#technically and canonically I suppose his wings are white but

[animaginaryartblog]

[Image ID: a digital drawing of three Sonic the Hedgehog fan characters. The first is White, a white lion with a golden mane, light green eyes, and a red sunflower marking on his forehead. He wears a faded poncho. He stands close to the camera with a wide grin on his face, one eye closed and the other scrunched up with his smile.

Behind White stands Black, a black wolf with blue-green eyes. He has glowing blue markings around his eyes. On his forehead, two markings, a crescent moon and an oval, almost form the shape of an eye. He is wearing a a batik shirt and a sarong (or that's what it's supposed to be rip). He is turned away from the camera, looking over his shoulder at White with a confused expression.

Curled around Black's shoulders is Pretzel, a small cat-like creature with dark brown fur and bat-like wings. Fin-like blue frills spread from her head, and pink tufts of fur are on the top of her head, her wrists, and the base of the stinger-like spike at the end of her tail. The spike is currently pointed safely away from Black and White. She has the same glowing blue markings around her eyes as Black, but on her forehead is a third eye. It has a black sclera and a glowing blue pupil. Her arms are folded under her chin, and on the backs of both her hands is the same moon-eye mark as on the Black's forehead. She is looking at White with an annoyed expression. /end ID]

so, back in October (of last year, wow) I set myself a challenge: for the entire month of October, I would only draw my original characters. no fan art. naturally I decided to kick off this challenge by drawing my Sonic OCs. not even proper OCs; these three are semi-OCs, technically based on canon characters (which ones, I'll let you guess). Photo inspiration below:

[Image ID: a photo of three cats sitting in a living room. On the left side, one seems to be smiling at the camera, lips pulled back and eyes scrunched into slits. On the right, slightly closer to the camera, another cat looks befuddled. Behind them both, in the center of the photo, a black cat simply stares at the camera.]

no idea where the original is from, but it's a good pic.

[amwritingmeta]

MCM Comic Con London

Heyyyy, my loves!

I went to my first ever Comic Con on Sunday. I know! First ever?? How could this be? What did you make of it? Did you hug a Storm Trooper? Did you get lost in this huge enormous vast building with huge enormous vast rooms filled with huge enormous vast groups of people? Did you pet the TARDIS? Did you meet RAPUNZEL? DID YOU SEE DEADPOOL?? DARTH VADER?? Did you make a friend? Did you dance with the devil in the pale moonlight?? Do tell!!

Alrighty, then! (I’m afraid I’m going to prove a huuuuuge disappointment) (but there’s Misha panel commentary further down m’kay?)

So, here’s what I learned about myself from visiting Comic Con: I like small, intimate spaces with assigned seating.

Yeah. I know. Told you that you’d be disappointed. 

It’s basically why I haven’t been to Comic Con before tbh. I knew I’d enjoy milling about and looking at merchandise and graphic novels and oh the fan art and seeing the TARDIS (I did see her but I did not pet her) and R2D2 (he moved around and talked to people and everything) *feelings* and passing Darth Vader in the hallway (true story) and just being in a space filled with people nerding out together like YES. My heart was very full. 

But.

(oh here it comes)

My nerdy heart is pretty much sequestered by SPN. While I enjoy the original Star Wars very, very much because epic (obviously) and have enjoyed Doctor Who (on and off) and while I’m a big GoT fan (yes I shall remain so thanks to the books never mind what they did on those final two episodes of the show but also do not get me starts on what they fucking even DID) and I fucking love Disney and anime and animation of any kind, and have a huge respect and interest for the artistry of graphic noveling, that’s just not my world. 

(I do want to start reading graphic novels though and I’ve been so close to ordering the BtVS ones but... anyone have solid suggestions or advice on where to start, hit me up in DM) (I’ve read a few where the art has been unspeakably gorgeous and just mh!)

But because I’m not deep in anything even approaching a multi-fandom attitude, they just don’t grab at me, you know?

So though I’m so fucking happy that I went - truly am (and nope I did not dress up and though I know I’d enjoy it because who wouldn’t enjoy dressing up as Kahlan from Legend of the Seeker? End of the day, the dressing up is more fun when going with a group of people...) (anyway) - it’s not quite my cuppa. That being said, if Misha comes again next year *dirty* then I’m there. I mean, it’s one tube ride from my place. How the fuck could I not? 

Okay, before those three sentences make me say things I’ll regret in the morning, let’s talk about The Panel!

I’m actually going to open with something that Misha kind of threw out there in the middle of the panel because it made me so excited: he may direct in S15! Ahahahah yes please! I really hope he gets to!

Now, what else?

Highlights for me were:

Him talking about the fandom in his warmest tones, which is something he does on the regular, but he spoke of the positivity of the intensity of our community and how he thinks it’s been really cool to be a part of it and to do charitable work together (hundreds of thousands of volunteer hours and millions of dollars into worthy causes over the years, so kudos, guys, kudos) It’s a wonderful, surreal phenomenon. *his words* *and so very true* (and we all know this is how he feels, but it’s always lovely for him to restate it)

Ruth sending a video message and prompting Misha to talk about when Amara carved the I Am Coming message into Cas’ chest (and Misha thinking Lucifer carved the message and promptly dismissing us correcting him) *snortlaugh* Has everyone heard this story? Because I actually hadn’t. That Misha was making corresponding noises and facial expression to really convey the message and the only thing was that the top brass at the CW were conducting their yearly set visit and were, in fact, standing at the monitor watching him. *MCM audience laugh track* *aw Misha*

Talking about how close the cast is and how much they enjoy JiB, and how they laugh themselves into shape in the Green Room every year. Admittedly the six pack is a lie, but the aching stomach muscles are a truth. *not jealous because the rest of us are having Just As Much Fun In Our Corner* >.>

When asked what he’ll miss most about the show: the fun they have on set and the people, including the crew, since they all know each other so well and have grown up together. But also he’ll miss the Supernatural community. He knows it won’t go away immediately, but, as these things go, it will dwindle. He’ll miss the fire and intensity that is there when the show is on the air. 

Which is fair, because there will be a dropping off, there will be a slowing down, it’s inevitable, but I honestly can’t see this family ever just dispersing entirely. And I almost wanted to get up there and suggest to him that they consider keeping the JiB torch burning, because giving this community of ours a few set points of warmth each year where people (if they so choose) get to interact with them while also getting to reunite with people we don’t otherwise get to see often and to have those points of warmth to aim for and gather around is a sure-fire way to keep the flame alive. Right? I’m not expecting them to continue doing the con circuit because omfg no, but to have one or two points a year...

Anyway.

Misha trying to do a Scottish accent makes him sound like a leprechaun with a lisp. *ehehe*

Misha telling us that the writers gave them the option to draw out the story for another two-three seasons, or land it in one kick-ass final season, and they all chose one kick-ass final season, which makes me so happy for them, that they get to finish strong and on their terms. It’s so well-deserved.

(I think I’m just going through the panel moment-by-moment at this point) (the panel was apparently the highlight)

Him talking about The Adventurous Eaters Club - the cookbook he’s writing with Vicki that I cannot wait to read, tbh, because I do believe kids often say no at the dinner table because they’re trying to stay in control of the situation, rather than them not really wanting to eat, and as a grown-up, recognising this and relenting control and allowing them free reign to be a part of building their dinner from the ground up and getting them excited about food and understanding the process of actually creating a meal is so damn healthy. Well, if that’s the objective of the cookbook! Just what I’m taking from the premise, but, hands against heart, I adore them both.

Talking about his favourite vehicles for Cas and saying that he’d love for Cas to get a smart car and squeeze Sam into the passenger seat and omfg PLEASE yes. *the imagery is so  e n t i c i n g*

Going full-meta and talking about Cas’ travails going to get the fruit of life without his wings in S13, looking up a flight on Expedia, sitting squished into the middle seat, saying no thank you to food, getting through customs with that bag of fruit, probably getting held up. (quite impressive actually because this happened more than a season ago and clearly he’s given the story gap some thought) (and he remembers) (astonishing) 

*^^^ sarcasm, guys* *sarcasm* :)

If Cas gets to be happy, he will die (my addition: unless he’s, you know, human) :P

Cas’ wings are rainbow (and I’m immediately thinking of them almost like peacock *shhhh don’t even start* feathers that shift tone in the light so that they shimmer rather than are divided up into single colour feathers in a rainbow pattern) (wow I took that seriously af) (but mh gorgeous wings!)

Maison is a goddamn rockstar. *not literally but internally* :)

Okay, so that’s the panel done. And dusted. *sparkly*

And then I met up with a friend of a friend who I’d actually met briefly at JiB - her name is Katie - and I stood in line with her as she waited for Misha autos and I met the loveliest Scottish bloke named Oliver, mostly because I desperately needed to charge my mobile and just said out loud “Does anyone have a mobile charger” and the blessed man turned around and said “Yes, I have one”, so he lent me his mobile charger and was gushing over his photo-op with Misha (it really is the most adorable photo ever) and Oliver was entirely flustered with happiness and just *my heart strings* and then he fucked off and didn’t come back for his charger! 

He just disappeared! Without as much as a by-your-leave!

So we waited. And waited. It was terrible. Having to stand there. Not knowing. Okay, kidding, but we did wait and wait and tried to look for him, but he just didn’t come back.

But just now, ten minutes ago, he followed me on Twitter!! I just accosted him going OMG IT IS YOU IS IT NOT! Do I have your charger?? And it is he and now I don’t have to have a guilty conscience anymore, though I did ease it by thinking that he was the one who literally effed the fuck off and didn’t return. Anyway. What drama, huh? Guess that’s Comic Con, for you. And I got to add the resolution! *sweet*

It was a grand old indoor day and then we went down to the river for food and lots of alcoholic really-really-tasty beverages and good company. 

The End.

[house-of-laminations]

Nabateans are basically House's version of the Manaketes like Tiki, Nah, and Nowi except they don't use a dragonstone to transform. Well I guess technically they use the crest stone but from my best guess that stone is actually serves as their heart.

And they do turn into a more monstrous form - Rhea turns into a beautiful large white dragon called the Immaculate One. Seteth can no longer transform, and I don't think Flayn can as she was injured in the past in the same war that killed her mother and had to sleeps for many years to recover.

You do meet two other Nabateans that are in dragon form. One's similar to a turtle, and the other is a dragon-bird-griffon one.

Though in Three Houses in the distant past nearly all of the Nabateans were killed off along with Sothis/their goddess. Humans (Argathians specifically) learned that they could acquire crests/bonus stats by consuming the blood of a Nabatean (whether they drank or it was injected I don't know.). The bones could be used to forge weapons - which is why the relic weapons look so creepy and wrong. As long as the crest stone (the Nabatean heart more or less) is inserted in the relic weapon and the wielder has the matching crest the weapons tremble like they are alive.

It's really creepy and the same thing happened to Sothis (similar to Naga from Awakening position wise I guess?) and her body.

Belphie trying to kill them would cause so many trust issues. On the other hand a nabatean!mc would understand his hatred of humans. Maybe even sympathize with freeing him due to their own trauma and depending on when and wear in the timeline of Three Houses they come from.

Fire Emblem Heroes kind of made it canon that alternate timelines exist where certain events happened (or didn't) or that the villains won. It would be possible that Nabatean!MC could come from somewhere in that 1000 years between Seiros and her final battle against Nemesis to when Byleth shows up at the Academy. Or during the Academy phase itself, or even in one of the routes that take place during the war phase. I think Silver Snow would probably be the most heartbreaking given the fact you most likely have to mercy kill one of the last few remaining Nabateans because she's gone berserk/degenerated.

That also means it's very possible that when Diavolo/Barbatos/Lucifer went to summon what was supposed to be a normal, modern day human the spell screwed up and they summoned the nabatean!mc. And given all the history and trauma that mc has they probably work hard to cover up that they aren't human unless pushed.

Though they only ever showed it with normal manaketes (which Nabateans more or less are) in Fire Emblem Heroes, it wouldn't be out of place to say that nabatean!mc can partially transform/manifest some of their dragon characteristics like wings or a tail.

Which would make Lesson 16 a bit dramatic with a partial transformation. I doubt Nabatean!MC would willingly stay in the HoL with the demon brothers after that no matter how much they had trusted them beforehand. Most likely either they'd request to live with the angels, though Solomon being human might cause some trouble with that. Or request to stay at the castle away from Belphie and the brothers.

The more heartbreaking option? Nabatean!MC bolts the second they get a chance and fully transforms into a dragon (probably not as big as Rhea/The Immaculate One). They wouldn't even be paying attention to the direction they fly in as long as it's away from everyone. Panicked dragon hiding in the probably dangerous forests of Devildom because everything was too much like the wars they've lived through or reminded them too much of the people they've lost.

Also with Nabatean!MC means a ton of cultural differences, not just of race (demon traditions vs nabatean traditions) but also era. Just dealing with human culture is probably hard enough but now a dragon from a period of time with knights and mages? Have fun boys.

You know what I would love to see? Accidental sword fights.

Hear me out: Nabatean!MC ends up in Devildom, but before then, they were in a time where they absolutely were expected to defend themselves. One of the brothers decides to bonk them with a wrapping paper roll or pool noodle but they react on instinct - and before you know it they're dueling it out like pros.

But demons being demons probably wouldn't recognize that hey, that's strange from a regular, 'modern' human.

[hanoella]

Affettuoso- With Feeling (Part 3)

Pairing: Bucky x Pianist!Reader

Set after the events of TFATWS: In an effort to start over and make a home in Louisiana, Bucky meets a friend of Sam’s who ends up being his landlord. With only a driveway to separate them, he finds that he’s not the only one looking for a fresh start.

Series tags/warnings: Slow Burn, Eventual Bucky x Reader, Mentions of Domestic Abuse, Canon Level Violence

Part 3 Word Count: 3k

A/N: Can you tell I don't really have a posting schedule? lol. I also introduced links to the specific pieces I had in mind. I'm using soundcloud because I don't think everyone has access to spotify. Trying to be reader friendly! This can be read with or without the audio, as I do my best to still convey the thought in the fic. Though if you can, I highly recommend :)

Thanks again for all your support! Every heart and comment motivates me and is just so wonderful

Read Part 1; Masterlist

---

A few days had passed since the night that Bucky had overheard your troubles. It had been quiet since, and you hadn’t left the house. The curtains were opened during the day and closed at night, the only telltale signs that you existed.

Doesn’t she have to work? Bucky thought to himself. He speculated all the different possibilities as he used the riding mower around the property. Maybe you were an heiress? You seemed pretty down to earth though. Or maybe you sold a patented idea for a ton of money. All this land had to have been expensive. And to not request actual money from him?

He eyed up the width of the gate for your fence. The riding mower couldn’t fit so he would have to use a push mower for your fenced off yard. He hadn’t seen one in the garage. Maybe the old shed at the back of your yard had one? Bucky parked the mower in the garage, taking a moment to make a mental list of everything. Depending on if he found anything in the shed, he might need to buy a few basic tools and a chainsaw for that fallen tree.

He walked out of the garage and over to the shed. The leaves were changing color and it brought a whole new atmosphere to the secluded forest area. Opening the gate of the weathered white fence, he looked around to see if you were out. No signs of life. Entering the yard and closing the gate behind him, he started walking to the back. Halfway through, he stopped at the fire pit. The grey stone blocks were starting to crumble, with a few of the bricks having fallen off. It would probably be really nice if he got a little bit of cement mix and filled in the gaps. Bucky made another mental note.

The shed had no padlock so he was able to open it with no problem. Amongst the cobwebs and bags of soil, was an older green push mower that looked like it might work. He gave the gas a pull and got no response back. Looking underneath, Bucky saw what might be the problem. He’d have to take a closer look later. Putting the lawn mower back onto its wheels, he pushed it across the yard, pausing when he saw movement though the glass doors of the back patio.

Craning his neck to avoid the glare, he saw you sitting at your fancy full keyboard. The way the piano was against the opposite wall, your back was to him. You had big over-ear headphones plugged into it, so he couldn’t hear the sound but he saw the flurry of keys being pressed down. Whatever you were playing, you played passionately. Hands and arms gracefully moved despite the speed at which they were moving. Enhanced hearing coming into play, he heard the muffled clicks of the fluttering keys. Suddenly, you pressed down forcefully, holding whatever chord you had struck as your shoulders gently relaxed. A deep breath. Arm creating a graceful arc as if you had studied ballet, you pressed gently on another chord. And another. Bucky counted three more times you did this before you let your hands gently fall from the keys to your lap. Several moments passed before slid the headphones off of your ears to sit wrapped around your neck. Another deep breath. This time as the breath escaped you, you stayed slouched, head tilting up to stare at nothing on the wall.

A buzz broke Bucky from his trance.

“Call me, new mission” The text from Sam on his home screen said.

He pocketed his phone, glancing through the glass one more time. There you still sat.

Unmoving.

---

The roar of the plane’s engine was just loud enough to drown out Bucky’s thoughts without being annoying. If it weren’t for the adrenaline of the recovery mission under the cover of nightfall, he probably would’ve been lulled to sleep. Beside him sat Sam, looking on his phone for the exact coordinates of the politician they had been sent to rescue.

“Here it is. I’m assuming there’s some sort of underground base since there are no heat signatures anywhere within the radius where he was taken. It should take us about ten more minutes before we’re directly over it.”

Bucky hummed in acknowledgement.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Earth to Bucky.”

“What does your friend do?” Bucky asked suddenly, sitting up straighter and turning towards him.

“… What?”

“What does she do? I’ve never seen her leave the house. Is she okay?”

“If you’re asking why she doesn’t leave the house, it’s because her contract doesn’t start for a while. She’s technically still supposed to be in physical therapy but she hasn’t found a place yet. You know, your whole routine gets messed up when you move.”

“For her shoulder?”

Now it was Sam’s turn to look at Bucky, trying to decipher the motive behind these questions. Bucky shifted his weight in the chair, antsy under the scrutiny.

“Never mind, I-”

“Yes, for her shoulder.” Sam said, cutting him off. He stopped himself from asking why Bucky wanted to know. There was an awkward pause before Bucky explained himself.

“I just wanted to know. I’m not used to seeing people so…”

“Similar to yourself?”

“I was gonna say isolated but fair point.” Bucky admitted. Sam leaned back in his chair, looking straight forward.

“She’s been through a lot… I know you heard some of it.”

Bucky blinked in surprise.

“I realized the window was open when I could hear you drive off.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s alright, it’s good that you know.” Sam said as he held up his hand to cut Bucky off.

“She’s just trying to get a fresh start. She’s in a raw emotional space and in the meantime is a little skittish. Just like someone else I know.” Sam jabbed his elbow into Bucky’s side as he enunciated the last sentence.

“Okay, okay, I get it. I’m trying!” He shouted as he held one hand up defensively and using the other to block the second jab Sam was trying to get in. Sam chuckled and then stood up, grabbing a parachute pack and tossing it at Bucky, who caught it without even looking.

“Figured you might wanna try an actual chute this time.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and mouthed Sam’s words mockingly with a grimace as he put the backpack on. Clipping it into place, he joined Sam at the side door of the plane.

“She used to play in an orchestra you know.” Sam said wistfully. “The piano. That’s actually how we met. She had volunteered to play a small concert before the dinner. It really helped raise a lot of money for the VA.”

Bucky stayed silent, prompting him to continue.

“Then that bastard she was engaged to beat her and then shoved her down a set of concrete steps when she tried to leave him. It was like a month after we all came back. She was in the hospital for a while. Broken ribs, broken shoulder, and a nasty concussion to boot. Neighbor saw the whole thing and called the cops but the courts were so backed up and the case fell through the cracks. Wouldn’t leave her alone after he got out. So, I pulled some strings and helped her move down here on the fly.”

“… That’s terrible.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say or how to react. They stood in silence, taking a moment to pay a respect of sorts to the trials you have been through. Then Sam broke the silence.

“She just needs time to heal in more ways than one. But she’s strong. Resilient.”

Putting a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, he squeezed it lightly with reassurance.

“Reminds me of someone else I know.” Sam said, finishing the conversation and pulling his goggles over his eyes, giving Bucky the opportunity to take the compliment without feeling too on the spot.

Pulling the door open, Sam shouted over the wind.

“Ready?”

Bucky nodded. Sam jumped from the plane and deployed the wings, the shield shining in the moonlight. Bucky jumped right behind him, using the glint of the silver star to guide his descent as he followed the man that gave the shield its meaning.

---

You laid with your head down on the kitchen table, letting the last golden rays of sun warm the side of your face. You were exhausted from going to physical therapy, especially since today had been the first appointment. All the measurements, all the exercises, all the stretching.

All the questions.

“So, how did you break your shoulder?” the young blonde physical therapist asked.

“Ah, I… fell down some stairs.” You said, looking down at your hands in your lap.

She didn’t look up from the papers, instead just raising an eyebrow.

“You also cracked some ribs and had a concussion?”

“… They were concrete.”

She looked up from the papers at you, analyzing. Her gaze softened and she asked no further questions on how these serious injuries had been obtained.

“Let’s look at your range of motion.”

You had practically stumbled into the house, kicking off your sneakers and plopping down at the kitchen table. Minutes passed by as you regained your breath, heartbeat steadying. The house was slightly cold since you had turned the heat down this morning. As your sweat cooled, you wrapped your arms around your legs in an attempt to keep you warm without getting up.

The sun feels so warm… You thought to yourself drowsily, feeling slightly less lonely. The sun was a cheap substitute for the warmth of a partner…

---

You jolted upright, the kitchen dark and cold. Neck and shoulder stiff from the awkward position you had dozed off in. Feeling the dryness of your mouth, you got up, stretching your neck gently while you walked to the fridge to get water. Chugging about half the bottle, you squinted at the clock. You had been asleep for about forty-five minutes. Groaning, you put the bottle down on the counter and walked into the living room to close the curtains. Grabbing one in each hand, you went to pull them together when you hesitated, noticing that Bucky’s apartment was dark for the third day in a row. The sleek motorbike that was usually parked under the slight overhang of the garage was missing as well.

He was probably on a mission, right? Not that it was any of your business. You shut the curtains and turned off the lights before lightly padded down the hall, stopping to adjust the thermostat. The heat kicked on, sending a puff of cold air your way. You shivered as you walked with a quickened pace to your room, shutting the door and heading into the master bathroom, turning the hot water on with just a tad of cold.

Waiting for the shower to warm up, you leaned over the sink and looked into the mirror. Dark circles under your eyes. Small scar on the bridge of your nose. Running your hand through the roots of your hair, you felt for the scar where the stitches had been. When was the last time you had a haircut? Or put on some makeup?

Some higher being must’ve felt pity for you since the steam from the shower fogged the glass, preventing you from tearing yourself apart any further. Stepping underneath the warm stream, you let the warmth seep into your muscles, then bones, filling every fracture and break with a temporary sense of wholeness until the emptiness of your heart and home caused it slowly to drip out until it, along with you, was gone.

---

The next morning, you weren’t motivated to do anything. You lounged around the house, sipping on coffee and browsing on your phone for furniture, clothes, even sneaking a peak at some pianos. Wanting to invest in one you’d use for the next several decades, you had put off buying one until the money from your contract with the orchestra started in a month. You were still well off, nowhere near struggling and probably wouldn’t ever be unless you decided to buy a mansion (which was a no). You just wanted to be careful.

In the afternoon, you popped a pain killer and muscle relaxer in preparation for the few hours you wanted to practice. Thirty minutes went by and the ever-present ache in your shoulder calmed enough to let you practice with relative peace. Sitting on the bench in front of the keyboard, you pondered what you might play to warm up.

Hmm, maybe a Chopin prelude? Short, emotional, familiar.

Your left hand held the soft deep chords as your right hand softly flitted around the higher notes. Breathing in and out with the music, you tried to ignore the ache that start to surround your shoulder.

Playing the last few notes, you paused before reaching over to the bottle of painkillers.

---

Shortly after finishing up, you dragged a small table outside next to the wooden bench swing that was hanging on the porch. Bundled up in a soft sweatshirt, long-sleeve shirt, wool lined leggings, fuzzy socks and slippers, you brought out your hot tea, several blankets, a pillow, and a book you had been meaning to read for months. You were determined to do something besides practice, watch TV, and scroll on your phone.

You settled onto the bench, wrapping the blanket around you, nice and toasty from the layers trapping in the heat of a thorough practice session. The extra medication had really helped keep the pain at bay. Tentatively sipping the steaming cup, you closed your eyes to further appreciate the sweet tones of peach and honey. Setting the cup in your lap with one hand, you used your other hand to flip open to the first page.

---

Bucky hadn’t expected the mission to get so complicated. Finding the base was one thing, navigating in and out of the expansive maze was another. It took a few days to successfully get the target out and back to the embassy. He hadn’t properly slept during that time due to taking shifts with Sam. Not that it was any different from how he slept at home.

The sun was letting its last few rays bless the earth when he turned onto the driveway. Taking it easy on the gravel, he eased his posture and slowed the bike. He put pressure on the brakes as he made it past the final wall of trees that hid the water that was reflecting the last bit of color left in the sky. Rolling casually into a stop, he parked and let out a deep breath, shoulders sinking.

A stray bird calling out turned his attention in the direction of your house. The porch light was on. That’s new, he thought. Squinting his eyes, he saw a bundle on the porch swing. Was that you? Quietly walking over while taking his leather gloves off, he confirmed his suspicions. There you were, lying on your side propped up by a large fuzzy pillow. Eyes closed and breathing rhythmically. Scanning the scene, he noticed the mug on the side table, empty except for the used teabag. Your book was closed, the page you were on marked by one of your fingers. You must’ve fallen asleep while reading.

“Hey…” Bucky said gently. No response besides a small nose scrunch.

He repeated himself a little louder, squatting to be at eye level while gently setting his hand on your arm and shaking you lightly. You groaned this time, eyes fluttering open, taking a moment to focus. You squinted and pushed yourself up into a sitting position, losing your place in the book and attempting to blink the heavy drowsiness from your eyes.

“Bucky?” You questioned hoarsely as you met his eyes. He was still crouching so you were looking slightly down at him. Brow furrowed, you searched the blue of his eyes before looking around to see how dark it had gotten. As you turned your head back to him, he stood back up, scratching the back of his neck just to occupy his hands.

“It’s starting to get cold. I didn’t want you to spend the rest of the night out here.” He explained, choosing to look out at the water, now dark. When he turned his head back, you had also turned your head to look at the water, exposing the side of your neck, the tendons and clavicle accentuated by the strain. Bucky swallowed and your eyes met his, oblivious.

“Ah, thank you. I must’ve fallen asleep reading. I just started going back to physical therapy so I’ve just been so wiped… Anyway,” you said, dismissing yourself mid-thought. He didn’t want to hear about all that. “…did you just come back from a mission?” You eyed the diagonal cuts of leather on his jacket, noting the missing sleeve that exposed the glint of the metal.

“Yeah. I was gone for a few days.”

“Okay. I’m glad you’re home safe.” You mindlessly said, picking up the book and other various items strewn about.

Home safe. What an unfamiliar phrase.

As the words echoed in his mind, you had opened the door and stepped in, turning your head slightly to look back at him.

“Thanks again… Good night.”

“Good night.” Bucky replied, watching as you shut the door softly behind you.

Slowly walking down the porch steps, he crossed the driveway to the garage. Turning his head just in time to see the last light turn off in your house, he stood with his hand on the knob, meditating on the effect that one short sentence had on him.

Glad you’re home safe. Was this what it was like when you had someone waiting on you at home? The tired eyes and gentle smile. Would that be what it was like when he came home in the middle of a night from a mission when he had someone to share a bed with? Gently shaking them to let them know he was home? Or would he try to sneak into bed without waking them? He tried to imagine what that sort of intimacy would be like as he entered his apartment and then his room. Unzipping his jacket and tossing it over a chair, he stripped down to his boxer briefs and climbed into bed, wondering what it would be like if it was already warm.

[of-elves-and-mad-hatters]

“The Azure Sky” - Chapter 2 - Lego Elves

Shadows to the Brightest Flame: Series

- The legacy of Lumia’s influence is scarred eternally into the lands of Elvendale. Burdened by a prophecy foretelling her demise and need for a successor, she watches for one capable of such power. Yet her enemies are working steadily to undo all she’s labored so long for, and it is millenia too late to make peace. 

Emily Jones, heir to Eimileen, is a bold girl dedicated to protecting Elvendale, but the world she has grown so fond of is not so black and white as it seems, and the titles of Guardian of Portal and Guardian of Light may hold darker legacies some ancient elves have worked tirelessly to hide. 

In conjunction with the extended version of the Guardian of Light prophecy I wrote previously

Basically a rewrite of all of the Lego Elves & Secrets of Elvendale storylines with an additional arc beyond the Season 4: Into the Shadows. There will be a varying degree of deviation from canon.

Technically a crossover with Lord of the Rings/Hobbit/Silmarillion in terms of worldbuidling, as I set Elvendale as being north of Middle-Earth, cause this is fanfic and I can. So there will be mentions of the Noldor, Sindar, Silvan, and some Tolkien characters, but they will be mostly background. Definitely not an issue if you aren’t familiar with the Middle-Earth fandom; everything will still be easy to understand. 

Book 1: The Azure Sky

Grieving over the unexpected death of her grandmother, Emily Jones is accidentally trapped in another world. Befriending a few young elves in an attempt to find her way home, Emily discovers many secrets about her grandmother’s past, but for every truth she learns two more questions take its place, leaving her vulnerable to darker force inhabiting this realm. 

A rewrite of Unite the Magic

_______________________________________________________________________

Chapter 1 

_______________________________________________________________________

Chapter 2

Shaking, Emily pushes herself up to her knees, viewing the scenary around her with shock and confusion. Trees extend in every direction, leaves mottled with unusual tones of pinks and violet. The silky soft grass glistens in the light, though as she runs her hands of the blades, she finds them dry of dew. Despite the density of the foliage, the sun illuminates the area to the brightness of midday during the summer. Birds chorus grandly behind the anonimity of the branches. 

“Who are you?”

Emily jumps, turning to find a girl looming curiously behind her, though perhaps that would not be the most accurate term. She looks odd, dressed in a bright magenta dress cut and sewn to mimic flames and embroidered with some sort of baroque designs, though it’s hard to tell since most are faded and stained. Her tan skin is marked by bright tattoos on one shoulder and her face, emboldening her warm brown eyes and burgundy and marigold hair, the long, chaotic curls draped like a canopy from her narrow head. Two sharp, pointed ears complete the bizarre ensemble.

“Well, aren’t you going to introduce yourself after falling through a portal?” The corners of the girl’s lips curve impishly upwards.

“Portal?” Emily stutters out, staring at the being before her with the same wariness one would watch a racoon.

“Yeah, the one you just came through?” the girl rasps. She leans closer, hands on her hips. She cocks her head. “How did you open one anyways? That kind of magic is super hard to learn, kept locked away by a bunch of grouchy ancients who jump at their own shadows.”

“Um, I don’t…know really…”

“What do you mean you don’t…” the girl stops short as Emily tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re not an elf.”

“No…I’m human” Emily answers. Her voice drops hesitantly. “What’s an elf?”

“Well, I am,” the girls begins, but she seems distracted. She studies Emily’s clothes, “You must be from that other realm, the one the Great Sisters made a portal to a century and a half ago, with all those humans.”

“I guess so.” Emily chuckles slowly. Portals, elves, much more likely she’s lying on the ground in her grandmother’s garden in a coma and dreaming. Consequences of being a clutz.

“You don’t know how you got here, do you?” Emily shakes her head. The girls smiles fondly and extends her hand, “Well I guess we’re just gonna have to figure that out aren’t we?” She pulls Emily to her feet. “I’m Azari, fire elf, and I have a feeling this is going to be quite an adventure.” A rogue-ish smile breaks onto her face, and she looks overall like a fanciful devil. 

Emily swallows her nerves and forces a smile. “I’m Emily, and I sincerely hope not.”

Azari laughs, the sound rolling through the air with the intensity of a wildire.

__________________________________________

Fire elf in the lead, the pair hustle down the grassy hill. This vantage point, to which Emily had been facing away from when she landed in this place, looks down upon a vibrant blue lagoon, framed on either side by jagged mountains. Azari turns onto a path to the right, leading to a sloping outcropping ornamented with unusual apple trees.

“Where are we going?” 

“To Farran Leafshade, earth elf, and general buzzkill. His idea of fun is studying different kinds of dirt.” Azari wrinkles her nose. “Who does that? Of all the elves I know, earth and not, even those in agriculture think that’s the most boring part of the job. What kind of person do you have to be in order to want to do that in your free time?”

“A little weird, I guess, but I’m sure he’s a great guy…elf..person..thing…”

Azari shrugs. “He could do with a little spontenaity every now and then. Live a little, you know? Anyways he’s pretty in tune with all the goings of the forest, plus his home is where we all get together for anything important.”

Emily looks quizically at her. “You all?”

“Me, Farran, Aira and Naida. We’ve all been friends since forever.”

Emily nods. “And do you think they might know how I got here, and maybe how to get home?”

“Maybe, Aira and Naida know the legend of the Great Sisters better than I do, I get bored with history. Besides, Naida’s mother’s mother was one of the Sisters who created the portal in the first place. We might be able to go to her for help.”

“Who are the Great Sisters?”

“Well they’re,” Azari stops short and shakes her head. “No, I better let one of the others explain. I always get the details mixed up.”

As they near the pinacle of the slope, a sophistcated treehouse becomes visible through some of the towering branches. Seated on a set of roughly hewn steps is a male elf. He has a fairly light complexion, muted lime green eyes, and a wavy mess of short, dark brown hair that almost conceals the tips of his ears. He holds a pad of paper and a pencil in his hand, conversing with an elven girl standing to his right. She’s slim, but not overly tall, pale face accented with lavender eyes and hair, the latter pulled into a rather elaborate ponytail, though quite a number of strands have loosened. She wears a strange winged contraption, to which her fingers are busy adjusting the straps.

“Remember to time it correctly this time,” she chides the boy, her voice light and airy.

“I know,” he grumbles, leaning forward to rest his head tiredly on his hand. “After forty-five test flights, one can have the tendency to make a mistake.”

“Nonsense, that only means it should be perfectly engrained into your muscle memory.” She tightens one last strap. “There. Now in five, four, three…”

“Aira! Farran!” Azari calls. 

The purple-haired girl turns, her face erupting into a beaming smile. “Azari! So good to see you! Who’s your friend? She looks odd, why are her ears so round?” The words flit from her mouth with the speed of a hummingbird. 

Emily, overwhelmed, only stares dumbly in response.

“Aira, that’s not polite,” the boy gently rebukes, striding over to join them. “I’m Farran Folasion. This is Aira Arlaynaiel. It’s a blessing to meet you.”

“You don’t have to be so formal, Farran,” Azari responds. “This is Emily, and she’s a human.”

“A human? This far north? How?” The boy asks incredulously.

“I don’t know,” Emily starts shyly. “I guess I came through some sort of portal. There aren’t any elves where I come from, least that anyone knows about.”

Aira’s eyes widen. “The gates of Great Sisters!”

Azari nods. “That’s what I was thinking.”

“We have to find Naida!” Aira exclaims.

The fire elf smirks. “Also what I was thinking.”

Gushing, Aira and her sweep Emily off in a new direction down the hill. The air elf buzzes with excitement, chattering with such speed that Emily can’t make sense of half of what comes out of her mouth, but it seems to be spurts of curious questions about her human-ness alternating with speculations of the significance of her appearance in Elvendale. It seems whatever these gates or portals were, they were supposed to be permanently sealed decades ago.

Farran trails just behind the group, and unlike his companions, his face is devoid of anything cheerful. He casts skeptical glances towards Emily, concern creasing his brow. He runs one hand anxiously through his hair. He sighs.

At least they’re going to see Naida, the wisest of their little group. She would be the voice of caution Azari and Aira desperately need to hear.

[bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture]

Horikoshi: This will probably not be super popular, but it’ll be fun!

Us: Oh, well that sounds nice!

Us, 290 chapters later: This Isn’t Fun Anymore Horikoshi

Horikoshi: :)

Anyways, welcome to the beginning of - hopefully - a long term and engaging project. I am basically aware of all of canon, and am up to date with the manga, but I haven’t actually read from the beginning of the series, and I’ve only watched the series up to the Deku v Todo fight in the sports festival. However, I’ve been curious as to how the manga portrays stuff that I’ve seen in anime gif form, and so I figured, hey, make this a project!

If you have questions or anything, the ask box is open for now. Meanwhile, I am going to head into the first chapter proper!

[No. 1 - Izuku Midoriya: Origin]

Wow, you’d almost think this kid would grow up to be a villain or something, with that kind of attitude, huh? No way that this kind of attitude would ever come to bite him in the ass and force him to reevaluate his entire character and kickstart his character development.

(Before you say anything, I like Katsuki as a character, but DAMN did he have to do a lot of growing up. I suppose when one is at the bottom, the only way to go is up… unless you have a pickaxe.)

One thing I actually noticed right away, and I dunno how much it’s used in other manga (seeing as I currently am not reading any other manga and the last ones I read were… a long while ago…) is the shape of the text boxes in order to convey emotion! It’s actually hella neat and a little detail I wouldn’t think about adding if I were in his position (not that I can draw all that well, but that’s not my point). You can practically hear the warbling in Izuku’s tone and the rougher edges in Katsuki’s!

(Also, question for the English sub while we’re at it, why the fuck does Katsuki sound like he’s a goddamned adult when he’s fourteen. What the fuck.)

Interesting little thing here, Katsuki not actually using his quirk here against Izuku; his hand is trailing smoke from his explosion, but it’s not a direct burn wound. Not that he should be doing this at all, but with the number of fics I see where Katsuki literally gives Izuku second or third degree burns, I think this is a reminder that canon Katsuki has some modicum of restraint, even this early.

Before I forget, hello winged kid who definitely has no plot significance whatsoever. No siree.

(If you are new to the manga/show and are reading this as among your first introductions to the fandom, first off, I am so sorry. Secondly, expect me to be… definitely making a lot of sarcastic quips to things in the future.)

Onto the second/third page, which is supposed to be a full spread, but is split up into two pages on the online reading site. RIP, but I will not complain about free access to the whole manga. 

Lookit this green bean. I love him so much. I can’t wait for him to suffer.

Izuku: wait, what?

Anyways, a few things to note:

Who the fuck is this guy? I looked into the wiki but he apparently doesn’t warrant a page or even a mention as one of the background faces of the series, but look at that fucking claw, man! And those boots and jets! He’s very obviously themed after a baseball catcher, so I’m going to guess that he has some kind of quirk that deals with either drawing projectiles to him, or perhaps in throwing projectiles… in either case, it’d be something like Snipe’s quirk, so maybe this is his less howdy-happy sibling.

Oh right, the chapter. The other heroes we see on the scene in this two-page spread are Death Arms, Air Jet, and Kamui Woods. 

Also, something I want to point out that I’m sure others have but just struck me while looking at this spread - multiple people are recording / taking pictures of this. I wonder if part of the reason for the villain industry to be as strong as it is is because the villains, even if they know they’ll lose, still get their own sort of fame in being in the news? That… might explain a lot about how there can be enough villains to even run an entire damn industry.

(Well, that and a lot of sociopolitical commentary on BNHA society, but we don’t need to get into that now. Maybe wait two hundred or so chapters first.)

Not gonna lie, I had to double take because I was like ‘wait, what is Ochako doing here?’ but then I realized it was just a random civilian; she doesn’t have those side bangs Ochako does. But now I almost wonder what sort of world we could have had, if they’d met a bit earlier.

Onto the fifth page (fourth is just a filler page, nothing on it), and we get treated to this gem:

Tag yourself I’m the guy who’s slackjawed because his kid is fucking glowing.

The first four examples of quirks shown in this flashback are the luminescence, telekinesis, ice, and that flame-headed(?) mutation. Of them, we actually see hints to the fact that quirks have drawbacks, as the girl with ice is drawn with the same frostbite backlash as Shouto, while the flame-headed kid is… well, I have no idea, but they do not look to be happy.

Also, I love the nod Hori does to the heroes of our era as silhouettes! This is just more evidence to me, along with the fact that the first quirked kid is born and presented in a modern hospital, that this series takes place sometime in the future. I… even calculated the years it could technically be, based on information we get in a few chapters, but I’ll save that for then.

Onto the sixth page! A nice shot of Kamui Woods getting into position, and man is that giant quirk unnerving.

What the fuck is with those feet, Hori. Those aren’t feet.

Next we see how the crowds are reacting, basically with no panic or concern. One guy is just casually letting his boss know he’ll be getting in late. And Backdraft! That is some serious water manipulation, but it seems like it has to be the water they’re in contact with? Also, is it just me or is that a portable pressure hose on their back?

And of course, Izuku being excited over hero stuff, as one does. He’s so babey faced, going back to current chapters after this is gonna be fucking wild.

Onto the seventh page, and here we are with the ‘you’re pure evil’ speech to someone who’s… just a robber. Seriously, dude? I get that you’re still fairly new to the scene (I think he might not be from a hero high school, but a late join program, but that’s another post), but like. You can’t just call random people ‘pure evil’ and correlate petty crime with like, actual mass murderers, or else people might start to see things in black and white and, you know, create the idea of ‘villainous people’ and so push even more innocents down the path of desperation and criminality.

Wait, sociopolitics later. Izuku being a hero fanboy now. Even able to utter Kamui’s attack call as he’s calling it out, with some seriously cool visual effects-

And on the eighth page, we have Mt. Lady crash the scene. Literally. She just fucking shows up outta nowhere and fucking leaps up and delivers a kick right to the villain’s chin, throwing him back through the train bridge wall and sending debris down to the ground below. Sure hope there weren’t civilians there!

Also, hello to that random guy on the roof watching this. I think in Smash they made that guy her manager or something.

I love how Izuku and the other guy are like ‘what the fuck’ while the press just shows up out of nowhere and is like. Hyperfocused on her. (I’ve heard some issues with the portrayal of media/reporters in the series, but since I have no experience with that sort of thing, I can’t say much on it.)

The last panel of this page shows that, fortunately, there were no civilians on that part of the street (even though it being rush hour and the huge crowds on the other side of the bridge should have suggested otherwise… but what do I know?)

With page nine, we get to see our first case of villain apprehension, which to note does not include any sort of quirk suppressors. Because those don’t exist. Otherwise Aizawa and the Eight Precepts’ erasure bullets would not be such huge deals to everyone. I mean yikes, though, the guy is fucking muzzled. And you can see the damage done by Mt. Lady in the background, both physical and emotional. Not to mention…

What the fuck is that face.

But yeah, this notes that performance in heroics determines not only what they’re paid by the government, but also how much fame they get. No way a system like this could backfire in any capacity, right? Right? (cough).

I love how Hori uses Izuku’s muttering habit as the border for the text bubble when the kid zones into his little world. Also, gigantification is noted to be a common and strong quirk, so we really should see more OCs with size altering quirks in fics in the future, you hear me? Honestly, with it being common, I would almost expect there to be entire buildings, or maybe even neighborhoods / blocks dedicated to catering to size shifters… wonder what those places look like.

Also aww, the guy saying good luck on the heroics dream to Izuku and Izuku just sparkling. What a cutie. Can’t wait for him to suffer. :D

Izuku: No seriously, what-

Anyways, I’m cutting off here since we then transition into the next ‘scene’ and this is a long chapter - 55 pages! Besides, this has already surpassed 1700 words, I don’t need to ramble on too long in one post. 

Lemme know what you think, and I’ll be back with more soon!

[mandadoration]

you’re a fine girl - iii

summary: Agent Whiskey would really like you to say his real name for once, and you refuse, playing this little game of his until he finally makes you say it. The circumstances for it aren’t exactly ideal, though. 

word count: 1, 909

pairing: agent whiskey (Jack Daniels) x reader

warnings: canon-typical violence (and then some), swearing

chapters: i | ii | iii

Read this on AO3

As much as you want to, you can’t find the power to visit Whiskey while he’s recovering. He’s fine, obviously, with the medical advancements and Soda’s expert skill, he’ll be up in no time. But every time you stand in the elevator, hand hovering over the button for level sub-4, you feel sick.  You retreat back to your office and ignore the video calls from Ginger and Soda. You’ve even gone as far as to shove Whiskey’s black Stetson in a cabinet under your desk, and you consider doing the same to the necklace he had given you, but instead opt to just wear it and tuck it into your shirt out of sight. It weighs heavy against your neck, but it makes you feel the slightest bit better. Maybe you can just ignore everything until you finally grow a pair and do something about the worry that’s been nagging at you. 

You, however, cannot ignore Ginger and Soda when they walk into your office unannounced. 

“Can I help you?” you ask tiredly, taking off your Statesman issued glasses to rub your eyes. 

“What's wrong with you?” Soda asks bluntly, and Ginger smacks him. “What? I’m being honest. You’re holeing yourself up in your office more than usual.” Ginger rolls her eyes. 

“What he meant to say,” she stresses, “is that you’ve been… down ever since Whiskey came back Saturday.” You sigh and put your glasses back on. “We’re worried. This isn’t like you.”

“I’ve been working,” you say. A total, complete lie, and they know it too. “There’s a lot of paperwork that comes with severe injuries sustained in the field.” Not a lie. “Besides, why would… There’s no reason for me to go to the medical wing.” The biggest lie. 

“Brandy--”

“Whiskey’s been asking for you,” Soda blurts out, and Ginger smacks him again. “Ow! Quit that!” You tense and crumple a paper in your hand as anxiety swells in your chest. Well, there goes the contingency plan mock-up you had made for Ale’s mission. 

“Why?” you ask before you can stop yourself. Ginger stops her harassing to stare at you incredulously. 

“Seriously?” she sighs. “You don’t know?” You throw your hands up in the air. 

“Once again!” you say, almost hysterically. “What am I supposed to know? Everyone keeps asking me that, I really don’t know what the fuck--”

“For an intelligence supervisor, you’re really fucking stupid,” Soda says, and Ginger doesn’t hit him this time, instead nodding in agreement. You’re taken aback. 

“Excuse me?”

But Ginger and Soda are soon manhandling you out of your office and shoving you into the elevator, paying no attention to your complaints as they head to sub-4 and practically drag you to Whiskey’s recovery room, ignoring the curious stares that follow the three of you. They push you in, and shut the door, and your heart leaps to your throat when the lock clicks. You bang against the wall. 

“Let me the hell out!” you shout, but all you can hear on the other side of the door are the receding footsteps of the traitors you call friends. “I swear to God, I will make your life a living hell when I get out of here--”

“Brandy?”

If your heart was hammering before, it completely stops at the sound of his voice. There’s the shuffling of sheets behind you, and you slowly turn around with wide eyes as the blood drains from your face as Whiskey strains to sit himself up, looking much worse for wear that you had initially feared. You really should stop him from overexerting himself, but you’re glued to the floor. “What are you doing here?” he asks. His voice sounds so tired, and it’s only made worse when he tries to crack a smile. “Here to see little ol’ me?” he rasps, but dissolves into a coughing fit, holding his ribs as his face contorts in pain. Once he calms down, he looks up at you again, and frowns. “Sweetheart, are you okay?”

“I think I should be the one asking you that,” you finally say, voice small as you slowly make your way over to him. You keep a good distance away from him still. 

“‘m better now that I’ve seen you,” Whiskey says, running a hand over his face. He motions to the chair next to him. “Take a seat, darling, you’re making me anxious.” Your eyes dart over to it, and then back to his face, and eventually lower yourself into it. 

“What happened?” you ask. Whiskey winces. 

“Dealers somehow found out I was there to take down their operation,” he explains. “Got ambushed, got the shit kicked out of me, got the hell outta dodge.” He chuckles. “Told ya I didn’t want to go back.” You play with the impeccably white trim of his hospital blanket.

“Why didn’t you tell us as soon as you got on the plane that you were hurt?” you whisper. Whiskey runs the hand not stabbed full of IVs through his greasy hair. 

“I knew you would worry.”

“It was irresponsible of you.”

“And it was irresponsible of you to not take care of yourself,” he says sharply. “Seltzer’s been telling me how you’ve locked yourself away since I got here.” You curl inwards and lean away from the bed. Whiskey sighs. “I do apologize, sweetheart,” he says after a moment. “I’m going crazy from being stuck in here. Didn’t mean to snap at you.” 

“It’s fine,” you mutter. You’ve had your fair share of bedrest, and it is not fun. He shakes his head. 

“No, it’s not,” he says. “There’s no excuse for treating you like that.” A beat. 

“I said that you didn’t have to get me anything,” you say to change the subject. 

“And I said that you couldn’t stop me,” he laughs, but it wheezes out. Whiskey slowly reaches a hand out, pausing when you tense up, but keeps going when you don’t stop him. He loops his forefinger under the chain that’s peeking out of your collar and pulls it out from under your shirt. “You like it?” he asks, and he sounds uncharacteristically nervous, and he’s playing with the collar of your shirt instead of pulling his hand away. “I know-- Well, I don’t see you wearing any fancy jewelry or nothing, but I saw this and thought the opportunity was too perfect. Like, c’mon, it’s a braided chain--”

“‘Made of finest silver from the north of Spain’?” you finish. You’ve gotten countless jokes about the song, but it’s endearing when it comes from him. He quirks a smile. “Andalucia is technically Southern Spain, Agent Whiskey.” His smile drops. “N-not that I mind,” you stammer, afraid you’ve said something horrifically wrong. 

“I know you don’t,” Whiskey sighs. You purse your lips. 

“Then what’s wrong?” He shrugs. 

“I guess I dreamt you saying my name in the elevator,” he says, following it with an empty laugh as he looks away. “Ain’t that the cruelest trick the Sandman could play? He’s always been a son of a bitch to me. It had sounded so sweet...” You swallow and grab his hand where it rests on your collarbone, and you scoot your chair closer until your knees press against the edge of the bed. You hear his heart rate jump up on the monitor. 

“I… It wasn't… It wasn’t a dream.” Whiskey turns your hand over until he can lace his fingers through yours. 

“No?” he murmurs, and he brings your hand to his lips as he presses a kiss to it. He closes his eyes and keeps your hand there for a moment before letting it rest in his lap. “Mind reacquainting me with the way my name sounds coming from your lips?” Your mouth is suddenly very dry, but you lick your lips and the way you feel warm with how his eyes watch you is enough to give you the little push you need. 

“Jack.”

It’s barely audible over the rapid beeping of the monitor, but a pained noise emanates from his chest, and the hold on your hand tightens. “Again.”

Then louder this time, “Jack.” A disbelieving laugh. 

“Again.”

“Jack.”

And Jack Daniels yanks you closer to him until you’re halfway on the bed to bring you in a bruising kiss that steals the breath from your lungs, an arm wrapped around your waist as he presses as much of his body to yours as he can without yanking the IVs out. His heart rate is through the roof, rapidly beeping on the screen next to him. Jack’s mouth is warm and yours is pliant as he nips at your bottom lip, digging his fingers into your side. His voice is growling when he says, “Good girl,” against your lips.  

You’re one second away from slinging your leg around his hips to straddle him when Vermouth bursts in with wild eyes and a flushed face. 

“Whiskey! What’s wrong-- Oh.”

You nearly throw yourself out of Whiskey’s embrace, but he keeps you close as he glares daggers at the cowering medical assistant standing in the doorway. “You ever hear of knocking?” he drawls. Vermouth’s mouth opens and closes like a fish. 

“It’s just that-- Well, your heart rate it, um, we thought that you were, uh-- We thought you were in danger,” they stutter. Whiskey motions around the room. 

“Do you see any dangers here?” Vermouth makes a ‘kind of?’ motion with their hands. 

“You really shouldn’t be overworking yourself--”

“Kid, I’m fine,” Whiskey interrupts. “Now, shoo,” he says, “get,” and waves his hand at Vermouth, who has never looked more eager to leave the situation. And they’ve seen a lot of shit. You bury your head into his shoulder as you sigh. While Vermouth wouldn’t be coming back any time soon, you know they’re blabbing about what they’ve seen to anyone and everyone. 

“That was so embarrassing,” you whisper.  

Whiskey just laughs, pets your hair, and lets you keep your head where it is, only moving when you slide in the narrow bed next to him when your leg goes numb. The worry that’s been constricting around your heart starts to loosen with every breath he takes in, and he must sense that because he holds you as close as he can, minding the bandages and stitches and his bruised ribs. “You’re mighty affectionate today.” 

“I’m allowed to be after the emotional trauma you put me through,” you mumble. “I still have your hat.” Whiskey just hums and runs his fingers over the skin of your upper arm. He clears his throat. 

“Brandy, I… I have to tell you something,” he says, and there’s that nervousness from the day he was scheduled to leave. His heart rate picks up again, and he presses kiss to your hair to give him a moment to gather his thoughts. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” Whiskey says, “what you mean to me, and I know I’ve been a real ass sometimes, but I promise you, it’s all in good humor.” You’re glad you’re not hooked up to a monitor because your heart is pounding in your ears. “And… and I can’t promise anything, not after--” His voice catches, and he clears his throat. “But I, um, what I’m trying to say is--” You take pity on him and reach up to kiss the underside of his jaw, rough with stubble. 

“Don’t you know, Whiskey?” you say. “I already know.”

---

Forever Tag: @mabelleen @mando-vibes @isaissafail @adikaofmandalore @lavenderl3mons

you’re a fine girl Tag: @mrsparknuts @jokersdoll @ariasfandom​ @blondecity​ @yodaswrinkles​ @everythingaboutnothingstuff​ @cloud-of-roses​

[dadzawa-adopt-dabi]

“Why is arson always your first answer?” for the promot list. Go nuts.

(fuck canon. Keigo didn’t have enough time to warn the LoV so everyone thinks he betrayed them. but he didn’t. Dabi also didn’t manage to get the wings all the way burnt off. just mostly.)

Keigo was realsed from the hospital with several doctors trying to make him see reason and stay. He technically shouldn’t be leaving and was doing so against medical advice. He just hoped that he wasn’t too late still.

The base was mostly destroyed, the main battle hadn’t taken place here but the side fighting had certainly caused enough damage. He skirted around the building until he saw where parts of it had caved in, Dabi having a meltdown as he had walked in on Hawks ‘killing’ Jin. The way he’d reacted had just worsened it and in the end Dabi had almost completly burned his wings all the way off. Right now they would regrow, but if he had gone any further they wouldn’t have. And then keigo would be useless. He hoped Jin was awake by now.

He checked the woods and found him, maskless because he’s been having a good day before the raid and one of his clones had wanted a turn to wear it. He was knocked out and sleeping aginst the trunk of a tree. Fuck, he shouldn’t have left hiim here. who knows if he would have woken up if the fighthad gotten too close. He hadn’t had time to plan, this was all last minute and it was still no excuse. Dabi thought he had killed their friend in front of them, the rest of the league thought he’d betrayed them.

Truthfully he thought as he knelt down and shook Jin’s shoulder, he almost had. There hadn’t been a plan to save Jin when he went in. There hadn’t been any plan but to complete the mission and then without thinking about it, he’d changed sides. He guessed. 

“twice. cmon man.” He shook Jin’s shoulder a little harder and Jin snapped awake. Grabbing Hawks arm and throwing him down beside him onto his injured back as he let out a scream of pain.

“You killed me! you tried to arrest me and betrayed us and the you killed me in front of Dabi!” He roared as Hawks blinked his vision clear. Angrily stumbling to his feet and standing over Hawks.

“Fuck. Alive, Your Alive you dumbass.” He choked out between gasps as his back contined to spasm on the forset floor. he was supposed to keep his wounds clean, well not like it could get any worse.

“How do I know that?” JIn pressed his foot down on Hawks ribs as he spoke, grasping his head as he spoke. Tears were streaming down his face and he was feeling up his pockets for some thing. Hawks realized it was Toga’s hankerchief and his heart panged. Its how he had know that twice he killed was a clone. Jin didn’t carry the hankerchief around when he had his mask available, too afraid it would get dirty and lost. “Don’t call me stupid when your dumb enough to think I needed tutoring.”

“Mask.” Keigo shoved his hands in his pockets and brought out a ski mask. He should have given this to Twice right away. He didn’t know how to do this at all, its like all the social skills and thought out plans he used for spying left. He was lucky he had even seen one on the way here.

“Where’s Dabi. And get fucked. what he said.” Jin yanked it on and stopped crushing Hawks ribs. Boot still on his chest ready to restart.

“your alive, i didn’t kill you.” The traitor started only to get cut off.

“Thats not what i asked.” He put some pressure back on Hawks as he squirmed.  “Did you kill him too?”

“For fucks sake i didn’t kill you Jin. I fucking saved you and Dabi burnt my goddam wing nearly the hell off. I didnt have fucking time to goddam fucking plan this shit okay much less explain anything?”

“Your coming with me.” Jin yanked him up off the ground and as he turned him around he saw his back. bleeding through the dirty bandages, he almost felt bad for him but he was the one who had crossed the league. 

“ see? Dabi burnt my wings and i didn’t kill you.” Keigo tried to jerk himself out of Jin’s grasp without sucess.

“Go fuck yourself, we all know your a liar. I don’t care Hawks, and I don’t belive you.” Jin didn’t have his phone and Keigo couldn’t get ahold of anyone, not that that was suprising. so they walked out of the disaster area and got on a bus Jin made Hawks pay for. They sat in tense silent as Jin lead him to their next meeting point, it didn’t matter if he showed Hawks where it was. He wasn’t leaving there alive.

They got off and Hawks stumbled as Jin moved him roughly to keep him in front of him as they walked a couple blocks. They stopped outside a abandoned run down love hotel, going down the adjacent alley to the side entarence with its lock broken off. JIn swung it open and shoved Hawks through first, Hawks back spasamed again against his palm and he grit his teeth.

right away as they stepped in blue flames flew at him as he let his legs go out and fall to avoid them.

“Dabi? are you alive?” Jin stepped over Hawks and into the base. “I lived bitch, maybe, I’m not sure.”

Dabi’s quirk dissapeared immediatly and Keigo dragged himself over to sit against the wall as he watched the reunion. 

“Jin? you, i saw him-.” there was a choked off noise as Dabi stared at him.

“why is your hair white? did i miss your big reveal?” Jin’s hands hovered around Dabi as he took in the new hair and burns. “ Looks hot, i like it. “

“Im going to set you on fucking fire again.” Dabi roared and lunged for him, Sako holding him back so they could get the full story. Shigaraki meanicingly approached him instead and crouched down in front of him.

“why is arson always your first awnser?” He asked as he braced himself for the interragation to follow.

[arofili]

Line of Elros Edit Series: Appendix B

Continued from Appendix A. This section will contain information on the House of Andúnië and the Royalty of Arnor.

~~~

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Appendix A: Royalty of Númenor Appendix B: House of Andúnië, Royalty of Arnor (you are here!) Appendix C: Royalty of Gondor Appendix D: Princes of Dol Amroth, Chieftains of the Dúnedain Appendix E: Stewards of Gondor

~~~

HOUSE OF ANDÚNIË

Silmariën ft. Silmariën, Elatan, Valandil of Andúnië It is canonical that Silmariën was passed over for inheritance, that she received the Ring of Barahir, and that she had a mithril fillet (a kind of medieval headband); the story of her making the fillet herself with the aid of her cousin is an embellishment. Technically it was not Silmariën or Elatan who first led the House of Andúnië, but their son Valandil, but I altered the story to give it more feminist themes. The details of Elatan’s life are all headcanon.

Valandil of Andúnië ft. Valandil of Andúnië, Vairanatsë (OC), Ulmondil (OC) Save for the names and professions of his wife and son, Valandil’s story is canonical.

Ulmondil ft. Ulmondil (OC), Hyamindë (OC), Elvëanna (OC), Tintilárë (OC), Lilómëo (OC), Malwacilin (OC), Irmondil (OC), Lelyárë (OC), Moruinë (OC), Ortólorë (OC) Here we get to the long stretch of “unnamed lords.” Since we know nothing about these people or their spouses, I’ve had some fun with gender and sexuality here. Literally everything here is headcanon (except that Tar-Minastir did canonically build a tower on Oromet).

Vóreäla ft. Vóreäla (OC), Tyulussë (OC), Vilwarindo (OC), Rómandur (OC), Roquendië (OC), Vasaryamarto (OC), Failaher (OC), Pirucendëa (OC), Canyahondë (OC), Elwenára (OC), Ilcarion (OC), Morilindië (OC) All details about my OCs are pure headcanon. Check Appendix A for information on whether the details about the kings they interact with are canon or not. ETA 3/31/21: Fixed some minor timeline discrepancies.

Vóromir ft. Vóromir (OC), Arphazêl (OC), Aulendur (OC), Istimiel (OC), Lindórië, Eärendur of Andúnië Gimilzagar (and thus his hypothetical child) is canonically possibly the ancestor of Inzilbêth; I decided to go with that, and wrote a narrative around how the daughter of one of the King’s Men married into the House of Andúnië. Lindórië and Eärendur are both canon characters who are indeed siblings. Everything else is headcanon.

Lindórië ft. Lindórië, Tulcatio (OC), Inzilbêth, Eärendur of Andúnië, Aranyo (OC), Minasdil (OC) The politics of Andúnië and Gimilzôr are all headcanon, though it is canon that Gimilzôr married Inzilbêth. That’s pretty much the only canon part of this story, though. Eärendur is canonically the fifteenth Lord of Andúnië; I changed it so Lindórië was the leader instead. The Adûnaic versions of Lindórië and Eärendur’s names are my own translations, as is Inzilbêth’s Quenya name. ETA 3/31/21: Made some fairly significant changes in order to reconcile some timeline errors, though the core story remains.

Minasdil ft. Minasdil (OC), Tiristiel (OC), Númendil, Vailimion (OC), Narwalótë (OC) Everything here is headcanon, except that the Faithful did indeed move to Rómenna around this time. The leader of Andúnië between Eärendur and Númendil is unnamed, so I made them nonbinary because I could. Númendil is not mentioned to have any siblings, but I gave him some because I felt like it. ETA 3/31/21: Completely rewrote the last paragraph to reconcile it with the canon timeline. Apparently I originally had Minasdil getting married around the time that their grandson Elendil was supposed to be born!! ...except that doesn’t make sense at all either, so I changed things so it’s Amandil being born at that time. Still - I had Minasdil marrying too late, and that’s fixed now.

Númendil ft. Númendil, Lómiel (OC), Amandil, Elenyë (OC), Elentír, Elendil Númendil was canonically a friend of Tar-Palantír, and Amandil was canonically a friend of Ar-Pharazôn. For the canonicity of Pharazôn’s life details, see Appendix A. We know nothing about the wives of Númendil or Amandil; I made that all up. Elentír is a discarded character from drafts of the Akallabêth; he and Míriel were to be wed before Míriel fell in love with Pharazôn. I kept the published Silm version where Míriel married Pharazôn against her will, but I liked the detail of her having a boyfriend before him, so I kept it. (I definitely queercoded her though, she wasn’t in love with Elentír either in my mind...) Amandil’s fate and final journey west are canon, though Elentír didn’t stick around in Tolkien’s writings long enough for him to get an ending. I had him tag along with his brother. The Adûnaic names of Númendil and Elentír are my own translation; the Adûnaic names of Amandil and Elendil are both canon.

Elendil ft. Elendil, Lauriel (OC), Isildur, Anárion Everything about Elendil’s wife is headcanon. The story of Isildur stealing the fruit is canon, but has been embellished a bit for dramatic effect. The rest of this is canon, with a few minor details added here and there. Elendil’s Adûnaic name is canon; Isildur and Anárion’s Adûnaic names are my own translation.

~~~

ROYALTY OF ARNOR

Isildur ft. Isildur, Cemniel (OC), Elendur, Aratan, Círyon, Valandil of Arnor Almost everything here is canon, though Isildur overhearing his father about the White Tree is an embellishment, and we don’t know the exact reason there was such a long gap between the birth of Elendur and his next two sons. My guess is he knocked up his wife before they were married, and then didn’t want to have kids in the dangerous times of Númenor...though that didn’t stop them from having a son in the dangerous times of the Last Alliance.

Valandil of Arnor ft. Valandil of Arnor, Ahyarë (OC), Eldacar of Arnor, Culalmë (OC), Arantar, Vistariel (OC), Tarcil, Niëlinyë (OC), Tarondor of Arnor, Lossëa (OC), Valandur, Tasarwen (OC), Elendur of Arnor, Luinaivë (OC) Aside from the timing of Valandil’s inheritance, all of this is headcanon.

Eärendur of Arnor ft. Eärendur of Arnor, Quildaraumë (OC), Amlaith of Arthedain, Adanamarth of Cardolan (OC), Anorhír of Rhudaur (OC) The basic details of Arnor’s split into three kingdoms is canon, but everything else is headcanon, including the names of Amlaith’s brothers.

Amlaith ft. Amlaith, Linnoril (OC), Beleg of Arthedain, Ferieth (OC), Mallor, Cidinnor (OC), Celepharn, Glasdil (OC), Celebrindor, Sídhiel (OC), Malvegil, Hwinior (OC) Amlaith did indeed move the capital from Annúminas to Fornost, and his kingdom of Arthedain had border disputes with Cardolan and Rhudaur for as long as they all stood. Angmar canonically began to move against disunified Arnor during Malvegil’s reign. All other details are headcanon.

Argeleb I ft. Argeleb I, Edlenniel (OC), Arveleg I, Eithruin (OC), Araphor, Elweth (OC), Argeleb II, Lithuies (OC), Arvegil, Calaear (OC), Arveleg II, Tavoriel (OC), Araval, Halloth (OC) Save for his wife being a princess of Cardolan and that being the reason the people of Cardolan accepted his rule, Argeleb I’s story is canon. The story of Arveleg I’s brother being the last prince of Cardolan is entirely made up (even that he had a brother), though it is true that the last prince of Cardolan died in battle alongside Arveleg I. Araphor’s story is canon, save for the details about his OC wife. Argeleb II’s story is mostly canon, though I made up the bit about two of his children dying in the Great Plague. There is also an inconsistency around here: earlier the “last” prince of Cardolan died beside Arveleg I, but apparently the “last” prince of Cardolan died in the Plague? I picked the story I liked better and just emphasized Cardolan’s desolation in this time period. Arveleg II’s story is canon with a bit of embellishment. Araval’s story is canon, but everything with his spouse is made up (though the barrow-wights did scare the Dúnedain back to Arthedain in canon).

The Last Prince of Cardolan ft. Mallor (OC; the Last Prince of Cardolan), Gwileth (OC; the Lady of the Blue Brooch) I made this edit for OC week, and it wasn’t really intended to be a late addition to this series, but since I didn’t get to do much with Mallor in the edit featuring his brother I was happy to expand on him, and even more excited when I realized that I could tie in the Lady of the Blue Brooch to this story as well! The Last Prince of Cardolan is a real (unnamed) figure mentioned in the Legendarium; the Lady of the Blue Brooch was mentioned only by Tom Bombadil as someone “fair...long ago [who] wore this on her shoulder” when he took it for Goldberry to wear. We don’t know for sure how the prince knew the lady, but come on, that’s just a story begging to be told! The tie-in with Merry’s sword is a slight liberty from canon: we don’t know who the dagger originally belonged to, but given that Merry quiet possibly dreamed of the prince’s final moments, I think it would be poetic for his sword to be the one who helped to kill the Witch-king in the end. Overall, there’s a LOT of headcanon here that I had fun developing from the scraps Tolkien gave us in canon! Also, I didn’t mention it in the main post, but Mallor’s name means “golden,” and Gwileth’s is a contraction of “gwilwileth,” the Sindarin word for “butterfly.” Since Arveleg is a name taken from Ar+Beleg (meaning he was named for his ancestor King Beleg of Arthedain), I thought it would make sense for Arveleg’s brother to be named for King Beleg’s son, King Mallor. Gwileth’s brooch is described in canon as being “set with blue stones, many-shaded like flax-flowers or the wings of blue butterflies,” so I leaned on that for inspiration when it came to her name.

Araphant ft. Araphant, Laerdil (OC), Arvedui, Fíriel This is mostly canon with some embellishments, such as Laerdil orchestrating Arvedui and Fíriel’s marriage. ETA 3/20/21: Tweaked this caption because of an inaccuracy I noticed.

~~~

CONTINUED IN APPENDIX C

[smirkingsolo]

Orpheus: A Reylo Story (Prologue: World Between Worlds)

The World Between Worlds Reylo Fix it fic you’ve been craving since TROS ripped out your still beating heart and crushed it to death.

Canon-compliant, universe-plausible, multi-chapter

Summary: 

"Running after Rey with nothing but a blaster to face down the Emperor and his entire cult perhaps wasn’t the wisest, most well-thought out strategy. But he felt it had gone rather well all things considered. Certainly better than he was expecting.

“Ben, a good plan does not involve getting your life force drained from you.”"

After giving his life force to save Rey, Ben Solo awakens in the World Between Worlds. But is he destined to stay there or is there a future waiting for him back in the world of the living?

Find it over on AO3 (Rinnagirl) https://archiveofourown.org/works/21984730/chapters/52460923

A World Between Worlds (Prologue)

The air looked strange. That’s how he knew.

Well I suppose I’m dead, Ben Solo mused to himself. This is the afterlife? Somehow he never expected it would look like the Falcon of all things. Not his afterlife anyway, if such things were personalized. His father’s would, maybe even his mother’s, but not his. For him the Falcon was always about going. Going away, going to. It was too liminal to be a destination, not even the destination of his afterlife.

The air was blurry, an odd, impossible thing for air to be, he thought. Maybe it couldn’t, not in the real world anyway, but this wasn’t the real world. This was death. Every object around him was cast in a soft, smudgy fade, like one of his carefully drawn calligraphy pages when his hand dragged through it before it had time to dry. He’d hated that.

The pessimistic part of him felt there was some sort of deep, cruel irony in his afterlife taking on the look of even the smallest of his pet peeves. It would, wouldn’t it. My afterlife will punish me just as my real life did. He sighed a great, put upon sigh at his new misfortune.

“Still as overdramatic as ever, I see.”

He froze. He hadn’t heard her voice in years. Not in the flesh at least.

But there was no mistaking it, just as there was no mistaking his heap-of-junk surroundings for the Millennium Falcon, there was no mistaking the voice of Leia Organa Solo.

She looked younger, not much older than he was now, like she had in his earliest childhood memories. Her oval face, shaped just like his, was unlined. Her hair was without even the lightest trace of gray, twisted in her familiar twin side-buns. But her eyes pierced him, digging straight through to his heart with their dark brown daggers. The only unblurred thing in the room.

“Mother.”

“Ben.”

She was glowing, faintly though, not the full blueish light common to a Force ghost, but a pale white outline that bent and blurred with the hazy surroundings. Her eyes softened and he thought she might even smile...

Then she smacked him.

It was gentle, a light, exasperated smack on the back of the head like the ones she used to give his father whenever he said something particularly scoundrel-esque. The “ow” he emitted was more for her satisfaction than born of any actual pain, just like his father used to do. He knew she would appreciate the effort.

“You have so much of your father in you.”

“I don’t know what you’re referring—”

“Only a Solo would pull something so risky against such bad odds.”

He didn’t want to smile, but the tiniest eddy of pride swelled within him. She was right, as always. Running after Rey with nothing but a blaster to face down the Emperor and his entire cult perhaps wasn’t the wisest, most well-thought out strategy. But he felt it had gone rather well all things considered. Certainly better than he was expecting.

“Ben, a good plan does not involve getting your life force drained from you.”

Right again.

“I had to.”

He almost felt silly, like he was a teenager again trying to explain why he just had to borrow Uncle Luke’s X-Wing without permission for “learning purposes.” But his mother smiled and the sincerity in her voice was unmistakable.

“Yes, I know you did. She needed you.”

It was nice to be believed. Trusted by someone in his own family. It’d been so long since he had even heard his mother’s voice, let alone his mother’s voice telling him he did something right. He hadn’t expected to hear it like this ever again. Not after everything he had done.

But here she was. Wherever here was. He assumed they were both dead, but if they were and this was, indeed, the afterlife then where was his father, Luke, his grandfather? His one comfort in the face of death had been the thought of seeing them all again, that and knowing Rey would be okay. But it was only his mother here. Unless...what if he hadn’t made it to the afterlife, at least not to the one where “good people” like his family would go? But then why would his mother be here in the afterlife for shitty people? She was, after all, the best of them.

His mother read him instantly. She had always been able to.. When he was a child his emotions would play across his face like shadow puppets in front of a bonfire, open for all to see. But as he’d grown older, he’d learned how to hide some of them, but never from her.

She opened her mouth to answer his unspoken questions.

“The World Between Worlds. That’s where we are, I think.”

He studies his surroundings more closely. Being on the Falcon would make a bit more sense if that was the case. It wasn’t quite a destination itself, but it was the middle ground, the place between destinations. How poetic. How stupid.

“But...I thought you...I thought you were...” He trailed off, unwilling to say it aloud, hoping that would somehow keep it from being true, even now in these odd circumstances.

“Dead. Well, yes, I suppose I technically am.”

“Technically?”

“Ben, before I died I used the last of my energy to reach you, to strengthen your life force and give Rey enough time to heal you.”

He subconsciously touched the spot where Rey drove his own lightsaber though his torso. Rey had been horrified, he saw it in her eyes; he knew from the moment he encountered her in the throne room of the Death Star II that the darkness had possessed her. He had used only the necessary defensive moves, parrying her blows and waiting to wear her out, giving her time to come back to herself. To the Rey he knew. And she had. She’d felt it, as he had, when his mother had gone. The memory ached more than the wound had.

“Because I transferred what remained of my life force into you, my body didn’t fade until yours did. I believe my fate is tied to your choice, Ben. That is why I am here with you.”

“What choice, mother? I gave my life energy to Rey. I used all of it to bring her back. She was gone and I...I couldn’t just...I...” He choked down a sudden lump in his throat at the memory of Rey, eyes wide and sightless.

Leia smiled and he knew she understood.

“I know.”

“Then how am I here? If I became one with the Force, as you said, shouldn’t I be...not here?”

“I have a theory about that, Ben. I believe your life force lives in her now, like a vessel of sorts. I believe it is awaiting the return of her own energy to her body.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” he muttered flatly.

Leia laughed, a warm sound, like fresh brewed caf.

“The Force works in strange ways, you of all the clever, and studious Jedi pupils should know that, Ben.” She winked at him.

A feeling of contentment washed over him like a slide into a warm bath. It had been so long since his mother teased him. She used to do it whenever he was home visiting on breaks from training. Luke had told her how Ben always had his nose stuffed between the pages of some dusty Jedi text in his free time. It had delighted Leia to learn that her wild son could be interested in such a quiet, scholarly pursuit. Hearing the teasing lilt in her voice again made him feel like that same little boy home to visit his mother. He had missed her.

“Normally transferring your life force into another being would mean that theirs is completely gone, rejoined with the Force already. But it would seem that Rey’s may not have been completely gone. I think it is being held somewhere out there in the physical world still, waiting for her to reclaim it.”

Ben sucked in a few calming breaths, his heartbeat quickening.

“What would happen if she did reclaim her own energy? What would happen to mine that is living within her?”

“Well now, that’s the real question, isn’t it? I don’t know that this has happened before. But if I had to hazard a guess, I would say you could reclaim your own energy and pass back into the physical realm, as long as you were there when she reclaims hers.”

Ben’s choked on his third calming breath.

“Go back?“

“It may not be that simple. The Jedi have never been much for making things simple, as you well know. But this feels like something beyond the Jedi. This is the Force at work, that much I am sure of. But of course, Rey would need to be made aware of this; she needs to seek out where her energy is being held before anything can be done at all. And to do that she’d need a nudge of some kind. Some inkling that something like this could be possible. But I don’t even know if we could intera—”

Leia had shifted into planning-aloud mode, her awareness of Ben lessening as the wheels in her mind turned, and she began to mutter under her breath.

Ben was overwhelmed to say the least. The sheer existence of a World Between Worlds, his mother, his soul living inside someone else, his soul living inside Rey.

Rey.

All his life he had relied on hatred to fuel him, push him, drive him. But then she came along, a scavenger from a desert nowhere, a Palpatine of all things. She’d seen the good in him, believed in it and despite himself, he’d let her pure, guileless certainty touch him. She had reached right into the knot of his deepest conflicts and untangled him, unravelling the mask he’d created from the inside out. He didn’t know how or why, but she had. He’d felt lost, ignored, handed off, left behind all his life. But Rey...Rey stayed. Even as he fought her tooth and nail, pushing her to hate him, fear him like all the others who had claimed to care, she dug herself in and refused to let go. And he knew the moment he touched her hand through the bond that he would hold on just as tight.

She brought him back from the dark, and he’d brought her back from death. He remembered the overwhelming feeling of tragedy the moment he cradled her lifeless body in his arms. He knew when he pulled her to him that he’d give it all away, every drop of his life force. The soul in him would be hers too, just like his heart. He’d held her close and wondered for a moment what it would have been like if this weren’t the end. If they had just met in the middle somewhere.

No war. No Jedi. No Sith. No Light. No Dark. No Palpatine. No death. Just them.

He didn’t know if he could have ever had a life. A real one. Honestly, he’d never wanted one, not since he was old enough to think about such things. Marriages meant mutual destruction, distance, the rot of once vital love. Children were just little versions of yourself you could disappoint and destroy. Families were meant to crumble and decay. None of it worked so why bother chasing down something that was destined to break.

But then she’d kissed him.

The briefest moment, the first positive touch he’d had in years. He didn’t even know what her motivation was—was it relief, the overwhelming emotion of all they’d just been through, gratitude, victory?

Or was it more?

He’d realized in that split second as he held her close—her hand on his cheek, his in her hair, her lips still inches away, and the only real smile he’d smiled since childhood on is face—that there were two things he wanted more than he’d ever wanted anything.

He wanted her kiss to be more than relief, or gratitude, or any of those other things; he wanted her to mean it; he wanted it to be the start of something, and not their final farewell. Then he realized he wanted a future.

Ben Solo wanted a future.

One full of kisses, and real smiles, and maybe even marriage, maybe even children, maybe a little home of his own...of their own. Ben Solo wanted a future with Rey.

He knew his mother could feel it radiating off of him, that newfound resolve. A conviction rooted in a desire for life, for life with someone. He’d never valued his life when it was his own, but now, he’d given it to her and he couldn’t abandon her to live it alone. He wouldn’t.

He made his choice.

Ben Solo would get his future. Ben Solo would see Rey again.

Ben Solo would live.

Next Chapter

[anyrchyangel]

MDZS fanfic sensitivity beta

Hi~ I’m Ana

I’m,,,very bad at Tumblr >.< but I am writing a fic in the mdzs fandom and would really love a sensitivity beta to look over some of my canon references and use of Chinese terms. I’m very new to the wuxia/Xianxia genre and I don’t want to accidentally say or use a term that offends or misrepresents the genre.

Beta-ing is hard work and I’d never expect anyone to sign up to beta without having first peeked at what they’d be working on, so I’ve placed the first chapter of my fic down below.

Some disclaimers/primers: this fic is a crossover between Kimi no na wa/Your Name and mdzs--you don't have to have seen Your Name to follow along, but it wouldn’t hurt to know the plot I am ripping off >.< It includes body swapping and a major character death (if we count wwx dying and coming back to life as mo xuanyu as actually dying...) and for some reason, I have made everyone witches...yeah. Sorry >.< WangXian is the main (and kind of only) ship! Rated T solely because I am incapable of not cussing. I don't plan on writing any smut or explicit scenes for this series <,< (...for now.)

Anyways, here's chapter one of the series. Please let me know if you’d be interested in beta-ing for me! I really want to polish this fic before posting it on ao3 or anything >.<

he who swallowed a falling star

chapter one [everything must have a beginning]

Mornings have never once been Wei Wuxian’s friend. He hates mornings—he hates the sharp light of dawn and the cacophony of noise that comes with the world waking. He much prefers the night, the quiet and stillness, the ambience and mystery. There’s no mystery in the mornings—there’s only groggy musings as one cracks open their eyes to the stinging light of day and wipes away crust from their lashes. His body always violently protests to waking—sleep is so precious! It’s calming and good and nice and to be forced awake is among the greatest tragedies of mankind.

Except…except this morning he doesn’t feel like groaning and burying his head into his pillow. This time, his body actually feels sort of…good? That can’t be right. No one feels good in the mornings; the only ones who do are sociopaths and masochists.

And yet as he stretches awake with a yawn, his limbs feel light and his mind feels rested. So much so that his surroundings are immediately clear.

He has absolutely no idea where in the world he is.

He’s in a bed, at least that much is clear—a very soft bed with sheets that smell like sandalwood and covers with textured silk. Exquisite fabric, he’d never so much as been allowed to touch something so expensive before—he has a knack for putting stains where formerly there were none, so all of his own clothes and sheets are of durable fabrics. Stains add character! There’s a story behind every stain…not always an exhilarating story but a tale, nonetheless.

The room in which the bed he is resting on is absurdly clean. So clean as to seem clinical, or maybe decorative, as if he’d stumbled into a dollhouse meant for display purposes only. It’s lovely, a pretty screen separating the bed from the sitting area, decorated with an elegant painting of mountains bathed in mist. The furniture is expensive and luxurious and just looking at how nicely it’s all been cared for makes Wei Wuxian break out into hives. What even is the point of owning furniture if you’re not going to use it?

He taps his chin and tries to remember the night before. Just how much liquor had he drunk to find himself warming someone else’s bed? Had he even been drinking last night? Shit…maybe he should take shijie’s advice and cut back a bit. His eyes wander to the finger tapping away and he pauses because…well that really doesn’t look like his finger. Or his hand. Or his arm.

He scrambles to the nearest reflective surface—a basin of water in a porcelain bowl that’s probably more expensive than everything he owns combined. The face that looks back at him is…breathtakingly beautiful. Skin the color of white jade, softer than the inner petals of a peony, silky midnight hair draped down broad shoulders to rest at the small of his back, and bright golden eyes somewhere between the shade of the sun as it reflects on ice and wheat dancing in a breeze upon a gilded field.

It’s so beautiful that it narrows down the theories currently running through his head down to two: A) he has died and (mistakenly) ascended to heaven to live the rest of eternity as the most beautiful angel to have ever existed, or B) he’s dreaming. B) seems more likely, especially since the likelihood of Wei Wuxian going to heaven is probably somewhere in the negatives. Plus, witches don’t go to heaven…or technically even believe in heaven. Not to say that there isn’t an afterlife but—he’s rambling. His mind is whirring with so many thoughts that even he can’t keep up with them all.

“Huh.” Oh this man’s voice is so deep and rich that Wei Wuxian’s spine tingles at the sound. “Shit, even his voice is beautiful.”

He hums a few nonsensical notes just to listen to the different octaves; a deep voice, but a melodic one. He wonders if this person is a singer—he certainly has a lovely voice for singing. His eyes wander around the room, searching for…well he’s not really sure. His own body, perhaps? Proof that this is a dream? Or maybe signs of spellwork gone incredibly wrong. It wouldn’t be the first time one of his experimental enchantments went awry.

He starts rummaging through drawers and opening doors, hoping to learn more about the person whose body he now possesses. The handsome stranger is astoundingly boring. Not a speck of dust anywhere or a book out of place—even the poetry on this person’s shelf is…bland, at best. He tosses open the closet, hoping for literal or figurative skeletons. Someone this perfect can’t possibly exist in real life. Maybe instead of a dream this is a hallucination—Wei Wuxian has trouble believing that his active mind would conjure someone so dull but, well even he has off days. Or nights, he supposes. Is it night where he’s dreaming? Doubtful, given his sleep schedule but—he’s rambling again.

Within the closet hangs a full-length mirror, and he pauses in his rummaging to admire the body of the most boring person he’s…well they haven’t technically met, have they?

He’s even more beautiful in the crystal-clear reflection, tall and toned with arms that should be illegal. Wei Wuxian grins and quickly strips off his outer robes (so white that they remind him of mourning robes. He gets distracted when he imagines the scene he must have made whilst asleep—so ethereal and white and pure); the image that greets him is ridiculous. Abs that could cut steel on skin the color of flawless white porcelain, not a blemish in sight. His fingers dance across the muscle, laughter bubbling out of him. Oh what a sound—this gege really is perfection given flesh, isn’t he?

He smiles at his reflection and conjures as many funny faces as he can come up with. Well if he’s stuck in an angel’s body, he might as well have some fun, shouldn’t he?

.

.

.

Wei Wuxian bounds across the halls, chased by the knowledge that he is most definitely late for breakfast. Dawn has already segued into late morning, and if he wants any sort of meal before lessons, he will have to sprout wings and fly across the residence—an idea he’d actually toyed with before, but enchantments that alter the flesh are too finicky and he quite likes keeping all his fingers and toes.

He mentally prepares himself to face the routine “How could you have slept in so late!?” from Jiang Cheng and the “A-Xian, are you not sleeping well?” from Yanli and the knowing smile from Jiang Fengmian, matched only by the scathing glare from Madam Yu that has accompanied every breakfast he can remember having at Lotus Pier. To which he will smirk and tease Jiang Cheng, complain and pout to Yanli, return Jiang Fengmian’s smile and cautiously avoid Madam Yu’s gaze.

Wei Wuxian loves his morning routine, even if it doesn’t technically count as having happened in the morning.

“How do you always manage to sleep in so late!?”

Ah, Jiang Cheng is so predictable—Wei Wuxian loves that about him.

“I was having the best dream!” He responds as he flops onto his mat at the table, shoveling food into mouth as fast as he can pour extra chili sauce onto everything.

“Oh? What about?” Jiang Fengmian’s smile is no less endearing for being as predictable as Jiang Cheng’s anger—perhaps even more so because of it.

“Hmmm,” he pauses in stuffing his face to try and remember his dreams, but the haze of sleep has yet to lift, “huh—I can’t actually remember?”

“How do you know it was a good dream if you can’t even remember it?” Jiang Cheng’s sneering makes him smile, bits of rice on display for his favorite (and only) brother.

“I don’t have to remember every detail to know that it was a good dream!”

It’s true—although he can’t remember anything of what he’d dreamt, the feeling of joy lingers, even as the fog of sleep lifts under the light of day.

“Here, A-Xian, have some lotus seeds. I saved some for you.”

He gulps down some tea to clear the sticky rice from his teeth and perches at Yanli’s elbow with his lips parted, her eyes crinkling into adorable crescents as she pops a lotus seed into his mouth.

“A-Li.” Even on the best of days, Madam Yu’s tone could strip paint from the walls, varnish from the wood within the halls; it was like listening to the crack of a whip, or the rumbling of thunder. Yanli wilts under her strict gaze, eyes dropping to the hands she folds in her lap.

“I am glad to see you back to yourself, A-Ying.” (I’m not sure this is a good way for jfm to address wwx—in the original text he never actually says wwx’s name, but he does call jc A-Cheng; I want to show here that jfm favors wwx) Jiang Fengmian’s tone is the opposite of Madam Yu’s; soft where hers is harsh, calm where hers is agitated. The difference between them is jarring—like the crack of lightning meeting the quiet currents of a flowing river.

“Yes, how very fortunate we are to see you returning to your ways.” Another crack of lightning, this one closer to the babbling brook that is Uncle Jiang, the waters left disrupted and discordant.

“Wait, what?” Wei Wuxian has never feared the thunder, nor the storm.

“You went psycho yesterday and woke at dawn. You even cooked breakfast, but it was bland as shit. It was honestly the most disgusting thing I’ve ever eaten.”

Where Yanli wilts under Madam Yu’s glares, Jiang Cheng grows more uncertain, and uncertainty breeds anger within him. Except this anger is often a guise, smoke to the fire that is his worry. Wei Wuxian smiles at him, basking in the concern the same way a flower dances in the breeze.

“Aw, don’t sound too concerned Jiang Cheng.”

The way he snorts and rolls his eyes makes it easier for Wei Wuxian to gloss over the fact that he can’t really remember the day before. An odd gap in his memory, but he shrugs it off and sneaks more lotus seeds from Yanli, who hides a smile behind her hand as she passes him the morning paper.

“Did you see? The comet will be visible on the day of the banquet. Maybe we’ll see a falling star or two.”

“Hmm? Would shijie like falling stars? Maybe I’ll catch one and bottle it up, just for you.”

Her laughter is honey, her smile sunshine; perhaps he should bottle that instead, for use on rainy days or cold winters when the lotuses close their petals.

“A-Cheng, you have lessons to attend to. You do not have the luxury of falling behind.”

“Yes, mother.” The only time Jiang Cheng ever sounds subdued is in deference to Madam Yu, and the sound grates against Wei Wuxian’s ears.

“A-Xian, you should head off to lessons too. You don’t want to be late.” Yanli sneaks the last of the lotus seeds into his hand; he’s convinced she’s on a mission to fatten him up, to which he has zero complaints. If he could gorge on shijie’s lotus seeds for eternity, he would.

“Oh? From what I hear, Wei Wuxian’s time is better spent hunting pheasants and flying kites with the younger witchlings.”

What a nasty storm to deal with so early in the day. He doesn’t fear thunder, but nor does he seek rain.

“The kites were actually an enchantment I was testing out. I finally fixed the talisman to facilitate one’s qinggong[1] to the point of weightlessness. Those kites were—”

“You did what!?”

“There’s no need to shout, Jiang Cheng. The actual enchantment is pretty simple if you cast on the right night. I have a theory that the casting is a lot easier during a full moon, but I managed just fine when it was waning—”

“You—Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Cheng’s cheeks puff with indignation, his face as red as the chili sauce Wei Wuxian slathers on every meal.

“Yes, I’m here!” He answers with laughter, snickering and dodging as Jiang Cheng lunges for him, waving at Yanli as he darts out the room. He’d skip class if he didn’t want to write down another idea for an enchantment in his grimoire, of which he’s about forty percent sure is in his desk…or buried under his other inventions somewhere in his room. Or maybe he left it in the atrium when he was searching for a specific constellation?

Jiang Cheng chases him from the residence, out through the courtyards and down into the docks of Lotus Pier. He smiles and waves at the merchants, eyeing all the pastries and water chestnuts, winking at runny-nosed children from the nearby households. His heart feels both heavy and light—too full to dream of moving and yet so buoyant he might drift along with the next passing breeze.

The giant lake gleams under the light, lotuses dancing and swaying in the wind, the sound of home bustling around him. Wild magic whispers through the air, flows through the undercurrents of the lake, along the waterways for miles and miles until it reaches the ocean. An idea pops into his head to attempt to track the energy, map out the ley lines, but he catches the shadow of a pheasant nearby and pushes the thought down his list of priorities.

He smiles and dodges Jiang Cheng’s attempts to toss him into the lake, grappling each other into headlocks as they make their way towards the lecture halls. He sighs at the idea of another long, boring monologue in spellcraft theory, but the idea of enchanting a few papermen to dance behind the Adeptus keep his steps light. The witchlings always love a good show—perhaps he’ll put on his own little play for them. With the right paper, he might be able to craft a jade rabbit and play the story of Chang’e and Hou Yi. Maybe he could make them sing? A whistle from a witch is a powerful thing. Or he could tell the story of Ragnarok, the Twilight of the Gods—his head buzzes with ideas, excitement filling his veins at the prospect of researching more of the lost stories of old gods and immortals.

Endnotes:

[1] Qinggong (in most cultivation/wuxia novels) is the art of manipulating qi to walk on water or move across surfaces; it’s also a real technique in Chinese martial arts. Read about it here

If you got this far, thanks for reading! Even if you're not interested in beta-ing, I’d still love to hear feedback! I don’t normally post such long pieces on Tumblr, but I wasn't sure what else to do >.< I hope you liked it!

[thorongil82]

Forgotten But Not Gone

Fandom: Pokémon

Chapter: 1/?

Chapter Word Count: 5,631

Can also be read on FFN and AO3

Summary: Ten years have passed since Ash disappeared from Pallet Town, with none of his companions and rivals knowing to where he vanished to. Now, the Pokémon Masters League, an event held every 20 years, is on once again, to find the strongest trainer in the world. Hosted in the Seishi region, who will be selected to compete in such a prestigious tournament? Will the event go ahead without a hitch, in a region still feeling the effects of the ravages of war? And will a certain young trainer resurface from the void to face what has happened?

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AN: So, here’s the story I mentioned in my update. 

Decided to try my hand at one of those 'Ash disappears for x amount of time and returns for a tournament' stories, with a bit of a twist to both that and the 'Ash betrayed' concepts. It's not my first Pokémon story, though technically all that's been uploaded of the other is a prologue (over on FFN), so … more or less a new endeavour.

Now, to give a quick little bit of info, the events of this story start 10 years after the end of Ash's journey in Kalos, which is where this'll deviate from canon. We are starting from that 10 years later point, and I'll be drawing back to the events in that 10 year gap throughout, whether just as an allusion or an explanation, or as a flashback. I'll explain what happens with his Alolan journeys in the story too.

I'll have a bit more to say afterwards, so, please enjoy!

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Chapter 1 - The Frontier Is Set

The Seishi region; a land that had been ravaged by constant battles and war several years ago. Yet now, they stood in a shaky time of peace. A peace where, though the battling had come to a standstill for a few years, the people are still left recovering from their ordeals. But now, a new set of battles seem poised to engulf the region …

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The brightly lit stadium at the base of Mt Daybreak illuminates the surrounding buildings and landscape, with multiple coloured beams of light shining up into the night sky. Inside, many people are excitedly chatting with one another as they shuffle their way throughout the areas, collecting tickets, food, merchandise, or simply talking about who they believe will win tonight's oncoming battle. 

Through this bustling crowd walks a group of five people. Leading at the front is a rather rotund man, clad in an aqua shirt with white Pokéballs and floral patterns typical of an Alolan design. Hanging from his neck is a pristine red Pokénav, folded down and compartmentalised, though not as shiny as his tinted sunglasses. A big grin is plastered on his face as he takes in the many people.

“Looks like we've arrived on fight night,” he grins, nodding in approval at all the spectators as a couple of kids dressed up in costumes – a girl in a small suit of flimsy fabric armour and a boy with wings on his back – dash in front of the group chasing after one another.

“Seems like it,” says one of the men behind him. Despite the slight wrinkles starting to grow on due to age, his yellow hair still stands wild, while he also wears a long sage green trenchcoat , a white turtleneck underneath and a pair of brown trousers. “Think there's any chance we can join in?”

“NO!” bellows the other man beside him, causing some people around the group to jump and glace at them. Meanwhile, the former just smirks unfazed as he grabs at his gloves and tightens them. “We are not here to battle with the locals, Palmer. We are here on business.”

“Aw, come on, Brandon,” Palmer says, looking towards the loud gentleman, adorned in a big buttoned cider green jacket and matching trousers, with thick brown hair with a few strands of grey threading through. “We're here as Frontier Brains. Surely if it's a tournament, we can just register and compete as well. We are supposed to be on the look out for strong trainers to challenge our branches wherever we go. Right, Scott?”

“Well, we shouldn't have too much trouble finding strong trainers here,” the round man leading the group chuckles. “Seishi's league has built up a reputation in its short lifespan for being strong. The gym leaders are known for being tough as nails, and the Elite Four even moreso. But, I don't think that tonight's battle is one you'll be able to join in on.”

“Come on, Scott,” Palmer groans. “It'll be fine if we take care of this business quickly, right? Then we've got all the time in the world to battle.”

“Those boys and their battles,” a woman sighs, trailing behind her companions as they continue bickering. The tallest in the group, she's donned in an outfit reminiscent of a Seviper, consisting of a purple halter neck crop top that shows off her slender figure, with long purple gloves on each hand, long black pants with a golden diamond pattern around her waist, and her long jet black hair cascading down her back, save for the red lowlights in the sides down her front.

She then turns back to the last member of their group. Another woman, her long shiny lilac hair is tied up at the base of her neck with a black ribbon before billowing out down her back to her waist. She wears a slim black blazer and matching tie, with a formal white shirt underneath, with skinny pants, shoes and gloves matching the rest of her jet black clothing. The woman is glancing around, her eyes quickly moving from one person to the next, as does those of the Espeon walking beside her, occasionally brushing her tail up against the woman's legs.

“Are you alright, Anabel?” the tall woman questions, dropping back slightly to walk beside her companion.

Anabel gives her a small nod in response, still keeping her eyes focused on the people around them.

“Epee?” calls up the Espeon at her feet, looking up at Anabel.

“I'm fine, really,” she reassures her Pokémon, all the while as a gloved hand slowly reaches into a pocket in her blazer. “Just a little anxious around this many people.”

Espeon lets out a purr and brushes herself against Anabel's legs, getting a small smile to cross her trainer's face, as her companion glances around, taking in the people who were getting more and more interested in their group. Though most of that was to do with the constant groans and insisting coming from Palmer, and the occasional bellowing denial from Brandon, the two women were also picking up some of the curious gazes due to them being part of the same group.

“Yeah, there's too many eyes on us,” she sighs, closing her eyes while clenching her hand into a fist. “If only Palmer could think of anything other than battling.”

She looks over to see Anabel give a short nod as she takes her hand out of her pocket and brings out three metallic balls, before holding the arm by her side and dropping the balls. They start to drop, only to hover in mid-air in a straight vertical line.

“Are you sure you're okay?”

“Yeah, Lucy,” she nods as the balls start slowly moving in small circular motions as her fingers individually curl and flex.

The group continue moving on until they reach a desk with a few people standing behind it, while a couple of others quickly move away. One, a man with slicked back ashen brown hair and buzzed sides, catches Scott's eye as the group approaches.

“Hi, can I help you?”

“Yes, my name is Scott, and these are Palmer, Brandon, Lucy and Anabel,” he replies, gesturing to each person as he says their names, them giving a polite nod as they are introduced, before reaching inside his shirt and pulling out a document. “We were invited here by the champion for a certain meetup.”

The attendant nods as he takes the papers and quickly looks over them, before looking back up at the group.

“Of course. If you'll all follow me?” he says, getting up from his seat, quickly leaning in to whisper something to another attendant at the desk before walking off, leading the group over to a side door and through.

The group are lead up into a lift and then through a few winding corridors until they are brought before a large door.

“Please wait in here,” the attendant says as he opens the door for them. “Someone will be with you shortly.”

He gives them a short bow and walks away, leaving the group of five to walk in.

Inside is a large room that looks a little like a repurposed conference room, with a few couches spread around the sides of the room along with several chairs set up around the room. A few tables had been pushed together in the middle, with different bowls of snacks and glasses for drinks sitting atop. Positioned at the far corner of the right wall of the room from where they came in was another door, with a tinted window stretching out along the wall, while directly opposite was a third door that seemed to lead out to a viewing box for the stadium. Finally, hanging on the wall opposite the entering group of Frontier Brains is a muted TV broadcasting someone, with a round face, a flat cap on top, and four weird spiny growths growing from their cheeks, giving their analysis of the battle to come, with another couch sitting underneath.

Also, sitting around the room are seven people. The first, a woman sitting on her own with long blonde hair stretching down her back and covering her left eye, draped in a long black cloak with jet black furry cuffs and trims, a tear drop shaped ornament hanging from the base of the v-neck, a black shirt underneath, and black formal pants. She is sitting on a couch happily licking a double scoop ice cream cone and ignoring the constant flirtations of the second, a man with red and brown hair fanned out in a spiky mane, wearing a tanned poncho-style cloak with a large collared black shirt, white pants and a chain of Pokéballs hanging round his neck. The third and fourth, a man with spiked scarlet hair and dressed in a navy blue tunic with blood orange trims and black cuffs, with matching pants and a long charcoal black cape draped over his shoulders, sitting on a couch talking to an old man with a long white bushy beard and long frizzy hair, wearing a crimson vest with a light and dark blue stripe across the middle, and a pair of khaki shorts.

The fifth, a man with teal blue hair, adorned in a white beret and cape, a teal shirt with white sleeves, and purple pants, leans up against a wall with his eyes closed and arms crossed, softly humming to himself. The sixth, a woman with a light brown star-like hair design, wearing an all white outfit consisting of a long sleeved blazer with golden trims scattered throughout with two lacy wing-like bulges sticking out of the back, a pair of short shorts, and a choker from which dangles a golden swan-shaped necklace encompassing a dazzling stone, closes her violet shadowed eyes as the seventh, another woman with pine green hair and red rimmed glasses wearing a grey suit, a white shirt underneath tied off with a thin cherry ribbon tying it off, continues to talk as she gestures to the leather-bound book in her hands. All heads swivel round to the group of five as they enter, as Scott gives them all a small wave, before a few return to what they were doing beforehand, if they were doing something in particular in the first place. With a nod to the rest of his group, Scott walks over to the scarlet haired man and the bushy bearded old man, leaving the others to their devices.

“Ah, Palmer, I take it you've been training hard since our last match?” the blonde haired woman says, looking past the man with the spiky mane.

“Of course, Cynthia,” Palmer replies, walking over to the two. “I wouldn't hesitate to challenge you to another battle. Even here and now if it would take your fancy?”

Both Brandon and Lucy sigh at Palmer's challenge as The Tower Tycoon integrates himself into the conversation with Cynthia and the Unova Champion, Alder. Brandon then heads over to join in with Scott, the joint Kanto and Johto Champion Lance, and the head of the Pokémon League, Mr Goodshow. Anabel moves over to an empty chair and sits herself down, giving her Espeon a pat with her left hand as she jumps up into the Salon Maiden's lap, while using the right to keep the three metallic balls orbiting round through the air beside her. Finally, Lucy takes up a space nearby by an empty space on the wall, keeping an eye on the room and on Anabel.

After a few moments, the door by the tinted window opens up. First through is a giant hulk of a man, large in bulk and height. His arms are as thick as tree trunks, with winding braided and rune covered tattoos weaving along each arm, while wearing a sage green jumper with rolled up sleeves, thick brown gloves on each hand, and beige overalls sitting across his chest and legs. Sitting around his forehead is a thin golden band, while his golden hair with strands of grey is slicked back, along with his neatly brushed golden beard.

The second through is a young looking woman with tanned skin and shiny silver hair tied up into a ponytail. Wearing a thin white crop top and short jeans with an aqua blue sarong wrapped around her waist, she bounces in with a smile, looking around the room. Her eyes seem to light up even more as she spots Anabel, though, when she notices the lack of recognition from the Salon Maiden, it returns to the still energetic beam from before, as she leaps over the arm rest of the couch underneath the TV and lands at the same time as the giant before her.

The third and final through, as he shuts the door behind him, is a man with dark brown skin and braided chocolate brown hair, wearing a loose sky blue t-shirt over a skintight black undershirt and baggy black tracksuit pants. He takes his place between the two that came in before him, though he remains standing up.

“I'm sorry for the wait,” the man says with a short bow. “On behalf of the Seishi Pokémon League, I welcome all of you to our home. If I may begin the introductions, the man to my right is Sheamus, one of our Elite Four members.”

He gestures to the large burly man, who gives a nod and a grin as he raises his hand in greeting.

“To my left is Hikaru, another of our Elite Four members,” he replies, gesturing to the young woman on his other side who gives everyone a big wave and flashes a large shiny smile.”

“Hiya! How're you doing?!” she beams.

“And I'm Raphael, Leader of the Elite Four and Former Champion of Seishi,” he finishes with a bow. “Should we proceed with the other introductions, or are the rest of you acquainted?”

“Oh please, allow me,” Scott says as he stands up. “If you fine folk are not aware, I'm Scott, the head of the Battle Frontier. The people I came in with are the Tower Tycoon Palmer, from our Sinnoh branch, along with the Pike Queen Lucy, Salon Maiden Anabel, and Pyramid King Brandon, all from our Kanto branch.”

Each of the Frontier Brains gives a short nod and a wave as they are mentioned, before Scott continues on with his speech.

“I would have brought someone from our Johto branch as well if I could, but I'm afraid they were all busy with challengers,” Scott chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “As for the rest, beside me is the head of the Pokémon League, Mr Charles Goodshow, and the joint Kanto and Johto Champion, Lance.”

Both give a polite nod, letting Scott get on with the introductions.

“Over by our battling veteran Palmer is the Sinnoh Champion Cynthia, and the Champion of Unova, Alder.”

Alder gives a chuckle and a wave, while Cynthia gives a kind nod before returning to her ice cream.

“Continuing on, leaning against the wall over there is the recently recrowned Hoenn Champion and Top Coordinator, Wallace.”

“Guilty as charged,” Wallace says with a smile.

“And last, but certainly not least, the duo sitting over there is the Kalos Champion and superstar of the big screen, Diantha, along with, if what I've heard is correct, her manager, Kathi Lee.”

“Yes, that's correct,” Kathi Lee confirms as she snaps her book shut, while Diantha gives a simple smile to the rest of the room.

“Now, unless anyone has anyone else to say, I'll pass over to Mr Goodshow to explain why we're here.”

“If I may,” Alder interjects as Scott finishes, leaving the many powerful trainers in the room to look over at him, “I believe we were all summoned here by the word of Seishi's Champion. So, with all due respect, why is he not here to meet with us?”

“Ah, yes, well, that was initially the plan,” Raphael begins.

“However, the plans seem to have changed a bit thanks to tonight's battle,” Sheamus continues with a low, gruff voice.

“Is tonight's battle a title match?” Wallace questions, pushing himself off the wall and standing upright.

“No, it's a battle with our absent Elite Four member,” Hikaru explains. “It just so happens that he's giving her a hand with some last minute battle preparations.”

“Our hope was that he would still be ready to discuss terms with the rest of you, but it seems like they're taking longer than expected,” Raphael continues as he takes a seat between his fellow Elite Four members. “And besides, I tend to be the one who is more involved with any administrative work anyway, so it's not too big of a loss.”

“Alright then,” Wallace concedes. “Mr Goodshow?”

“Thank you,” Mr Goodshow says as he stands up, though is cut off as Lance holds up a hand to cut him off.

“I'm sorry, Mr Goodshow, but if you'll excuse me, I'm wondering why Scott decided to bring four Frontier Brains along with him for our talks,” the Dragon Master cuts in, looking towards the slightly rotund individual.

“Well, as I said I was hoping to have a member from each branch here, to make sure whatever concerns they had, if there were any, were taken care of,” Scott explains. “As it were, there was another reason for us to come.”

“Yes, I'd heard from our Champion that you were hoping to open a Battle Frontier branch here in Seishi,” Raphael responds. “I take it you were hoping to find strong candidates through this upcoming tournament to take the place of the Frontier Brains here?”

“Indeed I was,” Scott chuckles in good nature.

“Perhaps we should explain that the people here aren't that fond of outsiders,” Sheamus points out. “Particularly if they feel they cannot trust them.”

“I have been made aware of that, both by Brandon and others who have travelled here,” Scott responds. “That's why I was hoping to build it out of people local to the region, to keep the trust of the people. At the absolute most, your Champion and I were discussing the possibility of transferring one of our Kanto branch over to help set it up, and potentially be the final challenge.”

“You were?” Lucy pipes up, the three present Kanto Frontier Brains looking over to Scott in surprise.

“Indeed,” Scott confirms. “In truth, we were going to pick between one of the three I brought here, if it was needed. Though, admittedly, there were some complications with each of you.”

“Such as?”

“Well, Brandon still wants to continue on with his research into the many ruins around the world. It would be a bit difficult to set up a new branch around a man who may not be there for a decent amount of the time.”

“That is true,” Brandon concedes.

“As for you, I'm well aware that you aren't too comfortable around a lot of new people, despite how you like to hold yourself,” Scott continues, getting a slight blush from Lucy as she turns her head away. “I'm sure you'd come if I'd ask you to, but you'd probably prefer to stay at the Battle Pike right now.  Lucy doesn't give much of a response other than a short hum, keeping her head turned away to try and hide the slight blush dusting her cheeks.

“Now, Spencer was also an option, but he is starting to get on in his age, though you better not tell him I said that,” Scott finishes with a laugh. “I believe it'd be a bit rough asking him to move over if he's not wanting to, or able to, keep competing in a few years time.”

“So, that leaves Anabel,” Scott concludes, with the many eyes in the room turning towards the Salon Maiden. “Had it been quite a few years earlier, I don't think there would be any question about her capability in fronting a branch here. But, as some of you know, there are some … hurdles that still need dealing with.”

Despite the number of eyes on her, Anabel shows no sign that she heard anything that Scott had said about her, instead focusing purely giving her Espeon some scratches underneath her chin, getting a delighted purr from the Sun Pokémon while still absentmindedly spinning the three metallic balls above her gloved right hand.

“But, perhaps that conversation should be continued with the presence of the Champion,” Scott concedes, turning back to the others. “So, are there any other questions?”

No one else raises any objections, leaving Scott to turn towards Mr Goodshow.

“Well, then, Charles, if you would?”

“Thank you, Scott,” the elderly man says as he stands upright. “And thank you to the rest of you for turning up.”

“Now, as you all know, we are here to discuss terms for the Pokémon Masters League coming up in a few months. Seishi is intended to be the hosts, and for the most part the preparations will be organised between us in the Pokémon League and Seishi region authorities, along with the Wallace Cup that's to be held.”

“Yeah!” cheers Hikaru as she leaps up from her seat. “I'll be working alongside Wallace to take care of that, if that's okay with you?”

“Of course,” Wallace says with a simple nod of his head. “I'd be glad to work alongside a fellow Top Coordinator to bring this prestigious contest to life here.”

“Awesome! We're going to make this the greatest contest ever!”

“As for the rest of you, you are brought in to make sure that the conditions work with the expectations of your own League members,” Charles continues on. “Each region will take care of nominating the participants coming from their own regions. If there's someone else from another region that you believe should be a part of the competition, then that's up to you to negotiate with their corresponding region.”

“I'm guessing that, because no one from Galar is here, that you weren't able to come to terms with them?” Cynthia pipes up.

“No, I'm afraid not,” Mr Goodshow answers says with the shake of his head. “Unfortunately, Chairman Rose refused to budge on his insistence of having portable Power Spots built here in Seishi to accommodate the Dynamax phenomenon that's prevalent in Galar. As it was, the professors and scientists here opposed the decision, as they can't say what kind of effect the energy dispersed from such an energy source could have on the surrounding area.”

“Especially as they aren't too sure what the continuous effects are of the energy the land gives off anyway,” Raphael adds on. “One of our Gym Leaders is leading the research into the full effects, along with our own Pokémon Professor.”

“Wouldn't that make Seishi a dangerous place to hold the World Championships, then?” Wallace inquires.

“As far as we can tell, it doesn't seem to have any major affects on either people or Pokémon, beyond expanding the move limit a Pokémon has from four to eight,” Raphael explains.

“It also appears to make the local flora blossom at a quicker rate, and at greater levels than other regions,” Sheamus adds on. “Of course, that is purely speculation based off of my own experiences in the field.”

As the talks continue on, Anabel starts to tune the others out as she keeps her focus on her Espeon, continuing to scratch her under her chin while also floating the balls above her hand. She keeps this up for a few moments, the noise of the others' conversations fading away into the void of her mind, before a small spike seems to emanate from her mind.

'… Anabel …' a soft male voice reverberates through her head, causing her to grimace as she grabs at her temple with the hand that was rubbing Espeon. The floating balls falter in mid-air, the wider arcs tightening up as they begin to spiral back into a vertical line.

“Anabel?” a different soft voice comes from outside, as Lucy suddenly places a hand on Anabel's shoulder, also getting the attention of Brandon and Scott. “What's wrong?”

'… I'm sorry ...'

“I ...” Anabel gasps, before whimpering as her head is racked with a sudden severe pain, coursing through her brain like an intense thunderstorm constantly striking her over and over with lightning bolts.

The metallic balls floating above her hand seem to shake in the single line that they currently hold, before, with another sharp gasp of pain, they shoot off quickly in different directions, a few of the others in the room quickly diving to the ground as they hurtle away.

“Espee? Pee! Espee!” Espeon cries out, her front paws pressing up against her trainer's waist. Her cries fail to get through, though, with Anabel crouching over and placing her other hand on her temple, as the sharp jolting pain continues to surge through her brain.

“Anabel?!” Lucy calls out as she crouches next to her fellow Frontier Brain, gripping onto her shoulders with both her hands. Ripples of energy start to emanate out from the Salon Maiden, as the pulses shake and vibrate the air and ground. “Talk to me.”

“I-I … I … Ah!” Anabel manages to sputter out before another wave of pain crashes through her. In a flash of light from Anabel's belt, a Pokéball pops open with a shiny sparkle, revealing a Gardevoir of an abnormal colour; with aqua blue skin where there would normally be green and orange where there would be red.

“Gardevoir?!” Gardevoir cries out as it appears, before quickly taking its place beside Lucy, placing her hands upon her trainer's temple, the lithe limbs delicately sliding underneath the gloved hands of Anabel. “Gar? Gardevoir?!”

“It just started happening again,” Lucy explains desperately, while all she receives from the Salon Maiden is a shaky nod. Gardevoir then closes her eyes and starts to hum, as a circle of light pink energy radiates out from her.

“It's using Heal Pulse,” Diantha observes as the glowing energy created by the Embrace Pokémon starts to wash over Anabel. Her pained whimpers and gasps quickly fade away as the healing power takes hold, the pulsating pink light slowly fading away. With the last of the energy dispersing, Anabel straightens back up, a small smile on her face as a hand reaches up to cradle one of Gardevoir's.

“Thank you, my friend,” she whispers.

“Voir,” Gardevoir nods, standing upright before gliding behind her trainer. Anabel reaches down to scratch Espeon's ears as the shiny Gardevoir rests her head atop the Salon Maiden's and wraps her arms around her from behind, gaining a slight squeeze from Anabel.

“I'm alright now,” she says, albeit a little shakily, moreso to her Pokémon than to anyone else. However, as she finishes giving both Pokémon a gentle squeeze and scratch, her eyes drop down to meet Lucy's, who's still looking up at her with a worried expression.

“Are you sure?” she presses, ignoring the other eyes on them as she gets a nod from the trainer, along with an affirmative confirmation from both Espeon and Gardevoir. “Do you know what triggered it this time?”

Anabel takes in a deep breath and closes her eyes, before quickly opening them and sharply gazing over towards the tinted window.

“There's someone behind there,” she declares, causing the others to look over to the same place.

With a sigh, Raphael stands up and says, “If you'll excuse me for a moment,” before heading walking across and through the door by the window.

“Is there a problem?” Cynthia puts to the two remaining Elites as the door clicks shut behind Raphael.

“No, not at all,” Sheamus replies with a boisterous laugh. “If I had to guess, I'd say our Champion has finally arrived.”

“I guess Jeanne's preparations are done,” Hikaru muses, shuffling her body round so she is sitting with her back against the seat of the couch and her legs resting on the back.

“Was that the hurdle you were talking about?” Lance quietly asks Scott, leaning over as they keep an eye on Anabel.

“That's part of it,” Scott admits, shifting his legs back flat against the chair to get out of the way of Espeon, having jumped down off of Anabel's lap to collect up the balls that had been sent flying around the room.

“Part of it?” Lance repeats, hoping to press for more, only to be left without an answer as the door opens up again. All eyes in the room head over to the entrance as Raphael walks back in, followed closely behind by another individual.

The person accompanying Raphael has wild shoulder length hair that spikes out at random angles, with a large bang that covers the left side of his face. The right side is partially covered by a wide-brimmed hat tilted down over it, obscuring the eye while still showing off some of the scars, gashes and burns spread across his right cheek and jawline. Draped over his shoulders is a midnight black cloak with a small golden outline, closed up over his chest and stretching down to his knees. Peaking out underneath the cloak is a worn and slightly ripped pair of navy blue pants.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to present our Champion, Aaron,” Raphael introduces, who wordlessly greets the room with a tip of his hat with his right hand, revealing a seemingly sleeveless arm and a fingerless glove with a small round cerulean gem embedded into the back. Anabel almost swears she sees his head shift slightly in her direction while he had his hat tipped, only for it to return upright in the blink of an eye.

“Jeanne's all ready to go?” Sheamus asks, getting another silent response as the Champion nods.

“Well, it is nearly time for the battle to start,” Raphael muses aloud while glancing over to the TV screen, the camera image having switched to the battlefield as the noise of the crowd outside starts to pick up. “Seeing as we've pretty much taken care of everything we need to, why don't you all stick around and watch the battle? There's a private viewing box through that door that we Elites tend to use for challenges here.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Alder accepts, along with the Frontier Brains and Champions, save for Diantha who glances towards her manager. “I guess it can fit in our schedule,” Kathi Lee says after a short beat, having looked through her journal. “But we're leaving if it starts to take too long. You need to get back for a shoot in Lumiose City tomorrow.”

Diantha lets out a little giggle as she gets up, along with the others, and they start to make their way over to the door, with Sheamus opening the door for them. Both Alder and Palmer dart over to the tables to grab some food, both getting a bowl of different flavoured chips, while Lucy grabs a cup of tea for both her and Anabel. Diantha also skips back over to the table and cuts herself a big slice of the chocolate cake sitting there, much to the dismay of her manager, before being joined by Cynthia.

“You guys go ahead,” Scott says, mainly addressing his Frontier Brains as he and Mr Goodshow move over towards Aaron and Raphael instead.

“We've still got a few more details to go over with our host here,” Mr Goodshow explains.

The others all nod as they walk on through. Anabel lags behind at the door, as does Lucy who is keeping an eye on the Salon Maiden, as she pulls out a Pokéball, enlarges it, and starts to aim it at her Gardevoir, only to stop as Gardevoir shakes its head.

“You want to stay out?”

“Voir,” Gardevoir answers with a nod.

“Okay,” she concedes, before minimising the ball and placing it back on her waist.

“Espee,” Espeon pipes up as she comes over, eyes gleaming in a pale blue light as the three metallic balls that were scattered earlier float back up to Anabel, each outlined in the same blue light.

“Thank you, Espeon,” Anabel says with a small smile, taking the balls and pocketing them inside her blazer. As she does, she glances back over her shoulder, spotting Aaron expressionlessly looking in her direction along with Raphael and Scott, the latter giving her a smile and a nod, while Mr Goodshow seems to be caught up on the footage on screen.

'You were the one in my head, right?' Anabel contemplates as her eyes seem to catch with Aaron's, barely seeing his left through the thicket of hair obstructing it. There almost seems to be a slight shimmer flickering in that eye, as their gazes lock onto each other's.

'Why? What do you-?'

“Anabel?” Lucy speaks up, breaking the Salon Maiden out of her thoughts.

With a shake of her head, she lets out a breath before walking out into the spectator box, accepting Lucy's offered cup of tea with a short thanks as they pass through together, with Hikaru the last to leave, sliding the door shut behind her. With that door shut, the door by the window opens back up, with a Pikachu swinging in by the handle. Dropping down, the yellow Mouse Pokémon darts across the floor before climbing up Aaron's back, sitting up on his right shoulder.

“Pika pi,” Pikachu sadly says, his ears drooping down as he glances to the Champion. “Pikachu?”

“Yeah, I'm fine,” Aaron softly answers, giving his partner a nod and a short pat between his ears.

“Pika …”

“Couldn't help yourself, eh Champ?” Raphael sighs.

“She hasn't …?” Aaron inquires, directing it towards Scott.

“No,” he replies with a shake of his head. “Anabel still hasn't regained her memories.”

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

AN: Well, I wonder who that could be …

So, yeah, part of why I was wanting to write this story was to play around a bit with the concept of Anabel having amnesia, which was brought in in S&M. With some differences, of course. 

Now, the next chapter was going to be people - particularly Ash's former companions - finding out if they've been invited to compete in the tournament. That'll still be a chapter, but maybe not the next depending on what you guys want. I'm giving you all the option as to if you want the planned next chapter to be next, or if you'd rather read the battle between the challenger and the other Elite Four member, Jeanne. The challenger was initially going to be between 3 people, but now down to 2. Alder was one of my options, but I decided against it. Otherwise, there would have been a different champion representing Unova. 1 guess as to who that is. So, by all means let me know if you've got a preference. 

Also, please feel free to let me know what you think so far. Thoughts, feedback, analysis, predictions, suggestions, all are welcome. I'm happy for people to suggest OCs for contenders in the tournament - I can't promise that they'll last - or even if there's a particular ship you want to see. I make no promises it'll be there, and I'm not budging on 2 ships that will be happening in the story. Beyond that, anything could happen.

I'll try to get the next chapter up as soon as I can. Obviously that'll depend on what's coming next, so, until then, adios!

[mollymauk-teafleak]

Different Kinds of Love

 Listen. This is self indulgent. It is a rare ship. It requires a lot of knowledge of my own personal head canons.

But we’re here and maybe this might be your jam. If it is, I’d love if you left a comment! 

---

Percy often ran to his workshop when he didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts. When he was younger and his mother didn’t have time for him because of the babies or he made a fool of himself in his lessons in front of his older brother or his team lost a rugby match because of a catch he’d fumbled, he would shut the door, bar it tight and lose himself in things that made sense to him. Nuts and bolts and neat white diagrams on crisp blue paper that always wanted to roll back up, the smell of shaved metal and solder, they pushed everything else out of his mind.

Percy didn’t have a workshop anymore, it had burned with the rest of it. But the itch was still there, the need for that order and understanding. So he used the key that Babenon had clearly said was only supposed to be for emergencies, technically broke into the garage at two in the morning and went to work.

And it did the trick. Sort of.

If he was laser cutting plastic for fresh headlamp covers, he didn’t have to think about what Caduceus had said, how a voice so calm and soft and simple had shattered everything. If he was welding a new body plate, he didn’t have to think about Vax’s stricken expression, as he’d dropped him off back at the apartment and driven away without a word to where he was going or when he’d be back, unable to not look at how small and scared he’d looked as he’d stood on the curb and cried his name uselessly. If he was scrubbing the rust and grime off old parts to make new again, he didn’t have to think of the hundreds of glances and passing touches and gentle words that now crowded together to make such an obvious pattern that he felt so stupid for not seeing it.

If Percy worked, pushing through the exhaustion and ache in his heart, he didn’t have to think about Shaun Gilmore. Or that was what he told himself.

He hadn’t thought to put the radio on, he’d been so desperate to have a problem he could fix in his hands that he hadn’t taken the time. So he heard the knock on the shutter just fine, startling him out of his fury of work, nearly making him crack the back of his head on the popped hood just above.

Percy’s first thought was that it was Babenon, though he didn’t imagine the crime lord would knock if he thought someone was breaking into his garage practically decorated with stolen parts. It would have been a bullet flying through the shutter rather than a polite request for entry. So as he walked over to press the button to raise it, hope flared in his chest that maybe it was Vax’ildan and he’d be able to throw himself onto his knees and beg forgiveness, that he’d hold him and wrap his wings around them and it would be like tonight hadn’t happened.

What he wasn’t expecting was to see Shaun Gilmore standing on the pavement, looking at him with red rimmed eyes, his usual effortless confidence and style completely gone. Even his hair was unbrushed, flyaways caught in the night breeze.

“Percy…” his voice sounded strained, completing the picture the red eyes had begun, “Can I...can I come in?”

“What are you doing here?” there wasn’t any anger in Percy’s voice, he wasn’t sure there was any in his heart either. He just sounded tired. But he didn’t step aside to let him in.

Gilmore bit his lip, like he’d been expecting that. He was dressed as he had been at Caleb’s party, a loose robe eager to be pulled away, tight, low cut shirt and trousers underneath for whatever lucky boy did the pulling. But now it just looked sad and out of place and he was clearly freezing.

“I thought you might be here after Vax said you weren’t home…”

“You spoke to Vax?” there was the anger, cold like ice cracking underfoot.

Gilmore winced, “Percy, I know you must hate me right now but please, if you just let me explain myself…”

“Are you going to tell me Caduceus was wrong?” Percy interrupted, not in the mood for explanations, “Because if you aren’t then I don’t think there is much more you can say to me, Gilmore.”

He waited, wanting to hear the words so badly but he knew they wouldn’t come. He’d known it from the second after Caduceus had spoken, in his usual, careless way, not understanding that there were some things people wouldn’t want said aloud, unable to see what his words would bring. He’d just spoken.

Because he’s in love with Vax’ildan.

He’d said it so casually, as casually as the question had been thrown out by someone Percy couldn’t even remember, jokingly asking why Gilmore always seemed unable to be his infamous, much prized dominating self with Vax, how he’d always end up softening and giving him anything he wanted seconds after making Mollymauk suffer in the most delicious way. Caduceus didn’t have the same grasp on sarcasm the rest of them did and his wide purple eyes saw things that others didn’t. So when someone had asked, he had answered.

Because he’s in love with Vax’ildan.

Just a handful of words. That had been all that was needed to change everything. One second they were lying around in their blissful post sex haze, pillowing their heads on whoever was close by, fingers wound loosely together, all of them catching their breath and thinking how nice it was to be surrounded by people who cared about you. And then the next second it broke.

Percy’s eyes hadn’t gone to Gilmore after Cad had spoken. He’d looked at Vax’ildan.

And he had seen the exact same expression on his husband’s face that he saw now, on Gilmore’s. The expression that told him everything he needed to know.

Caduceus was right.

“Yeah, I thought so,” he said flatly, about to disappear back inside and get back to things that made sense and would help him forget that another man was in love with his husband. A better man, more put together, more sure of himself, a man who could give Vax’ildan more than he ever could.

“Percy, please,” there were unshed tears in Gilmore’s voice, even for a man who looked like he couldn’t cry any more, “I know I’ve made such a terrible mess of things, I should have said something sooner but I will never forgive myself if I let things get worse.”

Percy looked at him with such deep exhaustion, finger itching to press the button regardless and shut it all away.

But when had that ever really worked for him?

So, with a sigh, he stepped aside and let Gilmore follow him in, hammering the shutter down the second he passed under it and going over to make two cups of coffee. Father had always taught him to be hospitable.

Gilmore hovered awkwardly, looking for a place to sit that wasn’t covered in machine parts or grease smears. He ended up just standing, shuffling his feet in a way that was so unlike the bombastic, theatrical shopkeeper Percy knew. Maybe because he’d always seen him in his own environment, his own space that he’d constructed to feel comfortable within. And now he was in Percy’s space, he was as unsure and small as Percy himself felt everywhere else.

He passed the mug to him, hoping it would put him at some kind of ease and wondering why he cared about that given the circumstances.

“I’m not...mad at Caduceus,” Percy felt the need to say it. He’d been crying when Percy had left the party with only a handful of words, a teary eyed, half dressed Vax in tow.

“I think he knows that,” Gilmore cupped his hands around the mug, “Molly was explaining it to him.”

Percy felt a little better, though not much, “So...just say what you need to say.”

Gilmore reached up and twisted the chain of his ear cuff around his fingers, marshalling his thoughts. Percy had never realised he did that when he was anxious. Maybe he’d just never seen him anxious before.

“I...I do love Vax’ildan,” he eventually murmured, “I can’t deny that. I have for a long time…”

Percy wished he could say the words didn’t hurt, even when he’d been braced for them.

“I know,” he answered, voice shaky, “I didn’t see it before but now...now I think about the way you look at him sometimes, how you would always have something he’d like behind the counter for him and you knew he’d love it before he’d even seen it. How you’d touch his shoulder and always choose him at Caleb’s parties and...and treat him so gently…you don’t do that with anyone else, not in the same way.”

Gilmore looked at him, expression agonised, “And...that’s all you see?”

Percy shrugged, hunching his shoulders, uncomfortable, “I mean, what else is there? You’re kind to him, you can give him things I can’t, you always know what to say when I would get tongue tied…”

Tears were building up behind his glasses and he screwed his eyes shut so they wouldn’t fall. He didn’t want to cry. Being angry would be so much easier, it would hurt less. It would feel less like defeat.

“Percy…” he couldn’t see Gilmore’s face but his voice sounded so soft and sad, “You see all that but...but do you never see the way I do it for you too?”

Percy’s eyes opened and he looked at him, stunned, “What?”

Gilmore sighed, looking like a man baring his heart, “I’m in love with Vax’ildan, Percy...and you. Both of you.”

Percy tried to take that in, unable to find a place for it in amongst all the broken bits inside him, it wouldn’t fit, “I...don’t understand…”

He laughed, the sound more sad than anything, “Oh Percy...is it really so impossible? That someone else could be so clearly loved but you could also have the same?”

Percy was very aware that his jaw was hanging open like a trap and he was gaping like a fish on land, “But...but you don’t touch me or...or anything like what you do with Vax? You don’t flirt with me?”

“Oh, dear, of course not!” Gilmore looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, “You wouldn’t like it! Vax’ildan is so different to you, you would find all of that uncomfortable. I...I tried to find different ways to show how I felt for you. How I feel for you.”

Percy blinked, not noticing his hand had gone slack enough that a thin dribble of coffee was pouring onto his shoes. He was too busy thinking of tens of rare books on engineering Gilmore had suddenly produced from nowhere for him to buy, despite nothing else like that being kept in the store. He was thinking of times when work had been exhausting him and he’d been walking around with bags under his eyes all week, when a word from Gilmore at just the right time would make him smile. He thought of questions Gilmore would ask about his latest projects, the hours he would listen so closely, like he was genuinely interested. He thought of the advice, the attentiveness he’d never seen for what it was until it was held up in front of him.

“Oh…” Percy croaked as Gilmore hurried up and straightened his mug before the coffee soaked into his socks, “I’m a fucking idiot.”

“No, Percy, no,” Gilmore said gently, now close enough that Percy could smell the spice and blossom of his cologne, “You just...aren’t used to thinking of yourself that way, same as Vax’ildan. And it breaks my heart, dear, it really does. And...well, I’d give anything to have the chance to show you just how loved you both are.”

Percy swallowed, grappling with several strong emotions at once, trying to sort out what he needed and didn’t, what he felt and what was false. It was dizzying and the cologne, thick and sweet enough to get drunk on, wasn’t really helping.

“I…” he swallowed, throat dry, “I think we’ll need to talk about it...all three of us…”

“Of course,” Gilmore said quickly, “Of course, I would never do anything the two of you weren’t comfortable with. I just...I needed to finally say how I felt. Keeping it in was hurting all of us and I’m sorry for that.”

Percy shook his head slowly, “You don’t need to be sorry, Shaun. It’s okay...I think I would like to kiss you thought?”

Shaun smiled then, that dazzling, warming smile that Percy knew. And after that it was easy.

It was different to kissing Vax. The scrape of facial hair against his own, the broad hands that settled on his shoulders and on the back of his head, the metallic taste of the gold stud in his tongue. It was different. But in a lot of ways it was the same.

It would take a lot of talking, a lot of thinking, a lot of open and honest conversations that were neither Percy’s nor Vax’s strong suit. But it would work. Somehow it would all click into place and a space they’d never realised was there would be filled.

And neither of them would ever have to wonder if they were loved ever again.

[imacrowcawcaw]

The Apples (Penntin)

Author (as known on Various sites): Lady Lover- Rockfic, Luluthechoosingcrow - AO3, theladylovingcrow - Deviantart and Wattpad, @sammy_bluebells - Instagram, @imacrowcawcaw - main Tumblr, @theladylovingcrow - writing/art Tumblr, @insannywestan - Sanny shipping Tumblr

Fandom: The Magicians

Pairing: Penny Adiyodi/Quentin Coldwater (Penntin)

Length: 3.3k

Warnings/tags: Fluff, Getting Together, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Confusion, Marriage Proposal, Accidental Marriage, accidental Marriage Proposal, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Penny is pretty soft here, Banter

Summary: It was all in the apple. If only he hadn't been holding it... but, was marriage really that bad? Penny was surprisingly calm for someone who had just proposed to a nerd he had hated four months ago. Maybe everything would be alright.

Author’s Notes: Taking a break from my other Penntin fic to write this one -- it was one of those amazing daydreams us writers have that rarely get written down, but I thought this was worth getting out of bed and typing up. I should note that I decided to really diverge from canon because it just makes sense for this to be happening under different circumstances than what actually did. So, Julia managed to kill Reynard and the Beast, Penny's hands never got fucked up, the wellspring was replenished, and both Alice and Kady are more or less out of the picture, romantically. Enjoy!

AO3 link right here! 

----------

Quentin sighed and warmed his hands on the fire in front of him. He looked up at the night sky in between the tree tops and grinned, wondering how he managed to land himself such a great life in Fillory of all places. It was so unbelievable, and yet he had never been more awake. Maybe it was the opium air.

He snorted and took a bite of the apple in his hand, gazing around the fire at the four other men with him. Penny was busy roasting some pheasants he had caught, an orange glow reflecting his concentrated, furrowed eyebrows. The other three were servants of the castle - his servants, technically - that had come along to help with their quest.

“We should reach the edge of the woods by noon,” one of them said. Quentin was pretty sure his name was Malke.

Penny grunted and shook his head. “If you’d just let me travel us there…”

“You know we can’t. There’s old magic ruins there, the wards are still up and we’ll bounce off. Have to go back to the beginning.”

Penny and Quentin eyed each other for a minute before the other man grumbled and conceded, going back to the birds he was slowly turning with magic over the fire. Quentin sat back and took another bite of his apple, then accepted a sip of wine from Malke’s flask. The stars twinkled and the trees rustled softly; he let the night’s atmosphere enveloped him.

He jerked and looked up when his knee was tapped. Penny had finished with the pheasants, apparently, and had a bit of the meat speared on the dagger he had been using to pare them. Quentin eyed it suspiciously but Penny just chuckled and shook his head, urging the food closer to his face.

“Trust me, white boy, it’s not gonna kill you. The yellow is turmeric powder. Try it.”

Quentin sighed and did as was prompted. He leaned forward and took a bite, moaning a little as flavor exploded on his tongue.

“Wow, that’s good,” Quentin mumbled, mouth still full.

Penny grinned and nodded, picking off a piece for himself to try. He groaned his own approval and gave another bite to Quentin, snorting and brushing his thumb over his cheek when a bit of food got on it.

Quentin blushed and looked away, a warm feeling running through his veins. He knew that Penny was just messing with him - he flirted with everyone, and especially loved to make himself squirm - but that didn’t stop the pleasantness of the action. But it didn’t matter; they were finally becoming friends, and he wasn’t going to ruin that.

“Full moon tonight. Think we’ll run into any werewolves?” Penny asked, tilting his head up to look at the sky where a brightly glowing moon shone in between the trees.

“Hope not, I don’t really want to hear anymore complaints to bring back to court.”

Penny laughed. Everyone they ran into seemed to notice Quentin’s crown right away and asked him to do something -- about their crops, their children’s education, the mice in hats invading their house. There had been some weird problems. But Quentin had heard it all graciously, and dutifully wrote them down in a notebook to deal with when they got back to Whitespire castle.

He was trying his hardest to be a good king and do the right things, but he was also tired. They’d been on this quest for a specific type of berry bush for several days now, and he already had four pages full of requests and complaints. Everyone seemed to have a million problems to fix and no directions to the berries. Quentin couldn’t say he blamed them; Fillory had been fucked over by The Beast for a long time, and there was a lot that needed to be fixed. Plus, the berries only had one specific, uncommon use, so he supposed that most people ignored them.

“Lighten up, man. We’ll find the fucking berries,” Penny sighed, quickly tugging a strand of Quentin’s hair like he did when he was getting tired of listening to moping. “Come on, you need to get your mind off of everything. Drink.”

Penny handed him his own flask - full of smuggled in Earth scotch - and Quentin took it, getting a good mouthful. He watched as Penny started the motions for a fireworks spell and joined in, that warm feeling growing inside of him again. They really were becoming good friends; Penny would never have tried to cheer him up a couple months, or maybe even weeks, ago. But now they were sitting side by side, eating pheasant off each other’s knives, sharing alcohol, and watching the mini fireworks display above the fire.

He rolled the apple in his hand and took another swallow, trying to reconcile the uncomfortableness in his gut with the delicious taste. It didn’t add up; the bird was good, he was happy, and Penny was actively being friendly with him. There was nothing wrong, except -- this was the feeling of being watched.

He worriedly gazed around for spying eyes in the trees and realized that everything was very still. The servants had stopped talking and moving quite a while ago and were staring at them strangely. Quentin tried to subtly nudge Penny with his mind, gaining a glare for the detested Taylor Swift song then a worried look as the man also realized.

“Uh, guys? Is everything good?”

Malke coughed and cleared his throat. “Of course, Your Highness. It’s just that- well, I mean… are you certain, Sire?”

Quentin could only guess that he was nervous about the quest and he relaxed. No one in Fillory had been on anything like an adventure for a long time; afraid of the beast, kept to their small homes and villages by a desperate lack of resources as magic unknowingly withered away. He smiled, big, and tried to reassure them.

“Yes! I’ve never been more sure about anything. It will go great, and life will be much better once this happens.”

“He’s a good king, he knows what’s best,” Penny added on. Quentin figured he had caught the thought of what was happening from his still open mind. “Sometimes things can be uncomfortable if they’re unfamiliar, but we do what we have to for the good of the kingdom.”

Penny sat back after his turn at inspiring the men and gnawed at a wing. He shot Quentin a look, understanding (or so they thought) passing through both of them. He held out a pheasant thigh and Quentin gladly took it, nudging him for real this time with his shoulder.

“You could be a good king, too. I feel inspired by that. I’d follow you anywhere.”

“Yeah, well,” Penny laughed, “You’ve always followed me around, even when I didn’t want you to. Like a little lost puppy, Coldwater, sulking right behind me and complaining when I told you to fuck off.”

“Hey, look where it lead us!”

“True,” Penny conceded with another nod. He tossed his bone on to the fire and watched the remaining string of fat sizzle. A waft of smoke blew into their faces and they both turned their heads.

Quentin looked down at the forgotten apple in his hand and brought it to his mouth, taking a large bite. He never would have thought that magically grown purple apples and tumeric pheasant would make a good meal, but a lot of things weren’t as he was expecting anymore. All of Fillory, for example.

“You know, I’m glad you don’t hate me anymore,” he said quietly, turning to look at the man sitting next to him.

Penny met his eyes, an almost sorry look in his own. “I never hated you. Hearing you singing all the damn time, sure, and you get on my nerves, but… you’re not bad. All things considered, I like where we are now. I’m glad this is happening,” he said, referring to their growing friendship and the list of epic quests they were slowly collecting under their belts.

“Me too.”

Quentin realized that Malke and the other two servants were staring at them, still, but it looked to be more out of respect and some odd, growing happiness than uncertainty. Weird, but good. How long had that been happening? Since he’d been king, or just starting now?

He kept getting so distracted by Penny that everything else seemed to fade into the background; it was never a feeling he had gotten with just a friend before, but it wasn’t bad. Maybe dangerous, in high-risk situations, but he could probably turn it off. Besides, Penny was observant enough for the both of them.

“Doesn’t mean you still don’t have to try, Q,” he whispered.

Quentin grinned and looked back up at the stars.

----------

“Uh, hey, can we talk?” Quentin asked, poking his head around the corner into the Armory.

Penny looked up from his book and sighed. He marked his page with a strip of ribbon and set it onto a stack of more leather-bounds he had obviously been perusing. The Armory was slowly and surely being built up again after its contents had been ransacked by The Beast; citizens who had taken a book or two for safe keeping returned them, Brakebills gave up a few extra copies, and new volumes of knowledge were even being written. It was a place the whole group ended up in quite often, for its resources and relative solitude.

Quentin walked inside and cautiously sat down on one of the wooden chairs they had moved in there. He gazed at the materials Penny had spread around him -- a modern notebook and pen, yellow sticky notes, the royal symbol on a sash that let him access the Armory, and five books on Fillorian customs.

“So you know, then,” he sighed.

Penny nodded his head, containing the grimace his face wanted to make to just a slight scowl.

Quentin didn’t mind; it was a huge improvement to how they used to interact. Their first few months of knowing each other had been rough in many ways, particularly involving Penny’s anger and Quentin’s cowering personality. They had clashed on a near daily basis in a volatile way that just left them both more resentful.

He couldn’t pinpoint what exactly had changed when, but the fights had become less frequent and less extreme recently. It seemed they had both realized the size of their problems with each other was much, much smaller than the size of the problems with the worlds at large. Their quests together had certainly helped too, as had getting drunk and stumbling through the halls hanging off of each other’s shoulders on an almost weekly basis.

Too bad it might not last.

“Did you know that’s what it was?” Penny asked him. There was a slightly accusing look in his eyes, like Quentin had just let him (possibly) fuck up their lives without sayng anything.

He shook his head quickly. “No, no, of course not! It wasn’t in the books, I had no clue that was a thing.”

Penny sighed and nodded, silently passing his notebook to Quentin so he could see his research.

At the top of the page, it read “Fillorian Marriage Customs” in big letters. Underneath, there were outline-style notes on various concepts that would hopefully help them figure out the whole mess they had accidentally gotten into.

Quentin looked over the most important section -- Marriage Proposals. He brushed his hands over the smooth paper and read aloud from Penny’s surprisingly nice handwriting.

“Four common ways of proposing: classical arranged marriage through parents, asking for political marriage, bargaining, or proposal ceremony.”

“That’s what we did,” Penny interjected quietly.

Quentin looked up to find the man closer to him than he expected. His breath caught in his throat as he watched dust and sunlight glint on Penny’s long lashes, his whole face awash from the window so he looked like glowing caramel.

Penny took the notebook back and explained, not seeming to notice Quentin’s staring -- or maybe just being used to him “spazzing out”, as he often said.

“A proposal ceremony is this complicated, really fucking odd ritual that is traditionally done between two high-ranking magicians, apparently. During a full moon they have to share food, then share wine, and then perform magic together in front of three witnesses, all while the recipient of the marriage proposal holds an apple. Which we did.”

“In fucking order. God,” Quentin sighed, slumping back into the chair.

He wasn’t sure what to think. On one hand, he wanted to immediately call it off because obviously they weren’t romantically involved and it wouldn’t be a good idea. On the other hand, the servants had gossiped and now practically the entire kingdom knew. Calling it off could be really bad press. Quentin could still hear Margo’s voice in his head as she pulled him aside to chastise him about something he didn’t understand in the moment; “The apple , Q, the fucking apple. You idiot. Make a decision, and make it fast.” Then she strutted away with her long, pink dress swishing around her legs. It had left him in a daze of confusion until he’d heard some guards chatting as they made their rounds -- and then everything had started to make horrifying sense.

Penny snapped him out of his thoughts, like he always seemed to do. “So, we need to talk about this. Dinner?”

A level conversation from Penny was not what he had been expecting, but Quentin took it. He also took the offered hand to pull himself up, helping Penny clean up the space before they pulled the heavy doors shut behind themselves and parted ways, agreeing to meet back up at the castle gates. From there, Penny traveled them to a tavern that had become one of their favorites.

They ordered food and beer, settling down against the rough bark of a large tree right outside. The sun was just setting and the air was still warm, so they sat in silence and watched the sky darken; both thinking.

A bar wench brought their food and Quentin took a drought out of his cup, trying to ignore the eyes she was making at Penny.

“Alright. So, uh…” He trailed off, uncertain of what to actually say. What were they supposed to do about the situation? There were so many variables, and yet so few options and even less time. Margo had warned him about the deadline for cancelling before it became absolutely politically devastating; Fillorians did not take divorces (or ended engagements) lightly.

Penny cracked a wry smile like he knew what Quentin was thinking - he probably did - and chugged his beer, setting down the empty stein on the grass. He wiped his mouth and trained his eyes on the emerging stars.

“We have two options: be married for the rest of our lives, or not.”

Quentin snorted. “Well, when you put it that way. I mean, why not?”

“Yeah. Seriously.”

“Wait, what? Really?”

He turned to look at Penny -- that was supposed to be sarcastic. The other man was staring straight up at the rising moon, eyes stealy but voice soft. He didn’t sound like he was kidding.

“Really?” Quentin tried again, matching his voice to the one Penny had used. “You see marriage as an option? You know that it’s lifelong and monogamous, right?”

“I know. And yes, it is technically an option. You don’t wanna marry me, Coldwater?”

He faltered. “Well, I mean- okay, yes it is an option. And yes, I kind of don’t want to marry you. We have about a day to call it off.”

Penny looked at him strangely, and it was all Quentin could do to look at the sky and eat his stew. What was he thinking? It was times like these where he wished he had the psychic powers Penny did.

“Trust me, you don’t.” And his wards hadn’t been up, great. “But why don’t you want to marry me? We’ve been getting along.”

If he wasn’t mistaken, Penny sounded almost offended. Not mockingly indignant - he knew he was hot - but actually a little upset, like he had been considering the marriage.

“I have. It’s a viable option.”

“Stop reading my fucking mind!”

“Then close it!” Penny snapped right back, crowding Quentin against the tree so suddenly he couldn’t breath.

They were both breathing hard, worked up with worry and lust and thoughts of the future. Quentin stared at Penny, trying to read the look in his eyes; what was he thinking? About all of this? A sudden kiss was pressed to his lips and then Penny’s face was back in front of him like it had never left, staring intently.

Quentin sighed and tipped his head back. He could still smell the beer on both of them, and feel the brush of Penny’s beard -- it was more pleasant than he would have thought. Penny’s eyes slowly closed as their foreheads were pressed together. He understood a little bit more now.

“Say we did get married. Are you really willing to be celibate, or only have sex with me, for the rest of your life? And what about Kady?”

He thought that Penny might get angry - bringing up his ex-girlfriend usually did the trick - but he only shook his head. “Kady isn’t coming back. Or, if she is, I’m moving on. Too much happened. Besides,” he said, opening his eyes and smiling until Quentin felt his knees shake, “I’d have you. I don’t know what it is, but something is telling me that I actually wouldn’t mind it that much. You’re not bad looking, Q.”

He knew he was blushing, but Penny also looked like he wasn’t sure why he said what he had, so it was fine. This whole marriage and friendship business with Penny was odd and confusing but it was also really, honestly fine.

“I don’t think I wouldn’t mind either. I mean, we’re actually pretty similar.”

“What?” Penny scoffed, “How? Have you taken another walk in the flying forest, Q?”

The Penny he usually knew was still in there; that was good. Quentin shrugged his shoulders in the small space he had between the tree and his fiance (and that was crazy). “Well, we’re both magicians, and we more or less discovered Fillory together. We both like beer and food, and traveling, and our friends, and I know that you like some nerdy shit underneath all of that tough guy-ness. And, we’re both getting over stone-cold girlfriends, so.”

So, we should get married, he thought with a quirk of his eyebrows. Penny’s eyelids lowered in agreement and he leaned in again, asking for another kiss.

Quentin granted the request, slotting their lips together. It was nice -- warm, stew-flavoured, slow and gentle in a way he enjoyed more than he could have guessed. Penny was constantly surprising him, his soft kisses being even the least of the things Quentin was discovering about him.

“Husband,” he whispered, pulling back.

“Not quite yet,” Penny rejoined, giving him one more peck before standing tall like the tree they had been resting on.

He smiled and stood up, helping Penny gather their bowls and cups to bring back inside. It wasn’t going to be smooth going, falling into a romantic relationship and then marrying so soon after being almost enemies. But he was willing to try, for the good of his country (they liked monarchs in stable marriages) and for the good of his personal life. Penny could make him happy, he thought, and he would try, too.

“Hey, Q, we need to have apple pie at the wedding,” Penny whispered in his ear, leaning down to give him a smooch on the cheek before striding away. Quentin grinned without restraint and followed after him like the puppy he was.

[rainsonata]

Doppelgänger 10/15

Chapter 10: Reflection  

Fandom/Pairing: Elsword; none Rating: T Word Count: 7,347 

Summary: It was like looking into a mirror. What happens when one’s reflection talks back and throws uncomfortable questions? El Search Party struggles to find entrance into the Demon Realm, but Dominator has a plan.   

Alternative Title: Dominator fucked up and now everyone meets their alternative selves  ��

AO3 Link / FF.NET Link

— [Chapter 01] [Chapter 02] [Chapter 03] [Chapter 04] [Chapter 05] [Chapter 06] [Chapter 07] [Chapter 08] [Chapter 09] [Chapter 10] [Chapter 11] [Chapter 12] [Chapter 13] [Chapter 14] [Chapter 15] —  

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

Class Notes: 

Canon Path: Knight Emperor, Aether Sage, Daybreaker, Rage Hearts, Code: Esencia, Comet Crusader, Apsara, Empire Sword, Doom Bringer, Ishtar and Chevalier (Innocent), Bluhen   

Alternative Path: Rune Slayer, Oz Sorcerer, Anemos, Furious Blade, Code: Ultimate, Fatal Phantom, Devi, Flame Lord, Dominator, Timoria and Abysser (Catastrophe), Richter

---------------------------- 

Code: Esencia

Lines of commands flooded back into her vision, her sensors returning in response to her circuits activating. Protocols lined up, waiting to be accepted by Esencia as she ran through the mandatory scans. She let them run in the background as she prioritized assessing her environment. 

In front of her was a campfire emitting its heat, its flames being fed by Rage Hearts tossing in dried leaves and tree branches to soothe its hunger. Data flashed through Esencia’s optic lens as she filtered through the information she already knew about her teammate. Did Rage carry her back to camp? Her navigator protocol announced they were close to the entrance of a cavern called Shadow Vein. She checked her memory bank for more information but was met with distorted data. It wasn’t often that she experienced a forced shutdown. Her memory backup should be finished updating in a few minutes. 

“Eve!” Rage breathed a sigh of relief, “We were beginning to worry you wouldn’t wake up. Are you okay?”

We? There was another person, her sensors alerted her. 

“Code: Esencia. That is the name of your program, is it not?” 

Esencia turned to the sound of her program’s name, a thin airy feminine voice that called for her attention. Covered in black armor, the new Nasod presented herself with the appearance of a young woman. Resting one leg over the other, she sat beside Rage as if in the middle of a conversation before Esencia was acknowledged. A pale face marked by blue lines across the cheeks and orange eyes identical to Esencia’s. The resemblance was unmistakable. 

“You’re Eve,” Esencia stated. 

“Yes, I am.” Her alternate offered a tiny smile, “I did not expect to meet someone else that shares the same core as us.”   

Esencia stared at her own face, unwavered by the existence of the other Nasod queen. At last, they have met, no longer separated by circumstances that would have forced them to fight. Anemos had mentioned the other Eve, comparing them because humans were comfortable looking at something they were familiar with. There were similarities, but the mechanical wings extending out from her alternate’s back suggested that at some point, their paths had begun to branch out.  

“What program have you undergone?” Esencia was curious. 

“Code: Ultimate, a hidden code meant to override the limit most Nasods have.” She was just as interested in Esencia. “I see you have chosen to rely on your servants for strength. They are being repaired right now.” 

“How severe is the damage?” Esencia asked with concern. 

Not as sturdy as their queen, she was aware of the time it would take to restore her servants to fighting form. Ferdinand would take the longest because he was not meant to fight past a certain time limit and his parts were harder to find.  

“They won’t be able to move properly until Moby and Remy find the spare parts needed.” Ultimate said, “It is estimated that it will take four hours and three minutes for them to be functional again. I recommend you don’t fight until then.” 

“That is to be expected,” Esencia agreed. Her eyes flickered over to Rage, who patiently sat through their technical conversation with his human arm over his lap. “What happened after I was deactivated?”

Her datalog’s last record was the battle they had against the opposite El Search Party. Ultimate’s assistance gave little information on the outcome of that battle on whether or not the two parties had arrived at a compromise. 

“I’m not sure,” Rage shrugged. “With the party split up, there were many things going on that even I don’t understand. By the time I arrived here, both Elswords had returned and I was told that we were no longer fighting.” 

“I arrived at the same time as Rage. The information I can provide will be similar.” Ultimate said, “You arrived to camp in a battle-worn state, but most of the damage has been repaired. You are lucky your opponent is keen on minimizing the damage on you.”

Esencia didn’t think Ultimate would be one to use words like “lucky”. The irrational emotion of irritation rose again at the mention of Dominator. Bringer was not subtle in his interest in her codes, so Dominator approaching her was just as likely, but did not make it any less inconvenient in having to fight the scientist. 

“Add is not present,” Ultimate said. “You do not have to worry about talking to him. I made sure of that.”    

“How did you get to the Demon Realm?” Rage asked Ultimate. 

“Add,” a look of disdain was visible on her face. It was the most human expression Esencia had seen from the Black Queen of Destruction. “He said he knew a way to enter into the Demon Realm from Elrianode. Our Elsword encouraged him.” 

“Did he use a device that opened portals for travel?” Esencia asked. 

“Yes,” Ultimate sighed. 

Esencia nodded, “The Add from our party suggested the same thing, but he did not have the coordinates. We opted for a different method of travel.”

So Dominator and Bringer arrived at the same conclusion, except Bringer had Esencia to troubleshoot his plan. The portal device must have brought the entire El Search Party into the same dimension as them. Although Dominator had hit the wrong mark, Esencia reluctantly gave the scientist credit for arriving in a Demon Realm. Luck seemed to travel with Rune’s friends as well.  

“How did you arrive to the Demon Realm?” Ultimate wanted to know. 

“It was an accident by one of our friends,” Esencia explained. “We would have to find a new way to get back to Elrianode.”  

“We've been lucky,” Rage admitted. “I’m not sure if that will be the case next time.” 

“Was it you who brought me back to be repaired?” Esencia asked Rage, frowning when she discovered that her backup memory stopped saving up to the point where she lost her battle.  

“No.” Rage said in a quiet voice, “That was Blade, my other self. He’s nearby if you want to talk to him.”

Carved by scars running down his face, Blade was taller than average for a human male. Dressed in white, what made the swordsman stand out was not the prominent stern expression he held but the Nasod arm. Made of the same material used for Dominator’s drones, the Nasod arm was lightweight for battles but sturdy to maintain its structure and integrity to carry a blade. 

Blade sat at the edge of the cliff, observing the miles of canyons and dense forests from below, a bright palette of vibrant colors that did not exist in Elrios. The sound of gravel grated against his feet as the swordsman stood up to face Esencia and Rage. Although he was mostly human, his senses were as acute as Rage’s in ways that surprised the Nasod queen. Humans had the ability to train and condition themselves to sharpen their senses to compensate for their weaknesses. 

“Ah, you’re awake.” Blade lowered his head with an awkward smile, something humans did when they sensed discomfort from others. “I’m glad to see Eve was able to repair most of the damage.” 

“That’s to be expected,” Rage rubbed his face. “Demons will hit harder than that if we’re not careful.” 

“Is that what you’ve been doing?” Blade asked, “I can’t imagine coming here was easy.” 

They were fortunate that Apsara found the passage that led them to what the Dark Elves referred to their home as Varnimyr. It was uncertain what would be done if they have failed to enter Demon Realm based on their new objective to find the Dark El. They might have had to resort to the portal device as the other El Search Party did. 

“There were many barriers to overcome before we found an entrance into Demon Realm.” Esencia said. “Why did you spare me?”

“It doesn’t feel right not to,” Blade said. “We did what we thought would get us closer to Elsword. We wanted to slow down your progress so we could catch up, not kill you.” 

“I suppose that’s kinda my fault,” Rage grinned. “Running off with Rune makes us look like the bad guys.”

“Rune agreed to join the party,” Esencia corrected him. “He was willing to cooperate.” 

“He must trust you if that’s the case.” Blade asked, “Did he say why?” 

“No,” Esencia said. 

It did not matter to her as much as it did for others. She did not know Rune and he was not going to open to people he was not familiar with. However, Esencia understood that Blade’s question was not asked out of the need for information, but for reassurance.

“Only Rune can answer those questions,” Esencia said. “Why don’t you talk to him?”

“I went into this mission with the assumption of having to fight myself,” Blade pressed his forehead against his Nasod arm. Unlike Rage’s, it had a high resemblance to a human hand if not for the artificial covering over it. “I thought that fighting was the only option. What a fool I was. I didn’t learn from my failure in Altera.”

“All of this unnecessary fighting over a misunderstanding because we mixed up two Elswords.” Rage wore a similar expression to Blade, a prominent scowl that left a dent on his features.   

Regret was apparent from Rage’s tone, a familiar emotion Esencia sensed in many of the humans she encountered during her journey. Even Adrian, the father of Nasods, was not spared from that common emotion. Esencia did what humans did when they saw another distressed and placed her hand over his human arm. 

“Elsword would not be here if we did not encounter the other party,” Esencia said in a gentle voice. “We are no longer fighting and will find a way to help them in return.”  

“We came here to retrieve the Dark El,” Blade shook his head. “We’re not leaving until we find clues on how to stabilize the El.” 

“You too?” Rage looked at Blade in wonder, “and here I was thinking we were the only ones crazy enough to try it.” 

“Explain,” Esencia looked to Blade for further explanation. “What happened to the El in your Elrios?” 

“Our Elsword used himself as an energy source to stabilize it until we pulled him out of it,” Blade said. “We discovered that the Dark El is the El’s counterpart and may help stabilize it, which is in the Demon Realm.”

A sad smile graced upon Esencia’s lips. Her presumption was correct. It was almost identical to the dilemma the original El Search Party found themselves in, an attempt to restore the El that led them to the Demon Realm. An act of desperation that led to the opposite party overlooking a human error in search of the Dark El.  

“You’re here because of the other Add, right?” Rage asked. 

“That’s right.” Blade mumbled something about time machines and mosquitoes. He coughed when he turned to Esencia, “Thank you for taking care of Elsword. I hope he did not trouble you with his antics.” 

“Rune had many interesting stories to tell us,” Esencia said. Some she had difficulty in believing because Rune claimed he and his sister were forced to dance alongside a zombie king with a pink afro.  

“He asked why I didn’t have a shirt on,” Rage deadpanned. 

Esencia did not understand why the comment bothered Rage when he did in fact lack a shirt to cover his upper body. Much of his body heat was regulated by the Nasod arm. Wearing additional clothing was more of a preference than a need for the former mercenary. Was his embarrassment because Rune was a person he was not well-acquainted with?   

“Well, I suppose we should welcome you to the team.” Rage tilted his head back against his hands. “Our party is already as big as it is. What’s another dozen to us?” 

“Collaborating may be beneficial,” Esencia agreed. “Working together may make it easier to find a way to restore the El for both parties.”

“Unless Paradox comes back,” Rage added. “Do you know who he is?” 

“Of course, not.” Blade crossed his arms, “I wasn’t even aware of his existence until someone from your team described him to me.”  

Rage had provided Esencia with a summary of what had happened while she was deactivated and Ultimate had offered her data to store in her memory. Identified as a temporal enigma with a connection to time and space, Paradox had an inconsistent pattern in movement and fighting. It could be challenging to predict what his next move would be.  

“He’s Add,” Esencia stated. The description of Knight’s kidnapper brought her attention when she scanned the datalog Ultimate provided to her during the repairs. The six pieces floating around Paradox were magic-based and resembled the weapons Bringer used for battle.

“There’s three of them,” Blade closed his eyes. Esencia saw bags forming under his eyes. She noticed a strand of white hair poking from the side of his bangs.  

“At least there’s more of us now, so it’ll be harder for Paradox to take us down.” Rage frowned, “You alright? You look like you haven’t slept in days.” 

“It’s hard to sleep when there’s much to do,” Blade said. “We just found Elsword and need a plan.” 

“I get that, but no point in losing sleep over it.” Rage softened his expression, “You’re not the only one worried about Rune. You don’t have to carry everyone’s burden.” 

“It’s strange getting advice from myself.” Blade laughed. 

“It’s strange talking to myself,” Rage mirrored and joined in.  

“We should prioritize regrouping with our friends to discuss our next decision,” Esencia said.  

Both Ravens looked at each other before turning to the Nasod queen. 

“I would like that,” Blade smiled. 

“Sounds good to me,” Rage nodded. 

Esencia looked at the two smiling men and questioned the practicality of housing twenty-four people in shared space. While it would drive away people like Paradox, the sheer size of their team would act as a beacon for demons to see them as a threat when most of them weren’t native to the Demon Realm. Having a bigger group was going to be a change she would have to get used to. Until they find a way for Rune’s friends to get home, the extra twelve people will be their new teammates.  

---------------------------- 

Rune Master

“Come back!” Empire cried. “Elsword! No, Rune! Wait!” 

Rune went into a mad dash and sprinted ahead, refusing to look back to see if she was following him.  

After hours of waiting and doing what he could to help around the campsite, Rune volunteered to search for the missing party members trapped inside the Shadow Vein. He didn’t think they would find the exit so quickly, nor did he expect Empire to be the first to emerge from the cavern. Her knee-jerk reaction made Rune regret coming into contact with the red knight. People have compared Rune to his counterpart and have mistaken him as Knight, but she didn’t need to rub it in. He didn’t need reminders that they were supposed to be the same.    

“Are you okay?” Flame looked up from the cutting board. Abysser must have put her on lunch duty.  Setting her knife down, she looked at him with alarm and placed her hand over his forehead, “You don’t look so good.” 

“I know this is going to sound weird, but I’m hiding from the other you.” Rune caught his breath. How could he keep up with monsters in the battlefield, but have his heart pounding against this ribcage like he was asked to fight Solace again because of someone who looked like his sister?  

“The other me, what are you, oooooh.” Her lips rounded into a perfect circle and nodded in understanding. Rune was grateful for Flame not questioning the strangeness of talking about herself from another lifetime. “Gotcha. Is there anything I can do to help?” 

“Talk to me,” Rune said. He needed to talk to someone he knew to stay sane. If he saw one more person who looked like someone from his team, he was going to burst into flames. “Pretend we’re not in the wrong dimension because there are twelve people that look like us and I messed up big time.”

“Hey, don’t call it a mess up.” Flame waved her hand in disagreement, “We’re in Demon Realm! Maybe not the one we were supposed to be in, but it’s still Demon Realm. How is that a problem?” 

“The other El Search Party is trying to look for the Dark El for similar reasons as we are,” Rune explained. “We can’t just take it from them. They need it too!”

At first, Rune thought it was cool to meet people like him. It was amazing that they all shared the same passion and dreams as their counterparts, but then the sky started turning into different colors. Portals forming cracks in the sky, webbing over one another and causing headache for the rune user. El resonance levels elevated inconsistently whenever a bigger portal was formed. Was this all because of him? 

What would happen if they retrieved the Dark El instead of Knight’s friends? What would happen to Knight’s Elrios? Would their El continue to be unstable and corrupted because of their selfish actions? Rune wasn’t sure if he could live with the guilt of taking something from someone else. It was why they were forced to travel into the Demon Realm, because Rune couldn’t bear the grief of throwing others off a bridge, even if it was for the sake of the world.    

“Wow, that’s a lot to think about.” Flame whistled. “Why are you running away from her? Was she cruel?”

“No,” Rune joined his sister and pulled out a cutting board to begin skinning and peeling vegetables. He could argue that Empire was the complete opposite for taking the initiative and leading a team when its leader went missing. 

“Did she make you do something you didn’t want to do?” Flame asked. 

“No!” 

“Then what?”  

“She thought I was her brother,” Rune said. 

It was uncomfortable watching the pain twist in her features at the realization that she had the wrong person. Even though he and Knight were technically the same person, he didn’t grow up with Empire the same way he did with Flame. He didn’t want to stop to listen to Emipre’s pleads or apologies. Empire kept an amicable front, but kept her distance from others and was intimidating to approach. Rune wasn’t sure if he could look at her in the eye after the outburst she had outside of the Shadow Vein.  

“Aren’t you?” Flame asked. 

“Well, yes.” Rune said, “but I’m not specifically him.”  

“Els… talking about yourself is going to drive you crazy.” Flame shook her head, “I never met her, but this is probably hurting her as much as it is for you. Besides, if she’s me, she’s probably worried about you.” 

“How would you know?”

“Because that’s what sisters do,” she laughed. “Now unless you plan to help me with lunch, you should get going. You’re making her wait.” 

Metal boots clanged against the gravel at their feet, a pair of identical eyes met with Rune’s, somber and apologetic. Crouching behind one of the boulders occupying their campsite, Empire Sword had her head leaning forward, completely still and wide-eyed on being called out. Her face glowed from the campfire, devoid of its warmth.      

“Hope my brother didn’t cause you and your friends too much trouble,” Flame teased as if she didn’t just catch her counterpart eavesdropping into their conversation. “You look like you had something to say.”

“Not at all,” Empire gave an embarrassed smile. “He was cooperative and did more than enough to help us. I apologize for intruding.” 

“It’s all good!” Flame beamed and grabbed Rune by the arm, “Don’t be afraid to talk to him. He’s a good kid and means well.” 

“I know,” Empire lowered her head. “I won’t take up too much of your time.” 

“Huh?” Rune stuttered, “Wait-” 

Flame cheerfully threw Rune into Empire’s direction, waving at them with a knife in her hand. Stumbling back by a few steps, Rune lifted his head up to see Empire pulling her arm back, suddenly uncertain on what to do with the rune user. All signs of formality from before had dissipated and was replaced by awkwardness that reminded Rune of her age. She was barely half the age of her superiors in Velder. 

Rune saw the discomfort in Empire and let out a dark laugh. Silence rippled through the air, only interrupted by the sound of Flame chopping vegetables and from the campfire crackling. How much did Empire hear from his conversation with Flame? 

“I’m sorry,” Empire started. “I didn’t mean to make you upset.” 

“You don’t need to apologize,” Rune raised his hand. “You don’t have to talk about it.”

“What if I want to talk about it?” Empire asked. “I don’t have the right to be asking for forgiveness after everything you went through, but I still want to talk.”

Her voice remained steady, but her hands were visibly shaking, clenched into tight fists. Bangs fell over, hiding her face from view. Covered in grime and dust, Empire was short of looking like Rune when he was first discovered by the El Search Party. Her ponytail became undone and slid down past her forearm. 

“Like being kidnapped and carried off like a princess?” 

Empire raised her head with confusion on her features, “a princess?”

“That’s what Paradox called Knight,” Rune shrugged. He softened his hardened expression, “You don’t need to worry about me. You should worry about your brother.” 

“You are my brother.” She said, “you’re still Elsword.” 

“Maybe,” he hesitated. “Or are you saying that we look the same? I’m not sure if I can be compared to him.”     

Knight was the leader the El Search Party deserved. Hardworking and placed others before himself. He even checked on Rune despite the crude thoughts the rune user kept to himself, afraid to admit the unpleasant thoughts that plagued him. Empire recognized that and widened her eyes. 

“You’re jealous of Elsword?” Empire was shocked.

“Does that make me a bad person?” Rune threw his head back and chuckled darkly, “Both of us failed to restore the El, yet I’m the one who threw my team into the wrong Demon Realm. We caused this mess because we weren’t supposed to be here. The sky is falling apart. Is that what a leader does?” 

Yes, Rune was bitter. Five years of traveling outside his hometown with the intent of finding his sister, only to be told that he was special. Somehow, a link between him and the El was apparent and it was up to him, a seventeen-year-old, to decide on the fate of Elrios and its inhabitants. Solace saw that. His friends trusted him. He was told by numerous enemies that he had the power, yet he was still powerless from stopping the El from collapsing on itself. 

He gave himself to the El with the intent of restoring it, offering what was left of himself because he was a mere village boy. Some other adventurers could pick up from where he left. Rune wasn’t the only swordsman from Ruben. If not, Flame or Blade could become the new leader of their not-so-little gang. They easily had more experience than him and his older sister had a connection to the El if something was to happen to it. He gasped when his state of mind rose from the subconscious to take his first breath and realized he was alive, the El unstable once more.      

“Stop it,” Empire snapped. 

“Or what?” Rune jeered, “Surely you realized that with two teams, both of us can’t take the Dark El back to fix what was broken. One of us has to leave.” 

“There has to be another way,” she said. “We’re not letting you go back without finding a way to stabilize the El.” 

Empire was so determined that he almost believed it whole-heartedly without question. He tried to dislike her, but her reassurance was all it took for him to reassess himself. Would it be possible to find another way to restore the El? Rune didn’t understand the link between himself and the El, but there was always the drive to keep it safe, even if it cost his life. He wondered if that was why Empire and Flame never blamed him for making his decision in Elrianode, rarely showing anger when he was blinded by his emotions. 

“How can you be so sure?” Rune asked. 

“I’m not,” Empire placed her hands over her lap. “But if there’s one thing I learned from you and your friends, there is more than one path to doing things. I never thought of meeting someone who understands Elsword as much as you do.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“My brother hides things from me too,” she gave Rune a sad smile. “I know Elsword has been struggling. He’s always lost in thought, but very little of those thoughts reach me. I don’t think even Ain truly knows what’s on his mind. Talking to you made me realize how little I understand him. It makes me wonder if it was something I did wrong...” 

“It’s not you,” Rune disagreed. So even Knight had trouble sharing his thoughts. They really were the same side of the coin. “He’s doing it because he’s scared of worrying you. He doesn’t want to see you get hurt and burden you with his troubles.”

“That sounds like him,” she sighed. “He grew up to be so responsible. I feel like I wasn’t there enough for him.” 

“Let him know that,” Rune said. What was he doing giving advice to his sister’s lookalike? None of this felt real. “I think he’ll be happy to know how much you care about him. I know I would.” 

Rune wasn’t about to spout to Empire about his sister being gone for most of his life up until he was sixteen, but he sympathized with her. Sure, he was envious of Flame for always traveling and fighting bad guys as a child, but he understood her better once he started his journey and learned how time-consuming and draining it was to maintain peace. The last few years he spent with Flame and his friends were easily the best years of his life. Rune doubted Knight would have bore a grudge against Empire’s absence.   

“I think you’re right,” Empire said. “Thank you. You’re kinder than you make yourself seem.” 

Rune blinked. Okay, maybe he was rough around the edges, but was he that bad? Some of Dominator must be rubbing off on him, Rune rubbed his eyes. His body ached in protest in having to move, but there was so much to do. They still didn’t know where Mad Paradox went or what their next move was in finding a way back to their dimension, if that was possible. 

“This is a lot to take in,” Rune remarked. “I’m starting to think we’ve been hanging out with Glave too much.” 

“This does sound like something he would do,” Empire agreed. “But I’m glad it’s with you and your friends instead of the usual monsters and demons.” 

“Heh, sounds like fun, actually.” Rune snickered, “you think there’s a dimension where I’m a little taller and have two swords?”

“You’ll have to be more creative than that,” Empire chided with a bemusement. “We should head back. I’m sure they could use more help in moving things along.” 

“Right,” Rune closed his eyes. “We wouldn’t want to think our pretty faces were eaten by demons.” 

Empire elbowed him with a gleam in her eyes, snorting when he choked on his saliva and joined in. Alternate dimension or not, Empire was pretty cool. After all, she was still his sister and was good at cheering him up.  

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

Bluhen

It was daybreak when Bluhen was summoned to the front of the cavern’s entrance, well, what was left of it anyway. The cavern’s entrance had collapsed from the brief, but deadly battle between the two El Search Parties. Its purple peak reached beyond the horizon and was the first landmark Bluhen noticed when they arrived into Demon Realm. He heard its name being dropped into conversation by the dark elves when he asked about it. Shadow Vein, an intimidating but suiting name in how much trouble it had caused for them all. 

Green light glowed as he mended a cut gashed into Knight’s lower thigh. He would have lost more blood if the cut had been any deeper, a thought Bluhen fought to ignore and focused on applying ointment to the area. People relied on him too much and forgot that there were limits to being a healer. Magic didn’t fix injuries, but encouraged the body to repair itself. He wished Knight knew that and stopped seeing him as an answer to everything relating to injuries. It was exhausting agreeing to heal every time someone failed to dodge an attack. It’s like no one knew how valuable their life was.    

“Thank you,” Knight lifted his head to give Bluhen a sheepish smile. 

“It’s to be expected,” Bluhen said with exhaustion in his voice. 

Bluhen wiped his forehead out of habit, but that was all for show. If he had been more human, he would have sweated and let out a sigh. Being an unworldly being, all of that was unnecessary and excessive for being the Goddess’s agent with a human husk.      

“What is?” Knight asked. 

“Keeping you safe,” Bluhen looked at his friend in surprise for asking something so obvious. He couldn’t understand how Knight could be oblivious to how important he was to others. “Now that you’re here, we can get back to finding the Dark El.” 

“We still need to wait for everyone,” Knight said. “Lu said she was bringing back the others.” 

“Who are the others?”

“Uhh… Ara, Eve, Ciel, and Lu.” Knight counted with his fingers. “She’s also bringing people from the other party. I think she mentioned Raven, there might be more.” 

Bluhen was careful not to apply too much pressure when he placed a bandage over Knight’s left shoulder. None of his vital organs were impacted, but Knight had sustained many injuries. Every battle resulted in cuts and bruises, but it was Bluhen’s job to minimize them. This could have been prevented if Knight wasn’t abducted by the strange man who called himself Paradox. Bluhen had never heard of that name, yet there was something familiar about the kidnapper. Red flashed in his vision as Bluhen swallowed his anger, unwilling to let it bubble up from the pit of his stomach that threatened to erupt and overflow. All of this was caused by Paradox…   

“Does it hurt?” Bluhen asked. 

“Not a bit!” Knight beamed, “Feels like it never happened!”

Bluhen ducked his head low and hid his face behind his bangs. He thought he knew and understood Knight, but he still struggled in reading the emotions of others. Knight smiled, but it felt plastic and artificial as the Nasods Bringer was so fascinated about. Didn’t it hurt pretending to be happy all the time? Or was it a force of habit? He was perplexed and concerned. Knight was hiding something again. The young man had been acting strange ever since they arrived to the Demon Realm. What was Knight hiding? 

“Are you sure?” Bluhen asked, “How much did Paradox hurt you?”

“I’m fine,” Knight insisted. “Are Add and Ciel okay?”

“They’ll recover,” Bluhen said. “There’s nothing concerning.”  

Bluhen had checked on Abysser and Bringer out of Knight’s insistence, nevermind that one of them wasn’t part of the original El Search Party. Both were unconscious and stirred slightly when Bluhen had Rage move them into sitting upright. Their wounds have already healed from his magic and they just needed rest. 

“When I was with Paradox… he made me watch you guys fight.” Knight was hesitant, eyes averting and looking down at his hands. “I saw your other self fighting Lu and Ciel. This wouldn’t have happened if I was there to stop it-”

“None of this is your fault,” Bluhen didn’t let him finish. He looked up from his healing station and placed his hands over his lap. “It was our decision to resolve this by fighting.” 

“I suppose so... ,” Knight mumbled. “He said strange things when we fought, like how different I was from the other Elsword. Do you think there are others like us?” 

“What do you mean?” Bluhen asked, “Haven’t we already met them?”

And fought them, Bluhen added. It was odd to help the very same people they have fought just hours ago. 

“Paradox seems to know a lot about us, even though we have never met,” Knight said.  “I mean… Paradox is Add. Do you think his friends are different versions of us and might be here?” 

“It’s possible, but I have yet to hear reports of them being sighted.” Bluhen shook his head in wonder. Alternates of themselves? He wasn’t sure if he was ready to meet himself from another life. What would they even talk about?    

Bluhen didn’t hate Bringer, but it was difficult to cooperate with someone who was so stubborn. To learn that Bringer’s alternate was the cause of their troubles opened a door to a million possibilities and few answers to the situation. This was the type of topic Bringer would voice his opinions on, but alas, the brawler was unconscious. 

At a nearby stream, Bluhen emptied and rinsed the potion bottles with a cleaning solution, smelling its light citrus scent as he wiped it dry with a washcloth. Ice cold water froze his hands when he swooped down to wash his face. Extra bandages and remedies were tossed into the bag for later use. 

An eerie silence settled over the edge of the horizon, absent of the chatter and clash of blades that once took place over the two El Search Parties. Sharp edges cut into the pale rose sky, outlined by the crystalline material composing Paradox’s portals. Dozens of portals were erratically growing and shrinking, cackling and imposing themselves over one another. Most of them were too small for a human to fit through, but it was a matter of time before that was to change. 

“You see them too?” Knight looked up.    

“How long were they here?” Bluhen asked. 

“I don’t know,” Knight shrugged. “Maybe after Paradox left?” 

The portals were echoes of the ones formed by Paradox in the battle against the Dark Agate, smaller and temporary. Trailing through the skies, they disappeared before reforming minutes later. Bluhen didn’t remember seeing them when they initially entered the Demon Realm. What could the portals mean and what kind of impact would they have on their journey? Looking at them made him feel sick.   

Knight looked at Bluhen with worried eyes, “You should rest, you look horrible. I’ll be around camp when you wake up.”

Shouldn’t Bluhen be the one reassuring his friend? He looked at Knight in disbelief, driven to madness by the apologetic look he was receiving. Covered in thin-lined scars and bruises still healing, Knight had an unfocused gaze and bags under his eyes. Bluhen laughed at the irony, unable to contain himself and sighed. What kind of friend was he to find relief in being comforted when he should be the one helping Knight? He wanted to tell Knight everything would be all right and that things would sort themselves out, but he didn’t want to feed his friend empty promises.     

It was childish to fear that Knight would disappear in his sleep. Was this how Knight felt when he disappeared for periods of time? Bluhen’s body protested, aching muscles urging him to cave him and succumb to Knight’s wish. He stumbled over on his fours and felt his body surrender, resting his head on the grass in a bliss comparable to sleeping at one of the grandest hotels in Hamel.

Cool air caressed Bluhen when he woke up to a velvet blue sky. White clouds huddled overhead with faded outlines of the portals from before. The portals opened to dark interiors obscured by the cloud. So it wasn’t a dream…  

Where was Knight? Uncertainty clouded Bluhen’s judgment, standing up without his mind ordering his body to do so in the search of his friend. His belongings sat in the grassy patch beside him, undisturbed and waiting for its owner to return. In dim lighting, Bluhen was able to make out new silhouettes approaching.  

“You can’t be serious!” A short figure threw their head down in defeat. Aether raised her staff in exasperation. “Is this some kind of joke?” 

“I don’t heal.” It was a man’s voice, quiet and melodic yet it was clear that he was irritated by the way he shielded his face from view. Wait, was that his voice? Bluhen leaned forward to listen in to the man that shared his voice.   

“What do you mean you don’t heal?” Aether threw her hands down. 

“It means I don’t heal,” he replied. “I am incapable of using magic to repair wounds.” 

In the darkness, Bluhen stared, unable to take his eyes away from the man with cyan-colored hair. Adorned in white robes billowing in the wind, Richter resembled the celestials depicted in murals and stained glass art in churches. His features were void of strong emotions, numbed from being placed on the spot by an impatient mage who barely reached up to his chin in height.       

“Then what do you do?” Aether scowled. 

“Bring divine judgment and serve as the voice of the Goddess,” Richter said.

“...you’re somehow weirder than Ain.” 

Confusion formed in Aether’s brows, creasing into a deep indentation with the mage sighing and rubbing her forehead. A clean cloth wrapped over her right elbow and over the opposite of her shoulder into a make-shift arm sling. Bluhen recognized it to be the work of Mr. Half-Demon and shifted his eyes in search of the butler.  Had Chevalier and Ishtar returned with the rest of the group?  

Richter looked straight into where Bluhen stood. Their faces were the same, but everything was different in pigment. Cyan eyes locked into Bluhen’s with recognition. Aether noticed and followed his gaze.  

“Hello, Ms. Mage.” Bluhen waved at his teammate and added. “And me…  I heard my name in passing. Is there something you want from me?”  

“Call me Richter,” he insisted. “I see you are awake.” 

“Yes I am,” Bluhen replied.

“I was hoping you could help me with this,” Aether turned to show her arm. At closer glance, her arm was wrapped in an old shirt washed out by the sun. Humans were so creative when they wanted to stay alive.  

“Pray tell how you broke that arm,” Bluhen gently placed his hand over the broken arm to examine, feeling for broken bones or joints. 

“Elsword crushed my arm.” She glared, “Don’t give me that look!”

“I’m not allowed to say it’s funny?” Bluhen smiled.

“Absolutely not!”   

“I’ll take a look at it in a bit,” Bluhen chuckled and turned to look at Richter. “I want to talk to him first.”

“Huh? Oh!” Aether looked between the two men and nodded, “Sure! You don’t have to rush! I’ll be checking on the supplies and helping Ciel. He looked busy.” 

Aether ran over to Bluhen with her uninjured arm lifted over her head to lean forward to scan the area. A trail of tents lined up and formed a path lit up by campfires that smelled of smoked meats and herbs. She looked at Bluhen with sympathy. 

“You’re okay talking to him by yourself?” She asked. 

“It’s fine,” Bluhen waved his hand. “I’ll find you when I’m done.” 

He watched Aether running through the grass with her staff tucked behind her back. The mage saw another teammate walk by and waved to get their attention. She’s going to be okay, Bluhen thought. There were more than enough people to make sure of that.  

“You wish to speak to me?” Richter asked. 

Millions of questions flooded into Bluhen’s mind about Richter’s existence, flabbergasted at the implications of it all. What did it mean for both of them to cohabit in the same plane of existence? Did Richter understand the cause of the portals rippling through the skies? What was his relation to Paradox if he had one? 

Richter reminded him of a fish. Empty eyes gazing back, the blue-haired priest betrayed little emotion, yet reminiscence of regret lingered in his presence. It was strange to meet another being like himself when his existence was meant to be an exception by the Goddess. Bluhen pressed his fingers over to Richter’s.   

“How are you me?” Bluhen asked aloud. 

“I would like to ask the same,” Richter mirrored his question back. 

“I was created by the Goddess to restore the El,” Bluhen said. “but I made the decision to form a new purpose for myself and protect my friends to indirectly help the El.” He gestured to his counterpart, “your turn.   

“I also serve the Goddess and act as her catalyst by striking down those that choose to defy her judgment.” Richter said. 

By Goddess, was he really come off as pretentious to other people? What was this prickly feeling he was experiencing? Bluhen stared at Richter with a mixture of bewilderment and exasperation, unsure what to make of his alternate. He silently counted his blessing that Knight and his friends were ever so patient with his ignorance. 

“You can be rest assured that your Elsword is safe,” Bluhen tried to change the subject. 

“I know,” Richter said. “I saw him being pursued by Empire. She did not look happy.”

“Aren’t you worried?” Bluhen tried to understand his counterpart’s reaction, puzzled by how calm Richter was about Rune being chased by his sister’s alternate. 

“How I feel does not concern Elsword,” Richter said. “He is capable of making his own decisions.” 

Like sacrificing himself to the El? Bluhen thought warily. His memories were blurred about the specific event, during a time when his physical form was barely maintained by his purpose to serve the Goddess Ishmael. With the El temporarily restored, Bluhen lost his physical form and everything that came with living, no longer a person but barely a memory. 

“I assume yours merged with the El as well?”

Bluhen nodded. His body went cold. Again?  

“This won’t get easier,” Richter’s lips formed into a straight line. “Elsword will continue to make difficult decisions you may not agree with and you cannot stop him.”

“How would you know?” Bluhen asked weakly. “You haven’t talked to him.” 

“No, but I have talked to Ishtar and Chevalier.” Richter said, “I know he is a selfless person and would feel guilty for making you react like this.”

“He was my first friend,” Bluhen choked. “I followed him and still lost him.” 

“You cannot protect him from everything,” Richter said. “He will be upset if you do.”

“I know. That’s why he’s in this mess.” Bluhen laughed dryly. “Thank you… It was interesting talking to you. I was not expecting to meet you like this.” 

“You should help Aether,” Richter said. “She was not happy when I told her I could not heal.” 

“So I gathered,” Bluhen snickered. “Where will you go?”

“Back to Elsword,” he said. “I said I would wait for him.” 

Of course, Bluhen thought. Despite the cold front and being straight-faced, in the end, Richter had a soft spot for Rune. It must have been painful for Richter to see Rune siding with their El Search Party, which led to a misunderstanding and a chaotic fight that fractured their forces on both sides. Before Bluhen left to search for Aether, he was stopped by his counterpart. 

“What should I call you?’ Richter asked.

“Me?” The priest placed a finger over his lips, “call me Bluhen.”     

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

Author Notes: Now that the fighting is over, it’s time for obligatory everyone’s gotta talk to themselves (because this fic is 100% self-indulgent and I enjoy writing the two paths talking). Will third paths show up or will Paradox remain a sad cat? Yes. 

[archosaur-automaton]

Astro-Second Helpings, Episode 1: The Magnificent Six

As we promised so long ago, we will be reviewing Transformers as we acquire them and build our unstoppable army of Plastic Friends. Hence, I am pleased to announce the inaugural post for Astro-Second Helpings, the archosaur-automaton blog segment dedicated to reviewing Transformers toys as we buy them!  For Chanukkah 5780, or as it’s known elsewhere “December 22-30, 2019″ we’ll be reviewing our first ever Transformers acquisition: Six-Gun! (Technically Transmetal Optimal Optimus was our first acquisition as a young babby but that is a story for a different time). 

We acquired Six-Gun while doing errands at the local Target a few weeks ago and felt an irresistible urge to Buy Plastic, and a stroll through the toy aisle left our mouth watering. Overwhelmed with options, we chose the best-looking boy they had: this red-white-and-black little chap who needs a permit for *himself* before he’s allowed in the gun show! As our Transformers neophyte brain understands it, Six-Gun’s first (and only) cartoon appearance was in the G1 cartoon episode “Thief in the Night” and cannot be said to be a major character. Regardless of the canon involved, we’ve got cannons involved to review. We’ll be using a five-star rating system in six different categories, with an overall rating at the end. The categories are:  - Coloration - Overall Design - Quality of Manufacture - Loadout - Transformations - Transformability (how easy it is to transform) Our first stop is Coloration. Here’s a photo of Sixgun sitting on our desk. 

One of the things that most appealed to us just off the shelf was his color. That tasteful contrast of white and red,  with black accents: there’s something positively [chefkiss] about it all. However, as this Six-Gun is from the “Siege” subline, he has “cosmetic battle damage”, seen on his feet here. 

Since this battle damage is really only on his feet, it doesn’t really make sense to me to have it at all, so we definitely have to dock points for that. Coloration: 4.5/5 stars. Excellent overall but the ‘battle damage’ just doesn’t work.  Next up is Overall Body Design. As we can see here, Six-Gun’s head doesn’t have humanoid eyes or mouth.

As a Robo-Lover, this is a BIG plus. A human-looking face can be nice but sometimes you just want a head that screams “yup, that’s a Robot.” His shoulders are nice and big and sharp, a little like absurd WoW pauldrons, which is also a plus. His chest is beefy and has a built-in missile launcher and looks generally solid.  In the legs department, his calves are gorgeous but the overly skinny thighs leading to his bony hips are a little bit of a turn-off. It’s a bit of a Popeye the Sailor look, which only works if you’re actually Popeye.  There’s not much to complain about but I think there were ways in which they could have made him ‘pop’.  Overall Body Design: 4/5 Stars Quality of Manufacture is a little tricky on this boy. As I understand it, he is a “parts-former”, which means that he transforms via the detachment and reattachment of his various parts. This often, apparently, leads to things being too tight in some areas, too loose in others, in ways that a non-partsformer toy might not.  His legs come off pretty easily, which is sort of expected I guess but meh. Also, his feets are a little squirrely. 

The hinges on these are very loose and the feet in general just feel like an afterthought.  I don’t have much experience to judge, but for a partsformer I think he’s more or less okay.  Quality of Manufacture: 3.5 / 5 Now, we get into the good stuff. WEAPONS. And oh boy, this guy is literally ENTIRELY weapons. Like, did you not get the memo from the name??  Now, Six-Gun isn’t just an Autobot in and of himself: his constituent parts can be disassembled as part of the C.O.M.B.A.T system to provide armaments for other Transformers! The weapons he is composed of include: Two “MTX-M2 Anti-Gravity Cannons” (his legs)

One “MTX-S2A Missile Launcher” (his lower torso/hip section)

One “MTX-50 Dual-Flank Boost Launcher (the upper part of his torso)

Two “MTX-LR Ion Pulse Blasters” (his arms + black guns)

Two “W-5 Gyro Blasters” (the little red guns)

Here’s a shot of the tech spec / booklet explaining these parts and their apparent strength, accuracy, and range. 

Clearly, the MTX-S2A has the best of all three categories, so why would he ever use anything else? Well, as a loved one once said: “These are the two great lessons of the Transformers fandom: tech specs are bullshit, and Hasbro makes mistakes.” At any rate, this is an impressive loadout of weapons, not just for Six-Gun in his base form but for use in other toys. I especially like the Anti-Gravity Cannons; if you didn’t know any better, you’d never suspect they were someone’s legs! Loadout: 5/5 Stars (or alternately, six out of six guns) Next section is Transformability. This is about how easy it is to take the boy out of the package and turn him into his vehicle mode(s).  As a Partsformer, Sixgun is remarkably easy to transform. You just pop off his arms, flip down his red rocket launcher tubes, flip up the missile launchers on “dual pack boost launcher”, cover his face with his cockpit, pop the little white vehicle part into the other hole on the lower torso section, put the arms onto the sides, finagle his legs, and voila. A boy. You’ll see what that looks like in the next section. For now, I can safely say that I could transform this fellow in my sleep.  Transformability: 5/5  So now we get to Transformations. In his original incarnation, Six-Gun did not have an alt-mode, but for Siege he got one. And here it is.

As you can see, his arms have become some sort of twin hover/propulsion blades and his legs seem to be some sort of thruster jets. Slung underneath are the missile launchers and his Gyro Blasters are primed and at the ready. So he’s some sort of VTOL, right? WRONG. According to official Hasbro materials, The 5.5-inch Deluxe WFC-S22 Class AUTOBOT SIX-GUN WEAPONIZER figure stands at 5.5 inches in robot mode and converts into a CYBERTRONIAN tank. A tank. A tank. A TANK??? This futurespace hovering gunship looking thing is supposed to be a TANK??? Hwaet.  Meshugos aside, while there’s clearly something interesting happening here there isn’t enough for it to feel compelling. I like the cockpit and the ‘wings’ of the vehicle mode, along wit the missile launchers in the position they are, but the legs and the blocky underside just make it a sort of ‘meh’ design. I’m not sure how it could have been made better, given that he’s supposed to turn into guns for other boys, but...it just feels like an after-thought.  Transformations: 3/5  Wow, our first Astro-Second Helpings article! Or since it’s the inaugural article, would that make it the Astro-First Helpings? And then the next one would be the first Astro-Second Helpings article? You know, you probably could kill Blaine the Mono with a dumb puzzle like this.  To wrap up, Transformers Siege: War for Cybertron’s Six-Gun is a pretty looking boy who turns into a lot of shooty things for other Plastic Friends to use. He’s decently built, a little prone to things being a bit loose but overall okay. His vehicle mode, however, is lackluster both in execution and failing to resemble much of anything. Nonetheless, we were enormously happy to have him and he’ll always have a special place in our heart as the first Transformer we bought with our own money. (One day, we’ll get our actual first Transformer, Transmetal Optimal Optimus back, and avenge the five year old who had it stolen/broken by a malevolent stepsibling. One day). Mathematically, our overall rating for Six-Gun should be closer to 3.5/5 than 4, but we’re going to bump him up for sentimental reasons and because in his base form he does look pretty good.  Overall Rating: 4/5