#lord knows i’ll be dead long before the chance could arise

[bibleofficial]

wallpaper is insane like u find a product w an ugly print ? wallpaper it. just multiple uncoordinated things put together ? wallpaper it. ugly door ? wallpaper it. ugly wall ? landlord won’t let me wallpaper it

[finecole]

George Weasley x Reader // ‘Back in no time’

They all knew what they were signing up for when they agreed to help move Harry, but George and (Y/n) had convinced themselves it wouldn’t go wrong as they squeezed each others hand in goodbye. Story takes place during and around the Battle of the Seven Potters. Hope you enjoy!

Pairing: George Weasley x female!Reader, Fred Weasley x Reader (friendship)

Word count: 3.7K

Warnings: mentions of death, blood, under age drinking

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

You stepped over the threshold of number four, Privet Drive, one hand still locked in with George’s. This was going to be the first thing you’d ever do for the Order, and by God, you hoped it wasn’t going to be your last.

Harry looked down at you all, slightly bewildered, wondering why there were so many of you. Mad-eye Moody cleared it all up, and started handing out the Pollyjuice. You looked up at George smirking, as he waited his turn, ‘’About to lose all that handsome, huh?’’

‘’Oh, don’t worry (Y/n), you’ll have me back in no time,’’ he said, brushing a strand of hair out of your face as you took each other’s faces in.

The past few weeks, a sadness had started growing behind both your eyes. You’d tried hiding it under jokes and grins, but reality was slowly creeping up on you, like a slow thick fog, as every morning an owl came bearing bad news. Not to mention the news that went unreported, but was noticed none the less.

Mad-Eye poured George his concoction, but before he lifted the potion to his lips, you softly pulled him towards you by his shirt, connecting your lips. The kiss, far too short, but containing so many words none of you dared say out loud.

‘’We’ll be fine,’’ he said as you broke apart. ‘’They don’t even know we’re coming.’’

This, Mad-Eye was almost certain of. Perhaps a few lonely Deatheaters, but nothing you couldn’t handle right? You clung to seven years of Hogwarts teachings and the memories at the room of requirement.

Everyone went in pairs, except for your party: Mad-Eye, questioning Mundungus’ trustworthiness, had pulled you aside two days ago at The Burrow asking you to join him, just in case. You’d agreed, wanting very much to help the cause. But looking at Mundungus now, jumpy and sweating, you felt like this was going to be a little more than just a transport.

George took the potion, and in a matter of seconds there were seven Harry’s. Fred and George started poking each other, their clothes a tad bit too large for Harry’s frame. What a sight.

You went back outside, squeezing George’s hand one more time before you took your place on your broom. Five years on the Gryffindor Quidditch team should be enough, you thought to yourself, if the need for a quick getaway would arise.

Mad-Eye appeared beside you, followed by a transformed Mundungus. ‘’Ready?’’

‘As much as I’ll ever be,’’ you answered.

He patted you on the shoulder before turning to the rest. ‘’Everyone ready, please; I want us all to leave at exactly the same time or the whole point of the diversion’s lost.’’

Everyone mounted their brooms.

‘’Good luck, everyone,’’ shouted Mad-Eye. ‘’See you all in about an hour at The Burrow. On the count of three. One…’’

Your eyes met George’s – well, Harry’s.

‘’Two…’’

He winked.

‘’Three!’’

The next moment, a motorbike roared, and for a moment, the soaring of wings and brooms was all that occupied the night time.

You took Mundungus’ right side and rose through the air fast, heading north, your eyes watering and hair whipping wildly behind you.  Surrey shrunk beneath you, and when the lights below you started looking like constellations, your broom gave a violent shake.

Behind you, a small dark cloud was moving towards you, fast. A dementor? No, dementors couldn’t use spells.

‘’Something’s here!’’ you shouted, and from the corner of your eye you saw Mad-Eye’s fake eye turn into his head.

Another green streak barely missed Mundungus, who was now starting to panic.  

‘’It’s him!’’ Mad-Eye shouted.

No - Voldemort? You looked back around; more figures had appeared beside the cloud. Squinting, you could make out the outline of a face, barely human. It couldn’t be…

Mundungus had now properly lost it. ‘’Mad-Eye, y- you said this wouldn’t happen! Death Eaters – one thing - but the dark lord?!’’

Mundungus leaned down on his broom, wand in hand, ready to flee.

‘’Keep it together!’’ Mad-Eye shouted at him, as he tried taking him by his arm.

But it was too late, Mundungus had suddenly disappeared in the night, and Mad-Eye, trying to regain his balance after grabbing nothing but air, was struck by the green.

You chocked on a scream. Mad-Eye stilled, and fell into the constellations below, growing smaller and smaller.

This couldn’t be happening. You looked behind you, Voldemort had retreated, but three of his Death Eaters continued to give chase. Below you, forest appeared, and you quickly dove down. Better chance behind a tree, you thought, as you weaved between their curses.

You went lower and lower. Tears were starting to form, flying of your face as fast as they appeared, as your mind went to all the places it shouldn’t. You’ll have me back in no time. Your parents, waiting for Mr. Weasley and Fred to take the portkey. No – you’d shake them off, or go down in a fight.

You’d reached the edge of the forest, and started weaving through the oak trees, small twigs scratching you up. You hoped a rogue branch wouldn’t bring an end to the plan.

The Death Eaters had reached the forest too now, and they were gaining on you, their voices growing louder and more maniacal.

‘’Come here girl! If you oblige, we’ll make it quick!’’

A scream followed, and you risked taking a look behind you. One of them had hit a tree, but his friends were too occupied to give a care. Another spell was rushing towards you. Too late to dodge, it scraped past your right arm. A burning sensation spread from where the spell hit, making you loosen your grip on the broom.

More spells flew past you. They were catching up, and they were growing more and more angry, as green streaks became common. You couldn’t keep this up for long, where were you going? The Burrow, the safehouse? But you’d be leading them right-

A spell put an end to your thoughts, as it hit the end of your broom, making it swerve to the right. The broom’s back hit the tree and whirled around, causing you to lose balance and fall.

Trying to soften the fall you stretched your arms out automatically, resulting in a loud snap and the pain in your right arm growing even more unbearable.

You scrambled behind a large tree, trying desperately to ignore the pain and listen for cracking twigs and leaves behind you. Blood was running down your arm, too fast. Fear and pain was catching up to the adrenaline.

Snap. You whirled around the tree. And with all the power and hope you had left, aimed a pair of stunning spells.

‘’Stupefy!’’ Straight to his chest, a loud thud followed, but not before he got out a spell of his own.

That same burning, sharp feeling, rushing across your abdomen. You were growing light-headed.

You heard the final Death Eater call out to his stunned colleague in the distance. Or was it close by… You could barely tell as sounds were starting to mingle together. Your white shirt was steadily growing a dark red. Too much blood… Your mind raced for a spell, something to close the wound, refill blood, but nothing came.

You gave your wand a final flick, a silver sliver growing larger and larger, before everything turned dark.

--- Fred’s POV ---

Fred stood by the couch on which George was resting, looking outside through the kitchen window. Two figures came into view. Ron, or (Y/n)? A flash of pink hair gave it away.

‘’Ron’s back.’’ They both let out a sigh of relief.

‘’She should have been back by now,’’ George said softly, his voice cracking. He had convinced himself that everything would be fine, but the many absences and his lack of a second ear were surely making him worry.

‘’Don’t worry Georgie, she’ll be back. She has to,’’ Fred said, eyes still outside. ‘’I’m going to wait outside alright? You rest.’’

George tried to protest, but standing up made his head spin so much he had to lay back down.

As soon as Fred walked through the kitchen door, a Thestral carrying Bill and Fleur appeared. His mother rushed towards them, enveloping Bill in a hug. But as they pulled away, Bill’s face turned grim and looked directly at father.

“Mad-Eye’s dead.’’

Fred swallowed a lump, and was about to press on when Bill continued:

‘’We saw it, it happened just after we broke out of the circle: Mad-Eye, Dung and (y/n) were close by us, they were heading north too. Voldemort – he can fly – went straight for them. Dung panicked, I heard him cry out, Mad-Eye tried to stop him, but he Dissaparated. Voldemort’s curse hit Mad-Eye full in the face, he fell backwards off his broom – and there was nothing we could do, nothing, we had half a dozen of them on our own tail –‘’

Fred closed the distance between his brother in a second and took him by the shoulders.

‘’(Y/n)? Did you see anything – Bill, is she?’’ He couldn’t finish that sentence; it couldn’t be true.

Mum put a hand to her mouth, head shaken up by a constant tugging between worry and relief, and looked inside through the door. George’s red hair was just sticking out over the top of the couch.

‘’I don’t know, I think I saw her fly off but they were following her. I’m – I’m sorry.’’ Bill looked at the ground, tears prickling in his eyes.

Fred spun around to his parents. ‘’She’s out there!’’

Anger was starting to nibble on him from the inside out. Their best friend can’t be gone.

Mum suppressed a sob. ‘’Freddie, you have to tell George.’’

She looked at Arthur and her features contorted in pain as she realised something.

‘’Merlin- Arthur, I have to tell Anne to get here.’’

Fred walked back inside, shaking his head, tears forming. No one was supposed to die. Stop. She’s still out there, she had to be, for all of their sakes. For herself.

‘’Freddie?’’ George peered over the back of the couch.

Fred wiped his eyed on his sleeve.

‘’She’s not back yet. Mad-Eye’s dead.’’

George shot up, ignoring the spinning sensation. ‘’What?!’’

Fred rushed towards his side, ‘’Easy George, Bill thinks he saw her fly off, she could turn up any minute now…’’ His words were barely audible now. Who was he trying to convince?

With everyone inside, a silence, interrupted by George’s soft sobs, befell upon them all.

Arthur was leaning on the doorframe, facing outside, when suddenly he jumped up and shouted. ‘’A patronus!’’

Fred and George shot up and rushed to their father’s side. A lioness appeared from the tall grass; she sat down, and locked her eyes on George’s.

‘’That’s (Y/n)’s.’’ George said, pain written all over his features. ‘’She’s in trouble, we have to help!’’

Fred shook his head. ‘’You’re in no condition, I’ll go. Dad?’’

Arthur nodded and flicked his wand; a pair of brooms flew towards him and Fred. Bill Got back on the Thestral, joining in.

George made to protest, but Fred softly pushed him backwards.

‘’George look at yourself. Don’t worry - we’ll get your girl,’’ Fred grinned, taking a seat.

The three of them took off, the lioness running below, leading them towards the forest before dissolving.

Molly joined George’s side, steering him back inside. But before George managed to settle down, another flash appeared outside. Everyone reached for their wands, but someone had already made their way in.

It was a witch, dressed in lime green robes, with her hands up.

‘’Molly - what happened?!’’

---

They landed right at the edge of the forest, and looked around them for any signs. The moon was hiding behind clouds, making it hard to see anything. Fred lit up the end of his wand.

‘’Put it out,’’ Arthur hissed. ‘’There could still be some left.’’

Fred looked at his father, and whispered ‘’How are we supposed to find her then? Besides, they’ll hear us anyway.’’ He stepped on some leaves; a loud crunching sound protruded the darkness, like cutlery dropped on the kitchen floor at midnight.

Arthur sighed, nodded and lit up his wand as well. Bill followed suit, and they made their way in.

Hoping there was no one left (if there was, they surely would be seen), they walked on as Fred thought of the summer after your fourth year at Hogwarts.

Fred, George and you had sneaked off past bedtime, a bottle of fire whiskey in hand, towards the nearby forest. At the edge, you sat down, made a small fire, and decided on a few rounds of truth and dare. The burn of whiskey fresh, you accepted a dare to go into the forest alone, and without wand. Had it not been for the liquid courage, and George’s teasing about (Y/n)’s fear of the dark, she’d never have gone for it, Fred thought.

Five minutes passed, and another, and more. Fred and George, who had, up to that point, occupied themselves with the alcohol, thought it quite odd you’d been gone for so long; they decided to check up on you. Both not too keen on the pitch black forest themselves, they anxiously looked around them.

‘’(Y/n)!?’’ The twins shouted.

Nothing but the cracking of leaves under their feet.

‘’Come on (Y/n), this isn’t funny anymore!’’ George shouted.

Thud. They turned around at the same time, shoulders glued together.

“D – Did you hear that?’’ Fred whispered.

George nodded, and swallowed hard. It felt like his heart was trying to run away without him.

‘’ROAR!’’ You jumped up behind them, slamming your hands between their shoulder blades.

The twins nearly fell and yelled so hard the birds around them awakened and took flight. Scrambling back up to their feet, they pointed their wands at you.

You doubled over in laughter, ‘’ Your – your faces! Brilliant!’’

Fred and George looked at each other, trying to make sense of what just happened, before joining in on the laughter.

‘’I’m never going to let you live this down,’’ you said, as you stepped in between them and steered them back to the campfire.

Oh, how Fred hoped you would jump out of hiding again to scare them.

‘’There,’’ Bill whispered, pointing at a dark lump in the distance.

Slowly, they made their way over. Arthur held his wand up, revealing the lump’s old and wrinkled face. ‘’Rookwood.’’

‘’Alive?’’ Fred asked.

Arthur bent down, checked Rookwood’s pulse, and shook his head.

‘’Well, (Y/n)’s got to be close then.’’ Fred said, hope appearing. He broke off from the group, trying to find a trace, when suddenly he got an idea.

‘’Accio (Y/n)’s wand,’’ he looked around him, waiting for movement. Anything.

Seconds seemed to last forever, when suddenly they heard the rustling of leaves to their right, and a-

‘’Ouch!’’ Bill cried, rubbing his cheek. Your wand had poked him, and then fallen to his feet before continuing its journey to Fred’s hand.

‘’Good thinking,’’ Arthur looked up to his son, pride swelling inside him.

They headed in the direction from which the wand came. Fred, holding his breath in anticipation, could almost see you jumping from a tree, when his foot kicked something. There lay what was left of a broom, scattered all over the forest ground, and drips of blood.

His eyes followed the trail of blood, and saw it disappear behind a large tree a few steps in front of him. He signaled to the others, pointing at the ground and the tree. Bill and Arthur nodded, following Fred.

They rounded the corner, and Fred gasped, making Bill and Arthur rush to his side.

There you sat, without movement, slumped against the tree; shirt soaked in blood, face scratched up, right arm at an odd angle.

Arthur cursed under his breath, rushed towards you, and checked your pulse.

‘’She’s alive, but we have to be quick, she’s soaked in blood,’’ Arthur breathed, ‘’her mother’s probably arrived by now.’’

There had only been a few times in Fred’s live when he was unable to produce any words. First George, now (Y/n) in an even worser state. Fred tried convincing himself: surely, her mother, head healer at St.Mungo’s, could mend her.

Arthur carefully scooped you up and they hurried back to the edge of the forest. He placed you on the Thestral in front of Bill, and with a great haste, they flew back to the Burrow.

---- George’s POV ----

Your mum was sitting at the kitchen table, an untouched cup of tea sitting in front of her. She had looked at George’s ear – or lack thereof, and concluded it was fine, and was now being comforted by Molly.

They’d been gone for almost an hour now, and George, even though his injury was screaming for it, was unable to get any rest. The rest of the family and member of the Order had been sitting in the living room, still processing Mad-Eye’s death, and pondering your whereabouts.

‘’Molly!’’ someone yelled from outside.

Everyone’s face shot up, and Molly had already scurried off to open the door, your mother right behind her.

George sat up and looked over the back of the couch, and time seemed to slow down; Arthur rushed in, you in his arms, covered in blood. He saw mouths move, but heard no words. Molly cleared the kitchen table, where you were laid down. Your mothers face in shock, but ready care for you.

George didn’t know when or how, but his legs had carried him towards the kitchen. Your name was sitting on his tongue, but he couldn’t get it out. Fred was now next to him, his hand on his shoulder.

Gashes and scratches all over your body, painting your clothes and skin red. He had to be dreaming, George thought. He’d fallen asleep – this was a nightmare. He’d wake up, and be told to get ready for Harry’s transport. Right?

His mother had taken him by the shoulders again, steering him towards the stairs, Fred following suit. ‘’Come on boys, let Anne do her job.’’

He didn’t want to go, he needed to be there for you, hold your hand - but his mother’s look told him not to try – Anne needed the quiet. Tears were pouring down his face again – how much more could he cry tonight?

Molly, eyes watery too, enveloped him in a hug, ‘’She’ll be okay dear – I promise, everything will be fine in the morning.’’

They let go, and George followed his brother up the stairs, the yearning for your comforting touch attracting all your memories together.

--- (Y/n)’s POV ---

Your eyelids were so heavy, it was as if someone had placed rocks on them. You focused on your other senses; bird song in the distance, a light breeze, heat – sunshine? Calmness, an early morning. To bask in its serenity, just for a moment longer, with your mind empty and thoughts far, far away.

You pried your eyes open, a room so familiar unfolding itself before you there was no way to keep the memories from flooding in; The Burrow – you were moving Harry.

You shot up at the thought, an awful pain shooting through your abdomen, reminding you of your encounter with the death eaters. Lifting your shirt, a scar running from side to side revealed itself.

‘’(Y/n)?’’ A soft whisper spoke behind you.

A pregnant pause occupied the room, before you turned around in your bed – with as much speed as the scar allowed.

His hair a tangled mess, bags under his eyes, but here, with you in the same room.

“Georgie…’’

He was in your arms in a second. Your bodies melted together, his usual warmth enveloping you like a fire in winter. Tears escaped your eyes as the just returned fear you’d felt was driven away by relief. If only you could stay like this.

He pulled away, sinking in your eyes. How scared he had been. How many silly jokes he had thought of in the past 24 hours to cheer you up once you came back to them; all forgotten at the sight of you conscious – safely in his arms.

You cupped his face, pulling him in for a kiss, when you suddenly noticed a certain something missing. Worry must have crossed your face, as George grinned.

‘’I’m holy now, get it?’’

You smacked his chest, but couldn’t keep a laugh from escaping.

‘’Repeating jokes now are we, brother dearest?’’

Fred appeared in the doorway, a wide smile lifting his cheeks as he took at the two of you.

‘’Fred! Come here!’’ You waved him over, taking his hand as he got closer and sat down on the bed. He hugged you, a tad too strongly as a you felt your abdomen sting.

‘’Good thing you woke up so soon, (Y/n/n), George over here was becoming unbearable.’’ Fred joked, but you knew he was just as relieved as his twin, as he tried to wipe away a tear in secret.

The three of you laughed, and for a moment, it felt like just another one of your sleepovers. One like the many others you’d had in your 19 years of friendship; without worry, just excited to see what the next day would bring, no mention of war in sight.

George took your hand. ‘’You’re mother’s downstairs in the garden. Should I call her up?’’

You shook your head. ‘’Help me get down, I want to see the rest.’’

Fred and George helped you up, and half leaning on George, you made your way down, Fred parading in front joyfully announcing your arrival.

George grinned down at you, ‘’Told you you’d have me back in no time.’’

A playful gasp escaped your lips. ‘’Why yes, no time and a couple of scars.’’

[dindjarindiaries]

Chance - Chapter 1

summary: Adali finds chaos in the Nevarro cantina and comes across a useful stranger.

warnings: very mild violence, harassment, angst

rating: PG-14

word count: 2.832k

masterlist

chapter 1

Adali hasn’t seen the Nevarro cantina this busy in many moons.

Both bounty hunters and citizens alike are swarming around the joint. Nearly every stool at the bar is filled as the cantina bursts at the seams. Adali can’t keep the surprise out of her expression as she saunters over to the bar, looking to request a drink but getting lost in her thoughts instead. These drinks must be getting better to attract the citizens inside. The hunters—that’s different. And Adali knows exactly why.

Just yesterday, she’d gotten her direct commission for it: the asset. Fifty years old. Nothing else about it is known—at least, that’s what the rest of the hunters are saying. They’re flocking to Greef Karga in herds to request this commission, eager to take their shot at earning the biggest reward this parsec’s ever seen. Hunting’s been tough in the Outer Rim following the fall of the Empire. There’s not enough twisted people to request dirty work for high prices, and if there is, they’re too busy trying not to be found by the New Republic. To get an opportunity like this, to earn a reward bigger than some can even conceive of, is priceless. Nearly the entire Bounty Hunter’s Guild has gotten a tracking fob—Adali included.

But she’s not like the rest of them.

Adali is strong. She’s taken down many quarries twice her size and been able to win fights where the odds were four-to-one. But she doesn’t take her pride as a hunter in her strength. Adali thinks with her mind first and foremost, and rather than having the mentality of overpowering and running through her quarries, she prefers to outsmart them. Bounty hunting isn’t just a test of strength between a hunter and its prey: it’s a test of intellect. Before the hunter can get its prey, it has to watch it, study it, learn everything it can about it. Then, it’ll learn their every move—and it’ll make the hunting process go swiftly. Adali prefers her jobs clean.

Thus, when Adali met with the client—no doubt an imperial warlord, though the more wicked, the better for her—she wasn’t intimidated by his lack of ability to provide thorough information. There was no chain code, he’d said, just an age. She’d known the age before she’d walked inside. Hunters talk a lot of shit for taking such a “confidential” commission. After having acquired her tracking fob, Adali had gone straight back to the cantina, pretending to be preoccupied at the bar as she’d listened to the conversation of two hunters near her.

“I heard it’s some ex-Sith Lord,” a Rodian had muttered to the Trandoshan beside him, failing to be quiet enough for Adali’s careful ears to pick his words up.

“A Sith Lord?” the Trandoshan had laughed, shaking his head as he hit his glass against the bar for effect. “What would a Sith Lord be doing on Sorgan?”

“It’s the perfect place to hide,” the Rodian had insisted, narrowing his eyes at his friend’s amused behavior. “That place is an absolute scughole. No one would think they’d be there.”

“Sith Lords are a myth,” the Trandoshan had scoffed. “And a group of mercenaries wouldn’t have been able to get a Sith Lord anywhere without being dead first.”

And so Adali had gotten her first lead: the asset had been on Sorgan. She was planning on taking a visit there, wanting to see if any of the population knew anything about it, but had delayed those plans in favor of creeping around the cantina one more time. She isn’t sure how accurate the rumor of the asset’s origin is, and she wants to see if she can either confirm it or get some more information out of the gossiping hunters before she sets off. Sorgan isn’t exactly a short trip away from Nevarro.

Adali’s thoughts are interrupted by a burst of chaos from behind her. She hears Greef’s voice rumbling in a frustrated manner, and instantly she’s turning around from her place at the bar to see what’s happening.

“You’re not in the Guild,” Greef insists, furrowing his brow at a man who’s standing across from him. “I can’t tell you anything.”

“But, please, you must know something!” the man exclaims, his voice low but also desperate. Adali isn’t close enough to get a good look at the stranger. She raises a curious eyebrow at the odd situation. “Just—how can I get a fob?”

“You can’t,” Greef scoffs. “Like I said, you’re not in the Guild. You can’t hunt for us.” He then gives the man a once-over. “By the looks of it, you can’t hunt at all.”

“Please, sir,” the man tries again. “That’s my son. Anything you know—I’ll give you everything I have!”

“I said, I’m not telling you anything,” Greef snarls. “Now get outta’ here and stop making a damn fool of yourself—before I make you.”

The man’s shoulders fall in a defeated manner, and he gives Greef a respectful nod before he turns back to the door. Before he can even start making his way over to the door, he’s stopped by another hunter, who stands nearly face-to-face with the man. Adali wants to rolls her eyes as she recognizes him as Jado Korra, the professional ass-kisser of the Guild’s magistrate. “Are you looking for trouble, you bantha fodder?” Jado hisses, raising a challenging eyebrow at the man.

“N-No,” the man stutters—more in surprise than in fear. “I was just about to leave.”

“When? Before you harassed Karga, or after?” Jado’s sneering at the poor stranger now, and Adali has the sudden urge to shoot him down where he stands simply because of his vexatious behavior.

“I told you, I don’t want any trouble,” the man reminds him, even starting to raise his hands in voluntary surrender.

“Well, you should’ve thought of that before,” Jado quips, taking the man by his shirt and shoving him off to the side. He collapses into an empty table, sending it down with him. Jado snickers and walks away, leaving the stranger in a daze.

Adali sighs, irritated by Jado’s behavior and helplessly curious about the stranger begging Greef for information. She resigns herself to strolling over to where the man’s still struggling to get up, offering him a hand to take. He looks up at her suspiciously, and Adali takes a better look at him up close. His gaze is dark like mud, his eyes looking worn from the stress of whatever situation he’s found himself in. He’s got a mop of rather long but tamed dark hair atop his head, and his face goes unshaven but well-trimmed. His dark clothes are slightly tattered and layered—and Adali has to keep her eyes from widening at the realization that hits her. They’re the clothes of a farmer, and she’s willing to bet he’s a farmer from Sorgan.

The man finally accepts Adali’s hand, and she pulls him up before he starts to dust himself off. His cheeks are reddened with slight embarrassment as he pulls himself back together. “Thanks,” the man says, his voice sounding much rougher than Adali would’ve expected for a Sorgan farmer.

“Don’t worry about it,” Adali responds, looking to where Jado’s gone off to kiss Greef’s ass some more. “Jado’s always been an asshole.” He finally looks back to her upon hearing that, his dark gaze glittering with exhaustion and newfound curiosity. Adali extends her hand back out to him. “Adali Tovar.”

He accepts it gingerly, shaking it as he nods at her. “Din Djarin.”

“Din, you look like you could use a drink,” Adali says, and Din lets out a chuckle as he nods once again in agreement. “Can I tempt you with one?”

“That’s… very kind of you,” Din replies, smiling just a bit at Adali’s offer. She wonders what kind of hell he’s had to go through to find a civil act so friendly.

“If you fix this table, I’ll get us some drinks,” Adali proposes, and Din nods in understanding. She then sets off for the bar, ordering something light for the both of them. She carries them over to the table Din’s propped back up, setting the drinks down and sitting across from him. “So, what got you under Jado’s skin? I swear, it doesn’t take much.”

Din scoffs lightly at Adali’s words. “I guess I was pestering his boss or something.”

Adali raises an eyebrow at him. “Karga?” She pretends as if she never watched the full extent of the altercation.

“Yeah, I think that’s the name he said.” Din pauses to take a sip of his drink, his brow beginning to furrow in worry. “I didn’t mean to, I just—I really needed his help.”

“Are you a hunter?”

Din shakes his head. “No. I don’t know if you can tell, but—,” Din gestures to his clothing before continuing, “—I’m a farmer.”

Adali lets her curiosity show. “That sounds nice. Where at?”

“Sorgan.”

Adali feels her veins fill with adrenaline at the planet’s name. It’s just as she was hoping for—a person who likely has valuable information on the asset. “Sorgan? Wow. That’s a long damn way from Nevarro. What could possibly bring you here?”

Din’s face falls, and Adali watches as his dark gaze focuses on the drink in his mug. “It’s… my son. He was abducted not too long ago. I thought it might’ve been some bounty hunters—so I found out where the Guild operates, and I came for whatever information I could find.” He releases a sigh, finally looking back up at Adali. “But he couldn’t offer me anything.”

His son. At the sound of the abduction, Adali had wondered if he was referring to the asset—but Din doesn’t look anywhere close to being fifty years old himself, much less fathering a fifty-year-old son. Still, if Din’s from Sorgan, he must know something—and Adali’s willing to make a deal over it. So, she presses on, looking around to make sure no one’s listening as she leans further across the table. “What if I told you that I’m a hunter—and I might be able to help you?”

Din’s eyes widen at her words, and she sees a spark of hope arise in his gaze. “I would be so grateful for anything you have.”

Adali gives him a nod, leaning back as she draws a sip from her drink. “What’s your son’s name?”

Din tenses at her words. Adali furrows her brow. “He… I haven’t officially named him.” Before Adali can question him further about the matter, Din explains it himself. “He’s adopted. I found him on his own almost a year ago and took him in. I call him Ad’ika, but I don’t know his true name—or if he even has one.”

Adali tilts her head curiously. “Isn’t that—?”

“Mando’a? Yes.” Din lets out a soft breath, his fingers fumbling with the handle of his mug. “That’s what my mentor used to call me.”

“Was your mentor from Mandalore?” Adali knows that couldn’t have turned out well. Everyone knows what happened to the Mandalorians—they’re practically extinct.

Din hesitates, and then nods. “I… was raised by Mandalorians. But their lifestyle just wasn’t for me.”

Adali lifts a curious eyebrow, feeling even more interested in Din now. If he was raised by Mandalorians, that means he must’ve had a least some training with them—which must make him an impressive fighter. “I guess it’s good you got out of there while you still could.” Adali makes the reference to the event that wiped out the Mandalorians for good.

Din grimaces. “I guess so.”

“Did they train you to fight?”

“I learned some—yeah. But I’m long out of practice.”

Adali furrows her brow. “Is that how they got to your son?”

Din sighs. “I didn’t have a chance. They stunned me before I could fight back.” His eyes darken as he goes on. “I think they meant to kill me—but used the wrong mode.”

Adali nods slowly, running a hand over her chin as she decides to move to a different topic. “How old is your son?”

Din shrugs. “I don’t know. But he’s a baby.”

A baby? Adali sighs internally. There’s no way he’s the asset she’s looking for. Unless… species age differently, she’d once been told after collecting a quarry who was over four hundred years old. Adali leans in again, looking into Din’s gaze with severity. “Do you think there’s a possibility that he could be fifty?”

Din’s eyes widen. “Fifty?” His tone is quiet and full of disbelief. “I… I wouldn’t think so, but—.”

“Is he a different species?” Adali continues her interrogation. When Din nods, she goes on. “Then he might age differently. Let’s say his life span extends to nine hundred years old. Could he be fifty?”

Din doesn’t say anything for a moment. He simply returns Adali’s gaze, and she can see the intense contemplation written all over his face. Din then offers a light sigh. “I guess it’s possible.”

Adali leans back again, finishing her mug before she launches her next question. “Did he get abducted about—ah, I don’t know—just over a week ago?”

Din nods earnestly. “Yes! That’s exactly when it happened.”

Adali smiles slightly at him, reaching for the tracking fob and making it visible to him. “Then I might just be able to help you, Din.”

Din’s dark gaze floods with relief, and he lets out a chuckle in disbelief. “I—thank you. I can’t believe—I’ve been so worried about him, you have no idea how much it means—.”

“It’s gonna cost you,” Adali cuts him off, raising her brow expectantly. “If only I could do it out of the ‘kindness of my heart,’ but sadly, that’s not how we operate out here. You need to offer me a better deal.” She knows he can’t—but if she can get him to at least believe he can, then he can give her all the rest of the information she needs, and she’ll be well on her way to making a fortune.

“I’ll give you everything I have.” Din says the words without hesitation. His brow’s furrowed in desperation again, and for a moment, it pains Adali’s heart to see it. That look reminds her of something else, something she’s tried to keep buried deep within her, and she hates the way the pain crawls back up—if even for a moment. “Please. I’ll—I’ll even help you.”

Adali nearly laughs at his proposal. “Help me?”

“I know, I said I’m out of practice.” The words are rushing out of Din’s mouth now, as if he can’t say them quickly enough. “But I learned a lot while I was growing up. I know that with a bit of warming up, I can probably get back into the routine. I still have some weapons—I took them with me to Sorgan just in case. I don’t need anything else other than Ad’ika.” Din finally pauses, looking at Adali nervously. “Please.”

Adali considers his words for a moment, crossing her arms as she leans back in her seat. If she lets Din join her, then she can not only have some extra hands for fighting, but also have him there once she acquires the asset. Then, instead of returning it to him, she can more easily kill him on the spot and take the asset in for her promised reward.

It’s actually not a bad deal.

Adali sighs lightly, painting on a small smile as she gives Din a nod. “Alright. I’ll accept your help.” Din’s gaze brightens, but before he can go on thanking her unnecessarily again, she continues talking. “But I have to ask: do you still have your Mandalorian armor?”

Din nods, his brow furrowing. “Yes. It’s packed away with my weapons.”

“Good. You’ll want it—to disguise yourself.” When Din’s confusion becomes obvious, Adali explains it for him. “People might know you’re tied to the asset—your son. If they see you, they’ll know exactly what you’re there for. It’s best if you try to hide your identity.”

“Whatever it takes.” Adali’s nearly shocked to hear the words come so quickly out of his mouth, but it’s also not surprising to her. She’s seen how much Din’s son must mean to him—and she can’t help admiring him for that, even if she’ll be using it to her own advantage. “Thank you…” Din’s trying to recall her name.

“Call me Ada.” Din nods at Adali, and she sighs as she stands up. “Follow me to my ship. Looks like we’re taking a trip back to Sorgan.”

Din gives Adali another nod, and soon she’s leading their way out of the cantina—completely unaware of the destiny she’s just written for herself.

chance tag list: @mikahid​ @starlight-starwrites​ @lavenderl3mons​ @adikaofmandalore​

permanent tag list: @mikahid​ @theforceofdarkandlight​ @stilllivindue2spite​ @givemethatgold​ @xbrujita​ @mandalorianspace​ @blushingwueen​ @sevvysaurus​ @myakai13​ @thisis-theway​ @beskars​ @rachelloveseveryone​ @theindiealto​ @hiscyarika​ @burningsoulbloodyheart​ @wickedfrsgrl​ @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​ @bookwafflefangirl​ @charliepeaceout​ @lavenderl3mons​ @cable-kenobi​

[domina-noctisim-archive]

“Sesshōmaru, you could at least make an effort to not look like you hate to be here.”

His father’s voice had this uncanny ability to be both as sharp as a blade, yet warm like a gentle touch. It was a quality that his son had never been able to emulate. Not that he wished to, but a part of him wondered if in a few centuries he wouldn’t start to sound like that as well.

Sesshōmaru really hoped that wouldn’t be the case. Less than three centuries old, he was in the full, fiery stage of his ‘teenager’ life. His desire for rebelliousness and to detach from his parents grew stronger with each passing season.

This also came alongside a lot of attitude. “Should I not say the same of you, father?” He asked quietly, not turning his head to make eye contact. The two just stood beside one another, standing on the perimeter of the large ballroom with the rest of the nobility that had been invited to the debutante ball held in Austria that year.

Many daughters and sons of the most prominent families in the world had come of age this century, including Sesshōmaru himself. They had been invited, and accepted to come under insistence of his mother. He knew she was hoping he would be betrothed to someone here, to reinforce the family’s influence in their home country.

He also knew that his father absolutely loathed each and every person in this room. And in all likelyhood, the feeling was mutual amongst the guests. Rumors spread quickly... families who advocated amicable relations with humans were frowned upon by the most conservative aristocrats of this world.

And individuals who indulged beyond that, mixing their pureblood with the humans and tainting the purity of these lineages, were absolutely loathed. But this was the nobility, and even hatred turned into something a lot colder and passive-aggressive...

... Such as, inviting said individual to a debutante ball with the very intention to get his only offspring engaged to another pureblood. Sesshōmaru had figured this was all a very political ploy. By giving him a consort, the demon society would basically make a statement against his father, “Even if you mix your blood with humans, your legacy will not. Your obscene morals will be rectified by the new generation. Your effort will be in vain.”

He very much did not like being used as a political tool. Yet, he did not support his father’s choices either. Even though he had never actually been with a human woman, the mere fact that such rumors could surface meant that his contacts with the weaker species had been too many and too friendly as is. How long before these speculations became true?

“The Duke will not be happy with us leaving until you’ve at least given his first daughter a chance.” Tōga scoffed, hands clasped behind his back while he watched the dances with the same detached golden stare as his son. “I’m sure you’re aware, she’s been trying to make eye contact with you for the good part of the past half hour.”

It was true, Sesshōmaru had noticed. But he had absolutely no intention to touch that woman with any of his fingers. The formal european clothes he had been given to wear to match the ceremony were far too exquisite for that kind of filth.

“I have no interest in a succubus.”

“Then perhaps you should tell her.”

That made Sesshōmaru actually side glance with irritation at his sire. Under furrowing silvery brows, his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “If you wish to cause a diplomatic incident, please do so yourself.”

“Your mother would forgive you. Me, on the other hand...” The Lord of the Western Lands exhaled softly, shaking his head. He was about to say more, when another aristocrat approached them to engage into what seemed a boring conversation.

Alone with his thoughts again, Sesshomaru returned to observe the many pairs dancing at the center of the room, struggling to not just turn around and leave. By pure accident, he happened to look in direction of the Duke’s daughters, all cooped on one side of the room, giggling and chatting, while their eldest still stared at him with greedy eyes.

...It was then that he noticed her. In the back, just past that group, was another girl. A deb just like them, judging by the gown she wore. Yet she was different... for one, she looked like she was just as bored as he were. The way she avoided to make eye contact with anybody, often glancing for the doors to escape that place, gave away her wish to leave.

Her appearance was eerie... she appeared so frail and weak compared to many others. One could almost mistake her for a human servant, were she not dressed like that. But others like him could tell more, just by the scent that came from her. Blood.

She was one of those creatures of the night, that many feared and respected here in Europe. One of the most powerful bloodlines still surviving.

That was when the idea clicked in his head, to cross the room, walk through that sea of swirling gowns and jingling jewels, to proceed past the succubus who craved him so much, and instead stop before this unknown young woman.

He didn’t need eyes behind the back of his head to know that the female he had just so boldly ignored was glaring in absolute shock and livid jealousy while he addressed the brunette.

“... Will you dance with me?” He asked, calmly offering his hand to her. @roleplay-abiogenesis2​

Seconds,    ticking    off    the    clock Counting,    down    to    when    I    walk It’s    easier    to    go    than    to    stay Just    me    watch    take    that    flicker    to    flame Sometimes,    things    aren’t    what    they    seem Reckless,    that’s    just    what    I    need I’m    sick    of    the    habitual    games So    I    won’t    play

╰⊱♥⊱╮╰⊱♥⊱╮    Dainty    appendages    danced    on    the    glass’s    rim,    displaying    some    apathy    she    felt.    Did    she    want    to    be    there?    No.    She    didn’t    like    that    kind    of    convention.    Bordeaux's    optics    glanced    everywhere    except    at    the    influential    persons    there.    Ai    was    attempting    to    find    an    escape.    The    environs    were    asphyxiating,    carnal    appetite    profaning    the    oxygen    she    breathed.    ❛Futile    beings.    ❜    Thought,    an    exhale    leaving    her    half-open    lips,    pleading    for    air.    The    only    thing    that    seemed    to    entertain    her    was    the    grotesque    performances    that    some    people    were    making    in    front    of    her.    Refusals,    body    language,    everything    was    worth    to    obtain    decent    nuptials.    

❝Why    don’t    you    attempt    to    meet    someone?    ❞    Kaname    inquired,    addressing    his    daughter    &    placing    a    palm    upon    her    shoulder.    ❝Do    you    really    think    I’m    going    to    find    a    spouse    here,    my    beloved    father?    ━━━━━    The    way    people    behave    nauseates    me,    besides,    no    one    seems    compelling    enough    to    enthrall    my    noble    attention.❞    Returned,    looking    at    the    luna    from    the    lattice    that    was    next    to    her.    What    if    she    jumps?    Run    freely    in    the    luminescence,    without    shackles    to    keep    her    there.    ❝I    understand,    but    I    have    faith    that    someone    will    prompt    your    curiosity.    ❞    The    King    asserted,    watching    the    salon    for    a    brief    instant.    ❝Are    you    going    to    compel    me    to    marry    someone    I    don’t    love?    ❞    No    one    could    fall    in    love    in    one    night.    Convenience    matrimonies    were    often    a    failure,    leading    to    the    unhappiness    of    many    families    despite    economic    prosperity    &    perks,    despite    the    dominions    that    were    formed.    ❝I’ll    not    force    you    to    do    anything.    I    just    ask    you    to    open    your    heart.    Love    arises    over    time,    but    you    have    to    start    somewhere.    ❞    The    monarch    left,    leaving    the    princess    submersed    in    some    meditation.

❝Absurdities!    How    will    I    find    someone    appealing    here?!    ❞    The    house    she    represented    had    a    stupendous    prominence    in    Europe,    so    her    appeal    &    symmetry    hadn’t    gone    unnoticed    in    that    chamber.    Some    tried    to    approach,    to    entice,    but    to    no    avail.    The    suitors’    interest    fell    only    in    her    status,    in    the    capital    &    the    imperium    her    family    had.    One    of    the    purest    breeds,    one    of    the    ancientest    families,    forebears    of    the    vampiric    race.    Who    wouldn’t    crave    a    wife    like    her?    Forever    young,    opulent,    knowledgeable,    magnetic,    heir    to    a    huge    LEGACY.    The    immortal    maiden    was    the    last    pureblood    vampire,    consequently,    Kaname    craved    to    unite    her    daughter    with    another    equally    pure    man,    hoping    to    preserve    &    fortify    the    power    of    his    own    lineage.    It’d    be    a    significant    advantage    for    both    sides.    Some    people    respected    her    clan,    others    defied    their    lethality    &    ended    up    dead,    others    feared    their    presence.    The    stratified    society    of    which    Ai    was    a    member    wasn’t    cohesive.    Purebloods    were    at    the    hierarchy’s    summit,    followed    by    aristocrats,    fruits    of    relationships    between    vampires    &    humans.    At    the    pyramid’s    end    were    common    vampires    &    level    E,    creatures    worthy    of    being    eradicated.    Often    pure-blood’s    plasma    was    employed    to    slaughter    such    beasts,    along    with    silver,    magnificent    weaponry.

Elegantly,    the    vampiress    sat    in    an    unused    chair.    Her    hues    were    now    crystallized    in    the    crimson    liquid    inside    her    cup.    She    waved    the    vessel    to    see    the    fluid    move.    It    looked    like    wine,    but    it    was    just    water    blended    with    a    powder    that    helped    to    assuage    her    appetite.    A    guest    interrupted    her    thoughts,    impatient    to    pursue    her.    She    could    inhale    his    intentions    miles    away.    ❝May    I    have    a    word    with    you    Ai-sama.    I’d    love    to    have    your    company.    I’m    sure    we’re    going    to    have    a    good    time.    ❞    Orbs,    now    flaming    red,    faced    the    audacious    individual.    ❝Your    tender    words    tell    me    nothing.    Your    presence    isn’t    craved    by    me.    ━━━━━    Please    leave    me    alone.    ❞    A    sharp    resonance    was    implemented.    An    endeavor    to    ward    him    off.    Dissatisfied    with    her    reply,    he    left    her    alone.

For    a    few    minutes,    the    immortal    tried    not    to    make    eye    contact    with    anyone.    Ai    didn’t    want    people    to    interrupt    her    peace    while    she    waited    for    the    event    to    end.    However,    her    attention    fell    on    a    person    who    seemed    to    walk    towards    her.    It    was    a    tall,    well-dressed    man    coveted    for    what    it    looked    like    some    women.    Young,    imposing    and    with    an    uncommon    nimbus.    Ai    wondered    who    he    was?    And    why    he    rejected    the    succubus.    Wasn’t    she    decent    enough?    Intriguing.    

Before    replying,    she    remained    hushed    for    a    while,    blinking    &    admiring    the    Dayokai    in    front    of    her.    His    amber    hues    possessed    so    much    MYSTICISM.    What    intention    did    he    have?    Should    she    reject    him    too?    Cerise    gaze    dropped    a    little,    glancing    at    his    clawed    palm,    while    ashen    digits    put    a    lock    of    hair    behind    her    dainty    ear.    The    sovereign    was    a    little    hesitant.    What    if    he    was    like    the    other    man?    Repugnant    &    vainglorious.    He    was    asking    her    to    dance,    something    that    no    one    had    done    since    she    got    there.

❝Hai,    I’ll    dance    with    you.❞    Soft,    mellifluous    timbre    broke    the    taciturnity    like    a    zephyr.    Gentle,    pale    palm    fell    smoothly    on    his.    His    dermis    was    so    hot    in    comparison    to    hers.    Ai    felt    a    little    envious.    ❝Take    me    with    you.❞    Added,    bowing    &    letting    her    locks    conceal    part    of    her    countenance.    She    had    nothing    to    lose.    With    splendour,    she    raised    her    grimace    again.    ❝Demo,    If    I    may    inquire,    why    did    you    reject    the    duke’s    daughter?    I    feel    she    might    try    to    kill    me    at    any    minute.    ❞    A    giggle    left    her    lips.    She    wasn’t    frightened    at    all.    Most    people    in    that    room    knew    what    she    was    capable    of.

[patrickstargang]

To Heal (Shadow of Kyoshi fic)

Chapter 1: The Other Side of Peace

Chapter 2: Master and Student

Chapter 3: A Cause for Celebration

Chapter 4: Taking Off The Mask

Chapter 5: Call to Action

Epilogue

Kirima found herself bending the water coming out of the cracks of the ceiling, trying to add new drops to the shape she was precariously creating. It was a way to pass the time while everyone waited for Hei-ran to show up. Wong tried copying Kirima by collecting floating dust, which was plentiful at the estate’s entrance. It was one of the bigger rooms in the entire complex, which would be more lively with the usual maids doing their work but now appeared like dead space.

Kyoshi was off to the side of the room, her anxiousness stood out among the other bored members of the Flying Opera Company. Out of all of them, she was the one waiting for Hei-ran’s arrival with the most anticipation. Though it didn’t feel like anticipation, more like dread. Dread at having to talk to Hei-ran again but also dread for what Atuat’s diagnosis would be once she finally sat down with Rangi. Kyoshi already took her back to the infirmary since they would be showing up soon, but time kept making the tension of the wait more palpable. The thoughts came running back into her head, so she tried to create a distraction for herself.

Kyoshi saw a puddle created from the rain and tried to bend it. It began to move up in the air for a few moments but limply came back down to the ground. She attempted to move it again but it only yielded the same results. Her fingers began to strain. Something was wrong. She should have easily bent a puddle of this size like it was nothing. Why was it refusing to bend now?

Kirima continued to gather water droplets, oblivious to Kyoshi’s struggle. “So when is the old grouch showing up, we’ve been waiting for hours.”

Wong shrugged, his dust pile along with him. “Maybe they got caught in…..boat traffic?”

Kirima carelessly let the water formation out of the air, splashing into the ground. She pushed her hair back and let out an air of frustration. “Well, I guess its no harm waiting for another few hours,” she spoke sarcastically, more than what was usual for her. “Who knows, maybe she’ll show up busting through those doors right no-”

Before she could finish her sentence, the doors busted open. Everyone in the room flinched in surprise, Wong accidentally flinging his floating dust pile right into his face. At the open doorway stood an ominous silhouette, with a smaller less intimidating silhouette standing behind it. The silhouettes revealed themselves to be Hei-ran and Ataut, both drenched from the rain. Hei-ran looked like she was possessed by the spirit of fear and anger, revealed by her strained stance and a face that could instill terror into the strongest warrior. Atuat smiled and waved at everyone.

Hei-ran looked as though she were about to speak, a very terrifying concept for everyone in the room. Instead, she quickly got out her chalkboard and began writing furiously. After only a few seconds she turned the board around for everyone to see.

“WHERE IS SHE!?”

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

Kyoshi could hear part of the one-way argument outside the infirmary. It was hard to hear what was going on since Hei-ran’s scribbling sometimes got louder than Rangi. She barely heard any of what was said except for one key thing: “It wasn’t her fault.”

Her heart sinks. There could be a lot of implications to that, even with context. Kyoshi slumped down on one of the nearby benches, a feeling of defeat across her face. She knew she was done for. Kyoshi promised to protect her daughter with everything she had, and even then she slipped up. She anticipated the berating, being called a menace to her daughter that only puts her in danger.

As those thoughts began arising, she noticed another nearby puddle. She breathed in, reached her hand out, and tried again. The water wouldn’t even budge this time. It felt like hitting a liquid wall, it was impossible and yet it was happening. Her frustration got the better of her as she slammed her fist into the other side of the wooden bench, leaving a massive hole. It took a moment for her to realize what she did. She grimaced while trying to flatten the fragments of the wooden plank back into place. Then she heard the infirmary door open.

Hei-ran appeared from around the corner. She took a look at Kyoshi, then the other side of the bench. She decided standing was fine. They both sat (or in Hei-ran’s case, stood) in silence for many moments.

Kyoshi tried to speak before Hei-ran sped through an entire piece of chalk.

“Before you say anything, Rangi told me the whole story. Including the part where you saved her.”

Kyoshi slowly glanced down at the bottom of the chalkboard.

“And I’m sorry about Yun, you did the right thing.”

That name still opened up wounds for Kyoshi. Even now it was hard for her to accept everything that had happened, that it was now all in the past. Her friend was gone. He was gone a long time ago.

She felt a pat from Hei-ran on her shoulder. She seemed to understand the pain Kyoshi was feeling now, since Yun was also her student. Hei-ran wasn’t one for emotions so something like this meant she was serious. For the years that Kyoshi has known Rangi’s mother, this felt like the most sincere gesture she’s given to her.

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

Kyoshi decided to go back to her work as Atuat was starting her checkup on Rangi. When she returned to her workspace, she found Jinpa had left her a pile of letters. Most of them were from diplomats across the Four Nations inviting her to visit their towns and villages. Most of them she would have to decline since her main priority was the situation with Fire Lord Zoryu.

But her mind kept drifting back to Rangi. She was reading the notes but not processing them. Her focus was off, her mind was on other worrying things.

Jinpa came into the room, carrying another sack full of letters and invitations. Kyoshi broke her waning attention on her work, only to grimace at the approaching pile. “Where are all these letters coming from?”

“Well, most of these were from the hideout in Ba Sing Se. We’re just finally getting them sent back here. Sorry if it's a bit…..excessive.”

Kyoshi let out a long sigh as she put down the paper she was holding. “It’s probably for the best, I needed to get this all sorted out anyways. How much more is there?”

“Oh, only five.”

“Five more letters?”

“Oh, no…..five more crates of letters.”

Kyoshi gave Jinpa a piercing stare, one that showed little emotion except for slight annoyance. Jinpa awkwardly smiled tip-toeing backward out of the room.

“I-I’ll be back,” Jinpa pointed his thumb down the hall. “With more…..” He finally exited the doorway.

Kyoshi breathed through her nose and looked back down at the table. She noticed that it was covered in a blanket of documents and invitations. And this wasn’t all of what she had to look through today.

She decided to take a break. Kyoshi began walking down the halls of the estate, heading to the infirmary. While Zoryu was her top priority as the Avatar, Rangi’s health became her top personal priority.

Kyoshi passed by Hei-ran, who was sleeping on the bench that she put a hole through. She was sleeping, but in reality, it looked more like a stiffly adjusted power nap. It must have been the equivalent of sleeping for a military official. She quietly snuck her past the terrifying woman, making it to the infirmary doors before Atuat opened them up.

Kyoshi stopped in her tracks, moving out of the way so Atuat could get some space. She quietly closed the doors and wiped a bit of sweat from her brow.

Kyoshi slightly raised her hand. “So how is sh-”

Atuat put a finger against her lips, signaling for Kyoshi to lower her voice. Kyoshi hunched down and grimaced, not realizing how loud she said that.

“Sorry” she whispered.

“It’s alright kiddo. She's sleeping right now but should be back up in about an hour.”

“I’m surprised how quick it was.”

“Well, when ya know what your doing the process is pretty simple.” She grinned with the same kind of arrogant flair that Rangi would give off.

But that only reminded Kyoshi about the most pressing question. She struggled to come up with the words. She lowered her head, she couldn’t stand to see the sympathetic looks if her worst suspicions come true.

“....Sifu Atuat.” Her voice was shaking before she could even ask.

“Yes sweetie?”

“There's just one more question I have. About her injury. When I first healed her, I wasn’t sure if there was any permanent internal damage. Later on, I had a suspicion that it might be more serious than that, because of how deep the spear had gone in and the chance of infection. Sifu Atuat…..is she going to die?”

The brief period of silence made the wait worse. Kyoshi closed her eyes, her hands turning into fists waiting for the dreadful reply. She had to prepare herself for her worst nightmare to become her reality.

“Nope.”

Kyoshi’s eye shot open. She unbowed her head, her face frozen with confusion.

Atuat could read her confusion as clearly as Hei-ran’s chalkboard. “Oh believe me, I was shocked too. Considering how you described the injury, I thought it would be much more serious. But I made a thorough check and there wasn’t a single puncture to any of her vital organs, or any organs really. To be honest, it doesn’t make much sense to me.”

The wind was knocked out of Kyoshi. She had been expecting the worst for quite some time, so she didn’t really know how to react when something went right for once.

Atuat pointed at Kyoshi, her voice was quick and direct. “Did you do the extraction technique every day, like we talked about in training.”

Kyoshi’s face was still frozen, so she replied with a nod. Atuat stroked her chin, trying to assess the possibilities. The seriousness didn’t last long as she jokingly nudged Kyoshi on the side.

“Maybe the spirits blessed you with some kind of special healing powers.”

The tension broke from Kyoshi’s face, letting out a light chuckle. Atuat joined in.

“But seriously, I don’t know what you did, but it worked. She’s in good health now. The only thing she's got from it is a scar on her back.” Her eyes measured Kyoshi up and down, then she chuckled again. “You know, it looks like you’ve made a fine water healer of yourself.”

Kyoshi breathed a sigh of relief, a relief that was impossible to describe. She didn’t know it then, but she was smiling. It wasn’t like the fake smiles that she had to put on before. She bowed, her hand connecting to her fist. “Thank you, Sifu.”

Atuat ruffled Kyoshi’s hair while she was still bowed. “Oh come on, you don’t always have to call me Sifu.”

It was strange to her, having a Sifu who was more of a friend than a teacher. But at the same time, what she did teach Kyoshi became invaluable when the moment needed it.

She unbowed herself, letting her hair stay ruffled. Atuat darted her eyes at the infirmary doors.

“Come now, I know there's someone you want to see.”

[of-muppets-and-men]

Penumbra

Chapter 3: Split Horizon

I got an AO3 now, link right here.

Rukia was gifted two precious days with Katsumi after giving birth. A mere 48 hours may not seem like much, but they were everything to the new mother. No matter how tired her arms got, she never let go of her daughter. Every smile, every whimper, every little thing the newborn did sent her mother’s heart aflutter. It took an hour of convincing to finally let Isane and Yoruichi have the chance to hold her. And when they did, they understood why. 

As Katsumi snoozed in her aunties’ arms, neither of the two captains could find the words to express themselves. The little one was an angel. An angel that would tug at your hair at any given opportunity, but an angel nonetheless. Fortunately, the Seireitei was a quieter place since the Quincy war ended, meaning Isane and Yoruichi had no better place to be than here.

But alas, all good things must come to an end.

Rukia’s body had more or less healed and her swelling had come down to a point she could get away with. It was time for her to resume her life as a Shinigami. And though every fibre of her being screamed at her not to, she must leave Katsumi with Yoruichi. Isane had gone through the liberty of fetching Rukia’s shihakusho so hopefully nobody would get too suspicious. In the midst of changing, Rukia had nearly forgotten how to put the thing on, prompting Yoruichi to help her. 

But upon finishing, Rukia couldn’t keep herself from tearing up. The pain in her heart was unbearable, regardless of it was for the best. The Lady of the Shihouin led her to a secluded back entrance of the manor; out of the way of prying eyes. Katsumi still bundled up in her arms, Rukia tentatively approached the door. Her breaths shaky as well as her arms, Rukia felt a hand on her shoulder. Yoruichi stared back at her, golden eyes as forlorn as her own. 

With a deep sigh, Rukia caressed the sleeping newborn, tighter than she ever had before. This was it, the last time she would ever have any role in Katsumi’s life. She delicately placed her child in Yoruichi’s embrace and kissed her forehead. 

“I Love You…” Rukia whispered, but couldn’t see Katsumi smile as she turned away.

A hand raised to her mouth to stifle her sobs, Rukia vanished into the night.

“LORD BYAKUYA!!”

The master of House Kuchiki looked up from his notes to see where all the fuss was about. A lone attendant of his family came barreling through the door, nearly breaking it in the process. Byakuya shook his head at the young man’s stupendous lack of grace. The attendant panted heavily, trying to regain his breath after his sprint. However, his master was in no mood for such tomfoolery. His grip found his zanpakuto and pointed at the young man’s throat.

“Do you have a reason for barging into my quarters at this ungodly hour?” Byakuya interrogated.

The attendant whimpered in fear “A thousand pardons my lord, but there is something you must know.”

“Well, spit it out.” he threatened.

“It’s Lady Rukia… She’s returned.” The attendant answered, his forehead slack with sweat.

Byakuya’s eyes widened with surprise, resheathing Senbonzakura instantly. He pushed the poor young man out of the way, making a hurried march out of his office. He made his way through the winding halls of his estate, trying hard not to flash step through any walls. At last, he reached the courtyard just beyond the front door and stood before him was indeed Rukia. Byakuya slowly walked towards her, the gravel crunching beneath his feet as he made sure he wasn’t dreaming. Byakuya stopped mere feet away while Rukia gave him a reassuring smile.

“Brother. I’m home.” Rukia announced just loud enough for only him to hear.

Without even thinking, Byakuya embraced his adoptive sister, catching her off guard. The diminutive woman took a moment to process what was even happening before it clicked. She returned his embrace as he began to stroke her hair. He half-heartedly pulled away to look at her once again.

“Where on earth have you been? After so long, I had begun to fear you were dead.” 

“I know… I’m sorry brother. I should’ve notified you about where I was going…” Rukia admitted. “After Renji proposed, I needed some time to think.”

“Four months without any contact is pushing it a bit, don’t you think?” Byakuya chided.

Rukia’s eyes drooped to the floor “It’s been… turbulent for me to say the least.”

A smirk bloomed on her older brother’s face. Unlike his normally stoic demeanor, Byakuya was acting surprisingly animated; a notion that warmed her heart. He did care, even if his pride suppressed it most of the time. The head of the kuchiki led her inside, ready to give her a proper welcome.

“Would you care for something to eat?”

“Yes, Please.” Rukia beamed, practically starving after the past two days.

“Alright. I’ll notify Abarai in the morning. For now, just get some rest. You look unwell.”

Rukia swallowed a lump in her throat as her brother guided back inside. It felt like forever since she’d been here; her own home seemed so alien, so foreign. It was fairly normal for the manor to be relatively quiet, but this. This emptiness felt like it would consume her. She reckoned it would never feel the same way again; not without Katsumi. It took much of Rukia’s remaining strength to keep her hands from shaking, praying Byakuya wouldn’t ask questions.

Fortunately, Byakuya was preoccupied with getting one of the cooks to make her something to eat. His concern helped take her mind off things, at least for the moment. After just barely managing to stomach her meal, Rukia excused herself to her room to hopefully get some sleep.

But as soon as she slipped between the covers, her emotions all came flying back at her at once. Tears streamed down her cheeks and onto her pillow. Her heart ached so horribly, she grew tempted to rip out of her chest. Penance or not, this was slowly becoming too much to bear. Rukia’s pending marriage was no comfort either. She did love Renji, but not in the way he loved her.

Her eyelids grew heavy, mental and physical exhaustion catching with her. It wouldn’t be until late next morning she would awaken to the sound of a familiar voice.

“RUKIAAAA!!”

Before Rukia even had time to rub her eyes, Renji came barrelling inside without any regard for privacy. His arms entangled themselves around her petite frame alongside deep breaths. Two unavoidable and smothering hugs in pretty much the same day. Lovely. Still groggy from twelve hours of sleep, Rukia barely had the strength to let him know he was crushing her.

“Renji, you idiot. Let up already.” was all she could muster.

Loosening his grip revealed to her the tears forming in his eyes. Bumbling fool.

“Forgive me. I’m just... glad to see you’re okay. I mean, where the hell have you been? No note or anything for months. I mean what were you thinking?”

“RENJI.” She placed a hand to his cheek, appreciative of his fretting.

“Sorry.” he whispered.

“Don’t be. I know I should have said something, but I really need some time to think…” Rukia explained, being intentionally vague.

“But where did you go?” her fiance pressed “Even Kisuke didn’t know where you were.”

“Because I asked him not to look for me.” Rukia frowned as the white lie passed her lips.

Kisuke had only found out about her pregnancy by sheer happenstance, and she swore him to secrecy. Damn near threatened to kill him if he didn’t maintain her facade. Lucky for Rukia, Kisuke was well acquainted with keeping secrets. Even more lucky that Renji was an idiot.

“Well.. I guess it doesn’t matter anymore. You’re here now, safe and sound.” Renji breathed, his voice filled with relief.

Renji resumed his embrace, a notion Rukia mirrored. If only to hide away her fervent anguish. This was the path she chose; a path of lies. She hated it, hated herself, but there was no going back from here.

Two months after Rukia returned to the Kuchiki estate, she married Renji and he was absorbed into her house. It was a magnificent affair, the guest list being all of the Gotei 13. Many tears were shed; a true blessing after the accursed Quincy war. 

Booze and enough food to stuff everyone in the thirteen court guard squads. The noble house of Kuchiki spared no expense. Renji had cleaned up fairly nicely, but he was nothing in comparison to his wife.

Rukia looked divine, no soul in the Seireitei could argue differently. In any other circumstance, this would have been the happiest day of her life. But she and her two attending confidants knew better. The one person she wanted to see waiting at the end of the aisle, didn’t even know what was occuring today.

It stung, but not as much as being without her daughter. A daughter she wouldn’t see again for several years.

In that time, she would give birth to another child. Ichika, Renji’s daughter. A beautiful child with her father’s vibrant hair and spunk. Her love for Renji may have been fleeting at best, her love for Ichika was strong and true.

But… she wasn’t her Katsumi.

But an opportunity would finally arise.

Late one evening, as Acting Captain of Squad 13, Rukia had the illustrious task of filing her squad’s paperwork. With no current lieutenant, the poor woman was forced to do it all by her lonesome. She struggled through every page, her eyelids growing heavier by the second. Her saving grace, however, came in the form of a butterfly. A death butterfly to be specific.

The delicate little messenger landed on her finger and through it she heard Yoruichi’s voice.

I hear you have a little one now. As it so happens, I have one too. Perhaps we could have a playdate sometime?

Rukia’s eyes widened, fully aware of what Yoruichi was implying. And so she gave her answer.

Yes. I would like that very much.

This took longer than I wanted it too so I’m sorry if I left anyone in suspension of disbelief.

[enchanted-prose]

#2 Joust

I’m so sorry I didn’t post on Friday! I had it finished, I was waiting on an editor and then went out. Anyways, here is my second piece: Joust

Word Count: 4,859

Characters: Roden, Mott, Jaron, Jolly (Original Character), Merry (Original Character), Lord Feall (Original Character)

Notes: Edited! This is a continuation from #1 Can’t Believe You’ve Made Me Do This and from here on out, all fics will be probably continuations and interconnected. Enjoy!

Drylliad usually welcomed high ranking visitors with a beautiful celebration, thanking the Saints for a safe arrival.

But it wasn’t every day that a king visited, even if he did answer to a higher power.

And it wasn't every day that a king's visit fell upon a festival date.

In the streets of Drylliad, streamers fluttered from windows. Lines and lines of short banners on ropes zigzagged across buildings and houses. Poles covered in flowers had been set up, ribbons hanging down from their tops.

Tents housing food from all over the realms.

Tents boasting the best imported weapons.

Tents hiding the prettiest men and women from the public eye.

It wouldn't be long before Chaos flooded the marketplace.

Children would chase stray dogs through the festival, and occasionally, drag their favorites home to become pets. Troubadours, dancers, fire eaters. There’d be massive stages built for elaborate puppet shows.

Roden couldn't deny how excited he was to see it all.

As a child, he'd enjoyed festivals. He insisted on dragging Latamer, his childhood friend, with him to see the jousting knights and fire breathing dancers. They never missed a single one, even when Latamer was convinced that he carried the plague.

Latamer was always hanging around in the back of Roden's mind.

He should've been strong enough to save his friend.

At that very moment, he was awaiting orders from King Oberson, leader of Dinwallis, one of Bymar's kingdom states, and from Jaron.

He stood in the castle's great hall, Bymarian knight Lord Feall to his left, and Mott to his right. Behind Roden stood a small company of guards.

Just enough to keep the peace, but not enough to distract from the festival.

"King Jaron and I have been discussing the attack on Lord Feall," Oberson said. He scratched at his patchy beard, "I have decided to keep my personal guard with me, though the Lady Amarinda has reassured me that there is a slim chance of another attack."

"You don't know the Faola like I do," Feall placed an armored hand over his chestplate.

"You're right, but I do trust Lady Amarinda's judgement and her husband was very insistent that the bandits who attacked you have ulterior motives," Jaron crossed his arms. "However, Lord Feall, I advise you to take care in the streets. The Faola haven't resurfaced since their attack, but it did seem that at least one of them wanted you dead."

Ah, the short bandit.

It wasn’t very often that bandits and thieves managed to escape Roden.

He was talented at his job, his drive for justice was a fuel nobody else could really understand.

The short bandit and the Faola would be apprehended eventually.

Roden remained silent as he pondered the situations that could arise. There were guards stationed in the woods at various locations, the company of guards behind him were to patrol the outskirts of the festival, and he and Feall would be keeping an eye on the festivities in the center of it all.

He didn't want to admit that Tobias was right about the Faola.

That they did end up redistributing the goods they'd stolen.

Saints, his inability to catch them made him tense with frustration.

There were better ways to go about delivering justice to the unfortunate. It didn't require breaking the law.

"I only hope that the Faola don't try to ruin this festival," Feall joked.

"As do I," said Jaron. "Roden, I trust your plan to work, you can send your men out as soon as you feel ready."

A small grin crept across his face.

There was no way Roden would say it aloud, but hearing people tell him that they ‘trust’ his plans was beyond invigorating. It was simply proof that he was an efficient leader and a capable captain.

Jaron arched an eyebrow.

Ah, Roden was still grinning.

He forced a scowl on his face.

“We’re ready to deploy.”

Roden glanced at Mott, who cleared his throat, "Will you be alright without us, Jaron?"

"I'll have you know that I don't require a governess to watch my every move. I won't get into trouble."

Nobody said a word, as nobody dared inform Jaron that despite his efforts to avoid causing a ruckus, he tended to attract danger.

Jaron threw up his hands, "Imogen's going to be with me! Is that enough reassurance?"

"I suppose, though sometimes I believe Imogen encourages your antics," Roden teased. He turned around, ordering his men to their positions before Jaron could protest.

"Do you have a backup plan if they do decide the festival's too boring for them?" Mott asked quietly, following Roden out of the great hall.

He shrugged, "I predict that Jaron is going to disguise himself, Imogen and Amarinda will follow suit, and they'll avoid Tobias as if their lives depend on it."

Mott chuckled, "He's quite the mother hen."

"It's inconvenient at times."

The image of Tobias frantically searching through the streets brought a grin to Roden's face. Tobias would probably try to enlist the help of the royal guard, insisting that something was wrong, only to find the trio laughing at him from the safety of a tent tavern.

"Have you any word of the Faola?" Mott asked. He pushed the castle's front door open, and didn't wait for Roden as he walked down the steps. "Have your scouts found anything?"

"Not exactly," Roden confessed. The morning sun already beat down on him. He'd chosen the wrong day to wear a full suit of armor. "There's a friend of mine who may have a few words to share, but I don't even know if he's here."

The last of the guards crossed the castle bridge, split into two groups, and left for their posts. Mott squinted at the towering poles bedecked with ribbons and flowers, "Ah, he's the troubadour you were telling me about the other day."

"The one and only. Last I heard from him, he was busy in Mendenwal."

"Let's hope he makes an appearance today."

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Hours passed, but still no sign of anyone remotely resembling the Faola. Roden, Mott, and Feall rode together through the streets, doing their best to avoid the unlucky few who were already succumbing to alcohol.

"Ah, day drinking," Feall chuckled. "I understand their reasonings behind that all too well."

A smirk crossed Mott's face, "I can't deny that I've considered smuggling a flask into meetings with regents."

"I have smuggled a flask into meetings with regents," Roden chuckled, but he had no intentions of trying any kind of drink anytime soon. He had a troubadour to find. "Have you seen anything Feall?"

"Not since you asked me twenty minutes ago."

"Have you seen the Faola before?" Mott asked, wrinkling his nose at the sight of a woman waving at him from a scarlet tent.

"I have, their leader is Bymarian," Feall explained. "I don't know his name yet, but I have suspicions. I think he comes from the kingdom of Idunn Craich, but I can't be sure."

"Another kingdom state," Roden noted, still scanning the crowd for his contact. "I know of two. Bultain and Dinwallis."

"Idunn Craich is a kingdom state too, so that's three."

"And the other two?"

Feall grinned, "Ulster and Midhe. Congratulations, captain, you've learned all five Bymarian kingdoms. Would you like a medal for that?"

Roden's cheeks burned, but he didn't say anything.

Despite his actions during the Avenian War, he still had to struggle with the education he'd been denied.

Noblemen within the military ranks adored pointing it out.

"Any sign of the troubadour?" Mott shielded his eyes against the blazing midday sun.

"Not yet," Roden said. "He goes by the name Jolly, he typically prefers bright colors. He's Bymarian, if that helps."

"Ah," Mott nodded. "Find a place to keep the horses. Does he differentiate between men and women? Is he a gambler?"

"He's, ah, definitely the life of the party. Why?"

Mott dismounted, gesturing for Roden and Feall to do the same. He then tipped his head in the direction of a massive building resembling a castle, "I think I know where he is."

"Even if it isn't him," Feall said as he led his horse to a post. "This seems like the area he'd be in."

"Do you know Jolly?" asked Roden in surprise, resting his hand on his sword hilt.

"I do, as a matter of fact. He's a favorite of Queen Danika."

That didn't bring any surprise.

Though Jolly didn't remain in Carthya for long increments of time, he visited often, and he always brought tales of his escapades with whoever he chose. Often, his visits ended in a bar fight or running from a disgruntled spouse.

Life was never boring with Jolly.

As they approached the temporary castle, Roden caught himself walking as slowly as he could.

Dear Saints, there was just so much to take in.

So many people hawking their wares.

Entire suckling pigs roasting on spits.

Jesters swallowing swords, fire, and many other things that would definitely kill the inexperienced.

To Roden's embarrassment, he had to jog to catch up to Feall and Mott, his armor smacking together with loud metallic clangs.

"Don't worry, you can have your fun soon," Mott said, clapping Roden on the shoulder. "You're the one who wanted to do this."

"I know, and you're right, I shouldn't get distracted," mumbled Roden as they stepped through the castle's threshold.

The scent of cooking meat wafted through the temporary castle, accompanied by the spicy aroma of spilled wine and abandoned sweets.

Despite the magnificent exterior, the temporary castle looked like any other tavern. The walls were made of stone, the floor being the trampled grass, and the windows consisting of several sticks and a gap between stones. Tables bore broken legs and chipped surfaces. A staircase led up to another floor, guarded by pockmarked women in ragged dresses. Kegs lined the back wall, a bar as long as the castle's width stood in front of them, and various sorts of mugs and cups hung from the ceiling.

A grin spread on Roden's face.

He was certain that this place was a site for enjoyment.

"There, at the back," Mott said, tilting his head towards a large crowd of men and women near the tavern's keg wall.

"That can't be-," began Roden, but he knew Mott was right the second he caught a flash of a peacock green jerkin.

Feall whistled, "That's definitely Jolly."

At the mere mention of his name, Jolly stood up, a dimpled smile breaking across his chiseled face, "See? I told you they'd come!"

The grin on Roden's face instantly melted into a frown, "This isn't going to be good."

"Do we-," Mott started, but he was cut off the second a group of tavern patrons shoved them all forward.

"Captain Harlowe! It's been far too long!" Jolly exclaimed, lithely jumping from the countertop he'd been standing on. "How are you? Still pursuing that one minstrel? Saints, can't remember her name. The one with the-"

Jolly held his hands out a fair distance from his chest, leaving Roden to uncomfortably clear his throat, "I need to ask something of you, Jolly."

"Ah, anything, but then I need to ask something from you," Jolly swayed on his feet, and would've toppled over if it weren't for the woman who caught him. Jolly patted her cheek, "I knew you cared about me, love. What, or who, can I do for you, captain?"

"Have you ever heard of the Faola?"

That was all it took to force Jolly to straighten out. He frowned, "Why?"

"They're here in Carthya," explained Feall. "King Oberson of Dinwallis and I were attacked several days ago by them."

"They're in Carthya?" Jolly shot a look at the woman at his side. "Shoo, Merry, I have to talk business."

The woman, Merry, scowled and yanked Jolly's full tankard from him as she walked away.

"We'll talk later?" called Jolly.

Roden almost didn't catch the fact that Feall's eyes were glued to Merry's leaving figure.

There was something in Feall's eyes that couldn't be placed.

"Right, the Faola," Feall said, jolting himself back into the conversation. "What do you know?"

"Ah, ah, ah," Jolly waggled his finger as he simultaneously smoothed out his jerkin. "Captain Harlowe, I desperately need your help before we do any talking about a subject that'll definitely get me into trouble."

It wasn't the first time Jolly had asked for help. Typically, he asked for assistance in escaping somebody he'd crossed, or needed help paying off a tavern bill. The chances of anything being different were slim.

He trusted Jolly.

Roden nodded, "It's alright, you can tell me later, I promise I'll help you in any way that I can."

"No, Captain, I don't think you under-"

"Tell me about the Faola, please."

For a moment, Roden worried that Jolly would remain silent.

Was discussing the Faola truly that bad?

He tried not to look relieved when Jolly finally nodded.

Jolly cleared his throat, and looked over both of his shoulders to his drunk companions, "I've had a few run-ins with them, not terrible company, if I do say so myself. There are worse bandits that I've had to deal with, but still bandits."

"What do you know of their leader?" asked Roden, holding out a hand the second Feall tried to interrupt him.

"Bangol Bandir?" Jolly chuckled, his eyebrows rising in the process. "Absolute cheater at cards. I wouldn't want to expose him, though."

"Bandir's not very big. . ."

"We must be thinking of two different Bangol Bandirs because the one that I know could crush your head between his thighs, Captain."

Mott smirked, "That description matches the bandit we're looking for just perfectly."

"Ha," Roden didn't bother hiding the annoyance now throbbing through his head. "Your jokes brighten my day."

"No, no, no," Feall blurted out, speaking before Roden could get him to remain quiet. "I'm Lord Feall, a member of Queen Danika's court, and while traveling here I was singled out by a bandit much shorter than you. It could've been a woman."

"Couldn't be Faola then, Bandir doesn't employ women for thievery. He uses them to poison enemies too strong to challenge in battle," he turned to one of his friends. "Can you find Merry? I want my drink back."

"Tobias insisted that the bandits were Faola," Mott scratched his chin, a thoughtful expression cemented on his face. "Perhaps the bandit who attacked you, Lord Feall, wasn't a leader at all."

"Impossible, there's no way a single bandit could-," he began, but he never finished his sentence.

"By the Saints! Lord Feall? I know you," Jolly burst, a new drink in his hand thanks to his crowd of followers. "Haven't seen you in years, has your inheritance been resolved?"

"Inheritance?" Echoed Mott and Roden in unison.

Feall's face darkened, "I was set up to inherit Idunn Craich, but the, ah, rules of inheritance have become muddled. Idunn Craich's throne was left to a disgraced family, but as Queen Danika sees it, there is more to the story. Idunn Craich will be mine someday, but that's beside the point. You'll have to forgive me Jolly, we rarely conversed."

"Ah, but that doesn't matter, I heard everything about you from court," said Jolly as he took a prolonged sip from his tankard.

"Anyways," Feall cleared his throat. "Have you any idea who could've led the attack?"

"Possibly. But what's in it for me?"

Roden kept his mouth shut as both Feall and Mott looked to him. He scowled, "I already promised you that I'd assist you. What more do you want?"

"I- I just," Jolly stuttered, and he wiped his hands on his tunic.

Jolly. . . Nervous?

A rare occurrence indeed.

"What do you want?"

"I bet against that table over there, regarding the, uh, joust this afternoon. . . And the man I bet on. . ."

Oh no.

That's what Jolly meant when he asked for help.

That's why he wouldn't speak until he knew that his request would be fulfilled.

He needed to know that there would be somebody to ride in the jousting tournament and win for him.

"That's too much to ask, Jolly," Mott was dangerously calm. "There's not enough time to find somebody to ride in the place of your failed man."

"It's going to cost me money," Jolly wailed. "It's going to tarnish my reputation!"

"We'll pay you the money you lost for the information," Feall offered, his eyes blazing with determination.

"You should understand the importance of a reputation, sir!"

"We'll pay you double! Triple-!"

"That's enough," Roden held up his hand, and a light smirk crossed his face. "I'll ride in the joust, but I'll only do it if you tell me what I need to know. Can you promise me that, Jolly?"

"You? Joust? Captain, that's absurd. You don't-!"

"You'd be surprised at what I'm capable of, my friend."

Roden shrugged once he realized that Mott and Feall were staring at him. He'd practiced on his own time, there was a large array of perks that came with being able to use a lance on the battlefield.

Now he'd have the chance to ride in a tournament.

Granted, it was his first official tournament, but Jolly didn't need to know anything about that.

"Alright, fine," Jolly looked over his shoulder again, and then gestured to a broken table in the corner. "I'll tell you what I know about the Faola."

"Thank you-," Roden began, but Jolly shook his head.

"I'm trusting that you'll win the tournament, Captain, otherwise. . . Things will no longer continue to work in my favor. Shoo! Go away!"

Jolly continued to wave off his companions as they approached the table. They soon lost interest in him, and turned to harass the poor minstrel in the corner.

"Right," Jolly rubbed his hands together. "Now, there's rumors following the Faola like nobody's business. I've seen sections of them working in Bymar and Avenia, so they're not just exclusive to Carthya."

"Bymar, that would line up with why they'd attack Feall but not King Jaron," Roden noted, wishing he had something to write down everything Jolly said.

"Could the attacker have been a woman?" Feall asked, his brow furrowing.

"Hush, let the man speak," Mott held up a hand.

Feall shut his mouth.

"Thank you," said Jolly. "It's entirely possible you were attacked by a woman, but I doubt it, Faola women are much smarter than the men. They'd administer poison to you in doses till it seemed like you died of natural causes. They're all quite dominant, too, frightening once they get you tied up and-"

"Jolly. Remain on the subject."

"Sorry Captain, where was I? Ah yes, potential identities. Several members of the Faola adopt names that aren't their own, some use it to instill fear and others use their stolen names to justify their causes. Notable aliases include Veldergrath, Bevin Conner, Mireldis Thay, Joth Kerwyn, King Eckbert himself. It's a way of being able to hide the fact that they work with bandits."

"I recognize Mireldis Thay," Feall murmured, but he couldn't remain quiet any longer. He smacked the table, "She's what stands in the way of Idunn Craich."

"It would be idiotic for Lady Thay to use her first name while fighting as a bandit," Mott pointed out.

Jolly nodded, "And then attack you. Besides, I know Lady Thay, she's far from here. It's just somebody tarnishing her name, just as the bandits who sport Lord Kerwyn's name are trying to do. No, no, I suspect that you're dealing with somebody else. Have any details I can go by?"

"Nothing, aside from the height," Roden said. "He, or she, was short, a little bit shorter than the average woman."

"Perfect!" Jolly exclaimed, standing up as he did so. "I'll see what I can do about finding your mystery bandit. And don't forget to win that tournament, Captain, I highly suggest that you don’t lose."

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"I'm beginning to worry that you haven't gotten anything keeping you away from making stupid choices," Mott said, tapping Roden's head. "Jaron's rubbed off on you."

"Ah, well, I need to learn all that I can about the Faola, and Jolly is our best bet," Roden said, strapping a plate of armor to each of his legs.

The tent he and Mott were sheltered in was blindingly hot.

The armor Roden put on made the heat nearly unbearable.

"You're sure you're going to be alright?" asked Mott as he shoved a helmet in Roden's direction.

He shrugged, "There's danger in everything I do."

It wasn't his first time using a lance, he'd trained for several months after he realized the value in being able to wield a lance while in a battle. Roden knew the risks and he knew the rules.

But a splintering lance was far different from a sword.

A splintering lance might not hit you directly, but chances were high that a piece of wood could lodge itself in your face or neck.

Not an enjoyable way to die. . . Not that dying is something to be enjoyed.

Roden pulled the helmet on over his head, and slid the visor up, "Would you give me a favor of yours to carry with me?"

"No."

"Please?"

"Absolutely not."

"Please remember my name if I fall on this lovely afternoon," Roden joked, slamming the visor over his face.

Mott scowled, "You're not going to die, and if you do, it means you're awful at jousting."

"I suppose I have to win now so I can prove you wrong."

"I'm concerned, were you not planning on winning in the first place?"

"There's always a chance at losing, but I try not to let that be an option. This will be over soon, my friend," Roden's voice was muffled behind the helmet. "We'll meet at the tavern this evening, Jolly said he'd be waiting there."

The sound of trumpeters shook the summer air. Mott frowned, and held the tent flap open for Roden, silent and disapproving as he almost always was. However, he did clap Roden's armored shoulder and whispered a few words of luck before he made his way to the stands.

Children waved multicolored flags at him, Roden waved back.

Ah, how he'd dreamed of taking up a lance.

Jolly's rider, the man Roden was replacing, was an older knight named Cronnach Nyrsate. Sir Nyrsate's coat of arms had been painted onto a wooden shield and leaned against the judges' box. . . Which usually sat Jaron, Imogen, the Prime Regent, and three other guests.

It was a surprise to see Jaron holding Imogen's hand in their seats and not off causing trouble. Harlowe sat next to them.

Saints, it would be humiliating if Roden lost in front of his father.

Sir Nyrsate's horse was supposed to be ridden for the match, but Roden had just enough time to pull enough strings and get his own horse armored and ready to go.

That would give him a slight advantage. His horse, a gift from Bymar, was massive. Bred specifically for war. It made the rider taller, never stopped, and brought a crushing power that rivaled all other warhorses.

It was a little frustrating, however, to see Roden's horse bearing the Nyrsate coat of arms rather than the Harlowe coat of arms.

Roden swung up into the saddle. . .

And finally allowed himself a look at his opponent.

He didn't recognize the coat of arms, nor did he recognize the horse. All Roden saw was a large man in battle scarred armor, which would've been painted black at one point. A red plum erupted from his helmet.

Definitely more than a little intimidating.

Jaron stood up, and raised his hands out to the stands full of festival goers. Roden was too far away to hear anything.

Not that he would've been able to hear anything anyways.

He was far too focused on his opponent.

"Sir! Sir Nyrsate!" Bellowed a flock of snot nosed teenagers, street rats, and esteemed young heirs to noble houses.

Roden waved a hand at them, he couldn't speak now. He needed to focus.

"Ah, good sir!" Shouted a man over the roar of the crowd. Jaron must've said something funny. The man waved his hands. "Sir!"

Roden squinted, Jolly was there to see him off.

"Good luck," called Jolly as he launched himself over the barrier keeping the viewers out. A girl followed behind. "Me and Merry came to give you a send off, and the kids of course, you simply have to let them send you off."

"A favor for you, sir knight," Merry bowed deeply, retrieving a dirty blue scarf from the front of her gown as she did so. She tied it to Roden's right wrist before stepping back to help several members of Roden's screaming fans over the side of the fence.

"Remember, if you knock him off his horse, it's an instant win," Jolly patted Roden's thigh, and hefted a lance over to him.

"I know the rules," Roden huffed as he tucked the lance under his arm.

A page stepped out from Jaron's box, holding out a flag like a sword.

The flag went up.

Roden charged forwards, a small band of children howling as they chased him and his horse for several feet.

All he had to do was aim for the center, lower the lance, and hold firm.

Inhale.

Exhale.

The crowd began to scream the second a lance cracked-

Stars blurred across Roden's vision.

He missed!

Saints, he hoped Mott didn't see that. Jolly's concerned face from the crowd didn't help, Merry was the one to get him a new lance.

Flag up, screaming children, crowd cheering.

Roden missed again.

It took three points to win a match. Points were earned when a lance was broken or a rider was toppled. One point for each broken lance, and so far, Roden hadn't broken any of his.

He was two points down.

One point away from losing.

Anger burst through his lungs.

How could he have been so stupid!? Signing up for a joust! He'd never ridden in front of so many screaming civilians before!

The children who'd been chasing at him clamored for his attention, but they backed away the second he didn't say anything.

"Lean in the saddle," Merry said as she handed Roden a fresh lance. She patted his horse's shoulder, "I know you're fierce, unhorse him and that's a match."

"I've never done this before," Roden confessed, unsure if she'd heard him over the roar of the crowd.

"You've done it twice just now, third time's the charm. Go on, don't let Jolly down. Or me. You're wearing my favor, and everybody in town knows that it's mine. You'll damage my reputation."

"I'm so sorry about your reputation."

"As you should! Be more sorry about your reputation, sir knight!" Merry shot back, her hands on her hips. "Are you so quick to give up?!"

The crowd screamed, Roden jolted to attention.

His opponent charged early, ready to finish the match off.

Merry cried out, and slapped out at Roden's horse's flank, causing the mighty beast to rear up.

Roden shouldered the lance, forcing the horse in a straight path down the arena.

Lean in the saddle

He could hear Merry's words ringing in his head.

Time seemed to slow around him as he blocked out everything save for the man barreling towards him. The crowd's screams were muffled.

Like they were shrieking underneath a pond's surface.

Lean in the saddle.

The rider was coming closer and closer to him.

Roden gripped the lance and-

Wood splintered.

The unmistakable sound of metal colliding with the solid ground cut through the muffled noises.

He was still in the saddle, holding a shattered lance.

Roden was still in his saddle.

He'd made a hit!

Instantly, Roden turned his horse around itself, and held up the broken lance to Merry and Jolly. His opponent was being dragged out of the arena by his foot. Pages chased the runaway horse. Mott was standing among the crowd, his hands above his head.

"That was amazing!" Jolly shrieked as he ran to Roden. "Knocked him clean off!"

A trail of all sorts of children, the ones who'd chased Roden down the arena, came flooding, waving their banners and shouting for "Sir Nyrsate's" attention.

"You better pay up," Roden said, tossing the broken lance to the ground.

The children all scrambled for it.

"Oh, I will, I promise I will," Jolly vowed, grabbing Merry by the shoulders to plant kisses all over her face. "Dear Saints, I've won too much money."

"Don't gamble on drunks ever again," Merry snapped as she shoved Jolly away from her.

"Oh, I won't, I promise I won't."

Roden was certain that he and Merry were thinking the same thing: Jolly would certainly go on to bet on more drunks.

But perhaps it was worth it.

After all, Roden received his chance to ride in a jousting tournament.

And he'd guaranteed an opportunity to learn more about the Faola.

It wouldn't be long before he caught them.

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: Avengers #208: Eve of Destruction!

June, 1981

“From eons past comes the world’s most savage warrior... THE BERSERKER LIVES AGAIN!”

So this is the Berserker!

Hm. He looks somewhat less impressive as some Roman looking dude as opposed to a shambling vaguely human shape of rock and undying fury.

But I’ll give him a chance to impress in the actual book.

So last time: Wonder Man was working on a cowboy movie, badly, when he got the Avengers call that it was Avengers time. A new island had appeared in the middle of the Mediterranean and the only inhabitant, the Shadow Lord, made the US navy look like fool chumps. The Shadow Lord captured Wonder Man’s publicist Rachel Palmer and explained his whole backstory to her.

That his people the Earth Lords moved to an island, mastered the four elements, and became very concerned with an immortal Berserker so hit him in the face with a volcano. But since it was a dick move to wipe out several towns to get one guy, the Earth Lords disbanded except for Shadow Lord who had to stand watch for two thousand years in case the Berserker came back. And then the Berserker came back.

Instead of fighting the Berserker, Shadow Lord ends up fighting the Avengers a lot and then they beat up his city and then he dies. He wasted his entire life but he feels pretty okay with leaving his responsibilities to them.

This time: world’s oldest man causes problems on purpose.

He’s spry though.

And apparently between issues he chipped off all the rock, found a shield and spear, and also murdered an entire regiment. He’s been very productive between issues.

But he’s got more murder to do because he’s got to show off his sick skills before the Avengers show up so that its more impressive when they survive his sick skills, unlike all these poor dead Italian army people.

So he’s being attack by tanks and planes. And that just makes him scoff at the cowards attacking him with projectiles. Scoff in English.

I don’t know how he knows modern English. The Shadow Lord explicitly learned English out of Rachel Palmer’s brain to explain how he could speak it and then next issue, a guy that’s been buried under rock for two thousand years just pops out speaking English.

If both of them had spoken English with no explanation, I wouldn’t have even noticed. Comics be like that. Aliens speak English.

Anyway, his shield has an aura that turns metal to dust before it even strikes it. So he blocks a cannon shell without much fuss. And the plane on a strafing run gets his spear, which flies up and slices it in two. And then he pulls out what he calls a Cerellian power-sword and swings it, releasing a searing beam of energy which rips open the ground a hundred yards away to bury some tanks.

So he was buried in lava while carrying some sweet gear, apparently.

And it is very sweet gear. But the man himself was described as dangerous and dammit I don’t see it yet.

We pivot sharply over to the Avengers on Shadow Lord Island where the Shadow Lord again tells the Avengers to carry on his mission and gives Rachel his necklace before dying again.

And then, because Rachel got the exposition last time but no main characters did, she recaps his deal. Including the part that the Avengers already know, like how they beat him.

This is some clunky exposition but I’m the one who always complains when comics don’t establish enough context for me when I’m picking up random issues in the middle of a story.

Captain America asks Rachel, since she’s the new expositor, who the Berserker is but she decides that can wait. Its much more important to hold a funeral for the Shadow Lord.

And perhaps its the mistimed insistence on due to the dead when they can bury an ancient Avatar after stopping an ostensible threat to the world that explains why the Avengers give the funeral their full passive-aggressive 110%.

So on an island that’s soon to collapse into the sea, Wonder Man finds a rock to use as a headstone, Iron Man digs a grave with his repulsors, Vision carves several slabs of rock, Jocasta fuses them into a coffin, Beast carries the coffin over to the dead Shadow Lord, Captain America puts him in the box, Wasp carves an inscription on the headstone, and Scarlet Witch uses her power to change the probability that the grave won’t fill itself in. Which I find the most passive-aggressive move of all, for some reason.

And then the Avengers all gather around and bid farewell to a man that they accidentally killed.

Only after they’ve done all this does Rachel decide to tell them-

Nope.

After all of that, she says “I could tell you but it will be much clearer if you see it for yourselves... in the pool of memories.”

Ffs, Rachel.

So she takes them to the pool of memories, which was apparently something Shadow Lord showed her how to use off-panel.

Geez, the best stuff keeps happening off-panel.

And luckily, when the Avengers leveled the city, they didn’t quite manage to break the pool of memories. Which isn’t a pool. Its a fancy bowl of water.

There’s no reason why it couldn’t have been a pool, artist Gene Colan.

Or: once it was drawn as a bowl why didn’t you change it to something accurate but still with a cool sounding name? Vessel of Memories. Or Font of Memories. Bam, its a bowl with water in it, intrigue!

Anyway, Rachel dips a finger into the memory water which is definitely not pensieve because it predates it by nearly twenty years. This causes a flashback to queue up in the water and for it to start monologuing directly into the Avengers’ heads.

“What follows was culled from the memories of the Berserker himself. Listen carefully. The fate of the world may depend on it.”

So. Wait.

I know its called the Pool of Memories and I know that the Earth Lords were magic enough to remotely erupt a mountain. But does the Pool of Memories contain all memories in the world? Because that’s fairly impressive and just a bit creepy! Or does it just contain the Berserker’s memories since the Earth Lords were stalking him a little bit? How did they get the memories? Its going to turn out that the memories in the Pool of Memories way predate the Earth Lords so how the heck does this all work??

Come back to life, Shadow Lord, and explain your Font of Exposition!

Anyway.

SO! The Berserker goes back to prehistoric cave man times.

He was the sole survivor of a war party against another tribe and he had to run from them and was cornered near the “Cave of Glowing Walls.” Which is a cave. Which had glowing walls.

None who entered had ever returned but between the being beaten to death by clubs that you know and the death you don’t, Pre-Berserker picked the unknown.

“His pursuers laughed at his folly as he went into the cave. Inside, he saw the walls themselves emitting a horrible, unearthly light -- and the reamins of all those who had preceded him.”

“Within moments he too was felled by the lethal glow. He felt the life draining from him. But he did not die there. He was different from the others. Slowly, tortuously, he crawled to safety.”

“His nearly lifeless body tumbled down the rocky slope outside the cave... only to arise hours later, now surging with incredible power -- power bestowed upon him inside the cave of glowing walls!"

Okay. So. At this point I have to ask.

Is this just Vandal Savage? Is this one of those serial number filed off things so the Avengers can fight Vandal Savage?

Anyway, Pre-Berserker brushed himself up, marched right back to that enemy tribe, and killed the entire thing. For the cave also filled him with an unquenchable fury.

An unquenchable, undying fury.

Because he stopped aging.

And because he was always being extremely pissed and killing, people started calling him the Berserker.

And one day, much, much later, he was doing his favorite activity of killing in the city of Sumer when he caught the eye of a nobleman who thought to offer him money for him to kill specific people.

This turned the Berserker’s life around. It had never occurred to him that killing people was a career.

From that point on, he had direction to his life. He wandered the world as a mercenary and apparently was there and shaped history.

He helped set up the dynasties of the pharaohs. Helped with Alexander the Great’s conquests. But it gets even more bonkers.

His reputation became so great that actual factual aliens from another world showed up to hire him.

“At first he cringed in superstitious fear before these alien creatures... But once in battle he discovered that he enjoyed killing foes there as much as back on Earth... a feeling that would be oft-repeated as his exploits took him to scores of other worlds. The destinies of empires -- of entire planetary systems were decided by who hired him first.”

Been there, shaped history. IN SPAAAAAAAAACE.

And his space jobs paid him in sweet gear. And now we know where he got his sweet gear.

What I don’t understand is why he went back to Earth at all?

Yes, he probably could have conquered the Earth with all his sweet space gear. Maybe probably. Marvel’s kitchen sink goes back a long way. Turns out there was a Ghost Rider who ghost rode a flaming mammoth.

But either way, the guy didn’t have the ambition to do that. He was perfectly happy as long as someone paid him to murder people. Preferably in sweet gear that helped him more efficiently murder people.

He comes back to Earth and joins the Roman legions but why? He got to travel planet to planet to different battlefields and shape empires that spanned star systems. Shouldn’t Earth feel kind of small after that?

But he has to be on Earth and joining the Roman legions otherwise how could the Earth Lords get wind of him and scheme to hit him in the face with a volcano.

That was established last time so now we need him to reach that point. Even though the newly established intermediate points make that endpoint suddenly weird.

But it be like that sometimes.

The Font of Exposition runs out of backstory just as the city runs out of ‘still existing.’

So the Avengers and Rachel rush into the Quinjet and fly away just as the city falls apart into the sea.

Gosh, I’m sure glad we spent time doing an elaborate funeral for Shadow Lord when his grave is now spilling into the ocean.

Rachel gets frustrated that all the evidence for this scoop that she rushed into danger for just sank and that she’s going to be a publicist for bad movies forever.

Simon “Wonder” Williams counters with ‘hey at least you’ll still have a job’ considering he bailed on filming to go do superhero stuff.

And indeed we see Merriwether T. Fenniwell, telegram man, delivering a telegram to Avengers Mansion.

“Mr. Williams.

Due to unexplained absence from set of Guns of the Gunman you have been replaced. Find yourself another job and another agent.

Sid Sterling

Star-Maker”

Your mistake there was not telling anyone you were going and why, Simon. You possibly would have been fired anyway. But you only have yourself to blame for not even making an attempt. Geez.

Anyway, don’t feel too bad for Simon. Back on the Quinjet he’s apologizing for being rude to Rachel on the set, saying he was just frustrated with his own lousy acting.

And Rachel slips her hotel key into his pocket and tells him to make it up to her by coming by for dinner.

The original plan was to drop Rachel off at the film set before going to look for the Berserker but whoops, they find him first.

“The Avengers gaze in awe at the scene of carnage and devastation below them -- a scene reminiscent of war or natural disaster. But this bloody tableau was crafted by no clash of armies nor by earthquake or flood. It was created by... the Beserker!”

When they find him he seems to be digging a hole in the ground with his super space spear.

Logically, Beast and Iron Man knock him into the hole.

That’s the smart move, right?

No.

The Berserker had been digging up a space chariot pulled by space robot horses. And I like to think that the Avengers knocked him right into it.

I do wonder about how the chariot ended up buried and how the Berserker found it so quick. I’m not worried about how it still functions perfectly after two thousand years. It be like that in comics.

Anyway, the space chariot has more to recommend it than just not having to feed or maintain it for two thousand years. Its also got a demon mouth carved in the back that leaves a trail of fire as the chariot flies. Yeah, also its a flying chariot.

And its not mundane hot fire. Its force field space cold fire. Uh, so basically think the tron light cycle walls.

Because the Berserker flies circles around the Avengers to enclose them in a cage of non-burning fire.

The fire does still consume oxygen and apparently the fire cage is air tight so its going to burn up all the oxygen inside and asphyxiate the Avengers.

Well, Vision and Jocasta will be fine. Oh, and Iron Man. He has his own built-in respiration system. But the rest will die and that’s a bummer.

THANKFULLY IRON MAN IS WONDERFULLY AND BIZARRELY PREPARED FOR THIS EXACT SCENARIO.

If this specific ability ever comes up again, I’m going to lose my shit because its so specifically tailored to this plot. I love Iron Man’s ridiculous swiss-army armor sometimes.

So you know his shoulders? Those things on top of his arms? Kind of a raised area on his armor?

Those are apparently epaulets and they’re ‘break shoulder in case of asphyxiation emergency.’ He rips them right off to pull out two emergency oxygen cylinders.

The idea is that the breathing Avengers will pass the two cylinders around judiciously and hopefully they’ll last long enough between everyone that the fire cage will burn itself out.

Which does happen. Good job, Iron Man.

Meanwhile, Berserker has scooped up Rachel because “this woman is but a reward that is a great warrior’s due.” Yeah, he’s that kind of immortal guy from prehistoric times. And also he’s been under rock for two thousand years.

Rachel protests being damseled, which honestly two times in as many issues isn’t great, but Berserker is like ‘hush i’m working’ and then he blows up St. Giovanna’s Cathedral, just because he can. And then he blows up a town, off-panel, to reveal a secret city that Caesar built to honor him.

Geez. How much stuff does he have buried around here?

The Berserker lands his space chariot and decides that two thousand year is a long enough vacation so he needs to get back to his work because if you love what you do, truly you’ll never work a day in your immortality.

Berserker: “The instruments of war may change over the centuries, but the nature of man never does! I shall easily sell my services -- as always -- the the highest bidders. Then will the land be once again awash with the blood of millions that will fall under my sword... and once again the planet -- nay the entire universe -- will know and fear the greatest warrior that ever lived!”

Like I said, he loves what he does. And is probably the best at what he does and it ain’t pretty?

He also tells Rachel to go inside this building that's been buried underground for two thousand years and put on some proper raiment.

I gave the space chariot a pass. It’s from space. But Rachel finds and puts on a dress that should have decayed a very long time ago. Is it a space dress? Its probably a space dress.

But the space dress decolletage prompts the Berserker to notice and recognize the necklace Shadow Lord gave Rachel.

When Rachel tells him how she came about them, Berserker is like ‘lol eat shit the Earth Lords, mine now’ and steals the necklace from Rachel to wear for himself.

And then the Avengers show up for some more action sequences.

Or, lets be honest, more chances for the Berserker to show off his sweet space gear.

He blows up the ground beneath the Avengers’ feet with his power sword, sending several tumbling into the Earth.

When Iron Man rays him with a repulsor, the Berserker smirkingly no-sells it, informing Iron Man that his fancy armor is actually fancy space armor.

Berserker: “Ha! The tyrants of Aturak IV built this armor to withstand a proton cannon. ... Surely it can handle the bite of a mosquito!”

Geez, not just repulsors, he’s also proofed against Iron Man’s mightiest weapon?

And then he follows it up by throwing a dagger at Vision. Vision scoffs that he’ll just go intangible and let the blade pass through. But, of course, its a space dagger, from the Arkossian system.

It sticks in intangible Vision and starts draining his energy.

For not knowing anything about the Avengers, he’s doing a good job at making them all look like chumps, with sweet space gear that seems selected to thwart them.

And that’s part of writing a credible threat, I suppose. Having said threat able to pose a decent challenge. But playground style ‘I do this’ ‘Nuh uh, my guy is immune’ doesn’t always make enthralling fight scene.

Anyway, speaking of selectively thwarted, Iron Man finds himself magnetized to Berserker’s shield. And whatever metal approaches Berserker’s shield must yield.

It has that metal disintegrating aura and apparently magnets.

Iron Man manages to pull away somehow, but the shield short-circuits one of his power pods (those roundy things on his hips) which knocks the armored Avenger unconscious.

And then! To add insult to injury! Berserker’s shield magnetically steals from his pocket the hotel key Rachel gave Wonder Man and disintegrates it. Guess Wonder Man isn’t getting lucky tonight.

But he is having an idea. One of those epiphany ideas where an unrelated but thematically similar or adjacent happenstance or utterance makes you figure out the whole thing.

A key happening reminds him of how the Shadow Lord could unlock a Shadow World and would not that imply a key?

So while Wasp does Berserker the first injury this whole fight by zapping him in the face (and then getting swatted, alas) Wonder Man grabs for the necklace Berserker took from Rachel.

Wonder Man tries to figure out how the pyramidal amulets on the necklace fit together but gets sword smacked by Berserker who doesn’t appreciate someone tugging on his new bling.

But the Avengers pull off some good teamwork combo attack.

Wanda uses her powers to make the probability that some columns will fall over be 100%. Captain America throws his mighty shield and the Berserker yields right into the path of the falling column. And Jocasta melts the falling column to try to cover him in molten rock, which is the one thing they know works.

But I suppose that a mere falling melting column doesn’t compare to an entire volcano or maybe he spent those 2,000 years thinking of exactly what to do in this situation. Because Berserker swings his sword above his head, diverting the molten rock away from him.

And then Berserker drags Jocasta into his metal disintegrating shield for trying to give him a hot shower.

He’s apparently familiar with or at least not too surprised at the concept of robots. He’s been to space, after all.

He also decides that rather than hold her against the shield until she completely disintegrates, that he’ll dunk her in the molten rock she had tried to use on him.

Beast finally climbs out of the hole that I assume he’s been in this whole time and tries to tackle Berserker but the guy just slams Beast into Scarlet Witch.

And now its just Captain America vs Berserker. Which of course means that Captain America is going to make a Thing of it.

Captain America: “Alright mister -- it’s just you and me now. And so long as one Avenger stands -- we’re not defeated.”

He kicks the energy space power sword out of Berserker’s grasp to Berserker’s surprise but Cap notes to himself that doing so sent a shock from the sword through his boot. Guess his soles aren’t rubber.

And since Cap got to say a cool thing, so does Berserker. Although substitute ‘cool’ for ‘kinda hurtful.’

Berserker: “Bah! A weapon is only need to battle a true warrior -- you are certainly less than that!”

And then Berserker slams his shield into Cap’s head, knocking him out. How ironic. He who lived by the shield was knocked out by the shield. Really makes you think.

Now all the Avengers lie sprawled unconscious at Berserker’s feet. And now that they’re unconscious, he can actually walk back some of the smack talk.

Berserker: “In truth, they were fine warriors but even they were nothing next to my power!”

I had been wondering. I wouldn’t think that he’d have fought many people like the Avengers in the past times. Maybe IN SPACE. You got the Kree and the Shi’ar up there.

Anyway, when I said that all the Avengers lie sprawled unconscious, I spoke in error.

Wasp was only stunned and now she’s been overlooked what with all the full-sized people lying about.

Her strategy now that she’s alone on the battlefield with the guy is... she flies up to him and zaps him in the face.

You did that last time, Wasp! And like last time, he just whaps you out of the air! With his hand this time, not a space energy power sword. But then he decides to step on you, deciding that she’ll be the first of the Avengers to die.

Yeah, he doesn’t seem much for the ‘they were honorable foes, I’ll let them go so I can fight them again.’

However, now Wonder Man is up and he rushes Berserker to grab at the necklace again.

Berserker unveils one more sweet space gear. He grabs Wonder Man’s wrists and uses his gauntlets to sap his strength. So even though Wonder Man has super strength (that whole thing about how he punches as hard as Thor’s hammer hits), he’s getting weaker and Berserker is getting stronger.

But in a very comic booky way, he summons up all his remaining strength for one last effort.

Wonder Man breaks Berserker’s grip and grabs the necklace. This time he manages to make the pyramid go into the other pyramid, pulling the wearer -- Berserker -- into the Shadow World.

Wasp recovers one more time and since she half knows whats going on, decides to make it so that the trip is one way.

She blasts the necklace, shattering the pyramids so that it can’t be used again.

Berserker: “I’m disappearing... this cannot be... the Berserker cannot be beaten...”

And then he’s gone. Never to darken Earth’s doorstep again. Trapped forever alone in an empty the shadow realm.

Yeah, this was his only appearance. Kind of a shame. I don’t think he’s a unique villain but he was fun. Being a long-ago sealed evil that doesn’t even really want to take over the world, just get paid, gets bonus points from me. Its less generic, anyway. Plus, he had an absurd arsenal and his limited ambition means he’d have been great muscle for another villain.

Not sure I buy him as a threat to the whole world but he’ll do a lot of damage on the way.

Both him and the Shadow Lord were almost too interesting to be one and dones.

Anyway. I can’t get over what Wasp says when Wonder Man congratulates her for figuring out his plan to trap the Berserker.

Wasp: “I’m glad I helped... but I’ll never forgive myself for destroying such a beautiful piece of jewelry.”

Sure, Jan.

Anyway, when the rest of the Avengers wake up, Wonder Man explains it all. How he figured out that the necklace was a key from what the Shadow Lord said when he gave it to Rachel and that the Shadow Lord entered the dimension at sunrise so logically the gate could only be reopened at sunset (???? how did he figure this out? And also what? And why?).

Since he apparently had to run out the clock, he used his unholy ... ACTING TALENT to take a dive when Berserker clocked him and then pretended to be knocked out while the rest of the team got the shit beaten out of them and almost died. “Luckily for us all, it worked.”

Wonder Man: “Too bad Mr. Bertolini wasn’t here to see it. It was the best acting I ever did!”

Rachel: “You sure had me fooled, Simon. Maybe there’s hope for you yet.”

Oh. So. I guess the scene at the movie set was to set up this... character arc? For Wonder Man. That he’d learn to do an acting and use it to resolve the conflict.

The dramatic irony though is that his ass is fired off that movie for leaving to go on this journey of self-discovery slash fighting some ancient dudes.

Oof.

Follow @essential-avengers​ if you think acting is just as important as lasers in being a superhero. Or for other reasons. I’m not picky. Like, reblog, comment. These are also actions. That are important to being a superhero. Maybe.

[worddonor]

I can’t wait...

...to take my last breath.

I'll ask for forgiveness first of course. I'm hoping the Lord let's me in the gate, even if it's the side gate. All sin is sin, my heart is stone, but I hope the Lord saw that there was a time when I gave Him all I could. I hope He doesn't forget me even after I kept screwing up...over and over and over again.

I hope He remembers me.

Until then I'll let life take me where it takes me. I've lost all agency. I'm not mentally or motivationally equipped to thrive, I know, "It's not the hand you're dealt it's how you play your cards," and all of that, but what happens when you literally are incapable of visualizing a world where your achievements are anything more than "meh"?

It's like there's this wall I can't break through...this wall of doubt and fear that says whatever I attempt is destined to fail and make a fool out of me. It glares down at me everytime an opportunity arises. You know, a chance to take the unexpected road and show what I can do.

It scoffs and laughs, "You know you're gonna @#$% that up right? Come on, stop playing yourself: you're a lazy, slow a$%-hat stop play-acting like you some kinda hero. Get the #$&! outta here, God knows you suck too, that's why you don't hear His voice anymore: He done up and left, He gave up: too busy attending to his real kids, the true believers, the move-makers. He ain't got time for a nobody. He lied. He will leave you and He will forsake you, He left His OWN SON to suffer on the cross. How the hell do you think He'll piss away time waiting for you to get a clue? Wake up fool, get moving or get out the way...move @%#$^ get out the way, get out the way #,$%&, get out the way!"

Bladdie wall.

Each time there's an opportunity to do a good thing, my icebox heart makes the wrong choice, the anxiety wells up and the cooler box in my chest makes another excuse and shows my true colours. I'm just a dirty, rotten scoundrel who really just wants people to think well of me without me actually having done anything to earn that respect. What I'm doing isn't good enough, it never was and will never be. I could really give this thing a go, step out of my comfort zone and try! I really could you know, give living the old, "college try!" I just can't see how I'll manage to do that consistently, day in and day out. It's exhausting and feels disingenuous like who am I kidding right? It's just a matter of time before they figure out that I don't really care and that I'm a selfish psycho anyway - I do good sometimes just to give the impression of care, but fail to keep it up. Even my sadness isn't consistent, overall maybe, but day-to-day: some days I'm downright joyful and awesome to be around (possibly only when with my fam or close cousins)! The rest of the time......eish.

There is a sliver of something that makes me think, "Man, I know in another universe if I didn't hate myself maybe I could've been something. Maybe. I could've been a...........[ insert embarrassing dream here too embarrassing to share even with you ], brave and forgiving....forgiving of others and myself."

Anyway, that's a dream for another life.

Thanks for listening distant angels of the sweet interwebs. It's been real and a rollercoaster journey. If something good does come of the years I have left to live then this 8-year long blog detailing my wilderness experience will be a time capsule testimony to it and if Tumblr and the web in this form still exists in the future: best believe I'll direct unbelievers right to here. I'm talking especially to the young / old and afraid, the anxious and the lonely, the self-loathers and the hopeless: if you were directed here by me, there's hope friend. If you weren't: I'm either long dead or living a small, anonymous life somewhere out there in the ether.

Like I've heard so often said in films or shows I've seen: I write to have some record that I was here, that I existed and that I died as that will probably be the only legacy I leave behind. Sometimes people don't live extraordinary lives, but memories of who they were and traces of their personality or spirit live on in the stories, bodies and minds of their kin / offspring. What will be said of mine other than I was here and then I was no more?

Time for this mixed up South African male to say, "Peace out," for the last time.

Hope to catch you in the upper room some day.

Be well friend,

From the guy who never grasped how to love or be loved.

[imjust-a-survivor]

Guilty Pleasures; A Sith!Obi x Anakin fic

So uhh.. Hey. I haven’t written anything in like three years so please be gentle. I made a “quick” (lol not really) sith!obi obikin fic for @closertosin 

Happy Valentine’s Day you gay, gay man.

~~~~

"I cannot believe they sent me on such a lousy mission like this. This is beginners work, Artoo. Not a mission I should be given. They really don't trust me with the REAL missions, don't they?" Anakin spat and sighs then pat the droid's head softly. The droid beeped and Anakin chuckled, "Yeah, maybe I can just finish this up and relax for the rest of the night." The young man motioned his hand to make the droid stay at the ship, silently the droid moved back to the ship and Anakin put his hood up and silently walked away.

He was sent on a mission to see if an outside rumor was true; If some of Dooku's troops were indeed located at a certain hideout. It wasn't a wise choice if he was indeed located here. It was a huge city filled with plenty of people, old droids and the sort. Then again, they could blend in but on the other hand, they would stick out like a sore thumb if there were Jedi around.

If he saw them, he has to evacuate immediately. He would contact the Council and get backup. That was it. But Anakin of course, wanted to get this done and over with. Perhaps even get info where Dooku was hiding from them... Who was he kidding? Maybe he wasn't that experienced just yet and even he knew that.

Anakin silently walked in the alleyways of the city and was close to the rumored place where Dooku's troops were hiding. He pressed his back against the cold wall and peeked through the window slightly, looking around for the troops.

Nothing.

"I knew not to trust those rumors. They are so paranoid..." Anakin sighed and looked away from the window, "I should just head back. This is stupid..." Anakin turned on his heels and started to head back to the way he came from.

"What is a young one like you doing in a dark alley like this?" An unfamiliar voice spoke. Anakin paused, his hand twitching over his saber.

Anakin slowly turned around and saw a hooded man all in black. The neon lights of the city illuminated a little bit of the man's face, revealing a quite dashing man except for those golden eyes. Something wasn't right. He could feel a certain uneasy feeling about this man.

Wait.

He felt like he has seen this man before. But... where?  

Oh.

He remembered now.

"Sith Lord." Anakin spoke and took out his saber swiftly and the hum of the saber echoed in the alley. This was the Sith Lord under Count Dooku. He saw him in a recent file that the Council shared a while ago.

The Sith Lord sighed, "Really? A Jedi here? All that hang around here are pirates and goons"

Anakin stood his ground. He was ready to attack, "Yeah, you fit right in, don't you?"

The Sith Lord looked at Anakin and shook his head, "The fear in you is almost intoxicating..."

"Shut up!" Anakin interrupted, "You're working for Dooku! You're coming with me!"

The Sith Lord cracked a smile, "Oh? You think I'll follow you? You think you can force me?" He sighed and waved his fingers slightly and sent Anakin flying against the wall, dropping his saber.

That hurt.

The Sith Lord walked over to Anakin and kneeled down, lifting Anakin's chin up to look directly at him.

Anakin's heart began to race as he saw the man's face. He looked more attractive up close. No, he shouldn't think this. He needs to get his lightsaber and finish this. He could do it. Easy. Just slice him in half, right here, right now.  

"Don't try it." The Sith Lord smirked. Anakin froze. Did he read his thoughts? No. What is going on?

"Your anger and fear are strong, young one..." The Sith Lord smiled. Anakin struggled to get out of his grip, the force was too strong and was holding him down.

"Stop referring me as that. I’m not some kid, I'm not scared of you." Anakin glared, still trying to fight back. His heart was racing even more, if it continued at this rate his heart would probably burst right there. Maybe that would be a better death than this Sith Lord killing him.

The Sith Lord stood back up and crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at Anakin.

"Go back to your Temple, Jedi. You shouldn't be here. You'll be killed." the man smirked. Anakin felt anger boiling inside of him. This man was testing his patience.

"This isn't a fair fight and you know it! Let me actually fight you!" Anakin began to yell now, "Give me my lightsaber and see who will win!" He needed to shut up. Right now.

The Sith Lord shook his head, "No. If we ended up doing that, I would kill you. I don't want to do that... I want to keep you alive."

Anakin glared at the man, "...What?"  

The man grinned slightly, twisting his mustache, "I want to train you. I see potential in you that I do not think anyone else sees in you. I want you to become my apprentice." The man walked over and picked up Anakin's lightsaber then turned back at Anakin, "Have you ever felt... there was something the Jedi 'Masters' never told you? That there was more than what you've been taught? Because there is so much more that you do not even realize."

Anakin felt a chill up his spin. He has been feeling curious about it all recently. That there had to be more than this. He knew there had to be but it was frowned upon. It was the Dark Side.

Anakin gulped nervously.

"I can teach you the ways that were meant to be taught about the Force." The Sith Lord put his hand on Anakin's cheek. Anakin could get lost in those golden eyes of his...

He looked away, finally gaining back some control again. "I'm not listening to you. You're a Sith Lord." Anakin growled, "Let me go already this is getting old!"

The man sighed and waved his fingers, slamming Anakin against the wall again, "This is getting ridiculous. Why are you fighting it?"

Anakin winced and looked back at the hooded man.

"I. Have. To." Anakin gained control of his arm and reached out for his lightsaber but the man had a firm grip on the saber and it wouldn't budge at all.

"Join me." The man said and walked over to Anakin and put Anakin's hood down, "Join me, Anakin."

Anakin froze.

Shit. He knew exactly who he was but... how?

The man grinned, "You don't recognize me, Ani? I suppose it has been a few years."

"I know you're a Sith Lord working under Dooku. I know that!" Anakin spoke.

"Does... Obi-Wan ring any bells? Though that name I haven't even mentioned in a very long time." The man spoke softly now, "My... have you become a strong, dashing young man since I last saw you. Shame that you are still blind under orders from... Them."

"I don't know what you are talking about!" Anakin yelled.

"Kenobi."

Anakin froze.

Wait.

That same Kenobi?

"..." Anakin tried to speak but was overwhelmed with clashing words and feelings all at once. Kenobi. Obi-Wan Kenobi. The same one from all those years ago that he met back on that stupid planet of his where he was just a slave, a nobody. Qui-Gon Jinn and Kenobi went on that planet for spare parts and Anakin was brought by them by the end of their mission by chance. When he saw Kenobi for the first time, he thought that young man was an angel. He looked up to him and dreamed about him ever since. When he heard that Kenobi disappeared, everyone assumed that man was dead. But Anakin kept dreaming of him as if he was still alive... Yet here he was again standing before him. He didn’t even recognize him anymore.

"So, you... joined the Dark Side? Even under Master Qui-Gon Jinn?!" Anakin felt his emotions arising, he needed to calm down.

"He didn't see what I saw. He never understood it..." Kenobi sighed, "But you... You, Anakin, I know you will understand! I was the same as you once. Following orders blindly, not realizing what was truly out there." He reached his hand out to Anakin, "Join me, Anakin. Please." There was almost a desperate tone in Kenobi's voice.

Anakin looked down; this was the man he had so many dreams of. The man he idolized right in front of him; a Sith Lord. He felt sickened and tried not to be persuaded by the overwhelming dark aura, it was intoxicating.

He was intoxicating. He wanted more.

"...I don't know." Anakin whispered, he felt uneasy, confused... Why is he even considering this? He should know better than this!

Kenobi sighed, "Maybe this will help you decide." Kenobi raised Anakin's chin and began to kiss him softly. Anakin, without even a second thought, kissed back. Without even realizing, Anakin moved his arms to bring Kenobi's face closer to his. He wanted more.

He wanted him.

Kenobi parted and rubbed his thumb softly over Anakin's lips, smiling, "You have no idea how strong you truly are, Anakin..."

Anakin snapped back into realization; he was free from Kenobi's grip. Was this him alone or was Kenobi playing around with him?

The young man stood up and winced, suddenly remembering that he was thrown against the wall twice.

"Give me my lightsaber, now." Anakin frowned and reached out again. Kenobi looked at him, "Will you join me if I let you have it back?"

"Give me my LIGHTSABER!" Anakin began to yell angrily, "I'm going to take you back and find Dooku and this whole war will be over!"

Kenobi sighed and put his hand over his forehead, "Anakin... stop fighting it and join it already. I know you felt something just now."

He wasn't wrong. He did feel something, he felt himself wanting more of what just happened but he knows it was against the Jedi Code to have connections like this; especially with a Sith Lord of all people.

Anakin tightened his fist; he couldn't let him get in his head like this.

"Anakin, please." There it was again. The desperation in his voice.  

Anakin looked down and dropped to his knees.

Get up. He told himself. But he just couldn’t.

He thought of all the times the Council doubted him. Yelled at him when he spoke. Their eyes looking down on him since he was a child. He thought of all the times he felt unlike the rest. Why he always felt different. The cold eyes, the scoffs, the sighs, the disappointed voices, the “second chances.” The “last chances.” ...

He went quiet.

Kenobi walked up to him and reached out his hand out to him again.

Anakin looked at him. The golden eyes shining in the dark. It was drawing him in again. That feeling swelled up in him again, he wanted more. He wanted acceptance. He wanted to not disappoint anyone anymore. He wanted to know why he was different from the rest. He wanted to know more than he could ever imagine.

He wanted all of this.  

He wanted him.

"Master..." Anakin said. It felt so right saying this. He could say it over and over again.  

Slowly reaching out to Kenobi's hand, Kenobi smiled, "I will not fail you, Anakin."

Anakin couldn't hold it anymore, he let the feelings flood in. He leaned in and kissed Kenobi roughly, he desperately needed this. Kenobi obliged and kissed back, pushing Anakin against the wall once more. His fingers getting tangled in Anakin's hair and tugged ever so slightly. Anakin chuckled - he never felt so alive until this moment.

"I want you." Anakin whispered between kisses, "Right now."

Kenobi chuckled and looked around, "I know a place we can go. Follow me." He took Anakin's hand and quickly took him deeper in the alleyways. They stopped at a rundown old building. The older man opened a door and walked in, Anakin following right after. Kenobi looked around then looked back at Anakin, "Here." He closed the door and locked it.

Anakin looked around; it was a rundown old room but he didn't really care right now. Kenobi took off his robe and Anakin watched quietly, the way he just dropped his robe was almost... graceful? He was gorgeous, even far more handsome than he remembered in his dreams. Anakin couldn't help but to fall to his knees and look up. The aura of this man was drawing him in more and more. It was consuming him.

“Say it again.” Kenobi grinned.

Anakin blinked in confusion, “Say what?”

Kenobi raised an eyebrow and twisted his mustache again, smirking slightly.  

“Think, Anakin. What did you call me?”

Anakin gulped, “...Master?” Once again, it slipped off the tongue so easily.  

Kenobi grinned and put his foot on Anakin’s chest and pushed him back a little, “Yes that, my apprentice.”

Anakin’s face began heating up, he never realized he would be in this situation. He is about to get laid by a Sith Lord, Force have mercy on him. But he did say he wanted this and god damn, he really was doing this.

Anakin looked at Kenobi’s boot and traced his eyes up back at his face. Looking at all his features. If this was in the Dark Side, he has been missing out.  

Kenobi took his foot off of Anakin and kneeled down and traced kisses down Anakin’s neck, while doing so, he found his way up Anakin’s tunic. Anakin bit his lip; something was pooling in the pit of his stomach that he never felt before. Anakin slipped out a moan and tilted his head back in pleasure. Kenobi chuckled and nipped Anakin’s neck, he flinched slightly immediately and breathed sharply.  

He closed his eyes and let Kenobi do whatever he wanted to do to him. He was at his mercy; he would do anything he told him to do. He undressed like he was told. He stayed in position like he was told. However, Anakin tried not to moan too loudly during; he failed.  

He was very loud. That was what he was best at, after all.

---

Loud beeps echoed the room, waking up Anakin slowly. The sunlight shined against Anakin’s eyes and he groaned in annoyance, covering his eyes with...a robe? Anakin jerked up suddenly and gasped, “Oh no, Artoo!” He shuffled through his clothes that were everywhere messily on the floor and found the receiver, “Artoo! Come in, Artoo!?”  

Loud beeps in annoyance came from the receiver.  

“I am sorry Artoo, I was uh...” Anakin looked over where he woke up, Kenobi wasn’t there and he sighed and rubbed his temples, “...I was out all night.” Artoo beeped again. Anakin sighed, “No Artoo... I’m not contacting the Council. There’s a change in plans.”  

He remembered last night and sighed again.  

He was in some serious shit.

[victorineb]

A (horribly belated) birthday fic for the incomparable @devereauxsdisease in tribute to her adorable but troublesome muse. Featuring a cannibal with a crush, an elusive profiler, and a tracksuit-wearing hamster named Mads.

Also on AO3.

“Hello, Han… uh, Dr Lecter?”

“I believe first names are acceptable post-midnight, Will. Especially when I am the one rudely encroaching on you in the small hours.”

“Wee hours.”

“Hmm?”

“It’s… doesn’t matter, not important.”

“Forgive me, Will, my grasp of the English idiom slips under stress. It is ‘wee hours’ rather than ‘small hours,’ yes?”

“Uh, yes. Sorry.”

“Nonsense, I prefer to know when a mistake occurs; means I’m unlikely to make it a second time.”

“O… kay. Good. Why are you stressed?”

“Ah, of course, the reason for my call. It’s… in fact it would be easier to show you than to tell you. Could I invite you for breakfast tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I can do that. It’s not… you don’t need me now, do you? I mean, uh, it’s not urgent? I can leave the dogs for a couple of hours if you want, drive over to you.”

“That is extremely kind of you, Will, but entirely unnecessary. Tomorrow will be more than sufficient.”

“Oh. Well, ok, tomorrow then. What time?”

“Shall we say around eight? My appointments don’t start until ten. Are you engaged in teaching tomorrow?”

“Not until the afternoon.”

“Good. I shall see you in the morning then, Will.”

“Yeah. Bright and early.”

“Goodnight, Will.”

“Night, Hannibal.”

“Well…” Will stared into the box, equal parts fascinated and taken aback. “I’ve never seen anything like that. You were right about showing rather than telling.”

Hannibal’s mouth ticked with amusement before settling back into an expression of mild alarm. “Indeed. I really have no idea what to do with it.”

“It?”

Hannibal sighed. “Him, I suppose.”

“So you called me?”

“You are the expert in such things.”

“Dr Lecter, owning dogs does not qualify me to deal with all furry little creatures.” Will tapped on the glass to get the attention of its tiny inhabitant. “And definitely not hamsters dressed in miniature tracksuits.”

Together, Will and Hannibal peered at the furry little newcomer, united in bemusement. In fact, it was less a tracksuit the hamster was wearing, and more a miniature onesie in fire engine red. The three tiny, hand-stitched stripes on each arm marked it out fairly obviously as sportswear, though, and as Will squinted, he was pretty sure he could see a teeny but perfectly-formed Adidas logo. Whoever had supplied the little guy with his wardrobe had clearly been a) a talented tailor, and b) completely insane.

“Well, I suppose it was a long shot,” Hannibal sighed, straightening up. “I can’t help but wonder what I will do now, though. You were my only hope, Will.”

Will scrubbed at the back of his neck and gave a huff of laughter, hoping that the heat he could feel rising beneath his hand wouldn’t make it all the way to his cheeks. “I- uh, I was?”

“My social circle is rather lacking in ‘animal people.’” Will could hear the quotation marks around the last two words and wondered if the dig was at Hannibal’s friends, or just the concept of people who liked animals.

“Alana likes animals, she’s good with my dogs,” he pointed out.

“True, but I happen to know Alana has a phobia of small, furry creatures. Something about ‘dead shark eyes and creepy pink feet,’ if I recall correctly.” Hannibal’s smile was fond and amused, and Will felt a sharp little tug inside himself. He forgot sometimes that Hannibal and Alana were so close, that they had a relationship that preceded his own with either of them. 

“And my own experience with pets was decades ago, in my childhood,” Hannibal added, as though it was an afterthought.

For the first time since he set eyes on the Doctor’s new housemate, Will’s full attention was on Hannibal. In fact, he was pretty much failing not to stare, his jaw dropping a little, to Hannibal’s clear amusement.

“You’re surprised I could care for another living being?”

“No, that’s – Hannibal, no, of course not. I just never took you for a… what did you call it? An ‘animal person.’” Will grinned. “Can’t quite imagine you allowing hair all over your suits, or muddy footprints on your floors.”

Hannibal gave a little huff of amusement. “I suppose that is well-deserved, not to mention true. But there were others to worry about such things when I was young.”

Will was faintly aware that there were shadows lurking in Hannibal’s childhood that he didn’t necessarily want to raise during a friendly breakfast. But the image of little lord – little Count – Hannibal surrounded by a menagerie of exotic animals was irresistible; he had to hear more.

“What did you have? Peacocks? Horses? A herd of elephants?”

“I believe you have me confused with another Hannibal.”

Will grinned, always pleased when Hannibal got his jokes.

“In fact, we had several dogs,” Hannibal continued. “I couldn’t tell you the breed, now, but I recall them being enormous things. Officially meant to be guard dogs but really no more than very spoiled floor pillows that occasionally needed to be walked. They were very well-behaved and affectionate with my sister; I would remember them fondly for that alone.”

Will nodded, wondering dimly if he could bring Abigail to meet his dogs. Perhaps Hannibal could be there too, just the three of them tucked away in Wolf Trap, maybe for a whole weekend if the care home would allow it.

“I have a confession, though,” Hannibal said, his tone lightening into something playful.

“Oh?” Will followed his lead, allowing an insouciant raise of an eyebrow, and dispelling his thoughts about where everyone would sleep in his little house.

“Yes. I’m afraid that, fond of the dogs as I was…” Hannibal tailed off, theatrically drawing out the tension, “…I am more of a cat person.”

“No!” Will exclaimed, mock-wounded, clutching at his chest in a pretence of shock.

“I had hoped to spare you this blow, but I cannot betray the memory of the barn cat who was my best friend as a boy.”

Will could just imagine it, a young, fair Hannibal lying on his back in the warmth of the sun, a book propped against his raised legs and the cat sleeping curled up on his chest. Will felt that same warmth in his chest and he wished a little that he could meet that version of Hannibal, before tragedy had entered his life. He wished he could have known that boy when he was a boy himself.

“And did it have a name, this cat?” he asked, wanting to draw out the story a moment longer.

Hannibal blinked. “Of course. It was called Cat.”

Will couldn’t hold back a snort of laughter. “I should have expected that.”

Hannibal gave him one of those little knowing smiles that alternately endeared and terrified Will, depending on the subject matter. This, fortunately, was one of the not-terrifying versions and Will responded with a smile of his own, before looking back at the hamster, who was currently exploring one of the farther corners of his cage. Farther being the operative word – the thing was, frankly, enormous, split over several levels and fitted with what Will rather suspected was more furniture than he owned himself. There was even, he realised, looking through a luridly pink plastic tube, a hamster-sized hammock suspended from the bars.

It didn’t exactly fit in with Hannibal’s aesthetic. It did look pretty comfy though.

“Ok, look,” Will said, “I really don’t know anything more about hamsters than you, but I’ve probably got more experience in finding pet advice, given that Google hadn’t been invented when you and Cat were hanging out. So why don’t I do some research today, and I’ll come back over tonight and help get the little guy settled?”

“I would appreciate that very much, Will, thank you. Not least because of the chance to see you twice in one day.” He gave Will a look of such open pleasure at the prospect that he had to drop his eyes away to cope with it. He never knew what to do with Hannibal’s displays of friendship – which was bad enough when he was in one of his fancy suits, but now he was standing in his living room, all soft hair and immaculate robe and it was… causing a confusing reaction Will didn’t want to examine too closely. He diverted.

“By the way, what’s his name? Please don’t tell me he’s called Hamster.”

Hannibal smiled. He was doing a lot of that this morning. “Mads,” he said.

“Mass? As in weight? He’s called Fat the Hamster?”

The hamster in question glared at Will as if insulted.

“I don’t believe he appreciated that, Will,” Hannibal scolded, much to Will’s amusement. Defending his pack of one already, it seemed; Will would make an ‘animal person’ out of Dr Lecter yet. “In fact his former owner was of Danish extraction and Mads – spelled M-A-D-S – is a popular name there.”

“A psychiatrist with a hamster named Mads.” Will took care to pronounce it as it was spelled. “How appropriate.”

It was just after six when Hannibal put the phone down, murder – not, to be fair, unusually – on his mind. He did not have any current plans to transform Jack Crawford from dinner guest to entrée, but if the man continued to monopolise Will’s time with cases he should have been perfectly able to solve himself, well… he was sure he could find room in his freezer should the need arise.

“It should only be an overnighter, I’m hoping,” Will had said, apology coating every syllable. “Sounds pretty straightforward, I think Jack just likes using me to freak out the locals. Will you and Mads be ok for the night?”

Hannibal had assured him that they would be perfectly fine, that he had been left several days’ worth of supplies and basic instructions on food and hygiene when the little interloper had been dropped off. That had been over an hour ago, though, and he was now wondering if perhaps this entire scheme was a sign that he had taken leave of his senses. He was quite used, of course, to receiving bequests from patients, but they generally took the form of a generous lump sum, or perhaps a tasteful antique or piece of art. Why on earth Mrs Mikkelsen had chosen him, of all people, to become guardian of her beloved hamster, he could not fathom. Indeed, his first thought had been to quietly dispatch the little pest and claim the stress of changing homes had destroyed its fragile body. It had quickly occurred to him, however, that this might be a useful in with the still-elusive Will.

And it had worked so beautifully, up until Jack’s untimely interference. Hannibal hadn’t failed to notice the flush of Will’s cheeks with every compliment bestowed, nor the softening of Will’s eyes during his tale of a childhood surrounded by animals. He hadn’t thought of that cat in decades but he sent its memory silent thanks now, before locking the past securely back in his mind where it belonged. As for Will, his absence was frustrating but hardly a killer blow. He would surely return full of apologies and eagerness to help Hannibal with his predicament, which could easily be parlayed into more time spent in Hannibal’s presence, into visits that would extend into dinner, perhaps into nights spent in a guest room. And then, inevitably – Hannibal would make sure of its inevitability – nights spent in his own bed as he introduced his lovely Will to pleasures he had never before experienced.

In which case, Hannibal considered, it would behove him to make an effort with the rodent, that he might further Will’s growing image of him as a fellow animal-lover. He had placed its cage in his private sitting room, thinking that Will would object if he housed the rodent in his laundry and enjoying the idea of Will in one of the parts of the house where visitors were not normally allowed. He went there now, following a quick diversion to his study to collect paper and pencils with which to occupy himself while observing the creature’s behaviour. Later, of course, he would have to resign himself to clearing out its waste and providing it with sustenance, but he had dealt with far fouler things for far less noble causes.

Truly, if Will Graham ever realised the things Hannibal would do for him, one of them would be in very grave danger indeed. What worried Hannibal was, he wasn’t entirely sure which of them it would be…

Stepping into the sitting room, he set his drawing equipment on an armchair and crossed to the far side of the room, where he had placed the hamster cage on an occasional table.

“I suspect this will not be a long-term arrangement for either of us,” he said, leaning down slightly to address his companion, “but if you remain quiet and unobtrusive, I will ensure your stay is  a pleasant one.” The hamster, who had turned at the sound of Hannibal’s voice, regarded him from behind its twitching nose and then promptly dove into its large pile of bedding, disappearing from view. “Very good instincts,” he murmured approvingly, before returning to his armchair and propping his sketchbook up against his crossed leg. He had plans for an attempt at capturing the expression on Will’s face during his earlier tale of feline friendship and wanted to get the preliminary sketches down while the image was still fresh in his mind.

Half an hour later, Hannibal sighed and placed the drawing to one side. Will was certainly a beautiful subject but also a remarkably challenging one, defying all standard knowledge about symmetrical faces being the most pleasing. His face was a jumble of mismatched features, a crooked nose and ears that were… generous, to put it mildly, all of which somehow came together to form a visage that would have made the old masters weep for joy and was currently causing Hannibal to come very close to snapping all his pencils in frustration. Perhaps a rear view would prove more productive.

Taking up a fresh sheet of paper, he attempted to conjure an image of Will’s derriere from the prodigious selection stored in his memory. His efforts were interrupted, though, by an odd chugging, clacking sound that put Hannibal strangely in mind of the kind of miniature train sets that children no longer had any appreciation for. It was, of course, coming from the hamster cage.

Hannibal rose from his seat, primarily in order to investigate the source of the noise, though possibly also in order to smother the little beast in its own bedding, he hadn’t quite decided yet. Subjecting the cage to the kind of stare that would make a rodent like Franklyn Froideveaux quiver in fear, Hannibal found that the noise was being created by the hamster’s furious running pace in its little plastic wheel.

“Is that entirely necessary?” he asked the creature, and then was forced into a moment of self-reflection as he realised he’d unthinkingly addressed it as if expecting an answer. That was behaviour verging on eccentric, which would have been quite fine had anyone been around to witness such a display. However, since it was only Hannibal and the rodent, he briefly considered whether he was becoming addled by his pursuit of a pretty boy, as though he were a teenager with a crush. Then again, no doubt Will spoke to his pack as he went about his day, informing them of the latest murder he was wrapping his delicious brain around or perhaps recounting his sessions with his dear new friend Dr Lecter. Perhaps this was an impulse he should indulge, so that he might convincingly repeat the act in Will’s presence…

He glanced back at the enthusiastically spinning hamster. The speed the thing had built up was, he had to admit, impressive, and Hannibal could appreciate the evolutionary efficiency of disguising raw physical power beneath a deceptively soft exterior. “Perhaps I will not kill you today, little Mads, not after such an impressive display of athleticism.” The hamster seemed to take his reprieve in stride, continuing to plough his infinite furrow with determination.

Feeling unaccountably buoyed by this little encounter, Hannibal returned to his chair, deciding  to have one more stab at pinning his elusive muse down on the page before giving it up and starting in on dinner preparations. In the background, Mads continued to clack away in his wheel and Hannibal found himself tuning into the sound, letting it bleed into his mind like white noise as he sketched out a few foundational lines of Will’s fundament.

The next time Hannibal looked up, it was with a start that he realised the room had gone dark around him, the only light coming from the lamp angled over his work. He had experienced no sense of time passing, all his focus on keeping up with the suddenly steady stream of ideas fighting their way to the front of his mind. Piles of sketches surrounded him, so many that a good number had cascaded onto the floor, fanning themselves out like a halo around Hannibal’s chair. And from every one, Will’s wide eyes stared up at him, caught in every variety of emotion, from innocent suffering to wicked lust.

What, Hannibal wondered distantly, could have caused such a rush of inspiration in him? He looked up, a suspicion suddenly forming in his mind, to see that he was being watched from across the room. The hamster was standing quietly behind the glass of its cage, up on its hind legs, front paws folded neatly against its chest, black eyes glinting in the darkness. Hannibal rose from his chair as if pulled by a string, eyes never leaving the cage until he was standing directly in front of it.

“Hello, Mads.”

The hamster made a chirruping noise that, were Hannibal more given to flights of fancy, might have sounded a little like, “Hello, Dr Lecter.”

They gazed at each other for a few moments, Hannibal ignoring the creeping sensation that he looked rather foolish, apparently communing with a sportswear-clad rodent.

“I believe an experiment is in order,” he said, eventually, exiting the room with a thoughtful expression on his face. A moment later he returned, wheeling a drinks trolley in front of him, onto which he carefully placed the hamster house.

“Come, young Mads, we shall see if your helpful influence extends to musical composition.”

Hannibal didn’t startle awake, his reflexes were far too well trained to allow for that. He did, however, need a moment to take stock of his situation after raising his head from his desk. He had never, not even during the frenetic days of medical school, fallen asleep unintentionally and yet now he found himself roused from a sound slumber on top of another pile of drawings. Roused by…

Belatedly realising that it had been a knock at his door that brought him back to consciousness, Hannibal rose from his seat, peeled off the sketch that had attached itself to his cheek, and hurried to the front door, throwing it open with uncharacteristic haste. As he had suspected, the figure of the only person who would knock on his door unannounced at five thirty in the morning – possibly other than Jack Crawford and he would simply have continued knocking until the door was answered or pounded into sawdust – was halfway down his drive.

“Will!”

Startling slightly, Will turned back to Hannibal with a sheepish smile on his face. Which quickly twisted into an expression of apology as his eyes raked over Hannibal’s dishevelled state.

“I, um, I just got in – that is, the plane just got in and I didn’t want to leave you in the lurch with Mads, so I came here first and then I realised when I knocked what time it was and I figured you would still be asleep…” He trailed off from this rambling explanation and looked Hannibal up and down again before continuing, “…which, I guess you were from…” He raised a hand to his hair and made a series of swooping motions which Hannibal guessed were intended to convey that his own hair was not in its usual state of slicked-back neatness. He reached up to it and attempted to pat it back into something less eccentric, which caused Will to groan miserably.

“I didn’t mean it looked bad, it looks… I mean, I like it when it’s soft like that but-” He cut himself off abruptly, shoulders slumping in defeat. “I’m gonna go before I humiliate myself any further. I’ll just call the cab company,” he said, fumbling in his pockets for his phone.

Hannibal, only barely resisting the urge to grab Will and kiss the awkwardness out of him, instead reached out and put a gentle hand on his arm. “Will,” he said, firmly, “I am very happy to see you.”

Will’s frantic motions stilled and he turned a shy but radiant smile on Hannibal. “You are?”

“I am,” Hannibal told him, attempting to convey utter joy in a way that would not scare Will off with its intensity. “And I am certain Mads will be too. Why don’t you come in and say hello?”

Will’s smile grew at the invitation and though he hesitated a moment when Hannibal offered his arm, he took it without comment and allowed himself to be led into the house, where Hannibal steered him towards the study he had been sleeping in when Will knocked. He pointed out the hamster house, situated in front of the desk on its new rolling transport, and excused himself to make some clearly much-needed coffee for both of them.

When he returned, it was to find Will crouched in front of the little house, speaking in a low tone to Mads, who had taken up his apparently preferred position for conversation, nose practically pressed up to the glass, regarding his visitor with charged intensity. Stopping in the doorway, Hannibal tuned into Will’s soft speech, picking up what he was confiding in his new friend.

“You’ve landed on your paws here, really. He can seem pretty scary, Dr Lecter, but so long as you behave yourself, he probably won’t eat you.”

Hannibal raised an eyebrow. That was verging on suspicious.

“And if you manage to convince him to like you, well,” Will continued, his tone conspiratorial, “it’s amazing just what you can get away with.” Still crouching, Will turned his head and positively grinned at Hannibal. “Isn’t that right, Doctor?”

Hannibal regarded Will thoughtfully, his face placid as his mind briskly sorted through possible courses of action. Presently, having discarded the more fatal options, he set down both cups of coffee and came to stand by Will, who rose to meet him.

“Indeed,” he said, curling his hand into Will’s and finding no resistance, “once a person has won my affection, I’m afraid I’ll let them away with murder.”

Will looked, for just a moment, as if he were reconsidering all his life choices and Hannibal wondered if perhaps he’d misjudged the situation. He was quickly reassured, though, by the way Will squeezed his hand and stepped in close to him, a tilt to his chin that seemed to call out for Hannibal to kiss him…

…Which he absolutely would have done had Mads not chosen that precise moment to fall while trying to get into his hammock and make an almighty racket while righting himself.

Hannibal glared at him. “Your buffoonery is ill-timed, young man.”

Will sucked in a mock-dismayed breath. “Damn, maybe I overestimated that whole affection thing.”

Hannibal turned back to him with an indulgent smile. “In fact, no. Mads and I have formed an unexpected bond in your absence.”

“You… really?”

“Yes. Strange as it may sound, his presence appears to have had rather a positive effect on my creative output. Something about the rhythmic sound of his wheel, I suspect…”

“Oh, so that explains this sorta scary pile of drawings, then?” Will asked, drifting over to the desk to take a look at Hannibal’s work.

All of which, somewhat unfortunately, featured Will himself as the subject.

“Will, it might be better if you didn’t…” Hannibal said, attempting to put himself between the real Will and his charcoal avatars.

Too late.

“Oh… these are… these are all…” Will trailed off as his cheeks flushed bright red and he very deliberately didn’t look at Hannibal.

“I must apologise, Will, I realise this is a gross infringement of your privacy-” Hannibal stopped as Will held up a hand to cut him off. He could do nothing but watch as Will continued to leaf through the drawings, his eyes growing large and round as he took in each new image. At one point he seemed to choke a little; Hannibal imagined this was because he’d got to the sequence in which Will had a faceless (though, if Hannibal were honest, still fairly recognisable) male partner tied to a chair and was alternately riding his cock and wielding a rather extravagantly braided crop.

“Is this…” Will had to clear his throat before continuing, such was the roughness of his voice. “Is this really how you see me?”

Hannibal decided there really was no point in holding back. “It is an image I have entertained with some pleasure, yes. But were I to spend the rest of my life doing nothing but drawing you, Will, I could not hope to capture all that I see in you, nor a fraction of your beauty even in the most mundane of circumstances.”

This was met with a slight bulging of Will’s eyes as his brows attempted to rocket off his face, but no words. Instead, Hannibal watched, transfixed, as Will shuffled the offending drawings to the back of the pile and then riffled amongst the pages as if looking for something. Finally, he pulled out a single drawing, strode over to Hannibal and thrust the page against his chest.

“Let’s start with this. I think I’ll need to work on my horsemanship before attempting the more advanced stuff.”

Hannibal, too full with a sudden rush of hope to look away from Will in case he vanished, let the drawing flutter to the floor without even glancing at it. “In this, I shall be led by you, dearest Will. That you would allow my touch at all-”

“Oh, good grief, you really are way too fancy for me,” Will interrupted, though he immediately contradicted this statement by pulling Hannibal in by his lapels and kissing any further declarations of devotion out of him.

Some time later, having moved to Hannibal’s sofa and figuring out that it could hold two fully-grown men surprisingly easily and without creaking even slightly, Will propped himself up on his elbow and gazed down at Hannibal thoughtfully.

“About this burst of productivity your furry little muse inspired in you…” he said.

“Yes, darling?” Hannibal responded distractedly, somewhat preoccupied with deciding which side of Will’s neck he’d like to bestow a mark on first.

“Was it just the drawings?”

Hannibal raised his head but failed to quite look directly at Will’s amused expression.

“Hannibal?”

“There may have been a sonnet. Or two. And the opening bars of a composition.”

“Only the opening bars, huh?”

“Well, he had a nap at one point.”

“He looks a little out of sorts, don’t you think?”

“I believe he may be lonely. I have been rather… distracted, of late.”

“Are you claiming that I’ve usurped his place in your attentions with my hot body?”

“Yes.”

“Fair enough.” Will pressed said body back against Hannibal, who had just wrapped his arms around Will from behind. They both peered at Mads the hamster, who was curled up dejectedly in the corner of his house, his back – somewhat pointedly, it seemed – turned away from his audience. He was clad today in a tracksuit the colour of a pumpkin, the luridly cheerful shade in complete opposition to his demeanour. (Hannibal had made an attempt to introduce Mads to the joys of tailoring, having enlisted his somewhat bemused tailor to create a selection of miniature suits, but thus far the hamster’s response to each sartorial experiment had been to tear the offending article off and proceed to shred it and add it to his bedding.)

“Maybe he needs some companionship of the furry kind,” Will suggested.

“You are suggesting a second pet?”

“You want Mads to be happy, don’t you?”

Hannibal considered this. He owed the little creature a debt, it was true, not only for bringing him and Will together, but also because he had finally finished that composition that had been bothering him for years the other day. And two hamsters could hardly be much more of a nuisance than one, after all.

“All right, I agree to your proposal. On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, with a second housemate to take care of, I believe I will be in need of your excellent advice on a more regular basis. I will find a new companion for Mads, if you agree to spend the night here at least three times a week.”

“Damn, Hannibal, you might as well ask me to move in.”

“Well, as you have mentioned it, I would be delighted to share my home with you.”

“I… Hannibal, I…” Will stopped and took a long, assessing look at Hannibal, followed by an almost comedically deep breath. “…would have to bring the dogs.”

And that was how Hannibal came to share his home with one empath, seven dogs, and two hamsters. And also how Hannibal quickly decided they all needed to move to a rather bigger house in the country. 

Epilogue:

“Would you like the honour of naming him, my love?”

“Really? Ok, um… how about… Hugh?”

They both looked down at the newly arrived hamster, still in his travel box, waiting to be introduced to his new housemate. It looked back at them, blinked and gave a small squeak, then went back to grooming its paws.

“I think he approves,” Will said.

“Winston, Buster, Hugh. You seem to have a predilection for giving your animals names that might better be suited to upper-class English gentlemen,” Hannibal mused.

“What can I say, I like posh foreign men,” Will grinned, groping Hannibal’s ass to underline the point.

“Hmm, I’m not sure I appreciate the implication that I am one of your pets,” Hannibal said, leaning into Will’s touch regardless.

Will leaned in and bit at the lobe of Hannibal’s ear, before breathing, “You sure about that?”

Hannibal shuddered despite himself and made a note to explore this avenue more thoroughly later. “If you continue to behave in this fashion, poor Hugh will be trapped in that inadequately sized box until tomorrow.”

Will relented, as Hannibal knew he would – Will might be many things, but a man who would put his own pleasure before the wellbeing of an animal was certainly not one of them. He detached himself from Hannibal’s back and retrieved the newly-christened Hugh from his box while Hannibal opened up the hamster house so Will could gently place Hugh inside.

They watched, tense with the knowledge that hamsters often did not get on well with each other, and that this could all go disastrously wrong. For a moment or two, Mads and Hugh did nothing but stare at one another, the strangely bright blue rings in Hugh’s eyes seeming to flash as they did so. And then, with a tiny chirrup from both animals, they scurried towards each other and began scenting intently.

Both Will and Hannibal held their breath. This was the moment of truth.

The hamsters scented each other for rather longer than seemed entirely necessary, and then suddenly Mads scurried off, followed closely by Hugh, towards his bedding. The two of them plunged into the depths of wood pulp and soon the sound of happy scrabbling could be heard as Hugh and Mads burrowed through their bedroom together.

Will and Hannibal let out relieved sighs.

“That seems to have gone well,” Hannibal remarked.

“Yeah, it did. In fact, I thought Mads looked like a hamster in love.”

“Given the way Hugh followed him into bed, I think it might be mutual.”

“Can’t blame them, really.”

“Terribly handsome fellows, both of them.”

Will shot Hannibal a conspiratorial glance. “Maybe we should give them some privacy?”

Hannibal tilted his head, considering. “I do have some laundry that requires folding.”

Will hummed in agreement. “Sounds good. Unless, of course, you can think of something else that would be fun to fold…”

The two hamsters re-emerged just in time to see Hannibal giving chase after a giggling Will.

Are they always like that? Hugh squeaked.

Ja, they’re horny bastards, responded Mads, wrinkling his nose. Sometimes they don’t even make it out from the kitchen. Humans, he added, with something that might have been a shrug in hamster.

Strange creatures, Hugh agreed. Mind if I have a go in your wheel?

Our wheel, wee man.

Hugh regarded Mads from beneath surprisingly long eyelashes. Our wheel, right.

Mads sidled a little closer to his new housemate. Could always give it a spin together, if you fancied it.

One wheel, two riders? Hugh’s head twitched to the side. That’s a pretty unorthodox suggestion.

I’m a pretty unorthodox hamster, kaere.

Oh yeah? Hugh considered his companion. Prove it.

A moment later, Hugh took off towards the wheel, squeaking happily, as Mads scampered after him in delighted pursuit. And soon, the only sounds that could be heard were that of bouncing bedsprings and a frantically spinning hamster wheel, all of the house’s inhabitants enthusiastically exploring the joys of cohabitation.

[death-of-the-self]

Are you the one who does Hide theories? If so why not make a last theory about Hide's and Kaneki's eye, just for fun? If you dont know what I mean, let me explain. In the sewers with Hide, that eye we see covered in shadows up in shown in this current chapter along with the text saying 'I always looked to you'. Hmm... I'm not explaining this well...

You got the right person if you were thinking of the one who drew Hide’s probable damage assessment.

These are the tg/re: theory / analysis page I have :

❂ Character Theories

Hide and Kaneki analysis for the end of times.

This is very likely my last ever tg/ tg re: analysis seeing as it’s coming to an end, and hopefully most things will be resolved /explained with the last chap or some type of afterword of Ishida’s.

As per usual this has a lot of Hide mentions.

At first I was confused by this, anon. Then I realized I hadn’t read the newest (Second to last chap) and now I get what you want me to talk about.It spiraled into a bigger analysis that I hope is engaging to anyone who happens to read it.

Topics :

Kaneki’s eyepatch being present during the Arima fight

When was the ghoul mask Hide gifts to Ken salvaged?

Hide’s inability to speak to Ken right before the Arima battle

Who is the voice behind “I’ve always looked to you..” Ken hears in 178 re:

Kaneki’s selfishness

Butterflies and Hide’s expression

What will likely happen in the last chap

Hide as a teruterubouzu 

Hide’s likelihood of surviving mentally or physically

Sourcing chaps 134/136/ 138/139 of tg and 144/164/176/178 of tg re +

So, I went back and read into it.And checked to see if there was anything that could be analyzed.

Then I remembered, that there used to be a theory going around that Hide was speaking to Ken through some type of transmitter after the attack.

That he might have placed that eyepatch Ken suddenly shows up wearing to the Arima fight.

I’ll break that down based on what I see, but long story short, Hide didn’t put that on him.

The Eyepatch:

pre Amon fight : on

Post Amon fight : still on under the organic matter

During the sewer scene : On and off (to show anguish but not actually removed)

Right before Hide shows up: He takes it off himself during the

  “i’m the one being consumed scene”

When he notices Hide : Organic mask back on but it can be assumed he dropped the actual mask in the sewage.

Which would make sense, Hide likely recovered that same mask he later on gifts him in re:

That mask though, also has the eyepatch it comes with attached.

And the one we see with Arima is different from what I can discern.

The moment Hide touches him : No sign of that ghoul mask or an eyepatch under.

The Hide pep talk:

 We know what happened in the sewers between Ken and Hide in regards to damage, it messed with Hide’s face and vocal fold.

We also know for a fact, that Hide was not following Ken to his final destination.

The question now is?

The voice Ken heard.

Hide was unable to communicate with Ken, transmitter, or not, so this :

This is in Kaneki’s mind associating his own thoughts with those that Hide would likely say (see: Fantasy ‘you’re ripped’ Hide)

 or

 Hide managed to sneak a few lines in like those above, before the ‘kiss’.

Always looked to you…

When it comes to Ken’s human eye and seeking association with the eyepatch that appears out of the blue on Kens eye before the Arima fight.

While Kaneki is engulfed by the massive current of dead cells and likely silently drowning as the current pushes him down the path he climbed–

He hears a voice.

And right after we do, we see Touka looking out of the window, anticipating his return.

Now, my first thought was that it was somehow something off screen, Touka might have said to Ken.Which doesn’t add up knowing her behavior and dialogue pre sex.

But, then you might ask, who the heck would be saying that.

‘Always’ implies someone has been there prior to Kens ghoulification surgery.

It could be a part of himself speaking out to him, which, to me, would be underwhelming and a bit unecessary at this moment.

It would also imply Kaneki’s bastardized version of D.I.D was present as Kuroneki, which trauma noted would not be weird, but would not add up with what we know of Kaneki.

Ishida after-all fills the manga with foreshadowing.

chap. 144 re : Before he turns and kills many innocents and plays right into Furuta’s plan.

Losing the chance to imply that was a thing early on would be unlike what we see of his writing.

With only one chapter left, Hide being back and a big question-mark looming over who ‘kissed’ who in the sewers….

The idea that Hide was on his mind just like in the sewers would not be far fetched.

Possibilities :

A conversation off screen post reunion

A talk they had when they met in the sewers, a wonderful build up to the last chapter including said scene before it all gets resolved. 

something that his rendition of Hide in his mind would do is not far fetched.

Kaneki will likely die and Hide is aware.

Chapter 178 shows us a butterfly twice.It looks like the sky has cleared and as though everything will go well when Saiko and Touka hold hands and hope to see Ken together.

However, this is a tragedy and we know things aren’t that simple.

The butterfly isn’t a simple of peace.In Japanese culture, amongst other meanings,

“Butterflies are closely linked with recently departed spirits”

and though that could be about Rize and or Furuta…

it could just be a death flag for the protagonist.

Tg re: has been rumored to be planned with a happy ending but what if the “happy” ending is for humanity and ghoulmanity and not for Kaneki himself?

What if Kaneki gets to die after securing offspring?

chapter 176 re:

The whole pregnancy / child shenanigan screams that to the reader, life will go on, history has and will likely repeat itself in small arcs that envelop bigger ones.

Human / Ghoul Peace has been momentarily achieved (thanks Hide and Furuta sorta)  but other issues surely will arise.

 Much like the non canon ending of the Root A anime, in which everyone in battle seized the fight as a ghoul held a human friend in his arms.

It’s a tragedy, it is very likely that Kaneki will die after having at least become aware of the damage he has done upon the country and his best friend.

chap. 164 re:

After finding a reason to live.

Having Hide facing away from the monitors, sweating and concerned instead of celebrating, towards what looks like the butterfly outside the building, is a bit telling.

As well as other scenes throughout the manga…

Additionally, Kimi seems concerned with what she has been monitoring, it might have to do with Kaneki’s rc cells and the toxin engulfing him and skyrocketing them.

chap 176 re:

Hide’s likelihood of surviving this mentally or physically?

Link source to sellable teruterubozou’s

A final note in regards to him, we saw his scarecrow outfit. 

link to my gif post

The symbol of anonymity on the face (henohenomohenji) and the resemblance to teruterubouzu’s.

link to full art

Who:

“Traditionally, if the weather does turn out well, a libation of holy sake is poured over them, and they are washed away in the river”

According to a Japanese reading friend of mine, they might even get candy.

And what happens when the sun doesn’t come?

She said they cut the head off.

link

And well my research tells me she is right :

“Teru-teru-bozu, teru bozu/ Do make tomorrow a sunny day/ But if the clouds are crying/ Then I shall snip your head off”

There is also one origin theory that is quite harrowing :

“However, after promising good weather to a feudal lord, the sunshine did not appear as promised and the monk’s head was chopped off as punishment. It’s said the monk’s head was then wrapped in cloth and hung outside to stop the rain and bring out the sun.” (From the same link source I added above)

So what does this mean for Hide? He fixed so much in Kaneki’s absence.

In a way he brought the sunshine, but Hide’s purpose is not world peace, everything he does, he does for him.

So what is his payoff? Letting him be swept by a stream of water?

or maybe he will be decapitated somehow trying to help Kaneki one last time?

I say if you kill one off, have them be together in the end.Living without Kaneki would be terrible considering how emotionally invested Hide is.

[snarkybluechristian]

Villainous: Reform School Chapter 31

Meanwhile, back in the lab, the blood transfusion was done. 505 had bathed Melanie from head to toe, put her underwear on her, dressed her in a red dress with a black ribbon he tied into a bow in the back that he had made himself, and was now blow-drying her clean hair.

Flug watched him work, amazed as always at 505’s level of gentleness, while waiting for Melanie to wake up.

That was when Demencia burst into the room and called out, “Hey, nerd! Black Hat and Lord Reaper want to see Melanie now!”

“Now?” Flug asked in annoyance.

“Yeah, now,” Demencia replied. “Get moving or I’ll tell Black Hat!”

“Alright,” Flug snapped before turning to 505, who had just finished blow-drying Melanie’s hair, and saying, “505, can you carry her to the gurney? Please be gentle.”

505 nodded. He picked her up and carried her to a gurney across the room. After Melanie was gently laid on the gurney, Flug strapped in her hands and feet and the four headed up to Black Hat’s office.

Several minutes later, Doctor Flug, Demencia, and 505 pushed Melanie into Black Hat’s office.

Lord Reaper noticed, summoned his wings, and flew over to Melanie immediately.

Black Hat quickly teleported over to join him.

Lord Reaper looked over his sleeping granddaughter in concern while Black Hat watched silently.

“As you can see, she is quite safe,” Black Hat said.

“Poor thing has had quite the day,” Lord Reaper said, summoning Melanie’s scythe over her and allowing it to dissolve back into her soul. “She needs her rest. May I ask why she is being restrained?”

“After the behavior she’s been showing lately, I imagine it to be necessary,” Black Hat said.

“And pointless,” Lord Reaper said. “I can see in my visions that my little lovely has learned how to phase. This is the gurney she phased through. She always struggled with that. I’m so proud.”

Lord Reaper adjusted Melanie’s head on the pillow and pulled the blanket more evenly over her sleeping body.

“Be impressed when the task is finished, Reaper,” Black Hat added.

“What do you mean?” Lord Reaper asked, moving some hair out of his granddaughter’s face. “Can’t I be proud of the progress she makes along the way?”

Black Hat sighed and replied, “So long as it doesn’t distract you from what needs to be done. Flug! Do you have anything to wake the girl?!”

“I can do it, Black Hat,” Lord Reaper said. “All I need is a cup of water.”

Black Hat glared right at Flug, giving him a command without the use of words. That send the doctor rushing out of the room to follow those orders. After a couple of minutes, he returned with a paper cup of water, taking several deep breaths from running.

Lord Reaper then telekinetically picked up the water from the cup and held it over Melanie’s forehead.

“I can heal through water,” Lord Reaper explained. “It’s a gift all angels have and one I managed to hold on to after my fall. Black Hat did not.”

Black Hat glared, lifted a brow, and said, “Do not compare me to one of those!”

Lord Reaper shrugged and said, “I suppose that would be inaccurate. God made angels to be messengers. He created us to be little g gods. That’s why we have much more power.”

“Oooooh, so mi bon bon is a god?!” Demencia said, practically swooning where she stood.

Black Hat rolled his eyes and asked, “Are you done yet?”

“Almost,” Lord Reaper replied. “You are too impatient, Black Hat.”

Just then, Melanie began to stir.

“There, we go,” Lord Reaper said with a smile.

“Flug, elevate the bed so she can look at us,” Black Hat ordered.

“Yes, Jefe!” Flug said, pressing a button on the side of the gurney so that it raised just enough for Melanie to see everyone without having to move her head while he moved out of the way.

Melanie then opened her eyes and began looking around tiredly.

Lord Reaper telekinetically placed the water in the paper cup Flug was still holding and said, “It is done, Black Hat.”

Melanie looked at her grandfather and asked, “Papi, what are you doing here? Where am I?”

“Back in my presence again, it would seem,” Black Hat interrupted. “Like a bug.”

Melanie looked at Black Hat wearily and asked, “Why?”

She then looked down at her restrained body and asked, “And why am I wearing a dress?”

“One thing at a time, Melanie,” Lord Reaper said reassuringly.

“But what’s going on?” Melanie insisted.

“You’re here to speak with Lord Reaper,” Black Hat interjected. “He seems to care for you, in a way I find disgusting.”

“If you don’t like it, why don’t you leave?” Melanie asked, unaware of the level of sarcasm in her tone.

In most cases Black Hat would strike her down and or torture her, but instead and almost uncharacteristically, he decided to leave with little to no argument.

“Lucky for you, I have more important business to attend to,” Black Hat said while walking by, prompting Demencia to follow behind him.

Black Hat and Demencia then left the room.

Flug stayed behind. Black Hat and Demencia listened from a tablet outside the room.

“Would you like me to stay, Lord Reaper?” Flug asked.

“Of course,” Lord Reaper replied. “I need your help. Black Hat would like you to ask the questions written on his desk over there if you please.”

Flug nodded and walked over to the desk to retrieve the list of questions.

Meanwhile, Lord Reaper phased Melanie through her restraints, telekinetically picked her up, teleported onto the gurney, and landed Melanie in his lap.

“Melanie, I need you to help me answer some questions, okay?” Lord Reaper said.

“But why?” Melanie asked.

“Because we want to help you,” Lord Reaper explained before turning back to Flug and asking, “What do you need to know Dr. Flug?”

Flug adjusted his lab coat as he looked at his list and asked, “Yes well, for starters. Where did you last meet your Nun-ja friends?"

“Before I came here obviously,” Melanie replied sassily. “As for where, we met at many different places, none of which I feel like specifying.”

“So you and your friends have multiple meeting places is what I hear you saying,” Lord Reaper said, rubbing Melanie’s head affectionately. “Interesting, don’t you think, doctor?”

Melanie’s eyes flashed in a panic, and she said, “No, I didn’t mean…”

“Flug, make note of that, will you?” Lord Reaper interrupted.

Flug wrote down a note with pencil on his pocket notepad in a routine manner and said, “I always am. I wonder if they know where you are.”

Melanie looked askance, refusing to look at Flug or her grandfather.

Lord Reaper looked at Melanie who refused to look back at him.

After studying her face for a few moments, Lord Reaper looked back at Flug and said, “I’m willing to bet they do.”

“No, they don’t!” Melanie lied desperately as she tried to conceal her tears.

Lord Reaper gave Melanie a comforting hug and said, “Your reaction indicates otherwise. Wouldn’t you say, Dr. Flug?”

Flug continued jotting down notes in an uncaring manner and said, “Definitely, though this might present us with an opportunity.”

“How do you mean?” Lord Reaper asked with a twisted smile. “Are you pondering what I’m pondering?”

“I believe we could lure another Nun-ja here if they believed they had a chance to ‘rescue’ Melanie. They might even be more cooperative than her,” Flug said much to Melanie’s panic.

“I like this idea, but we don’t know the first thing about how to find them,” Lord Reaper said, rubbing his chin. “How do you suppose we…?”

“NO!” Melanie interrupted in a snarl.

“Huh?” Lord Reaper said in surprise.

Melanie phased through Lord Reaper’s arms, hopped on the floor, and snarled, “I said no! If you think I’m going to be your bait, then you’re all even stupider than you look. I hate every one of you! Except 505. And I’d rather die the most gruesome death imaginable than help you hurt any one of my sisters! They’re my family, and my loyalty is to them! You won’t find them, and you won’t use me to do it! I don’t care what you bastards try to do to me!”

“We don’t need to find them,” Flug said, looking back over at Melanie apathetically. “We just need to let them come to us.”

Lord Reaper smiled and said, “That sounds like an excellent idea, Doctor Flug. I think it’s safe to say the interview is over for now. We just have to keep our eyes open. If we’re lucky, we might even catch Kasumi.”

“No, you won’t!” Melanie let slip out before pulling her hands over her mouth.

Lord Reaper smiled smugly.

Flug loomed over Melanie as menacingly as he did before and said, “I’m sure Lord Black Hat would love to see your sensei again. According to him, Kasumi Yamaguchi has been missing for 20 years.”

Without another word, Melanie dashed out of the office and into the hall. 505 followed her.

Unfortunately, Melanie quickly found herself tripping and falling to her chest. Upon inspection, she tripped over…green hair. The sight of the green hair was followed with a mischievous giggle from Demencia. When Melanie looked up, there stood Black Hat.

505 shivered where he stood, wishing he could help while knowing he was powerless.

While still on the floor, Melanie scoffed and said, “I knew you couldn’t be far. What do you want with me now?”

Black tilted his head, cruelly smiled, and said, “"Then maybe you'll finally realize that escape is impossible. But that’s besides the point…"

He reached down and grabbed her face, lifting her up to him before continuing,"What I want from you is simple. To play bait for the Nun-ja."

“NO!” Melanie screeched, unleashing her scythe and using it to open a portal to heaven to separate herself and Black Hat with a portal to Heaven. “Over my dead body!”

Melanie then rode her scythe to her room as fast as she could.

As soon as she arrived, Melanie locked the door, grabbed her purse, ran to the bathroom, locked herself in, sat in the bathtub, and pulled out her phone. She quickly pulled out her app, pressed the group call function, put in her headphones, and began singing the specific, disturbing song she and Sensei Lucy had chosen as a code should a situation like this arise.

“It took so long to remember just what happened,” Melanie sung in a shaky voice. “I was so young and vestal then. You know it hurt me. But I’m breathing so I guess I’m still alive. Even if signs seem to tell me otherwise. Got my hands bound and my head down and my eyes closed and throat’s wide open. I do unto others, what has been done to me. Do unto others, what has been done to you. I’m treading water. I need to sleep a while. My lamb and martyr, you look so precious…”

Meanwhile, back in the hallway, Dementia was hissing and hiding behind Black Hat while Lord Reaper rushed out of the room with Flug behind him.

Lord Reaper held out his hand, shut the portal to heaven, and turned to face Black Hat with his arms crossed.

“Black Hat, why were you manhandling my granddaughter?” Lord Reaper asked pointedly.

After shielding his eyes from the heavenly light, Black Hat glared at Lord Reaper and asked, “What does it matter?”

“You told me you weren’t going to harm her!” Lord Reaper argued. “What are you trying to do?”

“I said I wouldn’t kill her!” Black Hat retorted. “Demencia! Flug! Get her now!”

“Leave her be,” Lord Reaper said, walking in front of Black Hat. “What else do we need her for? You’re going to burn her out. She needs rest.”

Black Hat clinched his fist and said, “I want the Nun-ja in my hands, so I can eradicate them! And if that parasite is the key, then so be it!”

Flug shyly cleared his throat and said, “My Lord, maybe Lord Reaper is right about her requiring rest. Perhaps she can be convinced in that time to be more c-cooperative.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Lord Reaper said. “What do you say, Black Hat?”

Black Hat’s eye twitched and he replied, “Do you realize how long I’ve waited for an opportunity to catch Kasumi Yamaguchi? That traitor has evaded my grasp for 20 years! This is the first opportunity I’ve had to catch her! I’m not losing that because of your little…”

“You won’t,” Lord Reaper reassured. “But my little Melanie is not as physically formidable as you and me yet. Her body has been weakened significantly by today’s events. She can’t continue under this pressure. We need to let her rest so that she can be of use to us later. Besides, she’s still a student. Isn’t she? What can she possibly learn if she’s constantly being bombarded? Let her rest for now and we can figure out how to continue in the meantime. What do you say?”

505 anxiously watched with Flug while Dementia was chomping at the bit to chase after Melanie.

Black Hat pondered and looked askance.

“Well?” Lord Reaper asked.

“Very well,” Black Hat said, waving his hand. “Just keep her from escaping.”

“Yes, Jefecito,” Flug said with a salute. “Come on, 505. Let’s go check on Melanie.”

[dungeons-and-divination]

WIZARD School of NECROMANCY - VERDAN - Haunted one

Okay, let’s say I messed up a little on Verdan's lore. I read about them, and I know they're born from a mutation caused by caos, more or less. At the end of the day, I decided that rules are meant to be broken and why not, this could work. All magic could be drawn from the cosmic caos and mess up someone enough to change them into something else, anyway. And with that, I’ll leave you to it.

Name: Apalasin (became a Verdan just 6-7months ago)

TAROTS

Mind: Two of cups (upright) I loved this card for Apalasin. They obviously are a troubled soul because of their past (duh, their background is literally haunted one!), but this tarot card convey how much they still shine with a special spark despite all of the deep wounds they had to suffer. They like to be around people and everyone they meet notice this. Apalasin attracts people to them in some way. I gotta say, I do think of Apalasin as a romantic person too, maybe it’s because I don’t picture them as necessarily the very bubbly and over the top kind of charming, but more of a very polite, always with a smile on their face and happy to have a pleasant conversation with people walking down the streets kinda person.

Body: Five of cups (upright) Yeah, it had to be expected that there was gonna be this looming grief for poor Apalasin somewhere in the reading. And that I picture them as a romantic, I immediately leaned on this being a lost lover for which Apalasin feels a deep regret. It’s almost like they feel guilty for letting their lover down or even like Apalasin is sure their responsible for theirs lover demise. Yet, this card has also this twist of trying to look at the bright side, to not cry over the things you lost… How could I not see that meaning on body as Apalasin repressing his guilt and pretending like they were completely over their problems?

Spirit: Page of cups (upright) An entire “cups” read was not what I expected for Apalasin’s personality, but I guess it fits them very well. Because after that whole ordeal in their past, I do figure they would try to connect more with their more youthful side. They know life is very short, after all, and they would probably want to really enjoy it to the fullest. Yet, they saw so much pain that they couldn’t help but be loyal, affectionate and kind to others. So, like I already said, I don’t necessarily picture them as bubbly. Curious for sure, affectionate too. But to give an overall definition of them, they are more of a Introverted Extrovert than a total Extrovert, if it makes sense at all. 

Past: Two of pentacles (reversed) So, this tarot is very much centered on difficulties in maintaining balance, being overwhelmed and put under pressure because of it. And at first I was struggling to understand the context of it. So I drew from the deck again, and ended up with the Eight of swords reversed (yes, I forgot to put this one in the photo, sorry). It quickly cleared up to me that Apalasin was imprisoned and the struggle was probably them trying to maintain some kind of faked loyalty to the person holding them hostage while still trying to break free, both them and the person they loved. Especially cause the Eight of swords usually means that you have the abilities necessary to break free. Quite the tragic story... 

Present: The Empress (upright) I immediately felt like this card was related to their “spirit” tarot. Because this one is also related to finding a softer side and exploring emotions. And while I do think that once Apalasin breaks free they probably have a freaking breakdown, I also kind of relate this card to that need to be gentle to a world that was very mean to them. I do think Apalasin would be very nurturing, like I said multiple times at this point, friendly in a very gentle way. I don’t exclude them really leaning into that femminine side. 

Future: Strength (upright) Still keeping in line with the whole read, this is a card that tells it all. It talks about inner strength, about being compassionate not only to the outside world, but to oneself. Which, considering Apalasin is gonna be relevant I suppose. Like usual, a suggestion related to this: slowly be more open about Apalasin’s true feeling, less repressed and closed off on their past, more willing to admit that they need the help of others as much as they as willing to give away all of them so that no one has to suffer like Apalasin did. Slowly build their courage to face whatever fears and anxieties might arise while playing (and I do suggest having them discovering some unusual fears once they get out into the world, since they have lived all their life sheltered, like I’ll explain in a little bit).

FULL BACKSTORY

Born a goblin in imprisonment in the secret laboratory of the necromancer Lord Threz Amilak, Apalasin saw their father Javeed die because of the tortures and experiments the necromancer was doing on the other goblins in the dungeon Apalasin lived all of their goblin life. Apalasin’s mother, Tansy, was “lucky” enough to be the personal servant of Lord Threz during the Lord’s experiments and one day she mysteriously vanished, leaving everyone in the cell to wonder if she managed to escape or what happened to her. They all just knew that no remains was left of her to deal with for her successor as the personal servant. Apalasin suffered many years of torture, but they at least had Zehra, another prisoner that was sweet enough to always take care of them when Apalasin was hurt (and so did Apalasin with her).  After watching many other servants disappoint their “Master” and meet a very unfortunate end, Apalasin himself was chosen as the new personal servant. Seeing it as a chance to maybe find out what happened to Tansy, Apalasin decided to be the best servant Lord Threz ever had, while still watching and learning as much as they could. During those years it was mostly Apalasin taking care of Zehra after witnessing her being tortured, Apalasin not being able to really stop Lord Threz in any way without their plain of running away being discovered. The two of them still managed to have deep feelings towards each other and Apalasin promised Zehra that they would do whatever they could to get both of them out of that prison. Apalasin and Zehra slowly made a plan but before they were confident that it would work, it looked like the Lord was getting closer and closer to the results he was searching for in his experiments. So they decided to try to escape anyway. On the night decided for their escape tho, the Lord called on Apalasin and did a ritual that messed with Apalasins’ nature. Apalasin was sure they were gonna die, that whatever the necromancer was trying to do was not gonna work and that maybe that was what happened to their mother too. Yet, Zehra, which Apalasin already left with a key to the cells of the dungeon, let free every goblin that was prisoner, interrupting the ritual the Lord was trying to do with the chaos that exploded inside his tower. Furious, the Lord at first launched against the other goblins without really aiming at anyone in particular, just trying to manage the riot. But once he realized that Zehra was helping a weakened Apalasin to run away, he focused just on her “stealing” his experiment, leaving Zehra dead at Apalasin’s feet.  Filled with guilt and regrets, but right in front of the tower’s blown open door, Apalasin decided to run, hoping one day to maybe avenge poor Zehra and use against him the magic they learned by watching the Lord Threz torture their people for so long.

SUGGESTION CORNER

Suggested features Ability scores: High Intelligence and Constitution, Low Strength and Wisdom Skill proficiencies: Arcana, Investigation, History, Medicine Other: I know Apalasin is supposed to forget what happened to them when they become a Verdan. It doesn’t really work with the way I built up their backstory, but if you like the personality and want to rework the rest, discuss with your DM on how to play a character that might have amnesia and doesn’t really remember anything but the last 6-7 months of their life. As far as I’m concerned, I suggest the “my telepathy isn’t really the best, but at least I remember my past” approach instead. Llike, every time you try to use telepathy, you roll a d100. If you roll 15 or lower, your powers don’t work as they should; it’s a little bit harsher on the mechanical side, but it could be a fun twist. I can immagine it as just them misunderstanding what the other person is trying to covey, or accidentally giving them a headache and having no clue how they did it. It could be an opportunity for some shenanigans, but once again, it’s something your DM has to agree on. 

Suggested Characteristics Trait: I would rather make a new friend than a new enemy. / I hide my depression&trauma behind a toothy smile. Ideal: My gifts are meant to be shared with all, not used for my own benefit. Bond: I would sacrifice my life and my soul to protect the innocent. Flaw: I talk to spirits that no one else can see.

[love-god-forever]

Mastering These Principles to Guard Against False Christs

By Zhengdao, Germany

The Lord Jesus said: “For there shall arise false Christs, and false prophets, and shall show great signs and wonders; so that, if it were possible, they shall deceive the very elect. Behold, I have told you before” (Mat 24:24-25). These Bible verses are what the pastors frequently talk to us about, and the pastors say: “At present, the prophecies of the Lord’s return in the last days have basically been fulfilled, so the day of the Lord’s return is fast approaching. 

As long as we hold on to the name of the Lord Jesus, keep on His path and keep vigilantly waiting, we will welcome Him. We should stay in our own church, and don’t listen to sermons outside, in case we are deceived by the false Christs.” Hearing this, I deeply thought: It’s very important guarding against false Christs. If I’m deceived, my life of believing in God will come to an end, and my several decades of faith in the Lord will be wasted.

Once, during the spiritual devotion, I saw these words in the Book of Revelation: “Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me” (Rev 3:20). “He that has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches” (Rev 2:7). I pondered these Bible verses: Judging from these words, the Lord Jesus will speak to all the churches when He returns in the last days. Only those who hear His voice and open the door will welcome Him. But if we do as pastors say, that is, in order to guard against false Christs, we keep on the principles of not listening, reading or coming into contact, can we welcome the Lord? Could it be that we guard against the true Christ and leave Him outside so that we will miss the chance of entering into the kingdom of heaven? I remained perplexed despite much thought.

One day, I came across Brother Li working together with me. When we talked about the Lord’s return during our small talk, Brother Li said: “We must have our own opinions on our faith in the Lord and ponder His words with our heart, and then we can have the knowledge and discernment; we must not blindly listen to or believe anyone, for it is the Lord who we believe in and follow, and we are supposed to keep on His words and follow His path. Therefore, regardless of who it’s said by, we must measure it according to the words of the Lord. If the words of pastors and elders are in line with the truth, we should listen. If not, we mustn’t do so, no matter how high their position. Reversely, if the words of an ordinary sister, brother or a child conform to the truth, even if he or she has no position, we should listen. These are the principles that should be followed by us believers in the Lord.

The words of Brother Li intrigued me and then I spoke about my perplexities: “Brother, what you said just now is right. It’s the Lord that we believe in, and the most important thing is that we are expected to listen to His words, so there is no doubt that such fellowship is in line with His will. In my heart there is such a question that I’m still confused about. Our pastors often tell us that in the last days false Christs will emerge, show signs and perform miracles to deceive people. The Bible says: ‘For there shall arise false Christs, and false prophets, and shall show great signs and wonders; so that, if it were possible, they shall deceive the very elect’ (Mat 24:24), so the pastors often remind us not to go outside to listen to sermons in case we are deceived by false Christs. But I saw the prophecy in the Book of Revelation that when the Lord Jesus returns during the last days, He will speak to all the churches. He also has told us to open the door and welcome Him when we hear His voice. Now I get rather puzzled and worried that if I keep on blindly not listening or reading so that I should miss the opportunity to welcome the Lord, I’ll feel regret for my lifetime; if I go outside to investigate after hearing someone spread the work and utterance of the returned Lord, once I’m deceived by false Christs, won’t my several decades of years of faith in the Lord be in vain? Brother Li, what do you think of this matter?”

He said: “Brother, I think it’s the most accurate that we practice in accordance with the words of the Lord. Moreover, in my opinion, the Lord Jesus saying that there will be false Christs emerging in the last days means reminding us to be cautious about our treatment of the coming of the Lord lest we be deceived by false Christs. But it doesn’t mean letting us blindly guard against false Christs and ignore the investigation of the true God’s work and utterance. If we do according to the pastors’ words, how should we explain the parable of the wise virgins? The wise virgins refer to those who hear His voice, open the door and welcome Him, and then attend the feast with the bridegroom. Thinking more, we can find there is His will in the words of the Lord Jesus. Actually, the Lord has shown us the traits of false Christs through this word. He said: ‘For there shall arise false Christs, and false prophets, and shall show great signs and wonders; so that, if it were possible, they shall deceive the very elect’ (Mat 24:24). What problem can this show? During the last days, if a person who can show great signs and perform miracles calls himself God or Christ, this can’t be done by God but by evil spirits. Here another point can be shown that the Lord certainly won’t do wonders and perform miracles when He returns.” I nodded, thinking in my mind: There is light and insight in the remarks of Brother Li.

Brother Li continued: “In fact, as long as we master the principles of differentiating false Christs, we won’t be afraid of being deceived. What’s more, we can penetrate false Christs’ deception and see through their inherent nature of deceiving and swallowing people.” Then he read me a passage of God’s words: “If, during the present day, there is to emerge a person who is able to display signs and wonders, and can cast out demons, and heal the sick, and perform many miracles, and if this person claims that they are Jesus who has come, then this would be the counterfeit of evil spirits, and their imitation of Jesus. Remember this! God does not repeat the same work. Jesus’ stage of work has already been completed, and God will never again undertake that stage of work. … If, during the last days, God still displayed signs and wonders, and still cast out demons and healed the sick—if He did exactly the same as Jesus—then God would be repeating the same work, and the work of Jesus would have no significance or value. Thus, God carries out one stage of work in every age. Once each stage of His work has been completed, it is soon imitated by evil spirits, and after Satan begins to follow on the heels of God, God changes to a different method; once God has completed a stage of His work, it is imitated by evil spirits. You must be clear about these things” (“Knowing God’s Work Today”).

And then he began to fellowship: “We can see from this passage that God never repeats the same work. Every time He comes, He will usher in a new age, end an old age and replace the means of working. But false Christs can only imitate the work that God has done, for they are unable to do a new and improved work, much less are they able to complete an old age and usher in a new age. Let’s think more: At that time, through crucifixion the Lord Jesus had redeemed us from condemnation by law, been an eternal sin offering, and taken on our sin, so we mankind would no longer be condemned and punished because of failing to abide by the laws. There is no point in doing His previous work when the Lord Jesus returns. God is the source of the truth, and He never clings to the old but does His work in accordance with our demands and deficiencies. However, after God finishes His work, evil spirits and false Christs can only imitate God’s work to deceive people and can provide no supply whatsoever to us. Furthermore, false Christs can just display some simple and limited things regarded as supernatural by people. They are incapable of imitating grand miracles like the Lord Jesus calming the wind and waves, feeding the five thousand with five loaves and two fish, and bringing Lazarus back from the dead.”

Thanks for the Lord’s guidance. From Brother Li’s fellowship I understood the way to distinguish between the true Christ and false Christs. Meanwhile, I also realized that the Lord we believe in is of great authority and power, that Satan and evil spirits are all under the control of God, and that we should have confidence in the Lord and not refuse to contact the brothers and sisters beyond our own church for being afraid of being deceived by false Christs.

I asked Brother Li once again: “The Lord won’t show wonders and perform miracles when He returns, and then what will He do?”

He remarked: “Let’s first read two Bible verses, John 16:12-13, which say: ‘I have yet many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now. However, when he, the Spirit of truth, is come, he will guide you into all truth: for he shall not speak of himself; but whatever he shall hear, that shall he speak: and he will show you things to come.’ And it is mentioned many times in the Book of Revelation 2 and 3: ‘He that has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches.’ We can see from these verses that the Lord has told us exactly that He will express the truth and speak to all the churches when He returns. And why will He still speak? We can know from the verses that there are many other words He hasn’t told us yet. On one hand, at that time what He did was the work of redemption of mankind. He was mainly nailed to the cross as an eternal sin offering so that He could take mankind back from the hand of Satan and make us mankind survive. On the other hand, at that time man’s stature was limited, even though the words were spoken to them, they couldn’t understand and accept them. Just as when the parents talk to their infants about marriage and business, the infants are unable to understand. Until the time when the children get old enough to experience these things, their parents will tell them these things, and then they can understand. Similarly, we have to first undergo the Lord Jesus’s work of redemption, pray to Him, admit sins and repent, standardize our behavior, and no longer deliberately commit sins. In this case, our sins are forgiven and then we can survive. However, concerning the work of God bestowing more plentiful truth upon mankind and thoroughly saving mankind, we have to wait for the Lord to return to do it.”

Having heard Brother Li’s fellowship like this, I experienced a sudden revelation, and this issue that had confused me for a long time was finally resolved. I said to Brother Li: “Now I’ve got it. The Lord will no longer repeat the same work showing wonders and performing miracles when He returns. He has predicted that He will do the work of words. As long as we understand this, we won’t be deceived. I truly thank God for His enlightenment today. I will no longer keep on not listening, reading or investigating, and I must wait and seek with humility. Only this way can what I do conform to the will of the Lord. Thank the Lord! I hadn’t obtained such new light for a long time. All the glory be to the Lord.” Both Brother Li and I smiled happily.

[fear-god-shun-evil]

How Should Wise Virgins Discern the Lord’s Voice?

By Zhengdao, Germany

The Lord Jesus said: “For there shall arise false Christs, and false prophets, and shall show great signs and wonders; so that, if it were possible, they shall deceive the very elect. Behold, I have told you before” (Mat 24:24-25). These Bible verses are what the pastors frequently talk to us about, and the pastors say: “At present, the prophecies of the Lord’s return in the last days have basically been fulfilled, so the day of the Lord’s return is fast approaching. As long as we hold on to the name of the Lord Jesus, keep on His path and keep vigilantly waiting, we will welcome Him. We should stay in our own church, and don’t listen to sermons outside, in case we are deceived by the false Christs.” Hearing this, I deeply thought: It’s very important guarding against false Christs. If I’m deceived, my life of believing in God will come to an end, and my several decades of faith in the Lord will be wasted.

Once, during the spiritual devotion, I saw these words in the Book of Revelation: “Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me” (Rev 3:20). “He that has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches” (Rev 2:7). I pondered these Bible verses: Judging from these words, the Lord Jesus will speak to all the churches when He returns in the last days. Only those who hear His voice and open the door will welcome Him. But if we do as pastors say, that is, in order to guard against false Christs, we keep on the principles of not listening, reading or coming into contact, can we welcome the Lord? Could it be that we guard against the true Christ and leave Him outside so that we will miss the chance of entering into the kingdom of heaven? I remained perplexed despite much thought.

One day, I came across Brother Li working together with me. When we talked about the Lord’s return during our small talk, Brother Li said: “We must have our own opinions on our faith in the Lord and ponder His words with our heart, and then we can have the knowledge and discernment; we must not blindly listen to or believe anyone, for it is the Lord who we believe in and follow, and we are supposed to keep on His words and follow His path. Therefore, regardless of who it’s said by, we must measure it according to the words of the Lord. If the words of pastors and elders are in line with the truth, we should listen. If not, we mustn’t do so, no matter how high their position. Reversely, if the words of an ordinary sister, brother or a child conform to the truth, even if he or she has no position, we should listen. These are the principles that should be followed by us believers in the Lord.

The words of Brother Li intrigued me and then I spoke about my perplexities: “Brother, what you said just now is right. It’s the Lord that we believe in, and the most important thing is that we are expected to listen to His words, so there is no doubt that such fellowship is in line with His will. In my heart there is such a question that I’m still confused about. Our pastors often tell us that in the last days false Christs will emerge, show signs and perform miracles to deceive people. The Bible says: ‘For there shall arise false Christs, and false prophets, and shall show great signs and wonders; so that, if it were possible, they shall deceive the very elect’ (Mat 24:24), so the pastors often remind us not to go outside to listen to sermons in case we are deceived by false Christs. But I saw the prophecy in the Book of Revelation that when the Lord Jesus returns during the last days, He will speak to all the churches. He also has told us to open the door and welcome Him when we hear His voice. Now I get rather puzzled and worried that if I keep on blindly not listening or reading so that I should miss the opportunity to welcome the Lord, I’ll feel regret for my lifetime; if I go outside to investigate after hearing someone spread the work and utterance of the returned Lord, once I’m deceived by false Christs, won’t my several decades of years of faith in the Lord be in vain? Brother Li, what do you think of this matter?”

He said: “Brother, I think it’s the most accurate that we practice in accordance with the words of the Lord. Moreover, in my opinion, the Lord Jesus saying that there will be false Christs emerging in the last days means reminding us to be cautious about our treatment of the coming of the Lord lest we be deceived by false Christs. But it doesn’t mean letting us blindly guard against false Christs and ignore the investigation of the true God’s work and utterance. If we do according to the pastors’ words, how should we explain the parable of the wise virgins? The wise virgins refer to those who hear His voice, open the door and welcome Him, and then attend the feast with the bridegroom. Thinking more, we can find there is His will in the words of the Lord Jesus. Actually, the Lord has shown us the traits of false Christs through this word. He said: ‘For there shall arise false Christs, and false prophets, and shall show great signs and wonders; so that, if it were possible, they shall deceive the very elect’ (Mat 24:24). What problem can this show? During the last days, if a person who can show great signs and perform miracles calls himself God or Christ, this can’t be done by God but by evil spirits. Here another point can be shown that the Lord certainly won’t do wonders and perform miracles when He returns.” I nodded, thinking in my mind: There is light and insight in the remarks of Brother Li.

Brother Li continued: “In fact, as long as we master the principles of differentiating false Christs, we won’t be afraid of being deceived. What’s more, we can penetrate false Christs’ deception and see through their inherent nature of deceiving and swallowing people.” Then he read me a passage of God’s words: “If, during the present day, there is to emerge a person who is able to display signs and wonders, and can cast out demons, and heal the sick, and perform many miracles, and if this person claims that they are Jesus who has come, then this would be the counterfeit of evil spirits, and their imitation of Jesus. Remember this! God does not repeat the same work. Jesus’ stage of work has already been completed, and God will never again undertake that stage of work. … If, during the last days, God still displayed signs and wonders, and still cast out demons and healed the sick—if He did exactly the same as Jesus—then God would be repeating the same work, and the work of Jesus would have no significance or value. Thus, God carries out one stage of work in every age. Once each stage of His work has been completed, it is soon imitated by evil spirits, and after Satan begins to follow on the heels of God, God changes to a different method; once God has completed a stage of His work, it is imitated by evil spirits. You must be clear about these things” (“Knowing God’s Work Today”).

And then he began to fellowship: “We can see from this passage that God never repeats the same work. Every time He comes, He will usher in a new age, end an old age and replace the means of working. But false Christs can only imitate the work that God has done, for they are unable to do a new and improved work, much less are they able to complete an old age and usher in a new age. Let’s think more: At that time, through crucifixion the Lord Jesus had redeemed us from condemnation by law, been an eternal sin offering, and taken on our sin, so we mankind would no longer be condemned and punished because of failing to abide by the laws. There is no point in doing His previous work when the Lord Jesus returns. God is the source of the truth, and He never clings to the old but does His work in accordance with our demands and deficiencies. However, after God finishes His work, evil spirits and false Christs can only imitate God’s work to deceive people and can provide no supply whatsoever to us. Furthermore, false Christs can just display some simple and limited things regarded as supernatural by people. They are incapable of imitating grand miracles like the Lord Jesus calming the wind and waves, feeding the five thousand with five loaves and two fish, and bringing Lazarus back from the dead.”

Thanks for the Lord’s guidance. From Brother Li’s fellowship I understood the way to distinguish between the true Christ and false Christs. Meanwhile, I also realized that the Lord we believe in is of great authority and power, that Satan and evil spirits are all under the control of God, and that we should have confidence in the Lord and not refuse to contact the brothers and sisters beyond our own church for being afraid of being deceived by false Christs.

I asked Brother Li once again: “The Lord won’t show wonders and perform miracles when He returns, and then what will He do?”

He remarked: “Let’s first read two Bible verses, John 16:12-13, which say: ‘I have yet many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now. However, when he, the Spirit of truth, is come, he will guide you into all truth: for he shall not speak of himself; but whatever he shall hear, that shall he speak: and he will show you things to come.’ And it is mentioned many times in the Book of Revelation 2 and 3: ‘He that has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches.’ We can see from these verses that the Lord has told us exactly that He will express the truth and speak to all the churches when He returns. And why will He still speak? We can know from the verses that there are many other words He hasn’t told us yet. On one hand, at that time what He did was the work of redemption of mankind. He was mainly nailed to the cross as an eternal sin offering so that He could take mankind back from the hand of Satan and make us mankind survive. On the other hand, at that time man’s stature was limited, even though the words were spoken to them, they couldn’t understand and accept them. Just as when the parents talk to their infants about marriage and business, the infants are unable to understand. Until the time when the children get old enough to experience these things, their parents will tell them these things, and then they can understand. Similarly, we have to first undergo the Lord Jesus’s work of redemption, pray to Him, admit sins and repent, standardize our behavior, and no longer deliberately commit sins. In this case, our sins are forgiven and then we can survive. However, concerning the work of God bestowing more plentiful truth upon mankind and thoroughly saving mankind, we have to wait for the Lord to return to do it.”

Having heard Brother Li’s fellowship like this, I experienced a sudden revelation, and this issue that had confused me for a long time was finally resolved. I said to Brother Li: “Now I’ve got it. The Lord will no longer repeat the same work showing wonders and performing miracles when He returns. He has predicted that He will do the work of words. As long as we understand this, we won’t be deceived. I truly thank God for His enlightenment today. I will no longer keep on not listening, reading or investigating, and I must wait and seek with humility. Only this way can what I do conform to the will of the Lord. Thank the Lord! I hadn’t obtained such new light for a long time. All the glory be to the Lord.” Both Brother Li and I smiled happily.