#fanfic is “The fury of a shattered mirror”

[fefeman]

Now that's my brand of meta-humor

[haveyoureadthisfanfic]

Summary: Harry Du Bois and his skills from Disco Elysium is in the role of Slay the Princess' protagonist. The usual Voices and the Narrator accompany them as if nothing is out of place. Things go more than just out of place.

Author: ASpooky

Note from submitter: This fanfic is glorious both in it's writing and how it looks. This fanfic looks like its straight from Disco Elysium and plays with it wonderfully. There are gags playing with and poking fun at the differences of the source materials like the characters from StP needing to be rearranged to fit into the DE style of narration. The author manages to mesh the two worlds together in a glorious way as if the two were meant to be together while expanding upon both. What personally shocks me is that this is ASpooky's first work and it is glorious beyond compare. They've also never coded before yet they managed to incorporate StP's famous "Heart. Lungs. Liver. Nerves." moment in a really, really cool way that you just have to see for yourself. I am in love with every little thing of this fanfic and it's still going!

[blacktabbygames]

Have you heard about that Slay the Princess/Disco Elysium crossover fanfic "The Fury of a Shattered Mirror"? It's SOOOO GOOOOOD

i read a lil bit of it! incredible how they managed to format it to be just like DE. it's very well done, but there's something about fanfic where i just can't do it. reading fanfic of your own writing is a level of being-perceived that human beings simply weren't designed to experience.

a stranger attempting to augur your soul. (please keep auguring; i'll just look the other way)

[dragoln]

Fury of a Shattered Mirror

Amazing crossover fanfic

[novaursa]

The Fire That Was Promised

- Summary: You burn down King’s Landing in an act of revenge before flying to Shadowlands.

- Paring: sister!reader/Aegon I Targaryen (one-sided)

- Note: This short story is one of the possible endings to The Broken Crown series, where Y/N takes revenge against her brother.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @fiction-fanfic-reader @fireandblood-mharmie @poisonedsultana @sunset18rose

The wind tears at your hair as Tesaerix’s powerful wings slice through the air, carrying you higher and farther from the place that no longer feels like home. The dark expanse of the Narrow Sea stretches below you, a boundless void that mirrors the one gnawing at your heart. You should be bound for Winterfell, not Essos, wrapped in the furs of the North and preparing to wed Torrhen Stark. Instead, you’re flying away from everything you thought you’d ever wanted. Everything that should have been yours.

Your thoughts twist and turn, darker than the night sky around you. Aegon had taken everything from you. He had called off your betrothal with a cold, ruthless command, casting aside the promise of a life and family that had been within your grasp. Your role as his sister-wife, his conquest, had been his choice, not yours. You were the youngest, the last to be claimed by his insatiable hunger for power—and perhaps something more.

Anger thrums through you, a living thing, and you feel it course through Tesaerix as well. Your bond is deep, your emotions shared. The mighty dragon's blood-red eyes flicker with the same rage that seethes in your veins. You grit your teeth, clutching the reins tighter. The sky blurs as hot tears sting your eyes. Tears of frustration, of loss, of betrayal. You’re fleeing, yes, but there’s no solace to be found in running.

You’ve flown long enough.

Without a word, you guide Tesaerix in a sharp, spiraling turn, your heart hammering as you abandon your course to Essos. The golden dragon roars in response, a sound of confusion, anger—and something else. As if she, too, senses the burning desire that has ignited within you. Revenge.

King’s Landing looms on the horizon, a sprawling city bathed in the eerie glow of the moon. The sight of it fuels your wrath. The seat of your brother’s power, the very heart of his kingdom—and your prison. The memory of Aegon’s face, impassive and unyielding as he broke your betrothal, flashes before you. He had not cared for your happiness, for your wishes. He had seen only what was his to take, to control.

“Dracarys,” you whisper, your voice trembling with fury and resolve.

Tesaerix responds instantly, diving down toward the city like an arrow loosed from a bow. Her massive form eclipses the moon as she descends, her wings unfurling in a terrifying display of strength. You can feel the heat building in her chest, the deep rumble that precedes a dragon’s breath of fire.

The first burst of flame hits the Flea Bottom, a rush of golden fire that spreads like a wave over the ramshackle buildings. Screams rise up from below, a cacophony of panic and pain. You feel no remorse, no hesitation. Aegon took your future; now you’ll take his city.

The Great Sept crumbles beneath the onslaught of dragonfire, the stained glass windows shattering in a shower of molten shards. The bells ring out, a desperate, mournful sound that echoes through the dying city. Tesaerix roars, her own fury mingling with yours, and you feel the bond between you surge, unbreakable, forged in this moment of wrath and ruin.

You leave only the Aegonfort untouched, a twisted gift to your brother, the conqueror who took and took until there was nothing left of you but a vessel for his ambitions. Let him rule over the ashes of his realm, let him see what his greed has wrought.

As the city burns, you turn Tesaerix’s head towards the east. You cast one last glance at the inferno below, the flames painting the sky with a hellish glow. It is done. You have nothing left here but ghosts and memories, and you refuse to be haunted any longer.

With a sharp command, you urge Tesaerix onward, her powerful wings carrying you away from the smoking ruin of King’s Landing. The air is heavy with the scent of destruction, the cries of the dying fading into the distance as you climb higher, breaking through the veil of smoke and cloud.

You imagine Aegon, Rhaenys, and Visenya scrambling in confusion, rushing to their dragons. But you are already beyond their reach, the skies your domain, your dragon faster and fiercer than they could ever hope to match. By the time they take to the air, King’s Landing is a smoldering ruin, the night sky painted with the orange glow of the burning city.

And you do not look back again. You set your sights on the Shadowlands, on the mysteries and dangers that await you beyond the known world. You are no longer Aegon’s sister, no longer the bride denied. You are the dragon unleashed, and the world will remember this night as the first of many that you will carve your own fate into the very bones of history.

You leave the Aegonfort standing alone, a silent monument in a city of the dead, for him to find in the cold light of dawn. Let him see the ruin you have wrought, the empire of ash he has earned.

[thelreads]

Have you read The Fury of a Shattered Mirror? It's a crossover fanfic between Disco Elysium and Slay The Princess and I think I have seen you say you like both. It's basically the plot of Slay The Princess but with a post-game Harry as the protag with all 24 Skills from DE and the voices from STP helping him. It's one of those astoundingly good fanfics that stay with you and gets very emotional at times.

Taking notes thank you~

[coquetteriddle]

Okay I’m the birds of a feather ask, and I need to rant about all the songs that remind me of tomarry I just have to. A lot of these songs are going to be Taylor swift songs I can’t help it 😔

Coney Island by Taylor swift: this is from evermore and is not a very well liked song in the fandom unfortunately but as soon as I heard it in dec 2020 it reminded me of tomarry. Like immediately. It reminds me of a very specific subset of tomarry fanfics where Tom’s ambition drives them apart when they’re young- but it also fits a general theme of tom’s awful shit driving Harry away. some lyrics to drive my point home:

Break my soul in two Looking for you but you're right here If I can't relate to you anymore Then who am I related to? And if this is the long haul How'd we get here so soon? Did I close my fist around something delicate? Did I shatter you?

And I'm sitting on a bench in Coney Island wondering where did my baby go? The fast times, the bright lights, the merry go Sorry for not making you my centerfold

Over and over Lost again with no surprises Disappointments, close your eyes And it gets colder and colder When the sun goes down

like…UGHHH?????? Break my soul looking for you but you’re right here??? Tom making horcruxes against Harry’s will so that he can stay for forever with Harry but in the process he loses the humanity that made Harry love him??? Did I close my fist around something delicate, did I shatter you??? Tom being too controlling, too possessive, ruining his relationship with Harry in the process??? I could go on and on for each lyric honestly.

Better man by Taylor swift: literally just going to post some lyrics here. Not the full song fits but like. Cmon. I’m not even going to spend time justifying this one.

And I see the permanent damage you did to me Never again, I just wish I could forget when it was magic

I wish it wasn't 4 a.m., standing in the mirror Saying to myself, you know you had to do it I know the bravest thing I ever did was run

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I can feel you again But I just miss you, and I just wish you were a better man

like. Like. Like. Like. Like- when I heard better man in 2021 for the first time immediately I thought ‘tomarry. Tomarry. Tomarry’

Meant to be yours from the heathers musical: I’m so surprised that I don’t see this song that much in tomarry spaces and playlists cause this is like FULLY a tomarry song. Like the full fucking thing. The singer is literally this maniac murderer telling his ex girlfriend that he’s going to kill off everyone except her so that they can be together. The way he sings ‘I was meant to be yours, we were meant to be one’ is so imploring and yet it feels incredibly dangerous to witness even in audio form. This is a tomarry song. I prefer the west end version.

Can’t catch me now by Olivia Rodrigo: this is another ‘the full song. The full song fits’. I think it’s way more harrymort coded than tomarry tbh. This song feels like voldemort won and realised Harry was a horcrux kind of fic. The idea of voldy being haunted by Harry for ages after Harry’s escape/death ( cause honestly, while voldy may grow to feel something towards Harry and stop being abjectly cruel towards him in this au, it would never be anything that would keep Harry there with voldemort or alive in the first place ). Some lyrics that feel extra coded:

There's snow fallin' over the city You thought that it would wash away The bitter taste of my fury And all of the messes you made Yeah, you think that you got away

But I'm in the trees, I'm in the breeze My footsteps on the ground You'll see my face in every place But you can't catch me now Through wading grass, the months will pass You'll feel it all around I'm here, I'm there, I'm everywhere But you can't catch me now No, you can't catch me now

You can't, you can't catch me now I'm comin' like a storm into your town You can't, you can't catch me now I'm higher than the hopes that you brought down

power and control by marina: okay this is kind of tomarry coded but it’s mostly tom riddle coded. This is how I feel he’d view love or anything of the sort in AUs where he weaponises attraction or love for personal gain. There’s this incredibly cinematic part of the song where the singer sings ‘love will always be a human vulnerability, doesn’t mean that I am weak’ but she keeps repeating I am weak again and again until you realise that’s the whole point of the song. Anyone who thinks like this is weak. Tom, despite what he thinks of himself, is a weak man.

Tear in my heart by twenty one pilots: so many sad tomarry songs, this is another birds of a feather kind of song where I feel like this is a happier tomarry in a relationship song, from tom’s pov. It’s not as peaceful as birds of a feather, but there’s this theme in the song of love, wild and bright and almost violent, making the singer feel alive. He never says he loves the person he’s singing about, but you feel it all over. This feels like it’s right before they hit a more peaceful point in their relationship

there’s so many more songs I could rant about but I need to study 😔 I will put in some honorary mentions tho!

don’t blame me by Taylor swift, Mx sinister by idkHOW, the last time by Taylor swift, teeth by 5sos. The last time specifically feels like it was made for ‘what he grows to be’

Very sorry for how ramble-y this whole thing is. I just want to rant about tomarry instead of wrestling with electrostatics.

HIIIII this was such a fun ask to answer <3 thank u. also real i have a fair amount of taylor swift songs in my tomarry playlist too

coney island- REALLLL REAL WAIT. they loved each other so much but in the end tom couldnt give it up, he couldnt stop reaching for power and immortality and he lost harry in the process. EATS.

better man - AAAAHHH so breakup coded for them. i think abt that a lot, that if they broke up it would be soooo so fucking messy

meant to be yours - REAL i have this one in my tomarry playlist. i actually have a lot of heathers songs in there: fight for me, our love is god, meant to be yours, and dead girl walking (reprise). i think dgw is a super tomarry song like "i wish your mom had been stronger/i wish your dad were good/i wish we'd met before they convinced you life is war"???? ate. when will someone make the heathers au we need

cant catch me now - YESSS this is such a tomarry song. theyre so lucy gray coriolanus snow coded.

power and control - OHHH this is good!! i think a lott of marina songs can fit with tom in general but i never rly considered this one. tomarry is very electra heart coded to me tho, i have radioactive and evol in my playlist for them

tear in my heart - AWWW. yeah that is them :)

dont blame me and teeth - YES i have both of these in my playlist. and omg i never finished what he grows to be....i need to its literally like a hallmark of tomarry fics

this was so fun thank u!!! i may or may not post my tomarry playlist one day but here are some songs i think are very them coded:

also good luck w studying!!

[cosette141]

Untangled | OUAT/Tangled Crossover Fanfic | Chapter Two

author: cosette141

fandom: Once Upon A Time & Tangled

words: 5k+

summary: (Tangled/OUAT crossover) “Who the bloody hell are you?” Flynn jerked awake at the sinister voice, and the distinct feeling of sharp metal under his chin. The first thing he noticed was the pirate standing next to him, a hook replacing the man’s left hand, and a cold, angry flash in his eyes as he held the metal appendage to his throat. Flynn opened his mouth to explain, only to realize he couldn’t, because when the hell did he get tied to the helm of a ship? (Captain Swan & Flynn/Rapunzel)

AO3

Chapter Two

“I’m the lost princess.” 

Rapunzel’s voice was barely a whisper as she stared at her reflection, in the room that had once been the only place that made her feel safe. 

Understanding and shock was breaking through the hole in her chest, and Rapunzel felt strength rise within her.

The tears from Flynn’s—Eugene’s—betrayal were still fresh on her face, the heartbreak as raw as an open wound from seeing him sailing away from her, but at the realization, her tears stilled. 

She was the lost princess. 

It was her.

She stumbled away from the mirror, knocking a vase off the table, shattering it on the floor. Footsteps ran up the stairs. 

“Rapunzel?” came a voice. “What’s going on up there?” Her mother appeared in the doorway, looking at her with a concern that Rapunzel was finally seeing wasn’t for her. 

“The lost princess is me,” said Rapunzel, voice low, quiet, spoken like a question but as sure as any fact. “Isn’t it?”

Her mother, now seeing her unhurt, gave her an exasperated eye roll. “You’re mumbling again,” she snipped. “Rapunzel, what have I told you about the mumbling?”

But Rapunzel, instead of backing down, instead of accepting whatever the woman had told her as fact like she’s done her whole life, straightened.

Because it seemed that nothing the woman had told her was fact, and that this woman wasn’t even her mother at all .

“It’s me,” she repeated, voice hard as steel, eyes sharp as a blade. “Isn’t it? I’m the lost princess,” she said firmly, voice shaking from anger, fists curling at her sides.

The woman standing before her froze, and it was the first time Rapunzel has ever seen her unsure.

It was true.

It was true.

“Did I mumble, mother?” said Rapunzel dangerously. “Or should I even call you that?”

The woman—Gothel, since she would never be Mother to Rapunzel again—creased her brows, as if concerned, and if Rapunzel didn’t know better, she’d have fallen for it. “Everything I did was to protect you,” she cooed, reaching for her.

“No, it wasn’t!” said Rapunzel, jerking away from her touch. “It was—” Suddenly, more pieces clicked into place. “It was to protect you !” she exclaimed, gesturing with her hair. “You just wanted me for my hair’s magic,” she breathed, hurt and angry all at once. At the expression on Gothel’s face, Rapunzel knew she’d hit the mark. Her eyes narrowed. “Well, you will never use my hair again.”

“I love you, Rapunzel,” cooed Gothel again, voice taking on a hysterical, last-ditch-effort tone. “More than those stupid royals or that thief ever could! He would have betrayed you in the end; I did you a favor! Stay,” she stressed.

But Rapunzel looked at her sharply. “He would have betrayed me?” she repeated. “He would have? What are you talking about?” Her voice shook with rising fury.

Gothel’s expression slipped, and Rapunzel watched her realize her mistake. “He did betray you,” she amended quickly, trying another smile. “Why of course he did; you saw for yourself!”

Hope and fear surged in Rapunzel’s chest. “I think,” she ground out, “that I only saw what you wanted me to see. Like you have my whole life,” she growled. She moved to push past her. “I’m going to find Eugene.”

“Oh, I’m sure the Royal Guard has already,” came Gothel’s sharp voice behind her.

Rapunzel turned, heart skipping. “What?” 

Gothel smiled something that sent chills down Rapunzel’s spine. “I trapped him on that ship with the stolen jewels. He will have already been found, and will certainly be hanged for his crimes in the morning.”

Rapunzel’s hope that Eugene hadn’t betrayed her froze in her chest, sinking like a ship in the sea. “No,” she breathed. She ran for the door. “I’ll save him,” she said breathlessly, only to be yanked back with a yelp as Gothel grabbed her by the hair.

“You aren’t going anywhere,” she said dangerously, keeping a grip on her hair that Rapunzel couldn’t shake. “If you won’t stay with me willingly, then I’ll make you.” 

She lunged for her, and Rapunzel screamed.

Emma leaned against the trunk of a tree to catch her breath.

She blinked at the midnight forest around her, feeling vague flashbacks of Neverland come back to her. But this place, other than being a woodland, was nothing like Neverland. It felt warm and inviting and a place she could imagine even wanting to return to.

That was, if the Royal Guard would stop chasing her.

Nearly twenty-four hours ago, she and Killian had been traversing the realms, as he called it, for their honeymoon. They had happened upon this land that they came to find out was called Corona . In passing he had mentioned the land seemed familiar, but he hadn’t remembered how. And after a two hundred year long life, Emma could understand. It wasn’t until they stumbled upon a set of wanted posters that Killian had gone rigid and insisted they leave immediately. At Emma’s confusion, he muttered something about stolen jewels and it’s been two hundred years, they should bloody think I’m dead by now, and Emma had realized one of the wanted posters was a badly drawn picture of him.

But before they could return to where he’d docked the Jolly Roger, they ran into a group of Royal Guards, who despite the poor drawing of Killian, had recognized him immediately and demanded he be hanged for his crimes. 

Was there no statute of limitations in this place?

Somehow she and Killian had gotten separated as they ran from the Guards. Now, exhausted and still panting, Emma shut her eyes, really wishing her cell phone worked here. 

Leaves suddenly rustled and Emma’s heart skipped. Horse hooves. 

“Damn it,” she hissed. 

The last time she ran from authority this much she was seventeen.

Emma pushed off the tree and started running again, knowing she couldn’t outrun the horse. She looked for a place to hide. 

There.

Some bushes—they’d be at least enough cover. Emma dove through them, only to realize there wasn’t a cliff side behind them.

 Emma blinked at the hole in the dirt wall, leading to—

“Woah,” breathed Emma, hearing the horses in the distance riding off, unaware of her as she walked forward into where she found herself. 

It was beautiful, lush nature, all surrounding an incredibly tall tower that looked like it came out of a storybo—

Emma paused.

It did come out of a storybook.

Henry’s.

Emma felt another pang of homesickness, missing her son, as she and Killian have been away for almost two weeks now. They had just been about to head back home when this whole mess happened, and Emma should have expected it. They could never catch a break in the crises, could they? 

But knowing him and herself, they’ll find each other. He’ll be all right.

Her husband was a survivor.

She smiled at the thought. Husband.

She couldn’t wait to find him and feel his arms around her again.

But shattering the thought, Emma suddenly heard a scream from the window at the top of the tower.

Emma’s heart skipped.

The protectiveness she was born with rose up in her chest, and Emma ran forward, poofing herself in through the window of the tower mid-run.

Her magic dispersed in a white cloud, landing her on the floor of what looked like a bedroom, floor-to-ceiling walls covered in paintings, and the floor covered in—

Emma suddenly realized what story this was.

Hundreds and hundreds of yards of blond hair was strewn around the room.

And the person the hair belonged to was on her knees, arms chained to her sides, and a woman trying to force her into a trapdoor.

Both women looked at Emma in shock. The younger one— Rapunzel, Emma knew—shouted through the gag a muffled word Emma recognized as “Help,” and Emma’s eyes narrowed at the older woman.

The woman sneered at her in angry shock. “Who —oh, it doesn’t matter,” said the woman sharply, but she abandoned the sentence, grabbing a dagger from behind her back, and Rapunzel’s eyes shot wide, giving a squeal in warning.

Emma dodged a swipe of the dagger, thanking Killian for the sword-fighting lessons, and she ran for Rapunzel. With the first idea in Emma’s mind, she grabbed the younger girl’s shoulder, and shut her eyes as the white cloud of her magic consumed them, transporting them away just as the dagger cut through the mist where Emma had been standing.

Emma and Rapunzel fell to the ground hard.

They were in the forest again; the first place she could think of to get them to safety was the place she and Killian had last been together here in Corona. 

Emma hurried to get herself off the ground, accidentally tangling herself in the girl’s hair, and being careful not to step on it or pull it. Freed of the strands, she rushed to the girl’s aid.

Emma quickly tore off the tape from her mouth, wincing at her yelp.

She stared at Emma with wide eyes. “You saved me,” she said breathlessly.

Emma smiled. “Kind of what I do,” she said with a half-hearted smirk that faded as she worked on getting the chains off of her. Once she was able to pull them over her head, freeing her arms, they were suddenly thrown around her, squeezing Emma so tight she couldn’t breathe.

“Thank you,” said Rapunzel breathlessly. “Thank you,” she said again, squeezing her even harder. “How can I ever repay you?!”

Emma tried to breathe. “Breathing… would be fine,” she joked through a wince, and Rapunzel gave an “ oops ” over her shoulder, pulling back with a wince of her own. She let out her own breath, shaking her head. “Thank you, honestly,” she repeated.

“No problem,” said Emma. “Who even was that woman? What happened back there?”

Rapunzel’s eyes clouded over. “My mo—” She caught herself. “That.. woman… she pretended to be my mother my whole life,” she whispered.

Emma’s brows shot up. “She what ?”

“I kind of… just realized she wasn’t my mother,” admitted Rapunzel. “I told her I was leaving, and… she was trying to… make me stay,” she said with a shiver.

“That’s… terrible,” said Emma, the word an understatement, suppressing a shiver. That woman was the epitome of madness. “Are you okay?” asked Emma.

“Yeah,” said Rapunzel shakily, but Emma knew it was a lie. Rapunzel looked around the quiet forest, hugging herself. “But I don’t think she’s going to let me go that easily,” she said worriedly. “She… needs me,” she said, even quieter.

A chill swept down Emma’s spine at the idea. For a moment, Emma wished she’d killed the vile woman, but… flashbacks of Cruella had her shaking herself from the memory. At least she and Rapunzel were safe for now.

Emma felt her resolve harden. “She won’t get you,” she promised. “I’ll make sure of it.” Smiling reassuringly, she extended a hand. “I’m Emma. Emma Swan.” 

“I’m Rapunzel,” said Rapunzel, shaking Emma’s hand, her fingers trembling.

“I know,” said Emma before she could stop the words, making Rapunzel’s brows rise.

“How do you know me?” she asked, eyes wide. “Did you know I was the lost princess? Is that why you were there?”

Emma’s brows lifted this time. For the short time she and Killian were here, they had overheard about the lost princess, and even watched the lanterns fly into the sky, Emma safely in Killian’s arms…

She shook herself, still missing him so much it hurt.

“Um, no—I was in the forest and I heard your scream,” said Emma. “It’s kind of a long story, but I grew up in a realm called The Land Without Magic. In that realm, there are stories of people from all different realms, and one of them is yours. But I don’t remember this happening in that story,” said Emma. “Though… they get a lot of things wrong.”

“You grew up in a realm without magic?” asked Rapunzel. “But… you have magic,” she said, still seeming awed by it.

“Yeah… it’s a long story,” said Emma, but at Rapunzel’s pleading eyes, Emma decided to give her the short version. “I was born in the Enchanted Forest,” said Emma, but the location didn’t seem to resonate with Rapunzel. “But because of a Curse, I was sent to the Land Without Magic, and… I had to grow up without my parents,” said Emma unsteadily. “It was only a few years ago that I found my parents, who are a king and a queen in the Enchanted Forest and learned that they never wanted to leave me.” finished Emma, the story still sometimes too crazy to believe, and not for the first time wishing she could go tell her younger self that it would happen for her.

Rapunzel’s eyes widened. “So you’re a lost princess too?”

Emma smiled half-heartedly, biting her lip. “I… guess I was, actually. Yeah. Still it’s hard to remember that I’m a ‘princess’,” she said the word with as much sureness as a paper tower in a hurricane. “My parents had to send me away when I was a baby in an attempt to protect me,” Emma went on. “It turned out I was this ‘Savior’ who had to break the Curse, and…” She smiled shyly, still fragile over the idea of it all. “Well, things have been a little crazy ever since, but… it brought me to my family.”

Rapunzel’s eyes suddenly clouded even more. “My—the… the woman who pretended to be my mother,” she said softly, “she stole me from my parents.”

“Stole you?” echoed Emma, brows rising sharply.

Nodding, Rapunzel said, “From… the King and Queen, I guess,” she said, like she was still realizing it as she said it. “Before a few days ago, I haven’t ever even left the tower,” she whispered. “Mother—“ She caught herself. “She wouldn’t let me,” she whispered. 

Emma’s brows creased with empathy, reminding herself of her time in prison. But she couldn’t imagine having gone through that her whole childhood . It was a loneliness like no other. “Why did she take you?” asked Emma gently.

Rapunzel hesitated, but then said, “I have magic, too.”

“You do?” asked Emma, brows rising, feeling a flashback to meeting Elsa.

Rapunzel lifted a few strands of her hair, and looking at Emma, gently took Emma’s arm, where Emma suddenly realized the dagger had nicked her. Rapunzel wrapped the strand around the cut on Emma’s forearm, and shut her eyes. “Flower, gleam and glow,” she sang softly, and Emma jumped at the sudden light flowing from Rapunzel’s hair to her arm. “Let your power shine,” she sang, “make the clock reverse, bring back what once was mine.”

She opened her eyes, removing her hair to show Emma’s skin perfectly unharmed. “Woah,” said Emma. “Magic hair… was definitely not in the movie,” she said.

“What’s a movie?” asked Rapunzel. But her gaze shifted, and she suddenly gasped, stumbling to her feet, tripping over her own hair and Emma had to steady her.

“What’s wrong?” asked Emma.

“Eugene!” she exclaimed. 

“Who?” asked Emma. She turned to see what Rapunzel had seen, to find her gaze on the wanted posters on the trees. She was looking at one of a charming-looking man with a less-than-attractive nose.

“Eugene,” repeated Rapunzel breathlessly. “I met him a few days ago,” she said quickly. “He… I… we…” Her eyes teared up. “I love him,” she whispered, smiling with the words. But the smile fell— “He’s in trouble!” 

“What kind of trouble?” asked Emma.

“My mo—Gothel,” said Rapunzel uneasily. “She tied him to a ship and framed him for a crime and the Royal Guard is going to find him and… and they’re going to…” Her eyes filled with tears again, but this time they weren’t happy ones.

Emma didn’t need help finishing her sentence. “We’ll find him,” said Emma. “We’ll save him.” she assured her, seeing such a fresh strength in Rapunzel’s eyes, but still so much innocence and so much fear.

And it felt like Emma was jumping into a Time Portal and looking into a mirror.

“Okay,” said Rapunzel, seeming to calm in Emma’s determination.

“We’ll find your prince,” said Emma. 

Rapunzel smiled through the fear in her eyes.

“And then after we do,” said Emma, “I could use some help finding mine.”

“Your prince?” asked Rapunzel. “Who is he?”

At that, Emma just smiled.

And gestured proudly to the wanted poster right next to the one of Flynn Rider.

-.-.

tag list: @kmomof4 @justanother-unluckysoul @klynn-stormz @stahlop @ilovemesomekillianjones @sotangledupinit @hookmecaptain @tiganasummertree @jadehowlettthewolf @jonesfandomfanatic @anmylica @pirateprincessofpizza @stahlop @snowbellewells @eddisfargo @motherkatereloyshipper 

[so-hot-i-make-hell-jealous]

Just a Presence by Your Side

TW: Implied depression, smoking, killing and death mentions

Jay and Dami fanfic, characters fully belong to DC

Jason Todd knew a bad day like he knew the back of his hand, and nothing even had to happen for him to notice.

He woke up feeling exhausted, even though for once, he'd actually gotten a decent amount of sleep. His mind felt blank, even though it was racing with thoughts. Mostly because it was a useless mantra of everything he didn't want to hear, all mixed together to create a recipe from hell that left a bitter taste on the edge of his tongue, left his stomach coiling into knots.

He swore and threw himself out of the bed, realising he couldn't sleep it off if he tried.

He forced himself into the shower, and he let the hot water relax muscles he didn't even know were tensed. But once he was done drying himself and dressing up, and the momentary bliss of being warm from his shower faded away, and he went back to feeling miserable again.

He looked up at his face in the mirror and wished he could recognise it. The image reflected back wasn't just that of a stranger, but of a monster, his mouth pulled into a dark scowl, the lines of his face terribly harsh. His skin was paler than usual, and an ugly scratch had made its way across the curve of his jaw. Ironically enough, it was from when he cut himself shaving last week, and it only served as a reminder of his incompetence.

An irritating Lazarus green seemed to line the edge of his vision, inking everything in, whispering thoughts of violent murder into his ears like a devil dripping poison into them from its tongue, forcing the venom down his throat, holding him down, so it stayed. He wasn't at the point of racing into his safe room and tearing the place down for the umpteenth time till his knuckles bled and he'd screamed his throat raw yet.

Guilt mixed itself with shame, and an infinite amount of reminders of his failure bored into his head. He remembered how he regretted even trying to steal from the damned Batman, trusting his mother, trying to take on the Joker, everything he'd ever done. He'd failed Bruce, failed Alfred (as far as Jason saw it), hell, he'd even failed that little boy bleeding to death in a vibrant-coloured costume, still hoping he'd make it out alive, still playing dress-up and thinking he was a hero. He hadn't healed, hadn't become better. He was still the same rash, hot-heated fool, although his innocence had shattered like glass, ironically just as fast as his ribcage had under the Joker's goddamn crowbar.

He was just a broken mess of scars, fury and decisions he regretted. He may have pretended he was so proud of his trail of bloodshed, indifferent of all the people he'd pushed away from him, but he was just tired of putting up a front all the time. There was no one Jason didn't want to see today more than. . .himself.

He'd really been meaning to quit, but the conditions were completely not in his favour, so he stood out on his balcony and lit a cigarette. Took in a long drag, exhaled and hoped the nicotine would work its magic.

By the time he'd heard the soft ruffle of fabric as the figure landed gracefully on his balcony, he'd already made it to his fifth cigarette.

Damian Al Ghul Wayne stood there, dressed in something casual for once; an emerald green hoodie that hung loosely off his slender frame, probably belonging to Dick. He raised one dark eyebrow at him disapprovingly.

"Tt. I wasn't aware anyone could have such an insatiable desire for lung cancer, Todd," he chided, and though his tone was snarky, it didn't have much bite.

"Go to hell, Demon Spawn," he shot back, fixing him with a death glare not unlike that of Bruce's.

Much to his horror, Damian laughed. There had to be something utterly wrong with him because the little brat never even let a smirk grace his lips. "I know you were practically born with a perpetual scowl on your face, and you can't help looking like a wet cat, albeit much less cute, but you seem to be actually upset today."

"And why the hell do you care?" he challenged, flicking the ash off his cigarette. "Why are you even here? Let's get this over with and tell me what you want from me."

The younger vigilante sighed and leaned back against the railing. "That last mission we went on together. It made me realise there's more to a simple-minded fool like you than meets the eye."

Involuntarily, Jason snorted as he relit another cigarette. "Lovely coming from you, short stack."

Damian flipped him a gesture Alfred would most definitely ground him for, and Bruce would make that disappointed 'hngh' noise he always reserved for when he wished to express his distaste. Jason had been on the receiving end of that for a stupid number of times that he'd memorised it.

"I am trying to say, you're not as self-centered as you so desperately try to showcase, Todd."

"Yeah, I'm actually a lot worse than that. So go ahead and tell Goldy that this 'brother-bonding' crap isn't gonna work between us," he snarled, taking in another long drag, trying to get the stupid green glow to fade from everything, trying to ignore whatever told him that Damian would be oh so easy to grab by the hair, his fingers could just wrap around his throat and choke all the life out of him without so much as a scream from the current Robin's lips.

"Grayson didn't tell me anything. I came on my own accord. And I get it, Todd. More than Grayson, more than Father ever would. You grew up trying to meet impossibly high standards. Trying to be the best thing they've ever seen. You tear yourself apart trying to please, and then you realise you still committed one too many atrocities in the process. You think I've never felt the Pit's rage myself?" he asked, folding his arms across his chest.

As much as he wished to say something snarky to shut the kid up, he realised his words held reason, felt familiar.

He continued. "I grew up with my hands soaked in the blood of others, to the point it turned to an addiction. No matter how much my ideals have changed, part of me still lusts for blood. Still feels it's right. I despise that part of me, but I can't deny it's still present. I cannot pretend the scars of the past do not exist when they still remain on my skin."

"Great. Wonderful. Nicely put. The hell am I supposed to do with that?" he spat, his jaw clenching and his fingers tightening around the cigarette.

"Maybe the means weren't the purest, but you've always fought for the better side. You've made mistakes, but your life has always been a fight for survival. I thought the way you died was just a cautionary tale of a foolhardy child's naivety, but you risked your life to save your mother's. You went up against the Joker. It was foolish, yes, but brave. You saved my life last time, when you could've so easily lost your own, when you fought so hard for it. You're not perfect, but you're not a bad person, Jason."

Then, it hit him like a kick to the ribs. He'd called him by his first name. Whatever the reason, it meant he was being completely sincere. He, Damian Al Ghul Wayne, one of the most blunt people to ever exist, was telling him he wasn't bad. The boy could spin a thread, sure. But that look in his eyes, a soft grass green that was worlds apart from the ugly Lazarus glow, couldn't be that of a liar's. Maybe the muscles of his face hadn't shown much emotion, but his eyes spoke volumes, the millions of words he knew he could hear.

"Goddamn it, kid. You're right." He seemed ro be telling himself that as threw his cigarette down, stamping on it with his foot.

"Of course I am, Todd. Learn from your superiors." He let his lip curve upwards with a lop-sided smirk.

He rolled his eyes. "Right. Wanna come inside? I do other things besides chainsmoke in my balcony. Who'd have thought?" He snorted in spite of himself.

"Tt. Let's hope you aren't as dull and lifeless as I assume, Todd."

He followed him inside, and they soon found themselves sprawled out on the couch, each of them reading a book of their choice. Dickens for Damian and Shakespeare for him. Jason could've sworn the green started to fade from his vision.

Sometimes, even when the world seemed to have twisted itself against you, the simple presence of another person, their warmth against your side, the few exchanged words between you could pull you out of a dark abyss of hopelessness. It wouldn't magically erase all the suffering, but at least, it felt like you could breathe, like you could live again.

Notes: I don't really know if in canon, Dami has actually had a soak in the Lazarus Pit, but here he has. I don't stick to canon that much anyway. This is my very first time posting a fanfic, so I hope neither of the boys are too ooc here!

[miserable-pile-of-lies]

The Sleeping Beauty of Wallachia Ch. 3 (Full)

I know it's been a lifetime since I last updated the story, but I really wanted to deliver with this chapter as it sets up the basic frame of the fanfic! I really hope you guys enjoy what I came up with, feel free to leave reviews on A03!

Summary: Wallachia is in great peril at the behest of Death himself; all those who have attempted to battle the creature have swiftly been executed and made an example of. The key to defeating the beast lies in Dracula's castle, located twenty odd miles out from a small village by the name of Danesti. In this village, the headwoman Greta must act quickly to save her people from the onslaught of attacks by night creatures and other minions who have sworn their loyalty to Death. Will she alone be able to stop Death or will she require additional aid to save Wallachia?

Skeletal appendages scraped furiously against the transmission mirror depicting the Speaker and head woman, muttering a string of curses against the two mortals. Death hovered in the dimly lit war hall, formerly the stronghold of the vampire king Dracula, standing in front of the reflective surface while his jawbone rattled in a fit of rage.

“Those damn Speakers continue to impede the progress of my fucking war,” the entity spat out savagely, swinging his gargantuan scythe in the general direction of his night troops. Night creatures nervously searched the faces of one another, conflicted by the appearance of their commander who currently donned his true form.

In the presence of their Forgemaster Hector, a naïve necromancer native to the distant country of Greece, the mystical being deceitfully modeled his appearance after that of Vlad Dracula Țepeș. Despite the steadfast loyalty the night creatures held towards their liege, Death had promised the beasts an unlimited supply of sustenance that what would ultimately lead to the extermination of humanity.

Left with free reign of the planet, the night hordes would transform Gaia into a ruinous paradise where the nighttime skies dominated daylight and the forsaken creatures would never have to return to the torturous confinements of Hell.

“The whole lot of you are absolutely useless, do I have to do everything on my own,” the grim reaper lamented, waving a hand to dissolve the magical mirror’s image, erasing the sight of the two women that would later contribute to his demise. One night creature resembling a large bat blew through its nostrils tactlessly, finding no amusement in the unprovoked castigation of the army.

Hearing the sound of the snort, Death languidly turned its effervescent build towards the large beast, staring daggers in retaliation at the ill-timed slight.

“Braying like an ass will not change my words, I was perfectly clear in my demands,” the angel of death howled out powerfully, raising the daunting crescent of his scythe above his frightening form. Making quick work of the unlucky demon, the gruff of its neck caught onto the merciless edge of the blade and the head of the devilish bat soared into the air in moments. Blood sprayed out from the decapitated monster as it unceremoniously fell on the polished floors of the chambers. Exposed arteries showered its nearby compatriots cowering in fear at the execution, all halting further movements.

“Would anyone else care to challenge my words, if so, step forward,” Death questioned calmly, effectively slinging off the blood that clung to the steel of his otherworldly weapon. Silence filled the war hall effectively, no one dared to stand in opposition against the underworld ruler.

On the verge of throwing a fit, Death stopped in his tracks at the sound of quickened footsteps in the distance, closing in on the massive war hall. Permitting a gratuitous exhale, the immortal turned his back to the night hordes who readied themselves for the newcomer, recognizing the familiar footfalls from anywhere. With the flourish of his skeletal hand the grim reaper chanted inaudibly, summoning forth his power to shapeshift into the rightful lord of the castle.

Tendinous muscles bloomed in the place of bone, quickly overtaking the shrinking mass of Death who groaned in soothing tones at the tickling sensation. Inky black hair sprouted from the scalp of his skull and fine threads of linen materialized over muted skin. Black wool breeches pooled over his long legs while a standard charcoal doublet garnished with the Țepeș family insignia appeared over the newly formed body of Vlad’s imposter. Polished leather boots clacked as Death spun around for the night creatures to observe his clever disguise, finishing the last transfigurations needed to complete the transformation.

Looking back into the transmission mirror, the surface reflected an image of the war lord indiscernible from the genuine article currently incapacitated by Death. Sharp claws adorned with a platinum wedding band traced over the mirror thoughtfully, not bothered by the sudden intrusion of Hector who appeared to be out of breath from dashing from his workshop.

Strands of starlight shook gently as the Grecian man doubled over from exhaustion, sweat gathering at his brow as his vision locked onto Dracula. Gently gripping the railing of the grand master stairway, the Forgemaster allowed himself a moment to catch his breath while his night creatures marched out of the war hall.

“Dracula, we need to replenish our forces, the number of casualties in your army continue to rise across Wallachia,” Hector announced wearily. Currently, the Forgemaster worked tirelessly around the clock to provide the soldiers that supplied Dracula’s army. Although he was honored to be chosen as the chief general in the crusade against humanity, Hector could not help but feel that he was reaching his limitations. Additionally, the necromancer pondered the whereabouts of his equal Isaac who had yet to make an appearance in the court of Dracula. Feeling a stab of disappointment at the late arrival of Isaac, Hector found his hands tied up with numerous tasks that did little to distract his thoughts that led to the other Forgemaster.

The two necromancers had been introduced to one another with the assistance of Dracula during his pursuit of knowledge upon Lisa’s request. Hector recalled being in awe, shyly eyeing the other sorcerer whose appearance was quite different than what he had expected based on Dracula’s vague description of the man. Wise beyond his years in matters of philosophy, the Ghanaian man bore the façade of a fabled ruler from a faraway land. Sharp cheekbones exquisitely found purchase against the high points of his face, sleek lines defining the entirety of his graceful form.

However, the other man was unapproachable in their initial encounters, seeking no camaraderie with Hector outside of their shared association with Dracula. Life had dealt a fair share of cruelties to Isaac; sold into slavery at a very young age, his village invaded by Teutonic Knights seeking gold on behalf of the Catholic Church. Having his own share of hardships, Hector faced abuse administered by his parents and peers throughout his lifetime.

Despite the difficulty bonding with Isaac, it became clear to the reserved man that Hector coveted their connection and respected him despite their different worldviews. Isaac slowly began to disclose tidbits of information about his past, detailing the events of his travels throughout the years. The young philosopher was often met with unwarranted violence, constantly badgered by men who had something to prove. Following suit in storytelling, Hector confided in Isaac about his current quarters on the island of Rhodes, forced into isolation by locals who feared the Forgemaster.

“They called me a demon, convinced that I was a byproduct of Satan and his wickedness,” Hector confessed quietly around the campfire. Looking across the flickering flames, his companions offered their sympathy in silence at the disheartened declaration.

Aquamarine hues reflected sorrow, recalling the daily deliverance of venomous words from his birth parents. His mother Rhea viewed her son as a curse, damning their family from the moment he left her womb. His father Cyrus cruelly forced Hector to use his abilities for his greed, completely lacking any attachment to his son. Trauma was an understatement when it came to describing the afflictions he suffered under the roof of his childhood home, every day more miserable than the previous one.

Hector recalled reaching his breaking point when his mother and father heartlessly set aflame Cassius, an undead canine that he revived in the picturesque meadows of Corfu. Infuriated by Hector and his strange proclivities of bringing dead animals into their living quarters, Rhea ripped off a long branch from a nearby olive tree.

“If only I could have foreseen the depravity of your character; why did God gift me with an evil seed,” Rhea cursed ruthlessly while beating a sobbing Hector, leaving irritated welts across his vulnerable back and arms. Curling into a fetal position to avoid the worst of his mother’s fury, Hector begged his mother to stop, but she refused to relent her punishment.

In retaliation, Hector ignited the residence under the cover of darkness, miming the brutality of his parents in an episode of calculated rage. Horrid screams shattered the silence of the night, smoke carrying the scent of burning flesh that could be smelled for miles. Neighbors cautiously gathered around the family home in horror, hurling a plethora of wicked expletives directed to the young boy. Hector retreated into the night wordlessly, never returning to the island of Corfu.

“Your story furthers my point, humanity is an infestation that ravages anything it comes into contact with,” Isaac asserted casually, wrapping his artisan hands around a ceramic mug containing water infused with citrus tones. Mahogany eyes squinted in displeasure at the shortcomings of mankind; a species that Isaac deemed unnecessary given their lack of purity and selfishness.

Propping an alabaster hand against his temple, Dracula wordlessly looked to both men who appeared to be at a standstill in the discussion.

“Peculiar would not even begin to express the paradoxical nature of this discussion, wouldn’t the two of you agree,” Dracula suggested whimsically while rising from the dewy grassland. Both humans exchanged a perplexed look with one another before allowing their supernatural companion to continue his train of thought.

“Despite the misfortunes that you both have endured, neither of you have purposefully gone out of your way to hurt others,” the vampire explained with a faint smile, looking to the two magically imbued mortals. Hector allowed a small smile of his own to surface in agreeance while Isaac quietly mulled over the words in deep contemplation.

Not long after their travels together, Isaac followed Dracula’s recommendation of perusing the world for further insight on humanity and what it had to offer. Traveling through the city of Tunis to return to his abode in the Western Sahara Desert, Isaac encountered a man who simply went by the name of Captain. Commanding a crew of forty-four men, the Captain invited Isaac to explore the world with him, seeing curiosity twinkling in those umber hues. Prior to the present war, both Hector and Isaac communicated through the distance mirrors gifted to them by Dracula. The vampire was quite insistent about the two staying in touch, emphasizing the importance of their friendship.

Hector listened in wonder at the tales that Isaac narrated, completely enthralled by the whirlwind of journeys that Isaac experienced across the globe. Various knick-knacks were presented under the ever-watchful eye of Hector, souvenirs gifted by companions made along the way during his world expedition. Contentment radiated off Isaac in a terrific arrangement throughout their conversations over the next couple of months, feeling closer than ever before to the other Forgemaster. Despite the Ghanaian man being worlds away from Hector’s humble abode in Rhodes, the Grecian man truly felt that he could call himself Isaac’s friend.

“I have never felt more at peace Hector,” Isaac conceded amicably as the sound of relaxing waves sloshed in the backdrop of his lodgings, retiring to his personal cabin for the night. The other Forgemaster curled his body against the worn mat in his small man-made hut, propping a hand under his chiseled chin. Daydreaming about a life of exciting escapades, preferably at the side of Isaac or Dracula, Hector allowed his imagination to run wild. However, Hector lacked the confidence to travel on his own at the mercy of other humans, knowing that his naivety could easily be exploited.

“What you have accomplished is an astounding feat, I’m happy for you,” Hector professed honestly while gently scratching behind the ear of his curious pet Cezar, the small pup wagging its stubby tail at the attention of his master. Tucking away a lingering lock that swayed in his vision, the Corfu native was thrilled that Isaac had achieved inner peace in his ventures to distant lands. Prattling on into the night as they often did, the two men would communicate almost daily until calamity struck Wallachia.

_____________________________________________________________________________

False rumors quickly spread across Wallachia regarding Lisa Țepeș, all unfounded accounts of the human doctor being a malevolent witch who used black magic to heal the residents of Târgoviște. Local priests and clergymen of the Catholic Church demanded that the woman burn at the stake for her crimes, claiming that Lisa denounced the teachings of the church through her unorthodox methods. Leading the public lynching of the innocent physician, the Bishop stormed the cottage and burned the structure without remorse, gleefully watching the home crumble in on itself amongst the flames.

Not long after the unexpected invasion, Dracula was alarmed by a disturbance in the cosmos after departing from the market town of Târgșor. The small town was roughly three miles out from the small dwelling that he shared with his wife from time to time following the birth of their son Adrian. The scholar had just returned to Wallachia after a year of traveling, departing from the port city of Braila just days ago. Wasting no time, the voivode glided through the bleak skies of a Wallachian winter, perturbed by the prickling unease that struck him out of nowhere. From the darkened clouds above, the nosferatu noticed fumes shrouding the small refuge of their home, seeing two figures situated in what remained of the cottage.

Crimson red engulfed the sclerae of Vlad’s eyes, his wrathful aura alerting one of the two creatures standing. Ivory frost coated platinum blond loose waves that resembled that of his wife Lisa, golden eyes widening in apprehension as the youth registered the presence of his father. An old woman crouched remorsefully by the young man with a hand full of withered cowslips picked from the nearby flora, laying them down in front of the incinerated remnants of the home.

“Words cannot express how indebted I am to your mother, the church has truly gone too far,” the elderly human muttered repentantly, clasping her worn hands together in a silent prayer. Jet black locks viciously swirled around the pale visage of the vampire, treading through the snowy sleet that did little to impede his powerful steps. Finally stopping before the pair, hellfire danced in his blazing irises that refused to burn out.

“Where is your mother and why were you not by her side,” Vlad snarled out quietly while dropping his traveling sack onto the blanketing snow, glowering at the dhampir without any inhibitions. A wave of tremendous guilt washed over Alucard at the blunt criticism of his father, unable to loosen the knot in his throat. Dark fitted leather gloves squeaked in protest, looking to the longsword he held in his hand for guidance. The weapon was a keepsake given to him by his mother in his teen years, a family heirloom passed through the ages.

“Mother asked me to travel to the city of Pitești to purchase medicinal herbs from the local market for her patients, I was only gone for two days,” the young man weakly explained. Raising a gloved hand to his temple in silent resignation, his eyes shut worriedly at the unknown fate of his mother, hauled away to the town square of Târgoviște to be burned for all to see.

Bloodied tears mirrored those that ran translucent in a state of clear distress. Despite the two butting heads from time to time, Vlad and Adrian loved Lisa more than anything else in the world so it was no question what they needed to do now. Casting a downward glance at the woman who knelt in the frosty snow, Vlad looked to the human thankful that at least one soul refused to participate in the cruel spectacle. Slowly rising to her feet with creaking bones, Alucard lent a hand to help Mrs. Djuvara rise from the snowfall, alleviating the strain of her getting up from the ground to the best of his abilities.

“The Bishop left about thirty minutes ago sir, rambling like a mad man after seeing the contents of the cottage,” the gray-haired crone commentated apologetically, gently thanking Alucard for his assistance. Giving her full attention to Vlad, almond-shaped eyes lowered in thought before she deemed it appropriate to continue.

“The Catholic Church wishes for Lisa to burn at the stake, those clergymen should be ashamed,” Mrs. Djuvara angrily expressed, crossing her arms at a complete loss.

If those bastards wish to burn my wife, blood shall be spilled all over these lands the immortal scholar promised menacingly while Alucard looked to his father with unadulterated determination. Somewhere in his delicate heart Alucard knew that his mother would be saved and that she would not want either of the men to spiral into violence on her behalf.

“There is no time to waste, we need to leave now Father if we hope to stop them,” Alucard suggested gently, sheathing his longsword into the scabbard that was fastened to his hip. Silently nodding in agreeance, Vlad directed one last glance to Mrs. Djuvara who watched the two men with concern.

“Thank you for your kindness, this act of generosity will not be forgotten,” Vlad expressed with a slight nod in her general direction. Turning on his heel, Vlad charged back into the frigid heavens once more. Following in suit, Alucard gave a polite bow in a show of gratitude before he took to the gloomy skies after his father.

“I truly hope she is alright,” the kind woman spoke in hushed tones, rubbing her aged palms together to regain some warmth before heading down the slushy path with careful steps. Tucked away in the grim forest nearby, a shadowy figure briskly swore, praying that the two supernatural beings would fail to reach the physician in time.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Not a soul in Wallachia knows what occurred following these events, only aware that Lisa never reached the town square as the Bishop had intended. The Catholic Church decided not to pursue the matter any further after several months passed, deciding that God would be pleased by their work regardless of her unknown whereabouts. Many speculations were made by those residing in Târgoviște relishing a year of peace following the abduction of Lisa Țepeș, theorizing that she used her craftiness to escape the reach of the church. Completely unaware of the violence that would pervade the cursed province, Wallachians returned to their daily routines and forgot all about Lisa of Lupu.

Shortly after the presumed tragedy, Hector received a distress signal from his distance mirror roughly six months ago, contacted by Dracula to conduct a global population cull. Briefly explaining what led to the maniacal request, the vampiric king pleaded that Hector travel to Romania to assist in his war against mankind. At a loss for words, Hector hesitantly asked Dracula to give him more time to consider the harrowing proposal.

Feeling guilt streaming through his conscience, the necromancer attempted to contact Isaac for additional guidance in what path he should walk. However, the other Forgemaster failed to answer the line of communication that both were accustomed to. Left to his own devices and feeling indebted to Dracula for his kindness in those previous months together, Hector agreed to act as a general in the vampire’s army. At the acceptance of the request, Dracula summoned forward his transmission mirror, allowing Hector to safely arrive to Wallachia without a moment to waste.

Upon his arrival, Hector noticed several oddities while exploring the expansive fortress. For one, Dracula failed to mention that Hector and Isaac would be the only generals acting in his army. While the Grecian man understood that Dracula detested the vampires in his inner court, the sorcerer could not understand the set of tactics that his master presented. No vampires had been spotted in the months he spent in the estate. Marbled hallways remained vacant apart from the night creatures that passed through on occasion, leaving Hector with so many questions that would remain unanswered.

Moreover, the late appearance of Isaac bothered Hector to no end, knowing that the missing Forgemaster prided himself on being punctual. When the young wizard prodded Dracula about the man in question, the lord of the castle insisted that he could not get ahold of Isaac.

“I have tried to speak to Isaac on several occasions, yet I cannot seem to reach him,” Dracula permitted after weeks of leading Hector on about the whereabouts of the Ghanaian man.

Hearing the admission aloud troubled the tanned islander despite the war lord attempting to put his mind at ease.

“Who could possibly harm Isaac, he will be fine,” the undead tyrant exclaimed irritably with the wave of his hand, silencing the anxious man altogether. Shortly after his biting remark, Dracula issued an apology to the dismayed general, explaining that he meant no harm. During his tenure at the castle, Hector took notice of the constant mood swings that afflicted Dracula, his temperament setting off at the slightest inconvenience.

Night creatures controlled by the childlike fellow were disposed of in cruel moments dealt by the voivode, often victims of senseless brutality. Seeing their battered remains evoked memories from the childhood that Hector desperately tried to escape, feeling ill when coming across his slaughtered beasts. In those moments, Dracula knew exactly what to say, explaining that his episodic cruelty stemmed from his immeasurable sorrow. Despite it being clear that his lord was still in mourning, the sorcerer could not help, but feel that many details leading to the tragedy were abstract in nature.

Only once did Hector attempt to question Vlad about the demise of his wife, hoping that he could comfort his friend. Unsurprisingly, Dracula vehemently lashed out at Hector when inquiring about Lisa, clarifying that his grief was too painful to blatantly express.

“Her passing is like an open wound that was left to fester Hector, vulnerably exposed to the brutal elements,” the sovereign spat out venomously. Approaching the portrait of Lisa that sat in his over cluttered study, Dracula tenderly caressed the oil painting with a hollowed expression.

Feeling a strange mix of empathy and apprehension, Hector simply observed the unsettling scene, concluding that he could not offer the consolation that his liege would never be able to claim.

The two quickly began to draft plans, offering their own introspections about which cities would best serve as ground zero in the war. Setting the tone of the attacks was of the utmost importance to Dracula, deeming that the first strike against Wallachia would determine the success of future battles. After careful consideration, the warlord determined that the first skirmish had to be personal in nature so that Wallachians took his actions seriously. Maneuvering a pasty hand against a yellowed map of Romania, a finger landed on the foundation of his misery, allowing an insidious smirk to sprout in place.

Târgoviște would be the first target of Dracula’s unbridled fury in avenging Lisa, staking claim on the capitol in one fell swoop. Many attempted to escape the city in the initial wave of attacks but quickly fell victim to the onslaught of the night hordes. Those surviving escaped through elaborate labyrinths lying underneath the city, fleeing north to the region of Transylvania. News quickly spread regarding the ambush on Târgoviște, survivors warning anyone in proximity to desert Wallachia at once.

Not long after, Hector began to expand the numbers in Dracula’s army with the excess of corpses from successful frays around Wallachia. His materials for forging varied in appearance, leaving the necromancer to question his own moral compass at times. Some of remains relatively intact appeared to be as young as a five-year-old, robbed of a meaningful life all too soon. Others seemed elderly to the point of having issues with mobility, their joints stiffened from a lifetime of working day in and day out.

Shaking away these intrusive thoughts, Hector continued to perform his duties to the best of his abilities, successfully overtaking many cities with his revived hellhounds. Things were running according to plan until the unexpected appearance of Speakers in Greşit; the mages assisting the common people from the attacks of night creatures. Since then, different caravans had travelled throughout the province in hopes of defending the innocent civilians falling prey to the unexpected raids commanded by Dracula.

Projecting the falsehood of contemplation under the focused gaze of the young man, the doppelganger summoned away the enchanted mirror. Pacing to the throne that sat at the heart of the war hall, the faux Dracula slowly sat down while interlacing his corpse like fingers together.

“What do you suggest that we do Hector,” Dracula requested patiently, looking to the Forgemaster currently descending the steps with a weighted gaze. Drawing himself to the side of his master, Hector failed to ignore the fallen night creature slain in the war hall, its fresh blood still perfuming the stagnant air. Sparing a brief glance at the sight of the corpse, the magician allowed a downcast expression to cloud his handsome features, pity flooding his body.

“The night creatures need guidance on the battlefield; however, we do not have the means to be everywhere at once Master Dracula,” Hector expressed bluntly.

Conceding with a small bob, the commander of the army allowed his high-ranking officer to pursue his thread of reasoning.

“Why not utilize your vampiric subjects in this war, they could easily best anyone that challenged your authority,” the magical user hesitantly recommended after a beat of silence. Thrumming his lengthy fingers along the arms of the dark oak throne, an extended sigh was released at the suggestion. Craning his neck to make eye contact with the standing Forgemaster, Dracula allowed an unrefined snort to escape his mountainous frame, startling Hector with the action.

Rising from his cushioned seat, the imposter scrutinized the undead conjurer with a wary eye, bending down to gander at the Mediterranean male. Suppressing the urge to back away at the sudden invasion of his personal boundaries, Hector furrowed his brow but remained in place, refusing to yield to the intimidation tactic. Nevertheless, his heart thrashed madly inside the cavity of his chest, unsure of how Dracula would respond to the open defiance of his commanding general.

Surprisingly, the ghoulish sovereign beckoned the sorcerer to follow his footsteps up the stairway, leaving Hector stupefied. After Hector took a moment to gather his bearings, his stride shadowed his master who walked ahead in silence.

On the upper level of the castle, the crackle of lightning could be heard within the glass lanterns decorating the top of massive pillars. The Forgemaster trailed behind the imposing figure of Dracula by several steps, pondering the undisclosed destination that his master had in mind. Peculiar rooms embellished with the strange mechanisms of the castle passed in the background, colossal cogs spinning in tandem to power the lifelike structure. Illuminated by the blue radiance from the electrically powered lamps, both men began to slow their extended steps before coming to a complete stop at the appearance of an unexplored threshold previously unknown to Hector.

Darkness swept away any previous amusement from the face of the vampire, retrieving a skeletal key shrouded in a venomous miasma, visible to even the unsuspecting eye of Hector. Sweat beaded across tanned skin that shivered at what lied ahead, a wave of unexpected nausea overriding his otherwise well disposition. Am I being punished for what I previously suggested Hector questioned shakily, fearing that his unfiltered callousness stirred the rage of his liege.

“Hector, you must promise me that you will never tell anyone about this particular room,” Dracula cooed softly, brushing a frigid hand against the quivering form of his subject. Unbeknownst to the Grecian man, Hector faced no danger behind the doorway that Dracula wished to show him.

Nodding reluctantly at the inquiry, Hector directed a skittish glance to his master wordlessly. Wasting no more time, the entryway of the room was swung open by an otherworldly force, revealing an otherwise chaste setting.

Gossamer curtains carelessly blew back and forward, blinding sunlight filtering through the boarded windows of the secret lodging. Surprise struck the features of the Forgemaster, seeing a mysterious man in the center of the room, lying in a lavish canopy bed. The lord of the castle hesitantly entered the room with a grimace, trudging towards the rest station with heavy footfalls. Tilting his head downwards, Dracula once again gestured for Hector to follow his lead, inviting the magician to stand by him with the repeated curl of his ghoulish finger.

Promptly accepting the invitation, the Corfu native briskly paced his steps to stand by his commander, following the line of attention given to the ethereal man sleeping in the comfort of the bed. The expanse of porcelain skin revealed the lean form of the fellow, marred by an unsightly scar that splayed across his Adonis-like chest. Flaxen loose curls attractively framed the resting warrior, unfurling around the man in a breathtaking impression that resembled the mythical tresses of the Greek god Apollo. The celestial being only wore leather-bound trousers that effectively displayed his powerful yet lithe frame, equal parts refined and daunting in aura.

Clearing his throat at the awkward stretch of silence, a pale hand splayed across the bare chest of the dhampir, partially covering the only imperfection that could be found on the man.

“My son attempted to thwart my plans in avenging my wife,” Dracula carefully disclosed. Slithering the hand upward, his icy hand cupped the sculptured cheekbone belonging to the youth in bed.

Looking between the parent and child, it was clear to Hector who the unconscious beauty resembled, favoring the late woman that he often saw in the disorderly study of his sovereign. Only around the eyes and brows could he see the influence of his master, both father and son showcasing striking features that conveyed their noble heritage. Despite the discovery of Adrian seizing his interest, the Forgemaster was befuddled by the late introduction of the halfling prince.

“Before his betrayal, I tried to call on the assistance of the closest generals within my court, demanding that they come at once after what the humans had done to my beloved wife,” the vampire king hissed while drawing back his claws from his sole heir.

Pausing for the sake of building momentum in the elaborate lie, the false Dracula closed his crimson eyes, soundlessly relishing in the misplaced trust of the naive sorcerer.

“A vampire by the name of Orlok struck down Adrian with a cursed blade despite my prompt warnings, leaving him in this weakened state,” the voivode admitted with a bite, leaving a disquieted Hector to piece together what occurred.

Starlight strands shook at this revelation, finally coming to terms with the reluctance that his master exhibited at the mention of vampires being at the forefront of his war. Loyal subordinates of Dracula mortally wounded his offspring, proving themselves to be as depraved as human beings.

“I came to a realization following the near death of my successor; neither vampires nor humans deserve to walk these lands,” the executioner confessed boldly. According to the violent account of the crown ruler, Dracula dispatched every vampire in his path following the assault of his cherished son.

Bonds of blood and love fueled his animosity towards his own species, concluding that vampires were incapable of viewing mortal creatures as purposeful creatures.

“Please forgive me for my suggestion, it was an unreasonable request,” Hector confessed sorrowfully. Brushing off the verbal sputtering of his general, the doppelganger felt a ripple of fatigue begin to hammer away at the effectiveness of the spell disguising his legitimate form.

I will have to dismiss him at once Death deliberated apprehensively, detecting that the veil of the glamour was slipping rapidly from his persistent usage of the spell as of late. Allowing a rare genial smile to surface, Dracula summoned his tactical officer away, promising that he would find a proper solution to lessen the workload of the Forgemaster.

“Words alone cannot describe my gratitude Master Dracula, I will not fail you,” Hector promised with a bright smile, feeling a surge of passion spark at the unguarded constitution of his friend.

Once the jovial magician departed from the alcove, a deep scowl set on the face of the imposter wearing the skin of Dracula, sickened by the fictitious bond between him and the accursed man-child. Death lifted the enchantment camouflaging the angel of death, gliding over to the unmoved form of Alucard. Flesh melted away in a horrifying reveal, making way for the signature semblance of the spectre.

“Do you hear me Alucard,” the grim reaper griped, clearly miffed by the tireless charade that he put on day in and day out to accomplish his current objective. Procuring an agreeable spot in a gothic high back chair that sat close by, the entity permitted a superfluous exhale to leave his lungless structure. Gazing at the sleeping prince, a sharpened appendage attempted to pierce the heart of the unconscious youth. Simultaneously, a visible force field crackled at the threat of danger for the son of Dracula, Death forcibly removed by the triggered spell. Allocated by the true ruler of the castle, the spell allowed Alucard to remain unharmed by the malicious entity, protected by the paternal love of his father.

Groaning at the effectiveness of the hex, a feral snarl erupted from the underworld king. Stomping back to close in on the cursed male, the skeletal face of Death unceremoniously crowded in the proximity of the defenseless dhampir. Small breaths escaped from the gorgeous warrior compelled to sleep against his will, unable to voice his displeasure against the depraved creature.

“That cock wart Dracula will pay for making a mockery out of me, I will find away to break this spell and I will take what rightfully is mine,” Death assured brusquely, gripping the hollowed cheeks of his captive. Releasing the delicate face of the supernatural fighter, the grim reaper vanished from the chambers, slicing through the frigid air of the room with his trustworthy scythe.

Creating an ingress that led to the Infinite Corridor, Death saw a copious number of settings distorting the foundation of time and space, different eras and locations all residing within the unusual dimension.

“In order to assure my victory, I must douse out any semblance of hope for humanity,” the supernatural being concluded grimly. Selecting a seemingly arbitrary setting, Death pursued the target he had sought out for months: the absent Forgemaster Isaac.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Harsh pants dispensed at the suffocating dryness of the barren lands; a wearied figure found difficulty with properly trekking through the golden sand that seemed infinite. Bringing the waxed batik fabric of his bell-shaped sleeve to his drenched brow, Isaac squinted in exhaustion at the compression of heat, seeing waves distort his unreliable vision. Leering at the nothingness that extended for miles, the Ghanaian man paused in his journey. Looking back at the night creatures created from the remains of desert bandits, maroon eyes warily searched the blazing heavens to see if the deadly entity hid amongst his troops.

Dropping to his knees abruptly, the Forgemaster felt his stamina begin to plummet at an unprecedented rate. For several months the necromancer avoided the grim reaper with the assistance of his distance mirror, indebted to Dracula for his selflessness during a critical time in Wallachia. Frowning in discontentment at the unpleasant memory, the sorcerer felt responsible for failing the traveling scholar in his time of need.

Approximately a year ago, Isaac received a distressed message from his highly esteemed friend Dracula, foreboding the current events that he now endured. While the communication from the man of letters was not an aberration in his daily rituals, the Forgemaster noticed an immediate difference in the usually collected countenance of the vampire king.

Shooting pains stirred within the frontal lobe of his head at the recollection, immediately bringing Isaac back to the tumultuous present. Night creatures gathered around their master, concerned by the abnormal behavior of the dark skinned enchanter. One night creature by the name of Fly Eyes stood at the forefront of the troops, chittering away commands to instruct the lesser beings within their ranks to search for nourishment at once.

Attempting to placate the dehydrated magician, Flyseyes knelt by the side of the Ghanaian man, gently prying open the attractive curve of plump lips with his razor-sharp talons.

Carefully bringing his hands to his side, Flyseyes retrieved a leather waterskin from the satchel belonging to his liege. Despite his nightmarish appearance, the night creature retained a good deal of his humanity, constantly conversing with Isaac about a great deal of worldly matters. In his previous life, the anthropomorphic fly acted as a Greek philosopher who died in the ancient city of Athens, remembering inconsequential details from his past. Delicious morsels for discussions by the fire, the creature inspired new trains of thought for Isaac with his wisdom and vice versa.

“You really should drink Isaac, do you wish to expire,” the night creature prattled with a hint of admonition, the water-filled receptacle promptly placed in front of the revenant summoner. Allowing a small exhale to leave his crumbled form, the Forgemaster gladly accepted the offering given by his wise servant, taking extensive gulps to savor the lukewarm water.

Pulling back to intake an influx of fresh air, Isaac straightened his toned frame, unable to articulate his hopelessness. Wide vermillion eyes stared adamantly, refusing to yield in their conquest of retrieving their master, the wise man seeming so lost for the first time since the two met.

“Death does not concern us, because as long as we exist, death is not here,” the night creature mentioned offhandedly, raising a barbed nail to pick at the human flesh stuck between his visceral fangs.

Down casted burgundy eyes closed at the ancient Athenian proverb, shaken by his own bewilderment, instead offering an Islamic adage to combat his own troubled psyche.

“Life is not guaranteed at all, but death is absolutely guaranteed upon all, yet we still prepare for life more than death,” the necromancer countered, passing the waterskin to the puzzled night creature.

Although the demonic entity politely accepted the leather canteen, Flyseyes no longer required the fundamental resources needed for human survival. Placing the waterskin by his side in the shifting silt, the jarring beast stood up, seeing the dispatched creatures returning to their malnourished master bearing gifts. Not too far off, a small caravan trailed in the overshadow of the flying critters, a small collection of several men and women on camelback.

Slowly, Isaac retrieved his forging dagger from the rough cotton sash tied to his strong core, prepared to add the travelers to his ranks if need be. Shockingly, the men appeared to be completely calm, not bothered by the presence of the Forgemaster or his beasties. Cool steel began to heat up in his clammy palms, hooded eyes sinking close from the burnout administered by the unexpected travels leading him to the accursed desert.

This is the end I suppose, my only regret is dying in this hellish heat Isaac mused casually, falling onto the fiery golden sea. Vision blackening at the edges, the last sight captured by Isaac was the dismounting of the leader, an unusual ambiance filling the air at his arrival.

[jinmukangwrites]

Lose

"If requests are still open for LinkedU fanfics I'd love to read smth like this: The links adventuring and all and suddenly Twilight turning into a wolf without knowing why and transforms back being in terrible (like TERRIBLE pain) and its all because the twilight realm reopens and monsters are there for a fight. And if you could include Midna that would be AMAZING ... Thanks" @awesomeunicat

(also in answer to LU discord's prompt: Taken/Loss)

-o-o-o-o-

The group walks along the forest path in a companionable silence. They had changed worlds again and none of them knew where they were. The trees are large and full of green leaves and the sounds of the animals chatter around them. Not much help with distinguishing a location when every Hyrule had these traits.

Twilight yawns and looks around him, trying to spot some kind of landmark or anything that could clue in the group as to where they are. Yet there is nothing; only the endless expanse of forest.

The small path below them suddenly narrows and turns off in a seemingly random direction. They must be following an animal path, one trodden down by rabbits or deer over a long period of time. They'll never find civilization this way.

"We'll have to make camp soon," Times says, his voice cuts through the silence. Twilight looks up to the sky and sees that the sun is indeed beginning to sink through the leaves of the trees, casting dark shadows over the forest ground.

If they knew what Hyrule they were in, they would be able to probably travel further, yet because they don't know, there is no telling what kind of creatures are lurking behind the corner, waiting for the cover of dark to pounce.

The group answers Time with various grunts of acknowledgement and continue onwards until they stumble upon a clearing in the trees that's wide enough to set up their bed rolls and a fire.

Wild sits in front of the campfire, cutting up rabbit meat, as Time sits down with Legend, Hyrule, and Sky to look at each other's maps, pointing out different areas, theorizing where they could be. Twilight sighs and is about to join then before the world pulses.

Twilight stumbles and something horrible tears at his very bones, bringing out a strangled gasp of pain through his throat.

"Twilight?!" Wind calls, but it's echoing and far away.

Twilights whole body radiates with a stinging agony, one that he hasn't felt in a very long time. Fear claws its way through his chest and latches onto his heart as another pulse of sheer pain streams throughout his entire being. He feels himself falling but he can also feel his bones and muscles shifting unnaturally. Through his blurry gaze, he catches a very familiar design on the back of his hand glowing golden.

Strong hands wrap around his shoulders, attempting to steady him or something alike. The dark blue of Warrior's scarf envelopes his vision and then blurs with the darkness creeping in at the corners of his eyes. He feels his fingers snap and his jaw shatter, shaping and morphing into something else. Something not human.

It's not supposed to be painful, he thinks, and Twilight wants to scream that as Warrior lowers him gently to the ground. He hears worried voices as he loses feeling in his thumbs, shocked gasps as tufts of dark grey fur sprouts from his skin, but he's in too much pain, too busy writhing as his body is shifting against his will, to try and search through the pain clouding his mind to understand what they're saying or trying to do.

Another pulse of fire vibrates his very bones and he howls.

k….

Everything goes so silent as his body shakes from it's attack of pain. It's taking all his strength to keep his eyes half lidded as hands gently grab through his fur, attempting to shake his canine shoulders and check if he's okay. He smells Wild. He smells fear.

ink…

His ear flicks at the voice trying to speak to him. It's different than the other panicked voices above him, this one seems to be directly speaking to him from inside his very skull.

Link…

His eyes close, a wine leaving his throat as well as any feeling or any sense of reality. Black fog coveres his vision and ice seems to replace his blood as his whole body goes numb with the coming unconsciousness.

Link… answer… it's… me….

His lungs let out a puff of air as sleep takes him with a wash of calm. He must be hallucinating, yet it was still nice to hear her voice.

Black takes him as he thinks of her name.

-o-o-o-o-

"Link."

He blinks and looks up to the blackness above him. For a second, he thinks his eyes are still closed until he brings his hands up to his face. He rubs his eyes and groans as he forces himself up so he's sitting.

"How many times do I have to call your name, idiot?"

He startles and jumps to his feet. All around him is black, the space surrounding and the ground beneath almost seems like it just doesn't exist. However, he can see himself just fine as he grabs the sword on his back and brings it out, searching for whatever had called out to him.

Something shifts in the darkness and it approaches him slowly yet elegantly. It's dark like the space around him, and tall like a giant. "Where am I?" He demands, stepping backwards as the figure continues to approach.

Something catches his eyes, something orange like a sunset and red like pure determination. His breaths leaves his lungs. "W-who are you?"

"You're such an idiot," Midna says, smiling as she finally comes into view.

Link drops his sword and stumbles back like he had been stabbed. It certainly feels like it. The sight of her, standing tall, in front of him hurts like someone dug a dagger straight through his heart.

"A dream," he whispers.

She steps closer and he wants to back away, but he can't, his feet are stuck in place. He can't do anything but stare with wide eyes at her as she shakes her head and reaches up to caress his jaw. The touch vibrates through his entire body, tingling down his spine and numbing his toes.

"You're not here," he says, because she can't be. She shattered the mirror and left. There is no way for her to be standing in front of him.

She smirks at him and lowers her hand. "I'm here, but… not for long."

Before Link can say anything her face falls and she steps back. "The Twilight," she says, "something has happened. A monster, it came and… and used evil magic to break the barriers again."

"A monster?" Link finds himself asking even though it has to be a dream.

She looks at him in the eyes. "It was you… or it looked like you."

His blood goes cold and a chill shivers up his spine.

"But... It was black with glowing eyes full of malice. It attacked my tribe, my people, it turned them into dark creatures. With a simple spell, it tore open the barrier."

Memories come flying back at him of his forced transformation and he almost loses his balance completely as he realizes what has happened. Midna continues on, studying him with her ever sharp eyes.

"The Twilight is reopened," she says, confirming his biggest dream and his worst fears.

The darkness around him begins to brighten to gray and Midna fades with it. Panic flares inside his chest because this is too early, she can't go yet, what is he supposed to do?!

"You're so stupid," she says, smirking at what must be his scared face, "I'll find you. Until then, you have people you need to protect, Hero of Twilight."

The world flashes white.

-o-o-o-o-

His eyes open to the sound of battle. There's the running of feet and the gluttal growls of dark monsters he hasn't encountered for such a long time. There is yelling and clashing of swords but there is also… panic.

He pushes himself up to his paws and shakes his head, fighting off waves dizziness. It's night, made so much more impossibly darker by the other world leaking into his own. He's alone, he notices with a start. He turns his head around, breathing deeply and searching with sharp animal eyes for any signs of his friends. His ears twitching and his nose is flaring with his deep breaths of air.

There's noises all around him, he can't tell which direction to go, but thankfully a scent stands out to him.

It's dirty, yet full of life. It smells like like fresh air and stormy weather mixed in with the smell of grass and wildflowers.

He sprints off in the direction.

Leaves and bushes whack at his flank as he runs, but his thick fur and skin keep him protected as he pushes himself harder. He can hear heavy breathing, panicked breaths coming out in short bursts. The smell of blood mixes with Wild's scent.

He bursts through the trees and snarls at the black creature that's crawling forward. Wild in in front of it, holding a sword in front of him with one hand while the other lays limp at his side, dripping blood from his fingertips. He's breathing hard and his eyes are wide as he snaps his neck towards Twilight. Red is running down the side of his face.

The monster screeches and Wild flinches, Twilight growls and runs towards the creature with an animalistic fury before it could attack. He jumps on its body and buries his teeth deep in it's throat. He can feel it's high pitched scream run past his teeth but he digs further until it still and falls down to the ground: dead.

Growling, he unlocks his jaw and backs up and spits black ooze from his mouth. He memorizes the scent, the scent he had long past forgotten, and then turns back towards Wild who is tying a strip of cloth from his garments around a gruesome gash in his arm.

Twilight steps up towards him and he tries to return to his human form, but just like so long ago he's stuck in the wolf form until he leaves the Twilight. Instead, he nudges his head against Wild's leg. Wild looks down at him.

"Can't fight them," he says, breathing hard. His hand goes down and combs through Twilight's muzzle, seeking comfort. "Goes right through."

Twilight understands instantly. Beings of the Light cannot interact with the Twili, but the Twili can definitely interact with them.

His heart beats fearfully at the thought of the others all facing the same creatures, not able to make a scratch but vulnerable to take damage. Not even Time would last long.

He lifts his snout into the air and sucks in a deep lungful. He can instantly tell there are four other creatures of Twilight hiding around. The world around him goes dark as black smoking trails seem to appear out of thin air, heading out in multiple, random directions.

He nods his head at Wild and begins to pad forward. Wild follows. Twilight keeps his eyes on the black smoke and begins to speed up when noises of battle hits his sensitive ears. He breaks into a sprint with Wild expertly chasing behind him, like he's chased after a wolf before.

He crashes through the undergrowth and comes across Four and Sky attempting to fight their own monster. Sky swings the Master Sword, but even that does nothing more but pass right through the monster. Before Sky could back away, the creature swings out it's clawed arm and scratches Sky right across his chest. Twilight howls in anger and kicks his hind legs back, snarling as his jaws locks around the jugular of the creature.

An evil may have reopened the Twilight, released a chaos upon the world, but there is no way he will let it win. He's not going to let it take his family, his world, away from him.

Not again.

He won't lose.

[king-theseus-kingdom]

Dreamscape Hell

This is a fanfic based around my friend @call-me-paxton​ ‘s Discord server plot--it features Wilford Warfstache, Actor!Markiplier, Marvin the Magnificent, Benjamin the Who Killed Markiplier butler, the Who Killed Markiplier? Manor Entity, and Wylie Warfstache--Wilford Warfstache’s son (in our canon).

Please proceed with caution, as this deals with death and a lot of injury and blood warning--if this may trigger you, don’t read for your own safety. ❤

Wilford had rounded a corner with Ben close behind him, and he let out a cry. "WYLIE!" He shrieks, joy overtaking his entire being at the sight of his son down the hallway. The boy's head shoots up, and a smile lights on his face, tears running from both of their cheeks. "Dad!" Wylie cries, starting to run up the hall towards Wilford. It takes Wilford a moment to see all the blood down Wylie's front, the way the boy's leg isn't working quite right as he runs with a limp. The boy is holding his front, but the pain that should be in his expression is replaced with relief and joy. Wil barely sees Actor and Marvin rushing after him. "Dad!" Wylie is sobbing as Wilford takes off towards him, planning to meet him in the middle. A figure appears behind Wylie, down the hall, the splitting image of Mark. "WYLIE LOOK OUT!" Ben roars from behind Wilford, but a deafening BANG! cuts through the air. Wylie's eyes dilate as his body jerks, the smile cracking apart as he trips over his own feet, starting to plummet to the ground. "Dad.." He chokes, eyes rolling back in his head. Wilford dives, barely managing to catch the boy and going down with him. "Wylie-" Wilford can't breathe, fresh tears gathering in his eyes and running down his face. This can't be happening! His mind screams, Anyone but him!! Oh god, please no! The bullet had hit Wylie in the back of the neck, and there was so much goddamn blood all over him from so many different injuries that Wilford felt sick, so fucking sick.. Marvin, in his cat form, had let out a wail, jumping off of Actor's shoulder and sprinting towards the two pink-headed men. "Oh god.." Ben's hand was on Wil's shaking shoulder, the man's breaths coming out in small gasps as he gazes down. Actor was rushing over, face tight with pain and fury. That was his kid, too. Covered in his own blood, in more pain than you could ever imagine. More than he should have been in for a lifetime. So much more than he deserved to feel...

"Wylie...Wylie can you hear me?" Wil's voice breaks as he presses a hand over the wound on the back of the boy's neck, his body laying across Wil's lap now. "Please..." The boy's eyes open weakly, his body shaking from all the pain. "D...da--" "Shh, it's alright, d-don't--don't talk, Wylie, it's okay..." Wilford whispers, his eyes swirling with a million different emotions. Marvin's paws are pressing against Wylie's shoulder, trying to heal the damage that had been done, the wounds that had been brutally carved into him. "We're gonna get you home, son, I promise, you're--" Wilford's voice breaks, and he hiccups as he holds him tighter. "Dad.." Wylie whispers, his voice sounding like he was drowning. He was choking on the blood that was seeping into his throat from the wound, making his words sound gargled and distorted. "I-I'm..s--sor--ry.." Wylie was crying now, too, his face tight with fear and agonizing pain. Wilford let out a sob, clutching his boy tighter. Actor had a hand pressed over his mouth as he knelt down next to the boy he'd grown to love so much, knives through his heart as he listened to him and watched the emotions melting across his bruised face.

The image of Mark had morphed, turning into Wilford, gun still clutched in his hand. "It was an accident!" The double had wailed, dropping the gun. It disappears in a puff of smoke when it hits the ground. "I swear!" Wilford flinches, a hard sob spilling from his lips as he tries to look anywhere but at his carbon copy. "I didn't mean to kill anybody!" "Shut up!" Benjamin shouts at it, his voice quaking. "Leave us!" A low chuckle spills from the entity, its eyes turning pink. "Life needs a little madness~ isn't that right, William?" The entity shifts, changing shape and turning into Mark once again. Wilford refuses to look at him, soft sobs spilling from his lips. "It's not fair, is it?" Mark, the copy, had growled, moving closer to the group.

Actor turns, a deep snarl on his face. "Get the hell away from us!" He'd roared, grief making his voice quake. Wilford finally looked up, unable to form words. "Life is for the living.." Mark had smiled, hands clasped behind his back. "And your precious boy won't be living much longer..unless you all stay here, where I can give you anything..." "SHUT UP!" Wilford screams, hyperventilating as his whole body shakes, his own eyes flickering pink as Marvin looks up at him. The poor magician was doing everything he could, but after the journey he was so much weaker than usual, and there were so many injuries all fighting to kill Wylie simultaneously.

Smoke pours out of Mark, and Wilford lets out a heart-shattering sob as Dark took the figure's place, white-suited and eyes dark with disappointment, that look that always broke part of Wilford to see. "Same snake, different skin...causing more death, William?" Dark purrs, and Wilford chokes on his breath, shaking his head rapidly. He knew it wasn't Dark, he knew it wasn't the man he loved so goddamn dearly...but it still send red-hot pain through every inch of his body to see him, hear him... "N-N--No--" Wilford gasps for breath, holding onto Wylie like it would keep him alive. "Do you now see the consequences of your actions, my prince?" Dark has appeared closer, gazing down at Wilford with cold eyes. "So much trouble...all for something so small...why leave? You can be free here, with no pain or trauma...no death.." Dark tilts his head, smiling harshly down at all of them. Marvin was hissing, his green eyes glaring up at the impostor. Dark bares his fangs and hisses right back at the feline. "So..what will it be? Stay, and Wylie will be fine? Or leave, and he will die?" Dark demands. "Wylie would never want us to stay," Actor growls, "He never gave in because he wanted us all to be free..." "Fine, have fun burying your precious child." Dark laughs, looking at Wilford for his answer as Ben shakes his head.

The ceiling above them was starting to crack apart as Wylie's life drained away. Wilford was rocking back and forth, trying to keep Wylie alive by pressing his hands over the worst of the wounds as Marvin worked to correct them. "What will it be, William? Save him? Or let him die like all the others?" Dark repeats, void of emotion as he watched Wilford sob in pain and anguish. "Stop it!" Wilford wails, "Just stop, leave us alone! If you're not going to help him then LEAVE US ALONE!" Wilford screams, sobbing his voice raw as Wylie gazes weakly up at him, trusting him...eyes soft despite the deep pain. "Please, pl-lease...Wylie..Wylie..." Wil whimpers, lowering his head and pulling his broken son closer. "Please.." Don't go, don't let me lose you too, I can't do it.. "I'm tired of giving people a choice." Dark snarls, fists clenched at his sides. He walks up to William, seizing the man's chin and yanking his head up. His eyes were black, his teeth sharp and bared in a growl. "I will only heal him if you agree to stay. If not, he dies." "Leave him alone!" Actor shouts, jumping to his feet. The entity rolls his eyes. "Sit down before you hurt yourself." Dark sneers, letting go of Wil's jaw and taking a step back. "..d..a..ad..." Wylie rasps, grabbing onto Wil's shirt with a blood-soaked hand. The poor man looks down, leaning closer. "D..do..n'..t..agr...ree...g...go...go ho...m.." Wylie's eyes are starting to fall shut. "Wylie!" Wilford grips him tighter, "No, n-no please don'--don't close your--" *I'm losing him, he's going to die, oh god no please-* A section of the ceiling crashes to the ground not far from them, and Ben and Marvin both jump in surprise. "His death is breaking everything apart.." Actor whispers, just loud enough for Marvin and Wilford and Ben to hear.

"Your stubbornness will be the death of us all." Dark sighs, straightening his suit jacket. "But fine, let this place fall down, let him die, just like you let Mark die, over, and over, and over, and over again!" Dark's body splits apart into various Marks, each with different, fatal injuries. "Like you let them all die!" He reforms into a single entity. "STOP IT! SHUT UP, STOP TALKING!" Wilford shrieks, shaking his head violently. CRASH as a mirror falls from a wall, the paint and supports crumbling. "G..go.." Wylie whimpers quietly, and Wilford looks down at him again. No, please, I just found out about you, I can't lose you now, please, please no...Wylie... He smiled, Wylie really smiled up at Wilford, as his teeth stained red from blood, and as his shaking body started to slow. Wilford's heart was breaking apart, and he was shaking his head. "I won't leave you, please..W..Wylie.." His mind was snapping, the threads straining and breaking apart, all that progress--all that progress...backtracking, falling apart like the room they were sitting in. Dark watched him with a disgusted expression, lip curled in anger. "We gotta go-" Actor chokes, looking back at them, "This place is going to come down on top of us--w-we gotta move--" He was crying, too, tears slowly sliding down his cheeks. "Wil--" Marvin rubs against Actor's leg, jumping up on his shoulder. "My magic won't work....god I don't know why!" Marvin mentally says to Actor, lowering his head. His ears were tucked back, and his tail was lowered, used only for balance now. Marvin yowls as part of the ceiling comes down and Actor has to move to avoid the debris that shoots up after it breaks off. "We're all gonna die if we don't get out of here.." Actor murmurs, but a soft hiccup comes from him as he sobs quietly, bringing hand up to his face to cover his eyes. Wylie's eyes have shifted, and he's gazing up at Marvin and Actor now, eyes starting to glaze over.

"M..Mar..v.." The boy chokes, and it causes the cat to jump down, every movement stiff with fear as he lays his tail on the dying boy. 'I'm sorry.' Wylie's mind was whispering, 'I'm so sorry I can't keep the promise...' "Stop!" Marvin's small body trembles, "Wylie, no, please, come on.." 'You have to go..take them and go, keep them safe...please...' Wylie's mind answers, and a weak little smile is on his face, 'Please, Marvin...keep them alive for me...tell Wil I love him, okay? It's not his fault...and not Mark's either...' His mind was getting quieter as the room crumbles faster and faster. "We have to go!" Ben cries, stray tears slipping off his cheeks, "William, we must go or we're all going to die!" Actor is kneeling down again now, looking at Wil. "We have to get him out of here, Wil! Listen to me!" Actor shouts, grabbing Wil's shoulder. "We have to get him out! Come on! He needs us, William!" He's desperately trying not to look down as a choked sob comes from Wylie. "Pull yourself together!" "Hold on Wylie! Just hold on a little longer! We're gonna make it, just don't let go!" Marvin was screeching to the boy. He could see it, see all the flashing images in Wylie's head. Wilford and Wylie the first time they met, not so long ago, laughing, smiling...Dark was there too, and Mark, and Finn, and they all seemed so nervous and yet so happy. Wylie's mom, Paisley, took up many of the images. Over the years of him and her, only the smiles, the good times. Actor, the grins he'd sport when he was joking with Wylie, the protectiveness and fond expression.. "I like the Wylie I have in front of me.." Actor's voice sounded. 'Dad..' Wylie's mind whispers, and both Actor and Wil appear in his head. And then Marvin appears, from the cat form landing on Wylie's head to helping the other with his jacket, nothing but fondness existing in the boy's mind when he thought about his new friend that he didn't get enough time with.

'I love you all, so much...' Wylie's mind whispers as tears roll down his face and drip off onto the floor. They were screaming, Wilford and Marvin and Actor, all shrieking for him to hold on as the floor cracks and the ceiling crashes down. Marvin could hear his heartbeat slowing down. 'Take...take care of..of...th...' Wylie's mind stops whispering, and his eyes slowly fall shut, breath escaping his lungs one last time before he goes limp in Wil's lap. The pink haired man's breathing speeds up as his eyes scan rapidly over his son's face, and Marvin tosses his head back with a grief-stricken caterwaul. He was gone. The floor trembles as the ceiling breaks apart. Marvin presses himself against Actor, and the man can feel all the pain the feline is feeling. The repeated "HE'S GONE HE'S GONE HE'S GONE-" ringing in his ears. Actor nearly collapses, feeling sick as he covers his mouth. "No, no, no-" Actor chokes, letting out a sob. "WYLIE!" Wilford is screaming, ignoring the debris smashing down around him. "We have to go!" Ben is trying to pull Wilford to his feet. "WILFORD LET HIM GO!" "NO!" Wilford screams, shoving Benjamin away. "Wil he's gone, we have to go or we're all going to die, too!" Ben is crying, watching his friends eyes turn pink slowly. "We have to go!" "What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Wilford screams at him, "What do you want me to do, leave him here?!" "Wil-" "No!" Wil sobs, his mind snapping apart. "I'M NOT GONNA FUCKING LEAVE HIM HERE!" The room was turning black, stars closing in on the crumbling room. Darker...darker...darker... ....nothing.

~~~~

Wilford's body jerked awake in the basement of the manor, gasping and jerking as tears start running down his face. "WYLIE!?" He's still screaming, head whipping around as he searches for the boy. Benjamin wakes up nearby as if he'd come back from the dead, groaning as he held his head. "Wil-" He chokes, gazing at the pink-haired man, who was on his feet and turning back and forth, looking for his child. Marvin was awake, trembling with his knees pulled to his chest, no longer in his fuzzy cat form. He was crying silently, hands over his ears. This can't be happening..

Actor was the one who woke first, and found Wylie's broken body in another room, not far from where the others had woken up. Covered in his own blood, no pulse...body starting to cool already... He's not coming back. Actor felt his heart shatter apart, holding onto the boy gently as he tries to rouse him, in vain. "Wylie.." He whispers, lip trembling. "Oh, kid...please no..." An ear-shattering scream tears through the air as Wilford enters, and the mans knees buckle as he tumbles to the floor, staring at the body in horror.

When you lose your parents, you're an orphan... But what do you call it when you lose a child..? Nothing, there is no name for that.. Because you cannot put a name on that grief.

As Wilford stares at the broken body of his only child, mangled, bloody...he can only scream, in heart-stopping agony, as the body turns cold. As Marvin and Ben enter, unable to stop the pain the two men were feeling.

That night, Wilford Warfstache lost his mind all over again, and Actor lost his will to continue, and Marvin lost the light in his eyes. Ben lost four friends once more, and now himself, as none of them were ever the same again. And poor Wylie, joining Mark, Damien, Celine, Abe, Y/N... As another victim of Markiplier Manor.

[brandxspandex]

Loki, 15

15 = What fandom do they write fanfic for? Give us a small sample.

He would write for My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. Behold:

“Oh, don’t cry my dear,” Discord cooed as he used a talon towipe a tear from the Princess’s magenta eye. The tear froze on his finger inthe increasingly frigid air, and he took a moment to admire the way it sparkledlike a tiny gem, before he crushed it into powder, and transmuted each particle ofpowder into a star, which he threw into the dark sky to form a newconstellation. Above them, the celestial sight of Celestia vanquished sparkled ina perfect mirror of the scene of the broken alicorn below, and Discord savouredthe sweet symmetry.

Celestia summoned her last vestiges of rage to use her voiceto confront him now that her body and magic had finally failed, but as shespoke, her ‘righteous’ fury was tainted with grief and defeat, “Why? Why haveyou done this after we gave you everything? Every second chance! We gave you aplace amongst us! We gave you our friendship!”

“Why?” Discord replied in a booming whisper. “You want toknow why I’ve shattered Equestria into a trillion shards of chaos and endedyour Age of Harmony? How can you even ask such an obvious question?” Thedraconquus’s eyes burned as everything else around them turned to ice from athousand frozen breaths, as the long shadows of thousands of antlers creptcloser. “I did it because chaos is what I am! I am Discord! Draconquus ofDisarray! HARBRINGER OF REINDEEROK!”

[a-bit-too-much-of-a-zelda-fan]

LinkedUniverse Fanfic Ch. 11: Noontime Nightmares (pt. 2)

Stop! You’ve Violated the Law!

So, you’ve stumbled upon this original post for my Linked Universe fanfiction. That’s okay, it happens to everyone. As of March 2021, I’ve uploaded the entirety of this fanfic to my Archive of Our Own page. Along with finally giving the story a name–Oops! All Links: A Linked Universe Story–I made substantial edits to some of the chapters. These range from minor stylistic revisions to fixing a gaping plot hole that kinda completely broke the character conflict in the earlier chapters. I also renamed and renumbered (but not reordered) the chapters. Specifically, this is now Chapter 13: Hinox Hijinks.

The AO3 iterations of these chapters are the definitive versions. So, if you would like to read this fanfiction, please do so on AO3, right here. With this embedded link. Hehe. Geddit? Link?

Note: My screen name on AO3 is FrancisDuFresne. Yes, that is me. I am not plagiarizing myself.

Anyway, for posterity’s sake, the rest of the original post is below the cut.

Wild, Sky, and Wind have slain their Hinox, but what about the others? The skirmish in the dark forest continues in this chapter of my @linkeduniverse fan narrative. Word count: 2768.

The Biggoron’s Sword was originally so unwieldy when Time was a teenager that he could barely use it. Now, years of using it in lieu of a smaller sword had made him a master of the claymore. He was thankful for it as he faced his colossal foe. Getting too close to it didn’t seem to be a viable option, and without a spear like Wild, this was the next best thing.

The Hinox slammed its massive hand to the ground. Time hopped to the side to dodge. Before the monster could withdraw, the one-eyed hero managed to bring his sword down on one of its fingers. Severing the appendage easily, it dug itself into the soft ground. Hinox recoiled and shook its hand is if pricking it on a tiny thorn. That thing isn’t even bothered by losing a finger! Time realized as it lowered its other hand to the ground. A swipe!

A massive three-fingered hand swept its way across the ground. Time didn’t have a chance to jump away before impact. He felt his sword leave his fingers as he flew through the darkness. The hero’s back collided with a sturdy tree, blowing the breath from his lungs. He lay dazed on the ground, trying to remember how to breathe. The rumbling of the approaching Hinox’s footsteps him suddenly stopped, replaced by a deafening roar.

Finally gasping in a deep breath, Time looked up to see a jet of flame piercing the shadows. Following the blaze, he saw Warrior still wielding his fire rod. The flames illuminated the fury on his face. His steady stream of fire covered the Hinox. The giant writhed in pain. “Don’t!” Warrior shouted, turning up the intensity of his fire rod. “Touch! My! FRIEND!!”

Time stared on in awe as the Hinox fell to the ground in a blaze. He was equally shocked by Warrior so forcefully calling him his friend. After their conversation in the hills, he was still concerned about his place in the group. Fortunately for all of them, it looked like not much had changed.

A whiff of an acrid stench brought Time to his senses. The Hinox was a smoldering mess. And I thought they smelled bad before, he mused. With a jolt, he noticed that the jet of fire began to lick the nearby tree branches. He stumbled to his feet and yelled back “Warrior! It’s down! Stop firing!”

It was too late. The trees had caught fire. Warrior’s fury gave way to shock. “Uh oh.”

“We got it!” a shout came from behind them.

Four and Sky were running up to them, holding their Gust Jar and Bellows. The gale of their combined weapons reached up into the canopy and buffeted the spreading flames. Thirty seconds of the sustained winds and they went out in a puff of smoke. The Links heard more stomping behind them. Four looked back. It seemed he abandoned his Hinox to help Sky. “Damn it,” he cursed. “Be right back!”

He ran back to his monster. Sky turned to Warrior. “Be careful with that thing!”

“Yeah, I guess I got carried away,” he admitted sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Time said as he looked around for the Biggoron’s Sword. It was difficult in the near-blackness. “You saved my hide back there.”

Warrior now had his signature look of pride on his face. “Hell yeah, I did! You’re welcome!”

“Cool it,” Time warned him. “Stay focused.”

“Right.”

“You two already take care of yours?”

“Yeah,” Sky said. He raised his blood-stained sword. He looked to Warrior. “You?”

“Yep. I didn’t overdo the fire that time.”

“Good,” Time said. He raised his new-found sword. “We still have a few of these bastards to slay.”

…

“Hyah!” Legend cried as he swiped his sword through the air. “Stay back!”

Two Hinox had decided to gang up on him. They kept up an onslaught, buffeting the hero with fierce attacks. He couldn’t find an opening to attack. He had done nothing but block, dodge, and backpedal. Combining the strength of his power gloves with his mirror shield did a good job deflecting their attacks. At least they don’t have bombs, he mused.

“Hey, ugly!” Legend heard someone cry. He looked past the goliaths to see a dimly-lit Hyrule shouting his fool head off. “Over here, you big sons ‘a!”

The Hinox turned to face this nuisance. Hyrule doubted they could understand his words. However, he had no doubt they wanted him to stop. He also had no doubt they would make him stop rather violently. “Come get some!” he goaded, then directed at his friend, “Legend, come on!”

Legend looked over the scene. The two monsters were now lumbering towards Hyrule, darkness beginning to swallow them. Turning their backs on Legend was their first mistake. Both of them turning around was their second. With no eyes on him, Legend took his moment to strike. He shoved his hand into his pouch and pulled out his Roc’s feather and ice rod. He squeezed the feather tight in his right hand, ice rod in his left.

“Any time now!” Hyrule called.

“Working on it!” Legend shouted back.

He took off at a sprint. His pegasus boots boosted his speed, rocketing him forward at the Hinox. Ten feet from them, he kicked off the ground. His feather carried him up high into the air until he was well above their heads. At the height of his jump, he raised the ice rod and fired. A concentrated blizzard shot from the rod down onto the Hinox.

Within a few seconds, they were frozen solid. Legend alighted on one of their shoulders. He put away his ice rod and replaced it with his hammer. He raised it high above his head, faced the Hinox’s hideous face, and brought it down. With a reverberating CRASH, the force of the blow shattered the ice and the monster within. Legend began to fall. He hadn’t thought that part of the plan through.

Hyrule was watching all of this. The moment he saw Legend begin to fall, he sprinted forward. He wasn’t going to make the catch, he was almost certain. Going into a dive at the last moment, he just barely managed to break Legend’s fall. “Oof!” He exclaimed as his chest hit the dirt hard. He hadn’t thought that part of the plan through, either.

“You—cough­—okay?” Hyrule asked with a wince.

‘Yeah,” Legend replied. He still looked shaken. “Never better. Still have to finish this one, though.”

He gestured to the still-frozen Hinox still standing. Its icy stasis froze it in a terrifying pose; it looked just about ready to swipe its hand across the forest floor and scoop up some unlucky prey. Hyrule stared at it, realizing that prey would have been him if Legend hadn’t frozen it. “Thanks,” he said.

“Hey, you were the one saving me,” Legend pointed out. He stood and started for the other Hinox. “Nice distraction, by the way. ‘Hey ugly?’”

“What do you want from me? A dumb insult and living, or a witty one-liner and certain death?”

“Fair.”

Legend reached the monster. He made another swipe with his hammer. This one shattered like the last, and he appreciated that this time he was on the ground. “How are the others doing?” he asked.

“Dunno. I tried to find a Hinox, saw you had two on you, and came to help.”

“You okay after that dive?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” Hyrule dismissed.

“You su—”

“Yes. Let’s go find the others.”

“If you say so.”

…

Twilight boarded his Spinner and launched forward. The ancient top brought him into a rapid orbit around his Hinox. The monster’s dim brain couldn’t make heads or tails of this, so began slamming the ground. The revolving hero was moving so quickly that the monster’s hands consistently lagged by several feet. The brute was clearly unfamiliar with the concept of leading its shots.

The center of his Spinner slowly rotated the opposite direction of the body of it, allowing Twilight to face the Hinox. His mind raced, trying to figure out a strategy. He figured the Ordon Sword would be useless unless he was dangerously close to the giant. He would have to go long-ranged.

He saw that Wild’s arrows were ineffective, but the amnesiac hadn’t used bomb arrows. Twilight drew his bow and nocked a bomb arrow. He pulled back the string, the fuse automatically lighting. Just as he was about to loose the explosive, he realized the Hinox wasn’t slamming the ground anymore.

Twilight didn’t have a chance to curse before he crashed into the brick wall that was the monster’s hand ahead of him. He was flung forward off the Spinner, the momentum throwing him too wildly to maintain his hold on the arrow. Free from his grip, the bomb shot straight into the ground only a few feet below the airborne hero.

The explosion catapulted Twilight into the air and up into the forest’s dense canopy. The world spun as he flew into branch after branch, scratching his face and exposed fingers. He felt blood trickle down from a new gash on his cheek. A particularly sharp branch slashed through his pants and cut into his leg.

Suddenly, he slammed into a tree’s trunk. He tried to get his bearings, but the darkness was too strong here among the leaves to see anything. By some stroke of luck, his bow had caught on a branch right next to him. He gave it a tug and it came free.

Thankfully, Twilight thought, this thing smells terrible. He transformed into a wolf. His heightened picked up the Hinox’s scent. He also got a dim view of the branches around him Bingo. The beast vaulted from tree to tree toward the reek. Landing his paws exactly where he wanted was much harder without Midna guiding him. Still, he did his best to keep moving.

A few seconds later, he sensed the Hinox directly beneath him. The Wolf became Hylian once more. Deciding to use his height to his advantage, he reached in his pouch and withdrew his ball and chain. He held it at arm’s length, took a breath, and dropped it. “One,” he whispered to himself, “two, three…” CRUNCH. The heavy ball of iron had hit its mark.

Twilight hooked one of his clawshots on the branch he stood on. Using the chain, he lowered himself slowly out of the canopy. He came out of the branches to see his titanic foe lying on the ground. Its skull was caved in. The ball and chain rolled sluggishly away from its target. The hero grimaced. He was proud of himself, but it was an ugly sight.

His feet hit the ground and he squeezed the clawshot’s trigger. The claw unhooked from its branch and shot back down to its handle. He collected the ball and chain and spinner then looked around. He couldn’t see his companions through the darkness. How far had he strayed from them? Here we go again, he thought. He transformed and set out to find them.

…

Four left the light and warmth of Warrior’s fire rod to face the Hinox lumbering towards him. Suddenly, the ground started shaking. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. He whipped his head around, only to find six more Hinox creeping out of the darkness. Three had spears like the one used to skewer the stag. He had slain larger monsters, but seven at once? He considered using the Four Sword’s power but cast the thought away. It would push his already tired body too far.

The giants were getting closer. He whipped around to call back to Time, Sky, and Warrior for help. They were obscured by yet two more Hinox closing in on him. He was surrounded. He wanted to run but found his legs frozen in place. Four started to panic. Nine? No way. I can’t do this. I’m done!

They were ten yards away and closing. The shortest hero had no way to tell if his friends were coming to help him. His view was eclipsed by the Hinox. The nine giants were certainly about to kill him. If he could see past them, he would know Hyrule and Wild were on their way to help.

On one side, Wild sprinted at the wall of behemoths with his halberd above his head. He brought it down, burying the tip in the soil. Using the spear as leverage, he vaulted over them and landed at Four’s side. On the other side, Hyrule recited one of his ancient spells. He felt power surge to his legs. He kicked off into a leap and flew high above the Hinox. He landed side-by-side with his companions.

Four looked at the two of them. Wild’s face and clothes were flecked with blood. The look on Hyrule’s face showed he was seriously hurt. Before Four could ask, Wild whipped around to face Hyrule. “You have a lightning spell, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do it.”

Hyrule nodded with a wince. He brought his hands together, closed his eyes, and uttered some ancient incantation. Four noticed the Hinox right in front of them. They had maybe five seconds before they met a terrible fate. How long is this spell? he thought impatiently.

Suddenly, Hyrule stopped speaking. He stared directly into Wild’s eyes. With a steely resolve, he said, “Ready.”

Wild nodded. “On my mark…”

The Hinox were closing in. They were raising their hands, ready to squash the young heroes. “If you’re going to do something,” Four shouted, “do it now!”

The Hylian Champion grinned. “Now!”

Hyrule planted his feet, raised his left hand, wound it up as if throwing a softball in reverse, and slammed it into the ground. At just that moment, Wild raised his right hand, fingers contorted…

SNAP!!

Four just barely caught the ghostly image of a beautiful Gerudo warrior before the world exploded. Lightning pounded down all around him. Over and over, bolts of pure electricity struck the Hinox. The booming crackling of thunder was deafening, drowning out their roars. Four felt his hair stand on end as static filled the air. The forest undergrowth began to catch fire.

The lightning seemed to refuse to stop. Hyrule’s Thunder spell combined with Urbosa’s Fury was truly a force to be reckoned with. The sheer brightness of it all lit up the forest, finally clearing the darkness for the Links to see. What they saw was both beautiful and horrifying. Nine massive Hinox stood paralyzed, shaking from the electrocution. The other Links knew those two had electric powers but couldn’t have fathomed the scale of this onslaught. They were stunned, but not from the electricity.

After a minute of continued attack, the lightning ceased. The Hinox collapsed in charred heaps. Sky and Four noticed the burning ground and immediately set about putting out the flames. When they were done, they joined the others in gaping at Wild and Hyrule. The two of them were staring at each other. They clearly had no idea how strong their attack would be.

Wild held out his fist. Hyrule was about to bump it when his adrenaline subsided, and the pain came rushing back. He cried out in pain and fell to his knees. The others ran to his side. “What’s wrong?” Time asked with urgency.

“I think I may have broken a rib or two,” Hyrule replied.

Legend snapped at him, “So when I asked you if you were okay after that fall, you lied?”

“We needed to stay focused on the fight,” he replied. He tried to shrug but winced in pain.

“That’s a serious injury, though,” Twilight said. “I’m a bit banged up myself, but a broken rib? How did that happen?”

“I was falling off a Hinox and he dove to the ground to break my fall,” Legend said. Hyrule glanced at him sheepishly. “He went down hard but said he was fine.”

Wind strode to his companion and helped him back to his feet. “Never mind all this, do we have any potions?”

They all rummaged in their pouches for a moment. They all emerged empty-handed but Twilight, who held up half a bottle of red potion. He glanced at his bloodied pantleg, took a quick swig, and handed the rest to Hyrule. He took it and downed it in one gulp. The pain instantly faded; his ribs were healed. He looked among his friends in the dim lantern light. They were all clearly exhausted.

“Alright,” he said. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

[imaginative-joy]

Gone

KH3 One-Shot Fanfic

Okay guys, this is my first writing attempt in a VERY LONG TIME. But I’ve had this character meeting playing out in my head for a while, and the most recent trailer made me decide to finally put it into words. I hope you enjoy!

Fair warning: There is some mild violence and mention of blood. And references to the KH3 trailers, so... some spoilers maybe?

________________________________________________________________

Gone. They were all gone.  

Kairi had once more slipped from his fingers. Lea was nowhere to be found. Even Mickey, Donald, and Goofy were taken. Aqua and Ven had been saved only to be taken again. And now, right before his eyes, Riku had fallen and disappeared.

Sora had screamed until his voice had gone hoarse and his fingers ached from clawing the hard, dusty ground. Crying so much that his tears had pooled on the ground underneath his hanging head.

Alone.  

If his friends were his power, then there was nothing left to give him strength to fight.

The sound of crunching sand interrupted his thoughts. Sora lifted his eyes enough to see a pair of thick boots standing directly in front of him, and a jagged, wicked Keyblade pointing at his face. Raising his head, he peered up into the face of Xehanort, whose lips were pulled back into a snarling smile.  

A wave of fury suddenly overtook Sora. Heedless of his kneeling position in the dirt, he swung his own Keyblade before him. Xehanort easily sidestepped his graceless swipe, prompting a sting of fresh tears to Sora’s eyes. He wanted to hurt this man, this monster, to cause him some pain to pay for all the suffering he had caused.

Screaming, Sora swung again, but Xehanort easily parried his poor attempt. Xehanort then brought down the flat of his Keyblade across Sora’s face, sending him sprawling back onto the ground. His neck aching from the sudden jolt, Sora still forced himself to turn his head towards Xehanort, now advancing slowly on him as if he had all the time in the world. When he had closed the distance between them, he once again thrust his Keyblade into Sora’s face. Though he ached all over, Sora slowly twisted himself onto his back to look straight at Xehanort.  

A hundred worlds and thousands of people hurt and lost, and all this man could do was smile.  

“Well?” Sora asked, his voice parched and cracked from the dust and exertion of the last several hours of fighting. “Aren’t you gonna finish me, too?”

Xehanort let out a low chuckle. “Not yet, boy. Not yet. There’s still a X-Blade to forge and a Door to open.”

Sora clenched his fists against his sides. “Hate to break it to you, old man, but you needed some Lights for that. You made them disappear. It’s your fault!” His voice was rising and his blood boiling. If all of his friends were truly gone, then that meant the Seven Lights were no longer gathered. Xehanort, in his stupid quest to extinguish Light through another Keyblade War, had also destroyed his only hope creating Kingdom Hearts. Yet here he was, unfazed by the possibility that he had undone his own grand plan. Xehanort’s calm in the face of these facts only infuriated Sora even more. What were then the sacrifices of all those friends he loved?

Once again, Xehanort gave a deep laugh. “No, I wouldn’t expect a simple boy such as you to see the truth. But no matter. You will serve me a greater destiny than you could ever imagine.”  

“Destiny? What - ?”

Before Sora could wonder what kind of destiny Xehanort was talking about, the old man raised his Keyblade high above his head. Sora saw the blade coming down on him, but forced himself to stare unblinking into those yellow, pitiless eyes.

Xehanort’s Keyblade came to a sudden halt and he was forced back several steps. Sora blinked in surprise, still braced for the Keyblade’s impact. He hoisted himself up onto his knees as he heard Xehanort yell in surprise. Someone was behind him, with a metal arm pulling Xehanort away from Sora by the neck.  

Sora gaped at his savior. The figure was tall and broad, clad in bronze armor complete with a helmet and black visor. And at his side was a Keyblade.  

Sora instinctively began to stand up to aid this newcomer, his sore joints protesting. But the armored wielder pointed his Keyblade directly at him. Somehow, Sora understood that this motion was not a threat, but a command. Stay where you are.

Sora’s shaking limbs were happy to oblige, and he collapsed again, still gazing at the armored Keyblade wielder.  There was something altogether familiar about him. But Sora racked his brains and couldn’t think of a single time he met anyone like this. Then who -  

Xehanort twisted out of the grasp of the armor, his teeth no longer bared in a smile, but a scowl. “Your mind continues to resist, I see,” he grumbled at the man in the armor. The man made no reply, but instead shifted into a battle stance, his Keyblade at the ready.  

Xehanort grimaced for a moment, then barked a laugh. “And yet you still haven’t learned your lesson. But I can’t spare the time for you. We shall finish this later.” He turned once more to face Sora and made to advance on him.  

This time, Sora was ready. He was already springing to his feet, despite his aches and sores. But quick as lightning, the armored wielder sprinted in front of Sora, Keyblade extended toward Xehanort in challenge and his other arm held out in front of Sora. Once again, Sora could feel the command. Stay where you are.

Xehanort’s eyes widened for moment, but he quickly smiled in calm. “Very well. Let us settle this affair once and for all.”

Xehanort flew at the man, who brought up his Keyblade in defense and knocked Sora back with his outstretched arm. Gasping as the wind was knocked out of him upon hitting the ground, Sora gazed up at the two fighting men.  

For the first time, Sora truly appreciated what it meant to be a Keyblade Master. The two Blades moved lightning-fast, sparks flying whenever metal met. The two men seemed to move in sync, perfectly parrying each other and circling one another. They appeared evenly matched to Sora. In the pauses between the clanks of the Keyblades clashing, they circled each other like vultures, neither one daring to make the first move until the two were suddenly meeting blades in the middle of their battle field again. What shocked Sora was their silence; they appeared to be concentrating so hard on each other that no battle cry or sound of pain ever escaped them.

Sora dimly thought that their movements somewhat mirrored each other; each man was only able to anticipate the other’s actions because he was doing the same thing. Almost like they were cut from the same cloth... that they were the same man, just two different bodies...

Sora now knew why the armored man had seemed so familiar.  

“Terra?!”

The man briefly paused in his swinging. It was all the confirmation Sora needed.

But it was also all the time Xehanort needed. He swung his blade heavily across the helmeted face.  

There was a resounding CRACK and Sora yelled, “NO!” chiding himself for being so stupid as to distract Terra. Or whatever this armor thing was. Because he knew the stories. Terra was gone. Taken by Xehanort like the rest of his friends. This was merely the remaining strength of will Terra had left behind. The Lingering Will.

Terra’s armor sagged, one hand covering the side of his helmet Xehanort had cracked. The old man chuckled.  

“Thirteen years later and still you resist,” he sneered. “I must admit, though, you did surprise me from time to time. But this is the most surprising of all. The fact that you retain some physical form enough to fight back. But I would’ve thought that the last thirteen years as my vessel had taught you enough. It is time to go back to the shadows, you lingering sentiment. Terra no longer exists.”

The Lingering Will lowered his hand, revealing a startling blue eye peering through the broken visor.

Sora gasped loudly. This was him. Actually him. Terra. Not the remaining broken spirit. But actually, physically Terra.  

And for the first time, Sora could see fear in Xehanort’s eyes.

Terra was now standing at his full height, parts of the broken visor shattering to the ground. Sora could see only one eye and part of Terra’s mouth. It looked like Terra had suffered an injury to his face when the visor broke; a gash ran underneath his eye down to his jaw. But he never made any sign that he had noticed, or cared that he was bleeding. He once again leveled his Keyblade at Xehanort, his single visible eye burning. Though he never spoke, Sora felt a power radiating off of him.

Xehanort finally shook himself out of his shock, and Sora felt a twinge of satisfaction that Xehanort had been so surprised by Terra’s appearance.

“How can you possibly be here?” Xehanort hissed.  

Terra made no reply.

Xehanort sighed “Ah. Your will fought back against my vessel. Finally succeeded in regaining your body.”

Still, Terra made no reply. Sora thought that if anyone had been staring that intensely at him, he would’ve run away.

“But it’s no matter,” said Xehanort, finally regaining composure. “Whatever strength you may have found now can once more be subdued. I have proven it to you time and time again. But I’m afraid that you are not my priority, boy. I still have the child to attend to.”

Sora’s heart sank. In the shock of seeing Terra, he had momentarily forgotten that the whole reason Terra had even shown up was to stop Xehanort from hurting him. But once again, Xehanort’s advances were cut off by Terra streaking to a stop in front of Sora, Keyblade still trained on the old man’s face.

Xehanort huffed a sigh. “You realize that it is far too late to make up for the mistakes of your past.”

“Which is why I am now defending the future,” Terra replied. Sora gaped at him once again; his voice had a resonance not too unlike Xemnas and the imposter Ansem. But there was an underlying warmth there that made Sora trust Terra completely.  

Xehanort snorted and bashed his Keyblade on the other side of Terra’s helmet. Terra merely accepted the blow, not even buckling. His visor now completely smashed and his helmet shattered, Sora could finally see Terra’s full face. Perhaps that’s why Xehanort had even hit him in the first place, just to see if it really was him.

Sora could now see the resemblance between Terra and Xemnas. They had the same sharp jaw and pointed chin. But where Xemnas had sharpened the angles and hollowed out cheeks, Terra was softer and fuller. His hair did not gleam with silver, but reminded Sora of bark of trees and soil that surrounded their roots. Terra now had another gash from Xehanort’s second blow, this time above his other eye. But like the first time, he seemed indifferent to it and still stared unflinchingly at Xehanort.

Sora couldn’t help the slight smile that lifted his lips. He wasn’t alone now.

He moved to stand beside Terra, to fight alongside him. For a third time, Terra held out his arm in front of Sora, grasping his hand around his far shoulder and preventing him from advancing on Xehanort. He glanced at Sora and met his eyes. Though not unkind, his gaze was steely and rooted Sora in the spot. Satisfied that Sora would not be moving to attack, but still keeping a grip on him, Terra turned his eyes back to Xehanort, who had his Keyblade once more pointed at his face.

“Terra,” Xehanort said in a low voice, somehow more dangerous than his taunts and threats. “I give you one chance: stand aside.”

Terra set his jaw, breathing calmly. “Never again.”

Xehanort cried out in fury, swinging blade upon Terra again.  

In a single motion, Terra brought up his Keyblade to block Xehanort, and pushed Sora resolutely behind him. He kept one hand clasped around Sora’s wrist, while parrying Xehanort with the other. Any attempt Sora tried to make to move out from behind him was only met with Terra pulling him firmly behind his back again. The action, though Sora appreciated Terra’s defense of him, frustrated Sora; why wouldn’t Terra let him help fight back?  

Catching glimpses over Terra’s shoulder, Sora could see that Xehanort was also frustrated, though at Terra’s persistant blocks and dodges. It appeared to Sora that Terra was trying to not just keep Sora safe, but out of Xehanort’s sight.  

But Terra couldn’t keep this up for very long. Sora could see his single defending arm bend every time Xehanort struck, and the beads of sweat collecting on his forehead. But Terra seemed to be doing this all on purpose, waiting for something.  

Sora reached out with his free hand, attempting to summon his Keyblade, but Terra shook him hard, forcing him to readjust behind Terra once more.  

“Let me help you!” Sora yelled, now getting alarmed at Terra’s now labored breathing.  

“Just wait!” Terra yelled back, squeezing Sora’s wrist.

Somehow, that exchange, the fight, and the two of them pitted against this ancient Keyblade Master stirred something in Sora’s memories. Though he knew they were not from his own life. But there had been a moment, a fight, not too unlike this. With Terra rushing to the defense of someone threatened by a Master. But this was somehow different from that time. Terra seemed surer of himself now and in his defense of the boy behind him than he had before. Upon recalling the event, Sora realized what was going to happen next.

Xehanort gave up on close range and instead leaped backward. He summoned a great wave of energy, prepared to propel back Terra and Sora. But Sora knew that Terra would be ready for it this time.  

Terra forced a magical barrier around them, shielding them from a wave of darkness Xehanort was streaming at them. With a jolt, Sora was forcibly reminded of Riku funneling Heartless away with his Keyblade, which had cost him in the end. The memory suddenly made Sora weak; he could also feel Terra slacking a bit now that the weight of Xehanort was off of him.  

Terra grunted in concentration, trying to keep the barrier up around them. He finally let go, allowing Sora to slump to the ground in sudden awareness of his own injuries.

“STOP!” Terra yelled, and the Darkness stood still around the barrier, obscuring Xehanort from view.  

Sora looked around in wonder as time stood still. The fact that Terra still had this much energy to maintain these spells and fight against Xehanort was astounding.  

But Terra’s knees buckled to the ground, twisting around to face Sora. Sora’s hands automatically went to Terra’s shoulders as if to help steady him, but Terra merely shook his head. His blue eyes met Sora’s own, though one was now covered in the blood of the gash to his forehead. But still he smiled at Sora.

“Learned that one from your King,” he said, indicating the still air with a jerk of his head. “I may not have been present at the time, but I could still hear some things and see into Xehanort’s mind from time to time.”

Sora felt his eyes water again. How many times was he gonna do that today? He tried to offer back a watery smile, but the best that came out was a hiccup.

Terra gave a small chuckle. But his face grew serious again as he reached out with a hand to grasp Sora’s shoulder.

“But we haven’t got much time,” he pressed. “I can’t hold him off forever, so you have to listen to me.

“Sora, you have to save your friends before you go against him.”

Sora’s breath caught in his throat. He felt some treacherous tears leak out from his eyes. “But you saw!” he choked. “You must’ve! They’re... they’re... gone.” The last word barely escaped in a whisper, the full force of it finally coming down on him. They were gone. And he didn’t know where they were.

“Sora...” Terra began softly. He raised his hand from Sora’s shoulder and placed it under his chin, gently making Sora look at him directly. “There’s only one place they could be. Just think... just feel...”

A fresh wave of tears came down Sora’s face. How could Terra say that? He saw his friends disappear before his eyes. Vanish. Taken into Darkness.  

But wasn’t there another time someone he loved was taken into Darkness... but they weren’t gone? At least, not completely?

Unbidden came the memory of the night the Islands fell. The Heartless swarmed the shore and he had just acquired the Keyblade, though he knew nothing about it then. And he had rushed to their secret place, to find someone, to protect her, to see her. And she was there. But not really. But she was with him until they met again. She went everywhere with him, though he didn’t realize it at the time.  

And the friend that Terra had treasured so much, he too was with Sora. For years. And then he had shared his heart with someone else who had needed help until he had strength enough to have his own heart.  

Sora looked down to see that his hand had moved to his chest. He could feel it pulsing beneath the layers of clothing. There was a warmth there, a reassurance.  

Perhaps his friends weren’t completely gone after all. Maybe they were actually a lot closer than he thought.  

He met Terra’s eyes again, understanding. Terra smiled and nodded in affirmation.  

But Sora’s relief was immediately washed over by anxiety.

“That’s why he wants me,” he whispered. “I have... all their hearts.”

“Which makes you quite literally the Key to his plans,” Terra said solemnly. “If he has you, he has everything.”

Sora felt as if the ground beneath him had disappeared. He was the last line of defense against Xehanort. But also the one that could open his Door. As he was feeling his dread weigh down, Sora noticed that the wave of Darkness behind the shield, so still up till now, had slowly began to start moving.  

Terra noticed it, too. “We need to hurry,” he said. “Listen: don’t let him near your heart. Do whatever it takes to defend it and your friends. So long as you can do that, there will always be a way to bring them back, and to stop Xehanort. Don’t let him have your heart.”

Sora nodded resolutely. Though his eyes were still wet, he was no longer crying.  

“And, Sora...” started Terra. For the first time since Sora met him, Terra looked shy and small. “Thank you. Thank you for keeping Ven safe. And for bringing back Aqua.”

Sora now placed his hand on Terra’s broad shoulder. “Anything for a friend.”

Terra returned Sora’s smile as Xehanort’s Keyblade struck his back.

Terra’s mouth was opened in a silent scream as Sora yelled, “NO!”  

But the damage was done. Terra’s chest was now glowing with the light of his heart escaping. Sora heard Xehanort laugh in triumph, but he kept his gaze fixed on Terra.  

“No, Terra!” Sora screamed, grabbing Terra by the shoulders. “Don’t leave me, too!”  

Terra’s eyes met Sora’s, though they were fogging over and distant. “Just do what you do best, Sora,” he breathed. “Go save them.”

As Terra’s eyes shut, Sora threw his arms around him, crying once more. Why was he given this one hope only to have Xehanort take it again?  

Sora’s arms were then grasping at thin air, Terra leaving nothing behind but an afterimage made in sparks floating to the sky. Sora fought the urge to scream again as he had when Riku had disappeared before his eyes. Once again, they were gone. He was alone. With no strength.

Remember, Sora. Think... Feel... We’re here.

Terra’s voice came to him as clear as day. But Terra was gone?  

But then came that warmth in his heart again. That reassurance. Terra was still here with him. And so was Riku. And Kairi. Mickey, Donald, Goofy. Even Lea. And Aqua and Ven.

Sora wiped the last of the tears from his eyes and stood up. Gone was the pain and protests of his limbs and joints. Gone was the despair as he stared directly into Xehanort’s smiling face.  

His friends were still his power. And they always would be.  

_____________________________________________________________

WOo! I did it! I wrote something! I’m still hoping for some interaction with Terra and Sora. Only a few days left until we know!

[warlordess]

An Alternate Journey (Pokeshipping; part four)

Authors - @warlordess​ and @miyatoriaka​

Notes - So here it is, the major motion-fanfic of the century! For those who don’t know, famed Pokeshipping artist Miyatoriaka drew a twelve or thirteen page comic for Pokeshipping Week 2018 based on the “role reversal” theme. After seeing a few pages, and then obsessively rereading all the pages over and over, I felt inspired to write for the first time in months, to really sit down and dedicate hours to a specific project. When I mentioned casually that I was interested in writing a fanfic version of her comic, she was immediately supportive! Since then, we’ve discussed the project over a few conversations and figured a lot of little details and kinks out and I was able to draft a few chapters while working which I finally had time to start typing up…

You can find the prologue here.

You can find chapter one here.

You can find chapter two here.

OoO

Title - “An Alternate Journey”

Summary - Eleven year old novice trainer Misty starts her Pokemon adventure, best friends Gary and Ash by her side. But will she withstand every test her travels throw at her and become the greatest master trainer of all time? Fic co-crafted with famous fan-artist, Miyatoriaka!

Ages - Misty and Leaf are eleven years old, Ash and Gary are thirteen, and the adults are adult-aged so who cares about ‘em? Lol.

Chapter Three - Brock

OoOoO

“Misty, get back here!” Ash huffed in exasperation, gasping for air to ease his burning lungs as he and Gary continued to chase after their mutual friend. “Why would she follow Leaf like that? This is too dangerous! I mean,” he paused to catch his breath again, offering the other boy a furtive glance before refocusing on the semi-dark path before them, “you know who that guy was with, right?”

“Yeah, trust me, I noticed the logo same as you,” Gary replied, gritting his teeth, face darkening in thinly veiled fury. “Team Rocket… But Misty doesn’t know anything about them since she only just left home…” Then he raised his voice loud enough for the redhead to hear despite the distance between them. “I just wish she’d wait for us to catch up!” he finished, lengthening certain syllables to better get across his point.

“Can’t!” the aforementioned female shouted, barely bothering to turn her head as she and her loyal Eevee speedily skipped and leapt over multiple fallen brambles, thick tree roots, and otherwise uneven footing. “If Leaf thinks she can do something here then I can too! Ah! I hear something up ahead!”

[read more]

The night had almost completely taken over and Misty had to strain her eyes momentarily while they adjusted to viewing her surroundings exclusively via moonlight. She crashed through a thorny patch of foliage and entered into a clearing, where she found the man in black and what seemed to be a cohort of his, who was now in possession of the entombed Pokemon fossil. Both of them were actively battling against Leaf while the three security guards from the museum were on the ground behind her, each nursing a fainted Pokemon of their own.

“Leaf!” Misty yelled, leaping into action with Eevee in tow, however she was blown back by a gust of wind that seemed intent on driving both a physical and metaphorical wedge between the two girls.

It was Hypno against Hypno and Misty, blinded by curiosity, couldn’t ignore the sudden feeling of inadequacy she felt as she watched her rival up in arms and doing serious battle with someone else, let alone a criminal.

A Hypno? Since when did she have one of those?

Ash and Gary appeared behind the redhead after clearing the obstacle course themselves but she was too enthralled by the amazing show of power before her to notice them.

“Use psychic and, when they’re down, finish this up with headbutt!” Leaf commanded, throwing out an arm to point out their target before having the gall to glance at Misty over her shoulder as if just noticing her presence. “Well, if it isn’t my precious little late bloomer. Actually you’re just in time for once. You’ll get to see my Ditty crush these two losers,” she concluded proudly with an almost affectionate wink.

“Ditty…?”

“Like we’ll let you ruin our weeks of planning with one little Pokemon! Hypno, barrier!” the same grunt Misty had seen earlier in town growled.

It was a quick draw. Leaf’s Ditty (odd sounding nickname but sure) released a blast of unnatural energy so powerful that even the surrounding atmosphere was thick with it. This energy grew, condensed into a barely visible beam that shot in the opposing psychic type’s direction, shattering the mirror of light that had been erected in front of them. Then Ditty dug their stubby claws into the ground and propelled toward their somewhat dazed and injured opponent, smashing into them and knocking them backwards into a nearby tree.

Hypno fell limply to the forest floor, clearly unconscious, the man in black clicking his tongue in frustration before returning the Pokemon to their Pokeball.

“You assured the boss that this would work!” his female partner wailed angrily, shoving him in the shoulder to soothe her own ire. “Like you said, weeks of planning, right? And then we’d definitely get away with a priceless fossil that the boss would undoubtedly promote us for!”

“Look, I promised we’d escape the museum security and the cops if we followed through with my plan! I never said nothin’ ‘bout some snot-nosed trainer and her friends!”

“Well, either way, I did my part sneaking up on the guards’ Pokemon and using mine to knock ‘em out! I’m not gettin’ pinched again this soon after the last time!” And thus, she haphazardly threw the artifact she’d been holding into his arms. “Here! You take it and figure out our backup plan!”

“We don’t have one to figure out! And I’m not risking prison just yet either!”

Scowling, he faced the group of children who’d spectacularly fowled up his last month of impressive scheming, taking in the sight of a smirking Leaf to a courageous Misty, to a stone-faced Ash and downright furious-looking Gary.

Finally deciding that the odds were stacked too high against him, the dastardly villain tossed the fossil into the bushes nearby, grabbed his partner’s hand, turned and dragged her away deeper into the woods while she screeched indignantly in protest.

“Ah! Get back here!” Misty shouted too, lunging forward as if to initiate another chase, but she was stopped just as swiftly by Ash snatching a hold of her hand and shaking his head at her. “Ash, what’re you…?”

Perhaps thankfully, she was distracted from finishing her accusatory inquiry by the sight of Hypno glowing white. It seemed blinding in the darkness, their form shifting and morphing, molding and shrinking. The light faded into an odd violet blob with a humorously minorly animated expression on its face.

“Wait, that wasn’t a…? What is that?” Misty asked, shaking Ash off of her and pulling her Pokedex from her pocket, flipping it open and pressing the analysis button.

“Ditto, the transforming Pokemon. Due to its unique organic makeup, it can rearrange its cell structure to transform itself into any other shape upon sight. It has a fault memory, however, and relying on it can cause it to inaccurately mimic its target. This Pokemon is one of a few species that has no gender.”

“Wow…” she exclaimed in awe, unable to conceal her envy. A Pokemon that could turn into anything, huh…?

“Thanks, Ditty, you were perfect as always,” Leaf told her Pokemon affectionately, bravely leaning down and further expressing her adoration with a kiss to the side of Ditto’s face before recalling it to its Pokeball. Then she turned and winked at her audience, fossil now tucked neatly under her arm, “Well, Misty dear, boys, I hope you enjoyed our show. Though I’m afraid if you’re looking for an encore worthy of me it might take a little while.

“Feel free to watch me as I walk away, okay?” Another wink and a suggestive puckering of her lips and she traipsed by, leaving the rest of them to follow after her.

By the time they’d made it back to Pewter’s Museum of Science and Natural History, Sergeant Jenny had arrived and was alternating between barking orders at her subordinates and double-checking details from the witness statements previously relayed to her, including the three security guards who’d retreated after their Pokemon had been knocked out in order to explain the situation to their superiors and the police. At the sight of Leaf leading the group of other trainers, however, ancient and priceless artifact in her grasp, everyone and everything came to a halt.

“Oh, oh my, I can’t believe it!” Penelope was the first to regain her nerve, hand over her mouth and looking downright tearful at the truly victorious outcome. “You found our project! You got it back f - from them? Oh, thank you!”

Leaf was almost instantaneously surrounded by officer and employee alike, all showering her with praise and applause, shaking her hand and calling her a hero, telling her that she would of course have unlimited free access to the Pewter museum, lifetime guarantee. And Leaf was lapping it up while Misty and her friends stood in the background.

“Yeah, I still don’t like her much…” Ash muttered, but his begrudging tone belied the newfound respect he couldn’t contain.

“She sure does make a lasting impression though,” Gary replied softly, his tone much more accepting of how impressed he was, and he purposefully avoided eye contact with his old friend, who was suddenly sporting a half-knowing, half-disbelieving expression.

Finally deciding that she’d seen enough, Misty beckoned to Eevee and her friends, turning and heading back to the PokeCenter.

While a large part of her couldn’t help but envy Leaf for becoming so unattainably strong and knowledgeable, another much smaller part of her couldn’t help her pride.

At least one of them had made large strides towards their dream…

And, while nobody else could see it, the redhead smirked to herself, the next thought running through her head both courageous and frank.

She would catch up to her old friend soon enough…

OoO

Misty spent the next two days training her Pokemon, challenging or being challenged by any local or passing trainer, especially those who’d also decided to go watch Brock battle at the gym. She still wasn’t sure of the strategy she should use to face the gym leader but she was at least able to gauge the Pokemon he had in possession and what moves they knew, how strong they were.

“My Metapod evolved into a Butterfree, so I could use sleep powder to put them out… But does putting a Pokemon to sleep actually win the round?” she mused aloud the next day after lunch. Their group was currently back at the gym for another recon mission, sitting halfway up the bleachers and watching Brock beat another young trainer.

“I think regulations say the Pokemon has to be unconscious for one full minute or else must withstand three impacts from enemy Pokemon techniques before being declared unable to battle,” Ash told her, brow creased as he did his best to remember the rules.

“Really? They want me to hit an unconscious Pokemon?” Misty yelped.

“Well, Pokemon are generally able to handle a lot, otherwise being a trainer and the existence of the league and all that wouldn’t be possible. But also, unnaturally induced methods of status effects - sleep, poison, freezing - are usually minor and only have very short-term effects unless there’s a drastic strength difference between the one inflicting and the one inflicted, which means the latter wouldn’t stand much chance against the former anyway.” Noticing this more in-depth explanation didn’t ease the redhead’s discomfort, Gary added, “But yeah, most people just wait the minute out and have the other side forcibly forfeit the round.”

“Mm hmm… I guess that makes sense.”

“So what are ya thinkin’? Is today the day? Honestly, I’m kinda impressed you’ve been able to keep yourself from running straight up to Brock and challenging him these past couple days. I dunno if I coulda withstood that kinda wait if I was in your shoes,” Ash told her with a snarky grin.

“Well, I guess that just means I have more patience than you!” Misty joked back, shuffling to her feet and sighing to calm her nerves. “But I guess I’m not gonna get much stronger or smarter than I am now, am I? So…” the redhead replied with an affirmative nod, maybe more to encourage herself as she rose to her feet rather than to further impress her decision on her friends.

Then, before anyone could continue or conclude the conversation, she was bounding over the bleachers in front of her, taking care not to knock into any of the other spectators in her excitement as she hopped from row to row in pursuit of the gym floor.

“Brock!” she shouted in between shallow grunts as she weaved and leaped her way closer, Eevee in tow. Her fists formed, shoulders tight, eyes ablaze, before pointing out the shirtless gym leader who was practically gaping at her from his earthy arena below. “I’ve come to beat you and get my first gym badge!”

“Uh…” the teenage gym trainer blinked, flustered by her manic enthusiasm.

“Well, that’s not embarrassing for anyone,” Gary commented with a hollow laugh, but Ash already had his mortified and flushed face in his hands, shaking his head halfheartedly in exasperation.

Misty vaulted over the wall dividing the seating sections and the arena floor, gasping for breath all the while. Eevee joined her moments after, looking mighty ferocious for such a small creature.

“Ah, so you’re next, huh? And what’s your name if I might ask?” the suddenly quite imposing teenager asked, teeth sparkling as he smiled at her and skin glistening with sweat after his previous workout.

“My name is Misty and this is Eevee, and we’re gonna take on the whole Pokemon League together because it’s our dream to be the best trainer in the world! You’re our first step so you better be ready to lose!”

“That’s some good energy I feel comin’ from you two! I like it when my challengers are filled with the kind of passion you have for your dream. It makes for a good match,” the teenage boy replied with what appeared to be a charming smile.

Ash, having barely recovered from his bout of secondhand embarrassment after Misty’s most recent spectacle, felt an agitated tingling flare up in the back of his mind, his eyes narrowing subconsciously at the display before him.

There was no way Brock was… was there?

“Now if we’re talking about dreams, I have one of those myself. You see, though my family maintains the Pewter City Gym, I don’t wanna stay here running it forever. No, in fact, what I really want more than anything is…” There was a drum-roll playing inside everyone’s heads as they braced themselves for his answer. After all, who’d heard of a gym leader who didn’t really want to be a gym leader before?

“What I really want is a girlfriend!”

Misty and Gary immediately facefaulted at such a proud (and wildly random) declaration but Ash’s reaction was the exact opposite.

“What are you doing?” Gary muttered in objection, looking up as the raven-haired trainer leaped to his feet with the appearance of a man whose brain had just imploded.

And internally even it felt that way to him, his nerves snapping and muscles going rigid. He had thought for sure that, despite whatever slight paranoid concern that had crossed his mind at first, he was just reading entirely wrong into the situation, but now he couldn’t help thinking it to be true…

“Well,” the lean and (still) shirtless gym trainer went on contemplatively, “I want a girlfriend, but also I wanna go on a sabbatical and learn the ins and outs of Pokemon breeding. I guess that means I have two dreams, and twice as much to accomplish once I leave this place to my family…

“So let’s start this battle, okay, Misty? And we can see if your passion for your dream is strong enough to take me down!”

“This is a Pokemon battle between gym leader Brock and challenger Misty for the Boulder Badge! The official rules of this gym state that the challenger may use any and all Pokemon on hand in order to defeat all Pokemon in Brock’s possession. There is no time limit!” Brock’s assistant explained from the sidelines, holding up both arms as he did so, then drawing them both down as if they were slicing through the air. “You may start!”

“I call Geodude!”

“Come on out, Butterfree!”

The two Pokemon appeared in a symmetrical flash of red light from across the field from each other, the bug-type floating up on their sparkling wings while the rock-type levitated in place, flexing its gravelly biceps.

“Ah, rookie mistake! Bugs have a distinctive weakness against rock-types!” Brock warned her tauntingly. “Geodude, tackle!”

“Dodge it, Butterfree! And counter with your gust!”

The rock-type Pokemon propelled itself up at its foe, who was light enough to twist himself sideways in mid-air, escaping a direct hit. Geodude was still able to clip the bug-type in one of his wings however, causing a momentary lack of control. Butterfree struggled to stay up in the sky, fluttering backwards to what seemed to be a safe distance before starting to flap his wings, the wind picking up and swirling around in response. With one final brutal thrust, Butterfree was able to push the wind tunnel at his opponent, who automatically crossed its muscular arms in front of its combined face and torso, blocking the impact from doing any significant damage.

“Butterfree, let’s try your supersonic!”

“Rollout, Geodude!”

The felled bug-type shook off his recent failure and unleashed a high-pitched yet somehow hollow wail that Misty could barely make out. Geodude, however, was already on the move, tucking itself into a mostly perfect sphere and spinning in place before shooting itself at his opponent.

The supersonic appeared to miss its mark due to the increase in the rock-type’s speed and, what’s more, Geodude continued to swing his entire mass back and forth across the battlefield, picking up momentum and coming closer to direct impact with the bug-type with every attempt.

Butterfree dodged to and fro even without Misty’s directive but he was losing ground - er, air - as Geodude continued to pick up speed, climbing drastically higher towards the ceiling until finally…

“Freeee!” the bug-type screeched out loud, falling haphazardly toward the ground after being slammed into by his opponent.

“Ah, oh no, Butterfree, quick! Use your gust to keep yourself from hitting the ground!” Misty yelped, internally admonishing herself for not thinking up a better strategy more quickly.

This battle was already reminding her of her recent discouraging loss against Leaf…

Nevertheless it worked, and the adamant wind bursting back at him helped him glide high into the sky despite his latest injuries. Unfortunately, he wasn’t out of the woods quite yet because first contact did nothing but ignite further Geodude’s thirst for victory.

“Keep it going!” Brock shouted triumphantly, throwing forward a fist to urge his Pokemon onward.

“String shot, Butterfree!”

White, sticky thread shot out from between the small fangs in Butterfree’s mouth, the bug-type going so far as to spray it in all directions.

It didn’t take long for Geodude to get caught up in the webbing, though it didn’t bring him to a complete stop.

“Gust again, Butterfree!”

“Geodude, defense curl!”

The dusty wind cycle hand next to no effect on the rock-type Pokemon, something Misty was getting both used to and frustrated by. Not to mention that Geodude adding to his already stellar defense was going to make him downright infallible. And there was still that ongoing rollout technique too…

There really was nothing else for it. She would have to use her special not-so-secret strategy after all.

“Butterfree, use your sleep powder!” Misty commanded, and her Pokemon followed suit quite dutifully.

“Nice try but you can’t stop Geodude that easily, especially not now!”

And it appeared that Brock’s latest taunt was true, for even when slowed down by Butterfree’s string shot, the previous momentum and combination of reckless power and speed it’d gained from rollout were enough to evade any targeted area of status ailing dust as it floated towards the ground from Butterfree’s wings. The rock-type was out of reach way before the sleep powder drifted toward his original position on the field.

But watching her recent maneuver fail gave Misty another idea.

“Butterfree, one last time, use your gust!”

The bug-type screeched, holding himself high above the stream of sleep powder, flapping his paperlight wings rapidly, causing the aforementioned powder to dispense suddenly over a much wider range. It sparkled in the artificial light from the rafters as it landed all over the battlefield, including…

“Ah, Geodude!” Brock gaped before a mildly impressed grin spread across his face. He crossed his arms over his chest and nodded affirmatively, his Pokemon faltering mid-roll on the ground, trying to blink away the onslaught of excessive exhaustion setting in.

Misty waited the mandatory sixty seconds, not having the heart to attack a defenseless, unconscious Pokemon (no matter what mineral composite their body was made out of), before the makeshift referee raised the hand that was closest to her side of the arena.

“Geodude is unable to battle! Misty is the winner of round one!”

“Not bad at all…” the Pewter City gym trainer lamented, returning his Pokemon and repocketing the Pokeball he’d used, at the same time removing another one and holding it up.

“This next one won’t be so simple for you to beat though! Truth is, I only have two Pokemon on hand that adequately produce a challenge as rock-types but this other one is my strongest and it’s usually all I need to teach new trainers a lesson or two…”

Misty knew what was coming before the next words had even left Brock’s mouth.

“Go, Onix!”

He launched his second Pokeball into the air where it snapped open of its own accord, scarlet light shooting out of it and forming a large scale semi-opaque mass that took up a significant portion of the gym leader’s side of the field. The Pokeball flew back to Brock’s hand, a ricochet effect after the release of the Pokemon held within.

“The challenger now has an opportunity to exchange their Pokemon before the new round starts. You have thirty seconds!” the referee shouted in clarification.

Misty paused momentarily where she stood, weighing her options, looking her airborne Pokemon over and assessing his damage. True, he’d been knocked around a little by Geodude’s rollout but he’d been quick enough to dodge most everything else and tough enough to outlast the hurts he had received.

“Butterfree, are you up for another battle?” the redhead chose to finally ask, the bug-type twisting around and bobbing up and down in response, which seemed to indicate a ‘yes’. “Alright then, let’s go!”

“You got this, Misty!” Ash cheered from the bleachers, and Misty offered him a thumbs up from where she stood, only now just realizing that he and Gary had moved down to the first row of seats for a closer view.

“Round two, start!”

“Butterfree, string shot and then combine your sleep powder and gust like last time!” she ordered of her Pokemon. Why fix what wasn’t broken after all?

“I told you I wouldn’t make this one so easy for you to win! Mud sport, Onix!”

The giant rock snake gave a mighty roar and thrashed around, disrupting his opponent before the second phase of attack could be commenced, kicking up much that lay throughout the entirety of the arena with his tail. He flung it around, submerging the sticky threading meant to slow him down and negating its effects.

“Rock throw!”

“You gotta dodge it, Butterfree!”

Onix smashed his tail into the ground, unearthing a few boulders, curling his tail halfway around them one at a time and launching them in the bug-type’s direction. Butterfree weaved left and right, barely missing multiple direct hits until, finally, he couldn’t maneuver fast enough.

He careened backwards flat against the wall behind him and fell to the ground, the damage too great for him to catch himself as he went.

Misty panicked internally, running around the marked edges of the gym’s battlefield boundary to get a closer look at her hurt Pokemon but was unable to get any closer, prepared for the round to be officially called in Onix’s favor.

And perhaps she’d counted her Exeggcute before they’d evolved because, despite all odds as well as Butterfree’s major weakness to rock-type damage, he began to cautiously and feebly flap his wings again, winnying his name as he slowly rose back into the air once more.

“Great job, you got this, okay?” Misty encouraged, Eevee apparently coaching her ally with similar words of comfort from beside her trainer. “Now try using your confusion!”

“Onix, rage!”

The rock-type roared again, his eyes appearing to glow somewhat from his suddenly unbridled fury just as a wave of psychic energy blasted against him, knocking him back a foot or two. Grime and dirt that had settled in the crevices between each of his nodes instantaneously unsettled and wafted into the air. Even more enraged after this latest attack, the earthy serpent let loose a torrent of wails and slams, beating and crumbling everything in his wake. Butterfree barely rose high enough to avoid this terrifyingly aggressive outbreak, though both he and his trainer were caught off-guard by what happened next.

“Wrap him up in your bind!”

Onix lifted himself up to his full height, encircling the bug-type with his whole body and coiling tightly around and around, crushing Butterfree from without.

There was a screech as Misty’s Pokemon vanished completely from view. Seconds later, Onix unwrapped himself and dropped the nearly fainted bug to the ground.

As Butterfree landed, he automatically unleashed a toxic cloud of dust and then went completely limp.

“Oh no, Butterfree…” Misty moaned in concern, removing the aforementioned Pokemon’s ball from her belt just as the referee began to make his announcement.

“Butterfree is unable to battle. Brock is the winner of round two! The challenger may have thirty seconds to choose their next Pokemon!”

“You did really well; thanks so much for everything,” Misty whispered to the Pokeball in her hand after recalling her Pokemon to it. “I promise I’ll get you some treatment after this.”

She then took a few seconds to weigh her options. Onix’s defensive stat was so high that most of her Pokemon were going to have trouble doing any damage. It was the very same problem she’d acknowledged since the beginning but it was even more evident now as she experienced the situation firsthand. She had originally hoped that the ingenuity of her sleep powder strategy would be enough to carry her team straight through to complete victory but she knew that chances of that were rather slim…

“Fifteen seconds, challenger!” the referee warned her.

“Eevee vee eev eevee!” her starter Pokemon yelped from her wide, nudging her in the ankle to get her attention.

“It’s nice that you wanna help but I don’t know how much you’ll be able to do… And I don’t want you… getting hurt too, like Butterfree did… or like what happened to you before when you fought Squirtle, you know?” Misty reminded the fox-like Pokemon with a sigh. She was quite surprised when Eevee not only stood her ground but ended up leaping into the fray without her trainer’s say-so.

“Wah, Eevee! But…” the novice trainer called out but her Pokemon twisted her head around, offered one last confident bark of her own name in her direction before marching on. “Well then… heh, I guess I choose Eevee!”

“Round three; start!”

“Tackle, Onix!”

“Eevee, use your growl!”

Despite his size, the rock-type Pokemon seemed rather put off by the smaller one’s throaty howl. He still pursued a direct hit with his physical techniques but Eevee bounded sideways, sliding in the dirt, and the tackle missed.

“Sand attack!”

It took much effort on Eevee’s part as she rocked back and forth on all fours, kicking up at the earth with her paws until a decent dusty smog hit the air, bellowing up into Onix’s face, causing him to roar and blink his eyes rapidly in discomfort, wrenching sideways while he waited for his vision to clear.

“Now’s your chance, Eevee! Tail whip and then quick attack!”

The normal-type Pokemon hopscotched around on all fours, wagging aforementioned tail back and forth, before grinding her paws into the ground. Then, using that friction as a base, she dashed off at high speed, leaping up onto the closest boulder-fragmented portion of Onix’s body, shooting up and up until she was close enough to smash him in the face.

“Again! And again!”

Eevee bounded to and fro in less than a second per command, so instantly that Brock hadn’t even drawn his breath to utter a counter just yet.

Onix, made of rock though he was, did seem to be looking a little short of breath. Misty was just starting to think that she and Eevee would be able to win this without having to call on any other Pokemon when…

“Onix, rage!”

The rock snake’s eyes glinted red and he unleashed a full, deep cry, much the same as the first time he’d been ordered to use that technique. His sudden flailing maneuver forced Eevee to evacuate, and she dodged one last earthy jab by flipping backwards and landing on all fours without a scratch.

“Rock throw!”

Now on the defensive, Eevee dodged as one - two - three! - giant masses were thrown haphazardly her way. Soon the whole battlefield was covered in smog from the dusty ground, so thick that neither trainer could see their Pokemon.

“Eevee!” Misty shouted desperately.

“Onix!” Brock’s tone was quite similar.

“Eevee, if you can hear me, hit ‘em with your quick attack a few more times!”

“Not gonna be quick enough! Harden, Onix!”

They were finally able to make out two distinctive shadows as the dust around them really began to settle and it looked at first like Onix was starting to buckle under Eevee’s repeated full body barrages but the smaller Pokemon let out a high-pitched yelp as the rock-type noticeably upped his defenses, stature growing stiff in response to Brock’s order. The normal-type bounced off her opponent and fell backwards, rolling into the dirt.

“Rage again, Onix!”

It was over so quick, Misty felt winded by the results. Eevee fainted and she went to pick her Pokemon up, carrying her over to Ash and asking him to watch over her for the duration of the battle. Knowing that her starter had willingly made such a sacrifice for the sake of their dream unnerved her some but it mostly left her feeling resolved to not let such a thing go to waste.

Between the type advantage and the sheer massive physical and defensive power, Onix continued to successfully fell most of Misty’s other Pokemon, usually in two to three shots a piece. They did their best to each whittle away at his energy before they were knocked out until, finally, only one was left.

Her last hope…

“Go, Gastly!”

Round seven. If she didn’t win this one then she’d be defeated and have to try for her first badge again another day. After all the training she’d done, all her observations, all of her Pokemon’s efforts, after her loss to Leaf and subsequent first row seat to her rival demolishing Team Rocket’s theft at the Pewter Museum of Science and Natural History...

“Let’s start this off with your confuse ray!”

There was a flash of blinding light that left Brock’s Pokemon looking moderately dazed. Onix swayed from his massive height but didn’t buckle entirely. The gym leader, acknowledging that most of his Pokemon’s attacks would be rather useless, did what he could to strategize around it.

“Rock throw!”

Unfortunately his Pokemon didn’t seem to hear him properly, instead slithering forward before ramming himself straight into the far wall.

“Onix?! Snap out of it! I said you have to use your rock throw on Gastly!”

Knowing better than to wait for Brock’s voice to get through, Misty decided to take advantage of the situation.

“Use your lick attack!”

Gastly floated dutifully up towards his opponent’s face, a prime target for a nice sick lick, guffawing all the while. Onix seemed to stare through him as he approached, appearing both absent-minded as well as short of breath, and neither affect seemed to improve after the ghost-type made contact.

Onix, I said use your rock throw! C’mon, buddy!” Brock shouted from the ground.

Perhaps it was due to Brock’s soothing (yet uneasy) tone finally reaching him, or perhaps he was simply so grossed out by Gastly’s slimy organ streaking across his face, but his vision seemed to immediately clear and he shrieked throatily, going on the offensive and launching a few boulders at the ghost-type’s speedily retreating and gassy back as it trailed away.

Gastly evaded by altering his visibility, fading in and out of sight and appearing in multiple different areas of the gym, once or twice even sneaking up on Ash and Gary (causing the former to vacate not only his seat but that entire section of the bleachers in mere seconds).

If the ghost-type’s uproarious laughter was not indication enough, his level of distraction being so high that he couldn’t be bothered to listen to his trainer’s next directive, cost them their opportunity to maintain a purely offensive position.

“Darn it, I told you to use hypnosis, Gastly!” Misty cried out, stomping her foot into the ground. It took her three attempts just to be heard and Brock and Onix weren’t having it anymore.

“Just keep using your rock throw, okay? Gastly can’t dodge forever!”

And the gym leader was right. Despite his ability to turn invisible at will, Gastly still maintained a semi-corporeal body, and his attempts at escaping a direct his were eventually thwarted by his opponent digging up and utilizing the entire battlefield against him.

Gastly smashed into the wall behind him, pieces of it crumbling to the ground in retaliation. The ghost-type appeared to be downright winded - flattened - where he landed before popping back into full form and gravitating dazedly back towards the center of the arena.

He seemed to turn more serious after taking some decent damage, eyes glowing a smoky violet as he attempted to use his hypnosis after all, however Brock told Onix to avert his gaze, which caused it to fail.

“Don’t waste any time, Gastly; try your night shade instead!”

The gaseous smog floating around the ghost-type seemed to size and shudder, the lights all around the gym fluttering from up in the rafters. There was an eerie shift in the environment and the energy around them all before Onix seemed to be smacked by a mostly invisible wave of dark power, the impact sending him flipping backwards. Just as he was crawling back to his full height, another burst of unearthly energy careened into him, and he crashed back into the wall behind him.

“Onix, counter with your rock throw!”

The two Pokemon were both up in arms, using their natural element to try and take the other out over the next several seconds. Everytime Gastly let loose another round of night shade, it would shoot straight into the newest boulder Onix had dug up from the ground, shattering it to pieces but otherwise dissipating harmlessly. Likewise, the rock-type’s onslaught was useless in reaching the ghost-type Pokemon, though not lack of trying. Alas, any boulder that happened to successfully make it past wave upon wave of elemental power was dodged by Gastly anyway.

It was watching this transpire over the following few seconds that gave Misty an idea.

“Gastly, stop what you’re doing and just listen to my directions… Go left now!” the redhead shouted aloud, watching her Pokemon follow her latest orders to a tee. “Now go right! And… right again! Left now! Left! Right… Now use your sucker punch!”

With each specific instructive shout, her Pokemon phased forward on the battlefield a little at a time, perching in mid-air just long enough for one of Onix’s impending attacks to get within a few inches of impact before being told to move again, and each maneuver got him closer and closer to his target, hiding behind the hurled boulders to conceal his location and eventual trajectory.

The gaseous smog swirling around Gastly darkened and tightened up into what appeared to be a clenched and gnarled fist, smashing into Onix’s stony face and sending him careening to the ground. For the last time, dirt was loosened and lifted up due to the ferocity of the battle taking place before settling once more where it had come from.

Brock returned his family’s precious momento Pokemon to his ball, waving at the referee to call the final round and the victor’s name.

“Onix is unable to battle! The winner of the round, the battle, and the Boulder Badge, is the challenger Misty and her team!”

Gary rose, cheering and clapping, Ash let out a whooping holler, still carefully holding the now barely conscious and still wounded Eevee in his arms. Gastly was rolling around the arena, laughing outrageously to himself, and Misty continued to stand there in the middle of the challenger’s box, hardly daring to believe what seemed to have transpired.

“I… we… won?”

The question came out breathless, almost pained. Her last ditch strategy had somehow panned out and earned her the win? She’d gotten her first badge? She’d… finally proven herself as a professional trainer!

“We won! We won!” she screeched, hopping and dancing around, repeatedly pumping her fists into the air, Gastly swooping in and twirling joyously around her. We did it! Yay!” And she ran towards the area of the bleachers where her friends stood waiting for her, Ash squaring his shoulders and losing all functionality in his limbs as Gastly came near, relinquishing Misty’s Eevee to her so they could properly celebrate their victory together.

It was, in fact, after she’d called Gastly back to his Pokeball (causing Ash to loosen up) and while her starter Pokemon was affectionately and softly licking her cheek that Brock thought it was finally time to approach them all.

Misty nuzzled Eevee’s forehead before giving her to Gary, turning and waiting to receive her prize. But to her confusion, Brock took her by both hands and pulled her close. She felt a rippling shock course through her but it faded immediately when Brock opened his mouth to speak.

“Misty, I…” he began but was interrupted by a balking, apparently infuriated Ash.

“Excuse you!” the raven-haired trainer squawked, eyebrows twitching madly, skin and brain aflame with… with something as he quickly intervened between gym leader and challenger, pulling Misty backwards and freeing her from Brock’s dastardly grip.

“Um…” the redhead began in befuddlement.

“Ah,” the rock-type trainer responded knowledgeably, “so the headstrong, over-protective, jealous boyfriend comes to the rescue.”

The words flew from Ash’s mouth in a flighty rage before he could stifle them.

“I’m not her boyfriend!” And, to further prove such a fact, he willingly stepped away and let the two of them get on with their business.

Misty appeared to have a delayed response after the strange scenario that had just occurred between herself, the gym leader, and her old friend. Nevertheless, she shook it off after a few more moments of half-baked contemplation and resumed her conversation with Brock, clearly ignoring a still furious Ash, who was stomping around and muttering to himself in the background while Gary smirked at his odd behavior.

“You’ve got a good team with you, Misty. May you never forget that this badge,” he told her as he revealed the shimmering circular item, “was earned through the use of your combined power and not just your personal wit alone. It’s important to rely on teamwork and to honor everyone’s sacrifices. Your Eevee, your Butterfree; they knew how important this victory would be to you and fought despite their weaknesses.”

“Yeah, it was probably thanks to Butterfree that you beat Onix at all, ya know?” Gary mentioned from the background.

“Wha’d’ya mean?” she asked in confusion.

“You didn’t notice?” Ash replied, having recovered from his recent temper tantrum, or perhaps he just felt as though he needed to be included in the conversation. “When he fell to the ground and fainted, Butterfree released some of his poison powder. It drifted up and infected Onix. That’s why your Pokemon’s normal physical moves began doing more and more damage; because he was weakened by poison.”

“Wait, really?” And, to think, it had still taken the rest of her team to knock Onix out...

“Anyway, here ya go! You’ve definitely earned this,” Brock relented, handing the shimmering gray pin over to the redhead and watching her eyes slowly widen in awe, her lips starting from slack before curling upward into a relieved smile.

She accepted the token of her victory and couldn’t contain her whoop of glee, throwing up her hand holding the Boulder Badge into the air as if to show it off to the world. She then took a moment to show the badge to Eevee, who cheered her own name from the safe haven of Gary’s arms.

Her next step to becoming the world’s greatest Pokemon Master was complete. And so, her adventure would continue on.

OoOoO

Notes - And so, trainer Misty has earned her first Kanto League badge! What will be her next adventure? Will she have to battle Leaf again anytime soon? And will she learn anything about the evil Team Rocket organization that everyone else seems so wary of?