#keep his marker near but. bury him at sea

[arsenicflame]

as someone whos really into the intricate rituals of piracy (and thinks izzy is too) it hurts me that he didn't get a burial at sea. he lived his whole life there, he cared about piracy as a community, he thought they were good, he deserved to have that life one last time.

[astaroth1357]

The Demon Brothers got Hexed and now They're Babies. Good Luck, MC!

Lucifer

Both adorable and bossy at the same time.

If he wants something it has to be NOW or he'll fuss incessantly.

Attempts to order his brothers around still like they're his minions, but since none of them can form words very well it's just him assertively speaking near-gibberish in their general direction.

Unsurprisingly, his “orders” get completely ignored by everybody for once in his life, including his caretaker. Gets very frustrated when not listened to and will throw a mini-tantrum but will tire out very quickly and just take a nap wherever he's at.

Likes to try and boss MC around the most but it’s pretty easy to cave because he gets so dang giddy when someone finally does what he wants. Smiling baby Lucifer has to be one of the most precious sights in all the Devildom.

If you don’t think Diavolo is going to take it upon himself to act like his big brother through this whole thing, you’re wrong. The dude is loving this and will play with Luci all day if someone doesn’t step in to stop him.

After everyone is better he will demand that any and all pictures/videos of him get chucked into the sea. They won't be but, hey, he tried.

Mammon

Is there really any difference? 😆

Jokes aside, he's one of the clingest of the bunch and has to be held for a little bit every hour or else he gets grouchy.

Keeps putting shiny things in his onesie and ends up dragging them along behind him wherever he goes.

Pretty much will not share anything that's he's taken a liking to, be it toys, food, or people. The MC especially. He will try to physically drag his brothers away from what’s his if it comes down to it.

He's somehow everybody's favorite playmate and seems to know it too. If one of his brothers gets sad then he'll be right over to comfort them into playing again.

He's the only one who can wake up baby Luci from his naps without him getting too grouchy.

He's gonna sell a pretty penny on all the pics of his adorable little self. He also stole most of the footage of baby Lucifer playing with Diavolo to do the same. Hope the Grimm will be worth it when he finds out 💀

Leviathan 

Cries. So. Damn. Fast.

One of those skittish kids that scares pretty easily and doesn't feel very comfortable around new people. Will be clinging onto somebody at all times and standing behind the MC’s legs is a favorite hiding spot.

Oddly fascinated by toilets and seeing how much he can flush down them. If it fits in the bowl, it ain't safe. Someone keep an eye on Henry…

Absolutely loves bathtime. Few things on this planet can claim to be happier than a little Levi buried under some soap suds. His grin could power the Devildom AND Las Vegas with some left to spare.

His tail is juuust starting to grow. He bawled his eyes out for hours once when Belphie "accidentally" yanked it (the little shit…)

Mammon is lowkey his emotional support friend.

Will likely be mortified later by the sheer amount of his own figurines he tried teething on. Thankfully, he was usually stopped before causing lasting damage.

Satan

Lil'brat #1

Is he the sort of kid who will push buttons just to see the reaction? The answer is yes, yes he is.

Does he throw the most ungodly temper tantrums ever known to demon kind for seemingly no reason at all? Yes. Yes he does.

Is he probably the reason that manners aren't just enforced, but fucking inventing? Absolutely.

Will he quiet the fuck down the second someone shows him a cat; real, picture, or otherwise? Oh yes. Right away.

More or less best dealt with by giving him a tablet with cat videos. He’ll settle right in and coo at the screen for hours. Otherwise, their father have mercy on your patience (and breakables).

Will apologize for all the trouble he caused when the hex wears off… (but he remembers all of it and fucking relishes that he got the chance to be That. Nasty. with no long-term consequences. Good times…)

Asmodeus

That one kid who doesn't get the concept of stranger danger at all.

Super adorable and friendly but prone to wandering off and trying to make friends with anything that moves.

That includes bugs, Henry 2.0, Diavolo, Barbatos, the angels, Solomon, that guy down the street, his hungry looking hellhound… Any time he makes a new “friend” he has to excitedly show them to the MC like they’re his new favorite thing ever.

Basically the reason those leashed toddler backpacks were invented.

Can be easily distracted by his own reflection in a mirror. He'll watch himself in rapt suspense for way longer than he really should.

He and Mammon fight over shiny things. While Mammon just stockpiles them, Asmo will try to wear them as hats.

Is going to be incredibly pissed if there's not at least an entire album's worth of pictures of his little baby self when he returns to normal. It's a one-in-a-lifetime Devilgram opportunity here!

Beelzebub 

Will eat anything. Literally. Anything.

You think having practically no teeth will stop him? He has the jaw strength of a crocodile!

Can't be left alone in nearly any capacity because he will try a bite of whatever he gets his hands on. Tables, cushions, chairs, toys, remotes, nothing is safe...

Teething toys are a must for him, but he's going to go through a lot of them pretty quickly. Open up your wallet, MC, before he takes a bite out of that too.

Eats far too fast for his own good and gets food everywhere. It's best just to feed him without clothes on then hose him down afterward.

If he's not eating (or trying to eat) something then he's looking for cuddles. About the only thing that he doesn’t try taking a bite out of is MC, though it might be best to keep him fed so we don’t have to test that.

Doesn’t mind the photos, but might be a little disappointed that he doesn't remember tasting the couch… It always has reminded him of marshmallows...

Belphegor 

Is either the easiest child to deal with in the world or Lil'brat #2. There is no in-between.

One of those kids who will gladly put themselves to bed and sleep through a hurricane if left alone.

Is also lowkey pretty aware that this means there’s a lot less attention on him and he will cause mischief when bored.

Obsessed with "drawing" on walls. Mostly portraits(?) of either himself or Beel, but occasionally one looks like the MC. Wherever he keeps finding the markers is a complete mystery.

Will also instigate fights with his brothers. Takes Mammon's favorite toys, throws Satan's tablet, pulls Levi's tail, etc. Tries to look like all cute afterward but he knows what he did and so does everybody else, the stinker. 😖

Nap buddies with Lucifer and they can often be found sharing his, now oversized, cow-pillow together.

Afterwards, he'll enjoy hearing the stories of his reign of terror but also kind of misses having that great excuse to nap all day.

[a-world-in-grey]

Sola/Calling for Rain

@secret-engima and, months later, the snippet I promised!

.

Karin’s first memories are her mother’s grave and her sister’s sick bed.

She knows more than that of course. She knows how her mother died, forced to use their family’s healing ability until they’d drained her chakra dry. She knows her older sister nearly followed their mother that night, eight years old and already scarred across her arms and shoulders.

But that knowledge isn’t seared into her memory the way her mother’s gravestone is, the bamboo marker plain and unmarked, nothing like the stone markers bearing carved names for the village shinobi. That knowledge doesn’t paint itself across her closed eyelids like Kyoho’s frail form, skin too pale, breaths too shallow, wild hair tumbling across the pillows like a splash of blood.

Karin remembers when Kyoho first opened her eyes, how her sister had looked to find Karin first, and hadn’t settled until she could clearly see Karin was well.

.

Karin doesn’t know how much Kyoho’s near death changed her older sister. She can’t remember what Kyoho was like before, can’t remember a time when Kyoho didn’t braid their hair with little painted beads and thin cords of braided thread. Can’t remember a time when Kyoho didn’t hold her close at night and whisper bedtime stories in words that sound like thunder and rain.

Stories and Songs and meanings just for the two of them. Braids and beads hidden beneath hair and cloth, Clan secrets told in the dead of night in a tongue only they knew. Teaching Karin to dance, to fly.

Teaching Karin to survive. 

Kyoho trains with the determination not to learn, but master every skill she can. Taijutsu, weapons, healing, ninjutsu. She claws her way up the ranks of Kusa’s shinobi, genin at nine, chuunin at eleven, jounin at fifteen.

Kusa’s own little prodigy. A match for Konoha’s Uchiha Itachi or Hatake Kakashi. Or so Kusa likes to think.

There’s a lot Kusa doesn’t know.

They don’t know of the fuuinjutsu, of the basics learned from their mother that Kyoho took and reinvented on her own. The black tattoos spiraling across Kyoho’s skin hidden from sight under dark green clothing. 

They don’t know about the chakra chains Kyoho painstakingly learned to use. Chains Kyoho learned to modify, to shrink to the size of a fine gold chain, to enlarge to the size of the massive chains that once rose from the waves to close Uzushio’s ports.

They don’t know of Kyoho’s sensory abilities, so fine tuned she can pick out a shinobi’s specialization from the feel of their chakra alone. They don’t know of the weapons Kyoho can wield beyond her glaive and curved shortswords.

They don’t know Kyoho’s taught Karin everything she knows. They don’t know Karin isn’t the fumbling, lackluster genin overshadowed by her prodigal sister’s brilliance.

.

“My name is Uzumaki Naruto, and I’m going to kick all of your asses!”

The room goes silent, every genin present turning to stare, and Karin feels her breath freeze in her lungs as the chakra signatures around her spike with anger and disbelief.

Karin buries her own chakra, smothers it down to a spark so small even Kyoho has difficulty detecting, hiding the surprise and recognition and the tangle of emotions she can keep off her face but not out of her chakra. And she knows she shouldn’t focus her attention solely on the loud Konoha genin as his teammates and comrades converge to scold him for his recklessness. There are others in the room far more dangerous than the rookie too dumb not to draw the ire of the rest of the competition before the Exams have even begun. And yet-

Uzumaki.

He doesn’t have the red hair. But that’s the mon on his shoulder, black and purple instead of the black and blue variant Kyoho’s stitched into their clothes, in places easily hidden because there’s Clan Pride but then there’s announcing to all the Elemental Nations that they’re female kekkai genkai bearers.

Karin lessens her hold on her chakra, reaching her senses past the thunderstorm-shadow-river feeling of the three genin standing beside him.

Warmth. Bright encompassing warmth, intense but not painful, the ocean breeze across her skin on a clear sunny day. Swirling reserves deeper than she’s ever sensed, even deeper than Kyoho’s hearth-fire chakra.

Karin suppresses her chakra the moment the blond’s thunderstorm teammate glances her way, glancing away and digging her fingernails into the back of her hand so hard she’s surprised she doesn’t break skin.

She swallows back a sob.

Uzumaki. He’s Clan.

But not Galahdian. Not a child of the Storm-Father, not someone who grew up with the Clan Laws and the certainty in their bones that even if the world fell apart, the Clan would always have your back.

The Uzumaki are a shinobi clan. Karin can’t… how can she know if she can trust this wayward Uzumaki? How can she know if he will hold that same fierce loyalty that blazes in her and Kyoho’s souls?

She shouldn’t. Oh, but by the Storm-Father, Karin wants to. This long lost kinsman who wears Freedom and Protection across his shoulders. Who looks at the world with Protection in his eyes and crowned with Love.

Karin knows the Colors don’t apply to the natural world. To things that are mere happenstance and genetic chance. But-

(‘Sometimes the Gods paint us with specific Colors,’ Karin remembers Kyoho telling her, ‘A message and a warning, for souls so strong the physical has no choice but to reflect it.’

Karin had looked into Blue eyes framed by Red hair, and never asked if Kyoho spoke from experience.)

For the first time in nearly ten years, Karin hopes.

She has to try.

And that means staying in Konoha long enough to get a measure of Uzumaki Naruto.

.

Karin is perfectly happy not knowing how something gets named the ‘Forest of Death.’

Unfortunately, as the location of the Second Exam, Karin’s not going to get a choice.

Kyoho would love it, Karin thinks as she miserably fills out the liability waiver. Kyoho had spoken of many places in her past life, but none so fondly as Galahd, deadly and wild and all the more beautiful for it.  

She lets her ‘teammates’ take the lead as they scout through the forest. Her head’s busy planning her next step. Should she focus on passing the Second Exam? Kyoho told her how the Third Exam was always an exhibition for clients, so she’d have plenty of time during the preparations to track down and try to get to know her kinsman. Perhaps with Kyoho’s help even - surely her mission would be finished by then?

But that assumes Karin and the two idiots she’s assigned to play chakra-battery for can pass at all. They aren’t the weakest team in the forest, even counting Karin’s careful pretense, but there are a lot of teams stronger than they are. Stronger, and all too willing to kill.

Karin could ditch the idiots. She’s kept track of where she last sensed Uzumaki Naruto’s chakra, so she could find him and get to know him in the time before the Second Exam ends. Maybe even steal the Earth scroll and bring it as a good faith gift. 

But she’d be on her own, carrying a high value target, and gambling on her kinsman caring enough about a cousin he didn’t know to trust and protect her.

Karin tugs on the loose ends of her hair in frustration. Why is this so hard?!

Kyoho would know what to do.

Kyoho’s not here, Karin firmly reminds herself. She has to figure this out on her own.

In the end, she chooses to stay with her teammates. There's too many unknowns for her to risk running now.

.

Two days later, staring up at the bear taller than her house, Karin's regretting her decision to stay.

They left me!

Stay and hide, they said. You'll be fine.

If they're still alive when Karin finds them, she's going to throttle them. Hiding her chakra doesn't matter when enemies can find her by her scent! The bear snarls, and Karin gives up any pretense of hiding her abilities. She's out of her depth, anything less than her full skill will only end up with her dead-

("Above all else," Kyoho had whispered the night before Karin left for Konoha, "survive.")

She reaches for her supply of explosive tags (way more than anyone thinks she has, way more than she probably needs, but they're the easiest seal to make and Kyoho always says there's no such thing as overkill) and prepares to turn the bear into a pile of charred meat and fur.

Only, there's movement above her, a blur of black and purple, a flash of silver-

Thunder. Lightning and rain and the howling storm as she huddles by the warmth of hearth, each flash of light in the sky accompanied by the rolling drums that echo in her chest; an invitation, a challenge, to face the storm and laugh in the embrace of the sky.

Uzumaki's dark haired teammate lunges from the trees like one of the jungle cats of Kyoho's stories, dropping down onto the bear with a spinning, flying kick, and Kyoho freezes.

Kyoho knows that kick.

(Karin stares wide-eyed as Kyoho all but flies through the air, leaping and spinning with the grace of a breeze through the prairie grasses. Kyoho's been teaching her how to dance, but those jumps have nothing on the ones Kyoho is doing!

"Will I learn to do that too?" Karin asks. Nerves flit in her gut like butterflies. She's trying to learn everything Kyoho can teach her, but those leaps are so high.

Blue eyes soften as Kyoho ruffles her hair. "You don't have to - it's not part of the Ostium Dance."

Karin blinks. "It's not?"

"It's Ulric, our sister Clan." Kyoho says. Her gaze grows distant. "Clan of Sky and Storm, Coeurl-kin, first of the Storm-Father's children."

Karin's touch on her arm brings her back to the present. "Were you Ulric first, before you were Ostium?"

Kyoho laughs. "I was Furia, Clan of Sea and Horizon, but I learned the Ulric Dance because I was Sky-born instead of Sea-born.")

She can't see a braid, but- Black and purple. A pair of well worn kukri at his back. The aerial combat she's never seen anyone but Kyoho use.

Her fingers tremble around the string of explosive tags as the genin checks to make sure the bear is dead. Then he turns to her with an easy grin. "You're an Uzumaki, right? Do you want to meet your cousin?"

And Karin has been so keyed up over possibly having Clan, over being in hostile territory with no one to watch her back, with desperate hope dogging her heels for the past three days of finding someone she can trust- 

(“You can always trust the Clans. Even the most bitter rivals will protect a Clan child, if they are threatened by Outsiders.”)

"Are you Ulric?" She blurts.

Dark eyes sharpen. "How do you know that name?" But his gaze flits to her temple, to the black braid joiner peeking out from her hair. Karin removes the grey hitai-ate and pulls her hair back to show him her braids. The Ostium Braid and the Mourning Braid for her mother, unlike Kyoho who also wears Marriage, Hero, and Revenge Braids. Braids Karin and Kyoho have never shown anyone but each other.

But the boy's eyes widen in shock and recognition, and pale fingers pull the Ulric Braid threaded with the purple ribbon of a Chief from its hiding place behind his ear.

("And if you get the chance, run. Before Kusa kills you too.")

Karin sobs.

This boy is Clan. He's safe.

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (30) || atz

You follow them along the side of the street.

The night is cold and your steps echo in the silence of the town. There’s barely a soul out and about at this time of the dark, and you shiver a little in your thin mission clothes. Even though he’s walking in front of you, he seems to be able to sense something intuitively and turns around to glance at you.

“Cold?”

You blow on your hands in an attempt to warm them up slightly.

“A little.”

Wooyoung ignores your words, taking your hand in his warmer one and puts it in his pocket. You smile at him gratefully but he isn’t looking at you, instead eyeing Seonghwa walking silently in front of tow of you, head bowed in thought as he leads the two of you through the town.

He squeezes the hand nestled in his pocket lightly.

Now should we talk to him?

You take his pinky finger and wave it back and forth.

No. I think we’d better let him absorb what he’s just heard.

The pad of his thumb traces small circles on the inside of your wrist.

But shouldn’t we comfort him or something?

You pinch his finger and a small yelp leaves his mouth.

Let’s not rush him. Give him some time.

You glance up just in time to see Wooyoung puff out his cheeks a little, obviously wanting to comfort his friend but knowing that he needs time to himself as well. In an attempt to reassure him, you intertwine your fingers with his and squeeze a little.

I’m sure he’ll be fine.

Wooyoung gives you a weak smile.

I hope so.

You leave the paved roads of the town behind you, moving into a beach dotted with sparse patches of grass. Your boots crunch a little on sand and it’s hard to keep your footing, but Wooyoung guides you over the dunes with easy grace that makes you almost envious.

The three of you walk in silence along the stretch of beach, the sounds of waves lapping against the beach soothing your soul. You gaze out to the ocean, there’s something beautiful about it tonight that you can’t quite place. Then you feel Wooyoung come to a stop beside you and you look up to see where you’re at.

It’s a craggy outcrop of rocks outlined against the sea, perfect for fishing and prawning. You can imagine a man with Seonghwa’s nose and jawline, holding a young boy’s hand as he teaches him how to tie a hook to the rod, as a woman with his soft grey eyes smiles fondly at them while patting the head of a girl in her lap. A younger Seonghwa runs up to them, a fish wriggling about at the end of his hook, and his father ruffles his hair proudly, telling him how he’s going to be the greatest fisherman in the future-

There’s a grave marker in the sand.

Seonghwa stares at the tombstone for a moment.

“Can you two… give me a moment?”

Wooyoung frowns in concern and open his mouth to protest against leaving him alone, but you pinch the inside of his wrist and he yelps.

“Of course.” You tell him and he gives you a grateful nod, before you pull Wooyoung with you to the side as Seonghwa turns to face the weathered grave marker alone.

The two of you sit at the side, staring at the sea.

“Do you think…” Wooyoung begins hesitantly, without really looking at you, but then he trails off before he can say anything else. You frown, turning to stare at him.

“Do I think? Yes, I do. Why?”

His eyes shift a little edgily, trying to make up his mind. A little confused, you tug at his sleeve, and he finally meets your gaze, soft green staring into yours. A part of you really loves the colour of his eyes, but another thought invades your mind.

Not as green as his.

You’re shocked for a moment, but the thought fades like smoke before you can catch it.

“You don’t have your memories, don’t you? Do you think… that you could be suppressing your memories like hyung did?”

Fear spikes through you for a moment. You don’t have your memories. Seonghwa had heard the words of the town official for sure but had somehow forced his mind to forget that single fact, how, you didn’t understand.

You don’t know. You really don’t know if you’re suppressing your memories or if they are well and truly removed. What you do know is that every time you close your eyes and try to remember, you see that same beach with waves crashing against it, the night sky sprinkled with diamonds. Besides the one with the green eyes, you have no memories of your past in the least.

Green eyes.

Ever since your near fatal attempt at healing Yeosang, you’d seen the same pair of green eyes in your sleep every night, haunting your dreams. A phantom pain throbs in your chest for a moment, right above your heart, before it vanishes.

Your fingers reach up to brush it subconsciously.

The knife.

But there is no scar there. When you had woken from the week long coma, you had immediately checked your chest for any signs of any physical harm, but you had found absolutely nothing at all, leading you to believe that it had been nothing more than a dream rather than a memory.

The green eyes still lingered at the back of your mind.

The words that he had whispered in your ears.

I will be with you every step of the way.

The words etched in your necklace.

The necklace that had been a vial.

The vial containing the liquid that you had drunk.

You groan and bury your face in your arms, utterly lost at trying to put your shredded memories back together. Wooyoung glances at you a little worriedly. “I have no idea-”

There’s crunching of footsteps in the sand and you look up to see Seonghwa trudging his way back to you, now with a gentle, content smile on his face. You and Wooyoung rise to your feet to meet him, and he calls to the two of you.

“Can you two join me here for a second?”

A little confused, Wooyoung turns to look at you, but you shrug and make your way over to Seonghwa’s family grave marker, slipping and sliding your way across the sand. The two of you come to a stop before the tombstone, where you can see clearly the words engraved into the cool marble.

Here lies Park Seongho, Eun Jung, Hyunjung and Ha Rin.

“Did you need us for something, hyung?” Wooyoung asks, staring at the grave marker just like you. Seonghwa nods.

“I wanted the two of you to be here when I said something to my family.”

His voice is earnest, firm, pleading. You are shocked that Seonghwa would want you here when he needed to say something to his family, but you aren’t going to deny him this one request about something so close to his heart.

Seonghwa turns back to his family grave, kneeling before it. He presses his forehead against the stone, fingers tracing the carvings of their names, as if by doing so it could bring him closer to them. Something in you feels like you’re intruding on this intimate moment between Seonghwa and his family, but he did ask you to stay, so you listen.

“Mother, Father, Hyunjung, Ha Rin…” Seonghwa murmurs softly against the cold stone, eyes fluttering shut. “I hope you can forgive me, but I have no intention of joining you for a very long time.”

A gasp almost forces its way from your throat, and from the way Wooyoung is staring at his crew mate, slack jawed, he’s just as shocked as you are at Seonghwa saying something like that to his family.

“I love you all. I always have. You’ll always be my family.” Seonghwa continues, apparently oblivious to the looks you and Wooyoung are exchanging behind him. “But I have a reason to stay now.”

A warm feeling rises in you, spreading from your chest down to your toes.

“I’ve found another family. Please let me stay with them.”

A tear slips from your eyes, and from the way Wooyoung is wiping his eyes desperately with his sleeve, he’s crying too.

In that second, you hear the shattering of something in the air, soft and barely noticeable, but Seonghwa’s eyes fly open in shock. Then tears start pouring from his eyes and you and Wooyoung approach him in alarm, horrified at what might have happened. But Seonghwa merely waves the two of you off reassuringly, and you’re surprised to see him wiping the tears from his eyes with the happiest smile you’ve ever seen on him.

“They’ve stopped.” He can’t stop grinning, joy radiating from him. Wooyoung looks a little confused, frowning.

“What’s stopped?”

Seonghwa laughs through his tears, elated and jubilant even with the tears still streaming down his cheeks.

“Their voices. They’ve stopped.”

With that declaration, he gets to his feet, wiping his eyes as he turns to look at the two of you with a bright grin that you can’t help but return. Wooyoung claps his crew mate on the shoulder gently with a smile on his face, the shackles on his wrists jingling.

“That’s good, Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa nods enthusiastically, turning to face the sea once more where you know the Treasure is moored, just out of sight of the town. “Well then, let’s get back to the ship-”

But there’s someone standing there.

Your heart skips a beat at the dark shape there, until Wooyoung’s eyes open in surprise and recognition, the man’s name leaving his lips.

“Soobin?”

At the name, Seonghwa’s mouth falls open in shock as he stares the man down. The man too, is gaping at your crew mate in shock.

“Hwaseong?”

“Soobin?”

Then the two take down across the beach, sprinting full speed towards each other like two wild horses on a collision course. And collide they do, the resulting sound of the two men crashing into each other makes you wince and wonder if either of them broke any bones, but they don’t seem to care, leaping up and down in sheer excitement.

You turn to look at Wooyoung, who’s gawking at the two of them in shock as realisation dawns on his face.

“Well, I definitely didn’t expect that.”

Your mouth falls open as you finally get what is happening. Back when the two of you had escaped from the guards of the officials’ building, you had entered this man’s house, the woodcutter with two missing fingers.

“Apparently when he was younger he had a run in with them and helped his friend escape them too, but he lost a couple of fingers in the process.”

You would have never thought that the friend would have been Seonghwa.

“Maybe it’s fate.” You shrug, and Wooyoung grins at you for a moment, before he dashes across the sand and throws himself into the hug as well, tackling the two men off their feet and into the sand. Their shouts and cries ring across the beach to you.

You simply shake your head and move to join them at a more sedately pace.

“I can’t believe you’re still alive after that little stunt you pulled!” Seonghwa wraps his old friend in a hug as Soobin grins widely, something you hadn’t seen the last time. In fact, you’re a little unnerved how that stoic, fierce man’s face can change so much.

“I barely escaped with my life.” Soobin tells him dramatically, raising his left hand so Seonghwa can see the two missing fingers. “One of their bullets ricocheted off a wall and hit my hand, so I lost two fingers, you know! If I had known how much trouble I’d get into for trying to save you, I wouldn’t have done it-”

Seonghwa’s mouth falls open and you see his head hang in guilt. “I’m sorry, Soobin-”

“-so late! Do you see this, my friend?” Soobin flutters his ring finger and Seonghwa’s eyes widen almost comically at the sight of the silver band resting there.

“Someone wanted to marry you?”

The disbelief in Seonghwa’s voice forces a snort from you and you rush to cover your mouth with your hands, but Soobin has already heard it and glances at you. “Ah! Gunshot! I see you’re not dead yet! That’s amazing. And Hwaseong, how dare you!”

Seonghwa is grinning so hard you’re sure his cheeks must be hurting. “So who’s the unlucky girl?”

“Only the most beautiful woman in the world, Kim Seohyun.” Soobin pretends to flip his non existent long hair over his shoulder and you’re sure you’re goggling at the complete attitude change of the man who’d threatened to chop you and Wooyoung up into tiny pieces with his axe. “She was so awestruck by how I had sacrificed two fingers to save your ass that she started talking to me more and more, and that’s how we ended up together.”

“That poor girl.” Seonghwa gushes in pity and Soobin screeches, wrapping Seonghwa in a headlock.

“Shut up! So who are these two?” He gestures at you and Wooyoung, who’s come to stand by you, smiling at Seonghwa’s exuberance. Seonghwa’s smile softens as he turns to look at the two of you.

“My crew mates, Choi Chin Hae and Jung Wooyoung.” Soobin’s eyes widen at the information, glancing over at you. Wooyoung smiles and waves proudly at the mention of his name.

“So you really stayed on that pirate ship?” The woodcutter gapes, and Seonghwa nods happily.

“I’m with them.”

“How is the baby?” You ask Soobin, who grins proudly. You don’t miss the way Seonghwa’s jaw literally drops to the sand as he stares at Soobin.

“Seohyun is pregnant?” His eyes are shining, celebrating his friend’s joy like it’s his own. Soobin nods, a proud father.

“The baby is coming along well. Seohyun and I’ve agreed on names, whether the baby is a girl or boy... the name will be Hwaseong.”

A tear falls from Seonghwa’s eye and he laughs, so happily as if he couldn’t be more joyful. “Don’t be stupid, Soobin. You’re supposed to name your child after something meaningful, not after a wanted criminal on the run-”

Soobin shakes his head firmly.

“You’re not a wanted criminal anymore, Hwaseong.”

Seonghwa’s eyes widen in shock. “What?”

“A few months after you escaped, a mysterious source from within the town officials removed your name from the wanted list.” Soobin tells him and happiness bubbles within you. Seonghwa is no longer a criminal, and he can return home to Nassau! “If you returned this very second, everyone in this town would welcome you back with open arms, Seonghwa. We’d help you establish a new life here, a house, a eatery, anything you want. We’ve missed you so much the last six years.”

“That’s amazing.” Wooyoung says, turning to glance at Seonghwa. “Hyung, you’re a free man now.”

There is joy in Seonghwa’s eyes as he turns back to look at the soft glow of the town, the place he had grown up in, running along the dirty streets with Soobin and Hyunseok, helping his parents out in the eatery. He can return to Nassau, build a new life with his old friends at his side, meeting the town residents once more and establish himself once more. A life of safety and comfort, one of warmth and joy.

It had been his dream his whole life, to open his own restaurant when he grew up, only for it to be shattered by that terrible event. But now?

Now, all those dreams can come true.

The sea breeze caresses his cheeks, and he turns back to look at the ocean.

What is your Treasure?

Something settles in Seonghwa’s chest, warm and content. He already has his treasure.

Then he shakes his head as he looks at Soobin.

“I can’t.”

The three of you are confused for a moment, all staring at Seonghwa with some sort of shocked expression. What does he mean, he can’t? He can! He can return to Nassau, no longer on the run from the Royal Navy, no longer with a bounty on his head, no longer in fear of death every waking moment. But Seonghwa is insistent.

“I really can’t.” He smiles, turning back to look at you and Wooyoung as he explains himself to Soobin. “I have a new family now.”

Soobin’s eyes soften as you and Wooyoung gape at Seonghwa in shock. “I understand.”

“Well, I don’t!” Wooyoung smacks the back of Seonghwa’s head. “Why don’t you want to return to your hometown, hyung? You’d be safe and have a comfortable life! Soobin and all your friends are here too!”

Seonghwa grins at the smaller man meaningfully.

“Not all of them.”

Your mouth falls open. Seonghwa is choosing to stay a pirate over a comfortable life in Nassau as a cook, like he’s always wanted. He’s giving up everything he’s ever wished for.

“And I haven’t taught Chin Hae all of my kitchen tricks, so how are you going to explain to Captain when the standard of the food drops?”

“Hey!”

Seonghwa laughs, shaking his head as he turns back to Soobin, who’s simply eyeing his friend with a smile. “I have these people who were willing to risk their lives to sneak into Nassau, get shot and whipped just so that I could have closure. I want to stay with them, come what may. Whether it be fair weather or stormy seas, I can’t leave them behind.”

Happiness and disbelief wells up in you. He’s going to stay with the crew. He’s not going to leave all of you behind.

“I know.” Soobin embraces his friend one last time and steps back. Seonghwa moves to join you and Wooyoung, who is still staring at Seonghwa in shock. “I wish you all the best, Seonghwa. Make sure you come back and tell little Hwaseong about all the adventures you’ve had as a bloodthirsty pirate on the high seas.”

Seonghwa gives his friend a smile. He regrets nothing, even as the needle in the compass of his heart settles on a new course.

“I promise.”

[ladykissingfish]

a day at the Beach/Seaside with the Akatsuki

Deidara Swimming is too pedestrian for this artist, but he IS very much into surfing. Years of continuous practice balancing on his clay birds through high-velocity speeds and wind makes it almost child’s play for him stand on a surfboard. But if the waves aren’t big enough, or if he feels like taking it easy, he’ll simply spread out a towel and work on his tan all afternoon. However, he’ll stubbornly insist that it isn’t THAT hot so he doesn’t need sunscreen, and will go home with his skin as red as a lobster. If not surfing or tanning, will spend some time messing with Tobi; his favorite thing to do is convince Tobi to let him bury him up to his neck in sand, and then, once Tobi is trapped and can’t escape, throw bread or crackers at his head so that the seagulls swoop in and attack. Not ENTIRELY a dick, though; after he’s had his fun, will dig Tobi out and buy him a snack. Sasori Can’t feel heat on his skin, so tanning is out. Although he’s made of wood and should therefore float, he also has several heavy metal components that would make him sink like a brick, so swimming is off the table as well. Really thinks the beach is pointless; however, being around the sand puts him in mind of his childhood. He’ll spend the day creating amazingly beautiful sand castles; but he has to keep an eye out for Deidara, as the “art is an explosion’ chanter will try and sneak some bombs into Sasori’s pieces. Surprisingly his work attracts a lot of children, who watch the redhead create his masterpieces with awe. Sasori is flattered by the attention; doesn’t realize until one of them calls him “Onii-san” that ((because of his height)) they assume him to be an older kid instead of a 35 year old man. Gets annoyed ... but doesn’t shoo them away. Art is meant to be appreciated by all. Kakuzu Isn’t one to let a possible money-making opportunity go to waste. Has known about the beach trip for a week beforehand, so he’s had ample time to prepare. Will have used some of his bounty-money to buy a small snack stand, and will charge exorbitant prices for his fare. At first no one comes to him ... and then little by little, the other snack stands on the beach start having “accidents”. One place has the oven start on fire, another mysteriously runs out of soba noodles ... fairly quickly Kakuzu holds the monopoly on the food, and uses some of his money to pay off the accident-creators, while still turning a nice profit. If feeling charitable (and if he did really REALLY good) will bring free (yes, free; old guy must have had a heat-stroke) ice cream to the rest of Akatsuki. Hidan Like Deidara, enjoys to surf (although he isn’t as good at it). Also likes to scope out the women on the beach; Jahinism doesn’t really encourage the ideas of physical love or romance, but as far as Hidan can tell, looking is just fine. He’s not really subtle about it though; his obvious ogling and unintentionally perverted comments will earn him quite a few hand-prints to the face. Tanning isn’t really his thing as it requires staying still in one place, and he has far too much energy for that. Will try and engage the rest of the group in a volleyball or soccer game; but most will turn him down. At best he can sometimes convince Deidara to face him in one-on-one competitions, but the two usually just spend the entire time accusing each other of cheating. Itachi It’s obvious to anyone who looks ... this man does not get enough sleep. The bags under his eyes are thicker than the money-pouches Kakuzu hides in his mattress. A beach day for him, is a sleep day for him. After appropriately covering himself with sunscreen, and putting on sunglasses, he’ll lay down, close his eyes — and be out like a light. It would literally take a hurricane to wake him once he goes out. He chooses to sleep near Konan and Pein, so that they can keep a eye on him ... but sometimes they’re distracted and some of the more mischievous members of the Akatsuki ((see: Deidara and Hidan)) take advantage of the lack of supervision by taking a marker and drawing all

over Itachi’s pale skin. Might wake up to eat (Konan will offer him some of her snacks, which he’ll gratefully accept), but otherwise the whole day is spent in a warm slumber. Konan/Pein For Konan, a beach day is a day of complete relaxation for her. She’ll have a book, she’ll have sunscreen, she’ll have snacks, and she’ll have Nagato. Well, Nagato as Pein. Pein will sit and quietly talk to her; this’ll be only time the two of them can be “normal”, and enjoy a normal, peaceful day. They watch over the rest of the group, much the way two parents watch over their children. Nagato enjoys seeing the view of the water and the sunshine through Pein’s eyes; it’s a far cry from the village where it was always dark and raining. Nagato takes notice of how many men subtly (and not so subtly) stare at Konan’s beauty, and it makes him smile, thinking of how Yahiko would have undoubtedly reacted to such a situation. Quite a few men receive an Almighty Push — into the ocean — in memory of their old friend. Tobi/Obito Tobi is, as expected, super excited about a beach trip. Before the group leaves he will run around the hideout pestering everyone about all he wants to do, and packing more than he needs to bring. As Obito, all he really wants to do is be able to take off the cumbersome mask and lie in the sand with his face in the sun. But as Tobi, he knows what the others expect of him, so he acts accordingly. Building sand castles, playing hide and seek games with some kids, wading into the shallow water, begging his Senpai to buy him sweets from the snack stands ... eventually he wanders off from the group and finds an isolated spot, where nobody can see him. Takes off his mask and lets what little sunlight reaches him touch his face. Sits and draws his knees up to his chin; finds himself thinking of the very last time he went to a beach, with Minato-sensei, Kakashi ... and Rin. As always, the very thought of Rin has him tearing up. Suddenly he hears Deidara coming from behind, calling out to him. “Oi, Tobi; what are you doing?” He automatically answers in his Tobi voice ... but his mask is still sitting at his feet. Deidara stays where he is, and asks, in a very un-Deidara-like voice, if he’s okay. Obito is a little surprised that Deidara doesn’t rush up on him to see his face without his mask; the fact that he stays where he is, is a level of respect that Obito never expected to get from him. He picks it up and slides it on, before getting to his feet. Deidara looks relieved ... and annoyed. In his hand is an ice cream cone, already half-melted. “Oi; you ask me to buy you something to eat, then you disappear, hm!” Tobi takes it and hugs his Senpai, accidentally getting ice cream in his hair. Deidara reacts angrily and Tobi finds himself running away; all is back to normal. Zetsu God help anybody who’s brought small pets with them, because likely a family will go home sans the dog. Zetsu uses his stealth skills and spying abilities to scope out where the best “snacks” are, and to capture them without attracting notice. Beachgoers are extremely fortunate that Zetsu was made to PROMISE that he’d limit his snacking to animals and not people, otherwise quite a few families would be going home minus the kids as well. When it eating, will find a quiet spot to sit in the sun and photosynthesize. Kisame Is it any surprise to anybody that the guy who’s half-shark would spend his entire day DEEP underwater? Kisame explores the depths of the sea, admiring the beautiful aquatic scenery and feeding on the smaller (and very confused) fish. If he’s near where Deidara or Hidan are surfing, he’ll sneak up on them from beneath, grab their leg and yank them down. He enjoys seeing the terrified look on their face and then the anger-relief when they realize it’s him. He and Kakuzu also have a thing going: Kisame finds a *lot* of jewelry in the water, things that people have lost. He’ll take these to Kakuzu, Kakuzu will carefully polish them up, sell them, and split the profits 50/50. Also likes to chill & have lemonade with Itachi (when he’s awake).

[sloppy-butcher]

Waitin’ On a Superman - Chapter 2: Living with the Flies

(The Hillbilly (Max Thompson Jr.) x female!reader)

Previous; Next 

With his hands dripping in a thick syrup mixed from blood and other unidentifiable substances, the high-pitch whining in his head finally ceased to a distant thumping. He had been granted peace at last, a reprieve from everything and everyone that had been clawing away at his mind, consuming his every waking moment with its greedy need for his attention. He was finally free, finally allowed to think clearly, finally himself, finally Max.

That's who he had claimed himself to be - Max. It was his name, his birth-right had his face not come out the way that it did, and no one could take it away. Even when the water rippled and became too murky to see through and Boy would be called on for work, Max knew he was Max and that eventually everything would settle and he would return to being just Max. It is one of the many things Max had learned since his arrival to this strange world. Everything comes in turns like how the pouring of heavy rain and hail that used to hammer on the roof of his shed - as bad as the whining would get, it would soon swallow itself up and laze its volume. And though it would never stop completely, a wish too selfish and good to be true, he found that he enjoyed every opportunity he had to think.

Right now was one of those moments, there was sacred silence in his head and he could think of anything he wanted to. He was Max and he was free to think, free to be normal. However, try as he might, his mind always trailed back to the person in the red barn. Or rather, the girl he could never seem to get rid of. 

She had been lost in the corn fields for as long as he cared to remember, forever walking to some undisclosed destination. He has crossed her path many at times before, found her mindless wandering his land like a dazed, head-less chicken, and he had dealt with her the only way he knew how - he left her for Boy to find. He would take care of this most unfortunate trespasser quickly and without much of a fuss, removing her in such a way that it hard to tell if she had ever been there at all. It was what Boy had been made to do after all, to deal with all those laughing, unwelcome people.

He supposed she had somehow gotten trapped here like he had - the corn was like a deep, sinking mud, it grabbed anyone that strayed too close and it never let go. There were no physical walls that bordered his land, not of brick or wood or stone that one could touch or climb over, but Max knew that there was something binding him to that place, he could sense them surrounding him. And her. She was trapped just like he was.

How it burned him to be stuck in the same hole as this insolent girl. This was his farm! His land! His alone and no one else's! He fought for it, through years of blood, sweat and flies, he himself reclaimed this part of the world for his own personal occupation. All he wanted was to be alone here! Safe from the eyes of the judgmental and hateful others, a sanctuary. His sanctuary. Yet here, slithering in like vermin into an open feed room, was this girl. 

When he first saw her, Max felt no remorse leaving her to the mercy of Boy. Die, he spat at her, die and never come back! Don’t you come here to laugh at me! To laugh at Max!

But after the failure of his sixth attempt to remove her stain from his fields, Max learned another lesson about this realm. Nothing stays dead, not forever at least. Even if he were to take off her head and crush her heart in his hands until it was nothing but mush under his fingernails, she would not stay that way. It was only a matter of time before she’d reassemble herself and wake as if from a deep sleep, completely normal and none-the-wiser to her previous demise. Then she’d start walking again.

Boy was beginning to get fed up with her, turning his back when confronted by her on his daily rounds rather than slaughtering her straight out. With Boy refusing to handle the trespasser, a waste of energy and time he condemned, Max begrudgingly and resentfully accepted that there was no getting rid of the wanderer in the field. He simply had to wait until she managed to squeeze her way out the fence that same way she had snuck in.

Time is the most peculiar thing to the man who never learned to read a clock. Even before Max had been taken away to this endless night-time realm where nothing aged or moved, the stars never blinking and the moon hanging lifeless in the shallow sky, he was not one able to tell when minutes turned to hours or hours to days. There was only the rise and falling of the sun and the tuning in of his T.V programs to help him navigate through the daily grind. Without these markers of passage however, he was adrift at sea, confused. Time did not exist here. Regardless, there was no denying that he did feel the weighing of age begin to get heavier and grow longer. Max knew that it had been a very, very long time since first the girl had arrived.

A thought had started to bubble in his mind whenever it would be quiet enough to think. It started as soft as the wind through an empty field then grew louder and persistent like the dripping of a leaky faucet. Eventually it became as booming and demanding as the grinding of a rusty chainsaw motor. With every passing night, Max had to put up with the thought maturing and expanding until it developed the same frequency and urgency as that of the whining.

He should try to talk to her. 

A most simple idea, when written on paper, but one that seemed completely and utterly unattainable, unfathomable, unreal in reality. Max had only spoken to one other person and it was a miserable experience to say the least. He made a personal vow then, when staring down into his mother’s mortified and busted face as her blood dripped from his clenched fist, to never utter a single word to anyone else again. People didn’t like it when he spoke, so why even try? He decided to remain a speechless monster, sparing himself the terrified looks.  And so he did - it was, of course, made easier when everyone he encountered after his oath of silence were all dead or soon to be so. The girl was the first in a very long line of lonely nights and murderous routine who had presented something of a conundrum to his vow. He couldn’t kill her so what to do now? 

He should try to talk to her. Opportunities like this don’t just fall into his lap everyday. Max, though made from mud and filth, had always the hopeful spirit. Uncrushed optimism that had only been covered in dust, untouched, but never destroyed or rotted. Maybe one day his parents would love him. Maybe one day his face won’t be so ugly. And maybe one day he could try to talk to someone like a normal human being. 

Preposterous! Unthinkable! He should just kill her! Keep killing her until eventually it sticks. Or get Boy to do it one last time. Max grumbled, hunching over with his head in his hands trying to dig out the worming voices in his ears. Though this new voice was as loud as that of the whining, it was nowhere near as painful - it didn’t make his stomach feel achy nor his chest fume with anger. Instead this voice tickled him and brought about interest of a forgotten kind. A voice that said ‘What if.’

He buries head in the dirt. Tunneling deeper into soundless soil until there would be nothing at all, digging so far down that he might lose all sense of who Max was. Anything to get away from the thought, which had now sprouted its own self-importance and action, and ground any of the daydreams that accompanied it. Oh yes, Max had started to dream about it all. In his weaker moments, he’d start imagining what it would be like talking to her. Not only that but he had started to like the fantasy, to hold on and encourage the idea of interaction like how they did on the T.V - like ordinary people. A small part of him fluttered whenever thinking about how it would go, whether that was because he feared her rejection like so many before or because, deep down, he was stupidly hopeful was a plea he did not seek to uncover. It was simply a fantasy, a dream but one that always tasted so tangible and delightful.

What if… What if…

He stumbles upon her in the corn - the very thing he had been trying to avoid entirely yet could not stop thinking about. There's an impressive silence hanging in the air as he feels his breathing hitch. She stops, her back facing him and Max knows that she has sensed him near her however refuses to react. She is quiet, completely motionless as a wind rips through the corn and between them. So close and yet so far away. He feels a rising panic in his chest like the jumping of frightened pheasants after the firing of a shotgun. It's too soon, he has no idea what to say. Hasn’t practiced anything. How would she react? Why did he care so much? Just kill her. Kill her, kill-

“I know you are there.” It was the girl who broke the inflating silence. She spoke first and her voice, ever the small and quiet thing like its master, was so ordinary and plain. Max found himself taken aback - did all people speak so distant and mundane? It was not exactly like the gnawing of his parents but it certainly was no sound from the T.V. It was just a voice, neither grand nor harsh and something he hadn’t heard in years.

“Be quick.” She answered his unsaid command. She was smart, it seemed. Somehow she knew that he was debating on killing her yet, rather than fight or show fear, she accepted it. And asked only that he would be quick and painless. A finger flexes around the trigger of his chainsaw. It was easier this way - avoid confrontation by snubbing it before it could bloom. This had already gone too far, she had actually said something to him. Acknowledged his being. It was all becoming too much for him to handle. 

“Please.” Max, at first, did not even recognize the word. He had heard it before, yes, but never directed solely at him. It was a gesture of pleading, an appeal for respect and for the saving of face in the approach of death. She had asked Max, begged him in a mellow, drawn-out tone, to do what he wanted. All without a hint of aggression, resistance or even resentment. She just sounded tired, tired beyond words. It certainly was not his parents speaking, and with knowing the outcome of attempting to cut her down, Max felt a sudden urge to act on that dream of his.

Why, on this Earth of yellow and mud, did Max mention the pigs? Of all the things he could have said, of all the ways he could have started the conversation and he just mentioned pigs. What was he thinking? The simple explanation for his outburst would be that he panicked and picked the first thing that came to mind. The long explanation would be that it was the only thing he could think of. His voice, when pushed with air, was sticky and sore and his words shook uncomfortably in his ears. But as sure as he was that whatever mutated and horrible sound he was producing would drive anyone mad, he noticed how you barely even flinched. Though small, his confidence to speak erupted at your lack of reluctance to listen. With each utterance he became bolder. With each syllable he drew closer. 

All too soon his jar ran full and threatened to overflow and Max had to think of a way to get rid of her. Tuck her away somewhere until his mind was clear again and he would think straight. Max contemplated a moment before ushering her to the red barn that had once housed Boy many, many years ago. He couldn’t stand to be near it, let alone even look at it and hurriedly pointed the girl inside. As she walked away, her back once more turned towards him, Max heard another unfamiliar phrase being directed at him.

“Thank you.” 

It was said in a heartbeat and was gone before the wind touched his face. So nonchalant she made it seem, throwing the appreciation over her shoulder like it was nothing at all. Like it carried no weight or meaning. Yet to him, it was everything. A thank you. God knows he does not deserve it - those were the forms of human kindness reserved only for the good ones. He was not one of those good ones. But she said it, offering to him her gratitude and how strange it was to wear it. 

He waited a few minutes longer, hidden perfectly in the towering corn, his brain slowly digesting the events that just happened. Not only had Max spoken to the someone, who did not hit him nor scream, but also thanked him. 

Max wanted to bathe longer in the warm glory-light of the conversation, take in and commit to memory all the little things she had said and done and how he had responded to it all. But there was a ringing in his ears, replacing all that had happened with its deafening white noise. Without fighting he turned to face the call of the void and hoped beyond anything that everything had been real and he was not dreaming again. 

[puttingfingerstokeys]

heart and fire

I had to fuck with italics on this thing ‘cause holy shit are they important. 

Thermodynamic equilibrium (subscorp), uh, post-aftermath on the fucked up timeline. I want nice things so I’m going to give Kuai Liang nice things....... sort of! Gay ninja ahead (and prolly behind, too, lbr they’re ninja)

For @sxvethelastdance, my Heart

Bonus “chapter” here.

Broken Timeline

It has been two months, my Fire, since I returned to Netherrealm to recover your body. We sought to reclaim the fallen from both our clans, with limited success. Your younger counterpart showed me the place where D’vorah stole you from me. I swear vengeance upon her, should she ever have the misfortune of crossing my path.

Frost was among those we were able to locate and she is recovering at Arctika, though she will not speak to anyone. She threatened to throw herself into the Sea of Blood upon discovery, but that fate was not worthy of a Lin Kuei—even a traitor. I should have written sooner, but my duties have taken me from the pen and solitude.

You will be pleased to know that Takeda Takahashi has resigned his post with Special Forces to assume interim leadership of the Shirai-Ryu. The boy is well-trained and wise; he does not fill your boots, but he is humble and willing to learn. No member of the Shirai-Ryu can best him. You have taught him well.

He has married Jacqueline Briggs—it was a quiet ceremony soon after we returned from the assault on Kronika’s keep—and they are now expecting a child. . Takeda came to me recently and asked if I thought it appropriate to call the boy Hanzo, assuming it is a boy. I think it is only right that someone carries your name. I will always carry it in my heart, but it will be good to hear aloud.

I miss you.

“Takeda, thank you for meeting me.” The two ninja stood outside the Fire Gardens, just beyond the gate, Kuai Liang looking in, but making no move to enter.

“It’s always a pleasure, Grandmaster Sub-Zero,” said the younger man, putting a flat, open hand over his fist and bowing. “What brings you here?” He glanced up and down at the Lin Kuei Grandmaster and, noting the envelope in one hand, he gestured toward it, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“This—you’ve seen through me—is for… if you might place it at Grandmaster Hasashi’s resting place, I would be—”

“I will not,” came the quick reply. It wasn’t sharp, but it was firm. “You will.”

“But I am—”

“Welcome in the Fire Gardens, Grandmaster, as are your students; it is a step Grandmaster Hasashi would have taken and I… I am only interim instructor, but I will honor his legacy, no matter what.” He saluted the Lin Kuei once more, this time bowing deeply and gesturing toward the entrance. “I’ll show you where he’s… where we’ve got a marker.”

There was, of course, no body to bury, but that would have been the way of the Shirai-Ryu anyway. It was to Sub-Zero’s shame that he had brought them no corpse, and his own eternal agony that he did not at least have one last chance to… I never told him, not really, not properly. Leaves fell all around them, red and gold, perpetually in motion, making the place resemble its name. It is cold without you.

“It’s in a quiet corner,” Takeda said, trying to fill the pregnant silence between them. His fellow Shirai-Ryu were all around, if unseen. None of them raised a hand or weapon to Grandmaster Kuai Liang, however. They, for the most part, were in favor of uniting once more with their ancestral brethren. Those who were not, kept it to themselves and would rather not have begun a spat with Sub-Zero. “Near a koi pond… I think you’ll like it.”

Sub-Zero made no move to answer as the path twisted once more to the left and opened to a beautiful grotto. There was, indeed, a pond, but Takeda had neglected to mention the green foliage, bright red and orange flowers, and the waterfall, babbling over several layers of stones before emptying into the pond. The fish swam this way and that, utterly unaware of the world around them. Kuai Liang envied them.

To one side was a pillar, an obelisk that looked like it was made of volcanic glass. Atop it was a small brazier and in that, a flame danced this way and that, an ethereal quality to its rhythm. There was an inscription upon the pillar itself, but Sub-Zero’s gaze was lost in the flame almost immediately, arresting every bit of his attention.

“Yeah, I get that too when I come here… Liu Kang—err… Lord Liu Kang lit that sucker and… well, it’s god fire, so it’s not goin’ out.” Takeda was receding from the grotto. “I’ll just… leave you two, yeah?” He did not wait for an answer before melting into the fire-colored foliage of the Gardens.

Kuai Liang clutched the envelope, hard, wrinkling it in his effort to bite back tears and swallow down the choking lump that was rising in his throat. His heart twisted and ached as he dropped to one knee before the pillar. The inscription was simple: Grandmaster Hanzo Hasashi, eternal flame of the Shirai-Ryu; you will never be forgotten. There was so much more about him that Kuai Liang wanted to add, but there was not enough obsidian in the world for that.

He settled himself presently, then, closing his eyes and focusing inward, clearing his mind, breathing softly, deeply. Reaching out, he laid one hand upon the small obelisk, feeling where each word was carved, imagining he could also feel heat coming from it. That was silly, of course, but it comforted him. He stayed that way for a while, before opening his eyes once more and standing, still holding the envelope.

The grandmaster’s sharp gaze fell upon that fire and slowly, reverently, he lifted the envelope and letter to it. The fire licked up and around it, consuming the paper with little effort until there was nothing but ash. It wasn’t the words themselves, but the sentiment behind them which counted for the ears of the dead.

He left silently and with dignity, letting not a single, chilly tear fall until he returned to Arctika and his private quarters.

My fire. It has been one year since my last letter. Forgive my waiting so long. It was difficult to find time and then, to begin. The snow here seems deeper than it ever has and harder to move through; it no longer feels a part of me and I am cold. But you need not suffer the chill with me.

Hanzo Briggs-Takahashi is a robust boy even at one year old. There seems to be some debate over his education, but for now, he lives happily with his mother and father among the Shirai-Ryu. They have determined this to be the best course of action until everything has settled to an acceptable level of disorder.

I neglected to mention in my last letter that Liu Kang has, with the aid of Lord Raiden, ascended to divinity. He is a worthy young man and I feel confident in his abilities to guide the shifting of the sands of time. I wish you had been there to see him lead the armies of Outworld and Earthrealm against Kronika. But maybe those memories are with you now that your past self has been sent back to his proper time.

I will never stop missing you, but writing eases the pain a little.

 The letters continued, as frequently as he could manage, for years. It felt like centuries. His favorite time to write was when despair was upon him, because writing to his lost love reminded him that he was not simply living for himself, but for Hanzo’s dream and memory. He did not remember all the words he had written, and no one else would ever read them, but they were not for anyone else, so it did not matter.

You will be pleased, my Fire, to know that the Takahashi family has expanded once more, by one. Their daughter, Sonya, was born yesterday morning, healthy and squalling like a storm. I think her name is appropriate. Johnny and Cassie Cage will be arriving at the Fire Gardens later this week, I am told, to greet the child and spend some time with Jacqueline and Takeda. I will deliver this letter then.

I cannot believe it has been four years since I last laid eyes and lips upon you. I miss your taste, your warmth. My heart aches daily for you, but the ache eases when I write and remember you as you were, vibrant and powerful, the light of my life, and the warmth. Worry not. The warmth has not utterly deserted me. I see in Takeda’s boy much of your spirit, and I visit the Fire Gardens often, with Takeda’s gracious permission.

We are moving forward, slowly, with the integration training. Twice per year, we stay at the other’s residence, with all our students, working together. Frost is still a tough case, but I think her loss to Takeda recently might have tempered her cold fire. Defeat does not settle well upon the shoulders of any Lin Kuei, but taking it with grace is a learned art. She has not learned this; I must educate her.

I love you with all my heart and soul.

 This one, he did indeed deliver when he visited the Fire Gardens to see the new baby. Sonya was even prettier than her brother had been and he was delighted to hold her in his great, chilly arms. Dark eyes stared up at him with a depth of understanding he could not have predicted from an infant. Gripping his finger with one tiny hand, she squealed with delight and flailed her limbs as he looked on with aching fondness.

“Isn’t she perfect?” Takeda asked Sub-Zero as he handed the little creature back to her mother. Jacqui was glowing and Kuai Liang was not clear if he meant the child or the mother. Instead, he nodded. He did not stay long, but it was refreshing to his soul to see the people of this ruined timeline picking themselves back up and making the best of their situation.

My Fire, you will scarcely believe the strangeness which has happened here at Arctika. Our hot springs have begun to run far too hot to bathe in, or even to touch! The minerals are beginning to build up on the walls in the grotto and I must send students out, daily, to address this. They are hard at work, “building character”, Frost included. She seems to set about the task with the most vigor, as if the buildup offends her. Perhaps it does. Arctika, this place she fought so hard to be in, has recently been invaded by your Shirai-Ryu and they too have set about the task—of cleaning the grotto, not offending Frost; she does that well enough on her own.

I would like, more than anything, to once more share tea and to bathe with you. That intimacy is long gone from my flesh and I often crave it—not as you did, of course. I find myself almost blushing at the thought. Almost. I miss your eyes, so dark and intense, it was always as if you were looking into me, boring in deep and searching… for what, I cannot guess, but I wish you would do it again.

Yours forever, Grandmaster Hasashi, forever and a day and then forever again.

Even a skilled kryomancer stood no chance against the heat of the springs, and so it, too, became a training ground for the combined forces of the Lin Kuei and Shirai-Ryu. Takeda and Grandmaster Kuai Liang often went out to the springs to breathe in the healing steam and to speak. They talked of much—of history and the future—and deepened their understanding of each other.

“He would have wanted you to take his place,” Sub-Zero said, “once you’d proven yourself, of course.”

Takeda’s eyes flew wide. “Never in a million years, Grandmaster; are you kidding me?” His cheeks were flushed with exhilaration at the weight of the compliment he’d just been paid by the Lin Kuei’s leader. “I don’t… I’m not ready for that.”

“And that is why you are. A good Grandmaster knows his limitations.” Kuai Liang did not look at Takeda, an envelope clutched in his hand.

“Will you be joining us on the journey back to the Fire Gardens tomorrow, Grandmaster?”

“I will, with your permission, Takeda,” replied Sub-Zero, contemplating the boiling water. Of course, Takeda would not refuse, so the question was more of a formality than anything else. There were certain parts of tradition to which Takeda had noticed the Lin Kuei Grandmaster held strictly, and others he had thrown utterly out the window. The first one was, of course, his adoration of Grandmaster Hasashi, which Takeda had long ago suspected was more than academic friendship or alliance. It was a suspicion he would, naturally, never pursue.

The two men stood, side by side, arms folded, considering everything they had done in the past five years, all the progress they had made. The Shirai-Ryu were really and truly restored, standing upon the shoulders of Scorpion’s hard work. The Lin Kuei were even recovering and their number had increased, though they were still a shell of what they had been. Only a few of the cyber assassins had been recoverable at the Sea of Blood and of those, even fewer had retained their sanity after they had been reset—such was their grief at the injustice they had wrought on Frost’s behalf.

Kuai Liang was not sure she would ever show appropriate remorse, but he decided she was not a lost cause. He would keep working on her, like a glacier carves a lake. The movement was slow but inexorable. Eventually, she would see and she would learn. Even one so stubborn as she could be taught, he was certain. His resolve would not be broken by one such as Frost.

“…does it seem hotter, Grandmaster?” Takeda’s voice was muffled, suddenly, by the amount of steam suddenly filling the air of the grotto. Sub-Zero’s eyes narrowed as he peered through the haze, as if doing so could discern the source of the disturbance.

“It is,” he confirmed, “but… why?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t like it,” Takeda growled, reaching out toward Sub-Zero. “Go,” he grunted, “grab some of your students—the cyber Lin Kuei should be able to see through this fog!”

Sub-Zero could not deny the logic of this, but he disliked leaving Takeda. There was an ill-omened heaviness in the air all of a sudden he was not entirely sure was the steam or the mineral smells which came with it. There was a loud, violent hiss and a jet of water, then, from the center of the springs and both men would have been pelted with stinging droplets had it not been for Kuai Liang’s hastily built ice wall and the quick thinking to tug Takeda behind it.

Neither kombatant was expecting something wickedly sharp and hot to pierce the center of the wall directly between their heads. The heat of it caused the rest of the structure to begin cracking and both men dived to either side to avoid its collapse. The familiar, discordant song of a retracting chain rang out in the steamy half-gloom, the light of torches now obscured and throwing strange shadows, diffused through the steam.

Quan-Chi.

Both minds settled upon this conclusion simultaneously, though without having spoken it. Takeda jumped to his feat and readied himself. Whatever Neatherrealm incursion this was, it would be met with extreme prejudice. Neither knew precisely where Quan-Chi might have fallen in the scheme of things. He had met his end by Scorpion’s hand, but that did not mean some shift in the mythical sands of time had not restored him—utterly by accident, of course, but it was a mistake which would require swift correction.

Of course, as far as they knew, only Hanzo Hasashi had ever mastered the chain and spear to that extent, so Quan-Chi himself could not possibly have been on the other end of it. Kuai Liang’s mind was racing. Was that why he had not found his lover’s body? Could Quan-Chi have been accidentally restored and had begun his machinations, once more, to hold the throne of Netherrealm for his infernal (decapitated) master?

The very idea of a wraith bearing his Fire’s face settled deep in the pit of Kuai Liang’s guts, twisting into a dragon of rage, ripping at his insides and gripping his heart violently. He was as close to burning with rage as a Lin Kuei could be.

“Takeda,” he snarled, “go. I will deal with this abomination.”

For once, Takeda Takahashi did not argue. He did not resolve to stay gone, however. He raced toward the grotto’s exit, intent on making his way swiftly down the side of the mountain to the Arctika complex and alerting every ninja in its walls that they were under attack. Takeda had almost reached the divide between grotto and open mountain face when the horrific echo of clear words rang out seemingly from everywhere.

“GET OVER HERE!” The chain sang through the air and Takeda whirled, moving to block or to face his demise. Only Sub-Zero’s swift motion stopped it hitting home as the Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei caught the barb in an icy grip and crushed it, shaking the remains free from his hand as if it were a mere inconvenience.

“Go,” he repeated and stalked toward the springs. All around him, steam turned to ice and fell to the ground like heavy sleet. As his rage built, the temperature dropped and soon there was an aura of cold surrounding him, combatting the steam. Diamond tears fell from eyes which had hardened to flinty slits as he stepped past the edge of the springs, into—no, onto—the water, which was freezing solid under each step.

“Why don’t you get over here for a change,” snarled Sub-Zero, “and show me that face you’re wearing—the face you have not earned, Revenant!”

“Revenant?” The voice was a raspy bark. Following the word was laughter. Sub-Zero concentrated on solidifying the water particles around him to create a solid barrier that would be just a little more difficult for his assailant to pierce. He had not forgotten that, in later years, Scorpion had begun to carry—and proficiently use—two spear chains. The latter would come soon enough.

“You are a puppet of Quan-Chi, unworthy of the body you inhabit. Come, face me, and see the truth of your fallibility!” Kuai Liang drew himself up and stood tall, continuing. “Yours is the fire of hell, not of his heart, a thing so great you could not begin to comprehend it, much less mimic—but again, I invite you to come and allow me to demonstrate. It will be a pleasure.”

Sub-Zero had anticipated the spear.

He had not counted on Hellport, which Scorpion used with impunity.

Suddenly, the heat behind him was unbearable and there was a piercing agony ripping into his senses, starting at his shoulder, between the joint and the scapula. He could feel it digging deep, feel the lukewarm sensation of his own blood flowing down his back. He had to act.

Kuai Liang whirled on the revenant, ice axe at the ready. He would cleave the beast’s head from its shoulders, no matter how twisted the visage was. Red eyes would meet his a moment, before falling from broad, strong shoulders Sub-Zero knew all to well.

Except that they were not.

They eyes were white. With the turn, Scorpion’s hand and arm had been yanked—refusing to let go, oh, that old tenacity was strong—around Kuai Liang’s back and had, in that motion, drawn his body closer until they were flush, touching, pressed together. Sub-Zero’s arm was falling, axe in hand and, though he would have stopped it, Scorpion’s grip upon his wrist halted the descent entirely.

The fingers upon Sub-Zero’s wrist were burning, as with a fever, and they eyes he met were ablaze with madness and fury. The brow knitted together at the bridge of the man’s nose was familiar, however, the grimace on his blood-soaked, lacerated face not unknown to Kuai Liang, either. Inches apart, this could have been a lover’s embrace, but for the spearhead embedded in his shoulder and the fiery grip locked upon his arm.

Vaporizing with a hiss, Kuai Liang’s faithful ice axe bowed out of the fight and he was left with no weapon—no external weapon, anyway. He leveraged his height advantage against Scorpion and drove him back twisting his arm to reverse the grip and grab him instead, forcing him yet closer. The ice under their feet was slick and filling the frozen dome with steam. Sub-Zero began to feel lightheaded.

He would have to end this quickly, or Scorpion would gut him and the water of the hot springs would run red with the Grandmaster’s blood. That he was not facing a revenant was secondary in his mind to survival. He knew all of Scorpion’s movements, every trick and feint. Unfortunately, Scorpion also knew his, intimately. If they broke apart, the brawl might draw itself out and in this heat, Sub-Zero was already feeling sluggish.

Wrapping both arms tightly around Scorpion’s body, then, forcing the arm he had trapped up behind the shorter mans’ back, he began to squeeze, dropping his temperature with as much rapidity as he could muster. His mind was racing, thoughts flowing as if down the choppy, white waters of a sub-arctic stream just after thaw and just as insubstantial, uncatchable. He had to stop the man’s movement.

Scorpion fought hard against the grip, snapping at Sub-Zero with his teeth. He would have landed a successful headbutt were it not for their difference in height and Kuai Liang tucking his head into the crook of Scorpion’s neck. Scorpion tensed, ceasing his thrashing for the briefest of interludes as Sub-Zero’s chilly, gentle lips pressed downward on scorched flesh. Rather than the bite the enraged wraith had been expecting, he only felt the sensual, gentle touch of the man’s mouth.

“I know what you are,” whispered Kuai Liang against his lover’s flesh, gripping him tight and slowing the descent of the temperature. Scorpion’s thrashing had all but ceased as he was literally cooled down from his agitated state. Beneath them, the water which had been upon the ice solidified as Scorpion finally went limp, succumbing to the cold. 

“A wraith once more.” The whisper was barely audible. Only Sub-Zero could hear these words, spoken so softly. He was bent over Scorpion, who had gone nearly boneless in his embrace, barely clinging to consciousness, but doing so with such tenacity it might have, under other circumstances, been frightening. 

“No,” said Sub-Zero, standing, straightening, and lifting Scorpion bodily into his arms. The naked wraith leaned against his chest, closing those unsettling, white eyes as the temperature began to stabilize and Kuai Liang stepped gracefully off the ice and onto solid ground. Steam rose once more from the Lin Kuei hot springs, but they did not boil. “You are my Fire, and you have come back to me.”

“Amusing,” grunted Hanzo Hasashi weakly, reaching up to swat the side of Kuai Liang’s bearded face, “that you thought death would free you of me, my Heart.”

Upon the warm water, an envelope floated, forgotten, soaking, ink running.  

[empathy-lynx]

The Mark of Athena Timeline (SPOILERS) -Made by Yours Truly-

2010 (Year 5 in Riordanverse)

June [MOA BEGINS]

• 25th (right after the ending of SON) - the Argo II arrives; Annabeth gets reunited with Percy; they have a welcome feast in New Rome and the Prophecy of Seven is briefly discussed; Leo takes Octavian aboard the Argo II; Reyna talks alone with Annabeth; possessed Leo attacks New Rome and the Argo II and its 8 man crew (Coach Hedge included) escapes somewhat safely, with Hazel on Arion on the ground; evening = after Leo does a damage report, they land in Salt Lake City to make a pit stop (as well as pick up Hazel) to get the supplies they need; Annabeth, Percy, and Frank leave to get tar, while Leo and Hazel leave to find Celestial Bronze, and Piper stays on board with Coach Hedge and an unconscious Jason; Hazel and Leo encounter Nemesis, who gives Leo a fortune cookie, telling him to open it when he really needs her help but says that it will have a high price; then they come across Echo who is trying to save Narcissus; Leo distracts Narcissus and the Nymphs with the help of Echo, while Hazel retrieves the Celestial Bronze; Leo and Hazel run back towards the Argo II to escape; when Jason wakes up and the groups return, they have dinner and discuss what to do and where to go next

• 26th - they land in Topeka for final repairs; Percy rides Blackjack and Jason and Piper ride Tempest to the Topeka 32 mile marker and talk to Bacchus; he tells them to find and talk to Phorcys about info on Gaea, then leaves; two eidolons possess Percy and Jason fight, possessed Percy knocks possessed Jason out, then Piper distracts possessed Percy long enough for Blackjack to knock him out; Blackjack then takes the three of them back to the ship; evening = the crew discusses events that happened, then Piper uses her charm speak to make the eidolons swear on the River Styx to leave and never come back; middle of the night = Percy has a dream of the muskeg incident, increasing his fear of drowning/suffocating, then the dream changes to the twin giants Ephialtes and Otis saying they’re gonna attack Rome on July 1st, then he sees a jar which is holding Nico captive; Annabeth wakes him up and takes him to the stables, they talk briefly about the past and their godly parents, then they fall asleep

• 27th - morning = Frank finds them in the stables, saying everyone was worried; they discuss Percy’s dream of the twin giants and Nico, then land in Atlanta; Percy, Frank, and Hedge find Phorcys at the Atlanta Aquarium, as well as Keto who takes Hedge on a different “tour”, and Phorcys reveals that there is a map in Charleston to the Athena Parthenos; he then leads Percy and Frank into a trap, which they shortly escape from when Hedge returns, and they all return to the ship, setting course for Charleston; on the way, they discuss where the map might be held, and Jason suggests Fort Sumter; evening = Annabeth has flashback of her last conversation//argument with her mother, then helps Frank out of some chinese handcuffs

• 28th - once they dock in a harbor in Charleston, Annabeth, Piper, and Hazel go search for the Ghost of the Battery, while Jason, Frank, and Leo go to search the museum for any sign of the map to the Athena Parthenos, and Percy goes into the harbor to see if there’s something to be done about the sea creatures in Atlanta; the girls find out the “Ghost” is actually Aphrodite, and they talk with her, confirming that the map they seek is in Fort Sumter right before they see Roman eagles closing in on them; as they race back to the ship, Octavian and some other guards block their path, Annabeth throws her dagger in the water, and Percy comes to the rescue; Annabeth quickly goes into Fort Sumter and finds the map that will lead them to the Athena Parthenos; they escape from the Romans and begin their journey across the Atlantic; evening = Leo and Hazel share a flashback, discovering her first love Sammy is Leo’s bisabuelo (great-grandfather); night = when they come out of the flashback, the ship is getting attacked by a sea monster; Leo, Hazel, and Frank get thrown overboard

• 29th = the three of them wake up in the ichthyocentaurs’ (fish-centaurs) realm, talk with them, then return to the ship; the crew discusses what happened, as well as the Mark of Athena quest Annabeth has to do alone; Piper and Jason clean up & fix the lower deck and talk until dinner

• 30th - morning = the crew wakes up to a cruise ship passing by and realize they are nearing the entrance to the Mediterranian Sea; Piper and Jason talk with Hercules and he sends them on a “quest” to go get Achelous’ other horn in order for their ship to pass through; they end up getting it, and going back to Hercules; evening = Hercules asks for the horn, but Piper refuses him, then buries him under a mountain of food; her and Jason fly back to the ship and the crew flies through the clouds into the Mare Nostrum; night = Percy sleeps while Jason takes first watch while they’re in the air; Percy has a dream of the twin giants talking to a figure, saying the crew will reach Rome by the next day if they get past the “golden boy”

~

July

• 1st (Jason turns 16) - 4 a.m. = Jason wakes Percy up to say it’s his turn, as they’re now in the water; Percy wakes Annabeth up and tells her about his dream; he then makes the ship stop, feeling something is wrong, then another ship comes out of the fog and rams into the Argo II; they’re attacked by Chrysaor, a.k.a. The ”golden boy”, and his crew of half-dolphin pirates; cue Percy saying their captain is Dionysus, Piper and Hazel “turning mad” by him, and Frank turning into a dolphin; the crew flees, and Percy fills the pirates’ ship with Diet Coke, offering it to Dionysus as tribute; midmorning = the crew arrives in Rome; Percy walks with Annabeth toward the beginning of her quest, Frank, Hazel and Leo go to see if they can find Nico with Hazle’s senses, and Piper and Jason stay with the ship; Annabeth’s POV = noonish = Percy and Annabeth have lunch and meet Tiberinus and his wife Rhea Silvia (mother of Romulus and Remus); they give Annabeth a ride to the beginning of her quest; she starts her quest, entering beneath the city and going deeper underground; she enters a shrine to the god Mithras, and is confronted by ghosts of his followers, and fools them into thinking she knows all; she collapses the room and escapes, but falls down a small pit, breaking her ankle in the process; after making a make-shift cast, she continues; she comes into a room filled with webs, and realize there are millions of tiny spiders following her; she runs as quick as she can, coming to the edges of a chasm, and weaves a bridge of sorts across, then burns it, the spiders no longer following her; she comes into a large room, seeing several beautiful tapestries as well as the Athena Parthenos, then meets Arachne, “the weaver”; Leo’s POV = Leo, Frank, and Hazel make it to the Pantheon, finding a secret passage; they realize there are eidolons following them, and quickly escape into the passage; they enter a room with multiple duplicates of Archimedes' inventions, including some automatons; while exploring, the eidolons possess some automatons and quickly knock out Frank and Hazel, while Leo escapes into a control room; he finds a master control panel, but doesn’t know the combination, and uses Nemesis’ fortune cookie to get the password; he ends up being able to trap the eidolons inside the machines permanently; when Frank and Hazel come to, they find Nico’s sword and figure out it was a trap leading them down there; Piper’s POV = back at the ship, Piper and Jason are having a picnic and Piper finds out it’s Jason’s birthday; Percy returns shortly after, and tells them what happened with Annabeth; then Piper looks into her dagger to find a way to the giants, then sees the vision of the three of them going down a spiral staircase; they go and find it, Percy going down by himself first, coming back up saying he found something weird; ;they all go down and they find out it’s a nymphaeum; cue the three of them almost drowning before using the cornucopia to replace the “evil” water with fresh water, afterwards the nymphs telling them the location of the twin giants; the three of them find the hideout, Percy distracts the giants while Nico escapes; while fighting, the giants say Gaea will rise in a month; Jason fights Otis, Percy fights Ephialtes, and Piper defends Nico from the released animals and monsters; the giants get defeated, but reform immediately (has to be killed by god and hero together); then Bacchus shows up, but refuses to help until Percy and Jason “entertain” him; they fight in the Colosseum, the boys nearly defeating the giants again, with Bacchus finishing them off; Bacchus then gives the location to rescue Annabeth and the crew heads towards her, on the way Nico telling them the locations of the Doors of Death: Greece, and Tartarus; Annabeth’s POV = Annabeth tricks Arachne into making her own trap (giant chinese handcuffs), with her thrashing around, beginning to collapse the floor beneath them; the Argo II breaks through the ceiling and makes quick work of getting the Athena Parthenos loaded up; Arachne falls into the pit, and Annabeth heads towards the ladder, but gets pulled towards the edge y a strand of web attached to her foot; Percy grabs her hand and he’s holding them by his fingers on a ledge; he then tells Nico to lead the crew to the Doors of Death in Greece and that him and Annabeth will meet them on the other side; Percy then lets go, him and Annabeth falling into Tartarus; Leo’s POV = back on the ship, all the crew feel like they could have done something to save the two, but Nico tells them even if Jason or Frank could fly to them, they were too far down and they would’ve been sucked in too; Nico also says Percy is the most powerful demigod he knows, and that he’ll keep himself and Annabeth safe; they then discuss their course of action and fly off towards Greece

[MOA ENDS]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

MOA Prophecy

Wisdom's daughter walks alone,

The Mark of Athena burns through Rome.

Twins snuff out the angel's breath,

Who holds the key to endless death.

Giants bane stands gold and pale,

Won through pain from a woven jail.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

PJO Timelines (links to TLT Timeline)

The Lost Hero Timeline

Son of Neptune Timeline

House of Hades Timeline (not yet linked)

Blood of Olympus Timeline (not yet linked)

[echoeternally]

For Blunder or Worse

Gosh, how long has it been since I updated a one-shot related to my Pokemon stories? Been a minute, hasn’t it? Welp. Let’s fix that!

I wanted to get a story written up and out to provide some shenanigans for Poliwrath and Politoed, since I wanted them to have a silly little story of their own, considering that, well...you know.

So, something lighthearted for them to walk away on instead!

And by that, I mean the two of them absolutely whaling on each other instead, as they drag the Empire down with them. Such fun!

Loosely based on an old ask that I got on my askblog. It takes place before the fanfic story, Melting Gelid Roses, however. 

Plus it gives a cute little inside look to earlier days of the Iceberg Empire as well, or at least, a brief visit to some familiar faces with the two.

Just some silly fun to explore the two that I’ll eventually be adding onto the Scattered Petals collection on the archives as well.

The story is below the cut, so please click it and read on to enjoy!

...

...

Along the bridge outside of the Iceberg Palace, General Abomasnow inhaled and held a breath. He squeezed his eyes shut and slowly opened them back up. Splashing and smacking sounded from below him in the waters. Two frogs battled with one another, swinging their arms and flailing about the moat.

 “That was clearly meant to be for me,” snapped the round green toad, slapping a spray of water at the other.

 “In what world, you nitwit?!” The bulky blue frog hammered down one the water, as the green one swam back.

 Abomasnow heavily exhaled and slouched, rolling his eyes as the two squabbled before the bridge.

 “The markers were obviously white, Poliwrath!”

 “No, it was silver, which was for me!” Poliwrath waved a finger back and forth. “Clearly, you need to pay more attention, Politoed.”

 “Are you blind?!”

 “You’re just mad because I got more targets.”

 “Blind and delusional!”

 “Enough,” boomed Abomasnow, as he folded his arms. “You two were supposed to be cooperating to complete this training session.” He surveyed the floating targets in the water, some broken, but others still standing. “This is your fifth row with one another today. How can it be that you both can sometimes work together decently, but the rest of the time you just blow up on each other?”

 “Because Politoed clearly doesn’t know how to follow your instructions, sire,” mocked Poliwrath.

 “What?! You’re the dolt that couldn’t even follow your own targets!”

 “Did you just call me a dolt?!”

 “Duh, you are one,” fired off Politoed. “And you called me a nitwit anyway!”

 “You absolutely are one!”

 “Not as much as you are!”

 Bickering and swinging at each other again, the frogs battled with each other again. Abomasnow deflated as he buried his head and shook it.

 “Brothers…”

 He picked himself back up and walked off, not bothering to listen to the remainder of the quarrel.

 Twenty minutes later, the twins dragged themselves from the moat and stormed back inside the palace, still hissing at each other as they marched in. Three bears sat on the stairs, watching the two escalated their argument back and forth, rapidly increasing in volume as they carried on.

 “Do they ever stop?” Beartic leaned back on the steps. “It’s been like this all day.”

 “Makes sense why Abomasnow was ready to rip his roots out,” joked Pangoro.

 “Maybe we should go get some snacks before the Emperor shows up,” suggested Ursaring, pulling himself up on the railing.

 “Sounds like a plan!”

 “Yes, we’d better.”

 From behind the stairwell, however, doors from the throne room slammed open. Each of the knights jumped and fumbled in place, struggling to get themselves at attention.

 “Uh-oh,” uttered Ursaring.

 Emperor Empoleon strode around the corner and glared down at Poliwrath and Politoed, who flailed about before bowing down before the large penguin.

 “Emperor!”

 “Sire!”

 “Oh, don’t bother with formalities at this point,” thundered Empoleon. “Just what the blazes have you two stormed into this time?!”

 “Sir, we were training—”

 “Yes, I had General Abomasnow vent to me not even five minutes ago,” informed Empoleon. “He’s beyond fed up with trying to work with you two, as you’re near incapable of even tolerating one another.”

 “With all due respect—”

 “Now you want to bring that up?” Empoleon forced out a sharp laugh. “You’ve hardly respected your superior all day, and now you’re looking to address it? Nonsense!” He stomped down as the brothers fumbled back and clung to one another. “Honestly, you both need to be capable of cooperating with your fellow knights, and that most definitely includes each other!” Empoleon lifted his wings to his head, massaging his temples with his claws. “All that your arguing has left anyone with is a pounding headache! I’ve important research to attend to, and I haven’t the time to waste lecturing my knights instead!”

 “We’re sorry, sire,” mumbled the twins.

 “Hmph. I should hope so.” Emperor Empoleon shook his head. “At least attempt to better yourselves soon, or I shall have to think of new ways for you two to serve me.” He narrowed his gaze over them. “Clearly, if you’re not capable of developing a symbiotic relationship with one another, you won’t work well with others overall. But I’ll see to that later.”

 Striding past the two and making his way for the stairs, Empoleon folded his wings behind his back, as the three bears scrambled from his path. They bumped into the railing and bowed down as Empoleon briskly marched upstairs, making his way to the palace library.

 The brothers and the bears looked to one another, as they slowly relaxed from their enraged emperor’s outburst. Each of the bears smirked as the brothers glanced down and wandered out of the room, not wanting to hear any mockery that the trio thought up.

 Entering the next corridor, the brothers shoved the door shut behind them and sighed.

 “Hmm…sounds like you two really annoyed the Emperor…”

 Jumping at the interrupting voice, the twins settled as they spotted Quagsire, who licked his lips and then yawned.

 “Yeah, we did a pretty good job of it this time,” murmured Politoed. “Though we were hoping to avoid getting into it anymore…”

 “What are you doing here anyway, Quagsire?” Poliwrath folded his arms. “Thought you’d be napping at this point.”

 “Ah, I was on a break to have a snack,” revealed Quagsire. He patted his stomach. “Pretty sure that at least Ursaring will want some too, so I made plenty…”

 “Huh, well, that was nice of you,” noted Poliwrath.

 “If my stomach wasn’t tied up in knots right now, I’d want something to eat,” piped up Politoed.

 “There’s plenty; made a cake and some fruity desserts to go with it.” Quagsire yawned. “Wish I could go nap now…”

 “Why don’t you?”

 “Didn’t finish helping out.”

 “Helping with what?”

 “Mmm…this way…”

 Pivoting around, Quagsire wandered down the hall. Poliwrath and Politoed looked at one another, shrugged, and then hurried down the hall after the sleepy salamander knight.

 As they rounded the corner, they listened to another conversation going on.

 “…It’s been two hours already,” insisted the first voice. “We’ve tried, but we should really take a break too.”

 “Please, it’s really important that I find it,” begged the second. “Isn’t that Shell Bell of yours important too?”

 “Of course it is, and believe me, I definitely know what you’re going through.” The brothers peeked around the next corner, and spotted a blue sea turtle rubbing behind his head. “But Quagsire went to take a break more than twenty minutes ago. We should do the same, and then we’ll be recharged to keep going.”

 “Well…maybe…”

 Both Politoed and Poliwrath tightened their grip against the wall, eying the purple and white stoat that stood opposite to the turtle. They started cackling and slid back behind the corner, while Quagsire tilted his head and studied the two.

 “Wow, that’s the new knight!” Politoed clasped his hands together and wiggled around. “She’s so cute and pretty!”

 “…Uh…huh? She?”

 “Yeah, we have to go talk with her this time!” Poliwrath rubbed his hands together. “I feel like she’d be open to chatting and then some!”

 “Um…”

 Before Quagsire could add anything else, the brothers bounced from behind the wall and hurried down the corridor to the debating pair.

 “Carracosta, if we can just search five more minutes—”

 “Hey, hey, you’re the new knight around here, aren’t you?” Poliwrath lifted his fist to his chest, straightening up more as the stoat blinked and the turtle turned.

 “Ah…yes?”

 “It’s so nice to stumble upon you, ma’am!” Politoed held out his hand as the stoat frowned. “My name is Politoed, pleasure to reacquaint with you!”

 “What?!” Poliwrath smacked his brother. “Don’t you cozy up to her so quick!” He slid in front of his brother. “I apologize, miss; my brother can be so dense. I’m Poliwrath.”

 “Neat. I’m Mienshao and I’m not a lady,” muttered Mienshao, as he placed a hand on his hip while Carracosta rolled his eyes. “When are people going to get used to that? I’ve been here over a week already.”

 “Huh?” Poliwrath blinked. “…Now that you mention it, and listening to you a bit better, that does make more sense…”

 “Can you believe my brother? Such a fool.” Politoed bumped past Poliwrath and pushed him back. “My apologies sir, but you are quite the charmer to throw either of us off.”

 “I—what?”

 “Get lost!” Poliwrath shoved Politoed aside. “He’s clearly not into you, so quit acting like you got him smitten!” He dusted himself down a bit. “Sir, it’s my delight to get to know a gentle lord like you better.”

 “You can’t just take over like that!” Politoed jumped up and slammed his foot down onto Poliwrath’s.

 “Ow! You miserable little—he’s just getting into me!” Poliwrath lifted his fist and bopped Politoed’s head.

 “Good gods, give us strength,” murmured Carracosta.

 “Hold on, neither of you are deterred…but you were just flirting because you thought that I was…” Mienshao blinked and shook his head. “Will you both quit arguing already?!” Both frogs returned their attention to him and shoved away from one another, straightening themselves up once more. “What even came over you two?”

 “These brothers love to bicker and battle, especially with each other,” reintroduced Carracosta. “Just pay them no mind and let’s get back to the search.”

 “Hmm? Didn’t you want a break for a bit?” Quagsire ambled over to the other four. “You seem like you could use one, Carracosta.”

 “Quagsire, finally!” Carracosta relaxed and smiled. “I’ve been hoping that you could relieve me from this wild, ah…treasure hunt.”

 “Treasure?”

 “Sounds cool!”

 “Please don’t call it that,” complained Mienshao. “You make it sound like we’re pirates.”

 “To be fair, we do tend to seek out different kinds of treasures ourselves,” brought up Carracosta. “Not that it matters, since we need to find your necklace anyway.”

 “Pendant.”

 “Does it go around your neck?”

 “…Yes.”

 “Then it can be a necklace.”

 “But it…” Mienshao sighed and sank down. “Oh, very well.”

 “We can help you search for it!” Politoed clasped his hands together. “I’d be honored to help you find your jewelry!”

 “It’s not just…” Mienshao rolled his eyes up and dragged his hands over his face. “Actually, I suppose it is that too.”

 “You can have my brother’s help, but you will definitely have mine,” insisted Poliwrath. “I won’t rest until it’s found!”

 “Don’t go off acting high and mighty,” snapped Politoed. “You don’t even know what it looks like!”

 “Well neither do you, and yet you’re going off like you do anyway!”

 “My pendant is from the temple I used to reside in,” intervened Mienshao. “It’s one of the few pieces that I was able to bring with me before its collapse into ruin.”

 Everyone quieted and silently stared at Mienshao, as he rubbed his arm and gazed out a window, observing snowflakes that gently descended outside the palace. He shook his head and turned back to the group.

 “Normally I keep it shut away, but I had to get it cleaned,” he disclosed. “But, I must have misplaced it from there and on my way back to my room, and I haven’t been able to find it since last night.” Mienshao tugged on his whiskers. “I can’t even practice my calligraphy without panicking about it, and that normally calms me down all of the time.” He forced himself back upright. “It’s a five-colored jewel that rests in a gold case with a silver string. The five colors are meant to be emblematic of the four kingdoms and a meeting point between them. Legend from the temple claimed that it came from the center of the continent, but that’s besides the point.”

 “So it looks really pretty and is found with silver and gold around it,” determined Poliwrath. “Got it!”

 “Way to break it down to the dullest details,” deadpanned Politoed.

 “As long as you two are willing, I would really appreciate the assistance.” Mienshao bowed his head to them. “I’m desperate to find it, if only for the nostalgia it provides.”

 “Sure, important stuff is always, uh, important,” persisted Poliwrath. “Leave it to me! I’ll see that it’s found!”

 “And when he fails, you can rely on me to find it.” Politoed smirked. “Your attachment makes it valuable enough, and I won’t quit until it’s found.”

 “Thank you both.”

 “Perfect, you’ve got new hunters for yourself.” Carracosta smacked his flippers together. “Well, you’ve got greater odds of finding it, so I’ll take my leave for now and join in again later.”

 “Hmm?” Quagsire tilted his head. “Do you really need to go?”

 “Truly, yes, I do. After all, I do have to meet with my, ah…” Carracosta rubbed behind his head. “Ah…it sounds odd to call it ‘my appointment,’ ha. Uh, actually, it’s someone that I need to speak with about…funny enough, a treasure that he found.”

 “Wait, you’re leaving from one treasure hunt to go to another?” Quagsire drummed his stomach. “That seems silly.”

 “Except this one was found, and my, um…we’ll call him a friend,” shakily decided Carracosta. “Ah, anyway, he needs my help with that and something else that I still don’t know about, so I must see that attended to.”

 “You have a friend in the city?”

 “Yes, yes, shocking that any of us have a social life outside of the palace walls, I know.” Carracosta huffed and strode from the group. “Now, unless anyone else has more interruptions, I should take my leave. I’m already late enough as it is.”

 “Sorry about that.”

 “Mienshao, it’s fine, really.” Carracosta sighed. “Look, if it were anyone else, I wouldn’t mind having them wait, but this one…I can’t keep him waiting.”

 “I understand.”

 “Promise I’ll be back to help if you’re still searching later,” offered Carracosta. He smirked and added, “Pirate’s promise!”

 “Ugh.” Mienshao smacked his forehead. “Forget it, get lost so we can find it without you.”

 “And split the rewards without me?! After all of my help?!”

 “Aren’t you late?”

 “Ah! Yes! I’m off, farewell!”

 Hurrying from the hall, Carracosta disappeared around the corner and from the others. Politoed and Poliwrath looked to one another and shrugged.

 “Wonder who he’s meeting with that’s so important,” murmured Quagsire.

 “Curious as it is, that’s a different mystery to solve.” Mienshao twisted back to the brothers. “We’ve explored most of the western sides of the palace, but I can’t seem to find it there. Honestly, I’m not positive where I was last night, since…well, I’m still getting familiar with this place.” He scratched at his cheek. “Come to think of it, the bedrooms are on the east side, aren’t they?”

 “Yep.”

 “Great.” Mienshao dropped his head. “Maybe we’ve been looking in the wrong places to begin with.”

 “We’ll start again and figure it out,” suggested Quagsire. “And now we have more help.”

 “That’s right!” Politoed bounced up. “We’re ready to help, Sir Mienshao!”

 “Send us off where you need us, we’ll get it done.” Poliwrath pumped his fist up.

 “Not to return you back along the path from whence you came,” started Mienshao, as the brothers blankly stared at him. “Ah…just head back to the east side. Quagsire and I have been combing this side of the palace already, so you two should start over there.”

 “Hopefully that’s not the way that the Emperor went,” brought up Quagsire.

 “It is.”

 “That’s unfortunate.”

 “Why does that matter?” Mienshao rubbed his head, while Quagsire chuckled.

 “They got yelled at just a little bit ago.”

 “Oh.” Mienshao frowned. “Sorry.”

 “It’s fine.”

 “We’ll still handle it for you!”

 “Thank you both again, then.” Mienshao turned to Quagsire as the twins started off. “Have we tried everywhere yet? Should we find a way downstairs?”

 “Only if you want to get lost in old lower levels that were abandoned ages ago,” warned Quagsire. He yawned and patted his cheek. “Unless you dropped it down a pipe, we’re probably better staying up here.”

 On their way back to the main hall, Politoed slowed and stared at the door to the dining hall. Poliwrath spun back and poked at him.

 “What are you doing?” He poked at his brother again. “We’re supposed to be going to the east. Quagsire was just eating in there.”

 “Right, but I just want to make sure that those bears are in here instead of out there,” reasoned Politoed. “That way, we can just sneak by and off.”

 “But what if they’re already sitting and eating? They’ll see us.”

 “No way.”

 Sure enough, as Politoed gently pushed the door open, vexed gazes from three feasting bears met him and Poliwrath. The brothers sighed as Poliwrath shoved the door completely open. Beartic sank down and rested his head against his paw.

 “Three, two, one.”

 “Had to do it,” complained Poliwrath. “You just had to open the door.”

 “Shut up,” snapped Politoed. “You act like you’ve never made stupid choices!”

 “Not as bad as yours.”

 “As if!”

 “And there they go,” murmured Beartic, lowering his eyes as Politoed and Poliwrath started batting at each other.

 “Can’t you not make poor life choices for once?!”

 “Like yours aren’t just as poor?! You live with me!”

 “Yeesh, didn’t they get enough from the Emperor before?” Pangoro snickered. “They’re basically asking for more punishment, right Ursaring?” He turned to the brown bear, as he struggled with a jam jar.

 “Nitwit!”

 “Dolt!”

 “Yeah, definitely,” grumbled Ursaring. “Just…how tight does Quagsire seal these?”

 “Keeps them fresh.” Pangoro took it from Ursaring. “See, you just need to apply…some force…” He grinded his teeth as he twisted the jar, failing to get it open as well. “What the hell?”

 “Not so easy, huh?” Ursaring smirked as he lowered his eyes on the panda.

 “Wait, I can…this thing isn’t…seriously, what?” Pangoro gawked at the unopened container.

 “That’s why mom liked you less!”

 “Well dad liked you less too!”

 “Hang on, let me try,” offered Beartic, taking the jar from Pangoro. “It might be a bit frozen, so…hmm…just the right…turn…” He shifted away from the table and tugged harder on the lid, failing to open it either. “What gives…?”

 “Right? It should’ve come off easy!”

 “It’s not even full,” pointed out Ursaring. “It should just pop off.”

 “Very strange,” agreed Beartic, as he held out the jar to study it. “Maybe if we take turns with loosening it.”

 “You’re a walking eyesore!”

 “Well you don’t have any brains!”

 Shoving Politoed back, Poliwrath’s glare vanished as his brother swung his arm out, smacking the jar from Beartic’s hand and into the table. It smashed at the angle, and broke the top open as it dropped to the ground. Politoed gawked at it, and then twisted back to Poliwrath.

 “Look at what you did!”

 “Me?! You knocked into it!”

 “That’s exactly what you would do to blame it on me—”

 “Come off it, that’s you never owning up to problems—”

 Still shouting and swinging at each other, the brothers stormed from the dining hall, leaving the three bears to quietly watch them take off. Bending down and scooping up the jar, Beartic blankly stared at the broken jam jar: the top had shattered open, but no glass got on the jam that remained inside. Breathing a bit of icy breath around the top to even it out, he placed it down before Ursaring.

 “Problem solved,” determined Beartic. “Let me get the glass next…”

 “That was my next idea,” muttered Pangoro.

 “Huh. Whatever works,” settled Ursaring.

 Departing from there and to the main hall, Poliwrath and Politoed nudged and shoved one another back and forth. They forced themselves apart from one another and glared to each other.

 “Fine, let’s really settle this then,” decided Poliwrath. “First one to find that necklace pendant jewel for Mienshao is the better brother and gets to ask him out!”

 “Ha, like you’d be able to handle that anyway!” Politoed waved him off. “Just try and keep up with me, and don’t cry when you lose.”

 “Oh, I won’t, but you can feel free to when you do!”

 “Dream on!”

 “Ready?”

 “Let’s go!”

 Racing off with one another, Poliwrath and Politoed stormed through the eastern side of the palace, charging upstairs and through the corridors. Zipping through the bedchambers, they tore by the rooms, glancing within and hurrying along when they found nothing. Once finished, they raced onward.

 Further down the palace halls, Abomasnow opened a closet, only to be whacked in the head by a broom. Groaning, he leaned over to pick it up, and grunted while grabbing it, reaching around at the light cracking.

 “Ooh, my back…where is that damned knot…ah, blast it all, I can’t be getting that old yet,” he griped. Abomasnow held the broom up and glowered at it. “Hmph. It shouldn’t even be me getting saddled with all of these chores. I should get the knights to do them if they screw up training, and not…hey, that’s not a half bad idea.”

 Propping the broom up, he fumbled around trying to keep it lined with the others in the closet. Hearing yelling from down the corridor, Abomasnow jerked up.

 “Oh no, not them again…”

 Before he could prop the broom back up properly, Abomasnow was shoved into the closet as Politoed shoved Poliwrath into him, roughly knocking into his back.

 “Gods, now look at what you did!” Poliwrath hopped from the general. “You made me shove him into the closet!”

 “That’s your fault, you went too far to the left!”

 “Bah, will the two of you knock it off?!” Abomasnow’s thunderous voice scared the brothers back into chasing each other off. “Honestly, with how much chaos they cause, they’ll make my back pains distant…memories…huh.” Abomasnow rubbed his back and blinked, blankly staring off as he slowly smiled. “Hey. That actually feels much better!”

 His smirk faded as the broom dropped out from behind him and smacked down against the floor. Abomasnow sighed and rolled his eyes.

 Around the corner for the next hallway, Poliwrath shoved into Politoed, who pushed right back into him. They stuck together and charged down the hall, pushing one another along while rushing through.

 After nudging back and forth, Politoed shoved Poliwrath into a door, as his brother yanked him into it with him. They fell through and crashed down the steps into the library, where Empoleon sorted through his notes. He jerked up and whirled around at the brawling brothers, as they dragged their fight closer to his work.

 “Dastard!”

 “Asshole!”

 “Not now, the two of you are interrupting,” snapped Empoleon. “Just settle down for a minute, and don’t—”

 Neither heard him in time, as they tackled into each other and rolled across the room, bumping the table and knocking the papers around. Empoleon gaped at the mess his work was turned into, and gripped at his head. Shoving each other as they rose up from the ground, Politoed and Poliwrath finally focused on Empoleon, as he turned his dark glare upon them. Both jolted up and darted off.

 “Get back here,” bellowed Empoleon. “You two have caused me considerable confusion and delay! This work is supposed to…!” Empoleon blinked and studied the messy pile of papers before him. “…Wait a minute…” He shuffled the papers around. “This, here, that’s the piece of the legend…ah, here!” Empoleon giggled as he excited scoured over the lines. “The ‘valiant heart,’ ‘strong convictions and morals,’ this is the piece that I was looking for!”

 Glancing up and around the library, Empoleon cleared his throat, dragging his chair back closer to him and quietly sitting down with in, returning to his research.

 Bursting from the door leading outside to the palace’s walkway, Politoed broke away from Poliwrath and stumbled back against the railing. Poliwrath growled and charged at Politoed, knocking him over the side of the railing, as both plunged down into the moat below.

 Paddling up to the surface and panting as they dragged themselves back onto the bridge, Poliwrath and Politoed glared at each other, struggling to catch their breaths.

 “You’ll…never…find it…” Politoed brushed his mouth in between his breathing, wiping the water away.

 “Ha…you’re…the one…that won’t…” Poliwrath rolled his arms and struggled as he steadied himself.

 “Um.”

 Blinking at each other, the twins twisted around as they spotted Quagsire and Mienshao on the opposite side of the bridge. Mienshao wore the missing pendant around his neck, arm wrapped around Quagsire as he rubbed his cheek. Poliwrath and Politoed deflated as they gazed ahead.

 “We found it already.” Quagsire pointed back behind him. “It was in the main hall, but on the lower floor of the eastern side,” he revealed. “You guys probably past it when you went along.”

 “It was because we heard something smash in the dining hall that we went looking out that way at all,” enlightened Mienshao. “We thought we were going to find you two, but Quagsire spotted my pendant instead. It was a nice surprise!”

 “And then we heard you two splash down out here,” finished Quagsire. “…Are you guys ok?”

 “Us?” Poliwrath blinked and then laughed. “Ha, yeah, we…we, uh, slipped. From the top. Over there.”

 “Yep, that’s…that’s what happened.” Politoed chuckled weakly. “Glad that you, uh, found the pendant, Quagsire.”

 “It’s just nice that Mienshao has it back,” decided Quagsire. “Happy to help…”

 “You were so quick to find it too!” Mienshao hugged Quagsire. “Thank you so much for all of your effort!” He pulled off and turned to the brothers, nodding to them. “Thanks to both of you for assisting as well.”

 “Sure, yeah…”

 “You’re welcome…”

 Rubbing away the green glints from their envious eyes, Politoed and Poliwrath sank down as Mienshao and Quagsire strolled back inside of the palace. They glanced up at one another and shrugged.

 “Maybe we should take this as a note to change,” suggested Politoed.

 “True, maybe we need to clean up our act a bit,” concurred Poliwrath.

 “Oh, you two certainly have some cleaning up to do.”

 Both jumped up and stared across to Abomasnow, who had marched out in place of Mienshao and Quagsire. He lifted mops and a bucket.

 “We’ve got some recently messy halls that need to be tended to,” thundered Abomasnow. “And I know just the duo that’s eager to help!”

 “…This is all your fault,” hissed Poliwrath.

 “My fault?! You started it,” snapped back Politoed.

��“Personally, I don’t give a damn whose fault it was,” overtook Abomasnow. “Both of you are cleaning it up, and you’ll do it straight away or I’ll make you two a punishment much worse than that!”

 “Ah, yes sir.”

 “Right away, sir.”

 “That’s more like it! Maybe you’ll learn how to cooperate better by the end of the day after all.” He dropped the bucket down and propped the mops against it. “Now then, both of you: get to work!”

 Abomasnow lumbered back inside as Poliwrath and Politoed groaned, trudging over and scooping up the mops. They shot each other wicked glares as they shoved the doors for the palace back open and dragged themselves back inside through the halls.

 When Carracosta returned later, he was rather surprised at how neat the palace halls looked. Though once he found Poliwrath and Politoed to ask them about it, he only watched as they slumped down near a closet and knocked out.

...

...

Shenanigans were had, and chaos ensued. Hooray!

Just something to hold over readers that might be waiting on the coming conclusion of Melting Gelid Roses, since I’ll be getting to that finale later on in the coming months.

And this gave a bit nicer of a send-off for Poliwrath and Politoed, who didn’t get as much limelight for their time in the story. (Doesn’t help when you’re not quite the main characters.) It’ll be added later to Scattered Petals, like I mentioned above, since that’s the one-shot collection for these types.

It was also fun to have a few other characters with earlier routines: Mienshao’s actual newbie status to the Empire, Carracosta still new to hiding his personal life, the bears actually being around, Empoleon’s research, Quagsire’s sleepy demeanor masking his chef skills, and Abomasnow becoming...more of himself!

Plus, there were some fun references that I tossed in that hint at the later events of the main story. They’re not very obvious, but if you browse through the chapters, you might spot a few things between here and there.

Anyway, that’s all for them! Hope you enjoyed. Thank you for reading!

[chiauve]

Aquarius 21

The old Bronco eased onto the beach of the hidden cove, but instead of parking on the sand Wesker backed it into the treeline. Not hidden, really, but its brown coloring faded into the trees well enough to not be initially spotted should anyone happened by. There he wait, crossed arms resting on the steering wheel, for the tide to come in.

If fast enough, Wesker could manage two long strides into the water before he transformed. At low tide, the sandbar emerged and formed a shallow stretch of calm between it and the shore, and becoming himself again in the shallows was something Wesker avoided unless necessary. At high tide the water was just deep enough Wesker could safely submerge.

Finally the tide was high enough and Wesker stripped, folding his clothes into a laundry bag and setting that away from the clean clothes, neatly piled and organized. From under the passenger seat he pulled a mesh bag containing a few items heavily wrapped in plastic and bagged. Included was his Samurai Edge that had gone overboard with him. He found both it and Redfield’s but decided to keep his own. He could make use of it.

Checking the beach was empty, he slid out of the truck and locked it. The car keys and his wallet he zipped into a lunch bag and buried it nearby under a bush. Then he crept back to the treeline and crouched, again checking to ensure he was alone, watching, listening, before he sprint out towards the water. Two steps in and he dove.

It always hurt, transforming from one form to another, but this way always came with relief as his tail unfurled and spines and fins lifted from wherever the hell they went. He shivered, shook off the shock, and groggily made his way out to the submerged sandbar. There he retrieved the box that had contained the vials of the essence of the Stairway of the Sun and added it to his bag. He swam out into the bay.

Wesker did not follow the floor at first, but skimmed along the surface, rolling until he faced the distorted, bowl-shaped sky above. He trailed a clawed finger along the surface, carving into that sky.

Too soon he was where the human boats floated along and dived down, his dark scales making him near invisible against the bay floor, save the gold stripe down his back. Dorsal fins lifted, he found a current and sailed along, in no great hurry for all he wanted to get home. He took a moment to untie a few crab pots from their markers for fun, munching on the innards of a caught crab. The sea floor dipped as the bay grew deeper and Wesker followed it, weaving along the seaweed and sighing in relief as the water darkened.

Finally he reached the mouth of the bay, the waters swirling in meeting currents. He didn’t fight them, but rolled with them in loops and reveling in the fluidness of his own body.

Humans were so contained, so stiff. Born of the land they were brittle and unyielding like it, to their own detriment. Wesker had never known pain like the morning he’d woken up in the back of the Bronco, every joint stiff and screaming, not even when a shark bitten off part of his tail, and that had hurt.

Spat free of the meeting currents, Wesker twisted along the shore, the song of the surf guiding him like a heartbeat. Then away and down he went, into the rocks and kelp, along the fish that dodged away from him. This level of sun and warmth lasted only a little while before the shelf dropped down into the darkness. He’d read in the archives of distant shores where the sunny, lively shelf of fish and seals and otters and coral stretched on forever, and the Clans of those places had lived in the sun and warmth. Not so here. The shore and the continental shelf lay close like lovers, huddled together against the mass of the endless Pacific.

He followed the rocky shelf down into the dark. The cold and the pressure closed around him, comforting. On land Wesker always felt like he was going to float away. The fragility of humans could most likely be blamed on that pressureless, airy world. The sea would crush them in the People’s realm.

Yet the People required the food of the bay to live, the herbs to thrive, always had. Otherwise they would have been happy to stay below and ignore the world of bright light above.

Some light made up the realm of the People, enough to see, but dim enough to rely on their own sight. Slithering along the jagged rock, a figure lit in Wesker’s vision, a unique shimmer of colors identifying it as one of the People. Undoubtedly they saw him too, but both moved on without acknowledging each other.

The other aanakellriit were born of fingers, so they said, bound by the hand to function together and so formed their pods and herds, but the People were born of Sedna’s womb and were born into the wide oceans alone. They made up a clan and formed family groups, but the clan would stretch down the coast for many miles in either direction, keeping to themselves and only gathering now and again to hunt and trade. But that was long ago; now they huddled together in what remained of their old forums and carved out their lairs in dead structures.

He found the right outcropping of rock and slithered beneath it to a door, a heavy metal grate that kept out larger sea creatures but let the small fish and other edible things wander in. There was a lever by the door and he pumped it several time before he heard the heavy clunk and creak of the door lifting, then with a screech it stopped. Growling in annoyance he struck it with his tail and it resumed its slow rise. The damn engineers needed to do their jobs and maintain their home.

How many engineers were even left anyway?

Wesker swam through the entryway before it started to close again and followed the passageway, lit by tiny glowing squid that meandered about the roof of their caves until evening when they’d head up to the surface to feed. Wesker snatched one as he slid by and swallowed it whole. He could almost hear one of his many mothers chide him for it: don’t eat the lighting!

Much as he wanted to go straight to his lair, Wesker knew he had to give his report to Ruler and check in with Willful. Dealing with Wielder and the Ruler always left him mentally exhausted so he followed a passageway upward to the labs.

The laboratory that made up the home of Willful and his wife was a long journey through many underground passages back upward. The pressure lessened and Wesker knew he was almost back at surface level. The passage opened up into a large cavern where, instead of bioluminescent creatures, actual lights were strung along the walls among pipes and large glass containers. Wesker ignored the contents of them and swam upward and broke through the surface.

The roof of the cavern was low, he could touch the ceiling, but a bit farther up it lifted a little, and here was Willful’s lab. Grating was built into the ceiling and there Will stored the items that couldn’t remain in the water. What didn’t fit on the shelving hung on cords and wires in glass vials and bottles. Wesker couldn’t help but trail his hand among them, hearing them whisper in the damp.

Willful’s head popped up out of the water immediately at the sound, his ears twitching.

“Stop messing with those.”

“Good to see you too, Will.”

Willful snort and ducked back down into the water, following the grating down into a constructed room that could be shut and sealed. Wesker followed, all too familiar with the laboratory. Lights flickered on and lit a dingy space of metal and old machinery that Wesker had once longed for.

“What do you want, Bright?” Willful asked.

Wesker pulled the vial case out of his bag and held it out. “I need more T samples.”

“And a looking over,” Will said, pulling a book from a slat in the grating, “We still don’t know the long-term effects of the Stairway of the Sun.”

Wesker settled at the bottom of the room, his tail coiling around a protruding rock to anchor himself, waiting as Will fussed around with his books and tools.

[thelookingglassalice]

Generations Pt. 5

Previous 

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier x Taya/OC

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1446

Square Filled: Threesome

Summary: Since the identity of the father is out, everyone is agreed that they need a day off. So Delilah gets her first trip to Central Park.

A/N: @star-spangled-bingo  @avengerscompound @lillianfromaccounting@patzammit @mumbles411 @until-theend-oftheline @nikkimarie (If you’d like to be tagged just ask)

 “If Stark doesn’t stop referring to Delilah as ‘the result of our threesome’ I’m going to have to hurt him just a little.” Bucky read a text message that Tony had sent to the group.

“I had a threesome all by myself. How depressing is that?” Taya stirred her coffee and leaned her butt against the counter. 

“She sleeping?” Bucky was surprised and slightly disappointed they’d made it through the night without him.

“She’s excited for her day out. Not that being trapped in here for five months hasn’t been wonderful. It’s not like her mommy is ready to steal a car to get out of this place.” Taya eyed Bucky as she sipped her drink. 

“I think after the results we all need some fun. Maybe not grand theft auto, but we’ll see how the day goes.“ Bucky shrugged.

To say the results of the blood tests had just complicated things, was an understatement. Delilah’s DNA was chaotic. Bruce was still trying to make sense of it. Bucky, Steve, and Taya were all represented in the child. There were traces of something that resembled the serum Steve had been given, but it had different chemical markers. 

In scientific terms, the kid didn’t make sense. Period. Bruce had noticed some acceleration in her cellular growth and requested a possible PET scan to see how her brain was functioning. When he was met with the glaring of the parents, Bruce had suggested they wait a few days on that. Natasha and Clint were working their intel connections harder and even Tony was doing some long-distance hacking to help the search for the experiment records.

Scientific shit aside. Steve and Bucky now had a child together and with a woman, they never met until a few months ago. Odd that it wasn’t the most outrageous thing to ever happen to them. Steve had suggested they get the hell out of the compound and do something for Delilah’s birthday.

“Where exactly are you and Steve taking us today?” Taya cocked an ear, listening for Delilah.

“Not sure. Is she too little to ride the Cyclone?” Bucky asked.

“Maybe we save Coney Island for when she’s a little older.” Taya laughed. 

“Fine. Central Park it is.” Bucky nodded.

“That sounds nice.  I’m going to grab a shower since sleeping beauty is still out.” Taya headed down the hall. Bucky smiled as he watched her go. 

Steve arrived while Taya was getting dressed. Delilah had woken up and Bucky had gotten her some breakfast. Now he was trying to figure out how the stroller Tony had brought worked. 

“Morning...what’s that?” Steve greeted them.

“Stark said it was a stroller but it has a fucking motor on it.” Bucky eyed the thing carefully. 

“Yeah.” Delilah nodded emphatically

“Can you say that around her?” Steve picked Delilah up and she offered him a Cheerio.

“I don’t think she understands it. And if she does, don’t say it.” Bucky pointed a finger at her.

“Kay.” Delilah went back to force-feeding Steve cereal.

“If that thing hovers she’s not going in it,” Steve mumbled around the pieces of Cheerio. “Thank you, that’s enough.”

“Hey, Steve.” Taya came in with a diaper bag. “Can you put a few toys in here? I’m going to get her dressed. Issues with the stroller?

“I’m not sure it’s a stroller,” Bucky explained. 

“Is that a refrigerator on that thing?” Taya traded Steve Delilah for the bag and went to get her ready.

“Taking a kid out shouldn’t be this complicated.” Bucky frowned.

“Really. A couple of hundred-year-old super soldiers taking their scientifically created offspring and her ex-spy assassin mother to the park should be way easier.” Steve suppressed a smirk as he decided which toys to put in the bag.

“This is not the threesome I ever pictured.” Bucky was also holding back a smile now.

“Hey,  You could do worse. I’ll have you know that’s America’s ass pal.” Steve winked.

“I’d salute it but my hands are full.” Taya deadpanned as she returned with the baby.

“Maybe later then.” Steve shrugged as Bucky hit one last button on the stroller. 

The stroller unfolded itself gracefully and a screen lit up between the handles. Bucky poked the screen and it started to talk. It ran through the weather outlook, child-friendly activities available today, the temperature of the stroller seat and onboard refrigerator compartment, then waited for a command.

“Okay, there’s no chance of that becoming sentient and taking over Manhattan, right?” Taya narrowed her eyes as Steve and Bucky shared a look. “What?”

--

“I think we wore her out.” Steve pulled the canopy up, exposing Delilah.

“Looks like it.” Bucky leaned sideways as they walked to look at her. 

“Two nights in a row I’ll get to sleep.” Taya clapped.

The group was working their way back to where they had parked after all day at the park. It had gone better than anyone had expected. The nice thing about being enhanced was that no one got tired from the miles of walking. Although, Delilah had her stroller and Taya was leaning on Bucky. 

They had begun the day at the zoo, where Delilah tried to convince her mom they needed to take a sea lion home. Bucky had compromised and bought her a huge stuffed sea lion which was currently riding on top of her in the stroller. 

The animals had all been very interested in Delilah, they had tried to come close to her as they could and those in habitats had pressed up against the barrier to see her. Luckily, no one seemed to notice but Taya filed it away to worry about later. After the zoo, they made a long trek to a playground for toddlers. Delilah had climbed eagerly out of her stroller and joined the other kids in the sprinkler feature and exploring everything she could.

The adults had sat near the sandbox, eyes on her at all times. But they couldn’t help and enjoy her little bit of freedom crawling and climbing. She had come to the sandbox and was digging a hole when a bigger kid knocked her over, wanting her toy she was burying and unburying in the hole. Steve and Bucky had both tensed, but Delilah got up scowled at the boy and stomped over to the grown-ups.

“He bad. I hit?” Delilah asked them.

“No. But I’m sure Steve will help you get the toy back.” Bucky brushed off Delilah’s hands and nodded to Steve.

“Hm, I got this.” Steve followed Delilah to where the kid had her toy. Bucky and Taya watched with amusement. “Excuse me, son? I think you have her toy.”

“No, I-” The boy looked up, recognized Captain America and dropped the toy.

“Tank you.” Delilah grinned at the boy and skipped back to her stroller.

“So much for being low-key.” Taya helped buckle Delilah in as Steve rejoined them.

“We were getting ready to leave anyway.” Bucky clapped Steve on the back.

“Carousel?” Steve asked.

That was where they went next and then they ended the day at Victorian Gardens.

“We didn’t even get to the other side of the park.” Bucky was enjoying the weight of Taya leaning on him. Her arm was wrapped around one of his to keep herself upright.

“Next week.” Steve stopped the stroller next to the car. “We should just get a place in the city.”

“I thought you had one.” Taya frowned.

“The lease lapsed a month ago.” Steve chuckled. “When I’m in the city I crash at Clint’s so I don’t have to drive all the way back.”

“Don’t want to live with us?” Bucky teased as he handed Taya the huge stuffed sea lion and unbuckled Delilah.

“You were the one looking at apartments in Brooklyn before these two showed up.” Steve grabbed the diaper bag. “How can you afford that?”

“I was going to have you co-sign the lease.” Bucky dropped his voice as he picked up Delilah with a grin.

“Good schools in Brooklyn?” Taya asked from where she was shoving the stuffy into the trunk. It didn’t want to fit so Steve came around as Bucky got Delilah in her car seat. 

“Yeah, Steve, why don’t you get a place and we’ll all just crash there.” Bucky slid next to Delilah.

“Ice cream,” Delilah muttered in her sleep. Bucky stroked her hand, soothing her and she grabbed one of his fingers,

“Considering it.” Steve climbed into the driver’s seat and Taya into the passenger side.

“Did anyone else see the animals trying to follow her today?” Taya asked.

[rpgchoices]

Heaven’s Vault part 7: the vault

Almost to the end! Aliya explored the whole Nebula, but one site still escapes her, the observatory Renba talked about, the one she tried to locate with the telescopes.

During her journeys, Aliya can meet Aamir and she finds out that the GATE of ELBORETH can hopper people far away in the galaxy. Enkei confirms that during her time hoppers could be used long distances. 

Aamir used the hopper to end up in the MARKET MOON, and he learns the word for hopper in ancient (IRAFAIL). If you bring the original Annals of Mazwai to Huang, he will tell you about the ancient word to reach Heaven’s Vault. The words are  bo-cataliti ifarali, literally “of heaven’s vaul jump/hopper” 

Aliya can then use the words at the gate and she will be sent to an ancient far away moon, the ANCIENT AQUIFER. (Aliya can also reach it by exploring). The aquifer is a beautiful ancient moon, now turned into a forest, abandoned probably in ancient times. 

Sadly, it is not Heaven’s Vault. The gate did its best to sent Aliya as close to Heaven’s Vault as possible, but it is clear that the hopper in Heaven’s Vault (or the eye?) doesn’t work anymore, so the ancient aquifer is as close as it can go.

Aliya soon notices the WATER GODDESS statue, with a base similar to the one in Maersi. Aliya notices that the shape of the base of the Water Goddess of Maersi seems to copy the mechanism at the base of this Water Goddess. This surely predates the Maersi's one, but I wonder if she is the actual AI/God but deactivated? Or simply a statue made in Ancient times to identify the mechanism as hoppers for water and rivers.

The inscription is "Goddess brings water to the Nebula". Maybe the rivers are originally controlled from this ancient aquifer, and this was the original place for the main three rivers: to Iox, to Elboreth and to Heaven's Vault. The river to Heaven's Vault is now disappeared because the first empress stole the source of the hopper for her machine. If the water originated only from Heaven’s Vault, this might have been the first step to sharing the rivers with the rest of the Nebula.

When hoppers get broken or buried, the water accumulates in the other moons, or maybe the ancient purposefully shared the water on different aquifer. This aquifer does seem to have a vast empty underneath the floor, probably to store water (and there is a latch to reach it, probably robots kept it tidy).

Aliya can then investigate the base of the water goddess and find that there are three hoppers. One leads to Iox (moving the water to Iox, creating the river), one leads to an unknown place (I’ve read of people thinking of Elboreth, as the gate managed to send Aliya there, but maybe there is no water left to move it Elboreth and this hopper is broken) and one to Heaven’s Vault.

This last hopper is full of debris and dirt, and Aliya can easily clean it. Now it’s time to divert a river.

The water is:

Water river Iox/Aquifer - covering the hopper source leaves no power to that hopper and the water stops at Aquifer and gets accumulated under the ground - freeing the dirty hopper to Heaven’s Vault leaves a path for the water to take: Aliya can create a river to Heaven’s Vault!

Time to SAIL TO HEAVEN’S VAULT!

Heaven’s Vault is a very ancient site, full of sand, clearly dried up, all the water used for rivers or used by the ship itself for repairs. 

There are ships crashed in the desert, probably sailors trying to reach the vault like Renba did, and like Aliya finally succeeded. There are also little cemeteries near the ships, probably the lost sailots. 

Exploring the desert, Aliya will find the Water Goddess statue nearby a wooden hatch, now filled with sand, but in the past probably filled with water, indicating that this moon used to be a source of water as well. 

Further up, Aliya and Six finds a giant tower, fallen. It is built in a similar fashion to the age of sail dock, but older material. From this clue, the only thing I could think is that during the beginning of the age of sail this site was still available, or that knowledge of building was in the ancient library. 

Someone carved a story made of images in the fallen tower and Six/Enkei can read it for Aliya. The story on the tower tells of a group of gods who strode and made the land fertile and beautiful for a time. Aliya remarks that strode means that the gods have feet. A village was built around the god and the god demanded a tribute (is the village Elboreth?), a tribute of people and then the god was killed. Six infers that the god is above them and in the vault.

This god with feet seems to be represented in Elboreth and this could mean that the statue was destroyed when the people rebelled to the god. As it says the god demanded a tribute, it could be that way before the steel empire, someone (the god = the overseer? the captain of the ship? someone who appointed themselves as ruler?) might have used people as slave, or even recorded them into robots to have more obeying slaves for himself (or herself). Because Six infers that this might be the god in the Vault (Seventh God), it could be that:

- Six gods are the six AI that could be used by the ship to control different functions (ex. distributing water, warmth etc.) 

- The Seventh God could have been the god with feet, maybe the primary user of the Eagle/ship AI/ship core. The primary user could have had an advantage in being the one controlling the gods and the ship itself.

- The people rebelled (the theme of the game is people rebelling against the oppressors) and trapped the primary user into Heaven’s Vault, or maybe even killed him and the trapped his “godly power” (= ship AI) in the ship.

At the bottom of the hill, Aliya also finds another patch of tombs. They all have robot collars which activate when Aliya walks between them, but they speak in ancient and Aliya only knows a few words of ancient. Among them there’s a statue of the goddess of death, with an inscription that reads “Your voice lives”.

The recorded voices/personalities seem to be talking to each others, and Aliya cannot understand them.

I tried to... TRY to find out what words they were using with the limited knowledge we have of spoken ancient. I only put some of them.

besori-far hucatti aya-quiaya! = "far" means go, "ya" means life so it might be something "aya" like alive?

tiqui-engmyakis bessi-mifar, orihu i-cati ayabesmi... = "engmyakis" is similar to "mya" which is inorganic ("myameke" is robot), it could be that it's calling Aliya a "non-robot" or "non-inorganic"?. And again, "aya" means life.  i-cati = "i" is is/are/to be. We also know that "far" means go and "refar" means path, so "mifar" might be related to a place/going.

myahu-ori engqui...? = "mya" is machine/inorganic

farcat-sikisti besori-catqui myati-mikis... = "myati" might be something relate to robots, while "mikis" is similar to "mykis" which means better. "far" words are all related to place/staying/going. "sikisti" has "si" (no) "ki" (person) and.. "sti"? We also know that "cat" means place, so it looks like it's saying to go to a place of no person? Or something related to that?

engaya hukskis...! = "en" means hold, "ya" means life, could it be that the robots are talking about Aliya, as she is a person and alive, or about themselves as if they lost their life? About "hukskis" I can only think of "kis" which means ruler, or "ki" person.

ti-ayakis catbes-ori engsimya? = "ti" is light, "ayakis" must mean something like "kis" ruler, so maybe light ruler, or an honorific for a king? "catbes" must be some kind of place, we know that "mori" means "non apart/not far", so could it be that "ori" is without negation, just "far"?. "Mya" again means mechanical so "engsimya" is ??nonmechanical.

i-mifar tiqui-hui, kisqui...! = "i" is to be, "far" is usually used for places/things that happen to places. "ti" is light, and "kis" is king.

Further up, Six realizes that the gravity is all wrong, and this is because the planet is empty inside, as there is a whole empty ship underneath them.

Further up there is also another ancient statue, the Sun Goddess, with a ruin, almost completely destroyed and a script in the wall. 

Eagle is the ship, and the dark sun could represent a black hole, or jumping in space. Old sea could just be the whole of space, and we know that eye was also used as a place marker, so it could just be the place of the dark sun (black hole?). It seems like the people who lived there knew that they were always supposed to leave in the ship. 

Time to get to the Vault. The door has been closed, probably from the outside, to keep the seventh god inside. “Do not enter Heaven’s Vault” is followed by a warning about the Seventh God drinking the whole Nebula. We now that inside there is a ship, with the AI (I imagine the Seventh God being both the overseer/captain/primary user killed by the rebels and the remaining AI) trapped inside, to keep anyone from becoming the primary user and gaining control. 

After making an opening, Aliya and Six enters into the Vault. The building is actually a temple, and the names of the Six gods are everywhere around (and on the wall passages from the Book of Future Knowledge). It looks like the sundial is in the middle, but it looks more and more like a dead person, maybe a tribute to the killing of the Overseer/PrimaryUser/Seventh God.

Time to walk towards the door. The door that leads to a long corridor that really resembles a space ship more and more by the minute. The last door can be opened with ancient.

Aliya finds herself in an enormous empty ship. Only servos are working around, no personality or face projector. Maybe they used to be people recorded on them (the tribute from Elboreth?) but now in the memorial outside? 

Everything inside speak ancient, clearly the language of the people who left Earth in the ship. And the ship AI takes control of Six and recognizes Aliya as its primary user, just because she is there. This might have been why people wanted to leave the Vault alone, to avoid anyone becoming the primary user. 

The ship cannot decide alone. She ship is bound by its ethical core to decide between switching off and vaulting. Both will cause damage. 

Asking the ship clarification will informa Aliya that "65% of the core is now recovered" and that "a viable, proximate system has been located". Allowing the core to dissipate (switching off) will create damage (probably because it strands people on the Nebula, offering no hope), but vaulting will do the same (draining the rivers, the great darkness).

If Aliya switches the ship, the rivers will still end up dissipating in time, because of entropy, and hoppers being lost or broken.

Aliya can decide to vault (leave), not vault (switch off the core) or not decide. If Aliya decides to vault, the repairing of the ship will do damage to the rivers. With time, they will dry. I chose this in my first playthrough.  Switching off the ship will do nothing to stop the entropy of the rivers disintegrating with time, in the future.

Not deciding: I chose this in my second playthrough, and my Aliya was hoppered by Six back in Iox. Six said that there is another way and he is going to stay there. I like this ending a lot as I like to imagine Aliya working in letting everyone know history and having the ship as an emergency escape (maybe for her people on Elboreth).

[dayaray]

Who: Daya Ray and other miscellaneous characters What: A summary of Daya’s terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week Where: Unknown When: Friday, July 19 Warnings: Severe humiliation

She thought it couldn’t get any worse.

The week started with the blackout, the long trek from Bayview to the hospital with a sick Freddie on her back, cough rattling his little lungs painfully. It started with questions and barbs and feeling like she might throw up at any possible moment because all of the secrets she held inside her. 

Then there was Aidan. Her body found, not two blocks from the Seaside, in a way that she knew was intentional. She wondered if Marcelo had wanted Daya to be the one to find her. A clear reminder of the power he held, and more importantly, the lack of her own power. She remembered seeing flashing lights as she walked home that night, but that wasn’t an uncommon thing in Bayview. She simply kept her head down and continued walking. She only learned because she had settled into her small cot that was tucked behind a partition in the living room, and checked her phone as she fell asleep. 

An alert flashed across her scene, something that Kat had taught her to set up when the other girl had fortified her phone. A small program that searched for certain key words. Heart in her throat, she immediately sat up, tapping at her phone anxiously until the article popped up. Her body had grown cold, blood freezing in her veins like ice as she read the first five words. ‘Missing Police Officer Found Slain”. She knew in her gut that it was her, and she forgot what happened in the next three hours. Jakob had come out to start breakfast as he always did and found her in the same position, staring blankly ahead with her phone in her lap. 

That night had been a reminder of the secrets that were buried in her chest. How she had let her guard down and with every action that Henri took, was another nail in her coffin. It felt like her world was spinning out of control and no one seemed to realize. Like she was drowning and no one cared to help. 

Of course that wasn’t true, but she felt so paralyzed in guilt, knowing that had contributed to someone’s death. It shook her to her very core, waiting for the next shoe to drop at every turn. She felt foolish for thinking that maybe she could find her own brand of happiness, only to have it ripped away without a second thought. 

All because someone thought she was a possession to be had.

By Thursday, she was hanging by a thread, doing her best to keep pushing through. The small kindnesses that people had shown were appreciated, but were ultimately swallowed up in the sea of terror and self-loathing she had fallen into. Daya knew that Jakob was worried about her, and that the twins could tell something was wrong, even though she tried to muster a smile. Even that felt draining.

Of course all throughout the week, the Nameless had been making demands throughout the city. The blackouts now were mostly frustrating rather than scary, and the masked idiots largely ignored Bayview. She thought that maybe they would be in the clear after Friday, that people would finally figure out that it was simply easier to let them believe they had won so they could move on with their lives instead of being held hostage. 

After all, it couldn’t get any worse right?

Nine years on the job had taught Daya to be acutely aware of her surroundings, and to trust her instincts when something felt off. So when a cold tendril of uneasiness coiled in her stomach, she quietly reached for the mace in her bag as she walked toward the Seaside. The streets were largely empty at this hour, and the few transients that were usually set up in alleys and doorways were oddly missing, though that wasn’t entirely out of place.

She pushed forward, knowing the Seaside wasn’t too far off, and in a brief moment of perverse humor, she wondered whether Charlie would tell her I told you so for wearing those stupid ass heels. Someone grabbed at her arm, but she was ready, turning with the momentum and spraying the pepper spray towards her assailant. Even with the terrifying masks they wore, some of the chemicals got through, judging by the angered cry of pain and the backhand that cracked across her face. It sent her to the concrete, and Daya only had a second to look up before a boot came slamming down onto her temple. 

The next thing she knew, she was bound, gagged, and kneeling amidst a group of five others. While this position was something she was used to, it was far more terrifying when it wasn’t something she had consented to. Looking around, she glanced at the others who were with her, faces she mostly recognized. The announcements passed in a blur, and she was yanked up roughly, and spun to face Lex, who looked terrified, but also resigned to her fate, even as she begged Daya to just do as the Nameless asked.

How could Daya be complicit in this? Lex was one of the few friends she had, if they were actually that, and after the awful week they’d had, she couldn’t bring herself to pile on even more misery. There was a cold note of steel in her voice when she refused and one man pressed close, his voice distorted by the mask he wore. “Shoulda expected nothing less from a traitor whore,” he spat in her face. 

They strung her up beside Lex, and no one hesitated before advancing on them both. Slurs, taunts, and ridicules were all thrown at her as hands groped and pulled at her body. She didn’t look down at the things they were writing, almost certain that they were all words that had been said to her face at some point in her life. Someone scrawled the word ‘TRAITOR’ across her forehead, which she only saw by catching a glimpse of the broadcast behind them. All she could think about was praying that Jakob had the good sense not to watch, or to let Hanna and Freddie watch. 

Jeers and shouts echoed in Daya’s ears and she heard a familiar grunting noise as warm globs landed on her stomach. There were several exclamations of disgust, but no one moved to wipe it away, and only wrote around where the fluids were beginning to drip down her body. The only time she showed any expression at all was when someone produced a pair of rusty scissors and approached her, and a flash of fear went through her body as she cringed away. Strong hands shoved her back in place and held her down as the Nameless hacked away at her hair. Long strands fell away until she was left with a hackjob of a bob, choppy and uneven. 

It was at that point that she forced herself to disconnect from reality, in order to protect her fragile psyche. She silently endured the torment, not once begging or crying, only stone-faced as she stared at a spot on the wall above the screens. She couldn’t look, couldn’t think, and could only focus on breathing. When they were forced into the cages, metal scraped against her arms, leaving small cuts and she didn’t blink as food and water was slopped together on the ground in front of her.

It smelled awful, like it was rotten, and she simply curled up as far away as she could from it, even as the Nameless continued to taunt and jeer and throw food and water into the cage. Daya didn’t flinch as she was pulled out of the cage, though her legs were asleep from the cramped space and she nearly fell flat on her face until someone yanked her back so hard that she feared her arm would get pulled from its socket. They were marched to Manor Park, and Daya wasn't sure whether people were actually cheering as they walked by or if her imagination was filling in the blanks.

The end was almost anticlimactic in comparison to the week that she'd had. The police rushed in and chaos erupted once more, but Daya merely stayed put, even as the others were escorted away. It was almost fifteen minutes before someone seemed to realize she was still kneeling in the grass, staring blankly ahead. The ride to the NEPD was near silent, and at the very least, someone had wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. However her interrogation wasn't a pleasant experience. The harried detective was brusque, and it was clear that he wasn't sure if he believed Daya was a victim in this. She didn't have the energy to fight him, and simply responded to his questions to the best of her ability. He was dissatisfied by the lack of information, and kept her there well into the night, long after the others had been released. The only thing she could think about during the entire ordeal was that she was glad Aidan didn't see her like this. But it still didn't stop herself from wondering what it would have been like to have someone actually interested in her wellbeing, instead of leaving her to the mercy of chauvinistic men who knew exactly what she did for a living.

Almost 24 hours after she'd been first snatched off the streets, Daya was dumped back onto the street. One police officer had tried to tug the blanket from her shoulders and would have succeeded if another officer, a blonde woman, told him to knock it off. Daya simply ducked her head in thanks and walked outside. No one offered to give her a ride back to wherever she needed to go so she began the long walk back to Bayview. Her heels were long gone, but she was still riding the edge of adrenaline and dissociation.

It wasn't until she got back to the Seaside almost an hour later that the events of the day began to sink in. Her hands trembled as she tried to unlock the room that was effectively hers. Finally, she burst through the door and immediately slammed it shut behind her, flipping the deadbolt. The meager contents of her stomach emptied into the toilet and she rinsed her mouth in the tap. It took another ten minutes for Daya to muster enough courage to look at her body. Her fingers traced the words that littered her skin and she turned to turn the water on, as scalding hot as it could go.

She scrubbed for half an hour, until her skin was pink and raw from the heat and friction, but the marker stayed put stubbornly. The ones on her body were easily hidden with the proper clothing, but the bold block letters on her forehead would be present for several days yet. Her hair was a mess, strands all at different lengths but she didn't have the energy or money to fix it right now. So Daya turned away from the mirror and she pulled her phone from the bag of evidence that the police had shoved into her hands as she was escorted from the station. She ignored the clothes that had been cut from her body and she turned the device on.

A flood of messages and missed calls arrived all at once, mostly from Jakob in frantic worry, several from Leon, and a surprising amount from Cam. She wouldn't have thought that he cared so much. Daya quickly tapped out a message to Leon to tell him that she was fine, and then hovered over Jakob's number. A phone call wouldn't be helpful right now and Daya wasn't sure she could speak without breaking, and she couldn't put her baby brother through that. So instead she sent him a short message as well. "I'm fine. I'll be home in a few days. Don't tell the little ones."

Drained of all energy, Daya turned her phone off and laid down on the bed where she'd fucked so many clients. Another reminder of who she was. She couldn't escape it even if she tried. Every time she closed her eyes, she imagined being back in the cage again, or being pinned down by a sweaty body. She imagined Aidan's ghost standing in the corner, and the figures of her siblings, looking at her with such disgust that she felt like her heart was disintegrating in her chest. She lay in the same position until the sun came up. Another day. Another chance to push through. She just had to push through.

It's not like it could get any worse, right?

[webcricket]

Looking Glass

Chapter 8 - Fly Me to the Moon

Pairing: CastielXAU!Reader

Word Count: 2450

Summary: Supportive Sam, pining angel wings (turns out it’s a thing), and a post-prayer reunion where Cas and the reader acquiesce to the undeniable goodness of the connection budding between them.

A/N: To those dedicated souls in the back still reading author’s notes, chapter 9 promises a payoff of pure fluff.

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The furious bellow of a tractor trailer horn blares somewhere ahead in a highway scene shrouded in a morning mist of rain burning off the blacktop under the blazing kiss of the rising sun. Undisturbed by the distant noisy intrusion into the otherwise quiet atmosphere of the car, Sam’s fingers remain near motionless where they drape the steering wheel; the gracefully long digits occasionally flex and contract, making minute undulant adjustments to compensate for the winding curves of the road. Hazel eyes peacefully pensive, brow untroubled, the hunter stares ahead into the lifting fog, intent on the drive home.

Sat in the passenger seat, Cas contemplates the green and white mile markers sailing by in a blur along the roadside; according to his angelic reckoning – a feat of navigational honing very much akin to that of the regrettably extinct species of North American homing pigeon – the markers are off by a mere fraction of a thousandth of a mile probably owing to the result of a surveyor’s error, malfunctioning equipment, or the United States obstinate failure to adopt the metric system of measurement like the rest of the freaking developed world. The freaking, of course, is Dean’s invaluable contribution to the angel’s internal flow of meditative monologue.

It’s a fact of technicality the angel keeps to himself; although, within the limited circle of humans he calls friends – no, family – he considers Sam most likely to harbor the humor necessary to appreciate the trivial observation. Dean’s mode would be mockery. Then, of course, there’s the great unknown of you; you, who persistently dominates his thoughts now no matter where they bend. In gleaning fragmented knowledge of your past and present with each healing pass of his grace and the too brief spans of time spent in your company, he’s beginning to understand the battered but brave survivor better – well enough to guess that, if not the detail of the erroneous measurement itself, you might find his absurd notation of it nonetheless amusing. The possibility of arousing some small joy within you excites an ephemeral smile on his lips.

The anticipatory buzz of excitement is fleeting.

“Cas!” Your pained appeal slams into his celestial awareness with no loss of momentum in traversing the gulf of distance between you.

His wings jolt to the ready, an irrepressible instinct, outstretching and straining against the restrictions of their impairment upon perceiving the desperation of your plea. Reaching their broad black span upward in a single swift beat, ensnared inescapably in the confines of their hidden heavenly dimension, the appendages ripple and rustle in dissent to their damage; silken feathers tattered, plumes stripped to the bare barbs and deeply scarred in sections, they reflexively recollect but are rendered incapable of their once swift capacity for flight.

Lightning searing across and seizing his vessel’s shoulders, Cas pitches forward with a ragged groan and braces his palms against the dashboard as he struggles to subdue the rising winged revolt taking place in response to your summoning. He’s hopelessly immobilized from instantaneous arrival at your side, yet every atom of his celestial being tears at his vessel, beckoning to answer your prayer.

“What?!” Startled by the sudden commotion – the worst of which remains unseen by him – Sam swerves sharply, steering to the gravel edge of the road. “What is it?” He taps a tentative hand to Cas’ arm – every muscle of the limb beneath the layers of fabric tenses and trembles with all modicum of control the angel is able to rally. Although he doesn’t fully fathom the extent of it, Sam recognizes the symptoms of stress disturbing his friend. “Angels again?”

“No,” Cas forces the reply through a gritted jaw. “It’s Y/N. She’s hurting . . . praying for help . . . for me. Just keep-” Regaining his composure through sheer command of celestial will, fingers slipping on the vinyl dash as the initial sting of pain passes, he slumps into the scooped embrace of the seat. “Just keep driving.”

Sam’s eyes rove to the gauges of the car. He hasn’t expressed it aloud, but he worries about the effect you’re having on Cas here at the precipice of the latest looming apocalypse. He admits it’s good to see his friend backing down from do-or-die Terminator-esque soldier mode; but you, your coarseness toward him, abrasiveness in general, the angel surely feels a debt of responsibility learning there’s an evil version of himself traipsing around in the other universe who all but destroyed your mind. He thinks it’s a lot even for a stoical seraph to absorb.

Sam can’t imagine the conflict Cas feels, mainly because processing emotions verbally – or at all – isn’t exactly the angel’s strong suit. He knows well that Cas’ greatest fault and his best quality are one and the same – a habitual need to make things right no matter the personal cost. He wonders if the burden of caring for you circles back to making amends with Dean for Donatello – a chance to correct a mistake. “Is she okay? You know, if you want, we can talk about what’s going on.”

The angel knows you’re not okay; that, although he appreciates the open offer, talking will do nothing to correct this; and that, from his present distance-impaired location, he can do frustratingly little to help you. Grace uselessly surging, he may as well be human. Dismissing Sam’s concern, head sagging to his shoulder, blues squinting, he grumbles, “Sam, we’re not moving.”

“Right, got it.” Sam stows his concern, throws the clutch in gear, and swings the car back onto the highway.

A final spasm twitches the angel’s wings as they fold and refold fitfully together. He thinks – slanting his gaze at the console clock now and then, excruciating minutes of separation stretching into hours that should pass inconsequentiality for an ageless being existing since the dawn of time but instead drag – that perhaps, like the specious mile markers, time itself on this endless sun-drenched stretch of highway is faulty.

Inclined against the door jamb of the kitchen, fretting over her gleaming red manicure, Rowena pauses mid-chew of her pinky nail when she perceives a rush of footsteps resounding in the hall. She taps the chipped nail thoughtfully on her tooth – the redeemed witch didn’t sign up to babysit; she’s also wise enough to comprehend how it would bode for her if something terrible happened on her watch whether or not she was still present in the bunker to be blamed when the Winchesters and their angel arrived home to find you in a deeply disturbed state. Caring, she’s beginning to discover, comes with its own unique set of complications.

As Cas rounds the corner in purposeful, gloriously angelic, and full trench coat billowing stride toward the kitchen, Rowena bodily flings herself at him with an exaggerated squawk. “There’s our high and mighty hero! Took your time getting here, didn’t you? The poor girl’s been in there sufferin’ for hours. Hours! And where were you? Off gallivanting with a Winchester, of course!”

Cas ignores both the ridicule and the whip-tongued woman wielding it. He brushes past her explicatory flailing form as she animatedly complains about the circumstances of being left alone with you completely ignorant of your infirmity and alternately drones on about an episode with a screeching tea pot.

The angel finds you hunkered in a corner – wedged between the wall and a shelf – hugging your knees, face buried in your bent arms. Approaching cautiously, he crouches before you and, remembering your adverse reflex to his unexpected touch, resists the desire to lay a palm comfortingly to the roundness of your shoulders rising with a shallow inhalation. “Y/N?”

Hair sweeping in clumps across your red-rimmed eyes, you peer out at him through puffy lids from within the cocoon of crossed limbs. The reality is, your head stopped aching hours ago. You staged a kitchen coup because precisely when your headache peaked and subsided, your heart assumed hurting where your head left off under the barraged return of your memories. Remembering feels a whole lot like losing everything and everyone you ever loved all over again to an apocalypse. Sniffling against a long since dried well of tears, defaulting to your signature defensive defiance in affront to this new and improved onslaught of internal agony, you muster a bit of spirited pluck for the especially concerned looking seraph’s sake to prove to him you’re fine. “You’re late.”

Several lines fissuring his anxiously wrought features iron themselves out in a wash of relief. Spunk is good; it’s expected – it’s limitless spring in your soul is something he admires. “I’m sorry it took so long, but I can’t-” His blues – swiftly subduing into seas of sadness and shame – glaze and veer in avoidance to the assortment of dusty disused cooking utensils on the bottom shelf beside you. Husky tone sinking to a raw whisper, he addresses what seems to be a sensitive subject. “Well, you’d call it flying. I can’t do that, not anymore.” Regard bending back to you to gauge your reaction to his admission of angelic debilitation, he adds gravely, “In all likelihood, not ever again.”

“That’s funny.” You realize the unintended offence as soon as the words lob off your tongue.  You meant to say: ‘Hey, that’s an interesting coincidence, cause the other you can’t fly either.’

Cadence clipped, his expression hardens. “I fail to see the humor in the incapacitation of my wings-”

“No, I didn’t mean-” You grab at his sleeve, apologetic. “It’s not funny, ha ha. I meant that it’s strange. Strange, because the other Castiel – he can’t fly either. The angels, when we wouldn’t talk, they summoned him and he came in a truck – an armored truck – by himself. An angel travelling by land, it was . . . weird.” Grimacing, it occurs to you that you’ve managed to deride Cas’ feathery debility and imply he’s strange and weird in the same breath. Apparently, your ability to translate thoughts into lucid unoffending speech is short-circuiting. You try again, because the idea of band-aiding the situation with more syllables sounds super sound inside your noggin. “Not that you’re weird, you-”

“You remember all of that?” he interrupts what was likely to be another unintentional seraphim slight. There’s a suggestion of forgiveness in the subtlest of smiles skirting his mouth.

“I’m remembering a lot of things,” you reply, watching the smile shift upward to crease the corners of his eyes at the news. Self-conscious when your gaze catches his, your focus falls from the glimmer of gladness flooding his face to your fingers continuing to clutch at the fabric of his coat sleeve. You should let go. You don’t want to let go. It’s strange and weird to still be holding on, but he hasn’t made any motion of protest. Here, and there, Cas – the first person you saw in this world, or Castiel – the last face you saw in yours, the angel is a constant. It’s why you prayed to him, this him in a tea pot induced panic when your miserable memories came crashing back to your consciousness all at once; he’s your touchstone in the good.

If he notices the epic struggle of self-discovery taking place in the fluctuating pressure of your fingertips attached to his coat sleeve, he doesn’t mention it. “You’re remembering – that’s good.”

“Is it? Most all of it – it’s bad. Really bad.” You know he’s right – in theory it’s good. In practice it cinches your fist tighter and gives you greater reason to hold on to him.

“It’s good because it means you’re recovering,” he states – at least one of you has an accurate read on deciphering your thoughts. “How’s your head?”

Biting your lower lip, you tease, “Still attached.”

Chin tilting, gaze narrowing, he chides, “Y/N.”

You shrug. “Better . . . I guess. The noise sensitivity resolved the hundredth or so time witchy Nanny McPhee ingratiatingly asked me if she could do anything else – ‘Anythin’ at all, dear!’ – that didn’t involve boiling water in brass pots.”

A skeptical humph vibrates in his throat. He casts you a doubtful stare to punctuate his pessimism over your lack of certainty.

“Okay, better, definitely better,” you concede and posit his next thought before he can mutter it. “And before you ask if I’m tired, the only tired I am is of being stuck in this damn bunker.”

“Can you stand?” Reaching his free hand across the sleeve you have securely embedded in your grasp, he glides the rough pads of his fingers gently along the ticklish inner surface of your thumb and upturned wrist; when you don’t flinch away from him, he allows his light caress to linger there longer, heat sparking on your skin.

“I-I think so,” you stutter, attention torn between the simple question and the balminess of his flesh where it grazes yours.

“Would you like to go for a walk?” His tender touch trails to your elbow; encircling your arm, he helps you rise to your feet. He pivots and sidesteps to ensure you don’t feel cornered without escape upon standing.

You wobble on your disused legs, using the unsteadiness as an excuse to lean into him for support. “A walk? You mean, outside?”

He peers down at you, aspect and affect afflicted with an utter sense of soberness as square as his jawline at this proximity. “No, a walk on the moon,” he retorts.

Puffing an airy burst of laughter, a grin broadens your cheeks. “Did you just crack a joke?”

He nods, the shine of a smile again brightening his serious countenance. “Dean mentioned recently that I should try to lighten up. Was that a suitable occasion to do so?”

“Yes. And yes to the walk!” Skipping several steps backward, socked heels slipping on the tile floor, your palm reluctantly parts from the anchoring stability of his chest as you dash for the door to change out of pajamas and into the clothing you previously deemed stupid – considering you had nowhere to wear it – which was generously purloined for you by Sam and Dean from their mother’s closet. “Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be right back!” You pause at the threshold and flash him an enthusiastic parting grin before scampering down the hall.

Exhaling a contented sigh, Cas’ lashes shutter to envision the delight of your grin etched into his memory. He thinks, based on the warmth radiating from within his vessel’s chest, that your joy, too, is everlastingly emblazoned on his heart. The experience of bringing you that bit of happiness, it’s so much more meaningful than the bounds of angelic imagination permitted him to conceive; and, the angel who wants nothing for himself wants more of this exhilarating sensation.

Next: Ch. 9 - The Fable of the Fawns

[kaen-ace-of-diamonds]

Remnant Burial Headcanons

Vale

- Valerians place heavy value on remembrance of life as well as dues to the dead.

Even for high-profile people, funerals are an extremely personal affair; only close family and intensely close friends are usually allowed. Wakes/viewings are rare, and if there is one, it’s typically held in the home. Discussion of what will be done with one’s remains can be considered a casual topic of conversation, as it’s important for loved ones to know.

Public cemetaries are available and coming more into popularity, but the majority of the population prefer to keep grave sites near the home, sometimes in favorite places of the deceased (hi, Summer’s scenic cliff plaque). A select few of the older/wealthier families have tombs built on their property.

Most people opt for actual burial, but there are many who choose to be cremated and have their ashes mixed into something special, like jewelry, a painting, a tree, or anything else that will last. Such things tend to end up as family heirlooms of sorts.

(Crocea Mors is one such heirloom; the ashes of Jaune’s great-great-great-grandfather are mixed into the blade. Combined with the metal taken from Pyrrha, there’s a whole lot of death in that sword.)

Personalizing your grave marker is also a high priority. It’s rare for two to look very much alike. Most Valerians view it as the final and most important way of letting everyone know what you wanted to leave the world when you fell, and how you intended to keep your memory alive. The unremembered will fade into oblivion, after all.

Mistral

- Mistrali traditionally cremate their dead.

They prefer to do so ceremonially on funeral pyres, but if none are available, they will make do with other fires. (ex. bandit tribes, if they bother to collect their dead, will usually just throw the bodies into a bonfire.) Variations on grave-related idioms such as “from cradle to pyre” or “build one’s own pyre” are common, and often take foreigners by surprise to hear.

Once the fire has burned out, the deceased’s ashes are either taken to a very high place and scattered to the wind, or scattered into a river or the ocean, in keeping with the kingdom’s traditional respect for the sea and sky. This is intended to guide the person’s soul safely to the afterlife, so any alteration of the process or desecration of the body is believed to endanger the safety of that soul, and is considered to be a truly appalling show of immorality and disrespect.

(This is why Cinder incinerated Pyrrha’s body and let the ashes fly after shooting her. It wasn’t an act of respect, per se; to her it’s just what you’re supposed to do with a dead body, especially one from Mistral, and they were in a perfect place to do so anyway.)

There is a specific set of prayers to say over the fire/ashes, but while they are encouraged they are not technically mandatory. Singular, personal memorial sites are rare; there are public shrines set up around the kingdom where people can pay their respects to the dead and, with the recitation of a second set of prayers, speak to them.

Atlas

- Atlesians tend to treat death very impersonally.

The general terrain does not exactly lend itself to actual burial, what with all the snow, ice, and rock. Mantle tends to stick to the older burial customs designed for the cold and brutal weather, such as leaving the body out on the mountains (think the corpses on Mount Everest, in a way) or burying them at sea in the freezing water. The body is wrapped in a burial shroud for both. 

Atlas opts for a more...efficient approach. Its people are expected to face death with dignity and strength, and not allow their grief to affect their lives, so if funerals happen at all, they’re quick and largely impersonal affairs. Exceptions are made for the upper class, who tend to take the same attitude to the death itself, but make the funeral as much of an ostentatious event as possible, to garner the living family attention.

There’s an area in the city for industrial crematoriums where the majority of dead are sent, to have their ashes returned to their familes in nondescript urns. A new fashion among the extremely wealthy, however, is to have the body embalmed and kept on display for posterity. 

(Jacques Schnee is one of these people; he plans to be preserved and his coffin kept as a front-and-center fixture of the Schnee manor, as a testament to his legacy. Whitley sneaks a peek at his updated will and thinks he’ll stick him down in the basement instead.)

Vacuo

- Dealing with the dead gets tricky for Vacuons, and there’s not really a set cultural norm for it.

Since Vacuo is a desert country full to the brim with criminals, countless murder victims end up left out in the middle of nowhere to decompose under the elements or be eaten by animals (Grimm don’t go for the dead). There’s no cemetaries or tombs to be found; shallow graves in the sand are common instead, as is coming upon human remains while out in the desert. It tends to be difficult to tell who was killed by another person and who succumbed to the harsh environment. 

Some Vacuons share their nomadic ancestors’ belief that when they die, their souls will go to an oasis paradise for an eternity of plenty, their worldly suffering over. However, the majority have no belief in any afterlife at all.

The deceased are traditionally supposed to be buried with their prized possessions, in order to bring them along into the afterlife. However, more often, anything useful or of value is taken by the living; resources are scarce and pragmatism triumphs over sentiment.

One place you’ll never find a stray corpse, however, is underwater. To Vacuo more than any other kingdom, the idea of contaminating any source of water is absolutely horrifying, and just isn’t done, except by the very lowest of the low.

[allonsysilvertongue]

Wiping History

“What will happen when we get to your arena?” she demanded. “I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.“ 75 arenas and one colossal task for Effie Trinket. Hayffie. Post-MJ. Previously

5. One Down

Sunlight filtered through the window, its rays reflecting off the vase on the counter and on to the kitchen ceiling in bright glittering lights. Effie hummed pleasantly, confident that today will go according to schedule.

Her mind wandered off to Haymitch in his apartment, wondering if he had woken up or if she should give him a call just in case. Deciding that he was adult enough and should behave as such without her mothering him for simple things such as waking up on time, Effie washed her cup of coffee and left the house.

A minute to nine, just when she was certain that he would be late for his first day, Haymitch walked into the meeting room.

He gave her a nod, and having recognised Pollux and Cressida, went over to shake their hands. It was only after that Effie made the necessary introductions to the rest of the team. He got into a conversation with Barron right away regarding the controlled demolition on the arena.

Boarding the hovercraft fifteen minutes later, it was to her no surprise that he flopped down on the seat directly across from her.

He grinned and watched her give the papers in front of her one last study.

"Pretty sure you've memorised everything on that paper by heart already, sweetheart," he remarked.

She had, naturally. She would have said something too except something out of the window caught her attention. The hovercraft had just flown out of the Capitol’s airspace and into a territory that only the pilot and tributes of the first hunger games have seen on their way to the arena.

The view distracted both of them enough. Effie marveled at the sight, scooting forward in her seat to get a closer view.

From up in the sky, the view was beautiful. To see stretch of lands untouched by the destruction of war was a welcomed sight after months of walking down streets filled with rubble and circumventing collapsed buildings in the City Centre.

“That ain’t something you see every day,” he said.

She agreed, looking up with a smile. He returned her smile easily enough. There was a time a malicious sneer directed her way was a permanent fixture on his face. Even after they began to learn to work with one another, he did not smile often, and later on, sometimes only when they were alone together. But each time he smiled, she always thought it softened his features considerably just like now.

When he started frowning a second later, Effie started suspecting that something was wrong. He pulled the map in front of her, looking at it closely and then out of the window.

"The forcefield is still up," he said, tapping his finger on the window in the direction of a glimmering dome in the distance. "That's the first."

"It is but it will be disabled soon from the control room," she explained. "We have a team there to monitor."

"You told me the arena hasn’t been a tourist hotspot for years, so why's the forcefield still up?"

"For preservation," she answered. "To keep people out, in case anyone had any ideas of fleeing the districts and squatting in the arena."

Haymitch snorted. "That'll be quite the journey."

Another hovercraft was already site since the demolition team had arrived ahead of them to set up the charges.

The arena of the first Hunger Games was a large, plain field of grass with the Cornucopia located in the centre. It was simple and quite boring by Capitol standards but it was the first. The Capitol's design became more extravagant and the traps more brutal as the years went by. The starting platforms were just white circles which would later evolve to contain mines and launch pods.

"Nothing impressive," Haymitch noted.

While neither of them had been around to see the first few Games Effie had actually seen footages of it during her training as an escort.

Since the hovercraft landed, Cressida and Pollux had begun filming. They had taken a few shots of the arena, noting the year of the Games and the location.

Effie stood at the edge of the arena, by one of the platforms, exchanging a few words with Cressida. By the time she turned around, Haymitch was gone from her side, wandering off to where the Cornucopia was.

She knew what he would find. Instead of weapons, there was a long table

"Tourists dined here," Haymitch muttered in disgust.

He took in the sight of plates, cutleries and menus.

Back then when she was younger, she had not thought that there was anything wrong with that but now, the very idea of dining where kids were sent to compete to their death made her stomach churn.

"My grandmother used to say that the food was excellent," Effie recalled in a whisper.

Haymitch shot her a look. Exiting the Cornucopia, he walked further down until he came upon a marker buried on the ground. It was marked as '4' and the name of the tribute that died on that particular spot was on it.

"He was the fourth tribute to...  to die in the bloodbath," Effie explained the meaning behind the marked number.

"What happens after we blow this up? Will Edmure Sterling be forgotten?"

"The plan is to have a memorial constructed within the confines of each arena. We will have the names of all the fallen children. It is all we can do, the best we can give."

Haymitch said nothing.

When Barron gave the signal, Haymitch grabbed her by the elbow and steered her away until they were out of the marked danger zone. They were each given ear muffs, and as Pollux filmed it, Haymitch and Effie watched the control explosion.

"One down," Haymitch said, "seventy-four more to go."

They took off again with Barron and his crew flying ahead, over the great blue sea. She didn't think she had ever been this far off from the Capitol before even when she had visited some arenas as a child but geography had never been her strongest suit. Effie watched the sceneries again.

Across from her, Haymitch was strangely quiet. The silver flask was held loosely in his hand. His head was thrown back against the seat, his grey eyes fixed at a point above her head, so very clearly lost in his own thoughts. She wondered what was going through his mind, the things he was thinking about.

"Are you alright?" She ventured to ask.

His gaze flitted to her and with a grunt he pushed himself up, bringing the flask to his lips. He gave a non-committal answer and Effie let it drop, knowing him well by now that if he did not want to talk about it, nothing she said will change his mind.

The second arena was in the middle of the ocean on a platform the Capitol had built.

"People used to visit while on a cruise vacation," Effie informed, not knowing what compelled her to share that bit of knowledge because she was sure nobody was interested.

"You been?" Cressida asked. "On a cruise..."

Effie gave a slight shake of her head. "I’ve never been on a ship."

"My brother and his wife did," Cressida went on, "for their third honeymoon. I never got the chance to ask them how it was."

"Why's that?" Haymitch asked.

"They were taken right after, saw something that spooked them and made the stupid mistake of speaking out. Never saw any of them again."

Effie exchanged a glance with Haymitch, both thinking of the same thing. None of them knew the reason Cressida left the Capitol when her career as film director was going so well, but now, they could guess at it.

This time, Haymitch did not bother venturing into the arena. He hung around near the hovercraft, drinking and watching as she walked the arena with Barron as he explained where he would be placing the charges.

"We're going to sink the whole damn thing," he chuckled. "Place the charges on the platform structure. It'll collapse and goodbye arena."

"The hell we doing?" Haymitch muttered crossly when Effie ushered him back to the hovercraft. "Arena's not blown up yet."

"We have to be up in the air," she told him simply.

In the hovercraft, Cressida was in her element, giving multiple directions to Pollux on the best angle to capture the event. Haymitch stood next to her, watching the arena grow smaller as the ascended in the air and then, the ocean rippled.

He staggered back instinctively only to stand where he did before just in time to see the arena broke in three different directions as the pillar structure beneath it collapsed. It splashed into the ocean, sending sprays of water up in the air.

He surprised her when he started laughing. Shaking her head in amusement at his behaviour, Effie made a cross on her list. She had marked the spot where the second arena was on the map so that a memorial can be constructed. While she had no idea how that will be done especially so in the middle of the sea, she was sure they would all think of something.

It was late in the afternoon when they finally landed back in the City.  Effie tried to stall, pretending she had to some papers to file in the office in the hopes that Haymitch would leave, but he took a seat on sofa in their meeting room and simply waited.

If he knew what she was doing, he didn't call her out of it.  It was a game they were good at, to see who would cave first. This wasn't something she would win. She could try but eventually, she would have to leave so all he needed to do was sit and wait, and with a drink in hand he could wait for hours.

With a sigh, Effie closed the black ring file and placed it back on the meeting table for tomorrow.

"Let's go then," she finally turned to look at him.

They walked home together, mostly in silence, which made her wonder why he even bothered waiting for her to be done if he was not going to say anything.... except, small talks had always been something she was good at, not him.

"The statue was unveiled just last month," she told him, needing to fill the silence between them with something.

"Yeah, I thought so. Wasn't there before the war."

She was almost relieved when they finally reached the intersection that would lead them in separate ways. Effie bade him goodbye, almost a little eagerly.

When she glanced over her shoulder to look at him, instead of walking straight ahead where his apartment would be, he had turned left.

Effie stopped, hurrying forward to meet him.

"You following me, sweetheart?"

“You're going in the wrong direction. Your apartment is - "

“I know where it is,” he said. “I ain’t going that way. Don’t worry your pretty head. I spent years in the Capitol. A little change here and there ain’t gonna make me lost. Go on then, head home.”

“Where are you going?”

"There wasn't a park here before the war," he nodded his head in the direction of the park. "I'm just want to have a look around. You're welcome to join."

He left it simply at that and it infuriated her how Haymitch could make an invitation sound so casual and careless as if he did not care one way or another if she joined. He probably didn't, she figured, and despite her better judgment, Effie went after him.

Haymitch settled on an empty bench and chuckled to himself when she took a seat next to him. Uncapping his flask, he took a drink.

"Many places like this 'round the Capitol now?" He asked.

"There is one other park at the other side of the City. There could very well be one or two more once all of the rebuilding and construction are done here."

"Right," he nodded. “That lake will freeze when winter comes, now that you have winter,” he said, noting that Beetee had removed the weather regulator in the Capitol. “You’ll be able to skate there. You know how?"

"I have never really been on skates, unfortunately."

"I'll teach you one day," he commented off-hand. "Found a pair of old skates back when I was a boy, tried it on when my friends and I sneaked out to the woods. Taught myself how to, wasn't that difficult to pick up."

Just like that, she pictured the park with snow falling around them and imagined her hand in his as he led her around in circles. Perhaps one day, things would be okay between them for that to be possible or perhaps not. She truly didn't know.

"Are you talking to Katniss?”

“Yeah," he affirmed. "Have to call them every other day - that's the deal I made with Paylor before she allowed me to travel. You know, sweetheart," he angled his body slightly so that he was looking at her, "I don't think Paylor would have allowed me to leave Twelve – leave Katniss – if you have taken on this damn project a few months earlier."

There was truth in that. Katniss was much more stable now and growing more self-reliant the way she used to be. She left the house much more often; she hunted at the woods, she ate her meals when it was time to, she answered the phone when her doctor called and she assisted Peeta at the bakery. If anyone were to ask her, Effie would say that having Peeta returned to her was the turning point in her healing. Katniss felt that in some ways, she had to be there for him after everything. They needed each other.

“What happens if Peeta relapse?”

"Katniss knows to stay away," he answered. "We know – she knows – which trigger to avoid. He hasn't had an episode in months."

"He's doing well."

"They are," he affirmed.

She noted the pride in his voice and she was, too. They both sounded like proud parents, she mused, as if those kids were their own. In a way, they were.  She would do anything for them if they asked.

“I should head home,” Effie said after a while.

“A’right.”

She left him sitting on the bench in the park and long after she had fixed herself a quick dinner, she wondered if he was still there and if he had eaten.

Quite a few things happen between them so let me know what you’re thinking!