#whats the POINT in bringing in the old companions mid battle if its not to see them join the fight. oh my god. THE GOLDEN GENERAL. im so mad | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

besanii · 3 years

Note

omg the angst.... (clutches chest) i’d love to read lan wangji’s reaction to xixian please.... (laughs in pain) i love your works so much OTL

[ part one (LWJ) | two (LXC) | three (WWX) ]

They come to a halt at the lookout point halfway up the mountain that leads to the Cloud Recesses. It is a little after daybreak and the morning sun casts a sleepy light over the city spread out below them; the light dances over the river that runs right through the heart of the city, glittering in the remnants of the morning fog.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be tired of this view,” Wei Wuxian sighs, sitting back in his saddle. “Even if I have to get up early to see it.”

Lan Wangji hums in agreement. He has seen this view countless times in his past, ever since he was tall enough to ride, but it still takes his breath away. They spend a few moments taking in the view from their saddles, letting the peace and quiet of the morning settle over them.

Eventually, Lan Wangji shifts, turning his head slightly to look at his companion.

"I am leaving," he says. Wei Wuxian raises his eyebrows, surprised. “I am needed in Jinghai.”

“Ah.” Wei Wuxian nods in understanding, but his brow is furrowed in concern nevertheless. “When do you leave?”

“At dawn.”

Wei Wuxian exhales through his nose, tapping his fingers against his saddle, the reins held loosely in his grip. They’d both known the orders were inevitable—they had not been faring well in the war with Dongying and the troops on the front lines were in dire need of both backup and a morale boost. Lan Wangji, as a member of the Imperial Family and also an accomplished military strategist and commander despite his young age, is the obvious choice for the task.

He laughs under his breath.

“I would ask to come with you, but...” he breaks off with a helpless shrug.

Lan Wangji makes a noise of dissent and shakes his head.

“You are needed here,” he tells him. “I cannot ask you to come, no matter how much I wish it were possible.”

With the Marquess of Yunmeng bedridden and their relationship with Qishan growing increasingly hostile, Wei Wuxian would be put to better use here in the capital than on the front lines. It doesn’t make the thought of parting any easier.

“I suppose that’s that then,” Wei Wuxian agrees.

Below them, the city stirs as the first boats arrive from the harbour, ferrying their goods along the river to the markets. The morning mist is starting to dissipate, bringing the cityscape into clearer view. Lan Wangji tightens his grip on the reins in his hand as he watches Caiyi come to life.

“There is one thing,” he says slowly, carefully. “Before I leave, there is one thing I would like you to have. Would you allow me to give it to you?”

He watches Wei Wuxian shift in his saddle out of the corner of his eye; his chest is tight, his breath stoppering his throat in his anticipation. The thin box feels too large in his pocket, its corners and edges pressing against him as if to constantly remind him of its presence. He grips the reins tighter and waits.

But Wei Wuxian shakes his head and waves his hands out in front of him vigorously, eyes wide.

“No, no, don’t give it to me!” he exclaims.

Lan Wangji’s heart sinks.

“Why—” He clears his throat. “Is there a reason why?”

A thousand reasons rush through his mind. Has he overstepped? Is the gift not welcome? Has he misread the nature of their relationship? They have never spoken of it before, but he had assumed there was an understanding—

He’s interrupted mid-thought by Wei Wuxian urging his horse closer so he can nudge him with the tip of one foot. It’s only then he notices the rosy tinge to those high cheekbones, and the way in which he rubs the back of his neck as he avoids eye contact.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Wangji asks again. Wei Wuxian laughs, embarrassed.

“I just...” he trails off, clearing his throat. “I was just thinking you could perhaps...give it to me when you return. As a—a guarantee? A—”

“A promise,” Lan Wangji finishes for him, feeling suddenly lighter. The corners of his lips twitch as Wei Wuxian’s face reddens. “Yes, of course. When I return.”

The door to the study opens and closes with a quiet click.

It’s dark inside with only a handful of candles casting their flickering light around the room, but it is not difficult to spot Lan Wangji. His posture is slouched, his fingers laced together as he rests his elbows on the desk, his lips pressed into a thin line. His eyes are downcast, weary.

“You’ve seen him then,” Lan Qiren says without preamble.

Lan Wangji glances up at him and inclines his head.

“Huangshu,” he says hoarsely. The closer he gets, the more Lan Qiren can make out the tight lines and the redness in his eyes. “You knew?”

Lan Qiren sighs.

“I did,” he admits. “Though not in time to prevent it.”

He watches his nephew’s head drop into his hands with a haggard exhale, his own heart heavy and hurting for his sake. This was not the welcome any of them had hoped to give, not the reunion any of them had expected.

“Would you?” Lan Wangji asks. Lan Qiren raises an eyebrow.

“Pardon?”

Lan Wangji raises his head just enough to stare at him over the top of his interlaced fingers.

“Would you have prevented it?” he asks.

Lan Qiren pauses. If news of Lan Wangji’s supposed death had not arrived when it did—if Jiang Fengmian, Marquess of Yunmeng, had not been deathly ill and unable to mediate between Yunmeng and Qishan, leading his son and Wei Wuxian to take matters into their own hands—if, if, if.

He says nothing.

Lan Wangji scoffs. In any other situation, Lan Qiren would rebuke him for his impoliteness. But his heart is not made of stone. His nephew sits before him, battle weary and heartbroken, looking so much like his father before him it is concerning. So he holds his tongue while Lan Wangji struggles to get his breathing under control.

“I had plans,” Lan Wangji says to the wooden desk, his face hidden from view once again. “I had it all prepared before I left for Jinghai. I would have done it before, but we—we had agreed it would be better to do it when I returned. As a promise.”

His breathing grows ragged. Choked. Lan Qiren’s own heart hurts to hear it.

“I came back,” he whispers brokenly. “I kept my promise. But I was too late. And he didn’t—couldn’t—wait for me. I was too late. It’s my fault. I did this.”

Lan Qiren swallows thickly.

“What’s done is done, Wangji,” he tells him. “We cannot change the past. The only thing we can do is learn to live with the outcome.”

He knows his nephews. He will survive this. Somehow. They all will.

They all must.

–

Translations

Jinghai (鯨海) - an old name for the Sea of Japan (lit. Whale Sea)

Huangshu (皇叔) - Imperial Uncle

buy me a ko-fi!

more paper-thin fic | verse

–

Notes

Did I proofread this before posting? LMAO NOPE THIS WAS POSTED AT 1.45AM.

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reachfolk · 3 years

Note

For the writing prompt, let's go with ruin.

request: alexandria silver-blood + "ruins" (elder scrolls writing prompts — OPEN)

summary: Alexandria's teaching methods may not be conventional nor are they always pleasant, but Lucien can't deny their effectiveness.

tags: fluff, lucien flavius, canon-typical violence, alex and lucien are still pretty new as companions so he's still Baby, lexi is an arguably good teacher, not proofread bc it turned out so long lol

warnings: none

word count: 2.3k

ao3 link: [tough love]

author's notes: for those that don't know, lucien is a modded follower who starts as a wimpy little imperial scholar and you train him to get better at combat. this was SO much fun to write, i feel like it really shows some of my fav things about lexi and her dynamic with lucien! thank u so much for the request dearie <3

The door to the old nordic tomb was jammed after what must have been centuries without being opened, but with a heavy shove, Alexandria was able to force them to give. As soon as they swung open, the smell of decay and rot overwhelmed Lucien's senses, and he found himself struggling to hold down that morning's breakfast.

Alexandria, on the other hand, had no such qualms. Instead, she took a deep breath and smiled at the smell. "Ah, I love these old tombs. You can just feel Lady Namira's influence in the air. Makes the eyes water though, doesn't it? Or maybe that's just the dust." She fanned her face, letting her eyes dry out for a moment before readying her sword in one hand and a simple Firebolt spell in the other. "You ready?"

"Uhh," Lucien hesitated. "Do I have a choice?"

"Nope!" With that, she pushed him through the doors, and he nearly toppled over. "You'll be taking the lead this time, alright?"

"What?! Me?!" He sputtered. "Are you sure that's a good idea? No, don't answer that. It isn't a good idea whatsoever."

Alexandria didn't seem to share a single one of his concerns as she placed a hand on his back and pushed him deeper into the old ruins. "It's a chance to practice sneaking and to test out that Turn Undead spell. Two birds with one stone, as they say."

"I only learned that spell last night. Who's to say it'll even work? Don't you think the stakes are a little too high?"

"Of course they are," she said in her usual, all too cheery tone of voice. "You're not going to learn anything by staying firmly in your comfort zone. Besides, don't you trust me to keep you safe?"

It was certainly a good question. In spite of how she presented herself, Alexandria was a difficult person to read. While he often did appreciate her optimistic attitude (it was certainly an improvement over the glum nature of most of Skyrim's citizens), there were more than a few moments where it almost felt like she enjoyed tormenting him. This wouldn't be the first time she pushed him beyond his limits; ever since she started training him, she seemed to make a game of torturing him and justifying it with reasons such as, "You need to learn to take a hit," or "You've got to get out of your own head." And, well... he wanted to trust her methods, but she make it quite difficult.

"If you take any longer to answer, it's going to hurt my feelings, you know."

"N-no, I don't mean to imply anything bad!" Lucien sputtered. "I'm just nervous, is all. You've been a wonderful guard and I don't mean to offend you in any—"

His ramblings were interrupted by her bursting into laughter, and the sound echoed throughout the chamber. He felt a brief panic, but it seems the sound didn't reverberate far enough into the ruins to alarm any draugr. Alexi, it seems, didn't share his worries at all.

"Calm down, will you? I was joking!" She chuckled. "Believe me, no one understands anxiety better than I do. But that doesn't mean I'll allow you to let it control your life."

Lucien had a hard time believing she of all people, in all her confidence and self-assuredness, could relate, but her words were a comfort nonetheless. "Right," he replied, letting her words sink in. He took a deep breath to calm himself, then firmly regretted it as the stench of death filled his lungs.

Alexi chuckled again at him and patted his arm. "You'll get used to it."

"I really don't want to," he said, but readied his spells nonetheless.

The pair made their way through the old ruin, crouched low and sticking to the shadows, just as Alexandria taught him. The muffle spell she cast helped them stay quiet and made it easy to make out the sound of draugr footsteps farther into the depths of the tomb.

Lucien stopped in the middle of the hallway they were crouched in and leaned his head around the bend, leading into a larger chasm. Two draugr patrolled the area, moving in circles around the perimeter.

Alexi leaned back on her haunches and whispered, "So, what's the plan, boss?"

It was strange, the way their roles were swapped. "Uhm," Lucien thought back to what Alexandria did the last time they were in this kind of situation. "Wait until they wander to opposite sides of the room, out of each other's sight, and shoot them down one at a time."

"Okay," Alexandria said simply, but the minimal response was enough to send Lucien doubting himself.

"Is that not a good plan?" He asked, unsure.

"Huh? I never said that. I told you, you're the boss here! I'm just following your lead."

"Right," Lucien muttered. "Right. Uh, I just... need to be more sure of myself."

Alexi didn't respond beyond glancing around the corner, watching the draugr.

"Right?" Lucien asked.

This time, she simply chuckled. "Dearie, how are you not realizing the irony? You're still asking for my approval. It's a good plan. Now go ahead before you start getting in your head again."

Unfortunately, his doubts already took root and refused to budge. Even as he drew his bow and had it aimed at the target, he found himself frozen in place.

After the second opening he missed due to his own hesitation, Alexandria leaned over his shoulder and whispered, "Can I give you some advice?"

"Please do."

"Great!"

She grabbed him by the neck not unlike one would grab a housecat, dragged him up from where he was crouched, and tossed him into the open chamber with the two draugr. As he yelped in surprise, the two draugr turned at the sound and drew their weapons.

The rational response was for Lucien to be angry at her for being so cruel, but in the moment, it was all he could do to bash his bow against the draugr that rushed at him with a greatsword. The attack staggered the enemy and interrupted her mid-swing, giving Lucien enough time to switch out his longbow for a sword and spell.

Just as the zombie had regained balance, Lucien took a swing, putting all his might behind it. It wasn't enough to bring her down, but as the sword connected with her shoulder, the two-handed sword she carried fell from her grasp. He used the chance to shoot a Firebolt spell at her, which sent her flying backwards, unmoving.

Before he could celebrate his victory, an arrow whooshed past his face, just barely grazing his skin and taking a few of his hairs with it. It would've sent his heart racing if the poor muscle wasn't already working at full capacity.

He turned his head to the archer, who already had nocked another arrow and shot it in his direction. He just barely managed to dodge by side stepping behind a column. There was no way he could rush at the archer with his sword, and he was clearly outmatched with a bow. Should he just try to pelt it with Firebolts, or—

Suddenly, he remembered the new spell he'd just learned the night before. It was a risk trying it now of all times, but the adrenaline rushing in his veins made it difficult to rationalize it too much. He charged the spell, then ducked out from behind the other side of the column and cast it before the draugr could even release the arrow it had readied.

The second the spell hit, the draugr immediately pulled its arrow back and turned it's back, running in the opposite direction in the signature awkward steps that all draugr take. Now that the threat of being pelted with arrows was gone, Lucien rushed at the creature and grabbed it by the back of its thin, wiry hair. He stabbed his sword through its back with enough force that it jutted out of its chest. When the creature stopped moving, he released his grip on it and let its limp body fall to the ground.

It took him several seconds to catch his breath. When his heart rate finally returned to normal, a high-pitched squeal broke through the calmness and spiked it once again. Thankfully, he realized quickly enough, it was only Alexandria excitedly cheering for him.

"Good job, Lucien!" She applauded, rushing towards him from where she watched. "Oh, I knew you could handle it!"

"I... I did! Didn't I?" It was still hard to believe he could manage in a battle with her support, so to win two-against-one was inconceivable to him.

"Obviously," she laughed, giving him a playful shove. "See what you can do when you stop freaking out? When you don't have time to doubt yourself, your real skill shows."

He couldn't help but join her in the laughter as the reality of his accomplishment dawned on him. "Does this mean I'm now a proper adventurer? I never thought I had it in me!" He puffed out his chest proudly, beaming at his companion.

"I'm well aware of that. That's always been your biggest problem," she said. "Lucien, you've gotten so used to thinking of yourself as some weak little milk-drinker that no matter how much I trained you, you refused to recognize your own progress. I needed to do something to get it through your head."

"Not to imply that I'm not grateful, because I truly am," he replied, "but was throwing me to the draugr really the only thing you could think of?"

She gave a shrug. "It's how I was taught. Well, for me it was sabre cats. And fire. Oh, and also flowers, but that one's less exciting. And plenty of harsh lessons, really. How do you think I got these scars?" To prove her point, she lifted up both arms, showcasing a large array of scars, burns, and calluses that she'd acquired over the years. They moved down throughout her body, displayed for all to see under her Forsworn armor. The injuries had accumulated so much that it was hard to tell one from the other, let alone deduce what had caused them.

Lucien was curious about it since the day they'd met, but it felt rude to ask. But seeing as she brought up the matter herself, and she didn't seem to have any discomfort talking about it, he found himself asking, "What actually happened?"

"Oh, what didn't happen?" She chuckled. Pointing at the rough shape of a bite mark on her right arm, she explained, "I got this one when Auntie Ursula wanted me to get sabre cat teeth because I'd used up her entire supply when making potions. She wanted to teach me a lesson about recognizing alchemy as more than just mixing things together. Respecting the ingredients the land blesses us with, and honoring the Hunt as a crucial part of the life of an alchemist."

She then pointed to the burn marks along her palms and fingers. "I got these when Mother Helle was training me in Destruction magic. A lot of mages hesitate to progress their knowledge of the arcane arts, so she often pushed us to lean into the pain rather than fear it. Learning advanced fire-based spells results in plenty of injuries, but I couldn't have learned them if I didn't stop being scared of getting burned. After getting lit on fire a few times, it stops being so scary. And, more importantly, you learn to control it better."

"What about the flowers?" he asked.

She held up her fingers and wiggled them a bit. They were rough and calloused, and the state of them made him wonder how she could even comfortably hold a weapon. "These were the first scars I ever got. When I first started working as Auntie Bothela's assistant—I think it was shortly after my tenth winter, she made me dethorn every single flower that was in stock at the store until my hands bled. Then she made me use those same flowers to make a health potion to cure the cuts, and then I'd start over. I wasn't so good at it in the beginning, so my skin didn't end up healing very well. But once most of the skin was scarred, it stops hurting, and it helps when working with more advanced recipes."

"That sounds... quite harsh," Lucien observed. It was odd how she described such unpleasant experiences with a bright smile, as though they were treasured memories.

"All my teachers were Reachfolk, and usually followers of Lord Hircine," she explained. "It's part of his teachings—to suffer is to learn and all that. It's not exactly the nicest way to teach, but I always found it... kind, in its own way. They were with me through every step of the way. There was never a moment of my training that I felt alone or lost."

Then, her voice grew softer, a kind of uncertainty he hadn't seen in her before. "I hope I've been that kind of teacher to you. It may not always be easy, but I wouldn't put you in any situation that I don't trust you to handle, even if you may not always trust yourself as much. And, well... I know you're still making up your mind, but I do consider you a friend. I want the best for you."

The confession made Lucien's heart swell, and he wondered how on Nirn he ever doubted her intentions. And, after today, he couldn't doubt her results. "You have been," he said. "I'm glad to have you by my side, friend."

Her eyes lit up at his words, and the sight was reminiscent of that of an excited puppy. "Me too!" she said, her voice back to its cheery tone.

With that, Lucien drew his sword again and gestured to the path leading deeper into the ruins. "So, are you ready to press on?"

She gave a salute and followed his lead, drawing her own sword. "Sure thing, boss!"

#lucien flavius #tes #tesblr #skyrim #skyrim oc #elder scrolls #cozy writes #oc: alexandria silver blood #alexi is a daedra worshipper and it Shows lol #cozy answers #moots #thanks again for the request!! it was so much fun to write #this is 100% meant to be platonic but lexi would absolutely have a puppy crush on lucien and i wonder if u can tell lmao #she has crushes on everyone tho so this is her default slkjflksj #ship: alexandria x lucien

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petri808 · 4 years

Text

A Sun-Kissed Getaway

My artist partner @reishichi beautiful companion piece to my story. Rei was awesome to work with, sweet, go check out her art!!! 💜💜 This was for the @todomomo-mini-bang-2020

The scent of the salty ocean air held hints of life and notes of esoteric mysteries swirling through the breezes that wrapped along the sun-kissed beach they stood on. He couldn’t have picked a more perfect spot to bring his wife Momo to. Secluded and peaceful compared to the hectic city world they lived in. The skies were radiant with different shades of blue as far as the eye could see and embraced at the horizon into the covetous waters like a lover returning home.

But as beautiful as this landscape was, it didn’t hold a flame in his heart like the gorgeous woman before him. Her dark raven tresses float behind her in gentle wisps and flurries, only tamed in part by the loose clip that binds it up. He watches her pause and bend down to pick up a shell, turning it in her hand before placing it back where she’d found it. Always the curious bookworm, cultured and mindful of her surroundings. She turns her attention to the ocean and closes her eyes.

He smiles at her upturned expression as she soaks in this entrancing milieu. It was one he could understand and appreciate too.

Their work as heroes was a daunting task at times. Not just physically taxing but emotionally draining when you’re dealing with the dregs of society. Villains and the victims left in their wake. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if these degenerates could just stick to battling with the law rather than dragging innocents into the mix. But he digresses. This was not the time to brood upon the negatives of their chosen professions.

“Shouto,” a soft melody crosses his hearing, and he shifts his focus to its source. He sees her outstretched hand, beckoning him to her.

He smiles once more and closes the gap between them, taking hold and entwining his fingers with hers. She squeezes and runs her thumb soothingly over the skin, wiping away the dissolution as if it’d never taken place. This is why he loved her so much. With just a tender touch, she could send away the weary and brighten his world anew. He lifts her hand and places a chaste kiss to its back. “Shall we,” he questions, gesturing to the stretch of coastline. She smiles with a light blush filtering onto her cheeks and nods in agreement.

They walk along the beach hand in hand in mellow conversation. The warm white sand speckled with various shades from corals of long ago cushion each step they take. It was nice, like a massage for their bare feet, and he appreciated that nature was kind enough not to burn today. No other souls were around to disturb them, except for the occasional call of a seabird or the skittering of a hermit crab. Just the tranquil roil of the waves ebbing and flowing against the sand or the shifting leaves of the trees that dot the edge of the shoreline.

It takes about an hour for them to make it to the end of the beach where a sheer cliff face rises up an unknown amount of stories and blocks their way. This beach was carved from a valley and only accessible with four-wheel drive. Of course, for those with a quirk like he had, travel to a remote location wasn’t so much of an issue. But to make it a day when they could forget about their quirks and just be normal for once, he’d borrowed a friend’s truck to get through the forest trail.

With no reason to hurry, they simply turn around and enjoy the stretch of paradise, making their way back to their little camp for the day. It was almost lunchtime and his wife had prepared bento meals for them to fuel their day off. Along with an oversized blanket and small cooler with drinks, it was the perfect set up for a relaxing picnic by the sea.

How unexpected, he mused as she produced a kitchen knife and began cutting into a small watermelon. It was the perfect refreshing treat for this warm summer day. He makes her a small table of ice to cut the fruit on and lay the pieces out to chill. “Lunch was delicious Momo, thank you,” he kisses her cheek as she finishes chopping.

She blushes lightly in a smile, “you’re welcome Shouto.”

He was a lucky man that his wife was such an amazing cook. Cooking was one skill that he could never master no matter how many times his sister Fuyumi tried to teach him. But he’s always been just a simple man, nothing fancy required, and content with a cold plate of soba. His wife was a different story. Raised to be the perfect balance of elegance and sophistication, used to the finer things in life, yet never pretentious or snobby.

Though they’d come from the upper echelon of society, their families couldn’t have been more different from one another. It was strange to him at first. She was so settled and worldly compared to him, a top-ranked student and yet adorably self-conscious. While he came from a broken home life, an overbearing father, while still managing to develop his own identity. But he digresses. They did have one thing in common. He leans back on the blanket and closes his eyes to the memory.

All through high school they’d been completely clueless, and it wasn’t until after graduation, with the help of their friends pointing out the blaring reality of their feelings for one another.

“What are you smiling about?”

Her voice pulls him back. “Just you,” he takes the piece of watermelon she holds out to him, “and how happy you make me.”

“Aww,” she giggles and hides her smile behind her hand, “you make me happy too.”

Even after all these years he could make her blush with the simplest of compliments. Her bright smile and the twinkle in her eye whenever she laughed or giggled always made his heart flutter wildly despite the stoic expression on his face. She’s the only woman who could pull these emotions from him. Others had tried and failed in the past, and maybe it was with that realization that he was finally able to process their friend’s words all those ages ago. ‘You love her…’

‘Yes, I do…’ It was because of her kind encouragement that he was truly able to forgive his father for all the man had done to their family. Her support gave him strength and her love gave him fuel to be the best hero he could be.

He feels a weight on his shoulder. It was Momo resting her head against it while she nibbles on a piece of watermelon and stares out over the ocean. He kisses her temple and wraps his arm around her, leaning his head against hers. This would make a for a perfect picture, but he couldn’t bring himself to spoil the moment by pulling out his phone. That was okay, such memories will always live on within them.

A light sigh and a shift by his wife to further wrap her arms around his mid-section. She was so content it was a shame that they would have to leave this beach soon. One didn’t need a watch to know the time, as the sun slowly made its trek across the sky towards the horizon, and the shadows from the tree line washed over their picnic spot. He of all people understood the power of the elements, yet in that moment, even the roar of the waves was but a peaceful undertone to relax away all the painful toils of their lives and send them away to the depths of the sea.

“So beautiful,” the words wisp out from Momo’s lips as she stared at the sunset.

How often do they ever get to enjoy this natural phenomenon, and today seemed even more spectacular than he remembered? The reddish orange ball of fire sent colored heat waves stretching out along the horizon, like a distorted image on a television screen, and darkening the further it settled below the sea blue threshold. But above it, the colors blended wildly with the sky to produce brilliant purple and blue hues broken up between the spattering of pink orange clouds travelling across the heavens.

“It’s time to go,” he kisses his wife and gives her arm a gentle squeeze.

“I know,” she sighs.

“We’ll come back again. I promise.”

She smiles, “thank you for today Shouto, I really needed this.”

He leans his forehead to hers and closes his eyes, cradling the back of her head. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for her. She was everything to him. “No. I’m the one who’s thankful,” he leans in and places a lingering kiss on her lips. “You make me the happiest man in the world.”

“I love you Shouto.”

“I love you too Momo.”

And as they make their way over to the car, he wraps his arm around her shoulder to guide her, taking one last look at the expanse of sand and sea. Growing up, he’d never expected to be as happy as he was with moments like this one. Nevertheless, just like that setting sun, old childhood wounds dissolve away into the abyss, leaving just the starry skies that blink of possibilities. There may not be any photographic chronicles of their adventure today, but the memories will forever be ingrained in their hearts and the love of a woman who helped him get here.

❤️🤍❤️🤍❤️🤍❤️🤍❤️🤍❤️🤍❤️🤍❤️🤍🥳🥳 Bonus Birthday add on: @reishichi Happy Birthday!

As he lay there in the early morning hours, the sun’s rays were just barely peeking through the sheer curtains. Shouto smiles as he gazes lovingly over his wife’s face imagining how lucky he was to have her in his life. It had been a few weeks since their little beach outing, and oh how he wished they’d had more time for such moments. To relax and pretend all the cares of the world had disappeared. If he could spin their world into a perfect utopia for her, he would do it in a heartbeat.

He gently brushes away the stray ebony hairs that have drifted over her face, careful not to wake her. Momo’s shift the evening prior had been a long one, and he wanted to let her sleep in as long as possible. She looked so peaceful lightly curled against his side, trusting of his protection. Her porcelain skin coming alive with the light of the sun.

There was only one thing he could think of to make their lives better than it already was, but it was something that brought trepidation and fears along with the excitement and bliss. He was afraid to bring up the topic of starting a family. Was he ready, were they ready? Oh, who was he kidding, Momo would be an excellent mother. It was he and his poor childhood that caused him the greater pause.

She would probably tell him the opposite, Shouto you’ll be an amazing father… he chuckles in his head as he remembers the long-ago recertification exam. As the baby of the family, he had no experience dealing with children. They were like strange creatures to him that he couldn’t understand. Some people take to parenting naturally, but he just knew that wouldn’t be him. And yet despite those concerns, the desire to have a child with Momo outweighed those fears.

Imagine it… going back to that beach with a little one in tow. Watching him or her scurry after crabs or chasing the waves as they ebb and flow along the sand. Building sandcastles and napping under the sun after a yummy lunch prepared by his wife. A picture of pure bliss that he would love and cherish and give the child all the love he never received growing up with his own father. Bet his siblings would be thrilled to be an aunt and uncle.

When the time feels right, he’ll broach the question. He kisses Momo’s forehead and rests his chin amongst her tresses, closing his eyes with a smile. Sleep my love, as we dream of a sun-kissed future.

#todomomo #todomomo fan fiction #todomomo fan art #bnha #todomomo mini bang 2020 #todoroki shouto #yaoyorozu momo #shouto todoroki #momo yaoyorozu #todomomo fan fic #aged up #married #beach #picnic #landscape scene #petri808 #petris chronicles

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damn-anotherangel · 3 years

Text

Redwood and Rowan

It didn't take long for me to fall in love with a broken down abandoned inn hidden away on a small hill shaded by the canopy of immense trees. Standing before it, I could remember gazing at its sloping roof and seeing into its spacious, if messy and partially reclaimed main lobby. I could imagine a soft golden light spilling out over the well-travelled highway overlooking the sea. I saw the potential to have my own little lighthouse. My waypoint for weary travellers, and maybe a little something deeper for those that asked the right questions.

Yes, Falling in love didn't take long at all. What took longer was bringing my image and the inn to life. I had resolved rather mulishly to reinvent this space without disturbing the wildlife around it. Asking permission took some doing, with long hours of gentle ritual, gathering the Wilds’ attentions and eventually being able to plead my case. Even then, the forest had only done its equivalent of a shrug and a general feeling that amounted to “The building was here before. Better it fall to you than someone who won’t spare a thought to the rest of us." I had resolved to use no magic in actually building aside from muffling the hammering and cursing I did while making my improvements. I did need to frequently ask for help for some of the upgrades, and after five months of almost nonstop work, my very own café was set to open for business.

Since then, I've had frequent visitors; Elderly couples eager for fresh and exotic teas, bureaucrats seeking spiced coffees that boast energy with no crash, college students yearning for tastes of home in a small tart or pastry. They open the door and are met with a view of hanging canvasses from the deserts, masks from the islands, and scents from fragrant plants grown in my own backyard. All thanks from travellers and gifts from the forest, each of whom I thanked in kind. I added a personal touch in the floating glass and crystal spheres, lenses and prisms that allowed the light to dance in my little sanctuary that I named the Gatto Spettro.

The cliffside town nearby yields most of my regular patronage, commuters to work in the cities a long way off. I make sure to leave a ready steaming cup with their name on when I hear their arrival. If they have time to stay and finish their tea, I even may tell them their fortunes from their tea leaves. We part mutually grateful for the exchange, and their fortunes in some way or another are certain to pass. They leave my cafe, its incense and low music lifting their spirits for their day or week ahead.

My constant companion, not to mention the Café’s namesake, is the ghost of a black cat I call Tezca. He rarely shows himself off to customers, since his milky pupilless eyes and spectral body tend to be off-putting, but nobody can tell from afar, and he can be frequently seen resting his svelte ghostly form on the large window above the front door.

It was on the twenty second of May, following a rather momentous occasion where I was able to feed a stag from the forest, a massive twelve-point god of a beast, that a new customer entered my cafe.

He was quiet, and asked simply that I share a cup of tea with him. I had been empty for two days, and wasn't expecting anyone to wait on, so I obliged. There was something about this man I couldn’t place one detail or two out of true with the rest of the world. He was well-dressed, and though he wasn’t unkempt, he still looked rugged somehow. There was always that feeling, like the heat of a fire trapped behind sheets of ice...He didn't speak much in the beginning other than to introduce himself as Rowan Malcolm. He had far to travel and simply seemed content to enjoy the atmosphere for a time. I too, had very little to say. I waited though, for it seemed he had a sentence on the tip of his tongue, a story waiting to spill forth with each purposeful inhale... And then, suddenly there was a cat through the sugar.

He'd landed lightly, of course, like a falling leaf. Gazing directly at this man, who looked quite surprised, but unflustered as he gazed right back.

"Interesting," I murmured, "Tezca doesn't often come down from his throne above the door unless I'm alone." The man Malcom smirked a little as Tez gently pawed the air in front of his nose, begging for pets. I watched as he slowly raised his hand, and the spectral feline met it with a soft nuzzle, as solid as a living cat.

"You're so gregarious today, Tez. are you sick?" I chuckled and got a face full of tail fluff. So it continued for about an hour, and the incense was running low, as was the tea. We had chatted softly about the cafe, and the comfort of the woods, until the smoke from the incense stopped. Noting this, he seemed to gather himself.

"That looks like my cue," he grunted, and he pushed back his chair, set his teacup on the counter, and walked out the front door. I waved slowly, lamenting, the air empty of a story, and glance down at the empty cup where the dregs settled. I remember my heart skipping a beat, and jogging to the door to a chirp and a "sorry Tez."

I swung around the door and shout,

"Rowan!" as he turned, halfway down the steps to the lot. "Take the long way there, yeah?" he raised an eyebrow. "Trust me. Long way's better."

He chuckled, held a thumbs-up, and powered up his old Volvo. I headed back inside to the cup, presently under Tezca's watchful eye and I double checked to see a stag's head in the pattern, twelve points, two of the farthest connected by some stray dregs. One of the other prongs' line looked broken and blocked.

I petitioned the Forest for an audience that evening with Tez perched next to me on a post. I felt I needed council about this man, and I had clearly made some kind of connection. The Forest was kind but gently grim. It offered me an image of Rowan frozen mid-stride aimed into the trees, barely not-there enough to be obviously a glamour. He looked back at me, and in his blue eyes I saw the ice in his eyes crack, and the fire come forth, It was a look I’d seen in warriors, soldiers. The glance yielded not an answer to the call of battle, or not ONLY that, oh no. It spoke of survival. Of being the ONLY survivor from a last stand. A battle with no winning side, and no report of heroism. Echoes of a memory, “You didn’t see them, you didn’t hear them!” That trauma leaves a darkness in you, the image seemed to say.

”You don’t know what they asked me, no BEGGED me to do!”

From the whisper of the breeze and the stirring of the water I hear

Those he leaves behind may need refuge...

#My Writing #Original Characters #gattospettro #casual fantasy #Divination #Forest Spirits #CW mentions of trauma

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safestsephiroth · 4 years

Text

#12: Tooth and Nail - Ebony Wae (FFXIVWrite2020)

More information on FFXIVWrite can be found here: https://sea-wolf-coast-to-coast.tumblr.com/tagged/ffxivwrite2020+prompt+list

Behemoths were, by their nature, both a rarity and an enormous threat. The necessity of eradicating the potential spawn of Bahamut was not lost on Ebony Wae, who, given the choice, would have waited for them to grow to full size so that the fight would be more fair. What was the fun in fighting what amounted to a feral teenager?

Her armor shone in the Coerthan sunlight, stark ebon-black and silver filigree sticking out amidst the snowfall. True, this one didn't directly threaten Ul'dah. But she could not trust the denizens of Ishgard to shut down such a thing before it did. A trio of attendants kept their distance - a Keeper conjurer hire-on and an Elezen archer picked up in Gridania, a Highlander pugilist from the Guild in Ul'dah.

"It's freezing," the pugilist moaned. His skin was tinged red under the harness he wore. His bare chest fared poorly matched against the Coerthan chill.

"Then run in place." Ebony's battle-chocobo towered over those of her companions. "All you need do is clean up. The bulk of the work I will do myself."

"No doubt," the archer muttered. His bow, he had sworn, was passed down through generations. Ebony suspected it was simply old and, therefore, cheap.

"I still think we should have brought more with us," the conjurer added. She had eagerly accepted Ebony's job offer and had only found out, after the contract was sealed, that they were hunting a Behemoth. The eagerness died there, and hadn't come back since.

"That will be unnecessary. The only reason I hired you lot was to create commerce, to please Nald."

"Right. Right..."

The opening of the beast's den was obvious. Ebony dismounted not far from it. Pulled a horn from her side. The merchant had told her this warhorn would summon the beast. Fighting it inside its own lair would be far more dangerous than choosing this ground.

A falling rock from the sky may well collapse a cave.

"Prepare yourselves."

The Gridanians groaned in unison, dismounting. The pugilist hopped from his bird, and blew on his hands before drawing his hora. "Finally. Let's hurry up."

"It's none of our faults you didn't bring a coat," Ebony pointed out.

"It's just my way not to."

"You've never seen snow before, have you." Ebony's voice was as dry as the Sagolii.

"...No."

"It's colder than a desert night."

"Yeah, I'd noticed."

"Coats are cheaper in Ul'dah than in Coerthas, because the demand is much higher, but with ongoing reconstruction supply is also lower proportionally, since many are shipped in from the Weaver's Guild now."

"Blow the damned horn."

"We must pray to Nald'thal first."

"Oh Gods."

"No, that's not how we start a prayer." Ebony cleared her throat. Held her right hand to an icon of Nald'thal emblazoned across her armor. "Cherished Nald, hear my call! Your beloved follower in profit and business asks: please bless us with financial gain on this venture, and ensure our dealings fall in line with Your expectations."

The conjurer opened her mouth, and was silenced with a look from Ebony, who then continued: "Beloved Thal, I ask, please grant this beast we face the death it deserves, and pass Your judgment on whether we deserve to join You now or in the future."

"That's... not any prayer I've heard..." The archer mumbled.

"SILENCE!" Ebony pointed. "I'm talking to Nald'thal!"

"Sorry, Your Highness." His eyes rolled.

"Your apology is accepted this once." Ebony cleared her throat once again. "Beloved Traders, please bless this hunt, which I carry out in Your names."

Silence fell over the Coerthan valley, as the wind died down. Clouds drifted past the sun, dimming the harsh glare across the fresh snow.

"See? Nald'thal has blessed our hunt. We cannot fail."

"Just a coincidence," the archer mumbled again. "There's no godsdamned way she can control the weather."

"Faith is our shield." Ebony pulled the oversized two-handed sword from her back. "And I am our sword. Let us begin." She hefted it over one shoulder, balancing it with one hand, and blew the horn.

An odd, echoing, rumbling cry filled the valley.

One which was matched from within the cave.

At breakneck pace, a wild-eyed Behemoth burst out of the cave, at least two tonze of pure muscle. Ebony grinned. The pugilist balked. The archer nocked an arrow.

"Shit." The conjurer stepped /well/ back, readying her wand.

Ebony sprinted, full-pace, towards the Behemoth, leaping through the air to slam her sword straight into its face. It leaped towards her in kind, the two colliding mid-air. An arcane shield formed around her the instant before the collision, and she was knocked back some ten fulms, blood fresh on her blade. The Behemoth was now one-eyed and furious.

An arrow limply connected with its mane, tangling in the fur. The lack of blood from the shot infuriated Ebony, whose rage fueled her power further. She threw her arm out, flinging an ominous ball of energy at the beast. It exploded at the Behemoth's side, the smell of scorched fur filling the air. It charged her, and the pugilist leaped forward, slamming his hora into its side. The beast roared again at the impact. It turned mid-charge, skidding to a halt through the snow, eye focusing hard on the pugilist. Ebony's sword carved a gash across its back.

"I am the threat, beast. Focus on me!"

She was hauling back for another mighty swing when it turned, sweeping its hand and knocking her aside. The weight of the impact flung her through the snow. She reveled in it.

"Twelve alive," the conjurer muttered, channeling a Cure spell. She stepped back even further before flinging it at Ebony, who was already climbing back to her feet.

"I'm not finished yet, you meaty bastard!"

The pugilist backed off as the Behemoth turned to face Ebony once more. The man was narrowly able to dodge as its tail swept at him, clouds of breath in front of his face.

Another arrow limply bounced off the Behemoth's skin.

"This is bad," the archer observed. "We should leave this to the Ishgardians."

"COWARDICE IS INTOLERABLE!" The Behemoth leaped towards Ebony, jaws wide, fangs clamping down on her sword, held before her with both arms bracing the blade. "ATTACK ITS RIBS, THEY'VE BEEN SOFTENED UP!"

A soft /whump/ as another arrow connected.

"DAMN YOU, YOU SAD EXCUSE FOR AN ARCHER!"

The pugilist's arm SLAMMED into the beast's side, and it reeled, hot breath washing over Ebony. She yanked her sword back, cutting across its mouth as it turned at the pugilist, before bringing her blade down into its neck. The beast swiped at her, claws slamming straight into her armor and knocking her back into the rocks, before falling limp, its blood spilling onto the snow. The body twitched a few times.

A slow, soothing pulse across her body. Ebony straightened herself up as the cracks in her ribs mended.

"I don't know what that armor's made of, but it's saved your life at least twice."

"The Wae Family accepts nothing less than the best." She looked between the trio. "When it comes to our armaments, at least. Good work, everyone. Now let's get this body back for the bounty."

The head adorned her bedroom wall, for a short time, before being moved to her trophy room. A mysterious decision, whose timing coincided with a private visit from a particular blonde woman.

#FFXIVwrite2020 #ebony wae #ffxiv RP #behemoth

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chrysalispen · 4 years

Text

the smile that you gave me

A gift I wrote for a valentine’s day exchange in my writing discord <3

===

The night sky.

Constellations you know all too well from your own astrology lessons, as viewed through the ornate windows, brace the scintillating spires of the Tower like sprays of diamonds upon black satin. You would never have thought to be so enamored of something so mundane. For a land so nearly swallowed by eternal Light, the return of healing darkness is like a balm over its extensive wounds.

You’re sitting at a small balcony table watching the comings and goings of Crystarium folk (although the pace of their activity is decidedly more sedentary this time of the evening) and enjoying the sight from your vantage point. Across the table sits a familiar face, one that appears curiously unchanged by the passage of time- at least at a glance. There is a careworn look about him that even his physical form, languishing a world away, did not seem to have when last you glimpsed it.

Thancred, your oldest and dearest friend - more than your friend - with whom, in a sense, you have been truly reunited at last. You could think of no one else with whom you’d rather share a quiet evening, and so- here you are.

But he looks… ill at ease, you note. Nervous, in fact, and ever so slightly awkward the more he attempts to mask his anxiety.

Initially naught more than part and parcel of your penchant for casual observation - honed over what has become years of habit - the thought is so jarring that it nearly brings you to a dead stop mid-conversation. Surely not, you think at first. Surely just a flight of fancy, but the fine thread of a tremor you first detected in his voice has not passed. It lingers even within the casual meandering of inconsequential small talk, and you find yourself taken aback for a slight handful of seconds when you realize that you are the cause.

You remember your first meeting with this man - a chance encounter beneath the Sultantree - and his gentle but constant prodding to get you to (eventually) knock upon the door of the Waking Sands. You recall plenty of other things too: his easy smile, his confidence, his wry humor, the friendliness laced with the obvious interest that he barely bothered to hide as his dark brown gaze swept you from tip to toe.

Thancred, nervous? Around you?

But the thought, once it has crossed your mind, won’t leave you, so even as you smile and laugh you find yourself searching for other context clues. His hand rests a few ilms away from the small box of chocolates he’d brought along, but it keeps drifting towards the empty space between the edge of the table and his knee. That, you realize, is the place where his gunblade would normally sit braced against a table leg or an empty chair. No doubt all the better for him to be ready at a moment’s notice, in case of a sin eater attack.

Or even some other, older call to arms: be they Garleans or primals. Old habits die hard.

Musing upon this for a moment or so, your own gaze trailing back to the stiffness in his limbs, and understanding dawns upon you. What with the rather hasty nature of your own arrival, you hadn't really realized how isolated Thancred has been, in part because of the strange way time flows across the Rift. Truth be told, even were it not for that, it just hasn’t felt as though there’s been time for what has at times seemed a rather frivolous pursuit in the great scheme of things. Norvrandt has been in a state of emergency for so long that the chance to slow down and take a breath, take any personal moments for yourselves, let alone time for prolonged intimacy, is both exhilarating and intimidating.

You can only imagine how he must feel. As time is reckoned in the First, it's been five years since he arrived, after all- and he’s been alone for a great deal of that time. All the smooth words and playful rejoinders that used to flow as easily from his lips as water in a mountain spring probably feel farther away than ever.

Perhaps somewhat on impulse, you reach across the table, ignoring your half-finished dinner, and cover his hand with yours. It’s warm and its weight is comforting, his skin ever so slightly rough to the touch.

The gesture catches his attention, those soft brown eyes flaring just slightly, giving you for the moment the impression of a startled doe- not that he is anything so innocent. You chuckle to yourself aloud at the imagery, and beneath your light and encouraging touch you feel some of that tension flow out of him.

“Did I say something?” he asks. His grin is warm. It’s still not what it used to be; it lacks the cocksure edge that you remember from your early adventuring days. But maybe that isn’t such a bad thing.

“No. I was just thinking,” you choose your words carefully, not cynically but with the desire to put recent events aside for the nonce, “how very handsome you look tonight.”

He rewards you with a blush at the tips of his ears, one that is surprising and most becoming. You can’t help a soft laugh, one which he answers in kind, his dark eyes twinkling-

-and ah, you think, there it is. The mischief that you remember. It hasn’t left him entirely, not yet.

Absent the others, or any present and immediate dangers to overcome, Thancred seems more like his old self, and you cannot but wonder if it’s at least in part due to your presence. You would like to think so.

You relax at last, then, and so does he. The evening proceeds apace with wine and long conversation as the two of you, in a sort of subconscious and mutual accord, discuss everything except Scions business- and little by little you find that you have yourself fallen into old (and very comfortable) habits.

Opportunity presents itself in due course: he takes your arm and asks with a certain cheekiness if he might walk you home. You agree, with a flutter of anticipation settling low in your belly.

You had been hoping it might come to this, after all.

~*~

You had heard once upon a time, an anomaly amongst the many rumors garnered from eavesdropping, that Thancred could hold his breath for upwards of ten minutes.

It had seemed improbable, to say the least, so naturally you had to ask him if it was true. With a wide and decidedly devious smile that spoke of pure sin, he had said he might be willing to indulge your curiosity. It was your turn to flush, then, as you realized why that was a rumor in the first place. Certainly it had naught to do with swimming (as you’d rather innocently assumed, at first).

But you were not without certain skills of your own - so you had countered, with a smirk and a remark to that effect. That was the first night you had him, and he had made good on his word. Then, and many times since.

After all that’s transpired in the last five weeks, it might as well have been five years in truth, upon Source and shard alike. But perhaps that is immaterial, for you have him again at last: pinned against the mattress of your well-appointed guest bed in the Pennants, his fine dress shirt still on but half-unbuttoned. You can feel your smile as you kiss him, pressed sweetly against lips that are still as soft and supple as you remember.

His hands rest upon your thighs, still clad in the new leggings you’d purchased for this occasion, and the warmth of them radiates through the thin fabric. It’s passing strange to you, feeling such mortal warmth from a body that is technically little more than a projection - not unlike the Ascians against whom you and your companions have battled for so long.

But the man beneath you still casts his thoughts elsewhere, even while he lies in your bed. You can see his interest in lightly flushed cheeks and dark eyes perhaps slightly wider than usual, but you can also sense his hypervigilance, that readiness to spring into action, and you pause to ask if aught is amiss.

His snowy brows lift and you watch a parade of emotions make their way across his handsome face. Surprise, followed by guilt, followed by that smile flickering back to life like embers that have not quite cooled- but this time the tilt of it is lopsided. Self-deprecating. Sheepish.

“I should have known you would notice,” he says, and you murmur your agreement, trailing the path of your lips to the corners of his mouth as if to capture the words with your tongue. You sense he has more to say so you withdraw, only an ilm or two, enough to give him space. “It’s- … so much time has passed. For me, that is. I-”

Whatever he had meant to say trails off in a frustrated sigh. You sit up and he props himself up on his elbows in turn, to study you. Regret for time gone and time wasted lurks in the darkness of his eyes, ghosts that you know all too well. They rest uneasy when they rest at all.

You say nothing, only wait.

“... Five years. And I’ve thought of almost nothing but Minf-... Ryne, for most of it.” You do not remark upon the correction, for it is made without any rancor. Whatever resentment he bore for the situation appears to have passed. “You needed my strength, and I… was too wrapped in my own problems to notice until it was almost too late. How can you sit here and....”

“Seduce you?” you supply helpfully.

Alarm, or something like it, darkens his features, and you grin at him, a smile that widens the longer he stares at you. You don’t really know why you suddenly find yourself laughing, but something about the moment feels so absurd you just can’t help yourself.

After a minute or two of confused silence, Thancred joins in, and the sound of your combined mirth breaks the tension at last.

You press your lips to his again. And again, and again, until guilt is the last thing on his mind or yours. He’s pretty as a picture disarmed thus, with his half-lidded smoulder and the return of that flush, blooming like spring roses across the apples of his cheeks. One of his hands pets your nape from where it has tangled in your hair.

“I brought you chocolates,” he says weakly, chuckling. “For Valentione’s.”

The chocolates in question sit neatly on the long table where once the Exarch had supplied you with an army’s ransom of sandwich baskets, a few ilms away from his longcoat which he had draped over the wooden surface. You idly wonder what he must have said to the artisan, or if he had explained anything about the Eorzean custom at all.

“I didn’t want you to think I’d forgotten about-”

You stifle his attempts at further explanation with another kiss: this one much longer and deeper, your tongue gently but firmly seeking past parted lips to entwine with his. His hand twitches, grasping on instinct for purchase before cupping the back of your neck and slipping beneath your collar.

Eventually you emerge, taking in night air and savoring the taste of red wine and tenderness.

“Are you certain?” he whispers. Both hands now linger at your hips, toying with the hem of your shirt.

You answer him when you gather handfuls of fabric and lift, tossing the article of clothing in the vague direction of the table before returning to the warmth and surety of his touch.

Tomorrow is the Empty. Another foray into the unknown, and more questions. More uncertainty. Very likely, more danger- that is just the nature of things as a Scion of the Seventh Dawn, these days, and he knows the way of it as well as you do. But tonight belongs to a long-overdue reunion, to a warm bed shared beneath the diamond wheel of the stars, and to a connection that has surpassed the boundaries of space and of time.

An ardor of a thoroughly mortal sort- and all the sweeter for its transience.

#chrysalispen writes #thancred waters #thancred x wol #valentione's 2020

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thorongil82 · 4 years

Text

Forgotten But Not Gone

Fandom: Pokémon

Chapter: 1/?

Chapter Word Count: 5,631

Can also be read on FFN and AO3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 1 - The Frontier Is Set

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure you're okay?”

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

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

“Hi, can I help you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hiya! How're you doing?!” she beams.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Such as?”

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

“That is true,” Brandon concedes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, then, Charles, if you would?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'… I'm sorry ...'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, my friend,” she whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You want to stay out?”

“Voir,” Gardevoir answers with a nod.

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

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

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

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

'Why? What do you-?'

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

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

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

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

“Pika …”

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

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

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

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

AN: Well, I wonder who that could be …

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

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

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

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

#pokemon #fanfiction #fanfic #ash ketchum #pokemon fanfic #my writing #forgotten but not gone #anabel #lila #satoshi #pikachu #battle frontier #abilityshipping

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buffyversefanfiction · 3 years

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Buffy: Chaos Bleeds (Twisted Remix)

Warning: I do not own the rights to the television show Buffy the Vampire Slayer, its spin-off series Angel, its dark horse comics continuation series, or any of the characters created by Joss Whedon and others in the Buffyverse. 15 years +, Mild to Strong Violence, Sexual References. F/F, F/M, M/M, Other +

Level One: The Magic Box

Buffy found herself waking up with her head in a book sitting on a chair at a table and as she soon discovered after pulling her head up out of the book and sitting up straight she quickly realized she was back at the magic box in Sunnydale, a place long destroy during the big battle against the first, leaving the slayer well and truly confused as to how she had got to a place that no longer existed. “Buffy this is a whole other level of jeepers!” Willow stated as she walked over from the magic box’s shop counter, as Buffy stood up to face her bewitching friend. “You can say that again,” Buffy replied as she looked around the magic box, a play which to use to be head of operations for her and her friends, in a town she had once called home. “Am I dead again?” “Not unless I am dead too which I really hope is not the case.” Willow answered her friend, only for them both to be shocked by Giles walking into the shop via the front door. “What the bloody hell is going on? The whole of Sunnydale is back in fact it is as if nothing ever happened to it barring the complete and utter emptiness of humans.” Giles stated as he walked over to the slayer and the witch. “I woke up on the couch in my old apartment which is by far the most peculiar thing that has happened to me in recent years and I am including my brief spell as a child after being resurrected by Angel.” “Clearly some kind of spell has been cast,” Willow told them both, only for both Giles and Buffy to look at her with suspicion and blame in their eyes. “Not me, I think I would remember casting a spell to bring the whole of Sunnydale back into existence.” “Well I certainly have not been casting spells, I leave that stuff to you!” Buffy replied to the redheaded witch. “I guess we hit the books,” Giles suggested as he took in the scenery of the shop he had once owned. “Which from a second’s observation seem to be all there.” “We cannot be the only ones here, can we?” Buffy wondered, just before two male vampires walked in the front door in full vampire face mode. “I meant non vampire companions.” “It really is like being home!” Willow declared as Buffy charged towards the two vampires in front of them.

Elsewhere in the Magic Box, Xander found himself sitting on a swivel chair within the training room dazed and confused to how he got there as he slowly stood up from his chair and took in the room once more, startled for it to look exactly like it once did and even more confused that he was back in a place long destroyed. “Crikey! As flashbacks go this is something else!” Xander stated, as Dawn walked in from the back door which lead to alleyway behind the Magic Box, looking equally as confused as her partner. “I was just putting Joyce to bed and then suddenly I was in the alleyway.” Dawn told Xander. “This is the Magic Box…Xander how is this the Magic Box?” “Your guess is as good as mine Dawnie, but I’d take a bet on something magical gone awry.” Xander replied as he walked over to the woman he loved, kissed her on the cheek and hugged her. “Let us just hope wherever we are Buffy is here too!” “I cannot believe we are back here after all these years.” Dawn admitted as she broke off her hug with Xander. “I never thought we would ever be in Sunnydale again…”

Spike, who was just as confused as the others, found himself walking downstairs to the basement of The Magic Box stunned to be back there once again before reaching the bottom of the stairs to be greeted by a male and female vampire duo in full vamp face eagerly awaiting him. “Got to admit taking out the big bad Spike is going to score us some major points with the boss!” The female vampire stated, creating curiosity from Spike who wondered who their boss could be and what kind of power this boss could have to be able to recreate Sunnydale on a whim. “Yeah well hate to break it to you both but neither of you are going back in one piece.” Spike promised before charging at them both, ready to dust them both and get to the bottom of what was behind all this madness masked as a memory. Spike quickly overpowered the male vampire, pulling out a wooden stake from his inner jacket pocket and launched it into the vampire’s chest, causing him to turn to dust, much to the horror of the female vampire who punched Spike across the face with force and fury, ready to kill or be killed. The female vampire managed to get in several punches to Spike’s face before Spike managed to catch her latest punch when it was in mid-air before launching the same wooden stake he had used on her partner, into her chest, causing her to turn to dust before him just like the vampire before her. Spike didn’t waste time celebrating his victory instead he found himself walking further through the basement where he quickly opened another door, one that led him into another room, a room which was half room and half cage and who else was locked up in the cage but Buffy’s son Tristan. “You lot sure do love locking me up!” Tristan complained, as he walked to his cage door. “Should have known one of you would be behind this.” “Hey, this is Giles’ creepy dungeon room, well the shop attached to it is…well was…” Spike mumbled as he looked around the room for a key to the cage door. “Really? All Giles had to do was ask.” Tristan joked as Spike found the key on the floor and picked it up before walking over to the cage door. “Hold up what do you mean this was his shop?” “Oh, nothing really but somehow you and I have wound up in Sunnydale.” Spike answered him as he began unlocking the cage door. “I thought Sunnydale was destroyed in Buffy’s big battle against the first?” Tristan asked, genuinely confused by their circumstances. “It was and it probably still is but some nutjob clearly has a case of nostalgia.” Spike guessed, uncertain to how they were in Sunnydale or how Sunnydale once again existed. “Are we the only ones here?” Tristan wondered, as Spike opened his cage door. “I mean it cannot just be us! At least I hope that because that would be hell.” “Nice to see you too kid,” Spike snapped back at him. “Something tells me we are not the only ones here, so you are in luck.”

Buffy, Giles and Willow were sat round the table within the shop floor of the Magic Box, each with a book in hand, desperately searching for some kind of answer to how they had wound back here or what could possibly have took them back. “I doubt it is a vengeance demon unless somebody has been making wishes again!” Giles stated before Dawn walked in with Xander from the training room door. “Well do not blame me I learned my lesson when Halfrek left us all homeward bound back in the day.” Dawn told the watcher, as she and Xander walked over to the table and sat down with the rest of the gang. “I just hope somewhere back in reality Andrew is still at mine looking after Joyce or else social workers are going to hate me!” “Welcome to my world Dawnie,” Buffy joked. “Although admittedly baby Joyce is nowhere near as hard work as you were.” “Hey, it is not my fault the monks made a key out of me or that some crazy hell god wanted to bleed me to get home.” Dawn replied to her older sister. “No but it was your fault for becoming a big kleptomaniac!” Xander joked with his girlfriend. “Says the guy who literally got the whole of Sunnydale singing because he was bored.” Willow chimed in, eager to tease her best-friend Xander. “Well I for one am glad that if we have to go through this nostalgic nightmare then at least we are all together.” Buffy told the group, attempting to reassure them in a time of uncertainty. “Well that’s rather uplifting love but we cannot pep talk our way out of this mess!” Spike said interrupting the group bonding time as he appeared from further back in the shop and began walking over to the scooby gang. “Clearly something has brought us here for a reason and it is going to take a lot of blood and sweat before we get out!” “Stating the obvious as ever Spike,” Buffy snapped at the peroxide blonde haired vampire as she stood up to face him. “Any helpful ideas on who or what is doing this?” “I would place all my money on the shadow demon.” Tristan stated as he appeared from further back in the shop and began walking over to them both, surprising his mother Buffy by his presence, who had believed her son was dead and gone. “Tristan,” She said with tears in her eyes, as her voice began to break. “How are you…” “Not too sure,” Tristan answered his mother before giving her a hug. “I was supposed to wind up back in the land of the living not in the past of Sunnydale.” “So, you said something about the shadow demon?” Giles asked Tristan, “Not that you no longer being dead is not remarkable it is just…” “I am the only one who does not belong in this memory world and you think I’m to blame for it somehow.” Tristan replied to the former watcher, as he broke off his hug with the mother. “Fair enough, I would probably make that assumption too.” “Nobody is blaming you,” Buffy said before looking around the room to notice everyone acting shifty, making it clear they all did blame him. “Well I for one am not blaming you!” “If you are not behind this and it is this shadow demon, where the hell are, we?” Dawn questioned her nephew, making her suspicions of him truly clear. “Other than the fact I can assure you it is definitely not the astral plane I have no bloody clue!” Tristan admitted to her, knowing nobody in the magic shop completely believed his words, nor should they, judging by his past. “I believe you!” Buffy told her son honestly, before addressing the group. “So, here’s the plan we are going to take this trip down memory lane all the way home, search the entirety of Sunnydale if it all exists again and then hunt down this shadow demon, kill it and go back to what we consider normality.”

The gang were back to basics in a town they once called home before it was destroyed, with the exception of Buffy and Angel’s son Tristan Summers along for this chaotic ride it was time for them all to get to the bottom of how they wound up home and whether or not Tristan was as innocent as he proclaimed.

Level One, Completed.

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windsandblossoms · 5 years

Note

May I request “After everything we’ve been through, you still don’t think that I love you?” for Sakamoto?

Ah! Sakamoto Ryouma. I adored him and his route. He was one of the first characters I played though, following Sannan and Kazama, so please bear with me. :) Thank you for the request! I actually really enjoyed writing it and had to keep myself from getting carried away. I had a lot of ideas spark, and who knows? Maybe I’ll make a mini-series based on this request.

The first time he had laid eyes on you, he saw just a sliver of a person. An eye, red and swollen from tears, skin that had lost its luster, and a frown upon dull lips. You occupied an inch of space between the shoji doors, clearly meaning to avoid attention, and the moment you had noticed his red eyes upon you, he noticed your one orb widen for a split second before the glimpse he had had of your beauty disappeared altogether.

He later learned your name and your purpose. A female demon. A rare specimen, according to Kaoru and Kodo.

When he had learned of just why they kept you here, he found himself sickened by the entirety of the situation. Furies. Truly, a crime against humanity as a whole, and he was one of them. At first, it seemed rather surreal--like a horrifying nightmare he would, at any moment, wake from. Or, perhaps, this was the afterlife. He was meant to be dead, after all.

But he was, in some capacity, alive now. And while Nakaoka seemed to thrive with his new-found powers as well as gain some form of trust from their “saviors”, Ryouma found that he the more he learned of this experiment, of which he was a part, the more he couldn’t stomach it. However, if he was to survive, and, perhaps, find a way to reverse this curse, he would have to feign loyalty.

He fulfilled the tasks given to him as if he were going through the motions. His existence was bleak, and the only thing keeping him going was the little bit of hope he held onto.

Added to the mix was his curiosity towards you.

He finally met you when he was told to bring you from your chambers to Kodo. The mad doctor had need of you, and while the thought of what he could possibly require you for made him nauseous, Ryouma did as he was told. He hated every bit of it.

You were beyond terrified, shaking like a leaf, and compliant in the way a broken animal was. Unable to help himself, he apologized to you when he left you within the room the old man conducted most of his research within.

He also apologized when he left you in your own chambers later that evening.

The next day, finding himself without much to do, he called upon you. At first, you thought he had come to collect you, as he had the day before, but after some reassurance, you had calmed enough to willingly allow him into your room. That first visit, you didn’t talk much, but Ryouma had no trouble filling the silence. After a few more late afternoons with him, you knew much about his life leading to this point, and feeling like he was someone you might be able to trust, you divulged a bit about yourself. He asked questions but never pushed for answers.

And he tried his best to get a smile or maybe even a laugh from you.

When he finally did see your beautiful features light up with a genuine grin, he realized that he had to help you escape.

It was during the next battle, when Kodo’s Furies were being put to use, that he took the opportunity. Under the cloak of night, he took your hand and urged your silence. Success seemed imminent, if not for Nakaoka having stayed behind. To Ryouma’s chagrin, his companion had noticed the increasing amount of time he had been spending with you; even now, despite his own madness, Nakaoka knew his friend.

Ryouma did his best to reason with him, but Nakaoka seemed dead-set upon starting the world anew, using the furies under Kodo and Kaoru’s command. The disagreement led to a fight to the death, one that Ryouma scarcely survived, and though it was an agonizing sight, you watched the man you loved break down over the immense loss he felt. He never wanted this--any of it--neither of you had.

It was the feeling of your hand upon his shoulder that reminded him. Time was of the essence. He could mourn and heal later.

The two of you escaped to Edo, finding refuge there in an abandoned clinic. It was there that Ryouma finally collapsed, his body--even with Fury blood--having decided it needed rest. You tended to him as best as you could, given the circumstances and the extent of your own knowledge, and he recovered soon enough.

You, too, had gained some of your strength and color back. The fresh air and freedom had done you both well. But as the days turned into weeks, you wondered just how long Ryouma planned on staying with you. Truthfully, you wished he would never leave your side, and foolish dreams plagued your mind--a future with him, maybe even a family.

However, you knew of his other love: the sea. It had to be only a matter of time. He had gotten an evening job at the docks once he felt well enough, and he was definitely saving up for something. The clinic was made your temporary home, and while you had also gotten a job as a waitress in the evenings, the two of you spent little and only on the necessities.

The day you feared would come finally did. It was mid-Spring, late-afternoon, when Ryouma returned from a rare day-trip into town. He hadn’t said where he was going, just promised to be back for dinner, and you didn’t pry. Instead, you occupied your time with laundry, and you were almost done hanging the clothes to dry when the man you adored approached you.

“I bought a ship,” he declared with a boyish grin. His excitement was obvious, an undeniable joy present in his amber eyes.

“That’s great!” You did your best to feign happiness for him, a makeshift smile stretching your lips as you heart crumbled to dust within your chest. “When...uh...” You turned towards the clothes line, hanging a towel and using it as an excuse to hide your face. “When do you plan on leaving?”

“Well, I don’t have a crew yet, but I expect to have some more money by the end of the month.” He already had a gorgeous woman he planned on making his second in command, and nothing could take the wind from his sails at that moment until he caught the way you worded your question.

His expression fell. Did you...? You didn’t want to come with him? Or did you think he’d leave you?

Determined to find out, he placed a hand upon your shoulder, his voice as gentle as his touch, “You are coming with me, right?”

You turned to look at him, tears very obviously filling your eyes as they searched his features for some sort of sign that he was teasing you--he liked to do that. But when you realized that he was completely serious, you found yourself gawking at him, unable to make a sound.

His other palm found your unoccupied shoulder as he stepped closer to you. He uttered your name before saying, “After everything we’ve been through, you still don’t think that I love you? I thought I’ve been pretty obvious...I want to spend the rest of my life with you, however long that may be.” He paused for a second or two, giving you some time to allow his words to sink in before speaking once more: “I love you. I want you to come with me.”

You had never felt such affection towards anyone in all your life, and when Kaoru and Kodo had held you hostage, you thought you never would. So, you threw yourself into his arms, sobbing into his chest as you nodded vigorously.

How could you have ever deny him of such a precious wish when it was one you shared?

Send me a prompt from this list + a Hakuoki boy!

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wolfiethewriter · 5 years

Text

Heirverse masterlist for my personal use

I’ve just overhauled the masterlist on my ff.net profile to try and make it more “reader friendly” (read: less intimidating to look at. If that is even possible at this point)

But i still wanted to keep the original masterlist somewhere as I need it to keep track of the verse timeline wise. And so I know what to work on/write next.

Not expecting people to look at this, I just want it somewhere for peace of mind; I’m paranoid about losing my offline copies and backups for your backups are always good to have.

List below the cut.

Phase 0: Chessboards

sumamary: Follows Aizen and Gin's lives before they meet. Aizen makes a pact with a monster and Gin just tries to survive the Rukongai. Time and Fate bring them both together as teacher and student.

a) Pact - Aizen makes a deal that alters his life forever.

b) Cycle [follow on from Pact] - Aizen reaps the fruits of the pact. (Written by. Timewaster123456789, Edited by SesshomaruFreak.

c) Fast Friends - Gin and Ran meet and decide to be friends. Because no friendship is an accident. Not even theirs. (Written round robin by: TheDrunkenWerewolf, timewaster123456789 and SesshomaruFreak.

d) Fox (working title)

e) Tired Old Game - prequel to Game. Aizen is bored of life and his current partner, Kisuke.

f) Encounter – Aizen meets Gin

g) Looking At You - Aizen and Gin's thoughts on their first meeting. (Written by SesshomaruFreak and Timewaster123456789

h) Chessboards [in work] - intended prequel to Game. Hopefully a shorter story this time.

Phase 1: Game

Summary: Covers Aizen and Gin's slowly developing relationship.

1) Game – AiGin. Fun, happy, silly story. For the most part. How they meet, fall in love, try to manipulate each other.

a) Kill for You

b) Things You Don't See - An introspective piece about Aizen reflecting on the ways he loves Gin, which Gin doesn't see.

c) Safe Harbour - Gin moves in with Aizen. (Written by Timewaster123456789 and TheDrunkenWerewolf)

d) Love Like You - Gin listens to Aizen play his piano after moving in together. Post 'Safe Harbor.'

e) (Tsuku arc)

i) Thunderstorm – Gin waits for Aizen to return home and when he does, he brings a surprise.

ii) Title TBA - Gin is jealous of Tsuku

iii) Teeth of the Storm - Aizen Finds Tsuku (tie to LW&T 7) (Written by timewaster123456789)

f) Aurora Borealis – Aizen makes Gin the northern lights just because he said he wanted to see them.

(Say arc)

2) Say I Love You – Say It prequel. Gin tries to get Aizen to say "I love you." with no success.

a) Say it - AiGin role reversal fic. Because I can. Smut. PWP-ish. Connected to Heir. Gin wants Aizen to say he loves Gin.

b) Entwined – The morning after Say It. Smut. Pure smut. Nothing but smut. I have no excuses. "I do believe his mouth is heaven, his kisses falling over me like stars." - Richard Siken. (Written by Salazar Marvolo)

c) Say it, Again - Follow up to Say it. Gin ditches out on a meeting and Aizen uses this as an excuse to get payback for events in Say it.

3) The Fox's Wedding - mid/late Game era. Spoilers in title. Collaborative with Salazar Marvolo.

a) White Day - Aizen realises there's pros and cons to having gotten married on March 14th. Takes place 1 year after events in Fox's Wedding.

4) Can I Kiss You? - A sun & Monkey prequel one shot.

a) The Sun & The Monkey - Heirverse meets SesshomaruFreak's ByaRen fic, Healing the Moon. Set in later Game era. A collab with Sesh. After watching Renji and Byakuya being more open about their relationship, Aizen, feeling envious, and feeling that level of closeness is missing in his own relationship with Gin, enlists Renji's help to change that.

5) Partners in crime

[part b - Grand Fisher]

6) (Fisher Arc)

i) The Stealer of Faces [Face Stealer]

ii) Midnight Thoughts

iii) Grand Fisher – Aizen thought he had no weaknesses... until he encountered a hollow the shinigami later codenamed Grand Fisher.

iv) In the woods (working title)

v) Circles - Aizen plays his piano for Gin. Connects Game and Lie. potential Game scene but this is to be decided.

vi) In the Forest (in my forest)

b) New Song, Same Old Dance-Aizen tries to push Gin away following the battle with Grand Fisher. (Written by timewaster123456789 and SesshomaruFreak)

Phase 2: Can We Survive This?

summary: Aizen has an affair with Momo in an attempt to get Gin to leave him. Realising its hs biggest mistake, Aizen tries to make it right, but it takes Gin a long time to forgive him for it.

[Part a - CWST]

c) Negotiations - [located in "Love, War & Tedroppia" chapter 4] Rangiku convinces Gin to let her babysit Cherry-chan in exchange for helping him get time alone with Aizen. [I might make a continuation of this as its own story outside the heirverse but we will see]

7) Copycat - A jealous Gin shows Momo who Sousuke belongs to, and tempts fate by doing so.

8) Can We Survive This? - Aizen has an affair with Hinamori. Gin finds out, and wonders if they can survive it, and if he can forgive it. In the end, they grow back together. [Often abbreviated to cwst in my notes, suggested reading before reading this fic: Lie]

a) Gravity - poetry. Gin's pov. Concurrent with events in the early chs of 'Can We Survive This?'. General heirverse tangle. Subtle mirrors to Lie . Strong cwst references. Love and heartbreak. Gunshots as standard issue.

b) Unlove - poetry. Concurrent with cwst. Gin realises that try as he might, he cannot unlove Sousuke.

c) Mistress - Companion to cwst. Hinamori's side of the affair. Some overlap with events in cwst. AiHina with AiGin. An exploration into the darker side of Hinamori.

d) Liar [storyboarding/planning/seeing if it even works]

e) One Love, One Life - When Gin goes to sleep on the couch...and dreams. Kintsugi - the Japanese art of fixing broken pottery by filling the cracks with gold. (Written by Salazar Marvolo)

f) Fxxk You - An extra cwst scene.

g) Crystalline – Gin destroys his mementos of a lifetime with Aizen. Early/mid cwst scene.

h) Growing Back Together: Rainfall - Late cwst scene. Gin decides it's time he forgave Aizen and the pair of them start growing back together, sharing a moment watching the rain together.

[Part b - Lover and Liars]

9) Lie - Sort of prologue to cwst. Some background/context of why Aizen does what he does. Slight Heir/Game spoilers. Ties cwst&Heir together. Aizen's pov.

a) "I Love" - The mirror piece to Lie. Gin's pov. Gin wants Aizen to see and know how he feels. Hellish voice notwithstanding. Concurrent with Lie and later cwst.

b) Monster in the Mirror - Mirror piece to the end of 'I Love' and the fallout that follows. (Written by timewaster123456789)

c) Hear my Prayer - Sousuke feels bad about his recent actions and tries to think of how to make it up to Gin. (Written by HitsugayaKuchiki-HK)

Leverage Point - Tetsuya is captured and reveals some insights into Aizen's situation. (Written by Spunky0ne

10) Would You Rather - post cwst/IL. summary tba

[Part c - Out of Time [to be read in the sequence listed below]

11) Coerced - Aizen is coerced/threatened/blackmailed by Hellish Voice to slaughter the Central 46 to keep Gin safe.

a) Chronos – Aizen realises he's running out of time with Gin before he has to fake his death.

b) Real Enough – Aizen fakes his death and Gin does not react well to seeing his 'corpse'.

c) Obey – Voice forces aizen to slaughter c46.

d) Maniac - Aizen slaughters the Central 46.

Phase 3: Sanctuary

summary: After faking his death, Aizen has to shut himself away in the Central 46 chambers and struggles to keep his sanity. Thankfully Gin is his refuge from the darkness.

[please read this phase in the chronological order listed below]

12) Solitary confinement. [in work] - Sousuke struggles to cope with the isolation that comes with hiding out in the Central 46 chambers after faking his death. Because solitary confinement does terrible things to the human mind. AiGin.

a) Echo [in work] - What happens to Gin while Aizen is in solitary. Mirror to Solitary Confinement.

13) Cold Feet - As time ticks down until they have to leave for the hollow world, Gin tries to cope with his fear that Aizen might leave him behind. Meanwhile, in hiding, Aizen is terrified Gin will back out. And a voice inside his head - a darker aspect of himself - starts poisoning his thoughts, making him question whether he deserves Gin in his life. Cross references to everything heirverse. Collaborative effort with timewaster123456789.

a) A god am I - Aizen reflects on his goals and Gin the night after Cold Feet. (Written by timewaster123456789)

b) Sanctuary – The aftermath of Cold Feet. Aizen and Gin break an eight decade long cycle of lies and chessplay to explore something real. Collab with Timewaster.

c) Home - Sanc. continuation. Sousuke and Gin realise home is where the heart is.

14) Stand by Me - Aizen and Gin arrive in Hueco Mundo.

a) Choices - Gin reflects on all the choices he has made as he steps onto the white sands of the hollow world, and whether they were worth it. Though the answer is obvious. Somewhat of a mirror piece to Stand by Me. And an overview of the entire series phases 1-3.

b) Decisions - poetry companion to Choices (Written by SesshomaruFreak).

15) Vulpecula - Aizen and Gin share a quiet moment together in the garden in Las Noches and watch the stars together.

16) Flowering Dogwood - Sousuke attempts to use the language of flowers to express his gratitude that Gin is still with him.

17) Helios - Aizen makes Gin the sun in Huecco Mundo.

18) Long day - Aizen comes home after a long day.

Phase 4: Heir/Decimated

Summary: Gin asks Aizen for a child to expand their family and reluctantly Aizen agrees. Unfortunately it has disastrous consequences.

19) Come into the night - [located in Love War and Tea chapter 2] PWP really. But just a nice intimate AiGin moment.

a) Lethal Lunacy - Somewhat of a collaborative with Ganymede Lullaby and myself. Aizen reflects on his stupidity re: cwst and how he feels about Gin.

20) Country Move - Grimmjow's view on his new masters. (Written by timewaster123456789)

21) Silence - Gin could never stand silence it bored him. Aizen and he always were opposites. (Written by timewaster123456789

a) Enemy you Know - Gin takes comfort in Aizen's presence after an altercation with Nnoitra. (Written by timewaster123456789)

22) Heir - [ [original version link]

a) Decimated – Aizen forgets something very important. Mid heir scene.

i) Nine Tenths - Aizen's POV of events in Decimated. . Written by Catsafari.

ii) One Tenth (1/10)- Gin's pov of events following Decimated. companion piece to 9/10.

b) Last of Me - summary tba

c) Fragile – Gin feels lost and broken without Aizen even remembering what they were.

d) Alignment - Gin just wants him to remember, though he knows it's pointless .

e) I Can't Be In There With You - Aizen's pov for chs 73/74 of Heir.

23) Today I'll Be Happy –. End of p4, start of p5

Phase 5: After

summary: After the war, Aizen and Gin try to adjust to normal life in the human world.

24) Parenting. - summery tba.

25) Scarred Tissues - Gin has a nightmare about the past. And scars he will carry forever.

Phase X:

summary: a collection of works that can fit anywhere in the heirverse series.

Love, War and Tea - A bunch of miscellaneous AiGin oneshots, most of which are/will be heirverse related, set at various times in the storyline.

Cunning Stunning Fox

In Another Life

Colours Fading – Aizen depression fic.

Tea – Heirverse tl;dr. Aizen, Gin, and the many cups of tea they've shared over the decades.

Incandescent - Gin compares his relationship with Aizen to fairy lights (p1 brainstorm result. Not sure if will make final cut)

#Heirverse masterlist #the writer version #aka how my crazy ass brain keeps track #not expecting people to ever look at this #i just wanted to have it somewhere just in case i lost all my backups of it #fic related #AiGin #ALLLLL the fics ive done over the past DECADE are here

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danwhobrowses · 5 years

Text

Tinfoil Discussions - Pokémon anime: Alola, Galar and the Fate of Ash Ketchum

So here’s a new tinfoil discussion, one of a different franchise. The One Piece Wano content got a whopping zero attention but who cares? I’d like to discuss this, especially given the uncertain nature of the upcoming series. I must warn you, there are spoilers in this, deep level spoilers. I’m not just talking about the events of Episode 138 recently released in Japan, I also want to discuss the nature of Episode 140′s title. If you wanna know about that stuff, Bulbapedia is a good shout.

The Stuff We Know Last week on the aftermath of Episode 137, Pokémon teased a new anime series, alluding to the fact that all regions would be visited in some manner. Leaving it at that, many things have circulated, the main question is: Is this the end of Ash Ketchum’s story? After all, Ash is on the precipice of winning the Manalo Conference, Alola’s first Pokémon League, all that’s left is to defeat Gladion - who has put off the search for his lost father to fight in the league but more on that later. The final title of the Sun and Moon series has not been announced, all we know is that by Episode 140, Guzzlord will hop dimensions onto this world. The Potential End of Ash Ash Ketchum has been the main protagonist for the anime for over 2 decades, I was a boy watching him, Misty and Brock travel Kanto. On every (official) region however, Ash has fallen short of the Pokémon League, sometimes poorly, sometimes impressively. Many people thought last season in Kalos would be his time, and many of those people were angry when he didn’t, so Alola can be seen as retribution - second attempt and all. Should he win the league, the question is what then? Winning the league should enable Ash to fight the Elite Four, but it may be considered a stopping point since it means that Ash has no true reason to continue resetting. So is Pokémon planning on closing time on Ash Ketchum? The movies have not followed his anime journey anymore and there is so much you can do. Personally, this is a worrisome thought but - because there’s always a but - I don’t think this is the route they should or will go. The Outcome of the Manalo Conference The Manalo Conference is the name of the Alola League, and it’s expected to end next week. Frankly, I have felt that this conference was a sham, a true vanity project from Professor Kukui. Now I’m not saying that Kukui is a bad guy, he’s just a bit vainglorious; he made a Pokémon League - having failed to defeat Lance in the Indigo League at least in the games - based off the architecture of a Pokémon School where he has like 6 students that learn nothing and have an underground X-Men facility, he lets just about anyone enter it regardless of the Island Challenge and what does the winner get? To fight his Masked Luchador alter-ego. The man puts himself on a high pedestal, but worse than that this league is tailor made for Ash to win. His only major opposition is the finalist Gladion - who has no reason to fight the ‘Royal Mask’. We also could’ve buffed some of the side character teams with Oranguru for Mallow, Drampa for Mallow or Lana, Dewpider for Lana, Clefable for Lillie, even Bewear for TR, but we didn’t, never really giving any of Ash’s companions a chance at making an impact. Narratively Ash is the only person who should win the league, since Kiawe and Hau had not enough attention to be considered viable and Guzma was the generic ‘bad guy who underestimates Ash’ who Ash always beats. The league also doesn’t feel like the right setting, since Ash doesn’t even have a full team and the final is not a full battle. Lillie, who is great but not a battler, made it further than Kahili - in the games an Elite 4 Member. That is the extra silliness we get on top of Ash’s ‘strategies’ (which involve Pikachu’s Electroweb not working like Electroweb and Rowlet’s Featherdance not working like Featherdance) and the fact that Gladion can use Items mid-battle to grant Silvally unfair advantages. But despite my opinions, the conference can still go either way. Because really, Ash doesn’t need the league to fight Kukui, the last time he fought ‘Royal Mask’ was on a beach, and Gladion doesn’t need the league to find his father, but we are reaching a point where a winner seems to be close to decided. Currently, despite both being 1-1, Ash is on the front foot, he’s only lost his most inexperienced Pokémon and it was to Gladion’s Pikachu-equivalent, he knows that Gladion has got Lycanroc for last and his Pikachu still stands against Zoroark, but this is not our first rodeo, we fully expect the finale to be Lycanroc vs Lycanroc, so who comes out on top? Option 1 is Ash, obviously, Lycanroc hasn’t beaten Gladion’s Lycanroc so it can be due, Ash goes one better than Kalos and wins undoubtedly the easiest League he’s ever signed up for in front of his mother. Option 2 is Gladion, like Alain’s Charizard against Ash-Greninja, Gladion’s Lycanroc maintains a perfect record against Ash’s, being the more experienced battler and Ash loses his easiest league in front of his mother but saves his crowning achievement for a proper challenge and liberates Ash to continue challenging gyms and resetting per region. Before the episode title for 140 was announced, these seemed to be our only options, until Option 3 Option 3: Guzzlord Guzzlord appeared in a random 2-parter to market Zeraora, but it seems to be coming back around. Guzzlord secretly seems to be the key to some character resolution, primarily the status of Gladion and Lillie’s father Mohn - who has been missing since falling through an Ultra Wormhole. Guzzlord can also be key to sparing Ash the restriction that comes with the League Victory but also prevents the disappointment of Ash losing. If Guzzlord intervenes the final outcome of the battle, then there is no winner. Ash didn’t lose but he didn’t win, and he carries momentum to get a victory with his magic changing z-crystal to best Guzzlord with his friends once and for all, and it allows Ash to still do the bi-annual reset. Guzzlord’s appearance also can lead to Magearna, Bewear and Team Rocket’s Mech being utilized, loose threads that will hopefully surface (though I’m stumped as to the status of Shaymin, why can’t Mallow just keep it?). Out of the three options this does feel like the better one, because Ash hasn’t earned his league victory yet. Why hasn’t Ash earned the League Being a Pokémon archivarius, I can cast my mind back to past leagues. Indigo was hard, the rules were stupid and we were basically robbed of a rival battle thanks to Charizard’s Laziness, the Silver Conference saw Ash be edged out by Harrison and his Blaziken to promote Hoenn, Ever Grande saw Ash lose to eventual winner Tyson in a tough Pikachu/Meowth fight, Lily of the Valley had Ash bested again by the eventual winner, the OP Legendary user Tobias, the Vertress Conference stepped back and had Ash lose to clumsy, forgetful Cameron thanks to a Lucario evolution and Lumiose had Ash overachieve by losing to the seemingly unstoppable Alain. Out of all of those leagues, the best arguably for me would have to be Sinnoh - the second longest league with 7 episodes to reach the semi finals, Manalo being 10 and all previous being 6 - because every battle Ash had to fight for it; Nando, Conway, Paul (considered one of the best Pokémon battles) and Tobias, he used the full power of his arsenal to do it, which sold that Ash was giving it his all, we got to see Pokémon old and new shine from it, and full battles for at least half of Ash’s battles. The thing that also makes it stand out to me is that there’s no excuse; Ash doesn’t have a fancy one of a kind form like Ash-Greninja or Dusk Lycanroc, he doesn’t have a Legendary Pokémon like Meltan/Melmetal and he doesn’t apply a tactic that shouldn’t work or the same motion of Pikachu quick attack everything and then iron tail - like I know there’s only 4 moves but he always starts with Quick Attack and it drives me insane! It’s stuff that’s inspired rather than convenient so all that Ash is left with is his mettle. Comparing that journey to this one, where Ash beat Faba in less than 4 moves in a 1v1, 2-Hitted Hau’s Decidueye while absorbing a nonsense amount of damage and a fakeout loss to beat Hau, and bested Guzma by really lucking out on Golisopod’s Emergency Exit, it doesn’t feel right now does it? Ash’s League Victory should be a triumph that pushes the extent of Ash’s team, strategy and connection to his Pokémon, against true challenges where either one has a chance at besting him, that is why all the Post-Sinnoh conferences have not been ‘it’; Sawyer, Trip, Guzma and Hau were never really given the threat that they could beat Ash, in fact Sawyer only beat Ash once and it was excusable by him having Ash-Greninja dysfunction. Compiling all of this into account, it should be clear that even if Ash does win this league, it is not what it’s meant to be. The Galar Series Question So Galar is still going to be a thing, we just don’t know how. What is this new series after all? It could just be a side series, it could be a means of bringing older companions to Galar or it may even follow Ash in Galar and some other characters who’ll entwine with him a la Alain and Mairin. Possibilities are endless until the answer is concrete, but in this person’s opinion I still believe Ash would embark in Galar. Would not miss the chance to Dynamax Pikachu for love nor money, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they heavily divert from the game’s plot like they have for Alola. Galar seems to revolve its gym system in a similar manner to Football (or Soccer if you’re overseas and well, wrong), it’s heavily televised like a League, which means that if they go this route Ash would be thrown into a heavy limelight, which can be restrictive, so I kinda expect that to be toned down, I will also expect TR to return with Bewear (or maybe a Nurse Joy kinda deal with another Bewear) and Marnie to probably be a companion. So of course, that answers my closing statement Are we closing the Book on Ash Ketchum Stupidity and failures aside, Ash is undoubtedly an anime icon, and I would find TPCi and TV Tokyo foolish to give that up, especially when other franchises have brought back the OG Digidestined for TRI and Goku & Friends for Dragon Ball Super, Ash has mileage but perhaps not in the same routine past series have followed. Each new setting is a new adventure and even small things can influence a unique dynamic - like even making Ash 11. People may need to think outside of the box, pick the qualities of what has passed, but that’s a good thing! Change is scary yes but that doesn’t mean you drop something entirely, Pokémon have enough IP that they can make Non-Ash series too, if they want to they can expand their market that way, just don’t give up on Ash Ketchum. This is not how his story should end, it would insult the character and the storytellers of the past to do so. But I wouldn’t worry too much about this happening, the best we can do is sit down, enjoy the show, and bide my sweet time until I get hired by them hope that sense prevails over a quick ‘shocking headline’. So that’s my piece, if you have opinions don’t be shy, but also be respectful, this is only stuff I’m feeling at present, by the passage of time new information may alter opinion.

#pokemon #pokeani #sumo anime #ash ketchum #gladion #pikachu

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pjamesstuart · 5 years

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The Loss of Silence in the Mortal Realms

(This has already been on the blog but unlike most of my blog posts it does actually relate to form.)

Visual Silence is a term I keep coming back to. Its meaning is drawn from many places. One of the most important of these is how a miniature is painted, but here I'd just like to talk about some of the elements which spring almost purely from form. How a model is shaped.

One of the first and most important is the time signature of a miniature. This describes the slice of imagined time that a model is assumed to occupy. After thinking about this I've broken it down into a handful of sketched categories of time in miniatures;

Ruin Time.

This is the far end of the scale. Even using this in comparison to the time signature of 'living' forms is a bit of a cheat but it makes a handy place to begin. Imagine a huge stone head or an abandoned imperial building on the battlefield. It is not meant, or imagined ever to move in the ideaspace of the game. So the imagined period of time which that form is assumed to occupy is huge, and that feeling is part of how it is meant to work.

But to stop cheating and to focus on living figures for a moment.

Portrait Time.

This is one in which the figure is standing in a comfortable position, perhaps not emotionally calm, but with their body absent kinetic tension, muscles largely relaxed and their particular objects held close to the bodies centre of gravity or stowed in a way in which their weight is centred and contained. In this we can imagine that the figure paused for a portrait. They might have been there for an hour, and probably someone could stand like that for maybe an hour, with some minor shifting about, without becoming too uncomfortable.

Stepping Time.

Or, really, Contrapposta time, after all those Greek, Roman and then Renaissance statues of someone in marble captured in the act of stepping forwards. This is the time signature that Skagrott the Loon King and Yvraine both occupy, in almost the same position and dress, producing some amusing comparisons. (Oddly, both of these have animal companions that go with them which have their own time signatures. Yvrain has her smooth and slinking Gyrynx which pairs and mirrors her own style of movement while Skagrott has two manic little Squigs captured in mid-bounce who's time signature breaks his up a little and adds a touch of the ridiculous.

Bearing Time.

This is a signature much more common to old Warhammer Fantasy where a huge number of its line models had it. Here the figure is bearing a weapon, but it’s not swinging, firing or impacting. So the weapon is not captured in the exact moment of its use but instead in the minutes, second or even possibly hours directly before its use. Those times of near-violence. Here the bodies balance is usually slightly out of its centre of gravity. Muscles are under some tension and some extension, but not too much.

Battle Time.

Between bearing time, and the one after this, fragment time, there are probably a huge number I have failed to analyse and spot. Really each army and figure can have its own subtle interpretation of time depending on what it is like or assumed to be doing. The new AoS ghost models are all in a state of assumed movement. It's hard to tell if they are going slow or fast but the general sense is of them flowing over the earth like a leaf on a breeze, and their forms flowing with motion like washing on a line. It's not _quite_ like a figure running as we don't have bodies to looks at so the assumed motion is not sensed in the same way. It is its own particular thing.

Anyway, this space between Bearing Time and Fragment time is the space between the swing of a sword and its impact, the moment as a lance thrusts forth, the seconds before a shield takes a hit. I'm marking this one - MORE RESEARCH NEEDED.

Fragment Time.

A dark elf assassin, or a modern Squig Hopper, are both caught in the same splinter of time. A fragment of explicit kinetic movement, the apogee of an arching curve which, if it were to continue for even a fragment of a second longer would result in some shift in form or a change in the image they present and the space they occupy. This is form treated like a photograph, except most actual photographs would blur if you tried to capture something moving this fast, (which actually might be really strange and interesting if you tried to mimic it in form, how do you blur a shape?) so its like a high speed photograph.

Those are the basic categories of time I'm thinking about, but more important than any particular classification is simply addressing or thinking about the time which the miniature or sculpture you are looking at is made to occupy.

And then thinking about how that meshes with, reflects or alters the times of all those figures around it.

Because silence, or at least quietness, in movement as in sound, is relative. It is created by its context.

There are a handful of other concepts I would like to go into as relating to visual silence.

Morphic Tessellation.

A key difference between old Warhammer Fantasy and AoS is the loss of neatly grouped square formations. Instead, everything is individual, bounded by its own round base and only somewhat jostled together with its kin.

An important thing with older minis is that they are both sculptures in their own right, but also, and at the same time, tiny pieces in a mosaic of shapes which makes up the regiment or group it is part of.

One of the strongest ways in which this becomes evident is in the case of long weapons like Halberds, Muskets, Spears and a few others. Here, with the minis as it would be in reality, the long straight lines, either standing up like a forest of spikes or pointing forwards, form this gridwork which both illustrates and emphasises the morphic tessellation of the block as a whole.

(I think its going to be hard for GW to bring back long weapons like these in AoS because when you pick them up and then re-pace them after a move, you _really_ need all the lines, all the sticks, pointing in the same way in a nice group. If they aren’t oriented properly then the length of the line really calls attention to that.)

The same can be said for apparent uniformity and micro-differences in stance, loadout and appearance in minis in these blocks. Because every figure is arranged on the same axis, facing the same way, with the same weapons and armour, small differences in stance and other elements stand out more than they would otherwise and create a different effect. It is like a lineup of similar looking men. If they were to mill around randomly it would be a blur of similarity, but in a line, and regarded both sequentially and as a whole, these small differences count for more individually and add more life than they would in an unstructured crowd. You both see and sense them more powerfully due to the spatial uniformity of the block.

Put simply, the block as a whole *is* the sculpture as intended. That is the reached-for affect, the individual parts are largely that, just individual parts.

Heraldic Minis and Swiss Cheese Minis

One of the interesting qualities in lead and plastic moulding is the flat plane the figure must be on. The two sides of the can then be pressed strongly together so that the molten liquid flows through it properly.

(I don't know if you could invisibly 3D print a multidimensional mould *inside* a seamless bock of metal in some way. That would be kind of a trip if you could.)

Modern GW tricks its way out of this by breaking down a complex 3D model into a series of fragments exhibited on a flat plane, then you clip out all the bits, glue them all together and there you go, a more spatially complex model. But back in the ancient times they were less good at this so you had to have all of the model, or almost all of it, as one neat thing presented across one plane in the mould.

Obviously this had some limitations but there were some aspects and some models where the limitations were used to produce an effect, one of these is the heraldic aspect of many models.

In heraldry, many of the animals and living figures are presented with the axial tilt of their bodies incorporated into the visual image more than would be possible in a photograph or purely realistic painting. So the lion or unicorn or knight or whatever is showing you more of its body and different elements, different planes or sides, than would be possible from just looking at it from any real life direction, no matter how it was posed.

This lends it that feeling of strange starchiness and hyper-presentation. These figures seem slightly gauche and, from a modern pov, slightly silly, frozen in these strange display positions and often filled with a sense of their own serious gravity. But they are also hyper-presenting, showing more sides, more elements, more expression than should be possible in a realistic viewpoint, and this helps to give them a peculiar intensity.

Some of the good early GW minis make use of this quality. They perhaps hold their weapons in a way which is slightly presentational, as if they were on parade, or on a stage. They seem like figures from greek theatre, presenting these very simple, stark, almost overloaded expressions. And, crucially, they tend to occupy only one axis in space. I imagine space and form almost flowing around them like a diagram of aerodynamic flow.

The Big Melon Comparison

One way to imagine this is to picture one of these minis as if it were the seed in a big soft fruit like a melon. Something with a juicy, somewhat adhesive sticky sweet pith. You have a knife and your job is to get in there and just get a clean seed out of the fruit.

For some axial or heraldic figures it wouldn't be hard to do that, once you cut it open they would just slide right out and once you had it out, scraping any remaining fruit out of the cracks could be done easily with the point of a knife.

Modern minis are less like that. Space does not flow around them, instead it pokes fingers into them. They interpenetrate with space in a variety of complex ways. If you had to get one of these minis out of a huge melon and then clean it, firstly, your melon is fucked because you are probably going to destroy it getting the seed out, or at least gouge a huge hole in it. Then if you want to clean it off then it’s going to take ages. The seed will drag a lot of fruit with it and getting into all the crevices is going to be a nightmare. There are bits you will never, or not easily, reach from the outside.

The idea of the sticky and difficult fruit here, being a kind of tool of thought to let you sense how an object interacts with the space around it by replacing Nothing with Melon.

Visual Silence.

There must be many more elements of course, not the least of which is painting. A Blanchitsu-style mini when compared to a Sughammer mini is going to feel a lot more visually quiet. And there are all the accoutrements its objects and the things it wears and holds. And what GW would call the 'pace' of a mini, its relationships of 'empty' or calm areas of form to its busier or more baroque elements. And expression of character of course, the little goblinish grin or snarl always lends an air of mania. The stoic observing space marine is a little more silent than the shouting space marine.

But I focus here on three elements which all relate almost entirely to form. That is, they would be the same if the figure were matte grey or not. And three elements which I am reasonably sure I can define well and which I have not seed described that much buy others;

• The time signature a miniature is captured in. • Whether it is meant to be part of a mosaic of form. • And the axial or melon-retaining nature of its shape.

All these play a part in creating relative visual silence, or relative visual noise.

The Silence of the Troops.

So in old warhammer, troops in general, especially when you look at any individual model and especially when those are models meant to be arranged in a block, are visually silent, or relatively silent when compared to their squad or battalion leaders and the army generals and special characters.

When the eye plays across the army, the hierarchy of visual silence matches the hierarchy of the imagined force. Big figures feel big, energetic, important, not just because their models are that way but because they are that way _when compared to the rest of the army_. That sense of importance and visual power and 'character' is in large part a relative one created by the scene and the frame, not the thing at the centre.

The Noise of Meritocracy

In AoS that hierarchy and patterning of silence has broken down somewhat. Minis aren't locked together in precise arrangements, they can 'choose' their own position relative to each other.

There has been a revolution or upending in silence. Before the leaders tended to be loud, relative to their comparatively silent troops. Now it is more likely for the troops to be visually loud and silence is more often reserved for the grim, still, leaders.

Now every mini can be special in its own way, it is not just part of a visual or morphic chorus, and advances in manufacturing combine with this to mean that every mini can be interesting in a three dimensional way, they no longer *have* to be heraldic or axial.

The problem here, (and its only really a 'problem' if you define it as such, cognitive mode, personal aesthetic and momentary feeling can all play a role), but even if it’s not a problem you think is bad, its still an element, question or polarity you should recognise;

Is that because every miniature _gets_ to be freee.

Every miniature HAS to be free.

And to a much greater extent than before

It is a lot like moving from a feudal hierarchy to a meritocracy. Everyone gets to do what they want, which is good. And everyone is in almost constant competition with absolutely everyone else almost all of the time, which is possibly not good.

You can see this when comparing old generation Warhammer Fantasy minis with modern new ones. They don't look quite right on the same battlefield. In terms of their time signatures, their personal magnificence and the degree to which each figure is expected to dominate and interpenetrate with the space around it, they are very different.

An AoS figure tends to be like an individual instrument like a horn blaring, or a guitar doing a solo, while a Warhammer Fantasy instrument is more like one of a row of violins, who's job is to work together with the other violins. So if you take one person out of that row, and have them doing the same thing on their own, and compare that to a guitar solo, they look stupid and not very good. But they were never meant to be experienced on their own.

And that's (arguably) a problem, or at least an aspect of an AoS battlefield. Its a LOT more visually noisy than a Warhammer Fantasy battlefield, everyone is much more just playing their own music and so the general volume of visual noise has to go up.

The key point here isn't that you should hate AoS or the way it does things, but that comparing the two visual and morphological paradigms, more simply; the way sight and shape work in these two different games and eras, without considering the fact that they are playing very different kinds of music, (albeit they seem highly similar in other ways), might lead you down a wrong path, of comparing like to like without appreciating the differing contexts and intentions.

#form #minis #games workshop #age of sigmar #popular sculpture

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tarithenurse · 5 years

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I see you - Ch. 7

Pairing: still promised Heimdal x fem!reader Warnings: fluff and pining. Little bit of tension. Then some fluff and pining. A/N: I guess I’m a sucker for slow burns ;)

Ch. 7 – Unwritten

At first, things were happening in a fog, obscuring facts and swallowing memories. More than once, you were told, you had insisted that your sister must be told that you were alive, and just as often you’d be comforted by Heimdal or Frigga telling you that it was sorted, and all you should worry about was getting better.

You spend more time asleep than you first had expected. Of course, it will take a lot of energy for your body to recover, not to mention that the Asgardian healers aren’t stingy with the painkillers that make you drowsy, but there’s something else that you can’t quite identify to begin with, and whatever it is, it makes you drift off mid-conversation without much warning.

As a result, it has taken you and Heimdal to get through the recent events back home (when you finally heard that it was Loki behind the attacks and that he was awaiting sentence in a prison, you tried to get out of bed to go and tell him off and possibly punch him – for obvious reasons that didn’t work out), and learning about the Asgardian culture was turning into a multi-chapter saga of it’s own.

“No but wait!” You were protesting to Heimdal’s heritage. “So, you really do have just one mom?”

“Yes…” catching the way you tilt your head, he continues curiously, “is this not common in Midgard?”

Of course, there are various family constellations depending on culture and personal preferences, so two dads and a mom isn’t that strange. The reason it makes you hesitate has to do with the myths in which it’s claimed that the Bridge-Keeper should have no fathers at all but eleven mothers. Does it make sense? No. But neither does a rainbow bridge or an eight-legged horse. Meeting Heimdal’s eyes, you feel your cheeks heat and you try not to focus on the growing smile as you stammering attempt to explain. His deep, rolling laughter when you’ve finished is contagious. It sweeps you up and carries you along on a great sea of warm comfort where ships with doubt and shyness sink, leaving room for an unconcerned happiness even when you end up laughing too much and the pain returns with a vengeance, silencing you and stealing your breath away.

“I’m sorry, my lady –“

“[Y/N]!” You’re trying to get him to use your first name only, but he’s reluctant.

Smiling crookedly, the god nods. “[Y/N].” The way he pronounces it, makes it sound like it has a deeper, richer meaning. “I didn’t mean to hurt you by laughing,” he explains, “yet…that particular story was born as a prank by a pair of young, mischievous princes. They stole their father’s horse and went to Midgard, this would’ve been nigh a thousand of your years ago, and those that recognized them as who they were…” A flicker of sadness crosses the handsome face, distancing the golden eyes.

For a moment the only sounds are from the world outside the windows. Out there, the sun’s getting low and its radiant colours are reflected off the snow on the mountain tops. I wonder if I’ll get to see more of Asgard before they send me home? Squinting, you find where the last trees on the steep, jagged sides and where a ravine has cleared a broad path across the lower growths above the treeline.

Turning back, you find Heimdal still lost in memory with his large hands clasped loosely between the knees and the urge to reach out overwhelms you. Your hand is small as your fingers close gently around his, startling him at first before returning the gesture and allowing your thumb to rub gentle patterns around his knuckles.

…

“Father, I must say that I agree with both Heimdal and mother on this matter.”

Looking towards Thor, it strikes the Keeper of Bifrost that the young prince has still to smile since his return to Asgard. What does he have to smile about? True, the battle has been won, however he lost his brother in the symbolic sense in the process, and to the older brother Loki was as a close friend and trustworthy companion once. Someone who was always there. The reasonable and calmer of the two. Now the adopted relative sits in a cell, refusing to see anyone or acknowledge the relations formerly shared, while Thor has acquired a wisdom vastly superior to the boy that he was a few years ago.

“You would grant her haven? For how long, my son?” Despite the kind moniker, Odin’s voice is cold, carrying the disinterest in the Midgardians whom he thinks of as lesser. “Until she’s well enough to be moved or maybe until she has healed completely? She will be a burden to us although we carry no responsibility for her or her realm.”

“Loki’s our responsibility, whether you want it or not.” Sighing deeply, there’s no challenge or anger in Thor. “The people of Midgard have been thrust into an infinitely larger reality than they were prepared for. They are frightened…lost. Without guidance, they will stumble and fall in their foolish naivety unless we show them a better way than they would choose on their own. Father, if we do not grant this girl the same honours as we would a hero, then we are no better than they are, and we do not deserve Midgard’s respect.”

Although Frigga doesn’t say a word, the troublemaker who has brought the foreigner in question to the Asgard can sense the queens pride and excitement at the direction the discussion is moving. A twinkle of a smile is in her eye even as she looks down to hide it, and it causes Heimdal to feel as though they are two children smirking over a well-played prank that a parent is defending, just as it had been once.

“Fine!” Tossing his hands in the air, Odin finally gives in. “She can stay for now and we will take up the matter once she has recovered.” A clear blue eye bores into a pair of amber. “I hold you responsible for her and any action of hers while she’s here. You will not return to your duties before she’s gone! Your only task is to make sure she stays out of trouble.”

Bowing deeply, Heimdal radiates calm. “Yes, your highness.”

…

The day arrives where you can move your feet and the good arm without paling from the agony. That’s the day where you ask what is going to happen, when you will be told to leave. Valhalla isn’t your home, as Odin so clearly had pointed out, and you know that you’re going to have to face the facts and leave even if you don’t really want to.

Frigga and a few healers are fluffing the pillows and adding more to guarantee enough support to sit up against them after they’ve helped wash and turn you to prevent bed sores.

“Queen Frigga,” you begin nervously, fiddling with the clean linen, “I’m very, very grateful for the kindness you’ve all shown me…for saving my life…”

When you don’t continue right away, she sinks down on the edge of the bed and takes your hands. “You can speak openly. Don’t worry, dear child.”

“I know, I’m not supposed to be here…what I mean to say is,” watching her slender hands rest effortlessly on the fur calms you enough to finish, “when will I have to leave?”

Don’t I want to leave? New York is your home. The first place you’ve felt free and safe after leaving your then-boyfriend. So what, if you’d only been there a few months, there were people you cared about and who, hopefully, cared about you. Like your new colleagues. And the old widower that always had his little folding chair out and sat by the corner to watch people walk by. The curious kid next door. Too often you wonder how they’re doing, until you remind yourself that there neither was nor is anything you can do about them right now, and that their lives will go on easily. Afterall…it was just three months since you moved to the city.

“If you wish, then we can bring you back to Midgard now…” the queen admits, “however, you’re welcome to stay as long as needed for your recovery.”

The smile on your face is not simply from the light feeling after a worry has been lifted of your shoulders, rather it’s from a warm glow within you at the thought of getting to spend more time with – Oh! Stop it! Scolding yourself doesn’t erase the visage in your mind of a man with eyes like liquid gold and skin the vibrant richness as mother earth would have.

“I trust you have found good company, but don’t hesitate to ask for anything.”

The slight smirk and playful glimmer in her eyes makes you suspect that she knows more than she says openly, which shouldn’t surprise you as that is exactly what the myths you used to read had said.

But what’s real and what’s just stories?

There’s so much still to figure out.

#I see you #mcu fanfiction #heimdal x reader #writing #heimdal #avengers #thor #frigga #odin #asgard #I see you ch.7 #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #mcu #loki

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readingsweetblueflowers · 5 years

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Setting the stage

Before I get to the play Rokumeikan I think it’s useful to understand at least a bit of the historical context around it. The play is set in 1886 in the middle of the Meiji era (1868-1912), one of the most tumultuous and consequential periods in the history of Japan. The historical setting of Rokumeikan would be as familiar to modern Japanese schoolgirls like those at Fujigaya and Matsuoka as the Civil War period is to us in the U.S. (The first episode of the currently-airing anime Meiji Tokyo Renka, about a girl who time-travels back to the Meiji era, has a scene set at the Rokumeikan.)

Since this post is ultimately in the service of my commentary on Sweet Blue Flowers, I thought it appropriate to discuss the history of Meiji-era Japan and the Rokumeikan from the point of view of Sutematsu Yamakawa, Shige Nagai, and Ume Tsuda, the three ordinary girls whose extraordinary lives are documented in Janice Nimura’s book The Daughters of the Samurai. Sutematsu, the oldest of them, was born in 1860, only a few years after Commodore Matthew Perry and his “black ships” showed up in Tokyo harbor in 1853 demanding that Japan open its ports to the U.S.

With no navy and no national military the Tokugawa shogunate struggled to resist pressures from the U.S. and other countries, and in 1858 signed a series of “unequal treaties” that favored the various Western powers and impinged on Japanese sovereignty. Resentment of Western influence and long-standing grievances with the Tokugawas then led to a prolonged period of civil strife, ending in 1867-1868 with a civil war in which forces fighting in the name of the Emperor decisively defeated pro-government forces. Sutematsu, daughter of a mid-rank samurai on the losing side, was wounded by shrapnel in one of the final battles.

14-year-old Prince Mutsuhito became Emperor in 1867, with the new “Meiji” (”enlightened rule”) era proclaimed in 1868 with the fall of Edo (now Tokyo) and the formation of a new government populated by many energetic and relatively young mid-rank samurai. They embarked upon a crash course of importing Western knowledge, technology, and experts, with an eye towards making Japan a modern power as fast as possible.

One of those men, Kiyotaka Kuroda, had been impressed with American women while on a visit to the U.S., and conceived the fantastical idea of sending a group of Japanese girls to the U.S. for a ten-year stay in order to learn American ways and come back to educate a new generation of Japanese girls. After an initial recruitment effort failed, the government succeeded in finding five low-to-mid rank samurai families who had been on the losing side, were living in relative poverty, and were therefore willing to let their girls leave home so as not to have to support them.

The five girls left Japan in 1871 as part of the famous Iwakura mission along with a group of high-ranking government officials, scholars, and male students charged to visit foreign nations and bring back information of use to Japan. The oldest two of the girls returned to Japan due to ill health and homesickness, but Sutematsu Yamakawa (11 years old), Shige Nogai (10), and Ume Tsuda (6) found places with American families. They soon learned English, made close American friends, and became socialized in a manner typical of upper middle class American teenagers of the period.

While the girls were away Japan saw a blooming of intellectual discourse, the formation of grass-roots political movements, and the creation of nascent political parties, as elements within society and government contended over what political and cultural ideas and institutions were most appropriate for Japan.

The three girls returned in the early 1880s, Sutematsu Yamakawa having graduated from Vassar College (the first Japanese woman to receive an American college degree) and Shige Nogai having earned a certificate in music from Vassar. All three girls experienced severe culture shock, with Ume Tsuda having completely forgotten how to speak Japanese. They also found that foreign ideas were not quite as popular as when they left for America, as a conservative backlash was building.

Shige Nogai soon entered into a love match with a fellow Japanese student who had attended the U.S. Naval Academy, and went to work as a music teacher, continuing her career while bearing and raising her six children. (Some scholars contend that she’s depicted in the woodblock print above showing a dance at the Rokumeikan, the rightmost pianist to whom the other pianist seems to be looking for help in setting the tempo.) Her husband eventually became a Baron and Admiral in the Imperial Japanese Navy, and she a Baroness.

Sutematsu Yamakawa struggled to find work suitable to her upbringing and education, and ended up accepting an offer of marriage from Iwao Ōyama, a general in the Imperial Japanese Army, twenty years her senior, who was looking for a wife who was familiar with Western ways and could assist him in his political and diplomatic activities. Her husband later became Minister of War and she became a pillar of the Japanese aristocracy, advising the Empress herself on Western culture and fashion.

As Countess (later Princess) Ōyama she became known as the “Lady of the Rokumeikan” for her role in hosting events there after its construction in 1883. She also introduced American-style philanthropy to Japan, including a charity bazaar held at the Rokumeikan. (This event was memorialized in a woodblock print by Toyohara Chikanobu, also the artist of the print shown above. Sutematsu and her daughter Hisako are apparently depicted in the center of the print.)

One of the major beneficiaries of Sutematsu’s philanthropy was Ume Tsuda, who had the worst time adjusting to life in Japan. She first obtained employment as a private tutor to the children of Hirobumi Itō, soon to become Japan’s first Prime Minister. She then taught at the Peeresses’ School, which Itō set up (with assistance from Countess Ōyama) to educate the daughters of the Imperial family and Japanese nobility. (Prestigious girls schools like Fujigaya Womens Academy would later offer an equivalent experience for the daughters of Japan’s upper and upper middle classes.)

Tsuda became frustrated by the conservatism of the Peeresses’ School and the expectations of her family and others that she marry. Due to her youth she had not been able to attend college while in America, and hence she applied for and was granted permission and funding to go back to the U.S. to complete her education. She enrolled at the recently-opened Bryn Mawr College for women and graduated with a bachelors degree. She then returned to Japan, having also found time to (anonymously) assist a friend in writing a book, Japanese Girls and Women, critical of Japanese laws and educational policies relating to girls and women.

After returning to Japan, after some time and with assistance from Countess Ōyama, Ume Tsuda was able to realize her dream of opening her own school, the Women's Institute for English Studies (女子英学塾 Joshi Eigaku Juku), with the goal of training teachers for Japan’s newly-mandated middle schools for girls. She was soon joined by Anna Cope Hartshorne, her close friend from Bryn Mawr who became her companion in both work and life. (Like Nobuko Yoshiya and her partner, Tsuda and Hartshorne bought a cottage together in Kamakura.)

Tsuda spent the last years of her life in ill health, living in Kamakura with Anna Hartshorne. After her death in 1929 her school was renamed in her honor, eventually becoming Tsuda College and then (more recently) Tsuda University. Hartshorne herself left Japan in 1940 on the brink of war, never to return. She died in 1957, a year after the first production of Rokumeikan and almost a century after the start of the Meiji era.

The Rokumeikan itself was long gone by then. Its use had declined with the rise of conservative sentiment and anti-Western feeling, and it was sold in 1890 to become a private club for the aristocracy. The building fell into disuse and was eventually demolished in 1941, as Japan went to war with the Western powers whose diplomats it had once invited to dance at the Rokumeikan.

A final thought: There’s an intriguing parallel between the three main 21st-century girls of Sweet Blue Flowers and the three 19th-century girls of Daughters of the Samurai. Kyoko resembles Sutematsu Yamakawa, thwarted in her original desire and falling back on a marriage with an older man of higher social status. We can only hope that Kyoko will find happiness in such a marriage, as Sutematsu apparently did in hers.

Fumi resembles Ume Tsuda, even to having a somewhat similar sounding given name. It’s clear that she will remain unmarried, as Ume did (unless marriage equality comes to Japan). Our hope for Fumi is that like Ume she will also find someone, whether Akira or another, who will be her lifelong companion.

As for Akira, her fate is not yet clear---though I doubt she’ll have six children like Shige Nogai did. We can at least hope that if Akira does find someone to spend her life with that it will be a love match, just as Shige’s was.

#Sweet Blue Flowers #Aoi Hana #Rokumeikan #Yukio Mishima

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insightersports · 4 years

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Warcraft Cinematic Quest Guide

The World of Warcraft: Cinematic Quest Guide is a gigantic true to life walkthrough of the storyline missions in World of Warcraft: Wrath of the Lich King from the Alliance viewpoint. Fusing WoWHead's incorporated instrument tips, it depicts the story of a Night Elf Warrior named Vikstone in his central goal to execute the Lich King and vindicate his killed faction. It's a nostalgic bend between a pretending story and a mission manage, permitting all World of Warcraft veterans to re-live explicit minutes in the game's legend similarly as they all occurred from 2009-2010.

GSR Story Intro Banner

Sergeant Vikstone is an unbelievable Night Elf veteran getting back subsequent to battling a few missions against the Horde and the Burning Legion. Vikstone finds that the Lich King is liable for killing each enduring individual from his family during the occasions of The Burning Crusade. His family was the remainder of an old bloodline, based upon the precepts of the Warrior.

You likely believe you're very solid — battling these undead and pounding their bones underneath your war machines. That isn't anything contrasted with the quality it took to make them.

MATTHIAS LEHNER

Vows to vindicate them, he goes to the landmass of Northrend on a last mission to stop the Lich King, an element the Vrykuls called "the God of Death." In this new world, he winds up in the center of one of Azeroth's most ruinous wars. Vikstone makes his vital change all through the excursion so as to execute what's left of Arthas Menethil. In his journey to increase enough capacity to one day face the Lich King, he addresses his own feeling of ethical quality as he chops down everybody and all that holds him up.

Note:You can also read here about games like WOW.

History has given him that anybody can be slaughtered, even the Lich King.

Vikstone started his story at level 70 after the occasions of The Burning Crusade. His development in gear, ability specializations (Arms, Fury, Protection) and appearances are totally caught in a sequential manner as he advances through the mission lines, from Borean Tundra to Icecrown on the Terokkar domain (around 2008-2009). It is the best endeavor of his military vocation. Experience the whole story of Wrath of the Lich King through his eyes.

More than 50 distinct players help him in significant manager battles and first class missions all through the game, a cycle that took more than 22,000 screen captures to catch.

The Master Explorer (15)

Fierceness of the Lich King is the tale of Arthas' retaliation. His violations are uncovered to Vikstone all through the story in his few encounters with the Lich King, before the last showdown. Its absolutely impossible to recount the tale of Arthas Menethil without recounting the narrative of Vikstone.

Foreword

Northrend Atlas

Manager Fights and Guest Appearances

The Making of the Guide

Why the Warrior Class?

The Author's History in World of Warcraft

Guide of Northrend

Foreword

A Foreword

Borean Tundra Quests

The Borean Tundra is situated in the far western edge of Northrend, and is the home of the tuskarr, Drakkari savages, and blue monsters. The Undead Scourge and the naga likewise occupy the zone. Significant tourist spots of the area incorporate the tuskarr capital of Kaskala and the Riplash Ruins. Coldarra is an island simply off the coast. Kaskala is presently under attack and the tuskarr have moved to Unu'pe.

Also read about burning steppes guide.click here

Borean Tundra (9)

Yelling Fjord Quests

The Howling Fjord is a zone situated in southeastern Northrend. Torn into the southern coastline lies Daggercap Bay, where the powers of Arthas initially arrived on the landmass. Abandoned by the youthful ruler, the 5,000-in number campaign set up the station of Valgarde. The little settlement has since gotten the focal point of Alliance movement on Northrend. Other Alliance stations incorporate Westguard Keep and Fort Wildervar.

Valgarde (3)

Dragonblight Quests

The Dragonblight, likewise called the Great Dragonblight, is an extraordinary winged serpent burial ground, situated in Northrend. The passageway to the nerubian realm of Azjol-Nerub can be found in the mid-west part, while the baffling Wyrmrest Temple dwells in the center. The magnataur town of Bloodmar lies here additionally, just as the demolished taunka capital of Icemist Village, and the nerubian conference of Sundered Monolith. The Forsaken base of Venomspite, just as the Human fortress of Wintergarde Keep are situated toward the east. The Scourge bastion of Naxxramas is drifting in the skies above Wintergarde.

Dragonblight (71)

Grizzly Hills Quests

The Grizzly Hills, situated in southeastern Northrend, is a forested zone, encircled by the Howling Fjord toward the south, the Dragonblight toward the west and Zul'Drak toward the north. It is the country of the Grizzlemaw furbolgs. More than 20,000 furbolgs live in this zone, most in the huge settlement of Grizzlemaw. Both the dwarven settlement of Thor Modan and Ice Troll/Scourge post of Drak'Tharon Keep can be found in the north. The principle group bases are Amberpine Lodge for the Alliance and Conquest Hold for the Horde.

Ursoc, the Bear God (18)

Sholazar Basin Quests

Sholazar Basin is a tropical wilderness bowl amidst Northrend. It is found between Borean Tundra and Icecrown Glacier. The zone's atmosphere and wellbeing from the Scourge is kept up by arches, raised by the Titans. As of late, one arch in the east has fallen and the Scourge has accepted this open door to attack from Icecrown toward the north. They are presently spilling down The Avalanche.

Sholazar Basin (14)

Zul'Drak Quests

Zul'Drak is a region situated in eastern Northrend. It is home to the Drakkari ice savages and their Frost King Malakk just as the littler savages of the Winterfang clan. Their capital is the city of Gundrak. Zul'Drak has a place with the Drakkari, who meander in chasing parties looking for prey. Old savage vestiges are tossed over the open country and the Scourge floats just past the western outskirt, hanging tight for an opportunity to strike.

Atmosphere insightful, Zul'Drak is the least lovely of the eastern districts. It's colder than the Grizzly Hills or the Howling Fjord, less superb than the Storm Peaks, and more swarmed than any of them – with the greater part of the group being Drakkari. Most different races dodge this area, and in light of current circumstances. Explorers don't have to go there for section north or south — they can adhere to the Grizzly Hills, which encompass Zul'Drak on the two sides and arrive at all the path up to Crystalsong Forest and Storm Peaks. The main explanation anybody would need to visit Zul'Drak is in the event that they were voyagers wanting to meet the Drakkari — and they better have a huge gathering of outfitted champions with them when they do.

Selling out (31)

The Storm Peaks Quests

The Storm Peaks are a mountain range and zone situated in the upper east of Northrend. It is the place a baffling race of monsters named the tempest goliaths live. The third known titan city of Ulduar is additionally situated here. The breezes that tear through the mountains are amazingly fierce and risky.

Krolmir, Hammer of Storms (19)

Icecrown Quests

Icecrown, otherwise called Ice Crown, is a zone made out of generally Icecrown Glacier and the prompt region around it. Icecrown is encircled by mountains toward the south. The ground is neither solidified earth nor secured with day off; is strong ice. Henceforth, nothing becomes here.

The Hunter and the Prince (24)

Supervisor Fights and Guest Appearances

Highlighted in Boss Fights and Guest Appearances are outstanding individuals from my organization Trinity Exiles and the numerous individual players who were on the Terokkar domain during that period. For a huge bit of the experiences, it was all unconstrained, with arbitrary players offering to assist Vikstone, and the other way around. On the off chance that you played World of Warcraft in 2009 on this worker, you may be in one of the accompanying missions. One of my significant inspirations to bring back this guide was to deify my companions, a large number of whom I could never find the opportunity to play with again. To me they will consistently be "Terokkar's best."

Prior to the Gate of Horror (6)

Epilog

With regards to this story, does Vikstone actually execute the Lich King, retaliate for his family, and spare Azeroth from certain demolition?

It's lovely to think so.

One can essentially attempt to comprehend what Blizzard expected to speak to with Northrend. To me, it represented the topic of reclamation and the possibility of Valhalla, where all heroes killed in battle seek to go in Norse folklore to eat with the Gods. I needed to leave the completion of this story open, since it was the excursion that made it beneficial. As a Night Elf, Vikstone was interminable to time simply like the Lich King however at long last there would be just one man left standing. With regards to who was ethically directly in his activities, Vikstone was savage, chopping down great many NPCs and players all through his lifetime. His choice to battle the Lich King would have implied unavoidable demise and hence for all time end his family's bloodline. He was set up to make it his last demonstration, maybe to get reprisal for his own violations and monstrosities that he had submitted in past missions. Was there any acceptable left in Arthas Menethil's heart? Was any man really past the range of pardoning? It was an inquiry that would consistently wait in Vikstone's heart as he ended up falling into a similar dimness that came to pass for Arthas.

In my heart I like to think Vikstone in the long run prevails on his last mission, decimates Ner'zhul, and liberates the spirit of Matthias Lehner so he can pick up reclamation for his transgressions and enter Valhalla.

The last resting spot of a genuine fighter.

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