#this is your sign to watch/read claymore right now

[gourde]

No but seriously why all the warriors in Claymore are women is both because they are easier to control due to less power hungry due to how they are raised in a misogynistic society but also it's a commentary on how women are changed, abused, and then tossed aside by the people who abused and changed them because they no longer have any use. They have self hatred drilled into them because it's easier to control them that way. In Those who Rend Asunder episode arc we have four warriors who are trouble makers. One is consistently defiant and is slowly coming out of her self-isolating mindset due to human connection (Clare), one of them is actively finding dirt on the association and learning of ulterior, world-shattering motivations (It is implied she knew it even then (Miria)), another is very care-free and actively helps other claymores see themselves as human and therefor less likely to be controlled (Helen), and the last one generally just causes problems and strife within the group (Deneve). These four are sent on a mission that they weren't expected to come back from. It doesn't matter how well they preform in battle, they are causing trouble and are influencing others to change and think for themselves. Also commentary on how women should act. Miria should stay in her lane and not snoop around and think for herself. She should simply follow orders and coordinate with her team, which is her strength. She should not step out of that box. Helen shouldn't be so loud and boisterous, and simply use her limb-stretching ability to the organizations benefit. She shouldn't bring other warriors up. She shouldn't connect with those around her. Focus on your job. Deneve shouldn't be so herself. She speaks her mind and is blunt, but women shouldn't do that. Stop causing problems and just keep to yourself. ALSO THE THING where people desire their bodies and see claymores as a sort of exotic find, until they see their scars. Unattractive, othering. Something to be sick by. Scars forced upon them by men, using them as experiments for some war.

I love Claymore I love women

#claymore #media analysis #i love analyzing media and themes this is my favourite thing to do #this is your sign to watch/read claymore right now

[beardrabbles]

rock solid bonds.       pt. two

characters: zhongli, female reader, gimel ( geo hypostasis )

warnings: none

word count: 2,520

notes: well, this took me too dang long to get to! got caught up writing other things, but i hope it was worth the wait. i’m fleshing out a plot for this along the way, and i’m hoping it makes sense in the end! but for now it’s just fluff. lottsa fluff and semi-slow burn. thank you for reading!! you’re a treasure.

Even if you hadn’t arrived at Wangsheng Funeral Parlor the night before and formally signed your name on the contract Zhongli had meticulously drawn out, you would have kept to your word and arrived at Gimel’s island the next morning as promised. You had little with you, since you were reminded with a rather stony voice that this was meant to be an exercise in understanding and not an opportunity for battle. All you had in your little bag was a tightly wrapped lunch, a book and another vial of the concoction you had brought the day before — just in case.

No weapons. No hostilities.

You felt odd keeping your hulking claymore out of sight, but it was for the best. You weren’t looking to actively sabotage yourself, after all, and the arrangement wasn’t an awful one. All Zhongli had asked of you was to be civil towards the hypostasis and to sincerely make up for the damage you had caused. No matter how unintentional it had been, you knew it was right thing to do.

“Gimel?” You had considered hiding behind one of the walls and calling out, but concealing yourself now seemed like a silly idea. Although, calling out the element’s name to the open air felt just as silly.

The ‘ arena ’ was empty, the domineering shadows of the surrounding outcroppings shifting away as the sun rose higher over the horizon. You couldn’t feel the usual vibrations through your feet, and that only added to your concern. Every hesitant step took you closer to the center of the circle that made up Gimel’s home.

Was it still afraid? Or had it fled knowing you would be visiting more frequently? You wondered if it were possible for it to take up residence elsewhere and if that would, somehow, spoil both of the contrats you had agreed to. Hot panic was on the verge of squeezing you hard around the chest when you heard a sign behind you.

Startled, you let out a little squawk and whipped around.

“Mr. Zhongli!” You were partially relieved to see him, partially irritated that he had approached so quietly. “I didn’t know you were there.”

“I apologize for the fright.” He sounded genuine, but the fact that his gaze was trained on the center of the circle didn’t elude you. “When did you arrive?”

“Not even five minutes ago.” You smiled sheepishly. “Had a rough morning, but I’m here.”

“I can see that.” A fleeting smirk flickered across his features before he pursed his lips and cast his eyes around the arena. “And our friend?”

“Hasn’t shown up.” You shifted uneasily but masked it as adjusting the shoulder straps of your pack. “Can’t really blame it.”

“Time and patience. Sincerity. The wounds you’ve left won’t be healed so soon.” Reminded your companion. You sighed and slipped your pack from your bag.

“I know. I just — I want this to go well.” You huffed and sat down heavily, pack beside you. When you looked up and found you were the only one seated, you patted at the ground beside you. Zhongli blinked once, processed the request, then came to join you. You weren’t sure why, but it was amusing watching a man so tall and proper folding his legs as he settled down. Yet he didn’t look the least bit out of place, his serene expression matching the gentle whisper of the wind. In the growing light of day, he seemed to glow, as if soaking in the blooming heat of the sun like light-starved soil and warming rocks.

“If that is your true desire, then I believe all will go according to plan.” He assured you. You were mesmerized for a moment — was that optimism or confidence? You couldn’t tell, but both were appreciated.

“You’re really sure?”

“I have been around for a long time, and I like to believe that I have become quite adept at reading people. Although.  .  .” He paused for a moment, lips turning down. You leaned in.

“Although?”

“Hu Tao says I can be quite oblivious at times.” Zhongli admitted. You snorted, drawing his attention.

“I wouldn’t have guessed it. Wait, Hu Tao. Isn’t she the director of the funeral parlor? Doesn’t that mean she’s your boss?” You asked. Zhongli nodded once, and you continued. “She doesn’t mind you slacking off and comin’ out here to see Gimel?”

“I am merely a consultant. My services are required only when they are needed. When I have no work to attend to, I tend to wander.”

You hummed and leaned back on your hands, eyes up towards the brightening sky. “Do you wander out here a lot?”

“I’ve found myself visiting Gimel more often as of late.” Zhongli said with a sideways glance. You frowned and refused to peek in his direction purely out of guilt. “I like to check on them every now and again, just to see if they’re recovering properly.”

“I didn’t think they needed to recover.” You grumbled.

“Our world is no different than our mortal forms,” started Zhongli, “it can and will hurt if people aren’t careful. We can leave wounds. Look around you — these islands are proof. Gimel is no exception. While it is acceptable to harvest from a hypostasis, harvesting too frequently can leave it permanently damaged. It needs time to rest, to regrow. Tell me, did you notice anything strange the last time you fought it?”

You thought back for a moment, trying to recall the last battle you engaged the hypostasis in. It had been two days ago, you remembered. It had rained heavily in the area, leaving the ground muddy, the stone slick and the sands clingy. It had been both a blessing as a curse, or you’d thought that then. Thinking back, you did think it strange that the basalt pillars it created weren’t as strong as usual. You wanted to blame the rain, but that had hardly been your first encounter with it in the middle of a drizzle.

 “I saw them crumbling. I thought it was the rain.” You finally answered.

“That is a logical assumption to make, but you are aware of the truth now.”

“Yeah, I am.” You slumped forward, elbows on your knees and chin held in your hands. “What about other people? What are we going to do if someone else comes here expecting to find Gimel?”

“We will give them the chance to change their mind.” Zhongli shut his eyes and took in a deep calming breath. “May I ask you something, Miss Y/N?”

“Sure. Go for it.” You shrugged and fell silent, allowing him the chance.

“Thank you. I hope I’m not being terribly invasive, but what were you doing before your contracts bound you?” The question was asked delicately, leaving you room to deny him an answer if it was one you were unwilling to give. And while it did surprise you, you weren’t sure that you had any reason not to answer.

“Honestly, nothing and everything. I didn’t have an actual job. I just sort of.  .  . did what people asked me to do. I ran errands, I lent a hand where it was needed, I’ve babysat.” You let out a small, bitter laugh. “Now I’m a servant for the damn——!”

You clamped your lips shut and shrank into yourself. Without looking, you knew Zhongli was staring sharply in your direction.

“For whom?”

“Does it matter?” You pulled your knees up and scowled into them. A moment quietly slid past, and you still felt his eyes on you. His piercing gaze bore a hole in the walls you had abruptly thrown up, and you found yourself squirming uncomfortably. “Fine, it’s the Treasure Hoarders.”

“I had ventured a guess, but I wanted to hear you say it.” Zhongli sighed through his nose. “Have they hurt you or your family?”

“No.” You shook your head. “Not yet.”

“You anticipate a change?” He wondered.

“I’ve never known them to be totally honest. They’re a small group with a dumb name, but they’re loyal to their leader. Well, both leaders. The guy in charge thinks that if he can get me to find all these treasures for him, he can present them to whoever’s above him in the ranks and get himself a lovely, safe position in the group.” You scoffed. Zhongli arched a brow.

“You seem to know an awful lot about this mans intentions.” He pursued carefully. At this, you allowed the barest hint of a simper appear.

“He’s an idiot. He talks loud because he thinks it makes him intimidating. It only makes him look like a moron when he tells everyone within hearing distance what his plans are.”

Zhongli couldn’t help but to chuckle. “Am I to assume he is.  .  . how have I heard it phrased before? Ah, right. All brawn and no brains.”

It was your turn to laugh now, but the sound was a surprise when it left you. Despite your first encounter with him being tense and awkward, you realized now just how at ease you were around him. He radiated peace and understanding, calmness and patience. Lately, those were all feelings you had seen a distinct lack of. Where the Treasure Hoarders were brusk and unforgiving, Zhongli aimed to educate and reshape.

You wouldn’t have assumed for a moment that you would find yourself casually talking to him after all that had happened the day before, but you were glad for it.

“He is.” But as you both fell into a comfortable silence, you began to grow curious about the man beside you. You didn’t want to shatter the quiet you two had created, but the realization that you wouldn’t have many days like this with him prompted you to turn towards him and devote all of your attention to him. “When did you meet Gimel?”

Zhongli was taken aback, and you couldn’t help but to wonder if he had become too comfortable simply sitting next to you. His amber eyes fluttered, then grew distant, as if peering at something in the far-flung distance.

“I don’t believe it’s an exaggeration to say I’ve known them my whole life.” He started. “I can’t seem to think of a time when I haven’t known them. The form has changed, but they’re still the same.”

“Sounds like you’ve always been connected. Guess that explains the Geo Vision.” You leaned back to glance at the crystal attached to his coat. He turned his head to look over his shoulder, but realized he couldn’t see it. Instead, he settled for admiring you and the way your eyes shone when you glimpsed his faux Vision.

“Do you have one?” He asked.

“No.” You sighed loudly and fell back, laying across the stone and resting your hands on your stomach. “Visionless! Not worthy. Haven’t done anything in my life that warrants the gods blessing me.”

“I don’t believe that.” Zhongli frowned, his stony expression marred momentarily by disapproval. “Lacking a Vision does not make a person unworthy.”

“But it does make the people that have one super special, right?”

“I.  .  .” Zhongli stopped, made a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat, then rerouted his thoughts. “You don’t believe you’re special?”

“Not at all. Do you?”

“Do I what? Believe I am special because I have a Vision, or do I believe that you are special?” His counter question was sudden and took you aback, like a sudden slap to the face. You gaped, and when you didn’t answer, he dared to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” You huffed.

“Your face. It turned the most interesting shade of red just then.” The smile he passed you was soft and kind with the faintest trace of amusement. You felt your cheeks burn hotter and quickly turned away to hide it, but it was too late. “Don’t be so quick to dismiss yourself. I sense potential in you.”

Your stomach knotted and your lungs were madly aflutter, all thanks to those words. Out of habit, you wanted to deny him, but the tender way he spoke was too reassuring not to latch onto.

“You’d be the first to.” You spared him a quick, embarrassed glance. “Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it. It costs nothing to build a person up.” He reminded. You frowned, but not out of unhappiness. There was now a solid, burning determination in your eyes that Zhongli barely glimpsed when you stood. “What are you up to?”

“You just said that it doesn’t cost anything to build a person up. It should be the same for elements, right?” You grinned broadly, then cupped your mouth with your hands. “Gimel! I don’t know if you can hear me, but if you can, I want you to know that I’ve always thought you were really amazing looking!”

You paused, suddenly feeling embarrassed. Looking down your shoulder, you found Zhongli nodding approvingly.

“You, uh.  .  . Actually, if I’m being honest, I’ve seen a few hypostasis! I’ve seen the ones in Mondstadt, and the one in Dragonspine! You were always the one I was the most excited to see, even if it was to come fight you. You’ve been the toughest too. And I’m sorry!” You enthusiastic shouting was met with silence, but you thought for a moment that you felt the ground beginning to vibrate again.

As quickly as the sensation came, it left again, leaving the bottoms of your feet feeling numb. Had the hypostasis acknowledged you, or had you mistaken your quickly beating heart and rushing blood for the thrum of an elemental life force?

Your shoulders drooped, and your chest felt heavy.

“Don’t lose hope. I think what you said was lovely.” Zhongli encouraged. You sat down again and dragged your pack forward, drawstrings loosened.

“Thanks. I know you’re right. I know it’s going to take more than just saying nice things to fix what I did, but I’m going to do it. Even if we hadn’t made that contract, I’d be here.” You pulled out the lunch you had brought with you and carefully unwrapped it. “But all that shouting made me hungry, and we’ll be here for a little while longer. You want some? I made it myself.”

Zhongli made to shake his head, but you gave him a stern glare before he could.

“Don’t even. You need to eat too, you know.” You portioned out your food, placed it in his hand, then giddily began to scarf down your half. Zhongli felt an odd stirring in his chest as he glanced down at the food you’d prepared. You misunderstood the sudden admiration and gratitude for hesitation, so you nudged him gently. “I’m not the best cook in the world, but I’m not bad either! Trust me, it’s decent.”

“It smells wonderful.” Zhongli bowed his head. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it! Quick, eat it up before it gets cold.” You paused your chewed and pocketed the bite in your cheek. “I can bring something tomorrow too if you end up liking that. Sound good?”

Zhongli nodded, and the feeling in his chest grew more agitated. “I look forward to it.”

#zhongli x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #s: rock solid bonds #( these are all going to be silly dumb things until things happen ) #( chucks this and rUNS )

[is-nini]

Under the moonlight

Diluc x reader

(a sprinkle of spoiler from darknight hero questt)

You and aether run as. Fast as you both could while paimon us flying as fast as she could. Currently its 18:59, the darknight hero will appear soon and you both doesn't wanna missed him.

When you both arrived, Diluc is already there you both watched him attack the mage as you both are entrance by his fighting style.

He looked at the both of you from the corner of his eyes, upon seeing you he widen his eyes a bit but quickly regain his composure.

He turn his whole body towards the both of you and stare at you for a while. He closed his eyes and fold his hand over eachother and then stare back at the both of you.

"Ah.. so it's you master Diluc, Y-you're the darknight hero..".

Aether stated a little hesitation in the end. You looked at Diluc and wave at him.

"hello master diluc! You're the darknight hero??? That's veryy cool!".

You stated for a while and then bow your body a little as a sign of respect.

"thankyou for protecting mondstat!".

Aether looks at you, deadpan. You can never really learn the situation huh.. showing respect and not seemingly surprised.. you even show excitement.

And that's one of the things that Diluc like about you. Always straight to the point and always so polite and sweet.

"take care of these enemy for me traveler, please follow me y/n".

He stated after having a little conversation with Aether. Now you're shocked, why would he ask you to follow him. You hesitate but there's something about his gaze that makes you comfortable to tell him everything. As if he is asking you too.

Taking all your guts you put one of your hand on your chest, clenching your outfits.

"s-sorry master Diluc.. i will stay here and help Aether fight".

He stare at you for a while and then sigh a little bit. Seeing him sigh you instantly regret your decision, you're preparing yourself to be heartbroken when he leaves but.

"i have more important things to do and your a part of that things. Traveler can fend for himself. Right traveler?".

He asked, staring at the traveler, expecting him to say yes and nod.

"go y/n as master Diluc said, you're one of the important "things" for him... You should go".

Aether said, giggling a little bit. He saw how Diluc looks at you, he saw the worried face on Diluc face whenever you go out doing commission with him and now Diluc just confirms that you are infact very important for him.

"come follow me".

Diluc said, stretching his hand out. You take his hand with hesitation and look at Aether, he is waving you goodbye with a smile on his face the expression in his face confirms that everything will be okay and so you smile and wave back as you slowly follows diluc's footsteps.

"paimon thinks that master Diluc is in love with y/n". Paimon said after the both of you are gone.

"you see that too right paimon? I think so too". Aether said, giggling at the end.

You walked hand in hand with Diluc through mondstat. He keeps looking down at you to check are you okay or not. The akward silence is killing him so he clear his throat, catching your attention.

"please becareful, recently i heard there will be a big storm of danger wave to mondstat".

He stated, you looked at him with a smile and blush. You nod your head.

"ye-yes! Thankyou master Diluc".

He nod and squeeze your hand more as your face erupts in a shade of redder shade instantly you looked at him.

His so dreamy.. everything about him- his jaws his face, his hair-. Your thoughts are cut off when you hear him say something.

"you can stay with me if you'd like.. you won't be a bother.. you can accompany me if you'd like".

He said, facing away from you, you stare at him wide eye as you're loss for words. You have more and you're pretty good, you don't really have a place to stay because... Well you're always going on adventures with Aether so this... Is surprisingly nice.

You smile up at him, stroking his hand, trying to soothe him.

"i would live to accompany master Diluc. It would be such a Great honour!".

You stated, he looks at you, surprise is present on his face. You stare at him back, not even noticing that you both stopped on your track to look at eachother under the moonlight.

Diluc felt comfort. He felt happiness with you, he felt like you're his world and he wanted to protect you, whenever you're hurt his heart will shatter that's why he wanted to be with you,. To make you happy. To Protect you.

"is this what people called love?".

Whops.. he accidentally think out loud, which is rare, your face erupts in shades of red along with him.

"pa-pardon?!".

You kind of shriek he looks at you after taking a deep breath.

"i think I'm in love with you".

He said it again- your heart is broken, it has exploded, he likes you back! Never.. in your life you would think that-.

"i-i- wa- what? Wait uhm-".

You wanted to facepalm so bad because of the words you spit out is a bunch of jumbled words. Diluc's eyes darkened a bit.

"it's okay if you don't feel the same way-". He said.

"NO!". You cut him off.

"i-its not like that- i.. i never thought that you would like.. me back-".

You explained to him, Diluc takes all the courage in the world and grab your waist and kissed your lips.

Your lips taste so sweet,. So soft.. he cannot have enough of it, it's so nice and warm.. he wanted more.. he doesn't wanna stop..

Diluc pulled away, and let you take a breath,. Your hand is clutching his shoulder as you pant and looked at his eye. He takes your chin and peck your lips one more time.

"is that a yes?".

He asked, you just nod your head, not trusting your voice, he let out a relief sigh as he stroke your head and kiss you deeply, with passion again.

You hug his neck and kiss him back, pulling away to take a breath for a second and then kiss him again, softer this time.

Diluc smile on your lips as he pulled away, gaving a time for both of you to catch some air again. You look up at him as he touched his Forehead with yours and peck it.

"you're mine okay, you will live with me from now on".

He stated, you nod your head at him and hug him. He peck your lips once again and then brings you to the manor.

~~~~~

"anddddd that's how i meet my prince!".

You stated with a smile, you're talking to the kids on mondstat, you read them a princess story once and now they're wondering how you meet your prince and You gladly explained to them while they're looking at you with amazement while sitting on top if the grass near the statue of seven.

"SEEE miss y/n is like a princess! Her prince would be mr Diluc! He looks like a prince".

One of the kids said, making you laugh and shake your head.

"ah! Y/n! Thankyou for taking care of my kids okay? Sorry.. they're a bunch of trouble's..".

Their mother comes towards you as you smile and shake your head as you giggle.

"no ma'am, you have such a sweet kids".

She smile back at you greatfuly as she sigh and hold her head.

"ah.. you're too kind.. tell your fiancé i said hi okay".

She said as she walks away, you nod your head as you said your goodbyes. A footsteps was heard from behind you.

"princess y/n ragnvindr huh.. that suits you".

A red haired man comes from behind you and kissed you cheek.

"it sounds perfect doesn't it? Those kids is so nice".

Diluc smile at you, the same pretty smile that he gave you 6 years ago when you both first meet.

"yeah.. those kids are nice,but we would make a better kids right?".

He said, taking you up and sitting beside you and put you on his lap. He pepper you face with kisses, thinking that there is no one here.

"didn't think that Master Diluc likes PDA".

A teasing voice comes along, snapping both of your sweet moments.

"shut uppp tone deaf bard, paimon was enjoying the showwww".

Paimon whine while Aether apologize to stalk the both of you, you shake your head and flash them a bright smile, your Fiancée on the other hand has summon his claymore.

"you're looking for death".

Paimon and Venti squeal and run away while Diluc summon his fire bird to chase them. Aether laugh along side you as Paimon and Venti apologize thousands upon thousands of time.

The future will not be as pretty compared to now.. the fight that mondstat face will be hard on the future but.. as long as Diluc is here with you, you'll be fine.

#diluc x y/n #diluc x reader #diluc x you #genshin fanfiction #genshin diluc #genshin fanfic

[sonicringbond]

Sonic Ring Bond: The Journey - Scene 46

Finally here, the last scene of the Snowflake story. Was it any good? Did everyone like it? I hope so.

I started it off with such high aspirations and wanted to try and practice better with story structure, but I worry my need to world build and plot out mysteries to follow may have backfired. But everyone can let me know what you think after reading...

    To everyone’s surprise, Mote flew out from Draw’s coat and made a beeline for the red suit of armor. Or more accurately, red autogolem.

    With the yellow fairy presenting itself before it, the autogolem stopped and looked at it with a red glowing eye from within a tiny head that resembled something like an eagle beaked snake.

    “You…,” the autogolem spoke in a chill, metallic voice.

    “Mote!” Draw shouted after the fairy and the autogolem looked up at the group arriving at the giant crystal rose.

    “Or perhaps I am mistaken. This group seems unlikely to be one I would affiliate with you.”

    Rising to its full height, achieved by standing on the toes of its long, curved feet like appendages, the autogolem towered over Rosy and her friends at a meter and half in height. It appeared massively taller than it was though due to the tininess of its head. From each of its minute shoulder pads, an oar head-like piece of metal rose well past it head and furthered the autogolem’s illusion of height.

    “A Ring Mage, and a Yoluku Device. Truly you would not keep such company. Unless things have changed during my slumber.”

    Looking down at the fairy that glared up at it, the autogolem silently pondered its situation. Then it spoke two words that surprised Soinc. “Time Break.”

    Before anyone could react, the autogolem stood before Sonic, a saber in its right hand leveled under Sonic’s chin. Yet it was Sonic who spoke first, and with no sign of concern.

    “Now that’s a nifty little trick I haven’t seen in a while.”

    “Then you are familiar with the arts.”

    “Maybe a little,” Sonic confirmed, lifting his hand, and just barely not touching his pointer finger and thumb together in demonstration. But his playfulness did not linger, and a more serious demeanor settled on him. “Though I’m not fond of having a sword leveled at me either. Looking at you, I’d guess it normally isn’t your style.”

    So close now, it was easy to make out the clockwork workings beneath the autogolem’s delicate exterior. It reminded Sonic of something he’d seen once, and he smirked as he sought to confirm his guess.

    “You’re a knight, right? Like that Claymore the Purple guy? Last time I checked, knights don’t level their swords at the unarmed.”

    “Then Claymore is also woken. And you know him, mage?”

    “No. And I’m no mage. The name’s Sonic, Sonic the Hedgehog.”

    “I see. I am Saber. Saber the Red. A Sword Knight. My apologies, Sonic the       Hedgehog, but I have reasons of my own to be wary, woken from my sleep as I am.”

    Turning away from the group, Saber sheathed his sword into one of his shoulder pads, revealing the nature of their design. With the threat seemingly past, the group started to talk among each other. Except for Rosy who stepped after the autogolem.

    “Hey! What’s the big idea pointing a sword at Sonic!”

    “A medium, and marked by Yoluku,” Saber remarked and looked back over his shoulder. Rosy noticed he avoided direct eye contact, but she let him talk as she puffed up her cheeks. “Curious. What is it that Yoluku is playing at now?”

    “So, you know what Yolk is?” Rosy asked, her mispronunciation getting the autogolem to turn around.

    “You have been made Yoluku’s medium and cannot even…,” The limit of the autogolem’s range of emotions was yet unclear, but it trailed off and began to make a sound very much like laughter. “Hmhmhmhmhm…”

    “Hey! Don’t laugh at me!”

    “Let it go kid,” Sonic interrupted Rosy and put an arm between her and the autogolem. “We got what we came for and Mighty is looking pretty tired lugging that radio around everywhere.”

    “It’s really nothing at all–”

    “Play along would you Mighty,” Sonic held a hand up and whispered back at Mighty.

    “There is little reason to hide your intentions, mage,” Saber responded to Sonic’s attempts to cease engaging the autogolem. Seemingly unbothered and perhaps even amused, he resumed walking away from the group. “All of you, even the medium, are ignorant to what is going on. It is an amusing game that Yoluku plays at.

    “But I must know, medium,” Saber, paused and shifted his attention back to Rosy. “Inept as you appear–”

    “Hey!”

    “–Yoluku must have sent you for a reason. I would request you tell me.”

    “I don’t know. The cards weren’t clear, and it made you sound like a gift or something. I wasn’t expecting another talking golem.”

    “Another,” Saber asked eying the group suspiciously. “Curious that you did not mention Claymore. But I have little time if Yoluku has called for me. If we are to continue this exchange of knowledge, it is best we meet away from the hollows of this fading snowflake.”

    Advancing on the crystal rose that he had been stationary at before, Saber again drew his sword, and with a single motion split the massive rose in two.

    “What are you doing!” Rosy shouted out in surprise, but any answers forth coming were cut off by a sudden sneeze from Sonic.

    Rubbing his nose, Sonic made to run. “Time to go everyone!”

    ~I wasn’t expecting to suddenly have to leave. It’s a good thing everyone else could keep up. There wasn’t much reason for it that we could come up with for why everyone was possessed of speed matching Sonic’s, well except for Draw who had made a Ring Bond with Mote. But even the autogolem, Saber, seemed to have Sonic’s speed, or maybe was even faster.

    ~I’m sure Sonic would disagree. But, as the entire floating city began to collapse after Saber destroyed the crystal rose and we made it back to Blister’s airship, he was already waiting for us.~

    “So, it was by airship that you arrived. Curious, considering you are with a Ring Mage.”

    “I’d really appreciate it if you got off my ship,” Blister insisted. “I can’t even use my own autogolems with this golem hunter here.”

    Looking at Draw, Blister gave him an exasperated look and irritated the koala. Rosy gave Saber reason to pay attention to her however and asked him a question while the mouse and koala argued.

    “I don’t know how you got here ahead of us, but I’m glad you did so I can ask you what’s going on and why you destroyed that crystal rose? Is the whole city going to fall apart? What about the seed people?””

    “I figured a naïve medium such as yourself still had questions for me, but it was best to speak under Yoluku’s gaze.”

    “I don’t care about that creepy little planet up there, unless this Gear Star Ring in my eye is because of it!”

    “You fail to pronounce Yoluku and come up with your own names for the Yoluku Device. I am amused. But the Ring Mage with you surely must know the nature of the Yoluku Device.”

    “I already told you, I’m not a mage,” Sonic interjected on his own behalf. “But if you know something…”

    “It is best to let you play Yoluku’s game,” Saber laughed and leapt up with a burst of fire well above the ship. With a spin the autogolem’s arms transformed into a pair of wings and it flew off into the distant stormy clouds through which Yoluku watched them all.

    ~I don’t know what I expected when we went to that weird city in the sky. We were just looking for a Ring Radio for Blister, and maybe so we could get a better connection with Tails. I never expected to find Gill and Mighty. Or to see those weird seed people ghosts. And that knight, he was as weird as the city was creepy. And we didn’t even really talk. He woke up and left. Well, not without breaking what I think was holding the city together.

    ~As Blister’s ship pulled away into the clouds itself, the whole city crumbled away into dust. It was like a melting snowflake, just like Saber said it was, and only the Ring Radio we came seeking remained to prove we had this little adventure. And maybe that weird knight autogolem, wherever he flew off to.

    ~Just who were you? It would have been nice and so much less anticlimactic if we could have talked more…~

-|-

    In the city of Tower Point, Claymore the Purple stood watching Yoluku in the sky above the observatories that tipped a great deal of the towers from which the city earned its name. His arms were crossed, but he was sure he saw it, even as the red lightning bolt crack that arced across the sky from horizon to horizon surely obscured it.

    “So, you’ve woken then as well, traitor,” Claymore spoke to the sky at large. “Then perhaps it is time I seek out the rest of the order. Ho! It will be good to see them all after so long. Perhaps I can even find them all before the banquet.

    “No matter. As before, we will win Yoluku’s game and not let the seal fall.”

Scene 46 · CLEARED Snowflake, End

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So, that’s a wrap on Snowflake. It was a mystery at the start, and a lost mystery at the end. there were perhaps answers to everyone’s questions within, but new and seeming traitor of a Sword Knight, Saber the Red flew away. I wonder if this story really reached a climax, or if it just feels like the next stepping stone in the Journey. Regardless, as long as everyone enjoyed and is looking forward to what comes next, I’ll be happy! Thank you everyone!

-----

Special Thanks to Cutegirlmayra Story by @JoshTarwater/SonicFanJ Inspiring Song – Your Friendly Neighborhood Assassin ♥ – Tadayoshi Makino – FINAL FANTASY XV Original Soundtrack (Volume 2【2/2】)

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Sonic the Hedgehog and all affiliated characters and logos are the express property and Copyright© of SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS used without permission under Title 17 U.S.C Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976 in which allowance is made for “fair use” for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, and research. “Fair use” is use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be considered copyright infringement. The Sonic Ring Bond: The Journey alternate universe (AU) consumer written work of fiction is a non-profit transformative work primarily for personal use and can and will be taken down without warning or prior notice at the request of the copyright holder(s) should it not be recognized under “fair use”.

*Sonic Ring Bond logo created by DEE Art – twitter.com/daryliscute.

Sonic Ring Bond AU and Sonic Ring Bond: The Journey are the creation of Joshua David Tarwater/ynymbus/sonicfanj/@Joshtarwater and is to be, including all contents herein considered for all legal purposes the property of the Sonic the Hedgehog intellectual property (IP) and copyright owners, SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS. All story contributors via prompt, suggestion, written scene, art, and all and every other contribution acknowledge that all contributed material is forfeit for legal purposes to SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS upon official request from SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS.

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic fan fiction #sonic au #sonic au series #sonic ring bond #the journey #classic amy #amy rose #rosy the rascal #au amy #amy redesign #mighty the armadillo #sonic oc #patch #draw the koala #mote the fairy #blister the mouse #saber the red #claymore the purple

[lo-55]

Shattered Chains of Fate Ch. 2

Through a misunderstanding and a poorly read application, Ichigo Kurosaki gets a chance internship at the Chaldeas Security Organization. It changes everything. 

 May. It’s May already, and Ichigo has made it approximately a month and a half without getting himself into some batshit insane situation where he almost dies.

 Then Rukia Kuchiki comes along and all of a sudden he’s not a wizard he’d a fucking Shinigami. Which is cool, and a lot easier if he’s being honest, and the world itself isn’t at stake this time so.

 Cool. Cool cool cool.    

 It does mean that Rukia, stubborn and snappish and almost as brash as he was, will be sleeping in his closet for the foreseeable future.

 At fifteen Ichigo would have flipped out about it. At eighteen he’s spent months at a time bunking down with Mash and whatever other servants there were. Everyone from Asterios to Medusa to Shirou Amakusa Tokisada, crammed together in a tent or settled around campfires.

 So he snatches his sisters pajamas and lends them to her and their life begins.

 And it would be fine, really, he doesn’t mind fighting. He likes fighting by himself than having to rely on the others to do it for him. It eases the bitterness of weakness that’s been festering in his heart for years. So it would be      fine, really    , if it weren’t for the fact that all of these hollows that he’s fighting have started to target his friends, too. They’re not even safe at school.

 Orihime was attacked by her own brother and it makes him sick. How could someone attack their own sister? Even warped and twisted?

 It was worse than Mordred and Artoria. At least they had always had a strained relationship, but Orihime’s brother had      loved    her.

 He sat with her after the fact, his hand on her shoulder while he slept against his leg. Rukia had erased her memory, and his families too. He didn’t like it.

 “Everyone has the right to choose their life. And to remember themselves,” he told her solemnly. “It’s how humans grow and change. It’s how we get stronger. These bonds that we make with other people, and even the ones that we break…”

 Rukie eyed him speculatively. “I never would have pegged you for a philosopher, Ichigo.”

 “I’m not.” But he’s got his ideals, and Ichigo is unbending. War has tempered his spine from bone to steel. Idly, he braids a long strand of Orihime’s hair while Rukia is busy changing Tatsuki’s memories. Maybe it will be easier for them not to remember this, but Ichigo will not take back what he said.

 So many friends have forgotten him, so many have never met him to begin with and only his memories live on of their time together. He really hates this…

 But Rukia is his guide in this case, and there’s nothing he can do for now. “This is how it has to be, Ichigo. There is no other choice,” she says firmly, like it’s an absolute truth.  “This is the life of a shinigami.”

 Ichigo lets Orihime’s hair fall into place and lays her on the floor before he stands and turns to Rukia.

 “      Chacun voit midi à sa porte,”    he says it mostly to himself, but it bewilders Rukia.

 “What?”

 “It’s nothing,” he shakes his head. “Let’s go.

 *

 Ichigo has never been out of the country before he’d signed up for an internship at Chaldea. It was supposed to be two weeks studying with the security organization, and the poster at the bus station by his house hadn’t said anything about mages, or time travel, or masters or servents. Di Vinci tells him later that its spelled so only mages or people with potential to be mages can even see it.

 He shouldn’t have seen it to begin with, totally untrained as he was, but somehow he did. Because he did have magic circuits, even if they weren’t used often or much. So hed loaded onto a plane with a half a dozen other master candidates from all around japan. His dad had agreed, all to easily. And now he stood in a breakroom with Romani and Mash, and Medusa and Cu and Olga Marie all standing around him.

 “I don’t get it,” Medusa says, eying the phantom speculatively. “If she’s dead, how is she here?”

 Ichigo shrugs. “ I have no clue. I’ve always been able to see ghosts but I don’t know anything about them.”

 “H-hey what do you mean by that?” Roman asks, turning towards him. “You can see dead people?!”

 “Well, yeah,” Ichigo sort of shrugs. “That’s not the weirdest thing happening here, ya know.”

 Roman can’t really argue with that.

 “Isn’t it obvious?” Olga Marie crosses her arms over her chest, looking down at the two gingers in front of her. Ichigo, sat on a couch, and Roman next to him. They both look at her, clueless until she rolls her eyes in aggravation.

 “It’s just like what happened with Mash. When the bomb exploded and I-” she falters, her yellow eyes darting around before she gets herself under control. “After the explosion, I found the two of them. At the same time Mash formed her contract with him, I must have done something similar. There’s two types of energy,” she goes on. “The energy of the physical world, Mana, and the energy of the soul. Reitsu. Just as Caster, Rider, and Mash are drawing on his Mana as servants, I am now bound to his Reitsu as a soul-based familiar.”

 “Such a thing is unprecedented,” Roman argued, looking somewhere between stunned and frightened. They were all standing on that blade right now. The world had ended and they, a group nowhere near qualified to save it, were now in charge of stopping it.

 “Ah, nae as much as you’d think,” Cu said, his voice lilting and accented. “My teacher, Scáthach, she ‘ad shades an’ such.”

 “The queen of the shadow lands?” Mash clarified, which meant nothing at all to Ichigo. Cu nodded. “It would make sense for her to have such things…”

 “Ah, does that make the director Ichigo’s servant now too?” Roman asked.

 Olga Marie bristled. “I’m no ones servant! I’m still the director here so you better show me proper respect!”

 Ichigo couldn’t help snickering at her. “Man, you’re so full of yourself.”

 “What did you just say?!”

 “Are you dead and deaf? I said you’re full of yourself,” he grabbed her cheek and pulled it until she shrieked and lashed out at him, beating her fists against his chest. Mash did her best to cover her laughter in the background, hands over her mouth.

 “Even still,” Roman stepped between them, carefully extracting Ichigo from Olga Marie’s fury, “This doesn’t explain everything. When someone ray shifts, it’s their spirit that manifests in the location, while their physical body stays in chaldea. So how can two different energies both manifest like that? I don’t understand…”

 Olga Marie puffed her cheeks out. “The answer to that is much more technical. Even though it’s the spirit that is sent back it's still a physical body that a mage has when they interact with the time period around them. It is… a reversal of the third magic, so to speak. The opposite and the twin of Heaven’s Feel, it is your spirit and your soul and your life, but your body is left behind while Ray Shifting.”

 This must have made sense to Roman, but Ichigo was, to put it mildly, completely lost.

 “What’s the third magic, what’s ‘heavens feel’, and what’s ray shifting?” Ichigo asked. Olga Marie face planted, and started cursing his very existence.

 * *

 “I must say, I didn’t expect you to be this good with a sword already,” Rukia admits, watching Ichigo snap the practice sword around, knocking aside each tennis ball she sends shooting at him through the pitching machine.

 Ichigo stands, light on his feet with a sword roughly the size of a claymore. It was heavy and the reach was long but awkward. He’s used to holding broad swords, mimicries of clarent and excalibur while his Saber’s try to beat their lessons between his ears. It feels strange to hold something so long and so heavy. More than that, it feels like something is missing. Like the sword is a couple inches too short, like it doesn’t fit his hands quite right.

 He has to remind himself that it isn’t his sword at all. This power is Rukia’s, not his own. Was this how Mash felt, their whole time together? Borrowing another person’s power to boost your own. It made his skin crawl minutely.

 “I've been in a few fights,” Ichigo says, looking towards her with a shrug of his shoulder. “I’ve got friends who are in the kendo club.” He works mostly off of instinct. He always has, and it hasn’t failed him yet. He blocks each tennis ball, and those he can’t block he dodges swiftly, until Rukia finally calls it a day.

 “You should get some rest while you can,” she advises. “We’ll be out tonight hunting hollows, no doubt, and you still have school work to do, don’t you?”

 “Well yeah, but school feels so unimportant now…” It has since he’d gotten back. What was a test in the face of someone trying to blow up the whole of human history?

 Rukia smacks him hard over the head, until he yelps in offense.

 “Hey!” He rubbed the bump on his head, glaring balefully at the short shinigami. Rukia is, of course, utterly unaffected by it.

 “School is important! You have a life to get back to after I get my powers back, and you need your grades to do it!”

 “Geez, you’re so rough… And fine,  but you’re gonna help me study for friday. You have to take tests too.”

 Rukia looks startled, but she nods all the same, and they walk home together. Ichigo considers telling his dad what’s happening. There’s a strange girl in the house, and Ichigo is putting himself in pretty serious danger lately, but it barely makes a difference if he does. What will Isshin even do? He can not stop them from fighting, and he cannot help them in this fight. He can’t even see spirits.

 These kind of things, he understood, were hereditary. Being a medium, and being a mage both were things that were handed down from parent to child, though they were kept largely separate. Mages dealt in living energy, and usually had little to no spirit energy, and vice versa. He could see spirits, and so could Karin, and even Yuzu could sense their presence from time to time. Yet despite all three children being sensitive to the supernatural, Isshin had no idea.

 Which meant, more likely than not, his mom had been able to see them too.

 She’d never said anything about it, but Ichigo had been so young, where would she even start?

 And now, there was no way for them to find out. Ichigo has questions, but no one has answers.

 “What are you thinking of?”

 He startles, looking down at Rukia. He’d been so caught up in his own thoughts, he’d almost missed the house entirely.

 “I was thinking about my mom,” he admitted. “I was wondering if she could see ghosts like me and Karin can.”

 “Your mother?” Rukia repeated. She touched her chin in thought. “I suppose it’s not unheard of. There used to be quite a few humans who could see spirits. Some could even utilize enough reiryoku to actually combat hollows. But those died out some time ago.”

 “Oh yeah?” Ichigo leads her inside. His sisters were out somewhere, and his dad was upstairs in his room, down the hall from Ichigo’s. They jog up the stairs together, Ichigo’s back thumping hard against his back.

 “Yes. They were called Quincy. They could manifest reitsu into weapons to battle hollows with. But unlike shinigami, they didn’t purify the souls. They destroyed them.”

 “Thats kind of fucked up.”

   * * *  

 Ichigo still can’t tell if he’s here as a spirit or as a physical body, but it’s his living energy, his mana, that Mash is feeding off of when they start their first fight with the locals in domremy. They’re only human, so Ichigo fights too, and runs at Mash’s side when they chase the French soldiers back to their fort.

 It’s there that the monsters attack and Ichigo gets his very first look at a saint.

 She’s barely older than he is, fierce and terrible and humble all at once. She leads with utmost confidence and does not falter, even in the face of terrible odds. She’s… weak, for a servant. Far too weak.

 There is something very wrong with france.

 Ichigo is broken from his thoughts by Roman coming over his wrist communicator.

 “All right, fine job everyone! I was watching with sweaty palms and sweets in my hand! The director is tending to other matters right now, so I’m in the command chair again!”

 “Doctor,” Mash began, looking towards his hologram. “Those were the sweets that I got, right?”

 “Huh? What? ls that right? I found them in the Command Room next to the tea, so I thought…”

 “...I got them as a token of gratitude, for when we return from this Order,” Mash was actually starting to look irritated for the first time since they’d met.  “  Needless to say, they weren't for you, but for Senpai, who no doubt fought bravely on the frontlines!”

 “Mash... you've become such a thoughtful person!” Roman smiled proudly at her and, shamelessly, shoved the rest of the candy into his mouth. “I must say, these are some really tasty sweets. I'm sure Ichigo will be thrilled, too!”

Mash turns towards Ichigo, her mouth drawn in a line. “...Master. When we return to Chaldea, please reserve enough combat resources for one attack. I've registered one more enemy that I'd like to hit with the "back of my blade.".” Which was apparently something a shield had.

 “You’re more violent than I thought you were…”

 Then someone was screaming a ‘dragon witch’, and they retreated again, to the forests outside of vaucouleurs. It takes a while to get their bearings, but Ichigo understands. There’s two Jeanne d’arc’s. The saint that stands before them and a witch that is trying to destroy france. That’s what’s causing the world to fall apart here. So that’s who they have to stop. Only…

 She’s about a hundred times stronger than they are, and she has an army of dragons, and dragon themed servants with her. By the end of the second day Ichigo finds himself with a saint, a queen, a musician, a pop star, and a dragon all following him around like puppies.

 At night he finds himself sitting by the fire, with Jeanne, Ruler, sitting across from him. Kiyohime, a princess out of a story he’d read ages ago is curled up on his lap like a cat instead of a dragon. Her horn pokes at his hip irritatingly, and on his other side Mash has fallen asleep as well.

 He should be more worried about the fact that she’s somehow convinced herself that he’d Anchin, considering the fact that she burned him alive in a bell tower, but thus far all she’s really done is hold onto him a little too tight.

 Jeanne is looking at him too. There’s something about her, a charisma that makes Ichigo want to follow her off a cliff. And he probably would, if he wasn’t so damn stubborn himself.

 “Yeah?” he asks, breaking the silence. “What, is there something on my face?”

 “Oh!” Jeanne turns away, shaking her head. Her strange headpiece glints read in the firelight. “No, it’s only that you seem very close to her.”

 “Who, Kiyo? We just met. She’s the one that latched onto me.”

 “No, not her. Mash.”

 Ichigo looks again at the girl sleeping on his other side. She looks older as a demi-servant, someone halfway possessed by a heroic spirit, but her face is the same. She’s still filled with wonder and innocence.

 “Oh yeah. Well, I’ve got two little sisters at home. Mash reminds me of the youngest one. Yuzu. They even have the same hairstyle…”

 “That explains it, then,” Jeanne’s smile is soft. “I’m the youngest. I had three brothes, and my sister as well. I imagine they’re still in Domremy. Although my two oldest brothers came to fight under my flag, so they might be travelling still.”

 Ichigo tried to think of that. Tried to think of letting anyone in his family get even close to a battlefield and found himself shaking his head. “I couldn't do that. I want to protect my sisters. I wouldn’t be able to put them in danger.”

 Jeanne peered at him over the fire, her smile still somehow serene. It must have to do with being a saint.

 “I wished to protect them too, of course. They are my brothers, and war is a bloody, gruesome hell to walk into. But sometimes we must have faith. In the Lord to guide us, and in the people around us to stand at our sides and watch over us.”

 “Didn’t your people, ya know, burn you alive?”

 “Yes,” she allows, tilting her head towards the sky. “But still… I hold them no ill will.”

 Ichigo decides, then and there, that Saints must be insane.

 The first person they lose, the first person he loses in these wars, is Marie Antoinette. She dies to protect him, and the stinging, bitter taste almost makes him claw out his tongue.

   * * * *  

 “Do you know where you are?”

 Soft fingers run through his hair. Something tickles his nose and he’s assaulted by the smell of roses and daffodils.

 “I’m in a dream,” Ichigo says, huffing irritably. His eyes open slowly, and he finds a deceptively soft smile hovering above him. Ichigo would believe it, if he didn’t know him better. As it is, he tugs at a long strand of off-white hair that falls across the man’s shoulder.

 “Ouch. You’re right, this is a dream. However did you guess? I thought it was a rather good one…”

 Ichigo rolls his eyes at the Caster. He can see his staff, wrapped in ribbons, stuck into the earth beside them. This man was always dramatic.

 “There’s nowhere else I would see you, now is there?” He sits up slowly. His companion doesn’t move back, and in a minute they’re hip to hip, facing eachother.

 “Ah, That is true. You never know, I am a rather famous mage. Mayhaps I teleported you here for my own amusement.”

 “That does sound like you,” Ichigo allows. He paused, squinting. “Did you just say ‘mayhaps’?”

 “You don’t like it? I thought it was eloquent.”

 “Stop acting so weird,” Ichigo scolded, knocking their heads together lightly. “It hasn’t been that long since I’ve seen you.”

 “On the contrary, it's been over 4,500 years.”

 “You never change,” Ichigo rolls his eyes, and his visitor smiles, soft and fake.

 “Perhaps I don’t. One of the aspects of immortality is that people tend to stay the same, you know,” he teases.

 “I don’t, but I guess I’ll take your word for it,” Ichigo figures it’s easier than trying to fully puzzle out the man. He’s always been bewildering, ‘beyond human comprehension’ or something. Ichigo isn’t totally human anymore now. He sits, dressed in black next to his companion cloaked in white.

 “I thought you were supposed to disappear from my memory,” Ichigo says abruptly. He’s not sure what kind of explanation he’s looking for.

 A shrug is what he gets. “I told you once. That’s one thing I can never get used to. Perhaps it just didn’t work this time.”

 “Right,” Ichigo says dubiously, “it’s got nothing to do with us being friends. “

 The mage says nothing, but his smile thins at the edges. He’s still on about it then. ‘I can never truly close the gap, and be friends with a human’. It’s bullshit, because they’re friends and ichigo knows it, and so does he. He’s just stubborn and stuck on the idea of being the mysterious wise man figure in Ichigo’s ever evolving life story.

 “Where are we?” Ichigo asks, letting the tension drop for now. The sky is the palest blue and there’s flowers as far as the eye can see, pink and blue and yellow. There’s no horizon any way he looks, and he realizes belatedly that they’re sitting on top of a tower.

 “Isn’t it obvious? We are on the reverse side of the world. Where there is no beginning and no end, this is the very edge of paradise.”

 The air tasted like sunlight and hope, but Ichigo isn’t fooled by the prettiness of it all. He knows this man. Better than he wants to be known, certainly.

 “Maybe someday I’ll save you from this tower,      princess    .”

 “That is quite impossible,” still a  warm hand lands on his, a strange kind of thanks.

 “I’ve done impossible things before.”

 And he would do them again.

 * * * *

 Ichigo was starting to think that everyone here was made of tragedy.

 France was bad enough. Between executions, and curses, and people just doing their best for others, Ichigo is starting to wonder how any fairy tale ever had a happy ending, for the figures of myth certainly had none. Not Jeanne, the Saint of Orleans. Not Elizabeth Batharoy, the wannabe pop star and future vampire. Not Kiyohime, who had followed him all the way back to Chaldea and now was stuck waiting for them to return.

 And now, Euryale, and Asterios were the same. They were hardly the monsters out of legend. They were just people. Just people clinging to each other, like wreckage in a storm.

 Ichigo leans forwards against the railing of the      Golden Hind    , watching the moon dance across the water. They’re pretty screwed, he realizes. Heracles has to be killed twelve times for them to succeed, and they’d almost all been killed on just the first try.   They’d only escaped because a labyrinth had sprung up out of nowhere, glowing green and winding their way to the center of safety.

 The heafy thump of footsteps on ship wood brings his attention to his newest servant. Asterios. He towers over all of them, almost ten feet tall if you counted his horns. He should have been terrifying, all hard muscles and hulking power. His long hair is matted like it’s never been brushed out properly, and his eyes are a red that seemed to glow in the starlight.

 “Hey there,” Ichigo waves at him, and he comes to a halt at his side. He looks at him, and shifts from one foot to the other. There’s manacles on his arms, and his ankles as well. “Why don’t you sit?”

 Asterios did as he was bid. When he was sitting, he still came up to Ichigo’s shoulder.

 “It’s a nice night, huh?” It was peaceful, sailing on the endless sea. They have a lot of fights ahead of them but for now… He breaths in the sea salt air, and the cool darkness.

 “Yes… It is…      free    ,” Asterios speaks slowly, like making words is a chore. Has he ever really spoken to humans, before now?

 “Yeah. I guess it is,” that’s what Francis had said. The seas were freedom for her and her men. The King of Storms, the endless oceans bowed to her and the       Golden Hind    .  “Have you been here long, Asterios?”

 He perks up when he hears his name, looking up at Ichigo with the strangest expression. Ichigo has no idea how to place it. Hope? Happiness? Either way he’s smiling now.

 “No… Want to … stay… with euryale and… everyone.”

 “I get it,” Ichigo nods to him. “It’s nice to hang out with friends.”

 “Friends…”

 “That’s what we are, right?”

 Asterios smiles at him, and nods. “Yes… friends.”

 * * * * *

 “Honestly… I thought you were supposed to be helpful,” Ichigo knocks on his own bodies skull, watching his dopple ganger wince away from him. “But all you’ve done is get my body torn up and cause a mess. You’re screwing up my ‘cool guy’ reputation!”

 “Hey! It’s not my fault, I wouldn’t have jumped in if you weren’t so slow! Those kids would have died if I hadn’t jumped in!”

 “Oh yeah, and you kicking that hollow again, to protect ants, what are you a saint?!” Ichigo yanks him into a headlock, roughly shoving his fist into his hair. It was weird to be fighting with himself, but honestly? Not even remotely the weirdest thing to happen.

 “Get off!” The mod soul tries to kick him in the face, but Ichigo takes him to the ground in a rough grappling hold. He’s not too worried about his shoulder. His body is strong enough to handle being roughed up, and he’s taken worse hits than that.

 “Let me go! I’m not gonna let you kill me but-” His voice wavers before growing vicious with conviction.

 “I’ll never sit by and let another creature die!”

 Ichigo is so surprised he lets go, sitting above the trouble maker. He won’t make eye contact, his voice dropping low and rough. His hands are shaking, Ichigo realizes.

 “Right after I was born, the soul society they- they decided that the mod-souls had to go. The day after I was born I was chosen to die! Everyday I watched them kill off my brethren. And even after I escaped I still lived in fear, everyday that I would be discovered and killed… And I decided. That I was born, so I have the right to live and die freely, and so does everything else! So I won’t kill and I won’t let even ants die!”

 This mod soul. A creature made to fight, made to die, made to kill all without a single choice. Ichigo’s hands tighten into fists. Just like Mash. Just like Fran. Just like Mordred. A living weapon. Ichigo lets him sit up, and sits back on his heels. The mod soul grips his shoulder, grimacing. It must hurt. This is the first time he’s ever felt human sensations. He was fast, fast as the wind.

 “So that’s it…”

 Abruptly, the tip of a cane shoves straight through his skull, and the pill that had started this whole debacle comes popping out the other side. Ichigo reacts, snatching it out of the air before anyone else can. They’re not alone anymore.

 Ichigo finds himself looking up at a pair of grey eyes half hidden under the brim of a striped hat. They’re looking right at him, even though he’s no longer in his body. He knows, with great certainty, that this man is not human.

 “I’ll be taking that back now,” he says, holding his hand out expectantly. He looks almost harmless. Almost. But Ichigo can see the calluses on his hands and the hardness in the back of his eyes. Whoever this is, he’s a fighter. Even with the geta sandals, he hadn’t made a sound when he was approaching.

 “Hell no!” Ichigo clutches the pill tighter and straightens up. “Who the hell are you supposed to be?”

 “He’s just a greedy salesmen,” Rukia comes to stand at his shoulder, her eyes narrowed at the stranger with the unsettling eyes. She'd watched the whole exchange between them, between Ichigo and yet another tragedy.

 “I get it. He’s the one who sells you your supplies here, isn’t he?” Ichigo stands, slowly, keeping his hold on the pill tight. This guy had made a mix up, and if he thought Ichigo was gonna let him take this mod soul away, he had another thing coming.

 “My, my, you’re a perceptive one,” the man pulled a fan out of his sleeve and snapped it open over his mouth. “I’m Kisuke Urahara. And these are my associates.”

 “It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out,” Ichigo said blandly. “She said you're a salesmen, and she has to get her gadgets from somewhere.”

 “Either way, I should take that product back. If it’s compensation you’re after-”

 “I already said no!” Ichigo snapped, anger rolling under his skin like a fire. “People aren’t products and I’m not giving this one back to you!”

 “Ichigo,” Rukia cut in, her voice cool and firm. It's ice on a bruise and Ichigo let's her step before him, her dark eyes on the salesman. “It’s fine. I’m satisfied with this purchase, and you don’t exactly work legally. So whatever happens, it’s not your responsibility anymore.”

 Even though he remains largely impassive, this Kisuke guy still stares at them, trying to read between lines that don’t exist. Ichigo is honest, and Rukia has his back in this case.

 So he and his associates leave, and Ichigo pops the soul back into his body once their gone. He finds brown eyes staring up at him, his mouth open in confusion.

 “You didn’t… send me back?”

 Ichigo knocks his head again. “Don’t be stupid. If you give me a dumb speech like that, how can I sit by while you get smashed up?”

 “I - you’re kinda crazy.”

 “I know,” he had to be. “So, do you have a name?”

 “A name? No, no ones ever given me one of those…”

 “Alright then,” Ichigo tilts his head, thinking. A mod soul, a kaizo konpaku… He could go with Kai. But that sounded too cool. He was wind fast, and if he remembered right the inca wind was called… “Kon. You’re in charge of my body while I fight hollows. You can explore, and try new things, but don’t go destroying property or getting peoples attention. Or hurting my body! Deal?”

 He held out his hand, and Kon reaches up and grasps it.

 “Deal.”

#Shattered Chains of Fate #Ichigo Kurosaki #rukia kuchiki #Kon bleach #bleach fanfiction #bleach #bleach/fate grand order #BAMF!Ichigo Kurosaki #Ichigo Kurosaki is Ritsuka Fujimaru #well sorta #olga marie animusphere

[orangeoctopi7]

Family Fun Day

The latest chapter of the Spider Stan AU is here!

Stanford came down to breakfast well-rested and refreshed Saturday morning. Fiddleford was supposed to get back tomorrow night and while Ford was still hurt that his best friend would lie to him, he was eager to finally start making some headway on the portal project. Stan, on the other hand, came into the kitchen looking as disheveled as his brother had ever seen him. There were dark bags under his eyes, and he was still wearing the same clothes he’d had on last night, now wrinkled as an old man. Ford figured this was approximately what he himself had looked like during finals week in college.

“Did you sleep at all last night?” The researcher asked his brother.

Stan gave a negative grunt and made a bee-line for the coffee maker.

“What kept you up?” Ford asked curiously.

His brother shrugged. “Readin’.”

“That’s… not like you.”

“Uh… couldn’t sleep. Started reading through some of your nerd stuff, hoping it’d bore me to sleep. Didn’t work.” Stan crossed his arms and glared at an innocuous spot on the ceiling.

“Oh. Well, if you need help sleeping in the future, I’ve developed some meditation techniques that have helped me.”

Stan took several long slurps of coffee and a few mouthfuls of cold cereal before responding. “Nah. I’m just too stressed.”

“Yes, meditation is meant to help with that.”

“We both been workin’ too hard! We needa take a day off and have some fun!” Stan continued right over his brother’s comment on meditation. “McWhozit’s been havin’ fun in California this whole time, playin’ with his kid, makin’ love to his wife. We deserve a break too!”

“I thought we had fun the other day while we were weight-testing the web shooters.”

“Well, sure, but that was mixin’ work an’ pleasure. I mean actually taking a break . No tests, no studies, no scientific observation. When’s the last time you did that?”

“Well, there was the night I spent at the Corduroy's cabin… although, it turned out to be haunted. I learned a great deal about ghosts, though.”

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, that. That’s exactly the kind of thing I’m talkin’ about. Even when you’re supposed to be takin’ it easy, you end up doing research and/or almost dying. But not today! I officially declare this Family Fun Day! I’m gonna make sure you take a break. What do you do for fun in this hick town?”

Ford rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Well… there’s an arcade downtown. I hear they just got a new, cutting-edge game!”

Stan rolled his eyes. “Ugh, nerd stuff.”

“Oh, come on, there’s plenty of games where you punch things! You’ll love it!”

“Alright, fine. If that’s what you really wanna do, I’ll give it a shot.”

* * *

The arcade was small, dark, and noisy. Stan was honestly surprised his brother liked it here. He remembered his brother liking quiet, brightly lit places, like the window seat at the library, or an empty beach. The arcade was… overstimulating.

First, Ford dragged him over to what was apparently the newest and most popular game in the whole place. The art on the side of the cabinet showed a gorilla carrying off a damsel in distress, chased by a guy with a red hat and big mustache. It reminded Stan of one of his favorite Harry Claymore movies. Unfortunately, it seemed like every kid and nerd in town wanted to play this game.

“They really should devise a system where they can call up your number when it’s your turn to play.” Ford grumbled as he looked at the long line crowded around the console. “Well, I’m fairly sure that’s just a single-player anyway. Let’s find something cooperative.”

“Um, ok.” Stan followed his brother to another cabinet with no line. It was painted black, with the words BIRD FIGHT written in fancy script at the top, and a knight riding a beautiful white bird flying across the side. Stan watched the pixels move across the screen. “So in this game, you play as a sword-wielding knight… riding a swan?”

Ford scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “I know it’s silly, but it’s a really fun cooperative game.”

“Are you kidding?” Stan laughed. “That’s the most intimidating thing I’ve ever seen! I tried to break into a mansion with swans on the grounds once. They gave me way more trouble than any guard dog ever did. I almost lost an eye!”

Stan struggled to learn the controls, despite Ford’s efforts to explain them to him. It had a control stick, but it only went left or right. To fly, you had to repeatedly tap the button to flap the swan’s wings. Stop flapping, and you would slowly descend.

“This is dumb.” Stan complained as he died a second time. “Why can’t I go up and down usin’ the stick thing? And how’d my guy get all the way on the other side of the screen all of a sudden!?”

“It’s a wrap around.” Ford replied, as though that meant something.

They made it through the first wave of enemies, mostly thanks to Ford, but it wasn’t long until Stan lost all four of his lives and he was stuck just watching his brother play, because he refused to waste more quarters on this thing. “This is too complicated.” He huffed.

“Well, let’s play something a little simpler.” Ford suggested. They wandered to the back of the arcade, Ford looking over all the different options, trying to decide which one Stan would enjoy. A light gray-and-black cabinet in a dark corner caught his eye. “Hmm, I haven’t seen this one before… Corner of Contradiction? Looks like a beat-em-up, I’m sure you’d enjoy that.”

The controls were certainly more straightforward than Bird Fight. There was a control stick to move your character around the screen, one button labeled “PUNCH”, the other labeled “JUMP”. Enemies always came in from the right side of the screen, so Stan didn’t have to split his attention as much either. He definitely took to this one much more quickly than the last game, but he was still clearly lagging behind Ford in skill. They made it through a whole level before Stan finally ran out of lives again, and Ford knelt down to add some more quarters to allow him to continue playing.

“Oh, what’s this?” The researcher paused when something caught his eye. When he stood back up, he was holding a small scrap of paper with some sort of symbols scribbled onto it. “Up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right, B, A…” He read out loud. “I suppose B could be the jump button…” Ford input the code, and suddenly both of their life counters read 30. “Fantastic!”

Stan groaned. “We’re gonna spend all day playin’ this game!”

“Aren’t you having fun?” Ford shot him a concerned glance.

“Well sure, but I don’t wanna stay here playin’ this one game through 30 lives, even if I am losing three of them a minute!”

Ford smirked. “You’re just jealous that I’m actually better than you at fighting for once.”

“Please.” Stan scoffed. “Pushin’ a button isn’t fighting. If any of these games were anything like real fighting, I’d cream you.”

Ford’s face lit up. “I think I know just the game!” Once again, he led Stan through the arcade, this time coming to a stop at a very old game cabinet decorated like the American Flag. Instead of buttons or a control stick, it had two red boxing gloves attached to levers. PIXELWEIGHT CHAMP by SHMEGA the sign at the top read.

Stan grinned and cracked his knuckles. “Now this is more like it!”

The gloves were a little small, obviously meant for children, but Stan managed to squeeze his hands in. It wasn’t exactly like real boxing, but he still preferred it to the clunky control sticks and buttons of the other games. This game could tell if he was punching up, down, or even swinging a hook! Ford, for his part, seemed happy to just stand and watch his brother play for a while.

Stan made it through several bouts before finally reaching the final boss. It was the first opponent the game had thrown at him that really gave him any trouble. It kept on dodging every blow he aimed at the computerized contender. Finally, in a fit of frustration, he fell back on his signature move.

“Left Hook!” he shouted.

The left-hand controller ripped out of the cabinet with a metallic shriek and a sputter of sparks.

The twins gaped at the broken and now lightly smoking game before them.

“Time to go.” Stan said quickly, dropping the broken controller on the floor.

“Agreed.”

* * *

“Welp, that was a disaster.” Stan grunted as they sped away in his car. “Hopefully nobody calls the cops.”

“Perhaps, but at least I finally found a game you had fun with.” Ford smiled as he jotted down the cheat code he’d learned earlier in his Journal.

“Yeah, but now we got nothin’ to do for the rest of the day. Yeesh, this car is like an oven.” Stan griped, rolling down the windows. “There a pool in this town?”

“Yes, but I wouldn’t recommend we go there.” Ford made a disgusted face. “It’s not exactly sanitary and I have reason to believe one of the life guards is a berserker.”

Stan grimaced. “Yeah, public pools are basically like underwater public busses. But it’s just so stinkin’ hot!”

Ford flipped absentmindedly through his Journal, suddenly stopping when a particular page caught his eye. “We should go to the beach!”

“I ain’t drivin three hours back to Portland just for the beach.”

“No, the beach at Lake Gravity Falls. It’s not exactly like the beach we grew up with but… it does remind me of home.”

“Alright, beach it is! Let’s swing back to your place and grab some swim stuff.”

* * *

The lakeside beach was very different from Glass Shard Beach. For one, it smelled a lot better. The shade of the surrounding cliffs and trees were much welcomed relief from the burning sun. Still, the gentle lapping waves of the lake were nothing compared to the majesty of the ocean. Ford didn’t have an extra pair of swim trunks, so Stan had to acquire some from the nearby bait and tackle shop while his brother wasn’t looking.

“Strange.” Ford mused as he observed the deserted lakeshore. “Given the extreme temperatures and the impending start of the school year, I expected this place to be packed.”

“It was, this mornin’.” The grizzled old lady who ran the bait and tackle shop wheezed ominously. “But somethin’ washed ashore that spooked ‘em all away!”

“What was it?” The researcher asked excitedly.

“Oh no you don’t!” Stan grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him back. “Family Fun Day, remember?”

“A giant tooth!” The woman cackled.

“Stanley, come on!” Ford pleaded.

“You need a break, genius!”

“Wasn’t this morning at the arcade enough?”

“Nope. Not for how long you’ve been without one. Now put on some sunblock. This tooth thingy will still be there tomorrow.”

“I bet you twenty dollars it won’t.”

“You should really know better than to bet against me by now.”

* * *

Stan found them a spot on the beach with plenty of shade from a large tree, with plenty of branches hanging over the water, and a couple of large fallen logs that made a good place to sit and leave their stuff without getting sand in everything.

“Y’know, it’s a good thing nobody else is here. Cuz look what I brought!” Stan pulled out one of the web shooters. “The world’s greatest rope swing!”

When Ford didn’t answer, he looked up to see his brother standing on the taller of the two logs, a pair of binoculars in hand, staring at a spot about a mile up the beach where Stan could see the giant tooth the old lady had mentioned. It was easily the size of his car. Ford stuffed the binoculars in his pocket, started a quick sketch in his Journal, and picked them up again for another look. Stan rolled his eyes with a sigh, put on the web shooter, and thwiped a line onto the binoculars, yanking them away with a flick of his wrist.

“Hey!” Ford whined.

“Hey yourself. We’re here to have fun, remember?”

“This is fun to me!” the researcher steamed.

“I know, nerd, but if you keep on working every day without takin’ a break every once in a while, even if it is fun for you, you’re gonna run yourself ragged!”

Ford grumbled, but he couldn’t help but see the sense in his brother’s words. He really hadn’t stopped studying and exploring and theorizing in the past six and a half years, not even for a day. And yet before Bill had proposed the idea of discovering the dimension of weirdness, he’d felt stuck in a rut. He still did, in some respects. Could it be due to burnout?

Still, he wasn’t about to tell Stan he was right. He put his Journal down with a beleaguered sigh. “It’s probably just something to do with the height-altering crystals.” He then looked up with a grin. “So, are you proposing a jumping contest?”

“You know it!” Stan shot a line up to the highest sturdy branch he could find hanging over the lake. “So, has this gauntlet got like, I dunno, a quick release button or something?”

“Actually, it should be waterproof.”

“Should be?”

“Well, I never got around to testing it.”

“Why does that not surprise me? Alright, I’ll take first swing.”

“Why do you get the first swing?” Ford protested.

“Because I’m the one who’s used these things the most, and I’m the most likely to survive if something goes wrong.”

The researcher rolled his eyes, but let his brother proceed with the first swing. Stan ran down the beach, lept off one of the logs, and let the line swing him over the water, where he released the line and sailed forward into the lake with a resounding splash.

“How was that?” Stan asked as soon as he poked his head back out of the water.

“Amateurish!” Ford grinned smugly. “You weren’t even close to the maximum distance of your swing, and your release arc was shallow.”

“Alright, Dr. Physics, let’s see you do better!” Stan splashed him and then threw the web shooter to the shore.

Ford ran along the largest log, leaping off the end towards the water before firing the web shooter up at a high branch. The line held fast, and whipped him out over the water. Just at the farthest point of the pendulum swing, Ford swung his legs out for a little more momentum, then released the line, throwing himself in a long arc before finally crashing down into the lake. He’d almost doubled Stan’s distance.

“Hah!” Ford laughed triumphantly as he swam back to shore.

“Pch, I can do that.” Stan scoffed.

“Well then, why didn’t you?”

“Cuz I didn’t know how until you just showed me, genius.”

Stan’s second attempt followed Ford’s example. He ran along the log and jumped into the air, but he could jump much higher than his brother, and his enhanced senses allowed him to pinpoint exactly where the best place to anchor for his line would be in that split-second of air-time. As the line stretched over the water, Stan shifted his weight and his grip, basically throwing himself off the end of the swing. He practically flew over the water before splashing down, easily doubling his brother’s distance.

“The student has become the master.” Stan grinned when he saw Ford’s shocked expression. They continued to use the web shooters as a rope swing for another couple of hours, each of them improving their techniques to go higher and farther each time, although Ford could never beat Stan’s distance again. Eventually, the researcher gave up on improving his own distance, and set about figuring out how to help Stan break his own record.

“It’s all about momentum.” Ford explained. “You’ve already perfected throwing yourself off the line at the farthest point of the pendulum’s swing, in order to produce the farthest arc you can. In order for you to reach even further into the lake, you’ll need more momentum, and at this point, the best way to add more momentum is to chain together more swings.”

“So, like we were doin’ in the forest a few days ago?”

“Exactly.”

Stan felt his stomach churn at the memory of how the branch had snapped, how he’d unexpectedly started falling. He wasn’t exactly afraid of heights anymore… he was just afraid of being up high and something going wrong. Still, he’d really gotten the hang of swinging today, and chances were even if something did go wrong, he’d just splash down into the lake. That would be fine.

“Ok, I’ll give it a shot.”

Stan climbed up one of the big pine trees a few yards back from the beach, found a sturdy branch to stand on, picked out his first anchor, and leapt into the air. Time seemed to slow down as he reached the end of his first swing. He picked out another anchor over the lake, released his first line, and swung out above the water. He could feel his own weight pulling him forward even as he came to the end of his rope, the momentum Ford had been going on about. Stan just shifted to let the weight carry him on further, and let go of the line. The air rushed past him as he continued up another foot before gravity finally started to overcome his forward motion. When he finally splashed into the water, he was so far from the shore, his brother looked like a little doll.

“Hah, I’m gonna be half-way into the lake if I go any further!” Stan laughed when he finally made it back to shore.

“You probably could, if you got swinging fast enough. Or if we added more weight.”

“More weight, huh?” Stan mused.

“I suppose we could stick water bottles to you, like we did with the car, although I fear that may increase the risk of a bad belly-flop….” Ford trailed off as he saw his brother grinning mischievously at him. “What?”

“I know a way we can double our weight.”

“‘We’? Oh no, no, no, no. No!”

* * *

“The greatest mystery is how I let you talk me into these things.” Ford grumbled, clinging to his brother’s back like a baby monkey.

“Quit your whining, I’m the one who’s afraid of heights.”

“...I honestly thought you were over that. What with the climbing buildings and all.”

“Eh, it’s complicated. I’m still not great with heights, but if I have something sturdy to hold onto or a reliable way to catch myself, it doesn’t bother me as much.”

They reached the large branch that Stan had used for a jumping-off platform before. Stan lined up his first anchor while Ford tried his best not to throw his brother off-balance. “You ready?” The Spider Man asked.

Ford took a deep breath before nodding. “Ready.”

At first, it wasn’t too different from the rope swing, except now he was holding onto his brother’s shoulders for dear life. Then they reached the end of the first pendulum swing and Ford felt his stomach leap up as they briefly achieved weightlessness. Then the forward yank of the next line set his heart racing as they shot up, over the water. There was one final moment of weightlessness, and Ford let out a holler of delight before finally dunking into the water.

It was better than any roller-coaster.

They came up out of the water gasping and laughing, splashing and shouting with triumph. It wasn’t exactly half-way into the lake, but they’d certainly gone farther than ever before. Unfortunately, that also meant it was a much farther swim back to shore. By the time they got back, the sun was starting to set.

“Welp, better lay down and dry off in the sun while we still can.” Stan mused, pulling off the web shooter and trying to find a spot on the log that wasn’t covered in shade.

“Actually, I think I know a faster way to dry off.” Ford picked up the gauntlet and gave his brother a significant look.

“Really, you wanna go again?”

“Just the swinging bit. The air rushing past us will dry us off in no time.”

Stan rolled his eyes. “Alright, if you’re sure.”

The second time wasn’t nearly as scary to Ford, although he got the feeling Stan was still a little apprehensive about swinging with a passenger. Still, they swung through the trees together with little problem. It was thrilling. And while it certainly dried them off, the rushing air coupled with the dropping air temperature presented a new problem.

“Cccold!” Stan stuttered as they came to a stop back at the beach where they had left their things. He quickly changed back into his jeans and a jacket.

“We’ll have to remember to do this to dry off while the sun is still high, in the future.”

“Oh, so you’re sayin’ you’d do Family Fun Day again?”

Ford rolled his eyes, but smiled. “I’m sure you’ll force me to take breaks more often than once every six years.”

DOG KLJQ TTIE Y KUZ LLW? BHMB L QSODM QCXT! U KLL’Y WMQE RT FUVLJQY EPZU DOGZ HMWLP PZU YO DMLJQY BICRD!

#Gravity Falls #Fanfiction #Stanley Pines #Stanford Pines #Spider Stan AU #My Writing #Spiderstan AU

[talinexa]

Bluenette Siblings! - Headcanons

Apparently I’ve decided to become a crackposter. Have some headcanons of Isa and Aqua being siblings! Yes because they both have blue hair. Gotta start somewhere. This isn’t a one-shot because I had vague ideas and not really a coherent narrative. Also because I like the headcanon format sometimes

Aqua was taken in by Eraqus to become a Keyblade wielder when she was very young

As such, she’s aware that she has a younger brother, but doesn’t remember much about him

She remembers this much: He was two or three years younger than her, had blue hair like hers, and was the quietest, most somber baby she’d ever met---or so her parents always said

Honestly, she’s not even sure her brother is still alive

It’s been so long she doesn’t really remember which world she came from either---the Land of Departure is her home and Terra, Ventus, and Master Eraqus are her family

She doesn’t run into Lea and Isa when she visits Radiant Garden looking for Ven on her first adventure

In fact, she doesn’t see Isa until the Gummiship ride to the Destiny Islands

She questions his blue hair quietly, to herself, but brushes it off---her family can’t be the only one with blue hair. There are so many worlds out there.

He’s talking to Axel and Ventus while Roxas, Xion, and Naminé whisper to each other. Isa seems to know Ventus, but only barely

Aqua’s not really listening---she’s sitting next to Terra and is honestly just basking in having him and Ven home safe and alive

She doesn’t pay much attention to Isa during their beach party with all their friends and allies---he’s playing Frisbee with Ventus and Axel and she’s busy with Mickey and the race between Riku, Roxas, and Terra

Getting back on the Gummiship to go home, she’s right behind Axel and Isa with Ven behind her

And then she hears...

“I’m surprised you remember my elder sister, Lea. I barely do. I was so young when she left.”

Aqua stops dead. Ven bumps into her and she shakes her head and keeps moving

She grabs Isa’s arm when everyone’s in the ship

“Did you say you have an older sister?” she asks

Isa looks curious. “Yes. I was about three when a man came and talked with our parents and took her away. He said she was destined for great things. My parents... never explained exactly what happened. I resented them for never talking about her or telling me why she left---and that drove me to spend more time away from them. Lea and I were already good friends at the time but during that time we became close.”

He sighs bitterly. “It’s funny---the day my parents promised they would finally tell me what happened to my sister was the day that Xehanort split my heart from my body and created Saïx. So to this day, I still have no idea.”

Aqua stares at him. “The man who took her. What did he look like?”

“I barely remember. I was three. We got letters occasionally from him, detailing that my sister was a fantastic student. But my parents never really read them to me. Sometimes I would try to sneak a look but was rarely successful. I believe he signed them with an M-E.”

The letters clicked. M.E.---Master Eraqus.

“Isa... was your sister’s name... Aqua?” she asked.

Immediately Ventus---who had been dozing on Terra’s shoulder---perked up. “Wait, seriously?!” he demands

Isa thinks for a moment. “Come to think of it, I think that might have been it,” he reveals.

“Aqua! Is Isa your brother?!” Ven exclaims

No quiet revelation that they’re family here. No, no, no. 

After Ven shouts that for the whole Gummiship to hear, there are gasps of surprise all around. 

Axel, Ventus, and Terra have never looked so excited

Aqua and Isa, on the other hand, look surprised and have been shocked into silence

They talk more, catching up, on the flight home and Aqua promises to visit Radiant Garden again and Twilight Town so they can get to know each other better

Which is exactly what she does

She, Ven, and Terra go back to Radiant Garden and meet Isa there. Axel is with him. Ven immediately starts talking to Axel, dragging Terra along, and leaves Aqua and Isa to their own devices

Isa shows her around the town, pointing out places---including their childhood home. He refuses to go in. Claims he can’t face their parents even if they aren’t inside

So they don’t go in. Yet. Maybe later

They talk about the bad things they’ve done

Isa is reluctant at first, but when Aqua opens up about falling into the Abyss, coming out full of darkness, and then being saved by Sora, Riku, and Mickey, Isa opens up too

He talks about Saïx and everything he regrets about losing himself and his purpose

All in all, very good bonding time 10/10 would chat again

It becomes a regular thing---to meet up and chat and get to know each other better. To reconnect after all this time

Aqua is actually kind of sad that Isa out-aged her. He’s supposed to be her baby brother---but now he’s older than her with a world of cares on his shoulders---and she was supposed to take care of him and be his big sister. Now she’s lost the chance

But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t try

Aqua can and will try to take care of everyone

She doesn’t let the fact that her baby brother is now nearing ten years older than her hold her back from taking care of him

More in an emotional sense. Isa can handle himself for the most part but everyone needs emotional support and Aqua hasn’t been the Responsible Mom Friend™ to Terra and Ven for years for nothing

Eventually she goes inside their old family home in Radiant Garden

Isa doesn’t

It’s a lot like how she remembers it---just a house

Their parents either aren’t home or don’t live there anymore since the house is empty

Upon discovering that, she does convince Isa to come inside and look

They explore while still talking quietly to each other

Moving on to some general headcanons:

If Aqua is ever out with Isa and gets catcalled, Isa will do one of two things:

Sit back and watch her unleash chaos on the catcaller with a smirk on his face and his arms folded to watch the show with pride and amusement

Or

Get protective and snap at the catcaller to get lost

People generally take Isa seriously because he’s tall and intimidating and has a scar on his face that gets people’s attention if the giant glowing claymore doesn’t do that trick so catcallers will back down because yikes don’t mess with that dude

Isa, Aqua, Axel, Ventus, and Terra start a hangout night. Roxas and Xion often come too---but not always. Terra is quiet so he often ends up just munching on snacks alone while Aqua and Isa talk and Ventus and Axel goof off

Occasionally Aqua convinces Isa to visit the Land of Departure---where the two of them spar. Both are formidable opponents

Aqua wrecks him every time

She’s better at magic and more agile than he is

Plus her Keyblade is a lot faster to wield than Isa’s claymore

They discover quickly that they like the same kinds of food. Axel jokes that tastebuds must run in the family. Isa goes to whack him upside the head but Axel manages to dodge

They call each other on the Gummiphone whenever they have nightmares about the past

Isa gets on pretty well with Ventus and Terra too, the more time he spends with his sister, given they are almost always around her

He can’t complain though because he and Lea still stick pretty close together too and she and Lea get on pretty well also

Isa gets teased by their entire friend group (Axel, Roxas, Xion, Ventus, and Terra) for being, like, the only non-Keyblade wielder among them. It’s just gentle prodding really and Isa doesn’t let it bother him

He doesn’t really care to be a Keyblade wielder

He has enough on his plate already without those responsibilities too

Aqua doesn’t usually partake in the teasing because even though Isa is a part of their lives, she doesn’t want that part of that life to be on his shoulders too

So he helps out where he can with his claymore but sometimes he just has to leave certain things to the Keybladers

They never explicitly go looking for their parents---they figure if they run into them, okay. If not, no big deal

They found each other and that’s what matters

#Kingdom Hearts #headcanons #kingdom hearts headcanons #kh headcanons #Saïx Headcanons #Isa Headcanons #Aqua #Aqua headcanons #KH #Saïx #Isa #KH Isa #KH Aqua #Tal writes

[galleywinter]

A Prayer You Can Borrow

As always, massive thanks go out to @eleneripenneth and to my husband. This wouldn’t be what it is without you, and it wouldn’t be as good as it is without you.

And a thank you to all of you who are still reading. You’re why I’m still cranking it out, and I cannot thank all of you enough for your support. A quick note: Due to Camdyn’s small stature and trying to keep things as functional for her as possible, I did have to shrink the Ashbringer to a bastard (hand-and-a-half) sword instead of a full claymore. She’s short, y’all. Toting around a claymore, even on a fantasy standard but historically impractical back scabbard was going to get difficult for her when I started thinking about certain logistics. ____

Previously: [Chapter 1][Chapter 2][Chapter 3][Chapter 4][Chapter 5][Chapter 6] [Chapter 7][Chapter 8][Chapter 9][Chapter 10][Chapter 11]

Read Chapter 12 on AO3 Read Chapter 12 on FFN

Chapter 12 ____

Finding Highlord Tirion alive had seemed wholly impossible after what Camdyn had witnessed on the Shore the day before.

She had watched as a massive demon had dragged him into the fel pit, had watched him sacrifice himself. She had watched him die. Finding him now, after the loss of Ilaani, leaves Camdyn incapable of doing anything except standing there, momentarily dumbstruck. There's almost too much grief and pain weighing against too much relief.

But the world doesn't freeze with her.

Highlord Tirion is driven to one knee as he deflects a heavy blow that would have driven his head into his chest and struggles to stand again, trying to use the Ashbringer to push himself back to his feet.

"Breaking you," the jailer demon snarls as it presses in close against him, its magic-spawned blade screeching against Ashbringer, "has been far too taxing."

And then Camdyn sees everything come crashing down around her.

The jailer holds up one hand, and fel energies rush from the sickly ley lines up over the Highlord's body, drowning him. Highlord Tirion screams, and it sucks the air from Camdyn's lungs. The energy snaps into form - and the scream is cut short.

Highlord Tirion kneels within a solid crystal of fel, the Ashbringer clattering hollowly against the stone as it falls to the ground before him.

Camdyn's heart stops in her chest, and for the briefest of moments, she's taken back to the top of Icecrown Citadel, to a moment not unlike this one. Her stomach lurches even as her hope refuses to wane.

"Tirion!" Lord Tyrosus roars, his voice cracking at the edges as his grip tightens around his sword. His lip curls. "What have you done?" he spits at the jailer.

The turn it takes to face them is almost lazy. "I told you that you were far too arrogant," it drawls. "Come, gnats. I will finish you all."

Camdyn expects Lord Tyrosus to let out a battle yell, a ragged scream, a curse, anything. But the only noise he makes is the creak of his gloves as he adjusts his grip on his sword. Then he surges forward. He bears down on the demon, his broadsword cleaving through the air as he meets it, aiming for the jailer's shoulder.

The demon darts backward, far more agile than anything so large has a right to be. It raises a clawed hand, palm skyward, and the ground under Camdyn's feet begins to fluoresce.

Panic squeezes her throat tight.

"Move!" she barks, lurching sideways and knocking into Ebba. They both topple to the ground, taking a high elf with them in a tangle of limbs, as Iomhar hurtles past them with a shout. Plumes of liquid fel jet up from where they'd all been standing only moments before.

"You'll not be getting the best of me, demon!" Iomhar snarls.

"The Ashbringer!" Lord Tyrosus yells as he ducks under a heavy swing from the jailer's arm. "Retrieve it!" The words have no sooner left his mouth than felbats screech overhead.

Camdyn shoves herself off of Ebba and the elf, all of them scrambling back to their feet in time to see two felbats soaring just above them. One rockets toward them, its front arms clawing toward their faces. Blinding light radiates from Ebba as she unhooks her polearm and slashes at the bat. As it reels in pain, a succubus dismounts fluidly from its back, her whip lashing toward Iomhar.

But Camdyn's attention stays fixed on the second felbat. It glides past them and then dips, circling for a moment near where Lord Tyrosus is still engaged with the jailer.

Near Highlord Tirion.

Camdyn breaks into a desperate sprint, her boots sliding against the smooth stone. She finally catches traction and barrels toward where the Ashbringer lies.

She can see the green light glinting off its golden core, can see the reflection of the fel prism encasing Highlord Tirion in the edge of the blade. Her hand stretches, fingers open - and then the felbat dives and snatches the blade into the air.

Righteous fury ignites in her chest, hot and solid and certain, and the Light answers her need, flying from the end of her outstretched fingertips in a vaguely focused blast wave.

The felbat instantly shrieks in pain. A ragged hole in its right wing sizzles and smokes, and stinking motes of ash drift to the ground as the bat careens to one side before immediately regaining an unsteady altitude.

Camdyn swears under her breath and gives chase, waiting for the moment the new hole in the bat's wing will force another unexpected dip.

Just as it bobbles within the limits of her reach, a pack of imps bubbles out from behind a scorched boulder and tries to intercept her. Light blooms in her core and flows through her, driving back the few imps that don't immediately fall in a smoking, gnarled mass at her feet. They run away, gibbering in fear, and the brittle husks of their comrades' bodies crunch under her boots like dry leaves as she chases the felbat through the carnage.

Overhead, the Ashbringer glows a pale green with reflected demonic phosphorescence. The Light thrums through Camdyn, surging and ready, when the felbat suddenly tries to angle back for an ascent up the nearest rockface. It can't quite manage it. When the bat wavers, the Light shoots from her in dazzling radiance, making her every nerve tingle. The felbat howls, and Camdyn can smell the sizzle of meat.

With a hideous screech, it spirals into the rock and is gone.

Dumbfounded, Camdyn skids to a stop and reaches for the release on her baldric. The heavy, familiar weight of her hammer slides into her left hand, and she cautiously approaches the place she'd seen the felbat vanish.

A hidden tunnel, practically invisible except from its mouth, yawns before her. A fel green trickle of water sluggishly chugs from the main floor down through the winding hall. Taking a step forward, Camdyn racks her brain, searching her limited knowledge of elven architecture, trying to determine what type of terrain the felbat was leading her toward.

The air in the tunnel is thick and oppressive, and it weighs heavy in Camdyn's chest with every breath. She strains to hear any sound of the felbat, any screech of pain or uneven gust of wind from its wings.

The only sounds are the pounding of her own heart and the rivulet of fel tripping and burbling as it widens into a small stream.

As she rounds a third turn, she can see the glow of moonlight ahead, and she shifts her grip on her hammer, rolling her shoulders against the familiar heft, readying for combat. The hall opens into a massive circular room lined with collapsed stone arches and ramps. A desolate, abandoned font lies in the center of the room, dry and empty, its walls long since broken and breached.

The room is empty. Quiet. With the heavy feeling of a long undisturbed tomb. It's a shaky breath that escapes her as she prays it won't be her own.

As she climbs over the massive stone that had once been the top of the entry arch, a glint across the room catches her eye. At the top of a mostly crumbled staircase, a mass of fur and claws lies curled and still in a pool of moonlight. Her breath catches in her chest as she watches it, waiting for any sign of life.

There is none. But a shift in her weight shows her a second glint from under its side, reddish this time.

The pommel.

She knows this has to be a trap - the room is too empty considering the rest of the demonic presence here - but she has no other choice: she must retrieve the Ashbringer. Allowing it to fall into the Legion's hands is unthinkable. Hands tightening around the haft of her hammer, she leaps from the stone and races across the room.

Almost immediately, Camdyn's stomach curdles. The hair on her nape prickles with every step, nerves tightening until she wants to scream. She ignores it as she lunges up the stairs and thrusts a hand under the felbat's mangled body. Her fingers brush against the hilt of the sword, and her fingertips burn as Light surges within her in response.

"Is this the Light's greatest champion?" The voice comes from everywhere and nowhere, somehow both thick and grating, like putrid meat being ground between stones. A shudder shoots down Camdyn's spine as she fights the urge to recoil in revulsion from the voice ringing inside her head. "Come to retrieve the Ashbringer and lay waste to my kin?" it sneers again.

The energy shifts in the room, pressing and sliding over her nerves like a sword drawn against flesh as it circles around her. Hunting her. "They say only the pure can wield the blade." Hot breath crawls past her ear, and her left hand reflexively clenches around the haft of her hammer.

"Claim your destiny," the voice murmurs, low and hot and close and malevolent. "Let us see how great you truly are."

Camdyn closes her eyes, fingers a hair's breadth from the hilt, and simply breathes, waiting, judging the distance of the presence. It circles again, slowly, stalking. Watching.

It passes her left flank, and in one fluid motion, she drops her hammer with her left hand and yanks the Ashbringer from under the felbat's body with her right, bringing it to bear.

As her fingers wrap around the hilt of the sword, heat rockets down her arm to her core and back again, blooming anew in her, fierce and urgent. As she swings the blade toward her unknown assailant, he shimmers into being, his self-satisfied laughter ringing richly in her ears.

Camdyn's stomach hits her boots. Balnazzar.

"How good to see you again, little one," he murmurs. "To think it would be you."

She shifts her weight, readying to drive forward. Balnazzar tuts at her and waves a hand. Fel energy races for her from the trickling streams circling the room. "There's no need to be so aggressive," he croons as Camdyn launches herself over a jet of green liquid, landing on her shoulder and following into a roll down what remains of the stairs. Pain sears through her left leg, pulling her up short. Panic drives her heart into her sternum as she looks back to see magical chains vising around her ankle. She bites back a curse as she realizes she had fallen right where he'd wanted her. Every attempt to yank her leg free only tightens their grasp.

"Why struggle? I merely intend to rip your soul from your body and take it for my own," he pauses as a feral grin slides across his face, "as I did your beloved Dathrohan's." Another chain shoots from his hands and wraps about her waist, grating against her armor as it tightens.

Dathrohan. The first of her heroes to fall. And she had been the one to deliver the blow. Camdyn grits her teeth and struggles to breathe as the chain around her torso cinches tighter.

"As you were the one to deprive me of that guise, it's so poetically fitting that I now have you to serve my ends." Balnazzar approaches her at a leisurely stroll, wings flaring idly, and the fel waters around her recede back to their chugging tracts. The bare skin of her right arm burns at the touch of fel as yet another chain snakes around her shoulders, and Camdyn can feel the Light inside her rising beneath her skin in response. "I will turn you into a weapon of the Legion and destroy everything you ever loved. Piece. By. Piece."

He raises a clawed hand, and Camdyn feels herself being pulled to stand, hanging in the air.

Her fingers are still closed around the Ashbringer's hilt, the one prize she refuses to relinquish. The Light is still blazing through her, intense and fresh and blindingly bright, an ever growing loop between her core and the sword, until even she has to shut her eyes. Time slows to a crawl, and she can feel the heat grow to an inferno.

Light explodes in a soundless corona around her, more brilliant than ever before.

Camdyn still can't quite see when she crashes to the ground, but she somehow manages to land in a hard crouch. Light sings through her veins as she wraps both hands firmly around Ashbringer's hilt.

"Worm!" Balnazzar snarls with rage, his clawed hands curling at his sides before swiping through the air in her direction. Fel rises in the corners of her vision, but she throws herself at Balnazzar, bringing the sword back over her shoulder to slice at his abdomen.

He sees it coming and dances back, twisting fel magic around his fingers as he arches an arm over his head. "You are here because I will it," he sneers, low and deadly. He swings his right arm down in a sharp arc, and a ball of felfire explodes at Camdyn's feet. Pulverized stone dust erupts into the air, clouding her vision and clogging her lungs. "You are alive because I will it." His voice is closer now. Camdyn stands still and waits, trusting in the Light. "And you will serve because I will it." Just as his voice rings in her head, she feels a strong surge, a pull at her core demanding her full attention.

She pivots on her right foot, sharply thrusting the sword forward into the smoke and dust. Immediately, she meets resistance, and she throws her whole weight behind the Ashbringer.

Balnazzar howls, and the smell of charring flesh rises even over the thick chalkiness of the stone settling around them.

"And you will not win," she grunts as she pushes up against the hilt, twisting the Ashbringer deep in Balnazzar's gut, "because the Light wills it."

Ichor runs from his mouth, and a hatred burns in his eyes. She refuses to give him the satisfaction of looking away. "I will," he gasps hotly, his weight growing heavier on the end of her sword as he stumbles to his knees, "be back."

"I'll be ready," she snarls through clenched teeth.

The show of teeth he gives her in response is more pathetic than frightening. His breaths gurgle as ichor rises in his throat. "We," he manages, garbled and thin but still discernible, "shall see." His last breath leaves him in a prolonged rattle, and then he sags against the sword, almost more weight than she can bear.

She plants her right foot against his chest, tilts the Ashbringer up as much as she can, and then firmly shoves his corpse away from the end of the blade. His body slides to the stone with a wet, satisfying thump.

Camdyn takes a moment to collect herself, breathing through the trembling of her hands and the quaking of her thighs. When she can finally hold the Ashbringer steady, she passes the flat of the blade against Balnazzar's bicep, cleaning it of his ichor, and then sets it aside long enough to retrieve her hammer and set it back in her baldric.

Her fingers have barely brushed against Ashbringer's hilt again when she hears Lord Tyrosus calling for her.

Camdyn whirls on the entrance to the font, blade leveled and ready. A false face and voice would be well within a demon's familiar tricks. She steadfastly refuses to acknowledge the lump in her throat borne of fear that a demon could be puppeteering Lord Tyrosus as Balnazzar had Dathrohan.

Lord Tyrosus steps into the mouth of the hallway, scanning the room until he sees her. His gaze swings to the mass at her feet, and Camdyn can almost see him rock back on his heels.

"Is that-" his voice breaks, and his brow knits.

"Balnazzar," Camdyn answers, ignoring the crack in her own voice. She still hasn't lowered the Ashbringer. She has no intention of being taken by surprise.

As Tyrosus turns to her again, he finally catches sight of the sword leveled in the approximate direction of his head. He looks wan, the lines on his face deeper than they had been minutes ago, and his shoulders sag just enough to be noticeable. "Peace, Sister," he murmurs, rust still lingering on the edges of his voice. "I'm no demon."

Camdyn tightens her fingers on Ashbringer's hilt. "So you claim."

Light blooms under his feet, golden and glorious, casting shadows against the stone. Slowly, Camdyn lowers Ashbringer, tension bleeding from her in waves.

"You need to come quickly," Tyrosus says, words tight and clipped. The weight of his gaze on her nearly pins her where she stands. "Tirion's called for you by name, and I fear he isn't much longer for this world."

"You freed him?" It's almost a squeak

Tyrosus's lips thin, and his gaze shifts away. "For all the good it's done him." He turns back up the hallway, clearly expecting her to follow. "We must hurry."

"Lord Tyrosus," she calls as she leaps down the steps. He stops and turns back to her, the eyebrow above his eye patch arched even as the rest of his face remains impassive. "I have the Ashbringer."

"Bring it," he says simply as she vaults over the crumbled archway. Everything in her protests at his simple direction.

"But shouldn't-" He cuts her off with a firm shake of his head.

"You were the one to find it, you should be the one to deliver it." He turns away again, leading her back up the hallway and falling into silence. Camdyn can practically feel sweat breaking out on her palms.

Lord Tyrosus doesn't speak the rest of the way back to the main floor of the temple, nor does he shorten his stride.

When they break back into the open moonlight, Camdyn almost has to shield her eyes. A bright, golden glow emanates from where the large fel rune had been minutes before, overwriting it. In the center, a small dot of shadow lies prone.

As her eyes adjust, it resolves into the still body of Tirion Fordring.

Lord Tyrosus breaks away from her, jogging to the center of the consecrated ground. He crouches down to Highlord Tirion, reaching a gentle hand out and laying it on the Highlord's chest. "I found her, Tirion," he says. "She's here."

Camdyn's heart is in her mouth, but she approaches the Highlord as quickly as she dares. "Sir," she says as she lays the Ashbringer down and drops to a knee near his head.

Highlord Tirion's breathing is fast and shallow, and he reaches a shaky hand up toward her face. She takes it and guides it to her cheek. A loose smile quivers across his lips even as his face twists in pain.

"Brother," he corrects, and it clearly takes a toll. His voice is more sound than words. The rasp of the dying. Grief is a weight tied to her sternum, buoyant and heavy all at once, making her want to collapse in on herself and scream the pain of her soul into the silent night.

She refuses to do either. Not now.

"Brother," she says, trying to keep her voice level, trying to keep the tears at bay. She fails at both, a tear falling onto Highlord Tirion's cheek as the word crumbles at the edges. "I'm here. What would you have of me?"

"You must wield the blade." Every word is an effort, heavy gasps of air punctuating each syllable. "You must," he stops again, his fingers curling against her cheek as he struggles to convey his final wishes, "stop the Legion."

She wants to deny him, wants to tell him that they can't do it without him to lead them. But she swallows down her sorrow and her anger, her hurt. "I will. I promise."

Highlord Tirion's clouded eyes lock on hers, and for a moment, the haze of death seems to lift, and it makes Camdyn's breath lock in her chest. "You must," he chokes, "become the Ashbringer."

He trails off in a slow rush of air, his pupils blowing wide and his eyelids falling to half-mast as his fingers go limp against her cheek.

She can't help the quaver of her lip as she looks to Lord Tyrosus for confirmation. For guidance. He merely shakes his head once before bowing his head and slowly pressing his palm more firmly to Highlord Tirion's breastplate.

Camdyn lowers Tirion's hand from her face but can't bring herself to let it go. Her whole world narrows to the limp, lifeless curl of his hand in her palm, to the feeling of inexorable grief washing over her, through her, as she sinks onto her heels. It slams into her like a tidal wave, and she knows she'll drown if she stops fighting for even a moment.

A large, warm hand curls around her neck, gently guiding her to look back up. Lord Tyrosus kneels before her now, anguish swirling just below the depths of raw determination in his gaze. "Not here," he says quietly, voice hoarse and thick with restrained sorrow. "Not now. There is yet work to be done. I'll take Tirion home. You need to report to Stormwind."

Time stretches as she stares at him, willing herself to respond at all. Lord Tyrosus reaches over and gingerly takes Highlord Tirion's hand from her own, laying it across Tirion's chest. "Come, Highlord," he says. To her.

The Ashbringer lays at the edge of her peripheral vision, the golden glow of holy Light reflecting on the honed edge of the blade, dancing in bursts of vibrant, prismatic color. Slowly, she reaches for it.

It doesn't even feel right to wield it, let alone claim it. But the knowledge that Tyrosus is right - that this place isn't safe to linger - drums at the back of her brain. She wraps her hand firmly around the hilt and shakily pushes to her feet.

"I'll take your hammer back to the Sanctum," Lord Tyrosus murmurs before pressing a leather belt into her free hand. "You'll be needing this." She blinks at the length of leather. A sword belt, she finally realizes. Tirion's sword belt. She nods, dumbly, willing her mouth to form words.

"Thank you," she finally manages. Her tongue feels thick in her mouth. She lays the Ashbringer back down and loops the belt around her waist. Her fingers tremble as she tries to work the clasp, failing twice before finally succeeding. When she raises her shaking hands to the buckle of her baldric, Tyrosus takes pity on her, reaching for it and carefully undoing it himself. The weight lifts from her shoulder, and she bends to retrieve the Ashbringer.

As her fingers wrap around it, she wonders if it will ever feel right to claim it, and she wonders that she was the one Tirion willed his legacy to. Surely he meant to offer such power to Lord Tyrosus, not herself. Camdyn shoves the thought away to be dealt with later. After the Broken Shore is far behind them.

She stands, sliding the Ashbringer into its sheath on her hip. Lord Tyrosus has her baldric, with her hammer still attached, slung over one of his shoulders. He still stands next to her, at Highlord Tirion's head, but Ebba and the high elf now stand between Highlord Tirion's feet. With nothing more than a glance passing between them and the barest nod, they all simultaneously crouch down and slide their hands under the Highlord - Lord Tyrosus taking him by the back of the shoulders and Ebba and the elf each taking him by a knee.

"I'll scout ahead and get the gryphons ready." Iomhar's gruff brogue is so uncharacteristically soft, it's almost lost under the whistle of wind. "Care to join me, Highlord?"

That he turns to her makes her head spin. The concept that she could be the Highlord seems like a fever dream. She forces a dry swallow. "Sure," she croaks out.

Her body doesn't feel like her own; everything feels distant and dull, each twist and turn of the pathway seeming just like the one before it, each cliff matching the next.

Somewhere in the darkness, just beyond a turn, Iomhar stops short. An exasperated huff blows out from the depths of his beard, and he whirls on her. His hand clamps, not unkindly, around her right forearm. His dark brown eyes, unblinking and far too probing, peer up at her from under knit brows.

Camdyn flinches, shrinking away from his gaze.

"I know ye’re hurting, lass," he murmurs. "We all are. But ye've got to hold yerself together until we get safe, same as the rest of us. I'm no gifted healer, but let me see yer arm." He turns her bicep gingerly, and then warmth blooms under her skin, soothing the burn she had nearly forgotten. "That should hold ye until we get to the end of this," he says with a tight nod. His fingers curl into her arm. "Just stay with me until then."

"Okay." The voice still doesn't sound like her own, but she pushes it away and tries to give Iomhar a reassuring smile. She's sure it looks more like she's about to be sick, but it seems to be enough. His brows unknit, and he releases her arm.

"Good," he says as he turns back around. "Follow me. Almost there."

Three turns later, they step into open air, and the stone at their feet is covered in a thin dusting of sand. Iomhar fishes his whistle from his pouch, and he puts it to his lips and gives it what looks to be a solid blow.

The warbling yell of a murloc answers the call, and Camdyn's gut sinks. Instinct has her right hand reaching to her breastplate, but as soon as her left drops to her hip and bumps into the sword, it rushes back to her. She takes a bracing breath and draws the Ashbringer, letting its power sing through her as Iomhar slings his shield loose and frees his hammer.

She doesn't even need to ask where the noise came from. A bulbous shape sits breaching the waves just ahead, lumbering and awkward as it climbs toward the beach.

The shape turns toward them, spine stiffening, and then the yell comes again just before it charges toward them. Camdyn blinks. Something about its line is wrong, its shape bulky and far too broad instead of sleek and streamlined. It takes her a moment to realize what she's seeing: the murloc is wearing something as a helmet.

As it draws closer, she recognizes the smooth lines and the artistic work of the metal. King Varian's lion pauldron is perched precariously on its head, turned to the side and tilted back, keeping the murloc slightly off balance.

The murloc bears down on them, and Iomhar bends sideways, leaning low to slam his hammer into its rib cage. It roars at him, thin and reedy, its mouthful of razor sharp fangs gleaming in the moonlight before Iomhar smashes his shield against its face. It stumbles and reels, blood pouring freely from its mouth, before Camdyn slices the Ashbringer through the air.

The pauldron gives a dull metallic thud as it falls to the ground, and its shape makes it roll slightly, tipping the murloc's head delicately onto the sand. Its glassy fish eyes blink rapidly before its tongue lolls completely out of its mouth and it goes still.

The body gouts blood from what remains of its neck, standing for the briefest moment before toppling to the sand. There's another oddly metallic clang as it falls, tiny and muted. Camdyn sheathes the Ashbringer and toes the body over. Around its neck is a brown leather pouch the size of her fist with a thick leather strap spilling from it. Bits of faded blue dye are barely visible against the worn dark brown. She crouches and scoops up the pouch, mindful as she can be of the blood.

"I'll ready the gryphons," Iomhar says. He pauses for a moment and then winks at her. "Let me know if it's anything good." And then he's gone the last few meters up the beach to where the gryphons are beginning a slowly spiraling descent.

Prying the cinch of the pouch open, Camdyn initially sees only the iridescent gleam of seashells. She grabs hold of the leather strap, carefully tugging at it, pulling whatever it might be attached to. A wave of seashells rains down from the pouch onto the beach as the item pushes them out of its way. A mass of kelp follows, wet and squelching as it passes through the mouth of the pouch.

And then the item gives way. A compass, its golden edges caked in seaweed, swings free in the moonlight. Camdyn glances briefly back into the pouch, seeing only a handful of pebbles and a silver-sized mass of fish scales, and drops it back onto the murloc's body. She turns the compass over in her hands, looking for any identifying marks. When she finds none, she plucks enough seaweed free of the hinge to open it.

Her breath catches in her chest.

A portrait of Prince Anduin as a young boy smiles serenely up at her from inside the compass's lid. Gingerly, she pulls the rest of the seaweed free, checking the compass for damage. She turns it over in her hands, running her fingers over its seams. There isn't so much as a scratch on the glass.

She tugs a kerchief free from her belt pouch and carefully wraps it around the compass, then tucks the parcel back into her pouch as securely as she can. The sounds of measured steps draw closer behind her, and she makes her way to the beach to help Iomhar finish wrangling the gryphons.

As she approaches the beachhead, what she had thought was a pile of rocks she can now tell is a pile of dead murlocs. She circles it warily as Iomhar croons to the gryphons, setting their reins to rights.

"What do you make of that, Highlord?" he says, his gaze flicking back to the pile. She glances it over - some of the murlocs have been nearly eviscerated while others are practically unharmed save for a single puncture wound somewhere on their bodies. At the back of the pile, just at the edge of the tide, is a neat raptor footprint. Camdyn crouches down and runs her fingers around the edge of it and then shoves her hand through it, filling the print back in with sand.

"I think a friend gave us some help," she says as she stands and claps the sand from her hands.

Iomhar only raises an eyebrow in response, saying nothing.

Lord Tyrosus and the others have shuffled onto the beach, and they carefully lay Highlord Tirion on the sand.

"Ebba, Arliette, put the Highlord on Ilaani's gryphon. Then you two and Iomhar will return to Light's Hope with me and help me prepare to lay him, and Ilaani," he swallows past the odd hitch in his voice, "to rest. We'll also need to prepare the ceremony to instill the new Highlord." Camdyn's own throat goes tight. "The Highlord," he continues, looking at her now, ignoring the fact that she's absolutely positive all color has drained from her face, "will be continuing to Stormwind to report to the king before returning to us."

He mounts his gryphon in one fluid motion, leg swinging easily over the saddle. He dips his chin to her and raises a fist to his shoulder. "Light's speed, Highlord."

For a moment, it's all she can do to blink dumbly at him. Finally, her fist finds its way to her own shoulder, returning the salute. "May the Light be with you, brother," she answers.

He waits for her to mount her own gryphon before he gives the signal to take flight. Camdyn settles herself into the saddle and tries to recall where her first stop on the relay will be. Stormwind, after all, is almost a day's ride away.

May the Light be with them all.

#Varian Wrynn #Camdyn Morris #Maxwell Tyrosus #Tirion Fordring #OTP: A World With No More Night #Universe: The Winds of Change #A Prayer You Can Borrow #Galley writes stuff

[cottonfreakz]

Everything you need to know about MANGA Plus by Shueisha

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If you’re an anime or manga fan, you’ve probably heard of Weekly Shonen Jump, published by Shueisha. The story behind the very first anime you ever watched may even have sprouted from the world’s most famous manga magazine. Over Weekly Shonen Jump‘s sprawling 50-year history, they’ve published some of the most globally successful manga ever, including Dragon Ball, One Piece, and Naruto.

Weekly Shonen Jump may have reached its peak weekly circulation of 6.53 million copies in the 1990s, but the march of time and the decline of print media haven’t stopped the magazine from expanding its net of readers. Jump’s audience has steadily become more global, as Shueisha looks towards digital distribution as a means of ensuring that their titles remain accessible towards a wide audience.

In 2014, Shueisha first launched Shonen Jump+, an online platform in Japanese that sells e-book versions of Jump manga titles as well as a digital version of Weekly Shonen Jump that can be read on mobile devices. The site allows users to read a large sample of Jump manga for free, and also serializes a number of original titles separate from the print magazine, including ēlDLIVE and DARLING in the FRANXX.

Meanwhile, in North America, popular Jump titles like My Hero Academia consistently top best-selling lists for graphic novels. From 2013 to 2018, Viz Media published a digital version of Weekly Shonen Jump, releasing new English chapters simultaneously with the Japanese magazine, and last December they launched a new website giving subscribers access to over 70 catalog titles.

However, this will not be the only means through which the latest Jump chapters will be available digitally from now on. Shueisha is launching a global version of Shonen Jump+ on January 28, called MANGA Plus. Not only will the site and app provide simultaneous releases of popular serialized titles like One Piece, it will also be available in every country except China and South Korea. The app will also be completely free, like the Japanese version of Shonen Jump+ currently is.

To talk about this new venture in detail, we visited Shueisha‘s offices and talked to Shonen Jump+ editor Shuhei Hosono, who also oversees MANGA Plus. He explained everything to know about MANGA Plus upon launch.

When did you first get involved with the project? And what are your thoughts as team leader?

I’ve been with Shonen Jump+ since it started in 2014. I was also involved in the online Jump Book Store that launched in 2012. Through my work on those projects, I wanted as much manga to be available as possible. Just like in Japan, there are a lot of manga readers overseas. So I want to bring Shonen Jump+ to people all around the world.

How exactly does Shonen Jump+ work?

Through Shonen Jump+, you can purchase a digital version of each issue of Weekly Shonen Jump at the same time the print version comes out. You can also buy e-books of the tankobon versions of Jump titles. On top of that, there are original manga titles that are serialized exclusively through the service.

The service itself is completely free to use. The first chapters of every manga on Shonen Jump+ manga are available for any user to read. Also, the latest chapters that are serialized will also be available for anyone to read for a limited amount of time.

When did the idea of making a global version of Shonen Jump+ start?

We started talking about it in 2017, and we’ve been working at it right until launch.

What languages will the service be in?

For now, we just have an English and Spanish version planned. The Spanish version will launch around February/March, although it may have a different lineup from the English version. If there is enough demand, we may add more languages.

What is the difference between the Viz‘s Shonen Jump app and MANGA Plus?

Well, for starters, there will be more titles available through MANGA Plus. We plan to add as many titles as we can, even relatively minor ones that previously never had in English release.

Viz focuses mainly on Weekly Shonen Jump titles, while MANGA Plus will have titles from other Shueisha publications, like Jump Square and the Jump+ online manga.

MANGA Plus will also be available in more regions. It will available throughout the entire world except in China, South Korea, and Japan, as they already have their own separate services. Previously under-served regions like Southeast Asia will be able to read manga through this app. Up until now, Shueisha‘s titles have been distributed throughout North America, Europe, Asia etc., via local publishers or distribution lines. This marks the first time that Shueisha is expanding direct service globally.

Will every manga that is serialized in Weekly Shonen Jump be available through this service (and not just the popular ones)?

Yes. The starting lineup will be almost everything that’s currently being serialized in Weekly Shonen Jump. There will be over 30 titles being released simultaneously with Japan.

As for titles that have concluded and are not currently being serialized in the magazine, such as Naruto, we plan to serialize them through the app from the beginning so that new readers can experience them, one chapter at a time. 10 of these serializations are already planned, and more will be added gradually over time.

The full starting lineup is below:

Ongoing series

ONE PIECE

The Promised Neverland

Jujutsu Kaisen – Sorcery Fight

My Hero Academia

Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba

Haikyu!!

Black Clover

Chainsaw Man

Hinomaru Sumo

Food Wars: Shokugeki no Sōma

ne0;lation

I’m From Japan

Teenage Renaissance! David

BORUTO

We Never Learn

Dr. Stone

act-age

HUNTER×HUNTER (Suspended)

Hell Warden Higuma

Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign

Blue Exorcist

Platinum End

World Trigger

Dragon Ball Super

Yu-Gi-Oh! Arc-V

Terra Formars

Hell’s Paradise: Jigokuraku

Summertime Render

Nano Hazard

The Sign of Abyss

Blue Flag

Abyss Rage

LAND ROCK

Soloist in A Cage

Curtain’s up, I’m off

Spotless Love: This Love Cannot Be Any More Beautiful.

Dricam!!

Moon Land

Completed Series

NARUTO

Bakuman.

Rosario+Vampire

Nisekoi

Claymore

Tokyo Ghoul

ONE PIECE Part 1

Assassination Classroom

DEATH NOTE

DRAGON BALL

Rurouni Kenshin: Meiji Swordsman Romantic Story

BLEACH

JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure

Note that the lineup will be different in Taiwan.

For the titles that Viz shares with MANGA Plus, will the translation be the same?

Yes. As for other titles they handle, they may use different translators.

Will the interface be similar to Shonen Jump+?

Yes, it will be based on the existing app. On the home page, you’ll see the latest chapters to be uploaded underneath each day. You’ll also be able to access the full list of titles available through a drop menu.

Do you think manga itself is changing as the medium becomes more global?

Yes, there are more readers from around the world, and more manga is being born overseas. These days, the quality of manga from around the world is incredibly high. Although we at Shueisha make manga primarily to appeal to a Japanese audience, we hope that the stories can have a global appeal too. It’s one of the many things that editors take into consideration when we think about what kind of manga to publish next.

However, at the core of it, manga is always about telling interesting stories, and no matter how much time passes, that side of manga has never changed.

As the artist behind Dragon Ball Super, do you get a lot of feedback from overseas fans? How would you characterize that feedback?

When I have been to overseas events, people have spoken to me. The way people overseas perceive and evaluate my work is very different from Japan, so it’s been very helpful to me as reference for creating the story.

How important would you say the international audience is for the success of Dragon Ball Super?

Because Dragon Ball is loved throughout the entire world, I think that the sequel Dragon Ball Super must also be loved in the same way.

Are you personally excited that your overseas fans can now catch up and read your new chapters at the same time as Japan?

I am very grateful that there is no time lag for the release of the manga. If the information from Japan is conveyed in a fragmentary manner, then readers won’t be able to taste the initial emotions and surprise. I am very excited about the simultaneous release.

Masashi Kishimoto, creator of Naruto, also left a message: “Jump’s manga will now be available at the same time all over the world! Now that it’s an official service, there will be a lot to read! Wonderful!”

#Bakuman #Bleach #Boruto #Claymore #Death Note #Dragonball #Jojo's Bizarre Adventure #MANGA plus #My Hero Academia #Naruto. #one piece #Rurouni Kenshin #shonen jump #Shueisha #Tokyo Ghoul #Viz Media #Yu-Gi-Oh #Anime

[heroineimages]

Korra Heist AU, part 3

Hey folks, so here’s the third part of a Legend of Korra heist story I started and then forgot about months ago. It ended up taking an entirely different direction from what I’d originally intended (Korra’s description of a ‘dramatic reveal’ in the second scene is the direction I originally had in mind), but I kind of like the twist ending I ended up with. Technically, the story was supposed to end here, but I have an epilogue in mind as well. Thoughts and feedback are always welcome! (Part 1, part 2)

Asami forced a smile as she entered the Flying Bison that evening, privately hating this ‘secret admirer’ thief for getting her into this mess. It had all seemed so easy last night in Lord Desna’s chambers. All she had to do was nothing and she’d get a reward for it. Easiest money she’d ever made—easily enough money to pay her late father’s massive debts and get herself out of this awful situation.

Now she was under scrutiny from the constables and being forced to betray her supposed benefactor. And she wouldn’t even get a reward for it—in fact, best case scenario the constables wouldn’t throw her in jail. She’d wasted an evening with a drunk, apathetic nobleman and would likely have her reputation tarnished at the same time.

“Hey, gorgeous! C’mon in!” came the enthusiastic greeting as Asami entered. She felt her smile become more genuine as her eyes adjusted to the yellowish-orange light from the lamps and candles. Grinning, Korra strode over from a card game between four of her patrons. “What can I get for ya? We’ve got ales of all shades and wines of all colors,” she offered. “I tried some wine from our latest delivery from the Air Temple and would definitely recommend.”

“Oh, um, thanks,” Asami replied. “I’ll try some of that, then,” she decided, taking a seat where the constables could keep an eye on her. One of them was already here, watching her while pretending to brood over his beer. The other constable was supposed to arrive in the next few minutes.

“You got it!” Korra winked before heading back behind the bar. Asami felt herself warm over the attention. She glanced around the tavern, watching the servers and the other patrons. Along with Korra and Opal, there were four other serving women around the bar. One of them, an older woman with dark-grey hair, worked behind the bar pouring drinks.

There were six patrons so far besides Asami and the undercover constable. Three men and a woman sat at the poker table while a man and a woman who looked like soldiers argued good-naturedly about some lieutenant whose name Asami didn’t catch.

Asami had a lot of practice at determining when someone was interested in her. As she watched, several patrons showed an interest in her but seemed curiously reluctant to approach her. She noticed the soldier woman look to her and then look toward Korra—almost as if hoping for Korra’s permission to approach Asami.

Watching the serving girls, Asami realized suddenly that none of the patrons harassed or made advances toward them, either. She smiled, realizing that Korra must not allow unwelcome advances toward her employees or patrons at her tavern. The regulars knew this and behaved themselves.

She had to admit that Korra was formidable as her host returned with her drink. Though her grin was dashing and infectious, Korra was built like a fighter and carried herself like a soldier. She wore her broadsword openly, and Asami would have bet anything she knew how to use it supremely well.

“Here ya go, beautiful,” Korra said as she set a flagon of red wine on the table.

“Thanks,” Asami smiled up at her, trying not to blush.

“So, what brings you to my place?” Korra asked, leaning against the table.

“I’m, ah, I’m supposed to meet a client here,” Asami told her. “Your friend Bolin recommended this place.”

“Oh yeah?” Korra raised her brows. “Then you’re very welcome here. I’ve known Bolin since we were teenagers. We even served in the fusiliers together.”

“Really?” Asami asked, surprised, even though it made sense somehow.

“Yep! Two tours in the Forty-Third Highland Infantry, under Major Lin Beifong,” she grinned, pointing to a black or dark-blue tam hanging from the mirror behind the bar. A tarnished corporal’s bar was pinned to the hem. “His brother Mako—I don’t know if you met him—ended up in the Republic Marines instead, first aboard the cutter UFS Rabaroo and then aboard the frigate UFS Shirshu. Though, the only battle all three of us were in together was General Iroh’s opening beach-storming against those Red Lotus revolutionaries.”

“Oh, well thank you for your service to the United Republic, then,” Asami offered up a quick toast with her flagon.

Korra winked and nodded. “Anyway, hon,” she said, “let me know if you need anything. And I’ll make sure word gets around that you’re waiting for someone. No one will bother you, I promise—most of my customers know I can kick their asses, and I’ve got blackmail on all the one’s I can’t.”

“Alright, thanks,” Asami smiled. She was impressed at how well Korra played her part in this little sting operation. She was certainly a better actress than Asami.

The second constable arrived a few minutes later, taking a seat where he could watch parts of the bar that the other constable couldn’t see as readily. Other patrons filtered in. Asami was surprised at how many she recognized, mostly from the lower nobility. Apparently a few bored aristocrats enjoyed coming out to slum with the working class and soldiers and criminals.

Patrons came and went, but none approached her table—evidently Korra’s promise that no one would bother her was true. As she waited, Asami kept an eye out for women who fit the ‘secret admirer’s’ height and build. There were one or two. She saw one stocky, stern-looking woman with a long, black braid and a beauty mark below her right eye. The woman wore an officer’s cuirass and a cavalry saber, talking with a bespectacled young man. Asami noticed Opal shooting annoyed glances at them now and again.

The burglar still hadn’t shown herself when one of the constables stormed over to Asami’s table. “What the hell are you trying to pull?” the man demanded, slamming a parchment note down on the table.

“What–what do you mean?” Asami asked, flinching from his ire.

“This!” he glared, stabbing his finger at the note. “Don’t you dare try to tell me that you weren’t—”

He cut off at the ringing of steel as Korra’s broadsword appeared in front of him.

“You’ve been here before, chuckles, you know the rules,” Korra admonished the angry constable. “Nobody threatens or hassles my customers.” One of the serving girls had drawn a cudgel; Opal had a muff-pistol ready but wasn’t pointing it at anyone. And the older bar matron had taken the Claymore down from its mount, resting it over her shoulder as she stepped around the bar.

“What’s going on?” the other constable asked, jogging over from his table. Asami noticed the conversation had died down at the spectacle.

“This note,” the first constable explained, pointing to it again. “When I checked just now, my coin-purse is gone, and this note was left in its place! Don’t tell me this wasn’t some kind of setup,” he accused, pointing at Asami.

Asami frowned down at the note. It read, “I said ‘no constables’ was part of the deal. Signed, your secret admirer.”

The second constable fumbled with his coat pocket, then grimaced. “Mine’s gone to,” he mumbled, pulling a similar slip of parchment from his pocket.

Asami shifted uncomfortably, suddenly noticing the lack of weight in her own coat pocket. Closing her eyes in embarrassment and frustration, she reached in the inside pocket and felt the parchment note where her own coin purse should be. Taking the note between two fingers, she laid it on the table. Eyes still closed, she placed her arms on the table and rested her forehead on her arms, trying not to sob.

“What’s it mean?” the second constable asked.

“It means the thief got wind of the sting and is hanging me out to dry,” Asami murmured bitterly, not lifting her head. “And apparently she’s a very good pickpocket.”

She gave a shuddering, involuntary sob as she felt Korra’s arms wrap around her. “It’s gonna be alright, I promise,” Korra whispered to her, stroking her hair.

Asami shook her head, sobbing again. “No, it’s not,” she wept, feeling Korra’s chin atop her head. “I had to pay interest on my father’s debts two days ago. That coin purse was all the money I had.”

“Not for long,” Korra soothed, hugging her harder. “I was serious when I said I was interested in your services,” she reminded her. “Come back as soon as you get things sorted out with the constables, and I promise we can work something out, deal?”

Asami finally looked up at her, seeing that kind smile through the tears. “Thank you,” she whispered, leaning in to embrace her benefactor. She held Korra close for a long while, not really caring about all the people watching them.

“Hey, I’m back,” Asami greeted the next afternoon as she entered the Flying Bison. Korra grinned, looking up from sharpening her broadsword and stack of kitchen knives. She sheathed her sword and set the whetstone down as she stood.

“I’m really glad you’re okay,” Korra assured her, stepping over to embrace Asami. “Watch the front for me, Kya?” she asked the older bar matron Asami had seen the night before.

“Sure thing,” Kya answered, smirking knowingly as Korra guided Asami into the back rooms.

“How did things go at the constabulary?” Korra asked as they entered her office. The office was small with three chairs, a desk, safe, and bookshelves.

“It was rough,” Asami admitted, sitting in one of the chairs. Instead of sitting behind the desk, Korra pulled a chair up to sit directly in front of Asami. “Chief Beifong and that Aiwei character grilled me all morning. This ‘secret admirer’ bandit robbed two of her constables, so the chief seems to be taking this case pretty personally.”

“I can imagine,” Korra admitted, a concerned and thoughtful frown forming. “I think I told you last night she was my commanding officer in the fusiliers. Trust me, I know how she gets. I’m… I’m sorry you had to go through all of that.”

“Don’t be sorry; it’s not your fault. You’re the one who got me through all of this,” Asami assured her, leaning forward and taking Korra’s hands. “I knew I had a kind and beautiful woman waiting for me after I got out. That alone gave me strength to endure their grilling and derision.” She gave Korra’s hands a squeeze. “Thank you.”

“Except that it is my fault,” Korra said, looking away from her. Releasing Asami’s hands, she turned to open the safe by her desk. From it she withdrew a bag of coins, identical to the ones stolen from Lord Desna’s safe. “Your payment,” she said quietly, still avoiding eye-contact. She placed the bag in Asami’s hands.

“You were the ‘secret admirer’ burglar…” Asami murmured, trailing off as she opened the bag. Every coin within was heavy and golden and beautiful.

Korra just nodded. “It was me. But I didn’t mean for you to get into trouble,” she apologized. “I–I wanted to tell you sooner, but I knew that wasn’t safe—your reactions had to be genuine in case Aiwei was the one who questioned you. It was… it was supposed to be a romantic gesture,” Korra admitted. “I had this whole plan in mind where I’d pull one over on Lin’s constables, stealing their purses and leaving mystery notes. And then there’d be this big dramatic reveal where you and I discuss the price for your services, then I pull out the bag and ask ‘what will this get me?’ and it was supposed to be this big, romantic surprise. But then…” she trailed off, sighing.

“But then I saw you cry.”

Asami just stared as Korra explained.

“I saw you cry last night, and I realized that I had hurt you,” Korra continued, still not meeting Asami’s eyes. “I realized that my actions from the theft on down had hurt you and placed you in danger. And then… and then it wasn’t fun anymore. It wasn’t romantic anymore. You were hurt and afraid because of my actions, and I didn’t mean for that to happen. I’m really sorry.”

Asami took Korra’s hands again and leaned in to press their foreheads together. “I believe you,” she whispered. “And, for what it’s worth, I’m really sorry too.” She leaned back and turned to the office door. “Will that be a sufficient confession, Chief Beifong?”

“Yeah, I think that’ll do it,” Beifong nodded, stepping through the door, pistol in one hand, manacles in the other.

Korra looked startled for a moment, then, oddly enough, grinned and chuckled. “Nice one, Lin, what made you suspect me?” she asked, offering up her wrists.

“I am a detective, you know,” Chief Beifong answered flatly as she applied the shackles.

“I suppose that’s fair enough,” Korra shrugged as Beifong removed Korra’s sword belt and searched her for additional weapons. “Your coin purse is still in my top left drawer, by the way, Asami.”

“I’m really sorry, Korra,” Asami said again.

“Don’t be,” Korra shook her head as Chief Beifong led her away. “Don’t be.”

#my writing #my stories #fan fiction #The Legend of Korra #Avatar Korra #Asami Sato #Lin Beifong #Opal Beifong #Kya #rogues #burglars #Korra AUs

[itsclydebitches]

Title: Down by the Lake 

Summary: Bakery!AU following Sugar-Coated Everything. Ozpin and Qrow head out on their first date

Fandom: RWBY

Words: 1,956

Warnings: None

Pairings: Ozpin/Qrow

Where to Read it: AO3 or below the cut. 

A/N: It’s 1:00am! So obviously it’s time to post ozqrow shenanigans :D

Ozpin really wasn't an expert on these things. However, even he thought if your date cracked up when they first saw you, that probably wasn't a good sign.

He looked down at his clothes, half-wondering (and hoping) that there was some stain of jam or flour that he could play off, maybe run back inside for a quick change. He was a baker after all. Hardly unusual... but no such luck. Qrow continued to laugh uproariously and Ozpin, as far as he could tell, was immaculate.

Definitely not a good start.

Ozpin looked back up, eyes slightly narrowed. "I'm not sure whether I should be offended or not."

"Oh no, shit, don't go getting offended—" Qrow waved a frantic hand, looking legitimately distressed. He was still chuckling though. "Sorry, Oz. I don't mean to be an asshole about it, but..." Qrow bit down hard on his lip. "A suit? A green suit? I told you we were keeping things casual."

Again Ozpin looked down at his outfit. Ah. He could see now how that might be confusing. In truth though this was casual for him, in a manner of speaking. While it was true that a baker's life didn't lend itself to fine clothes—Ozpin generally stuck to slacks and light, long-sleeved shirts protected by his apron—when given the chance he much preferred to look his best. After all, next to his speech what else did you have to judge a man on but his clothes? Even in college he'd dressed up rather than down, something James gave him nothing but grief for. It was hardly his fault if the athlete couldn't dress himself...

Ozpin smiled. "This is a rather comfortable suit, I assure you. You'll notice that I've forgone the tie."

"Uh huh. It's green."

"I like green."

"I like green," Qrow mimicked, finally closing the distance between them. He hesitated a moment, seemingly unsure, before leaning up to give Ozpin a quick kiss on the cheek. It was such a gentle moment from the normally boisterous man and Ozpin closed his eyes, savoring it. When Qrow pulled back there was a faint cheery color to his cheeks.

"You look good," he said, dispelling that concern. Ozpin was about to tell Qrow the same—dressed in torn jeans and a black t-shirt, an array of jewelry decorating his hands and neck—but before he could Qrow's hand bumped his, pulling back for only a moment before linking together. Ozpin's mind short-circuited and all that got through was that he was far too old for butterflies in his stomach. 

How wonderful.

Qrow began leading them down the street. He was slow about it. Casual. "Where are you taking me?" Ozpin asked. "I recall you were disgustingly close-mouthed over the phone."

Qrow shook his head, grinning. "I told you not to dress up. We're going to feed the ducks, Oz."

"The...?" Ozpin blinked, processing that.

"Yep. Motherfucking ducks. You'll see. They're the punk-rockers of the bird world."

... alright then.

***

Ozpin was ashamed to admit how long it took him to realize that a man named 'Qrow' might well develop a slight fixation on birds. Then again, perhaps he wasn't giving Qrow enough credit. He'd never attempted to hide the tight budget he was working with, especially when there were four mouths for him to feed. Once, while browsing Ozpin's portfolio, Qrow had told him about working as a props designer, specializing in weaponry. It was fascinating but not very lucrative career, especially when he didn't have connections with any of the larger film studios. Tai, meanwhile, apparently excelled as a stay-at-home dad—and Ozpin could easily see raising Ruby and Yang as a full-time job. Qrow had spoken frankly that if he picked the first date (as Ozpin insisted he should) it wouldn't be anything fancy. Perhaps a trip to the park was the most he could afford.

If so, it was an excellent choice.

"Beautiful," Ozpin murmured. Their small town really did have a nice park, large enough and wild enough that it felt like something natural. Their slow walk had led them to the entrance right at dusk and a thin purple sheen shone among the clouds. Ozpin brushed hair out of his face and tilted his head to the sky.

"Sure is," Qrow said and something about his tone made Ozpin think he wasn't talking about the sunset. He ducked his head back down in embarrassment.

"You promised me ducks," Ozpin reminded him, imbuing enough seriousness into the words that Qrow chuckled. The previous mood was broken, but this one was just as comfortable. Qrow nodded and started down the path towards the lake.

"Ever been down here?" he asked.

Ozpin shook his head. "I'm ashamed to say I have not."

"Well all you gotta know is that the little family I’ve acquired is greedy as hell." Qrow shook a baggie he's drawn out of his pocket. "Doesn't matter how late it gets, if there's someone with food nearby then they'll stick around. Claymore will bite your freaking fingers off if you let him, so watch out. Spatha's a little shy. I normally try to create a pile to distract them and then toss the rest her way. Talwar, meanwhile, is just a straight up asshole—"

"Wait." Ozpin drew them to a stop. He ran through his very limited knowledge and... "Did you honestly name a family of ducks after swords?"

Qrow grinned. "'Course I did. Oh, except one. You'll see..."

Ozpin wasn't sure he did see, but dear lord, that was half the fun. Somehow learning of Qrow's odd habit felt more intimate than anything Ozpin had experienced with previous partners and as they reached the lake he found himself swinging their linked hands, feeling like a schoolboy. Heaven help him if Glynda ever saw him like this.

Ah. Hmm. Yes. That must never, ever happen.

"Here we are! Hey there, guys. Mind if Oz and I join you for a while?"

They'd been swarmed as soon as they came into view. The ducks, like squirrels and pigeons, had no fear of humans after generations spent in this place. Ozpin was mindful of their little webbed feet as he and Qrow found a nearby bench, sitting thigh-to-thigh and shoulders brushing. Ozpin was so hyper-focused on the touch that it took him a second to realize Qrow was offering him the bag.

"Just bread," he said, popping a piece into his mouth. Qrow nearly choked as the closest duck (Claymore?) gave what read as an incredibly angry quack.

"Jeez, buddy. Wait a damn second."

Ozpin took the offered handful. He hesitated though, just resting it in his lap. He certainly didn't want to come off as, well, a sanctimonious know-it-all (to quote one of James’ favorite sayings), but...

"You realize this is terrible for them?" Ozpin said, immediately regretting the words.

Qrow cocked his head. "Huh?"

"The bread, it's... I'm so sorry. I realize now how rude this is, but it's essentially a junk food for them, almost no nutritional value. And of course if they fill up on it they won't be eating from their normal habitats and---not that you should have known that. Of course. I just... sorry. I'm sorry, Qrow."

He glanced between Ozpin and the impatient ducks, looking a little thrown. "Well shit. Wait. One crisis at a time. What exactly are you apologizing for?"

Ozpin didn't need a mirror to know that his cheeks had heated. He only sent up a quick thanks that the sun had finally sunk. "I've been told that I… how did Glynda put it? Yes, 'suck the fun out of everything.'"

"You...?" Qrow was staring one moment and then he started snickering, hanging his head—where the ducks started taking the opportunity to peck at his clothes and hair. With a splutter Qrow shooed them off him and sat back up, poking Ozpin in the shoulder.

"Oh man, that is rich considering that I'm definitely having fun. Shit, Oz, we'll just bring something else next time. What do ducks like then?"

Next time. Ozpin swallowed. "Bird seed it always good. Fruits. Chopped lettuce."

"Bird seed it is then," and with a grin Qrow took Ozpin's wrist and helped him throw out the first handful. "They can eat shit for one more night. I ate like 12 cakes just to get you here, you really think a little trivia is going to turn me off?"

Ozpin considered. "Perhaps not."

"Damn straight."

With a lazy silence between them Ozpin settled, tossing out the bread one piece at a time, making sure they lasted as long as possible. Certainly it had nothing to do with the fact that each time he did his arm brushed along the length of Qrow's.

"So," Ozpin said. "Where is this mysterious bird without a sword name?"

"He heard you talking about him." Qrow pointed to a duck that had arrived at the edge of their group. He stood out like a beacon due to his white feathers, as well as the large tuft on his head that looked similar to a Mohawk. "That one is 'Oz.'"

Ozpin froze. The glare he leveled at Qrow had him snickering again. "I am the namesake?"

"I told you, Oz, punk-rockers of the bird world. They gotta have a leader. I've been looking for the right name since we moved here."

"Qrow. There is nothing 'punk-rock' about me."

"Now you say that, but that's exactly what proves you are."

"No sense," Ozpin muttered, but he was secretly pleased. It was a feeling he recognized from other, rare moments. There was just something magical about this time of night. It allowed for possibility... and courage.

He might not have been the first to ask for a date, but Ozpin was the first to offer a real kiss. He took a moment to trace Qrow's shadow with his thumb—making sure he wanted this—before leaning in and discovering just how good humor and contentment tasted on the tongue. Qrow was a little rougher, pulling Ozpin until he had one leg hooked around Qrow's calf, the rest of him nearly up in his lap. Ozpin pushed back into the kiss and Qrow slid his hands through the opening of Ozpin's shirt. Yes, he was thrilled he hadn't worn a tie.

When they came to rest forehead-to-forehead, Ozpin was shaking. It was excitement, arousal, thrill... and just a tiny bit of fear. Because this… this was real.  

"We have an audience," Ozpin murmured, eyes shifting to the disgruntled ducks. He watched Qrow let his eyes slide shut as he smiled.

"Pervy bastards."

Perhaps, but they weren't the only ones.

***

No matter how magical a night, daybreak always arrived. Ozpin was back in his shop long before the sun came up, preparing his wares and opening his door at 8:00am, jue like he had for many, many years.

When Qrow came in late that afternoon—dangling a small bag of birdseed behind Port's back—Ozpin had the absolute pleasure of knowing that their simple time spent together had meant as much to Qrow as it had to him. That was wonderful.

Though not quite as wonderful as Qrow's expression when he saw the new cupcakes available. Each was accompanied by tiny, rice-crispy figurines covered in fondant that sat atop the frosting. In short, each flavor had a corresponding duck.

"There's only one outlier," Ozpin said, completely straight-faced as he showed off the display. "These over here—black forest with a whipped cream topping—are 'crows.'"

Port was no fool. He looked between the two men, noting Qrow's twitchy expression, and slammed a meaty palm down on the counter.

"Fantastic! I'll take five."

#RWBY #Ozqrow #Ozpin #Qrow #rwbyfic

[jflashandclash]

Attrition of Peace

Twenty-Six: Alabaster

Cock-Blocked by a Talking Head

 Warning! There’s a mildly grotesque… thing (?) in this chapter. I’m not really sure it needs a warning or what that warning would fall under, but… you’ve been warned? Regardless, I hope you enjoy! Or love to hate it after the events of that last chapter! Your choice!

               Alabaster hadn’t faced such a paralyzing conundrum in years: if he stood up, he might wake up Kally, but if he stayed where he was, he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Being this considerate was highly illogical.

               What he should have been thinking about was what other ingredients he could mix that shape shifter’s ear with to make a more poignant transmodifcation potion or what he was going to do with the Pax brothers and their band of Ol-Sissies in the morning. In particular, how he was supposed to feed them, considering he remembered Axel tearing through half a box of cereal before Alabaster had his morning tea steeped.

               But here he was: his heart panging erratically each time he or Kally moved in their shared sleeping bag. He didn’t know this girl. Well, he sort of knew her—he’d read her journal, about her mother, her adventures with the Pax brothers and her story ideas. But that shouldn’t have been enough. He wasn’t like Ajax, just falling in love—er—liking—er—infatuating over someone because. He had to think things through. They had to make sense.

               This must have been Eros’ or Aphrodite’s folly. He refused to be their puppet, or fall to the whims of—

               Until Kally shivered and he debated whether or not he should shift closer or put an arm around her. Was that horrendously inappropriate?  

               Relief came to him in the worst way possible: the sound of a guitar, a wretched song, and some shriek-mutterings.

               “Oh, Jack must have escaped,” Alabaster muttered, wanting to groan.

               “Escaped?” Kally asked, her voice too alert to have been sleeping. She sat up, and Alabaster saw their chance to go inside, though he couldn’t will himself to get up. He felt dumb for how much he liked sitting beside her. From the disconcerted look on her face, she might have been thinking the same thing.

               “Claymore and I keep him gagged and locked up for safekeeping,” he said. With assigning everyone a room and everything with Pax, he’d forgotten their nightly ritual of detaining Jack. Plus, at Camp Othrys, they didn’t have to, and Alabaster couldn’t help but feel nostalgia with the Pax brothers around.

               At her disturbed stare, Alabaster assured, “He should be okay. When he’s alone, he normally just wanders around the yard composing ballads—”

               Someone shouted. After a delay of recognition, Alabaster and Kally locked eyes. That had been Ajax, his voice weakened from sobbing. Had there been other shouting? Alabaster had been so focused on Kally, he’d written off other sounds as the neighbors.

               A loud split, like thunder had torn a crater in the earth, cracked in the air. The ground trembled once.

               They shoved the sleeping bag away and scrambled to their feet. Neither was armed—they should have gone inside for weapons earlier. He had extra spell prepared on his pants but…

               Alabaster stumbled when one of the runes on his pajama pants glowed brilliant green. He gritted his teeth.

               Kally grabbed Alabaster’s arm to help pull him up. “What’s that?!” she asked, her eyes searching the yard for Pax.

               “Someone is trying to break through my barrier,” he hissed.

               A very powerful someone. He could feel the Mist twisting to the command of another.

               “Are there any children of Hecate after you?” he demanded. This was almost as bad as Lamia.

               Kally shook her head. “N-no. Uh—unless—I think Leo’s girlfriend could do magic? Was the original Calypso a child of Hecate?”

               Alabaster’s eyes widened. “The sorceress? Why didn’t you say—” he cut off. No one but the Pax brothers would have realized how vital that was, and they might have been sparing Jack’s feelings about Calypso.

               A dark figure skirted around the side of the house. Alabaster flinched. Something shouldn’t have gotten through his barrier without him detecting—

               Alabaster relaxed when he recognized the single glint of Pax’s hazel eye and heard the racking hackle of Jack’s song. Alabaster tensed all over when he saw that Pax was alone. No—not alone—

               Pax scrambled up the stairs. He trembled and choked on sobs when he skittered to a halt in front of them. He was pale. Mud smeared his knees, and there was a nasty bruise forming on his neck, like someone had tried to take a chunk out of it. He bent over and put his free hand on his knee. His other fingers were tightly clenched in a mess of short, dripping red hair.

               A mess that was definitely talking.

               “--okay, kiddo, it was just Nico, and we hate that—” the head said.

               Pax gathered himself enough to say, “Jack’s dead.”

               “I see that,” Alabaster said, unable to look away.            

               When Pax registered Alabaster’s and Kally’s looks of horror, he gave another sob—this one of relief. “Can all of you hear him too?”

               Alabaster nodded.

He could see Kally do the same from the corner of his eye.  

Some part of him was fascinated. The other part of him wondered if his fascination signified how much more therapy he needed. Had this been another situation, Alabaster might have chastised Pax for bringing home wartime trophies. Alabaster already thought it was gross when the weasels did it.

               Pax let out a hysterical laugh, twisting the mess of hair. Alabaster’s stomach clenched. He’d had to dissect plenty of bodies for spells, but he didn’t often recognize them. Jack’s face was ghastly pale. His eyes were sunken and his lips looked parched and blue under the spittle and blood. There was a hole in his cheek, leaking more fluids. Despite all of that, his eyes were alert and his mouth wouldn’t stop moving. Now, he was humming the tune to, Don’t Stop Me Now.

               Pax laugh-cried, “Oh, thank the gods! Not that I’m happy all of you are going crazy too, just that it isn’t just me.”

               Kally reached a hesitant hand out towards Pax, but stopped. “Ajax, are you—”

               “No!” he cried, “No, I’m not okay!” Alabaster guessed she was going to say, hurt, but knew stopping a Pax mid-rant was like stopping a train with a school crossing sign. “I’m holding a decapitated—”

               “—very handsome—” Jack interjected.

               “—very handsome, talking head of a surrogate father I’ve had to watch die twice! And I’ve probably been exposed to all kinds of diseases, like ebola—”

               “—actually, it was pneumatic plague,” Jack corrected indignantly, “Keep your pandemics straight.”

               “—shingles, and whatever he gave Annabeth! Oh, and Will’s blood.”

               “Mono,” Jack said.[1]

               “Annabeth is here--?” Kally started to ask, but put a hand to her mouth. “Is Will okay?”

               “He was looking a little on the corpsy side after Jack finished his family bonding,” Pax used Jack’s head to gesticulate on family bonding. Someone needed to take Jack’s head from him… but Alabaster really didn’t want to touch it. “Then Nico went all shadows and poofballs to save him and Melinoe captured him to use him as a shadow bridge and now the others are coming for us,” he babbled in one breath.

               “We need to wake up everyone, assuming that cracking noise didn’t wake them up,” Alabaster said. He could feel the shield around his property waning. “The barrier will only give us maybe—five more minutes at this rate. Ajax—”

               Pax burst into a fit of giggles. He almost doubled over. Both Alabaster and Kally flinched.

               “Get it?! Get it?! Jack’s the head of Orpheus Metal. The prophecy! Orpheus’ head won by heart’s loss. I’m at the loss! Why are the Fates so much more creative than me today!” Pax continued to giggle between sobs and gasps. “You win, Fates! You win this round!”

               Many stories said Orpheus’ head sang after it was cut off, though Alabaster didn’t know why they would need a singing head. What they needed to do was get inside and ready for a fight. If Annabeth and Nico were here, he had a guess as to which demigod would be leading the charge. The thought of fighting Percy Jackson excited Alabaster, but not in his pajama pants.

               Alabaster went to command them inside when Pax hugged himself, not seeming to care that Jack’s head bopped against his hip. He choked and coughed.

               “Aw, kiddo, it’s okay—” Jack started.

               Kally removed one of her socks and jammed it into Jack’s mouth. She shivered, examining Pax. After opening and closing her mouth once, she pulled Pax into a hug.

               Normally, Alabaster might warn that she was falling for one of Pax’s ruses. But Pax could barely breathe. And Jack was definitely dead in Pax’s hand. A shudder of horror rumbled through Alabaster when he realized Death really couldn’t keep Jack away.

               And part of him broke, knowing Pax really needed him right now.

               Kally reached back, grabbed Alabaster’s sweater, and dragged him into the hug.

               He counted out five seconds, trying not to think about how freaked out Pax was. Or Kally. Alabaster had seen plenty of severed heads. He guessed this was her first.

               “We need to get inside,” Alabaster said. Later. They could help Pax later. And… do whatever you were supposed to do for decapitated heads to Jack. “Let’s get inside and get Axel.”

                 As Alabaster had hoped, the others were readying themselves. They must have heard the crack. Axel was decorated with a myriad of weapons strapped on with various holsters: hoplite swords, daggers, knives, and others, both celestial and human-made. He had donned his Nemean Lion pelt. With that, his bracers, and his old leather pteruges[2], Axel looked more like the honored lieutenant Alabaster had proudly looked up to.  

               The child of Eros had his bow ready, peering out the front window like a sniper. Euna had Backbiter drawn, standing beside him. Merry sat on the stairs, pale, jutting her jaw to one side.

               The weasels practiced a war dance all around the living room.

               Needing no instruction, Axel handed Alabaster his playing cards as he, Kally, Pax, and… Jack entered.

               “What in Hades is going on?” Calex demanded from his lookout by the window. “We heard—Holy Hygieia! Pax, why do you have that mental bloke’s head?!”

               Jack finally managed to dislodge and spit out Kally’s sock. “I believe the full term is ‘mentally handicapped’ for the political activists. Don’t want to upset Axel,” he teased.

               “Oh gods, it talks,” Calex hissed, touching his temple with one hand.

               “Jack’s dead,” Pax greeted his brother.

               “Again,” Axel acknowledged as he handed Pax the Silver Tongued Snake helm, his bronze chest plate, some clothing, and Pax’s utility belt and attached daggers. His eyes glazed over Jack the same way Alabaster had seen Axel register other dead in the field of battle: a current logistic, grief best left until grief had time. Though Axel did puff up his cheeks and pop them.

               Alabaster flicked his Mist cards through his fingers. Claymore’s was on top, but now wouldn’t be the time to awaken him. As much as he wanted Claymore’s guidance, another body cluttering the room wasn’t what they needed. He flipped to the next set of cards, summoning his bulletproof vest. He hesitated on the imperial gold sword. No… for this, he wanted his old weapons.

               Axel handed Alabaster his Cloven Witch Boy helm, the goat skull enlaced with Stygian iron.  The Triple A Chimera helped each other suit up like no time had passed since their last mission.

               There was a card towards the bottom of Alabaster’s deck that he’d almost thrown away on multiple occasions. He withdrew it, summoned the contents, and handed a thin vial off to Pax. “This is the remnants of some knock out serum. You get one shot. Don’t waste it.”  

               Jack hummed the whole time and Merry and Calex looked like they might throw up.

               “Pax Bae, sweetie, you and I need to have some real talk time about you bringing body parts and dead things home,” Merry whispered.

               “They sent a diplomacy party—” Pax explained while Axel strapped down Pax’s bronze breastplate.

               “Amicablicious!” Merry cheered. “So why—”

               “—that Jack attacked. And now it looks like I played whack-a-mole with Will Solace’s face and poofed Nico Di Angelo into hipsters and Hot Topic.”

               “Did you?” Calex asked, his eyes narrowing.

               Axel and Kally shot Calex a look. Kally’s was of bewilderment. Axel’s was anger. His message was clear, don’t question my brother.

               Pax’s jaw dropped and began to tremble again. “How could you ask that? You know I ship Solangelo.”

               “Maybe we can still use some sweet talk. Pax, what exac—?” Merry started to ask.

               “AJAX PAX!”

               A rumble shook the house and something roared along the shutters. The window glass exploded inward.

               Calex and Euna shouted and dove onto the floor.

               Everyone crouched and ducked.

               “Let’s talk and flee, shall we?” Pax shouted over the boom of wind as it knocked over lampshades, tore loose papers out of the bookshelf, and knocked Alabaster’s favorite teacup off the coffee table. It shattered on impact with the rug.

               “What is that?!” Kally asked.

               “If I had to guess? Jason expressing his feelings. He’s a very sensitive kind of guy!” Pax shouted back.

               Something smashed into the front door. A piece of the wood fractured. Alabaster wanted to curse. Though weakened, his rune barrier hadn’t collapsed yet. No living thing—human or monster—should have been able—

               The wooden frame cracked, and something silvery thundered into the living room.

               Alabaster summoned one of his best Mist cards: his two pronged, Stygian iron staff. Whichever magic user they were facing must have been powerful to sneak in a—

               A silver worktable.

               With the wind dying down, Alabaster could swear there was a faint, “Felix! Come back! I wasn’t supposed to program you with door ramming abilities until next week!”  

               Maybe they would have shared a collective sigh of relief, had the sentient table not bound across the room. Before any of them could get in the way, the worktable slammed into Kally, knocking her flat.

               The table lifted a leg above Kally’s head.

               She yelped and twisted out of the way of a blow that would have crushed her skull. Instead, the table leg pinned her sweatshirt hoodie, preventing her from rolling away. Kally scrambled to squirm out of the article of clothing.

               Alabaster slammed his staff into the leg, jolting her free.

               “Hunnie!” Pax shouted.

               The weasel scurried out from under the couch. Her approach became much more intimidating when Hunnie expanded to the size of the couch. She slammed into the worktable, rocketing the table back through the front door.

               “Out the back!” Axel commanded.

               “But—the van and Vinyl—” Calex started.

               “Now!”

               Alabaster had abandoned so many houses over the last year, all he could do was internally sigh at the thought of going back on the market. At least it was easier with Claymore around.

But, he wanted to take a stand and fight. He’d run from Lamia and the Romans for months. And now, he could possibly have the chance to fight Percy Jackson and Jason Grace and show the pawns of the Olympic mafia what they’d taken from him?

               While he hesitated, Pax grabbed the hand he had on his helmet and Kally grabbed the one on his staff. They dragged him back through the backdoor they’d entered moments ago.

               From a glance behind, Alabaster could see Euna dragging Calex and Merry in a similar way. Axel followed out last, assuring the group was together.

               As they raced down the porch, the rune on Alabaster’s pant leg shattered. A jolt of pain and weakness spread from the break, darkening his senses momentarily. The rune barrier collapsed. The house was now exposed.

               They couldn’t make a stealthy retreat, not with Jack mumbling the whole time and the clank of their armor.

               The three weasels swarmed around their feet. Hunnie was back to her tiny size, having either won or given up on the fight against the work table. For the sake of defending Hecate’s craftsmanship, he hoped the former.      

               “Alabaster! Best retreat?” Axel demanded.

               “The forest,” Alabaster snapped. Despite Lamia’s recent absence, Alabaster had gotten into the habit of planning escapes. Reflexively, he’d directed Pax and Kally towards the woods, taking the lead.

               “Merry—I know it’s a lot—you gotta keep going!” Kally gasped over her shoulder.

               “C—can’t—” the daughter of Dionysus panted. From their stories earlier, Merry had completely depleted herself of energy. A couple hours rest wouldn’t recharge the strongest of demigods after causing a Dionysus level dance off.

               “I have you,” Calex said.

               Alabaster glanced back. Calex had picked Merry up, but they were already so far behind. And carrying her would only slow the Brit down.

               They needed something to cover their retreat, but Alabaster wasn’t sure his concealment spells could hide all seven of them—eight if you included Jack’s grumbling head.

               Beyond them, Alabaster could see five figures approaching from the side of the house.

               The barometric pressure dropped.

               “STOP!” Pax shrieked.

               For an instant, Alabaster thought Pax or Axel had used their Mayan magic. That’s how it always felt before they did.

               Instead, a flash of light blinded Alabaster ahead.

               Something popped.

               For an instant, Alabaster couldn’t see or hear anything. The earth rumbled under his feet—something was shifting. He, Pax, and Kally fell on the grass.

               When he managed to blink the floating spheres out of his vision, he could see something had shifted the earth ahead of them. There was now a deep trench, in a semicircle, around the back of the house. Like someone had collapsed a tunnel underneath.

               They were trapped.

 [1] Mel Beta Note: “I’m not sure what’s stronger right now: my sense of humor or my sense of morals. I’m so emotionally confused!” However, Mel had the disclaimer that Jack exposure may cause confusion. Like a Psyduck.

[2] This is the proper name for those fancy leather skirts the Romans wore. “Skirts” just didn’t fit the right mood of the scene, though I assure you Pax was thinking of them as skirts.

#The Attrition of Peace #Traitors of Olympus #Heroes of Olympus #Percy Jackson and the Olympians #fanfiction #Alabaster #Pax #Kally #Calex #Euna #Welcoming the Head of Orpheus Metal! #Weasels #Jason #Correction: pissed off Jason #A kickass silver work table

[siren-dragon]

Long Live the King - (Ardyn Izunia x Reader) Ch.8

At last, I’ve finished it! Now, I’m going to take this time to thank everyone who read/liked/reblooged this story, as this is pretty much the end. Also a big thank you again to @maty-yami, she has been a huge help writing this and I am so glad you gave me this prompt request. Now then, let’s proceed with the story

You quickly bolted through the desolate corridors of the Citadel, taking a moment to glance backward for any sight of your pursuer before swiftly changing direction. He was fast, but you could elude him; you had to. Taking another left you sprinted toward the Royal Garden for a place to hide but it was too late. A heavy weight fell against your back, causing you to trip until a strong hand grabbed hold of your arm, preventing you from face-planting into the grass beneath your feet.

“We got her Papa! We caught Mama!” came the delighted squeal of your son.

“We most certainly did, Ausel.” Ardyn replied, the laughter evident in his voice.

You huffed in mock anger despite the smile you were fighting to show. “Wrapping is cheating.”

“All is fair in love and war, my dear.”

“Yeah Mama, we used our rez-sore-ceses.”

You raised an eyebrow, “Is that so? Then I suppose I am able to use my secret weapon: the tickle monster!”

Ausel screamed for joy as your hands began to dance across his stomach, making both you laugh. Though you soon shouted in alarm as Ardyn’s arms wrapped around you both as he spun the two of you in circles. He laughed as the two of you tried to attack him, successfully toppling him onto the grass.

It often surprised you how time seemed to slow to a crawl in times of peril, yet race by in an instant in moments of joy. The past 10 years flew by faster than an enraged Zu, causing your beloved son to grow into a handsome young boy, with him inheriting Ardyn’s wild magenta hair and your (e.c) eyes. He looked so much like his deceased brother that you often wondered if he had lived, would your sweet Sitael have been so care-free? Ausel had once asked you about his older brother; wondering where he had gone.

“Your brother had died when he was very young,” you had answered, brushing his thick red hair.

Ausel cocked his head to the side curiously. “Do you and Papa still miss him?”

“Yes, we do.” You replied before smiling, “but even though he is no longer here, we still love him very much. Just as we do you, Ausel.”

“Do you think he would have liked playing Glaives and MT’s with me?” Ausel grinned. “Most definitely,” you laughed.

The days you spent with Ardyn and Ausel were the happiest of your life, regardless of the daemon-infested world that lay beyond the walls of the Citadel. You didn’t think it safe to travel to Insomnia after the events of the Treaty-Signing and the increase of daemons, but Ardyn swore no harm would befall you or Ausel so long as there was breath in his body. And so, the three of you remained within the Citadel, locked within your own little wonderland while the outside world fell apart.

Though thoughts of your friends did cross your mind; making you wonder if Prompto, Gladio, Ignis, and Cor were doing. Or if they were even still alive. You did regret not telling them the truth of your identity, but it was a regret you had to live with.

“Come on Mama! We’re playing hide-and-seek and Papa is it!”

But sitting here with your family was more than enough for you.

“The light waxes full…Return to thy kingdom where the Usurper awaits….”

Blue eyes opened once more within the darkened stone prison as the King of Light stood tall, returning at last. “The time has come.”

You sat upon the stone bench amongst the flowers of the Royal Garden, playing your ocarina as you had so many years ago. The artificial light did little to help the plant life grow, but it was enough to sustain sustenance for your family and a few of your favorite flowers. Ardyn sat beside you with Ausel within his arms, the younger male’s head laying limply against his father’s shoulder as he slept. You watched as Ardyn stroked your child’s hair gently, a proud smile splayed across his lips.

“He has grown so quickly,” Ardyn whispered.

You smiled, “yes, he has. Time flew by fast…”

“To fast for my tas-“Ardyn froze, his head turning as if trying to listen to a faint whisper.

“Ardyn? Are you alright?”

Ardyn’s expression instantly turned from one of joy to one of sorrow and anger. His grip upon Ausel tightened slightly as he lowered his head, masking his face behind his messy wine-colored hair. You frowned, placing a gentle hand upon his elbow; concerned with his sudden change of mood. “What is it my love?”

“….He is coming.” Ardyn answered.

There was no need for any explanations, as you already knew who the individual in question was. You bit your lip as dread began to fill your body and sorrow fell upon you like a dark cloud. Then…it was over. The last grain of sand had finally fallen from the hourglass, showing your time was done. Tears began to fall from your eyes as Ardyn gently cupped your cheek, wiping away the tracks that stained your face. “Do not waste your tears on me, (f/n); I have caused you enough pain already.”

“You will always be worth my tears, Ardyn,” you smiled. “When will he arrive?”

“Soon…very soon.”

You nodded, turning your gaze to the sylleblossoms that sat a few feet away. “Ardyn I- “

“Will you play for me?” Ardyn spoke, causing you to face him once more. “Just…just for a moment.”

“….Of course, my love.” You replied before raising the ocarina to your lips once more, allowing the sweet music to soothe your turbulent emotions. Perhaps it was best to leave somethings unspoken…

“Well fellas, we’re homeward bound at last. Time to suit up.”

“Finally get to rock these threads,” Prompto grinned.

“Wear them with pride.”

“Yeah, just hope they still fit,” Noctis spoke. “Though…there’s something I wanted to tell you all.”

“Hmm? What’s up Noct?”

“….It’s about (f/n).”

“Papa, will you tell me a story?” Ausel asked, hugging his black chocobo plush to his chest.

“Is there a specific one you wish to hear? You’ve quite a collection of books to choose from.”

Ausel shook his head, “no Papa; I’ve already heard those ones. Something new please!”

Ardyn raised an eyebrow at the request while you laughed under your breath.

“You are certainly your mother’s child. Very well then, I believe I have a story in mind. An old tale, long forgotten by the people of the world, but one that is as true as the air we breathe….”

“Now what is that phrase, ah yes;” Ardyn continued, a sly smirk on his face. “Once upon a time in a faraway land there lived a young King. This King was very kind and loved by all his people, always protecting them from daemons and ruling with a firm yet gentle hand.”

“But the King was lonely, for he had no one to stand alongside him to rule the kingdom. Then one day, while walking through his garden he heard the soft sound of music. Following the music he came upon a beautiful nymph that lived within the garden-“

“Was she really pretty?” Ausel interrupted.

Ardyn glanced toward you and smiled, “oh yes, very beautiful” He replied, causing a slight blush to color your cheeks.

“The King approached the nymph and said, ‘you play so wonderfully, my dear. Will you please play for me once more?’ The nymph was surprised by the King’s presence, but agreed to his request. So, every evening when the moon was at its highest, the King would return to his garden and listen to the nymph’s sweet melodies. And as the days passed by, the two soon fell in love.”

“However, the King’s brother was jealous of his sibling’s good fortune and wished to have the throne for himself. So, he asked the gods to bestow their blessing upon him and soon his prayers were answered. The gods turned upon the King and cursed him to wander alone in darkness for all eternity before imprisoning the nymph; never to be reunited with her beloved.”

“That’s horrible!” Ausel exclaimed.

“It certainly is,” Ardyn nodded in agreement. “For years the King was lost in the shadows, now spiteful and cruel from the experience.…And becoming the very monsters, he fought to protect his people from. But one of the gods felt sympathy for the disgraced King and believed even he deserved happiness. And so, the god released the nymph from her imprisonment and let her return to the King. But time had not been kind to the King and was not the man he once was and hurt his beloved nymph.”

Ausel gasped, “why would he do that? Was it because of the daemons?”

“No Ausel, there was no excuse for his actions. He was cruel and hurtful to her, deserving none of her affection; yet the nymph remained. She took hold of his hands and simply smiled, promising to stand beside him once more, now and forever.”

“And they lived happily ever after….right?” Ausel yawned, leaning against the soft pillows of the bed.

Ardyn smiled sadly, running a hand across his son’s hair. “Yes…they did.”

You slowly stood and wrapped your arms around Ardyn, burying your face against his coat and inhaling the scent of sandalwood. “We will both stay, until the end.”

“Home sweet home,” Gladio spoke, summoning his large claymore.

“At long last.”

“Next stop, the Citadel.”

“Yeah,” Noctis spoke. “Get ready everyone.”

You stood silently within the throne room alongside your son, waiting for Noctis’ return; your nerves fraying as Noctis and his friends journeyed closer to the Citadel. You knew what was to occur, what Ardyn had to do, yet you still felt a great sadness. How could you simply stand by and watch your love one march to his death?

The doors to the throne room soon opened and you took view of your friends. Ten years had changed them all, for no longer were they young, carefree adventurers; but hardened warriors. “I’m afraid you’re out of luck,” Ardyn spoke mockingly. “The throne brings you here? It seats only one.”

“Off my chair jester, the king sits there.”

Ardyn slammed his foot against the marble throne, fists clenched in anger. “Oh Noct…How I have waited for this. Longer than you could ever know….Tonight, the dreams of the blood royal, come to an end!”

“Spite’s all that kept him going,” Gladio huffed.

Prompto sighed, “talk about a grudge.

“Ardyn sit’s the throne?”

“Not for long…this is my Acension.”

You couldn’t help the proud smile that drifted onto your face at Noctis’ words, knowing that the young prince that had saved you in that lake, had grown into a fine King. Ardyn snapped his fingers, allowing his magic to incapacitate the Gladio, Ignis, and Prompto without killing them. There was no need for more casulties, he owed Noctis that much.

“What did you do?!”

“They have no place in this: the battle of kings! Come Noctis.” Ardyn grinned before warping away.

As Noctis walked toward the throne you stepped forward, pulling along your son into the light. “It’s been a long time Noctis.”

He paused, turning to face you and glancing at the child that stood beside you. “So Bahamut spoke the truth….”

“Noctis…I am sorry. I am sorry that I lied to all of you.”

“There is nothing to be sorry for (f/n), I...I know what happened. And…I am glad you were able to stand beside him.” Noctis smiled. “I am afraid I must go now….”

“Do not worry, I will look after them,” you said, nodding to Noctis’ fallen comrades.

“…Thank you (f/n).” And without another word, he warped away to battle.

You walked toward the unconscious men and slowly began to rouse them from their sleep. After several minutes, all three of them groaned in pain before turning their eyes to you. “(f/n)!” Prompto exclaimed happily. “Hello Prompto, it is good to see you all once more. But I’m afraid we have more pressing matters to attend to. Follow me.”

When you all arrived at the battle, only Noctis remained. You felt tears fall from your eyes and blend with the rain that fell. Ausel clung tightly to your hand and you knelt down to embrace your son, both of you mourning the loss of your Fallen King. Noctis came to crouch beside you, a look of sympathy on his face,

“I am sorry, (f/n).”

“No, it is alright Noctis. It was not your fault,” you sniffed.

“But…I do have a request.” Noctis spoke, “Ignis, Gladio, Prompto…will you please protect these two. After all, a kingdom needs it’s king.”

“With all our strength,” Gladio nodded.

Noctis turned to Ausel, bowing respectfully. “Take care, your Majesty.”

Ausel smiled before returning the bow. “You as well, your Majesty.”

The five of you watched Noctis climb the steps of the Citadel for the final time before the groaning of Iron Giants appeared behind you. Immediately you placed your son behind you, summoning your bow while the other’s conjured their weapons. Though soon a light appeared above you all as a loud explosion echoed across the city, before you knew no more….

Opening your eyes, you gazed upon the sunlit sky, the wind blowing the grass you laid upon. Sitting up you looked to see yourself within a flower covered meadow, the peaceful scenery a shocking difference from the darkness covered Insomnia you had lived in.

“….(f/n),” a deep voice spoke from behind.

Spinning around you smiled, rushing toward Ardyn and wrapping your arms around him. But slowly you let your arms fall, “this is goodbye, isn’t it?”

He nodded, “yes…it is.”

“I will miss you…”

Ardyn smiled, placing his fedora upon your head, “I will be waiting for you....now, and forever.”

You felt the meadow slowly fade away as you kissed your beloved one final time, “I love you.”

“And I you, my brave, little nymph….take care of our son….”

You watched Ardyn disappear and felt yourself pulled back to the land of the living, knowing that you will see him once more….

15 years later:

You watched as the palace servants rushed about the Citadel, some occasionally stopping to ask for your preference on flowers or what tableware should be used. It was rather humorous to see them in such a panicked frenzied and you couldn’t help but laugh. After all, a coronation only came so often.

“Hey (f/n), good morning!” Prompto grinned at you.

“Good morning to you as well, Ambassador Argentum.”

Prompto groaned, “aw come on (f/n), don’t start that again. I hear enough of it when I’m in Niflheim.”

You laughed, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself. How are things over in Gralea?”

“Great, thanks to Aranea. She’s been a big help with the MT Rehabilitation, though it’s nice to be somewhere with no snow.” Prompto spoke, “though Aranea said she’ll be arriving later, eager to give the little rascal one last hair-ruffle. Speaking of which, where is the soon-to-be king?”

“Likely dodging Ignis to avoid his fitting.” You answered with a laugh.

“Ah, there you are (f/n), I was wondering if you’ve seen your son of late.” Ignis spoke, appearing behind the two of you.

“Is he avoiding you again Iggy?” Prompto asked.

“Well we can’t very well have a coronation without a prince,” Ignis chuckled.

You lay a supportive hand upon Ignis elbow, “I believe I know where he is and I will send him your way Ignis.”

“Thank you (f/n), and good luck.”

You walked down the corridors toward the Royal Garden, the sunlight making it look almost ethereal. Walking beside the lake you smiled at the sight of a familiar head of magenta hair that was tied into a messy ponytail. Slowly you approached the figure and leaned to his ear before yelling, “CAW Kids! It’s Kenny Crow!”

“Dear Ifrit!” your son exclaimed, frowning at your laughter. “Very funny, Mom.”

“I am sorry, I couldn’t resist.” You smiled, taking a seat beside him, “I thought I’d find you here. Hiding from Ignis again?”

“No…maybe,” Ausel sighed. “I just wanted to have a moment alone is all.”

You hummed in acknowledgement, “something on your mind?”

“I just…I wonder what he would say, seeing me here….Do you think he would be proud?”

You watched your now fully-grown son, almost a carbon-copy of his father and smiled. Gently you removed the fedora that sat upon your head, the black material old and faded, though still you wore it like a crown. “You are his son, he will always be proud of you Ausel; as am I,” you answered, placing the fedora atop his head. “I think it would look best on you now, don’t you think?”

Ausel stared at you in surprise before pulling you into an embrace. “Thank you, Mom, and…I love you.”

“I love you too, my dear. Now, time to get you ready before Ignis sends the Crownsguard after you.”

And as you later stood amongst the VIP guests as your son knelt a top the Citadel’s front steps to be crowned king in front of all Insomnia, you felt your heart burst with joy. Cor nodded to the young king before gesturing to your son and exclaiming; “All hail King Ausel Lucis Caelum, 115th King of Lucis! Long live the King!”

“LONG LIVE THE KING!”

And for a moment, you could have sworn you heard Ardyn’s voice whisper in your ear, “Well done, my love.”

Tada! That is the end of this chapter. There is only one more left, so stay tuned for the ending! ^_^

#ffxv #ardyn izunia #ardyn izunia x reader #fanfiction #Long Live the King - ch.8

[igiveyouanumbrella-blog]

Shackled

Characters: Apostasia, Lord Knight

Words Count: 2974

Rating: Some blood, descriptions of injuries, some sadness. Elrios isn’t a kind place.

[Technically is connected to x, but to be honest you can treat this as a separate story. ]

There are times when he wondered if Gods make humans so foolish on purpose. 

1.

For a being borne out of divinity, he cannot understand its enchantment to the point of attracting worship.

Watching the Dark El crumbles before his eyes, its fragments scattering through air like flocks of songbirds orchestrating their funeral songs, he ponders the falsity of a potential salvation. What’s there in a title of a God, if Her powers has failed to reach the core of her most trusted servant?

(Is he still? He doesn’t know.)

The Goddess is not absolute. The Goddess is not all-encompassing. The thoughts, the hurt, they travel up his disfigured skin and taint him with disappointment, until he could do nothing but to dirty his hands with black blood for camouflage.

2.

He remembers being young.

He remembers Her voice too, when it sounds so much like music in his ears and not like a string of empty promises. She whispers importance into his being by motioning his gaze toward the other siblings who are still diluted lights with their fates unwritten. Like a fool, he places himself up the pedestal, looking down without realizing the perch is shallow.

He doesn’t know why She tells him to abandon feelings, to rescind from attachment, but does not take away the blooming pride in his chest. If she did let him be void of emotions, perhaps things could have turned out differently. But time doesn’t rewind for anyone, not even for a being abandoned by its own Absolute.

A scythe manifests and drowns everything in dark emptiness. Screams of demons turn into silence, alongside remnant whispers of regret. A fallen Celestial will relieve everything of all pains.

He can’t quite say this lingering wanting is strong enough to form a purpose, but It might keep him awake for a while longer.

3.

He encounters that mop of red hair while slaying down hordes of demons in a ransacked temple, their screams deafening the flutter of syllables tumbling out the other boy’s mouth caused by a slash of their claws.

What is this boy’s name, again? He doesn’t remember much about his past as a divine being, not anymore. Muddles of thoughts and emotions have become too much to bear over the years, so he tried quelling them down the void so many times until they become too vestigial to be recalled. However, now, the unease over his lack of remembrance seeps into his bones and makes them ache.

The boy’s body is in a horrible state, with liquids redder than his own hair tainting the iron armor in various gaping holes. His face looks older than the last time Ain has seen it, but his frame folds up like the vessel of a small child. 

“Ain…You’re…Ain. Right?” He shakes his head, but then stops the motion when the redhead gasps, choking on his own blood. In a distance, there are some voices other than demon screams beginning to filter into the chamber- the boy’s friends’. He resists a hiss, not wanting to let in more unnecessary disturbances to his supposed uneventful routine.

A gloved hand clutches his tainted wrist, making the blue marks hiss and the eyes engraved on his body growl. The boy’s mere presence is so disgustingly holy- the El- that he wants to flinch, before it dissipates when exhausted fingers eventually let go.

“Refrain from calling me by that name.” He mutters, picks up that familiar body, and dissipates into emptiness. For there’s no need to follow any rationality or reason; the only guiding light is the bubbling of something in the gaping hole that’s used to house his heart.

4.

Glave cackles at him when red blood spills on the floor of Henrir’s space like wine on glass, his gold eyes gleam with amusement.

“And I thought celestials are meant to be cold.”

“But I am not a celestial anymore,” he replies, and the man howls. A confused blink, then the sound of armor hits the space between them to snap Glave out of his mirth. If there’s one feeling he still remembers to express, that’s impatience.

“Heal him.”

“…Why didn’t you leave him be?”

“I don’t know.” A pause, “He was clinging onto my arms.” He corrects himself.

“I don’t like to aid the near-death, you know. Too many complications,” The air around them shifts and turns chilly, hisses resounding through the cold. Glave pauses when he saw the eyes on his body turned bloodshot, ready for destruction in resonance with his bubbling anger. “Then again, I also dislike fighting needless battles.” None of them do, really. Isn’t that why they all hide themselves in this virtual nothingness- to shut their eyes toward the physical world?

And yet, looking at the pool of red on his hands, he wonders what it takes for the child before him to readily throw himself into pointless conflicts, and what compels him to savage that flickering life in the first place.

But he cannot think too deeply, as all his mind can register is the faint cadence of the boy’s heartbeat.

5.

Glave warned that the aura in Henrir will cause harm to the armored boy, so he carries him out of the oppressive dimension into someplace more suitable for human occupation: the outskirts of Ruben. The bright sun burns his back and the green grass itch his skin, but he waits and stares at the way the boy’s chest move up and down, up and down, up and—

Until the claymore’s edge flash across his eyes and grazes his cheek. Ah, he recalls this boy’s speed has always been swift when it comes to destruction-a result borne from cruel expectations in an imperfect world.

“Are you…Ain? Or a demon that looks like him?” The boy’s eyes are as sharp as his sword, burning into the disfigured blue marks on his skin and the hissing eyes on his shell. His frame is still small, but the armor brings in more weight, more rigidity in his movement- the epitome of a perfect soldier fighting for a cause.

“I’m not Ain,” he insists in monotony; that name bears no relevance now. “But I’m also not a demon. I am—“ He pauses, not sure how to continue when he knows not of his label. The boy’s words fill in the space of silence before his can.

“Weird, because you sound a lot like him,” red eyes soften for a fraction in thought, before they settle into firmness. “Why did you save me?” The blade’s edge is still inches away from the skin on his neck, but he can perceive a small shaking movement. Try as he might, he can never understand puny humans and their unnecessary need to appear impervious to weakness.

“I don’t know.” He answers truthfully, as there’s little reason to be dishonest.

“Who are you really?”

“I don’t know.”

”How can you not know who you are?” The question is filled with more worry than frustration. It’s been years, but the child is still kind.

“Because I’ve abandoned everything, even my own memories.” They’re unnecessary, useless, worthless, unneeded, just like him. Per his answer, red eyes lose their sharpness, and straightforward brows droop down. The sight somehow made his eyes itch, so he continues, “But I know who you are. I just don’t remember your name.”

“Me?” The sword is lowered and sheathed with a quick, practiced flourish. “I’m Elsword.” Silver armor glints to distract from the ghost of a smile that he cannot read. Gloved hand still hovering the handle of his claymore-signs of caution. A long pause pass when they hold each other’s eyes, then, “Do you want to come with me?”

“Why?” Now that takes him by surprise.

“You killed a lot of demons. You saved the El in that temple from being corrupted.” The boy replies easily like he’s expelling air, as if everything that come out of his mouth make perfect sense.

“But I don’t care for the El. I actually hate the Goddess,” his throat hurts-he hasn’t talked this much for a long time, but somehow this boy- Elsword- is making him want to share more than to listen. It’s an uneasy feeling.

“I’m acquainted with a pair of demons, you know. They agreed to come, even if they don’t care for a God. We only want to restore the El together. Most of us, anyways.” Elsword smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. The redhead is much more calculated in his demeanors and reasoning now, and he’s not sure if he likes that.

“But why do you want to take me with you? I’m corrupted.” On cue, the eyes hiding in his shadows hiss again, their darkness creeping cold on his entire being. He tries to dig his mind for more coherent words, to persuade this boy to leave him alone. He’s so tired of being involved in any godly affair, of having false expectations that he’s needed. “Are you doing this out of…pity?”

“I do. But also, because you remind me of an old friend. So, maybe it’s out of selfishness?” A small grin stretches wider, but those red eyes look like they want to cry.

Perhaps, that is why he takes the boy’s outstretched hand.

“…For the time being, I will come with you.” It doesn’t matter whether the El will be restored or not-everything they do would be pointless when the cycle of death envelops every being. Helping a child in an overly big armor isn’t an exception to nihil when every act leads to the same end.

“Okay,” Elsword smiles. “And your name?”

He thinks about the grazing cold of his own core, the emptiness of unheard prayers, the foolishness of an abandoned servant waiting to be fed by an uncaring hand, and said, “Apostasia.”

Just a reminder to himself, so that he won’t make the same mistake.

6.

The party is understandably distrustful of his presence, suspicious of a man who has abandoned them in pursuit of a goal too far from their mortality. Their gazes sting more than the burns of Henrir on his core, but Apostasia learns to ignore them all, like he has done toward everything in life.

Everything, except for one.

“I knew it, you’re a great addition to the party.” Elsword’s words ring like a triumphant song to his ears from across the battlefield as one more demon get impaled with black thorns, and Apostasia cannot help but quirk his lips upward, the soft nostalgia from years past filled his stomach with more than just misery.

He missed this boy.

7.

“You’re Ain,” Elsword said one early morning when the sun still had not risen. Many things had changed other than the boy’s age and appearance-his sleeping patterns, for instance. Apostasia belatedly realizes that he was growing into more of a warrior ready for war. The knowledge causes an aching on his core that he could not quite categorize.

“That is not my designation anymore, I am-“

“But you’re still him. You feel like him.” There it was, the flash of stubbornness that used to irritated his celestial self, and it still does. Apostasia flicked his corrupted wrist, and eyes opened up on his belly, hissing in response to command of the hurt that never came.

“Does my body look like that Ain’s?” Grotesque and insidious, far from the image molded by God. It is something he had to grow comfortable with. 

“...No. But people change. You do too.” Elsword’s eyes burned away his rejections, and gloved hands covered up his tainted ones without flinches. “It’s not only similarities in appearance but...I know you’re Ain when you saved me in that ransacked temple, because you...You are always one of the first people to come to my aid.” If Apos saw a wet sheen on the corner of Elsword’s eyes, he didn’t comment on it. Dark eyes blinked slowly. Tired. Sorry.

He remembered now. It was this form of trust and kindness that make humans so weak and stupid, so quick to fall into misery. Easy to be used and discarded by a Goddess who has instilled into them a love for life. And yet-

Cold fingers wrapped around the boy’s gloves, clinging to their warmth. Who says he isn’t as stupid as them when he has been built from their image?

8.

Gold chains erupted from the grandmaster’s cores, slithering along her limbs like snakes. They held down the grand demon and smited it with holy flames. From her own essence, the song of divinity exuded its first note of regal power, scorching everything in its path faster than any flame magic. Apostasia hissed in pain as his eyes scream in fear of God’s presence, but Elsword watched on, enraptured by the otherworldly sight like his life had been built up for that moment. Even without any confirmation of Her agent, Apostasia already knew of the girl’s role, sensing the Goddess’ mark engraved in her fate as a tool to be discarded for the greater means.

That was the beginning of the end.

One day, a man in black and red came to reap happiness away, his flames promised the baptism of a new world without the El, all in protection of an unfortunate sacrifice. He emitted a grand defiance toward God that both intrigued and uneased Apostasia. Scorn was in his eyes and soul, anger lied in every thrust of sword he rains down on flesh. Lost love, Apostasia didn’t understand, but he knew of regret, of wanting things he can never have. So, he fought with everything he could muster, unable to disrespect the man’s will to establish influence in the world that doesn’t acknowledge his struggles.

But Elsword- the boy’s eyes looked directionless, the swings of his blade were damaging but driven on pure instinct rather than finesse. Still, he fought, blood pooling at his feet and teeth gritted tight in determination. Besides him, the grandmaster stood tall, her nimble dodges and decisive strikes in tandem with her brother’s, as if there’s no noose hanging on her neck.

Humans, he concluded, are stupid creatures. But they are not weak. 

Their adversary was powerful-he possessed an incredible aptitude of turning aged desperation into strength, and soon, the whole party, even the power of Void, shriveled and burnt under relentless torrent of flames. Only Elsword’s blazing mop of unkempt red hair remained tall, his armor broken but not shattered. Apostasia’s eyes could only register the screeching of bloodied sword, before blackness overtook him.

9.

When he woke, the powerful man was no more; only a black-haired corpse was left in its place. In his chest, lied a claymore serving as his tombstone, with his boyish gravedigger wearing heavy crosses on his neck. Besides him, the grandmas-Elesis, held his hands. They both were shaking, their postures looked every bit the children he finally recalled befriending years ago.

“I’ve made my decision.” Even after all these months, Elsword’s armor still looked too big for his frame. With all of the pieces in place, he looked every part the gear of the bigger machine called life. Apostasia wanted to smash them all, then he caught the glimmer in those stony red eyes and stopped himself. 

Was it a foolish decision on his part? He’s not quite sure. But still, he had no role in stopping this, no conscience of obstructing the boy who has granted him a new life and purpose in a world that promised him none.

10.

Apostasia watched as Elsword leaded his sister to her final resting place. Every step they took up the long stairs signaled one more year added to Elesis’s life sentence, every shuffle of feet left a vestige of resignation. Their two shadows flickered in the sun, merged, then only one was left behind.

Elsword dashed from the temple’s gates after, unmindful of worries exude from his friends and the priestesses, his legs hurried and clumsy. A gloved hand shielded the profile of his face. Apostasia wasted no moment to run toward the boy. Even if he doesn’t understand humans’ need to appear strong, he still felt the distress in abandonment. After all, wasn’t that the whole purpose of this cursed humanity that Ishmael molds him after: to relate to humans so much that he can feel the insignificance of their feelings, of their imperfections, of their lives, to the point it shattered his arrogance and makes him obey fate’s whims?

When corrupted arm reached the metal shoulder pad after a long distance, the boy came undone and collapsed in tears. Apostasia felt a pang of hurt reaching his empty hole of a heart, but no water came out to salve the ache. He could only wrap his tattered wings around that small frame and protect it from more offenses done by a callous God.

“It’s over now,” that’s not much of a consolation than a statement of truth, but the boy’s hiccups stopped.

11.

Elsword held his hand with a gloved palm, but it felt cold to the touch. Apostasia didn’t know why that bothered him, but it did.

“I want to go back home one last time, Ain.” Elsword’s calm words betrayed the liquid dripping down his cheeks, but the boy held his gaze firmly, steadily. “I want to see Ruben again, before I return to Sis.” His hand shuddered, and Apostasia tightened his grip, the holy song of the crystal inside the boy didn’t scream at him when they touched anymore. It’s now silent and peaceful in all of its negligence-their roles were finished.

Apostasia thought about how this boy’s claymore glistened in blood and blaze, burning out a girl’s life for a world that will eventually forget its own name. He pondered about the demons roaming the land with their miasma still scattering around the Earth, stewing for another generation of vengeance and itching to overthrow the divines. He contemplated the weakness of Gods, the futility of Devils, the certainty of struggles feeding into a cycle they can never escape.

He cannot imagine the end of this world will be pretty, and yet...

Elsword kept his gaze, pinning him in place despite his desire to slip through the cracks and float in the void. Apostasia nodded; all the brave man’s words he couldn’t say as Apostasia is neither man or brave, yet he knew he could at least offer the boy this:

“Let’s go.”

A/N: So this is an AU within the AU in this, in which the El is really the only thing that won’t screw the world over. Elsword succeeded in protecting the world like he should, yay!! Unfortunately, Solace got stabbed because, let’s face it, he would never compromise a chance at saving Harnier without a good fight. Even after the restoration of El is completed, because Apostasia’s connection with Ishmael is practically severed, he doesn’t get dissociated into light and gets to stay with Elsword and being his eternal silent observer. 

The changing between present and past tenses are intentional but hmm it probably doesn’t matter too much...for now ((pray that i can get the other stories in this AU published so things can make more sense without spoiling)) 

#sorry for being dead for over a month guys writing is??? #hard #at least for me who's a weakling #mmmm #i've been working on this for over a week and tbh i still don't feel satisfied with it but? #i think it's better to let it out of the basement than trying to stifle in shame and then burn it away #elsword #ain #lord knight #apostasia #im gonna have to nap now it's like 4 am

[jenmedsbookreviews]

Made the most of the beautiful weather this weekend and went for a lovely walk early on Sunday morning. A few miles and several steps covered, I also cleared 40% of an audiobook so it is all good. Productive day for me then. Whoop whoop.

So – how has your week been? I’ve had a bit of an emotional one again this week unfortunately. Took my little kitty to the vets as he’s been under the weather and we’ve been monitoring him for the week. Sadly, this time he hd lost more weight and the vet felt a mass in his intestinal tract which doesn’t look good. He’s on steroids to manage his condition and hopefully improve his feeding but we both know it is simply a matter of time before I have to say goodbye to Mars too. I am trying to psyche myself up for it, but I have to be honest, as nice as the gesture was, it didn’t help that the same evening I came home to a card from the Vets with their best wishes after the loss of Kaycee the other week. Can anyone guess who was an emotional blubbering mess? No? That would be me. Again.

I did manage to complete two of my three online courses, which sounds like far more of an achievement than it actually is, but hey. I now have certificates. Go me, lol.

Taking my mind off things, I had a meeting in Crawley on Thursday so I took the opportunity for a quick stop off in the city the night before to attend the launch of Roxanne Bouchard’s wonderfully lyrical crime thriller, We Were The Salt of the Sea. The event was hosted by the Canadian Embassy, the venue and the evening amazing, and a big thanks to Karen Sullivan for the invitation. Certainly a very memorable event with brilliant readings by translator David Warriner (in English) and Roxanne herself (in French) which made the night perfect. Might have picked myself up a sneaky signed copy of the book too, courtesy of the lovely Karen again. The dedication is in French but I have just about enough knowledge of the language to translate. It was lovely to meet both Roxanne and David and their respective partners, and to see a number of my good blogging pals too.

You know my theory that book post is like buses? Well – proven again this week. While I was away I received three letters/parcels. The first was a book-plate for The Craftsman by Sharon Bolton. If I hadn’t been expecting it then it would have been quite unnerving lol. The second was a copy of Her Name Was Rose by Claire Allan from Avon Books. The third was something pretty special – a finished copy of The Ice Swimmer by Kjell Ola Dahl where I am quoted on the cover!!! My first (and probably only) time as a cover girl. I will treasure this for sure. Might even have to get it signed by the man himself as a super special copy.

Saturday saw me attending the blogger author meet up in Stoke organise by Stephanie Lawrence and Kerry Parsons. It was fab to catch up with some old friends and make some new ones. I am crap with pictures so there is no evidence to be found on this blog, but if you search about you may find some in existence elsewhere.

I’m probably a very naughty bunny – depending on your perspective – but I did go onto Netgalley again this week, In my defence, I had to as I needed books for blog tours … I just might have strayed and requested a couple more while I was there. Whoops. I picked up The Date by Louise Jensen, Follow Me Home by DK Hood, The Puppet Show by MW Craven and Strangers on a Bridge by Louise Mangos. I also received an advance copy of After He’s Gone from author Jane Issac, the first in a brand new series which I am really looking forward to tucking into soon.

Purchase wise – not so well behaved I’m afraid. I made a few pre-orders (as you do) and picked up a couple of bargains too. As well as preordering Follow Me Home, The Puppet Show and  Strangers on a Bridge, I picked up Dead Blind by Rebecca Bradley; The Adulterer’s Wife by Leigh Russell; The Dying Place by Luca Veste; The Promise by Katerina Diamond; Dark Winter and Original Skin by David Mark. No audio books, the then I think I have enough to be going on with, don’t you?

Books I have read

Absolution – Paul Hardisty

Sequel to the critically acclaimed The Abrupt Physics of Dying, The Evolution of Fear and Reconciliation for the Dead. Claymore Straker returns in another gripping, page-turning, socially conscious thriller, with more at stake than ever…

It is 1997, eight months since vigilante justice-seeker Claymore Straker fled South Africa after his explosive testimony to Desmond Tutu’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission. In Paris, Rania LaTour, journalist, comes home to find that her son and her husband, a celebrated human rights lawyer, have disappeared. On an isolated island off the coast of East Africa, the family that Clay has befriended is murdered as he watches.

So begins the fourth instalment in the Claymore Straker series, a breakneck journey through the darkest reaches of the human soul, as Clay and Rania fight to uncover the mystery behind the disappearances and murders, and find those responsible.

Events lead them both inexorably to Egypt, where an act of the most shocking terrorist brutality will reveal not only why those they loved were sacrificed, but how they were both, indirectly, responsible. Relentlessly pursued by those who want them dead, they must work together to uncover the truth, and to find a way to survive in a world gone crazy. At times brutal, often lyrical, but always gripping, Absolutionis a thriller that will leave you breathless and questioning the very basis of how we live and why we love.

The final Claymore Straker novel but by god what a hard hitting, emotional read, full of social conscience and a clear passion for his subject. Paul Hardisty takes us on a roller coaster rise as Straker seeks to reunite himself with Rania, possibly the only woman he has ever loved. Full of action, tension and subterfuge this book has many facets, covering environmental and humanitarian issues whilst providing a compelling story told in such beautifully crafted language. Action with a heart. Loved it. It’s available now in e-book or from 30th May in paperback so you can pick up or preorder a copy here.

…

The Reckoning – Yrsa Sigurdardottir

A chilling note predicting the deaths of six people is found in a school’s time capsule, ten years after it was buried. But surely, if a thirteen-year-old wrote it, it can’t be a real threat…

Detective Huldar suspects he’s been given the investigation simply to keep him away from real police work. He turns to psychologist Freyja to help understand the child who hid the message. Soon, however, they find themselves at the heart of another shocking case.

For the discovery of the letter coincides with a string of macabre events: body parts found in a garden, followed by the murder of the man who owned the house. His initials are BT, one of the names on the note.

Huldar and Freyja must race to identify the writer, the victims and the murderer, before the rest of the targets are killed…

The best thing about long drives down to London are the hours of audio book I can consume while travelling. I devoured the previous book in the Freyja and Huldar series and couldn’t wait to read this one. I was not disappointed. A dark central story and a very chilling aspect to this novel as a whole, not just its setting, but by god was it a good read/listen. You can pick up a copy here and I’ll be sharing my review soon.

…

Summer at the Little Cottage on the Hill – Emma Davies

Take an endless stroll through wild meadows and breathe in the sweet aroma of flowers in full bloom. The first ever guest at the little cottage on the hill is looking for an escape, but her past is not far behind her… 

Thirty-two-year-old ‘ice queen’ Isobel slams the cottage door and pulls the curtains shut. She has just six weeks to practise for a secret project that could save her career and no one must know she is here. 

When Tom, the local thatcher with eyes as blue and deep as the ocean, hears the sound of her violin on the breeze he feels a tug at his heart-strings that reminds him of happier times. Who is this mysterious new lodger, and why does she look so familiar? 

Desperate to find out more, Tom is devastated when Isobel refuses to enjoy everything the farm has to offer. He won’t give in, but just when it looks like Isobel is coming out of her shell, someone recognises her and the troubles from her past threaten to take away everything she has been working towards. 

Will the lessons Isobel learned at the little cottage help her to stand up and face the music? Will Tom ever find a way to unlock the emotion she needs to move on? 

After all the darkness I needed a little time in the light. And it doesn’t come much lighter and brighter than summer days in the beautiful gardens of Joy’s Acre, in my home county of Shropshire, the setting for Emma Davies’ Little Cottage on the Hill series. More romance, friendship and feel good story telling and a set of recipes and delicious sounding dishes to get your mouth watering. I’ll be sharing my review soon but you can pre order a copy here.

…

Thirteen – Steve Cavanagh

THE SERIAL KILLER ISN’T ON TRIAL.

HE’S ON THE JURY…

‘To your knowledge, is there anything that would preclude you from serving on this jury?’ Murder wasn’t the hard part. It was just the start of the game.

Joshua Kane has been preparing for this moment his whole life. He’s done it before. But this is the big one.

This is the murder trial of the century. And Kane has killed to get the best seat in the house.

But there’s someone on his tail. Someone who suspects that the killer isn’t the man on trial.

Kane knows time is running out – he just needs to get to the conviction without being discovered.

I have been intrigued by the sound of this book since I first heard about it late last year. I’ve had it on preorder since before christmas and it was one of my most anticipated reads of 2018. I will admit – this was my first time in the witness box with good old Eddie Flynn but it will not be the last. Dark, twisted and ingenious, I loved this serial killer thriller with a twist. I’ll be sharing my review in a couple of weeks as part of the tour but you can order your own copy here.

…

Four. Been better been worse. I am also slotting in short stories from the Ten Year Stretch anthology too along the way, so it’s not all bad really. Busy week on the blog – highlights below.

Dead Blind by Rebecca Bradley

Ten Year Stretch Part 2: Ten Years of CrimeFest.

The Retreat by Mark Edwards

Book Love: Sandra Danby

Summer at the Comfort Food Cafe by Debbie Johnson

The Louisiana Republic by Maxim Jakubowski

Ten Year Stretch Part 3: Ten Years of CrimeFest

The week ahead is a little slower. I’ve a few blog tours lined up and perhaps a couple of reviews if I get a chance to type them up but my main focus (other than the cat) will be attending CrimeFest in Bristol from Thursday. Really looking forward to it. Be prepared for much tweetage as a result.

Blog tours are for The Old You by Louise Voss, Fault Lines by Doug Johnstone, Dying Truth by Angela Marsons and Freefall by Adam Hamdy.

Hope you have a fabulous week all. I’m not sure if I’ll be back with a post next Monday – it really depends on how I feel after CrimeFest lol. We will know by this time next week if I am funny though so that will be nice.

Enjoy your week,

Jen

  Rewind, recap: Weekly update w/e 13/05/18 Made the most of the beautiful weather this weekend and went for a lovely walk early on Sunday morning.

#Rewind Recap #Weekly Round UP

[celtfather]

St Patrick's Day Music Party

Happy St Patrick's Day with 17 Free Celtic MP3s for the holiday on show #350. You'll enjoy Celtic music from Runa, Alasdair White, Jodee James, Bridgid's Cross, Sarah Copus, McDerry, Na Skylark, Jil Chambless, John Taylor, Scooter Muse, Melanie Gruben, The Gatehouse Well, Jesse Ferguson, Kilmaine Saints, Brynmor, Templars of Doom, Kilrush, Claymore, Tuatha Dea. http://celticmusicpodcast.com/

Listen and share this podcast. Download 34 Celtic MP3s for Free. Subscribe to the Celtic Music Magazine. This is our free newsletter and your guide to the latest Celtic music and podcast news. Remember to support the artists who support this podcast: buy their CDs, download their MP3s, see their shows, and drop them an email to let them know you heard them on the Irish and Celtic Music Podcast.

TODAY'S SHOW IS BROUGHT TO YOU BY CELTIC INVASION VACATIONS

Don't just see the world. Go on a relaxing adventure with a small group of Celtic music fans, just like you. We won't see everything. Instead, we will stay in one area. We will get to know the region through it's culture, history, and legends. You can help me decide where we should go into 2019. Subscribe to the mailing list to join the invasion at http://celticinvasion.com/

THIS WEEK IN CELTIC MUSIC

0:08 "The Hunter Set" by Runa from Live

6:49 "The Cockerel in the Creel" by Alasdair White from An Clar Geal (The White Album)

10:36 "Titrwm Tatrwm/Hiraeth" by Jodee James from Lady of the Fountain

14:48 "Off She Goes" by Bridgid's Cross from Live without an Audience

17:52 "Gleanntain Ghlas Ghaoth Dobhair" by Sarah Copus from Moorland Winds

20:39 "Pirate Dan" by McDerry from Chandler

23:47 CELTIC PODCAST NEWS

25:53 "The Irish Marche" by Na Skylark from Old Ceol

28:23 "Mary and the Soldier" by Chambless, Taylor and Muse from Live at NTIF

31:31 "The Leprechaun" by Melanie Gruben from A Faery Song

32:49 "Calliope House Set" by The Gatehouse Well from And the Sparks Did Fly

37:41 "Rare Old Mountain Dew" by Jesse Ferguson from Folk Favourites

40:01 CELTIC FEEDBACK

41:53 "Pennsylvania's Finest" by Kilmaine Saints from Whiskey Blues & Faded Tattoos

44:44 "Musical Priest" by Brynmor from The Great Hill

46:55 "Saint Patrick Saved Ireland" by Templars of Doom from Bring Me the Head of John the Baptist

50:38 "Wild As the Heather" by Kilrush from The Basement Sessions

55:39 "Will Ye Nae Back Again" by Claymore from Claymore

"Aeilin Duinn" by Tuatha Dea from Kilts and Corsets

The Irish & Celtic Music Podcast was produced by Marc Gunn, The Celtfather. To subscribe, go to Apple Podcasts or to our website where you can become a Patron of the Podcast for as little as $1 per episode. Promote Celtic culture through music at http://celticmusicpodcast.com/.

THANK YOU PATRONS OF THE PODCAST!

Imagine a world with no Celtic music. Sounds pretty horrible, right? All you have is boring music being shoved down your throats by big record labels. You wouldn't get to experience the incredible music shared each and every week in the Irish & Celtic Music Podcast. Our incredibly generous people bring you hours of great Celtic music. You can help celebrate Celtic music and culture and keep this show running every week. Become a Patron of the Podcast at http://patreon.com/celticpodcast

Thanks to our Celtic Legends: Bryan Brake, Nancie, Hunter Melville ,John Bilderback, Kevin Long, Annie Lorkowski, Lynda MacNeil, John Sharkey White II, Theresa Sullivan, Shawn Cali. These generous people pledge $10 per episode to keep this show running.

CELTIC PODCAST NEWS

* Helping you celebrate Celtic culture through music. My name is Marc Gunn. I am a Celtic and Geek musician and podcaster. This podcast is dedicated to the indie Celtic musicians. I want to ask you to support these artists. Share the show with your friends. And find more episodes at celticmusicpodcast.com. You can also support this podcast on Patreon.

Happy St Patrick's Day my friends. This is an extra-special episode of the Irish & Celtic Music Podcast. Every year since 2005, I release an article titled "17 Free Celtic MP3s for St Patrick's Day". I follow it up with a podcast that highlights all of the music that you can download for FREE! This is that podcast.

I want you to listen to this show. Then head over to the shownotes at celticmusicpodcast.com, and follow the link to download all 17 tracks in this show with no strings attached. It's a simple ZIP file that you can download to your computer, unzip, and start playing. It's super easy.

And this is sort of what you get every month when you become a Patron of the Podcast as a Song Henger, pledging at least $5 per month. You get a full album of Celtic songs and tunes from many of the artists featured in this show.

Follow the link in the shownotes.

Of course, if you enjoy any of these artists, then I hope you will find a way to support them. Start by signing up to their mailing list and learning more.

I want to send out a big thanks to Apple Podcasts. They gave us a big feature this week in the app, just in time for St. Patrick's Day. Welcome to all the new Apple Podcast subscribers. I hope you enjoy the show.

If you're not following us on Facebook, I don't know what's up with you. Every time I see a band share a St Patrick's Day show, I share it on the feed. And of course if you're in a band, use the hashtag #CelticMusicNews if you want me to see it.

Last week, I release a new CD inspired by the TV show Firefly. While I play a lot Sci Fi Drinking Songs, I got my start playing Celtic music. That's why I released Celtic Music 6-Pack. You can now own six of my most-Celtic albums packed full of Irish and Scottish Songs. You can even get them at 50% off. Go to CelticMusic.org/6pack for details.

You can read more of my own St Patrick's Day 2018 news on my blog or check out St Patrick's Day Music Party.

Have you ordered your Irish & Celtic Music Podcast sticker or t-shirt? Visit our podcast store at bestcelticmusic.net/shop to see all of the great merch we offer. Your generous purchases keep this show running.

VOTE IN THE CELTIC TOP 20

It's easier than ever to do. Just list the show number, and the name of one or two bands. That's it. You can vote once for each episode help me create next year's Best Celtic music of 2018 episode. http://bestcelticmusic.net/vote/

I WANT YOUR FEEDBACK

What are you doing today while listening to the podcast? You can send a written comment along with a picture  of what you're doing while listening. Email a voicemail message to [email protected]

Karl emailed a photo: "Hey, Celtfather, I'm moving into a new house in a week.  Your podcast's upbeat rhythms are keeping me going while packing boxes and boxes of papers from my office.  At least my photographs from Ireland and Scotland are digital--zeros and ones are so much lighter than prints."

I hope the move went well Karl!

John Thompson emailed: "Hey Marc, I was listening to episode 338 (Christmas show) of the Irish & Celtic Music podcast and was blown away by the song "Glasgow Christmas Rain" by Highland Reign. I went on Youtube and watched just about every Highland Reign video I could find. Then I went to CD Baby, bought 3 of their CDs and downloaded a fourth. I'm going to post a message to their website to say how amazing they sound and that I heard them on YOUR show. They're from the midwest so I probably never would have discovered them without the Irish & Celtic music podcast. (I'm in Philly and the only other Celtic group from the midwest I've run into in this neck of the woods is The Elders -- another fantastic band!). You ABSOLUTELY make a difference! I've been a Celtic music fan for a long time but have only been a listener and patron of the Irish & Celtic Music podcast for the last few years. I wish I had found it sooner. Your podcast never disappoints!"

Thank you SO MUCH, John! I love hearing about which bands and songs inspire you. And that you're actually buying music.

Musicians have it tough in this day and age. I'm extremely pleased that the Irish & Celtic Music Podcast can connect Celtic bands with Celtic music fans. It's a challenge. But that's why I am here.

So keep listening. Keeping telling your friends about the show. And when this episode is over, go thank one of these bands for being awesome!

Check out this episode!