#Large as a mountain and twice as deadly

[tswwwit]

Oh, this fic will be easy, I said. Maybe 10k words, I said.

I just need some quick setup, the fool japed.

[the-slasher-files]

FIND ME

NIKTO

This is just a very simple vibey fic filled with comfort and blood, being somewhat of a soulmate to a cold soldier, also just really trying to figure out how to write for him. I wrote the dialog in English, only because my Russian is quite minimal, however I imagine this would all be in Russian.... anyway, enjoy 🤍🔪

MASTERLIST

You saw the wide expanse of his back flexing with each breath against the midnight sky; Armor plates and ammo adorned, making the soldier look twice the size. A Russian bear, a grizzly in the deadly woods with 4 inch razor sharp claws, bound to tear and rip flesh.

"Nikto?" You called, and there was only silence.

Just dogs in the distance and winds across the desert. Smoke lifted in a small stream from the cigarette laid forgotten within his strong hands. Gloveless, the scars littered him. He was a picture of torture. A man that had no right to be alive after all he had been put through. He shouldn't be sitting on this rooftop, looking over the ruins of a demolished village, but he was, at least his body was.

Somewhere, Nikto's mind was far from here, dissociated away from the noise and bloodstained boots. Perhaps he was back in Russia or maybe nowhere at all.

The firefight triggered this state, and he was left alone as he liked to be. However, you had begun to worm into an icy tundra that was his heart and gave him a soft company as his mind wandered away. When he knew that you'd be ok, he slipped away to the rooftop.

Gently, you stepped forward. Not wanting to scare the large man, you hummed a quiet tune, a Russian lullaby your mom had sang. It had been something you both had done when the others' nerves were frayed and lit a blaze, calming and better to warn of a presence than footsteps or speaking. The soldier flinched, turning for a quick glance over his broad shoulder before shifting back. The black fabric of his mask had been unsnapped from the hard plastic to reveal scars from burned skin that took parts of his lip to show teeth, a bear's snarl forever imprinted. And a deep, jagged scar from a knife that ran down his nose. Quickly, he fastened the mask back in place and threw the tobacco off the ledge.

"Sorry— I..."

"Don't be. Come" Nikto's voice was like gravel with rounded stones padding the edges of his blunt sentences.

With calculated steps, you swung your legs over the crumbling plaster edge of the building and looked out upon the view he had been taking in for hours; Low light clung close to broken buildings and men patrolled the streets, outlines of far away mountains could be seen as the faint light of morning was upon you. It was beautiful in a way. A small getaway from danger and brutality, you sat together. Your eyes foreward, his burned into you clandestinely as they always did. If you were near, those icy blue daggers followed you and struck deep.

The noise of a ticking inside Nikto's throat drew you to his gaze, "That was a bloody one, eh?"

Abruptly, the Russian brought his smooth fingers —ones completely bare of fingerprints. Burned away from torture and once in an acute dissociated state, Nikto had taken a lighter to the tips — roughly against the fresh stitches that were holding a knife wound together, gaping the flesh just above the collar of your jacket. And those haunting eyes vividly recalled you gripping at your throat, blood pooling within your gloved fingers and pouring out. You were horrified as Nikto dropped the man that threatened to slit your jugular, missing by merely an inch. Shaking and clawing at your skin, he held you and triple checked the wound before a medic had taken over.

It was scary for both of you, and he was coming slowly to those terms.

"Too close, Bear" A breath released between your teeth as he gawked and prodded, setting a whine on your tongue before swallowing it back.

Nikto pulled back, sometimes not realizing the roughness within his touch, "...little fox"

Breathing out his pet name for you, not your callsign or real name, you knew the gulit was going to eat him alive once his brain allowed the process of emotion and memories, but you would be there.

The tundra of blue met your eyes in a language of comfort, love and perhaps something more that you two had never come to grips with. Bouncing your eyes across the mask and every single speck of green that was hidden in painted blue of his irises, he stiffened, looking down and eventually turning back to the view. You knew you shouldn't have lingered so long, but it was only in your humanity to want for something more. An ache and desire that you would fend off time and time again.

However, as time ticked away with the sand that blew in the desert, the man beside you did not stray away from you. In fact, Nikto let you lean on his shoulder and pulled you even closer. Feeling the cold press of the plastic mask upon your hair and his large hand gently playing with a loose thread of your hoodie. Quietly you began to hum the lullaby again, a soft tune under the parting clouds. He was easing now, a safe space created around you both as the sun had crawled up the mountains and illuminated the devastation of man across these lands. You had to leave soon for another deployment, a solo mission where you could pretend that he wasn't your bear and you were not his little fox. Things would go back to normal, and callous would grow thick again until your voice would reach his timber as you souls could intertwine in safe spaces once more.

[thirdtofifth]

Geriviar Huge giant, neutral evil Armor Class 19 (natural armor) Hit Points 229 (17d12 + 119) Speed 50 ft. Str 27, Dex 12, Con 24, Int 11, Wis 17, Cha 18 Damage Immunities fire, poison, thunder Damage Resistances bludgeoning, piercing, and slashing from nonmagical attacks not made of adamantine Condition Immunities charmed, frightened Senses passive Perception 13 Languages Giant Challenge 19 (22000 XP) Prodigious Leap. The geriviar's long jump is up to 50 feet and its high jump is up to 30 feet, with or without a running start. Regeneration. The geriviar regains 10 hit points at the start of its turn. If the geriviar takes acid or cold damage, this trait doesn't function at the start of the geriviar's next turn. The geriviar dies only if it starts its turn with 0 hit points and doesn't regenerate. Siege Monster. The geriviar deals double damage to objects and structures. Sprint. Whenever the geriviar takes the Dash action, it can move up to twice its speed. Actions Multiattack. The geriviar uses its Exploding Nodules if it is able to. It then makes four slam attacks. Slam. Melee Weapon Attack: +14 to hit, reach 10 ft., one target. Hit: 21 (3d8+8) bludgeoning damage. Exploding Nodules (Recharge 4-6). The geriviar fires two nodules from its back, each of which explode in a 10-foot radius within 60 feet of the geriviar and within 30 feet of each other. Each creature in the area must make a DC 23 Dexterity saving throw, taking 17 (5d6) piercing damage and 17 (5d6) fire damage on a failed save, or half as much damage on a successful one. Rock. Ranged Weapon Attack: +14 to hit, range 60/360 ft., one target. Hit: 24 (3d10+8) bludgeoning damage. If the target is a Large or smaller creature, it must succeed on a DC 22 Strength saving throw or be knocked 10 feet away from the geriviar, and fall prone.

These nomadic, territorial giants tend to prefer desolate mountains or swamps for their lands, living alone or in small families. Rarely do more than ten of these giants congregate in any one place; a mercy, given how deadly they are. They hate buildings or any permanent structure, and seek to destroy them. Some believe they are a race bred in the ancient past to serve as siege monsters for some long-forgotten empire. They keep few possessions. Geriviars stand between 25 and 30 feet tall and weigh up to twelve tons. 

Originally from the Monster Manual III.

[kpforpresident]

from the prompt list - time travel 💫😌 please

Clarke slams into the ground so hard her teeth rattle. Every muscle aching with effort, she manages to fling out a shaking arm to hinge herself onto her back, teeny rocks biting into her palm with sharp edges as she flops down again, arms screaming.

With another desperate burst of energy she manages to curl her fingers around the knife that is digging a razor tip into just above her knee, bringing it to clasp over her chest as her lungs burn from the abrupt change in both altitude and oxygen content.

The sky is a bright ceramic blue, puffy white clouds lazily sailing by as birds chirp merrily in the background, the sounds of an idyllic marred only by the loud wheezing Clarke found herself emitting as she struggled to catch her breath.

Why the fuck is that time jump so goddamn hard? When I go forward it doesn't give me a rib stitch like that, Clarke finds herself thinking as she massages her right rib absentmindedly.

Three large breaths later Clarke finds the fortitude to peel herself off the ground, staggering upright as she shakes the pins and needles out of her leaden feet. She surreptitiously checks the glowing map that surrounds her wrist, noting the golden, pulsing dot in the middle is moving steadily closer to her location.

Nodding decisively, she moves forward, finds a slightly rotten, moss coated log to settle onto by the side of the road, and settles in to wait, eyes glued to the glowing orb that is moving from the crook of her elbow to the green x that is projected above her wrist.

///

Lexa rolls her next side to side slightly, straightening up and nodding infinitesimally back towards Gus's direction when he tilts his head in her direction, eyes questioning.

Yes, I'm ok.

Stiffness from her neck alleviated slightly, Heda settled into the rhythmic movement of her horse, Laika's gentle walk, and resigned herself to a boring ride north, mentally preparing for the mind games and underhanded treachery that two weeks of all of the ambassadors in Polis for their annual meeting held.

At least Luna is coming this year, that's something.

Lexa was so entrenched in the thoughts of her dark eyed friend that she almost missed the flaxen haired girl, curled up slightly off the path on a crumbling redwood log.

Her guards, however, did not.

Lexa was unable to bark an order to stand down before Ryder drew his bow, a lethally honed arrow whistling through the arrow with deadly speed before Lexa could raise a hand in warning.

Before she could breathe, a blue glow washed over the clearing as an orb, crackling and pulsing with energy, encompassed the girl. Ryder's arrow fell to the ground silently at Laika's feet, arrow tip compressed cleanly into a flat disc where it had come in contact with the energy field.

Brow pressed tight in silent disbelief and worry, Ryder silently stooped to scoop up the arrow and hand it to Lexa, both chastisement and concern etched into his features.

The clearing was completely silent, dusk rapidly creeping into the forest as purple smudged the horizon.

The girl was awake now, expression blank behind the wavering energy as she stared silently back at the company before her. She stands quietly, every muscle clearly on alert as she raises her hands in deference to Lexa, either somehow knowing or assuming that she was the one to address. Lexa makes a mental note of her observation skills,

"Hello. My name is Clarke Griffin."

Lexa turned the arrow over in slender fingers twice, thumb gently worrying the downy soft fletching of the owl feathers before coming to a snap decision.

She speaks the language of the mountain people.

"Hei, Clarke Griffin. I am Lexa."

Something akin to recognition washes over Clarke's features, intelligence clear in her bright eyes.

"Lexa."

Confused, Lexa cocks her head, Laika stamping uneasily as Lexa's hands tighten unconsciously on the reigns.

"Lexa kom Trikru." The trig words trip uncomfortable, foreign, off of Clarke's tongue.

Gus's head snaps up at this, hand tightening around his sword as he looks at Clarke Griffin with renewed suspicion.

"The only people who refer to me as that are my familiars or my advisors, of which you are neither, Clarke Griffin. Explain yourself, or you will not be so lucky as for Ryder to miss a second time." The words come out colder, tighter, than initially intended. Clarke's tech and her appearance among a trail that was a tightly kept secret as Heda's preferred traveling path was unlikely to be a lucky guess.

The blue orb flares again around Clarke at Lexa's threatening tone, Lexa's guard blinking against the bright glow that once again surrounds her figure. Despite this, Clarke takes one, then two hesitant steps towards Lexa. Laika

"Lexa. I'm here to help you, to help protect you."

Lexa can feel her eyebrow quirk in amusement and disdain as a ripple of laughter ran through her men. Lexa, clad head to toe in leathers with two swords strapped to her back, black war paint smudged down her cheeks in a fearsome mask, hardly conjured images of helpless maidens in distress. Lexa had staunchly curated her image in defiance of her stature as a slim young woman since the day she had climbed bloodied and victorious out of her Kongeda.

"Protect me?" Lexa snorted in derision, though not unkindly. This Clarke Griffin clearly meant well, although mistaken. While they would have to question her on her knowledge of this trail, there was nothing to be concerned about, Lexa decided as she settled back into her saddle once again. "I highly doubt that, Clarke Griffin."

"I come from a future where you are killed by an unseen assassin at the last night of the yearly ambassador meeting, Heda. With your death the conclave falls into disrepair, triggering the start of World War Four. I was sent back to save you, and I intend to do my job."

The reins slip from Lexa's hands as she is unable to stop the shocked breath from escaping her lips.

A steely blue gaze meets a dazed green stare as Clarke hesitantly lowers the force field, stepping foward into Lexa's path.

"I believe we have much to discuss."

[mahvaladara]

Day 2 - Countdown

“Cid, I think it’s counting down to something.”

(yes, one day late. Sue me.)

Setting: FFXIV, Khalil is a Warrior of Light. Makoto is by @inouvasplace and is also a WoL.

lah dem, “passage of time”. The closest word to countdown in the language Drahniir. Drahniir do not perceive time the way the species of men do, but do have words for it. When time is passing, they say “lah dem”, which also mean ephemerity of time.

“Cid, I think it’s counting down to something.”

“What do you mean counting down?” The linkpearl whirled to life.

“I’m pretty sure these symbols are numbers, countdowns and allagan infrastructures rarely mean anything good.”

“Maybe it’s nothing serious.”

“Cid, It’s a bloody countdown!”

Famous last words, he thought, recalling the last conversation he had with Cid. A countdown. Of course it was a countdown for pain, for something to whirl to life and cave his chest in in one blow. To show him the ephemerality of time. How little it counted when one’s time was over.

Yes, he won, but he could barely move and even less breathe. He felt like he was drowning in his own blood. 

So much for being a ‘tank’. If he survived this, Makoto would never let him hear the last of this.

This was supposed to be a relatively easy job. He had gone through this dungeon before, twice now. Both times at behest of the Ironworks, first time a request from Wedge, that earned him the rather deadly Gilly (how he called his companion node, whom he had a habit to use as a spiked throwing weapon by kicking it at enemies’ faces), and the second at request of Philipe, a Hyur from the Brume. 

Both times he had cleared the Allagan Museum of its many technological defenses and chimerical abominations. He had hoped to find the place empty, but once more it appeared to have been raided by sky pirates, if the gear on the dead he found was anything to go by. Why they insisted to dwell in the bowels of allagan monstrosities was besides him.

Not that he was one to speak. Here he was on his own with nothing but a companion node that he could use like a spiked cannonball, a large sword on his back, the many spells on his grimoire, enough spite to move a mountain, and enough vanity to have zero sense to wear proper armor.

Maybe if he survived this he’d start using something more than chainmail and hard leather. He scoffed at the thought.

Yes, that’s never going to happen. He was a vain man, he wanted two things in life: good reading and good looking.

He should have brought Makoto with him. Had he brought Makoto with him, he could have traded the large odachi for his smaller rapier and crystal and spells to do damage, while Makoto shielded and kept the heat away from him. But they had decided to divide and conquer, in their exploits to find their fellow Scions. 

And of course, Khal, who had grown increasingly more lonesome in the past year or so, had chosen to go alone, certain there would be nothing to worry about after clearing the place twice already. What was the worse that could happen?

Oh, I don’t know? Countdown to death? How many seconds do I have left until I drown in my own blood? Must be the adrenaline keeping you so conscious throughout this. Survived several ascians and primals to get killed by a robot bull on potions because you got distracted with the blowing sirens. Gosh, you’re such a great Warrior of Light. Last hope of this world. 

He’d slow clap at himself if it didn’t hurt so much to move. He could cast living dead, but he had nothing to leech aether from and he forgot about it in the heat of the moment he could use it.

Of course the defenses had been triggered again and he found himself having to kill a few naga and chimerical monstrosities as well as machines he could barely describe, despite the Companion Node doing well to tell him what they were.

“Are you certain this aetherical localization module is here?” Khal asked.

“By the readings Wedge recovered from your previous excursions, this object seems to be part of the curated collection in there,” Cid explained through the linkpear earlier. “Some early prototype for interdimensional excursions. It was specifically used to locate certain voidsent and teleport them into our reality. We’re hoping it’s just what we need.”

“Why can’t we just ask for help from Kan-E-Senna and have her find them like she did before when Y’Shtola was in the lifestream,” Khal repeated. 

“Oi! That was my suggestion. I remember you saying something about them not being in the lifestream but out of it in another world-”

“Making it nearly impossible for her to find their souls,” Khal sighed.

They found a terminal and Cid had instructed Khal on how to activate it and proceed. It teleported them to a room where the object they had wanted was conveniently stored, and everything was running well, everything was going too well.

Until Khal tried to leave. At this point puzzling instructions that stunted both Cid and Khal’s attempts to solve them, resulted in a series of symbols in a steady rhythm changing, hence replaying the dialogue again.

It was a countdown, he was certain it was a number.

Following Cid’s instructions, Khal tried to disable whatever that countdown was, for he was sure it was not a countdown to send him home. Alas, despite their attempts, the timer reached 0, and on queue a mechanical abomination caught him completely unaware as he yet tried to deactivate the machine that whirred with a cacophony of sirens worse than the Garlean Castrums back in Eorzea.

A grotesque fusion of flesh and machinery—its hulking mass layered with thick plates of tarnished steel, the blue hue of the aether that moved the allagan monstrosities, hissing from its joints as it shifted in the dim light. Khal didn’t see it raise its metal club, all of his senses muffled by the sirens and stirring of Aether in the chamber. 

There was a sickening crack as the blunt force slammed into the center of his side, the impact so powerful it felt like the earth had opened beneath him. Ribs snapped with a sharp, splintering sound, and the air was driven from his lungs in an instant. He had no armor to protect him from the blow, as he was launched across the room like a ragdoll, limbs flailing. 

He slammed against the metal plating that framed the room, collapsing to the ground, gasping, struggling to breath as the pain seared like a hot rod through his chest. Something broke, several somethings broke.

The countdown restarted and Khal had no time to mind the pain, or the coughing. That thing turned to him, ready to finish what it started. Clear the site of the intruder, the deafening sirens still flooding his senses, making it hard for him to think over the cacophony.

“Khal?! Khal?! You there?! What’s happening?” He heard Cid’s muffled voice from the linkpearl that had been dislodged from his horns and sent tumbling by his side.

Grabbing his sword, Khal got up, activating rampart and other mitigation spells as he felt he needed. He knew something had broken, he could smell and taste the blood. He could feel the splintered bone rattling inside him. Perhaps it had been the surprise, or the flow of blood to his head, or the cut in oxygen to his brain. Maybe the noise. But he didn’t recall to use Living Dead. Had he cast that spell, he wouldn’t be as damaged. Regeneration would have kicked in.

Tank panic, Iswa would have said.

And the damned countdown was still going down! All while he fought, wincing with each step, each swing, each dodge, each spell. 

Finally, realizing the core of the abomination’s engine was in the back of its head, he was able to jump over it into its exposed neck, sinking the odachi deep into its neck. Sparks burst as metal cracked and wires were torn, blood spraying out. The creature howled, twitched and whirled, until, with fire bursting from the broken engine, it fell over. 

Khal relaxed his posture, limping over to make sure it was dead. The pain flared, suddenly reminding him of the first blow. Potions, healing spells, something. But before he could, he stumbled back, falling against the very terminal that started all that.

The sirens blared the symbols, and he could see the countdown. He coughed, seeing blood on his hands as he tried to hold back the coughing and the dizzyness that flooded him, feeling the blood gurgling in his lungs, wheezing noises coming out with his breath. 

Numbers going down.

Would it be a boom at the 0?

At least he didn’t die down Witchdrop, he chuckled to himself. Though he’d rather the kiss of the cold and the starry skies of Coerthas to the metallic noise of Azys Lla. 

7… 6… 5… 4… 3…

He never made it to 0 until darkness claimed him.

The Sirens were silent when light, although fleeting, came to his senses. He still heard metallic noises, he was still in the Fractal Continuum, but not in the room he was in before. Someone was carrying him over their shoulder, and with a grunt he tried to grasp at what he recognized as a bright white, gold and blue armor plate and what he assumed was a shield. Trying to straighten himself enough to see who was carrying him with such ease. Not that that would be hard, he was neither heavy or big.

He had been healed, not fully, but enough, the type of battlefield healing only a paladin knew how to do. But with every breath he took, the same searing hot pain flared on his lungs as if they were being filled by water. 

The person felt him stir as he gave up trying to straighten himself.

“I got you…” A familiar voice assured him. 

“What… was… at 0?” He managed to mumble.

“Oh?”

“Countdown… zero…” He tried to focus his mind. He was curious about that.

“Oh. More monsters,” came the answer plainly. “Had to fight a literal hoard to get to you.”

“How?...”

“Cid,” came the answer. “Apparently he was unable to bypass the defense system and only managed to descend near death upon you. The moment he realized he had messed up, he called Iswa for help, hence, here I am.”

“Oh…”

“Wear a damn armor next time! This vanity of yours is going to be the death of you.”

That was more words than he remembered Makoto speaking. He must have been really worried about him and Khal couldn’t stop a painful chuckle from escaping his lips.

“At least… I’ll die… looking good… The glam is… the endgame.”

He felt his friend shake his head and just closed his eyes, fading back to the abyss as he wished he had seen what came out at the end of the countdown. He was sure it was something as formidable as the biomechanical abomination that nearly ended his career as an adventurer.

[belaprus]

Dottore x reader: being his assistant (pt.9)

You used to be so frustrated when he was avoiding confrontation with you... Yet there you stood, in front of his lab door, waiting for your muscles to move on their own and get you in. You already had the keys, it's just you didn't know where to begin to explain Dottore your adventure on that day: since a large amount of rocks had fell onto the usual path you were taking to come to the lab, you had decided to go another way - which obviously led you to getting lost and risking your life at least twice. After what had happened the day before, you couldn't even make out if you were more irritated by how he had treated you or embarrassed by your own half-assed confession. What you knew for certain was that you didn't want to see him. This was such a critical moment for your relationship - if something was to go wrong, you wouldn't be able to fix it anymore and all of your research on him would get ruined.

You were about to turn your keys to open the door, when you suddendly jumped at the feeling of something touching your shoulder. All you managed to do was to rapidly turn around and scream upon seeing a man covered in blood. Dottore was startled by your sudden reaction, but after a second he bursted out laughing:

"I didn't expect to see you here at this hour, little assistant", he managed to say while choking with laughter.

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

After having mocked her to his heart's content, he noticed she was absolutely furious. Despite wanting to tease her more, a wolf's howl and the first falling snowflakes had alerted him enough to stop on his tracks:

"The sun is setting. We'd better enter as soon as possible"

She didn't respond. 'Such a hopelessly proud girl' "If you don't want to enter, at least let me. Snezhnayan mountains at night is not a sight I'm particularly fond of"

She pouted at him: "Like you're gonna leave me here in the cold and live enough to tell"

"Don't test me", now he was dead serious.

She made sure to highlight every one of her slow steps as she entered first, still pouting. He had half an idea to just push her down the stairs and step on her, but by the time the thought had crossed his mind the trip was already over.

As the two of them were inside, he carefully laid the dead deer over the hospital bed on the other room and grabbed a skinning knife to get the work done. He felt her watching the process from a corner, without even entering the room. He could also tell that she didn't like game's smell: she was plugging her nose, disgust planted all over her face. It was funny how she would watch children being dismembered without batting an eye but would be this sensible to such a natural smell. He figured she wouldn't comply because of her proud nature, so he didn't care much about it.

As the first step was completed, he returned to his research room, which also served as a kitchen. After putting most of the meat into the freezer, he laid the rest on a frying pan. When he was about to mix in some slime secretion, she suddendly grabbed his wrist: "Are you for real?!"

Despite his deadly stare, she continued: "Slime secretions aren't even edible! Let me handle this"

"I mean, I understand your womanly instinct wouldn't let me have the kitchen for myself... But I can assure you I've been living on this long enough to be certain it's not unedible"

"It's such a waste to cook deer that way!". As he was disappointed in her completely ignoring his misogynist joke, she had completely removed him from the stoves before he could even realize it.

" “You're no kid anymore” ", he mocked her, trying to imitate her annoying little voice from the time she had said the exact same sentence. He was barely left with the time to avoid a wooden spoon flying his way. He was completely stunned: "Did you just throw a spoon at me? The 2nd Fatui Harbinger?!"

"I didn't wanna waste any food by throwing the pan"

"Seriously...!"

----------

You only had the time to let go of the pan before he had grabbed you, holding you by your hips and swiftly turning you around to face him. The tension between you two could be easily touched, at that point: "Let go of me...!"

"Don't you dare give me orders, you little thing"

"Do you want to be electrocuted or something?!"

In a second, you were thrown to the wall, blocked by your wrists: "And tell me, what will happen if you try? Do you really think I can't defend myself from this helpless, mortal power of yours? There's a limit to naivety, my little assistant", his mischevious smile was sending shivers down your spine.

Your eyes widened as they locked on his, a wild stare on you. You knew he had full control over the situation, and you weren't sure what would become of you. You felt your options narrowing down to two in a single moment: either he was killing you on the spot, or something else was happening. The second option was the scarier. 'I mean, he could make me his new test subject, torture me, or-' "I would pay to know exactly what your little brain is processing right now. Care to tell me?". You turned pale, knees getting weak as he slowly closed up distances, his breath already on your neck before you could react. From your side, you could still feel his scarlet eyes watching your every move. You were on the verge of tears:

"M-meat looks cooked enough. Will you please let go of me?" was all you could say, stuttering on your own words like a little kid. "Hmm?", he shifted to the other side of your head, gaze flickering on your earring for but a second, then back to attacking your eyes: "You might be right, judging by the color". He was definitely not referring to the meat.

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

When had it all started? Was it her being that close, her voice, or her smell... What was it exactly that had him this turned on? He didn't know. He wasn't good at pinpointing emotions other than rage, nor was he sure to be even capable of feeling them anymore... until he had met her. She was like a bolt from the blue, carrying so many new experiences into his life: some he didn't like, but others were very interesting. For instance, this was the latter. He could feel her breathing unevenly, trembling under him, and that alone was already making him see stars. 'She's definitely the funniest doe I've ever met', he agreed with his own thoughts... Then he realized his body was shaking too. Had he ever experienced this before? The feeling was very similar to the thrill of hunting, but at the same time he knew that there was so much more to it. Not to dwell on that sensation for too long, he let go of her at once and finally extinguished the stoves' fire:

"Indeed, food is ready"

[sundere1181]

Sometimes i feel like there’s important facts of me an my childhood that i jist forget so here are some things that have happened to me that you might consider odd because i love talking abt myself

-when i was four i got run over by a horse drawn carriage transporting horse shit to dump with my amish grandma. I escaped with only a huge ass leg bruise bc she laid on top of me (thanks grandma u a real one 🙏)

-every single year when i was younger it was a tradition to go to the NFR every year and it was also a tradition for me to get sick and miss it every year. One of those times (also when i was four i think) i got croup, woke up in the hotel room unable to breathe, and nearly died. Also my parents waited for this to happen twice before driving me to the hospital. I now have an extreme fear of suffocating

-my dad hung me on a peg by my overalls once because i was being a brat

-this was much more recent but once i had just run in the rodeo and was getting off and my horse spooked for no reason and ping ponged off a bunch of trailers and trucks with my hanging precariously off the side of him. I also escaped that with only a large bruise (this time on my ribs)

-i have fallen off many, many horses. One memorable time was when i fell off one and slid down a fence, hitting my head on every rung, and my parents friend offered me chocolate to make me stop crying (it worked)

-ive been on diners drive ins and dives when i was seven. I said “its so good i just want to keep eating it”.

-my kindergarten teacher tried to convince my mom to put me in counseling bc i was smarter than her and kept correcting her spelling and grammar

-i grew up on an isolated ranch in Wyoming until i was thirteen (my parents were the ranch foremen and very busy and i didnt see them alot) (i used to think i had gone insane)

-we used to be ‘snowbirds’ which means VERY YEAR we would pack up our shit in our truck and car and horse trailer and move to a different state. We lived in wyoming and arizona. In wyoming we had the ranch and our house, but in arizona we stayed in a different house every single year. When we moved to az permanently when i was thirteen we moved around a lot STILL because we couldnt figure out where the fuck we wanted to live. Long story short, im really good at packing my shit and leaving. Also, on one instance of driving across the country, i stayed in the horse trailer the whole time with nothing but a few books, an ipad that died an hour in, and a chocolate milkshake. It was awesome

-the ONE year our ranch had calves, one of them got sick with deadly diarrhea i think. We named her Loretta and i slept the night with her in the scale house once. We buried her right next to where we dumped the horse shit and i found a drowned squirrel in our horses water tub to bury with her. My parents think it was a rat but i knew it was a squirrel

-one time we went to the top of the mountain that we lived right next and was owned by the ranch (we kept the heifers on it) to spread my grandpas ashes and when we got to the bottom i looked up and there was a very sooty looking tornado at the top of the mountain.

-there was this dinner and show thing we used to go to in wyoming called the bar j and we were friends with one of the guys in the band so we sat at the same table everytime. There was a space outside where kids would play and past the “restricted area��� was a little stone memorial for a dead couple that i always went to whenever it got too loud.

[mask131]

Cold winter: Troll

TROLL

Category: Scandinavian folklore

The troll is without a doubt the most famous Scandinavian creature to have ever existed – and yet… it is actually extremely hard to describe what a troll exactly is. Not just because people outside of Scandinavia have reused the word “troll” to designate all sorts of things very different from the original Norse troll – but also because Scandinavia itself had very different types of trolls. After all Scandinavia is a lot of different countries and cultures, so of course each one would perceive the troll differently… So let’s try to just do a simple and easy summary.

Trolls usually live in wild and isolated areas of nature, far away from human beings: mountains, forests, caves, the sea… They are rarely helpful or friendly towards humans, in fact most of the time they are quite dangerous to encounter (as many tales report the trolls eat human beings) – and a troll usually does not live alone. A typical troll lives either alone or in a small family unit, which is usually a mother/daughter or father/son duo. Trolls are very strong, much stronger than humans, and they live very long life, longer than those of any mortal beings – but they are also renowned for being quite slow to act and also quite dim-witted. Another recurring trait of trolls is that they usually only appear/are active at night, because they avoid the sunlight which will turn them to stone (quite a number of Scandinavian landmarks are said to have been created by the body of trolls exposed to sunlight). Sometimes they are hideous and grotesque, other times they can hardly be distinguished from humans, some are giant-like beings, other small like folkloric dwarfs, but a recurring theme with trolls is that they are not Christians. Given Scandinavia was very heavily Christianized and big on religion questions, this is important. Trolls fear church-bells, which is why areas with churches are said to not have any trolls living nearby – but while some trolls flee upon hearing the bells, others will try to fight back by destroying the church with throws of boulders and stones. Trolls are also known to be terrified of thunder and lightning. Beyond sunlight and lightning, there is also a third deadly weakness and great fear of the trolls: fire.

Apparently in modern days there are two main “traditions” when it comes to troll. One is the Norwegian tradition: the troll will be a very tall and large being, quite ugly and living a solitary life. The Norwegian troll acts as traditional giants, ogres and demons do in folktales. The other would be the Swedish and Danish traditions, where the trolls are much more humanoid in appearances and more strongly connected to nature: they are not openly evil or hostile, living at peace with humans, but they are still dangerous tricksters. This second tradition notably insists on a specific type of folktales which makes the trolls closer to the fair folk of the British Isles: kidnapping tales. The Swedish/Danish troll will frequently kidnap human women or human children for various kinds of reasons, sometimes replacing the latter with changeling children.

Now… This was all just generalization and sum-up. If you want some more specific details, here is an additional list of info I could find (I still keep general and surface-level, because again my Seasonal Theme series are supposed to act as introductions and presentations, not in-depths analysis).

# Norwegian trolls are renowned for being hairy giants with large noses, large ears and a tail. They live in forests and mountains, they regularly eat human beings – except for human maidens, who they sometimes keep as slaves. Sometimes they have additional bizarre physical traits, such as having multiple heads or a moss-covered skin, and their size ranges from “tall human” size to “twice as tall as the tallest tree”. Given their size and strength makes them very hard to kill, heroes usually have to trick them into their own doom – because thankfully Norwegian trolls are stupid and gullible beings. Some legends claim the trolls do not care about the sunlight, others claim that trolls turn to stone under sunlight, and others yet claim that the trolls EXPLODE when hit by sun rays.

# Icelandic trolls are quite similar to the Norwegian trolls, being ogre-like beings ranging from twice as tall as a human to as big as a mountain, with the main differences being that they live exclusively in mountains and turn to stone when hit by sunlight. Some legends also claim that they turn to stone upon hearing church bells – and their favorite food is human children.

# Sometimes Norwegian legends and tales will establish a clear division of trolls into subcategories. The “Rise” or regular “troll”, the traditional, basic troll, is a large and evil human-like being living in the mountains. Often suffering from various deformities (such as the “multiple head” cases signaled above), trolls also have parts of the landscape growing on them – I talked about the moss before, but sometimes trolls will have entire trees growing on them. They are also the most vulnerable to sunlight. The skogstroll, or “forest troll” however is a forest-dweller who is smaller that the regular troll but still larger than a human – they typically act as ogres in fairytales. And then comes the “havtroll”, the “sea troll”, which lives in a sea, and thus has a body covered in seaweed instead of moss, and whose face is usually similar to the one of a fish.

# Trolls were said to be very rich, owning a lot of mineral wealth such as gems and rare metals, to the point that “as rich as a troll” is a common expression.

# And of course we have to mention the very famous story of the “Three Billy Goat Gruffs”, which HEAVILY popularized the concept that trolls live under bridges.

- - - - - - -

There is another reason why the troll is prone to such variations and evolutions – beyond the simple cultural differences of Scandinavian countries. You see… it relies in the origins of the troll. Back in Old Norse folklore, back in Norse mythology… “troll” basically meant everything and anything.

“Troll” was one of the four different names given to the jötnar, and so a troll was originally a jötunn… But not just that. “Troll” was also a term used for many other things. Some ghosts were called “trolls”. Werewolves and wolf shape-shifters were called “trolls”. Christian demons were called “trolls”. Evil spirits were called “trolls”… Basically any kind of hostile or malevolent supernatural entity could be a “troll”. So “troll” was kind of an Old Norse word for “monster”. BUT IT WASN’T JUST THAT! Witches and sorcerers living in the wild were called “troll-women” and “troll-men”. When something was enchanted or magical, it was said to be “troll”, as “to enchant” something or someone could be said as “to turn X into a troll”. And magical animals were also called “troll”. So… “troll” didn’t just mean hostile monsters ; it also denoted any kind of thing or being that was magical. As a result many have compared the word “troll” to the English words “fairy” or “fey”, which were used as adjectives and qualificatives to designate many supernatural entities, magical animals and enchanted objects. BUT THERE’S MORE! Terrifying, brutal, destructive warriors were called “trolls”. When a man was noted to be very large, or to be very ugly, or to be very strong, he was called “troll”. And when the Scandinavians discovered black people… they called them “trolls” too. Basically whenever a human was seen as “out of the ordinary”, but usually in a not very good way, he was also seen as a troll, which was basically a form of negative exaggeration of things – and this paints to us the picture of the large, ugly brute we will see later appear in folklore.

But while I described above the various incarnations of the “trolls” in the Scandinavian folklore(s), there are many other folkloric species and beings that I did not describe – but that are considered to be related to the trolls, sometimes even said to be sub-species of trolls, or just trolls by other names (further establishing a parallel between the Scandinavian “troll” and the British “fairy/fair folk” as umbrella terms for supernatural folkloric beings). I could have talk of the hulder, huldra or hulderfolk, of the nisse and the tomte, of the skogsra or the nokk, or even of the trow…

[cranberryvishnu]

Cranberry - With Bloody Tom and the Coffin Riders... VII

PART VII

The sprint to the building I had selected for myself was not far - but the deep snow made it feel like a bad dream. 

It was the feeling of running with desperate urgency, yet not moving in accordance with my efforts.

I slogged past the locals who had agreed to help in the resistance - but they were woefully unprepared for what was happening. Some of them had pitchforks!

Really?! Pitchforks?! 

We are not pursuing Frankenstein’s monster here! This is a battle for our lives and we have villagers from a Mary Shelly novel assisting us?!

Rubble from ruined buildings littered the dirty snow filled streets mingling with the bright, arterial blood spray and bodies of the unfortunate.

Finally, I reached the structure - it had a low overhanging roof above the front door. Without breaking stride, I leapt up onto a nearby wagon and used it to spring up to the roof.

It creaked ominously under my weight but didn’t break as I lightly ran up the large, pointed roof. From here I was able to get a better view of what we were up against.

I raised my binoculars up to get a better look -  it was not good. We were hemmed in on three sides with the snowy tree-covered mountains at our backs.

Out by the creek, I could see Eli. He was holding something half submerged in the water… it was something - large… it was… hard to see. Then I watched as he pulled a dead enemy up out of the frozen creek by the collar of his coat. 

I could even see the expression of horror frozen on the dead bandit’s face. 

Then - faster than I would have thought possible - Eli whisked the body around like a rag doll and used it as a shield to block a hail of arrows fired from the hillside. The shafts seemed to sprout from the dead man’s body as they struck his chest. 

Casting the dead man aside, Eli drew his Lancaster and fired a series of thunderous shots with deadly accuracy. I could see the antagonists on the hill flail and scramble as they were cut down. 

Behind him about twenty five yards away I saw two bandits break from the cover of the treeline to rush him. They had large, razor sharp machetes drawn and I was not sure that Eli was aware of them.

I snapped my Carcano to my shoulder, sighted briefly and fired - the CRACK, CRACK  tore across the valley - and that act - it woke something up in me.

Like a bubble of ancient vapor from the bottom of a swamp, the memory floated to the surface of my mind.

As I watched the two villains drop loosely to the ground, I was reminded of the way my little ragdolls would flop onto the floor when play time was over and I was called away by my mother and father to tea. 

Just squeeze the trigger once… plop. Twice…plop.

Time for tea.

In the distance I could see Eli was aware of my assistance. He looked my way and tipped his hat, then ran towards another attacking group further to the east.

Maybe he did not need my help. Maybe he would have seen them in time... Maybe not.

I did not have time to think about that - out of the corner of my eye I could see three horsemen approaching. Again, I sighted briefly and fired directly into the chest of the first horse in the trio.

CRACK-A-BOOM!

The poor beast went down in a flailing heap, causing the other two riders behind to crash and tumble into a screaming, thrashing chaotic pile.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

Three more headshots - three more puffs of pink mist spattering the snow - three more rag dolls lifeless - I felt the heady rush of focus - I knew… I knew I could not miss!

Three more targets by the tree line! Without a thought - I was firing.

CRACK - CRACK - CRACK -

Three more headless puppets staggering in mindless circles as they spiraled to the bloody ground with their strings cut.

If I see you, then you are dead!

I heard a shot ring out right behind me - 

BANG!

As I turned to face my attacker - a brigand with a machete who fell across me knocking me to the ground!

I moved swiftly to shove him aside before he… he was already dead!?

There was a smoking hole in the center of his back. Thick, bright oxygenated blood was pumping out of the fatal wound.

I looked left - right… then I looked to the street below and saw…

“Bloody TOM! Thank you - you saved m-”

Bloody Tom didn’t seem in a chatty mood as he responded.

“If you’ve GOTTA be on that fuckin’ roof Cranny - then - watch your damn back!”

As if to emphasize his point he cycled another round into his Lancaster and… and I don’t know how he did this - but without seeming to look, he swung his gun at a 90 degree angle and [BANG!] blew a large hole clean through the skull of an invader who had been taking aim at him from behind a supply crate. 

I saw two more bandits panic and dash away from that position - I felt that excited rush as I brought them into scope - they were so close, and I could feel their fear - it tasted delicious! 

They didn’t have a chance. It was like hitting the side of a barn with the side of a barn… 

CRACKABOOM! CRACKABOOM! Two more floppy little dolls in the snow.

I moved to the highest point on the roof and took refuge behind the chimney as I scanned the open ground beyond the creek looking for Mr. Grimfrost.

[raid3r-r4bbit]

I never thought about it from this angle honestly, but yea. I've seen massive deer just stroll up on to the streets, bears in my backyard, and I have been stalked by a mountain lion (one of the most terrifying things ever and I was in a slow af golf cart racing back to my camp site)

Granted, I live in a pretty rural area, but I've been in the city like maybe twice, and there are also deer, raccoons, etc that still stroll around. Like the site of roadkill ranging from an opossum or a raccoon to a fully grown buck or a fox is super common.

We even had a fox problem in my neighborhood for a while, but for the most part they were just bigger raccoons that sound like a woman being brutally murdered by a slasher film villain, which is admittedly, terrifying.

But here's a list of run ins that I, an American who's never lived in the city nor left this country have experienced:

(when living in Florida as a toddler)

-was almost eaten by an iguana. (I was half way in it's mouth when my parents found me, it was their pet iguana that they them gave to a friend, I was a very tiny baby and fred was a very large and crotchety iguana)

-almost got killed by fire ants.

-had frequent visits by our stoner neighbor who'd collect all the massive wolf spiders in our apartment to feed to his snake.

-couldnt leave the house until animal control got the gator out from under our porch because it kept bellowing and would try to eat us.

-found a snake, thought it was worm, was bitten by it, and tossed it into a tree to put it in time out. (I was fine, the snake was also fine)

(since moving to WV)

-had a near death experience with a mountain lion while camping (as stated above) I was not attacked but we had to call the camp ranger who told us to stay in our cabin. It ate all of our hotdogs and left.

-almost died in a car collision with a deer.

-almost died from a mosquito bite (×2 one was because of the bite directly and the other was because I scratched it and went swimming in a lake and got MRSA)

-followed home by a deer who wanted my snacks (×3 probably the same deer)

-the fox problem.

-almost got trampled by a deer

-had a full on territory war that went on for about two months with a gang of raccoons. They stole a 30lb box of dog food from us, and tried to kill some of our farm animals. One of them had got stuck in our trashcan and was very ungrateful about being released unharmed.

-stalked by a pack of cats for almost two years because I gave them pets once.

-found a horde of black widow spiders living in a camp cabin.

-found a gigantic snake living in my tree house.

-woke up to a bear sitting outside my window raiding our garbage.

-told to evacuate or stay indoors while camping because a baby bear was spotted alone in the area. (Mother bear eventually found the cub and everything was fine. Psa, if you ever see a baby bear alone DO NOT APPROACH, CHECK SURROUNDINGS AND LEAVE QUICKLY AND QUIETLY)

So yea, when I hear other countries have potentially more deadly and larger animals than the US, I get a little nervous because of my own experiences.

A BEAR ATE MY BEST HUMMINGBIRD FEEDER.

Rude.

[missfangirll]

If im not too late, I'd request anything for Beiyuan/Wu Xi. There are so few works out there for them :c

So, I wanted to write some XiYuan fluff and somehow ended up writing Dad!Beiyuan bonding with Chengling, Beiyuan thirsting after his husband and a sort-of-fix-it for WoH episode 36?? 😅

The plot follows the show, after episode 36, but their shared past in the novel (Qi Ye) did happen, if that makes sense? 😅 Sorry for the confusion.. The title is a Chinese poem called 蝶恋花 by Liu Yong.

Anyway, here's some XiYuan fluff/dad!Beiyuan/WoH fix-it? 😂😂

- - - - -

Fandom: Qi Ye, Word of Honor Rating: General Relationship: Wu Xi/Jing Beiyuan, Jing Beiyuan & Zhang Chengling Tags: Fluff, Bonding, Beiyuan thirsting after his husband, Fix-it of sorts Words: 2565 Summary: In an inn, Jing Beiyuan and Wu Xi, together with Zhang Chengling, await the return of Zhou Zishu and Wen Kexing, who have run off to die on a mountain. Beiyuan has to care for Zishu's disciple, while being distracted by his husband.

Read on AO3

- - - - -

Butterflies in Love with Flowers

Jing Beiyuan has plenty of practice waiting.

He has waited for sixty years at the Three-Life Stone, has waited for Helian Yi for six lifetimes. Has waited in the Imperial City for his schemes and machinations to bear fruit, has waited for Wu Xi. He has plenty of practice.

Which doesn’t mean, however, that he is a patient man.

Jing Beiyuan paces the inn room he shares with his husband, deliberately walking closely past Wu Xi who is sitting cross-legged at the low table reading, looking entirely unperturbed. Much to Jing Beiyuan’s dismay, that is to say, so he brushes Wu Xi’s back with the seam of his sleeve every time he walks by.

Wu Xi doesn’t react for a while, but after the sixth turn, without saying a word, he casually grabs Jing Beiyuan’s sleeve and, turning slightly, pulls him down in his lap, effectively trapping him there with both arms tightly around him.

Jing Beiyuan is a lot of things, but he's not an idiot, and he would never let an opportunity pass to cuddle his husband. With a deep sigh, he settles into the other’s embrace, leaning his head on Wu Xi’s broad chest.

“I am worried,” he admits eventually.

Stroking his hair soothingly, Wu Xi just hums in quiet understanding.

"I'm worried about the two idiots on the mountain," he adds, as if that wasn't obvious, and Wu Xi, as expected, doesn't reply. Jing Beiyuan continues, unbothered by his husband's lack of reaction. "I keep telling the little idiot," here he pauses to marvel at the fact that he distinguishes his companions merely by the grade of their idiocy, then sighs inwardly, "that his shifu and shishu are fine, that he should focus on his training in order to have something to show his shifu upon his return, but sometimes I…." He trails off, snuggling closer into the other's neck.

Zhang Chengling isn't coping well with the fact that both his mentors left with the intention to die on that mountain, albeit with different purposes in mind, and Jing Beiyuan has had to forcefully stop him from climbing that mountain himself, twice by now. For now he seems to have begrudgingly accepted his fate, although Jing Beiyuan can see his outbursts of anger for the fear they are.

He inhales deeply, willing his thoughts to calm down. All they have to do now is wait, wait for Zishu and his little maniac to return safely, and return they will, he has no doubts about it. He can’t, for Chengling’s sake.

A knock on the door interrupts the silent moment and with a groan, Jing Beiyuan clambers out of his husband’s lap to open the door, while said husband reaches for his abandoned book. The elderly innkeeper in front of him doesn’t spare a glance at Jing Beiyuan’s slightly ruffled hair, fiddling with the cap in his hands. At the other’s raised eyebrow, he bows so deep his forehead seems to touch his knees, and Jing Beiyuan has to bite back a grin.

“Yes?”, he asks magnanimously. The man shifts uncomfortably. “Your highness,” he begins, but Jing Beiyuan interrupts him with a hand on his shoulder. “I am certainly not worthy of such a noble title, my good man, just call me Lord Seventh, and speak freely. What bothers you?”

The other man bows again, not as low as before, but it still looks uncomfortable. “Your lordship,” he begins, and Jing Beiyuan sighs, hearing a slight huff of laughter from behind. Wu Xi knows of his resentment against his past life and the decorum it entailed. “Your lordship,” the man repeats, sounding increasingly desperate. “Your, umm.. The young master… He… The courtyard…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, but Jing Beiyuan has a vague idea of what he is trying to say, so he just nods and breezes past the innkeeper, who hastily shuts the door and scrambles to follow him.

From the inn’s inner courtyard he can already hear a dull thudding noise that grows louder as he approaches. In the yard, next to a small wooden shack, he finds the source of the noise: Zhang Chengling, gracelessly hitting the timber wall with a training sword, his face and back sweaty, his hair in disarray, his mouth a thin line. Jing Beiyuan nods to the innkeeper, who retreats to another building, then slowly approaches the boy, keeping his distance from the sword. Leaning on the wooden wall, he stays silent, observing Zishu’s disciple. The boy has grown a finger’s breadth over the last weeks, his body starting to stretch, his face about to lose the softness of childhood. He has seen a lot these past months, Jing Beiyuan muses, and feels infinite fondness for the little idiot.

Zhang Chengling has seen him, of course, but doesn’t make any move to stop his grim assault on the shack, so Jing Beiyuan says after a while, “You might want to use a real sword when you intend to put a hole in that thing.” His teasing doesn’t gain a reaction, however, the boy still hacking away at the wood. “Chengling,” he says after a while, softly, gently, “they will return.”

“I know,” comes the strained reply, but the beating doesn’t stop. The hits seem to grow less forceful, though, and Jing Beiyuan inches closer. “If Tian Chuang had succeeded,” he adds quietly, “we would know.” He looks directly at Chengling who stubbornly avoids his gaze, but his movements slow further, until he swings the sword like a flag bearer his banner in a parade. Jing Beiyuan carefully closes the distance, intercepting the last swing with his hand, gripping the wooden sword. He notices its shaking, and it’s only a heartbeat before Chengling collapses into his arms, letting go of the sword and wrapping both arms around him in a desperate embrace. Jing Beiyuan lowers the sword, then enfolds the boy in his arms, a hand on the back of his head, and lets him sob quietly into his shoulder.

“I miss them,” the boy snuffles into his robes, his face hidden. “Sometimes I dream about them, dead and cold, buried under all that snow and I…” He hiccups, then starts sobbing again. Jing Beiyuan breathes slowly. A few days after Zishu, and then the Ghost Valley Master, ascended the mountain, there had been news of an immense avalanche that had buried a large group of people, presumably the joined forces of the Window of Heaven and the Scorpion King. But nothing had reached them since, and all of them had grown restless, even Wu Xi, even though he would never admit to it.

A hand on the boy’s back, Jing Beiyuan rubs soothing circles. “Come with me,” he says at last, “Let’s go inside and have some tea, hm?” A nod, then Chengling takes a step back, sheepishly rubbing his red eyes. “‘m sorry,” he mumbles, but Jing Beiyuan just huffs. “Never be sorry for how you feel,” he admonishes gently, putting an arm around the boy’s shoulder, subtly scooping the wooden sword up with the other hand. “Let’s have some tea and sweets, what do you say?” Chengling sniffs again, then says with the hint of a smile, “Didn’t the Great Shaman explicitly forbid us to eat sweets before dinner?” Jing Beiyuan makes a carefree gesture, then, lowering his voice, adds in a conspiratorial tone, “We have to hide it, then,” which finally makes Chengling laugh. A lighter air around them, they stroll back to the room. (Wu Xi gives them a stern look as Jing Beiyuan retrieves a bag of sweets from his sleeve, but says nothing when they share some over tea, which Jing Beiyuan secretly finds endlessly endearing.)

⚘⚘

The next morning finds Jing Beiyuan on a bench in that same courtyard, at the other side this time, half hidden under a canopy hung with ivy. In the middle of the courtyard, illuminated by the rising sun, Wu Xi is practicing his martial arts.

Jing Beiyuan admires everything about his little venom. His honesty, his loyalty, his unrestrained emotions, but watching the other train always leaves him breathless and with a dry mouth. Wu Xi, in his usual black robes, is a sight to behold: Even under layers of cloth his broad shoulders are visible, his long black braids with the silver hairpiece, the moon mirrored in a clear lake at night. Wu Xi in his robes is a force to be reckoned with. Wu Xi without his robes, in just some black pants, is… Well. Enticing enough to make Jing Beiyuan leave the bed before sunrise and watch him train, even after being together for years and having seen his husband naked plenty of times. Still, watching him move through the forms is different. His skin glistens with sweat, making the light catch on his collarbones, his abs. His movements show a raw power, a graceful intensity that always reminds Jing Beiyuan of a large tiger. He moves silently, with deadly precision, as if he wanted to sneak up on a hidden assassin. He doesn’t use a weapon, but Jing Beiyuan knows how strong he is, how fast, and is pretty sure that a sword would only slow him down.

Distractedly petting the sable that is curled contentedly in his lap, Jing Beiyuan marvels at his husband, until Wu Xi ends his performance with a graceful vault, landing on his hands and feet like a large cat. His hair, tied back only with a simple black leather cord, falls over his face with the movement, his eyes like glimmering coals behind the black curtain. It reminds Jing Beiyuan of their early days, of the time Wu Xi wore a veil, and he himself a mask of another kind. Trying to hide the slight shiver, he smiles at his sweaty husband who now approaches him. Before he can say anything, Wu Xi steps between his knees, carefully scooping up the sable, then reaching down to cup the nape of Jing Beiyuan’s neck. With a hint of restrained power, he pulls him up and into a searing kiss. Smiling against his lips, Wu Xi whispers, “Room,” and Jing Beiyuan lets himself be pulled.

It’s still early enough in the morning that they don’t have to be overly cautious, so when they shed their respective robes - and pets, Wu Xi’s tiny green snake gets set in its cage, while the sable leaps nimbly away from the commotion - Jing Beiyuan can’t suppress a giggle at his husband’s eagerness.

“What brought this on?”, he asks, a little breathless, as the other’s teeth close over his pulse point. Wu Xi stills for a heartbeat, then bites down harder, licking over the spot, which elicits a shiver.

“You,” is the answer, and Jing Beiyuan pulls away a fraction to look at his husband with a raised eyebrow. “I can’t remember doing anything out of the ordinary,” he smirks, “whereas you were--”

“You watched,” Wu Xi breathes into his neck, leaning back in. With another giggle, Jing Beiyuan lets himself be pulled to the bed.

Later, when they lay under scrunched up covers, sated and sweaty and content, Jing Beiyuan nuzzles into Wu Xi’s chest, inhaling his sharp scent.

“Would you do that,” he asks eventually, his voice quiet. “Sacrifice your life, I mean. For me.”

“Yes,” is all Wu Xi answers, firm and without hesitation. “I would. I will. Everything.” His arms tighten around Jing Beiyuan. After a long silence, the latter says softly, “But what if I didn’t want that?” He turns slightly to look up. “What if I didn’t want a life that’s bought with yours?”

Wu Xi doesn’t meet his gaze as he replies, “I still would. I couldn’t bear the thought of being without you, Beiyuan. I’m a coward, but I couldn’t. I thought I’d lost you once, and I..” His voice breaks, and Jing Beiyuan reaches up to cup his face. “You’re not. I would like to say that I would react differently, but…” He shrugs with a wry smile. “I wouldn’t. If I could save your life by giving up mine, I would. I would, and then wait for you again at the Three-Life Stone, until you came to meet me. And maybe this time, you would be the one with white hair.” Snuggling closer, he trails a finger over the other’s chest, then places his hand on his sternum, feeling the unrestrained energy underneath. Wu Xi turns his head, then cups Jing Beiyuan’s cheek, meeting him in a slow, languid kiss.

“I love you,” he breathes against the other’s lips, “I have loved you for all your lifetimes and I will continue to love you in all that follow. Where you go, I’m going, Beiyuan.”

⚘⚘

It takes almost another month until Zishu and his little-, no, his giant idiot return. On a sunny afternoon, as if they had just been out for a stroll, they saunter casually into the inn’s dining room, and Jing Beiyuan almost drops his teacup, staring in disbelief. Before he can say anything, Zishu grins - he grins! - at him and plops down into the bench opposite him, Wen Kexing at his side. Jing Beiyuan notices in utter shock that the latter’s hair has gone completely white.

“Wha--,” he starts, but now the waiter has spotted them, hurrying over. Giving their, admittedly quite ragged, appearance a cautious once-over, he clears his throat, but Jing Beiyuan hurries to assuage him. “Whatever these gentlemen desire to eat,” he declares, probably with more grandeur than necessary, “they will receive.” The waiter hurries to nod his head like a turtle, but Zishu just shakes his head. “Just cold water,” he says, much to Jing Beiyuan’s and the waiter’s astonishment, but the latter immediately scrambles off to bring them their order.

Jing Beiyuan looks scrutinizingly at both of them, then says slowly, “Welcome back.” Zishu nods solemnly, taking Wen Kexing’s hand under the table. “Sorry it took so long,” he says quietly. Jing Beiyuan snorts. “You don’t have to apologise to me,” he gestures into the general direction of the inner courtyard, “but to your silly little disciple.” Zishu at least has the decency to flinch, looking uncomfortable. But it is Wen Kexing who speaks first. “How is he?”, he asks, and Jing Beiyuan notices the cautious fondness in his voice. Shrugging, he admits, “There are good days and bad.” After a pause, he adds, more quietly, “And good nights and bad.” Zishu nods, as if in agreement, and Jing Beiyuan’s curiosity wins over. “What happened?”, he asks animatedly, gesturing to the state of their robes, then Wen Kexing’s hair. “You were gone almost two months, and--”

Zishu interrupts him, sounding incredulous. “Two months?” He casts an uncertain glance at his companion who looks equally stunned. “Oh.” Inhaling slowly, he adds, “Well, I’d prefer to tell the story only once, so where is that useless disciple of mine?” Grinning, Jing Beiyuan gestures again to the inner courtyard. “Training.” Zishu gives him a skeptical look, then gets to his feet. Ignoring the waiter who just arrived with their order, he heads for the inner courtyard. Jing Beiyuan tilts his head a fraction, looking at Wen Kexing, both smiling slightly. Then, from outside, “SHIFU!”, and a dull thud, followed by another muffled “Shishu!”.

Smiling into his teacup, Jing Beiyuan closes his eyes. Some stories seem to have a happy ending after all.

[clarenecessities]

As my followers may have picked up from my long, spiraling rants, I’ve undertaken a new research project, courtesy of the death grip She-Ra has on my brain. And guess what? It’s finally at Disseminate Information Stage! So I’m going to lay out all of the gods, demigods, and godbeasts of the Masters of the Universe. With sources!

This table is more of a cheat sheet. We’re gonna tackle this god by god, with a section on Actual Lore & a meta section to help you decide how valid you think they are, because frankly some canons are more canon than others.

Asklepia, Benevolent Snake Goddess

Lore: Asklepia is one of two snake goddesses, the benevolent twin sister of Serpentia. We know very little about her abilities, but the Snake Clan (a clan of human warriors) were said to worship her, and they were famed for their architecture and healing. She had the ability to curse and deform people--to what extent is uncertain, but she’s known to have condemned a fallen priest named Ka, whose disfigured likeness now adorns Snake Mountain.

Behind the Scenes: First appearing in the 1987 comic “Il Nero Cristallo Del Potere“, Asklepia remained nameless for over 30 years, until Masters of the Universe Classics (MOTUC) released a few choice bios. For the unfamiliar, MOTUC seeks to reconcile the often contradictory canons into one overarching narrative, which is great in theory, but in practice is kind of like putting ice cream on a hot dog. And calling it a Chilly Dog ® as if that makes it taste better. But I digress. In 2019 they released a bio for the Staff of Ka which finally put a name to the less-evil Snake Goddess, in an obvious nod to Asclepius and the asklepian (that staff+snake icon people put on medical stuff).

Sharella, the Green Goddess and/or “Avatar” of Asklepia

Lore: Contradictory

Long Version: Okay I’ve put avatar in quotes because it is... contentious. Basically, and you’ll see here why I felt the need to make this post instead of relying blindly on the wikis, Sharella was introduced (in the ‘87 licensing guide) as a tribal leader who had joint custody of Gray, the original name of He-Ro’s alter ego, while he was growing up. This was further developed by Emiliano Santalucia’s concept work, wherein she was the leader of the Green Tiger Tribe (GTT) specifically. While the comic concept was not run through licensing & is thus not “canon”, the idea of her leading the GTT persisted. This teeny tiny image of her from Tytus and Megator’s 1987 Italian box art was all we had until 2008, when one of He-Man’s accessories described her as the “warrior woman ally” of Queen Veena, “who had been changed into the immortal green-skinned avatar of the Goddess Asklepia”. In 2009, MOTUC released a figure for The Goddess, apparently forgetting they’d done that shit the year before because the packaging did say “K’yrulla” was her real name. They had to cover it up with a sticker. 

So who’s The Goddess? Way back in the days before Mattel solidified any of the lore around MOTU, there were mini-comics released with the toys. Initially, the Goddess served a similar function to the Sorceress in the cartoon, and was in fact sometimes called the Sorceress. She facilitated He-Man’s transformations, gave him missions, was generally magical and mysterious, etc. If you know who the Sorceress is, and you can picture Teela, but green? That’s about it.

Back to Sharella, though. The Third Ultimate Battleground rolled around in 2015, and for the first time since some packaging in the 80s, we saw Sharella in action! She was shot through the heart with a poison arrow. Yeah. But don’t worry, she received a blood transfusion from Moss Man (who we’ll get to later), and was transformed into the Green Goddess! She’s immortal now. How Asklepia figures in here is sort of unclear, which is weird since this is still part of the MOTUC line, but whatever. Whatever! Queen Grayskull (the aforementioned Veena) received a bio in 2015 as well, which described Sharella as her apprentice who became “The Goddess”.

Horokoth, Aspect of the Mother Goddess

Lore: DC went a little batshit (pun intended) with the lore for the Eternity War. Here the Goddess is three combined aspects, “Serpos” (Serpentia) for the Snake Men, Zoar for the human “Eternians”, and a third, invented deity called Horokoth, who represents the Horde. Horokoth is “the coming destroyer. The darkness at the end of days.” and is represented by a bat.

Behind the Scenes: That last link has a clearer picture of her, it just didn’t crop well. Also, I confess I couldn’t bring myself to read Eternity War. As thrilling as the prospect of a cohesive narrative is, if I wanted to see Adora slit her brother’s throat there’s the edgier side of deviantArt to peruse. Therefore I know little of Horokoth outside of a few still images of Hordak. The bat was almost certainly selected for the Horde’s vespertilian emblem.

Hordeous, God-Beast of Horokoth

Lore: A “primordial”, bat-like godbeast of Horokoth, created in response to the god Saz’s feline races. Their face was “forever infused“ on the surface of Horde World by Horde Lord (Hordak and Horde Prime’s father in the MOTUC canon) to grant their family power and immortality.

Behind the Scenes: Yes they’ve used some words wrong, but they’ve got the spirit, right? Hordeous was (allegedly, this is secondhand) an invention of the MOTUC crew in answer to Horokoth. Now, the Horde Supreme bio predates Horokoth’s introduction by about 3 years, but obviously the comics were in production already. There’s an undated sketch of Horokoth Hordak from an undated interview (thanks for nothing you useless website) but in that same gallery there’s an orko sketch labeled 2012 so. We’re good right? That makes sense, timeline-wise. Anyway the comics slam dunked Horde Prime out of existence and combined him with Horde Lord so it’s contradictory anyway. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Serpentia, Malevolent Snake Goddess

Lore: The evil counterpart of Asklepia, Serpentia is the goddess of the Snake Men. The priest Ka of the Snake Clan forsook Asklepia in her favor, destroying Asklepia’s sacred orb and stealing the Serpent Ring (an artefact capable of transforming humans into Snake Men) from the Ophidian Spire with King Hsss. In DC’s triune interpretation of the Goddess, Serpentia (here ‘Serpos’) is blood, passion, and desire. A primal and primordial force appearing to the Snake Men in their own image.

Behind the Scenes: Okay yes I’ve reused the Asklepia pic but in my defense they are twins and this is the easiest one to crop. So here’s the thing about Serpentia: we only got a name for her in 2019. We knew there was a snake goddess, and she was pretty evil, or at least hostile towards mammalian life (see: the source of the pic I chose for her). Where Asklepia references the asklepian, ‘Serpentia’ is a much more heavy-handed snake reference, even though Anguis was right there. Those Masters Mondays came through for us, though, with the shield and staff of Ka, Ssssylph, and of course MOTUC’s Dark Despot Skeletor, which is. something. Though only recently named, Serpentia has been a shadow over Eternia since the Snake Men’s introduction in 1985 (or, depending on how much of the presented backstory you accept, even sooner in the form of Skeletor’s lair, Snake Mountain).

Serpos/Sarcedon, God-Beast of Snake Mountain

Lore: Contradictory, but the gist of it is he’s a very large snake with elemental magic and a grudge, that was turned to stone and became Snake Mountain.

Long Version: Snake Mountain was conceived of towards the end of 1982, but wasn’t revealed to the public until September of 1983, with the debut of the Filmation cartoon. For another year, the snake coiled around its summit was simply a carving, its mouth hollowed out for Skeletor to stand in and loom. But in 1984 the Snake Mountain toy was released, completely discarding the Filmation design in favor of the hewn face of the figure we now call Ka. Instead of a snake carving winding its way up the peak, the Mattel toy featured a ‘striking serpent’, alive and attached to the mountain itself. From there, it was an easy leap to make to ‘this carving comes alive’. So easy, in fact, that they did it twice!

First attempted in 1985 in the newspaper storyline “Vengeance of the Viper King”, the snake was here called Sarcedon, the World Destroyer. At the dawn of time, he was said to crush Eternia within his deadly coils. He burrowed deep into the ground, causing fearsome storms that nearly destroyed the planet. Only a fearless hero (implied to be He-Ro) could defeat and imprison Sarcedon. Using a macguffin called a Mirror of History, He-Man forced Sarcedon to behold his own reflection in a reference to the Medusa myth that kind of missed the point of it being reflective. Sarcedon was sent back in time, Snake Mountain was restored, the good guys win, blah blah blah.

That was the last of it until the MYP cartoon in 2004. Serpos as a name was actually first invoked by Mer-Man in a 1982 minicomic, but like it probably wasn’t about the snake. Anyway in the MYP cartoon the Snake Men get this thing called the Medallion of Serpos that lets them un-petrify the snake around Snake Mountain, grow two more heads, and unleash his godly wrath. He breathes fire, trashes Eternos, beats up He-Man, then turns his attention on Castle Grayskull to consume the Orb of Power (containing the strength and wisdom of the Elders, who had first trapped him in stone). He-Man cuts off Serpos’s extra heads with a sword upgrade, the Elders are somehow magically restored to life, and they re-petrify him. Snake Mountain is restored, the good guys win, blah blah blah.

Zoar, the Fighting Falcon

Lore: Contradictory, but it sure is a bird!

Long Version: While Sharella’s backstory is fraught because of the comics couldn’t decide what they wanted her to be, Zoar was similarly tangled up by the toyline. Initially male, he went through several color schemes, some prettier than others. Though there was a vague association with the Sorceress before the cartoon (recall that pre-Filmation, the Sorceress was just the Goddess), Filmation made them literally inseperable by designating Zoar as the Sorceress’s falcon form, to which she was confined when leaving Castle Grayskull.

Some of the comics and Golden books showed Zoar as being flipping enormous & ridden into battle as a steed by Teela and Man-at-Arms. Pre-Filmation, Zoar was always referred to as male, but post-Filmation, always female, as an incarnation of the Sorceress.

The Eternity Wars comics describe Zoar as the third aspect of the Goddess, the ‘Great Preserver’ whose light would shine through the universe for eternity. They pull off a sort of tripartite priestess thing where it’s Serpos/Zoar/Horokoth represented by Teela-Na (the Sorceress)/Teela/Evil-Lyn.

MOTUC, of course, had to reconcile all of these contradictory canons. How’d they do it? “In the folklore of Eternia, the golden falcon symbolized the godhead Zoar, a powerful deity of Preternia. As a god, Zoar could appear in both male and female guises and while the blue-tipped female falcon was associated with the Sorceress of Grayskull, the golden falcon represented Zoar's masculine nature.” So Zoar is genderfluid now, and the Sorceress is merely borrowing their form when transforming into a falcon. This bio also established that Zoar had anointed the first Sorceress, Veena (Queen Grayskull), which explains why she has wings for no apparent reason.

Also it’s not offically MOTUC but the scultors of the line, Four Horsemen, made a single anthro Zoar for Power-Con 2013. In case you need that for some reason.

Glorybird, Emissary of Zoar

Lore: Many millennia ago, there were three siblings, who were very poor and mistreated by their stepmother, but had hearts filled with kindness and love. Zoar, recognizing their resilience and desire to help people, sent an emissary named Glorybird. Glorybird bestowed upon each sibling a divine gift, but as they used their new powers to fight for good, their stepmother revealed herself to be a Celestial Witch & attempted to sacrifice them to Zoar’s “greatest enemy”, Horokoth.  

Backstory: Okay, so the Star Sisters (and Glorybird) were in exactly one episode of She-Ra, primarily to set them up as new toy designs. While prototypes were made for these, the figures weren’t actually produced until MOTUC released figures for them in 2012. Though they were referenced in Princess Prom, and we saw a brief cameo in a background, Glorybird was absent until the introduction of the Star Siblings in Season Five.

That’s right! This bird is a god, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Saz, God of All Felines

Lore: One of the “Gods of the Multiverse” (he is the only member named explicitly), Saz was a blue-furred, feline deity responsible for the creation of all cats, humanoid or otherwise. He transformed himself into an enormous cat-beast to defeat Serpos and Hordeous, whose progenitors created them in envy of his children. Though Serpos was defeated, Hordeous escaped into the cosmos, and Saz himself vanished mysteriously.

Behind the Scenes: “By the whiskers of Saz!” is a fun pseudo-swear made by various cat races throughout MOTU, first in He-Man’s “The Cat and the Spider” and later in She-Ra’s “Magicats”. That was the only real mention of him until... okay, so MOTUC bios aren’t always attached to the product. Starting in 2018, they did this thing called Masters Mondays where they put unposted bios on the org forums. So while we’ve had the sword since 2010, we didn’t get the background on it until March of 2020. And then a couple weeks later, the Cat Mask of Catra bio referred to him as a “mystical being” instead of a god, but the mask was from 2011 so. He may not have been a god yet. It really depends on when the bios were actually written.

Saz wielded a blade probably best described as a falchion, whose quillon & langet formed a vaguely triangular shape around a deep red gem. I want to be clear that while it looks totally rad, this sword would be very impractical and have poor structural integrity were it not made by a literal god. Do not make swords like this. Also it’s almost certainly riffing on the Sword of Omens from Thundercats (affectionate).

Sabe-Or, Son of Saz

Lore: A green-furred, orange-striped paladin, Sabe-Or is one of the only named Ancients. He inherited his father’s blade upon Saz’s mysterious disappearance, and lived for centuries more. Upon his death, he transferred his “heroic essence” into a group of Eternian tigers, forever transforming them into the Green Tiger Tribe, whence both Granger (steed of King Grayskull), and Cringer, steed of Prince Adam.

Behind the Scenes: So “Battle Cat Man” is a concept that’s existed since they decided to make their hero ride a wicked tiger into battle. If you show a kid a superhero, and a supertiger, apparently the natural inclination of most children in the 80s was to combine the two. There are so many custom action figures. So, so many. Sabe-Or is visually a clear reference to this concept, and canonically seems to be the closest we’re going to get outside of the Thundercats crossover, unless you count Cowarros from 4H’s Mythic Legions line (I do, because it means Purrrplor is also canon and I fucking love calling him that).

Moss Man, Ancient Eternian Nature God

Lore: An ally of King Grayskull, Moss Man was something of an Eternian cryptid in the centuries leading up to He-Man Times. He has control over all plant life, the ability to meld with plants, and apparently can imbue sentience to said plants.

Behind the Scenes: Moss Man wasn’t featured in many episodes, because he’s a little... incredibly over-powered. He’s literally Bigfoot from 5000 years ago with magic powers. And like, since I don’t think the writers appreciate how long 5000 years is, you know what happened 5000 years ago? Stonehenge. This bitch is Stonehenge-old. But sure, you can trace a direct line of descent from his contemporary. smh. Anyway according to MOTUC his real name is Kreann’Ot N’Norosh so make of that what you will. Also his toys were pine-scented. I just love that.

Evil Seed, Rebellious Creation of Moss Man

Lore: Created by Moss Man to help fight in the Great Wars, Evil Seed betrayed his master and turned to evil (who could have foreseen this...), finding joy in corrupting all forms of plant life for his own amusement. Moss Man imprisoned him in enchanted chains, keeping him restrained for many millennia.

Behind the Scenes: According to MOTUC, his real name is Sero Malustro, clumsy New Latin for “(to) plant evil-burnt“. Why his name is New Latin and Moss Man’s is... whatever that is, I have no idea. As you can see from the image I included, he originally had an artichoke head, which was upgraded for the Mike Young Productions (MYP) cartoon. Personally I think the artichoke rules.

Volcana, the Fire Goddess

Lore: Canonically, she’s a fire goddess, and the mother of the Volcano Magus. Together, they are a rising force that seeks to conquer Etheria in the wake of Hordak’s defeat.

Backstory: Volcana has taken a long a twisted journey, but was first revealed to fans at Power-Con 2016 in a panel revealing previously unseen concepts and characters. After the first wave of She-Ra toys, a second wave was planned with a snow focus, to bring more attention the Filmation-neglected Frosta. This began with the introduction of a fire villain, an “evil lady that glows with heat” who would attempt to melt Castle Chill. That concept actually refers to a character named Amber (not Ember, as one might assume) who was reworked into a benevolent counterpart, Volcana’s twin sister.

Volcana was later fleshed out to be a Fire Goddess with flame-red hair, x-ray vision, and arms sculpted with flames. Her cape flew up with flame detail that rose up to control the volcano (of Volcanica, a proposed toyset that seems to have been reworked into the Crystal Falls). She was emphasized by Mattel to not start fires, which, honestly, is probably why they scrapped the character. He-Man couldn’t use his sword as a sword; a woman made of fire was basically doomed.

Now, though, we’re several decades in and lines made for collecters that are largely in their 30s and 40s can say whatever they want! So she’s canon, even if Amber isn’t. Yes there’s only one mention of her. Amber technically was mentioned in an unproduced episode titled “Amber Waves of Flame”, but as it was unproduced, it’s noncanonical.

Volcano Magus, Sinister Son of Volcana

Lore: Living within a dormant volcano, the Volcano Magus of the German audio plays was the source of most of Catra’s power and all of her evil intent. He supplied her with magic for spells and schemes with which to assail the Crystal Castle, but neither she nor Clawdeen were aware of the dark influence he held over them.

In the MOTUC canon, he’s specified as the son of Volcana, a demigod from the “Region of Volcanoes” who craved the nature magic of the Whispering Woods. When he learned the Twiggets were inextricably linked to that magic, he used his powers to petrify the former Rebels (this was after the Horde's defeat) and kidnap three Twiggets to drain the magic from their souls. Twiggets, for the uninitiated, are like purple tree-elf things. According to MOTUC, Razz is a Twigget, though the ‘real’ name they assigned her doesn’t fit their naming convention. She is purple, I guess.

Kowl, who avoided petrification, read Razz's spellbooks to find a way to save his friends, and learned of an Entrapment Gem that she hid in a shoe, for some reason. He confronted the Volcano Magus, spoke in the ancient tongue of the First Ones, and sucked him into the Gem.

Backstory: Admittedly this stuff is second hand, as I don’t speak German & they only have transcriptions/translations for the He-Man tapes anyway, but if anybody can find me an audio file I will do my best to verify. The MOTUC stuff at least I can confirm 100% because it’s from 2019 & I do speak English, for better or worse.

Oak, the Jackal God

Lore: Oak was the terrible Jackal God worshiped by the denizens of Zhar, an ancient civilization that once existed in a remote, forested region of Eternia. Long ago, Oak was imprisoned within a statue which could be found within the Temple of the Jackal. When Skeletor removed the statue from the temple, Oak broke free of the enchantment which imprisoned him and wreaked havoc on Eternia. Although the Jackal God was immensely powerful, he could be weakened by the elements of nature and was ultimately foiled by a rainstorm conjured by the combined powers of He-Man's sword and the magic of the temple's guardian priest.

Backstory: I have lifted this from a He-Man guide word for word as I cannot for the life of me find a copy of the Brazilian Editora Abril comic he came from, O Templo Do Chacal (1986). The description is like, suspiciously similar to the plot of the He-Man episode The Cat and the Spider, except the Grimalkin was never described as a god. The rest of it--statue, Skeletor, storm defeat--plays out almost the same. True pity I can’t find the original source, but I do trust this guidebook. You may be interested in Ceres from the UK comics--another dog-slash-statue who frankly might as well be a god himself, but as he’s not called one in canon he’s not going on the list.

The Bitter Rose Goddess

Lore: As Man-at-Arms told the legend, “Every day, a woman climbed Rose Mountain to look for her husband to return from the war. Alas, he never came back. Her tears poured from her cheek and entered the ground. One day she disappeared, but where she stood was a single, solitary rose. It’s the only thing that grows on Rose Mountain.”

The Insect People, who lived at the base of Rose Mountain, believed that the Bitter Rose is all that held the mountain together (and when it was picked, they were proved right). After the flower was restored, it transformed into the Bitter Rose Goddess herself, who explained that she had been a prisoner of her love's sorrow, so bitter that she refused to allow anything else to grow on Rose Mountain. She blessed the surrounding area, blanketing the jagged peaks with roses, and disappeared.

Backstory: She’s kind of... barely a god. She showed up in one episode and no other media & has objectively less power than like, every single demon they ever brought in. I almost didn’t put her on this list.

Mask-Ra, Goddess of Masks

Lore: A goddess who created the magical Masks of Power.

Backstory: Mask-Ra was first mentioned in 2019 and like, look, I’m gonna be real. I don’t respect her. She’s an invention of MOTUC (unless they were drawing on this concept art of Maska-Ra, which I doubt bc he was a Man-E-Faces precursor) and they retconned her into having created Catra’s mask, which is kind of redundant given the entire episode Magicats. This mask did not need two bios. There are no other mentions of her in any canon.

Potential other Masks of Power: The Deemos and Tyrella masks from the He-Man episode “Masks of Power”, lizard and canine masks from the mini-comic “Masks of Power”, Lord Masque’s Demon Mask from the He-Man episode “House of Shokoti, Part 1″, and whatever the hell Red Shadow has going on.

Procrustus, Giant Guardian of Magic

Lore: During the creation of the various dimensions (5 in MOTUC canon but demonstratably higher everywhere else), the gods installed the four-armed, immortal giant Procrustus to guard their secrets at the heart of Eternia. There lay the Starseed, from which the entire dimension was created. It still held immeasurable power, and could be used to conquer entire universes. Hordak, in an attempt to access the Starseed, cracked Eternia in two with the Spell of Separation. Though he was (mostly) thwarted, from then on Procrustus was forced to hold the two halves of Eternia together from within, lest the planet break apart and the Starseed be exposed.

Backstory: First appearing in the mini-comic “The Magic Stealer!”, Procrustus is a lot more tangible than most gods. We know where he is, at all times, and he seems confined to one size. His powers appear to be largely physical, as he had to burrow out of the ground to investigate in the mini-comic instead of teleporting or like, magicking the dirt away. This was his only appearance until MOTUC released a figure for him in 2012. He also showed up in the Subternia map the next year, holding Eternia together.

Standor, Cosmic Creator of Power

Lore: “Before time began, the great Gods of the multiverse convened in the Hall of Power to create all that was and all that will ever be. Head architect of this great task was Standor. A cosmic being of unlimited imagination, Standor helped lead his fellow deities by fueling their energies with raw creative force.”

Backstory: Released for Comikaze 2013 to celebrate the partnership of Mattel and Pow! Entertainment, Standor is literally just Stan Lee But a God. The prototype was called Standar--idk why they changed it, but I think it’s because it’s too easy to confuse with “Standard”. They made a bio for his sunglasses. I don’t want to talk about it.

Bash-Or, Slain Mystic God-Beast

Lore: Very little is known of Bash-Or, the Ram. His last remnant was sealed within the Ram Stone by the ancient sorceror kings of Zalesia, imbuing it with his divine power to overcome any barrier, magical or otherwise.

Backstory: Bash-Or was revealed in the bio for the Ram Stone, September of 2020, but his spirit (previously referred to as ‘the Spirit of the Ram Stone’) was twice utilized by Skeletor in the MYP cartoon, to great effect, before the stone was destroyed.

[itsuki-minamy]

LIMITED KINGSHIP, WAR STORIES:

CHAPTER 2: HEKIREKI & SENDEN

* Mini Episodes KFCN (List of Chapters) * Projects & Chapters

Translation: Naru-kun Raws: Ridia

Suddenly he realized that the enemy was gone.

The surroundings were full of the dead. Most of the folded corpses belonged to members of the "Purgatory" clan who wore black clothes. Fifteen minutes ago, a hasty force led by Gouki Zenjo raided that warehouse after being contacted by the intelligence department. And then the warehouse turned into a terrible battlefield.

With "Hekireki" bloody on his shoulder, Zenjo started looking for the next enemy to attack. But that no longer existed.

The battle was over and the remnants were hunting. There were still some in black who resisted, but it was only a matter of time before they were crushed or smashed. While he was thinking that, Bado's iron spear pierced one of the black ones, and Azuma's twin sword stabbed another. The "Purgatory" clan member, who had decent fighting ability, didn't seem to be staying anywhere.

"How boring."

He hit the field in an unsightly way and lowered "Hekireki" to the ground.

The next moment, the pile of corpses exploded.

"Zenjo!"

Fresh blood came out from the sword wound all over the body, and flames came from both feet, the one in black clothes was good at fighting. A deadly surprise attack that hid the corpse of a colleague. Long before he understood it, Zenjo tried to shake "Hekireki" with his own super reaction.

He could not.

According to a later investigation, it was an inadvertent collaboration between those in black. One in black that lay behind Zenjo was dying, but was still breathing. With the last of his strength, he grabbed the "outside" blade, regardless of whether his fingers fell.

That caused a delay of a few seconds. Zenjo was just looking at the flaming fingers approaching in front of him, holding "Hekireki's" fixed handle.

But he just grabbed Zenjo's nose.

"You need more than that..."

The one in black clothes who attacked Zenjo stopped in midair. Blood poured from the edge of his mouth which opened and closed with bloody eyes wide open. A thin saber protruded from his chest, and the saber that pierced his chest diagonally from below suddenly stopped the one in black clothing.

"Ah!"

A cheerful voice that did not seem to belong to the place, resounded behind the one in black clothes.

"I'm sorry I made a mistake! Zenjo-san, can you take care of it please?"

It was as easy as asking him to take the remote there. After blinking, Zenjo passed by "Hekireki" and frequently shook the ones in black clothes.

The flames that clung to both feet disappeared.

The body of the man in black, who had lost his neck, was thrown to the ground. A young man standing there waved his saber and wiped off the blood. The friendly look reminded him of a laughing dog.

"No, I made a mistake. If you tap it, it can't be the case, huh? Hahaha…"

"Kuze. You saved me."

Young Kuse laughed cheerfully and waved.

"I just did something extra. Zenjo-san, you could have handled it with a margin."

"No, I couldn't react now. I would have been 'without a nose' at best, because it was aiming at my head."

"Well, is that so? That's good. Soon it's new soba season!"

Zenjo smirked as he tapped on Kuze's shoulder, saying that he was out of focus.

"This season's buckwheat noodles are pretty good too. I'll use chopsticks when I get back to the barracks. Thanks for your help."

"Oh then, make it soba."

"What? Are you going to ask me to make arrangements again?"

Kuse was smiling. Zenjo saw the smile as if he was amazed. Not suitable for a bright appearance, this young man had a very persistent character.

"Well, I wish I could go home."

"Oh, thanks!"

As Kuze struck a gutsy pose, Zenjo shrugged and walked towards a group of hurrying troops who had begun to take care of the remaining work.

++++++++++

The war was escalating.

Kagutsu Detention Center "Red King" crackdown operation. The attack from "Scepter 4" intended to kill Kagutsu Genji was unsuccessful in retrospect. Although the force of "Purgatory" was greatly reduced, the original purpose of the operation was not finally achieved, and Kagutsu left his territory and fled, and the remaining clan members divided into thousands and went into hiding. The hive was destroyed, but the queen bee and the soldier bees were flying now.

The activities of the scattered members of the "Purgatory" clan were almost the same as before. Whenever something happened, there was a danger that they would explode. "Scepter 4" chased after them and they were incapacitated as soon as they were discovered, but "Purgatory" wasn't just silently hunted to death. The damage caused by a fierce counterattack who did not care about his own life was turning into a social problem that could not be covered even by "Tokijikuin".

There were two pressing issues.

One was the search and murder of Kagutsu as soon as possible. As long as that "King" will continue to exist on earth, this war would never end.

And the other was to increase the strength of "Scepter 4".

The battle with "Purgatory", who burned the people, burned the city and even burned themselves, was slowly shaving the staff of "Scepter 4". To make up for the loss, they touted that they had the cause of the war and recruited a large number of talented personnel from the relevant ministries.

Shuichiro Kuze was one of those supplemental staff members.

Originally a police officer, he achieved outstanding results on both his aptitude and skill tests, and joined the "Scepter 4" running unit at exceptional speed. He was a rare human resource who had already been dispatched several times and was not afraid to fight the deadly "Purgatory", but instead displayed a simulation as if he was enjoying it.

For some reason, Kuze teamed up with Zenjo.

Even now, Kuze and Zenjo were undergoing simulated one-on-one training in the training ground of the "Scepter 4" barracks. Except for the fact that the product was a bamboo sword, it was a form of training that came as close to the actual battle as possible. Even attacks on key points were tolerated wherever they were covered by armor.

Kuze raised the bamboo sword to eye level and turned its blade towards Zenjo.

Zenjo carried a large bamboo sword on his shoulder and was about to attack him.

Kuze's specialty was "pushing". His stab, fired by explosive acceleration with a different ability, was roughly equal to the speed of a bullet. It would be impossible to react if it were the perception of an ordinary person.

But, of course, Zenjo was not an ordinary person.

"Let's go!"

The next moment that Kuze said that, the figure disappeared.

An extraordinary light that glowed fluttering blue like the tail of a meteor. Before recognizing it, Zenjo's body was moving. The speed God's sword judgment darted into the void on the right.

Zenjo's bamboo sword touched Kuze's sword that jutted out without fail.

"Ah!"

As he wielded the sword of pursuit, Zenjo was impressed. Viewed from above, the location of the different abilities would have looked like a rank "nine". A blow from outside the field of vision due to explosive acceleration, but it did not exceed Zenjo's reaction speed.

"Che!"

Kuze sped up again, leaving a childish click of the tongue. As he repeated sharp turns ignoring the laws of physics, he jumped incessantly. He was like a spring-loaded toy that swept across the training ground.

Zenjo stopped chasing him with his eyes and closed his lids.

Behind.

Before he felt it, his body was still moving. He turns and cut the space behind him. The cut that was shot deflected Kuze's thrust horizontally upward and hit him like he was a face shield.

"Damn!"

With a stupid voice, Kuze struck and fell to the ground of the training ground. If he had been serious, he would have lost his nose.

"This is the ninth."

Carrying the bamboo sword on his shoulder again, Zenjo said that without pride. Kuze, who had stretched out into a large shape, lifted his upper body as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"I thought I could pull it off now... Zenjo-san, do you have eyes behind you?"

"Well, it's clear. You can understand it even if you can't see it."

"Mm... Zenjo-san, another one! Please."

When Kuze lifted his index finger, Zenjo was truly astonished and showed the training ground clock with his chin.

"It's closing time. It will be tomorrow."

"Really? Absolutely tomorrow!"

"I wish they hadn't sent me."

Saying that, while he was a bit crowded, Zenjo headed for the exit. Kuze also put the bamboo sword in a bag and bounced after him.

After taking a shower together, they had dinner later.

The barracks cafeteria was quiet, probably because it was late. Zenjo ordered a hazaru soba and Kuze a kitsune udon, and they ate together.

Kuze talked to Zenjo all the time while he ate.

"Zenjo-san, are you attached to the army?"

"Hmm?"

" I belonged there. There are a lot of people like that in 'Scepter 4', right?"

Surely it was so. The personnel of "Scepter 4" came mainly from other security organizations. Unless they didn't lack combat training on a daily basis, they couldn't withstand the battle with "Purgatory."

However, the situation was different for Zenjo.

After slurping his soba, he said...

"I am from a mountain."

"Mountain?"

"When I was waving a stick in the mountains, I met Habari, so I followed him."

Kuze blinked twice as he pinched the fried food with chopsticks.

"Well, what was that? What kind of situation?"

"Thanks, like I said."

Answering only that, Zenjo took a sip of soba again.

Kuze stared at Zenjo for a while with a surprised face, and then...

"Fu…"

He shook his shoulders and started laughing.

"Hahahahahahahaha! What's wrong, did you meet the commander in the mountains and follow him? Hahaha, Zenjo-san, are you a youkai?"

Zenjo was disappointed in Kuze, who bent over his body and laughed like a child. It was surprising that he was laughed at, although it was not his intention to make him laugh.

"No, sorry, I'm not going to make a fool of myself. But that was very interesting."

"Is it interesting?"

"It's incredibly interesting! I've never met such a person!"

"Mmm...?"

He wondered if that was the case. Originally, Zenjo was a guy who didn't understand many things. If they told him it was interesting, it would be true.

"No, you're good at 'Scepter 4' after all. It's not boring."

As he cheerfully said that, Kuze drank the udon from him. As Zenjo ate the soba noodles, he looked at Kuze as if he was looking at something strange.

"Bored?"

"Yes. The workplace in front of me was already boring. Anyone can do it, such as document preparation, on-site verification and traffic control. More like this, a fierce car chase with the criminal! Fighting battle! Shooting! I was imagining it."

He lifted the bowl and drank the soup.

"So it's so boring that I shouldn't do it. When I was thinking about it, they asked me and I came to try it. I can do what I want every day! It's a lot of fun, right? That's why I think you adapt very well to "Scepter 4"!

Zenjo scratched his cheeks while Kuze drank, wiped his mouth and clasped his hands with a "Thanks for the food!"

"Uh..."

"Isn't that the case with Zenjo-san? Don't you do it because it's medicinal?"

"Eh?"

He wondered if that was the case. Was he enjoying the battle with "Purgatory"?

There was no doubt that he was elevated during the battle. On the battlefield where a momentary judgment divides life and death, that feeling that inspires all cells cannot be experienced anywhere else.

But he didn't think he was struggling to taste it.

When he swung his sword under Habari's command in "Scepter 4", he felt that he was breathing properly. It seemed natural to do so and it "fit." He didn't know if he could describe it as funny.

"Well, that's correct."

It became difficult to think of the way and Zenjo answered that.

"That's right! Well, I'm glad you feel the same way as me!"

Kuze laughed in a friendly way and then a mysterious light fell on his eyes.

"But lately, it's more fun practicing with Zenjo-san than interacting with 'Purgatory'."

"Really?"

"Yes, because Zenjo-san is much stronger than them, so it's fun to do it. Hey, Zenjo-san. Someday, with me…"

Kuze cut off the words when he suddenly remembered. After blinking several times, the mysterious light disappeared. Then suddenly he stood up and held the bowl of kitsune udon in his hands.

"Sorry, it's nothing! So, good night!"

With a smile, Kuze went to the place where the dishes were being returned.

As he drank his soba, Zenjo rebelled against Kuze's words.

(Well, I'm glad you feel the same way as me!)

Maybe it wasn't.

Although they belonged to the same "Scepter 4" and wielded a saber, he felt that something was decisively different between him and Kuze.

He didn't know what it was. He didn't want to think until he knew. Thinking again that he was okay, Zenjo dropped the green onion seasoning into crushed chunks.

++++++++++

Three days later, the hidden member of the "Purgatory" clan in Minari-cho, Fengze-ku, was discovered.

According to the information department report, there was only one member. However, the problem is that he was hiding in the houses of common people. They threatened the inhabitants and parasitized their lives themselves. A bully lurked in his house and behaved inattentive. The father of the family, who could not bear such a situation, rushed to a public institution and discovered his existence.

In response to this, "Scepter 4" quickly formed a unit that rushed over. They ran to the site to "exterminate" the abominable parasite.

However, this time, it was not possible to get through the gate with the transport vehicle and cut it randomly. After all, the other party was alone and the detained hostages were a mother and two young children, according to the father's information. If they took action inadvertently, it would have the worst consequences.

The operation required speed and stealth. "Scepter 4", the deputy director, Gen Shiotsu, selected the appropriate personnel and devised a strategy.

Shuichiro Kuse was included in the staff, but it was boring for him.

Kuze was toying with that idea while biting his yawn in the car.

It had already been three hours since they arrived at the place. Because "Scepter 4" stood out in a transport vehicle, they used an ordinary sedan type and stopped from hiding to blind spot. Kuze sighed softly, looking at him stagnant out the window.

He wished he could rush in and kill him.

It would be easy. He would jump out the door, go through the second floor and invade, and drive the saber into the heart of the guy in black. That was all that was needed.

Kuze understood why he was selected as a runner. The small body was suitable for infiltration, and the "Senden" saber he had was also a slim custom-made one, so it should work effectively in a small room.

So he wanted to do it as soon as possible.

Finally, the long-awaited command came from insiders.

"The target has taken the hostage. I enclose the location."

"Yes!"

He sprang to his feet, grabbed the saber, opened the passenger seat door, and Kuze broke into a run.

In seconds, the target house came into view. When he was hiding behind the wall of a neighbor's house and observing the situation, the transmitter spoke a voice again.

"The target is in the bathroom on the second floor. The children cannot confirm the whereabouts of their mother in the next room. Each member must pay the utmost attention and do everything in their power to secure the hostages."

"Kuze, ready!"

With a light tone, Kuze pulled "Senden" out of the scabbard.

He held his breath and waited for the moment. The plan of the house is engraved on his head. All the images of how he would move, what kind of path he would take and how he would kill the one in black clothes were created in Kuze's brain.

Kuze himself did not know that there were no hostages there.

"Fast!"

By the time Shiotsu's voice echoed, Kuze was jumping.

He jumped off the wall, landed on the ceiling, and ran. At the edge of the field of vision, he could see a blue trail that went through him in the same way. There were a total of four runners, all their own competitors, who aspired to the life of a single man in black. Kuze licked his lips and accelerated to the point where the shingles broke.

He jumped with the same impulse, he broke the second floor window with his body and ran inside.

"Eh?!"

He heard a high-pitched voice. Kuze invaded the children's room on the second floor. According to the information, two children who were less than elementary school students were shaking in a corner of the room.

Kuze ignored it.

The problem was that of black clothes. If he killed him, everything would be solved. So that should take precedence. Kuze thought that way and stepped out into the second floor hallway.

Their eyes met.

There was a figure in black clothes in the bathroom that was left open. However, when Kuze found him, he was strangling and using the children's mother as a shield.

"Stay away, blue clothes! This woman will die!"

He could barely see the one in black who was angry. Very firmly, he was hiding behind the woman. The scared woman shook her head, while she shook her head, he looked and disappeared his face burned in black.

Before thinking of anything, Kuze was kicking the ground.

If he killed him, that would be it. That was the only priority, and everything else was wiped from Kuze's head.

Many things happened at the same time.

"Kuze, stop!" One of the rushing staff members yelled.

"Damn it!" The man in black's burned face turned red, and the flame-filled woman screamed in tears.

Time seemed to flow slowly. He could feel precisely the extraordinary light of "Senden", the heat of the flames that sprouted from the face of the man in black and the smell of the flesh that enveloped her.

In the slowdown time, Kuze analyzed various factors and...

(Oh, this person can't be helped anymore.), he thought.

Too easily, he cut off the hostage's life.

This being the case, the hostage's body was no longer a problem. It was just a corpse, a wall of flesh less than 8 inches.

It did not hinder "Senden".

With a half-smile, Kuze stabbed hard forward.

A bright blue tip pierced the woman's chest, and the heart of the man in black was skewered and glued to the bathroom wall.

"......"

The woman opened and closed her mouth. Kuze tilted his head and looked at her face, thinking that she looks like a dying goldfish.

When Kuze drew the saber, the woman and the one in black fell one on top of the other. Their bloods mixed.

The bodies clung to each other and wet Kuze's shoes.

He takes a breath and inform the others.

"We have deactivated the objective. The mission is complete."

At the same time, an angry sound rang out from behind.

"Kuze! Damn! What did you do?!"

He thought, and looked at the owner of the voice as if he was confused. It was Shinohara, who belonged to the same group as him. He was yelling something when he flushed with anger, but Kuze couldn't understand the meaning of the word. He turned his neck and face away to keep them from flying off.

The frozen facial expressions of the two boys, looking through the door, were reflected in Kuze's field of vision.

++++++++++

"Do you know what you did?"

"Scepter 4", Shiotsu made a heavy voice in the barracks interview room.

Shuichiro Kuze, standing in front of him, replied as if nothing had happened.

"I killed the member of the 'Purgatory' clan. I think it was an unavoidable decision in that situation."

"Right now, 'Purgatory' is not the problem. The problem is Kuze, you stabbed the hostage and killed her."

"I did not murder her. At that time, the woman had already been killed by the one in black clothes. Should I be so reprimanded for damaging her corpse?"

Shiotsu had various reports in front of him.

"Shinohara's report is different. At that time, Shinohara said that the woman was still alive. However, he testified that you ignored the warning and approached the black-robed one and went through him."

"In my eyes, she looked dead."

Kuze spoke clearly.

"I think it would have been difficult to help her, even if she had a break. Is it the right decision to leave the dangerous clansman to help a dying woman? If the action was delayed, hers, two of her children and I could have been euthanized."

"It is not you who should judge whether the woman would be saved or not."

"The judgment of the site should be left to the members of the site."

Shiotsu groaned softly.

What Kuze said was correct in some respects. In the battle with "Purgatory", a momentary misjudgment could be fatal. And that moment came innumerably. It was not enough to have many lives if they were all compared with the regulations of the body and the current law. Above all, Kuze said that a certain amount of excessive acts should be allowed to protect one's life.

But…

Shiotsu watched Kuze's expression.

There was no expression floating there. Self-blame, regret, remorse. He couldn't read any of the emotions the one with the almost innocent human hands would have.

Shiotsu muttered to himself that that was the real problem.

"Kuze..."

At that moment, Shiotsu silently inhaled, and then...

"Where do you think the meaning of 'Scepter 4' is?"

"Eh…?"

"Answer it. What's 'Scepter 4' for?"

For the first time, the color of hesitation reached Kuze's expression.

As he listened to Shiotsu, Kuze replied.

"Kill the enemy. Annihilate "Purgatory" and bring peace to society."

Shiotsu sighed deeply and said.

"No. You are definitely misunderstanding."

"......"

"Our mission is to protect the general public. The sword to protect those who cannot resist the weapon of incompetence, that is 'Scepter 4'."

"It's the same as I said, right?"

In the words that Kuze muttered, unprecedented emotions appeared.

He was frustrated.

"Killing those in black clothes is to protect the general public. If they are left unattended, tens or even hundreds of people will die if they are not treated well. To avoid that, isn't it natural to leave two people alone?"

"Still, we should not be the ones to kill. We should be the ones to protect the people. If there is a defenseless civilian, that is why we have the power to protect ourselves."

"It's stupid."

Kuze laughed through his nose. His dark and bright gaze seemed harsher, as he generally had a friendly gaze.

"Why do we have to do that? It is so stupid for a good person to be sacrificed for an inferior person."

Shiotsu closed his eyes.

What swirled around his chest was not anger at Kuze, but responsibility for himself.

He may have been too impatient to make up for the personnel lost in the battle with "Purgatory". He had hired a person who lacked the most important qualities, distracted only by the ability to fight. He should have known well what would happen if that person had a different ability and special power.

People who cannot control themselves will eventually use their different abilities as they wish.

How is it different from "Purgatory"?

Shiotsu slowly opened his eyes and said in a low voice,

"Shuichiro Kuse. Say goodbye to "Scepter 4" from now on."

++++++++++

Kuze, who came out of the interview room, was looking vaguely at the ceiling of the hallway.

(I blew it.), he thought.

With that in mind, he sighs. This time, he looked down at the ground and started walking.

When he was called by Shiotsu, Kuze had decided what he should do. That was a field decision and he didn't think he had done anything wrong. He intended to stick to that statement.

It is the members of the field who exchange lives. However, it was not uncommon for him to be blamed for a later trial. It was a common feeling not only for Kuze but also for the ER personnel.

Shiotsu was smart and looked closely at the members. That is why he thought that he would not give such a severe punishment based on his thoughts.

"He was telling me something strange."

Kuze lied and looked at his hand. When he focused his consciousness there, the blue glow of the extraordinary shimmered.

It was proof that he was an excellent person and a chosen one.

Kuze couldn't respond well to Shiotsu's words asking the meaning of "Scepter 4". That was because Kuze didn't know. Therefore, he got a rag out of there. It didn't matter if the general public died or lived, he knew that his true intentions would probably not be forgiven within the organization, so he hid it.

The important thing for Kuze was to use that power in all directions to fight. Fight "Purgatory", bypass the momentary deadline and end the life of the enemy. Never in a dull life until now, was it a bright day.

That was stolen from him.

Because he took a boring life from a boring human.

Kuze sighed again and suddenly raised his face.

A familiar giant was walking down the hall. Kuze laughed and raised a hand.

"Hey, Zenjo-san."

"Oh, Kuze?"

Zenjo's eyebrows widened when he noticed that Kuze was there for the first time.

"What are you doing in a place like this? Is it training?"

"No."

Kuze laughed bitterly and...

"Hey, I've been preaching to the vice principal. I'm here for that."

"Oh, Shiotsu? It's loud."

Sympathy reached Zenjo's eyes. Seeing that, Kuze's smile changed to a natural one.

That person knew himself.

He had always felt that way. Zenjo, like himself, rejoiced in the fight. He was a person who should have the nature of killing people rather than helping people. So, Kuze was sure that if he talked about the situation, this person would be on his side.

"But you're almost right."

Zenjo simply denied the idea.

"Eh?"

"Shiotsu is loud, but he's always right. If he claims something from you, you're wrong. I wonder what he was. Apologize properly."

"......"

Kuze looked at his toes.

"Yes, what is that?"

"If that is all."

"I see."

Kuze scratched his head again with a bitter smile.

"In a way that's correct. I thought it was suitable for 'Scepter 4', but surprisingly, isn't it?"

"Eh?"

Zenjo mysteriously shook his head, thought for a moment and then nodded.

"That's right. You said you were the same as me, but I think you are different from me."

"......"

"I can't put it right. You might not be good at 'Scepter 4'. You should stop in time."

Zenjo said that in a wonderful and irresponsible way.

Kuze was about to start laughing. Interestingly, he didn't get mad at all. This was because it had been broadcast that Zenjo was saying that from the bottom of his heart without any malicious intent.

After all, Kuze didn't dislike Zenjo. He was clean, natural, and stronger than anyone. That's why he liked dealing with this person, because he could fight without shackles.

He regretted thinking that he couldn't do that from now on.

Then, Kuze suddenly glowed.

"Ah!"

"Hmm? What's wrong?"

"Sorry Zenjo-san, I just remembered my errand now! I'm done!"

In a hurry, Kuze ran down the hall. Zenjo said, "Oh...?", and gave up, but Kuze suddenly stopped and looked back.

"Please help me again later!"

Zenjo laughed and nodded.

"Oh, I have to be sent."

"Still, please!"

Kuze ran away, saying just that with a smile.

It was that night that Shuichiro Kuze disappeared with "Senden".

++++++++++

When he got out of the transport car, a warm wind caressed Zenjo's cheeks.

The policeman raised his face and smelled a faint smell on the wind. He was delving into the battlefield with "Purgatory". He smelled like sticky, burnt blood.

According to the map, the back alley where the discovery of the men in black was reported was divided into T-shapes. The unit split into three hands, blocking all exits. The most important thing to prevent was that those in black clothes escaped. They had to make sure to capture or neutralize them, even if they took some risks.

At that moment, in front of Zenjo, the entrance to the back alley was black and open.

"Over there."

At random, Zenjo entered an alley.

The back alley was narrow and dark. Polyethylene buckets and outdoor units blocked the street, and the walls of the building that approached from the left and right blocked the sunlight. If one in black clothes came out of the shadows and emitted a flame of extraordinary skill, there would be no way around it. It could be said that this was also a dead place.

Still, Zenjo was not afraid and advanced slowly.

The process suddenly stopped.

Shinohara, who was following Zenjo, said groaning.

"What is the situation? What is this?"

One in black clothes was dead, as if his back was against the wall of the building.

Wide-eyed and in a pool of blood. The burned right hand was soaked in the blood clot, burning and producing black smoke. This was probably the cause of the smell.

In the first place, it was a mystery from the initial discovery report.

It was said that several of the black clothes were fighting. At the time, there were no "Scepter 4" units deployed nearby, and since the Hiiragi incident, the police had been told to stay away from the men in black. Most likely it was a fight between those in black, but in the current situation where they were hiding in a scattered way, he did not think they would do such an outstanding act.

So who was fighting the ones in black?

Zenjo, who was inspecting the corpse in black, said the answer.

"It's Kuze."

"What…?!"

"It is pierced all over the body. This is due to 'Senden'."

Saying that, Zenjo stood up.

Since that night, Kuze's whereabouts have been known to be uncertain. Kuze's legal status was the same as an "Illegal Strain" since he was fired from "Scepter 4". They had to capture him and put a skill suppressor on him, but there weren't enough personnel to track him down in "Scepter 4".

Kuze killed the ones in black and, perhaps, he was still hiding in that place.

"But why is Kuze here?"

Shinohara said that, and suddenly closed his mouth.

Someone slowly emerged from the darkness behind the alley.

It was also one of black clothes.

"Oh, fufu...!"

His face was distorted with anger and hatred, and blood was pouring from his entire body to the point that his black suit was still drenched in red and black. Legs wobbly, the one in black slowly approached.

"Gah!"

The tip of the saber protruded from his chest.

The saber was instantly pulled out and the one in black collapsed to his knees.

Zenjo spoke the name from behind him, standing there.

"Hekireki."

"Oh, Zenjo-san!"

Dressed in a dark green raincoat, Kuze smiled at his face, which had been bathed in blood, and called out to Zenjo cheerfully.

"No, I'm lucky! I can't get it all of a sudden!"

"What are you doing?"

"What?"

Eyes blinking, Kuze looked around him, and mysteriously at himself.

"What's wrong? It's not a job. I got fired from 'Scepter 4'."

He shook "Senden" to spill the blood.

"But if you look for the black clothes, 'Scepter 4' will come, right? Maybe Zenjo-san is there! I thought it was good."

While he smiled, Kuze,

"I never thought we could meet at once! I'm lucky! So…"

He crouched down and pointed the tip of "Senden".

"Let's go."

Before Zenjo thought of anything, Kuze was kicking the ground.

The glow of the blue genie was diffusely reflected in the narrow back alley. He bounced off the ground, scaled walls, emergency stairs, he went up, down, left and right, and hit everything, drawing an unpredictable trajectory like a pinball.

Shinohara, who was behind Zenjo, couldn't even follow Kuze with his eyes. But Zenjo reacted.

It was also an action before thinking. The thick blade of "Hekireki" flipped up as the wind scattered.

The dark green raincoat split in half.

Kuze was no longer there. He twisted in midair, tossed his raincoat, and landed on the ground.

Zenjo kept "Hekireki" jumping and stopped in an unprotected posture. Looking at his empty torso, a fierce smile appeared on Kuze's mouth.

(I caught you!), he thought.

With extraordinary power in his legs, Kuze tried to strike a stroke of luck.

He felt the shock in his chest.

"Eh?"

He lost the strength of his leg. His soles did not separate as if they were stuck to the ground. Interestingly, he looked under his feet and saw a saber thrust into his chest.

"Ah?"

When he coughed, a blood clot spilled from his lips.

Kuze slowly looked at Zenjo.

Zenjo was flipping "Hekireki", with just his right hand.

Before he knew it, he held another saber in his left hand. That pierced through Kuze's chest.

"Oh, wow...!"

Kuze distorted the edge of his mouth when he heard Shinohara make a panicky voice.

"Hey, Shinohara. It's a pay cut to have a saber stolen from you."

When Zenjo drew the saber, Kuze sank into place.

The blood was overflowing. The color of his face was white and transparent. It was clear to everyone that it was no longer useful.

Still, Kuze was somewhat satisfied. He looked at Zenjo and laughed weakly.

"After all... you are amazing, Zenjo-san. I couldn't get over you."

"Kuze."

There was no anger or sadness in Zenjo's expression, just confusion.

"What did you want to do?"

"What?"

Kuze shook his shoulders and laughed. Eventually the laughter turned into a cough and the exhaled blood created a series of stains in the alley.

"I wanted to. A real and potentially deadly battle with Zenjo-san."

Breathing out, Kuze fell onto his side.

"It was fun."

That was the last word from him.

Zenjo, holding a bloody saber, shot a confused look at Kuze's corpse.

[burnedbyshoto]

that final phone call

— Miruko is one tough rabbit, but eventually even the toughest of people need a helping hand. — 

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pairing: usagiyama rumi (miruko) x fem!reader

warnings: angst, cursing, blood

word count: 5,836

a/n: this is for the bnharem angst april collaboration!!! here for the best girl miruko. I would die for her and yuh, im so tired its 5:40 am and I just finished this LMAOOO and its scheduled for 9am posting. lets hope for the best, enjoy bbs. angst masterlist here.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

Riiing.

“Pick up…”

Riiing.

“Don’t ignore this…”

Riiingggg.

“P-Please pick up,” Rumi mumbled into the phone, her head spinning, her breathing weak and faint. “Pick up the phone, y/n…”

Riiing.

“Please…”

Riiing.

Rii—

“H-Hello?” your tired voice answered, and just like that, warmth flooded Rumi’s chest. She had to resist the urge from cringing; there was no reason to cringe, she berated herself, accept your feelings Rumi. “If this a prank call, I swear—”

“Y/n,” Rumi finally whispered, the energy that always existed within her fading quickly.

She didn’t need to be in the same room with you; she already knew what you were doing. How your back stiffened at the sound of her voice and how your stomach clenched, remembering what had happened two months ago.

“Why are you calling?” you said so emotionlessly that it was a sucker punch to Rumi’s stomach. A sharp reminder of what she did to you, of what had happened because she was weak. 

A ragged breath escaped Rumi’s lips while she closed her eyes, her head laying against the cold concrete, listening to the lull of the line.

“I needed to hear your voice…”

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

One and a half years ago.

Usagiyama Rumi, better known as the Number Five Pro Hero Miruko was — to put it lightly — a powerhouse.

Known for her almost brash entrances, sturdy legs, and quick temper, it made sense as to why she wasn’t known as the Bunny Hero. She wasn’t soft enough to be a bunny, nor was she meek or gentle. No, Rumi was a hurricane of energy. She was fast, vibrant, and deadly. She was unmatched in her field of expertise, and she had no problem demanding people know that about her. She dived into her work, no matter how big or how small she handled everything with her fullest capability.

She was obsessed with her job because she always had something to prove.

But even a workaholic such as herself needed a break — or at least time outside of her uniform.

It was nearing midnight, and Rumi was strolling the dark streets of Hiroshima, her hands shoved into her jacket pockets. At the same time, she observed the neighborhoods she protected. It was a Saturday night, meaning that street life was quite busy. After working for two months straight without a single day off, her office staff had forced a two-day vacation on her. Still, it didn’t stop her from scouting these blocks for any sign of criminal activity. 

But she stilled when she heard loud arguing many alleys ahead, and with an excited smirk, Rumi took off.

It took her approximately thirty seconds to travel an entire block and into an alleyway where a large and burly man was arguing with a small woman. Rumi stilled, her eyebrow quirking in her confusion, what was going on?

“You have to let me in!” you insist again, your nose scrunching in your annoyance, your chest puffing out, and your eyes blazing. “I have reason to believe that there is a drug-pushing gang in this very club!”

Rumi shifted closer to you, and this now apparent bouncer who was looking less than impressed with you. A drug-pushing gang? She had been trying to find intel on that gang but had been coming up dry, she wanted to know more, to find out more. It seemed that it was her lucky day that she wasn’t relaxing at home because it seemed that you had information she could use. It was ballsy of you to show up at a hideout with such demands… she liked that. Rumi’s eyes looked over at you, and her smirk turned into a grin.

You wore a charcoal grey pantsuit, a white shirt underneath the opened blazer with the first two buttons undone. Her eyes noticed the scruffed up short heels you wore, and the way that your hair was in a chaotic bun. How amusing.

“Oh yeah, little miss nosey? And who the hell do you think you are exactly?” he sneered, taking an intimidating step forward.

The bouncer was easily twice your height, and Rumi watched you, expecting you to take a submissive step back, but was surprised to see you hold your ground.

“The investigative journalist for The Daily Hiro!” you inform back, your eyes daring him without a single bit of nervousness in their blaze. 

The bouncer opened his mouth, obviously ready to kick your poor journalist ass when another voice from the alleyway spoke up.

“She is not an investigative journalist,” the voice clipped, evidently very annoyed with your words. “She’s an intern. She makes coffee runs and edits my works, ignore her.”

Rumi’s eyes shifted on an angry reporter she knew by name. Hirano Naoko. A ruthless reporter that she often found herself at odds with because he didn’t agree with her... enthusiastic approach to being a hero.

A pained yelp escaped your lips when he grabbed your bicep and pulled you to him.

To an average person, there would be no way to hear the conversation between the reporter and the intern. Still, Rumi was not an ordinary person, after all.

“I thought I told you to take witness’s statements,” he hissed pulling you away into the darkness. “Not stir up fucking trouble! Drop the fucking gang shit before you get wrapped up in things you don’t want to get caught in.”

“But you don’t understand Hirano-sama, I saw—”

“I could give two shits about what you saw! That doesn’t mean you get to do whatever you want! This isn’t some fucking cop show, grow the fuck up. You’re an intern, not a reporter!”

Rumi figured she had enough.

“Hold on!” she yelled, her voice bouncing off the walls of the alleyway, and all three heads snapped her way. Her arms folded across her chest while she tilted her head. There was nothing like the way all three eyes widening when they recognized the famed Rabbit Hero standing before them with a feral grin and civilian clothes. “I want to see if this intern is right, open the door, bouncer.”

The bouncer was like a mountain to the Rabbit.

Tall, muscular, and frightening in this dim and yellow light.

“M-Miruko!” he stammered, his fingers searching for something, and Rumi lowered her stance. Was he trying to inform them that she was here? “What a pleasure seeing you here!”

Then she heard it, the familiar noise of shuffling plastic. He was trying to alert someone.

In an instant, she was before him, her heel slamming onto his chin and sending him flying, knocked out cold.

“This is why we wear heels,” she snickered, watching the mountain of a man crumble to his face. How weak, pathetic. Her attention turned to you, the intern who looked both ready to pass out from this scare and vibrating with excitement. “Intern, you promise those villains are in there?!”

Your eyes flutter, and Rumi takes you all in. Strands of hair fall over your eyes, your painted lips pulled into a large ‘o’ from your shock, but there was that confidence in your eyes that made her lick her lips in anticipation.

“On my life.”

Rumi snickered, now that was an answer she wanted to hear.

And as a one-woman show goes, she flung open the door and, in under twenty minutes, single-handedly brought down the most extensive drug unit within Hiroshima. She had defeated them all, leaving her with significant cuts on her cheeks and arms, a fat lip, a broken heel, and bruises on her toes. But damn did she feel alive.

Rumi watched with a broad grin when the twenty-three men were put into police cars, their injuries far worse than her own. How amazing was that! Months of worrying disappearing on a leisurely night stroll! She couldn’t have done it without… her mouth frowned.

She did it with help?

Her eyes flew over to you, an intern, talking to the cops with a whole file that seemed to come from nowhere with incriminating evidence against this group. Rumi shoved off the medics that were applying more useless bandages on her and walked over to you.

“Oi, intern!” she called, and both you and the police officer turned around. Thankfully, the police officer was either done interviewing you or smart enough to leave once Rumi approached with her trademark grin. “You did good work out there.”

“Miruko-san, oh, um, thank you!” you smiled in return, bowing in greeting when she stopped in front of you. “Congratulations on closing that case!”

“How did you crack them? I’ve been working on finding them slip up for months now, but you figured it out?” Rumi asked, her arms folding and head tilting. “What did you see that I missed?”

Rumi could hear your heart stop and watched the way your eyes widened significantly. “O-Oh, well, I don’t know… I guess I have a knack of being at the right place at the right time?” you laughed, rubbing the back of your head. “To be honest, it was probably more important to me than it was to you… so I able to crack it before you?”

“What makes you say that?” Rumi asks, unsure if she should be offended or not. “Are you trying to say that I’m not working hard enough?!”

“Oh my god, no!” you panic, your hands out in a motion of retreat, your head shaking quickly. Rumi wanted to open her mouth and grill you for answers, but there was something about you that made her hesitate, that made her still. You shrug your shoulders, your hands clasping together. “My future career was riding on this case. The company thinks I’m a nutjob, so if I could prove my ‘conspiracy theories’ were right, I could finally be appointed a job as a journalist!”

Rumi hummed, taking a step closer to you, enjoying the way that your heart sped up when she did so, her head tilting in her amusement, “Well, you did what you had to do, congrats.”

“T-Thank you!” you brighten at the praise, and Rumi does everything she can to not throw an arm around you.

“Usagiyama Rumi,” she introduced herself to you, her hand extended.

You stared at her hand as if she was some goddess instead of a person. But that fire that had interested her well before that erupted back in your eyes. You extended your hand, grasping hers firmly.

“Y/l/n y/n,” you grin, and it’s at this very moment that Rumi solidifies that she indeed likes you.

You were a quiet fire, unlike her own raging one, but she was no idiot. You were something that would burn the entire world down because no one would see you coming, and she liked it.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

Six months later.

“RUMI!” your voice shrieks from the kitchen. “HAVE YOU SEEN MY LAPTOP?!”

Rumi was soaking in a bath right now, her eyes closed while absorbing the warm water. Two weeks of straight and intense battles had left her body a bit beat up, but hey, she was currently in her girlfriend’s apartment presently being taught how to relax. 

Yes, shocking, her girlfriend’s apartment.

It took a solid week for Rumi to realize that she had feelings for her, something that took a while for her to sort out because she thought she was mentally ill for a second. Nevertheless, her good friend Hawks laughed in her face about how she was not dying but instead just having romantic feelings for you. After that, it took two seconds for her to confess and three minutes for you to say yes. 

It was very new for both of you, but Rumi was very pleased with where everything was going at the moment. Dating certainly wasn’t something on her radar for years now, but for some reason, that fire that burned through your soul was enough to pique her interest.

“Check under the bed!” she called back, listening to your feet shuffling against the wooden floor to get to the bedroom.

“Aha, I found it!”

Rumi cracked open a single eye to watch you waddle into the bathroom with the laptop in your hands and a wide grin on your face.

“So, I’m a junior journalist now, nothing too big or fancy, but… I think I have something outstanding in the making!” you excitedly inform her, throwing open the laptop while sinking to the floor next to the tub. 

“I thought you said bath time was a no-work zone,” Rumi teases her lips perking and her red eyes drilling into your own. 

An embarrassed look flashed across your face, but as you always did, you stood your ground and challenged her.

“I can give my information to a hero who wants it then!” you huff, moving to close the electronic device. “Like you care about my rule, anyways!”

“What a brat!” Rumi barks with laughter, her shoulders rolling in the warm and murky water. Her eyes watched the way her long white hair gently flowed in the water, something you had pointed out looked like moonbeams one night. It had been stupidly stupid, and she would forever remember the way you curled in a ball at your embarrassment. “Tell me!”

Snickering, you nodded, your fingers moving quickly against your keyboard while you searched for the document.

“I have information on the soon to be most dangerous crime group out there,” you inform her, your voice taking on a serious note when you look up at her. “Name it, they’ve done it, and worse yet, they’re a cultish family.”

Rumi felt a chill run down her spine at that information. That wasn’t a title you gave out quickly, nor with such confidence. Together the two of you had taken down four villain groups, and some of them had been nasty fuckers. 

“What’s their name?”

“They go by the name Shinseina,” you inform her, your knees pulling up to your chest, the laptop balanced on your knees to show Rumi your document. “I got one tip about two months ago, and that’s all I’ve managed to find on them.”

Rumi stared at the document.

‘Organization Name: Shinseina

Symbol: A Black Sun

Number of Members: ???

Warnings: ???

Leaders: ???

Location of Base: HQ thought to be in Hiroshima, the possibility of there being more is very high

Crimes: Quirk canceling drugs, quirk enhancing drugs, murder, gang affiliation, rape, robbery, theft, illegal quirk usage, money laundering, and 12 more.

Number of Heroes Killed: 16+.’

Two months of hard work, and that was all you had managed.

Rumi didn’t even need to use her quirk to hear your hammering heart, this was obviously upsetting you.

Sighing, she pulled her wrinkled hand out of the tub to motion for you to place the laptop away, her eyes holding yours when you do as commanded. “Come here, loser.”

“That’s rude,” you grumble, but still, you slide to the edge of the tub and watch Rumi.

Rumi sits up in the tub, her lips pressing against yours in a sweet embrace.

Your eyes flutter close at the feeling of her soft and smooth lips against yours. The slight coldness of her skin from just sitting in this water, sending a pleasurable shiver down your spine. Rumi chuckled, and the next thing you knew, she was dragging you in.

Rumi relished in the way your pitched screams echoed off the walls, your denial of being brought into the water was useless. Eventually, she pulled your fully clothed body into the lukewarm water with her, and your cries of disapproval faded into beautiful laughter.

Your cheeks burned while Rumi’s fur stood up in triumphant victory.

“I told ya, squirt, I don’t lose.”

You slammed your head against her collarbone, moaning loudly in your defeat, “I hate you!!!”

“Sure, you do!”

Rumi could only dodge out of your way when you went in for a weak attack. It was okay though, she thought, teasing you again for your weak punch. She would always protect you.

Her eyes rapidly blinked when those thoughts fully sank into her mind.

Excuse me?

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

Six months later.

“An obstacle course?” you repeated, your eyes looking at the bouncy house that was apparently a place for a date. While you pursed your lips, Rumi looked back at her friends who seemed excited. “I’m sorry, but in what world do you expect me — a journalist — to be able to keep up with you Heroes?

Rumi once again turned back to look at Hawks and his intern, who both seem ready to compete. So she turned back around to face you and nodded in egotistical confidence. Your mouth dropped when she finished nodding.

“The only time I exercise is when I chase after people who run away from me!” You cry, obviously not at all prepared to compete against people who practically worked out for living!

“Don’t worry, they won’t use their quirks, and this is a team obstacle course!” Rumi laughs, her arms flexing to show you that there was nothing to worry about. She would make sure you both won even if that meant she would have to carry you to the finish line. “I won’t let you get hurt,”

She knew you wouldn’t like the idea of it; after all, you hated losing. But you were not one to back away from a challenge, and Rumi loved that about you.

“Fine,” you huff, turning towards the obstacle course.

With a loud hoot, Rumi bounced after you, an arm wrapping tightly around your shoulders.

“This’ll be fun.”

The objective of the course was to get across some pretty insane things together. There was a maze, obstacles to climb over, crawl over, powerfully slam through, all leading up to a freakishly tall wall to go down a slide, which was the finish line. Rumi was brimming with excitement, if she had to launch you across the course, she would. No way in hell was she going to let Hawks of all people beat her.

Shoes came off, and Rumi bounced on her toes at the entrance. She was shoulder to shoulder with both you and Hawks, and her eyes were on the finish line. She was going to win with you, that was the truth.

The employee working the festival stand sighed, staring at the four of you and getting an okay from his coworker.

“You both need to be at the final obstacle at the very end, but only one person needs to cross the finish line to be the winner,” he explained, and his hand raised for a countdown. “Ready?”

Rumi turned toward you, her hand reaching out and grabbing yours and placing a reassuring kiss on the back of your hand.

“Set.”

“Stop being so gay, Rumi, how embarrassing,” Hawks teased to her right.

“Suck my lesbian ass, pigeon.”

“Go.”

Rumi took off instantly, tugging you along with her, and before she knew it, the two of you were on the course. It was actually going better than she was expecting, you weren’t as incapable as you thought. You were able to keep up with a bit of struggle, but Hawks had smacked into a wall earlier, so she wasn’t concerned.

Obstacle after obstacle, the two of you conquered until you reached the wall.

Rumi looked back and noticed that Hawks and his intern were still stuck on the second to last course. That maze had been pretty bullshit.

“I’ll climb first!” Rumi explained, and you agreed with a pant.

Rumi turned back to the wall and began climbing the poorly reinforced steps that were there. It was obviously constructed to be able to withstand a child’s footing and not anyone over the age of seven. So as it was already stupidly tall, it was a struggle to climb.

Rumi was almost to the top when she looked down at you. You were a few steps down, your face twisted in your attempt to concentrate, your arms wobbling under the strain of trying to support yourself. Her attention snapped over to Hawks, who seemed to be scaling the wall, and her eyes widened. 

She needed to win.

She scampered up a few more steps before a cry came out.

“R-Rumi!”

Her focus slammed back to you and the way that your fingers slipped from the grasp, and in slow motion, you tumbled. It was without a doubt that this fall wouldn’t have hurt you, not a chance in hell would you have been injured, but Rumi’s instincts took over, and before she knew it, her arms were wrapped around you.

The trampoline bottom crashed onto her back, and you slammed onto her stomach.

Rumi had caught you.

She groaned at the discomfort caused by this action but lay still her hands stroking your cheek. Your eyes were wide, staring up at your girlfriend in complete shock. 

“Are you okay?” Rumi asks in a rare moment of softness. “You weren’t hurt, right?”

“Why did you jump after me?!” you yell that amusement she loved so much burning brightly in your gaze. “I wouldn’t have been hurt, you dork!”

“I promised I wouldn’t let you get hurt,” Rumi insists, rubbing her nose against yours. 

Once again, she can hear your hammering heart, and it relaxes her.

“But you let Hawks win!”

Rumi blinks at the realization, and suddenly the wheels in her head are turning rapidly.

“Would you ladies mind moving? The champions are ready to visit other stands unless you don’t wanna hang with us anymore!” Hawks calls out to both Rumi and you.

Rumi watches silently when you push off her, pressing a grateful kiss to her lips before responding back to the Pro Hero. 

“Oh, Hawks! Has Rumi told you about the new detail about the Shinseina case I’m working on?” you called off, skipping to catch up with her friend that she had allowed to win.

Rumi gave up a victory for you… she threw it away to save you from nothing… she thought that there were things about you that she loved. It didn’t sit well in her chest, and she watched with a twitching nose when you exited the course with that captivating bright smile. 

She couldn’t be in love… no, there was no way!

Love made you weak! Love made you insignificant! Love was a demonstration that you weren’t strong enough on your own, and to Rumi — no, to Miruko — that wasn’t okay.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

Four months later.

Rumi at the edge of your bed, her head down, ears wilted, nose twitching, and face clouded.

What the fuck was wrong with her?

“Bunny?” your tired voice called out in the silence of the night.

The noise surprised Rumi. It had so quiet until then, and it had completely caught her off guard. Her! The Pro Hero with some of the best ears around! Who could hear the quietest things meters away!

“Are you okay?”

Rumi wasn’t okay.

“I pulled a kick today,” she whispered to you, her hands shifting into fists on her lap. She shook with rage, her body trembling like a leaf.

“Is that a… a bad thing?” you yawn, shifting on the bed and finding her body, relaxing at the heat she gives off.

“Yes.” Rumi snaps, her body stiffening against your touch. “Yes, it’s obviously a bad thing.”

“Why?”

Why?

Rumi’s eyes concentrate on her bruised thighs, her frown increasing. How could she tell you the truth? How could she say that you were her weakness?

For years she had been a headstrong hero, someone who didn’t think but reacted. She lived her life to the fullest every day, and she gave it her all every chance she got. It applied to her social life and her work life, especially her work life. She wasn’t one to laze about; she would die on the job if she had to, and her opponents always knew that, but lately, things had changed. 

She found herself praying to some god about making sure she lived through these battles so she could go home to you. She prayed that someone else would find the Shinseina and bring them down so she wouldn’t be taken down. Being weak wasn’t a problem; after all, she was motherfucking Miruko, so she was used to building on her weaknesses, but this was different. No matter what she did, she couldn’t love you any less. Fuck, did she love you.

She loved the way your eyes narrowed whenever you interviewed people. She loved how you were quickly gaining traction in the media for being the best investigative journalist ever. She was so in love with you, and that’s where the problem was. Her love for you was so pure, so genuine, she wanted to give you the fairy tale ending. She tried to think before she acted, and villains were starting to notice.

Villains were threatening to hurt you, and Rumi was trapped.

“We need to break up.”

You weren’t expecting that, not in the slightest.

“W-What?”

“I don’t want to be with you anymore,” Rumi lies, and she feels you move away from her body, and it takes everything in her to not cry.

“Why not?” you ask, your voice steely smooth.

“You were access to the information I wanted. My office team is ass, and you were always getting your hands dirty with cases I needed to solve. But it seems that you’re nowhere near close to figuring out the last group I care about,” Rumi wills herself to say, her ears moving back up to show that she wasn’t lying. “I pretended for a year to be in love with you, but I can’t anymore.”

“Y-You’re not a great liar,” you state, challenging her false words.

Rumi loved it when you challenged her, but there was no time for that. So with a tight chest and flaring red eyes, she snapped around towards you, lips pulled into a snarl.

“Do you think I’m lying, y/l/n? I stuck around because you made me stronger, but now? You’re no better than the dirt on my shoes. Pathetic, useless, and a disgrace. I don’t need you anymore, so I’m cutting this off because I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

Standing up, Rumi storms over to the door, ready to leave.

She wishes she could say that it ended there, but it didn’t. Not even close to being done.

You spat acid at her, and she returned it at the same toxicity. Over and over again, the two of you verbally battled. False emotions taking the better of you both until you were in her face, tears streaming down your face, fingers shaking in her face.

“You are a fucking coward, Usagiyama,” you sneer, the effect only dramatized by your red eyes and deep eye bags. “Get over your stupid fucking commitment issues, being apart of a team i-is not weak! I’m here to make you stronger, not for you to want to be a one-man squad again! You’ll die alone that way!”

“I know being apart of a team isn’t weak,” Rumi states, her heart long frozen over. “I just don’t want to be apart of yours anymore.”

A humorless laugh escapes your mouth, and you shake your head, “Don’t show your face here again, if I see you, I’ll call the cops.”

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

“— and Miruko, you’ll enter first. You’ll be alone for about five minutes if that’s okay.”

Rumi looked up, her mind freed from her daydream about what was happening.

It was two months since she had broken up with you, and things had only taken a turn for the worse. She threw herself into work. Overusing her quirk in ways that over-injured villains who were petty thieves, or underusing it in ways that she kept landing herself in the hospital. To put it simply, the rabbit hero was a mess. 

“Yeah, got it,” she nodded.

Things with the Shinseina ended up being brought to the light finally by you. You had noticed a slight clue in your office that had been undetected and ended up having you thrown into the Witness Protection Program due to the severity of the secret. But still, you provided an updated and completed information:

‘Organization Name: Shinseina

Symbol: A Black Sun

Number of Members: 237 thugs and lower cult members, 57 leaders and mid cult members, 12 senior members of the cult, 1 leader.

Warnings: All have dangerous quirks that can be used for assassination.

Leaders: Hirano Naoko

Location of Base: HQ - Hiroshima. Other sites detailed in the secondary report.

Crimes: Quirk canceling drugs, quirk enhancing drugs, murder, gang affiliation, rape, robbery, theft, illegal quirk usage, money laundering, and 12 more.

Number of Heroes Killed: 84’

“Hey, you get one call on this, we don’t want them finding anything on us in case we fail,” the leader spoke to her. Miruko breathed in deeply, accepting the cellphone that was given to her.

“Got it, thank you,” she muttered, and with that, they headed out.

Five minutes, that’s all it was.

Five minutes for Miruko, the Rabbit Hero, was nothing. Especially when she was zipping through room to room, taking out cult member after cult member. Everything was a blur, and she could only see her streaming hair following her like moonbeams in her wake.

Moonbeams…

Rumi thought of you, your face when you were happy when you were sad, and that night you broke up. Her lip trembled when her foot connected with someone’s chin sending them flying. Panting harshly, she stood in a room full of unconscious cult members. She had three minutes before backup would storm through the door, but which door to—

“SHIT!”

She just felt the impact. An intense tingle, similar to a severe electric shock coursing through her body. Rumi realized then that thousands upon thousands of circuits have just been broken, and it was burning her up. The heat was nothing she could have ever imagined, festering strongly in her bleeding wound. But there was still no pain when her foot connected with the man’s throat, instantly knocking him out. 

He had snuck up on her, his quirk concealing him even from her rabbit ears.

Rumi whimpered when she fell to the ground, blood pouring from her wound despite her best efforts. He had managed to land seven blows on her, and the world was darkening quickly.

Three more minutes until they came, but she could call them now…

When Rumi collapsed on the floor, her vision swam when she pulled out the phone, a warm and sticky puddle forming underneath her, staining everything that was white about her. Rumi’s fingers punching in the number she wanted to call.

Riiing.

“Pick up…”

Riiing.

“Don’t ignore this…”

Riiingggg.

“P-Please pick up,” Rumi mumbled into the phone, her head spinning, her breathing weak and faint. “Pick up the phone, y/n…”

Riiing.

“Please…”

Riiing.

Rii—

“H-Hello?” your tired voice answered, and just like that, warmth flooded Rumi’s chest. She had to resist the urge from cringing; there was no reason to cringe, she berated herself, accept your feelings Rumi. “If this a prank call, I swear—”

“Y/n,” Rumi finally whispered, the energy that always existed within her fading quickly.

She didn’t need to be in the same room with you; she already knew what you were doing. How your back stiffened at the sound of her voice and how your stomach clenched, remembering what had happened two months ago.

“Why are you calling?” you said so emotionlessly that it was a sucker punch to Rumi’s stomach. A sharp reminder of what she did to you, of what had happened because she was weak. 

A ragged breath escaped Rumi’s lips while she closed her eyes, her head laying against the cold concrete, listening to the lull of the line.

“I needed to hear your voice…” 

“Do you even know what time it is?” you almost growl, and that fighting spirit sends a warm feeling in Rumi’s chest. “What in the fuck do you need?”

“It’s two a.m., I know that, but I need you right now,” Rumi staggers into the mic, your spirit bleeding through the call. 

The line goes silent for a bit, and Rumi’s eyes feel heavier with every passing second. She wants to tell you she loves you, please give her the chance to say it.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t go back to you anymore,” you curtly respond. “You made sure of that.”

How ironic, Rumi thought, because now she would never go back to you anymore… never…

“I know,” she hoarsely responds back, her mouth trembling and tears slowly pouring from her eyes. It hurt so much, how horrible it was to go out because of stab wounds. Of all ways to go out, she never expected it to be like this, nor did she expect it to be done with regret in her actions. Because fuck, she regretted how she ended it with you. She regretted letting you go. She thought of your face and how you looked the first time she admitted she loved you, of how dorky you were for your first anniversary. How your eyes glowed whenever you corned the people you were investigating with something that seemed straight from a story. “I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry, y/n…”

“Are… are you okay, Usagiyama?”

“I love you…” she whispered before the phone fell from her fingers, crashing onto the bloodied floor.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

You stared at the phone, confused. 

Frowning you placed it down, the call had ended, but why was she calling you?

How this stupid bunny pissed you off sometimes. Turning your phone back on, you went to recent calls and recalled the number she had reached you on.

Riiing.

Riiing.

Riiing.

“Sorry, but the number you’ve tried to call is no longer available, please try again. Thank you!”

Beep.

You frowned a pit forming in your stomach, but you put your phone away, and for some reason, you couldn’t fall back asleep that night. 

It was eight in the morning when your phone blew up, and with a heavy hand, you grabbed your phone and looked at the billowing messages. And at the headliner, your stomach dropped to your toes, and bile climbed to your mouth.

‘RABBIT HERO: MIRUKO KILLED IN ACTION DURING Shinseina RAID!: It’s being reported that she was stabbed several times while alone, and while she was given a phone for backup, she used it on a call they cant trace.’

You couldn’t read it anymore, your heart hammering erratically while a blood-curdling scream escaped your mouth.

She was gone, she had called you last night to say goodbye, and you didn’t give her the time of day. She was gone, and you would never get the chance to convince her that having a life partner wasn’t weak.

Usagiyama Rumi was gone, and no amount of hoping, praying, or crying was going to bring her back to you or to redo that final phone call.

[hognosesnakehalloweenfest]

Oct 11: the wishing well

By Teahound (@tea-with-veth on tumblr, Teahound on ao3) CW: Death (non-graphic)

It was raining the night the trader found the boy.

He was a wandering sort, the kind of itinerant merchant some call rootless and others free, and most agree is a conman of the worst sort. It was springtime, when the storms are bad, and he was struggling up a tiny mountain road, so narrow that he was afraid that his cart’s wheels would slip over the edge and send himself and his donkey falling into a ravine below. He had been on his way to an isolated hamlet far up the mountain when the thunderstorm had rolled in, and now it was growing hard to see. In the distance he could hear a distant rumbling, which, to his nervous imagination, sounded like an avalanche preparing to strike him down.

But no falling rocks came, and eventually the rain began to clear.

He shivered, thinking longingly of the warm tent and campfire he could set up on his arrival, and the delicious rabbit stew the old woman who ran the village would make for him. He was one of the few visitors to this tiny town and every spring and fall he would bring with him many treats and necessities for their coming months (at twice the price) and news from the world beyond (for free). He thought it balanced out in the end.

He was so lost in his daydream that he did not notice the boy standing beside the road until he had almost pulled up beside him. He reigned in his donkey with a start; it was in fact, a very small boy, dressed in a long linen shirt, standing forlornly in the rain, his palms turned towards the sky.

“Hello,” he said, with as much cheer as he could while being cold and damp. He tipped his tall hat in the child’s direction, shaking water off the brim (for all that he was a cheat, he was polite). “The weather's pretty rough, isn’t it? Are you lost? I’m heading up to the village; if that’s where you’re from, I could give you a lift.”

The boy slowly tipped down his chin, palms still raised upwards, and the trader felt as if a chilly hand had wrapped around his spine. The boy’s eyes were dark, like pieces of eclipse-darkness, tar-blackness, witching-hour, were stuck in them. They looked without seeing. It was worse than a corpse.

“The rain won’t come,” the boy said, in a whisper.

“The rain,” the trader began, and felt his voice break in his throat. He was not a superstitious man, but he was not a fool either. “It is raining, little one.”

“The crops will die,” the boy said, sibilant and cold.

The trader swallowed and glanced up at the road ahead, slick with rain. It fell in his eyes like tears, and when he looked back, the child was gone.

For a moment he entertained the idea of turning around, going back to the nearest light-drenched city, finding a tavern, and drinking until he forgot this moment. But evening was drawing close, and the already treacherous journey would be deadly in the dark. So, he clicked a go-on-go-on to his donkey and together they trundled the last mile up the mountain.

The lanterns were lit when he arrived at the squat mud-and-log homes of the village. It was not a large settlement, just a square collection of houses and a tiny church gathered around a well. Though he was on an airy mountaintop, the fog clung close and made the place feel like a small box to be trapped in.

The people of the village came flocking out at the sound of his cart. He saw the children, running barefoot over the rocks towards him, clamoring with excitement, and could not help but flinch-- empty eyes seem to haunt him in every face just out of sight.

The leader of the village was an old woman with a cane shaped like a snake. It felt, on sunny days, like a funny joke, a fighting aid for a harmless old lady. In the shadows of the rainy evening, the trader thought it sinister.

“Welcome,” the old woman said. “Come in to the fire, will you?”

The trader let a youth put away his donkey, and followed the old woman into the cabin that was hers. “Thank you, mother,” he said, as she put a bowl of broth into his hands.

“What news, child?” she asked.

He sipped the broth. “There are rumors that there is going to be a war. The king will demand that every town contribute soldiers.”

“Will he come here?”

“If he is desperate.” he paused and added, “kings are often desperate.”

The old woman frowned. “Our village needs the men to work in the quarry and in our fields. Without them we may starve this winter.”

“I have no answers, mother. Only bad news.”

The old woman sighed and refilled his bowl. “All we can do is wish.”

For a moment he thought to mention the boy on the roadside, but no-- If he spoke it, it might be real. He could not do it.

That night he slept at the old woman’s house, and this is what happened--

He woke up and his heart was beating fast in his chest.

Straining his eyes and ears into the darkness, he heard only silence and saw only faint silver moonlight. The night was silent; the rain had stopped.

It came to him, with a terrible certainty he could not understand, that the sound that had woken him had been a woman’s scream.

The corners of the house were dark as a dead child’s eyes.

Slowly, he pulled himself up from his place beside the fire and found his way to the window. The old woman’s house was one of the few with glass windows; he himself had carefully brought the glass up the mountain, and had charged an exorbitant amount for its delivery. Through the pane he saw a strange gathering; the people of the village, all around, more shadow than human. The weeping wind rustled among them, sighed through them, tugged at their clothes and made them monsters for seconds between blinks. They had come together in the center of the village, around the old well, and with them stood the old woman of the village. She was saying something, but the trader could not hear it.

As the old woman spoke, one of the men of the village carried forward a little girl. The trader recognized her; one of the little ones who had suffered a mishap among the dangerous stoney paths of the mountains and had ended up with a lame leg for her troubles. On fair-weather days he had once or twice seen her skipping along on rough-hewed crutches, dark pigtails flying behind her. Now she looked asleep.

He watched as the old woman laid a hand on the girl’s head, and the crowd sighed and murmured like rain on a tin roof.

And the man holding the little girl, as if he was gently laying her into a soft bed, put the girl in the well.

She slipped through his hands and fell, and the trader stood frozen at the window and thought it goes forever, as if the thought did not belong to him.

And the scream did not end for so long.

The people of the village sighed and murmured and turned away and the trader lay down by the fire and his heart rang in his chest like a double-quick drum and he felt like the floor had given way beneath him and left him scrambling for purchase.

And the next morning he asked the old woman of the village, “is the water from the well good?”

And the old woman said, “that is a wishing well, child.”

The trader sold off his wares and made his excuses, and that night he left the village and camped on the roadside, because he thought he would die if he saw, out of the corner of his eye, the looming shape of the village well. Every time he saw it he felt as if the ground was reaching out to swallow him up.

So that night he lit a fire, hitched his donkey to a tree, and said a prayer.

That night he woke again, and there was a hand laid on his arm. He looked up, and the little girl stared down at him with void eyes and whispered, “the king will come and take us all away.”

The little boy took his other hand, and told him in the breath of dust, “the rain won’t come.”

“I am haunted,” the trader told them.

The little boy and the little girl took his hands and brought him back to the village, away from his cart and donkey. “It is a wishing well,” they told him. Their hands were strong and steady, like iron cuffs about his wrists. “Look.”

He looked down the well. There was nothing below. Not thing as in the absence of something. This was Nothing in the absences of everything. Nihilo. Despite himself he leaned forward, searching for something in the void. He could swear he saw a million eyes.

“What do you wish for?” they asked him.

“I wish you would let me go.”

“It is a wishing well,” the little girl said. “Your wish is granted.”

About the Author:

Teahound is a college student with a passion for fairytales and her Shakespeare class. During her free time she drinks tea, creates art, takes hikes, and writes. During the rest of the time she has homework.

[goldenpoison]

Come Back To Me

T || 3.2k words || read it on Ao3

“And what if you died?” Alina screams at her husband, her voice almost cracking. Her wariness of nearby servants long gone. Aleksander already dismissed their personal guards the moment they stepped foot in the war room.

The beloved and celebrated rulers of Ravka would often bicker and sass each other. Their people saw it endearing. The lovesick teenagers would stare at the couple and giggle amongst themselves, often chittering about how they want to have something like some day. Their hearts still ignorant of the pain and suffering that trails love wherever it goes. The adults, who were once the bubbly teenagers, would also stare at them longingly, but for a different reason. Where the younger ones stare and wish for a storybook romance, they wish for even a sliver of the comfort and satisfaction that the monarchs had with each other — of a relationship healthy enough that both parties respect the other equally, and are unafraid to not hold back a snide remark.

They rarely fought intensely despite the bickering and the constant back and forth. But when they do, even the birds in their nests and the rabbits in the underbrush stop in their tracks, wary of the change of the lights and shadows. In fact, it’s been years since they had, possibly even almost a decade. Although they’ve been fighting for near an hour now, they have only ever repeated their original points and nothing more. The single difference being that they said them with much fervor than the last. At least, Alina does.

What fuels her most is not Aleksander’s stubbornness, but his calm demeanor. How could he stay level-headed when her temper is only rising and rising?

“I won’t, Alina.” His voice was stern and final. His words, however, were far from certain. “I’ve lived for centuries. What weapon could they possibly possess that could kill me?”

A lie. Excluding who his wife once was — the Alina who was ready to risk everything for the life of a simple otkazat’sya, the Alina just before she tasted the power of all three amplifiers, before she wore the bone of the said otkazat’sya amplifier on her wrist, before her hands were covered in his blood, her mind stained with the memory of his death, and her heart heavy with the guilt of not regretting any of it — for the first time in hundreds of years, there was a weapon that threatened his life. It was the reason why his army requested for him in the first place.

Too many Grishas who even dares to step near the Fjerdan border, no matter their order nor rank, ended up dead. His Heartrender generals died in battle. One found sans her eyes and left with darkness in her eye sockets. Another with his head three meters from his body, messily discarded like it was just another piece of meat to be eaten by wolves. Another general has been spared the dismemberment but was found with wolf bites all over their body and very much dead, nonetheless. All with three bullet holes to the head. Just holes though, the bullets were brutally plucked from their place that left the wounds bigger, bloodier, and dirtier.

They hadn’t known what made the bullets so deadly for almost a week since the Fjerdans first brought out the weapon. It was only until one of the soldiers managed to escape to the camps with a tilted bullet still lodged in his head, just a little bit more to the left of the center of his forehead. They said he came crawling with only one hand to push himself. The other was stuck to his abdomen, trying to apply pressure to the deep gash to prevent any further bleeding. It didn’t work for he still left a bloody path. With his fatal wounds, he only managed to reach the camp post, and died clutching one of the newer guard’s kefta, eyes wide and murmuring mad nonsense.

As reported to him by his Fabrikators, the bullets were apparently made of the usual lead-antimony alloy. Normally, this wouldn’t be quite a problem for Grishas because of their bulletproof keftas. What made them more dangerous is their poison coated Grisha steel encasing. Turns out, the poison was made of a cousin of the jurda plant that branched out only a few decades ago and can only be grown in very specific conditions in Novyi Zem. How the Fjerdans got a hold of the steel, he doesn’t know yet. One thing he is sure of, is whoever was treacherous enough to do or even slightly partake in the crime will receive no mercy.

Still, Alina doesn’t know. She knows of the staggering increase of deceased Grisha, but not the reason. The report came to him only that morning along with the request, and he plans to keep her in the dark about it. Even after all these years, despite her centuries-old valiance and her time-hardened heart, he’s still protective over his wife.

They’ve endured many things together, from numerous bloody wars to the yearly balls and events, filled with the same old power-hungry people hoping to get in the good graces of their king and queen, that they might just of boredom from. Yet, he could never seem to get less protective over her, if not, it might be increasing every day that the war prolongs, and if he was being honest, every time an overly decent looking man or woman steps ever so slightly closer to her and dares to bat a suggestive eye at her. How could he not, when all they truly had left as one another? He stopped trying to make sincere acquaintances before he reached one hundred, and his retched mother, as distant and cold as she was, jumped off the Elbjen mountains. He couldn’t imagine leaving her, but his promise to himself that he will do whatever it takes to make the world a safe place for Grishas was made such a long time ago that he doesn’t know how to live without it.

“Please, my Alina,” he pleaded again.

She sighed a heavy breath, her shoulders dropped and her head lowered. She didn’t utter a single word before exiting the war room.

–

Aleksander couldn’t even say that he woke up unpleasantly, because he simply didn’t sleep at all. Not when he was too lost in the labyrinth of his own thoughts.

When it was time for breakfast, he saw that Alina, too, wore tired unrested eyes. She sat silently at her seat, her lips set in a slight frown and her head bowed. It wasn’t until the doors opened to let the servants enter with their food that she glanced up and Aleksander finally saw the redness in her eyes and the almost-vanished tear stains of her cheeks. She didn’t even bother with her Tailor today.

The servants served them a variety of fruits, buttered bread, and waffles, a food that Alina recently took a liking to these past few months. They stopped serving herring both at the Little and Grand Palace the first week that the couple came to power, courtesy of Alina whose face was in a clearly disgusted scrunch.

They finished their food without a single word said, and the tension in the air grew bigger and bigger with every second that passes. Alina has just stood up when he said, “Will you join me for a walk to the Little Palace this afternoon?”

She only looked at him with skeptical eyes, the rest of her face void of emotion. “Why?”

“For the sake of it. To check on the younger Grishas.”

Silence.

“Please. I leave at the crack of dawn tomorrow morning, you know?” The Darkling never begs for anyone or anything. But he had to Alina, twice now in not even 12 hours.

She flinched the tiniest of flinches when he mentioned when he was leaving, but he saw it anyway. She thought about it for a while and only gave him a simple nod and strode towards the large doors.

–

They walked to the Little Palace in deafening silence. Not a sound could be heard aside from the sounds of their footsteps treading through the snow, their own breathing, and the natural cacophony of the woods and the creatures that dwell in it. As they get closer to the Little Palace, they heard the cheer and laughter of the Grishas hanging out at the frozen lake. Some of them were skating, some Etherealki were messing around with their powers, some hid behind the snow forts they built breathing loudly and looking at their enemy from time to time while their partners threw snowballs at the enemy.

The Grishas didn’t seem to notice them as their fun hadn’t calmed. That was, until a particularly large snowball hit a certain king dressed in black.

Everyone turned quiet. No one moved a muscle and not a single soul intended to. Except Alina. She burst out laughing like a mad woman over the extremely shocked and bothered face of her husband. Honestly, he looked like he was just harassed by a lowly beggar, she thought.

Tears were forming in her eyes when the Darkling finally moved on from his shock. What came after left the Grishas even more shocked than they were before. He chuckled. Not a laugh, no. But something more than a smile, nonetheless. They weren’t even sure if he could do that. It was surely the first time they witnessed something like this. The Darkling, former coveted general of the Second Army, King of Ravka, a man of legend so great that some prayed to him like a saint, who was known as stoic and intimidating, and was only ever seen giving the smallest of smiles, barely a tug on one corner of his lips, actually chuckled.

After a good five seconds, they unfroze like they were finally freed from a curse that paralyzed their bodies, and laughed with the monarchs. Although, a few Grishas were still nervous about their king and forgo the laugh.

Alina wiped the tears from her face and looked at her husband with her bright eyes and wide grin. “Looks like the point goes to them,” she said. “Can we join?” she asked the group nearest to her, basically hopping over to them.

“Of course, moya tsaritsa. Moy soverenyi,” the Squaller playing greeted and bowed. The rest of the Grishas followed suit, their tenseness creeping back in.

“None of that,” the Darkling replied. He walked over to the other group and pointed to his wife, “You’ll regret this.”

“A set of jeweled gold pins when we win?” she bargained.

“If you win.”

“When.”

“If.”

Alina retorts with a snowball thrown to his chest. “Oops, well would you look at that, my hand slipped.”

Before he had any chance to counter, she beckons more of the other Grishas to join their game. Soon enough, they were all grouped up into two teams, each with around eight or so Grishas of varying order, all very much competitive.

Aleksander’s team threw snowballs after snowball, with two Durasts supplying the hands of the five Grishas, including The Darkling, with them so they’re never empty. Yet, only a few really ever got across the other’s fort and hit players. Alina’s team, on the other hand, had very little coordination. Their motto: make it, throw it, hope it hits something. Very unorganized, but hey, it worked.

At first, the Grishas were very cautious to not hit either of the monarchs, but after a few hits, they were the ones being targeted. One rogue snowball even hit Alina’s face, which she only laughed off and insisted they continue with a very precise throw to their opponent’s “tower” that sent a decent portion of their fort crumbling.

It was, as it seemed, an unspoken rule to not use their powers. One rule, which Alina violated. She sent enticing ribbons of light dancing towards enemy territory to disguise the building of the low make-shift shield. Apparently, her team is much more organized than they let on, because once the other team snapped out of the trance caused by the beauty and elegance of the Sun Summoner’s light, a ginormous snowball that they were sure it wasn’t there before, was thrown by three Grishas. It hit the near-center of their opponent’s fort and sent it crumbling down. Alina’s team took advantage of the others’ shock and threw snowball after snowball until the Darkling’s team were forced to forfeit, much to his dismay.

“That wasn’t a win, you know,” he said annoyed, but content nonetheless.

“Last time I checked my books, it was,” Alina replied.

“Your books are horribly mistranslated.”

She only sticked her tongue out at him.

“If you must know, that rule was heavily implied,” he said.

“Oh, boohoo. You’re just mad because you didn’t come up with it sooner, and now you’re acting like a child who got his sweets taken away from him.”

The young Grishas left their anxiousness behind a few minutes after the first snowball was thrown. Now, instead of being tense, they watched amused as their King and Queen bickered. Two very different souls almost wholly opposite one another, yet united and harmonious. It was this bond between them that gave Ravkans hope, and fuels the fire of Ravka itself.

-

It was the break of dawn.

Alina stood by doors, not daring to go any further in fear that if she did, she’d drag him back towards their quarters and never let him leave. Maybe even do another round of their risqué game they played last night. And a quick version of that right when they woke up.

Aleksander stood by the black troika, none sensibly fumbling with something. He looked over to his wife and didn’t stop his feet when it took a step towards her. Then another. Then another. They’ve already said their goodbyes a few moments ago, but he feels they’re not enough. They’re never enough. A single word of goodbye will never be enough to encapsulate what he feels.

So instead of saying them, when he reaches her at the top of the stairs, he kisses her, deep and passionately. She kisses him back. Where his kiss was intense, if not forceful, hers were tender and caring. He was desperate and longed for his wife. Alina only tried to mellow him down. Her kiss was to bring him back down to Earth, to calm him and remind him that she will be there when he comes home.

Their lips finally broke apart, but their noses remained touching.

“Come back to me,” Alina pleads, silently begging him to promise.

Aleksander only nods.

-

The first day he’s been gone, he sent a message.

“I’m here at the camps,” he said. “I arrived an hour earlier than expected.” He continued to tell her his ramblings and mortal thoughts that gave them both comfort. Words that reminded them that for each other, they were human. Just two humans with feiry hearts burndened with immortality.

The second day, he told her about the happenings in the camp but still ignored the topic of the weapon. He told her how General Volkova, the general who was found without her eyes, was replaced by General Popov, who was as strategic as he was insufferable.

The third day, he only said that he was fine, and nothing more.

-

Six days, he’s been gone. Three days without a word from him. He was only supposed to be ther for three days. He was only to assess and observe the situation, possibly come up with new plans, and show his face to the soldiers to relieve some of the anxiety.

She searched for him. Tugged on the string that ties her to him. But it never worked. Out of the many times she tried to appear to him, not once did she succeeded. It frightened her. It made her think of the worst.

No, anything but that, she thought.

-

The ninth day, a letter written on black paper, stamped with silver wax, was given to her.

She dropped her paintbrush, and hurried to read what was inside, not caring if the face she was painting was left unblended.

Grabbing the letter opener, she let herself hope. That it was him telling her that he’ll be home soon. That it detailed why he wasn’t able to update her.

Her eyes glanced over a word, a simple four letter word, that haunted her nightmares.

Dead.

Her world stopped. Everything went quiet. The curtains that rustled stilled. The whistling wind grew mute. The skys grew dim.

No. No. NO!

Everything came crashing down, as she fell to her knees. She didn’t need to read the entirety of the letter. She already knew what it said. Nevertheless, she forced herself to read it again and again. Hot tears streamed down her face as she read the letter word per word for the third time.

“It is with a heavy heart to write, that His Royal Majesty, the King of Ravka, is dead.”

A heavy heart, she thought, how can a heart be heavy if it was ripped from her chest and stabbed a billion times over?

They were supposed to be together. To never leave each other. To be by the other’s side no matter how far they were for eternity. They swore these words the night before they married. A week ago, he promised that he will come back to her.

Alina didn’t hear the pleading and the screaming of the servants and guards who came up to her room. She didn’t even register the gold pin with a dark blue gem on its head attached to the letter.

She was drowning. Drowning in grief. In sorrow. In emptiness, and in everything all at once.

The Sol Koroleva was drowning in light, that grew and grew with every tear that poured from her eyes.

For a brief moment, she glances at the unfinished painting — at the handsome face that was smiling the smile he gave only to her.

She screamed. And everything in Ravka, all the way to the True Sea, the Shu Han border, and Fjerdan border where the camp was, was enveloped in blinding light. Light that burned bright. Light so hot, it burned every flammable thing it touches. Deadly light, that killed both the Fjerdans, and the Ravkans.

Unlike the Unsea, it didn’t turn the humans into creatures. No. They were simply dead. Blinded, then burned.

The dome of light was so bright and wide that it could be seen from Kerch.

In the middle of all of it, Alina kneeled, sobbing, and clutching the cursed letter close to her heart like she was trying to absorb it.

She used to believe that grief was a beautiful thing. That was what she told herself after centuries of loss. Because if you grieved somebody, then it meant that you loved them enough that you gave them a small piece of your soul never to be returned again. And if they reciprocate, you gain theirs. And if they died, they carry that with them, and you keep a piece of them with you.

But Alina never knew what happens if the person who you loved so deeply that four letters couldn’t even begin to explain what you feel, that your souls became half of the other’s, then became a single one that you shared, leaves you. What happens then?