#did i eat with the colors slay or nay

[scarymonsters-andsupercreeps]

little warmup i did of miss pants to get used to clip again

[jaegertango]

An Invitation

Sometimes me write. Not very often, but sometimes. This is actually a precursor to what’s (probably) going on this Sunday in the Skyhunters but y’know. I’m impatient so I am posting it now.

He needed another moment to himself.

It was funny, wasn't it? After so many years of spending time in isolation, far from other mortals and kin alike, now Vykaenai found himself surrounded by so many young, proud and capable faces – and he still wasn't sure if he liked it. They were endearing, yes; so many of them from different parts of Azeroth and even beyond, all united under a singular standard and cause. Yet, their incessant bickering, their inability to trust his wisdom, their concerns on morality akin to a child crying over spilled milk: that tended to frustrate the dragon to no end. Ten thousand years had tempered his patience into a hardened slab of steel, unyielding and staunch against even the grandest of hammers, but somehow the complaints of mortals always sundered it like a rock through water. It made incredulous laughter escape the Grandmaster as he stroked his beard.

Bah. Mortals. Couldn't live with 'em, couldn't live without 'em.

The play was still winding down in Ardenweald, but even as much as Vykaenai was enjoying himself, he couldn't bring himself to stand one more second between Lady Firehawk and Araane. He had great respect for both women – but no patience whatsoever. The utter and complete awkwardness between the two every time their actresses came onto the stage together was as thick as sludge – and it only got worse as time went on. The only thing keeping them from trying to kill each other on the spot was the sheer secondhand embarrassment strong enough to even make a fully grown black dragon run away in disgust. Granted, he didn't doubt they would try to take each other's head off just to avoid sitting through the play any longer. Vykaenai respected the two of them, but having them both in the same room was such a headache.

He grumbled darkly, looking up towards the sky. There were no stars, but it seemed to last in perpetual night, here in Ardenweald. It reminded him of home – or rather, a home he once had. A time ago, when he was just a fledgling drake and his dearest friend first taking up her glaive as a Warden, Vykaenai called his home in Ashenvale. When he was able, he would look up towards the night sky, seeing the many colors reminiscent back in Highmountain, and feel at ease. This sky made him feel the same way, but bitterly so. He missed Ashenvale – before it was ripped apart by the Destroyer, then stamped underfoot by the Horde. He shared Araane's rage at the forest's desecration – but he shared Lady Firehawk's disdain of the world's politics at present too.

Back then, he used to just eat the bad people.

A tumultuous sigh. Vykaenai kept his gaze upward as his powerful arms crossed over his chest. Times seemed easier back then – even only a thousand years ago, with the War of the Shifting Sands. The greatest of all dangers, the Old Gods trying to make their presence known above the earth. Their threat was so great that neither the Kaldorei, the Shu'halo, and even the many tribes of Furbolg could deny it. They stood to fight against an endless swarm, readily and willingly, and heeded the warnings that only a dragon could give. There was no argument, no fallacies between soldiers, no backstabbing traitors that Vykaenai could not dispose of-

*snik*

His brooding was interrupted as a shiv was suddenly stuffed into his jugular – or at least attempted to be. The knife instead was pricked against that vein as if it was made of iron, and no blood even spilled from his exposed throat. The towering Night Elf did not even have the courtesy to flinch or gasp, his fiery eyes instead peering down to that long-nailed hand gripping the assassin's blade uselessly at his neck. There was a very concerned second of silence as it became awkwardly clear Vykaenai was not injured, before the dragon turned his neck slightly to try and face his would-be killer.

“Can I help you?” He grunted simply, sounding quite annoyed.

The Grandmaster did not manage much of a glimpse before the shade leaped backward several feet, hissing lowly with that dagger in hand. As he landed though, Vykaenai could far more easily see the detail in that assailant. To his surprise, the figure was absolutely as big as the Night Elf was, if not a bit taller, but definitely not as built. The creature had pallid gray skin and bloody red eyes, along with teeth like the razor needles of a murloc. For all intents and purposes, he seemed just as deadly without a knife, but his clothing denoted a far greater intellect. In fact, it was some of the finest garb that Vykaenai had seen – and he was familiar with the Highborne garb of eld, even before the Sundering. Whatever he was, he definitely was not an Ardenweald native.

“Cursed walker,” the creature spat, reaching to his belt to also draw a rapier. This surprised Vykaenai, for the blade looked even more intricate and beautiful than his clothing. For such a vile abomination, clearly he had taste!

“If you hope to kill me with that,” Vykaenai snorted, keeping his arms crossed. “It better be much nicer than your dagger.”

The assassin did not reply. Instead, he dashed forward with shocking speed, surging forward with such swiftness that he was barely visible in that flash. Yet, for all of his agility, with that mighty thrust aimed to Vykaenai's heart, the dragon reacted without fear. One of his arms untucked from his chest to instead snatch at the killer's wrist, pulling his sword away uselessly from the dragon. His other punched to his throat, a powerful hand choking the creature out easily. In that same swift motion, Vykaenai had disarmed his assailant, and also pinned him as he held the ghoulish man aloft effortlessly, glaring at him.

“Would you like to play nice now?” Vykaenai asked, cocking his head at his killer.

The creature gurgled a growl, those sharp teeth gritted together as his free hand tried to stab his dagger at the side of the dragon's temple – to no avail.

“Incorrect,” the Grandmaster replied coldly, and his hand on the creature’s wrist pulled outward. The result was a terrible ripping of cloth and flesh, the dragon easily wrenching the assailant’s entire arm from his shoulder as if made of tissue paper, leaving only a few strands of bloody sinew and muscle fiber hanging uselessly from his right side. The assassin shrieked out wretchedly, his call reverberating around the trees even as he was being strangled. Vykaenai mostly looked irritated, and he had to chide himself as he realized he had overdone it - again. He wanted to hurt his would-be slayer, but he wasn't planning on killing this thing – at least not yet. Lady Firehawk's advice to not instantly slay everything he came across was proving itself useful, and he did not want to-

The assassin then suddenly vanished in a cloud of ruby smoke, dissipating from existence.

Vykaenai groaned in even greater derision as his only source of information ran away. He pinched at his brow, letting his guard down once again at how aggravating this night was turning out to be. Yet, nothing came to slice at him once again. It seemed his would-be killer was gone. That probably wasn't good; leaving an assassin alive never tended to be. Now Lady Firehawk was going to chew him out for endangering the Skyhunters. Hopefully whatever it was, it wouldn't dare go to Oribos...

When he was done pouting, Vykaenai returned his gaze back to the space in front of him – only to find that beautiful rapier still laying in the grass. Reaching down, the Grandmaster picked it up, examining it. There was a sense of comforting weight to it, but still just a tad too light. The metal felt warm to the touch, and... it was pulsing. That was kind of gross. The blade seemed to be manifesting a heartbeat of sorts. Well, it was at least a clue; if Vykaenai could find out where this sword came from, it was a start.

“Vyk! Vyk, I heard a scream!”

The dragon turned to see Visscera running up, a mixture of concern and excitement on her face. Vykaenai kept the sword clutched in his hand, and as soon as he recognized the other Night Elf, he felt the blade seethe in his hand eagerly. Despite that, the Grandmaster smiled to Visscera, shaking his head as he shifted the blade's grip around so it wasn't so threatening in his grasp.

“Indeed. I will have to talk to Lady Firehawk about it,” Vykaenai grunted, but he still winked at Visscera as he held up the rapier. “It seems I have attracted company.”

“Do swords count as company?”

“Nay, but those that wield them do.”

“...So you stole that from them,” Visscera answered, and she looked disappointed. “I didn't think you were one to steal.”

“I would not say I stole this as much as I...” Vykaenai started, but then shrugged. “Rightfully earned it from them.”

“Oh!” Visscera stated, her eyes brightening as she thumped a fist into her hand. “...So if I fight you for that-”

“You are not fighting me for this,” Vykaenai snorted, but his grin widened as he walked back to the play stage. “Come, little shadow. I just needed a moment of space.”

He was probably going to need another one once he explained what happened to Lady Firehawk.

[petri808]

Awaken the Sleeping Dragon Within

Nalu Canon divergent, would take place after ft 100.  Here you go, I hope you like it!  :)  Lol it ended up longer than I’d expected.

Natsu moves with an extra spring in his step that morning.  The job was a mission complete with no damages and full payment given.  He’d found the perfect gift for Lucy that he’d been searching for and was now on his way back home to Magnolia.  The perfect weather was like a bonus treat that made his travel by foot a pleasant one.

Things had been progressing in their change of relationship status.  Through the whole 100-year quest, the shining revelation was not only that their bond could never be broken, but one that transcends the lines of simple friendship.  When he’d said ‘together forever’ it was a phrase uttered from the heart towards a person he knew he’d always want to be around.  But now he fully understood what it had meant, and it was time to solidify that phrase.  To take it from mere words to action and the gift he held in his pocket would do just that.

It would be another half-day’s journey to Magnolia, which meant he’d have to sleep under the stars one more evening.  Natsu didn’t mind so much.  As long as he could see them, they reminded him of Lucy, and that made him feel less lonely without her at his side.  The roads were quiet considering the holidays were so close in time.  Natsu remembers passing very few travelers, and in the last several hours, none at all.  Yet it was strange that he’d felt eyes watching him on a few occasions.

Just before nightfall, Natsu makes camp just off the side of the road in the first clear area he could find.  He sets up his bedroll, a small campfire, and eats dinner before lying down to get some rest.  The sooner he falls asleep, the faster the morning will come, and it doesn’t take long for mister sandman to come a calling.

There was little warning than a downward draft of air from above bringing with it…

‘What the hell?!’

Natsu jumps to his feet, awoken from a sound sleep by the scent of his brother blasting his senses.  He barely has a chance to dive away and block as a stream of fire burns his belongings to a charred pile and blackens the ground where he had just been occupying.

“Ignia!!!” He screams at the dragon hovering above. “What the fuck is your problem?!”  He was tired of these surprise attacks.  Four times now, but he was glad this time Lucy wasn’t around to be caught in the middle.  The last one… she’d almost been burned.

But Ignia simply bellows a guttural laugh and sends another blast of fire at Natsu in response.

The slayer dodges stream after stream of fire sent his way, lobbing blasts of his own the few chances he gets.  Ignia keeps up the volley at breakneck speed causing Natsu to endure a few near misses and a couple of singes.  Oh, this is ridiculous!  What kind of game was Ignia playing with him?!

As soon as Ignia pauses to change his flight pattern, Natsu takes advantage and lights up his feet.  He rockets himself toward his brother, sending his own crackling of flames to overwhelm Ignia long enough to compromise the dragon’s vision.  Then he uses a flame whip to lasso its neck.  Ignia thrashes at the binding, but it’s too late.  It gave Natsu just enough time to pull himself up and grab on to his brothers back, gripping tightly to the scales.  “Dad… and.. uncle Atlas… would be… so.. pissed… at you!”  He scoots up slowly, inching his way to the base of the dragon’s neck.

His brother bucks harder to get him off, free diving and suddenly banking one way or the other, doing anything and everything to throw Natsu off him.  “Fuck them, as if I care!”  He growls. “They did nothing for me and now they’re all dead!”

That pisses Natsu off!  How dare Ignia speak ill of their family!  “And you tarnish all they fought for by fighting me!  Spare me your sob story, I will not let you talk badly about Igneel like that, you selfish asshole!”  He lobs a ball of fire at Ignia’s head.  “Or Atlas!”  Another ball.  “Even he recognized me as Igneel’s son!”

Several more blasts are levied at Ignia’s head.  From this close proximity, the dragon can’t strain his neck far enough to retaliate or get a good hit on his brother, instead taking each one.  His skin may be immune to fire, but it’s effectively irritating.  There’s only one way he can think of to attack back.

He flames up his entire body.

At first Natsu’s screams pierce the dragon’s ears and he grins wide, assuming his brother still couldn’t handle his flames.  Several seconds tick on, but something changes.  Natsu’s screams die out.  Did he kill his brother?  That brings a wider-brimmed smile to his snout.  He grins and cranes his neck as far as it could go, but the sight that greets him quickly sullies his demeanor.

“It won’t work on me anymore… brother.”  Natsu’s own grin brings a great roar from Ignia.  The dragon bucks, but this time Natsu stands firm, holding tight to his flame whip now blue in color.  The slayer was covered in his brothers flames from head to toe!  The initial flame on had surprised him, hence the scream, but Natsu was able to slurp it up and take it in.

“You’ve learned to control it?!”  Ignia screams.  “I am a dragon god!  How can a mere human handle my flame?!”

Their last fight had hardened Natsu’s resolve to beat his brother once and for all.  It wasn’t a matter of choice, he needed to gain control over the flames to protect his loved ones.  Ignia didn’t need to know all the pain he’d endured to master this ability, but he will see the results.    

The longer he continues to soak up his brother’s flames, the more changes morph along his body.  Scales over his extremities and around his face.  Sharper claw-like nails and elongated canines.  Leathery wings with horn spiked joints and finally, serpentine pupils.  He was still humanoid, a hybrid of both worlds.  “Because I am no mere human.”  Natsu’s voice is low and full of pride.  “I’m a demon and the son of the Fire Dragon King!  For the sake of our father’s honor, I do not wish to fight you, but I will if you continue to threaten me or those I love!”

Ignia wanted to defeat his brother, but he wasn’t a fool either.  He could sense the gathering strength flowing through Natsu and the threat was not baseless.  This slayer or whatever he was, was not only on par with him power for power, but possibly even more so.  There was a strange feeling to Natsu’s energy…  ‘Tch, it’s that stupid love shit again!’  Ignia vaguely remembers his brother spouting nonsense about strength from family, friends, or something like that.  

“Well, brother?” Natsu narrows his eyes and concentrates his flames towards his hands, pooling, and growing balls of fire around them.  “Fight or live?”

“You’re bluff!”

Before Ignia finishes his retort, Natsu sends one ball, hitting his brother in the eye.  His fire, combined with his brothers explodes like white-hot shrapnel, burning through scale.  If Ignia hadn’t closed his eye soon enough, he would have been blinded.  

The dragon shrieks in pain, tossing his head from side to side to shake off the burning sensation.  It was unbelievable to Ignia that any fire could burn a fire dragon!  And one from this damn slayer!    

“I’ve come a long way,” Natsu reiterates, “there is nothing I won’t endure to protect.”

“Get off of me!” Ignia screams.  “Alright!  I’ll leave and go back to Guiltina!”

Natsu takes flight, hovering above and to the side of his brother.  “Don’t come back to Fiore, Ignia or I will not hold back!  I will slay you as we were originally conscripted to do!”  

The dragon blows out a puff of steam and without another word takes off towards the clouds.  Whether Ignia keeps his word or not will remain unseen, but for now, it was over.  Natsu looks down at the area he was sleeping in and remembers that his bedroll and backpack were destroyed, leaving him nothing to rest on.  He groans.  It was still a few hours till dawn, but with the wings, he could make it back to his cottage by morning.  He didn’t like staying in this form for so long because it drained his energy, but it might be better than sleeping on the hard ground.  ‘I’ll just sleep when I get home…’

It was a loud banging on his front door that rouses Natsu from another dead sleep.  “Come… coming…” He stumbles off the couch, wiping at the crusted drool on his cheek and chin.  His body ached all over, not painful, just sore, like every muscle was on strike and his vision was foggy.  His side bumps into the counter while trying to steady his wobbling gait.  “Oww!” Natsu grabs his side.  He looks down at where the pain was coming from and sees a large healing burn.  It was only then that his mind snaps together enough to focus and starts to inspect the rest of his body.  The burn was the worst injury he could see, but his top and vest were ripped or torn and barely hanging on his body, pants singed and tattered in a couple areas.    

Another loud bang on the door followed by a woman’s voice.  “Natsu?!  Are you in there?!!”  “He was supposed to be back by now,” the woman speaks in a lower tone as if turned away to another person.

Natsu shakes his head, even his hearing was fogged up, and his sense of smell.  That fight, nay, the transformation and holding it for hours is what zapped his reserves.  He could barely remember making it home.  The voice sure sounded like Lucy’s.  

Now a male voice.  “Are you sure?  Maybe the job ran late.”  

“But tomorrow is Christmas,” the woman replies, “he promised to be home by then.”

Wait a minute!  Natsu whips his head towards the door.  “Christmas?” he mumbles.  That means he’s been asleep for 3 days!  “Christmas?!”  He pushes away from the counter, trips over his own feet, but manages to grab hold of the doorknob, yanking it open.  “Lucy?!”

“Natsu?!”  She rushes up, throwing herself into his body, wrapping her arms tightly around him.  “Where the hell have you been?!  I’ve been so worried!”

“I…”

She pushes off to take a better look.  Immediately, Lucy’s joy at seeing her partner turns to a new range of emotions, going from happiness to sadness to anger in the span of nanoseconds.  “Oh, my Mavis!  What the hell happened to you?!!”

“Aannd, this is where I take my leave,” Gray takes a few steps back.  Natsu was confirmed alive, but now was in another level of trouble.  “See ya guys later.”  He makes a swift exit, leaving the rest to Lucy to deal with.  A lover’s quarrel was not something he was going to get in the middle of.

“Was it the mission?  Did something go wrong?  Who did this to you?!”  Lucy fires question after question in rapid succession, matching the speed at which her mind was flying in that moment.  Natsu was a total mess.  His singed and torn clothing was one thing but the large wound on his side was of a bigger concern.  She should run to get Wendy, but first, demanded answers!  Just as Lucy was about to lay into him with more questions, Natsu swoons on his feet.  His legs were buckling from exhaustion.  Lucy swings his arm over her shoulder to steady him and drags him back to his couch.  She brings him a glass of water, then when he finishes the drink, kneels in front of him.

Lucy takes a deep breath.  She was furious over being worried half to death but knew a fight wouldn’t accomplish anything.  Instead she places her hand upon his knee, looks up, and in a softened tone, “Spill it Natsu.  Tell me what happened.”

So, he does, starting from when Ignia attacked to flying all the way home after the fight, leaving out no details.  “I barely remember getting home or even passing out on the couch three days ago.  The dragon mode took a toll on my body.  I’m so sorry Luce, I never meant to worry you!  All I had wanted to do was…”  Natsu’s eyes widen, the gift!  He’d forgotten all about it!  Did it survive the flames?!  He reaches into his pocket and pulls the small box out.  Its packaging seemed okay, but as he opens it, Natsu’s heart sinks.  The metal ring of the band was melted and warped.  “Fuck!” He closes the cover and lifts his arm to throw it.

“Wait!” Lucy stops him, grabbing his arm and reaching for the box.  “Don’t!  What is that?”

“It was your Christmas gift,” Natsu’s head sinks, and his eyes fall to the floor.  “But it’s ruined.”

She was still trying to process the fight with Ignia and now this gift added another element to the mix.  Lucy wasn’t sure if she should be upset, or just happy that he’d become so powerful, because that growth had saved his life.  How about both?  “Next time Natsu, when there’s something important like this, you should talk to me about it.  I shouldn’t have to find out by surprise that you had trained to wield his fire or that you can control your dragon form.”

“I know…” he sighs.

Lucy sighs too, squeezing his knee.  “I’m annoyed… but I’m also excited that you’re home now and safe.”  She smiles, “I’ll help you get cleaned up, and go get Wendy to heal your wound, okay?”

“Gah!  I feel so bad, I don’t even have a Christmas gift for you now.”

She chuckles and waves her hand, “I don’t need a gift.  It’s the thought that counts, and besides, maybe it’s still repairable.”

Natsu grabs her hand, “it’s not… just a ring.  Lucy, I…. I was planning on proposing to you tomorrow.”

“Wait, what?”  Lucy pauses in shock, but quickly regains her thought process.  She starts to laugh, bringing a look of confusion to Natsu’s face, like his girlfriend has just lost her mind.  “I’m sorry for laughing,” she chuckles again, “Natsu a ring isn’t important.”  Her eyes crinkle in a smile.  “If you want to ask me, then just ask me.  You can fix the ring later if you still want to.”

“Really?!” That brings a wide-brimmed smile back to Natsu’s face.  “Wait,” he tilts his head, “is this a trick question?”  

That sends Lucy into another round of hysterics.  “No!” she laughs, “I’m serious!”

He pouts, “but I wanted to do the whole show, get down on one knee and stuff like they do in your books.”

Lucy smiles from his cute gesture and caresses his cheek, “then I shall wait as well to say yes…”

[frostsong]

PATERNAL.

takes place during 3.0 when they first enter tailfeather. 

“No, I mean--you. A dragoon?! Slaying dragons?!” Euphemie had truly outdone herself this time. Hortense had always known her sister to be the adventurous one, the prankster one, the one pushing the limits--but this was different. This was a new level of danger, one that she was unwilling to see any of her family venture into. 

“Since when did you start sounding like mother?” The younger woman froze, swallowed, and turned her gaze towards her lap, where her two gloved hands rested. 

Euphemie’s expression was worn firm and resolute, eyes fixed and jaw set. It was a look that Hortense had never seen on her--at least, not this complete. Though she had just begun piecing all that had happened to her sister together, in a broken-glass mosaic of stories associated with nothing less of a legend, part of her dared not to imagine the parts left untold, the sights only her sister had seen, known, and felt, and most importantly never dared to tell anyone else. As open of a book Euphemie seemed at first glance, Hortense was quite aware--perhaps moreso than anyone else--that she, too, had secrets of her own. 

“Whether you like it or not this is what I’m doing--what I’ve been doing. And I’m having a rather grand time with it,” She breathed a bitter laugh.

“...for the most part, at least.” Hortense raised an eyebrow, detecting the lie. It was all over her, the way her shoulders sagged, the shadows under her eyes. Unlike Apolline, neither of them were fit for a life of obligation, as they ducked behind every wall, every sparse hedge to dodge the weight of duty as they knew it. Whatever brought her sister here, to Dravania, and to the home that would no longer have them--must be a frightening force to contend with, having captured a spirit so free as her own. 

Hortense sighed and turned to the man in the ink-black armor who stood at a distance away from where they sat. Though the horned helm concealed most of his expression, save for his lips pressed in a thin dull line, it took less than a minute of staring for it to dawn on her.

“Don’t tell me all of this has to do with him,” She hissed between clenched teeth, head nudged in his direction. Euphemie snorted.

“Even if it did--”

“So it does.” Hortense squinted as her sister turned her sight to the ground.

“Not entirely.”

“But enough for all of this.” The younger Dansereau wrenched her fingers in her long hair, sighing.

“I heard what that woman said.” She doesn’t say her name, but spits it out like poison, like the blood her kind forced down their brother’s throat.

“You’re trying to stop a war that’s gone on longer than you and me and Pol and everyone in all of Tailfeather--nay, all of Coerthas--combined! By being in league with heretics.” Her elbows locked as she leaned in closer, daring her sister to look back at her with the same burning anger, the same gnawing pain. She is supposed to be just as bitter as she is, left to wander the realm in search of something they can never have again. The idea that she could join hands with the very ones responsible for everything that had transpired, for everything they had lost--left Hortense appalled. 

Just as she feared, the look Euphemie sent in return was not the one she expected.

“And yet even you admit it. This is bigger than any of us standing on our own. If we don’t hear what each side has to offer, we’ll be no better than those risking neck and limb for an incomplete truth.” 

“So they’ve made a diplomat out of you. Thoroughly unimpressed barely scratched the surface of Hortense’s current ire as she laughed mirthlessly.

“Don’t think for a second that this all of this sits perfectly well with me.” Her sister sent her a scowl. 

“They know things we don’t.” 

“Things not worth knowing. Egads Euphie--it’s like you’re turning into one of them!” Hortense stood on quivering legs, feeling her breath hitch as she stared at her, at the girl she thought she knew better than anyone else. 

“Then so be it.” 

“...What.” 

Hortense breathes, as the same shade of silver met her own, filled with something other than dread and disbelief. Something inconceivable. 

“I don’t care what it takes anymore. I’ve almost died too many times to be scared--” 

A shudder of a giggle rumbled in her throat as she stood on her own two feet, adjusting her hair over her shoulder.

“--I just. I just want to do something right. And this could be it. This will be it.” For the first time she meets Hortense’s eyes again, a gaze filled with brightness and darkness, what should be a stark divide instead melded into one, terrifying color, one that almost sends her running away. 

Hope and despair. Faith and doubt. ]

“...I don’t expect you to understand. I--I shouldn’t have.”

 Euphemie smiled, small and softly, before making her leave.

Hortense feels it eat away at her heart, the onslaught of hot tears rolling down her cheeks as she watched her sister return to those who had accompanied her, rays of Dravanian sunlight caught in her loose waves.