#its the master sword. but the light dragon seen in the distance while you do the tutorial doesnt have it

[three-bunnies-in-a-trenchcoat]

The light dragon doesn't have the Master Sword

[7spaceace7]

By Fireflies’ Glow (Bagginshield)

Soooo I made a Bagginshield fic based off of this post and it’s on my Ao3 if you prefer to read it there, but here it is! The firefly scene didn’t make it into the movie’s cuts, so I made it myself and made it gay for good measure.

Word count: 2237

Warnings: None, unless you count unreasonable amounts of pining

Rivendell’s magnificence only extended into the evening, after the last light of day passed over the mountains surrounding it. Streaming waterfalls cascaded over the cliffs below, leading into rivers and streams down past the elven borders. Dusk crept up on Eastern skies in parallel to the setting sun, until the moon above followed its path high into the sky. Where there was sunlight cast into the water, silver moonlight now shone upon its surface. Bilbo had never seen an evening so beautiful, not in all his years. 

The beauty of Rivendell had so captured him that the hobbit had spent nearly all his time wandering about the kingdom. While his dwarrow companions dined together, Bilbo explored the main halls of Rivendell, and the hobbit was quick to continue his self-guided tour just after Thror’s map had been translated. There was no doubt that Bilbo had fallen in love with the Valley of Imladris. He had to see as much as he could before their journey picked up once more.

At least, that was his excuse to distract from the real reason he had put distance between himself and the others. In truth, he did not feel welcome at their table. Bilbo was acutely aware of his outsider status to the dwarves; he may have been a contracted burglar of this company, but the hobbit knew he was still viewed as little more than a burdensome stranger without any experience of the larger world. The worst part was that he couldn’t blame them.

It was no secret he was inexperienced. What he had in his skills of gardening and baking (the best cakes from scratch in the Shire, you see), he lacked in the practical adventuring repertoire of sword fighting and travelling across Middle Earth. He was a Baggins of Bag-End after all, such respectable hobbits didn’t just up and leave on journeys with strange dwarves who ate his pantry stock.

But then, Bilbo supposed he wasn’t a respectable hobbit anymore. He had left that title behind as soon as he grabbed his signed contract and rushed out of his rounded door all that time ago. Instead, he was a member of a perilous quest to slay a dragon and reclaim a dwarven kingdom. However, the title of “adventurer” didn’t seem to belong to him either. 

Another rounded corner of the path led Bilbo to find himself back where his exploration had started in the gardens. He hadn’t meant to come this way again, but it seemed his feet had started wandering on their own when the hobbit became lost in doubt. Bilbo didn’t mind, though. 

The gardens of the elves were some of the most enchanting he’d ever seen. Hedges encircled the area, trees sprung up their lanky limbs that seemed to welcome all who ventured there. It was well-kept, organized, and filled with flowers of all colors he’d only ever seen in books. The colors seemed to glow by moonlight as well, transforming into translucent blues, purples, and greens. Bilbo used to daydream about places like these from reading his books, wondering what it would be like to live in a place where such beautiful things can grow. Lord Elrond’s offer of staying in Rivendell returned to his mind.

“Master Baggins,” Came the rough voice of Thorin Oakenshield, pulling the hobbit from his thoughts in surprise. Bilbo’s head turned to see that the gardens had already been occupied by said dwarven king, who sat upon the backless, stone-carved bench alone. He held an expression that Bilbo could not place. At the least, it was not a glare or look of disdain toward him as usual. “I was beginning to think you’d run off. You made quick leave after reading the map. You weren’t at dinner, either.”

“You’re right, I was..”The hobbit shifted to his other leg. The words didn’t find him to explain that he didn’t think himself welcome in their company. Exploring didn’t seem much like a Baggins pastime either, so Bilbo’s sentence hung unfinished. “I didn’t realize someone else was here. I expect you wish to be left alone, I’ll take my leave-”

“The others are resting,” Thorin said before Bilbo could take even a step away. His gaze turned away from the hobbit and back to the open trees. “I couldn’t find sleep.”

“...So you came here?” 

Thorin bowed his chin in a nod. The halfling recalled many sleepless nights of his own being comforted by the fresh air found in his garden back home. He allowed himself to wonder if this was something he and the dwarf had in common.

“I never took you for a lover of nature.”

Perhaps on better terms, Thorin might have seemed amused. “I assure you, I am not. The gardens just happened to be far enough away from the sounds of Bombur’s snores.”

“I see. It is rather peaceful. In the gardens, I mean.”

“Indeed.”

Moments of silence stretched between the unlikely pair while the two admired their surroundings, even if Thorin wouldn’t admit to elvish work capturing his attention. Bilbo remained awkwardly at the steps of the garden where he was first stopped. He didn’t mind standing since Hobbits had more resilience in being on their feet for long amounts of time, but to Bilbo’s surprise, Thorin made room on the bench beside him. 

The halfling’s lips twitched in figuring what to say, should he say anything at all. Finally he decided that he ought to try and test the waters. If Thorin was offering him a place to sit, he would take the opportunity and see where it took him. The Tookish part inside told him that this could be his chance to reconcile their strained first impressions. Bilbo walked over and took his seat at the far end of the bench.

“I have my own garden, back in Bag-End,” He started, after the silence became too heavy to hold any longer, “You might have seen it when you arrived that night. It’s certainly not as impressive as this, but then I’m just one hobbit compared to many elves. Besides, it has all the flowers I really need, all of my favorites. The Shire has perfect weather for my hydrangeas best of all.”

The dwarf didn’t speak as he watched him ramble. Bilbo didn’t think Thorin much the type for listening about gardening techniques and therefore spared the details, but a quick glance over to the dwarf proved that he was, indeed, listening. Still silent as ever, but this was a bit different. The exiled king seemed at peace for once. Like he was grateful to hear of a hobbit’s silly affinity for plants instead of a mountain kingdom to be reclaimed.

It was a sight Bilbo found himself having trouble looking away from. He willed himself to focus on the fireflies gathering around the bushes instead. 

“Gardens were not to be found in the mountain,” Thorin’s voice softened at the mention of his old home. He always regarded the Lonely Mountain with careful, almost protective, thought. Bilbo’s eyes settled back on the dwarf and clung to every word. “Nothing grows underground, of course. No grass or soil to grow it, and there was no true light, save for the forges and fires burning.”

“None at all? Did you never go outside..?” Bilbo asked. He had known dwarves were the type to mostly stay underground, but such a concept still seemed so foreign to him. Hobbits were known to spend practically all of their time outdoors, and there was light everywhere he could remember. Thorin, however, shook his head.

“Dwarves in that time were born into the darkness of caves. They grew used to seeing rock instead of sky, and I was no different. From the moment I could walk, my time was devoted to training, watching my grandfather as he ruled so I could one day take his place. Learning of the kingdom and its people, of how to protect and serve them, everything a young prince must know,” Thorin explained. His eyes cast toward the ground as he hunched over, deep in thought. It seemed a painful memory sprung from his words without his meaning to. “There was no time for anything but such duties, especially as my grandfather’s health began to fail...” 

Thorin trailed off with regret held in his eyes. 

“There was little I knew of the world outside of Erebor’s halls, and that’s how it would have stayed were it not for the snake residing there now,” The exiled king finished with bitten words. Bilbo shifted uncomfortably.

“I’m sorry to hear it.” 

“I have no need of your pity,” Thorin’s words were said without malice. Instead, they were filled with shame, like he believed he did not deserve sympathy. Like this horror was his fault, somehow. “Especially from someone who knows a very different life.”

“Actually, it doesn’t sound completely different.” 

The dwarf’s taken aback look was all he needed to continue.

“I mean, I certainly wasn’t an heir to a kingdom, but in the Shire you didn’t go much of anywhere else. Sometimes to Bree if you were the type, but that would get you odd looks from the rest of town, and by no means were you considered the respectable sort. In fact, I’m sure by now I’ve probably been declared mad beyond all reason, going off on adventures with strange dwarves and a wizard.”

The light brown curls framing Bilbo’s face bounced when he chuckled. Thorin found himself wondering why he noticed this. 

“Hobbits simply don’t care much for learning what outside the Shire borders holds. We don’t get visitors, and we don’t do any visiting of our own. So..I suppose in that regard, I understand not knowing much else but what expectations you’ve been born to,” Bilbo finished with a hesitant smile. It was a smile simply for Thorin in that moment, reserved for his eyes and his eyes alone. And yet, the dwarf looked away, startled by its intimacy.

“I see both our clans have deemed us mad, then,” Thorin said, clearing his throat to hide the sudden topic shift.

“How do you mean?”

“The other dwarrow leaders called our quest a fool’s death sentence. I made mention of it before we left your home, but in truth they did not use as-- encouraging-- words as I led the others to believe,” The words of mockery bounced back bitterly to the forefront of his mind. “They believe we won’t make it alive to even reach the mountain. It is why we take on this task alone.”

Bilbo’s mouth twitched in thought again. “Well,” He began, “Perhaps they’re right.”

Thorin’s shock bubbled up instantly, paired with a list of insults in Khuzdul that he had half a mind to repeat from the aforementioned dwarrow council. The hobbit knew that look and raised his arms in defense.

“What I mean to say is, yes, perhaps you won’t reach the mountain, perhaps that’s how we’re fated to finish, but,” Bilbo took a breath, calmed his nerves, “It is still a noble cause to see through the end. And I know each of those who’ve followed you this far would agree. Anyone who doubts you hasn’t got the courage to see it as such.”

Thorin’s eyes softened. He looked down at the smaller creature, such a curious thing by anyone’s standards. A hobbit of the Shire, fond of books, green gardens, and the comforts of home, and yet it is he who has remedied his doubts of his birthright. 

“...Thank you.”

Bilbo simply nodded. Even if he himself wasn’t fit for this journey, he truly did hope these dwarves would succeed. They’d all lost so much when their home was taken from them. Especially Thorin. Thorin Oakenshield, who’d braved unfathomable death and destruction and still stood, facing up against an almost impossible task. And here he was, thanking a small hobbit for mere words. 

Their lives could not be more different-- and still, they were familiar. 

A soft, shining glow from the middle of the garden grove brought their attention away from one another. Dozens and dozens of fireflies had snuck their way closer and completely surrounded the pair on the bench. Their patterns blinked and glimmered for all to see, with shimmering water nearby to exemplify the view. Thorin, surprisingly, was the one captivated most. His cobalt blue eyes shimmered from their reflection, trained on their light.

“Perhaps you were right. About us being raised too differently,” The hobbit mused. A smile tugged at his lips as he watched the king become a prince again. “I don’t remember being so enthralled by the nightly fireflies.”

Thorin chuckled. A small, but genuine, bout of humor. Honestly, it almost shocked  Bilbo into the next age.

“Forgive me. I suppose I just never stopped to notice them before. Not in all my journeys across Middle Earth,” His smile lingered. Bilbo’s brightened. 

They held such a gaze for some time in comfortable silence. At first meeting, Thorin had sized up the simple hobbit for a commoner, unfit for the wilds of the journey the company had planned to cross. And perhaps that was still the case. Only time would tell if Bilbo was truly a loyal member of this quest, but for now, they had this moment to share.

That is, until Gandalf’s voice was heard passing along the bridge mentioning the dwarven king by name.

[alovesongshewrote]

Almost A Thousand Years - Killahead, Part 2 | Hisirdoux Casperan

Plot:  You’ve known Hisirdoux Casperan for almost a thousand years.  You’ve hated him for almost a thousand years.  And for almost a thousand years, you’ve been cursed to feel each others pain.  But somewhere in that time, things changed.  [Hisirdoux Casperan x Mostly Gender Neutral but Probably Female Presenting Based on How Historical Men Treat Them!Reader]

Word Count:  5,258

Warnings: B A T T L E 

A/N:  HAPPY HOLIDAYS KIDS!!!!!  also, i swear to god this was written a month ago, before aaron confirmed the skulls and wizards thing

Taglist:  @furblrwurblr @rainningdoom @fluffydmonkey @blondie0458 @sitherin-mxschief @jinxedleo @lawlesshedgehog @einahpetsyarcip @dolphincommander @sorrels-scribbling @anxious-stitcher @alive-and-afraid @animedweeb333 @douxiesdamsel @saroski05 @justarandomhoman @tales-of-hisirdoux​ @blixeon​​ @yagirlcheesely​

It was about as surreal as you thought it would be.

As a child you were trained to fight; to stab, to slice, to claw, and to bleed.  You were taught that humans were the root of all evil and that the Gumm-Gumms would one day take what was theirs.  Now you were fighting with the humans, the evil, the oppressors, against what had been your home, your people.

And it was going surprisingly well.  It turns out having insider knowledge is very helpful on the battlefield.  You were able to block everything they threw at you, to dodge and weave through their attacks and land some pretty good hits of your own.  Douxie had your back, of course, blue light striking down as many opponents as it could take.  In return, you took out anything that even threatened to get too close.

It was going well.  But it didn’t last.

“WHERE IS THE WITCH SPY?”

“Oh no.”

“(Y/N), stay behind me,” Douxie’s voice was a dull hum against the roar around you, and of course, the screaming troll in front of you.

“JOIN YOUR BROTHERS AGAINST THIS PATHETIC ARMY!!”

“Oh god.”

Douxie noticed the fact that you weren’t even close to listening to him and took action, moving in front of you, striking any Gumm-Gumm soldier who even looked your way.

“RETURN HOME (Y/N) (L/N)!”

So, that was it.  That was what had kept you in the dark as a traitor for at least a hundred years.  The very sentence that made you avoid Britain with all your strength.  The thing that drove a wedge between you and the man you now loved.

Four words were all it took.

“(Y/N)??  (Y/N), love, please, answer me!”

You jerked your head, snapping back to reality.  No matter what events were relevant to your personal history, there was still a battle going on.  You had to keep fighting.  You struck down another few Gumm-Gumms just as Douxie used some of Archie’s fire to dispose of another, another few.

“Ha, I've always hated those twits!”

“Valid!” you cried as you ducked under an opponent’s strike.  You took out their knees, rising again, just in time to see Morgana descend from a sky wormhole.  Just what you needed.

“Night has already fallen.”

“Oh, really?  Couldn’t tell.”

Douxie rolled his eyes at your sarcasm, but you could see the grin on his face.  That boy loved you and all of your shenanigans.  You were shaken from your thoughts, however, when Morgana started firing spells into the crowd, yeeting her magic around with reckless abandon.  

“Morgana’s returned!  She’s enemy number one!”

“Go!” Jim yelled, “We’ll hold the bridge!”

“Hisirdoux, with me!  I-You!” oh no, he was talking to you, “I take you in as my apprentice, spare your life from the sword, and this is how you-”

“Master, they didn’t have a choice!”  Douxie grabbed your hand, pulling you behind him as if to shield you from Merlin’s wrath, “It was a matter of survival!”

“Survival!  What-”

“Please, Master, let them help.  If we leave them here, any of the nights might try to attack them!”

“And why should that matter!  They are a traitor, are they not?  Death on the battlefield is more merciful than anything they might receive after the battle is won.”

“I won’t let anything happen to them,”  Douxie’s voice was calm, but you could hear the anger behind it, “(Y/N) has proved their loyalty to me hundreds of times. They’re more than capable and I trust them with my life.”

You broke from your reverie, eyes painted with concern.  How could he trust you so easily?  Why did he, even after everything that had happened?  This shouldn’t have come as such a shock to you.  He did love you, after all, and yet, you still found yourself surprised by this revelation.  You couldn’t help the hesitant smile that crept onto your face as you squeezed his hand slightly.  He really did love you, didn’t he?

Merlin grumbled something, probably regretting that binding spell right about now, before motioning for you to follow him.

You cast a wave back to the kids, a silent wish for their luck, before you ran after Merlin, your hand still entwined with Douxie’s.  He didn’t let go until you reached a small group of ruins, at which point you, your wizard and the old man stood, backs facing each other, all of you peered out into the darkness.  Archie flew above you, dragon eyes finding nothing out of the ordinary.  Not yet, anyway.  You kept your sword out in front of you, and you could tell that Douxie was doing the same with his brace.  You had no idea what Merlin was doing, but you never did, so that wasn’t a big deal.

“I feel dark magic.”

“It means she’s close.”

You and the familiar both gasped as something ran through the trees.  A chill made its way into the woods, surrounding you and raising goosebumps on your skin.  You felt your heart begin to race as strange echoes continued to ring out through the air.  They soon morphed from a collection of noises into a laugh- Morgana’s.

“An old man, a foolish boy, and a traitor; lost as always.”

Your small group moved slightly, scanning the forest for any sign of the sorceress.  You could feel her presence, but there was nothing there.

“Do you dare run… or face my vengeance?”

Oh.  There she was.

“Um, is there a third option?”  Archie asked, sounding much too calm for the situation at hand.  You couldn’t blame him though, you would have done the same.  But you weren’t doing the same.  You were looking over your shoulder just as a collection of roots shot out at you.  Thanks to your little turn, you had an advantage, cutting the offending plant parts before they could get to you.  Douxie and Merlin, however, were not so lucky.  The latter was pulled to the ground and stabbed through the shoulder with a particularly sharp root.  He barked out an order for Hisirdoux to run, which he could not do because of the roots clinging to his shoulders.  You used your sword on what you could, and a blast of green energy from Merlin took out the rest.  A little anticlimactic if you ask me.

Despite your escape, Morgana cackled, even as Douxie fired spell after spell at her with little success.  While he made his attempt, you helped Merlin to a standing position, a task that became easier when Douxie rejoined you at the old wizard’s other side.

“Merlin, you’re injured!  Badly…  (Y/N), is there anything-”

“Hisirdoux, if I should fall this day…”

Merlin handed his former apprentice a scroll, one which was covered with notes and instructions about building a tomb, and the heart of Avalon.  Your brows furrowed as you read over Douxie’s shoulder.  That wasn’t ominous at all.

“Why are you giving us this?”

“Foreseeing the future means preparing for the worst of it,” he glared at you for a moment, and you wondered what exactly he could see.  He clearly hadn’t seen your act of treason coming, but there were other things that made you wonder.  Your thoughts were interrupted by more ominous Merlin content, “That includes your wounded friend.”

“Jim?  What about him?”

“The corruption in his heart has no cure.  When he returns to the future, it will overtake him.”

Oh.  Oh.  

Oh no.

You’d had your suspicions, but hearing it from the master wizard himself brought it to another level of reality.  There was no cure.  There was no solution.  You were going to go home, and you were going to kill Douxie.  Or you’d try to, at the very least.  Maybe, now that Douxie was a master wizard himself, he could do you both a kindness and kill you where you stood.  

…

Yeah, no.  He wouldn’t be doing that anytime soon, but a witch could dream!  You feel his hand on your back, a gesture meant to comfort you that only made you sick.  How he still cared about you, even after all of this would confuse you for years to come.  For now, though, you just accepted it.  There wasn’t time for much else with an evil sorceress on the prowl.

“No, no there must be some other way!  I made a promise to them, to Claire, to get them home alive, all of them!”

“Yet, to save time itself, you all must return home, even if it means James Lake will be no more.”

That wasn’t exactly a pleasant thought.  While a distance stemming from your past had momentarily sprung up between you and the kids, the gap between you had since closed.  You loved those little monsters like they were your siblings, and you’d do anything for them.  The thought that Jim would have to die, to make another sacrifice when he’d already given up so much, was just another thing that killed you inside.

“And there’s no other solution?” you tried to keep quiet despite the rage that boiled inside you, not at anyone in particular, but at the situation as a whole, “There’s no way to fix this that doesn’t get Jim killed?”

Merlin shook his head, but you didn’t need that confirmation.  You already knew the answer.

“Such is the burden of a wizard,” the old one spoke as your small group made its way deeper into the night, “To make the hard choices mortals cannot,” he grunted, slouching forward slightly, reminding you that you should really take a look at that stab wound at some point.  Merlin, however, paid no real mind to this, instead, continuing his little monologue, “Now it is yours to bear.”

You looked away from your wizard companions to see a giant skull, lodged between a rock and… well, another rock.  Some may call it a canyon, you called it fucking ominous and terrifying.  The skull was lit from within, orange light seeping through the space where eyes had once stared out into the world.  You wondered, for a moment, how these old bones had ended up here, and how they had stayed.  What was the last thing this being saw?  Was it the sky above, or the ground below?  What could kill something as large as this?  You didn’t ask your questions.  It didn’t seem like the right time.  

And really, it wasn’t time for anything other than nerves and anxiety.  Without a word, you followed Merlin across the rocks until he stood in front of the skull, on top of an odd sort of contraption.  You stood a few steps behind, safely off the weird cage thing.

“Morgana, reveal thyself!”

Before you could question the logistics of giving yourselves away, a portal, ringed with gold and made of shadows appeared, releasing the queen of the apocalypse onto another rock.  Yep, that sure was an evil sorceress.  Just what you needed at this time of night.

“Look what has wandered into my web,” nice starting point.  Threatening, but not over the top.  You cast your sarcastic thoughts aside for the moment, as valid as they were, preparing yourself instead, for a fight.

“These are dark powers you medal with, Morgana.  Who granted them?  Who resurrected you from death?”

“Wizards beyond your ken,” ah shit.  Just as you suspected.  ‘Wizards beyond your ken,’ was mysterious witch for ‘The Arcane Order.’

And then she was gone again.  Dope.

“So, uh… we should head into the big skull of doom?” you asked, eyebrows knit together in a mix of concern and confusion.

“Yep, let’s go.”  You and Douxie nodded at each other before helping Merlin scale the rocks and get into the skull, asking Archie to stand watch for a moment, just to secure his safety.  He agreed only once you’d promised to call him if things got rough.  

Inside of the first skull, you found a second, slightly smaller skull.  What the hell was it with magic dudes and skulls, huh?  Morgana had this as her lair, the Arcane Order’s ship was a skull, Douxie had his whole vibe and Merlin kept skulls in his office.  Shit, even you kept bones around, though you were a doctor and arguably had the best excuse.  Your thoughts ran wild as you examined the space around you, but they were interrupted by the reappearance of your least favourite murder-witch.

“Morgana!”

The two wizards prepared for battle, but you hesitated.  Something was wrong here.  Morgana was crying, no-sobbing.  You recognized this, whatever this was.  You’d seen it in yourself back in the 1300s.  Yep, something was wrong alright, and judging by this, someone was probably dead.

“It’s your fault!” She cried, “You’re the reason Arthur is gone!” 

Oh, so you were right.  That didn’t really explain how Arthur’s blood was on your hands though.

“What?”

“Gone?”

“Uh, guys?  It kinda sounds like the King is dead.”

Your companions had no time to respond as Morgana rose through the air, seeking misplaced revenge instead of proper justice.  She fired a spell at the three of you, which Douxie ran to shield you from.  Merlin joined him a second later, limping towards the younger wizard with your help.  The second he stood on his own, your magic joined theirs.

“She’s too powerful!  We have no choice but to seal her away!”

“I know.  I’ll try to buy some ti-”

Douxie was cut off when Merlin knocked you both clear across the room and out of the way of another spell, one which left the old wizard in chains.

You felt the impact that Douxie suffered and you were sure he felt yours.  Nevertheless, the two of you pulled yourselves up just as Morgana started on another speech.

“Oh, shame!  Little Douxie finally gets his staff, just in time to die with it!” 

She aimed her next attack at him, but you interfered, knocking her away with a shield made of your magic.  

“And you!  Traitorous little wretch!”  you weren’t exactly sure which treason she was talking about or who she learned it from.  You’d betrayed a lot of people over the years, she’d have to be more specific, “Why do you still fight alongside them?!”

You knocked away another attack before answering, “The shorter one is cute!”  With that, you went on the offensive, landing a kick to Morgana’s stomach and striking her again with the butt of your sword.  Your small victory didn’t last long though, as she struck back, the impact slamming you into the opposite wall and probably cracking a few of your ribs.  You’d have to apologize to Douxie for that one.

Morgana scoffed at you, looking down at your crumpled figure as you struggled to stand, “Only a fool would fight for love!” 

Her voice may have contained a little more rage than was necessary, and she may have been projecting a little bit, but she didn’t have time to say anything else.  Douxie handed a few hits with his staff, using surprise to his advantage, and holding up surprisingly well despite the pain you both were in.  Morgana turned her taunting onto Douxie, mocking him as they fought.

“You can’t even wield it!” you winced as she landed a hit, “You should stick to your usual tricks.”

You bit your lip as she struck him in the face- twice.  This really wasn’t a great day for either of you, was it?

“Use the power of your staff!  Make it your own!”

“Please, Douxie.”  Your voice was quiet, and there was almost no way he heard it.  Hell, you weren’t even sure what you were asking for, but in the next second, his staff turned into a fucking guitar so that was probably it if you had to guess.  Or maybe it was the next second when he avenged you by smacking Morgana in the face with said guitar, sending her flying across the room.  You knew that as a doctor you shouldn’t hope for someone to crack a rib, but this was an exception you were willing to make.

“What?!”

“BABE!  THAT WAS HOT!!” you yelled, too shocked to say much else.

“Bleeding balroths!  This is nuclear!” your wizard said, spinning the staff around.

You couldn’t help but laugh at that as you pulled yourself up from the ground.  Of all the things Douxie had ever said and done in his life, that had to be the Douxie-est.

“Did you just strike me with a-a lute?!”

“Uh-uh-uh-uh.  No, uh-uh.  Spellcaster guitar, darling.”

You weren’t exactly sure what the fuck he just said, but you were 110% there for it.  He played a lil’ riff on his staff, and you had a very brief mental debate on whether or not that took the throne for the Douxie-est thing he’d ever done.

“Needs tuning though.”  He continued to play the riff for a solid minute, and you weren’t sure what was funnier.  The fact that this was, in fact, something that was happening, or how Done Merlin looked with literally everything at that moment.  It was both.  Both was good.

“I meant make it your own weapon!”

Douxie finished playing just in time to shield himself from another of Morgana’s attacks, “Well, this is technically an “axe!”  

“You are a huge geek!”

“And you love it!” your wizard yelled, playing again while running from Morgana, looking for an opening while avoiding a volley of spells.  He was right.  You did love it.  That’s why you were going to help at the next opportunity, your (and technically his) poor ribs be damned.  

“Hisirdoux!  This is no time for dreadful music!”

“Dreadful?”

“Absolutely infernal.”

“I mean, I thought it was good!”  you yelled, launching your own round of spells at Morgana, making it harder for her to land a hit on Douxie.

“No worries, this is just the opening track!”

“What do you hope to do?  Blow out our eardrums?”

“Well, pardon me if this rock is too freakin’ awesome for your medieval sensibilities!”    You had no idea how he did it, but he managed to land on one of the light fixtures (of all things) while you weren’t looking.  You couldn’t really see him from where you were, but you were almost certain that he was doing the sign of horns and sticking out his tongue.

“Enough of your noise!”  Morgana cried, blasting you to the side quickly before returning to her real fight.  You were lucky that this blast was not as strong as her first.  You were able to roll out of it without causing any real damage, a benefit to both you and Douxie.  Speaking of, your wizard found himself locked in a Harry Potter-style duel, two magics facing off against one another in a single stream.  It was not looking too good for your boi though.  He seemed to notice this, and jumped from the light and returned to physical combat on the ground.  Unfortunately, that did not end well either, and you bit back a cry as Douxie was thrown through the room.  Yeah, things were looking rough.  Time to call in the cat calvary. 

You swore you were only gone for a moment, but in that time, Douxie managed to get himself pinned against a wall.

“Do not fret, Merlin.  You’ll find a new apprentice to replace him.  Are people not dispensable, after all?”

“Ok, go, go now!”  you whispered to Archie, your tone intense, which was fair considering the situation.  The familiar did as told and flew at the witch, sending her fling off balance and keeping her away from Douxie.  Arch did a quick loop near Merlin, tossing the wizard his staff before circling around to land on Douxie’s shoulder.  Merlin and Morgana began their fight as you ran to your wizard and his familiar.

“Nice work my dudes, you think you can keep it up?”

“Probably!  Arch, light me!”  you liked the sound of that. You liked the sight of it even more as blue flames encircled Morgana, trapping her, and allowing Douxie and Archie to make their final attack, keeping the sorceress in place.

“Hurry, I can’t hold her that long!”

“Don’t worry, we’ve got this,” you said, voice quiet as you threw your own spell at the witch from below.  Hopefully, that would make things a little easier.  It did.  Douxie was grateful.  

“You have lost yourself, Morgana!  Bound to dark magic.  I have no choice but to seal you away!  Sigilia infractum!”

It seemed to work for a second, but then, for like, the third (?) time in that battle you were blasted back, Douxie fell with you and hit the ground harder.  

“Man, this sucks,” you whispered as you pulled yourselves up, going to Merlin’s aid.

“Master!”

“She’s too powerful,” he groaned, “You have to finish this, together.”

“We can do that… we can do that!  Let’s go!”

You and Douxie moved in sync, matching each other’s movements exactly.  Using his staff, Douxie’s blue magic replaced Merlin’s green while yours froze the witch again, keeping her from attacking you.

“Sigilia infractum causera!”

Finally, the blast from the spell did not hurt you, instead, it did as it was supposed to, trapping Morgana.  You let your own spell ease up, instead, lending whatever strength you could to Douxie, God knows he would need it.

“I will destroy you all!  No matter what it takes, no matter where you go, I will end all that you love until you feel my agony!”

“Yeah, you aren’t the first person to threaten that!  Come up with something original, then we’ll talk.”

The witch roared and threw a spell in your direction, but it disappeared into a shadow edged with purple.

“Hey!  Hands off my teachers!”

Oh, Claire!  Claire had found you somehow, that was good.

“I swear on all your lives, I shall rise again!”

“Already seen it,” the girl cried, throwing some much-deserved sass Morgana's way, “You don’t win.  See you in 900 years!”

And with that, the spell was complete.  Claire opened another portal, dragging Morgana into it.  With that big historical event over, your adrenaline failed you and you staggered forward.  That was pretty convenient considering it let you catch Douxie, who was doing much worse than you were.  You noticed his eyes rolling back slightly, which was a cause for some alarm.

“Hey, heyheyheyheyhey, stay with us, you nerd, don’t pass out on me,” you weren’t sure you could handle the stress if he did.

“Douxie!  Are you okay?!”  Archie and Claire moved in, the former knocking Douxie back and licking his face relentlessly.

“Ugh!  That’s-that’s disgusting!”

You and Claire both laughed at this, glad that at least this part of the fight was finally over.  Douxie stole a glance at you and wondered if he had somehow died during the battle.  How else could there be an angel before him?

“Well,” he turned his gaze from your smile to Claire with only minor difficulties, “I think we just saved history.”

You sat back, all fears forgotten for now in a moment of relief and elation as you watched your boyfriend give the girl a high-five.

“And you took down a ninth-level sorceress.”

“Damn right,” you giggled, which was new, but not unwelcome.  You turned to Douxie, “Sharp work, samurai.”  Your friends rolled their eyes at your antics, though they did it out of love.

The excitement calmed for a moment, allowing Archie to speak, “Merlin would be proud.”

“Yeah, if he wasn’t out cold.”

“I mean, it’s not a great look for him, but full transparency?  I could probably take a three-hundred-year nap right now.”

Douxie laughed, but he wrapped a hand around yours and whispered, “Please don’t.”

You squeezed his hand, a silent promise that you would not answer your problems with sleep.  Not today, anyway.  To be completely honest, the problem immediately at hand could be solved rather quickly, by you, at least.

“Anyway, Merlin’s still been stabbed, so I’ll just-”

Fortunately, this was just a stab wound.  No magic, no tricks, no possession, just medicine.  That was what you knew, it was what you could deal with.  It was over too quickly.  Was that a thing you could say?  Could you wish for medical treatment to last longer?  Was that something you could do?  Not to mention that he was your boyfriend’s surrogate dad, which just made things complicated.  Either way, it was over too fast.  You returned to Camelot, mourned the dead, said your goodbyes, and that was it.  Time was up.  You had to go home.

Home.  What even was home now?  You knew the answer.  Home was Douxie.  Wherever he was, you wanted to be.  He made you feel safe, feel loved, feel every good thing that humans are supposed to feel, but-  To save the world, to save his life, you would have to leave him.  There was no other choice, either you stayed in the past and everyone died, or you went back to the future and risked his life by staying with him.  You had to go.  As soon as you got back, you’d have to run.  You didn’t know where, to-to Spain, or Japan, or Cuba, Vietnam, Egypt, France, somewhere, anywhere, just to keep him safe.  You didn’t want to do it.  You just wanted to stay by his side, forever, if possible.  But that was the thing.  It wasn’t possible.  And that broke your heart.

And if possible, these gosh darn kids were going to break you even more.

“Everybody, ready yourselves.  We don’t have much time.  I’ll dial us in for when we left.”

“But what’s gonna happen when we get there?  The danger we escaped, it’ll be waiting for us.  And Jim’s still hurt.”

You bit your lip as you and Douxie approached Jim and Claire. You really didn’t want to be the one who had to say this.  You didn’t want to be around when she heard the news.  Shit, you didn’t even want it to be news.  You just wanted your kids to be happy, and to not kill your boyfriend, and to live for once.  Maybe fate just didn’t like you.

“Claire, about that…  Jim is-”

“Ready to face the inevitable,” Jim held out a hand to stop you.

“Jim, are you sure?” Douxie asked while you maintained your silence.  You were pretty sure if you said anything you’d lose your composure. 

“Jim?”  Oh God, and now Claire was going to find out how screwed you still were.  This was gonna suck.

“Claire, the shard in-  There is no cure.  That’s what Merlin told me earlier.”

You winced at the horror on the young girl’s face.  She didn’t deserve this.  Neither of them did.

“That’s crazy!  We can find something!  I’ll learn a spell, we can stay here!”

“If we don’t all go back right now, the future won’t exist.  What kind of hero would I be if I sacrificed everyone else?  Not to be ironic, but we’re out of time.”

“No!  Douxie, (Y/N), tell him!  We can fix this!  You can fix this!”

You brought your hand up to hide your eyes from the sorceress.  She was right, you should have been able to fix this, and tears wouldn’t solve anything.  Your only solution was running away, and Jim-  oh God, Jim.  See, it was things like this that made you start drinking in the twenties.

“I’m sorry, Claire.  He’s right.  We must go back now, but when we do, we’ll find a way to reverse this,”  he stole a glance back at you, and your distraught state only drove him further.  He had to do this, to fix things when you got home.  He owed all of you that much, “I promised I would return you home, and I am, but the portal can only stay open for a few moments.  This is our one shot.  Trust me.”

A moment later, he joined you at the base of the ship before taking your hand and leading you onto it.

“We’ll fix this,” he promised, his voice low so only you could hear, “Together.  We’ll go home to the future, and we’ll fix this, and then-” your eyes met his as he paused, “And then, maybe, we could start our future.”

Despite the tears that threatened to fall, you smiled ever so slightly, “We’ll build a new one if we have to.”

It wasn’t until his lips met yours that you started crying.  It wasn’t his fault it was just- fuck you would miss this.  You smiled again as you pulled apart, though the tears hadn’t stopped.  It was for his sake, really.  Under normal circumstances, you might pretend that everything was fine, but for just one second, you wanted to believe it.

“I love you,”  your voice shook, and you hated it.

“I love you, too,”  his voice was strong, yet tired.  And you loved it.

You pushed a small smile onto your face, trying to cast the illusion that you were okay, and that everything was okay, and that no one would die when you returned.  Your attempts were quickly halted by a sting on your cheek.  That came from him, you realized, as you noticed a thin cut that ran across his cheekbone.  You ran your thumb over it, his skin patching together and healing under your hand.  At least you could still do that one thing.  Sure, you were a traitorous assassin, but by god could you heal a small cut.

Douxie smiled, his grin seeming more natural than yours.  He kissed you one last time before letting you go and taking the time map.  You watched him, not saying a word as he said something under his breath and activated the map and the heart.  A beam of light lit the night sky green, going on for a moment until it formed a portal.  You could almost see your time on the other side. That was it.  That was how you would get back to the future.  Yay.

It was weird.  You’d known Douxie for so long, and hated him for most of that time, but now?  Now you were dreading going back to your time, going back to general safety because it meant that he would die.  It was just odd to think that there was a time where you would have wished for this, for a chance to kill him and avoid the blame.  If you wished for anything now, it would be another way out.

You followed Douxie onto Merlin’s airship and walked past him, standing as far away as you could.  You didn’t know what would happen when you crossed that barrier.  You might try to murder him instantly, you might be able to control yourself, you might be able to fight off your curse entirely.  The point is, you didn’t know, and distance was the best solution.  So, you stood alone and stared off into the night as the ship moved off towards the portal until Steve’s ramblings returned your attention to your friends.

“Man, Camelot was crazy!  Why don’t they ever talk about that in the history books?”

Douxie gave the blond kid a pat on the shoulder, and you watched as Steve headed towards the front of the ship where Jim and Claire stood.  The girl was looking back towards you, but you couldn’t meet her eyes.  Her boyfriend was doomed, and there was nothing you could do about it.  And you would have done anything.  For those kids, you’d give your own life in a heartbeat, but that wasn’t an option.  Not now, not yet.  Douxie, however, met her eyes, though only for a moment.  You didn’t have to hear him to know what he was thinking.

“My burden to bear.”

And with those final words, the world turned green, and you were gone.

[baoshan-sanren]

Chapter 19

of the wwx emperor au that still doesn’t have a damn title

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 Part 1 | Chapter 8 Part 2 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 Part 1 | Chapter 15 Part 2 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18

XiChen not only readily accepts responsibility for WangJi’s meeting with the Emperor, but he has a list of reasons why he has done so, each one rooted in undeniable logic.

The Emperor seems to be fond of WangJi; in the view of the recent assassination attempt, this fondness could be beneficial. The Emperor has also revealed to WangJi (and by extension, to the Lan Sect), his competition plans, which implies a certain amount of trust. (Competition plans, XiChen says firmly, although uncle will go on to grumble about immature antics all the way to the Jade Sword Palace courtyard).

In addition, the Emperor believes WangJi to be a worthy opponent, and is specifically interested in crossing swords with him, out of all the young masters who are competing. This is a compliment, and should be taken as such.

Also, the Emperor might have been sitting on their roof, which is not exactly dignified behavior, but the alternative would have been rudely invading their living space at an unseemly hour. Something Nie HuaiSang had readily done, but the Emperor did not seem willing to do. Which, at the very least, implies some consideration, if not outright respect.

XiChen reminds uncle that the Emperor had done a proper investigation when XiChen was unjustly accused.

He reminds uncle that the Emperor has posted guards outside their residence to protect them.

He reminds uncle that Jiang YanLi had insisted on escorting WangJi to the Jade Sword Palace, and had spoken up against her future father-in-law in Lan Sect’s defense.

He reminds uncle that the Emperor is sending assistance to Gusu, which they desperately need.

XiChen talks until uncle is tired of hearing it, and stops offering rebuttals.

WangJi has never been more convinced that his brother will make an exceptional Sect Leader. He is also very much relieved to have that particular discussion concluded, or at the very least, shelved for later, by the time they arrive at the Jade Sword Palace.

Despite dozens of awnings set up all around the main platform, each one occupied by a clan or a sect, the courtyard somehow seems larger, the iron shields and dragon statues more intimidating. The Lan Sect’s designated place is so far from the platform that they are unlikely to see much of the actual competition. Still, their small, south-west corner is peaceful, attracting no attention.

WangJi cannot see the groups of disciples arriving from the West and East courtyards, and has no way of knowing if Wei WuXian is among them. But he hears the roar of approval coming from the Nie Sect, and has to assume that the majority of the top five winners must be wearing the Nie Sect uniforms.

The Emperor’s seat has been built at the top of the staircase leading to the Jade Sword Palace. Its canopy is made of layers upon layers of blue silk, hiding the person within. Once in a while, a vague shape can be seen. Twice, a pale hand extends through the folds of silk in order to issue some instructions. A row of Emperor’s personal guard is lined up behind the seat, and one level down, the High Councilor shares a table with his wife and daughter.

WangJi wonders if Jiang WanYin is competing as well. For the first time, he feels slightly disappointed that the Lan Sect is situated in such an inconvenient place. The Jiang Sect has a unique sword technique, one that WangJi would very much like to see.

There is another hour, at least, before the competition is to begin. In the meantime, tea and snacks are served. The Sect Leaders use that time to wander around, gossiping with their friends, and smiling with fake politeness at their enemies. The Lan Sect is a subject of many false smiles, but neither XiChen nor WangJi are bothered by it. Uncle just seems relieved that no one has had their tea poisoned this time around.

They do not expect to be approached by anyone, but when Nie MingJue does just that, WangJi is not surprised. He does not think that a single day has passed since they arrived, where Nie MingJue has not sought out his brother, or made it a point to speak to him. Although uncle has yet to address this, WangJi thinks it must be obvious to him as well.

Cornering the man and demanding to know his intentions is something that WangJi is actively trying not to do every moment of every day; XiChen would not thank him for interfering, and a wrong answer from Nie MingJue would probably end with an actual murder.  

The Nie Sect Leader bows, and addresses uncle, “Sect Leader, the Emperor is concerned that your location will prevent the Second Young Master from properly observing his opponents. He asks that the Lan Sect suffer a small inconvenience of moving to the Nie Sect table for the duration of the competition.”

WangJi is certain that the Emperor has made no such request. Wei WuXian should be somewhere among the other Nie Sect disciples, trying not to reveal his identity. The idea that this consideration comes from Nie HuaiSang sours his stomach, despite the fact that only moments ago, he had been wishing for a better view of the platform.

Uncle glances at XiChen, then at WangJi. He is wearing the long-suffering expression of a man who has lost control of the situation, and can find no way to gain it back. He cannot refuse a request from the Emperor, and he cannot find a fault with being seated at the Nie Sect table.

The Nie Sect is directly below the Jiang Sect in placement. The gesture is a blatant sign of favor. But more importantly, if there are to be any other underhanded attempts on WangJi’s life today, the Nie Sect table may be the safest place in the courtyard.

In a cool tone of voice, uncle asks Nie MingJue to relay their gratitude to the Emperor.  

The space reserved for the Nie Sect is comically large compared to the number of people seated behind the long table. Nie MingJue introduces his sister, an uncle, and two of the Sect Elders. Even with the Lan Sect present, the table could easily hold another dozen people.

They have only just settled down, when Nie MingJue turns to XiChen, “Young Master Lan, if you are willing, I had hoped we may have our match before the competition officially begins.”

Although XiChen nods and immediately gets to his feet, WangJi can easily tell the state of his nerves from the way he clutches his sword.

The platform is large, set slightly above the courtyard cobblestones. Even half of a step past its edge is considered a forfeit.

WangJi’s own nerves are just as tightly strung as XiChen’s. Neither one of them had ever faced an opponent with a different sword technique than that of the Lan Sect. Uncle had always seemed pleased with their progress, but this is the first true test of their ability.

“There is no reason to worry, Second Young Master,” Lady Nie says, leaning closer so her words would not carry, “I believe A-Jue means to go easy on your brother.”

Lady Nie bears little resemblance to Nie MingJue, but a great deal of resemblance to Nie HuaiSang, despite being nearly twice the boy’s age. There is nothing about her manners that would cause WangJi to dislike her. And yet, that resemblance is difficult to ignore.

“I hope he does no such thing,” WangJi says, “unless his intention is to lose quickly.”

True to his words, the moment their bows are complete, XiChen moves like lightening.

In a single breath, he has forced Nie MingJue into an offensive. In three breaths, he has pushed the man to the very edge of the platform. He backs away then, allowing Nie MingJue some space to regain his composure, and to rethink his strategy.

XiChen may hold Nie MingJue in high esteem, but there is more at stake today than only XiChen’s reputation. No matter his feelings, WangJi knows that his brother will not lose by choice.

When they fly at each other again, blades clashing, it is clear that Nie MingJue has decided not to hold back. Still, WangJi can see from his technique that the Nie Sect values strength over agility. His brother is not weak by any means, but he cannot take many direct hits, and still keep his leverage. Instead, XiChen shifts fluidly, invading Nie MingJue’s space, allowing him no room to use the saber to his full advantage. In an actual fight, this is a dangerous method to employ; after all, the greatest benefit of the sword is its reach. WangJi and XiChen have been taught that this strategy is only to be used when they are certain that their opponent is physically stronger.

The blades scrape along each other more than once. Their robes are now a swirl of green and white, and it is difficult to tell where one ends and the other begins. XiChen is light on his feet, never pushing straight on, but always shifting just enough so MingJue must meet him with speed instead of force. Still, he is pushing, and gaining ground. He does not allow enough distance for the tip of his sword to be of any use; had they been using short blades, WangJi is convinced that MingJue would have already found one sticking out of his flesh. As it is, MingJue can do little else but use his saber as a shield. Each time he tries to step back to give himself room, XiChen steps in closer, the edge of his blade always a hairsbreadth away from MingJue’s ribs, his thigh, the unprotected flesh under his arm.

It is beautiful to watch, WangJi thinks. MingJue is taller and wider, the stiff shoulders of the Nie Sect robes only contributing to his towering presence. In contrast, XiChen had chosen the simplest set of white robes he possesses, mindful of the fact that they may be ruined by blood today. His brother is not small, and he is not short, but next to Nie MingJue, he looks to be both. And yet, he is clearly winning, moving with quickness and fury that MingJue cannot match.

WangJi knows XiChen cannot keep this up for long, and XiChen knows it as well. The moment he has managed to push MingJue close to the edge of the platform, he shifts the grip on his sword. ShuoYue swings in an arc, away from MingJue, the flat of the blade horizontal with XiChen’s arm. The move takes MingJue by surprise; WangJi hears uncle grunt in approval. The hilt of XiChen’s blade slams into MingJue’s unprotected side, throwing him off balance. Sliding deftly under the saber, XiChen delivers a quick kick to the back of MingJue’s knee, an elbow to his ribs, and a second thrust to his chin. The chin strike can easily shatter the jaw, but WangJi can tell that XiChen uses very little force, just enough to knock Nie MingJue down to the ground.

To WangJi’s surprise, Lady Nie is the first to stand up and cheer. The Jiang Sect follows her example, and once they do, most of the smaller sects join in as well. XiChen looks flushed and disheveled, but he is smiling brightly, tentatively offering his hand to help Nie MingJue back to his feet. Nie MingJue accepts, looking far too cheerful for someone who had lost a match, and got an elbow to his face in the process.  

The joy on XiChen’s face is so genuine, so unrestrained, that WangJi’s chest tightens painfully in response. How often has he seen his brother look this happy? How many of these moments is XiChen likely to have in his lifetime?

The future leader of the Lan Sect winning against the General of the Emperor’s army will probably be talked about for years. And yet, WangJi does not think that this will stop the next innkeeper from spitting at XiChen’s feet.

[enkisstories]

Winter!Felix, !SummerSylvain, Halloween!Grima and Denning get summoned to Askr.

This was supposed to be a joke about the costumes, but then they just kept walking and talking and this happened:

 Felix: “What weapons do we have?”

Sylvain: “I have two cocktails…”

Felix (sarcastic): “Wow, that’s sure threatening.”

Sylvain: “…and my sunny disposition.”

Felix (serious): “That actually is threatening. And I have this bow. But although I got the bowknight certification, it is far from my favorite weapon.”

Denning: “I can use a bow to great effect.”

Felix: “Are you an archer?”

Denning: “A messenger. Whose preferred weapon is the bow.”

Felix: “Alright, then, here you go. My weapon is the sword, for your information. Sylvain is a lance cavalier and believe it or not, he also wields magic. But the moment a battle ends, the dude turns off his brain.”

Denning: “That’s a good setup for a three person squad. I can work with it.”

Sylvain: “Are you a tactician?”

Denning: “That would be said too much. I did command my Lord’s troops before, though.”

Felix: “Good! I like how level-headed you are about this fact. Things do not seem to look as grim as they appeared to at first glance.”

Sylvain: “Aw, I bet that makes you sad!” *laughs*

Felix: *merest hint of a smile*

(they walk a short distance, when suddenly a girl in a wolf ears cap stands before them)

Grima: “I’m the wings of despair, the breath of ruin, I’m the Fell Dragon, Grima! Prepare to get devoured!”

Felix: “You know, this is exactly the tone that confirms the prejudices people like Edelgard harbour against dragonkind.”

Sylvain: “Geeze, Felix, can’t you tell she’s flirting?”

Denning: “Well, where I come from, dragons were looking different. More lizard than canine.”

Sylvain: “She’s in her human form and wearing a costume, is all. And may I say that this costume suits you incredibly well, Lady Grima?”

Grima: “Fools! This isn’t how I look at all! I’m only using this body… after some inconvenience that happened to my old one.”

Denning (wistfully): “I see.”

Sylvain: “May I say that this body suits you incredibly well, Lady Grima?”

Felix & Grima both: “Stop it!”

Denning: “In any case, let me deliver greetings from my master, Lord Nergal. He and you might find that you’ve got something in common. If you’re interested to learn more, come visit us at Dread Isle. …only I do not know the way there at the moment.”

Grima: “You… what are you?”

Denning (proudly): “I’m your polar opposite, Lady Grima. As you are using someone else’s body, I use other people’s souls.”

Sylvain and Felix: “Say again?!”

Denning: “It’s a bit more complicated.”

Sylvain: “You aren’t an Agarthean, are you?! – Remind me again why you gave the Slitherer our only weapon, Felix?!”

Denning: “Maybe I am. I don’t know. I was created from the quintessence of fallen warriors. Wasn’t introduced to their remains, sorry.”

Sylvain: “That’s… about the opposite of what the Agartheans do.”

Denning: “You mean these foes of yours use the bones of fallen warriors to create Morphs?”

Sylvain: “The bones they use, but to create weapons.”

Denning: “Oh, that’s actually pretty clever! The quintessence for Morphs and the bones for weapons. Let nothing go to waste.”

Grima: “Shut up you freaks! All of you! And now come. We’ll need to get the bearings of this new land.”

(keeps close to Denning)

Denning: “I’m glad you are keeping close to me, Lady Grima. Does that mean you are considering Lord Nergal’s invitation?”

Grima: “Not your business, mortal… But, say, you were created for a specific purpose, yes?”

Denning: “Correct. I’m also equipped with the means to fulfill this purpose. And with Felix’ bow.”

Grima: “A purpose, huh? Did it ever occur to your creator to create life just for the sake of it? To see what would happen?”

Denning: “Did you create life in this fashion, Lady Grima?”

Grima: “Life was created. And you know what it did, what was the first thing the fucking stupid creature did? Smiled at their creator!”

Denning: “It smiled at you? Aw, that’s adorable!”

Grima: “Yeah… totes adorable…” *spits*

Denning: “Is something…”

Grima: “I don’t want to talk to you worms anymore!”

Denning: “As you wish.” *falls back*

Sylvain: “What are you doing, Denning? The Lady told you she didn’t want to talk anymore, that means she’s about to dump her backstory onto you and then… you know. Herself.”

Denning: “She said she did NOT want to talk.”

Sylvain: “Exactly! That’s how you know a girl is ready to talk some more! You’re almost there!”

Denning: “Go talk to Felix, then. His whole posture says Don’t Talk to me on pain of death. Going by your logic, he must be madly in love with you!”

Sylvain: “Oh, he is! As I am with him!”

Denning: “Look, Sylvain, Felix, and Lady Grima, too. I’m made up of maybe a dozen human life sparks. And it’s still not enough to make sense of you three.”

Grima: “Ruuuuude…”

Denning: “I’m a messenger. I don’t care about its contents, I just deliver the message. Without fail, too.”

Felix: *chuckles*

Sylvain: “Oh, isn’t someone full of himself…”

Denning: “And I don’t normally… speak. I deliver messages and kill whatever is in the way.”

Grima: “Same here. Uh, I meant shame on you, worm! Not “same”. You and I have nothing in common!”

(eventually they set up camp)

Felix: “We’ve got my coat and two cocktails to keep warm...”

Sylvain: “Way ahead of you! I picked four straws while we were walking. So me and you can share a cocktail and Denning and Lady the other.”

Grima: “Pfft. I don’t drink. I’m probably drunk on power, but that’s just natural for a higher lifeform in the presence of vermin.”

Sylvain: “Okay, then. You, Denning?”

Denning: “I don’t know if I drink. But then again, I didn’t know I had to eat, either. It’s my second ever emotion: being hungry. I was held captive at Ositia after a battle… I whimpered… and a handsome spy* came looking what was going on in the dungeon. And then, bamm, a silver light engulfed him, and someone said “Ah, another Poison Strike”, and then the silver light came back for me and then I arrived here.”

Grima: “What was the first emotion?”

Denning: “Dedication. I existed to serve my creator and doing that filled me.”

Felix: “Oh, no! Not another of those shitheads! Nergal’s hound, are you?!”

Denning: “Pigeon, more like it. You don’t wanna meet his hounds. They’ve got… fangs.” *chuckles*

Grima (acidic): “Aw, cutesy little pigeon… don’t grow too fast, lest your Nergal will kill you.”

Denning: “Is that what you did with the life you created? How wasteful! We at Dread Isle…”

Sylvain: “We know what you are doing with the dead at Dread Isle, Denning! You’ve told us once, I don’t need to hear it a second time!”

Grima: “Are you sure Nergal shares your view of his resourcefulness? He wouldn’t just destroy his creations when they grew too strong?”

Denning: “I’ve only ever seen him send his creations into their deaths when it served him. Never willfully.”

Grima: “I may meet up with him some day, after all.” *yawns* “Nightie-night, pigeon. Have nightmares, I mean.”

Sylvain: “What about Felix and me? Don’t you care for us at all?!”

Grima (sarcastic): “I care so much about you, I wanna have your baby, Sylvain!”

Sylvain: “Oh. Ah, okay. Like all the others.” *disappointedly leans into Felix*

*everyone falls asleep*

*…Chances are as the youngest morph Denning has quintessence of Leila in him. That would prompt him to view Matthew with her eyes at least partially.

Continued here: https://enkisstories.tumblr.com/post/646751317794144257/forging-bonds-bows

[dragonjadearts]

Ransom note for bthb? 👀

Ransom Note

Author’s Note: Holy cow this took longer than it should have because I kept putting it off. Anyways, here’s this. Also, this was going to be a lot longer, but I cut it off because it already took me so long and I have even more prompts to do so sorry if it ends weirdly, I’m terrible at ending things

Words: 2k

Characters: Last Dragonborn, Serana, Shadowmere, Llewellyn the Nightingale

Fandom: Elder Scrolls V (Skyrim)

Content/Trigger Warnings: Canon-Typical violence, kidnapping, kidnapping of children

Read it on A03!

Summary: After a long extended quest away from home, Teris is eager to get some much-needed rest at her manor in Falkreath, enjoying the forest and the company of her family. But what she finds when she returns home is anything but peaceful.

There was a warm wind off of Lake Illinalta, carrying with it the scent of salt and salmon. It was early in the spring morning and the sun cast long shadows on the cobblestone roads. Hoofbeats echoed in the morning light, as two riders strode by. They were silent, not out of discomfort but exhaustion. They had been traveling throughout the night and were eager to return home and rest.

Serana sighed, stretching her back. The old vampire had her hood drawn over her head and she squinted in the growing sunlight. Luckily she knew these roads well. She had walked them more times than she could count.

Teris looked out over the forest. She was happy to be back amongst the tall pine trees. Of all the properties she owned, this one reminded her most of home. There were no pine trees in Valenwood, but the scent of soil and cracking of branches was one she knew all to well. After her long journey in the North-western holds, she was happy to return to the forests.

Her mount, the red-eyed demon Shadowmere, snorted as he walked. He too was pleased to be back, happy to be amongst the trees he knew so well. The pond he had called his home for many years now was not far, and the Sanctuary — though now tainted with death and the scent of ash — was also close.

As the small group turned from the main road and made their way up across the unpaved paths, the manor began to slowly appear through the trees. The tall library tower was the first thing to notice. The second thing to notice was the lack of carriage out front. His absence was noted, but not concerning, he was likely escorting someone away or even on his way back by this point.

As Teris and her companion approached the entrance, her long elven ears twitched slightly, noting the lack of noise. It was deadly quiet, unusual for the house. A wave of unease washed over her. She called Shadowmere to a stop and gracefully leaped off his back. There was no sign of her children, who often played around the sides of the house. Her wife and housecarls were also nowhere to be seen and there was no sound of them nearby either.

Serana dismounted as well, just behind Teris. She seemed wary, and though tired, she readied herself. She too took note of the lack of life to the normally boisterous house. “I’ll check down by the lake,” she said, addressing her friend. Teris nodded absently, staring up at the house, a mix of emotions in her eyes. “They’re probably just enjoying the weather,” Serana said, in lackluster attempt at comfort. When that too failed to garner much of a response, she sighed to herself and began to make her way down the hill, to do as she had said.

Teris stood still for a moment longer, swaying on her feet, before she shook herself from her stupor and forced her feet to take steps towards the entrance. With bated breath, she put her hand on the wooden door. She exhaled and pushed it open slowly, not daring to look until it had fully opened to reveal her home.

As she opened her eyes, a wave of fury and fear washed over the Bosmer. She drew her weapon, the purple enchantment casting ominous shadows on the ruined furniture. Her weapon racks and trophies were scattered across the floor, the weapons themselves now gone. There were scratches on the walls and ash marks burned deep into the floorboards.

She stalked slowly through the entrance, pushing open the doors to the main hall without a noise. The state of that room was no better off than that of the entry hall. The long table in the center lay on its side, dishes broken and scattered on the ground. The fireplace at the end of the hall was unlit, and coals and ashes were swept to the side, staining the fine wood an ugly black and grey. On her left, one of the doors to the Greenhouse lay broken off its hinges at an odd angle, only propped up by the still closed door that accompanied it.

Teris slowly took another step forward, careful not to step on the particularly creaky floorboards. There wasn’t much light in here, only the purple glow of her sword, and the green light and shadows cast from the enchanter’s table upstairs. All the wall scones were unlit and dead.

She noticed, however, that the doors to the library were firmly shut, and if she concentrated and closed her eyes, her elven ears could pick up the faint sounds of shuffling from within. She ground her sharpened teeth together, sheathing her sword silently.

She quietly crept to the doors and scanned them for a moment. She turned to the side and with a quick jolt, rammed her shoulder into the doors. They didn’t budge but she was rewarded with the sound of a sharp intake of breath coming from within and the scraping of metal, presumably from whoever was inside picking up their weapon off the floorboards. She smiled a wolfish grin and took a few paces back. Readying herself, she rammed again into the doors. They shook and she could hear something heavy on the other side shift out of the way. Once more she threw herself at the doors, this time stopping just short as they crashed inwards.

To no surprise, not a moment later, a figure leaped out, crashing into her and wielding a sharp weapon. Teris dropped to the ground, throwing the attacker over her shoulder. She quickly withdrew the dagger from her boot and spun around on one heel to kick her attacker in the side. She lunged forward, slamming her knee into his chest and holding her knife to his throat. After a moment, she paused, recognizing the face staring back at her.

“Llewellyn?”

“Oh praise be! Lady Teris! You’ve finally come back!” The bard cried in breathless relief.

Teris stood up quickly, removing her knee from the bard’s chest and extending her left hand out to help him up, an offer he took gratefully.

“What happened here?” She asked.

“Bandits!” Llewellyn exclaimed. He reached up to clutch at his left arm which was soaked through with red. “Nasty pests, they ruined this entire home! I’m so sorry my lady, I tried to fight, I really did, but I’m no warrior!”

“It’s alright,” Teris soothed, a pang of sympathy echoing in her voice. “Calm down. Where is everyone? Are they alright?”

The bard sighed, shaking his head in shame. “No, I’m afraid not. Just over a week ago, Lady Aela had left for Whiterun. Her brothers in arms said they had some sort of quest for her. She took Gunjar with her and left Lydia and Rayya here to protect the home.

But they left just a few days ago to receive some supplies from Falkreath and didn’t return. Not a full day had passed when a group of bandits arrived. I swear on my honor I tried to defend the children, but there were many of them, and I’m a poor coward. They left with the two young ones.” Llewellyn ended his tale with a regretful tone.

Teris was shaking with rage. She ground her teeth together and clenched her hands into tight fists. Taking a deep breath, she let the air hiss out of her teeth, like a snake warning off a predator. “Did they leave a note?” She forced out, still shaking with rage.

Llewellyn shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot but nodded hesitantly. “Upstairs, I believe,” he said. “In the bedroom on-“

Teris didn’t let him finish. She spun around on her heel and marched up the stairs to the bedroom. The upstairs was in a marginally better state than downstairs, but only because the space there was more confined. In fact many pieces of furniture that weren’t laying on their side were laying on the first floor, having evidently been thrown off the staircase and down into the main hall. The bed of the master bedroom was messy, as if it had been hastily made up and the unmade again, and a lockbox full of keys lay open on its side, spilling said keys out onto the floor. A note lay on the end table, blood stained.

Teris snatched up the letter, pulling it open. She read quickly, every word only serving to anger her further. The letter read:

“To whom it may concern:

You certainly have a lovely home and such lovely children. I have never had children for myself, but these ones should do nicely. I think they’ll rather enjoy staying with me for a while longer. Of course if you don’t want that, I believe we can work out a deal.

I want 4000 septims for the safe return of your children. You have one week.

I eagerly await your coin at Arcwind Point.

Yours truly,

Rochelle the Red”

Teris tore the letter in half and threw it to the ground, letting out a scream of anger. Dragon tongue echoed in her throat, begging to be released. She shouted, pulling out her sword and swinging it down in a glowing purple attack that did nothing to help her release her fury. She screamed again, primal fury echoing in her voice and out across the mountains. In the far distance, deer lifted their heads and ran for hills. Birds let out one final cry and turned away. In Falkreath, citizens felt a shiver run down their back as something ancient and angry rippled through time and space. All the way to Whiterun, a wave of uneasy emotions swept over every hunter, sell-sword, and citizen.

Teris fell silent, panting and clutching her sword in her hands. Her ears twitched as the sound of familiar boots climbing the stairs reached her. Serana was silent, waiting for Teris to make the first move.

The Dragonborn growled. She straightened up, closing her eyes for a moment. As she sheathed her sword once more, she felt a wave of calm rush over her. She opened her eyes and turned to Serana. The ancient vampire met her gaze. She recognized the calm cold fury shining in her friend’s eyes. She nodded.

Teris took one last glance around the destroyed upstairs before her eyes settled on Serana again. “Llewellyn is injured,” she began. “Clean his wounds. Then take him to Falkreath and look for those damn housecarls. I’ll meet you in Whiterun once I get the girls.

Serana nodded. “I’ll send word to Aela once we reach Falkreath, let her know what’s going on.”

Teris bowed her head and the vampire stepped aside, letting her friend down the stairs. Llewellyn looked up as she came down, sitting on the turned over side of the table, still clutching his wounded arm. He look exceedingly nervous, even more so as Teris turned her gaze to him and he noted the rage and fury that was shining through it. She felt a twinge of regret and having scared the bard so much with her anger, but she had bigger things to deal with. She picked her way through the scattered home and shoved open the doors to stand, blinking in the sunlight.

The woods were silent now, as if holding their breath in fear and anticipation. The sounds of wildlife that had accompanied Teris on her journey to the house were now silent. Those that hadn’t fled her voice were deathly quiet, as if fearing to make a noise lest they be on the receiving end of her fury.

The only sign of life was Shadowmere, standing proudly where Teris had dismounted him. He locked eyes with her to the side and she swore that if horses could smile, he would be smirking. There was an understanding. She marched to his side and climbed aboard his saddle. There was no hesitation in either of their movements as the hunter spurred the enormous red-eyed demon into movement and they galloped down the hill and onto the main road. They had prey to catch.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Beside The Dying Fire (part four)

[DnD AU with the tour!verse]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Word count: 3397

-------------------------------

The sloshing of mud was REALLY starting to get on Katherine’s nerves.

After sleeping through most of the day, Katherine and her companions were on the move. But because of the heavy rainfall the roads had been reduced to an ankle-deep mass of mud and slime. The wetness wormed its way into Katherine’s fur shoes, completely ruining them, and she guessed it wasn’t much better for Joan, who couldn’t even wear shoes. Her hooves and the white skin around her feet were a dark brown color, and Katherine wondered if it would be stained that way forever.

The tragedy was still weighing heavily in all of their minds, especially Katherine’s. Everything kept replaying in her mind- the fire, the violence, the screaming, Anne’s death… Anne may have been silly and loud, but she was still her cousin. They grew up together. And now she was gone.

  “Kat?”

There was a gentle touch on her shoulder; Katherine turned her head to see Catalina, looking worried. She quickly wiped her eyes with her knuckles.

  “Yeah?” Katherine said in her best not-upset voice.

  “Are you alright?” Catalina asked.

  “Yeah,” Katherine said again, this time slightly weaker.

Catalina frowned and took her hand. “It’s going to be okay.”

Katherine sniffled lightly and nodded.

But nothing felt okay. Not anymore. Her home was burnt to the ground, so many of her friends and family and neighbors were dead, she didn’t even know what happened to her father… And now she was on a mission to stop a war that she didn’t even know how it started.

For nearly the entire day, they walked on in solitude, Katherine and Catalina hand-in-hand, the sounds of the forest and the occasional flitting birds their only other companion. Therefore, it was almost a surprise when they all heard the clip-clop of iron-shod hooves, and the rattle of wheels rising from the road ahead.

Soon, the source of the sound comes into view, a handful of riders leading four heavy, covered, ox-pulled wagons: a merchant caravan.

Katherine got a better look as the distance between her group and the caravan slowly closed. The outriders were clearly ready for danger, clad in vests of boiled leather, swords and maces belted to their hips. A few others sit in the wagons, children mostly wearing sturdy, well-made traveling garb.

At the head of the caravan were a man and a woman, both rippling with tension. Katherine sized them up as they approached, but none of them bore the wolf marking of Henry’s troops. The woman was a hard-faced and dangerous-looking centaur, armed and armored in the same fashion as the outriders, with a wide-brimmed kettle helm on her head and the equine body of a muscular shire. The man, on the other hand, was a rather short air genasi with pastel blue skin and halo of crystals growing from his head.          

  “Hail, friend!” The genasi shouted, earning a disapproving look from his centaur companion.

Katherine dared to wave back. “Hail to you as well!” She responded. The caravan guards seemed to relax visibly as she did so.

  “Well met, girl!” The genasi replied as he halted his caravan before the trio. “We haven't seen a lot of travelers on the roads these last few days. What with the war and all.”

The centaur woman beside the caravan master kept her distance. As far as Katherine could tell, she was entirely preoccupied with scanning the road ahead for threats. Judging by her expression, she seemed less than amused by the momentary stop.

The caravan master extended his hand to Katherine. "I am Gale of Edinburg, this is my caravan, and the centaur next to me is my associate, Gaddison. You must excuse her; she thinks threats are everywhere.”

  “They are everywhere,” The centaur replied bitterly, stamping one of her back hooves. She glanced at Katherine’s group and her furry ears pricked up in surprise when she saw Catalina. “You’re pregnant.”

Catalina groaned. “God, is that my entire personality trait now?” Katherine rubbed her shoulder comfortingly, and Catalina crossed her arms and huffed in annoyance.

  “I don’t mean to offend you,” Gaddison said. “I’m just impressed to see that you’re out in these conditions, that’s all. War rages everywhere.”

Catalina ruffled the feathers on her head. “I can take care of myself. I’m very strong.”

  “She is,” Katherine nodded. 

  “Well, that’s good,” Gaddison said. Her eyes slid over to Joan, but she didn’t say anything.

  “By any chance, do you know what has caused the war?” Katherine asked the caravan master.

Gale blinked a few times. “I do not.” He said. “I don’t think anyone does.” He swung his head to the rest of the caravan, but they all either shrugged or shook their heads.

  “I see.” Katherine said.

She and the two caravan masters chat for a little while longer before the wagons take off again in a grinding of wheels, stomping of hooves, and squelching of mud. It wasn’t long before the caravan was just clouds of dust in the distance. Katherine and her companions began their trek once again.

Hours passed. The sun began to set and the last of summer’s humidity weighed thickly in the air. It would be autumn soon, which meant cooler temperatures, but more wind, rain, and snow. Katherine wasn't sure which was worse.

That being said, the sight of a large building up ahead, with brightly lit windows and smoke coming out of its chimneys, and a surrounding village was welcome indeed.

The smell of farm animals and manure floated on the wind, getting stronger and stronger as the trio got near. Bleats and snorts and clucks whisked around the village as they entered. Some people glanced over, mainly at Joan or specifically Catalina’s stomach, but didn’t stop them.

They soon came to a two-story hall accompanied by a row of stables and surrounded by a waist-high stone fence. Sounds of music and laughter spilled out of the open windows, and a bright watchfire burned at the fence's gate, next to a crudely-painted wooden sign of a sleeping creature, hung from an iron post set into the gatepost.

  “The Sleeping Dragon Inn,” The sign said to them in bright red letters visible by the light of the watchfire. Katherine and her companions made their way past the fence, through the courtyard, and into the main hall.

The high-ceilinged common room of the Sleeping Dragon In was bright and filled with the stink of spilled ale, roasting meat, and burning wood--all the aromas of civilization. Maybe half the benches in the big room were empty; the rest were filled with merchants, caravan guards, and other travelers, each busy with their own amusements, whether that be food, drink, dice, or song. A few glance over and whisper something to each other, but don’t speak up directly.

Katherine walked up to the bar. Behind it stood the stout, scruffy dwarf innkeeper, idly polishing a bottle of some dark fluid she had never seen before. She asked him for a bed for the night for her and her companions.

In response, the innkeeper rattled off a long list of options and their associated costs, from the expensive and luxurious to the downright squalid but cheap. Katherine ended up purchasing a comfortable private room and plain dinner for fifteen gold.

Katherine and her companions sat down at a booth as they were served a supper of thick brown bread and a bowl of stewed game birds seasoned with a tiny dash of valuable black pepper. Katherine was given a tankard of freshly-brewed ale, while Catalina and Joan were given a simple glass of water.

  “Do you think they’d let me have some ale?” Catalina asked Katherine, not at all joking.

  “Absolutely not.” Katherine said instantly.

Catalina wrinkled her nose. “Come on! Just one drink!”

  “No.” Katherine said again, and Catalina huffed in response.

Katherine looked over at Joan, and saw that she was looking all around the inn. She appeared to be searching for something, but stopped when she noticed that Katherine was watching her. She slumped down in the booth and nibbled on her bread.

After they ate, they were shown their room on the second floor, which was, admittedly, a little cramped, but it had four walls, a roof, two cots with a straw mattress, and a bed, which was all they really wanted. 

  “We’ll go to the market in the morning,” Katherine said. She and Joan had taken the cots, while Catalina got the bed. “We may need to purchase some things before we get moving.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Catalina said, and Katherine heard the sheets she was laying on crinkle when she shrugged.

  “Alright, let’s all get some rest,” Katherine said. “Goodnight.” She closed her eyes and dreamt of fire for the rest of the night.

------

Colorful flags of different trading companies fluttered in a strong wind above the market square, which was bustling with activity that morning. Though Holm was fundamentally a small town, a fair number of traders bearing mundane goods such as grains, dyes, and cloth were stopped in the square, as did monster hunters and treasure hunters offering hard-to-appraise finds from nearby ruins. The merchants mostly traded from impermanent tents open at one side, but some wander through the crowd and act as their own auctioneers: “Who will give me fifty, fifty for a silver ring from the time of the ancients? Fiftyfiftyfifty thank you fifty-five-fifty-five-fifty-five I have fifty-five…” The air was sweet with the smells of cinnamon and curry spices from the south, and stinky cheese from the north.

Currently, Katherine was in a tent that sold clothing, and was squinting at a big, jaunty lime green hat with a huge feather. By her side, Catalina ran her hands over a golden robe while the shopkeeper eyed her suspiciously, probably wondering how she would fit in the cowl. When Catalina noticed this and the glances her belly was getting, she scowled and stomped over to Katherine.

  “I hate it here,” The Aasimar grumbled.

Katherine reached up a hand to massage her friend’s shoulder comfortingly. “I’m sorry, honey,” She said. “I have enough to buy some fresh clothes for all of us. Would you like some?”

Their clothing seemed to finally be fully dried from the perpetual wet of the rain and river, but still bore the stink of smoke and burned flesh. Several people seemed to notice this by the way their noses wrinkled when they would pass by too close by.

  “No, it’s okay,” Catalina said, tugging on her black nun’s robes. Her pregnancy was easily seen through them, earning a lot of incredulous and judgemental stares.

  “Are you sure?” Katherine asked. “I don’t mind, really.”

Catalina shook her head. “I’m good.”

  “Hm.” Katherine said. “Alright.”

Just as they’re about to walk out of the shop, they hear a halfling woman cry, “Thief!!!”

Katherine spun around to see someone in a drab brown cowl brazenly running off with a basket of red apples, leaving a large gap in the offerings of a halfling’s fruit cart. They easily bobbed and weaved around all the townsfolk who try to get in their way. The halfling uselessly shouted, “Thief! Thiieeef!” until she started to lose her voice.

The thief was about to get away when a huge mountain of an orc stepped in their path and they fell backwards. The hood came off, and Katherine hissed underneath her breath.

  “Oh, shit,” Catalina said helpfully at her side. “That thief belongs to us!”

Townsfolk rushed to pick up the fallen apples--the “count of five” rule seemed to be an old tradition for judging the edibility of fallen food in Holm. Then they return the fruit to the halfling, because honesty must also have been a tradition in the town.

Two of the town guards show up, but Katherine and Catalina have to step in before they can strong-arm the thieving albino Tiefling away.

  “I am so sorry about her,” Katherine said. “We should have kept a better eye on her.”

One of the guards looked Katherine up and down. “This rat belongs to you two?”

  “Yes,” Katherine said. “I am so sorry. It won’t happen again.”

Thankfully, the guards took mercy on them and left them with just a warning. Katherine breathed a sigh of relief when they were gone, then gave Joan a stern glare.

  “What were you thinking, young lady? Stealing?” She said.

  “Sorry,” Joan whispered, her ears drooping. “I-I just thought that we would need some food… Especially Catalina.”

  “Rude.” Catalina said. “But fair.”

Katherine sighed again, then knelt down in front of Joan, since the little Tiefling was so short. “Then I can buy some. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

Joan nodded, avoiding eye contact. Katherine ruffled her hair, then stood up straight. A few people were muttering and glaring at Joan, but the whole matter of the thief was quickly forgotten when a man down the street shouted, “Death cloud!”

Katherine blinked, looking around. To the east, she could see a dark purple-and-black cloud on the horizon. The cloud looked big, maybe as big as the town. And judging, by the sudden pandemonium broken out through the market, its appearance was not a good thing.

Immediately, the merchants broke down their tents, and many market patrons hurried into their houses and basements. Shutters snapped shut all down the street. The animal sellers hastily bargained with landowners, then pushed their sheep through storm doors into basements. A baby cried madly despite her mother’s tense reassurances. Some people uprooted flowers as they passed them; they’ll be no good to anybody else soon enough.

  “What’s going on?” Catalina shouted over the panic. But the only answer she got was more screaming and yelling.

Joan yelped loudly as someone stomped on her tail. Katherine was shoved into Catalina, and then promptly got her foot trod on. They were all going to be trampled if they didn’t get away soon. 

  “Oi!” A voice suddenly called out. “Get in here!”

The three of them whirled around to see a man waving from out of his front door. They hurried over and inside the safety of his home.

The house was filled to the brim with artifacts and art. Various geared axles from larger defunct automated artifacts, and some compelling-looking sleek metal cylinders etched with symbols that look very powerful gleamed in the light cast from conjured glass orbs all throughout the rooms. A whole alchemy set, composed of vials, beakers, and burners that laid out across a mahogany desk; a sculpted dragon egg, which was swaddled in some sweaters; a torc of life and death from an old laboratory; some rather fancy clothing on mannequins; an assortment of spare automation parts; and, of course, a shined bookshelf packed full of hefty tomes of magic- all of these things decorated that household that pulsed with magical energy.

Their savior was a young wood elf man, swathed in forest green robes with sparkling gold hems. He had bronze skin that was speckled with blue and pink paint, dark coppery hair, and deep, rich brown eyes. An amber sparrow earring dangled from one of his pointy ears, and he was wielding a hand-carved paintbrush. He hurried around the house, slamming shutters and curtains, but then turned to them with a warm smile after he finished.

  “That was close,” He said. “You three must be travelers. Mostly everyone in the area knows about the storms.”

  “What was that?” Catalina asked.

  “Death Cloud,” The elf said. “It’s been going on for a few years, now. King Henry conjured it over our village after we refused to fight in the war with him. Better than being raided and killed or kidnapped, I suppose.”

Katherine winced internally. So other villages were being terrorized by Henry, too. She wondered what would have happened if Ghent had gotten a Death Cloud instead of being raided.

Would Anne still be alive?

  “Anyway, I’m Hans Holbein,” The elf said with an elegant bow. “Who are all of you?”

  “Katherine Howard,” Katherine said. “These are Catalina and Joan.”

Hans swept his eyes over the three of them, focusing on Joan. “Stars above,” He murmured. “An albino Tiefling! Wow, I’ve never seen one before! I didn’t even know they existed!”

Joan shuffled her hooves, glancing up at Katherine with an anxious expression. Katherine patted her head comfortingly.

  “Hokka, banos,” Came a deep, rumbling voice.

Katherine’s eyes widened as a large stone golem came lumbering out of one of the other rooms. Its rocky grey body was covered in clumps of moss and streaked in green engravings. Its eyes were glowing bright green as it stared down at the trio.

  “Hokka, slogeils,” It said.

  “Woah,” Catalina said.

  “Oh, right!” Hans presented the golem with a grand gesture of his arms. “This is Rocky, my two ton enchanted stone golem!”

  “You must have been feeling very creative when naming it,” Joan said.

Katherine felt a jolt, but Hans laughed loudly, clearly not offended.

  “You are absolutely right, little one,” Hans said. 

Outside, the storm began to pick up. Katherine heard the wind buffeting the house and heavy rain pelt down on the roof. There was also the sizzling of something. Hans ran over to a ladder leading up to a loft and peered through a periscope. He whistled.

  “It’s real bad out there,” He said, then looked over at the trio. “Wanna see?”

One-by-one, they each took a look through the periscope.

Katherine watched as the black-and-purple cloud engulfed the entire town, building by building. At the cloud’s touch, flowers withered, trees dropped their leaves, and wooden shutters blackened as though charred. Black raindrops fell against tree trunks and melted the bark in grooves.

Finally, the cloud came for Hans’ building, blocking her view of anything but its own darkness. She quickly stepped back, and Hans retracted the periscope and shuttered the hole.

  “Looks like there’s nothing to do but wait,” Hans said. “You all can stay with me until the storm ends. Make yourself at home!”

------

It’s been two days since the Death Cloud rolled into Holm and Katherine had raging cabin fever.

As hospitable as Hans and Rocky were, she hated being cooped up inside when she had a war to stop (even if she didn’t exactly know how to stop it just yet). She read Hans’ wide collection of books, painted, and even tried casting spells, but nothing could get rid of her boredom. She was ready to go back out and continue her adventure. So, on the second day, she approached Hans.

Hans was in a small alchemy room, grinding up some fire salts in a mortar and pestle. Joan was asleep in their bed chambers, curled in a small ball, while Catalina was reading peacefully. Surely they wouldn’t mind Katherine’s plans.

  “We need to get going.”

Hans’ ears flicked up and he turned to Katherine with confusion on his face. “But the storm is still going.”

  “Hosa, banos. Hosa, rauo’nd.” Rocky interrupted to offer a plate of deviled eggs it prepared itself.

  “Thank you,” Katherine said, taking one. “And I know,” She continued. “But we really need to get moving again. We kinda have a mission.”

Hans raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” He put the mortar and pestle down. “I suppose I have something that can help you get through the storm. Come with me.”

Hans took Katherine to his bedroom and presented her a selection of masks and waxed clothes. Katherine ended up choosing a stag mask and fresh fur clothes, Catalina chose a hare mask and padded light armor, and Joan chose a bird mask and grey robes. Hans stuffed the noses of the masks with incense and herbs that he said would protect him from the poisonous fog outside in the storm, then handed them a small, pocket-sized tome of spells.

  “Just in case,” He said. “You three be careful out there. And remember me when you’re legends.” He flashed a smile.

  “Thank you, Hans. You too, Rocky,” Katherine said, dipping her head. “We won’t forget this.”

  “No problem,” Hans said. “Go on, now. Good luck.”

Katherine nodded, opened the door, and then ventured into the Death Cloud with her companions.

[buirbaby]

The Wardens: An Unlikely Ally

Notes:  Benjen Stark is a bit of a fun project for me. There's not much on him given his disappearances in the books, which means he'll be a fun canon to have join along the saga who really didn't have the chance to shine through. I know this might draw questions about Coldhands and so forth, but it's never actually confirmed that that IS Benjen.

Rating: M + Mature content, language, and violence

Masterlist | First | Next

The last thing he saw was a shadow swooping down from the sky and knocking the Other away from him. Afterward, everything was disjunct, muddled, and out of order. The woman, Tabitha was it?-she'd grabbed him and put him on some sort of mount. They had fled. How, he could not say, but he could remember the fierce burning of fiery eyes, hidden beneath the midnight cowl of the female as she'd glared at him earlier. There seemed to be quite a few things that Benjen had not seen before that night, to include wights, an Other, and a woman with eyes of fire. A blazing beacon amongst the frozen boughs of the haunted forest.

Then everything went dark and the pain ebbed away. He was floating in an abyss, nothing and everything at once. It took him a while to realize that he was dead and that there was no afterlife as the Seven preached, just an emptiness in which he conscious could float within and wonder if the woman had survived.

There would be no answers here, just eternal gripes and curiosities.

Until the darkness was juxtaposed by a flame, burning and twisting like serpentine tongues. Erring close, Benjen could see within the writhing fire, three dragons sailing overhead, toward Westeros. Death, war, famine, misery. But the dragons were not the worst of it, just a part of the machinations as the undead stole one, wielding it against their master and destroying the wall to unleash the unholy army upon the unsuspecting. No one knew that they were real. They were wetnurses' tales.

When he reached out to grab the vision, he gasped, the fire consuming his flesh and burning him. No, not burning as it should. He could feel each nerve, muscle, and fiber of his being twinging back into existence. Death had come for him, but a flaming hand had gripped and pulled him from perdition.

The ambivalence of the void faded and as he turned over where he laid, he heard voices in the distance.

"Were you told to bring him here?" he did not know this voice, but it chilled him to the bone, so youthful and yet scarred by the wisdom of centuries.

"I did what I felt was right," it was the fire-eyed woman, Tabitha. "It does not matter. He has died regardless of my help. Just as-"

"Just as intended?" the other filled in.

"I don't know! It was never confirmed, there were only theories," she hissed.

"Do you hear that?"

Only the crackling of the hearth in front of Benjen filled his ears with noise.

"No, Fang-"

But the companion had departed, leaving the woman huffing in frustration. Her footsteps drew nearer and she passed in front of the hearth, lean shoulders framed by the light as she had put away her cloak within the warmth of the room.

"What do you think, Balerion?" she spoke to another, a great shadow unfurling and tensing his heart. The creature that had knocked the Other back came into hazy focus, a thick lion's mane of feathers and fur encircling an enormous eagle's face, intelligent eyes glistening with the same bright flames as the woman who commanded him. After a moment of silence, she shook her head. "We probably won't be able to stay here much longer. Not with the Others marching. Who knows how far behind the Night King is."

"How do you know so much about them?" Benjen spoke hoarsely, his voice sounding as if he hadn't used it in days.

The both of them jumped, Tabitha whirling with her hand on her sword as she gazed down intently where he was laying. "How the fuck- " she started, interrupted only by the slapping of barefeet against stone. Turning a corner, the other voice's visage came into view, and Benjen was shocked into silence once again, staring at a boy of legend. Perhaps he shouldn't have been so startled, but clutched in his tawny arms was a miniature version of the griffin that had fluffed up indignantly. Only the feathers of the fledgling was grey dappled with black.

"Another Warden has been born," he declared, feline eyes turning toward Benjen.

"Fang, that doesn't even make sense. How could he have been..." but she didn't finish her question, dark brows snaring together. "You're still Benjen Stark, aren't you?"

He didn't understand the question, but decided to humor her. "Yes."

"I am not here to explain how things work," Fang scowled. "He has been reborn as a Warden. That means he's been given insight."

"I should get back to the Wall. If what I saw was true, I need to warn everyone," Benjen decided, sitting up and pulling back the cloak that had been strewn over him.

"Your watch ended, Warden. You died and were reborn," the creature, Fang, asserted.

"I still have a duty to Westeros, to my people-"

"Tell me, Stark, what is it you're going to tell everyone that will make them believe you?" Tabitha inquired, leaning against the forge, so that he was able to really observe the woman's face. She did not look or sound Westerosi. If anything, he thought she appeared more Dornish, despite lacking their accent. Her skin was a faded olive from missing the warmth of the sun this far north, her bright eyes framed by dark lashes, and her lips curved in a mocking manner. Dark brown hair had been shorn to fall thick and straight to her collar, parted in the middle and slightly wavy from being pressed beneath a hood. There was a roguish charm to her, nothing quite soft and dainty or willowy as most men preferred in a lady, but this woman was no flower. She had wielded a sword well enough and was tall and lean. Perhaps comely could be used to describe her, the symmetry of her face, but her eyes were also haunting.

"The Others are real and that-" he was going to express his knowledge of the dragons, that they would be coming to Westeros and that there would be war and strife, juxtaposed by the fact that the long night was looming on the horizon. Yet, as he tried to put this knowledge to word, he found himself choking on air, his voice failing him.

"That's what I thought," she remarked smugly, lifting the hand she'd injured during the fight, which was now bound. "Whatever you know, you won't be able to verbalize it. One of the Wardens' most redeeming features. For everything we know, our words shall not serve us, our actions must."

"I can warn them of the Others at the very least," he groused.

"Can you? If you return to Castle Black, they will not understand your rebirth or your need to leave on a moment's notice. We are slaves to the will of the one who saved us, the Lord of Light, R'hllor. Would it not be better for you to be thought to be dead than to have to abandon your post when the Lord of Light commands it?" Tabitha challenged.

"I don't serve this Lord of Light," Benjen rejected, shaking his head.

"Then you'd be dead. It was He who revived you. Are the words not ' Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death '? Your watch has ended and a new one has begun," Tabitha stood up, pacing the length of the room to retrieve supplies from an alcove in the stone.

"Not as if I was given the choice to make an oath in this circumstance," Benjen grimaced, wondering what else would be expected of him as a 'Warden'.

"Don't sound so thrilled. I wasn't given a choice either. Burned to death and woke up here with Balerion," she jerked her thumb over toward the magnificent beast. "Trust me, it doesn't make much sense, but I've just learned to stop questioning it. Here, you must be starving-" she returned with a waterskin, jerky, and black bread. Sitting nearby, she placed her elbows on her knees and hunched forward.

"Burned to death?" Benjen considered, glancing over her once again. "This Lord of Light really knows how to pick his champions, hm?"

The woman snickered. "I didn't feel it. Was unconscious from the smoke beforehand," her eyes flickered over toward Fang. "But this little welp is yours, just as Balerion is my partner. A Warden is a guide, a keeper of knowledge, and wargs-" The griffin was set on the floor as she continued to explain their plight, waiting on the Lord of Light to task them with their duty before sending them on the holy mission to aid in altering the future. While she spoke, the young creature, no larger than a house cat, stumbled on weak feet and tumbled unceremoniously before him, head too heavy for the rest of its tiny body.

He could not deny that there seemed to be a connection between them, the excitement palpable and rolling of the griffin in waves. The features of the little one were unlike the large obsidian one across the room, lacking the immense mane. Rather, his fur was thicker, the plumage of his feathers not as defined or prominent. In a way, the griffin had more canine features, a thick tail, and broader ear tufts.

The Wardens themselves were a rather ambiguous group, something he'd never heard of and yet here he sat with one and their griffin. Had it not been for his own revival from death and the mythical beast pawing at his leg, he might've scoffed at the information being passed over to him. One oath down and a new job set before him, Benjen resigned himself to the fact that his life was eternally destined to be interlaced with servitude. Only now, the complexities of magic and the fantastic had their own roles to play. Everything he'd thought was little more than old wive's tales, turning out to hold substance. Even the legend of the Children of the Forest was worth its salt, Fang erring near the entrance of the warm hearth room as Tabitha explained that their days were numbered.

Finally, the short being departed, leaving just the Wardens and their partners in the room. By now, the griffin had found its way into his lap and had curled up, wrapping its tail around its talons. "They won't do us much good against dragons, but so far I don't regret having Balerion by my side. We wouldn't have made it out of the haunted forest without him."

Dragons. His interest piqued, wondering how much she knew about the topic. "Dragons are dead, aren't they?"

"For now, give it a few more months' time-" Tabitha snorted, brows snaring together as the comment fell from her lips. Confusion was blatant on her face, her spine stiffening as she sat up and stared at him, almost in an accusing manner. "Dragons are going to be reborn once Khal Drogo is burned on a pyre. In which Daenerys Targaryen shall acquire 3 dragons."

He knew that name. The daughter of King Aerys, who had somehow survived the sacking of Dragonstone. Her family wasn't as fortunate. "You know then... That they're going to come here and one will fall into the clutches of the Others-" His tongue was no longer tied, the future spilling from his lips unhindered.

"I... know a lot of things," Tabitha admitted darkly. "Wardens can share information with Wardens..." she muttered, rubbing her face thoughtfully before glancing back toward him. "Makes sense, I guess... I suppose we'll also be able to tell when there's an eavesdropper or intruder."

"So Daenerys Targaryen is going to come to Westeros with 3 dragons," Benjen pieced together, the images he'd seen not possessing a narrative to go along with it.

"Yes, with intentions of taking the Iron Throne for herself. She will realize she needs to help destroy the army of the undead, but there's still a lot of unknown... how dominoes might fall now that you've survived," Tabitha sighed.

"I wasn't supposed to survive?"

"You were supposed to disappear and be presumed dead," Tabitha told him. "As far as I know, you never returned... but then again, all I know is script, not images."

"Then... if we're to be successful, I need to understand everything."

"If I tell you everything, you must understand that we have to adhere to what we're assigned to alter, because a lot of it has to deal with your family," Tabitha warned.

"I've taken oaths before and sworn myself to other causes. I think I can handle what you have to tell me."

That is what Benjen thought before Tabitha sighed and started from the beginning, recounting things that she was not around to witness, speaking in poetry like a prophet that had written the lines of their lives on parchment. She was right, he was not prepared for the intricacies of the world that he would have been better off being daft to. His derision and distrust of the Lannisters deepened, his breath quickening as he learned that it was they that hurt Bran and wished his death. But that was only the most minor of the plights to face House Stark. From the death of his brother at the hand of the Lannisters, to the rise of his nephew as a king, the betrayal and hurt was too much to bear.

Yet, Benjen sat, as it was his duty as a Warden. The web was not only woven with the Starks, but many other faces and names, some of which he was familiar with and others he was not. For as snarky as the woman seemed, Tabitha had an impeccable memory and a talent to retell this all like a story.

When she stopped, he lifted his head to gaze intently at her, his chest aching, but wondering why she'd ended so abruptly. "What happens after? With Jon, with Arya-"

"I can only speculate, that is where my true knowledge of the events of the future ends. You tell me that Daenerys will come to Westeros and lose a dragon to the Night King. Jon will likely be revived by the Lord of Light... Arya will continue her trials to become a Faceless Man, but the others--if we change the future, none of this is certain," Tabitha pointed out tenderly, remarkably softer than she had been previously.

He shouldn't have expected for all of the answers, especially given how much she knew and the years between now and when she'd ended, but... he really wished he knew what became of them. Already, he knew that many of them would die, including Ned, Robb, and Catelyn. In his gut, he wanted to go to them, to free them of their fate, but as he'd had his duty to the Watch, he had to trust in the Lord of Light to give him the opportunity to save them.

"I'll... give you some time alone. I know it's a lot to process," Tabitha stood up, stretching her back like a feline that had lounged out in the sun for too long, before striding away, glancing toward her griffin companion before departing from the chamber.

Benjen sat in silence, wondering if he would have been better off dead than with the vast knowledge and pressure he now felt.

*

"You're leaving yourself wide open," Benjen chastised, smacking Tabitha hard on the side of her arm with the flat of his blade.

"Right, well, my sincerest apologies for not wielding a sword since I could walk," she combatted haughtily, frustrated by her inability to best him.

It wasn't that she was a bad swordsman. In fact, she was quick as a whip and relentless when she was on the offense. However, she seemed to forget that her advantage in speed was outweighed by a man's strength. She often put herself in positions in which she could be placed out of balance and then open for attack. The form was there, as was the finesse, but he had learned by now that Tabitha had a bit of a temper that he could play like a harp. Against most men, she'd win, but against true savants or those that had spent years honing their craft, they'd pick up on the same chinks in her skill as he did.

The Roost was not a bad place, nor his newest companions too disagreeable. It had taken him a little while to grow accustomed to Tabitha's frank attitude and lack of decorum, but he likened it to comrades speaking to one another, not a woman to a man. Putting aside the facets of gender, Benjen found that Tabitha was responsible, reliable, and someone he would have liked to work alongside in the Night's Watch had she been a man. Now, as two Wardens with the task of saving the future that they knew, he was glad that he was with someone as capable as Tabitha, who seemed to have an uncanny memory and been given a scholarly education.

"React less emotionally," Benjen challenged, unable to stop himself from grinning as he thought of the times he'd told Jon the same thing when he was just a young boy. Or perhaps even Arya, who would have loved to be given the chance to be a warrior as a woman. He did not know how Tabitha's talents would transition in Westeros, given the fact a woman wielding a sword was nearly always unacceptable. Trying to think of her in a dress was amusing, as he'd only ever known her in trousers and armor, seemingly somewhat of a permanent fixture for the woman in place of what he'd grown up knowing females should wear.

Her nostrils flared and she came at him again, twisting Fate around in a counterclockwise motion before he parried the blow. The weight was light, barely a kiss of steel against steel, warning him that he'd fallen for the feint. Still, the man was quick enough to see as she redirected herself. Twisting his wrist to counter the next, he was astonished when she dropped beneath his blade and swept her leg beneath him, hooking a boot behind his leg and jerking him right off his feet.

Benjen slammed down hard on his back, collapsing into the remnants of an old nest, muscles groaning in protest from the hard, stone floor than embraced him. Tabitha loomed over him, pointing the triangular tip of her longsword down at him.

"How long?" he muttered, sitting up and accepting the glove she'd offered him to pull him back to his feet.

"How long what?" she asked, feigning ignorance.

"How long were you pretending to cross?"

Tabitha scoffed, as if offended that she'd play that game, but sheathed her sword. "I figured it out a couple of days ago. You always pointed out my anger, so I decided to set a trap."

"It took you a couple of days to set the trap?" Benjen poked.

"Well, there'd be no fun in closing it right away. Especially when you were being wary of me calming down enough to give you a run for your coin," Tabitha shrugged. "Still don't think a trick like that will be enough to defeat an Other, but it's progress."

"Probably not," Benjen agreed.

Tabitha's head whipped toward the grin in the mountainside where the griffins could come and go as they pleased. She had a better sense of when Balerion was arriving, her warging abilities more finely tuned over the years than his own. While he might be a better swordsman, Tabitha had him in the category of magic. "Look who's brought back quite a catch," she whistled, placing her hands on her hips as Balerion flung an elk corpse in through the opening. "Let's carve it up before it decides that we're supper."

The powerful griffin landed soon after, followed closely by Torrhen, who was a little uncertain on his wings, but managed to keep up as he grew into a gawky state where his talons were becoming too large for him to know what to do with. Dropping his own prize of a fat rabbit, he glanced expectantly toward Benjen, waiting for praise.

“Better than last time,” he remarked, bending down to brush the thick ears of the griffin down affectionately. “You’d better eat it quickly.”

Torrhen glanced from his rabbit and then to the elk, poising the silent question as to if they needed to share his catch too.

“No, you’re growing. Eat that yourself. Balerion brought plenty enough back to share.” No sooner had he said that did the massive beast dig its talons into the back of the carcass. Twisting, it snapped the spine and helped divide the elk in half, leaving the left side of the body for them to dress. Dragging the rest away, Balerion threw an expectant look at Torrhen, the tiny counterpart hobbling after his much larger brother.

“Ruined the pelt,” Tabitha chastised Balerion, who let out a huff in disdain at her dismay. She drew her knife and began working, Benjen crouching beside her to assist. It was dirty work, but the griffins were keen on the organs and head, so there’d be no reason to dispose of the waste, instead leaving the mess clustered in the roosting area of the mountain as they divided the remaining elk and dragged it toward the Hearth.

Sitting by the warmth of the eternally burning forge, they worked in relative silence. There wasn’t always a need for conversation and Benjen was unbothered by the woman’s company. Salting and hanging large haunches in the back of the room, the work took a few hours, but would result in a couple weeks worth of food for the both of them. The griffins had been retrieving food as of late, Fang citing that it was too dangerous for them all to go out and hunt after hearing the harrowing tale of their encounter with the Other.

Tabitha sat up on one of the benches, rubbing the arm that he’d taken the flat of his blade to absentmindedly. Her eyes were fixated on the twisting wreath of flames within the forge. A forge that neither of them knew how to use, nor why it was in this mountain. It gave them warmth and protection from the darkness of the frozen north, but otherwise its existence was a mystery. Her brows pressed together and she stood, taking a few paces toward the fire.

Benjen tilted his head, gazing toward the hearth in an effort to notice what she was transfixed upon. Tongues leapt out at him, images burning a path across the fire, a dragon’s shadow lifting to reveal a beautiful city and a crowd of impressive, queerly dressed people as they gave gifts to a young girl. A rotund, greasy man opened a chest and presented three calcified eggs.

“It’s been decided,” Tabitha muttered.

Did she see what he saw?

“We are flying to Pentos.”

[mini-moongi]

Curse || Namjoon || p r o l o g u e

Genre: Fantasy, Fluff, Angst, Adventure

Story prompt: Inspired by a dragon prompt I saw- You’re cursed to be a dragon in the daylight. When a knight comes to slay you, imagine their surprise when the dragon turns into a defenseless human being.

Summary: [Dragon! AU] [Namjoon x Knight! Reader]; Apparently there's been a dragon wreaking havoc in the nearby village, and so King Kim Seokjin asks you to deal with it as the newly appointed knight. When you arrive, it seems that the truth is not exactly as it appears. This is a fem!reader.

Thank you to lovely @ahgassok​​ for the title pic!! I am very much in love with it (o´ω｀o)

curse masterlist

p r o l o g u e  // next

────── ☽. ✧₊∘ ──────

“I’m sorry your Majesty, You want me to do what now??” The thought sends shivers throughout your entire body. You knew he was a ruthless ruler, but you didn’t think he was this extreme. “Wouldn’t you want to send someone more qualified, My Lord?”

It was true, you had only been appointed as a knight last week. It was crazy to think he’d send you in for Dragon duty this early on. It’s not that you were terrified, but this was something you, and many of your comrades, have never faced before. King Kim’s stunned for a moment, as if he wasn’t expecting you to question him. He regains his composure in the blink of an eye, though, as if it had never happened.

“Do you lack confidence in your abilities?” The King sits upon his throne and sighs,” I thought you wanted to prove yourself to me, remember? How sad..” King Seokjin looks down at you from his seat. You are kneeling, as per the knight custom, but he could see the glimmer in your eyes.

You were the only female accepted into knighthood this past equinox, and they won’t be opening up positions again for awhile. As the only new devoted knight with female genitalia, you needed to prove yourself amongst the majority. The King’s comment flashes through your mind, finalizing your decision. “I will definitely succeed, your Majesty; you can confide in me. I will be back once the Dragon is slain.”

The King gives you a nod,” I shall be awaiting your return. Good luck, Lady Y/n.” 

You tread through the forest, and the humidity drips across your face. The helmet grows heavier every second, but you were supposed to keep it on during duty. You camped out for two nights on the journey, the distance far greater than you had initially thought.

Your faithful horse gallops past the uneven terrain, until you find yourself facing an abandoned building. It was a little to the west of the village who sent in the urgent request, but not one villager would go near this damned place. The worn down castle-like structure had moss embedded into its walls, seeping with time. You wondered what happened to the castle and what it must’ve been like before the present ate away at the building. The sun was going down, and the shadow of the building casted over your figure. You sit still and listen.

Heavy thumping and shuffling sounds emit from the second floor window. No doubt in your mind that that is where the beast lays ahead. Silently, you dismounted from your trusty steed and approached the concave door. With one push, the door creaked open. The shuffling stops.

Cautiously, you make your way up the spiral stone staircase. Despite the outward appearance, the inside of the castle is clean and homely. You almost mistake it as intruding on someone’s home, but alas, you can hear the beast’s growl on the floor above you, reminding you of where you really were. Approaching the master bedroom, you open the door.

Immediately, the dragon is on guard, and it’s ferociously larger than you. His scales glitter a golden color as it reflects off of your armor. The room is furnished and ornate; the scale of the space is as large as the King’s. The normal sized window seemed tiny compared to the monstrosity in the room. The dragon bared its teeth and swung at you with its sharp claws.

The sword you’ve unsheathed blocks the claws from crushing you, but its strength surpasses the knights you have battled with during training. The metal clangs with its every attack, and you can tell that it’s running out of stamina. The dragon’s nostrils flared and fire seeped from it, dissipating into smoke. It was like a warning sign, but you doubt that the dragon would light its own home on fire. In a hasty attempt to defend itself, it’s claws swung at you once more, and this time it broke through your armor. A deep gash cuts down the middle of your left arm, and you grunt in pain.

You switched from defense to offense and slashed your sword at the beast. The last remaining light from the sun disappears behind the mountain as you lift your sword up for the final blow. Its neck is open and exposed, like a rabbit waiting to be eaten. Just then, a puff of smoke fills the air halting your attack.

When you’ve regained your sight, the dragon was gone. In its place was a man shielding himself from your sword; he was trembling and backing against the wall of the room. His clothing is tattered, but it resembled royal status nonetheless. Slowly, you lower your sword with confusion written across your face. 

He was definitely human, except for the purple hues in his hair. Was this a sick joke that the King set up for you? You raise your sword and point it at the man,” Identify yourself, or be slain on sight.”

It was his turn to look at you in confusion, his brows furrowed and his curiosity inching him forward. “Who are you?” His face comes closer to your helmet, but your sword against his neck puts some space between you two. His voice is gravelly and husky, but it sounds dry and hoarse at the moment. You must remember that he is only a beast, who knows what kind of trap he’s set up for you.

“Identify yourself,” you repeated more sternly than before.

“Kim Namjoon.” He stares at you with a perplexed expression. “Who are you to enter my home at this hour? Maybe the beast is not I, but you.”

“Knight Y/n of the royal Bangtan Palace.” You squint at the man. Who was he to question your motives? You stood your ground, speaking defiantly at him. “I have been ordered to slay the beast that dwells here, and if it be you, then I must say farewell, Namjoon.” 

“Would you really kill a Kim?” He speaks as if your loyalty belonged to him. What a fool, you think to yourself. He may be a Kim, but he is not the King. He chooses his next words carefully,” A knight like you should be able to recognize royalty when you see one.” A sigh escapes his pillowy lips,” But I can’t blame you. You're just doing what you’re told.”

Your eyebrows furrow as the aching sets in and watch as Namjoon’s eyes trail down to your torso. His face softens,” Are you okay? I’m sorry for hurting you,” he says,” We need to patch you up before you bleed out.”

You try to refuse the monster’s help, but when you try to push him away, pain jolts your body to be still. Your eyes flutter shut as you try to compose yourself, but Namjoon already swept you up in his arms. 

The next moment you open your eyes, you find yourself sat upright against the headboard of a bedroom. You stir awake, trying to get a grip of your surroundings. The former beast, Namjoon, is tending to your wounds. It runs deep, and the taste of blood still lingers on your tongue.

“By no means am I a medic, but hopefully you’ll be okay.” Namjoon says as he wraps your arm in bandages. You don’t respond, still wary of his motives. 

“What do you want from me, Beast?” You spit the words out as best you could. You may be hurt, but you can’t trust him. Years of training taught you as much. 

“I don’t really want anything from you,” He smiles,” It’s just that I haven’t seen another person for at least five years. You’re my guest.” The smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but he looks away before you can question it. 

He walks over to the other side of the room to an open door; it leads to a bathroom. A damp cloth stained in your blood is washed away in the sink, red water going down the drain. 

“I’m sorry I have to ruin your mission, miss,” He calls from the bathroom. “I’m human; just cursed, is all.”

You hadn’t even thought about him being cursed. That would make more sense, but the King is supposed to keep tabs on every cursed being in the Kingdom. Some sort of protection plan, he said. But then why would he order you to kill Namjoon? “...What do you mean?”

He comes back from the other room, bringing some herbal medicine back with him. “I was supposed to, uh, be King.” Namjoon clears his throat. King? Your words failed to find you as he continued speaking. “I was sabatoged. They abandoned me here and left me to rot. I’m...” He never finishes that sentence when tears threaten to fall from his eyes. 

“I can’t even say it..” Namjoon’s laugh is lifeless and hollow, and the fist he had clenched releases its grip.

You put your hand over his fist in an attempt to sooth his feelings. “I apologize, Namjoon.” Silence hung in the air while you try to muster up the right words. “Thank you, really, for cleaning my wounds. You could’ve let me die, and for that, I am indebted to you. Is there any way I can help? A way to break your curse, maybe?”

Time escapes you as Namjoon explains the ins and outs of his spell bound curse. You peer out of the window, seeing the colorful hues rising into the sky. Any moment and the sun will rise beyond the mountain. You turned to the man. “So you’re telling me that in order to lift the curse and slay the dragon, I have to kill the King?” 

He notices you peering out the window, and recognizes the time he’d taken from you. “Yes, I’m afraid so. Look,” he looks at you in the eyes with a gentle face,” Your time with me means so much, but I’m going to turn back soon. Please, you need to rest, we will talk again soon.”

You watch him leave through the guest bedroom’s door. You tried to follow him, but your eyes land on his morphing figure as it looms in the common room. A cloud of smoke waves through the air and once more is the dragon from yesterday.

────── ☽. ✧₊∘ ──────

Taglist for this series is open! (o´ω｀o)

[evolutionsvoid]

When it comes to dangerous creatures and ferocious monsters, many folk think of carnivores and vicious predators. Those who feast on flesh, tearing through prey with tooth and claw. No one pays any mind to the herbivores, as they eat simple plants, how scary could that be? Well, in truth, this plant-eaters can be plenty dangerous and there are those that the carnivores dare not touch. One may argue that predators eat these herbivores, so clearly they are dominant! However, a keen eye will notice that many predators seek out the young, old and weak, those that are easy prey. For some species, a healthy adult is untouchable, only attacked in desperate times. In some cases, this is done because one wants to conserve energy, so it is best to take the easier meal. In other cases, these herbivores are dangerous foes that can strike deadly blows or wound a predator so badly that they will never be able to hunt again. One's diet does not determine one's threat level, so one should be mindful before making such assumptions. A good example of this is the Khalkotauroi, a herbivorous behemoth that walks the grasslands and savannas. Though it feeds on grass, leaves and other plant matter, it is considered one of the most dangerous creatures of the continent. A hulking ungulate, the Khalkotauroi is actually related to the Catoblepas, as one can see in certain features. It possess the prehensile lower lip, the scaly armor and the long serpentine tail. The biggest noticeable difference, though, is that this beast does not drag its head on the ground. Instead it has quite the short sturdy neck, meaning it can function like any other animal on the savanna. Since it does not have to crawl with its face, this species is much more mobile. They still walk along at a leisurely pace, but if angered, they can charge with incredible speed and force. That is another thing about the Khalkotauroi, they are absolute powerhouses. Their bodies are packed with pure muscle, with backs practically bulging with all this strength. One's charge has the power to knock over a tree or barrel through a wall, which means that us much squishier things would pretty much burst on impact. A thick neck allows them to absorb a whole lot of shock from the attack, and it also gives them the ability to toss things around like toys. A pair of thorny, heavily armored horns is their main weapon, and they are things to be feared. Not only will they gore you, but you can get caught in them and thrashed about. The metallic shell on these horns is incredibly strong, able to deflect sword strikes and ignore a whole lot of punishment. This same armoring coats most of their body, which makes them even more intimidating. Thick scales give them an incredible amount of protection, making it difficult for any attacker to leave a serious wound. The bottom of their jaw and the back of their legs are the only places where one could get a hit off, but these areas are not very easy to reach when this beast is charging you. While it does not eat meat and it gains nothing from taking down another animal, Khalkotauroi often cause injury and death due to a rather short fuse. They are easily angered and they are quick to get defensive when approached by an unknown creature. Like Catoblepas, they have quite poor eye sight and thus rely on smell to truly understand their surroundings. Odors of danger or strange beings can put them on edge, and they are quick to defend themselves if something startles them in this state. Since smell is a big thing for them, a misunderstanding in a hectic situation can lead to an attack. My guides said that approaching one while drenched in a familiar odor is not a foolproof plan. If the wind changes and they catch the smell of a predator, they will get defensive. And if you happen to be in front of them in this state and make a sudden move, they will assume you are a part of the danger and charge. I certainly didn't need to be told to stay far from them, but this adds to the huge pile of reasons to keep your distance. This defensive nature and anger is also extended to their young, as they are very protective of their calves. Getting anywhere near a baby Khalkotauroi is a recipe for disaster, as their mother isn't the only one who will maul you for this sin. All Khalkotauroi keep an eye out for each other, and they will work in a group if threatened. Even their Catoblepas cousins are roped into this, though they rarely need defending. Living in a poison cloud means that a lot of enemies aren't going to visit you at home.   The rage of a Khalkotauroi is a well known thing, as they are essentially living battering rams. Fences, walls and any other obstacle is easily barreled through, and the whip of an angry tail can send a man flying. Loud snorts and pawing at the ground are clear signs of anger, but the biggest signal comes from their nose and mouth. Much like their Catoblepas cousins, they possess special organs that collect certain fluids from the plants they eat. These same organs secrete their own special compound, mixing it all into a particular substance. This soup is turned into a vapor and it can be expelled from the nose or mouth. This vapor is quite flammable, igniting at the slightest spark. This spark is provided by their tusks, which contain properties that are similar to flint and steel. With quick jaw movements, they can grind these teeth together and cause sparking, which will ignite the expelled vapor. So when a Khalkotauroi is angry, it will literally have flames bursting from its jaws! Though an intimidating sight to see, the fire itself isn't all that dangerous. The vapor burns quickly and the fire doesn't create that much heat. Getting hit by a puff of this flame may singe your foliage and hair, but it won't incinerate you like dragon fire. They don't really use the flames as projectile, rather the heat stays all around the head. That means if you are stuck on its horns, than maybe you are going to start cooking up. In reality, these bursts of fire are more for intimidation and distraction, scaring away attackers or disorienting them long enough to get gored. I see this application quite often in conversation about this species. When I bring up the Khalkotauroi, many are quick to mention the fire and say how scary it is. I often shoot back that the charging horned beast is the thing that I find quite scarier. Singed leaves are unpleasant, but having my body turned to mulch is a bit worse! The fire they produce may also be used to burn off the irritating hairs and nasty thorns of certain plants, making them more palatable. It is a behavior that is quite similar to the Crystal Horn, though they rely more on focused light rather than belched flame.       

With their immense strength, impenetrable armor and nasty temper, many people tend to see nothing else in these beasts. However, one may be surprised to learn that the Khalkotauroi are rather intelligent. They seem to be quite observant and a bit curious, both of which they use to learn and adapt. When some new object shows up in their territory, they are always quick to check it out and prod it with their lower lip. Land owners who put up fences or new structures can be sure that the local Khalkotauroi will be inspecting these recent additions. While some may chalk it up to normal curiosity and common threat assessment, locals have found these creatures actually learning the purpose and functions of these things. Though big and bulky, their prehensile lower lip can actually allow them to perform these functions after careful observations! Quite a few farmers I met regaled me of their first time they saw a Khalkotauroi unlatch their gate and stroll right onto their property. Though I think such a thing would be incredible to watch, the storytellers were not so thrilled about suddenly having these massive creatures near their crops and homes! It sounds like that most Khalkotauroi have mastered simple doors and gates, which means folk need to add extra layers and complexities to their barriers to prevent these beasts from easily flinging them open. I have also been told that Khalkotauroi have come up with interesting behaviors when it comes to the dry season. Though their eye sight isn't all that great, they can still pick out silhouettes, and a shape they are quite familiar with is that of a human carrying a pot or urn on their head. When water is scarce, the Khalkotauroi will follow these folk as they know that they are headed towards water. Of course not every person has to draw water from a watering hole, as many towns and villages have wells and other ways to gather this precious liquid. Well, the Khalkotauroi have learned that too. There have been stories of these creatures trying to get into a village's stored water, and one instance where a Khalkotauroi actually figured out how to pull the rope that brings forth a bucket of well water! The other thing that shows the intelligence of the Khalkotauroi is their memory. They appear to remember every place they have visited, even when they were calves. Water holes or feeding grounds they haven't seen in decades can still be easily found, and they are sure to bring their young along so that they can learn too. They also are able to remember certain individuals, which they often identify through smell. This brings up a rather fascinating thing about Khalkotauroi and one of the big reasons they are infamous to locals and hunters. Not only do they remember specific people or creatures, they associate these beings with certain things. There is a tale of a farmhand who was responsible for dumping any food waste or rotten produce from their farm, which they often pitched in the same spot every day. Eventually the Khalkotauroi came to recognize this location as a reliable source of food. From that point on, the farmhand would find these beasts waiting patiently for the regular delivery at the same time every day. Though terrified at first, the fellow found that they were quite friendly and peaceful towards him. The farmhand found these interactions pleasant, but never thought too much about them. He brought food and that was all they really cared about. Months down the road, though, and he found himself in peril. While out on the road to visit family, he was ambushed by bandits and captured. His attempts to defend himself angered the thieves and they gave him quite the thrashing. As they beat him, there was a deafening bellow and something massive came charging out of the grass. An enraged Khalkotauroi plowed through the bandits, sending everyone running. Each thief was chased down and ground to paste, but the angry beast brought no harm to the farmhand. It was later found that this Khalkotauroi was one that visited the dumping ground daily, and it recognized the man who brought the food. Hearing his friend in pain and peril, it came rushing to the rescue! It is quite a wonderful tale, and it goes to show how smart these beasts can be. However, a memory that can help remember a friend can also remember a foe. It turns out that Khalkotauroi can hold grudges. The most well known tale of this behavior is the story of Gnarl Horn, a rather famous Khalkotauroi that prowled near the town of Ndiounda. Gnarl Horn was a full grown bull that was identified by a twisted overgrown horn, which was probably due to an injury that occurred in his youth. Larger than all others of his kind, he was said to be the undisputed king of the territory, and that no predator dared show their face when he was around. All the townsfolk treated Gnarl Horn with respect and they dared not cross him even when he wandered into town. He was a notable specimen of his kind with an unique appearance, which obviously meant that some rich elite jerkbag would want to kill it and turn him into a trophy. Some far-off wealthy lord known as Hagen prided himself on being a big game hunter and saw Gnarl Horn as a must-have for his trophy room. So he sailed off and went to Ndiounda in hopes of bagging this behemoth, which the locals did not appreciate. They forbid anyone to hunt Gnarl Horn and refused to help the man. So instead of taking the hint, he decided to hire some shady folk to serve as guides so that he could claim his prize. They tracked down the beast and found him grazing in a herd of fellow herbivores. Knowing simple weapons were ineffective against the armored hide, Hagen decided to construct pitfalls and leg traps that would topple Gnarl Horn and leave him vulnerable. The group then had the genius idea of setting off explosive seed pods to whip the herd into a panic. The cacophony they made sent every creature into a frenzy, resulting in a stampede. Everyone had to duck and cover as the chaos ensued, only emerging when the craze had passed. The aftermath showed several ungulates that had fallen into the traps and crippled themselves, as well as a bunch that had been tripped by placed foot holds and were trampled to death in the panic. All in all, it was a horrible scene of misery and terrible waste of life. And of course, Gnarl Horn was nowhere to be found. Somehow having no remorse for his stupid actions, Hagen retired to the camp to plot out another way to take down the beast. As they prepared for dinner, though, their quarry made a violent appearance. Gnarl Horn came charging into camp, tearing through the tents and goring one of the guides. They all fled the scene in a panic, retreating to a place where the enraged creature couldn't reach them. After Gnarl Horn gave up and left, they went back to their shredded camp and gathered what remained. They set up their station elsewhere, and Hagen was determined more than ever to beat these behemoth. When he went out to hunt the next morning, Gnarl Horn appeared once again and attacked. Few more guides and helpers were killed in the assault, but even when Hagen escaped, the terror was not over. For the next two days, Gnarl Horn continued to ambush and attack the group at every turn. Finally his guides abandoned him and fled, leaving Hagen to fend for himself. With all his equipment and preparations shattered by this furious creature, he had no choice but to flee. He abandoned his quest and sailed home, vowing to return and kill the behemoth. While the locals were happy to see the rich fool get driven off, they wondered what had infuriated Gnarl Horn to this degree. Eventually the guides were tracked down and questioned, and it was revealed that a few of them returned to the scene of the failed hunt to collect what they could from the collateral casualties. They didn't want the meat and resources to go to waste, as Hagen left the mangled bodies where they lie due to their poor condition. When inspecting the scene, they found the crushed body of a Khalkotauroi calf, who had been trampled amidst the chaos. No one can really confirm if this calf was Gnarl Horn's offspring or not, but such a loss regardless would be enough to drive the beast mad. Years after the incident, Hagen returned to Ndiounda to try and take down Gnarl Horn again. This trip lasted only two days, as the beast attacked hours after Hagen had set foot in the wilderness. After the first assault, no one dared help him or offer him sanctuary. The townsfolk wouldn't even let him into the town, as Gnarl Horn pursued Hagen even into populated areas and didn't care what got smashed during his rage. With no place hide, he was forced to quit once again. A few years after that, he came back for a different hunting expedition in another part of the territory, eyeing a tamer prize. Four days into his expedition, Gnarl Horn exploded onto the scene and tore through the party, leading to another retreat. From then on, Hagen refused to return to that land as long as Gnarl Horn lived. Eventually, the beast's reign came to an end. Old and weary, Gnarl Horn was found one day lying underneath a mango tree in a local farm. Lazily eating the fallen fruit, he simply sat there for three days, never moving from the spot. On the fourth day, the villagers had found that he had passed in the night. The whole town held a ceremony for the great giant, and news of the funeral reached Hagen's ears. Gleeful that the terrible creature had finally died, he set up another hunting expedition in the territory to celebrate. Longing to bag some game from this savanna, he trekked out into the wilderness and was promptly attacked by a young bull Khalkotauroi. Hagen was run through by its horns and crushed against a mango tree. After Hagen was dead, the bull simply turned around and left, ignoring the horrified guides. It seems that the Khalkotauroi can pass down a lot of things to their young. In the regions they call home, the thoughts on the Khalkotauroi is a bit of a mixed bag. Many are proud of such a powerful and adaptive beast, as it serves as a perfect symbol for strength. Their impenetrable scales serve as great materials for armor and equipment, and those that can summon it through Thericorium will have a great coat of armor to wear into battle. The issue with all this, though, is actually killing one of these beasts to obtain it. Due to their anger and armor, they are not easy beasts to slay, which is extra problematic when they become a nuisance. Eating crops and wandering into towns is a bit of an issue, but trying to drive it away can cause untold destruction. Thus locals have to continually adapt to these learning creatures, finding new ways to keep them out and away from their property. Some have considered domesticating the Khalkotauroi, as they would be great beasts of burden and they are capable of learning. This does sound good on paper, as you could train them with gifts of food, but there is a catch. While they can associate certain folk with good things like treats and kindness, this will not apply to everyone they meet. So you may be able to dance all around your trained pal without any issue, but the second a stranger is added into the mix, then it may lead to disaster. Also they could get protective over you like they do their young, and try to charge to the rescue if you sound like you are in danger. It may sound cool, but it really isn't when you argue with your spouse over who is doing the dishes and then your guardian bursts through the wall and your partner.               Chlora Myron Dryad Natural Historian --------------------------------------------- So it turns out Khalkotauroi are not just "bronze bulls" like I thought, but turns out their real descriptions say they are just bulls with bronze mouths and hooves. which are literally the only two parts of this beast I didn't make armored. Great job, idiot. Also the story of Gnarl Horn was supposed to be a throwaway line that would speak of their ability to hold grudges, but I got bored at work one day and started thinking too much about it. So in the end, one sentence wound up being three paragraphs (which could have been longer if I wanted to add the details about his funeral, burial, supposed haunting and the mango tree, but those details probably aren't necessary). Oops!

[akimmito]

Heroes are made by the path they choose

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Master List

Chapter 14

Silent Hill: Something happened, I'll take someone over for Marie to judge

Needle: Ah, what was missing

It’s a Nara: Don't sleep, there is an Akuma

It’s a Nara: Who is Available?

Almost Pretty: This Akuma itself is causing disaster

Needle: There goes the national library

It's a Nara: Who is Available?

Perfect Crime: We are at the airport, we can escape to the bathroom. Just tell us, Kanté

It’s a Nara: Perfect

Aithusa: I'm ready, Max.

Wild goat: I'll go! I'm available

Olive: You have communications, don't be ridiculous

Almost Pretty: I can't escape the Bourbon Palace for this, we are being evacuated to the basement

------

Ateliade, Jade Shield, LadyNoir and Rakkīgāru are on the ruins of the national library, the last place that al Akuma ruthlessly destroyed. Observing the damage and trying to understand how he did it, the cameras failed to capture the attack, they just watched as the building collapsed on its own. A troublesome situation.

"Rakkīgāru, use the Lucky Charm."

Kagami obeys immediately, the Lucky Charm delivers a candle similar to the ones she has placed in the meditation room. The four heroes look at the object with curiosity, its function is totally unknown to them, but somehow they understand that what they need at the moment is in the MT.

"We need a more thorough evaluation. Mures?"

"Yes, LadyNoir?"

"Come here, we will use the mouse to try to identify your abilities from all possible angles. "

"Ok."

"Maybe that's what the Lucky Charm was referring to." Ateliade offers her opinion on this, looking at the candle. After all, Marc is on the MT, but neither Kagami nor Marinette feel that is the case. Surely they will need the specific abilities of some Kwami that is not being used, their instincts are screaming at them.

Before long, Mures appears in all his nervous figure. It's the first time that he will go out into the field like the mouse, he's more used to his vigilante suit, but he's confident that everything will turn out well.

"Let's follow the Akuma."

At Jade Shield's words, the five heroes move to follow the Akuma's trail of destruction. When they see the purple Dolphin flying over The Turkish Consulate General and they are suddenly aware that they are now in District XVII where most Embassies and Consulates are. That could be a problem if it reaches international ears, endangering citizens of other countries. They can already hear Chloe yelling at them for speeding up, they don't want anyone from outside sticking their noses into something they don't understand.

"Multitude. "Marc activates its power and divides himself into five copies of himself, remaining in a size similar to that of a child. Each duplicate goes in different directions, each hero follows a different one while the main one remains in place to serve as backup.

Marc can see from their different perspectives the way power works, there is no way they can get closer without perishing like buildings. The others don't fully understand him, but he does.

The Akuma seems to detonate its powers through a form of echo location, similar to what bats do, only instead of just directing it around the place, it also causes perfectly directed destruction, if they get close they will be hit and probably killed. It's inconspicuous from the directions you see, but it's enough.

If there was ever any doubt that the new villain wanted them dead, this new Akuma victim is proof that this is the case.

"We need one of two, someone who can demonstrate directly in front of the Akuma or someone in armor to withstand the impact of the echo location."

"Is that?"

"It's the closest I could discern."

"We need Tunin." Kagami suggests, it's better not to trust again and the Dragon's abilities are easily used over long distances, they wouldn't even be exposing the child.

"Yes…"

"It's done. Equuleus, bring Tunin to the field. ”Felix smiles, sure Damian will be ecstatic with the news. Since the first attack Akuma has wanted to leave and although there have only been two before that, they had not wanted to risk it yet.

Quickly, the boy appears next to LadyNoir and when he sees his mother, he feels guilty. Running away to find Constantine doesn't count as betraying her trust, does it? He may think that even she should have considered it, although perhaps what should bothers her is that he blackmailed Plagg.

"Something happens?"Marinette asks her little boy, who doesn't seem fully prepared, although his amber eyes seem to reflect something else.

"No mother. What should I do?"

"Can you simulate a storm, baby dragon?" Ateliade questions, if they can confuse the echo location (as Mures calls it) she can release her power and allow them to attack to obtain the Akumatized item, although it cannot be seen which one. Guessing is not much fun.

"Something happens?"Marinette asks her little boy, who doesn't seem fully prepared, although his amber eyes seem to reflect something else.

"No mother. What should I do?"

"Can you simulate a storm, baby dragon?" Ateliade questions, if they can confuse the echo location (as Mures calls it) she can release her power and allow them to attack to obtain the Akumatized item, although it cannot be seen which one. Guessing is not much fun.

"Yes, two of the abilities are combined. It's harder, but if I just have to do that, it'll be fine.”He says with conviction.

Jade Shield moves to take people out of the Akuma's path, who cannot fully escape. Rakkīgāru unites to help, as long as they are not sure that their little plan works, they should avoid casualties as best they can.

Damian draws his sword and begins to move in parallel with the Akuma, at a good distance while concentrating on the two abilities he wants to activate at the same time. He can do it only because he's stubborn and his mother was helping him with every step, he wanted to be able to be a real help to fight alongside miraculous adult users and for that he needed to make an effort. As he tries to muster his energies for that, he better understands why his mother insisted so much that not yet, but done or not, it's his time.

"Tunin! Now or never."

He growls at Ateliade's words, but activates his powers.

"Dragon of Air and Lightning. "

Damian disappears to make way for a thick black cloud of storm that spreads around the Akuma, the lightning moves through the clouds and attacks the Violet Dolphin, which he barely dodges due to the interferences that the sound makes in his abilities... In addition to the poor vision that it has is frustrated by the intense light intervals that the rushing rays generate.

It really is a storm.

-----

Bruce Wayne is Batman

I can jump from eighth floor and survive: Paris has strange creatures.

Hell rejected me: What kind of strange creatures? Metas?

I can jump from eight floor and survive: No... it's a bat-winged dolphin that destroys everything in its path. And there are the heroes they mentioned!

I'll rest when I die: Is it real?

I can read your mind with a single glance: Are they the heroes and not the vigilantes?

I can ump from eight floor and survive: Yup, it's the heroes. Although they are still while talking.

I’m not Batman: I want a report.

I'll rest when I die: Your interest in our safety is flattering

-----

"Oh God! The boy just turned into a storm! How?! Where's the point in all of this?!"Dick almost has the jaw in the ground when seeing how the hero boy vanishes in a black cloud that begins to flash and cover the strange creature.

Everything is being televised with drones, according to the presenter. It also features the new hero, who is registered as part of the Team.

"Tunin is the current owner of the Miraculous Dragon, it was entered into the official register two months ago. His abilities are much more polished than previous Miraculous user Ryukko, demonstrating much more training. Despite his young age in relation to other heroes, we can be sure that he's trustworthy. He has already demonstrated this by displaying new skills and a great mastery of his powers. "

Tim watches with too worrying ease, still holding his cup of coffee, but he seems to pay little attention to what the newscaster has said.

He doesn't blame him, the situation seems to come out of a dream, with the same little sense.

He doesn't lose attention to what happens, they are far enough so that what happens is only barely visible through the window, but the view from the drone is very accurate. Soon another hero, the presenter calls her Ateliade, activates another power and a dragon stuffed toy falls into her hands, she and LadyNoir (the leader, according to what they said) put themselves in position taking advantage of the fact that the Akuma is too busy dealing with the cloud storm.

"It seems we managed to capture Rakkīgāru and Jade Shield as well, helping civilians to get out of the Akuma's path." Indeed, the two heroes move through the streets picking up people from the probable routes of the Giant Dolphin. "Mures remains on the sidelines, he seems to be fulfilling the role of watchman. Like Tunin, it's his first appearance. He has been registered as an official part of the team for six years, he's the second user of the Miraculous Mouse, after Multimouse with a single appearance ten years ago. "

Dick is surprised to learn that information, ten years ago? Since when is Paris dealing with this villain? Maybe he should go to the prosecution and the KanTech offices to find out the information required to know the matter.

"Dick..."

"Hmm?"

"Am I dreaming?"

"No."

"I'll leave the caffeine." Tim puts the cup on the table in front of him and takes his computer to start investigating, having his location in Paris, the information about the Akuma begin to appear. "Eleven years ago Hawkmoth first appeared and with him two heroes: Ladybug and Chat Noir. As time went by more heroes appeared and rotated, before Gabriel Agreste was arrested for being Hawkmoth, Paris was left alone with three heroes: Ladybug, Chat Noir and Vulpes. Chat Noir turned out to be the son of the villain, who was devastated and gave up being a hero... "

"What?" Dick stops watching television, missing the exact moment the Akuma goes crazy and its echo location loses the destructive effect because he can't focus enough for it.

"This is a summary of what happened seven years ago. The Butterfly Miraculous was stolen by the killer of Nathalie Sancour, the previous user of the Peacock. That Miraculous returned to the hands of Ladybug... Graham de Vanely spearheaded the lawsuit against Gabriel Agreste and Adrien was forced to marry Lila Rossi to keep his mother alive, as the heroes investigate a cure for the magical coma..."

"How did they manage to hide ALL THAT from the world?"

"Magic." Tim growls, that's the main reason, then with the joint efforts of different government bodies they became self-sufficient in it, making laws that allowed Parisian heroes and vigilantes to run freely making them an official identity within the country, but without being linked to it. How did it evolve to that point? Not even in the United States, with the acceptance of the heroes in the country, have they managed to do something like this... Will the French be more intelligent or are they much more paranoid? Because there is a complete security protocol so that the information does not come out.

They are so in jail just for mentioning all that to their family.

"We can't give that report to B... or come out as Robin and Nightwing."

"Should we register?" "Tim nods, but as far as he knows, only the MT can register heroes or vigilantes and for that they would need to contact them and give a good excuse for their visit." Everything is very well detailed, the theme of the vigilantes is not super secret like heroes. It's illegal to mention them on social networks outside the jurisdiction of France and word of mouth would not be credible because there is no information available. "

"Rakkigaru launches the cure!" The television distracts them again and they are surprised, again, to see how all the damage begins to repair itself and return to its original state.

"W-What…?

"It's one of the Miraculous Ladybug powers... it's one of the few skills that are publicly known and accurately described. The rest appear as: doubtful or not precise. "

"Do you think they are handling it well?"

"Yes... according to what Felix Graham de Vanely said, half of the evidence he presented was offered by the heroes of Paris and was, precisely, the most incriminating. Seven years have passed and they have the support of the MT, which have cleaned up the country's organized crime very well and have followed several very difficult cases that they have managed to manage... They have a more brilliant list of achievements than ours. You know, the Joker escaping Arkham every month is a stain on our record. ”Tim laughs a little when he says it. He would like to know their methods, although he suspects that they must have a network of informants, something that they have not used much because in Gotham it's unlikely to find trustworthy people, only Jason got several informants, but they have not reached more than that.

"Then let's just say hello."

"And let's seek to join that information network."

Tim sets that goal, to be part of that vigilant circle to which the MT belongs.

-----

Vivian @ LadyLuck_08

I loved Tunin's debut, will his hair be naturally long?

Leonor @Scar_FullMLeo

Did you see Mures? He's so cute

Ladybug comeback @ LadybugHero_89

It took a round hour to stop the Akuma. New record.

Chloe B. @BourgeoisQueen

Finally! I hate the basement. Who was the smart one who decided that it would be a good Akuma refuge?

[izukusensei]

Double Edged Sword (part 1)

Todoroki is a visitor from a neighboring clan, a welcomed guest in Lord Yagi’s home. Bakugou is assigned as his escort, meant to not only chaperone, but to acclimate him to the ways of the Yuuei Clan. When Bakugou finds Todoroki stealing a treasured possession from Lord Yagi, his task becomes more difficult than he anticipated.

author: izukusensei pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Todoroki Shouto word count: 3000+ tags: Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon AU, fighting, some adult content

“The sword of destiny has two edges. You are one of them.” x Andrzej Sapkowski 

Legend says that the Sword of Destiny will grant victory to any person who wields it. Its master will be able to turn the tide of battle… of war… of history. In the martial world, where clans have been vying for control for hundreds of years, this power is precious… priceless. 

But only the most worthy may wield the sword, as the legend goes. So, it has been passed down from hand to carefully chosen hand, from mentor to carefully chosen student, since its creation so long ago. The Sword of Destiny now belongs to Midoriya Izuku of the Yuuei clan, however left in the care of Toshinori Yagi - Midoriya’s mentor and the sword’s former master - who has promised to keep it safe while the young man completes his training.  

But it’s a dangerous time to be charged with such a task, to protect an object that holds so much power. The sword’s seventh master, Shimura Nana, has been killed in battle, Lord Yagi has been severely injured while avenging her death, and Midoriya has left Yuuei territory to complete his training, opening up a power vacuum in the martial world. 

Now, the Sword of Destiny lies waiting, ready for its new master to claim it. 

“If you come quietly, you may be shown mercy.”

“If I don’t come at all,” Todoroki replies, “then I have no need for mercy.”

Bakugou watches as Todoroki turns around to face him, the sword he has come to claim now to his back, still resting undisturbed on its pedestal. The room is dark all but for the full moon shining through the open windows, its light illuminating the sword’s wooden sheath and eclipsing Todoroki in its umbra, cloaking him in shadow. 

Neither man draws his weapon, though both are well aware that the other is armed. Bakugou is never without his sword attached securely to his hip and rarely is Todoroki seen without the twin blades upon his back.

But with any luck, they won’t come to blows. Not with steel, at least. Bakugou has never been one to back down from a fight, but that’s not how he wants this to end. Not with him and Todoroki. But Todoroki has gone this far, betrayed Lord Yagi’s trust and lied to Bakugou in more ways than one, so Bakugou knows that the other man won’t turn back now, no matter the outcome. 

“Lord Yagi invites you into his home,” Bakugou growls, “and this is the gratitude you repay him with?!”

Todoroki shouldn’t even be here, shouldn’t have ever been welcomed into Yuuei territory as he was. As Lord Todoroki Enji’s only son, he’s the next in line to lead the Doryoku once his father cannot, the heir to a clan of murderers and raiders and thieves.

They’ve been terrorizing the border between the Yuuei clan and themselves for years now and Lord Yagi thought that a little good faith could change that. He and Lord Todoroki were brothers in arms once, so long ago. They fought together and lived together as comrades before Lord Todoroki decided that he wanted more than the humble life of a Yuuei warrior.

He went rogue, started his own clan – the Doryoku – taking in outcasts, criminals, and those not fit to lead a proper warrior lifestyle. The clan grew quickly and throughout the years, Lord Todoroki has made a name for himself as one of the most feared and formidable men in the martial world. 

So, when a message was sent to Lord Yagi, requesting that he take in Todoroki Enji’s only son as his ward, an offering to express his sympathies over Shimura Nana’s death and to build a bridge between the two clans, Yagi accepted with little hesitation. The younger Todoroki was sent under the guise of peace, but Bakugou now knows better. It was a ruse, all of it. And Bakugou fell for it, completely. 

Bakugou hasn’t been part of the Yuuei clan for more than a few years now, but he was quick to gain Yagi’s trust and the favor of Yagi’s student and successor, Midoriya Izuku. With Midoriya gone to train with Sorahiko Torino, Lord Yagi had assigned Bakugou as Todoroki’s chaperone, to see to his needs and acclimate him to the Yuuei clan’s ways of life. 

The two of them grew close, closer than Bakugou should’ve allowed. Bakugou feels his mistake like a knife through the heart, one which will leave a scar that he knows will never fade. 

“All I need to do is raise the alarm,” Bakugou continues, trying to coax some kind of reaction out of the other man. Anything to combat this cold silence that’s surrounding them. 

When Todoroki doesn’t answer, Bakugou begins to move, taking a few small steps to his left. Not fast enough to startle the other man into a fight, but enough that Todoroki has to follow him, pivoting his body where he stands. 

As Todoroki turns, the light from the moon begins to illuminate the porcelain skin of his face, leaving the other side in shadow. Bakugou takes in the shape of the man’s rounded cheek, the silhouette of a chiseled jawline, the soft white of his pinned-up hair that seems to shimmer beneath the pale glow of the moon.

Bakugou, at one time, would picture strands of his own flaxen hair intertwined in a braid with Todoroki’s long tresses. Bakugou’s shorter hair would bear Todoroki’s mark, as well – white and red woven into blonde. This is the Yuuei clan’s symbol of lovers parted, because Bakugou knew that the day would come when Todoroki would have to go back to the Doryoku. But he never thought it would be so soon, and surely not under these conditions. 

“I’ll bring this whole damn house down around you!” Bakugou snarls. “Is that what you want, Todoroki?!”

They’re facing each other, the Sword of Destiny now to Bakugou’s left, Todoroki’s right. Bakugou’s chest feels heavy, heaving even with so little exertion. He feels his fingertips begin to itch, his body become restless. He feels wild, out of control, so different from Todoroki’s cold composure. 

Todoroki breaks eye contact with Bakugou and looks out toward the window, up toward the moon. The wind wafts in, sending wisps of white and red hair billowing across his face. “You would have done it already, if you were going to,” he replies, seemingly unphased by Bakugou’s coming undone.

“This will be a declaration of war!” Bakugou says, almost pleading, needing Todoroki’s attention on him once more. “Shouto…”

Todoroki does look back at Bakugou then, with an expression that the other man can only describe as regretful. “You don’t understand,” he replies before he takes a breath and steels himself, hardening his face like a mask. He takes a step back on one foot, bracing himself for the fight to come. “I can’t leave without the sword.”

“Tch,” Bakugou scoffs, getting into position himself. “Then you’re not leaving at all.”

Bakugou is the one with everything to lose, and he knows it. If Todoroki closes the distance between the sword and himself before Bakugou can get to him, then they will both be lost, Todoroki being quicker and more swift than Bakugou will ever be. And even if a chase does ensue, Bakugou will surely be led into Doryoku territory, which would no doubt be a deadly mistake on his part. 

So Bakugou attacks first, fists aiming at debilitating points in an attempt to end the fight fast. Nose. Temple. Kidneys. Todoroki evades all three. He counters with strikes of his own - jaw, chest, kick to the knee - which Bakugou blocks instead of dodges.

Todoroki is quick, slender, and lithe, his training obviously emphasizing grace, agility, and speed. He’s strong, but nowhere near as strong as Bakugou, who has grown powerful from years of wielding his heavy sword. In turn, Bakugou’s technique is blunt, brutal force. Slower than Todoroki, but more destructive. 

They’re true opposites of each other. Two sides of a perfectly balanced sword.

They lunge and parry. Punch, kick, and strike. With every step, Bakugou moves himself between Todoroki and the weapon he has come to claim, forcing his opponent to retreat further into the room with each charge.

Bakugou attacks with a signature move - Dragon of the Rising Dawn. Todoroki counterattacks with Winter Lotus. Back and forth, never wavering. Fanned Flame and then Frozen Tempest. Smoking Fire Flower and then…

Todoroki’s kick connects. Bakugou barely sees the man’s foot leave the ground before his neck is wrenched backward by the force of the blow to his face. He stumbles back in shock, spitting at the acrid taste filling his mouth. 

They’ve sparred over the months that Todoroki has been in Yuuei. Bakugou thought he knew how Todoroki’s body moved almost by rote now, the angle of his punches, the speed in which he can strike. He thought he knew, but as Bakugou has quickly learned, Todoroki has been hiding yet another piece of himself. Bakugou doesn't know this move. Has never seen this style. Todoroki knew - he knew he would have to use it some day.

Bakugou can’t linger on the betrayal. This fight isn’t over yet. Bakugou charges.

It’s quiet in Lord Yagi’s armory. The room is silent save for the sound of flesh on flesh when someone connects or blocks a hit, their heavy breathing, the shuffling of feet. Despite his threats, Bakugou has wanted to keep this discreet as possible, to convince Todoroki to give up and turn himself in, or to even leave and go back to the Doryoku. But Bakugou is caught off guard by Todoroki’s sudden change of style, the skills and techniques he has never before seen from the man. He knows that Todoroki will win this if he keeps fighting him hand-to-hand. 

The sound of metal against metal will surely draw a passing guard, if not rouse the household, but Bakugou pulls his sword from its scabbard anyway, whip-quick and poised toward Todoroki. 

“I’ll let you leave,” Bakugou says in an uncharacteristic display of kindness. “Just forget about the sword and go home.”

Todoroki shakes his head, eyes somber, as he reaches up and behind his back. He pulls his twin swords from their scabbards, not quick like Bakugou, but slow and steady and practiced. He’s opening himself up for an attack, and at this distance, with his speed, Bakugou could end it all now, could land the final blow to ensure the safety of the sword and the Yuuei clan’s position in the martial world.

But he doesn’t. He waits. It’s the Yuuei way to ensure that fights are fair and honorable, and even with so much to lose, Bakugou would never turn his back on the principals Lord Yagi and the Yuuei clan have instilled in him. 

And even if that wasn’t so, this is still Shouto…

They’re both without any armor. Bakugou supposes that Todoroki left his behind in favor of being silent and stealthy. Bakugou, for his part, only left his bed because Todoroki was yet to join him. He meant only to seek him out, not knowing that he would be bearing witness to that very man’s treachery.

Not knowing that not having his armor would be the difference between peace and war in the martial world. 

This is dangerous. Both men are deadly. Bakugou’s sword is large and heavy, and spans more distance than Todoroki’s shorter, thinner swords. But Todoroki’s weapons are light and swift, able to slice through the air with little effort. 

Like the ringing of a bell, sound echoes through the armory as weapons clash. Bakugou lets loose a barrage of blows, hacking-hacking-hacking away at Todoroki’s smaller swords and waning energy. The repeated impact becomes too much for him, and his sword is knocked from his left hand, leaving him with only half his defense, but double the strength to wield it.

Todoroki raises his sword with both hands, ready to deliver what will no doubt be a mighty blow. Bakugou raises his own sword to block it but is met with a kick to his unprotected stomach, knocking the wind out of him and making him stagger back in pain and surprise. Before he can reorient himself, Todoroki’s blade slices through the space between them and lands flush against Bakugou’s throat.

The blow would have killed him, should have. The speed and strength behind the strike would have been enough to cut through half of Bakugou’s neck, but Todoroki stopped just in time. He does put more pressure against Bakugou’s throat though, taking a step forward and forcing the other man back. Bakugou hits the wall, and with nowhere else to go he flattens himself against the unyielding stone. 

Todoroki’s eyes are hard and unmoving from Bakugou’s own, his hand ever-steady, but Bakugou sees the tick in his jaw before it tenses, sees the hesitation. Todoroki could still kill him. A quick slide of the sword at the right spot and Bakugou will bleed out in less than a minute.  

“Don’t show me mercy, you little shit,” Bakugou hisses, pressing the flesh of his throat further into the blade. “I wouldn’t do the same for you.”

Todoroki’s brows furrow, lips narrow. This close, Bakugou doesn’t know whether to look at his grey eye or the blue, they have both always captivated him with equal measure. But he makes sure not to look away, because his words aren’t just provoking - they’re prophetic. If Todoroki lets him live, he can be sure that their next fight won’t end so graciously.

“Drop your weapon, Katsuki.”

The hilt of Bakugou’s weapon is still clutched tight in his hand - his arm extended outward at his side, the tip of the sword almost touching the floor. His fingers clench around it and Bakugou is ready to defy him, but Todoroki’s blade cuts into his throat, shallow, but the sword is sharp and he can feel the rivulets of blood creeping down his neck. 

“Drop it,” Todoroki tells him again. 

He does then, drops his sword to the ground with a metallic clang. Without lowering his gaze from Bakugou’s eyes, Todoroki places his foot on the hilt and kicks it away, sending it skittering across the ancient tile floor and far enough away that Bakugou wouldn’t have time to retrieve it if Todoroki decided to make an escape. 

It takes a moment after, but Todoroki removes the blade from Bakugou’s throat, rolls his wrist around and back to sheathe the sword effortlessly over his shoulder. Its partner is still missing, lost somewhere in the darkness of the armory, but Bakugou will be damned if he lets Todoroki leave with it. 

Once the sword is put away, Bakugou relaxes, but not by much. He drew his weapon because Todoroki was beating him hand-to-hand, and he won’t make the mistake of thinking Todoroki’s fists aren’t as deadly as his swords. 

He can finally breathe, though, drawing in a shuddering breath. But to a man as apprehensive as Todoroki is at this moment, even that is taken as a threat. Before the exhale, Todoroki’s hand is on Bakugou’s throat, keeping him still and flush against the wall. The salty sweat of his palm is seeping into Bakugou’s cut, making it sting, smearing the blood on his skin.

They’re close. Pressed up against each other, Bakugou can feel the harsh ebb and flow of Todoroki’s chest as he breathes, the heat of his body through layers of fabric. He can feel Todoroki’s rapid heartbeat against his own chest. Still, Bakugou doesn’t move. 

Todoroki leans forward and presses his forehead against Bakugou’s. He slides his hand up from Bakugou’s throat to cup his cheek in a rough palm, thumb rubbing against the man’s bottom lip. He closes his eyes and breathes, and then Bakugou feels him retreating, the space between their bodies growing. 

Bakugou grabs him by the front of his shirt before he can get too far and pulls him forward, pressing his mouth against the other man’s in a hard kiss. Todoroki gasps, caught off guard, but quickly recovers. His lips begin to move against Bakugou’s with little hesitation, a practiced familiarity laced into every movement. 

For Bakugou, the kiss is more desperate than anything. Inelegant. But Bakugou doesn’t care about it feeling good. He just wants Todoroki to feel something. And he must, because his hands move to Bakugou’s hair, gripping the strands tight in his fist, as he deepens the kiss. 

Bakugou keeps his hands clenched in the front of the man’s shirt, holding him closely, confident enough now to touch his tongue to Todoroki’s lips. When Todoroki returns in kind, Bakugou makes a sound - small and pitiful - miserable enough to startle him.

“Katsuki --”

He moves to take Todoroki’s jaw in his palms, brings him forward again and doesn’t let him go. He bites the man’s lips, his chin, his throat. Todoroki, barely taller, pulls Bakugou’s hair to tilt his head back, sucks a bruise into the side of his neck as he slots a thigh between Bakugou’s legs.

Bakugou squeezes his eyes shut, clenches his jaw to keep from calling out. He arches his back, presses his shoulder blades against the wall to tilt his hips forward and put more pressure on Todoroki’s thigh. 

Todoroki grinds against him for good measure, and only moves away to get his fingers on the ties of Bakugou’s pants and slide them down his legs. When they’re out of his way, Todoroki grabs Bakugou by his bare hips, fingernails digging into the warm and sweat-slick skin. He closes the distance again, molding himself against Bakugou’s half-nude body. 

“Shouto –” Bakugou breathes, and he’s shaking his head, willing him to stay after all of this. He would forget about this night, if Todoroki would turn back, if he would forget about the sword. They could pretend like it was just a bad dream and awake the next morning in a world where Todoroki didn’t betray him and his entire clan. They could – 

“WHO’S IN THERE?”

A voice outside the armory startles them both, and Todoroki jumps back before Bakugou has the chance to grab him. Bakugou moves forward to stop the other man’s retreat but is caught up in the pants wrapped up around his ankles. He stumbles and falters, giving Todoroki enough time to claim the Sword of Destiny and disappear into the night.

x picture credit: ig @shirogane_sama x

[fanyiyimdzs]

Mo Dao Zu Shi: Chapter 2

Masterpost

Previous chapter

Wei Wuxian wanted to wash his face and pay his respects to his body’s former owner, but the room had no water—none for drinking, none for washing. Nothing.

The single bowl, he guessed, was meant for bodily wastes, and thus could not be used for his purposes.

He pushed on the door but found that it had been bolted shut, presumably because the family feared Mo Xuanyu would go outside and cause trouble.

There wasn’t a single thing about this situation that allowed him to feel the joy of rebirth!

He figured he might as well meditate for a while and get used to his body. When he opened his eyes again, a whole day had passed, and sunlight was leaking through the cracks between the door and the walls, and through the slits in the windows. Though he could now stand and walk around, he was still lightheaded, and his eyes were still blurry—hardly better than yesterday. Something was odd. “This Mo Xuanyu’s cultivation is so weak that his spiritual energy can be ignored, but there’s no reason I shouldn’t be able to control his body. Why can’t I do anything?”

It wasn’t until his stomach let out a loud growl that he realized the problem had nothing to do with Mo Xuanyu’s cultivation, and everything to do with the fact that he was extremely hungry and his new body was not used to fasting. He needed to look for food soon, or else he was at risk of becoming the first demonic spirit to take over a new body only to starve to death.

Gathering his energy, Wei Wuxian lifted his foot and prepared to bust down the door. But suddenly he heard the sound of approaching footsteps, and then of someone kicking the door and irritatedly shouting, “It’s time to eat!”

The door did not open despite the yelling. Lowering his head, Wei Wuxian glanced towards it and found that a smaller door had been built at the bottom of the wooden board. It was through this door his bowl of food passed.

“Faster!” the servant outside said. “Why are you taking so long? Pass the bowl back when you’re done!”

The little door was too small for even a dog to pass through, let alone a human, though it was adequate for the bowl. Wei Wuxian’s rations (it looked too unappetizing to be deemed “food”) consisted of two types of vegetables atop steamed rice. He mixed them around with the chopsticks stuck in the rice, feeling a little sorry for himself.

The Old Master of Yiling had only just returned to the world of the living, and all he had been met with was a kick to the chest and a raging temper tantrum. Now, he had nothing more than these cold, slimy leftovers for his first meal. Where were the foul winds and blood rains? The slaughter which spared not even the dogs and chickens? The extinctions? If he told someone he was back, who would believe him? At present, he was like a tiger being bullied by a dog on the plain, or a dragon by shrimp in shallow water. If you plucked the feathers of a phoenix, was it even worth as much as a hen?

Outside, the servant shouted again, but this time he also giggled as though he’d been body-swapped. “Ah-ding! Come over here!”

A girl’s voice, crisp and sassy, replied from a distance. “Ah-tong, delivering food to the one in there again?”

“Pah! Why else would I be in this wretched courtyard?” Ah-tong replied.

Ah-ding’s voice approached the door. “Your only job is to deliver him food. No one says anything if you just loaf around the rest of the time, and you’re still complaining about the courtyard? Look at me! I have so much work I can’t even step outside the house.”

“I don’t just deliver food!” he whined. “Do you even have the guts to go out these days? There’s so many walking corpses everyone’s bolted their doors shut.”

Wei Wuxian squatted and leaned on the door, shoveling rice into his mouth with mismatched chopsticks, listening closely.

It seemed like things were not quite tranquil at Mo Manor. Walking corpses were the bodies of dead people, reanimated. They were common and relatively weak, possessing dull, stagnant eyes and a lumbering, sluggish gait. Though they weren’t particularly powerful or dangerous, they were strong enough to scare ordinary people stiff. A single whiff of their putrefying flesh was enough to make most vomit the entire contents of their stomachs.

But as far as Wei Wuxian was concerned, walking corpses were the easiest to order around, and the most obedient puppets. Hearing so suddenly of them, he almost felt a burst of affection.

“If you want to go out,” Ah-tong said, the wink practically visible in his voice, “you could bring me and I could protect you.”

“You? Protect me?” Ah-ding replied. “Please, don’t boast. Could you really beat those things?”

“If I can’t fight them off, no one else can either,” Ah-tong huffed.

“How do you know?” She laughed. “You know, a bunch of cultivators came here today. I heard that they’re from an amazing and prestigious clan! Lady Mo is in the main hall speaking to them right now, and everyone in town has come to watch. Can’t you hear all the noise? I don’t have time to fool around with you, they might need me soon.”

Wei Wuxian listened carefully. The sound of hubbub could indeed be heard coming from the east. He pondered for a minute, rose, and launched a hard kick at the door. The bolt cracked and split.

The two servants were right in the middle of giggling and making eyes at each other when the door flung open. They screeched as though a bomb had gone off in their faces.

Wei Wuxian tossed his bowl and chopsticks on the ground and sauntered outside without acknowledging them. The sun stung his eyes so harshly that he couldn’t pry open his eyelids, and even his skin felt singed by the sun’s glare. To let his eyes adjust, he raised his hand above his eyebrows to block out the rays.

Ah-tong’s scream had been even shriller than Ah-ding’s, but once he saw the lunatic everyone bullied and composed himself, his courage ballooned. Attempting to redeem himself from his embarrassing behavior, he bounded towards Wei Wuxian, waving his hand and scolding the Old Yiling Master in the same tone he scolded dogs.

“Go! Go! Go back! Why are you out here?”

Most of the time, this was how the servants behaved toward Mo Xuanyu. Even beggars and insects were treated better than he was. Since he never fought back, they felt free to run rampant.

But Wei Wuxian lightly kicked Ah-Tong, sending him tumbling. “Are you really trying to bully me?” he said, laughing.

He continued on in the direction of the clamor. Surrounding the building were a number of spectators, gathered both in and outside the eastern hall of the eastern courtyard. Inside, one woman’s head stuck out above the rest of the crowd. As soon as Wei Wuxian stepped foot into the courtyard, he heard her voice.

“...One of the junior members of our household was also a cultivator, you see...”

This had to be Lady Mo, trying every means possible to create a connection between a cultivation clan and her family, as usual. In no mind to wait for her to finish, he squeezed through the sea of people and rushed into the hall, waving his hands wildly. “I’m coming, I’m coming! Here, here!”

In the middle of the hall sat a middle aged woman of good complexion, wearing very fine clothing—Lady Mo. Beneath her sat her husband, who had married into her family and thus had lower status than his wife. Across from the couple sat several youths clad in white, bearing swords on their backs.

All noise abruptly died as the disheveled, clown-faced maniac burst through the crowd. As though completely oblivious to the atmosphere, Wei Wuxian hollered, “Who was calling for me just now? I’m the junior cultivator!”

The powder caked on his face cracked as he smiled, cascading to the ground in streams of white and red. One of the white-clad youths made a choking noise and looked dangerously close to bursting into laughter. The youth beside him, seemingly the leader of group, shot him a disapproving glance. He quickly sobered.

Wei Wuxian’s gaze swept through the crowd to the source of the noise. Originally, he had thought that the “amazing and prestigious clan” was merely the exaggeration of a naive servant, but to his shock, he was quite mistaken. Who knew that that the junior cultivators who had shown up at the Mo family’s doors really were from a prominent clan?

They wore robes that were light and graceful like the breeze and beautiful like the morning frost, and their sleeves and sashes seemed to float and glide with their every movement. Their bearing was refined and upright, and their countenance pleasing to the eye. A single glance was enough to know they were from the Gusu Lan Clan. Some were even juniors of House Lan itself—they bore around their foreheads their house’s characteristic white ribbons, as wide as a finger and embroidered with cirrus clouds.

The Gusu Lan Clan’s motto was “righteousness,” the forehead ribbon signified self-rule, and cirrus clouds were its house emblem—the Clan’s guest cultivators or others from outside the family could not wear them. Just looking at members of the House Lan made Wei Wuxian’s teeth ache. In his past life, he had often called the Lan clan uniforms “mourning clothes.” He could never mistake them.

Lady Mo had not seen her nephew for a long time and took a very long time to recover from the shock of seeing him now. Once she recognized who the man wearing the thick, gaudy, hideous makeup was, rage flared in her heart. But in the present circumstances, she couldn’t lash out. 

Suppressing the bile in her throat, she said to her husband, “Who let him out? Put him back!”

Her husband smiled obsequiously and rose. With a face cast in shadow, he stepped toward Wei Wuxian and prepared to haul him out, only for the clown-faced maniac to suddenly throw himself onto the floor. All four of his limbs clinging firmly to the ground, Wei Wuxian defied Husband Mo’s attempts to drag him outside. Even when several servants were called over to help, he still refused to budge. The family would have long started to beat him, if it weren’t for the presence of guests.

Lady Mo’s expression grew more sour and angry every moment, while Husband Mo’s face was covered in a sticky layer of sweat. “You stupid lunatic!” he roared. “If you don’t leave this instant, I will deal with you, and it will be ugly!”

While everyone knew that the Mo family had a young master who had been driven mad, Mo Xuanyu had been hidden away in his dark room for many years now, too frightened to stick his head out for fear of encountering another living soul. To see him in public, both looking and acting like some kind of ghost or demon—whispers immediately began to swirl around both the hall and the courtyard. This was the show everyone wanted to see.

“If you want me to go, that’s fine,” Wei Wuxian said before pointing at Mo Ziyuan. “But tell him to give back the things he stole first!”

Mo Ziyuan would never in a million years have suspected that this lunatic could have so much nerve. It was only yesterday he had taught his cousin a lesson, yet today that sad sack still had the guts to show his face here? “Stop talking nonsense!” he said, his complexion turning red, then white, then red again. “Since when have I stolen anything? Why would I need to steal from you?”

“That’s right!” Wei Wuxian said. “You didn’t steal from me, you robbed me!”

This time, Lady Mo realized what was occurring. Mo Xuanyu had come prepared. He wasn’t insane, his mind was clear as could be, and he was here for one purpose: to humiliate them. Unable to hold it in any longer, she burst into stunned fury. “You intentionally came here to cause trouble, didn’t you?!”

“He stole my things!” Wei Wuxian replied. “I’m here to ask for them back, that still counts as causing trouble?”

Before Lady Mo could answer, Mo Ziyuan, too anxious to control himself, lifted his foot and prepared to launch a kick at his cousin. But one of the sword-bearing, white-clad youths made a slight motion with his finger, sending him off balance and his foot flying towards empty space. While he tumbled to the ground, Wei Wuxian rolled over as though his cousin’s kick had connected. He tore open the front of his robe, revealing the foot-shaped bruise in the exact center of his chest, planted by Mo Ziyuan in yesterday’s assault.

The villagers salivated as they observed the drama, excited beyond measure. After all, Mo Xuanyu could hardly have kicked himself! At the end of the day, he was still the Mo family’s blood relative—how cruel were they? When Mo Xuanyu had first come home, he clearly hadn’t been as insane as he was now, so there was a four out of five chance it had been caused by the Mo’s’ mistreatment! The more they oppressed him, the crazier he got!

Whatever the truth was, as long as there was commotion, the villagers were happy. It wasn’t as though the Mo’s could abuse them. This display was far more interesting than the arrival of the cultivators!

With so many pairs of eyes fixed upon her, unable to hit Mo Xuanyu or throw him out, Lady Mo could only march around the hall, holding her resentment and anger within her throat as though holding her breath.

Lightly, she said, “What theft? What robbery? There’s no need to use such ugly words. We’re family. Ah-yuan was just borrowing, that’s all. He’s basically your little brother. If he takes a few things, is it such a big problem? As the older brother, should you really be so stingy? It’s embarrassing to have a childish temper tantrum over such small things—it’s not as though he won’t return them to you.”

The white-clad youths exchanged helpless glances. One of the youths, in the middle of drinking tea, nearly choked. The juniors of the Gusu Lan Clan had spent their lives in the mountains, exposed to only the snow, the moon, the flowers, and the wind. They had probably never seen this kind of farce, or heard this type of “wisdom.” Unfortunately, it seemed that they would grow a little more worldly today.

Laughing hysterically inside, Wei Wuxian stuck his hand out and said, “Then return my things to me.”

Of course, Mo Ziyuan wouldn’t have been able to return Mo Xuanyu’s things even if he had wanted to. He had long since thrown them away or taken them apart.

“Mom!” he cried. His face was now a shade somewhere between grey and green, and his expression clearly said, “You’re just letting this person humiliate me?”

Lady Mo glowered at her son, beseeching him not to make an even bigger scene. But no one anticipated what Wei Wuxian said next.

“To be completely honest, he not only shouldn’t have stolen my things, he really shouldn’t have stolen them in the middle of the night. Everyone knows that I like men. Even I know it looks suspicious for him to sneak into my room so late, but he doesn’t even know to be embarrassed.”

The shock left Lady Mo gasping for breath. “How dare you say those things, especially in front of the villagers!” she shrieked, “Don’t you feel ashamed? Ah-yuan is your cousin!”

When it came to wild, outrageous behavior, Wei Wuxian was the best of the best. In his previous life, there were certain limits on how far he could take his misbehavior without bringing shame upon his house teachings. But today, he was supposed to be a lunatic anyway—who cared about pride and reputation? The more outrageous he acted, the better. Whatever he wanted to do, he’d do it.

Straightening himself and speaking as though embodying the voice of justice, he declared, “He knows he’s my cousin but he still doesn’t try to avoid suspicion! Exactly who’s the one who should be ashamed?! If he doesn’t care about his reputation, fine, but don’t soil my innocence! I still want to find a good man some day!”

Mo Ziyuan howled. He picked up a chair and swung it violently. To avoid the explosion of temper, Wei Wuxian rolled away, scrambled up, and hid. The chair struck the floor, splintering and sending chunks of wood ricocheting skywards. The rows and rows of spectators inside and outside the eastern hall, who had been delighting in the disastrous spectacle of the Mo family’s utter humiliation, scattered like birds when the smashing started, afraid of falling victim to mis-aimed strikes and flying debris. Wei Wuxian scrambled towards the Lan juniors, who watched the scene in a daze.

He ducked behind them and noisily said, “You saw it, right? Right? Not only does he steal, he beats people! What a cruel, heartless person!

Mo Ziyuan chased after Wei Wuxian for another swing, but was blocked by the Lan group’s leader. “Young master...please, let’s resolve this using words.”

Observing that the youth was attempting to protect the lunatic and afraid of the consequences of angering his clan, Lady Mo plastered on a fake smile. “This is my younger sister’s son. He has some problems, ah, up there. Everyone in this household knows that he’s insane—if he says some odd things, you shouldn’t take him seriously. Cultivators, please don’t—”

Before she could finish, Wei Wuxian popped his head out from behind the youth’s back. “Who says not to take my words seriously? If anyone dares to steal my things from now on, just try me! Steal from me and I’ll chop your arm off!”

Though Mo Ziyuan was now held down by his father, as soon as he heard those words, his rage flared again and he was in danger of breaking free. Like a fish leaping out of the water, Wei Wuxian jumped out, then swam away through the exit.

The youth, now blocking the door, decided that changing the topic was perhaps the best course of action. He put on a solemn face. “So...so tonight we will borrow your western courtyard. As I said previously, please remember to close your doors and windows tightly, and not to come outside after dusk, especially near the courtyard. You must obey our instructions for everyone’s safety.” 

Lady Mo was shaking with apoplexy, but as she couldn’t push the youth out of the way and chase after her nephew, she could only say, “Fine, fine. Sorry to trouble you with this matter.”

“Mom!” Mo Ziyuan said in disbelief. “That lunatic slandered and humiliated me in front of everyone! And you’re just letting him go?! You said once, you said that he was nothing more than a—“

Lady Mo inhaled sharply. “Shut up. If you have something to say you can hold it for later!”

Mo Ziyuan had never been forced to live through this kind of ordeal, or faced this kind of disgrace. He especially had never been so harshly reprimanded by his mother. Heart burning with hatred and rage, he roared, “That lunatic is dead tonight!”

After Wei Wuxian had finished being insane and exited the hall, he took a stroll around the surrounding village, leaving an innumerable quantity of stunned passers-by in his wake. Finding the situation immensely funny, he began to appreciate the delights of lunacy. He even started to approve of his hanged-ghost makeup and was somewhat reluctant to part with it.

“There’s no water, so I can’t wash it off anyway,” he thought to himself. He fixed his hair and glanced at his wrists, but his injuries showed no signs of improvement, or even change. In other words, embarrassing the Mo’s—a light, petty revenge—was nowhere near enough.

Did Mo Xuanyu really want him to slaughter his entire family?

To be honest, it wasn’t as though it was difficult.

Wei Wuxian pondered this question while walking back to the house. He pranced by the western courtyard and saw some Lan juniors standing atop the roofs and walls, discussing something with very serious looks on their faces. He pranced back to them, raised his head, and gazed at them, a strange mix of feelings in his heart.

Even though the Gusu Lan Clan was a major participant in the siege of, well, him, these juniors hadn’t been born yet when that had happened, or they had only been a few years old. It had nothing to do with them.

As he continued observing their preparations for the night, he suddenly realized that something seemed odd.

Why did the black flags fluttering in the wind atop the roofs and walls look so familiar?

The black flags were a type of flag called a “yin summoning flag.” If stuck on a living person, it attracted all the dark spirits, vengeful ghosts, fierce corpses, and evil demons within a certain radius and caused them to attack only the flag-bearer. Because the flag-bearer acted as living bait, effectively drawing a big target on themselves, the flag was also called a “target flag.” They could also be stuck on buildings, but the buildings were required to have living people in them, and everyone inside was susceptible to being attacked. Wherever the flag was stuck, yin energy would begin swirling around the area, as though it had been engulfed in a slow, black whirlwind. Thus, the flag was also known as a “black wind flag.”

The reason the youths would not allow others to come near as they were setting up their flag array must have been because they wanted to draw in and capture all the walking corpses in one fell swoop.

As for why the flags looked familiar...how couldn’t they? The inventor of the yin summoning flag was the Old Master of Yiling himself! It seemed that though all the cultivation houses had furiously called for his head, they had no qualms about using the things he’d invented...

One of the juniors standing atop nearby eaves spotted Wei Wuxian. “You should go back, this isn’t somewhere you should be,” he said.

Though the he was trying to get rid of Wei Wuxian, the youth had good intentions, and spoke in a tone entirely unlike the tone the servants had taken earlier. But Wei Wuxian, who had other plans, hopped up and plucked one of the flags, catching the youth off guard.

That junior jumped off the wall and darted after him, still slightly in shock. “Don’t mess around! These things shouldn’t be played with!” 

Wei Wuxian, face smeared with powder, hair flying everywhere, hands and feet dancing with glee, looked, of course, completely insane. As he ran, he shouted, “No! No take-backsies! I want one! It’s mine!”

In two steps the junior caught up  and pulled on Wei Wuxian’s arm. “Are you going to give it back? If you don’t, I’ll—I’ll hit you!”

Wei Wuxian hugged the flag so tightly no one could have pried it from his cold, dead hands. Alarmed by what was passing, the leader of the Lan juniors, originally busy with overseeing the construction of the flag formation, floated down from the eaves.

He approached them. “Jingyi, it’s alright, please just get it back from him nicely. There’s no need to quarrel.”

“It’s not like I actually hit him, Sizhui!,” Lan Jingyi said. “Just look at him. He ruined our flag formation!”

Making good use of the two Lans’ brief lapse of attention, Wei Wuxian had already finished inspecting the yin summoning flag in his hands. The marks were drawn correctly, and no words were missing from the spell—in short, there was nothing wrong with it, and it would function correctly when used. However, the one who had drawn it was still inexperienced, so the flag could only attract evil spirits and walking corpses from no more than two and a half kilometers away. But it was good enough.

With a smile hinting at his lips, Lan Sizhui said, “Young Master Mo, it’s almost dark. We’ll need to start catching walking corpses soon. It’ll be dangerous tonight, so it would be better if you returned to your room.”

Wei Wuxian gave this youth a once-over. His demeanor was gentle, refined, and graceful, and the corners of his mouth were lightly upturned, as though they constantly held a slight grin. The flag formation he had overseen was impeccable, and his upbringing was not so bad either. In short, he was a highly commendable young man, and in his heart, Wei Wuxian approved of him, though it amazed him that even in a frightening place filled with uptight fuddy-duddies like the Gusu Lan Clan, there was someone who could bring up such a splendid young man.

Lan Sizhui spoke again. “This flag—”

Without waiting for him to finish, Wei Wuxian threw the flag on the ground. “Hmph. It’s only a dumb flag. What’s so great about it? I can draw one way better!”

As soon as he finished, he picked up his legs and ran. Several youths resting on the rooftops saw the commotion, heard the shameless boasting, and began laughing so hard they were in danger of slipping off of the roofs and tumbling to the ground. Irritated, Lan Jingyi also began snickering. He picked up the flag and patted off the dirt. “That man really is a lunatic!”

“Let’s not speak that way,” Lan Sizhui said. “We should return quickly and help finish up.”

Wei Wuxian didn’t return to Mo Xuanyu’s small courtyard until the sun had set, choosing instead  to loaf around the house a few times. When he did return, he saw that no one had bothered to clean up the mess that was Mo Xuanyu’s room. The latch on his door was still broken, and the floor was still covered with debris. Deciding he’d rather not look at the ugly sight, he cleared an empty patch on the ground, sat down, closed his eyes, and went back to meditating.

Who knew that long before sunrise, he would be pulled out of his reverie by a loud commotion outside his door.

Frantic footsteps mixed with the sound of sobbing and sharp cries of alarm, rapidly approaching him. Wei Wuxian heard a few phrases repeated several times. “Rush in and pull him out!” “Go tell the officials!” “Tell what officials? Cover his head and beat him to death!”

He opened his eyes just as several servants charged inside. The entire courtyard was lit brightly by flame.

“Drag this murderous lunatic to the main hall and let him pay with his life!” someone screamed.

Next chapter

Masterpost

[thebladeblaster]

Pokémon: the Dark Circuit (AKA Vanguard Descends season 2)

Chapter 1 Swept Away

Aichi’s current team

Level 80 Ahmes (Gallade) psychic/fighting

Moves:

Close combat

Solar blade

Swords dance

Future Sight

Level 79 Wingal (Lycanroc (dusk)) rock

Moves:

Stealth rock

Crunch

Stone edge

Play rough

Level 77 Llew (Golisopod) water/bug

Moves:

Sucker punch

Blizzard

Liquidation

First impression

Level 78 Gancelot (Lucario) fighting/steel

Moves:

Focus blast

Stone edge

Meteor mash

Dragon pulse

Level 85 Soul Saver (Haxorus) dragon

Moves:

Outrage

Iron tail

Dragon dance

Scale shot

Level 100 Alfred (Aegislash) ghost/steel

Moves:

Sacred sword

King’s shield

Iron head

Shadow Claw

A few days after the rare hunter incident…

Aichi, the not yet elite ’four’, and the gym leaders were at a meeting.

“We had tried to get the rare hunter we had captured to speak, however there was an unfortunate and concerning event.”, the man in a suit said.

“What do you mean by that?”, Misaki asked.

“I will warn you what your about to see is both graphic and disturbing.”, the man replied.

Misaki then put her hand over Aichi’s eyes who sweat dropped.The man simply motioned them to look at a screen behind them. The expressions ranged from curious to skeptical. Nothing would prepare them for what they were about to see. The screen lit up to show the rare hunter tied up in a chair. Suddenly he started twitching weirdly. Some of them looked rather confused at this. The rare hunter started sweating a blanket of sweat.

“I-I didn’t t-tell them a-anything master I-I s-swear!”, the rare hunter said seemingly to himself.

Aichi slightly raised up Misaki’s hand peeking at what they were watching. Suddenly there was a cracking noise and the rare hunter’s limbs started contorting unnaturally. The rare hunter begged more as it continued. Misaki lowered her hand back over Aichi’s eyes as this was going on. There were some surprised gasps in the room and uncomfortable expressions. The rare hunter’s eyes were now whitened out and a strange glowing golden eye-like symbol appeared on his forehead. He stood hanging over with his hands limp to his sides.

“Greetings Kakusans, I’m impressed you were able to defeat my rare hunters. However I wouldn’t celebrate just yet. Soon, your region will fall and your strongest will become my mind slaves.”, a different voice came from the rare hunter’s voice before he fell to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.

“That’s like some ghost Pokémon stuff…”, Kurosawa commented.

Kishida nodded as he shook like a leaf.

“What the heck was that? I’m pretty sure the mind control that Ren used was nothing like that.”, Gouki questioned.

“What do you think about it Aichi?”, Koutei asked, before sweat dropping as he noticed Aichi’s eyes were covered and Misaki had just removed her hand.

“He’s not a kid you know.”, Kyou said.

“I could still hear it. It’s strange, the closest thing that I’ve seen to that so far is ghost Pokémon possession. I don’t think that it was any of the others. Though, to be fair I don’t exactly know the extent to our powers.”, Aichi replied.

“Who else could it be?”, Gunji questioned.

“I don’t know…”, Aichi replied as confused as the others.

A few days later…

Aichi stood near route 1. He seemed like he was in his own world currently thinking of the events of just a few days ago. He snapped out of it as he noticed someone in front of him waving his hand in his face. It was Naoki. Aichi blinked realizing he had completely zoned out.

“Oh sorry, Naoki.”, Aichi apologized as he rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

“I guess you must be tired after all the training we did today.”, Naoki replied.

“Yeah...that’s it.”, Aichi replied, not wanting to burden his new friend with what happened at the last league meeting.

“Hehe! Pretty soon me and Gauntlet will be able to beat even you especially after evolving!”, Naoki said as he raised up his fist passionately.

His Gible was now a Gabite.

“Lycanroc? Lycanroc? Lycanroc? Lycanroc. Lycanroc. Lycanroc. Lycanroc. Lycanroc. Lycanroc. (He realizes you’d destroy him right? Especially since he doesn’t even have six Pokémon.)”, Wingal said as Aichi sweat dropped glad that Naoki couldn’t understand Pokémon.

Gauntlet could though and looked ready to throw down despite being exhausted.

“Gabite? Gabite! Gabite! Gabite! Gabite! (Is that so? I can absolutely kick your butt!)”, Gauntlet replied hot headedly.

“What’s with Gauntlet?”, Naoki questioned cluelessly.

Aichi sweat dropped again as the two Pokémon growled at each other.

“Wingal be nice.”, Aichi whispered.

The two Pokémon turned away from each other ‘hmphing”. Naoki looked between the two cluelessly. Aichi chuckled a bit awkwardly.

Later…

Aichi was on his way back home when he suddenly felt an intense wind fly past making him stiffen. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he felt something off. Aichi noticed that it wasn’t actually the wind that was acting on him. The wind was blowing at all yet he felt like a torrent of wind was coming at them. Wingal sniffed cautiously picking up the salty smell of the sea. Aichi focused on trying to figure out what was the cause of this strange occurrence. He turned suddenly jumping as a blond teen had appeared in front of him. He had three ahoges and purple eyes. He had on white suit with purple parts with a red A. The teen was Soryu Leon, 002f. Wingal growled at Leon while both Aichi and Leon’s eyes had rainbow spirals briefly as if resonating with each other.

The two were silent; the only sound ringing through the air was Wingal’s growling until the sound of thunder suddenly caused Aichi to flinch. He looked up into the sky to see lightning raining down and a sudden massive downpour of rain. The air became rather moist. Even from the distance they were at from the coast the tides were becoming visibly wild. Aichi sweated nervously as he cautiously looked back over to Leon.

“It seems we finally meet again, 003v. I am 002f.”, Leon introduced.

“...I am Sendou Aichi not 003v.”, Aichi replied as he gave Leon a serious look.

“You will always be 003v. You will come to know that soon.”, Leon replied cryptically.

Aichi tensed at that as Wingal continued to growl at Leon.

“I refuse! You're another one aren’t you? Another one like me and Ren.”, Aichi replied.

“A Psyqualia user, yes.”, Leon replied.

“Psyqualia user? That’s what we’re called?”, Aichi questioned.

“Yes, Psyqualia in some languages means dream. That’s why we are called Psyqualia users. Because we are the ones who will accomplish Team Asteroid’s ultimate dream.”, Leon explained.

“I won’t help Team Asteroid.”, Aichi replied.

Leon simply closed his eyes expecting this reaction from what he was told about 003v’s current condition. Leon lifted up his fist into the air much to Aichi’s confusion.

“Gallade!(Aichi!)”, Ahmes called out, as he ran to Aichi along with Gancelot, Llew, Soul Saver, and Alfred.

Aichi’s attention turned over to the rest of his Pokémon as they got up to him. There was a loud thunderous crackle as the lighting suddenly intensified. The wind became so wild trees started to get uprooted. Worry entered Aichi’s chest not just for his family and friends, but for everyone in Sanctuary town.

“Everyone in Sanctuary town has to evacuate!”, Aichi said.

“That’s covered. When the storm started Takuto told everyone to leave on the tv.”, Alfred replied.

They minus Leon then turned their attention to loud flapping which got louder by the second. From the sky descended a massive shadowy winged figure with every flap of its wings the storm intensified. The darkness caused from the storm masked its appearance though all they could make out was the general shape of the figure and its glowing red eyes.

“There’s a legendary Pokémon that is said to create storms with the flap of its wings…”, Aichi trailed off as his eyes widened, very alarmed to see this Pokémon was actually here and likely under the control of Team Asteroid.

“So, you know of it. However that won’t help you.”, Leon replied with a smirk.

Aichi sweated nervously and hovered his hand over his mega bracelet. However, before the bracelet could even glow, Aichi suddenly saw...water?! Aichi flinched, caught off guard as a wave of water suddenly crashed against him and he covered Wingal. He struggled confused and disoriented. Aichi tried to reach out to his Pokémon as his vision started to blur.

“W-what?!”, Aichi thought as his vision started to get dark.

Aichi tried to activate his Psyqualia, but he couldn’t focus at all. Aichi desperately tried to swim, but the water was too wild, suddenly him careening back. Aichi struggled harder as the air started to leave him. He could even make out water Pokémon struggling within the wild waves.

“C-crap! I’m drowning! I-I can’t die like this! I have to protect ever…”, Aichi’s thought suddenly cut off.

Later outside Sanctuary town…

Shuka put a reassuring hand on Emi’s shoulder as they sat at the evacuation place at Megacolony town. Emi squirmed having a really bad feeling in her chest.

“Aichi will be alright. You know how strong he is.”, Shuka said.

“Even still...I have this bad feeling I can’t shake.”, Emi replied.

Shuka looked over to Shizuka who wasn’t there now. Confused, she looked over to see Shizuka currently being restrained from leaving.

“We’re very sorry mam, but it’s too dangerous!”, one of the evacuation people said.

“But, my son’s out there!”, Shizuka replied, near tears.

In Oracle town…

Misaki sighed after a long day of battling trainers. She lounged on her coach at her and Shin’s house with Assista Eevee on her lap. Shin was in the kitchen cooking something while Misaki was flipping through the channels. Suddenly her phone started ringing and she picked it up.

“Hello.”, Misaki said into the phone before her eyes widened and froze at whatever she heard from it.

“Is something wrong Misaki?”, Shin asked, holding a spatula.

Misaki sweated nervously with a concerned look. She turned over to Shin.

“A massive storm hit Sanctuary town! And Aichi’s gone!”, Misaki replied as Shin’s eyes widened.

Somewhere...

Kai said down in a chair with his arms crossed.

“Team Asteroid has been quiet. Too quiet. Just what are they planning?”, Kai thought.

He walked outside looking out at the water. He had a feeling something big was going on and he didn’t know what.

“Is something on your mind Kai?”, Kai turned to see someone walking up to him.

He had very spiky black hair lined with red and blonde bangs. He had purple eyes and was rather short. He wore a blue jacket with a black shirt and blue pants. He wore a strange upside down pyramid shaped necklace on a chain with an eye symbol.

Kai said nothing simply looking back at the water as the teen? Boy? Came to his side. He sweat dropped as Kai ignored him. He pressed his fingers together trying to think of something to say. He noticed a translucent figure by his side who looked like him, but much taller by his side looking out in the distance.

Later in Kakusa...

Though, they didn’t usually hold one today a meeting was held. After all, their champion was missing. Their spirits looked rather low.

“As you all know our champion Sendou Aichi is now missing. We believe that the sudden storm may have been an attack from Team Asteroid. The government has decided to fortify defenses and create more evacuation areas in case of another attack.”, Takuto informed grimly with Ultra Rare by his side.

Kourin frowned desperately trying to mask her worry for the blue-haired boy.

“So, what do we do now?”, Kyou asked.

There was silence. They didn’t really know how to answer that question. If Aichi was really defeated how much could they really do?

“We’ve got to find Aichi.”, Misaki said, breaking the silence.

“That would be a wild Psyduck chase. We have no idea where he is. And we can’t use too much manpower to find him or we’ll be left defenseless.”, a man in a suit said.

“What if it’s a small team? Like two or three people.”, Misaki asked.

“That’s fine I guess. But who would we even send?”, the man in a suit replied.

“I know someone who would like to help.”, Misaki replied.

Later in Gold Maine city…

Kamui laughed in triumph over his opponent as Kaiser let out a roar. He now wore a black zipped up jacket with orange bits and an orange symbol. He had on jeans and Poké balls hung from his belt.

“Anyone want anymore?”, Kamui asked.

“Wohoo! You're really the best Kamui!” “Kamui the great yo!”, two kids around Kamui’s age cheered one had a green ponytail with yellow and glasses. The other had shorter brown hair and green eyes.

Kamui looked over as he saw a familiar person walk in. It was Misaki.

“Hey, Misaki! What’s up? Wanna rematch?”, Kamui asked, before he noticed the serious expression on Misaki’s face.

“Is something wrong?”, Kamui asked.

“Yeah. Aichi’s gone and I need your help.”, Misaki said as Kamui gasped in shock.

The other two with Kamui looked rather nervous at the news that the champion of the region was missing. What would happen to Kakusa now? Would it be taken over like the last time their champion went missing? And just where was Aichi?

Somewhere? Sometime?

Aichi coughed up some water.

“003v! 003v!”, a young Oliver called out.

“Where am I?”, Aichi? 003v? Thought.

He was on the ground covered in water. He cracked open his eyes looking over to Oliver trying to wake him up. In the distance was a Empoleon sweating nervously. It looked rather fidgety.

“Wasn’t I doing something before?”, Aichi? 003v? Thought confusedly.

He sat up and Oliver put his hand on his shoulders.

[satonthelotuspier]

Day/chapter 2 of Liushen week. Day 1 is here or its all on AO3

How To Catch An Aloof And Untouchable Immortal

Attempt 2 - Water.

“Shizun,” Luo Binghe’s voice was always so surprisingly gentle when he addressed Shen Qingqiu, “we should speak to the fishermen first. If you wish to know anything about a body of water, speak to the people who draw their living from it.”

Shen Qingqiu stood a little to the side as they waited for the innkeeper to return to assign them their rooms for the night.

His elegant green robes were muted in the lamplight of the inn, and his fan wafted lazily in front of his face as he examined the patrons drinking at the various tables.

He turned back to his head disciple with a soft smile in his brown eyes.

Those eyes had never changed in either shape or colour, but Liu Qingge would stake his immortal soul on the fact that they were quite different from those of Shen Jiu from when he had first arrived at the Cang Qiong sect.

“Binghe is always so wise.” Shen Qingqiu praised, causing the heavenly demon prince to preen like a peacock.

It made Liu Qingge’s teeth ache.

Most likely from how tightly they were clamped together.

How could such a thing be? That the son of Tianlang-jun was this harmless white sheep, bleating and nosing gently at his Shizun.

And Shen Qingqiu doted on him like a proud baba.

It was enough to turn anyone’s stomach.

They drew much attention from the patrons; three elaborately-robed cultivators would do that in a small town such as this, where even someone buying a new donkey might be considered the scoop of the year.

The innkeeper returned then, and they were shown to two rooms.

There was a moment of panic that Liu Qingge didn’t miss, in Shen Qingqiu’s gaze, before it vanished, and he folded his fan, “Binghe and this Shizun will share a room, Liu-Shidi.”

He wanted to protest, even though he knew their relationship was purely that of master and disciple, but he didn’t have a reasonable excuse to voice discontent. What could he really say? That he didn’t want them to share a room because the thought annoyed him?

Instead he made a non-committal grunt.

“As Shizun wishes,” Luo Binghe agreed readily, “then this disciple can prepare Shizun’s breakfast tomorrow.”

There was genuine pleasure shining in Shen Qingqiu’s eyes as he agreed. Was the demon brat’s cooking really that good?

He growled a ‘goodnight’ and stomped into the first room they were lead to, slamming the door closed behind him.

Perhaps he had been hasty in asking Yue Qingyuan to send a missive to the demon realm, asking for Shen Qingqiu’s assistance.

In reality he doubted he’d need Shen Qingqiu’s “book learning” to deal with whatever was in the lake – what couldn’t be solved with a sword? - but it had seemed like a good plan to bring Shen Qingqiu out of hiding, and then maybe they could discuss what had happened.

Liu Qingge should have realised he would fetch that annoying brat with him.

*******

Liu Qingge woke before dawn, bathed, dressed and found a deserted meadow outside of the town to practice some sword forms and work through his still-present annoyance by channelling it into aggression.

He felt only marginally better when he re-sheathed his blade, but by the time he walked back to the town the fishermen where there on the docks, preparing their boats for the coming of the light, where they would leave for the day.

Luo Binghe had actually made a good point, and Liu Qingge was talking with some of the men when Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe joined him, looking disgustingly well-rested.

The tales he had heard all differed wildly, and there had even been arguments; some of the men said there was a water dragon, some said it was shuigui, some said it was a jiaoren who lived in the bottom of the lake.

Not quite as useful as they had hoped.

Luo Binghe rented a boat to take them out onto the Lake then, and somehow he and Luo Binghe ended up with the paddles, while Shen Qingqiu sat in the prow, fluttering his fan and looking like some perfect figurehead carved from jade.

Seniority in that man’s hands was a curse.

They paused somewhere near the middle of the lake, after an hour or so of rowing. There was a small, forested island a little distance away, and Liu Qingge picked out some large lizards on the shoreline.

He snorted, “So much for dragons. This is the area the farmers report the most disturbances,” they stowed the paddles and Liu Qingge peered over the side. He was going to have to go into the lake to investigate, there was nothing else for it. He was just about to remove his outer robe when Luo Binghe dived over the side and into the water, setting the boat rocking lightly. He surfaced a little distance away, “Shizun should stay on the boat, let his disciple have a look around. I’ll be back shortly.” He vanished again, as sleek and smooth in the water as an otter.

Liu Qingge wanted to stamp, this was his hunt, and Luo Binghe was taking over everything, making himself look good to his Shizun, and making Liu Qingge look the equivalent of baggage. It had been embarrassing enough requesting Yue Qingyuan to ask for help on his behalf, (which he hadn’t really thought he needed), without this being the outcome.

He looked across at Shen Qingqiu, who sat still, his fan still raised, a look of panic in his eyes, before he moved suddenly to look over the side.

He thought he heard the other mutter, “This child,” into the water.

Liu Qingge wasn’t a stupid man, but it did take a while for realisation to dawn on him. He was alone. With Shen Qingqiu. Finally.

His anger abated, and he leapt on the opportunity, standing to move closer to the other, “Shen Qingqiu-,” there was a sudden shift in the boat beneath him, and it tipped alarmingly. Even though he tried to adjust his balance it was so sharp a movement he was thrown head first into the lake.

He was surprised, and it took him a few seconds to get his bearings before he kicked for the surface. He breached, wiping the streams of water from his eyes until his vision cleared enough to see the look of relief on Shen Qingqiu’s face, before it was quickly gone. “Liu-shidi, are you alright? That was an unexpected wave…”

A wave? On a still lake? He spluttered at the affront of the man. If he was going to lie at least put some effort in and make it convincing.

“Ah, Binghe!” Shen Qingqiu’s voice was of a drowning man who had seen a plank of wood floating by.

“Shizun,” the other acknowledged as he returned to the surface a little away from the boat. There was also a sharp-faced young woman besides him. The scales and fins on her body indicated that the man who had claimed a jiaoren lived at the bottom of the lake had been surprisingly accurate.

“And who is this young woman?”

“She’s from the sea. She was trapped in the lake a decade ago when the river was diverted to create new paddy fields to feed the nearby city that was growing as a trade centre.”

“Can we take her back to her colony? Would you be happy with that?” he addressed his second question to the jiaoren, who nodded, but looked a little confused as to how it might be achieved.

“Excellent. Lets go, Binghe.” Shen Qingqiu stood up, drew his Xiu Ya sword, and leapt lightly onto the blade.

Luo Binghe joined him shortly on Zheng Yang, with the jiaoren in his arms.

“Liu-shidi, please take care returning the boat, and let Zhangmen-shixiong know everything is settled. Goodbye!”

Liu Qingge was apoplectic with rage, but neither Shizun nor disciple spared him a single glance as they flew away on their swords.

[theredhairedmonkey]

What do you think will happen in "Through the Moon"?

Hmm, I’ve changed my mind a couple times as to what I think will happen, but I’ll let you know what I’m thinking right now, anon:

Since this story takes place in the Moon Nexus (and involves some kind of invitation for a ritual there), I imagine that some time must have taken place since the Battle of the Storm Spire. Just throwing out a number, I’ll guess that something like a year to 18 months have passed, which gives the trio enough time to change and adjust to the new peace they helped create.

So, some background on each of them before we dive into “Through the Moon.” All three are now living in Katolis.

Ezran is having a tough time, as he now has the most responsibilities of the three of them (oh, how the tables have turned). It turns out that Opeli’s “peace will require just as much strength as war” was not a joke. The battle to save Zym might have led to peace with the elves and dragons, but it has upended the entire world order. Katolis now has closer ties with the elves (the Sunfire elves in particular) and the Dragon King Azymondias than it does with several of the Human Kingdoms (particularly Neoloandia, which has cut off ties to Duren and Katolis after Prince Kasef’s death). 

The battle also shifted the balance of power; Katolis lost much of its army, while Duren, which suffered the fewest casualties, is now the strongest Human Kingdom and breadbasket for the Pentarchy. While Queen Aanya means well, King Ezran has been encouraged to allow General Amaya to rebuild the Katolian army. Additionally, racism against elves and dragons is a hard beast to overcome, and Ezran has been struggling with certain voices in his court that are urging him to take an aggressive stance against Xadia. Keeping these people pacified has been a challenge…especially now that Rayla is living in the capital as a permanent guest.

In spite of his age, Ezran is pretty much on top of this all—Corvus once commented that he had shown more “courage, strength, and grace than most leaders show in a lifetime,” and I think that will shine through here. He might not be the most learned or most well-informed person in the room, but he knows when to rely on experts and when to rely on his sense of right and wrong.

So, “Through the Moon” might show a little bit of that–how Ezran has begun to fill his father’s shoes (as well as make his own), how well he’s adjusted to being a ruler during peacetime, and how much he still has to grow.

Callum is a prince reborn. In just a few months after the battle, he quickly mastered Sky Magic in its entirety, even coming up with several new techniques along the way. He has also learned quite a bit about the other Primal Sources and their respective Arcana. Callum is also within striking distance of finally understanding the Moon Arcanum (more on that later).

He’s trying to help Ezran as best he can, but this “awkward step-prince” always had trouble succeeding at his princely duties, and that extends to administrative and political matters. He’s no Viren, and neither his personality nor his Sky Magic provides much help at court. His abilities are more physical than the creative, complex spells that Viren often does.

Instead, Callum finds that he’s most helpful outside and beyond the walls of the castle—this is, after all, where the sky is, and where Callum is at his strongest. He’s often flying to other towns, and helps the common people with building roads, constructing dams, clearing out fields for farmland, irrigation, and the like.

The people who knew him before are quite surprised by this change. He used to be this bookish artist boy who could barely hold up a sword, wearing a signature red scarf and blue jacket. Now, he’s a strong, confident mage, sporting sleeveless shirts that reveal elaborate runes on his arms. He can fly and is therefore more physically capable than any ordinary human in the kingdom. Many less tolerant people are also put off by how protective he is over his new elven, um, “friend” Rayla.

Now, on to Rayla. Hoo boy…

Here’s what we first hear about her—Only Rayla is still restless

At first, I was wondering why she was refusing to believe Viren is dead, when it seems everyone else is ready to move on. And then I remembered this scene:

Viren: “I’ll return for you soon. It will be a pleasure to add one more Moonshadow elf to my collection”

Both her terrified expression and her registering what Viren is saying help explain why she’s so restless—whatever was in that bag must contain something related to other Moonshadow elves (either their remnants or their essence).

Then, when talking to Callum about what he saw in his spell, she’ll start to put two and two together. Even if he didn’t understand what he was seeing, he must have seen Lain and Tiadrin get coined by Viren.

Rayla doesn’t know if they’re dead or not, but she realizes she needs to find that bag. Maybe they can be revived, maybe they can’t. But the pain of not knowing is overwhelming.

She’s also probably fearful of the man himself. While she’s been overpowered before, she’s never been so helpless as she was before Viren. His “I’ll return for you soon” line stays with her, and not being able to confirm beyond a shadow of a doubt that this monster is gone will haunt her.

And to make matters worse, no one has been able to find Viren’s remains. Most assume his body was just lost, perhaps in a ravine somewhere. But Rayla needs to find his bag of coins. Combine that with the sheer terror she expresses in the scene above, she probably doesn’t fully believe that something like a fall could kill someone like Viren. And part of her hopes that’s the case; if she’s right, there’s a chance she can find her parents’ coins (and whoever else) and either revive them or, at worst, make peace with the fact that they are gone for good because the uncertainty is just that painful.

Without knowing for sure whether Viren, her parents or Runaan are gone, she’s lost. At least Callum, who tragically lost his parents, knows they are gone. There is a bit of solace in the finality of accepting your loved one’s passing. Rayla, on the other hand, is trapped between hope and fear. Hope that they may be alive, fear that she’ll never know.

Callum will pick up on the fact that something’s wrong, and Rayla will likewise let him in. She knows now that she’s safe around him. She can be vulnerable and scared and raw around Callum, because he will never think less of her, never judge her, and never love her any less.

And this is just something she will absolutely adore about him. Even though he’s incapable of giving her closure (even as a mage, he can’t just bring them back or give her an answer), he’ll always try to make her feel better, even if only by a little bit and for a short while.

Nevertheless, the three of them are called to an ancient ritual at the Moon Nexus. I’m guessing that, since there’s peace with Xadia, Lujanne either invites the trio back, or reveals the Moon Nexus to the Human world. In either case, there’s an invitation for Ezran, Callum, and Rayla to come back and take part in this ritual.

At some point, either by accidentally overhearing something or just from Lujanne explaining the ritual, she learns that the lake is a portal between life or death.

This is her chance, she thinks. This portal contains the answers to all the questions she’s been craving. The questions that have been eating away at her that no amount of “Big Feelings Time” has been able to ease.

Part of it is to see once and for all if Viren is dead, but the main reason is that she wants closure. She wants to know whether she needs to save her parents and Runaan or mourn for them. At least then, in either case, she can move on.

But the portal is unstable, and the ancient Moonshadow Elves who destroyed it never intended for it to be reopened. It seems as though Rayla will have to risk life and limb (and maybe not just her life and limb) to reopen the portal. I’d wager that, in the midst of the ceremony, she’ll jump right into the lake because, let’s face it, jumping into certain danger is something she’s used to at this point.

And speaking of things certain characters are used to, Callum will for sure have another episode of “here I go doing something reckless to protect Rayla,” and follow her.

As a quick side note, if there’s a time for Callum to unlock the Moon Arcanum, it’s here. He’s already worked through his understanding of reality and appearance well enough to apply it when facing Sol Regem. He’s also cast his first Moon spell, and hence knows how it “feels” to do Moon magic. Just as with the Sky Arcanum, Callum’s got all the details he needs “swirling in his head,” and just needs a way to bring it all together.

But, for Rayla, this is very much an introspective journey– Will Rayla’s quest to uncover the secrets of the dead put her living friends in mortal danger?

I am very skeptical that we’ll learn Viren is alive before S4. That is such a huge reveal to occur before we even see the trio on screen! And to a lesser extent, I have a hard time imagining how S4 could start off with Rayla knowing that her parents and Runaan are indeed alive.

Instead, I imagine “Through the Moon” to be more of an introspective look into Rayla—How does she see the world? How does she see herself? What’s bothering her, and what does she do to overcome her internal strife?

This would honestly be a breath of fresh air—while S3 does a good job shining a light on Rayla, it’s mostly from Callum’s perspective (he notices her sobbing and goes to comfort her; he observes and comments how she’s a hero; he helps her work through her feelings about her parents).

This graphic novel is a great way to focus on Rayla’s perspective instead. Her journey at the end of S3 left us with a bit of a “now what”? So, this book might be a good way to begin answering that.