#and throwing him across the battlefield like a ragdoll

[nukudraws]

Alberu when Cale brings up the White Star's cookies:

[aviiarie]

Hiiiii, if you don't mind, can I please ask for something romantic with Blade in a soulmates au? Being his soulmate seems like such a doomed concept, lol

“𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄.” — feat. blade.

synopsis. you are blade's soulmate. and you pay the price for it, over and over again.

✦ contents. tw: slightly graphic blood & violence, and a lot of death. soulmates au. gn!reader. angst, no comfort. slightly open-ended. 1.8k words.

✦ notes. requested by anon for my event! i saw the words 'soulmates' and 'doomed' and didn't think twice. um this kind of ends on a cliff-hanger? or unsatisfyingly at least. that was intentional btw. idk how happy i am with how it turned out though.

The day Blade met you for the very first time, was the day you bled out in his arms. 

You were a stranger; a forgettable face, amidst a sea of even more forgettable faces. There was no reason for him to care when he heard your scream, cutting across the battlefield like a siren. The sound melted into the clamour of scraping metal and wounded cries, as easily as a single note of a flute disappears within a symphony.

And yet, it made him pause. 

His own sword was slick with blood, having already carved a gruesome path across the battlefield. There were bodies at his feet–some still wheezing out their final breaths, others already gone–but it was you who caught his attention. The cry was harrowing, rendering every other noise forgotten.

The haze in his vision began to clear, the mara loosened its hold, and for the first time in a while he felt something odd: clarity.

A strange, prickly sensation settled a layer beneath his skin, urging him to go, find them, help them, help them, help them. It was as if his limbs were tied with puppet strings, forcing him into a run towards the source of the scream. All around him, the fighting continued, but no one paid him any mind as he tore through the battle.

He found you on the other side of the field, lying on the grass with a closed fist pressed to your side. An arc of red dripped from your fingers to the ground, forming a sickly puddle under your shredded armour. As he fell to his knees by your side, compelled by something he couldn’t properly describe if he tried, you looked up and met his eye, mouth falling open.

“Oh…” You murmured, gazing at him like he was an angel. “Oh… oh, I didn’t know… it’s you.”

Blade’s throat tightened, as he glanced between your watery eyes and the wound you were holding. He didn’t understand it; he was a witness to death more times than he could count, the source of it in many instances. There was no reason for your death to be any different, so why did he feel like he was going to throw up?

“It’s you, isn’t it?” You choked up, tears welling in your eyes. The sight made him sick. “Soulmate?”

Soulmate. A foreign concept, but one he was acquainted with. It was intertwined with Destiny itself, written into the scripts that ‘he’ pored over so obsessively.

“Soulmate?” He croaked out. You smiled weakly, reaching out your free hand to touch his cheek.

“Soulmate,” You agreed, moving to rest your palm on his chest, right over the spot where his heart was pounding. “You feel it too, don’t you? The… the feeling pulling us together?”

He did. All of the puppet strings–destiny, fate, or whatever they were to be called–were pulling him towards you. Blade nodded stiffly, and you breathed out a wheezing laugh.

“S-So that’s it, then…” You sighed, releasing your hold on your wound and letting your arms fall loose like a ragdoll. Without your fist blocking his view, Blade could see just how bad the injury was. “I’ve always wanted to meet you. I was scared I was going to die before I did. But… I guess this is fine…”

“No…” Blade murmured, every sense in his body screaming at him to save them, help them, soulmate, soulmate, soulmate. “No… you can’t die. Not when I’ve just met you.”

It’s a laugh that you responded with, but the sound was bittersweet. “I don’t think I have a choice.” 

“No!” Blade’s voice was desperate. “No, no. There has to be another way.”

“Meet me again, okay? In the next life…” You coughed weakly, blood dribbling down the corner of lips and down your chin. Blade gently wipes away the streak of red, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “B-Buy me flowers… take me out for dinner... and we’ll try again.”

“No…” Blade mumbled. He tugged you into his arms, so you were practically splayed out across his lap. Another cough worked its way past your lips, and he pulled you even closer. “Please…”

“Next time…” You breathed out. Your chest rose and fell with every breath stuttered out, slowly and weakening, until it stopped altogether. 

—

When Blade meets you again, you are not a soldier. Your face has changed, as well your hairstyle and attire, but the insistent tug in his chest is the exact same feeling he felt all those years ago. Even in a crowded town square, on a planet he couldn’t remember the name of, the outline of your soul glows in his mind, shining like a beacon.

He stops in his tracks, scanning the shops and stalls on either side to find some trace of the soul he sensed. You were so close, he could practically reach out and grasp your hand, and yet he couldn’t quite pinpoint where.

There.

He broke into a run, his mission left far behind as he followed his instincts. They pulled him through the crowd, by shopkeepers and civilians that grumbled as he pushed past, leading to a cozy flower stand at the end of the street.

You look up at his approach, almost dropping the flowers in your hands. Your mouth is agape, and your eyes are teary, but there is familiarity staring back at him.

“Oh, it’s you. I was wondering when I would meet you,” You laugh, and Blade’s heart soars.

It’s a blur, the conversation that follows. He learns your name, and he learns you are nothing more than a merchant selling flowers. Quietly, he is grateful for the humble life you seemed to be leading. It was nothing like your previous self, in all your bloodstained, armour-clothed glory, and he couldn’t be more thankful.

“Tell me about yourself, though.” You finally pause your rambling, smiling with flushed cheeks. “I’ve talked about myself enough. What about you?”

“I…” Blade trails off, considering what he could say. His life was one that was long and wrought with destruction, and you were a perfectly unblemished flower, whose petals would crumple under his touch. Seeking you out was selfish enough, letting you carve his place in your life would only taint it.  

“I am unimportant. You’d best not be concerned about who I am.” Blade says simply, moving slightly away, so you were out of his reach. “I need to leave.”

You frown, stepping closer. “That’s not fair. Don’t I get to know your name, at least? Soulmate?”

“You may call me Blade,” He says, without any more explanation. “I must be going.”

“W-Wait!” You call out, breaking out of your stupor to catch his sleeve. As he turns, you press a delicate white lily into his hands. “Take this. When it wilts… find me again, and I’ll give you a new one.”

Blade stares at the flower, running a thumb down the stem and over the soft petals. It is dainty, fragile. In his hands, it would only be ruined.

And yet, he tucks it into his sleeve anyway.

You smile at him as he leaves, something sad in your eyes that he doesn’t have the heart to unravel. As he turns his back, he can still feel your gaze on his retreating form, watching as he disappears into the street.

It ends, predictably.

He is a half-second too late, feeling the drop in his stomach a moment before he sees your body fall to the ground. He lunges forward, falling by your side. The assailant–masked, armed, and a damn coward–is already running. 

“No,” He mutters. There are hot, angry tears in his eyes, threatening to spill over. It was only a week after he saw you for the first time, but he’d been keeping his distance, hoping if he stayed far enough away he could spare you from misfortune. But fate is cruel, and it tips back its head and laughs as he crumples over your body.

A part of him is screaming to run after your attacker, to spill his organs all over the pretty paved streets, just as he has spilled your blood over them, but the idea of leaving your side hurts. 

“Stay with me,” He begs, holding onto your wound, as if there was any way to staunch the bleeding. It was no use, the blade had pierced your chest too precisely. If you weren’t already gone, you would be soon.

You shakily clasp your hand around his wrist, mumbling out a few words. “See you–See you next time, Blade.”

—

It carries on in a similar manner, for the next few centuries. Every lifetime Blade finds you (he stops counting, after a while), and it ends the same way. After a while, all of the lifetimes blur together, until he can barely tell which is which.

In some, you are a warrior as violent as himself. In others, you are an artist. In some, he finds you, and in others, you find him. The only common thread, the one thing that connects every one, is your inevitable demise.

He stops trying to seek you out. When he feels the tug on his chest, he ignores his instincts and walks the other way, hoping to let the memory of you fade, so you may live your lives parallel to each other; close, but never meeting. Somehow, you manage to find him every time anyway, and before he knows it, his vow to keep his distance is tossed aside.

This time though, he doesn’t even get a chance to meet you. 

He feels you again–the phantom pull, the burning in his soul–and all thoughts of his mission are forgotten. The feeling of his sword is heavy in his hands, but it is nothing compared to the sinking in his chest.

Something was wrong.

This time, he doesn’t wait. He does not pause, he doesn’t think about the way he will be reprimanded for straying from his target. He only thinks of you.

The thought leads him through a massacre, decorating the cobbled streets with crimson. The path itself is pathed with bloodshed, littered with corpses in various states of dismemberment. The longer he walks, the more it becomes clear that he isn’t looking for a person this time; he is looking for a body. There is no life he can sense around him, but your connection–feeble, and waning as it may be–urges him forward. 

Finally, it stops him right before one.

The sight of your corpse, as mangled and gruesome as it may be, no longer fazes him. He stands, pausing long enough to pay his respects, before retreating with a heaviness in his steps.

He will meet you again, in the next life.

🏷️ taglist: @tragedy-of-commons, @mollzaj, @mikashisus, @starcharmed.

© aviiarie 2024. do not copy, repost, translate or use my work to train ai

[lizavet]

@heropartnerweek - Day 2: Human AU | Crossover | Evolution

Tuft was very quickly beginning to understand why Entei was referred to as a Legendary Pokemon.

Panting hard with their heart beating at their ribs, Tuft sprinted as fast as they could, trying to outrun the enraged legend that chased after them. They had been so confident at the start. Even though Buizel had been broken and tossed aside like a ragdoll, Tuft was so sure that they and Poppy could take Entei on. They could do anything together!

Entei humbled them quickly.

Nothing Tuft threw at him seemed to work. Every burst of flames was consumed by Entei’s own roaring inferno. Every psychic beam and blast was avoided or batted aside. Tuft’s fangs and claws harmlessly bounced off Entei’s sturdy hide. Nothing they tried was working. Poppy was even worse off, with Entei acting as if her attacks weren’t even worth acknowledging.

And legends above, Entei was so powerful! When he fired off a Fire Blast at Poppy, Tuft stupidly jumped in the way, thinking they could take the hit, only to be violently thrown across the caldera by the force of the blast, smashing into the wall with a painful *CRACK, the tip of the fur on their flanked burned black from the intense heat, despite their typing. Poppy had screamed their name before turning on Entei herself, charging towards him recklessly, only for him to effortlessly dodge with an Extreme Speed, dashing behind her and releasing another Fire Blast at her point blank.

To their credit, the two managed to pick themselves back up quickly. They hadn’t spent so long training to go down so easily. But they couldn’t keep this up forever. Entei was both an unstoppable force and an immovable object, shrugging off everything the duo threw at him and retaliating with flames hot enough to replace the sun or blows strong enough to break mountains, barely giving the two any time to recover before continuing his assault.

Tuft skidded on their paws as they made a sharp turn around a boulder, trying to throw Entei off their tail, hoping to put some distance between them. They thought that it worked for a moment before a shadow passed over them, Entei’s form blurred by his Extreme Speed, his jaw open revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth moving to Tuft’s neck, only to be intercepted by Poppy smashing her fist into his lower jaw, the force and his speed sending him flying off to the left.

Entei shook his head and recovered, releasing a pair of Fire Blasts, forcing Tuft and Poppy to dodge in opposite directions, separating them again. Tuft stumbled on their paws, exhausted from the battle, unable to recover from their dodge in time to see Entei smash his front paws into the ground, a line of rocks ripping out of the stone in a line straight towards Tuft. The Stone Edge smashed into their stomach, ripping the air from their lungs and sending them flying upward, only to fall and crash back into the ground, the stone cratering beneath them.

“TUFT!” Poppy screamed, before turning her attention to Entei, her face twisted in anger. She launched herself at him, fist reared back and glowing with energy. Tuft tried to push themself up, opened their mouth to scream and tell her to stop, but their voice wouldn’t work and their limbs couldn’t lift them. They watched helplessly as Poppy threw herself at Entei recklessly again, her flurry of attacks whiffing past Entei as he weaved from side to side before flames erupted from his mouth and he clamped his jaws down on Poppy’s midsection, lifting her up and shaking her wildly before tossing her aside.

Silence descended upon the battlefield as Poppy hit the ground, bouncing a few extra feet away, Tuft barely able to hear the bubbling magma over their heartbeat, the violent *THUMP THUMP THUMP drowning everything else out as they stared at Poppy, covered in bruises and burns. She pressed her arms into the ground, her entire body shuddering with effort as they tried to push herself up, only to fall on her face, kicking up a small cloud of dust.

‘Get up,” Tuft begged. ‘Please, get up!’

“Pathetic.”

Entei’s booming voice demanded Tuft’s attention, forcing their exhausted eyes to lazily move over to the beast, seeing him staring down at them impassively, barely a scratch on him. He looked between Poppy and Tuft with an almost bored expression, as if they were barely worth the effort he put in.

“Is this truly the best you can manage?” he asked condescendingly. “You dare to intrude upon my domain, despite my warnings, and yet you cannot even manage to scrape together the power it takes to be worth my time?” His impassive face twisted into a snarl as he spoke. “So be it.”

He took one last look between the two of them before making his decision, taking slow, decisive steps towards Poppy. Tuft felt their body go cold as Entei casually strode towards Poppy, who was still struggling and fighting to get back up, eyes screwed closed and body shaking. ‘No. No no no. No no no no no no no!’

Entei stopped as his shadow loomed over Poppy. “You,” he declared. “You shall be first.”

‘No, not her!’ Tuft tried to scream. ‘Take me. Take Buizel. I don’t care, anyone but her!’ A stab of guilt ripped through Tuft’s heart at the thought, but they couldn’t find it in themself to care. They couldn’t lose Poppy. It would destroy them.

Entei raised one massive paw, positioning it over Poppy’s head.

‘Please.’

A spark of warmth ignited in Tuft’s chest.

‘Please.’

Entei’s claws extended, body tensing as he prepared for the kill.

‘Please.’

“Goodbye.”

‘Let me save her!’

*THUMP THUMP

Entei’s paw stopped mid-swing, his eyes narrowed. He looked around the caldera, carefully scanning the terrain.

*THUMP THUMP

“What is this?” he demanded.

Tuft barely heard his voice. Without realising it, they had risen to their feet, the warmth in their chest growing brighter and brighter. It took them a second to realize that their scarf had started glowing, iridescent light coating the fabric, flooding the caldera in a rainbow of colour. The sound of a steady heartbeat filled the air, Tuft somehow knowing it wasn’t theirs.

*THUMP THUMP

Poppy slowly rose to her feet, her matching scarf igniting in rainbow light, forcing Entei to shield his eyes and stumble back a couple feet. Hope filled Tuft’s heart seeing her get back up, broken and bruised, but still standing.

‘I’m not going down. Not like this.’

They could never explain it, but Tuft knew that wasn’t their thought. It was Poppy’s, her voice finding its way to Tuft. Their scarves thrummed with power, the beating of the unknown heart in time with their own.

‘I have to save her.’

‘I won’t abandon them.’

‘We aren’t going to lose!’

Sheer white light flooded Tuft’s vision as their body ignited in pain. Their tiny body burned with power, a fire burning through their veins. Their limbs began to warp, flesh bubbling and stretching, before expanding all at once, their bones snapping into place. Tuft instinctually pushed up on their front paws, moving to stand on two feet as their front paws morphed into hands. The fur around their waist expanded outwards in a flurry, turning into a crimson skirt, the fur on their new arms moving to match and form the sleeves of a dress. The tufts of fur in their ears billowed out, flowing in the wind like flickering flames, their tail flowed behind them gracefully in a way it hadn’t before.

As the light faded away, Tuft opened their eyes to see Entei standing, his eyes blown wide in shock and awe, and to their surprise, he didn’t seem quite as tall as he was before. Tuft looked down at their body, seeing their new form. Gone with the little fennekin from Serene Village, the little kid that was never good enough for anyone except one strange girl.

Instead, Tuft the Delphox stood tall, their body thrumming with power.

“Oh hell yes,” Tuft heard Poppy say, a grin in her voice. “This is what I’m talking about!”

Tuft looked over at Poppy, feeling their heart skip a beat. Just like them, she had evolved, a towering sceptile where she once stood. Her hoodie had grown with her, the hem of it resting against her massive tail that reminded Tuft of a strong pine tree. Poppy was looking down at her arms with a sadistic smile, clenching her fists and watching as the new blades attached to her wrist expanded and shrank as she did. Tuft couldn’t help but think about how amazing she looked, the soft features of a treecko that never seemed to fit Poppy replaced with sharp cuts and edges that suited her perfectly.

“Woah,” Tuft breathed, grinning wide as they drank in every facet of Poppy’s new form, bringing her attention over to them. “You look awesome!”

Poppy didn’t say anything for a moment, her eyes raking up and down Tuft’s body. “You’re not lookin’ too bad yourself,” she eventually said, something strange that Tuft couldn’t place in her tone.

A powerful stomp dragged their attention away from each other and back to Entei who still towered over them. He glared at the two with the same disdain, but also with a new bit of caution. He was afraid of them.

Good.

“…I don’t know what form of magic this is,” he growled, “But it matters not!” He let out a mighty roar, flames erupting around him. Tuft didn’t even flinch, any fear they once had gone. “I am not one to fall to pathetic mortals like you.”

Tuft sucked in a breath, knowing that was the wrong thing for him to say, which was confirmed when she glanced over to see Poppy seething, the razor-sharp blades on her wrist glowing bright and extending into the size of swords. Determined not to let her have all the fun, Tuft took a commanding step forward, striking a pose.

“We aren’t just some random mortals!” they declared, holding their fist in the air. “We’re Team Braveheart! Explorers of the world, protectors of the weak!”

Poppy rolled her eyes, though the grin on her face told Tuft they were enjoying this. She cracked her knuckles, giving Entei a smirk. “And we excel at taking down arrogant ‘mons that a due a beatdown.”

Entei snarled in response, his body tensing. “Enough of this!” he roared. “I grow tired of this pointless prattling!” Stone cracking beneath his paws, he launched himself forward towards Poppy. She took up a battle stance to counter, but Tuft was at her side in an instant, stepping in front of her and throwing a hand out, palm forward, feeling power at their fingertips like never before.

The sound of snapping and crackling pops filled the air as fireworks danced between their fingers for a moment, before *BOOOOM, a massive explosion of Mystical Fire burst from their palm.

The force of the explosion threw Entei back, the beat flying through the air before impacting on the ground, skidding against the stone. He recovered quickly, shaking himself off, a brief look of surprise on his face that quickly faded into anger. Tuft only grinned wider, feeling the fire in their veins just begging to be let out. ‘Oh I could get used to this!’ they thought.

With that, the fight was back on in full. Entei roared and prepared to charge again, but Poppy launched herself forward first with a pair of Leaf Blades, spinning slashes left and right, forcing Entei to jump back, dodging and weaving. Tuft snapped their fingers, firing off a Psybeam that impacted on his temple, sending him cross-eyed for a moment, just enough for Poppy to close the gap and slash his face once, twice, three times before she was sent back by a blast of flames. She flipped through the air, easily landing on her feet, brushing herself off, almost completely unscathed.

Slamming his front paws into the ground, Entei summoned up another Stone Edge, boulders ripping through the earth towards Tuft which they only grinned at. Holding their paws out, they grasped the stones with psychic energy that flowed from them far too easily, stopping them in place. But apparently that was only a distraction, because Entei shot past them towards Poppy, wreathed in flames.

Tuft called out to her, but Poppy didn’t move, taking the attack head on, letting Entei impact her chest, leaving a massive burn across her red belly. Tuft could see the anger in Poppy’s eyes as she grabbed Entei by the fur around his neck, hefting him over her head and slamming him into the ground, following up by spinning and SLAMMING her tail into him, pressing him further into the stone, leaving a crater in her wake. Entei threw himself forward, trying to bite her, but Poppy deftly dodged and leapt backward, Tuft using the opening to lift the Stone Edge she was holding out of the ground and throwing it back at him. Entei’s eyes went wide for a moment before he exploded in flames, shattering the stones before they could impact, but still getting showered in shrapnel.

As the flames died down, Tuft saw Entei panting hard, his face covered in slash marks, his perfect hide finally showing signs of damage. She growled lowly at the two, incredulous anger in his eyes.

“This shouldn’t be possible,” he snarled. Poppy let out a scoff, crossing her arms and giving him a condescending grin.

“What’s wrong?” she asked snarkily. “Did you overestimate the strength of your type matchup against me?” Tuft delighted in how Entei’s face twisted in fury at that.

“Silence!” Entei bellowed, pillars of flame erupting around him. “I am above this! I do not have time to continue dealing with you mongrels. I’ll finish this quickly.”

Poppy glared at Entei, but Tuft couldn’t help but continue smiling. They were enjoying this. The power at their palms, the rush of adrenaline, the roaring in their ears. They finally understood why Poppy loved fighting so much. Did she always feel this powerful? Tuft spent so long thinking they were holding her back, but now they could keep up! They could fight as her equal. And legends above did it feel good!

“You’re right,” Tuft said, rolling their shoulders and walking over to Poppy’s side. “It’s time we finish this.” Their eyes quickly scanned the battlefield, seeing broken stones and debris littering the floor of the caldera. A spark went off in their mind as they as an idea popped in. “Psst,” they whispered, nudging Poppy’s shoulder. “Buy me some time?”

Poppy gave Tuft a look for a moment before giving them a wolfish grin after finding what she was looking for, before charging at Entei. The two lock into battle, slashes of blades and claw, volcanic infernos and draconic flames scorching through the air. Entei blurred with Extreme Speed, but Poppy was unphased, catching him with a Protect and SMACKING him in the face with a Drain Punch.

As the two clashed, Tuft took a few steps back, letting themself fade into the background and gathering their energy, feeling their fur stand on edge and their ears lift up. Psychic power danced through the air, a thin layer spreading outward across the ground, slowly lifting up every little bit of rock and stone that it touched, before flinging them up into the air.

The sky slowly started to darken as Tuft sent more and more debris up into the air, straining at the effort of holding it all up in the air. Once they started feeling themself reach their limit, they opened their eyes and grit their teeth. “Poppy!” they yelled.

She immediately gave them a nod, ducking under Entei launching himself at her with a Flame Charge and twisting around, wreathing her tail in draconic purple energy and sending him flying with a Dragon Tail. Entei forced himself to his feet again and took a step forward, but Tuft lifted a finger, tutting and shaking it.

“Last chance to back down,” they said.

Entei snarled in response, narrowing his eyes at them. “I refuse.”

“Wrong answer. You really should reconsider.” Entei laughed, shaking his head with a twisted grin on his face.

“A pointless bluff,” he scoffed. “I see through your tricks. You think you can intimidate me into backing down? I know weakness when I see it.”

Tuft only grinned. “Oh well,” they shrugged. “I gave you a choice. But what happens next is up to you.” They paused for a moment, letting their words sink in before impatience got to them. “Up to you,” they repeated. “Up to you…. I said up-”

“I heard you,” Entei roared. “What gibberish are you-”

Realization washed over him as he finally noticed the shadows on the ground, making him look up. Tuft relished in the fear in his eyes as he finally saw the thousands of stones that floated through the air, the sky blotted out by Tuft’s own personal asteroid field.

“Bye-bye!”

Tuft snapped their fingers, and at their command every stone stilled for a moment before firing off like a gatling gun, hurtling towards Entei. His form immediately blurred as he launched himself into an Extreme Speed to escape. But the barrage covered the entire arena, stone impacting every inch of the caldera except for where Poppy and Tuft stood, courtesy of a Protect dome that Poppy had put around them.

A thick cloud of dust exploded out, making it impossible to see anything behind the blurred barrier that surrounded them. A cacophony of shattering stones and pained roars filled the air, forcing Tuft to cover their sensitive ears. A minute of agonizing screaming passed before Tuft’s attack ended. Poppy held the barrier up for a few more moments, just to make sure, before finally dropping it, the cloud of dust gently floating into their space.

Tuft gathered up a bit of psychic energy in their palms, sending out a weak shockwave to push the fog away, revealing the broken battlefield, the ground covered in tiny bits of stone and littered with craters from their fight. And in one lay Entei, his body covered in burns, bruises, and slashes. His chest heaved with strained breaths, his eyes closed.

He was down.

Tuft could see Poppy hold her fist out from the corner of their eye. They eagerly bumped their own fist into it, before the two drew them back, making explosion faux-explosions sounds and wiggling their fingers and laughing together.

A moment later though, Tuft felt the energy draining from their body, white light taking over their vision once again, this time much less intense. Time seems to blur and stretch, and the next thing they know, they’re back on four paws again, a fennekin once more. They looked over at Poppy to see she was a treecko again too, her looking down at her hands with an annoyed glare.

Tuft couldn’t help but mirror Poppy’s disappointment, but at the same time excited. They had never felt more powerful, more confident, more sure of themself than they did as a delphox. If that was what they were going to be like in the future… then they couldn’t wait!

They had something new to look forward to.

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

(Brief description of our duo can be found here)

Stories from this week: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 |

[voiceoffenrisulfr]

Becoming Spider-Man - Chapter Fourteen

Peter Parker Wakes Up

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> Peter Parker & Tony Stark (IronDad)

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 -> In which Peter comes home, and Tony makes a choice.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 -> 2097

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> (T) Implied Major Character Death

𝐀/𝐍 -> I'm so sorry </3 There are two versions of the next chapter (15) though, in a pick-your-own-ending style, depending on if you want to cry or not. Check it out below, or on AO3 here! Cute divider by @/sweetmelodygraphics!

<- Previous Chapter (13/16) Sad Ending (15/16) -> Happy Ending (16/16) ->

I swung through the portal Doctor Strange had opened, retracting my helmet to survey the battlefield before me, unable to hide the slight smile that tugged at my lips.

We have another chance.

There were portals opening everywhere, all different sizes, with allies of every kind flowing onto the scorched battlefield. I turned my head slightly as Doctor Strange stepped forward, tipping his head toward his friend.

“Is that everyone?” he clarified, his voice optimistic, yet clipped. His fellow sorcerer’s face creased in shocked confusion, the magic circles by his hands flickering minutely. “What, you wanted more?”

My eyes flicked to my left at a resounding crunch, watching the giant form of Ant-Man plow through rubble I distantly recognised as my beloved Compound, now reduced to shattered remnants. His clasped hand lowered, heroes spilling from his fingertips, the ground shaking beneath my feet as the impressive bulk of the Hulk hit the dust. The crowd around me stilled, waiting with bated breath for the signal to go to war, flocking in behind the straightened form of Captain America. “Avengers!” His voice rang out clear across the near-silence, hand extended, Thor’s faithful hammer finding his palm with a resonant thud. I bounced on the ball of my feet, exhilarated, buoyed by a vengeance so close at hand.

“Assemble.”

The command was quiet, but the roar was deafening, body after body pushing forward. Thanos’ sword pointed toward the oncoming masses as I threw myself forward, watching with distant disbelief as Scott punched a familiar, bulky ship from the air, writhing with a life-like quality I’d seen only once before. All around me was a vaguely organised chaos, explosions, bullets and pieces of bodies flying thick and fast. After ducking and weaving, throwing a few of the enemies high into the air, I leapt onto a fallen slab of concrete, surveying the battlefield before me.

“No!” I roared, shooting out my web with furious precision, the fibres wrapping around the arm of a monstrous creature towering over the recently-tossed, ragdoll but familiar figure of Iron Man. He jerked to the ground under my tether, a wordless shriek escaping him as Ant-Man’s enormous foot descended upon his helpless form. I darted between the colossal legs, landing before my mentor, my beloved guardian – my father – retracting my helmet as I tugged him to his feet. “Hey! Holy cow. You will not believe what’s been going on. Do you remember when we were in space? And I got all dusty? I must have passed out, because I woke up, and you were gone. But Doctor Strange was there,” I garbled, my words tripping over themselves in my enthusiasm, as I gestured wildly off to my side, “right? He was like “It’s been five years. Come on, they need us”. And then he started doing the yellow sparkly thing that he does all the time-” I began to wave my hands in demonstration as Tony simply watched me wordlessly, a shocked, soft smile on his face.

“He did? Oh, God,” he added under his breath, falling forward into me, the solid bulk of his suit making me sway back on my heels.

“Th-this is nice,” I stammered, confused, but content to stand wrapped in his arms for a heartbeat. He squeezed me hard, and I closed my eyes, tipping my head against his softly.

We fell back into the battle seamlessly, fighting near one another, Tony’s eyes constantly flicking to me despite the urgency. My eyes zeroed in on T’Challa, the unmistakable glint of the Infinity Gauntlet catching my gaze. “I got it!” I hollered, my webs latching onto the shiny surface, drawing the creation against my body uneasily as the masses converged upon me.

Tony met my eye through the glowing slits of his suit, and nodded once. I nodded in return, squaring my shoulders. “Activate Instant Kill!” I bellowed, letting my body be jostled by the robotic legs bursting from my spine, impaling the creatures circling. They climbed stubbornly over the fallen bodies, getting closer and closer.

“I got this, I got this… Okay, I don’t got this! Somebody, help!” I yelped as the mass threatened to overwhelm me, the daylight rapidly shrinking between the flailing limbs.

“Hey, Queens, heads up!”

Captain America’s voice sounded over my earpiece, and I blindly fired my web into the sky, hoping against hope that I’d hit my target, letting out a euphoric holler as I was dragged along behind the hammer hurtling through the air. A bolt of blue light falling from the sky cut short my flight, and I gasped as I began to fall before jerking to a halt, skimming the ground.

“Hang on. I got you, kid.”

I winced at the name but glanced up gratefully, watching an unfamiliarly familiar suit as it launched me higher, landing gracelessly on the back of a flying horse.

What has my life become? I wondered silently as I slipped into place behind the silver-clad woman, the Gauntlet still hooked carefully over one of my robotic legs. “Hey! Nice to meet you- Oh my God!” I was cut off by the rapid dive of the Pegasus, the creature artfully dodging the further shots of white-hot light until I found myself once more flung through the air, the Gauntlet leaving its place of safety and arcing away from me. My fingers strained toward the falling object, tucking it clumsily against my chest as I plummeted toward the Earth.

But Tony had made my suit well. The legs wrapped around me, cushioning my fall, and I came to a bumpy, but mercifully uninjured, halt, the speed of my skid sending dirt spraying ahead of me. Scrambling to my feet, I started off at a sprint – directly into the path of another falling bolt.

The air rushed from my lungs as I hit the ground once more, the legs shattering beneath me on impact as the Gauntlet spilled from my grasp. I yelped, arms wrapping over my head defensively as further blasts rained down around me. I lay in disbelief, reluctantly peering between my limbs as the shots stopped exploding the earth around me, instead raising to the sky, firing furiously at the clouds. I was distantly aware of the voices echoing over the comms, but the bright light illuminating the grey sky, streaking toward us rather than away, drew all of my attention. One of the ships high over the water exploded as the meteorological object moved seamlessly through it, curving back around for another shot that sent the extra-terrestrial craft plowing to the water with a shockwave strong enough to blast back my hair.

A woman dropped to the earth before me, looming over the crater where I lay cowering, arms wrapped possessively around the Gauntlet. “… Hi, I’m Peter Parker,” I squeaked out, conventionally polite despite my terror.

She looked down at me, an unmistakable air of authority on her face, accompanied by a playful smile. “Hey, Peter Parker. You got something for me?”

I grunted as I got to my feet, head turning unconsciously to seek out Tony amidst the chaos. “I… Don’t know how you’re going to get through all that,” I finished lamely, trying to act for all the world like my main concern – my only concern – wasn’t the wellbeing of my guardian. She reached out to take the Gauntlet from me as the Scarlet Witch landed beside her, closely followed by a Wakandan warrior and the Pegasus lady.

“Don’t worry,” Wanda assured me with a gentle smile.

“She’s got help,” the Wakandan warrior added, facing the onslaught. Further women closed in, leaving me stood behind as they barrelled forward, endlessly impressive.

I returned to the onslaught as best I could, catching the last of the opponents left in their wake until I was floored by a huge wave of power, sending me sprawling in the dirt once more. Fighting my way to my feet, depleted body struggling, I focused on the fight before me, closing in on Thanos as he hurtled Avengers away. Even the flying woman found herself in the dust, and my steps faltered as Thanos slammed the Gauntlet onto his hand, orange lightning streaking up his arm, a roar echoing from his gritted teeth. Before I could blink she was back, falling to her knees as she gripped the glove, close enough now to see her hair flop over her face as she strained desperately. Her hands forced the fingers open, entirely impervious to the huge purple head colliding with hers as she rose, forcing the titan to his own knees. His free fingers found the knuckles of the Gauntlet, prising the glowing purple stone from the glove and palming it in his other hand before launching her bodily from him. I slowed to a halt on the perimeter of the fight, watching helplessly as the sprawled Tony made eye contact with Doctor Strange, who was still straining to hold back a tide of floodwater. The wizard raised a single finger – an unknown indicator, and Tony panted for breath, his face an indecipherable mask.

My gaze flicked back to Thanos at a flash of light, lightning once more working around his arm as the stone was replaced, surrounding his limbs.

“No,” I whispered under my breath, taking a step closer as Mr. Stark lunged forward, grasping the Gauntlet in his hands. The two tussled briefly, before a backhand sent my guardian rolling in the dirt once more. I whimpered, trembling fingers raising to my throat as I fought for breath, the destructor’s arm raising for a final time.

“I am inevitable.” His baritone voice was quiet but clear as he brought his fingertips together, snapping together with a resounding, metallic thunk.

And then…

Nothing happened.

My gaze moved back to my mentor, who had gotten to his knees, one hand raised purposefully, unmistakable dots of colour flickering in the red metal. His head tipped back as the power flowed, an animatronic whirring sounding, but it wasn’t loud enough to drown out his grunts of pain, bringing tears to the corner of my eyes. He met the gaze of the stunned titan steadily, something akin to shock evident on his own face.

“And I…” Tony murmured, his voice low and clear, “Am… Iron man.”

His gaze held that of Thanos, unwavering and sure, as he brought his fingers together in a blinding flash of white light.

The earth trembled beneath my feet as the remaining enemies faded to dust, powdery shards hitting their targets harmlessly. I looked about myself in shock, entirely dumbfounded at the disintegration around me. The titan watched the devastation silently, sinking to a seat in his disbelief and grief, still panting from his fight as his own body began to crumble.

I let out a short, sharp laugh of shock, turning to my mentor with a broad grin, the expression fading from my face as I saw him stumble to a sitting position, breathing heavily.

“No.”

I found myself swinging through the air before I’d even registered the movement, landing a few paces away, panting lightly but entirely oblivious to the unrecognised pain in my body. “Mr. Stark?” I hesitated before moving forward quickly, dropping to my knees before my fallen guardian, the tears now flowing freely. “Hey- Mr. Stark? Can you hear me? It’s Peter.” My voice cracked, and I sobbed, feeling the muscles of my face tremble in my grief. “Hey. We won, Mr. Stark- We won, Tony. We won. You did it, Dad. You did it.” I clenched my jaw as my eyes screwed up, curling myself against his body as he blinked blankly. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

His weak hand found the back of my head, and I raised my gaze, briefly hopeful as his eyes met mine. “Hey, son.”

I swallowed around another sob, fighting the vomit threatening to rise in my throat at the grief overwhelming me. “Friday?”

“Life functions critical,” Friday’s melodious voice replied quietly. Tony offered me a weak, reassuring smile, and I put my hand on his cheek.

“Tony… Dad, look at me.” His eyes met mine once more, fighting to maintain focus, and I smiled back. “It’s okay. I’m gonna be okay. You don’t have to be Iron Man anymore. You can rest now. I… I love you, Dad.”

His smile froze as the arc reactor in his chest flickered, a single, solitary tear cutting a trail through the grime encrusted into his cheek.

I howled as his hand left my hair, dropping my head into his lap as I screamed, throat tearing, soul shredding, heart breaking.

[bookishfeylin]

For the Feylin prompts:

Angst: "Don't die on me. Not again."

OR

Fluff: "Where on earth did you find this?"

From this prompt list.

Let's go with angst :)

The only time Feyre's body had felt so cold and lifeless in Tamlin's arms had been after Amarantha had killed her. It was just so... wrong, for Feyre to be like this. This cold. This quiet. This broken. And yet here she was, lying in his arms like a limp ragdoll. Her blood was warm, though, permeating the air with its sickly-sweet scent.

It made him want to vomit.

Instead, he fell to his knees and cradled her closer, willing himself not to break, trying desperately to ignore the ashwood dagger in her chest, penetrating her lungs. Pulling it out would make things worse, he knew, but that didn't change the way his fingers twitched to remove it and throw it across the battlefield, far away from them both.

"Don't die on me. Not again," Tamlin begged, but something in him knew it was far too late. Her already thready pulse disappeared, and her chest stopped heaving. She was gone.

Gone. Gone, gone, gone--

He screamed, and vomited, and awoke from the nightmare in a cold sweat, feeling her shaking his arms. Feyre wasn't a dull, lifeless body in his arms; there was no scent of blood. It was just her. Just her.

Tamlin's heart calmed, and with a heavy sigh, he rested his head against her chest, breathing in the scent of her, letting her hands fiddle with his hair.

No death. No blood. Just Feyre.

[tovonind]

Vignettes #2: ubi bene, ibi patria

For the umpteenth time, Marcos wished he had an updated copy of his last well and testament. He swung back and forth in the pit, weaving around the jabs and swings as his opponent earnestly attempted to make art on the floor using his blood as paint. His reed like body almost seemed to bend, twist and stretch, as he sensed the currents of wind from the onrushing fists. His precognitive abilities showed him the next strike, a wild haymaker from the enraged ogre, but it took all of his excellent musculature acting in concert to duck backward in time. Even so, the spikes on the ogre's gauntlets raked a shallow furrow across his bare chest. A sudden vivid image of a river flooding red blossomed in his mind as the blood pounded in his ears, and he had to bite his lip to bring the world back into focus.

The crowd cheered wildly. In his vicinity, he could smell the beer and the blood, mixed with sweat, tears, urine, and cutting through everything else, a scent of desperation from the ogre in front of him, and spike of fear, that he recognised with a thrill, came from himself. He straightened himself, planted his feet apart to lower his center, and adopted a defensive stance. Fists held loose, arms in front of his torso and face. Bandages wrapped around his palms and hands drenched in blood and sweat, fraying at the ends.

He focused on calming his breathing, and cast his hearing out to the sounds in the pit. Laboured breathing from the ogre in front of him, almost grunting. Near-defeaning cheers from the rowdy audience, people arguing, bets being made in the distance, the odds stacked clearly against him - a puny blind human against an ogre? And as the fight went on, the odds were climbing. But not enough. Not yet. He smirked, and made a rude gesture at the ogre.

The ogre rushed forward, feinted toward the left, punched toward the right, aiming straight for his face. He felt it coming, and almost lazily deflected it with an open palm. 'Jarl, come on buddy, you'll have to do better than that', he whispered as the deflected fist drew them briefly close. The ogre screamed, incoherent in it's rage, apoplectic in it's fury, and swung at him again. He allowed it to graze him again, and made a show of falling to one knee as if hurt, before rising again.

Something strange caught the edge of his ear around then. Not a humming ... almost a chanting, a whisper with a strange cadence. It was subtle in the crowd, but unmistakable. A sinking feeling at the bottom of his stomach warned him that magic always complicated matters, and usually not in a way that worked out for him.

The cheers, jeers and boos from the crowd were dying away, something strange seemed to be happening. He tried to sense the ogre, but it was just standing still, making strange burbling noises, as if choking on something. The first beads of alarm from the crowd were popping up like wildflowers on his periphery. The sounds of choking were clearer now, and Marcos went forward to help he heard a heavy thunk as the ogre collapsed to it's knees, burbling and making whinnying sounds for help. Scrabbling, he heard it put it's arm into it's mouth as if trying to pluck a fishbone from it's throat. Flailing, desperate. Choking sounds turning to gasps, and then to keening screams as it dragged something out of it's throat. Something impossibly jagged, impossibly sharp. The sharp iron tang of lifeblood was in the air, and as he stood and listened, the keening stopped, a silent death rattle as the final breaths of air left a torn windpipe.

Marcos wasn't sure what happened. Someone had tampered with the fight, but to what end? Was it someone with a grudge against the ogre? He was relatively unknown in these parts, up near the drow lands, so it was unlikely that someone was trying to help him. Maybe it was... a flash of white.

Pain. Incredible, rich, pain. Triggering an avalanche of memories that cascaded across his muscles, spasming, retching. The distant percussion of wardrums playing in the background ... thump, thump thump thump... eyes that saw burning fields and dying comrades as a massive dracolich swarmed down to claim the fallen.. thump, thump thump thump ... eyes that saw all the running, hiding, while the wardrums beat on, the beats urging, forcing his expendable self to go back on to the field and sacrifice himself for the greater good, ... thump, thump thump thump.. eyes that were not allowed to disobey, eyes that did not leave the battlefield as he ran ... thump, thump thump thump .. the wardrums that now only remained etched in the pattern of the blood pounding in his head. White fading to red. Ribs broken, smashed, slashed. That had narrowly missed his lungs. But he was alive. For better or for worse. Still fucking alive.

He could hear a crooked, burbling, laughter from the ogre now. It wasn't the laughter of something alive, or even something with an intact set of vocal chords. He couldn't sense breathing - the creature was clearly dead. But even as he made this assessment, it stepped forward and took another swing.

He dodged, ducking and rolling out of the way, but only barely. The ogre's feet made a sound while stepping, but the weapon it now held in it's hand made no sound as it sliced through the stale air in the pit. The guttural wheezing, chuckling sound felt familiar, and something at the back of his mind recognised it but he didn't have time to place it as the ogre rumbled toward him again, and faster. Much faster than it had been in life, taking strides it shouldn't have been able to, the joints making bending and popping noises as it moved in a way it had not been designed to.

Marcos tensed and leaped up, landing on the ogre's arm as it swung past him on it's downswing, the strange weapon in it's hand silent. Somersaulting, he used the ogre's broken head as a platform to jump off of, and came down with a heavy spin-kick.

Heavy in life, the ogre took the hit without flinching, seemingly ignoring the crunch as Marco's legs impacted it straight in the chest and drove on through. With a meaty hand, it grabbed him by the neck and torso, and simply swung him like a ragdoll and pounded him against the ground.

As Marcos attempted to get up, the ogre took another attack, slashing with it's weapon across his back, and he felt the warmth of his own blood before the pain hit him. With a quick gesture, he attempted to cast a small healing spell on himself, rules be damned, but to his surprise it did not take. The wound from the strange weapon seemed to be canceling it out, and taking some of his precog ability with it.

Not bothering to get off the ground, Marcos centered himself, and readied himself for the next attack that he felt coming. It had been a long time, but bereft of his hearing and smell and precog, he felt truly blind once again. And somehow, that was the push he needed.

He shut himself off to all external stimuli, and concentrated. Deep, within his core, past the pain, past the memories, past the young boy he had once been, he found the fire. Burning, etched into his soul, crimson and beautiful, cold as his will. As the ogre swung down, Marcos brought his hands together, as a second set of hands, made completely of fire, rose out of his arms and grasped the phantom blade, holding it inches away from his face. With a strength borne out of desperation, he wrenched the blade away, and felt it taken from the ogre's grasp and flung out on to the mud a few feet away.

Jacknifing to his feet, Marcos punched out at the undead ogre, even now chuckling, although with a slightly confused note. Once, twice, each blow augmented by the flaming fists keeping lockstep, and went all in, pushing his body past it's limits, punching thrice, four times in a split second, the flaming flurry of blows lifting the ogre bodily and throwing it outwards, burning it in an inferno before it could hit the ground again. Utterly spent, Marcos collapsed.

Bleeding and bruised at the bottom of the pit, Marcos remembered that though the undead ogre had been dealt with, the caster was still at large. As he blacked out, he once again wished he'd fucking updated his last will and testament.

[sassysatsuma]

may i so kindly ask for a kassandra and brasidas where they patch each other up after a tough battle where they came out more cut and bruised than before? for them to talk about being worried for each other (and also a little bit scared when one of them gets knocked down) during the fight? (i can see this being angsty/heartwarming fluff and im ready for you to slay me with your writing askdfghjkllslsjl :'D)

Eeeek, I’m a bit nervous about this drabble fill because it ended up deviating a little from your original idea, I hope that’s OK! There’s angst at the start and fluff at the end, so I hope you enjoy friend! :-)

Prompts: Accepting

Rating: Teen

Words: 1699

AO3: Here

In amongst the spilt blood and bone of the battle for Pylos,Kassandra’s heart had stopped in her chest.

It had beat once, forceful beneath her ribcage, her eyes fixedupon her lover as he tumbled to the floor, a ragdoll at the end of Alexios’blade. His body had been still, hauntingly so, blood staining his armour as itseeped from his wounds and into the earth. The world had stood still then, heldin place by her bated breath. When he continued to be still, she had willed herown heart to never beat again if he had truly been taken from her.

There would be nothing left for her in a world that didn’thave him in it.

But then Brasidas groaned, writhed in pain and suddenlythere was hope. A reason to fight, areason to survive and a reason to win. A reason to cross swords with her ownflesh and blood. Kassandra had not been in control of her own legs as she hadrun headfirst into that fight, throwing aside every ounce of battlefield guileand cunning that their father had fought so hard to teach her.

Alexios hadn’t been her brother then. He had been Deimos, the Cult’s right hand and theepitome of everything that she despised. With his blade coated in Brasidas’blood, it was so easy to fight him amongst the fire and smoke, too easy toforget the bonds that bound them. He had tried to take her heart from her and inher wrath, Kassandra would have happily cut his still beating from his chest.

It didn’t come to that and in truth, Kassandra was glad. Herbrother’s blood would have forever stained her hands, never to be scrubbedclean. Instead, the Gods had granted them a chance reprieve, Deimos caught beneatha felled tree, badly damaged in the battle’s flames. In a moment of brief clarity,she’d run to aid him, but before she’d been able, he’d been recovered by Atheniansoldiers, hauled from the battlefield still screaming for her blood.

With him gone, her world shifted focus, feet carrying her toBrasidas’ side. He was still lying as he’d fallen, the strength that she bothloved and admired fading fast. With him in her arms, nothing else had mattered,his blood warm and sticky as it coated her hands. She’d heard the Spartans callfor surrender over the clamour of battle, had screamed at the top of her lungsfor the soldiers closest to come to her aid. With Brasidas draped across hershoulders, his dead weight pushing her down into the earth, she’d retreatedwith the soldiers at her flanks, defending her from any Athenian fool enough tochase them down.

The Spartans were lost, routed without their general. Manyhad seen fit to follow Kassandra and they had pushed further into the cover ofthe woods, running as far as their legs could carry them until the bloodthirstyAthenians finally called off their pursuit.

From that moment on, Brasidas’ fate had been in the hands ofhis healers and of the Gods. Kassandra had never placed all that much faith inthem, had always chosen action over prayer. But that night, cold and alone, shemade offerings to both Apollo and Asklepios, entreating the father and son tointervene on her behalf, to save the one man she couldn’t bear to exist without.Hands coated in the mixed blood of Brasidas’ and the goat she had sacrificed onhis behalf, she’d held her hands to the heavens hopelessly, truly begging forthe first time in her life.

She’d never cared to ask the Gods for anything, but that nightshe would have given anything for them to hear her prayers.

The Gods answered come the morning, after a night filledwith feverish sleeplessness. As a blood red sun rose higher in the sky,Kassandra made her way into the makeshift healing tent the Spartan’s hadconstructed, silently terrified of what sight might greet her.

Instead, she was met with a smile, strained across, pallid features,but his smile nonetheless. It hadbeen that smile she had first fallen in love with, all those months ago, amixture of creased skin and softness that pulled at her heartstrings in a waythat no other could.

“I’d stand but…” Brasidas was joking, albeit weakly. Heshifted awkwardly on his makeshift bed, batting away the healers who attemptedto help him. “They tell me my leg isn’t strong enough.”

“And you listened?” Kassandra cocked an eyebrow, the joke atleast helping her hide her true emotions.

“The pain helps…” He shrugged but then immediately winced,his hand reaching up towards his right shoulder, wound up tight in bandagesthat covered where Deimos’ first blow had struck. His next words were less goodhumoured, directed at the healers that littered the tent like flies. “Leave us.Anything I need now, Kassandra can surely provide.”

She smiled at that.

Shielded from prying eyes, she could finally hold him. Movingtentatively to his side, she leaned over his body, ever careful that she didn’tpressure his injuries. Kissing him didn’t feel real in her sleep deprived mind,her lips pressed firmly against those which she’d feared lost barely hoursbefore. It was difficult to tear herself away, her mouth greedy for more of himto reassure her heart. In consolation she kept their faces close, her foreheadpressed against the top of his head as her hand stroked gently at his cheek.

“I thought I’d lost you.”

“Hades didn’t want me.” He chuckled softly, bringing herhand to his lips so that he could kiss her palm. “Or so the healers told me.”

“You were lucky.”

“I don’t feel it.” He shook his head, watching her closelyas she moved to sit at his side. “But at least your brother missed my swordarm.”

“He cut almost everything else.”

“Many of my men suffered worse.” Brasidas shrugged, almosthiding the wince that followed the movement from her gaze. “He fights with thesame fire as you.”

“You should have left him to me. He’s my burden… not yours.”

“Is it wrong for me to want to spare you that?” He looked ather seriously, his brow knitted in concern. “It’s a heavy thing, to fightsomeone you once loved. I thought that if I fought him, killed him then you would never have to.”

“… You’re a general first.”

“And he was cutting his way through my men too. I had justcause to confront him. But it’s hard to pretend that you had no part in mydecision either.” He smiled, taking her hand in his. “As you are a part of everydecision I make these days.”

“You’re a fool.”

“Perhaps, but it was the Fates who decided that I would fallin love with a mistios. Who am I toargue?”

Kassandra was at a loss how to reply, her words stolen fromher by his smile and the warmth of his hand around hers. Instead, she pressedcloser again, kissing him with every emotion that consumed her thoughts. Her lipslingered against his, tasting as much as she was able, her left hand mussingthrough the short hair atop his head. Her other hand found his bare chest,fingers splayed above his still beating heart, finger tips grazing through theshort hair that covered his skin there. Beneath her touch, Brasidas shuddered,his skin pebbling into gooseflesh. Breaking their kiss at last, Kassandracouldn’t help but smile, returning the love that filled his eyes with thegesture.

“I love you.” Her words were plain, almost stern, butBrasidas understood her meaning entirely. “But take risks like that again and Iwill march into Hades myself and drag you straight back into the land of theliving.”

“You do have a habit of achieving the impossible.”

“Only when fools like you make it a necessity. I’d prefer aneasy life, somewhere quiet with plenty of wine.”

“Quiet? You?” Helaughed, groaning when the shaking of his chest tugged at his tight bandages. “Isthere room in this wine filled dream for two?”

“You’ve been a part of that dream for a while.” Kassandrawatched the amusement in his features shift into something more in response toher words. “You’re the future I’mfighting for.”

“And you say that I’m the fool.” Brasidas’ voice was hoarse,his eyes filled with love. “But you know that I want nothing more than to stayby your side.”

“Then maybe next time don’t be so quick to leave it. I’mnothing without you, Spartan. Perhaps it’s about time we both learned to acceptthat.”

There were no more words after that, simply more feverishkisses shared in the dim light of the tent. As the sun continued its journeyupwards into the sky, Brasidas tired, falling into a heavy slumber as his bodyfought to heal. His ever-present guardian, Kassandra stayed by his side,smoothing the hair from his forehead and bathing his sweat coated skin with adamp cloth when it was needed. When he did awaken, she made sure he drank hisfill of water, leaving his bedside only to refill his animal skin and bring hima plate of food to pick at when he was able.

When night returned, she slept by his side, her head pressedagainst his shoulder, body curled against his to protect against the cool nighttime air that filled the tent. It was the most soundly she had slept in sometime, her dreams consumed with thoughts of the shared future they’d spoken of.

In the morning, there would be decisions to make andjourneys to consider. The consequences of Pylos couldn’t be outrun forever. Butin the darkness of their shared tent, Kassandra was content to let thoseconcerns fade. With Brasidas still by her side, there was no choice too great,no future too unnerving to contemplate. He was her strength, her heart. Her peace. For the moment at least, shecould rest easy in the warmth of knowing that he was still ever present at herside.  

[ohnoboho]

He's baaack part 2

Here is a continuation of my little Fear Sanders snippet from a while ago, which you can find here. Will Roman be able to save the day alone? What exactly does Fear want? And where is Virgil? You can find out right now, dear reader!

It's going to be okay, it’s going to be okay.

Roman desperately wished he could believe the refrain that he yelled in his own mind, but even the bravest of princes knew when a situation turned grim. And as he surveyed the battlefield; Logan stuck in a wakeless nightmare, Patton still unconscious across his lap, and poor Virgil taken somewhere, the situation was far beyond grim. Maybe even hopeless. No, he couldn’t let himself think like that. He had to be brave, for Patton, for Logan, for Thomas, and for Virgil. Fear’s laughter echoed through the alley way as he sauntered slowly towards Roman.

“And then there was one.” The dark side smirked, his one eye glinting wolfishly. “And what a one you are, aren’t you? Prince Creativity the Courageous. Prince Creativity the Brave. Prince Creativity the Fool.”

Roman, still pinned to the wall, struggled to steel himself as Fear raked an icy talon across his jawline, but he couldn’t help the smallest, uncomfortable clench of his teeth. The dark side chuckled dryly.

“Thomas won’t give in to you, Fear!” Roman barked, jerking his head away. “He will always have his bravery, right here, fighting for him!” With a savage growl, the prince slammed his feet back against the wall and shoved his body weight into the shadow figure.

Fear, caught by surprise, stumbled backwards. The amorphous darkness around his legs retreated back towards the figure, releasing Roman from the wall. The creative side saw his opening and dashed for his sword. He managed to snatch it from the ground, before throwing himself out of the path of one of Fear’s shadow tendrils as it came crashing down.

“You can’t defeat me, Princey! I will consume you!” The dark side screeched horribly, the mass around his feet jumping to life. More inky black tendrils shot towards Roman, who dodged them clumsily. He swung his sword wildly, chopping through the encroaching darkness. The flailing darkness disappeared in puffs of smokes, but for each writhing tentacle he cut down, two more would rush forwards to take their place. For a time, Roman was holding his own, dancing around Fear’s strikes in a whirl of steel, but he knew it couldn’t last forever. Thomas’s bravery was faltering and Roman could feel his strength starting to drain.

“First, I will crack that feeble form of yours, my little prince, and then, I will take your mind!” Fear shouted, laughing maniacally as he whipped his dark tendrils mercilessly against Roman’s sword again and again. They beat down upon the steel of the blade endlessly.

As he grunted and snarled with exertion, the creative side struggled to fend off the blows, until he could feel a crushing weight come over his body, like his limbs weighed a ton each. Roman couldn’t stop himself as he cried out, falling to one knee. It was then that the shadows ceased their assault. The prince grimaced as he looked up through his disheveled bangs to see Fear standing over him.

The dark side smiled and flicked his tongue hungrily over his fangs. “Give up.”

“Never.” Roman hissed, leaning heavily on his sword as he struggled to his feet.

“Give up!” Fear snarled, rushing forwards and grabbing Roman by the throat. The sword dropped to the ground with a loud clatter as the light side was raised up into the air. His feet kicked desperately as he clawed at the dark side’s talon-like hand.

Roman fought the darkness that was threatening to invade his mind. Icy shadows gripped the base of his skull and pressed at his temples. A strangled growl ripped from the prince's throat as he struggled in the dark side’s grasp. The shadows tried and tried again to penetrate his mind, but the light side held strong. He might not have had any physical strength left, but Roman would always have his bravery. Fear bared down, intensifying his barrage on the other’s mind. Still Roman resisted, gnashing his teeth together and panting with the effort. With a resentful bark, Fear threw his captive to the ground.

“You might be able to resist me, Princey, but it’s no matter, together, we will break you.” The shadow figure spit out viciously, raising one clawed hand. Roman pushed himself up weakly to see another figure shoot up next to Fear. Unlike Fear’s smooth darkness, this side was a mass of grey static, spitting and sizzling frantically. It was barely in the shape of a man, its edges seemed to jump in and out of focus. As its head turned sharply towards Roman, he gasped harshly. The side had no mouth, but the its eyes, though hazy and obscured, were unmistakable.

“Virgil!”

“Ah, so you recognize him. Are you impressed by his true form?” Fear cooed maliciously, savouring the mix of horror and sorrow that played across the creative side’s face. “Magnificent, isn’t he? Meet Anxiety, unbridled, untethered, unrestrained.”

“No…” The prince’s shoulders fell heavily as he groaned. He was searching the static figure’s eyes for any spark of the Virgil he knew, but the figure only stared blankly ahead.

“Oh, I'm afraid so, dear. This is what we sides could be, my pathetic little prince. Our true potential!” Fear slunk behind Anxiety and wrapped his hands around the figure’s shoulders. “Look at the sheer power Anxiety has when he no longer constrains himself to the diluted forms you and your fellow 'light sides' use ‘for Thomas’s good’!" Sarcasm dripped from his words as the dark side stalked closer and closer to where Roman sat slumped on the ground. “No longer will he choose to stay weakened and bound! No longer will he reject his natural strength! Now, with Anxiety by my side, WE shall take charge and it is YOU that will cower in the corners of Thomas’s mind!”

From the abyss around Fear’s feet, a large shadow tendril rushed towards the creative side, it was joined by a sparkling bolt of static that shot from Anxiety. Roman instinctively flinched away from it, shouting as he held up his sword in a final desperate act. But the hit never came.

“What?! It can't be!” Fear shrieked furiously as Roman wrenched open his eyes.

“Virgil?!”

Anxiety’s bolts were wrapped around Fear, pulling him away from Roman. The two imposing figures struggled fiercely. Deafening pops of static and cracking whips of darkness rang through the alley. Bricks and concrete rained down from the walls as they slammed into them.

"Roman!” Anxiety's voice, distorted, sharp, and ear-splitting, shook the creative side from his shock. “Go, Roman! You need Logan! Rational thinking and bravery will beat him!”

“No! Nothing will defeat me!” Fear’s voice cracked and strained as he fought against Anxiety’s hold.

Roman pushed himself up unsteadily to his feet and staggered towards where the logical side knelt. One pitch tentacle snapped around the prince’s ankle, yanking him back. He kicked violently at it with his other foot and it retreated back. Two more tendril shot out towards him, but exploded into a cloud of dark smoke with a bright crack of lightning.

“Go, Roman!” Anxiety's voice scraped through the air. The very sound of it made the creative side want to clap his hands over his ears, but instead he heaved himself back up and lunged towards his friends.

“Logan!” Roman shouted, collapsing to his knees in front of the logical side. Logan’s face was tilted upwards and frozen in a gruesome mask of terror. The prince waved his hand desperately in front of the other’s eyes, but the inky blackness that filled them didn’t retreat. “Logan! Wake up!” He tried shaking Logan, furiously jerking him like a ragdoll to no effect. The clamor behind him grew to a thunderous brawl and Roman wasn’t sure how much longer Virgil would be able to hold Fear.

Desperately, the creative side took the logical side’s face in his hands and tilted his head down. Forcing himself to look into the terrifying abyss of the other’s eyes, Roman took a deep breath and focused intently on listening. The sounds of the battle began to fade and it was then he heard a faint, hoarse shouting.

“Logan!” He yelled out again, voice wavering slightly.

“Roman!? Roman, where are you?” The voice was quiet and hazy, but definitely there.

“Logan, listen to my voice and come towards it!” Roman cried out. “Come on, Logan! Find your way out! I’m right here! Just listen to my voice! Come on, Logan!” The prince bit his lip, as he struggled to stay focused on the vague voice he could hear in his mind, but suddenly it was crystal clear in front of him. His hands dropped from the other's face carefully.

“Roman?” The side in front of him blinked roughly and pulled his glasses from his face, so he could swipe at his eyes. As he returned his glasses to his face, Logan nearly began to cry with relief. “Roman, oh, it w-w-was awful...what happened? How di-d-did you-? You-you saved me?”

The creative side smiled for only a moment before a deafening crash behind him caught their attention. He jumped forwards and pulled Patton gently from Logan’s lap, laying the other side on the concrete as softly as he could. The logical side protested. "We've got t-to-to get Patton aw-away!"

“There's no time. I need your help.” Roman sighed heavily before standing up and turning to face the battle still raging between the two figures. “Now.” He gruffed, rolling his shoulders with a grunt and hefting his sword from one hand to the other.

Logan got up slowly, still reeling from the nightmare he has been stuck in. He furrowed his brow as he studied the two figures brawling viciously. “Is th-that-” He started to ask, before Roman cut him off with a grim nod.

“Virgil said that rational thought and bravery can defeat fear.” The creative side said over his shoulder, a new determination welling up inside his chest. Virgil was in that creature somewhere and they would get him out. “I don’t know how we’re going to do it, but it’s up to us.”

“A-a-all right.” Logan gulped nervously, with a glance back down at Patton. With a shaky breath, the logical side closed his eyes and began to put back together the pieces of his mind. “I've got an id-idea.”

Taglist:

@funsizedgremlin @killerfangirl3 @bunny222

[dragonage-meets-fallout-reacts]

dragon age inquisition companions react to the inquisitor confessing their love to them? ❤️ lov u

Tysm ily2 ❤️ Sorry this one took so long, I got a little carried away with a few.

Sera: While Sera’s laughing at her own jokes and throwing a crude comment at whoever’s unlucky enough to be her victim, the Inquisitor speaks up, almost oblivious to Sera’s antics, as they murmur some comment about how much they love her. She’s caught off-guard, interrupted and halted mid-innuendo, by an accidental declaration of love, no less. The elf is quiet for the first time in her life - for a blessed five seconds, that is - before her unmistakable laughter splits the silence in the tavern and she’s rolling back with a crooked grin. “Funny, yeah? Like to mess about, you.” Needless to say, she stays quiet when she realises it isn’t another prank nor a joke. The grin never leaves, though, and neither does the fluttering in her chest that she’ll never admit to.

Blackwall: After days of frustration on the battlefield, the warden storms down to the barn, demanding that someone comes down to train with him. Almost too eagerly, the Inquisitor shows up with a set of wooden shields and swords. Blackwall begins training with a roar, swinging at the similarly-skilled Inquisitor with the light decoy sword as if it was the real thing, and his leader was no more than a greyspawn wretch. Despite their own skill in battle, eventually Blackwall topples the Inquisitor with a particularly forceful clash of sword against shield, followed by the clash of head and ground. His anger released, Blackwall quickly begins to apologise, kneeling over his dazed friend with a grimace beneath his beard. “I didn’t mean to hit you that hard, but I didn’t think you’d fall that hard, either.” He offers a hand, and the supposed Herald accepts with a laugh, smiling despite the fresh lump on their head. He’s ready to call it a day and head into the barn, when the Inquisitor’s laughter trails off with three soft words. Spinning around, the warden raises a dark, bushy brow. “You what?”

“I just… I love you.” They repeat, clearer and with a smile. Blackwall stammers, mumbles, shakes his head, then offers the Inquisitor a sad smile, face drawn with pity.

“You really ought'n’t.”

Bull: The Iron Bull is drinking, as usual, with the chargers. What he doesn’t expect is for the Inquisitor to join them so readily. “You know boss, we don’t just drink any old swill… this is strong stuff.”

The Inquisitor reassures him that they’ll be fine, and accepts the enormous tankard Bull passes to them. Despite their reassurances, Bull’s statement proves to be true within the hour; slurring their words and stumbling into tables are the least of the Inquisitor’s worries when they’re this drunk. Bull’s always been protective of his team, and the Inquisitor is no exception. The horned warrior scoops his boss up like a ragdoll and begins the trek from the tavern up to their quarters, which just so happen to be at the second-highest point in Skyhold. The Inquisitor stirs and wriggles in his arms, which doesn’t make the job easier, but when they plant a surprisingly sweet kiss to his scarred cheek and slur an “I love you”, all of the complaints in his head vanish. He chuckles quietly, a smile spreading across his face. “Yeah, Boss, love you too.”

Dorian: Dorian loves himself. It’s not a crime, he’s not ashamed, and why shouldn’t he? The perfect son, or at least that’s the way he was bred, like some prize goat. He doesn’t let it show, but deep down, beneath his confidence and, though rare, his arrogance, Dorian hurts. Cast out by his family for being himself, he forgets, sometimes, that he can still be loved.

But mostly, Dorian loves himself. And so does a certain watchful Inquisitor.

It comes up as casually as it possibly could, up in the higher levels of the library. Dorian regales the Inquisitor with tales of his homeland, littering his stories with his own unique sense of wit and spite. He goes on and on - Dorian enjoys talking about himself - until he notices the distant look on the Herald’s face.

“Come now, the stories might be boring, but focus on the man telling them.”

“That’s precisely what I’m doing, Dorian. I’m madly in love with you, aren’t I?”

“Well,” Hums Dorian, smirking beneath his mustache. “So you should be. Now, onto our Divine-”

He doesn’t show it, naturally, but their words are something he’ll never let go of.

Vivienne: Vivienne is as close to flawless as the Inquisitor has ever seen. She’s the most regal person within the entirety of Skyhold, and she carries herself like she knows it. The Inquisitor, the prophet, the leader of the Inquisition and master of Skyhold, is humbled by her presence. On their way back to their quarters after another round of bonding with the chargers in the tavern, the Inquisitor passes her, lit by moonlight and practically ethereal. Swaying on their feet, the Inquisitor stops for a while to look at her.

“By the Maker,” They murmur, catching her attention. “I think I love you.”

“Oh my sweet thing,” Vivienne just laughs, looking at the Inquisitor as if they were an amusing child. “You may be a charmer, but you’re not mine, and I will not be yours. Now,” She crosses her arms and nods to the staircase. “Go find a bed where you can sleep off that drinking, I don’t want to have to fix any broken bones because you fell over a bannister.”

Cassandra: Despite all the times Cassandra’s had the Inquisitor’s back in battle, it’s during the peaceful hours that they truly begin to appreciate her. They’d oft find her sitting in some dark corner or on a secluded balcony in Skyhold, clutching a book, sometimes even a pen, her face creased in a dozen different emotions. They always found it endearing; she always found it humiliating when she realised she’d been spotted bent over her novels and diaries. One day, the Inquisitor finally gathers the courage, and approaches her whilst she’s engrossed in a book they know she’s read a hundred times already. Wordlessly, they hold out a small, square package, tied with a simple string bow.

“Inquisitor, what-”

“Open it, please.”

She does, cautiously, and with a stern frown that melts into a look of awe when she reveals Varric’s latest novel, a blessing she never thought she’d recieve. Deep down, the Seeker knows the Inquisitor probably had to bend some arms and make a few deals to get this; that’s just the way Varric is. Smoothing a hand over the cover, Cassandra regains control of her face and returns to the best scowl she can muster, squinting at the Inquisitor. “Why did you bring me this?” She asks, slowly and suspiciously. In the Templar order, friendships were often futile, and as a Seeker she knows that a professionalism is a must, and yet-

“Well, Cassandra,” Begins the Inquisitor, shying briefly. “I quite like you.”

“Y-yes,” She blurts, pulling down her brows. “We are… allies, friends, correct?”

The Inquisitor laughs, teasing her neverending professionalism, and leaves her to contemplate the exchange with a deep red blush, holding the book close.

Solas: Solas mostly keeps to himself in the library, usually the least social of the Inquisitor’s personal companions. If there’s one person that seems determined to bring him out of his shell and crack the mystery that the apostate is, it’s the Inquisitor. Every time they’re in the main keep, the Inquisitor ensures that they have a reason to pass through the library, and oftentimes they get sidetracked by the bald-headed elf. Whether they’re feigning their interest in the Fade or not doesn’t matter, only that Solas is notably impressed by their curiosity.

Solas eventually speaks up, “Forgive me, but I must ask why one such as yourself wishes to know so very much about the Fade?”

The Inquisitor straightens their shoulders and decides to speak to Solas as he would want it: with candor, and subtly sweetened. “I suppose I must confess… I’m far more interested in you, than I am in the Fade.”

“Ah,” Solas fights off a blush in favour of a solemn shadow, looking away from the romantic hopeful for fear of returning their feelings. “Then it is poor fortune on you,-” His tongue almost slips and he’s far too close to calling them Ma Vhenan. “-my friend…”

[iceepsy]

The Keyblade War. Part 5. The end.

The last is Ira. A world of forgotten dreams.

Edit: had to remove the links

With that last strike, shale crushing bone, Ira knows that the war is over. It’s in his gut. It’s in the way the wind silently blows through, echoing the deep canyon, mocking him. It’s in the look - the hurt - on Aced’s face as the boulders fell. It’s in the last words he exchanged with Invi, brisk and professional. It’s in the last glances he shared with Gula and Ava before they all parted ways.

Ira’s breath hitches; Aced’s face rings of shock. It’s unforgivable; he let his anger overtake him. He immediately regretted his actions, but now, he can only accept the consequences. He closes Aced’s eyes and mouths a prayer to whichever god or master listening. How much darkness must be in his heart for him to kill an old friend? Never had he thought the hours (days, years) he spent pouring over the book of prophecies would amount to this ending. Ira carefully moves the cracked conglomerate crushing Aced and gingerly lifts him up, throwing his companion’s arm around his shoulder. He’s reminded of those years ago, seeing the brawnier man clutching against the brick and mortar buildings of Daybreak Town. “Gula,” Aced whispered, “has known all along there was a traitor.” Even Gula’s obsession and methodical examination of the lost page was unable to prevent this tragedy.

“The darkness will prevail and the light will expire.” The Master was right. As he always was, despite his eccentric ways.

Aced’s limp despite Ira’s grip. He can only hope the others made it out alive. He has to believe even when faced against such a miniscule probability. He has to believe. To keep his light. That said, he tries to ignore the piled bodies of the keyblade warriors, some even younger than Ava and Gula, littering the landscape. 

Ira finds Ava in a cove, not far from his fight with Aced. At first, he saw pink, relieved she was only resting. He hobbles towards her while half-carting half-hauling Aced. He whispers another prayer for defacement of the dead. Upon closer examination, his head peaking into the crevice, Ira’s heart breaks. Ava sits against the wall, her head limply flopping forward. Only half of her treasured mask rests precariously in her open palm. The other half must have long since been destroyed. He tries lifting her head in hopes for a small miracle. For Ava to stir. Instead, he’s met with the sight of her pained expression and the feeling of slight resistance from her contracted muscles when he tries to smooth her face into peaceful sleep. 

Ira fights back tears. What did she go through to cause her to have such nightmares? He shutters and stops the train of thought. He had secretly hoped of the six - five - foretellers, Ava would be the one to make it out. And not him. Ava, their ray of sunshine. Ava, and her fierce loyalty. After the traitor incident, Ava refused give up Gula’s location. He’d catch her sometimes, head tilted, staring at him. She’d soon rapidly turn her head, embarrassed to be caught. Ira didn’t know what she was thinking; Ava hides everything under a laugh and a smile. He had only hoped she realised it was only in best intentions that the truth of the traitor needed to be revealed.

He pockets her mask and lifts her body with his other hand. Groaning under the combined dead weight, he continues forward.

He makes it to the middle of the battlefield where the five of them first met, surrounded by their union members. It must be an omen for the center and four outreaching paths are cleared of debris, keyblades, and fallen warriors. Ira sets Ava and Aced down before he himself collapses from the strain. On a better day, he would have wondered about the perfectly formed sigil and it’s relation to the prophecy. However, the prophecy has been told and he needs to find Gula and Invi.

Invi was the hardest to find - or to say the least - all of Invi was hard to find. Despite the horrors he experienced during his training, nothing prepared him for the smell of charred flesh and the sight of Invi laying like a ragdoll. Ira is reminded of the explosion he heard hours before. Ira would rather fight thousands of shadows, fight the darkness of his own heart, than come to terms with Invi’s death. At least shadows don’t rot, waiting to be buried, when killed.

He doesn’t want to limp closer and see the state of his longest friend. Ira holds his breath. Like with Ava, Invi’s mask was blown in two. The exposed left side of her face was partially blown off, exposing the soft tissue underneath. The blood has already drained from her face, giving her a ghostly-pale complexion, and gathered at the bottom of her body. It leaks, spreading across the dried ground. Ira takes a step back, unable to hold in his nausea. One arm has been blown off; her other limbs have been twisted in unnatural angles. Bile forms in his mouth. He runs to the closest rock before throwing up.

He finds her arm blown several feet away. It’s stiff and it doesn’t feel right touching it. It’s sacrilege. Ira tries to reattach the arm but healing magic does not work well on the dead. Carefully, he tries to move Invi’s other limbs into a better position for carrying but it’s difficult with her body setting into rigor mortis.

Ira looks at Invi, head cradled against his shoulder, her good side facing him, and thinks back to feather-light touches, surreptitious glances, and whispers he knew would amount to nothing but enjoyed nonetheless. He admits to wishing more than once for heated, impassioned nights that never came. Their relationship had always been kinesics cues layered over a rouse of professionalism. For as long as he’s been a keyblade wielder, Invi has always been by his side. She was a silent, sturdy presence who kept him grounded. Really, he couldn’t wish for a better partner. And now, he doesn’t know what he’s going to do. Who will he awkwardly try to make laugh, leave bookmarked sections of poetry for, or ask for guidance on public speaking? Invi looks to be smiling when she died. Ira can only hope she’s in a better place.

He brings her back and lays her next to Aced.

He finds Gula last, at the other end of the canyon. Like Ava, he’s sitting in a small alcove, his hands placed neatly on his lap. Unlike Ava, Gula looks to be peacefully sleeping. It’s only when Ira called and shakes the young man’s shoulders that he realizes Gula has been long dead.

Ira’s relationship with Gula was unfortunately never the same after his talk with the younger man. Stubbornness must have been a trait in all of them; he remembers raising his voice, stuttering, reasoning his actions were justified, desperate to get information out that could prevent the darkness. At first, though he admitted his role, Gula remained mum. As hours dragged on, Gula relented and talked about the page. It was a terrible explanation filled with vague mentions of a sigil. Ira remained stupidly unconvinced, “Lies!” he exploded, “Where is your proof? You must know more!” It was only when he saw the fright in Gula’s eyes that he let the leopard forteller go. Maybe he shouldn’t have. Maybe he should have apologized.

Gula has extreme burns on his face, and traces of them on his hands, where the skin did not heal properly. Ira can only imagine the fight he’s been through. It’s the tell-tale signs of Ava’s magic, though it’s curious why she only healed his hands. 

Ira places him next to the youngest foreteller. He knew how well the two got along; Gula’s crush was the worst kept secret of the Daybreak Town Clocktower. Maybe the afterworld would be better.

With everyone found, the realization sinks in. Ira collapses, his knees suddenly weak. Given how careless a leader he was, why is he the only one left? Given how careless a leader he is, maybe he does deserve such a fate? 

Ira sits down in front of his dead companions, staring over their bodies at Kingdom Hearts.

___

Epilogue

Luxu heaves a sigh as he stares down at the sight beneath him. Ira sits down next to his - no, their - dead friends. How often he wished to join them, talk with them, and interact with them again. Ava sought him once before the war started, but it was as said in his copy of the book of prophecies. Their blades would clash in a resounding sound, indicating the unravelling of peace and the start of the war.

The sixth apprentice summons the Master’s keyblade. The book had written none would be alive. If Ira still breathes, would he have to kill him? Luxu really hopes for that not to be the case. The Master only told him to be a watcher of the events, but a prophecy is a prophecy no matter how it’s carried out. If they deviate, then Luxu has to step in and fix it, or so he was instructed. So far, he hasn’t needed to interfere. The other’s books did not tell the full story; only he and the Master know of the events to come. “It’s for the best,” the Master told him in an unexpected moment of solemnity. 

He looks across the night sky. The scattered keyblades form a perfect outline of the sigil; the Master’s plan is proceeding smoothly. The thing Gula had tried to summon was but a pale comparison to the real Kingdom Hearts. None of them ever knew what it looked like and Lux was a poor substitute to real hearts. The fake is already fading from the sky. The real one…he hopes will never appear. “Are you satisfied now?” he asks into the air. The blowing wind only continues to tease him. Maybe. Maybe.

Gripping the Master’s blade, Luxu descends to finish the prophecy.

[setuballibrarybooks]

The Ghost Laughs: A Tale Of Revenge

By

Catarina Semedo

What sweet pleasure this moment would be, thought Alana as she stepped silently through the corridors of the grand town house. What sweet pleasure to end this dance of death delayed. How long had it been? Why was she pretending she did not know precisely to the day how long it had been? That was what she wanted. To no longer have to count the days and order the months and years in her head. To cut through the red thread which tied her every waking moment to that burning village, that cruel laughter, that man’s cursed face.

Eight years, three months and eleven days. Lord Darkly sat astride his horse and laughed as the village of Alcains burned before him. The landlord was a beastly presence at the best of times, but in response to the rent strike he had turned away from the best of time to embody the very worst of times. All had presumed it was his rage that meant he had blockaded the village and threatened death of the entire population. But as Alana watched from behind the branches of the tree she was hiding in, he wasn’t raging as the flames reflected in his armour. He was laughing. This was a joke to him, an amusement, a game. The slaughtered bodies of the villagers, her family among them, were not defeated foes to him. They were ragdolls which he had taken delight in throwing to the ground, and running through with blades. Alana promised herself that she would laugh when she killed him. She promised herself that she would learn the deadliest arts and hunt him down to kill him with them. And she promised herself she would not laugh until that day. Her laughter was to be the crowning moment of her vengeance. None should hear that before his dying ears.

Alana would those around her that she was training for a mighty kill. From the moment she dropped from those tree branches, two days after the soldiers came to Alcains, she was grim-faced and unsmiling. She had lain awake the whole time in that tree, desperate not to sleep in case the soldiers came back and found her asleep. Once she was satisfied that they were not coming back, she dropped to the ground. All around were the bodies of the villagers, bodies she had watched for two days until her delirium had her convinced at moments they might move hither and thither, that they might spring back into life and help her down from the branches. But they didn’t, they lay silent and unmoving as nature moved in to reclaim them. When Alana hit the earth again, she knew she could not and should not even attempt to bury these fallen souls. There were too many and she was too weak and too vulnerable. But she had one last action before she left. She took an axe from the woodcutter’s block, and chopped down the tree she had hidden in. The memories she had accrued there were too hideous for her to allow it to stand.

Thus was born Alana the Unsmiling. She would not reveal her surname, tied as it was to that county where she had been born and where her family had died. In time, she would tell those she met that she couldn’t remember her name, though this was always a lie. But the title The Unsmiling suited her. She had been so young when she had climbed that tree, and she barely aged as the years went on, her face still and unmoving, not accumulating the lines around eyes and mouth which came with the natural cycle of smiling and laughing which normal people were subject to. Indeed, it was said that the only time her face changed from its mask-like state was when she trained and fought. Then the strain of her efforts would show through and leave her red-faced and exhausted.

This was her strange half-life. Fleeing over the county lines, she had enrolled in the military academy under a false name. She stepped forward with each battle, disciplined and determined, but never endangering herself. The cause of the army was not hers. She had no intention of dying on a distant field when there was a scalp still to be claimed. Thus she was never commended for bravery or ferocity. She passed by on the battlefield in almost complete anonymity. It was a puzzle for her commanders that she trained so hard and showed such ability when the stakes were low, but placed in real danger she would fade into the background, like a mirage of a soldier. It was in this way that she moved from unit to unit, always useful enough to see worth keeping around but never acting up to her skills when the time came. But it was not their concern to worry about one soldier in an army of thousands and so she passed through, like a ghost.

It was through this path that she eventually found her path to revenge. She was transferred to a unit which had great success in producing guards for dignitaries of the kingdom. These troops were flashy and ostentatious with their blades and their parading. Most knew that were they set in a real battle they would be destroyed in moments, their blood spattered across their immaculate polished armour. But military worth mattered not when the purpose was spectacle. They drilled perfectly and wielded impossible clean weaponry with a flourish. Every lord, baron and duke wanted such a decadent show. Look, they would say, I can afford these fops and their fripperies. I am untouchable.

It was all too easy. All Alana had to do was preen coldly like the rest of them. That she never smiled, not even off duty, made it easier. She was as cold as the icy rivers of the north, and her colleagues said there was ice water in her veins. None could get close to her. She gave nothing away.

And thus it was that night that she stalked the corridors in full dress armour, yet was ignored. Her colleagues assumed she was parading away from the usual areas for a reason, trusting her supreme competence. But also none asked her how she was, none greeted her with a cheerful hallo. None made eye contact with her which meant none saw the murder in her eyes.

As she entered the chamber of the sleeping baron, she felt the mechanics of her training and the timings which she had worked out. Five seconds to open the door. Fifteen seconds to silently cross the floor of the room. Five seconds to draw the blade. Two seconds to slide it into the baron’s throat. It was like clockwork and it worked. Every timing immaculate, every movement economical and necessary. Her practice over the years had paid off.

But.

But what of the last motion? What of the laughter which would peal out as the baron lay there helpless, unsure whether he would bleed to death before he drowned in the blood pouring into his lungs, or vice versa? Because those eight years, three months and eleven days had seen no humour, no joy, no presence of humanity, and it showed. As Alana opened her mouth to laugh, nothing came out. Muscles asked tendons what they were to do, and the answer was stark. We do not know. We do not remember. These reflexes burned with the village or were severed with the trunk of the tree. Gone. They are all gone. And so the baron died as a woman stood silently over him, her face smooth and unfeeling. No sound issued from her mouth.

When the guards found the baron and Alana they arrested her. There was no love for the baron, but they could feel no sympathy for her for she did not weep, she did not plead, she did not show any emotions. Not one of her colleagues knew a thing about her beyond her nickname, and they could think of no reason why she might have done this crime. Without brotherhood, she was not even an assassin to them. They could not understand her and saw her only as a weapon. 

As she was led away, she heard the peals of laughter coming from the mess room where the news of the murder had not yet broken. Through the door she briefly glimpsed women and men feasting. She saw ahead of her, the two guards up front look likewise through that door, and both, despite the situation in which they found themselves, smiled briefly at the antics of those they spent their time with. And with that, Alana knew that driving out her humanity on a single-minded quest for revenge had left her unreadable to these people. Any chance she might have had of rallying them to support her, to be sympathetic, maybe even to help her escape, was gone. If only they had heard her laugh, just once. But no. To them she was a ghost. She was, and always had been, already dead.

[pepperpizzapasta]

A Final Plot Summary.

It’s a long read so strap in.

Here we go.

Rest of Reptil's story:

-Reptil's seething rage allows him to awaken his new Draco form. He fights Golem head on and puts up a good enough fight to force him to increase his defenses by covering himself in a protective layer of ice. This makes the fight even more difficult for Reptil. As the fight continues, Jack is shown to have survived having a tree fall on him. He manages to gain enough energy to stand despite his injuries. Reptil takes notice of this and is both surprised and relieved that his friend is ok. With these two comrades reunited, the two make one last assault against Golem. Reptil throws Jack at Golem, who uses Iron Tail against him. With his defenses weakened, Reptil dashes towards Golem at high speeds goes right through him with a final powered-punch, shattering Golem and eliminating him once and for all. With the enemy defeated, the two decide to look for help before coming across a familiar face.                                                            

Rest of Gemmy's story:

-Gemmy and Mecha continue to fight, with Gemmy getting more and more damage as the fight goes on. During his last moments, Gemmy mysteriously awakens some of the spirit power MOD is known for and uses one last move on Mecha. He dubs this move the "50 Karat Barrage", a barrage of slashes that slice up Mecha into multiple pieces. He thinks of his brothers as he dies of blood loss. Shortly after he dies, Mecha reveals that he survived the attack, stating that his attack somehow missed his core, meaning he's able to regenerate. He thinks of desecrating Gemmy's corpse and taking his sword as a trophy before experiencing something new. A sense of honor and respect for an enemy. He decides to take Gemmy's sword and plant it into the ground next to him, before leaving in silence.

Rest of RS and Peanut's story:

-RS is unable to run from Chaos and Chaos begins to brutally beat up on him, breaking his arm in the process. Before this is able to go any further, a bright light distracts Chaos and MOD comes in to rescue him. Before Chaos can even react, MOD escapes with R.S. With a sigh of disappointment, Chaos fades away into the dark, having more interesting things to attend to. Before returning R.S to the mortal realm, MOD reminds him of what exactly they're dealing with and that this threat is more powerful than anything he has ever faced before. He gives R.S the power of the Spirit Stone, healing him and giving him a boost in power, this also leaves him with a black spot with yellow eyes on his chest, similar to MOD's face. Due to a lack of time, MOD is unable to teach him how to use his new powers, but he believes R.S will "figure it out". He is sent back into the temple where he finds that the environment is mysteriously damaged. This is because Peanut is currently engaged in combat with the Chaos General, Joker X, the lighthearted rogue with heavy attacks. Even with RS joining the brawl, the two still have a hard time fighting against Joker's unpredictable and annoying fighting style. The fight leads to RS being knocked out once again, leaving Peanut alone again for the time being. While he's knocked out, RS sees a mysterious figure reach out to him, telling him to wake up. He does but in doing so, he manages to unlock some of the power that MOD gave him, allowing him to turn the tides against Joker X for a moment. Thanks to this, RS and Peanut are able to finish Joker with one last team attack beam, finishing Joker off. With the foe defeated, they continue their journey, that is until they come across a certain figure.

Rest of Enigma and EID's story: -As the X-Cobra overwhelms both Enigma and EID, the Spiridog gets angrier and angrier. This causes him to revert to his previous, more beast-like form seen in the void. The two beasts begin to fight with Spiridog coming out on top. With the monster defeated, Spiridog returns to his smaller form and the 3 continue their journey albeit with some discomfort. They manage to travel relatively peacefully until a mysterious figure ambushes EID and only EID. This mysterious figure is...

Old Enemies:

-RS. Not knowing that EID is a separate entity from the current menace plaguing the land, Randy attacks EID with immense ferocity and pins him down. He is then caught off guard by a beastly Spiridog as a rather peeved and mentally exhausted Enigma tries to break the fight up. RS tries to fight off the two dark opponents with mediocre yet somewhat impressive results. This continues until Peanut is able to catch up with RS and works with Enigma to break the fight up. After a brief rundown from both sides, the two groups decide to work together (RS and EID do so reluctantly...). The newly formed party decide to head back to the battlefield to regroup with everyone else and face off against Chaos. As they travel back, they come across another monster, a giant X-Spider. The entire group fights the beast with some difficulties caused mid-fight by some "creative differences" between EID and RS and their fighting styles. After the X-Spider is defeated, EID and RS begin to argue and fight before being quickly shut down by Enigma and Peanut. The party finally makes it back to the battlefield before coming across a familiar face.

Rest of Dmitri's story:

-Dmitri is still stuck in the cell, his collar disabling his powers. After being dragged into a bleak, dimly lit room, he comes face to face with Chaos himself. In an utterly painful procedure, Chaos corrupts Dmitri, forcing him to be a slave. He's silent and obedient, stuck with a blank lifeless expression for the time being, along with this change of heart, came an extremely large boost in power. Chaos sends Dmitri and Mecha off into the battlefield. The first to come across this new Dmitri was Reptil and Jack. The two were unable to defeat Dmitri and his new "ally", and as Dmitri was about to land the finishing blow, he notices...a sword...Gemmy's sword. He stops his assault and decides to inspect the blade even closer. Upon getting closer to the sword, he found the sword's owner...Gemmy's lifeless body laying there.

Mecha regretfully tells him what happened, showing that he at least had respect for his opponent. The amount of rage and sorrow rushing through Dmitri's head was enough to break through Chaos' mental coding, but not enough to clear the corruption in general. As Dmitri screams in anger and sorrow, a violent storm forms above the battlefield. His screams turn into laughter as he loses what little sanity he has left of his mind, his fur changing from the iconic Chaos Soldier black to pure red. His first action was ripping out Mecha's core and crushing it, killing him instantly. Reptil and Jack escape during all of this, deciding to find a place to recover before continuing the fight. With no one else left to bear witness to this new monster, Dmitri is left to wander the battlefield, destroying anything in his way.

Rest of Fireboy's story: -FB continues to fight Magma X in a literally heated fight to the death. This fight spans across the entire facility. The two eventually fight near a chamber that holds a recently converted Dmitri. Knowing this, Magma releases Dmitri and commands him to fight FB, which he does with no hesitation. FB doesn't recognize Dmitri but he does realize that this "soldier" is different spiritually from the others, causing him to fight with reluctance. He is double-teamed by the two of them and pinned down. Needing time to strategize, he snaps his fingers and disappears into a blast of flame.

Vs Dmitri:

-RS, Peanut, Enigma, EID, and the Spiridog return, only to see Dmitri absolutely brutalizing a Chaos Soldier. Not knowing that his brother currently isn't present spiritually, RS tries to approach Dmitri peacefully before being immediately attacked by him. EID acknowledges that Dmitri is "gone" and they have no choice but to subdue him, leading to a 5v1. Dmitri absolutely overwhelms the group with his unnatural boost in power. EID and Enigma are able to get up and proceed to hold him off as the others try to recover. Peanut heals herself along with RS and Spiridog, she notes that RS isn't fighting as well as he used to and tries to convince him to stop holding back. RS reluctantly agrees but is still unable to fight his brother when the three jump back into the battle. His reluctance leads to the group being knocked down once again, with RS being the only one left standing. RS is only able to evade Dmitri's attacks, having lost his will to even attack him.

Dmitri eventually catches him off-guard and proceeds to beat down on RS as he lays there, deciding to no longer put up a fight. Peanut calls out to RS, telling him that he has to fight and reminds him that he has no choice but to fight Dmitri. EID also calls out to him telling him that Dmitri is actually still in there, but he's suffering and that the only way to help him is to knock him out. RS hears this but is still unable to do anything, that is until the mysterious voice he heard from the temple tells him to "rise." A blast of yellow light shines from RS, knocking Dmitri away. RS stands up as his eyes turn yellow, he says "Sorry" as he begins to fight with full force. This newfound strength allows him to fight on par with Dmitri, he manages to fairly tip the scales on him until Dmitri goes through another frightening change. With a bloodcurdling screech, Dmitri's fur turns pitch black and his eyes change to a rather threatening shade of red, Dmitri is slowly losing himself to Chaos' influence. This allows Dmitri to start overwhelming RS as if he was a ragdoll. He is barely able to hold his own and things get worse when his Spirit Power begins to fade away.

RS is knocked away and lands near Gemmy's sword, Dmitri dashes towards him for one last killing blow. In a rush of panic, RS takes Gemmy's sword and points it at Dmitri who rushes into the sword, impaling him. Dmitri comes to a halt, his hand reaching out towards his brother. RS realizes what he did and lets go of the sword, mortified. Dmitri falls to his knees and begins to tear up as his black fur fades from black to red, he begins to mumble incomprehensibly as tears begin to fall from his face. RS begins to tear up as well, he hugs Dmitri and starts muttering sorry repeatedly. Everyone else is able to recover from the battle and they're able to catch up with the two. Obvious Shock aside, Dmitri passes out, meaning he can now be restored. Thanks to Enigma and EID, Dmitri is healed and his corruption is cleared, however, he'll remain knocked out for a while. RS, still in shock, notices that the sword he used to stab Dmitri is Gemmy's sword. He looks around and sees the corpse of his brother. This combined with the recent events concerning Dmitri, leaves RS absolutely emotionally devastated as he begins to break down. He grieves over Gemmy's death before he is suddenly stricken by EID, who says this isn't the same RS he fought long ago, that this isn't the same person MOD chose to carry on his title as a Light Holder. This causes RS to get up and walk over to Gemmy's corpse, he promises to avenge him and to do his best with tears in his eyes. He stands up. It's time to fight Chaos.

Meeting Up:

-After witnessing the battle from the afar, Reptil and Jack decide to investigate the yellow light that appeared from the site. They meet up with the others and are given a rundown on what happened and that the next step is to take down Chaos. They spend some time healing up and preparing for battle before Chaos himself arrives on the battlefield with Magma X and his remaining forces. They engage in battle briefly before MOD shows up with FB and a newly awoken Dmitri. Thanks to MOD's support, a majority of the Chaos Soldiers are taken out and Magma is incapacitated, leaving only Chaos. The heroes begin to face off against Chaos but he seems to only be focused on RS, MOD realizes that's because RS currently possesses the Spirit Stone. He warns the others to make sure that the stone doesn't get ripped out of RS. With the warning heeded, everyone tries to fend off Chaos but one-by-one they are all overwhelmed, RS tries to fight back against Chaos but is quickly defeated and has the stone ripped out of him, nearly killing him. Chaos has the stone but before he can do anything with it, Peanut shoots the stone out of his hand, allowing everyone enough time to force Chaos away from both the stone and RS. As everyone is holding Chaos off, MOD and Enigma heal RS. Noticing that all of this is his fault, MOD decides to make things right, by briefly warping away to revive Gemmy, and warping back, noticeably exhausted. He looks at Enigma one last time before warping away again, she knows exactly what he's about to do, she just wishes he wouldn't. MOD warps to Chaos and grabs him, he announces that he's going to clean up his mess by self-destructing and taking Chaos with him. RS wakes up and watches in shock alongside everyone as MOD flies off with Chaos into the sky, the two explode into a yellow pillar of light that could be seen from light-years away. A wave of melancholy passes over everyone as MOD's sacrifice put an end to everything. Due to his death, FB was able to take MOD's title as a Light Holder, giving him complete access to his abilities. There's a moment of peace before it starts to rain...black raindrops come down as one falls upon the Spirit Stone. The drop begins to grow as it engulfs the stone, becoming bigger and bigger as everyone watches in horror, Chaos is back.

Finale: -Everyone watches in shock as the skies turn red and shadows begin to cover the land, covering every inch of soil from the battlefield to the temple to the old fortress, any Chaos Soldiers, fallen or not, were immediately absorbed, this includes Magma who was forcefully dragged into the dark vortex. The shadows return to the dark blob, it begins to grow even more as two giant arms form from it, soon an entire body was formed. The ultimate beast has arrived, this was True Chaos. With the power of the stone in his possession, Chaos had become a terrifyingly powerful opponent, yet that didn't stop anyone from fighting him. Everyone split up into groups of 3 to take him down. Team A consists of FB, Enigma, and EID who are trying to extract the stone from him with Spiritual Magic, Team B consists of Reptil, Jack, and Spiridog who are attacking his lower half, specifically his knees in an attempt to get him to fall, Team C consists of Peanut, Dmitri, and RS, who target his upper half with ranged attacks (or in RS' case, throwing himself at his chest like a living bullet). This plan is actually very successful until it's revealed that Chaos was merely holding back and a flurry of tentacles burst from his chest, entangling everyone. He begins to slowly squeeze the life out of everyone trapped, RS passes out as this happens, everything seems hopeless. In the dark, RS heard that voice again, it was accompanied with a mysterious figure beckoning out to him. The figure tells him that he can only help him out one last time so he has to make this chance count, everything goes bright. A bright light shines from RS, he has accessed the same form from his fight with Dmitri, this time accompanied with a pair of yellow wings made out of energy. RS frees everyone quickly and begins to collect energy to finish off Chaos once and for all. Chaos has none of this and charges up as well. When RS finishes charging, he dashes at Chaos who responds with a giant red beam. RS pushes the beam with all his might, he's able to hold it off but not for long. Everyone combines their efforts to attack Chaos with full-force, his attack is weakened. With one last adrenaline-filled shout, RS pierces the beam and dashes right through Chaos' head with the Spirit Stone in his hand. The rough extraction of the Spirit Stone combined with the attack's raw spiritual energy causes Chaos to shake as he quickly disintegrates. Every single particle of the being has been destroyed, RS lands on the ground, absolutely exhausted. It's finally over, the battle is won.

Epilogue: -Relief washes over everyone as the threat known as Chaos X has finally been defeated. This, of course, came at the price of losing a dear mentor, who unfortunately sacrificed himself in vain to defeat the demon that has haunted him and his friends for many years, he will forever be remembered. FB with his newly found spiritual powers takes it upon himself to destroy Chaos' fortress to prevent anyone from taking advantage of the said fortress, he gives RS a smirk before leaving without saying anything. EID and Enigma come to the conclusion that the stone will cause more pain if it's allowed to exist for any longer so they, along with FB, destroy it. Any traces of the old feud have been destroyed, nothing from the past can harm anyone now. Dmitri and Jack help RS up, deciding that they should take him to the house for rest, on the way they see someone. It's Gemmy, who has woke up and is extremely confused about how he's alive again. RS is overjoyed to see this and overcomes his pain and exhaustion to run towards his brother and hug him, Dmitri and Jack join in too, the gang's finally back together. Enigma has helped EID reconsider his morality and has decided to make a reluctant effort to reform, they return to the Spiritual Dimension to watch out for any spiritual threats like Chaos again. Reptil and Peanut say their goodbyes and return home as well. After all is said and done, the gang return home to find it absolutely decimated. No one's exactly in a state to rebuild the house, so they rest there anyway, they'll go house-hunting when they can move again. Two years pass by, the gang has moved out of their old house into a new town called Emerald City, it's no "Gemsdale" but a majority vote rules out any protest, Gemmy had. In the time between the end of the war and now, Gemmy has been outfitted with a prosthetic arm that he made with help from Dmitri. Jack has moved out, deciding to travel the world after coming to the conclusion that "a normal home life" is too boring for him, he calls every now and then but no one is able to really track him down. Dmitri is seen relaxing on the couch, as Gemmy returns home from work, asking if he's seen RS. He tells him that he's sleeping upstairs. Most likely resting up before he heads on his next big adventure.

I want to say thanks alot to everyone especially @empeanutson and @sparkle-the-fluttercat for joining me on this....extremely rough ride. It’s been a long..5 years I think? This was a really ambitious project and I’m pretty sure the majority of people who cared left a long time ago but it’s still kinda melancholic to see it go. I also feel bad for kind of dragging things along for so long but hey! Things are over now, and we’re able to move on now! This won’t be the end for our boys though, to everyone who’s seen my art blog (that’s right! All 2 of you!) I still have a lot more in store for Team Gem. This next project entered development awhile ago and I hope friends both old and new will be able to enjoy it. Now that the arc is over, we’ll be returning to the classic and possibly dead ask blog style that the blog started with. Also be sure to be on the look out for when I start that next story project. Thanks again to everyone who stuck around, let’s keep moving on and remember to... Shine Brightly! -Pizza

[ttdpd]

Warhammer 40k Rant

So I got really into Warhammer 40k about a year ago and thoroughly studied wikis and fan-discussions on every little aspect of the story and not long ago I began reading through the Horus Heresy series (being about a dozen books in so far) and there’s a handful of things that have grown to annoy me that seem to be GW staples and not simply writer issues. Starting with the most semantic and moving into the worse issues.

1) Archaic Terminology during the Great Crusade is out of place and all-together strange. During the Age of Empirical Enlightenment wherein any belief in the supernatural is nearly grounds for execution Space Marines of many chapters will specifically refer to their humours not just as expressions but in detail. (The Thousand Sons would alter their biochemestry at-will and specifically noted they were adjusting their humours by name.) One book even had plasma creation refer to “Fusion” as a term of Old Earth and yet they refer to things as “forges” and even point out the use of literal blacksmithing techniques on electronic devices. Really.

2) Terra never being fully conquered and the Emperor having to play politics with the sovereign nations of Terra is absolute insanity to the point of disbelief that you even read it. He conquered thousands of worlds and can call on 100,000 Astartes in a matter of months if not less. Hell, the Imperial Fists are Terra-bound by the time he goes back to hanging out there, again. He can make entire battlefields of Astartes kneel against their will and kill potentially millions of humans with a thought. A thought. Not a weapon. A thought. He wills that their organs rupture and there will be a deathwave emanating from him. There is no reason Terra shouldn’t be a one-world government system like he makes so many other planets into when he leaves a single ranking military officer behind as “Governor.”

3) All legions baring the Salamanders, the Thousand Sons and the Night Lords were nearly identical in discipline, battle tactics, military organization and even basic themes. I believe three legions were described by the writers as “They were known to fight war by assaulting their enemies directly, walking in a straight-line, knowing no fear and going from bolter to melee as they approached any resistance with keen instincts and absolute discipline.” The Luna Wolves, Death Guard, Emperor’s Children. If you boil it down that also includes the World Eaters, Space Wolves and quite possibly all fifteeen alluded-to Legions all having the same way of doing things with only weapon-preference separating them from the perspective of their enemies.

4) The power/resilience scale is so wonky as to be absurd. In one book someone will take several bolts in their torso and keep fighting. In another a bolter will explode next to them and throw them, all >1,000lbs, off their feet and even leave a nearby human as a gory ragdoll. In some books Astartes die from simply cuts to the throat, or worse, a single heart. In another, they’ll lose entire limbs and manage not to bleed out. That’s the least Marvel/DC-esque problem. The Primarchs have been described as having the strength to punch through Dreadnought armor and Angron stood under a Titan’s foot (A 440 ton titan, I believe) and it was unable to press down. Their skin is still human-like, all their exposed parts seem human enough. It’s just weak wish-fulfillment and takes away from what they are.

5) This is kind of an addendum to 3: Armor will be described as being so resilient to small-arms fire as to safely ignore it seemingly indefinitely. Plasteel and Ceramite. Third or fourth generation Astartes Power Armor. A wild animal using the same elements as anything else with no warp-taint will somehow be able to “shred it like paper” despite, ya know, ... it’s metal. No claw or tooth can instantly pierce, and much less “rip”, thick metal designed to withstand future warfare against lasers, bullets and bombs. It’s silly to the point of laughter or groaning disappointment when yet another red shirt, or worse - a heavily detailed character, dies suddenly to an animal that shouldn’t have been able to do anything whatsoever to them. Even given years of time to claw away at them. Literally years.

6) The way Chaos’ influence, and particularly their corruptions, conversions, and/or transformations were handled was almost universally half-assed or simply had too much left in previous drafts. Horus’ change by book 3 was simply “This is stupid, you’re stupid” to “I will attack Terra and use Chaos to do it” in nearly an instant. The plot device of [not showing the reader exactly what he saw] is used and handwaved him into being [Woke] and that simply isn’t good enough.

7) The Chaos Gods have way too much baggage and it detracts from what they are. Tzeench is the “Changer of Ways” and thus is chaotic. Nope. He’s a planner who needs things to work out a certain way and will always be trying to get a specific outcome. He’s literally an Order God. Also Magic. No really. They are all made of Psychic power and yet only one of them is the god of it. No really. Nurgle is the god of Decay and Disease - and... stagnation? He’s said to be Tzeench’s enemy because they are opposites and yet Nurgle is literally Entropy. He is things breaking down until they are at their base forms and spawning constant new life from the parts he takes. Slaanesh is the god of Experience and Sensation. S/He is also the god of Perfection. For no obvious reason. It’s so vaugely related as to be a non-sequitor like a third-party writer leaned in and just said “Uh... this is my thing but I’m using your materials to slip my OCs in kthx.” Khorne is almost fine but his instistence on “honor and justice and being straight-forward” is pointless and goes against the same “get the biggest men to lose their minds and kill the helpless beings they come across” as that’s effectively cheating and avoiding honor and glory in exchange for just feeding his need for violence. This could all be fixed by simply removing their added nuances and making those into Greater Demons of Chaos Undivided who aren’t quite fragments of any single god and thus like demigods of these alternate concepts.