#fable hero of strength

[decaying-raven-scratch]

[thisisntreaver]

I know ot should probably be red or grey since he wears those colors, but reaver is so yellow in my head

[bellonathedragonborn]

I love the way this looks. 💙

Sister Hannah (Hammer) and the hero Sparrow

[th3b4dk1dzz]

Neverafter Epilogue Headcannons

Mira has become a pirate full time. She can interchange between legs and tail at free will. She came with Pinocchio to help fight against Toy Island.

Muffet and Itsy are best friends who do everything together. Muffet keeps her spider form and decides to be webslinging hero around Tuffington.

Copies of the New Aesop's Fables and 1001 nights appear in Happily, so Timothy, Sheherazade, and Aesop can keep in touch.

La Bete decided to stay in the lines between as a librarian. Her strength is just what they need to rebuild the library to its former glory and ensure the Authors stay afraid of them.

Prince Jonathan is saved. By Prince Alphonse (With PIB's help, of course) they're planning a summer wedding.

Tom and Thumbelina start a family of their own. Gerard is the Godfather and dotes on his Fairy Godchildren constantly.

Cinderella didn't marry any prince or princess. She fell in love with a girl from her village and move to Greenleigh where she sits on Queen Elody's council.

The Seven Faries open up a popular hat boutique in Snowhold. The Snow Queen is one of their most frequent clientel. She finally has the confidence to wear Pink.

[yourlocaltreesimp]

Covering BOTW!Link in kisses pretty please (> <)

Yeah, I can do that!

I made this surprisingly angsty (though if you’re not new around here that may be less shocking) so be warned.

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

For someone with such an utterly distinct lack of memory, Wild often found himself drowning within them. Fleeting snippets of vision or audio cut in and out, warped and distorted beyond anything he can truly grasp at. One second he’d be laughing alongside his brothers, but when his eyes blinked he’d be a century in the last. Oftentimes after the phantom arms of his previous life embraced him, he felt less than who he was before. his smiles dulled and heart weighed down. As if knowing more about who he was then made him less of who he was now. As if the two sentiences couldn’t coexist.

It was a quiet night, humid with the onset of summer. The fireflies —lightning bugs as Twilight called them— dancing lofty paths amidst the air. Sat side by side, the champion absorbed the fable. At first it seemed rather childish, the idea of two wolves within oneself fighting to make the forefront. But the longer he went on the more it resonated. The mental image as one sneers and snaps, barring its ugly teeth in unwavering violent truth. All while the other dodges and uses the violent’s strength against itself, all while denying its own violent nature.

Allegorically it was good versus bad, overindulgence against suppression. The idea that to overindulge, to snap, to be reckless would lead to being taken advantage of. Wild knew why Twilight thought the story relevant to him. He knew that whenever he’d turn his back on his enemies to support that it wasn’t viewed as loyalty. He knew that there was lots to lose, and they couldn’t afford another injury. He knew Twi didn’t want to see him fall into a similar circumstance. But he knew he couldn’t afford to fail again. He couldn’t fall short. He can’t lose someone close again.

Where externally he was viewed as the former, he internally found himself in the latter of cases. He fought the battle between the whispers of the others in contrast to his own thoughts of himself. Left with the residual pressure to be nothing short of perfect, to be The Hero of Time, to be worthy of the title and the land and the fate and the soul. The yearning to simply live and be without the burden of his own guilt, to be Link, to be your lover and accept the love without feeling indebted.

He didn’t realise Twilight had left.

His head swims and he feels clammy as he curls up, deciding aimlessly that it’s time to sleep. His feet lead him inside his house and he can hardly even stumble up the loft. Someone else can sort dinner.

Any sense of sensibility is muddled and mixed. Time does not matter, nor the relevancy if his mind.

He stares back at the shards of his past life, his chipped reflection in each mirror, and can’t help but wonder who he’d be if he were just Link.

Or would he be even anything at all if not a hero?

What was it that he truly was?

Mipha had written that he was a rather rowdy child, eager to take on the world with nothing more than a stick in hand. Then, he held no care for being proper. Wide grin and leaves in his hair, he was happy. Perhaps that was the most of himself he could ever be. Perhaps that was the reason he finds himself wandering aimlessly now. Perhaps that is his nature.

The records of many soldiers he fought alongside depicted him as the prime standard of the military. Those days were cold, and he just remembered how much he hurt. The ache of every muscle and bruise, every drill, every spar, every battle, every day spent alive that was spent suffering. His ability to cut down any monster or man with any weapon. His instinct and ability to hurt was primed until he now questions if that little boy who splashed around in rivers and threw handfuls of mud had retreated into the cold hands of death. The soldiers’ mirage of him is idyllic, but holds distressingly true to his own memory.

Perhaps that is why his mind is clear and quiet with weapon in hand and a body beneath his feet.

He dreams of musty stables and bare campgrounds, both places the since passed versions of himself would’ve spent a night at. The smell of dirt and dust is accompanied by the crackle of a fire as drunken men sing out of tune.

The littlest curled up as his teeth chattered, the chipped tooth whistling as he exhaled. A warm hand settles on his shoulders as his father drapes another thin blanket over him. He does not yet know this means his father will go without warmth.

The soldier tossing and turning, unable to relax even long enough to sleep. He too his tormented by the potential of falling. He does not yet know what’s to come. He does not yet know there’s nothing to be done.

The scene shifts and he is at the castle. It’s his first time and his eyes shine as he follows his father closely, following hot on his feet with a giddy grin.

It is his home. His work. His life. He follows the princess closely, just far enough to not make himself overbearing. He does not smile. He does not frown. He does not fail.

The colours fade and mix and blur, the dreamscape shifting oncemore. It’s raining. It pitters across his shoulders as he kicks up the puddles, scaring the stray cuccos from the stable not too far away. His father fusses over the sword he’d found, and he can hardly muster the strength to swing it against the base of the apple tree. He results in climbing up the twisted limbs, collecting extra ripe apples to ease his father’s worries. The wet bark gives no grip to his feet and he falls to the ground, winded next to the funny blue sword. It glints and chirps and when he catches his breath he laughs back.

It’s storming. The grass smells wet and irony. The bloody mud cakes his boots as his foot falls brace against the ground. His arms lock as he flings his shield to the side, the guardian falling to disrepair. His shield lay broken. He can see his strained face in the dirty reflection. He doesn’t like the man staring back. The rain pelts across his back and the lightning shakes the ground. His muffled ears pick up Zelda’s distress as another guardian climbs up the mound of soul. He draws his sword. He didn’t even know if it were possible to deflect a guardian laser with a blade. But he can’t fail now. Not after everything. A flash of blue light overtakes his vision as his limbs slacken.

He shoots awake with a familiar tightness in his chest, his scars itching and burning. He writhes beneath his own skin as he kicks the covers off, the cold air seizing him. His lungs struggle to draw breath as he wheezes. His vision tunnels and it feels as if he’s dying again.

Why can’t it just be over.

When will he finally be enough— if not for the sake of the world then to at least save himself?

Or maybe he doesn’t deserve to be saved. He couldn’t save all those innocent people. Castle town, Deya, Lon Lon? Who was he to demand he was worth saving?

He hacks and coughs before even trying to look at his surroundings. Through the mixed screaming within his mind he gathers a few realisations. He’s alive. He’s home. You’re curled up beside him, reaching for his warmth. His hands tremble as they reach towards his uneven hairline, grabbing a fistful and tugging. The pain stings, he feels more than awake as his heart races.

“Mm- Link?” You mumbled against his side, awoken by the cold lack of covers. Guilt fills his throat again until he can’t breathe. He’s supposed to help you, to love you, to be of use. Not be such a burden. But here he is again, making it about him. Making your life worse and demanding comfort like a child.

“Heyheyhey- It’s ok, you’re safe” Your voice was as soft and gentle as your touch as you cradled his cheek. He didn’t even realise he was crying. Why was he crying? Who’d want a hero who cries like a coward in the face of a danger that isn’t even real? You collect his hands together, loosening his grip from his hair and running your thumbs across his knuckles. His head stirs as you speak, and he can’t make out anything of what you are saying. His ears ring, more than usual, drowning out any sound.

“Breathe with me, ok?” He nods weakly after you repeat yourself for the third or fourth time. He tries his best, his ribs shuddering before he could fully breathe in, but no longer deprived of oxygen, his head stops swimming as much.

It’s a while of sitting there, hands in your lap as you calm him down in whatever way he quietly requests. It’s so odd. Being raised to serve and to give and being taught through experience that your worth lies in your deeds… to suddenly being the one catered to. It still feels as if asking to be loved is forbidden. That his purpose comes before all requirement and survival. Somedays it still feels like death would come before he would be comfortable. But it took many long nights and longer days spent having uncomfortable conversations before he realised he still had a chance, only if he chose to make one for himself.

At some point he lets himself settle. He sinks into the now cool mattress as you stare into his eyes. He feels a flicker of shame before your hands are back on his jaw and you're pressing light kisses to his skin. Both temples, forehead, each freckle on the apple of his cheeks, crooked nose, the tip of his burn scar, the cut in his chin. You pull back for a moment to admire what you’ve made of him through the years. He smiles, lopsided and as giddy as he was in childhood. You press an eager kiss to his lips, giggling throughout.

He may be lost within the maze of his own mind, a man held hostage to himself, but despite being a failure by his own previous standards, it doesn’t matter so long as he’s enough for you.

[xdraonarts]

SaTBK PROMPT WEEK || TAPESTRY || DAY 1

[Prompt List] | [Day 2] | [Day 3] | [Day 4] | [Day 5] | [Day 6] | [Day 7] | [Day 8] | Last Year

@satbkpromptweek @sonicstorybook

mimicking medieval tapestries is NOT easy. Shout out to folks who do this regularly.

This year will probably be more worldbuilding heavy than last year, taking place in a prequel storyline. So far the storyline is actually quite simple:

hearing a resurfaced tale of a young lad destined to become the leading force against the ever expanding Robotnik Empire, Ferris has gathered a group to seek out any truth to this legend so that he may snuff it before it becomes a threat to his father, Emperor Robotnik.

For the fabled hero to survive the iron clutches of the Empire, He'll need a quick wit, the strength to carry out a fight, and perhaps an unexpected friend.

[kiyfra]

Scorpio chapter 7 is done and the fic is now complete! PokéRus AU belongs to @monsoon-of-art. It can be read here or on AO3.

“There is poison in the fang of the serpent, in the mouth of the fly and in the sting of a scorpion; but the wicked man is saturated with it.”

The snow line of Mt Coronet was finally within sight after hours of trekking through the highlands with Volo. The hike was never easy in modern Sinnoh, even with its well used public trails, but the untamed wilderness of ancient Hisui saw very few people visiting its summit.

Dawn’s first journey up the fabled mountain to stop Cyrus had been long and exhausting. Now her shorter legs had to carry her over far rougher terrain while the pressure from the rift drained their energy, like the atmosphere was a leaden blanket trying to force them down.

Even Volo was showing clear signs of exhaustion, unable to keep up the breezy, floating flight typical of togekisses. The merchant was using most of his strength to remain airborne with his backpack loaded with the plates, burdening him in a way his wares never did. Both of them had to take frequent breaks on this trek that they never used to in the highlands, but the end was drawing near.

The rift opened up shortly above the summit, its violent churning darkness and electric storms frighteningly close to the temple where they were bringing the plates. The had finally collected all seventeen plates that Volo believed could call upon Sinnoh’s divine power. Dawn wasn’t sure what that entailed and whenever she asked the merchant what exactly he would do, he would tell her not to worry about it and just wait and see.

“It’s just a bit further! There’s a tunnel straight ahead that will take us right to the temple!” he called out from above.

There was still a long stretch through an abandoned electivire territory. She had only come here once before to study the alpha and its pack, heeding the warnings not to venture past to the summit.

A sense of gravitas and importance always loomed over the summit of Mt Coronet where she could always feel the importance and weight of history from stepping on sacred ground. But never this heavy and never so foreboding. The feeling reminded her of the way pokémon would reservedly carry themselves and avert their eyes when they found themselves face to face with a legendary. The anxiety they felt from the power and majesty that was emitted and knowing they would be battling against a being many considered to be a god.

She could hear the bolts arcing out from the rift and feel the spine tingling energy growing stronger as they neared the temple. It was so close now with just a short trip through the tunnel until they were at the source of Hisui’s ills.

The still darkness of the cavern offered a temporary reprieve from the pressure and it felt like a weight had been lifted from their shoulders. Volo landed somewhat clumsily on the cave floor.

“This seems like as good a place as any to take a rest. How about we take a breather before the temple?” he asked while setting his backpack down.

Dawn plopped down wordlessly, giving all the answer that was needed. She wondered whether it would be a long enough break that it was worth removing her satchel. Probably not.

“I can’t believe it’s almost over and everything can go back to normal,” she said trying to catch her breath.

“It’s quite exciting. Just think, your name might be mentioned in the same breath as the legendary hero! And I was here to witness it,” he preened with his head held high.

The merchant looked quite proud of himself despite downplaying his own involvement. Always the charmer, he was laying the flattery on thick, though even Dawn could tell he was not a humble man.

Volo never dropped the persona of an overly friendly vendor trying to close a sale, even if its insincerity made her uneasy. Dawn was beginning to suspect it was the only way he knew how to be helpful or express kindness.

The dewott made a non-distinct noise and the two of them rested in silence. A question that had been burning at the back of her brain for months itched from a lack of explanation and she figured now was the time to try and drag a straight answer out of him.

“Volo, can I ask you something?”

Her voice sounded too loud echoing off the cavern walls.

“Sure, go right ahead.” The togekiss gave her a coy, knowing expression. “But I might not answer.”

“Right.” She took a deep breath. “Why weren’t you affected by PokéRus like the others? How did you keep your mind while everyone else lost theirs?”

“Well, you know how gentle togekisses-“

“Yes, I do know they’re not very hostile.” She was tired of this evasive non-answer. “The infection made everyone lose their minds and it has nothing to do with how aggressive the species is. Why were you different?”

The Survey Corps member was ready to twist his arm a little. She had more than earned it.

“I’ve been doing a lot of the leg work collecting the plates across Hisui and I think you owe your favourite customer a bit of an explanation.”

Volo dropped the cheery smile and sized her up, the salesman persona falling by the wayside as he scrutinized her. The silence dragged on as the merchant conducted his own private evaluation and Dawn started to feel uncomfortable with how he was looking at her.

Their eye lock continued for what felt like hours before he finally broke eye contact with a shrug of his wings. The large togekiss silently removed a dark purple plate from his travel pack and placed it in front of her on the cavern floor.

“You recall how I told you that I came upon this plate recently while searching at Turnback Cave?”

Dawn hummed in agreement.

“I’m afraid I told you a little bit of a fib.”

Volo made a show of turning his head away out of remorse as if he committed some grievous breach of trust, but the Survey Corps girl merely gestured for him to continue.

“This plate ended up in my possession quite some time ago, and the rift opened shortly afterwards. It felt like it was calling to me somehow and you of all people should know how superstitious the people in Hisui can be.”

Of course she knew. Dawn knew probably better than anyone in the region.

“Imagine if the merchant with vaguely heretical ideas was gifted a spectral plate right before the rift drove the Nobles into a frenzy. What would everyone think?”

“They’d think you were to blame.” Dawn answered bitterly.

Her own divine immunity to the mind altering effects of the virus made her a target of suspicion; it was clear why Volo was so hesitant to tell anyone about his.

“Exactly. We both have our reasons to keep things to ourselves, but I trust you,” the togekiss said with a gentle smile. “Who knows, maybe I was given a role to play in all of this.”

He placed the Spooky plate back into his travel pack and slipped his wings through the straps, ready to continue.

“I think it’s about time we finish our business here. Destiny awaits.”

The silence during their last leg of the journey felt oppressive to Dawn, as though she didn’t have permission to speak. Red light crept in through the cave exit and the constant pressure slowly lowered itself back onto their shoulders as they neared the summit. Dawn was suddenly seized by the notion this would be her last chance to talk to the merchant and she ran to catch up.

“Volo!” she shouted abruptly, causing the togekiss to turn his head back. There was an awkward pause as he looked at her while she tried to figure out how to articulate what she was thinking.

“...Thank you.”

He tilted his head questioningly.

“For coming to find me, I mean. And for looking out for me when everything and everyone was falling apart.” Her voice grew quieter. “No one else came to help me when I really needed them. It really does mean a lot to me and I wouldn’t have gotten this far without your support.”

Volo’s face twisted into a conflicted expression, as if unsure about how to respond to a sentiment that sincere. He looked away towards the tunnel exit and let out an long exhale, before turning back to the girl. The deliberation continued for several moments, but in the end, he settled on the veneer of the overly friendly vendor.

“Well, of course. I couldn’t just let my favourite customer spend the rest of her days as a hermit. It’s bad for business you know.”

The response was unsatisfying and both of them felt it so Volo decided to continue.

“Be honest, are you happy working for the Galaxy Team? I know Rei more than proved himself a loyal friend when we took on Jubilife and your captain and professor clearly have a soft spot for you. But would you choose that life or did it just happen to you?”

Now that was a complicated question. Where would she start?

“Umm… I like catching and training pokémon and I don’t mind doing research tasks for the professor.” Sometimes it was tedious and she did not enjoy waking and working at absurd hours to study uncommon behaviours and phenomena.

“Mostly,” she amended.

No, she certainly didn’t love leaving only a few hours after midnight and trekking to the mirelands to observe how petilils behaved during a storm or some other such matter.

But she could live with it.

Dawn couldn’t deny that she learned a lot and it was satisfying theorizing with the professor to explain interesting pokémon behaviours, even if Cyllene thought they tended to anthropomorphize them too much.

Working on the pokédex for Rowan was a lot different than the one for the Galaxy Team. It felt more like doing a favour out of gratitude than an obligation.

“But working for Kamando is scary. He’s always telling me how everyone in the village is suspicious of me and thinks I caused everything bad to happen. It felt like I could never work hard enough to change anything and one mistake would make me lose everything. And then it did when it wasn’t even my fault!”

All of her fears and anxieties she kept bottled up started spilling out. “I don’t want to go back to working for him after all this, but I don’t know what else I could do.”

“Yes, they say people don’t quit jobs, they quit bosses.” Volo looked lost in thought for a moment. “I haven’t told many people this, but I don’t particularly care much for the life of a merchant. It was something that happened to me rather than something I chose for myself and thinking about how I’ll be doing this for the rest of my life is maddening. I doubt this is what my ancestors envisioned for me.”

He words were the most bitter she had ever heard him speak and contained far more sincerity than she was used to hearing from him. They were more alike than she realized and she felt a sense of warmth at the discovery of the kinship they shared.

“Why don’t you try another job then?” Dawn asked.

“It’s a bit late for a career change and I doubt there’s anything else that would give me as much leeway to pursue my true interests. I at least get to meet a lot of interesting people as a merchant.”

He smiled a bit too widely at her with that statement.

“Hisui didn’t always work that way though. My grandmother used to tell me how the Celestica people entrusted several of their remaining members to pass down their history when they were on their last legs. These chroniclers were chosen back when when her grandparents were children. After strangers arrived on Hisui’s shores, every single one of them eventually had to choose between joining the new world or leaving and I think most of them stopped caring about history.

But I never did. I dutifully learnt everything my grandmother remembered and studied all that I could about her ancestry. My lineage and historical knowledge would make me the last successor of the Celestica people.”

Dawn wasn’t sure she agreed with that assessment, but she kept those thoughts to herself.

“I’ve never forgotten my heritage, but I think everything is meant to come to an end eventually. Societies and worldviews have to be cleared out to make way for new ways of thinking. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Hmm…I guess you’re right.”

The Celestica people were replaced by the clans and the clans would end up being supplanted by modern Sinnoh. Her own time could be replaced by a future where people used computer chips instead of money and battled with robot pokémon or something.

“I’m starting to think I was destined to meet you, that the two of us were meant to play a part in the grander scheme of things,” Volo continued. “The gods work in mysterious ways after all.”

With a resolute wing motion, he ushered the two of them forward.

“Onwards and upwards!”

The tunnel opened up onto the summit, a steep stone staircase reaching to the Temple of Sinnoh far above the veil of clouds swirling below the peak. Mighty pillars held up a roof carved with intricate designs and housed statues of revered Nobles. What were presumably the original pokémon blessed by Sinnoh were depicted in dramatic poses, all built by a people that no longer existed.

They seemed so powerful and enduring that Dawn could scarcely believe these monuments depicted species and traditions that time would forget. It felt strange seeing the temple in all its glory when it was reduced to ruins in the modern age.

The sound of cold lighting arcing out of the rift was omnipresent and overwhelming with violent, churning darkness as a low drone. It sat only a few yards above the temple, close enough that Volo could fly to it if he really tried.

Pins and needles made her limbs impossibly heavy and static crackled through her fur. She had forgotten how the air was thinner so high up and how the cold hurt her lungs. Dawn took in every detail of the monument at the epicentre of this cataclysmic cosmic event in a mixture of awe and fear as Volo swooped past the pillars to a landing behind the temple.

He set to work unloading the plates from his pack, Dawn abuzz with nervous excitement. The morning sun did little to warm the peak, but it heralded a new day where everyone in Hisui would wake up and find themselves human again.

The two of them had slipped out unnoticed the prior evening after Volo approached Dawn and suggested they surprise everyone. She felt a bit bad not telling Rei when they had agreed they would all go to Mt Coronet the next day, but she agreed with Volo that they shouldn’t let the clans suffer longer than necessary and Rei deserved to rest after all the hard work he put into helping collect the remaining plates.

Ragged breathing from nearby caught her attention as two figures emerged from behind ancient masonry, an alpha glaceon and leafeon flanking the small dewott.

The wardens and clan leaders had looked worse every time she saw them and she realized the last time had been over a month ago. They were so gaunt that Dawn could easily count their ribs through their mangy and sparse fur. Their jewelry hung loosely off them and their bodies were marred by countless scabbed over wounds, dirty and poorly healed. Rage and hunger were the only things keeping them animated as they stalked closer, looking like death with their lips drawn back into bestial snarls and long strands of drool.

“Volo! Adaman and Irida followed us!” Dawn cried out in alarm.

Neither of them would fare well against one of the mad alphas and the odds of winning this battle would be stacked against the two of them. They could flee easily enough with a togekiss willing to fly them to safety and circle back around later when the danger had passed.

But the merchant didn’t even turn around.

The clan leaders strangely sat down like obedient guard dogs and glowered at her as Volo nonchalantly unloaded his backpack.

“Have you heard of a pokémon called Arceus?”

Dawn’s veins turned to ice at the question, no answer seeming like the right one. Volo knew more about her than she realized and would know if she was lying.

“I-“

Stating where she came from and what she knew would have been downright blasphemous to the clans and their belief in Sinnoh. She doubted Volo with his interest in all sorts of legends would have been offended by by a competing theory, but she couldn’t risk blowing her cover story, no matter how helpful he had been. Now the merchant presented an entirely new danger.

“I’ve longed to meet such a being myself and I’ve spent years learning anything I could about the all-encompassing deity. Neither of the clans understanding of ‘Sinnoh’ came close, but the Celestica people knew the truth. And you know better than the rest of Hisui. How else would you have something called an Arc Phone?”

This was a trap. This was just like confronting Cyrus at Spear Pillar all over again.

“I-it was just lying around when I woke up here! I really don’t understand what it is or why I have it. Honest!” Dawn shouted the half-truth, still hoping for some benign explanation.

“Why you? What have you done to deserve it’s blessings when the blood of the Celestica people runs through my veins?” he continued unmoved by her pleas. “No matter. With the power of all the artefacts I’ve scavenged from across Hisui, it won’t be able to hide itself away any longer.”

Dawn felt sick to her stomach as she considered wether she could take out her flute and play a summon before the clan leaders tore her to shreds. Sneasler, Electrode, Braviary; none of them would make it in time.

“With the red chain in my possession, I can subjugate the power needed to remake the world! Your arrival heralded the dawn of a new era and you should be proud of the hand you played.”

His voice flipped from manic to sickly sweet and the condescension made her face burn with indignation.

“This was your plan all along? You just wanted to use the chaos to get here?”

“It made sense to seek out Arceus’s scorned child and have it tear open the rift. Even with Giratina punching holes into its creation, Arceus still hides itself away. But everything would eventually fall into place. I’ll admit, our affliction was quite a strange and unexpected side effect. Though not without its upsides.”

He tilted his head toward Adaman and Irida whose empty eyes were glued to the small dewott.

“Quite the useful puppets with heads empty enough to be controlled by Giratina. When we can get past our difference of opinions, that is.” He gave an exasperated roll of the eyes. “The distortions created a back door entrance to their feeble little minds.”

“You-!”

It had been him all along. The warden’s violent attacks, Hisui falling into ruin, being taken away from her home, the pain and anguish everyone faced…

Ingo might not even be in Hisui, much less reduced to a mindless beast if it wasn’t for Volo. Her fists started shaking with the hatred she felt towards the smug togekiss in front of her and her whole body hotly prickled with humiliation at how impotent her rage was. The deafening crashing of the rift above, the red staining everything, a hateful presence with dark claws that was unable to reach her; it was the closest she ever felt to it.

She wanted massive jaws to bite with and to tear the merchant apart like a wild animal, but she could only squeak out, “You used me!”

“Why yes, yes I did. And now I have no further need of you.”

Volo paused unloading his pack for a moment and Dawn desperately hoped he was having second thoughts.

“You know, you’ve never actually bought anything from me before,” he tossed over his shoulder before turning back to the plates.

“Kill her.”

The two clan leaders sprinted at the girl on the merchant’s command, spittle flinging from their jaws snapping and barking. A familiar terror washed over her as she was forced to make a split second decision while still reeling from the betrayal.

Quickly fumbling in her satchel, she pulled out a small blue capsule and tossed it onto the ground in front of her with as much force as she could muster. It burst and clouds of smoke spread out over the temple grounds, obscuring the battleground.

She darted behind a statue and the clan leaders pounced where she had been standing seconds prior. Adaman and Irida snarled in frustration at losing sight of the girl and began to prowl the clouded pillars in search of their hidden quarry, ears perked and noses low to the ground.

Dawn forced herself to keep her breathing quiet, squeezing her eyes shut and tears prickling from the smoke hurting her eyes and lungs. She feared the hammering of her heart would give her position away as she listened for the slavering beasts getting closer.

A chill crept near as the click of clawed paws grew louder, Irida completely invisible in the smoke. Dawn pressed her back against the statue base and unsheathed one of her shells in precaution, trying to keep her teeth from chattering and goosebumps forming along her skin. She couldn’t see the massive glaceon through the clouds, but she must have been right in front of her with the icy air radiating in waves and loud breathing being so close.

There would be little warning if she was found; should she attack first? Even though the smoke bombs were designed to release a fragrance to cover up scents, it seemed miraculous Irida hadn’t smelt her out.

Dawn’s luck held and the mad glaceon finally moved away, the girl slumping down and shaking as some of the tension left her body. She couldn’t stay there for long. They were bound to find her eventually and the smoke was already starting to dissipate. Feeling her way around the statue base, she slowly made her way past the columns on tip toes to remain as silent as possible.

An iridescent object shimmering in blues, purples and pinks zipped through the fog towards her, followed by dozens like it that made a beeline to her location. They sliced like razors across her body and she cried out in pain as she clutched the gashes left by the blade-like leaves. The swarm left dozens of stinging cuts before the magic went out of them and they fell to the ground as regular leaves, having done their job.

Adaman’s attack left her exposed after her shout gave away her position, but she was unable to stop the sobs from escaping, a burning nettle-like irritant that felt like dozens of needles stuck inside her cuts. Dawn made her way past the pillars towards the steps as quickly as she could while clutching her bleeding wounds and trying not to think about how fast her paw was stained crimson.

Large jaws bit down on her tail hard and she screamed as she was hoisted off the ground. A painful wrenching was not numbed by the alpha’s frosty breath as she was swung back and forth, fearing her tail had come off as she was flung to the side. Light blossomed in her vision from the painful crack of her head hitting stone, wheezing as the air was knocked out of her from a step jamming into her gut.

The ringing in her ears and pain that exploded in her skull made it impossible to think clearly, the barking and snarling seeming distant and far removed. Only the primal fear of being viciously ripped apart spurred any movement from the dewott and she groaned as she weakly tried to force herself upright.

Dawn was again seized by sharp teeth clamping around her torso and piercing through her thick fur into her back, eliciting a small squeak that seemed far too cute and comical. The world turned blurry as she was shaken like a chew toy and the alpha repeatedly snapped and bit, trying to force it’s teeth through or around the satchel.

All rational thought was driven out and replaced by a haze of terror and panic. Physical space became an impossible enigma filled with reeking hot breath where she couldn’t find her hands, let alone draw a weapon. She couldn’t even tell which one of them had their jaws around her and it was only a matter of time before a fang managed to pierce or rend something important.

An overwhelming flash of cold rushed towards them and something large slammed into them, knocking her loose from the jaws of her assailant and she fell to the ground. Dawn barely registered Irida standing above her with her fur frozen into spikes before Adaman’s claws raked across the glaceon’s face. Enraged by the retaliation, the clan leader forgot about her mindless pursuit of prey and launched herself at her rival. The two of them devolved into a writhing ball of teeth and claws, tearing and biting at any spot they could reach and tufts of torn off fur gently blew across the temple grounds.

Dawn’s senses returned slowly, her head still filled with a fog of pain and her body impossibly heavy. She realized the spat between the clan leaders had given her a chance to escape and the girl limped down the mountain as fast as she could, trying to gain as much distance as possible before Volo realized his attack dogs failed to finish the job. She needed to hide, warn everyone and go get help before it was too late.

—————————————-

Each plate made a satisfying sound as it was laid upon the ancient tile. Only a few more to go until the true creator worshiped by the Celestica people would be forced to reveal itself and its creation would be undone. Volo trembled in excitement as the final plate bestowed upon him by Giratina slipped from his feathers and each and every one laid at Hisui’s seat of power. Finally, after years of study and planning, his patience was about to pay off and he would see Arceus with his own eyes.

...

Nothing.

The plates remained as they were, stubbornly refusing to respond to the vast reserves of divine power at the summit and Volo tilted his head in puzzlement.

What went wrong?

He had gathered all seventeen plates he had discovered writings about, one of every type-

There were eighteen types.

Volo went through a mental checklist and realized he had no plate that corresponded to fairy. He had read through countless manuscripts, deciphered glyphs in ancient temples and listened to tales passed down through generations, but he had never heard of any kind of ‘pixie’ plate. 

Great, just fantastic. He would have to cross reference every legendary and their assorted myths for any chance of uncovering such a thing with no other leads to go off. The possibility of being the first to discover such an artifact forgotten by history would have excited him in any other circumstance, but he could only curse himself for not considering the possibility sooner.

Now he was short a lackey and needed to come up with some sob story for the Galaxy fools, something about how she insisted on going to Mt Coronet immediately and he reluctantly accompanied her. She was ambushed by the clan leaders during the climb and he valiantly tried to save her, but one of them kept him at bay and he was forced to watch as she was brutally torn to pieces.

Yes, that could work. Especially if he put on a show of how remorseful he was for not stopping her from leaving in the first place. And perhaps that Rei kid would make an adequate replacement…

The clan leaders were still snarling and blows were punctuated with the high pitched yelps of a struggle between them, no doubt still fighting over the scraps. The merchant was already in a sour mood and quickly grew irritated with their incessant screeching and caterwauling while he was trying to think.

“Would you two shut up?!” 

Volo wheeled around to see the dumb beasts scrabbling and clawing at each other, the dewott nowhere in sight. A cold flash of comprehension seized him as he realized they failed to finish the job and the girl escaped.

“No! Idiots!” he shrieked, angrily flapping his wings as he landed between the opposing leaders. The snarling continued as they reluctantly backed off from each other. Low growls warned that their animosity not forgotten in the face of the togekiss’s ire, hackles still raised and fur bristling. But neither dared start a fight with him stomping about and cursing under his breath.

“Shit! Now what am I going to do?” He was tempted to keep yelling at them to vent his frustration, but they wouldn’t be able to understand or care about their screwup.

There was no way Dawn wouldn’t tell everyone what went down here; he couldn’t return to the retreat and no one would trust him. Volo would be shocked if there wasn’t a manhunt for his involvement and he’d be lucky if the Galaxy Team caught up to him before the Nobles did. Could he find the last plate before the Survey Corps located it or they found him?

A lightbulb went off and he realized he didn’t have to. Those bandits staying at the retreat would do anything for money, never understanding the true value of what they were stealing. Pay them any meagre price they sought and they would swipe the retrieved plate from right under everyone’s noses. Dawn and the remainder of the Survey Corps would think the race was on, but it wouldn’t matter who found it first.

Either way, Hisui’s end was inevitable and Volo would have his audience.

—————————————-

Dawn shivered as she remained hidden in a tree hallow within the alpha electivire’s territory, the last notes from her Celestica flute fading down the mountainside. As much as she was tempted to replay the summon and spur the Noble towards her hiding place, Lady Sneasler wouldn’t get there much faster and it risked drawing the attention of Volo or the clan leaders if they followed her. There was nothing she could do but wait for the Lady of the Cliffs to arrive and take her back to the retreat.

The cold wind stung her injuries, but her face burned more strongly with shame. How could she face the Survey Corps and explain how her naïveté lost them all the plates and handed a megalomaniac the power to destroy the world?

It might already be too late; Volo could already have the dragons under his control or be face to face with Arceus right now and everything would disappear without even a moments notice.

She had doomed everyone by foolishly trusting again. Dawn, Champion of Sinnoh and star member of the Survey Corps, fell for the lies of an obvious conman only to be used and cast aside once again.

Was she really that much of an idiot?

[eugenedebs1920]

In fables old and new, there’s always the hero that endures a perilous hardship in the attempt to triumph over their opponent. There are times when the odds may be stacked against our hero, times when it seems that all hope is lost. Yet just when it seems the conclusion is inevitable, dawn breaks and the light beams in. Our hero has a renewed sense of strength and endurance. They rise from the ashes of defeat to best their adversary declaring victory over what seemed an unbeatable scenario. It is only then that our hero can lay down their arms and breath a sigh of relief. We, in the pro-democracy movement are that hero. We are not defined by any political affiliation, the only concern it the continuation of this fantastical democratic experiment known as the United States of America. We may not breathe easy till our task is complete ☮️🇺🇸

[docgold13]

Heroes & Villains The DC Animated Universe - Paper Cut-Out Portraits and Profiles

Elseworlds Addendum - Aqualad

Garth was an Atlantian born of the colony of Idyllists.  His mother was a powerful sorceress and, as he grew up, Garth discovered he possessed enhanced abilities, including augmented strength and speed as well as the ability to telepathically communicate with sea fauna.  

The superstitious denizens of Idyllists were weary of Garth, fearing that he was a harbinger of doom. As such he was cast out and ultimately ended up taken in by Arthur of Atlantis, the hero known as Aquaman.  Garth would go on to become Aquaman’s partner and took on the name of 'Aqualad.' Following numerous adventures, the young hero would help to form the first iteration of the Teen Titans.  

Years later, Garth became a pupil of the fabled sorcerer called Atlan who helped him hone magical skills that bestowed him hydrokinesis (the ability to mentally control water).  Now known as ‘Tempest,’ Garth continued to protect the seas and additionally served as a member of the Titans as well as the Justice League.  

Although Garth was not featured in the original DCAU, the character did feature in the Teen Titans animated series as well as the Young Justice series (where Garth was voiced by actors Wil Wheaton and Yuri Lowenthal respectively).  The hero first appeared in the pages of the pages of Adventure Comics #269 (1960).  

[pianokantzart]

Reading your most recent post on Movie!Bowser… it does make me quite curious as to how they’ll handle Bowser and Mario’s fighting dynamic in the hypothetical second Mario movie. In terms of physical strength, I mean. Game!Mario is quite capable of taking down Bowser in his original form(as in, can physically take Bowser down without power-ups) but Mario more or less needed the aid of the star power-up to do so. The movie versions of M&L are definitely closer to normal humans in terms of fighting prowess, so it makes me wonder if they’ll try having Mario, and Luigi by proxy, fight in hand-to-hand combat with no power-ups with Bowser at some point?

Maybe that could be a plot point in the second movie? Bowser worms his way out and starts whichever villainous plot his evil little heart desires, and Mario and Luigi start off a journey of sorts to find another star power-up, believing it crucial in obtaining victory? But, unable to find it, they’re more or less thrown into the fray with their wits and only limited power-ups in tow? And thus sustain a significant amount more of injuries without their invincibility from the star? (And perhaps the fabled green mushroom makes its debut that way…) The movies could have an interesting juxtaposition with the first movie bros being inexperienced + power-upped vs. second movie bros being more experienced + ….not-so-power-upped lol. They sort’ve have to earn their hero titles more(though moreso in the eyes of themselves only. Mostly everyone around them is already like ‘Duh. Your heroes with or without them.’ But, alas, character arcs! Potentially!) Sorry, I’m kinda word vomiting, but day by day I grow ever more curious how the second movie could play out….

One thing I like about The Super Mario Bros. Movie is that it's pretty much just an origin story. There is so much room to expand between where the movie left off and the full Mario lore as we know it today, and I for one am interested in the process of Mario and Luigi going from "Haha! We're heroes!" to "Oh f*ck, we're heroes," to "Okay... we're heroes... we can do this."

Like, how would they react to the idea of facing off against Bowser again without a power star to help them? How will their dynamic shake out when they're bouncing from one life-or-death situation to another? How will they balance their protectiveness toward each other with their moral obligations? Where will the new stakes take them? What new powerup/ally/enemy will they encounter? But back to what you're saying. If Mario and Luigi don't use powerups– even small ones– in the fight against Bowser, I predict a combination of the following tactics will be employed:

Reliance on dexterity. Bowser has them beat in terms of speed, strength, and resilience, but being a giant turtle monster he isn't nearly as agile as Mario and Luigi.

Using Bowser's emotions against him. It's his most glaring weakness, so while prodding at his ego is risky it could also make his movements more predictable.

Using their surroundings to their advantage instead of relying strictly on their own physical ability, which is a pretty common thing to do in Mario games (and video games in general.)

Leaning heavily on teamwork, not just with each other but with Peach, Toad, and probably Yoshi given the post-credits teaser.

And maybe a certain green and white mushroom will need to come into play at some point? We'll see. My biggest fear is that the writers will nerf Bowser a little so that he's easier to take on without the aid of the super star, but I really hope that doesn't happen. Speedy, strong, ruthless, unwavering, tactical, durable Bowser with a fire breath powerful enough to destroy civilizations is my favorite Bowser.

[bestworstcase]

…ozma uses fairytales to make sense of himself and the world around him. as beacon’s headmaster he published a collection of fairytales, every one of them about himself or salem, somehow or another. “what is ozpin hiding from us”—the answer is told as a tragic fairytale. ozma heeded light’s warning for years, but everywhere he went, “he heard the same frightened whispers that spoke of a terrifying sorceress who commanded dark powers in the wilds among the beasts and monsters.” it was these stories that led him to her, because he “needed to see what she had become,” and because of these stories he could never bring himself to trust her.

this is how he thinks. how he understands himself and the world. through stories.

We have many questions, and never all the answers we would like. But we do have stories. Whether they’re true stories passed down through the ages or myths defying time itself, our stories help explain who we are and why we’re here. They give us solace when we need it, advice if we seek it, and connections that bind us together as one people. If you don’t believe in stories, if you can’t accept their truths, then you will always seek and never find.

salem knows this. it’s the first thing she says to and about him: legends. stories scattered through time… mankind has grown quite fond of recounting the exploits of heroes and villains, forgetting so easily that we are remnants, byproducts of a forgotten past.

she does not, herself, seem to care particularly for fairytales. certainly she considers ozma’s use of them to be deceitful: “legends and fairytales/scattered in time/maidens and kingdoms/wrapped up in a lie/these children you mislead/you’ll watch them all bleed/strength will not bring victory” & “show them gods and deities/blind and keep the people on their knees/pierce the sky, escape your fate/the more you try, the more you’ll just breed hate/and lies.”

but.

when he told her the truth about what the god of light sent him to remnant to do, she quoted from a faunus myth to articulate her refusal: “and the descendants of our god’s great gift have always carried envy in their hearts. to this day, they resent us for reminding them of what they are not and what they never can be.” -> “don’t you see? none of that matters anymore! why spend our lives trying to redeem these humans when we could replace them with what they could never be?”

and she means that the god of light is resentful and envious and undeserving, that remnant is better off as it is now, that there is nothing to redeem and nothing the god of light told him matters at all—but like.

she expresses this idea by quoting a legend.

one he must have been familiar with, at least in passing, because thousands of years later when he published an anthology of fairytales he went out of his way to include that story (and suggests in his commentary that it is important, that it deserves to be remembered, that it contains deep truths).

salem—who is not, in general, a skillful communicator—upon hearing his explanation of the divine mandate, upon being asked to join him in serving a god she hates after learning that her marriage was built on lies, tried her level best to communicate her objection in his language. by quoting a story.

that isn’t something we’ve seen her do in any other context—in her v1 soliloquy and songs she speaks disdainfully of his legends and fairytales but, in contrast to ozpin and his circle’s habitual use of fairytales to introduce people to the truth, salem never refers to stories to explain herself other than this one time in the lost fable when she asked ozma to reject the mandate light gave him.

i’m upset

[pod-together]

Pod-Together Day 8 Reveals 2024

A gradual decline into disorder [text, audio] (Criminal Minds (US TV), Inception (2010)) written by asuralucier, performed by peasina Summary: Whenever Reid has a near-death experience, his older brother shows up to cook him dinner, and they don’t talk about it. (After the events of “Entropy”, Reid receives a visitor.)

sing this one song (to the world) (陈情令 | The Untamed (TV), 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù) written by coffee_and_cardamom, performed by Gavilan Summary: There is a curse sitting in Lán Wàngjī’s bones, and a flute in her ears.

A hymn to a mother scorned (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore) written by GwenAChan, performed by hiddendruid, itallcomesbacktoandreil, BubblesKat, and mahons_ondine Summary: This is a familiar story, told in an even more familiar world. The story of a girl torn from her mother’s arms, and how that woman turned her fury to the world. A hymn to Demeter, through a new lens.

world with purple skies (mulberry down!! - Nicole Kornher-Stace) written by Koschei_B and Rosemarycat5, performed by Koschei_B and Rosemarycat5 Summary: Scenes from the Exiled One and the Other from the dream world with purple skies musing on temporary death and strange yet accommodating worlds.

Now you are in my Power, to Slay or Spare as I will! (Merlin (TV)) written by mdzjodrt, performed by Penndragon27 Summary: Canon divergent from s02e03 where Merlin decides to admit to Morgana that she does have magic and he reveals his magic to her along with Gwen and Arthur finding out as well.

you are the one (I have been waiting for) [text, audio] (9-1-1 (TV)) written by OfTheDirewolves, performed by Matriaya

keep the earth below my feet (for all my sweat, my blood runs weak) (Good Omens (TV)) written by shadoweddepths, performed by elle_dubs Summary: “A-Aziraphale,” Crowley stutters, a bit helplessly. He looks – lost. Like he doesn’t know what to do, or say, or think. So Aziraphale makes the decision. He steps forward, reaches out with his hands. Places them both on Crowley’s shoulders before he can step back again. Underneath his touch, the demon freezes. He’s so still, so unmoving, that Aziraphale is certain he’s even stopped breathing again. Has he gotten it wrong? He was so sure, after what happened at the wedding – but Crowley is frozen beneath his touch, and Aziraphale doesn’t know what to do. But then – it’s like a dam breaking. Like it’s too much, all at once. Crowley crumples forward. Collapses into Aziraphale’s arms, all the strength gone out of his limbs. His arms end up slung across Aziraphale’s shoulders, hands locked together behind Aziraphale’s head. There’s no – he doesn’t make a sound, but the raw agony on his face, the sheer openness of it, says more than words ever could. “I’ve got you,” Aziraphale says, now sounding a bit helpless himself. “You’re alright, Crowley.” (When Crowley returns from his laudanum-induced trip to Hell, Aziraphale helps pick up the pieces.)

After the Crash [text, audio] (Avatar: The Last Airbender (Cartoon 2005)) written by shadowsong26, performed by mangotart_reads Summary: When a small disaster hits the Lower Ring, it brings someone unexpected back into Zuko’s life.

The Fic/Pod at the End of the Universe (Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (Radio)) written by SweetPollyOliver, performed by semperfiona, 42donotpanic, elle_dubs, SweetPollyOliver, KitKaos, pezzax, and wilfriede0815 Summary: In which our heroes arrive at an alien world who are quite convinced that Arthur Dent is the fabled saviour of their homeworld and Arthur is very embarrassed about how many towels Ford is stealing from the temple they're being accomodated in, in addition to all the general adulation being heaped on his head.

While the tide is low (One Piece (Anime & Manga)) written by Whalen, performed by Cricketbones Summary: There was a strange tightness in her chest when Vivi’s eyes fell on her in the almost-darkness, with the smell of her home around her and the sky melting into the sea. It was all too easy to imagine they were sitting among different trees on an island so very far away. Maybe that’s what led her to keep talking past the pleasantries. Maybe that’s why she told her about her mom and her sister and an old man she never called dad but wished she had.

[qserasera]

#i feel like lee sookyung would be even MORE mocking and funny when news is that kdj is yjh's right hand man (via @righteousenjoymentofthunder)

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

enjoy this crackfic snippet based off the idea of a darker AU where yoo joonghyuk takes the absolute throne, and kim dokja ends up as his consort/right-hand man/advisor (im assuming in this canon-divergence AU that the scenario Catastrophe of Floods happens before the War of Kings to test out each king's strength or something; yjh speed-runs their established relationship development once kdj is back as a result :))

(i'm not going to write any more of this, so if anyone wants to use the above AU premise as a fic idea/ fanart thing, go Wild; would be nice if there was a link to the original post with the AU idea tho )

*using name spellings from my friend's summation, instead of the other variations {{ Now with an AO3 crosspost Here}} title: axis mundi rating: T words: 1,196 pairing: yoo joonghyuk/kim dokja "They're waiting inside," the woman with the sword says, to the masked figure.

The masked figure nods. Hears the tent flap flutter shut behind her, as she strides forward.

She stops and turns her head, assessing the room around her.

A contradiction in character. A polarity to be pondered--but one so balanced, it seemed to converge together to one perfect point.

The tent, though spacious, was a far too humble backdrop to serve as a royal hall.

One side, to her right, is sparse. Nothing more than a single sword rack marks out the space; a clean stroke of calligraphy against white paper.

The side to her left leans towards unruliness, moreso than the right. Papers scrawled in ink and scribbles flock over a long side-table. A tray, empty of any food, leans precariously on one corner.

A janggi board sits askew over one of the papers (a surprisingly old-fashioned choice for planning scenarios, she assumes; could she attribute it to that person's influence?). Next to it, a half-open book, laid upside down.

There are other smaller tables around, below the level of the dais.

Above everything else, the chairs at the center—one throne in particular, with a smaller chair on equal level besides it—loom large with their presence.

As did the Status of their occupants.

The one in white stands first. Rocks once on his heels, before setting his hands inside his jacket pocket.

"Lee Sugyeong," he says. He offers a smile. Perfunctory and polite, crescent-thin. "Mother. Why have you come?"

"Information," Lee Sugyeong says. Removes her mask, the wood of it smooth in her fingertips.

Everyone always said that Kim Dokja had inherited her eyes. Bright, when in good humor or with delight. And in other times, too many times—opaque as one-way mirrored glass, save for glints of light as his thoughts tumbled over each other, sharp and sharper.

"And to see the new Absolute King, of course," Lee Sugyeong says. A nod to the one behind Kim Dokja.

Yu Junghyeok stands to his feet from his throne. Fluid and swift, a shadow in motion. A presence that could not be ignored. Power rolls off of him, palpable as the bright shine of a strong sword.

The new Absolute King. Her son's protagonist; his hero.

And now, if rumors could be believed....She turns her gaze back to her child—the man in the white coat, fingers turning in his pockets. [The Fable, 'Kingmaker of a Thousand Strings' is continuing its storytelling] [The Fable, 'Cherished Consort of the Conquering King' is continuing its storytelling]

"Consort?" Lee Sugyeong raises a brow.

The cool line of her son's brow twitches. "Bihyung said even if it was a typo, it couldn't be changed once recorded in the system."

Lee Sugyeong opens her mouth to ask more, but Kim Dokja cuts her off with a wave of his hand.

"Better to talk if we're seated, I suppose. We don't have coffee. Tea will have to do." There's a hand, curling in over an elbow. The hem of a dark sleeve over white fabric, Kim Dokja's shoulders easing at the touch.

Yu Junghyeok, the Absolute King, speaks for the first time. "Mind the leaves." Kim Dokja's brow wrinkles. His voice turns light, lilting. "Even if I burned them, didn't you just say you would buy more for me, last time, Junghyeok-ah? Is the Conquering King going back on his words?"

The Absolute King tilts his head, but lets Kim Dokja go without further complaint.

He turns back to Lee Sugyeong, tips his chin in a rough motion towards one of the chairs by an empty table.

Lee Sugyeong shakes her head as she sits.

Well. It wasn't like she hadn't been warned about Yu Junghyeok's manners.

The silence that passes has as much warmth as a mountain blizzard.

Yu Junghyeok doesn't seem nearly as interested in finding out any information the King of Wanderers would have as he did in following around Kim Dokja's movements with his gaze.

She resists the urge to lift her hand, and rub away the wrinkle she could sense forming between her brows.

What sort of complications had her son gotten himself into, to invoke such a troublesome devotion from an equally troublesome man?

Kim Dokja returns with a tray, the teapot and small cups.

The Conquering King lifts the tray from Kim Dokja's hands without a word, setting it at a center. His wrist flips over the small cups, as if laying out cards.

The color is a light pale green in the cups. Faint notes of grain in its steam.

Kim Dokja's right hand rests against the table, his index finger tapping a three-note rhythm against the wood. He lifts his eyes to her, expecting her to speak.

So Lee Sugyeong does.

"The loyal hound, following behind the heels of the Conquering King. Was this everything you had wished for once, child?"

"Ah, well—I'm not following him, exactly—" Yu Junghyeok snaps his gaze upwards, his expression dark. Not at Kim Dokja—at Lee Sugyeong.

"Not a hound, nor a follower." He lowers a teacup in front of Kim Dokja, setting his hand down. Close enough to pin down the hem of Kim Dokja's sleeve. "Kim Dokja is my companion."

Kim Dokja nods. Again, a collected composure. Again, his eyes calm, steady as an undisturbed lake.

"You've met him now, Mother. And have seen me, besides. If there is other information you are looking for, you can leave it to us through the usual processes—"

Lee Sugyeong tips her head back, her eyes considering as she watches Kim Dokja, as he lets his words unroll from his tongue with a frightening ease, swifter than the arrows of a master archer.

"I wonder, " she says idly, "Is your bark more terrifying, or his bite?"

"Forgive us if you find our hospitality is lacking." The switch in tone from the Conquering King is also something that prickles of danger. Something he learned from Kim Dokja, in turn, she would guess. "King of wanderers."

Yu Junghyeok is holding out one of the filled teacups with both hands towards Lee Sugyeong. She takes it, resting the bottom of the cup on her palm, her other fingers holding onto the rim.

Then a pause, before a merciless blow from Yu Junghyeok. "Or would sieomeoni be more appropriate?"

At his shoulder, Kim Dokja makes a cut-off sound like a penguin choking on a fishbone, and slams a hand down on the table as he stands.

"Yu Junghyeok!"

"Kim Dokja," the Conquering King parrots back. For someone who has seen all manner of shocking things since the start of the scenarios, this nears the most shocking of them all. The lazy indulgence in the Conquering King's eyes. One of his hands tugs at the ends of a white jacket's belt at Kim Dokja's waist, wrapping the end of it loosely around his wrist.

"Sit," he says, in a voice that allows no argument. "You should at least finish your tea."

If she had a jot less of self-control, she might very well have dropped her cup.

One of Lee Sugyeong's masked guards a short distance away, puts her hand under her chin, and says quietly, but not quietly enough for Lee Sugyeong to miss hearing: "Sieomeoni? Or would Queen Dowager be more appropriate? Wait, no, what would be the right term...?" Notes *Sieomeoni - 시어머니 (mother-in-law) *Another video on family terms

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Alexei  navalny did not like tragedies. He preferred Hollywood films and fables in which heroes vanquish villains and good triumphs over evil. He had the looks and talent to be one of those heroes, but he was born in Russia and lived in dark times, spending his last days in a penal colony in the Arctic permafrost. A fan of “Star Wars”, he described his ordeal in lyrical terms. “Prison [exists] in one’s mind,” he wrote from his cell in 2021. “And if you think carefully, I am not in prison but on a space voyage…to a wonderful new world.” That voyage ended on February 16th.

Mr Navalny’s death was blamed by Russian prison authorities on a blood clot—though his doctor said he suffered from no condition which made that likely. Whatever ends up on his death certificate, he was killed by Vladimir Putin. Russia’s president locked him up; in his name Mr Navalny was subjected to a regime of forced labour and solitary confinement. Mr Navalny will be celebrated as a man of remarkable courage. His life will be remembered for what it says about Mr Putin, what it portends for Russia and what it demands of the world.

A man of formidable intelligence, Mr Navalny identified the two foundations on which Mr Putin has built his power: fear and greed. In Mr Putin’s world everyone can be bribed or threatened. Not only did Mr Navalny understand those impulses, he struck at them in devastating ways.

His insight was that corruption was not just a side hustle but the moral rot at the heart of Mr Putin’s state. His anti-corruption crusade formed a new genre of immaculately documented and thriller-like films that displayed the yachts, villas and planes of Russia’s rulers. These videos, posted on YouTube, culminated in an exposé of Mr Putin’s billion-dollar palace on the Black Sea coast that has been watched 130m times. Despite the palace’s iron gates, adorned with a two-headed imperial eagle, Mr Navalny portrayed its owner not as a tsar so much as a tasteless mafia boss.

Mr Navalny also understood fear and how to defeat it. Mr Putin’s first attempt to kill him was in 2020, when he was poisoned with the nerve agent Novichok smeared inside his underwear. By sheer good luck Mr Navalny survived, regained his strength in Germany and less than a year later flew back to Moscow to defy Mr Putin in a blast of publicity.

He returned in the full knowledge that he would probably be arrested. On the way back to confront the evil ruler who had tried to poison him he did not read Hamlet. He watched Rick and Morty, an American cartoon. By mocking Mr Putin, he diminished him. “I’ve mortally offended him by surviving,” he said from the dock during his trial in 2021. “He will enter history as a poisoner. We had Yaroslav the Wise and Alexander the Liberator. And now we will have Vladimir the Poisoner of Underpants.”

Mr Navalny was sentenced to 19 years in jail on extremism charges. He turned his sentence into an act of cheerful defiance. Every time he appeared in court hearings via video link from prison, his smile cut through the walls of his cell and beamed across Russia’s 11 time zones. On February 15th, on the eve of his death, he was in court again. Dressed in dark-grey prison uniform he laughed in the face of Mr Putin’s judges, suggesting they should put some money into his account as he was running short. In the end there was only one way Mr Putin could wipe the smile off his face.

In his essay “Live Not by Lies”, in 1974, Alexander Solzhenitsyn, a Nobel-prize-winning Soviet novelist, wrote that “when violence intrudes into peaceful life, its face glows with self-confidence, as if it were carrying a banner and shouting: ‘I am violence. Run away, make way for me—I will crush you’.” Mr Navalny understood, but instead of running he held his ground.

His great strength was to understand Mr Putin’s fear of other people’s courage. In one of his early communications from jail he wrote that: “it is not honest people who frighten the authorities…but those who are not afraid, or, to be more precise: those who may be afraid, but overcome their fear.”

That is why his death portends a deepening of repression inside Russia. Mr Navalny’s murder was not the first and it will not be the last. The next targets could be Ilya Yashin, a brave politician who followed Mr Navalny to prison, or Vladimir Kara-Murza, a historian, journalist and politician who has been sentenced to 25 years on treason charges for speaking against the war. The lawyers and activists who continue to defend these dissidents are also in danger. Since Mr Putin’s return to the presidency in 2012, the number of prisoners has increased 15 times. Even as the remnants of Stalin’s gulag fill with political prisoners, professional criminals are being recruited and released to fight in Ukraine.

Mr Navalny’s death also casts a shadow over ordinary Russians. In Moscow and across Russia, people flooded the streets at the news. Before the police started to arrest them, they covered memorials for previous victims of political repression in flowers. Yet that repression is intensifying. Since the start of the war in Ukraine, 1,305 men and women have been prosecuted for speaking out against it. A wave of repression is also swallowing up people who never before engaged in politics. The president will shoot into the crowds if he must.

For the West, Mr Navalny’s death contains a call to action. Mr Putin considers its leaders too weak and too decadent to resist him. And for many years Western politicians and businessmen did much to prove that fear and greed work in the West, too. When Mr Putin first bombed and shelled Chechnya in the early 2000s, Western politicians turned a blind eye and continued to do business with his cronies. When he murdered his opponents in Moscow and annexed Crimea in 2014, they slapped his wrist. Even after he had invaded Ukraine in 2022, they hesitated to provide enough weapons for Russia to be defeated. Every time the West stepped back, Mr Putin took a step forward. Every time Western politicians expressed their “grave concern”, he smirked.

The West needs to find the strength and courage that Mr Navalny showed. It should understand that Mr Navalny’s murder, the soaring number of political prisoners, the torture and beating of people across Russia, the assassination of Mr Putin’s opponents in Europe and the shelling of Ukrainian cities are all part of the same war. Without resolve, the West’s military and economic superiority will count for nothing.

Western governments should start by treating people like Mr Kara-Murza as prisoners of Mr Putin’s war who need to be exchanged with Russian prisoners in the West or prisoners of war in Ukraine. They should not stigmatise ordinary Russians living under a paranoid dictator and his goons, or put the onus on ordinary people to overthrow the dictator who is repressing them.

The best retort to Mr Putin is by arming Ukraine. Every time America’s Congress votes down aid, Russia takes comfort. The leaders assembled at the Munich Security Conference, who heard Mr Navalny’s wife, Yulia, speak of justice for her husband’s death, need to stiffen their resolve to see through the war. For their part Ukrainian politicians must see that standing up for Russian activists and prisoners is also a way of helping their own country—just as Mr Navalny called for peace, for rebuilding Ukraine and the prosecution of Russian war crimes. Liberating Ukraine would be the best way to liberate Russia, too.

The voyage ends

After he had been poisoned, Mr Navalny returned home because he believed that history was on his side and that Russia was freeing itself from the deadly grip of its own imperial past. “Putin is the last chord of the ussr,” he told The Economist a few months before he took that last fateful journey. “People in the Kremlin know there is a historic current that is moving against them.” Mr Putin invaded Ukraine to reverse that current. Now he has killed Mr Navalny.

Mr Navalny would not want Mr Putin’s message to prevail. “[If I get killed] the obvious thing is: don’t give up,” he once told American film-makers. “All it takes for evil to triumph is the inaction of good people. There’s no need for inaction.”

Mr Navalny’s death has seemed imminent for months. And yet there is something crushing about it. He was not alone in believing that good triumphs over evil, and that heroes vanquish villains. His courage was an inspiration. To see that moral order so brutally overturned is a terrible affront. ■

[deleted-files]

Here we have Iota Squad all together and ready for action. One of hero factories many search and rescue teams. Though, this team in particular is usually assigned to more hazardous conditions than usual. They're more than capable than handling themselves alone but when together, as with all teams, they can achieve great things. Listing them off from left to right (In the group photo):

Heinrich Phase: A brash and boastful rookie always looking to prove himself to his team's lead, Pixie. He feels that the Hero Factory could be doing more with it's influence and power. Heinrich made a name for himself while using the experimental short range phase generator mounted on his upper back. This device allows him to "teleport" or blink a short distance, leaving an after image in his path. Depending on the mission at hand you'll either see him with his High Frequency Dual Claws, able to cut through even the densest of metals and rock. They come quite in handy for clearing debris and clearing paths to rescue targets or ripping the armor off of foes. Or his Dual Concussive Photon Repeaters, usually mounted on the side of a Mach Bike, he took the opportunity from a wrecked one to see if he could put them to use himself. They have a lot of kick… unsurprisingly.

Gretchen Ranger: An overprotective, unyielding, near-unstoppable force of a hero. Not afraid to speak her mind, she tends to butt heads with the team lead at times. Even so, they're the closest of the four. Despite her predisposition, she willingly chose the role of tracker of the team. Ranger's armor and equipment are reminiscent of a badger. She comes equipped with similar strength augmenting tech implanted in Duncan Bulk with optimized actuators in her hands for more grip strength, allowing her to crush even stone in her claws. She can scale sheer vertical surfaces with ease as well. Her tool of choice is a modified version of the M.D.S.B (Mega Decibel Sound Blaster). Referred to as, lovingly, the "Search Light". Instead of sending out masses of explosive sound, it acts as an advance echo-locator. Though, the output can be turned up higher for sustained and devastating firepower should the need arise.

Clara Pixie: Team lead, voice of reason, and a great shot. Pixie, despite being the shortest in the team, is the most capable fighter out of all of them. She traded in the standard plasma gun issued to all heroes for a condensed combustion hand cannon. The design of the handgun is very much "lightning trapped in a bottle". However, that is a topic for another time. Pixie while not leading the team, is often participating in Hero Factory's rehabilitation program. In which a select few potential ex-villains are given a second chance. In the form of being assigned to a city and being charged with protecting and helping the inhabitants in anyway they can. Of course, under the close supervision of an assigned handler. Pixie, being part of this program, has been assigned with being Corroder's handler. The two have grown quite close as time passed. Even bringing him along on missions with the rest of the squad every now and again. The two would be near inseparable if it weren't for responsibilities that need most of their attention.

Andrew "Andy" Bolt": Quiet, patient, disciplined, Andrew Bolt is one of the best scouts Hero Factory has had in years. It's rumored that he could've been on the fabled H.R.T (Hero Recon Team) at one point or another. His actions, speak much louder than words in most cases. Not much is really known fully about him aside from him being a veteran hero and his blinding speed. He is equipped with an energy condenser mounted to his quaza core that passively absorbs any ambient electricity in the air. Giving him a constant flow of energy to power his tools/weapons. Speaking of, Bolt's equipped with Dual Stun blasters that have an extended function, when drawing directly from his energy condenser, to create nets of energy capable of neutralizing weapons and powers similar to the hero cuffs used during the breakout event. His pride and joy comes in the form of the Mach Saber. in it's normal state it functions just like any other sword made by hero factory. But, when drawing power directly from his energy condenser, it's high frequency function activates, allowing him to cut through even the strongest alloys. Bolt is also capable of diverting extra power to his legs for short bursts of speed or a constant, blinding sprint. Doing so charges the condenser further. If not released he could overheat himself. After long sprints Bolt requires venting almost immediately.

This was a really long one but, I really needed to get this one done since I've been sitting on the idea of this team for a while now. I figured now would be as good as any since it is Hero February and all. Hope you like them as much as I do. Enjoy!

[thatsofic]

BEST COMEBACK (MALE) IS A GRAND PRIZE AKA DAESANG AWARD!

Who had the song of the summer? Meet the four incredible male artists who are nominated for BEST COMEBACK!

SOUR CANDY - RPG ! ... RPG is the third mini album to be released by South Korean boy group Sour Candy, on the 14th of June, 2024. The EP consists of four tracks; all promoted as singles and each track representing a different boy's 'flavour,' with the genre, production and concept of the songs selected to highlight one member's individual strengths without losing cohesion as a group. \\ @ppangs

FABLE - PAINT THE DRAGON, DOTTHE EYES ! ... 화룡점정 (畵龍點睛) (PAINT THE DRAGON, DOT THE EYES) is the third full album of fictional boy group FABLE. The album was released digitally and physically on MARCH 25, 2024. Title track PLATONIC LOVE was promoted for two weeks and received two music show wins. For the first week of performances, they also performed pre-release single CHASING THAT FEELING. \\ @fcble

DEEPDIVE - TAX WRITEOFF ! ... TAX WRITE OFF is the FIFTH full album by the fictional South Korean boy group DeepDive. The album was released on March 29th, 2024. Before the album's release, the group would release a pre-release single, "MY EGO," which would get a two-week promotional period before Tax Write Off's release. With a total of ten tracks, DeepDive would promote VENOM, EAZY, and CALL 2229 for a total of three months. \\ @bluwavez

HERO - BLESS MY HEART ! ... a  song  about  someone  navigating  deep  emotional  pain,  hidden  struggles,  and  the  fine  line  between  sanity  and  madness.  through  a  journey  of  transformation,  isolation,  and  longing  for  connection,  the  protagonist  ultimately  faces  a  revelation  of  betrayal  —  serves as a pre-release single for HERO's upcoming mini album. \\ @anqelblccm

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