#like. this story has been Getting people for decades or centuries or MILLENNIA and yet STILL i’m surprised

[starbuck]

reading and watching “classic” books and films is such an interesting experience because, before you get into them, when you only know them by name and maybe the vaguest plot outline, they’re intimidating and stuffy and up on a pedestal, but then you finally take the leap and check them out and realize that almost every story that’s achieved such a legendary level of popularity did so because something in its emotional core reached out and grabbed a lot of people by the throat and you are NOT immune.

[hallowed-nebulae]

future is past is present

[ @beastenraged ignore the fact that it's 12:43 when i post this. i finished this so y'all are gonna see it. have some references to friend's OCs as well.]

[nyx tenebris belongs to @voidgearr. aria fiore and linaria "ves" fiore belong to @void-feather. Seren Lleucu belongs to @ephemxras. technically these are all alucinari au versions of these ocs, but credit is due where credit is due.]

He's watching again. Watching, because one can never know what will go wrong when you've got two versions of Ruse fighting. (Especially because. . . it's Ruse. Who knows what kinds of things she can break without knowing.)

There are others here. As always. It's a new fight, a new face against one nearly identical (though -- this other Ruse, the Daymare's Fluorescence, seems a bit less healthy. Older, for one. Does she have the same chronic illness as the Mirage Arena's Radiant Nightmare? Has it been flaring up more? Has she been letting herself rest?). Faces that Riku knows, faces he's seen once or twice or faces that he's long-since memorized. Roxas announces the matches, a play-by-play commentary as he always does.

There's Queenie in the crowd, Riku notes, with Seren standing beside him, and Ves and Aria (in her Darkling form, rather than Pink Possessor -- understandable given the crowds) a small bit further back.

(And, of course, there's Nyx making his way through the crowds, but Riku is going to ignore Nyx for now and focus on more immediate things. Like the Xion -- black hair, similar to the Xion he knew but of course not the same -- sitting nearby.)

Riku turns to look at her -- and something in him tightens. There are tears in her eyes -- unshed, but still tears. It aches to see her upset like that (it aches to see any replica upset, any Riku or Replica but especially Replicas or Riku), and Riku folds his wings back, moving a bit closer. "Are you alright?"

She swallows, dabs at her face to get rid of any tears. "Yeah, I just. . ." She looks. . . so sad. And lonely. "It's fine. I miss people back home."

Riku knows that feeling -- a soft, understanding noise leaves him. "I understand. It can be difficult to leave what you've known behind." He's not aware of the story behind this Xion, Xehanort, this Ruse. But. . . they've ended up in the Mirage Arena some way or other, and he knows that feeling. That confusion, uncertainty of suddenly being in a new place. (Whether they're permanantly here or not is irrelevant, really.)

She looks at him, that Xion. Then asks. "Why are you so different from the Riku we know? You feel. . . like a different person entirely."

Riku freezes.

Of all the questions, it's that one to be asked, hmm?

"That is. . . a long story." He settles on. "It's not one many ask."

Still. Even with that vague answer, she looks at him expectantly. And perhaps it's the air of the evening -- perhaps it's the fact that it's Xion, or a version of her, a version of that sister of his. And perhaps it's that -- it's been long enough. Decades. Centuries. Millennia, even. Those who knew him as that broken, confused, tired boy are gone now, all except for Roxas and Genesis (the latter of which isn't here yet -- won't be, for some time, but his future is Riku's past, and like many things in the Mirage Arena time is nothing more than a vague guideline).

Riku sighs. Settles, more, lets his wings loosen and relax. Tail-tip flicking against the ground, like a cat's might. "To be entirely honest," he begins, "my name is Riku, but I'm more like your Rook than your Riku." And then, to be sure she doesn't misinterpret, he adds, "I'm a Replica. I. . . switched places with my worldline's Riku, and thought I was him, and eventually ended up here. Everyone assumes I'm a variation of him -- which, isn't technically untrue, though it isn't the way that they think."

There. That's a palatable-enough summary. Cut out the bloodshed and face of a dying boy realized just-too-late that he was the real one and not an illusion. Cut out the confusion and twisted tangled memories and question of identity. Cut out the way that Riku had fallen apart and broken entirely when Genesis found him, and later Roxas, and carefully fitted the broken pieces together until Riku was a functioning being again. (Being a happy person took a lot longer. But still. Genesis put a lot of effort into it. There is a reason why Riku and Roxas mourned when Ultimeccia slayed him and overthrew him. There is a reason why Riku and Roxas are so quick to look at Ven and his twin, these two children that Genesis adopts, these two children that Genesis had talked so fondly of back when he'd still been alive. Back before his large, feathered wing turned from glossy iridescent raven black to pale ashy gray, before he had died. Past and future all tangled and twisted around.)

Riku offers this other Xion a small shrug. "It doesn't really get talked about much, and I'd appreciate if you don't go shouting about it to everyone. We're all allowed our secrets, mundane as they are, yes?" He gives her a fanged smile. She sees no danger in it. (Good.)

The fight ends. Roxas' voice calls over the cheering of the crowd, announcing the winner. Oh, it's the other Ruse. The older one, more scarred one. (She won't stick around to stay for more fights, won't stay to cement her place in the Mirage Arena. This Ruse -- and Xion, and Xehanort -- is only a visitor. Riku's learned to feel for these things, in the many years he has lived here.) "That's your friend who's won." He comments, to the black-haired girl beside him. Mirror of his once-sister. "Shall we go congratulate her?"

He stands. Begins making his way through the crowds. Eventually meets Nyx.

"Hey Riku!" Says the man (young only by relativity), slinging an arm over Riku's shoulder. "Guess what?"

Riku hums in response. Lets Nyx sweep him up in idle chatter about what this person did or what that person said, about what the Starseers were up to that week, and so on. Mundane things. Things that keep Riku just a bit too connected to the Mirage Arena to ever fade away or die, just as Roxas is too connected to the Mirage Arena, the way that so many others who had been alive in their time had done.

(That is how the Mirage Arena works, after all. If you connect yourself to it -- if you are tied to it deeply enough -- then you will live for as long as it exists, unless someone is to kill you. Unless you are disconnected enough that you fade. And that is why Riku lets himself be tied to his desk and his manager job, why Roxas ties himself to his announcer job, why Axel keeps himself busy with maintaining the little details. Tied to the Mirage Arena like this, they live forever. And it's only slightly lonely.)

Riku spares half a thought for that Ruse and her Xion and Xehanort -- but Ven and Vanitas will find them, and the three will be guided around to wherever they are led. Ven and Vanitas will find Genesis, Riku is sure. Either by Sephiroth's guiding or by Genesis' own first visit to the Mirage Arena.

(And if Genesis does appear in the Mirage Arena for the first time in his present, well -- Riku and Roxas will be there to greet him. Like Genesis had greeted them all those millennia ago, when he'd still been alive.

As much as it'll hurt to see Genesis again, younger and not knowing Riku at all yet. . . Riku finds himself looking forward to it. It'll be good to see the man who'd become almost like a father to him. To share kindness and a good introduction to the Mirage Arena, if nothing else. Riku can hope.)

[ nyx tenebris belongs to @voidgearr . aria fiore and linaria "ves" fiore belong to @void-feather . Seren Lleucu belongs to @ephemxras . technically these are all alucinari au versions of these ocs, but credit is due where credit is due.]

[feastfic]

Something quick something for fun, I've got a few more headcanons/ideas for Majin that I'm gonna spill now >:];

• To start things off, despite him becoming more of a fleeting cryptid in the sense that nobody sees him fully (or has in ages), he takes a liking to children. They're less likely to know the stories, rumors that people spread of him. It's a double-edged sword though; they're also the mostly likely to believe these tales.

• He's careful, and calculating in many of his actions, most of which he's accepted will always be seen as threatening. Yet he keeps an optimism about at least the kids — there's always more to meet, and in some sense it's like he's trying to prove to himself that he isn't a cruel or twisted demon like some people say (unlike some other hedgehogs.)

• And above all else, he's patient. He'll take as much ridicule as he has to for at least one person to become convinced (through someone young, heavens knows that he wouldn't be listened to) that he means no ill will. And that just because he's a god doesn't mean he exercises his power unfairly.

• He makes his mistakes for sure, and no matter how much he tries he can't keep a perfect record of harmlessness. It's just been a long cycle and process of understanding, and accepting that fact. Luckily for him, he's had many several hundred decades to adjust his craft. He certainly makes less mistakes now than from when he was still a relatively young god.

•Speaking of aging, he was never exactly "born". His father is Creep, who essentially made Majin from scratch to be some kind of successor or "lesser god". And he possesses a mere fraction of the power that Creep has. So imagine everything he's already capable of; creating and governing his own dimension with absolute power. Beside Creep's capabilities Majin's world would seem laughably small in comparison; they're that immensely vast that Creep is almost more of one of the elder gods from millennia past.

• The face is a mask.

• He doesn't get angry fast at all, but he is very protective of those he cares for — of which there have been only a few throughout his entire lifetime. Even amongst the most unique people there has always been someone similar to them in the past, but every millennium or so there's someone refreshing from all the personalities that Majin's seen. Now, if they're not scared of him like the others, that's a different story; but he keeps a close eye on these few interesting individuals and monitors their safety closely.

• One of the principle beliefs that Majin has is that being positive ("having fun") is one of the greater things that people can achieve. And with his thousands of years more experience than anyone else has had, he's very open and willing to allow people to get closer to this Fun by taking them with him into his own world. Ultimately he lets them go again, but has done this increasingly sparingly (namely because of the fact that he's still seen as a demon of terror, rather than a harbinger of joy. And for those mistakes he's made in the past.)

• He's very much so jaded to the sight of death and its aftermath; blood, gore, etc. People of centuries gone unable to understand his vision, being driven into madness and claiming their own lives because they couldn't handle the process of this "having fun" that Majin used to so readily show people.

• However. The sight of his own blood reminds him that he isn't entirely indestructible, perhaps he isn't even truly immortal. Generations to think about the possibility of his death, and still it made his quills shudder to imagine his own mortality.

• Theoretically, if he WERE to die, that forest he so called his own would go completely grey. No longer would it be that wonderful blue, nor would it be endless. It'd be a small, hollow, sad remnant of who he was, and what he was supposed to be.

[feral-goblin-24-7]

being immortal

being immortal must suck. Like imagine having to hide the fact that the reason you look late teens-early twenties but have terrible back issues is like, you’re cells just refuse to stop multiplying properly and your spine is still minutely adjusting after falling 10 stories out of a building in New York a couple decades back and you still have normal healing time on that, it just does heal, eventually. Imagine have to see the faces of friends who died over a hundred years ago in your dreams as your ptsd flairs up again. Imagine getting drunk with a history major and admitting you’re an immortal to him, and as he humors you, you go on about the war. He thinks you’re full of it until he realizes when you said “the war” you didn’t mean the Cold War, or either of the world wars, but both of them. Your memories run together a bit, since they took place only one identity apart. In fact you made a “Tom Kelly Jr.”, specifically because the fields in Europe thirsted for more blood, making you question if all the blood you’ve spilt over there over the last few thousand years really meant anything. War in this day and age is easier to hide the fact that you’ve fought in battle before, because people don’t swing swords, axes and spears like they have for the last couple of millennia. Imagine having to go back and get a new degree in a language you already know because of linguistic drift. Imagine the standards for medicine are completely different than they were last time you practiced because of a fringe theory of a crazed person 400 years ago proved true. Imagine technology just baffling you at first but you still look really young so you force yourself to learn it to blend in because you’ve seen what happens when they catch immortals. You really know how Des destinées got its information. You know why the Catholic Church started burning people at the stake, because you can only die when you are completely reduced to ash. Anything less and your cells refuse to die, they just keep dividing, you just keep coming back. You can only see the same faces on strangers so many times, have the weight of so many years weigh on your mind so much, before you snap and loose all sanity. But here’s something humans don’t know. Eventually, the mind will heal. All wounds heal, mental and emotional as well. You can count seven times you’ve lost it all and been reduced to nothing before slowly clawing out of that pit after a century or so. After all, people still fear the wendigo. Sometimes you wake up and forget what era you’re in, sometimes you disassociate so hard you briefly flash back to a different identity, one you haven’t had since you “died” at the vents with the other soldiers in the gap, screams in Greek on the tip of your tongue. How god has an uncanny valley as well and you, a human that cannot die, and him, the being that made humans in his own image and the two differences were immortality and divine power, now watches you like you’re something to creepily close to him. But you remember your life as Icarus, and you do not fly to close to the sun anymore. Not because the heat of the sun melts the wax, but because no matter how strong you are you cannot flap wings long enough and hard enough to fly, and when you have wrought out every once of strength you have and you hit the ocean, still you don’t die. You sit on the bottom of the ocean drowning for years as your body works hard to heal the shattered bones under the pressure of the water. After you walk out of the sea massive changes to the physical characteristics of Poseidon happen and the myth starts to look like you. To many people get suspicious and you have to wander north to the tribes that you wonder if they are still there. You have a strong immune system because you’ve lived for so long, yet your digestive system weakens due to poisoning so many times over the years that you don’t know if you’ll heal up all the way and have to deal with the mild nausea for the rest of your innumerable days…

[swampgallows]

like for how many people bitch about warcraft’s writing, im also left just absolutely stunned at how poor the reading and analytical comprehension is for its fanbase. don’t get me wrong, wow’s writing definitely has its faults and has been derivative from its very inception, but by the same token its fans seem unable to comprehend any story beat that isnt pointed out in neon letters and shoved in their faces with full black and white stark rigidity. certainly the retcons are partially to blame for this, but even in isolated, fully encapsulated questlines and scenarios i see the fanbase nitpicking and bellowing that it doesn’t make sense while the very obvious themes and theses sail right over their heads.

warcraft is most definitely convoluted, but it’s not complex. it is rare that there is ever a moment in warcraft where the hero and villain are not clearly labeled, even if their motivations are obscured. the very few parts of wow that are left open-ended are generally due to neglect (or lack of time) rather than as moral quandaries with no definitive answer; the closest i’ve seen to any kind of ongoing debate is thrall and garrosh’s final mak’gora (and im not trying to be biased as a garrosh fan; this is an argument that has been raging since WoD and crops up again and again). comparative to that is the culling of stratholme, which has incensed (no pun intended) warcraft fans since the early 00s. never again will warcraft have a character as tragic but humble as arthas menethil, so carefully defined by his descent to corruption yet so strongly established initially as “our hero” that we are sympathetic to the burden of his crown. beyond that, wow’s story is pretty pedestrian, yet so much of what ive seen of the fanbase seems to struggle with basic literary devices or even the general concept of conflict. they want to plumb the potential emotional depths of millennia-old civilizations of elves and trolls, yet somehow cannot understand how faction conflict marred by centuries of bloodshed isn’t solved in a decade. they want more discussions of nuanced, delicate topics like systemic oppression, abuse, and mental illness, yet pan any sort of inclusion as in bad faith (especially if they fail to reflect an individual fan’s particular expectations or desires, rather than focus on the perspective being presented, e.g. celebration of saurfang’s “hinted at” PTSD in WotLK, yet disdain toward saurfang’s textbook symptoms shared by many real life veterans being depicted in fully rendered cinematics). 

i dont know if it’s because people hit “accept quest” and expect anything of importance to be acted out with a song and dance, or if they genuinely just don’t pay attention. audiences complained about having to read quest text, so more in-game npc dialogue was added. they complained about having to “sit through RP”, so once the technology was available, in-game cutscenes were added. then there were complaints that the outdated technology broke the immersion, so the models were reworked and cutscenes became pre-rendered. then there were complaints that our characters didn’t feel like they were part of the story enough, so even more technology was developed to partially pre-render cutscenes while also live-incorporating our character. all of these things were pioneered by world of warcraft. but then people skip the cutscenes, or watch them out of context on youtube, or try to piece it together months ahead of time from datamining, and then complain about holes in the story, or shitty writing, or get preemptively upset over pure speculation or even alpha/scrapped content. 

i have always been of the opinion that this is akin to eating a candy wrapper full of crumbs and then complaining it was bland, tasteless, and lacked substance. they complain about the story but do not actually engage with the story as it was intended: within the game. there are legitimate complaints about how much of warcraft’s story has been relegated to ancillary materials like books and comics, but this issue in my opinion has been rectified as far back as warlords of draenor at the very least. all supplemental media became just that—supplemental—but then the audiences complain that these books, comics, animated shorts, radio dramas, etc. “don’t tell any of the main story”. well, which is it? either major plot points should be contained in these materials so that there is “a reason” to engage with them, or they should remain supplemental, only for world and character building. 

part of wow’s handicap is in being continually built upon what is now an artifact, that it does not have the technological capability to keep pace with games and demands of 2022. but graphic-light text-based games continue to be popular (and made!) in the current year, so i feel that the vehicle of the storytelling is only partially to blame. ultimately, i am just mystified by how such a large (or at least loud) portion of the “fandom” seems to be comprised of people who do not actually engage with (or at least comprehend) any of its source material, and on top of everything else, actively hate the franchise. i have no idea what these people are holding out for or why they are even here, but it is really exhausting to be around people who are committed to misinterpreting or otherwise incapable of interpreting a pulpy and fairly reductive fantasy game. 

[clouds-rambles]

Birthday Love Letter

Happy birthday to one of my main comfort characters. I love you so much Xiao and I’ll do anything for you.

You and Xiao have been partners of millennia, as much as Xiao dislikes the constant, yearly, birthdays he can’t say no to you or your gifts. Also suspend your disbelief for some of these things lmao

Pairing(s);  Xiao x reader

Warnings; fluff, angst, hurt no comfort

Keep reading under the cut!

My love Xiao,

It’s a shame that I’ve broken millennia long tradition of bothering you on your birthday but as you’re aware our line of work can drive us apart for longer periods of time. And it’s likely you can’t really comprehend the pile of work I have right now in the office since Rex Lapis’ death. As much as he deserves retirement I am very tired of this constant influx of paperwork, I cannot wait to get back on the field again.

Anyway, enough about me. I hope you’re having a good birthday and I hope before reading this Goldet has already surprised you with the almond tofu you love to eat. I know, I know, you like making the tofu but take it as a gift from me while you wait for me to come back to Wangshu. 

I have another gift for you but you can’t receive it until I get back from my work. I promise it’s worth the wait though.

You know Ganyu keeps asking about you. Is it true that you haven’t seen here in the better part of 300 years? As much as I don’t like nagging you, especially on this day, you should really visit her. She talks about you like the children of Liyue talk about their older siblings. As cute as it is in foresight, in hindsight I’ve heard the same story about you three times since being back. And the kicker? I was there when the thing happened. Please Ganyu I’m begging I know the story, I know it well I was there.

Zhongli also misses you, he mentions how often Ganyu and I visit but you’re yet to go. It makes me a little sad, even if you just stop by for a cup of tea I think that will make him more than happy. He’s a mortal now Xiao, I would hate to see you so distraught if you didn’t get to see him before his mortal life is over.

Enough about me nagging. I’ll be home soon enough, as much as you hate to admit it I love your hugs and I’m dearly missing them. You won’t say you are but I know how you melt into my hugs. It makes me want to love and cherish you forever more.

You know I remember your first birthday we celebrated, do you? We had known each other for 100 years, which in reality is a short time, but that was my first 100 years being blessed with mortality. Everything I did was fast for no reason. Not the point. I travelled up Jueyen Karst to pick you a bunch of flowers after taking a decade to pry your birthday out of you and I presented them to you. I remember when we first started really opening up to each other you told me about how you had chosen to preserve the flowers. Do you have them still, or have they decayed completely? I don’t understand much about flowers so I’m not sure how long flowers keep. Have you kept other things I’ve given you. I have, if you look in our room in the Inn you should find most of the things you’ve given me. That’s our little secret though hehe. 

I should wrap up this letter before I get too engrossed and write you a books worth of letter. 

I love you Xiao, and I hope you have a great birthday and I hope you liked the tofu I made. I’ll see you soon

[name]

The last letter that he had ever received from you five years ago to the day. Five more birthdays he hasn’t spent with you. Five years in terms of immortals shouldn’t feel this long, some centuries have blinked past before he can often not find memories of random centuries. So why have these five years been so painful? Xiao has been alone before, not in a long time but he has done it.

Just the weight of your death weighs heavy on his shoulders, your death is much heavier than the others he’s collected. He had known you the longest, fought the most battles with you, loved you the most, cherished you the most...

Xiao remembers when he got word of your death. Two weeks after his birthday the ex-geo archon himself turns up at the Inn. Zhongli had made it clear that if the adepti wanted to see him or not was up to them, so seeing the ex archon before Xiao was more than baffling.

When the news was delivered that you were assassinated in your sleep by an unknown assailment sounded like a sick joke. And in all honesty it was just a sick joke until your funeral a week and a half later.

So many people turned up wanting to wish the now dead adepti well wishes and comfort in the afterlife. So many flowers, so many people, so much chatter. As much as he hates the latter two Xiao endured the service wanting to say goodbye like everyone else.

Xiao didn’t notice himself hyperventilating until Zhongli had embraced him and helped him settle his breaths. Zhongli couldn’t find himself to utter words of comfort for the person that Xiao has spent millennia with. Yours and his relationship was beyond mortal comprehension since you had spent many hundreds of generations together.

 Xiao shakes his head and wipes his eyes. If only he went to see you on his birthday. You were still alive on his birthday just tucked away in the harbour. If only Xiao’s aversion of crowds and people were what kept him away from you over the Rex Lapis crisis. If only he had-

The blaming of the self isn’t a healthy thing to do, Xiao had blamed himself for almost everything that resulted in your death within the first year of your death. There wasn’t much else to blame himself about.

Xiao had even contemplated joining you but was hit by the realisation that one you would want him to keep living and two if he dies there’s no telling what millennia long repressed, festering demons would unleash upon the country he has sworn to protect.

Xiao turns and notices that Goldet had snuck up when he was lost in self pity and thought and had left him some tofu, just how he liked it.

Maybe if he can’t be with you the least he could do is enjoy his birthday just like how you ‘made’ him do all these years.

Xiao cries tonight more than he wants to, and if Goldet heard his weeps, she doesn’t mention anything. 

[joontier]

“V” | part one

synopsis: You zinged. With the captain. Who was human. 

pairings: kim taehyung x female reader 

rating: R (18+) | genre: smut, fluff, angst, crack, minor angst (as of now) ,fantasy, (unknowing) enemies to lovers trope; captain! taehyung x vampire! reader, based off Hotel Transylvania and Girl’s Trip! | warnings: plenty of sexual innuendos, explicit sex) (groping, fingering, exhibitionism, 

word count: 13.1k 

g/n: im splitting this into a two/three shot because i really wanted to post this bc the coward in me is afraid that if i finish and post the whole thing this app might crash on me ajfoiawjefiajwfa n e ways, enjoy this first part and please let me know what you think! 

one. | two. | three.?

navi | m.list

Albeit recorded as one of the smallest countries in terms of area and population, the country of Tersnoa proudly boasts its multiple attractions and rich culture. As the nation’s economy depends heavily on tourism, Tersnoa is considered a hidden treasure amongst the genuine travelers - human and monsters alike. 

Santa Shelea - the monster capital of Tersnoa, is located beneath the lush woods of the small country, hidden to the human eye. Entrance to the city you grew up in is a privilege given only to monsters, though it wasn’t always like that. 

The city used to nurture human and monster liaisons, with relations surpassing mere diplomacy. Humans and monsters shared friendships that run deeper than their contrasts in physical attributes and their innate characteristics. It was a time when both parties realized they were so much alike in plenty of ways and respect was observed by all despite the differences in appearances and culture. Admittedly, monsters had more to sacrifice with these accords due to your more primal urges, but your kind made it work, for the sake of peaceful coexistence. 

The other party, however, did not seem to share the same sentiments for long. 

Santa Shelea was one of the few places left on Earth where monsters sought refuge as your kind of people were constantly drawn out of the places they used to peacefully live at by the humans themselves. You thought Santa Shelea was different - that these people you once even considered family wouldn’t push you away just like what the others did, but it wasn’t before long that the human citizens of the once-glorious city were going to change their minds. 

These selfish, pompous humans conducted an uprising to protest against the presence of monsters in ‘their’ land. It was an awful time to have grown up in, being called a ‘monster’ in all senses of the word, especially from those people you have even considered friends. The human citizens conducted an uprising in Santa Shelea, protesting the presence of monsters in ‘their’ land, ultimately disturbing the peace of the city. 

Humans burned your houses down to the ground, including your helpless mother in their supposed quest for peace. After having kept the harmonious liaisons for quite some time, your kind had gone back to your primitive instincts, fighting for your rights along with an army of beasts, hybrids, witches, and members of the undead. It was catastrophe epitomized, a day that no one wishes to relive. 

It isn't fair to say that the monsters emerged victorious when so many had perished, your mother included. Eventually, these mortal beings realized there were no match for formidable creatures and soon took their leave of the once prosperous city. Soon enough, humans became history to monsters and vice versa. 

Rebuilding your beloved city from scratch was no easy task, proving to be even more difficult with the agony that came with burying the past. To prevent any more man-made disasters in the future, the witches had agreed to cast a spell over Santa Shelea: that your city will forever remain invisible to the human eye. 

And it has remained such until the present, appearing as part of the picturesque mountain ranges Tersnoa has to offer. Far from the city and beneath the mountains of lush forestry, Hotel Tersnoa stands tall in the middle of Santa Shelea - the city where monsters thrive. If you could only speak for yourself, the city could easily pass as the eighth wonder of the world. 

Hotel Tersnoa isn’t the only legacy handed down from your great-great-great-grandfather (“G4 for short”, he’d offered one day, explaining that he had to ‘blend in with the now’). During the past millennia, he had also established a conglomerate of enterprises across the world. He’s even founded BloodHub, an international focus group centered on blood diseases and blood donations but you wouldn’t want to delve on the beginning and end of that. 

The responsibility of taking over the hotel had been passed on to your father since then and his ardency for the hotel was unparalleled, the bequest of the hotel has surpassed the original Hotel Tersnoa of which your grandfathers had initially envisioned it to be. Your father would spend hours on end surveying every detail, nook, and cranny of the beloved establishment, barking orders left and right. 

On top of being a father, he had busied himself with the responsibilities of a hotelier. Yet you knew deep down it was all but a façade to mask the void that your mother left in his heart. There were many nights you’d caught him staring into the distance in a secluded place, away from the hustle and bustle at the hotel. You loved your father dearly, wanting nothing else for him but the happiness he truly deserves. 

When you had turned of age, you insisted on taking over the hotel in your father’s stead. You knew that your mother’s passing had been a toll too great to bear for your father, especially in a place where he is constantly reminded of her. You wanted him to enjoy his life, to bring back the life in his eyes, however ironic it may sound as part of the undead. 

Your father had disapproved of the idea at first, reasoning out that it was too big of a responsibility to hand over. He’d told you that you were still young and he wanted you to enjoy your life while you still could. With your adamancy and endless prodding, you had finally convinced him to cave in. Besides, you’re pretty sure you’ll stay young for a long time.

As you have taken on the commitment of being the lady of the house, or hotel rather, your father spent his time moving from one place to another, taking on different identities so as not to reveal his real one. When you were just starting out with your duties as the new hotelier a few years back, he couldn’t leave you behind for a day, checking up on you every two hours just in case an emergency occurs. As if something drastic could happen when more than half of your customers are already dead. 

Years pass by and hourly check-ups became daily ones and then weekly afterwards, until he calls you from halfway across the world every once in a while, just to tease you if the hotel was just as great as he left it. You hadn’t actually seen him in a year, apparently ‘busy’ with his new business venture in Amsterdam.

That’s why when you pick up his scent nearby, you momentarily stop in your tracks. It isn't exactly unusual for your father to have impromptu visits, but you’ve learned that it’s highly unlikely for your father to drop by at such a time like this. 

He avoids peak season at Tersnoa like the plague, let alone a Friday the 13th special like today, in addition to the most anticipated week-long celebration of the hotel’s six hundred and sixty-sixth anniversary. Your father steers clear of times like these at all costs, always making up excuses to avoid the crowd and the stress that comes with it. So much for being the past manager.

You can’t really hold it against him, as it surely has been an arduous feat having run the hotel for almost two centuries. Even though you both laugh it off whenever you tease him about it, you know deep down he genuinely enjoys attending to his customers and making sure they get the best customer service. 

A scoff escapes your lips when you see the infamous Drac-cape nearing. You’re mildly tempted to ignore him altogether, not wanting to be involved with someone who wore something that has run out of style decades ago. Secondhand embarrassment is a thing, and it’s very real.

You have already lost count of the times you’ve told him to get rid of the ridiculous piece of clothing, yet he dismisses you every time, clinging onto the nostalgic feeling that comes with the cape. In consideration of your request, your father had gone so far as acquiring the services of a handful of stylists to make some alterations to the design, and you have to say you’re pretty impressed with the outcome. What else could you have said? The Drac-cape was old but gold. 

You’re about to greet him when a staff approaches you, holding out a folder with papers that require your signatures. Your father stands a meter away with a proud smile, watching you with fondness in his eyes. Once you finish with the papers, he calls out, “Ah, my princess,” arms wide open to greet you with a hug. He’s the first to pull away, hands still resting on your shoulders as he takes a good look at you. “You grow up so fast!” he says jokingly with a wide smile plastered on his face as he pinches your cheeks. 

There’s something off though, something suspicious behind that painstakingly dubious grin on his face. Smiling wasn’t something your father was fond of doing especially in public - too deep into portraying the character of the dark and brooding Dracula depicted in human children’s stories. Plus, your fangs sometimes get in the way, so smiling isn’t really a preferable option. 

Before you get the chance to ask about his sudden visit, another staff member approaches you, another folder in hand. Your father shoos you away before you object, dragged away by your duties for the millionth time tonight. 

“What is it now?” you ask the skeleton beside you, every sound of his movement resembling that of a marimba. “Your presence is being requested by Ms. Catherine at her party, Countess.” 

You’d almost forgotten your cousin Catherine had rented out the hotel’s rooftop to celebrate her engagement to her long-time boyfriend Jericho. You’ve already congratulated and apologized to her plenty of times prior to this day, already knowing that you won't be able to celebrate it properly because of the events being held at the hotel. With the hectic schedule you were running on, you just realized that you hadn't visited her all day. 

It had been a very long week, and you were tired to the bone, but the guilt of not being physically present at her party was gnawing at you endlessly. Almost reaching the point that you forgot your father was just in front of you mere seconds ago - and now he’s disappeared, again. 

Heeding to your cousin’s call, you decide to leave the area, leaving a puff of smoke behind you. You reappear the same way at the rooftop, just beside Catherine herself, who looked like she was hiding from someone, crouched behind a table. 

“Who are you guys hiding f-” Unable to finish your sentence with Cat shushing you, you crane your neck up a little, glancing at the others who were in similar dispositions. Weren’t they all too old to do this in an engagement party? Or was this a new trend Cat wanted to start? 

Your heart clenches nevertheless at the hilarious attempt to hide from whoever or whatever it is they were hiding from. It was quite the scene: an orange tentacle slithering its way to steal a cupcake by the buffet table, Barry Blob thinks he can camouflage as jelly, and Bigfoot was… well, let’s just say he was never meant for a game of hide and seek. The only monster one would have expected to be good at this was your uncle Griffin who was born invisible but he was always the one first spotted because he thinks wearing disguises like a hot pink wig (his choice of the day) would make him unnoticeable. 

And yet this is what they supposedly call ‘hiding’. 

“Is this the new norm during engagement parties? Hiding from the responsibilities of married life I see,” you suppress a snicker with your palm, and when Cat looks back at you to shut you up, she screams with such fright, alarming everybody on the rooftop. 

“Surprise!” Mandy Mummy, one of your closest friends, appears from the other side of the table.  

“You guys were meant to surprise me?” Your brows furrow. “Are you all sure? What’s the occasion?” 

Frankie Frankenstein emerges from behind the bar, throwing a suspicious look at you. “You’re kidding me, right?”  

You look at the others in the hopes of finding a hint behind what was really going on, but Cat beats you to it, extending her arms out as she beckons you closer, “I don’t know how a monster could possibly forget the day she was born, but we’re here now so, happy birthday my dearest forgetful cousin!” Cat gives you an extra slap on your ass in greeting. 

Realization finally hits you, reminiscing the short moments throughout the day that had hinted on your birthday. You did see a few of your staff nudge each other in your presence, but you only thought it was because they were hesitant to say something when they knew that it had been a hectic week so far, tight schedules and all. 

The rest of the crowd clear out, revealing themselves from their hiding places. Your father appears from one side, carrying a dangerously huge three-tiered cake. 

Mandy approaches first, narrowing her eyes at you, “Wait, you seriously forgot your own birthday?” Cat answers in your stead, “She did,” while she points a finger to her temple, reiterating her capability of subjective precognition to the rest of the group. 

“Uncle Drac! Can you remind me again how are we related?” 

“I wanted to ask the same thing!” Your father exclaims, grabbing a glass of champagne from a gargoyle waiter and trailing off to greet his friends. 

“Cat, you know I’ve been busy for so long, I don’t exactly have a birthday countdown every year to remind me of something that is...not really that significant.” 

“______, I know we’re practically dead, but that doesn’t mean you have to live like one.” 

“Why don’t you try living in my shoes then, hm?” 

“I would, if they were Valentinos.” Unable to rack your brain for a smarter response, you roll your eyes at her instead. The guests start singing happy birthday in chorus as they near you. The night continues on a light note, people wishing you another year of happiness and prosperity, likewise congratulating your cousin for her engagement and her soon wedding. 

As the conversation eventually moves on to wedding preparations, Frankie spills on the details of Cat’s plans for her bachelorette party. You weren’t so keen with the idea - not when this was the first time it had been offered by the people closest to you. 

Bachelorette parties were primarily a human thing - some sort of commemoration of debauchery as you had understood from Google when you had looked it up a few years ago. These kinds of celebrations weren’t exactly included in your traditions but judging by the photos you’ve seen online; you’re sort of glad this wasn’t classified as the norm in your world yet. 

Cocktail parties with half-naked bartenders? Masseurs drenched in vaseline? Topless butlers serving dinner? What was with having male nudity as the baseline for such an occasion? 

You didn’t think this was going to be a trend in the monster-verse anyways, as your kind comes in different shapes and sizes and these parties just might end up with one seeing a lot more than necessary. 

When you try to confirm the plans with Catherine, she just shrugs at you three, telling you all that it was going to be a surprise. You, Mandy, and Frankie groan in unison at her reply. 

“Impatient much? You still have the whole day tomorrow to pack your things.” 

“We’re going on a trip?! And you’re telling me about this just now? A day before our leave?!” 

“Yeap. How long does it take you to pack your clothes?” 

“Do you not realize that I have a whole ass hotel to manage? I mean it’s not like I don’t want to go but surely, all my responsibilities cannot be handed over in a span of twenty-four hours? Plus, our week-long six hundred and sixty-sixth anniversary special isn’t over yet! You could have at least told me two weeks ahead?”

Someone places a hand on your shoulder, and you look up to see your own father smiling at you. “You’re just like your mother, darling. Stop worrying so much!” 

“Exactly why I told him instead,” Cat raises her eyebrows at you as she points to your father. “Catherine’s right. So, I’ll be taking care of the hotel while you girls have some girly time by yourselves,” he says, taking a sip of his drink. 

“Are you sure you can handle Hotel Tersnoa?” Your father almost spits out the champagne as he looks at you incredulously. “Excuse me? Need I remind you who handed the hotel over to you?” 

“I know, it’s just… a lot has changed. We’ve expanded the hotel, there’s now a theme park, and a new island has just been opened… it can be a lot…” 

Your father dismisses your worries with a wave and a kiss on your forehead. “Nothing I’ve never done before. You’ll be back before you know it. What could possibly go wrong?” 

Right. Your father’s words echo in your head. 

What could possibly go wrong? 

“A cruise?!” 

You’d gone through hours of travel, your ass was hurting from the prolonged sitting, and Catherine had not once told you where you were headed, mouth zipped shut. And yet here you were, mouth agape in shock – the betrayal, the treachery, the deception.

Docked in front of you is a humongous white ship, honking its siren with all its might. You’re struggling with attempting to even comprehend the entire situation. Your cousin did not just drag you out of your hotel to another… hotel...on water. 

“Welcome to the Bermuda Triangle, where you’ll embark on a monster cruise of a lifetime,” announces a fish-man or man-fish creature clad in a sailorman’s outfit (well he was definitely a fish, but had the limbs of man). All your expectations for this trip had just been obliterated by a singular monotonous, unidentifiable being. 

“Psst. Why is your face like that? I heard the fare was astronomical!” Frankie whispers when Mandy squishes between you two, trying to get a brochure from a stall nearby.

Everybody knew Cat was more than willing to spend her money on anything she has set her eyes on (just like that exclusive collection of Hermes bags she has back home) and actively looks for other ways to spend her money (such is a costly cruise) so this trip didn’t surprise you as much as it did Frankie. You’re wondering though, how she found out about this cruise and why she intends to celebrate her bachelorette’s party here. 

If a disinterested man-fish was tasked to welcome its guests, well, you can tell there’s really nothing much to look forward to here. You just hope this cruise will give her money’s worth, or rather, at least half of it. 

“Hey! This looks amazing!” Mandy exclaims, flipping the colorful brochure over a couple times. “There’s even a waterpark, multiple dining options, bowling alleys, a theater…” 

“Sounds like everything you can do…at the hotel!” You can’t help the rising pitch of your voice by the end of your reply while your friends laugh at your indignance. Mandy and Frankie ignore your protests, while Cat whispers near you, “Wait ‘til you see the itinerary!” 

“Not you too?! Seriously though, I don’t get why you’ve chosen to do it here, instead of our own hotel…” you pout, head hung low. 

Cat pulls you aside, letting the other passengers move forward, “Listen to me darling, alright? All these months, years, all you did was work and work and work again, we barely had any time to hang out together just like the old times, so I figured a break from all your customer service shenanigans and let yourself be served for once. Take a vacation from running everyone else’s vacation. Is that alright with you?” 

Giving her an apologetic smile, you pull her into your arms for a tight hug. She wasn’t lying though when she said you had barely spent time with each other. Back when your father was still running the hotel, you’ve spent your early years always practically attached at the hip: from crying over your first boyfriends, through that emo high school phase, to pursuing several degrees, and to spontaneous trips halfway across the world when you were bored. 

“Plus, Jer and I intend to start a family as soon as we get married, so these girl trips won’t come by often all the more.” 

“You know I love you to the moon and back right? And will you stop making me feel like an aunt when I’m not yet one?! But, to be honest with you, that would be really cute though! Little you and little Jerichos running around… but you know, if Jer will come close to laying a finger on you, just say the word…” 

“We zinged, darling. You have nothing to worry about. Maybe you’ll find your zing on the cruise too.”

You roll your eyes at her fondly. As if. 

It doesn’t change the fact that you still have second thoughts about this trip. Begrudgingly, you climb up the stairs, sulking as you watch your friends and the rest of the group of the monsters huddle in excitement as they ‘oohed’ and ‘aahed’ at the cruise’s features.

When you spot a few of Hotel Tersnoa’s beloved patrons in the group that arrived with you, your heart sinks a little, refusing to believe a fancy cruise could ever question their loyalty to the greatest monster hotel known to your kind. Guess nothing ever truly lasts, even with the undead.

You had initially expected the ship’s interiors with no sort of identity at all, resembling an array of badly mixed cocktails, individually appealing yet when put together looks like a lousy rainbow (you swear it’s not the spiteful hotelier inside you that’s speaking). Much to your chagrin though, the imaginary cruise you had inside your head was definitely not the case at all.

The rest of the monsters behind you continue to marvel at the cruise ship. And, quite frankly, you too are quite impressed yourself, as much as you hate to admit it. You’d never though such modern, minimalistic styling could fit a hotel on water but this cruise just seems to carry it pretty well.

The moment you set foot on the carpeted floors of the cruise, you’re awed at what seems like a celebration of the beauty of mother nature with nearly all furnishings made out of organic materials and colors exhibiting earthly hues. To add to the experience, preserved palm tress line the corridors and chandeliers made of LED lights litter the varnished high ceilings. It was like land on water – if that made any sense at all.

Man-fish continues to lead your group through the hallways, until you arrive at the main deck, just as picturesque as shown on the brochure Mandy held onto earlier. You were starting to realize why your cousin was into this whole cruise.

The creature half your height goes on to share a little history on the cruise ship – known as the Legacy. Similar to your hotel, cruising lines was also a family business for decades but it was only this year that the owners decided to extend the lines from taking human passengers to making a whole ship exclusively for monsters.

As this was the vessel’s maiden voyage and with your group being the first batch of guests to ever board the ship, a welcoming event was to happen tomorrow night, and the creature mentioned something about having the official invites placed in your rooms along with your luggage.

Right on cue, the moment you lean on the railing to overlook the deck below, a marching band appears from the side – a whole parade of man-fishes clad in band uniforms and red and gold. There’s even a few of them who start doing acrobatics, the sight of which has Frankie giggling to herself as she comes up with the term ‘fishcrobats’. She claims she’s the punniest monster in the universe.

The lights on the deck dim suddenly, and bright bursts of color start shooting up from a deck above you, fireworks lighting up the evening sky. It was a breathtaking display, with the others spiraling upwards while the rest exploded into a thousand more sparks. The display continues for a few more minutes, until the band makes a drumroll and a spotlight moves across the length of the ship and points at someone across the deck.

“Woah…” Mandy gapes, words drawling out to a low whistle. “Who. Is. That.”

A man in an all-white dress uniform emerges from the upper deck. “Ahoy there! Welcome aboard! Bienvenido, Zdravstvuyte, Guten Tag, Bonjour! I am V, captain of the Legacy…” Applause follows as the fireworks die down completely. “And yes, I’m human, but don’t hold that against me.” The captain’s eyes scan the crowd until they meet yours. He winks.

As soon as the blonde-haired captain looks away, Frankie squeals in your ear. “He totally just winked at you!”

“No, he didn’t,” you retort, never having been so grateful for not having a pulse, else Frankie would have your heart beating out of your chest.

“Yes, he did.”

The two of you were about to start bickering about the wink when the captain continues, “I’m very excited to have each and every one of you onboard for our very first monster cruise!” As unusually graceful as nobody else could probably do, he slides down the railing of the stairs as if he were just gliding through thin air.

“You’ll enjoy gourmet dining, thrilling adventures, and non-stop entertainment – all on our way to our final destination: the lost city that isn’t lost anymore – Atlantis!”

Your jaw drops – not because Atlantis had ‘apparently’ been found, in fact, it was never lost in the first place; they just cut ties with surface dwellers because of damage brought about by water pollution. In your defense, it was the humans were uncontrollable with their despicable habits but you can’t really put the blame on the Atlantians. It was their home after all, and they only wanted to protect it. Just as you would with Tersnoa.

What truly surprised you though, was how he managed to snag a partnership with them when you had vying for one since you took over the hotel. Well, your business proposition was never officially offered on the table, but still! Perhaps, if you made an entrance as grand as him, you would have succeeded though.

It was getting crowded where you stood, and Mandy tugs at your hand, pulling you down to the lower deck. Begrudgingly, you go down the stairs, sulking as you watch your friends and the other monsters huddle in excitement. You even recognize a few of the other passengers who are likewise patrons of Tersnoa. Or at least they were, now. Guess nothing truly ever lasts, even with the undead.

He reaches the lower deck in no time, greeting the other monsters with a wave and a smile. When he nears and you get a better look at him, you feel your entire body shudder – in a strangely delightful way, wave after wave of this electric feeling reaching until the very tip of your toes.

It feels as if every vein inside of you is pulsating, despite being practically dead. You felt…alive. A million thoughts rush through your head, with your gut feeling telling you something that is almost unmistakable. You have never, ever felt this way before but your intuition tells you this is the exact embodiment of the stories you’ve heard so many times in your lifetime. Could it be? Was it even possible?

The sensation was inexplicable, foreign too, yet it felt right. Like… like it was meant to be, perfectly destined in the most peculiar of ways. Digging through your purse, you retrieve the small mirror inside made specifically for vampires. Taking a quick glance of your reflection on the glass, you take notice of your irises that have turned purple, almost lavender in color. Gulping, you return the mirror into your purse at once, confirming your suspicion.

You zinged.

With the captain.

Who was human.

Frankie nudges your shoulder when she notices you stiffening beside her. “Is everything okay?” You feel your friend’s blue, stitched hand land on your shoulder. Giving Frankie a short reassuring nod in response, she shrugs it off, not before hearing her mumble about noticing something different with your eyes. Thankfully, the manifestation of the zing comes in different ways with every monster specie, so Frankie wouldn’t get the hint that you’re in deep, deep trouble.

Years of listening to stories of your culture and traditions rush to your head, all with the same words resonating throughout your brain. ‘It can make you cry; it can make you high; but, one thing a zing never does is lie – for it stays with you until you die.’

Shaking your head, you attempt to rid your thoughts of this man. He shouldn’t be your zing; he can’t be your zing. This was a huge mistake. The must’ve made a mistake. How could the very kind of people who murdered your own would also be the one designated for you – a soulmate, in human’s terms. You don’t even know how you're supposed to react to such a thing. Was it a curse? A blessing perhaps?

You continue to watch the man in silence. Sweet baby Jesus, the visuals this man was bestowed with. Maybe the man up there was real after all, and he had spent all seven days to craft this ethereal being. Even if he was meters away, his mere presence already makes you weak in the knees – considering the fact that you really haven’t officially met the person.

With his almost unrealistic face, you’re left wondering if your bodily reactions were caused by your zing or the captain really holds such prowess over creatures of all kinds. You wonder if it’ll be easy to forget your painful past and move forward? Trust the zing like all monsters do?

After promulgating the greatness of the monster population and how big of an honor it is for him to hold the first ever monster cruise, he also apologizes afterwards on behalf of his fellow humans for the mistreatment of your kind, drawing nearer and nearer to your group, eyes trained on you when he’s not busy welcoming the other monsters.

In an attempt to keep yourself from trembling, you clasp your hands together. Momentarily taking his eyes off you as he greets another guest, Mandy leans toward you and nudges your rib, “That, my friend, is what you call: a hottie. Go get him, tiger!” Blinking your eyes, you recollect yourself, giving her a dubious look, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Honey, anyone with a single working eye can confirm to themselves that the captain has been hand-sculpted by the gods themselves. And don’t tell me you don’t notice the bed eyes he’s giving you the whole time,” Mandy chortles bandaged shoulders bumping against your own as she does. “Deny it all you want now, darling, but I have this gut feeling that the love boat will be sailing very soon.”

Just then, as if on cue, the captain makes a beeline for your group, a small sultry smile playing on his lips. You feel like your insides wanted to crumble into sand and disperse into thin air. God, the things this man does to you…Rather, the things you want him to do to you. Now, your own brain betrays you with inappropriate thoughts and he’s currently in front of you looking like a whole course meal. He has such pretty eyes too and oh- this is bad. This is very bad.

“Ah, if it isn’t the one and only Countess Dracula,” he says, voice low as his eyes bore themselves into your soul (as if you still had one). “May I?” The captain takes your hand in his and gingerly places a kiss on the back of your palm. You’re rendered speechless by the small gesture, while the rest of your friends gape at the captain like he had suddenly grown three more heads.

“I’m known as V around here,” he keeps your hand in his, and you’re instantly all too conscious of everything – what if your hand was too cold for him? Or too clammy perhaps? All your worries are diminished when he doesn’t seem to take notice of any of your present worries, tugging you closer to him as he inches towards your face, warm breath fanning against your cheek, “but you can call me Taehyung.”

He pulls back just as slowly, sending you and your friends an innocent boxy smile. “Guess I’ll be seeing you lot around! Please enjoy the cruise. And remember, if there’s anything you need, feel free to approach me anytime.”

Walking away to attend to his captain-y duties, the three other girls gather around the moment he’s out of sight. “What. Was. That.” Catherine questions, punctuating each word with numerous blinks.

“I’ve already sent a prayer to Anubis to take care of our dear ______’s departed soul,” chimes Mandy, waving a hand in front of you in the hopes of taking you out of your shock.

“Whoosh! There goes _______’s undies!” Frankie adds as she throws her head back in laughter. Your cousin tsks at them to get them to stop teasing you, but with the smirk she’s sporting on her face, you’re certain she’s going to bring this up sooner or later.

With a deep sigh, you hang your head low. This was going to be a long vacation.

Right after Taehyung stages the entrance of the century and greets the cruise’s guests, he discreetly makes his way to a less crowded part of the ship and walks briskly along a dimly lit hallway. Pushing forward an inconspicuous panel on the wall leading to a secret passage, Taehyung silently makes his way done to the lower level of the ship.

The stateroom is almost pitch black as he enters; Taehyung feels his way through the room, solely relying on muscle memory to head to the bedroom. When he turns on the light to check on his great-grandfather, the old man squints, croaking out Taehyung’s name. Rushing to the elder’s side, the dutiful great-grandson pours water on the glass by the bedside table.

Taehyung perches himself on the edge of the bed, taking his great-grandfather’s frail hands in his own. “Dracula – is he on board?” the old man rasps, voice almost whispery. “No,” the younger man shakes his head in denial, “but his daughter is.”

The former winces a little when he tries to shift in his bed, “Even better. Tear him apart by slowly taking his loved ones away from him one by one. Let him feel the pain we had to go through.”

The blonde-haired captain sighs when his great-grandfather coughs again, wheezing as he does. “Promise me you’ll avenge our family, Taehyung. I’m not sure if I’m going to make it any longer, but if I won’t…” he coughs, the strain on his voice evident. “Grandpa, it’s okay, it’s going to be okay.” The old man waves his hand, dismissing Taehyung, “Promise me…for your mother, for your father, and the rest of our family. You and I are the only ones left, my dearest great-grandson. We have no one else to rely on but each other.” The old man’s hand clasp weakly against Taehyung’s.

He tucks his great-grandfather in his bed, and waits patiently for the old man to fall asleep before leaving the room.

You and the girls roam around the deck for a little longer, before deciding to call it a night and head to your rooms. It’s quite the walk all the way there, but as you get farther from the hustle and bustle of the crowd and onto a more secluded part of the vessel, not to mention the rooms are getting father apart from each other, you suppose Cat had picked the best suites available on the cruise. Typical.

Not putting much thought into it with exhaustion taking over your body, you tiredly take a half body bath and head to bed.

Rising a few hours later, you plan on checking out your cousin’s accommodation choices. Just as man-fish had mentioned the night before, there was in fact an invitation placed on top of your bedside table, the gold linings too attractive to miss out on. How could you have possibly missed it though, is all up to your fatigue last night, far too tired to even scan the room.

Heading to the kitchen first to make yourself a cup of coffee, you’re greeted by the beautiful glow of the sunrise as you exit your bedroom. You’re momentarily stunned by the beauty of it, as it was your first after a long time to see the sun, or at least a quarter of it. Contrary to popular belief, sunlight doesn’t incinerate vampires, nor does it make you vanish into thin air. In fact, the closest stories had gotten to your biological truths was that sunlight made you weaker – sort of, because the only explanation for it was that you get really bad sunburn under its rays. But that’s nothing a small bottle of Witch Republic’s Suncream Lotion SPF 5000 can’t fix.

Equipped with a 60-inch smart television mounted on a wall, an equally large painting was hung across the room, serving itself as the background for the sitting area.

The fittings are generously provided for, if the room truly claims it to be a suite for couples: a settee is placed in front of the television for viewing purposes, and another is placed vertically across for lounging and enjoying the view of the balcony.

The balcony – was magnificent in all senses of the word. From a picture on the tiny ‘Legacy’ booklet you grabbed from the table, there really wasn’t much to a panoramic view of the sea but as you pass through the wide windows, the beautiful orange glow from the dawn adds a lovely burst of color in the predominantly monochrome furnishings of the room.

You inhale deeply, breathing in the fresh sea air. You spend a few more moments there, leaning over the balcony until Frankie ruins your moment from a couple of meters away, calling you loud enough for the rest of the ship and the Atlantic Ocean to hear. She drawls your name out, screaming her excitement over your rooms. “I haven’t slept like this since I got my arm re-stitched!” You laugh at her before waving and returning to the sitting room.

A part of you was taking mental notes – possible additions and improvements to your hotel, yet the other half of you wants to allow yourself to enjoy small pleasures like these. Maybe Cat was right all along, that you needed a break from running the hotel and truly relax for a while. With the size of this suite though, you can’t help but wonder if Cat got you all the couple suites solely for your enjoyment or hers.

You decide to take your mug of coffee with you to the balcony and breathe more of the satisfying sea air until the sun rises in its entirety and you retreat back to your room, wanting to sleep in the warm duvet of your bed once more. Maybe this vacation won’t be that bad after all.

Shopping with Catherine was never an easy task. If you could say so yourself, shopping with your cousin was a whole workout on its own.

It’s been three hours since she’s dragged you, Mandy, and Frankie out of your rooms and offered you a shopping spree and free lunch. Who was one to deny such graces? Even when all three of you knew you all would end up following your cousin wherever she went until you’d all complain about how she has to take too long when she always ends up buying everything she sees anyways.

As you stare at your seated self by the full-length mirror, you start to have second thoughts about discontinuing that beginner’s program subscription in yoga before you let Catherine drag you out of the comfort of your room. Sighing in defeat, Frankie turns to you with a similar expression on her face.

Starving, the three of you leave Cat momentarily to look for something to eat, and at the sight of a frozen yogurt stall across the hallway from where you’re seated by the Chanel windows, you and the rest of the girls immediately saunter towards the quaint stall.

While you wait for the girl to finish up your orders, your eyes are busy wandering all over the place in an attempt to count how many shops and boutiques they managed to allocate inside the cruise ship. Guess your hotelier side is already one with your true self.

As you watch a loud group of male monsters exit the arcade nearby, you catch sight of someone awfully familiar: the last face you’d want to see when you’re stuck inside a cruise ship for a few weeks.

Your eyes follow the group, wanting to make sure your eyes are not playing tricks on you. Like a hawk, you watch the group closely – one man in particular, yet he won't seem to look in your direction. You wanted to forget all about it and pretend you didn’t see anything, but you figure this is going to cause you a number of sleepless nights if you don’t. Quickly, you resort to a plan that will have to cost you more energy than just observing, but you were determined to make sure that it was really him.

Focusing your vision on a nearby potted plant, you make the clay vessel move an inch as you try to catch his attention. The first try doesn’t work and neither does the second. Hell bent on your resolution, the third time works the charm (obviously with a more significant amount of distance the plant has moved).

Your suspicions are confirmed – it’s truly him.

Just like that, all sorts of emotions course through you and you feel the corners of your eyes starting to well with tears. He laughs at something one of his companions say, and you feel your heart clench as you look at the same smile you fell for years ago.

It’s takes you a while before you process somebody has been calling you name several times, then you see Mandy waving her hand in front of you. “You okay there? What happened?”

Etching an ingenuine smile on your face, you turn to face her as she hands you the dessert, “Nothing…just thought I saw someone familiar…”

“Mhmm,” Frankie hums, scooping a large portion of yogurt into her mouth, “as long as it’s not you-know-who, then it’s irrelevant,”

“Actually, I think it is him.”

Frankie chokes on the sliced strawberry topping she just ate. “What?!” Mandy places a hand on your shoulder, an apologetic look on her face. “Don’t tell me that fucker is also here?!” Shushing her quickly, you reach out to her to tug at her arm to keep her quiet.

“What fucker are you talking about?” Catherine questions, approaching the three of you with two extra paper bags in her hand. Frankie keeps her mouth shut, thankfully while Mandy comes in to the rescue. “Frankie was just talking about how fucking tasty this froyo is. In fact, I think so too – would you like to try some?” The girl offers her cup, eventually feeding Cat with a spoonful of fruity toppings.

The subject is quickly diverted and as your cousin rummages through her bag to look for the cruise’s official pamphlet, both Frankie and Mandy give you a knowing look.

“Lunch anyone?” You propose to the other three, already wishing you’d soon be forgetting about even seeing your ex-fiancée earlier. 

You’d gotten back to your room around half past five, nearly collapsing to the floor after hours and hours of shopping with your cousin. The girls had agreed to use your room to prepare for the party later (one discussion you don’t remember agreeing to) and had gone around the sitting area, placing their bags done and going through their purchases.

You, on the other hand, had gone straight to the kitchen to look for something to drink. Besides, you just know they’re going to ask for something too later on, so you just grab a few bottles of water for the girls. As you rested against the cool fridge while opening a bottle of your own, you spot a punnet of strawberries sitting on top of a counter.

“Did any one of you bring strawberries here before we left?”

When they chorused their replies of denial, you check the strawberries warily, lifting them off the marble top. You hear something slide down when you open the container. A card came in with the strawberries.

Returning to the living room with strawberries in one hand and the card in the other, Frankie stands from the settee and snatches the card away from you. She waves the small piece of paper in the air, claiming it was a love letter. “Dear _______, I really think you’ve got a wonderful smile, but it’d be better if it was the only thing you’ll be wearing tonight!” she says, pretending to read the note.

“What?! You’ve already made a move without telling us about it? Lemme see!” Mandy exclaims, running after your stitched friend.

“Oh!” Frankie says, pointing to the sky, “Looks like we might be expecting a few inches tonight, hmm?” she adds, snickering as she pokes the inside of her cheek with her tongue repeatedly, and rather inappropriately.

“Y’all disgusting really. ‘M going to shower.”

“Make sure you don’t have too much fun with the showerhead!”

“Fuck you Mandy!”

“I would if you were my type!”

Catherine waits until she hears the water running before turning to her two friends left at the sitting area. “I’m worried.”

“About?”

“My cousin.” The eldest of the girls says, tapping her nails against the couch – a nervous habit. Frankie sets the card back down and nests herself on the carpet just across Cat. “What is there to worry about?”

“This thing between my cousin and the captain?” Carding her fingers through her hair, she closes her eyes before continuing, “Does the fact that he’s human not bother you…at all?”

“The dude’s harmless! And he better think it through when he tries to do something – he’s literally in a ship full of monsters. Do something dumb, he can get his head bitten off in no less than two seconds.”

Catherine is not convinced.

“Plus, I’m sure it’s just a one-time fling – surely, ______’s smart enough to know that. I just firmly believe that one must get laid regularly because penetrative sex is medicinal. And who knows? There might be cobwebs down there already!” Frankie adds.

Cat flings a brochure at Frankie before scrolling through her phone’s gallery then stopping at a portrait of you and her. “I’m just concerned about _____’s wellbeing. This is the most time we’ve spent together for the past two years, and I’m not even sure if she’s fully recovered from what she’d been through with you-know-who.”

“Even worse, what if she falls for the dude? Or she zinged? Or they both zinged?!”

“Hey, hey…” Mandy scoots over to Cat’s side and wraps an arm across her shoulder, “you’re overthinking now babe, and! This is your bachelorette party, stop worrying about stuff. _____ is a strong, independent woman. If she can handle the best hotel in monster history, then handling a man will be too easy.”

“Come out already!” Mandy whines impatiently from outside, knocking impatiently on your bathroom door. You smooth a few creases on your dress before you open the door to reveal your outfit. Shock was a heavy understatement. Cat’s usually beautiful features twist into one of distaste, Mandy pretends to gag at the sight, and Frankie avoids your gaze as she purses her lips.

You can’t help the nervous laugh that escapes your throat when they look at you up then down, scrutinizing your fashion choices.

“What. The hell. Is that?!”

“Why are you too covered up?”

Their hostilities continue as you give them a twirl, genuinely confused with their reactions when there’s absolutely nothing wrong with choosing a long-sleeved rayon blouse with ruffles in the front and a green pleated skirt.

“You didn’t tell me you’re meant to apply for the queen’s secretary?” Frankie questions, rummaging through your luggage.

“You mean Queen Elizabeth I?” Mandy adds, snickering along with the rest of the girls.

“Hey! G4 says she was pretty! And educated for her time too!” you cry in protest.

“Same with you darling. But it’s a party we’re attending and not a royal appointment, so will you do me a favor and wear this instead?”

Your mouth falls agape in shock.

“What?! This dress is… is barely covering anything!” You look closely at the satin blood-red piece of clothing as Catherine hands it to you. Needless to say, just looking at it was a cultural reset.

“Glad to know you’re unaware of that point.” Mandy butts in, “you’ll be happy to know that this dress will get you a man in no time either way.”

“Either way?” Frankie questions before leaving your room to looks for heels to go with your dress.

“Yeap,” the mummy replies, touching up her make-up, “Either you get a man who will cover you up or you’ll find one who will gladly take it off for you later tonight

Catherine coughs, “The captain,” winking at you while she pushes you towards the bathroom, “Chop chop now dear! We still have a party to attend to tonight!”

The party is already in full swing by the time the four of you arrive. The crisp, chilly air hits your face as you get to the main deck, and as you wrap your arms around yourself, you know you're already regretting having worn Catherine’s dress. Arms bare, half of your back out in the open, and a thigh-high slit? Really? A towel could’ve afforded you more modesty than this dress.

Mandy immediately heads to bar, leaving you all to ‘pick your poison for tonight’. Pursing your lips at your mummified friend, you trail after your cousin as she looks for a table to settle yourselves in. You scan the crowd, watching the other monsters move to beat of the music, and also, just in case someone you don’t want to see decides to show up again out of nowhere.

Mandy finds you shortly afterwards with a waiter trailing behind her, carrying a tray of ambiguous looking chalices. Oh boy.

This night was headed straight to hell.

Nearly an hour later, you practically waddle back to your table, breathless and throat parched as the desert. Catherine clings onto you like her Hermes Himalaya Birkin, just as exhausted as you were. Why do you always seem to forget that Mandy dragging your asses to the dance floor has never been the smartest choice?

The moment you get back to your table, you reach for the bronze goblet and down the rest of your drink. The distinctive burn has you keening, tightening your fingers around its stem. Beside you, Catherine coughs after she takes a sip of hers – “What the fuck is in this drink?? Methane?!”

“Throat…on fire…I feel like a fucking dragon,” you attest, voice raspy.

“That, my dear girlfriends, has been mixed by yours truly,” Mandy announces with a proud smile on her face. “I call it the Devil’s Piss.”

You shake your head at her, rubbing at your temples. Starting to feel the sweat break at your hairline, you want nothing more than to return to your suite and sleep the night away. Closing your eyes, you draw a calm scene inside your head: watching the sun set by your balcony as you sip on your hot chocolate –

Your dreams of orange skies and the soft breeze are cut short when you feel a tap on your shoulder. “Countess, the captain requests your presence on the bridge.” Your eyes follow the direction of where he was pointing and see a pair of eyes staring back at you.

Perhaps sleep could stay second on your list tonight.

Cat wiggles her eyebrows suggestively as you bow your head in embarrassment, your cheeks flushing when the rest of the girls whistle and howl as the man-fish stoically escorts you to the bridge. Once you arrive at the top of the stairs, the man adjusts your grip on his elbow as he gently takes your hand and stretches it forward for you to continue on by yourself. “The captain will be waiting inside, Countess” He bows curtly, and your left on your own to walk towards the bridge.

“Countess.” There’s the low timbre of his voice again, sending shivers down your spine effortlessly as you close the door behind you. He doesn’t speak after that, just taking in what you’re wearing tonight, subconsciously biting on his bottom lip as he takes in the outfit your friends have chosen for you.

Every step you take is wobbly, like your legs have turned into goo. The chilly breeze up here is likewise not helping your skin already prickled with goosebumps.

“_______,” Taehyung grabs your hand and gently places a kiss on the back of your palm. Another strike of electricity shoots up your spine at the small gesture. Goodness, what the hell was going on with you?

“Y-you don’t have to do this e-every time we meet.” Inwardly cringing at your shaky voice, you look away and exhale deeply in an attempt to calm your nerves.

It doesn’t help.

Especially not when the captain is less than an arm-length away, and being able to see him this close is doing dangerous things to you. “This is the first time I’ve been on a ship’s bridge,” you comment lamely, keeping the conversation on a sane note. The thirsty ass hoe inside you doesn’t seem to approve of the idea though, unfortunately.

“Really now? How is your first time on the bridge then?”

“It’s…different.”

“Different? How so?”

“Different from trying to run a hotel I guess, which was all I was doing for the past few years…It’s an unlikely comparison, I know, but being here…it’s like you get to oversee everything from the bridge, which I never get when I’m back home, like…you know you’re in control?” You were merely blabbering at this point, but then again, your brain loses control of your bodily functions when you're in close proximity with this man.

“You like being in control then?”

The tiny creaking sound coming from the floor tells you he’s taken a step closer to you, and the warmth coming from him is driving you insane. Damn this bloody dress of Catherine. You’re at a loss for words, neurons short-circuiting at both his question and how it’s equally chilly and hot at the same time in this small space.

It’s too much for you to handle, too much that you can't seem to find the appropriate words to voice out a reply, instead, you just turn around to face him. A gasp escapes your lips when you accidentally bump into his chest when you do so.

“Oh! Crap! I-I’m sorry…” You apologize meekly, fiddling with your hands and refusing to meet his eyes at all costs. The captain places your chin between his fingers and lifts your face for him to look at. He doesn’t say a word either, instead, just leans down and captures your lips in a feverish kiss.

Surprised – was an understatement. You hadn’t really expected him to call you over to the bridge and the next thing you knew he’s already kissing you. He immediately pulls away when you don’t reciprocate, apologizing profusely and mumbling about misplaced affections.

“No!” You exclaim, causing the captain to jump a little. You gather your courage and rub at your temples. “I mean…Captain V, your affections have not been misplaced, it’s just this…monster thing that has me acting like this the whole time, and I really have zero control over it and…”

You don’t get to finish your sentence as you feel his warm, moist lips on yours again. His strawberry-tasting lips glide over yours smoothly that you find yourself leaning towards him as you melt into the kiss. You’re first to pull away this time, breathless. “Forgive me, Countess…I’ve been wanting to do that since I first laid eyes on you on this ship,” he says, cupping your face as he rests his forehead against yours. “So beautiful,” Taehyung whispers against the shell of your ear and trails a finger from your cheek and eventually down to your collarbones as he ogles the cleavage Cat’s dress had generously given you tonight.

“Taehyung.” He places a lingering kiss on your shoulder. “Call me Taehyung, please.” He smooths his hand over your hips, tightening his grip as he pulls you closer and kisses you once more. You feel something hard against your stomach – oh. Your mouth parts when he starts to grind, slowly and devilishly against you and he takes this opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss.

His gaze darkens when he sees the expanse of skin the slit of your dress reveals as you shift your legs, thigh now out in the open. Attaching his lips to yours again, Taehyung distracts you from the way his slender fingers dance their way up dangerously near your core.

Your head bows in embarrassment when you remember Mandy checking if you’d worn the right underwear earlier, ‘If they’re not lace, they have to go.’ So when she busted inside the bathroom as you were changing into Cat’s clothes earlier and saw your favorite cotton panties (with an embroidered flower on the front), she quickly rips the material in distaste, strongly suggesting that commando is the way to go. It won't be long until Taehyung discovers –

“No panties huh?” Taehyung observes, voice low and deep. “Yes,” you reply breathily, closing your eyes as you ignore how you're throbbing all over in such a short period of time. You try to regain your wits back, your first zing too overwhelming that everything seems like a haze.

With a new, albeit questionable, surge of courage, you move your hand to palm him through his pants. When Taehyung bares his neck to you to elicit a groan, your head subconsciously dips towards the spot where you feel his pulse the strongest. In an instant, your primal instincts begin to take over you, baring your fangs and grazing them dangerously against his skin.

Holy fuck.

This man was going to be the cause of your death.

It’s been a while since you’ve been in close proximity with a human, and being this close to the captain has stirred up something inside of you that you never knew still existed.

Back in the days when humans had mingled freely with your kind, witches had placed suppressants in the Tersnoan atmosphere so that a monster’s primal instincts won't ever be able to take over your diplomatic selves.

Now that you were much older with fully developed senses, being this close to a human with no suppressants whatsoever had inevitably awakened your inborn vampiric tendencies.

Needless to say, your generation of vampires had gone ‘vegetarian’ in a sense. Your lifestyle no longer consisted of hunting down people for food, but you opted for a healthier alternative and a more convenient source of food: coconut juice. Besides, human blood never really came in highly recommended by the older generations, claiming it tasted like loneliness and despair.

What they failed to warn you of, however, was how intense the urge was once you were only a hair-breadth away from a human being who is very much alive. The temptation was getting stronger by the second, and the pulse coming from Taehyung’s jugular vein was ringing loudly in your ears.

Both the desires of hunt and lust were slowly taking over you, your judgment, and your irises, and your lips quake ever so gently at the excitement coursing through your veins. As you feel your irises change its color from their natural ones, to purple then to gold afterwards, the surprise in Taehyung’s eyes has gotten prominent, yet, with astounding self-control, he manages to keep the rest of his body calm and collected.

He gulps at the small smirk that plays on your lips, “To answer your question, I like being in control,” you say lowly, grazing the tip of your nail against his jawline, “but only when the need arises so.”

For a moment, you sense his fright with your golden eyes and fangs on display, but you feel it dissipate quickly when you bunch his shirt in your fists and pull him closer to you. Taehyung then takes this as a cue to continue his torment of his featherlight touches, causing you to lean against the wheel as your head falls backward at the sensation.

Brazenly, he hooks a hand under your thigh and wraps your leg around his hip, allowing himself to grind harder against you, the friction of his dress pants against your bare heat sending you to a state of near delirium. The moment is cut short however as you both hear footsteps approaching the bridge. The captain puts your leg down as abruptly as he hooked his arm underneath it earlier.

As you wait for the two man-fish creatures to pass by the wheelhouse, you and the captain keep a modest gap between each other, letting the staff move across the bridge and until they take their positions by the front portion of the deck. Just as if the captain wasn’t groping you merely seconds ago.

The moment they’re out of sight, Taehyung closes the distance between the both of you, resting his weight on you as he presses you further onto the wheel of the ship. Subconsciously, you bite your lip as you feel his boner practically begging for your attention.

His actions are hastier this time around, and quite frankly, you're glad he has managed to equal the same level of urgency you had. You don’t know how long you’ll be able to hold onto your sanity with the heat pooling in the pit of your stomach. Else, you’d be taking the matter in your own hands.

Every contact of Taehyung’s skin with yours has you skin ablaze, and you’re unsure if it’s due to the (partly) shameful fact that you haven’t been this intimate with someone for the past few years that you're this responsive. He’s fondling your breasts with one hand, unabashedly tweaking and playing with your nipples. The other hand is busy squeezing your thighs, fingers dancing lightly across the exposed skin of your leg.

Your breath hitches as he unexpectedly cups your bare mound, digits swiping against your folds. Body quaking at the feeling, your body leans forward, but Taehyung has other plans, tugging you back harshly to his chest. “You think you can stay still for me sweetheart? You wouldn’t want my staff to think we’re christening the bridge, do you?”

Maybe, just maybe, the thought didn’t sound so bad?

“Oh?” Taehyung hisses when he feels your quick intake of breath at the thought. He finds your clit seconds later, rubbing the nub languidly, “you seem to like the idea, hmm?”

“Taehyung, please,” you beseech, leaning towards his touch and grinding your hips against his palm in desperation. You’re uncertain if this was an effect still caused by the zing but at this point, you just wanted a release from his relentless teasing and you’re more than willing to work for it if you have to.

The captain revels in your responsiveness and as a reward, he complies with your request, quickening his pace and toying your clit with more vigor than ever. Your hands, previously just as busy groping Taehyung, now shoots out to grip at the helm, your high approaching rapidly. He inserts a long, dexterous digit to accompany his other hand, helping you reach your climax faster. A second finger has you reeling, gripping the helm even tighter than before, knuckles turning white at the sheer strength. One kiss on your neck is all it takes, orgasming so hard that Taehyung has to hold you still lest you lose your balance.

You're still panting a minute later, having turned around and resting your hands on Taehyung’s chest for support. You both stay like that for a moment in each other’s arms, until you’re brought back to reality by the captain’s boner brushing against your tummy. “Can I?” you ask as you look up to him, thumbing the waistband of his dress pants.

“_______, darling, as much as I’d want to you right here, there’s too many of my staff roaming around the bridge for the night. And if these creatures walking about isn’t bothersome enough, it’s the fact that fish don’t blink either…so there’s that…” Taehyung states before placing a kiss on your shoulder. “If you desire so, I’d gladly continue this in my room…” the captain offers, looking at you expectantly as another pair of the fish men round the deck.

“I think we should go with that.”

He nods briefly, placing a wet kiss on your temple before taking your hand in his. Giddy as a teenager at the sight of her crush, you let him lead the way to his stateroom, unable to hide the shy smile on your lips. Once he leaves the wheelhouse to one of his first mates for the night, he squeezes your hand and continues on, palm contrastingly warm against yours as you walk to his room together.

“Did you enjoy the strawberries I had sent you earlier this evening?”

“Definitely. They’re one of the sweetest bunches I’ve tried in my life! Thanks for them by the way.”

“You did? They’re handpicked from our very own greenhouse on the ship!” Taehyung looks back at you with the brightest smile, eyes crinkling with the purest delight. Your heart crumples at the sight. How could the zing have possibly chosen this man for you – or worse, how are you supposed to deal with this type of duality?

One moment he’s brazenly fingering you inside the wheelhouse with blinkless staff roaming about and the next he’s talking about growing strawberries and how farming has been therapeutic for him. How is one man so devilish and wholesome at the same time?

Just like that, conversation flowed natural between the two of you: the similarities of having to run a hotel (as well as a heated debate on whether or not a hotel on land or on water is easier to manage), hobbies you enjoy on a spiritual level, and a few bits and pieces of him as Kim Taehyung and not the captain of The Legacy.

You’d just learned he doesn’t drink coffee, nor does he drink alcohol; he plays the saxophone and claims he’s pretty learned with the instrument; and that he loves taking photographs. In addition, he’d also told you about how he was born and raised in Korea hence the faint accent, but he’d grown up moving from place to place with his great-grandfather due to their family business, and that’s how their voyages helped him practice his English and even pick up a few foreign languages.

Your getting-to-know each other session is brought to a pause when the blonde-haired captain stops in front of a door in a dimly lit corridor. Quietly, he fishes for something inside his pockets, takes out his keycard and taps it against the door lock. Taking a peek from outside, you wait for him as he turns the lights on before following him inside.

Mouth agape as you enter, your eyes wander around his stateroom, marveling at the sheer grandeur of the captain’s living space. Just when you thought Catherine had given you and your friends the luxury of staying in a suite large enough to house a family of five, the captain’s stateroom on the other hand could easily pass for at least ten people.

Taehyung’s suite exactly looks like it came from a magazine spread, akin to a million-dollar apartment…at a high-rise residential tower…located in the middle of the busiest city in the world.

The captain lets you roam around his stateroom, a small smile playing on his lips as you gape over every detail in the room. It was modern interior design taking to a whole new level.

Monochromatic in a way, yet for some reason, he had it strategically designed to make it look more dynamic, alive somehow. You were no expert in the field of interior design, but with your modest experience in running a hotel (from choosing what type of cotton will be best for the beddings to organizing parties with more than a hundred participants), you could easily tell every nook and cranny of this room was heavily planned out.

Pointing at the stairs, you wordlessly ask for his permission if you could go up and check out the upper level. Taehyung doesn’t follow right after, momentarily heading to his kitchen. Significantly smaller than the lower floor, the second level houses his bedroom, with a heap of curtains serving as a divider and cover from those staying below.

His bedroom speaks more of him than any other part of the stateroom. Just as he mentioned earlier, there’s an open saxophone case on one corner, next to another black violin case. You also take notice of the makeshift tie hanger he’d made using the coat stand.

What truly catches your eyes though, is the array of photographs hung on the walls. It’s a mosaic of some sort, with photos spread from a corner then occupying half of the adjacent walls. Some are framed, some are printed on canvas, and a number are on photo paper and pasted on the beige wall. They’re caught on film, you reckon, with the distinct grainy resolution common amongst the photos.

Swiping your finger against the wooden frames of the pictures he’d hung, you study each photo thoroughly, trying to figure out the story behind each picture. There’s three more situated on his bedside table, Picking up the one with Taehyung smiling widely beside a boat’s mast.

“Ah, my first sail,” Taehyung says, taking a step near you. The tiny hairs on your nape stand at the feeling of his warm breath against your skin. All of a sudden, you realize he’s standing too close – too close for you to remain sane.

You keep the framed photo in your hands, yet your thoughts have ultimately flown far away from whatever story was behind the picture; like how you hear his heart beat a little faster.

“Enough about me, countess,” the captain whispers as he places a hand over yours and guides yours back down to the bedside table. For a second there, you’d forgotten

For a second there, you’d almost forgotten he literally had the same fingers inside you just a few moments ago and that you’re now reminded of the main and sole purpose why you’re here in his bedroom.

“What about you?” Taehyung sets the strawberries down next to the photograph, then tucks a few strands of stray hair behind your ear. Each teasing touch is driving you closer to madness, like every move of his is calculated as if he knows he has this effect on you.

Lamely, you echo his words, “What about me?”

“Do you still want to look at more of my photographs or shall we continue what we started earlier?” It’s so awfully quiet inside the room that you basically hear yourself gulp at his proposal.

Weren’t your bodily reactions enough to serve as an answer?

You wanted to act less naïve (and appear a whole less desperate) that you’d imagined giving him a proper answer in your head, but here you were, stiff as a gargoyle statue, cowering beneath the warmth radiating off Taehyung.

Thoughts too haywire, you're unable to rack your brain for an appropriate reply, so you return the question to him: one with a double purpose – for him to ponder on and for you to recollect yourself. “What do you want?” Slowly, you turn to face him, bracing yourself for the hormonal uproar you are to experience.

The captain pouts cutely while in thought before darting his tongue out to lick at his lips. Taehyung gently brushes your hair over your shoulder, fingers subsequently tracing the outline of your collarbone. “I want,” he starts off, toying with the strap of your dress and wrapping it around his finger, “to take this off.”

Letting him slide the straps off your shoulders, you inhale deeply, anticipation doubling by the second. With your shoulders tense, the straps fall only until your elbows. Taehyung notices your hesitation and tenderly takes your chin between his thumb and his forefinger, tilting your head up so he could face you properly.

“Hey, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

Feeling sorry for him having to deal with your worries, you cup his beautiful face in your hands, “I want to. I really do – it’s just…it’s been a while.”

You're grateful when he leans toward your touch, sending a soft smile your way. “Of course, darling, we’ll take it slow.” Relaxing your shoulders, the thin straps of your dress fall down the length of your arm with the rest of the fabric following shortly after.

Core throbbing immensely with want, you take initiative this time, claiming his mouth with a newfound sense of courage and urgency. Your knees threaten to give in when he matches the intensity of your kiss. With haste, you thumb at the zipper of his pants, causing him to trip on his own feet and fall forward.

The blonde-haired man brings you down to bed with him, stretching his arm out just in time to break his fall, making sure he’s not resting too much of his weight on you. “What happened to taking it slow?”

Taehyung is just as breathless when he helps you with your predicament with his pants. “Fuck it, there’s plenty of time for that later but I need you,” you pant, unable and unwilling to keep your hands to yourself – brushing against his clothed erection, sliding them against his defined chest, wrapping your hands by his neck to pull him closer to you…

“I need you now, inside me, please Tae…”

He withdraws from your body and kneels by the edge of the bed. Legs already shamefully spread and ready, Taehyung rummages through the drawers of his bedside table, looking for something. At the mention of condoms under his breath, you wave at him, trying to catch his attention.

He turns to you, eyebrows raised. “No need. Human sperm can’t get us pregnant anyways. Are you clean?”

“Got checked three weeks ago, that good with you?”

You nod your head, beckoning him over. Taehyung wastes no time, taking his boxers off to free his dick from the confines of his underwear. He crawls over to you and places a kiss on each of your thighs before taking his cock and sliding it against your wet folds.

He uses yours and his essences as lubricant, jerking himself off first before pushing the red tip of his shaft slowly. In consideration of your own pleasure, he doesn’t rush his entrance, just pushing slowly then drawing it back to prep you properly.

Taehyung continues with that, until your hand shoots out to grab him by his wrist, giving him a tug to let him know you’re ready. Silently, he nods, this time pushing his cock inside until he’s fully seated inside your warm walls. “So t-tight.” Taehyung shivers when you experimentally clench around him.

“Babe,” the captain breathes out while heat rises to your face at the term of endearment. “Please don’t do that again, fuck, I might just cum early if… if…” Taehyung falls silent again, groaning as you clench one more time, “you're just one naughty girl aren’t you?”

When you shrug your shoulders in reply, it’s like something inside Taehyung snaps because he gives you a playful smirk before thrusting harshly. You mewl at the feeling, fingers tugging at his hair in encouragement.

“Y-you're so big,” you cry out as he ruts his hips, the tip of his cock deliciously brushing against your sweet spot with every thrust. “Fuck,” Taehyung hisses, continuing the fluid motion of his hips, “your pussy was made just to take me then.”

He goes almost animalistic, thrusting even deeper, stronger as he chases his high. “Think you can cum with me sweetheart?” Taehyung queries, pushing his hair back when he feels the edges of his fringe tickle your cheeks.

Taehyung deftly finds your clit while he’d continued his torment with his hips, a single moan coming from your mouth is all he needs before proceeding with abusing your nether nub. It doesn’t take you both much after that, both your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave, one after the other.

A few more hours into the evening and you find yourselves still tangled in each other’s bodies, worshipping each and every inch of skin as you get overcome by lust over and over again.

Taehyung collapses to your side after what seems like… in fact, you’ve actually lost count of how many times you’ve climaxed. Panting, he looks at you with a smile reaching his eyes, “That was…” He’s at a loss for words but when he hears laughter bubble out of you at his cuteness, he joins in.

The laughter dies down, yet you’re still staring at each other – no words needed to explain what had just transpired between the both of you tonight. You stay still and contented, basking in the euphoric bliss. He says he can't stay awake any longer, bidding you a good night’s sleep and sweet dreams.

You manage to stay awake though, on the contrary, swearing to yourself you’d just seen his eyes flash lavender before falling into a deep slumber.

© joontier 2020

Send me your thoughts? x

[authoressskr]

Ruby Dragon Surprise (i)

Characters: f!Reader, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Tony Stark, Natasha Romanoff, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff, Clint Barton, Mercy (*previously Y/N in Bucky’s Dragon Soulmate Story*), mentions of Peggy Carter

Warnings: Language and no Beta   ::    Notes: This particular story will probably be three parts, cause Steve is emotionally constipated   ::   Word Count: 4849

I went with a dragon!soulmate!au, which I hadn’t seen before, but I did have a nifty dream about it that spawned this whole idea. He’s still an Avenger. Events are basically still the same (not exactly the same...people are alive who died in the mcu), just with dragons. ‘Cause who wouldn’t love a dragon companion?? This will be an ongoing series with different Avengers finding their soulmates with their dragons.

Howlite and Hearts (Bucky)

Please do NOT repost, copy & paste, post or share my works on any other platform without my EXPRESS PERMISSION.

-+- REBLOGGING is fine and very appreciated! -+-

Since men emerged from caves, began using tools and reshaping their environment, they have been intrigued by the draconian terrors of all shapes and sizes that roamed the world. The first records of man and dragon working together are from Mesopotamia, pieces of shattered pottery pieced back together showing a dragon standing beside a woman. Assyrian artifacts depict water dragons helping farmers in the field. Egyptian murals show dragons protecting the Pharaoh and his family, others showing different breeds of dragon fetching books from inside the Library of Alexandria.

History is dotted with famous dragons and their bonded humans; King Arthur and his steel-colored dragon, Excalibur. William Shakespeare and his dragon, Bard. Cleopatra and Bucephalus, named after Alexander the Great’s legendary steed. Abraham Lincoln and his dragon, Crusoe.

Over the centuries, dragons have become smaller from the giants painted in mythology, old texts and wall murals. The biggest dragon these days are about the size of a large crocodile, with the biggest recorded in the last decade almost as big as a hippo. Height varies on the type of dragon - with the tallest one balancing on its tail, hits almost eye level with a giraffe.

Classes have been taught for centuries about dragons and the bond between them with humans. Dragons will sometimes die right after their human counterpart and vice versa. Dragons who have lost their counterpart will sometimes live, seeking out their counterpart’s soulmate to stay with their draconian mates as well. It is not an uncommon thing - especially after times of war - for soulmates to have both dragons if one has died.

Dragon pairs will usually have the same colors and markings, even though they will often not be the same type of dragon. Dragons may look similar to the human eye, but a dragon will know it’s mate no matter what. It has not been determined how the dragons know their mate almost instantaneously, but after millennia humans have begun to follow the dragon counterpart’s knowledge in this area. Marriages of alliance and royalty have often been changed or dropped when one party finds its soulmate. In the same vein, marriages have also been arranged due to this circumstance as well. Cinderella is the most referenced fairy tale of this, with Cinderella having the same sapphire and gold colored dragon as the prince (*Dragon color varies by region and culture).

Soulmate bonds are some of the strongest bonds in our world. Both between a dragon pair and between a human pair. And on the flip side of the Cinderella story, dragons will attempt to push their human partners together if the human counterpart doesn’t seem interested or could result in a rejection.

On the same page, a rejection of this bond - always by the human partner - can have devastating consequences. This broken or unformed bond may result in: at first, flu-like symptoms but can build up to more serious symptoms such as feeling weak or run down, tremors and/or tics, varying weight loss, chest pains and even very mild seizures have been documented. Usually the bond is mended or solidified before it comes to these more serious issues. There are also historic rumors of deaths from broken hearts due to rejections, which has yet to be scientifically proven. The aforementioned symptoms may require hospitalization.

To date no dragon has succumbed to any symptoms from their human counterparts due to the rejection of the bond, which dragon experts seem truly puzzled by due to the strong bonds that can be formed between a human and a dragon. Rejections, however, are rare and scientists aren’t yet sure of all possible symptoms associated with a rejection of a bond. Touch, however, is shown to remedy these symptoms in trials and is known to be a powerful connector between a human and it’s dragon partner as well.

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If there was one thing Steve Rogers knew, it was that Peggy Carter was his soulmate.

He’ll admit he doesn’t think of it as often as when he came out of the ice, but he does still think about it - about Peggy - every few days. More so when Bucky, Sam and himself are out for lunch or when he and Wanda may be grabbing some coffee, because that is when he sees soulmates together. 

The way soulmates look at each other is different. Like they don’t just see the person before them, but everything they are and could be; all rolled into everything they love.

And he’s envious of that look.

He knows he hasn’t received it. And he truly believes he hasn’t given it either. Sometimes he chalks it up to not being actual bonded soulmates with Peggy. Because he knows that the love that was blossoming would have turned into that loving, enraptured gaze he always longed for.

It’s the thought that gets interrupted when his cell rings on the way back from their morning run. He quickly switches his coffee cup to his other hand to fish the phone from his pant pocket, revealing Tony’s face on the screen.

“Hey, Tony.”

“Need you, the bird and the metal popsicle back here asap. Got a hit on a Hydra offshoot. Wheels up in 30.”

“Got it. We’re just a few blocks from the Tower now.”

“Pick up the pace then, old man,” And the call ends. He looks at Sam and Bucky before tossing back what’s left of his coffee and throwing it in a nearby trash can.

“Mission. Wheels go up in 30.” Sam sighs at his words.

“Morning calls are rare, man. Must be big.”

“Hydra,” Bucky mutters with a shake of his head before polishing off his own coffee. “Come on. Gonna take most of that time to get the scalies ready.”

“You know,” Sam mutters with a smug grin as they all continue towards the Tower, “You’ve picked up your soulmate’s habit of calling the dragons weird names.” Sam tosses his empty cup and dodges a swat from Bucky.

“Jealousy is an ugly, ugly thing Sam…”

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Steve shifts in his place in the rafters, Rak wiggling on his back in response to peer over his shoulder down at the HYDRA agents. He nods at Bucky, who is perched across the building, just above the exit.

“Where’d you find this one?”

“Get this - a museum.” The blonde HYDRA agent cackles, leaving the brunet nodding, a serious look on his face. A loud clang of the door reveals two more HYDRA agents, dragging another person between them while a third agent follows behind with a tactical machine gun held tightly in his grip. If body shape is anything to go on, it’s a woman. A curvy and buxom one. Bucky quickly types out an update in Morse code to Natasha who is stationed outside with Sam and Tony as the brunet drags a heavy wooden chair into the middle of the room.

They toss the captive into the chair, zip tying their wrists behind them before pulling off the thick bag from their head. If looks could kill…

“Now, Miss, we are going to ask you a series of questions -”

“Fuck. Off.” Steve’s eyebrows shoot up at the venom in her tone.

“You don’t seem to know who we are.” Her jaw clenches as she looks away from the salt and pepper haired man who dragged her in. “Come now. I don’t want to injure you more than necessary…”

“Right.” She snaps, looking down at her lap with a sigh. The tall brunet who helped drag her in shifts to stand behind her, grabbing a fistful of hair and yanking her head back. Her gasp makes Rak hiss in his ear, Steve feeling his claw tips through his suit. He tilts his head to rub it against Rak’s, offering that silent comfort to calm him down.

“Now, Miss, the first question is: You work in the nearby museum, correct?”

“Seeing as that’s where you took me from…” She gasps again as the hand tightens in her hair, bending her head back a little more. That’s when she notices Bucky in the rafters - quickly closing her eyes and sniffles loudly.

“What are you working on there?”

“Paleontology mostly. But when I started there I worked in the geology department. I’m a floater between departments since I don’t have my full degree yet.” The man relaxes his grip a little, pushing her head forward towards its normal position again.

“Rocks and bones.” The older agent chuckles before rubbing his hand over his graying beard. “Do you do anything else in the museum?”

“I assist only in the two departments. The only reason I help the geology is when the woman who regularly helps is gone cause she’s having a rough pregnancy.”

“Now we know that’s a lie. You spend a lot of time in the accounting office.” Her head is pulled back again so she’s looking at the ceiling again.

“I’m not sure you lot are aware that each department has a budget. I have to submit forms every month about the spending. Plus, one of the accountants is my friend.”

“So you are saying our intel is wrong?”

“Look, I’d like my head to stay attached, but yes, your intel is shit. Probably someone just looking not to be in the position I’m currently in.”

“So the museum isn’t looking into the dragons ancestors?”

“If they are, then I don’t know about it. I’m a peon!” She yanks her head from the man’s grasp and struggles in the chair.

“Little cherub, you are a terrible liar.”

“Listen asshat, I am keenly aware I’m a terrible liar. So I tend NOT to lie. Especially to someone who has tied me to a chair and has a fucking gun!!” He sighs, giving a little shake of his head before his hand shoots out and backhands her, making her head snap to the left. Rak’s claws pierce through his suit, smoke curling from his nostrils making Steve tense under him even more. He holds his hand up in a stopping motion, Bucky cocking his head slightly before Steve gestures over his shoulder at Rak.

“Woman, HYDRA has been looking for you for awhile.”

“Seems like a waste of time to me. I can’t have anything HYDRA could possibly want. Except maybe morals.”

“We don’t need morals in HYDRA.” The blonde grunts out from his leaning place against the wall.

“I’m aware. Ya ever think that’s why SHIELD and the Avengers whip your ass? Resign you to the shadows like the phantoms you are.” There is a loud enough explosion that everyone turns towards the exit, the men all tensing. “AND YOU KNOW WHAT? YOUR SIGIL OR WHATEVER IT IS MAKES ABSOLUTELY NO FUCKING SENSE! HYDRA MEANS 5! WHY DOES YOUR SYMBOL HAVE 8? AND DO YOU ALL KNOW THAT THE HYDRA WAS DEFEATED???” Her head is sent sharply to the left again, blood trickling from her lip at the contact.

“WHO FOLLOWED YOU?!” The older agent snaps at the blonde and brunet who they saw first.

“NO ONE, SIR!” Bucky drops down just as Tony comes through the back exit, making Steve shimmy upright before he begins across the beams in the rafters to cut off their retreat.

He drops down with a dull thud, blocking the HYDRA agents as planned but the brunet with the machine gun has it pointed under the woman’s jaw.

“She’s not so sassy now,” The man in charge smirks out, stroking a finger down her cheek. He glances behind, seeing Bucky, Tony and Natasha behind him.

“You know, nasty little fellows such as yourself always get their comeuppance.” Her words loud and clear as her gaze slides towards the older agent, the muzzle of the gun digging harder into her skin at her words.

“Snarky little bitch, isn’t she?”

“I like snark,” Tony mentions, looking to Natasha who just rolls her eyes. “But that’s because I’m just so good at it.”

“Release the girl, unharmed, and we’ll take you alive.” Steve offers, Rak’s nails digging into his shoulder once more as smoke begins to curl out of his nose again.

“How about no?” The agent whom had been silent this entire time speaks with a sneer, his little blue dragon’s head popping from a pocket in his utility pants.

Bucky lets loose a single round to the knee of the agent with the sub machine gun, making him buckle and the gun drop from his grip. That’s when Tony blasts the salt and pepper haired man past Steve as Natasha cuts the woman free, only for the woman to rush past Steve and the other agents deeper into the warehouse. Rak jumps from his shoulder and flys after her, prompting Steve to sigh as Bucky runs past, following after her and Rak.

“Does she realize the exit is the other way?!” Tony yells through the comms, taking a stance by where he’d entered to fend off dozens of incoming HYDRA. Two men run towards Steve only to stutter to the ground as electricity surges through their bodies.

“Thanks Nat.” He grunts before rushing through the doorway to find his best friend, his dragon and the directionally impaired woman.

:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxxx:::

You’re trying desperately to remember the turns they’ve dragged you through, looking for the spot where they had separated the two of you and tossed a bag over your head. A man moves to grab you, only to be attacked by an aggressive ruby dragon. It then scrabbles up your legs and perches itself on your shoulder, urging you on with a little grunt. You tread a little more carefully after that, but no less urgent, a scream clogging your throat as someone grabs your shoulder from behind before slipping a hand over your mouth. 

“Don’t scream.” You nod as the former Winter Soldier comes into view. “You know, the easy exit was the other way.”

“I’m aware. But they tossed my dragon in a big plastic looking box then I got the bag and drag treatment.”

“This warehouse has two floors in the front half, did they take you upstairs at all?” A shake of your head is all you can manage before the dragon flits from your shoulder and begins running down the hallway. “I guess we follow Rak then. You stay behind me and if I tell you to do something -”

“Consider it done.” You agree before gently pushing at his arm to get him moving.

Rak doesn’t stop until he’s about two hallways off where you all stopped, hissing and sending several fiery breaths towards the small side dock where HYDRA agents were loading up your dragon.

“Velma!” Her answering screech is enough to get you moving, Sgt. Barnes hand shooting out to keep you behind him. He’s got two of them shot and Rak is mauling another when you see a silver blur knock out the other two. It’s only when you turn to your right do you see Captain America snatch his shield, holding it for a beat before turning to look at you. If looks could lecture...you’d be in for a loooong one.

But as he gives you that look all you can think of is that now all the douche HYDRA agents are now k-o’ed, so you rush over to the giant box, sticking your fingers through the big air holes to stroke at her muzzle, Rak chirping at Sgt. Barnes, who steps around your crouched form and snaps the two heavy duty locks off with his metal hand. Your dragon bursts from the cage and tackles you, curling herself around your chest and neck as best she can as you coo reassurances to her.

“We gotta go,” Steve takes hold of your elbow, helping you up as you heft Velma off the ground, her wings wrapping securely around you as you follow Captain America back the way you came. Rak is riding on his shoulder and moving his ruby head back and forth between you and the hallway ahead. The Black Widow joins you halfway back and takes point, an emerald green dragon with beautiful iridescent wings in shades of purples, blacks, greens and a few splashes of a pale yellow shimmer brightly even in the dim lights of the warehouse hallway. You let out a soft grunt, hefting Velma a little higher as your arms start to tire. “Almost there. I can carry her, if you like?” He doesn’t look at you when he offers, simply continues looking forward at his measured pace beside you.

“I can manage,” Your pride answers before your tired arms can get a word in, a smile twitching at his lips at your answer, which just makes your pride suddenly all the more determined to do it yourself. He moves forward when you all get back to where the attack began, Natasha taking his place before Falcon glides in through the hole in the wall.

“It’s all secure to the jet,” He reports as he lands. “Tony is circling the outer gates to make sure they don’t have anything else - hostages or weapons.”

“Alright. Let’s get her on the jet. We’ll look her over and call into the compound for the doctor to be ready when we arrive.”

“Already done,” Natasha confirms and they all move in a protective box around you and Velma, Falcon now on your right and Natasha on your left as the good Captain takes the lead and the Sergeant keeps his place in the rear.

You’re herded - there is no other way to put it really - onto this very expensive, military-looking, and slightly futuristic jet. Falcon gestures to a seat and you kneel in front of it, carefully dislodging your draconian partner before taking the seat. Her scaled head nudges your open hand, reminding you that you’ve both made it.

Safe echoes in your mind and you nod, meeting her light amethyst eyes.

Safe, you reply as she climbs awkwardly into the seat beside yours, laying her head on your thigh.

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“Baby,” She coos to the dragon, a shiver going up his spine at the softness and care in her tone, her hand sliding easily over it’s red scales as Sam returns to her side with a first aid kit.

“They do anything else besides these?” Sam asks gently, his finger brushing softly over her cheek where it’s already beginning to swell. A shake of her head is all she manages, “Okay, I’m gonna clean it with an alcohol pad.” Sam swipes it across her cheek and around the left side of her mouth to get off the dried blood. When he dabs just under her lip she hisses and so does Rak, her own dragon tensing up and curling it’s upper lip just enough to flash the tips of its teeth.

“Down, kids,” She mumbles out before Tony struts onto the jet.

“All clear. Let’s go home.” Tony sits beside her as the jet begins to ascend, both men’s gazes dropping to her free hand which is gripping the edge of her seat. “I’m Tony.”

“Y/N.”

“Dragon?”

“Velma.”

“Velma,” Tony repeats with a chuckle. “I like it. Suits you both. This is Jericho.”

“‘By faith the walls of Jericho fell’…is that right?”

“Exactly! ‘See, I have delivered Jericho into your hands’. My mother insisted that I know the Bible. I just liked the idea of marching and horns defeating a strong enemy. No bullets, no bombs; just faith.”

“Kind of goes against the initial sort of images of yourself, huh?” Tony leans in slightly, a grin flirting on his lips.

“Have you been talking to my wife?” She leans in too, their foreheads nearly touching.

“I think I’d remember talking to her.”

“She is very memorable.” He agrees, leaning back in the seat before waving his finger at her chest. “Buckle up. We should be there in about twenty or thirty.”

“Do you need anything?” Steve asks, Bucky’s eye popping open from his resting place in the corner and a tiny twitch of his lips making him want to glare at his best friend.

“No, thank you.” Steve nods, moving to the front to talk to Natasha when Rak flits to the floor and scurries over to her, his head tilted to one side with his begging eyes on. Steve moves to turn back to stop Rak from bothering her. “Get up here then,” A smile dancing in her eyes as he chirps happily, leaping easily into her lap and shaking his wings out before carefully settling down, his snout resting beside Velma’s.

::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx::

You’re just nodding off when the jet lands, carefully tapping Velma and then Rak to wake them before stretching, wincing at the soreness in your face and neck.

Steve walks by you as the bay door opens before he whistles, Rak’s head perking up from the seat beside you, but he doesn’t move. This doesn’t seem to sit well with Steve, who glares at his partner like he’s betrayed him.

The dragon begrudgingly jumps down and stands at the Captain’s feet, an outstretched hand drawing you from the curiosity you felt watching Rak and Steve. You’re met with storm blue eyes and a small, easy smile.

“Come on, kid,” Unclicking from your seat, you accept his hand with a hushed thank you. You are hardly off the jet before a white marble blur nearly takes James down, his laughter ringing out before a woman appears just after, helping him up and the two of them disappearing into the building. You’re caught at a crossroads of sorts...Do you follow? Isn’t that a bit presumptuous?

“Are you Y/N?” You’re startled from your thoughts by a woman with thick black hair piled atop her head in a white lab coat.

“Yes?”

“I’m Dr. Hale. Natasha and Tony told us to be expecting you.” She gestures you forward, opposite to where the Avengers disappeared to. You follow obediently, with Velma trailing behind you, also looking to where they’d all gone. “Do you have any medical conditions we should be aware of?”

“No.”

“High blood pressure?”

“No, but if it’s high I was just taken hostage and then backhanded twice before having a gun shoved against my jaw while they tried to take my dragon.” She makes a face, eyebrows raised and fighting back a smile before she manages a big nod.

“Understandable...well let’s check all that. Was your dragon injured?”

“I ran my hands over all of her and she’s not injured that I can tell.” You look down at her, purple eyes alight. “You hurt, baby?” Velma shakes her head, her tail twitching slightly when she does so.

“Perfect. We’ll just check you over and then Tony should come get you.” All you can do is nod, following her into a very white and metallic exam room.

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Steve’s voice can be heard through the door of his room, he’s sure of it.

Rak has snapped at him twice so far and nearly set his comforter on fire because he ordered him to stay put while he showered. Steve knew where he would wander off to and he told Rak he needs to let the doctor do their job and check them over. He had angrily settled down when Howl had come into the room, the bigger dragon tossing himself down onto Rak’s bed - successfully luring Rak to him and calming the little spitfire down long enough for Steve to get a shower.

Once he was out of the shower, Rak started up again, a stare off ensuing between the two of them while Howl looked on in amusement.

“I said no!” Steve snaps at the wyvern before clenching his jaw so tight he’s sure he hears a pop. Rak opens his mouth, flashing all his teeth only to snap it closed when Bucky’s soulmate sticks her head in.

“Sorry. I knocked, but you must not have heard...I was just looking for Howl.” Howl’s whole body shakes as he wiggles his way happily to her. “Tony just went to get the woman from the infirmary, just to let you know.” Steve scowls at her as Rak begins to follow Howl out the door.

“Hey! Best behavior. And you need to cut the whole hissing, snapping and fire at me, you little gas ball.” Rak snorts, almost giving an eye roll as Steve blocks the door. “Shoulder.” He points for emphasis, his partner huffing as he slowly climbs up onto his shoulder. “And stay there, do you understand?” He turns his ruby head away and Steve’s mind wanders to the impossible...but he quickly shakes that thought from his head.

When she enters the room with her dragon, her cheek and lip swollen a little more than an hour ago when he’d seen her.

Wanda gasps as she enters the room, looking from Rak to Velma, Rak doing the exact fucking opposite as he was told - flinging himself from Steve’s shoulder and running towards you and Velma - before giving a little squeal.

“I’ve never seen a dragon soulmate pair meeting!” Steve looks in confusion from the dragons to Wanda and then to the woman, the room now deadly silent except for the soft, contented growls coming from the pair of ruby dragons curled around each other at Y/N’s feet.

“What - no, that’s not - that’s not possible.” Steve snorts in disbelief after he manages his oh-so eloquent words. “No. She’s not my soulmate,” The words tumble from his lips before he has a chance to really think the situation over but his eyes still see everything.

They see the hope that was blossoming in her soft eyes and they see the confusion flash through those pretty eyes before the hurt makes the light die out in them, her eyes dropping to the floor quickly.

He opens his mouth to refute his own words - to apologize and take it back - when he sees Bucky glaring at him.

After all, hadn’t it been him who had told Bucky to go after his dragon and his soulmate? Who had told Bucky he’d give anything to be in his shoes? And now that he was, he had just rejected his soulmate.

You could hear a pin drop as he stands there gaping like a fish before managing to firmly close his mouth.

She’s staring at their dragons, snouts pressed along side each other with their wings touching, tails twined together before she looks up and blinks rapidly. He knows she’s willing the tears away and it physically hurts him to see her avert her eyes.

Clint steps forward, whispering in her ear before offering her his arm. Clint takes her past him, both of their dragons trailing eagerly after her and both blatantly ignoring his very existence.

“All clear boss,” comes a familiar accented voice, Steve can feel all of his family’s eyes boring into him before Natasha speaks up.

“What the actual hell, you dumbass?”

“My sentiments exactly.” Tony pipes up from behind her.

“Didn’t you say you wish you were in my shoes?” Sam just harrumphs at Bucky’s words from where he’s sitting on the couch by Bucky and his soulmate.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize…” Wanda mutters among the other comments, worrying her bottom lip.

“It’s not your fault, Wanda,” Mercy soothes from the couch, hand gently squeezing Bucky’s as her dragon Cloud moves from her shoulder to Bucky’s, sensing his tenseness.

“Clint’s giving her a tour. She’ll be staying here until we can find out specifically why Hydra was after her. That should give you enough time to pull your head out of your ass,” Tony states while shoving his long sleeves up a bit on his forearms, hitting Steve with a “Sweet Jesus” side eye that Steve was all too well acquainted with.

“It just came out!”

“Like diarrhea…” Pietro says loudly from the kitchen, tossing a handful of grapes into his mouth. Steve glares at the male Maximoff, whom he literally didn’t even realize was in the damn kitchen.

“Again, it just came out. I didn’t even think about what I said!”

“That is abundantly clear,” Howl crawls into Bucky’s lap at his words, big eyes pleading to his human dad for pets to calm them both down, tail twacking Mercy who just rolls her eyes playfully at his needy and loving response to Bucky’s mood. Bucky smiling oh so softly at Howl and Mercy, as he strokes the oversized dragon taking up his lap.

Steve watches that and he aches for it. Those knowing looks to share with his soulmate.

But Peggy is gone.

And he doesn’t know where to go from here with this woman. Or the fact that Rak is completely convinced that Velma is his mate.

Because he is pretty sure she isn’t.

‘Pretty sure’ isn’t going to cut it for everyone else though. It definitely won’t be enough for Rak, that little gas ball of betrayal.

Steve was well and truly fucked.

Tagging:  @moonbeambucky @thewhiterabbit42 @nobodys-baby-now @unleashthemidnight @stay-frosty-royal-unicorn @chelsea072498 @clockworkmorningglory @sakurablossom4 @marichromatic @blondecoffeecake @ourloveisforthelovely @whinywingedwinchester @feelmyroarrrr

[humans4vampires]

1938 Debut

So, my Secret Santa for @teamlesbianbella​ turned into something way more than I anticipated! Your very frequent asks have now been answered. For your reading pleasure, I give you another short from Rosalie. And before I get the pitchforks and torches at my inbox requesting more, you should know, I am totally working on more as we speak. 

I love you all and so appreciate your love for me. Enjoy the read and please do tell me what you think! Any requests of what else you’d like to see in this series would be wonderful guidance.

If you’re reading this series of mine for the very first time - or just want quick access to the first short - you can click this link right here: 1977 Homecoming

1938 Debut

“You’re a vision, darling,” Carlisle beamed, a hand extended toward me as I moved to greet him at the base of the stairs. Our hands met and he twirled me gently to admire my dress. I was glad French fashion was on the decline; the hemlines and necklines were quite a bit more conservative than that of the 20’s, and I’d only experienced that decade as a child. I had never had the chance to flatter my figure with such a silhouette. I turned to face the gilded mirror on the wall.

“It’s perfect, Carlisle,” I smiled. “Thank you.”

We both stood in front of our reflections, wide smiles gracing our perfect faces. I swayed softly, urging the delicate, aubergine satin to ripple with the movement. I admired each detail; the way the supple satin melted to my curves, how the translucent chiffon ruffled tenderly across the dramatic swoop of the sweetheart neckline and over my exquisite shoulders. My golden hair was pinned up in intricate swirls, leaving my décolletage exposed. I ran a finger over my collarbones in a swift line. I’d never seen anything more beautiful and elegant. Was it vain to think it so?

“Perhaps,” Edward was suddenly beside us in the mirror’s reflection. “Even if it is true.”

His tone, as always, was glib. But his expression seemed sincere. Carlisle turned to him, an ever-hopeful smile budding on his lips. Edward did not turn to meet his gaze. His eyes remained locked on mine. A handsome crooked smile crossed his expression as he opened a flat, velvet box.

“I thought this might suit you,” Edward shrugged lightly. We were still watching each other in the reflection. I gazed down at the exquisite string of pearls he held in his hands.

I met his amber eyes again, Your mother’s pearls?

Edward nodded, hearing my unspoken words. “A gift, if you’ll accept?”

My expression matched my disbelief and Edward laughed. The sound was warm and enticing. His eyes were gentle when he spoke.

“Something this beautiful deserves to be worn,” he said simply. “They were not created to stay shut up in a box.”

Though I would never voice it, Edward was incredibly thoughtful. Somehow, I felt it was beyond his gifts; as if he would have done this had he not been able to read my mind. Despite our often tumultuous relationship, I was grateful for my brother. Though, I’d never voice it.

He laughed again as he read back each of my thoughts. Edward handed the box to Carlisle and removed the pearls, holding them up with a questioning expression. I nodded once and turned my attention back to my own reflection. I refocused my thoughts on myself as he moved to clasp the pearls around my neck. I was distracted when our eyes met, amber to amber, in the mirror again.

“Thank you,” I said softly. I was amazed at the intensity of emotion that was evident in my voice.

Edward nodded, smiling again his beautiful, crooked smile in acknowledgement. A distant crack of thunder rolled miles away, the flash of the lightning passing through the panes of the window at the same moment, pulling our attention to the sound of the storm.

“It’s getting closer,” Carlisle noted. “Do you think it will make landfall?”

Edward shrugged, “Improbable. I’ve heard it’s curving toward the sea.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Carlisle agreed. “A storm hasn’t landed in Massachusetts in nearly the last century.”

“Though, we should consider that it has already made a strange and unexpected new course up the parallel of the Eastern Atlantic Coast,” I added.

Another crash of thunder seemed to affirm my comment. We were each calculating the distance of the storm when Esme made her entrance. Still deep in thought, Carlisle turned to greet her, as if on instinct. Their eyes met and broke Carlisle’s concentration. Esme glided down the stairs, her deep blue dress dancing around her as she moved to Carlisle’s side. I was sure Edward could feel it too; it was as if the atoms in the air were charged with a new electricity, as if some sort of strange magnetism collided between Carlisle and Esme as they reunited. They kissed tenderly. My eyes flitted to Edward and away in an instant.

I tried to stop my incessant thoughts of love, but it was difficult when the pinnacle of devotion was flaunted in front of me. Not that it bothered me. No, rather it teased me, giving me hope that there was still that kind of affection waiting for me. But it scared me, too. What if I never found it? What if I missed it somehow? What if I was destined to find it some millennia from now? If I had just this one hope for happiness in this never-ending, never-changing eternity, how was I to live not knowing if it was just a futile prayer?

I felt a rush of embarrassment as I thought of the fleeting wish that often crossed my mind: If only Carlisle had been right, how satisfying it would have been to have come into this new life to find my truest love. He thought me destined for Edward. Carlisle thought only of our intended happiness; two beautiful souls plucked from their bright futures like stars streaming across the night sky, only to burn too fast, too hot, meeting their untimely deaths. It would have made for a perfect love story… if only he’d been right.

Edward pretended he hadn’t heard my thoughts. I sighed, taking his arm that he had extended out to me.

“Shall we go then?” Edward raised his brows. I cleared my throat, joining Edward in his taunt to our parents. We made a show of averting our eyes.

They separated themselves then, Esme fixing her lipstick before she slid on her gloves. “Yes, thank you, Edward.” She said, sheepishly.

We left the house with inhuman speed as we rushed through the rain to the carriage house. Of course, carriages were long-gone and ours was the home of our –well, my– treasured 1937 Cadillac Fleetwood Series 75. Edward held the door for me as I slid across the leather seat of the back row. Esme joined me before Carlisle and Edward moved to sit in the front seat. As always, I was disappointed that I would not be driving. I hoped desperately that the future decades would give women more social liberties. How was it that it was uncouth for a woman to drive in the company of men? I knew more about cars and mechanics than any man.

Edward looked at me through the reflection in the rear-view. “You can drive us home.”

I smiled widely in acknowledgment.

Edward started the car and the pleasing rumble changed his expression. A smug smile bent my expression.

“I’m impressed,” he said, assessing the improvements I had made to the engine. “Tell me what you did.”

We carried on the conversation as he drove us deeper into the city. The streets were nearly flooded with the deluge of rain, yet Edward expertly drove at top-speed until we had reached The Copley Plaza. It was strange; I felt a pang of anxiousness as we pulled into the line of cars waiting for the valet. I tugged at the finger tips of my gloves, fidgeting with my growing discomfort as we came closer to the grand, red awnings of the hotel.

Esme placed a hand over both of mine and turned to face me. “Sweetheart,” she murmured. “Don’t be nervous. You have exceptional self-control.”

Carlisle turned in his seat, facing me, too. “We’ll be with you every moment,” he assured me. “But if you’re not ready, I understand. Edward can take you home—”

I shook my head quickly to reject him, “Of course not.” I stopped my nervous motions and squared my shoulders. “I’m more than ready.”

I saw my reflection in my father’s eyes. Suddenly, I saw the earnestness that was always there in his amber eyes echoed in my own. The same compassion for mortality was present in me. I was certain I would make it through my first human event without any catastrophes – or casualties. In many ways, this night felt like my debut into society.

I’d not been out for a formal event since my engagement party. My human memories of the experience were fading, which was a welcomed reprieve. It would be nice to replace those thoughts with what was to come. I was eager to get out and interact with people again. Though I’d had many chaperoned trips out of the house for practice, I’d not yet been so openly exposed to so many humans at once. This was the trial my family was eager for me to overcome. I put a determined look on my face to match my internal resolve. Carlisle turned back in his seat as the valet opened our doors.

The rush of air from the outside brought with it the strong scent of fresh, pulsating blood. The young valet extended his hand to me, too focused on the umbrella in his other hand to really see me. I was grateful for the barrier of our gloves between his skin and mine as he helped me from the car. I didn’t have the mental capacity to worry about such things; I was intoxicated by his scent. Humans smelled even more delicious in the rain. There was something about the way their blood blitzed in their bodies to keep them warm. I took a deep breath, soaking in his scent, his heat, as he pulled me closer. He looked down at me then, and his breathing halted. He stumbled back on his feet a bit and struggled to keep the umbrella above both our heads.

In an instant, I imagined pulling him even closer, gliding my hands over his crisp, white collar and guiding my lips toward his neck. He wouldn’t fight, I was sure of it. It was something he was wishing for, in fact. It would be simple and quick. Without even the chance to scream, his blood would be pooling in my mouth, his life in my hands. In the same moment, I pushed the thought away in disgust.

The boy watched me as I pondered his death, though the expression on his face was not frightened. He was… enamored. His heart fluttered frantically as he unconsciously moved closer to me. Ah, what a simple fool he was.

“There are more cars, Elliott!” Someone yelled, pulling the boy’s attention away. “Don’t stand there flirting!”

The boy, Elliott, turned from me to hide his blush. I could taste the heat of it on my tongue. Elliott led me to the safety of the awning, bringing me in clear view of the other men waiting there. I basked in their envious glances at Edward as he moved to take my arm. They watched me with awestruck eyes. Carlisle and Esme took the lead ahead of us into the bright and glittering lobby.

The room was opulent, rich with marble and stately chandeliers and by all accounts, imposing. But all eyes were on me; it was as if the world had stopped as we walked on. Every woman was full of envy, every man overwhelmed by my beauty. I assessed their glances, doubting that I had the power to draw everyone’s attention on my own. Because of course, my family was beautiful, too. But as if by some divine right, I knew their eyes were on me. I knew in that instant that my vanity would keep these humans alive. I far favored their adoration over their blood. After all, they couldn’t look at me this way when they were dead.

Edward sighed loudly.

I pouted, my high being clouded by his judgment.

“Stay out of my head,” I said too quickly for human ears.

“I wish I could,” he retorted.

Carlisle sighed then. “Behave,” he scolded.

“There our children are,” Esme chided. “I wondered how long it would last.”

Edward and I chuckled as we continued across the lobby.

“Carlisle,” a man called. “Carlisle, come meet Dr. Williams!”

We followed Carlisle as he approached a small group of older, balding men and their richly dressed wives.

“George, you must meet Carlisle,” the man said. “Dr. Cullen is extraordinary for such a young surgeon.”

“John,” Carlisle smiled, shaking his hand. “I hope you’re not boasting.”

I tuned out then, letting my eyes wander the room. I met a few pairs of glaring eyes, which pleased me, but I was more focused on the weather. Despite the heavy magnitude of the structure around us, I could easily hear the storm raging outside. The rain pelted the windows so loudly that I was surprised that the humans seemed unaware. Thunder droned on and on, the occasional bolt of lightning bursting its brightness across the marble floor. I turned to the grandfather clock I heard strumming across the room and counted the thrums; one, two, three o’clock.

“My wife Esme,” Carlisle’s voice caught my attention again. “And her brother,” he added.

“Edward Masen,” Edward introduced himself. “A pleasure.”

“And is this your lovely bride?” John questioned, still shaking Edward’s hand, his eyes on me.

“Rosalie Cullen, sir,” I said gently, extending my hand, removing the glove. “Edward kindly agreed to be my escort for the evening.”

John took my hand, kissing it lightly as Carlisle continued the charade. “My niece, from New York.”

John reacted to my cold touch, but passed the thought quickly. He nodded politely, his heart stuttering. “A pleasure,” he blushed.

“Edward, make your way into the ballroom,” Carlisle said, reaching into the pocket of his suit jacket. “We won’t be far behind.”

Edward nodded, accepting the paper invitation from Carlisle’s hands. He handed it to me as he turned to the group and greeted them. “Gentlemen,” Edward said, pulling me away.

Finally, I thought.

Edward hummed in agreement. I looked down at the invitation in my hand as Edward walked with me. The paper was thick, expensive. The Great Depression was only a myth to those in this room. The invitation read:

The pleasure of your company is requested at the

3rd Annual Gala

to benefit

St. Peter’s Hospital

Wednesday, the twenty-first of September

Nineteen hundred and thirty-eight

at half past three o’clock

The Oval Room

The Copley Plaza

138 St. James Avenue

Boston, Massachusetts

Edward and I made our way through the large ballroom, passing a waiter on our way in. We each took a glass of champagne to stand on the perimeter of the room near the large, arched windows. We stood idly, making effort to take sips from our crystal flutes, sway, brush a stray hair away; we were playing human. Though it was so obvious we were anything but. I found myself raptured by my reflection again in the rain-soaked window beside me. In that same moment, the crushing blow of water on glass turned both my head and Edward’s.

It seemed to catch us both off-guard, the sound of rushing water on pavement. It was clear that we had been wrong about the storm; the hurricane from the south was quickly flooding the city. Our perfect ears heard every swirl of water as it charged toward us; it was less than a mile out. Windows were bursting, cars were shifting like ships out at sea, the sound of metal and glass playing like wind chimes. I could hear the screaming now.

But the humans here were completely unaware.

Danger was rushing toward them as they sipped their champagne and chattered mindlessly, naïve to the outside world. The metaphor was beautiful, and cruel.

Edward and I locked eyes. What do we do?

“Carlisle?” Edward said, his harsh tone almost a growl.

He and Esme were frozen in the doorway across the room, caught in the sounds of the chaos outside as Edward and I were. We all struggled to keep ourselves composed. Only a few seconds had passed.

Carlisle turned to Esme, but he spoke to us all. “Can we save them?”

Edward was curt, “How can we without exposing ourselves?”

“We can’t watch them all drown,” Esme whispered, breathlessly.

“If we barricaded the windows –“ Carlisle said.

Edward grabbed my arm, pulling me closer to him, “There’s no way. We can’t stay here.”

“Edward,” Esme’s tone was pleading. “Can’t we do anything?”

We moved toward Carlisle and Esme at a hurried, mortal pace, Edward tugging my arm in haste. When we reached Carlisle and Esme, we all froze.

There was this strange silence; I thought I had lost my hearing for a moment. The roar outside stopped for less than one second and the audio of the world seemed to pause.

And then the great, arched windows of the Oval Room quivered, bowed, and fractured.

____

To read more of my Rosalie series, click this link right here: 1977 Homecoming

To read some other things I’ve written for my Twilight babes, check out these links:

Cold Heart

Inebriated

My inbox is open for requests and love notes - which I always love.

[rexlapi]

i know no one who follows me is into genshin bUT im so proud of this au so i’ll post it anyways

moongod!zhonglixmotal!childe, chang’e/hou’yi au (no previous knowledge of the mid autumn festival is needed, hopefully i explained it well enough in the fic)

am i yours?

rating: teen for inexplicit self harm  wc: 2k

ao3

- -

It had only been a century since the god of the moon, known to the people as Morax, had first come to the barren rock he would soon have to call home. He had no emotional attachment to the place, however he had no other place to call home. Too many years since the man who had once been Zhongli had last seen his love, too long since he had known happiness. 

The earth was rising into view from his palace on the moon, the blue waters always reminding him of his lover’s bright eyes. Zhongli stood on the cold stone floor, staring out into the distance. It was the anniversary of the day when Zhongli had first ascended to yue, a day many mortals celebrated, offering him yuebing, or mooncakes, in hopes that he would bless their families. Every year, he found it in himself to smile upon those who still remembered his story, hoping that one day, his good would come back to him in the form of the one he loved. But of course, the world was a cruel place, leaving the immortal nothing but a barren rock to live his sad eternity on. 

Despite the people’s celebratory gifts, this day was always one of sorrow for Morax. He had only experienced a few decades of imprisonment on this rock, yet somehow Zhongli felt so, so very old. This day only ever reminded him of what he’s lost, of what he will never have again. To be fair, almost everything reminded him of his Tartaglia, from the waters of earth to the orange of the sun. More than anything, these things reminded him of his biggest mistake.

There was nothing in this that the moon god regretted more than his reckless action that got him stuck on this barren rock, never to see the face of the one he loved again. 

The day that ruined Zhongli’s life had been a beautiful day, one of the most beautiful days he had ever seen. The skies were a vibrant blue, streaks of puffy white clouds dotted throughout the sea of blue, the sunlight warm and bright. He had planned on proposing to Tartaglia that day He had everything prepared, an elaborate basket of luxurious gifts for the other man’s family, as well as a lovingly self-crafted pair of matching dangly earrings, for each of them. Zhongli unconsciously brushed his hand over his ear, toying with the rare orange jade bead at the end of his. 

He had been waiting for Tartaglia to return home from an assignment when one of his own students had broken into his house, looking for the small potion of immortality Tartaglia had received for shooting the excess suns out of the sky. His Tartaglia had always been an adept warrior, being proficient in nearly every weapon. Zhongli smiled to himself, wishing he could see the way Tartaglia bounced on his toes before every right, his face stretched into a broad grin, ready for the rush of adrenaline that every fight gave him. 

Zhongli had always loved teaching, wanting to impart his knowledge and wisdom on the next generation of bright minds. He would never forget the look of horror his student wore when Zhongli angrily shoved a spear through their stomach, snatching the elixir out of weakening hands and downing it in one gulp. It wasn’t until Tartaglia returned home shortly after the incident when Zhongli realized what he had done. He remembered how Tartaglia’s eyes had widened, his voice calling out for him, but Zhongli could already feel himself floating away, becoming weightless, as if he had become a spirit. The distraught cries from his love that morphed into sobs, calling his name, begging him to stay, telling him he loved him These cries would forever ingrain themselves into his memory. The elixir would have let them be happy and together forever. Instead, it separated the two of them for the rest of time.

Every year on this day, he would talk into the sky, hoping that maybe, one day, Tartaglia would hear him. Hoping that maybe one day he could see him smile, hear him laugh again. This year was no different. Zhongli busied himself in the kitchen, preparing some of Tartaglia’s favorite foods. He would eat a bite of each dish before leaving the rest as offerings to whatever greater powers lay above him, asking them for mercy, for freedom for this barren rock. Though, behind all of these, he would always ask to see his love, one last time. 

Please, Celestia. This is all I can offer for you. Please, I’d like a way off this rock, freedom from my past mistakes. He looked off into the distance, at the painting he had done of Tartaglia. Please, I’d like to see Tartaglia again. Please.

Years like this one passed. Years became decades, and decades became centuries. Time passed quickly for the immortal, and though it may pass fast, it had no end. Every year, Morax asked the same things of Celestia. Every year, he received no response. He had grown so very tired. 

On his 8880th mid-autumn festival, he awoke to see a sharp periwinkle dagger wrapped in silver silks sitting on the edge of his bed. He carefully unwrapped the fabric to reveal a beautifully carved glaze lily embedded on the handle. A small piece of paper fell out of the wraps, peaking Zhongli’s interest. He carefully set the dagger down onto his bed, picking up the small slip. 

A note, written in elegant, looping, traditional Liyuen. It read: Morax, your prayers have been heard. Celestia sends its regards as well as apologies for taking so long to process your request. Take this dagger as the key to the next journey in your life, where the one you love is waiting. It has been enchanted so there will be no pain. However, if you decide to take this chance, do know that it is irreversible. Do as you wish with it, take the chance or do not. 

I hope you find your peace, Zhongli.

The note was not signed, but somehow Zhongli felt as though he knew the person who had written the note. “Thank you.” he croaked out, his voice rough from lack of use. His hands shaking, he picked up the dagger once more. It was the perfect weight, a perfect balance of light yet solid. It had been, well, ever since he had come onto this rock since he had held a weapon. Not a weapon, a key. A chance. Hope. 

He took a walk around the empty palace where he had lived in solitude for thousands of years, as if saying goodbye. It was a goodbye he was happy to say. He retrieved the hand carved wooden box containing his most prized possession from it’s secret location, securing it in his pocket. He carefully rolled up the scroll containing the image of a smiling Tartaglia and slipping that into another pocket, scared that if he did see Tartaglia again, that Zhongli wouldn’t be able to recognize him. 

He stared down at the dagger in his hands, his fingers curling around the elegant glaze lily. He felt his grip grow tighter, then he felt his hands start to shake. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes. He was ready to leave this barren place behind. I will see you again, Tartaglia.

As promised, the blade brought him no pain. 

... 

Zhongli opened his eyes to see an ethereal forest, the trees not quite opaque, as if they weren’t quite there. He looked down to see the beautiful blade that had been gifted to him stained with golden blood. He wasn’t bothered by the golden blood, for it was the blood of immortals after all. He was however, awed by the trees he saw. He hadn’t seen vegetation in what felt like years, not having to eat food in order to sustain himself after ascending to godhood, saving human food for very special occasions. 

He looked around, though he didn’t see anyone. Where the one you love is waiting, the note had said. Zhongli wandered around the forest for what felt like days, looking for a head of bright orange hair or a pair of deep ocean eyes. He saw neither. Had the sender lied? He couldn’t help but lose a little bit of hope, though wherever he was now was still certainly better than the hellhole of a rock he had resided on for millennia. He took a deep breath of the fresh air, feeling more and more energetic by the moment. 

Say something. His brain told him. He was running out of options, so he did as his inner monologue asked. Clearing his throat, he recalled the song he would sing to his Tartaglia. Humming the first few lines to get warmed up, his hope growing with every beat. 

“Xu ni sheng shi shi, wu jue qu de ai,” His voice shook as he switched from his native Liyuen to lover’s Snezhnayan. “Always and forever, in this heart of mine…” The forest was silent. Zhongli felt his heart shatter, not wanting to accept that he really would never see his Tartaglia again. He knelt on the ground, his hand clutching the blade of the dagger, a cascade of golden blood dripping onto his spotless black-gold hanfu. He wished he could feel the sharp pain of the cold blade biting into his skin. 

“Xu ni sheng sheng shi shi, wu jue qu de ai,” 

Zhongli had never stood faster in his entire life, the dagger falling to the ground, forgotten. His eyes widened as the familiar face of his beloved appeared from behind a tree. He stood stunned. The sender didn’t lie.

The sun seemed to illuminate the younger boy, his orange hair glowing golden, his typical gray ensemble billowing in the breeze. Zhongli had never seen such a beautiful sight in his thousands of years of existence. “Always and forever, in this heart of mine… longer than the heavens, and the stars that shine…”

Zhongli and Tartaglia both rushed forward at the same time, the orange haired boy taking the other’s bleeding hand in his, while Zhongli gently placed his uninjured hand on his lover’s face. “Xiang si qing nan nai, yuan yu ni tong zai,”

They both broke out into smiles filled with grief and disbelief, their voices shaking as they finished the verse together. “I am yours, I am yours, forever”

Collapsing into the other man, Zhongli let himself cry. “Tartaglia I-”

He felt strong arms hug him tighter, only making Zhongli sob harder. “Shh it’s okay, I’m here now. You’re here now.” Tartaglia had begun to cry too, having fallen to the ground with Zhongli, the two a tangle of limbs and tears. 

“I love you so much.” Zhongli choked out, letting more and more of his years and years of pain and loneliness fade away with every moment in the other boy’s arms. 

Tartaglia kissed Zhongli through teary eyes, trying to convey the words he couldn’t say in the action. “I’ve never stopped loving you, even after all these years. I love you, Zhongli. So much. Please, don’t be an idiot again and cause us another eight-thousand years of separation. I don’t think I can go through that again.”

Zhongli laughed through a sob, placing a kiss on Tartaglia’s cheek. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” He pulled out the box he had carried around with him since he had been banished to the moon. Carefully, he pulled out the other earring he had crafted all those years ago, the same shape and pattern as the singular one Zhongli himself wore. “Tartaglia, would you be mine forever?”

“Only if you’re mine forever" He responded, the biggest shit-eatting grin on his face. 

Zhongli nodded solemnly, completely serious in his consideration of the agreement. “That is a fair contract.”

Tartaglia laughed before kissing Zhongli again. “It was a joke, of course I’ll be yours.”

He dipped his head down, allowing Zhongli to attach the earring to his ear. Perfect. Zhongli couldn’t help but think. The blue jade matched his eyes perfectly, just as Zhongli’s earring matched his own amber eyes. “Forever?”

“Forever."

~~~~~~~~~~

Xu ni sheng shi shi, wu jue qu de ai -> Let your love live forever,

Xiang si qing nan nai, yuan yu ni tong zai -> Love-sickness is unbearable, I wish I were with you

[thewritingof-therose]

Hi! Last week, with the publishing of the 20th chapter of Hasard, I reached the 100 kudos on the fic, so to celebrate it, here’s some kind of bonus chapter where I talk a little about the conception of the story, along with comments about each chapters. 

Enjoy!

----

So… 20 chapters and 100 kudos already. To be honest, by the time I started imagining this story, I wasn’t really expecting to be able to celebrate that milestone of kudo on a single fic and even if I already celebrated the 2000 kudos in general this year, if we make a quick calcul based on the numbers of kudos and all the fics I’ve published, at the time I’m writing those words, it’s the same that if each one of my fic had only 20 kudos… So yeah, finally reaching the hundred on a single one makes me so happy \o/

Anyway, here’s some trivia and fun facts about Hasard and the first twenty chapters of the story.

First of all, some history:

I had the idea for Hasard in May 2018 as I was watching the tv show Lucifer (I am not up to date with it, please don’t try to spoil me this show ^^’) and I imagined one scene that just… shaped the entire story and it took me less than a few hours to know that I would write it. Even if I wasn’t sure how long it would be and that there had been some changes. And no, I won’t tell what scene kickstarted it all because she still has to come and it could be quite a huge spoiler. 

Following it, my brain quickly went into developing the full story and a few things changed. On the top of my head, I can say that Maiev was meant to be more on her own, almost a complete independent Hunter that would have also been resented by the other Hunters, along with a way more black and white view of the demons. She was meant to be more aggressive against all demons and really thinking that they all deserved to die, but I softened that side of her as I shifted the world building with the presence of hybrids. 

At first, the hybrids were meant to be a really rare kind and I wanted to keep that status for a few select characters because it could have brought some really good story for them. Then, as I kept working on the worldbuilding, I came to the idea that actually, hybrids were extremely common, but at the same time, the demon’s presence was still a secret from most of the world because most hybrids started centuries ago and their blood and physical attributions were weakening the more they were reproducing. So, about 80% of the world is made of hybrids of all kinds of generation (who is my way of scaling the demonic influence on their life) and the 20% left is shared with the full demons and full humans. 

Full demons are simply people who don't have a single drop of human blood in them. Usually, they are born from two other full demon parents or they just appeared like that (that’s the mytho). They are extremely powerful and good magic users, but now, they are rare. It was easier to be a full demon millenia ago when they ruled over the world and the few that are left in the current world of Hasard, survived either by hiding really well, manipulating their way to stay alive, or simply because they accepted to work with the humans and they went on. 

My best example of a full demon is Velen. 

The full humans, are the humans who either had never gotten a single drop of demon’s blood in their bloodlines, either they purged the bloodline after making sure that there had been at least 10 generations since the last time a hybrid was born (technically, every child following it would be considered as an hybrid, but the other parent would be a full human to weaken the demon’s blood which each new generation). Full humans are rarer than full demons and they tend to be bad news as almost all of them are associated with the Priesthood (who’ll get some more explanation later.)

I haven’t presented yet one of them to give an example, but one is ready to show up in the Second arc of the story. Won’t say who to not spoil the surprise x)

As for hybrids, there are two kinds. The one born from a demon and a human, and or hybrids (two hybrids will keep creating hybrids and technically, as long as one of the parents has human blood, the bloodline will stay a hybrid one). And the second one hadn’t been introduced yet. We have characters that are that kind, but it’s some worldbuilding elements that will show up later and so, I'll keep it to myself for now. Feel free to theorize though! And usually, most hybrids will simply call themselves demons instead of showing signs of weaknesses by not being a full one.

For the title of the story, it had been extremely hard for me to find one. Ever since I started preparing everything, it had a codename and it was “Modern AU” and it stayed like that until the very minute of the publishing of the first chapter. I was already going towards “Le Hasard Fait Bien Les Choses” but I was bothered because it was French, and no matter what, I couldn’t find a good English idiom that would have all the nuances of the French one. The only thing that comes close to it would be “Fate is a funny thing” and yet, I’m not entirely satisfied with it. So, after a long debate with myself and help from other people, I came to the conclusion that I had to keep the French title if I wanted to be happy with it. 

It might not help much to get people interested, and I’m considering adding “Fate is a Funny Thing” after it but I’m debating it.

I think that's already a lot, so let's move to the trivia per chapters:

A Muffled Shout In The Night

Oh boy, first chapter! I was so excited to finally start the story but I was also really stressed. I tried to give away a quick summary of how the universe was working, along with my two main characters + showing up the first supportive characters towards Maiev. Trying to present all the cast (so adding Illidari and more about Illidan) right in that chapter wouldn't have really worked so, instead, I went to show that a more "Legion-y" timeline could be expected thanks to Khadgar and Velen's presence in the chapter. 

I kinda hope that I succeeded to already show Maiev's obsession towards the Betrayer through her first lines.

Though I will be one hundred percent honest with you. The end of the chapter with Illidan running away, don't expect much from that interaction. I kind of always forget about it unless I'm reading back the chapter… I only needed a reason for them to stop fighting and the chapter to carry on.

But who knows, maybe I'll tie it to something one day.

Two Black Coffees And A Meeting, Please

When writing it, I always knew that Drelanim was on the other side of the call (or at least another Hunter) but as I read the moment a few times, I realized that I could have gone for a completely different way. One that would have probably surprised everyone.

But yeah, in another universe, it's Illidan who calls Maiev because he's in front of her place as they decided to meet for breakfast there. It would have been quite nice and unexpected for the story, especially that Illidan would have gotten right away the reveal that Maiev was actually the Warden as she would have complained about the wounds of the night. 

In the end, I went on with my first idea and made them meet for good in the chapter.

And, like with the first chapter… the "current problem" that he talks about to Kor'vas went nowhere… I'll more than probably get him to acknowledge some uninteresting side story for it at some point.

Memories Of A Rainy Day That Will Never Be Forgotten

For that one, one word: Ouch.

By the time I started to write this chapter, I was also preparing the Advent Calendar of 2019 and I had decided on telling Naisha's story, and I had to realize that I still had to foreshadow some elements from it to make it work. Of course, the title is fully referencing the day she died and the demon that Maiev killed right at the beginning of the chapter was similar to Naisha, putting Maiev in a stabbing mood. And it led us to another necessary addition for the Calendar's chapter: Malfurion.

(I'm also wondering how many people guessed right away that Malfurion was the one Illidan was calling…)

Brother, My Brother, Tell Me What We're Fighting For? 

Even if Malfurion had more of a cameo than anything in the Calendar's story, I felt the need to introduce him to put the bases of the twins' relationship. I always knew that he was a doctor and that he was mostly helping Illidan when he was getting in trouble, and as their backstory is different from WoW and that they are both demons, I didn't want to go on the canon path for them. 

I cannot tell much about it because we'll get fast to their backstory (Second arc) but here, Illidan and Malfurion mostly grew up in a world where it was them against the rest of the world. They were born during the glorious days when demons ruled the world and they saw it change through the millennia that followed. After everything, they would be devastated to lose the other and suddenly be the only one left. This is why they are way closer than they could ever be in canon (and also Tyrande isn't part of their backstory so it helped them keep a good relationship). Sometimes, they part ways for a few decades. Malfurion goes back to medical school somewhere and makes sure that he's up to date for it, or Illidan just moves with his clan to experience new things. But they stay in contact and always come back in proximity of one another.

The end of the chapter was my obligatory "shock reveal/cliffhangers" before a break. But well, I wanted to keep the Legion's existence in my sleeve for a little longer, but I realized that it would allow me to make them into a concrete threat as the story will progress + allowing Illidan and, mostly, the Illidari to be a little more presents into the story.

Actually, the chapter's name comes from a song from the occidental version of the first Pokemon movie. It's a line from the song that plays when the Pokemon and their clone fights, and i used it mostly for the brother's mentions and because it would totally be a thing said by one of the twins in their past…

A Flower Arrangement Made With Your Face In Mind

At that time, I wanted to make a chapter to develop a little more the supporting characters of the cast, and as I was taking back the writing of the fic after a four or five months break, I thought it would be nice. 

So, we got a little side dish of Illidari for it and that’s pretty much the only chapter (until now) where Illidan or Maiev barely appears in it. Yet, I threw some worldbuilding and foreshadowing in it and I still like it, so it isn’t really a filler.

I’ll probably do more chapters like that in the future, but I’ll see with the pacing of the story.

Willingly Accepting Your Death Isn't As Easy As I Thought

I don’t have much to say about this chapter. I still really like it and especially Maiev and Velen’s interaction. 

Along with showing that we were far from a potential romantic relationship, at least on Maiev’s side x)

A Laugh That Will Echo Through The Ages

Oh my God, that chapter! I could probably talk about it for hours but we would quickly reach the spoiler territory so I’ll see what I can tell without shooting myself in the foot.

I loved giving Khadgar some more identity and I like his relationship with Maiev. In the story, they are around 10 years apart, with Khadgar being the youngest. He’s like an honorary younger brother to every Hunter and even if Maiev won’t admit it, she’s kinda thinking the same. 

If he had been in the spotlight for this chapter, it was actually because I was thinking of writing his backstory for the Calendar of 2020 but in the end, I scrapped the idea and wrote something else. But It’ll happen at some point.

You Were In My Dream Last Night, And I Found You That Morning

A simple and nice chapter to calm down from the action heavy that was the precedent. I do throw some crumbs of foreshadowing and backstory, mostly for Maiev, but we will have to wait quite some time for the full one. Even if to be honest, before I release it fully, there will probably be some people that will stitch everything from my crumbs.

Illidan’s dreams are meant to be a plot point all through the story, and I decided to start them with this chapter. And of course, we can see that it’s the first chapter where Illidan, even if he isn’t conscious of it, starts to like Maiev more than he should have at that point.

A Red Dress And Heels To Hide The Knife In Plainsight

I loved writing that one. Showing that Maiev had more hobbies than hunting demons, along with showing how you had to act to get her to do things that she would refuse to do otherwise. Most of the time, if Sira gently asks if she wants to go do some shopping, Maiev always has something else to do. Not that she hates shopping, just that she thinks there’s better things to do. 

I could probably go more about Worgens and their existence, but it would spoil some part of the story :/ 

And honestly, I had an alternate version of this chapter where Illidan saw Maiev and Sira hurrying in the streets, followed them and he would have eavesdropped on the conversation about him. It was obviously bad because it was confirming that Maiev was at least a Hunter (which he won’t know until a while by that time) and it would have been totally an excuse for smut x)

A Warning Falling In Deaf Ears

With this chapter, I’ve been working on mixing the idea of chapters 5 (to concentrate on rest of the cast) with more of the main story. Like that, I show that there’s more than Illidan and Maiev in this universe, but at the same time, I’m still progressing their story by sharing the chapter between the two. I really liked writing Kayn like that and I think that one of my favorite things to write in this story, it’s Illidan and Malfurion interacting.

A Touch So Familiar, Yet So Strangely Threatening

I remember writing that chapter and suddenly realizing that it was going to be longer than the precedent, and i thought for a moment that I had to cut it in half, but I couldn’t find a satisfying way to do it, and it would have fucked up my outline, so I just carried on with it until I had told everything that I had to. 

With that chapter, I’m trying to show that Maiev can be really crazy when it comes to the Betrayer and his followers, but I can assure that she wouldn’t wound any of the Hunters, even if they cannot really be sure about it. And the little dialogue with the B-word made me laugh and yes, Maiev already called the Betrayer a bitch to his face. In 13 years, it would have been weird that she didn’t think of it at least once.

For the rest of the chapter, I just wanted to show that Maiev and Illidan were becoming comfortable with each other + setting up a reason for her to be worried about Illidan to show him her good side.

Screaming Under The Full Moon Won't Change Your Fate

The one thing I keep from this chapter, is that I can’t wait to dive more into Velen and Maiev's relationship.

Otherwise, yeah, if Illidan were to go into a fight only wanting to use magic, he could kill Maiev without breaking a sweat. But he likes the challenge and feels like it wouldn’t be satisfying to annihilate her with just a spell, so he’s fighting blade against blades, unless Maiev is really close to kill him.

A Fateful Call That Only You Can Be Blamed For

I have nothing much to say about it. It was one chapter that I really wanted to write and publish, because it’s the one where Illidan just let his guard down around Maiev for good, and now that he won’t try to trap her into admitting that she is the Warden, it allows him to see Maiev in another light.

That anyone can guess what it is.

Oh yeah, just that I threw some good crumbs of the fact that Illidan is a self-loathing addict in my fics and that it’s one of the reasons he falls so hard for Maiev after this chapter. But it’ll be a good talk for either another chapter, or later.

Going Separate Ways For A Night But Not The Life

Nothing to say, it was a transitional chapter to show that Illidan really believes that Maiev isn’t the Warden, and that there’s more than the fight to them.

Stab Me Once, Shame On You. Stab Me More Than Twice...

A fun little chapter. Velen is more modern than most people can believe and once again, I like writing about the interactions between Illidan and Malfurion. Of course, if you go back to read this one after chapter 20, you might see that I already knew how it was going to happen from this chapter, as the 20th got his title in this one.

I just hope that people read the story from the Advent Calendar 2020 to know what happened in the middle of it.

And From There, Fate Laughed At Them

I could talk for hours about Cordana in my AU. I just love what I’m going to do with her characters and I hope that my readers will like it too. 

But to give some crumbs, Maiev and Cordana have been best friends since high school and she’s the first long-time friend that Maiev had made in her life and thanks to Cordana, she met with Sira and the group, but most importantly Velen. Cordana is a hybrid of sixth generation, so her demonic attributes are almost non-existent, but she kept some supernatural ability from her legacy. She knew from a very young age that she wanted to hunt demons and protect people, and met with Velen early to prepare her future job. Once she discovered that Maiev had some natural abilities to hunt demons, she saw them as the future “Best Best Friend and Hunters” and convinced Maiev to give a go to the hunt. She was forced to move out in another city but she kept contact with Maiev and the rest of the group. In terms of strength, abilities and hunting score, she is right behind Maiev.

Otherwise, I will add that I had a lot of fun writing the conversation between them about Illidan and how he would be better than the Betrayer *winkwink*.

I didn’t make it clear in that chapter and it won’t be important, but Khadgar has a crush on Cordana.

Cordana meant well with the message, and even if in real life, I would condone such action, here, I needed it to move things around because yes, neither Illidan nor Maiev would make the first step if it wasn’t for Cordana.

During the fight, at the beginning of the scene, Illidan totally complimented the Warden on her abilities but don’t try to make him admit it.

Last thing: my nickname is Fate. I’m the one laughing.

Games, Games, All Is Games

I don’t really have anything to say about this chapter.

Sometimes, Cowardice Allows The Survival Of The Smartest

To be perfectly honest, I regret how I handled Cordana’s week in the story because I’ve barely done anything with her but I can explain where the problem is. I knew that I wanted Illidan to discover the warden’s identity on chapter 20, and I planned all my updates around that one fact, but when it came to the outline, I wasn’t sure what to tell between the chapter 13 and 20 to reach that point and thanks to the Calendar, I moved things around that one and I ended up having the idea of making Cordana appears (She should have come in person in the story much, much later). And as I needed chapters 18 and 19 to build up to the reveal, I ended up completely stuck and making her appearance too fast and if it wasn’t for the message, she would have been useless to the story. But I realized it too late and I couldn’t rework my outline in time.

But well, i’ll give her a better mini-arc in the second arc of the story to atone for it.

Otherwise, I hope that the feel of the countdown to the reveal starting by the end of the chapter had been caught by some people x) It’s obvious to me, but well, i’m the writer.

Step By Step, Tick Tock Said The Clock

Just a build up chapter for the 20th. Even if I really like it and that I’m preparing the ground for future plotlines but I’ll let you guess which one it could be x) 

I know I haven’t make it clear in the chapter, but Malfurion knew that Illidan was lying when he pretended that his problem was the Warden “may-be-may-be-not-a-hybrid/demon” but as he also know that his brother is a “stubborn motherfucker” he let it slid. 

And yes, somewhere in my mind, there’s an alternate universe where Maiev accepted Illidan’s invitation and that they would spend the evening at her place. Without a reveal first.

Any Last Wish?

I don’t really have something to add to this chapter. I succeeded to write it just as I wanted.

I just had a long debate with myself as to how I wanted it to end, as I had the choice between cutting it right as Illidan is saved by the Warden (maybe not revealing her identity before the next chapter, or it would have been the last line) or just as I did, by them reaching her place first. I chose the latter because I want Chapter 21 to start with a really specific scene and I thought that it was better than a cheap cliffhanger. 

The last thing I'll add, is that for the story to go well, I had to make Illidan be the first to be aware of the identity of the other, mostly because he can be the one to change his mind more easily about wanting to kill the Warden. If it had been Maiev discovering that Illidan was the Betrayer at this moment of the story, he would have died.

And now, because I'm not done yet, here’s some info about the bonus chapters that were published independently from the main story!

AC Day 8: A Morning

First calendar, in 2018, and I already knew that I was going to write Hasard. It had no name by this time, but I had written that small scene to try out a few things and see how it’ll work.

There’s a really high chance that I end up rewriting it for the main story, but I think that a few elements will change. We’ll see.

AC19 Day 24: Hasard: Naisha

Probably the worst (in terms of feels) chapter of the story yet.

Naisha is probably the character who had a story and fate the closest to canon and I wanted to keep it like that, as it allowed to shape even more the hate between the Warden and the Betrayer. Honestly, she wasn’t deserving of a death like that, especially that if the Betrayer hadn’t intervened that day by trying to kill Maiev, Naisha would have survived.

Actually, in any other universes/storylines possible, she would have survived. Unfortunately for her, she fell right into the feud and became a victim of it.

At this point of the story, Illidan isn’t even completely aware of what happened that day, and he has no idea who Naisha was. All that he knows is that he thought to have killed the Warden, only to find her, even more angry in the following week. He just knows that he had killed the wrong person, but he had no idea who. Maiev herself doesn’t know for sure that it was the Betrayer the culprit, as she couldn’t see clearly in the rain.

Of course, it’ll end up being brought up in the story :)

AC20 Day 8: Hasard: Malfurion’s Hellish Day

It should have been Khadgar's backstory actually for that Calendar. But even if I have a good idea about it, I realized that I wasn’t completely inspired and that I was missing a few details to be able to write it. So, in the end, I went desperately after another idea and thanks to Melowen, I think, she got me on the idea of writing about Malfurion.

In the end, this chapter, meant to be a funny one with Illidan and Maiev forced to be in the same place for the same job, with Malfurion, aware that it would be a catastrophe to let them discover the truth, ended up shaping the last chapters currently published.

And if you are wondering, no, Illidan wasn’t trying to trick his brother in giving him the secret identity of Maiev. He was just trying to get his brother approbation about the woman he was starting to crush on.

The line: ‘“Yeah, everyone tells me that I look like a famous actor,” Malfurion faked a chuckle, glancing at the woman.’ is a reference to my Bodyguard AU where Illidan is an actor. 

Alright, that’s all for the trivia! Thanks for reading this bonus chapter, and the main story until now, and I hope you’ll keep enjoying reading Hasard!

Rose

[mshermia]

There... And Back Again?

Febuwhum2021 Day 12 - Who Are You

Summary:

For decades, Tony managed to lock his childhood memories away, never to be talked about again, but with the daughter he adored getting older and more curious, with the boy who he pulled back into his life as nothing less than a son, there were questions coming up, that Tony couldn't suppress any longer.

The Stark's drive upstate to the old Masion where Tony grew up. To Tony's horror, the trip takes him and the kids a lot further down memory lane than anyone could have predicted.

Read on AO3

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Part I

"Wait, you've never been there either?" Peter's voice rang clearly surprised.

"Nope," Morgan bubbled cheerfully, then paused. "Is that weird?"

They had left New York City about an hour ago. Super conveniently, Pepper had to attend an emergency meeting and sent Tony ahead with the kids on this trip from hell, which was great. Just great. Tony was only about 45% sure that she had set it up like this, forcing him to engage. He'd had little say in the matter as the fateful trip was arranged. A trip to his ancestral home. With a hyper-active Spider-kid and a chaotic 6-year-old in the back seat, it would be his hardest part playing 'Respectable Adult' to deliver yet.

Peter - to Tony's horror - had asked to be picked up on Bleeker Street instead of the Parker's apartment in Queens. It wasn't the first time that Tony had heard the odd clue that Peter had grown interested in what they were doing in that Sanctum. He would need to have a bit of a talk with Strange when they got back. The kid dabbling in witchcraft - or whatever it was those dudes were up to in the Sanctum - that just wouldn't do.

His eyes on the road, even with the excited voices chattering in the backseat, Tony couldn't help but hold onto his gloom. He had missed his window of opportunity. In all honesty, Tony had just been a coward, hoping that if he ignored every little mention of his parents, they'd just stay in the deep hole where he had buried all those memories years ago. Decades ago.

First, it had been pain and anger that had kept him determined to keep all of it hidden there. Years, he had carried all that baggage like a ball and chain around his ankle, the weight of it dragging him down for too long, never really allowing him to just let go of the past.

There had been moments along the way, that had lit up these flames before. When Tony had found out about how his parents had really died. The Snap and the loss that followed. Morgan's birth, when he had held his baby girl, while Pepper was sleeping, recovering from labor.

What wouldn't he have given for his mom to live to see Morgan, to hold her. To just be there and tell him what to do, how to do right by this little girl. Both of his girls, really. 

At the same time, there were no words for the relief he felt that his father would never get the chance to touch Morgan. Would never get the opportunity to make either of his kids feel inadequate and small. To make them hate their lives like he had always made Tony hate his.

Howard would never get the chance to do that to his kids. And that sure felt like liberation.

There was a single portrait of his mother on the wall out in the hallway of the cabin right next to the black and white wedding picture of Pepper's parents. When they brought Morgan home from the hospital, Tony added another portrait. One of his father that still sat behind the framed picture of Tony and Peter in the kitchen cupboard. It was there as an ever-present reminder for Tony just in case, so he'd remember every day what he didn't want to be.

Tony had managed to suppress the topic of his parents, the good and the bad. But he didn't want to be trapped in the labyrinth of right and wrong anymore. Just sick of holding onto the pain. It was all too much.

So maybe the cracks had started with him, but Morgan had surely been a catalyst.

It took a few more years though till Tony had to outright confront what he had kept at a safe distance for so long. With the daughter he adored getting older and more curious, with the boy who he pulled back into his life as nothing less than a son, there were questions coming up, that Tony couldn't suppress any longer.

Howard Stark. The Titan. Maria Stark, the quiet, good soul. The anchor in Tony's youth. There came a time when the kids couldn't be held back with empty words, that had just not been enough to nip the whole topic in the bud. Maybe because Tony had never been the kind of father that would cut his kids' excitement and curiosity off like that. Maybe he could at least pretend that this was the father he had truly become. The patient and giving kind. There was still a chance that he could fake this, sell it just right so that the kids would never know what a disappointment he had been to his own parents. So that his kids would never know the coldness and heartache that had been the baseline of his childhood and adolescence.

Darkness had fallen shortly after they had left the city. What had hung as a heavy fog in Manhattan had quickly turned into even nastier weather, storm clouds gathering ready to wreak havoc. But the spirits in the car were high. Despite the dread Tony was trying to hide at the very prospect of this trip, the kids sure amused themself looking up the old house on the internet.

"Whoa! That's huge," Peter gasped. "How many rooms is that?" 

"Let me see, let me see," Morgan begged. Judging by the commotion in the back, she was trying to wrangle the phone out of Peter's hand. "Whoa!"

Tony couldn't help but smirk at how she imitated Peter more and more often.

"Daddy, why have we never been to the Mansion?"

Tony cringed. He hated it when people called it that. The Mansion. It was what his father had called it, though it had probably been for the best since it had surely never been a home, at least not for Tony.

"We've been waiting for you to be old enough to clean it. It's a lot of rooms." He found the kids' eyes in the review mirror. "A lot!"

Morgan wrinkled her nose. "Why do I have to do the cleaning?"

"That job is always for the youngest sibling," Peter jumped in.

"But... but that's not fair! It's a lot of rooms!" She gasped, excitement nevertheless vibrating off her. "Maybe Doctor Strange knows a cleaning spell."

Peter spluttered out a laugh, but Morgan was adamant, grilling Peter for everything he had already learned from the wizard, which - at least so he claimed and Tony could only hope it was true - was nothing really. It wasn't until Peter gave in and spun Morgan a tale about ancient rituals, of witches and spirits that he had allegedly read about at the Sanctum that she stopped interrupting and hung on every single word. It was also the point where Tony once again regretted that his girl had ever even heard of Strange and his godforsaken Sanctum.

"It only happens every few millennia." Peter had turned towards her, his voice drowning out the rain that was pattering against the roof of the car, but not so much the soft thunder in the distance. "It happens when the sun reaches just the right position in the sky, its beams able to penetrate the earth's crusts and open the door to the underworld. It was in one of those nights when witches and ghosts formed their first secret pact, bringing back to life things and creatures that have been dead for a long time and--"

"Pete, seriously..." Tony looked up into the review mirror trying to catch his eye. "Can you not? I don't want Morgan up all night, terrified of some dumb ghosts."

"Come on, it's just a story, Tony. Morgan knows I made it all up, right?" Peter winked at her, then wiggled his eyebrows in a way that seemed kind of familiar.

"Yeah, daddy." But Morgan was full-on ignoring Tony, her eyes on Peter trying to imitate the wink and wiggly eyebrows he had just sent her way. "It's just a story."

He could do little more than groan as Peter continued to spin a tale of spirits and witches, ancient pacts and promises that had to be kept, ransoms that the spirits had vowed to retrieve.

"It was a night very much like tonight," Peter continued, his voice low and full of dreadful foreboding, "that the witches broke that pact they had signed with the blood of the innocent..."

Morgan's gasp morphed into a giddy giggle while Tony could only rub a hand across his brow and mumbled, "Blood of the innocent, give me a fucking break..."

But if either of the kids had heard, they weren't interested in his opinion.

"...and the spirits, they vowed to come back and settle the score one day. One day when the sun and moon would once again be perfectly aligned with the door to the underworld..."

"When did the moon become a part of this?" Tony braced his elbow against the window frame, cradling his head.

"...then they will come back and collect the price that they were promised so many centuries ago."

"What's the price?" Morgan whispered.

"The soul of mankind's bravest hero to punish humanity once and forever. The soul of the hero, that this world can't endure without."

Morgan gasped while Tony rolled his eyes hard enough to potentially sprain some eye muscles.

"In fact..." Peter hesitated, then drew in a deep breath, slamming his lips shut.

"What," Morgan asked, her voice slightly trembling with what Tony could only pray was excitement still.

"In fact, the way the moon and stars are aligned right now, it... it would suggest that the sun--"

Morgan gasped again and Tony was losing his last nerve.

"It's raining harder than it has in like 10 years," Tony groaned. "How could you possibly be able to tell how the moon and stars are aligned, huh? The sun went down 3 hours ago!"

"It's the vibes of the cosmos, Tony. I can feel them. Their energy calls onto me." Peter caught his eyes in the review mirror, sending him a looked that vibed a different message. Something like 'Why are you ruining this for me, man?' Then his eyes found Morgan again. "I feel like... like tonight might be the night. Tonight might--"

There was a flash of lightning that clearly wanted to turn the night into day, a strong current of energy that split the sky in two, followed by a massive bang and deep growling thunder. 

Tony bolted upright in his seat, both hands now clutching the steering wheel as the car skidded across the drenched road onto the other lane before Tony countersteered and brought it back under control. Morgan was shrieking like a banshee in the backseat. At least she didn't catch the imaginative chain of curses that slipped over Tony's lips as he brought the car to a sudden stop. He spun around still panting, darting his eyes from one kid to the other.

"You guys okay?"

"Jeezes, Tony!" Peter panted, his face a little white. Morgan had immediately leaned over to him, both arms wrapped around his torso. "I didn't realize you were this freaked out by witches and spirits."

"There is no such thing as witches and spirits," Tony hissed through his teeth. His shoulders slumping with a deep exhale, he reached out for Morgan's leg, petting her in an attempt to make light of this. "You okay, Morguna?"

She nodded into Peter's chest. Her eyes were wide, shock clearly still clinging to her. In fact, she looked like she was only moments away from crying.

On a whim, Tony figured his only chance to turn this around was to just lean into the ghost stuff. Despite his still trembling knees, he plastered a wide grin on his lips and wiggled his fingers in the universal warning of a tickle attack. 

"Well, just wait till the ghosts come and get you then."

Peter - jumping right into the abyss with him - pulled Morgan tight, tickling her sides, and like a miracle she didn't cry but burst out laughing as hard as he had ever seen her, squirming against her seat belt. Neither of them could resist joining into her joy and the shock from just moments before slowly slipped away. 

Blowing out a deep breath of relief, Tony turned his eyes back on the road. It was time to just freaking get there. Get it over with. They were only half an hour away from the Stark Mansion. The closer they got, the darker the night seemed to turn. The trees were growing closer and closer to the road. There were fewer crossings that lead off to other towns, other houses. The Stark Mansion had after all been picked by his father first and foremost for its secluded location. Hard to get there, hard to get away.

It wasn't just the world outside the car that took a darker turn. The mood inside of it was slowly deteriorating too. Another glance in the review mirror confirmed that Morgan was still snuggled tightly against Peter, her eyes open wide, staring into the void. Peter had a hand in her hair, softly combing through it, his own gaze turned to the woods that stretched along either side of the road. The rain was still strong, drumming on the roof of the car.

15 more minutes. The kids would feel a whole lot better once they were there, some hot chocolate to calm the nerves - maybe with a pinch of rum for Tony's own - and by the time the sun would rise the next day, by the time Pepper would get there to help him with this mess, everything would be alright.

It turned out, that that next morning would not come as fast as Tony had wished for. The rain had still been lashing as he carried his exhausted, strung up little girl through the doors of the large mansion. Even as he sat her down in her pajamas in the ensuite of his old room to blowdry her rain-soaked hair, the mood was still foul. Not even the hot chocolate she was clutching seemed to make a difference.

"But I don't want to go to bed," she whined.

"It's already past 11 pm, Morguna. Look at you, you're all cranky. You need your sleep."

"But I don't want to." Big tears rolled down her cheeks, bambi-eyes turned up at Tony. "Daddy, please don't go." She hiccoughed stumbling through the words. "Please. The spirits will come and get you."

"On honey, baby..." He pulled her close against him, not failing to send a fiery glance at the Spiderling who was lingering in the door frame sporting a rosy flush on his cheeks. "That was just a story. Peter made that all up because you wanted to hear a scary story."

"It's true, Morg." To his credit, Peter was fast to slip into the bathroom and crouch down in front of Morgan. "I just made it up. It's not true at all."

"But the lightning," she sobbed into Tony's chest. "It was the door to the underworld that opened back up!"

"That was just pure coincidence! There are no wizards, no ghosts—"

"But Doctor Strange is a wizard. You said he's a wizard." Her little hands still clung to Tony's shirt, but slowly she peeked out from under Tony's arm at Peter.

"But... but that's different, erm..." Peter scratched his head looking to Tony for help.

"He's a good wizard, bambina," Tony tried. "You know the... universe-saving kind." He cringed at his own uselessness. "Come on now, you're just tired. Everything will be just fine in the morning, you'll see."

Between the two of them, they managed to get Morgan into bed at least, but it wasn't until Peter volunteered to sleep in her room for the night that Morgan was finally settling down. Tony pressed a long kiss against her forehead as he knelt next to the bed, letting her pull him close once again until his knees protested and he pushed himself back to his feet. By the time Tony had reached the door of the room, turned off the light, and shot a last glance at his kids, Morgan had already guilted Peter into slipping under the covers on the narrow bed, snuggling against him.

It was moments like this that made it all worth it. All of it. Moments, he had never been supposed to see, would have never been able to cherish if it hadn't been for his brave boy who had pulled him back to this life. Who had given him another chance.

"Love you, kids. Sleep tight."

Morgan's eyes were already closed, as she hummed an affirmative mumbled response that Tony could only decipher as "me too, daddy" because he had heard it so often. Peter squinted at him, his lips pulled into a smirk.

"Night, dad," he purred overly dramatic.

They weren't quite there yet. Peter never called him that unless it could be loosely interpreted as him playing along with either the jokes and teases the team made or for Morgan's sake who had by now unequivocally embraced him as her older brother. Still, Tony made sure that there never was any doubt about what his own feelings on the matter were. He loved the kid like he was his own. And Peter was his in every way that mattered.

The house was already getting to him. Tony didn't seem to be able to stop his thoughts drifting to his parents. He couldn't help but think of his mom. He wished that she could have seen those two rascals. Just as much, Tony would have loved to rub a moment like this in Howard's face. His father would have been mortified, scandalized even and Tony would have lapped up every second of it, bathing in the satisfaction that he didn't let that man break him. That he didn't care what Howard's bullshit parenting had tried to beat out of him. 

It took all the strength and adult responsibility for Tony to close the door and not lean into his mushy feelings. He would just rile the kids back up, the way he was craving another big hug and mumbled declarations of eternal love. It had been a long day, a difficult drive. He just needed to get some shut-eye himself. His feet carried him down the dark corridor but he paused in front of the large authentic walnut door to the master bedroom. 

It had been his parents' room for many years. In fact, Tony had never spent a night in there, not even as a kid. It would have been unthinkable for him to crawl into this room in the dead of the night during a storm like the one that was raging above them, or after he had been woken by a nightmare. No, a Stark was supposed to toughen it out. He was supposed to become a leader. Leaders didn't cry. They didn't whine either. Composure and class didn't include clinging to his mother's apron strings, let alone looking for comfort from his father.

A heavy lump in his throat, Tony reached for the doorknob but before his hand even touched it, he turned away. There had been enough talk of ghosts for one day. He could face those particular once another night. Preferably with Pepper by his side. Instead, his feet carried him back to the end of the hallway where he hit the stairs that brought him all the way down to his father's old workshop.

It was the one part of the house he hadn't had Pepper completely remodel. As he settled at his father's old workbench and wiped away decades of dust from the surface, Tony couldn't help but think of his old man. Of how different things would have been if the old bastard had been a little different. If he had at least tried and—

He pushed the thought away. What did it matter? All that was over with. Done and done. It was down there in the old armchair that stood by the open fireplace that Tony hadn't bothered to light that he fell asleep for the night.

Quiet knocking sounds woke him the next morning. For a second, cold dread had him freeze in the chair until he remembered. The Mansion. The trip. The kids were still upstairs probably up already, looking for him. Tony didn't hesitate. His limbs hurt from the odd angle but he would have to make sure not to mention any of it or there would be one of Pepper's lectures on sleeping on things that weren't designated sleeping surfaces.

The stairs leading up from the basement seemed to drag on and on but with every step, his muscles woke up a little more, felt a little more alive. Still, he took a short break to stretch in the landing, to shake the needles pricking his muscles from his legs, before he climbed up into the first floor to make sure the kids weren't already up to their usual shenanigans. As he arched his back and blew out a groan, he spotted a large picture frame on the sideboard right next to the stairs. Like a sack of rice, he imploded mid-stretch, reaching for the picture.  

"What the..."

It was a family portrait. His mother, Howard, and little Tony. Smiles on all their faces. Decked out in their best suits. It made him want to gag from all the fakeness just looking at it.

"But..." Tony frowned. He had gotten rid of those. Had Pepper... no she wouldn't, would she? He had been clear that he didn't want any of these around.

There was a high pitched scream echoing through the hall. The frame slipped from Tony's hands and shattered on the floor as he sprinted up the stairs, forgotten all the aches from last night's uneasy sleep.

He pushed open the door to his old room, expecting blood or broken bones, but instead, he found his little girl on the bed, squirming in laughter. Next to her on the floor, Peter was holding his stomach, tears in his eyes while he could barely breathe from how hard he was laughing.

It took Tony a second to reboot his brain and realize what Peter was pointing at. "Sweet Jesus..."

There was a portrait on the far wall of the room. A portrait, well, that implied some form of artful expression, no. There was an abomination that covered half the wall. A painting his parents had commissioned when he had been roughly Morgan's age. A painting that he was sure, he had burned more than 30 years ago.

Tony's mouth was flapping open and close but he had no word.

"Daddy, is that really you?" Morgan sat up straight, eyes shining with utter joy. "You were so cute! Look at your hair! It's all so... curly!"

"No wonder you didn't want us to turn up the lights last night." Peter was still holding his stomach. "Are you wearing tights? Oh my—"

"Those are stockings," Tony growled like it was helpful. "It's Edwardian."

Peter snorted, rubbing the tears from his eyes. "But why?"

"Anthony Edward..." He shook his head, hands tangled in his messy hair like it could undo the ghost pains of those hair roller pulling at his scalp. "How in the world is this possible." He glared at Peter. "Stop it with the hysterics, okay?"

"I'm sorry, Tony, I just don't think I'll ever be able to unsee this." The smirk on Peter's face only deepened as he pulled up his phone. "And neither will Twitter."

The phone almost dropped to the ground only saved by Peter's fast reflexes as the door to the room swung open once again and hit the wall with a forceful slam.

"What in the world is going on in here!"

Tony's vision whiting out around the edges. His hands fumbled for something that would keep him upright but there was nothing, only sheer panic that was flooding all of his senses at once.

There was a man in the door frame. Taller than him, grey-ish hair. A man that looked an aweful lot like his father. Howard Stark, there was no doubt in Tony's mind no matter how impossible it was, that was his father who stood in the doorway glaring at him.

"Anthony, what the hell is--" He stopped the frown on his face turning even dark. "Who the hell are you and what... what is this?! What is—"

There was no time to think, no room for a single coherent thought as Tony lunged for him. With strength his trembling hands pulled out of thin air, he pushed Howard back far enough to slam the door shut right in his face. He turned the key twice, bolting the door shut, then spun around and leaned his back against it like it would keep the ghosts of the past out.

There was a beat of silence, only Tony's heavy pants echoing off the walls. His eyes flickered to Morgan who still sat up high on the bed that wasn't the bed he had put her in the night before any longer but held the old, dark wood frame of the bed Tony had slept in for most of his childhood.

Panic. That was all he could think of. That he was drifting into a full-on anxiety attack. This couldn't be happening. It was impossible. It had to be a dream or—

He squinted at Peter. "What did you do?"

Peter's eyes went wide. "What did I do?" He shook his head in bewilderment, frozen just like Morgan was. "What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything!" Tony's voice was hoarse. This could still be a dream. He could still wake up but given his track record... "Did you bring back some mumbo jumbo from the wizards?"

"No!" He shook his head, scrambling to his feet.

"Peter, you need to tell me the truth! Did you bring them here? This is serious! What if—"

The door vibrated as Howard banged his fist against the other side of it. "Open the goddamn door! This instance! I will not repeat myself!"

Tony braced himself against the door like the devil was knocking from the other side, which in all honesty, it felt like he was.

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

To be continued...

For your amusement, the picture I used as inspiration for Tony's portrait:

[artoodeeblue]

A Lady on Paper

Find the French version along with my other original writing on this blog!

I can barely remember my birth. My first one, anyway. The cornerstone. It is shrouded in mist, cloggy like the swamp of my cradle-town. Someone must have fathered me – towers and spires rarely sprout up unannounced, I have gathered. In the echoes of my nave, I still hear the scratching of quill over parchment, the heavy bangs of the hammer, the heaving of my creators’ breaths.

The little details give me real life. I take my first breath when Gaultier chisels his initials on one of my rib vaults. His upturned tongue sticks out, almost touching the freckles on his nose. The light bounces through his walnut hair and lands on my freshly-carved stones.

“Hello,” I whisper, gently caressing his mind.

“Hi.” He smiles. Wipes the sweat from his forehead. His voice is tentative. He doesn’t quite know what he’s doing, but his tender name glows, etched into the millennia.

“Pleased to meet you, Gaultier.”

With a professional hand, he scratches another layer of mortar on his stone. In the growing mass that will become my visitors, the sound is both grounding and appeasing. Painfully, heavily, I rise.

“Me too, my Lady.”

Someone must have sired me, but my loyalty has always been to my children.

 They give me jewellery and thorn crowns, which I accept like a mother concedes to her child’s present. I don’t need them, but if they reassure them – if they can feel less alone in this world – I can carpet my walls with a thousand tapestries.

Gaultier is long gone, but his laugh still echoes in the choir. It spins around, playfully blowing out candles and raising my children’s hair. His parting gift to the generations.

 They give me eyes. I count three, round and gleaming. They flash with pastel, sketched with a delicate mix of stone and glass. With them I see my cradle-town. I see the steaming chimneys, the palace, the paved dampness of the city. I finally see my children, immersed in pink and blue light. Kneeling, muttering, singing. Confessing. They come in processions, light candles most cannot afford, speak a language I do not understand. I pray as well – that they find the answers they ask of me.

They add more intricate buttresses, for fear that I fall. I chuckle. Of course I will fall. I will burn down and crumble and fade until I am nothing more than a lady on paper. But Raymond will have none of this. He gives out orders, holding his parchment, counting steps and scratching on his board.

His touch is firm and steady. He pats me like his pet, running his fingers in the tiny creases between the stones.

(He misses Gaultier’s carvings, which I hide covetously.)

“You will become the most beautiful temple ever to stand upon this earth,” he tells me. His pompous language never fails to pry a laugh. “You will be thin as a sheet of parchment, yet your towers will stand strong until Judgment Day.”

“My sisters have not,” I try again. “Can you not hear their screams, as they fall to pieces and flames in the East? Only their ruins will see the sun rise on Judgment Day.”

“Not you,” Raymond insists. “You are better. You are good. You are holy.”

“Holier than the entire civilisation your people slaughtered in the name of God?”

His blue eyes glint with stars and hubris. He jerks his chin upwards. “Yes.”

My children are strong, and proud, and will burn themselves for a touch of the sun.

  I wonder if this was how my sisters felt in the East.

They plunder my crypt, behead my kings and saints, but I never knew them anyway – they are all mere faces tattooed without my consent. Fake jewels. Kings never come to say hello; they just waltz in, kneel, smirk, and declare war over heretics.

Julien’s little kick is nonchalant, patronising.

The pavement is coated with a thick layer of blood. It swirls around me, inside me, churns my stomach and stares at me. They don’t do much to me – maybe, underneath the harsh gaze of the Raymond they so despised, they can hear Gaultier’s murmurs of hope. I never really understood hate, but I know it quickly dissolves under permanence.

“Not so powerful now, huh, girl?”

He wears a blue and red tricorn which awkwardly frames his childish face. He cannot be over twenty, yet his tongue sticks out as if he had finally brought a lion to its knees. Still, it has been decades since I have spoken. I nudge him back.

“Never,” I answer.

Julien smirks, and waves his little flag. “We control you now,” he gloats. “You’ll never hurt anyone else again. You’ll be forgotten, just like every other part of the Old Regime.”

“So will you.”

With a giant, heaving swing, the rod comes smashing towards St Thomas. His head explodes, and the fragments scatter through my bowels.

“I despise you,” he snarls. His breath is ragged, and his chiselled jaw twitches in its socket. “You’re everything that’s evil in this world.”

I am only rocks, I want to tell him. How can stone, oak, mortar and carved initials rival with the bloody smoke-trail of a musket?

But he is already gone, running on the pavement, carried by youth and homicidal optimism.

They change my name – it belongs sometimes to Reason, sometimes to the Supreme Being, sometimes to Liberty. My children are creative, and fickle. Anything to prove that they have changed.

But a few chopped off heads do not change the tell-tale glimmer in your eyes.

  A man with almond eyes and a high forehead like mine pushes through my heavy door. His steps break my trance-like slumber, and I stir. Shy sunlight cracks through my unused eye. I blink. Slowly.

Gaultier’s laugh is no more than a whisper now. It has lost its music – has grown as lethargic as mine. Raymond’s promise flies over me like the angel of Death.

The man blows, sending a streak of fresh air over the piers. Dust materialises in the diffused rays. He stumbles around the half-ruins littered on the floor.

Electricity courses through his fingertips as he brushes my stone. I shudder. I haven’t been touched like this in centuries.

There’s an aura around him. Not divine – not like the few priests who still roam my sleepy aisles. Something rich and brown, scented with paper, ink and starlight. His eyes seek, blink, and dart in rhythm with the turn of the earth. His feet are posed firmly on the checkered tiles, yet his posture is light and dream-like. Grounded, physical, yet full of wonder. Not broken – not yet.

He smells so intensely, decidedly human.

I take a breath, and guide his hand towards the tiny alcove I made. It hides in the joint between walls, covered by dust and inconsequence. His breath gets caught in his throat, Adam’s apple bopping up and down. He religiously traces around the tired G, the sloppy H. It stings up to my spire, but tickling nerves feel much less lonely than numb inattention.

“Six hundred and fifty years,” he murmurs. “We must look like insects to you.”

I brush his skin, watching his eyes light up with Muses. Deep in the bowels of my bells, a slow rumbling comes to greet him.

“I think you look like giants, Victor.”

 Out of everyone who said hello, he’s the only one who comes back broken.

“Look at you, all pampered,” he says. “You’re a proper lady on paper now. On your way to your old beauty.”

“It is your doing, my love. Your beautiful story set the spark.”

Victor smiles, a weary, tentative thing that contrasts with the navy bags under his eyes. His back is hunched, shoulders drawn tight under his jacket.

Sometimes, Victor reminds me so much of myself it sends sparks of pain down to my crypt.

“I am so very sorry, my dear.” I send him a tender sunray, but he recoils – flinches – away. He takes a shuddering inspiration.

The clangs and thrusts of the renovation scaffolding reverberate inside the nave. Victor’s knee fidgets back and forth, up and down, synchronised with my heartbeat. His breath comes in long, trembling sighs. He dips his head a little more, letting his brows cloud his gaunt expression with shadows too old for his age.

“She was…” Victor falters. “My Leopoldine, she was only nineteen.”

He whimpers, shoulders trembling. Never in his life could he withhold emotions from his features. My Victor has always felt everything so viscerally, so fiercely, that the force of a hundred hell fires could not possibly restrain him.

His hands are linked together and his eyelids close – a small, awkward attempt to connect to something far above my spire. I stay silent.

“You’re supposed to know everything.” His mouth moves, yet his voice comes from another realm. His brow twitches. “If you’re so omniscient, can’t you at least tell me… Tell me why?”

That is the one question I cannot answer, that I can never answer.

“Why can’t you bring her back?”

His broken sobs do not echo. Neither do Gaultier’s laugh, Raymond’s hopes, Julien’s fire. They are absorbed in the scaffolding above, in the heavy oak framework, in the centuries-old mortar.

 Sometimes I wish I could speak to God. After all, am I not named after his mother?

Perhaps I am condemned to share her fate, forced to watch my children break and die, suspended to the cruel post of Time.

Demain, dès l’aube, à l’heure où blanchit la cathédrale… Je partirai.

  It feels…strange, to say the least. I am smaller, lower. Reduced.

Smoke and ashes fly from my spire over my cradle-town, my beloved light-city. My children are cut from me, staring powerless behind murmuring firemen. They pray, they sing, mutter words of comfort that I barely catch over the screaming in my mind.

It aches. The intricate carpentry consumed, the flames licking up my roof, the crashing water relentlessly boring into my shoulders. The tireless wind ramming against my walls, whistling between my towers. It carries the bystanders’ collective gasp as they watch my spire crumble and impale my flank.

A young fire woman fixes her gaze on the brazier, a stoic jawline firmly maintaining her illusion of control. I can barely discern the tell-tale glimmer of her eyes through the smoke.

“You must be in so much pain.”

Maybe, but my pain is not unbearable. My children’s is.

“Don’t worry. We will protect you.” Her voice is wobbly, with a higher pitch than usual, yet her hand on the hose could not get any steadier.

 When the sun rises over my still smouldering body, I hear relief, and I hear grief. The city, my radiant, proud, boastful people, hang in exhausted silence. It drapes over me.

My close call to destruction caused thousands of individuals to turn their heads towards an old remnant of the Regime.

“We will rebuild,” they say. From my undamaged eye, I spot their leader, surrounded by a shifting mass of microphones and cameras. “We will restore Our Lady to her former glory, and make her even more beautiful. We will make these stones alive again.”

Raymond’s voice resonates through millions of television sets. His eyes bore straight through the country.

I think of Gaultier’s sweat-filled affection, of his cheery compassion.

Of Julien’s anger at the vices of the world, of the passionate curve of his eyebrows.

I think of Victor the writer, of his beautiful smile and his magnificent tears, of his unconditional love for humanity.

I think of the three or four billionaires I have never met, who will claim to adore me by bedecking me with fake jewels, by cajoling me with impersonal wood and long-dead cold stone.

I think of my other sisters in the ocean, in the forests, in the air. Cathedrals that will never be rebuilt nor remembered, in the small scheme of political power. Monuments older than my cradle-town disappearing with the snap of two fingers, never to be seen again. Killed by hubris, disdain and general disinterest.

 My stones do not make me alive. Just like you, they decay, wither, and burn.

No. I do not remember the placing of my cornerstone.

I took my first breath when a young, gap-toothed bricklayer chiselled his initials on the slabs of my rib vault.

[tristanis-starweaver]

Generations...

Note: A lot of this is my own personal ideas, head canon and guesses. You're more than welcome to take and use some of it!

A lot of us toss out the fact that we know ninety percent of the Quel'dorei population was killed by the scourge, but what effects does that have on a person, a smaller community, not just the nation as a whole. It's something I've wondered ever since I made Tristanis. 

The age old question

You have to start with age first. A lot of sources, the RPG in particular, say that Quel/Sin'dorei hit adulthood at 60-100 years. One one hand can you imagine the "Terrible Twos" lasting for years, maybe even half a decade?

Being an adult is more than just physical maturity. We know that their lifespans can reach several thousand years. How does that affect how you look at maturity, and even time itself when a decade or three following some pursuit can look like a summer vacation laying around. 

This is how I've always approached elven aging. Birth to 40 is physical growth roughly analogous to birth to 18 in human terms. At 20 they start puberty (roughly 13 Human years) and at 40 they are physically pushing into being a young adult. Once that threshold is passed aging becomes a slow process. Forty to death physical aging just seems to stop from a human perspective but slowly crawls on as they live out millennia of life. 

So what about that range from 40 to 70-100? They are physically mature but not an adult in their culture. It's the "freshman in college" years. Decades of hard study or training for some, traveling for others. The time when some find themselves and try out new ideas and experiment with who and what they will become. A time for them to question who they are before they set down the paths of their life. 

"There taking the summer off to find themselves." or "They are spending the year traveling the country" suddenly becomes "Oh, they are just spending the next three decades under a master craftsperson." Time takes on a whole new meaning when you look at a decade as your summer off. Conversely, an elf would not look at months of study and even consider that scratching the surface of a subject. 

But within that range between being physically mature and considered an adult you have the pressures of elven culture to be superior, but not the expectation to be fully capable. But that is a society view, not an individual view. A specific master would push their students to be perfect at every turn. Even knowing that they will not be. Practicing over and over, year after year until perfection was a habit. After all, what's another decade consumed by a young elf.

The Lost Generation

The Scourge changed all that. 

Think of a stadium filled with 50,000 Sin'dorei. Suddenly only 5000 remain barely able to fill one section. A good 500 of the remaining of the strongest left to follow the prince, with only a few fraction of that returning. If you're lucky you're in a set that has your friends still near it. If not, the nearest elf could be dozens of seats away. It wasn't life that was lost but culture too.

Let's look at a real world example. Roman Concrete. Developed and known by artisans of the empire. Somewhere around 200-300 the knowledge was mostly lost. Not completely, but it took centuries to understand why it was as effective as it was. Trade secrets, and competition helped to push that knowledge away and be lost as the western empire fell. What would happen if 90% of teachers, doctors, scientists, researchers, builders, construction builders, baristas, students, politicians, administrators,... (and so on) were gone after an invasion. How much knowledge held close to the chest by jealous rivals would be gone forever? How many stonemason techniques that had only been half learned would become the norm? How many teachers, now forced to be experts in their fields when they were not fully understanding all they needed to grasp. 

Imagine being a student, and having to go to teacher to teacher. Teachers who were overwhelmed with limited resources and had to pick and choose who they would teach. Elven culture would color their choices. They would choose the best and the brightest in their mind. Ones that could learn the best from them. They could only teach so many and there would be so many that would fall to the wayside. Untapped potential pushed back by both limited teachers, and elven ways of viewing things. 

Entire trades would be obliterated as the knowledge to effectively run them would have been lost. Higher ranking socialites having to 'lower' themselves to doing menial tasks because there was simply no one else to do them. A lord who had never cooked in their life having to learn to manage a house. Others having to make the very real decisions of continuing to battle for the Horde, or having a family. Having children would be a civic responsibility. Young ones who's entire lineage was eradicated, taken into houses where they had no place or purpose. 

The soul of the people may be strong, but the culture would be hard pressed to survive. It would weigh hard on those that have no remembrance of that culture. Those that were viewed as children, yet grown. Thrust into places they were not ready to stan, but forced to.

Diverging paths

Imagine you're in that idealistic generation. Mature, but not yet fully adult. The only thing you know your whole life is that there's been war always at the edges of things. Your uncle lost to the invading monsters in the first war. Heard stories of ships limping back to Sunsail Anchorage in the second. Then your friends and family. Everything that made you, you to the scourge. You're still alive, but in a world where you try to learn and get turned down at every chance. You are called Lord but you're not part of that society. You hear calls to "Remember the sunwell." But you never even made a pilgrimage to it before it was corrupted and reclaimed.

You're told to act more like an elf, but all you've seen is people clamoring over the remains of what was left. You don't remember what it was like in the glory days as you were not even born yet, or too young to have memories of it. You read of heroics others lived in the past, but look up to see broken remnants just left over. Older elves balk at the way you act and dress or carry yourself, but you have never known how to act any different. You have friends that accept you, Goblins, Trolls, Tauren. Yet elders would be mystified as to why you would even consider them equals. 

Like many your age, that idealism needs to have something to grab on to. Is it the horde and its ways? Do you begin to resent Silvermoon and all it stood for as you gravitate further into a culture of mixed beliefs.  Does a faction within your own people call to you? A faction that might not be eye to eye with those in power now, but that drive to be part of something drives you headlong into it. Do you look at the death and see that things are at an end? Looking to other outlets and other ways of power since you are ignored. The void won't ignore you. That idealism sending you in many ways further from what it was to be Sin'Dorei to what you believe it should be. A unified culture, fracturing. 

The scar is not just a tear through Quel'thalas. It's a tear into the soul of every one of her people.

Growing young ones, not ready to be adults, forced into stations they needed to fill.

What does it mean to be Sin'dorei when you do not know how.

[sage-nebula]

I’ve been mulling over more thoughts for my Pokémon fantasy AU and I have some more thoughts worked out (that are going under a cut because this got Long):

— The basic backstory / lore / plot I’m working with at present is something along the lines of: in this version of the world, there were twelve mythical pokémon whose powers (unique to each of them) were considered godlike. These pokémon were, of course, far too powerful to be captured, but every now and then, when they found a human they deemed worthy, they partnered with the human to lend them their power in whatever way they needed at the time.

(Note: I’ve not decided which twelve mythicals I’m using yet, though I have a few picked out. And yes, it is only twelve, and they have to be mythicals. Legendaries with similar lore will not be used.)

— Of course, these pokémon being revered as godlike, and being known for being too powerful to be caught, didn’t deter humans from trying to capture them regardless. Whether it was because of a belief that “a pokémon is a pokémon” or merely a desire for power, humans tried for centuries to capture them. Eventually, an order of powerful warlocks summoned and formed a pact with the legendary Giratina to get the job done. Giratina agreed to seal the mythical pokémon into spherical gemstones so their power could be harnessed, and in return, the warlocks would use that power to serve Giratina’s ends. The warlocks accepted.

— Things did not go entirely to their plan. Though Giratina succeeded in capturing the mythicals in the stones as promised, and though said stones were initially turned over to the warlocks so they could do Giratina’s bidding, the legendary Arceus was one step ahead of them. After a fierce battle, Arceus banished Giratina to the Distortion World, along with the warlocks that had served it. The mythical stones stayed behind, but even Arceus’ power was not enough to awaken the mythicals trapped inside. Instead, Arceus used what strength it had left after Giratina’s banishing to cast the mythical stones into the time stream, where they would at some point be reborn within the humans destined to awaken and protect them. (How the humans were supposed to do this when the mythical stones were trapped within their hearts, only Arceus knows, probably. There is no guarantee that Arceus actually does know. One can only hope.)

(Note: I know that Arceus is technically a mythical as well, but the story just doesn’t work if there are thirteen mythicals and one legendary, so I’m bumping Arceus up in status. I don’t care that it’s technically wrong, this is my AU and I will do as I like.)

— So it was that the world continued on, and the mythical pokémon faded into oft-forgotten myth for many as kingdoms and empires rose and fell. That is . . . until the present day.

— In the present day, the twelve mythical stones are finally all in the normal realm again, their Chosen (sometimes called Keepers) all having been born. A few notes on what it is to be a Chosen / Keeper:

Keepers have no way of knowing they’re Keepers. In fact, most people don’t know who the Keepers are, or even that they exist at all. The only way to tell is through ancient magic when can a.) locate the rough location of where a Keeper is, and b.) if a particular kind of stone is enchanted with the spell, glow when one is near. Beyond that, a Keeper could be born, live, and die without anyone ever being the wiser, and then the mythical stone would have to find a new Chosen and incarnate again, which could take millennia. (This has undoubtedly happened multiple times. Arceus isn’t good at plans.)

Despite not knowing they’re Keepers, or having any way of controlling it, Keepers do have and, if circumstances are right, can use the power of the mythical pokémon slumbering inside of them. Sometimes this power is just always unconsciously active (e.g. Manaphy’s Keeper forms deep emotional bonds with the pokémon he meets routinely all over the place), sometimes it only triggers when the Keeper is on the brink of death (e.g. Victini’s Keeper has unbreakable willpower which can drive them past mortal limitations and onward to victory before letting them die), and sometimes it’s honestly random (e.g. Celebi’s Keeper gets precognitive dreams and sometimes postcognitive visions in places where there’s high energy for it). Usually Keepers are unaware of what it is they’re doing, but again, detection magic can see it (and those around them can be disturbed; Victini’s Keeper is a terrifying foe on the battlefield, what with them not staying down despite having been stabbed several times).

Pretty much all the leaders of the various regional governments want to get their hands on at least one Keeper for military purposes and have been putting efforts in for centuries to do just that. So far, at least two have succeeded. (The monarchs/emperors/what have you that have Keepers under their command would obviously prefer to take the mythical stone from them and discard the Keeper, but so far no one in history has found a way to do that without killing the Keeper and therefore causing the mythical stone to be yeeted back into the time stream due to Arceus’ power, so most just do their best to keep the Keepers on short leashes until they figure out what else to do. Also, in these cases the Keepers still usually don’t understand that’s what’s going on because most world leaders are smart enough to know that if you tell a Keeper they’re a Keeper and you’re using them, they’re probably going to turn on you, and no criminal in power wants that.)

Bloodlines have nothing to do with it. The mythicals don’t Choose (and they do Choose, subconscious though it is) through heritage, but rather by soul. 

— The two kingdoms whose monarchs have succeeded in finding Keepers are Unova and Kalos.

— The current reigning monarch of the Kingdom of Unova is King Ghetsis, who has been alive for as long as any of his people have been (and much longer than most). An immensely powerful warlock, Ghetsis has cast spells and made contracts in order to keep his once-mortal body alive and keep himself on Unova’s throne, though most (especially those who work closest to him) speculate that ruling Unova is far and away not his end goal, but is instead just the starting point. Regardless, Ghetsis has used his decades (centuries?) in power to search for the Keepers, and fourteen years before the present day he finally succeeded, at least with one: the Keeper of Mew, a boy named N.

— N is, according to the official story, Ghetsis’ son and the Crown Prince of Unova. Ghetsis claims that N is his biological son, and N does look the part, although no one knew of the boy until he was five, and also Ghetsis is unmarried and doesn’t have any concubines that anyone is aware of, and also no one in the kingdom can think of anyone who would ever want to bed or be bedded by Ghetsis (though most everyone keeps that to themselves; it’s an unspoken, kingdom-wide agreement). Nonetheless, N is the Crown Prince, and though he is pretty much never allowed out of the castle (for reasons ranging from “he is studying to one day be a worthy king” to “he has a weak constitution and the outdoors are harmful to him”), the people of the kingdom can’t imagine a worse king than Ghetsis so, you know, they’re kind of excited for N to maybe one day inherit the throne if Ghetsis ever dies. (And yes, many have tried to kill him over the years, but between his pokémon and his magic, none have succeeded yet.)

— As the Keeper of Mew, N can psychically connect with any and all pokémon, allowing him to communicate with them. This is a passive power that is always active, and one that N (since he hasn’t been informed of just what he has inside of him, only that he’s “special”) is always using, 24/7. It’s possible that he may be able to at some point make himself invisible, but so far in nineteen years of life he’s never managed to succeeded at that (on purpose) once.

— Meanwhile, the Kingdom of Kalos is presently under the rule of King Lysandre (who, at least at the moment, is living a normal lifespan). Things in Kalos aren’t as outright horrible as they are in Unova because Lysandre at least makes an attempt to pretend that his rule isn’t an authoritarian dictatorship (unlike Ghetsis) even though it is, but that doesn’t change how he has secret police known by the citizens as Team Flare keeping tabs on the citizens, or how swathes of people go “missing” if they can’t afford to pay their ridiculously high taxes or the economy starts to feel strain in any way. Kalos is in a strict class caste system, put in place and enforced by King Lysandre, but most of the citizenry try to not be too open about how they feel about it.

(Note: This is all inspired by Lysandre’s behavior in the anime / games, such as how his plan in the games is to commit mass genocide on everyone except members of Team Flare in order to “conserve resources” for those who remain, and that to join Team Flare you have to pay him $5mil. He’s a classist genocidal murderer who somehow manages good PR, so that’s what I’m basing this on. It has nothing at all do with real life France, despite Kalos being based on that country.)

— But while Lysandre has Kalos under his fist, it of course isn’t enough; his aspirations reach beyond his rule. As a result, Lysandre had powerful mages searching for Keepers even before he ascended the throne, and set them to work double-time once he did. And through their efforts, three years before the present day, Lysandre located the Keeper of Victini, a boy named Alan.

— Alan spent the first five years of his life an ostracized and abused orphan in an isolated village that, while they weren’t aware that he was a Keeper, could tell there was something different and off about him, and on top of him being an orphan, they didn’t like that. He was found at the age of five by an alchemist named Augustine Sycamore, who was repulsed by the abusive behavior of the villagers and felt empathy and pity for the child he saw before him. As a result, Sycamore took Alan home with him, and decided to raise him as his own son. While wary and anxious at first, once Alan realized and accepted that he had a home and family with Sycamore, he was thrilled.

— For the next seven years, Alan studied and worked so that he, too, could become an alchemist, following in Sycamore’s footsteps. But that changed when Lysandre’s archmage, Malva, discovered that Alan was a Keeper. For the next year they studied him from afar, staging little tests—“accidents”—to test his latent ability. Finally, shortly after Alan turned thirteen, they staged an attack on the town where Sycamore and Alan lived that put both of their lives in mortal danger. The unbridled determination of Victini awoke within Alan, allowing him to protect Sycamore and make it through (along with his partner Charmander, nicknamed Lizardon, of course) despite the odds. Satisfied that Malva’s conclusion was correct (and secretly thrilled that the Keeper they’d found was Victini’s), Lysandre himself made an appearance in the village, congratulating Alan on a job well done, and offered him a position in the crownguard.

— At first, Alan refused. Joining the crownguard would mean leaving his town—his home—his father. And he didn’t really want to fight; he loved research and science, he wanted to be an alchemist. But their talk was a private one, and during it Lysandre “revealed” that the “accidents” that had happened over the past year were targeted attacks on Sycamore, and that this one in particular had come very close. Alan had protected him, but barely. What would happen next time, if Alan didn’t have the strength to protect him? Didn’t he want to keep his father safe? Keep him alive? 

— Suitably afraid, and determined to save Sycamore just as Sycamore had saved him, Alan made the decision to join the crownguard. Sycamore didn’t want him to leave, of course; he tried to talk him out of it. But Alan insisted, practically pleaded, and ultimately Sycamore gave in. Alan left at the age of thirteen to join the royal guard, and he and Sycamore have not seen each other or spoken since.

— Lysandre put Alan through rigorous training—far more intense than any other squires—which, among other things, left Alan with scars down the left side of his face from the claws of Lysandre’s Pyroar. (It was a lesson and reminder, Lysandre said, for Alan to never allow his attention to be wholly distracted in battle.) Alan rose through the ranks quickly, ultimately becoming a dragon knight along his now fully-evolved (and Mega Evolution capable) Charizard, and a general to boot. No one else in the crownguard likes him because of this, something they perceive as favoritism from the king. (And perhaps it is, in a way, but certainly not in a good way, given that Lysandre is not a good man.)

— Despite his rank, ferocity in battle, and all the rumors that surround him, Alan has never killed anyone in battle.

— He has exactly one friend in that castle, and that friend is Lizardon. No one else likes him. “Coincidentally,” Lizardon is also his regular sparring partner. He uses a wooden training lance while Lizardon uses his claws. They never kept track of how many sparring matches they had, but supposing they had 600, then Lizardon has won 600 of them. 99% of the time the matches end with Lizardon flattening Alan on the ground and licking his face. You know. To make him feel better after losing.

— That said, while Alan might lose all of his sparring matches to the literal dragon he spars against, other humans aren’t really a match for him (which really pisses off the other members of the crownguard, given that they know that he maintains his place through actual skill and can, if challenged, wipe the training field with them). It’s simply hard for an ordinary human being to face him when he’s trained himself by sparring with a literal dragon, and keeps that up multiple times a week.

— Alan does not know he’s a Keeper. Sycamore didn’t know, either. And neither does anyone else apart from Lysandre and Malva.

— As mentioned, the slumbering Victini gives Alan supernatural determination, allowing him to push on even after his mortal body should have reached its limits, accomplishing impossible feats in order to do what he’s determined to accomplish. Of course, this won’t stop him from potentially dropping immediately after his goal his accomplished, but nonetheless, Victini’s inner fire as the Victory Star gives Alan the indomitable will needed to overcome whatever barriers are set before him. There’s a reason why Lysandre was particularly happy to be able to make this Keeper his top general.

— Meanwhile, though the current monarchs of Kanto are unaware of it, in a tiny, backwater village secluded from most of the rest of the population, there is a ten-year-old boy named Ash Ketchum who is the Keeper of Manaphy.

— Ash was born to a young woman named Delia, and initially, she had no idea that her baby boy was the Chosen Keeper of a mythical pokémon. But one day, when Ash was three, he wandered out of sight while Delia worked on her garden. When she found him, a great bird with rainbow wings was towering over him. And though she at first rushed forward to protect him, she stopped and stared in awe when she saw that bird—that legendary pokémon, Ho-Oh—bend its head down and touch its beak to Ash’s forehead, her tiny toddler boy having manifested an emotional bond with the legendary phoenix beyond all logical reasoning. Ho-Oh flew away after noticing Delia in the little grove, and Ash, happy to see his mother, thought nothing of it. But as she carried him back to their home, Delia did.

— Delia confided in what happened to a long-time teacher of hers, a sage named Samuel Oak, who recognized Ash for what he was: a Keeper, and most likely the Keeper of Manaphy, at that. He explained that legends said that the Keeper of Manaphy would be able to form a deep emotional bond with any pokémon they met, something that both explained what happened with Ho-Oh in the forest and also sounded beautiful to Delia. But, Oak warned, Ash’s power would make him not only an incredibly powerful trainer, but also an incredibly wanted trainer. No doubt those in power would want to use Ash for their own gain. And with Ash being so young . . .

— Delia understood. She and Oak agreed to keep Ash’s power secret, even from himself. Their tiny town of Pallet was remote enough that Delia didn’t worry too much about others noticing Ash’s innate “talent” for bonding with pokémon, and so for years she was able to keep her worries at bay. But as Ash grew, he bonded with many pokémon (a Pikachu in particular), clicking with them almost immediately upon meeting. And while Delia didn’t want him to go out into the world where he would be put in danger, the older he grew, the more he wanted to venture out and meet every pokémon he could, even if he himself couldn’t understand just why he felt so connected with them.

— So Delia allowed him to study pokémon battling with Oak’s grandson, Gary, a young boy Ash’s age who also had beastmaster skill (if not nearly on the same level) and who also aspired to be a trainer. And unbeknownst to Oak or Gary, when Ash was around seven, Delia had Ash begin training under Bruno, a Kanto-renowned brawler, so that Ash would know how to defend himself even if his pokémon were ever overpowered. She couldn’t keep him in secret forever, Delia knew, but she could still prepare him for what was out there . . . and make sure that no one would ever be able to use him without a fight.

And for now, at the late hour of midnight, that is all I have. More to come . . . at some point.

[paperanddice]

Star-Spawn of Cthulhu

Anything that includes specific Lovecraftian cosmic horror is going to include Cthulhu in some capacity. The singular most famous of Lovecraft’s creations, Cthulhu is almost synonymous with cosmic horror. You can buy cute little plush toys of it, and so many aspects of horror can trace their origin to Cthulhu that it’s as iconic to the genre as Dracula, the wolf man, and Jason Voorhees. Pathfinder has the full Great Old One as a fightable stat block, it’s shown up in Savage World, but of course the most iconic is the games named for it, Call of Cthulhu.

But we’re not talking about Cthulhu itself. The Great Old One still sleeps in R’lyeh, somewhere on Earth. Instead, your fantasy world is going to have to deal with Cthulhu’s spawn. Much smaller and weaker than the eldritch monster itself, they are the remnants of early settling on Earth. Having fought a stalemate war with the elder things over the Earth’s surface (the star-spawn got the land, the elder things got the oceans) and manipulated the mi-go for ineffable reasons, they vanished at some point around when R’lyeh and their other cities sank below the water. Capable of deep space travel like the mi-go and elder things, the star-spawn can go between worlds to find new worlds to settle.

The Tome of Beasts positions the mi-go as the star-spawn’s rivals, as they didn’t include the elder things in the book. The conflict between eldritch horrors can position a party in between two impossible and terrifying forces, and given the choice who do they side with? Or do they try and fight both at once and risk getting overwhelmed entirely by two impossibly powerful foes.

After years of hard fought battles, the mi-go silencing projector has finally been crushed. Created to block out the entire world from the divine, the mi-go made the godless lands their playthings. Hideous experimentation and horrific monsters ruled until the banded together humanoids managed to overcome the mi-go’s defenses and tear down their structures. With the return of the gods, divine magic floods through and the unified people are stronger than ever. At least, until the other thing being kept away by the mi-go’s projector find their way down, and Cthulhu’s spawn prepare to rip out the heart of the world to make way for their master.

The dreams of Cthulhu find their way out to all corners of the world. The Great Old One sleeps deeply, unconcerned with what happens as its dreams reshape reality according to the nature of them. Sometimes these dreams are relatively benign, changing the landscape without destroying the towns and cities built into it, or planting the seed of some great and forgotten technology into the mind of an artist. But when Cthulhu’s dreams turn to conflict and war they form into terrible monsters that rampage over the landscape, attempting to replicate the dream that gave birth to them. The worst of these dream spawn are given Cthulhu’s name, as they carry hints of some deeper plan, coordinating together even if they spawn decades apart, as if they know what is to come next.

The stories of Atlantis have been greatly distorted by history. Even Plato’s works are corruptions of them, taken from centuries old stories that long predated Athens and molded into an allegory that fit his ideas. Atlantis was not home to a human power, but rather it is where the star-spawn of Cthulhu settled, dominating over early humanity with a terror unlike anything before or since. Their control was utter and complete, until a great wave swept over the city and sank it below the waves. Humanity forgot its fear of Atlantis, and active efforts to find it were finally successful. Sealed below a dome and buried deep in the crust, something yet lives in this impossible environment, and the first team to breach through will remind the eternal star-spawn of the surface world they haven’t considered in millennia.