#he's still very striking and he can still shoot a bow so it cannot be said that these things were 'ruined'

[mirkwoodshewolf]

IATCOD Chap. 23; Guardian of the White city

*Author's note*

Jesus am I on a roll with this story or what? Already I think this is a far better improvement than my last LOTR fic cause I've got TOO deep into this story to just let it be abandoned. Now I was thinking whether or not to wait till I got the next chapter done before I posted this but I decided to just go ahead and post this chapter and I hope that sometime this week I'll finish up the next chapter and let you all enjoy a double update in one week (that is if I can do it but who knows).

Not much for warnings except this is mostly battle sequences, there's talk of male hierarchy (apologizes if this chapter ends up a bit too political but this is what Hela has dealt with, especially in Gondor and MOSTLY with Denethor II).

Also IMAGE BELOW IS NOT MINE!!!! CREDIT GOES TO THE CREATOR I'M JUST USING IT FOR VISUAL PURPOSES ONLY.

NEXT CHAPTER

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things

@waddles03

@psychosupernatural

@queen-paladin

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@gay-and-ready-to-cry

@thats-s0-ravenn

_________________________________________________________

After the beacons were successfully lit, I had ran towards the armory in search of my old Gondorian armor that I had forged myself when I was Captain of the tower guard.  Now knowing Denethor I would’ve thought he’d had this destroyed or thrown out so that there was no more trace of a Celestial ever being here.

But surprisingly I had found it not in the chest I had kept it in, but in a special display near the King’s of old armories and weapons.  The armor shined and my sword still sharp.  As I finished fastening the last bit of my armor, I saw Haldir leaning against the doorway of our room.

“You wish to come and fight at my side.” I told him.

“I know you wish to protect me but I cannot take being locked up in this kingdom another second.”

“And I wasn’t going to let you. But I have one very specific request you must follow.” I walked up to him and reached up to his face.  “When you see any Nazgul, do not engage with them. You will turn and ride as hard as you can.”

“I promise.” He said after a brief period of silence. 

“Thank you, now come, our steed awaits near the gates.” I held the back of Haldir’s neck and used Makkari’s speed to get us there in just a few seconds where a dark brown horse with a white patch up along its nose stood.  He let out a startled neigh before he huffed and shook his head.  “So sorry Anárion. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“Anárion?” questioned Haldir.

“Yes, this here was Boromir’s horse. Ever since his rider’s death, I sent a message to him to return home and await my arrival.” I reached out and touched Anárion’s nose and he let out a few huffs.  “He’ll be our steed in battle. Now come, we don’t have much time.” We both got on top of Anárion and I ordered the guards to open the gate for us and soon I urged Anárion forward and with great speed, he rode us towards Osgiliath.

When we got within the city’s range, Haldir told me.

“The city’s overrun. Orc archers are up along the walls ahead of us.”

“Easy pickings.” My right wrist glowed and using Thena’s magic, I summoned a shield that stood just a few inches away from Anárion’s charging form and that was able to cover over both mine and Haldir’s heads like a roof.  Orcs arrows bounced off the shield as we charged in and Haldir used his bow and arrow to fire from behind and kill the six archers that had been shooting at us.

 As we rode deeper into the city, I took Aeglos off from around my chest and stuck his blade into the ground before dragging it across the graveled path.  Thanks to some of Thena’s enhanced magic, his blade didn’t break as he was able to brig up some of the gravel and dust from the city floor to provide a good cover for some of the Gondorian soldiers or the Ithilien Rangers to use their weapons and strike the orcs down.

Anárion rode in a full gallop as I took back Aeglos and let out a battle cry holding him outward and impaled an orc from the back, raised its limped body in the air before it’s fly right off of Aeglos’s blade.  Haldir used his bow and arrows to bring down any orc that tried to come at us.

I could sense a good number of lives being lost further into the city but the outer rim still needed aid.

“Take the reins!” I cried to Haldir.

“What?!”

“Just take the reins! Keep aiding the men along the outer perimeter of the city!” I quickly adjusted myself so that I was facing Haldir and his arms came around me to take the reins.  “You elves aren’t the only ones with fancy moves.” I said smirking at him.  He looked at me perplexed as I perked my brow at him and did a flip move that I learned from Cain.

I picked up my legs and I soon flipped over both Haldir and Anárion.  When I had leapt, I was first curled into a ball but when I felt my legs coming towards the sky, I straightened myself out until I finally landed on my feet before some orcs that stood before me.  Using Aeglos and my own strength, I took each of them down.  Slicing off their limbs or twisting their necks with my bare hands.

I turned briefly to Haldir and gave him a firm nod and he gave me a nod back.  He urged Anárion onward and I soon saw them both disappear into the battle.  My admiration soon turned to hatred as I growled lowly and blocked an orc that had raised its mace at me and I used Aeglos’ staff to block it.  I kicked the orc’s stomach to send him flying towards one of the buildings as three more tried to come at me.

Both Cain’s teachings and Thena’s powers were making my blood boil and adrenaline pumping.  I crossed blades with two orcs while another one tried to come at me from the side.  I pulled up a Celestial shield to block his attack then used that shield to disarm him allowing me to kick him and see his body skip like a rock on water.

I pushed back the two orcs I had crossed blades with and easily relieved them of their heads before I raced further into the city.  Any orc that I came into contact with, received the full wrath of the Celestial of death and I gathered up as many men who still had a fighting chance to come aid with the town square of the city.

I leapt up along the old buildings and took down the orcs that were using the towers as high ground for their archers.  I slammed one orc down onto the roof while I punched another orc right in the throat disabling him before I stuck Aeglos’ blade right through his skull.

But all too soon I heard them.  Their piercing screams that felt like nails slowly scrapping across the floor.  From the dark clouds I saw them riding on fellbeasts.  The Nazgul had come.

I watched in horror as their fellbeasts swooped down like a dark shadow and began scooping up any Gondorian man they could find.  I also could hear the men calling for a retreat and saw them all starting to ride back to Minas Tirith.  My heart broke as I knew it to be true.

Osgiliath was lost.

Swallowing my fear, I took to the skies using Ikaris’ gemstone and flew off towards one of the nine who had about four guards in the claws of his fellbeast.   As the demonic creature released them to fall to their deaths, I intervened and caught each of the men and carefully set them down.

“Make for Minas Tirith! GO!!” the men nodded and quickly took off running.  I soon heard the screech and roar of both a Nazgul and a fellbeast heading towards me.  I flew out of the way but both chased after me.

“Give up and surrender yourself Celestial of Death!” the Nazgul spoke to me.

“Over my dead body.” The fellbeast soon shot its neck forward and tried to capture me in its horrid jaws but I fired a couple of star bolts at it to deter it away from me.  It let out a cry of pain as I took off flying away from it.  Suddenly out of nowhere a second Nazgul came at me and nearly had me in his grasp but with some quick reflexes I was able to avoid his fell grip.

The two Nazgul soon took chase after me.  So long as they targeted me and not the men, I can give them some time to reach the city.  Oh I hope Haldir made good on his promise and is fleeing with the men now that the Raiths are here.

“Alright you guys, think your fellbeasts can beat the speed of the Starlights?” I then took off flying high above the clouds and the Nazgul continued to resume chase.

Their fellbeasts surrounded me and tried with both jaw and claws to catch me, but I was too fast for them.  I fired more star bolts at them as well as their riders and I saw as they curled themselves inward at the power of my Starlight brother Ikaris.

Suddenly out of nowhere, the third Nazgul, and this one I did know by name.  The second deadliest of the nine to ever be named, Khamûl The Easterling.  His fellbeast roared in my face and I was suddenly struck with fear as these creatures (much like their masters) had a fell air about them that made anyone feel utter fear and despair.  Khamûl then grabbed hold of my throat and I struggled in his grip as he hissed at me.

“They will all die. And you shall watch them.” The two Nazgul dove back down to attack the retreating Gondorian armies and Haldir while Khamûl still had me in his grasp.  He pulled me up to him and my vision soon became hazy as I felt the affects of the Black breath come onto me.

 I tried to resist and use my own powers to overpower the dark aura of the Black breath but Khamûl was not to be trifled with.  Next to Angmar himself, he is the second most deadliest of the Nine.  Both in life and in death he was a foul, foul man.  However, unlike if I had been the Celestial I was back then I would’ve easily given in.

It took everything I had to muster the Starlight’s Blaze within me.  Those men, Haldir, the people of Gondor.  My body slowly flickered until my eyes glowed pure starlight and I said to him.

“You will not hurt any of these men! Khamûl the Damned!!!” I then felt a burst of light burst out of me and I heard Khamûl let out an agonizing scream as both he and his fellbeast recoiled from my Starlight blaze and took off flying.

As quick as the attack came, it was snuffed out and the affects of the Black breath had fully taken over me and I felt myself falling from the skies and my vision went dark.

*3rd Person POV*

While the men and Haldir made their retreat from Osgiliath and rode to Minas Tirith with all their might, they thought that thanks to the Lady Celestial they would be home free with no orcs or Nazgul chasing them.  But their hope was soon snatched away as two of the Nazgul came swooping down and attacked them.  Grabbing either men alone or men plus their horses before allowing them to fall from a great height to their deaths.

Haldir kept watch on the skies not seeing Hela in sight, his heart pounded fearing the worst when he noticed up ahead Gandalf and Pippin riding on Shadowfax charging head on to aid them.  Suddenly from the clouds burst a powerful bright light and it aimed for the backs of the Nazgul.  Haldir had seen that kind of light before and he knew exactly who it was that was making it.  It was also at that moment, Haldir saw Gandalf used his own staff to aid the bright light that had shone down from the dark clouds.

With no way of flying back to Osgiliath, the Nazgul fled towards the mountains as Gandalf soon joined the men in leading them back to the city.  But Haldir still caught no sight of Hela from the clouds, that was until he had seen her falling and unable to stop herself.

“HYAH!!” Haldir urged Anárion with great haste, Boromir’s steed ran with what almost felt like the speed of Makkari.  But even with all his speed, Hela seemed to be getting closer and closer to the ground with no chance of slowing down.  Something had to be wrong, Haldir could feel it in his gut.  “HELA WAKE UP!!” he cried but that still didn’t seem to rouse her awake.

Finally Hela landed with a loud BOOM.  And Haldir was just barely a few short feet from reaching her.  Anárion reared and neighed fearfully at not only the sound but seeing that Hela had not moved ever since her fall.  Haldir quickly got off his saddle and raced towards Hela.

“Hela! Hela!” Haldir knelt down beside her and pressed his head over her heart and could hear it beating.  He breathed a sigh of relief but it was gone for a moment when he could see no physical injury but her face had looked even paler than it normally was.

Very carefully, he picked her up in his arms and placed her on top of the saddle before mounting just behind her.  He allowed Hela to lean against his chest and he urged Anárion onward back towards the city.

Back in the city, Gandalf and the soldiers of Gondor and the Ithilien Rangers immediately began to pile the city gates after just barely escaping with their lives after a long night’s battle.

“Mithrandir!” Gandalf turned around and saw Faramir riding his horse towards them. “They broke through our defenses. They’ve taken the bridge and the west bank. Battalions of Orcs are crossing the river.”

“It is as the Lord Denethor predicted. Long has he foreseen this doom.” Spoke one of the soldiers as he unmounted his horse.

“Foreseen and done nothing!” snapped Gandalf.  When Gandalf had urged Shadowfax to fully turn around, Faramir caught sight of Pippin riding in front of his mentor and friend and was taken back at the sight of yet another halfling in his sight.  “Faramir?”

Pippin taking notice of Faramir’s intense gaze upon him, slightly turned his head away almost trying to make himself invisible when Gandalf realized why Faramir was looking at him the way he was.

“This is not the first halfling to have crossed your path.” Faramir shook his head and replied with a verbal no.  At that statement, Pippin’s eyes grew wide as he stared up at Faramir and asked him.

“You’ve seen Frodo and Sam?” Faramir nodded.

“Where? When?” asked Gandalf urgently.

“In Ithilien. Not two days ago.” Pippin looked up at Gandalf in pure joy while Gandalf’s heart raced in relief.  Oh such a blessed news to know that the two hobbits were still alive and had not been gone from this city in barely three days.  But Gandalf’s relief was hindered as Faramir told him, “Gandalf, they’re taking the road to the Morgul Vale.”

“And then the pass of Cirith Ungol.” Gandalf finished, his eyes widened in fear.  Faramir nodded again.

“What does that mean? What’s wrong?” asked Pippin.  But Gandalf didn’t hear the young hobbit’s question as he urgently demanded to Faramir.

“Faramir, tell me everything. Tell me all you know.” But before Faramir could say a word, another voice broke through the crowd.

“Help! Help! Mithrandir help! It’s Hela!” the three of them turned and soon riding up was Haldir with Hela.  The three of them turned to Haldir and their eyes widened in shock (mostly Pippin’s and Gandalf’s).  “She has yet to awaken. And she fell straight down to the earth like a fallen star. Physically I cannot see any injuries but I’m still worried.” Haldir explained.

“Set her down.” Gandalf told Haldir.  Haldir got off of Anárion and carefully took Hela into his arms and set her down on the floor.  Gandalf and Pippin got off of Shadowfax and Pippin quickly went up to Hela and touched her face.

“She feels cold. Gandalf what’s happened to her?”

“The Nazgul.” Faramir answered.  Pippin looked up at him. “I’ve seen this happen many times since they’ve arrived to haunt this very city. Some have claimed that this is a technique they use to petrify their victims.”

“Yes. It is a technique known as the Black breath.”

“Is she going to die?” asked Pippin fearfully.  Haldir turned to the halfling offended he’d even suggest such a thing.

“To some they have.” Answered Faramir.

“But to Hela it surely won’t. But she has taken a great amount to render her unconscious.” Gandalf gently pushed Pippin aside and pressed his hand to Hela’s forehead and began to softly chant a healing spell to awaken her.

As the men began to take notice of a woman wearing Gondorian armor on the ground, they started to crowd but Faramir ordered them to give her some air and let Gandalf do his job.  Suddenly Hela let out a gasp as her chest began heaving.

“Steady Hela, steady my dear girl.”

*My POV*

One moment I was in nothing but complete darkness and the next I suddenly felt myself shooting upwards awake and I tried to fight whoever was in front of me but when I caught sight of both Gandalf and Haldir, and Gandalf’s voice slowly becoming clearer from my fuzzy hearing.

“Hela, steady my dear girl.”

“Gandalf?”

“Yes, I’m here. And you’re lucky to be here too. If you weren’t who you are and had had that much Black breath affected you, you’d be beyond any help.” I then turned to Haldir and was relieved to see him alive and in one peace.  I embraced him to which I felt him tense up slightly but he instantly wrapped his arms around me.

“I was so worried they’d—”

“You and Mithrandir saved all of us. How are you though? You were the one who fell from the sky at great speed and fell straight into the earth.”

“Did I? I—don’t recall that.” Haldir looked at me to see if I was jesting but one look in my eye and he knew I wasn’t.  Truly I don’t remember anything after I had unleashed the Starlight’s blaze on Khamûl.  Suddenly I felt another body collide into mine and I looked down to see that it was Pippin.

“Oh Pip.” I said lovingly as I embraced him.

“You were as cold as death, no pun intended with you being the—but I had feared you were…..”

“Shhhh. It’s alright Pip. I’ll be okay. Takes more than some Nazgul to break me.”

“As I live and breathe, Gandalf spoke the truth.” Pippin and I looked up and at first I thought I was seeing double.  The man before almost resembled Boromir to a T but he was younger, had a slight lighter shade of hair color and wore the uniform of the Ithilien Rangers.  He looked at me in pure awe.

“Hela, this is Faramir. He said he had seen Frodo and Sam.” My heart leaped in rejoice as I stood up with Haldir’s help and asked him.

“You have? Where? When?”

“As I told Gandalf and your halfling friend just moments ago. Not two days ago in Ithilien. But they have taken the road to the Morgul Vale.”

“What?!” I asked fearfully.  “But that leads to—”

“Cirith Ungol. Yes. Faramir was about to tell us everything he knew before your ranger friend came to us with you unconscious.” Gandalf told me.  Knowing to keep Haldir’s true identity a secret I turned back to Faramir and asked him.

“Yes. Please tell us all you know of what happened when you came across our friends.” Faramir nodded then ordered any and all guards to take the wounded to be healed not in the House of Healing, but in the secondary medical Halls.  I found it strange Faramir would not have his men go to the main healing house but that would have to be a question for another time.

Faramir soon guided us away back towards the royal stables to put Shadowfax, Anárion and Faramir’s horse away.  All the while, Faramir explained to us everything that had happened when he came across Frodo and Sam.  To me, it comes as no surprise that Gollum finally tracked down his ‘precious’ and by taking them to Cirith Ungol, I knew he was leading them there just to reclaim his precious back.

For a creature has made that her nest for centuries and only one time did I encounter her and that was when Druig, Makkari and I first went into Mordor when we were younglings.  I’ll never forget the first time we saw her, we barely escaped with our lives and Druig still had the scar of her bite to this day on his chest.  All to save me.

As our horses were now untacked and could now rest in the comfort of the stable, a messenger soon came forth and he said.

“Lord Faramir, your father requests to see you and the Lady Celestial right away.”

“Tell my father we will be there shortly.” Faramir told the messenger.

“He’s insisting now. Especially you my lady Celestial.” Oh no, this could only mean one thing.

“Tell him we’re on our way. But tell him that he may unleash his wrath upon me first before he even speaks a word to his son.”

“Hela,” Pippin started.

“Pip, you keep practicing your initiation. I’ll even have Gandalf or Rahl quiz you.” I looked down at him, giving him a firm look to not say another word on the manner.  “Come Faramir, let us see what your father wishes to speak to us about.” As I took a step, I felt myself suddenly grow faint as I suddenly staggered forward like a newborn foul but both Haldir and Faramir caught my arms.

“Perhaps I should accompany you Hela.” Haldir tried to offer but I told him.

“Lord Denethor has required only our presence. I dare not allow you to be taken under his wrath and scrutiny. Please return to our room Rahl and take some rest.” I looked at him with soft pleading eyes and as stubborn as this elf is, he abide my request.

“As you wish.” I mouthed a thank you to him as Faramir took off and helped guide me to the throne room.

“You sure you do not wish to seek a healer my lady? The Black breath of the Nazgul is no wound to tread lightly.”

“I appreciate your concern young lord. Unlike most of your men who have in some cases been petrified to death, the Black breath has never gone that far with me. I may have some fainting spells now and then and quite possible some nightmares at night but that is all the damage they can do to me with their accursed breath.”

“If you are sure, but if you do need any assistance, I will do what I can to help aid you.” I gave him a loving thank you as he continued to guide me to the throne room.

When I felt like I was able to walk on my own, Faramir reluctantly allowed me to take a few steps until he could see for himself that I was now fine.  And it was at that moment we had arrived at the doors of the throne room.  We entered inside and I held Faramir back so that I could go first.

He looked at me with the same reluctance but I assured him with a firm nod as I held my head up high and slowly walked towards Denethor who glared down at me from his throne with Perses and Deimos at his side.

As I stopped before his throne, I put my hands behind my back and stood at attention while Denethor stood up from his throne, a menacing look in his eye.  He came down from the throne, stood face to face with me before winding his hand back and gave me a hard backhand across the face.  His ring giving me a small cut as my breathing harshened and I soon turned back to him.

“Ever you have wanted to prove your worth more to the World of Men. Celestials prancing about thinking they were superior to us. Claiming to teach us, when all you do is look down upon us like we’re scum. Like we can’t fight our own battles! Treating us no better than children. Or an undisciplined pet.”

“I did what I judged to be right Denethor.”

“What you judged to be right!?” he sneered lowly. 

“The Celestial has ruined the plans I had given the men at Osgiliath. Now because of her, the city is lost!” Deimos proclaimed.

“Those men all through the night were greatly outnumbered and outmatched. There was no victory to which there would be any survivors had I not intervened.” I said trying to keep my cool.  “Denethor, your men were lead into a massacre. How is there victory in a fight such as that?”

“Osgiliath was our only line of defense, now it is lost because of you.” Denethor hissed in my face, his hot breath dancing across my skin as he shook with rage.  He turned to go back to his throne as Deimos said.

“If I may have permission my lord, I could teach this Celestial what happens when a soldier goes out of line.” I saw the gleam of a silver blade shine at his hip as his red eyes grew crazed as he stared down at me with a lustful desire for blood.

“Deimos. Out of the two of you the Lady Hela could easily take you down with just the flick of her wrist.” Perses spoke up.  Deimos growled as he turned his attention to Perses.

“And what of you old man? I seem to recall you screaming for mercy as I had you weaponless.”

“What must be taken to order is a punishment that fits the crime. Exile would do no good nor would death even stop the Celestial of Death. Imprisonment is useless for there’s no cell strong enough to keep her.” Perses said.

“Perhaps there is a punishment best fitted for someone of your—stature.” Denethor said with a malicious grin.  “Perses, take her to the East wing and have her fitted for her new duties.” Perses bowed his head then he came down before me and gestured for me to follow him.

Of course Denethor would put me in this position believing it would humiliate me.  Having served as councilor to the King of Gondor, then fought alongside the armies as one of the tower guards, eventually moving up the ranks as Captain.  Some had even called me the Guardian of the White city, but now at Denethor’s command, I have been sentenced to the ranks of scullery maid.

Now wearing mere peasant rags and given a bucket and rag just to clean the very floors of this entire palace.  I dipped my rag into the bucket of water and then proceeded to scrub the floors as hard as I could in order to give it that ‘mirror-like quality’ as per Lord Denethor’s orders.

I wiped the sweat from my brow having already been at this for hours and I let out a deep, heavy sigh.

“This is my thanks to the city?” I scoffed shaking my head.  “To now be no better than a servant and for what? Saving the lives of his own soldiers.”

“It was well noble of you my lady.” I looked up to see Faramir standing at the end of the hall before coming over to me.  “We would have lost double the amount of men had you not come to aid us.” I dropped my rag and wiped my hands against the apron of my raggedy gown and went to curtsy to him.  “Please, none of that my lady Celestial.” I stood naturally as he stood just a few inches from me. “My apologies on his behalf. If it were up to me, you’d be rewarded for your valiant deed, not submitted to such a degree of hard labor.”

“Well your father’s not the first Man to try and degrade me for being a female warrior. And he won’t be the last I’m afraid.”

“I hope as payment, you should at least deserve this back.” He soon handed me my Gondorian armor that I was forced to surrender before being given these rags.  I smiled and took it from his arms and said as I stroked the White tree engraved on the chest plate.

“Truthfully I would’ve thought your father would’ve had this either destroyed or thrown out. I was surprised to see it in such a display and in good condition too.”

“That’s because a young man of the city took great honor in caring for it. A very foolish one. Who wasted many hours slaying dragons instead of attending to his studies.”

“You did that?” I said astounded.

“Yes. When Gandalf told me the stories of the Celestial of Death serving and protecting our city, I knew such an armor had to be taken great care of till she returned.” He then bowed his head to me in respect.

“And I thank you Faramir. If only you had been there when I first made this armor. Most of the men couldn’t believe their eyes, said they’d roll in their graves at the day a woman would be Captain of the Tower guard. And boy did they.” The two of us softly laughed before he told me.

“People doubted me too. Boromir was always the soldier.” His tone grew solemn as he continued, “They were so alike he and my father. Proud, stubborn even, but strong.” I set my armor down to the floor and placed my hand to his shoulder.  The two of us stared into each other’s eyes and I told him.

“Both you and your brother share the same fighting spirit. But I also see in your eyes strength of a different kind. And I know your brother saw it. He spoke so highly of you during our time together.” Faramir’s eyes held a sense of sorrow for the loss of his big brother.

“How did it truly happen?” he asked me.  “I had heard one side from your other hobbit friends that passed through here. Was it truly because of the Ring he died?”

“The Ring tempted your brother and took him yes, but it was not because of the Ring he died. He kept his honor as Captain of the Guard, a true noble warrior and Man of Gondor by aiding me, Pippin and another hobbit friend of ours from an army of Uruk-hai. Saving my life from an Uruk’s blade with two arrows already in his body. It wasn’t until the third arrow that he was unable to fight anymore. Your brother died a hero’s death.” I watched as Faramir swallowed hardly as he took in the true story of his brother’s death.

“Now I know at least he did not die with darkness in his heart. And that he died the way he would’ve wanted to go. Fighting to his last breath.” I smiled solemnly at him and gave him a soft nod before embracing him.

Almost immediately Faramir embraced me back and I could feel the wetness from his tears as they slowly slid down and landed onto my shirt.  Neither of us spoke a word until I knew his moment of grieving had passed.

After it passed, he offered me a spot to witness Pippin being sworn in as the new guard of the Citadel.  I looked down at the floor and said to him.

“I think your father would greatly see my head on a platter if I were to disobey his orders.”

“You were charged to follow the orders of the Steward and his sons, were you not? By order of Perses.” The way he spoke his name held some sort of venom to it.  So not even Faramir trusts him.

“Aye, that was his command.”

“Then as the youngest son of the current Steward, I order you to stand at my side and watch your friend be sworn in. I have a feeling he’ll need you there for him.” Since it was to be announced that Pippin was going to be sworn in at this very hour, Pippin had been sitting in a shroud of anxiety and insecurity.  He had begged me to write down the oath for him because he had already forgotten what he was supposed to say (of course I obeyed his wish).

“I take it you have met him.”

“Yes. A noble heart your friend has. Even said the same thing you had told me about my strength, as well as my father hoping to see that one day.” I could already see it in his eyes.  Heck even Boromir has told me during our time at Rivendell of how much his father verbally discriminated Faramir for his own victories in favor of his (Boromir’s) own.

Truthfully I hope Pippin’s right.  In my experience with Denethor, they weren’t always in positive light for he held a deep-rooted jealousy and hatred for both Aragorn and myself respectfully during our time here.

“First let me return this armor to my room as well as check on my friend who helped me to aid you.” He nodded and picked my armor back up before handing it to me and I walked off back towards my room where Haldir was mending the wound on his arm.  “You got hurt?” I said racing over to him as I dropped my armor.  He took my hands into his as he assured me.

“Thankfully it was just a graze unlike the wound I had received at Helm’s Deep.” Haldir looked me up and down and he said with venom in his tone. “He didn’t.”

“Afraid so. Been demoted all the way down to scullery maid. Thankfully Faramir is allowing me to see Pippin be sworn in. After all I am to serve not only the Steward but his sons as well, as per Perses’ orders.”

“A loop-hole. Does Denethor know of that slipped detail?”

“One way to find out. You sure you’ll be okay up here on your own for a while?”

“I’ve had my fixture of battle and air for the day. Go and support your friend.” I nodded.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can, I promise.”

“I know you will, don’t fret over me.”

“Old habits.” I softly smiled at him and he gave me an encouraging nod to go on my way.  I shut the door and sighed deeply before racing off towards the throne room to meet with Faramir so that we could enter together.

“If my father should question why you left your post, I’ll take the blame.”

“No Faramir, I cannot let—”

“I won’t allow you to be scorned by my father anymore throughout your time here Lady Hela.”

“You are willing to take the rod for me even though we barely know each other?” he nodded.  “And there is no chance I am going to convince you otherwise, is there?”

“If you wish to debate we can, but I get the feeling you’d rather be there for your friend rather than trade words with the Captain of the guard.” He’s clever I’ll give him that.  Druig was the same way when it came trying to out-best any one of us in a debate, especially with Ikaris (boy he loved to toy with him a lot. Same with Hermes).

“You’re very kind Faramir.”

“Only doing what is right my lady.”

“Promise to call me Hela and no longer add any formalities and I’ll willingly keep my mouth shut around your father.” He softly chuckled before we both entered the throne room together side by side.

There we saw Pippin standing just a few feet away from the foot of the Steward’s black throne, some additional court members scattered throughout the room, Perses (as always) at Denethor’s side.

“I thought I had sent you away to have the corridor floors cleaned?” Denethor snapped at me.

“My Lord I ordered her to be my personal handmaid for the time being. As is command, she is to also obey my orders as well.” Denethor sneered then Perses spoke out.

“Yes, so it was as command. But the young woman must refrain from speaking until the initiation has been complete.” I bowed my head in acceptance to Perses (even though I loathed to do it) then he turned his attention back down to Pippin.  “Peregrin Took, son of Paladin Took. You stand before the council and the Lordship of Gondor to pledge your loyalty to this city. Please recite the oath of the tower guard.”

Pippin knelt down with his left knee forward and he soon recited the oath that I had taught him.

“Here do I swear fealty and service to Gondor. In peace or war, in living or dying. F….from…..” C’mon Pip, you know this.  I could hear him faintly muttering the oath under his breath as he continued, “from this hour henceforth until my Lord release me—or death take me.”

“And I shall not forget it.” Denethor said.  He stood up from his throne and stood before Pippin as he held out his ringed finger for Pippin to kiss as he continued, “nor fail to reward that which is given.” Internally I scoffed at Denethor’s demeanor towards Pippin.  I saw as Pippin finally sealed his fate by kissing Denethor’s ring before the Steward cupped his chin to force him to look up at him as he continued, “Fealty with love, valor with honor. Disloyalty with vengeance.”

Denethor walked over towards a large table where various foods had been spread out and I saw his eyes come towards Faramir and I as he said the ‘disloyalty with vengeance’ phrase.  Pippin rose up and turned towards me and I gave him a soft but proud nod.  Denethor snapped his fingers and like a dog I was forced to come over to him.

“Prepare for me the best arrangement of food.”

“Yes my lord.” I spoke lowly as I began reaching out for various food items for him to consume, he then spoke to his son.

“I do not think we should lightly abandon the outer defenses, defenses that your brother long held intact.”

“What would you have me do?” asked Faramir and immediately his father responded.

“I will not yield the river in Pelennor unfought. Osgiliath must be retaken.” Is he crazy? Those men were lucky to get out of there alive just barely this morning and now he’s going to send them back there?!

“My lord Osgiliath is overrun.” Faramir tried to reason with his father but it fell on deaf ears.

“Much must be risked in war.” Why is it when he said that, it sounded like Deimos was talking to him now?  “Is there a captain here who still has the courage to do his lord’s will?” yes me! If you want Osgiliath back, send me! No need to waste anymore lives that had already been lost to you.

Then after a long period of silence, Faramir would say something that would break my heart for the rest of my days.

“You wish now that our places had been exchanged. That I had died and Boromir had lived.” As Denethor picked up a chalice of wine he spoke in a dazed whisper but it held so much truth behind it.

“Yes. I wish that.” My heart broke for Faramir.  All he ever wanted was his father’s approval and love and now to be told this just before you send him off on a suicide mission?! I turned to Faramir and could already see the tears forming in his eyes but he kept a strong face as he said to his Lord.

“Since you were robbed of Boromir…I will do what I can in his stead.” He bowed his head to Denethor and proceeded out of the throne room.  Pippin and I watched in shock and heartbreak at Faramir’s decision to die for a father that openly admitted to wish that he were dead and his eldest son were still alive.  “If I should return, think better of me father.” Faramir said brokenly before walking off again, hoping for one last stretch of love from his father.

But all Denethor said was this in a sneer.

“That will depend on the manner of your return.” Once Faramir was gone, I slammed his tray down, scattering the food and even denting the table itself.

“HE IS YOUR SON!!” I shouted.  “Your only living son no less! How can you treat him this way!?”

“Faramir knows his worth to this city and his family’s name.”

“So you will send him and those men to die for your honor! Have them all die in your name whilst you sit on your arse and engorge yourself in food and wine!”

“They will die doing what’s right for Gondor.” Denethor rose up from his seat as he and I stood almost chest to chest staring each other down.

“Boromir would be ashamed to be your son if he heard what you have told his little brother! He was more of a father than you’ll ever be!”

“And your Celestial kin would be greatly disappointed for you not willing to free them. With all your power and nearly an Age since you became the Last Celestial of Middle Earth. What do you think they would tell you?” I clenched my fists tightly as they shook with rage and I glared at him.

But right now I couldn’t bear to sit behind and watch as Faramir and those brave men throw their lives away.

“Your father and your father’s father roll in their graves. You, Denethor II are an insect amongst men who governed before you.” I knew that would get to him.  His own body shook with rage as I summoned my Celestial armor back over the rags I was forced to wear before retreating to find Faramir but also to contact an old friend for additional help.

*3rd Person POV*

There was silence in the city as the people gathered to watch their soldiers march back to Osgiliath in full Gondorian armor.  But there was no hope in their eyes, nor cheers of praise or good luck, for they all knew that these soldiers would not be coming back alive.

Some began to throw down flowers along the graveled pathway as their horses slowly walked down the city towards the gates.  Some of the soldiers took the flowers from people’s hands as their last gift they would be given.  Suddenly a voice broke through the crowd.

“Faramir! Faramir!” Faramir, who was leading his men up front, turned to see Gandalf walking through the crowd until he came up and walked beside his horse.  “Your father’s will has turned to madness! Do not throw away your life so rashly.”

“Where does my allegiance lie if not here? This is the city of the Men of Númenor. I will gladly give my life to defend her beauty, her memory, her wisdom.” As Faramir spoke, Gandalf could already tell that Faramir had lost all hope in ever obtaining what he longed for most.

The love and approval of his father.  And without it, there was just no sense in trying anymore.  So he’ll do the one thing he can do, die trying.

“Your father loves you, Faramir.” Gandalf assured him as Faramir rode on.  “He will remember it before the end.” Suddenly riding pass through the crowds riding on Boromir’s horse was Hela, with her cloak on and the hood covering her head.  She rode forward and came before Faramir to stop him in his tracks.  Faramir’s horse nickered alarmed but stopped which caused the army to stop.

“Hela, this is not your fight. By order of the Steward’s son, I ask you to step aside.”

“You think you could really order me around, little brother?” she removed the hood to reveal her eyes glowing of pure white light.  Faramir’s soulless eyes began to sparkle with a brief sense of light.

“Boromir.”  Hela’s voice then spoke with both her voice as well as Boromir’s mixed together.

“Hela told me what father has said to you. Please little brother, I know we have been through much together in our lives and you have followed me everywhere but I ask you to cease now. Do not follow me into death.”

“If not me then who will?” asked Faramir brokenly.  “Your reclaim over Osgiliath has fallen because of me. To not fight for your honor would shame me.”

“Forget your honor then!” Boromir’s voice rose.  “I made my choice when I had fallen down my path. You—you have always been smarter than my little brother. For once in your life do not be stupid as I have been!”

“I am sorry brother. But I must do what I can do defend this city.” Faramir then guided his horse around Hela and Boromir’s horse and the men did as their commander did as they finally came to the gates.

“Faramir.” Boromir whimpered as Hela’s eyes returned to normal and she quickly rode back to the palace, her face buried into Boromir’s horse’s mane.

Once the armies of Gondor were out of the city, they formed two long lines and rode onward to the fallen city they had barely escaped from earlier that same day.  The banners of the white tree waving proudly in the breeze as they rode onward. 

Soon the orcs began to emerge from the ruins of the city to see what their next move was.  Even they knew that these men were riding towards their deaths. 

Back inside the throne room, Denethor was eating his meal with Pippin at his side, there was no one else but the two of them and they stood there in silence until Denethor asked Pippin.

“Can you sing master hobbit?” Pippin turned to the Steward and said.

“Well….yes. At least, well enough for my own people. But we have no songs for great halls and—evil times.”

“And why should your songs be unfit for my halls?” Denethor said.  His chin stained with juices from the grapes he had just eaten.  “Come sing me a song.” He then demanded as he kept eating his feast.  Pippin slowly turned his gaze away from the selfish, gluttonous Steward and sung a song that was held in his heart.

Whilst out there on the fields of Pelennor, Faramir lead his army in full charge knowing full well that none of them, not even him would make it out alive.  The orcs of Osgiliath all gathered around the edge of the city and their archers readied their arrows to fire at the oncoming Calvary.

*Pippin*

Home is behind the world ahead

And there are many paths to tread

Through shadow to the edge of night

Until the stars are all alight.

Mist and shadow

Cloud and shade

All shall fade

All shall….

Fade

Arrows whistled and the sound of the thunderous hooves were quickly silenced from the fields.

As Pippin finished his song, he turned to Denethor to see if there was even a hint of any remorse or grief at knowing what he had done.  But Denethor kept that blank stare as he kept stuffing his face with food.  Pippin lowered his head in anguish as he had never felt this level of heart break in his life.

Meanwhile, up in Hela and Haldir’s room; the two were both on the floor up against the bed as Hela wept into Haldir’s lap.  Tears streamed down her face as she could hear every last one of those soldier’s heartbeats stop and felt their souls leave to the great beyond.  Clenching her heart in pain as she tried to suppress the pain but it was all too great for her.

Haldir, could only hold his Celestial in his arms.  Hoping that just being there for her would ease her pain, but he knew deep down there wasn’t anything else he could do for her.  This was a burden that she had to deal with thousands of times, and thousands of times she’ll have to bear it then.

Suddenly she stood up and like a risen corpse, she soullessly walked out of the room to head for the tombs of the Kinds and Stewards of Gondor to seek peace and council with the dead.

*Haldir’s POV*

No matter how hard she tries, no matter how strong she becomes, there will always come pain whenever a soul passes away from Middle Earth, for Hela will always feel it.  And for a ‘Lord of the city’ to send those soldiers to be massacred and not care what happens to them? This is what confuses me about mortal Men.

Why must their pride and stubbornness govern their correct judgement in battle and war? Now all those lives, including his only remaining son are now dead. Who now will defend this city if not Hela? Mithrandir? Or even Denethor himself?

I retook Hela’s cloak and put it back around me and headed out.  I will allow Hela to have some alone time, right now there was a cause of action that needed to be taken.  What Hela and I did when we first came here, find out just who the three council members of Denethor are.

As I walked back towards the underground library, I passed by a room where Perses’ voice spoke up.

“So how many does this make now Nergal?” huh? I quickly raced back and pressed my back against the wall right where the door was cracked open.

“This makes 998 souls in total.” Answered Nergal.

“Grah! Why are we wasting our time with this? We should make our move now!” I heard an unfamiliar voice speak.  Could this be the third one that neither Hela nor I have come across yet?

“What you severely lack is patience Deimos. If we leave in a hurry, Hela and the wizard will think that we’re up to no good.” Answered Perses.

“We have been wasting over 40 years here! If we are to attack, the time is now before the riders of Rohan come!” The voice, Deimos replied harshly.

“The bond between Gondor and Rohan is severely damaged. Thanks to us, Gondor was unable to aid Rohan in their time of need at Helm’s Deep. Theoden wouldn’t dare answer the call to a kingdom who didn’t come to help him.” I heard Nergal say.  “One thing I know is the poison that severs old alliances, mortal pride. And Denethor clearly showed that the loss of his son was greater than that of Rohan’s safety, much less his own city’s.”

Mortal pride? The way Nergal spoke about mortality sounded similar to the way my kin spoke of the world of Men.  Their mortality, their pride, stubbornness, their brief lives.

“Plus we must continue to be cautious. Hela has been poking around trying to figure out just who we are. After all she has been Gondor’s aiding Celestial since the days of Elendil.”

“With the massacre I convinced Denethor to agree on, she’ll be out of commission for a while.” I heard what almost sounded like a lustful moan from behind the door from Deimos “I can still taste the blood in the air.” Deimos said.

“Enough of your demonic pleasures Deimos. We must proceed on with phase 2 of our plan whilst the orcs move into the city. And this time, the Lady Hela will play a big part in our plan.” Perses told him.

“And just how will you convince her? As we have already said, she’s suspicious of us and will not come willingly.” Nergal said.

“Which is why we won’t go for her directly. Deimos, answer this riddle for me; A Mighty warrior goes to war. Unlike those who are of brute strength, this warrior is cunning. He makes more armies surrender than any other soldier before him. How does he do it?” I thought of the riddle in my head but never before have I heard this one.

“The heart. He goes for their heart.” Oh no! Mithrandir and the halfling! I must warn them.  I raced out of the corridor and searched for them throughout the palace but I couldn’t find either of them anywhere! As I came around another corridor I noticed two guards up ahead and saw as they turned to me.

I moved Hela’s hood to cover more of my face and slowly turned back but saw three more guards coming towards me blocking my way out.  With no other choice, I walked a ways out and told the guards in front of me.

“Is there a problem gentlemen?”

“You are the Ranger that accompanied the Lady Celestial to Gondor, are you not?” one of the guards in front of me said.

“If I am? There’s no law against Rangers from entering the city is there?”

“There is if he doesn’t show his face. A man who hides under his cloak like a shadow is a coward, if not an enemy spy.” One of the bigger guards that stood behind me said.

“I assure you I am no spy to the enemy. If anything the spies you seek are within your own council.” I told them.  I evaluated just how many of them surrounded me, their weapons on hand, as well as how they would try to overwhelm me by trying to come at me all at once (as per the usual move men usually do when facing an enemy).

“You’re coming with us, outsider.” Said the tallest guard out of all of them.

“And if I refuse?” I questioned as I slowly reached for my dagger.

“Then we take you by force.” He replied as they all surrounded me from every side, closing any chance of a quick escape.  I eyed all five of them before they all came at me. 

I swiftly took out my dagger and ducked as I sliced at one of their legs, right behind their calves where there was no protection before coming back up and managed to block another guard’s dagger with mine.  Our blades crossed before I threw him back and that’s when I felt a rope come around my neck pulling me back against an armored chest.

I struggled and tried to free myself but my vision was quickly going black.  In one final attempt, I headbutted the guard who had me by the throat which caused him to drop the rope and release me.  Quickly taking a deep gasp of air I grabbed my dagger and tried to throw it at the man who had nearly choked me to death, but something felt off.

My arm was frozen in place.  Suddenly my hand twisted oddly and I was forced to drop my dagger.  As I gripped onto my wrist trying to stop it from bending back any further, my arm suddenly shot to the left then to the right before I felt myself crumbling down towards the ground.

This sensation was unlike anything I’ve ever felt.  It was like my own body was beyond my control.

‘You really thought we’d go for the wizard or the Halfling?’ a voice said in my head.

“Deimos.” I whispered painfully.

‘There’s no one closer to Hela than you, Haldir of Lórien.’ How did he know my true name? I soon felt my hands being forced to grab Hela’s hood and no matter how hard I tried to fight, his will was stronger than mine as I revealed my true identity to the guards.

“Bind him!” Deimos’s voice soon echoed through the room and the guards soon came at me with ropes and shackles.  “Wait!” the guards soon stopped.  “Gag him as well.” Deimos spoke in amusement.  Soon my mouth was forced open by their grubby hands as a rag was forced around my mouth and I was dragged out of the palace like a dog. ‘Now what say we take a little rest for a while?’

Suddenly my senses were hazy as my will to fight, or even move vanished and I felt myself go limp against the guards.

*3rd Person POV*

What was unaware to anyone, including Deimos, was that a small creature had witnessed the whole thing from just behind one of the columns.  That small creature was none other than Pippin.

“Oh no, Mr. Haldir. I’ve got to find Hela!” he quickly ran off to find Hela and tell her what had happened to Haldir.

[wonilye]

kingmaker | p.sh

prev | masterlist | next

CHAPTER II

As an assassin working for the Hwangs, you have proven your loyalty to your benefactors for more than a decade. But when Lady Hwang's plans for a rebellion land you in a bride selection for the Crown Prince, you find yourself at a loss. Unfamiliar with the ways of the gentry, your reliance on a previously unknown informant is your only source of hope. And yet, you learn very quickly that no one in high society can be trusted, including yourself. Because who else but you is there to assassinate the King?

WARNING: please do check the masterlist for potential triggers/themes you feel uncomfortable with! this chapter contains graphic depictions of blood, as well as a fairly unhealthy dynamic resembling slavery between reader and another character (for the purpose of historical accuracy and plot).

The late afternoon sun beats down on the nape of your neck, rivulet after rivulet of sweat rolling down your skin. Your grip on the wooden training sword is firm, grounding you despite the heavy pants you breathe out. Across you, your opponent mimics your stance. It’s been at least an hour, but neither of you are letting up. Trust Riki to hold his own against you, whose sword is your bread and butter.

Riki makes his move, surging forward once again. Your parry is solid, a hard thwack echoing through the training grounds as your swords meet. His eyes goad you as you meet his gaze, as though daring you to pull all the stops with him. 

Gladly.

In a flash, you swing your blade towards his head in a single practised movement. His return is swift, but it lags a second behind you. You have to admit, this is slightly unfair, considering he’s always been better with a pair of knives, gifted to him by Hyunjin when he was ten years old.

The pang of envy that strikes your chest at the thought is thoroughly embarrassing. 

“So, how is your fiancee?” 

The deep blush that fills his cheeks, along with the falter in his step, is completely worth it. As the youngest of the Hwang siblings, his older sister isn’t too keen on his joining the family business. The roots of Yeji’s vengeance had begun while Riki was still too young to understand. The extent of his grief did not reach that of his older siblings’, hence Yeji’s reluctance to involve him in a cause he might feel nothing for. No matter how you looked at it, Riki was proof of the remnants of his siblings’ humanity. Having said that, his freedom to be engaged to a lady of his choice was not out of the blue. 

“Lady Hwayoung is well, if that is your question.” There’s a sharp edge to his voice, and you don’t miss it. Don’t push it.

You smirk. “And what of the wedding date? The Lord and Lady must be eager to see you married.” Lady Hwayoung is, by all means, a wonderful marriage partner for Riki. You’d previously done some background checks for Lady Hwang, and from what you’d gathered she shared his love for the sword. By Riki’s standards, that was more than enough.

Without warning, you kick your leg out, sweeping Riki off his feet. He lands on his back not painfully, but hard enough for him to shoot a glare up at you. “Not fair!” You’d laugh if you hadn’t heard the distinct click of dress shoes behind you.

Lord Hyunjin watches silently as you hoist Riki to his feet, an amused glint in his eyes. He has never disapproved of your training with his younger brother, and yet you cannot help the shudder that runs down your limbs.

Luckily, Riki is a rather perceptive person despite his young age, and quickly takes his leave, leaving you to stand dumbly before his brother. You swear you catch a snicker as Riki passes you.

A breeze lilts by, lightly rustling the leaves on the surrounding trees. The weather has been good, making for quite a pleasantly calming atmosphere, save for your Lord’s…almost eerie presence.

You bow hastily. “My Lord, is there something you wish to say?”

He doesn’t reply immediately, instead extricating the slightly splintered training sword from you. Turning it in his hands, he hums quietly. “Unfortunately for him, I taught him to wield a sword the proper way. You must feel sorry that your opponent is such a stickler for the rules, unlike you.”

Sometimes, it is very, very difficult to tell if Hwang Hyunjin is complimenting you or insulting you.

“Even if I were to play by the rules, my Lord, there is no doubt that I would win, for I have dedicated my life to being in your family’s service.” You deepen your bow, hoping you appear polite enough. 

He huffs out a laugh. “Rise, girl. You need not exercise such propriety in my presence. It might do you better to treat me as your older brother from here on,” he assures, not unkindly. It is increasingly difficult to understand his intentions, considering he has always been more indifferent than this. Then again, change is happening. “Walk with me.”

You oblige, adjusting your pace to fall behind him. His long limbs make for a regal gait, albeit a rather fast walking speed. “Your profile?”

“Hwang Eunji. Third child of the Hwangs, who was sickly in childhood, slightly spoiled by her - my siblings.” You recite it by heart, having been briefed by Yeji for hours on end the previous day. “Ambitious, albeit naive, a rather ditzy girl.” Honestly, it’s a description that has nothing in common with your own. You question your own capabilities in embodying this nonexistent girl. 

Lord Hwang nods, deep in thought, judging by the tension in his eyebrows. His prominent dark undereye circles lead you to suspect Lady Hwang of keeping him awake far longer than he should be. 

It is harder to read Hyunjin than it is Yeji. Where Yeji is a tempestuous soul, Hyunjin is the eye of the storm, dangerously still. Both are forces to be reckoned with, more so since they are working in tandem.

You stroll through a small apple orchard in silence. Long ago, this whole orchard was your training grounds. You’d swing from branch to branch, scaling each trunk as you learned the hard way to evade every kind of projectile. Your fingers absently hover over a scar on your side, where you were once grazed by an arrow — Hyunjin’s doing.

Lord Hwang sighs, his footsteps slowing as he turns his gaze to an unripe flower on one of the trees. Likely, he is recalling the same things you are, but definitely not in the same way. Till now, you are unsure of how he truly sees you. His sister sees you as her pawn and blade. His brother holds you in high regard as his strongest opponent, and occasionally a confidante. To you, Hyunjin is a mentor of sorts, and above all else your benefactor. You are not sure if he even remembers your name, considering it has not been uttered by anyone in this family for years. 

“Eunji?”

The name sounds awkward on his tongue, unfamiliar and unpractised. To your own ears, too, it is odd. The thought of you having to respond to this name feels…wrong, almost. Yet you swallow it all down and give him the fondest grin you can muster. “Yes, brother?”

“…Y/n?”

You freeze. The last time he called you by name, it was to scold you for the grip on your blade, for your inability to dodge, when you were a weak, malnourished child. This is a test. It must be. 

“Your grace.”

Hyunjin’s gaze on you often feels like hundreds of icicles hovering just above your skin, threatening to pierce through for every wrong move. This time, however, there is a certain melancholy to it. When has he ever pitied you? “Have you…have you ever regretted putting yourself in our debt?”

You steady your breathing. It is an odd question, especially from him. “Would you like the correct answer or the honest answer, my Lord?”

He ponders for a bit. “The honest one.”

“Then, Your Grace, my answer is this: I didn’t have a choice.”

Days later, you stand before the Hwangs, dressed in a pale lilac gown — the colour of the Hwangs’ crest. Allegedly, this is the dress they intend to send you off to the palace in.

“Eunji, twirl for us,” Yeji commands. Obediently, you spin slowly, the pale fabric billowing at your ankles.

The look on Riki’s face is bordering on disgust. “You cannot be serious. She won’t last a day in the palace. Look at her! Do her hands look like those of a noble lady’s?”

“And how would you know what a noble lady’s hands look like? I hope you haven’t been indulging yourself in any unbecoming acts with your fiancée, dear brother,” Yeji snaps back. At this, Riki scowls, flopping into an armchair sullenly. You almost feel sorry for him. 

Hyunjin studies your appearance. Out of all the siblings, it is Riki who has the eye for fashion and decorum, but it doesn’t stop Hyunjin from pretending he knows something. “Yeji, are you proud of yourself? Because I certainly am not. The fabric is far too tight on her arms. And haven’t you talked to the tailor about adding pockets for her weapons? Terribly done, sister. I expected more from you.”

Yeji rolls her eyes. “You do it then. I’m busy with the palace blueprints.”

“And I’m busy ordering all her weapons!” Hyunjin turns to you, shaking his head. “By the way, you’ve been keeping up with your mithridatism, haven’t you? Courtiers are at high risk of assassination. You’re there as our assassin, so it won’t be in our interests for you to get yourself killed.” Right. Because that’s your only purpose in life.

“Yes, My Lord. I started administering doses of lycorine to myself a few weeks ago.”

Riki claps his hands together. “Enough said. Since none of you have any sense of style, I am going to enlist the help of Lady Hwayoung. We’ll sort something out.” He takes you by the arm, dragging you out of Yeji’s chambers and into the hallway. 

“Good on you for leaving those two to bicker amongst themselves,” you quip, a little half-heartedly. Truth be told, Hyunjin was right. The gown, elaborate as it was, had a rather tight collar that was threatening to kill you via extreme discomfort. You sighed, unlacing the corset quickly, stripping down to the inner layer. “I assume you’ll be keeping it safe for me until I leave for the palace?”

Draping the gauzy fabric over his arm, Riki nods. “Yes. I’m sure Lady Hwayoung will have some opinions on how to customise the dress to accommodate your needs. For now, just…”

“Take note of all the information I have? Look out for any openings to make my move?”

“No,’ he scoffs, turning to head back to his chambers. “Practise your etiquette. There’s only so much you can get away with by going under the guise of a spoiled brat of a sister.” He grins. “Try not to embarrass us, Eunji.”

Right. Ignorance will not be tolerated, especially in an esteemed place like the palace. The longer you stay on in the selection, the better your chances of an opening to complete your task. And the only way to stay on is to prove you are capable of becoming the consort of the Crown Prince.

Even if you really aren’t.

a/n: chapter 2!! i don't really know who's reading this, but for reference, mithridatism is tolerance to a poison acquired by taking gradually increased doses of it (via a dictionary). see you next week!

taglist (open!)

@viagumi @stariikis

[felswritingfire]

(Hades) Gods x Shade! Reader

No matter how much you try, mortality will always catch up to those who are not of gods. Even the most blinded of them learn this eventually. You take your death with grace, choosing to go and explore this new world as soon as Lord Hades permits you to go, impressed by how little you complain and demand. You are one of the brighter parts of his day (night?).

You drift along, catching certain snippets of other Shade’s conversations as you wander aimlessly. You notice a crack in the wall; deciding to muster up your courage, you slip through it to find yourself in the glowing green torches of Tartarus. With what little you have, you hold it close to your translucent body and push forward.

You’re quick to notice the large glowing ball with an oddly familiar symbol floating in the middle of it. You take your time circling it, feeling compelled to touch it. When you do, a beam of light comes slicing through the dreary air to reveal a mighty god who stares down at you at your shocked form...

Zues

Cause of Death: Lightning Strike

Zues is confused when he sees you. He’s even more confused when you start screaming at him, waving your hands about and threatening to fight him yourself.

“You fucker! You killed me!”

He raises a brow. “I think I’d remember if I killed you.” You flipped up your middle finger at him and his eyebrows drew into an angry v. “How rude! I am the God of Gods-”

“I don’t care!”

Zagreus had to high tail it to you before Zues tried to smite you (possibly a second time).

Suffice to say you hoped you’d never bump into that boon again. And you didn’t. No, the God of Gods and Lightning himself decided that he’d have to make a house call himself (Hades was not pleased when a bolt of lightning came crashing down and left a scorched black ring in the carpet).

He picks you out quickly and you try to zoom out of the lobby until he catches you by the back of your robe and then you’re swinging and yelling profanities at him. He’s kinda amused now instead of angry- you’re just so weak and tiny compared to him. It’s hysterical- ow! Did you just bite him?

After you and Zues finish your little “spitting match”- Hades kicks Zeus out and you're forced to hang out in Tartarus for a bit (“but I’m just a simple fisherfolk! I can’t fight anything!” You cry, Hades does not spare you a look as you're dragged out by Meg).

You think maybe that’s the end until you’re approached by a… a squirrel? You almost punt it when his voice spills out as he shoots into a long prattle about how much of a jerk Hades was and how he couldn’t handle someone as grandiose as him appearing before him. Threatened him as a god or something- you were busy trying to figure out how you were going to kill this guy and make sure he stayed dead.

Turns out, after the two of you chattered (argued) a bit about whether or not he actually killed you, Zeus had some neat stories about the gods.

While you were interested in his children’s and brothers’ and sisters’ stories, he was interested in your stories of the mundane. A simple fisherfolk? That was a word? You just fished and traded? Amazing! Tell him more!

After this particular interaction between the two of you, Zeus really ended liking you. Maybe a little too much, but, aw well, it wasn’t everyday a mortal soul had the balls to argue with him for something he doesn’t remember doing (he probably did. Probably. Most likely). He swore that he’d come and see you everyday as he sat on your shoulder as a squirrel, going on and on about how you should feel blessed to be praised by one such as he. You were about to throw him until a giant hand came out and grabbed him (seemed you drifted too close to Lord Hades’ desk), the hulking god flinging him out of a portal.

He continues to pop up and bother you and, to be honest, he’s kinda growing on you. Also, I’m gonna be frank and lay it out that, if he likes you enough, he’s probs gonna want to smash, especially if you lean more towards the feminine side (he’s fucking AWFUL). It’s up to you if you wanna indulge that or not, I don’t recommend it, but you can if you really want to.

We’re going with the option you don’t smash- he’ll be salty at you for a whole ass day before he comes back the one after that as a rat (Hades kept finding out his forms that he used to sneak in so it was an ever constant menagerie of appearances to keep up the disguise) and is like: “I thought you would miss me too much so I came back before you could even complain.”

Zag likes to watch the two of you interact because he finds it absolutely fascinating. It’s like watching… He doesn’t know what it’s like but he’s having a blast as you roast his uncle to bits. It really helps him out when he’s feeling a bit down after failing getting out one too many times.

When you first get Zeus an Ambrosia, he thinks it’s poison and then he gets all prideful because of course you would give him an offering, he was the strongest of all the gods! Him and him alone!

“Silly, mortal, you cannot poison me! I am a god.”

You squint your eyes at him before you huff and pull the bottle closer to you. “Fine, whatever, I’ll just give it to Zagreus- or better yet, Hades if you don’t want it.”

“No! No! I want it! Give it to me! It’s mine!”

During this time, he’s actually experiencing some purer emotions in life- he’s genuinely giddy that you got him the Ambrosia and asks how you got it. You hold up a makeshift fishing rod and grin at him, telling him you snatched it from some nasty shades before you wandered back down to Tartarus.

His gift to you is a little lightning pin that, when you're in danger, will send a nasty bolt of lightning down on your enemies. You wonder what good it’ll do since you’re dead already, but shrug and accept it, thinking that he looks years younger and friendler when his smile isn’t packed full of ego and pride.

Poseidon

Cause of Death: Drowning

Poseidon, Lord of the Oceans, Earthquakes, and many other things, is simply- how do you say? Amused? It’s the best way to describe it at least. Of course he was mostly surprised when he appeared expecting the Little Hades to be waiting for him just to meet a Little Shade in his place.

“Why, hello there, Little Shade! You wouldn’t happen to know where the Little Hades is, would you?”

You shake your head, he doesn’t miss the way you nervously play with your hands, drifting back as some of his droplets float close to you.

He laughs at your simple reply. “Shy one aren’t you?” He leans closer to you, squinting and running a hand through his beard while he hummed.

You fight the urge to take a step back, the smell of salt water making your stomach churn.

His eyes flutter shut as he takes a deep breath. He takes a moment before he opens his eyes again and a look of understanding flashes across his eyes. “You drowned. Didn’t you?”

You stare up at him, eyes round and glassy. You nod.

Before your conversation can go any further, Zagreus comes running through the window, surprised to see his Uncle talking to a Shade (you look so scared- he hopes that you aren’t being bullied). You’re quick to take your leave bowing to both and passing the boon to the Prince before you scurry away into the cover of the other Shades.

He hums to himself, a cryptid smile on his face as his eyes follow after you. Such a strange little thing you were- he wouldn’t mind seeing you again.

It takes a bit, but he does happen to see you again, by peaking through a fountain in a fountain room in the Underworld. He spies you trying to poke at the water that he happened to choose, but jumping back each time. You face scrunched up into one of pure frustration. He asks if you’re doing alright there, Little Shade? Causing you to flash out of existence for a moment before settling back down and looking into the pool with wide eyes. Posiedon almost busts a gut with how hard he’s laughing and you huff telling him that it wasn’t funny.

He says otherwise, but asks what you’re doing. When your face bursts into a large blush you mumble something that he doesn’t quite catch and he’s left with more questions than answers as you take the chance to phase out of the chamber when Zag walks in and steals his Uncle’s attention for a split second. He furrows his brow before asking his nephew about you, which Zag, surprisingly, supplies rather quickly, seeing as the two of you talk a lot: apparently you’re deathly afraid of water after you were thrown into the ocean by your supposed best friend. The memories of the waves crushing you deeper and deeper beneath them sticking with you even in death. So, you were trying to curb that phobia. Posiedon nods, letting the words sink in before he offers the Little Hades a thumbs up and says he’ll help with that.

The next time you see the god, he’s eager to call you over and explain that he’s figured out what you were doing last time and offers to let you mess with some of the drops of water that follow him wherever he goes. You stare at them, eyebrows furrowed and looking just as sick as a shade could look. Yet, you still nod your head and hold out a shaky hand. He smiles at you, praising you for your courage and flicks one towards you; it floats gently before it rests serenely on your palm, allowing you to feel the cool sensation of the droplet. You marvel at it, still shaking with an anxiety before you nod. He pulls it away, it shoots back to rest next to his head and you thank him for going out of his way to help you and ease your fears.

He remarks that you should fear the water out of respect: it’s unpredictable, terrifying in it’s own right- vast and, seemingly, never ending, what could possibly be more terrifying than the unknown, hm? He continues to say that you should also hold onto a bit of bravery at the very least, for untold treasures come from there for those who look.

After that conversation, Poseidon makes it a habit of having you hold onto his droplets of water, making them slightly bigger each time for you to get used to them.

By the time you’re able to touch them freely without experiencing crippling fear- the droplets are almost the size of you. Poseidon praises you the more you grow out of your fear.

You do eventually open up to him about how you died and he never tells you that he already knew. Just allows you to talk in a soft voice as you recall it. It’s a nice bonding experience for the both of you and Posideon decides that you’re his favorite Shade and he’ll treasure you for as long as you exist.

The first time you get him a bottle of Ambrosia, you come to him shivering and sopping wet. He’s confused and concerned as he hovers to you.

“What happened to you, Little Shade? Are you alright?”

It takes you a moment to be able to speak. “I- I found a bottle of Ambrosia. I thought-” you take a deep breath, holding out the bottle with both hands- “I thought you’d like it.”

It’s one of his prized possessions now, he takes little sips of it once in a while, but other than that it remains as one of his most precious memories. He’s very attached to you at this point and you’ll forever have his blessing. His gift to you, aside from the undying loyalty, is a shell necklace, if you ever need him- you only need to whisper his name to it and he’ll appear in an instant.

Athena

Cause of Death: Exhaustion

Athena had been prepared to meet with Zagreus- not a curious shade staring back up at her with all the relevance of one of her worshippers.

“What business do you have with me?”

She raises her brow at your gobsmacked expression, watching as you screw your face up before bowing. “Apologies, m’lady, I only happened to bump into your…” you look at where it glows, furrowing your eyebrow, “your orb?”

“Boon.”

You nod your head in understanding before bowing your head again. “Again, my sincerest apologies.”

Luckily, she didn’t smite you, instead asking the question of how you were even talking to her. Getting a shrug from you, you say that maybe it’s because you worshipped her (unofficially, you were never able to make it up to her shrine much to your disappointment) when you were alive- maybe a deeper bond is there compared to someone who had never prayed to her for her protection and guidance.

When she hears this, she’s very interested, pressing you to elaborate further when the Young Prince comes jogging out of the glowing window, waving to you. You slink away, passing the boon to him and bowing to her once again before you disappear into the mass of Shades that choose to wander their new home as well.

After the conversation, you had caught the Goddess’ attention, planting a desire in her to see you again. Even going as far as to write a letter to ask her uncle for a council with you after a week passed of her placing her boon in Tartarus so that maybe you would drift too close to it once again. But each time only the little prince would find them (which she was fine with, but it still left such an unflattering taste of defeat on her tongue each time it wasn’t you). She figured it would be a moot point to send the letter, but it was worth a try.

But she decided to place her boon down once more before she sent it out. Just to try. And this time it worked.

You were the one she saw and she was absolutely delighted- not that she showed it, choosing to keep her stoic and sharp expression. You greet her in a similar way before: awed before bowing your head to her. You continue to go on about how you're happy to see her again and, despite how little you had been buried with, you hoped that she would take this- a broken sword, despite the worn hilt and the deep scars the littered what was left of the flat of the balde; it was still polished (at least what was left of it)- as a proper offering to her for all she had done in your life- even if it truly wasn’t all her doings.

She takes the sword in her hand, holding it high, her eyes shining as she studies it: truly, it was a warrior’s blade. She watches as the history and memories flash in the smooth iron. She remarks that it is a remarkable offering, but she cannot accept it. It feels wrong taking a weapon of a warrior such as yourself.

You smile as her, shaking your head, urging her to take it, for you didn’t need that blade in this afterlife. You had already fought your battles, killing the man who you had been battling with and quelling the rage that had followed you since you were a child for revenge. Eventually, dying from the strain of the fight with a feeling of contentedness.

Athena raises her brow, remarking how that sounded more along the lines of Ares rather than her.

You nod, but say that you couldn’t help but desire her help for she was the goddess attached to your favorite animal. She had to fight the urge to laugh, a shaky smile slipping through as she nods at you. Such a silly thing you are. She decides that she’ll take the sword as a reminder of you, no matter where you should go now. She also decides that you were forming a rather soft cradle in her heart.

After this, she is quick to ask Zagreus about you every chance she gets- not that he minds too much, he tells her about how you’ve been helping him train and you’ve even told him about your life when you were alive (“a general, can you believe that? They’re so young!” Zagreus says as he shows her the new move you taught him). She’s only the slightest bit miffed at hearing that you and Achilles have begun to form a sweet friendship. She’s pleased to hear that his father has been trying to barter with you to get you into Elysium, though she’s a tad confused on the reason you refuse to.

She asks you about it one day and you say that it would take longer to see her and you would prefer to avoid that. It was the only time the goddess has ever had to fight down a blush.

When you get her a bottle of Ambrosia, she’s in pure awe at the huge bottle.

“How did you get one this big?”

You lean against the new sword you managed to get your hands on- something simple and obviously used- you offer her a lopsided grin. “Well, not just any Ambrosia would work, so I decided to try my luck with Lord Theseus and, The Great Bull, Asterius. Took me a couple of tries but I managed to beat them and snag it.”

Athena smiles warmly at it, telling you that she’ll treasure it and think of you every time she takes a drink of it. She realizes in that moment just how important you had become to her, never feeling this… soft for a mortal soul in her life. Her gift to you is a shield and a new sword: the shield bares her symbol of an owl while the sword was ornate with a divine glow. She promises that no matter what they’ll protect you and so will she, you only need to call out her name.

Aphrodite

Cause of Death: A Broken Heart

When the Goddess of Love first sees you- she thinks you’re absolutely gorgeous (of course not as gorgeous as her). The sad look in your eye and the slight frown that rests on your lips makes her almost fall in love right then and there.

“Hello, little one- do you know where the little godling is?”

You shake your head. “I’m sorry, Lady Aphrodite. I know not where he is.”

She raises her brows, a smile on her face. “How did you know I was Aphrodite, my dear?”

You look up at her, a sudden glint in your eyes has her yearning to see it once again. “No one else could be so breathtaking, my Lady.”

Oh. Oh, she likes you.

She chooses to chatter away with you- despite you mostly listening, adding little things here and there, she feels a strange sense of fullness, like she just ate a full and warm meal for the first time in a very long time, by the time Zagreus arrives. You bid your farewell and she can’t help but follow you with her gaze as your transparent form blends in with the other Shades.

Aphrodite is thrilled the next time she runs into you- or rather you run into her boon. She missed the melancholy look in your eyes, she also doesn’t miss the fact that you’ve come bearing gifts this time: an assortment of colorful flowers rests in your arms and you offer it to her. That glint coming and going like a shooting star as she accepts the offering, holding it up to her nose to take in their sweet scent. How sweet were you to hand her something so delicate.

She asks you where you got them and you remark that you made your way up to Elysium. She’s surprised to hear as such- you didn’t seem like the warrior type. You shake your head, your eyes sweeping low. You weren’t a warrior, far from it- a simple florist if anything. You just drifted until you made it up there and plucked some flowers to make bouquets. You mumble that maybe you’ll be more useful in death.

She tilts her head at the comment, beginning to ask until Zagreus is jogging up to the both of you and it was time for you to leave. She’s a tad annoyed, but reminds herself that the little godling didn’t know- simply trying to break out of this dreary place he calls home and see Olympus in all its glory. She’ll just ask next time.

You gave her another bouquet, this one more beautiful than the last, when she gets the chance to ask you her question. Your eyes pool with a mournful look as you gaze up at her, your hand resting over the place where your heart used to beat as you look to the ground. You explain that you were young when you were wed- just as you were young when you died. You were married off to someone you did not love- someone awful, vile, who beat you down daily just to build you back up so they could laugh when they toppled you over once again. You remark about how you could feel yourself dying little by little, your delicate heart bleeding as your want for life began to dwindle away. You grew sick and you would sit by the window day in and day out, staring out and wondering what your life could have been if you were married to someone you loved. A ghost of a smile blooms on your lips as you look up at her, that glint she oh-so loved twinkling in your eye as you say that you did not die in as much loneliness and pain as you could have; having been making a bouquet dedicated just to her love and sweetness: your Lady Aphrodite who you love, ever so much.

She’s shocked when she realizes the tears that drip down her cheeks, her hand coming to caress your cheek (really your head, she was hulking compared to your small form) with her fingertips. She comments that she would accept every bouquet you made and treasure each flower like it was the one you made for her with your last breaths in the living world.

After that interaction, she comes down a lot more, asking Zagreus if he could bring along her darling florist so that she could talk to you. He always obliges, loving to see the two of you chatter about (well, her chatter about, you usually just listened with a smile on your face as you used the flowers you had plucked into flower crowns for him and Lady Aphrodite). You two become a sort of comfort for him when he’s getting frustrated: seeing your usually melancholy demeanor light up as soon as the goddess appears and in turn the goddess becomes something less vain and more gentle as she speaks to you.

At some point, you’ll probably meet Ares himself- the two never that far from each other, also she adores you, so it only makes sense for you to meet him. He’s honestly a tad unimpressed when you first meet, but when he hears about the heart ache you faced he gains a sense of respect for you, remarking that love is a battle in and of itself and you fought valiantly to keep your ability to love freely (Aphrodite might convince you to have a threesome, I’m not gonna lie, she’s attracted to you on a deep level and she has her trysts with Ares- it’s perfect in her eyes. Though she won’t push you if you don’t desire it).

When you first get her Ambrosia, she’s flabbergasted before it turns into worry for how you got it and the potential danger you were in.

She takes the bottle of gold liquid and the flowers that you had so carefully arranged. Her attention, though, is focused on the said bottle of Ambrosia. “My Darling Florist, how did you get this?” Before you can answer she shoots into a flurry of questions. “Are you alright? Did anything catch you? Hurt you? You don’t seem hurt. Oooh-” she puffs her cheeks out, her gaze sharp- “why did you get me this? It’s dangerous!”

You wait for her to calm down. “I apologize for making you worry, but I simply snuck around and grabbed it from some witches- they didn’t even notice me. And I-” you tap your fingers together, a blush blooming across your face as you look away from the goddess and she decides that she craves seeing that expression on you again- “I thought that you deserved it. It’s a much better offering than my silly bouquets.”

Well, aside from the ‘silly bouquets’ comment (which she corrects you on very quickly), she’s absolutely flattered and it might be the final nail in the coffin that has her falling for you, the little shade in front of her. She decides that you hold a piece of her heart in your translucent hands, though she chooses to keep that information to herself.

Her gift to you is a hairpin that matches hers, though if you don’t have enough hair- she says, you can always pin it to your robe. It’s a blatant claim on her part, but it also helps ease the residual heartache that followed you into death. And, hopefully (a personal hope of her), each time you look at it, you’d fall deeper and deeper in love with her as well.

Artemis

Cause of Death: Arrow to the Heart

She’s confused when she sees you, quick to voice her confusion as well. Also depending on if you're more feminine or masculine (and I don’t mean woman or man, I just mean how you present yourself), she will treat you differently depending. So, for now, we’re gonna go with the more “feminine” option:

“Who’re you?”

You bow. “An honor to meet you, Lady Artemis, I seem to have bumped into that orb on accident. Wasn’t sure what it did and the curiosity got the better of me.”

She hums, she perks when she notices your bow. “You’re a hunter?”

You smile, holding it out to her. “Yes, indeed, my Lady- I prayed to you a lot.” You laughed, adding. “Hoped to join your hunters when I was young.”

She’s quite happy to hear that and begins to chatter along with you. For some reason feeling oddly at ease around you. It’s probably because you were a fellow hunter but she simply can’t help the way she grows an odd sort of… adoration? Something like that, she thinks- for you. She almost laments the fact when Zagreus comes to get the boon.

You nod to him, biding your farewell to the Goddess and passing the boon to the Prince. She doesn’t miss how Zagreus’ eyes shine as you walk away. She almost comments on it but bites her tongue, wanting to observe the prince and the dreamy look that drifts over his features, even as you disappear.

The next time the two of you meet, she asks if she can see you in action. You agree and search up ahead to find something to demonstrate your skills on. You’re quick to find a few Numbskulls. She watches as you take a deep breath, your eyes narrowing on your unassuming targets and your footsteps become silent as you skirt closer to them. You nock an arrow, never looking away. Her eyes gleam with thrumming adrenaline at the way the muscles in your arms tense as you draw the string back. The low groan of the wood barely above a whisper as you wait for them to line up. You hold your breath, releasing the arrow- it goes through all three of them, making them break into dust in a consecutive line, a harrowing scream being wretched from them as they fade from existence. You release the breath you were holding and stand, sending a smile to the young goddess whose eyes shine with stars.

She praises you for your amazing skill and sings of your prowess. You shake your head, looking down at the ground as you argued that you were but a simple bow folk in your living life. Nothing more, nothing less.

She begs to differ! That type of skill only belongs to those of her highest ranking huntresses! She continues to gush about you until Zag comes up and, once again, greets the both of you. That dreamy look coming over his face as he looks at you. She watches as you once again disappear into Tartarus, this time though, after you’re gone, she turns to her cousin and shoots into a tangent about why he had never told her about you before and where did you come from? She has to know!

He answers all of her questions to the best of his abilities but there are even some he doesn’t know about, for example: how you died.

Artemis accepts this and decides that she’ll just ask you the next time the two of you meet.

And, true to her word, she does. She asks you point blank and you can’t help but be slightly taken aback. You laugh softly, leaning on your bow as you begin to recount that you were traversing her forest, as you had done many times before, and noticed fresh foot prints of man. You decided that it would be a good idea to look and you found hunters trying to kill her Golden Stag. You had dove in as quickly as you could, shooting one- the arrow sailing in a clean arch through his wrist before he could let loose his arrow. But as you went to nock another arrow- a searing pain in your chest and heart. You looked down to see blood pooling around your robes, dying the olive green of your cloak a wine red. You remember the last thing you saw was the Golden Stag running away. You smiled telling her that you were happy he got away- you don’t know what you’d do if he had been captured despite your effort.

Artemis suddenly remembers that day: her stag rushing to her and urging her to follow him- he bounded through the forest, frantic and panicked. When they got to a clearing, she was quick to notice the blood and the drag marks of a body. Her stag pressed his nose to the ground sniffing at the pool of blood, his eyes watering and bulbous tears slid down his muzzle. It suddenly made sense. You were the one he was mourning for.

She couldn’t help but grab your hands, resting her forehead against the back of them; thanking you for protecting her stag when she couldn’t. You smile at her, bowing your head to her and thanking her for the countless hunts she went on with you. You pull your hands away from her and hold out your bow to her. She asks what you think you're doing in a watery voice and you say it’s an offering. You couldn’t give much when you were alive and you still can’t give much now, but, this bow- it shall treat her right.

She sniffles as she takes it, trying to hold in tears. She vows to treasure it for all of time as she admires the worn wood.

That day, the two of you became closer as comrades, she would actively come down to say hi to you (and encourage Zagreus to take the leap and court you after she learned of his growing affections for you). The two of you would talk about everything you could think of, explaining how your hunting styles differed or how you could set a trap easier. She had realized that she had never felt this carefree with anyone before. She felt like a child. It felt nice.

When you snag her a bottle of Ambrosia- she’s swaddled in a whirlwind of emotions.

“You… You got this for me?” She asks as she takes the bottle of golden liquid.

You nod, that gentle smiling spreading across your face. “Of course. You had helped me so many times- it is only fair, my Lady-”

“Artemis-” she sniffled, rubbing her eyes with her knuckles- “call me Artemis, my friend.”

She finds you to be a perfect friend- a breath of fresh air from home. She may not feel any romantic feelings towards you, but she still holds you in a dear place in her heart. Her gift to you is a new bow and quiver that will never run out of arrows. The bow is enchanted and you’ll never have to fear it breaking for it will protect you for as long as you exist- in this realm or another.

Ares

Cause of Death: Blood Loss

When Ares first sees you, he is… well- he’s impressed that you stumbled upon his boon, but at the same time… He’s a tad miffed? That you found it?

At the very least he’s condescending as all hell about it:

“What is this? A little lamb came to beg me for power? How foolish. No matter how hard you struggle you will never be much more than some little shade.”

“Ah, sorry, my Lord! Didn’t mean to bump into it!” You hold up the basket in your translucent arms, “I wanted to see if I could find some new ingredients to bake with! I do oh-so miss it, sir.”

Well, he wasn’t expecting that.

He ends up allowing you to chatter on with him despite his obvious judgement on your, what he calls, “soft mortal hobby” until Zagreus comes to do his daily try of breaking out from the Underworld.

As he watches you drift away (after passing the boon and giving words of good luck to the Prince, who happily takes it), he kinda hopes to see you again

And see you again he does! He literally sees you the next day- night? Whatever, he’s never sure when he drops a boon in there- it’s damn dark-

He’s presented with a basket of treats and your gleeful greeting as you chatter that you found ingredients to make some Baklava and you thought that, maybe, he’d like to try it?

He smiles- cruel and sharp- and asks if you truly think that this is a fit offering for a god such as himself?

You shrug, saying he doesn’t have to eat it if he doesn’t want to

He laughs and takes it and you two are off chattering again: him regaling you with his war stories and you of the ingredients you had (somehow) found down here until Zag shows up, once again, the boon is passed to him (this time along with a slice of the delicious, warm Baklava. Which, he’s confused on what it is but he finds out very quickly that it’s his favorite treat).

The two of you talk a lot, which Ares is pleasantly surprised about, usually he’s the scorn of everyone- not that he cares, it causes conflict and he likes that. But you’re so calm and sweet that he just can’t get a rise out of you. Which, on one hand, pisses him off to no end, but, on the other, it’s such a nice change of pace for him. He’s used to the bloodshed and animosity of battlefields- the iron tinged air that follows after the warriors that traverse those fields. And yet, here you are: a shade that always has a treat for him when you run into him and the smell of warm sweetness wafting after you.

So when he learned exactly how you died- he was absolutely floored.

“How did you die, little baker?” He asked one day, fiddling with his knife, tilting it discreetly so that your reflection was in it.

“Oh!” You smiled sheepishly, glancing away from him and placing the bag of flour (how did you even get that? He’d have to ask you next) back into your basket. “Well- you see, I bled out.”

He raised his eyebrow, suddenly very interested. “How? You’re so…” he tilted his head and flipped his knife so that the blade pointed at him and the hilt pointed at you, he poked your arm with said hilt. “Soft.”

“Well…”

You explain that you had a little brother who had a nasty habit of getting into trouble- he was a good person, just made foolish choices- and this time, it had cost you your life. He had pissed off the wrong person and, well, when the man had attempted to grab your brother when the two of you were out walking the stalls on your break- you did the only thing you could think of: you fought.

Of course it went horribly, you’ve never been in a fight before then and, despite all the work you did with dough, it didn’t help much when the man pulled out a knife and dug it straight into your gut. But, you don’t mind too much- your brother’s alive and well and, from what you understand from asking Lord Hades, he had started to be more aware of himself and who he angered. Which made you super happy and proud of him!

Ares can’t help but feel some sort of pity for you. So much life to be taken so quickly and placed in- wait. Why weren’t you in Elysium?

You’re incredibly confused when Ares suddenly disappears (Aphrodite appearing in his place in the blink of an eye- she greets you happily and asks if you have any of Baklava to share today. You do not but you do have some Loukoumades if she wanted some. She did). You’re even more confused when the Underworld shakes and angry yelling fills the entirety of it for a solid ten minutes before all goes back to normal.

You tell Ares about it the next day and he simply hums. Keeping it to himself that he made a whole scene about you not being in Elysium by popping up and butting heads with Hades, of course he got kicked out. That still doesn’t stop him from sending angry letters that can span anywhere from one word letters (usually containing a curse word) to a 30 page essay on why you should be in Elysium instead of milling about in such unkempt places.

The first time you go out of your way to get him a bottle of Ambrosia is the day that both scares the shit out of him and makes him hate you for giving him mushy feelings.

You came to him in, almost literal, tatters: your greenish, transparent form ripped in places, the few wisps of you following after your torn form like they were tied to a string. You had held it up to him in a basket, a plate of Baklava sitting next to it, along with some other treats. “Lady Aphrodite mentioned that she wanted to try my Baklava, so I made her some! Though the Ambrosia is just for you, my Lord!”

He blinked at you, taking the basket in a delicate hold. He turned it this way and that, his chest feeling… warm? He wanted to grimace at the soft warmth that thrummed through his veins, yet it was replaced with a smile as he held up the gold liquid. “Thank you, little Baker.”

It was the first time he felt something so unexplainably soft: so gentle and warm as it settled somewhere between the bottom of his ribcage and the top of his stomach. He listened as you told him how you had gotten it: with Zagreus’ help (you even got to meet Lord Hermes! It was so amazing! He had scoffed at that) he led you to a room with Ambrosia as the prize and, despite the young prince’s worry, you managed to beat the monsters and collect it, mostly, by yourself.

Ares was so flattered, but he couldn’t help the way that your tattered form made him feel a sort of worry. He waved his hands through the wisps of your body before he snapped his fingers and a small blade appeared: a beautifully constructed blade that was an exact replica of his (albeit much, much smaller). He handed it to you, telling you that you should have a proper weapon if you’re going to go out of your way to fight in his name.

Dionysus

Cause of Death: Alcohol Poisoning

Dionysus, unlike many, is incredibly excited to see you sitting there. He adores mortal souls and can’t help but look at them each time Zag chooses his boons and he has the chance to glimpse at their souls (despite his tendency to let them go completely after they die- he can’t help but wonder about them once in a while).

“Why, hello there! What’s a little thing like you doing strolling up to my boon, hm?”

He can’t help but notice the way your eyes are a tad dull, but he writes that off as the dark of Tartarus since it’s gone as fast as he noticed it. You smile up at him, absolutely beaming at the God of drink and madness. “Hello, Lord Dionysus!”

“Oho, you could tell it was me? What gave it away?”

The two of you laugh, diving into a conversation. He offers you a cup of wine and is put off with how long it takes you to decline it. He almost thought you looked absolutely ravenous as you peered into the deep red liquid. He shrugs it off and continues to chatter with you until his favorite Zagman stumbles upon the two of you. He’s quick to say hi to you and even leans down to ask you… something. Dionysus misses it, but still watches the way you stiffly nod before you pass the boon to the prince and scurry off.

He’s tempted to ask about it, but decides that he should probably ask you himself instead of trying to pry. Mortals didn’t take well to people snooping around their private lives, which he could respect.

The next time he sees you though, he relaxes you into a sort of peaceful lull as he chats with you before he drops the question.

You stare blankly at him, that dark look in your eye coming back and making his skin crawl. You suddenly laugh it off waving your hands as you tell him that a god shouldn’t worry about a little ol’ shade like you.

He doesn’t push for an answer but the question still swirls in his mind, even as you toddle off after his Zagman pops up. He decides that he’ll actually ask the Prince this time around.

He asks him point blank and Zag, despite him being hesitant at first, decides to spill how you died. You had been the black sheep of your family, never truly fitting into the carefully set path that they wanted you to follow- so you found solace in drinking from a young age. It had taken the edge off of everything, Zagreus recounted you telling him. It filled you with a warmth you had been missing all your life and you couldn’t help but indulge more and more in it until it slowly became your own personal poison. Dionysus grimaced, for once feeling a sort of queasiness in the pit of his stomach as Zagreus continued on with your story. So, one day, you had drunk yourself into a deep stupor after an awful argument with your parents. But, this time, you never woke up. Instead you woke up floating in the river of blood- the River of Styx.

Dionysus had nodded after the Prince finished the story, playing with the goblet in his hand and swirling the red wine that resides in it. He offers a bitter smile to Zag and bids his farewell (of course leaving a boon of his choice with the lad) popping off back to Olympus.

The next time he runs into you, he asks if you’re feeling alright- if you want to talk. You blink at him, confused at first until realization dawns you. You bite your lip, looking down. He’s quick to assure you that you didn’t have to talk about anything- you two could just have a good time like always. You tell him that you’d like that, not yet ready to face your past. He nods, immediately telling you about an embarrassing story about Ares and how much of a lightweight he was which had you letting out an ugly snort along with your loud cackles.

The god begins to take it upon himself to have you smiling more and maybe remedy those dark clouds that appear in your eyes once in a while. He’s pretty observant despite being piss drunk half the time, it also helps that he’s very intune to your emotions for some odd reason, so he’s quick to pick up on when you feel down or your having something the equivalent to a relapse. He has you drink just a little bit from his goblet since it’s better than quitting cold turkey. And that little bit is always enough to quench your thirst and calm you down. You’ve been needing less and less of it as the days (nights?) pass by.

The first time you get Dionysus Ambrosia is the same day that he almost swears that he’ll marry you. He’s quick to grow emotional with the sheer fact that you went out of your way to get something so special for him, his face almost splitting with how wide of a smile he has on his face.

“You got this for me, man?” He says, holding up the bottle in his hand and inspecting it like it’s a precious jewel. “You know this stuff is hard to come by, super hard.”

You nod, the clouds far from your eyes now. “I had to thank you some way and punching a couple of Shades to get my hands on that was worth it.”

“You punched people for me?”

“Of course.”

He fights the urge to squeal and pops the top off, summoning another cup and pouring some in it. “Here’s to us!” He says as he hands you the cup.

He’s honestly never had so much fun just existing with one person. After that he’s never far from you, one usually not seen without the other around- even despite the Underworld not being Dionysus’ favorite place, he can’t help but be willing to venture down there to see you in person (he’s been trying to convince his wonderful Uncle Hades to let you come up with him to Olympus for a little bit- he’s even got his dad and (other) Uncle in on it. Hades officially hates all of them). His gift to you is a matching goblet that will supply you any beverage of your choice. It also has the double power to protect you from all that wishes to harm you, but you’ll learn that in due time. It’ll be more fun that way, Dionysus muses.

Hermes

Cause of Death: Falling

Usually, Heremes wouldn’t have taken the time of day to chatter mindlessly with a shade. But, it was a different story when that shade summoned him through bumping into his boon- now it’s just interesting!

“Eh? Who’re you? It’s kinda strange for a shade to be here and not my Cos, huh? Did something happen to him? You his stand in or something? That’d be kinda funny because you don’t seem like his stand in- not buff enough or something like that.”

You blink slowly taking in the words of his mile a minute speech as he continues to prattle on. You take a seat in front of the quick mouthed god, getting yourself comfortable as he flutters about and chatters. Not like you minded- he filled in the places where you couldn’t with steady conversation. You nod to some of the quips he makes, just to show you were still listening.

He decides then and there that he likes you a lot and that you should meet Charon. As soon as Zagreus pops up to collect the boon- he grabs the back of your robes and goes zooming off with you in tow. You wave to the panicked prince, allowing yourself to be dragged around. He continues to chatter on and on, only taking a break when he reaches the Boatman (who was not expecting a Shade to be accompanying the God of Messengers). He sets you down, tries to introduce you two to each other- realizes he doesn’t know your name, so you end up telling them your name- and then is quick to say goodbye, after he gives a scroll to Charon, and shoots off.

You end up staying with Charon after learning a bit more about the quiet boatman and Hermes is quite pleased when he realizes that he’d be seeing you around a lot more. He’s quick to flutter about you and chatter for a few quick seconds before zipping off. You wave at him.

The process repeats for a while before he finally takes a moment to really sit with you, Charon having gone to pick up more souls and lead them down the River of Styx. He chatters on aimlessly, asking little questions here and there before he decides to ask the million dollar question: “How did you die?”

You blink slowly as him before murmuring that you fell from a very high place, you head cracking open on the rocks at the bottom and now here you are. He asks why you were messing about on a high place, as that seemed to be something most mortals avoided doing. You explained that there was a kitten stuck in an old root on the ledge and you couldn’t just leave her. So, you crawled onto the branch and put her back onto safe ground, but the root gave way and then you went tumbling to your doom.

Hermes is surprisingly quiet throughout the entire exchange until you reach the end and he says: “you’re a real bleeding heart under all that quiet, huh?” You nod solemnly and he laughs, pulling you into a side hug. How could something with such a fleeting life be so selfless with it? He squeezes you harder before he stands up and bids you farwell, shooting off once again. And, again, you wave as he goes.

He grows attached to you quickly afterwards, bringing you little things that might help make you more comfortable down in the Underworld. Of course Charon is there to keep you company which he’s happy about- and he voices that exact thought to the boatman, who just grumbles out a long: uuuuaagghhh as his reply. He pats his arm and says that he knew he’d get it.

When you manage to get your hands on a bottle of Ambrosia- he’s completely blind sided that he almost trips on his own feet. His face flushing a deep red as he takes the offered bottle.

“How’d- how’d you get this?” His speech is all jumbled and jumpy, though he tries to keep the giddy excitement bubbling in his stomach as bay.

“I saved up my coin,” you said, nodding to Charon who nods back. “And bought it from Charon. I would’ve fought for it, but I’m no warrior.”

A smile splits across his face and the wings on the side of his head flutter. He’s quick to scoop you up and hug you, floating up with you as he does.

Hermes is an absolute giddy mess with your offering, not sure if he should kiss you or simply remain holding you. He had a special place for you before but this just solidifies his adoration for you. His gift to you is a pair of boots with wings on the side of them- an exact replica of his (in your size! Somehow-). He promises that they’ll help you get anywhere you want quickly, also the two of you match! How cute is that?

[archived-kin]

words upon the wind

note from kin: i don’t really know how to feel about this one, to be honest - it feels kind of half-baked and messy, but oh well, what can you do?

the basic premise is that, instead of dvalin, it’s you, a dear companion from long ago, that venti finds rampaging through mondstadt after waking up from a long, long sleep

i’m pretty sure adepti are exclusive to liyue, so i guess reader is just the mondstadt equivalent? basically you’re in that grey area between vision-holder and archon - you’re not powerful enough to have received a gnosis and ascend into godhood, but you’re powerful enough to have attained a level of immortality and be able to control the wind to a certain extent!

enjoy!! (or don’t enjoy, it is meant to be angst after all)

fandom: genshin impact

character(s): gn!reader, venti

pairing(s): venti/reader

warning(s): memory loss, general manipulation of one’s actions, brief mention of death, sad venti

genre: oh it is angst time baby (i think so anyway, please let me know if this managed to get you In Your Feels or not)

Where am I?

Your eyes burn, the air whipping around you in harsh gales that tear at your clothes and dig into your skin like blades. Your hands move of their own accord in a pattern that you don’t recognise, and the wind seems to move with them, swirling around you in a vortex that obscures the world from view, until all you can see are blurred lights, blurred lines, blurred green.

Green. There is a boy dressed in green, far below, arms braced above his head, staring at you. His mouth opens and shuts, but you cannot hear anything - only the whistle of the wind.

Who is he? Who are you? Why does the air bend to your will? What is this strange land below you, spreading out in grassy fields to the south and a bustling city to the west?

The boy is shouting now, straining so hard that the force of his own yells almost knocks him over. Something lies abandoned in the grass by his feet - a lyre with broken strings. There is something familiar about the sight, something familiar about him - something that you can’t quite place. His face is twisted, as if in pain. Are you hurting him? You don’t want to hurt him.

“I’ll be back before you know it. Wait for me, promise?”

You don’t know this feeling - you don’t know this anger, this sorrow, this anguish that digs its claws deep into you and threatens to rip you apart. Tears sting at your eyes, but why? For who do you so desperately want to cry for?

The boy stands his ground, even as the wind around you swells in rippling masses and threatens to crush him under its sheer power. You want to shout, to scream, to tell him to run, run far away so that I can’t hurt you, but the only thing that comes out of your mouth is a guttural, inhuman howl of anger as the storm around you swells.

He fumbles with something on his back - a bow, a bow that trembles in his hands as he raises it and prepares to aim. How can he expect to fight the power of a thousand winds with an arrow? He’ll be killed before his arrow reaches its target, thrown back and forth by the very air around him until his limbs grow limp and his eyes lose their light. He knows this, he must know this - so why does he continue to refuse to relent?

He pulls back the string. You look back, expecting to be staring down the shaft of an arrow, but he isn’t aiming at your head. His face is scrunched in concentration, feet firmly anchored to the ground - and he is deliberately and determinedly pointing his arrow down at your hip. You don’t understand y our wind can easily snap any arrow of his in half, so why waste them on trying to slow you down? Why not go straight for the kill?

You don’t know why, but something tells you that he doesn’t want to kill you. He isn’t aiming an arrow in hopes of eradicating a target. You don’t how you know this, but somehow, against all odds, you’re willing to believe that this boy you do not know would never seek to harm you.

Perhaps that is why you do not intervene when he looses his arrow. Perhaps that is why you do not interrupt its path even as it sails forward, sharp and true. Perhaps that is why, even as the arrow strikes its target and the sound of something shattering rings in your ears, you do not lift even a finger to fight back.

You look down. Something purple and alien is crumbling from your hip, dissolving in the wind as it falls away. Quite suddenly, the wind calms, and you drop to the ground.

The boy stands in shocked silence for a moment, as if he can’t quite believe that his plan actually worked. Then he moves again, running to you, leaving both his bow and the broken lyre behind.

“Stay right there!” You warn as he reaches out a hand, jumping back into a defensive stance. “Don’t touch me!”

He pulls back, and an strange expression of hurt flashes briefly across his face. “But... it’s me. Surely I haven’t slept so long that you’ve forgotten me?”

You ignore the sharp tug in your chest at the sound of his voice, instead narrowing your eyes and glaring at him. The wind continues to swirl around the two of you, tossing the ends of his braided hair about in an almost playful way.

“I don’t know who you are or what you’re talking about,” You growl in reply. “What are you doing here?”

He’s silent for a long while before he replies. “I’m here... to free you.”

“Free me?” You scoff. “What on earth would you be freeing me from? I control the very wind! How much freer can I be?”

His eyes are sad - so sad that you can barely stand to look at them. “You haven’t been free in a long time, [Name]. Please… all I want is to help you.”

The silence would be suffocating if not for the breeze rustling the leaves of the nearby trees. You refuse to meet the boy’s gaze. You speak again, but your voice is softer… weaker. “What is there to help?”

Against all best decisions, he chooses to move closer, reaching forward and grasping your right hand. For some reason that you can’t quite fathom, you let him.

“This destruction, this rage… none of this is you. You’re no Stormterror, you never have been. You... you were always just my Starseeker.”

“Who are you to tell me who I am?” You shoot back in reply. You want to pull your hand from his, to push him away and scorn him, but somehow you can’t quite bring yourself to. “I don’t know who this Starseeker you speak of is, but they aren’t me, and I most certainly am not yours.”

“Then who are you?” He asks, and you find yourself at a loss for an answer. “Who are you, if not Starseeker? Why are you attacking this land, if not because of the Abyss Order’s control?”

“I am controlled by no one,” You snap, but there is no real bite in your tone. You raise a hand to your temple, gritting your teeth.

“How many gaps are there in your memory?” He presses further, his voice increasing in intensity and desperation with every word. His grip around your hand is so tight that it almost bursts. “Do you remember how you got here? Do you remember why you’re doing this? Do you remember how your abilities came to be, how you were even created?”

“I…” You pull back, and he releases your hand, gazing at you imploringly as you turn away. “I don’t…”

“They must have manipulated your memories, stolen them even,” His voice breaks slightly, and he rubs furiously at his eyes with one sleeve as he continues, “Anything to keep you under their control, to rip away the person that you were to leave only a weapon for them to use… but please… you have to try to remember!”

“What is there to remember?!” You finally turn to look at him, and your eyes blaze so brightly that he freezes in place. “This is all I’ve known, and as far as I’m concerned, it is all that I want to know. I will let you live, but I don’t want to see your face again.”

“No—!” He reaches for your hand again, but you push him away with ease, and he lands roughly in the grass. “Please, wait!”

You only shake your head in response and turn to leave, the air around you beginning to stir in preparation to lift you. But then the boy cries out once more, and you pause for just long enough for him to leap to his feet and throw himself at you once more - and in one final, reckless movement, he rips the flower from his hat and presses it into your hands.

“The Cecilias, [Name],” he says desperately, closing your fingers around the flower’s delicate petals. “Don’t you remember the Cecilias?”

“The… Cecilias…” You stare at the innocent flower sitting in your palm for a long moment. Something suddenly tugs hard at your chest, and you inhale sharply, almost crushing the flower in your fist. The boy catches you as you stumble forward, and two of you sink to the ground in tandem.

“I brought you to Starsnatch Cliff,” He begins to speak so quickly that the words seem to blur together. It feels as if he wants to say so much more than what he can. “We went to Starsnatch Cliff together, and we sat and watched the sunset, and we talked all night, until the sun came up again. You remember the stars, don’t you?”

“Stars...?” You repeat. The boy gazes at you hopefully, nodding, and, before you realise it, you’re lifting a hand to cup his cheek.

He reaches up and softly places his own hand over yours. He’s trembling, but he smiles nevertheless - he smiles for you, even though you don’t know him, can’t know him. How many memories have you lost? And what is his place in them?

“You were still so young back then,” He murmurs, eyes distant as if reminiscing something that has long since passed. “You didn’t know what stars were. That night, when we sat together beneath the night sky, I sang you a song. Do you remember how it went?”

“Star…” Your words come of their own accord, unfocused and dreamy. “Fly me to the stars in the sky…”

Something deep inside you seems to stir at the way that his eyes soften. There is something so achingly familiar about their colour, somewhere between blue and green, like the ripples out on the open sea where there is no land to disturb its waves, like the vast emptiness of the sky that goes on for longer than you can remember and longer than you will live to see, like the quiet rustle of the trees in a peaceful evening breeze.

“It was our song,” He murmurs, and his eyes slowly fall shut. “I never sang it for anyone else, and I never will.”

You stiffen.

“Did you like it?” The boy asks, his eyes bright against the dark sky behind him as the final notes of his song fade into the night.

“I… think I did,” You reply, unsure. You press your hand to your chest, and your heart thumps loudly against it.

“Come on, no need to sound so unenthusiastic!” He sets down his lyre, leaning forward, so close to you that you can see every flyaway lock of hair scattered messily about his face. “I wrote this song just for you. It’s all yours.”

You ponder over his words for a while. “...but it’s your song.”

“No, no, I’m just the one who sang it,” He shakes his head. He pauses and thinks for a moment, then continues, “And wrote it. And composed it. And named it.”

He pauses again, his face scrunching up slightly. Finally, he decides, “You know what, we’ll share it! It’ll be our song. Ours only. I won’t sing it for anyone else, and I never will. How does that sound?”

Everything is coming back now, bursting the banks and submerging you in its endless flow. You remember nights spent beneath an inky sky filled with stars, you remember the ring of laughter around a forest clearing, you remember hours spent riding a breeze above a city of flickering lights. You remember the rush of excitement as you plummeted from the sky to a rippling lake below, only for a pair of hands to dip down and catch you before you could break the surface. You remember arms wrapped around your shoulders in an warm embrace, spinning the two of you through the air until sky and land became one, until you couldn’t tell where you ended and they began. And the boy in front of you—

You know the curve of his smile and the dip of his frown. You know the way that his hair falls around his face in messy waves. You know the way that he laughs, head thrown back as if expressing his mirth to the very heavens above. You know the quiet melody of his voice, soothing you to sleep when the sea is too deep and the storms too strong. You know this boy!

“Barbatos...?” You whisper.

His eyes fly open. For a single, frozen second, the two of you stare at each other, one in disbelieving wonder and one in quiet realisation.

Then, before you know it, you’re toppling backwards. The boy throws his arms around your neck and hugs you tight, burying his face into the nape of your neck as he sobs, and the only thing you can distinguish among his muffled whimpers is your name, repeated like a mantra or a spell, as if you might disappear at any moment and leave him all alone once more.

Venti holds you close and cries. He cries for the memories that you were forced to forget, for the destruction that you were forced to wreak, for the people that you were forced to forsake. He cries because the centuries that the two of you have lost can never truly be recovered, because even though you are here with him, you are still so lost and the years have been so long and he doesn’t know i how to go on from here. You slowly shift and return his embrace, and he can’t help but sink into your touch, like a stone disappearing under the surface of a river.

It will take time to heal. Wounds as old as yours and his do not stop hurting easily, after all. But, as Venti burrows closer to you still, selfishly revelling in the feeling of your arms around him, he listens to the quiet hum of the breeze around him, and he allows himself to be hopeful.

He won’t be afraid of the storms on the horizon anymore. After all, it was those very winds that brought you back to him.

[chatonne-rousse]

Be Bold, Be Kind, Be Brave

This is one akuma whose intentions are good. After all, who couldn't use an extra dose of courage to overcome fear?

A superhero whose identity will be immediately revealed in the process, for one.

When an akuma causes several secrets to come to light all at once, our heroes will need to drum up some courage to face their fears - and each other.

But what's waiting after that looks like it might be a dream come true. It'll just take a bit of bravery and a lot of heart. Piece of cake.

***

Only eight days late and several dollars short, I’m wishing @jennagrinsoverml a happy belated birthday with this gift, written just for her.  ILY, my friend!  

Read it on Ao3 here.

***

Ladybug has to give Courageous some credit: she's a rarity, an akuma born of selfless means. A teenager who hadn't mustered the courage to stand up for a younger student being bullied at school, she'd been so ashamed, so angry with herself, that Hawkmoth had found an easy target to ply with honeyed words and promises.

Her power isn't even a terrible one. The beam of light she shoots from her right hand simply causes the person it strikes to relive the last encounter they had when their bravery failed them, this time with courage aplenty. It's admirable, really.

Admirable, but terrifying nonethless.

(The fear of Chat Noir finding out her identity is deep and dark and often floats to the surface of her nightmares with blue eyes and white hair and a drowned, ruined world. He cannot know. The cost is too high.)

"Whatever you do," she calls to her partner, frantic and scared, "don't let her hit you! Please, Chat!"

She hears the desperation in her own voice, and the look on his face conveys that he certainly does. He nods solemnly.

"I'll do my best, My Lady."

She nods back, and off they go into the fray.

For well over an hour, they fight Courageous through parks and plazas, sidewalks and thoroughfares. All around them, the people of Paris have squared their shoulders, lifted their chins, and braved conversations big and small with people only they could see.

Ladybug has to smile as she hears a young man confidently ask for a raise and watches his eyes light up at the response.

That smile fades when she remembers once again that the last time her courage had failed her was just as they were dismissed for lunch break, when she'd tried to invite Adrien to a movie that weekend. His eyes had been so kind as he'd waited for her to gather her words properly, and somehow that had just made it harder.

Then Lila had "accidentally" tripped and knocked into her, sending her to the floor. The memory of Adrien's hand reaching out to her to help her up, those same kind, patient eyes locked on hers, makes Ladybug's cheeks heat even now. But after she was upright again, after Lila had stalked off because no one seemed to care that she "probably would need surgery now because her arthritis would flare", Nino had reminded Adrien about the gig he was DJing on Friday and Alya had led her away to show her something on her phone.

Just like that, her opportunity was gone.

And that would be fine, honestly. Marinette was used to moments of stuttering and botched declarations when it came to Adrien.

But if she's hit by Courageous, Chat Noir - plus the citizens of Paris, Hawkmoth, everyone - will hear Ladybug try to ask Adrien Agreste on a date, and that will be a disaster of epic proportions.

"Ladybug, look out!"

Chat's body slams into hers, sending them rolling on the sidewalk just as a beam of magical light zips over their heads. In a flash, Chat Noir bundles her in his arms and vaults them to the rooftop above, making sure she's steady on her feet once they land.

"Thank you, Ki-" The words die in her throat when she sees over her partner's shoulder that Courageous has followed them.

Chat turns, his baton at the ready, while Ladybug reaches for her yo-yo, but neither is quick enough to stop the akuma's beam from finally finding one of its main targets.

"I'm sorry, Bug," he murmurs as his eyes glaze over.

Using her yo-yo as a spinning shield, Ladybug drags her partner behind the nearest chimney stack just as he begins to speak.

Panic sets in as her mind screams at her over the hum of her yo-yo, the akuma's laughter, her partner's voice.

I can't just leave him!

"Father, may I come in?"

Oh no, oh no, oh no. I can't hear this!

"Yes, Nathalie said she penciled me into your schedule for noon."

Nathalie?

Ladybug's gaze snaps to her partner, yo-yo still spinning to deflect beams of light. She's surprised to find Chat Noir's head bowed in deference, though his eyes shine with a confident gleam.

"I requested this appointment to ask you again if I could attend the event with my friends tomorrow evening. I've already completed my assignments for school and the homework from my Mandarin tutor."

Mandarin tutor? What?!

"Yes, Father, I'm aware that you don't care for Nino, but..."

The panicked scream in her mind gives up any attempt at coherence; by this point, it's no more than a muddled loop of Nathalie, Mandarin, Nino, Father.

Ladybug feints to the left to avoid being hit by the akuma as a mix of terror and adrenaline floods her system. She leaps forward, leaving Chat behind the chimney in the hope that she can engage the akuma just long enough to get her partner back and finally, finally finish this off.

She knows too much already. The cat has bolted straight out of the bag and is running loose on this rooftop beneath her feet, a distraction she can't handle right now.

On hero autopilot, she hurdles one beam after another, then tucks and rolls and pops up to roundhouse kick Courageous in the chest, sending her flying.

She hears the akuma's "oof" just as Chat Noir's jubilant voice rings out from behind the chimney.

"Thank you, Father! Thank you so much!"

She can hear his grin in those simple words, the sheer joy in being given permission to leave the house. Everyone in their class knows what a tight leash Gabriel Agreste keeps on his son. It breaks her heart every time she thinks of it. In fact, she's successfully fought for his release from that marble prison on more than one occasion! So yes, she'd already known with all the clues in place, but there was truly no mistaking it now: that was Adrien talking to his father.

Because Adrien is Chat Noir.

Her heart cracks. Oh, Chaton.

Suddenly, the akuma's progress in clambering to her feet is impeded by the whoosh and subsequent metallic thunk of Chat's overhand swing with his baton.

Relief floods her heart at the return of her partner. No matter who he is, Chat Noir is her other half, and Ladybug is never quite herself without him.

"Maybe we could use a little extra luck, My Lady!" Chat winks at her over his shoulder before facing the akuma again.

"Yes! Right! You bet!"

Get it together, Marinette, she thinks. Her face heats and she scampers away to the safety of the chimney stack where Chat was hidden to call for her lucky charm.

A red and black spotted can opener drops into her hands and she looks at it in confusion. "What am I supposed to do with this?" she grumbles, looking around frantically but seeing nothing to help her decipher how to use the lucky charm.

She takes a deep breath, peeks out from behind the bricks, and promptly takes a light beam to the face.

No, no, no, no!

It feels vaguely like having a water balloon popped on her head, a chill of sensation dripping down her spine and rippling through her nerves. It's a small mercy that being hit by an akuma rarely hurts physically. Her vision swims like a mirage in the desert, the familiar courtyard at school coalescing from vapor around her.

The last thing she sees is her partner's stricken face.

The last thing she hears is the akuma cackling.

"Heylo! Who! I mean," she takes a deep breath, a rush of confidence tingling along her nerves. "Hey, Adrien!" She smiles and gives him a little wave.

His grin takes her breath away. "Hi, Marinette! How are you?"

"I'm great!"

You can do it, you can do it!, her heart sings, and miraculously, her brain listens. Her smile turns coy. She taps her lip with her index finger. Her pulse pounds a bolstering tattoo in her ears. Go for it, girl!

"But I could be better."

Adrien's smile drops a fraction. "Are you okay? Is there something I can do?"

With another deep breath, she squares her shoulders and looks him in the eyes, her very cells imbued with a courage unparalleled even when she's wearing spots. She could do anything, anything, right now, but she has her mind set on accomplishing one thing and one thing only.

"You could join me for a movie on Saturday."

"I could...?" His brows furrow, but his grin grows slowly, bright but incredulous. "Are you asking me....?" He blinks, takes two shallow breaths. "Do you mean just the two of us?"

She nods decisively. "A date."

You did it. You did it! A veritable party erupts in the back of her mind, radiant relief spreading to her fingertips. It feels so good to finally break through her anxiety and fear and ask him that simple question that felt like an impossible task just a few hours ago.

Thankfully, he doesn't keep her waiting. The answer is in his eyes, anyway. "I would love to," he breathes, cheeks pink and smile dazzling.

"Really?" Marinette squeaks, and now it's his turn to nod.

"I'll be there even if I have to sneak out." Adrien reaches for her hand and gives it a little squeeze. "We'll talk about it later today, okay?"

She nods again, her chest so full of emotion she can barely breathe. Not only did she ask him, but he said yes!

Suddenly, blue sky fills her vision and she regains awareness to the sound of a scuffle on the other side of the chimney stack. Ladybug tentatively gets to her feet, reaching for her yo-yo and setting it spinning immediately. This time there's no peeking around the corner; she bursts from behind the bricks on the offensive, ready to finish the fight.

What she finds is Courageous struggling under Chat's baton, twisted up like a pretzel and unable to move for the steel-toed boot resting across her shoulders.

"Just in time, LB!" Chat crows triumphantly. He tosses her a bracelet emblazoned with the words Be Bold, Be Kind, Be Brave that currently pulses with Hawkmoth's dark energy.

In moments, the bracelet is broken, the akuma is freed and purified, and a confused teenager sits where Courageous was restrained a moment ago.

Chat docks his baton at his back and looks at his partner with the softest eyes she's ever seen, a tiny, equally soft smile playing at his lips.

Her heart sighs. Adrien. That's Adrien, and he knows.

The lucky charm sits heavy in her palm. Abject fear makes her hope against hope that she won't remember his identity when she casts her miraculous cure, just as her heart longs to hold on to the knowledge that her precious partner is the boy of her deepest desires, and maybe, maybe they really can have it all.

With a deep breath, she throws the unused can opener into the air, watching magical ladybugs and healing light burst forth and spread throughout the city. She waits, holding her breath, but when pink light swirls around them, the only affect it has is the healing of the twinge in her ankle from when she fell mid-fight.

She looks up, and her partner's eyes say it all.

He remembers, too.

Even as fear grips her heart, radiant joy shines from his face as his grin spreads. It scrunches his eyes behind the mask and pinkens his cheeks, delight seeming to glow from his pores. Ladybug has never seen her partner so happy. That elation is a balm to her soul, and she can't help but smile right along with him.

Ladybug turns to the akuma victim and holds out her hand, offering the bracelet back to her. "I really like that inscription" she says, pointing at the now-silver bracelet as the girl fixes it back on her wrist.

She smiles shyly at the two heroes. "I wish I had the courage to do more. I wish I was brave like you."

"We get scared sometimes, too. Everyone does," Ladybug starts, before her partner nudges her shoulder with his elbow.

"Speak for yourself, Bugaboo. This cat has no fear." Chat Noir throws her an exaggerated wink, and the girl laughs. "But real talk, anyone can be a hero in their own way. Little things, big stuff...you're stronger than you think, I promise. Cat's honor."

She nods. "Thank you for, you know, saving me and everything." Glancing at the street below, she gestures toward the edge of the roof. "Would it be too much trouble to get me back down there?"

"Not at all," Ladybug replies with a smile. Calling on her own courage, she looks at her partner and takes a deep breath. Here goes nothing, she thinks. "The usual spot in five? Or less, I guess, since it...doesn't matter now," she says with a shrug that she hopes looks nonchalant.

And there's that smile that shines like the summer sun. He gives her a jaunty salute. "I'll be there with bells on," he says, tapping the bell at his throat and making it jingle.

Ladybug just shakes her head and giggles.

A few minutes later, when she lands beside Chat Noir on their familiar rooftop, her earrings are beeping a frantic rhythm, signaling mere seconds before she detransforms. Instinct has her looking around the roof, ready to dart behind anything she can use to hide.

Before she can move, Chat steps toward her and quietly asks, "Marinette?"

Her transformation dissolves in a wave of pink light, and she hears him gasp as she catches Tikki gently in her palms. Marinette takes her time retrieving a macaron from her purse to feed her kwami, deliberately moving slowly in an attempt to get herself under control before she looks up at her partner. He knows, and he's thrilled, and that's amazing, but it feels like the entire world will change when their gazes finally meet, and she's just not ready yet.

"I, um...I didn't use my cataclysm, so I can stay transformed if you'd prefer, but..." he trails off.

There's something in his voice that finally makes her look at him. Just like when he talked to his father under the akuma's control, his head is bowed slightly, but instead of confidence, this time his eyes are bright with nervous hope.

Marinette understands both the nerves and the hope, and she'll joke with her partner until the end of time about who's in charge, but it feels wrong for either Chat or Adrien to look at her with uneasy deference.

And that's what she thinks of as courage wells in her chest. Her brave, steadfast partner, the other half of their unstoppable team, the boy with terrible timing who can still make her laugh, her best friend whom she loves so fiercely, should never feel he has to approach her in fear.

"Oh, Minou," she breathes. "Of course, go ahead. I...I already know."

He nods and stands a little straighter, and with a whisper and a flash of green, Chat's magical leather is replaced with denim and cotton poplin.

Predictably, her brain is short-circuiting, hollering in panic and terror, but even as her heart pounds wildly in her chest, it whispers quietly, gently, that this is her partner. Her silly kitty. Her dearest friend. He just happens to look like Adrien Agreste at the moment.

(Okay, this is going to take some getting used to.)

Tikki flies off to join Plagg nearby, while Marinette sits down on the roof with her knees pulled to her chest. She pats the space to her right and Adrien settles in cross-legged next to her.

He's the first to break the silence. "I'm sorry, Marinette. I shouldn't have gotten hit. I shouldn't have let you get hit. I know this wasn't what you wanted, and-"

"No, no, don't apologize," she interrupts, shaking her head. "It happens. It's...not the first time." Marinette sighs and closes her eyes, suddenly feeling a lot less courageous in the face of this world-bending change now that they're in their civilian clothes and it's Adrien apologizing to her. She presses her forehead to her knees and tries to imagine the boy beside her in magical leather and cat ears. It only helps a little, but it's enough. "We, um-" she pauses, licks her lips. "We have a lot to talk about. I just don't know if I'm ready for...all of it."

Adrien is silent for an uncomfortably long moment. "Yeah. We do." She hears him take a deep breath that shakes a bit on the exhale and turns her head a fraction to peek at him. His eyes are on the distant horizon. "I...think I understand some things now."

Abruptly, he turns toward her, a little smile tilting the corners of his mouth when he his eyes meet hers. Fear tells her to look away, but she tamps it down and holds his gaze. His smile widens.

"May I ask you something, Marinette?"

She nods.

"When you came up to me at lunch today, were you...planning to ask me on a date?"

Her pulse pounds in her ears. She could give in to fear, say no and brush it off like Chat had misheard her when she was under the akuma's spell. But suddenly her heartbeat seems to drum, "be bold, be kind, be brave," over and over again, and just as the smile begins to slip from his face, she finds the nerve to nod again.

Just like on the other rooftop a few minutes ago, his face lights up like the first rays of sun after a week of rain, shining splendid even in the early afternoon light.

"Am I--" he whispers, his breath hitching though his joy never dims, "Am I the boy?"

Be bold, be kind, be brave.

She calls on her Ladybug courage and nods once more.

His breath catches again and his eyes fill with tears that he brushes away quickly.

Clarity dawns all of a sudden, sweeping her fears to the corners of her mind to be dealt with later. She understood Chat Noir being happy to know his partner's identity, his excitement in finding out his Lady was his friend, too. But this is so much more. Beside her sits Adrien, wiping tears of joy from his eyes at the knowledge that Marinette is in love with him. This might just be a dream coming true on a random rooftop on a random Thursday afternoon.

"Chaton," she breathes, stretching her legs in front of her and placing a hand on his knee.

His hand covers hers, and she meets his gaze, words caught in her throat at the intensity in his eyes.

"I have a confession to make." He rubs the back of his neck with his free hand and takes a deep breath. "I think everyone in Paris knows that Chat Noir is in love with Ladybug. I...know you know." He shrugs as his smile turns a little helpless. "But no one knows that I might have a little tiny bit of a huge crush on Marinette Dupain-Cheng, too."

"Kid, don't lie to your girlfriend. You know very well that I knew, because I've been telling you forever!" Plagg calls from somewhere behind them. Tikki hushes him loudly.

"Okay, he's not wrong," Adrien says, huffing out a combination of a laugh and a sigh. I'm just very stupid, apparently."

"Hey, don't talk that way about my partner." Marinette bumps his shoulder with hers. "I have a teeny, tiny, huge crush on him, too, you know, and I don't appreciate your tone."

Adrien's surprised laugh rings out across the rooftop, filling her heart with so much love she can barely breathe with the force of it. She could listen to that laugh for the rest of her life. She hopes she'll have that chance.

He brushes tears from his eyes again as his laughter subsides, his grin still shining bright. "I'm so happy it's you, Marinette. Beyond happy." He turns her hand beneath his and threads his fingers through hers. "Honestly, there's no one else I would rather have as my partner."

"Me too, Minou," she murmurs, squeezing his hand lightly as incredulous joy sings through her veins.

Tikki's little voice pipes up nearby. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but it's almost time to go back to class."

Adrien lets go of her hand to fish for his phone and curses under his breath when he sees the time. "She's right, My Lady. Could we meet up this evening? I know we have, um...a lot of things to talk about."

Marinette nods. It feels like she's done a lot of that in the last few minutes.

When Adrien stands, he offers his hand to help her up. Just like in the courtyard at lunch, his eyes are patient and kind, but now they shine with something more. She lets him pull her to her feet, then wraps her arms around his waist in a tight hug.

His soft exhale at her ear as he melts against her makes her smile, scrunching up his white overshirt under her cheek. Her senses are filled with him, and she's surprised to realize that it's a feeling of comfort and safety instead of the usual panic.

Maybe loving Adrien and being loved in return will be easier than it seemed all this time. Her fears seem so silly when his arms are wrapped around her shoulders and his head rests on top of hers - a perfect fit.

Even the nightmarish terror of Chat Blanc is diminished. Adrien never told anyone her identity; he knew because he himself was Chat Noir, and there's no way in the world that Chat would hurt his Lady, nor would Adrien ever harm Marinette on purpose. She must have misunderstood. He must have misunderstood. He was an akuma, after all. She sighs into Adrien's shirt. She can never allow that terrible timeline to occur, but whatever happens after this, they'll face it together. Stronger. She'll make sure of it.

"Do you think my father will let me go to Nino's gig in real life?" he asks quietly.

The sad note in his voice breaks her heart. She squeezes him tighter.

"I don't know, Kitty. Do you think we'll be having a movie date on Saturday?"

He leans back abruptly, though his hands still grip her shoulders. "Of course! I'll be there if I have to sneak out!"

Marinette boops his nose, laughing when his eyes cross. "I think that's your answer for Friday night, too."

Suddenly she's in his arms again, this time lifted off the ground and spinning. She can't help but giggle.

"I knew I was in love with a genius!" he cries, jubilant. He sets her down and plants a kiss in the middle of her forehead before calling for Plagg to transform him.

When he turns his masked face back to her, it's like the world is different. She can easily see the brilliant green of Adrien's eyes in Chat's glowing sclerae. The blending of two of her favorite people into one extraordinary boy who - oh my goodness - just said he loves her gives her a shot of courage even before she suits up again.

"You missed, beau gosse."

His eyes widen comically. "I....what?"

Marinette smiles and calls for her transformation, then taps her lips with her gloved fingers. "You kissed me, but you missed."

The sly gleam in his eyes makes her breathing speed up.

"First of all, I would ask before I did that," Chat says, sticking out his thumb before raising his clawed index finger. "Second, I thought I'd save our first kiss for Saturday. Seems like a great way to end our first date, doesn't it?"

Our first date. A tingle runs down her spine. She likes the sound of that.

"I guess I can wait." Her smile turns cheeky. "But it'll be our third--"

"Ah, ah, ah," Chat cuts her off with a grin. He extends his thumb again. "First of all, I don't remember either of those."

Ladybug rolls her eyes, still smiling.

"And second," he says, his voice pitching lower and making her heart skip a beat, "it will be Marinette and Adrien's first kiss."

Oh, this boy, she thinks as her heart soars.

She bites her lip to keep from giggling. "I suppose you're right, even though we both know we're the same people."

Chat gives her a deadpan look. "Just let me have this, Bug."

She bursts into laughter and reaches for her yo-yo, delighting in watching a grin light her partner's face.

"I really am looking forward to Saturday," he says, unhooking his baton from his back. He reaches for her hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. "We'll talk about it later today, okay?"

She nods and watches him vault off toward home.

The wind against her face is exhilarating as she swings back to the bakery. It's amazing how one revelation seems to have changed everything. Even the zip of her yo-yo through the air sounds different to her ears now that she knows, now that he knows.

Marinette detransforms as she touches down on the terrace and sinks into her pink-striped chair while Tikki phases through the hatch into her room in search of food. A quick check of her phone tells her that she has ten minutes before she has to go back to school.

School. One more thing that's going to be different.

Before nerves can creep in, she thinks of Chat Noir and his beaming joy at learning the identity of his beloved partner. That was Adrien. She thinks of the comfort of being wrapped in Adrien's arms, his scent, his warmth. That was Chat Noir.

And when she sits down in class behind him in a few short minutes, that boy with the soft smile and shining eyes will look like Adrien, but now he's so much more.

Marinette stands up from her chair with a lighter heart than she can remember having in a long, long time. She's suddenly looking forward to the second half of the day, even more excited for Nino's event tomorrow night, and positively thrilled that she has a date with Adrien - who is Chat Noir! - on Saturday.

There's so much to experience, so many memories to be made. It feels a bit like a dream. It feels more than a bit scary. But it's going to be great.

It's just going to take a little courage.

She's got this.

[pegasister60]

A thing for @lemliv‘s MCYT Sugar Rush AU!

I wanted to make him a racer but then I remembered I couldn’t draw vehicles.

So you get this instead! Bedwars peeps (aka most of Tiredtwt) in a platformer! The name’s a placeholder but everything else I am confident in.

Aim of the game is to get to the top without dying and to clear as many stages based on Bedwars maps as you can. Heavily inspired by the og Kid Icarus in terms of gameplay with the exception of the default weapon not being a bow.

Below the cut will be more information about the game itself and how it works copied almost exactly from the discord dm where I gushed about it to a friend.

You’ve got story mode, versus mode, free climb, and secret levels.

Story mode is single-player and after the character select screen you cannot change your character. You complete levels and at the end of every level you’ll get some lore. Maybe a mini-boss fight.

Versus mode is just a race. 2 players will try to reach the end of the level without getting left behind. The screen does not split and scrolls upwards faster and faster as the race progresses. If you hit the bottom edge of the screen and vanish off it you take damage and depending on your character that might be it for you. Winner’s character does a boasting animation and the loser’s character does their death animation.

Free climb lets you select a map and then climb and climb and climb until you miss a jump and fall into the void. It does not have enemies and is good practice.

Secret levels are unlocked by beating story mode.

Normally when you play story mode if you get a game over you are given a code to take you back to the beginning of the level you failed in so you don’t have to replay the whole thing to get back. It can be input on the character select screen after holding down red and blue.

When you finish a character’s route you get given a code for a secret level for that character. It unlocks a cool mini-game.

Purpled’s is Dogchamp’s Dinner Rush. You play with Dogchamp following you as you climb through the levels. The only enemies are skeletons that drop bones instead of iron and the objective is to get as many as possible before reaching the end of the level. At the very end, Purpled will toss them to Dogchamp one by one and Dogchamp will jump to crunch them all and then do a happy bark.

It’s cute.

Now some stuff about story mode.

The enemies drop iron and gold and there’s shops you can jump into every few levels to buy stuff from. A potion that gives you extra long jumps for a bit, fireballs that shoot in the direction you’re facing when you use the item button, golden apples that let you take one free hit. You can hold more than one item but you have to use them in the order purchased and it only displays the currently usable item. The controls are pretty simple. There’s the green joystick, red jump, blue crouch, and purple button (tap to attack, hold to use item) along with the black select/start buttons. There’s two sets of controls bc versus mode. When you complete a level, depending on your character, you get either an emerald or a diamond. For Purpled if you get four emeralds you can get an extra life that looks like an enderpearl instead of a player head. When you get down to the extra life Purpled vwhoops onto the nearest free platform with tiny purple particles. This is not always convenient but it’s consistent.

When you lose a life and still have more left your hurt animation is kinda like Sonic’s. Most of your iron and gold scatters and ends up going over the edge, though anything that’s still on the ground you can pick up again.

Killing enemies is the basic jump on top of them, though some are more resilient and you have to actually strike them multiple times with your weapon. Some enemies act as springboards, usually the ones that float across on the horizontal or vertical. Others are just there so you have to actually watch your jumps so you don’t slam into them sideways.

The aim of the game? Advance and survive.

Advance obviously means onwards and upwards.

Survive means keep moving.

If you spend a significantly long time on one screen it rumbles and the dragon roar sounds. The dragon counter resets with every new screen but if you’re absolutely stuck then it’s game over. Dragon swoops up from the bottom of the screen and its wingspan takes out everything on the screen at once, enemies, player 2’s, and all.

When you 100% game over and the continue screen fades out it plays the character retreat animation (Purpled’s is getting picked up by a ufo) and gives you a leaderboard screen.

When you just die normally your character will collapse and their continue screen animation will play. Purpled’s is Dogchamp trotting over to sit next to him. When you insert a coin Dogchamp nudges Purpled and Purpled springs up to keep going.

The character select screen shows all the characters but sometimes they’re not available and their squares are grayed out. When you hover over a character their portrait gets shown along with their stats.

Wallibear has a special fireball jump he can do if you shoot one down. He starts with a fireball. His portrait shows a person in a bear hoodie but his sprite is a blue bear in a hoodie.

Purpled has the highest jump of any character and starts with an emerald. He also has objectively the most Story dialogue because if you don’t play as him he appears in almost every route and becomes the shopekeeper. In his route the shopkeeper varies. And so on.

The more hearts a character has the more damage they can take before they lose a life. All characters have three lives to start with unless you use a cheatcode.

A character’s weaknesses can be compensated for with items though how far into the game you’ll be able to afford them is another matter entirely.

Example being that with a jump boost most mediocre jumpers can match Purpled’s default. And with enough golden apples and enderpearls lined up Purpled can stop being a two-shot.

It isn’t as popular as Sugar Rush but it’s got regulars and it’s nostalgic as hell.

[coping-via-clint-eastwood]

CSI Characters as Ancient/Medieval Fantasy Warriors (title is tentative)

I WROTE THIS ALL IN ONE SITTING!!!!!  CAN YOU BELIEVE IT???????

*ahem* This is speculation about what powers and skills the CSI characters would have if they were warriors in an ancient/medieval fantasy setting, amongst other things. This was probably inspired by my recent wallowing in medieval fantasy (specifically Songs of War {if you don't know what that is, it's okay}), and I thought, why not entertain the idea? And after writing it out, I can say that it was fun toying around with it. If this inspires anybody to add on anything, or write fanfiction, or whatever, by all means go ahead.

@addictedtostorytelling @bartramcat @buildinggsr @davesdude80 @dobbyofearth @fandomismymiddlename @originalpinkranger @panchostokes @space-helen @stokes-theorem

All the people written about here are humans with powers.

Gil:  He has enhanced eyesight, and is a sniper archer. If I may draw your attention to the ending scene of season 4 episode 2, All for Our Country:

Bonus shot because it reminds me of his Will Graham days:

He is canonically a deadeye. So, I am extending that to be a superhuman power. I'll put it this way: he can aim and shoot at the same target a contemporary sniper with a scope could; he does not require (or have, for that matter) a scope. Because he is not so able as his younger teammates, so he cannot be in the direct area of battle and fend off opponents. But he has excellent eyesight, so he hides up in a tree or on the edge of a cliff that overlooks the area or wherever is applicable, and shoots any targets he can.  He uses a crossbow, since not as much strength is needed to pull back the cord as compared to a bow.  He also has a light wooden staff which he uses to help him walk up inclinations. It's also his defensive staff; if an enemy manages to sneak up on him, he can point the staff at them and shoot a forcefield that will blast them back. But this is only effective at close range, hence why he has to use the crossbow for opponents further away. He wears a hooded cloak which is green on one side and a dusty brown on the other, so that he can camouflage himself, turning the cloak to whichever side he needs to match his surroundings.  He is not the only one to wear a cloak however; Catherine, Ecklie, Jim, DB and Finn wear cloaks (more details when I get to each) as well to show they are of higher ranking, but only Gil's is hooded for practical purposes.

Warrick: His power is that he can jump really high. He can jump over a small hill and land on the ground on the other side. He's the one who helps get Gil to his perches if needed; he puts him over his shoulder and jumps, holding him with one arm and his war hammer in his other hand. He is strong enough to carry Gil. And Gil trusts him and is comfortable enough to let himself be borne in such a way, never struggling or crying out in fear when he is suddenly brought off the ground at such a high rate. In tandem with being able to jump high, he can strike his hammer on the ground when he lands and cause a quake. His hammer's enchantment depends on how high he jumped. On the ground, he swings his hammer at an opponent and sends them flying back (at a much greater distance than Gil's forcefield).

Bobby Dawson: He's the archer who is in the direct area of battle. He uses a small hunting bow, and also has a gladius in case any opponents manage to get close to him. He has enhanced reflexes, so he is able to turn around, draw weapons, and load and shoot his bow faster than normal.

Catherine:  She is telekinetic.  She does not use weapons because she prefers to have her hands free to gesticulate and help her focus on moving the objects she is controlling.  Her cloak is a beautiful royal blue.

Heather:  Mind control + reading minds + telepathy.    And invisibility.  Aside from turning the team's opponents against each other, mind control is useful for helping friends escape from dangerous situations; sometimes, it's easier than telling them what to do.  She needs very strong concentration for her mind control, which is the ability she uses the most, so she makes herself invisible and keeps out of the way, but stays where she can see the person she is manipulating.  Like Gil, she has the defensive staff in case anyone finds her.

Nick and Sara: They are what I like to call the speedster twins. It is very satisfying to wash them nyoom about and quickly kill any opponent in the path of their run. Typically, they start out standing next to each other at the same point, and then run on one side of the battlefield each. So they take out the opponents on the skirting of the battlefield. Sara has a cutlass while Nick has twin daggers.

Greg: He can talk to nearby spirits and ask them to help his team in the fight. With the power of this necklace that he has, he can conjure a protective invisible dome-shaped barrier around himself, which is invulnerable to any and every form of attack. Except if somebody were to dig their way up from below him of course. However, he has to stay in the same spot when he is inside this barrier, and has to deactivate it if he wants to walk (or run or whatever) somewhere else. The spirit of the person who gave him the necklace follows him everywhere, and stays by his side on the battlefield to protect him from any opponents who manage to get close.  Greg has a curved cleaver in case he needs to fight.

Al:  Aside from being a healer, he can freeze time.  Sort of. He can freeze the movement of anybody who is coming at him, no matter how many there are. He does not wield weapons. He has wooden legs (which are enchanted to be completely painless for him) and a staff, but without the power that Gil's and Heather's have. To heal someone, he just has to touch them, for as long as it takes for the wounds to completely heal. **I was thinking about making him have something to do with necromancy, but I thought that that's too much like Greg's power.

David:  He is the other healer, and is the one who kills the people that Al freezes. He just makes them fade out of existence. It is completely painless, and that way they don't have any bodies lying around the healers' area. Also, while Al heals physical injuries, David actually cures illnesses. So he has to touch his patient for as long as it takes to eradicate the infection.

The two healers typically stay in one spot, ready to head out into the battlefield if any of their teammates are injured.

Archie: He is the cryokinetic guardian of Henry, Wendy, Mandy, and Hodges, who are not combatants. He does not use weapons.

Henry:  He is a blacksmith, in charge of repairing the people's weapons, and making new ones if necessary. He also makes the arrows for Gil and Bobby.

Wendy: She is an enchanter who imbues weapons with offensive powers, such as the quake and blast effect on Warrick's hammer, or the enhanced sharpness of the speedster twins' blades.

Mandy: She enchants weapons with defensive powers, such as Greg's necklace, or Gil's and Heather's staves. She is also the one who made Al's wooden legs painless.

Hodges: While Al and David are physical healers, and while Wendy enchants weapons, Hodges is the one who restores the powers of other people. He is not really drained when he does it, but it is better for him to stay still and rest while other people fight. It works exactly how Al's and David's healing does.

These five people typically stay near the healers.

Jim:  He can control the weather.  That also means he can summon lightning.  And hailstones.  And rain (creatures that are made of fire or lava are susceptible to rain).  Like Catherine, he has his hands free to focus whatever he's bringing down from the sky onto wherever his target is.  His cloak is pitch black in colour.

Conrad: He can clone himself; up to five clones of himself can exist at a time.  It's alright if they are hurt or killed; so long as he is still alive.  He wields a scythe.  His cloak is a really dark grey, almost black, but not really.

Morgan:  She can fly. This is not a power which requires restoration. Since she does not use wings, she can fly in rain. She uses twin swords.

Sofia:  She is a shapeshifter.  But she can not only turn into other creatures; she can turn into objects like a boulder or something. In such forms, she is invulnerable to like, say, a fist striking her, but if someone were to try and blow her up, she would have to turn into something else and run away. You know those fire creatures I mentioned? If she turns into one of them, she can harness their powers. Basically, she takes on the abilities of anything she turns into.

Riley: She can turn into any of her opponents, whether she has killed them herself of if they are standing right in front of her. Heather would be aware that this in fact Riley (telepathy yo), and Riley will work together with the person Heather is controlling. Unlike Sofia, while she becomes the mirror image of someone, she cannot have the skill level of the person she turns into. She herself is proficient with a club; if she turns into someone who was a swordsman, she would be wield a blade as well as them, and will continue to use her own weapon. If she turns into one of those fire creatures, she might be able to use their fire, but she doesn't have as fluent control over it as the original person. In fact, it is much safer for her to not turn into such creatures.

Ray:  He has enhanced strength, which enables him to rotate his huge double-headed battle axe about his wrist above his head.  And by "huge", I mean that the stick is almost as long as him, and the blades are bigger than his head. The stick is also quite thick; it has to withstand the weight of the blades, and the impact with which it is struck. By "rotate", I mean Ray is able to hold the handle at the very base, and pivot it perfectly around.

DB:  Teleportation.  This son of a bitch randomly popping up out of nowhere?  Yeah.  His weapon is a really small but especially sharp dagger, easy to conceal, and a quick and effective killer.  He appears, quickly pokes his opponent, and then teleports to the next one.  He can teleport anywhere within his viewing distance; he has to be able to see where he is teleporting to to go there. His cloak is silver in colour.

Finn:  She is pyrokinetic.  Her cloak is typically orange, yellow or red, but it can change colours to whatever fire she is wielding, which includes green, blue, purple, white, and even black fire.  She does not use weapons.

Additional idea: Gil and Sara are soulmates. But they were not fated from birth; rather, their soulmate bond formed when their connection deepened. Before they met, their soulmates could have been anyone else, or they could have gone without a soulmate for the rest of their lives. Even when they met and fell in love at first sight (I'm one of those who hc that they did; ymmv), they were not yet soulmates. It was when they really got to know and understand each other implicitly and became unbreakably steadfast in their connection, of their own accord, that their soulmate bond formed. The physical manifestation of it was when their soul marks appeared; Gil has a butterfly on the right side of his neck, close to the back of his neck, and Sara has a rhinoceros beetle on the underside of her left wrist. Being soulmates, they can heal each other and restore each other's powers. The most soothing times for them to do it is when they can lie down somewhere private and hold each other close.

When their marks first appeared, everyone kept congratulating them; there was a lot of friendly teasing from Warrick, Nick, Greg and Hodges. As for themselves, they remained passive until they were in the privacy of their bedroom.  They sat down on the edge of the bed, embracing and leaning their foreheads on each other's, uncontainable smiles on their faces as they had a little heart-to-heart.  They did not really have to vocalise much; they had always been able to understand each other with just a few words.  Then, they leant back from each other, but remained close.  Sara lowered her head and slowly, reverently kissed all over Gil's mark; he closed his eyes and let her do it, enjoying how it felt, moving his head to one side so that his skin on the right of his neck was stretched flat and easier to kiss.  When Sara was done, they leant back again.  Gil lifted Sara's wrist to his mouth and kissed all over her mark, with as much care and adoration as she had done his.

[froog-water]

howdy y'all, again! 

just quickly before the chapter starts, i wanted to say a HUGE THANK YOU to everyone who reads this! i have received a lot of support for this thing (more than i had hoped) and i am beyond grateful for it!

again, if there are any mistakes in this chapter, just hmu and i will fix it. i am just tired rn :)

also, slight warning for the beginning of the chapter, there are vivid descriptions of blood and gore and death. but nothing really troubling past that ;P

be safe out there my friends and thank you again

Upwards Over the Mountain

(Bloodhound x Reader)

previous; Chapter 2

Winter is in full swing and the entire world is covered in a thick blanket of white snow and eternal cold. For the most part, you had forgotten all about Bloodhound and the stranger circumstance of your meeting. Because there was not much for a bunch of fishermen and farmers to do during the stagnant times of chill, your bar had become a most frequented hotspot for these idle workers meaning you had very little time to yourself. Busy hands kept your mind busy too and soon some, if not most, of that night had been pushed back to the recesses of your consciousness.  It also did not help that they never took you up on your offer of returning to the bar. They retreated back into being merely a story to you, a faint memory of a person long moved on. You could hardly even remember if it had even really happened at all. Oh well, you supposed they had better things to do.

Early morning light was barely seeping in through your bedroom window when you managed to open your eyes. Groggily you yawn and stretch and slowly go to open the curtains. Greeting you was the pleasant sight of a land half-asleep, the sky a brilliant warm pink despite the rest being draped in an unimaginable freeze. Your breath collected as fog on the frozen glass and tentatively you reach out to touch it. It was a lovely morning indeed and it would have stayed that way had you not looked up into the sky.

In the distance, large birds circled. Tiredness shifts to dread as you adjust your eyes to try to get a better look. Those were no ordinary birds, you remark taking note of how large their bodies were and of the swooping patterns of their flight. Those were scavenging birds. And there is only one thing to bring scavengers out during Winter.

You dress quickly, putting on your best and thickest jacket and pants, before grabbing your hunter's knife and bow. Andante was a man of many talents, most of which he passed on to you. One of those talents was his hunting skills. The summer before his knees went, was spent mostly out in the heart of the wild woods. It was an interesting experience, to say the least, and though you were nowhere near what could be considered good, you understood the basics of the hunt and of the weapons you wielded and you knew how to read signs. Signs like scavenger birds circling in the sky. Signs like there was something dying.

Into the snow you run without much of a second thought, your head locked upwards as you follow the shapes of the birds eyeing their next meal. What confused you most about this strange encounter was not the presence of the birds themselves, but the proximity that they were to you and the rest of the town. This was wild country, home of beasts and lands untamed and untouched by man’s iron hand. That much you knew, encounters like this were commonplace if you dared to leave the safety of human comforts. But you were not out in the uncomfortable forest which meant that whatever had caught the bird's attention was either very far from home or of a more concerning matter.

You edge into the outskirts of the white forest, the trees around you nothing more than empty sticks bearing only wind and ice. Overhead, the birds caw and swoop and through the boney fingers of branches, you can see that they are getting lower. You had to move quickly before they did. As you go deeper in, approaching what you assumed to be the border of someone's field, you hear something. Faintly, carried on the morning breeze, was the mewling of an animal. Your pace quickens and quietens as you zone in on the source, painfully aware of how loud the snow was underfoot but pushing on regardless. The relief that you had felt at knowing it was not a person in danger eases some of your mounting anxieties and offers you momentary strength to continue on in pursuit. If given the choice, you would have gladly left whatever animal lay in wait to its own devices, you had no business intruding in on their affairs - your presence would only bring them distress no matter your intentions. But something about this situation told you otherwise and guided your feet to where you would most certainly be needed. On the outskirts of a clearing, you spot something and crouch behind a leafless brush.

There before you, not even 20 meters away, was a fallen elk. You swallow down your gasp and try to focus over the noise of your beating heart, which becomes only louder as you start to take in the entire situation. The animal has toppled over a wired fence of some farmer's land, its hind leg still entangled and bleeding from its restraints, held high above the rest of its body at an uncomfortable angle. From its bloody mouth, it screamed weakly, puffs of dying hot breath escaping with the haunting noise. Your first guess was that this misdirected elk had simply gotten itself stuck in the fence, a most unfortunate event but not entirely implausible, but upon closer inspection at the rest of its heaving body, your guess died on your tongue.

Horrible, long gashes run down the length of the animal's side, pooling blood into the snow around it turning white to red. Its powerful neck was sliced deep in odd places and one of its front legs looked twisted or broken. This creature had not done this kind of destruction to itself - it was attacked. By something. You slowly turn your head around to scan the morning shadows of the forest clearing for any glowing eyes of an animal on the hunt. But there was no predator to be found. There would be none of course, because if there was such a predator here, then why would it not have killed its prey by now? Animals do not find enjoyment in torture and no man, you hoped, would ever do such heinous crimes to such innocent life. For now, at least, it was only you and the elk and the circling, hungry birds.

The elk cries again and you notice how its kicks have become lethargic and stifled by freezing joints and waning energy. It was suffering. Without much debate you ready an arrow in your bow, pulling taut the string with trained proficiency. You whisper to yourself a prayer, hoping that it would only take one arrow to kill the poor thing. You line your aim up, try to cease the shaking in your hands and shoulders, breathing deeply. Your arrow flies prematurely and misses its target, rather than piercing its skull you instead strike it in its neck, right behind its ear. The thing wails, although much softer and with more subtle movements - you must have hit its spine. Seizing the opportunity, you rush forward, ignoring the lurching of your stomach and pulling out your knife. Without a moment's hesitation, you drive it deep into the elk’s heart, right to the hilt of the blade. A little excessive, you deride, but a necessity given your previous inability to finish it quickly.

The thing stops moving. The pained cries fade off into the cold wind. You are left alone with your thoughts and the smell of fresh blood. Beneath your hands the elk lay motionless, its beautiful, soft fur a gentle texture against your trembling form. Andante had made sure that you had killed a few animals before he had honored you with a knife of your own. Still, experience did not dull the sharp sting of shock nor quell the rising weight in your chest. It was suffering, you reminded yourself, lightly dragging your fingers down the side of the animal's large and strong back.

These elk were beautiful creatures, graceful and nimble; they pranced through the wilderness in powerful, delicate strides showcasing the ultimate wonder of the natural world. You had encountered a herd of them once, all the while mesmerized as they strode past your hiding spot without a care in the world. It was quite distressing to see one now crumpled and lifeless. Emptiness sits heavy in your chest and though you know you are not going to throw up, the pressure erupts and you fall to your knees. A red hand clasps the arrow lodged deep in the neck of the animal and sharply pulls it out. You blink hard but cannot stop the tears that threaten to burn your eyes.

It was an animal. It was suffering. You did the right thing.

From somewhere behind you, the softest snow crunches, and your pity party abruptly ends as you draw another arrow and spin around. For a few tense seconds, your fingers quiver around the bow’s string, ready to shoot down if you so dared it. You only hesitate when you finally recognize the figure.

Bloodhound quietly raises both their gloved hands, fingers spread apart in an unarmed, peaceful gesture. You remain poised a moment longer until your eyes start to prick with new tears and you are forced to look away. You drop your arrow and turn back around to the elk, furiously trying to wipe your face with the clean sleeve of your jacket. Now, this was a predicament. What god had you spite so hard to deserve this kind of cruelty? True embarrassment blends with your established disgust and you fear now you may really throw up. Here was a true hunter, a beast born in blood and forged to kill. And here also was you, wallowing in pity. If only you could sink into the floor.

You can hear Bloodhound approach and soon feel their impending presence standing right next to you, taking in the sight of the poor thing on the ground. No one spoke, only the wind dared whisper in the dead world around you. The silence was stretching on for far too long and you knew you had to break it before it became too uncomfortable.

“I’m…” You sniffle hard, trying to force strength into your voice knowing full well that you had very little left to offer. You cough and stand up straight. “I’m not going to do you the dishonor and assume this was your kill.” You say, your voice somehow managing to sustain itself despite your state. Bloodhound does not respond right away, instead, they remain motionless, eyes scanning every detail of the elk and committing it to memory. You shake loose the last of your unstable emotions and grab ahold of your knife again. You move to the elk’s tangled leg and set to work cut free the wires.

“You cry for the animal.” Bloodhound finally speaks, sounding more like an observation rather than a question. With your attention focused on your task, you manage to answer in a more steady and calm attitude.

“Yes.” This was your admission of guilt, not just to Bloodhound but to yourself as well. God, how pathetic you were. “Yes, I cried. I know it is natural. That this is how it is meant to be but,” You hesitate, your lapse in concentration misguiding your knife and almost slicing the tip of our index finger. “This is not a hunt nor a kill. This poor creature was driven away from its home and family and pushed to our borders by some deranged and cruel beast. This is not natural. It was not killed to feed mouths. It was tortured. And it died confused and alone.” The leg snaps free from the wired fence and you wipe your blade clean on the snowy floor, ugly red stains being the only reminder of your deed.

“There is no shame in veeping.” Bloodhound murmurs a brash reassurance and kneels down, tracing their fingers from the elk’s wounds. “Vhat did this?”

“My guess is,” You state taking a step back and allowing Bloodhound to proceed with whatever they were wanting to do with the body, “A few years back, an illegal trading ship hit a bit of trouble just beyond our planet's frontier and had to quickly dump its cargo on the East mountains. Some of that cargo was the creatures we call ‘Shrieks’. They are alien to this ecosystem but even though they are terribly small and their numbers were minimal, they dominated the local wildlife - killing not just for food but for fun. The town’s people tried to cull some of their numbers but,” You explanation stutters off and you hastily take in a sharp breath, the icy air burning your nose and lungs. “Well, they could not get them all. It appears now that they are growing in size again. And in courage.”

Bloodhound does not respond, their attention wholly directed at the study of the animal. You wait a moment longer, the adrenaline of the moment finally ebbing off and allowing the freezing cold to seep into your bones. You shiver and wrap your arms around your body. Bloodhound stands, all the while their attention remains downward.

“You can leave it there.” You say, passing one more glance over the body before averting your gaze elsewhere. “If you want nothing from it, leave it for the birds. They could use the meal.” As if aware of their mention, the still-waiting scavengers call loudly from the tree-top. A raven answers with a caw and you look around to find many black birds scattered around the clearing. The birds do seem to follow their raven stranger everywhere they went. The wind howled through the desolate forest and you grimace upon thinking of returning to your empty house with such a shallow heart. The smell of blood lingers cruelly to your clothes, reminding you of what you had just witnessed. You had to think of something to keep your mind off it, thinking of your act for people, play your part until you finally were normal again. But your bar would not be open until at least noon and there was no one else who would be willing to distract you.

“Did you track it all the way here?” Your voice breaks the silence, your mind subconsciously switching to your more charming persona. They do not answer immediately.

“I sensed distress and followed its blood.” They weren’t giving you much to work off of and you shuffle in place.

“Then I suppose you will need a ride back?” This garners their attention and they turn to face you, the nerve of being under their masked gaze still sending jolts up and down your spine.

“I cannot accept your generosity again.” Bloodhound tries to talk you down but you scoff and lift a hand to silence them.

“Please, I won't be needed until lunch and I really don't mind.” Your tone successfully managed to hide that you had a third reason to be so insistent - you just hoped that they could not see the desperation in your face. They could. They take a moment to consider your offer, whatever expression lay under their mask you would never know. The raven to their left caws and they turn to look at it. It takes off after a final noise and Bloodhound lowers their head back to you - some secret understanding passing between bird and hunter.

“Then,” Bloodhound motions for you to lead the way, “By all means.” Though strained and almost painful, your first smile of the day pulls at your lips and you turn around to walk back to your house.

~

Bloodhound, as bizarre and strange as they were, never afforded you the opportunity to truly draw a defined picture of their personality. Wrapped so totally in mystery and gear, your perception of them was created on a flimsy base of shadows - beyond what they portrayed on T.V, you knew nothing of. But in the frozen forest of that Winter’s morning, something changed and you felt your world flip upside down onto its head.

Bloodhound was a lot more talkative on the way to their cabin than they had been the first time. Or any time really that you had interacted with them. It had started with you asking them the simple question of how they managed to track the injured elk and although their initial answer remained vague, a tangent soon manifested and from there the spiral began. To your utter surprise, and mild enjoyment, they proved themselves to be a great storyteller and had many wonderful and whimsical tales about their Gods and hunts that had made the drive over to their place seem almost too short.

“Most people stop me at this point.” Bloodhound commented, drawing a snicker from you as your eyes were glued to the ice-capped road ahead.

“Well, most people are not here. And I am very much enjoying myself. I love stories.” You could not see it, but your response brought a cracked smile to Bloodhound's hidden face.

By the time you had reached their cabin, they had entranced you in a tale about wolves and the true essence of the hunt. Though you thought your morning could not get any more surprising, Bloodhound steps out of your truck and extends an offer to share warm drinks with them inside. In the heart of Winter, you could not resist the temptation.

The interior of their cabin was much as you expected - totally unpredictable. It was like a bear and a machine had a fight, a complete subversion of everything you had come to know as normal. On the floor was a multitude of animal rugs, the couches too were draped with the furs of Bloodhound’s past, presumed, victories. Yet despite the clear aesthetic for ruggedness, a definite sense of modern order was showing through. The fireplace was quaint in its design but unmistakable retro. The furniture too, the chairs and tables, shelves and windows, were all of a very contemporary era. A perfect combination of the comforts of the past and the conveniences of the present. But all and all, the only word that came to your head when you first stepped in through their front door was - cozy.

Bloodhound leads you through their small cabin, past the living room, and into the small kitchen. They motion for you to take a seat at the wooden table in the center of the room and you marvel at the smells and sights around you. Hanging from strings draped across the walls were various herbs and spices and on the counter in bowls were fresh fruit and vegetables. They must have visited the town if this was their food supply and you feel a twinge of apprehension pluck at your light mood. You brush it off as Bloodhound asks if you would prefer tea or coffee.

“I find myself the one in honor of sharing breakfast with you this morning. Fair varning must be made, however,” Bloodhound extends a steaming cup towards you, “I have been told I am not the most accomplished of hosts.” You smile gratefully and take the cup into your shivering hands. The drink was shockingly and terribly bitter and you barely manage to hold back your gag at the first sip. Bloodhound snickers at your reaction and produces a tub of honey for you to add to your drink. “And that my tastes are mostly unagreeable.”

“Oh please,” You wheeze weakly after drowning your taste buds in the soothing honey, “This is nothing. Besides, I assume that, with your choice of isolation, you don’t particularly want to be anyone's host.” Bloodhound hums at your comment, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with it. They pull up to the opposite chair and take a seat and you notice how their drink has a straw in it.

“I am not entirely opposed to indulging certain people. And even fewer dare to give my delights a try. Therefore I rather keep them to myself. I do, however, give special heed to those vho show interest in my stories.” This draws a smirk from your lips as you bring the hot liquid up to your mouth for another sip. Content silence passes through the room and you focus intently on the warmth now spreading through your hands and to the rest of your body. “I did not think that anyone vould be out on such a morning like this.” Bloodhound admits, causing you to slowly look at them and lower your cup.

“Most are too old or too busy to take time out of their day to notice these things, or to even care. And I do not do well in the cold. Today was a special exception.” At the mention of the temperature outside you quickly raise your cup to your mouth and down another gulp. When you open your eyes again, you finally notice the bird in the room who had before blended so seamlessly in with the other oddities of the kitchen. Sat on a perch made of carved wood to the left of Bloodhound was their signature raven. It tilts its head at your attention, letting out a meek calling before eyeing you up and down. Bloodhound must really like their raven friend if they were kind enough to invite them inside. The sight alone was enough to bring a bemused grin to your chapped lips and Bloodhound watched it all happen in mild fascination.

“Do you often listen to birds?” They ask, breaking you out of an almost trance and extending to their raven a piece of freshly sliced apple.

“It is not so strange.” You breathe a laugh, “It was what led me to finding you in the rain that first evening.” Bloodhound turns their disk-like lenses towards your face and wordlessly implores you to continue. Despite the warmth now residing in your bones, you still shiver under their daunting gaze. “Your friend I mean,” You motion to the raven who has also turned to look at you with its beady, brown eyes as if aware that it was the topic of conversation, “Its cries were all I could hear. Which is saying something, considering it was storming pretty hard.”

“I do not think it skrýtinn.” Bloodhound replies without missing a beat, their voice mellow and their words an alluring symphony of strange syllables, a true joy to listen to. “Just an uncommon trait in most people. And his name is Artur.” You pass the bird a look and slightly tip your head in acknowledgment of his name. He squawks and fluffs his chest feathers, clearly enjoying being the center of attention. Bloodhound smiles at the bird. “Ravens are the messengers of the Allfather. They guide and aid me on my hunts. I do not think it skrýtinn to listen to them. Only that someone else does also.”

“You give me too much credit.” You bashfully avert your gaze, dropping your eye level to the rim of your mug no longer steaming. “It has only been a few, very odd occasions. Mere coincidences if nothing else.” Bloodhound shrugs off your deflection, unpersuaded by your argument.

“Even so.” The room falls into a content stillness after their last comment and you are left wondering how you had even ended up here. On T.V, Bloodhound was a truly mysterious character, never talking or partaking in the more rowdy activities as the others did. Sure, you were not an avid watcher, but from what little time you had spent gazing at the screen, you had made Bloodhound out to be a vastly stoic, isolated person. And by all means, they had mostly proven themselves to be exactly that person, what with their initial reluctance to meet your extended friendliness and the way they had so precariously placed themselves on this mountain all alone. However, sitting now with them in their own house, you did not feel intruding or unwelcome. And the way they spoke to you, the ease of words and conversation, came as soft and comfortable as if from someone you had known before. From them, you could feel nothing but gentle amity.

“Do you hunt?” Bloodhound’s voice wafts through the air and to your ears, bringing your head up in a hum. You snicker, a twinge of embarrassment pulling at your chest.

“Not if I can help it. Though Andante did try, I simply cannot,” you inhale deeply through your nose, suddenly aware of the gaze trained attentively on you, “Find the strength to actually kill anything. Much to the dismay of my patrons.” This peaks Bloodhounds attention and they motion for you to explain yourself.

“Every year around the beginning of Summer, before the birth of the first lambs, the town gathers for a sort of Summer festival. With my bar being the sole provider of food and alcohol for such an event, it normally fell upon Andante to supply the people with a freshly killed elk. A make-shift banquet we would all share. Everyone has so much fun.” Your head drops and your shoulders give inwards.

“But with him gone, I doubt I would be able to give the people what they want. Last year I barely managed to scrape by, I had to do a lot of ass-kissing to get the more hardened townsfolk back on my side. But this year,” Your story fades and you sigh miserably, the relief of finally expressing this concern aloud only seeming to momentarily dull the growing sense of shame.

“It is stupid, I know.” You run a hand through your hair, the bubbling self-hatred in your stomach threatening to go overboard. You were oversharing again. A lot. But you could not find a way to stop. “But, what right do I have to take the life of an animal when I already have frozen meat stored in my fridge?” Strength wanes from your knees and you are glad to be sitting down - oh, you were definitely going to kick yourself over this one later. Perhaps staying at home all alone would have been the better option after all.

In the silence that followed your last words, you felt incredible judgment bare down upon your shoulders and you wanted nothing more than to shrink away from it. Under the menace that was your own self-scrutiny, you were unable to recognize that Bloodhound was not, in fact, judging you. From behind their goggles, they watched you closely, noticing the subtle shudder of your shoulders, the downward twinge of your head, and the way your eyes seem to have lost that burning. This was something that troubled you deeply and for a terribly long time as well. So instead of what might be predicted of them to feel or do, mainly berate you for your lack of spine in the face of their profession, Bloodhound only leaned back in their chair and their mind wondering on how best to help you.

“It is not about vhat is right or vhat is not.” Bloodhound finally speaks, their tone mellow and coaxing you to look up at them again. At your acknowledgment, they continue with their explanation. “The hunt is a matter of vill - the vill of the hunter and of their prey. If your vill as a hunter surpasses that of the prey's vill to live, then you have every right to take it.” They ball their hand into a fist in an expression of power, shaking it slightly for emphasis. “You as a hunter must have an unwavering ákveðni, and strong belief in your skills. Trust your veapons and abilities, know that you are verðugt of the hunt.” Their voice lowers and they watch you for any signs of apprehension or disagreement. You only manage to look at them, eyes an unreadable ocean of something at war. They bring their fist to their chest and hammer it hard on the fabric, an attempt to ignite passion from you.

“If the hunter is humble and honors the hunt, then they have every right to taka their prey. Reap their rewards. You must just believe yourself vorthy of it. I have already seen that you have the ability and skill. Your bow, through troubled, aimed sure. And your knife brought a swift death. Now…”

“Just need to practice it.” You finish their statement, your gaze drifting a thousand miles away. Sure their wisdom was easy to take, generous even given the circumstances, but your mind was too frazzled to digest even a single word. Worthy? Not someone who hides in the forest and plays pretend bar-keeper. Bloodhound could see how you hesitated at their words, not necessarily rejecting it but not truly considering them either. They felt the urge to lean in more, to keep talking and chipping away at your pseudo mask until finally, they struck home. What were you thinking right now? Why were you so disgruntled at the thought of being worth something?

“You listen but my vords are not heard. You disagree vith vhat I say?” Bloodhound asks, their arms folding over their torso as they sit themselves upright, alert to your every movement and utterance. At their question you stir, a tired laugh that sounds more like a sigh escaping your nose and your eyes dropping their gaze.

“No, not at all. I am just… surprised.” Your response is framed with quiet complacency, your expression shifting to one of meek placidness. Bloodhound could tell that you were retreating back inside yourself, falling behind curtains of a trained profession such as the first night they met you. No longer were you that desperate person standing in the woods over a kill they mourned, instead you were a fake silhouette of someone who once was. They frown, unsure why they felt so unhappy to watch you shrink away again. Without speaking, Bloodhound asks you to elaborate.

“Forgive my rudeness but,” Your eyes snap up again and Bloodhound sees nothing in them. “I don’t really know you. And what little I do know, well, is that you are a most proficient hunter of both man and beast.” A hand lifts to your chest and you laugh. “You have seen it all and must think I am most annoying. Yet,” You pause, Bloodhound hanging off every one of your words, “You are so kind to my troubles.”

“I do not hunt in the Apex Games to prove anything. I do it for my folk and for the Allfather. I am no better than any other hunter.” Bloodhound speaks plainly, their heart thumping in their chest and their stare never once leaving your face. You smile unknowingly under their attention and they stare at your weak imitation of the real thing. Your true smile was the one they saw whilst sitting on the grass with you or when they told you stories in the car. Right now, you were faking it. Pulling away from them. Returning once more to your charade of sensibility. Whatever genuineness they had somehow managed to draw out of you was waning and they could do nothing but look on as you slipped away from them.

“I didn't mean to offend.” You ease them, your words lacing themselves with accommodation. “Your people must be very proud of all your titles however. No denying that it is impressive regardless of your motive.” You chuckle lightly. Suddenly you frown and you tilt your head at them. “May I ask,” When they did not oppose, you continued, “Why are you here? On this planet I mean. Why are you not with your people?” Bloodhound looks on like a marble statue, hardly even breathing beneath all their armor. You worry you might have overstepped your boundary and you open your mouth to apologize but they quickly cut you off.

“My folk vould not understand my decisions. Nor vould they approve of most that I do.” You can tell that the conversation was over and the warmth your bitter, hot drink had offered you only minutes earlier faded with the atmosphere. You nod in resignation.

“Then,” You say, standing and bowing your head in anticipated gratitude, the raven stranger’s attentive gaze not once shifting off your form, “I look forward to the Winter when I do not hear your Artur's call.”

~

“Oh my sweet, gentle Bar-keep, I am in need of your assistance!” Your eyes snap upwards from their work of stacking away cleaned glasses and you cannot help but grin at the one calling you. Seated at a table in the middle of your bar was a very drunk Thomas waving you over in exaggerated and hurried movements. He rocked backward in his seat and nearly looked as if he would fall over. You sigh and think it better to listen to him, lest your bar never know quiet again for the remainder of the evening. You step out from behind your bar table and carefully stroll over to him, a playfully condescending expression plastered to your face. Thomas beams a lop-sided smile and extends his hand, which you ignore and instead pat him lightly on his shoulder. He hums and overlaps your hand with his own seemingly unperturbed by your refusal.

“Ah my dear,” Thomas hiccups, swaying slightly in place despite being perfectly still, “Do not worry. I have not called you here to cause trouble. I just could not bear to see you stand behind your bar so lonely. I simply had to call you here. So troubled and worried over something.” Thomas squeezes your hand lightly and you roll your eyes at his obnoxious and misplaced concern.

“Though his words are slurred, they come from a genuine place.” From across the table, the farmer Mallory spoke. She offers you a sympathetic smile and silently apologies for her friend’s unruly behavior. Her heavy arms fold defensively over her large chest and she scowls at Thomas who sheepishly chuckles under her glare, retracting his hand and shrinking away slightly. Mallory sighs and looks to you again, the same concern that claimed her companion now sprinkled into her brown eyes. “You look a thousand years away tonight. What has upset you so?”

The two patrons turn their attention onto you and you gently shrug off their worries with a mild hand wave and flash of your smile. “You are looking for smoke signals when there is none, Mallory. And Mr. Thomas, you are concerned over the wrong things. You should be more concerned about returning to your own home before it gets too dark and I have to phone Rohan to come fetch you again.” Though the woman remains unmoved by your deflection, Thomas scoffs and shakes his head.

“Rohan’s bed will stay warm regardless of where I am. And he would excuse whatever lateness I cause if he had also seen how,” he stutters, his fingers flexing as he tried feebly to grasp at words that would not come, “ sad you look tonight.” You let out a tired laugh at the drunk fisherman’s antics and punch lightly at his shoulder.

“I assure you, my ‘sad looks’ are merely just that. Looks.” You gesture to the various empty beer glasses scattered around the table and after a nod from Mallory, you begin to place them on a tray to take back to the kitchen to be washed. “How ever could I be sad when I have your fine company to make my evenings so noisy?” This draws a cackle from the bitter woman, who relishes in your pecking at the man. Thomas gasps and feigns hurt under your judgments, a teasing hand placing pitifully over his broken heart.

It was all a lie, of course. There was some deep sincerity to your sadness that evening and it was not over Thomas’ painful crooning. Try as you might, your mind could not rid itself from the events that had occurred only the day before. What had happened with Bloodhound plagued your every waking moment. During the more lively hours of the day, when your bar was packed with singing, intoxicated patrons, you thankfully had a very loud and engrossing distraction. But now, as the evening winded down and the last table still waited to be cleared, your mind was awash with bitter thoughts.

It was all going so well, they had been so welcoming and friendly and you sat in their home confident and assured. They had shared in you their many stories and experiences, pulling you deeper into a conversation than you had ever been with them. And yet the moment you opened your mouth, allowed it to run unchecked and unguarded, the walls came down and the party ended. You were a fool, you kicked yourself. A damn, stupid fool for allowing yourself to speak so freely. To express to them a most sensitive part of yourself that not even your bathroom mirror had known. It was because of your inability to keep yourself in line that caused the rift to tear and now separate you from the person of your interest. Bloodhound told you such wonderful stories and now you were sure they would never want to speak to you again.

But you put on your brave face and pretend as if nothing is wrong. And that is true, of course. Nothing is wrong. Your life was fine before their intrusion and it shall be fine thereafter. The show must and will go on. Eventually, forced routine will become natural again and you will slip back into ease and complicit quietness. You will learn to move on and most certainly, so will they. If ever, you doubted greatly, you even left that much of an impact on them and all their glory.

“It is because you are so lonely, that's why you are so sad.” Thomas chimes, drawing both yours and Mallory’s attention back on him. He hums with content and leans back in his chair, sure that if he had a beard he would be stroking it thoughtfully. “We must find you someone to work with. Someone you can boss around and pull on their ear.” He winks at you and you smirk back, playing into his needful childishness.

“This is not the dark ages, Mr. Thomas.” You tease, taking your loaded tray to the bar counter and speaking over your shoulder. “We do not arrange marriages anymore.” The fisherman jeers and Mallory kicks him under the table. You return to them quickly, bringing with you a wet cloth and a glass of water requested by the woman. She presses it to Thomas’ face and commands him to sober up.

“Then how else are we supposed to get you hitched?” Thomas continues, paying no heed to the violent death stares of the woman sat across from him. Mallory kicks him again and he nearly spills his drink from the movement. You grin at the two of them, stepping back from the freshly wiped table with your arms folded over your chest.

“People don't need to be with others to be happy. I am perfectly content with myself as company.” You announce with your nose pointed in the air. “And you, as occasional annoyances.” The man chokes on his drink and Mallory snorts at your comment. You decide to continue playing along, matching their extended friendliness with your own enthusiasm.

“Y’know, I always thought it a vile rumor that fishermen were mad people.” You joke, taking the cloth and wringing it out before throwing it over your shoulder. “Nothing to do all day but sit in boats and think. But with every word you speak, my dear Thomas, I begin to believe that the rumor has some truth behind it." This arouses a snicker from the woman farmer and she shakes her head in amusement over you and disappointment for her friend. Thomas whines a noise that does not sound like any language you would know and Mallory leans forward.

"Finish your drink, my friend. I will see you home tonight." She urges the glass of water to his attention. "I cannot bear to watch you be torn apart any longer." Thomas darts his eyes between Mallory and you, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly like a fish out of water. You smugly smile at him, charming with all the beauty and grace of a snake. After a moment he relents, slumping down into his seat with a defeated huff, the water glass in hand.

“I swear, that mouth of yours,” Thomas moans into his glass weakly as if greatly wounded on a battlefield, “It is more vicious than any beast I’ve come across. Godspeed to anyone who dares to try to face such a monster.” At his last comment, you exhale loudly through your nose and shake your head dismissively. With one final look from Mallory, you leave the two late-evening patrons to finish their drinks and return to your work behind the bar.

The mood in the bar is somewhat lighter now and your hands worked at an easier pace with your mind quietly wondering over Thomas’ words. This was not the first time you had been scolded over your sharp words and you were sure it would not be your last. Conversation was your master and you were always one quick with your words, whether that be for the better or worse. Over the sound of you wiping down plates and glasses with a cloth, you could hear Thomas and Mallory talking faintly, the wind whispering outside your walls, and the gentle nothing of the world beyond. It was a peaceful evening, much more so now that you had dealt with your rowdy patron and the thoughts that curled like rats in a drowning cage. Though his comments were unnecessary, you thank Thomas for his distraction and for his unwitting lifting of your spirits. At least now you would be able to sleep soundly and with less of a worried mind.

Suddenly, a knock at the front door. Curious, unsure if it had even happened, you cast your attention over to it. It was far too late for anyone wanting to pop in for a drink and even if it was you were sure to turn them away. But still; there was no denying that you had, in fact, heard something. Or someone. Wordlessly, you slip out from your bar and quickly stroll to the door, pulling it swiftly open to reveal a cold night and a strange visitor.

“Oh,” You mumble, blinking numbly like a star-struck owl. You shake your head and revive your best smile to be planted on your lips. “What a lovely surprise.”

Standing before you, Bloodhound tipped their helmet, specks of accumulated snow falling off in the process. “Good evening,” They respond formally.

“And to you.” You nod back, familiar shivers running up and down your spine as you stood under their gaze. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” You swoon, curling your words with over-exaggerated sweetness so as to hopefully hide your utter shock at their being here. They always seem to have a knack for popping back into your life when you least expected it. But now of all time, why?! You could hardly even look at them straight after what had happened not even the day before! Fresh embarrassment boiled in our stomach and you wanted nothing more but to go back into your quiet existence. This had to be some cruel dream from a most hateful deity, cursing you out for some horrible act you had unwittingly done. Why could they not just go back to being a figure on the T.V, an unknown? Why did they have to be here, standing before you, talking to you?!

“I vish to speak with you.” Bloodhound says, voice terribly low and near-emotionless. It caught you off guard slightly at how plain and devoid of anything they sounded, nothing at all like the passionate hunter you sat and drank with yesterday.

“My bar will be closed soon.” You explain after a moment of debating on what to say. A strong part of you begged for an excuse to say no, the refusal even gracing the tip of your tongue in eager desperation. But your hospitality overrode your anxiety and you stepped to the side to allow entry into your bar. “If you do not mind waiting a few minutes then you will have my undivided attention.”

Bloodhound considers your words, eyes darting between your face and the warm interior of the business. They too notice how your own words seem guarded this evening, jaded behind bars of entertainment and false care. You smiled, yes, but it was not genuine. Again, you reeked of fakeness and it irked them for some unknown reason. They hum their agreement and stride quickly inside. Upon their entrance, two faces turn to look at them.

You shuffle between Bloodhound and the skeptical table, closing the door and guiding your new patron over to the bar. They follow closely behind you and seat themselves on a red cushion stool. You resume your position as host and perform your duties accordingly, offering them something to drink while they wait. Bloodhound silently refused, only lifting their hand and shaking their head.

“I don’t think I mentioned it before,” You say, works trickling out like a spring in a dessert, soothing all worries with a trained presentation. “A while ago we had a fellow pass through our humble town who had a similar accent to yours. He was a swindler and tried to persuade me to purchase from him strange pickled meats and other strange things.” While you spoke, you resumed your wiping of the glasses and plates, talking over your shoulder as you worked in a most casual manner.

“Though everyone tried to steady my hand, he just was so compelling and I caved. And now I have, stored in the back for the foreseeable future, a bottle of the most potent alcohol anyone has ever seen.” Your face softens into a smile as you recall the memories of that night when a brave soul tried to drink from that poison. “Someone once tried and no one has since. Perhaps it is a drink you know?” You cock your question at Bloodhound, leaning over the bar table and grinning.

“Your intuition values you, but perhaps another night I can provide you an answer.” You take Bloodhound dismissal with grace and nod your head in swift acknowledgment. They were cold tonight, the very definition of stoic. Whatever they wanted to discuss with you, you could only hope would somehow be more lighthearted than this. From behind the hunter, movement erupts as the two patrons stand up.

“We are off, my dear Bar-Keep.” Thomas sings, waving a hand at you in an irritating manner. Mallory follows close as they make their way to the front door, her eyes practically burning holes into the raven stranger’s dead-straight back. She passes you a flash of a concerned look and you calm her down with a cool smile.

“Have a good night and a safe journey home.” You call after them, mildly glad that now your ears would know rest from the fisherman’s chanting. However, as his hands grace the front door’s handle, Thomas quickly spins on his heels and points towards you and your new arrival.

“Don’t you dare try anything with my Bar-keep!” Thomas threatens, standing with his hackles raised like a chihuahua to a bear, “If I hear that you have touched even a single hair, so help me I’ll-”

“Thomas.” Mallory punches the man's shoulder causing him to drop his ill-backed threat and wince in pain. Without a moment more, the farmer shoves the man out the door and the two disappear into the night with the door closely swiftly behind. You stare after them, the atmosphere suddenly seeming to shrink and grow cold as you become painfully aware of your aloneness with the hunter.

“They seem nice.” Bloodhound remarks and you are so stunned by their nonchalant attitude you nearly snort.

“It is a small town. Everyone here is like family.” You explain, turning to face those unreadable, immovable lenses. “Besides, I serve him beer. I get special privileges.” At this Bloodhound seems to stir and you feel slightly more room to breathe. Relax, it was just conversation. Don’t get carried away again and you will be fine.

The conversation halted, however, neither you nor Bloodhound knowing what next to say to break the forming ice that had started growing between you two. Though you wanted to know what exactly had compelled them to travel all the way to visit you on such an odd evening, you could tell that they were not ready to answer so instead you plucked random topics from the top of your head.

“Winter is moving slowly this year,” You begin, regaling the exact dialogue you had shared that afternoon prior with a patron and reusing it word for word, “No big snow storms as of yet. But that just means that towards the end of the season, Mother Nature will rear her true head and drive us all inside our houses.” You sigh and rest your elbow on the tables’ surface, your busy work of drying cutlery all finished and packed away. “Many people tell me, warn me in fact, that the late-season storms are the worst kinds. Impossible snow and hail and everything else to make the shit pie complete. And I thought the cold now is hard to handle. I have no idea how I’ll-”

“Stop that.” Bloodhound interrupts you harshly, their voice an almost growl as they sit behind their undecipherable armor. You are slightly taken aback by their outright force at the command, flashbacks to the first time you met them in all their rage reappearing in your mind. Bloodhound remains still, fists clenched over the table, shaking beneath the heavy red fabric gloves.

Though you cannot see, they squeeze their eyes shut in an effort to understand why, so suddenly, they were getting so worked up. Why were you just talking to them? So nonchalant and practiced - it felt as if talking to them was a chore. Some kind of business transaction or task that was only being done as a means to an end. But that is not what muddled Bloodhound’s mind, not your lack of genuine interaction, your quiet was not what drove them out of their house and to your bar this evening. What made them toil in confused agony, was why they even cared so much for your genuine company?

“What?” You murmur after a minute of stale silence, the wind picking up the rising atmosphere inside the bar and clawing at the windows to join in. The raven stranger does not respond right away, instead they fight with what words would be best used in this kind of delicate situation.

“Stop that.” They repeat their vague statement sternly, staring at you through their goggles with great intent, noticing any slight change in your features or body language. “Stop trying to sell me your company. I do not vant it.” At this you frown and straighten your back, confused beyond anything at what they could mean. You open your mouth to speak but Bloodhound stops you with a raised hand.

“You talk but there is no life. You smile but there is no light behind it. Do you think I am not worthy of your trueness? I have seen your true self but always you hide it. Do you think you are not worthy of enjoying yourself?” Utterly and so completely shocked at what was being said, you stood wordless with your face a mix between anger and bewilderment. Bloodhound watched you, eyes scanning up and down your form for any signs of egregious discontent. Why weren’t you speaking? Why weren’t you reacting in any way? Had their visit and accusations not even struck a nerve with you? You only stood there, placid and unwavering, like ice waiting for the sun to melt it.

“I have talked vith this free person, sat in silence vith them and felt þægilegt , calm. And I came here this evening because…” Bloodhound falters at this, unsure at what best to say when describing the reason they themselves still had no answer to. Why had they come here to bother you? Why had you not left their thoughts since yesterday, or even, since that afternoon on the grass? Why is it that when the world goes quiet and they stand still to listen, it is you who looms in the corner of their vision, beckoning for them to find you? In such a short time of meeting, somehow you had trapped them in some unforeseen and unbreakable cage - an ever-present urge to lean in more, to seek you out. But why, exactly, it was you of all people who had proclaimed that spot of interest, was a mystery that the Allfather cruelly hid from them.

“Vhat is it you vant from me?” Bloodhound lowly asks, their tone hollow and their demeanor stone-cold. Perhaps that was the reason for their spontaneous visit - to search for an answer themselves. To find out if maybe you felt at all the same way they did.

“Nothing.” The words leak from your lips like a whisper yet hold the strength and bite of a scream. Devoid of all anger, hostility, confusion, and regret, you gaze back at the raven stranger, “What ever could I possibly want from you?” And there it was - their answer.

“Now if that is all you came to ask me, then I must now say good night.” You motion with your attention towards the door, still shell-shocked over what had just transpired. Why are they so angry towards you? So taken aback by, what you were sure to be, great and comforting hospitality? This was the reason you had so ardently avoided opening yourself up to people, allowing yourself to talk unchecked often leads to situations where people get angry. And now Bloodhound was angry and you were sure you could never fix it.

The raven stranger slowly rises from their seat, tipping their helmet in a stiff manner before silently making their way over to the front door. This is how it will be, forever. You made a mistake, let your mouth have free rein over your conversations, and brought ruin to a person that made your chest ache. And as you watched them slip away into the snowy night, the only thing you can say was, “Have a safe journey home.”

[getthembees]

Royai prompt: They get caught gettingiton by all of Team Mustang, pre frat rules being lifted. (Or making out, if you wanna keep it PG~ honestly I just wanna see the members of Team ‘We-All-Share-The-Same-Braincell’ finding their very professional bosses not being very professional.)

Hello sorry this took so long!! It's here now! This is also a lot more tender than what I think you were expecting haha

Title: flash flood under my bed

Rating: T

Read it here or on AO3

-

Riza feels herself stretched between the realm of consciousness as if her body is being hauled through a swamp. Sticky and lethargic, her eyelids flutter and fall as her mind claws at the mud. Each time she resurfaces from its depths she can take the world in for only a second—a burning light above her, a white ceiling tile, thin sheets beneath her arms—before she is submerged once again, dragged into the grime.

Her mind wakes before her body does, kicking at the shallows to keep her eyes open. Fear creeps up the back of her neck at the foreign bed under her, the unfamiliar room. She wills her body to move, to secure her surroundings. Her eyes drag to her right, blinking sluggishly at the figure there.

Black hair. It’s messy. Who is that again? A small part of her asks.

Silly girl, a larger part supplies, rattling through her entire body, that’s your Colonel.

My Colonel…

She finally blinks awake, eyes wide. Her body feels like it’s been dumped in ice water after being in a hot spring. She turns her head.

Roy does not acknowledge her movement, he sits on a borrowed hospital chair at the side of her bed, head bowed, fingers twisted in the bedsheets. His eyes are closed.

Her memories catch up with the rest of her—the tunnels, Bradley, Pride, the transmutation circle—she swallows back a choked noise. Her throat is rubbed raw from both the exertion and the yelling, her tongue feels like it’s been turned to cotton, and when she swallows again she tastes iron.

“Colonel…,” she rasps, but it comes out more of a cough than a word.

He hears it, though, and his head shoots up, eyes opening to reveal foggy pupils as he looks in the direction he thinks her head is. “Lieutenant—” he gasps, a quiet noise. Maybe he’s been swimming in a swamp, too. “Lieutenant, are you awake?”

Riza nods. Realizes he cannot see her. She hums an answer instead.

A grin splits his face, and it is a look so utterly relieved that she feels her eyes misting, “I’m so glad,” he whispers, breathless, “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

She wants to answer, wants it more than anything at this moment. To reach out and reassure him with words he’ll need now that he cannot see, to talk, finally, now that the battle is over. But her throat still tastes like metal, and she desperately needs a drink.

“Water,” she croaks, reaching feebly for the table at her bedside.

“Oh, right.” Roy traces the edge of her bed until his hand hits the table leg, brushing upwards until he closes his hand gingerly around the full glass. She meets his hand halfway, closing her fingers around his bandaged skin as he moves the cup to where he thinks her head is.

Riza sits up, the wound in her shoulder smarts as she does so, but she ignores it in favor of guzzling the water, only stopping to gulp down air.

When the cup is empty, and her throat feels less like it’s full of copper cenz, she opens her mouth. “Thank you, Colonel,” she starts, she almost says I’m glad you’re okay, too. But he isn’t okay, his hands are wrapped in gauze, and he’s still blind. What a poor excuse for a bodyguard you are, her mind spits.

“How long have you been waiting here?” She asks instead, an innocent question, a safe question.

“A couple of hours, I think. Though I really can’t tell,” he laughs, but it sounds strained. A string pulled taut. “You’ve been asleep for longer, It took the medics a while to bring me here. How is your neck? Your shoulder?”

“Sore, they itch a little, too. Mei Chang did a fine job, it’s not as bad as it could be.”

His mouth creases in a thin line at the memory of her, the blood, the gold-toothed doctor. “I suppose you’re right. It seems I am indebted to her for saving my precious subordinate’s life.”

Precious. Riza ignores the warmth in her chest and eases back onto her pillow with a heavy sigh. “How are your hands, sir?” She doesn’t ask about his eyes, she knows Amestrian medics don’t have the means to restore his sight from the other side of the gate.

Roy’s head tilts down as if to look at the bandaged limb before he catches himself, snapping his head upwards like it was pulled by a hook. “The surgery was quick, and the doctor said they’ll heal fine. The cuts were clean. Neat, even.” He shoots her a lopsided smile, “still hurts like a bitch to move, though.”

Riza doesn’t have the energy to laugh, her lips quirk instead. “That’s good, Colonel.”

There’s a lull, a tension settles in the air like lightning is about to strike the very room they sit. She hasn’t felt this uneasy in his presence since Ishval. Riza takes a breath, “sir—”

“I am very sorry, Hawkeye.”

Riza freezes, staring at him. She doesn’t speak, she senses he’s not quite finished.

“I apologize for… for everything that happened in those tunnels. For losing my head fighting the homunculus, for yelling at you, for my… attachment to you getting you hurt,” he looks up, and despite the blind gaze, she feels his eyes bore into hers. “I was reckless. Arrogant to think they’d never hold you against me and a fool for thinking I was a good enough man that you would never have to pull your gun on me.”

“Please,” he begs, bowing his head. “Please forgive me, Hawkeye.”

She inhales slowly, turning his words over in her head. She remembers the terror in his voice as he watched her get dragged to the transmutation circle. “You don’t have to apologize for what happened with the doctor. That wasn’t your fault, sir. It was never your fault that they decided to use me against you. You could never have prevented that.” Roy looks like he wants to argue, she forges on, “do not apologize for being a human, Colonel. You are bound to have people close to you. Any one of those could have been used against you, to drop them for any potential threat is a foolish paranoia. Our…” relationship? Partnership? Friendship? “...proximity is nothing to apologize for. I will not have it.”

She pauses, clenching her hands against the pristine sheets of her bed. The battle with Envy flits through her head like an old film, her Colonel’s savagery seems branded in her mind. Riza takes a deep breath. “You lost yourself against Envy. You lost yourself in your anger, and you said horrible things. You almost did horrible things. You pushed me away, Colonel. But…,” she looks at him, his fingernails are digging into the fabric of his pants, knuckles white.

She remembers what he had said to her months prior, before she had been reassigned. I’ve been called a human weapon, a monster, but it’s only when I’m fighting a real monster that I realize I’m just a human. She rests her hand on his, his fingers relax under her touch.

“You didn’t go past the point of no return. You didn’t lose your humanity, Roy.”

Roy sucks in a breath, the sound rattled and hollowed. It makes him look fragile. She curls her fingers around his palm.

“So…,” she begins, her voice no more than a whisper, he leans his head towards her. “I forgive you, Roy Mustang. I’ve already forgiven you.”

Roy turns his hand upwards, slipping his fingers between hers. His eyes are closed again, and there is a small, shaky smile on his face. “I don’t know why you’re forgiving me so easily. You shouldn’t.”

“Well, I’ve never listened to everything you have to say, sir.”

Laughter bubbles from his lips, the sound warm. The knot of stress in his voice seems to have unwound. He bows his head, his forehead nearly touching hers. “Thank you, Ha— Riza.” She can make out the small, newly healed scratches on his face from this distance. “Truly, for everything, thank you.”

The hand he has clasped in hers untangles their fingers and reaches up to trace along the inside of her wrist, up against the length of her arm, her uninjured shoulder, the side of her face, until he sweeps the loose hair that falls over her eyes behind her ear. The movement is slow, tentative, cautious of her injuries and his own blindness. Riza leans into his palm and hums, a soft encouragement. She pushes up on her elbows as his finger traces her cheek, her jaw.

Riza reaches up to hold his hand in hers once more, grasping at his knuckles, brushing against the bandages on his palm. The tension that had crackled before isn’t vicious now. It is still there, palpable in the air, but it doesn’t threaten a flashover, lingering instead with the promise of summer rain.

Roy leans in and pauses a breath away from her, unsure if he’s welcome or unsure where she is, Riza can’t tell, but she huffs a laugh nonetheless. Still useless in the rain, I suppose, she thinks with a smile, and closes the gap for him.

Warmth blooms in her chest and she feels a rush of lightheadedness. This. This is what had been building in them since before the Promised Day, before the homunculi, in the budding years of their partnership. The kiss says a million things, it is the culmination of a thousand stares, a thousand late-night dinners, a thousand confessions buried under propriety and mumbled words. Roy’s palm flexes against her cheek, his other hand moves to grasp at her waist, the heat of his grip searing over her thin hospital gown. Her own hands reach up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. Now that she has allowed herself to touch him, she never wants to stop.

Roy has the same mindset, the hand on her waist traveling up and down her side, never quite stilling even as it moves to her lower back, pressing gently into her spine as he tilts into her. His lips are soft, unfairly so when hers are still chapped, and when he opens his mouth to scrape his teeth against her bottom lip she lets out a noise that makes her flush spread to her chest.

They break away only for a heartbeat before meeting again. Roy leans over her now, and a reasonable voice in the back of her head whispers that, maybe, she shouldn’t let her commanding officer press her into a creaky hospital mattress in a crowded building with a door that is, presumably, unlocked.

Riza ignores this thought in favor of pulling down his collar so she can kiss the length of his neck. He grumbles low in his throat, and she feels the noise against her tongue.

She’ll be damned if they stop this now, after years of nothing, she wants nothing more than to lie with him here forever. The bed dips where Roy props up his knee, and she leaves his collarbones to seal their lips again.

And— yes, yes. She refuses to let this go— not when Roy squeezes the skin of her outer thigh, not when she allows herself to rub the wide expanse of his back through the thin hospital shirt, not when he presses his tongue between the seam her lips and makes that noise—

Someone in the room coughs.

Roy freezes just as Riza wrenches herself away from him, face flaming as she whips her head to look for the source of the noise.

Breda stands at the door, looking thoroughly unimpressed. Fuery and Falman flank him, the former of whom has turned a dangerous shade of red and has cast his gaze downwards to lock eyes with the suspiciously Hayate-shaped lump under his jacket. Falman is thin-lipped and tense, his shoulders pressed up against his neck, he averts his eyes to a space in the far corner.

Rebecca stands behind them, body halfway through the door, with the smuggest grin stretched across her face. Riza feels a headache coming on.

“Apologies for the interruption, sirs,” Breda deadpans, raising an eyebrow and shooting her a look that says, really? Riza clears her throat self-consciously. “We just came in to visit the Lieutenant.”

“We can leave if you’re… preoccupied,” Rebecca says, trying, and failing, to stifle her laughter with a cough.

Roy had settled back into his chair as soon as they spoke, his back straight. “That’s quite alright, Second Lieutenant. I’m sure Hawkeye would enjoy the company.” The professionalism in his voice belies the red of his ears. She’s sure the team doesn’t notice, far away as they are, but the attempt amuses her nonetheless.

Breda strolls in, determined to pretend that nothing abnormal has happened, Falman follows in his example, although he has yet to meet her eyes, and Fuery avoids the dilemma entirely by pulling Black Hayate from his jacket and placing him on the floor. Her puppy bounds across the floor, his entire body moving with the wag of his tail.

“Hayate!” Riza cheers as he leaps onto the bed with her, tilting his head as she scratches behind his ears. She pulls him to her chest, pressing her face into his fur, “I’m so glad you’re okay, Braha. You’re such a good boy.”

Hayate chuffs in response, leaning into her hold as his tail whacks her arms. She lays a kiss on his head.

Rebecca sidles up to the bed, brushing the fur between Hayate’s shoulder blades. “It was the Sergeant Master’s idea to sneak him past the staff,” she supplies, nodding back at the man in question.

Fuery rubs the back of his head, meeting her eyes for the first time since he’s entered. “Well, they probably saw him and just ignored it, really. He couldn’t keep his tail still.”

“Maybe a nurse should’ve stopped us. Then you two could have continued with your catch-up time,” she cackles, failing to smother the noise into her fist, and shoots Riza an exaggerated wink.

Roy huffs, his arms crossed over his chest, “I think we get the picture, Catalina.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re thinking up quite the picture, Colonel—”

“Thank you, Fuery,” Riza cuts in before the bickering could devolve further, “I appreciate it.”

Fuery gives her a nervous smile, “It was no problem at all, Lieutenant, really.”

“Still,” she looks over the rest of the group, “I’m glad you all visited, and that you’re all uninjured.”

Breda waves his hand dismissively. “Yeesh, I didn’t know you were such a sap, Lieutenant. Of course we’d visit,” he cups a hand to his face like he’s about to tell a secret, “It would be cruel for us to leave you here alone with the Colonel for God knows how long.”

“Har har,” Roy mocks as the rest of the room snickers, “if you’re going to be a pest, Breda, you should have at least brought some food with you.”

Breda rolls his eyes, just as Falman pulls a paper baggy from his coat pocket. “One monte cristo and one turkey, lettuce, and tomato sandwich from Zullo’s Deli,” he states in the same tone of voice he delivers his mission reports.

Riza thanks him as he hands her the baggy, she slides Roy his monte cristo as she unwraps her own sandwich. Hayate watches the food curiously while giving her a particularly pathetic look. “No begging,” she tells him, and he lowers his head to her lap once more.

Roy nearly groans as he manhandles his food, “Falman, you are a saint.”

Riza takes a bite of her food, savoring the taste. It tastes like liquid gold on her tongue, but, she supposes, even food from the trash would taste impeccable right now. She nudges Rebecca with her elbow, “did you bring anything for yourselves?”

Rebecca shrugs. “Nah, we already ate about an hour ago. We plan on staying here to chat while you two eat, assuming that’s fine with you.”

“Of course it’s fine, as long as you find your own chairs,” she responds, scanning the room for seating. It’s relatively barren, with there only being two guest chairs in the room, one of which Roy currently claimed. Rebecca took the other chair, pulling it closer to Riza’s bedpost while the other men in the room piled onto Roy’s empty bed.

The team recounts their friend’s whereabouts as they finish their sandwiches. The Elric’s had been admitted soon after she had, and Alphonse currently resides in quarantine, with his only visitor being his brother. Reconstruction of the Central Command building had begun as well, led by Grumman and his men.

They keep the conversation light, they don’t talk about the death toll, or the injured. No one mentions the clouded sheen over Roy’s eyes.

Riza brushes her finger against Roy’s knuckle while the rest of the room laughs at something Breda said. She taps twice, lingering a second before pulling away. His hand chases hers as it retreats, catching it and curling his pinky finger around hers. He taps back, once, twice, thrice. Repeating the motion in sync with the steady beating of her pulse.

[sailorshadzter]

Prompt: Joffrey reveals himself to be a monster to her towards the start of the stay at Winterfell .Knowing that her parents cant reject the match between herself and the Crown Prince without repercussions,she stages a kidnapping and slips herself into the group heading to the Wall. Maybe she cuts off her hair/dyes her hair/steals some of Brans clothes.Kinda like a Mulan AU I guess?

OOOOOH WOW

this is one of those asks that i have to scroll for a minute to get to!!! but i got to it!!! IM SORRY ITS TAKEN ME SO VERY LONG but inspiration strikes when it strikes. anyways, i might come out with a part 2 / dont tempt me to make this into another au i never finish but man the idea is GOOD.

anyways

i hope it was worth the wait.

As the night begins to dawn, Sansa Stark finds it hard to keep both feet on the ground.

She's lovestruck, falling hard for the golden haired Baratheon prince that's been put before her. With his charming good looks and regal posture, he's enough to make any maiden's heart flutter. In truth, even now with Joffrey and his parents, the King and Queen of the Iron Throne there in her own home, she's finding it hard to believe that she, she, of all people, will be the one to marry the prince. That someday she might be a queen as beautiful as his mother, Cersei Lannister, who smiles so sweetly whenever they meet, who speaks so tenderly, who upon after the betrothal was made official, calls her daughter, as if she so truly were.

"Come my lady, let us take one last walk." It's Joffrey now, bending over his arm in a bow as he approaches where she sits among the other young ladies of Winterfell. They erupt in giggles around her as she blushes to the roots of her hair but nods all the same, reaching out her hand to take his, allowing him to help her up onto her feet. Though she glances towards her mother, who sits engaged in conversation with her father and the King himself, Joffrey tugs on her hand and she can do nothing else besides follow after him. She knows it's inappropriate for her and the prince to sneak off alone like this, but she can't help but to excitedly wonder if he means only to steal her away for a private kiss. Besides, they are to be married in only a few short weeks, so what harm would it do?

They walk together out into the moonlit night, a surprising chill to the air that sends a shiver down her spine. If Joffrey notices, he does not speak on it, rather he continues to lead her through the courtyard where only a handful of guards and nobility mingle. It was astonishing just how many people came along with the King and his family and Sansa isn't certain there would ever be a way to remember all of their names. Along the back, they step into the gardens, the darkening sky pierced by the soft white light of the moon. "I will miss the moonlight of the North," she says as they fall to a stop before the brimming fountain, her lips curving with a smile. "But I suppose I will love it all the more whenever we return."

At her words, Joffrey turns, his expression not one she's seen before. It's not confusion, but rather, it looks like anger. No, it is something far beyond anger, and it frightens her down to her very core. Startled, Sansa begins to stammer an apology, but Joffrey silences her with a wave of his hand. "Return?" He scoffs, looking from her back towards Winterfell and back again. "We'll not be returning here once we leave," he goes on, shaking his head with a scathing sort of laugh that is far more chilling than the wind had been.

"Y-your pardon, I only meant... When we visit..."

"Did you not hear me, my lady... Once we leave here in two days, we shall not be returning. Not you and certainly not me. You will be my queen and you will stay South, where you belong." A strange feeling is creeping up within her; it's cold, it's deep, and it's so very dark. There is something about the way Joffrey says this that she knows it to be true. She realizes then, quite suddenly, that if she leaves with him as intended, she will never again return to Winterfell. She swallows. This isn't right, she thinks, he musn't mean it.

"I know the North is not entirely to your pleasure, but it is my home... I can't imagine never returning," she smiles, hoping her easy going tone is not lost to the shaking of her voice. "You may even grow to enjoy it here, if you give it a chance..." To her horror, Joffrey's hands shoot up and for a single instance, she thinks he means to strike her, but rather he takes hold of her by the upper arms, his grip like a vice. "M-my lord, you're h-hurting me," she whimpers, staring up into Joffrey's blazing eyes.

He leans in close to her, as close as he might have done for the kiss she had once hoped he'd bestow upon her, and breathes a simple reply. "Bid your home farewell, sweetheart, for we ride south in the morning." His grip lessens and then, he lets go entirely, taking a single step back from where she stands. The morning? She thinks, these words sinking in, realizing now that though she'd been told it would be another day before leaving... Evidently, someone had decided that there was no need to stay another night and no one had chosen to tell her. She wonders if this is cruelty on Joffrey's part or kindness of her parents, hoping to spare her the pain of knowing it was her last night home. Either way, it matters not, because she knows there's no way she can go South.

Not ever.

[ x x x ]

As she lays in bed, Sansa can do little else but stare at the ceiling above her bed and wish to be someone else. If she were anybody else, she would not be marrying the prince, and she would not be leaving home. Sansa had tried to explain her feelings to her mother, who had merely laughed and said it was nervous jitters. I had them, too, before I married your father, Cat Stark had said as she brushed out her daughter's hair for bed one last time. The next time she brushed this head of hair, it would be for her wedding day. The longer she spent with her mother that evening, the more Sansa realized she could not simply back out of this wedding. Sansa was not a stupid girl, though Arya might have argued differently, and she knew of the trouble brewing between the families. Between the kingdoms. She's overheard enough whispers and listened to enough speculation between her brothers to know that war was a very real possibility- some said only the good friendship between the Baratheon king and their father was what kept them safe. Sansa also knows, even just from the words spoken during their betrothal, that her marriage with Joffrey solidified the peace between them.

And yet...

The longer she thinks about it, the more she knows that despite it all, she cannot ride South. She knows of the stories, the ones of what happens to Stark men that go to King's Landing... What was stopping something terrible from happening to her as well? There had to be a way, there just had to be a way to free her from this wedding and ultimately, the prison King's Landing was certain to be.

It's just as she's resigning herself to her misery that something comes to her.

One of the stories she had read as a young girl, a story of a princess taken in the dead of night by an evil lord. Said princess was to be rescued by her true love, a shining knight of virtue that rides in on his white horse. And more is coming- it's not just her that is to leave on the morrow- but Jon, as well. Jon, her bastard brother, was being sent to the wall to join the Knight's Watch. He certainly would not be her knight, but if she could somehow slip in among him and the others heading out... Yes, it might possibly work.

But if it's going to work, she must work fast, as she knows the men are set to leave before morning light. And so she leaps from her bed and pulls on her dressing robe. It is late into the night, hours still from the morning call, but there is always the fear of a guard or even her father discovering her out of bed at such an hour. But she says a silent prayer to the Old Gods and then tiptoes from her room.

[ x x x ]

When the morning call comes, she's already gone, a single note hastily scratched in writing she hopes looks entirely unlike her own penmanship.

She's been gone well over an hour by then, for just as she had planned, she manages to slip away among those leaving for the Knight's Watch. With an old cloak draped over her shoulders, she keeps the hood up, shielding from those around her the red hair she's so well known for. Before leaving, she managed to snag some old breeches and shirt from the laundry, and she's braided her hair and tucked it up as much as she could. Luckily for her, she's mostly ignored by the other men, aside from one man who growls at her when she bumps into him halfway into the morning that first day.

The group walks for hours; far longer than she's certainly ever walked at one time. She's tired and she's hungry and she hurts in places she's never hurt before. But, there is a strange sense of warmth comes over her as she settles into a place of her own, away from the others, nearer to the river that runs through the forest. With no knowledge of how to build a fire, Sansa is thankful for the warmth of the summer night and hungry as she is, realizes she's far more tired than anything else. After a sleepless night and endless walking, she will forgo food if only it means she can sleep.

And so she wanders closer to the water's edge, where there beneath the canopy of darkness, she finally lowers her hood.

From where he watches, Jon finds himself intrigued by what he sees.

He can't really say what draws him to follow the hooded figure out to the river beyond simple curioisity. But now as he watches, he sees hands pulling what certainly must be pins from hair and to his shock, long hair comes tumbling down. Now he's really curious.

And just then, a cloud above them shifts and the moonlight illuminates her.

The red hair is vibrant, the pale moonlight weaving between the strands like ribbons. He's stunned, but his foot snaps a twig all the same. When she whips around, it's steel blue eyes he finds himself staring into and Jon wonders, despite sixteen years beneath the same roof as her, he's never noticed that look within her eyes. "Sansa..." Her name is on his lips before he can stop it and he realizes now that she is quite like a deer in the crosshairs, a creature torn between fight and flight.

She can't believe this.

Her fleeting sense of safety has fled, vanished into the night the moment those Stark gray eyes settled upon her. Of course, she can't now understand how she ever expected to avoid Jon forever, but she had hoped to at least be further out than this when they did meet. "Jon," she greets, taking a step away from the river and closer to where he stands. The moonlight is bright and it illuminates Jon in a way that makes her blink, makes her think. "Please..." It's the only plea she can offer, the only words that in this moment, seem right to say.

Jon studies her for a long moment; all things considered, she must have had a good reason to come. Sansa Stark wasn't the type to just... Throw it all away without a reason. Her dream of marriage to a prince was to come true, after all. Her golden haired Prince Joffrey had arrived in Winterfell only days before; a smug, ugly sort of kid that had grown tall, taller than even Robb, but one that had stolen Sansa's heart all the same. Jon wonders what could have made her do what she'd done. "I won't," he promises suddenly, earnestly.

Her face relaxes, she smiles.

She feels safe once again and it is far warmer than it was before.

[theres-an-impulstor-among-us]

uh, writing rq: spare 3rd life red!ren speculation, maybe martyn and ren both choosing violence? as a treat?

this was fun to write lol i think Ren deserves a little violence as a treat

cw: mentions of suicide (nonpermanent but better safe than sorry)

...

  Martyn enters the Renchanting building for the third time that day and finds Ren still pacing around, brow furrowed. He stands in the doorway for a moment, arms folded, and watches him. Finally, he says, “Are you planning on doing anything else today, boss, or should I just go home early?” 

  Ren doesn’t respond. Just as Martyn opens his mouth to say something else, Ren’s head snaps up. “Huh? What? Oh, yeah, yeah, that’s fine.”

  “You didn’t hear what I said, did you?”

  “Something about going home early.”

  Martyn scoffs and shakes his head. “Seriously, you’ve been walking around aimlessly in here all day, thinking way too deeply about something. What’s going on?”

  Ren hesitates, turning fully to face his assistant. “Okay, to tell you the truth… I’ve been thinking about going down to red on purpose.”

  Martyn’s eyes widen in alarm. “What?! Why would you do that?!” 

  “Because I’m sick and tired of people waltzing in here and just taking what they want,” snaps Ren. “I’m tired of being intimidated and walked all over and not taken seriously. If I was on my red life, at least people would be more wary of me and less likely to walk all over me.” 

  “That doesn’t mean you should deliberately die,” Martyn responds urgently. “I cannot stress enough how bad an idea that is.”

  “Well, there doesn’t seem to be any other-.”

  “No, listen.” Martyn grabs Ren’s shoulders. “You don’t have to go down to red in order to cause some chaos.”

  Ren frowns at him. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, Grian killed you, right? What’s HIS colour?”

  “Green…” Ren blinks as realisation dawns on him. “Wait…”

  “And Tango with his lava death trap. He’s on green too but he still killed two people. You don’t need to be on red to cause some chaos.”

  Ren grins at the hushed excitement in Martyn’s voice. “Should you really be condoning this? Isn’t it your job to keep me out of trouble?”

  Martyn shrugs, a slight smirk on his face. “You could argue I’m doing that by not letting you kill yourself.”

  “That’s a very valid point. So do you have any ideas?”

  “I have a few. Would you like some form of revenge or just to cause some random chaos?”

  Ren thinks about this for a moment. “Let’s start with revenge.”

  “Gotcha,” says Martyn. “So even though Grian was the one who actually set the trap, it’s fair to say he was doing it on Scar’s orders. If we bait Scar into striking one of us, we can retaliate and even maybe “accidentally” catch Grian in the crossfire. What do you think?”

  “I like it! Are we allowed to build a trap beforehand or does whatever we do have to be done in that timeframe of a red life being angry at us?” 

  “Um… No clue. But I can find out.” 

  “Hello there!” calls a familiar voice from above.

  “Oh no,” groans Ren. “Not Scar again. It’ll be hours before I can get him outta here again.”

  “Here’s your chance, boss,” says Martyn excitedly. “HE came to YOU. Kick him out! Show him we won’t be bullied or pushed around anymore!”

  Ren considers this. “You know what? Yeah! I’ll do it!”

  He dashes up the stairs and out into Dogwarts. Spotting Scar near the entrance, he charges over to him and jumps to a stop right next to him. “Scar, get the hell outta here!”

  Scar blinks. “What? I just wanted-.”

  “I don’t care what YOU want; I want you to get out and leave me alone. NOW. I’m only giving you one more chance.”

  He almost hopes Scar doesn’t leave; he’s been waiting for the opportunity to get revenge for killing him. 

  Scar doesn’t move. “Ren, you’re still on our kill list, you know. I don’t think it’s wise for you to-.”

  He breaks off as Ren whacks him with the flat side of his axe. 

  “OW!” he yelps. “GEEZ, what the heck?!” 

  “I told you to leave!” Ren crows. “I gave you two chances!”

  Scar throws his arms up to protect himself as Ren hits him again, on the shoulder this time. 

  “Get out before I start using the sharper side,” Ren warns triumphantly. 

  “W-Wait, don’t! Grian! GRIAAAAAAN!”

  Ren draws his arm back to hit again before he notices Grian crouched atop the wall, aiming a bow and arrow at him. 

  But Martyn appears out of nowhere, running along the top of the wall, and hits him off the wall with a shovel. 

  Grian yelps as he lands heavily on the ground. He half-runs half-limps over to Scar, the two finding themselves with an axe-wielding Ren on one side and Martyn, who has traded his shovel for a sword, on the other. 

  “What’s WRONG with you two?” Grian demands. “You’re not allowed to attack us if Scar doesn’t attack first!”

  “Yeah, see, we implemented a new rule here at Dogwarts,” Martyn responds. “If we tell you to leave twice and you don’t, that counts as an attack. We are allowed to defend ourselves against attacks.”

  Grian’s voice rises to a shrill shriek. “You hit me with a shovel!” 

  Martyn matches his tone. “You were about to shoot my boss!”  

  “Because he was trying to murder my friend!”

  “Because your friend keeps waltzing in here like he owns the place!”

  “Enough, enough!” Ren yells suddenly. “Listen, Grian: I’m done being nice. I’m done trying to get through to you two. I’ve asked nicely and I’ve demanded and I’ve threatened, but you refuse to listen to me. I’ve made it perfectly clear time and time again: you. Are. Not. Welcome. Here. So I’ve come to the conclusion that the only way you two will listen to me is if I kill you both.”

  Scar immediately leaps behind Grian. “No, wait! I’m on red! If you kill me, I’ll die permanently!”

  “Then that’s a great incentive to LISTEN to me!” Ren snaps back. “Now get out, both of you. NOW.”

  Neither of them move.

  Ren heaves a sigh. “Do I need to show you I’m serious?”

  He picks up Martyn’s shovel from where he dropped it earlier and swings it at Grian, smacking him in the stomach. As Grian doubles over and stumbles back, Ren hits him again in the shoulder, then swings it at Scar. 

  “GET OUT!” Ren screeches.

  Scar loses his nerve and bolts for the door. Filled with adrenaline and not really thinking clearly, Ren takes off after him, jabbing him in the back with the shovel. 

  “NONONONONONONONONONONONONONONO!” screams Scar. “REN NO! NOOOO!”

  Ren takes one last swing at Scar, but he misses and trips over. By the time he looks up, Scar has all but disappeared over the horizon.

  Panting and now with a sore knee, Ren gets to his feet and half-limps back towards Dogwarts. 

  Hearing a yelp, he glances up and is just in time to witness Martyn shoving Grian off the top of Dogwarts’s wall again. “Stop running around on our walls!” Martyn yells after him as Grian takes off running. “Go away!”

  Ren grins at the sight of Grian and Scar fleeing from him in fear, as he reenters Dogwarts and closes and locks the doors. 

  “That,” he says, as Martyn jumps down from the wall, “was the most fun thing I’ve done in this world.”

  Also grinning, Martyn starts to respond when he happens to glance down. “Oh, boss, you’re bleeding. Come here, let’s get that cleaned up.”

  Ren follows Martyn inside and sits down in his chair, only just noticing blood leaking from a cut in his knee. It must have happened when he fell over outside. 

  Martyn kneels down in front of him and starts cleaning the area around the cut. 

  “Thanks so much, Martyn,” Ren says gratefully. “For, um… For everything. Including talking me out of killing myself. That probably wouldn’t have ended well.”

  “It really wouldn’t have,” chuckles Martyn. “This was a much better option. Honestly, it felt good to kick Grian outta here. With any luck, they’ll spread the word that we’re no longer to be trifled with.” 

  Ren grins. “I think this is the start of a new era for us, Martyn. There’s a lot for us to do before we get to the level of power I know we can achieve.”

  “Well, before you go off and achieve that power, you’re gonna go to bed and rest that knee of yours,” Martyn says. 

  Ren gives a quiet chuckle. “Whatever you say, Martyn. I trust you.”

  Martyn freezes momentarily. It’s been a long time since someone said that to him.

  “What’s up?” says Ren, noticing this. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I…” Martyn clears his throat. “Sorry, it’s nothing. You get to bed now; I’ll lock up.” 

  Ren watches Martyn head to the door. “Martyn?”

  Martyn pauses and looks back. “Yeah?”

  “Thank you for always taking care of me.”

  After a moment, Martyn smiles. 

  “No problem, boss.”

[dalishkadan]

wip whenever

i was tagged by @dreadfutures, so i'll tag @lamiahypnosia, @noire-pandora, and also @dumbassentity because we may need some fluff after this angst train. i've been working on lysander's nightmare, and i've actually finished the nightmare portion of it so far. this is but a small portion of it.

It takes some effort, but he pushes himself to his feet, steadying himself even as the world begins to tilt. There’s a wetness at his brow, dripping down his cheek, but he dares not check if it’s blood or sweat. It doesn’t matter anyway as he stumbles, nearly falls, and he realises that he recognises the body at his feet.

Blood splatters wide across the sunburst symbol on the front of her breastplate, her shield flung a few feet away as if it were knocked from her grasp. She still holds her sword, but it’s useless now, her hollow gaze a void even as the remnant of a scowl graces her features. She is fierce, even in death, a warrior to the very end. It still seems unreal, impossible, that the mighty Seeker even fell at all. Lysander’s eyes grow wide as the realisation hits … she was close to him, practically touching him, and though she can longer tell her tale, he knows she gave her last breath protecting him, protecting the Inquisitor. Her Inquisitor. If that is indeed the case, it seems she fell last, dying as she saw the end of the Inquisition, and Lysander’s heart twists at the thought.

His breath catches as he casts his gaze around, a sudden urge to find his friends settling in, though alongside it is a thrill of dread at what he will find. But he must do this, that much he knows, and so he steadfastly puts one foot in front of the other.

A flash of white catches at his periphery, and he sees Vivienne, run through with a spear, standing only by virtue of her attacker, who still holds onto it even in death. They stand as well, frozen in place, as if she got her spell off but only just too late. Her Orlesian Hennin still sits atop her head as if it were a crown and he swallows hard. He remembers well the ferocious debates they had over magic and mages, but despite their differences, she has laid down her life for him as well. They had never seen eye to eye, but he’d never wished ill upon her, and he almost falls to his knees. The only thing that saves him from standing rooted to the spot is the urge to find the others. Surely they could not all be dead … right? Yet even in his heart he knows, just as he hears the vultures circling and crying out overhead, the only noise other than his footsteps that breaks through the silence around him.

He needs only travel a few feet before he finds more. This time it’s Cullen and Blackwall, fallen side by side as if they stood next to each other. Blackwall’s helmet has been knocked askew and Cullen’s mantle has been shredded as if by precise strikes from an assassin’s blades. It figures, with the defence and the fight they would have put up, only a skilled assassin would have the chance to slip between them and finish them off.

Just several feet away is Varric, fingers still clenching Bianca, blood smeared across the wood as if he staunched a wound before shooting once more. There are so many of them, wounds that is, Lysander cannot tell which dealt the fatal blow, or even if it was quick or slow. Near him lies Hawke, her broken staff at her feet. Her one arm stretches out, out toward Varric, and he can’t help but wonder who died first. He shudders, bile rising in the back of his throat as he pulls out his bow on instinct.

you think this is bad? it gets even worse from here ...

[p1harmonyofficial]

[📰] Get to Know the Members of K-Pop Group P1Harmony With These 10 Fun Facts! (Exclusive)

P1Harmony is a rising global K-Pop troupe, but we wanted Just Jared readers to get an exclusive chance to know them a little better!

The talented six-member boy group first arrived on the scene back in October of 2020, embarking on their international music career with the release of their first mini album DISHARMONY: STAND OUT and feature film, P1H: A New World Begins, which positioned the group as a force to be reckoned with in the music scene.

Amid the pandemic, the group continued to make new music for their fans with the release of their second mini album, DISHARMONY: BREAK OUT, including their slamming, hip-hop infused title track “Scared,”” along with an accompanying music video full of street-style dancing and intense visual effects.

Watch “Scared” and check out these 10 Fun Facts about P1Harmony inside!

INTAK

1. I have more eyelashes on my right eye than my left. Right after my debut, I didn’t really know how to remove eye makeup, so for a while, I used to just rub my eyes really hard with soap and now, I have more eyelashes on my right eye than my left. 2. I used to love oysters, but now I cannot eat it. I was an oyster fanatic, until very recently. I ordered raw oysters after watching a TV show at night with JONGSEOB, and after one bite, I couldn’t eat it anymore. The taste of the “sea” was so pungent. Now, I’m too traumatized! 3. I saved a man’s life. I went chestnut picking with my dad, and found a guy hanging on a cliff and struggling to get back up. We immediately helped him get up. He was really grateful and I remember feeling so proud to have saved someone’s life! 4. I have a small horizontal scar on the right side of my face, and I kind of like it. I got this scar when I was about four or five, and although it’s not that visible now, sometimes I like it because it makes me feel like a charismatic, bad guy! 5. I love dogs. I love dogs, so I have been watching a lot of dog-related videos but I’m terribly allergic. I can’t stop myself from petting them when I see them on the street, and always regret it afterwards because I turn all puffy and itchy! 6. I fantasize a lot about time travel. I even tried and feel like it can really happen one day! I lie down in my bed, put my blanket over my entire body and focus really hard on the idea, but this brings me nowhere but to the future. [Laughs] 7. I have a gold tooth. 8. I have a brown spot (mole) on my middle finger. 9. I love my Crayon Shin-chan character earphones. I get happy just looking at it. 10. I go to the convenient store so much that there isn’t anything I have not tried!

THEO

1. My right shoulder is more developed than my left. I used to play volleyball and would strike with my right arm, so my right shoulder is more developed than my left. 2. I have a red mole. I recently got a red mole on the side of my right neck, but I have no idea where it came from and why but it’s not going away! 3. I can’t burp, literally. I don’t know how to burp and have never burped in my life 4. I only drink carbonated drinks. I rarely drink anything that is NOT carbonated. 5. I don’t like lettuce and tomatoes in my burgers. 6. I had a burst appendix and didn’t know it for a while. I was hospitalized for two months, because they couldn’t find my appendix. Apparently, my organs are shaped and structured differently. 7. I love slippers. Unless I am going to an official engagement or doing promos, I am always in slippers, (even during winter)! 8. I have never cried in front of people until I turned 20. I was watching a very emotional episode of “Animal Farm,” and got caught crying in front of KEEHO, SOUL and JIUNG. Since then, I think I’ve gotten more emotional. I once cried watching JONGSEOB cry, too. 9. I can’t stay still when I’m on the phone. I have to walk around or do something when I’m on the phone. 10. I love singing songs to my friends over the phone.

JIUNG

1. I love Tonkatsu (pork cutlet). I have been addicted to tonkatsu these days and have been eating it almost every day for the last few months. 2. I have the same birthday as my younger brother. My younger brother and I share the same birthday, which is Oct. 7. We were also born around the same time. 3. My younger brother and I have a similar birth time as well. I think he was born like 8 minutes before me or after! 4. I love raw garlic and don’t like kimchi. 5. I only drink flat coca-cola. I purposely decarbonate my coke by shaking it and letting the air out multiple times until the bottle doesn’t expand anymore and the coke is completely flat. 6. I still fit into my hats from my adolescent years. My head is so small that I still fit into all my hats from elementary school. 7. I think too much. I make daily memos and write down almost everything to organize my thoughts. 8. I like to dance and sing when the streets are empty. When no one is around and I’m in a good mood. I love walking down the empty street thinking I’m shooting a music video. I sing, dance and act. Last time, I bumped into someone and I ran away in full embarrassment! [Laughs]. 9. I have a scar on my eye. 10. I may look picky, but I’m not a picky eater! I love trying a lot of different cuisines.

KEEHO

1. I love collecting sunglasses and glasses although my eyesight is near perfect. I love wearing glasses even though I don’t need them to see. I also have been collecting a lot of sunglasses lately. 2. I talk during my sleep, apparently! According to my members, I sleep-talk a lot (almost every night), but I don’t remember any of it and I never have dreams. 3. I have the same birthday as my dad! 4. I can eat salads all day. I love salads! I love eating vegetables, especially celery and carrots, and prefer dressings like ranch and oriental. 5. I am not good at smiling. I have a hard time smiling so I’m still in the process of learning how to smile naturally! I have to make sounds out loud to smile [during photo shoots]. 6. I used to hate wearing sweatpants. I don’t know why but I hated sweatpants and never wore them when I was younger― even if I had to wear something more uncomfortable like slacks or jeans.. Now, I wear them all the time! 7. I rarely cry alone or in front of people. The only person who has seen me cry is INTAK. I was going through something heavy and was alone at a park by myself when INTAK came to pick me up. He started crying as soon as he saw me, and that made me cry. 8. I used to pull all my loose baby teeth. I hated having something loose in my mouth, so instead of waiting to go to the dentist, I used to pull them out on my own. 9. I have a light (barely noticeable) mole on my big toe. 10. I have curly hair, so unless I blow dry it, it goes wild.

SOUL

1. I used to collect beetles. I think I had up to 30 beetles in one big box. 2. I only wear Air Jordans. I only wear Jordans and my favorite design is the Air Jordan 1s. 3. I love dolls! I love buying and collecting dolls. I like anything that is cute and fuzzy. 4. I don’t like taking pictures of humans except KEEHO. I only take pictures of nature, architecture or like a beautiful scenery. The only time I would take a picture of a human is of KEEHO. 5. Me and my younger sister found an important historical stone artifact. We were just digging stuff up and found a stone artifact. We later learned it was a historically valuable artifact, so we donated it to a museum. 6. I wear my pants backwards. 7. I don’t like electric fans. I don’t like when wind blows in my face 8. I once had the same dream three times in a row. I had the same dream three times in a row, but every ending changed depending on the choices I made [in my dream]. 9. A bird pooped on my head while I was on my way to school. Without having much reaction, I just walked to school and waited until I had to go to the bathroom to wash. 10. I don’t get scared or surprised easily. I used to get yelled at for bowing down and saying hi to all the actors playing zombies, monsters or ghosts at haunted houses in theme parks.

JONGSEOB

1. I like books that are thick and with small letters for no particular reason. I tend to buy books that are thick, whatever the genre is. I think it’s because I’m a fast reader. 2. I never had cavities! I love eating sweets like jellies and candies. I can go through a whole pack in one sitting, but I’ve never had cavities! 3. I have something called a “knee hyperextension and/or back knee. My knee bends backwards in a straightened position unlike many people. 4 I love the dark. I usually don’t turn on the lights unless I really have to. 5. I could sleep for long periods of time. I once slept up to 16 straight hours, and I barely have dreams. Maybe like five times a year?! 6. I don’t like/eat seaweed or seagrass. 7. I love walking into a room that is super cold. I turn on the A/C and close the door for about 30 minutes so it can be ice cold before I walk in. 8. I want to learn how to play bass guitar one day! I watch random videos of jam sessions, and one day would really like to play bass guitar. 9. My eyesight is different on both eyes. I am near-sighted on one, and far-sighted on the other. 10. I am pretty good at playing games on my phone.

[baoshan-sanren]

Chapter 27

of the wwx emperor au I’m thinking of calling Lan QiRen’s Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week oh god it’s only gonna get worse

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 Part 1 | Chapter 8 Part 2 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 Part 1 | Chapter 15 Part 2 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 Part 1 | Chapter 22 Part 2 | Chapter 23 | Chapter 24 | Chapter 25 | Chapter 26

WangJi is not familiar with YiLing.

His first sight of the town had been marred by the stress of the six day travel, and all the unpleasantness that the trip had encompassed.  Their inability to find any accommodations for the Lan Sect escort had also contributed to the unfavorable impression. Overall, YiLing is not much smaller than Gusu, but significantly older, its streets and canals having sprouted wherever they were needed.

There is symmetry and regularity to Gusu that has always appealed to WangJi’s need for clearly discernible orderliness; it had been designed with care, roads proportionally wide to the demand, the street market restricted to specific areas built to accommodate the resulting foot traffic.

In contrast, YiLing had formed itself around a popular trade route both by land and by water, and had grown as the fame of the Immortal Mountain had grown, without any order or forethought. Some alleys are wider than the main roads, some are cobblestones and the others dirt, and in some, stubborn weeds and vines have taken root, choking the nearby walls and hedges. Some canals have so many bridges, that one could cross half of YiLing just hopping across them; some only have single, narrow bridge, and those are perpetually clogged by carts and carriages. Handsome mansions sit next to houses of ill repute, next to tanneries and farriers, the stench mixing heavily in the day’s heat. The street markets have taken root wherever there is space, and in many places where they clearly should not have, their stands and awnings blocking the thoroughfare. The result is haphazard at best, an overwhelming chaos made worse by the seven-day festival in honor of the Emperor’s birthday.

Wei WuXian loves it.

WangJi can hardly keep up with him. It is a relief to know that Nie MingJue has stationed multiple members of the Nie Sect throughout the town, because Wei WuXian seems to have entirely forgotten to worry about his own safety. Everything is fascinating to him; everything is new, and exciting, and worthy of exclaiming over. Not a single piece of cloth, or an ornament, or a children’s toy has been overlooked. Wei WuXian has to touch everything, ask about everything, haggle over everything. His smile is so wide and bright that WangJi is finding it hard to focus on anything else. Multiple times, he has found Wei WuXian’s hand wrapped around his wrist, tugging on his sleeve, pressing on his shoulder. He is like a child who needs to see everything, but also needs WangJi to see it as well, even if Wangji hardly has time to offer an opinion, before being tugged to the next stand, the next alley, the next bridge.

Wei WuXian has dressed to blend in. His robes are dark gray, lined in red, sleeves tightly tied off at the wrists. It is a uniform more suited to a rogue cultivator, or perhaps a second or third young master of a middling clan. But WangJi is certain that no set of dark, unadorned robes would ever prevent Wei WuXian from standing out. His smile is infectious; people smile back without meaning to, as if compelled by some invisible force. Those that do not, are still left looking dazed, blinking into the space where his smile had been moments ago. The red ribbon in Wei WuXian’s hair is perhaps the most conspicuous part of his outfit, fluttering as he darts from one corner of the street to another, a bright splash of color WangJi can easily follow even when left behind.

“Did you know you look an awful lot like the Emperor?” an old lady says to him, and Wei WuXian laughs loudly, turning to WangJi.

“Did you hear that Lan Zhan? What do you think? Am I as handsome as the Emperor?”

WangJi feels his face heat, but Wei WuXian is already skipping away, exclaiming over a row of grass butterflies. He buys three of them for A-Yuan, then dashes to the next colorful thing, a row of bright scarves embroidered with lotus flowers.

They have long lost sight of Nie MingJue and XiChen; WangJi knows they had not intended to stick closely to one another throughout the evening, as the sight of two Lan Sect members together may raise suspicion. They do not know if the assassin or their accomplices have eyes and ears in YiLing; the rumors in the Immortal Mountain City have placed the Young Masters of the Lan Sect in the Imperial Gardens, along with the Emperor, and Jiang WanYin had been quite insistent that they do nothing to compromise the plans set in motion. Both WangJi and XiChen had dressed simply enough to be mistaken for the Lan Sect escort still residing outside the YiLing proper, but once they are standing side by side, their resemblance is difficult to ignore. Still, WangJi knows his brother will worry, and wishes he could at least catch a glimpse of him in the crowded streets.

“Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan! Look at this!”

Wei WuXian had stumbled upon rows of paper lanterns, each one delicately painted with a different woodland creature in careful strokes. These are, by no means, the first paper lanterns they have seen on their trek across the market. Later in the evening, when the darkness fully sets, thousands of them will be released to the sky, as is tradition on every fifth day of the Emperor’s birthday festival. But these are the first lanterns WangJi has not found visually overwhelming, and he watches Wei WuXian haggle with the merchant for a little while, before simply stuffing the amount the man had wanted into his hands.

“Lan Zhan! He was going to sell it for less!”

The man shoots Wei WuXian a look that clearly says he was not going to do any such thing, but WangJi does not care either way.

“Which one?” he asks, and that is all it takes for Wei WuXian to become distracted again, exclaiming over hedgehogs and deer, until he settles on a lantern depicting a white rabbit.

“Do you like rabbits, Lan Zhan?”

WangJi nods. He has never before considered his feelings about rabbits in any detail, but now, he finds himself quite fond of them.

“Hm, I think we should eat. What do you think? After, we can find a peaceful spot to watch the lantern festival.”

Anything with a word peaceful in it is more than satisfactory to WangJi, and he nods again, letting Wei WuXian pull him to the nearest winehouse.

The common room is crowded and loud, the stench of alcohol mixing with the sharp scent of spices. Majority of the patrons seem to be merchants, but WangJi sees a few cultivator swords leaning against the table edges, despite the fact that their owners lack discernible sect uniforms. YiLing has always been a popular town for rogue cultivators. The Immortal Empress herself had belonged to no sect or clan, and each year, even the largest Sects see a number of disciples leave to strike out on their own, the idea of being anchorless and sectless doubtlessly more romantic in theory than it turns out being in truth. Still, WangJi is more focused on ascertaining if any of them are Sect members in disguise, than he is on Wei WuXian’s conversation with the serving girl.

Once the proprietor approaches however, he finally recognizes that there is an issue.

A single glance at the man’s face explains the situation fully, and WangJi steps closer to Wei WuXian, who is still visibly confused.

“We should leave,” WangJi says softly.

Wei WuXian does not listen. The common room is crowded, but there are clearly at least two unoccupied tables, and Wei WuXian does not understand why the serving girl would pretend otherwise.

The proprietor, unlike the serving girl, has no qualms about speaking plainly, “The Lan sect is not welcome here.”

WangJi had remained a few steps behind Wei WuXian, and cannot see the expression on his face, but he can perceive the telltale stiffening of his shoulders, the tightening of his grip on the sword. WangJi feels a moment of pity for XiChen, having to deal with his own eerily similar reaction in MoLing.

“Excuse me?” Wei WuXian says, his voice cold.

The exchange has drawn notice of the few nearby tables, most of them occupied by men who clearly know how to use their swords, and WangJi can see this situation escalating past the point where it can be managed peacefully.

He grabs Wei WuXian by the elbow and pulls him backwards, stepping in front of him.

“Forgive my friend,” he says, bowing to the proprietor, “he meant no offense. We are leaving.”

He has to physically push Wei WuXian outside. The line of his back is iron hard under WangJi’s hand, and his grip on the sword has not loosened.

“How dare he?” he bursts out, before they are even fully in the street, and WangJi pushes him harder, hoping to put some distance between them and the common room as quickly as possible.

“Do not be angry,” he says softly.

“Do not be angry?” Wei WuXian spits out, fury making his voice vibrate, “By the time I am done, he will be lucky to run a QiShan whorehouse!”

WangJi steers him down an empty alley, afraid that someone might decide to follow, “We are in disguise. The proprietor mistook you for a rogue cultivator. He did not know that he was insulting the Emperor.”

“He knew he was insulting you!” Wei WuXian whirls to face him, his expression outraged.

This is the second time WangJi has seen him angry in response to the mistreatment of the Lan Sect. It is just as overwhelming as the last time, and he is equally as incapable of formulating the correct response.

“This is YiLing,” he says, “the home of the Empress. The Lan Sect has never been welcome here.”

“Are you saying that they are all like this?” Wei WuXian’s voice is dangerous now, and WangJi does not know how to answer that question in a way that will deescalate the situation.

He should have known that this would happen. He should have steered Wei WuXian away from the places that he knows are likely to refuse to serve him.

It was stupid and thoughtless of him to forget. The evening had been going so well. Wei WuXian had been genuinely happy, and now he is furious, and WangJi does not know how to fix what he had broken.

Feeling agitated and unsure, he reaches for Wei WuXian’s hand, “Do not be angry. The street merchants will not care what sect I am from. We can buy food from them.”

He watches Wei WuXian’s anger bleed away in a rush, but it is replaced by frustration and grief, both nearly as crushing as the anger had been.

His fingers press into the back of WangJi’s hand, “Is it like that everywhere?”

“Sometimes,” WangJi says, “but it does not matter right now. You wanted to eat. We should do so before the festival starts, and the streets become crowded. Come on.”

He tugs Wei WuXian slightly, desperate that the subject be dropped, desperate for the return of the happy, smiling Wei WuXian, who seemed to not have a care in the world.  

Wei WuXian lets himself be led, but it is a long time before he smiles again.

[themousefromfantasyland]

The Tale of the Dead Princess and the Seven Knights

Or, russian Snow White and the seven Bogatyrs, legendary slavic warriors, similar to the knight-errant in Western tradition

This is a 1833 poem by russian poet Aleksandr Pushkin, inspired by the childhood tales told by his nurse. It's basically russian Snow White, been astonishly closer to the Disney film than the original Brothers Grimm's fairy tale

With his suite the Tsar departed. The Tsarina tender-hearted at the window sat alone, wishing he would hurry home.

All day every day she waited, gazing till her dedicated eyes grew weak from overstrain, gazing at the empty plain. Not a sign of her beloved!

Nothing but the snowflakes hurried, heaping drifts upon the lea. Earth was white as white could be. Nine long months she sat and waited, kept her vigil unabated.

Then from God on Christmas Eve, she a daughter did receive. Next day early in the morning, love and loyalty rewarding. Home again from travel far, came at last the father-Tsar.

One fond glance at him she darted, gasped for joy with thin lips parted. Then fell back upon her bed and by prayer-time was dead.

Long the Tsar sat lonely, brooding. But he, too, was only human.

Tears for one sad year he shed... And another woman wed.

She (if one be strictly truthful) was a born Tsarina. Youthful, slim, tall, fair to look upon. Clever, witty, and so on.

But she was in equal measure stubborn, haughty, wilful, jealous. In her dowry rich and vast was a little looking-glass.

It had this unique distinction: It could speak with perfect diction. Only with this glass would she in a pleasant humour be.

Many times a day she'd greet it and coquettishly entreat it:

"Tell me, pretty looking-glass, nothing but the truth, I ask: Who in all the world is fairest, and has beauty of the rarest?"

And the looking-glass replied:

"You, it cannot be denied. You in all the world are fairest and your beauty is the rarest."

The Tsarina laughed with glee, shrugged her shoulders merrily, puffed her cheeks and bat her eyelids, flicked her fingers coyly, slyly, pranced around with hand on hips, arrogance upon her lips.

All this time the Tsar's own daughter quietly, as Nature taught her, grew and grew, and came quite soon like a flower into bloom: Raven-browed, of fair complexion, breathing kindness and affection.

And the choice of fiance lighted on Prince Yelisei. Suit was made. The Tsar consented and her dowry was indented:

Seven towns with wealthy store. Mansion-houses, sevenscore. On the night before the wedding, for a bridal party dressing, the Tsarina, time to pass, chatted with her looking-glass:

"Who in all the world is fairest, and has beauty of the rarest?"

Then what did the glass reply?

"You are fair, I can't deny. But the Princess is the fairest. And her beauty is the rarest."

Up the proud Tsarina jumped. On the table how she thumped, angrily the mirror slapping, slipper heel in fury tapping!

"O you loathsome looking-glass, telling lies as bold as brass! By what right is she my rival?Such young folly I shall bridle. So she's grown up? Me to spite! Little wonder she's so white: With her bulging mother gazing. At that snow?What's so amazing! Now look here, explain to me. How can she the fairer be? Scour this realm of ours and seek well, nowhere shall you find my equal. Is not that the truth?" she cried.

Still the looking-glass replied:

"But the Princess is the fairest and her beauty is the rarest."

The Tsarina burst with spite, hurled the mirror out of sight, underneath the nearest cupboard, and when breath she had recovered, summoned Smudge, her chamber maid and to her instructions gave:

"Take the Princess to the forest. Bind her hand and foot and forehead to a tree! When wolves arrive let them eat the girl alive!"

Woman's wrath would daunt the devil! Protest was no use whatever.

Soon the Princess left with Smudge for the woods. So far they trudged that the Princess guessed the reason. Scared to death by such foul treason, loud she pleaded:

"Spare my life! Innocent of guilt am I! Do not kill me, I beseech you! And when I become Tsarina I shall give you rich reward."

Smudge, who really loved her ward, being loth to kill or bind her, let her go, remarking kindly:

"God be with you! Do not moan!"

And, this said, went back alone.

"Well?" demanded the Tsarina. "Where's that pretty little creature?"

"In the forest on her own," Smudge replied. "And there she'll stay. To a tree I firmly lashed her. When a hungry beast attacks her, she'll have little time to cry, and the quicker she shall die!"

Rumour spread and caused a panic: "What, the Tsar's own daughter vanished!"

Mournful was the Tsar that day, but the young Prince Yelisei offered God a fervent prayer and departed then and there, to seek out and homeward guide, his sweet-tempered, youthful bride.

Meanwhile his young bride kept walking through the forest until morning, vague as to her whereabouts.

Suddenly she spied a house. Out a dog ran growling, yapping, then sat down, his tail tap-tapping. At the gate there was no guard. All was quiet in the yard.

Close at heel the good dog bounded as the Princess slowly mounted stairs to gain the living floor, turned the ring upon the door.

Silently the door swung open and before her eyes unfolded a bright chamber: all around benches strewn with rugs she found, board of oak beneath the ikon and a stove with tiles to lie on.

To the Princess it was clear, kindly folk were dwelling here, who would not deny her shelter.

No one was at home, however. So she set to, cleaned the pans, made the whole house spick and span, lit a candle in the corner, fed the fire to be warmer, climbed onto the platform bed, there to lay her sleepy head.

Dinner time. The yard resounded, horses stamped and men dismounted. Thick-moustached and ruddy-skinned, seven lusty Knights walked in.

Said the Eldest: "How amazing! All so neat! The fire blazing! Somebody's been cleaning here, and is waiting somewhere near. Who is there? Come out of hiding! Be a friend in peace abiding! If you're someone old and hoar, be our uncle evermore! If you're young and love a scuffle.We'll embrace you as a brother. If a venerable dame, then shall 'mother' be your name. If a maiden fair, we'll call you our dear sister and adore you."

So the Princess rose, came down to the Seven Knights and bowed. Her good wishes emphasising, blushing and apologising that to their delightful home uninvited she had come.

Straight they saw her speech bore witness to the presence of a Princess.

So they cleared a corner seat, offered her a pie with meat, filled a glass with wine and served it on a tray, as she deserved it.

But the glass of heady wine she politely did decline, and the pie she broke with caution, savouring a tiny portion.

Pleading she was very tired, soon she gracefully retired and the Seven Knights conveyed her to the best and brightest chamber and, away as they did creep, she was falling fast asleep.

Days flew by? The Princess living all the time without misgiving, in the forest, never bored, with the Seven Knights abroad.

Darkness would the earth still cover when at dawn the seven brothers would ride out to try their luck with a long-bow, shooting duck.

She, as lady of the house, rose much later, moved about dusting, polishing and cooking, never once the Knights rebuking. They, too, never chided her. Days flew by like gossamer.

And in time they grew to love her. Thereupon all seven brothers, shortly after dawn one day, to her chamber made their way, and the Eldest Knight addressed her:

"As you know, you are our sister. But all seven of us here are in love with you, my dear, and we all desire your favours. But that must not be. God save us! Find some way to give us peace! Be a wife to one at least, to the rest remain a sister! But you shake your head. Is this to say our offer you refuse? Nothing from our stock you'll choose?"

"O my brave and bonny brothers, virtuous beyond all others!"

In reply the Princess'said, "God in heaven strike me dead if my answer be not honest: I've no choice. My hand is promised! You're all equal in my eyes, all so valiant and wise, and I love you all, dear brothers! But my heart is to another pledged for evermore. One day I shall wed Prince Yelisei!"

Hushed, the brothers kept their station, scratched their foreheads in frustration.

"As you wish! So now we know," said the Eldest with a bow.

"Pray, forgive us, and I promise you'll hear nothing further from us!"

"I'm not angry," she replied. "By my pledge I must abide."

Bowing low, the seven suitors left her room with passions muted. So in harmony again did they live and friendship reign.

The Tsarina was still livid, every time she saw in vivid memory the Princess fair.

Long the mirror, lying there, was the object of her hatred;

But at last her wrath abated. So one day it came to pass, that she took the looking-glass, up again and sat before it, smiled and, as before, implored it:

"Greetings, pretty looking-glass! Tell me all the truth, I ask: Who in all the world is fairest, and has beauty of the rarest?"

Said the mirror in reply:

"You are fair, I can't deny. But where Seven Knights go riding, in a green oak-grove residing, humbly lives a person who is more beautiful than you."

The Tsarina's wrath descended on her maid: "What folly tempted you to lie? You disobeyed!"

Smudge a full confession made...

Uttering a threat of torture, the Tsarina grimly swore to send the Princess to her death, or not draw another breath.

One day by her window waiting for her brothers homeward hasting, sat the young Princess and span.

Suddenly the dog began barking. Through the courtyard scurried a poor beggar-woman, worried by the dog she kept at bay with her stick.

"Don't go away! Stay there, stay!" the Princess shouted, from the window leaning outward.

"Let me call the dog to heel, and I'll offer you a meal."

And the beggar-woman answered: "Pretty child, you take my fancy! For that dog of yours, you see, could well be the death of me. See him snarling, bristling yonder! Come here, child!"

The Princess wanted to go out, and took a loaf. But the dog its body wove round her feet, refused to let her step towards the woman-beggar.

When the woman, too, drew near, wilder than an angry bear, it ttacked her. How perplexing!

"Had a bad night's sleep, I reckon!" Said the Princess. "Catch it! There!"

And the bread flew through the air. The poor beggar-woman caught it.

"I most humbly thank you, daughter, God be merciful!" said she. "In return take this from me!"

The bright apple she was holding, newly picked, fresh, ripe and golden, straight towards the Princess flew...

How the dog leapt in pursuit! But the Princess neatly trapped it in her palms.

"Enjoy the apple at you leisure, little pet! Thank you for the loaf of bread..."

Said the beggar-woman, brandished in the air her stick and vanished...

Up the stairs the Princess ran with the dog, which then began pitifully staring, whining, just as if its heart were pining for the gift of speech to say: "Throw that apple far away!"

Hastily his neck she patted: "Hey, Sokolko, what's the matter? Lie down!"

Entering once more her own room, she shut the door, sat there with her spindle humming, waiting for her brothers' coming.

But she could not take her gaze from the apple where it lay, full of fragrance, rosy, glowing, fresh and juicy, ripe and golden, sweet as honey to the lips! She could even see the pips...

First the Princess thought of waiting until dinner. But temptation proved too strong. She grasped the bright apple, took a stealthy bite and with fair cheek, sweetly hollowed a delicious morsel swallowed.

All at once her breathing stopped, listlessly her white arms dropped. From her lap the rosy apple tumbled to the floor. The hapless maiden closed her swooning eyes, reeled and fell without a cry, on the bench her forehead striking, then lay still beneath the ikon...

Now the brothers, as it chanced, were returning in a band from another warlike foray. Out to meet them in the forest, went the dog and, running hard, led them straight into the yard.

Said the Knights: "An evil omen! Grief in store!"

The door they opened, walked into the room and gasped. But the dog like lightning dashed for the apple and devoured it. Death that instant overpowered it. For the apple was, they saw, filled with poison to the core.

By the dead Princess the brothers bent their heads in tears and uttered holy prayer to save her soul; Nothing could their grief console.

From the bench they raised her, dressed her, wished within a grave to rest her. Then had second thoughts. For she was as rosy as if sleep. Garlands of repose were wreathing round her, though she was not breathing.

Three whole days they waited, but still her eyes were tightly shut.

So that night with solemn ritual, in a coffin made of crystal, they laid out the body fair of the Princess and from there, to a hollow mountain bore her, where a tomb they fashioned for her:

Iron chains they used to fix her glass case to pillars six. With due caution, and erected iron railings to protect it.

Then the Eldest smote his breast, and the dead Princess addressed:

"Ever peaceful be your slumber! Though your days were few in number On this earth spite took its toll? Yet shall heaven have your soul. With pure love did we regard you, for your loved one did we guard you, but you came not to the groom, only to a chill dark tomb."

That same day the bad Tsarina, waiting for good news to reach her, secretly the mirror took and her usual question put:

"Who is now by far the fairest, and has beauty of the rarest?"

And the answer satisfied:

"You, it cannot be denied. You in all the world are fairest. And your beauty is the rarest!"

In pursuit of his sweet bride, through the country far and wide, still Prince Yelisei goes riding, weeping bitterly. No tidings!

For no matter whom he asks, people either turn their backs, or most rudely rock with laughter: No one knows what he is after.

Now to the bright Sun in zeal, did the bold young Prince appeal:

"Sun, dear Sun! The whole year coursing through the sky, in springtime thawing from the chill earth winter snow! You observe us all below. Surely you'll not grudge an answer? Tell me, did you ever chance to see the Princess I revere? I'm her fiance." "My dear,"

Said the Sun with some insistence, "I have nowhere seen your Princess, so she's dead, we must presume. That is, if my friend, the Moon, has not met her on his travels, or seen clues you may unravel."

Through the dark night Yelisei, feeling anything but gay, with a lover's perseverance, waited for the Moon's appearance.

"Moon, O Moon, my friend!" he said. "Gold of horn and round of head, from the darkest shadows rising, with your eye the world apprising. You whom stars with love regard as you mount your nightly guard! Surely you'll not grudge an answer? Tell me, did you ever chance to see the Princess I revere? I'm her fiance." "O dear!"

Said the Moon in consternation,

"No, I have not seen the maiden. On my round I only go, when it is my turn, you know.

It would seem that I was resting, when she passed." "How very vexing!"

Cried aloud Prince Yelisei. But the Moon went on to say:

"Wait a minute! I suggest you have the Wind come to the rescue. Call him now! It's worth a try. And cheer up a bit! Goodbye!"

Yelisei, not losing courage, to the Wind's abode now hurried.

"Wind, O Wind! Lord of the sky, herding flocks of clouds on high. Stirring up the dark-blue ocean, setting all the air in motion. Unafraid of anyone, saving God in heaven alone! Surely you'll not grudge an answer? Tell me, did you ever chance to see the Princess I revere? I'm her fiance." "O hear!"

Said the Wind in turmoil blowing.

"Where a quiet stream is flowing, stands a mountain high and steep. In it lies a cavern deep; In this cave in shadows dismal, sways a coffin, made of crystal. Hung by chains from pillars six. Round it barren land in which no man ever meets another. In that tomb your bride discover!"

With a howl the Wind was gone. Yelisei wept loud and long. To the barren land he journeyed, desperately, sadly yearning, once again to see his bride.

On he rode. A mountain high rose before him, soaring steeply fom a land laid waste completely.

At its foot, an entrance dim. Yelisei went quickly in. There, he saw, in shadows dismal swayed a coffin made of crystal, where the Princess lay at rest, in the deep sleep of the blest. And the Prince in tears dissolving threw himself upon the coffin...

And it broke!

The maiden straight came to life, sat up, in great wonder looked about and yawning as she set her bed see-sawing, said with pretty arms outstretched:

"Gracious me! How long I've slept!"

Down she stepped from out the coffin. O the sighing and the sobbing! Carrying his bride, he strode back to daylight. Home they rode, making pleasant conversation, till they reached their destination.

Swiftly rumour spread around:

"The Princess is safe and sound!"

It so happened the Tsarina in her room was idly seated by her magic looking-glass, and to pass the time did ask:

"Who in all the world is fairest, and has beauty of the rarest?"

Said the mirror in reply:

"You are fair, I can't deny, but the Princess is the fairest, and her beauty is the rarest!"

The Tsarina leapt and smashed on the floor her looking-glass.

Rushing to the door she saw the fair young Princess walk towards her.

Overcome by grief and spite, the Tsarina died that night.

From the grave where she was buried, to a wedding people hurried, for the good Prince Yelisei wed his Princess that same day.

Never since the World's creation, was there such a celebration; I was there, drank mead and yet, barely got my whiskers wet.

[ask-those-dumbasses]

Battle Tactic Analysis (for the comic): Part 3

The saga continues...

My discord voted for these three, so here they are! 

WILBUR SOOT

Wilbur’s fighting style is another interesting one, especially to vocalize in writing. Remember when I said his preferred weapon was his guitar? ...I wasn’t lying. He takes his guitar into battle and is more than willing to smack a bitch with it. Other than that his guitar packs a little surprise. On the bottom of his gitual you can see a small handle sticking out of it. Here, he can pull out a long and thin iron sword. With this sword, his fighting style is very akin to a ballroom dance, weaving in, out, and in between attacks, and striking back with swift precision. He’s a slippery little weasel in that regard. But due to his thin body he cannot take many direct hits before going down. Which is why he’s better at assisting his allies then facing an enemy head on, even though he has more than enough guts to stare down a dragon if need be. 

Wilbur’s magic presents itself as a hazing red mist, clouding his opponent’s vision while singing sweet death songs to his enemies. This can trip up people as well as get them distracted, enchanted by the charm of an incubus, so watch out. 

But I also mentioned Wilbur’s favorite weapon being his charm, and that’s because Wilbur would much rather charm his way out of a conflict before it escalates to violence. Wilbur knows that he is not as skilled or as tough as Techno, Dream, or Phil. Good, even exceptional yes, but not quite enough. So, he’d prefer to talk his way out of conflict when he’s alone, maybe even slipping in a charming spell under his breath if necessary. It may not be exactly legal, but hey, he’s a dirty crime boy. 

TUBBO

Tubbo is… split, and hard to write, so I really hope what I’m trying to convey makes sense. On one hand, Tubbo is trying to keep the facts that they’re an Android a secret. On the other hand, he has a fighting style that he specifically has because he’s an Android. 

See my problem?

So, we have Tubbo when he’s trying to keep up his guise as a human. They use super traditional and simple fighting tactics, and by the looks of things, Tubbo looks super untrained. Simple and blunt slashes and haphazard blocking with a wooden sword. Decent at shooting a bow, but still has a lot to learn. Overall very average. 

Then we have the Tubbo that either does not care or is alone (for some reason). Here Tubbo will generate shields wrong themself, blast his enemy with his arm gun thingys(??), and generally have a much better handle on things. Similarly with George’s goggles, Tubbo’s eyes can scan the environment around him looking for hazards, and see information about whatever he’s facing to get the upper hand. His eyes, unlike George’s goggles, can also take measure of his own vitals, but also others. Not to mention that thanks to Tubbo being made of metal, they can take hints like a tank (quite literally). Tubbo can also send Spinz to distract his enemy. Spinz can also use their “stinger” to repeatedly jab at whatever Tubbo is facing. Overall, the bee boy is much more dangerous when they don’t have to worry about accidentally revealing their identity. 

TOMMYINNIT

Tommy actually has a planned arc about this. Currently, Tommy is being trained by Technoblade himself (which I’ll make a post about later), and is improving a lot. I don’t want to go too much into Tommy now since, as I just mentioned, Tommy has an arc about this, but he’s another fairly frail fighter who needs to be careful. Sadly this clashes with Tommy’s reckless nature and gets him into a lot of trouble that others need to help him get out of.