#its also cold and i am - unfortunately - a desert creature

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

WIFI IS MINE ONCE AGAIN as i sit on a mattress on the floor

[ikkosu]

psst. if you want, do you think you can write some headcanons about Skylynx from the TFP: Predacon's Rising movie? if not him, predaking would be fine too. need more love for the predacon bois

a/n : ahhh! Predacons! I love them 😭 but I haven’t watched Tfp in a while and predaking is the only one I’m familiar with. I think I went a little haywire on this,,,,

PREDAKING HEADCANNONS

you’re working with robots now, huh. er, autonomous sentient, lifeforms—say it right or shockwave will have your head— and, simply, you’re going to lose your itty bitty mind

the fact is this: you’re an archaeologist, stationed in the raging hot deserts of Nevada, as per your own request, for a find many people in your career would die for. that is, excavating a site that would definitely hit a Jack pot load of bones. can you believe that? prehistoric bones! imagine the things you could do with it. new species to discover, new ecosystems, new—

for unfortunate reasons you’re not disclosed with , it appears you wouldn’t be the only one dying for a find like that

in a desert, remote region in Nevada night had plunged the horizon. the crew had clocked out in their respective tents, and the flaps billowed as a cool breeze pass

”c’mon, kid, we can continue tommorow.” one of the guys said.

but you, the ever so persistent little idiot, were too preoccupied dusting this strange rock you’re certain is a bone,,,it’s a bone! to hell with whoever says it’s not. you’re a hundred percent certain it is,,,,you’re also guts deep below ground, dusty, sweaty ,,,and christ, who’s flaring this red light into your site, it’s hurting your eyes—

with a scowl, you swivel up — then , stoned up and cold like the bone you’re holding

oh, those are someones’s eyes

not very,,,mhn,,, not very friendly eyes, you see, eye? light bulb?

either ways, there’s too much purple, and the darkness had elevated it’s glaring stare and— you’re greeted with the sight of something swirling, yellow, as bright as the sun — is that a gun?!

you try to scream.

yeah, not very effective since claws had already sprung out to latch onto your body, yanking you out with its thumb against your lips, preventing you any ability to shout. hence, with the tried.

the creature, really you’re going to settle for robot, but you know it’s scientifically inaccurate given that it’s intelligence and emotional—

“it appears you have excavated the very piece I am looking for.” it hummed and you stilled, blinking, wide eyes and frantic. oh, god help me it can talk. its claws plucked the bone you were clutching close, ignoring your protesting hands trying to grab it back.

“most certainly logical, how did you find this?”

you’re going to die. you’re going to die. You’re going to die, but hey you replied anyways

"W-we take pictures above ground t-then scan the photos. S-sometimes we use remote sensing techniques when—“

“us that so? perhaps you can have some use with your hands then.”

— that’s how you find yourself in a laboratory, tinkering away on projects by his behest.

you’re not even sure if you’d call it one, given how many ethical protocols shockwave, he said his name was, had already breached. hell, the list can go on and on until it stacked up ‘till the height of the himalayas. you’re sure he doesn’t care. Why would he? He’s not even giving you proper safety gear.

at least, when you told him to he acted like it wasn’t a priority in the first place. and imagine this! there’s others like him too! others that are way too annoying to be considered a decepticon second in command

‘he’s a walking problem, purposely pestering you, disrupting your projects, calling you fleshie and how you’d look perfect as a red stain on the cave floor…

and then there’s this other problem,,,

“your fear for such a creature is illogical.” shockwave had brisked away without much of a glance when you tried to latch onto his pedes. “even your desperation to get away from it so. are you sure you wish to be left alone?”

“don’t be a prick! you can’t keep me with that thing forever!” you pointed at the glowering beast stalking you from behind the beams

“innacurate terminology.’’ He simply said. “a ‘thing’ would assume he’s an inanimate object.”

“ he’s a dragon!”

“innacurate, he’s a predacon.”

“I— what the hell even is that?!”

‘before you could plough a rock to his face you feel something hard, almost like tendrils, wrapping around your body

warm, misty air hissed at your face and you quivered, limp in their hold.

“do not make me repeat myself as I have always done so before." he said stiffly, "be gentle, predaking. I wouldn’t want my assistant to be damaged — a quest to find another is not an easy task.”

then turning on his heel, he left.

bastard had left you alone with this abomination.

Oh, joy.

You can’t get a sense of peace

everywhere you walk it follows. Why? You don’t know why. is it because you pat its head once and called it a good boy? Or that other time you tickled it's jaw and it purred? Though, in restropect you were a bit drunk off your ass ingesting Cybertronian booze by accident — as per Starscream request and amusement.

And now it won’t stop pestering you

You really wish it did.

He does this thing where, oh look it's waldo! And tackle you to ground, even thought you've told the dragon many times not to do that lest you're churned into a splatter of red on the surface

He'd also do this thing where he'd dangle you off the edge pretending to drop you,,,and when he does you're soaring towards the ground at god knows what mph before getting swooped to safety by the same dragon that tried to kill you

For a Predacon he's incredibly...sentient in a way it's aware of what he's doing most of the time

Feral cat behavior

A blurred line between black cat plotting to kill you and golden retriever,,,plotting to kill you with affection

And incredibly possessive at that

Talking to a vehicon? Oh, dear there you go again, hanging by his maw, shirt clamped between his teeth as he drags you away to that horrible, horrible cave

It's damp and it stinks! And he's nestling you like you're some egg desperately in need of protecting

And everytime you'd wrangle out of its— his— you're not even sure anymore — chest , the Predacon simply, with a pinch of his claws on your shirt, tugs you back into his embrace

Sometimes, if he's feeling mirthful he'll fall asleep with his fangdclamping down on a bit of your shirt to prevent you moving

"Let me go god damn it!"

And you know shockwave knows. He doesn't say a horse cobbler about it because it has it's uses

when Predaking decides havoc is what he needs on his agenda today shockwave will simply pluck you up from the ground and hold you to him like a candle

Most often than not the dragon will stare at you like dogs do when presented with a chew toy

and, technically, you are in some aspects

forget transportation, what better vehicle do you need when you can just hang from a dragon's maw as he brings you to the decepticon leader?

Starscream, hell even airachnid, would've exterminated you if not for your darling dragon by your side

and, to be honest, you did kind of grew fond of him. he'd take you on rides up in the air, and he'd nuzzled you close on stormy, cold days. Sometimes, you clean away the rust on his plating when you're free from Shockwave's obviously illegal work conditions

That's until he became a fucking robot

you didn't realize it was him at first, hearing a new rhythm of footfalls echoing across the cave, until the familiar paint scheme slapped you with the answers

What do you mean you're not a dragon this whole time?!?!?!?

you back away from him against the cave wall. you're not sure what to feel as he saunters towards you.

It ties between disappointment and embarrassment because did you really say good boy in a baby voice to a fucking man this whole time?;?-?-??&?

"Do not fear." His voice was far from sweet, god was it rough and deep,

It made your stomach do a 180 backflip and cracked it's head wide open

"Do not try to run."

when his talons curl around your waist, lifting you up to his eye level and the imperceptible smirk on his face is present, you knew you were fucked

"How obedient you are, my little pet."

[yanderenightmare]

hie!!! just read you're dragon warrior bakugo where he turn into a literal golden dragon, DUDE it was so dark and so poetic I loved it, pleeeaase part two?

I’ve actually had this in the works for some time but didn't think that many were interested hehe, thanks for proving me wrong<3

dragon warrior king ! BAKUGO KATSUKI

goodiebag WARNINGS: trauma, slavery, kidnapping, condescension, anxiety

PART ONE

MUTE AND NUDE - PART TWO

THE KING AND HIS NEW TOY

Floating, flying, dreaming. She felt reality tug at her every now and again, trying to pull her into consciousness, however she was pleasantly drifting with her eyes tightly locked. The smell of mountain daisies in the breeze, she could almost taste the salt of the sea that wafted up there, not entirely sure it was all in her mind. How she wished to see the sea up close once, and not just from afar. To feel the sand between her toes, to laugh nervously at the vastness of it all, all the secrets buried down there, sometimes washing up on the shore like treasure. Her vision trailed the stripe of sand she could spot from her village in the mountains, suddenly imagining herself down there, with a great shadow looming above, the water turning red and thick and boiling before catching fire, she heard screams, cries, the smell of metal and the taste of death, death, death.

She awoke abruptly. Flailing in the air like some knocked lantern. The pixies dodging her kicks and whips, holding onto the gems and paints midair. Currently hand sewing her customized dress, bejeweled with rhinestones and gold, cold smooth brushed lining her skin with art. 

They knew the procedure, Bakugo had a new toy, and she were to be dressed accordingly; royally. 

The pixies swung around her like bees around their beehive, small squeaky voices simmering about and buzzing in her ears. One caught her eye and her flailing subdued then, as the tiny brown-haired brown-eyed fairy blew sickly-sweet dust into her face, nerves somehow forcefully brought to their knees. “I’m sorry.” It seemed to her that the utterance had multiple meanings, as the look on the fairy’s face contorted into one of deep sorrow, as though in mourning for  the unfortunate soul that had fallen into Bakugo’s greedy attention.

Not much dawned on poor girl after that, and if it did, she didn't seem to mind the foreign things happening around her. How she was fussed around with, spoiled even, with flowers and gems and fabrics, unlike anything she’d ever seen before. Fitted to perfection and adorned with a small tiara made up of flowers, poppies if she were to guess with the limited knowledge she had through books, as the harsh environment of the mountain doesn't allow for such frail things to grow.

Her doe eyes; softly fluttering every now and again, barely even feeling it, when her feet hit the ground, still bare. Perhaps she didn’t even realize they belonged to her, seeing how they were robbed of their red mud and clay. More and more, steadily coming back to her senses, she remained calm under the pressure of her strange surroundings. Creatures she’d never known existed, colors she hadn’t ever laid eyes on, perfumes that stung her nose in a pioneering act. She remembered death, she remembered fire, and the burning cold of sharp, deadly eyes. She feared that it was those same red eyes she was being prepared for.

Her mouth remained shut. Her silence casting a confusing spell onto the guards, however unaffected the busy pixies swirling about her in a working frenzy. The sounding of a horn didn’t shake her either, however seemed to dismiss the ones nitpicking at her ensemble, as well as signal the guards.

They didn't touch her, but their eyes did well in escorting her to the havoc outside. She didn't see much except for fire and shadow. Yet, mismatched tones of gold seemed to unsettle her even more than the different shades of red. 

She was guided to his side, gestured to sit down on the throne next to his. She didn't faze too much upon her surroundings, managing to keep somewhat of a respectable composure, even as girls and boys from her village caught her eye. They hadn’t murdered everyone it seemed, not the pretty ones at least. They were putting on a show, inexperienced in the art of dance, but no less amusing to the hooded ravagers, she guessed.

She held her tongue and assumed an aura of harmony, therefore not accepting anything given to her. Drink, food, trinkets, they were swarming her as if she were some shrine. She supposed she, more or less, was just that, which was more than what she had been before, but somehow less at the same time. 

The nerves trembled beneath her skin, as she did her best to calm her frightened state. She searched the spread sprawled out before her, wanting to accommodate to the new scenery. However, it proved to be quite difficult, as she felt the intense stare of the boy on her right, his eyes singeing and freezing her all at once. Having not dared look to him yet, the pressure of meeting those eyes of his, too much of a scare.

Sharp jewels stuck into her skin, and although she was used to gravel, they still managed to achieve her discomfort. “Not enjoying yourself?” 

She cleaned up nicely. He could see her complexion clearly now, soft and smooth glowing skin between what raked scratched and gashes marred it. He wanted to pull Kirishima’s teeth out as punishment for biting her arm so ruthlessly, but knew that would be foolish as neither of them could have known of her importance. It could very well have been him who had printed his fangs into her, yet it would more likely have fallen off then.

It took her longer than she’d like to admit before she understood the question was meant for her, and although she could speak, the thought of answering seemed so far out of reach. She didn’t know how he would want to be acknowledged either. What do you say to a King who massacres entire civilizations? What do you even call such a person? The title tyrant came to mind, but it seemed distasteful.

Even if her hesitance angered him, he didn’t let his temper prove it. And when her eyes flickered ever so slightly in his direction, his annoyance more or less faded away; replaced. “You’re thinking of what time will be the best to escape, aren’t you?” 

The hairs on the back of her neck rose at once when she heard his voice again, realizing the moment to answer his previous question had passed, and how he, this time, was accusing her not of ingratitude, but of deserting. 

“Wondering where you will go, where you even are?” She could spot the eerie smile from the corner of her eye. At least his teeth were wiped clean of gore this time, yet… they still managed to make her ears shift in discomfort. “Hmm...” He scoffed, then chuckled a laugh that somehow sounded like thunder, like barking. “Let me help you.” 

He shifted in his seat, leaning in closer to her. His fingers grazing her forearm, causing her to lightly gasp. Claws ever so slightly digging into her skin. 

“You could make a run for it through the foliage of the trees.” She felt the earnest, wanton pressure in his touch, furrowing her brows in both confusion upon his words and in a plead for mercy. “But I should warn you... the forest is much denser and darker and deadlier here, than it is in the mountain.” His voice; so very casual in its threats, the voice of a King. “Even if I felt so generous as to give you a head start, we would probably catch you before the night let up. It wouldn't be much a game for me, but you are welcome to give it a try if you want.” He was taunting, haughty, stroking her arm... almost lovingly. “Besides, any attempt at running in that dress will be a show.” His hot breaths hit the side of her neck in waves, as she felt the still foreign need to say something linger on her tongue, but she swallowed it. “What’s your name?” This was a question she needed to answer, yet… it was also the one question she had no answer to.

“I-” 

That was the first time she’d ever spoken. Sure, she’d sung for him… but that wasn’t her, that was… something else… something inside her, her but not her at all at the same time. 

She didn’t quite know the words, know them as in being comfortable with them. She’d heard them, she knew what they were supposed to sound like, but… they still seemed so foreign on her tongue as she rolled them around in her mouth, teeth grinding together. 

To his surprise, to his complete shock, she turned her head to look at him, face wiped clean of… well… blood, and alongside what panic displayed on her features there was also a look of something he couldn’t quite place, but almost as though she was asking for his help, or his patience as she pieced together the words. He nearly gasped as she placed her small hand over the calloused knuckles of his where he was digging his fingers into her arm, the action so parallel to his intentions, looking up again to be met with her soft eyes as she spoke with even softer words. “I- I ha-ave no na-ame…” She looked awkward, as though she’d bitten her tongue and was preoccupied with the metallic taste of her own blood, looking at him, eyes asking if she were at all understandable.

“Right… no point in giving a mute a name.” His tone was brisk, without anger and it helped with establishing confidence in her as it also aided in answering her question if she was understood or not.

“Wh-” She started, this time seemingly a smidge more confident in her determination. “What do I call you?”

He would be lying if he said it didn't take him aback. And he wasn't one for telling lies.“You’re not like the others.” He announced, small quirk playing on his lips. “Katsuki.”

She was unsure whether she should give it a try or not, trying to mouth it under her breath so he not hear her. “Ka- katsu- ki.”

He gave a sound of acknowledgement, a grunt of some sorts, an eyebrow raised in suspicion at her, watching as her gaze shifted onto the ongoing festivities before the two of them, her chin slightly raising, eyes flittering to perceive things he was sure was for the first time. Her hand remained on his, velvet against sandpaper, as though she found comfort in it, a safety of some sort. He enjoyed the gesture as well as that thought; sinisterly so. Her chastity so desperate in need of corruption, in his eyes.

He made to stand, bored of the display before him. This girl posed more entertainment than anything the circus could give him. “The air is thinner in the mountains…” 

He reached out a hand, gesturing for her to take it. Reluctantly, or rather anxiously, she agreed, wondering what purpose hid in his words. 

“The change of climate will be overwhelming for you.” 

Slightly provoked by his words of condescension, she made to stand her ground, but felt an overbearing weight nest in her mind. 

“You’ll get migraines.” 

She looked confused now, staring at him, a crinkle between her brows. 

“Your body isn’t accumulated to this environment yet.” 

Her mouth suddenly felt dry, as she stumbled slightly. He locked her arm with his, helping her down from the podium. 

“The effects will come soon. Blood pooling in your feet, weighing you down and dragging you to the ground, blood leaving your head, nausea and unbalance.”

He didn’t seem all that effected by what he was saying. Not exactly nonchalant, but amused. 

“Could be you can’t even walk!” He grinned, chuckling when she whimpered, almost falling to her knees. “Your muscles, bones even, not strong enough to carry your own weight.” 

Wincing as he pulled her to a carriage. She couldn’t remember if it were the same one she woke up it. But, something about the atmosphere told her it wasn’t, something about the invasive smell of burnt sugar. 

“You’ll feel the ache in your limbs soon, gravity isn’t generous.” 

Before she knew it, she was placed in a bed, his hand stroking her cold forehead. 

“Especially when you’ve hardly ever felt the full might of its power.” He sounded sympathetic, and in her state she couldn’t tell if it were sincere or not. His hand traveled down her cheek, stroking a thumb over her lips. “There were more things I wanted to establish, but I underestimated the toll the descent would have on your health.” Scarred fingers stroked down her throat. “You’ll have to survive the sick before anything.” Tracing her collarbones. “If you’re strong, the fever will pass before we reach our destination.” Down her chest, as though holding back in savory, where if her eyes were able to focus she’d see him lick his lips. “But... the up and coming days will probably be hell for you.” 

She didn’t feel much of anything after that, except for the foreign warmth accompanying her in her slumber, two large arms tightly locked around her midriff.

[dracowars]

hold on | poe dameron

pairing: poe x reader

word count: 1,9k

summary: where poe has to hold on to y/n for dear life

a/n: this is inspired by that one scene in Mulan II (if you know, you know)

warnings: angst, character death, mentions of blood

universe: star wars

It was in that one moment, in that one tiny second, that you were careless. You were not paying enough attention. You have felt safe, a false sense of security. And suddenly the plans with important secret information about the First Order and its troops, that you worked hard for to earn, were snatched away from you.

Leia had entrusted the four of you - Rey, Finn, Poe, and you - with this very important mission and sent you to Vandor to meet up with a spy in the ranks of the First Order who captured said plans. With these plans you could have foreseen their next steps and be prepared for them. You would have had a chance, but now that the plans are gone, the hopelessness keeps increasing.

After you went to Vandor and reached your destination, you were badly surprised on your way back to the base and had to make an emergency landing on Pasaana, a heavily populated desert planet. You immediately thought that something was not right, that something was suspicious since the Millennium Flacon was carefully checked on the basis of the Resistance beforehand and showed no signs of any damages or problems. You should have guessed that the First Order was behind this, chasing you down until they got their precious plans back. And unfortunately, that is exactly what they now succeeded in doing.

Pasaana is known for its colorful festivals and marketplaces and while you were looking for spare parts to repair the Falcon with, you were distracted. You were not paying attention, got distracted, and suddenly the plans were gone, stolen by a creature you would classify as a bounty hunter based on its appearance. They were shrewd and cunning and had probably worked out their deed diligently. One of them distracted you all, talked to you, got you involved in a conversation and offered you all sorts of things, just like a real trader. What none of you noticed, however, was how his companion sneaked up on you from behind and stole your bag with the plans.

The two of them ran away immediately and you followed them as quickly as possible. While doing so, you also drew the attention of a few patrols consisting of stormtroopers of the First Order on you, who are making the pursuit even more difficult now. Rey fends off their shots with her blue lightsaber, Finn shoots his blaster at your chasers in the middle of running, while Poe and you are closely following behind the bounty hunters.

The sand under your feet makes it strenuous for you to move forward quickly, but not only you are affected by it. The bounty hunters as well as the stormtroopers are struggling with it too and since you ran out of the actual city by now, you find yourself completely surrounded by sand.

However, you do not let it stop you and continue to pursue them in the hope of regaining the important plans with the information, not dooming your mission. Poe tries to hit them with his own blaster shots repeatedly, but terribly fails. In return for his attack, you are met with a small ball flying straight towards you; a bomb.

Within seconds, Poe throws himself protectively at you, pulling you to the side and away from the source of danger, ending up in the soft sand when the bomb goes off close to you. Poe shields the swirling sand from you with his body, his strong arms blocking your view.

“Are you alright?”, he asks you worried, his arms wrapped tightly around you, scanning his eyes over your face.

“Y-Yes. Thank you”, you stutter out. You have never been this close to him before as you are at this moment right now. His dark curls fall on his forehead, beautifully framing it, his stunning brown eyes look straight into yours. You lose yourself in the moment, wanting to control and stop the time to forever enjoy this moment. Poe, on the other hand, seems to be stunned as well. By you.

He has had these feelings for you for so long already, but he suppressed them. At first, he tried to deny the fact that he fell for you, but seeing you every day, seeing that gorgeous smile on your face that he wants to touch so bad every time, he accepted his feelings at some point, but was still not ready to confess them. How could he? In the midst of a war raging around you, he felt it was inappropriate and not the right time to put his feelings first. But right now, in this moment, he would like nothing more than to confess his love to you. Kiss you right on the spot, cup your face, softly touch you with his fingers, all that he wishes so dearly still seems so far away, even now when he can literally feel your raging heartbeat against his chest.

No longer able to withstand his loving gaze on you, you avert your gaze and Poe watches how your eyes suddenly widen.

“The plans!”, you shout in shock and bring you both back to the bitter reality. Getting up as fast as possible, Poe helping you, you stomp through the deep sand again, following the bounty hunters who have brought a great distance between you in the meantime.

“What are you two even doing!?”, you hear Rey’s voice behind you as she comes running after you both. Apparently, she and Finn successfully eliminated all stormtroopers.

“They are going to escape!”, Finn adds a little angry, the blaster still ready in his hands before another loud shot is suddenly fired.

Several Tie Fighters have now appeared above you, chasing and shooting you. You are abruptly forced to stop in your tracks when one of their fatal shots lands right in front of you, blocking your path with a violent explosion, whirling the sand through the air again.

“This way!”, Poe calls out, takes you by the hand and leads you into a crevice, closely followed by Rey and Finn. “Their footprints lead this way, come on!”

Not hesitating for long, you stay hunched between the rocks, walking more slowly than before with the Tie Fighters over your head, waiting like vultures for their prey. The footprints lead through the rocky landscape until you reach a large, deep cliff.

Right when you reach it, the bounty hunters run over a narrow, unstable suspension bridge that leads over said gorge. Without thinking any further, Poe and you quickly follow them, the loose pieces of wood creaking dangerously under your feet. And on top of all of this, the Tie Fighters reappear, now that there is enough space above you to shoot at you again. A shot fired by Finn, who has stopped on the solid surface in front of the cliff, passes you, heading straight for the bounty hunters, but missing them by only a few inches. One of them aims his weapon directly at Poe and you on the loose bridge, fires a shot as well and actually lands a hit this time. Poe cries out in pain, whimpering, when his blaster is shot out of his hand with great impact, falling into the abyss.

As soon as the two bounty hunters reach the other safe side of the gorge, a disgusting laugh comes from their mouths as they suddenly start to cut the rotten ropes of the hanging bridge. Immediately the bridge begins to sway dangerously under your feet, nearly knocking you over when you try to keep your balance.

“Watch out!”, you hear Rey’s loud scream behind you, the last thing you hear right before one of the Tie Fighters shots fly through the air again, breaking the rope in half and causing you to fall into the deep depths, screaming.

At the very last moment you manage to hold on to a broken old rope, reach out your arm right away to catch Poe as well. His weight pulls hard on your arm, making you cry out in pain briefly, but you grab his hand as tightly as you can, not letting go of him. You hang helplessly in the air over the gorge, which leads several meters down, not even being able to see the ground from up here. A cold breeze floats through the gorge and not only makes you sway, but also the almost completely destroyed suspension bridge above you.

“Poe! Poe, hold on tight, okay? I got this!”, you scream loudly, hoping to give him and also yourself the strength to get through this, but when you look up to where the bridge was a few seconds ago, another part of it breaks and you fall a few meters deeper. Holding on to the one puny rope with your bare physical strength, tears are already stinging your eyes, the situation seeming hopeless. The rope, which now resembles a thin thread, will not be able to hold you for much longer.

“Y/N. It will not hold us both”, Poe states, his shaky voice full of fear and sadness, saying out loud what you thought.

“No, it will hold us both. It will, I know it will!”, you reply with an equal shaky voice, looking down at him and the infinite depth below him. Bloods runs down his arm, caused by the injury on his hand due to the shot, turning his light brown shirt a deep red. Tears well up in your eyes when you notice the helplessness in his eyes. Shortly after your words, the rope starts to tear a little more and your arms turn sorer every second.

“I should have told you this much earlier, Y/N. But I want you to know that, before we die, I truly love you”, Poe confesses out of nowhere, causing the tears to flow down your cheeks, your hand clasping even more around his wrist.

“I love you too, Poe. With all my heart”, you sob and see a gentle smile on Poe’s lips, which disappears again quickly as his whole facial expression changes after his gaze fell on the thread which is the only thing still saving you from death. “We will not die, do you hear me? We will make it out of here!”

“Y/N. I am sorry”, he whispers and suddenly loosens his grip on your hand. Screaming bitterly, you try to grab him, to hold him, but his hand slips away, and Poe falls down into the abyss, margining with the deep black while you can only scream after him.

“NO!”, you cry out loudly, your hand still outstretched, warm and covered in blood where your hands were still touching seconds before. “POE!”

You are about to let go as well, your grip on the rope, that is currently still rescuing you from the same fatal fate as Poe, is already loosening when you suddenly feel how the gravity gets reversed and you begin to float in the air. Slowly, you slide up out of the deep gorge, still holding the rope in your hand, your gaze fixed on the black below you as you get rescued through the Force by Rey. As soon as you feel solid ground under your feet again, you rush back to the dangerous edge, fall on your knees in front of it while tears flow down your cheeks in streams.

With beeping ears and a throbbing heart, you feel how Rey and Finn put their arms around you, how they talk to you and try to comfort you. But nothing could. Nothing in this universe could relieve you from the absolute pain you are in.

You feel nothing but emptiness. A void that is only filled with the unbearable pain of just having lost the love of your life forever.

[thiswasinevitableid]

For the meet-ugly prompts: #13, Indruck, SFW ? 👁️👁️

Here you go!

13: we make contact before trying to steal the last seat on the subway/bus/train and I end up in your lap and fuck you, I’m going to stay here because I’ve had a really long day and this seat was mine

The Phoenix Starport is a labyrinth, while technically made of chrome and touch-screens, is really made of lines.

Duck stands in line to show his ticket, to deposit his bags, to go through three separate security check-points and, when he gets to the section for the shuttle to take him to the Starliner, a fourth one because when your clients are high paying, you don’t want them getting blown to pieces.

He isn’t high-paying, he isn’t a seasoned space traveler, and he isn’t going to spend one second more on his feet than he has to. It’s been two solid hours of that just to get to this point. Unfortunately, every other passenger shares this sentiment. When the shuttle door opens a mass of lifeforms pile in, hunting for seats. Duck spots one, turns to sit, and finds it’s much fuzzier than it looked.

“Excuse me.” The creature whose laps he’s in reminds him of the pictures of Mothman scattered around his home state, “but this seat is taken.”

“Yeah, by me, because I saw it first.”

A click from inside the mothmans chest, “You are wrong. I saw it first, and did not foresee anyone being rude enough to use me in its place.”

Every other seat is filled, and it’s a fifteen minute ride to the Starliner. Duck crosses his arms, “you don’t wanna be a seat, you better get up.”

That earns him an annoyed chirr, “Not a chance.”

The shuttle ride is smooth, but his seat keeps prodding him with a clawed finger whenever he puts his weight on it. When they arrive, the two of them stand one after the other. The mothman shakes out his feathers, tosses a glare over his shoulder, and steps through the doors.

Unsurprisingly, the Sylvain Dream makes opulence seem subdued. There are rare flowers studding the fountain by the concierge desk, art from across the universe on the walls, and a sound dampening, shimmering carpet lining the hall to his room. He’s looking forward to some alone time; while all the suites at this level are technically two person, they’re so expensive that most travelers get their own rooms.

He keys open the door and comes face to chest with the same fucking alien from the shuttle.

“Ah. So we are in this timeline. Lovely.” The mothman says dryly, passing him to greet the bellhop who just finished scurrying up the stairs, “I see you have a message from minister Woodbridge. Kindly have someone reply and tell him that if it’s an emergency, they may contact me directly, but if the matter is anything else, they are to leave me in peace during my journey.”

“Yes, Seer Cold.”

“Thank you.” the seer drops a coin into his hand and brushes past Duck without another word.

Duck finally makes it past the entryway and gasps; when the people paying for his journey asked if he’d prefer forest, city, beach, or desert, he assumed it was some sort of vague theme. Instead, the carpet is lush, soft grass, there are flowers everywhere, and the furniture is all made to be woodsy and rustic. The bath and shower are like a mini water-fall and pool, his bed housed in a mock cabin.

“This is amazing.”

“If you are here purely for a leisure trip.” His suite-mate crosses both sets of arms, “some of us are being transported back to work.”

“Now look, this is a work trip for me too. You gotta admit this is pretty swank.”

“And an attempt to soften the blow.” Mothman mutters.

Duck rolls his eyes, decides this is not his problem to deal with, and goes to unpack for the month-long journey ahead.

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

For the first two days he and Indrid--which is what the aloof, perpetually touchy Sylph likes to be called--do their best to ignore each other. They’re stuck on the same dining schedule, which means Duck accidentally insults the alien by giggling when he sees him lick his dessert up with an absurdly long tongue. He makes it up to the next night by saving the pineapple soda delivered in their lunch basket for the Sylph.

On day three, he’s reading by the holo-fire pit when a white badge with blue writing dangles before him.

“Would you like to accompany me to the spa?”

“Uh….”

“Since I foresee you asking no, we do not have to spend the entire time together.”

“I, uh, I was gonna say sure, but was wonderin’ why you offered it to me.”

“Oh.” His antenna flick in a new way, “I, ah, they gave me two. I have no one else to go with and it seemed silly to let it go to waste.”

“I gotta wear anything special?”

“Since humans require clothes in all but a few scenarios, I suggest wearing your robe.”

The spa is just as elaborate as the rest of the ship, with cushy chairs and complimentary booze. The secretary hands them each a menu of treatments bigger than any Duck’s held at a restaurant.

“Sugar scrub….talon wax….rock massage. Do they mean hot rocks?”

“No, that treatment helps those with scales shed.”

“Huh.” Duck pokes his tongue in his cheek, “wish they said which of these were safe for, uh, squishy human bodies.”

Indrid reaches out a claw, tapping several on the list, “This ful massage would be good; you’re muscular, it will be nice to have those muscles tended to.”

“Oh, uh, thanks. Have been workin out more, nice to have someone else notice.”

The Sylph smiles, “you may also like the hair luxury add-on; I’ve always thought humans with salt and pepper hair should show it off.”

Before Duck can ask how Indrid developed that opinion or learned that slang, they’re ushered off into separate rooms. He’s scrubbed and rubbed until his body surrenders the last of it’s stress, the oils they rub on his skin and into his hair smelling pleasantly of pine and cedar. His session ends with one of the staff leading him to a small room covered in deep green marble, where he can rinse and dry off in his own time.

Indrid is in the same room, reclining in a chair with a sun lamp on his wings. They’ve been groomed, the feather straighter and smoother than this morning. Duck takes his first real look at them, notices how the black is iridescent and that there are two bands of deep grey on the inside close to Indrid’s torso.

He’s really quite stunning.

“I feel” Indrid murmurs, “as if we got off to a bad start.”

“You think?” Duck aims for a genial tone.

Indrid cocks his head, “Yes. That is why I said it. I, ah, I ought to apologize for my temperament over the last few days. I am so very fond of earth, of humans, and I’d hoped to be able to work there indefinitely. But Sylvain is in crisis, and so they need me near. Never mind that we have the capability to transmit messages quickly between planets.”

“What’s the crisis?”

“Our plants are dying or failing to produce the resources we need. The belief is that-”

“-it’s a leftover contamination or mutation from the earth plants that crossed through the gate before it was destroyed.”

Indrid blinks, then grins, “it is novel to be the one having their sentences finished. Yes, Duck Newton; the gate has been gone for over two hundred years, but both our worlds will feel it’s effects for many more years.” His antenna perk up, “you’re the one they’re bringing on to consult.”

“Yep. That’s why they gave me such a sweet deal on the trip; they know it’s gonna be fuckin exhaustin work. Even with all the other perks they’re offerin, I know a lot of folks didn’t wanna apply.”

“Why did you feel differently?”

He pushes to the other side of the little pool so they can be closer, “I spent my whole life in the town I grew up in. I love what I do, I love helpin forests stay healthy and regrow and I...I dunno, how often do you get the chance to go to space and see forests on another planet?”

“Once, if you are me.” Indrid closes his wings, clicks off the light, and offers Duck a hand, “and I am glad you will have the chance to do the same.”

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

“You know” Indrid passes Duck the plate of toast, “I am named for Sylph who was the second most recent seer after myself. He and I are the same kind of Sylph, and when my parents learned their mothling-to-be was the next seer, they decided I would be Indrid Cold.”

“Not gonna lie, people actin like your fate is set in stone from birth gives me the creeps.”

“Understandable. I would not admit this to the other ministers, but I am no longer content with reporting on the futures. I try to change fate when I can. In this way, I am also like the first Indrid Cold. He kept trying to intervene in disasters; that’s how he got seen when he should not have been.”

“Holy fuck, there really was a mothman!”

“Indeed. I also learned from his personal notes that he was so fond of humans, he ended up marrying one.”

“Damn” Duck passes him the sweetener for his tea, teases, “you share that habit too?”

Red eyes linger a moment too long on his body before Indrid grins, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

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

“You sure you don’t wanna swim?” Duck treads water in the green lagoon of some distant moon. The cruise is docked for an activity day, Duck having selected to spend it snorkeling and Indrid deciding to spend it with Duck.

“The wings are not built for it. Though the water does look pleasant.” Indrid lazily sifts black sand through his claws.

“You could wade in. It stays pretty shallow there” he points to a sand bar.

“If I get in over my head, will you come to my aid?”

“You know it.”

Indrid wades in, chirping as the waves hit his knees. When Duck next glances at him, Indrid is glancing right back. He’s smiling, soft and secretive.

“I am glad you picked this spot. The view is spectacular.”

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

They’ve hit turbulence a handful of times, all of which pale in comparison to the jolt that sends him tumbling out of bed. There are stabilizer controls to lighten the gravity in the room so they won’t feel the bumps as badly. But when he wobbles over, he finds it’s already up to the lowest it can be without him floating.

He stumbles to the window, the curtains shut against the vast universe. Is turbulence this severe normal? If the gravity doohickey isn’t able to help, maybe that means they’ve never hit a storm this bad.

Opening the window is a terrible idea; there’s no cause of the turbulence to be seen, and now he’s in a dark room staring into the depths of space, it’s so big, he’s so small, they all are, the forces of nature still have it in them to crack this ship like an egg, killing them all.

“Would it help if I said there are no futures where this storm poses a threat to us?” Indrid whispers from behind him.

“Kinda.”

“Would it help to see something breathtaking?”

“Wh-”

Indrid taps the glass, drawing Ducks attention to two massive, starry shapes, “Celestial whales. At least that’s the human name for them.”

“Holy fuck.” They remind Duck of Whale Sharks, but impossibly bigger, skin coated in thousands of star-spots, “how can they do that? I mean, obviously they ain’t mammals, but fuckin nothin thrives in deep space.”

“No one is certain.” Indrid sighs, happily, “isn’t it wonderful to know there are such things in the universe?”

“Yeah. AHfuck” He hits the wall as the whole ship shudders, “fuck, sorry-”

“It’s alright. It can be alarming when you’re on your first trip through the cosmos. I, ah, I have something that may help, if you’re alright with me touching you some.”

“Fine by me.” Duck follows Indrid to the Sylph’s bed. The seer sits cross-legged with his back against the wall and instructs Duck to rest his head in his lap. The points of his claws begin rubbing his neck and the base of his skull, Indrid humming at a low, steady pitch until Duck’s eyes start to close.

The pressure points are helping, he can tell by his loosening spine. But what soothes him to sleep is the repetitive reminder of Indrid there with him in the dark.

When he wakes up the storm is gone. His body is still moving, rising and falling in time with Indrid’s breath as he sleeps. He pulled Duck atop him in the night, and at some point must have wrapped him in his wings, since once, is still half-flopped on Duck’s back.

Seized with affection, Duck kisses his shoulder. When this earns him a happy chirp, he does it again, then kisses a cheerful path up to Indrid’s cheek. Red eyes open, sleepy and full of tenderness, just in time for the Sylph to turn his head and kiss Duck properly.

“What a lovely thing to awaken to.”

“No kiddin” Duck kisses him again, “fuck, Indrid, this is the weirdest goddamn thing to ever happen to me and I’m thinkin it might also be the best.”

Indrid hugs him close, “We shall have ample time to find out, if you wish to do so.”

“Hell yeah. But we only got a few days before we hit Sylvain.”

“Yes” Indrid kisses his nose, “but I happen to foresee Woodbridge ignoring my request for peace and sending me a message saying I will be working closely with a certain, visiting forestry expert.”

[teyrnacousland]

Dorian and Anders Banters

Dorian: Your magic is incredibly boring, Anders. Anders: It’s healing magic. It’s not supposed to be flashy. Dorian: But it could be, couldn’t it? Surely you could throw in a bit of flair here and there. Anders: Sure. Next time you get stabbed by a Red Templar, I’ll be sure to stop to twirl my staff around before I heal you. Dorian: I wouldn’t want it any other way.

───────

Anders: I don’t think I’ve ever met a real necromancer before. Dorian: We are a rare and remarkable find, certainly. Anders: I’ve heard it's one of the hardest schools of magic to master. Dorian: The hardest, actually. Although, spirit healing isn't easy either, from what I've heard. Anders: I guess. I mean, I’ve studied and practiced hard, of course, but to some extent it’s always come naturally to me. (Cole: You want to help, and so do they. They like you because you let them.)

───────

Anders: So. You bind spirits to your enemies’ corpses and make them fight for you in battle. I can't tell if that’s fascinating or creepy. Dorian: Oh, fascinating, definitely. Haven you ever watched me in action? I am very impressive. Anders: You, sure. Necromancy? A bit of both, at best. Dorian: Fair enough. I’ll take it.

───────

Dorian: Spirits really are fond of you, aren’t they? First spirit healing, then Justice, and now you’ve got Cole following you around as well. (Cole: He’s hurting, both of him are. I just want to help.) Anders: What can I say? It’s my natural charm. Dorian: You are fairly charming, for a Southerner. Anders: Well, technically, I’m part Anders. Dorian: I’ve been to the Anderfels, believe me, charm is not something that could possibly come from them. Unless, of course, your family possessed the last of the fun and attractive genes. Anders: We did. That’s the true reason the wardens are hunting me. The whole deserting and blowing up a chantry thing is secondary to my true crime. Anders: Wait, you think I’m attractive? Dorian: For a Southerner, at least. // (if romanced) Dorian: Not the most attractive Southerner I’ve met, that title is taken, unfortunately. But you’re not bad either.

───────

Anders: What is it like, Dorian? Dorian: Being as handsome as I am in a world full of mediocrity, you mean? It’s a burden I am happy to bear. Anders: I meant living in Tevinter. Growing up respected, and free. Being able to cast a spell without immediately worrying someone is going to kill you or lock you up for it. Dorian: We still have to worry about that last part, sometimes. Getting assassinated certainly cuts back on one’s freedoms. Dorian: But that’s not the same, is it? Honestly, I don’t know what I can say about it. It just… is. I’ve never known anything else. Anders: Lucky. Dorian: Yes. I… sorry.

───────

Anders: I wanted to apologize, Dorian. I think I was a bit… bitter when we last spoke. Dorian: No, no, no need for apologies. From what I know of the South’s treatment of mages, you have every right to be. Anders: Still, that’s not your fault. And the spirit in my head doesn’t like it when I don’t make amends for even minor wrongdoings. So, I apologize. Dorian: Well, I hereby absolve you your crime. You can tell your spirit that all is forgiven. Anders: He can hear you. And thanks.

───────

Dorian: What is it like living in the Circle, Anders? I can't even imagine. Anders: Sure you can. Just picture Skyhold, but with less windows and dark dungeons. And also imagine that about a third of the people you see around you are Templars who want you dead. Dorian: Well, that sounds… charming. Anders: Oh, it was great. Sometimes I miss little rituals like checking under my bunk for murderous Templars before bed. Dorian: Well, Cullen’s still here. I’m sure you could check for him, if you like. Anders: True. I guess things haven’t changed that much after all.

───────

Anders: You aren’t afraid of your magic, Dorian. Dorian: Is there a reason I should be? It isn’t as though it can manifest a will of its own and rebel against me. Anders: No, obviously not. But… It’s different when you grow up in the Circle. Or anywhere in Thedas influenced by our Chantry, really. Anders: It’s just... it’s hard not to listen when everyone tells you over and over you’re dangerous, or cursed. Dorian: Well, you’re not. I can’t claim divine certainty, but I do fancy myself somewhat of an expert on magic. It’s a skill like any other, and there’s nothing wrong with it. Anders: I appreciate the impassioned lecture, Dorian, but I’m an adult. I know all that. It’s just… your mind lies to you sometimes, makes you doubt the things you should know. Does that make sense, or do I just sound crazy? Dorian: No, your words are clear as crystal, unfortunately. I don’t know that there’s anything I can do about that. But if you ever need reminding that magic is good, I’d be happy to put on a little show for you. Anders: Perfect. You can remind me of the positives of magic by pulling spirits out of the Fade and animating decaying corpses with them. Dorian: Exactly. Nothing says “harmless fun” quite like an army of living corpses. Maybe I can make them dance? Anders: Now that would cheer me up.

───────

Dorian: I’m planning to go back to Tevinter, when this is all over. Anders: And here I thought the South was growing on you. Any day now I expect you to come out of your room dressed in furs and heavy armour, talking about how at home the smell of wet dogs makes you feel. Dorian: (shudders) Perish the thought. Dorian: But I’m not just bragging, this time. I was going to find a boat back after Corypheus is defeated. If you’d like, I could find one that seats one extra person. Dorian: Or, two extra people in one body, as it were. Justice would come too, I presume.   Anders: Are you... asking me to come with you? Why? Dorian: The Chantry is still looking for you, and I don’t imagine they’d be satisfied with a heartfelt apology and a promise not to do it again. Not to mention, if you’re looking for somewhere to hide without being persecuted for your magic, there’s nowhere in Thedas better than Tevinter. Anders: That’s… This may be one of the nicest things anyone has ever offered to do for me. Dorian: Come now, don’t get sappy on me. Anders: Too late. It’s happening. I might even cry. Dorian: If you get your tears all over my robes, you’re uninvited. Anders: (laughs) Anders: Thank you for the offer, Dorian. I’ll think about it.

───────

Anders: Dorian, I’ve considered your offer. Dorian: And?

(if Anders is with Hawke) (Or the Warden because insert kicks canon into the sun gif here) Anders: I think I’ll suffer through the South a while longer. It’s not all bad here. Dorian: You mean that one person in particular who makes it worth it. Anders: That helps, yes. Dorian: Fair enough. // (if romanced) I know what that’s like. Dorian: Well, if the two of you change your mind, do stop by and say hello. If you don’t, I might forget how grateful I am to be back somewhere that doesn’t smell like cold and wet all the time.

(otherwise) Anders: I’m in. Dorian: Wonderful! I’ll have Josephine get you a new wardrobe right away. Anders: What? Why? What’s wrong with my clothes? Dorian: As much as I’ve come to appreciate this “feathered creature dragged through a Marcher swamp” look, it isn’t exactly in style in Tevinter right now.   Anders: (muttering) I lived in the sewers, not a swamp.   Dorian: Yes. My bad. I’m sure that will make you much more popular with my countrymen. Dorian: Don’t worry, you’re in good hands. Anders: Thank you, Dorian. Not for insulting my clothes. For… well, everything else. Dorian: It’s the least I can do for a friend. Dorian: But enough of that. If you cry again, then I’ll cry, and then we’ll both look stuffy and miserable for the rest of the trip. We’ll discuss plans when we return to Skyhold.

[tarotdeckshuffle]

Half Astral Series: Cor

I’m skipping around a bit and doing Cor’s section because I’m writing two chapters of Spectral today and that’s just A LOT of Ignis to write XD Hope you enjoy! ❤

Taglist: @idiotflowerex, @laststory1013, @sayaoqueen, @jophinabean, @mysme-already

If you like what you read, please consider supporting me on Patreon or buying me a Ko-fi!

Cor

The hour was early when you and Cor began a new hunt. 

Rumor had spread of a coeurl that had become corrupted,

The poor beast lashed out at refugees with dark lightning. 

You and your love set out into the darkness to protect the few safe routes left to Lestallum,

And to put the animal out of its misery. 

Unfortunately, the creatures of darkness were nearly impossible to track in the everlasting night. 

And the cold desert dirt was unable to preserve tracks,

As eastward winds pulled the chariot of storms. 

You began to fear the beast only existed in stories,

Until a lonely, anguished growl pierced the winds. 

It was the sound of an animal fighting not to become a monster. 

You and Cor agreed that you had to find it now,

For all evidence of its whereabouts would be washed away in the storms. 

But words are easier to find than prey. 

A cold and heavy rain set in, soaking you to the bone,

Before you even found the coeurl. 

Thunder shook the earth,

As lightning struck from the veil of darkness. 

Finally, you found it. 

The poor creature had been fighting the corruption for so long. 

One eye glowed red, surrounded by black sludge,

While the other gazed wide and fearful at the world around it. 

The battle to fell the beast was not going to be easy,

As it was impossible to tell it you were committing an act of mercy. 

It took all of your strength to dodge its claws,

As you slid through the mud.

All the while attempting to avoid real and dark lightning. 

Even Cor began to slow down with fatigue. 

For a single moment, the rain eased. 

Beside you, Cor nodded. 

This was your chance!

He dashed at the creature from the front,

Distracting it,

While you attached from behind. 

The coeurl lashed out, barely catching its claws in Cor’s chest,

Before your blade found its mark. 

The blow was exact, 

Resulting in a fairly painless and fast death. 

The creature stood frozen, 

Before crumpling to the ground,

Finally free from its pain. 

You walked away from it,

Only to find Cor doubled over and holding his chest. 

You ran to your love, 

Fearing the worst. 

He waved you on, 

Telling you that he would be fine,

Regardless of the pain. 

But you knew he needed help,

And fast!

But you were miles from anywhere. 

Unable to do anything else, you got him to his feet,

And set out. 

It felt like hours that you wandered,

Fearfully supporting your darling,

Through the onslaught of rain. 

Just as you thought the storms would take you,

You found shelter. 

A cave in the valley walls. 

Inside was still cold, 

But it was dry. 

You laid Cor down

And found enough brush in the cave to start a fire. 

But it wasn’t enough. 

You held his head on your lap,

As his body quickly failed him. 

He was running a high fever,

Unable to stop from shivering. 

You dressed his wounds to the best of your ability,

But even the gauze was wet from the rain. 

“Damn this old body,” he coughed,

Trying to smile up at you. 

“If it keeps you with me, I don’t care how old it is,” you replied, smiling back at him. 

He nestled into you, still smiling. 

You watched the marshall's face soften into sleep.

For hours, you sat with him,

Stroking his hair,

Attempting to chase away his nightmares.

But to no avail.

His fever seemed to keep increasing,

And the wounds on his chest refused to clot. 

Silently, tears streamed from your eyes 

From the fear gripping your heart:

What if he never woke up?

What if this was it?

Within the trows of nightmares, again,

You tried to wake him.

With shaking hands, you stroked his cheek.

“Darling, wake up…” you whispered.

But sleep did not release him. 

“Darling!” 

Your panicked cry rang throughout the cave. 

And he stilled. 

You felt his beating heart begin to slow,

But, still, he did not wake. 

“Please...wake up...look at me…”

You plead,

But only the darkness heard you. 

Quite still now, he continued to sleep. 

Tears flowed like rivers down your cheeks,

As you cried out. 

“FINE!! I GIVE! I NEED YOUR HELP! YOU HEAR THAT?! I NEED YOUR HELP!!”

As the echoes of your pleas faded, 

Only silence responded. 

“YOU COWARDLY OLD MAN! I SAID I NEED YOUR HELP! WHAT?! ARE YOU NOT GOING TO GLOAT NOW THAT I ACTUALLY NEED YOU?”

Lightning cracked outside. 

Through the darkness, a tall figure swept towards you. 

“I am not a pet you can summon on command, child.”

It was the god of storms, Ramuh, who approached you. 

“Well you certainly aren’t a father, either.” 

You lashed out in pain. 

Your dearest love, the only thing in all of Eos that truly mattered to you, 

Lay dying in your arms. 

And your cowardly father had the nerve to swagger into your sanctuary. 

Ramuh narrowed his eyes, staring you down. 

“Then what have you called out to me for?” 

You gathered all the courage you could muster to face him down,

“Save him.” 

Those two words are all you thought you heart could calmly manage. 

“And why, perchance, should I save this mortal?” The god hissed. 

You were taken aback. 

He had all the power in the world,

Power enough to save this man ten times over,

And he was questioning you?!

The years of constant criticism you faced from your father came back to your mind. 

Centuries of resentment boiled up within you.

You had been raised in his shadow,

A mortal he tried to shape into a god.

You were his only child,

And his greatest disappointment.

You had spent the last hundred years hiding from his view,

Which wasn’t a great task,

Considering he literally hid in a rock. 

He had given you the power of everlasting life,

Within a body that would never fail you.

Not by choice,

But due to his own desire to have a legacy.

“Does it matter why you should save him? I am asking this one and only thing of you, after all you have demanded of me! Isn’t that enough? Isn’t that the LEAST a parent could do?!”

That was the first you had ever questioned him. 

And for a moment, it calmed the storms. 

He stood in silence, staring at his feet.

Gods had all the time in the world,

And you feared he did not understand the urgency of this matter. 

Finally, he spoke:

“Contrary to what you imagine, I do care about you. To that end, you must realize that everyday you draw closer to the inevitable sadness of this relationship. If I should fulfill your request, you are just delaying fate.” 

Your eyes furrowed in rebellious anger.

“I don’t care,” you challenged. 

He folded his hands and stared down at you.

 “Yes, you do. And that’s exactly the problem.” 

In that moment, he didn’t matter anymore. 

Your mind found the words to bring your emotions into the world,

And you let it unleash the fury of ages past:

“You’re right. Ok? I care! I care immensely! I care about him, body and mind, because I love him! And unlike you so-called gods, I’m not going to abandon something I care about! To leave due to my own sadness would be completely selfish! What about him?”

You paused to look down at his peaceful face. 

The man you loved, 

The man you would die for,

And more importantly,

Live for. 

Yes, you would outlive him,

You would live until his name was religated to letters in history books. 

Never aging,

Never getting sick,

just...living.

But you would also get to live with him.

You would have the chance to fight by his side,

To see all the beauty of Eos in his arms,

And to know his touch. 

All of that was worth living for. 

“He loves me. He needs me! And I love him! I need him. You may not understand the value of this moment, or of any moment, but I do! And it is far more valuable than the sadness to come! He has shown me life, far more than you ever could! So, no matter how hard you try to scare me away from it, I’m staying with him.”

You looked up, 

The weight of your truth evident on your face. 

Ramuh merely shook his head,

Before he raised his hands.

The whole cave buzzed with electricity,

As it popped off of the walls. 

A soft, yellow glow surrounded Cor,

Brining warmth to his body. 

Slowly, the electricity faded from the room.

Ramuh lowered his hands and sighed:

“I have done what you asked, but know this child: you will receive nothing more from me. You have become too mortal to be of any use.” 

With pursed hands he strode from the cave and disappeared into the winds. 

Outside, the thunder eased,

But the rain continued to fall in sheets. 

When you checked, 

The marks on Cor’s chest had disappeared,

And his fever broke. 

Leaving him to sleep peacefully. 

You smiled, 

Finally feeling at peace.

He would live to see another day.  

But, in the crevices of your heart,

You felt a deep sadness.

Ramuh never went back on his word...

But what was done could not be undone,

That much he had taught you. 

So you leaned back, 

And let your body rest. 

 Hours later, Cor woke.

He looked up into your sleeping face,

Unsure of what was a dream and what was real. 

You looked peaceful in your sleep,

A glow of otherworldly beauty to you. 

How could he tell you what he had seen?

Would it even matter?

No…

To him, it didn’t matter who you were,

Who your parents were,

Or where you came from.

What mattered is that he loved you,

And that he could spend the rest of his life with you.

He raised one tired hand,

And brushed your cheek. 

“I’m staying with you, too.”

[hy3ma90sqz1h]

Hi, friend. Do me a solid? Trope Mashup: 48 + 73 Queliot, if you're so inspired.

sorry for getting back so late. (i still have 3 others to work on) 

48 + 73 = stranded due to weather inclement + fake dating… ooh!!! (this was a fun one!)

Eliot had promised something big, but like always, had trouble delivering fully on the actual promise. He’d done outlandish things before without plan, without reason; falling into something eagerly and only because he wanted to. Usually, these were contained in Ibiza, with Margo, who could actually control Eliot, however, minimally. She would recount later that Eliot was merely a wild creature unable to be contained. That if he had wings, he would never use his feet again; if he had a fountain of money, he would never work another day in his life (though, even without the fountain of money, Quentin swore he had never seen Eliot work a proper job).

“I’m going to take you on a ski trip,” Eliot declared to Quentin on a Monday. He’d just returned from class, overwhelmed with a new stack of books to read and take notes on; so for Eliot to pile an additional task unto him stressed Quentin to the core. His mind tumbled, billowing like an unrestrained curtain in a summer wind.

“Do you even know how to ski?” Quentin promptly asked Eliot, who simply shrugged and replied, “I can always learn there.”

Preferring a ski trip to note-taking, after all, Quentin agreed to the trip. He packed his number one winter essentials: big, warm sweaters and fuzzy socks. Then, through common sense and thinking, packed double, for Eliot. Eliot typically only wore what he wanted, not for the weather. This had been countably proved time and time again.

Eliot wanted to be conventional and take a car; though he spelled his luggage into the trunk. With the trunk packed, Eliot slid into the driver’s seat and beckoned to Quentin, who, with a heavy sigh, took the seat up front next to Eliot. A grin passed across Eliot’s face; it was devious and inviting. It would’ve been foolish for Quentin not to accept the idea of this trip.

The drive was long and Quentin spent most of the time with his forehead pressed against the car window, daydreaming slightly. From the window, he watched people on the sidewalk, on their phones, minds so involved in things he couldn’t even pretend to care about. Even still, he could feel the eyes of Eliot skim him once every few minutes; intrigued, worried, Quentin didn’t pay enough attention to make a proper hypothesis out of that.

“How’s Alice?” Eliot finally asked. Every time before, Eliot always seemed reluctant to mention Alice. She’d spent a generous amount of time hanging out with Quentin; helping him with studies, joining him for lunch, sitting with him in the dim corners of Margo and Eliot’s Physical Kids Cottage parties. Quentin looked away from the spots of snow that, in packs of loose clumps, littered the dead grass out the window and turned to Eliot.

Eliot’s eyes were on the road, his hands relaxed around the wheel. He drove smoothly, which surprised Quentin, for some odd reason.

“She’s good,” Quentin simply replied.

“Are you two a thing… or?” Eliot kept digging. “‘Cause it seems…”

“No,” Quentin cut him off. There wasn’t anything important else to add. She was a stone in his life; someone who helped keep him stable. Once, he had fallen hard for her, but there are some things that don’t work out and you have to accept that. At least, she told him when he asked her out once. Alice was lovely, but she preferred the fulfillment of Quentin as a friend; someone who would always be there for her, thick and thin; through gross tears and countless breakups. It, in turn, also happened that Alice confessed she rather thought Margo would make an attractive partner. For herself. And Quentin was fine with that and dropped the subject with her.

“Okay,” Eliot said. He dropped the topic of Alice quickly after that. Though, it piqued Quentin’s curiosity that that was all he brought up. They could’ve spoken about anything; talked endlessly as the blocky buildings morphed into beautiful, staggering mountains; as snow-capped huge rocks sitting in powdery white grass. The number of cars they saw decreased and Quentin turned up the heater in the car. He no longer let his forehead fall against the window; it had become an icy chill, something rather unfortunate.

The sun had begun to disappear, dipping behind the clouds and slinking away; merely a coin falling down, endlessly into a coin-slot. Stars began to twinkle and Quentin wondered why they were still on the road. Once or twice, they’d stopped at a gas station for bathroom breaks and cheap snacks, but there’d been no sign of life for some time.

“Are we lost?” Quentin asked. He’d pulled his sweater sleeves over his hands; they were becoming numb and Quentin desperately wanted to tuck himself into a warm bed, possibly beside a roaring fire.

“No, we’re nearly there. I hope,” Eliot said. “My fingers are fucking freezing.” A few more minutes passed as the road stretched on, the end of it vanishing in the empty darkness.

“Are you sure we’re not lost, El.” It came out more of a statement this time, not a question. A stressful declaration, in fact, and Eliot looked at him, with a frown. He slowed the car and pulled over to the side, parking.

He paused, mouth half open before finally admitting his mistake. “I didn’t want to have to tell you this, but I happened to check the weather back at the last gas station and it’s impossible to access right now. They got snowed in; we got snowed out,” Eliot told him. With wide eyes, Quentin gave Eliot an exasperated look, defeated almost. A warm breath-ghost left the lips of Eliot and clouded the air in front of him, shrouding him in a sort of mysterious mist.

“We’ve been driving. For TWO HOURS! And you didn’t tell me this?” Quentin almost shrieked. He was freezing everywhere; places that weren’t supposed to freeze! Eliot gave him an innocent, hopeful smile. Quentin took a deep breath, “Can we check if there’s a motel nearby?”

Though, it turned out that Wi-Fi didn’t reach them all the way out in the snowy, deserted lands of absolutely fucking nowhere. Quentin groaned and slipped down in his seat, trying to sink into the leather material of the seats. Eliot complained about not having any gloves, which prompted Quentin to pull out a pair, which prompted Eliot to say, “Those are horribly ugly. I am not putting those on my hands.” Instead of putting the gloves away, Quentin forced them onto Eliot’s hands, using a little restraining magic.

“Let’s drive around some, see if we can find someone trust worthy enough to accept us in,” Quentin said. “But this time I’m driving since you can not seem to be trusted with that.” He was met with pouty lips, but nonetheless, swapped the driver’s seat from Eliot.

It was quite dark outside; the stars were extremely bright in the expanse of the sky, but the abundance of mountaintops concealed many of them from view. The moon stood high, lighting a small path and, with the assistance of the car’s headlights, Quentin searched the sides of the roads for houses of different variants. Perhaps someone would be nice enough to let them spend the night; get away from the chill that wrapped its thick arms around the men.

Finally, as if by the grace of some good lady God, Eliot pointed out a porch light in all the darkness. A sigh of relief washed through the car; an unknown reassurance of hope. Quentin pulled up to the curb and took in a deep breath; what if they accidentally awoke the people in the house? What if they were shunned away? What if, what if, what if. There was never an end to his constant questioning.

“What’s our story?” Eliot asked. He looked toward Quentin as if that were an entirely normal question to ask. Especially in a situation such as this. Stranded, cold, stress level set to the maximum.

“What is our what?”

“Our story. Why are we stranded? Who are we? What are we even doing out here?” Eliot explained to him. Yes, normal questions to think, absolutely!

“Well, we’re stranded because you didn’t tell me about the snowed-in ski resort. We are two students, and we’re out here because you wanted to take me skiing! For some reason!” He said the last part with a sour distaste and Eliot flinched slightly. Quentin looked toward him sheepishly and apologized. “Fine. Whatever you want, let’s just go knock on the door.”

They trudged up the front steps; the lawn was vacant and piles of snow sat ignored, vigilant and mighty in the night. The porch light flickered ominously; a bug buzzed, wings flapping wildly, trapped underneath the bulb. It would soon die from the heat, Quentin took note. He stood a little closer to Eliot, fearful at the emptiness the house presented.

Quentin, when they got to the door, raised his hand and rapped his knuckles against the wood. It was a piercing break in the silence that Quentin or Eliot didn’t even take notice of shortly before. They stood together, bodies close in the cold and also in some fright, for a few seconds, perhaps a minute, until the door began to creak open. A little old lady stood there donned in a bathrobe and fluffy slippers; a thick pair of glasses sat on the tip of her nose, anxious to fall off. Eliot smiled at her, widely, with a full set of teeth. Quentin, though, stood back a little, weary.

“Hello, dears,” she said with a broken voice, the one that attacks everyone breaching their late seventies. “It’s pretty late, what are you two boys doing out knocking on strangers doors. You’re gonna give someone a heart attack like that.” Quentin bit his lip, embarrassed now at his behavior.

“Oh! It’s late? We apologize, ma’am, it’s just, we’re stranded out here in the cold,” Eliot began, putting on a full show. “My boyfriend and I were simply wondering if you had a spare room for the night. I mean, I don’t want him to freeze to death! He’s too cute to lose to the hands of the frozen terrain.”

Quentin almost did a double take. It dawned on him that he did allow Eliot to take the reigns of the situation, but he didn’t think Eliot would make them a couple; that was the only situation his mind didn’t manage to conjure for a quote on quote “story.” However, he was cold, and if this worked, he’d be thanking Eliot; so he went along with it.

“Yes, very cold,” Quentin stuttered out.

“Oh, you poor boys!” the lady cried. “Come right on in, I can get a fire started if you would both like.” She ushered them in with her wrinkled hands, delicate and generous. Quentin nodded greedily towards her.

The lady led them to a towering fireplace; logs already chucked into the pit. Eliot and Quentin took a seat as the lady began to crinkle up newspapers, shoving them between the cracks of the logs. She lit a match and touched it to one of the newspapers. The flames licked the roof of the fireplace, pouring out a comforting orange light. The two men were flooded with warmth. Eliot took this opportunity to wrap one arm around Quentin’s shoulder, drawing him near, close to his chest. Quentin really didn’t mind. Next to Eliot, Quentin felt small and cared for; a puppy drawing itself close to the body of its owner.

A few minutes passed in silence with a subtleness that hung over the room, stealing the unnoticed pleasure from the fireplace, and they began to warm up, fingers able to stretch themselves out, though still dry and mildly cracking. The lady returned with mugs of cocoa and two thick, wool blankets. They looked as though they had been knitted from scratch, by her for someone else.

“My son comes by weekly to bring new logs for my fireplace. He’s so generous to me. He’s like you two,” she said with a gentle smile. “Come this way, you can sleep in his old bedroom for the night.” She led them up a flight of stairs, rickety and falling apart from overuse to a room at the end of the dimly lit hallway.

Inside the bedroom, a whole childhood came to life; posters covered the walls, sports decorum littered the bookshelves alongside great classics, and a giant stuffed bear, propped against one wall, head leaning a little to the right. And a singular bed with blue and white patterned covers.

“I’ll leave you two alone now,” the lady said and disappeared.

Eliot stretched his arms high and walked over to the bed, already starting to tuck himself in. The pace that all of this was happening at alarmed Quentin. Stranded, cold, stress level set to the maximum and now: shelter, boyfriends?, sharing a bed. This had started out so freely; Quentin setting aside his homework to do something mindless with one of his friends. Jesus, time went by so fast.

“Eliot, how are you acting like any of this is normal?” Quentin began to panic. He stood frozen to the spot.

“Well, we’re warm now, aren’t we? A nice woman let us stay in her gay son’s childhood bed. This is every Friday night for me,” Eliot shrugged. He pulled the covers over his body and sighed, ushering Quentin to join him. “Does it matter?”

“I mean… yes!” Quentin said. “It has to matter. Why’d you want to bring me on a ski trip anyways? You don’t even know how to ski! And you go and tell the old lady we’re dating. Eliot… please.”

Eliot sat up now. His mouth twitched; his cheeks were rosy from the cold and the fire. In the dimness of the room, Quentin could see the glow that spread across Eliot’s face. A secret passage hidden in his sunken cheeks, worn down, yet still dazzling… still glowing.

“Come join me,” Eliot said. Quentin did. He slowly crossed the room; it suddenly seemed frozen in time; like this moment was encapsulated in suspension, that nothing else got to exist during its occurrence; just the mere action of Quentin pacing across a room, heading toward Eliot who beckoned him from some random dude’s old bed.

“I never get to see you anymore,” Eliot began. “You’re always buried in studies. Hiding in the bookshelves of the library with Alice or something. Even at my parties, you’re just barely present. I miss you.” He looked down at his lap. Quentin’s shoulder touched Eliot’s; it felt so intimate; more intimate than any kiss one could receive.

This silenced Quentin; stunned him quite so. That one could miss him. He’d never thought of himself as someone to miss, only someone that others preferred not to be reminded of. This was such a high pedestal for him to place himself on. And in some sudden, unexpected act of bravery, he reached over and took Eliot’s hand, holding it tenderly. Eliot looked up at him, softly and shyly; something, Quentin had to admit, he’d never witnessed before.

“You missed me? And so we had to pretend to be dating?” Quentin whispered jokingly. “We could’ve been anyone.”

“Yes,” Eliot replied. “We could’ve been anyone.” He stopped there, choking on his voice as if saying another word would mute him forever. In some universe, he would’ve risked that, but in this universe, he wanted to keep his voice; keep his voice so he could praise Quentin head to toe with it, his… voice.

“I don’t mind that,” Quentin said. “Being boyfriends. I’ve only had one before, years ago so I might be a little rusty.” Eliot turned his head with a snap.

“Wait? All this time you could’ve told me you’ve dated a man before and instead you kept silent?” Eliot gasped. He was still holding Quentin’s hand; it felt right; natural and like home; he didn’t want to ever let Quentin go. They could be having a terrible argument, life-threatening, and Eliot still wouldn’t want to let Quentin’s hand go. He couldn’t.

“I guess there are some things that people keep from each other,” Quentin said referring to the weather disaster situation. “But also, it’s not even a big thing. I like who I like and that’s it. Julia once told me that I fall in love with anyone who pays attention to me for more than a minute. I think she might be right.”

“I hope she’s wrong,” Eliot said. “I’d rather you only fall in love with me.”

“Don’t worry, El, I’ve been in love with you since you said my name for the first time,” Quentin replied. This was the only moment that had to matter. There were a million things that could matter then: a flight landing safely, a nearly extinct species being saved, someone refusing to give up on life quite yet. But to Quentin and Eliot, who’d lived their lives quite miraculously thus far, this was the moment that mattered to them right now. This was the start to an even more miraculous future.

READ HERE ON AO3

[l-egionaire]

Fire and Ice, Chapter 3

Also found at: https://m.fanfiction.net/s/13006251/3/Fire-and-Ice

The journey to Arbia was a long one. The boat had taken nearly two days to reach the port and then they had met with a caravan to ride camels to the kingdom. Thankfully, the journey had been peaceful.

"Are we there yet?" Olaf whined

Well, mostly peaceful.

Olaf had splayed himself out in exasperation on the camel's back, the double sized flurry over his ead working overtime to keep him cold.

They'd been traveling through the sand for nearly an hour and a half, and after about the first half hour the snowman had started complaining like a child, constantly asking when they would arrive.

Elsa exhaled testily, doing her best to remember Olaf was family, they'd been on the road for a while and it would be rather petty to fling his head over a dune. She gave a wave of her hand, creating a sphere of cold that protected her from the desert sun. "No Olaf. Like I've told you before, we'll get to the city when we get there."

"But we've been on the road for sooooo long! I just want to get there!"

"That makes one of us." Elsa mumbled. The closer they got to the city, the more nervous she became. As much as she didn't want to think about it, Kristoff's words were ringing in her ears. She had no idea of what this fire monster might be or what sort of power it possessed. For all she knew, it could be powerful enough to melt her like a snowflake on a hot brick and then go on terrorizing these people.

But then she remembered her promise to Anna. She'd sworn to her sister that she'd come back to her. And she wasn't about to let Anna lose another person she cared about. She had to suceed.

While still lost in thought, she realized her camel had stopped behind the man leading them, who had come to a halt at the edge of a hill of sand. She looked ahead of him and her stomach swooped with both anticipation and nervousness. Below them was a large circular cluster of hundreds of buildings centered around a cliff of rock that a palace was built into.

They had arrived.

They continued downward until arriving at the edge of the city. The minute they got there, Olaf leaped off his camel and excitedly yelled. "We're here!" Before running off into the city.

"Olaf, wait!" Elsa got off her camel and was about to run after him, until she remembered the caravan who'd brought them. She turned to the head rider and quickly said. "Thank you for your help. We can handle ourselves from here." Before running off after Olaf.

She sprinted down a street filled with thick brown stone houses, looking around for any sign of him. While running she glimpsed children playing small games, merchants selling wears, and woman walking around with scarves wrapped around their heads.

She looked around, trying to find any sign of Olaf until she heard a loud scream coming from a bit far to the left. She turned that way and raced to the area. As she got closer, she noticed an strong smell, it was a bit like the smell of a fireplace that had been burning for hours on end. When she got to the spot, she was aghast at what she saw.

The area was almost completely deserted. There were multiple destroyed or overturned carts filled with goods all around and the ground was covered in scorch marks. Lying flat on the ground were two unconcious men wearing short shirts with armored sleeves and baggy cloth pants. Next to them were a pair melted swords. Towering over them was a lanky figure covered from head to toe in cloth with eyes that seemed to leak flames and its arms engulfed in fire.

The fire monster.

One man in similar uniform to the other two was left standing. He withdrew his own blade and charged at the figure, swinging his weapon wildly. But the figure sidestepped each of his swipes and when he thrust too hard forward and fell forward, the beast gave him a flame fueled punch as he fell that proppeled him straight into a glassware cart and knocked him out cold

Elsa gasped and quickly hid behind the corner of a building. She peeked out and saw the fire creature walk over to a nearby cart filled with fruit. The figured grabbed a worn cloth sack near the cart, extinguished the flames around its hands, and began filling the bag with fruit.

Elsa's heart raced. She knew she had to do something, but seeing the creature up close quickly made her doubt her ability to handle the situation. She'd only had her powers under control for a few months and had never had to fight another being with magic. What could she do to stop it?

Her eyes then glanced at the men knocked out on the ground and her fist clenched in anger. This creature was hurting people. She had to do something.

Seeing that the monsters back was still to her, she swirled her hands together and a sphere of ice began to form in mid-air. Elsa kept her eyes on the creature as she finished the ice ball-.

"Hey Elsa, what'cha doing?"

When Olaf appeared out of nowhere, causing her to lose her concentration and the ice ball to fall to the ground and shattered into pieces.

She immediately looked over her shoulder and saw to her horror that the monster had stopped bagging fruit and it turned its head to the side, no doubt having heard the noise.

Elsa immediately panicked. Holding a finger to her mouth, she hastily whispered. "Olaf, Olaf shhh."

"What's going on? Are we playing hide and seek? Can I be it?" Olaf asked excitedly.

Elsa racked her brain on what to do to keep Olaf quiet. She turned and her heart skipped a beat at the sight of the creature slowly coming towards them, having relit its arms.

Unfortunately, Olaf also saw it and he immediately ran towards the creature, outstretching his twig arm up to the being once immediately in front of it.

"Hi, im Olaf and I like warm hugs!"

To Elsa's utter amazement, the creature seemed to be stunned by Olaf. It recoiled from him and for a moment the fires around its body vanished.

Elsa's own eyes widened at what she saw.

Its eyes were human.

In the small gap in the cloth around the creatures face, she could clearly see a pair of human eyes filled with a mix of confusion and fear. The irises seemed to be an amber color that glowed in the desert sun.

After a moment the beast seemed to lose some of its fear. It bent all the way down to Olaf's height and reached out one of its arms towards him. Elsa saw that the area around its arms were completely devoid of any cloth and the cloth around its shoulders was torn, black, and charred. Its arms were also human looking with lightly tan colored skin. Elsa wondered whether or not she should act, but something held her back. The creature didn't seem to mean any harm.

It balled up the fingers on its hand until only its pointer finger was left and then gently poked Olaf in the belly.

Olaf giggled. "Stop! That tickles!"

The being tilted its head curiously. It slowly splayed out its hand and then pressed its entire hand into Olaf's stomach, leaving a small handprint in his gut.

Olaf laughed harder and tried to cover his belly with his hands. "Knock it off!"

Elsa slowly crept forward to get a better look but accidently stumbled, causing her to let a small gasp.

The being immediatly rose back to its full height, turned to look down at her and their eyes locked. They both focused on each other, neither moving an inch.

"Stop demon!"

They both looked to the left and saw a large group of men all wearing the same uniforms as the men from before, all bearing various weapons from schimitars, to spears, to maces, and charging towards them.

The fire being immediately reignited their eyes, and arms, then ran back to the cart and retrieved their bag of fruit. Once it had that, it sprinted off and after a few feet, kicked its foot against the ground, creating a huge blast of fire that propelled it high into the air.

Elsa was so engrossed with watching the being go, she failed to notice the crowd of men catch up to her.

"After it!" Barked the man at the front of the group. As the others followed after the fire being, he turned to Elsa. "And just who are you?"

"I'm Elsa of-" She then looked at him and yelped at the sight of the mans face. It looked as if the right side of his face had melted, a large mass of melted flesh and scars surrounding one milky white eye.

"Who are you?!" The man repeated.

Elsa shook off her shock and tried to look as regally as possible. "I am queen Elsa of Arendelle. I was invited by king Faraj to come and meet about your fire monster problem."

The man scoffed. "The king would never do something liked that."

"Well he sent me a letter." Elsa withdrew the letter from the king and showed it to the man.

He scowled and snatched the letter from her hands. He seemed to grow even more angry as his eyes scanned the page. Once he'd finished he huffed, shoved the letter into his pocket. "Fine. I shall take you to meet the king."

At that moment, Olaf waddled over to the two of them. "Hey Elsa, did you see that? That nice guy tickled me."

The man pulled out the scimitar hanging from the side and pointed it straight at Olaf. "What is that?"

Elsa immediately moved inbetween Olaf and the point of the blade. "Don't hurt him! He's my snowman."

Olaf peeked out from behind Elsa's leg and gasped at the mans face. "Woah what happened to your face? It looks like you were made of ice and stayed out in the sun too long."

It was moments like this that made Elsa seriously wonder why she had given Olaf a mouth.

But the man simply chuckled mirthlessly, then gestured to his face. "This is what I recieved from my last encounter with the demon. I am Urooj, head captain of the guards for this kingdom. Come along your majesty, little ice man. Let us go and meet with the king."

Urooj lead Elsa and Olaf to the palace. They walked through the halls until they arrived in the throne room and saw a young man sitting on the throne in the middle of the room. He had beige skin, bronze colored robes, and his hands bore multiple rings, and his wrists were adorned with large ring like bronze bracelets. His face bore a pensive expression.

The young man looked up once they entered the room. "What is it Urooj?"

Urooj bowed to the young man. "King Faraj. These people-." He gestured to Elsa and Olaf. "-Say you invited them here."

Elsa stepped forward and gave a quick curtsey to the king. "Your majesty. I'm queen Elsa of Arendelle."

Faraj grew excited when she said that. He practically leapt off his thrown as he got up to greet them. He grabbed Elsa's hand and shook it vigorously in between both of his. "Queen Elsa! It is so good to finally meet you!" He looked slightly over and noticed Olaf behind her. "What is this?"

"I'm Olaf and I like warm hugs!" Olaf said, clearly unfazed at having been referred to as a " this".

The king paused for a moment, then asked. "Can I have a hug?"

"Sure!" The king bent down and pulled the snowman into a hug.

Urooj gaped at the king. "Sire, you really asked this woman to come here?"

"Of course." Said Faraj as he released Olaf. "You're men and weapons have been ineffective in stopping the creature, so I thought it might be useful to try and bring in some outside help."

"Your heighnesss, I need to be informed of such decisions!" Urooj shouted. "My job is to keep Arbia safe. Letting in outsiders invites unnecessary risk!

"Are you questioning my judgement Urooj?" Faraj asked coldly.

Urooj faltered for a moment before responding. "I just thought that you would've seen the need to be mire secure. As your father did."

That comment seemed to hit Faraj hard. His shoulders slumped and he trained his eyes to the floor. "Well...I am not my father. I am doing what I feel is best for our kingdom."

"Let us hope you are right."

The room fell silent after that. Hoping to cut the tension Elsa asked. "So, what can you tell me about the attacks?"

Faraj raised his head and regained a bit of composure . "Um, Only what i've heard from the guards and read in reports. The attacks have been going on for 8 years. The creature has been around since my father was king. It attacks our guards while they protect the town and it terrorizes the people. Many of them fear to leave their homes."

Urooj scoffed. "Trust me my king, it's much worse than you've heard. Dozens of my men have returned covered in burns, and shaking in fear. I've seen unnimaginable destruction created by this monster. And of course there is my own experience. Believe me, this demon is cruel and inhuman."

Elsa felt she had to speak up. "Not to discount you or your men, but I don't think this thing is a monster. From what I saw it looked like a person."

Faraj looked to her with concern. "You saw the creature?"

"Yes. It didn't attack me or Olaf. And when I looked at it, I saw its eyes. It had human eyes."

"It didn't seem that bad when it tickled my tummy" Olaf pointed a finger to the hand print on his stomach.

King Faraj bent down and closely examined the handprint. After a few seconds he stood back up and looked pointedly at Urooj. "Did you know about this?"

"I did not find it relevant your majesty." Urooj replied calmly.

"Not relevant?" You and your men told that you were hunting a creature. Some sort of demon, not a person."

"Human eyes do not mean a human heart." Urooj responded. "The actions of this creature have no humanity to be spoken of, so that is how I saw it. Believe me your highness, the most vile and despicable of beings are the ones that hide behind human faces." He sneered over at Elsa. "I fail to sse how this little woman can be of any help to us."

Elsa glared back at Urooj. Captain of the kings guard or no, he was starting to get on her nerves. "Why don't I show you?" She gestured for everyone to step back and Faraj, Urooj, and Olaf retreated slightly away from her.

Elsa cracked her knuckles and then spun around, sweeping her right hand around as she did. As she spun a massive wall of ice erupted from the ground and began spinning around with her until it formed a large dome of ice. Once that was done, she stopped spinning, then held out both hands on either sides of her body, clenched her fists and the dome erupted into a cloud of millions of miniscule twinkling ice crystals. She then let out a strong breath and a cold wind blew away the tiny shards of ice, making the air sparkle with blue light.

Faraj and Olaf clapped with joy while Urooj's jaw dropped at the display of the queens magic.

"Bravo! Bravo Queen Elsa." Said the king as he came back over to her. He then looked at Urooj. "See how she can be of help now?"

Urooj managed to stop gaping at the queen and returned his expression to one of anger and doubt. He said. "Well let us hope your little magic sparkles will be enough to fight this demon." And then left the throne room.

Elsa glared at where he'd stood. "He seems friendly."

"He is not the warmest person." Faraj admitted. "But he's a good man. He has protected our country for years and my father trusted him more than anyone else."

"If I might ask, what happened to your father?"

Faraj choked up the answer. "H-he died. About a year ago."

Elsa felt for the king, still remembering her own parents demise. "I'm so sorry."

Olaf also seemed to feel bad for the king and held out his arms to him. "That's so sad! Okay, that's it. Come on in buddy, get another hug in."

The king sniffled and once again engulfed the little snow man in his arms.

Elsa suddenly realized just how young the king really was. Judging from how he looked, he was even younger than Anna. No more than about 16 or 17.

The King let go of Olaf and turned away from the both of them as he tried to discreetly wipe off tears on the back of his sleeve.

Once he'd finished he looked back at them, clearly trying to keep a brave face. "It's okay. He was a good man, and a great king. I hope to be just like him."

Elsa gave an understanding smile. "We all try to be like our fathers."

"Yes. Yes we do." Faraj said wistfully. He seemed to realize what he'd just said and coughed awkwardly into his hand. "But enough about that. You two must be hungry. Come we will feast in honor of your arrival.

After a delicious feast with the king, Elsa and Olaf were led by a servant to the room they'd be staying in for the duration of their visit.

The room they were given was a large room with two beds covered in silky dark orange covers. Two wo large marble columns flanked the center of the room and a set of glass doors at the end lead out onto a balcony.

As soon as the door was opened Olaf went straight for the beds and leapt onto the closest one. He laughed giddly as the bed bounced him into the air and he began to pull poses as he fell and rose.

Elsa absentmidendly thanked the servant and then went straight towards the terrace. She pushed open the doors and went out to the balcony.

From her viewpoint she could see all of the city spread out below her, dozens of little lamp lights acting as signs of life and people. Beyond that lied desert where sand dunes. dotted the ground like small hills and the wind swept up sand, creating momentary swirls of red in midair. By now the sky was dark and filled with immeasurable twinkling stars that almost cast a glow upon everything below them. Yet despite the view, Elsa's mind still wandered. All she could think about was the fire creature.

From what she'd heard, the monster had left nothing but destruction in its wake. it had torn through the castles guards like tissue paper and caused untold amounts of chaos. She'd seen firsthand how brutal it could be.

But her mind still turned back to the few seconds where its flames were gone and it had exposed itself. It hadn't seemed dangerous. Curious and cautious, sure, but not the momonster she'd heard tell of.

Another thing that irked her was the captains complete disregard at the creature not being what he thought it was. While it was somewhat understandable considering the injuries he had, the way he'd spat the word "demon" brought back some unfortunate memories.

"Monster!"

Elsa shuddered, still fully able to remember the fear and outrage in the Duke's voice. She'd once been seen as some sort of monster, there were frankly still days were she saw herself that way, but there was more to her than that.

Was it possible there was more to this fire creature as well?

Having apparently finished his bouncing, Olaf came up to her side and draped himself on the balconys railing. He noticed how distracted she was. "Hey, what'cha thinking about?"

"Nothing, just thinking about today." Her eyes fell back to the city. As her gaze slowly swept over the city, she noticed a small glare in the right corner of her eye. She turned that way and after a few seconds saw a bright light appear and then dissapear in an instant. She squinted slightly, focusing on the area and once again, tere was that quick flicker of light.

Elsa's eyes popped back open in realization.

The light was bright. Like fire!

"Olaf, we need to go."

[satansluvchild]

5.5 - destination arrival

Ferith had fallen asleep shortly after Artemisia began her flight to the country of Garewth. Riding on a dragon was already tricky, but riding a dragon with someone who cried and squeezed until you almost popped felt like an undeserving sentence of hell to Orpheus. Haven't I suffered enough ?! She screamed in her head. Motion sickness joined her pounding headache. She never could go on a ride without throwing up.

On the other hand, Artemisia was in a more uncomfortable situation than the two people riding her. Having someone fly on her would be no problem if she was used to it like some dragons, but being a young inexperienced drakon, she did not understand she was going too fast, causing Orpheus to dig into her scales. Orpheus had sharps nails that felt like a sand fly was stinging her continuously. Gritting her fangs, she wriggled, trying to make Orpheus loosen her grip, but this only made Orpheus sicker and grip even harder. Orpheus leaned over again, throwing up for the third time during their flight.

Things weren't going well for either of them. But, unfortunately, Ferith seemed to be the only one not affected by anything.

A few hours they finally reached the rocky coast of Allar, a small interspecies town consisting mainly of humans and drakon. Ferith, who had stopped crying two hours prior, swiveled two and fro, her excitement distracting her from remembering her predicament. Her swollen eyes and shabby dress caused people to look at the three girls as they passed by. The flight had been long and exhausting for both elder girls. Orpheus had to hold on to a curious child who couldn't sit still, and Artemisia was stabbed by Orpheus 'talons' for the majority of the ride. Both were in terrible moods and hurried to get to the destination. They stopped only for Artemisia and Ferith to freshen up and to buy more supplies. Artemisia had stated the trek previously from Allar to the capital of the Drakon kingdom was twelve hours on foot. Initially, they were to take flight which would shorten the trip massively, but helping ferith look for her kin had exhausted Artemisia.

A day had passed since Orpheus and Artemisia left Anadin when a group wearing black robes entered the cave of Morose with their leader. They had finally come for their seed, set to awaken momentarily. The leader walked into the Den that held the spawn, the followers staying outside the cave, each had their hands in symbol and held their breath. The excitement could be felt surrounded them. Finally, the time had come. The guide walked into the cave, pausing when they noticed the changes to the interior. There was a wooden stool, and bones littered the floor of the beginning of the cave; the smell of dried blood and hunger littered the air. They marched farther into the cave, shocked and angry when they saw it wasn't asleep on the peddle stool. The plan had been interfered by something, yelling they took a knife and let it bite the palm of their hand. The dripping blood began to form a black mist that would show where the creation went.

Following its movements, the leader could feel the confusion and anger coming from it. The Spawn had left the cave and seemed to go back and forth for a short time before going deeper into the forest. The teacher seethed; the creation had been surrounded by multiple spirits but only followed one. Leaving the cavern, they told the followers what they found. The members wailed and shouted curses, spitting on the floor on the person who had interfered with their future. " Death onto them" " let them suffer and walk aimlessly." " Pour the blood of the spirit into wickedness." shouted the pupils out loud. The leader pointed to where the creation converged with others. " Follow the paths, faithful disciples, find the seed, and finish the past! " They shouted. The followers split up and began searching for signs.

Orpheus looked around; she had the feeling something was looking for her at that moment. Great, I brought my superstitions to the other world. Ferith, who talked about her father, got upset after noticing Orpheus wasn't paying attention tugged on the hem of her shirt. Shaking the ominous feeling, Orpheus looked at Ferith and apologized. The little girl continued to chat about how wonderful her family was as Orpheus tuned her out. No matter how silly it was, she couldn't shake the feeling of something creeping on her. The twelve hours passed quickly, with Ferith talking about her underwater kingdom as they all burned under the unforgiving sun. Finally, they had reached their destination. Ferith, who was not used to the condition, was being held by Artemisia. Walking after them was Orpheus. They all stopped in front of a gate guarded by two men. The heat had become unbearable when they finally entered the desert. Using the majority of their water to pour on ferith, the two older girls had suffered silently. With the sun setting, the heat became bearable but still uncomfortable. Orpheus could feel her hunger build which each step, making it into the kingdom and finding prey, was her biggest goal.

The round guard squinted his eyes, spotting the three girls walking towards the wall at a sluggish pace. Looking at each of them, he saw the lines of exhaustion and hunger on their face. The tallest girl spoke first. " I am Artemisia of the Sytune tribe, The Ice winged Serpentis. " While they recognized Artemisia as a Drakoni, the other two were not. " No humans allowed without the authority of the Lord, " The other guard rudely cut Artemisia off. He never looked down at them, keeping his proud stature. This angered Artemisia; it was a clear sign of disrespect not to look at another Drakoni's eyes. This meant he felt no intimidation and didn't consider her a worthy opponent. Huffing, she began to walk towards him until Ferith touched her chin. Looking down at the little girl, she could see the fear and confusion in her eyes. Artemisia stared the soldier down but decided not to start a fight in front of Ferith and Orpheus. Turning around, she walked towards Orpheus. " I knew this would happen; they won't let us in without recognition. " While Artemisia knew deep down this would occur, a part of her hoped no problems would transpire at the border of the kingdom but inside. Orpheus, who had watched the whole thing, had already begun planning other ways to get inside. " Can we find a way around ? " she whispered, but Artemisia shook her head and explained how guarded all borders into the kingdom were. Flying was out of the question. There were soldiers on standby to bring anyone who dares to try to fly over the wall. There was no way in without being accepted. Fear of young ones being trafficked or random ambush from neighboring countries and kingdoms caused the Drakon kingdom always to have soldiers on standby.

As Artemisia retreated to where Orpheus stood, the tall guard couldn't help but feel uneasiness. The girl with curly hair and brown skin aura was unnerving, one that was usually reserved for the vilest creatures he had encountered plenty during his lifetime. Lich, The undead, dark wizards, dark elves, and other evil monstrosities all had a dark, polluted aura leaked out during battles. She didn't even try to hide her evilness, defiling the air with her dark emanation. At 600 hundred years old, this was the worst immorality he felt. He had been a pupil of a grand wizard for a short time and learned countless magic, most importantly Aura and the power of other opponents. Trying to delve deeper into the girl's caused his consciousness to reel in disgust and fear. She had countless souls surrounding her, screaming at him to rescue them. Shaking, he looked away. This girl .. is a danger to our kingdom; I must report it immediately. As he got ready to alert the others behind the gate, something drew his eyes back down to where she was. Locking eyes with the demon made his heart stop; She shed her disguise in front of his eyes, taunting him. Her brown eyes had become black as she tilted her head and smiled, showing a row of fangs. Her eyes held the cold dark abyss known as hell as she lifted her arm that held swirling tattoos towards him. His voice receded as his life force was devoured by something unknown to this world. Finally finding his tongue, he wailed, pointing his finger in her direction. Scaring the other guard out of his daze. The separate guards thinking there had been an attack, opened the gates and ran to help.

Astonished to find Their comrade was on the floor convulsing with his eyes wide. The three girls stared in shock, walking towards the commotion. The entire crowd watched as the tall guard spotted Orpheus and squealed again. " Demon! A Demon! " They all looked at her but saw no telltale signs of a demon—a human girl with dark brown hair, brown eyes, and tanned skin. Orpheus was the most flabbergasted. Talking to Artemisia, she spotted the lookout staring at her. Confused, she had smiled impulsively, but the guard made a face like he had seen the devil himself and fell screaming. Now he accused her of being an evil demon. Everyone looked back and forth between Orpheus and the guard. While their friend never lied, the girl was not a demon but an average human. The soldiers looked at each other, not knowing how to handle the situation. Finally, they decided a guard with a distinct facial scar would take over the Tall guard's shift. Dragging their raving friend away, they resumed guard duty. Orpheus was more embarrassed than upset at being called a demon; the new and old guard scrutinized her, finding nothing wrong they back to guarding the surrounding area. Ferith, who'd seen the whole thing, also looked at Orpheus cautiously, pinching her skin and staring at her head. Artemisia was the only one not bothered going back to pacing and figuring out how to get inside the capital.

Suddenly a loud noise could be heard coming from afar, sounding like a freight train hundreds of animals Opherus had never seen ran full speed at the gate. The guards seeing this became alert instantly. A horn could be heard on both towers watching above the entrance. Soldiers poured out of the gate, and dragons took flight in the air. Artemisia appeared stunned at this sight which made Orpheus feel anxious. Ferith hid behind both older girls, scared of the sudden commotion. As they got closer to their destination, the animals looked like hybrids of a sabertooth tiger and bunny. The flying dragons began to attack with the soldiers on the ground, blowing fire, ice, or spells. The fight ended quickly as it started, some of the animals had begun to retreat, but the soldiers followed and exterminated them.

The sight was barbaric; the winning team went back to the gate while laughing and wiping off the blood on their swords and claws. Four hundred monsters had been annihilated in only eight minutes. But Orpheus still wondered why Artemisia looked so shocked at the sight, and some soldiers even looked puzzled as they walked back to their point.

[masha-russia]

Hello! Can you talk to me a little bit about Valyria? Is it 100%unsavable? Anything still hiding there? Maybe some dragon eggs? I'm sure my question is answred somewhere in the books, but I've just started reading them! And I love the idea of Valyria being rebuilt.

Hello! I am sorry I took some time to answer your ask.

Look, I made this PDF document for you - the 12 pages dedicated to Valyria from The World of Ice and Fire (I created it from my own PDF file of TWOIAF so it’s safe to download). They will make you understand Valyria much better than I ever could! :) There are some other minor passages about Valyria in the book (like a description of the wars between Valyrians and Rhoynar but it’s some obscure lore for a beginner and I didn’t think you’d want that), but this is the main text about it.

I love Valyria! It was such a beautiful and modern place in comparaison to all the rest of Planetos. While the world in ASOIAF seems to be forever stuck in a sort of Early Middle Ages, Valyria's era equivalent would be somewhere in between the Renaissance and the Age of Discovery, with many aspects of ancient Rome, and of course many elements of Fantasy. Valyrians were really an advanced civilization. 

At its apex Valyria was the greatest city in the known world, the center of civilization.

Apart from taming dragons, and mixing their blood with dragon's blood (the expression "blood of the dragon" is not a metaphor, Valyrians did mix their DNA with the dragons' DNA, to have a better affinity with them), they also practiced magic. We don't know much about their sort of magic, but we know that they used it to build castles and skycrapers and roads, just as they used it to forge Valyrian steel. Nobody knew how to make Valyrian steel apart from Valyrians themselves, and since the Doom the knowledge and art of it was lost. And only the most skilled armorers could hope to re-work the existing Valyrian steel (for example, Ice was re-forged into 2 new blades, Oathkeeper and Widow's Wail, but the process was difficult and the armorer couldn't achieve the coloring he wanted).

In A Dance with Dragons, Tyrion travels along Valyrian roads.

During one stop, he used the time to have a closer look at the road. Tyrion knew what he would find: not packed earth, nor bricks, nor cobbles, but a ribbon of fused stone raised a half foot above the ground to allow rainfall and snowmelt to run off its shoulders. Unlike the muddy tracks that passed for roads in the Seven Kingdoms, the Valyrian roads were wide enough for three wagons to pass abreast, and neither time nor traffic marred them. They still endured, unchanging, four centuries after Valyria itself had met its Doom. 

Come moonrise, they were back in their saddles, trotting eastward under a mantle of stars. The old Valyrian road glimmered ahead of them like a long silver ribbon winding through wood and dale. For a little while Tyrion Lannister felt almost at peace. "Lomas Longstrider told it true. The road's a wonder."

Valyrians also practiced a pre-modern form of democarcy, a bit like the Roman Republic according to GRRM. They did not have a King or an Emperor, and every one had a voice, though of course some were more influential and powerful than others.

Women in Valyria were treated differently from women in Westeros - Valyria seems to have been much less misogynistic. We know it thanks to Visenya who was a warrior and who trained since very young age apparently without facing disapproval from her family; and thanks to her blade, Dark Sister, which was originally forged for a woman's hand back in Valyria - which suggest that Valyrian women could be warriors. We also know about a Valyrian woman explorer, Jaenara Belaerys, who flew on her dragon to discover the unknown lands of Sothoryos.

Jaenara Belaerys flew her dragon, Terrax, farther south than any man or woman had ever gone before, seeking the boiling seas and steaming rivers of legend, but found only endless jungle, deserts, and mountains. She returned to the Freehold after three years to declare that Sothoryos was as large as Essos, "a land without end."

The negative side of Valyria was the practice of slavery, which started following the fifth and last war between the Freehold and Old Ghis (the ancestor of Slaver's Bay). I can understand why the Ghiscari people were enslaved (they were defeated enemies, and Valyrians decided to put an end to these wars forever) though I do not support this choice, but there was absolutely no need to continue with slavery. Valyrians were already extraordinary and powerful and superior to all the rest, and they achieved their greatness through their own effort and own work, not through slaves. Slavery was a very dark chapter in the story of Valyria, and was what probably brought the Doom.

Unfortunately, I do not think Valyria could be rebuilt. I like this idea too, and after I first finished reading the novels the ending of Daenerys rebuilding Valyria was very appealing to me, but now I understand that it's highly unlikely to happen. Valyria is a shattered, ruined land of very active volcanoes, haunted by "demons", and is uninhabitable for normal humans.  

This is a passage from a Tyrion's chapter, when he is sailing towards Slaver's Bay and passing well south of where Valyria once stood, 400 years after the Doom:

A dull red glow lit the sky to the northeast, the color of a blood bruise. Tyrion had never seen a bigger moon. Monstrous, swollen, it looked as if it had swallowed the sun and woken with a fever. Its twin, floating on the sea beyond the ship, shimmered red with every wave. "What hour is this?" he asked Moqorro. "That cannot be sunrise unless the east has moved. Why is the sky red?"

"The sky is always red above Valyria, Hugor Hill."

A cold chill went down his back.

And this is how the people perceive it:

Every man there knew that the Doom still ruled Valyria. The very sea there boiled and smoked, and the land was overrun with demons. It was said that any sailor who so much as glimpsed the fiery mountains of Valyria rising above the waves would soon die a dreadful death.

Whatever happened to Valyria was not only a simple volcanic eruption (like in Pompeii) - it was a much more cataclysmic event. When the spells the Valyrians used to control the Fourteen Flames collapsed, it appears that all these volcanoes exploded at once, and rained down magma and ashes and acids. Earthquakes broke the land and provoked great tsunamis that destroyed the cities.

“So those are fires of the Fourteen Flames we’re seeing, reflected on the clouds?”

“Fourteen or fourteen thousand. What man dares count them? It is not wise for mortals to look too deeply at those fires, my friend. Those are the fires of god’s own wrath, and no human flame can match them. We are small creatures, men.”

“Some smaller than others.” Valyria. It was written that on the day of Doom every hill for five hundred miles had split asunder to fill the air with ash and smoke and fire, blazes so hot and hungry that even the dragons in the sky were engulfed and consumed. Great rents had opened in the earth, swallowing palaces, temples, entire towns. Lakes boiled or turned to acid, mountains burst, fiery fountains spewed molten rock a thousand feet into the air, red clouds rained down dragonglass and the black blood of demons, and to the north the ground splintered and collapsed and fell in on itself and an angry sea came rushing in. The proudest city in all the world was gone in an instant, its fabled empire vanished in a day, the Lands of the Long Summer scorched and drowned and blighted.

And this is what happened to the Isle of Cedar, located hundreds of miles away from Valyria:

On the day the Doom came to Valyria, it was said, a wall of water three hundred feet high had descended on the island, drowning hundreds of thousands of men, women, and children, leaving none to tell the tale but some fisherfolk who had been at sea and a handful of Velosi spearmen posted in a stout stone tower on the island’s highest hill, who had seen the hills and valleys beneath them turn into a raging sea. Fair Velos with its palaces of cedar and pink marble had vanished in a heartbeat. On the north end of the island, the ancient brick walls and stepped pyramids of the slaver port Ghozai had suffered the same fate.

It does not seem to me like a salvageable place. There are a lot of things hiding there I do not doubt, from beasts like firewyrms to the remnants of Valyrian buildings and sorceries (if Euron's armor is really made of Valyrian steel, and if he really got it from Valyria as he boasts, then it's safe to say that more Valyrian treasures could be found). About dragons’ eggs I am less sure, though it is not impossible I guess (Euron, again, claims he found a dragon egg but threw it overboard in the sea “during one of his dark moods”, though he didn’t say where he found the said egg) but anyway the only dragons that will be important for the plot of ASOIAF are Daenerys’ dragons. Maybe after the War for the Dawn these potential eggs would come into play? I certainly do not want the dragons to die (a fantasy world without dragons where dragons once were is a sad world), it would be nice if Valyrian eggs could be found and hatched for the beginning of a new era of dragons. I cannot say that GRRM will go in this direction though.

I am sure we will see and learn more about Valyria in Winds of Winter! There were a lot of world-building around it and a build-up of information in the fourth and fifth novels, and a prominent villain (Euron) is heavily associated with it. I also believe that Daenerys will cross the demon-road (a Valyrian road north of Valyria that runs from Volantis to Meereen and that everyone is afraid to go to) on her way to Volantis, and maybe divert her trajectory and fly over the ruins of Valyria, if only for a short while. It would be great if she found a cache of Valyrian steel! If anyone should have a Valyrian steel armor in the story then it’s definitely her, the last true Valyrian and the last dragonrider. Not to mention that it would be very helpful in the fight against the Others! But two Valyrian steel armors may be one too many for GRRM. 

We only have to wait now :)

[inmyownlittlecorner5]

libera nos a malo Chapter 2: Fool Me Once

A fanfic Novel by la-topolina

Rated for Mature Audiences

Warnings: Language, Violence, Sexual Content

Chapter 2/20

libera nos a malo Masterpost+

Unstoppable Force/Immovable Object Masterpost+

<< Chapter One+

Chapter Three+ >>

Perfect Picspam by crowsb4bros on hpft+

*****

The snow was already deep enough to leave tracks in when Miranda appeared outside the wards late in the evening the Friday before Christmas. The impervious charm she’d cast on her silver shoes kept her feet dry, but did nothing to keep out the cold. She hurried over the grounds, holding her rich purple robes out of the damp. For some reason, whenever she cast the charm on fabric, it tended to make the colors bleed. Someday she would trouble herself to perfect the spell, but there were many other spells higher up on her to-learn list.

The wrought-iron gates were locked and deserted, and she shook the tangled chains as well as she could, sending a mournful clanging echoing through night. A large man with a thick beard and an ambling gait lumbered out of the shadows with a huge black dog at his heels. The canine’s teeth were clenched on one end of a bone, the other end of which was gripped in the huge wizard’s enormous fist.

“Good evenin’ to you Miss,” he said gruffly. “I take it yer here for Professor Slughorn’s party?”

“I am,” Miranda replied, producing the thick cardstock bearing her name and a border of embossed snakes that slithered and hissed in response to the night air.

The man peered at the invitation, tapping the gordian knot of chains with the end of a pink umbrella when he was satisfied with its veracity. The chains clanked apart and Miranda had barely enough time to slip through the gates before they slammed shut behind her. Her guard finally wrenched the bone out of the dog’s mouth and hurled it out into the night. The dog sprinted after it, leaving the watchman’s hands free to wrestle the chains back into place.

“I know the way, and I’d be happy to see myself in. I’m sure you have better things to do than wait out in the snow,” she offered, her feet slowly turning to ice.

“I’ll be takin’ yeh just the same,” he grunted as he twisted the final lock closed. “Can’ be too careful.”

“I understand.” Best not to mention that she still had access to one of the secret entrances. Albus had never rescinded that permission, and neither she nor Severus had seen the point of troubling him about it.

They made quick progress over the grounds, with Miranda all but running to keep pace with the wizard’s long strides. When they reached the stairs, his hound caught up with them, dropping its prize at their feet and leaping excitedly. He was a beautiful, and evidently good tempered creature, and Miranda liked him immediately.

“Down Fang!” her escort ordered.

Miranda laughed. “It’s fine. Sit, boy, and I’ll pet you.”

Her voice was confident enough that it captured the beast’s instant obedience, and she scratched the brute behind its ears until its tail was thumping happily.

“Yer alright, Miss,” Fang’s owner said gamely. “Fang means well, but I didn’ want him to be ruinin’ yer fancy dress.”

“He’s a good boy, aren’t you Fang? Do you want another go?” She scooped up the bone and Fang leapt to his feet, watching her aim into the distance and throw. He bounded off after it and she said, “Offer him my apologies will you?”

“Yes’m. You’d best be gettin’ inside before he gets back, or ye’ll be out here all night.”

She was up the stairs and through the doors before Fang returned, and a house elf wearing mismatched socks and an orange cabled sweater was waiting for her.

“Miss is here for the party, Dobby expects?” the elf asked.

“I am,” Miranda said, reaching for the invitation again, but Dobby waved it away.

“There’s no need, Miss, just follow Dobby.”

They wound their way up to the seventh floor and Miranda was more than happy to hand over her cloak when they reached Slughorn’s office. She smoothed the skirts of her robes and ran a hand over her hair, tucking a stray lock into place as she stood on the threshold.

“Call for Dobby when you wish your cloak returned,” Dobby said cheerfully. “And would Miss like a glass of mead, butterbeer, or elfwine?”

“Mead would be lovely,” she replied.

A jeweled goblet filled with dark amber liquid appeared in Dobby’s hand, and he passed it to her. “Miss made a good choice. The mead is from Headmaster’s private stores, it is.”

“Thank you.” Miranda took a bracing sip, savoring the sweet burn on her tongue. The house elf disappeared with a quiet pop, and with a final shake of her skirts, she went in to the party.

It was an out and out crush. Miranda had a hard time telling the students from the adults at first as she stepped underneath the golden canopy. The din of the conversation was pitched at a dull roar, punctuated by the clinking of glasses and raucous laughter, and accompanied by a tipsy amateur quartet in one of the back corners. Horace was happily ensconced in the center of a group of rapt listeners, and Miranda decided there was no rush to greet him. She let herself drift through the crowd, sipping her mead and running her eyes over the guests in search of one, dour face.

She felt him before she saw him. As she skirted around a house elf burdened with a heavy tray of Niçoise tidbits, the sensation of being watched troubled her to the point that she turned over her shoulder to find Severus half a room away. His inscrutable eyes were fixed on her, and his lips twitched briefly into a smile which she did not fail to return. She let the crowd rush between them, and held onto his gaze as she slipped into a quiet corner, shielded partly by the heavy damask overhang of the canopy. He did not disappoint her; appearing a few moments later and taking a position adjacent to her along the wall.

“So tardy,” he murmured, his silken tone at odds with his bored expression as he pretended to chaperone the party swirling around them. “I should give you detention.”

“I’d like to see you try,” she replied, enjoying the warmth of his gaze when he let his eyes slide sideways to meet hers. “Besides, I was late because I was finishing all those damned exercises like a good girl.”

“Were you? I shall have to see you are suitably rewarded.” He ran a long finger over the back of her hand and asked, “Am I correct in assuming that you are still planning to stay tonight?”

She felt her cheeks heat up as the warmth from his words and his touch worked their magic. “Yes, I think that’s a safe assumption.”

He let their fingers lace together for a moment, and she was weighing out the risks of pulling him firmly behind the damask overhang for a kiss, when one of Horace’s fat arms snaked out of nowhere and wrapped itself around Severus.

“Stop skulking and come and join us, Severus!” hiccuped the old potions master, the tassel on his hat helicoptering as he jerked Severus into the center of the action.

The consternation on Severus’s face was priceless, and Miranda gave him a jaunty wave before allowing the current of the party to separate them. She helped herself to some of the strawberry tarts and another glass of mead found its way into her hand to replace the empty one. Donaghan Tremlett in his ripped denim and shaggy coat gave her a friendly nod, and she was making her way towards him to pay her respects, when another guest demanded her attention.

“Miss Rose, it has been far too long.” Miranda repressed a shiver at the faintly sibilant voice and turned to its emaciated owner.

“Signore Sanguini,” she said, noting that his hands were empty and his tailoring outdated. “Fancy meeting you here.”

He gracefully snatched the hand she had not extended to him and brushed his cold lips against it. Even after years of practice, she still could not completely repress a shiver as the chill of the undead chased away all the warmth in her.

The vampire smirked at her discomfort and let his icy breath tickle her hand as he commented, “What an unexpected surprise. I did not expect ever to have the pleasure of seeing you again.”

“Yes, our last meeting was rather fraught, wasn’t it?” She slowly, but firmly, extracted her hand.

“Fraught is one term for it.” He let his eyes travel the length of her like he were appraising a side of beef. “Passionate would also suit the purpose. Enraging might describe it better still.”

She took a long sip from her glass and forced her shoulders to relax as she started to ease her pistol out of its holster. If things got ugly, silver would work better than a wand. Pity she’d left her stakes at home.

“I met your cousin last summer,” she said nonchalantly.

“I know.” His smirk was sharp enough to cut glass. “The family is not at all pleased with you, Miss Rose; I hope you are aware of that.”

She shrugged. “Your cousin should have stayed on the right side of the law.”

He let out a bark of laughter and leaned down to close the space between them. “What do you know about the right side of the law?”

The edge of her mind blurred as his eyes did their work on her, and she had to turn her head away for an instant to break the spell. Unfortunately, that instant was enough for him to slip beside her, and his lips were far too close to her neck when he whispered, “Topolina, this game would be far more amusing if we continued it in private, non sei d’accordo?”

His breath was cloying, and it made her head swim nearly as badly as his eye trick had. She gripped her pistol in the folds of her skirts and said sweetly, “I’m not joining your harem, Sanguini. And if I go anywhere with you, it’ll be for the sole pleasure of reuniting you with your dear cousin.”

“Sanguini!” blustered a marshmallow of a man who toddled forward and thrust himself between them. “I’m so sorry, Miss, I can’t seem to leave him alone for a second.”

Miranda put her pistol back in its holster and resisted the urge to laugh in the vampire’s stricken face. “Not at all. We were just renewing our acquaintance.” She looked over the little man’s head and asked incredulously, “Really, Sanguini? A babysitter? I had no idea you were so domesticated. You used to be the scourge of the Continent.”

She thought he was going to strike her and she was tensing in preparation to dodge it—knowing she would have to leap before he launched if she hoped to outmaneuver his preternatural speed—when he threw back his head and laughed melodiously.

“Si, si, I am getting old, aren’t I? Pace topolina, let us have peace between us. What are you drinking?”

“Mead, but my glass is almost empty. And I’d rather be at peace with you any day. How long are you in town?”

“I do not keep track of such details, that is what this one is for,” he replied, indicating the marshmallow man with an indifferent wave.

“Have him send me an owl and I’ll meet you for dinner.”

“I would rather hear Verdi with you and remember old times.”

“That sounds marvelous. But now you can get me another drink.”

“Your wish is my command.”

He took her empty glass and gave her a sweeping bow before disappearing into the crowd in search of an appropriate house elf. Miranda turned her attention to Sanguini’s diminutive babysitter and began distractedly exchanging the necessary information with him, but most of her attention was captured by a fracas between a spindly old man and a sulky boy with shockingly blond hair that suddenly tumbled into the party. Miranda was too far from the door to hear any of the business, but she could see the rage etched on Severus’s face as he dragged the boy out of the party by the scruff of his neck.

The vampire-sitter finished taking her direction and scurried off in search of his charge, and Miranda slid her hands into the pockets of her skirt and reflected, not for the first time, that she would have detested having Severus for a teacher.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll be back soon,” said a dreamy voice beside her.

Miranda looked down to see the sweet blond girl from the Potions class she’d sat in on the year before. “I beg your pardon?”

“Our dates. They’ll be back soon. I’m Luna Lovegood, by the way. We weren’t really introduced last time. Are you enjoying  your subscription?”

“I am, thank you. Nice to meet you officially, Luna. I’m Miranda Rose.” She held out her hand and the girl shook it with a surprisingly firm grip for a young lady who seemed to have her head in the clouds. “How are the thestrals these days?”

“Very well. They had an attack of sneezles when the weather changed, but they’re all much better now.”

“I’m happy to hear that.”

The urge to ask whether or not Severus had been out to see the thestrals lately was nearly overpowering, and only Sanguini’s arrival with Miranda’s fresh glass of mead prevented her from giving into it. The vampire pecked her cheek and laughed once more at her goosebumps before melting into the crowd, and by the time Miranda’s attention was back on the moonstruck girl next to her, the topic had passed.

“Are you having a nice time?” Luna asked, bouncing on her heels in time to the music.

“I am. Horace throws a lovely party. And you?”

“Oh, yes. Harry asked me to come, as friends of course. But no one ever asks me to go anywhere, so it’s a great treat.”

“What, never?”

“Hardly ever.” Luna giggled at her joke and Miranda laughed with her.

“It’s their loss. Thank you for loaning me those books by the way. I enjoyed them very much. Sherlock Holmes was one of my favorite characters as a girl, but I hadn’t read the stories in a long time.”

“Do you like Mr Holmes?” Luna asked, suddenly grave. “He can be so ungentle sometimes.”

“That’s true. The brilliance that makes him so interesting also seems to get in the way of his noticing that other people have things like feelings. They way he lets Watson believe that he’s dead after the Reichenbach Falls incident—I can understand why Watson is furious with him later. I would have been too.”

“And I don’t think that he means to hurt Dr Watson’s feelings. That’s what makes it all so sad.”

“I agree.”

“But it’s worse because Watson understands Holmes better than Holmes understands himself,” Luna spun in a circle. “It’s like being angry with a child.”

Severus stormed back into the room and, even from this distance, Miranda could tell that he was still furious. He did not spare a glance for her as he took up his post by the wall again, arms crossed and black eyes glaring.

Luna smiled serenely as the mandolin in the corner started strumming a spirited Foggy Dew, and said, “Ginny said she would dance with me if I wanted, and this song is so springy. I think I’ll go find her now.”

“It was nice talking with you, Luna.”

“You, too. Good night.”

Luna floated away, spinning and skipping, and Miranda started weaving through the knots of people back to Severus’s side of the room. Something about his manner warned her that the trouble outside had been more than the usual student mischief. She was nearly through the throng, and she had just caught his eye, when Horace wrapped an arm around her shoulder, snatching her into his inner circle.

“There you are Miss Rose!” Horace beamed. “I was beginning to lose hope of seeing you. Allow me to present Octavius Pepper. Octavius, Miranda Rose is just the woman you’ve been looking for.”

Octavius Pepper peered through his wire-rimmed glasses and shook back his unruly white hair as he bowed to her in the formal way that wizards of a certain age were in the habit of doing. His robes were antique, but well maintained, and he had a nervous energy flowing out of him in the form of restless finger twitches. He launched into a winding explanation of what it was he wanted from her in a nasally wheeze, and she groaned inwardly, setting a plastic smile on her face as she tried to pull her awareness away from Severus, whose eyes she could still feel boring into the back of her skull.

Octavius took no notice of any of this as he meandered through his story, obviously one of those kinds of customers. It was going to be a long night.

*****

Severus fell into bed at half past two, his head pounding with a headache that blurred his vision, and his temper frayed to match. Although the students were all finally confined to their dormitories, the party in Horace’s office was still raging full tilt—if anything, the removal of the minors had increased the fury of the revelers. Severus had left Miranda ensconced in a tight group of admirers that she had shown no sign of jilting. He had taken a circuitous route to bed to ensure that the students were all in order, and give her the chance to extract herself before he decided to vent his temper on her. But, even after all his dallying—in the hallways, over a cup of tea, and removing all evidence of the wretched evening from his person—she still had not deigned to grace him with her presence, and he felt fully justified in transferring some of his fury at Draco to her.

He had no hope of actually falling asleep with his head feeling as though it were being split like an overripe melon, but he was beginning to drift in and out of lucid dreaming when he heard the door open. His wayward lover flounced into the sitting room, singing some godforsaken Muggle song and (he was certain of it) strewing her shoes and other belongings heedlessly on every available surface. She called his name once, and he turned his back to the door--which increased the pressure on his temples mightily--squeezing his eyes stubbornly closed.

The bedroom door creaked open, and the light in the sitting room extinguished almost as soon as it fell on him. He heard her pad over to his bed and felt the mattress dip as she slipped over to sit next to him. Her hand was pleasantly cool when she laid it on his cheek and brushed his hair away from his face.

“I know you’re not asleep,” she said quietly. “Do you have one of those migraines again?”

Curse her. Why did she have to be so damned nice to him when he was angry? “Yes,” he answered without opening his eyes.

“Did you take a Headache Potion?”

“No.”

The mattress dipped again as she slid off the bed and padded into the next room for supplies. She made as little noise as possible as she made ready for bed, and Severus rolled onto his back as some of the anger in his chest began to unkink. He rarely let himself dwell on how much he regretted Miranda’s removing herself from his rooms; but this matter-of-fact interest that she took in his well-being was what he missed most of all. By the time she came to bed, a cup of tea in one hand and a vial of Headache Potion in the other, his anger had softened enough that he took the vial without protest while she settled herself next to him, her back against the ebony headboard.

“Here, lay your head down and I’ll see what I can do while we wait for the potion to kick in,” she said, patting her lap.

“I’d given up waiting for you,” he said, his voice coming out all the harsher for his attempt to keep the plea for reassurance out of it.

“I figured that out.” She started running her fingers lightly over his face and his hair, tugging on his ear lobes and working some sort of strange magic that unwound his headache as surely as her presence soothed his temper. “It took a while for me to get away from Horace’s friend.”

“Ah, yes. Octavius Pepper, was it?”

“You know him?”

“I don’t. What did he want?” Merlin it was good to have a head that didn’t pound.

“He wants me to retrieve something for him. But not until March. What happened with the party-crasher? You were so angry when you came back.”

His first instinct was to refuse to answer her question, which he suspected she was asking to divert him from pressing her for more information about Mr Pepper’s likely dangerous commission; but her fingers were so delicious on his temples, and her lap was so very comfortable, and her concern was one of those priceless pearls that he coveted; and so he wet his lips and let his interrogation lie for the time being.

“The boy in question was Draco Malfoy.”

“Malfoy? Lucius’s son?” The surprise in her voice was evident.

“The same.”

“He’s one of yours, isn’t he?”

“He is, and he had no business being out of bounds tonight.”

“He certainly had no business being caught out of bounds, in any case.” Her fingers moved in small, slow circles over his cheeks and down the side of his neck, and every muscle loosened under their touch. “It must be hard on him, though, with his father in Azkaban. Even if his father is a prick like Lucius.”

“It is hard on him. Particularly since the Dark Lord has decided to express his displeasure with Lucius by punishing the rest of his family.”

“Fuck. What’s he done?”

He should stop talking now, but her fingers were on his shoulders and his restraint was nonexistent. “He gave Draco the mark over the summer.”

“Good Lord. He’s a child! His poor mother.”

Draco’s poor mother, indeed. “He’s also given him a task to perform that the boy is not expected to survive.”

“Are you helping him?”

How in the name of Merlin was he supposed to keep his secrets when she was drawing every modicum of pain and tension out of his body? Those fingers should be registered as lethal weapons. “I’m trying to help him. He is resisting.”

“He’s how old? Fifteen?”

“Sixteen.”

“Sixteen-year-old boys are the worst. They think they know everything. You have to help him without his realizing that’s what is happening—or make him think it was his idea in the first place.”

“That sounds like an abominable waste of time.”

“I don’t know. It works with you.” She kissed his forehead and asked, “Is your migraine better? Do you think you’ll be able to sleep?”

“Yes on both counts.”

He shifted off of her lap, and she scooted over to lay her head on his shoulder. When his arms were wrapped around her and his chin was resting on the top of her head, he was astonished at how far away the Dark Lord and all the troubles of the world seemed. The fatal words were on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed them, and held her tighter.

He was still perched on a knife’s edge, after all. There was no use in upsetting his precarious balance with unwanted declarations. Not when what he had was close enough to what he wanted, as long as he squinted when he contemplated it.

*****

“The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, London,” Miranda thought as she boldly approached the crack between numbers Eleven and Thirteen the following evening. The once-handsome townhouse unfolded before her, looking like a worn-out matron clinging to the memories of her storied youth. For all her shabbiness, she held her self with the air of one who knows she has fallen in with bad company, but has the gumption to hope for better days. Miranda flicked her wand at the handleless front door, pleased to find that Albus had given her the correct charms to gain entry, and stepped into the gaslit hallway as the door swung shut behind her.

“What is this? Yet more Mudblood filth to sully my house?!” shrieked a woman from her curtained portrait.

“Nice to meet you too,” Miranda replied pleasantly, noting that the dowager in the painting matched the exterior of the manor in both form and temper.

“You dare address me? Of all the impertinence…”

Miranda strode past the flurry of insults through the crumbling ruin of Victorian opulence in search of the door that would lead her down to the meeting in the kitchen. Schedules being what they were, she had been forced to make this first official contact with the Order of the Phoenix without a physical guide to vouch for her. She had Albus’s word as her letter of safe conduct; but the disapproving silence of the ghostly house made her wish that she’d been able to secure Arthur or Molly Weasley as an escort.

A humble door at the end of the long entryway was all but hidden from view, like a scullery maid embarrassed to be caught upstairs lighting the fires. Miranda made sure that her hands were empty, but that her wand was ready to slide into fighting position at an instant’s notice, before rapping on the door and entering the crumbling stone stairwell. A dull, blood-red glow illuminated the bottom of the stairs, and she let her footsteps fall heavily to alert those below of her approach. She made it all the way down to the final step before a pair of wizards blocked her entrance, wands drawn and all but growling at her.

“I come in peace,” she said, holding her hands up, palms wide, to prove the point. “Albus Dumbledore sent me. He says he’s fond of lemon drops.”

“Means nothin’. The whole bloody world knows that,” spat the shorter wizard. It was hard to know what part of him looked the oddest—his mane of wiry hair that stood up in all directions, his claw-footed peg-leg, or his ice-blue mechanical eye that whirled wildly in its socket.

“Easy Mad-eye,” said the other in a slow, deep voice. He held himself with the ease of a jungle cat, and though the expression on his dark brown face was unconcerned, she knew better than to assume that he would fail to strike if provoked. “If Albus didn’t send her, how else did she get in? I’m Kingsley Shacklebolt, and this here is Alastor Moody, at your service.”

“I’m Miranda Rose, and I’m delighted to meet you both. I’ve been working for Albus for just over a year now, and he thought it was time to introduce me to the rest of the team,” she explained, modulating her voice to a calm pitch and an unhurried speed. “Do you mind if I come down into the kitchen? I was taught that it’s rude to lurk in doorways.”

“Not to mention inconvenient and dangerous,” a voice like a knife’s edge put in behind her.

She started involuntarily, chiding herself for allowing Severus to sneak up on her while she was distracted by his comrades. Alastor seemed to accept her request as reasonable, and he retreated enough to allow her and Severus to enter the neglected space. Kingsley withdrew to lean against a worn counter, and Severus swept past her, positioning himself at Alastor’s shoulder. Neither Kingsley nor Alastor put down their wands, although Kingsley let his dangle negligently between his fingers, while Alastor kept his trained threateningly on her heart.

“And who might you be?” demanded Severus in a dangerously low voice that betrayed no hint that they had spent most of the day lounging in his bed together.

“Miranda Rose,” she confidently replied, sticking out her hand to him.

He eyed it as though it were a rotted newt’s tongue and replied, “That tells me nothing. Why are you here?”

She lowered her hand and raised her eyebrows. “As I already told your friends, Albus Dumbledore sent me. According to him, there’s a Professor McGonagall who was supposed to be in charge tonight. She’ll be expecting me.”

“Have you heard anything about this, Snape?” asked Alastor, his eye still swiveling about with a sickly whine.

“No,” Severus replied coldly.

“Do you believe her?”

If Miranda did not know her lover as well as she did, she would have missed the glint of humor that sparked briefly in his eyes. “I do not like that she is here. Perhaps we should search her person.”

“It seems to me that Mr Moody has already done an excellent job of searching my person with that enchanted eye of his,” Miranda said, allowing a hint of irritation to color her tone. “I’m going to have to decline anything more intimate. There’s no need to go rifling through my unmentionables.”

“No, but there’s every need to go rifling through that cache of weapons you’ve got strapped to them,” Alastor countered.

“Weapons?” Severus’s voice was dangerous indeed.

“I’m working.” Miranda put her hands on her hips and let some of her magic vibrate out into the room.

“Miss Rose, I find it difficult to believe that Albus would neglect to inform me of a new recruit, particularly one of such…singularity. And where areyou from? That accent is appalling.”

She lifted her chin and replied proudly, “I’m from Edgewood, Kansas.”

“Where?” Kingsley asked, interest piqued.

“It’s in America.” Miranda leveled a glare at Severus that rivaled any he could produce. “Look, I don’t know who you think you are, but I was told that Professor McGonagall was in charge, and I’m assuming you don’t answer to that name.”

“Down, Snape,” Kingsley said, pocketing his wand at last. He pulled a chair out from the splintery table and continued, “Miss Rose, any friend of Albus’s is a friend of ours. You’ll have to excuse Professor Snape and Mr Moody—distrusting people is their job. Would you like anything to drink while we wait for the others?”

“Thank you, and no, I don’t need anything,” Miranda said, taking the seat he offered.

He settled himself into the chair at her right hand, and Alastor limped over to sit down across from her. Severus glided over to the spot at the counter that Kingsley had vacated, tapping his fingers irritably on the sagging wood and studying the lot of them disapprovingly.

“I have a good friend who transferred to New York a few years ago,” Kingsley said conversationally. “That’s not anywhere near Kansas, is it?”

“Depends on how you’re traveling,” Miranda replied. “By portkey, everywhere is close. But as the crow flies, it’s about a thousand miles.”

“Shouldn’t we be asking her more useful questions?” Severus snapped.

“Minerva will be here any minute,” Kingsley countered. “May as well be polite until then.”

“Begging your pardon, Professor Snape, but do you honestly think that if I were clever enough to circumvent the Fidelius Charm in the first place, that I would then be stupid enough to attempt a frontal attack at a meeting comprised of a coven of well-trained and well-armed witches and wizards?” Miranda asked pointedly.

“It remains to be seen how stupid you may be,” Severus replied.

“I see that the rumors of the English having good manners are greatly exaggerated,” Miranda shot back.

“Nobody ever accused Snape of having good manners,” Alastor commented jovially.

Severus opened his mouth to retort, but his wit was to be deferred to another occasion as a ragged man, a glum-faced young woman, and a brusque matron with a tartan pinned over her neat robes entered the kitchen.

“Good evening gentlemen,” the matron said crisply, a hint of a burr kissing the consonants that marched off her tongue. “And Miss Rose, I presume. Albus told me to expect you.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Miranda replied, rising from her seat to shake the older woman’s hand, and shooting an I-told-you-so smirk Severus’s way. He was pointedly looking in the opposite direction.

“You’ve already met these three, I take it,” Minerva continued as she and the newcomers joined the group gathered at the table. “This is Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks.”

“It’s just Tonks,” the melancholy woman half-heartedly corrected.

“Nice to meet you both,” Miranda said, and any further pleasantries were swallowed up by Minerva’s quick launch into the evening’s business.

“I’m going to keep this brief, as I expect we all have places we’d rather be tonight. Tonks, when are the new wards around the school going to be finished?”

“We’ll have them done before the students return from the Holidays,” Tonks replied, her voice firmer.

“I suppose that will have to do. Kingsley, Alastor, any news from the Ministry?”

Kingsley and Alastor started talking at once, and a verbal scuffle ensued that Kingsley allowed Alastor to win. As the strange old man launched into a paranoid narrative full of names that Miranda neither recognized, nor cared about, she took a moment to study the motley army that Albus hoped would bring down the greatest Dark Wizard since Gellert Grindelwald’s ignominious reign of terror. Alastor himself seemed to have a tenuous grip on reality, but his reflexes were sharp. She would rather have him in her corner than in the enemy’s. Kingsley struck her as confident and capable—a man who had nothing to prove. Remus’s sickly appearance meant he was either a werewolf, or possessed of a weak constitution; she hoped for the sake of the Order that it was the former. Tonks was a mystery; she was suffering from some sort of melancholia, but when questioned she seemed certain of her business. Minerva was everything one could hope for in a leader, and Miranda found that she preferred the witch’s brisk efficiency to Albus’s cerebral machinations. Severus…well, Severus’s act was adorable, and she would be sure to tell him so at the earliest possible moment.

“It’s not much better than when Cornelius Fudge was there, in my opinion,” Kingsley offered, the familiar name drawing Miranda’s attention. “Scrimgeour might be a better fighter, but his behavior is as out of place at times as Fudge’s was—only in different ways.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Do you think he’s been compromised?”

“Hard to say, Minerva,” Alastor said, his magical eye still fixed on Miranda. “He’s not acting like he’s been Imperioed, and he’s got no love for Voldemort nor the rest of that lot, but he’s acting dodgy all the same. I’ll be keeping my eye on him, you can be sure of that.”

“See that you do. Severus, do you have anything for us?”

Severus ran a finger over his thin lips and let silence fall before reporting, “I suggest that the areas of London that our kind is known to frequent be patrolled more heavily over the the next few weeks. The Dark Lord expects there to be a lack of caution as those who should know better expect the Holidays to protect them from harm, and he intends to take full advantage of it.”

“That’s a lot of ground for the Aurors to cover, Snape. Can’t you be more specific than that?” Alastor grumbled.

“No.” The finality of the single syllable prevented any further questioning from Alastor, although he did make a rude gesture under the table in Severus’s direction.

“If I understand correctly, the MACUSA Aurors will be around to help,” Miranda offered cautiously.

“Yes, I’ve met with Ambassador Walker, and he’s agreed to provide us with a list of the MACUSA patrols,” Minerva replied.

“How nice of him,” Alastor said sarcastically.

“At least it’ll keep us from duplicating our efforts,” Kingsley commented.

“It’ll have to do for now,” Minerva said, ending the debate. “If none of you have anything else to report, I’ll bid you good night. Remus, Miss Rose, if you would both stay for a few minutes longer, I would appreciate it.”

Effectively dismissed, the others didn’t linger. Kingsley, Alastor, and Tonks left together, with the men both making unsuccessful attempts to draw the moody witch into conversation. Miranda saw the solemn woman cast a furtive glance in Remus’s direction, but he did not acknowledge it—that explained the source of the melancholia. Severus dropped a quiet word in Minerva’s ear and strode out of the room without further acknowledging anyone.

Once the others were gone, Minerva heaved a sigh, and the years suddenly seemed to weigh heavier on her shoulders. “Miss Rose, under ordinary circumstances, I would ease you in but, as we’re in the middle of a war, there’s no time to be gentle.”

“I understand,” Miranda replied. “Why don’t you call me Miranda then, and just tell me what you need.”

“I hope you won’t regret that offer, but I will be taking you at your word. Remus has been making inroads into the local werewolf packs, in the hopes that we might win some of them over to our side.”

“I see. I take it you speak their language.” Good, a werewolf was better than a dying man.

An expression of mirthless amusement twisted Remus’s drawn face. “That’s one way of putting it. But if you’re asking me if I’m one of them, the answer is yes.” His dull green eyes sharpened and his nostrils flared like a wolf testing the air. “I can see that you are not.”

“No, but I’ve tangled with a werewolf or two in my day.”

He frowned and turned to Minerva. “Things are delicate enough with the packs without attempting a frontal assault.”

“Nobody’s talking about any assaulting,” Minerva replied. “I thought you told Albus that you needed a non-wolf that the packs might respect.”

“I did.” His eyes slid out of focus as he studied Miranda, and she suspected he was testing her by smell as much as by sight.

“Look, I don’t expect you to trust me right off, that’d be stupid,” Miranda said. “But I can hold my own against the loups-garous, and I’ll venture to say that I respect them more than most witches on this island.”

“Respect? That’s a word that is rarely offered to my kind by yours.”

“Mr Lupin, in case you missed it, I’m not from around these parts. Back home, a loup-garou who is in control of himself is a being to be respected, not shunned.”

His eyes came into focus, and she could see the wolf lurking in their depths. She willed herself not to blink, like they were a pair of children on the playground playing a game of chicken.

At last he asked, “Miss Rose, are you an animagus?”

“Not yet, but I could learn.”

The hair on the back of Miranda’s neck stood on end as he stared at her, unblinking, for a few moments more. Then he released her from their game, and his shoulders slumped back into the unassuming posture he adopted when the wolf wasn’t riled.

“She may well do, Minerva. Can you teach her?” he asked.

“I can teach anyone who’s willing to learn, and most that aren’t.” Minerva replied.

“Wonderful,” Miranda said, mindful of the warning still tingling at the base of her neck. “When do I start?”

*****

Later that evening, Severus was picking through the novels on Miranda’s shelves, waiting for her to finish her last minute packing. Although her trip home to Kansas would last less than a week, she was fretting over the best charms with which to protect the plethora of carved toys she had made for her army of nieces and nephews during her convalescence. Severus knew better than to make suggestions to her when she was agitated, and had contented himself with tidying the dinner dishes and packing her potions for her.

Nothing on the bookshelf seemed enticing tonight, and he wandered over to the sofa, picking up the Dosteovsky volume sitting on the coffee table. He flipped it open, meandering through the pages until a letter that was marking Miranda’s place fell onto his lap. He was halfway through the missive before it struck him that he was reading something that perhaps she had not intended for his eyes.

And I hope that Severus will be able to come with you, although I understand if his work won’t allow him the time. In any case, give him our love. Everyone is so excited to see you.

Love,

Mama

He quickly scanned the rest of the sheet, and shoved it back into the book, replacing the whole damned thing on the coffee table and staring into the fireplace without seeing anything. Miranda’s trip home had been set for weeks, but she had never once bothered to mention that he had been invited to be one of the party. The fry up he’d made for dinner sat like lead in his stomach, and his thoughts spiraled into a whirlwind barbed with unpleasant realization.

Of course she would not want him to meet the son that she was hiding from him. Nor would she want to introduce him to the rest of her family as though he were going to be some sort of permanent fixture in her life. She was simply biding her time, amusing herself with him for some godforsaken reason, until she tired of this game and moved on to greener pastures.

His hands were shaking, and he got up, pacing before the fire without being aware of what he was doing. After a moment of this unproductive movement, he went to the door and took his cloak off the hook, wrapping it around his shoulders. Miranda emerged from her bedroom, and the tired smile fell from her face as she saw him making ready to depart.

“I thought you were staying,” she said worriedly. “Did the Dark Lord call?”

“No,” Severus replied, feeling like a heel and hating her for it. “I simply do not see the point of distracting you from making ready for tomorrow. I will see you when you return, I’m sure.”

She crossed the room to him, biting her lower lip in an unusual show of discomfort. The sight was oddly endearing, as was the impulsive way that she threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. His arms went around her instinctively, as though he might stanch the wounds her careless claws had rendered with the feel of her lithe body.

“I’ll miss you,” she said.

“I doubt that,” he replied.

She stepped away, sliding her hands down his arms and catching hold of his hands when she found them.

“Come with me,” she blurted suddenly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“To Edgewood. Come with me. There’s a portkey in Mr Clarke’s store, so you could come back in no time if you had to; and Mama and Papa would love to see you. So would everyone else, for that matter. Except for Susan, but she doesn’t like to meet anybody. I mean, they are loud, but they’re honest. There’s a little hunting lodge out by the river that we can stay in, so you’d have a quiet place whenever you wanted a break. And there’ll be blind man’s bluff, and Christmas carols, and a pudding too.”

He laid a finger over her lips to stop her outburst, and the way this eleventh hour invitation made his heart leap disgusted him to the core of his being. Not since he’d been a schoolboy, panting after Lily like a whipped puppy, had he felt so pathetic.

“I thank you, no. Perhaps if I had had more notice, I might have arranged something. I’m sure you understand that it is too late now.” She wilted under his words and he felt every inch the bastard that he was.

“I would have told you sooner,” she said quietly, her cheeks flushed. “I just thought you wouldn’t want to come.”

“Now we’ll never know, will we? Good night, Miranda. A pleasant journey to you.”

“Good night, Severus. Merry Christmas.”

She closed the door softly after him, not waiting to see him vanish. As he reached the edge of her wards, the urge to go back and tell her that he would accompany her after all rushed over him like a wave. He choked it down ruthlessly and disappeared.

He might be at her mercy, but there was no reason for her to be made aware of the fact.

*****

End Notes:

Horace’s first line in the party scene is quoted from page 319 of the 2005 paperback edition of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince by J. K. Rowling.

Topolina: little mouse

Non sei d’accordo: Don’t you agree?

The Dubliners have a wonderful version of Foggy Dew.

The Muggle song Miranda is singing is Que Sera Sera in the style of Sly and the Family Stone.

loups-garous: werewolves

*****

libera nos a malo Masterpost+

Unstoppable Force/Immovable Object Masterpost+

<< Chapter One+

Chapter Three+ >>

[solivar]

WIP: Ghost Stories On Route 66

aka the one where Hanzo Shimada is an expatriate art student, Jesse McCree is an NPS ranger, both are more than they seem, weird stuff is going down in the New Mexican desert, and their lives collide in the middle of it.

Did someone order pain-but-not-death? We’re getting there.

My family tells an ancient legend of two dragon brothers: Minamikaze, the Dragon of the South Wind, and Kitakaze, the Dragon of the North Wind. Together they ruled the skies with might and wisdom, governed the courts of the seasons, and upheld balance and harmony in the heavens.

But they were also brothers and, as all brothers do, sometimes they squabbled about matters both great and petty. Minamikaze was strong and wise and proud of his many gifts and virtues, the beauty of his palace in the heavens, the quality of his courtiers and the elegance of his concubines. Kitakaze was fierce and cunning and proud of his many skills and his independence, of the wild beauty of the mountains where he rested his heavy coils, of the equally wild spirits who worshipped him as he deemed fit. From time to time, Kitakaze would call upon his brother in his high palace among the clouds and, whenever he came, Minamikaze’s many courtiers would flutter through the halls in his wake, whisper and hiss behind their fans that they could hardly believe such a crude and unrefined being could truly be the brother of their master much less a rightful ruler of the heavens. From time to time, Minamikaze would call upon his brother among the mountains he called home and, whenever he came, the spirits who served Kitakaze would whisper and hiss through the branches of the trees that they could hardly believe such an arrogant and waspish creature could truly be the brother of their master much less a rightful ruler of the heavens. Thusly did many years pass, with each brother ruling his half of their kingdom while those closest to them dripped poison into their ears.

Even our clan does not preserve how the worst and final quarrel between them began, but we do know its cause: which of them could better rule over their land, a kingdom whole and undivided. No one knows who struck the first blow but we do know this: their resentment of one another turned to murderous rage and their violent struggle darkened the skies. Typhoons lashed the seas and flooded the shores, capsizing boats and drowning fishermen, starving those who waited for their return. Blizzards howled among the mountains, burying villages in avalanche and withering crops in unseasonable cold, so that famine stalked all the land. Lightning fell upon temples and shrines, palaces and farmhouses, and the fires that followed added to the woes of those suffering in the shadow of the raging brothers. In the end, the Dragon of the South Wind struck down his brother, who fell to the tortured Earth, shattering the land in the throes of his death.

Minamikaze had triumphed but, as time passed, he realized the extent of his folly and the sweetness of victory turned to ash. The obsequies of his courtiers, no matter how delicious, could not take the place of his brother’s openhearted companionship. He knew too late that his heart had been poisoned by their lies and their slander and had only his own hand to blame for the murder of the one who had always known and loved him best. Burning with shame, he fled his palace in the heavens and wandered aimlessly in bitterness and sorrow, his grief throwing the whole of the world into discord.

One day a stranger, clad in the cloak of a wandering monk, called up to him as he wept in the skies above the mountain-cradled lake his brother called home and asked, “Dragon lord, why are you so distraught?”

And Minamikaze replied, “Seeking power, I killed my brother -- but, without him, I am lost.”

The stranger replied, his voice gentle with compassion and soft with comfort, “You have inflicted wounds upon yourself, but now you must heal. Walk the Earth on two feet, as I do. Find value in humility and in humanity, and then you will find peace.”

Minamikaze heard the kindness and the wisdom in the stranger’s words, and knelt upon the ground at his feet. For the first time, he was able to clearly see the world around him, the consequences of his own actions, and seeing he knew what he must do: he became human. The stranger revealed himself as Kitakaze, fallen no longer and healed of many wounds, the most terrible of which was the loss of his brother’s love, made whole by the hand that inflicted it. Reunited, the two set out to rebuild what they had once destroyed, make right what they had once put wrong.

*

“And to make a much longer story filled with an absolutely incredible number of begats short,” Genji interjected, “about the time Minamikaze and Kitakaze started tooling around on two legs, they also came to the realization that there was a lot to be said for engaging in semi-divine-being with benefits relationships.”

“Genji.” Hanzo growled in what he hoped was a properly quelling tone.

“Which is, in fact, how they came to be married to the shaman sisters who had scraped Kitakaze out of the crater he’d made on impact and stitched him back together again.” Genji continued, not obviously quelled at all, and it was all Hanzo could do not to put him in a headlock until someone could get a roll of duct tape. “Nature took its course and, well.”

“The children of Minamikaze and Sakuya, Kitakaze and Tsuya, were the founders of our clan, born of the union between two worlds.” Hanzo grabbed his brother’s knee under the table, found the pressure points, and applied a judicious amount of force; Genji’s mouth, finally getting the hint, snapped shut. “They were...not entirely human themselves, being able to walk between the courts of the spirit world and the realms of men, the better to carry out their parents’ will. The brothers had inflicted great harm on all the worlds in their violence but they were wise enough to know that undoing all that they had done was not only their own task but the work of generations yet to be born. Minamikaze and Kitakaze lived long lives but their human shells were still mortal and when they passed from it within hours of each other, they were born again into their true kingdom as the dragon princes they were. Thus did they give their children, and their grandchildren, and all who would come into the world bearing the humble name they chose for themselves a mighty gift to aid them in their struggles -- not only the blood of dragons in their veins, but a companion of the spirit to protect and counsel them.”

The ranger’s grip on his hand tightened a fraction; he could only imagine how badly he was failing to control his expression because, when he spoke, his tone was surpassingly gentle. “That’s what this was supposed to be.”

It took Hanzo a moment to force his tongue to move. “Yes.”

“Wait.” Hana said at the same moment Lucio whispered, “Holy mother of no way.”

Genji sighed and nodded. “Yeah, it’s exactly what you’re thinking.”

“That tattoo. On your back. Is an actual dragon.” Lucio sounded as though he were saying the words aloud in a desperate, doomed effort to make himself not believe them.

“Yep.” Genji replied. “You can let go of my leg now, Hanzo.”

He did so, and wrapped the liberated arm around his slowly churning stomach.

“I’d say no freaking way but I’m afraid we’ve left that pretty far behind.” Lucio admitted. “Can we see it?”

“...Maybe?” Genji flicked a look at him out of the corner of his eye. “Later. Definitely later.”

“So,” Terrifying Smoke Monster Dad asked, because of course he did, “why don’t you have one?”

“Gabe.” Ranger McCree growled in a near-duplicate of his own quelling tone; Genji just growled.

“No. He has a salient point. I was vulnerable because there was no bond, though I was prepared -- “ Hanzo stopped, considered, started again. “For hundreds of years, our family followed the command of our ancestors and carried out the task of repairing the harm they had done. Using the gifts at our command, we advised and counseled rulers and warlords, we kept the shrines of our ancestors and those gods and spirits who acted in accord with them, we fought the monsters and demons their violence had permitted entry into the world, and we gave peace and rest to the anguished ghosts of those who perished during the dark and troubled years. Our family was respected and honored for our work, and for our skills, and for our gifts. But things, as they always do, changed.”

“More specifically, the arts our family practiced were outlawed as superstition and banned under threat of a number of unpleasant punishments. When given the choice between sinking into genteel poverty and irrelevance and outlawry our several-times-great-grandparents chose outlawry. They might have been a tiny bit bitter.” Genji’s tone was decidedly wry. “Unfortunately, transitioning from well-respected clan of craftspeople, to use the local term, to a greatly feared clan of organized criminals had a rather significant side-effect. We fell out of favor with our own ancestors.”

“For nearly three centuries our dragon-kin would not answer us. They refused our prayers, turned away our offerings, ignored our pleas. We still etched an open bond into our skin in the hope that it would one day be fulfilled, but it never was. Parts of the family ceased to believe that we had ever been dragons at all while others used the tales for intimidation and threat.” Hanzo fixed his gaze at a point on the far wall, letting his eyes trace the pattern of the hanging, not wishing to meet the ranger’s eyes and see what was written there. “This might have gone on until the last of the dragon’s blood drained from us entirely, had it not been for our grandfather and his brother. Uncle Toshiro was of a scholarly and spiritual nature, and when he asked his brother our grandfather to release him from his obligations to the clan that he might pursue a sacred calling, he was permitted to go. Kijuro, our grandfather, knew he would never be happy otherwise and he loved his brother enough to grant him his freedom. Toshiro withdrew into the mountains near Hanamura, the city our clan called home, and rediscovered the ways we had lost in the shrine that had once been ours, at the knee of the hermit shaman who tended it. And he was the first to receive an answer from our ancestors in generations. The message he received was this: the world was breaking again and it would need dragons, as well, to protect and restore it.”

“Our grandfather wasn’t what you could call overly well-supplied with imagination but he knew what that meant well enough: our ancestors wanted us to go straight. Fortunately for them, Grandpa Kijuro pretty much wanted to get out of the organized crime business while the getting was good, too, and he went about the task of sweet-talking the elder siblings and the heads of the sub-families and figuring out which assets to convert to legitimate businesses and which to sell off and to whom and who to put in charge of what. It was pretty much the work of his most vigorous years, it wasn’t easy or smooth or completely without pain and violence, but he inculcated the necessity of it in all his potential heirs and into his only child, our mother.” Genji said our mother like some people might say Satan himself but Hanzo elected to let it ride unremarked. “He was practically on his deathbed when Toshiro sent word that the ancestors had accepted his efforts and that his daughter was even then carrying the child who would bring the dragons back to the Shimada clan.”

“You?” Ana asked.

“Him.”

“Our grandfather died four years after I was born. Genji was only a baby at the time.” Hanzo’s gaze did another circuit of the pattern, seeking calm, emptiness, emotional distance. “Uncle Toshiro came down from the mountains for the funeral and to take me in hand, to begin training me in the arts I would need to master. He was younger than our grandfather by some years but was an old man himself, and I think he knew even then that I would be his last student. I could already perceive the world beyond the world -- the spirit of Shimada Castle was a sad and beautiful woman who would sit by me at night and sing me to sleep when I was restless, the gardens and the city were alive with things only I could see or touch. What I had been given as a gift, he had gained through study and discipline, which he shared with me.”

“Which is to say when he wasn’t studying a rigorous schedule of way-above-average academics with the best private tutors our mother could find, he was studying weirdass magical and religious esoterica with our ancient, crusty great-uncle. When he wasn’t practicing the sword -- with actual swords, mind you, not kendo -- was practicing the bow, and when he wasn’t practicing either of those two things he was working on his calligraphy or how to make six dozen different kinds of demon-chasing charms or learning how to paint sumi-e well enough to get into art college or how to sing troubled spirits to rest or approximately six million other things that he was expected to know how to do perfectly before he could approach the dragon brothers’ shrine and beg their forgiveness and ask them to come back.” Genji made no effort to keep either the exasperation or the bitterness out of his tone. “I was thoroughly convinced for at least a couple years that he was actually a vampire because I almost never saw his face in broad daylight and I thought our parents were keeping the terrible truth from me until I was old enough to deal with it.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hana opening her mouth. “For the record: I am also not a vampire. I am...not anything.”

“That seems kinda unlikely, darlin’.” The ranger’s tone was gentle.

“And yet it is the truth.” He was mildly astonished that his voice wavered only slightly. “Uncle Toshiro was very, very old when he passed -- I was twenty-one. Shortly after his funeral, I received word from the keeper of the dragon brothers’ shrine that everyone enclosed there had dreamed of our coming…”

*

They were not quite fifty yards from the parking lot at the base of the mountain when Genji started complaining.

“How could you do this to me, Hanzo?” He asked in the plaintive tones of a man most cruelly and brutally wronged by one held dear to his heart. “How?”

“You’ll survive the cardio.” Hanzo replied, utterly without mercy, as he started up the next flight of steps on the long climb to the shrine. “You should probably also save your breath. The air is going to be a bit thin where we’re going.”

“Heartless,” Genji whined. “Absolutely heartless. Do you have any idea where I could be right now?”

“No,” Hanzo lied and lengthened his stride slightly. “ Though I’m certain you’re going to tell me.”

“I could be on a yacht in the middle of the wine-dark Adriatic Sea -- “ Genji began in tones of high melodrama.

“Aegean. I’m reasonably certain it’s the Aegean that all the Greek poets describe as ‘wine-dark’.” Hanzo observed meditatively because he, at least, hadn’t slept through either World Cultures or Advanced Poetic Forms In World Literature.

“Whatever. And not just any yacht, the world’s largest, most expensive yacht -- the yacht has its own private plane, Hanzo. It’s practically an aircraft carrier upholstered in nudity and excess. And do you know to whom that yacht belongs, oh my dearest brother?” He could nearly hear the gesticulations accompanying the recitation, though he didn’t look back to witness them.

He also knew the answer that question. “Oh your only brother. And, no, I do not.”

“Kyrion and Konstancia Nagata, that’s who!” Genji howled, his despair echoing down the valley. “Who are turning eighteen this weekend! I could be the meat in a kinky Nagata twin sandwich right now!”

“Genji,” Hanzo replied, repressively, because otherwise he was going to start laughing and that would completely ruin any attempt at wise brotherly counsel, “Kyrion Nagata is completely not your type -- “

“Maybe not but his sister is!” Genji wailed again, the ancient, weathered torii lining the ancient, weathered stone stairs catching his voice and amplifying it. “Have you ever even seen her on the dance floor? She moves like bones and ligaments are completely optional flexion devices and those legs Hanzo those legs and how do you even know Kyrion Nagata?”

“I actually read the briefings the security office puts out.” Hanzo rolled his eyes heavenward. “Which is how I know that their father is balls deep in the Russian mafia and underwater in debt to a number of mainland Chinese smuggling operations and that is likely why either or both of his children are attempting to ensnare one or more heirs to a family-run zaibatsu -- because we wouldn’t let our in-laws be murdered by testy smugglers who want their investments back.”

“Oh, sure, take all the fun out of the idea of a threesome with unnaturally flexible twins.” Genji sulked in a transport of despond. “I handle my own contraceptives and prophylactics, you know.”

“I’m reasonably certain a very polite and well-mannered kidnapping for ransom would also not be beyond the bounds of possibility, particularly if they spend the the entire duration of it fucking your brains out.” Hanzo replied, tartly. “Oh, and for the record: mother asked me not to leave you alone with either of them for longer than fifteen seconds if it was within my power to do so and look! It was totally within my power this weekend.”

“Dammit, Hanzo!”

They walked in silence for some time after that, partly because Genji, resentfully fuming, refused to allow himself to be baited into further conversation, partly because the trail itself became genuinely steep enough to constitute a vigorous cardio workout. The steps were old beyond the telling of it, carved out of the bones of the mountain, worn as much by time as the passage of feet, crumbling in some places and slick with moss in others. They both had to apply some concentration to their footing lest they enjoy a far less controlled descent and by the time they reached the point where the trail widened out along the brow of the mountainside, both were more than a little ready for a rest stop.

“You’ll survive the cardio, huh?” Genji asked, half-mocking, as they both shucked off their packs and slumped down in the lee of an enormous boulder, fighting to catch their collective breath.

“I’m reasonably sure that was why Uncle Toshiro decided to just stay in Hanamura.” Hanzo admitted, rolling the tension out of his shoulders as he set down his pack. “Here, lay out the blanket…”

Genji, for a pleasant change, did as he was asked without argument, spreading out the plastic-lined picnic blanket liberated from the cherry blossom viewing party supplies on the flattest part of the trail and then flopping dramatically down on it. Hanzo extracted the food he’d packed for the hike, deposited Genji’s share on his chest, and settled down at his knee. “Let me have your legs.”

Genji looked up from the contents of his lunch box but didn’t argue, particularly once Hanzo was massaging the lactic acid buildup out of his calves. “Ohhhhh, I knew there was a reason I still liked you even though you do stuff like this to me.”

“You used to enjoy doing stuff like this with me.” He switched legs and rolled his eyes a little at his brother’s orgiastic moaning.

“Yeah, when I was twelve and you were only allowed outside if you were doing something that involved hopping one legged across the obstacle course or walking blindfolded through a forest with only a water bottle and a knife or hiking up the side of a mountain without any marked trails and an eighty pound backpack.” Genji replied around a mouthful of onigiri. “I’m not twelve anymore, Hanzo.”

“Clearly.” Hanzo replied dryly and poured himself a cup of tea from the thermos. “You’re attracting curious spirits with the power of your abs, by the way, close your shirt.”

“Let them get an eyeful, it’s a glory they’ll never see again once this weekend is over.” Genji propped himself up on his elbows and accepted the cup handed to him. “You could have had any dozen or two of our ass-sucking relatives up here with you right now, you know.”

“I know.” Hanzo contemplated the contents of his own box, all of which had seemed quite appetizing only a handful of hours before. “And if I’d wanted my ass sucked all the way there and back again, I would have asked one of them.”

“Of course it’s much more enjoyable to torture me.” Genji tossed off his tea and lay back again, twitching his legs out of his lap.

Hanzo discovered his appetite taking an abrupt and total leave, and closed his box. “You could have said no, and I would have respected that.”

“But mother wouldn’t have and, honestly, even dragging myself up the side of a mountain and spending the weekend in a place without wifi or running water is preferable to putting up with her in full blown passive-aggressive dragon-mama mode.” Genji pulled out his phone. “Holy shit, I’ve still got connection. Who would’ve guessed?”

“I’m reasonably certain they’ve got running water now.” Hanzo replied, carefully stretching his own legs before the post-exertion cramps could set in.

Genji snorted and looked up from the screen. “Good, because standing under a waterfall is absolutely not going to cut it when it comes to bathing tonight. Why did you even ask me, you knew I was going to hate everything about this. Honestly, Hanzo.”

Hanzo stretched the length of his left leg and addressed his words to the blanket. “Because you’re my brother and, no matter what happens in the next few days, after this everything is going to be different, one way or another.”

Genji was silent for a long, long moment. Hanzo closed his eyes and concentrated on the sensation of his muscles loosening, the birds twittering among the trees, the rustle of small forest creatures in the undergrowth beyond the trail, the spirits singing their wordless songs on the breeze as it curled around the shoulder of the mountain. Then, in a tone positively freighted with malicious glee, Genji whispered, “You’re afraid.”

Hanzo sat up so quickly his hamstrings complained. “Really?”

Genji pointed at him and outright cackled in perfectly spiteful amusement. “You are. Hanzo Perfect In Every Way Shimada is fucking scared. I never thought I would live to see this day, never in a million years, hold still, I need to commemorate this moment -- “

Hanzo lunged at him but, as it turned out, Genji was just a hair faster and more flexible and rolled easily out of reach and to his feet.

“Dammit, Genji.” Hanzo growled and his brother laughed again, not even pretending to hide the mocking edge to it.

“Now that sounds familiar.” Genji snapped off at least a few pictures and tucked his phone away, eyes alight with venomous cheer. “Now I will always remember the day my excellent-in-all-things elder brother displayed a fleeting trace element of imperfection. My life is complete.” His grin slipped back a notch from punchable to merely annoying. “Okay, aniki, that was the best laugh I’ve had in ages so when this whole thing turns out to be the longest long con Uncle Toshiro and Grandpa ever ran, I promise I won’t make fun of you too hard, okay?”

Hanzo closed his eyes, breathed in peace, breathed out the desire to shove his complete asshole little brother off the side of the scenic overlook, and said, “We should go. We have a few more hours of walking left and I would like to be at the shrine well before nightfall.”

“But of course.”

Genji went to collect his pack and remained in an obnoxiously cheerful good mood for the remainder of the hike, undimmed by the sudden summer squall that came pouring down the valley that soaked them both before they could reach the travelers’ shelter at the base of the final rise, or the steep final climb itself. Hanzo chose to regard that as a blessing instead of a harbinger of worse to come primarily because his digestive tract had already tied itself into an impressively complex knotwork sequence and he rather doubted he could survive his circulatory system getting into the act. The sun was a handspan above the western ridge of the mountains by the time they reached the last set of stairs cut into the edge of the wooded plateau holding the dragon brothers’ shrine and found the priestess-shaman that kept it waiting for them at the top, beneath the torii that marked the boundary between the world as they knew it and the world that was yet to come.

She was almost impossibly tiny, her hair pure white and knotted into a bun at the base of her skull, her back deeply bowed and her face deeply lined with age, but the eyes that looked out at them were bright, a shade of brown so pale they were nearly golden, like those of their mother and late grandfather, sharp and knowing. She bowed in greeting as they came to the top of the steps, the westering sunlight gilding her hair, the sculpted wooden cap of the staff she leaned on, the almost impossibly snowy whiteness of her robe and shawl. “Welcome, young masters. It has been many years since the heirs of my clan have made this pilgrimage. We are pleased to receive you.”

Hanzo stopped on the topmost step and bowed deeply over his hands. “It was our honor to make this journey and our honor to pass the gate of the gods, to return the service of the clan to our ancestors.” He rose, and smiled. “It is good to finally meet you, great-grandmother.”

“Ah, child.” She reached up and cupped his cheek, the skin of her palm paper-fine. “Let me look at you. Toshiro told me a great deal about you -- “ The tip of her staff came around and struck Genji’s shins with serpentine speed; he yelped and almost tumbled back down the stairs and Hanzo just barely managed to swallow a laugh, “and also about you, Genji. Come, the girl who helps me will be making supper soon and you two should settle in…”

She set off on the path that led along the perimeter fence, away from the central lane to the shrine itself. There, tucked away in a corner and screened from view by its own fence and a thin stand of bamboo, was her elegant little house and garden, the stone path leading to the covered verandah passing through it. As the approached, the door slid open and their grandmother’s attendant -- a woman likely old enough to be their mother -- greeted them with a bow and helped her inside. “Girl, show my grandsons to their room and to the bathhouse. Grandsons, bathe. You smell like you just climbed a mountain. Then come talk to me and we will eat.”

[cornerverse-mlp]

I’ve mentioned my headcanons about the History in the Cornerverse-MLP world before, but I don’t think I’ve properly written it down. Well, I have but it was in a scrapped fic that was also an AU verse due to a mary-sue oc. So ‘Cornerverse-MLP’ is canon to ‘Cornerverse-MLP/Feria’, but ‘Cornerverse-MLP/Feria’ is not canon to ‘Cornerverse-MLP’. Squares and rectangles and all that.

Side note: Comics are not canon to Cornerverse-MLP, and neither are storybooks. EQG is 99% canon.  As the lore of the show is kind of contradictory, I’ve decided what to put in and what to ignore, mostly anything past the first few episodes of Season 5 are ‘pick and choose’ canon. Not just events, but the lore that is revealed(if you want to know why, send a message because that’s a different rant)  Plus there are some OCs I’m attached too so you can tear them out of my cold dead hands :)

Also, one of the ‘contradictory lore’ things is Hearth’s Warming, since it leaves out many things like, you know, Celestia, Luna, Discord, the Crystal Empire, etc. As such, I am going full ‘conspiracy theory’ on the idea of the whole story is a lie told to rewrite history. The ‘Founders’ were other ponies taken from History. Each was fairly important, important enough for history to remember them, but not for ‘founding a country’ or anything.

Anyway, let’s start at the beginning.

Origins:

Two thousand years ago, there was nothingness. Well, not completely. There was one thing, but he’s not yet important. But the world was cold and dark. Not even the night was as dark as it was, because there was no Night.

The First one, was Azura, an Alicorn of Magic. She came into existence. Just appeared from nothingness. The world was like an empty field. She had her magic. She could light her horn to see, not that there was anything to see. She could fly away, not that there was anywhere to fly.

The second was Mira. Like Azura, she just came into existence. She lit her horn, trying to give more light to the world. But as she did, a river appeared. Mira wasn’t sure how she knew, but she could feel more than one river. She could feel lakes and oceans far away but connected to the river.

The third was Flora. When she lit her horn, a forest sprung up around them. There were trees that bore fruit, and flowers that were just pretty to look at. Flora knew the differences. She also knew that they’d need more light.

Fourth was Sora. When she lit her horn, not only did she add her light magic, but she created a stormcloud. The lightning, while sparing, did give more light. The rain added to the river, and the wind felt beautiful in their manes.

The fifth gave them light. When she lit her horn for the first time, the Sun rose into a blue sky. Their world was full of light and warmth. Yet, after only a few hours she let the Sun go back down. They asked her not to let them go back to the cold darkness, and she did try to keep it up, but it was too hot. Her only explanation was ‘it wants to sleep’.

The sixth was a little different. While the first five were obviously ponies, this one looked just a bit different. Her horn was curved and her wings were translucent instead of feathers. The others waited to see what would happen when she lit her horn.

More creatures appeared. Unicorns, Pegasai, Earth Ponies , Crystal Ponies, and things that weren’t ponies like Dragons and Sirens and Zebras and Griffons and more. Six of each. There were even creatures that weren’t like them, not sapient.

The seventh one was even stranger. Unlike the sixth, he looked nothing like a pony. Well, maybe his face did a bit. Everything else about him looked as if he had taken parts from everyone else. He did not light a horn(though he had two). Still, they felt a change in the world. Maybe because he was the only one not afraid of the cold blackness that consumed the world when the Sun went down.

The Eight was another Alicorn, like the first five. She appeared just as the fifth was setting the sun. She lit her horn, and instead of being consumed by cold blackness, she created the Night.

Time passed. The creatures grew up and built their home. They called the castle Hearthstone.

Azura led a team of a few magically gifted creatures, including a Unicorn named Starswirl. They studied magic, experimented with it. They discovered the existence of the Elements of Harmony, and created gems that would channel the magic. They then began work on a bigger project: the Crystal Heart.

After years of it being only the Created ones, the first creatures were Born. They were the daughters of Starswirl and an Earth Pony named Frosted Cake. They were twins. Clover was first, soon followed by Smart Cookie.

As more children were born, they added more to Hearthstone. They also began to explore more of the world around them. They found more forests, but also fields and mountains. There were also oceans and deserts.

Eventually, as time went on, the Eight found out they were Immortal. As their friends aged around them, the only thing that changed about them was growing taller than most and magical manes for the six Alicorns. They buried their Family in what used to be Hearthstone’s garden.

They handled it differently. Some distanced themselves altogether, others threw themselves into what they had to do. The Mortals around them decided that the Immortals would be the Royalty of the land, as they were not only powerful, but also able to run a land for potentially forever, and would in time have the experience and wisdom to know what to do.

While the Immortals did live in Hearthstone, some had places they liked to visit often. Mira helped Sirens create a city under the ocean, and Sora helped create a city of clouds. In the year 500, Azura completed the Crystal Heart, and made an entire Empire out of crystals to use it to its full potential.

About seven hundred years after the beginning, something happened. Mira fell in love. It was a kind of love where she didn’t want to go on without him. So she didn’t. She gave up her Immortality for him. It was like time being unfrozen. But she was happy. Not only did she have her husband, but her daughter Platinum, a Unicorn and the first Royal Descendant.

Flora did the same soon after. She fell for a chef in the castle, an Earth Pony stallion named Puddinghead. Sora found two Pegasai lovers; a Guard Captain named Hurricane, and his second in command, a mare named Pansy.

The Sixth and Seventh Immortal both isolated themselves from the others, but in different ways. The Sixth left Hearthstone for a group of followers. The Seventh stayed, mostly keeping to himself and even boobytrapping his door should anyone try to get in.

Azura created a place to keep the Elements of Harmony safe, while still sending energy into the world. A crystal tree in the forest near Hearthstone. She designed a locked chest with no keys, putting a message of instructions inside should it be opened. Instructions to use the Elements without the Gems.

The Fall of the Crystal Empire:

Azura, like her ‘sisters’ before her, fell in love. She had a daughter, Lazuli, who took over as Princess of the Crystal Empire. Azura lived long enough to know her grandchildren, passing away after 900 years. It was less than a decade before the Empire disappeared.

That’s the version that was told for years. It’s not until five years after the Empire returns that they learn the full story. Though since this is chronological and stuff, I’ll write it here.

The story begins with three ponies. Obsidian and Emerald, the grandchildren of Azura, and Autumn, daughter of the Guard Captain. Autumn was a Crystal Pony, and Obsidian was a Unicorn, but Emerald was born not just an Alicorn, but a Crystal Alicorn. The three of them were close friends, always together.

They were close to Azura, especially Obsidian who wanted to follow in her hoofsteps in Magic experiments and inventions. When Azura died, her daughter Lazuli took the throne, and chose to have Emerald as her heir.

The trio found this a little strange, as they thought Obsidian would be a better ruler, despite not being an Alicorn. So they decided that when Emerald took the throne, they’d rule together even if she was the true ‘ruler’.

Unfortunately, things happen. Emerald and Autumn fell in love. While two mares being in love was a lot more accepted in Equestria than it is in our world, the ‘concept’ has had its ups and downs. It doesn’t matter if it was ‘up’ or ‘down’ now, as Lazuli was against it. She said that one of the Princess’s duties was to carry on the bloodline through legitimate heirs.

They wouldn’t let Lazuli stop them. The trio decided that they’d either convince Lazuli to make Obsidian the Heir, or find a way to let two mares have their own children. They worked at it. By day, Obsidian would excel at ‘royal duties’, while Emerald would purposely fail them. By night, the trio looked through all manner of magic books, including Azura’s personal collections. Obsidian pulled many all-nighters, since he was the only one of them who could actually understand the magic.

Two years later was their ‘cutoff’.  Once Emerald was formally crowned Heir to the Empire. Sure, they could look for spells even after, but still they grew desperate. Obsidian didn’t sleep at all leading up to Coronation Day. He spent the whole time in Azura’s workshop/personal library, only eating if Emerald had a free moment to bring him something.

He kept it up all the way up to the Coronation ceremony. It was then that he heard a voice whispering in his ear. It told him of ways to be the ruler Lazuli would allow, a way to get what he wanted. It would give him the power to do anything. All he had to do was agree.

In both desperation and sleep-deprived lack of judgment, he agreed. Obsidian blacked out. When he woke up, he was on the balcony. His parents were dead at his hooves. There was a crystal sword in his magic, it’s blade through Emerald’s wing joint. He was awake long enough to tell Emerald to escape.

Emerald ran, despite her wing hanging off her body. She didn’t know what happened to Obsidian, but whatever did that wasn’t him. She took as many Crystal Ponies with her as she could in her escape, barely managing to get out before magic sealed the Empire off. Unfortunately, Autumn was still inside.

They made it to Hearthstone, telling the Immortals of what happened. They left for the Empire, but came back with the news that the Empire itself had disappeared. Emerald didn’t know how she knew, but she was sure she’d never see her brother or her fiancé ever again. She never told anyone what happened to Obsidian.

Discord’s Reign:

Some do not handle Immortality well. The Seventh Immortal isolated himself more and more over the centuries. After Azura’s death, he only left his room to eat every few days. He didn’t even come out to help his ‘sisters’ fight for the Empire. He refused to sleep. The dreams of ponies long past were too painful, and the Dreamwalker herself would try to get through to him.

There was one who still managed to talk to him, though he didn’t realize it was an actual voice and not him talking to himself. The voice suggested things. Suggested giving up, faking the smile and laughter. Why not go all out? After all, Life and Death mean nothing in a world of Chaos.

Truly, what does one expect of the mental breakdown of a powerful, Immortal being whose magic always goes for the most Chaotic option?

Nightmare Moon:

There were only two Immortals left in Hearthstone. Four had died, one had disappeared, and one was turned to stone. The youngest Immortal was following close behind her ‘brother’.  Sure, she handled Immortality better, but there are other things to cause a breakdown.

A lack of respect. Her sister was ‘older’, so she must be ‘better’, even if their difference is less than a year. They began to fear her. They did not realize that when she entered their nightmares she was trying to help. They thought she made them. No one cared for the beauty of the Night.

Maybe that was the fault of the beginning. After all, everyone used to love the Night. It was the final freedom from the Nothingness. Yet only one who remembered the Nothingness was still fully with her.

That was a problem too. The Sun got all the glory, was loved by all. But most importantly, she ignored the Moon’s jealousy. She noticed, stars did she notice, but she didn’t think it would turn worse. She thought a few encouraging words of ‘you can come to me if you want to’ would be enough until she did.

Someone else closed the gap. Told the Moon things that were not completely lies. They loved the Sun more, and does the Sun not love the attention? Has she truly been by your side?

In the end, the Moon followed Chaos into madness. Hers was more literal, transforming into a Nightmare.

The next Thousand Years:

The Sun was alone. The additions to the castle in the last thousand years made it seem almost like a different place, even though the original castle still stood at its center. Still, that place held too many memories.

The forest around Hearthstone was becoming wild with magic. Then again, what did she expect? It was the literal beginning of the world, and the place where four Immortals were buried, residual magic infusing into the ground and making the forest stop listening to anyone.

So she left. She brought the more recent things with her, but she didn’t dare to move anything from the original Hearthstone. The only thing that ‘belonged there’ was her ‘brother’, still trapped in stone.

The forest had once been named after the castle, ‘Hearthstone’. Yet she felt it deserved its own name. It felt right. She called it ‘Everfree’, maybe as a wish for her ‘brother’ and ‘sister’, trapped because she could not help them.

And then she waited. It was all she could do. She waited a thousand years for a group of ponies to do what she couldn’t. To give her Family back.

Other notes:

Six Alicorns=Six Elements:

Azura-Magic

Celestia-Generosity

Luna-Laughter

Sora-Honesty

Mira-Loyalty

Flora-Kindness

Types of Alicorns:

Created- Alicorns that popped into existence. Essentially Magic given a solid form. Immortal unless 1. They give up their Immortality or 2. They are killed. Extremely difficult to kill.

Born- Ponies born an Alicorn. Must be a descendant of one of the Immortals. Might live longer than normal, but double a Mortal is the record longest. Despite their lineage, they won’t necessarily be magically powerful. (Side note of Alicorn Genetics: If you have a Created Alicorn Ancestor, you have the Alicorn Gene. It’s not really a ‘dominant’ trait, as the Gene does what it wants. It’s always passed down to the offspring, but there’s a 50/50 chance of it activating. If it does, then they’re an Alicorn. If it doesn’t, they’re whatever gene the other parent gave)

Crafted Alicorn: Ponies that were born something else and ‘ascend’ to an Alicorn. Usually magically powerful, as ‘ascension’ gives them more magic(in Magic Level Measurement, it gives a full level of Magic). Despite now being an Alicorn, their DNA does not register as ‘Alicorn’. They do not have the Alicorn Gene, and their offspring cannot be Alicorns.

Lineage: Because the other Royals are descenadnts of the Immortals

Cadence- Descended from Azura. Rightful Heir to the throne of the Crystal Empire(assuming Emerald’s Coronation happened before Lazuli died)

Blueblood- Descended from Flora. 

[engaxmedsalan]



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The Story of Prophet Hud

 BY: IBN KATHIR   SOURCE: ISLAMICITY  OCT 19, 2007 2 COMMENTS









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The people of 'Ad lived many years in the windswept hills of an area between Yemen and Oman. They were physically well-built and renowned for their craftsmanship especially in the construction of tall buildings with lofty towers. They were outstanding among all the nations in power and wealth, which, unfortunately, made them arrogant and boastful. Their political power was held in the hand of unjust rulers, against whom no one dared to raise a voice.

They were not ignorant of the existence of Allah, nor did they refuse to worship Him. What they did refuse was to worship Allah alone. They worshiped other gods, also, including idols. This is one sin Allah does not forgive.

Allah wanted to guide and discipline these people, so He sent a prophet from among them. This prophet was Hud , a noble man who handled his task with great resoluteness and tolerance.

Ibn Jarir reported that he was Hud Ibn Shalikh, Ibn Arfakhshand, Ibn Sam, Ibn Noah . (i.e. 5th generation of Prophet Noah) He also reported that Prophet Hud  was from a tribe called  'Ad Ibn 'Uus Ibn Sam Ibn Noah, who were Arabs living in Al-Ahqaf in Yemen between Oman and Hadramaut, on a land called Ashar stretching out into the sea. The name of their valley was Mughiith. 

Some traditions claimed that Hud  was the first person who spoke Arabic, while others claimed that Noah  was the first. It was also said that Adam was the first.

Hud  condemned idol worship and admonished his people: "My people, what is the benefit of these stones that you carve with your own hands and worship? In reality it is an insult to the intellect. There is only One Deity worthy of worship and that is Allah. Worship of Him, and Him alone, is compulsory on you. 

"He created you, He provides for you and He is the One Who will cause you to die. He gave you wonderful physiques and blessed you in many ways. So believe in Him and do not be blind to His favors, or the same fate that destroyed Noah's people will overtake you."

With such reasoning Hud hoped to instill faith in them, but they refused to accept his message. His people asked him: "Do you desire to be our master with your call? What payment do you want?"

Hud tried to make them understand that he would receive his payment (reward) from Allah; he did not demand anything from them except that they let the light of truth touch their minds and hearts.

Allah the Almighty states:  And to 'Ad (people We sent) their brother Hud. He said, "O my people! Worship Allah! You have no other Ilah (god) but Him, Certainly, you do nothing but invent (lies)! O my people I ask of you no reward for it (the Message). My reward is only from Him Who created me. Will you not then understand? And O my people! Ask forgiveness of your Lord and then repent to Him, He will send you (from the sky) abundant rain, and add strength to your strength, so do not turn away as Mujrimeen (criminals, disbelievers in the Oneness of Allah)."

They said: "O Hud! No evidence have you brought us, and we shall not leave our gods for your (mere) saying! And we are not believers in you. All that we say is that some of our gods (false deities) have seized you with evil (madness)."

He said: I call Allah to witness and bear you witness that I am free from that which you ascribe as partners in worship, - with Him (Allah). So plot against me, all of you, and give me no respite. I put my trust in Allah, my Lord and your Lord! There was not a moving (living) creature but He has grasp of its forelock. Verily, my Lord is on the Straight Path (the truth). So if you turn away, still I have conveyed the Message with which I was sent to you. My Lord will make another people succeed you, and you will not harm Him in the least. Surely, my  Lord is Guardian over all things." 1

Hud tried to speak to them and to explain about Allah's blessings: how Allah the Almighty had made them Noah's successors, how He had given them strength and power, and how He sent them rain to revive the soil.

Hud's people looked about them and found they were the strongest on earth, so they became prouder and more obstinate. Thus they argued a lot with Hud. They asked: "O Hud! Do you say that after we die and turn into dust, we will be resurrected?" He replied: "Yes, you will come back on the Day of Judgment and each one of you will be asked about what you did."

A peal of laughter was heard after the last statement. "How strange Hud's claims are!" The disbelievers muttered among themselves. They believed that when man dies his body decays and turns into dust which is swept away by the wind. How could that return to its original state? Then what is the significance of the Day of Judgment? Why do the dead return to life?

All these questions were patiently received by Hud. He then addressed his people concerning the Day of Judgment. He explained that belief in the Day of Judgment is essential to Allah's justice, teaching them the same thing that every prophet taught about it. 

Hud explained that justice demands that there be a Day of Judgment because good is not always victorious in life. Sometimes evil overpowers good. Will such crimes go unpunished? If we suppose there is no Day of Judgment, then a great injustice will have prevailed, but Allah has forbidden injustice to be incurred by Himself or His subjects. Therefore, the existence of the Day of Judgment, a day of accounting for our deeds and being rewarded or punished for them, reveals the extent of Allah's justice. Hud spoke to them about all of these things. They listened but disbelieved him. 

Allah recounts his people's attitude towards the Day of Judgment: And the chiefs of his people, who disbelieved and denied the meeting in the Hereafter, and to who We had given the luxuries and comforts of this life, said: "He is no more then a human being like you, he eats of that which eat, and drinks of what you drink. If you were to obey a human being like yourselves, then verily! You indeed would be losers. Does he promise you that when you have died and have become dust and bones , you shell come out alive (resurrected)? Far, very far, is that which you are promised. There is nothing but our life of this world! We die and we live! And we are not going to be resurrected! He is only a man who has invented a lie against Allah, but we are not going to believe in him." 2

The chiefs of Hud's people asked: "Is it not strange that Allah chooses one of us to reveal His message to?"

Hud replied: "What is strange in that? Allah wants to guide you to the right way of life, so He sent me to warn you. Noah's flood and his story are not far away from you, so do not forget what happened. All the disbelievers were destroyed, no matter how strong they were."

"Who is going to destroy us, Hud?" the chiefs asked.

"Allah," replied Hud.

The disbelievers among his people answered: "We will be saved by our gods."

Hud clarified to them that the gods they worshiped would be the reason for their destruction, that it is Allah alone Who saves people, and that no other power on earth can benefit or harm anyone.

The conflict between Hud and his people continued. The years passed, and they became prouder, more obstinate, more tyrannical and more defiant of their prophet's message.

Furthermore, they started to accuse Hud  of being a crazy lunatic. One day they told him: "We now understand the secret of your madness: you insulted our gods and they harmed you; that is why you have become insane."

Almighty Allah repeated their words in the Qur'an: "O Hud! No evidence have you brought us, and we shall not leave our gods for your (mare) saying! And we are not believers in you. All that we say is that some of our gods (false deities) have seized you with evil (madness)." 3

Hud had to return their challenge. He had no other way but to turn to Allah alone, no other alternative but to give them a threatening ultimatum. He declared to them: " I call Allah to witness and bear you witness that I am free from that which  you ascribe as partners in worship with Him (Allah). So plot against me, all of you and give me no respite. I put my trust in Allah, my Lord and your Lord! There is not a moving (living) creature but He has grasp of its forelock. Verily, my Lord is on the Straight Path (the truth). So if you turn away, still I have conveyed the message with which I was sent to you. My Lord will make another people succeed you, and you will not harm Him." 4

Thus Hud renounced them and their gods and affirmed his dependence on Allah Who had created him. Hud realized that punishment would be incurred on the disbelievers among his people. It is one of the laws of life. Allah punishes the disbelievers, no matter how rich, tyrannical, or great they are.

Hud and his people waited for Allah's promise. A drought spread throughout the land, for the sky no longer sent its rain. The sun scorched the desert sands, looking like a disk of fire which settled on people's heads.

Hud's people hastened to him asking: "What is that drought, Hud?"

Hud answered: "Allah is angry with you. if you believe in Him, He will accept you and the rain will fall and you will become even stronger than you are."

They mocked him and became more obstinate, sarcastic and perverse in their unbelief. The drought increased, the trees turned yellow, and plants died.

A day came when they found the sky full of clouds. Hud's people were glad as they came out of their tents crying: "A cloud which will give us rain!"

The weather changed suddenly from burning dry and hot to stinging cold, with wind that shook everything: trees, plants, tents, men and women. The wind increased day after day and night after night.

Hud's people started to flee. They ran to their tents to hide, but the gale became stronger, ripping their tents from their stakes. They hid under cloth covers, but the gale became stronger still and tore away the covers. It slashed clothing and skin. It penetrated the apertures of the body and destroyed it. It hardly touched anything before it was destroyed or killed, its core sucked out to decompose and rot. The storm raged for eight days and seven nights.

Almighty Allah recounts: Then, when they saw it as a dense cloud coming towards their valleys, they said: "This is a cloud bringing us rain!" Nay, but it is that (torment) which you were asking to be hastened! - a wind wherein is a painful torment! Destroying everything by the command of its Lord! 5

Allah the Exalted described it thus: And as for 'Ad, - they were destroyed by a furious violent wind which Allah imposed on them for seven nights and eight days in succession, so that you could see men lying overthrown (destroyed) as if they were hollow trunks of palm trees! 6

That violent gale did not stop until the entire region was reduced to ruins and its wicked people destroyed, swallowed by the sands of the desert. Only Hud and his followers remained unharmed. They migrated to Hadramaut and lived there in peace, worshiping Allah, their true Lord.

Reference:

1. Surah 11:50-57

2. Surah 23:33-38

3. Surah 11: 53-54

4. Surah 11: 54-57

5. Surah 46: 24-25

6. Surah 69: 6-7

From the book: Stories of the Prophets by Imam Ibn Kathir, translated by Muhammad Mustafa Gemeiah and edited by Aelfwine Acelas Mischler.

  Category: Faith & Spirituality, Featured

  Topics: Prophet Hud, Prophet Nuh (Noah), Worship (Ibadah)Views: 42239

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Older Comments:

KRIS MACPHERSON FROM MALAYSIA said:

Assalamualaikum,

To my brothers, the author and the editor,

Years ago, I encountered in the internet, a picture showing the discovery of an extra large skulls, head and bones of a human being in Saudi Arabia, near a province close to Yemen. The head was so huge, the one that I saw was about 1/8 the size of a football field. There was one view that it could be the body and head of a person who belong to the tribe of Aad. I wonder if you have heard any of those.

Wassalam,

()

MAUROOF FROM CANADA said:

thanks for giving this knowledge.you have done a great job i think this is from all the muslims our job is to convey the quran message to our fellow beings.people here are soft hearted innocent very intellegent .i beg them to read quran n see with with their inner hearts n ears .

()



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[zippdementia]

Part 31 Alignment May Vary: Ever Deeper

This post takes us to the second part of the tombs. My group is fast approaching the end and has gotten ahead of the posts a bit, so I’m going to not be as descriptive as the last post, in order to do some catching up here. See the map below for reference of movement around the tombs.

Cursed with a Purpose

Having cleared the trap in hallway 23 and having explored the rest of the tomb, room 24 is the next destination. I’ve made some changes throughout the tombs to better fit the high level of my party and some of the changes between 3.5 and 5th edition. For instance, last post I talked about the Mindrot Thrall in the fungal room. In the original campaign, this room is simply filled with violet fungus, a plant monster. Using this monster would have not really challenged my players nor would it have delivered (I feel) on the promise of the room’s premise, that you will be dealing with some serious infection in here. So I used the Mindrot Thrall to keep to the nature of an encounter, but with the added element of a risk of disease.

Similarly, room 23 was designed to be a fight against a couple stone guardians, a last minute drain on the party before they encounter the dungeon’s mid-boss, but it is not a very interesting fight and not one that would be enough of a challenge for my players to keep them engaged. So I turn once again to Tome of Beasts and keep to the nature of the original while putting in something a little more interesting:

This room is tall, with vaulted ceilings. A set of large double doors is set into one wall and next to it and across from it are two gigantic statues, one of a stout dwarven warrior, the other of a fanged wyvern, snarling at you with claws raised. Surrounding the staute of the warrior is a small treasure trove of weapons, over a dozen of them lying there in a pile. Karina, with your detect magic, you can see that three of them are putting off an aura of magic, as is the statue near them.

Tome of Beasts has a Guardian Statue that I borrow and tone down a little bit to make it not too deadly for my players. The big piece of it that I’m interested in is this interesting mechanic that activates when metal weapons hit the guardian. Its body is magically magnetized and players have to succeed on strength rolls after hitting it or lose their weapons.

Because I get bored with just using encounters to take pot shots at player’s health points, I am using the Statue Guardian here to accomplish something else. It is clearly a creature that is resistant to regular damage and so those three magic weapons laying around its feet become very enticing to pick up and use. But two of them are cursed, only the third is a normal magic weapon: 

The Weeping Moon +1 Magical Scimitar, requires attunement, cursed When the person attuned to this scimitar deals the final blow to any creature, or when they roll a 1 or a 20 on an attack roll, they begin to weep blood and are blinded for 1d4 rounds. The attack does not have to be with this weapon in order to trigger this effect. The Weeping Moon was the scimitar of a desert prince who murdered his brothers in order to claim the throne of his land for himself. Afterwards, distraught with his actions, he cursed himself to cry tears of blood for the rest of his days, so that he may never forget the sadness of slaying his own kin. This scimitar bears the prince’s mark, that of a crying moon.

Battleaxe of the Brave +1 Magical Greataxe, requires attunement, cursed While attuned, the bearer must use only this weapon to attack when making a melee attack. The bearer will never use a shield and he must start his turn by using a movement action to move within 5 feet of an enemy or as close as possible. While he is attuned to this weapon, he is immune to fear. This mighty axe is shaped so that it looks like the blades are erupting from screaming mouths. Barbarian Kings of old passed down the secrets of forging these axes through their descendants, with strict instructions to never reveal the secrets to any that were not of the bloodline. These instructions were magical in nature and when eventually one of the bloodline betrayed the secret, the power of the axe turned to a curse, forcing those who wielded the axes to dive directly into combat, where many of them died against impossible odds. It has become a badge of honor to wield one of these axes for a long time, as it shows that without a doubt the bearer has survived the greatest odds.

Runic Spear Magical Spear, requires attunement by a class that can cast magic While attuned, the bearer gains one extra level one spell slot. When used against Demons, the spear gains +2 to attack and damage. This spear is covered in archaic runes and designs. It and its fellow spears were forged by the Wizards of the Brotherhand of the Crystal Star during the Magi War, when the demonic Helghast infiltrated the lands of men and disguised themselves in positions of political power throughout the land. These weapons were instrumental in scrying the demons out, as they could not abide even the touch of the cool steel.

I liked cursed weapons which trade power for pain—forcing players to change strategies or work around status effects in order to keep using these power house weapons. The purpose of these weapons is to mix up our game a bit, force them to think differently about combat, and also to potentially make one of my more fighter-focused characters (Abenthy as a Fallen Paladin or Tyrion as a Battle Bard) to drop their shield. Both of them have ended up through a fortunate combination of magic items with high ACs, and this is part of an unobtrusive strategy to lower this just a bit to make some of the upcoming fights a little more even sided.

Interestingly, they almost skip the fight altogether! When they first encounter the Statue, Tyrion casts dispell magic on it, and it critically fails the save, sending it into a torpor for ten minutes. They could, at this point, skip the magic weapons or grab them and run to the next room, but I play a very gritty fantasy game with a lot of potential danger and the players have taken this to heart. It’s a cool moment: in-character, they decide that the risk of moving on is too great, and they fear that the weapons may set up another trap, so they leave the area, take a long rest, and then return. This time, the dispell magic spell fails and they are forced to fight. They win by taking the magic items and using them, ultimately becoming cursed as above: Tyrion grabs the axe, Karina takes the scimitar, and Abenthy takes the spear. Tyrion, in particular, sees a cool character change because of this, more on that coming.

Overall, it’s one of those awesome times where the players are as wary as their characters and the result is a melding of player reaction and character reaction. The decision makes sense, then, not as a meta-decision made by players trying to break the game but as characters reacting to a situation that feels like it contains very real danger of death.

Vulnerability is something I like in Dungeons and Dragons. As a player, it was part of what kept me connected to my in character, because I was feeling the same trepidation they might feel wandering into an unknown forest/dungeon/haunted castle/what-have-you. I’ve tried to maintain that feeling of vulnerability in my games even as the characters have leveled. It’s a tough balancing act: you don’t want your players to feel forever powerless, as if levels don’t matter, but you don’t want them to feel like gods curb-stomping every dragon they come across, either. The challenge has to increase as they level or else the game (at least its combat) becomes bland and predictable. It’s like a video game: the hardest levels are often at the end.

I try to keep that balance by throwing in a mixture of enemies from various CRs and by creating overly hard fights with some easy outs to be discovered (like Dispell Magic to quell the statue, or the traps being used against the Skele-Pede). My philosophy is that a fight should never just be easy to roll your way through. It can be made easy by intelligent and clever use of character abilities, though. Because isn’t that the point of leveling? Not that you outclass your opponents by nature of being a higher level but that you gain skills and abilities that give you more options in combat, thus allowing you to outclass your opponents by nature of what you can do (like Karina’s use of Cloak of Darkness, or Abenthy casting magic weapon on his sword to bypass resistance). At least, that’s what I think makes leveling interesting. Increased damage and all that is already built into the system, but it is the abilities and new tactics that I think make the game stay interesting. A higher level game should get more complex, perhaps even more deadly, as the players take on greater and greater threats and have to use everything at their disposal to conquer them.

As for seeing how far they have grown, well, I have a scenario planned after this dungeon for the players to truly see just how far their levels have actually taken them, when they are tested against some old foes... but let’s keep that secret for now.

Dead Asleep

This room is covered in runic scribings, dwarven writings etched into the walls. A large stone dais in the center of the chamber bears an ornate sarcophagus, and three huge stone chests are placed around the walls. The chamber is extremely cold, however, and frost clings to everything. The chill goes right down to your bones, filling you with a vague unease.

The final room of the false level of the tomb is room 25. Here, Haggemoth has trapped the soul of a Dwarven warrior to act as guard to his real tomb and to make anyone who makes it this far believe that they have defeated Haggemoth and claimed his treasure! Unfortunately for them, the treasure is fake—bits of rusted iron and copper and bronze set with a powerful illusion spell to appear to be +2 and +3 magic weapons, shields, and coin. The scrolls are all rotted blank parchments, similarly illusioned, and the potions are rancid vinegar. The Dwarven Warrior is under a geas to not speak his true name and to force back all who would come here. In the tomb’s history, no one has yet made it this far, and so the warrior has been asleep for a very, very, long time. He is not happy at being awoken, which entry into the room does.

His first action is to use his terrifying howl to age the characters with pure fear. This is an “interpreted” version of the ghost’s ability out of the Monster Manual: it frightens the players if they fail the roll. Now, if the players fail the roll by too much, then they age rapidly. I love DnD 5, but I miss a couple things from Pathfinder, like touch attacks, and ability score hits. As a pathfinder player I remember nothing struck terror into me quite like having an ability score drained (not least because of all the math it forced me to redo on my character sheet). One thing I do love about 5th Edition, though, is that it leaves itself open to interpretation in many areas. Like, what does aging actually do? Well, I decide it does ability score damage: -1 to all ability scores for every certain amount of aging inflicted. And as it happens, Tyrion and Abenthy both fail the roll, Abenthy almost critically so.

“Oh father below,” Abenthy says, invoking his devilish dad, as he stares at that critical one.

Now that Tyrion has his Battleaxe of the Brave, he is immune to fear effects, so he is safe from this aging. But they watch as Abenthy suddenly ages forty-five years in a moment and his stats drop by two for each ability score. The players spring for an inspiration die to reroll the save and this time... well, Abenthy is still frightened, but the aging effect doesn’t occur. It shakes everyone up, though, which is perfect for a ghostly encounter. A moment later, the dwarven spirit rises from the sarcophagus, a vengeful spirit tasked with defending this place, and attacks them.

The battle is nicely cinematic. The ghost uses its flight ability to hover out of reach and pass through objects while still trying to frighten the companions into submission and drain their life with his icy touch. Karina uses her scimitar and her height to slice at the ghost as it flies over her. Tyrion uses his magic and leaps all over the place, getting in strikes where he can. And Abenthy uses his magic spear as a javelin, throwing it and briefly impaling the spirit against a wall as the magic of the spear locks him briefly in the material realm.

Ultimately, despite the rough start to the fight, they defeat the ghost without too much trouble and believe that they have accomplished their goal and beaten Haggemoth!

Stairway to Hell

... of course, they haven’t. Karina is the first to question the deed: “That ghost had a beard,” she says. “Haggemoth didn’t. He was known as the beardless dwarf.”

“Maybe he regrew it as a spirit,” Abenthy says.

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Karina answers.

Moments later, Tyrion finds the secret passage behind one of the chests and the stairs heading deeper. It is not an easy roll and frankly I’m glad the players make it, because the other option is they cart all that loot back to the entrance of the tomb where it all turns to rust and dust and then they have to walk back in.

Seriously, in that case I might have just had Xaviee find the tomb entrance instead. Or called the adventure over and moved on to the next phase of the adventure. I like the story behind these false tombs, that they are the ultimate trick to turn raiders away, but in practice it’s not very satisfying, at least not for the main quest dungeon. I didn’t like it in Tomb of Horrors, either. At best, the players feel like they beat an underwhelming dungeon and final boss. At worst, they leave, and then have to travel the dungeon again—either frustrating, if it repopulates with monsters, or pointless, if it doesn’t.

In any case, the players move on and descend. Behind them the door closes shut and locks them in the second part of the tomb. They have left behind some of their weapons and armor, trading them out for the +3 and +4 shields and armors and weapons they found. Of course, these are actually just rusted pot metal disguised to look like magic items, and they will find this out soon enough to their dismay during their first combat in the lower half of the tombs. This is a trick I’m okay with—for one thing, it rewards caution. Had anyone thought to “identify” the items as they took them, they would spot the trick. And if they stopped to think why +4 weapons might be guarded by a relatively weak guardian, they might be more wary. But it is also very in character to take the items. I suspect Abenthy’s player may even have caught on to the trick, but as he has said a few times in the adventure, “Abenthy is not very bright.” He plays him accordingly—gullible and singleminded to a sometimes severe fault.

As they descend, Tyrion suddenly hears a voice whispering his name. He turns to the others and asks if they said something, but they just look at him strange. Xaviee, still with them, asks what he heard, but Tyrion just shakes his head. When they reach the bottom of the stairs, a passage extends to the north and the south. And coming from the south, Tyrion hears the call again. This time, he chases after the voice, ignoring the calls of his companions to halt or come back.

His chase brings him to a door, a door which emanates an aura of power and which is carved with runic devices and (his bardic training easily translates them) warnings in multiple languages. It’s a big “DO NOT ENTER” sign. Tyrion kicks open the door and strides into a strange room.

The room is small, and unnaturally silent. At the north end of the room is a crystalline case containing some kind of parchment, while to the south there is a huge hunk of obsidian, taller than a man, floating within some kind of magical circle inscribed on the floor in adamant. In the center of the room is a small pedestal upon which sits a brass bell hanging in a wooden frame. A small mallet is chained to the bell’s frame. 

Karina, Xaviee, and Abenthy soon catch up. They try to shout at Tyrion to come out of the room, but their voices will not sound in the soundless room. 

“We need to pull him out,” Abenthy tells Karina. She agrees and goes in. Tyrion is standing by the crystal case, looking intently at the scroll inside of it. Karina sees it and her eyes go wide, as it is written in infernal. “It is a contract,” she tries to say, but of course her voice will not work here. But she is right: she has recognized the writing of a demonic contract between Haggemoth and a Herzuo demon by the unpronounceable name of Uhr’khcorgh’hyacch’kc.

Tyrion is already moving. He goes over to the table and strikes the bell with the mallet. It shatters the silence spell in the room with the bell’s sharp DING, which continues to echoe around the room but which is quickly drowned out by the horrendous screams of rage coming from the obsidian. Karina clasps her hands over her ears and screams at the halfing: “TYRION! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

In answer, Tyrion steps up to the magical circle and casually wipes away a chunk of it. There is a mighty crack and the obsidian shatters. Something black and ponderous emerges with a smell like all the garbage in the world was trapped with it in the rock for a hundred years. It bellows...

WHERE IS HAGGEMOTH? I WILL KILL I WILL TEAR I WILL RIP I WILL EAT HIS SOUL

But Tyrion smiles, and then he pronounces the unpronounceable name. 

The others are not sure exactly what happens next. The half formed demon grabs Tyrion in huge hands and lifts him. Xaviee draws his sword. Abenthy steps forward. Karina backs away, back towards the crystal case. And then the shape is gone, Tyrion is kneeling on the floor inside the magic circle, and there is a smell like sour sulphur in the air. Karina looks back at the case and sees with horror a new name being added to the contract: Tyrion.

In truth, my player has just won a mental battle with the Herzuo, forcing it to lend him its power. This is part of a planned multi-class that Tyrion wished to do, becoming a Bard/Warlock. As it happened, the inner sanctum of Haggemoth included an optional room with this demon encounter. It is supposed to be something the players have to work hard to get into, and then should avoid like the plague after finding it. It is more there for fleshing out the setting and history building of Haggemoth than as a prize—more on that next post—but it is such a good fit for where my player wants to go that I commandeer it for the level up purpose. The mental battle I improvise on the spot, and it is mostly a set of wisdom rolls. Looking back now, if I were to do it again, I would actually have the players fight the Herzuo to have to subdue it, or at least weaken it enough for Tyrion to conquer and force to do his bidding. That would be more dynamic. But at the time, I decided I didn’t want to impede his progress at all towards a level up and anyway Herzuo have the bad habit of making a party very dead, even one as strong as my players. A couple unlucky rolls and he would have them, especially as the armor they are wearing is secretly rusted junk. Except Karina, who kept her Mithril Chain Mail shirt. Abenthy still has his blackguard armor, too, but his shield is gone, discarded in favor of a +4 tower shi—well, it’s actually a big pot lid, but he doesn’t know that.

In any case, now that Tyrion has joined them in a level up, the party moves on, heading back north along the passage until they come to a set of massive double doors, doors that can only be opened with a certain key taken from around Raiden’s neck, which he himself stole from the Tomb of Udo the Grey.

The doors to Haggemoth’s inner sanctum open for the first time since he himself closed them, ages ago. And far away, in Ottoman Dock, the curse on Zennatos is lifted and the old adventurer suddenly sucks in a breath of fresh air and realizes that his strength will return to him, at last.

Next time, the conclusion to the mystery of Haggemoth, and the beginning of the end.