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clanwarrior-tumbly · 1 year ago

Note

Hey there! I have no idea if you’ll see this, but I figured I’d send in an ask anyways.

You know that Blue Tears story you posted awhile back? Well, it’s really freaking good and has me coming back every once and awhile to reread it! I haven’t seen a lot of Blue Tears content, if any at all and my brain needs more.

So, could I request a sort of continuation to that story if that’s alright? Another Blue X Reader story that’s kinda Angsty and Hurt/Comfort focused?

I know you said to be specific with plot ideas, so I’ll try my best here:

It’s been awhile after Blue, Red and the Reader all came down from Mt. Silver, like a month or two. Red is doing better and has healed up but Blue has isolated himself and hardly leaves his house. Red and the Reader are hanging out (maybe the Reader is checking on him) and the topic of Blue comes up. Red’s concerned about him but he’s worried (and a little bit afraid) that Blue doesn’t want to see him, so he asks the Reader to check on him. So the Reader goes over to Blue’s house (maybe meeting Daisy briefly and asking her where Blue is) before going up to Blue’s bedroom door.

The Reader knocks and Blue answers. He ain’t looking to hot or sounding that great either. Bro is a mess. That guilty conscience hit him hard. Blue let’s the Reader in and Reader expresses their concern for him, along with saying that Red was worried about him to. Blue is kinda dismissive of it at first, but when the Reader tries to say that Blue is still their friend, he gets angry and thinks that it’s pity and not concern. Blue is angry, sad, and guilty. He feels like he doesn’t deserve the Reader or Red as friends and that he’s a murderer. Blue and the Reader kinda argue (well, Blue is arguing, Reader is calm and collected and trying to get Blue to calm down/get through to him because they know he’s not okay) and right before Blue screams something that he knows he’d regret later, he’s cut off by the Reader hugging him. After a couple seconds of just processing, he breaks down and cries, hugging them back and apologizing for yelling. The Reader just holds him and comforts him, telling him that he’s still deserving of care, that they and Red are still his friends, that they’re there for him, etc. (And maybe, after Blue has calmed down, the Reader helps him get outside a bit and get some fresh air after isolating himself.)

And that’s pretty much it! Also, sorry in advance for the long ask. I didn’t mean for it to be that long. I hope that plot isn’t too long or crazy. I just wrote out what was in my head.

I have no idea if you’ll see or write this, but if you do: Thanks! If not, then still, thanks for reading it!

(PS: Blue Tears!Professor Oak can suck an egg. He’s a horrible excuse of a grandfather. Please excuse the Oak Slander I had to say it-)

Ough I'm glad you liked that one! Also I must thank you for this in-depth request <3

......

It's been roughly a month since...well...

Since it happened.

Only you, Red, and Blue knew what that it was...as the rest of Kanto only knew the fabricated version of it.

That being a vicious Pokémon had attacked you three on the summit of Mt. Silver, with no one able to identify it through the blinding blizzard that kicked up.

That's the story you told the doctors, Daisy, and every other person who was concerned for your well-being.

But that's not what happened at all.

The true perpetrator was Blue, who attacked Red in an act of pure rage and grief, as he was convinced that his rival ruined his life, stole his family's praise, and inadvertently killed one of his most treasured Pokémon.

Somehow, he believed murder was the justifiable thing to do.

The only way he'd find any sort of relief or "peace".

Yet it only brought him more sorrow when you showed up and thwarted his attempts on Red's life--owing it to his Pidgeot for leading you straight to him.

Although he attempted to kill you too for interfering...you were able to snap him out of it and lead the pair down the mountain on Pidgeot's back, keeping a close eye on Blue in case he had another freakout.

Fortunately nothing else happened.

From there, the healing process could begin. But it was hard and painful, especially when you had to lie about everything...even to the professor himself.

As angry as you were at Oak for neglecting his only other family member, you couldn't exactly tell him that his grandson resorted to murder over sheer jealousy.

But despite everything, the three of you were slowly recovering from the trauma of that cold and snowy night.

Red's injuries were still being monitored, although he was okay enough to finally be discharged from the hospital (sporting only a few scrapes and bandaids that were hardly noticeable), and he arrived home to you and his relieved mother.

While she went out to run errands, you and him chatted for a few minutes. Considering how quiet he usually was, you did most of the talking while he did the listening.

You talked about the latest Pokémon you've captured, Lavender Town's most recent ghost story, the weather..

And Blue.

Of course, it's inevitable that the Donphan in the room had to be brought up. It couldn't be ignored forever..

But you noticed Red's subtle change of expression the second you brought up his name, and your eyebrows furrowed, worried that you've upset him. "Sorry, Red..I..I didn't mean-"

"No, it's fine." He assured you. "I haven't heard from him in a while.."

"...me neither. Daisy mentioned that he's been shutting himself in a lot more. I haven't seen him in days now."

"Yeah, I'm worried, too."

You blinked. "Really?"

Red nodded. "You should check on him."

"Wha--me? Would...you be okay with that?"

"I doubt he wants to see me, but...he'll definitely wanna see you. I just know it." He looked up, his brown eyes appearing soft as he gave you a small and comforting smile. "Just tell him...he's still our friend, okay?"

For a moment, you sat there astonished. You've never heard him talk this much in all the years you and Blue have known him.

And to realize he still genuinely saw him as a friend despite what happened? You were speechless.

But once the initial shock passed, you smiled back. "I'll be sure to tell him that if he lets me in. Wish me luck."

After giving him a hug goodbye (and insisting that he kept resting like his mother requested), you began the trek over to Blue's house, hoping he was still there.

When you arrived and knocked on the front door, it was Daisy who answered, surprised to see you standing there. "Oh hey, [y/n]."

"Hey, Dais...is Blue home?"

"Yeah. He's kinda in a mood, though. He hasn't come out of his room today. Not for breakfast or....anything." Frowning, she looked over her shoulder. "I've never seen him like this before...it's scaring me."

"And that's why I'm here. I think he'd feel better if he knew I wanted to come see him." You put one hand on the doorframe in case she thought about closing it on you. "Please."

"...okay." She allowed you inside. "I have to head to work. There's a Growlithe who needed some trimming..poor thing probably can't see with all the fur over its eyes."

"You go take care of that, I'll take care of Blue..thanks." Smiling, you headed in while she headed out the door, locking it behind her.

Finally alone, you exhaled a breath you didn't even know you were holding, before making your way up to Blue's bedroom. You just hoped he was somewhat feeling okay...although judging from Daisy's remarks, he was still far from that.

You prayed he wasn't doing anything harmful to himself or anyone. But you did have a Pokeball on your belt should you need to call out one of your companions just in case.

Hopefully, it didn't need to come to that and you can just talk.

After knocking on the door, there was only a few moments of silence before it swung open, revealing a very exhausted and disheveled-looking Blue. He was in sweatpants and his usual purple sweater, although his normally spiky hair was even more of a mess.

Any sort of light that was once in his eyes had died out long ago.

To put it bluntly, he looked like hell.

"Daisy, I said I'm not.....oh...." Even his voice lost that confidence and luster it once had, instead being quiet and hoarse, having not used it for days. "[Y/n]? What's up? Why are you here?" He frowned.

"To see you, dummy." Huffing, you leaned against the doorframe. "Wanted to make sure you were still alive."

"..well, I am. So you can go. Sorry I missed your calls-"

"Can I come in?"

"......"

"....please? Just for a few minutes?"

At this point, he was too tired to fight with you right now. So he allowed you into his room, which....didn't look any better than he did. You noticed were his curtains being drawn shut, and his pokeballs and gym badges scattered across the table.

The Blue you've grown up with had his room practically lit up like the sun and his badges neatly arranged in a glass box--just in case he had someone over and wanted to impress them with his triumphs.

Now? That version of him was seemingly dead and gone.

But you didn't stare for too long, not wanting him to think you were judging him for the mess. Instead you sat together on his bed, where he remained silent, staring down at the floor.

You finally cleared your throat, deciding to talk first. "Red and I have been worried about you...he-"

"That jerkward? Worried about me?" He snorted half-heartedly, looking up to see you frowning a bit. He sighed. "Sorry, go on."

"He was discharged today. Doctors said there's nothing they need to monitor, so..that's good, at least."

"Yeah..that is good."

You noted his rather dismissive attitude as you continued expressing your concerns for his well-being, along with how he shrugged off how his Pokémon were doing, if his grandfather ever stopped by to apologize (which he did, but it came much too late for him), and more.

He was sorta just repeating whatever you said and agreeing with it, hoping you'll leave and let him go back to moping.

Honestly he thinks you got better things to do than worry about him.

However, what you said next made something in his brain tick.

"Red wanted me to tell you that...he still thinks of you as a friend. I do, too."

All of the sudden, Blue's shoulders tensed and he stared directly at you.

Not with a tired half-lidded gaze like before, but with darkened brown eyes that seemed rather...angry.

"Don't even go there, [y/n].." He warned, voice dripping with Arbok venom.

"....go where?" You blinked in bewilderment at his abrupt attitude change.

Then again, you should have seen this quick coming from a mile away. He's always had a quick temper...although you were confused over why such a simple thing as reaffirming your friendship pissed him off.

"I know what you're doing..and I'm telling you right now that I don't need it."

"I....don't follow.."

"I don't need your goddamn pity." He snarled, fingers curling into the bedsheets beneath him. "Not yours, Red's, gramp's, or anybody's....so just go on and tell me how you REALLY feel."

"That is how we really feel, Blue." You did your best to stay calm, knowing he wasn't in the best headspace right now. Getting angry at him won't solve anything. "We're not saying that to pity you or anything...we genuinely-"

"You're lying. I bet Red thinks I'm a real sack of shit. I mean..how could he NOT?!! I almost killed him."

"Blue, that's-"

"And you, too, [y/n]!! I was LAUGHING in both of your faces! Swinging a fucking knife around!! How the hell do you not think of me as a monster to stay away from?!!"

"You're not a monster-"

"YES I AM!!" He was beginning to scream, putting a greater strain on his vocal cords. But he didn't seem to care. "You should've just told them all the truth! That what I tried to do was worse than ANYTHING Team Rocket ever did!! But no...you wanted to protect my sorry ass so I didn't get my feelings hurt."

"We both know that's not true at all. Blue..why can't you understand that-?"

"NO!! Why can't YOU understand that I don't fucking deserve you two as friends?!!! You should hate me, you should be happy that I'm not showing my face to anyone in this town! Because everyone here would be better off-!!"

You refused to let him even finish that statement, knowing he was going to regret it later. So you did the only thing you could do to shut him up.

And that was hug him, not saying another word.

Obviously, you didn't wanna crush him too much considering he felt like skin and bones at this point, but it was just enough for him to snap out of his tirade.

You just held him closely, hoping that he'd finally realize how serious you were about wanting to be here for him.

It took a few seconds for Blue to fully process what was happening right now, although before you could even consider letting him go...you heard a sniffle, followed by a quiet whimper.

He tried to silence those hints of weakness by pressing his face into your shoulder, but he ultimately failed and began sobbing, completely breaking down over everything that happened over the past month.

The incident and the isolation were already weighing heavily on him....and now he yelled at you for trying to be a caring friend.

He really didn't deserve you.

Not after all he's put you through.

"I-I'm sorry...I...I shouldn't have..d-done that.." His arms wrapped around you tightly. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.."

"It's alright, I know you didn't mean it." You soothed, rubbing a hand up and down his back. His cries became more gut-wrenching by the second, proving how badly he needed this right now. "You've been hurt, too...and we should have realized that from the start. From the moment Raticate passed, we should've been there for you more. And I'm sorry that we weren't."

"Y-You were there for me! You've always been there.." He choked out, squeezing you tighter. "I-I was being s-stupid...and selfish, and....and I hurt you both!"

"Red and I both forgive you, okay? Nothing's ever gonna change that."

"...r-really?"

"Yes...like it or not you're still our friend, Blue, and we'll never stop caring."

Both of you sat there for a little while longer, with you saying nothing but comforting things to Blue and keeping him close, while his sobs gradually softened as the seconds passed.

You let him cry for as long as he needed to, even if he ran himself dry. You should've done this much sooner, but now you're here and he knew you weren't abandoning him.

Eventually he calmed down enough to let you go, although his gaze went to his lap, embarrassment over his meltdown slowly creeping in.

You smiled a little, taking your hand off his back. "You feel any better?"

"...b-besides feeling like a total loser crybaby? Yeah." He kept sniffling, wiping his face clean of any remaining tears or snot before he looked back up at you. "I guess I really needed that...thanks, [y/n]."

"Of course, it's what friends do." You stood up, taking another look around the bedroom and sighing. "You know? I also think you need sunlight..it's like a damn Zubat cave in here. Let's take a walk."

Normally, he'd have some sort of snarky comeback. But he was too emotionally burnt out to make up anything, as he instead nodded silently and followed you out his bedroom.

Together you walked outside, taking in the crisp winter air.

Blue didn't realize how much he needed this until he took a few deeps breaths, gradually calming himself down even more. But when he began shivering a little, you took notice and dug your scarf out of your bag.

No way were you gonna allow him to catch a cold. Not after he's isolated himself for so long and was only now getting some fresh air.

You wrapped the scarf around him, smiling at the way he clutched it and dug his red nose into the fabric, mumbling a thanks.

All you did was nod in return, putting an arm around his shoulders as you both headed down the sidewalk together, not going anywhere in particular.

Fortunately there were very few people out on the streets, so nobody stopped to bother either of you.

Surviving whatever happened on Mt. Silver that day made you, him, and Red out to be some kind of "celebrities", especially with folks pondering what "mystery Pokémon" attacked the former champion, his rival, and you.

But none of them would ever know the real story.

They simply couldn't.

For it's a secret you three will take to your graves.

#clanask #anonymous #pokepasta x reader #blue tears #blue tears x reader #creepypasta x reader #angst #hurt/comfort #platonic

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voidsentprinces · 10 months ago

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So there's a group of entertainers called Vtubers. People who use virtual avatars or characters to stream games and things to entertain with. As with any medium i.e. movies, games, tv, etc. There are always going to be big groups. Your Playstations, Xboxes, and Nintendos if you will. Far as I can tell there are three big groups Hololive, Nijisanji and Vshojo.

Recently, Nijisanji has had an increasing series of graduations (a retirement where the talent's character and content is stopped completely, a series finale if you will, a show end) including, most recently, the graduation of the talent Selen Tatsuki. The chronological of public events are as follows, from my attention at least. Selen posts a song before Christmas that is a Cover of someone else's song. She got the go ahead from the Original Artist to cover said song, wholeheartedly. Management greenlit it. The Original Artist told both Selen and Management that it was fine to cover and post. Within a few hours of being up, Management takes it down. Selen voices a complaint cause like, what the hell guys. Everything was on the level. Selen suddenly goes silent on social media. Twitter is updated that she is in the hospital for an accident. Another few weeks of radio silence. People are asking on an update about her health. Suddenly, her graduation is announced and there is no stream for it.

Fast forward to her previous account, some (see also most in some cases) talents don't start out with an agency, Dokibird. Who reveals that she had been bullied in the company to the point where making an attempt on her life. Which left her hospitalized, additionally previously, as a talent you want to try to think of community events and stuff to entertain your audience. These can take the form of movie nights, tournaments, etc. As it turns out, all the projects she tried to get off the ground that was communicated with the management of Nijisanji were accepted and green lit and were suppose to be paid for by...you know...the corporate company running things. Had to come out of her own pocket to the ending tune of appoximentally $200,000. Additionally, additionally, Nijisanji accused Doki (Selen) or ill advised behavior while working with them as well as not getting proper copy right approval for the song that was posted previously that was then taken down.

As the original artist confirmed that Selen had gotten permission. We can assume the statement released by Nijisanji is slander in an attempt to paint a horrible picture of a previous employee. Legal action had begun to take place against Nijisanji on the side of Dokibird. Nijisanji releases merch sales that includes a voice pack that Doki had worked on for the character of Selen despite all that had transpired. In, what I can only describe as the Blizzard Entertainment move of "Look at this shiny new product, ignore the drama going on over there". But, her fanbase and a large part of the vtuber community as a whole was not having it and backlash ensued. Doki called for no backlash or inappropriate behavior towards talents still working with Nijisanji. Because people gotta eat and there is no ethical consumption under capitalistic society. The other talents still working with Nijisanji are just doing their jobs and trying to keep their heads above the water. It is the management, investors, and board members of Nijisanji that should been held accountable for their actions against Dokibird.

Such actions include:

Being aware of the bullying taking place and being complacent in doing nothing about it

Greenlighting projects, making her pay out of pocket and then cancelling them a week or even the day of said project's event

Taking over her twitter after she had been hospitalized from the attempt on her own life and posing as her to make it seem like "business as usual"

Calling her EMERGENCY CONTACT while she was IN THE HOSPITAL! And DEMANDING she retract any negative statements about them taking down the COVERED SONG VIDEO that they AGREED TO, GREENLIT and she got the original song writer to OKAY THE COVER TO POST

Despite the legal actions behind closed doors, Doki was content with leaving the other livers out of this. And pursuing Nijisanji the company, legally, and quietly. Without further involvement until the case was over. So she can move on and begin to heal herself after such emotional and physical turmoil from the aforementioned attempt.

Enter, today. Doki was content to just continue streaming and move on with her life. But then, Nijisanji scheduled a stream to drop just before Doki went live. Where they had multiple talents read off a scripted response to Doki's actions and MAKE PUBLIC! DOCUMENTS THAT WERE TO REMAIN PRIVATE IN COURT PROCEEDINGS FOR THE CASE AGAINST THEM. WHICH WERE MADE TO SHOW NO ONE ELSE! BUT DOKI AND NIJI'S MANAGEMENT/LAWYER TEAM. That held PRIVATE INFORMATION including but not limited to: Her real name, address and perhaps even her MEDICAL RECORDS. But we're clearly shown to whoever wrote the script and then Nijisanji decided to broadcast this knowledge to the entire internet while using their employed talents as voice boxes to communicate this to the rest of the community.

Thats right. Documents that were suppose to never leave the court system or filings. We leaked. By the accused company. Willingly. Live. Where it can be traced back to them easily. To THOUSANDS. While forcing their talents to read off a script in connection it.

That's what the fuck, they did today.

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blackdragonbeauty · 1 year ago

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Neltharion Slander

It breaks my heart at this point that so many npcs talk about “neltharions betrayal” and all sorts of things like that, when the truth is far more.... complicated?? Yet so simple???? So we get to know Deathwing as what he is: Cruel, Uncaring, Violent, Dominating, Violating, etc. All of these features that are so ungodly awful... And we know that Deathwing was a puppet to the Old Gods. All information we are shown and made clear. So let’s harken back to Wrathion’s comment about how the Old Gods work: “[The Old Gods] get you to act in ways CONTRARY to your nature...” Ah, that makes sense even into Pandaria where we see various npcs being affected by the “Shas” or the Breaths of Y’sharj, an Old God. They act so oddly out of character, which further supports Wrathions conclusion, and I’d trust his knowledge of it all, as he’s spent SO DAMN LONG studying and learning about it, along with having such deeply rooted experience in his blood. So... “They get you to act in ways contrary to your nature...” By all rights of established lore. Everything Deathwing was, Neltharion SHOULDN’T have been. Yet we get fed this rhetoric that he was secretive, and uncaring, and brutish... Which makes no damn sense. They keep saying things like “Neltharions betrayal.” and the like; but based on the timeline of events shown in Dragonflight, he fell to the Old Gods pretty early on and mentally became Deathwing long before they left the Isles. Long story short; Blizzard doesn’t care. They just use his name as a throwaway for antagonistic sake. And it breaks my heart because I’ve learned the lore just as everyone else; and from what’s been established, HE SHOULD HAVE BEEN A TRAGIC HERO. Neltharion the Defender... Neltharion the Order Keeper, Neltharion, One of Tyrs chosen... But blizzard doesn’t care. Not about the black flight at least... especially with all that they’ve now done to them.

#Neltharion #Deathwing #Dragonflight #Blizzard #WoW #World of Warcraft #Wrathion #Old Gods

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solivar · 2 months ago

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Ghost Stories On Route 66

Chapter Eight

This is the first of at least two chapters specifically dedicated to those of you who a) wanted Hanzo to be okay after Chapter Six and b) also wanted me to hurt him. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE.

Chapter Text

My family tells an ancient legend of two dragon brothers: Minamikaze, the Dragon of the South Wind, and Kitakaze, the Dragon of the North Wind. Together they ruled the skies with might and wisdom, governed the courts of the seasons, and upheld balance and harmony in the heavens.

But they were also brothers and, as all brothers do, sometimes they squabbled about matters both great and petty. Minamikaze was strong and wise and proud of his many gifts and virtues, the beauty of his palace in the heavens, the quality of his courtiers and the elegance of his concubines. Kitakaze was fierce and cunning and proud of his many skills and his independence, of the wild beauty of the mountains where he rested his heavy coils, of the equally wild spirits who worshipped him as he deemed fit. From time to time, Kitakaze would call upon his brother in his high palace among the clouds and, whenever he came, Minamikaze’s many courtiers would flutter through the halls in his wake, whisper and hiss behind their fans that they could hardly believe such a crude and unrefined being could truly be the brother of their master much less a rightful ruler of the heavens. From time to time, Minamikaze would call upon his brother among the mountains he called home and, whenever he came, the spirits who served Kitakaze would whisper and hiss through the branches of the trees that they could hardly believe such an arrogant and waspish creature could truly be the brother of their master much less a rightful ruler of the heavens. Thusly did many years pass, with each brother ruling his half of their kingdom while those closest to them dripped poison into their ears.

Even our clan does not preserve how the worst and final quarrel between them began, but we do know its cause: which of them could better rule over their land, a kingdom whole and undivided. No one knows who struck the first blow but we do know this: their resentment of one another turned to murderous rage and their violent struggle darkened the skies. Typhoons lashed the seas and flooded the shores, capsizing boats and drowning fishermen, starving those who waited for their return. Blizzards howled among the mountains, burying villages in avalanche and withering crops in unseasonable cold, so that famine stalked all the land. Lightning fell upon temples and shrines, palaces and farmhouses, and the fires that followed added to the woes of those suffering in the shadow of the raging brothers. In the end, the Dragon of the South Wind struck down his brother, who fell to the tortured Earth, shattering the land in the throes of his death.

Minamikaze had triumphed but, as time passed, he realized the extent of his folly and the sweetness of victory turned to ash. The obsequies of his courtiers, no matter how delicious, could not take the place of his brother’s openhearted companionship. He knew too late that his heart had been poisoned by their lies and their slander and had only his own hand to blame for the murder of the one who had always known and loved him best. Burning with shame, he fled his palace in the heavens and wandered aimlessly in bitterness and sorrow, his grief throwing the whole of the world into discord.

One day a stranger, clad in the cloak of a wandering monk, called up to him as he wept in the skies above the mountain-cradled lake his brother called home and asked, “Dragon lord, why are you so distraught?”

And Minamikaze replied, “Seeking power, I killed my brother -- but, without him, I am lost.”

The stranger replied, his voice gentle with compassion and soft with comfort, “You have inflicted wounds upon yourself, but now you must heal. Walk the Earth on two feet, as I do. Find value in humility and in humanity, and then you will find peace.”

Minamikaze heard the kindness and the wisdom in the stranger’s words, and knelt upon the ground at his feet. For the first time, he was able to clearly see the world around him, the consequences of his own actions, and seeing he knew what he must do: he became human. The stranger revealed himself as Kitakaze, fallen no longer and healed of many wounds, the most terrible of which was the loss of his brother’s love, made whole by the hand that inflicted it. Reunited, the two set out to rebuild what they had once destroyed, make right what they had once put wrong.

“And to make a much longer story filled with an absolutely incredible number of begats short,” Genji interjected, “about the time Minamikaze and Kitakaze started tooling around on two legs, they also came to the realization that there was a lot to be said for engaging in semi-divine-being with benefits relationships.”

“ Genji. ” Hanzo growled in what he hoped was a properly quelling tone.

“Which is, in fact, how they came to be married to the shaman sisters who had scraped Kitakaze out of the crater he’d made on impact and stitched him back together again.” Genji continued, not obviously quelled at all, and it was all Hanzo could do not to put him in a headlock until someone could get a roll of duct tape. “Nature took its course and, well.”

“The children of Minamikaze and Sakuya, Kitakaze and Tsuya, were the founders of our clan, born of the union between two worlds.” Hanzo grabbed his brother’s knee under the table, found the pressure points, and applied a judicious amount of force; Genji’s mouth, finally getting the hint, snapped shut. “They were...not entirely human themselves, being able to walk between the courts of the spirit world and the realms of men, the better to carry out their parents’ will. The brothers had inflicted great harm on all the worlds in their violence but they were wise enough to know that undoing all that they had done was not only their own task but the work of generations yet to be born. Minamikaze and Kitakaze lived long lives but their human shells were still mortal and when they passed from it within hours of each other, they were born again into their true kingdom as the dragon princes they were. Thus did they give their children, and their grandchildren, and all who would come into the world bearing the humble name they chose for themselves a mighty gift to aid them in their struggles -- not only the blood of dragons in their veins, but a companion of the spirit to protect and counsel them.”

The ranger’s grip on his hand tightened a fraction; he could only imagine how badly he was failing to control his expression because, when he spoke, his tone was surpassingly gentle. “That’s what this was supposed to be.”

It took Hanzo a moment to force his tongue to move. “Yes.”

“Wait.” Hana said at the same moment Lucio whispered, “ Holy mother of no way. ”

Genji sighed and nodded. “Yeah, it’s exactly what you’re thinking.”

“That tattoo. On your back. Is an actual dragon.” Lucio sounded as though he were saying the words aloud in a desperate, doomed effort to make himself not believe them.

“Yep.” Genji replied. “You can let go of my leg now, Hanzo.”

He did so, and wrapped the liberated arm around his slowly churning stomach.

“I’d say no freaking way but I’m afraid we’ve left that pretty far behind.” Lucio admitted. “Can we see it?”

“...Maybe?” Genji flicked a look at him out of the corner of his eye. “Later. Definitely later.”

“So,” Terrifying Smoke Monster Dad asked, because of course he did, “why don’t you have one?”

“ Gabe. ” Ranger McCree growled in a near-duplicate of his own quelling tone; Genji just growled.

“No. He has a salient point. I was vulnerable because there was no bond, though I was prepared -- “ Hanzo stopped, considered, started again. “For hundreds of years, our family followed the command of our ancestors and carried out the task of repairing the harm they had done. Using the gifts at our command, we advised and counseled rulers and warlords, we kept the shrines of our ancestors and those gods and spirits who acted in accord with them, we fought the monsters and demons their violence had permitted entry into the world, and we gave peace and rest to the anguished ghosts of those who perished during the dark and troubled years. Our family was respected and honored for our work, and for our skills, and for our gifts. But things, as they always do, changed.”

“More specifically, the arts our family practiced were outlawed as superstition and banned under threat of a number of unpleasant punishments. When given the choice between sinking into genteel poverty and irrelevance and outlawry our several-times-great-grandparents chose outlawry. They might have been a tiny bit bitter.” Genji’s tone was decidedly wry. “Unfortunately, transitioning from well-respected clan of craftspeople , to use the local term, to a greatly feared clan of organized criminals had a rather significant side-effect. We fell out of favor with our own ancestors.”

“For nearly three centuries our dragon-kin would not answer us. They refused our prayers, turned away our offerings, ignored our pleas. We still etched an open bond into our skin in the hope that it would one day be fulfilled, but it never was. Parts of the family ceased to believe that we had ever been dragons at all while others used the tales for intimidation and threat.” Hanzo fixed his gaze at a point on the far wall, letting his eyes trace the pattern of the hanging, not wishing to meet the ranger’s eyes and see what was written there. “This might have gone on until the last of the dragon’s blood drained from us entirely, had it not been for our grandfather and his brother. Uncle Toshiro was of a scholarly and spiritual nature, and when he asked his brother our grandfather to release him from his obligations to the clan that he might pursue a sacred calling, he was permitted to go. Kijuro, our grandfather, knew he would never be happy otherwise and he loved his brother enough to grant him his freedom. Toshiro withdrew into the mountains near Hanamura, the city our clan called home, and rediscovered the ways we had lost in the shrine that had once been ours, at the knee of the hermit shaman who tended it. And he was the first to receive an answer from our ancestors in generations. The message he received was this: the world was breaking again and it would need dragons, as well, to protect and restore it.”

“Our grandfather wasn’t what you could call overly well-supplied with imagination but he knew what that meant well enough: our ancestors wanted us to go straight. Fortunately for them, Grandpa Kijuro pretty much wanted to get out of the organized crime business while the getting was good, too, and he went about the task of sweet-talking the elder siblings and the heads of the sub-families and figuring out which assets to convert to legitimate businesses and which to sell off and to whom and who to put in charge of what. It was pretty much the work of his most vigorous years, it wasn’t easy or smooth or completely without pain and violence, but he inculcated the necessity of it in all his potential heirs and into his only child, our mother.” Genji said our mother like some people might say Satan himself but Hanzo elected to let it ride unremarked. “He was practically on his deathbed when Toshiro sent word that the ancestors had accepted his efforts and that his daughter was even then carrying the child who would bring the dragons back to the Shimada clan.”

“You?” Ana asked.

“Him.”

“Our grandfather died four years after I was born. Genji was only a baby at the time.” Hanzo’s gaze did another circuit of the pattern, seeking calm, emptiness, emotional distance. “Uncle Toshiro came down from the mountains for the funeral and to take me in hand, to begin training me in the arts I would need to master. He was younger than our grandfather by some years but was an old man himself, and I think he knew even then that I would be his last student. I could already perceive the world beyond the world -- the spirit of Shimada Castle was a sad and beautiful woman who would sit by me at night and sing me to sleep when I was restless, the gardens and the city were alive with things only I could see or touch. What I had been given as a gift, he had gained through study and discipline, which he shared with me.”

“Which is to say when he wasn’t studying a rigorous schedule of way-above-average academics with the best private tutors our mother could find, he was studying weirdass magical and religious esoterica with our ancient, crusty great-uncle. When he wasn’t practicing the sword -- with actual swords , mind you, not kendo -- was practicing the bow, and when he wasn’t practicing either of those two things he was working on his calligraphy or how to make six dozen different kinds of demon-chasing charms or learning how to paint sumi-e well enough to get into art college or how to sing troubled spirits to rest or approximately six million other things that he was expected to know how to do perfectly before he could approach the dragon brothers’ shrine and beg their forgiveness and ask them to come back.” Genji made no effort to keep either the exasperation or the bitterness out of his tone. “I was thoroughly convinced for at least a couple years that he was actually a vampire because I almost never saw his face in broad daylight and I thought our parents were keeping the terrible truth from me until I was old enough to deal with it.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hana opening her mouth. “For the record: I am also not a vampire. I am...not anything.”

“That seems kinda unlikely, darlin’.” The ranger’s tone was gentle.

“And yet it is the truth.” He was mildly astonished that his voice wavered only slightly. “Uncle Toshiro was very, very old when he passed -- I was twenty-one. Shortly after his funeral, I received word from the keeper of the dragon brothers’ shrine that everyone enclosed there had dreamed of our coming…”

They were not quite fifty yards from the parking lot at the base of the mountain when Genji started complaining.

“How could you do this to me, Hanzo?” He asked in the plaintive tones of a man most cruelly and brutally wronged by one held dear to his heart. “ How?”

“You’ll survive the cardio.” Hanzo replied, utterly without mercy, as he started up the next flight of steps on the long climb to the shrine. “You should probably also save your breath. The air is going to be a bit thin where we’re going.”

“Heartless,” Genji whined. “ Absolutely heartless. Do you have any idea where I could be right now?”

“No,” Hanzo lied and lengthened his stride slightly. “ Though I’m certain you’re going to tell me.”

“I could be on a yacht in the middle of the wine-dark Adriatic Sea -- “ Genji began in tones of high melodrama.

“Aegean. I’m reasonably certain it’s the Aegean that all the Greek poets describe as ‘wine-dark’.” Hanzo observed meditatively because he, at least, hadn’t slept through either World Cultures or Advanced Poetic Forms In World Literature.

“ Whatever. And not just any yacht, the world’s largest, most expensive yacht -- the yacht has its own private plane, Hanzo. It’s practically an aircraft carrier upholstered in nudity and excess. And do you know to whom that yacht belongs, oh my dearest brother?” He could nearly hear the gesticulations accompanying the recitation, though he didn’t look back to witness them.

He also knew the answer that question. “Oh your only brother. And, no, I do not.”

“ Kyrion and Konstancia Nagata, that’s who! ” Genji howled, his despair echoing down the valley. “ Who are turning eighteen this weekend! I could be the meat in a kinky Nagata twin sandwich right now!”

“Genji,” Hanzo replied, repressively, because otherwise he was going to start laughing and that would completely ruin any attempt at wise brotherly counsel, “Kyrion Nagata is completely not your type -- “

“Maybe not but his sister is!” Genji wailed again, the ancient, weathered torii lining the ancient, weathered stone stairs catching his voice and amplifying it. “Have you ever even seen her on the dance floor? She moves like bones and ligaments are completely optional flexion devices and those legs Hanzo those legs and how do you even know Kyrion Nagata?”

“I actually read the briefings the security office puts out.” Hanzo rolled his eyes heavenward. “Which is how I know that their father is balls deep in the Russian mafia and underwater in debt to a number of mainland Chinese smuggling operations and that is likely why either or both of his children are attempting to ensnare one or more heirs to a family-run zaibatsu -- because we wouldn’t let our in-laws be murdered by testy smugglers who want their investments back.”

“Oh, sure , take all the fun out of the idea of a threesome with unnaturally flexible twins.” Genji sulked in a transport of despond. “I handle my own contraceptives and prophylactics, you know.”

“I’m reasonably certain a very polite and well-mannered kidnapping for ransom would also not be beyond the bounds of possibility, particularly if they spend the the entire duration of it fucking your brains out.” Hanzo replied, tartly. “Oh, and for the record: mother asked me not to leave you alone with either of them for longer than fifteen seconds if it was within my power to do so and look! It was totally within my power this weekend.”

“ Dammit, Hanzo!”

They walked in silence for some time after that, partly because Genji, resentfully fuming, refused to allow himself to be baited into further conversation, partly because the trail itself became genuinely steep enough to constitute a vigorous cardio workout. The steps were genuinely old beyond the telling of it, carved out of the bones of the mountain, worn as much by time as the passage of feet, crumbling in some places and slick with moss in others. They both had to apply some concentration to their footing lest they enjoy a far less controlled descent and by the time they reached the point where the trail widened out along the brow of the mountainside, both were more than a little ready for a rest stop.

“You’ll survive the cardio, huh?” Genji asked, half-mocking, as they both shucked off their packs and slumped down in the lee of an enormous boulder, fighting to catch their collective breath.

“I’m reasonably sure that was why Uncle Toshiro decided to just stay in Hanamura.” Hanzo admitted, rolling the tension out of his shoulders as he set down his pack. “Here, lay out the blanket…”

Genji, for a pleasant change, did as he was asked without argument, spreading out the plastic-lined picnic blanket liberated from the cherry blossom viewing party supplies on the flattest part of the trail and then flopping dramatically down on it. Hanzo extracted the food he’d packed for the hike, deposited Genji’s share on his chest, and settled down at his knee. “Let me have your legs.”

Genji looked up from the contents of his lunch box but didn’t argue, particularly once Hanzo was massaging the lactic acid buildup out of his calves. “ Ohhhhh , I knew there was a reason I still liked you even though you do stuff like this to me.”

“You used to enjoy doing stuff like this with me.” He switched legs and rolled his eyes a little at his brother’s orgiastic moaning.

“Yeah, when I was twelve and you were only allowed outside if you were doing something that involved hopping one legged across the obstacle course or walking blindfolded through a forest with only a water bottle and a knife or hiking up the side of a mountain without any marked trails and an eighty pound backpack.” Genji replied around a mouthful of onigiri. “I’m not twelve anymore, Hanzo.”

“Clearly.” Hanzo replied dryly and poured himself a cup of tea from the thermos. “You’re attracting curious spirits with the power of your abs, by the way, close your shirt.”

“Let them get an eyeful, it’s a glory they’ll never see again once this weekend is over.” Genji propped himself up on his elbows and accepted the cup handed to him. “You could have had any dozen or two of our ass-sucking relatives up here with you right now, you know.”

“I know.” Hanzo contemplated the contents of his own box, all of which had seemed quite appetizing only a handful of hours before. “And if I’d wanted my ass sucked all the way there and back again, I would have asked one of them.”

“Of course it’s much more enjoyable to torture me.” Genji tossed off his tea and lay back again, twitching his legs out of his lap.

Hanzo discovered his appetite taking an abrupt and total leave, and closed his box. “You could have said no, and I would have respected that.”

“But mother wouldn’t have and, honestly, even dragging myself up the side of a mountain and spending the weekend in a place without wifi or running water is preferable to putting up with her in full blown passive-aggressive dragon-mama mode.” Genji pulled out his phone. “Holy shit, I’ve still got connection. Who would’ve guessed?”

“I’m reasonably certain they’ve got running water now.” Hanzo replied, carefully stretching his own legs before the post-exertion cramps could set in.

Genji snorted and looked up from the screen. “Good, because standing under a waterfall is absolutely not going to cut it when it comes to bathing tonight. Why did you even ask me, you knew I was going to hate everything about this. Honestly, Hanzo.”

Hanzo stretched the length of his left leg and addressed his words to the blanket. “Because you’re my brother and, no matter what happens in the next few days, after this everything is going to be different, one way or another.”

Genji was silent for a long, long moment. Hanzo closed his eyes and concentrated on the sensation of his muscles loosening, the birds twittering among the trees, the rustle of small forest creatures in the undergrowth beyond the trail, the spirits singing their wordless songs on the breeze as it curled around the shoulder of the mountain. Then, in a tone positively freighted with malicious glee, Genji whispered, “You’re afraid. ”

Hanzo sat up so quickly his hamstrings complained. “ Really ?”

Genji pointed at him and outright cackled in perfectly spiteful amusement. “You are. Hanzo Perfect In Every Way Shimada is fucking scared. I never thought I would live to see this day, never in a million years, hold still, I need to commemorate this moment -- “

Hanzo lunged at him but, as it turned out, Genji was just a hair faster and more flexible and rolled easily out of reach and to his feet.

“ Dammit, Genji. ” Hanzo growled and his brother laughed again, not even pretending to hide the mocking edge to it.

“Now that sounds familiar.” Genji snapped off at least a few pictures and tucked his phone away, eyes alight with venomous cheer. “Now I will always remember the day my excellent-in-all-things elder brother displayed a fleeting trace element of imperfection. My life is complete.” His grin slipped back a notch from punchable to merely annoying. “Okay, aniki , that was the best laugh I’ve had in ages so when this whole thing turns out to be the longest long con Uncle Toshiro and Grandpa ever ran, I promise I won’t make fun of you too hard, okay?”

Hanzo closed his eyes, breathed in peace, breathed out the desire to shove his complete asshole little brother off the side of the scenic overlook, and said, “We should go. We have a few more hours of walking left and I would like to be at the shrine well before nightfall.”

“But of course.”

Genji went to collect his pack and remained in an obnoxiously cheerful good mood for the remainder of the hike, undimmed by the sudden summer squall that came pouring down the valley that soaked them both before they could reach the travelers’ shelter at the base of the final rise, or the steep final climb itself. Hanzo chose to regard that as a blessing instead of a harbinger of worse to come primarily because his digestive tract had already tied itself into an impressively complex knotwork sequence and he rather doubted he could survive his circulatory system getting into the act. The sun was a handspan above the western mountains by the time they reached the last set of stairs cut into the edge of the wooded plateau holding the dragon brothers’ shrine and found the priestess-shaman that kept it waiting for them at the top, beneath the torii that marked the boundary between the world as they knew it and the world that was yet to come.

She was almost impossibly tiny, her hair pure white and knotted into a bun at the base of her skull, her back deeply bowed and her face deeply lined with age, but the eyes that looked out at them were bright, a shade of brown so pale they were nearly golden, like those of their mother and late grandfather, sharp and knowing. She bowed in greeting as they came to the top of the steps, the westering sunlight gilding her hair, the sculpted wooden cap of the staff she leaned on, the almost impossibly snowy whiteness of her robe and shawl. “Welcome, young masters. It has been many years since the heirs of my clan have made this pilgrimage. We are pleased to receive you.”

Hanzo stopped on the topmost step and bowed deeply over his hands. “It was our honor to make this journey and our honor to pass the gate of the gods, to return the service of the clan to our ancestors.” He rose, and smiled. “It is good to finally meet you, great-grandmother.”

“Ah, child.” She reached up and cupped his cheek, the skin of her palm paper-fine. “Let me look at you. Toshiro told me a great deal about you -- “ The tip of her staff came around and struck Genji’s shins with serpentine speed; he yelped and almost tumbled back down the stairs and Hanzo just barely managed to swallow a laugh, “and also about you, Genji. Come, the girl who helps me will be making supper soon and you two should settle in…”

She set off on the path that led along the perimeter fence, away from the central lane to the shrine itself. There, tucked away in a corner and screened from view by its own fence and a thin stand of bamboo, was her elegant little house and garden, the stone path leading to the covered verandah passing through it. As the approached, the door slid open and their grandmother’s attendant -- a woman likely old enough to be their mother -- greeted them with a bow and helped her inside. “Girl, show my grandsons to their room and to the bathhouse. Grandsons, bathe. You smell like you just climbed a mountain. Then come talk to me and we will eat.”

The walls in the northern all-purpose room had already been arranged to make two bedrooms -- the “girl,” who quietly gave her name as Miss Hayata, showed them to the western-facing room, its outer shoji open to allow the storm-cooled, rain-and-forest scented breeze entry, the spring fed pond and the surrounding water garden perfectly framed between them. Two futons were laid out next to one another; a set of shelves and hooks for personal belongings and a small chabudai and a selection of cushions occupied the remaining space. Genji glanced around, dumped his pack, and asked, “Mind if I call dibs on the bath?”

“Not at all.” Hanzo rather felt he could use a few minutes to unpack, dispose of his uneaten lunch before it began to smell, and have a minor panic attack before sitting down to eat dinner with the teacher of his teacher. Fortunately, there were jewel-bright fish in the pond willing to help with at least part of the disposal and he strongly suspected the squirrels would take care of the rest. He hung his ritual garments to air, selected a fresh change of clothes, extracted the scroll case he had carried with him from the kamidana in Shimada Castle from its waterproof covering, and stashed the rest of his belongings on his half of the shelves. The panic attack, however, refused to unknot itself from the inner workings of his entrails and he resigned himself to politely picking at dinner.

Genji, miraculously, didn’t take forever in the bath and hadn’t used all the towels. By the time Hanzo himself emerged, dinner was definitely perfuming the air.

Be calm, murmured the voice of reason as he hurried in the direction from whence those delicious smells were emanating, be calm. If she didn’t think you were ready, if she hadn’t received a sign you were ready, if you were not ready, she would not have summoned you. Be calm. Or, if you can’t be calm, at least don’t throw up, because there’s no way that’s not an inauspicious omen.

The dining room was in the furthest southern end of the house, to take advantage of the last of the light lingering in the heavens, supplemented by small lamps situated in each corner and one in the center of the much larger chabudai. Only three places were laid and Miss Hayata was already bringing out the first tray -- tiny, elegantly composed bowls of hiyashi chuka -- so Hanzo hurriedly seated himself.

Grandmother Sumiko clucked her tongue at him. “Tardy.” Genji snickered. “Put away that phone or I will put it away for you and stop laughing at your brother’s misfortune.”

“Just a moment, grandmother, I’m -- “ Hanzo did not actually see Grandmother Sumiko pick up her chopsticks but he did have the opportunity to appreciate the speed with which she used them to snatch the phone out of Genji’s hands. “ Hey. ”

Grandmother Sumiko scrutinized whatever was going on with a certain critical eye and Genji, for the first time in years, actually, visibly blushed. “That is an extraordinarily flexible young woman who is wasting her kami-given talents on amateur softcorn porn. If she ever wishes to fulfill her potential, do send her to me.” Then she powered the device down and slid it into the depths of her robes. “You can have that back when you’re ready to leave, Genji-kun.”

Genji turned the full force of his best this-is-all-your-fault glare on him and mouthed I hate you with elaborate accompanying body language. Since neither of those things were new, Hanzo shrugged insouciantly and mouthed back sorry as insincerely as the situation allowed. If Grandmother Sumiko noticed the exchange, she mercifully forebore to comment on it, and Miss Hayata returned bearing the libations, which turned out to be wonderfully chilled umeshu. That, at least, put Genji in a somewhat better mood almost instantly.

“Tell me of yourself, Genji-kun,” Grandmother Sumiko said, once they had had an opportunity to sample the provender.

“I thought we came here for you to talk to him. ” It was not quite a question, or an accusation, but partook of the most potentially insulting aspects of both and it was all Hanzo could do not to throw his still mostly-full appetizer plate across the table at him.

“If I have a question to ask of Hanzo, I assure you I will do so.” Grandmother Sumiko replied, holding her chopsticks in a manner that suggested potential violence in the offing. “Now, tell me about yourself or I’ll unscrew your head and dip it out with a soup ladle.”

Genji, unexpectedly, grinned his most winning grin. “I think I’m beginning to like you, Grandmother.”

Miss Hayata arrived to take away the appetizer plates and bring new ones, periodically refreshing the umeshu, and Genji and their grandmother chattered back and forth through grilled tofu with vinegared vegetables, a perfectly outstanding miso soup, fried eggplant swimming in a coolly refreshing marinade, and chazuke with umeboshi, a circumstance that allowed Hanzo to eat almost nothing and avoid a lecture at the same time, for which he was profoundly grateful. Dessert was an artfully arranged fan of sliced peaches and watermelon that evoked the image of a bird in flight served with cold sencha flavored with peach and cucumber slices. Miss Hayata shot him a worried look as she took away his last, virtually untouched plate.

“Very well, Genji, you have amused me much more than I suspected you would this evening.” Grandmother Sumiko reached into her robe and tossed his phone back. “Don’t make me regret giving you this, and by regret I mean I don’t want to hear any questionable noises coming from your bedroom after you think everyone else is asleep. I’m an old woman and these walls are thin. Shoo.”

“Thank you, Grandmother.” He offered her a perfectly correct bow, possibly just to prove he could do it, and then dropped a kiss on her cheek, eyes twinkling impishly. “I promise I won’t terrorize your household in the night.”

“Good boy.” He fled and Grandmother Sumiko pinned Hanzo back to his cushions without even looking at him. “Not you. Sit. Have some more of that excellent sencha if you’re not going to eat.”

Chastened, Hanzo sipped his tea and attempted to avoid his grandmother’s eyes as she turned her full attention to him for the first time. He did not entirely succeed and once she caught him, she declined to let him go. “That one is...angry.”

“Yes.” Hanzo agreed, the knots in his stomach reconfiguring themselves slightly.

“At you?” Grandmother Sumiko asked, regarding him steadily.

“At everything.” Hanzo replied, and sat his cup down, regretting everything he’d put in his mouth all evening. “Myself and the situation included.”

“And yet you brought him with you.” She sipped from her own cup and, mercifully, looked away.

“My options were limited. Given the choice between the brother who hates me and the relatives who only bother because they want something from me, at least the hate is honest.” He blinked until his eyes stopped stinging and looked out into the garden, where the solar-powered tōrō were coming to life in the deep blue twilight.

“You could have come alone.” Gently.

“I didn’t want to.” He laced his fingers together to give his hands something to do. “Did you?”

“No.” Grandmother Sumiko admitted, after a moment. “Worried?”

“Oh, yes.” Hanzo took a sip of tea and forced himself to swallow.

“Good. If you weren’t I’d be worried.” With a certain dry amusement. “Ready?”

No. “I must be.” The tea was definitely a mistake. “When do we begin?”

“Tomorrow at first light.” He glanced at her, surprised. “Don’t look at me like that, this isn’t the masochism tango. You climbed a mountain today and you haven’t eaten enough to keep a bird alive. The purpose of the endeavor is to succeed at it, not collapse from physical and mental exhaustion halfway through. Tonight you do nothing but rest. ”

“Thank you, Grandmother.” He found a genuine enough smile to offer her. “May I go?”

She waved him off. “Go. Make sure your angry idiot brother shuts down at a decent hour, too, because I genuinely don’t care if he’s not a morning person.”

“I will.” He rose, bowed, and made his way back to the bedroom, thinking fixedly about nothing.

Genji had rearranged the room somewhat in his absence, moving the futon he’d chosen to the opposite side and putting the table between them, along with a barrier consisting of the contents of his pack, most of which were portable forms of electronic entertainment. Hanzo heroically resisted the temptation to step on a few of the more delicate-seeming ones as he slipped in and slid the shoji door closed behind him. His brother did not look up from the device in his hands or otherwise deign to acknowledge his existence as he prepared for bed, earbuds firmly in place, not even when Hanzo turned out the lamp on his side of the room. He simply reached out and thumbed off his own light, plunging the room into sickly electronic screen lit semi-darkness.

Hanzo wondered, as he tried to find a comfortable position to sleep in, what would happen if he threw a pillow at Genji’s head and asked to talk. Brutal realism forced him to conclude nothing good given the single-minded intensity of focus his brother was giving to ignoring him. An argument, in all likelihood, of the kind that Genji could bring when he was of a mind to use any possible vulnerability against him, his words placed with delicate precision to cut deep. Thus it was that he rolled to the side facing the wall and whispered, “You were right. I am afraid. I wish I could tell you.”

He did not, despite the exertions of the day, sleep particularly well. He had spent cumulative years of his life training in the wild places still to be found in Japan, had slept in tents and under the stars and, on at least one occasion notable for its unpleasantness, hanging on the side of a cliff strapped to a nylon-and-aluminum base platform, but for some reason he could not make himself relax in the freshly laundered bedding on the sweet-smelling tatami while safe under the roof of his grandmother’s house. He couldn’t even blame it on Genji: he had shut whatever he’d been doing down well before midnight, rolled over, and gone directly to sleep. He wasn’t even snoring. Neither were the night noises so disturbingly different as to be a reason for his restlessness: the spirits sang to him no matter where he was, city, castle, or country and, under normal circumstances, and they were enough to soothe him no matter how deep his physical discomfort or mental disquiet. The bath had actually assuaged the majority of the bodily aches occasioned by the hike and his body was, in fact, completely and utterly prepared to rest.

His mind, however, was skittering around like a howler monkey that had stumbled into a meth lab and refused to obey either the demands of physical exhaustion or silent pleas for mercy because it was late and he had to get up early and he already seriously doubted his ability to settle a bitter family quarrel three centuries in the cherishing without trying to do so on twenty minutes of sleep. In fact, his tweaker brain was taking positive delight in going over and over and over all the possible ways this could go wrong, every conceivable misstep, every way in which he could fail . And there were, in fact, multiple potential points of failure, each and every one of which could be laid at his feet. Would be laid at his feet.

You have been preparing to do this thing for nearly your entire life, the voice of reason finally hissed, sounding exasperated almost beyond its own nature. You LITERALLY CANNOT POSSIBLY be more ready. GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP.

That is what I’m afraid of , he replied but he did, in end, sleep for at least a few hours. He snapped instantly awake at the gentle hiss of the shoji sliding open and Miss Hayata’s soft voice whispering, “Young master?”

“I am awake,” He whispered in reply and reached for his yukata. “If my brother can sleep, it is best to let him.”

“As you wish,” Miss Hayata whispered and withdrew while he dressed and carefully folded his ritual garments into the carry-all he’d brought for that purpose, sliding the scroll case in alongside.

The sky outside was growing pale with false dawn as she led him out into the garden, along the path that led down the side of the plateau, the steps narrow and somewhat treacherous with dew. Somewhere in the distance he heard the sound of rushing water and was not surprised when, a few moments later, the trees thinned on the bank of swift-moving stream, itself flowing forth from a deep green pool at the base of of a silver thread of waterfall. Grandmother Sumiko waited just outside the edge of the waterfall’s spray on the bank, a single enormous water-cut slab of stone, smoothed by centuries, holding a lantern on a pole to light his way.

And now there was no more time in which to harbor fear, or doubt.

He undid the ties he used to tame his hair while he slept; unbound, it fell past his waist. He slipped out of his yukata, folded it neatly, and stepped onto the water-smoothed stone. The water, even in summer, was stunningly cold and rendered colder by the predawn breeze. He embraced that chill and allowed it to sink past the surface of his skin, to cool the feverish racing of his thoughts, to wash away any lingering traces of weariness in mind or body. Miss Hayata handed him a cloth with which to dry himself and his grandmother the garments with which to clothe himself and further sprinkled a handful of salt over his head and shoulders once he had done so. A little smile curled the corners of her mouth and he found it drawing an answering expression from his own. One can never be too pure when approaching the gods.

Genji was still asleep as they passed through the garden again -- or, if he wasn’t, he was doing a perfectly excellent imitation. Hanzo firmly ignored the little pang that gave him, the hope that his brother might wake early enough to follow him all the way to the shrine a small one at best, and he did need to rest. He crushed even more firmly the insidious, invidious thought that followed: he would not go with you even if he were awake, he does not believe in this, he never has, and he never will -- you are a fool to think otherwise.

He will believe when I am done. Hanzo held that thought as a shield before his mind and his heart as they cleansed their hands and mouths at the purification fountain, as Grandmother Sumiko led the way along the lane between the palely glowing lanterns, as they stopped to offer prayers at the shrines of the smaller gods, as Grandmother Sumiko opened the doors of the haiden and led the way inside. The hall was longer than it was wide, the air within still and cool and rich with the scent of the ancient, lovingly tended wood that made up the floor, the internal pillars, the altar whose face was etched with the image of the entwined dragons. As one they knelt and bowed before it, touching foreheads to the floor in full supplication, offering all honor and as one they rose to make the offerings: a bowl of rice, a plate of cakes, bowls of salt and water, a bottle of sake. Grandmother Sumiko alone spoke the prayers, unchanged in form for centuries, and she alone approached the door to the inner sanctuary where the shintai of the brother dragons lay enshrined. Hanzo rose and followed her once the way was opened, the scroll case he had carried from Hanamura in the crook of his arm, and stepped into the presence of the gods.

The slender pinnacle of stone where Minamikaze and Kitakaze had touched the Earth to become human, where they had left humanity behind to return to their place in the heavens, was wrapped in hundreds of layers of silk, blue and green, golden and copper, to conceal it from human eyes, bound around its base with a shimenawa as thick as a large man’s arm. Sitting before it, on an elegantly carved platform specifically for the purpose, sat a yamatogoto, the dark wood of its construction glowing in the light of the inner sanctuary lamps Grandmother Sumiko brought to life, strings gleaming like the exposed edge of a blade. She touched his shoulder in passing as she withdrew and closed the doors of the inner sanctuary behind her.

Hanzo knelt, laid the scroll case on the platform next to the instrument, and for a moment simply breathed. Once begun, what came next could not be stopped and started again, only completed, and he could not do it with hands that were anything other than steady. The strings were cool beneath his fingertips as he touched them.

Uncle Toshiro had begun the composition in the years before his birth, when first he was given the knowledge of what must be done to restore the bond between the fractured halves of the Shimada clan. How to continue it once he was gone was one of the first lessons he taught, simple arrangements that grew in complexity and sophistication as his appreciation of both music and mathematics increased, the task handed to him for completion once the arthritis reached a point where even modern medical intervention could no longer restore the cleverness to Toshiro’s hands. Hanzo had done so while sitting vigil at his teacher’s bedside -- had given him something to do besides watch, helpless and useless, as his uncle’s life ebbed away, and it had comforted Toshiro at the last to know that his life’s work was well and safely finished. And it was, even with his additions, a thing of heart aching beauty, at once sweet and sorrowful, mourning for the long years of separation wrapped around a plea for a better future, an apology for past wrongs. It had taken him years of practice not to weep while playing it and he did not do so now, though it was a near thing -- playing it before those for whom it was composed was not the same as any other audience. Particularly when there was only one way for them to respond.

The last of the notes rang off the strings and, as they did, the quality of the air and the light in the inner sanctuary changed. Hanzo took a deep, steadying breath and looked up from the instrument. Before him, the shintai was no longer concealed but a slender spire of stone, sculpted by wind and rain and the passage of millennia in the shape of two sinuous bodies entwined. Beyond it, the mountain rose, impossibly tall, slopes shrouded in primordial forest, pinnacle in racing layers of cloud. A path began at his feet, snaking to either side of the shintai, requiring a choice. He rose and tucked the scroll case into his belt and stepped down. Beneath his feet, the path was soft with moss, at least for now, and he knew that if he looked back now there would be nothing for him to return to once he was done.

And, knowing, he took the path to the left, for the living. The forest beyond was dark, only faint shafts of light passing through the canopy hundreds of meters overhead, the trees towering giants larger than any he could recall meeting elsewhere. The path curved off among them, lined in moss of an impossibly vivid shade of green, bordered in stones that seemed, to his eye, too regular in their angles to be anything other than sculpted. He wished, belatedly, that he’d had the sense to take one of the lamps from the shrine before he’d departed as the forest enfolded him: he sensed something, something ancient and not wholly benevolent, within it, below it, something that his presence stirred.

He walked and, as he did, the light faded still further until it was so dark among the trees that the fireflies came out, sparks of faint golden luminescence among the undergrowth. He sensed, rather than saw, something moving among them by the way they blinked out and returned when whatever it was passed, something that did not permit him to catch even a glimpse of it when the trees or undergrowth thinned. The air cooled and thickened, wisps of mist rising from the loam, perfuming it with something sweet and somnolent and vaguely sickening. He felt, if he breathed it long enough, he might desire nothing more than to make a bed for himself in the soft moss beneath those trees and never wake again and knowing this lengthened his stride. His unseen companion kept pace and his stride lengthened again into something closer to a run -- a run that stumbled to a halt at a second branch in the path.

Weariness, shockingly sudden and intense, came over him as he considered because, again, the division of the ways offered him nothing with which to make his choice -- neither seemed darker or steeper, more or less perilous or inviting, and as he stood, something cold and damp settled itself into the palm of his open hand. His heart leapt and his breath stuttered to a halt and, against his own better judgment, he held completely and utterly still while whatever it was brushed gently against the skin of his palm, huffing softly, its breath warm against his fingertips. A rough tongue kissed the pad of his thumb and a warm, thick-furred body pressed itself against his hip.

Hanzo swallowed, commended his soul to the care of his ancestors, and looked down. A wolf gazed back at him -- an enormous wolf, its fur white as snow in moonlight, its eyes sunlight golden, brilliant and gentle and wise.

“Greetings,” Hanzo murmured, his voice sounding thin and strange in his own ears. “Are you my guide, my friend? Have you been sent to lead me to my family?”

It made no sound, merely gazed up at him and stepped past him onto the path branching to the right, its pelt gleaming in the dark as though lit from within, eyes brighter than even the brightest fireflies. It submitted, without complaint, to the touch of his hand as he buried his fingers in its ruff and found comfort in its living warmth.

“Very well,” He whispered. “Lead on.”

And it did, down paths so narrow they were barely wide enough for one let alone two, where the undergrowth reached out to snatch at his hair and garments and, once, at the scroll case, nearly conscious in its malevolence, in the effort to draw him off the path. He saw also that his fears had been correct, for the light cast by the wolf’s pelt fell across the bones of other travelers tumbled among the roots and vines, fireflies lighting the sockets of empty skulls, lichen-frosted ribs playing host to the small creatures of the forest. For its part, the wolf did not seem to mind that he clung to it more tightly as his strength bled away beneath the trees and it led him faithfully through two more changes in track, over three streams of slowly flowing water that he dared not look into too deeply, and to the place where the ancient, hungry forest thinned and the path steepened and air cleared to the scent of pure wind and freshly fallen autumn leaves.

Hanzo breathed deeply of that air and felt it chase the poison from his lungs and from his blood, his mind clearing and his strength returning. The path beneath his feet had changed from moss-coated roots to weathered stone steps, wide and broad and scattered with fallen leaves, golden and scarlet, to the depth of several inches. On one side of the path, the mountain fell away in a steep decline that lay in heavy shadow, the forest there dark and wreathed in heavy mist, on the other it lay covered in birch and maple, oak and elm clad in their autumn glory, towering stands of cedar and spruce scattered among them like quiet secrets. Looking back, he saw at last the gate that stood at the base of the rise, its timbers worn by the passage of many seasons but no weaker for it.

“Thank you, my friend, I would not have made it through that place without your -- “ He glanced down and found the wolf gone, not even the trace of its tracks left beside his own.

This troubled him, though he could not say, even to himself, quite why. More troubling was the thought that he had, somehow, chosen wrongly in his very first choice, for the way he had taken would have devoured his life had help not come to find him. He wondered, and the thought chilled him, how many of those bones lost in the miasm below had been others like him, scions of the Shimada who had come seeking reconciliation with their ancestors only to meet a lonely death, their names unrecorded and unremembered. He wondered why he, of them all, had been spared that fate.

Soon, he had no more time to wonder. The path wound around the brow of the mountain and rose steadily, growing narrower and more treacherous as it went. Soon, birch and maple, oak and elm, gave way solely to pine, and then to the low, scrubby plants that thrived on the heights, and then to bare stone and vast fields of snow. The air thinned, so that every breath was a labor, and cold, so that every breath felt like inhaling ice, and the wind carved along the face of the mountain like the blade of a frozen sword. The path narrowed until the steps were barely wide enough to stand upon and Hanzo had to press back against the jagged wall of stone, searching for handholds as he went, lest the wind pluck him off the trail and fling him into the empty air beyond. Between one breath and the next, stormcloud enshrouded the upper reaches of the mountain, riming the path with ice, pelting him with sleet as thunder echoed and sheets of lightning rippled from cloud to cloud. Hanzo knelt and crawled, making himself as inoffensive to the wind as he could, giving himself as many chances to catch himself as possible should he begin to slip and fall. The icy stone sucked the last of the dexterity from his numb hands and the icy wind the last of the warmth from his body as he struggled and, from somewhere quite nearby, he heard a howl: a low, gentle crooning, as a mother to her cubs.

He crawled a short way more and found, in the stone face of the mountain, a fissure, a crack just barely large enough to allow him passage, from whence the howl seemed to emerge. Moving with care, he made his way inside as the storm redoubled its fury, rain and hail and snow and winds with the strength of a typhoon, raking the side of them mountain, but inside its skin he was safe. He crawled blindly into the dark until his hands came to rest in warm fur and he found himself regarded steadily by two pairs of gleaming eyes: one the golden eyes he already knew, and the other blue as the cloudless heavens. He collapsed between them, frozen and exhausted, and they gathered close around, warming him with their bodies and their fur and their breath. He wondered, as he lay sheltered in their den, how many others had come this far only to meet their end on the cruel and unforgiving heights of the mountain, their souls lost and their names forgotten. He wondered why he, of them all, had been spared that fate.

In time, the storm passed, its violence bleeding away to nothing. Hanzo’s eyes grew accustomed to the dark and, in it, he saw that both the wolves that lay curled around him were white as fresh-fallen snow, white as cloud, and that the crevice where they laired was open at both ends. He rose to his knees and, conscious of their dignity and his own, he gave them his thanks in a grave and solemn scratching of their ears. Both pressed their noses into his hands and kissed his forehead with a kindly lap of their tongues and neither moved to stop him as he crawled toward the far entrance to their cave.

On that side of the mountain, the path widened again and while it was still bare, cold stone it was now lined in gates, venerable and proud, and the sky above was clear and bright. Minamikaze’s palace rose against it, shining fiercely in the sunlight, its inner keep five stories tall, its outer towers and walls massive with stone enforcements and heavy wooden gates. As he approached, the first of those gates, carved with the image of the entwined dragons, swung open to allow him entry, each one opening untouched before him as he climbed. At the final gate that pierced the inner wall, he finally met another living being: a retainer, tall and slender, clad in layers of storm blue silk, cloud white hair bound with kanzashi in the form of rabenda in full bloom, with eyes the lightning stroke shade of silver. He bowed deeply and Hanzo returned the gesture.

“You have traveled far, Shimada Hanzo.” The retainer said, in a voice far more resonant than his slender frame seemed to allow. “Come. The purpose of your journey awaits.”

The final door to the castle opened and the retainer led him inside. At the base of the staircase that would lead them higher, the retainer paused and gestured, and the shoji to either side slid open to reveal the maze of rooms beyond. On one side, the air was thick with the steam of hot, fresh water. On the other, the lamps shone on the most gorgeous clothing he had ever seen, vivid silks covered in embroidery too fine for mortal hands, ornaments of wood and metal, enamel and jewels. “My master offers you the use of the baths and of his wardrobe, should that be your desire.”

Hanzo was painfully cognizant that he no doubt looked and smelled like a beggar at that moment, but also that his goal was within his reach. “I offer my most sincere gratitude to your lord, but I would delay no longer the purpose of my journey.”

“As you wish.” The retainer turned and set his foot upon the stair and, as they climbed, it seemed to take much longer to reach the second floor of the tower than its size would allow.

As they entered the second story of the castle, the retainer gestured again, and the shoji to either side of them slid open, to reveal the maze of rooms and corridors beyond, revealing tables laid for a feast fit to serve hundreds, the air perfumed with the scents of a thousand different delicacies. “My master offers you food and drink, all that you might desire, that you may come into his presence refreshed.”

Hanzo was poignantly aware of how long it had been since he had last taken even a small mouthful of food or drink, and he knew also that the provender of the gods was not a gift lightly refused -- knew also that, should he partake of it, no earthly food would ever taste quite so good again. “I offer my most sincere gratitude to your lord, but I would no longer delay the purpose of my journey.”

“As you wish.” The retainer turned and set his foot upon the stair and, as they climbed, it seemed to take much longer to reach the third floor of the tower than its size would allow.

As they entered the third story of the castle, the retainer gestured again, and the shoji to either side of them slid open, to reveal the maze of rooms and corridors beyond, darkened by shutters over the outer windows and lit here and there with lamps burning gently perfumed oils, the floors laid with fragrant tatami and cushions and bed silks as far as the eye could see. “My lord offers you the peace of the inner chambers, that you may take your rest and come into his presence restored.”

Hanzo’s body ached with exhaustion and his head throbbed with weariness, and he knew that, should he choose to rest, it would be the best and deepest sleep he had ever known, untroubled by dreams of fear or doubt -- and knew also that when he returned, he would never again sleep so well. “I offer my most sincere gratitude to your lord, but I would no longer delay the purpose of my journey.”

“As you wish.” The retainer turned and set his foot upon the stair and, as they climbed, it seemed to take much longer to reach the fourth floor of the tower than its size would allow.

As they entered the fourth story of the castle, the retainer gestured again, and the shoji to either side of them slid open, to reveal the maze of rooms and corridors beyond. The air was rich with the scent of a hundred delicate perfumes, each one gracing the flesh of a man or woman beautiful beyond compare, each one elegantly dressed or artfully semi-dressed or not particularly dressed at all. Even the retainer looked somewhere between distracted and scandalized. “My lord offers you the companionship of his concubines, whomever you may desire, that you might enter his presence fulfilled.”

Hanzo could feel the blood stirring in his veins and the desire quickening in his flesh and he knew, should he choose to yield to the pleasures of the flesh that his hungers would be utterly satisfied and, when he returned, the touch of no mortal lover would ever stir him in the same way. “I offer my most sincere gratitude to your lord, but I would no longer delay the purpose of my journey.”

“As you wish.” The retainer turned and set his foot upon the stair and, as they climbed, it seemed to take much longer to reach the fifth floor of the tower than its size would allow.

At the pinnacle of the tower, Minamikaze and Kitakaze sat together enthroned. Minamikaze was tall even in his throne, slender as a blade, his beauty as striking as a knife-thrust to the heart, robed in sapphire-and-gold that shimmered like scales in sunlight that fell across the open sides of the upper pavilion. Kitakaze was broad and strong, still bearing the scars of their long-ago quarrel across his face, clad in emerald-and-copper armor that shimmered like scales as he leaned forward in his throne. The expression that crossed his face and which he offered to his lord brother with an impish twinkle in his eyes could only be described as I told you so and possibly also you owe me so much money. Minamikaze, for his part, rolled his eyes even further heavenward. The only others gathered in the upper chamber were two young men who stood to the side of Minamikaze’s throne, as alike as two blossoms springing from the same bud, likewise robed in shades of blue and gold, their eyes bright silver, and a young woman who stood to the side of Kitakaze’s throne, armored from head to toe in shades of green, armed with swords at her waist and a naginata in one hand, her eyes sunlit golden.

The retainer bowed deeply before them both and rose at their acknowledgement. “My Lord Minamikaze, my Lord Kitakaze, I give to you your many-times-great-grandson and many-times-great-nephew Shimada Hanzo, who has come to answer for the conduct of your clan and present proof of the restitution you have demanded.”

“Has he?” Minamikaze’s gentle voice held the echoes of a storm still far away, but a storm nonetheless. “Come forward, my many-times-great-grandson, and show us what you have brought.”

Hanzo slid the scroll case out of his belt, where it had traveled protected and unharmed, and gave it to the hands of the retainer. With all the grace he had left in his weary body, he sank to his knees before the thrones of his ancestors and bowed his face to the floor, pressing his forehead to the mirror-polished wood. To his weary body, it felt as though they permitted him to hold that position far longer than strict courtesy demanded and when he was released from it, it was Lord Kitakaze who spoke. “Rise, child.”

He did so, coming back to his knees, forcing his spine and shoulders straight through sheer force of will and spoke the words Toshiro had engraved on his heart over the years of his tutelage. “I give you greetings and all honor, Lord Minamikaze, Lord Kitakaze. I have come to beg your forgiveness for the wrongs that we, your children, have done to your honored memory and to the purpose that you in your wisdom gave to us. We stand ready to again serve your will in all things.”

Lord Minamikaze held the scroll case in his long-fingered hands, lightning stroke eyes narrowed and his face utterly still. With a tip of one finger he cracked open the seal and withdrew its contents, tightly rolled and yet still inches thick, and began to unwind it that all might see. Lord Kitakaze’s eyes widened and he caught his breath, all three of the younger beings gathered around the thrones gasped aloud. Hanzo breathed peace and held his face impassive thereby, aided by exhaustion, as the work of his life, the painted history of the clan from the hour of its founding to nearly the present unrolled before them, bearing with it the words and deeds of thousands of years in silk and ink, ending the efforts of his grandfather, and his teacher, and his parents to restore the clan to the honor it once abandoned. It had taken years to complete, infused with all of his skill and art, and merely touching it permitted those who had to eyes to see and the ears to hear and the heart to feel that history come to life beneath their hands, to know its truth.

They lingered longest over the end, some form of silent communion passing between the brothers, a communion that filled the air with the stillness before the first breath of a storm. Lord Minamikaze looked away from his brother and gazed not so much at him as through him, eyes narrowed to gleaming slits. Hanzo met his eyes unflinchingly and refused to look away, for he knew in his soul that his ancestor would take that as a proof of deception. He felt that skyfire brilliance invade him between one breath and the next, pouring through his mind and soul as a cold and scouring wind, touching every thought and memory in a relentless torrent, interrogating the essence of his being. It withdrew as swiftly as it came and Hanzo could not help slumping as it did so, planting his fists on his thighs to hold himself up.

“Your proof is accepted.” Lord Minamikaze’s voice was as warm as the wind flowing off a glacier. “The deed we demanded has been done.”

“It is so.” Lord Kitakaze echoed, far more warmly. “My daughter.”

“Yes, father?” The young woman’s voice was clear and bright.

“Long have you desired to walk in the world with your cousins. Is this still your desire?” Lord Kitakaze sounded fondly indulgent, and Hanzo looked up find him smiling at his daughter with a mixture of tenderness and something close to sorrow.

“It is.” Kitakaze’s daughter smiled brighter than the sun.

“Then go, and find the one who awaits you with your father’s blessing.” And now his smile was most definitely edged in sadness.

“Thank you, father.” She caught her father’s hand to her and pressed a kiss to it and fled, laying her hand briefly on his shoulder as she passed him on her way down the stairs.

“My sons.” Lord Minamikaze turned to the young men who stood at his side and Hanzo marveled slightly that neither shrank away from the intensity of his glare. “You have also spoken of your desire to walk among your mortal kin. Has nothing I said dissuaded you from this folly?”

“Father, with all respect to you and to your wisdom, it has not.” Hanzo decided that only an eldest son would be that bold when speaking to a malcontented dragon-father. “Some things must be learned by experiencing them.”

“Go, then.” Lord Minamikaze gestured sharply toward the stairs. “And let us hope you are willing to pay the price for your education.”

Lord Minamikaze’s sons both bowed deeply and withdrew, each laying a hand on his shoulder in passing.

And then he was alone with his ancestors and their servant. Lord Minamikaze regarded him coldly, and Lord Kitakaze regarded his brother with something resembling concern. When the elder dragon spoke, his voice was the hiss of silk across the edge of a knife. “You have come far and suffered much for your efforts, son of my sons. Is there some boon you would ask of my brother and I?”

“My Lord Minamikaze, my Lord Kitakaze,” Hanzo replied, having given that question much thought, “my teacher passed from the world less than a season ago. His mother, my great-grandmother, is still strong of mind but she is many years older. When she leaves us, I alone will exist to preserve our family’s arts and I am not yet their equal. I may never be.” He swallowed with some difficulty. “I ask the gift of wisdom -- a guide and a companion to aid me in my efforts.”

Lord Minamikazi rose slowly from his throne and something in that movement froze the blood in Hanzo’s veins, turned his heart to ice. Lightning flashed, searing his eyes with its brilliance, thunder cracked, deafening, and something long and sharp and cold pierced him to the soul. When he he could see again, all was a tangle of sapphire-scaled coils and icy silver eyes, Lord Minamikaze unveiled in his glory. It took him a moment to realize that the thing that pierced him was a foreclaw black as jet and long as his arm, placed perfectly through the center of his chest.

You ask of me the gift of wisdom and thus do I grant it to you, son of my sons. Lord Minamikazi’s voice curled through his mind, serpentine and venomous with contempt. You are not a dragon and you shall never be one.

He jerked his talon free in a single smooth motion and Hanzo fell, forever.

#gsor66 #repost #written before the cowboy's name change #oh look it's spooky season

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rhmis-user-2020 · 2 years ago

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My experience as a Tangled the series / Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure fan.

Why hello there, it's a pleasure to meet you and welcome to my rant of myself. Today, I'll be talking about my experiences of being a TTS / RTA fan and why I've been wanting to express my opinions as such don't read if you don't feel like wanting to hear my pet peeves as one of the fans of the show and fandom.

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SO! What I've been doing more often is posting things relating to the fandom itself, I used to post 100% content of Varian. Due to first not knowing about the fandom at first and I've been a Varian fan or stan of the show, I used to act a bit exaggerated and weird but soon. As I learned about the fandom of RTA / TTS, I started to design characters from the show other than Varian. That's not saying that I'll not be posting Varian content, it's just that I admire Varian more like a friend than a crush. Hence why I sound neutral about Varian and not a hyper-loving fan of him. I continued to post content based on any character from the show, except those who are difficult to design in Gacha mods (Yes, I use Gacha mods even though I appreciate Gacha club) but all I'm saying is that I admire characters and not just Varian since even though Cassandra has done worst things, and even if Rapunzel denied and betrayed Cassandra and Varian. I wouldn't wanna blame Rapunzel, since I view myself as her. The one who betrays the trust and promise of either my friends or such, Rapunzel denied Varian's promise but for reasons. She must protect her kingdom from the blizzard, and her parents were in danger her boyfriend and friends went to go save them and there was a good chance they weren't coming back. Varian caught her at a bad time and what happened sucks, I slightly felt bad about Varian but I feel more about Rapunzel and non of it was her fault. I know I may sound like I hate Varian but no, I just view him pretty negatively I soon grew into him in season 3 once he reformed but even then I slightly forgive him and even if I post Varian content, I would write it in a neutral sense.

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Next was my boy, Eugene. I absolutely love him a whole lot in the series, he's one of my favourite characters besides Rapunzel of course. I would love to listen to more songs about him, it brings joy to my heart. He deserved more screen time in the series and a friendship with Lance as his partner in crime and Varian as a team awesome group with Lance and has a couple of romantic moments with Rapunzel, his soon-to-be wife.

And he is fucking hilarious and look at his face.

LOOK AT HIM, HE'S ONE OF THE CUTEST BOYFRIEND AND SOON-TO-BE HUSBAND OF RAPUNZEL AND I DON'T CHANGE MY MIND ABOUT THAT TOPIC.

And he doesn't get any love, come on.

And his dynamic with Lance is hilarous.

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Now, for Cassandra. Well, I am not mad at her at all even though the rest of the fandom is mad at her for her villain arc, she might've been a petty, manipulative, two-faced monster just like her mother and she may commit severe crimes like:

Malefic

High treason

Theft

Abuse of power

Psychological and emotional abuse

Usurpation

Mass destruction

Torture

Kidnapping

Attempted mass murder

Slander

Extortion

The drugging of a minor

Aiding and abetting

Brainwashing

Enslavement

Terrorism

Animal cruelty

Identity theft

Vandalism

Pollution

Fraud

Sabotage

Gaoling

Blackmail

Conspiracy

And I too thought that the king or queen would provide some sort of punishment for Cassandra but they set her free since one user of mine said "I think the reason why she didn’t get arrested and got help was because Rapunzel was in charge and not Fredric. Fredric was in charge of Varian’s arrest and that was handled terribly, while Rapunzel handled Cassandra’s. I do also think that Cass got some punishment off-screen, she’s not the type of character who would be ok with getting away with her crimes, but I just wish we saw that for justification."

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Lance is so fucking underrated this dude wasn't even talked about at all in the fandom and I wished that people to talk about him since I love Lance, he is the first black character and that's right, he is voiced by James Monroe Iglehart a African-American person. And him being the father (or adoptive father) of Kiera and Catalina is wholesome as hell, it's so cute to see him with children.

If any of you who are fans of Lance, I would love to hear your opinion on him.

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Now the underdog himself, Varian. While yes, Varian is voiced by none other than Jeremy Jordan. So it makes sense the fandom would show their love to these characters. He is a fan favourite of the bunch, as he is well-known in the fandom to be one of if not the most relatable and sympathetic villains like Cassandra and Eugene. He is the only one who has character development.

He might've done crimes like:

Kidnapping

Assault

Aiding and abetting

Attempted regicide

Terrorism

Usurpation

Mass brainwashing

Conspiracy

Sabotage

Animal cruelty

Vandalism

Theft

Treason

But the king actually cared about Varian and Rapunzel warned him by saying "Don't be too hard on him, Dad." and he valued her discussion, since he accepts his daughter a whole lot and even mentioned this. "I'll be sure to do everything I can to get him help."

And yes, I do prefer the king's concern over this.

This may come across as valuable but he placed Varian in an adult prison since either a) he messed with grown up stuff and committed crimes that may come across as one adult would do or b) he did so out of pureness to keep him safe only for him to be manipulated by adults.

Who knows.

Varian showed some remorse and shame for his past deeds and thought that he could never be forgiven, which was why he teamed up with Andrew and the Separatists of Saporia to erase everyone's memories so that he could have a fresh start and be friends with Rapunzel again. However, by Rapunzel's compassion and the Separatists' change of plan, Varian turned over a new leaf and helped the princess and her friends save Corona. His rekindled friendship with Rapunzel soon gave him back his dad and the forgiveness of Corona.

And he is admirable and funny. And he does have a trusted friend named Ruddiger which is the most cutest dynamic ever, like an owner and pet relationship.

Why do I analyze Varian way more than any character? WHY?

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And now Rapunzel, she is by far my second favourite character. And I especially loved her romance between her and Eugene as well as her friendship with Cassandra, both Eugene and Punzie might be the most cutest couple ever.

I wished they stayed like this.

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vacantgodling · 2 years ago

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NIX ZABALA

y’all thought i was fucking kidding i Will Not stand for nix slander

31, he/him, straight in an extremely queer way :), black

gave himself his name when he was a child and doesn’t remember what his birth name is

lead guitarist (the main shred machine), screamer, backing vocals

founder and leader of LUKEWARM REJECTION

optimistic, gregarious, laid back, trustworthy, loyal, funny & fun loving, dad energy >>>>

dating (and eventually marries) trisha honeycutt, best friends with toph & close friends with most anyone he meets lol.

his married name is nix honeycutt bc he takes his girl’s name (also honeycutt is a cute ass last name ok)

he and trish eventually have a daughter named dolley! they named her after his favorite guitar :’)

BACKSTORY

NIX has always been a drifter. orphaned at a young age, and escaping the foster care system when he was around 15. life has been tough for nix, but his seemingly endless well of optimism has always shone through and kept him pushing for good times and forging relationships with good people.

music has always been what’s held nix’s life together, and he came up with the idea to start a band when he was very young, though he never had anyone around him that he knew that was into music enough to join in with him. after getting a construction job when he was around 18, he met and quickly befriended the boss’s son TYSON CHOMISH, and through him became friends with his energetic and drum-loving younger sister SOBEK. with the two of them becoming friends, nix’s dreams of starting a band finally began to take shape.

in falling out with his apartment complex around this same time, tyson and his girlfriend RENA graciously offered nix a place on their couch (well a room, but he always ended up falling asleep on the couch anyway, force of habit lol) it was here that he met rena’s friend TRISHA HONEYCUTT, falling head over heels for her almost instantly. though trish didn’t give him the time of day at first, the pursuit of her affections, and his desire to really and truly start this band helped win her over, and once the rest of the crew slid into place, she started to set up small gigs for them as their manager. they moved in together not too long after, and have been attached at the hip since.

nix takes a shine to almost anyone he meets, and seeks to find the good in people, even in MAVERICK LOVERDE when their attempts to have bassist LEIA COFFEY both sing and play the bass didn’t work out. while most of the rest of the band has always had a slight off vibe about him, nix has always been there to vouch for him and try and smooth things over when things get misconstrued. (this quickly died when maverick decided to show his true colors because a betrayal of nix’s trust is just not something you can come back from).

meeting TOPH was also by chance. he and trish were on their way home from a gig and saw him huddled up in an alleyway seemingly not dressed for the harsh weather. seeing him out in the cold reminded nix a lot of himself when he was younger, and he essentially roped the seemingly young man into staying with he and trish for a few nights while the blizzard passed. he proved to be a chill, trustworthy individual—if snarky with a mouth that’d make sailor’s blush—and even after the storm they stayed in contact, becoming friends to the point that toph frequently crashes with them for weeks on end.

it was the night trish was in a terrible car accident that nix learned that toph was something different. her chances of survival were extremely slim, and toph calmly asked him if he’d like him to save her. nix didn’t really question it, just said yes please anything!! and so toph revealed his demonic powers to nix and healed trisha. overjoyed, nix didn’t even care that he may potentially owe toph his soul, but toph laughed and simply said that he did it to repay his debt to the two of them for being so kind and considerate towards him even when they didn’t have to be. ever since then, nix and toph have considered each other best friends, to the point of having matching tattoos. however, nix has never introduced toph to the band until maverick walks out on them because toph doesn’t usually like meeting new people lol

#character intro #s: lukewarm rejection

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terrasupra · 2 years ago

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Terra Supra Jotkin Origin Myth

Jotkin

The noble Jotkin, ever impossible to miss for their large stature and larger personalities, present for us an interesting conundrum from which many conclusions can be drawn, and this is of course but one. It is also, I must preface, not an altogether pleasant conclusion. I posit to you, dear reader, and to myself that the Jotkin are a race once uncivilized, and even now only just past the cusp of inclusion in our lofty ranks. Consider, if you will, the facts.

First and foremost, Jotkin do not band. In all other races, the tendency for cooperation and cohabitation amongst like peoples is high, as I myself have witnessed on a hundred Terras. The Jotkin, however, is most often encountered singularly or perhaps in a small family group with young children. They do not build Jotkin civilizations, judging both from the ruins I have plumbed and the travels I have undertaken, and other than adapting tools to their prodigious size they rarely have much to do with advanced technology. In fact, the only Terra’s known to have predominantly Jotkin populations, in settlements or the whole Terra, are those too inhospitable for any other race. An example springs to mind of a group of fire Jotkin living in the caldera of an active volcano I once had the occasion to visit, and even then they located themselves there in ramshackle driftwood buildings to mine precious ores from the cooling magma, not to make a home for themselves. Secondly, their personalities. As much as they are individuals who do not group together without cause, Jotkin are natural leaders. Not by virtue of specific skill, but their large size and bombastic personalities tend to place them at the top of any hierarchy they fall into. I have known many Jotkin warlords, Bandit Chieftains, Barbarian Kings, and even a few Merchant Princes amongst those who have a head for numbers. They show an animalistic need to dominate their surroundings in a manner the other civilized races tend to eschew, at least as individuals.

Now, dear reader, you may have taken this as a slanderous attempt to discredit Jotkin, either an attack on a specific individual or some grudge against their whole. But I assure you, my purpose is to put cause to an effect far darker. Perhaps you have heard, in the dark whispers of a tavern’s back room or told in the schoolyard to frighten the younger children, of the Wretched. Unfortunately, I must inform you that they are very, very real.

If you are lucky enough to have no knowledge of which I speak, the Wretched (singular Wretch) are a dark reflection of the Jotkin. The tails tell of filthy matted hair on bodies that alternate between stringy and bloated, wild eyes and sharp claws, and always, always, teeth like the sharpest flensing knives. They are all this, and more. Their hunched forms belie their powerful limbs, and their elemental abilities dwarf those of simple Jotkin, conjuring blizzards and calling forth thunderstorms as easily as they strip the flesh from bones. They seek only two things, to feed upon gobbets of fresh meat torn from still warm sentients, and to propagate their vile race. And how do they propagate, do you ask? How does such a creature exist that can single handedly reduce a village to bloody rubble?

It had been theorized by those who know of them that they hid amongst us, disguised as Jotkin until the time to strike presented itself. Unfortunately, that is half the truth. I have learned, seen with my own eyes, that a Wretch is a Jotkin who has fallen so low as to eat the flesh of a thinking creature. Whether by starvation, freakish curiosity, or some boundless hunger they cannot control, when the first morsels of flesh pass their lips a Jotkin has become a Wretch, their body changing before your eyes and turning them into this cannibal fiend. In truth, the only time I have seen Jotkin band voluntarily is in the forming of Wretch cults, vile secret societies whose more presentable members gather unwitting food to feed to their flock, gorging themselves as their powers grow. It is not unlikely that unchecked Wretch Cults are at least one of the common causes for the fall of civilizations, so often are Jotkin in positions of power.

Well, dear reader, if I have convinced you that Jotkin were once the same as any other of the uncivilized races, you likely have two questions. Namely, how did they change, and if as I’ve purported before all things must be balanced, which race is their counterpart?

Simply enough, both questions I may answer “Humans.”

Are Humans not the cooperative, ingenious answer to Jotkin’s elemental individuality? Do not our walls and tools afford us a level of protection that, over time, would drive Jotkin to adapt to our ways rather than continue failing to consume us? Or, perhaps, is this but a more advanced hunting strategy on the side of the Jotkin?

There can be no reasonable answer, and the incuriosity of Jotkin dissuades seeking one, so for now simply keep your large companions fed and keep yourself off the menu.

#d&d #5e #homebrew #Dungeons and Dragons #fiction #Terra Supra #roleplay

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amaron117-blog · 2 months ago

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Hey there, Guild Leader for <The Gnomish Army> here. My name is Tinysaphiroe, or aka Tinycog Springsprocket on Moonguard. I know WHO posted this, yes, I wont name you and I will preserve your identity. However, I will say enjoy your ban for telling my Trooper to kill themselves when they were blatantly not rude to you in any way. To anyone reading this, I am more than happy to provide screenshots of our conversation, as the OP threatened me that they would post on here claiming my Trooper was a Rapist, when he simply told the OP to "Dont worry XXXXX, the game will end at some point" when they were talking in LFG chat. The OP was mad and decided to slander my Trooper after they decided to whine to me saying my Trooper was rude to them. After I didn't agree that he was, I then questioned them as to why they told my Trooper to "KYES thanks", and asked them to elaborate. I said to the OP, again which I will not name, that my Trooper was NOT rude to them, but essentially told them to "Calm down, it'll be over". Their exact response at 1931hrs CST was "Is that what he says to his rape victims, Cause that's a common line from them." I ignored their stupid response and asked them why they told my Trooper to kill themselves, and they countered with "Why is your Trooper making rapist comments". I told them that I would be notifying Blizzard of their behavior, and letting the Moonguard community know their despicable behavior, and they proceeded to threaten me with "Okay, I'll tell Wyrmrest Secrets that you guys protect rapists and ruin your name." Again, to anyone who is interested, I am MORE than happy to share the screenshots of our conversation with you. To the OP, enjoy your ban you scummy piece of crap, WoW is a better place without you. You take away the severity of actual rape victims when you pull this shit, and you are a worthless piece of garbage for telling someone to kill themselves over a game. My Troopers KNOW what I stand for, and against, as my past in Military/Civilian Law Enforcement is very clear to them, and I would never tolerate the claimed behavior you are slandering my Troops with. I hold my people accountable when they need to be, as I hold them to a very high standard. I advise you to take this time away from WoW, reflect on your pathetic behavior, and try to become a better human being. Continue down this path, and if authorized by Wyrmrest Secrets, I WILL put your full name, guild name, etc on full blast for everyone to see. That's not a threat, that's a promise I will keep. Not respectfully, High Commander Tinycog Springsprocket Tinysaphiroe <The Gnomish Army-Moonguard>

How come Gnomish Army guilds have rapists sympathizers in it, that tell people "It'll all be over soon, so don't worry"?

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fuckblizzardbearlover · 5 years ago

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Warcraft players snark over “morally grey” is based on a lie

(Im still seeing people in the warcraft tag spreading the lie that the wow devs think the burning of teldrassil and sylvannas’ actions were ‘morally grey’. So here is a copy of the text i made before discussing the issue, using a transcrip from an interview i have linked. Like me or not (for whatever reason) spreading lies in order to slander and hurt people (and yes game developers are people) is wrong. And people keep throwing that buzzword around as a cheap lie to insult and attack professionals who just are doing their best to make a fun game for you to play)

some lying asshole: “Blizzard said that sylvannas burning down a whole city is morally grey”

No thats a lie you lying asshole

repost of my comment on blizzardwatch

So its possible i have the wrong interview but if i dont then then all the people using the words ‘morally grey" to purposeful jerks are even worse than i imagined

https://www.twitch.tv/video…

“this is the interview i think it is from. the question was "the intro quests on the beta are painting the horde in a negative light. Should i be worried about my faction turning evil?”

“evil’s a matter of perspective, there are probably alot of alliance players that are like 'what are you talking about you’ve been evil the whole time’ haha ;). ’ Are we the bad guys?’ Heh heh. So, some people have said…I mean the attributes to this quote are all over the place, its said that for Evil to Prosper requires that good men to do nothing. And the Horde has many facets and there are aspects of what the Forsaken have represented for a long time that have not necessarily been directly in line with what the Tauren represent. I mean compare the events of the Wrathgate to…tauren culture. There has been this uneasy partnership between these groups for a long time. And you know there are similar tensions we see throughout the other factions. These things arent monolothic. And you know, evil, Again, horrible things happen in war in general. When groups are fighting for survival , at the end of the day they resort to desperate measures when it comes to the choice between That and extinction. There is alot of story going forward, i dont want to go to far into this. Both sides should be worried about this, i think. Azeroth is a world of grey, its never been a world of black and white. I think thats been a definine aspect of the franchise from the beginning days. You looked at Warcraft Orcs and Humans and the people in that world and you look at these noble recognizable folk who look like us and then these big green brutish monsters and you assume "ok the humans are the good guys and the orcs are evil because they look like monsters’ but…thats not what warcraft is about. There’s more nuance and thats not changing any time soon”

So this had literally nothing to do with the War of Thorns questlines other than thats what prompted the question “do i have to be worried the horde is going to turn evil” in which he basically said “both sides should be worried about that, but the Horde ISNT evil as a whole”

that the “grey” part was about how the story of warcraft isnt cut and dry about how good people can become evil and evil people can become good, about how good people can do bad things and bad ppl can do good things, about how good people might turn a blind eye to their allies doing evil and that could be INTERPRETED as evil

by all means if this is the wrong interview show me one where he said these events were morally grey and i’ll shut up forever

He was talking about war and the faction conflict and the horde as a whole.

The only real way this can be connected to the War of Thorns is the idea that “the horde at this moment could be intepreted as evil because they allowed Sylvannas to do this” And thats where the grey comes in. Some might have thought attacking the tree was ok but destroying the city was to much. Some might not even know about the attack. Most horde citizens will only hear rumors of it in a few days. Many of the horde think it justified. I imagine Warsong employees whos friends and coworkers were killed by sentinals were happy to see the tree burn.

REGARDLESS. stop spreading lies and insulting the devs and writers just because they succeeded in making you feel an emotion

#warcraft #world of warcraft #the war of thorns #sylvannas windrunner #nathanos blightcaller #anduin wrynn #saurfang #tyrande #fans #toxic fandom #lies #slander #harrassment #gamer culture #overwatch #warcraft 3 #blizzard entertainment

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blogforwritinggenshin · 2 years ago

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How about doing a cult au where reader is easily flusters and shy, and when their really embarrassed they turn into a small cute animal, I wonder how they react to that! Or reader can heal any wound, but it makes them really tired or have headaches that can last depending how bad the wound is. Or imposter au the reader is really laidback and cool even after all they went through and easily forgives them. Or soft cult au where reader doesn't see the others as servants, but as friends.

Miscellaneous SAGAU Concepts pt. 1

CW: Possessive behavior, cult AU, Violence/monster killing

Shy reader:

How is it that the gods of entire nations can’t catch a single bunny rabbit?

You couldn’t help but blush and curl in on yourself as Ei unabashedly praised your kindness. Venti insisted on writing poems and songs all about your greatness. Zhongi refused to leave your side

“It was nothing,” you mumbled but the archons wouldn’t allow such slander to be said about their creator, not even if it was coming from yourself.

You shrank until the world reflected how you felt, big and intimidating. You craved the comfort of warmth, your friends’ arms would be a nice comfort, but of all the people towering above you, they made you feel the most shy.

It didn’t take long for them to notice that their great leader had vanished.

____

You had started to notice they had gotten a bit more… aggressive– to say the least– in their methods of trying to capture you. Zhongli summoned his pillars of stone, that pulsed and shook the ground, to the point that you might as well have been floating in the air with how violently the ground pulsed and pushed you around. Venti summoned a full tornado that you feared would have ripped you apart and thrown you into Celestia if you had been a normal human. Ei mobilized her entire army as well as somehow managed to convince the members of the resistance from Watatsumi to take part in their search and hunt for you.

Nahida was the most successful out of them all, but you knew her tricks. You wouldn’t let her keep you trapped in a dream. She may have been the most gentle and understanding, but you could see she shared the same insane look as the rest of the archons.

The Tsaritsa was the most difficult to evade of them all, truly the most terrifying. As the goddess of love, she can feel every beating heart, whisper to them, and enlighten them. You sprinted on four legs, then flew on two wings, then swam as fast as you could. It was no use. She’s too powerful. Getting trapped in a blizzard in her domain was just barely worse than being on land being chased by Morax.

You can only run for so long, little rabbit. Your followers will catch you soon. They only see this as a test of faith, test of determination and devolution. They’ve all agreed that whoever catches you first will end up your most favored. They’re more and more motivated by their competitiveness and need to be loved by you.

Healer Reader:

Strike to kill. Do not let the creator know of the slaughter.

The archons insist that you reserve your healing powers. That no one, not even them are worthy of being healed by you, especially considering that it would mean you sacrificing your own well-being for that person.

Imagine their alarm when they find you gasping, bleeding, as you heal a lowly slime. They drag you away. Barely able to hide their jealousy of the puny monster for taking your attention and taking advantage of your powers.

Perhaps if they can’t stop you from using them, then instead they can redirect them to purposes truly worthy of your prowess.

Venti come to you, a few scratches and cuts sheepishly saying he tripping into some bushes in wolvendom picking some wolfehook berries for you. You smile softly and gently cup his cheek, swiping your thumb over skin that’s already smoothed over.

There. All better.

“Thank you so much, your diviness!”

You laugh and shake your head at the name. When will they just use your regular name?

———————————

Zhongli comes to you one night, poorly hiding his limp. He jokes that he must be getting old as he tripped on his way up the stairs to your room.

“Please, don’t waste your powers on me. I’d hate to burden you with unnecessary pain, great one.”

Zhongli, please…

You don’t have to say anything more as he relents, allowing you to heal his throbbing ankle.

He only feels a shred of regret when he sees you wince.

He dotes and fusses over you as soon as he’s healed. Insisting that you lay in bed and let him take care of anything and everything for you, as now you’re the one injured.

He’s excessive and overbearing.

It’s amusing to watch him buzz about like a bee.

————————

You almost don’t recognize Ei when you find her out in the forest, covered in blood and monster dust. She’s completely unhurt. What monster could really contest her? But she isn’t immune to fatigue. She hasn’t slept much since you left to visit the other archons, eagerly awaiting your return to Inazuma.

You take her hand and almost collapse.

Ei… how long have you been awake? How long have you been fighting?

“Hm… not long. About a week now, I think?”

You don’t even have it in you to make your eyes go wide. Just leaning on her and frowning.

You need to take care of yourself Ei.

“Ah… you didn’t need to use your healing powers on me, Divinity. Let’s go back to the palace. I’ll carry you.”

You don’t protest. You neither have the strength nor mental will power to do so. You simple let her wrap her strong arms around your body and take off running through the trees and up and down the hills. She slows when you tug at her dress and tell her that the speed is making you dizzy.

You blush bright red, and tell Ei she can put you down now. You’re not sure you want people seeing you be carried by the goddess. You may be exhausted, but you humiliation will win out.

Of course this is the one time she doesn’t listen to your commands. Simply shaking her head and telling you that she doesn’t want to risk making your condition worse.

You hide your face in her dress and groan.

“Do you feel worse? Perhaps I will stop to buy you some herbs”

You shake your head. How much worse can this get?

——————————

Nahida suffers from an aching heart. Why can’t she remember what she misses so dearly? Why can she find nothing that can explain this void in her heart, like a window with a hole in it, sharp shards scraping at anyone who dares try reaching in to search beyond it.

You have to keep her in your arms, continuously using your powers to ease the pain. It hurts so much. It must be so hard for her to deal with it everyday. You want to do everything you can to help her.

Surprisingly it’s her that has to convince you to let her go, promising that she’ll be okay. Saying that if you can’t keep hurting yourself for her sake. And giving you her best smile when you insist that you can.

“I’ll be okay, I promise. I’m just happy I get to be with my creator. That’s enough to heal me, without any powers needed.”

Laidback/Soft reader (decided to combine them because i felt they fit well together)

Your casualness honestly doubles the archons’ stress levels.

They can’t seem to convince you that it’s beneath you to associate yourself with the humans and monsters. But you won’t listen.

You go climbing and gliding with Amber. Drinking with Kaeya and Rosaria (supervised by Diluc), and Beidou when you’re in Liyue. You insist that Jean takes you out, dragging her to the great tree and having her tell you Vanessa’s tale again and again. Helping Lisa carry her many heavy books, and insisting Eula teach you how to dance, even after you twisted your ankle.

You forgive them all so easily. You don’t take offense to Keqing’s standoff-ish attitude and skepticism, which ends up working in your favor as she comes around to believing you to be the ideal form of god. One that doesn’t not try to reach beyond their means, though perhaps a bit lazy in her mind.

You nearly give Zhongli a heart attack when you tell him you’re going with Yelan down into the Chasm. He tries to insist on going with you, ending up secretly trailing behind as you and Alatus and Yelan descend into the depths purely because you insisted on it.

(You take advantage of your title quite a bit, using it to get more than you probably deserve. You can’t help it, you always wanted to travel around Tevyat and now you can! But only if you tell your followers that you’re going to do it. If you ask, they’ll always tell you no. “It’s for your safety” they insist. But you don’t want to cower away. You’re going to see every corner of this world, if it’s the last thing you do).

Ei travels with you. Follows you, true to her name, like a shadow. She protects you from the lighting on the other isles. Technically she doesn’t need to fight the Nobushi, even they praise and honor your name, but she does. She will cut them down faster than you can blink, even at 100 yards away. Only if you tell her not to, will she stop her spree. But you won’t be able to convince her to not attack the monsters like the hilichurls and abyss hounds. They don’t deserve to be in your presence.

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notsuch · 2 years ago

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Wanna write Junkers but dont know Aussie shit?

Writing a Junker for non-Aussies, some shit that will make it hit just right instead of half-assing it by writing arvo and calling it done:

the outback is a conceptual area, not a physical place, you cannot put "outback" into a gps and find it, but you can drive two hours out of your city and hit it. the outback can be a green lush rainforest or the outback can be red sand deserts. the point is, it's further away from where you are now and there is fewer people. A park is not the outback, but you can go "out back" to a park to infer its distance from your house.

the most aussie thing about junker queen, junk rat and roadhog is that shirts are a suggestion, not a requirement. if we dont have to wear full tops, we don't. no, that's not just blizzard going "lets show off half naked ppl", in many towns, especially on the coast, they have to enforce a "no shirt, no shoes? no service." rule, it gets that bad.

we also constantly get skin cancer, all the time. everyone. the australian sun has more uv in it than anywhere else in the world AND I DOUBT THAT GOT BETTER WITH ALL THE FREAKING RADIATION EVERYWHERE NOW. It doesn't matter your heritage, black, white, asian, you live in australia? you're getting skin cancer.

no this still does not mean we put on shirts. you'd think that change it, but no. wrong. fuck shirts. fuck pants too. scratch shoes probably while you're at it. ow my feet are burning on the hot pavement? TOO BAD SUCK IT UP. Shorts and a tank top if you really have to push it, but a bikini top at all times is perfectly acceptable for women.

but put on a fucking hat and sunscreen, you complete buffon, what are you, a tourist, not putting on a HAT? always put on a hat. DYOU WANT TO GET SKIN CANCER, HONESTLY,,,,,, but also we suck at putting on hats, just your parents yelled at you to do it and you tell others to do it and always have a hat on hand.

shirt exceptions: if you're in sydney or melbourne. they like, have actual standards about business dress. they even wear three piece suits and shit. my soul died just thinking about it. but even then,,,,, ehhhhh, if its summer, people get /hand wobbles, vague about shirt requirements. ive watched foreign business people see what sydney calls business dress and go EVERYONE HERE IS INFORMAL so like, its more dressed up than the rest of australia, but still probably more dressed down than half the world lmao.

they're call "sydneysiders" and everywhere else takes any reason to trash talk them at every opportunity. we all hate sydney. people who have never been to sydney hate sydney. sydney hates sydney: north sydney hates west sydney, west sydney hates east sydney and so on. everyone who lives in sydney wishes they didn't. fuck sydney. if you cant think of anything to say that's neutral, you can always just slander sydney and it'll be a fairly positive-neutral conversation. i can garuntee Junkers will be sitting there shoving radiated dirt into their horrendous bullet wounds, missing fingers, barely scraping alive, living in the literal apocalypse, and especially be like MAN AT LEAST IM NOT IN SYDNEY.

we call the brits 'Poms' and americans 'Seppos'. If you are talking to a Sydneysider, you can mutually hate on both of these groups. Poms more so. We hate the English. It's not active, btw, we aren't the yanks out here having national pride about a war or something, no, its a passive, low grade, mocking tone at all times about them. Ireland, Scotland and Wales are ok tho, we like them just fine. Just the Brits.

you are not allowed to openly state something is wrong, if its actually seriously fucked up, you have to understate it. for real my own mother was in a small flight plane that had to make an emergency landing in a farmer's field and the farmer came out and said 'bit of trouble mate?' as literal smoke was spewing out of the engine block and the pilot went 'reckon she'll be right in a bit', and everyone sat around having a beer.

except for the weather, you are always, at all times, allowed to complain about the weather. its too hot. its too cold. why is it so humid, why is it so dry. "hows this weather we're having?" is a normal conversation starter to make small talk and also just kill five minutes in line at [sports venue of the choice]. I can physically hear the two fucking junkers in the line to the Scrapyard Arena being like 'man fuck this weather lately' as if it's not the 432432 day of burning hot dry desert irradiated heat that was exactly the same as the day before, and everyone will be 'no yeah bloody hell aye'

slab of beer is a defined currency once you are outside of cities. this is a 24xbeer cans. you can pay for services in beer.

when passing people, "hey" is only acceptable in busy settings, the rest of the time, we're so fucking talkative. people in cities can say 'hi', but outside its got to be the 'eyyy' 'g'day', 'hey bruz', it's always "hi, how ya going?" then a nod and response of "not bad, you?" if you have the time to answer, otherwise a nod with 'g'day gotta go' and an indication you're in a rush is perfectly acceptable. if there is time for it, this is when you go into complaining about the weather. not engaging in this process is ruder than swearing at each other.

a mad cunt and a sick cunt, are your best friends, or the dude at the party who brought the rum and you all cheer. a shit cunt is the worst person who ruined it for everyone by calling the cops because you shouldnt stick a ice box drink cooler on a lawnmower and ride it while drinking said rum. asshole.

the ice box drink is called an Esky, by the way. Not cooler. Esky.

NORTH IS HOT, ITS WHERE ALL THE CROCODILES N CASSOWARIES N SHIT ARE.

the south is cold and does actually get snow, aka the Snowy Mountains are in the south. Yes, we did name it that.

Tasmania (that one big island at the bottom lmao) is snowy and rainy and makes really good whiskey and is probably actually just fine b/c no one cares about it and is not connected to the mainland at all, they judge all "mainlanders".

THEY'RE NOT CALLED COWBOYS, THEY'RE CALLED STOCKMEN, OR JACKAROOS AND JILLAROOS.

Kangaroos are like asshole deer. You will not break them if you hit them, your car however is *completely* fucked.

WE DO NOT CALL THEM 'FARMS'. They are 'properties' or 'stations'. A 'cattle station' is an acceptable term. A sheep station. If you say 'a property' everyone knows you mean an agricultural piece of land, and that it's specifically many, many, MANY, thousands of kilometers long. If you call them farm, we instantly clock you as american or a rich city person who has a 'hobby farm'.

The person who OWNS many, many, many, many, MANY, thousands of miles of land and don't actually work it themselves, may call themselves Farmers, but the rest of us often clock them as rich fuckers because of that reason.

We are not afraid of spiders, snakes, kangaroos, jellyfish, whatever it is foreigners scream about this week, the way you think we are. We don't like them, (ok some of us do), but they just are, and we all got education lessons young about how to not be an idiot about them.

we are fucking with you, at all times, i'm an aussie and I am fucking with you right now. i can meet another aussie in a bar that i do not know, have never seen in my entire life, and make shit up on the spot to distress someone about some animal that does not exist, and the other australian without a fucking beat will IMMEDIATELY. JOIN IN. Junkrat will be tricking Brigette about the existence of Land Sharks and even if she wants to strangle him to death, Junker Queen will 100% back him on whatever the fuck he's saying.

#overwatch #overwatch 2 #junkertown #junkers #junkrat #roadhog

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blackdragonbeauty · 2 years ago

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Wrathion Slander

I really need to vent about this as it's REALLY bothering me.

Wrathion is... or WAS... such a better character. He's a far more complicated character than most might realize, and is a character I can personally relate to as an abuse survivor.

I'm so pissed off about Wrathions "development" in Dragonflight. In Visions of Nzoth; we get to see him being more mature, more calculated, more tempered compared to when we meet him in Pandaria. HE WAS ACTIVELY GROWING UP AND BEING MATURE. But blizzard turned it around and DESTROYED ALL HIS PROGRESS JUST FOR "haha young dragon is brat!" and just.... It's so frustrating as someone who watched a character grow and mature and living vicariously through that.

I'm so pissed how people treat him. Both players and npcs. Sabellian and co had DECADES on Outland and had SO MUCH time to learn how to free their kin. Yet they CHOSE NOT TO. Now they scream and cry "OH WRATHION IS SO HORRIBLE! HE CHOSE TO KILL THEM INSTEAD OF HELP THEM!" When they BLANTANTLY leave out massive facts... ya know... Like how Wrathion was hatched DURING the Cataclysm??? The time where the entire flight was ACTIVELY RIPPING APART AZEROTH?!!?!?! His choices at that time were a) get killed by the black flight. b) get killed by the red flight. c) get corrupted and then killed like the rest. or d) Protect azeroth from the flight.

Wrathion wasn't born with the information OR time to learn how to free them. Had he tried, he would have put himself at GRAND danger of being killed by the old gods or by Deathwing and the flight themselves. THERE. WAS. NO. TIME. contrary to what Sabellian and co say.

Wrathions trauma stemmed not just from Deathwing, but from the Red Flight too. We the players, get to help Rheastraza purge a black egg... which turns out to be wrathion. But those who didn't play Rogue in Cataclysm; don't know that. Which pisses me off as his origins are so hidden. and It's so vital. Now you and this red dragon put this egg through so many tests, which we later read in Wrathions journal; HE REMEMBERED THEM. And they were intrusive, violating, painful. But the agony doesn't stop there; he was taken to a red dragon area where he was "looked after." Based on the way the leader there (i forget her name) spoke about the egg when it was stolen away by the Rogues of Ravenholdt manor she clearly didn't care about him as a whelp. Just as a thing.. or seemingly worse. A *black egg.* ya know.. despite being let in on the fact that this egg was purged.

now when the Rogue player character gets sent to steal him back; we find that he's hatched... and pissed. Wrathion hires you to help him fight off the flight, while sending back the red dragon who accompanied said player with broken legs with a message that "he won't be a prisoner to anyone anymore." ya know... reasonable. a tiny bit aggressive but reasonable. But that's the worst he did at this point. AND IT WAS JUSTIFIABLE.

Once you finish his final quest, "Patricide." You come back TO FIND THE WHOLE MANOR BEING ASSAULTED BY THE RED FLIGHT. Instead of trying to reason with him, treat him as a sentient person, or any care; THEY JUST DECIDE TO MURDER HIM AND EVERYONE IN THE AREA.

Now to Pandaria.. We find him a lot in the Valley where if we remember well, is DESTROYED with Sha menace. Sha.. or also knowns as "the Breaths of Y'sharj"... old god. If we remember how old gods work; they THRIVE on negative emotions; paranoia, fear, anger, pride.... Gee sounds familiar?? Ya, Wrathion was a PRIME target and was so actively close to it all. But we forget; N'zoth was still active at that time too. Wrathion makes a comment in later years, during Visions of Nzoth, about despite him being purged; ***he wasn't immune.*** Now why would Wrathion who wants to help and protect azeroth, go to lengths for chaotic actions?? He was led astray without being aware of it. And since he was so secretive; all we could assume was that his attitude was just him and that he was just a dumb idiot.... I believe that Wrathion during pandaria was influenced. And having consumed the heart of Y'sharj... only worsened his chaotic emotions that OTHERS have destroyed. Yet he's treated like he's just an idiot... Ya he fucked up; but there's so much more to him.

Now i'm so pissed how Alexstraza treats him. She seems aware of how his situation started; yet still makes scathing comments and COMPLETELY disregards the idea of perhaps mending the rift between them???? Some fucking "Queen." And from the history I've seen of her; she only really cares about herself, her flight and those she chooses. Unless it's a Very Big Event^TM which was like... 2 times?? So many things could have been stopped had she done her damn job.

SPEAKING OF DOING HER DAMN JOB: Doing quests with Emberthal, we found a recording of Neltharion talking about how Alexstraza and the other aspects refused to believe him when he tried to warn them about the Incarnates war. HE TRIED TO WARN THEM AND GET HELP. THEY ABANDONED HIM! THEY BETRAYED HIM AND HE SUFFERED FOR IT.

UGH!! I'M SO PISSED HOW THE BLACK FLIGHT IS BEING JUST... THROWN AROUND STUPIDLY. THEY'RE SO MUCH MORE. THEY'RE SO BEAUTIFUL AND THEY DESERVE TO BE WRITTEN BETTER.

#World of Warcraft #Wrathion #Sabellian #Blackflight #dragonflight #Redflight #Alexstraza #Potential Trigger Warning: mentions of abuse

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drarryspecificrecs · 3 years ago

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2022.01 ~ Top 8 longest fics posted on AO3

1. Lily's Boy by SomewheresSword [E, 746k]

►Before his third year of Hogwarts has even begun, Harry faces three whole weeks of unsupervised time in Diagon Alley. In that time he takes a trip to Gringotts - and that changes everything. [...] With help from unexpected places, Harry starts on a journey to end the war, and reshape the wizarding world. With how much he looks like James Potter, people have forgotten one important thing about him - he is Lily Evans' son, and she was one hell of a witch.

2. Gold Rush by @moonlightdrop [M, 126k]

►What started off as Harry becoming mesmerized by Draco in a coffee shop, suddenly turned into a whirlwind of crazy events. Harry eventually finds Draco filling every portion of his life, slowly realizing the hardships that'll come with falling for him. From drunken mishaps to secret late night rendezvous to deadly family dinners—it becomes clear that there is so much more to Draco than Harry ever imagined.

3. Vodka and Therapy by Burneraccount539 [E, 106k]

►Harry Potter was gay. There was only one person who knows this. Dudley, whom Harry had reconnected with after the war. Which is why Dudley decided to take Harry out to a muggle gay bar, where Harry found a recently released Draco Malfoy.

4. The Place Where They Go by chunkno [T, 64k]

►After the second Wizarding War, Harry and his friends return to Hogwarts one final time to finish off their educations. Harry struggles do come to terms with being alive while many of his friends are not. Draco is having trouble dealing with the slander from his classmates due to his position in the war. Harry can't help but take notice of Draco, and how much he has changed, and how much that confused him. Nightmares, Astronomy, paintings, and many lost sketches later, how will they act on their new found epiphanies?

5. Glass Half Full by Zee_Hawthorn [E, 50k]

►It had taken several more years to put into words how he felt about the man he had always considered a rival, an enemy, a first-class bastard for whom he had dropped everything. Because that's what he'd done. Just before he'd holed up here with his drink and his loneliness for company.

6. All The Bad Dreams That You Hide (Show Me Yours, I’ll Show You Mine) by Bluemask [E, 50k]

►Malfoy drops his head against the wall. “My life is falling apart, Potter, and I can’t do anything to stop it. And I know,” his eyes snap back to Harry, urgently. “I know I deserve it. I know it's my fault. But it still sucks.” Harry would like to tell him that his life is also falling apart, but Malfoy wouldn't understand, and that's not entirely true. [...]

7. Harry Potter and the Chariot of the Sun by Philosopherscribe [M, 49k]

►Hot on the trail of a Dementor-worshipping cult, Harry plays a dangerous game with an old enemy.

8. No Questions Asked by @redthoughtsblog [T, 48k]

►Harry is exhausted. The war is over, and yet, the Hogwarts house rivalry is worse than ever. The Gryffindors and Slytherins are at each other's throats constantly, and Harry is just so tired of it. So, he takes matters into his own hands. After all, he was used to saving everybody - why not do it one more time?

—

※ Word count: 1k ~ 15k

※ Word count: 15k ~ 40k

524 Days by @havingaverydrarryday [T, 35k]

(Dis)obedience by @beyondtheclose [M, 30k]

Bunny for the Weekend by Draco_Sodding_Malfoy [T, 19k]

Cascade by Avonne [M, 18k]

Insult by @drarrily-we-row-along [M, 21k]

Love in the Time of Blizzard by Tepantar [M, 31k]

Mortalitas by @onelatenight-longago [T, 29k]

Nobody Pinch Me by @dracoladon & @lazywonderlvnd [E, 17k]

Time and Time Again (I Run To You) by @nyxbee [T, 18k]

We May Never Speak Again But I'll Always Remember This by @bewaare [T, 26k]

—

Ongoing Fest/Exchange

※ Fics would be listed elsewhere.

25 Days of Draco and Harry 2021 | @slythindor100

H/D Mistletoe Exchange 2021 | @gwbexchange

Harry/Draco Owlpost 2021 | @hdowlpost

#drarry #drarry fanfic #drarry fic rec #harry potter #draco malfoy #monthly review #2022

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sugar--bee · 2 years ago

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The Dragon in the Mountain

CHAPTER FIVE

Malleus x GN! Reader [Warnings: Crowley Slander]

~AO3 Link~

Working for Night Raven College, MC made several trips through the mountains to deliver letters and packages for the school. Finding themself alone, caught in a blizzard with hardly any strength left, they were certain it was the end. That is until…

(Chapter One)

The trip down the mountain was easy. Malleus was able to ward the rain from the two of them. As they walked he answered their endless questions. His name was Malleus Draconia. Malleus was a dragon AND a fae. The curse was from another mage they hadn’t heard of. Malleus was the fifth most powerful mage in the world. He’d been away from his home for about sixteen years. They asked about his age, but he just chuckled. They only stopped with their questions as they came to the gate of the school late into the night.

Night Raven College was the same as it always was, though watching the rain from inside a bubble gave it more of a surreal aspect. The hour was close to midnight as they walked down the main road and to the castle. Idly they talked about some of the lore of the campus. They’d given tours too much to stop themself from reciting at least parts of their script. Malleus was silent, either listening or ambivalent as they carried on into the castle.

“You know you don’t have to escort me all this way,” they chuckled. They weren’t supposed to bring visitors into the castle without permission, but no one was around at the late hour anyways.

“I would like to.” Malleus offered, though his tone was a bit more severe than it had been on the walk. MC shrugged it off, coming to Crowley’s office.

“Just give me a moment to drop off my delivery,” They offered, excusing themself. Malleus nodded and they knocked on Crowley’s door. Hearing their name called, they entered.

Crowley scowled at them, “Finally you show up! I’ve been waiting all day for you. This is very unprofessional.”

MC sighed, “Ah… I know, I’m sorry.” Pulling out the packages and letters from their bag, they set it on his desk, “I made it back before midnight though!” They pointed out, hopeful.

“Before midnight?!” Crowley spat, “You kept me here until midnight— and look at you! You’re not wet! You changed your clothes, dried your hair, all before coming to me. It’s disrespectful!”

MC gaped, “No— I came here first, really I…” They trailed off, uncertain how to explain themself.

Crowley’s eyes widened, his mouth hanging open. He nearly fell to the ground with how fast he took a knee, his head bowed low, his palms flat on the ground. MC took a few steps back, confused as Crowley nearly shouted, “P-Prince Draconia!”

MC turned their head to Malleus, who stood in the doorway. He drew forward gracefully, a look of disgust on his face.

“You’re the holder of their contact?” He asked, his voice latent with venom.

Crowley’s head shot up, a clear panic on his face. He looked like he was trying to smile, but was failing miserably, “Yes… your highness.”

Malleus sneared, clicking his tongue dismissively. Without looking, he pulled his brooch from his lapel, “I’ll pay their release.” He stated.

Both MC and Crowley stared at the brooch, eyes wide. It was gold, ornate, with a gem the size of wine cork. They both knew it was overkill, worth far far more than their contract.

“Ah— of course! That�� that will cover the remainder of their contract!” Crowley announced, staring up the gem. Malleus was about to discard the brooch, but before it could leave his hand, MC stopped him.

“Wait— he’s said he was researching how to get my memories back…” MC pointed out, looking down at the Headmage.

Crowley didn’t look away from the brooch, “Oh, it's a lost cause.” He answered quickly.

“What?!” MC frowned, “You said you were still looking–”

“Yes, well,” Crowley cut them off, looking at them briefly, clearly frustrated they were stalling the payment, “I just thought you’d have a little more motivation if you didn’t know.”

MC could only stare, eyes wide and lost as they took in the information.

“What do you mean by a lost cause?”

Crowley’s gaze snapped back to Malleus, the frustration on his face quickly replaced with the same half grin as before, “Ah— well… whatever happened to them there’s no trace of magic left— if it ever was magic at all! So there’s no spell to be undone and mind magic to try and fix it… well I’m certain someone as knowledgeable and astute as yourself knows how dangerous it is.”

Malleus sighed, dropping the brooch lazily. Crowley lunged towards it. Quickly snatching it from the floor, Crowley inspected it closely, murmuring under his breath about the quality and the craftsmanship.

A hand fell onto MC’s shoulder and they looked up to Malleus. Biting their lip they forced themself quiet, unsure if they were going to sob or scream if they spoke. Shaking their head they lowered their gaze, their arms tight across their chest. Stuck in place, in the racing mix of emotions they just stared at the office carpet.

“Come, there’s no reason to dwell here.” Malleus hummed. MC nodded, turning to follow him out.

“Wait— MC!” Crowley huffed, standing, and coming towards them quickly, grabbing their arm, “You know— I had your best intentions in mind! I am so kind after all, and we are such close friends, are we not? I took you in when you needed someone the most, you’ll remember that won’t you?”

MC furrowed their brow looking back at Crowley, “Yeah, I’ll remember that.” They huffed, pulling their arm from his grip. They didn’t have the energy to list every ridiculous, mind numbing, dangerous or inappropriate job they’d be sure to remember. Though by the dawning look of regret, they were certain Crowley understood the subtext.

The Ramshackle dorm was just as they had left it. MC briefly introduced Malleus to the ghosts of the house while they packed their few personal items. It was quick work really. Slinging the bag over their back, they sighed and stepped out of the only place they remembered. Malleus wasn’t far behind.

“This building really is quite charming.” He hummed, admiring the dilapidated dorm.

MC chuckled, “I think you’re one of the only people who’ve said that… but yeah. I’ll miss it.”

He nodded as MC waved one final time to the ghosts in the window. One looked close to crying if he still could. They started down the path.

“I guess I gotta find somewhere to go…” MC hummed, thinking back. They’d been close with some of the previous graduates around their age, but where they were now was a tough question to answer. Furthermore it’d be kind of a lot to ask an old friend to move in with them for a bit.

Malleus pulled them from their thoughts, “I would be more than happy to host you.”

MC looked up at him, the idea playing out in their head for a moment as they weighed the pros and cons.

“You know, you didn’t tell me you were a prince.” They pointed out.

Malleus grinned, “You hadn’t asked me.”

MC shook their head and sighed, taking a moment to think. They had enough money saved up to buy a hotel and could likely find a job in town if they so choose to. They had friends who they knew would help if they reached out. But… looking back up to Malleus, they couldn’t help but feel drawn. Curious maybe. And on top of that… they did like him. They didn’t know much about Briar Valley, but they could learn.

“Yeah, I’d appreciate that.” They agreed.

Malleus stepped in front of them and turned to face MC. He offered his hand and for a moment MC stared, a bit confused before gently placing their hand in his.

“It’s a bit of an odd sensation. I’ve been told it helps if you close your eyes.” Malleus hummed. They were going to ask what he meant, but as they blinked, they felt as if a wave had pulled them under. It was quick, cold, weightless and heavy all in the span of a second before it was over. Their knees buckled under them, but before they could fall Malleus caught their arm and held them steady.

Blinking a few times to clear their vision, they stared at the intricate marble flooring. The walls around them were gothic, lit by green fire. They found their footing and looked about at the tall looming architecture.

“It sort of looks like your place.” They chuckled.

He nodded, “I suppose I took some inspiration.”

Echoing footfall carried down the hall, a pair of heels clacking as they drew closer, rounding the corner. The same short man they had seen before slid to a halt, staring at Malleus, his eyes like saucers. His gaze fell to them as well, red eyes blown wide in surprise.

“You’re back…” Lilia finally managed, taking a few slow steps further as if in total disbelief. He closed the gap quickly after, floating high enough to be face to face with Malleus. Lilia wrapped his arms around him, “You’re really back!”

“Yes, it seems so,” he agreed, his blasé tone in contrast with how tightly he was holding the man.

Several others began to fill the room, dotted along the walls, murmuring quietly until a booming voice broke above.

“Prince Malleus!” A man with green hair shouted. He was openly crying and came to join them, followed by a more silent figure with long white hair.

The green-haired man was nearly incoherent as he spoke through sobs, though MC could glean that he was happy to see Malleus home safe again. He vowed up and down the walls that he’d die before Malleus was ever cursed again. They also learned his name as Malleus urged Sebek to collect himself. The man with white hair, though also enamored by the prince’s safe return, eventually stared at them.

“Are you the curse-breaker?” He asked.

MC shifted their weight, “I suppose so.”

The man furrowed his brow in confusion, “How do you mean?”

MC took a deep breath, “I mean I am— I guess.” They answered, trying to string their thoughts together, “I… he said I broke the curse but… I didn’t know what the curse was so I wasn’t trying to break a curse. I only learned his name this morning and that he was a prince a few minutes ago...” MC sighed, running their hands through their hair, “I’m sorry, it's been a lot, I’m not sure what to say.”

“I see.” The man began, then bowed his head. “Then I’ll hold my questions until you’ve had a chance to rest.”

MC nodded, sighing their relief.

Offering his hand MC took it, “My name is Silver Vanrouge, I am a knight of the castle. During your stay here I will be happy to offer any guidance. Humans like us are not as common in the Valley so it can be a bit daunting at times.”

Once more MC nodded, “Yeah… Thank you. I’ll definitely have questions.” They answered tiredly. The conversation next to them began to wane and Lilia turned his gaze to them, lowering himself to their height.

“I knew there was something about you.” He hummed, chuckling to himself, “There has to be if you’re sitting in a dragon's nest.”

Malleus cleared his throat. Unlike all the times they had to guess what his expression meant as a dragon, the pink dusting on his cheeks made his embarrassment clear as day. He looked as though he were about to argue, huffing towards Lilia… and it wasn’t that Malleus wasn’t an imposing man— but they couldn’t help but giggle at the huffing. Somehow it came off a bit more serious as a dragon and now was just… kind of cute.

Malleus looked to them and sighed, a smile easily coming to him, his rebuttal forgotten.

“Come now, you must be exhausted.” He hummed, excusing himself with the promise he’d be back soon to explain it all in time. For now however, he guided them through the tall dark halls of the castle to a room far more elegant than they’d known existed. It was far nicer than the Ramshackle dorm though they couldn’t help it feeling a bit empty without their ghosts.

“Do you think I’ll still be allowed to visit the school?” They asked idly, setting their bag down.

“If it’s what you desire I will see it possible.” Malleus hummed as he opened the door to the wardrobe. Several folded linens sat themselves on the nearby table. “If you require anything, do not hesitate to summon the staff.”

MC nodded, though didn’t feel the need to request anything and sat on the bed. The day began to sink in, both the physical tiredness that came with the journey over the mountain and the mental strain to keep up with all that happened.

“It all doesn’t feel real…” MC sighed and a weight settled next to them.

“Strangely enough, I agree.” Malleus hummed, “My friends are all much older than I left them.”

MC nodded, “Are… you going to go back and talk to them?”

“At some point.”

“Oh.” MC nodded. They felt a bit too out of it to say much else. Instead, they leaned against his shoulder, kicking their shoes off and drawing their legs under them. Malleus wrapped his arm around them and pulled them close. He was warm and easy to lean into, safe. It didn’t take long for the fatigue to win them over as they curled closer idly thinking of what their new life would be like.

[END]

#twisted wonderland #twst #malleus draconia #twisted wonderland malleus #twst malleus #malleus x mc #malleyuu #twst silver #twst lilia #twisted wonderland silver #silver vanrouge #lilia vanrouge #twst sebek #fanfic #twst fanfic #twisted wonderland fanfic

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