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stellari-s · 1 year

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☀️

request; yes, by anonymous. requests open!

wc; 1 015.

tags; morningstar! ithaqua, gn! survivor! reader, yandere vibes! ithaqua, canon-typical violence, obsessive and unhealthy behavior, toxic dynamic, it's morningstar y'all he may be pretty but he ain't a good person, reader also isn't the most stable, i wrote this in the span of 2 ✈️ flights.

summary; only he can destroy the sun in your heart. nobody else but him. and he wouldn't have it any other way.

this is an unspoken contract, written in spilt blood.

a contract between you and him, both entrapped within the large, spiky gates that dares and threatens the world to find out just what is happening beyond.

it is a secret, known to none but you two.

oletus manor has over time forged you into someone you can no longer recognize. looking in the mirror is impossible without witnessing the empty shell standing before you, staring back at your dull eyes. even now you somehow have a distinct, sharp awareness that you had stepped through these gates with a wish in mind, but you have long forgotten what it was.

constant “games” twist your mind’s perceptions and play with your innermost fears and desires, and you have probably been spiked with some drug before, since sometimes your memories either feel overwhelmingly vivid enough to leave tingles on your skin for days or you have no recollection whatsoever. at times, your stomach feels like maggots are chewing inside - perhaps it’s an aftereffect.

over and over and over.

whenever someone gets injured, you don’t have the energy to care. at some point, the cuts and wounds that you originally noticed are no longer tended for.

your body, fully used to the pain, has grown completely numb.

you know that, and while fear slowly seeps into your heart upon that realization, you can’t bring yourself to care at this point.

everything is the same… until you find yourself before a face you don’t recognize. his silver braided hair contrasts with his black attire and an orangish red cape, and his axe is large, but he doesn’t seem to have trouble wielding it.

what stands out to you the most though is his mask. it only covers the upper half of his face, so you can see a wide smile that almost goes ear to ear, but his eyes are completely hidden by that black crown-like mask with a single faced sun in the center where his forehead is. chains surround it; it would surely give any normal person shivers down their spine.

everything about this person screams danger.

but you had twisted your ankle trying to turn on your heel and slam the pallet on him, so now you are rendered unable to move, sitting on the ground while holding your ankle and staring blankly up at that ominous mask.

“you,” he starts, his voice laced with a sweet poison that makes your palms sweat and your heart beat right out of your chest, “just tried to stun me, didn’t you?” he breaks the pallet like crushing a bug with those sharp stilts. “yet you couldn’t do it. how pathetic.”

even while calling you pathetic, he can’t conceal a sadistic giggle from escaping his lips.

“anyone would do the same,” you reply flatly, narrowing your eyes.

“really now? then care to tell me why everyone else trembles like a leaf in front of me? but whatever.” he lifts his axe, and you widen your eyes, half in fear and half in awe at his graceful motion and the way his axe gleams beneath the moonlight. “we can change that.”

you can’t avoid the blow. the blade of the axe digs into your skin near your shoulder. you feel the warmth of your own blood spilling from the wound, and that familiar dullness spreads around that area.

it’s a numbing type of pain. it’s not enough.

just then, an idea pops into your mind. it’s a crazy idea - certainly not one a normal person would even dream to ideate. but for days, perhaps months or years, any sense of normalcy has been robbed from you.

you grab the handle of the blade and push it in deeper. gradually, with more blood staining your clothes, the dull ache grows more sharp.

it is a more genuine, raw pain - a sensation you haven’t felt in such a long time. as strange as it sounds, it makes you feel alive for the first time in who knows how long.

you’re honestly relieved to know you still have some semblance of humanity left in you, but on the other hand, the axe-wielding hunter seems puzzled. that maniacal smile is replaced with a slight frown, from which you can sense confused curiosity.

“deeper,” you say, “aren’t you going to make me tremble before you ‘like a leaf’? if so, then push it in deeper.”

at first, the hunter seems to be contemplating something, completely still as if he is a statue. then his lips stretch into a grin. he complies with your request, digging his axe in until you wince and tears start to sting your eyes before he withdraws it.

through your tear-blurred vision, you can make out the hunter’s sick glee.

if it’s him… if he has that smile on his face, then i don’t mind.

your head starts to spin as you try to stand while putting most of your weight on the ankle that’s not twisted. the hunter takes hold of one of your shoulders with one hand and cups your cheek with the other, his claws digging into your skin in both places. he applies pressure to the wound though to help a little with the bleeding.

now that you can see him a lot closer, he looks very much like a normal boy. not really non-human in any way. you imagine under that mask of his is just a normal face you would be able to see down the street.

it is clear from your interactions, though, that he’s got one too many screws loose.

“let me break you,” he says, “let me destroy the sun in your heart, and then i’ll give you a new world.” his voice is gentle but deceptive, holding the poisonous allure of a demon.

you know that, but you are still drawn in hopelessly. “it can only be you,” you reply in between uneven breaths, “nobody else - only you.”

the hunter’s grin widens, and he leans in to whisper in your ear.

“i have a feeling we’ll get along very well.”

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moredifferentthanusual · 2 months

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from chapter 12 of Chained: To Wield the Blade we have Forged by Tinerian aka @redhoodinternaldialectical

#jason todd #bruce wayne #batfam #batman #quotes #jason todd meta #the last lines there WRECKED me #i had to go back and find it in the fic coa i kept thinking of it #good fic btw #i personally Do Not vibe with batcest but it's still interesting and we #well written enough i just HAD to keep reading #and then it started teaching me about scripture? fuhgeddaboutit! ofc im obsessed with it after that!#me: ok apparently this jaytim fic starts out with just 30k contract negotiations no romance and obviously i HAVE to read that #contract negotiations!!!#me later: i cannot stop thinking about the spiritual questions inherent in being resurrected and becoming a god but specifically for batmen #@the author. how dare you do this to me. wanna make out?#had to tell all my friends when they asked what i did this weekend that i learned about hinduism via batfam fanfic #answer for your crimes author!

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nova--spark · 3 months

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Thea's Relationship w/ Team Prime Pt.2

I had previously talked about Anthea's Relationships with Team Prime [ Here ] ,and I wanted to try and write about her relationships with the secondary members of team Prime.

Without further ado, here we go.

Smokescreen , being so young, and a bit reckless, Anthea thought of him being a bit like Bee at the start.

But after a while hanging around, she noted how he also seemed to be living up to great expectations, with how he tried so hard to impress others, or be the 'star player' of the team.

She feels a bit of a kinship in that, having dropped from her college program online after the loss of her legs, feeling she'd failed her own expectations. When she has the free time, she offers him a chance to see around Jasper, and some lesser known spot where he can try out his speed, as well as just helping him understand a bit of Earth culture here and there.

And if she's snuck him out to the race tracks, under the guise of recon, or because she 'needed a ride somewhere', well that's her scolding to take.

Wheeljack and her get along quite well, the former scientist turned Wrecker being very curious on how it is her situation works, though less on the medical sense like Ratchet, and more on the 'Wanna test X idea that will end up with BOTH of us in trouble?'

The answer to that question is often Yes, and they've gotten an earful from Ratchet more than enough times to last them well over 5x their lifespans. Wheeljack is to thank for quite a few of her legs upgrades actually, and she genuinely likes to talk to him, since she can run her ideas by him, and he will help out with his own knowledge to make them a reality.

Wheeljack is to thank for at least the following mods to her legs:

Magnetic Soles

Detachable blades

Shock Absorption

Climbing Hooks

Ankle jets

He is also responsible for helping in some of her plans relating to her weaponry, but ya didn't hear about that.

Ultra Magnus is a...difficult person to categorize for Anthea. His mannerisms, stickler for the rules type is something she was never really a fan of, especially with how Thea herself tends to throw caution to the wind, and refuse to follow a chain of command as others would.

But...she's noticed a good bit of how he does care. In quieter ways, how his reprimands are firm, but that at the same time, the compliments are genuine.

Magnus has however, commended her for her efforts in missions. She has every excuse to step back, leave and never return, but she's run right into the fray if it means protecting the kids and making sure those she cares for make it back in one piece.

She gives him a hard time, often sassing back the stern and no-nonsense commander, but has noted he gives her space. Anthea is grateful, as he does check in on her.

She's asked him a few questions here and there as well, concerning the Forge which he wields and he has at the very least, offered a chance to speak about it, and perhaps offer to teach her as well.

#transformers #maccadam #maccadams #tf astray verse #stray stars #anthea santos #transformers prime #tfp #tf prime #nova writings #tfp wheeljack #tfp smokescreen #tfp ultra magnus

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ao3feed-jaytim · 9 months

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Chained: To Wield the Blade we have Forged

read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/48784249 by Tinerian Now bound together as Master and Submissed, Tim and Jason have nearly omnipotent levels of dangerously unpredictable power at their fingertips. Anyone finding out they hold this power could unravel everything, but the web of lies and secrets they're spinning could destroy them just as easily, and the threat of whatever impending doom prompted the Contract to be made in the first place hangs over their heads like the sword of Damacles. When you hold power over all life and death, how do you decide who not to save? If power is the great corrupter, is it possible for a God to be good? If you put a man in prison for life, would it have been more honest and merciful to slay him with your own two hands? Is a fundamentally evil universe worth preserving? These are the questions that will haunt them, but so too will they be haunted by their love for each other, the wonderful absurdity of joy, goofy ass happenstance, friendship, and lots of playful bickering. Rough draft word count: 28,000 Words: 6899, Chapters: 2/?, Language: English Series: Part 2 of Chained Fandoms: Batman (Comics), Dark Nights: Metal, Red Robin (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Robin (Comics) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Categories: M/M Characters: Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Barbara Gordon, Harleen Quinzel, Bruce Wayne Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd Additional Tags: Only tagging characters that will get multiple chapters of major speaking roles, Only tagging themes and trigger warnings that will come up repeatedly, Slow Burn, Magical Bond, Magical Contract, Contract, Contract Negotiation, Trans Jason Todd, Trans Tim Drake, Dr. Quinzel is a really good therapist, Incest, They will have to seriously deal with the fact they are socially considered brothers, Hurt/Comfort, Humor, Schizophrenia, ADHD, Autism, PTSD, Loving and compassionate portrayals of neurodivergence, To be explicitly clear:, psychosis will NEVER be a cause of violence in this fic, Transformation, Animal Transformation read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/48784249

#IFTTT #Ao3feed #Jaytim #DC

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mystical-flute · 1 year

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We Are The Warriors That Built This Town: Chapter 2

Oden's test for the Straw Hat and Heart Pirates takes place. Will the crews be able to get the keys they need to reach Wano's poneglyph?

AO3

“Oh, nice going Zoro. You just had to attack Wano’s shogun!”

“Don’t give me that crap, Usopp! He was charging straight for Luffy!”

The crew had awoken locked in separate jail cells, without their weapons and seastone handcuffs holding them to the walls.

“I just can’t believe they managed to get the jump on us. My observation haki didn’t see anything coming,” Sanji said with a frown. “And if I couldn’t sense anything, Jinbei, Luffy, or Mosshead sure should have.”

“Indeed. Whatever that gas was, none of us stood a chance at stopping it. I guess it’s true what they say about Wano,” Jinbei concurred. “I saw their power for myself at Marineford, but to have it used against you is another matter entirely.”

“So what do we do then?” Nami questioned. “And where’s Luffy?”

“Still sleeping,” came Chopper’s voice. “I wonder what happened to Law’s crew.”

“Trafalgar Law?” a voice questioned from the staircase. The crew recognized it immediately as Oden. “The man who helped you take down Big Mom? Was he supposed to be with you?”

There was a moment of quiet before Jinbei spoke. “How do we know you’re telling the truth about not knowing where the Heart Pirates are?”

“Because if anyone else appeared on our island, someone would have informed me. How do you think I reached you so quickly when you landed on our beach?” Oden’s eyes were bright with mischief. “People don’t get into Wano quietly. Not with our lovely waterfalls! Wahaha!”

“Why did you lock us up?” Robin asked.

Oden stopped in front of her cell. “It’s as I said. You needed to calm down. Your swordsman over there doesn’t know the truth of the swords he has.”

“What did you just say?!” Zoro snapped, his chains rattling as he struggled in them. “You don’t know anything about my swords!”

“No?” Oden questioned, rounding on Zoro and holding up one finger when he reached the bars of his cell. “Shusui. One of the most famous blades in history. Wielded by the sword god, Shimotsuki Ryuma, one of the rare swordsmen to master the art of the black blade. Twenty-three years ago it was stolen along with our beloved protector’s corpse while Wano was under the control of the pirate called Kaido.” He paused and held up another finger. “Wado Ichimonji. It has the markings of being crafted by the Shimotsuki clan of Wano. This was verified by two daimyo who are members of said clan.” Another pause, another finger lifted. “The Sandai Kitetsu. A cursed blade said to bring misfortune to whoever owns it. Forged in Wano, by a great man named Kozuki Sukiyaki.”

Brook rose to his feet in alarm. “Kozuki? Wait, does that mean - ”

“Sukiyaki was my father? Yes,” Oden confirmed, glancing at Brook’s cell before turning to Zoro. “Do you understand now?”

“Just because you know my swords doesn’t mean you have the right to steal them from me,” Zoro said with a glare.

“The only sword I want back is Shusui. Wado and Sandai are yours. In exchange, I’ll give you another Kitetsu blade. The Nidai Kitetsu, forged by my ancestor,” Oden said. “That’s all I want.”

Zoro frowned. “What kind of sword is the Nidai? Can I see it?”

“Of course. Kiku!”

The same female samurai from their initial clash came down the stairs, holding a sword with a purple hilt in her hands. “Lord Oden, I have the Nidai. You’re sure you’re willing to give it away?”

“If it means we get our country’s greatest treasure back, I am prepared to make that sacrifice,” Oden replied, taking the sword and presenting it to Zoro. “I’ll undo your binds so you can examine it. Kiku, do you mind undoing the others? I think they’ve all calmed down enough.��

“Of course, my Lord.”

Carefully, both got to work undoing the cells and chains, and one by one, the Straw Hats moved into the main dungeon, minus Luffy, who was, somehow, snoring away in his cell, completely unaware of what was happening around him.

“Is this… normal for your captain?” Kiku asked, undoing Luffy’s chains and stepping back with a frown. “He’s the one who took down Big Mom, of all pirates?”

“He tends to sleep where he thinks he’s safe. We don’t understand it either. Sorry,” Usopp sighed and leaned down, gently smacking Luffy on the face a couple of times. “Luffy! Wake up!”

Luffy, however, kept snoring, and Usopp hoisted him over his shoulder as Sanji stepped out of his cell.

“Just give me access to a kitchen and he’ll wake up in a second,” Sanji said with a sigh. It was obvious he was barely restraining his heart eyes at the tall samurai before them, as he kept his eye trained on the sword she had with her.

Kiku hummed a little as Oden stepped out of Zoro’s cell. Zoro quickly followed, slipping the Nidai Kitetsu into place on his belt before Kiku looked at Sanji again.“I’m afraid our kitchen staff is already preparing a feast for you all. You’re welcome to follow me upstairs if you’re hungry.”

The crew nodded and followed Kiku up the stairs and into a large dining hall, a long table and zabuton. Along the walls were wanted posters of well-known pirates, including the crews of the Worst Generation, Whitebeard, and Roger pirates.

“Amazing…” Robin whispered. “How much information is able to get into the country?”

“Less than there used to be, but enough for us to know the people to watch out for,” a young woman said as she stepped into the room. “I’m also sorry my father decided capturing you was a better idea over explaining what was going on. He tends to be a little dramatic. I’m his daughter, Kozuki Hiyori.”

“Hiyori my sweet!” Sanji swooned immediately, bowing to her and kissing the back of her hand. “What an honor it is to meet you.”

Hiyori flushed. “My goodness! You’re so kind, sir, but please, have a seat. The servers will be out soon with the first course.”

“Huh? Food?” Luffy questioned, lifting his head from Usopp’s shoulder.

“Welcome back,” Usopp grumbled before he dropped Luffy to the floor unceremoniously. “Hey, uh, Princess Hiyori? I just wanna apologize in advance for Luffy. He’s probably going to eat all the food you have in the castle.”

Hiyori turned to him with a playful smile. “We’ll see if he can.”

“Hey! Jinbei!”

Jinbei glanced over and grinned. “Izou! I was wondering where you went off to after Whitebeard’s funeral. Decided to come home, huh?”

“How could I ignore the call to come home when Lord Oden appeared at Marineford?” Izou laughed. “I see you’ve joined with another emperor.”

“What can I say? Luffy just has something about him,” Jinbei replied with a hearty laugh.

“You sound like Pops. He knew there was something special about him.”

“You’re sure it wasn’t just Ace talking about him all the time?”

More warm laughter escaped the two former comrades, until Izou sighed and gestured toward the table. “Anyway, feel free to sit and relax. Lord Oden has quite an interesting proposition for your crew.” When Jinbei gave him a concerned look, Izou held up his hands. “You are not enemies of ours, Jinebi. Your crew is safe here.”

Jinbei nodded warily, but took a seat at the table with the others.

More samurai entered the room alongside a young man and older woman, who introduced themselves as Kozuki Momonosuke and Toki, Oden’s son and wife.

“Ah! I wasn’t aware a Mink had joined your crew!” the giant dog said, his gaze torn between an affectionate look toward Carrot and a concerning one toward Brook’s skeletal frame. “I’m Inuarashi, and the cat is Nekomamushi.”

Nekomamushi’s gaze, however, remained focused on Carrot. “This may be a shot in the dark, but do you happen to know a Mink named Pedro? He was a dear friend of mine before the dog and I left Zou.”

Carrot ducked her head and clenched her fists against her knees. “U-um… he came with us to get Sanji back from Big Mom and - and he - he sacrificed himself. Big Mom had taken a lot of his life span in the past, so…”

“She… killed him?” Nekomamushi asked.

Carrot nodded and swallowed to try to stave off the tears that threatened to fall. “He knew his time was running out, so he - he sacrificed himself. He said I had to live on to see the new dawn come. That - that Luffy would bring it.”

Nekomamushi and Inuarashi exchanged a glance, before grinning at the crew.

“If that was Pedro’s will, who am I to complain?” Nekomamushi said as he reached over to pat Carrot on the head in the traditional Mink fashion. “And he clearly has a strong, capable Mink to fulfill his wish. Providing you can get through the game Lord Oden has set up for you all!”

“I’ll do my best to make him proud and win whatever you’re talking about!”

“That’s what I like to hear!” Oden said as he entered the room. He had one hand firmly on Zoro’s shoulder, as if he had been steering him in the correct direction, making sure Zoro actually sat down at the table before he sat at the head of it. “Now, welcome ladies and gentlemen. I am Kozuki Oden. I imagine you’ve come here for Wano’s poneglyph?”

“That would be nice,” Robin said with a small nod.

Oden nodded. “Yes, of course you did. But it wouldn’t be smart of me to just let you have it. I was a member of Roger’s crew, after all.”

Luffy choked on the fish he’d been inhaling, his eyes wide. “Woge’s cew?”

“Indeed. I was the one who helped him get to Laugh Tale. The language of the poneglyphs originated in Wano. My children and I have continued that tradition,” he paused and glanced at Robin. “I imagine you are the one guiding Luffy, Nico Robin.”

Robin nodded slowly. “How did you guess?”

“You’re the last survivor of Ohara,” Oden said with a smile. “It doesn’t surprise me if their scholars were able to read the ancient language of the Kozuki clan.”

“Right… of course I knew your ancestors were the ones to create the poneglyphs.”

Oden nodded. “And so, I have concocted a series of tests for your crew. If you pass, you will be able to copy the poneglyph. If not, well, I’ll have no choice but to remove you from our island.”

“Remove us how?” Usopp questioned, a nervous quiver in his tone.

“Oh, don’t worry, son of Yasopp!” Oden said, continuing on even through Usopp’s surprised yelp. “I was just going to send you over the falls attached to the stern of your ship, that’s all!”

“Oh, that’s all?” Usopp deadpanned, though his eyes were full of panic.

“Of course that’s all! I wasn’t actually going to kill you or anything!”

Usopp’s tea kettle-like squeak went unnoticed by the rest of the crew as Sanji spoke up.

“You clearly know a lot about us, if you have our wanted posters hanging in here and you know Usopp is Yasopp’s son, so what are these tests you have for us?” he asked with a frown.

Oden nodded. “They play to your strengths. If you’ve gotten this far in the world, and the papers are calling you a Yonko crew, then I need to make sure you’re worthy of going all the way to Laugh Tale. So each of you will find yourselves fighting some of the strongest members of my court in order to obtain a key. If you all manage to secure your keys, it will lead you to the poneglyph you seek.”

“I think it sounds fun!” Luffy managed to say without food lodged in his throat. “When do we start?”

“This evening. I would like to test Trafalgar Law as well, if he’s able to make it up the waterfall.”

“How did you know Traffy was with us?”

Hiyori giggled behind her hand. “The newspaper said as much, of course. Someone spotted both your ships leaving the wedding.”

“Great. We were meant to make a quiet exit,” Usopp groaned.

Momo only laughed. “Nothing involving Big Mom is ever quiet, believe me. She tried to burn down part of our forests when father rejected one of her marriage proposals for Hiyori to one of her sons. Probably not a great indicator of how she’d be as ‘family’.”

“No, I would say it’s an excellent indicator,” Jinbei said. “You managed to avoid getting stuck in her web.”

“An excellent way of looking at it,” Izou said with a shiver. “She only got more forceful after Lord Oden showed up to the war at Marineford, saying she was better suited to keep Wano safe than Shanks was. It’s like she couldn’t even see his flag flying at the top of our castle.”

“She probably saw it. She just didn’t care.”

“You’re probably right, Jinbei,” Oden said, before he glanced over at what appeared to be an empty wall. “Shinobu, what news have you?”

To the crew’s surprise, a shinobi with long twintails popped into the room, then bowed before Oden. “Trafalgar Law has been spotted in Kuri, Lord Oden. Shall we go fetch him for you?”

Oden grinned. “Excellent. Yes, thank you, Shinobu.”

She was gone with a pop.

“Oh good, Traffy’s safe. That’s a relief!” Luffy sighed.

“You seem quite close to him,” Oden said.

“Oh yeah, he’s great! We’re all friends!”

The look on some of hos crew’s faces said they did not feel as friendly toward Trafalgar Law as their captain. It amused him greatly - Luffy reminded him so much of Roger, thinking he’d made all sorts of friends, even when those friends were rivals who weren’t fond of him in return.

When the Heart Pirates were brought into the room and caught up on the conversation, Oden rose to his feet again and addressed everyone.

“So now you know that I have a series of tests planned for you. Whatever room you run into will have one of my men that you will have to fight for a key to unlock where the poneglyph is. The one thing I want you to know is that every test will be taking place on the palace grounds. I do not want anything to spill over into the Flower Capital,” Oden said. “I do not want my people to be hurt by a friendly game!”

“You think the race for the One Piece is just a game?” Law questioned with narrowed eyes.

“If I thought that, I would have just given you the poneglyph rubbing, wouldn’t I?” Oden questioned before he rose to his feet. “Now then, you all know what you have to do, so let’s see if you can succeed!”

With a snap, the Wano natives vanished in puffs of smoke.

“Alright, well…” Law sighed as he rose to his feet, Kikoku on his shoulder. “Let’s go then. Let’s find that poneglyph.”

The group split up, going in different directions of the palace and its grounds.

-----

“How are you feeling, Carrot?” Bepo asked nervously as the duo wandered down one of the castle’s long hallways. “I mean, after everything with Pedro and Big Mom…”

Carrot had to think for a moment about how she really felt. She’d been telling the crew she was fine, that it was Pedro’s will to do what he did, but honestly she’d been more concerned that they were going to send her back to Zou, so she may have been lying. Bepo though, surely wouldn’t rat her out.

“I’m okay. How are you? Knowing what your brother went through and all…”

Bepo nodded in understanding. “Same. I’m okay. I’m just glad to know Zepo isn’t a slave of the government or something.”

“We are too.”

Carrot and Bepo froze outside a doorway to a courtyard area, where Neko and Inu were sitting, matching grins on their faces. Moonlight filtered in from the tall sakura trees, casting an eerie glow around what should have been a peaceful, tranquil scene.

“It’s a perfect night to sit outside you know,” Inu said, one hand on his sword.

Neko grinned, his teeth glinting in the faint light. “That’s right. Nice and clear. The perfect night ta watch a full moon.”

So this was their test - fighting two of Oden’s samurai while in their sulong forms.

Carrot and Bepo exchanged a glance, nodding at each other in agreement, before stepping outside and glancing up at the moon, feeling its power surge through their forms.

And then, they lunged.

-----

“So what do you guys think we’ll have to do for our test?” Chopper asked Penguin and Shachi. He paused, ears picking up the sound of growling from the courtyard. “It sounds like the Minks have gone sulong.”

“Man, if they’ve had to go sulong, I guess that means we’re fighting, aren’t we?” Shachi groaned.

“Well, we shouldn’t be too surprised at that. We are in Wano, after all,” Penguin replied.

Chopper nodded a little, before his ears perked again. “Hey… do you guys hear something?”

“Sounds like water,” Penguin said.

They continued down the hallway, the sound of the water growing louder until they arrived at a large outdoor spring.

“Ah! Welcome to our healing spring!” Kawamatsu said. “Isn’t it a lovely night?”

Chopper glanced up at the moon and stars, shining clearly through the courtyard’s trees. “Yes, a perfect night to be outside. The Minks already seem to be making the most of the good weather.”

Kawamatsu’s laugh echoed in the clear night air. “Yes, I suppose they have. Do you think your Mink friends will be able to defeat ours?”

“Of course I do!” Chopper said. “Carrot was trained by a sulong master on Zou!”

“And Bepo trained on his own for years to master his own skills!” Shachi added. “You should have seen the way they worked together to destroy two of Big Mom’s fleets!”

Kawamatsu grinned. “That’s very impressive indeed. Now tell me this… do you think the three of you can defeat me and take my key?” With that, he dove under the water.

“A water battle? I’m a Devil Fruit user - I can’t go in the water!” Chopper groaned.

Shachi and Penguin though, didn’t seem concerned. In fact, they were grinning.

“You don’t have to worry about the water. We’ve got it. You just get him when he comes back onto land.”

Chopper was given no further explanation as the two humans dove in after the fishman.

-----

They could do this. As soon as they got this poneglyph, they’d have three out of the four! And maybe Oden would be able to give them a hint as to where the fourth one was, especially if the Kozuki clan really did carve them!

And if Nami could steal from Big Mom, she could steal a stupid key. She’d done it before, in Enies Lobby, and while that had actually been a fight for their lives, this would be a cakewalk!

She paused in her mission to find some jewels when she heard music coming from a nearby room. Nami slowly opened the door and peeked her head inside, where she found Hiyori playing a shamisen.

“Ah, hello Weather Witch. I was wondering who would find my musical hideaway. Please, do come inside.”

Nami was slow as she stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

“You look worried, Nami,” Hiyori said. “You don’t need to be, I promise.”

“I know that,” Nami replied as she stepped closer to where Hiyori was sitting. “What’s that song you’re playing?”

“It’s called Moon Princess. It’s my father’s favorite.”

Nami jumped in surprise and turned to look at the second Hiyori that was standing behind her.

“I’ve heard you’re quite adept at clones yourself,” both Hiyoris said. “Can you figure out which one of us has the key you seek?”

---------

BANG! BANG!

Usopp ducked behind a tree. He knew when he’d found Izou it would be a battle of marksmen, but he didn’t expect to be dodging actual bullets. And Izou was one of Whitebeard’s men too - how could Usopp even come close to someone like him?

But he needed that key. It was going to unlock one of the last mysteries they needed to find the One Piece, and then… maybe Usopp would become a brave warrior of the sea, like he’d promised himself and his crew so long ago.

How was he supposed to do it if Izou kept finding all his hiding spots?

“Come on, Usopp! If you want to sail with an emperor, you need to pull your weight!” Izou taunted.

He was right. Luffy was considered an emperor now. He couldn’t slack off!

Taking a deep breath, Usopp tried to concentrate on where Izou was hiding and how he could get one of his pop greens to hit him.

There! He saw Izou’s form shine bright blue for a moment on one of the castle turrets.

Ducking out of his hiding spot, Usopp shot out a smokescreen, then a sticky bomb. If he could just pin Izou down, he could get the key.

He could hear a grunt from Izou, and grinned.

Bingo.

Izou laughed. “Now that’s what I’m talking about!”

-----

“I have to say, I didn’t know a human could learn fishman karate!” Kiku remarked as she blocked an attack from Robin. “It’s very impressive!”

“Thank you. Your snow techniques are fascinating as well!” Robin replied.

They hadn’t been able to get any good hits on each other - both too fast or too good at camouflage for anything to hit. Robin could see the key dangling from Kiku’s armor, taunting her, and couldn’t help but wonder if this was how the others felt at Enies Lobby, trying to hunt down the key to her handcuffs.

“Who taught you those techniques, may I ask?” Kiku asked as she shrouded herself in snow again.

Robin braced herself, trying to see her through the swirling snow. “Luffy’s brother,” she replied, throwing her voice to one of her clones. She couldn’t do this forever, but until she figured out how to find Kiku in the snow, she was going to have to risk it.

“Ace?” Kiku questioned, and Robin saw her opening as she faltered in confusion, summoning one of her arms and reaching for the key.

When she yanked it back, the snow suddenly stopped, with Kiku freezing. Through the mask, Robin could see the shock on her face.

And then Kiku pulled off the mask and let out a hearty laugh.

----

“Your jutsu really is quite interesting, Franky-dono!” Raizo said as he hung from the rafters of one of the meeting rooms. “But I’m afraid it’s no match for mine!”

He was fast, which meant Franky had to learn on the fly to get faster too, and his mind was already swirling with ideas as to how to make that happen. He couldn’t wait to get back to his workshop and test them out!

“I told you, bro,” Franky began, grunting and dodging out of the way of one of Raizo’s flash fire attacks. He was too bulky - he needed something to make him more stealthy like a ninja. “It’s not jutsu. It’s science! My own Franky brand mad science!”

“I hope I can see science when Wano is finally open,” Raizo said, disappearing from the rafters. “There is so much about the world that seems fascinating.”

“Oh, hell yeah there is! Sea trains, dials, robots used by the government! There are so many crazy things in the world!” Franky said. Maybe if he could keep Raizo talking it would be enough to get the key.

Raizo paused. “What’s a train? Wait - no, I know this. Water 7, yes?”

“You know what Water 7 is?”

“Lord Oden mentioned it! He said there was a man named Tom there who was working on something called a train,” Raizo explained. “He also mentioned two apprentices.”

Franky lurched, his strong right launching without him meaning to. Holy shit. It was Oden that showed up with Roger that day. The one that had offered him a place on Roger’s crew.

“He knows all about Cutty Flam, huh?” Franky grunted, an arm wrapping around Raizo, the key dropping to the floor. “You can tell Kozuki Oden that Cutty Flam is dead.”

------

“Fifty years?” Kanjuro gasped in horror. Brook wasn’t sure if it was the real Kanjuro or the fake ones he kept drawing. “You were alone for fifty years?”

“Indeed, with the bodies of my crew the only company I had,” Brook replied, strumming his guitar. Yes, they were supposed to be fighting - and they had been! Kanjuro’s paint brush bringing art to life and doubling as a sword reminded him so much of him being able to bend the power of music to his own will, but if he could lure Kanjuro into a false sense of security, that would work to get the key too, right?

Kanjuro frowned. “It must have been lonely.”

“Oh incredibly so! I was so used to the ghosts in my own mind I was actually frightened of Luffy and the others when they arrived in the Florian Triangle! But it allowed me to produce some of my best songs, I think,” Brook explained, strumming his guitar.

“Kakaka, I know what you mean,” Kanjuro said. “Lord Oden saved me from living a life of lies and deceit. He helped restore my family name too. If it weren’t for him I would have been willing to burn Wano to the ground.” He shivered at the thought. “I suppose it takes a miracle for us to understand who our real family is, huh?”

Brook nodded. “It really does.”

Kanjuro sighed and reached into his robe, withdrawing a key. “Here. Take the key. If Monkey D. Luffy is who Lord Oden trusts, I do too.”

-----

Ashura Doji’s swords clattered to the ground at the force of Jinbei’s attack. Both men panted heavily, the prolonged battle beginning to wear on them. Though it wasn’t meant to be a fight to the death, they were prideful warriors, and that meant taking it as seriously, as if it was.

“You’re impressive, Son of the Sea,” Ashura said. “But I’m not done yet!”

He rushed forward like a sumo wrestler, fully prepared to lift Jinbei and defeat him that way. To his great surprise though, Jinbei met his physical strength, and locked the two of them in a stalemate.

“I have to say I agree. The people of Wano truly are as strong as Oden boasted!” Jinbei said with a grin. “I’ve enjoyed our duel very much, Ashura. But I think it’s about time it ended!”

“Not as quickly as you might hope!”

Jinbei grinned. If they weren't fighting, it may have looked friendly. Instead, Ashura’s stomach sank as he was suddenly lifted from the ground, over his head, then slammed hard back against the floor.

Ashura groaned out in pain. When was the last time he’d been pushed that far? Still, he couldn’t help but smile, grabbing his key and handing it over.

“You’ve earned this fair and square.”

-----

Ugh. This Kin’emon guy was annoying, going on and on about all the beautiful women in Wano, as if trying to use that to distract him from his goal!

Okay, well, it was, a little bit, but Kin’emon seemed to be getting just as distracted which was really, really annoying. He almost wanted it to be an actual battle against an enemy instead of a friendly duel.

Sanji took a drag from his cigarette and observed Kin’emon again. He was a swordsman, which meant he had to be careful not to get cut. Worse, he used two swords, like Mosshead, which meant he had two weapons he could strike Sanji with.

Luckily, though, Sanji knew full well how to dodge the shit Mosshead threw at him. All he had to do was concentrate on that instead of Kin’emon’s descriptions of the beautiful women that lived in Wano.

“What’s the matter, Black Leg? Are you worried you won’t be able to get the key your crew needs?” Kin’emon taunted with a grin. “Is my warrior pride distracting you?”

“Your warrior pride includes talking about women?” Sanji questioned. “Didn’t you also say you had a wife?”

“Oh yes, my beloved Tsuru! Mother of my beloved children!” Kin’emon said, his face pink with the love he held for her.

And that’s when Sanji struck, landing a simple diable jambe and knocking Kin’emon into a wall, his key clattering to the ground.

“Your wife and children sound like good people, Kin’emon. I’d be honored to cook for you sometime.”

Kin’emon let out a wheeze and gave Sanji a thumbs up.

-----

“Why does your boss know so much about my swords?” Zoro questioned, his blades clashing with Denjiro’s. All around him, Zoro could hear the calls of his crewmates, locked in their own battles. For once, it seemed like all of them were actually focused on the goal at hand, which was good.

Denjiro was proving to be a difficult foe, and one that Zoro very much appreciated. But the fact that Oden seemed to know everything about his swords was incredibly alarming, and if he wasn’t going to fight Oden, maybe he could get something out of Denjiro.

“Why wouldn’t Lord Oden, or anyone in Wano, really, know about the Shimotsuki Clan? They run two of our regions, after all,” Denjiro replied with a wide grin. “In fact, Ushimaru and Yasuie came down to the palace themselves to look at your swords. They know the one who created the one you carry between your teeth.”

That had Zoro lurching back in surprise, allowing Denjiro to get a hit on him.

It wouldn’t happen again.

“So they know the old man from the village?” Zoro grunted. “How?”

“Distracting me will not work. Do you want this key or not?”

Zoro bristled in anger. Fine. He’d just have to go to those regions himself and get some answers. Surely the rest of the crew would want to hang around for a few more days.

Their swords clashed again, haki bouncing off of them in waves as each man got an attack off.

“I must say, you do remind me of Ushimaru with the way you carry yourself,” Denjiro mused. “Your stance and swordsmanship is the same as that clan.”

Zoro simply grunted. “Onigiri!”

Denjiro was knocked off his feet, swords and key clattering to the ground.

----

Momo was probably the coolest person Luffy had ever fought before. Not only was he a super strong warrior like Oden, he could turn into a dragon! And a much cooler dragon than the one at Punk Hazard!

And he was strong. Luffy wasn’t surprised at that, all things considered, but still, as they fought outside the palace, with all the people\watching them from the ground, Luffy was having the time of his life. It was nice to not have to worry about his crew, even if they were fighting, because for once, no one was actually trying to kill them!

“Straw Hat, hurry up and figure out if he’s the one with the key!” Law shouted, before the sound of swords clashing met his ears. Ah, so Oden wasn’t budging either.

“You know, Straw Hat, our brothers are on the same crew!” Momo suddenly said, distracting Luffy again.

“Wait, really?” Luffy asked with wide eyes. “Hey cool! Have you met Ace before?”

Momo nodded and went into his half-dragon form, blue scales glinting in the light of the moon as he picked up his discarded sword. “Of course! He wouldn’t shut up about you! So I’m glad I get to battle you now, because if he comes back to visit, I can tell him I kicked your ass!”

Luffy frowned. “You’re not gonna kick my ass! I’m gonna kick yours and get what I need!” He couldn’t exactly remember the name of the thing he needed, but either Oden or Momo had a key to get to it, so that’s what he was focused on!

“Come then, Luffy!” Momo laughed.

Luffy was glad he was having as much fun as he was, and as he jumped to avoid Momo’s sword, he saw the key glinting off the belt on Momo’s robe.

“Traffy!” Luffy shouted.

Law jumped away from Oden’s attack and snapped his fingers, swapping the key with a small pebble.

“Wait - what? That’s cheating!” Momo shouted.

Oden just roared with laughter. “Now, now, all I said was they had to get the key. They are pirates, Momo. Their code of honor is different from ours.”

“They have no code of honor,” Momo grumbled.

“Don’t be a sore loser, Momo. Go show them back to the dining room,” Oden said.

Luffy grinned when he saw the rest of their crews already waiting for them, keys in hand and a large box on the table. When all the keys were inserted, a small bird flew out of the box and led them down a dark, hidden passageway to the underbelly of the palace.

“Ah, you passed my husband’s test. Congratulations,” a woman’s soft voice said. “Welcome to Wano’s past.”

#one piece #fanfiction

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noxianwilled · 1 year

Note

❛ people like us don’t get to decide when we’re done. ❜

PROMPTS.

— @noxusmade

"Is that why you came back, traitor? Did you tire of pretending you could live in peace elsewhere?" Venom seeps into her voice, gaze unflinching and sharp as the daggers poised to strike, fighting stance assumed from the moment she revealed her presence to Riven. The Ruination had brought with it chaos enough for the other to escape, and yet here she was once more, in Noxian territory — evading chains, nonetheless, perhaps readying herself to leave once more.

"Slow to catch on, but at last you seem to have understood you can't just turn your back on things and expect it'll be as if they never existed." More than a hint of bitterness is obvious as she speaks. Curse her heart for being a weakness, as ever; she could never learn to be the unfeeling blade her father sought to forge, doomed to feel everything too intensely. Even now, looking at the one who chose to leave.

"Ionia would never appreciate you for what you are." Not as we would. Not as I would, once. She was a weapon, as Katarina herself was; bold and beautiful and strong and fierce, when her edge had been wielded by Noxus. Dirtied and broken, now, as the very sword Riven carried. "But you chose to throw away those who would have valued it. No, you don't get to decide you're done. Even if you try to leave now, deserter, we will make sure to hunt you down."

#» in character — ⌜the sinister blade.⌟#i remember once upon a time when i had kat in the multi (warwaged)#you described their dynamic as bitter exes in something you wrote #and that is the energy i channeled into this lmao #uashuahuhas

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serephinastardust · 5 months

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The Book I'm writing: Requiem of the Rising Flames-Elixir's Pursuit: A Kitsune's Journey Rewrite #3 Book 1 Chapter 1

The battlefield lay strewn with the remnants of a fierce conflict, the air thick with the acrid scent of magic and the metallic tang of blood. At the heart of the chaos stood Sylara, her form a whirlwind of ethereal flames and radiant energy. The moment was the Twilight Reckoning, a battle that would echo through the ages, and at its epicenter was the clash between Sylara and the dreaded Malachar Voidbringer.

Sylara, at the tender age of 23, bore a celestial lineage that manifested in her distinctive features. Her long hair, a cascade of gold and crimson, seemed to dance with an otherworldly glow, creating the illusion of flickering flames. Her eyes, one amber and the other sapphire, glinted with a wisdom beyond her years, a testament to her neutral good alignment. Her heritage, a rare blend of divine phoenix, dragon, and kitsune blood, had gifted her with powers that defied the mortal realm.

Across from her stood Malachar Voidbringer, a dark presence wreathed in shadows and malevolence. His armor seemed forged from the very essence of night, and his eyes gleamed with a sinister light. The air around him crackled with dark energy as he raised his wicked blade, a weapon that had tasted the blood of countless heroes.

The clash of their swords sent shockwaves through the battlefield, each strike a testament to the power that resonated within both combatants. Sylara moved with a grace that belied her fiery nature, her attacks a dance of light and flame. Malachar, however, countered with a ferocity that spoke of his mastery over the void.

"Your powers are nothing compared to the darkness I command!" Malachar snarled, his voice dripping with contempt.

Sylara responded with a steely gaze, her mismatched eyes locking onto her foe. "Darkness may have its place, but it will never extinguish the light."

Their swords clashed again, the clash sending sparks cascading into the night. Sylara's every movement was a weave of magic and skill, a manifestation of her unique heritage. Flames trailed her strikes, leaving a trail of ephemeral fire in the wake of her attacks.

Malachar, undeterred, unleashed a torrent of void energy. Shadows swirled around him as he lunged forward, the dark blade aiming for Sylara's heart. With a swift motion, she parried the blow, the clash resonating like a thunderclap.

"You cannot escape the fate that awaits you, Sylara," Malachar hissed, his eyes ablaze with a cruel certainty.

But Sylara's resolve remained unshaken. "Fate is a tapestry we weave with our choices, not a chain that binds us."

The battlefield was a canvas of chaos, where the clash between Sylara and Malachar unfolded like a symphony of destruction. Sylara's swordplay was a dazzling display of skill, her blade an extension of her very being. Every swing traced a shimmering arc in the air, leaving trails of incandescent flames that lingered for a heartbeat before fading into embers.

Malachar, a master of the void and darkness, countered with movements that seemed to defy the laws of physics. Shadows clung to his form like a malevolent cloak, swirling around him as he moved with an eerie grace. His attacks were a manifestation of the abyss itself, the edges of his wicked blade tinged with the darkness he wielded.

The dance continued, both combatants locked in a struggle for supremacy. Sylara, drawing upon her phoenix magic, conjured ethereal wings of fire that blazed to life behind her. With a swift motion, she soared into the air, avoiding a sweeping strike from Malachar. From her elevated position, she unleashed a barrage of fire-infused sword strikes, each one a searing comet directed at her foe.

Malachar retaliated with a surge of void energy, creating a swirling vortex that threatened to consume everything in its path. Sylara descended with the grace of a falling star, her sword cutting through the shadows as if parting the night itself. The clash of elements sent shockwaves through the air, the very fabric of reality quivering with the intensity of their conflict.

Sylara, tapping into her dragon magic, called forth the power of draconic fury. The very ground beneath her trembled as she channeled the essence of a mythical creature. Her attacks gained a newfound strength, each strike resonating with the primal force of a dragon's roar. Flames intertwined with the shadows as the battle reached a fevered pitch.

Malachar, undeterred, wove a tapestry of darkness that seemed to defy the very concept of light. He phased in and out of existence, his form flickering like a dying ember. Shadows coalesced into tendrils that sought to ensnare Sylara, but she danced through the encroaching darkness, her kitsune magic allowing her to move with an otherworldly agility.

As they clashed, the convergence of elements painted a vivid tableau of destruction. Fire and void collided, creating explosions of magic that illuminated the battlefield like fireworks in the night sky. Each combatant, fueled by their unique heritage, pushed the boundaries of their abilities, the very air crackling with the tension of their struggle.

The clash of Sylara's sword against Malachar's dark blade echoed through the battlefield, a discordant melody that spoke of the fine line between creation and annihilation.

The battlefield pulsed with the ebb and flow of magic as Sylara and Malachar continued their relentless duel. Sylara's sword, a conduit of flame and steel, met Malachar's dark blade with a clash that resonated through the very core of the battleground. The air shimmered with the remnants of their clashed elements, a testament to the raw power unleashed in their struggle.

Sylara, beads of sweat mingling with the ethereal glow of her hair, parried a series of strikes from Malachar. "Your darkness cannot extinguish the light within me," she declared, her voice unwavering despite the evident strain.

Malachar, his eyes ablaze with a malevolent fervor, chuckled darkly. "Light is but a fleeting illusion in the vast expanse of the void. Embrace the darkness, Sylara, for it is the only truth."

As if to emphasize his words, Malachar unleashed a torrent of void energy, the shadows clawing at Sylara's defenses. She staggered, momentarily enveloped in darkness, but her innate resilience flared as she emerged, the flames of her phoenix magic burning brighter than ever.

Sylara retorted, "Darkness may be a truth, but so is the will to resist it. I draw strength from the light within, and that strength is endless."

Their swords clashed once more, a crescendo of power that reverberated across the battleground. Yet, as the battle raged on, signs of fatigue crept into the exchanges. Each movement became more labored, and the once-fluid dance of combat transformed into a gritty struggle for survival.

Amidst the chaos, a figure emerged on the outskirts of the battlefield. Aiden, Sylara's lover, his azure eyes reflecting the tumultuous tempest within, watched the conflict unfold with a mixture of concern and determination. His raven-black hair, streaked with silver reminiscent of lightning, framed a chiseled physique that spoke of battles fought and won.

As Aiden approached, his thoughts swirled like the storm in his eyes. He couldn't stand idly by while Sylara faced such a formidable adversary. The love he felt for her, a force as undeniable as the elements, surged within him. The clash of steel and magic resonated in his chest, a rhythmic heartbeat that echoed the intensity of the battlefield.

Sylara, catching a glimpse of Aiden through the maelstrom of battle, locked eyes with him. "Aiden, stay back! This is my fight!"

Aiden's gaze remained unwavering as he responded, "And it is my fight too, Sylara. I won't let you face this darkness alone."

Malachar, sensing a shift in the dynamics, sneered, "Ah, the valiant lover arrives. But even the strongest bonds shatter in the face of true power."

Aiden, drawing a sword that shimmered like moonlit steel, stepped forward with a determination that matched the ferocity of the battle. "True power is not found in darkness alone. It's the light that pierces through and prevails."

As Aiden strode purposefully toward the heart of the battleground, the clash of Sylara and Malachar played out like a tragic opera before him. The rhythmic symphony of steel meeting steel, punctuated by bursts of magical energy, drew him in like a gravitational force. Azure eyes, reflecting the storm within, surveyed the scene, concern etched across his chiseled features.

He winced as he witnessed Sylara's sword deflecting Malachar's relentless assault. The ethereal flames that adorned her hair flickered, betraying the toll the battle was taking on her. Aiden's grip tightened on his own sword, the moonlit steel glinting in the chaotic light.

"Stay strong, Sylara," he muttered under his breath, each step forward a declaration of his resolve.

As Aiden closed the distance, his thoughts resonated with the thunderous clash around him. I can't let her face this darkness alone. I won't.

Malachar, sensing Aiden's approach, chuckled darkly. "Ah, the knight in shining armor. Do you think you can save her, mortal?"

Aiden's gaze met Malachar's with unyielding determination. "I don't seek to save her. We'll save each other."

The air quivered with the interplay of their words, the battlefield a stage for the clash of ideologies as much as magic. Sylara, catching sight of Aiden's approach, spared a glance amid her fierce combat.

"Aiden, I told you to stay back!" she called, a mixture of worry and frustration in her voice.

Aiden's response carried the weight of his conviction. "I can't stand by and watch you face this alone. We face it together."

As the trio converged, Malachar's eyes glowed with a perverse delight. "Love, such a fragile concept. Let's see how it holds up against the void."

Sylara, her movements growing more fluid with Aiden by her side, shot a defiant look at Malachar. "Love is not fragile. It's a force that transcends darkness. Prepare yourself, Malachar!"

The battlefield erupted into a new phase of chaos as the three combatants engaged in a dynamic dance of blades and magic. Aiden moved with a grace that belied his mortal status, his sword a flicker of moonlight in the midst of the elemental maelstrom.

Malachar, his thoughts a symphony of arrogance, mused, Fools. Love is a fleeting light that will be extinguished by the overwhelming darkness I command. They cannot comprehend the true depth of the void.

Malachar, his dark eyes narrowing with calculated intensity, surveyed the unfolding battlefield. The combined force of Sylara and Aiden had upset the delicate balance he had sought to maintain. His mind, a twisted labyrinth of malevolence, churned with the need to reclaim control.

"You think mere unity can overcome the abyss?" Malachar taunted, his voice echoing through the chaos. "Your futile attempts at synchronization will be your downfall."

Yet, as Aiden and Sylara coordinated their attacks, a seamless dance of magic and steel unfolded. Their movements, once disparate, now merged into a harmonious rhythm that defied Malachar's expectations. The air crackled with the intensity of their combined power, creating a tempest that threatened to engulf everything in its wake.

Aiden's moonlit steel met Sylara's ethereal flames, the two blending in a symphony of complementary forces. Malachar found himself momentarily taken aback, his dark blade struggling to contend with the synchronicity of their assault.

Sylara, her movements growing more strained with each passing moment, shot Aiden a glance of gratitude amid the chaos. "Aiden, we can do this. Together."

Aiden nodded, determination etched across his features. "As long as we stand united, the darkness cannot prevail."

Malachar, sensing the shift in momentum, gritted his teeth. The battle had transcended the physical realm; it was a clash of ideologies, a testament to the resilience of mortal hearts against the encroaching void.

The very fabric of reality quivered as Aiden and Sylara pressed their advantage. Flames and shadows intertwined, creating a kaleidoscope of magic that illuminated the battlefield. Each strike resonated with a desperate urgency, a race against time as the strength of both Sylara and Malachar waned with every passing moment.

Sylara, her phoenix magic flickering like a dying ember, strained to maintain her ethereal flames. Fatigue clawed at her, but the fire in her eyes remained undiminished. Aiden, still relatively fresh to the fight, lent her the strength she needed to press on.

Malachar, his dark aura pulsating with an ominous energy, sought to channel the last reserves of his power. "This ends now!" he bellowed, unleashing a surge of void energy that threatened to engulf the entire battlefield.

Aiden and Sylara, their synchronized attacks reaching a fevered pitch, braced themselves against the impending onslaught. The clash of elements reached its zenith, a cataclysmic convergence that hung in suspense.

As the climax of the battle reached its zenith, Malachar, with a malevolent gleam in his eyes, decided it was time to tip the scales in his favor. He lured Aiden into a deceptive opening, a trap concealed within the fabric of the magical battlefield.

"Your unity will be your downfall," Malachar sneered, his voice dripping with cruel satisfaction. With a subtle gesture, he triggered the trap—a web of dark tendrils that shot forth from the ground, entangling Aiden in an inescapable snare.

Aiden, caught off guard, grunted as the shadowy tendrils ensnared him. "Sylara!"

Sylara's eyes widened with alarm as she witnessed Aiden's predicament. "Aiden!" Her movements faltered for a moment, the shock of the unexpected turn giving Malachar the opportunity he sought.

Malachar's laughter echoed across the battlefield as he reveled in the success of his trap. "Foolish mortals, your feeble attempts at resistance were in vain. Now, watch as your precious unity crumbles!"

Aiden struggled against the dark tendrils, his strength waning with each passing moment. "Sylara, get out of here! Save yourself!"

Sylara, her eyes reflecting a mixture of concern and determination, met Aiden's gaze. "I won't leave you, Aiden. We face this together, remember?"

Despite the dire situation, a spark of defiance flickered in Sylara's eyes. She redoubled her assault on Malachar, her ethereal flames burning with newfound intensity. The air crackled with the clash of their magic, a desperate effort to break through the darkness that threatened to consume them.

Malachar, reveling in the chaos, laughed maniacally. "Desperation suits you, Sylara. But even your flames cannot withstand the void!"

Sylara, undeterred, pushed against the encroaching darkness. "I won't let your twisted illusions break us!"

As Sylara pressed her attack, Aiden strained against the dark tendrils, his mind racing to find a way out of the trap. "Sylara, focus on him! I'll find a way to break free!"

The battlefield became a tumultuous dance of light and shadow, a struggle that transcended the physical realm. Sylara fought against the overwhelming darkness, her every strike a declaration of resilience. Aiden, trapped but not defeated, sought a loophole in the magical snare that bound him, determined to rejoin the fight.

Trapped within the suffocating grasp of the shadowy tendrils, Aiden's azure eyes widened with a mixture of concern and frustration as he watched the battle unfold before him. Sylara, relentless in her assault, clashed against Malachar's darkness with an unwavering determination that both inspired and worried him.

Sylara... Aiden's thoughts resonated with a sense of urgency. I have to find a way out of this. I can't let her face this alone.

His muscles strained against the inky restraints, every fiber of his being yearning to break free. As he surveyed the battlefield, a knot of worry tightened in his chest. The realization dawned upon him—the trap was not merely a hindrance; it was a lethal snare that threatened to tighten its grip with each passing moment.

Aiden's thoughts grew more desperate as he observed Sylara's valiant efforts. She can't do this alone. I have to find a way out.

His eyes scanned the magical tendrils that ensnared him, seeking a vulnerability, a weakness he could exploit. Yet, with each passing moment, the severity of the trap became more apparent. The very shadows that bound him seemed to pulse with an otherworldly intelligence, adapting to his every attempt at resistance.

Frustration etched itself on Aiden's face as he realized the gravity of the situation. There's no way out. We underestimated the cunning of Malachar.

As the battle raged on, Aiden's determination gave way to a sense of grim acceptance. His mind raced to find a solution, a glimmer of hope that could turn the tides. Yet, in the face of the relentless darkness, his options dwindled.

Sylara, forgive me. Aiden's thoughts turned to his beloved, fighting valiantly against a foe that seemed insurmountable. The weight of his helplessness bore down on him, a bitter taste of defeat that he refused to fully embrace. The battle reached a crescendo, the clash of elements echoing through the air. Aiden's gaze remained fixed on Sylara, his heart aching with the desire to be by her side. As the battle's intensity swirled around him, he steeled himself for what seemed an inevitable outcome—the void closing in, his freedom slipping away with every passing heartbeat.

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ao3feed-brucewayne · 9 months

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Chained: To Wield the Blade we have Forged

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/gf2ntlQ

by Tinerian

Now bound together as Master and Submissed, Tim and Jason have nearly omnipotent levels of dangerously unpredictable power at their fingertips. Anyone finding out they hold this power could unravel everything, but the web of lies and secrets they're spinning could destroy them just as easily, and the threat of whatever impending doom prompted the Contract to be made in the first place hangs over their heads like the sword of Damacles.

When you hold power over all life and death, how do you decide who not to save? If power is the great corrupter, is it possible for a God to be good? If you put a man in prison for life, would it have been more honest and merciful to slay him with your own two hands? Is a fundamentally evil universe worth preserving?

These are the questions that will haunt them, but so too will they be haunted by their love for each other, the wonderful absurdity of joy, goofy ass happenstance, friendship, and lots of playful bickering.

Rough draft word count: 28,000

Words: 5106, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Series: Part 2 of Chained

Fandoms: Batman (Comics), Dark Nights: Metal, Red Robin (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Robin (Comics)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death

Categories: M/M

Characters: Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Barbara Gordon, Harleen Quinzel, Bruce Wayne

Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd

Additional Tags: Only tagging characters that will get multiple chapters of major speaking roles, Only tagging themes and trigger warnings that will come up repeatedly, Slow Burn, Magical Bond, Magical Contract, Contract, Contract Negotiation, Trans Jason Todd, Trans Tim Drake, Dr. Quinzel is a really good therapist, Incest, They will have to seriously deal with the fact they are socially considered brothers, Hurt/Comfort, Humor, Schizophrenia, ADHD, Autism, PTSD, Loving and compassionate portrayals of neurodivergence, To be explicitly clear:, psychosis will NEVER be a cause of violence in this fic, Transformation, Animal Transformation

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/gf2ntlQ

#IFTTT #bruce wayne #batman #the dark knight #the cape crusader #gotham #dc universe #ao3 #ao3feed

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ashenprofessor · 2 years

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Forging Friendships

Closed starter for @amicitium

True mastery with a sword is more than just swinging your weapon and embracing its sharp edge into your personality, but knowing what separates a true blade from something best left in the kitchen. A master smith from the castle town is offering a seminar to Officers Academy students on forging their own blades, so that they may learn what makes a sword a cut above the rest. For fun, he even makes it a competition–there’s no doubt that whatever you make will be terrible, but the one who manages to make the least terrible blade will be dubbed “the champion Forged in Fire” for a day! [ Grants Sword +1 ]

A warm orange glow was coming from the doorway to one of the lower basement rooms of the armoury. A local smith from. The nearby market town, a master no less attracted by the prestige of Garreg Mach close by, had offered to run a seminar for those curious about their blades beyond simply wielding them.

Byleth had been training in swordsmanship from an early age and now even taught others but this was the first chance she’d had at learning how her weapon was made. There was a basic level of knowledge, cold winter days spent entranced by the bright sparks of the blacksmith’s forge in whichever village they stayed in. The fire being the warmest spot for a young child to be left.

There were a handful of students and staff in attendance with numbers limited to the number of small forges the monastery staff could rustle up. The first part of the class was theoretical in nature, the master smith explaining about forge temperatures and where to hit the steel to shape it. Byleth did her best to pay attention despite the density of the details being thrown at them.

All too soon, the smith wrapped up his talk and gestured for people to pair up and choose a forge. Time to have a go themselves. This was the bit the ex-mercenary had been looking forward too. The sword she used was of critical importance to her and whilst she appreciated the sword gifted to her by Lady Rhea, it’s whip chain action giving it phenomenal reach, there was something to be said for the simplicity of a basic well forged blade.

Spotting a familiar face waving from a forge towards the back of the room, Byleth went over to join Elincia in front of the fire. “Hello Elincia” She greeted the student “I was hoping to forge a new blade for use in practise, would you be willing to help? It would be a bonus if we could win the competition but as long as the blade is usable, it’ll be a success.”

#thread: forging friendships #toa: mission board #mission: public relations #amicitium #ashenprofessor #[sword +1]

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mistreaders-requiem · 2 years

Note

You may use this ask as a carte blanche to answer very specific questions about very specific blorbos that you have prepared but no one asked yet. Go ham.

Thank you so much! This isn't exactly me answering a question per se...more of taking a free pass to do an ask game for a toon I haven't gotten, if that's alright.

I originally wanted to use this chance to talk about Aleksei's hypothetical Boss Fight but... I accidentally ran into inspiration (and a sick tune) for Sol's bossfight instead. And so, here we are. 🔥

Before anything else, let's pretend we live in a world where the Warbeast/Balthazar fight had a Raid or Strike version. (god what a dream)

With Sol's nature as a demigod Forged, his boss fight would naturally come before the Commander & Co. face Balthazar himself.

His Boss Fight theme would be Armageddon. Faint sound of clanging metal in the back, multiple layers of drums, a melody that's hectic but upbeat... vibes for a dire, but not hopeless man fight.

As for the primary mechanics:

If a broad sense of the timeline is considered, this fight would be the precursor to the Almorra fight during IBS, and furthermore, a bit of a precursor to the concept of Willbenders as was revealed in EOD.

Sol starts off as a fully armored Forged soldier, modelled after Forerunners (The guys that float and have giant blades on their feet). His helmet has four hig horns sticking out of the sides, mimicking Balthazar's if not lacking the final 3 horns up top.

As his health depletes, more and more of his armor will break off to reveal a somewhat corporeal body in the likeness of a young Elonian man, but with yellow eyes, hair that glows, metal right arm and from the waist down. Losing his armor would naturally make him much faster yet much more vulnerable as the fight goes on.

He makes for a fairly mobile boss, his first and major mechanic is his mobility and pathing. Sol would spend most of the time during his boss fight cirling the whole arena, leaving a firewall in his wake and basically creating a cage that forces a squad to huddle up in its center. When in this attack sequence, he is not directly attacking, though he scatters bombs around which further discourages spreading out.

Once he makes a full ring of fire, he will jump into the sky and land in the middle of the arena (where he was caging the squad), and detach the blades on his feet to make them swirl all around him. He's basically an extremely dangerous shredder while doing that, requiring the squad to scramble and dodge out of the shredder attack's range while also being mindful of the minefield that Sol planted before.

Shortly after the shredder attack, the firewall he created will close in on everyone, as if Sol is absorbing the fire.

He will then jump into the sky again, land by the edge of the arena, and repeat the chain of main mechanics all over again.

As a general tip on the arena layout, it's kinda like a donut. Small circular area in the middle (Shredder Phase deadzone), and a big ring around it. (Firewall deadzone)

For the secondary mechanics:

Lance of the Relentless - Besides the blades he has on his feet, Sol wields a spear in his hand, swinging and spinning it to deal melee damage and inflict conditions.

Spear of War/War God's Verdict - Basically Sol's version of the Dragonhunter's Spear of Justice & Hunter's Verdict. During his Firewall phase, he uses this skill to chain 2 random people at a time (one for each hand) and pull them into the fire. During the shredder phase, he once again chains 2 people and pulls them into him and his blades instead.

Searing Curtain - This is the mechanic described above where Sol collapses the giant ring of fire he made into himself and the squad.

Forged Trashmobs - Allthroughout the boss fight, trashmobs mainly consisting of Forged Hookheads, Scavengers, and Prowlers will slowly trickle in to keep the players preoccupied, and hope to break their formation.

This whole fight in general is condition heavy, particularly of Burns and Bleeds. There's also potential stunlocks from Spear of War.

Once Sol is whittled down to 1 health, he goes invulnerable, teleports to the middle of the arena (if he wasn't already), and collapse on the floor... only propping himself up with a spear. He doesn't say much save for "I'm not strong enough, Balthazar!" right as he falls...

...and "...Please let me rest." as the party begins to leave to face Balthazar.

There's a secret achievement you can get if you return to him after defeating the Fallen God called "Cutting Chains, Breaking Ties". As you talk to him, he'll ramble about feeling the magic that sustains him dwindle now that Balthazar was killed. Sol will reveal he has conflicting emotions, feeling releaved to be free, but at the same time fearful for his end.

(This secret achievement also opens up a Story/Meta Achievent where you go on quests to help find a way to keep Sol "powered up" and alive with magic... probably in Sun's Refuge during s4.)

#the blossoms answer #Sol Anand #long post #oooh man...i love this lad so much. this boss fight in particular is 😫#in hindsight this fight would probably be cheesable as all hell and not as intense as hoped but- it's narratively really cool

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redhoodinternaldialectical · 13 days

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Am I up WAY too fuckin late?

Yea :3

Will I have chapter 21 of Chained: to Wield the Blade We Have Forged up sometime after I wake up?

Yea :3

#jaytim #chained fanfic #chained: to wield the blade we have forged

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elesianne · 3 years

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A Silmarillion fanfic for @officialtolkiensecretsanta

Summary: Finrod arrives in Dorthonion with the first snows to spend time with little Gil-galad and speak of the future with Orodreth. He does not quite manage not to bring the shadows of past and future alike with him.

Length: ~1,500 words; Rating: General audiences; Some keywords: Family, (angsty) foresight, First Age, not a kidfic

A/N: This fic takes place between Dagor Aglareb, the Glorious Battle, and the completion of Nargothrond. For this fic, I've written Gil-galad as the son of Orodreth son of Angrod, and as having been born by this time. For more info about canon, see end notes.

AO3 link

Posterity of Finarfin

'Come, come!' Little Gil-galad takes his hand and tugs, and of course Finrod follows. When the boy starts slipping on the ice ground in his haste and his father, walking by Finrod's side, starts looking worried, Finrod scoops Gil-galad up in his arms.

'Tell me where to go', he says, and the boy tells him eagerly, eyes shining bright. His mother did well to name him for them.

They end up at the little lake just outside the walls of Angrod and Aegnor's keep. Finrod has been here once before, swimming with Aegnor on a balmy but rainy summer's day. It tends to rain in Dorthonion.

Now it snows only lightly, and it is the easiest thing for Finrod to pretend at delighted surprise when Gil-galad points at the blades with straps that Orodreth has been carrying. An excited child is enough to hold at bay Finrod's distaste for snow and ice, and indeed it is seeing how Gil-galad has grown that made Finrod ride to the uplands with the same wind that brought the year's first snows.

'We're going skating', Gil-galad declares, and boasts of being very good at it, inquiring whether Finrod knows how to skate.

'Not well', Finrod lies to his great-nephew that he is growing as fond of as he is of his nephew. 'Will you show me how?' he asks.

Gil-galad is more than happy to, and shows all the turns and stops and the speed that he has learned, taking more than one tumble in the process. Orodreth is ready with a comforting word whenever needed, patient and indulging in his son and uncle's merriment.

Eventually Gil-galad tires himself out while the short winter day's light dies around them. When he skates straight into a snowbank and stays lying there, face half in the snow, giggling, Orodreth comes to pick him up.

'I think it is time for some warm drinks in the hall', he says with dry amusement as he detaches the blades from Gil-galad's boots. 'And perhaps a nap for the smaller skaters.'

Gil-galad protests but soon nods off when they are settled in the large chairs in front of the fire in the great hall of the keep.

Finrod sips at his warm, spiced wine and looks at the little boy dozing in his father's lap, his cheeks red and dark-golden curls messy.

'Rodnor Gil-galad, posterity of the house of wise, gentle Finarfin', Finrod says quietly to Orodreth. That last name, one that his father never spoke, one of which Finrod is still not sure Finarfin himself would approve, still feels strange on his tongue. He wonders how many more decades of the new years of the Sun it will take for it not to.

Orodreth smooths Gil-galad's messy locks with sure fingers and ever-so-content expression. Finrod tamps down a tendril of yearning and jealousy that threatens to rise within him –

(He knows that if he lets, it will bring with it dreams of another, never-existing child with golden hair in the arms of its golden-haired mother, and Finrod has neither of them, and he must not allow himself to –)

And he tries to let himself fill instead with gladness for his nephew, dear to him always, for he is glad that he found what Finrod did not know how to hold on to.

'My new stronghold will soon be finished', he says to Orodreth. 'Next summer, or autumn at the latest, said the leader of the works when I rode away.'

'Rode to here.' Orodreth smiles. 'To the place with the worst winter weather in all of Beleriand, save for Maedhros's bare hill, perhaps.'

'To my family.'

'You are always welcome here.'

'As are you in Minas Tirith, and in Nargothrond as well, as soon as it is finished. But it is Minas Tirith that I want you to come to as soon as the roads are safer to travel and your lady can let you travel without worry. I want you to decide what changes you will make.'

Orodreth raises his eyebrows in reply.

'Come now, nephew', says Finrod. 'You must know I have considered you my heir ever since – ever since it became apparent that I have need for such a thing. I intend to move to Nargothrond and rule my realm from there, and I want you to come to Minas Tirith and keep the watch on Sirion for me.'

In the firelight, Finrod watches emotions shift in Orodreth's eyes. 'Thank you for the honour, my lord', he says at length. 'I will keep it well for you. For you, and for Gil-galad should I fall while Tol Sirion is in my keeping.'

Finrod gives a nod of acknowledgement, turning the green-stoned ring on his finger. He says, 'And should I fall, you shall be the heir to all my lands if your father and uncle still hold their own.'

Orodreth looks conflicted again. 'I do not know whether to remind you that you could marry, or to thank you, or to say that I hope I will never wear your crown. For your sake, and my father's and uncle Aegnor's.'

'You need not do any of those. In any case, it has been obvious if not official for years. There will be no other heir, no matter what you or others might say – indeed, your father reminded me of the same when I talked with him of this many winters ago – nor do you need to thank me. Who knows, perhaps your inheritance will be a thankless one in the end.'

After a moment of staring into the fire, patting Gil-galad's back with gentle hands, Orodreth says, 'Let us not think of such dark possibilities on this day; it is a distant prospect after all. Let us instead decide what we will do tomorrow. No doubt Gil-galad will want to spend it with his great-uncle Finrod. Just your presence is a great gift to him at this age.'

'And his to me.' Finrod grins. 'Aegnor mentioned yesterday that some young warriors of his have made a hill perfect for sledding down. That sounds like something that your brave lad would enjoy.'

'They have indeed, one that is far too steep for children! But Aegnor and his men will be happy to see you make a fool of yourself tumbling down that hill as soon as they return from their patrol.'

'Then I shall have to see whether I have time for that in between my plans with Gil-galad. How is he with his wooden sword these days? Ready to spar with his great-uncle?'

Orodreth grins, a proud father. 'Willing to spar, certainly. Able to do it without falling over in his enthusiasm? Not so certainly.'

'I dare say we will cope.' Finrod smiles, wistful but not too sad, for it has been a glad day. He is always glad of days with his family. He says, 'It feels like it has been three blinks of an eye since I was sparring with you with wooden swords.'

'Yet it was in another world.'

'Indeed. And we hardly knew what we were doing.' They had been untested by battle, unbloodied, not even knowing what battle they were preparing for, only that they should. They – the adults of the family – had forged swords and had just about learned to wield them when they made wooden ones to start teaching the children.

All out of nebulous fears that they'd wished wouldn't realise; but somewhere deep in those places where foresight lives, quiet but for its rare unbidden words, Finrod and his father and sister had known that the swords would be wielded on fields of battle, not only in training matches within the high walls of lush gardens.

He is wondering whether he should explain some of this to Orodreth – why they ended his childhood with their formless fears; somehow there has never been time before, but now they have had decades of relative peace, the hurry of building defences and watchtowers eventually giving space for reflection – when the great doors of the hall open and in pours a flurry of snow, and Orodreth's lady Faeleth.

Orodreth's face lights up at the sight of his wife.

'Will you hold him?' he asks, handing Finrod his still-slumbering son without waiting for reply.

He hurries to his wife, making a fuss over her. Finrod turns away from looking at him take off her snowy cloak, feeling as if he is intruding on something private in the middle of the great hall bustling with people.

As Orodreth lingers with Faeleth, Finrod stands up and stands as close to the fire as he dares with Gil-galad in his arms.

'May you never be king', Finrod says quietly to the sleeping child, small and dear. 'May you not become another link in a chain of broken kings, for that is what you would have to be. May you never wear my crown.'

A/N: Notes on canon:

Tolkien does not indicate when this version of Gil-galad, the final one that he conceived of but didn’t have time to consolidate into much of his writings, was born.

The canon about him is in The Peoples of Middle-Earth, pages 350-351 in my copy. His mother is left unnamed – she is only described as ‘a Sindarin lady of the North’ – so I gave her the name Faeleth.

Thank you for reading! Reblogs and likes are cherished, as are kudos and comments on AO3.

#tss2020 #tolkien fanfiction #silmarillion fanfiction #finrod #orodreth #gil galad #gilgalad #my fics #posterity of finarfin

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ao3feed-jaytim · 9 months

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Chained: To Wield the Blade we have Forged

read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/48784249 by Tinerian Now bound together as Master and Submissed, Tim and Jason have nearly omnipotent levels of dangerously unpredictable power at their fingertips. Anyone finding out they hold this power could unravel everything, but the web of lies and secrets they're spinning could destroy them just as easily, and the threat of whatever impending doom prompted the Contract to be made in the first place hangs over their heads like the sword of Damacles. When you hold power over all life and death, how do you decide who not to save? If power is the great corrupter, is it possible for a God to be good? If you put a man in prison for life, would it have been more honest and merciful to slay him with your own two hands? Is a fundamentally evil universe worth preserving? These are the questions that will haunt them, but so too will they be haunted by their love for each other, the wonderful absurdity of joy, goofy ass happenstance, friendship, and lots of playful bickering. Approximate rough draft word count: 30,000 Words: 9295, Chapters: 3/?, Language: English Series: Part 2 of Chained Fandoms: Batman (Comics), Dark Nights: Metal, Red Robin (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Robin (Comics) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Categories: M/M Characters: Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Barbara Gordon, Harleen Quinzel, Bruce Wayne Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd Additional Tags: Only tagging characters that will get multiple chapters of major speaking roles, Only tagging themes and trigger warnings that will come up repeatedly, Slow Burn, Magical Bond, Magical Contract, Contract, Contract Negotiation, Trans Jason Todd, Trans Tim Drake, Dr. Quinzel is a really good therapist, Incest, They will have to seriously deal with the fact they are socially considered brothers, Hurt/Comfort, Humor, Schizophrenia, ADHD, Autism, PTSD, Loving and compassionate portrayals of neurodivergence, To be explicitly clear:, psychosis will NEVER be a cause of violence in this fic, Transformation, Animal Transformation, Unreliable Narrator read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/48784249

#IFTTT #Ao3feed #Jaytim #DC

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moonchildsaurora · 4 years

Text

Before the sun is rising up

✤ knight!Jongho x knight!reader ✤ genre: royal AU // angst, fluff (if you squint) ✤ t/w: sfw, non-descriptive battle fight, sad reacts only, rated PG ✤ count: 1.6k ✤ [ part 1 ] of Lacuna miniseries

a/n - o m f g it’s finally done. . .well overdue one shot for our precious maknae & the 1st of 8 parts for my new miniseries! Here I was thinking that it’ll be a more condensed piece, but yet again my mind decided to be loud. Perhaps I’ll be able to reign it in a bit more with the others (who am I kidding really tho). I hope I wrote well enough for Jongho’s character, even though it still feels slightly rushed. Thanks to @a-tiny-8iny for insightful convos which gave me the idea of considering the focus around platonic bonds too (which honestly gave me a plotline I was much happier with)! Also @hereisleo @monbae @s1ardusk @barsformars I remember yelling bout this series idea to you guys ages ago and here we are 💙

It was rare for a champion knight to be able to bask in serenity, especially on the eve of the final battle. The kingdoms of Rivaria and Nethilor have long been at war with one another, what once was a united empire now torn apart from betrayal and greed. There simply wasn’t room for two powers to rule, and so by the time the sun rises tomorrow, only one will be left standing triumphantly. How twisted fate must be, to have childhood friends who had endlessly supported one another since their gruelling training days when they were mere squires only to end up serving royalties of opposite sides.

The cooling night breeze played around with your hair as your legs dangled freely over the cliff’s edge where you sat waiting patiently for him. You leaned back on your arms, hands gently curling into the slightly damp but still soft grass and face tilted up towards the star-lit skies. The moon was out in full tonight, somehow knowing it may be the very last time it could greet you.

Your ears managed to pick up the familiar sound of steady footsteps from behind, without turning around and a grin already forming on your lips.

“And here I thought you’d best me in arriving first for once, Sir Choi” you said, trying to hold back a chuckle.

The sound of metal clinking against another indicated that he had let his sword, Shadowmist, rest against the tree next to your Windsong. Forged by the same swordsmith, intended to be wield together as a complementary pair.

“My deepest apologies, had to use the good ol’ distraction to sneak past the night guards of my own camp.”

“How rebellious of you.”

Jongho gave a playful shove to your shoulder as he sat down next to you, an immediate comforting warmth radiated off him. You noticed that he was in his casual tunic, the soft linen matching your own one. It’s almost a foreign sight to you considering how used you are seeing one another in the heavy metal of armour rather than something more care-free.

Just as you were about to ask how long he had before his troops would start noticing their own commander’s absence, a bundle was unceremoniously dropped on your lap.

“And pray tell, what is this?”

Your fingers fiddled with the thin leather cord that wrapped around the cloth, managing to unwrap the cover and your eyes crinkled with glee immediately upon seeing the contents inside.

“I made my squire swear not to tell the others that I was stealing extras for my supposed woodland friends,” a dramatic sigh escaped Jongho.

That caused you to burst out laughing, “You mean to say that the great leader of the Nethilorian army secretly befriends little creatures?”

“I always did say that your resemblance to that of a raccoon is uncanny.”

Now it was your turn to shove him, though you had to admit that his cover-up reasons were ridiculously endearing. “I wonder how your squire puts up with you at times, must be confusing for the poor lad.”

“What will it take for you to express your gratitude without mocking my pride?”

“Fortunately for you, I may be more inclined to accept certain incentives at times…” and picking up a Goldhorn biscuit, you held it towards Jongho, “Truce?”

Instead of taking the biscuit with his fingers he proceeded to bite down lightly, stealing it right out of your hold.

“You fiend!”

“Now we can have a truce.”

You purposely wiped your fingers on his tunic, earning a protest from him before tasting one of the sweet treats for yourself. These were the biscuits that you and Jongho used to eat regularly as children, the same honeyed taste bringing back fond memories. A fleeting image of your parents and home came to mind, the echoes of childish laughter and, “Watch where you’re running you two little rascals!”

“Remember that time you chased me with your mother’s rolling pin and it got us in so much trouble?”

You turned to look at Jongho, still to this day you haven’t quite figured out how he always seem to be on the same wavelength as you. Another biscuit was popped into your mouth before you replied, “Only because you not so accidentally spilled the rest of my potato stew.” That particular memory managed to coax a smile out of you, silently apologising to your parents for being the cause of their grey hairs.

A comfortable silence settled, the little fireflies were coming out to dance and the night breeze was still calm as before. From where the both of you sat on the cliff, the view of the valley was magnificent. It was a pleasant surprise that you discovered this hidden spot during the training camp and it became yours and Jongho’s meeting place ever since.

“I’m going to miss this.”

You could feel your heart clenching at his words, knowing full well what he meant. Setting the food down, you shuffled around a bit so you could retrieve something from your pocket. Dangling the two silver chains right in front of Jongho seem to break him out of whatever nostalgia trance he was in.

He blinked owlishly at the pendants, each holding an athesotile gem. You gave his one over and Jongho observed the iridescent glow it had under the moonlight.

“You sure know how to make a man feel special,” said Jongho as he teasingly held a hand over his heart .

“Had it been a confession token, sure. Unfortunately for you it’s only a lucky charm.”

“Trust you to still believe in that old tale,” he chuckled as he looped the pendant around his neck. This particular gem was sought after in the past for supposedly bringing great luck or so it has been old across generations by your elders. You had found these pendants as you were passing through the major town of Millbelle after a successful patrol.

“I’d trust in anything that will bring us hope at this point.”

The breeze picked up a little bit, rustling the trees around as if it became restless at your words. You really hadn’t mean to dampen the mood but reality was starting to sink heavily on your entire being. Anger and fear both seeped in, for being placed in such a predicament – you didn’t even get to bid your family a proper farewell with how fast war was declared. Your hands gripped the pendant tightly as you forced the choked sobs back down, though the corners of your eyes had tears already gathering.

“I’m terrified Jongho. I don’t want either of us to –“

“Hey now, are you forgetting something?” Even if he holds his gaze so strongly, you could still feel the slight trembles in his hands that interlocked with yours as he spoke.

“What do you mean?”

“You remember when I said I’ll be with you till the end?” His thumb caught a stray tear and wiped it gently from your face, “I intend to follow that through.”

A million and one thoughts ran through your head as you looked at him, endlessly thanking the gods above for blessing you with Choi Jongho. Though death lingered over yourselves, knowing that you wouldn’t have to face it alone eased your soul that little bit more.

With a wet laugh you leaned into his touch, “I won’t hold back if you don’t either.”

Jongho stood up from his previous seating spot, pulling you up with him. You watched as he made his way over to the swords and retrieved them both, quickly using the sleeves of your tunic to dry your eyes before Jongho held Windsong out towards you for the taking.

Tilting your head to the side with a silent question that you only got an answer to after Jongho unsheathed Shadowmist. He directed the blade to be pointing at you, no hostility behind the action, just a determined glint in his dark eyes and a solemn nod of his head.

With the moon as a witness, a final oath was made by the crossing of swords.

The thundering of hooves and roars of the cavalries were enough to shake the land, as the Rivarians fearlessly gave their war cry. The grip on your mount’s reins was painfully tight as you stood observing the enemy ranks across the battle field. Dawn was upon you, the rosy hues of red and orange matched the accents on your silver suit of armour. It was a harsh contrast to the striking black and gold that the Nethilorian army wore.

Another war horn sounded, this time from the other side and your jaw clenched with tension as you watched Jongho lead the charge down the hill.

“Leave the Commander to me, cover the flanks and keep your formations in order,” your voice resonated with finality as you addressed your elite guards.

“Archers! At the ready!”

A wave of a flag with a griffin, your kingdom’s emblem, embroidered on it signalled a rain of arrows to be let loose. You couldn’t tell how long you held your breath for as you watch the arrows land around Jongho’s charging form, his soldiers bringing up their sturdy shields as protection. Relief ran through you as the arrows took out the slower foot soldiers around him instead.

Shadowmist was raised high and proud, equally deafening war cries echoed in multitude getting closer and closer to your side. You drew out Windsong and walked your mount towards the front lines.

“We ride…for honour,” the visor of your helmet was flipped down, “…for the safety of our people….for our lives.” You kicked your mount into a gallop with your riders following your lead, raising their spears and swords.

“FOR RIVARIA!”

Ironically everything seemed to slow down as you faced head on towards Jongho. Even the noise have become muffled, all you could focus on was your breathing within the helmet. Your eyes never wavered from his figure and when his mount stormed faster ahead of the rest, you matched his change in pace as well.

“To thee I swear this oath, only by your blade will…”

As the first ray of light pierced over the horizon, the waking sun was greeted with the resounding clash of two blades; and the mourning for two loyal hearts.

“…we meet once again at the elysian fields, my dearest friend.”

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tales-of-the-great-old-one · 3 years

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Disclaimer: This story may or may not contain description/mention of violent death and/or execution. If you react sensitively to any of the aforementioned topics, please consider that this might not be for you. Have a nice day.

The rain clattered on the metal beams and the concrete slabs deep beneath the steel grating. He could see the drops passing between the rectangular bars and disappear into the haze at the edge of his vision.

He thought about feeling around for his glasses, but was interrupted by the reverberations of heavy boots on the walkway. Before he could muster the strength to raise his head strong hands grabbed him by the arms and dragged him belly first across the cold, wet metal.

His head rolled to its side and he caught an eye of a dark green uniform leg and black boots. The soldier was holding him up by his right arm and judging by the sensation in his left, one of his comrades was doing the same on the other side.

He tried to think of a way, any way to possibly get out of this situation, but the last twenty-four hours had exhausted him beyond belief and so the only thing his brain could muster was an anaemic ‘Ah, shit.’

The Colonel was waiting on a platform ahead, alongside her two more soldiers holding a terrified Marie and Jules. He could also see another dozen or so men gathering below the platform on the concrete floor, al of them in uniform and armed.

When the two soldiers reached the platform they heaved up his body, causing his legs to swing forward underneath him, and then forced him back down into an uncomfortable kneeling position. Even though every muscle and bone in his body seemed to be screaming at him in pain, he managed to stay somewhat upright. God, he was so tired. With what felt like an inhuman act of strength the lifted his head to meet the Colonel’s eyes. With out his glasses and rainwater running into his eyes her face was little more than a golden-haired blur, but he could hear the hatred in her voice just as well.

“We meet again, monster.”

He couldn’t help but allow a weak smile to creep across his lips. He swallowed hard and tasted blood. Did he bite his tongue in the fall? No matter.

“You still on about that?”

The calmness in his voice surprised him, but wasn’t unwelcome. If this was it, then he didn’t want to mumble his last words.

The blond oval moved closer as the Colonel stepped up to him and lowered herself until there were only a half-dozen inches between their two noses. She was still beautiful, neither the abject contempt in her expression nor the thin white scars that ran along the curve of her cheek could hide that.

“This time I’ll finish the job.”

She spit the words into his face as though there was a bitter taste to them.

“Give me your best shot then.”

For some reason trading verbal blows with her like this felt as though it was giving him some amount of energy again. It was strange how comforting her presence was at this moment. Something familiar to cling on to.

“Oh, I intend to.”

She withdrew and with a sign of her hand summoned one of the soldiers to her. The man carried a long, thin, leather-covered case. He held out the container almost reverently as the Colonel opened the buckles holding the lid closed, opened the lid and slowly pulled out a long, shimmering blade.

The sword was easily over four feet long, counting the hilt which was intended for two hands, and it’s blade polished to a mirror shine. The tip was triangular and almost blunt, but it’s edges were so sharp, the whole thing almost seemed to disappear at the right angle.

Enraptured the uniformed woman held out the blade in front of her, turned it so that raindrops trickled across the shiny surface.

Without turning she said: “It’s silver-plated. Perfect for your kind. I had the blade specifically forged and ground to be able to sever bone easily. If nothing else, at least it will be quick for you.”

Marie made a sound, something between a cry and a whimper, but it died before it could leave her throat. Jules wrapped his arms around her and she clung to him as though she would fall right through the grating, if she didn't. The boy was chalk white, eyes fixated on his face.

A snap of the Colonel’s fingers and the two soldiers, that had brought him, grabbed hold of him again, twisted his arms onto his back and pushed his head down onto a wooden stool brought by a third man.

He turned his head on the improvised executioner’s block as he heard and felt the approach of steel-tipped boots reverberate through him and met the boy’s gaze.

“Jules, it’ll be fine. You have to take care of Marie. You’re a man now, I know you can. Protect her, watch over her, make sure she doesn’t fall in with any bad crowds. Can you promise me that?”

Tears began rolling down the boy’s face as he nodded and burried his sisters face in his sweater.

He saw the boots step next to the stool the shiny blade hanging down beside them. He looked down and saw the raindrops disappear in the haze. The blade was lifted up.

“This is farewell, monster.”

He closed his eyes and thought ‘I’m sorry, mama, I have to disappoint you yet again.’

Then, for the first time in many, many years, he let go.

The beast deep beneath the surface, free of its chain came charging like a starving hound to fresh meat. Overwhelming him, coursing through him like a flood of molten, hot metal, an all-consuming rage. A change.

As the beast rampaged through him, nested itself in him, he felt his bones breaking, skin and muscles tearing and reforming, becoming… better!

It was as though for all his life he had lived in half a body. As if he’d walked on one leg, seen with one eye, breathed through one lung. But now he was complete.

Now he could run, he could see, he could hear, he could breathe!

The soldiers struggling to hold him down were nothing now and he flung them aside and off the platform like a child would a doll. His euphoria over this newfound power forced its way through his lungs and his throat in a triumphant roar.

No, it wasn’t newfound. It was reclaimed. It’d always been part of him, since his youth. Since before he sealed this part of him. How foolish he had been, how foolish they had all been.

He felt the cold aura of the silver blade at his back and sidestepped a swing with such speed and precision that the human wielding it could barely follow. With a deft stroke of his arm his claws tore through its ribcage, ripping open its lungs and heart in one.

Loud bangs, flashes of muzzle fire and the smell of gunpowder immediately filled the air: a group of humans below him had opened fire and bullets whizzed past him and deflected of the railings and beams around him.

Gracefully he ran, jumped and descended on them like an angel of death. And he danced among them as the blood ran out from they bodies and their screams rang out among the concrete walls and steel beams.

#writing #short fiction #short story #writing prompt #writblr #werewolf #tw: violence #tw: injury #tw: murder #tw: gore #fantasy #sci fi & fantasy #sci fi

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