#rush royale cultist

[blueopalsystem]

Sapphire eyes

Boy, your eyes are like sapphires

Gee, heh, that's pretty corny tho heh

Oh no, not at all. Any woman would like it

[arachnixe]

How Could I Ever Forget You?

(Part 5 of The New Goddess - Previous: Past The Limits Of Worship)

It’s spring, and I’m seated near father as he introduces to his court a new magician. It is considered auspicious to time announcements of major changes with the Feast of Augury, and so it is the first time most of the assembled guests hear the news that old Magister Lange has passed.

Magistra Velle immediately captures my attention with the way her personality seems to dominate the room. She is tall and aloof. Her exotic black dress shimmers, catching the light with rainbow hues like I’ve never seen before—father will later deny my request for one just like it—and I am captivated by the way her lips are painted black—again I will be denied—in defiance of all courtly norms of fashion. I watch the way she moves through the formal proceedings, cordial without a trace of warmth, greeting each member of the court with a just-so bow and a polite smile that never touches her eyes. They are intimidated by her, I realize, ill at ease with her manner.

It feels odd that I should not feel the same way. Though I’m acknowledged as an adult, I wield no authority that doesn’t come from my father. Velle is significantly older than me, fully in possession of her own arcane power. With a snap of her fingers, she could end my life. It would be wise to fear her, but it isn’t fear that quickens my pulse as I watch her.

The ceremony concludes with me, the royal heir, receiving her formal greeting.

“Princess Natalia.” Velle moves to offer her customary bow, but I preempt her by extending my hand. It’s an unusual gesture for this ceremony, but not altogether unprecedented, and to her credit, Velle hesitates for only an instant before taking my hand and pressing lips to it. The look she gives me afterward is unreadable, and it isn’t until she turns away that I exhale a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

I slip away as the attention of the court shifts to the food our servants lay out for the feast. My heart pounds in my chest, so anxious am I about being witnessed as I find an unoccupied room to duck into. When I’m sure I’m alone, I lift my hand to admire the faint mark left behind. Velle’s lip color. I press my own lips to it, lingering far longer than the kiss she offered, until fear gets the better of me and I scrub my hand clean with furious urgency, returning to the feast with an uncontrollable flush in my face.

I remain unaware of the dark smudge on my lips until I retire to my room that night and see myself in the mirror.

---

Some years later and half a continent away, a young mortal woman pours me tea while her husband distracts their children from showing too much curiosity to this oddly dressed stranger in their midst.

“So what brings you to Tassica Village?” There’s no subterfuge in her thoughts, no ulterior motives lurking anywhere in her mind. These people are simply content to offer shelter to a weary traveler—as they assume I must be—as her journey takes her through their town.

“I’m here on a spiritual quest of sorts.” I sip from the steaming cup. The tea tastes like its components, but I feel gratitude toward the generosity that inspired it. “I’m making a pilgrimage to Mount Ossen, which I believe to be the final resting place of one of the old gods.”

My host raises her eyebrows in surprise, glancing out her window at the sleeping volcano that dominates the view. She assumes me to be a cultist of the old pantheon but doesn’t want to offend by telling me I don’t act as unpleasantly morbid as that type tends to be. With quick thinking, she saves herself from appearing rude by directing her commentary toward the tea. “They must like it hot where you’re from, yeah? I have to let mine cool down a bit still or I’ll be suffering from a burnt tongue for days.”

I smile warmly. “No, I confess I’m a bit unusual in my ability to tolerate heat.”

“Well, don’t be in too much of a rush to finish. I’d love to hear more about the kingdom you hail from. What was it called again?”

“Rutennia,” I repeat for her. “Far to the south of here, across the sea.”

“Wow! I’ve never met anyone from such a long way away. Will you stay for dinner and tell us of your home?”

I follow the local custom of declining the initial offer so as not to burden my host, then accepting when she and her husband team up to insist. These sorts of detours among mortals make for a welcome distraction from the pursuit of my ambitions. Someday a great many people like this will know who I am and bow down in worship, and time among them helps remind me why the worship of humans is a worthwhile prize.

---

I scream into my pillow until I go hoarse. They tell me I am an adult when it comes to matters of betrothal and marriage, but when I ask to have Magistra Velle give me private lessons in her craft, I’m suddenly just a teenage girl for whom it’s wildly inappropriate to study black magic. Sure, and when I’m no longer a teenager in a few years, the issue will be that I’m too old to begin studying, and I’m a princess besides, so really I should be focusing on other matters. I know an excuse when I hear one.

I bet Velle got started when she was just a child. She’s probably been practicing her whole life to be as cool-headed and powerful as she is today. I wish I could be like that.

Maybe I should accept my father’s compromise and let Haeland Marta teach me “a few healing spells.” I guess that must be okay because it’s not “magic for war.” Ugh.

But… now that I’m considering it, maybe it’s not so bad. I don’t get to spend more time with Velle like I want, but having magic that complements hers has its appeal. Imagine the two of us together… she throwing lightning bolts at our enemies while I cast a protective barrier to shield her from harm. But then someone gets past my defenses and shoots her with an arrow! She tells me she’s fine, but I know she’s just playing it cool like she always does.

Then I have to take her back home and tend to her wounds, and she resists, telling me “princess, I cannot rest while your enemies are still at the gates!”

And then I go, “but what about you?” with tears in my eyes.

“Who cares about me?” she says. “I’m just a court magician, and you’re royalty!”

And I say “I care! I care about you!”

And then she looks at me and realizes that there’s one person in this world who isn’t afraid of her, and, and…

Ohhh… I can’t let anyone know I’m thinking these kinds of things.

I scrub at my face with my hands. What’s wrong with me?

---

Another tremor. Laying down at the peak, I can feel the volcano threatening to erupt, pulsing and twitching, building to another surge soon. My hand strokes the earth, coaxing it further. I don’t care to wait a century for this one’s next scheduled eruption, nor even longer for the next truly major one. I hunger for what’s inside.

Before long I get what I want. A distant rumble builds into an explosive climax, flinging stone, filling the sky with ash, and flooding this whole slope with a surge of molten rock.

More.

A second eruption washes over me, burying me deeper in lava. I’d be dead in at least four different ways if I were still mortal, but instead I remain dissatisfied. I plunge my senses deeper underground, wrap a hand of invisible force around the source of all this beautiful pyroclastic flow and squeeze until I get another, more powerful than the first two combined.

There we go.

I guide the lava’s flow to ensure it flows over me and past my body, the heat no more than a pleasurable caress that does not distract me from the prize it carries upward from deep under the earth into arms reach at last. I clasp a mummified hand and heave myself and the body up and out of the molten rock.

Here it is, the corpse of another god, unusually intact considering the conditions of its burial. Who were you that you had to be buried so inaccessible a place? How powerful were you in life that I could feel your energy calling to me with such mouthwatering might?

Most of the body is ready to crumble into dust, but I delicately unfurl brittle skin, push aside shriveled lumps of former organs, and find a perfectly preserved liver, still moist and quivering. It tries to jerk out of my grasp as soon as I lay hands on it, resisting me, forcing me to wrestle it into my mouth and fighting my efforts to rip it apart with my teeth and choke it down.

The power of every god wants a vessel, but they don’t like to share. No single god should wield the power of many. What I am doing is blasphemy.

Good.

---

Haeland Marta insists I help prepare Magister Lange’s body for the funeral ceremony. This has absolutely nothing to do with my studies and everything to do with the fact that she’s old and wants someone younger than her to do all the bending and moving that she can’t handle anymore.

Bleh. Some healer she is if she can’t even fix her own joints. I hear Istow’s are the best in the world, but despite them being our neighbor and ally, my father won’t pay to send for a real expert to tutor me. “Marta’s fine to teach enough of the basics to satisfy you.” He has no idea what I need to satisfy me. I could strangle him.

The old woman mutters to herself while passing a hand over the dead magician. “That’s not right…”

“What’s wrong, Haeland?”

She ignores my question, consulting the massive tome she has to lug around because she barely remembers her own training anymore. At last she stabs her finger at a page, clucks her tongue, and sighs. “That’s the one. Still remnants of it in his body. Poison. Ah, Your Highness, I should have checked before.”

I peer over her shoulder at the diagram of a familiar flower. Icy fingers grip my chest, and my breath hitches. I’ve seen some just like this once before: the day I snuck into Magistra Velle’s private rooms. Oh no. This is bad. If Marta tells someone, they might search the palace, and they might find the same poison that killed Magister Lange in Velle’s room, and… then she’ll be gone.

Maybe I can prevent that from happening. There probably won’t be another chance. I can do this. I have to cast the spell I’ve been practicing, but with just the right mistake. Haeland Marta told me how dangerous healing can be if you err in certain ways, and…

I put my hand on the old woman’s shoulder and heal her exactly wrong. Her heart is weak, and it doesn’t take much of a nudge to stop it altogether.

Oh. Oh no. Did I really just…? This was a mistake. This was a huge mistake. I bite my tongue hard to prevent myself from freaking out and screaming. I can undo it, right?

I cast the spell again, but correctly this time, and… nothing. I try again. And again and again. “You can’t bring someone back from the dead, girlie,” Haeland Marta once told me, and she’s wrong because she’s old and stupid and not as good as the healers from Istow, and…

I sob into my hands. What have I done? I… I…

I helped Velle. That’s what’s important, right? And, and, and now they’ll have to send for someone to replace Haeland Marta. Maybe one of the real experts. So this could be a good thing. Good for both of us.

Someday I’ll learn how to resurrect the dead. I’ll learn how to fix my mistakes. And this, this is a mistake, even if turns out for the best. I mustn’t make a habit of solving my problems this way.

---

Panting, sweating, heaving, spasming. This one is too much. It’s much too much. The power of fully three gods inside me. Three gods! Hahahahaha!

It’s too much.

No, no, no, damn it all, no. I will not surrender. I will have it all. There are many more powers to consume after this. This world is littered with them, and I can feel every last one calling out to me.

More like screaming my name in fear.

Whatever dwindling will lingers in each one, they hate that a human has elevated herself above them. Hahahahaha, let them hate. They are lost without me. They are dead and food to me.

A sickening pop inside me curls my body into the fetal position. Blood bursts from my pores, oozing like sweat. Maybe no human is really capable of containing this much power. I feel it threatening to split me open on a spiritual level. This could kill me.

I refuse. My soul is unconquerable. I will grow to accommodate my hungers.

I gave Nina the body she always ached for. I sculpted a palace in the sky for her and Jay to live the lives they deserve. I can do anything, except… No, I can’t die before taming her, can I?

Deep breaths. I just need to expand my sense of self. If a human soul cannot contain this much power, then I will evolve beyond human limits. Monster or dragon or demon, whatever it takes to devour all the gods and all the powers that died on this world, I will become what I must.

---

“Natalia’s aptitude for healing is remarkable, Your Highness, and she’s shown such enthusiasm for the topic as well.” Haeland Moore takes a moment to smile at me with pride. “I would be happy to accept her proposal. I daresay in two more years she’ll earn the title Haeland herself.”

“Her title is already Princess,” my father grumbles. “There are few higher aside from my own.”

“Quite so. It’s just that, ah, in Istow, as you know, one of our most revered monarchs was…”

“You would have me send my only daughter away to study healing magic.” He openly sneers at the idea.

Magistra Velle chimes in. “I say let her go. You have a rebellion to squash, and moving your heir farther from the front lines is a prudent choice.”

The king rubs his temple with two fingers in frustration. “After your most recent blunder, Magistra, I’m much less inclined to trust your judgment—oh, how I wish Lange were still with us—but you may have a point. And after the last two promising suitors turned out to have such weak constitutions,” he sighs, “and the unexpected death of that tutor from Melland as well… perhaps we should let our little bad luck charm be someone else’s problem for a while. If she happens to learn enough to keep her next suitor alive for more than a few weeks in her company, so much the better.”

This might be the first time I’ve heard those three mentioned in connection with me as the common thread before. Perhaps it’s the same for Velle, as some unreadable expression crosses her face, and she shifts her gaze to me appraisingly. I blush, as I always do when she pays attention to me, returning her look with a shy smile. I hope she understands we’re on the same team here.

Haeland Moore ignores everything except his opening. “She will learn how to do that much and more. You have my word, Your Majesty.”

“I’ll take your word, and to that I’ll add a knight to accompany her. Someone not too important, in case her bad luck strikes again. Maybe Count Warren’s boy?” He waves a hand. “Go, make the arrangements before I change my mind.”

I mouth the words “wait for me,” to Magistra Velle, who makes no movement to acknowledge them. I’ll be back for you. I promise.

I have no way of knowing it will be nearly five years before I return, and by then Velle, stripped of her title, will have vowed revenge on the royal family, setting out on a quest to ascend to godhood.

---

I’m stable. Stable enough, at least. Warped and deformed by swallowing something far larger than I should have, but I live. It still fights, but with effort perhaps I can mold my body back into something that appears familiar to others.

I cast my eyes about my surroundings, examining the devastation around the volcano. The lava appears to have mostly cooled already. How much time have I spent wrestling with the digestion process? I really should return home.

Wait, that spot over there. That’s where Tassica was, wasn’t it? Funny how it never even occurred to me to warn anyone that I was planning on provoking this eruption, and that Tassica would be wiped out.

I float down to the spot where kind people showed me uncomplicated hospitality. I pity them, but I feel no particular attachment to them. Mortals die all too easily, right? Does it even matter?

Should I choose to be a merciful god? Would it mean anything in the long run? No, these are the wrong questions. I am a god. I have more power coursing through me than has anyone who ever walked the world. I can do anything. All that matters is what it pleases me to do.

Today I think it would please me to offer magnanimity. It suits me to reward these people for their hospitality. Like puppies, mortals must be conditioned with suitable rewards that encourage behaviors I approve of. I’ve performed a resurrection once before, what’s a few more?

Carve an opening in the cooled lava with a wave of my hand. Restore the plants, the homes, everything burnt to ash, including animals and human bodies. Trace the souls and pull them back. My divine energy is still erratic, it still wants to fight me, but even so this is a shockingly easy task—no not a “task,” I am performing divine miracles, and I laugh with pleasure as I continue.

I can do better than restoring a piece of this flawed world to itself, though, can’t I? I can make it better. Let the land be more fertile, the crops more robust, the buildings sturdier, the people stronger and healthier. I’ll nudge the atmostpheric currents such that these people will never see another typhoon nor dry season. Even that is a trifle.

I do my best to pull my body back into human shape, but the struggle to contain everything is profound. I hardly even notice that the sun has set because right now I am pure daylight, and the one thing that feels beyond me now is to appear as I did when I first arrived. Almost in unison, the villagers awaken, and they are drawn to me like moths. As is only natural, they fall to their knees and heap prayers upon me. It’s beyond anything I ever imagined. One man reaches toward me—oh, the husband who hosted me earlier—and drunk on worship, I permit a finger to gently graze one of his.

He collapses into convulsions, his mind flooded with tiny, chaotic shards of my own sight. He babbles uncontrollably with fragments of phrases almost like truths and—

Ah, I seem to have broken him. That’s… exciting, actually. Terribly exciting. Maybe it’s the intoxication of so much worship, or maybe it’s the wild divine might pushing me to the ragged edge of self control, but I like what that did to him, and I will not undo it.

I shall inspire the understanding that contact with me has gifted him divine visions, and these people will venerate him as a prophet or oracle. Let them gather around and admire the beauty of a mind shattered by contact with the new goddess of this world.

---

Home again, I rest. I grant my little bird a boon.

I digest. My pet princess and I have a date.

I remember self-control. By the time I visit Velle I’m downright stable.

“I hope you’re ready to be tamed.” I speak the words with such profound gentleness that her ears don’t even rupture.

[noisilyscreechingsong]

Finding out about the cult’s plans to summon him was easy. They were quite public with their announcement. Tricking them to use him as a sacrifice (a young virgin?) was even easier. So here he was in the middle of a sigil with one of the cultists pointing a gun at his head to keep him still and another pointing a camera at him where the feed is live. Of course he’s acting the perfect confused victim with just the right about of scared and angry without making the robed people take physical action.

“Like seriously my guy, I think you could be so much more successful in a different profession,” he says to the man aiming a gun at his head. “I hear IT is a good way to go.”

He doesn’t respond, but then again none of them have from his taunts and questions.

The smirk on Danny’s face is more of a grimace and the glance he sends the camera is anxious. He isn’t even acting. He’s insanely nervous this wasn’t going to work. All of this to avoid telling his boyfriend that he’s half dead (and the general public, but he’s more worried about his personal relationship).

Being a Wayne, Damian is naturally suspicious and catches on quickly to things a little out of place. Danny didn’t have much of a choice. The cult was gonna preform the summoning regardless, it was all about how he spun it to prevent Damian from dumping him before he could snap his fingers. So here he was, tied to a chair in some random warehouse and- oh, they’ve started chanting. Fantastic.

He puts on an excellent show if he does say so himself with scared glances around himself and worried questions.

“What are you- what are you doing? That’s not gonna do anything. I didn’t take Latin but even I know this is-“

Then he promptly chokes as he feels the pull of the summoning. It only seems to spur them on as they see the effect it has on him.

“You- Something’s wrong. This feels weird,” he tells them, stumbling over words in the panic, trying to figure out what was happening.

They get louder.

“Stop. Stop it.”

His voice is weaker now, full of apprehension and just out of it.

It honestly feels surreal. The cult trying to pull him even though he’s already here. It’s like the kind of vertigo he feels going through time.

Danny’s eyes flash green and he shakes his head like he’s trying to physically shake it off. He can tell they are at the tail end of their chant when a wisp of cold air escapes his lips with a gasp.

By the time they’ve finished the summoning he’s completely changed his persona into the Royal King he’s been training to be.

He blinks open toxic green eyes with a straight face. Calm and regal in the face of a new situation he knows he has control over. Gone was the usual bubbly smile everyone sees and the panicked confusion of right now.

He wasn’t Danny anymore, he was Phantom. The slip was easy- practiced.

He doesn’t even glance at the ropes before using his intangibility to stand from the chair like they weren’t even there.

Tall and confident posture replaces the easy going, relaxed stance of Danny Fenton. He maybe not be physically wearing a crown, but it’s easy to see the position he holds without it.

Those captivating orbs skim over the stunned cultists, pausing momentarily at the camera where he tilts his head minutely in intrigue before moving on, finally stopping at the man who was clearly the leader with an emblem of green fire on his breast.

His voice echoes when he speaks.

“Why have you summoned me?”

Out comes a trembling response of world domination and other such nonsense.

“What do you have that I would want?” He questions cutting off the ramblings.

“…You would have the world, Your Majesty. All you have to do is take it. We brought you here so that you have the opportunity to do so.”

He walks the edge of the circle lazily, gazing around the decrepit building with leisure. He’s in no rush, in fact the slower the better.

“Explain to me why you think I would want your world.”

The people freeze, even more than they already were.

“Your Majesty?”

Danny waits, not acknowledging the question and finally stops in front of one of the people in robes. Under the hood he can see the sheer terror on their face as he gazes into their eyes. At the smell of urine he casually looks back at the leader expectantly.

“Why- why wouldn’t you want this world? All the souls you could have. The Justice you could deliver…”

He turns to continue walking around the circle, purposefully putting his back to the leader to show how little of a threat he thinks of them.

“Despite knowing my title, you forget who I am.”

The ground frosts over where he steps now, the shadows deepening and any kind of lights flicker.

“I am the ruler of the Infinite Realms. Every soul will eventually come to me. Time is no enemy to me. The deeds done here will receive justice for when those souls arrive at their destination. I am the mid-way. The in-between. The Balance. Why would I want your world when I already have so much more?”

He ends that question in front of the leader once more, looking down on him even though the man was several inches taller than him. The man actually cowers.

“You dare bring me to this plane when I have no purpose here? You think you have any power over the lives of your fellow humans? How pathetic.”

There is a beat and then shattering glass as Gotham’s vigilantes finally descend upon the cult, easily taking them down and tying them together.

Danny watches them back as they all assess the new threat keeping the poor civilian hostage. He tilts his head in contemplation.

“Balance keepers,” he acknowledges. “Interesting.”

They don’t even have to glance at each other for Nightwing to step forward, drawing his attention.

“You said you are the balance, didn’t you?”

Toxic eyes wander over them all slowly. Red Robin to the right, then Nightwing, Batman, and Robin at the left. For some reason the sword swinging vigilante looks especially murderous.

If he wasn’t in the middle of this he would be totally geeking out. Maybe when he’s Fenton again.

“Yes. I am many things. Balance is one.”

“Then you understand why you have to go back to your… realm and leave the kid here where he belongs.”

Danny frowns. ‘Kid’? He’s sixteen! Almost seventeen, he’s not a kid.

“Must I?” He challenges purely out of spite.

“Vacate him immediately, you-!”

“Robin!” Batman growls.

Danny knew the newest Robin could be aggressive (all the Robins had to be to survive), but he didn’t know just how much until right now.

Fine, it was time to wrap things up anyway.

Not wanting to provoke the vigilante anymore Danny doesn’t verbally respond, instead he walks calming back to the chair, letting the rope fall through to sit down like it’s a throne.

He can’t help but send them a small smirk that says he knows a secret they don’t know.

“Until next time, Balance Keepers.”

“Wait-“

Danny closes his eyes and slumps into the chair like cutting the strings off a marionette. He has enough experience with overshadowing to know what it looks like.

His eyes are blue again when he blinks them open.

He stares at the group in front of him in confusion, they all looked horrified for whatever reason, and then spots the pile of cultists groaning in the corner. He blanches.

“Are you kidding me? I missed the fight? How did I miss it?” He cries in outrage.

They don’t answer immediately and takes the awkward silence to look around at the broken windows and his surrounds.

“Are you okay? Can you stand?”

He thinks it might be Nightwing who asks but isn’t quite sure. He raises a brow.

“Of course I can’t stand, I’m tied to a-“

He looks down.

“Oh… uh, I don’t- I mean.” He clears his throat. “Sorry. Thanks for getting me out I guess.”

Clumsily, he stands and awkwardly pats himself down.

“Yep. I’m good. Totally okay. Can I get out of the creepy circle now, please?”

“Try,” Red Robin suggests. Danny notices how careful he is to not say any form of yes and promptly shrugs it off.

So Danny walks out of the sigil, stepping eagerly over the last line and looking back at the scene. Like a true teenager he pulls his phone out of his pocket that they didn’t confiscate and took a picture.

“Wild.”

“How do you feel?”

He turns back to Nightwing and finds them all looking at him. He tucks his phone away self-consciously.

“Uh, fine? I mean, I can take a punch,” he rubs his cheek where they first kidnapped him.

The vigilante’s lips thin and Danny thinks that wasn’t what he was asking about.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Well,” he rubs the back of his neck, “I was tied to the sacrifice chair and they started chanting- I really don’t think it was Latin if you ask me- and then, um, I blinked and you guys were here.”

Danny pauses for dramatic effect and opens his mouth in an O in false realization. He groans and covers his face with his hands.

“Oh my- are you telling me I passed out? I totally blacked out, didn’t I? Mother f- this is so embarrassing. I’m gonna die.”

“No you won’t,” Nightwing tries to reassure.

“Yes I will. I’m gonna go find a deep, dark hole to climb in and just die. What am I supposed to tell my boyfriend? Oh no, I can never show my face again.”

“Okay, he’s fine,” Red Robin brushes off as Danny sinks to the floor with head in his hands. “I’m going to go talk with the police.”

“The police?” Danny cries. “Grace Holland’s mom is on the force. The whole school will know by Tuesday! This is the worst.”

***

While Danny was giving a statement to the police Robin and Batman sat crouched upon the nearest roof.

“I’ll call Constantine,” the father states.

Damian clenches his fist.

“I should have walked him home. He wouldn’t be-“

He wouldn’t be possessed by the King of the Dead if Damian had just walked his boyfriend home. This was all his fault.

His father doesn’t even deny it.

“We’ll monitor him.”

“He doesn’t remember anything. He doesn’t know.”

“Which is why we will keep an eye on him.”

That was their duty now. Damian’s responsibility since he couldn’t keep Danny safe to begin with. They’ll watch him, keep him close, and wait for any signs of the King surfacing. The being said he would see them again. He wasn’t gone, just bidding his time. Waiting. Watching.

How could Damian let this happen?

DP x DC Prompt.

Deadserious

.

>Danny had a problem. He thought he handled it well. He couldn't tell his civillian boyfriend of his half-dead status.

He definitely couldn't let him find out by being summoned by some culty wannabes who wanted to rule the world.

Easy solution: Volunteer to be the sacrifice, turn his eyes green, and act like a Royal prick and powerful being. Get rescued by one of Gothams 50 vigilantes. And claim no memory.

Boom, secret identity underwraps.

He didn't expect everyone to treat him so fragile after.

>

Damian also had a problem. That problem, being his civilian boyfriend, was obviously possessed by a spirit of the ghastly ghost king and was utterly clueless about it.

And it was all his fault.

Danny Fenton was the next June Moore/ Enchantress. Except he was hosting one of the most powerful beings in the universe.

And that lovable idiot had no damn idea about it.

[afriendgaming]

Cultist But He Can't Afford To Reincarnate In Rush Royale

Hey Friends! Today’s gameplay Cultist But He Can’t Afford To Reincarnate In Rush Royale. We play the deck to perfection. You can support me by using Creator Code: AFriend You can use the creator code at Market.My.Games/Shop/125 Enter your RR ID for a chance to win $50 weekly! Right now the shop has 10% off of all passes and an extra 10% on platinum! VOICEMOD 5% Discount Code: AFriend Spotify…

[rushroyaledecks]

MAX LVL Inquisitor vs Cultist RUSH ROYALE PVP WHO WIN? How to play with ...

[deiliamedlini]

WIP Wednesday

I have been mentally down and writing poorly for a few weeks now, and even my friend was like “oof, yeah don’t post this yet. It needs work” and thankfully has been stopping me from making rash decisions like randomly posting fics to AO3 on a whim.

The WIP below (even though it needs more editing) is the beginning of the new fic I’m going to post next. I’m finally back to the pirates too, which is making progress, but is just slow going because I’m making sure I’m not forgetting plots (which I already have so I am not rushing the chapter but it is in progress finally!).

It’s a Pre-Calamity AU with heavy emphasis on the AU. It’s basically Zelda being forced to train with Link for her safety. Antagonistic-but-not-enemies, to friends, to lovers trope. I want to call it Dance With Me because it’s not really about dancing (I like the other meanings of the phrase), but my friend says it sucks as a title and now I’m rethinking 😂 I’m doing so well! 

~~

When Princess Zelda was seventeen years old, she’d been fully prepared to die.

Ancient prophecies had foretold a Great Calamity that would sweep the land of Hyrule into a great blight and destroy it all unless those chosen by destiny could stop it.

Zelda had been one of those who’d been blessed by the Goddess’s alleged favor: Hylia’s spirit and magic coursed within her.

But the wielder of the Master Sword hadn’t been found in time.

Four champions stayed by the Divine Beasts: Urbosa, Revali, Daruk, and Mipha. And for a year, the five of them waited while King Rhoam of Hyrule went on a mad search for the Chosen Hero and for the location of the Master Sword itself.

Zelda had spent that time relentlessly pursuing the Goddess’ power; she passed out in the holy springs, prostrated herself before Goddess statues for hours at a time, devoted every waking second she had to prayer. But despite her greatest efforts, her attempts were fruitless.

But perhaps the Goddess were showing their favor after all, because despite every prophecy, despite every prediction, wall carving, and palm reading, the Calamity never came, and Zelda was spared a horrific death at the hands of darkness incarnate.

One year after the predicted date, the Champions felt like they could finally move away from the Beasts, ever watchful, but able to maintain some of their daily lives. Zelda stopped spending day and night in freezing water and instead moved to the Temple of Time where the weather was bearable, and the distance was well within reach of the Castle while still spending most of her time in holy grounds.

Two years after the predicted date, the Champions began to lead normal lives again, freely leaving their domains, though they were still ready to return at a moment’s notice. Zelda began to spend more time in the library, sifting through ancient tombs and personal diaries of past monarchs, hoping her answer lied in pages rather than prayer.

Three years after the predicted date, the Champions were harder to find on a day-to-day basis. But Zelda remained steadfast and relentless with her nose in books and her knees in the spring’s water. The Sheikah had to pull her out several times. They had to force her into recovery.

But by the fourth year, the Beasts had gathered dust, and Zelda had utterly given up, instead helping Purah and Robbie with their ancient tech and Guardian research, which—despite the lack of the Calamity—still had other practical applications.

It seemed that everything had been built up for no reason, that there was no Calamity after all.

So, it was only when they’d all gotten comfortable that the Yiga Clan, a cult devoted to the demon lord Ganon, began their relentless assault on Princess Zelda, heir to the Goddess’ devastating sealing powers.

The entirety of that year had been spent with Zelda running from attack after attack, losing her guards, losing Sheikah. She was sent back to the castle where Purah set up protective wards around her room that ran off ancient tech, and she continued working on them so they might be able to encompass the entire castle.

King Rhoam’s royal command had been that Zelda could not touch any Sheikah tech. She couldn’t look at Guardians, or ask about runes and wards. So, Zelda returned to her studies once more until her eyes burned from sitting over tombs in the candlelight.

She had to admit, she’d become proficient in her royal duties, following her father to almost everything she was permitted in. What she wasn’t, he’d fill her in on after.

At this point, a vast majority of Hyrule believed the peace was a sign that the Calamity was never going to arrive. The other school of thought, which Zelda subscribed to, was that the Calamity should be feared far more than ever, its unpredictability keeping the other half of the kingdom in a deeply rooted state of caution and suspense ever since.

Though Zelda had asked her father to let her leave the protection of the Castle more often for experiences outside of prayer, his answer was always the same: “I lost your mother to those cultists; I will not lose you as well.”

“I just want to swim in Lake Hylia,” she’d tried once. “The days have gotten unbearable. Please, father? I’ll take an entire company of guards with me.”

“I’m sorry, Zelda. No. You may go to a spring of your choice. The waters there will likely be a cool temperature. Perhaps try the Spring of Wisdom.”

Zelda was 21, though she felt as though one hundred years had passed. She was tired, bone weary with an exhaustion that had set in so deep, she spent a decent amount of her days simply sleeping. When she was awake, she stared at her hand, waiting for magic to miraculously hit her in the face. Perhaps if she stared long enough, the Goddess would take pity on her patheticness.

The days when she’d been sent out to pray were now her favorites. She’d found ways to coerce her guards into taking longer routes, stopping for longer breaks.

That’s what happened on the day her father had reached his breaking point regarding the attacks on her life.

She returned to the castle shaken and sore, but his tight arms held her as his body shook with relief. He sank to his knees and held her in his arms the way he’d done the day her mother died, and he realized he needed nothing more than to hold his child in his arms to remember that the world was still spinning as long as she was alive.

He’d told her that when he’d said goodnight to her, standing in the doorway of her room with poorly concealed heartache written all over his sagging body.

“I’m really fine,” Zelda said for the fourth time that hour. She sat on top of her long, blue satin sheets, sliding a bit as she tried to adjust her leg. Something about being curled into herself in some way helped make her feel comfortable as she smiled to ease her father’s mind.

“Okay. Well, I’m going to stop by in the morning, if that’s alright.”

“Sure,” she said, shrugging as if she were entirely unaffected by everything she’d been through. She was good at that façade after five years of stares and whispers.

“Okay. Goodnight. May the Goddess watch over you.”

That was how Zelda found herself in the library before the crack of dawn, perched on a ladder in the top shelves of the restricted section. She had access, of course, but she was reading an untranslated a Sheikah tomb from a former handmaiden of the Princess of Hyrule before her ascent to the throne. That Princess had practically bled power, and Zelda hoped her handmaid noted something of interest.

She tucked the book under her arm and climbed down, crossing the library that was filled with several lifetimes worth of books, and stopped in the government documents. Her eyes trailed the spines for a familiar one with territories clearly outlined. She went to the language section to grab a reference book for Ancient Sheikah. Though she was mostly fluent in that, among several other languages, the ancient variations on words occasionally tripped her up. So she set back up to her room with her pile of books, ready to be confined by her father for her safety once again.

Zelda nodded to several of the guards she passed as they stood at their post. Despite the castle being one of the safest places in Hyrule thanks to all the tech, guards were still positioned in the most well-traveled places on their patrols, while two guards stood at her door and her father’s.

Biting her lip, Zelda craned her neck around her pile to try to find the doorknob, fumbling her hand around blindly, just barely able to turn the handle. And because the Goddess never wanted to cooperate with her, she dropped two of the books, though she managed to cling to the relic with tight fingers. The other two fell right onto her guard’s foot.

“I’m so sorry!” Zelda muttered, bending to pick them up.

The guard was beside her, nearly banging heads with her as he grabbed the heavy translation tomb. Thankfully for her, he flinched away in time; he was wearing a helmet that covered most of his head, and she didn’t want to be on the receiving end of that metal. “Don’t apologize,” the guard said softly, picking up the other book for her. “Would you like me to…” He gestured vaguely to her room.

“Oh, no thank you. Just stack them on top of this one.” He did, and she took a step inside before backing up. “Actually, would you mind getting the antechamber door for me, please?”

He stepped inside and pushed the second door open before backing up respectfully.

“Thank you so much,” she said, about to use her foot to close the door when she looked back. “And again, I am sorry I dropped a heavy book on your foot.”

He bowed his head and stepped back out, so she closed the door and set her books down.

Her father came into her room early, as promised.

“Zelda,” he said with a strained greeting. The corner of his lip twitched, like his muscles had become tired under the strain of holding it up for so long, and his eyes held no joy, no spark. It was forced chipperness, and Zelda picked up on it immediately.  “May I sit?”

“Of course.”

She sat on a chest at the foot of her bed, and he pulled the chair away from the desk to face her. “Well, let’s not beat around the bush. There have been many attempts on your life, but I have felt none so potently as yesterday’s. When they told me you’d been attacked, all I could remember was the news of your mother. And then when you were brought in…” he ran a hand along a bruise on her cheek that she didn’t realize she had until she felt a flare of pain cause her to flinch. “You are my precious daughter, and I love you. I never want to see you harmed. That said, others do. It’s becoming impossible for you to safely leave the castle.”

Zelda braced herself. This was where he confined her to her room or to the palace grounds for the foreseeable future. She folded her hands over her lap so he couldn’t see the shaking grow more visible.

“You’ve been unable to protect yourself with your powers, so we must resort to other means. You’re to learn to defend yourself, starting immediately. We still need you at the springs, so I cannot command you to stay here. You still are a priestess of Hylia. So, given your setbacks, you’ll need to learn.”

Zelda’s mouth dropped open as she let the words process through her mind. “I’m sorry, what?”

“We’ll hopefully have a sword in your hand soon enough, but you’ll be able to defend yourself from these cultists.”

“A sword?”

“It’s too dangerous. We’ve lost too many guards. And you can’t fight as it is. This is the best option.”

“No!” she said, much louder than intended. “Fight the Yiga?” She shuddered just at the word.

“Zelda, we need you to live. Hyrule needs you to succeed, and to succeed, you must survive.”

Standing up didn’t make it any easier to breathe, as Zelda had hoped. “You think I haven’t tried?” Tears threatened her eyes as her voice cracked on her last word. As if years of her life sacrificed to unreturned devotion wasn’t enough for her. For him. For all of Hyrule. She’d tried, she’d bargained, she’d offered up her comfort, her breath, her mind, her years, her time. She was one person. What was left for her to do?

“Do you think I just stand there and watch my knights get murdered? Do I just drop to my knees and pray? Is that what you think I do?”

“Zelda…”

“No! You’re right, father. I’ll lead the Yiga right to the Goddess Spring that you need me to go to again just so I can brandish a sword and strike one down with my prowess! Because, Goddess knows that my Knights have an easy enough time with the Yiga, so it should be a cinch for me!” The sarcasm oozed from her in an unintentional venom drip.

“You’re telling me that I’ve failed! You’re telling me to give up and grab a stupid sword! Give me some armor next time I go to the Temple of Time! I don’t need my priestess garb. I have my sword! Because it will absolutely save me!”

“Zelda, please.”

“Please,” she scoffed, finally feeling a hot tear on her cheek. “You’re telling me I’m going to die! Five years ago, I was ready. I knew I’d failed, but I stood vigil waiting for the Calamity to give my life in the final hope that it might stop Ganon! But now, I was blessed with time, and still I can’t do it! I can’t access her powers. So you want me to fail one more time by using a sword to defend myself? This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, and I was there when Lady Styla proposed that sham of a fashion show to lift spirits.”

“That’s irrelevant, Zelda.”

From the look on his face, she could tell he was not budging. She tried another tactic. “I-I shouldn’t be near a sword anyway! What if I stabbed myself by accident? Then there’s no way I’ll ever unlock mother’s power. I’ll be dead with or without the Yiga! I already dropped a book on my guard today! That could have been my foot with a knife! And before you tell me that there have been warrior queens and princesses throughout the history of Hyrule, that’s because they never met me. I’m not a fighter! I read books all day! I take notes. I can bore the Calamity to death with a detailed review of the territory lines in Northern Akkala! That might be more effective than a sword, at least.”

“Zelda, you’re not thinking of the big picture…”

“But if I don’t unlock the power because of some silly distraction like learning how to fight, then the world will fall to the Calamity. My time will now need to be spent in that wretched training area with all kinds of sweaty men. Do you want your precious daughter exposed to such a sight? Worse yet, what if I like it and decide to spend all my days there with… shirtless men!” She grimaced and blushed all at once.  

“This is the most absurd argument I’ve ever heard. You leave me no choice but to make that a command from your king rather than a request from your father. Because as much as I love you, I also am obligated to keep you safe.”

“Obligated?” her voice cracked again, losing some of her rambling thunder. “I’m an obligation? Is that how you see your daughter?”

She gasped when he let the silence answer for him.

“You start your training now. Your instructor has already been informed and will be ready for you.”

“Who?” she asked, glancing at the four guards at her door. Two hers, two her father’s. They were all hearing her shame. How long until everyone knew?

“He’s the most renowned swordsman in all of Hyrule, one of our best fighters, and he’s about your age, so he should be someone you can get along with.”

“The best fighter in all of Hyrule is only 22? No wonder the Yiga are everywhere, if those are our standards.”

“Be kind, Zelda.”

“Is that another order, My King?”

He sighed and crossed the room, stopping at her door. “One more thing. While you’re there, I’ve given him permission to overrule you if you command him not to train you. You will learn to stay safe, whether you want to or not. Now change and go. He’s expecting you now.” He turned his head to her guards. “Make sure she goes to the training yard, and if she refuses, come fetch me.”

As soon as he was gone, she slammed her door and sagged into the wood.

She did consider hiding out, but she knew her father would simply bring the soldier into her room to train if he had to. At this point, with the number of times the Yiga had come after her, she wouldn’t have really blamed her father if he’d locked her in a door-less room and dropped this instructor in through a hole in the ceiling until she learned to protect herself.  Truthfully, the idea itself—in theory—wasn’t the worst. Except for the fact that the Yiga were deadly warriors who trained to kill for most of their lives and slaughtered companies of trained Hylian knights.

Grabbing her most comfortable pants to train in, Zelda slowed as she remembered the event that had started this all.

The Great Tabanthan Bridge crossed the long expanse of the Tanagar Canyon, and she was always careful of the crossing. The fall alone would not only kill someone, but it’d likely flatten them clean out from a drop of that height. So, crossing it was not something that was taken lightly on a good day.

Being that far out there was entirely her fault to begin with.

She’d desired to visit the Temple to Hylia that was at the edge of the gorge, but she’d opted to lead everyone along the scenic route to enjoy some of her free time outside of the castle. The guards had protested briefly, but Zelda was adamant about a scenic detour.

What she hadn’t been able to predict or expect, no matter how much research she did, was that the Yiga were there, lying in wait for her and her guards.

She’d been bucked clean off her stubborn horse, and she’d been left on the great bridge as three Yiga ran for her. Though she’d gone to run, she was caught by one who appeared in front of her in a puff of smoke.

Trying to fight them off of her had been like the great struggle of praying for the Goddess’ powers: utterly futile, and a waste of time.  

Half of her attempts to shake them had been by holding the rope handle of the bridge and throwing herself precariously close so they’d have to follow.

The soldiers eventually reached her and fended the Yiga off, but they’d also recounted the entire incident to her father in horrific detail: how she was winded by the time she’d run halfway across the bridge, how she nearly fell off the great, how she couldn’t fight any of them off and had been overwhelmed, and how her weak strength had caused two large wounds in her palms from where she’d tried to push a blade away from her at one point.

Glancing down at her now-healed hands—thanks to the castle medics—Zelda pulled on her boots and tugged up the laces tight. She wasn’t weak. She just wasn’t… physically domineering. But put any puzzle, any riddle, any impossibility in front of her and she’d find the solution. That’s not weakness. That’s strength. She is strong… just not traditionally.

Her shirt was loose, and she tied up her hair before looking at herself in the mirror for a long time, finally noticing the bruise she’d sustained. She was going to hate this almost as much, if not more, than she hated horseback riding.

Resigned to her fate, Zelda trudged slowly toward the training yard, hoping to be late enough to at least remind everyone that she didn’t want to be there.

Glancing at the sun, she’d determined that she managed to be at least fifteen minutes late. Not bad. She could do worse next time.

The yard was empty of the usual hustle and bustle that went on, and she imagined that her father must have ordered it be kept clear for her private sessions. But it was also clear of an instructor.

She stood in the middle of the training yard and fisted her hands tightly as she looked around. No one. Her eyes narrowed at the empty space, searching for some sign of trickery. But the only others there were the two guards she had brought with her.

“Is this some sort of a joke?” Zelda asked, placing her hands on her hips. “Hello?”

There was no answer.

Shrugging happily to herself, she was ready to leave, but one look at her guards standing near the entrance reminded her of her father’s orders to fetch him if she didn’t go; either she stayed here long enough to prove that she made the attempt, or she’d be embarrassingly dragged back down by her father’s guards, humiliated as they would keep hold of her arms to ensure she followed them right back here. Her father would make sure she was here, no matter what.  

Crossing her arms, Zelda walked around. She rarely went to the training yards unless she was up in the parapets, so being down in the dirt and grass felt like she was in an entirely new world. One she didn’t belong in.

There were training dummies lined up against a wall and a worn dirt track in a wide circle around the outskirts of the otherwise square area. There was a bench. There were weapons on a rack.

And that was it.

She looked at the footprints etched in the dirt, kneeling down to read the story told by the shoe treads. There was a large step forward, and then several overlapping smaller ones as the wearer clearly stumbled back. Then a single skid mark as they were forced back. And then the imprint of a body where they’d fallen.

If Zelda were here under any other circumstances, she’d have smiled and tried to find all the stories in the dirt, but instead, she stood back up and sighed, craning her neck towards the barracks just past the archway. No one was outside, and no one was coming.

“Okay,” she muttered to herself, prepared to leave. But her eye caught on a weapon rack, and she glanced one more time at the barracks before heading to the largest spear. She held it, pretending she was one of her knights. Goddess, if a Yiga came at her, she’d die. Fear first, and then clumsiness, because who could control this glorified stick well enough to kill a Yiga?

She shuddered and put it back.

“You can get there eventually,” someone said.

She spun around to see one of her two guards walking towards her. He removed his helmet, shaking out his blonde hair. Zelda watched in confusion as he set the helmet down on a post and pulled a blue band off his wrist to tie his long hair back.

“But only if you’re not fifteen minutes late on purpose,” he said, not looking up at her. “Princess,” he added with a bow of his head.

Her mouth dropped slightly and her cheeks warmed at the light scolding. “I beg your pardon?” she asked, almost doubting if she’d heard him correctly.

She scoffed at his audacity, recognizing the bright blue eyes of the guard she’d dropped her book on. Did he think that a conversation with her this morning gave a guard the right to chastise her?

He held out his hand, and she instinctively handed the spear back, though in hindsight she wished that she’d hit him with it instead. She’d been too stunned. He returned it to it’s place, and walked across the entirety of the training yard without so much as looking at her.

Her feet tumbled after him as she mentally and physically struggled to keep up. What was happening? Why wasn’t he answering her? Why was he even talking to her? Who was this man?

“Hey!” she finally called. He stopped and turned.

That’s when he looked up for the first time, his downcast blue eyes lifting off the dirt and settling on her green ones.

Pride swelled in her when she saw them waver, because clearly her voice had rattled him in some way. He clearly didn’t like looking her in the eye either. His eyes kept darting off of hers, and he had to keep forcing them back. Her own eyes narrowed, trying to understand this guard. “Who are you?”

“Your instructor.” 

[starlsssankt]

It had taken a few days at first to find the Cult, but fortunately, it had only needed some slight shifting of the shadows to convince them he was indeed their Starless Saint. The reverence they'd showed then-- It filled a spot in the Darkling that a part of him had always, in some way, hungered for.

It wasn't fear that they looked at him with; it wasn't seeing him as other in a negative way-- It was awe. Respect. Admiration.

Needless to say, it took nothing at all for them to take him where he needed to go. Another day or so journey south, veering into the woods that he vaguely remembered traversing as a boy...

Until the small shack came into view, and Aleksander could feel the power emitting from it. Like it called to that inherent part of him, that part that hungered, that part that craved--

It had taken another few hours as he searched through old papers, journals. Ones that were different from the others he'd had before, but revealed so much-- A few whispered words, a reach down into the well of his strength, and he could feel the shadows respond.

The darkness grow stronger within him, like a flood of energy seeping through every vein, every pour.

His mother might have tried to warn him away from merzost years ago, and repeatedly. But there was something inherently addictive about it that he couldn't escape.

That rush--

Another few hours passed as he'd left the Cultists, let them return to their sanctuary with the promise to find them again. And he felt that power, as he wandered the trails he had centuries ago. He reacquainted himself with that inherent part of him that had disappeared--

No, just been locked away, Aleksander realized. And he'd found the key again.

He'd lost track of time after a bit, having paused in some old ruins with the shadows undulating around him. Slithering along the ground like serpents, covering over him like a welcomed, warm cloak. It felt like home in a way almost nothing had ever felt before--

That was when the Darkling heard her. Sensed her. His name--one still so few actually knew, Jayn among them--echoing over to him. Aleksander closed his eyes, sensing his surroundings...

She spoke true, it seemed, as he could feel no one else but her in the vicinity. No guards, no royal armies. Not even another Grisha.

The shadows ended up parting like a sea, pulled back like the curtains of darkness that they were, as he stalked forward. Aleksander still kept a certain amount of distance from Jayn, however. Dark eyes took her in, her posture, the surroundings...

❝ It figures that they would send you, Jayn. After all, you are the only one that seems to understand me any longer... ❞ To a point, of course.

She tried to give him a head start, once the monarchy had given her her orders (which were more like a thinly veiled threat). So much for going home. Thankfully, Jayn knew that Aleksander would waste no time in meeting with his followers and searching for his grandfather's workshop. She hoped that Baghra had taken him there before.

Still...say he found whatever he needed to strengthen himself and regain his lost powers. He'd seek revenge on Ravka, or Os Alta at least, as soon as he was ready. So there would be another civil war. There were still those non-Grisha who hated users of the Small Science, and he'd have to deal with them during and after the war, assuming he won. Aleksander would have to win, because there was no way he'd be allowed to live a second time. At one point, there would have been no question in Jayn's mind who the most powerful Grisha in existence was. But that was before Aleks had been weakened, before the other Sun Summoners were all created, before Zoya had become the equivalent of three Grisha plus a damned dragon. The odds weren't in his favor. He was smart, but his arrogance could easily be his downfall. It had been before.

So she had to try and talk him down, even if doing so was implausible. Part of what made Aleksander so admired and feared back in the day was his conviction. Everything he did had a reason and he moved with a purpose. He killed without regret, and he was used to planning years into the future.

Jayn stopped her horse several yards from where Aleksander was sheltered. She didn't want him attacking her while she was on horseback, even if it was on accident. The horse didn't deserve his temper, and she didn't feel like recovering from a high fall.

"Aleksander Morozova--" You're wanted for crimes against Ravka. Come out with your hands held high and apart. Her throat was dry. She wasn't sure if he'd abandoned his cultists or not. She just knew that her skills had tracked him to one location.

"Aleks, we don't have much time. Come on, we need to talk. No one's here but me." Here we go.

[thefoodwiththedood]

"At Her Side"

Here's another installment to the big, overarching story I've been doing with Hatou, Eobea, and Oesta! Chronicled here are the first few week's of Eobea's reign as Empress of Iridonia, and, parallel to that, Hatou's last few weeks in her service.

To see what events have led up to this story, you can also check out my other stories I’ve made so far: “Strategy,” “Rising Phoenix,” “Good Guys,” and "The Last Time I Saw My Father" Let me know what you think of this bit!

Characters: Hatou Koros, Empress Eobea Xovrada

Setting: 19 BBY, Iridonia

Word Count: ~2,500

“Eobea, it’s—”

She was looking out the window when I came in, her gaze cast over the thousands crowding outside the palace. When she turned to me, I couldn’t help but be silenced. It was as if one of the royal portraits had sprung from its frame; her coronation gown, all white silk and gold, shone bright as it reflected the setting sun. She was to be crowned, and she more than looked the part—the only thing that betrayed it was her eyes, still puffy from a day spent mourning. In her hands, she held the crown the great Xovrada had once worn. Her father’s crown. Her crown.

“It’s...almost time to begin.” I started again. Both our gazes fell to the crown. “I heard the royal goldsmith was up all night reshaping it for you. Does it fit?”

She let out a ragged breath. “I haven’t had the nerve to try it on yet. I just…” she trailed off, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. I joined her. “I can’t see myself ever being who—what he was. I don’t know if I can win them over like he did.” she sighed, turning the crown in her hands so it faced her. “I don’t know if this will ever fit.”

“It will.” I said, calling her attention back to me. “You were born to do this, Eobea. You’ve wanted this your whole life.”

“I have,” she rasped, “But...not like this.”

No response seemed sufficient for that. Instead, I wrapped my arm around her, and she all but melted into my shoulder. We stayed like that for a while, and I closed my eyes as I held her. I could almost feel that hers were still open, still fixed on the crowd outside. What she was thinking, I couldn’t have fathomed. “What are you going to say?”

“What I have to say,” she answered, “to cement myself as the rightful ruler. To quiet everyone’s fears about Palpatine. To protect my people. I just hope they’ll trust me.”

“This is a confusing time, Eobea. They’re scared. with time, they’ll grow to trust you.”

“And you?” she sat up, and our eyes met. “Do you trust me? Will you stay by my side?”

“Always. You have my word.”

Another pause. “Then,” she stood, smiling, if only a little, for the first time in days. “I have everything I need.”

With that, I followed her out. I was at her side at the ceremony, as she was crowned. I was at her side when she gave her coronation speech, when she made clear what her first act as Empress would be.

I was at her side when she saved Iridonia, and left the colonies to die.

. . .

“Her Highness, Empress Eobea of Iridonia, has the floor.”

As I announced her, she strode confidently to the podium in the great hall’s center. At her back stood her loyal entourage: advisors, dignitaries, allies from across Iridonia. Before her sat the Federation of Zabrak Colonies: delegates from all corners of Zabrak space, collectively representing tens of billions of people. Centuries ago, Xovrada had created this federation to promote peace and cooperation between Iridonia and her former colonies. Now, as far as these representatives saw it, it was every planet for itself. I was at her side, as always.

“It has come to my attention,” she began, her voice booming throughout the room, “that the members of this esteemed federation have taken issue with my strategy for dealing with the threats imposed by Emperor Palpatine. I have come to hear these issues in person, and—”

“Issues?” In a huff, the representative from Feldrona had shot to his feet, red in the face beneath his long, graying beard. “Your majesty, it’s far worse than an ‘issue’—pulling your forces back to Iridonia has left us defenseless, and we can’t help but fear a takeover is imminent. We haven’t the might to repel invaders ourselves; we need your help!”

“There will be no such takeover, representative,” she replied, her wavering confidence betraying her words, “I made clear in my address that any attack on my people would be met with swift and decisive retaliation, and I—”

“Ha! Of course you’d spring at the opportunity to protect Feldrona first” Now, it was the representative from Valrar’s scientific council, an old woman who may or may not have been a scientist herself. “What of Valrar, your highness? We produce no food for Iridonia, unlike those fishmongers—I suppose the natural wonders of our world are expendable, then?”

“Oh, forget your natural wonders, they’ve never turned a profit for anyone!” the Frithian representative countered. “If our Empress here is going to divert forces anywhere, I’ll make certain it’ll be to our mines!”

Eobea took a deep breath while they spoke. “My greatest priority is my people, representatives, and I intend to—”

“My people, for one, fully support your stance, Empress!” far in the back, a gaunt man in black robes stood, unmistakably representing Alderbathe. “We trust your judgement fully, and we wish you luck in vanquishing the scourge that is Sheev Palpatine!”

“You just want the Iridonians out of your business!” cried someone. “Cultist swine!” heckled another. From there, order broke down as the representatives haphazardly talked over each other. I could only watch as Eobea stood silently, her metal hand clenching into a fist.

“Rustibar won’t last a day against an Imperial invasion!!”

“Lorista is in too fragile a position for this—if the Rrult attack us, their blood and ours will be on your hands!”

“Namadii V must have a buyer for its technology, or our economy will collapse!”

“Empress,”

At the sound of this final voice, the cacophony quieted. The representative from Iridia slowly rose to their feet, directly opposing Eobea. I had seen them speak many times before; they were a renowned orator, one of my planet’s finest. “We are hardly a week into your reign, and already you have betrayed our trust. Your decision to protect only Iridonia, while simultaneously threatening Palpatine with a long and bloody engagement should he attack, will only serve to put our worlds in Imperial hands.''

“On the contrary.” Eobea said, her tone icy, “my strategy is working. My people support me. I—”

“Iridonia supports you���an Empress has a duty to all Zabraks, not just those she can see from her palace.” the representative’s voice rose, and I watched Eobea’s shoulders rise and fall with each new, seething breath. “This was the way of Xovrada, who first brought our worlds together. This was the way of Stotrau, who will go down in history as the defender of the Zabraks. I ask you, Empress Eobea: are you prepared to go down in history as their—”

“Enough!”

Eobea’s metal fist crashed down onto the podium, splintering its wooden top and silencing the room. Even I recoiled. In the moment, I remember wishing I could’ve calmed her down, but there was no stopping her. Not anymore. “I refuse to stand here,” she shouted, “and be lectured by you...you ingrates! After all that Stotrau—nay, all of my predecessors have done for your worlds, you still come to beg for aid, to proclaim how helpless you are? Our people were warriors once—we were explorers, conquerors! You’ve all grown soft in your security—cowards, all of you!”

No one spoke. Eobea returned her gaze to the still-standing Iridian representative. “Since some of you are so worried about what my legacy will be, allow me to be clear on that point. I will go down in history as nothing less than what I am: the one Zabrak who has stood undaunted in the face of this coming challenge, even while my fellows buried their heads in the sand and begged to be saved. I will be victorious—Iridonia will be victorious!” She paused, scanning the room. “Either support us as we fight, and join us in our victory...or stay out of our way.”

The Iridonians in the room cheered. The colonial representatives sank back to their seats. Instead of waiting for any further comment, Eobea stormed out, effectively adjourning the meeting. I followed her.

“Are you alright?” I said, matching her surprisingly brisk pace until, after a second, she stopped. “I didn’t think you...I mean, that was—”

“Unfortunate” she sighed, turning away from me. “I knew there’d be moments like this. Moments where I’d have to take charge. I don’t like to lose my temper, you know that. But still, that was…”

She crossed her arms. She was shivering. I moved closer, set my hands on her shoulders, reminded her wordlessly that she still had a friend in me. “What?” I whispered, “What was it?”

She chuckled as she turned to me. In spite of everything, she was smiling. “It was exhilarating.”

I was at her side, as I’d promised to be—but for the first time, that didn’t feel so comforting.

. . .

“Ready, Eobea?”

Instead of responding, she simply drew her sword and stood ready. I did the same.

She attacked first. Her blade lunged forward, just missing my head as I ducked left. She swung it back around, and I ducked right. I parried her third strike, then her fourth. She dipped, aiming for my legs, and I thrust my blade down to stop her. A pause. My turn.

I spun back, swinging my blade high, but she deflected as I brought it down. I recoiled, and she spun in turn, the momentum carrying her next strike. Our blades clashed, metal on metal again and again, but each of our defenses were solid. It only stopped when I ducked away, narrowly missing a sweep through where my neck would have been.

Coming up, my Zhaboka’s second blade caught her off-guard, and she stumbled. I seized the opportunity. Rushing her with my blade held forward, she held her guard, but still I pushed her back to the wall. Her sword was pressed to her throat, held there by my own. For a moment we stood silent, save for our heavy breaths. “And that,” I panted, “is your head.”

She smiled, her eyes darting away from mine. “Check again.”

Looking down, I saw her cybernetic arm at my side, a shining dagger sticking out from its wrist and poised to pierce my armor. I watched as, with a slight cocking of her hand, she withdrew the blade back into her forearm. “That’s new,” I managed.

“I just had it installed yesterday.” I backed off, and she stepped away from the wall. “Between it and our little sparring sessions, I’m feeling confident,” she paused, smiling as the blade sprung forth, then disappeared again, “No Imperial assassin is going to sneak up on me.”

I swallowed. “You’re getting better every day we practice. You’ll be a formidable warrior in no time.”

“Thanks to you.” She smiled, tossing her sword aside as she turned back to face me. “You’ve been so sweet to me through this past month. I…” she paused, cupping my face in her hands, “I don’t know what I’d do without you. My dear champion…”

She kissed me. I didn’t push her away—how could I? I was hers. Her knight in shining armor. Her dear champion. This, at least, still felt right.

“Pardon the intrusion, your grace, I—” a voice from the door of the training hall spoke up, but was silenced the instant the speaker saw us. Not long ago, being caught like that would have spelt doom for us. Now, the aide I saw in the doorway seemed to tremble at the very thought of crossing his Empress. “I...I bring urgent news...from the war front…”

“I’m busy.” Eobea scowled, and I watched the aide’s trembling grow stronger. “Fine,” she said, releasing me. “Make it quick.”

The aide cleared his throat. “Y-yes, Highness. The campaign in the Vardoss system is finished; as you commanded, your forces have been recalled to Iridonia.”

“Good,” she replied. “That traitorous backwater has been a thorn in our side for far too long—I’ll enjoy watching the Vardossians and the Empire continue their squabbling alone.”

“I’m...afraid the moon is already under Imperial control, Highness. The Vardossian holdout has been...wiped out.”

“I see,” Eobea paused, shooting a glance back at me. We both knew my father, the High General, had been tasked with leading that campaign. “And...what casualties did our people suffer?”

The aide didn’t answer. He only looked over Eobea’s shoulder, at me. He must have known who I was.

“I asked you a question,” she repeated. “Answer. Now.”

With a shaky breath, the aide answered. “General Autugo Koros...he stayed on the moon, while the rest of your forces returned to Iridonia. He sought to rally the remaining Vardossian rebels against the Empire. He was...killed...when the Empire took Vardoss.”

. . .

“Hatou!”

Eobea found me soon enough—in truth, there weren’t many places I could retreat to but my own quarters. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be found just yet, but still, I didn’t protest when she joined me at the balcony. I could tell she wanted to say something, but the words weren’t coming to her. Instead, we simply looked out over Iridonia, the planet we had both lost our fathers for.

“I…I’m sorry, Hatou.'' she finally began, her now-infamous confidence nowhere to be found. For but a second, I thought that the Eobea I had known—the Eobea I had once fallen in love with—had come back to me. I was wrong. “I’m sorry that these things have to happen.”

Whatever I had expected her to say, that was not it. “What…” I stammered, “What about this had to happen, Eobea?”

She shook her head. “I thought you, of all people, would understand. Wars must be fought. Sacrifices must be made. Lives must be laid down, so that our people—” “And just what was my father to you, if not one of our people? What is Iridia, my home, to you?” I paused, holding back the tears welling in my eyes, “What am I to you?”

“You’re everything to me, you know that.” she took my hands, and I went silent. I didn’t know that, in fact. I was never sure of it, nor was I then. “Forget Iridia, Hatou. Forget your people. Your place is here, with me.”

My hearts sank. I pried my hands from hers, and backed away. “No.”

“You could rule by my side, Hatou! You and I can triumph over Palpatine together, I know we can!”

“No.”

“I need you”

I went quiet. This, if nothing else, I believed. “I love you, Eobea,” I finally said, “But I can’t be part of what you’re doing here...I can’t stay and watch you become...this.”

I walked past her. She didn’t move. “You said...you said you’d stay with me. You’d stay by my side.”

“Goodbye, Eobea.”

“You promised!”

I kept walking. There was nothing I could say. Not anymore.

“Hatou!”

I left her. She never went after me, but she never stopped calling for me either. It wasn’t until I left the palace that I stopped hearing her shout my name.

Maybe she was already gone. Maybe her mind could still be changed. Maybe she was always like this, and I’d been too blind to see it.

All I knew was that I wouldn’t stay at her side. I couldn’t.

[celestias-right-hoof-mas-au]

WARNING: Although this particular chapter does not depict violence or cursing, future installments will. As this story is based on an adult parody of MLP called The Mentally Advanced Series. I would encourage that if you had not watched it to do so to get a grasp of the world in which this takes place. Many of the jokes, lore, and otherwise are in reference to MAS, not just simply My Little Pony. I have also made a supercut that includes every reference and appearance of Celestia in the series. In case watching the entire MAS series maybe too time consuming. If you find Celestia, or other canon characters, used in crude and unpleasant depictions offensive, this is your warning. However, I would appreciate that you take a look anyway with an open mind. Celestia Supercut Link

Next > 

   The morning sun shimmered through Valiance Ascalon’s window. The large pale horse finished packing her briefcase and donned her metallic purple and gold armor. Her parents, a large albino shire and a dusty unicorn, awaited her along with the whole town of Salo at its entrance for Valiance’s departure.

   ��... And remember to mind your manners, she is generous, but easily disrespected.” Valiance’s mother, the unicorn, warned as she stood on her back legs to give her daughter one final hug.

   “I know, Ma. You’ve told me several times.” Valiance replied warmly, returning the hug.

   “Don’t you forget about us either, write to us when you get the chance.” her father, the shire, said gruffly.

   “Yes, Pa, I knooow.” Valiance teasingly replied as she also gave him one more hug, “I’ll be sure to write to you as soon as I get settled.”

   “Hey, Valiance!” called a young colt who squeezed his way through the crowd, “I heard you’re going to Canterlot to work for Celestia. You better be nice, or she’ll have ya flailed!”

   “Junior!” the colt’s mother barked, slapping him in the back of the head.

   “Ow! What’d I do?! I was only telling her the truth!” the colt yelped, rubbing his head.

   Valiance chuckled, adjusting her helmet on before kneeling to the colt, “Thanks for the warning, but I think I’ll be ok.” She gave his mane a good ruffling before rising to her hooves. Within a few short strides, all she ever knew was behind her. Then, for one last time, she looked back to the town and proudly declared, “Hail Celestia!”

   “Hail Celestia!” cheered the villagers as they watched Valiance make her leave and waved goodbye.

   The town of Salo was located on the dryer half of the Hayseed Swamps where its residents lived in relative isolation for generations. Its closest neighbor was Dodge Junction, and even then, the walk Valiance had traversed, had taken from dawn to the early afternoon. It wasn’t the first time she had visited the junction for its train station, however, this time was different. Whether it was with her parents, with her classmates, or helping any of the local farmers deliver goods, Valiance had seen her fair share of mainland Equestria, if but briefly and never alone.

   Butterflies aggressively fluttered in her chest once she sat down in her seat on the train. The pony adjacent to her only quickly flipped through his paper as she attempted to gain his attention.

   “Sorry,” Valiance blurted out, “I’m quite nervous, it’s the first time I’m riding the train alone, heh, what about you?”

   The business pony shot her a look with half opened eyes, “Lady, it’s my job.” He flipped his paper to shield himself from the bizarre mare, yet her striking size and armor left his curiosity to be satisfied. Closing his eyes and taking in a sharp sigh, he threw his paper to his side and asked, “So what's your story?”

   Though the stallion could not see her face underneath her helmet, a gleam in Valiance’s eyes shimmered and a smile grew on her lips, “Oh! I am on my way to Canterlot to serve no other than Princess Celestia herself!”    “That explains the getup, but why would you wanna do something like that?”

   “Why wouldn’t I? What could be more meaningful in life than serving Celestia herself?”

   The stallion paused for a moment before lightly chuckling, “I get it now. You’re one of those cultists, aren’t you?”

   Valiance gasped, “I-I beg your pardon? A cultist?”

   “Yeah, every couple of years some loons come outta the woodwork sacrificing foals in the name of Celestia. It makes sense too, since you’re here at Dodge Junction. You probably swam outta the Hayseed Swamps, didn’t you?”

   “Well… yes. But I assure you, we’re not cultists. And we don’t sacrifice fillies. How could you say that to someone you just met?”

   “Hey, don’t worry about it.” He smiled while patting her shoulder, “I’m a cultist too. There’s a bunch of freaks and weirdos like us in the city. You’ll feel right at home.”

   Valiance sunk deep into her seat, regretting opening her mouth. As the stallion returned to his paper with a comforted smile, Valiance hoped her new acquaintance's words were exaggerated.

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

   It was late afternoon when the train had finally reached Canterlot. The cultist gave a friendly wave as Valiance rushed off trying not to look back. She quickly looked towards the station’s clock and noted, ‘I better grab a room so I can hurry to the military signup office before it closes.’ She briskly booked a room in the closest hotel she came across and rushed to the castle. With five minutes to spare, Valiance slammed the door open to the enlistment office.

   “Excuse me, there’s no need to cause a ruckus.” the front desk pony insisted as he shuffled a stack of papers, “How can I help you?”

   “I’m so sorry, but I didn’t want to wait until tomorrow to sign up.” Valiance panted, removing her helmet.

   “Eager to enlist? Never heard of that before. Well, here’s the papers, be sure to read thoroughly and don’t pretend like we didn’t warn you.” the secretary grunted as he handed Valiance a stack of documents.

   Valiance thought to herself aloud, “Wow, who would’ve thought it was so easy.”

   “That’s what they all say.” the secretary winked, “Let me know how it goes in a month. They always beg to get out.”

   Valiance’s signature sealed her fate in every document and with a smile stamped across her face, no less. Her stomach was tingling in excitement as the secretary looked over her papers.

   “Welcome to the royal army, soldier.” the secretary remarked while stamping her documents, “You’re in luck, the next boot camp starts up in a few days. Here’s a card of where it will be and what time. Don’t be late, cause we’ll find you if you are.”

   Valiance took the card while she giggled and jumped in place. Just that morning, she was back at home, and now she was working for the God Princess herself. Suddenly, she stopped, “Won’t I need a physical and mental examination of some sort?”

   “Sure. But that’ll come when boot camp starts. Not to mention, you look healthy enough. But between you and me, everypony gets accepted. Where do you think the masked guards come from?” the secretary asked as he leaned in closer, “Just don’t ask them about that. In fact, don’t ask them anything, ever. Don’t talk to them.”

   Valiance tightened her lips, “Thank you. I’ll, uh, be sure to keep that in mind.” Slowly she backed out of the office, wishing the secretary a goodnight, and into the evening air. With the amber glow of her magic, she wrapped her mane up as tightly as she could before placing her helmet back on. Despite the secretary’s warnings, Valiance didn’t feel any less enthusiastic about her success. She stretched and cracked her neck, wanting nothing more than to grab a quick bite to eat before heading back to her hotel room for some much needed rest. Thinking back to past field trips as a filly, she recalled the castle garden also led to the entrance and began to make her way through there as a shortcut.

   Inside, beautiful plants of nearly every kind flourished. Contrastly, horribly disfigured marble statues with faces of pure fear and agony drew the eye from every direction. ‘I don't remember the sculptures in the garden being so… what was it? Avant-garde?’ Valiance thought as she looked at a statue of a goblin-like creature mooning her, a lone pigeon sitting right on its exposed bottom.

   "They say that my work inspired the art of Jeffrey Dahmare." A low voice echoed from behind. Valiance froze at the sound and slowly turned to face the source. Towering over even her, hair glistening in the colors of day, stood the God Princess, Celestia. A confident smirk graced her lips, “Do you like it, Pale One?”

   Before Valiance’s knees could buckle from Celestia’s poise, she kneeled and lowered her head, “Your majesty, it’s an honor to be in your presence.”

   “I couldn’t help but be drawn towards your armor. It’s a vintage design. Where do you come from?”

   “The village of Salo, ma’am.”

   “Salo, you say? My, it has been a long time since someone mentioned that name. One of the few populations I needed not show force for their cooperation. Your people’s naivete is amusing, however, your innocence is admirable to an extent.”

   Valiance held her breath, unsure of the princess’ intentions behind her statement. Yet, after a moment, she replied with slight shakiness, “Much obliged, your majesty.”

   “Tell me, why are you here, Pale One?” Celestia asked.

   “As you said, our devotion to you is as strong today as when Salo was founded. To serve and to die for you would be my greatest honor.” Valiance replied humbly, “Today, I signed up for the royal army, in hopes of bringing glory to you, and the ponies of Salo.”

   Celestia’s eyes narrowed and her grin grew wider. After a few moments of silence, Celestia turned away towards the castle. As she departed she called back to Valiance, “I expect nothing but the best from my soldiers.”

   When Celestia left the premise, Valiance sprinted out of the castle grounds, heart pounding, and mind racing. Rushing to her hotel room, she threw off her armor, leapt onto her bed, and screamed into her pillow. Not a more perfect day could’ve existed for Valiance and in a few days her dream of servitude would begin.

   Before then, Valiance pulled out a pen and paper and began a letter to home about her first day in Canterlot.

[thatdisastrousfangirl-writes]

The Other Way Chapter 13: Almost There

Chapter 1 - Last Chapter - Next Chapter

A/N HOLY $%!& AN UPDATE!!! I DID IT!! It’s not quite the last chapter as I had hoped but the next one will be and hopefully (fingers crossed) I won’t take as long to finish it xD Knowing me though and my habit of procrastinating everything I do I have my doubts but it Will Happen! Eventually :p Any who won’t take up any more of your time hope you enjoy ^-^ (also very quick reminder I am posting all this on AO3 if you’d rather read it there okay thanks bye!) 

~~~

Ever since the rather brutal realisation that should they fail to find the portal Dipper might permanently disappear, the group had been moving even more emphatically than before. Alcor was at the head, floating around erratically trying to find even a hint of the extra magic an inter-dimensional portal would have, with the twins just behind him, sticking close together hand in hand, neither willing to lose the other, and Wren a little further behind, watching everyone’s backs. 

They all walked quietly, keeping an eye out for any indication of potential danger or even better the portal itself. The silence, however, was beginning to get on Mabel’s nerve. With every step she took with that oppressive silence hanging over her head Mabel felt a step closer to breaking down in front of everyone.

This whole train wreck of an experience had royally sucked from day one, and it was in the silence that every little -and big- dilemma was getting harder to ignore. Their ‘adventure’ had begun with being kidnapped and had only seemed to go downhill from there, leading to the current situation where there was a chance she would be the only one getting to go home. Honestly if the universe -or multiverse, she guessed- was a person Mabel could talk to, she would ask them what was up with all the hate and pain they were inflicting on her brother. It was just plain unfair really. And now all she wanted to do was curl up and cry out, but they had to keep moving and they had to keep focusing on the task at hand. 

Just as Mabel felt herself begin to spiral she felt a tug on her hand and looked up. 

“Hey, you okay?” asked Dipper, concern plainly written on his face. “You’re being weirdly quiet.”

Mabel opened her mouth to deny it, to say she’s just trying to not distract Alcor from finding the portal, and that she should really be asking him if he’s okay, what with the whole, the universe doesn’t like him thing, but the look on Dipper’s face stopped her. 

“I just want to go home,” she whispered, eyes shimmering. “And I wish none of this was happening and that you weren’t disappearing, or hurting, but you are and,” Mabel paused, looking down at her dirt covered shoes taking her forward. “I don’t know what to do.” 

They continued to move in silence for a few seconds, when Dipper spoke up. “Well,” he said, getting his sister's attention, “I don’t really know what to do either, and I’m still here, now. You’re not alone in this,” he finished, bumping his shoulder against her own. 

“I suppose so,” Mabel hummed, a small smile twitching at the corners of her lips. 

“We’ll be alright,” Dipper said, looking up at Alcor, who continued to guide them. “You know, I bet we’ll find that portal any minute now,” he added with a small smile of his own.

Mabel gave him a happy but sceptical glance. “Really?” she asked. 

He gave her a mildly panicked look that said ‘not in the slightest’ and Mabel couldn’t help but laugh.

“Okay well maybe not any minute.” 

As the two of them continued joking around Mabel felt just a little lighter. Dipper was right, they still had each other, and at the end of the day that’s all they really needed.

~~~

“So, Alcor,” Wren said, sounding not the least bit frustrated, “not to be that person but are we any closer to finding the portal yet?” They had now been seemingly wandering around the forest for what felt like forever but was probably closer to an hour, and it was beginning to feel like they would never find the portal. 

Mabel had been feeling better about everything after talking to Dipper, but even with his reassurance - which was a weird enough feeling considering it was usually her trying to lift spirits - it was difficult to stay hopeful the longer they didn’t find anything.

Alcor stopped moving for second, face scrunched up in the way Mabel recognised as Dipper’s thinking face, just older and more demonic. “Maybe,” he said after a moment, turning to the side and pointing towards a faint path hidden underneath the looming trees. “This way.” 

“You sure?” Dipper asked as the group began moving again, no small amount of hope weaving its way into his voice. “Are we actually getting closer?” 

Grinning Alcor turned to his smaller counterpart. “I think so!” he responded. “It wasn’t easy to tell but a bit back I began to sense the kind of magical energy you’d get from an interdimensional portal.” He paused, before awkwardly adding “I assume. The only other interdimensional portal I actually saw was back before the Transcendence and let’s just say I was significantly weaker than.” 

“So we’ll be home soon?” Mabel asked, her own hope rising yet again as if on an emotional yoyo. 

“I don’t doubt it,” said Alcor, giving her a comforting smile. 

Wren did not seem convinced however, as she moved in closer to the group. “Is this really the right way Alcor?” she asked, hand placed on her gun holster ready for action, looking around anxiously. “‘Cause I’m beginning to get a bad feeling about this place.” 

“What kind of bad feeling?” Dipper squeaked, tensing up by Mabel’s side. 

“It’s hard to explain,” explained Wren. “Sometimes I just get a feeling about a person or in this case a place, and right now it’s not a good feeling.” 

“Well I am definitely sure this is the right direction,” Alcor insisted, before hesitating, “I feel the same way though, probably a good idea to keep an eye out for any potential danger.” 

“What, like you?” she retorted, a slight grin pulling at the corner of her lips.

“Ha ha very funny,” he deadpanned, rolling his eyes. “You know what I mean, just don’t get distracted and keep watching our surroundings. I’ll keep an eye out myself.” 

Mabel thought about what Wren and Alcor said as they continued moving ever deeper into the forest. What kind of danger though? she thought. What kind of bad feeling? her mind questioned. She was sure Alcor wasn’t wrong when he said they were getting closer to the portal, but what if they were walking into something dangerous? What if there was something between them and the portal that stopped Dipper and herself from going through? It was only Dipper’s hand in hers that stopped Mabel from spiralling. If he, of all people, could look on the bright side, surely it would be alright.

~~~

It couldn’t have been more than a minute before Alcor froze, holding his hand up to signal to the others to do the same. 

Dipper groaned at the sudden stop, frowning he said “Alcor what-“ 

“Quiet!” he hissed, interrupting Dipper, his ears twitching as if straining to listen to something nearby. 

As they stood and listened the faint sound of movement ahead of them drew closer, and closer. 

“I suggest everyone hides, like, right now,” Alcor whispered, his form beginning to fade slightly as he spoke. 

“What? Why?” the others asked, alarm clear in all their voices.

The demon turned to them, form flickering between corporeal and not, growling “Now damnit!”

With that Alcor grabbed Dipper and Mabel under their arms, much to their respective annoyed confusion and sudden uncertainty for what was going on (not to mention a slight fear of heights) and whisked them up into the branches of a nearby tree. Wren moved just as quickly, rushing to hide within an overgrown bush down by another trees' large roots. Alcor continued to float near the twins, turning into an almost invisible, humanoid haze as the noise drew closer. 

The source of the sound stepped into view. Two people wearing long, dark green flowing robes covering their bodies, deep hoods hiding their faces, and each holding sizeable guns pointed at the path the four of them had been following just before. While silently panicking, wondering who these people were and what they could possibly be doing here, Dipper had to wonder what it was with this universe and cultists, because surely that was what these people were. This was the third lot of cultists he and Mabel had encountered in as many days, and it was getting ridiculous!

The taller of the two began to look around, while the shorter one stood guard, their finger tapping their weapon impatiently. 

“Are you sure you even heard something? There’s nothing here,” the short one said, watching their partner search behind the bush next to Wren’s. 

The tall one tensed up, turning to their partner, voice dripping with frustration as they said “Yes I did, and it was definitely over here!” They spun back around continuing their search, moving ever closer to Wren and her hiding spot. She held her breath as she felt some of the leaves near her face move and the cultists' search got closer, hands tightening into fists, ready to fight. 

“You know it was probably just a couple gnomes right?” the short one scoffed, interrupting their taller partner's search. “Come on, we have enough to do as it is without chasing a couple meaningless pests. We’re going back, now.”

“But-”

“Did I stutter? There’s work to do, now come on!” 

The tall one, visibly sulking, shuffled after their shorter partner back down the vague path they both came from. The hidden group stayed where they were, quiet and still, waiting for the sound of walking and huffing to disappear into the distance, sure that whoever those cultists were would not come back. 

“Are they gone?” Dipper whispered, hesitant, as if scared of alerting the two cultists of their presence, despite the distance between the two groups. 

Alcor returned to view, his form becoming solid once again as he helped the twins down from the tree. “Yeah, they should be well out of hearing range now,” he said softly. 

Coming out from within the bush she had been hiding in, stray twigs and leaves sticking out of her hair, Wren looked down towards where they had been heading, the same way the cultists went. “You sure Alcor? That was pretty close,” she cautioned, turning to look at him. 

“Yeah, just, don’t start yelling and they shouldn’t come back.” 

“Who were they?” Mabel asked, looking up at Alcor herself, Dipper following suit. 

“They looked like they were part of the Cult of Stultus”

The three humans gave him a blank stare, and Alcor sighed. “Right, you wouldn’t know. They’re a cult dedicated to the idea that there are multiple realities beyond this one, and finding some way of getting to them,” he explained. 

“That explains why they’d be interested in a portal,” Wren remarked, looking thoughtful. “Does that mean they’d be happy to help? Get these two home that is?” 

Alcor gave Wren a questioning look. “You did see their weapons right? What do you think?”

“I was just thinking if they liked other universes they’d want to help.” 

“Stars no! I never said they liked other realities. The Cult of Stultus is obsessed with finding a way of getting to other dimensions so they can destroy them! It’s some kind of weird universal superiority type thing.”

“Well that’s just great,” Dipper said, voice filled with sarcasm. “How are we supposed to get to the portal now?”

With a sly smile and a spark in his eyes, Alcor began moving, following the path the cultists had taken moments before. “We’ll just have to figure it out before we get there I suppose.”

[blueopalsystem]

Love wins!

[ultraklll]

Tony Miller as a Gun For Hire! Tagged by the lovely @envyfelled ! Ty! This was super fun! Also, I'm on mobile, so sorry for the garbo formatting! (Fun fact, tonys voice claim is laura bailey as fiona/fem!boss)

Paired With Fangs For Hire:

Boomer - "Heya buddy!" followed by excessive scratching behind the ears | "Fuckin' love this dog, can sniff out a peggie like shark sniffing out blood. Good trait to have! Awfully convenient too…" | [patpatapatptpataptap] | "Atta fuckin' boy Boomer!" When she sees him get a kill | "Who's a good boy! Who wants to kill some cultists!" | "Wanna play fetch? Rip out their necks?"

Peaches - "Good girl…" | stealth gang stealth gang | peaches: mows down peggies/tony: a baby!" | "I jus' think it's funny that when we went to the Henbane, we picked up a cougar, Addie, an actual cougar, Peaches, and joined a crew called the Cougars… Just'a thought," 

Cheeseburger - "This reminds me'a Vegas pride, saw plenty'a bears there too" | "Kinda ironic to find you in Jacob's region, all things considered," [snickers to herself] | [PATPATPATPATPATPAT] | "Get outta my pockets! These snacks are mine, not yours!" | "You remind me of those like, beware of dog signs, but the dog is always a sweetheart who'd rather play with a home invader rather than attack them," 

Paired With Other Guns For Hire:

Jess - stealth gang stealth gang stealth gang | Jess has a MASSIVE crush on Tony. Everyone can tell. Tony knows | jess: guns are fucking lame and the sniper rifle is the cowards weapon/ tony: uses a sniper rifle/ jess: actually sniper rifles are cool as fuck | "Good shot Jess!" "S-shit, um, thanks, Tony," 

Grace - sniper gang sniper gang!! | [steals a headshot Grace was lining up] "Cmon Gracie, thought you were meant to be Olympic level!" | highly competitive, do a shot whenever they get a perfect headshot to die instantly | smug top solidarity | also heavily depressed solidarity 

Adelaide - [acts like she's not sleeping with her nephew even tho Addie knows she definitely knows] | Tony is either constantly laughing or constantly face palming over the shit addie says | have gotten into an argument once bc addie said john was a top 

Nick - "What's up eye in the sky?" | [flirts over radio] [flirts over radio] [flirts over radio] [fli | Nick: speaks/Tony: god I just love the way you fucking talk | often talk about kim together | "Can we have a barbecue at your place once these fuckers are dealt with?" | [pretends not to be bitter the Deputy got to help deliver Carmina and not her]

Sharky - "Heya baby!" | [constant back and forth flirting. It's embarrassing] | any second they're both not talking is a second they're making out | Can and Will go john wick on some peggy ass if he gets hurt badly | "Do you wanna have a sleepover?" "Lemme ask my momma," | she calls him Charlie :> | loves him so so much they're just constantly talking about anything and everything | literally like A Comedic Duo. Have together for certified funnies

Hurk jr. - "Junior! This'll be just like Kyrat!" | competitions about who can shotgun a beer faster every 4 seconds | WILL tell you stories about their time in Kyrat together | Tony has punched Drubman sr in the nose before and she'll do it again | "Hey Tony? You still in contact with Ajay?" "He sends me a royal postcard every now n' then. Apparently it's boring being king, and his only solace is that his new bodyguard is cute," 

In Combat: 

Seeing an enemy - "Fucker in my sights," | "I got a bullet with your name on it… actually I don't, who the fuck has time to carve names in bullets, but you get the idea- im just gonna shoot you now" | "You're dead on arrival, shithead," 

Sneaking - "You'd think me sneaking is counter productive because I'm 6'4 and have a very loud gun, but you're the boss Dep," | "Shhhh… we're huntin' shitheads… Heard it in a game," | [shoots alarm boxes] "You ain't allowed to call your friends, you're all grounded," | *peggy triggers alarm* "Fuckin snitch!" 

Killing an enemy - "SKULLCRACKER!" | "I just don't miss!" | just fucking headshot after headshot after headshot | [sucks in breath through teeth] "God damn I'm good," | when shes not using her Wifle (wife rifle, a 45/70) she's being FUCKING EFFICIENT with her ak-ms or just blasting ribcages open with her shotgun

Reviving - "Up you get, baby," | "You ain't dying on me that easy, Dep" | "Not today Satan!" | "You gonna let some unwashed asshole kill you?" 

Hurt - "Motherfucker!" | "That's another scar I'll tattoo over," | "Thank god people find scars sexy," | "God fuck that's smarts!" 

Downed - "Dep! Give me a hand?" | "Clean up on Aisle 4 needed!" | "Don't worry about me, just bleeding out over here, no rush," 

Revived - "Drinks on me when this is over Dep," | "Thanks babe!" | "I'll kiss you when we get outta this mess," | "I owe ya!"

Driving: 

Entering a vehicle - "Lemme take over I'm a way better driver than you," | "Floor it!" | "Hang on I've got a mixtape, just hope I havent fuckin' crushed it," | [takes the opportunity to roll cigs] | *peggies roll up* "Keep her steady!" [leans out the window and headshots the peggie on their ass, causing them to crash the car, like that isnt the coolest shit you've ever seen] "Aight cool,"

Reckless Driving - "Watch the fuckin' road asshole!" | [desperately tryna grip the wheel so she can take over driving] | "STOP THE CAR! I'LL JUST FUCKING WALK!" | "Are you tryna kill us?! Fuckin' swap seats now!" | tony is the designated driver bc one she's fucking good at it and two shes also a really bad backseat driver. Just let her drive 

Changing Radio Stations - "Now don't tell Charlie I said this but some of the peggies music is actually good,"| "John's a prick but his music taste is fuckin' good," | [punches radio in when Only You comes on] "...Sorry… Force'a habit…" | "Bold and brave my ass, John looks like he needs help getting spiders out of rooms and wears fuzzy pink bathrobes," 

Idle: 

"Man, John's a freak, and yeah I mean that in the sexy way. Someone who demands so much outward control whilst being a shithead little brat likes to get trussed up like a thanksgiving turkey and stuffed like one too. Don't give me that look Dep, I'm right and we both know it," 

"That dude Jacob ate was called Miller?? God, that could've been me if I was much older and way uglier!" 

"Faith just makes me fuckin sad man. She's been manipulated and groomed into this life by fuckin Joseph- she's so goddamn young too. I'm not gonna tell you what to do Dep, but that's just my two cents,"

"Joseph's the worst kind of man- a manipulator. He tells you what you wanna hear, targets the misfortunate who have nothing left to lose, builds a fucking army out of em. The other heralds I'm ok with arresting, but Joseph's got to go,"

[Lights cig with either her fancy lighter or by striking a match on the bottom of her shoe] "Don't start smoking, Dep,  bad for your health," 

Location Specific: 

Testy Festy Aftermath - [pinches bridge of nose] "Not again…" | "Anyone got a water and like, 3 aspirin?" | "Ain't the first time I've woke up passed out in a field, won't be the last," | "Did we at least get a photo from the night? I've won the competitions here for the last 3 years in a row now, I'm not fuckin missing one cuz of these peggies," 

Falls End - "Fuckin shame to see Falls End like this, but Mary May and Jerome will take good care of her now weve got it back, they always do," | "Think we'll get free drinks for life at the Spread Eagle when this is all over? Actually, we probably won't even get free drinks for week, so for life is wishful thinking," | she enjoys playing with the singing fish on the front of the speed eagle and keeps tryna convince Mary May to let her take it for herself bc tony goddamn miller has the biggest singing fish collection in the entire county 

Seed Ranch - *loud whistle* "this place is swanky as fuuuuck… Not that big a fan of all the dead animals though…" | "IS THAT WEED ON THE TABLE? Johnny boy you fuckin' hypocrite!" | "Oh he's definitely got a secret room behind one of these bookshelves, like a home torture room? Oh my God, what if he has more than one...?" [starts frantically pulling books off shelves] | regarding his shelves with peggie memorabilia [takes baseball bat to it] | [pretends she's never been here as she frantically stuffs any of her own belongings she might've forgotten here into her bag]

Entering the Henbane - "Don't trust a goddamn thing you see here. You think you see something you're not supposed to, hit it," | [swinging at bliss induced angel/animal/faith visions] | "Can we try savin' Faith? Don't feel right killin' her, she's so young…" | "Can we go to Sharky's place? I left some stuff there that could be worth picking up,"

Hope County Jail - "Sheriff Whitehorse has always been a good man to me, Dep. Would appreciate it if he lived through this," | "I always feel like a giant whenever I come here, everyones like 5'3. Virgil, Tracey, Charles, all shortasses," | "I think it's cute they gave you a little pin! You're part of their Pride now! Or whatever the cougar equivalent is to a lions pride… do Cougars even travel in packs? Aside from when Addie used take the girls out for drinks,"

Entering the Whitetails - "Always feels like something's watchin' you in these woods. Keep your eyes peeled," | "Always felt like there's something in these woods that there ain't supposed to be…" | [Shifting from foot to foot] "Can we get a move on? Aint'a big fan of standing around waitin' to get shot by some fuckin' sniper with a bow," | [watching Jacob's video punishing Pratt] "I'll fuckin' get you outta here, Stace… you just gotta hold out a second longer," | [about all the dead bodies and 'you are meat' graffiti] "Love what Jacob's done with the place," 

The Wolfs Den - "Eli Palmer is a good fuckin man. Kind, smart, careful and ruthless against peggies. We've made a good friend here, Dep," | "Heya Wheaty! Got a few more vinyls for your collection! They're all my own though, so be careful with em," | "I don't think Tammy likes you that much Dep. I don't think she likes much of anything anymore, other than attaching jumper cables to Peggy's nipples… Oh god, my piercings hurt thinking about it," 

Joseph's Island - [hand firmly on rifle grip] | "Creepy, evil motherfucker, had him pegged right from the start. Well, not pegged. I'm not pegging Joseph. I'd rather stick my dick in a ceiling fan then go anywhere near him- I'm just gonna stop talking," | "You know what? No one else has asked it so I'm gonna- where the fuck does Joseph sleep.  In the church? In one of these houses? In the dirt somewhere? What if he hangs upside down from trees like a bat?" 

[afriendgaming]

Who needs event units when you have CULTIST in Rush Royale!

Hey Friends! Today’s gameplay Who needs event units when you have cultist in Rush Royale! We play the deck to perfection. You can support me by using Creator Code: AFriend You can use the creator code at Market.My.Games/Shop/125 Enter your RR ID for a chance to win $50 weekly! Right now the shop has 10% off of all passes and an extra 10% on platinum! VOICEMOD 5% Discount Code: AFriend Spotify…

[rushroyaledecks]

Cultist Deck in Royal Trials Rush Royale vs Monk Deck WHO WIN?

[little-pondhead]

Jason stared at the child. The floating, glowing ghost. The obviously Not Human entity. The kid stared back with glowing green eyes that seemed to see into his soul. Jason knows that shade of green. He should be afraid of it. But he wasn’t.

“I’m adopting you.” The kid announced. Too calmly, in Jason’s opinion. Like he was talking about the weather.

Jason spluttered. “I-what?? You can’t adopt me!”

“I can, and I did. Family dinners are on Thursday nights, 6pm. I’ll send your new sister over to fetch you. Fair warning, she likes to bite but is easily distracted by shiny things.”

“What, like a crow?!”

“Eh, close enough.”

“Wait, you can’t just-“ In a rush of cold wind and flash of light, the kid was gone. Jason stared at the spot for a minute before glancing down at the cultist he was holding at gun point. “You saw that too, right?”

—————

“I’VE COME FOR THE WHELP’S OFFSPRING. COME FACE THE GREATEST HUNTER IN ALL THE INFINITE REALMS, LITTLE PRINCE.”

Jason groaned. It had only been a day since the weird kid and cultist thing went down. Now he has to deal with a flying robot? At least it had a cool mohawk. Jason hauled himself into a roof, avoiding broken windows and rusty pipes. He knew his territory like the back of his hand; he knew where to step. (Plus, it’d be really embarrassing to misstep in front of a villain.)

The robot spotted him. “THERE YOU ARE, LITTLE PRINCE.” Ah, fuck, it saw him. Wait, prince??

“What the fuck are you on about?” Jason had a hand on his holster, ready to shoot at a moment‘s notice.

The robot chuckled. There was a surprising amount of expression being displayed, despite being made of metal. But then again, the whole thing flew and glowed a familiar green.

Wait…

“Are you know cahoots with that weird kid?!” Jason almost tore his hair out.

The robot looked offended. “I am not ‘in cahoots’ with the young whelp. I should skin you for making the assumption!” Jason tensed. “I AM SKULKER, GREATEST HUNTER-“

“Yeah yeah, greatest hunter in all the Infinite Realms. Whatever that means.”

Skulker growled. “Oh, you’re definitely the whelp’s kid. Wish I’d gotten to you first; your pelt would have looked lovely on my wall.”

“Anyone ever tell you that’s creepy as fuck?” Jason relaxed a bit. This Skulker fellow wasn’t here to cause trouble, he knew. Somehow.

“Oh all the time.” Skulker waved a hand, dismissing him. “Anyways, I’m not here looking for a real fight. Don’t really want to see end up like the last guy who tried that. As per traditions, I’m here to present offerings to the new prince.”

“You know, you mentioned that earlier.” He leaned against an air vent. It creaked. “I’m pretty sure you’ve got the wrong guy-I’m no prince.”

“Yeah, and I’m no hunter. Face the facts, kid. You got adopted by the High King of the Infinite Realms, and now you’re the second young royal of the Phantom bloodline. Princess Dani is the first.” Skulker snarked, floating closer. “Now hurry up and accept these gifts, I don’t want to be here when-“

“YO SKULKER. HOW’D YOU GET HERE FIRST?” The pair turned. To Jason’s right, a swirling green portal had popped into existence. More glowing people of all shapes and sizes were pouring out, crowding onto the roof and around Jason. A lot of them were carrying poorly wrapped bundles, except for one short man who had a mountain of neatly wrapped boxes beside him. The person who had shouted was revving a motorcycle, a nasty grin on his face.

Skulker scowled. “When they show up. Hope you ain’t got anything to do, kid. This is gonna take a while.”

—————

“YOU REALLY ARE ADORABLE!”

Jason froze, letting a silent “fuuuuuuck” slip past his lips. He was in the middle daytime patrol, trying to tie up any loose ends before he inevitably got kidnapped. The ghosts-ghosts, is what they are-warned him about his new sister and the first princess of the realm. She would want to pick him up early for “sibling bonding,” as one of them put it.

Ember, the ghost, continued with “And don’t try to pull the older sibling card. Ghosts don’t work that way, and you’re just a baby compared to Dani. Even Phantom is older than you; but just barely.” Well thanks, Ember. That explained absolutely nothing. Aside from that, no one really seemed to care about his opinion, so he just decided to go with it and accept his fate.

But it seems like someone turned up sooner than he thought they would.

Jason didn’t hear the person coming, there were no footsteps, no sound other than the shouting. But he sidestepped anyways, and a black and white figure rushed past him. Too blurry for his eyes to make out. The figure had their arms outstretched, but when they discovered there was no Jason to hug, they had to cartoonishly skid to a stop in midair.

Jason could make out few features from their current distance. Long, white hair pulled back and a stylized D logo on their chest. A small glowing crown sat atop their head, and a wicked grin stretched impossibly wide across their face.

“Oh, fuck.” Jason swore again. “You’re Dani, aren’t you?” The figure giggled, zipping closer. Yup, she was a little girl. No older than fourteen, maybe? Younger than Phantom, but apparently she was older than Jason. He didn’t really see it.

“I am!” Dani chirped. Jason almost chirped back. “I heard the usual rogues went off to hunt you down earlier, and thought I should make up for being the last one to meet you. Everyone was just raving about how cute you were.”

“Make it up to me? By what, trying to kill me??”

“Oh don’t be ridiculous.” Dani waved him off, just like Skulker had. “You already died at least once. That’s why dad adopted you. Any stunt I pull won’t ever be as bad as death. And we’re ghosts!”

“Except I’m not a ghost.” Jason stressed.

Dani frowned at him. “Well, you’re ghostly enough. Dad is still teaching me how to read another’s core, but I can tell you definitely have one. Face it, little bro. Death stood on your doorstep and she never went away. Like a dandelion in a sidewalk.”

“This is just giving me a headache.” He sighed and decided to sit on the roof instead of standing. “You people are so backwards. First I’m adopted by a kid who looks like he belongs in high school, and said high schooler has a daughter who looks just as old as him. A bunch of people gave me presents and called me cute, and now you’re telling me I’m not even the oldest in this family?? I get to be the youngest???”

“That’s pretty much it!” Dani whistled happily, floating in lazy circles above his head. The sky was starting to get overcast, and idly Jason remembered he needed to pull his laundry in. He’d left a few jackets outside on a roof to dry in the sun.

“Fine. Whatever.” Jason huffed. He could tell getting straight answers was going to be extraordinarily difficult. “Honestly, I barely know what’s going on right now. But is there anyway to return a gift? Some kid gave me a pirate ship. A pirate ship. I had to hide it down at the docks for now, but someone is bound to notice!”

Dani giggled, floating upside down now. Curiously, her crown didn’t fall off. “Yeah, that was Yungblood. He likes to play pretend, and is going through his pirate phase. At least you didn’t get a dead parrot, I have no idea how to train the thing! All it will say is-“

Dani let loose a scream of garbled radio noises, enough swear words to make a grown man blush, and the screech of a loud bird. When she was done, Jason just stared.

“What the fUCK-“

“Ah! None of that. Babies don’t get to swear.”

He growled. “I am totally going to kick your ass.”

Dani grinned, wide and sharp. “Try it, baby brother. I’m not afraid of biting.”

—————

“Hood, what’s your status?”

“Just-ugh, fuck-peachy. Having the time of my life.”

A click in the comms. “Hood, I’m hearing gunshots. Batman and Robin are en route; ETA is about two minutes.”

Jason swore, twisting to the side and throwing himself against a pile of crates. He was being herded into a corner, and he knew it. A gang of foreign child traffickers had tried to take up residency in his territory, and Red Hood was not having it. And while being foreigners meant they didn’t know about Hood and his rules, that also meant they didn’t care and had no issues with trying to gun him down. Cases like these usually made for a great challenge that tested his skills, but this one was just infuriating.

“Red Hood? Are you still there?”

“Unfortunately!” Jason shouted. He tried returning a few shots of his own, but a group of gunmen kept him pinned behind those damned crates. He couldn’t make it to the next hiding spot, and his ammo was running out. Shit.

“Hold on Hood, we’re almost there.” Batman said. Jason was beginning to see green. Fuck this.

He closed his eyes and listened hard, trying a trick Dani had shown him. One, two, four, seven heartbeats. Seven people. Okay. How many rounds did he have left? Not a lot. Shit shit shit. It’s fine. This is nothing new.

Jason waited for a lull in the shooting; it was a miracle they hadn’t shredded the boxes yet with how many clips the traffickers were emptying into them. When he heard some of the men grunt and began the desperate shuffle for more bullets, he aimed over the top of a crate Black Widow style and started picking the men off. Non-lethal areas, mostly. A bullet or two went astray when his target moved, but his last round managed to bring down the last man.

The sixth man. Where was the seventh?

Jason barely had time to register this thought before white hit pain seeped into his body. He grunted a bit, but whirled around. He’d been shot in the shoulder. In an artery. Fuck. The last perp, the ringleader, stood barely two feet away and had a gun pointed straight at Jason’s head.

Fuuuuuuck. The man smiled, showing off his yellow teeth. No words were exchanged, but Jason knew he was about to die for the second time. The trigger was pulled and…nothing.

Jason watched in detached fascination as the bullet stopped no more than an inch away from his helmet. It was glowing green.

“Who daresss…” hissed a voice. Toxic green light filled the room, and the man stumbled back in terror. Jason nearly slumped in relief.

“Hey, Fright Knight.” A horse’s hoofbeats gave away the one who’d just come through the portal. Fright Knight rode forward, his sword in hand.

“Greetings, little prince. Would you like me to dispose of this…mess?”

Jason yawned, blood loss quickly catching up with him. “Yeah, sure. I’m just gonna take a nap real quick.” The last image Jason saw before he fell asleep was a second portal being opened by Fright Knight and about a dozen ghosts pouring through. They all converged upon the terrified man and started whaling on him like they were trying to make sure he didn’t make it to tomorrow. His head lolled to the side. Oh shit. Batman and Robin were there, staring down from a skylight in mild shock.

Jason mentally shrugged, and passed out.

—————

“On today’s news: Red Hood was successful in taking down a child trafficking ring today. Reports had been made to the GCPD about missing children, with most cases coming from Park Row. The GCPD approached Red Hood in an effort to collaborate, in which Hood flipped off the officers and said, I quote, “I’ll get more work done without a bunch of asshats tripping me up. Leave before I make you.” Despite his insult, it’s been reported Hood has solved the case himself before handing over the relevant information to locate the missing kids.

Unfortunately, the incident was not a peaceful one, and eyewitnesses state Red Hood had been carried away from the scene by Batman and his protégé. Batman commented that Hood had sustained a serious injury, and as such, Black Bat and a few of Hood’s associates would be taking over the protection of Crime Alley for the foreseeable future.

In other news; Joker was admitted to the ICU at Gotham City Hospital earlier this evening. The villain was found catatonic in the streets and has been completely unresponsive for some time now. There are no visible signs of trauma, but extensive testing is underway to see if the man had sustained some sort of brain injury. Only a single eyewitness came forward about what happened.

One young Daniel Nightingale stated that the Joker was wandering around with some henchmen, doing something “super sus.” Suddenly, there was a bright green light and several floating people showed up and just “beat the everloving daylights out of him. The goons got scared and bounced.” The people vanished a soon as 911 was called, but again, since no visible wounds were made, the eyewitness’ credibility is being called into question by one Lex Luther and a few others. That’s all I have for today, thank you for watching the eight o’clock news.”

Danny ghost adopting Jason. Which means the ghost king had an easily accessible son.

Ghost from all over come to gotham to see "the little baby" and jason now has to deal with ghosts cooing over him and giving him stuff.

No one tries to fight him because one time someone went after dani and they got beat into the ground so hard it made everyone aware that while you can fight the king, his children are off limits.

The batfam is concerned that when red hood gets shot a fuck ton of ghosts appear and beat the guy with the gun.

The joker hasnt known peace since it came out who killed Jason.

[radiojamming]

can I request a reader/Jacob fic where they get stuck in the woods or something and have to snuggle for warmth and Jacob is Unhappy™️ about it but secretly loves it

petition for a winter-themed dlc where u can go cross country skiing and everyone’s wearing adorable winter wear

(also i’m so sorry i’m rusty with reader-viewpoint fanfic. hopefully u like it!)

- - -

Seriously, fuck Montana. Sure, it’s beautiful and scenic, and one look at the snow-capped Whitetails catching the winter sunlight is enough to take your breath away. The entire county looks like someone vigorously shook a snowglobe; yet all you can think is something along the lines of fuck this joint. 

Because Montana decides that four feet of snow is a perfectly acceptable amount. Four feet of snow to ski or stomp through, chasing after white-clothed cultists in distinctly white scenery. Four feet of snow with a blizzard bound in from the west, pressing hard on the mountains that you just so happen to be trying to meander through. And, fair to mention, it’s four feet of snow plus blizzard on top of Jacob’s territory, just to be the little flourish on top of a massive snowpile of disaster that your weekend’s become.

You hadn’t meant to get so far into the mountains. In early fall and well into November, the weather held off enough that what you’re attempting now wasn’t even a fraction of a problem. But now, you’re clumsy on borrowed skis, and a damn near fatal snowshoe attempt earlier in the week made that mode of transportation an impossibility. A snowmobile might be able to do alright, but there are way too many trees to do that safely, at least until you find a vague road-shaped stretch of snow to ride on. That’s pretty much your mission now. Find a road, kick some Peggie off their snowmobile, and ride into glory, a snowbank, someone’s house, or a combination of all three.

The clouds above you get patchy, bloated, and dark with snow. Sunlight attempts to burst through, but as the hour wears on, it grows weaker and weaker. Finally, when you’re within sight of a side road, the sky is one uniform layer of angry, frigid gray, and even through the layers you’re wearing, you can still feel the temperature drop degree by degree. Cold pricks your cheeks and your nose and it numbs your fingers. If there was ever a time to hustle out to the nearest Resistance outpost, now’s the time.

Except obviously, someone out there has very different plans for you.

You’ve made it about two hundred yards down the road when there’s a distinct crack of gunfire, and a plume of snow shoots up beside you. It’s hard to whirl around with skis, but you manage, sniper rifle already up and ready. The snow’s already starting to come down in heavy flakes, obscuring your vision. You squint through it, trying to find the shine of a rifle, the distinct red of a scope or sight. Nothing.

A few minutes of turning around, left, right, and backwards, and still nothing.

You start to wonder if it was a stray shot, or maybe someone–

Maybe someone cracks you in the side of the head with a rifle butt.

Well, you have your vengeance, because whoever it is doesn’t count for the fact that you’ve proven yourself to be a royal moron when it comes to skis. You stumble, dazed, one ski catching the other and causing you to careen hard to the left. Vaguely, you register hitting something, which happens to be large and warm and covered in fabric, but the sensation only lasts a second before the entire world turns completely sideways. 

The last thing you see is a stretch of mottled white and gray camo, and you hear a low groan of displeasure. Then, it goes pleasantly dark.

- - -

The first thing that you feel is a slamming headache. It’s like a cross between a hangover and a closed-head injury, and it might be both. It pulses hard in your right temple, like your heart’s taken up real estate next to your brain and has taken the responsibility of being a noisy, obnoxious neighbor. You wince, but the wince somehow makes it hurt more. 

The second thing you feel is that fabric-covered warmth at your side, and that is way more pleasant than your heart versus brain fight. Whatever it is, it’s faintly rumbling, and without thinking on it (because your brain’s preoccupied with shouting down the tenants), you try to get closer to the source. Said source makes a noise of distinct bear-like discontent, but doesn’t move away. 

Except vaguely, your brain takes a break from protesting to notice that something’s not quite right.

Hey! you think it says, shouting over your too-loud pulse. Maybe open your eyes a second. 

You do, with enormous reluctance. You’re greeted with more of that white and gray camo print, and red. Lots of red. A red blanket, red beanie, red beard–

Oh. Well. 

Shit.

There are only two real possibilities here: one is that you’re huddled up beside who is, for all intents and purposes, a perfect genetic clone of Jacob Seed, down to the unflinching eyes staring a hole through your face and the ‘I’m going to make you mincemeat’ expression that he shares with his wolves. The second is that it is Jacob Seed, no clones needed, and with all aforementioned traits. 

The second can’t be likely, because there is no way on God’s green (or mostly gray and white, right now) earth that Jacob Seed would be curled around you like a motherly mountain lion without putting you in a stranglehold and threatening you with Darwinian theory. Honestly, there’s only one way to test this.

“Jacob?” you croak out, your voice sounding like it might compete with his on gravelliness.

And, in equally gravelly tones, he replies, “Deputy.”

You have to take a little more stock to figure out how the hell you got in this position. Everything around you is dark, except the telltale gold glow of a fire nearby. You look up to see a crackling blue tarp mounted on a crossbeam of PVC pipe, and you glance down to see that the two of you are huddled up on an unrolled and unzipped sleeping bag, blue and green flannel facing upwards. When you manage to lift your head up without passing out, you see that you’re in some makeshift camp tunneled into the snowbank. There’s a crate on the other side of the fire and little else. Obviously, it’s not a camp meant for an extended stay.

So, without a concrete answer, you just ask, “What?”

Jacob makes a strange, low wheezing sound which you feel more than see. It’s a warm rush of air that you can feel on your scalp. “Great question,” he mumbles, and that is something you feel through his chest. “You want the long, wordy version or the short and easy one?”

You dazedly mutter something that might be, “Short and easy,” but it comes out sounding more like, “Sortneeeez.”

Another puff of warm air and you realize it’s a laugh. 

“I tried to catch you alive, you tripped on your own skis, fell into me, rammed my head into a tree, and we were both knocked out for at least a half an hour,” he explains quietly. “I managed to get up and get us both here, but the temperature dropped into the negatives, so getting to the nearest cabin isn’t happening until morning.”

You blink slowly, trying to absorb all of what he’s said. It’s more than you’ve heard from him in awhile, excluding things that come out like sermons or lectures. The Seeds only seem to be blessed in one art of conversation, and it’s never anything good or truly entertaining.

“So,” you reply, trying to pull your wits back together enough that you don’t sound like you’re nursing a concussion. “Why’re we here?” The word we is accompanied by a slight elbowing at Jacob’s waist, causing him to grunt.

“‘Cause neither of us need to freeze to death. Basic survival,” he replies.

“So we’re cud–”

“Don’t say it.”

Yes, you’re still dazed and trying to work your way through a headache, but spiteful ye shall always be, and you’re smiling before your brain has a chance to coach you on why that might be a bad idea. Predators showing teeth and all that.

“We’re cuddlin’,” you finish regardless, and that’s about the extent of your eloquence for now. Any other word is going to come out in a slurry of consonants and vowels that won’t make much sense.

Another grunt, and it’s another wonder of the world that he doesn’t kill you now and just pull a Han Solo strategy on your still-warm corpse. Instead (and this might be a hallucination), you feel a slight tug around your waist, and you’re suddenly even closer to Jacob than you were before. Your mind is already sinking back into unconsciousness, and you manage to register that he smells like pine sap and campfire. You grin at this, and might say something about it, but Jacob’s sighing and keeping you close.

“Go to sleep,” he orders.

You happily succumb to sleep, but not before you swear you feel a hand running over your hair before it rests just behind your head.