper. We only wish to talk.

“I’d feel better about talking if you showed yourself!” Maria barked in reply. She turned her head and caught sight of what looked like a pair of shadowed figures, but she couldn’t make out any concrete details. “Who are you. Why the scrap are you interrupting my sleep cycle?”

Like my master said, we’re only here to talk. World Jumper, you--

“Master?”

Teacher or mentor, the second figure said. You are a curiosity. You serve towards balance in the Multiverse, but are more known for your ‘heroic’ deeds than any act of neutrality. You have been granted a far longer life than humans from your world, and yet you still identify yourself with either humans or Cybertronians, despite your body not being related to either. And, you have made yourself a marked enemy of the Dark Arms.

Maria bristled at the name the figure mentioned. “I’ve only interacted with the Dark Arms a handful of times. The only reason they have to call me an enemy is because they attempted to use me towards their own plans. They failed to keep hold during the World Collision, and they failed to lay claim to me again during Weirdmageddon. I’ve kept my ears to the ground since.”

The shadow figures exchanged looks.

So you say, the first figure said. He was promptly slapped in the back of the head by the shorter, second figure. Ow! Master, why--

Clearly, you did not study the research like I asked you. World Jumper, you have not yet met your maximum strength. Why are you not traveling the multiverse, not stopping to remain in any dimension that might call for you?

Maria straightened sharply at the question. “Travel -- because I would rather have a home to return to than be homeless for -- for however long I’m going to be alive for. Just because my family died in my home dimension doesn’t mean I can’t stake my claim on a new home base for a while.”

World Jumpers aren’t supposed to have homes, though. Especially if they’ve been alive for as long as you.

“And where did you hear that from? My parents had a home. My siblings had -- have -- homes.”

Because they gave up their ability to travel.

“And you’re telling me that I can’t because I’m no longer capable of having a family? No longer capable of having children of my own?” Maria shook her head. “That hardly seems fair. I am not about to abandon the people I have found a family in here just because of what you think I should be doing.”

The two figures looked at each other again.

“Let me live my life. I will take care of the worlds that I have become familiar with as needed. Who are you to try and tell me what to do, if you know things about me? If you know how much I chafe when people try to take over my life and command me?”

The clouds and fog around Maria almost looked like they are going to part and reveal the figures, but they settled back in place.

We are not in a good place to discuss such matters. But according to our research, World Jumpers such as yourself live long enough to lose all connections with dimensions they call home, and wander as a result, connectionless.

“Well, it seems I’m breaking with what you’ve seen, then, which is fine by me. I’ve spent a long time alive. Humans being alive for this long is highly uncommon. If not for where I currently am, I would have found a place to sleep and gone into hibernation until I was needed again. I don’t know how long-lived you are, but I’m not like you, and I’m not like whatever other World Jumpers you’re probably studying.” Maria folded her arms across her chest. “Any other questions?”

Is it true that you’ve created a Continuum Shift?

You shouldn’t--

“Once.” Maria’s eyes narrowed. “During my first encounter with the Dark Arms. I haven’t released one since.”

I see. What about--

The foggy landscape became more foggy, and the shadowy figures more indistinct.

The connection is failing. We will speak more on this when we can connect again.

Before Maria could say anything more, something yanked at her core from behind, and darkness took her vision again. Next thing she knew, she was back in her memory banks.

“What the scrap were those two? What was that about?”

Something poked at the back of her mind, and the recent encounter started to fuzz slightly.

There was a burst of energy as the Tron-like landscape flashed red, then faded back as the memory cleared.

Maria’s fists clenched tightly. “If those morons think they can keep that memory from me, they’ve got another thing coming. That’s one strike against them. If they want to talk to me again, they’d better tread lightly.”

She took a moment to calm herself, breathing in deeply -- despite not needing to. “As should I.”

#visions of the present (drabbles)#strange shadows #dreams #((I haven't done anything with Maria and I don't know how quickly things will pick up but this is something I've been thinking about))

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salakavala7 · 6 years

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thorki ficlet #3: Moustache

The third word of the thorki drabble thing: moustache. There is no ask this time, because I got the word in a comment on AO3. Adventuring young princes ahead, enjoy!

(Also on AO3)

Moustache

As usual, it was Loki who came up with the idea.

He had read about it in one of his endless books, an adventure tale of some sort. Thor personally thought that if you had time to read about about adventures from a book, you might as well go and experience them yourself, but Loki had his quirks and could spend hours upon hours with his nose buried in dusty pages. Still, Thor couldn't deny that sometimes Loki's best ideas were inspired by the tales he's read. Like now.

Darkness was a silent cloak around them, a shield against spying eyes of bloodthirsty beasts as they ventured forth in the thick growth of the jungles of Vanaheim. Neither the moon nor the stars could penetrate the rich foliage above their heads – tall trees blocked any light the night might have otherwise provided. They could barely see ten steps ahead as they advanced towards their target, and while the darkness did protect them from unwanted gazes, it couldn't hide them from other beastly senses: the nightly terrors of the wilderness had such a sharp sense of smell that they could probably spot the two boys from the other side of the forest. Loki had learnt this from his book.

“They can even smell your fear,” he whispered right into Thor's ear, following tightly at his heels.

“I'm not afraid,” Thor whispered back, although he was a little; the monster they were determined to face was the most formidable in all the Nine Realms. They had to proceed with caution, or risk their hides.

Shadows swam and shifted around them as they made their way towards their destination, the lair of the beast. They needn't slay it – they only needed to retrieve a single hair from its face as a proof of their courage and of fulfilling the demanding feat.

“We're almost there,” Thor whispered to Loki, who only nodded and tightened his grip on Thor's tunic. Thor was glad that he did – he would never admit it, but Loki's presence helped slightly calm his thudding heart. They both knew it wasn't a silly game. Tonight, they were playing with fire.

“Look!” Loki whispered with urgency. “There's the entrance to its lair!”

He was right – they had reached the enormous cave of the monster. Thor gulped. It was one thing to read of heroic deeds, and quite another to perform them – and the most dangerous part was yet ahead. But they were both princes of Asgard, and they would do this.

The entrance was obstructed by huge rocks effectively blocking the way into the depths of the cave. “I will break through it with Mjölnir,” Thor told Loki quietly, clutching the legendary weapon of warriors in his hand.

“No,” whispered Loki. “That will wake the beast. Leave it to me, I will clear the way with my magic, it'll be so quiet that no one will notice a thing.”

As much as Thor would have liked to object, he had to admit Loki was right. They could not afford to rouse the monster, not now.

They crept to the entrance, and, true to his word, Loki did swift work clearing it without as much as a creak.

They slipped in.

It was even darker inside than it had been outside in the jungle – they could barely discern their own toes. Thor felt about with his hand until it found Loki's shoulder, and clutched it tightly – to give courage to his little brother, of course. “We are here,” he whispered, and they shared a nervous, excited look in the dark. It was time.

They could hear the monster's heavy breathing rumble from the depths of its lair. Loki had to clamp a hand over his mouth as a terrified giggle escaped him, when a particularly loud snort shook the walls of the cave.

“Shhh!” Thor shushed him urgently, but had to fight giggling himself. It wasn't even funny – he was terrified to the marrow of his bones.

Together, squeezing each other's hands tightly, they crept deeper into the cave.

They found the monster in its nest – and it wasn't alone.

Loki gasped. “Look! It has a prisoner!”

“No, it's its mate,” Thor whispered back. “We mustn't wake either. Come on.”

Closer still, closer, until the sleeping beast was within the reach of Thor's arm.

They exchanged a look and gulped. The moment had come.

“Do it,” Loki whispered barely audibly, eyes wide in the dark.

Thor had expected it, but still he couldn't help feeling a little queasy. “Why me? It was your idea, you do it!”

“I cleared the way through the rocks to get in here. We must both have equal glory, brother. If I do this, too, then what's left for you?”

Thor knew full well what Loki was doing, but even so, Loki was right. Besides, Thor was the older brother here. Who, if not he, should step forward and prove his worthiness? It was his responsibility, both as the wielder of Mjölnir and the greatest warrior in the Nine Realms, and the protector of his little brother.

“All right.”

Loki grasped his hand, and he squeezed it back. Then, trying to even his breathing and calm his hammering heart, slowly, so slowly, Thor reached for the hairs covering the monster's face. He pinched one between his trembling fingertips.

“Have you got it?” Loki asked, breathless.

“I've got it.” Thor could feel the beast's hot and heavy breath on his fingers. “Prepare to run.”

“I'm ready,” Loki whispered, and, with one last determined breath, Thor yanked.

The monster awoke.

The talk they got from Odin in the morning was harrowing, but it was somewhat undermined by their mother's evident struggles to maintain a straight face. Then Loki stepped forward and pointed out that Thor and he had been able to sneak past all their father's guards and slip to their parents' bedside without being caught, even as close as to pinch a hair from Odin's moustache. That gave Odin pause, and in the end they got off easier than they might have expected. “You always get us in trouble,” Thor grumbled all the same when they left the great hall afterwards.

Loki smirked. “I also got us out of it. Besides -” And his eyes glimmered with glee and excitement, “- now we've finally accomplished all the Labours of the Hero, and have proof of it!”

Yes, Loki's ideas often got them in trouble. But, watching his little brother's glowing face and flushed cheeks, Thor thought he didn't mind that at all.

#thorki #thorki drabble thing #my fic #salakavala #asgardian brothers #young thor and loki #thorkiedit #thorki ficlet #thorki fic

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searchingwardrobes · 6 years

Text

Desdichado: Chapter Ten

Writing this chapter was a struggle, and I had to face a fact: I can’t write Outlaw Queen! So I reached out to @snowbellewells, and she came to my rescue. The first half of this chapter is hers, and I am so thankful! She captured the style of this fic perfectly. Make sure to give her some love. The “poems” Emma reads in this chapter are actually lyrics to two Loreena McKennitt songs: “Mummer’s Dance” and her version of “Greensleeves.

Summary: Sir Killian is a noble knight known throughout the kingdom for his heroic deeds in the Crusades. However, he is nothing but the ward of Lord Stefan, which means he is forbidden to wed his childhood sweetheart, Lady Aurora. Emma Swan is the ward of Lady Regina, a former noblewoman of ill repute. They are known as merchants and healers, and sometimes rumored to be witches. Sir Phillip is a noble knight of the Templar who discovers an evil plot by his leader, Sir Baelfire. Treachery and intrigue will soon throw all of these characters together in surprising ways. (A CS AU of Ivanhoe)

Rating: T

Words: 4,000 in this chapter, so hopefully tumblr doesn’t eat the cut

You can catch up on Ao3

Tagging: @snowbellewells @mythologicalmango @teamhook @wellhellotragic @kmomof4 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kday426 @jennjenn615 @bethacaciakay @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs

The fire crackled like a warmly wavering beacon in the dark of the night within the forest. Though they were far off the track where her wagon had been accosted earlier that day and the crackling, popping logs and dancing flames gave off a much welcomed warmth in the chill night air, Regina found she could not get comfortable in the bedroll she had been so kindly loaned, no matter how hard she might try. True, she was a bit further off from the circle of camp nearest the blaze, bedded down with the other members of Stefan’s caravan who had been rescued by the band of forest rebels, so she could always claim she had been too chilled for comfortable slumber as her excuse.

It went deeper than that however; there was no sense denying it - at least not to herself. Her heart ached in her chest at how Emma had been taken from her and only worse and worse possibilities preyed on her mind of what the young woman she loved as a daughter might be enduring even now. Lying there, reasonably safe and warm, but unable to do anything to help her ward, was eating away at her. Finally, she sighed and flung off the blanket, getting up with a huff of frustration and moving to the small circle of men still awake around the fire.

The man who had been speaking when she approached looked up, unsurprised and at ease as she stepped from the trees into the circle of light. Regina was mildly annoyed at his calm knowing, as she generally prided herself on having a bit of the grace she had been raised with in the noble home of a lord and lady, and also some measure of stealth and subtlety from the life she had made for herself and Emma - free, but constantly on guard and on the move.

The three or four men still sitting up with him, clearly putting together some sort of battle plan for the day ahead, did look up, startled, when this ‘Hood’ motioned her forward, his tone light and even a bit taunting as he beckoned, “Come milady Regina, join us. No need to lurk in the shadows.”

Affronted, even as she had been caught out doing just that, Regina huffed and stalked forward, dropping down onto the empty log as far from this Robin of Locksley as she could possibly get. Taking the carved, wooden tankard passed her way, Regina quickly tipped it up to hide at least partially her flushed cheeks and snapping, riled eyes for a moment behind its wide base.

Unfortunately, the sharp, bitter flavor that met her taste buds did not mellow on its way down her throat, and she choked, eyes watering and coughing hard, slamming the drink back down on the log beside her. Glaring at the men gathered around the fire, as if assuming they had tried to play a trick on her, Regina spat out, “What is that?”

The near-giant man seated at Robin Hood’s right raised an arm that seemed thick as a tree branch to jab a finger at her, eyes narrowed in equal distaste. “Tis our own Friar Tuck’s best ale,” he responded heatedly. “One not quite so high and mighty could simply be grateful for drink to wet a parched throat and a safe fire to warm herself by.”

“His best?!?” Reigna spluttered indignantly, completely disregarding the aspersions cast on her character; long used to them and knowing in this case they were at least partially true. “If that’s his best, then I hope he is a better friar than he is a brewer.”

Grumbles broke out around the fire as all the men gathered now voiced their discontent and their restless agitation began to show. “How dare you!” the huge man burst out, gaze trained angrily on Regina.

But Robin’s hand raised placatingly stopped the burly man’s tirade before it could truly begin, falling silent in deference to his leader’s stoic command. “Peace, Little John,” he murmured softly, his voice firm and certain though barely raised, a voice well used to being followed absolutely, even if hardly louder than the crackling fire, the shuffling of unsettled feet, the night sounds around them, and her own breath rasping with exertion echoing in her ears.

Despite herself, Regina simply couldn’t keep her tart tongue in check; she was too off-balance, too worried, feeling much too helpless and angry at everything and everyone to think before speaking. It had earned her more than one harsh punishment from her lady mother in her childhood and adolescence, and she realized wryly that once again - despite all the years between and her drastic change in circumstances - she possessed more fire in her speech than was good for her. “Little?” she scoffed, wincing even as the word slipped off her tongue with derision. She might be rightly shaken and perturbed, but that didn’t give her the right to be hurtful. “Most who would attach such a diminutive before their names might show a bit more restraint at evening repast to be sure the term still fit.” She wanted to bit her own tongue in reprisal, but the words had already been spoken, seeming to hang almost visibly in the smoky air.

“Restraint?!?” the behemoth shot back, looking truly incensed now. “You’re one to speak of restraint, when you wage war with every word that falls from your mouth. At finally meeting the sole heir of your family’s estate, I now see why it ended with no new generation to continue - “

“Enough!” Robin’s sharp order was louder this time, cracking through the air like the whistle of an unfurled whip, harsher and more commanding than Regina had yet heard it - even when he and his men had charged into the fray along the road to battle their attackers. His eyes, which had been so warm and inviting mere minutes before, glittered dangerously as they flicked between his second-in-command and herself, brooking no further obstinance. The argument was over. “Shame on you both, fighting like this when we are on the same side. We must be united if we are to survive what faces us on the morrow. You know this,” he directed that last to his second harshly. The other man’s nod was tight with thwarted frustration, but he did not speak again.

Robin’s shoulders dropped slightly. “Go,” he told his troops still gathered around. “Get what rest you may. We will need all the strength we can muster for the battle.”

The men dispersed, melting silently back into the shadows of the trees. The leader of their outlaw band remained seated across from Regina, silent now and looking somewhat deflated, as if having to exert his authority so harshly had drained him. His head bowed the tiniest degree, and as he ran a weary hand back through his sandy hair in worried tension, Regina was flooded with regret at her outburst and her own ungratefulness. She wanted to apologize, but instead only sat silently, uncertain how to fix the mess she had helped to make, hands clasped in her lap and feeling as small and as overwhelmed as she hadn’t since the night before she left her family home long ago - saying goodbye to the place where she had grown up after one last failed plea to her parents for the right to make her own path, and steeling herself to venture into the unknown world alone.

Biting her lower lip, Regina braved another glance up at the man across from her, only to find him studying her curiously - as if she were some sort of puzzle he could solve and then come to understand. His was gaze less stormy, more quiet and contemplative when he finally spoke, “You’re worried about her, aren’t you? Your ward?” he asked finally, his voice low and steady, though sincere in its question, expressing true concern. Regina was surprised too at noticing a cultured polish to its deep tones that had escaped her notice previously and seemed incongruous with a woodland bandit.

“Emma,” Regina clarified with a nod, not really wanting to proceed, knowing that thinking of her companion, the young woman she had rarely been separated from for any length of time, would only intensify the fears for her replaying in her mind. “I realize there is nothing to be done tonight, and that it doesn’t excuse my rudeness to you or your men. My granny used to say my temper and my tongue would be a bane to me all of my days…” She shook her head ruefully at the memory that had once again proven true and paused before adding, “Be that as it may, I feel so helpless at the thought of her being hurt - or worse….” she shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself at the chill which overtook her. “She’s been with me since she was two year old. In my heart, I feel she is in part my daughter. Not going to her this instant torments me so that I want to crawl out of my own skin!” She shook her head, words running out and getting her nowhere before trailing off to sit once again staring into the fire.

Robin said nothing for some minutes, making Regina wonder if he would reply at all. When he finally got to his feet, Regina half expected him to turn and leave her to her woes, not even sure she deserved more than that from him. Still, her heart ached at the prospect of yet another man who could not handle, or did not wish to, all the impropriety, the whirling emotion, and the outspoken, nontraditional challenge she posed.

However, he wholly surprised her. Boots crunched lightly over the fallen leaves on the ground between them as the archer crossed the emptied circle toward her instead. Removing his deep green cloak from his broad shoulders, he draped it over her own shivering ones, tucking it gently under her chin and then retreating a step as if suddenly afraid that had been too much. When he dropped to sit once more, it was beside her instead, and when Regina met his gaze, it was wistful, melancholy, and seemed to have gained the understanding he had previously sought. “My wife, Marian...God rest her sweet soul...she died bringing our son Roland into this world. She was goodness, purity and light...all I needed in this world...and to think that Roland will never know her…” he shook his head, fighting to rein in the emotion that had clearly risen with his words.

Without thinking, Regina reached out a steadying hand and placed it on his knee in comfort.

“Well, to put it bluntly, I often feel that I fail him every day, simply by being all he has. And yet, I would give anything, bear anything, to insure his safety. So, I believe I know something of your fear,” he finished, giving her a grateful look before he lay his larger hand over her own where it still rested on his knee, clasping it with a gentle pressure.

Regina tried to ignore the frisson of heat that rippled up her arm at the simple contact - not only unfitting, but so unfamiliar to her that she hardly knew how to process it.

For his part, Robin looked startled as well when she blinked dazedly and once more met his eyes. He leaned forward, close enough that his warm breath brushed across her nose and cheeks and she saw the determination solidify in the his face when he made her a solemn vow. “We will find my friend, and your Emma. I swear it to you, Regina. On my honor.”

She held his faze for a breathless moment before finally whispering, “I may have only just met you, Robin of Locksley, but I believe you will.”

Her affirmation, her belief in him seemed to transform his face. The flickering light of the fire burning low captured the smile that curved his mouth upward and glanced off the laugh lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes. “Yes,” she whispered again, as if cementing it in her heart for strength. “I believe you will.”

*******************************************************

And so they linked their hands and danced

Round in circles and in rows

And so the journey of the night descends

When all the shades are gone

A garland gay we bring you here

And at your door we stand

It is a sprout well budded out

The work of Our Lord's hand

The Lady Swan’s voice wasn’t the soft, demure kind typical among the nobility. It was commanding and confident. Even while reading, the sound of it arrested Sir Killian. Listening to her read from the slim volume of poetry also gave him permission to study her features: her cheeks that appled when she smiled, the dimple in her chin, the dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her eyes were hidden beneath her lashes as she bent her head over the book in her lap, but he had noticed them earlier that morning on the pillow next to him. They were a glassy shade of green that he didn’t think he had ever seen before. And her hair? It was braided today, tamed in a more socially acceptable fashion, yet it still glistened like polished bronze.

We’ve been rambling all the night

And some time of this day

Now returning back again

We bring the garland gay.

She finished reading the poem and smiled as she lifted her head to meet his gaze. “Do you wish for me to read another, my liege?”

He shook his head. “No, m’lady. Courtly poetry can only entertain one for so long, even a knight.”

Killian cocked his head and studied her as she chuckled lightly, running her hand along the cover of the book in her lap as she closed it. “Although,” he continued, “I would like to hear more of you, Lady Swan.”

She shrugged as she set the book on the nightstand. “There isn’t much to tell, I’m afraid.” Her smile wavered, and it caused him to frown.

“Being abandoned is no condemnation on your character, but upon those who cast you aside.”

Emma blinked and her lips parted on a half gasp. “But how did you –“

“I know the look in your eyes for it is one I know well. It is one thing to be orphaned. It is quite another to feel you weren’t wanted.”

Emma ducked her head. “I assumed, Sir Killian, that your parents had died.”

“My mother did,” he told her softly, “I was very young, but I still remember her beauty and kindness.”

Emma’s eyes held equal measures of tenderness and sadness. “I have often chafed over not knowing why I was abandoned in the forest. I never considered the pain of having a parent’s love and then losing it.”

Killian searched her eyes intently. “One can never compare pain. It all hurts.”

Emma gave him a tremulous smile. “That is true. And at least we each found a home.”

Killian clenched his jaw and hesitated. Yet the look in the fair lady’s eyes, the clear pain of her abandonment, made him confess the truth that only two other people in the world knew.

“Lord Stefan would have people think I was taken in as family, for the sake of his precious Lady’s memory. Yet truth be told, I was technically his slave.”

If Emma had gasped in shock and disgust, he wouldn’t have blamed her. Yet she didn’t. Her brow furrowed as she searched his face.

“How can that be?”

“He . . . paid for me. Paid my father. My brother and I should have been slaves toiling on the manor, if not for Lady Rose. She loved us as sons.”

“But not Lord Stefan?”

Emma laid her hand upon the bed covers, and Killian wondered if she realized how close her fingers were to his.

“He seemed to care for us, even if he were a bit distant at times. Perhaps we reminded him of the sons Lady Rose never bore him? I know not. He . . . preferred my brother. That I am sure of.”

Emma leaned forward, a crooked smile upon her lips. “And what makes you believe so?”

Killian smiled in return, “Everyone idolized Liam. He was so good and noble and charitable. Though I lost him, he is still my plumb line. Yet it seems so unattainable. He set the bar so high, how could I ever reach it?”

Emma grasped his hand. “How can you say that? Tales of your heroics in the Crusades have preceded you home. You, Sir Killian, have many marks in the hero column. Don’t think so lowly of yourself.”

Killian had the urge to link their fingers, but hesitated, choosing instead to run his thumb over Emma’s knuckles.

“I am flattered m’lady, but it is bad form to speak only of myself. What of your beginnings?”

Emma’s eyes grew distant as she began to speak. “Living with Lady Regina is all I have ever known. I was but a babe when I came to be in her home.”

“But she has always been good to you?”

“Aye, she has. Like I told you before, she educated me, taught me to fight and take care of myself. This is a cruel world for my sex, and Lady Regina always taught me that I can’t rely on a man to rescue me. She tilted her chin up. “The only one who saves me is me.”

Killian grinned. “So I’ve noticed.”

“I know that Regina is . . . unorthodox in her lifestyle. Combine that with my lack of proper lineage, and the hopes for me to marry are slim. Perhaps it seems lonely, but being an unmarried healer is the best future for me.”

“You are a woman of such fire and passion,” Killian said softly, his voice dropping low, “it is a shame for you to choose such a life.”

Emma’s eyes seemed a shade darker as she locked her gaze on his. For a moment, it was as if an invisible thread were drawing them closer. Killian turned his hand palm up and threaded his fingers with hers. Emma looked down at their joined hands, swallowing hard. Before she could pull her hand free or form a coherent sentence to break their sudden connection, the door to their chambers burst open. The sound sent Emma shooting to her feet, her face burning as if she’d been caught at something scandalous.

Her blush quickly turned to a pallor as cold dread washed over her. The man before her was dressed regally, cruel power emanating from his features. When he saw her, that power softened to barely contained rage.

“You’re not Lady Aurora,” he seethed with an icy tone.

Emma swallowed down her fear. She curtsied quickly and forced a demure voice. “No, your highness, I am Emma Swan, a humble healer.”

“Then why,” Prince James hissed as he strode across the room,” are you wearing her noble garments?”

He grasped Emma’s chin in his hands, his fingers digging into her cheeks.

“There is no need to lay a hand upon a lady,” Killian cried out, struggling to rise from his bed.

Prince James released Emma roughly, causing her to stumble into the chest of drawers behind her. Killian lurched forward, throwing himself between Emma and the Prince. The royal laughed cruelly as Killian stumbled and fell at the Prince’s feet. Emma sank to her knees next to Killian and helped him to a seated position.

“Lady Aurora does not wish to be your bride,” Emma yelled, not caring in the least about her lowly station, “so I helped her escape. She is far from your clutches by now, praise the Lord above.”

Prince James’s rage was clearly evident on his face. Killian held his breath, praying fervently as he never had before. The Prince’s hand went to the hilt of his sword, and Killian knew nothing was stopping him from running them both through. Killian had never wanted his own sword so desperately.

Prince James’s eyes narrowed, dark with loathing, but then he loosened his grip on his sword. His expression turned to one of scoffing.

“I will dispose of you, Sir Killian . . . eventually. But for now, you are my bait. Common peasants you both may be, but your sentimental households will still no doubt come to your rescue.”

He sneered before kicking Killian in the side. Killian cried out in pain, which only motivated Prince James to kick him again.

“Stop! Stop!” Emma sobbed, flinging herself across Killian’s torso to block the blows.

Prince James laughed sadistically then grabbed Emma by her hair. She screamed as he hauled her to her feet.

“And you,” he spat in her face, “Sir Baelfire wants to wed you for some bizarre reason, so for his sake, I’ll let you live.” He ran a finger down the side of Emma’s face, and she shuddered at his touch. “I don’t know why he didn’t just take you when he had the chance.”

Killian roared at his base words and managed to leap to his feet in his rage. He launched himself at Prince James, but the royal merely laughed again as he shoved the knight easily away from him, flinging him into Emma. They both fell into a heap upon the floor, and Prince James spat upon them both.

“Enough of this,” he snarled, “I have a castle to fortify.”

The Prince strode then from the chamber, slamming the heavy oak door behind him. Emma shifted, cradling Killian’s head in her lap as he groaned in pain. She ran her fingers through his hair, shaking her head at his foolishness.

“What were you thinking, trying to attack him in your state?”

“I am a knight,” Killian groaned, “I can’t abide a man accosting a lady. I took the vow of chivalry.”

“Well, chivalry is all well and good until it gets you killed,” she quipped as she ran her hands along his torso. He cried out loudly as she touched one tender spot. “Your stab wound didn’t reopen, thank God above, but his kicks cracked your ribs all over again,” she fussed over him, “when they had just healed.”

“That explains why it hurts when I laugh.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “And whatever do you have to laugh about in our current predicament?”

“I always laugh when an enemy underestimates his foe.”

Emma helped him roll to his feet, then draped his arm over her shoulder as she helped him back to the bed. “You are brave, Sir Killian,” she grunted as she deposited him on the feather mattress, “but you are also far too cocky.”

He grinned up at her as she tucked the coverlet around him. “I wasn’t talking about me.”

Emma blushed as she turned to resume her seat beside the bed. To cover the way his praise flustered her, she retrieved the book of poetry and cleared her throat as she opened it.

“I think poetry is needed to calm our humors, don’t you agree?”

“Your voice will soothe every pain,” Killian told her with a clear note of flirtation in his voice.

That infernal blush rose to her cheeks once again as she began to read.

Alas my love you do me wrong

To cast me off discourteously;

And I have loved you oh so long

Delighting in your company.

Greensleeves was my delight,

Greensleeves my heart of gold

Greensleeves was my heart of joy

And who but my lady Greensleeves.

#cs ff #historical au #desdichado #starts out sleeping captain #captain swan is endgame #medieval au #killian as a knight #Ivanhoe au

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withickmire · 7 years

Text

under the weight of a legacy

Fandom: Deltora Quest Characters: Anna II, Lief, Jasmine, Endon II, Jarred II, Josef II, mentions of others. Summary: Her parents were like blazing suns in the eyes of the people; bright and brilliant and beautiful. Anna lived in the shadows that they cast.

It was all Blayss’s fault. There was nothing that boy enjoyed more than getting the other children in trouble, and Anna was his favourite target. She had not been able to pay attention in school at all that day. The room was too hot, and she had not done her assigned work the night before, and so she did not understand the lesson. She had penned a quick note to Min, who sat a few rows away. When Master Petronne turned his back to the class, she had thrown it to her friend. Her aim had not been true, and she had hit Blayss’s head with the paper. Dread had been a heavy lump in her stomach as Blayss grinned and calmly raised his hand to tell Master Petronne. The schoolteacher had sighed and instructed Anna to stay after class.

Anna slumped over her little desk, idly filling in the answers to the mathematical problems on her sheet. She sighed. They were so simple; she could answer them correctly even in her annoyed state. It had been nearly an hour since the other students had left, surely she would be allowed to go home soon.

Attendance at a schoolhouse was mandatory for the children of Del from ages six to twelve, and optional until they were sixteen. In Anna’s family, however, attendance was firmly mandatory for all ten years, something Endon had once protested with foot-stomping and tears after a particularly difficult test.

Anna’s family was huge. Of course there were her parents and brothers and grandparents. But she also had two aunts and two uncles— only one of whom was at all related to her— and all of their many children. Then there was all of her parents’ friends, who buzzed in and out of their lives like bees.

“Blood is important,” her uncle Ranesh had once told her, “but the bonds you form with other people can be just as special, if not more.”

The schoolhouse was one of the largest in the city. Rather than group all of the students in one room, they were split into two classes by age. Master Petronne had gone to the schoolhouse’s other classroom to speak to the schoolmistress who taught the younger children, leaving her under the watch of his teaching assistant.

Anna sighed again, and Josef looked up from where he was correcting grammar exercises at the desk with a sympathetic smile. Although Josef had finished school a few years earlier, he had decided to become a teacher himself, and had taken to shadowing various schoolteachers across the city. Anna had been thrilled when he had eventually been assigned to her class, but despite growing up with many of the children who attended the schoolhouse, Josef took his work very seriously. This, of course, made him the target of much good-natured teasing in their extended family.

Anna reached the end of her worksheet and set her pencil down. She had finished both her unfinished work from the night before, and what Master Petronne had assigned for that evening. She slumped down in her chair, defeated by boredom.

The sound of chattering boys down the hall broke the silence. Josef looked up from his work and said, “that sounds like your brothers,” at the same time as Anna groaned.

She had hoped to slip home before anyone noticed she was too late, but of course Barda and Lindal’s older children would have told Endon and Jarred why she was not waiting for them in the schoolyard. And of course her brothers would tell their parents.

Footsteps followed the voices, and soon Jarred and Endon tumbled into the schoolroom, followed by Lief and Jasmine. Her parents were hand-in-hand, with their heads turned in towards each other as they spoke. Anna’s lips twitched in a reluctant smile. This was the way they had always been, often acting as though they were not two separate beings, but extensions of each other’s bodies. Wide-eyed Jarred was pressed against their father’s side, clearly impressed by the size of the classroom that the older children occupied.

Endon eagerly ran to Anna’s desk, clearly delighted by his sister’s small act of rebellion. “Brid told me you threw something at a boy, is it true?”

“No,” Anna snapped. but that did not impact Endon’s smile. “I just needed to ask Min—“ she broke off, realizing her mother was looking at them with an arched brow. “It was nothing,” she finished weakly.

Jarred broke away from Lief and approached the other side of the desk. His dark eyes were huge with worry. “Are you in trouble?”

Anna looked over at their parents, but they had gone to Josef’s desk, speaking with him in earnest. Jasmine had her hand on Josef’s shoulder and she smiled at something he said. She was very close with his parents, and had a deep fondness for all their children. Lief was listening intently. Neither of them looked angry, but that did not mean they were not. Jasmine’s temper was easy to trigger, and although Lief tended to be calmer, disappointing him was like being crushed by the weight of all the water in the nine seas.

“Why did they come?” Anna asked quietly instead. “If they knew where I was, why did they not just wait for me to come home?”

Endon shrugged. He picked up Anna’s forgotten abandoned pencil and began to draw on the desk. “I heard Father tell Mother that he wanted to speak to you.”

She grabbed the pencil out of his hand and did her best to smear the marks away with the side of her hand, giving Endon a half-hearted glare. Master Petronne returned, and seemed about to give Anna trouble for stopping her work, until he noticed the other occupants of the room.

“Your majesties, what a delightful surprise,” the schoolmaster’s voice dripped with honey, so unlike how he spoke to his students. Anna exchanged a look with Endon, and Jarred bent his head to hide his grin.

“Good afternoon, Master Petronne,” Lief gifted him with a diplomatic smile. “I hear there was a disruption in class today.”

Anna watched her father intently. He had yet to look towards her, and her heart fluttered nervously.

“That is unfortunately true,” Master Petronne said eagerly, clearly pleased to have the king on his side. “The princess did not complete yesterday’s work, and she was passing notes in class, which ended up deeply disturbing one of her classmates. I am sorry that this trouble brought you all the way here.”

Anna fought the urge to roll her eyes.

“That hardly seems worthy of a punishment,” Jasmine said, as if voicing her thoughts.

Master Petronne’s upper lip twitched. “I will consider your thoughts, your majesty, but I do need to establish order in my schoolroom.”

“Of course,” Lief said hastily. “But how much longer would you say this punishment will last?”

Master Petronne looked towards Anna, who straightened and clasped her hands in what she hoped was the perfect impression of an excellent student.

The schoolmaster ran his hand through his thinning red hair. “I suppose she may leave when she finishes her schoolwork from the past two days.”

“I have,” Anna said with a winning smile. “May I go home?”

—

“I do not like that man,” Jasmine announced as they walked through the schoolyard. Endon grinned, delighted to hear his mother speak ill of a teacher. “He speaks to us with such terrible flattery. It makes me wonder what he could possibly teach his students.”

“It is difficult to find schoolteachers,” Lief said grimly. “Many of the people who grew up under the Shadowlord cannot read or write, and most who can have no interest in the position.”

Anna noted that he had not disagreed, however.

The walk from the schoolhouse to the forge was not long, but walking anywhere with her parents always felt like a journey. Almost everyone the passed had something to say to the king and queen, and Lief and Jasmine stopped for all of them. They wanted to speak to their saviour-king, upon whom the land smiled, and their heroic queen with a past seemingly spun from a tragic fairy-tale.

Every person who approached them did so with shining eyes, especially as they looked upon her father. He was handsome enough, Anna supposed. But there was nothing particularly remarkable-looking about him, expect for some patchy scarring on his face, and of course, the magnificent Belt at his waist. It was for his deeds that the people flocked to him, and for his kindness. He had saved them many times over, and worked tirelessly to turn a city that had once been on the brink of death, into the bustling hub that Anna had always known it to be.

Endon and Jarred ran ahead, and Anna stayed a few paces behind her parents, clutching her schoolbooks to her chest. Watching the people interact with Lief and Jasmine made her feel as small as a mouse. They were like blazing suns in the eyes of Deltora; bright and brilliant and beautiful. Anna lived in the shadows that they cast.

After what seemed like ages, they made their way through the throng of people. Lief said something to Jasmine and she nodded and let go of his hand. She stopped and turned around, causing Anna to nearly bang into her side. Jasmine gave her a quick kiss on the side of her cheek. At thirteen, Anna was of the same height as her mother, and not done growing.

“You only have three more years of school left,” Jasmine said. “Be brave.” She turned and hurried after the boys, leaving Anna and Lief alone.

“This way,” her father cocked his head down a side street. Anna gave him a little smile; she knew this game. No one knew the winding streets and alleys of Del as Lief did. He felt it was his duty to be among the people, more importantly, he liked it. But on rare occasions, if he needed to move in peace or in haste, he would use that knowledge to his advantage.

Anna quickly followed him away from the noisy street, and behind rows of crowded houses. They reached an empty alley lined by the back exits of taverns and tiny shops, and slowed their paces.

“Am I in trouble?” Anna blurted out before she could stop herself.

He looked at her, half-amused. “Should you be?”

She shrugged moodily. It was unfair that she had been caught only because another child wanted to get her in trouble.

“What happened today?”

Anna flushed. “I did not finish my work last night, so I was not paying attention. I wanted to pass a note to Min, because Master Petronne will not let us sit near each other, I hit a boy with it instead and he got me in trouble.”

Lief sighed heavily. “Your grandmother worked very hard to educate me, but I never had the chance to go to a real school. Still, I was lucky; it was a chance that your mother— and many people in the city— did not have. You have a great privilege, Anna, it would serve you very well to take advantage of it.”

She looked away guiltily. She knew all of that, of course, but it had nothing to do with the way she felt.

“I like school sometimes, Father,” she insisted. “I do not like Master Petronne, but we have read some good books, and I can solve mathematical problems very quickly. The only reason I was in trouble was because Blayss— the boy who caught my note— does not like me. He tells the other children that I think that I am better than the rest of them because of who I am.”

Lief paused and looked at her thoughtfully. “Do you think so?”

“No!” Anna clenched her hands into fists. “And I have done nothing to them.”

“They are just jealous,” Min had told her once, boisterously bumping their shoulders together. “Pay them no mind.”

But what could they possibly be jealous of? They did not have the weight of her family’s legacy on their shoulders.

She took a deep breath, and leaned against a brick wall. The alley carried a bad smell, and the wall was undoubtably filthy, but Anna did not care. It suddenly felt necessary that he know the truth. “In school, the teachers and students all talk about you, Mother, Barda, and all of Deltora’s heroes. But the same children who tell stories about you will stop talking when I approach them,” she swiped at the angry tears that had gathered in the corners of her eyes. “It is far easier for me to keep the friendships with the children I grew up with, rather than make new ones. You want us to act like we are of the people, but what if the people do not want me?”

Lief joined her against the filthy wall.

Tears had spilled down her cheeks, but Anna ignored them. They kept coming, as did her words. “Everyone in the city— in the kingdom— would do anything for you. I am supposed to measure up to you one day, but how can I? It is far easier to not try at all!”

Lief was silent. Before Anna could move away, he leaned close and pulled her into his arms. “I did not know you thought that way,” he said quietly.

“It is true!” Anna’s words were muffled by his jacket.

“No, no,” he stepped back and put his hands on her shoulders. To her surprise, he was smiling. “Children can be cruel, but your classmates do not speak for the people of Deltora. And the people of Deltora do not speak for you.”

She rubbed her nose on her sleeve. “What do you mean?”

Lief began to walk again, placing an arm around her shoulder. He turned right, rather than continuing straight, the path that would take them home. “You are honest and clever and kind. I know you, Anna, and I know all of the good that is in your heart. This schoolyard foolishness will pass, I promise. And until it does, there are plenty of people who love you. Plenty more who do, even if they do not know you. Are you afraid to be queen; is that what you mean?”

Anna leaned against her father, suddenly feeling very tired, and very young. “I will not be like you.”

“No,” Lief agreed, and Anna felt sick. “You will be like you. I have learned many things over my life, and one of the most important lessons is that you cannot compare yourself to others. There are things you will do, that I cannot.”

Anna looked up at him. It seemed impossible that that could be true, but he looked upon her with confidence and pride. “Do you mean that?”

“I swear I do. But you must work hard, all of your life, and that begins at the schoolhouse.”

Anna scuffed her boot into the dusty road. Her anxieties for the future were still there, but the burden of it all felt a little lighter.

Lief guided her down another turn in the road. She frowned, now certain that they were nowhere near home. “It cannot be that all of your schoolmates think this way,” Lief said.

“Maybe not all of them,” Anna agreed begrudgingly.

“And you must tell me— what did the note say?”

Anna’s cheeks burned. It all seemed so silly. “I just wanted to ask Min if she wanted to play after school.”

“That was all?” Lief grinned and she covered her face with her hands. “I can assure you, the mischief I caused when I was your age was far worse.”

“I know. Barda has told me everything.”

“I am sure he has,” Lief grimaced. “It is funny that you should speak of him.”

Anna looked around, and realized that they were in the small road that stretched behind Barda and Lindal’s house. There was a fence and large yard between them and the house, but Anna could still hear a tangle of voices from inside.

“Do you not think Min is waiting for you?” Lief grinned.

Anna thew her arms around him. “Thank you!”

“Just be home for supper. There are enough children in that house as it is.”

“I will,” Anna nodded vigourously.

“But please,” her father looked serious again. “Think about what I said. We should talk about it again very soon. Please do not feel that you need to keep things from me. You can trust me.”

“I know,” Anna held him close again, overcome with fondness. “I love you.”

Lief’s arms tightened, and he said nothing for a long moment. “I love you, too. And I have so much faith in you, Anna. Go, now.”

She let him go, and burst through the gate. There would be time enough to think of duty. But for now she was happy to shake herself free from that weight, just for a little while.

#deltora quest #lief is a good king and dad #i started this months ago it feels good to finally finish #i knew as soon as i read about the schools in shadows of the master that i had to write something about anna #this is so wordy i'm sure there are errors but i have to go! so i'll comb through a bit more later #anna ii #lief #jasmine #jarred ii #endon ii #josef ii #my writing

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fe14festivalofbondstranslations · 7 years

Text

Hoshidan Festival: Hinoka and Caeldori Parent-Child Conversation

Marie here. Liquid energy (coffee), how I need thee. I’m happy to say I’m getting two of these out today--another Caeldori convo will come later. I haven’t even been that busy, just...not feeling so great. So many bad days that I’m wondering if this will be a new normal for a while. Well, whatever. Gotta adjust, right? Chronic illnesses require constant adjustments, that’s for sure. Coffee helps. It always helps. Might make me more dizzy, but it’s worth it.

And I see that Miiverse is going away in about a month! Oh no! How will I get my screenshots...? If there’s no equivalent service, then I guess I’ll have to start photographing the screen again. (Which means I need to clean the screens of both my 3DS systems ‘cuz they’re filthy xD) Or take stillshots from videos.

Anyway, enough rambling. About this convo! It’s very short but sweet! It refers heavily to Hinoka and Subaki’s support conversations, so you probably want to review those first. The shortness does match Hinoka’s personality, as she’s prone to say more through her actions than her words.

Hinoka: “Caeldori, don't let down your guard. Beware of a sneak attack. There are a lot of places to hide around here, so it's possible that someone could ambush you by jumping from the shadows of one of the stalls.”

Caeldori: “I understand, Mother. You take the front. I've got your back.”

Hinoka: “Heh. I'm glad my daughter is so dependable.”

Caeldori: “I'm the daughter of one called a warrior princess. It's only natural that I must try my hardest.”

Hinoka: “Caeldori, I know we've lived apart until now, and I haven't been able to teach you much of anything... Even so, you've grown into a splendid young woman. I'm very proud of you.”

Caeldori: “Mother, you HAVE taught me several things! Not through your words, but through your deeds. Stories of your heroic exploits reached us all the way in my Deeprealm.”

Hinoka: “I see... You save me with your words.” (T/N: That's what she literally says. She means that Caeldori's words are a big relief to her.)

Caeldori: “I've always looked up to you. In fact, I became a sky knight so that I could be just like you and Father.” (T/N: There seems to be a bit of a continuity error in the English version of the game, in which Hinoka and Subaki repeatedly refer to sky knights as “pegasus knights” during their support conversations. I chose to have Caeldori refer to them as sky knights.)

Hinoka: “Caeldori... I see. You've looked up to us... Subaki, it looks like we're doing a decent job of fulfilling our duty. Nothing could make me happier than this.” (T/N: She's referring to her support conversations with Subaki, particularly their A support. They state they must be good role models in order to fulfill the hopes and expectations of the current generation of new recruits who look up to them, and hope that they will inspire the next generation.)

Caeldori: “...Mother?”

Hinoka: “Ah. Nevermind. I was talking to myself.”

Caeldori: “Mother, I want to learn more from you. Much more.”

Hinoka: “Then I'd better make sure to live up to your expectations. Come with me, Caeldori! Watch as your mother shows you the art of battle!”

Caeldori: “Yes, Mother!!”

#hoshidan festival of bonds #hoshidan festival #hinoka #matoi #caeldori #fire emblem #Fire Emblem If #Fire Emblem Fates #feif #fe14 #fe:fates #translation

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pamphletstoinspire · 6 years

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Saint Catherine Laboure - Feast Day: November 28th - Latin Calendar

As Catherine knelt beside the Blessed Mother and rested her hands in the Virgin’s lap. Mary said: “God wishes to charge you with a mission… Do not fear, you will have the grace to do what is necessary… Graces will be shed on all, great and little, especially upon those who seek them… I always will have my eyes upon you...

Saint Catherine Laboure

Sanctity Through Loving Service

The fact that Saint Catherine rested her hands on the lap of the Blessed Mother did not make her a saint. She personally worked no miracles, nor did she practice externally heroic charity like other great saints. She was not materially poor as were the children of Fatima and Bernadette… She sprang from upper middle class parents among the meadows and vineyards of Burgundy, France. Her father was an educated man and an excellent farmer living in the village of Fain-les-Moutiers not far from DiJon. Her sanctity consists in half a century of faithful service as a simple Daughter of Charity.

Child of Mary

As the evening angelus sounded, Catherine was born of Peter and Louise Laboure on May 2, 1806. She was the ninth child of a family of eleven. Fifteen minutes after her birth, her name was entered on the city records. The next day, she was baptized on the feast of the Finding of The True Cross. It seems more than a coincidence that Catherine was born at the ringing of the Angelus; surely it was God’s charming touch - the heralding by our Lady’s bells of the saint who was to be so highly favored by Mary. Nor was it an accident that Catherine’s name received the prompt attention of the world… certainly it was her holy mother’s intuition that led Louise Madeleine Laboure to call attention to her elected child. Even the feast of Catherine’s baptism was prophetic, for Catherine was to find the cross in every turn of her life, and to have deep devotion for it, and to see a mysterious vision of the cross.

When Catherine was nine years old, her saintly mother died. After the burial service, little Catherine retired to her room, stood on a chair, took our Lady’s statue from the wall, kissed it, and said: “Now, dear Lady, your are to be my mother.”

God has Designs

After living a year in Paris with her Aunt Margaret, Catherine came back to her father’s home to supervise the household. She was her father’s favorite child, and this efficient, stern, upper middle class farmer depended on her. On January 25, 1818, Catherine received her First Holy Communion. From that day on she arose every morning at 4:00 a.m., walked several miles to church in order to assist at Mass, and to pray.

One day she had a dream in which she saw an old priest say Mass. After Mass, the priest turned and beckoned her with his finger, but she drew backwards, keeping her eye on him. The vision moved to a sick room where she saw the same priest, who said: “My child, it is a good deed to look after the sick; you run away now, but one day you will be glad to come to me. God has designs on you - do not forget it.” Later, she awoke, not knowing the significance of the dream.

Sometime later, while visiting a hospital of the Daughters of Charity, she noticed a priest’s picture on the wall. She asked a sister who he might be, and was told: “Our Holy Founder Saint Vincent de Paul.” This was the same priest Catherine had seen in the dream.

Sister Catherine, Daughter of Charity

In January of 1830, Catherine Laboure became a postulant in the hospice of the Daughters of Charity at Catillon-sur-Seine. Three months later she was again in Paris, this time to enter the Seminary at the Mother House of the Daughters of Charity. Shortly after, God was pleased to grant her several extraordinary visions.

On three consecutive days she beheld the heart of Saint Vincent above the reliquary in which his relics were exposed, each time under a different aspect. At other times she beheld our divine Lord in front of the Blessed Sacrament; this would occur especially during Mass when he would appear as he was described in the liturgy of the day.

Mary Appears to Saint Catherine Laboure

The First Apparition

On the eve of the Feast of Saint Vincent de Paul, July 19, the Sister Superior spoke to the novices about the virtues of their Holy Founder and gave each of them a piece of cloth from his surplice. Catherine earnestly prayed to Saint Vincent that she might with her own eyes see the mother of God.

She was convinced that she would see the Blessed Virgin Mary that very night; and in her conviction, Catherine fell asleep. Before long, she was awakened by a brilliant light and the voice of a child. “Sister Laboure, come to the Chapel; the Blessed Virgin awaits you.” Catherine replied: “We shall be discovered.”

The little child smiled, “Do not be uneasy; it is half past eleven, everyone is sleeping… come, I am waiting for you.” She rose quickly and dressed. The hall lights were burning. The locked chapel door swung open at the angel’s touch.

Amazed, Catherine found the Chapel ablaze with lights as if prepared for midnight Mass. Quickly she knelt at the communion rail, and suddenly, she heard the rustle of a silk dress… the Blessed Virgin, in a blaze of glory, sat in the director’s chair. The angel whispered: “The Blessed Mother wishes to speak with you.”

Catherine rose, knelt beside the Blessed Mother and rested her hands in the Virgin’s lap. Mary said: “God wishes to charge you with a mission. You will be contradicted, but do not fear; you will have the grace to do what is necessary. Tell your spiritual director all that passes within you. Times are evil in France and in the world.” A pain crossed the Virgin’s face.

“Come to the foot of the altar. Graces will be shed on all, great and little, especially upon those who seek for them. You will have the protection of God and Saint Vincent. I always will have my eyes upon you. There will be much persecution. The cross will be treated with contempt. It will be hurled to the ground and blood will flow.” Then after speaking for some time, the Lady like a fading shadow was gone.

Led by the child, Catherine left the Chapel, marched up the corridor, and returned to her place in the dormitory. The angel disappeared and as Catherine went to bed she heard the clock strike two.

Mary Reappears

Catherine lived the normal life of a novice of the Daughters of Charity until Advent. On Saturday, November 27, 1830, at 5:30 p.m., she retired to the Chapel with the other Sisters for evening meditation. Catherine heard the faint swish of silk… she recognized our Lady’s signal. Raising her eyes to the main altar, she saw her beautiful Lady standing on a large globe.

The Virgin spoke, this time giving a direct order: “Have a medal struck as I have shown you. All who wear it will receive great graces.”

Catherine asked how she was to have the medal struck. Mary replied that she was to go to her confessor, a Father Jean Marie Aladel saying of this saintly priest: “He is my servant.” Father Aladel at first did not believe Catherine; however after two years, he finally went to the archbishop who ordered two thousand medals struck on June 20, 1832. When Catherine received her share of these first medals from the hands of the priest she said: “Now it must be propagated.”

The spread of a devotion to the medal urged by Saint Catherine was carried out so swiftly that it was miraculous itself.

The Silent Saint

We might expect that praise and prominence would be the lot of one so favored by heaven. But she sought none of it; rather, she fled from it. She wanted to be left alone to carry out her humble duties as a Daughter of Charity. For over forty years, she spent her every effort in caring for the aged and infirm, not revealing to those about her that she had been the recipient of our Lady’s medal. The Sisters with whom she lived held her in the highest esteem, and each one longed to be her companion.

In 1876, Catherine felt a spiritual conviction that she would die before the end of the year. Mary Immaculate gave Catherine leave to speak, to break the silence of forty-six years. To her Sister Superior, Catherine revealed the fact that she was the sister to whom the Blessed Mother appeared. On the last day of December, 1876, Saint Catherine passed on - once again to the hands of Mary - this time, however, in heaven.

Today her beautiful remains still lie fresh and serene. When her body was exhumed in 1933 it was found as fresh as the day it was buried. Though she had lived seventy years and was in the grave for fifty-seven years, her eyes remained very blue and beautiful; and in death her arms and legs were as supple as if she were asleep. Her incorrupt body is encased in glass beneath the side altar at 140 Rue du Bac, Paris, beneath one of the spots where our Lady appeared to her.

In the Chapel of the Apparition you can gaze upon the face and the lips that for forty-six years kept a secret which has since shaken the world.

#st. catherine of laboure

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heartofoshun · 7 years

Photo

Only three days of artwork and stories left out of 40!

As early as 1917, a young J.R.R. Tolkien began writing down the myths and stories that comprised his imagined world. A century later, here we are, four decades after the publication of The Silmarillion on 15 September 1977, still enjoying to read those earliest stories. Our love for the archaic language or people with indistinguishable names, for the grim yet majestic nature of the tales, for the quest for the Silmarils and the characters who find themselves swept up in it, has brought us together. Our views of the different characters and events, of Tolkien's style or overall themes may differ - often vastly - but we have all found something in The Silmarillion that captivates and moves us. More, we feel inside us a need to engage with the texts more deeply, writing our own take on its events, filling the gaps, fixing the bits that irk us, or giving a voice to characters previously unheard. Through our fannish activities we continue to breathe life into the "stillborn postscript"1; we are the "other minds and hands, wielding paint and music and drama" that Tolkien once ("absurdly") hoped would continue to contribute to his Legendarium.2

An anniversary is always a good occasion for celebration – a celebration of the book that we love, and a celebration of the community that has grown out of this love. How better to combine the two than by creating a compilation of fanworks that follow the timeline of The Silmarillion? One (sometimes, two) such fanworks will be revealed on this site each day for the next 40 (what else?) days. From the creation of Arda to the creation of the Rings of Power, from glory to tragedy, despair to hope, we are going to re-experience the great tales through the eyes of our fellow fans. Many minds and hands have been hard at work to put this collection together with more than eighty fanworks submitted by three dozen different writers and artists. If you enjoy their work, please consider leaving them a comment!

Table of Contents

Star Kindler

by FeanorusRex

Varda creates the stars. (Artwork)

Subcreation: A Collection

by SWG Authors

Tolkien's theory of subcreation states that it is part of our deepest human nature to create secondary worlds. This collection of drabbles, ficlets, one-shots, and sketches follows the thread of subcreation across the span of the legendarium. (Ficlet Collection)

Young Gods

by Fernstrike

It began in Almaren - when the world was new, and the gods were young, and the World seemed full of possibilities. It began beneath the earth, under great halls, inside a dark mirror. (Short Story)

And She Slept

by LadyBrooke

As Valinor is created, there are those who stay behind in the darkness to wait for those that come. (Ficlet)

Turn All Your Flesh As Gold

by anthropologyarda

Aulë's expertise does not lie in lungs and sinews. Mairon teaches his Master more than he intends. (Short Story)

We were not born in Cuiviénen

by Lyra

Morwë tells Oromë about the origins of his people, contradicting some stories the Vala has heard earlier. (Ficlet)

Paths of Good Intentions

by just_jenni

Melian is bored and travels to Arda to see the Quendi. She meets Elwe. His people wonder where he is. (Short Story)

Bewildered

by Dawn Felagund

Not all of the Eldar believed Valinor would be superior to Middle-earth. Having followed the man she loves from the land she loved also, Míriel struggles to cope with a strange life in a strange new land. (Short Story)

Fëanor Makes the Silmarils

by alikuu

Fëanor experiments with the light-retaining properties of Silima in the privacy of his forge. (Artwork)

The Creation of the Silmarils

by amyfortuna

Fëanor's creation of the Silmarils, in the form of a sestina. (Poetry)

Dwarves Come into Beleriand

by Robinka

The Dwarves arrive in Beleriand. (Artwork)

The Fates of Our Kin

by LadyBrooke

It is an ill omen when a Prince of Doriath appears in the tent of a Dwarf without any weapons and lowers himself to sit beneath her while they speak of important matters. (Short Story)

Melkor Stirs Strife among the Noldor

by Nixie Genesis

Melkor weaves his lies, especially between the sons of Finwë. (Artwork)

A King Unkinged (For the Love He Bore Feanor)

by Himring

Finwe arrives in Formenos. (Short Story)

This Time It's Different

by Nixie Genesis

Melkor meets Ungoliant within her lair in order to fulfill his plan. They both converge on Aman and Melkor takes his revenge. (Short Story)

Approaching Darkness

by ryesil

Melkor, Ungoliant and the darkening of Valinor. (Artwork)

The First Kinslaying

by fortunaavversa

The first kinslaying. (Artwork)

Exodus of the Noldor

by Writing Gecko

After the Exile of the Noldor, Arafinwe and Aule reflect on things which can be fixed, and those that cannot. (Ficlet)

The Remnants of a Person

by LadyBrooke

After the battle, too few of Denethor’s people remain to search through all the bodies alone. (Ficlet)

Burning

by feanorusrex

Arien's experience following the death of the Trees. (Poetry)

The Guides

by Hrymfaxe

Arien of Anar and Tilion of Isil. (Artwork, NSFW)

One Last Spring

by anthropologyarda

The world is changing. Strange dreams drive an Avari chieftain to embark on a quest, where he unknowingly stumbles upon his people's doom. (Short Story)

Helcaraxë

by hennethgalad

Fingolfin, his family and friends, confront the ice and the unknown, and are drawn closer together by their feat of endurance. But Fingolfin suffers bitter loneliness and only the great valour of the other Elves gives him the strength to keep moving. (Short Story)

The Grinding Ice

by fortunaavversa

The Grinding Ice. (Artwork)

Mereth Aderthad

by Grundy

"When twenty years of the Sun had passed, Fingolfin King of the Noldor made a great feast; and it was held in the spring near to the pools of Ivrin, whence the swift river Narog arose, for there the lands were green and fair at the feet of the Mountains of Shadow that shielded them from the North. The joy of that feast was long remembered in later days of sorrow; and it was called Mereth Aderthad, the Feast of Reuniting." (Short Story)

Of Linguistic Preferences

by Robinka

Some of the Sindar may have practical reasons to like their king’s edict that banishes Quenya from Doriath. (Drabble)

Eöl and Aredhel

by feanorusrex

And Aredhel strayed from her companions and was lost. (Artwork)

Lady Aredhel's Decision

by Scribe of Mirrormere

The account of Lord Eöl and Lady Aredhel, from the perspective of two of Eöl's smiths. (Short Story)

No One

by Dawn Felagund

Idril sits down to dinner with her cousin Maeglin shortly after the deaths of his parents. What begins as an uneventful meal dominoes into resentment and defensiveness as her own traumatic memories of her mother's death surface. (Short Story)

This Mortal Coil

by hennethgalad

The reflections of Bëor as he is welcomed to Nargothrond. (Short Story)

Darker than Night

by Luxa

While hunting, Amlach and Maedhros are pulled from their excursion by a surprise messenger, who asks them to take on a task great than either of them realize. They should have realized that finding traitors is no small task. (Short Story)

Red Sun Rising

by Amy Fortuna

Fingolfin passes on the crown to Fingon his son and heir. (Short Story)

Through the Morning Mist

by StarSpray

At long last, Emeldir leads her people into the forest of Brethil. (Ficlet)

The Duel

by lightofthetrees

The (in)famous song duel at Tol-in-Gaurhoth, as told by Finrod. (Short Story)

The Dead That Live

by fortunaavversa

Beren and Lúthien win a Silmaril. (Artwork)

Fewer Words, Without Song

by IgnobleBard

The story of Beren and Lúthien told as a fairy tale. (Short Story)

False Spring

by oshun

The story of the Union of Maedhros, the great alliance of Elves, Men and Dwarves organized by Fingon and Maedhros, is the prelude to the Nirnaeth Arnoediad. It is the return of hope for my protagonists and yet the beginning of the end of the struggle of those rash and heroic Noldor whose deeds made me fall in love with The Silmarillion. (Short Story)

Follow Me Home

by Robinka

Beleg meets his doom. (Ficlet)

Dagnir Glaurunga

by Robinka

The dragon and his executioner. A take of the death of Glaurung, but with a twist. (Artwork)

Strife about the Nauglamír

by Robinka

Strife about the Nauglamír. (Artwork)

A Dwarf's Memories

by LadyBrooke

An excerpt from the memoirs of a Dwarf of Belegost, concerning her childhood in Menegroth. (Ficlet)

Too late to go in peace

by mangacrack

Dreams tell Dior to stop the madness, but the young king doesn't listen. (Short Story)

Ravens over Doriath

by Hrymfaxe

In the aftermath of the Second Kinslaying (some gore and horror themes). (Artwork)

Escape

by hennethgalad

Tuor meets the messengers of Círdan and passes through the mountains to the sea. At Vinyamar he comes face to face with Ulmo. (Short Story)

Beyond the Cirith Thoronath

by Robinka

Death of a Golden Flower. (Poetry and Artwork)

A Tyrant Spell Has Bound Me

by Independence1776

After an ambush by Morgoth’s army destroys the Fëanorian camp, the survivors seek refuge in the Havens. Dark AU. (Short Story)

We Will Be Who We Are

by Lotrfan

The Army of Valinor has come to Beleriand. Maedhros and Maglor feel they must join in this battle against Morgoth but are reluctant to bring Elrond and Elros into the conflict. War of Wrath prompt focusing on the relationships between the surviving sons of Fëanor and the sons of Eärendil they are fostering. (Short Story)

There was battle in the air

by Lyra

"But Eärendil came, shining with white flame, and about Vingilot were gathered all the great birds of heaven and Thorondor was their captain, and there was battle in the air all the day and through a dark night of doubt. Before the rising of the sun Eärendil slew Ancalagon the Black, the mightiest of the dragon-host, and cast him from the sky; and he fell upon the towers of Thangorodrim, and they were broken in his ruin." (Artwork)

Bright Star - An Exile into Paradise

by Oshun

Elros is preparing to leave behind the land of his birth, everyone and everything he has known, to become one of the founding settlers and the first king of Númenór. Elrond is not ready to let him go. (Short Story)

Roads Not Taken

by anthropologyarda

With Tar-Ciryatan's crowning, Númenor takes the well-traveled path – but it wasn't the only one. His sister held other dreams. (Short Story)

The City Lights Burn

by Tyelca

Elrond and Gil-Galad discuss Annatar’s presence in Ost-in-Edhil. (Short Story)

Introduction by Lyra.

1 As one disenchanted reviewer called it. 2Humphrey Carpenter, Christopher Tolkien (eds)., The Letters of J.R.R.Tolkien. Letter 131.

#silmarillion fanfiction and fanart #silmarillion writers guild

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shamankingasakuraworld · 7 years

Text

Inner dark

You can’t kill what is already dead. You cannot end spirit. You cannot destroy soul. No matter what, what is is and perhaps only Great Spirits can change that. In some way, in some form, dead will always survive.

But that doesn’t mean you can’t harm them. You can banish them. You can seal them. You can curse them. You can fight them with weight of your own soul and cut them with furyoku like with blade.

What they don’t tell you, is that you can reduce them, and in some minds a destruction would be kinder.

You take the soul, the ghost, the person and you diminish them. You break and tear and scour their spirit clean, clean, clean-of joy and sorrow and past and future and memory and identity. You wash away what and who they are, condemning their personhood to oblivion, turning them in nothing but bundle of reiryoku and ether. A shadow, wraith left to bemoan cold emptiness inside itself.

That is what you need to do to consume spirit.

What does happen, when you are consumed twice?

Some spirits are eaten and imprisoned, their souls bursting inside another. Some spirits are eaten and digested, left nothing but energy absorbed by one who tore in them. Fox child’s dark-thought-children feast on resentful shikigami, and so does fox-child (for that is how oni is born, let poor cursed soul hear your thought and watch as it plucks piece of their soul to make identity for itself-less a child and more of separate piece of same being), and return to their warden-host-slave-parent-source, taking it with them.

Not eaten and consumed, not properly digested, only a shadow remains. Shadow that doesn’t remember what it once was (it had name, it thinks, but it can’t be sure).

The dark once-soul-maybe-even-named flows through dark-thought-children, thousand and thousand pieces (they aren’t just matched together, when they are joined to make greater spirit-they are combined, mixed, every soul containing traces of every other, bound together in chain of resentment providing endless power). It flows and flows and flows and comes out of them, and flows in fox-child and merges.

It flows and penetrates through fox-child’s soul, until each part of it is tainted by lost shadow (oh, it was never good soul, not at all, but it was pure, which may not be same though many think it is but it is still precious-a lake spoiled by filth is what lost shadow makes fox-child).

There is resentment festering inside fox-child’s mind, resentment built upon years and years of good deeds and heroic acts repaid with scorn and hatred. Shadow thing slips in it, their borders blurring and merging, until hatred and rage of thing that once called itself.... called itself...that was dark shikigami that used to be army of abandoned becomes that of fox-child’s.

The shadow doesn’t influence fox-child. It cannot, for it is nothing but memory, a pale, hollow one at that. It’s choices are it’s own and shadow has no power over them. And yet....Shadow’s envy is fox-child’s, their wrath is now shared, their grudges are its to carry now.

Who knows what would have happened otherwise though. If fox-child remained pure and hollow and uncaring as it was. Perhaps it’s power wouldn’t have grown, and perhaps it wouldn’t have learned to hate as it did. And perhaps it would have remained cold and uncaring, and when everything became too much it would have just walked away to wilderness and loneliness and walked until it fell down or threw itself off bridge.

The shadow knows it has been forgotten by all but fox-child, along with...it can not describe person, but something it thinks was maybe man it once loved and later almost hated.

Fox-child, as time passes, doesn’t let it’s mind dwell on them, and much will pass before it think of them again. It doesn’t matter, even if shadow could care still-it lives within fox-child’s soul, and what happened set path for future and altered behavior forever. And it isn’t really forgotten by all when you think better .Fox-child and shadow are one now.

And centuries later, shamans still whisper fox-child’s name in fear.

Years pass, and fox-child grows old.

Not old as men do, wrinkled skin and tired bones and stuck views. Not as spirits do, unimportant memories forgotten entirely, decades unnoticed and lifetimes passing into days-for human mind isn’t made to bear weight of so many years without snapping in half.

Fox-child grows old in way landscape does, ever-strong and always expanding and so old yet eternal- old, but strong and unyielding and just getting stronger and wiser, never fading or failing.

So it is with legends.

The soul of fox-child is small and tiny and weak.

And yet it is strong and powerful and great.

What does it mean, to be a deity, but to push yourself beyond all limits set by fate and succeed?

Shadow is bound to thought-children living inside fox-child, born from human wickedness and fox-child’s power. They are similar-shadow knows it is of same nature as they, but more wasted, simpler, baser. It is part of them, as it is of fox-child, woven inside their spirits as hatred and heartache are.

It keeps them quiet, for some reason. It wants to, but it doesn’t understand why.

Shadow sleeps, most of time. It doesn’t have lot of strength left to think and desire. It simply is, and pours in fox-child’s heart and strokes darkness within.

There is so much pain, so much misery crowding inside fox-child, and shadow and thought-children-aspects swim in them and become them and shadow doesn’t know whether it would have been amused or afraid or happy or sad once oni grows within fox-child’s heart then is reabsorbed again.

Shadow feels when fox-child breaks and reforges itself and takes life after life after life. If it could have, it would have grinned.

It cannot remember fox-child ever feeling this ready and burning and alive.

They hate it, shadow and thought-children, oh they do so much. Fox-child is pathetic and kind and fearsome and it keeps them starved and locked up inside.

They love it. Fox-child inspires fears and keeps them close and is so hurting and so caring.

They would like to gobble it up all, but they would defend it until they are all as lost as shadow.

The fox-child burns, burns as it never has. It isn’t apathetic or cold or neutral anymore (but it is so, so empty, and sad, and hungry).

It cares about nature, because nature is beautiful and was there first and it is powerful and they owe it so much and nature doesn’t see difference between rich and poor, between lonely and befriended ones, between loved and feared. It cares about humans too, unlike before, despite what other shamans say.

Hatred is just another form of care.

Death comes, twice, kissing fox-child on lips and ripping out it’s heart, and though shadow is less that ghost and cannot die it feels pain echo through it and a still-remaining instincts screams

But Fox-child? Fox-child, out of all men, truly doesn’t care as life is ripped away from it. It rises without trace of fear, and with something that may be amusement or relief and goes down to very back of bottom of death’s jaws.

Hell is familiar to thought-children, calling out to their nature, yet they cower, for in hell none can remain without being driven mad and consumed for long. If there is way to kill soul, there it is.

Shadow blares and twists and cries.

Fox-child smiles, and walks through regret and pain and violence, and goes to see lords of Hell fall.

Centuries pass and pass, and shadow fades and becomes less defined and more absorbed as they go.

It isn’t really awake a lot anymore.

Shadow learns of light. It is bright and all-containing and hot and painful and shadows are born from it and it feasts completely unlike fox-child (it doesn’t, it doesn’t consume souls, it starves but never eats soul on it’s own) and it likes to eat and fox-child feeds it well and unlike any other power it cannot overfeed and break, it could burn down world and still demand more. And it loves fox-child, with no hate, unlike shadow.

Fire, heat, light, source of stars, spark of life, origin of gods and spirits, force of nature, one of five elements, aspect of universe, born from Great Spirits senses shadow and tears through it (fox-child doesn’t care, because it never bows to anything and least of all pain and it actually likes it a lot but that’s neither here nor there and fire loves fox-child and it will never never burn again) and shadow knows what will happen should it try something.

It squeaks and hides deep deep below, sleeping as fire contently watches.

Centuries have passed and fox-child is in womb for first time and shadow feels life flow back in them as cells multiply and body builds and yet this time everything is different. is it chance or fate or simply too many thought-children, fox-child’s soul breaks.

Soul is the essence of existence, the heart of being, the core of any creature. Soul that is split, broken, is fundamentally damaged forever, cursed and doomed as shadow is, made in something less than even demon. Fox-child should be gone, ripped apart as soul is torn in two, and shadow feels and screams as if world is being broken, as if time and space are coming undone and yet...

And yet fox-child remains, strong and sane and enduring. Remains, as half of it’s soul and meager grains of it’s power and every happiness and chance for easy life that could have been it’s are torn and taken.

Shadow wakes, watches in fascination as reiryoku and power that should have drifted away and been absorbed by mother break off and shape themselves, form a new soul, new human soul (it is only from god you can get another soul like that).

The new soul is pure, sparkling, shining thing, a careful, gentle existence that feels like silk and giggle, something kind and soft and sweet and beautiful, something destined for greatness and power and heroism, full of untapped potential,and shadow sees blessing of Great Spirits themselves upon it, right to wield Spirit of Earth itself, and shadow almost reaches out and leaves and follows but...

But new soul is so so so human and simple, nothing truly special, for heroes and saviors have come and gone and there are always, always god-chosen ones, nothing wretched and ruined and failed, not empty and hungry and impossible, and shadow knows this soul will be someday loved and happy like fox-child could never be, but it isn’t kind of soul that could become god and break it’s limits and master elements and accomplish what nobody ever did and bear thousand years and dark thoughts and Hell, isn’t something mad and lonely and empty that could pull itself up by broken fingers and hold fate and force universe to accept it or else... And it isn’t, could never be kind of soul that could hold shadow and million thought-children and that would never, cradle them deep within it’s heart and whatever shadows has forgotten it remembers one thing.

Loyalty must be repaid.

Soul consumed cannot be remade and returned. Memory can never again become spirit. Personhood cannot be recovered from oblivion once consigned to void. It is impossible. Such are rules of universe, ones that are written in it’s very soul.

What is that to God, They who wrote them in being?

There is world, world that is time and state and ghost and plane and new and ancient. It is beautiful and peaceful and it is paradise and on it a boy is recreated.

‘‘What...’‘ Says Daitaro, who is now boy and human shikigami and memory, Daitaro-Bosushi and shadow and Daitaro. And in front of him is Mappa Douji, who is not what He used to be but yet is. Boy-Daitaro sees adult-man-teenager, onmyoji-Patch priest-boy in kimono as red as bloody autumn stitched with flowers. Shadow sees greatest shaman to walk earth, a master of elements, deity that lived and died again and again and again, who walked in hell and defeated it’s lords and became terror and nightmare and killed so many.

And shikigami sees man who is God and otherworld and universe and afterlife and everybody, sees Shaman King, the one with Great Spirits, of whom everything is just aspect, from which everything comes and everything returns to, yin and yang, fire and earth and metal and water and wood, light and gravity and thunder and ice and wins, King whose body are Heaven and Hell, whose legs are one with earth and sky and air and space, whose eyes are nebulae, whose crown are stars, whose fingers are grass and demons and plagues and humans and cats, who is all-knowing and present everywhere and who is smiling and dancing and holding out hand and offering chance and who leads him in eternal bliss.

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