#a single strike of shimmering frost

[cnovelartreblogs]

How to Read Manhua on Bilibili: Legal, Free, and in English

In my posts on this blog, I keep sharing screen caps from manhua I've read on Bilibili, along with the link to read it yourself, but I know:

This blog doesn't have all that many followers.

It's one thing for me to post the link and quite another for people to realize just how easy this is to do.

Considering how often I see English-speaking MXTX/c-novel/c-drama/donghua fandom peeps screaming and begging for more content, I'm now begging you in return:

STOP SLEEPING ON THE BILIBILI APP!

If you want more danmei content, fully legal, entirely free, already translated, you literally c.a.n.n.o.t. do better than using the Bilibili app to read manhua. That's not to say this is a perfect method - their translations are...um...wanting sometimes? (Shout out to the four pages in a row I recently read where someone broke in to a residence and every time the breaker-inner was mentioned they were called "the intrud") But it's still ALL THERE, FOR US, ANYTIME, and the more eyes the manhua in the apps gets, the more content we'll get, so please, PLEASE, if you're out there thirsting for danmei content, DO THIS.

Wondering how?

Well, I've got you covered.

WAY 1: The Bilibili Manhua Website

I know I said "get the app" but honestly you don't even need an app to do this! You can read on Bilibili using any web browser.

The website is Bilibilicomics.com.

It looks like this:

Yes, you're reading that right: there's an entire section of BL.

There's also an entire section of GL!

There are 38 titles in GL and 121 titles, yes ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY ONE titles, in BL.

AND there's het stuff, and non-romance stuff too!

New episodes general come out weekly or biweekly, though a few things are daily. The website is often a few chapters ahead of the app (which I actually didn't realize until just now - Chapter 55 of Legend of Exorcism, for example, came out today on the app, but it lists 60 episodes as available on the website. Which, considering the cliffhanger I just read... *eyes emoji*...though apparently in other cases there are more chapters on the app than on the website, so ymmv.)

The best-known title available (again: FOR FREE. OFFICIALLY. LEGALLY. IN ENGLISH) is Tian Guan Ci Fu. When you go to a specific title's page, you get this...

...and reading it is as simple as selecting the chapter you want, clicking it, and et voila! Just scroll down and read to your heart's content!!

NOTE: SOME CHAPTERS WILL HAVE WAIT TIMES. More on this shortly.

WAY 2: The Bilibili App for Android

I personally have been reading primarily from the Android app, since I have a Samsung Galaxy phone and a lot of time sprawled on my couch while my kids watch cartoons.

You can download the app from the Play store - here's a link, for what that's worth.

It looks, essentially, like this (I'm logged in so mine looks a little different than non-logged-in, I made an account even tho you don't actually need one):

If you don't want to make an account, you don't have to. If you choose to, as you see it'll try to guess what other titles you might like. tbh I have no idea how good these recommendations may be; I'm still reading/catching up on the specific titles I wanted to read so I haven't had to try their recommendations yet. But, there's definitely some stuff that looks interesting (that top middle one definitely looks up my alley...)

You can also "favorite" things (again: EVEN WITHOUT AN ACCOUNT) and it'll store them in your library and make a red dot (like you can see on the above screen cap) when something has an update you haven't read yet. For example, here's my Favorite list, which helps me keep track of what I'm reading and enjoying (or, well, in one case I'm more "wtfing" than "enjoying" but hey that still counts).

There's even a weird, like, "dress up" side game??? So like, every chapter you read there's a chance the app will drop a "card" and you can use the cards to dress your avatar up, and there's a whole crafting system built in? It's. A little odd. But, considering I recently quit my Love Nikki addiction after 3+ years, it's nice to get a small hit of pointless dress up.

Yes, my avatar is currently wearing San Lang's shirt.

The point is, again: this app is free to download, and incredibly easy to use, and even has a fun pointless side game.

BUT. There is one "but" here. See the Coins: 0 Top Up right below my randomly assigned username?

There is an optional pay system. What does it do? It reduces wait times.

Some titles, but not ALL, have a "built in delay" that kicks in at some point. On some, it seems to start when you're "within 5 chapters of the most recent" (that's what's happened with Global Examination and TGCF, for example). For others, it seems to be arbitrary - for A Single Strike of Shimmering Frost, it kicked in at chapter 40 even tho there are, like, 80 something chapters up. Regardless, it always works the same.

The system functions using wait times, and it has 5 tiers that are always the same.

Tier 1: You must wait one minute before you can read the next chapter. This tier is rarely an issue; the count down sometimes (but not always??? it's weird) starts when you start a new chapter, and it almost always takes more than one minute to read a full chapter, so this tier is often "satisfied" before you even get to the next chapter.

Tier 2: You must wait six minutes before you can read the next chapter.

Tier 3: You must wait one hour before you can read the next chapter.

Tier 4: You must wait six hours before you can read the next chapter.

Tier 5: You must wait twenty-four hours before you can read the next chapter.

I initially thought this system functioned as "once you reach Tier 5, you're just stuck there and can only read a chapter a day" but it's turned out that's not the case - A Single Strike of Shimmering Frost having 40+ semi-locked chapters has given me the chance to actually test this a bit. In fact, what happens is:

The first time you hit a "wait delay" chapter, it puts you at Tier 1 and you have to wait a minute. The next chapter, you up to Tier 2, the next to Tier 3, then Tier 4, then Tier 5...and then it cycles back to Tier 1. So, with a little care and planning (which I almost always fail at) I can time reading something with many wait-delayed chapters such that I can read 5 chapters in one day, then I have to wait a full day, then I can read 5 more chapters.

Here's how it looks when you've done your waiting in purgatory and can now read on...

...and here's how it looks when the sad trombones play...

Now, I mentioned I'd circle back to the coins? THE TIME HAS COME! Because, look - for 17 coins, you can read on instantly!! Alternatively, if you're willing to share on social media, you can also skip (I have no if that's something you can do over and over, or just once, cause I haven't tried - you can skip the wait time once for free). This begs the question, then...is 17 coins a lot?

And the answer is...

...eh not really, no. Ten bucks will get you the ability to pay 17 coins many, many times (58, to be precise), but honestly? I haven't spent a penny yet and I've caught up on 7 different titles and am steadily reading through two more (one of which hasn't had wait times kick in yet, I just can only read so fast).

All of which is to say: yes, there's a pay system, and tbh, I'm probably going to throw them a few bucks not because I care about the wait times but because I'm getting so much enjoyment out of reading these titles and I want to support them a little (I also bought the print version of the TGCF vol. 1 and will likely buy the other volumes, and I once-upon-a-time paid to watch TGCF s. 1 streaming as they came out). With a little patience there is absolutely zero call for spending even one penny to read as much of this cornucopia as you want.

WAY 3: Download the Bilibili App on Apple

I don't have access to an iPhone and don't feel like grabbing my tablet rn and I've hit the Tumblr image limit anyway, but the Apple app looks about the same as the Android app, and you can download it HERE.

Basically: use the website, or download the app for whichever platform you're using, and READ, READ, READ!

So, what is there to read?

I'M SO GLAD YOU ASKED!

(okay, cutting to a read more)

I've been reading on the app pretty regularly for like two months (prior to that I was only reading TGCF, and only when I remembered, which was rarely), but I'm juggling a lot AND reading other stuff too so I am far from having explored the wide range of options. I can, however, highlight a few I think are likely to be of interest to a danmei-reading audience. Note that of these, I've only read the novels for TGCF, TYQHM, and Daomu Biji, which means that I only know as far as the manhuas have covered for the rest - I haven't read farther than that yet.

A. Tian Guan Ci Fu by Mo Xiang Tong Xiu. The one, the only - this is the official manhua with art by Starember. It tells the story of newly ascended god Xie Lian trying to navigate the intricacies of the heavenly bureaucracy, figure out his place in the world, and understand why a sexy guy in red keeps showing up in his life. (Worst synopsis ever award goes to: ME!). The English translation is currently on episode 77, which has Xie Lian and Hua Cheng in the gambler's den. A volume just ended, which means it's on hiatus temporarily - there's usually a month or two break between volumes - so it'll be back soon!

B. Global Examination by Mu Su Li. Based on the book Global University Entrance Examination, featuring art by E Zi. Global Examination is a story set in a dystopian near-future about a world where groups of people are randomly selected (read: kidnapped and forced) to participate in an "exam" where they have to answer extremely complex puzzles. If they succeed, they get to live and become one of the people who administer the exam. If they fail, they die. Despite the premise sounding dark, it's really not been so bad and I've been reassured it won't become so. The story itself focuses on You Huo, a recently selected examinee with amnesia, the other people in his examinee group, and Examiner 001, who clearly has some kind of history with You Huo. If only he didn't also have amnesia, we might even know what that history is...

C. Dinghai Fusheng Records and Legend of Exorcism, both based on the books of the same names written by Fei Tian Ye Xiang. The art for Dinghai Fusheng Records is by Qianerbai (who has also done a lot of work for the Mo Dao Zu Shi audio drama) and for Legend of Exorcism, it's by Warp. These stories are set in the same 'verse, at least several hundred years apart; it's a xianxia high-fantasy setting, and the main enemies are resentment monsters and demons (...or are they? dun dun duuuun). Dinghai Fusheng Records takes place, chronologically, first, and occurs a couple hundred years after a calamity caused all qi to fade from the world - there are only mortals, and no one can cultivate. It follows Chen Xing, a young man born with a gift, as he seeks his protector - Xiang Shu - and others, and they encounter (surprise!) unspeakable evil. Legend of Exorcism takes place in the "future" of Dinghai Fusheng Records, and focuses on Kong Hongjun, a half-demon boy who has received a summons to join the Exorcism Department, as he explores the mortal world for the first time and gets to know the others who have summoned to join the Department, especially the mortal leader Li Jinglong.

D. Daomu Biji titles, originally by Nanpai Sanshu. There are two DMBJ titles on Bilibili right now, though both only have a few chapters, and the website lists them as "on hiatus." I've read them both, and am not entirely sure what's up with one especially, but... Grave Robbers' Chronicles starts where Book 1 starts, with changes of course but it's quite recognizable as the initial "Wu Xie is brought a silk scroll and gets curious and then Wu Sanxing gets involved" plot line. The Grave Robbers' Chronicles Seven Dreams is...odder...and as far as I can tell is an alternate canon/AU which starts with a "what if" of "what if the Zhang's were incredibly abusive, raised child!Zhang Qiling themselves, and Wu Xie and he met as kids." It's. Um. Extremely weird. And not for those sensitive to kids getting beaten bloody. But I'm still hoping they'll release more than 9 chapters, if only because I'm curious.

E. A Single Strike of Shimmering Frost, based on the novel A Sword of Frost by Yu Xiao Lanshan. This one opens with the Prince Ji Yanran approaching Sect Master Yun Yifeng, who runs a sect of spies and information collectors, to ask for help finding an item that has been stolen from the palace. In exchange, he promises to give Yun Yifeng the cure to an ailment that plagues him. Problem 1: he doesn't actually have this cure. Problem 2: everywhere they go people start dying. Problem 3: catching feels for the pretty Sect Master. Despite having the trappings of xianxia, this story has actually thus far been a sequence of murder mysteries with politics-related causes.

F. Saved the Public Enemy By Mistake by Liu Muqiao. If this is based on a novel, I haven't been able to track it down. It's xianxia; demon immortal cultivator Liu Jianghe shows up, nearly dead, on the doorstep of famed doctor Lu Jiu who is just trying to live a quiet life in seclusion. Not knowing who Liu Jianghe is, Lu Jiu saves him, and thus stumbles into a mess of politics and history he doesn't understand...but nothing is actually how it seems, there's amnesia and hidden back stories galore, there's a heavy side plot of sword lesbians, and honestly I've read like 50 chapters and I'm still a little lost but the art is pretty and I really need to read the reveal on the two MCs history together so I'm sticking with it. Warning that it's got a fair amount of blood and gore.

G. Those Years in Quest of Honor Mine by Man Man He Qi Duo. A historical (non-cultivation) setting focused on politics, machinations, and the long history and deep love between Zhong Wan - former top-scorer on the national exam who lost his position when his adopted father was accused of treason - and Yu She, of dubious parentage and believed by most people to be the bastard son of the Emperor. I loved the book for this, and finding out that the manhua was on Bilibili is a lot of what drove me to download the app.

So - that's everything I'm currently reading: 6 titles inspired by explicitly BL danmei titles, 2 based on other books I like that aren't BL, and 1 BL that just looked interesting and my taste.

There's SO MUCH MORE, seriously. I'm going to be reading on this app for months and still finding more, I'm positive of it.

But unforth, I hear you say, there's some other manhua I want to read! What about Mo Dao Zu Shi? What about Erha? Are those on Bilibili? Can I read them? And the answer, sadly, is no. Those two are published by Kuaikan, which does not offer free legal English translations at this time. But! I am holding out hope that if the audience for Bilibili grows, other manhua publishers will see the profitability in emulating them. I cannot guarantee that anything we do will result in this happening, but I do feel pretty confident that if we don't read with the options currently available, we sure ain't likely to get more options.

SO. GO FORTH. READ THE THINGS I'VE MENTIONED. READ OTHER THINGS. COME BACK AND TELL ME WHAT YOU LOVED SO I HAVE SOME IDEA WHAT TO READ NEXT.

PLEASE.

I'm begging. GO READ MANHUA!!!

RIGHT NOW.

ON BILIBILI.

(and signal boost this post to get other people to do the same!! help the small fandoms grooooow! I really just wrote all of this so I'd have someone to scream with about the current awful that is the recent chapters of Legend of Exorcism PLEASE WE ALL NEED SQUEEMATES COME READ!!! THE THINGS! THEY'RE GOOD! WITH PRETTY ART!)

[unforth]

I'm loving Prince Jin's plan to just lie to Sect Master Yun and use him then move on slowly dissolve into gay panic. Here, borrow my coat...actually, you can keep it...actually...

...fuck he smiled at me and did that looking up through his eyelashes thing and fuck fuck fuck. The blushing. Oh, the blushing. 🤣🤣🤣 So princey boy whatcha think he's gone do when he finds out you're wasting some of what little time he has left on a false promise of hope and your personal theft tracking bs? Hmmmmmmmm I wonder...bet thats gonna end great...

(God I hope I've finally got their names right, I'm a dozen chapters of manhua in that oughta be enough for me to learn the names of the members of the main ship... 😅)

[tentacledwizard]

Come Look At Shark Movie Posters With Me

As a patron of the arts, it is my job to find and review pieces that others might overlook. Recently, I found some intriguing movie posters, all of which belong to a single genre- the low-quality shark movie (also called the sharksploitation genre). Despite the blatant scientific inaccuracies, I took it upon myself to share these unique artworks with the world.

     Now, this one is a classic. “Sharknado,” the title proclaims in a bold gradient red. “Enough said!” This poster knows exactly what it’s trying to communicate. It doesn’t talk down to the audience. It already assumes we understand what it’s about. After all, a clever portmanteau of “shark” and “tornado” can only mean one thing! I am really blown away (no pun intended) by the complex wordplay and bold statement of this poster. 

The visuals are striking (it has a nice orange and blue color contrast, a staple of great posters everywhere). Of course, the sharknado is front and center. The spinning, cartilaginous vortex is creating fire and explosions for some reason- showing its nature as an otherworldly, diabolical force. A Ferris wheel topples into the stock-image inferno. There’s no time for leisure when this sort of catastrophe descends on your city. 

     The sharks themselves are excellent, mainly Great Whites with one mako. All of them appear to be screaming bloody murder, their denticles (shark scales) shimmering against a dark tornado. Two of them seem to be the same image flipped around. There’s an element of tragic nobility among these creatures. They were just minding their own business before getting sucked into a horrible, never-ending spiral. These sharks are somehow alive above land. They’re tough. They’re survivors. They never wanted to be a weather phenomenon, and they could have lived peaceful fishy lives without ever seeing Los Angeles. Are their open jaws a sign of aggression, or a cry for help? 

  RATING: 4.7 out of 5. This poster is fin-tastic. Enough said!

This one is interesting. Not as dynamic as the version where Mega Shark was chomping a plane. This time, Giant Octopus is doing the damage, using a ship as a sort of bath toy. The title font is obviously symbolic, portraying Mega Shark as a shiny gold and Giant Octopus as silver. It’s pretty clear who will win in the end. (After all, there was also Mega Shark vs. Crocosaurus. And Mega Shark vs. Kolossus. And Mega Shark vs. Mecha Shark. I think it’s safe to say Mega Shark survives.) 

     Again, there’s an intense orange-blue contrast. This time, though, it’s overdone. It lacks Sharknado’s finesse. There’s some kind of heavy vignette filter, and the colors are dark and dingy. The aptly named leviathans are duking it out. A broken Golden Gate Bridge (?) is seen in the background. This, and the gold font used for Mega Shark, seem to signify a dark night of the soul for our CGI protagonist. As Robert Frost once said, nothing gold can stay. 

   Giant Octopus is dragging Mega Shark down, its papillae spiky. The tip of its arm is in Mega Shark’s mouth. Okay, Giant Octopus. I’ll pretend to not read into it, for your benefit. (And I’m not! After all, a shark’s weapon is its mouth! I’m choosing to ignore… whatever Giant Octopus is doing.)

 RATING: 3. Spicy, but an eyesore. 

  Hmm. Nah.

   I don’t like this poster. It’s very unoriginal. (Look up the poster for Jaws. You’ll see what I mean.) The shark is doing the generic Oh No, Scary Shark pose. Hear that sound in the distance? That’s the sound of violins playing, but they’re clearly part of a bad remix. Also, the lower part of the poster still suffers from an odd-looking vignette effect. This time it’s crimson, because why not.

    I know this is supposed to be about the poster, not the movie, but I’ll say it: Sand Sharks seems like an especially bad movie. I mean what would the plot be? Sharks bursting out of the sand and surprising literally no one because people could see the dorsal fins and get off the beach? 

   So, we have the mandatory Bikini Woman who will become shark chow very soon. She’s laying down on the sand without a towel or anything, pushing her chest up in this super convincing pose. Then there’s the shark, who has concerningly needle-like, snaggly teeth. (Wait, I just looked it up. Turns out snaggletooth sharks are a thing. I apologize to any snaggletooth sharks out there, all of you are amazing.) Here’s my main question: how did Generic Shark find Bikini Woman? Generic Shark’s ampullae of Lorenzini are clearly visible. Ampullae of Lorenzini are used for electroreception, which is this incredible sixth sense sharks have. I can’t go into long paragraphs about this so I suggest you look it up (it’s awesome). But Generic Shark is swimming under sand, so it wouldn’t be able to use electroreception and find prey. How does it know where Bikini Woman (or anyone) is? Also, how does it breathe? How does it swim? Why would it evolve to swim in sand, when it could evolve to better hunt seals? Sharks don’t even think humans taste good, so why-

   Sorry about that, it was getting long. RATING: 2. Blah. 

   Now THAT’S what I’m talking about! 

    Really, where do I begin? This is incredible. Cathartic. Powerful. From the very original name to the beautifully rendered detail, this has watered my crops, cured my loneliness, etc etc etc. The title is a rich scarlet, and it’s luminescent against the crashing waves. Sure, the tagline describes Jurassic Shark as a “dinosaur from the deep” even though dinosaurs are reptiles, but I can excuse that.   

    Jurassic Shark is a looker for sure. He (Pretty sure it’s a he) has a huge, cavernous mouth framed by excellent teeth. (Again, no offense to snaggletooth sharks.) He’s the focal point, as he should be. A primordial emotion simmers in his handsome black eyes: hangriness. He’s presumably been dormant for a while, so of course he’d swallow the nearest big thing in hopes of sating a hunger too big for this time period. Around him, the ocean froths and convulses. Rain pours down from the heavens, signaling the arrival of this Cetus-like, deific megalodon. I may need some cold water, it’s just that good.

     Of course, there’s a Bikini Woman, wearing a bikini in the middle of a storm for some reason. She’s jumping off a boat, apparently preferring to drown rather than experience the honor of being consumed by Jurassic Shark. Rusty flames pour from the mangled boat, highlighted by glittering sparks. Take notes, Mega Shark. This is an excellent orange-blue contrast. A helicopter hovers just above Jurassic Shark, helpfully illuminating his many scrapes and scratches. I find myself unable to stop staring at this. 

RATING: 5. A modern masterpiece. It feels unfair to judge this against the others.

I was planning on putting Dinoshark here, but then I learned that the movie’s subject is not a dino or a shark. It’s a pliosaur. So you’ll have to stick with Shark Exorcist.

     Anyway, this poster shows the presumable Shark Exorcist, who is surprisingly not wearing a bikini. Clad in an oily black exorcist outfit, he lifts up a cross glowing with a divine power. His pose seems to say, Get smote, you hideous burnt toast! Take a swim in some holy water.

   Said burnt toast is the shark. His skin is charred and peeling, cracking open to reveal red-hot flesh. Probably representing one of the seven deadly sins. Or it’s a metaphor for getting a sunburn. Demon Shark is hocking up a big fiery spitball, and he’s bursting out of the… sand? Water? Who knows.

    Actually, this particular shark is a mere puppet piloted by the Devil. The big guy, Satan himself. Sharks are often demonized in the media, and this movie really went the extra mile! I feel bad for the shark, though. 

    Above the shark/Devil, the tagline reads: SATAN HAS JAWS. I’m kind of confused by this message. So before possessing a shark, Satan didn’t have jaws? Interesting. The whole poster has no visual contrast so it just seems like a burnt orange mess. The color scheme could work, but it doesn’t here. 

 RATING: 2.5

   Ah, yes. Jaws, the big snappy mother of all low-quality shark movies. The actors hated each other and the animatronic shark kept breaking, but they still managed to make a film that gets paraphrased over and over, as exemplified by the low-budget movies I already discussed. 

    But then a terrible thing happened. Jaws tried to paraphrase itself. The resulting sequels are widely regarded as paragons of horrible selachian fiasco films. One of the most infamous is Jaws: The Revenge. Let’s see whether the poster is as bad as the movie. 

   At first glance, it’s nicely put together. The colors are crisp and saturated. I bet I could taste those blues if I licked my screen enough. Which I might, just to feel something. Anything. I also like how they replaced the A in Jaws with the shark’s snout. This shark doesn’t have time for your franchise name. It’s suffered through some horrible, no-good, very bad sequels. (Assuming it’s the same shark the whole time. I haven’t watched the sequels.) The whole poster has this really nice painterly aesthetic. Nice lighting and shading, too. You can see the sparkling water droplets as they crash onto the boat. But Why Did They Write The Tagline Like This? It Looks Kinda Weird With The Rest Of The Poster. Still, “This Time It’s Personal” is absolutely iconic. One of the greatest taglines ever written. I will use it as a positive affirmation when I’m feeling bad, it’s just that awesome and motivational. 

     The foreground looks cool. It’s a pivoting boat with a similarly diagonal blonde on top of it, grabbing an oversized toothpick. The cerulean waters ripple as she prepares to face off against the dashing Carcharodon carcharias splashing around in the water. Not much else to say there, let’s move on to the shark.

     The shark is great, just fantastic. It’s clearly a great white and I LOVE the sharp layered teeth. Just look at those pearly whites. Amazing. It jumps out of coruscating waves, presumably to invite Blonde Lady for a swim. Its eyes reflect the red letters surrounding it. Nice touch. 

RATING: 5. Awful movie, great poster.

  Okay, this poster is not as bad as it could have been. I’m still not sure whether it’s a sequel to 5-Headed Shark Attack (“You can’t SURVIVE the FIVE!”). It probably is. How that shark keeps growing heads is anyone’s guess. 

    So, this poster shows a wobbling boat, exploding in a spray of orange Cheeto dust. A Bikini Woman jumps overboard (again), because she’s anti-Cheetos? I’m not sure. It’s not like jumping off will do anything in this situation. It’ll probably get her eaten faster. 

     The title leaves little to interpret, and the tagline is a brilliantly poetic stroke of genius (as usual). A shark head bites off part of the A in ATTACK. I’ve found this sort of thing is very common in shark movie posters. Sharks just don’t have time for your titles. 

     Each shark head is very busy consuming a mangled person (or letter). I’m amazed by this poster’s homage to Goya; namely, his painting Saturn Devouring His Son. The poster draws upon the unsettling feeling shown in the first artwork, giving it a unique spin by making Saturn the six-headed shark. Limbs dangle from each mouth as the creature goes into a frenzy. It contrasts nicely with the tropical colors and blast of cheese powder. Normally I’d wonder how a six-headed shark digests several people from several heads, but since it’s obviously symbolic I’ll let it slide. 

    Still, the whole poster is kind of a mess. Who thought a six-headed shark was a great idea for an on-budget movie? It seems rather jarring and schlocky, what with the heads all having the same pose and expression. 

RATING: 3.5. Not bad, but not excellent. Okay, I may have picked too many posters.

   This is the last one on the list, and everything’s coming full circle now. Remember Mega Shark vs. Giant Octopus, and how the two creatures seemed rather cuddly? According to this poster, they got really cuddly, and now their child is learning the family trade.

    Okay, that’s not true. Apparently the titular Sharktopus was “created for the military,” but that doesn’t matter. Mega Shark/Giant Octopus is canon! Observe their hybrid child, with his glossy skin and random spikes around his gills. Just look at those tentacles. Yes, technically they’re arms. But still, just look at the way they loop around Bikini Woman’s leg as she attempts to look afraid. Notice the way she puts her hand in Sharktopus’s mouth. It keeps happening! (I jest. The Sharktopus OTP is Sharktopus/Whalewolf.) Passion gleams in his dark eyes, while Bikini Woman stares at his mouth in slack-jawed fascination.  

   The background is a nice contrast to the dark allure of the scene. It’s a plasticky turquoise ocean that shines under an unseen sun, a backdrop to the incredible CGI happening before us. It’s just so excellent. Sharktopus looks like he’s been dipped in clear varnish, and his mottled, bruise-colored tentacles allude to his tumultuous youth. It also alludes to the fact that he’s part octopus, and octopuses are awesome. I know I say that about a lot of things, but octopuses are mind-explodingly incredible. The idea of a shark/octopus hybrid is a gift from the Muses themselves, delivered to whatever mystic prophet was brave enough to make this film and subsequent poster. 

RATING: 4.5. Very cool.

That brings us to the end of my list. I hope you enjoyed our dive into the selachian fine arts. It’s important to note that I don’t condone the mistreatment or endangerment of sharks. Despite what these movies may communicate, sharks are not demonic and bloodthirsty. The biggest one isn’t even carnivorous! Plus, meat-eating sharks dislike the taste of human flesh. Most “attacks” were the shark taking a nibble, then spitting the person out! These low-quality shark movies have been criticized for making more people hate and fear sharks. I encourage anyone reading this to actually learn stuff about sharks because they are cool.

     Still, these posters will live on as shining examples of what happens when some guy named Spielberg says, “You know what would freak people out? SHARKS,” and then everyone else agrees. These posters are surprisingly deep and artistic. They form an entire galaxy of 1-star reviews, shining brightly amidst the murky “high-budget” shark movies. Who knows, Sharknado may well outshine The Meg in a few years! Let me know if there are other schlocky masterworks I can review. I’m always on the lookout for modern classics.

[casspurrjoybell-17]

HEART'S BLOOD - CHAPTER 43

*Warning: Adult Content*  

Within minutes, members of the Hunter pack are reassembled outside, all as wolves, all ready to strike out across the land in search of their quarry. 

Dane Hunter had bought one of Julian Hart’s shirts down from their room and everyone had taken the scent. 

Freya Hunter wrinkles her nose and squints at Dane when it is her turn.

“You sure it’s his?” she asks. 

“Because it smells of you.”

Dane takes another sniff and Turns Julian’s shirt inside out. 

“Try this side,” he says, refusing to acknowledge the heat building in his face as everyone sniffs it again and a number of confused expressions clear. 

Martin Hunter grins at Dane after his turn.

“Oh. I wondered why Julian smelt like your...”

“He looks good in this shirt,” Dane says, cutting Martin off with a glare. 

“Now shift.”

Martin smirks but does as he is told, taking the shape of a medium-sized grey wolf. 

Of the three triplets, Noah is the smallest with the darkest coat and Travis is lighter and largest with thick grey-white fur. 

Dane’s mother is a gigantic artic-white and his father has shorter limbs and shorter red-brown fur. 

Joseph Hunter looks more suited for the desert than the cold Northern wastes but he says the snow doesn’t bother him. 

Freya Hunter looks like Dane, black fur with golden tips, were Sasha and Ingrid are pale brown and grey. 

Lastly there is Monty Hunter. 

He is something else. 

Bigger than his brother, Dane or the Hunter sibling’s mother.

 His coat is soft and milk-chocolate brown and his face looks almost like a domestic dog than a wolf, with shorter ears and large friendly eyes. 

Dane shifts last and with his father’s permission, lets the pack around the house and sets off across the open land. 

They run together, two or three abreast. 

The snow is starting to fall more thickly now, white flakes drifting in blinding swirls but they keep their noses down and let the scent lead them.

‘My mind is different as a wolf.’ 

‘I sense more and think less.’ 

‘I feel and hear the crunch of frozen grass and snow beneath my paws, the whistle and sigh of the cold wind and the soft touch of the snow as it settles on my fur.’ 

‘Colors are less intense but the depth of smell more than makes up the difference.’ 

‘I smell the faded warmth of last summer’s sun roasted grass, the crystalized water in every clear, frozen stream and the promise of life in the dark earth lying dormant beneath the frost.’ 

‘All of that and more flicks across my mind in a series of rapid images until at last a single, precious scent shows me what my heart beats for, what I need as badly as food or water or air.’ 

‘My mate.’

Dane sprints across the rough, open ground and gains the crest of a low rise, looking down into the slight depression of the land on the other side. 

A figure approaches through the snow and looks up at Dane with a pale startled face. 

Dane can almost see them as Julian does. 

A single wolf appearing suddenly above him at the top of the hill, then two, then three and then four, eight, ten... all ranged the ridge and looking down at him with hunt-like eyes. 

For Dane it’s been almost nine months since the night he was subjected to the terror of the hunt but for Julian it’s been barely three and the fee is much fresher in his mind. 

Dane sees Julian draw up short, sensing the quickening of his heartbeat and his breath, the instinctual reaction of an animal when it realizes it is prey. 

Even as Dane shifts back to a man, he sees the air around Julian shimmer.

‘I hate it when he does this... when he uses his ‘Fey Gift’ to go ‘Unseen’.’ 

‘I’m always afraid that this time... This time he will vanish and he won’t reappear...’

“Julian, wait.” Dane cries, reaching for Julian across the distance that lies between them. 

It’s only a dozen meters or so but it seems like a vast expanse of air.

 Julian hesitates and looks up at Dane through the whirling snow. 

He fades and then grows more solid once more as he realizes there is no danger, after all.

“Dane? What the actual fuck?” Julian’s eyes travel Dane’s naked form, then moves to each of the rest in turn. 

The others remain in wolf form and look down at Dane and Julian with sharp, predatory eyes. 

Dane stumbles towards Julian, catching at his thin jacket, which is all the young Fey wears over his thermal running gear.

“Are you alright?” Dane asks.

“Of course I’m alright,” Julian frowns. 

“I just went for a run and spent some time in the woods over there.” he says, points behind him towards the edge of the National forest that boarders the Hunter’s land.

“Spent some time?” Dane repeats breathlessly, finding it difficult to get enough air. 

“How much time?”

“I don’t know?” Julian says, shrugging. 

“An hour maybe.”

“Julian,” Dane says, looking down at his mate and shaking his head. 

“It’s almost dark. You’ve been gone since noon.”

“Oh,” Julian frowns. “

Sorry.”

‘Julian has done this a few times before... gone off somewhere alone and come back later thinking he’d been gone minutes when hours had passed.’

“Julian,” Dane says, falling to his knees before Julian, grasping him around the waist and holding on tight. 

“Please, sweetheart, don’t do this to me. Don’t leave me behind again. I don’t think I can bare it. I can’t...”

Meanwhile, the rest of the wolves descend the slope and circle Dane and Julian, sitting in a ring with the werewolf and his Fey lover at the center.

“Dane, I’m sorry,” Julian says, shaking his head. 

“I think this might just be part of what I am. Like this...” he gestures the pack of wolves surrounding him. 

“... is part of what you are. Can you love me anyway, even though it scares you? Even though you are not sure what the future holds?”

Julian’s deep purple eyes hold Dane’s and the handsome werewolf sees hope and fear and love in their depths and he can only nod.

“Yeah,” Dane says. 

“I can do that easy. I’ll love you until I die, Julian. I’m just afraid that someday you’ll go somewhere I can’t follow. I’ll wait for you forever but you don’t know how much that hurts. You have no idea how much...”

Dane’s voice hitches and Julian’s mouth lifts in a half-smile.

“Don’t I?” Julian asks softly, snow chilled fingers brushing the sides of Dane’s face. 

“Before I met you, I though I was a relatively normal guy. Now I’ve got Faerie Blood and werewolf in-laws. I don’t even know what I am anymore. I just know that I love you.”

“I know what you are,” Dane says, rising to his feet an pulling Julian closer, feeling the warmth of his mate against him. 

“Oh, Yeah? What?” Julian asks, smiling.

“You are Pack,” Dane replies, kissing him.

All around Dane Hunter (Alpha Werewolf) and his mate, Julian Hart (Fey Psychic), the Hunter Family/Pack break into wild joyful song.

                                             ~ THE END ~

[missvalerietanner]

Red Skies in Mourning | Excerpt | "Home"

Harry stands still beneath the creature’s hulking shadow. His nerves solidify to stone; he breathes hard through flared nostrils as fresh oxygen flows around him, chilling his skin and frosting the inside of his helmet on every controlled exhale.

He opens his eyes. A single eyeball fills his vision—a massive orb with a long, oval pupil, constricted tight in the brilliant light of day. Dark freckles of orange and blue cover the surface, shimmering between a flurry of colors faster than he can blink until settling on a deep brown. The pupil widens with recognition. 

This close; Harry feels the weight of the creature in its very presence.This impossible thing, terrifying in its size like an insurmountable mountain but beautiful in its strangeness like an eclipse. And he can’t stop himself from staring as if lulled into a trance just by looking. 

Te’k e’nark de varb.

The creature speaks from some unseen mouth. Harry’s head aches, and he feels a wetness on his upper lip. His tongue explores and draws back the bitter taste of copper.

De varb.

The throbbing in his head grows louder, angrier. His muscles are paralysed. He can’t move; no, he won’t move. He waited all these years, suffered all this time, lost everything and everyone he ever swore to protect; he will not surrender now.

The taste of copper invades in his mouth; he feels the blood dripping in a steady flow from his nose and filling his mouth as the flood seeks some escape, some place to overflow. He coughs from the fullness of it, from the horrible taste. The violent splatter of red against his helmet make his entire body jump in fright. 

De varb.

Harry blinks. The throbbing in his head consumes him, bleeds into his vision and darkens it. A high-pitched whine strikes through his ears; they likely bleed now, just as much as his nose.

He blinks again; this time, he cannot open his eyes. He feels his body crumble, feels the sandy floor rise to collide with his body and carry him adrift into unconsciousness.

{Author's Note: The creature is saying something along the lines of "You are like home," or "You smell like home," etc. Also, its speaks telepathically. And also, Harry passes out from the pain of it speaking to him. [/thumbs up].

[luna-the-moth]

OM Character Aesthetics (SFW)

Hello hello lovelies! Just dropping a few aesthetics for all the chars. Requests are still closed, and any requests will be deleted, although my ask box is open to chat! (Luke’s Aesthetic will be platonic)

Reblogs, likes, and comments are greatly appreciated!

Lucifer:

The sound of quills scratching over parchment. Ink, blooming and spreading across its canvas, forming a story of its own. Whispered murmurs of love at midnight. Blood red eyes piercing through the dim moonlight. A familiar melody, yet you can’t seem to find a name for it. Hauntingly empty notes, mourning for a lost one. A vice that can’t be removed, no matter how much one claws at it, yearning for it to disappear. Pride, a double-edged sword.

The welcoming scent of coffee, pitch black. Bitter, yet warming and comforting. Rose petals making their descent, wilting. Red wine swirling in a glass. Tears, dripping down and staining an old letter, weathered by time. An ornate mask, perfected and polished over time. Yet a small crack makes its way to the surface.

Mammon:

Glittering coins, cascading onto the floor, sparkling in the dim light. Brash denial, shielding a tender, starved heart. A thinly veiled mask, waiting to be removed. Yearning and infatuation, unvoiced feelings. Reaching out a hand, but being restricted by chains of fearing for the unknown. Shining trinkets, a token of affection. The assurance of a protector.

Angelic eyes, a taste of ambrosia. The swipe of a credit card. The sound of tokens, sliding across a poker table. A subtle glance, hiding your hand. Experienced, calculating eyes, watching for the slightest giveaway. Practiced movements, revealing a complex strategy. But there’s a small opening, a chance to strike, unraveling a soft hesitance.

Leviathan:

The noise of a PC starting up. Winning a battle royal. Ocean waves, lapping against the shore. Diving into crystal clear waters, the water welcoming you.  Nostalgic video game soundtracks, bringing memories of joyous accomplishments. Hesitant, tentative touches. Frustration at oneself for not taking enough chances.

Vivid coral structures, housing various marine life; a hidden kingdom. Feeling the water pull you in, beckoning for your company. Anime OSTs, bringing a sense of life, or death. Watching your favorite character earn their happy ending, a sense of redemption. A brief spark, fingers brushing against each other. A glimmer of hope, in the vast, dark sea.

Satan:

Old parchment, soft, weathered corners pliant in your touch. Crackling fires, the comforting scent of smoke enveloping you. Herbal tea, spreading warmth and healing, felt through your bones. Feline eyes, playful and charming, drawing you closer. The soft mewl of a kitten. Soft paws grasping your hand in their own. A wish to be free from one’s family, one’s heritage. Resentment.

Soft ambience in a forest, welcoming you. Innocent games of footsie under a table. Poetry written in the depths of the night, hidden away from prying eyes. The faintest hint of a fang, a reminder. A steeled mask, refined and elegant. The search for a sense of self. Layers of deception, hiding an unsure soul. A path to acceptance.

Asmodeus:

The sweet, light floral scent of roses. Fabrics rustling, being selected and judged. A steady hand, moving brushes with precision. Poised, sculpted appearances, invisible cracks of insecurity, hidden from harsh judgement. Flirtatious touches, yearning for something meaningful, perhaps even moreso, than romance. Friendship. Platonic affection, friendly hugs.

The clean scent of skincare, the cooling sensation of a cucumber mask across your skin. Shimmering jewels, delicate chains lacing around your neck. A chance encounter, meeting charming stranger, yet to be seen again. Acceptance, assurance that you’re enough. Loving someone as is.

Beelzebub:

Warmth, safety in another’s arms. Comfort food, memories of a happier, nostalgic past. Tasting the batter before it’s baked. The scent of fresh baked bread, permeating your senses, filling your home. Making double batches, yet still needing more. Indulgence in your deepest desires. The sizzling of a grill, promises of food.

Repressed grief, unresolved guilt. Mourning for a loved one. Reconciliation, finding healing. A silent promise of loyalty and protection. Warm encouragement, eyes devoid of judgement. Twilight eyes, filling with love and happiness. Loving wholeheartedly, devoted so long as you both shall live.

Belphegor:

Grief-fueled rage, blind hatred. Helplessness, being bound by your own kin. A flash of hope. Human. A skillful puppeteer, pulling strings to his will, letting a story of loss and anguish unravel. A cruel act of murder, dragged out for his own sick delight. Witnessing rebirth. Realization. Regret. Watching as you heal, afraid to approach you once more. Aching for forgiveness.

A final offer, an olive branch. Whether to take it or not, is your decision. The lull of sleep, pulling you deeper into a different reality altogether. Lazy mornings, the comforter and promise of sleep, tempts you. Comforting scents of lilac and chamomile, blanketing you in a drowsy embrace. A dreamweaver.

Diavolo:

Learning. Developing empathy. Emotional development, struggling to grasp emotions and relationships. Loneliness, yearning for company and friendship. A wish to be free, to embrace life without care. Diving in head first into life, treasuring the journey and experiences. The luxury of being free of responsibility, and having boundless energy to do so. Chained to responsibilities, a kingdom.

Childlike joy, curiosity in your surroundings. Rapturous laughter, echoing throughout a castle’s ancient foundation. Golden, piercing eyes, holding adoration and fascination. A chance at peace for all three realms, a treaty. Regal and powerful. Delight in the simple things. A boyish smile, followed by fleeting kisses.

Barbatos:

Shrouded with mystery. Never quite close enough to decipher. Being held at arms length, a protective measure. Burdened with visions of the future. Servitude, loyalty to one’s master, a butler. Practiced movements, wiping over surfaces, serving a meal. Hidden feelings, masked professionalism, perfected over centuries.

Lingering touches, gloved hands touching your bare ones a second longer. Steaming tea, easing your stance and providing welcoming warmth. Pressing a stamp into melted wax, marking a letter. Polished china. Ancient grimoires, holding power and secrets beyond measure. A charming smile, an offered hand, promising more than one could wish for.

Simeon:

Prophecies of the future, albeit limited. Elegant writing of a script, painting a story of the ages. Carefully orchestrating a plot, extreme irritation at a single mistake. Having one’s own will. Unknown loyalties. Standing alone, with no clear master. Boundless wisdom, freedom to choose one’s own fate.

Soft healing, guidance. Words of honey, soothing and ever so sweet. Doe-like eyes, welcoming and open. Heavenly ties, an angelic gaze, wishing for your well-being. Blindingly white wings, powerful and protective. An angel, bound by not even the heavens themselves, devoted to you.

Solomon:

Unknown intentions, a loyalty to one’s own kind. Unlabelled potions, bubbling and frothing, almost with their own wills. Strange concoctions, inedible to most, except for the being who made them. Mysterious alliances, a lust for power and control. Friendly and teasing, yet distant at the same time. Cautious, weary from time’s hold on humankind.

Teasing smirks, playful winks. The scent of incense, and something else you can’t quite identify. Whispers deep into the night, ancient tongues being revived once more. Ancient glyphs, glowing and encompassing the room in a protective spell. A kiss on the corner of your lips, a taste of what’s yet to come.

Luke

Child-like innocence. Biased views of light and dark, evil and good. Gradual understanding, smoke-tinted glasses clearing anew. Seeing life for what it is, being able to laugh freely. Black and white, swirling to paint the world in strokes of grey. Learning how to choose your own path, to grab destiny by the reigns.

Sunshine, reflecting on and drawing in sunflowers. Flour, dusting footprints. Sugary confections, on display for all to marvel at. Fresh-baked pastries, reminders of childhood. Sweet frosting, artfully spun and woven onto a cake. Pure white lilies, a vow of protection and future guidance.

[fanfic-collection]

Loki x Reader: Apocalypse – 13

Guess who's back, back again, I'm back, tell a friend

-

A shrill scream filled the air.

You instinctively dropped to the snowy ground, making yourself the least visible possible. Turning your head to the side, you opened your mouth to ask Loki, but he was already moving towards the noise.

You lifted your head up over the ridge of the snow and down to the valley-like area below.

A trio of people holding makeshift weapons waved them futilely at a group of frost giants. There had to be at least five of the creatures.

A shorter figure, likely a woman given the shrill scream and the fact that she had a pouch over her shoulder. The pouch squirmed behind her, clinging to her back – an infant.

The other figure was a man. These three seemed to be a family, or so you assumed.

He held out his pitchfork, jabbing at the frost giants ineffectively. Behind him, the woman held a baseball bat and tried to offer support.

Echoes of the frost giants’ laughter rang out to your position.

To your horror, Loki was making a blind dash towards the frost giants. There was a shimmer of magic and a small army of Loki’s appeared around the real one. They rushed the frost giants.

The beasts were surprised by the sudden appearance of Loki. Their attention free from the family, the man stabbed out at one and hit it in the leg.

Loki and his illusions were quickly being cut down. His blindness severely inhibiting him as he spun and dodged, moving around to avoid the vicious strikes of the Jotuns.

You saw a branch on the ground, large enough to work as a club, yet not too heavy to carry.

You took off running down the hill, skittering in the snow, and struggling to stay upright.

Two of the frost giants had fallen and Loki’s small army was dwindling. The man and woman were taking on a single frost giant, though it seemed to be more annoyed than actually struggling. The Jotun was trying to assist its companions with Loki but the couple prevented it from doing any real help.

You rushed in, swinging your club-like log and thwacking the nearest frost giant in the leg.

The club crumpled and snapped, falling to pieces in your hand as you looked up at the frost giant. It stared down at you furiously, raising its spear and aiming it to you.

You froze, realizing that was the prize you and Loki sought.

The Jotun raised the spear and swiped down at you. You threw yourself to the side, your clothing tearing and sending shockwaves of cold through your body. Scrambling in the snow, trying to get back to your feet and facing the frost giant, a pitchfork thrust through the creature.

It fell to its knees and moved no more. You grabbed the spear, nodding your thanks at the man as he tried to remove his pitchfork.

Loki was effectively dancing around the other two frost giants, his sightless eyes preventing him from getting close enough to strike. Especially now that his army had been depleted.

The man struggled to pull the pitchfork free and the woman walked over to you warily.

Bracing yourself, you ran at one of the frost giants with the spear and thrust it into the beast’s abdomen with a satisfying squelch.

This gave Loki the opening he needed to dispatch the last frost giant and look in your general direction. He allowed a small smile, sighing in relief.

“Lady.” The man pointed at your leg. “You’re bleedin’ somethin’ awful.”

You looked down at the gash in your leg and your eyes widened. Swaying slightly, you tried to cover it, but the skin was already freezing. You couldn’t feel your leg, couldn’t feel the pain, and the cold was spreading up your torn clothes.

“What?” Loki asked, looking around blindly.

The man looked at you, glancing at Loki, then tried to find a strip of cloth. “Gotta cover that or you’ll get frost bite.”

Immediately Loki was at your side, a strip of his cloak torn and held out in your general direction. You grabbed it, muttering a thanks and tied it around your leg. A sharp gasp escaped your mouth and you sank to the snowy ground on your knee, unable to hold yourself any longer.

“What’s wrong?” Loki asked, looking around blindly.

“You can’t see?” The man asked.

The woman walked up closer, hugging the bundle to her chest. Soft cries came from within and she began to bounce it.

Loki grit his teeth. “Obviously.”

“Loki…” You started slowly, held up only by the spear butt jammed into the snow.

Loki held his hands out, searching for you blindly until his hand brushed against your arm. He moved his fingers to grip your arm and pull you upright and towards him. “I smell blood.”

You swallowed hard. “Yea, about that.”

“Look, I’m all for politeness and niceties, but it’s almost sundown. We gotta find shelter.” The man said. “I’m Pete though, nice to meet you. Come on, Marzie, we have to keep moving.”

“Where are you headed?” You asked, glancing up at the rapidly setting sun.

“There’s a shelter supposed to be a few miles from here. If we can get there, there’s supposed to be supplies for normal folks. Heroes and government and the like all pitching in to keep everyone alive.”

You nodded. “We should accompany you there.”

“If you don’t mind, lady, I don’t trust strangers. Even if you did save our lives. I saw what those creatures did to my town. They leveled the place, slaughtered… slaughtered everyone inside. We barely made it out.”

“Pete…” Marzie spoke up softly. “He’s freezing, we have to get to shelter.”

Your head felt fuzzy and you looked down at the blood soaking through the rag. It rapidly froze.

Blinking several times, you looked back up at the couple.

“According to our map, there’s a game shed a couple hundred yards from here. If we hurry we’ll make it.”

“Loki, why don’t you make a tent that we can all fit in?” You asked.

Loki’s grip tightened on your arm. “I don’t have anything warm enough, not anymore.”

“What do you mean? You made that tent.”

“Can’t you feel the temperature falling?”

“But that’s just because it’s getting late.”

“No, they’re getting stronger.” Loki shook his head. “The cold is growing, soon it will be as cold as Jotunheim.”

“I don’t know what that feller means, but we’re going to start walking. Take care.” Pete waved.

“We’re coming with you.” Loki stated, his tone making it evident there would be no arguing. “Just tell me what direction to walk.”

Pete held his hand up to point and then quickly lowered it.

“I’ll guide him, just let’s hurry. We don’t have time to argue.”

Pete nodded, wrapping his arm around Marzie and the infant and began trudging through the snow.

You limped along, one arm gripping the spear and the other being held tightly by Loki.

As you walked, you felt yourself growing dizzier and dizzier, cold leaching into your skin from the tear in your clothes. Soon Loki was more carrying you than holding you for guidance.

“We’re not going to make it at this rate.” Loki muttered under his breath.

You focused on walking, not bothering to look at him. “We have to.”

“You have to.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“I don’t need nearly as much shelter.”

“Even still, the night has got to be cold for you, no?”

Loki’s skin was faintly blue, his red sightless eyes hiding secrets. You could make out faint ridges on his skin and realized it wasn’t blue of frost bite as you had feared. But you didn’t press, too exhausted to think.

“There it is!” Pete shouted around chattering teeth. He was shaking so badly he looked like he might fall over.

The infant had grown eerily quiet and Marzie continued hugging and bouncing the bundle of cloths.

The group’s pace doubled and you could finally make out a small shed-like building, less of an actual shelter. But with the snow whipping around you, nearly whiting out your vision, or was that the blood? The drifts beside the shed were massive, gathering up and beginning to cover the roof.

And then, mercifully, Pete was tugging the door open. With the wind buffeting you from behind, the five of you staggered and all but collapsed inside.

The door slammed shut by the wind and you could see the last traces of sunlight vanishing underneath a crack in the door.

Pete and Marzie huddled together in the corner, breath coming in fog as they struggled for warmth.

“How is he?” Pete mumbled.

Marzie dug into the bundle and there was a faint whimper. She let out a sigh of relief. “Alive.”

Loki dragged you to the opposite corner, one hand on the wall to keep himself steady. It was a wonder the spear fit in the shed.

All manner of gardening supplies filled the small room and Loki pushed at them, making a cove for the two of you.

Leaning the spear against the wall, you all but collapsed onto the ground. A soft cry escaped your lips. Loki’s hand had never left your arm and he squeezed it tightly, worry evident in his touch.

“How bad is it?” Loki asked.

“I, I can’t feel it very much. It’s thawing though.”

“We have to get to that actual human shelter. You need real care.”

You let out a sharp gasp as feeling began to return to your leg and you could experience the sensations of pain once more. Whimpering softly, you leaned against the wall. Your back was cold from the rough wood, but it was better to be finally sitting.

Loki sank to the ground. He sat beside you, one hand still on your arm. Slowly he slid it behind your back, around your opposite arm and pulled you into his lap. You sighed at the warmth of his body connecting to yours but it wasn’t enough. With the layers of clothes between the two of you, you would remain cold.

Loki nuzzled his face in your scarf covered neck and moved his free hand to rub your other arm.

With Loki’s gentle touch, you slowly drifted off.

[frangipanidownunder]

Still with me, Scully?: fic

A bad case, a snowstorm, a grumpy Scully, a sorry Mulder in a one-bed tropefest story for your entertainment.

The outside looks promising enough. The neon light blinks Vacancy. A low-slung roof over a festively decorated door, wreath shimmering with silver tinsel and tiny jewel lights twinkling. He chances a look over his shoulder. She’s round-shouldered, down-in-the-mouth, pale like the frost just starting to crackle over the motel windows.

“Still with me Scully?”

She stuffs her hands deep into her pockets and he imagines those fine fingers squeezing the life out of him, her cold eyes glinting as he gasps her name, an apology and a declaration of love all wrapped up one final exhalation. It’s been a bad case. Really bad. Silent treatment for the hours lost on the road. Face turned to the grimy roadside all the way; surely, she has a cricked neck and yet another excuse to beat him up, down and sideways.

The door creaks open and the smell of pine, sawdust and years of lost souls hits him. “Looks all right,” he says, mustering some cheer that isn’t exactly Christmassy but definitely holds a note of the hopefulness that comes at this time of year. The end of something, the beginning of something. A chance to reset. She doesn’t respond, merely checks out the tree in the corner with its bright decorations. He follows her gaze and his eyes rest on a golden bauble in the shape of a teardrop. Of course.

The clerk flumps open a dusty ledger and peruses the listing, umming and ahing ostentatiously. Any minute she’ll explode; he can see the blast brooding in her flaring nostrils and her half-rolled lips. The eyebrow is shooting up and up. Ladies and gentlemen, we have lift off.

“Only one room left,” the clerk declares. “It’s out round back.” He turns and unhooks a loop of keys and gives them to Mulder. “You and the missus’ll be nice and cosy, though. There’s a bucket of firewood in each room. Matches are on the sideboard. TV don’t work but I’m sure you’ve got other ways to keep yourselves occupied. Storm’s coming.”

Yes, it is, Mulder thinks as the keys feel like stone in his hand. He turns to face his partner and swallows. “Um. You still with me, Scully?”

The teardrop on the Christmas tree wobbles and falls to the floor as she lets the door slam behind her.

The room is…cosy. But not in the rich timber panelling, mellow lighting, roaring fireplace, fleecy quilted bed linen and luxurious drapes at the windows kind of way. More the six foot by six foot, dingy broom cupboard way. A single, square window the size of a postage stamp is opaque with dust not frost. The curtains hang limply from a bent pelmet. The sideboard is more like a child’s school desk. He guesses the tv hasn’t worked since colour came in. The fireplace is the only saving grace. Mulder gets to work straightaway, striking each flimsy match from the small book as a penance prayer. Finally, the penultimate redhead catches and he protects the small orange flame of hope with his cupped hands.

“I’m so sorry this happened,” he says to her. She’s on the bed. Or in it, perhaps, because it’s folded up around her making her look like a young orphan fresh off the train at Miss O’Leary’s Home for Young Innocents. She grunts at him and sighs forever.

The fire take hold and he lets himself smile at the small victory. “Ta-da,” he declares with jazz hands that he hopes are conciliatory, but from the raised eyebrow and averted gaze are probably more fuel for her inner fire. How can one be simultaneously icy and fiery? Scully is the enigma of all enigmas.

“I’ll take the…” he looks around for another item of furniture. There is none. “Floor?”

She tuts and rolls the small opal earring around in her right lobe. It catches the reflection of the fire and an amber glow emerges from the pearlescent surround. It’s Scully in an earring, he muses. “It’s okay, Mulder. We’re grown-ups.” She offers him a curt smile, one that says, ‘well at least one of us is’.

“I promise not to play footsie,” he says as the fire licks and spits. “If you promise not to drool on me.”

Between her fingers, she’s made a knot of the coverlet. She drops it, straightens it out and slides him a smile, somewhere between a white flag and a red flag. He can’t quite work out which it is, but the room is warming up and maybe she’s thawing a little too.

The fire burns out some time during the small hours. His feet and the small of his back are exposed and his brain is unhelpfully supplying all the dumb things he’s ever done during their partnership. It’s quite the extensive playlist. He can’t move, because he’ll wake her. But he does lift his head to see her nested in the pillow, face like an angel, a russet halo framing her forehead. The delicacy of her snoring is somewhat comforting, the salve for the burn his mind is meting out.

There’s a weighty silence around them. The profound quiet of a snowfall. Through the slit in the curtain he thinks he can see the rising accumulation on the window sill. The blind face of the tv screen is visible in the strange light. He stares at it like he might on one of his usual insomniac nights. What’s the difference between a blank screen and a movie he’s seen a hundred times? The mind-stultifying effect is what he’s seeking.

She shifts. Turns to him and the tip of her nose brushes his. She blows out a slightly acidic breath and it warms him more than she’d consider medically possible. But Dr Scully doesn’t know everything. They’re both as uneducated when it comes to affairs of the heart. True affairs of the heart, not the hormone or power fuelled relationships they’ve both endured in the past. He loves her. She loves him. It’s as clear as the pure snow that’s undoubtedly settling outside. But it’s easier to plough through life without acknowledging the build-up, without gritting the paths to make their way through safer. No, they’ll be wading through knee-high snow for a while to come.

His sigh is louder than he anticipated and her eyes flicker open. “Sorry, Scully,” he whispers and she twitches her nose, wets her lips. She wriggles her hands between her legs and her knees boop his groin. Now it’s her turn to apologise. Although it’s debatable who’s more embarrassed. “Do you want me to start the fire again?”

“Wazzatime?”

“Too early for coffee, too late for coffee. Want coffee?”

She nods and he gets up, starts the fire first time and fumbles for the kettle and supplies. She’s found an extra pair of woolly socks and slips them on. Her crumpled appearance makes him almost fold in half. She’s a glorious sight to behold. His eyes take her in and he finds his breath again. He realises in that moment he would dearly sell his soul to the devil to wake up with her every morning and make her coffee. He hands her a cup and crawls next to her, so their feet are both flat to the flames, thighs pressed together.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, and his heart lights up.

“It’s snowing.”

“Figures.”

“Think you could bear another night here?”

She dips her mouth to the coffee. “Seems to me there won’t be much of a choice if the car’s stuck.” She takes another sip. “Everything is working against us, here.”

“Seems that way. Can’t win a trick.”

“But you do make a good fire, Mulder. So consider that a win.”

He does. He considers it the win of the century. Up there with the Knicks smashing the 76ers in 94.

“So you’re still with me, Scully?”

She rubs his ankle with her fuzzy socks and he lifts his foot so that hers slips under his. “Always,” she whispers and the coffee suddenly tastes like a promise of something better to come.

[somediyprojects]

#81: Archangel— October 25, 2004

This angel, robed in rich blues and greens, was inspired by the beautiful statues in Baroque Cathedrals and images in Renaissance paintings. He is a heavenly messenger with a gold halo and staff accentuated with golden threads and beads. You can keep his message mysterious or add your own special date or thought onto his rolled scroll.

#82: The Petal Fairy— December 1, 2004

This fairy seamstress created her ensemble out of gathered bits and pieces from an English cottage garden. She stitched her frock with lilly petals that shimmer with vivid shades of deep fuchsia and mandarin orange. Complete with gauzy lavender wings and blossoms on her delicate slippers, she contemplates her next gown made entirely of blushing petals while gazing up at a fiery red poppy.

#83: The Feather Fairy— January 27, 2005

Become lost in the splendors of blue and green with this prancing miniature fashion muse. With delicate iridescent wings and velvety feathered skirt, she breaths new life into an age old craft. Cross-stitch and decorate the everyday with textures from nature mixing grace and color from head to toe.

#84: Enchanted Mermaid— April 1, 2005

This striking sea nymph comes alive with metallic threads, beads and treasures. It will surely be one of your favorite designs. Use the crystal treasures listed or adorn her with any meaningful beads that you feel are worthy of this beautiful mermaid.

#85: Mermaids of the Deep Blue— August 26, 2005

Two daughters of the sea swim gracefully toward treasure lost. Their tails sparkle like diamonds and emeralds. Their hair flows around them like veils of silk. They are real and fairytale combined to become beauties of the deep.

#86: Garden Beauty— October 1, 2005

This is a classic and timeless heirloom design. A rosarian tends to her English garden. Her dusty blue satin gown is accented with clusters of precious antique beads. The fairy tale border drips with roses, gems, and lush velvet brown ribbons. It is pure garden romanticism.

#87: Forest Goddess— December 3, 2005

She wears a berry dyed satin dress with crystal dew drops around her neck. A gold locket on her belt holds dripping beads and petals. The moss green cloak envelopes her with ivy and berries from the forest floor. Sparkling fireflies dance in her earthen locks and all about as she balances nature between her fingertips.

#88: The Stargazer February 1, 2006

White glowing stars reflect over a gown of satin ribbons and brocade. The dress is stitched in soft greys and dusty blues and covered in swirling starry beads. As the lady watches the sky filled with luminous diamonds she wishes upon them all. Dreams placed on a star really can come true.

#89: The Bliss Fairy— April 1, 2006

Delicately perched on a curling ribbon of grass, she is caught in a serene moment of peaceful meditation. She dons a dress skirted with green and blue leaves. Her arms and legs are draped with beads. If she is disturbed her dew laced wings will scatter droplets and she will flutter away. You will wonder if you even saw her at all!

#90: White Christmas— June 1, 2006

On Christmas Eve the Gothic windows were laced with frost. Icicles gleam as the snow flutters in silence. A lady in red cups her hands around a single snowflake and tiny crystal snow drops are scattered across her plush, velvet cape. May all of your Christmas Eves be filled with magical beauty and peace.

[cnovelartreblogs]

Screencap from “A Single Strike of Shimmering Frost” manhua, based on the book “A Sword of Frost” by Yi Xiao Lanshan. Art by Hua Tengteng. Published by Bilibili; you can read it (legal and free and in English!) on their app or website - here!

[unforth]

Or:

[enavance]

swansong.

( ao3 link. )

𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐬,   𝐨𝐡,   𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐬   . . .   𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐥𝐟𝐬 𝐮𝐬,   𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐚𝐝𝐞.

oblivion has never felt so empty.

oblivion has never felt so cold.

freezing,   sharp in its cut,   bone   -   chilling in its slice,   bitter in its piercing sting.   it lays its glacial hands upon everything in its path and drags it all down into the depths of an abysmal void,   endless in its bleak and dark emptiness,   and yet all the same,   it is filled with every imaginable horror to tear any soul asunder.

it coils around warm,   living flesh in thin,   ghostly wisps like haunting wraiths with fraying hands of brittle bone,   fragmenting,   fracturing,   splintering,   tracing skin in its pin   -   prick needling touch,   leaving traces of its phantom touch that ever remain steadfast in their haunting,   in the heavy,   suffocatingly thick miasma following in pursuit to envelope everything in its vicinity.

no hope remains.   there is nothing.

nothingness is a heavy weight,   a sinking sensation burrowing into the pit of her stomach.   she has burned out all of her light.   devoid of warmth,   devoid of even the smallest kindling fire that once lit her world and its dawning horizon in the shrouds of ever lingering darkness,   there is no strength left within her.   each shifting bone,   every twisting tendon and twitching muscle,   is agonizing.   agonizing in the physical pain of movement,   and agonizing in the emotional detriment in the realization that moving would mean ruination.   it means finality.   certainty.   an end to an end,   an end which she isn’t ready for.

but it is already over.   it has already ended.

but for cherry,   it hasn’t ended completely,   not until she takes that first daunting step,   the first step in leaving,   in leaving all of this behind once and for all.

all of this emptiness,   this boundless well of sinking,   drowning,   darkness,   she must leave it behind.   the world goes on,   she knows this intimately,   beyond everything and all else,   and still,   she cannot find it within herself to rise,   to so much as shift in place,   to reach a hand forth and crawl.

perhaps it is the wound in her back,   a deeply carved gash in the lower back of her torso and trickling blood sapping what little strength that remained,   but   . . .   it is so much more than that of her dwindling strength.   her will falters.   her will and drive to rise,   her will to continue on and press forward.   there is so much that she has lost already,   and she finds herself at a painful crossroads once more,   faced with an insurmountable loss and a world   -   shattering wellspring of grief that pulls her beneath its surface,   but she cannot even drown.   a prisoner to torment that cannot even hurt her,   and yet she cannot escape.   forever bound,   chained like a beast to a vision that has met its fate.   it’s too late.   there is no changing it.   it has become of the past,   something she must move on from,   but she clings and she clings and she clings,   and by the gods,   does she cling.

the darkness engulfs her.   it swallows her.   it consumes her.   it is all around,   pressing upon her shoulders,   sliding over her body like a softened blanket that sought to bring her comfort.

his arms.   she feels them.   the weight of them,   their warmth.   she feels his chest upon her back,   his arms circling around her torso to pull her in.   she feels his breath upon her head,   soft,   gentle,   like a low   -   passing wind sending stray burgundy strands flying astray.

she sees the crinkle to his eyes.   a crinkle in disdain,   annoyance,   ire,   amusement,   laughter,   love.   his twisting lips,   his rolling eyes,   those flaring nostrils whenever he delivers a dramatically punctuated huff.

the rising lilt of his voice when something tickled his sense of humor,   whenever his characteristic sarcasm met his tongue.   it irritates her,   and yet she’s endeared nevertheless.

their traded blows,   in her flying fists catching in his palms,   in sharpened quips and biting wit.   he set her temper ablaze as much as she to him,   but too often,   she caught herself smiling so crookedly in all of her subtleness and finds a matching glimmer in gilded eyes.

he is a withering rose of hardened thorns.   thorns not yet dull,   just as sharp,   and just as deadly,   but his petals fray.   they wilt and curl and dry and brown and fade into dust.   there is much of his world,   of his every love and passion and burning stars,   that he has lost.   in all of his flaws,   in all of his misgivings,   in all of his faults and deepening cracks in stone,   he does this for love.   love of his world,   love of his home,   love of those he once held dear and lost.

cherry understands this far too well.

she was never meant to save him.   there was never going to be away to help him.   even if she offered him her hand,   he would have broken her wrist to tear her world and every shard asunder to resurrect his own.   and though she understands his pain,   his grief,   there is no justification for the methods to his madness.

there was little choice,   but this.

put an end to someone she’s grown so painfully fond of,   even for all of the times she wished to wrap her hands around his throat and bring her claws down into his flesh,   or lose everyone else,   everything else,   that grows heavy in her heart.

she hears his voice in her head,   even now.   in all of his snark,   his every snide and tearing remark,   in all of those rare moments of softness and vulnerability.   he shared much of himself,   with all of his wealth of knowledge that opened her eyes to a life that once was,   of his,   of hers.   it set a deep rooted yearning within her.   its gnarling,   thorned brambles curled around her heart and squeezed in this dying moment,   now,   in their shared dying gasps,   and she catches a glimpse of an age long lost,   a life of a being whole before its fracturing.

a being who looked much like herself,   yet different all the same.   this woman looked so happy.   blissful,   at peace,   dancing digits elegantly gliding against the palm of a man whose face she’s come to know far too well.   dizzyingly drunk in one another’s intoxicating gazes,   honeyed warmth,   a bleeding glow.

and then,   it shatters.   it explodes into a million fragments as the star explodes,   a bursting supernova.   light tears through each crack until it blinds her vision and forces her eyes shut to drown it out.   when they open again,   she returns to the dark.   she returns to the silence.   to the cold,   to the emptiness,   to the frost that nips at her fingertips and inches along in her veins.

this arena held light,   once.   the city beyond disappeared,   but cherry knows that it yet remains.   why,   then,   can she not see it   ?

each blackened skyscraper has been snuffed of its light,   and they melt into the shadows and their chilling embrace.

she could see the sky,   once,   the shimmering of the water’s surface and the splitting sunlight beaming down into the ocean’s sapphire blues.   now,   there is nothing.   not a single onze of light,   nothing.

it is desolate,   and she is alone.

cherry is alone,   blood staining the torn fabrics of her clothes and broken bits of what little armor remained.   blood smeared upon the metallic curves of her glaives,   her fingers and her palms and splattered droplets upon her wrists.   she killed him.   she killed him,   a man she held beloved,   flawed as he was.   she knows it was her only choice,   that he was too far gone in his madness.   there is no bringing back someone from the brink that the likes of emet   -   selch had fallen into.

he left her in the aftermath of their battered wake and wells of destruction with knowledge of a world that once was,   of the truths she has been seeking,   but she has been left with more questions than any answer she ever received.   and now,   there is no one left to answer them.

she hears him,   now.   his final whispers,   hushed and fading and trembling,   his one final,   dying gasp.

cherry blinks,   and as if it all had been naught but a dream,   the light returns in a flood.   she sees the broken wires and frames of amaurot’s buildings scraping their skies,   the unnatural glow of the horizon in its light cast over them like a veil that in any other world would have been seen as a holy shroud,   hallowed in its divinity and the grace of its touch.   her chest heaves with each pained,   gasped breath,   ragged and hoarse,   blood thick in the pit of her mouth.   she remains,   lying flat against the violet stone,   palms pressed upon its smooth surface as she takes what strength remains to hold herself up and tilt her chin and stare from eyes that fight to stay open.

he is there.

she can see him,   now,   but she knows that this is it,   that this will be for the last.

she stares beyond a glimmering crevice,   a gaping wound coated in blood and the remnants of fading aether.   her head begins to spin and throb as her eyes roll upward to stare,   and it is all that she can manage before she collapses into the ground again.

cherry stares upon his face,   cheeks soft and lips and a nose so familiar,   and she knows she has only moments to drink him in for the final time before he becomes but a memory to fragment and break as time travels on.   there is an anguish to her eyes,   a pain unearthed unlike anything she has felt in years.   she never wanted to be cornered into this position again.   damn her and her weakening heart.

silence pervades as they look upon each other’s eyes in the stillness of their shattering world.   it crumbles around them,   and yet,   it matters not.   there is naught but this single,   fleeting and ephemeral moment,   and their intertwining souls.   cherry,   for once in her life,   cannot find even a single word to edge upon the tip of her tongue.   grief strikes her far too deep in the knowing of what is to come     —     a world in which he does not exist,   and she is forced to overcome it yet again.

when she hears a gasped breath,   a soft inhale with his parting lips,   she musters another burst of strength to straighten further still,   steadying herself as she watches him,   eyes melting and basking beneath the glow of his burning countenance.

“     remember,     ”     hades begins,     “     remember us,   celestina.     ”

she visibly flinches,   at the sound of his weakened voice,   at the sound of her name so few have uttered that still wrought its knife into her chest,   but it felt like a passing hymn from his tongue in the fading softness in his voice,   now.   it’s reminiscent of all of those rare moments they shared in quiet,   in solitude,   her head upon his chest,   his cheek pressed closely to her furred ears.

hades’s gaze is firm,   and she is beholden to them,   the pools of golden eyes and his haunting,   somber tone.   he does not break his stare for even but a moment.     “     remember   . . .   that we once lived.     ”

reaching a hand out,   cherry straightens enough to come to her feet,   posture broken,   wound still bleeding with a small pool of her blood at her feet.   her own voice is hoarse,   cracking and weak,   faint and scarcely a voice at all as she whispers,     “     hades   . . .   ”     she cannot manage anymore.   her head lowers into a nod instead,   and she soon collapses to her knees,   but she keeps her eyes fixed upon him.   she will not lose him.   she will not have him fade out of sight.

grinding her molars together,   her jaws clench as she forces herself to stand again.   it takes everything within her,   but cherry trudges forward,   closer and closer until she stands before him.   a bloodied hand grasps for his gloved one,   and she squeezes his fingers,   just enough to pull him down closer.   she spares only a few agonizing seconds to close her eyes when their lips meet,   weak and lingering,   but they open as she feels him beginning to fade.   he is as a wraith,   fading right before her eyes,   and the phantom trace of his fingers remain warm in her hand.   emet   -   selch nods,   lips curling into a diminutive smile,   and cherry feels acid tears burning the wells of her eyes.   they explode in a bursting torrent,   running hot like oil down her grit   -   stained cheeks.

“     i will not forget you,   emet   -   selch.   hades.   i   . . .   i will not let you fade.     ”

and just like that,   he is gone,   a whirlwind of aether scattering into the lifestream,   only to fade into an oblivion that she cannot reach.   he would not return.   he could not ever be.   once more,   cherry valla finds herself completely and utterly alone and drops back down to her knees,   trembling,   shaking,   and wonders how soon until she wanders to the edge of the earth for death to claim her,   too.

her vision blurs and her eyes draw to a curtain close,   his final act,   their swansong.

cherry doesn’t even realize as the twins come behind her,   singing praises of victory,   of her lone triumph against emet   -   selch.

how can she let go of all that she’s learned   ?   how does a wound this big find a way to heal   ?

there is no warmth.   there is no light.

she sinks into oblivion,   and the cold and darkness swallow her whole once again.

[shijiujun]

Hi, have you read a single strike of shimmering frost? I've seen this novel has a webtoon even and I wanted to pick it up but I've been told it's sad?

you mean my all-time fave a sword of frost lols?

https://minmoyu.tumblr.com/post/638706563857678337/okay-if-yall-have-read-my-top-2020-danmei-list

[wlw-lovestruck-fiction]

Xenia x MC fic where MC is poisoned, and wakes up with no memories. She falls in love with Ruelle before regaining her memories and remembering her love for Xenia. MC couldn't choose with one she truly wants to be with.

Written by: @shootingstarwithagrudge

Writer’s first attempt at full angst.

****

I woke up to the thick taste of metal in my mouth. My tongue dry as I tried to take in a deep breath. It hurt. Everything hurt. I slowly opened my eyes only to take in a room, in a place, that I've never seen before. I looked around but the soft purples and blacks of the room struck no memory. There's a woman sitting in a large chair beside the bed, her eyes filled with worry as she looks me over.

"My Queen?" She said, her voice slightly cracking.

My head began to spin as I tried to take her words in. Queen? I closed my eyes and tried to think. Was I her Queen? I willed my memories to come to me, but all I'm met with is black static. I shake my head with frustration, frowning as I speak.

"Ah - I'm so very sorry, but I seem to have forgotten your name.... and mine, as well." My voice came out heavy, working it's way through the multiple layers a sleep.

"That's alright, sweet girl. I am Xenia.. Mistress Xenia. And you are Queen Llewellyn of Lysende."

" .... Queen?"

The words rang through my head like a church bell, and then, silence. The cold black static caused a constant buzzing in my head. I fight the tears that I can feel trying to sting their way in. I leaned back against the cool pillow and tried to breath. Trying to force my way through the inky black depths of my mind. Xenia's eyes widen for a minute, her face solemn as she addressed a shadow in the back side of the room.

"Ruelle, go and fetch Gideon. Quickly."

A striking woman emerged from the shadows, locking eyes with me once before giving Xenia a nod and slipping out the door. The woman at my side turned back to me and gave me a weak smile. A small spider made it's way down her arm and onto her palm. The small creature seemed to dance in her hand, tapping it's leg in some sort of proverbial morse code. Xenia frowned, seemingly giving it a small nod before turning her warm ashen face back to mine. Even with the veil she wore and the tired lines around her eyes, I could see how beautiful she was. Her eyes remained calm as she held my gaze. I couldn't deny the feeling of knowing her. The way she watched me, intently. The sorrow swimming within the black pools of her eyes. I go to speak when the door swings open. The beautiful woman from before and another gentleman rush inside. A supreme look of worry painted on both of their faces.

"Gideon, thank God you're here. While she is awake, and fairing much better than before, our Queen seems to have no memory of who she is."

The man named Gideon made his way closer to the side of the bed, Ruelle staying close behind him, the deep amber of her eyes never leaving me as she took her place next to Xenia.

"So, tell me, Your Majesty. You don't remember anything at all?" Gideon asked.

I closed my eyes again, deep breaths filling my lungs as I tried to filter through all the static once more. The same cold buzzing is all that meets me, a haze so black you could lose yourself in it. I shook my head, opening my eyes as I finally let my tears fall. Xenia is the first to move, but Ruelle gets to me faster, holding out a dark green cloth in her hand.

"Here, Y-your.. ah.. Llewellyn."

As the name left her mouth, the soft undertones of her voice skipped a beat through my mind, illuminating a pathway of clarity through the dark shadows that resided there . Suddenly, without warning, the veil pulled itself back, a bright light of recognition, and I could remember. I could remember how the cedar trees and freshly fallen snow smelt in the morning in the Wilds. The warmth and pure comfort of Rosie's bar after a long night of serving ale and stew. The joy of running free through the woods with the crisp air stinging my face. I sat up abruptly, eyes wide, locking eyes with Ruelle before laughing.

"F-frost.. I.. I remember. You said my name and it just all came back! My name is Llewellyn Cyr, and I live in the Wilds!"

I smiled wide and openly until I caught the faces of the people around me. Quietly watching me with sad eyes as I spoke, and when I looked to Xenia, another memory came rushing in. The last thing I could remember before the sea of black that cascaded waves against my thoughts. She was there. In the tavern, that night. That much I knew, but everything after that was.. black. As black as a starless winter night.

"H-how did I get here?" I asked sharply. Suddenly very aware that I might be with people who could actually mean me harm.

"My Queen.." Xenia's voice came out slow and tentative, but it didn't stop the frustration that flowed through me like lava.

"And I am no one's Queen!" I slammed my fists down on the bed, my words hot and untamed, but the raw burn of guilt that burrowed deep inside me as I saw the pain in everyone's faces, was enough to snuff it. I slumped back down on the bed, tears now flowing steadily. "Y-you were there, Xenia. In the tavern. It's the last thing I remember. Please... please, explain."

Xenia took a step closer, her face a mix of sorrow and hesitancy.  She turned to Ruelle who gave her a small nod. She steadied herself with a deep breath before she answered.

"You are correct, swee - ah, Llewellyn. I was there that night in the tavern, this is true. And you came back with me here, to Attadellys, but this was months  ago, I'm afraid." She lowered her eyes, seemingly desperate to not make eye contact with me.

"M-months??" My heart sank again. The sudden realization that I had lost literal months of my life weighed in heavily.

"Yes, you have been our reigning Queen for a little over a month now." Xenia replied.

"Ok.... " I let out a shaky breath before continuing. "... and what's happened to cause me to lose my memories?"

"You.. ah.. someone tried to assassinate you, My Queen." Xenia said the last two words hesitantly, but this time I felt no anger, only deep sadness for what I had possibly lost.

"How?" I whispered.

"Poison... My Queen. If it were not for Ruelle's quick actions, you certainly would not have made it."

Ruelle shifted uneasily at the acknowledgment, giving me a small smile as she made eye contact. I took a moment to really take her in, wanting so badly to remember her. Her unique features and soft skin seemed to glow in the dim candlelight. The emerald tips of her hair a shimmering sea spilling upwards into the dark currents above. Her eyes two smoldering embers standing out brilliantly against her pale skin. There wasn't a single part about her that wasn't beautiful. I felt the heat rise to my face shamelessly as I realized I was staring.

"Ah - Sorry. Thank you, Ruelle. For being there." I said quietly. She smiled and gave me a small nod.

"Of course. You're my friend." Her words were dry but with an undertone of affection to them. I smiled and looked back to Xenia whose expression could only be described as pained.

"Gideon." She said quickly. "Is there anyway to find out what sort of poison was used? We need an antidote, and quickly."

"Ah yes, of course, Mistress. I can take some of Llewellyn's saliva and try to narrow it down. It will take time though, and then time to perfect the antidote."

I could see a flicker of desperation float across Xenia's face as she took in Gideon's words. He collected his sample quickly before pulling Xenia towards the door, speaking to her in only hushed whispers. I looked to Ruelle who only gives a small smile before turning back towards the others. Gideon bowed quietly before exiting the room, allowing Xenia to walk back over, her face crestfallen as she approached us.

"Ruelle - I have.. urgent matters to attend to. Finding Llewellyn's assasin is top priority, and will take up alot of my time over the next few days. I want you to guard her at all costs. You are not to leave her side! Do you understand?" Xenia's voice was high and shrill, painted with an unspoken plea.

"Of course, Mistress." Ruelle replied.

"Thank you, Ruelle. I will return as soon as I can." She gave me one last solemn look, and then Xenia hastily left the room. A trail of spiders in her wake. I turned to look at Ruelle just as she was making her way towards the door.

"R-ruelle?" My voice cracked slightly hoping she would stop. I could see the stress in her body as she stopped to face me.

"Yes, My.. Llewellyn?"

"Would you mind staying with me?" I asked softly. "I.. and maybe filling in some of the blanks for me?"

"I'm not sure that would be - "

"Please, Ruelle."

I watched the guarded look drop from her eyes as she gave me a small nod, her hand withdrawing slowly from the doorknob as she let out a slow breath.

"As you wish." She replied as she took the seat that Xenia was previously sitting in. "Though I'm not sure how much I'll be able to help you."

"Your company is helping a lot already." I said, feeling a small blush rise to my cheeks.

"Heh.. " She replied softly, shifting uneasily in her seat.

"Can you just tell me one thing, then?" I asked her tentatively.

"Of course."

"Did Xenia and I... were we.. you know.. together? It's just... the way she looked at me at times... "

"You and the Mistress of Spies have a.. past, yes. The rest should be for her to tell you, not me." She replied a little sharply.

"Of course. Sorry. We don't have to talk at all. W-will you just sit here with me, then?" I asked even softer this time and she gave me another small nod - never leaving that seat by my side the entirety of the night - Her silhouette, an inky shadow against the back draft of Xenia's warm room, was all I could see as I swiftly fell back to sleep.

*******

In the days in weeks that came, Xenia spent every waking hour either trying to find my assassin, or helping Gideon with the antidote. Many long hours were spent between Ruelle and I, and even though, in some deep part of my soul, I knew that there was something between the Mistress of Spies and I, I could not help the magnetic pull that I felt to Ruelle. The way she looked at me during the late hours in my chamber. Her unique features always beautifully accentuated by the light of the fireplace. It's how we spent most nights. In comfortable silence, or soft conversation.

It was a particularly quiet night, with nothing but the heat of the fireplace between us. Ruelle was even more reserved than usual, her amber eyes staring off into the golden embers that flickered within the crackling flame. Her face concentrated with the smallest amount of melancholy to it. I took her hand in mine and gave it a small squeeze.

"Heh.. my apologies." She said softly, still staring into the fire.

"All's well. Care to tell me what's got you so far away from me?" I asked her, moving a little closer.

"This.. You.. " She took a deep breath and finally locked eyes with me, steadying herself before continuing. "Xenia has noticed the way you look at me... and the way I look at you. I .. The pain that fills her eyes, Llewellyn. I.. I can't do this to her.. "

The pain in her voice was enough to make my heart lurch. I too had noticed the Spy Mistress' solemn glances, and I knew how much Ruelle cared for her - but the constant pull I felt towards Ruelle made me selfish, wanting. I wanted her - in every sense of the word. I wanted to feel her, touch her, taste her. Even if it was just for one night.

"Frost, Ruelle.. I.. I can't help what I feel for you.. " I said barely above a whisper. "I care for you. I can't make that go away."

"You may not feel this way if you're memories were intact, Your Highness." She said slightly sharper this time, using my royal title to make a point.

"Perhaps.. but right now.. all I can think about is kissing you. Even if it couldn't last forever, I still want to feel you against me!" I said firmly, and I could see a slight hunger rise to her eyes. She licked her lips slowly before she spoke.

"You must know I want that too, but it is not as simple as that." She placed a hand to my face, gently cupping my cheek as she did. I leaned into the small gesture of affection and closed my eyes. It was moments like these that had me so enamored by her. The warmth and gentleness she saved for only me. I placed my hand over hers, and when I finally opened my eyes, her face was so close to mine, that I could see every intricate line in the beautiful patterns that resided in her eyes.

"R-ruelle.."

Before I could finish my thought, her soft lips were on mine, making my knees instantly go weak. I wrapped my fingers in her hair and pulled her in. The contrast of soft and sensual verses warm and heated played heavenly across our lips. The feeling was all consuming - stealing every breath I had to offer from my lungs. Her hand firmly placed at the nape of my neck as she kissed me even deeper. The whole world a distant memory as all of my senses drifted away, only returning when her lips finally pulled away from mine. My fingers instantly rising to them to see if I could still feel her there. I was about to say something, anything - to tell her how amazing she was - when the doors to my bedroom abruptly flew open.

"My Queen. I-!"

We both jumped back at the sound of Xenia's voice. She stopped short, her calculating eyes taking in the situation before she cleared her throat.

"My apologies, My Queen." She said as she straightened her shoulders back and put on her most controlled voice. "I should've knocked. Please forgive me. I only meant to tell you of the.. good news. Gideon should have an antidote ready for you by the morning."

I swallowed the thick feeling in my throat and gave her a small smile.

"Thank you, Mistress. That is great news, indeed." I tried my best to sound genuine, not even able to look Xenia in the eyes.

"Very well. I will leave you two to your night. I will send for you, Ruelle, when the antidote is finished." Xenia looked at her niece one last time before turning back to the door, the heartbreak still very much visible on her face no matter how hard she tried to hide it.

"Yes, Mistress." Ruelle replied calmly, and Xenia took her leave.

"Ruelle.. I.."

"I should go."

"Y-you don't have to!"

"No, but I should. I'll be right outside, Your Highness" She said softly before quickly sliding out of the door herself.

The tears that came to my eyes were hot and unyielding. A deep ache in my chest was all I could feel as I made my way over to my bed. I knew sleep wouldn't come easily, and I was right. Many hours were spent tossing and turning. Wondering what the morning would bring. What I would remember. Who would I forget. I wept for the uncertainty - and for everything I already knew - until the cruel mask of sleep finally took me.

*******

The next morning came too quickly as a small knock woke me from my restless sleep. I could tell by the  specific tone to it, that no one other than Ruelle could be on the other side of that door. I pushed myself up off of the bed, exhaustion seeping into every part of my body as I tried to speak.

"Come.. come in, Ruelle."

The door slowly opened revealing a very tired looking Ruelle, she gave me a small smile as she stepped inside.

"Heh.. how did you know it was me?" She asked, being ever so careful not to make eye contact with me.

"You've been knocking on that door with the same knock for weeks now." I said with a small laugh.

"True." She said with an even smaller laugh. The smile not quite reaching her eyes as she continued. "Ah - Mistress Xenia sent me. Gideon has finished the antidote. They would like for you to meet them in the throne room as soon as you're ready."

My heart sank for a moment as I took in her words. I knew regaining my memories was important, I knew they were a part of me, and I knew deep down, that it was the right thing to do - but I couldn't help the intense ache I felt in my chest as I thought about what it might mean for Ruelle and I. Was I ready to give that up?

"Will.. will you come with me, Ruelle?" I asked softly, hoping she'd grant me this last token of affection.

"Of course, My Queen." My heart sank a little more at the formal title, but still I gave her a smile as I spoke.

"Thank you, Ruelle. I appreciate your kindness. Just let me get dressed." She gave me a small nod, and exited the room to leave me to change.

Even with the heat of the day making it's way swiftly through the ever winding halls of Altadellys as we walked, I couldn't help the chill I felt deep within my bones. My eyes constantly glancing at Ruelle, just wanting her to look at me, smile at me, tell me everything would be okay - even if it wasn't. The walls that now stood in front of the vulnerable parts that Ruelle had finally shown me, were high and unwavering. She was guarded - protecting herself from whatever was about to happen. I bit back the hot tears that came to my eyes as we finally reached the throne room doors, taking a long deep breath before I entered.

"Ah, there you are, Your Highness." Gideon said from in front of the throne, a small vial in his hand, and Xenia at his side.

"S-sorry to keep you waiting, Gideon." I gave him a small smile and looked over at Xenia who didn't look to be in a much better state than Ruelle and I. I'm sure whatever she felt for me, seeing her only niece in pain couldn't be easy for her.

"Are you ready, My Queen?" Xenia asked me as I took my seat on the throne. I swallowed down the acidic taste in my mouth and took the vial from Gideon.

"Ready as I'll ever be." I said - giving Ruelle one final smile, before taking back the entire vial in one smooth shot.

Within ten minutes I could feel the static like buzzing that I had gotten so used to over the weeks, start to lift - like a thin grey veil that had inconspicuously taken up residency in my subconscious. As soon as the last bit of it was gone the remainder of my memories flooded through with a tidal wave of images - as if someone was flipping through an album of my life over the last few months - It was all there, it was all Xenia. I saw everything. From the night she first came to tavern, to the first time I saw her genuinely smile, the feeling of her lips upon mine in a darkened shadow hidden from the world, the soft words she spoke to me in the night. She was there through it all. I looked up at her and as soon as her eyes met mine, I began sobbing. Hot tears of guilt and loss. Guilt for the pain I had caused her, that I had left her feeling so uncertain of the future for all of this time. There had never been a single part of my self that ever wanted to be the cause of Xenia's pain, and when my eyes finally found Ruelle's - hidden deep in the back side of the room - my heart truly knew what loss was. My sobs were unyielding - inconsolable. Yes, I had gotten Xenia back, but at what cost? Was I ready to lose Ruelle? A part of me almost expected my feelings for Ruelle to dissipate as my memories of Xenia came back, but - there they were, just as strong and magnetic as they were prior to taking the antidote. The infinite pit of despair that was steadily growing in my chest was more than I could take.

"My Queen.. are you ok-?" I shake my head cutting Xenia off.

"F-frost, Xenia. I'm s-so sorry. I'm so sorry I forgot you." I sobbed even harder and I could see any reserve Xenia had left melt away as she rushed to my side.

"Oh, my sweet, sweet, girl. You have nothing to be sorry for." She hugged me warmly using all four of her arms, and I finally let my tears flow freely.

The intense spiral of emotion that spinned throughout me was all consuming - unrelenting -  and I knew, right then and there, that I had no clue what I was about to do. I could neither deny my love for Xenia, or Ruelle. I loved them both differently, but just as strongly. My heart would break either way, and so would one of theirs. There was no easy way - There was no right choice. No matter what I did, pain would be felt, and it would be felt deeply by everyone involved. As the sheer panic of the situation took hold of me, I abruptly pulled myself out of Xenia's warm embrace - and I ran - I ran towards the door, through the dark hallways of the palace, past my chamber doors. I ran until I had no breath left in my lungs, until my heart felt a different sort of pain than the deep and terrible ache that had taken over it. I needed to think - needed to run - needed to feel the wind whipping across my face. The image of both of the women I loved, standing there, watching me as I leave - wanting so badly to reach out for me, to stop me - but they knew better. They knew I needed this, and they knew I'd be back - and they'd be right there, waiting for an answer, when I did.

[polar-stars]

The Princess and the Barbarian (an attempt)

Author’s Note: Guys...What if...AU, where Nene is a princess and Eizan is kind off an actual barbarian? 👉👈 Haha, anyone into that?

I’ve been having this idea in my head for quite a while now...actually. If this would be a popular ship, I’d probably just throw it into the fandom as a prompt for someone more talented to pick it up. But well...That’s not the case ahdh. I tried giving the idea a shot today as I was kind off in the mood to write something Fantasy-esque but, as always, I’m rather unsure if it turned out well enough...haha. 

Anyway...Yeah.....Enjoy?? An Attempt was made.

-

Nene knew they had lost the battle when she heard their most priced soldier’s scream being abruptly cut off outside the tent.

Just this morning, when the sun had been nothing more but a faint orange shimmer lurking behind the dark trees, Princess Nene Kinokuni of Hana had taken her place in the noble coach that was protected by a troop of trained soldiers and supposed to take her safely into the Western Lands where she was obliged to wed the young King of Daizu. 

Everything had been planned before she had even been born. The dress she was wearing, her hairdo, the lines she was supposed to say...none of it had been up to her but had been thought out by her parents and their advisors months in advance. Knowing her duties and responsibilities Nene had acted in exactly the way everyone expected her to when the anticipated day had come: Tranquil as ever she had endured the maids dressing her up in a fancy travelling-gown, attentively she had listened to her parent’s final reminders and without a single complain she had taken her seat in the coach. 

It all had gone perfectly. Exactly like her parents, their advisors, the unfamiliar King’s parents and many more had planned it. 

But then the day that Nene had been prepared for all her life was disrupted as they were attacked around noon shortly after they had set up a camp for a break. 

Just like that Nene found herself in the unfamiliar situation of not exactly knowing what she had to do. 

With only her shivering maids as company she stood in the tent, originally set up to shield the future queen of Daizu from the sun, while listening to the sounds of battle outside. A scenario no one had ever prepared her for.

She knew it was only a matter of seconds before one of the aggressors would step into her tent as soon as she realised that the highly praised army Daizu had sent for her protection surrendered. 

Nene had no time adjusting to the unfamiliar load of adrenaline that was pulsing through her veins but rather looked around the tent for something, anything, to protect her and the maids from whoever would step into the tent at any moment. 

Just when her ruby eyes fell on a nearby dagger a growl was heard right in front of the tent. “Who’s in there?”

Not having the luxury of hesitating, Nene quickly grabbed the dagger. Only a heartbeat later, the tent’s linens were aggressively shoved to the side and a man stepped in.

He was dirty-blonde, had a rough face, wore armour and he had some of the most piercing, sharp eyes Nene had ever seen. And those eyes were glaring directly at her.

“Who are you?” He barked in an imperious tone.

Nene clutched the dagger more tightly while lifting up her chin. “Who is it that wants to know?”

She thought to see a spark of surprise in the man’s yellow eyes then but it was gone quickly as he took a step forward. 

“Judging by your clothes...”, he observed, “...You’re a person of royalty for sure.” He then let his gaze sweep through the tent, taking in the shaking maids, various decorations and of course the table that had a map and numerous documents sprawled out on it. “Hmm...the coat of arms of Hana...” He mumbled, more to himself, after his scan was finished.

“Your Majesty.” A muscular guy in less impressive armour stepped into the tent. Nene couldn’t help but to frown a little when she saw that ‘Majesty’ was referring to the man she’d been talking to the past few minutes, given that he turned his head at the exclaim. “What is it?” 

“I got one of the soldiers to sing.” The other guy gave his report. “The troop was on a journey to one of the kingdoms in the Western lands, Daizu. They accompanied Princess Nene Kinokuni of Hana, who is supposed to marry Daizu’s newly crowned king.” He gave a quick bow.

Without thanking his soldier the blonde man turned his head back to Nene. A smirk emerged on his face. “I see. My assumption proved itself correct then.” 

Nene’s face darkened. With nothing but frost and ice in her voice she inquired. “Now that you got what you wanted, I’d like to know what name this ruthless scoundrel of a man goes by.” 

“Scoundrel?” He huffed in return before taking a couple more steps towards her. “You sure are feisty for being in such a hopeless situation.” 

She met his sharp eyes. “You didn’t answer my question.”

His teeth gnashed before he laid one hand on his chest and announced. “The name is Etsuya Eizan”, he smirked again when adding, “King of Don’yuko. Surely you must have heard of me.”

Nene had to fight the urge to take a step back in order to keep her composure. 

Yes, she had heard of him. It was hard not to. 

Don’yuko was a kingdom somewhere in the cold, mountain-heavy Northern regions and it’s recent young king was currently making a name for himself thanks to his greed and his ruthlessness. Not long after being crowned he had set out with his horde to rob and to conquer. 

Very quickly they had become known all across the lands, striking fear into the hearts of many. Etsuya Eizan and the horde of Don’yuko were said to be strong, brutal and unstoppable. 

“I think we should bring Princess Kinokuni to her fiancé.” Etsuya mused. “It’s a wealthy kingdom. I’m sure the King of Daizu is willing to fork out a bit of gold for the return of his future wife.”

While he then chuckled to himself, overly proud with his new plan from the looks of it, Nene felt the disdain growing inside her.  

“Barbarian.” She heard herself saying sharply. “You might call yourself King, but you’re nothing but a common barbarian in the end.” 

With astonishing speed Etsuya had his burning eyes back on her. “Barbarian?” He repeated, clearly not pleased with that nickname. “I’m increasing the wealth and the territory of my kingdom. My people will thank me for that!”

“Yet still...” She coldly met his glare. “In the eyes of future historians they will only come to one conclusion when analysing the texts written about you and that is that you’re a barbarian King.”

“Pfah. As if that’s any of my concern.” He snorted before making a sharp turn. 

“Bring Princess Kinokuni and her maids back to their coach. We’ll use that to bring her to Daizu.” He gave a command to the soldier who instantly nodded his head. “Understood, your Majesty.”

And with that Etsuya stepped out of the tent again finding himself irritated and yet at the same time intrigued over how fearless the princess has spoken to him.

[silverlysilence]

An Emissary’s Duty

@madcapmiss and I have worked together to bring you this little collaboration steaming from the comment section of Spirit of a Guardian.  (She did most of the work meshing the two ideas into one and I formatted the DMs into this, please praise her).  Enjoy.

Officially he's come as a peaceful emissary, looking to negotiate a trade agreement with the young chief of the Hooligan tribe. Officially. Truthfully his people have sent him to take the boy’s measure and gather the pertinent information needed to launch a successful attack.

They've heard the stories, of course. Who hasn't by now?  It’s been the talk of the entire Barbaric Archipelago for the last few years.  The stories growing and new details added with each rendition.  Still, they're not fool enough to actually believe in such tall tales. They go beyond the realm of far-fetched and straight into the downright insulting.

They say the chief rides a Night Fury, the Unholy Offspring of Lightning and Death itself; more than that there are whispers he is more kin to the beast than he is to men. They say he struck down Drago Bludvist, a nightmare of a man who once slaughtered nearly every Chieftain in the isles in the space of a single night. They say he defeated a vast army from beyond the archipelago with only five warriors at his back. They say he built himself wings, that he can command dragons and call lightning and walk through fire. They say that he is so fierce that the queen of the fair folk herself asked him for an alliance, that when he grew lonely for companionship, he stole a god from Asgard itself for his lover.

The emissary, like the rest of his tribe, holds these stories in contempt. It's one thing to exaggerate your strength to ward off attackers, but this boy’s efforts have strayed beyond the realm of arrogance into utter foolishness. Stoick the Vast may have been formidable in his day but he must have long since lost his wits to old age if he's stepped aside to let a child trying to frighten them all with shadow-tales to take his place. Given the hubris of the tales, a few of the weak-minded foals whispered that they’d heard his tribe were acting on behalf of the Gods themselves. It was only right that more sensible, worthy men should deal with such upstarts before the Gods decide to take offence and retaliate against the whole of the archipelago over such blasphemy. And with a prize as rich as Dragon's Edge there for the taking, there's plenty of incentive to be...worthy.

He was expecting to see the dragons of course because there had to be SOME seed of truth in the stories for the rumors to have spread so far. There are more than he expected but it's fine. They've been fighting dragons for generations; they could still take the Hooligans with some cunning and a bit of Dragon Root. Though there are a handful of oddities beyond the dragons that catches his eye and makes him pause; the shimmering liquids in the alchemist's workshop, a burnt-orange orb of light that flickers in the corner of his eye as he passes a short brunet Viking only to disappear whenever tries to catch sight of whatever made the strange glow.

The minute distractions hold his attention far more than they should as he fails to notice the way the dark-haired alchemist looks at him from over her potions, or the sharp-edged grin she flashes at the young Guard Captain. He fails to hear the mean-spirited chuckle that escapes the stocky, mace-wielding warrior at her side when the burnt-orange orb seemingly appears off to the side but a twist of the head reveals nothing there. He doesn't see the danger in the way said Guard Captain goes from straight backed and polite to lazily welcoming.

He doesn't know to be alarmed by the very distinct silence from a pair of twins that only ever pass unnoticed when they have business to attend to. He does, however, take notice of the tattoos and scars the broad-shouldered man who leads him through the village at the young Guard Captain’s command. The man is strong, the emissary will give him that, and has obviously seen much of both war and the world, but he isn't worried. He's felled bigger of men under less than ideal circumstances. Case in point, the hulking blonde squealing over baby dragons isn't even worth mentioning, though the sword he carries on his waist would make a fine trophy. Better by far than those spears with blackened tips the pair of blondes lazily trailing them carry.

Then he enters the forge and his dismissive hunger shatters, his heart pounding in a helpless echo of the smith's hammer blows.

There's a tall figure looming over the anvil, wielding a large blacksmith’s hammer with the ease other men lift their ale flagons. His head is bent intently over his work and there is lightning crawling, dancing, skittering over his skin like ripples on water. A blinding bolt leaps from smith to anvil and the emissary flinches violently. A second bolt cracks from the anvil to a nearby workbench. He draws a shaking breath and firmly reminds himself that a single rumor validated is no reason for the creeping dread trying to rise in his throat. A third bolt leaps from the anvil to the smith, twisting around his arm like a snake before dripping down to race across black scales.

The emissary blanches. There, a terrible black beast is curled at the forge-master’s feet, near invisible in the shadows but for the acidic green of its eyes, the deadly fangs glittering from its snarl, and the lightning crackling across it's hide. The emissary swallows hard and though he tries to rationalize, to remind himself that yet a second partially-validated rumor is no reason for alarm, he cannot help taking an involuntary step back.

He doesn't get far. Someone is in the doorway at his back, blocking his escape route. The young Guard Captain's voice calls out to the forge-master, and a detached part of his mind wonders when she had arrived and where his original guide has gone. The man (is he even a man? Surely not. This- this thing before him cannot possibly be flesh and blood, to pretend otherwise is nothing but a polite fiction) doesn't respond right away.

Instead he sets his hammer down and walks away to quench the red-hot metal held casually in his bare hand. He plunges the metal into the barrel of water against the far wall, flames dancing up his arm as vivid green eyes crackling with storm-light glances over his shoulder towards the mortals standing on the threshold. The emissary could feel his hands trembling, his adrenaline spiking as his mind shouted at him to draw his weapon and fulfill his duty to his tribe, to strike down the threat before it could reach them. He still had the element of surprise on his side and even if he died in the attempt, even if the Guard Captain killed him afterward, his people would sing his praises and he would be welcomed into the Halls of Valhalla.

He wraps a trembling hand around the hilt of his blade as those terrible eyes seemed to wring both the breath from his lungs and the strength from his soul. He sends up a brief but heartfelt prayer for the courage to die well and is gathering himself for a desperate attack when a sneeze breaks the tense atmosphere. Once more the emissary's eyes are pulled towards the fiendish dragon curled in the deep shadows at the foot of the anvil.

For the first time he notices a delicate pattern of ice ferns curling across half the creature’s scales, spreading across the floor around it. Even in the intense heat of the forge the frost refuses to melt. The dragon rumbles, lifting a wing to reveal a slender silver-haired youth rubbing sleep from icy blue eyes. The boy stretches and the ferns spread almost searchingly across the floor, reaching the chief and twining lovingly up his ankles and calves almost to his knees.

The emissary feels his heart leap to his throat as the creature that is clearly NOT a mortal boy rises and nonchalantly walks across the room towards the chief. He doesn't even look in the emissary's direction, but the blade in his hand suddenly burns with a deadly cold that leeches all warmth from his flesh. He's forced to jerk his hand hastily away from the weapon or risk losing fingers to its chill. The youth smiles, kisses the chief softly on the cheek, and asks if the man would like for him to show their guest to Niflheim since he clearly didn't have any courtesy.

The chief agrees.

He collapses where he stands and begs; for lenience, for his life. He begs them to keep the white-haired jötnar runt away from him. The last earns him a terrifying scowl from the jötnar but the chief relents and the smirking Guard Captain leads him out of their lair, back to the alchemist's workshop where the dark-haired woman sits waiting for them with her shimmering vials and a too-sharp grin.