#it just really annoys me that they ported their golden children up but not the mixed/poorly received games

[luxrayz64]

seriously why the fuck aren't heroes and shadow available on steam. 06 and unleashed too. they could port the adventure games onto pc, but not these other games that released on the exact same consoles and hardware as those?

[neko-naruto]

nowhere to hide out in the open

summary: the one good thing about these 'Genre Peace' meetings, it would be that Delta Dawn has an excuse to be next to Queen Essence

warnings: its just fluff

authors note: EVERYONE SAY THANK YOU TO @ohposhers FOR DRAGGING ME OUT OF RETIREMENT BY MAKING DELTESSENCE REAL INSTEAD OF LETTING IT ROT IN OUR DM'S FROM MARCH, LITERALLY DRAGGED THIS FIC OUT FROM THE BACK AND FINISHED IT UP IN 2 HOURS NOT EVEN. anyways hope ya'll enjoy and if ya do consider dropping a reblog or checkin' the Ao3 port

To be frank, Delta Dawn didn't necessarily enjoy the fact that the genre leaders had to meet up in Funk's spaceship of sorts; they called it Vibe City. The deck may have been solid beneath her hooves and the air perfectly metered in temperature, but it still felt wrong. Just something made her feel off about living up here, especially when they used to inhabit the deserts and oasis's below.

The only plus was the fact that she was allowed a seat next to Queen Essence, Funk's co-ruler. Pale blue fur and glistening silver tinsel littered across her form and like necklaces on her neck. A spattering of glitter on her face and golden adornments in her hair, voice a gentle timbre and comfy pace-

Delta Dawn definitely enjoyed her, and the fact that she was married with children.

"Now, Queen Poppy, are you sure we really need to unite geographically as well?" Trollzart asked, and the annoying sound of his voice snapped Delta out of it. He sounded like a 'woodwind,' as the Classical's called those instruments.

"Yeah, Popseed, I quite like Volcano Rock City. The Rocker's need some heat to keep us going," Barb tacked on, voice sharp as always with a blunt edge that Delta respected. Even if the gal tried to destroy all music, she had good work ethic.

Poppy gave a nervous laugh, "Well we could at least try making a place where the cross-genre's and genrefluid Trolls could exist in peace?"

"A utopia," King Quincy supplies.

"A Trollstopia, if you will," Queen Essence adds on.

"The only problem with that is the Techno's, they can't be out of water for prolonged periods of time," Branch said. He was already splaying out blueprints, "I'll work on a fix."

"I can help manufacture it," Trollex said and his voice also had an annoying sting too it out of water, oddly synthetic but natural to their speciation.

"Dawn," Queen Essence said, and it took Delta a moment to realize she was referring to her.

The sheriff of Country nodded, "Yes, miss Essence?" Country sensibilities sneaking into her speech again, she really hopes that isn't an offence in Funk.

Instead it makes Queen Essence smile, "Do you have any objections to this Trollstopia?" There's a softness to her tone, a calm that Delta doesn't know too well. Everyone's much gruffer in Country, more to the point and strict about it. Working together is loving each other and tussling in a rodeo is a love language.

Funk Trolls are so... Different, in a refreshing way of course. It's confusing too, Delta never took herself for a romantic, but the Queen is doing something to her. And it's just how she exists too, even when they aren't interacting she's just like this. Smooth and calm and with an amount of allure that Delta is sure must be practiced in advance.

"I got no objections to it, I think it's a great idea," Delta said before standing up and pushing aside the cushion she sat upon. At the slightest hint of Poppy going to speak up, she waved it off, "I'm fine, Queen Poppy, I just need to stretch my legs, get some water."

Her hooves clicked uncomfortably against the metal-adjacent platforms below her. She rubbed her temples as she walked, taking long, deep breaths to try and compose herself. How on earth do they expect her to keep it together when they put her beside Queen Essence? She shouldn't be getting this worked up over a married Troll.

"Dawn, you're probably gonna need some help finding the vending machines," Came a gentle voice from behind her and all she could do was freeze up.

"Naw, I'll be fine, Queen Essence," Delta said, turning to give her an affirming smile. It looked kind of forced.

"Please, just call me Essence," She said before leading Delta along and the sheriff followed without questioning her own actions despite her previous defiance.

Delta gives a huffing sort of sound, it earns her a perplexed look before she remembers that the Funk Trolls don't have that in their lexicon, "Then I have ta ask that you call me Delta."

Essence gives a long hum as she pads down the halls, her paws are near silent against the flooring. A stark contrast to the clip-clop of Delta's hooves, "I'll see what I can do for you."

The slight teasing lilt coupled with a small chuckle has Delta going mad. She trots up closer to the queen of Funk and follows her obediently down the halls. The swirled design of Funk architecture matches the consistent beat thrumming below them in the main corridors. It pulses with a faint glow, so subtle it's almost unnoticable unless you really look close- and Delta needs something to stare at that isn't her guide.

When they come to a stop Essence grabs her a bottle of water, gifted in return for a small melody in a genre Delta doesn't know well. It's interesting technology really, maybe Country is outdated after all. Then she remembers that Pop still lives in the woods and hasn't rebuilt after they had their empire swept out from under their feet by the Bergens. Her genre isn't too far behind, and Funk is highly advanced anyways.

"So, Delta, what's got you down?" Essence asked, dropping down to sit with folded legs on a cushion. Delta followed suit, a low table between them, and she didn't quite sit the same way Funk Trolls did but she made it happen.

"Nothin's got me down," Delta said, twisting the cap off the bottle, "Don't know what gave you that idea."

Essence's brows furrowed, but she didn't narrow her gaze much. She just sighed, "I can't be offended that you don't want to tell me, but I can be offended that you think I can't see what's right in front of me."

That shakes Delta down to her core, she didn't expect Essence to have such keen observations as well. She nearly chokes on her water which has a tang too it, a hint of citrus flavouring perhaps? She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, "I suppose I shouldn't treat ya like an idiot cause you're different than me."

"Some signs are universal," Essence said, "And your vibes aren't exactly feeling on point."

Delta gives a low laugh, "You have a point there, Queen Essence. You're mighty smart, mighty tenacious for waiting so long for your son to show up."

Essence smiles a smile that's so warm it contradicts the soothing frosted hue of her form. She tilts her head a bit as she smiles, a small laugh arising and she brings a paw to hide it. "I'm flattered, Dawn."

"Essence, you seem like the loving type," Delta begins, "Happily married and whatnot."

"So it's a romance problem you have."

She nods, "Yeah, that. What would you say is the best action for loving someone whose already set for life?"

That gives Essence pause, and she's more than clever enough to piece it together right then and there, but she still takes a moment. "In Funk we're usually pretty open, most relations are fluid and shifting states frequently."

"They are?" Delta asked a bit too fast.

"Of course they are, Delta. Are they not in other genres?" Essence asked, a genuine curiosity lacing her voice.

Delta shakes her head, "We're rather monogamous in Country."

"Tell me, Delta," Essence begins, a type of smile on her face that makes Delta shiver. Essence leans a little bit closer, "Is it me?"

"What gave it away, your majesty?" Delta asked.

"Country Trolls are very up front, it translates to the way you act," Essence explained before pressing a kiss to Delta's cheek. It left a silvery, snowy mark in its wake and Delta was too stunned to move. It made Essence giggle a bit.

"But, but you're royalty!" Delta managed to get out, "Doesn't royalty have ta keep a closed relationship?"

Essence shrugged and the tinsel shifted and coat the technicolor glow of Vibe City. "Quincy is understanding, I doubt he'd mind if we let you in for a bit."

"Well alright then." She's not in a cohesive enough mindset to get anything else out of her mouth. She's wearing this dumb grin on her face that's quick to fall.

Essence brings a paw to Delta's face, "What's wrong, darling?"

"Nothin' that needs to be worried about now," Delta brings her hand to rest on Essence's wrist, or ankle maybe? Delta isn't too sure of the proper terminology to use.

"You got your legs stretched out enough to head back, Dawn? They can't make much progress without Country," Essence asked.

"I'm ready," Delta said before standing up, she traced a digit across the lipstick mark on her cheek, "Say, won't this be incriminating evidence?"

"Quincy won't mind," Essence assured with a hum.

"The others?"

"They're in our home, we can evict them."

[along-came-atsushi]

The search for yourself – An analysis about Tachihara

Several characters in BSD express a wish for home and family. Most of them have either lost their families or were abandoned by them. Especially for those characters, the word ‘family’ expands the definition of being related by blood.

In BSD ‘family’ doesn’t mean people who are related to you, but people who accept you for who you really are and who truly care about you. Some examples would be the relationship between Fukuzawa and Ranpo, or Sigma and how he sees his customers.

Tachihara’s arc deals with the same theme and his search for who he really is.

[Beware: Spoilers for the whole Hunting Dogs Arc!]

His Past:

It’s been shown that Tachihara and his older brother are granted with a similar ability: The ability to create and/or manipulate metal. But Tachihara seemed to be less talented or able to control his ability than his brother, at least in the eyes of his family. When his brother died in the war they were outraged and sad about his death. At the same time, they openly told Tachihara to be the one that should have died in his stead, showing complete disregard for his existence:

Tachihara’s brother thinks positively about his family, given how he talks about them. He knows that they miss him and he himself wishes to return back home. Due to this it’s possible that he doesn’t even notice the difference in his family’s treatment between him and Tachihara, since he never addresses that problem anywhere. Tachihara on the other hand has to feel that no matter who he is and what he does, even ultimately if he’d die, they wouldn’t care for him.

He has been compared to his older brother his whole life and was never accepted as his own person, which leads to him in not understanding who he is and what he should do.

[Side note: I’m not a psychologist, but I read that parents that treat one child as the golden egg (Tachihara’s brother), while treating the other as the black sheep (Tachihara) is a trait found in narcissists. With this they try to have one person who admires them (Tachihara’s brother) and the other who fears them (Tachihara). Considering this and the way Tachihara has been treated by his family, it is highly possible that he is the victim of a narcissistic upbringing. It might be that one family member was a narcissist and with their treatment of Tachihara influenced the other family members to do the same. They joined the narcissist in their behaviour out of fear (acting as enablers), so that they themselves wouldn’t get viewed and treated by the narcissist and others the same way.]

.

Joining the Hunting Dogs:

After his brother’s death Tachihara ran away from his family and decided to live a life on the streets, trying to survive by stealing and doing other criminal activities, where he then was found by the Hunting Dogs and invited to join them:

The Hunting Dogs highest priority is to protect their country and its citizens, no matter what it takes. They have been shown to let people join them when they realize that those people have an intention to protect others, or are willing to self-sacrifice in order to protect something. (e.g. Jouno offering Kunikida to join after he saw that Kunikida wanted to protect the ADA, Fukuchi offering to train Akutagawa after he realized he was fighting for something.)

.

But the problem of the Hunting Dogs’ mentality is that they have a black and white view regarding “justice” and “crime”, or people they perceive as “good” and “evil”. They immediately hunt down the ADA without further investigation on their assertions (that they’re innocent and all was a set-up), even expressing joy about torture and killing, when a person is a “criminal” and therefore “evil” in their eyes.

The only way to get rid of your crime is to join them and in this way being useful to them. This results in people involuntarily joining them, because they have no other way, which has been the case with Tachihara. He was found being guilty, because he stole something from them, and then offered of being freed from his crime, but only if he joins them. Which means that he doesn’t join them on his own accord and is then pressured into their black and white morale.

[Side note: Tecchou seems to be the only one able to look on a more greyish view regarding “good” and “evil” people, as seen when he talks with the café owner and promises to not kill Lucy and the ADA. Fukuchi feels guilty for at least having to kill children in the past.]

.

The Hunting Dogs seem to stick together because they have to, less because they want to. Jouno is annoyed with Tecchou’s behaviour and Tecchou is annoyed by Jouno’s actions. Teruko dares Jouno not to read her heartbeat and with that tries to keep him from getting to know how she truly feels. She also seems to be afraid of Fukuchi for some reason, hence why she butters him up in an extreme and exaggerated way:

Ultimately, Fukuchi their own captain, is the one who plays them all and lies to them the most. They are bound together by their duty and have no real trust in each other.

Tachihara has been shown to feel somewhat uncomfortable when being with the Hunting Dogs and is sometimes weirded out by their behaviours. Even though he is the only one who has no quarrels with his colleagues and gets along with them pretty well, openly expressing concern when Teruko is wounded. But at the same time, he keeps his distance to them and addresses them formally or by their ranks.

While Tachirara talks with Yosano it can be understood that he didn’t join the Hunting Dogs out of his own conviction, but because that way they wouldn’t kill him for his crime. By joining and fighting for them he had a purpose in life and people who needed him because of his ability. He claims to have turned into someone who was “neither my older brother nor his opposite” and that “orders make me who I am.”

.

Infiltrating Port Mafia:

When Tachihara joins the Port Mafia as a spy and works for the Black Lizard, he is met with a different mentality regarding loyalty and justice. As explained above the Hunting Dogs have a black and white view regarding justice and crime, and people they consider to be good or evil. They express joy about killing and torturing, even though they are considered to be “the good guys”. While the Port Mafia is also known to be extremely cruel, they are not considered as “the good guys”. In other words, the Port Mafia are represented as the “villains”, and the Hunting Dogs are represented as the “heroes” in the eyes of the government.

Although it’s been mentioned that you shouldn’t get too close with anyone in the Port Mafia, forming a close bond with others is still possible. Something that differs the Black Lizard from the Hunting Dogs is that they stick together, e.g. when Higuchi saved Akutagawa, despite the fact that she could’ve died doing so alone, which is something that Tachihara was concerned about:

In the end, the Black Lizard stood behind Higuchi’s decision and followed her, saving Akutagawa in the process. They did so not solely because she was their superior, but because they have trust in her and respect her.

Tachihara playing the Double Agent is similar to Ango’s role during Dark Era. They both joined the “evil” side as a spy, but found people they got close with and care about. Both of them aren’t able to shake off their feelings regarding these people who became dear to them, despite their original orders and mission.

Characters in the BSD universe make friends with people who are on the opposite side or who are their enemies. They also tend to ally with their actual or former enemies, if it means to achieve the same goal.

Tachihara acts way more casual with his Black Lizard colleagues. He calls Hirotsu “gramps”, Higuchi “big sis” and Akutagawa “big bro”, suggesting that he sees them as his family, even though he may do so unconsciously. The Black Lizard have shown to truly care about Tachihara as a person as well, even without knowing about his ability.

They are relieved to know that he isn’t hurt or dead. Furthermore, Hirotsu highly compliments Tachihara and admires him for his mindset and actions. In return, Tachihara feels guilty for having to hurt Hirotsu and Gin, back then already not able to fully betray them.

.

Playing the Double Agent:

Later on, Tachihara’s true intentions for joining Port Mafia get revealed. He realizes that he used his brother as an excuse, and understands that in reality he was just trying to find his true self. Before that, he told himself that he joined only to get close to Yosano for revenge. During his whole childhood he had been compared to his brother, which left him with major self-doubts and a lack of self-identity. If he wasn’t as good, as useful, as heroic like his brother, he would be nothing. He would have no value:

Tachihara states several times that he “wanted to become someone”. Too insecure and afraid to identify with who he is, he simply decided to take the opposite way his brother took, and identified with the role he was given. First, he was a delinquent and simply “bad”. As a Hunting Dog he was then given the role of a military officer, whose job was to catch terrorists. When he got his order to infiltrate Port Mafia as a spy, he probably tried to identify with just that. But this given mission helped him to get away from his role as a Hunting Dog, and he found a place where he feels he truly belongs to.

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that throughout this arc he gets portrayed in a mirror-like way:

It’s supposed to point out his search for himself, and which side he will choose in the end, now that he is learning to trust his own instincts. He slowly steps out of the shadow of his brother and accepts the person he is.

This is possible for him to do, because he has the support of the Black Lizard. During his time with the Hunting Dogs he simply followed orders and had no opinion of his own, but a purpose in life. He did this to please them and being accepted as someone worthy by them. When he rejoins the Hunting Dogs, but secretly still works as a spy in the Port Mafia, he realizes that his mindset already follows that of a Port Mafia member:

Since the Port Mafia has a more greyish view on crime and justice and have clashed with the ADA several times in the past, they turn out to be the ones to truly believe that the ADA were set-up by someone and are not terrorists.

Hirotsu and Gin both encourage and support Tachihara to form an opinion of his own, when he asks them about the ADA’s case, and not to simply believe the false facts:

This is furthermore emphasized by Mori as the Port Mafia’s boss discussing the ADA’s case with the Black Lizard and with this, stating his trust in them:

Due to the circumstance that Tachihara is treated as an equal among his Black Lizard peers and treated with trust, he’s starting to be able to question the accusations against the ADA and comes to the logical conclusion that something is wrong. This later leads him to take the search for the real mastermind into his own hands, instead of simply following orders.

It’s his own opinion and own choice what leads to the tearing of the page and its power, and with it the Decay of Angel’s plan:

This in itself is a very nice twist, because it was something neither Fyodor nor Dazai could know about or orchestrate. They both could only make people go so far and act in a certain way, but not tear through bonds people share with each other. Which gets confirmed when Dazai said that it’s the people on the battlefield making the world turn, and not those planning schemes.

In the end, it’s Mori as the Port Mafia’s boss to decide whether he keeps or kills Tachihara for his betrayal. It’s a rule to kill those who have betrayed the Port Mafia. But Mori already knew which side Tachihara will choose and which side he feels he belongs to, even before Tachihara himself did.

- - - - -

Last but not least, I want to thank the person who requested this meta from me. I hope you enjoyed reading this and that it was worth the wait. I had immense fun writing about characters who usually aren’t on my radar that much. Thank you very much!

[Edit: “he simply followed orders and had no opinion of his own, or a purpose in life” was changed to “he simply followed orders and had no opinion of his own, but a purpose in life“. Which was phrased wrong by me in the original post!]

[salt-warrior]

Ok I know you said you aren’t really a fan of gen 2 or otp children but just hear me out on this one. Kai and cinder singing blackbird by the Beatles to their child before bed. 😍😊

You master manipulator you. You used one of my favorite things against me... I respect that. I hope you enjoy this shot<3

Blackbird

Summary: Kai and Cinder sing ‘Blackbird’ to their kid. (WC: 1.3k)

Kai heaved a sigh as he left his meeting, checking his port even as he meandered out into the hall. He let out a curse when he saw the time, picking up his pace and rushing to the royal suite, all the while Torin’s voice echoed in his head: royals never rush. But Kai had never been particularly good at following that rule.

He didn’t run, but one couldn’t exactly call whatever he was doing walking. He absolutely despised being late for bedtime, though he seemed to be missing it more and more lately. Of course he adored his country— would do just about anything for it— but sometimes he wished he could hit the pause button on the world’s issues and just spend time with his wife and son.

As Kai approached his son’s room, he heard the quiet hum of voices. He leaned against the doorway, listening as Cinder whispered the closing lines of Rikan’s favorite picture book, and couldn’t help but close his eyes and revel in the sound of it all. After attending meeting after meeting full of people arguing continuously about different issues in the world, there was something so comforting in the soft lull of a storyteller's voice and the gentle breathing of a child.

“...And they lived happily ever after, the end,” Cinder concluded, setting her port aside.

Kai walked into the room, smiling as he took in Cinder kissing the top of Rikan’s black-haired head. It was strange how much he resembled Kai, even at three years old, all the way down to the striking copper of his eyes.

“Daddy!” Rikan cheered, his eyes landing on Kai.

“Hey, Ri,” Kai grinned, kissing Cinder on the cheek and wandering over to the other side of the bed. He settled in against his son, pulling him close in a hug. They were one big royal family sandwich— just the way Kai liked it. “Did mommy read you a story?”

“Yeah,” Rikan said, nodding his head rigorously and scratching at his nose in the absent-minded way only a child could do. “There was a dragon.”

“Oh, you know it’s a good story when there’s a dragon,” Kai replied. He reached his arm around Rikan and absentmindedly began to play with Cinder’s hair. She leaned into his touch.

“We were just about to go to bed,” Cinder said, giving Kai a pointed look over their son’s head.

“Mommy’s gonna sing a song,” Rikan smiled mischievously. “Backbird.”

“Or really?” Kai smirked, to which Cinder sent him an annoyed glare.

“Torin introduced him to some second era music today and for some reason he really took to this band from the United Kingdom called The Beatles,” Cinder explained. In the time since he'd learned to walk and talk, Rikan had taken to following Torin around the palace, which, to his credit, the old advisor didn’t much mind. But being the busy man he was and believing that ports should not be given to young children, Torin preferred to share old music with the young prince. “You probably know a few of their songs— ‘Here Comes the Sun’ was written by them. You know, that song that they used for pro-lunar integration? Anyways, Ri really likes this one called 'Blackbird.'”

“Backbird,” Rikan repeated cheerily.

“I know the Beatles,” Kai exclaimed, blinking rapidly. Cinder stared, tilting her head to the side. “I mean, I grew up following Torin around too,” Kai explained. “My mom loved them as well, though she was more of a ‘Golden Slumbers’ kind of person. But I remember ‘Blackbird.’”

“Will you sing Backbird, daddy?” Rikan asked, eyes wide as he stared up at his father.

“Oh, um–”

“Yeah, dad, why don’t you sing ‘Blackbird’ for us,” Cinder grinned, trying not to laugh.

“Alright then,” Kai said, swallowing sharply. “Settle in, and mommy and I will sing ‘Blackbird’ to you.” Kai sent Cinder a wink, to which she rolled her eyes.

Rikan laid back against his pillows, shutting his eyes briefly before staring up at his parents with an expectant look in his eyes. Cinder turned out the lights, leaving them in near darkness, with only dim illumination coming from the hall. Both parents snuggled in on either side of Rikan and Cinder gently traced her right index finger over their son’s face in the way that always seemed to lull him to sleep.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night.

Kai began, his voice wavering just slightly. He’d never been a particularly good singer, despite finding joy in the act. Though she would never admit it, Cinder had an excellent voice— one that Kai always yearned to listen to. It was almost strange how wondrous her voice was. It was almost sad that she rarely sung, though perhaps that made the rare occasions in which she did that much more magical.

Take these broken wings and learn to fly

All your life

You were only waiting for this moment to arise.

Rikan heaved a great sigh— the kind that only those who had fallen in the traps of sleep or dangled close above could breathe. Kai smiled down at him, then looked up at Cinder. Her eyes were dreamy and far away, and Kai was surprised to see that her mouth was open, prepared to sing the next verse. Kai placed his hand on her cheek.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night

Take these sunken eyes and learn to see

All your life

You were only waiting for this moment to be free.

Kai couldn’t help the soft sigh that escaped him as his wife sang, or the sudden spread of warmth throughout his chest. And somehow, he found himself singing the chorus with her, his weaker voice soft below hers, but somehow beautiful; the charm of her voice only adding to his, rather than outshining it.

Blackbird fly, blackbird fly

Into the light of the dark black night.

Blackbird fly, blackbird fly

Into the light of the dark black night.

Cinder caressed Rikan’s face one final time, then leaned down and kissed his forehead. Kai followed, brushing the locks of hair out of his son’s face. The pair got up and walked to the door, hand in hand as they watched Rikan.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night.

Cinder sang, her voice almost a whisper. Kai wrapped his arm around her from behind, kissing her just below her jaw. He joined in on the next line, his words brushing against her ear.

Take these broken wings and learn to fly

All your life

You were only waiting for this moment to arise.

Slowly, the pair backed out of the room.

You were only waiting for this moment to arise.

They glanced at one another at the click of the door, and suddenly, Kai was sucked back into the moment that he had first met her all those years ago, despite her finer clothes and the years she had gained. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her with a love that never seemed to die. And when they broke apart, still holding one another close, he whispered the final line of the song in her ear.

You were only waiting for this moment to arise.

Tags: @healing-winston-pratt @thelunarchronicles-kaider @invisiblebobs @kaiderforever @storysaremyreality @jacihayle @cindersnightmare @cinderswrench @cindersassasin @shellyseashell @impossiblesuitcase @halfvenus @alysendria @jacihayle @kaider-is-my-otp @random-thoughts-hq @just2bubbly @theviolettulip @cardangreenbriariloveyou @winterrhayle @arushahisatroll @bookpapaya @joslyne-thinks-thoughts @horton-hears-a-who @lunar-greywaren-24601 @galaxy-creationz @the-lunar-thief @idkchatie @whyiask @idkwhattosayaboutit @l1ghtworm @daisyjohnsonquake @jeeya03 @strawberry-seraph @steffes5268 @rosedeleca @yejidoesthings @hackergeniuscress @lemonpietrick @notarie37 @lani-sleeps @f-r-o-p @lazydreamlandblaze @wanterwolf @demydreamer-otaku-and-book-lover

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Genji Heavy Industries (Part 3) Rolling Twenties

I don’t think anyone likes Mingfei Lu who just plays the game and doesn’t understand his background. So it makes sense that the MC would get irritated by him too.

The rumbling sound of the subway came from directly above, and ahead was the giant water turbine with a diameter of more than three meters. The sewer had become as wide as an underground river by this point, and the still water became turbulent. Rolling white waves bounced between the paddles with a thunderous sound. The water turbine was pumping a huge amount of water into the Iron Dome Shrine. 

"How do we get past?" Lu Mingfei looked up at the sharp paddles, each almost two meters long and cast in fine steel, which could easily cut off floating objects such as aquatic plants. 

"The water turbine doesn't always turn, and when it stops we'll get through between the holes in the grate." Chu Zihang said. 

"But when will it stop?" 

"It's already starting to slow down." 

The turbine was really slowing down, and it took a few minutes before it slowly stopped, water clattering down from the paddles. 

"Go now!" Caesar bellowed. 

You all climbed up the iron ladder on the side of the turbine and ran through the stainless steel grate. You hold on tight to Caesar and press your head down to make yourself as small as possible. You squeeze your eyes shut, trusting in his speed to get you through.

You slide down the smooth walls of the ducts and look up at the emptiness overhead. You couldn’t help but feel that the Iron Dome Temple was really a miracle in the history of engineering. This is probably the most advanced sewer system in the world, fully automated, with layers of cleaning nets intercepting the dirt in the water, giant mechanical arms shoveling up the sediment and dirt that has settled to the bottom of the pipe and sending it to the drainage tank high above, and intelligent robots sliding along the grooves in the pipe wall to maintain the machinery inside the pipe. Although there are iron ladders and walkways for maintenance on the walls of the pipes, the Iron Dome Shrine will not require manual maintenance for twenty years according to the design standards of the Maruyama Construction Institute. 

The familiar sound of electric welding echoed through the pipes. 

"Did you hear that? Over there is the underground dock of the Iwarui Institute. The sound of welding indicates that someone is repairing the equipment.” Caesar lowered his voice, "There are at least twenty people over there, twenty heavily armed men, so no one can speak loudly from now on. Our voices will echo and amplified in the pipes and can travel a long way."

You notice the gold tint of Caesar’s pupils. Without a word he had already sent out his Spirit Word, Scythe Itachi, and was listening far down into the channel. 

"I'm really a little afraid I can't control myself," whispered Lu Mingfei, "I want to talk when I'm nervous, like I'll be suffocated if I don't." 

"Use this," Caesar fished out four lollipops from his trench coat pocket, giving one to Lu Mingfei and one to Chu Zihang, "Put it in your mouth so you don't subconsciously shout out, but also to replenish your blood sugar." 

He hands one to you and you take it. Being quiet was never an  issue with you. The nurses at Black Swan Bay gave vicious glares to children who so much as whimpered in pain. So if Caesar asked you to be quiet, your strict training in obedience in this regard subconsciously came into play and you wouldn’t speak again unless given express permission to do so.

"Boss, can I exchange the mint flavored one with you?" 

"You're too late," Caesar threw the green lollipop into his mouth, "and start shutting up now, someone is coming this way!" 

A dozen seconds later, there were footsteps from high above. It was a black-clad guard, whose bony hands could be seen through his transparent raincoat pressing down on his sidearm. He was obviously not a policeman. No policeman would use a Colt "King Cobra". This large caliber revolver is expensive and deadly. It's the kind of gun that mobsters like. They see people as prey, and they're all about killing them in one shot. The four of you hid in the shadows against the wall of the tube and looked up through the iron grille as the beating feet of the guards in their leather shoes stepped over your heads and faded away. 

"Those twenty heavily armed guards are all of this mob killer level, right?" Lu Mingfei mumbled.

You catch his gaze with your wide eyed stare. What about ‘Shut up’ did he not understand? Channeled through you is the fury of the nurses of Black Swan Bay. You pierced Mingfei Lu with a silent threat so certain that the young man visibly paled. You raise a shaking finger to your lips and silently mouth the word, “Quiet!”

 Chu Zihang glanced at Caesar, who shook his head, meaning that this level of security was difficult to break through by force.  

"What about fire suppression? You have enough bullets now. How many targets can you take care of at once?" Chu Zihang asked. Since you were still riding Caesar, you could be privy to their whispered conversation even over the sound of the water.

"Three to five targets would not be a problem. At most you can solve six, even if you add your two Uzis, the three of us would be five guns against twenty guns. And we still do not know how many are hybrids here." Caesar said, "It's not as simple as dealing with gangsters." 

"Uh did you count me?" Lu Mingfei said. 

Caesar gave him a brief dismissive glance. "You don't count. You said so yourself, you’re a civilian." 

You’re so annoyed with him you can’t even laugh.

All three men were silent. Just approaching the door of Genji Heavy Industry, the way forward was completely blocked. In Black Swan Bay you faced similar odds. Renata raised her machine gun to the sky and blasted away nearly a dozen people. But in the end, she was killed and only managed to save one person. Twenty is too many.

"Maybe we should go back to the store. We ordered so much champagne. We can drink champagne while ordering some late night snacks to eat, and think about whether there is another way to get in here." Lu Mingfei cautiously proposed. 

“MC,” Caesar’s whisper was extremely quiet. “Your nails.”

You were so annoyed with Mingfei that you didn’t notice that you were digging your nails into Caesar’s collarbone.  You relax your hands. “We should have left him.” You breathe out into his ear.

“It’s okay.” You don’t even hear the whisper, you only see his mouth move.

 Chu Zihang pointed to the front of the pipe. 

The stream suddenly parted in the middle, and something cigar-shaped floated up on the water about six or seven meters in length and no more than two meters in diameter. It left a white wake as it sailed towards the Iwarui Institute's shipyard. 

"A miniature submarine of the Hydra!" Lu Mingfei remembered that Chisei had admitted that the Hydra family used the pipes to transport contraband. The cargo ship placed the contraband on the unmanned mini-submarine before entering the port, and the submarine arrived below the Genji Heavy Industries along the sewer. 

"Come closer and be careful not to make a sound." Caesar tiptoed ahead. 

Beeps shook the section of pipe, guards blew their whistles and called out to run to the dock from all sides. The submarine slid into the dock and a crane lifted it up in the air. The mechanical arm raised the huge thick metal tank from the hold, which was about two meters long and looked like an elongated barrel of crude oil. Chu Zihang and Caesar looked at each other and both shook their heads. Even with their experience, they couldn't see what cargo was there. This golden passage was obviously not for smuggling oil. 

The heavy airtight door on the wall of the tube suddenly opened and out stepped a man in a white lab coat who hurried past the guards to the metal tank and disinfected it with an alcohol spray. Apparently, this cargo was important and dangerous and he couldn't let the guards touch it first. In his haste, he forgot to close the airtight door that was the only way through Genji Heavy Industries. 

"Chance!" Caesar whispered. 

"The guards are concentrated over at the dock, and their attention is on the metal tanks. “We'll take the yellow spiral ladder over there and go up to the airtight door. Be quick, but don't run, any echoes will be clear in this enclosed space!" Chu Zihang said in a low voice. 

Before Lu Mingfei could raise an objection, Chu Zihang walked out seven or eight meters. He rarely stopped to discuss with people once he made a decision, so the Executive Department all agreed that Chu Zihang is a lone wolf. Caesar silently followed. This muscle-bound man actually can be as light as a cat when walking even with you on his back. Lu Mingfei had no choice but to tiptoe behind. The maintenance tunnel is overhead. They can only step on the iron frame supporting the grated path. It would take at least a few dozen seconds to get from the starting position to the mouth of the passage. If within these few dozen seconds any one of those guards turned back to look, there would be a gun battle.

You think of Z, silent, protecting you. 

Caesar and Chu Zihang's speed is extremely fast. In the twinkling of an eye, you go from the yellow ladder to the maintenance channel, and then a few meters into the airtight door. Lu Mingfei jumped a step in his rush. The crisp sound of metal hitting metal echoed in the pipe, like someone ringing a small bell. 

Chu Zihang's reminder was right. When Lu Mingfei started to run, a nut was shaken off and smashed on the wall of the pipe below. The guards pulled out their guns at the same time, all of them with laser sights on them, red beams scanning in all directions. Someone turned on a powerful flashlight. 

Your nails dig into Caesar again. Your heart drops.

He’s dead.

In Black Swan Bay, such errors were intolerable in training. In group training, you moved as a unit and you were careful to follow the instructions by the leaders. Any insubordination would be met with severe retraining if you were lucky. People who kept making mistakes tended to just disappear. So even though no one had fired a shot, it was as if Lu Mingfei’s mistake had marked him as dead in your mind.

Caesar and Chu Zihang quickly flashed into the airtight door. 

The guards did not find anything on the maintenance channel, and turned to scan their flashlights further down. The beam gradually approaches Lu Mingfei's hiding place and Caesar lets you off his back. You back away, knowing he was about to try and rescue him. But with all that firepower you’re not sure how he was going to survive the attempt.

"There it is!" One guard yelled. 

Several beams of light pointed to the water at the same time, where a long, slender black shadow was swimming! Originally, the shadow’s target was Lu Mingfei walking by the water's edge, but the bright flashlight startled it, and it immediately turned around and swam into the darkness. 

Gunshots burst out, and the guards fired one after another. Whoever supplied Genji heavy industry with guards must originally have been the vicious thugs in the underworld. They have no scruples nor are they stingy with bullets. Their goal is to smash resistance with overwhelming deadly force. 

Caesar’s arm came down from above and pulled Lu Mingfei up to the entrance. As soon as he’s inside, you round on him, teeth bared, and spit "You fucking idiot!” in Russian. In a moment, you raise your hand to slap him in the face, but Caesar’s arm cuts you off. 

“Hey!” He hisses sharply. “Calm down.”

Cheeks red and eyes blazing, you turn back around and move next to Chu Zihang, who glances briefly at you.

"You must have undergone very strict training." He murmured

You nod. 

"He hasn't. You can stay close to me. Let Caesar handle Mingfei."

The water in the pipe turned blood red and a four or five meter long white shark slowly floated up, riddled with bullet holes. You and Chu Zihang exchange glances. This is too incredible. This is the main channel of the Iron Dome Temple. The water in the pipe is five or six meters deep, and connected to the sea. The shark would have no problem moving in it, but this fierce large predator should be in open waters. What attracts it to swim into the spider web of sewers? 

"You were in a leadership position before… weren't you?" Chu Zihang whispers.

You were one of the oldest in the orphanage so it was leadership by default. You bounce your head back and forth and shrug.

"Makes sense. It's why you clash with Caesar so much. And why you get along. You probably had the most powerful Speech Spirit."

You shake your head and hold up three fingers. You mouth the word, 'Third'.

Chu Zihang doesn't respond immediately. "Renata?"

You smile and hold up two fingers but then you hold a finger to your lips and slice a hand across your throat.  The conversation was enough to calm you down the rest of the way.

"Let's go. While they’re not looking." Chu Zihang said. 

Caesar patted Lu Mingfei's shoulder to keep him from looking back. The white shark just now actually took Lu Mingfei as prey, but it's better not to tell Lu Mingfei about this. If he knew he was once seen as a fresh seal pup, he would probably be too scared to walk. 

"Holy shit, good fucking luck, good fucking luck, good luck, good luck." When he got on the elevator Lu Mingfei was still patting his chest in celebration as well as trying to calm his extreme panic. He was shaking so much, his teeth chattered. 

"No doubt. If you keep your good luck, we can rely on your luck to live." Caesar continued patting him on the shoulder and exchanged quiet glances with Chu Zihang. It was clear to everyone but Lu Mingfei that such luck could not be relied on to ever come again.

[gongju-juice]

2. Once Upon a Southern Night

Adopted Cousins

Warnings: Some language mah bois. . .that goes for the rest of the series, minor assault incident because men are trash

The following week of school was quite exciting. People from all over the school were interested in your story. Amelia had gotten you acquainted with her friends—jocks, nonetheless—but they were fairly easy to get along with and you weren’t the type to stereotype.

History was even better. You could really flex your skills in your class, and not feel worried that you’d be rebuked. And Pre-Calculus and Chemistry wasn’t even as hard as you originally thought it would be. All in all, things were great. 

Since your first day, you hadn’t spoken to Jasper or any of the Cullens once. Sometimes you thought the tiny one, Alice, would smile at you behind your back as if she knew some big secret you didn’t. But she didn’t intimidate you, and neither did the others. Rosalie did seem a little off, but you figured that it had to do with the ridiculous number of boys confessing to her every week. And as for the others—Emmett and Edward—they seemed pretty normal. Though sometimes you wondered why Edward seemed to be so annoyed all the time, or why whenever you passed by him in the hallway, he inexplicably smirked from ear to ear.

One day, however, you had to sit at Amelia’s table without her. There was David, Mallory, Tyler, and Sarah. They were all the best athletes in the junior class, and you lowkey felt out of place being the only one at the table who didn’t play a sport.

“How was Psychology?” Mallory asked, digging into her leafy salad. She was a broad shoulder girl, whose athletic frame was large and unlike the “skinny-fit” girls you saw on tv. 

You nodded. “Pretty good. We learned a lot about the brain and its association with fear.”

You began stirring your gumbo. Since you were a kid, you never liked eating school lunches anyway. And in addition to that, you obligated your mom and yourself to prepare only southern style dishes to remind you of home.

“Hey, Y/N,” David called, nudging your shoulder. “Do you think you could help me with math? All of this theta, alpha—whatever this shit is—it’s giving me a headache. Could I maybe come by your place tonight and get some help?”

You smiled hesitantly. You didn’t mind helping him, but you weren’t exactly about to let some boy you hardly talked to come to your house without your mother’s foreknowledge. Besides, what was wrong with tutoring on campus?

“We can do it at the school library,” you suggested. “Make sure you bring your things though. You’ll need your calculator, a pencil, and some paper.”

He grumbled lowly to himself, but you thought it best not to inquire after him. Instead, you continued sipping at your food. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw movement at the Cullen table. 

At the end of the day, you walked to your locker and grabbed your things. The thing about Forks High School was that everybody seemed to automatically shift to their cars, in race to leave out onto the empty streets of the town. 

You made your way to the parking lot to drop some of the things off at your car—the brand new pale yellow Volkswagen Beetle your mom bought for your sixteenth birthday. It’d arrived in Washington State on campus just an hour before you had to leave your first day of school.

You turned around and began heading towards the school. . .but where to go? You forgot where the library even was. Was it nearest the front entrance or the side? You decided to go to the side, not knowing that the ramifications of your actions would forever change your life.

“Y/N!” a voice called, and you whirled around on your Oxford heels, thankful it was only David leaning on the brick wall behind you.

“Ah, David! I must’ve been going the wrong way, wasn’t I? I bet it’s better to go to the front entrance. Well, we’re here now. Might as well keep going,” you giggled anxiously.

You reached your hand for the door handle, only to have your hand forcefully snatched in the grasp of his.

“We don’t have to do it in the library,” he said quietly, a sinister grin on his face. “We could do it in your car, inside the bathroom, if you’d like.” He leaned in closer. “Or we could do it right here.”

You tried to politely pull your hand from his only to realize that he was not talking about tutoring. He grabbed your shoulder and pushed you against the cold door, the backs of your thighs touching the metal. You struggled to push him off, but he was much stronger. 

“I’m serious, David! This is not what you want! You’ll get in serious trouble, and I don’t give you consent or permission to touch me like this in any way!”

He smiled down at you. “Touch you. . .like this?” His fingers crawled down the sides of your skirt until they ripped down the material to the concrete.

You screamed, but suddenly he was gone. Jasper had him pinned up against the opposite wall, David’s feet dangling inches from the group. 

“I will fucking kill you,” he said angrily. “If you ever touch her again. If you even look at her, I will personally rip your throat from your insides and make you wish you were never born.”

David nodded hysterically, his features contorted in terror. “Anything you want, man! Please—I won’t ever do it again. Just please put me down, please!”

Edward and Emmett appeared by Jasper’s side and forcibly lowered the quarterback from the wall. Emmett locked him in a choke hold and pushed him forward while Edward made a barrier of himself so that Jasper could not pursue.

“Are you okay?” Alice asked frantically, her golden eyes staring into yours. Rosalie pulled your skirt back up around your hips, but the cloth was ripped at the zipper and couldn’t be reattached. Tears were streaming down at your eyes at that point, but you nodded, too lost for words to reply. 

“She needs some new clothes,” Rosalie warned, guarding your vulnerable form with her body. You stared at your pathetic skirt. It was a cute little plaid design you found while shopping at a thrift store in Port Angeles on your way from the airport.

Jasper took the leather jacket from his shoulders and handed it to his sister carefully. She tied the thing around your waist on top of the skirt so that it held it together. Then, they led you to the office.

Within three minutes, a squad car showed up. It was the police Chief, Charlie Swan, a man with a thick black mustache and chocolate dark eyes. He took one look at David before hauling him in handcuffs.

“This is the second complaint we’ve had against you this month,” he announced through gritted teeth. “Except this time, we’ve got witnesses. You had such promise kid, but all you want to be is a sex offender.”

David cried in protest before he was thrown in the back of the car. 

“Are you alright?” the Chief asked. “You’ll have to come by the station for questioning and a full police report. . .do you think you’re in an okay mental state to do so?”

You nodded. “But can I go home first? He broke my skirt.”

He reflexively looked at your waist which resulted in Jasper hawking him down. 

“Of course. And if possible, bring the skirt back with you in a plastic bag. It’s evidence.”

The siblings escorted you to your car, where, interestingly enough, a crowd had formed.

“Thanks, you guys, I don’t think things would’ve turned out as fortunate as they did if not for y’all.” You looked up at Jasper’s warm honey eyes. “And I thank you most of all, Jasper. You turned out to be my savior tonight.”

He gazed back at you, and you felt a flood of emotions you couldn’t explain. 

“It’s my pleasure,” he said, “And you’re welcome.”

“Do you need someone to drive you home?” Alice asked, her hands squeezing yours. “Besides, we all have to come to the station anyway. I can ride with you.”

“Oh, but I couldn’t trouble you—”

“It’s okay, I’ll drive the boys to the station while you and Alice run home,” Rosalie said, pointing to her beaming red BMW. 

You weren’t surprised that when you arrived at the station your mother was there. She immediately pulled you into her arms, her crushing embrace enough to suck the air out of you. 

“My baby!” she cried, holding your cheeks. “What would I do if something ever happened to you! I should’ve put you in those jujitsu classes like you asked last year. I’m so sorry I put you in this terrible situation!”

You shook your head and pried her off of you. “Mom, Mom! It’s okay, I’m alright. Jasper and his siblings handled the situation just fine. Please calm down.”

Beside her, you realized Dr. Cullen and his wife stood by their children. They appeared to be such a charming family, but it was strange how they all had the same amber colored eyes though they were not all related.

“Jasper, I should reward you handsomely for this! That’s it, I’m ending my shift early. You all can come to our house . . .it’s about time we tell the news to Y/N anyway.”

“Y/N,” Dr. Cullen said, extending his hand, “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

‘Finally,’ you wondered. “And you as well. Mom talks about you quite a bit at home.”

Esme hugged your shoulders just as tightly as your mother did. She smelled very good, like warm citrus and berries. “I’m glad you’re okay, sweetheart. If you ever need to talk, we’re here for you.”

You finished the police report, and everybody climbed in their cars headed home. What news your mother had in store for you, you had no idea. But no matter how much you begged her to tell you, she wouldn’t tell you. 

Your mom ordered pizza—a meal just for you since the Cullens declined and she wasn’t going to eat anyhow—and you sat quietly at the dining room table. It was all so awkward considering you were the only one eating and since it had not been long since you were literally assaulted. 

Jasper sat quietly at the other end of the table, his eyes trained on the vase of flowers on the center of the table. You really wanted to tell him your appreciation in private, but since your departure at the car, he had not made eye contact with you.

They made conversation quietly, but it all felt like meaningless hum in the grand scheme of things. Perhaps they were waiting on you to say something first.

“So. . .what is it that you wanted to tell me?” you asked your mom, biting the inside of your cheek. You hoped it wasn’t anything bad, you weren't sure if you could handle anything else.

Your mom smiled reassuringly. “I know you’re probably freaking out, but I promise, it’s nothing to worry about. You know how you’ve always wanted to have siblings or cousins of your own?”

You gasped, rising from your chair. “Are you finally adopting again!”

Everybody at the table laughed. She shook her head.

“No, even better. The truth is, I actually have a family you’ve never met before.”

Your brows scrunched together. “Really? Who are they? And I mean, why haven’t we ever met them?”

She sighed. “Well, the reason is quite complicated. I’ll tell you about that later. But the thing is—Carlisle is my younger brother.”

“Wait what?!” you shouted. “He’s your what?!”

“That’s right,” he grinned, “Carmine’s my sister. So I guess, in a way, that makes me your uncle.”

“Wow,” you breathed, “So you’re my adoptive mom’s brother who has adopted kids who are my adopted cousins.”

Everybody again laughed at your reaction. Your cheeks were hot with embarrassment, but for some reason, you didn’t seem as tense as you were before. You got up to hug all of the Cullens—your new family. You finally had people and loved ones to call your own; people you could trust and stood up for you when you couldn’t stand up for yourself.

When you finally got to Jasper, your heart rate soared. How lucky you were to have such an intelligent, kind, and strong person in your life! But secretly, there was a twinge of regret inside you. This feeling you felt for him—it was a crush. Cousins weren’t allowed to have crushed on each other.

“Something the matter?” he teased with a little smirk.

“Of course not I—”

He gently wrapped his arms around you and pulled you in close. He was cold and firm like a giant teddy bear left untouched on a bed. You wanted to hold him tighter and transfer your warmth to him, but just as quickly as you had the thought, the hug finished.

“We have so much to talk about!” Alice exclaimed. “You’re into the vintage aesthetics, aren’t you? There’s a lovely red dress I’ve been saving in my closet specifically for you!”

And with that, Rosalie and Alice whisked you away upstairs where you three began a wonderful, life-long friendship.

Okay but mad Jasper is a vibe.

Part One    Part Three   Part Four

[legendarymasterwolf]

My Top 10 Favorite Video Games

Now that The Last of Us Part 2 and Ghost of Tsushima are out and I’ve finished both, I’ve decided to finally compile a list of my top ten favorite games I’ve played and have revisited over time. This is my own personal list, make no judgments based on what is here.

And awaaaaaaaaaay we go!

10: Ghost of Tsushima

I’ve never played a game that scratched that samurai itch before, and this one totally did it for me. Whether it was the standoffs straight out of a Kurosawa film, or the ability to scare the shit out of Mongols, or riding through a beautifully rendered world viewed through one of the most natural HUDs I’ve ever seen, I loved this game. Sure, it may be leaving this list once Cyberpunk 2077 comes out, but for now, it takes the tenth spot.

9: Star Wars: The Old Republic

Still one of my favorite Star Wars games. This was the first MMORPG I played where my character actually had a voice. I know, it’s a little thing, but I still like it. Whenever I have a spare moment on the road, a decent connection, and some time to chill, I fire up this game. Plus, it’s still operating even with Disney owning the franchise now, so there’s that.

8: Wolfenstein: The New Colossus

Still scarily relevant at the time of writing (hopefully not for much longer) and one of the best modern reinventions of a protagonist from a classic series. Also, shooting, hacking, and exploding Nazis and Klan members will never get old, no matter how many conservative man-children say otherwise. Plus, there’s one of best female characters in gaming, Grace Walker, who’s got some of the best lines in the game and some great commentary on masculinity.

7: “Assassin’s Creed” Series

I’m cheating here, but I can’t just choose one game from this series. One of the first games I played when I got a PC was Revelations. I played through the rest of them in the year that followed and I became hooked. So hooked, that I got both the Ezio Collection and AC3 Remastered for PS4 when the opportunity came (though the latter was just because it was on the Odyssey Season Pass). Odyssey was the first AC game I platinumed and, barring a few missteps here and there, I loved it. I can’t freaking wait for Valhalla.

6: “Persona” Series

I was just going to have Persona 5 Royal in this spot, despite still not finishing it (damn Okumura boss fight), but I’ve also got Persona 4 Golden and am loving it, so now I need to get Persona 3 whenever Sega decides to port the game to PC. Each game is set in a high school with an other world where your inner self is revealed. The social links system is great and you're basically playing an anime, complete with filler and everything. Some of them have surprisingly relevant themes, too(P5 fans know what I'm talking about). Now to finish them at some point.

5: Marvel’s Spider-Man

A game better than Spider-Man 2: The Game? No one thought it was possible until this came out. The web swinging has weight to it, the acting is great (props to Yuri Lowenthal), and the story, which Dan Slott contributed to, is a fantastic original Spider-Man story. Also, this happened to be the game that convinced me to buy a PS4. Can't wait for Miles Morales.

4: Disco Elysium

When I heard about this game, I knew I had to play it. It's not like any other isometric RPG I've played. In it, you play as an alcoholic detective waking up after a three day bender to find himself with amnesia and 24 distinct personalities that are always clashing, especially when you’re in conversation with an NPC. The story progresses as you try to piece together not only the case you were assigned to, but why you drank for three days straight to forget the case altogether. It’s batshit nuts and I love it. It also runs fairly well on my laptop, with a console port on the way. Also, still need to finish it. I know, my backlog is huge.

3: Red Dead Redemption 2

I never really got into the original RDR, mainly because I didn’t get a console until Christmas 2018. Thankfully, RDR2 is a prequel to the original game, set in the last years of the Old West, so it was easy to get into. While it did take a while for the game to get going and its storage size is massive (105 GB, WTF), when I finally powered on through and played the rest of the story, I was treated to some of the best characters I’ve seen in a game along with a story so heartbreaking, I was tearing up by the credits. Sure, the realism did become annoying to an extent, I could have done without the Guarma chapter, and the epilogue was four hours too long, but regardless, this is still one of my favorite depictions of the Wild West I’ve ever played.

2: “The Last of Us” Series

If the story for RDR2 was heartbreaking, then this series shattered my heart, pieced it back together, shattered it again, and then gave me hope to mend it in the future. I can’t choose between either Part 1 or Part 2, because I think both games are not only brilliant, but oversimplified when it comes to their themes. If we’re being simple about it, Part 1 is about Love and Part 2 is about Hate. In actuality, Part 1 is about the lengths we are willing to go for the ones we love and Part 2 is about the cycle of hate and how love can break it. Beyond the story (going to finally do that Part 2 breakdown in the future), the gameplay in both games is entertaining, the graphics look breathtaking (Part 2 has ruined all other games for me when it comes to graphics), the music is on point, and the performances are some of the best ones I’ve seen for a video game. This series set a new standard for how we see games and I can’t wait to see what the future holds for it. I don’t even mind waiting another seven years or so for the next one!

1: The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt

While the other games on this list are fantastic, they don’t hold a candle to the game that first inspired me to start thinking about making this list. This was the first game where, when I got to the credits, I felt not joy at completing another game, but sadness at the story finally being over. Geralt of Rivia’s final tale is still my favorite for its choices with no clear terms of morality, monster hunting missions that kept me enthralled even if some of the creatures scared the shit out of me (fucking Aracnomorphs), and the chance to have some fun with several members of the opposite sex (I regret nothing). Oh, and Gwent. Can’t forget Gwent. CD Projekt RED still remains one of my favorite developers to this day and I can’t wait for Cyberpunk 2077 to finally release in December (when it’s ready!!!).

And there you have it, my Top 10 Favorite Video Games I've played so far. This list is definitely going to change in the next couple months once I finish Watch Dogs: Legion and Cyberpunk 2077, but for now, this is how it is (AC already has an entry here, and Valhalla won't change that).

I may be putting my energy into that TLOU Part 2 Breakdown of my thoughts along with that Ellie/Dina fic I've been working on, so expect those at some point.

If you haven't already, go out and vote! Stay safe!

Lemme know what you think!

Until then!

[theshatteredrose]

Relic Keepers: Awakening of the Red Lily (Chapter 11) - Original Fiction

AN: I have a sinus infection (again), so as you can guess I’m not feeling very good. Understatement really. But I managed to get this chapter done before the infection really set in. So, slightly early this week, but I hope you enjoy reading~!

Ao3 | Wattpad | Inkitt | FictionPress

~*~*~*~*~

Chapter 11:

“Now, remember that there are vast differences between Passives and Elites, and the mana that both classes possess. Elites have what we call Active Mana. Their internal mana deposits are the highest found amongst Indigo Children, and it feeds their physical strength and agility.

The mana that Passives possess is called Supportive Mana. Passives have the ability to draw upon the supply of mana around them, as well as within their selves. However, due to this, Passives are significantly more fragile than that of Elites. It is also important that Passives maintain the internal mana deposits. If levels should become low, they will suffer from Mana Depletion. If they should become high, they are suffering from Mana Excess. Both are debilitating and it is critical to know the difference.”

Eishirou tried to concentrate on his medical class, but he couldn’t stop his mind from drifting to other matters.

After visiting the museum, he had spent the rest of the day showing Zayne around the academy campus. He couldn’t show him around the Elite training halls and fields, though. Passives like him weren’t allowed to enter those places. The main reason they cite was that they could accidently stumble into the middle of a training match.

The other reason was that, well, they were Passives. Nothing more needed to be said.

But it wasn’t what had occurred yesterday that had him lost in his thoughts. He had a strange dream last night. About the underground chamber with the mosaic.

There was nothing disturbing about the dream. In fact, he knew it was a dream. So, he walked around. Inspecting his surroundings. Wondering why he was now dreaming about it. He didn’t note anything of worth.

Thinking back on it, the dream was actually quite boring. But it was the only dream he had last night. He had the usual vivid dreams that made no sense and he usually forgot about it in the morning. But this one stuck with him. He could remember everything.

Everything other than why he was so hung up on it.

Yeah, kinda annoying.

The chiming of a bell indicating the end of a lesson harshly pulled Eishirou from his thoughts. He sat straight in his seat and dumbly looked around at his classmates, noting that they were gathering their belongs to move on to their next class.

He winced and quickly began to pack up his belongings, too.

Crap, he had been daydreaming throughout the entire class! Hope Professor Neriah didn’t notice he was spacing.

“Eishirou, a word before you leave.”

Ah, man. Sounded like he did notice him spacing.

“Ah, sure,” Eishirou murmured as he made his way down the stairs of the auditorium and approached the desk at centre stage.

He wasn’t too worried, though. Just feeling sheepish. He usually enjoyed Neriah’s classes as he was a rather laid-back teacher with interesting antidotes to tell. He was also one of the popular teachers at the academy. Long blue hair that reached past his shoulder blades, deep orange eyes, and deep brown skin; it was easy to admit that he was quite the handsome Professor. Young, too.

With his long blue hair pulled back into a ponytail, Neriah gave him an inspecting look as Eishirou reached his desk. “I heard about what happened the other day. You went through quite the ordeal. I was honestly surprised that you came to class today.”

Eishirou rubbed the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed. He couldn’t help but wonder how far word about what had happened had spread. “Ah, that. It’s fine. Nothing happened. Just got separated for a bit.”

Ah, yeah…that wasn’t very convincing, was it?

He smiled as he folded his arms behind his back and leaned forward in a playful way. “Although, I did get to use my Medic skills while out on the field. Soooo…Do I get extra credit?”

Neriah breathed heavily through his nose that was akin to a laugh and he smiled. “I'll think about it.”

“Aww, come on!”

“Hm.” Neriah hummed in thought as he picked up his tablet and flicked through his files. He, however, glanced over the top of the tablet. “You did look a little vague today. Something else on your mind?”

“Well, I was just thinking about the expedition,” Eishirou admitted. “About that runestone in particular. I’m heading over to the museum to finally piece it together later today, so I guess I’m just anxious to get to work.”

Neriah listened as he prattled before he uttered a sigh. “You honestly work harder than most professors at this academy. It’s a little concerning.”

Eishirou rubbed the back of his head in an apologetic manner. “I’ll try to be more present next time, I promise.”

“Your grades are the same so it’s not that I’m worried about,” Neriah returned. “I’m concerned with you going out in the field. It can be dangerous.”

Well, yeah. There was no denying that.

“But I need experience, right?” Eishirou reasoned. “And the only way to get experience is to get out there. Right?”

Neriah uttered a sigh of defeat and leaned back into his chair. “Well, I can’t argue with that. I guess I’m just feeling protective of my favourite student. You’re a hard worker. Don’t push yourself.”

It made Eishirou happy to hear Neriah say that about him. “I’ll be fine. Promise.”

An expression of realisation flickered across his face. “Although, speaking of experience; you’ll be coming up for some work experience at the infirmary soon.”

Eishirou tilted his head to the side. “Work experience?”

“At this point, it's just a formality. But I do think working in a sterile environment of the infirmary would be good for you. But we'll talk about that later.” Neriah placed his hands on his table and pushed himself to his feet. He hooked his tablet under his arm as he reached out with his hand to poke Eishirou in the middle of the forehead. “Go on, get going. And try to look interested in class next time.”

“I will, I promise!”

Eishirou hitched his bag upon his shoulder as he hurried out of the classroom. He moved faster than usual, eager to get back to the museum and actually start working on that broken stone tablet.

The weather outside the academy was warm, as per usual, with only a slight breeze holding a hint of sea salt. As he moved down the paths that would eventually lead him to his destination, he glanced out at the horizon.

The Sanctuary city of Araluen was surrounded completely by the sea, with large sea walls encompassing the city three miles out to sea. The port gates were open, allowing for ships and tankers to reach the docks. Those gates would close during the cyclone season, which would last for approximately three months.

Storms during those months were quite vicious. Apparently far worse than the storms that occurred before the Bombardment.

“Ah, Eishirou!”

A cheery voice pulled Eishirou from his musings and he turned his head to look down the path he instinctively followed. He was greeted by the sight of another professor of the academy waving cheerfully at him as the two walked toward each other.

Professor Tyrone, an expert in debunking lies and hearsay in ancient documents.

He was a handsome guy, to be completely honest. A lot of students had slight crushes on him. Not hard to see why; golden blond hair, brown skin that was likely due to being outside a little too often, and was tall with rippling muscles. Not to mention a cheery, somewhat flirty personality, and a go-get-em attitude.

“Professor Tyrone,” Eishirou greeted formally as the two finally reached each other.

“Now, how many times do I have to tell you not to be so formal,” Professor Tyrone chided with a smile. “Just Irwin will do.”

Eishirou nodded and smiled back. “Well, Irwin, what brings you out here?”

Irwin smiled broadly. “Oh, I was just visiting the museum. I heard rumours about a certain expedition. Demanded ol’ Jacob to spill the goods. We sure are fortunate that our favourite little medic here had an Elite protecting him.”

Eishirou felt himself flush and wince at the same time. “You know about that, too?”

Irwin released a loud laugh of amusement, seemingly oblivious to his embarrassment. Or was all too aware and found amusement in it. “You made quite the discovery, yeah? An underground maze, a mosaic, ravenous ShadowDwellers. Quiet the day.”

“You’re telling me…”

“That runestone sure sounds interesting,” Irwin continued before a comically disgruntled expression appeared on his face and he began to whine. “But ol’ Jacob is such a stick in the mud. He wouldn’t go into detail about the runestone. It’s not fuel for gossip, he said. We’re still working on it, he said. Rude. I was just curious.”

“He’s right, though.”

Irwin waved his hand dismissively. “Semantics! I really am interested, though. Sounds like quiet the intriguing mystery. Hm?”

Eishirou folded his arms across his chest and purposely turned away from him. “Nope, not giving in.”

Irwin loudly clapped his hands in front of him in a pleading gesture. “Please! You have to tell me. This is so interesting. Don’t leave a guy hanging!”

Eishirou had to laugh. Honestly, the guy looked like he would burst into tears at any second now. “Alright, alright,” he relented as he stepped around the animated professor. “If I learn anything else, I’ll be sure to share it with you.”

“Ooh, you’re just precious!” Irwin crooned as he pumped his fist in satisfaction. He then merrily continued his way toward the academy, waving his hand over his shoulder at him in an all-too cheery manner. “I look forward to gossiping with you!”

Eishirou watched until Irwin was out of sight before he shook his head. That guy. He certainly was a character.

Never mind that now. He had work he needed to do before lunch time!

Grasping onto the strap of his bag, Eishirou broke into a light jog as he continued toward the museum. He slowed to a fast walk when he entered the building and headed straight to the back, where the labs and investigation rooms were located.

“There you are,” Jacob said in a form of greeting as Eishirou entered the observation deck.

“Sorry,” Eishirou returned as he shrugged his bag from his shoulder and dropped it into an empty seat. “Ran into Irwin on the way here.”

“Still whining?”

“Yup.”

Jacob snorted. “He’s just jealous that you made an intriguing discovery. He’s always trying to outdo us.”

As Eishirou walked past him, he tilted his head to the side. “Rivals?” he teased.

“Please!” Prof scoffed loudly as he folded his arms across his chest in a purely disgruntled manner. “We’re not even in the same league!”

Eishirou sniggered to himself. Yup, they were rivals. He couldn’t outrightly say they were friendly rivals as it wasn’t uncommon for the two to come to near brawls and hurl insults at each other when things got heated. But they always went out for drinks later.

It was actually quite comical watching the two try to out-do each other in a strained civil manner.

“Anyway, let’s get to work on this runestone,” Jacob announced.

Eishirou nodded his head. He followed Jacob down the short staircase to the labs below. And in the middle of the room was a large, sturdy table that held the broken remains of the stone tablet. It had mostly been puzzled back together, so all he needed to do was to use his Passive Skill to restore it back to its original form.

Rolling back his sleeves, Eishirou walked over to the red stones and placed his hands upon it. He closed his eyes and concentrated. Warmth emanated from his hands and though he could not see it, he knew that the green mana from his hands seeped out into the cracks and began to aid in the stones etching together, restoring it to the stone’s original form.

Pictures suddenly slammed into his mind. Flashing one after the other. Flickering slowly.

A white face with a golden crown. The mosaic of the underground chamber.

A flower of vivid red petals growing from a crimson gem. The crown he had seen in previous recording.

And a figure in white before a full moon. A tall white building in the background. Light from the building. Pointing at something.

The last vision lasted longer than the previous two. It felt important.

As the pictures dissipated from his mind, he reeled his head back and shook his head. A hand soon grasped onto his shoulder and he turned his head to find Jacob looking at him with an expression of concern and curiosity.

“Another recording?”

Eishirou nodded his head once. “An image of the mosaic.”

A frown twitched onto Jacob’s lips. “I see. Then it’s safe to say that this runestone and the painting you found in that underground chamber are connected somehow. Anything else?”

Again, Eishirou gave a short nod. “Yeah. Another painting. I don’t recognise it. It…” he had to close his eyes in an attempt to pull the picture into his mind again. “…A white figure in front of something that looked like a lighthouse.”

“Hmm…another location, then?” Jacob continued to ponder.

Yeah, that would be a safe bet. The last imagine in particular felt important, though the pictures were the only thing that came through the recording. No words. No voices. Just imagine.

Jacob soon shook his head and turned his focus back to the reconstructed runestone. That prompted Eishirou to do the same.

Leaning over the tablet, it took them a minute or two to read the etchings within the stone. Thanks to Eishirou’s restorative abilities, the words were far easier to read. Though, that didn’t mean what they were able to read made much sense.

“When the time comes, awaken the illumination of the Red Lily.

Radiant light of spiritual blessings to the cosmic intelligence.

Raise vibrations to higher plains.

Fearless is that of the great spirit.”

Eishirou turned his attention to Jacob. “What do you think that means?”

Jacob had a contemplative look on his face. “It’s leading to something, obviously. Something called Red Lily. From these words, I’m going to assume that this Red Lily is some kind of relic. Or a treasure that was important for its time.”

Well, one thing was clear; if they were to learn more about this Red Lily and that mosaic located underground, they had to go back to that island. To that forest. To those tunnels.

And to those ShadowDwellers.

Convincing Jacob to let him back there might be the hardest part!

[sanjisock]

this, at least

ao3

1.

The most annoying thing about this whole falling in love thing, Zoro decides, is the fact that he doesn’t even have a say in it.

One day he catches Sanji’s eyes across the table during dinner and it’s a multitude of things at once: like the clearing of fog at dawn, a flood, a thunderclap. Something ended. Something started. Zoro’s breath catches in his throat, a hitch, thick and unyielding; and then Sanji looks away, and Zoro still can’t fucking breathe.

He tries to backtrack, mentally — tries to put the knowledge away, tuck it at the back of his mind, but he can’t stop staring at the Cook’s dumb face and the dumb cigarette in between his teeth and the dumb three-piece suit he keeps wearing, and Zoro knows there’s no turning back from this one. Like a cut from a sword, swift and final.

He’s in love. And it’s as terrible as everyone makes it to be.

+

 It’s stupid.

He finds himself watching Sanji, following his movements around the ship — the way he likes to smoke in the morning with his back against the railings, the rising sun in his hair, washing it golden; the way he darts around the ship to help everyone with their own tasks, helping Usopp with the laundry and Franky with the reparations and Chopper and Nami and everyone, constantly, without fail, never resting; the way he goes through packs of cigarettes every day and yet still smells like the salt of some distant sea.

They arrive on a nameless port and part ways but Zoro watches him still; the way Sanji’s eyes light up at the sight of spices Zoro can’t even differentiate; the way he would pretend to drop some of his groceries around starving homeless men, head turned away as if he couldn’t see the men picking the food up in gratitude; the way he’d watch mothers hand-in-hand with their children with a certain kind of longing, and he’d smile then, a little curled up around the edges smile that makes Zoro’s heart trip inside his chest.

It’s becoming a problem, Zoro realizes, when he starts doing it in the battlefield. 

He knows Sanji can take care of himself, knows first hand what it’s like to face those deathly kicks. And yet Zoro’s throat closes up when he sees one of the marines pointing his gun at Sanji; he freezes, in the middle of all the limbs and gunshots and swung blades, and he has half the mind to turn and catch up to the Cook —

The marine pulls the trigger and Sanji avoids the shot easily. Of course he does. Zoro may have been ahead on the brute force department but Sanji has always been quicker, and bullets have ceased to be a problem for them even long before they learned to use haki. It’s not like Zoro can afford getting too distracted against the opponents he’s up against, either.

So it’s stupid, really.

Sanji smiles, toothy grin stretched across his face and Zoro feels something unfurl within his ribcage. Like sunrise, warming all over.

It’s stupid.

And Zoro is stupidly in love.

 +

 He finds Usopp at his workshop, tinkering on a long rod that looks a lot like Nami’s weapon. He drags one of the benches and sits across the work table, placing his swords at the corner of the table.

“I think,” he begins, because there’s no other way to segue into this. “I want to be with the Cook.”

Usopp’s hand slips and twists his wrench a little too hard at that, and the rod makes a loud bang noise as Usopp snaps his head at Zoro. “What?”

Zoro doesn’t say anything.

“I think I might’ve misheard,” Usopp babbles, dropping the wrench and the rod on the table unceremoniously. “You know, with all the noise and the tools and the, uh, the waves — you were saying something about, who was it again, Sanji?”

“I want to be with the Cook,” Zoro repeats.

“Oh,” Usopp says, twirling his fingers in a nervous gesture. “You’re saying you, uh —” he pauses and wrings his hands, clearly trying to pick his words, before settling with, “you like Sanji.”

Like. Right. As if it were that simple. “No, I’m in love with the Cook,” Zoro says.

“Holy shit,” Usopp blurts, before immediately covering his mouth with his hands. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean it like that,” he says through the hands, “I mean, that’s wonderful, Zoro.”

“No, actually, it sucks.”

“Oh. Okay.”

The room goes quiet again. Zoro is beginning to think that he’s making a mistake.

Zoro contemplates leaving the room and pretends none of this ever happened, but then Usopp huffs, a soft chuckle slipping through his lips. “No, yeah, you’re right, I’m sorry,” he says in between chuckles, “falling in love sucks, doesn’t it?”

It brought a smile to Zoro's face — the kind that hurts all the way down to his chest. He shrugs.

“So what are you gonna do?” Usopp asks, propping his head on his hands as he leans forward, curious. “Are you planning to tell him?”

“Have you ever told her?” Zoro fires back. “That girl back in your hometown — Kaya, wasn’t it? Did she ever know?”

“God, no,” Usopp immediately says with a shake of his head. “But I was never a brave man, Zoro, I’m kind of — working on that.”

Working on that. Zoro likes the way that sounds. As if there’s a direction he’s actually heading towards, a goal he has to meet. As if he doesn’t perpetually feel like wading through quicksand, heady and breathless and sinking .

“Right. Me too,” he agrees.

Usopp smiles at him, almost wistfully. “You need some help on that?”

He wonders about that too. He has never been the sharing type, especially when it comes to the matter of the heart, but then again, this isn’t exactly something he’s ever had much experience with. “No,” he decides. “I just, I don’t know. I think I just needed someone to know.”

“Okay,” Usopp says, and picks up his wrench again. They stay like that, silent except for the sound of clashing metals from Usopp’s tools, until Sanji calls them up for dinner.

 2.

 Zoro likes to think of himself as a brave man. Not in the way most low-time pirates would brag to strangers in a corner of a shady bar, but in that quiet acceptance of his, a part of himself he has understood for a long time, the way he faces dangers and towering monsters and knows: he is not afraid.

But sometimes he thinks of Sanji’s face twisting, sneering, of Sanji turning away, avoiding him, hating him — not the petty fights or throwaway arguments but truly hating him — and he thinks, no, he is not a brave man.

Sanji is sitting across the table at the bar, humming to himself as he downs his second glass of alcohol. He’d soon start babbling about pretty women and complicated dishes, the lightweight that he is, but right now, buzzed by the alcohol but not quite drunk, bathed by the dim lighting of the room, the Cook looks almost ethereal.

If Zoro were braver, he would touch those wet lips. If he were braver, he would run the tips of his fingers down the side of Sanji’s face, rest his palms on Sanji’s cheeks, and maybe — just maybe, if he were braver — press their lips together.

I love you, he would say, if he were braver.

“You’re such a dumbass,” he blurts instead.

“What the hell, Marimo — I hate you too,” Sanji says, almost on instinct. It’s a throwaway comment, doesn’t mean anything, but it still hits where it hurts, right in the very center of his chest. The sky is pitch black and the wooden floor is creaking under his feet; the cold night wind feels like it blows right through him, like there’s a massive hole in his abdomen, and Zoro drinks.

His throat burns, all the way down to his stomach. Like fire. Like coal.

(Like heartbreak.)

 +

 They fight.

They always fight, like clockwork. Sometimes it’s good-natured, almost performative, blades and limbs swung like a dance only the two of them share; but other times — this time, Zoro can’t help thinking — it’s vicious and real, because they get under each other’s skin at the drop of a hat, and there’s a murderous glint on Sanji’s eyes that’s rarely there. Not entirely hateful, never crossing a certain line — they’re nakama, after all — but not entirely unreal either.

“I’m going to kill you,” Sanji growls, and Zoro thinks, you will . Zoro didn’t set himself up for love, but it’s the kind of things you only realize until you’ve stumbled into when it has happened: Zoro has somehow extracted his heart, worn it on his sleeves, laid it out there for everyone to see, and it is now beating, painfully, like it knows that it is fully in Sanji’s mercy; that Sanji can wrap his hands around it, fingers curving around the veins, and presses just so —

“As if you can,” he snaps, but he knows Sanji can; ten times over, hundred times over.

 +

 Nami finds him where he always goes, when they’re docked at an island — a corner of a dingy bar, strangers sitting two tables away as they steal wary glances at the man with one eye and three swords.

“This is pathetic, even for you,” Nami says as she takes the stool beside him.

“Shut up,” he says around a mouthful of tankard, downing the alcohol inside. He definitely needs it, now that Nami is here. “Shut up.”

“Eloquent, as always,” she says sarcastically, and orders her own tankard. She finishes it in one go, faster than he did, before adding, “you know you can’t keep doing this, right?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, feigning nonchalance, even when Nami is clearly not buying a single thing he’s selling.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you’re pulling this shit with me — you know what I’m talking about. This whole — ” she makes a gesture with her hand, “thing you have with Sanji-kun.”

“I don’t have a thing with the Cook,” he retorts, instinctively balking at the word. Thing. As if it was ever that simple. As if this bone-crushing weight around his heart could be summed up into a word as short and scant as that: thing. “He hates my guts and annoys the hell out of me. Simple as that.”

“You love him,” Nami says, bluntly. “And it’s hurting you.”

“It’s my problem,” he retorts, doesn’t even bother to deny it. Not to Nami. “I’ll take care of it myself.”

“Because you’re clearly doing such a good job by yourself,” she huffs. “Sulking at some nasty bar, drinking away your savings —”

“Like you’re one to say,” he fires back, “did you ever say anything to Vivi, in the end? You had all the time in the world, when we sailed together; and yet you didn’t say a single word.” He slams his tankard against the table, watches the alcohol spill over the rim. “Takes a coward to know another.”

He sees her face crumple at the mention of Vivi, and immediately feels bad. She looks away, her jaw constricting, throat bobbing, and for a second Zoro thought she would cry.

“Did it ever cross your mind,” she says after a moment, “that maybe I just don’t want you to make the same mistake that I did?”

He thinks of all the times he caught her alone, staring at the distant sea, her mind elsewhere, among the eternal sand. She looked a lot like porcelain, fragile and breakable; she looked unlike anything he had ever seen her be.

“That mistake — you can still fix it,” he blurts out, desperate to atone. “You still write to her sometimes, don’t you? It’s not too late. You can tell her, through those letters —”

“And what good would that do to us, Zoro?” She rests her chin on her hand, eyes cast downwards. “She’s miles away with a nation to lead, and we’re just...we may not even come back from this, you know? I couldn’t put that on her. Not when she has so much to live for. But you,” she suddenly looks up, gaze boring into his eye, “you and Sanji-kun are still here. It’s not too late for you two.”

It’s not the same, Zoro wants to argue, not when Vivi is clearly enamored with Nami as much as she does with her, while Sanji is a man who loves everyone but Zoro. Sanji has so much love to give, spilling over the edges of that bleeding heart of his, but not for Zoro; Sanji tolerates him, on a good day, and Zoro scowls at the thought of bad days.

But he thinks of Sanji, after a good fight, broken bones and open wounds and Sanji would lean slightly against Zoro in that way of his, the kind he does whenever he doesn’t want to admit that he needs help. Their shoulders would press against each other, hands brushing, and what comes out is, “All right, I’ll try.”

Nami blinks, looking as surprised as he feels.

“I’m not doing this for you,” he quickly says before she gets the wrong idea. “Just make sure you throw out a rope after he kicks me overboard.” 

She smiles, in a broken kind of way, and Zoro wonders if this whole love thing is ever worth it.

 3.

 They always fight.

But sometimes, they don’t.

Shared amused glances when Usopp and Luffy pull off some lively antics; backs pressed against each other’s as the enemies close in on them. Quiet moments in the crow’s nest when the rest of the crew has gone to sleep, cold nights and warm alcohol, insecurities laid bare in ways they couldn’t do with other people in the crew, who have different roles and different burdens to carry.

Zoro would help Sanji with the dishes after dinner — standing shoulder-to-shoulder, dirty plates and soap-soaked hands, elbows navigating around each other with ease born from familiarity. They would talk about their day, then, their usual animosity forgotten, soft words and softer laughter.

They get involved in a skirmish with the local bandits who stole a bunch of pears from the market and Sanji kicks a guy hard in the stomach, launching him towards the bandit Zoro has been fighting. Both bandits scream and barrel towards each other before falling unceremoniously on the ground.

“You could say,” Sanji quips as he moves on to fight another guy, “they make quite a pear.”

It’s not a good joke. It’s fucking dumb, in fact, but Zoro laughs, laughs like he’s never laughed before, like it’s the funniest thing on Earth. He thinks he must’ve sounded stupid, but Sanji huffs at him, eyes crinkling, lips tilted up in amusement, and Zoro suddenly thinks he’s not so stupid after all.

Sanji is clearly in a good mood. He makes a gesture with his hand, hand curved around an invisible glass, and tips it towards his mouth. “You wanna grab something afterwards?”

Two men writhe under the sole of his shoes, bloodied and battered. Sanji takes a drag out of his cigarette, unperturbed, his suits still neatly buttoned up to his neck. He looks feral and unkempt and put together at the same time, and he is everything Zoro has ever wanted.

“Sure,” Zoro says, and he thinks, I love you. I love you. I love you.

 +

 “Do you ever wonder?” Zoro asks as he drags the Cook out of the tavern, and Sanji snores, completely drunk, half of his body slung over Zoro’s shoulders. His face is beet red and smushed against the back of Zoro’s shoulder blade, and there’s something about the contact that sparks up something underneath Zoro’s skin that fizzes and trembles. “You know I hate this kind of shit — thinking about what ifs and all — but fuck, Cook. Sometimes — sometimes we’re good and you’re awful but you’re also the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” He inhales, his chest shuddering against the cold air. “I can’t help — it’s pointless and impossible and stupid but sometimes I wonder if we could ever — if we could ever be —”

Sanji snores on, dead to the world.

Zoro exhales.

 +

 Sometimes, they don’t fight.

That’s the hardest part.

 +

 It’s a cloudy afternoon, and Zoro can feel the salty breeze picking up when he catches sight of Robin and Chopper in front of a bookstore.

Bookstores have never been his thing, all things considered — he visits taverns and swordsmiths and the island’s marketplace when Sanji is in the mood to drag him around, but Robin and Chopper are the ones who go to bookstores and libraries whenever they’re docked. So it is unsurprising, then, when he simply nods at them in acknowledgement before walking past.

It is surprising when Robin reaches out and touches him, lightly, on the elbow.

“Chopper will take some time with the books,” she says. “Do you mind accompanying me for a drink in that café?”

It is how Zoro finds himself in his current situation, sipping terrible alcohol from his colorful drink that’s more sugar than alcohol because it’s the only thing the café offered. Robin is smiling enigmatically from across the table, and Zoro is hit once again with the absurdity of his situation. Sure, he cares about each of his crewmates, would lay down his life for any of them in a heartbeat, but getting overpriced alcohol at a café with Robin ? Not exactly an everyday occurrence.

Robin takes her time, enjoying her drinks as she watches the crowd. Zoro has seen these tactics, knows that she’s trying to make him lower his guard, but Robin is not an enemy. So he does, eventually; he lets the tension in his shoulders bleed out, leaning back into the chair.

Robin waits until the grip on his glass visibly relaxes, and he’s in the middle of taking a sip when she says, “why do you hide your feelings?”

Zoro chokes on his drink.

Robin only smiles in amusement as he’s hitting his chest from all the coughing — Zoro’s pretty sure she did this on purpose. Witches, all of them. “It’s none of your business.”

“Your heart is heavy,” Robin replies. “Any weight on a ship is the business of her crew.”

Zoro pauses. It irks him, the mere implication that he’s dragging the crew back, but he thinks of the night outside of the tavern, his breath visible in the cold air as he asks the unconscious cook, what if? What if? What if? — and in that moment he knows Robin is right.

Doesn’t mean it’s an easy question to answer. “I dunno,” he shrugs, struggling to find the right words. “Sometimes I think about him, and the thing here,” he presses a hand to his chest, “it’s — bursting, like something is about to spill. But then I see him and his stupid face and it’s all —” his hand moves up, hovering over his neck, “ stuck, here. It just — freezes.”

Robin listens patiently, her chin resting on the back of her clasped hands. A moment passes before she asks, “do you think Sanji isn’t worth the trouble?”

Zoro balks. “Of course he is! He deserves —“ A lot of things. More than I have. Everything. Not me. He settles with, “it’s not about the Cook. It’s about this — love thing.”

Robin hums noncommittally. “You and I, I think, are very similar,” she observes. “We have a lot of things we keep close to ourselves, secrets we’ll carry to the grave. But when I am with Franky, every part of me tells me that this one —” she reaches across the table and covers his palm with hers, pressing them both against his chest. Against his heart. “This one, at least — it is one worth sharing.”

Zoro yanks his hand from her grasp and looks away, almost — ashamed. For being so — vulnerable, in a way. So easy to read. His body bruises and heals, stronger by the day — but his heart breaks so easily still.

“You don’t understand,” he shakes his head, “you and Franky, it’s different. Your heart has always been something he wanted to carry.”

Robin tilts her head. “Do you think Sanji would disrespect your feelings?”

The Cook would do a lot of things, he wants to say, but that isn’t quite right. Sanji is rough and sharp, bristles under Zoro’s touch, but the word disrespect have never crossed his mind even once, when it comes to the Cook. Sanji, who refuses to fight with blades and yet still treats Zoro’s katanas with reverence; Sanji, who quickly understood what a scar on Zoro’s back meant, and guarded it with his entire being. Sanji, who — cares, always tries to, always does.

“No,” he answers, surely, steadily. “He won’t.”

Robin smiles at that. “Then let me ask you this question again. Why do you hide your feelings?”

And just like that, all his excuses — gone. Like pebbles in a river, worn away to sand. His heart is still heavy, but it’s the kind of weight that’s accompanied with resolve. “I had a promise with Nami,” he says, almost in a daze. “It’s about time that I go through with that, huh.”

Robin doesn’t ask questions. “You do that,” she says, and that’s that.

 4.

 Zoro doesn’t do things in halves. Not with his dream, not with his nakama, and never, especially, with Sanji, who wouldn’t expect any less from him.

Zoro doesn’t do things in halves, so he takes a blade to the chest and tells Sanji he loves him.

(Zoro might have skipped a few details.)

 +

 On second thoughts, maybe details are unnecessary. He told Sanji that he loved him. That’s the point of this whole thing. The other stuff is just... embellishments, at best; irrelevant, at worst.

The embellishments are these: the air, gunpowder and smoke, bullets flying by overhead. The marines, three galleons big this time, cornering the Sunny against a cliffside before it could leave the island. The Straw Hats, their hands full with a few dozen marine officers each, completely separated from one another.

The embellishments are these: a Vice Admiral whose name Zoro can’t even remember anymore, his blade thin but long, a particular kind Zoro recognized as a naginata. A battle, messier than their usual matchups, him and Sanji against at least six of the Vice Admiral’s underlings. Sanji, distracted — they’d heard Usopp’s pained scream only a few moments ago, and Sanji turned his head then, eyes searching the battlefield for the voice, back facing the Vice Admiral.

The embellishments are simply those — embellishments.

Those aren’t the point.

The point is this: he took a hit meant for Sanji. Something cut deep against his chest, and then inside his chest, and before he knew it Sanji was kneeling over him, screaming his name hoarse. He liked the way his name sounded, coming out of Sanji’s lips. The Cook should say it more often. Maybe he should say Sanji’s name more often, first. Like a challenge, because that’s what it always comes down to, when it comes to them.

The point is this: they were both sweaty and disheveled in the middle of an enemy’s ship and Sanji looked absolutely fucking awful, but Zoro loved him anyway. There was dirt under his nails and someone else’s blood smeared across the bridge of his nose, and Zoro loved him still — in spite of, because of — so much that he can feel the sharp ache of desire against his heart.

The point is this:

“I’m in love with you,” Zoro told him. Blood-soaked, dirt-crusted — but the truth, nonetheless.

(This, at least —)

And then he passed out.

 +

 It is, admittedly, sort of disappointing to see Luffy instead of Sanji when he comes to.

Luffy takes one look at Zoro and immediately cuts to the chase. He tells him, “you need to talk to Sanji.”

No good morning, no are you okay, but then again, Luffy always knows when to trust his nakama with their own battles. Zoro can handle a naginata to the chest just fine on his own. The thing with Sanji — not so much.

He shrugs. “I did.”

“No, dummy,” Luffy replies with a pout, like Zoro’s the biggest dumbass he’s ever met. “You told him words and then you passed out. That’s not talking.”

“I talked to him before that,” he answers, aware he’s being petty but unable to stop himself.

“I mean talk to Sanji,” Luffy insists. He scrunches his nose, wearing the expression he does whenever he’s thinking too hard. “You talk to everyone on the ship but not Sanji and that’s stupid.”

How did you know about that, Zoro wants to say, but of course Luffy does. Luffy is more observant than he appears to be, especially when it matters, and this matters, to Zoro.

“Listen,” he begins, and holy fuck, he thought talking to Robin was weird, but this? This takes the cake by a long mile. “I’m not exactly familiar with this whole — love — thing, okay? This isn’t some enemy I can just cut down. I asked the others, who — they know this stuff, okay, because Usopp has Kaya and Nami has Vivi, and you know about Robin and Franky and I just had to —” he buries his face in his hand. He thinks of Sanji, rough words and soft touches, Zoro’s heart in the palms of his hands, and he blurts out, “I can’t fuck this up, okay? I had to know how to do this right.”

There’s silence, and for a moment Zoro thought Luffy would understand his perspective, but when he looks up from his hand, Luffy is still pouting. “Well, that’s just stupid.”

He grits his teeth, raising from the infirmary bed. “Stop saying that —”

“I won’t, because Zoro won’t listen!” Luffy stands up, looming above Zoro. “It’s stupid, because you tried to talk to everyone about everyone else but Kaya and Vivi and Franky are not Sanji.”

Zoro stills.

“I mean, you said all these things about Franky and Robin, and — okay, Franky knows Robin best because sometimes Robin would make this mystery face and Franky would just know what she’s thinking, but no one on this ship knows Sanji like you know him,” Luffy goes on, jabbing his finger at Zoro’s chest. “Sanji’s the one who’s going to carry this.”

He thinks of Nami, of Usopp. Their shoulders, weighed by unspoken words. “I’ve seen how it could drag me down,” he confesses, in hushed tones. He thinks of the cafe across the bookstore, Robin’s hand against his chest. “Robin told me this one’s especially heavy.”

Luffy grins. “That’s for Sanji to decide. Sanji’s pretty strong you know?” He throws his hands excitedly over his head. “Sanji’s as strong as a thousand men!”

“I’m as strong as two thousand men,” he replies, out of instinct, and Luffy watches him with a small smile.

“Talk to Sanji, Zoro,” he says, after a moment. “I think Sanji wants to talk to you too.”

Zoro settles back into the bed. He thinks of Sanji — fire and ice, thunderstorm and still water; the bloodthirsty hellhound who has stood beside Zoro, shoulder to shoulder, bruised and rough and strong , and the gentle caregiver who makes sure everyone on the ship is fed. Zoro loves Sanji in all his contradictions, and if there’s anyone he could trust with his heart, it’s —

“Okay,” he tells Luffy. He means it this time.

 5.

 When Zoro comes to again, there’s a plate of soup at his bedside. It smells so fucking good and it hits him, suddenly, that he’s hungry; he sits up straight and reaches for it before he could even take in his surroundings, digging into it in record speed. He can feel his joints ache from the movements, but the pain is distant now. Muted.

“You’re welcome,” Sanji says from the other side of the bed.

Zoro almost jumps from the bed — he doesn’t get surprised easily, but Sanji has always been his exceptions. 

When he turns to face the Cook, Sanji is smiling nervously at him, almost hesitant. Sanji looks younger like this, stripped off of all his pretense and bravado, and Zoro wants to kiss him so badly. “Cook,” he says instead.

Sanji’s breath hitches at that, his gaze falling onto his lap. “Marimo,” he replies, but the insult doesn’t have the same edge it usually does.

Zoro’s eye instinctively follows Sanji’s line of sight, and he is surprised to find his swords on Sanji’s lap. Sanji must have kept them safe when Zoro was unconscious, and he feels something warm in his throat at the thought.

Sanji seems to notice Zoro’s gaze, because he shies further into the chair, face flushed. His hands curl around Wado’s hilt, and Zoro lets him — can’t even bring himself to mind it. There are many things, he realizes, he would let Sanji do. It scares him.

He’s not a brave person, but —

“I love you,” Zoro blurts out, words spilling over, unbidden.

Sanji looks up, startled. “What?”

“I love you,” he repeats. It’s weird, how it seemed like an insurmountable task to say the words out loud when they feel like the only words he could say to Sanji now. “I just — I need you to just, know that.”

He expects Sanji to do a lot of things, then. Like a kick on the head, if he’s lucky, or an awkward joke about Zoro getting hit on the head. If fate is being particularly cruel, Sanji would look at him in disgust before storming out of the infirmary. He knows Sanji would never do that — would never treat any of his nakama that way — but Zoro’s chest tightens painfully at the thought anyway, almost irrationally.

He doesn’t expect Sanji to lean forward and press a kiss against his lips.

“Eugh, gross,” Sanji says as he pulls away, much quicker than Zoro would’ve liked, “that was so wet , gross. Why didn’t you swallow your soup, what the fuck.”

Soup. Yeah, He can feel some of it spilling out of his lips, and he absentmindedly wipes it with his hand, fumbling with the bowl of soup in his lap as he sputters, “shit, sorry, I wasn’t —”

When he looks up, Sanji is grinning at him, blinding and all-encompassing. He puts Zoro’s swords aside and reaches out, drawing Zoro close, his eyes soft and fond and happy, happier than Zoro has ever seen him be.

“You dumbass,” Sanji says, the undercurrent of a laugh in his tone. “I love you too.”

Oh , Zoro thinks for a second, and then Sanji is kissing him again, and Zoro forgets how to form a thought at all.

For a long moment, all Zoro knows is this — Sanji’s tongue in his mouth, Sanij’s fingers around his wrist, Sanji’s smile against his. His heart is pounding beneath his ribcage, threatening to burst, and when Sanji finally pulls away he can’t help leaning forward, chasing his lips.

Sanji chuckles at the gesture, amused, and rests his forehead against Zoro’s. Sanji is still grinning, cheeks flushed, and Zoro loves him, viscerally, painfully, so hard he can’t breathe around the shape of it.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” He finds himself asking as soon as he finds his breathing.

Sanji’s face turns a shade darker at the question. “I don’t know,” he mutters after a moment. “We don’t exactly talk about our feelings.”

Zoro feels like punching himself in the face. It seems like talking about his feelings is all he does these days, practically half the crew being the receiving end of his sentimental drivels, but Luffy was right — the talking doesn’t count if he doesn’t talk about it with Sanji.

Well. That is all in the past, he supposes. Zoro never finds the point in regretting his past decisions; the only thing he can do is to be better, so he takes Sanji’s hand in his and tells him what he’s always wanted to tell the Cook, “you’re stupid.”

He gets a raise of an eyebrow at that. “Excuse me?”

“You’re stupid,” Zoro repeats, and kisses Sanji again, at the corner of his mouth. He thinks he can get used to this whole kissing thing. “You and your stupid face and your stupid cigarette and your stupid suit,” he’s laughing now, warm and thrilled. “You’re stupid, and I love you.”

“Thank fuck for that, then,” Sanji laughs, and smiles — against his lips, against his heart — and it’s stupid, but Zoro is smiling back too.

 +

 Sanji turns out to be a cuddler, Zoro quickly learns as he wakes up with the Cook somehow having nestled himself into Zoro’s arms, head tucked comfortably against Zoro’s shoulder.

His first instinct is to withdraw himself — and he almost does, pushing himself up on the bed with his free hand — but Sanji presses his face into Zoro’s shoulder at the movement, his grip on Zoro’s hip strong and firm, and Zoro finds himself lowering back down into the bed. He can only see the top of Sanji’s head in this angle, but there’s just something — adorable in the way Sanji is curled up against him with bed-mussed hair, and Zoro is just a man, okay, 

There’s a moment of peaceful silence before he hears Sanji sleepily mumble, “where are you going?”

Zoro wants to shrug, but his right arm is dead and he doesn’t exactly want to jostle a sleepy Sanji more than he already has, so he settles with a chaste kiss against the Cook’s temple. “Dunno,” he answers truthfully. “I just thought — I was practically lying on top of you for the whole night. My hand and half of my body and all — must’ve been uncomfortable.”

Sanji watches him for a moment with sleepy, half-lidded eyes, before curling up into Zoro.

“You know,” Sanji huffs, eyes crinkling, and smiles. “It’s not as heavy as you think.”

Zoro’s breath catches in his throat. It’s a multitude of things at once: the clearing of fog at dawn, a flood, a thunderclap. Sanji has dozed back off to sleep, but Zoro still can’t fucking breathe, not when Sanji’s entire being is pressed against him like they’ve never been apart — chest to chest, feet tangling with one another's. Something ended. Something started.

(This, at least — )

Zoro’s in love. And it’s not as terrible as everyone makes it to be.

[ravenqueen89]

Song of the sea

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Isabela/Lottie Hawke

Rating: PG

Notes: Another in the ‘for the beautiful perfect Aly’ series, and yet another instance of me falling in love with one of Aly’s characters. Go explore more of Lottie’s perfection here. This took way too long, as per usual, but I hope it’s readable <3

Now also on ao3. 

Isabela wakes to a golden languor that still feels like a dream. The sun filters warmly into the captain’s cabin, and her lips are pressed to Lottie’s freckled shoulder because it’s how she fell asleep, and they’re tangled together in a sweet mess of sheets.

The ship is uncharacteristically quiet. Having docked in Hercinia the previous night, most of the crew enthusiastically departed on shore leave. Only the bare minimum remained behind as security. Hercinia has become less of a haven for raiders in the past few years, but Isabela has learned the hard way to leave nothing to chance.

For now, all is peaceful. All she can hear is the gentle lap of waves against the hull, the creak of wood, and the melody of the sea, and Lottie’s breathing. It’s perfect.

Isabela can tell by the light that it’s afternoon, but she lives for these lazy days in bed, docked along the Waking Sea. The world isn’t ending, and the past feels very far away, the ashes of Kirkwall just a distant nightmare, the death and the sorrow mere memories. There is nothing but this peace, and Isabela keeps expecting to wake up from whatever magic has allowed her to live this ideal, but Lottie’s always there, the last sight she sees before falling asleep, the first sight she sees when she wakes, the beauty she dreams of when she rests.

Lottie snuffles in that adorable way of hers, lashes fluttering as sunlight finds her face, and Isabela laughs softly, as horribly endeared as usual. She’d expected this phase to wear off, the way she’s so utterly besotted, but if anything this time spent at sea has made it all worse, and she can’t even be upset about it. Instead, she nuzzles Lottie’s shoulder for what must be the millionth time, the freckles there as familiar to her as breathing, her lips tracing a soft and gentle line towards Lottie’s collarbone. Lottie smiles, that sweet smile that curls one corner of her mouth more than the other, and she makes this hushed happy little sound that always makes Isabela’s heart flutter like a lovesick pup’s.

‘Timesit?’ Lottie asks, with her characteristic morning eloquence, snuggling into Isabela without opening her eyes.

Isabela brushes her nose against Lottie’s and then kisses her forehead, lingering in the beauty of the moment before finally attempting to disentangle herself from the sheets.

‘Time to disembark and check on our crew, sweetness.’

Isabela sets about gathering her clothing from where it’s been strewn carelessly around the cabin by impatient hands. She finds her daggers under a misshapen chair, and turns to comment on this to Lottie only to find her mage not only out of bed but also fully clothed. Lottie’s hair is already up in her usual mess of a bun, and she’s humming the notes of a bawdy song one of the boatswains has been teaching her. There’s a dreamy look on her face that Isabela is as suspicious of as she is of this unusual haste. Only Lottie matches Isabela’s laziness at the start of the day, and this routine is not at all part of the norm. She continues being suspicious as Lottie kisses her cheek while still humming that tune.

‘I’ll meet you at the tavern, love, I have some letters to send.’

Isabela arches her eyebrow but Lottie’s already on her way out of the cabin, so there’s no time to comment. She can hear Lottie rummaging and then the unsubtle clinking of a worrying amount of coin and then Lottie disembarks and Isabela’s left still mostly undressed and wondering what Lottie is plotting this time around.

*

By nightfall, Isabela makes her way towards the tavern, a heavy coinpurse on her hip following the completion of her errands. She’s planning on how many payments she needs to make and repairs that need done, and how to make sure the coin covers at least two more of Lottie’s spontaneous plans. She’s caught up in her calculations (and how is this her life again?) but not caught up enough to not notice Lottie trying to sneak up on her from the shadows. Isabela still doesn’t know if it’s the magic or if it’s just Lottie’s general presence, but she can always tell when Lottie is near. It’s like the air bends around her, like it transforms, like it fills with energy that crackles around her. Isabela’s been able to feel her from the very start, so it’s no surprise, but it hasn’t stopped Lottie from trying, and it hasn’t stopped Isabela from playing along. She knows that Lottie’s going to go for the hat before Lottie even gets close enough, but she laughs anyway, joyous and unrestrained and not even slightly annoyed, though she lunges for the hat still, as she always does. Isabela’s very fond of her admiral’s hat, but the sight of Lottie running around with it like she’s accomplished a great feat is even better, and Isabela always wins this game, in the end. She lets Lottie think she has the upper hand and then gives chase while Lottie is distracted by waving the hat in the air, while the locals stare at the two of them playing like children with no small amount of consternation.

Isabela wins her hat back when Lottie pauses at the tavern door, all intent like she’s waiting for something. There is a suspicious absence of noise coming from within, but before Isabela can query it, Lottie swoops right in and kisses her, all quick softness and fingers linking with Isabela’s and then she opens the door and pulls her inside.

In the tavern, there is momentary silence, and then everything erupts into boisterous merriment. Lottie grins at her, and Isabela wants to glare, she really does, but Lottie twirls her in front of the gathered crowd and Isabela has to laugh. There is a large group of minstrels gathered in the corner, singing something about love that Isabela’s heard Lottie hum before. The townsfolk are huddled around, staring at the pair of them like they’re expecting something, and Isabela’s about to ask, about to voice the realisation that’s just dawned on her, but then the music stops and silence descends once more, and when Isabela looks away from the minstrels she finds Lottie kneeling on the floor, grinning with all the joyful innocence in the world, still holding on to Isabela’s hand.

Fifty protests are about to leave Isabela’s lips at once, but they fade into nothingness when Lottie speaks.

‘Bela,’ she says, her voice undulating around Isabela’s name in that way that always makes her knees go weak. ‘Bela, we’ve been through a lot together. I fell for you the first time I saw you, and I love you with every breath. We’re each other’s strength and each other’s fate, and I want to be at your side for as long as we have. Will you marry me?’

Isabela’s distracted, by Lottie’s tone, by Lottie’s words, by the flush in her cheeks that makes her freckles stand out even more, by the way Lottie’s thumb is drawing patterns across her palm, but when it all sinks in she twines her fingers through Lottie’s and laughs, tears in her eyes and emotion making her heart race. She sinks to her knees and cups Lottie’s face and calls her ridiculous before kissing her, and kissing her, and kissing her. The silence drags on as the entire tavern seems to hold its breath, and Isabela turns just slightly to face their audience.

‘Dear folk, I appreciate the fervour, but this woman here has been my wife for years.’

Laughter breaks out, and many heads shake in confusion, but then the tavern’s patrons loudly join together in cheer and song. Isabela kisses Lottie through several songs as people around them drink and dance and toast their health, the smell of ale strong in the air, but nothing will ever be as intoxicating to Isabela as Lottie is, and the thought doesn’t even worry her anymore.

They sway together for a long time in an approximation of a dance in the midst of the festivities, and Isabela doesn’t even enquire as to the amount of coin lining the purses of the travelling minstrels and the locals. It doesn’t matter. Lottie is glowing with happiness as they hold each other, foreheads pressed together, and Isabela wants to hold on to this forever, hold on to the happiness, to the ease, to it being just the two of them.

Later, much later, they walk back toward the ship, and it takes longer than it should because they’re still tangled together and unwilling to  part, and their footsteps and laughter echo through the empty streets.

‘How many more ports are you going to do this in, sweetness?’ Isabela asks, as Lottie presses kisses to her cheek, and the warmth of Lottie’s laughter fans over her skin.

‘I don’t have a definite number in mind, my love.’

Isabela hums a little and kisses her again as they reach the ship, all sweetness and spice and promise. She knows nothing about what the future holds, but she does know that Lottie will be in it, and Isabela wants to celebrate every moment they have, every shared breath. They steal some more time holding each other, listening to the waves against the hull. Before they climb aboard, Lottie twirls Isabela again and Isabela breathes in her favourite scents, Lottie and the sea, and she wonders at this feeling of safety that she never thought she’d have.

‘You didn’t give me an answer, Bela. Will you marry me?’

Lottie’s grin makes Isabela’s breath catch, but she doesn’t let it show. She looks at her hand, carefully inspecting her nails, twirling her ring, taking her time until Lottie starts fidgeting, her fingers drumming a rhythm against Isabela’s back.

‘I’ll think about it, sweetness.’

She breaks away with one of her most legendary and dangerous smirks, and laughs as she hears Lottie stumbling all over herself in her haste to follow, her mage calling out an indignant ‘hey!’ in her wake.

Isabela’s laughter drifts into the town on the breeze along with the bells of the ships coming into port, and then silence falls once more.

[courtorderedcake]

@captainswanbigbang & @captxinswans present:

RIPTIDE by @courtorderedcake

Beta’d by the wonderful @ultraluckycatnd

An Enchanted Forest AU where the dark one was never released into the world in a vessel, thus causing a massive shift in timelines. The ogre wars have ravaged kingdoms, untold destruction spanning continents, rulers displaced. Even as the wars sputter to ash, the safest place to be is at sea, and that’s not very safe at all - as Emma and Killian find out, fates intertwined against all odds.

Rated: E/X - heavy content : warnings of assault, rape, noncon, just everything, I feel like the rating says enough. It’s something.

WARNING:

READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

Read on Ao3 HERE .

Chapter X : Mainstay

"When the mainstay of one's world is taken away, it's only natural to cling to all the rest, to try desperately to keep things as close to the way they were as one can." He shook his head sorrowfully. "But no one can ever go back to yesterday.”

-Robin Hobb

 Killian was driving her crazy. Everyone was, offering extra hands, watching her like she was a child, commenting on how large her stomach had gotten, or presenting the same stupid questions as she waddled around a port. “How much longer?” a shopkeeper asked her one day. Her glare could pierce armor, and she heard Killian’s sharp intake of breath.

“Too long,” Emma hissed, annoyed. The shopkeeper continued on, prattling about her own children as Emma’s intimidation missed its mark completely.

It had been happening more; the last time she’d been successful at scaring someone was when a drunken man touched her and asked if she was having twins. Emma had the man by the wrist in seconds, breaking it with a crack that echoed through the market. The man screamed as she stepped over him as daintily as her bloated body would allow.

Part of her wrath was hormonal, and part of it was the mollycoddling. But those were nothing compared to the main contributor.

Emma had never been outright feminine or fashion forward, but her body ballooning everywhere at once had her feeling like a whale or a pig ready for reaping. Killian said he didn’t mind, but the women that flirted with him and looked at him with some sort of sad look when he came to press kisses on her cheek made her feel so ugly and insecure. Especially combined with the other fun symptoms at this stage like heartburn from anything she ate, eating like an ogre, gas that while he laughed through it made him open one of the few cabin windows they had, and cravings that left him nauseous.

She wasn’t exactly who he had fell for any longer.

Even among her best friends she felt disgusting. Snow and Ruby were lithe, one petite and the other tall; next to them, she felt completely terrible. Add in Rory, whose long ash blonde hair hit her waist and seemed to never snarl, and Emma wanted to roll herself into the ocean. They were sweet and doting while helping her pick out pieces from a frustrated tailor, seams let out again and again.

“Don’t listen to him, Emma. You’re not fat; some women just carry big,” Snow comforted after a particularly tense session with the grouchy man who fitted her in a soft linen frock. Snow shot the man a death glare when he grunted. “You’re beautiful,” she said quietly.

Snow picked at a swath of fabric nearby, looking away. Emma sighed. How could anyone be jealous of this? Emma could tell from Snow’s posture, her glances, and even her never ending apologies for her part in things that she wanted a child with her brother, wanted marriage and a ring, and would give up everything if it meant she could have a cottage somewhere.

“Thanks,” Emma muttered.

The tailor grunted again, pins in his mouth. “Alright, I’m letting it out even looser to accommodate for…” his eyes trailed over her body, and he adjusted his glasses, “growth.”

Emma scowled, and declined to join the group on the rest of the shopping trip, claiming to feel fatigued and asking for a box of sweets instead. The group dropped her off at the docks, never walking alone, and she waved a hello to Will and Belle who sat on deck eating apples. Emma couldn’t stand the thought of laying around again. She would do some work around the ship, anything to try and forget her embarrassment. Pulling a bucket of soapy water to their quarters, she set about sweeping and then cleaning the floor with a brush, orange oil, and fragrant water.

She heard Killian’s footfalls before she saw him, the door opening slowly. She turned on her hands and knees with skirts hiked up and pushed back a sweaty lock of hair.

“Didn’t feel like a walk around the town?” he asked quietly, leaning against the door frame. Emma shook her head and returned to scrubbing, hearing the gentle click of the door close behind him. His hook touched the small of her back, gentle and cold through the thin dress. It reminded her of the few times they had been intimate, usually frantic and frenzied due to her sudden spurts of arousal or the mood striking between a plunder.

“Love, you look exhausted. Why don’t you -”

“I don’t want to go lay down. I can’t just keep lying down, I want to be doing something! I need to be doing something, I don’t -” Tears threatened behind her eyes, and Killian pulled her face to his, kissing her lovingly.

“Tell me what’s wrong?” he whispered, and his eyes searching hers were so worried. She was worrying him again.

“I’m sorry. I just had a bad day.” Wiping her eyes, she let out a sniff. “I just…”

Arms eased her into his body, wrapping her into a hug as her back rested against his chest. “Hey. You know, you don’t have to fight so hard anymore. I’m here for you, Emma.” His breath was warm by her ear, words soothing. “You’re everything to me. You have done more than enough for everyone. There’s no reason you have to work so hard still.”

Emma closed her eyes, letting him press kisses to her exposed neck, his hook pulling down the fabric of her dress to nip at a shoulder. Emma shuddered, pleasure overridden by her insecurity. He felt pity.

“I’m going to take you up on that nap offer.” Pulling away and standing with his help as her balance shifted, he helped her lay in bed. He laid next to her himself until she drifted in dreams to a place where she didn’t feel anything, no insecurities any longer.

 Emma was stunningly beautiful. Killian could barely keep his eyes off of her, sunlight in her hair like a halo as she glowed. Her body was rounded and she complained about pain, which he felt increasingly terrible for, but her beauty remained the same. He tried to do everything in his power to make her as comfortable as he could, her light duty work becoming a bit too much as they waited for the midwife. She still worked for a few hours each day, taking breaks frequently. Resting quietly or eating lunches she could be found sunning herself on the deck of The Jolly, skin seeming to almost give out light, which he found captivating as he tried to focus on whatever problem was brought to his attention.

His favorite thing though was going to bed with her, and the feeling of waking beside her, watching her face light up like seeing colors for the first time.

“You’re a creep,” she whispered sleepily, not opening her eyes. He chuckled and smiled, content laying next to her. “You really are lucky you’re so good looking.” One eye peeked open as she murmured, “Not every woman would tolerate a husband that watches as they sleep, occasionally stroking and talking to their belly. Especially when the woman in question looks like some type of seacow.”

“You’re beautiful. Stop it.” Emma only rolled her eyes, lips pulled tight as she turned away. “Emma, you are stunning. I want to kiss every delectable inch of you constantly. Your breasts, and how you glow, I can’t keep my eyes off of you, alright?”

In a muffled imitation of his voice, Emma sarcastically drolled, “I’d despair if you did.” He laughed, but rubbed her back in small circles, her disbelief and insecurity causing her shoulder blades to tense.

“Emma. Love.” tugging on her arm, he rolled her to face him. “I have never wanted you more.”

Even the press of his chest hair against her nipples had her whimpering; her breasts were beyond sensitive and had grown into plump globes. She continued to kiss him chastely with soft, feather light kisses that stole his breath, but left him wanting more.

“Emma, I -” he whispered softly, but she shook her head, a contented smile on her face.

“Shhhh.” She ran fingers through his hair with one hand, while the other hand gently cupped his cheek. He nuzzled into her touch, kissing her palm. “I just… I just want to know you're real, that this is real, that you love me and think I’m beautiful, that you're alright. I…” She smiled a beaming smile that lit up both the room and his soul. “I love you. I love you so much. Waking up with you feels like a dream.”

Soft glimmers of swirling sunshine colored magic came off her body as they looked at each other. It settled on his skin, adding barely there tingling sensations all over his body. Emma let out a sigh of happiness, feeling his heart and hers beat in an easy rhythm.

“Darling, my heart belongs to you and you can have it until the sun ceases to rise. I love you too.”

She hummed lowly as she lowered her head to his chest, lightly tracing patterns in the golden mist that had settled on them. It shimmered with a glow every time they took a breath, and he found himself watching her, gold on her skin, in her hair, flecks in her eyes, the soft sparkle of treasure he'd finally won. That he finally deserved.

They kissed slowly and he took his time tasting her, nipping at her lips while he relished the moans she made. Licking and kissing down her neck and collarbone, her shoulder bare and lovely as he scraped his teeth across it. Emma’s hips rose, and he cursed having to balance himself over her. Trailing more nips down her body, he rested his forehead against her thigh, inhaling vanilla and lavender scented air. To think, at one point he hated and feared magic. Now he loved every part of it, every part of her.

After running a finger through her wet curls and watching her shudder, Killian leaned in and licked a stripe that ended in a swirl of her clit. Emma’s hips rose up with a pleading whimper, and he obliged her need by swirling his tongue everywhere but where she needed, slow laps that ended with a huff and her keen of frustration. He brought her close again and again, letting her legs shake before leaving her panting and white knuckled.

Pulling away a final time he grabbed a pillow, pulling her trembling hips up to place it underneath. Killian knelt, laying his body over hers and kissing her slowly, everything slow as her magic made spirals and sparkling wisps in the light. Her hair was a loose tangle of curls and he ran his hands through it, bending to place soft kisses on the arch of her neck as she breathed unevenly. Her chest rose and he let his hand graze a nipple. Emma bucked up into him with a moan that shot right down his spine.

Returning to his kneeling position, Killian pressed into her, groaning low as she let out a wordless gasp. Filling her slowly, stoking slow heat that burned with the best sort of pleasure he heard Emma sigh in pleasure as he felt his own. Everything was tender, rhythm languorous, her body pliant and so softly rounded under his hands; her back arched as he pressed kisses where he could, lips stealing her breathy moans. He couldn’t tell her in words how the taste of her neck made everything else seem like nothing, how her fingers felt like velvet until her nails dragged biting paths that urged him on when he shifted his weight.

Emma became louder, writhing underneath him as he felt her body tighten. They came undone together, holding each other as her magic began to fade. Killian realized with amazement and apprehension that he was not only happy, but that he was done with just having quick fucks or meaningless flings. While he had laughed at men before for espousing romantic nonsense, he realized that those men were right. He had found everything he needed with Emma. It wasn’t just sex anymore. They had made love - her heart under his hand fluttering, his twisted arm against her belly where kicks landed in protest.

“I don’t have words that mean more than I love you, Emma,” Killian murmured into her hair.

Emma hummed, pressing a kiss to his nose. “Find them while I sleep. I’ve been thoroughly ravaged.” She turned with difficulty, facing away to press her back against him. She fell asleep in his arms like she belonged there, relaxed and warm. He had never even ventured to dream about this feeling before out of fear.

This was home.

 Being with Killian was like coming up for air after swimming just a little too deep. When she was around him, she fell back into the ease of his presence and the safety he provided. It was more than enough confirmation that Emma had never really been in love; nothing ever coming close to the flutter she felt when his eyes met her own from across a room. Her clavicle held the evidence of his other needs; love bites littering the soft skin, a reminder of the way his lips trailed her skin with whispered words of appreciation and awe.

For everything he had done for her, Emma tried to do things for him. Trimming his hair, tidying where she could, wrapping bundles of herbs in twine to leave in his pockets for luck and good fortune when laying his clothing out. Heading out to market when she felt brave enough, she kept an eye out for maps and books that might grab his interest, thoughts returning to him as if he occupied a space in her mind. He did, of course.

Emma knew his favorite things and dislikes in the astounding way a person became more when you held their heart, filling out the unknowns and shedding light on all of their being. Tasks for herself became tasks for two, taking turns making two cups of tea, two sets of wash, two plates of bread and cheese, or two glasses of wine. Two felt complete, and soon they’d be three, a black haired baby in their arms. The thought actually gave her pause as time moved forward; Killian so excited to hold their child, talking to her belly in hushed tones.

“You are going to be great. You’ve already survived more than most men and you’re not even born,” Killian whispered to Emma’s amusement. “You’re brilliant, just like your parents. Mostly your papa.” Emma shot him a look, but he was grinning cheekily. “I fancy your mum from time to time, and I’m sure you’ll love her. She’s pretty fantastic.”

“You might be biased, but I am pretty fantastic.”

Spring was almost over, heat coming in waves and the crew cleaning The Jolly while the temperature was tolerable. Emma was happy to help where she could and have the chance to stretch her legs, tying knots and helping to move what wasn’t too heavy. Killian surprised her with a packed lunch as they sat watching the sunset together, the purples and oranges blurring into pinks on the far horizon.

It was perfect, save for Killian’s sudden rattled nerves.

“Killian?” “Er, yes love?” he scratched behind his ear, digging in the basket. “What’s on your mind tonight?” When he flinched, she laid her hand on his thigh, trying to soothe whatever was worrying him.

Pulling a small box out of the basket, he turned, kneeling by her side. Emma blinked. “Before you were taken, I designed a ring for you. It’d be a shame to let it go to waste, so I thought I’d marry you with a little more pomp this go round. Do this properly.”

Flipping the box open, Emma felt a surge of electricity that fluttered along her skin, a surge that made her heart skip a beat as it jumped to her throat. There weren’t words to describe how beautiful the rings in the velvet casing were. Threaded bands of hammered gold and silver, braided intricately around moonstones, pearls, and citrine to form wings; a round diamond set in a circle of diamonds sat between them. A matching braided marriage band that glittered iridescently from mother of pearl inlay. “You’re supposed to say something at some point, love.” Killian whispered, anxiety subtle in his tone.

“I love you. I’ve already said yes, you didn’t need to -”

“Yes. I did. You are… You’re everything. I’d follow you to the end of the world, move mountains and part seas to be with you. Regardless of the child. You gave me something to believe in besides my own selfish desires. I love you and I want to do this properly.” Setting the box aside, he took her hand in his, gaze soft, full of adoration. “Emma, marry me."

“I will. Just, don’t fuss over me not wanting a wedding, alright?”

“No promises. You say that now, but there’s cake at weddings. Maggie would insist on making pie, it’ll be a grand affair.” Killian picked at his hook with a smirk, and she couldn’t help her eyebrows raising.

“It’s extremely rude to play on my weaknesses, husband.” He slipped the rings on her finger, chuckling low when her stomach growled. “I’ll think about it, but it doesn’t sound horrible. Would you still want to have it here?”

“I was actually thinking, if you’d like, there’s that field in Camelot. And it’s the right season for blooms.”

“I could live with that.” Emma shrugged, grinning.

 The ceremony was small, a white dress that was airy and light and a flower crown in her loose hair. For the first time in a long time, Emma felt beautiful. The dress slimmed her, its cut flaring around her body instead of clinging to it. Killian looked handsome, clean trimmed in dark leather fitted to him. Their vows were short, the words shared in the dark cell all they needed. The kiss was longer, however, and the laughter and cheering warmed Emma more than she thought, especially watching Maggie and Snow wipe tears from their eyes.

Emma was surprised by a few guests she didn’t know that Killian had invited. At first she was mildly irritated; four beautiful women who she had heard snippets about from Killian in the past. Emma tamped down her jealousy at the idea of these potential old flames. A glossy raven haired woman with bright green eyes she assumed must be the gypsy he’d talked about approached the couple. She brought a goat with her, and more surprisingly, an ex-royal guard.

“Esmeralda! You made it!” Killian called out.

“We escaped, just barely. The church was growing strong there, and I cannot thank you enough for your passage. One day… Maybe we’ll go back. There’s too much loss there.”

Emma lost any heat she harbored. She touched Esmeralda gently on the shoulder, a gesture of understanding without words.

Another guest was a stunning scarlet haired woman who greeted Killian by throwing her arms around him in thanks, as an embarrassed man in pristine attire looked on. “Killy, look at you, you found True Love! I brought you a wedding gift and look, I found Eric! And, I’m not a mermaid all the time anymore; I can choose -” the woman rattled on, and Emma tried to process what she had heard. As she was blinking, the red head rounded on her. “And you! You’re beautiful, and look how happy you are. And a baby on the way, oh Killian you must be ecstatic!”

Killian came to Emma’s side and let his arm rest around her as the woman continued.

“Killy, hmm?” She whispered, and he shot her a look.

“Ariel. Ex mermaid. Very excitable,” he whispered, and Emma nodded slowly, trying to smile and not grimace. A quiet, dark haired and dark skinned woman nodded at them, taking a seat in the floral glade with the others, crates strewn around for seating. She looked familiar, but Emma couldn’t place where she had seen her before, almost as if she was seen in foggy dreams. Emma could feel the aura she gave off from across the way, a magic that was unfamiliar and flowed in ebbing waves. No gold thread, no inky darkness, just a fluidity that went deep and far like a overfull basin -

Water. The woman controlled water. “Ursula. Invited for luck, and tradition. And… to ensure no one gives us any trouble,” Killian said with an underlying nervousness. “The Ursula? The Sea Goddess? How do you know -” Emma’s eyes widened.

“Even the Gods need help from mere mortals from time to time. I happen to be dashingly handsome and one of the first on the call list.” Emma elbowed him hard.

A man with an accent stood with another beautiful woman with dark curly hair, rolling her eyes as he and Will laughed at whatever he was saying. At their approach, she smiled warmly. “You must be Emma. I’m Tiana, I make those beignets you get from the southern tip of the Enchanted Forest. I keep trying to say hello when you come by, but usually I’m way back in the kitchen.” She took Emma’s hands in her own, folding them together. “It’s so good to finally meet you. Killian here helped my idiot husband escape being hanged as the rightful ruler to what was Maldonia.”

“I had no idea he was so philanthropic.” Emma glanced up at Killian, who had gone red.

“‘Anything to spit on the crown’ was what he told us, so don’t be too impressed.” Tiana laughed, her husband turning with bright eyes to greet them, and squeezing a glaring Killian into a hug.

“Eh, look at you! Set up with a blonde. A beautiful blonde, at that! Ashidanza, may your union be grand.” Letting go of Killian, he kissed Emma on both cheeks and smiled broadly. “And a petit enfant for you. He is lucky to have you tolerate him, he is, how do you say… A serious type, no? Oh, the life you shall have!”

“My husband, Naveen,” Tiana smiled.

“Same as always,” muttered Killian. “Bloody frogged fool.” Emma wandered over to get something to drink, tiredness beginning to rest on her shoulders. Maggie had outdone herself on pies and Emma, along with Ruby, had pulled favors to make sure there was more than enough cake. Will and Jefferson were fortunate to ‘find’ barrels of ale, rose wine, and grapefruit cider as well.

Maggie approached, smiling softly and wrapping Emma in her arms. Placing a beautiful ivory shawl on Emma’s shoulders, she spoke through tears.

“You look… well. I never had a daughter, but if I did, I’d hope she was half as beautiful as you.”

Emma kissed her on the forehead, tears in her own eyes. Will, Naveen, Jefferson, Merida, and Rory played music as dusk fell, the last bits of evening sun lighting the glade as fireflies began their flight. Emma was shocked at Rory playing the accordion, her laughter at the surprise from the crew melding into the notes she played. Belle sat watching Will on his guitar, a shy and pleased grin on her face as she swayed to his music. Graham and Ruby twirled together and he managed not to stomp on her feet, his hatred of dancing gone for the moment. With each cycle of song, they seemed to press closer together, and August’s snort of laughter a bit later alerted Emma to them sneaking off into the woods.

Two dark figures came up the path, and Killian grinned widely. “I thought you weren’t going to make it!” he laughed, embracing a man and woman dressed in traditional clothing from the far south.

Emma blinked, the woman so familiar. “Jasmine? Princess Jasmine?” Emma said incredulously.

“You! Aladdin, this is the healer that saved my life all those years ago!” Jasmine hugged her, laughing. “What a small world! Killian here helped me fake my death and escape with Aladdin.” Emma shook her head, laughing at the strange web of fate that bound those here together.

While Emma only managed a few dances before curling into Killian’s embrace, she made it long enough to see her friends joy under the stars as they celebrated. Even her brother was happy, dancing with Snow and smiling sincerely at her as she lay against Killian’s chest, inhaling the smell of the flowers. Back in their bed, she lay contented from her husband’s ministrations, tired and sated as he pulled away and out of her. They kissed, tangling themselves again.

“I love you,” she whispered, and closed her eyes finally after a long and beautiful day.

“And I love you,” Killian whispered back, holding her tighter and relishing her nuzzle into him in return.

[xaz-fr]

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Set in a fantasy world of the semi socialist society Fey Alliance with magic, dick head dragon riders, benevolent necromancer, and even bigger dick head gods of mischief. The Zealous Servant is the story about a guy named Spayar who, basically, has to keep his crown prince of a bff from being murdered by his entire family by murdering them first. Honestly though Spayar just wants to take a nap and find a cute boy to kiss and not have to worry about his corpse potentially being dragged through the street after a war. Better win that shit then.

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@estevnys @bahamuut-fr  @deadpool-scar-bro @barkingjester @flelagela  @golden-lionsnake @frxemriss  @starry-ampelope

This just in: Spayar is a BIG GAY MOOD

Chapter 4: The Mourning Rose

The city of Nedrag and the surrounding area sat in a low part of the land. The little bay the city sat in was enclosed by two cliffs that rose like they were embracing the sea and sky. Nedrag was set in the lowest part of the cliffs, in the only bit of shore there was, and Spayar was surprised to see that there were also buildings cut into and built onto the northern cliff face. He'd never been to Nedrag so of course he wouldn't know. Ships bobbed in the bay, only the smallest boats able to get close to the port and avoid the perils of shallow water. The city itself were neat plaster white buildings with flat roofs, sitting in neat rows like teeth in increasingly larger semi circles around the bay.

Directly next to Nedrag, separated by a black wall, was the Garden. If Nedrag was monochromatic, with only the blue Shard to contrast it, the Garden made up for it by being every color in the spectrum. The largest building, the Grand Temple, at the center of the Garden was a pure alabaster and a gold gilt roof. Across from it, down a paved walkway, was the chapel, and it was as black as the Grand Temple was white. Where the Temple was full of beautiful sweeping curves designed to look like it was hovering above your head without supports and had large stained glass windows in the front of a silver man with a moon for a halo, the chapel was squat and straddled the pathway like a toad. The air seemed dark around the chapel, which was also an eighth of the size of the Temple, and Spayar was glad he'd never get to go in there.

More paved pathways branched off from the Temple like the spokes of a wheel, that went to white buildings of various sizes. Some were cottages, others looked like dormitories or classrooms, stables, workshops, training grounds, and then up near the cliff it was buffered against was the large graveyard. Each plot was marked with a post with a white circle placed on it's apex; the sign of the full moon. The walls of all the buildings except the chapel and Temple were covered in greenery and flowers. This far north it was warm enough that flowers didn't have a season and bloomed nearly all year round and the ones that didn’t were magically encouraged to do so. The Garden was a riot of color, purple climbing up the side of a house, thick stripes of yellow and red flower beds lined the pathways, rose bushes with flowers as big as your hand were practically everywhere. It was a perpetual springtime paradise in the Garden it seemed.

"I hate this place," Von said from his horse as they looked down on the city and temple complex from the Sea Road, the road that ran directly from Peonia and the Garden. A gift, it was said, from a Peony Governor to a High Priestess. If you listened to the Aldashi version the two were lovers. The Nedalian version said it was a peace offering. For Spayar didn’t know. Probably some petty argument the neighboring provinces had about gymnastics or plant growing.

"You have to admit, it does look pretty," Spayar said. Idly.

Von looked at him with a frown, "You know what they do in there, don't you Spayar?"

"Yes, I am well aware," the teaching tables were legendary in the Garden and you could see them from here. Open air amphitheaters with a small stage where the only object upon it was a heavy wooden table that was said to be black from blood and bent from hate. They regularly held live dissections on criminals who warranted the death punishment; murderers, rapists, pedophiles, partakers in incest, and traitors. If they survived the lesson a healer tended to their wounds, regrew organs if needed, and they were put back in cells until needed again. The necromongers who taught lessons in anatomy were experts at keeping their 'patients' alive for weeks. If a patient survived four months, half a year, on a teaching table without dying all their charges were dropped and they were free to go. Spayar didn't know of one time someone had made it all six months.

That wasn't even the end of the horror that went on there though. Spayar was sure he didn't know half of it, and didn't want it; was glad he didn't know.

"It's sickening really," Von said.

"They aren't all like that," Spayar said. He’d met a few necromancers while serving time and some necromongers. They were just people who were more fanatic about their worship of the god of death than most of the Alliance. That didn’t make them bad.

Von looked at Spayar, "They're a noble house of the Alliance, Spayar," he said seriously, "they're all like that."

"They're just people. People who are useful to us. Stop complaining.”

Von sighed, "Yes, you’re right-

“I tend to be.”

Von gave him an annoyed look but it didn’t stick. “And I suppose they could be worse. I could throw my hand in with the Clan. I heard my sister is doing that. Idiot," and he tapped his horse's side and they headed for the Garden.

“She is?”

“Last I heard she was sleeping with one.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Why my siblings use their bodies like that when everyone knows it means nothing will never cease to baffle me,” Von said. Spayar looked away in embarrassment. He knew why they would. He knew because it was useful to him in the same way.

He cleared this throat, “She must be desperate if she’s actually in bed with the Clan. I hear they circumcise themselves. That’s weird.” Von snickered from his saddle and they urged their horses to continue along the road down to the Garden.

There were two entrances into the Garden, the Rose Gate, and the Sea Gate. The Sea Gate connected the Garden to Nedrag and allowed people to move in and out of both places without having to go around to the front Rose Gate. Three necromongers and a single necromancer, a skeleton crew, were manning the Rose Gate, the portcullis down and looked like the vines of some creeping plant. The walls surrounding the gate were covered in spines like a barbed rose and a large, red, piece of stone had been carved into the shape of a rose to hang over the entrance, the black stone that housed the gate and made up the wall looked like leaves. The necromongers looked at the two of them as they approached. "The Rosalia are accepting no visitors now," one said.

Von looked at Spayar to say something clever. "We come in the name of crown prince Vondugard Le'Acard. We're here to see the High Priestess, Lady Helida Rosalia. Now open the gates or the Asuras will hear about how you turned away her son's envoy," Spayar said. He was good at this stuff. Making people scared, not of him really, but the power behind him. He knew how to make people do what he wanted them do. Just a few right placed words and all sorts of doors opened up for him.

Of course it would have just been easier to announce Von himself, but they didn't want people to know they were here. They'd been careful coming to the Garden from Peonia not stopping at towns along the way and using the main road to travel fast to outpace anyone following them from Peonia.  To the Asuras her children didn't just visit an important house for no reason, at least not one like the Rosalia. They had plenty of reason to keep their presence unknown. Thankfully it had only taken two days to ride up the coast.

The necromongers looked at one another and then at the necromancer. She pursed her lips and they and spoke amongst each other a moment. Spayar looked over at Von, what were they going to do if they didn't get in? It didn't come to that, "Tell his highness that our doors are always open to him," the necromancer said and the necromongers opened the portcullis. Von and Spayar walked under the Rose Gate and through to the other side. The portcullis thumped down behind them.

They rode to the Temple, and a pair of holsters ambled out curiously. Once it was clear they were guests of Helida they took their horses, helping them down and said they’d send their bags to where the High Priestess was allowing them to stay. After getting their names to add to the stable list they were beckoned off to enter the temple.

"Let’s hope we didn't come at a bad time,” Von said as they headed for the open mouth of the Temple. The entrance was open with a ethereal muslin veil covering the entrance. The bottom was beaded to keep it from flailing in the wind but parted like water when Von lifted the edge to go in.

"Her mother just died, Von," Spayar frowned at Von.

“I meant now,” he heard the eye roll in Von’s voice. “But it was almost five months ago Spayar, surely some of the bite is gone," Von said with a frown, "and her only daughter's naming day is approaching-

"It's in four days," Spayar supplied. He'd been tasked to know the naming days and names of every major noble house growing up, that included the new ones too. Von knew the heads of houses and important others. He didn't have to remember the others; that was what Spayar was for.

"Good. So lets hope she isn't so damn depressing. This place celebrates death after all."

Spayar frowned after Von. He just hard to remind himself that for a prince Von was pretty sheltered. He’d only ever been in the capitals really, or places where they were openly welcoming royalty. He hadn’t been around real people other than the Hillsmans in who knew how long. “That’s unfair to them,” Spayar grabbed him before he could go too far into the Temple.

"I'm the crown prince-

"These people could be one of your best allies. Your mother made herself no friend to Maja when she was alive, siding mostly with the Drake on important house politics when the two were involved. But they aren’t senseless or chaotic. They’re just people who worship Lemp, which is good because not many of us do.”

Von frowned hard at him, "Why do you have to be so damn smart all the time, Spayar?" Spayar didn’t miss the hurt feelings in his voice. Spayar let his arm go. He shouldn’t have felt bad for reminding Von to not be so judgmental but he was.

"You made me that way," Spayar said instead.

There was an uneasy silence between them for a moment. "You're right,” he said, acknowledging he’d done this himself.

“So listen to me when I give advice. Otherwise what is the point of me? A trophy?” D’aelar, an old Fey word meaning zealous servant, the most devoted to their chosen member of royalty. Von's older siblings called Spayar d'alaer to mock him in equal measure of how much they were jealous of their little brother to have someone so devoted to them as Spayar was to Von. There had only been a handful of named d'aelar in the entire existence of the Alliance since the first Asuras and his d'aelar, Masalla. To be named was no casual thing and Spayar didn’t always feel like he deserved it or that he was appreciated enough for actually having it.

Von’s eyes widened. “No,” he was quick to assure. “You’re my friend,” he touched Spayar’s arm. “You’re just… annoying sometimes.”

“So are you, don’t hear me complaining,” Spayar huffed.

“Oh so that whining you did all the way down the Westerlance didn’t happen?” Von grinned, relief spreading across his face that the uncomfortable moment was passed.

“Okay, maybe a little,” Spayar allowed.

“Can we go in now?”

“Yes.”

The muslin pooled against Von’s hand as he gently pulled away the veil barely concealing the entrance of the Temple and they quietly stepped inside. Inside the Temple was as grand inside as it was outside with shiny, multi-colored, marble floors and delicate white pillars. Frescos decorated the walls, most of the scenes involving death and women without faces riding pure white deer. Others involved naked men with stag heads eating the flesh of fallen warriors, and one depicted the three bird-like furies with gleaming swords and dark leather covering their bodies, ready for war, all of the paintings were scenes under moonlight of some form of solar eclipse.

This part of the Temple was totally open and at the back was a large, silver, statue of a man, Lemp; one of the twin head gods, ruler of the moon and the Shadowed Lands. He stood with one foot supporting most of his weight and you could see his ribs and clear line of his pelvis even through his clothes. Silver hair covered his eyes and in one hand he held a glass orb that glowed gently from the inside. A representation of the soul no doubt. In the other hand he held a shepherd's crook.

"Bad timing," Spayar whispered softly to Von as they walked a bit deeper into the side wings. The Temple was filled with people, all kneeling on the floor watching three people standing under the statue of Lemp, one women and two men, singing in a language Spayar didn't know. He had to assume it was the old tongue the necromancers spoke before their country had become part of the Alliance, the one their Red Book was written in. Spayar didn't know they spoke it anywhere else other than at funerals. The woman was a soaring soprano while the two men behind her were basses and it was a pleasant surpise. The singers had lovely voices that the vaulted ceilings of the Temple made resonate down into your bones.

Von tugged Spayar over to a wall and a small alcove where incense were burning gently in an alter of two cupped hands. Spayar looked up at the fresco and grimaced, they stood right under a stag headed man, a jogull, his maw dripped blood, his eyes a wild red color, teeth huge and pointed. He swallowed a bit and looked away, not liking being reminded that the Shadowed Land wasn’t the only place a soul could end up. "What’s this?" Von asked Spayar quietly to not disturb the service.

"No idea," Spayar whispered, "I think it's some sort of service."

"Is it a holy day?"

“Well… It is Lemest? So I guess? I'm not a Rosalia, how should I know?"

“Because you know stuff,” Von hissed.

"I don't know this," Spayar glanced at the Temple and the singing people. It was a very hauntingly beautiful sound he had to admit, also kind of creepy. But what did the Rosalia do that wasn't a bit creepy? "We'll just have to wait it out."

“Annoying,” Von muttered but they had no choice. They stood back, out of sight, waiting for it to end. Spayar's feet started to hurt before the song- songs?- ended. Everyone in the Temple bowed, touching their heads nearly to the floor and then stood up. The sound of hushed talking was nearly instant as they left through the main front entryway. Spayar recognized all of the people as necromancers or necromongers. No general servants or people from Nedrag had been in attendance. He could tell by their eyes and the way the men wore their facial hair. Every necromonger he’d met while serving time complained about having to keep their face shaved for religious reasons. Back home it was easy but on the road you sometimes had to make due with trusting someone with a dagger at your neck. If you were lucky an officer had a shaving knife or there was a lonth around who had the type of killer precision to shave your face without nicking you.

Once the last person had filed out Von stepped out of the alcove, "Okay, lets find the High Priestess," he said and Spayar followed him down the side wing to walk down to where the Temple had doors. Behind the main area of prayer the Temple also contained the rooms of the Governor and their family, the true Rosalia, since every man and woman who served Lemp called themselves Rosalia.

Von knocked on the door to the living area and a servant answered the door, "Can I help you, sirs?" she asked.

"We're here to see the High Priestess," Spayar said.

"She isn't seeing anyone."

"We're envoys of the crown prince Vondugard. Ask her if she'll see us," Spayar put in kindly.

The servant frowned at them, "I will ask," and she closed the door on them.

"What if she doesn't see us?" Spayar asked Von.

"Helida isn't stupid. She'll see us."

"Does she know we're coming?"

"No. But I know Tallalsala came and saw her. Helida nearly invoked my mother's wrath when she quite literally threw my sister out on her ass," Von chuckled.

"But?" Spayar asked, he hadn't heard this. That made him extra nervous. He hated not knowing what the royal heirs had been up to while he was gone. What stupid mess they’d made while he wasn’t around to capitalize on it.

"It was a few weeks after her mother died and, as you said, my mother and hers were not friends. She threatened to create a portal into the sky and see what came out if my mother wanted to 'punish' her for not tolerating Tallasala’s rudeness, which included some very nasty things including stripping of titles and going into the Book of Bloods. Needless to say it didn’t end well and Tallalsala had to apologize. My mother managed to smooth things over after that but we’ve had no correspondence with the Rosalia since.”

"Your mother is an idiot," Spayar said with a snort.

"She is," Von said passionlessly.

"You'll do better than her," he said as the door opened again to the servant girl.

"She's agreed to see you," she said.

"Thank you," Spayar said and they followed after the servant into a hallway. She led them to a room at the back of the Temple complex and knocked. Someone within bid them to enter and the servant opened the door, Spayar and Von went in.

Helida wore a dress down to her knees the color of storm tossed water, gray and blue and cold that made her brown skin look gray. Her long, brown, dreadlocks were piled on the top of her head like a crown and she wore small yellow flowers in her hair, woven into her locks. She had one brown eye, and her right one was the color of a drop of blood. Despite the mourning dress she didn’t seem any less than he expected her. Of course he put on all sorts of brave faces so wasn’t above thinking that of her. The room wasn’t exactly a room but an open air courtyard surrounded by high blooming hedges and enclosed by small gazebo.

When the two of them climbed the two short steps up to the wooden floor of the gazebo she bowed lowly to Von. “Your highness,” she said.

"You knew it was me?" Von said, hands behind his back.

She looked up at him with cool eyes, “I expected someone else to come along eventually after her highness Tallalsala made such a blunder. That and you look like your grandmother, of course I knew it was you.”

Von grimaced. “I see. I am actually not here to speak of politics at all, regardless of my incompetent sister,” Von said.

"Oh?" she asked, raising her brows at him.

"I came for two reasons," he said and stepped over to Helida. He took her hand in both of his, "I'm sorry about your mother," he said sincerely and Spayar actually wondered how sincere he truly was. Von didn't do things like this unless he could benefit from them. And he didn’t know what it was like to want to mourn a family member. "I know our families did not get along as well as they should have while she was High Priestess but she was an amazing woman. The world shall mourn her passing as I'm sure Lemp is glad to have someone like her back with him."

"She was,” Helida swallowed and it was the first time Spayar saw a chip in Helida's armor, and extracted her hand from Von’s "No doubt she's at peace in the Shadowed Lands." Von and Spayar crossed themselves respectfully.

"I also know that your daughter's naming day is coming," Von smiled warmly at her, "I had hoped to be invited," he held up a velvet bag he pulled out of nowhere containing the hair comb he’d bought n Tassa’s approval. Spayar didn't even bother to question where he'd been hiding it.

Helida appraised her prince, looking for lies, deception, or a way to make her look a fool in an attempt to regain his sister's honor. The truth was though Von didn't care about his siblings, much less Tallalsala. He was here for himself and yes to celebrate little Paja's naming day. After a few moments Helida allowed a slight smile to come to her face, "It would be an honor your highness,” she said. "I'll have some rooms for you prepared for you both. I assume you aren't here publicly?"

"No," Von said, "Discretion would be appreciated. My mother doesn't want her children anywhere near the Garden until... oh how did she put it?" he seemed to think a few seconds, holding his chin. "Oh, right, until 'that new red witch has remembered who holds the power'." Helida's eyes narrowed, Von shrugged, "But I am nothing if not a misbehaving son,” he said with a charming grin.

"You may want to be careful your highness," Helida said, "Roses have thorns."

"I'll just wear gardener's gloves then," Von’s smile didn’t falter for a moment.

Helida looked him over a last time, “Hmm, I like you more than your sister," she said.

"My sister is a moron," Von said candidly. "So, those rooms my dear High Priestess? Also maybe something to eat? My vassal and I are starving."

"Of course. And perhaps also a bath," she said mildly, Spayar wrinkled his nose but did agree. "I'll have Nemi air out some of the guest rooms across the court, you may make yourselves comfortable until they're prepared and have your bags brought to them.”

“Thank you, Helida. You are a most gracious and warm host.” He gave a little flourished bow more for the flair and less for the respect. That amused her and she chuckled.

“You are a gracious guest, prince Vondugard,” she said respectfully and stepped down from the gazebo to get the servant.

"Helida," Von said as she opened the door.

"Yes, your highness?"

"I am sorry about your mother. I can only imagine what it must be like," since Helida had no parents. Her father had gone through the Departed ceremony to get himself ritually killed shortly after Maja had suddenly died. Spayar wasn’t quite sure of what still. It was hard to get information from necromongers or necromancers in the Arm about what had killed the late High Priestess.

Helida looked over her shoulder at him, "Something tells me you will, your highness," and then she left the two of them.

When the door closed behind them Von grabbed his chest dramatically. "I have never been more scared of a woman in my entire life." He dropped onto the wooden bench that wrapped around the gazebo,

Spayar chuckled and sat down next to Von, "She is quite something," Spayar agreed with a smile.

"I felt like she was going to snap me in half with just her eyes," Von said, sagging in the chair.

"She is the High Priestess," Spayar reminded him.

"I must be a fool to try and play with the Rosalia. No wonder my mother distanced herself from this house when she could. They're terrifying!"

Spayar laughed, "Weren't you the one who said all the noble houses are this bad?"

"They are!"

"And that you wanted to try for the Drake as well?"

"Uhg, don't remind me. I can wait on the Drake until I feel like I'm not in danger of having my nuts ripped off and stepped on by a necromancer," Spayar laughed louder this time. "Laugh it up Spayar. I'd like to see you talk to her."

"You forget," Spayar said, "everyone you know and associate with is above me and could kill me whenever they wanted, for any reason. I'm used to dealing with people who make me squirm. It's a good lesson for you to find someone who scares you."

“I don’t like it.”

“It’s good for you.”

“And yet I have learned that everything that is ‘good for me’ sucks,” Von cried.

“Well… depends on what’s sucking,” Spayar said mildly and Von just looked at him very confused. At least Spayar knew Von was still innocent like that.

“How do you do it? Deal with those people?”

“I just remind myself you need me.”

“I am an adult, and quite capable,” Von said.

“Yeah. But you still need me,” Spayar said with a little self satisfied grin. “Who else will watch your back but me?”

“I guess you have a point. I do like having you around, even you are completely unreasonable at times.”

Spayar snickered as the door opened. It was another servant woman, this one looking much more everything than the one who'd showed them here. "Sirs, your rooms are ready. If you'd follow me," she said and they both heaved themselves off the bench and followed her. She led them out of the Temple and across the well paved path to a guest house between the Temple and Chapel. “Here you are,” she showed them in. It was several one room apartments with attached bathrooms. “You missed lunch," she said, "but Lady Rosalia is having food brought to your rooms shortly."

"Excellent," Von said, "Thank you," he nodded to the woman who just brushed something invisible off her apron and left them. "Bath and food?" Von asked him.

"I'll come over once I'm out," Spayar said.

"Good," and then Von vanished into the room he'd been given.

Spayar slipped into his own. It was well furnished but nothing horrifically elaborate. His bags were on a low bench at the end of the bed and there was a door to a bathroom on the left. He stripped and went to the bathroom, thankfully it looked the same as the one back home with an above ground tub. He knew inset floor tubs were becoming popular among the wealthy, especially nobility. Spayar just found them difficult to get in and out of.

The water was warm out of the tap and there was over a dozen vials and bottles of every scent he could imagine and a few he couldn't as well as three different soaps. He picked the mildest smelling ones he could find and washed. It felt good to get rid of all the dirt. He heard someone enter his room but leave again without announcing themselves, probably just his lunch. His stomach growled then, reminding him of how hungry he was. Spayar had planned on soaking in the bath a bit but his stomach demanded he do otherwise, so he climbed out of the tub, dripping wet and went into his room without bothering with a towel.

There was a tray on the side table filled with cool and raw foods. He groaned. Shit, he forgot the Rosalia were vegetarian. He'd been looking forward to meat, but no meat was allowed inside the Garden and other than specific sacrifices no animals were allowed to be harmed here either. If you wanted meat you had to go to Nedrag. Spayar looked forlornly at his meal and picked at a baked bun filled with vegetables. It wasn’t that it was bad but in Peonia raw meat was already being sold, despite the very clear law saying that wasn’t allowed, and that made cooked meat for purchase even more expensive. Von hadn’t wanted to contribute to it so they’d only eaten fish in Peonia.

He wandered around his room a bit eating the bun and letting the wind from the open window dry his naked skin. He looked for spy holes and hollow areas where there shouldn’t be. He also checked under the bed and in the closet but found nothing. Either the Rosalia were trusting or they didn’t care. He supposed it was probably the latter. Who was dumb enough to make plots against the house of necromancers in their own home? Satisfied with his room he dressed, grabbed his tray still full of food and went to Von's room. He used a bit of magic to push the door open so he didn't have to take his hands off the tray.

"Von," Spayar called as he entered.

"Still in the bath," Von called back as Spayar closed the door.

"Still?" Spayar sat on Von's bed, putting the tray in his lap and started putting food in his mouth. He didn't care if it was vegetarian, he was starving and it was good. Honestly he didn't even notice the lack of meat as he ate some sort of cool, savory, tart filled with cheese and vegetables.

"It feels wonderful," Von said delightfully from the bathroom and he heard some water sloshing, the door was ajar but Spayar couldn't see inside. "You didn't want to relax?"

"I'm eating," Spayar said, his mouth full. From the bathroom Von laughed.

"I do have to admit," Von said, "This did turn out better than I expected."

"You expected to be ejected?"

"As soon as she saw me honestly," and Spayar heard more water sloshing around. "You remember the Rosalia ruled Nedalia before it became one with the Alliance."

"I remember," Spayar said. Old Nedalia had had two rulers before they became part of the Alliance. A weak king and a much stronger faction of priestesses who served Lemp. Von's ancestor had taken Nedalia nearly fifteen hundred years ago, promising that the Rosalia would rule this province and not the now extinct Rensun.

"Honestly it's like some of these houses still think they rule," Von muttered, just loud enough for Spayar to hear.

"Well that's why it's called the Alliance," Spayar shrugged as he shoved an apple slice covered in honey into his mouth and nearly gagged on how sweet it was, "You only rule through their agreement of an alliance," he went to eat the rest of the food on his tray instead of the honeyed apples. There was cubed and skewered squash, yam, and turtle peppers covered in a thick brown sauce he was into.

"I know," Von sighed.

"Then why do you make me remind you?"

"It'd just be so much easier if the Alliance was smaller, and I didn't have to worry about such high and mighty nobles."

"I don't," Spayar said.

"You're not a Le'Acard," Von said and Spayar heard yet more sloshing, a lot more sloshing. "You don't have to worry about the stuff I worry about."

"Yeah I just have to worry about you. And let me tell you, one Le'Acard is enough to... worry about," Spayar trailed off, the food practically falling out of his mouth, as Von came out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist and he swallowed thickly. Before he'd left to serve his Von had been a child. He'd been almost fifteen years of age and seeing him shirtless was like seeing a child shirtless. That was two years ago and Von's visits to bother Spayar on his service had come maybe twice a year for a short period of time, this was the longest he'd spent with his prince in two years. In two years Von had grown up and he definitely didn't look like a child now and had some hair on his chest and a defined abdomen he definitely hadn't had when Spayar had left. His arms were muscular and his skin was bronze all over, meaning he'd trained, outside, shirtless, during the summer. Spayar blushed and thanked every god he knew his skin was too dark to show it.

"Yeah but you like it," Von didn't even seem to notice and smirked at him before going to find some clothes. Spayar stared down at his tray. Good gods when had Von become a man? He always sort of knew it but he still thought of Von as that barely fifteen year old kid he'd left in Assarus two years ago. Von definitely wasn't a kid anymore. This just made it worse for Spayar honestly.

"It has its benefits," Spayar said and cleared his throat.

"Well of course. I mean you get to be in my presence," Von teased.

“Yeah, the presence of the most royal pain in my ass," he said but still was staring at his tray as he heard Von pull on his clothes. His knuckles were pale where he was gripping the tray. He wanted to look, but he didn't.

Von laughed, "Food any good?" he asked as he sat next to Spayar and finally he could look, oh thank the gods he was dressed. Von had his own tray of food next to him, between the two of them.

"For nothing but vegetables, yes, its good," Spayar said and pried his hands off his tray so he could eat. The gods were testing him with giving him a hot best friend, one who was also a prince. It was a cruel test.

"I forgot they don't eat meat," Von popped one of the little cheese and vegetable tarts into his mouth thoughtfully. "Honestly I don't know why the Drake and Rosalia don't get along. The wyrms are vegetarians, the necromancers are vegetarians, the Wyrd practically sustains itself on fish and chicken. "

"So they should get along based on their food preferences alone?" Spayar rose his brows at Von.

"Why not? Not like their hatred is any less stupid. Do you even know why they hate each other?"

"No," Spayar said. The reason for the blood feud had been lost centuries ago, and had started when the Rosalia had first started to train necromancers, decades after they joined the Alliance. All anyone knew was that the two factions loathed each other and the feud had nearly led to civil war several times in the past two thousand years. No one even knew why. Anyone Spayar talked to who wasn’t part of the feud also thought it was beyond ridiculous.

"No doubt its over something stupid. Like a girl, or a pig, or some insignificant slight," Von said, unimpressed as always with the petty hatred between the Rosalia and Drake.

"Who can say honestly," Spayar said. "So other than Paja's naming day what is your plan here?"

"Nothing," Von said.

"Nothing?"

"Yes. Nothing," Von had found the apple slices and was polishing those off while he eyed the ones Spayar had left on his own tray. Spayar didn't like sweet things that much, he knew Von did though.

"What do you hope to accomplish with that?"

"That I'm better than my mother," Von said. "I've been planning what to do for a while and honestly Tallalsala's mistake was a great opportunity for me," he smiled slightly, madly. "My family has lost the art of subtlety the last few generations. My mother didn't even kill her own mother, she just found her hurt brother who'd thrown the coup and killed him, taking his place. It's all brute strength and no brawn in my family. Bless my father for being a snake in the grass and slithering into her bed,” he crossed himself like he was thanking a god.

"Which none of your siblings got except you?"

Von shook his head, "Teldin is good. He's overly cautious, but a good match for my brain," he tapped his temple, leaving a slight residue of honey. It took more willpower than Spayar would admit to to not wipe it away with his thumb. "Can I have those?" he pointed to Spayar's honeyed apple slices, the only food left on his tray.

"Yeah," Spayar said and Von took the little plate they were on happily. Spayar smiled slightly, he liked making Von happy, even if it was just small things like honeyed apple slices.

"I have sources," Von said, the apple slices vanishing down his throat quicker than they maybe should have while he was talking, “Not you, I know what a surprise. But they’ve told me Teldin has put his lot in with the White Foot and the Wren-Kal."

Spayar frowned, "Both are powerful," he said. The White Foot were a nomadic people from the north who lived in the foothills of the Spine and within the Spine itself at times. They were a fearsome cavalry and being so close to the Federation border they could shoot an arrow or swing a sword almost before they could talk. The Wren-Kal were a house of powerful warlocks, many of which with the lightning element. Not a great enemy to have.

"Yeah and like I told you, Tallasala is approaching Clan chieftains. She knows Teldin has started to move." The Clan of the Yellow Hills was a collection of tribes who only barely agreed to Alliance laws and abided more by their own tribal laws than not. They were also known ritualistic cannibals. The ritualistic part was usually left out in most people’s minds so they had a fearsome reputation.

"What about Obi and Dellin?"

"They probably also know. Honestly if I know then my mother knows and so do my older siblings," he didn't mention the younger ones. Malora, Cashchil, and Gurrin, were all too young to worry about politics. The next oldest, Cashchil, was only twelve. "Though if I know about the White Foot and Wren-Kal I don't know about others. Military officials, master smiths, lower houses. All important."

"Was the Tallalsala coming here a reaction to her learning about the Wren-Kal?"

"Possibly," Von said licking the last of the honey off his fingers and the natural frown on Spayar's face deepened. "She moved too quickly, pissed off a potential ally, and then went whimpering back to mother." He rolled his eyes.

"Teldin will move soon?"

"I don't think so. You know how he is, everything is methodical. He won’t do anything until he knows he can and will win.”

"How long do you think you have until he makes a move?"

"A year. If I'm lucky," Von said seriously and Spayar swallowed. Von was marking his life at one more year if he didn't stage a coup first. Why couldn't the Le’Acard just wait until the old Asuras died or stepped down like every other kingdom? Why did the death of an Asuras always come accompanied by so much blood shed? Right, because the Alliance was like no other kingdom on Priman'osta. "Once I'm done here I need you to return to back to Assarus before me-

“Why not accompany you?”

“It’s safer for you in Assarus than it is for me. Teldin is there. He won’t hurt you but I don’t trust him not to do something to me.”

“And what are you doing?”

"I'm going to head south-

"Please don't say Peonia."

"No. The Lord Peony loves my mother. She has that… man,” he stopped himself from saying something rude, “in her pocket. I'm going to go to Alderin."

Spayar thought about who lived in Alderin. It was a little city too far inland to have a port and was off the main road that ran the length of the Shard. There was no high noble family there, so lower, probably a military official. He squinted in thought about what was so important about Alderin to have a someone needing to watch it. Trade, of course. "One of your mother's Praetors lives in Alderin," Spayar sad once he remembered but that didn’t help his confusion.

"He does."

Spayar blinked, "You're going to try for a Praetor?" he asked. Though it was a better idea than the Archon since usually when the Asuras died they were either killed or forced to step down. The Archon only obeyed the Asuras and was dangerous to have around when you took the throne. More than one Archon had betrayed a new Asuras after a coup to warrant the tradition.

"X'vazior and my mother have been on the rocks lately. She wants to try and capture land beyond the Mesa Plains, X'vazior publicly refused to lead his Arm across it-

"That happened like five years ago," Spayar's brow creased, "I thought she forgave him."

"Publicly. He still shamed her, and she humiliated him. X'vazior is holding onto that grudge."

"You know for a fact?"

"My mother summoned him to the Summer palace this year. He said he was busy and could not 'tend to her every whim' since they were suffering a bad harvest this year and he had to find a way to get food to his people," Von said.

"He really doesn't like your mother."

"You would be surprised how many people hate my mother," Von sighed and sat back, holding himself up with his arms. "She spends frivolously, she's a coward who hides behind her title, she wants to be a conqueror when every province is trying to find enough food during a bad year for harvests and can't afford a real war. She shuns powerful houses because they frighten her and I heard that the Shade are simply not reporting anything. Any of Aklin’s men who are sent into LoHaJo’in  never come back, the Shade kill them no doubt. The Drake are starting to bite a bit too hard on the Rosalia and my mother isn't doing much to stop them. I've heard rumors that people are scared there will be a civil war, a proper one and not a mere Conflict. My mother can't hold the Alliance together and people are angry."

"Does she know this?"

"She must," he sighed and rubbed his head like he had a headache, "Aklin's a good spymaster. He knows things I could never dream of knowing about her, about what's going on. I think she's too scared to do anything. She doesn't know how to be Asuras." Spayar did not agree or disagree. He didn't know much of the Asuras, but his father certainly complained about her plenty, usually in the same breath he complained about Von 'spiriting his son away to be his lap dog'. Spayar was usually too busy focusing on everything else to look too hard as his Asuras and the only thing he truly knew about her was that she did kill her brother during his coup before he could kill him. "She's an idiot with a wooden sword trying to train lions," Von sucked his teeth, "and now they're starting to growl at her and she doesn't know what to do."

"You'll do better," Spayar said.

Von looked at him, his brow low over his eyes in a worried look, "I have to be if I don't want to die," he said. "For my survival I need to be better," and he looked away. Spayar didn't know what to say to that. After a moment of hesitation he reached over and put his hand over Von's, Von twisted a few of fingers to grasp Spayar's.

"We'll be fine," Spayar said softly.

"I hope so," Von said, looking at him again, "I really hope so."

[randomstoriesofabunny]

Chapter 2: Treasure

Summary: Many stories were told to the children every night before bed. Used to entertain the younger ones, to teach them and guide them with the experiences of their ancestors. Stories of great heroes, fighting and winning wars against the other kingdoms. Stories of love and passion, forbidden love.

Loki’s favorite story is about the guardians of the sea.

Words: 1437

Warnings: None

A/N: When Loki uses his ability as solid snake to leave the palace. @caplansteverogers

Loki was disappointed with the limited information he found in the books from the library. All of them repeated the same thing with more or less words. So he decided to ask his mother, the most intelligent person he knew. Do they eat fish or seaweed? How big they are? They’re magical creatures? What did they do with the treasures? He almost drove her crazy with his never-ending questions about the sea creatures that protected the boats of their ancestors.

Finally, it was full moon. He kissed his mother’s cheek and pretended to feel really tired so he could go to bed early. He searched for the little bag with the items he collected to make his offering to the guardians and left his room quietly. One of the perks of playing hide and seek with the other children from the court was all the secret passages he discovered with Thor’s help, some of them were heavily guarded and some of them seemed to be forgotten.

Still, finding a way to sneak out of the palace was tricky. Every time Loki heard footsteps approaching, he would hide behind columns and curtains until the patrol passed. As quiet as a mouse he managed to leave unnoticed.

Loki walked towards the beach, looking around for the einherjar that guarded the area. He had to hide from time to time, behind boxes or trees to elude the patrols. Until he passed the port and once he knew the soldiers were far away, he ran towards the entrance to the temple.

He reached the cliff before the next patrol passed. A smile appeared on his lips when he saw the soldiers pass by, proud of his little adventure. He turned his attention towards the temple, the long tunnel was dark, he could hear the sound of droplets falling against the cold floor. He took a deep breath and cast a small spell, on the tip of his fingers appeared a small flame to light up the path.

His eyes were wide with wonder, examining the images on the walls. It was the same story his mother read him weeks ago. He swept his hand over the silhouettes of the merpeople, the rich colors from the wall faded with time, however he could see some of them remained. The golden from the treasures. The ochre in the tentacles of the kraken. White for the ships. Navy for the weapons of the merpeople.

A faint light grew as he approached the center of the temple. He gasped when his eyes took in the altar and let the flame die. The walls were carved. High columns with runes and images of different types of sea creatures. Fishes with colorful scales, dolphins swimming around the cave and seaweed, creating a beautiful patron. In the middle of the cave was a pool with what resembled a submerged vessel. He could see that in the bottom were ships craved and even the opening to the cave - that connected to the sea - was adorned with seashells.

The stone path that made easier to approach the vessel was carved with runes, some of them were cracked or long erased by the water. The cave was illuminated softly by the light that came from the water. Loki walked carefully towards the edge and he could see through the crystalline water the aquamarine crystals glowing. This rare crystal needed to be submerged so they could emit their light and were embedded into the stone of the altar and the walls of the cave, allowing the coral to grow.

Loki could see the small fishes swimming slowly among the colorful coral. He admired the tiny aquarium for a moment before he pulled from his satchel the offerings he managed to collect.

Loki wasn’t sure if the silver fork he managed to steal from the table, three white roses he cut from his mother’s garden and an old golden belt buckle Thor didn’t use anymore would be enough to attract the attention of a mermaid. He was supposed to give treasures, but he didn’t own beautiful neckless or delicate bracelets and taking his mother’s jewelry was wrong.

Besides, if he did and his mother noticed it a servant could get in trouble and being charged with stealing from the royal family. He left the objects at the border of the stone and waited. An hour passed by. All his attention was focused on the submerged entrance of the cave, but nothing happened.

He tried to read the runes carved in the walls, perhaps he was skipping a crucial step. The vessel! He thought annoyed when he realized he was supposed to throw the items in it.  Once the items were placed into the mossy vessel, except for the flowers that were floating above the water, he cleared his throat and exclaimed.

“I am Loki of Asgard, son of Odin. I offer these treasures to the ancient ones, protectors of the sailors.”

Then he sat at the far end of the altar and waited again but nothing happened.

Maybe the sea creatures disappeared with the kraken or the kraken ate them all. He thought disappointed and left.

Two days later, Loki returned to the temple. He thought it could be a great hiding place whenever he didn’t want to attend to his lessons. Once he reached the pool he sat down on the edge to observe the fishes and discovered his offering was gone.

He returned to the palace, as fast as he could to tell his mother. He burst in her private studio and started to talk fast, exclaiming that they weren’t gone.

“Breathe darling,” Frigga said, amused and approached his son that seemed to bubble with excitement.

Loki took a deep breath and tried to calm his racing heart. Then proceeded to tell his mother about the treasures he left for the merpeople and that now they were gone.

“You sneak out of the palace in the night?” Frigga said with a stern voice.

“Well, yes, but that’s not the point mother!” he said, exasperated, “a mermaid came and took the treasures I left for them. They still exist!”

“Did you actually see her?” Thor said incredulous. And Loki just realized he was there too.

“Uh, no but the treasures were gone so they came for them”

“Then how are you so sure it was a merperson and not someone that came and saw the items and decided to take them?” Thor asked and grinned, “Accept it brother. They’re gone.”

“They still exist!” Loki bellowed

“They don’t!”

“They do!”

“They don’t!”

“Yes!”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“What did I tell you about fighting?” Frigga chastised and both princes remained silent.

“I’m sorry Loki, but maybe Thor has a point”

Loki felt disappointed that his mother didn’t believe him. But it was true. He never saw the sea creature. So he decided to keep trying until he was able to see the creature or catch the person that decided to steal the offering from the temple. That was rude.

He came back with the next full moon, this time with some quartz and amethyst. They were pretty and easier to obtain, so if the thief decided to come back, he would have to leave the items. He repeated his words and decided to wait all night, fighting the exhaustion that made his eyelids heavy.

A splash of water rose him from his sleep, the water was rising, flooding the cavern quickly. He scrambled to his feet and left as soon as possible if he didn’t want to drown. Once he was safe he realized he didn’t check if the offering were still there or if the mermaid came and took the gifts.

“Hey!” someone screamed behind him. Loki could hear the heavy boots and the metallic sound of the armor of the guard approaching him. He tried to run into the temple and check, but he was lifted before he managed to see into the vessel.

“What are you doing here kid? It’s pass three in the morning,” the guard asked and he dragged him outside.

“Let me go you fool! I’m your prince,” Loki scowled and tried to free himself.

But the passing patrol heard the commotion and when they realized that indeed he was the prince he was escorted back to the castle. Odin grounded him. And ordered two guards to remain outside his chambers.

Loki wasn’t going to surrender that easily, he would make another plan and try again.

Chapter 1 - Masterlist - Chapter 3

Ptags: @tinyfistwarrior

[riverdalerandomness]

10 Question Meme Thing

So I was tagged by @simlishdistractions. We are about to get deep with these questions... or not. lol But these really make me think!

Questions from @simlishdistractions:

1) What is your longest marathon simming session?

- My longest marathon simming would have to be with the Sims 2. I played for four hours one time without a single crash. It has never happened ever again. lol

2) If you could visit one premade world as a real life place, which would it be?

- I would have to say Vacation Island in the Sims. You had three locations in one setting. Spend one day at the beach, the next camping and fishing, and then the final day snow boarding and drinking hot chocolate.

3) Tell me about a sim of your who you were saddest to lose (death, game glitch or whatever…)

- It’s two actually. Tyra and Thomas Brooks in my Sims 2 game. I was offline at the time so I couldn’t get to any Sims forums for help, or even Google an answer. I don’t know what happened, they just ended up glitching out so badly that I had to kill them off. It was not only devastating to me, but to their three children as well. Their oldest, Eva, ended up moving in with her husband - then boyfriend - to take care of her twin teen brothers.

4) If you could go back and change one thing about your simming, knowing what you know now, what would it be?

- This is a hard question. My first response would be never to discover cc, because that would save me many days, weeks, and sometimes months of weeding through cc trying to find the one that has messed up the whole game. But I LOVE cc, so I could never advise myself to stay away from it. So I would have to go with, get a larger hard drive and the best graphics card that I could afford.

5) Do you aim to give your sims a happy perfect life, or enjoy watching their struggle and misery? >:)

- Ha, ha. No! I love the drama and those “little” hiccups that come my sims way. I don’t even have to start drama because they get into it all on their own. Anyone who has followed my blog back with I still played Sims 2 knows all to well, from teen pregnancies, to love triangles, to cheating. If it can happen in game, my sims will have it tossed their way.

6) What do you sip or snack on while you’re simming?

- Most of the time it’s either hot tea or coffee, or a nice glass of water. I don’t snack much while simming, I find that it takes my attention partly away from enjoying the game. But if I do need to take a bit it’s normally tortillas with hummus or guacamole.

Questions from @sullivanrandomness

1) When you’re playing, do you have the game music on or off?

- I use to play with the music on, but now I turn it off. One, because I started my YouTube channel and I don’t want to get any copyright strikes or claims, and Two, it got annoying. And when I’m in a long session in CAS it kind of distracts me. I want to focus on the sims that I’m making not the background music.

2) How long have you been playing your current hood? 

- Well in the Sims 4 it’s been since May or June I think. I accidentally deleted my old world and had to start a new one. In the Sims 3 I was playing a save from 2014 I believe, or possibly 2013. But I need to reinstall it after uninstalling the game because of some bad cc.

3) Uh-oh! Your game just exploded: are you going to rebuild or start afresh? 

Rebuild. I love my simmies too much to just let them fade away into the ether.

4) What is your favourite Sims version and why? 

- It would have to be the Sims 2. They were the most fully fleshed out sims that we have seen. They weren’t driven by whims or buffs. Their memories helped shape them, along with their “life” experiences. And they just seemed so much more alive to me. I know each game has its drawbacks. But if The Sims 3 was the Sims 2 with an open world (ported, and the core game engine designed correctly) with a color wheel. That would have been the bees knees for me!

5) What’s an expansion you’d love to see that EA never did for any version of the game? 

- I would love a whole ep dedicated for vacations. Ranging from Cruise ships to a trip to the local amusement park. I posted an outline for ideas over on the main forum in the Game Ideas section. I just think it would be super cool to have true vacations where sims could either plan a jam packed getaway with activities, tours, etc. or just chill pool side or at the beach/lake able to sip on fruity drinks with little umbrellas. Order food pool side. Kids could be off doing supervised activities.

Or just a getaway for two. The ability to plan a “Ladies” vacation, leaving the hubby and kids at home for the weekend. Or a Guys Night Out. How about a Single cruise. Or a senior Golden Vacation. With custom packages that sims could plan and book, and all they would need to do is bring extra cash for souvenirs, etc.

And then you have your local theme park. Real roller coasters - steel tracks, wooden tracks, standing ones, etc. - with dips, loops, tunnels, a camera to take a picture at the end. Water ride. Ridable hunted house. Games - sims could also win prizes from pet gold fish to ginormous stuffed animals, other rides like the Jack Rabbit (found at Kennywood), skydrop, The Whip. Just basically all the awesomeness of Roller Coaster Tycoon but on The Sims scale. (sorry, went overboard)

6) Do you use cheats (apart from building cheats) when you play?

- Not in Sims 2 or Sims 3. With Sims 4 I find I’m more willing to use cheats like Motherlode if my sims need help paying their rent or bills. But outside of that, no, none.

7) Do you consider yourself primarily a player, builder or decorator? Or other? 

- I would say a player. Simply because I love to play the game. I also can’t build to save my life. lol But I will if I’m pushed against a wall and can’t find what I’m looking for online.

8) Do you play pre-mades, your own sims or a mix? 

- I haven’t truly played with pre-mades since the Sims. I have since with the other three games allowed my created sims meet and fall in love with pre-mades. But for me to play with all or at least half of them, they have to have wiggled their way into my heart. Those who do come to mind are the Ramaswamis, Ottomas, and Picaso. They became some of my Founder families in my old Sims 2 game.

9) What is your favourite kind of business to run? Or what kind would you like to run, if your game version allowed it? 

- In the Sims 2 it’s a toss up between a restaurant and a clothing store. Both were super fun to do. But having to pick one, it would be the rastaurant, and I wish the way they had done OFB transfer over to Sims 3 and Sims 4 as well. It’s just not possible in either games like in Sims 2.

10) If you were a sim, what would be your aspiration and lifetime want? Feel free to translate that to your own game version - I only speak TS2! 

- What would my aspiration and LTW be? Hm... I would have to say as aspirations go, having a Successful Lineage, where all my kids have an awesome life after the hubby and I kick them from the nest! LTW would be to reach Golden Anniversary.

And because I’m having so much fun!

Questions from @memoirsofasim:

1) How often do you play the sims? 

- I normally play daily most days. But when I get burnt out I can go about a month without playing. I have a few challenges and just gameplay going on over on my YouTube channel, so I have to keep those fresh.

2) How long do you usually play the sims for in one session? 

- Normally 2 hours. That has always been my max, sometimes I’ve gone 2.5 to 3 hours though.

3) Favourite expansion pack and why? 

- I would have to say Super Star. I had so much fun when that ep came out. I even pre ordered it, and I remember it coming a day early. And those of use who got it over on N99 (neighborhood 99) shared picks and game play. It was done right - at least for me. The stalker though. ROFL Leaving those dead roses at your sim’s door. Made me cry from laughter all the time. And I was sad when we didn’t get something similar in Sims 2. And I don’t really care for the celebrity system in Sims 3, but I do enjoy Showtime.

4) Name a townie sim you never liked? 

- I forget his full name, but Vald the vampire that came with the vampire GP. My sim, Pattie Newberry (Not So Berry) cannot stand him, though all he wants is to be her friend. lol She pulls pranks on him all the time, and even tried to fight him once. He stands outside her house wanting to be loved.

5) Have you ever made a sim of yourself? 

- Yes, in Sims 2, Sims 3, and Sims 4. Never shared her with anyone though, and no pics. And never played her for long either. Just seems weird to me. Playing my sim self. lol

6) What is your favourite food? 

- No matter how many foods I like, it will always be pizza! Favorite toppings but not all on the same pie: pepperoni, salami, gyro meat, shrimp, artichoke, grilled chicken, roasted red peppers, pineapple, banana peppers, green and black olives, feta cheese, steak, onions, pesto, and hamburger.

7) Do you play with cc or no cc? 

- Yes! ALL the cc. I would die without it.

8) How many mods do you currently use in your game? 

- I am not sure. I just know I have ALL the mods. lol In all my games.

9) Do you play on a laptop or a desktop computer? 

- Desktop. It’s my gaming pc. Can’t live without it. It’s my non human baby.

10) Do you own any pets? 

- Yup, I sure do. We have one cat - Stormy. One turtle, he’s a red eared slider - Speedy. And one hamster - Vanilla. He’s so huge I call him Bear Claw, yes, the doughnut. He had a brother - Brown Sugar - who I called Pee Pee, since he peed all over the place. But he recently passed away. :(

So I don’t have any questions to add. So feel free to take from those listed above.

I’m tagging @shespeakssimlish, @greeneyedsims, @sommeliersims, @mysimsloveaffair, @snarkysims, @tikamosh, @icy-spicy-scalpel, @josiesimblr

[begrudgingly-i-care]

Chapter Five: Pursue

Iroh had taken the two children that were awake and guided them through a meditation. They were asleep before they had achieved any sort of higher state, but that was to be expected. Jasmine tea with generous servings of honey always made them sleepy. He gave a soft chuckle as he tucked them into their beds. He turned to a nearby guard, “Distract them if they wake up before I’m ready, will you?”

    “Only if you give me a rematch in that Pai Sho, sir. I think I have a strategy that’ll finally defeat the famed General Iroh.”

“Of course!” The metal door slammed shut between them, and Iroh felt his face harden. He slipped into Zuko’s room, where his boy lay clammy and pallid, skin greyed and breathing shallow. “I am not to be disturbed unless it is an emergency, Ray.”

He locked the door once the healer left.

    He began the real meditation.

    Breathe in. Feel the heat swell inside of him. Breathe out. Let it coil around the room, around the body of his boy. Breathe in. His Spirit is flame and it roars in his blood. Breathe out. He’s calling to Prince Zuko’s Spirit.

    Zuko had done more than just heat Kryo up with that little trick. Zuko had spoken to Kryo’s very Inner Flame , had torn pieces of his own out to give to the child; in doing so, he’d torn his Spirit. A firebender’s Inner Flame was not just their bending, but their Spirit as well. An Inner Flame was emotion and vitality and living: to deplete it… If Zuko had correctly managed to utilize the technique, it would have been but an ember taken from him, easily replenished. But Zuko was no healer. Zuko had barely known what he was doing.

    But that was okay. Iroh knew how to help Zuko. He’d always help Zuko. Always choose him.

    (Iroh is swaddled with grief. He covers up the smell of despair-smoke with flowers and tea and hides his tears with laughter. He feels so heavy. Smothered completely. So subdued that he merely watches a child be marred by his brother. Watches his nephew-now-son scream and plead and says nothing as the adults around him jeer and mock the child being tortured in front of them. He only manages to unfreeze the indifference, the stillness, when he thinks “What if that were Lu Ten?” Only manages to muster up the will to gather the boy in his arms when it is done.)

    (Iroh didn’t choose Zuko when it mattered, so now he always makes sure to choose him. Iroh fumbles and bumbles because Zuko needs to be allowed to be annoyed and to laugh and to live. He says nothing of subterfuge and plots and machinations to overthrow the entire empire because he doesn’t know how well Zuko would take it, despite his son’s own plans of a slow overtaking. He chooses Zuko, always, because Zuko is worth it.)

    When Iroh opened his eyes, the world was greyed out. He carefully honed his senses— the Spirit World was dangerous, inherently. He chooses five sensations around him to focus on: a rusted, golden tree to look upon; the smell of the sea; the distant sound of children’s laughter; the smell of pomegranate tea; the black-red sky. If those things changed drastically, Iroh would have to tread carefully.

“Prince Zuko,” he called out, casually, in the same tone he used to ask to stop at a nearby port for more tea (The Order of the White Lotus was everywhere.) “This is foolishness, Prince Zuko. The children are worried for you, you know. Our little Cyrtanthus cried— you always hate when she cries, don’t you?” He’s hoping to coax out Zuko’s Spirit with memories and emotions and names— to Name a Spirit is to know their entirety. And emotions are both the power and weakness of Spirits: the right emotion can destroy a Spirit, the right emotion can give them the power they need to enter the physical realm.

There is no sound. No movement. There is nothing in the clearing. And then there is a creature in front of the golden tree, looking directly at Iroh, head crooked. It’s a blue mask with white additions, lips stretched in a gruesome grin and two glistening fangs all but hanging out of the mouth. The body is that greyed out blue and the same gold as the tree, all spindly but muscled limbs and unnaturally motionless. It clasped a pair of dual broadswords in its bony hands.

It’s Zuko.

(When Zuko’s mother died, Iroh read him stories. Zuko didn’t want to hear them, didn’t want to exist, but Iroh read them regardless. Zuko’s favorite story was of the Blue Spirit, the creature many thought to be part of the Avatar’s ultimate power: the Avatar State. It was malevolence and justice and passion and coldness wrapped into one creature. The mask matched its face.)

“Ah, Prince Zuko! How kind of you to show up.” He pulsed his Inner Fire subtly, the grass around his feet erupting into bright reds and oranges and browns (“Hey, dad, wanna know why my favorite season is fall? Because it’s always on the cusp. Always preparing for a great change. Well, that, and it’s also really pretty!”) .

Zuko stepped closer, blades grazing over weeds. The path he made as he walked was a dim blue. Dying and justice and power.

There was so much potential in Zuko. So much righteousness and goodness. Zuko likely thought himself the malevolence, but he was passion through and through.

“Let’s go home, son.” Iroh held out his hand, and did not flinch when the sky alit like a flame and the aroma of tea became that of smoke and burnt flesh.

Iroh loved his son, but his son never did make things easy.

  ㊋

      Kairos watched as the shore got closer.

    Kryo was still out cold. Hadn’t woken up at all. The healer said something about his inside flame being doused, or something. There was a wet inside of him that couldn’t be burned out without hurting him. He’d wake up and should be physically fine, but…

    He might lose his bending, if it doesn’t go well.

    The healer had been furious, muttering about how kids should be safe on land and obscenities towards the Fire Lord. It’s nothing new— the entire ship seemed to be filled with rebellion in one way or another.

    One thing that Ray had said stuck with her: “if only we hadn’t hunted down the waterbenders like idiots.” Because who else could extract unnecessary water from a body but a waterbender?

    Kairos wasn’t dumb. She thought a lot more than she was given credit for. She remembers telling Kryo she thinks they were meant to have the opposite elements, and him just smiling and saying “No. You’re the ocean, ‘Ros, you can’t be snuffed out.”

    Well, the Avatar just tried to snuff her brother out, and she’s the ocean. She’s the still of the waves before a storm, unbridled fury just barely contained for a moment of calculation.

    The Avatar was master of all elements. The Avatar had been travelling with two members of the water tribe. The Avatar owed her for almost killing Kryo and Zuko and for upsetting Cyrtanthus and making Iroh frown.

    She flashed puppy eyes at the nearest guard. “Please?” she whispered, turning her face down and wobbling her chin and lips like she was going to cry. “I- I wanna get Ky something nice since he… To make him feel all better.” She’d amped up the child-speak a bit for optimum chances of success.

    “I—” the guard sighed, adjusting their helmet. “Okay. I’ll take you to the market on this island, and you decide what you want. But we come back immediately after, okay?”

    She grinned. “‘Kay! Thank you!” She giggled and grabbed the guard’s hand, skipping off the ship.

    When they were on the streets, Kryo never questioned her gut instinct. It’s why he’d been so open with Zuko, why they’d agreed to go with him. He was strong, but he’d never hurt them.

    And she could feel it, deep in her gut. That instinct that had never died down.

    The Avatar was here and she would find him.

  ㊋

      Zuko opened his eyes with a sigh. He felt stiff and tasted lemon. He saw his uncle in the corner of the room and struggled to remember a question that had felt urgent moments ago.

    “Prince Zuko!”     “Prince Zuko!”     Two voices chorused at once as the door slammed open.

    “Kairos is missing!”

    Zuko shot up and was out the door with barely a stagger, unheeding of his unarmored body and lack of information. “Where are we? Where was she last seen?”

    “The Avatar, sir—”

    The Avatar. Of course.

    “Well?” he cut the man off. “After them! I don’t care if I have to light the engines myself, we are going to go as fast as this ship can and we. Are not. Stopping.”

    “Sir! Some of the locals have offered their help.”

    “Who?” His teeth were gritted, his hands fisted. He was fury, but he bit back that irrational part of himself. (He sees blue and grey and gold and nothing else. “Why are you so angry?” asks a familiar voice. His maw opens and he replies, “How are you not?” The world is full of tragedy, and every bit of it boils his blood.)

    The sound of heavy fabric and metal had him turning his head. “Why, Zuko. Didn’t think you’d try to write us off so soon.” A metal fan snaps shut, a painted face turns its smile into a grimace. “Really sorry we had to meet up like this. We didn’t know the girl wasn’t with them. The Kyoshi warriors are at your service. Or, well, I am. We need some fighters on the island, after all.”

    “Suki,” Zuko breathes out. Closes his eyes. He needs to sit down. He needs to get Kairos back. Now.

    But he can’t snap at Suki. They’re not friends, but they’re something edging there, sometimes.

    “Please, explain,” he croaks out.

    Her smile is more of a snarl. “Gladly.”

[sensitivefern]

It was also depressing in Talcottville to find that the John Birch Society... had made their inroads there. One of the good-for-nothing Sullivans had put up a poster on the gas station in front of Elmer’s store: ‘Save the Republic. Impeach Earl Warren’. This had been torn down, and he then put it up in front of the wretched house which he has bought across the street from Aunt Addie’s. Old Krieger is also an ardent convert. He came to see Carrie Trenham and demanded, What do you think of that! – the poster, then on the gas station in front of the house. I don’t like it! Then I won’t work for you any more! She had been dependent on him to do certain things for her. He has announced that he won’t work for anybody who doesn’t go along with the John Birchers, but he mowed my back field as usual, not knowing undoubtedly what my opinions are. It all emanates from somebody in Port Leyden who sends them John Birch literature and has tried to persuade the principal of the regional school to give each of the seniors a copy of some Birch propaganda book. The Catholic priests in Constableville are strong John Birchers. The movement appeals to the Catholics on account of the Supreme Court’s decision about eliminating prayer from the schools... The John Birchers have created in T’ville a certain amount of bad feeling.

[Edmund Wilson]

===

Memoirs of Hecate County came out in 1946; I read a copy borrowed from the Reading (Pa) public library, where it sat placidly on the open shelves while the book was being banned in New York State. Mere reading must have seemed a mild sin the the Reading of those years; it was a notoriously permissive town, famous for its rackets, its whores, and its acquittal-minded juries. The head librarian was a sweet Miss Ruth, who had been in Wallace Stevens’s high-school class, she told me years later. In 1946, I was fourteen. What the slightly sinister volume, a milky green in the original Doubleday edition, with the epigraph in Russian and a three-faced Hecate opposite the title page, meant to me, I can reconstruct imperfectly. Certainly I skipped the pages of French that the curious Mr. Blackburn spouts toward the end... But the long, central story, ‘The Princess with the Golden Hair’, the heart and scandal of this collection of six ‘memoirs’, I read, as they say, avidly, my first and to this day most vivid glimpse of sex through the window of fiction.

[John Updike]

===

It does not appear that any government other than the Taliban financially supported al Qaeda before 9/11, although some governments may have contained al Qaeda sympathizers who turned a blind eye to al Qaeda’s fund-raising activities.

[The 9/11 Report]

===

The most widely distributed element in nature, oxygen makes up nearly half of all terrestrial matter. It forms approximately 21 per cent by volume of the atmosphere; 87 per cent by weight of all the water on the earth; and over 40 per cent of the human body.

Plants and soil organisms cannot live without oxygen. Plants get this vital element from the carbon dioxide of the atmosphere, from water drawn from the soil, and from numerous other substances.

OYSTER PLANT: (Tragopogon porrifolius) [It] is a biennial, growing three to four feet high, with a white-skinned, deep taproot... The Spanish oyster plant, Scolymus hispanicus, is often called golden thistle and is similar to salsify. Even better in flavor, some people say, is black salsify, Scorzonera hispanica, which has a black-skinned root. Its leaves are often used in salads.

[Encyclopedia of Organic Gardening]

===

butter daisy, annual marguerite | Leucanthemum ‘If you haven’t grown butter daisy, start doing so ASAP’... they stay dense and compact, it is asserted, and pests stay away, it is also asserted... container friendly... must have full sun...

Liriope ‘Repeat after me: leer-eye-oh-pee’... a decent-sized clump will fit comfortably in a 6-inch pot... Liriope muscari and Liriope exiliflora and all their cultivars work splendidly in containers... cut back foliage in spring... Liriope spicata is the hardiest of the gang, and ‘spreads like crazy wherever it grows’...

edging lobelia Obviously, when July this-way-comes, little lobie is sent to ‘the big compost pile in the sky’; the Regatta series and the Moon series are said to have a fair amount of heat resistance, however...

[Encyclopedia of Container Plants]

===

Feb 20 [1854]. PM – Skating to Fair Haven Pond. Made a fire on the south side of the pond, using canoe birch bark and oak leaves for kindlings... How much dry wood ready for the hunter... is to be found in every forest, – dry bark fibres and small dead twigs of the white pine and other trees, held up high and dry as if for this very purpose! The occasional loud snapping of the fire was exhilarating. I put on some hemlock boughs, and the rich salt crackling of its leaves was like mustard to the ears... Dead trees love the fire.

We skated home in the dusk, with an odor of smoke in our clothes. It was pleasant to dash over the ice, feeling the inequalities which we could not see...

[Thoreau, Journal]

===

❚Mark Morford Thumbs up from the KKK. David Duke We did it! Congratulation Donald J. Trump President of the United States of America!

Hadley Freeman Oh god. It's happening. Obama leaves the Oval Office for the last time

Departing Obama Tearfully Shoos Away Loyal Drone Following Him Out Of White House ‘Go On Now, Git,’ Says Former President WASHINGTON—Stopping and turning around as he made his way across the South Lawn after hearing the unmanned aerial vehicle hovering just feet behind him, outgoing President Barack Obama tearfully shooed away a loyal MQ-9 Reaper drone attempting to follow him out of the White House, sources confirmed Friday. “Go on now—get out of here!” said the former commander-in-chief, his lower lip trembling and his eyes welling with tears as he affected a stern tone of voice in an attempt to scare off the faithful hunter-killer drone that had spent the past eight years obediently at his side. “You can’t come with me anymore, you got that? Can’t you see this is for your own good? Now scram. What are you waiting for? Go!” At press time, a heartbroken Obama had thrown a rock in the drone’s direction, causing the unmanned aerial vehicle to flee into the sky, where it paused to look back one last time at its old master before flying off toward a Yemeni tribal wedding.

Purge Of White House Website Complete: Gays And Climate Change No Longer Exist

Claim: There is a faceless, semi-human monster called Slenderman who stands eight feet tall, has tentacles for arms, stalks and eats small children, and communicates telepathically with his human servants, called "proxies." FALSE

Pigeon NURP 40 TW 194 In 2012, the skeleton of a carrier pigeon was found inside a home chimney in Bletchingley, Surrey, in the southeast United Kingdom. Inside a red canister attached to one of its legs was an encrypted message handwritten on a Pigeon Service form. The message was addressed to "XO2," which is thought to be RAF Bomber Command, and is signed "W Stot Sjt." It is believed to have been sent from France on June 6, 1944 during the World War II D-day invasion.

Michelle Obama Was Not Really Having It Today

Totes annoying: words that should be banned