oathkeeper-of-tarth:

keyofnik:

seananmcguire:

keyofnik:

seananmcguire:

keyofnik:

seananmcguire:

keyofnik:

It wasn’t something I’d ever really thought about for my own take on things, or for my personal Silver Millennium headcanon, but I definitely think that’s what Moon Pride is saying, yeah. Venus and Venus alone is left standing at the end.

I don’t know if it’s how I’d keep it for my Giant Sailor Moon Canon Voltron, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t damned appealing. Because I am a terrible person who loves to hurt those she loves.

There was no salvation for her, no forgiveness; she had failed.  You had one job, whispered the voice of the ashes, of the shards, of the thin, eternally falling mist that had been her friends, and would never be anything but debris, galactic spindrift pooling around her like the rings of Saturn (and where was she, when the world was ending, when the breaking times came?  This was her burden, not mine, came the thought, before it went, just as quickly, because she did not deserve to be angry; not here, not now, not anymore).

One job.  Protect the Princess.  One job.  Know how to break anything, anything to keep Serenity safe.  One job.  Be the last line of defense.  And she had failed.  She hadn’t been able to break the Princess’s heart in order to save her; that had been too much to ask, in the end.  So she had allowed her to think that she was clever, little rabbit peeking out of the warrens of the moon, dreaming of freedom for the first time.

But the universe held a thousand enemies, for a rabbit, and she had failed; she had not been there, not fast enough, not good enough, and Serenity was falling, and there was nothing she could do.

“For the love of Serenity, burn.  For the love of Serenity, freeze.  For the love of Serenity, break the sky.”  She had practiced those phrases so many times, said them over and over until her heart no longer broke every time she spoke them, and now, in the end, it had all been for nothing.  She might as well have been her mask.  She might as well not have tried.

She felt the Silver Crystal come down.  Felt the world burn white, and for a moment, she dared to think that her Queen, who had never been merciful, would at least be kind.  Only for a moment.

Time is a malleable thing.  The Queen tore down, destroyed, and rebuilt a universe in the matter of seconds.  A flash of light, and everything was gone.

But for one girl, one broken, deathless failure of a girl, the light lasted for an eternity.

For the love of Serenity, whispered the Silver Crystal, and it was not merciful, it was not kind, it was not any force that a loving heart should pray to, remember.

And Venus did.

SEANAN

SEANAN NO

HOW DID YOU BUILD ON THE WORDS

THE SIX WORDS YOU AREN’T ALLOW TO SAY

WHY DID YOU DO THIS THING

She ferrets it out of them, one careless question and casual comment at a time.  She works it like a child with a puzzle, making them think she’s just being her usual, silly self, until she knows she sure that each of them, when they first saw their Princess, remembered just enough to know that they loved her: just enough to press down the parts of themselves that would question this sudden, unthinking devotion, and become the good, loyal soldiers Queen Serenity had always wanted them to be.

Water can drown even the strongest men, but it is pliant, shapeless, formless; form yourself to her, the Queen had said to Mercury, more than once, when Mercury’s racing mind had left the Princess behind—and look, here is a girl who never leaves the shallows.

Fire can burn even the swiftest hand, but it is hungry, needy, helpless; need her more than you need yourself, the Queen had said to Mars, more than once, when Mars’s temper had left the Princess crying—and look, here is a girl who never loses her temper.

Lightning can strike even the smartest hand, but it is brief, cold, transitory; learn to be rooted for her, the Queen had said to Jupiter, more than once, when Jupiter had looked to the sky for meaning—and look, here is a girl who looks no further than her beloved Rabbit.

But they do not remember.

They will come back to themselves, their true selves, the selves they blossomed into here, in this bright blue world with its limitless sky; they will remember the pleasures they currently forsake, and leave their ghosts behind.  A single glimpse of a cold silver palace filled with thin air and the scent of moondust is not enough to unmake a lifetime.  And still, they will not remember, for that was not their punishment.

For the love of Serenity, Mercury froze, Mars burnt, Jupiter shattered herself across the sky.  For the love of Serenity, they gave up everything, and have been rewarded with everything made new.

For the love of Serenity, Venus remembered.  She remembers still.  Perhaps she always will.

For the love of Serenity, she alone will never leave that endless flash of white, when the world burned and a Princess fell and a Queen showed that sometimes, the moon has no mercy after all.

HOW IS THIS OKAY

Luna is waxing rhapsodic about the moon again—the balls, the beautiful ladies, the dresses that were only possible in the lower gravity—and Minako is pretty sure that she would get in trouble if she drowned Usagi’s guardian cat in the bathtub.  Pretty sure.  Almost positive.

Probably shouldn’t test it out.

So there’s really only one thing to do: announce breezily that all this talk of grand banquets has made her hungry, and volunteer to go out for pastries.  Which stops the moon talk for five minutes while Usagi places an order large enough to be a banquet.  Minako doesn’t argue.  Minako is getting the hell out of here.

She’s on her way back from the bakery with aching arms and a half-clear head when she hears a throat cleared above her.  She looks up, and there he is, little white cat best friend guardian rat fink, looking at her with concern.

"Why don’t you ever want to hear about the Moon?” he asks.  She can hear the capital letter, and it makes her want to tear her hair out.  “Luna just wants to help.  She wants you to remember where you came from.”

But she never mentions the walls, screams Minako’s heart.  She never mentions the way the dust stuck to your skin and glittered, so that the ladies of the court called it a cosmetic, but I knew it was the Moon, the Moon claiming me for its own, forever.  She never mentions the way the servants didn’t look at their Queen, or the way the Queen didn’t seem to realize they were there.  She never mentions the rules, or the laws, or the guards, or the reason a Princess needed four guardians powerful enough to destroy worlds.  All she remembers is the sparkle.  Knives sparkle, Artemis.  When you hold them in the light, knives sparkle.

But Minako has seen the knife; has already been cut past healing.  So she smiles, and says none of those things.  Just: “I know where I come from.  I’ll send her some postcards from London, okay?”

Still remembering, Minako walks on.

That’s fine. No, you know, it’s great. I’m totally okay with all of this. I am completely unaffected, and you can just do what you do and I’ll sit back in my chair and nod and sip my drink and absolutely not under any circumstances will I be crying.

Because I am fine.

I am FINE.