#the firelights allying themselves with her

[lilymoonlily]

So I just noticed this while looking for details of Ekko's outfit in episode 9. This screengrab is from when he saves Jinx, it's the best one I could take where you can see both his ears.

This is during the battle, and it was really hard to catch it because everything is going so fast in this scene, but look at his ear - he has a piercing.

Confirmed in this close-up at the end of the episode.

And if we go back to episode 7, the first thing he does when he looks at his reflection...

He's shocked to see he has piercings.

So this means he got his ears pierced not right after coming back from the alternate universe; he got them pierced AFTER saving Jinx. Do I really need to ask by who?

Y'all, they didn't just craft completely new outfits together and paint all over each other's bodies - which is something they both have a proclivity for btw (look at Ekko's coat when he find out he's the leader of the Firelights in season 1, covered with spray paint; and of course his paintings of the people he lost).

Ekko didn't just cut Jinx's hair; Jinx pierced his ears too, and it would be really hard not to interpret that as a symbol of him getting closer to being AU!Ekko, as an echo (lol) of his relationship with Powder/Jinx.

These kids, man. The obsession is real.

[arcaneweaving]

I'm so fascinated by sevika as a character because she's so tragic, and so unique in many ways. she's an arcane OC, she's not part of the league of legends, but also, she seems not to have any internal motivation for her actions. she's not a character that any memorial is built to. she's not the voice of the people, nor is she their figurehead. her choices, viewed in and of themselves, often seem pointless or contradictory: she (one can only assume) was involved in the initial revolt of Zaun against Piltover, then betrays Vander once peace has been established. she accuses him of being weak for not warring against Piltover, then helps Silco terrorize and weaken Zaun with shimmer for years. She hates Jinx, then she saves her. She hates the council, then she joins it. The only interpretation in which her choices make any sense is that Sevika acts only in the interest of Zaun's greater good. She is, fundamentally, a martyr for her nation.

her choices (misguided or not) are borne of a near-total, self-sacrificing loyalty to her nation, the nation of Zaun. at each turn, Sevika's makes the choice that she thinks will further the cause of Zaun's sovereignty. Sevika is not so concerned with "Sevika" as an individual with wants, needs, or personhood. her impetus is that of-- as her name suggests-- a servant to a cause bigger than herself.

Sevika chooses Silco over Vander because Vander has (even in the name of peace) inhibited Zaun by allying the Underground with Piltover. She sacrifices her arm to save Silco because she believes that he is capable of unifying the Underground into Zaun once more-- she believes he could lead Zaun to battle, by whatever means necessary, even if it means creating soldiers of addicts. She conspires to keep Vi away from Jinx because Zaun needs its loose cannon in the fight against Piltover. The morality which others in the show are beholden to is not part of Sevika's motivation because the ego of personhood is not part of Sevika's motivation. She's not interpersonally loyal (she is loyal to Zaun's citizens: "We don't hand over our people"), she isn't above killing children, she's not a mother or a sister or a daughter. She is utilitarian. She's a revolutionary.

Ironically, this is why Sevika is not compelling enough to convince Zaun to rise from the ashes. After all she has sacrificed-- her body, her spirit, her peace-- when she tries to unify Zaun on her own, they refuse to hear her. The raised consciousness of a comrade seems distant and cold to a hungry son or scared mother. The comrade is impersonal, and so therefore unpersuasive. "It's no secret we got history. Blood spilled on all sides. But we grew up on the same streets, ate the same scraps. Like it or not, we're in this together. Enforcers raiding our homes, Noxians down our throats, innocents getting carted off to Stillwater. We gotta choose right now whether we're gonna throw in the towel or make a stand together." She gives the most radical political speech of the show, but she is no orator. Sevika's motive supersedes individualism. She says, "Not as Firelights, or Jinxers, or washed up goons. As Zaunites!"

The crowd's response to this call to arms is, "We wanna see Jinx!" They want a person, not an ideal, to rally behind. Despite this, Sevika doesn't indulge her ego. She does not want to be a hero, or a figurehead. She does not want to be praised. In fact, when she realizes that Jinx is the symbol that the people have chosen, she takes great pains to brace Jinx for the role, to ensure that Jinx-- alive or dead-- shows up for Zaun.

In the end, when Sevika joins the council, she again sacrifices a fundamental part of herself for the greater good of Zaun. She is lonely and out of place and hated there, but she takes the seat because Zaun needs her to. She may be seen as a traitor to the Zaunite cause. The council is the last place on earth that Sevika belongs-- but she goes there. To the end, she is a servant to Zaun.

[isekaicore]

jinx and ekko's inevitable team-up.

ekko is known in league of legends as "the boy who shattered time." note the distinct wording there: the boy who shattered time. it isn't so much that he's a typical time traveler, but someone who simply doesn't obey the rules of time.

an interesting idea, given time's importance throughout the narrative of arcane.

in episode 5, singed reveals his true motive to caitlyn and ambessa: saving his daughter, and by extension, humanity from an incurable affliction - death.

in season 1's episode 5, sevika draws this hand while playing a game of cards.

the magician card is notable, due to the symbol on the center of the chest. as stated in a previous meta post, it's the same symbol the firelights (and ekko) use to represent themselves: the hourglass. though this time, it's broken on one side.

the magician card being placed alongside death is interesting. perhaps in the narrative of arcane, time and death are one in the same - or at least inextricable. if this is the case, we should look at ekko's title again with new eyes.

if shattering could be read as disobeying the rules, or freeing oneself, and time is death, perhaps arcane's ekko would be better known as "the boy freed from death". makes one wonder how singed will react to ekko's presence if they ever meet face to face.

going back to the hourglass symbol, notice how it could be viewed as a type of figure 8, sans the circular curvature. know what else it kind of looks like?

the butterfly is a motif that comes up a few times in arcane. notably, it's been associated with viktor (and by extension jayce in season 2). and one other person.

in season 1, jinx uses butterfly bombs to explode the enforcers on the bridge, leading to her and ekko's iconic "dynasties & dystopias" fight scene

this fight ends with jinx attempting a murder-suicide using one of her bombs, though she's saved by silco and singed using shimmer. this gives her new super speed abilities, akin to her lol counterpart, which she uses repeatedly throughout season 2.

arcane as a series enjoys playing with speed for cinematography. however, this is best seen throughout their iconic slow-mo shots (vi kneeing sevika in the face, anyone?) but jinx fights fast. you could say she's breaking the rules of time in her own way already.

and that isn't even mentioning jinx's own shape motif: the x - the literal center of the hourglass.

we already know ekko will side with jinx to some extent in the last three episodes of the season. in the teaser trailers, he's shown rocking distinctly jinx-esque fashion, as opposed to his typical firelight clothing.

she even took over his hair decal, which used to feature (you guessed it) the hourglass symbol.

am i saying jinx and ekko will go on time travel adventures together? unfortunately, no. what i am saying is jinx and ekko's arcs will have to resolve together somehow - whether as allies in the revolution or maybe, potentially, possibly (this is a reach) as friends.

(additional resources thanks to @slugbutter)

[abbythewritor]

Winter is Coming. Chapter eight.

Description: Y/N Targaryen, the last true daughter of House Targaryen, bears the weight of her lineage on her broad shoulders. Young, fiercely determined, and often underestimated for her plus-size figure, she is forced into an unyielding marriage alliance with one of the most dangerous men across the seas: Crocodile, the ruthless warlord and cunning leader of Baroque Works. Torn from Westeros and thrust into the unpredictable waters of the Grand Line, Y/N must navigate the treacherous alliances, schemes, and monstrous forces that haunt her every step. As Crocodile’s bride, her life becomes a game of survival—earning his respect while enduring his cold indifference and manipulative tendencies. However, the fire in her blood will not be dimmed. With whispers of ancient dragons and visions of the Iron Throne calling her home, Y/N begins to embrace her Targaryen birthright, proving that dragons do not cower—they conquer.As war brews across the seas and in Westeros alike, Y/N’s journey will test her body, spirit, and mind. With Crocodile as both her captor and potential ally, she will rise through betrayal, blood, and fire to claim her destiny. Winter is coming, but fire and blood will follow.

Warnings: Explicit content, blood, Violence, Sexual content, you know Game of Thrones stuff.

Just to be clear: I do not own Game of Thrones or One Piece, they belong to the creators. I wrote this story on Chat GTP as to help with story structure and Spelling. Y/n in this story is overweight and plus size, as I rarely see Y/n's that are bigger in fanfiction at all, so I'd thought it will be different. THIS STORY IS NOT FOR CHILDREN!!! As like Game of Thrones, it will have a lot of explicit, and graphic scenes!! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!!!!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The heavy doors of the throne room closed with a faint thud, leaving Y/N and Crocodile alone in the cavernous space. The torches burned low now, their flames casting long, flickering shadows that danced along the dark stone walls. The air, though stifling in its quiet tension, felt colder somehow, the warmth of the firelight failing to reach her skin.

Y/N sat stiffly in the throne beside Crocodile’s, her hands folded tightly in her lap. Her shoulders were hunched slightly, though she didn’t realize it, her posture betraying the unease simmering within her. The weight of Mihawk’s parting words lingered in the air, as though the man himself had left behind an unseen specter.

Crocodile said nothing for a long while, his golden hook resting against the arm of his jagged throne, his visible eye focused on the smoldering embers in the braziers. The silence between them grew heavier with each passing second, stretching taut like the string of a bow pulled too tight.

Y/N could feel his presence beside her—a dark and brooding weight that seemed to fill the room. She kept her gaze forward, refusing to meet his eye, though the tension in her neck made it impossible to relax.

Finally, Crocodile’s voice broke the silence, low and sharp. “Back straight.”

The command snapped through the air like a whip.

Y/N startled slightly, her breath hitching as her head turned toward him in confusion. His tone carried an edge of irritation that made her chest tighten, but his gaze wasn’t on her face—it was on her posture.

“Sit properly,” he continued, this time in the Alabastan tongue—a sharp, guttural language steeped in command and tradition. His words rolled off his tongue like the growl of a predator. “Do you think this is how a ruler carries themselves?”

Y/N swallowed hard, her fingers tightening against the fabric of her robe. She straightened her back as best she could, though the motion felt forced and unnatural. Her body was already heavy with exhaustion, her muscles stiff from the lingering cold that clung to her skin.

Crocodile’s single visible eye narrowed slightly as he studied her, his expression hard and unreadable. For a moment, it seemed as though he might snap again, but then he paused.

He saw it.

The faint tremble in her hands. The way her shoulders, though stiff, shivered ever so slightly. Her lips, pale and pressed tightly together, barely concealing the signs of discomfort. She was cold.

His brow furrowed faintly, though his expression didn’t soften. He leaned back in his throne, his golden hook tapping idly against the armrest as his gaze flicked toward the firelight.

The silence stretched again, though it carried a different weight now—less oppressive, more contemplative.

Then, without a word, Crocodile shifted in his seat, the fur-lined cloak that draped his shoulders rustling faintly as he moved.

Y/N’s head turned slightly, her brows furrowing in confusion as she saw him shrug off the iconic garment, its heavy fabric pooling in his hand like liquid shadow. The inside of the cloak gleamed faintly, lined with dark, luxurious fur that radiated warmth even from where she sat.

Crocodile didn’t speak as he leaned forward, his movements deliberate but unhurried. With a rough motion, he draped the cloak over her shoulders, the weight of it settling heavily across her back.

The warmth was immediate, the fur brushing against her skin like a living thing, chasing away the lingering cold that had settled into her bones. Y/N blinked in surprise, her lips parting as she turned her head slightly to glance at him.

Crocodile’s expression was unreadable, his golden hook resting against his knee as he leaned back once more. His visible eye didn’t meet hers—instead, it lingered on the dragon eggs resting on the table beside her.

The cloak draped over her shoulders spilled partially over the eggs, its heavy folds shielding them from the chill of the room.

“Can’t have you freezing to death,” he muttered, his voice low and rough, as though annoyed with himself for the gesture. “You’re no use to me like that.”

Y/N said nothing, her fingers brushing lightly against the edge of the cloak as she adjusted it across her lap. The warmth seeped into her, soothing the ache in her limbs and the tightness in her chest.

“Thank you,” she said softly, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Crocodile’s lips curled faintly into a smirk, though he still didn’t look at her. “Don’t mistake this for kindness,” he said, his tone sharp but lacking venom. “You’re mine to protect. Nothing more.”

Y/N nodded faintly, lowering her gaze as her fingers tightened around the edges of the cloak. She didn’t know what to make of the gesture—whether it was genuine concern or simply another way to assert his control.

But the warmth was real. And for now, that was enough.

Crocodile’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, his thoughts turning unbidden to Mihawk’s parting question: “Is she your queen?”

The question had been meant to provoke, to plant doubt, and perhaps even to mock. Yet it had stirred something in him—a question he hadn’t thought to ask himself.

His eye traced the curve of her shoulders, the way the fur of his cloak framed her face, softening the sharp angles of her sorrow. She was a contradiction—a woman of fire and quiet resilience, scarred by the world yet unbroken.

Was she his queen?

The thought lingered in his mind like smoke, refusing to dissipate.

Crocodile leaned back further in his throne, his golden hook catching the firelight as it moved idly against the armrest. His expression hardened once more, though his thoughts remained distant.

“Get some rest,” he muttered, his voice curt. “You’ll need your strength.”

Y/N glanced at him briefly, unsure of what he meant, but she nodded. The weight of the cloak and the warmth it brought made it easier to relax, though the tension in her chest never fully left.

As the fire crackled low, the silence returned to the throne room, though it no longer felt quite so cold.

The tension that had hung in the air earlier now softened by an unspoken truce. Crocodile leaned back in his jagged sandstone throne, the faint smirk on his lips fading as he turned his gaze toward Y/N.

She sat beside him, her smaller throne dwarfed by his imposing seat of power. The fur-lined cloak he had draped over her shoulders pooled around her, its weight a barrier against the lingering chill in the room. She hadn’t said much after thanking him, her posture slowly relaxing as the warmth began to lull her into a rare moment of peace.

Crocodile’s visible eye remained fixed on her as the minutes stretched on. He noted the way her hands had loosened their grip on the edges of the cloak, her shoulders no longer hunched. Her breathing slowed, soft and even, as her body gave in to the pull of exhaustion.

Then, almost imperceptibly, her head tilted to the side, her chin dipping as her eyes closed.

She had fallen asleep.

Crocodile’s heart swelled unexpectedly, a sensation he hadn’t felt in years—if ever. His brow furrowed slightly, but his gaze softened as he observed her. She looked… vulnerable, her usually guarded expression now relaxed in slumber. The faint tear stains on her cheeks caught the firelight, a reminder of the weight she carried even in moments of rest.

Foolish girl, he thought, though the thought lacked its usual bite.

His eye drifted downward, landing on the dragon eggs cradled in her lap beneath the cloak. She had insisted on keeping them close, her hands occasionally brushing against their smooth, scaled surfaces as though she were drawn to them instinctively.

Crocodile sighed softly, a sound that might have been mistaken for annoyance, though it carried something deeper. He leaned forward, careful not to disturb her as he reached out with his gloved hand.

One by one, he lifted the eggs, his touch uncharacteristically gentle as he moved them from her lap. Their weight was solid, familiar now after watching her handle them with such care. He placed them carefully on a low table near the fire, arranging them so that the warmth of the flames would reach them evenly.

Crocodile had observed her closely in the days since the eggs arrived, noting the way she treated them as if they were already alive. He had scoffed at first, dismissing it as sentimental nonsense, but the longer he watched, the more intrigued he became.

The faint pulse he felt when he touched the eggs… It wasn’t his imagination.

Behind him, a faint snort broke the silence, accompanied by the muffled sound of poorly concealed laughter.

Crocodile’s head snapped around, his gaze zeroing in on the two guards stationed near the far end of the room. They straightened immediately under the weight of his glare, their faces paling as they exchanged nervous glances.

One of them coughed awkwardly, forcing his companion to mimic the action as they hastily returned to their rigid postures.

Satisfied, Crocodile turned back to the eggs, his lips curling faintly into a smirk. His men knew better than to comment on his actions—or at least they should by now.

The fire crackled softly as the eggs rested by its warmth, their textured surfaces glinting faintly in the flickering light. Crocodile’s gaze lingered on them for a moment longer before shifting back to Y/N.

Her head had lolled to the side slightly, her cheek pressing against the fur of the cloak. Her breathing remained soft and even, her hands now resting loosely against her lap.

The sight stirred something deep within him—a quiet, unspoken tenderness he couldn’t quite place. It was… unfamiliar, uncomfortable even, but not unwelcome.

The peace of the moment was broken by the sound of footsteps approaching. Crocodile’s expression darkened slightly as he turned his gaze toward the source. A guard entered the room, his face tense as he carried a folded note in his gloved hand.

“My lord,” the guard said, bowing his head as he stopped a few paces away. “A message for you.”

Crocodile held out his hand, his golden hook gleaming in the firelight as he motioned for the note. The guard approached cautiously, placing the folded parchment into his hand before stepping back quickly.

Unfolding the note, Crocodile’s visible eye scanned the neat, bold handwriting that marked the page. His jaw tightened slightly as he read, his grip on the paper growing firm enough to crinkle the edges.

The message was brief, but it carried enough weight to set his teeth on edge:

"Crocodile— A unique opportunity has come to my attention. Let’s discuss it over lunch. You know where to find me. D. Doflamingo."

Crocodile’s lips curled into a snarl, the faintest growl escaping his throat.

Doflamingo.

The name alone made his blood boil. The man was an arrogant, manipulative bastard—a spider weaving his webs of deceit across the seas. Crocodile had dealt with him before, but never willingly. Doflamingo’s presence in anything always signaled chaos.

The mention of Y/N and the rumors surrounding their marriage made the note all the more grating. What game is he playing now? Crocodile thought bitterly.

He folded the note sharply, his mind already churning as he considered his next move.

The faint sound of Y/N’s breathing brought his attention back to her, her peaceful slumber starkly contrasted with the growing storm brewing in his mind.

Crocodile exhaled slowly, his irritation subsiding just enough for him to refocus. Whatever Doflamingo wanted, he would deal with it. But for now, he let the note rest on the arm of his throne, leaning back as his gaze drifted between Y/N and the dragon eggs by the fire.

The storm could wait.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Red Force rocked gently on the waves, the bright sun gleaming off its crimson sails as the infamous Red-Haired Pirates reveled in yet another impromptu party. Laughter, cheers, and the clink of mugs filled the air as the crew sprawled across the deck, their boisterous energy as wild as the sea itself.

Shanks sat in his usual spot, leaning back against a barrel near the ship’s helm. A wide grin split his face as he raised his mug of ale high, the sunlight catching the faint scars that crisscrossed his rugged features. His red hair gleamed like fire, tousled and untamed, matching the carefree energy that seemed to radiate from him.

“Another toast!” Shanks bellowed, his voice carrying over the noise of the crew. “To the sea, to freedom, and to the poor bastards who think they can catch us!”

The crew roared with laughter, mugs clinking together as they downed their drinks. Benn Beckman leaned against the railing nearby, a cigarette hanging lazily from his lips as he smirked at the scene. Lucky Roux let out a loud guffaw, already reaching for another hunk of meat to stuff into his mouth.

“Shanks, you’re going to drink the whole barrel dry!” Yassop teased, striding over with his own mug in hand.

“Maybe I will!” Shanks shot back with a laugh, his grin widening.

But as the festivities continued, something caught Yassop’s attention—a shadow that swept across the deck, followed by the soft flutter of wings. He turned his head just in time to see a seagull descending, a newspaper clutched in its talons.

The bird dropped the paper unceremoniously at Shanks’s feet before flapping away, leaving the captain to glance down at it with mild curiosity.

“Well, what’s this?” Shanks muttered, leaning forward to snatch up the paper.

Yassop’s expression shifted, his carefree grin faltering as his gaze lingered on the rolled-up newspaper. Something about it made his stomach twist—an unshakable sense of unease.

Shanks, oblivious to Yassop’s sudden silence, unrolled the paper with one hand, his grin still in place. But as his eyes scanned the bold headline on the front page, the smile faded.

“WARLORD CROCODILE FORGES MARRIAGE ALLIANCE WITH TARGARYEN PRINCESS.”

Shanks’s brow furrowed deeply, his jaw tightening as he read further. Details of the arrangement, vague as they were, painted a clear enough picture. Crocodile had struck a deal with Y/N’s brother, Viserys Targaryen, to marry her—a union meant to strengthen his position in Alabasta.

The paper crumpled in Shanks’s hand before he even realized it.

“Captain?” Yassop’s voice was careful, his concern evident as he stepped closer.

Shanks didn’t look up immediately. His mind churned, memories surfacing unbidden—memories of the Targaryen family.

He remembered Viserys well enough: a spoiled, conniving little shit with a mouth too big for his own good. The boy had always strutted about like a king, using his family’s legacy as a shield to hide his own weakness. A whore in all but title, selling anything—anyone—if it suited his ambitions.

And then there was Y/N.

The contrast between the siblings couldn’t have been starker. Y/N had been kind, soft-spoken, and graceful in ways Viserys would never understand. Despite the weight of her family’s reputation, she had carried herself with quiet dignity, her kindness shining even in the darkest moments.

Shanks had met her years ago, during one of his many escapades. She had been young then, though already burdened by the shadow of her brother. She had been unlike anyone he’d ever met—gentle, empathetic, but with a quiet strength that lingered beneath her soft exterior.

And she was beautiful.

Even now, Shanks could recall the way her smile had lit up a room, her laughter a balm to the soul. Her weight, her fuller frame, had never diminished her beauty in his eyes. If anything, it had made her more radiant—a stark defiance against the cruel standards of nobility.

But now, to see her name in this paper, tied to Crocodile of all people…

“Shanks,” Yassop said again, his voice firmer now.

Shanks finally looked up, his scarlet hair falling across his face as he met Yassop’s gaze. The anger in his eyes was unmistakable, though it was tempered by something deeper—disgust.

“He sold her,” Shanks muttered, his voice low and venomous.

Yassop frowned, his brow furrowing. “Viserys?”

“Who else?” Shanks growled, tossing the crumpled paper to the deck. “That bastard sold his own sister to Crocodile—a fucking warlord. He didn’t even think twice.”

The crew had gone quiet now, their laughter and chatter fading as they picked up on the tension radiating from their captain. Benn Beckman stepped closer, his cigarette forgotten between his fingers.

“Do you know her?” Benn asked quietly, his sharp eyes studying Shanks carefully.

Shanks nodded, running a hand through his hair as he exhaled heavily. “Yeah. I knew her.” He paused, his jaw clenching. “She didn’t deserve this. Not her. She’s nothing like that snake she calls a brother.”

Benn said nothing, his gaze drifting to the crumpled paper on the deck.

“She was kind,” Shanks continued, his voice softer now, though the anger still lingered beneath the surface. “She didn’t belong in that family—didn’t belong in his world. And now he’s thrown her to Crocodile like she’s nothing.”

Lucky Roux, who had been quietly listening, frowned deeply. “What are you gonna do about it, Captain?”

Shanks’s lips curled into a grim smile, his grip tightening around the handle of his mug. “I don’t know yet,” he admitted. “But I can’t let this sit. Not with her involved.”

Benn stepped closer, his voice calm but firm. “If you go after Crocodile, it’ll draw attention. You know that.”

“Let it,” Shanks snapped, though his tone softened almost immediately. He sighed heavily, running a hand over his face. “I just need to figure out what’s really happening here. Why Crocodile? Why her? This doesn’t add up.”

Yassop stepped forward, resting a hand on Shanks’s shoulder. “We’ll figure it out,” he said simply. “You’ve got all of us, Captain. Whatever you decide, we’re with you.”

Shanks glanced around at his crew, their faces serious, their loyalty unwavering. His heart swelled with gratitude, though the anger in his chest burned brighter still.

“Good,” Shanks said quietly, his voice steady now. “Because I’m not letting him win. Not this time.”

He turned his gaze toward the horizon, the sun casting the sea in shades of crimson and gold. Somewhere out there, Y/N was trapped in a world of power and ambition, her fate tied to a man who saw her as nothing more than a piece on his board.

And Shanks would be damned if he let that stand.

“Set a course for Alabasta,” Shanks ordered, his voice firm and resolute. “It’s time we paid Crocodile a visit.”

The Red Force roared to life, the crew springing into action as they prepared to set sail.

But.

As Shanks leaned down to pick up the crumpled newspaper yet again, the bold headline about Y/N and Crocodile still stared back at him, the ink smudged from his grip. He smoothed the page absentmindedly, his thoughts churning as he turned to the next section of the paper.

And then he froze.

His eyes scanned the smaller headline, and a sharp, bark-like laugh escaped his throat before he could stop it.

“PRINCE VISERYS TARGARYEN FOUND DEAD IN ALABASTA.”

Shanks read further, his grin widening as he took in the details. Viserys, the so-called "last dragon" of his line, had been found naked in a noble’s estate in northern Alabasta. The scene was described with gruesome simplicity: a single sword strike to the chest, precise and unmistakable, had ended his life.

But it wasn’t the death itself that caught Shanks’s attention—it was the description of the wound. The clean, singular strike. The exacting precision of it. The kind of strike that only one man in the world could have delivered.

“Mihawk,” Shanks muttered, shaking his head with a low chuckle.

“Captain?” Yassop’s voice broke through the moment, drawing Shanks’s attention. The sharpshooter’s brow furrowed as he stepped closer, his concern etched across his face. “What’s so funny? You’re laughing like a damn madman.”

Shanks held up the paper, tapping the section about Viserys with his finger. “He’s dead,” Shanks said simply, his grin widening. “The little shit’s finally dead.”

Yassop blinked, caught off guard. “Viserys? What the hell happened to him?”

“Mihawk happened,” Shanks replied, tossing the paper onto the barrel beside him. “The mark on his chest—one clean stroke. That’s Hawk Eyes, no doubt about it.”

Lucky Roux let out a laugh, his mouth half-full of meat. “Mihawk killed the bastard? Guess someone finally got sick of him.”

“Good riddance,” Benn Beckman muttered, picking up the paper and scanning the article himself. He exhaled a slow stream of smoke, his expression thoughtful. “The question is, why was Mihawk even there? Alabasta’s a long way from his usual haunts.”

Shanks’s grin faltered slightly, his expression turning more serious. “That’s what I’d like to know,” he said quietly.

He leaned back against the railing, his hand brushing absently through his red hair as he thought it over. Mihawk wasn’t the type to kill without reason. If he’d been in Alabasta, striking down someone like Viserys, it wasn’t by coincidence.

“Think he was there for Crocodile?” Yassop asked, his voice low.

“Maybe,” Shanks replied, though his tone carried uncertainty. “Or maybe he was there because of Y/N.”

The thought hung heavy in the air, a weight that neither Shanks nor his crew could ignore.

Despite the satisfaction of knowing Viserys was dead—naked, humiliated, and stripped of whatever power he thought he’d had—it didn’t change the reality of Y/N’s situation. She was still in Alabasta, still bound by the chains of a forced marriage to one of the most dangerous men in the world.

The fire in Shanks’s chest reignited, his earlier laughter fading into a grim determination. “Mihawk might’ve done her a favor by taking out her brother,” he said, his voice steady. “But it doesn’t change the fact that she’s still in Crocodile’s grasp.”

Benn folded the paper neatly, tucking it under his arm as he met Shanks’s gaze. “So what’s the plan, Captain?”

Shanks straightened, his grin returning, though it carried a sharper edge now. “We sail to Alabasta. Find out what Crocodile’s really up to. And if Mihawk’s still there…”

He trailed off, his grin widening into something almost feral.

“...well, it’ll be nice to catch up with an old friend.”

The crew roared in agreement, the energy on the ship shifting into high gear as they adjusted their course.

As the Red Force cut through the waves, Shanks turned his gaze toward the horizon, the light in his eyes as fierce as the sun.

Viserys was dead. Y/N was alive. And the game was far from over.

“Hold on, princess,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low but resolute. “We’re coming for you.”

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[mousegard]

Aria of the Black Eagle - Season 1 Masterpost

For the better part of the past year, fifteen-year-old Tachibana Hibiki has been the one and only wielder of the magical armor Gungnir—until she crosses paths with an imperious young woman willing to make the entire world her enemy in the pursuit of justice... Adrestian emperor Edelgard von Hresvelg and her Black Eagle Strike Force!

Wait, that's not how Symphogear G went down...

With the Church of Seiros repelled from Garreg Mach by the Black Eagle Strike Force, Emperor Edelgard von Hresvelg's war for the liberation of Fódlan reaches its turning point. But just as she begins to plan her next move to attack Arianrhod, she and several of her closest comrades find themselves whisked away by a mysterious force to a world like nothing they've seen before: mid-21st century Tokyo!

SYMPHOGEAR G''' Episode List:

Episode 1: Three Relics

Hibiki comes to the rescue of the Black Eagles when they inexplicably find themselves in the middle of Tokyo. Byleth wins a new job in an arm-wrestling competition.

Episode 2: Of Course You Have White Hair and Trauma

Byleth pits students against teachers in a relic-versus-relic mock battle. Chris gets roped into hosting an impromptu movie night. Edelgard finds a mentorship opportunity.

Episode 3: Singer, Sacrist, Sentinel, Spy

With an exciting development in Tsubasa's career drawing nearer, mystery swirls around her soon-to-be fellow performer, Maria Cadenzavna Eve. The Black Eagles assist in transporting a dangerous relic.

Episode 4: Parabellum

The world reels from Maria's shocking announcement while Tsubasa is held hostage onstage over her secret identity. Backstage, Bernadetta gets to know her captors.

Episode 5: The Second Coming of Finé

Maria's declaration of war leaves the Black Eagles and their new students shaken. Byleth decides to teach Hibiki a new subject. On her way to Tokyo, Petra flirts with the Illuminati's top brass.

Episode 6: Pride of the Crimson Flower

Those Who Slither in the Dark reveal themselves, putting Hibiki and Miku in grave danger. Bernadetta accidentally gets caught up in a fake gay marriage after her captors buy a house.

Episode 7: Crossbows in the Firelight

A third Gungnir wielder reveals herself in the Black Eagles' moment of need. While organizing an exchange with Maria and Doctor Ver, Vanessa must act as an impromptu bodyguard for her new neighbors.

Episode 8: Die Hand Die Verletzt

While she adjusts to her new life and identity, Heidrun begins Miku's dark magic training. When Doctor Ver pushes Maria past her moral breaking point, Dorothea offers her a shoulder to cry on.

Episode 9: Heart of Stone

After receiving devastating news from her boss, Vanessa vanishes. Doctor Ver exchanges his frail human collaborators for the cruel perfection of the Nephilim. Lysithea reunites Bernadetta with the Black Eagles.

Episode 10: A Long-Awaited Reunion

While the Black Eagle Strike Force reunites, Bernadetta gives Vanessa something new to live for. Lysithea and Edelgard discover a new scientific perspective on Crests. Kirika figures something terrifying about herself.

Episode 11: Where Silence Has Lease

Stinging from past defeats, Maria throws herself into her villainous role. Hibiki and Shirabe end up unlikely allies against Kronya and Shez. Hibiki's mother begins to worry about her daughter's mysterious extracurricular activities.

Episode 12: Across the Curl Unmarked By Borders

Fearing she may not have much time before Finé seizes control of her body, Kirika hunts Ingrid down and challenges her to a rematch—to the death. Maria breaks down under the weight of her mounting losses.

Episode 13: G'''

Doctor Ver reveals his new partner in crime—and it will take more than the combined might of all three Gungnir wielders to put a stop to them.

Season 1 | Season 2 | Season 3

[chaoticbard]

@grief-worn

She was so impossibly secretive. So much so that Alaara had tried to pry into her mind right after they'd found themselves on the beach, scrambling for answers. Since then, she'd given Shadowheart space and time to share things about herself at her leisure. But even now, she was reluctant to say much. Shadowheart was a good ally, but at times it was frustrating not to know much about her. But only in the sense that connecting with her on a deep level was more of a challenge than it was with the others.

Maybe that would change. Alaara was sitting by the firelight, penning observations about Wyll and Karlach in her journal when the cleric approached.

"Have you ever written things down for posterity?" she asked. "So that you can remember them forever? I've come to make a habit of writing down things that nobody would think to."

She nodded toward Wyll and Karlach. "Take them, for instance. I'm writing down how Karlach is helping Wyll figure out how horns work. How he's smiling even though this change is difficult for him, because she's making it easier to accept. I think remembering the small things as much as the large is important."

[sublimenol]

Deirdre Ficlet

In a server, there was a prompt about how OCs react to being in a crowd or needing alone time. I had started writing an answer and it turned into a short little ficlet. I figured I'd put it here under a read more.

The night was cold and bitter, with roaring wind that tore through tall snow-covered pines and down the steep mountainside. The brilliant moon overhead illuminated, but it gave no warmth. Inside of the grand Whitetail Chalet, however, a vibrant glow of warmth and life radiated outwards with the happiness within.

A wintertime celebration had returned for the first time since the owners’ return. Old friends and acquaintances met in the great hall, packed and dressed in finery. There they sang and ate and laughed in defiance of the weather outside the walls.

The din of the jovial crowd that filled the hall overwhelmed even the crackle of the great fireplace. Voices jostled, danced and piled upon one another until all meaning but the good nature of the speakers was lost to the ear. The speakers themselves, happy and warm, filled the chalet hall with a vibrancy not seen or heard in some time. A party to life well lived, cozy and thriving amid the cold and snow capped mountain that loomed over Tall Pine Island. 

For a moment that noise spilled outward into the night. The great door of the balcony opened out into the striking cold. The revelers, in their assorted focus and disorientation alike, never noticed.

The noise cut out with the closing of that door. The dance of purple silhouette and orange firelight played out behind the thick glass panes and dark wooden lattice. Silence now, for the young woman watching the party from the cold and bitten balcony. Silence but for the wind that blew across her face, forcing her to lift the cowl of her cloak against the gust.

For Deirdre Whitetail, the whip of the wind and winter was less a trouble than the weight of sociableness behind the glass door. Inside were questions. How to stand? Am I talking too much? Am I not talking enough? What face is this and how do they know me? Am I imposing if I stand close? Will I insult them if I look them in the eye, or if I look away? Outside there were none of these plaguing worries. Outside she had wind to contend with and a warm cloak to guard her. However, a blast of sharp wind disheveling her pink hair did suggest that next time she may want to bring her cap. At least this lesson was not one that came with the stigma of social faux pas.

But is this not what I wanted? Deirdre’s own question rattled in her heart as she watched the festivities. Not long ago she stood in that empty cavern of a room with naught but ghosts of her mistakes and ghosts of her ancestral legacy looking down upon her. That dread emptiness was the spark that sent her abroad once more to find the Restoration. To find old allies and face the new enemies that rose the world over.

She left a chalet to find a home. And now she returns home to find a chalet. One with happy people that she doesn’t know sitting on couches and chairs where once her and close allies drank chocolate and discussed their next raid on an Eggman base. Where once her teammates drove her red in the face over her choice of a gold chalice for a drinking cup. Mockery, yes, but one that came from people who mattered to her. 

Those people were not among the guests in the hall. Those in the hall were her parent’s people. They were important ones, good ones even, but not her’s.

Deirdre’s fist balled at the thought. Her heart quailed. She turned from the balcony window and strode to the heavy wooden railing. She couldn’t be so callous. She shouldn’t be so selfish. They did nothing to her. And here she was rejecting them. She leaned against the rail, snow falling down to thud softly on the ground below. She watched as the clump landed and folded in with the blanket of white. And she looked up and out toward the glittering lights of the harbor town below. Were those people lesser than the ones in the hall? Were they more important? 

Did it matter either way? 

Her leap was near soundless. Her cloak fluttered in descent. The snow softened her landing. She left the chalet behind. Frustration writ upon her face, she stormed toward the treeline. The night winds set her cloak billowing behind her, but she strode forward through the dense snow and away from the grand chalet. She needed distance. She needed to think. And for that, she needed to be alone. So she headed toward a small clearing carved near her home. A private practice field away from the joyful party.

Twin hafts bounced on her hips. She pulled them from their straps and twirled them like batons. Brilliant blue light burst to life from each baton, and on both of them the light settled into the form of twin radiant ax heads. A gift from an ally during Eggman’s invasion, they were to replace her original familial weapon. Technological wonders that cut through badniks with ease. They could cut through branches and practice targets just as well. Streaks of light trailing with each cut and spin. Deirdre’s elegant footwork and sweeping slashes were a dervish that matched the thoughts inside her head. 

She saw the empty hall with herself alone in the long shadows of a longer day of solitude. A world of metal gleamed outside of her walls; a testament to her failures and cowardice. A punishing separation from others. Her penance for fleeing the metallic horde. Alone. Here she was alone, but felt no horror or sadness

She saw the inside of a sundered basement. A warm city along the waterfront. She and a dozen others looked over a map of the region. Each spot marked with pins, toothpicks, and a soda can to represent a goliath. Plans made in those tight places, crowded places, where fear and hope were just as crowded as they were themselves. Planning for the next day’s struggle. She was crowded, but with allies, and friends.

She saw another city, teeming with life. Not long ago. People who fought, people who survived, people who now moved onward from the bad times and with the good. Not in a celebratory way like those in the chalet, but in the dogged reality that life must go on for those who made it through the darkness. She was crowded then, and yet felt nothing like she had in the chalet. She felt a part of something alive. Not among friends, but not alone.

A flash of her own ax splitting a branch brought Deirdre back to reality. Her dance slowed, she stood. Heavy breaths spilled clouds of white as she remained otherwise perfectly still. Flakes of fresh snow settled on her shoulders. The wind chilled her ears. She noticed that the bright moon cast darker shadows. That a bright night meant for darker spaces.

Deirdre snapped the ends of her two axes together. Connected, the two smaller blades fade and reform as a single double-bit. She used the blade as a torch in the night, to light the places where the moonlight couldn’t reach. The trees did their part to shield from the cold wind, and Deirdre’s cloak did much of the rest of the work to warm her. She stepped through the snow, sticking to the steps she took coming in. The force of her arrival dug small furrows. She left with more grace.

When the chalet once more loomed in the light of the moon; where she could again look down on the road that descended toward the glittering city harbor, Deirdre felt that sense of home again. With a touch she powered off her ax’s blade and rendered it once more a simple staff. A staff that she leaned her weight on as she took shelter beneath a support pillar for the same balcony she left by. She did not want to go back inside so quickly.

There were people inside. Happy people. People whom Deirdre was certain she would defend with her life. However, they were not her people. It was not selfish or cruel of her to admit that. And sometimes, she found that being alone may hurt, but it can also allow her to find herself.

[wcrstarter]

@magikborn

"Hmn, rather impetuous of them. A mistake I would suspect, they wouldn't be foolish enough to commit twice." She mused, aware of how competent Amata's citizens were at defending their homes. Their magic was incredibly powerful, nothing to be trifled with. Arthur Pendragon with Kahlan as an ally, would be hard pressed to lose to anyone but a extremely capable enemy. His sister Morgana, and the saxons under her command, were just that.

Sonja had been hardly surprised to have been approached by the other kingdoms, some lesser nobles had pled sanctuary, or to entice her over to their side. She and her people had remained rather neutral, up until now. Watching to see to what scale the war would grow, from a civil dispute to active invasions. She'd seen enough to have reached a decision on which of the children of Uther Pendragon she would lend her support to.

"I have heard the stories of the two, and lived long enough to have watched the rise and fall of Uther as king, with Arthur succeeding him now. He has done well, his people are happier than I ever saw under the late King. Magic should never have been outlawed, it is what made Morgana into what she is. For that, I pity her, but she does not have my sympathies." She agreed, idly watching the other woman. The firelight complimented her complexion well, the curls of her hair were magnificent, a crown of their own. There was no doubt of Kahlan's regal bearing, her beauty was greater than the legends--but she knew of a confessors power and knew not to risk that magic. There was no telling how it might react to a vampire's nature or gifts. The lure alone vampires possesed would be lethal with a confessor's gifts.

Sonja was envious, in a way. Kahlan's beauty was true, her own beauty had a way of bringing about the feeling of uncanny valley to humans, especially those with power. The vampiress was beautiful, but it was meant to draw in unsuspecting. prey, lesser humanoids could hardly resist, as if a fog had overcome them. Kahlan could walk in the sun, as dazzling as the morning light itself. All she had known and would ever know would be moonlight.

"My people and myself are no strangers to bloodlust, but we do have standards. Those who cannot control themselves and become prone to glutting themselves, often find themselves culled. Our rules and the way our covens conduct them as a society I know can be confusing to outsiders, but trust me when I say not a soul in my lands approves or would follow suit in the Saxons or Morgana's footsteps. They would destroy the world for a mere handful of gems and a tale of conquest." The disdain for the saxons was clear in her tone, even if the burr of her accent could disguise her intent when Sonja spoke the common tongue. She had not seen such butchery in centuries, when the Plague of William had outbroken. It turned her stomach and made her want to show her fangs.

Sonja set her own glass down, humming noncommittally at first in response to Kahlan. The stories of the Seeker and Amata's Queen were popular, and the woman before her lived up to them in every way. She knew of the legends that followed her own name, the terror it often invoked. Her name was seldom spoken in comparison to that of Viktor her father. He had been the Devil to the commonfolk, the Demon that Hhunted many mortal mens in their nightmares. and the reason some locked their windows tight at night and enwreathed their doors with garlic and belladonna flowers. She had overthrown her father when his ambitions threatened too many, the dark woods of the mountains of her lands had been regarded as a dark and terrible power that walked the night. But it was also her lands that supplied most silver throughout the kingdoms, in addition to other precious metals and tools of warfare.

"You are perfectly safe here, I haven't heard the latest stories they've cooked up about me. But you needn't wear nightshade, or something of the like. You can rest easy, I intend to sign your treaty. I merely want to ensure fair protection for my people during the day, in return for us guarding during the night and from the shadows." Sonja replied finally, if Kahlan wished to discuss one of the stories with her, she would elaborate. There was no point in guessing what was meant. "I hardly think the stories they say about myself and my people compare to the Seeker herself, but it is kind of you all the same."

"More than bold. They dared reach Amata soil." She scoffed slightly. Her kingdom had sorcerers in their armies. The main city was protected by magic alone and because of this was dubbed one of the safest spots in the five kingdoms. She was working with Arthur and Merlin to make his defenses better also. One reason he did not leave was because he was one of the magic's line of defense there. She knew Pendragon could handle himself since the priestesses of old had trained him in their arts.

Siding with the vampires would just ensure their forces would get the right defense against the ever-growing Saxon forces. Morgana was ruling over them from what she heard and she was growing in strength. It would take all of their wits to beat her at her own game.

Sitting tall as he held the cup in her hands, the hood of her dress was down and allowed her hair to sprawl out in rings. Wavy as it was, it made a brown halo on her head. One where her crown had fit during ceremonies. Tapping the edge of her seat with a finger, she glanced over at the other. She guessed by vampire standards she was beautiful. Probably whispered about.

Kahlan's beauty had reached Arthur and he was a bit shocked when laying eyes on her. He had not attempted anything with her, which would not be wise considering her confession gift would just make him completely loyal to her. She didn't want that for him. Not too many could touch her without having some sort of effect from the power. Merlin so far was the only one.

Sipping on her wine, she brought her eyes to the fire as she heard the song of the glass from the other. "Arthur has no fear. He's not his father and made it clear that people with magic is welcomed in his kingdom. I fear its Morgana's hatred that blinds her." She confessed. Such hate reminded her of Uther, their father. We trust that you would give the discern you need for all this. The Saxons are barbarians. They know nothing but blood lust."

Nodding to her, she took her words to heart. "And you have my word as a Seeker that I will not cause trouble for you." Putting her glass down, she glanced over. "I've heard the tales. Men whisper them as much as my own legacy. I appreciate your hospitality."

[hewantshisbrideback]

Jonrya AU: Other Engagements

Summary: The remaining Starks gather some time after the Long Night is won to discuss possible plans for marriages and alliances. With Jon crowned King of the Wall, ruling under Daenerys, High Queen of Westeros, discussion of who will reign by his side as queen over the north is paramount. But Jon is not the only wolf for whom a match must be made.

“Proposals," Rickon groaned and tossed back his head, auburn curls glinting. "My spear is still crusted with blood, and we're already talking of politics?"

"And how long a grace period were you expecting?" Arya snorted, shaking her head. Her dismissive words were born partially of relief. 

She had been speaking with the washer women when Jon found her and pulled her away. He had lead her to a small, stony room, recently rebuilt, containing only two windows, a small side table of wood, and her siblings gathered around in a semi-circle as if for a ritual. 

Her hackles had risen in an instant, but Bran had quickly laid her greatest fears to rest. There was no new tragedy to break their hearts, no new disaster to ravage their land; only the tedious intricacies of a civil society.

“A longer one,” the boy groused. Arya imagined that in his mind, there was likely no tragedy more agonizing than such tedious complexities.

“Oh? Are you inconvenienced?” She tilted her head at him. "Shall we postpone rebuilding the kingdom until the armory's polished nice and new?"

"Can we?" He asked. For a moment it was difficult for her to tell whether he was serious. Maybe the boy didn’t know himself. She cuffed him lightly over the head with a scoff just to be safe, and the grin that broke on his lips was wild.

Still, she had to admit he wasn’t exaggerating. Hardly a moon had past since the last dregs of the Others had been sighted, had been felled, and already there were talks of contracts, engagements, and promises between names she recognized only from war letters and fireside whispers.

During the blight, there had been hurried ceremonies in Great Halls, like that between Princess Val of the Free Folk and the gentle Willas Tyrell. However, there was no need for hushed vows in torch-lit gatherings anymore. What was left of the nobility, and whatever names had been gilded by the Long Winter, would want feasts, balls, parades through the streets.

Arya thought she almost preferred a quiet cloaking in the night. Perhaps that was only natural. After all, she had been present for the wedding of Val and Willas, and no better a pair had been made than they.

She recalled what a sight they’d been: the free woman’s flushed cheeks painted orange with firelight, the lord of the Reach’s nervous brown eyes pinned to his bride’s easy smile, rapt and adoring. They had danced for only a short song, but they had whispered all throughout, and had been whispering to each other ever since whenever she saw them.

The warrior princess and her lord of roses. She could count at least three songs that had been written of them since, the battles the lady fought and the bed of flowers her lord laid down for her, but none of them noted how they made each other laugh, how they sat at each other’s side like old friends.

"Bran is right,” Arya blinked from her thoughts in time to see Sansa grimace and continue, “We may have put aside our differences to face a greater threat, but that won't make for a lasting peace now that the threat is extinguished.”

"Fine," Rickon groused, then pursed his lips, surveying the room sullenly. "So, we're looking to pick up a queen already?"

Arya flinched, eyes snapping to Jon. Perhaps Rickon had been right to moan and whine. She knew her cousin would be married off eventually, now that he'd had a crown foisted onto him, but the idea of helping select his bride settled like shards of ice beneath her ribs. She cursed herself. How selfish she was. Finding a queen for the North was in the best interest of all who inhabited it, and here she was, unable to look at this as of yet faceless woman as anything but another competitor for Jon’s attention.

"A queen for the North?" Sansa contemplated, sounding as equally troubled as Arya felt. Her hopes that Sansa might object in her stead were dashed in an instant. "I suppose it bears discussing--”

"We can't," Arya blurted, panic coursing through her like lightning. Her siblings turned to stare at her. She flushed under their baffled eyes. Swallowing her shame and clearing her throat, she leaned back against the wall and crossed her arms. "Well, we can't. We can't start making decisions yet. Not on our own. The dragons. They have a stake in this, too."

Jon lingered on her for a moment. She held her breath, brow cocked defiantly, but he made a noise of agreement that showed she need not have worried. "That's true. I'm heir, second to Aegon. Daenerys lets me keep my name, but she will want a say in who shares our blood all the same."

"You're right. It may be one day that the children of your union and hers are married themselves," Bran conceded. “It won't do to decide without her.”

Her sister nodded, expression poised and thoughtful. "That’s true. I suppose there should be some talk between us and her, even Aegon perhaps, before we think about who would be a suitable choice.”

The ice in Arya's chest melted, soft like relief, but colder and heavier, and she made an effort to ignore the stab of resentment at her sister’s next words.

“Jon, you can send her a message, invite her to share her thoughts. Of course, you could always visit her in person as well, if she prefers it.”

Jon's jaw ticked as he nodded, eyes flickering towards Arya, only to snap away as if it burned when she returned his gaze. For a moment, she was petrified. Had he noticed? Had he noticed how upset this talk of queens had made her?

"Alright," he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. "I'll draft a letter after supper."

His words were disappointing, and his tone was resigned, but it was also familiar. She felt her heart calm. It was no use to fret, over any of it. They were close, and given all that happened, it only made sense for her to be worried. She shouldn’t be afraid for him to see it. 

And at least the decision itself had been delayed some, Arya thought, staring at the ceiling, even if only until Daenerys had enough time to consider the best use of her nephew.

"Great!" Rickon looked around at each of them. "That's that, then, isn't it?” Sansa tutted at him for his impatience, and Bran shook his head, and Rickon threw up his hands. “If we can’t do anything without the queen’s say-so, why stand here brooding over it now? Just wait until she tells you what to do."

“She’s not just going to tell us what to do.” Arya tried not to quibble over semantics with Rickon, as he was still learning the world of kings and courts, but she couldn’t stop herself this time. “Daenerys isn’t a tyrant. No doubt she has prospects in mind, but the choice is ultimately Jon’s.”

“Which is why it’s worth going over the options now,” Sansa added on, “to prepare ourselves for when we do make that decision.”

“And we will,” Bran intercut, "but we can afford to set it aside today. There are still some other arrangements we need to consider.”

“What arrangements?” Jon rumbled, but the stiff set to his jaw and the scowl inching onto his lips made it clear he had some idea and, evidently, disapproved already.

If Bran sensed his ire, he ignored it. “Arrangements for the rest of the Starks."

Arya blinked. She had seen the eyes of visiting nobles and their kin lingering on her brothers and her sister. Even she had received some curious glances. But somehow she’d still managed to overlook the obvious, managed to fool herself into thinking that they had more time.

“Are we really to be parted from each other so soon?” she murmured.

Bran gave her an appreciative glance tinged with grief, and in that glance she felt all those lonely years already spent apart, a splintered pack. After spending this many fighting so hard to reunite, she felt sick imagining any of her family leaving Winterfell. No wonder Jon was on edge.

“I don’t like it,” Rickon grumbled in tandem with her thoughts, and from the looks on everyone else’s faces, they weren't the only ones. 

Sansa had folded in on herself, a brooding edge to her perfect mouth, but with Rickon’s complaint, she moved beside him, tucking his stray red curls behind his ear, a gesture that smacked of their late mother to a degree which hurt.

“Nevertheless,” she muttered after a moment, hand retracting and interlacing with the other, but she could not bring herself to follow through and continue the thought. No one could.

The room was still and heavy with preemptive sorrow, until Arya could bear it no longer. What would they do, sit in silence in this room until the fire dwindled and the sun set? There were meals to be had and men to appease, even just this evening, and waiting wouldn't stall the inevitable. Bran knew that. They all knew that. Sucking in a solemn, silent breath, she asked, “So then which of us is to be married first? And to who?”

Sansa opened her mouth, face wilted with regret, but Bran shook his head dismissing her, and the rest of them mirrored him. There was no need for a defense to be made.

“I’m well aware of the union between you and Sandor Clegane,” Bran assured her. “I would never ask you to break your vows. Aside from this, your first two marriages would have diminished your prospects regardless, one of which still needs to be annulled. Sansa is not an option. I mean you no offense, sister."

Sansa did not look offended. If anything, her expression spoke to some small, secret amusement. Arya was just glad that she wasn't weeping.

“No,” Bran continued, “by now, the attention of our allies has wandered to our other sister, Princess Arya.”

Arya was still beneath her brother’s cool, blue stare. She used to squirm whenever someone referred to her title aloud. By now, she’d nearly grown used to it. After all, she’d answered to far too many ill-fitting names to abandon Arya Stark for her accompanying titles, so she wasn’t left with much choice. 

Now, something in her felt hollow, as though if the wind began to blow, it would whistle through her insides, and she’d be able to hum without using her mouth.

“They intend to offer their sons to Arya." Jon's words were slow and pointed and metered all the way through. “Have they no daughters for you or Rickon?”

“I did not say that they are not looking out for their daughters as well,” Bran reasoned, just as slowly and emphatic as his cousin had. “But of the three of us, Arya is the most attractive option. She cannot give them a royal title, but it’s no secret what she means to you, and the North at large, or that she’s earned the favor of Daenerys. Every wifeless heir on the continent will be interested.”

She must’ve imagined the way his fists clenched. Jon was smart. Men underestimated him, always, but he was smarter than all of them. He should've expected this, even if, somehow, she hadn’t. Of course suitors would seek a princess’s hand. It would not matter to them whether that hand was supple or calloused. Jon knew that. If he didn’t, he should’ve.

If the world had taught her anything, it had taught her that nothing staves the ambition of powerful men. Not even death. Not even ugliness.

“Good.” The word startled her, even more than her sister’s soft hand suddenly pressing to her cheek. But she smiled, albeit with closed lips, as Sansa's furrowed gaze swept over her features like she'd never seen them, like she was trying to absorb all she could for safe keeping. “You’ll have your pick of the lot.”

“Septa Mordane would be quaking to hear such talk of Arya Horseface,” Arya snorted in response, provoking a wry smile from Bran, an expression she sheepishly mirrored.

“Be serious, Arya,” Sansa huffed with a noble frown, hand falling from her face to clutch her wrist in earnest. Arya adjusted her clasp so that they held hands instead, and Sansa's thumb swept the back of her hand in search of comfort. “That silly, old nickname couldn’t be more ill-fitting. You’re quite pretty now.”

Jon made an ill-tempered rumbling noise, and Arya wanted to press him, but refrained in front of the others. He’d been reserved since he was a child, but ever since the Long Night began, he’d been downright secretive. She wouldn’t pry, at least not until she’d gotten him alone.

“It’s true," Rickon cut in, offering a rakish grin. “You should hear the free folk talk of you, sister. They say such things I’ve had to threaten to gut near half of them. They might’ve tried to steal you already, if they weren’t so frightened of Jon. And me, too, of course!”

The others stiffened, but Arya saw his assurance for what it was and spared a moment to thank the old gods for her littlest brother. Though her gratitude didn’t prevent her from rolling her eyes.

“The freefolk have a might different set of standards than the noble lords of Westeros. I can only hope that my reputation is not too far spread. It’s too much harder to see a she-wolf wed than a proper lady,” she drawled, letting go of Sansa as she paused and turned to him with a shrug. “Though I suppose in another world, a marriage with some wily freefolk warrior might've suited, and done well to unite the North.”

Rickon puffed up with pride, though on behalf of whom she had no idea.

“You can’t be serious,” Sansa huffed, then turned an admonishing glare on her brothers. “I know that you have all grown quite fond of the wildlings, having spent so much time with them, but however helpful they’ve been, there is hardly a suitable match for a lady amongst them.”

“A princess, now,” Bran reminded her, and Sansa nodded firmly.

“Suitable how?”  A sneer curved on Rickon's mouth. “I’m not the one who wants to marry her off, but a free man can be good as any lord of Westeros. It wasn’t a wildling who tortured the poor girl in Arya’s stead, was it? And your good Joffrey was a prince. It seems that didn’t stop him from being vile.”

“Rickon!” Arya snapped in warning.

The youngest Stark stared her sister down, burning as remorselessly as the sun, but Sansa’s face was stone and her eyes blue flint.

“That is not what I meant,” she amended calmly. “Of course, the wildlings are no more capable of cruelty than the rest of us. That being said,” her words sharpened to points, like they were her talons, "the lords of Westeros will not stand to see one Stark sister married to a former knight and the other to a wildling. Not when order has just been settled and peace is still in question. If we marry Arya to a wildling, we spit in the faces of our Northern lords and our Southron neighbors both.”

“Aside from that, we don’t need another tie to the free folk,” Bran noted mildly. “With Tormund in our council, Val in the reach, and Jon their chosen king, their loyalty is as guaranteed as we could hope.”

Arya shrugged. “Well, as far as I've heard, if I were to be stolen, I'd hardly be in a position to refuse."

"Perhaps not, but I don't think Jon would be all too pleased to wake up and find you stolen by one of his subjects." Bran was watching Jon as if it were his sole, solemn duty. "I imagine they'd only get so far before he stole you back."

Jon flinched violently and it was a shock, how pale and harrowed he looked. 

"It’s not like anyone could ever steal me away in the first place," Arya reminded him quietly, and when he looked at her, his mouth was pressed into a bitter facsimile of a smile.

“Unfortunately,” Rickon mumbled, and when Sansa and Jon simultaneously turned to glare, he merely scuffed his foot against the ground defiantly. "I mean it. At least then she could've stayed in Winterfell.”

Ridiculous boy. Arya nearly pulled him into a hug, but Bran interrupted her before she could move and his next words kept her still.

"It's not entirely out of the question,” he professed. “It’s possible she’ll find a suitor who will be able to reside in the North."

Arya felt her heart stutter. “You mean, like someone who’s not an heir?”

“No,” Sansa asserted. “If you snub the heir of one house for another’s second son, their entire territory will take it as an offense.”

“No, I was not specifically thinking along those lines,” Bran amended. “There are those with other circumstances under which you may be able to remain.” His eyes slid curiously to one of the windows as he tilted his head. "Ned Dayne, for example. We’ve received word that he intends to act in service to the Queen’s Greater Westerosi Council. You get along well, don't you?"

Jon stepped forward before she could reply, straightened to his full height. His stare was locked on her, stark and unyielding against the pallor of his cheeks, like stones atop snow dunes. "How do you know the Sword of the Morning?"

Arya felt apprehension tighten like a cord around her throat.

This had been the way since they’d reunited.

When Jon introduced her to his allies, she’d beamed like the sun. They had delighted her, despite her jealousy, for all the years she’d spent apart from him, that he’d been with them instead. The jealousy didn’t matter as much as the relief that he’d found friends. She took them as her own. She had been excited for him to do the same with hers. She had been so sure he would, it hadn’t even felt like hope. She’d just known.

But when she brought Jon to Gendry, explained who he’d been to her, he met the smith with suspicious words and a dark glare. When she told him of Hot Pie, or Lommy, or Weasel, or any of the number of sailors and whores from Braavos, he answered only with sarcasm and silence. And the Hound...

Now she’d be the first to point out that Sandor Clegane had not been her friend, or her ally, when they first travelled together. But she would also admit, begrudgingly, that he’d become something close by the time he accompanied her to the Wall with the Brotherhood. Jon had known that. Still, when Sansa brought the Hound into their home as her husband, Arya had heard the King of the Wall bellowing his objections from the other side of Winterfell.

"We travelled together, for a time," she replied carefully. Her tongue suddenly felt too big for her mouth. "Not very long.”

“When?” he prompted impatiently.

“When I was with the Brotherhood,” she confessed, “back when it was still lead by Beric Dondarrion.”

“You didn’t say anything.” In other circumstances, these words might’ve been a mere observation, or even an expression of concern, but here and now, they were an accusation.

He had mentioned the Sword of the Morning to her before in passing, but by that time, around the time poor Morgan Umber started running away whenever she waved in his direction, she had heard just about everything he had to say about her friends. So she had decided not to mention it. That would be easier.

Except now it looked like she’d been keeping secrets. She cursed the gods and all they stood for. “He wasn't the Sword of the Morning then — just a boy."

"Oh, just a boy," Rickon snorted. "Just another boy, you mean?"

Jon glowered but said nothing.

"That's right," Sansa tittered, with a sudden little smile. "You’ve collected so many. The blacksmith, the baker. Even that boy from House Umber. And now, the heir of Starfall."

"Gendry wouldn’t be a bad match either," Rickon piped up, a grin forming. Like Jon, he had been wary of the smith when Arya first introduced them, but unlike Jon, that had since changed. There was a higher degree of respect between the Free Folk and the Brotherhood than between either of them and any of the other factions. They worked together more easily, and more often, and Rickon was always with Osha and the free folk. Between this growing familiarity and Gendry's formidable reputations both as the Bull of the Brotherhood and the Arm of Stoneheart, a friendship had formed.

Her sister, on the other hand, had been entirely lukewarm when it came to the blacksmith. It was clear she saw him as beneath Arya’s station, but he was useful and she’d kept any complaints to herself, likely as recompense for Arya’s support for her and Sandor. This worked in Gendry’s favor as Sansa hummed, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, only saying, "Who knew your habit of collecting strays would come so in handy?"

Arya's cheeks warmed. "They're not strays."

Rickon shrugged. "Not anymore, I suppose.”

"They're allies!” She insisted. “They're vital allies."

This time, Bran shrugged. "They can be both," he suggested innocently.

Arya growled and whacked his shoulder gently, turning to Jon for even a drop of support, but the only thing she found was frustration marring his brow. They were stalling again, wasting time. Arya sobered. She felt a bit like a child, finding Jon so troubled and having been so oblivious.

"Jon?” she ventured. “What are you thinking?"

He was quiet for a moment and she thought he might scold them, but instead he responded, "It's as Sansa said before. A knight is hardly a suitable match for a princess, let alone a smith."

Arya prickled at his words. True as they may be, in the political sense, the insinuation that her friends were somehow beneath her would never sit well with her. She knew that Jon was just being practical, that he had too much sense to hold a man's status against his character. 

But then, he seemed to make many exceptions to sense when it came to those she cared about. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to marry Gendry, but she knew she’d prefer him to most, and she wasn’t about to let Jon discount him without objection.

"Gendry isn't just a smith.” She reminded him stiffly, fighting to remain civil as he huffed and turned away. "He leads the Brotherhood without Banners. He has earned the respect of Westeros.”

"And the smallfolk adore him. He's not just some war hero to them," Rickon added eagerly, looking to her, and she nodded him on. “He means something more. The whole Brotherhood does. They love them.”

"And he may not be a lord, by his own choice," Arya concluded, "but he is a Baratheon. That could mollify at least some of the lords."

"And would it mollify Daenerys? Or Aegon?" Jon snapped. "When it was a Baratheon who killed their family and sent them into exile in the first place? I may be their kin but I can only do so much to protect you."

"I thought that Daenerys granted immunity and legitimacy to Robert's children in exchange for recognizing Targaryen rule?" Sansa asked, hands moving to her hips. "Even Edric Baratheon has bent the knee."

"So how do you think she feels about Gendry, then, the only bastard to refuse her offer of a title and land? And the leader of a band of fools," Jon spat the word like it tasted foul on his tongue, "who reject the authority of anyone who wears a crown?"

Why Jon was suddenly spouting hostility at the Brotherhood he'd vocally appreciated during the war, Arya wasn't sure, but as much as she took issue with his slander, it wasn’t the time to bring it up. "If Daenerys does see the Brotherhood as a threat, then a marriage between us could be a means of establishing peace before a conflict breaks out...”

The look Jon gave her was that of a wounded animal with its prey cornered. She forgot what she had been about to say.

"If you think," he hissed, "that I'm going to risk your life on the premise that it might prevent disputes between that menace and the Crown, then I am going to have to disappoint you."

"And what of Edric Dayne?"

Arya could only watch as Jon turned away to face her sister, whose chin jutted out defiantly at the king. That imperious timbre sent shivers down Arya’s spine. She hadn’t heard her sister take such a lofty tone with Jon in ten years.

Jon, on the other hand, just sounded irritated. "What of him?"

"As a candidate for Arya's husband,” Sansa deadpanned, as unamused with him as he was with her. “Is something wrong with him?"

"Is this not the boy that used to traipse around with the same Brotherhood?" Jon enunciated his words as if he was speaking to someone extraordinarily slow and particularly annoying, and if his goal was to offend, then by the way Sansa bristled, he had succeeded.

"His involvement with the Brotherhood was minimal, contingent on his position as Ser Dondarrion's squire, and has already ended," she pointed out hotly. "It would have to, either way, seeing as he's not just a lord, but the heir to Starfall." 

"And you think as the heir to Starfall, he and his bride will not be obligated to return to Starfall?" Jon replied just as impatiently. "He could afford to pick up the mantle of Sword of the Morning and run around the continent as a knight during the war, but do you truly think he will forfeit his responsibilities at the behest of a girl he knew when he was a squire?"

"But what if he forfeits his claim? If he intends to work for the council, he will."

"Then there is no guarantee he settles here."

“Oh,” Sansa made a cruel, ladylike sound, something like a laugh but not. "Is that all?"

The whites of Jon’s eyes had never been so visible. "Is that all?"

"Is that all, that she may have to leave? Is that your only qualm?"

"He offers her nothing!"

"He's a lord. He's an heir." Sansa lifted a finger with each point she made. "He's a war hero. He's a celebrated ally to the Martells, and to the Targaryens!"

Jon scoffed, loud, and so unlike him at all that Arya's jaw fell a little. "If a king with Targaryen blood is not enough to guarantee peace with the Targaryens, then a marriage to Edric Dayne will do no better! He offers her nothing!"

"He offers her security and kindness!" Sansa roared, calm breaking like the sea against cliffs. "He and Arya are not just familiar with each other — they're friends. Do you understand how rare and precious it is? As far as safety and happiness can go, there's no better assurance than that."

"What of our assurance?" Rickon snapped, stepping into line with his cousin, opposing Sansa. "We can offer her better than that."

"Exactly, Rickon!" Jon crowed, towering above them all even as he leaned in to emphasize his point. "Her family, in Winterfell, is better than that."

Her sister sputtered at his malice, turning to Arya, but she could only stare back, face still slack with surprise. Helpless, Sansa seethed, shaking her head at them all. "And so, what? She will never marry anyone?"

"I don't see why she has to," Rickon grumbled, but Arya barely heard him as Jon crossed over to her, took her by the shoulder, and tucked her into his side. "At least right away.”

"She doesn't," Jon agreed, gaze soft and raw, as if he’d been stripped bare and bleeding before her and didn't mind at all. What was she supposed to do? This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? Time? But then he said, “She won’t.”

Sansa shrunk back as if slapped and Arya stilled under his arm. This was a voice she'd only heard him wield on the battlefield, or in court, deep as a wolf and imperious as a dragon. He had never been the king with them, not with his family, no matter how they'd fought or what over. But now, he’d raised his head to look at Sansa with narrowed eyes, and did not seem to see a cousin at all.

He continued steadily, "We have every right to keep her."

Sansa’s teeth were small and peeked out from her mouth like she wanted to run but when she met Arya's gaze, her mouth shut. She straightened her posture, her chin dipped low and humble this time. "You are a Targaryen king, but you're not her head of house. You may have a say, but the final word is Bran's."

Jon’s grip tightened and Arya winced as he positioned himself between the two sisters, almost as if to make sure Sansa wouldn’t reach out and grab her.

"Oh, did you forget?" she asked, so elegantly applying salt in the wound.

"It seems Bran has," Arya interjected. "Surely he has something to add?"

She looked to her brother, silently imploring, but he merely made a contented hum. Part of her wanted to tear her hair out, another wanted a go at his. She did not see what was so amusing about their siblings spitting and hissing at one another over her marriage prospects. Jon and Sansa were volatile enough as it is, some days managing genuine cordiality and others only just barely maintaining a facade of civility. This couldn’t help.

"Bran will do what's best for Arya," Jon spoke on his behalf, drawing her even closer, so her chest was pressed to his ribs. His heat warmed her like a furnace. "I trust him with that much. He loves his sister."

"And I don't," Sansa inhaled, eyes wide and stepping back. "That's what you mean, isn't it? Be honest with us, Jon. Arya and I have made our peace and moved past our childhood quarrels, but clearly, you haven't. You still hold them against me, don't you?"

"It's nothing like that," Arya assured her with a furrowed brow, gesturing for her cousin to corroborate. Jon didn't say a word.

Sansa looked down at her and soon deflated. "What would you know? He's an entirely different person to you.” She turned back to Jon, her voice low and scathing. “You’re making me look like a villain for suggesting she marry at all, but I’m just trying to find her someone who will be good for her before it’s too late. I will not allow her to suffer like I did.”

"No, you would just exile her from her home, to live with strangers.” There was no room for argument. There never had been. “Arya has been away from home long enough without you sending her away once more."

"Away from home, or away from you?”

She might’ve said more, she must’ve said more, and Jon must’ve said more too, but Arya couldn’t stand to hear another a word of it. What was the point of this bickering and bullshit? All the while Bran just sat there with that inscrutable certainty as his eyes trailed after Jon, and what did any of it matter?

“Enough!” she howled, pushing at his chest and ripping out of Jon’s reach.

His arm hung in the air for a moment, expression hurt, but she didn't have the time to be sorry.

"Were either of you going to ask me what I thought? Or are you two happy assuming you know what's best for me, as well as the North, and the rest of the kingdoms?" she snapped. Sansa, Jon, and even Rickon all began speaking at once, but she'd had enough of listening for an entire week. “Shut up! I’m sick of it. I’m sick of all of you.” She sneered. “What a waste of time.”

Sansa objected, and Jon tried to defend himself, but it had been, nothing but a waste of time and a strain on their throats. If this was the way things would go, she was better off being stolen by the free folk. She was half tempted to leave her window open in invitation. They might not even have to bind and carry her.

"We are not going to make these decisions in a single evening," Bran's voice raised now, cutting through the clamor like a sword through cloth. "I knew that when I brought it up. Although, I had thought we'd at least get the chance to discuss some of the prospects for Rickon and me. But that can wait for now. We have other engagements to attend to.”

"Right," she croaked. Meals and men. Meals and men. She was supposed to meet with Ser Davos and Lord Manderley. Through the window, the sky was orange. She swallowed, but her throat kept dry. "I'm already late. I have to go.”

She moved to leave, and Jon moved to follow, but Bran called out and asked him to wait as the door swung shut behind her, and that was the last she allowed herself to hear before breaking into a sprint.

X

@mysticalmuddle This isn’t the fic I was talking about before, but I thought you might like to be tagged anyway, seeing as you’re basically the sole reason I ever post my fics! Thank you for all your encouragement, you are amazing.

[theclumsyxeno]

About Leaf Greenwood and Rafflesia

@formerchaoslord

Human: Leaf Greenwood

EM Being: Rafflesia

EM wave change: Poison Envy

Ablities: Vine whip, Poison Song, Overgrowth, Devour, Poison Purify, Rancid Strike, Frequency Change, Acid burst, Acid cage

Backstory: Leaf Greenwood and Rafflesia are friends who complete each other after a long time of loneliness. Leaf hails from the Kanto Region, After her childhood friend, Red Firelight, drifted away from her. She grew quiet and distant from others, feeling forgotten. Rafflesia is an EM being hailing from the planet of AM, the same world as Omega-xis. After the planet’s destruction, Rafflesia thought she was the last of her kind, and had to fend for herself against FMians. She soon was clinging to life, and was pulled in by a worm hole. Where she crashed on Pokemon-Earth. The crash waking Leaf. She put her slippers and robe on and rushed out. She was baffled to see a strange being in the crater. She picked up the being and brought it back to her house. Soon the being, revealed to be Rafflesia, woke up, and almost attacked Leaf, mistaking her for an enemy, Howver, when they made contact, they transformed, and turned into Poison Envy. The initial transformation scared Leaf half to death, while Rafflesia was speechless that they were a match for transformation. Rafflesia calmed Leaf down, and explained what happened to them, and separated. This lead to them properly introducing themselves, and apologizing for their freak outs. As time went on, the pair grew to become friends, filling the void in each other’s hearts. Soon enough however, the viruses of Rafflesia’s world came to the Pokémon-Earth, and began to attack the net. With Leaf and Rafflesia transforming into Poison Envy and battling them, at least, as well as a noob virus buster can. The pair had little issue with the weaker viruses, but It didn’t take long before they were overwhelmed by the more powerful ones. Just as it seemed they were done for, a rift opened, With Geo and Omega-xis as Megaman as well as Sonia and Lyra as Harp note, arrived and saved the pair. With Leaf being amazed, and Rafflesia feeling relief over seeing another AMian, and shock from seeing an FMian playing nice. After defeating the viruses, Megaman asks if the pair are okay, to which they were, but Rafflesia asks how it’s possible that another AMian is alive, and how an FMian is acting like an ally, having understandable wariness toward Lyra. Omega-xis tells the pair it would be easier to explain if they came back with them. While hesitant, with Leaf not wanting to leave her home behind, Geo assures Leaf there’s plenty of friendly faces where they’re heading. Leaf ultimately agrees and the pair go with Harp Note and Megaman back to RiFT’s dimension, where they meet the rest of the group.

[dashedwithromance]

Secret Moments In A Crowded Room - Princewitch

okay so DISCLAIMER im scared to post this because we’ve never really seen romantic wrath before so idk if people might think this is OOC but i wanted princewitch fluff desperately and cant wait til october. inspired by the teaser quote she released yesterday and ‘dress’ by taylor swift

-

The ball raged on around her, dancers swirling around impossibly fast, flashes of fabric catching the light of the serpent scones. On and on, all without her. Her husband sat to her right on his larger throne, staring into nothing. They had exchanged all of five words that evening.

She did not blame her husband for his coldness, not truly. If their positions were switched, and she had been forced to marry a random demon while still loving and grieving her murdered spouse, she doubted whether she would even manage civility. Pride continued his business, barely taking notice of his young wife, and she was glad, of that, at least. If he’d wanted her... a shudder snaked down her spine, curling in her gut. Her mind still echoed with the unnatural violation of Lust’s magic, and the thought of another demon prince perusing her like that was foul. There was only one prince she wanted, and his sin was wrath.

Dancing in Hell was nothing like she’d seen on the streets of Palermo. Nothing like the carefree dancing of Vittoria, so full of light and life and love that nothing seemed to touch her. Here, movements entwined with danger, every dance a flirtation with living death. People danced with weapons, exchanging daggers and rondels and rapiers like secret lovers. Jewelled garrottes hung around every neck, poisonous pearls glittering in various ornate hairstyles. An unholy masquerade indeed.

Her own mask was a fine decoration of gold and jewels. Metallic serpents entwined across the mosaic-like surface, darker cracks embedded across it. The mask had arrived one evening at her rooms, wrapped in luscious velvet. No letter accompanied it, the only sign of the sender being a golden snake that slithered up her arm before dissolving into sparks. The decoration matched her dress, a similar mosaic of black silk, lace, and golden serpents. Truly befitting a queen.

Fury burned through her as she watched the revellers pass her by. They danced without a care, members of the seven houses intermingling freely. She wanted to scream and shatter the very throne she sat on. How dare they dance as if mere months ago, one of their own had not been taking the hearts of witches? As if she did not sit on a dead witch’s throne? A witch who still had not found justice, who’s body had been ripped to shreds in the cruellest way imaginable?

“Careful, little queen.” Pride’s voice rumbled in her ear. He still did not look at her, but leaned closer to whisper, “Lest the people learn your ungrateful thoughts.”

Closing her eyes to avoid murdering the demon she’d married, she took a deep breath. The air smelt like fire and spirits and the sweat of colliding bodies. Suddenly, the sight of it all disgusted her. The dancing, the drinking, the living, all of it. Selfish, she knew – others were allowed to live despite Vittoria being denied the very same. But she couldn’t help it. She longed for nothing more than her sister to live, even if it meant sacrificing her life to the demon beside her. There was nothing to be done, however. Her sister was lost forever.

The night dwindled on, interrupted by the occasional violent thought towards her situation. Though, as contrary as it sounded, not all was dark about her time in Hell. She had one bright spot, one flame in the dark. Something she kept locked against her chest for fear of discovery.

Casting her eye across the room, she caught the gaze of the hidden secret. Prince Wrath leaned against the wall from across the room, his eyes flickering as they locked with hers. He was dressed in a sinfully beautiful suit, a pattern of golden serpents slithering up the fabric from the floor. The snakes seemed alive in the firelight. Perhaps they were. A smug sense of satisfaction ebbed through her when she realised they matched. No one else would notice – serpents weren’t exactly an uncommon motif in Hell – but they knew, and it was comfort enough. With a movement, so small she nearly missed it, he tilted his head towards the exit.

A thrill raced through her, paired with genuine, loving excitement. They had not been alone in much too long.

Things had not always been so relaxed between her and the prince of Wrath. Her first few weeks in Hell had been spent furiously glaring in his direction. He’d given her the ultimate cold shoulder until she’d nearly burned from it. She’d been full of fury at his leaving her – at the humiliation she felt from having the human audacity to trust a demon. One day, when they crossed each other in a hallway heading to court, her temper had bubbled to boiling.

She remembered yanking him into a nearby room – he let her, she realised now – and yelled at him for the cruelty of leaving her alone. Of giving her hope and wrenching it away, like a child suddenly filled with jealously over a shared toy.

The sheer incredulity on his face was the first indication she was mistaken. He laughed, a sardonic sound coated in disbelief.

“I left you?” His voice was low. The walls around them seemed to thrum in response to his deadly power.

“I left you?” He repeated, “I gave you all the tools to summon me, witch, and you refused. Too good for my help, perhaps.  I have no more responsibilities to you. Our deal is done.”

Wrath turned to leave, but by some miracle, she managed to dart in front of him. Her body was pressed against the door, the cold stone mixing with the heat she felt roaring off him. Emilia should’ve been afraid, should’ve been trembling in her gifted boots at the sight of him, but she wasn’t. Why, she couldn’t quite tell.

His gaze burned into hers, but her own was just as powerful.

“I tried everything to summon you after what Envy did, and you didn’t come.” She hissed. The wrath of a prince was one thing, but hell hath no fury like a witch scorned. “You left me. I was foolish enough to believe you would ca- that you would come for me once, but I will not be fooled twice.”

The look he gave her was indiscernible. Equal parts rage mixed with... something lighter. If anyone else looked at her like that, she would’ve described it as hopeful. But demons did not hope, no more than they loved.

He was scanning her face with the focus of a battle-hardened warrior. Whatever it was he found made him take a step back.

“What did you do wrong?” He muttered, almost to himself.

“I did nothing wrong,” She couldn’t help but fire back, “I did everything correctly – even used the ring you left for me in the drawer.”

At that, he stilled. Stilled and stopped breathing entirely.

Then, as if talking to someone who’d sustained a head injury, he said, “I didn’t leave you a ring. I left you my house seal, solid gold, of course, but no ring.” He went on to describe where he’d left it – the top drawer beside her bed – but she already knew.

The conclusion settled in her stomach like a stone. Another feeling, one she didn’t let herself scrutinise, unfurled within her.

“Someone didn’t want me to summon you.”

“Close. Someone wanted you to think I wouldn’t come.”

A question hung in the air, so loud neither could bring themselves to give it voice.

Would you have come, Prince Wrath? Would you have come to my aid when I needed you most? When I needed to know you were alright?

Keeping those treacherous thoughts under lock and key, she focused on another facet of the curious mystery.

“Who would it benefit? And who would’ve known what to switch – the house was warded, was it not?”

Silence from her princely counterpart.  

“Would the wards collapse with your ‘death’?”

The look on his face told her all she needed to know. Someone had stolen into the house and replaced the seal with a ring to deliberately throw off their efforts. Which meant-

He hadn’t abandoned her at all. Given her the cold shoulder, yes, when he believed she’d forgotten all about him.

What a hellish mess this all was.

From that moment on, the demon and the witch had become begrudging allies once more. Wrath had been furious one of his brothers would dare interfere with his affairs, and she needed an ally, desperately. While it rubbed against her pride to accept help, she knew it would’ve been foolish to refuse. She would be a vengeful queen, but even queens needed council.

Their alliance had turned to friendship, then burst into royal flames as they look the leap to lovers. In the candlelight of a stolen moment, Wrath had held her with more care than she’d known possible. Still Wrath, still echoing that immense power of his, but softer, somehow. Not gentle, not truly, but tender. It was not love, but it was fire and anger and care all pieced together in a ball of desire.  

Which led her to that moment, as she stole away from her husband’s masquerade ball. She had stayed long enough, and the party celebrated nothing of importance. Rather a show of unity between her and Pride, a display of wealth and power.

As she left the throne room she realised she had no idea where her prince had gone. Back to his rooms? No, they avoided meeting there. Being caught together in casual rooms could be explained away as strategic briefings, but being caught in the bedroom of her husband’s brother... did not leave for much escape room.

Just as she was about to curse his name, a snake slithered around her ankle, causing her to start. Was that Wrath’s laugh, she heard? Looking to her feet, the snake stared back up at her, its golden eyes winking in the candlelight of the hallway.

Of course. Wrath and his dramatics.  

The snake made its way down the hallway, keeping close to the wall to be inconspicuous. It led her to an offshoot of the main hallway, then came to a halt at the final door. The serpent dissolved into golden sparks as they reached their destination. She knocked quietly before letting herself in.

Wrath lay stretched out across a dark velvet lounge, watching her entrance. His mask dangled lazily from his fingers, the ribbon used to tie it brushing across the floor. His shirt was unbuttoned halfway, a toned chest peeking out from the fabric.

Deadly, dangerously beautiful.

And hers.

“You look exquisite,” He strode across the room before taking her in his arms. His hands quickly untied her mask before tossing it to the floor with haste. He took in her form for a moment, then tilted his face down to capture her lips with his own.

No matter how many moments they stole, it was never enough.

His kiss was liquid fire igniting the flame of her desire. One hand rested against her back, with the other cupping her face. She gasped against his mouth, revelling in how desperately hard his body felt against hers. Greedy hands slipped up his chest to unbutton the rest of his shirt. Pulling the material away, Emilia broke the kiss for a single second to gaze at her lover.

Smooth, tanned skin met her eyes, followed by a swift appreciation of the hard strength that lay beneath his trousers. He laughed as he caught her gaze, knowing exactly what she was admiring.

He kissed her again, this time grabbing the backs of her thighs and lifting her up. Her legs wrapped around his waist. The taste of him- Taste was her speciality, but there were no words to describe how perfectly Wrath kissed her.

After too long and never long enough, the lovers parted for breath. He still held her against his chest. In this position, she was the perfect height to rest her head in the crook of his neck. Their breathing echoed through the room in perfect harmony.

She could feel every rise and fall of his powerful, tattooed chest. Such lethal power contained within his body, yet he held her with all the tenderness the world could offer.

“You know,” He mused, “We never got to dance.”

“Are you asking?” A sly smile in his direction.

“Yes. Witch, will you dance with me.” He said witch the way men said love. She looked down at him, grinning.

“No. I can’t dance.”

He laughed. Such a bright sound for one bathed in darkness.

“Liar.”

“Fine. I don’t dance, because I’m awful at it.”

A teasing hand ran down her back.

“I’ll teach you.” At her raised brows, he continued with, “A queen must use every skill in her arsenal.”

Lowering her to the ground, he held out his hands for her to grasp.

“Place your right hand in mine, and left against my shoulder.” Even through the fabric of his shirt, she could feel the heat roaring off him. When she did as he instructed, he pulled their bodies together until not even an inch separated them. Emilia was fairly certain this wasn’t part of the dance, but she wasn’t going to interrupt. She quite liked this position, pressed against the prince of Wrath, his breath rustling her hair. His hand settled against her spine.

“This next bit is the most important, do you hear? It is crucial even that beginners like yourself get this right.” He teased, and she scowled back at him, though they both knew it was merely in jest.

“Tilt your chin up so you can gaze adoringly into my eyes.” He grinned down her scowl. “I want you to focus on how handsome I am, how talented, and forget everything else. Except how much you want to kiss me.”

She couldn’t help herself, she laughed. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Perhaps.” His voice turned low and seductive as his hand slid down her spine, drawing her a little closer. “But you’re waltzing like a goddess now.” As he spoke, they started to move. Slowly, he stepped back and followed. To the side, and she followed again. On and on, their little box pattern continued, until Wrath picked up the paced and spun her around.

A gasp left her lips at the movement, but before she could overthink and stumble, he caught her once more with a smile.

“Who are you, and what have you done with the moodiest prince of Hell?”

He shook his head at her words, huffing a laugh as he did. She felt the truth bloom in his chest, he didn’t have to say it. These borrowed moments, these secret trysts... it was happiness, rare as it was, that fluttered between them. They both knew it couldn’t last, but for now, it was real. In that moment, it was all that mattered.

“Teasing witch,” He murmured, and kissed her. Kissed her as if they were not members of two rival houses, as if she was not an unwilling wife to his bastardly brother, as if there were not a chasm of reasons to keep them apart. Tomorrow would bring hellfire, and perhaps regret, but tonight was theirs.

They kissed until night dwindled away into day, and their secret was no longer safe. With the promise of “soon” and an unspoken “I miss you”, Wrath kissed her once more before exiting her side.

The queen of Hell picked up her mask from where it had been tossed across the floor, and stood still for a moment, taking a deep breath. The moment had passed, and she was no longer just Emilia, a powerhouse in her own right, and friend and lover of Wrath’s.

She was the Wicked Kingdom’s vengeful queen, and she would find her happiness once more, or burn the world trying.

-

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[morihaus]

Ysmirii

Rumors spread quickly to the north, finding their way to his ear. The southern men, they say, have taken arms against their elven rulers, and the gods side with them; they say Kyne rallied them and sent forth a son of storms, who sailed through the skies and spoke like thunder, and their queen is her warrior-priestess. This all seemed to run the gambit from dubious to uninteresting to Ysmir, Dragon of the North, but one rumor did reach him, and did catch his attention, an excited murmuring among the chieftains, talk of an invincible warrior and champion to the revolt, a savior of men, enemy of elves, a god who walks.

"Shor has returned." They say.

And at this, Ysmir blows to the south, to the far distant fort at Heldon bridge, where the Paravanics make camp with the Nords of Kreath. He sees the tribes of the south eating and drinking with the Nords, who look to him with awe when they see him, and in hushed tones inform their southern neighbors of his reputation. His form is imposing without it, he towers over all in the camp as he searches for the subject of such strange rumors. A man in gleaming armor, smoother than even the finest elven craft, wearing a long white mane of hair; he sees a man of this description at the head of a bonfire, regaling chieftains of some vivid tale of blood and glory, of which they were enraptured.

He gestures with his hands out in front of him, Ysmir can see the death on his lips as he recounts his exploits, though unlike the Nords, his did not curve into any smile. It did not take long for his presence to be noticed, the man's unnerving golden eyes lock with his own and he becomes distracted from his story, words trailing off and becoming breath on the wind.

The chieftains turn to see Ysmir looming over the fire, and over them, and they stand from their seats only to kneel before him. This man, champion of the Nedes, rises to his feet and makes no such gesture. It's then that it is clear that he is not tall. He stands some number of heads shorter than Ysmir, closer in height to the southern men than the Nords, though his armor and countenance is nothing like theirs. The interlocking plates shine in the firelight, smooth like stalhrim, but dull gray in color.

He wears little hair on his face, save a strip of white below his lip, the same color as the mane of hair that falls to his shoulders- it's frayed and stained brown in places, elf's blood. Ysmir regards him in silence, and the whole of the camp falls into a hush as they view this meeting.

It is the Paravanic who speaks first. "You are Wulfharth." It's a question without the inflection of one. He seems stiff and serious to Ysmir, lacking a certain personable quality.

"Yes." Comes the response in a whisper that blows strands of white from his face. He doesn't blink.

"I've been told about you. They call you Ysmir, too, a name I wore once, for I've worn many." He speaks loudly, as though to reach Wulf all the way up there, but his cadence is awfully gentle for such a brutal warrior. "It is something I respect about you north-men, you understand that a man will have many names, as I have. They call me many things in Cyrod; Whitestrake, Triumph, Divine Crusader, but at my core," He places a fist to his chest. "I am Pelinal."

The camp is silent and still. Wind blows as the two warriors look to one another, content to merely stare in the space between words. For his part, Wulfharth seeks to analyze, for this man feels unlike anyone else here, or any either side of the mountains. While his eyes traveled up and down the knight stood before him, Pelinal's did not move, they seemed to bore straight through him as though imagining his insides. It is fortunate that Ysmir is not a man easily unnerved.

"Your men called me another name when I arrived." He said, interrupting what had been minutes of silence. Ysmir offered nothing but a soft exhale and a return to eye contact, and so he proceeded as Falkreath's chieftains watched on. "When I had crossed the bridge, helmet doffed, slick with blood, they called me 'Shor.'" Emotion takes to his face for the first time in this meeting, the slightest furrow of his brow at this syllable. "What say you to that, Ysmir? Do you agree?"

He seems aware, then, of why he's come to meet with him. The question lingered in the back of his mind all the while, but so far, he is no closer to reaching consensus. Pelinal's appearance is of little note, any Atmoran could tell you that the gods can take many forms, Shor was just as likely to appear as a fox than a man; this man wears himself strangely, this is certainly true, but is he divine? Even if he is, it doesn't mean he's Shor. Wulf thought he had a lot of ideas about who and what Shor is, but now, he's struggling to think of anything concrete that proves this man is or isn't Shor. He's a warrior like Shor, but he's a man; he hates the elves like Shor, revels in their destruction, but he has an elven name and fine armor like theirs; he fights alongside Kyne like Shor, but yet still, some have gossiped that he sings praises to the dragon, to Alduin, and counts him as an ally. Ysmir has yet to see this for himself, but still, looking down at the strange statue-still crusader, he only feels conflicted.

"I don't know." The words rumble out from his throat, some men- both north and south- have made space between themselves and the two warriors as they speak, the Nords forewarn their cousins of the power of Ysmir's voice, the Nedes warn them of Whitestrake's sudden and unpredictable fury in regards to talk of the gods. Only the brave generals and chieftains remain encircled around.

Pelinal blinks, and, just slightly, raises a brow. "You do not know?"

Wulf frowns for having to repeat himself. "No." The word blows through the camp, setting a deeper chill into the Cyrod-men's bones.

"Why would they call me Shor?" Pelinal asks as flatly as before.

Because they don't know their own gods, because they long for the living spirits of Atmora who walked the land beside them, because there is something familiar about this man.

"I don't know." He repeats, deeper and more forceful than before, sending the bonfire blowing in the breeze.

"What would it mean, were I Shor? Is this war I call you for the last? Are we on the eve of a new world? I should think not, and yes, but what of you?" The knight asks, demonstrating more than a passing knowledge, more than he lets on.

Maybe he is more of a trickster than at first thought. Like Shor was. Wulfharth grumbles to himself, holding back foolish words and questions. "I don't know." He rumbles.

"This is why you're here. Word spreads- despite my protests- and you come to meet with your god, but what is it really that brought you here? What need, what want? What is it that drove you?"

Who wouldn't want to meet their god, Ysmir thinks. Who wouldn't want to know Shor, to talk to him, to ask him a million questions? Maybe he too doesn't know his god, maybe he too longs for Atmora, maybe he too sees something familiar in this man.

Through gritted teeth, the reply blows forth. "I don't know..." And at this, the sounds of thunder surround them, and the brave men finally give way for the affairs of these heroes.

Pelinal remains resolute, and in fact, raises a hand suddenly, gesturing towards him. "You restrain yourself, Ysmir? Bah! I've heard your tongue before- your true tongue, not the languages of men, but that which they took for themselves and made killing-thunder, the dragon's-throat-in-hawk's-mouth. I understand it! Speak freely to me, Ysmir, have no fear, for we may speak to one another as equals!" And with this, he set his feet firmly to the ground, and looked expectantly to the Tongue.

With such mounting frustrations, Ysmir the Silent did speak, and no retreat could have been fast enough for the men who scattered in fear and awe. "ZU'U DREH NI MINDORAAN!" His words surged forth like a thunderclap, extinguishing the flame and blowing embers all around them, upturning tents and fleeing soldiers. "ZU'U LOST MEYZ DAHIK SAAG HON HI KOS SHOR! HI KOS MED SHOR, NUZ NI MED SHOR, AHRK ZU'U DREH NI MINDOK WAAN HI KOS SHOR!" All throughout, though lesser men were sent careening to the ground or thrown into the air by his voice, Pelinal stood firm, hair whipping behind him, boots dug into the ground beneath him as though he were one with the earth. Ysmir towers over him, fists clenched at his sides as his temper flares and his voice travels throughout the land, up and down the mountains, over rivers and streams, all heard his lamentation. "FUN ZEY WO HI KOS!"

Following his final syllables, a heart-sinking tone cries out from Pelinal's lips. It is loud and violent, like his own voice, but strikes a chord like no other Thu'um. His voice becomes the howling of the wind, the screams and foot-stomps of the soldiers, the crackling of bonfires; it becomes the rustling of grass and mighty tall trees, waves crashing along distant shores, rainfall and thunder, it is explosion, it is birdsong, it is laughter, it is screaming, it is everything he's ever heard set to the intonation of two repeating notes. It is a heartbeat. For what is the first time in many years, and one of the few times in his life, Wulf falls to his knees at the voice of another, his body trembling as the sound surrounds him, consumes him; he finds himself breathless, his heart pounding to match the timbre. The noise goes on, he can barely understand the words layered within it all. Doubled over on the ground, he can't see Pelinal close his mouth, and he can't hear it as the sound lingers on for a few moments.

He feels a hand land firm on his shoulder and looks up breathlessly. Whitestrake looks down at him with serious purpose, leaning in to whisper in his ear. "You are Ysmir, heir of Shor. The east holds your birthright. Do war with the elves, defend his creation from perversion and destroy those who would enslave it." Letting this words linger for a moment, he waits before turning and walking away, leaving great Ysmir kneeling before him, head hung in contemplation. The camp is almost deserted, the men waiting outside to be sure that the shouting is over with. Bonfires had extinguished, tents and supplies, weapons, armor, provisions, all lays strewn about in a messy circle around their meeting place, with high Ysmir laid low to the ground, watching Whitestrake disappear into their number.

A year later, Ysmir Wulfharth would join in the eastern invasion, for reasons he would never confide in anyone.

[omgkalyppso]

The camp was cold, and the hour was late, and still Étoile was distracted by thought, their meditation offering no true rest as the moon travelled across the sky.

They were always gullible, and they knew this came from a secluded upbringing. Their mothers having instilled in them the value of taking people at their word, and treating them with dignity and respect, and this made it hard to manifest skepticism ... self-preservation ... duplicity.

Even so, they felt justified in assuming Astarion was being truthful of his past. His rage palpable at centuries of indignity. It was beyond imaging, and brought into question his every behaviour. How much of who he was, was learned? Was true to how he had grown or had always been? Or to how he wanted to be? Surely asking any of these questions would be inappropriate, contrary to Étoile’s intention, to take Astarion at his word. Whether this behaviour were his current mask or his truth, he’d done nothing to be treated without courtesy.

Étoile thought of his hands, cradling them just so as those fangs had sunk into them, and rolled their head back to either side of their shoulders. They wondered about their own autonomy, and if it were the same. Whether their brain worm was eating away at their thoughts, feeding ridiculous theories on vampiric desire to some unknown brain creature a plane away. Whether they were being influenced, drawn and distorted, to be thinking about him so.

“Astarion?”

“Yes?”

He turned at the sound of his name, teeth flashing in the firelight. His brow was slanted in the innocence that he seemed to sometimes let slip, intentionally or not, between the layers of pomp and decorum.

“I’m sorry,” Étoile said quickly. “I do not mean to interrupt your rest.”

Astarion brought a fist to the base of his chin, and then the back of two knuckles to the front of his lips, amused. He moved his hand aside to speak, swiping the front of his thumb across his chin as he looked away for a moment, indulging in fantasies of peace and freedom. “If only you were the worst of my problems.”

With a raise and lowering of their eyebrows, Étoile signaled their agreement, letting their gaze be drawn back to the fire so that they were not hounded by Astarion’s cheekbones, or smirk, or brutal, cutting garnet eyes.

“Well?” Astarion prompted, swiping two fingers across his forehead as if to dismiss a flyaway curl, perhaps a single strand that Étoile could not see, and they realized they were looking at him again, already abandoning the safety of distraction.

If Étoile was as bold, or confident, or provocative as their mind seemed to think they were, they might suggest, ‘If I’ve lost my tongue, perhaps you might help me find it?’ But they were not. Not nearly by far.

“I find myself thinking of our problems,” Étoile conceded.

There were many things about Étoile which were extremely elven — their patience, the way they took forever to reach their point in a conversation, their keen measure of attention — but their insistence upon treating their little band as a group, a team, was not one of them.

‘Our problems,’ Astarion was tempted to snort, the prospect that what they were going through was anything but personal, isolating and devastating, should have been a joke. Yet Étoile easily sold him on it, the idea that they were earnest, that they would fight a horde, a hunter, or a vampire lord for him out of a sense of camaraderie in shared-disaster. Was this sense misplaced? Astarion couldn’t guess, whether willingly or no, he could imagine himself easily cutting these ties Étoile sought to bind. All allies had limits in their usefulness, even friends, even family, even lovers.

He imagined Étoile’s need of connection came from their human mother, or perhaps a deep inherent loneliness that those with bleeding hearts often found themselves afflicted with. Few in Faerun felt sympathy the way Étoile seemed to, annoying at times, stopping to save or offer benefit to every poor soul they passed. Astarion might have assumed that these acts of charity could have been influenced by a desire for divine forgiveness or intervention in regards to the looming fate of doom brought on by the mindflayer worms, but knew better now, after time and conversation revealed Étoile for who they were.

Wrapping his hands around his knees, Astarion leaned back to empty air. “Any conclusions worth mentioning? I rather doubt I’m the best to offer comfort, if you’re simply finding yourself distraught with thoughts of oblivion.”

“You don’t need to offer words,” Étoile assured him, and this time Astarion did laugh, too tickled by his companion’s instinct to soothe him for being unable to assuage them, and with his lips still pulled back in a smile of disbelief, Étoile clarified their meaning. “May I sit with you?”

“Come then,” Astarion called, the humor still in his voice, as if it were a thing to be dismissed, and not a danger to the both of them, to be sharing a space with a relative stranger. He exaggerated, laying his hands over his heart, “Bring your head to my bosom that we might will away your fears.”

He watched Étoile rise to their feet, their mollified expression sending some sense of unjust contentment to the pit of his stomach. They were a hulking wall of muscle and honor, a gentle soul of fear and hope, and they were moving to sit behind him so they too could lean back against him, not knowing would touch him; lest the worms were more exacting than Astarion dared to worry.

“Thank you,” Étoile said, their voice a rumble in their chest that flitted through Astarion’s dead heart.

“Mm,” Astarion hummed. “If you feel so indebted as to thank me, what would you do if I sought recompense?”

Étoile tilted their head, long hair tickling Astarion’s bare neck. “A bite?”

Astarion found himself smiling, so readily Étoile had taken to being a prospective source of strength and vigor.

“You really must be less diplomatic if you wish to suffer more frequently of blood loss,” he teased, and Étoile scoffed, an embarrassed and easy laugh that rattled the both of them with the force of it. “We faced a veritable army of enemies today,” Astarion went on, relaxed. “No, I’ve had my fill of blood for the evening … but as for my curiosity? That yet hungers.”

“Oh?” The genuine surprise Étoile had managed in a single syllable was almost insulting, and Astarion wondered whether he’d been too aloof the last time they spoke of personal histories. There had been times in Étoile’s stories of life before the worm where he hadn’t known how to react, and simply hadn’t, or had mocked from the safety of distance and indifference, but he had found himself endeared and fascinated, even before their adventures, Étoile was interesting … alluring. What they lacked in charm, they seemed to substitute with their earnest heart, and the drive to secure the strength they needed to achieve their goals. This must have tempted others, before.

“What would you ask of me?” Étoile prompted, a blush upon their cheeks, worried about how the length of their tales had gotten away from them the last time they and Astarion had spoken.

“Tell me,” Astarion suggested, haltingly, “my dear, of the last lover you left behind?”

A sigh escaped Étoile, a noise of sorrow and regret. Astarion licked his lips, wondering whether, to this, Étoile might object, the prospect of having found a favor beyond their desire to balance every perceived responsibility just as satisfying as receiving an answer.

Goading them, he rolled his shoulders against the expanse of their back. “Surely there must have been someone? More than one? A string of broken hearts behind you?”

“A woman,” Étoile answered quickly, and Astarion blinked in surprise, staring, empty, into the distant forest, ears perked to attention. “A human woman.” They swallowed, nervous and mournful, but when they spoke again their tone was bitter, “It was less disappointing than my first tryst, but still she… Her interest didn’t extend beyond closed doors.”

Astarion’s expression twisted in scorn, having expected something more akin to the joy of youth or a gentle heartbreak. “More's the pity.”

“It was her first time with…”

As Étoile considered their phrasing, Astarion opted to offer a suggestion to ease their tension on the subject. “An elf?”

Étoile chuckled. “That too.”

Astarion pressed his tongue to the back of his teeth, smiling about their circumstance. He hearkened them back to the present. “And I say again: Would that you were the worst of my problems.”

When Astarion felt Étoile begin to turn, it was faster than instinct to spin around onto his heel, facing them before they were anywhere close to looking over their shoulder.

Long, tortuous seconds provided the opportunity to pull away, but Astarion found himself still, except the way he heaved with each breath, except for how his heart beat like a man alive … as if it remembered infatuation beyond servitude, desire beyond subjugation.

Étoile smiled at him, and Astarion felt that he could sink into the earth in shame. ‘Bury me now, for I have seen all that creation has to offer, and the Hells are a mercy when compared to the loss of this moment. You will hate me come morning, and so will I.’

“I could be…” Étoile began to suggest, and Astarion huffed in amusement.

“Be a problem?” Astarion chuckled, resting one hand on his thigh to keep balance, and reaching out with his right to rest against Étoile’s collarbone. “Try as you might…” he mocked.

Their first kiss was slower than expected, Étoile twitching throughout the whole of it, as they considered jolting away, afraid they’d overstepped, afraid they’d misinterpret—

“Try harder,” Astarion whispered, allowing his plea to be covered in the grandeur of desire.

Astarion’s eyes were dark with the threat of promise, and whether by supernatural thrall or the splendor of seduction, Étoile only knew they were obliged to try again, and again, and again.

[i-dream-of-twilight-sparkle]

Chapter 29: Starlight’s Mother, Part 5 - Closure At Last

Now that things settle down after the heartwarming moment between Starlight and her mother after telling her everything about when she traveled in time in a dangerous maneuver to a mother who spent most of her life protecting Equestria. Twilight continues on recapping the villains she’s faced.

Twilight: Ok… so now we’re back to Starlight saving Equestria from Chrysalis. This resulted in pretty much the rest of Chrysalis’ army to our side. So Starlight didn’t just help save us, she’s the very reason we have more allies then ever. She technically helped jumpstart our expansion to ally with as many nations outside of Equestria as possible before the school of friendship even started!

Sunset: Yes, having the Changelings on Equestria’s side certainly provide some unique allies. Helps that they get fed by simply walking around and feeling the different kinds of love that we ponies have.

Starlight: One of the Friendship School’s brightest students is a changeling!

Twilight: Indeed! Ocellus is a real book bug!

Sunset: So what else came after Queen Chrysalis’ return?

Twilight: After Queen Chrysalis was defeated again… I guess was when the Pillars of Equestria returned from Limbo along with the Pony of Shadows who just happened to be a friend they neglected named Stygian. We helped them mend their friendship, and now we have all of them walking around Equestria. It’s been kind of nice to have some ponies who know about the past to talk to

Sunset: The Pillars being back on Equestria is definitely very interesting. I imagine they all must of had some culture shock at first, but it is a great point to have ponies who lived so long ago to talk to.

Twilight: Though now we have spirit summoning, we’ll have even more to pull from! As long as they have a living relative, or if they were friends with the pillars, Celestia, or Luna.

Sunset nods

Twilight: After that though… other then the aforementioned return of Sombra. as well as Chrysalis and Tirek also returning one more time there was only one more... Though you’ll probably kind of laugh at first, given she was just a little filly… a crazy evil one… but a little filly nonetheless.

Sunset: Heh heh heh, ok… What was her name?

Twilight: Cozy Glow

*THUNDER BOOM*

The moment Twilight said Cozy Glow, time essentially froze for Sunset and the loudest thunder boom from outside is heard. Startling the group as once again Sunset Shimmer gets a huge jog to her memory. The group watches in horror as Sunset writhes around as if having a seizure. She lets out a huge scream, and lays on the floor.

Firelight: Shimmy?!

Starlight: Mother?! What’s wrong?!

Sunset heaves as if to breathe hard once again, and slowly gets back up. Once she has recovered, she faces the group with a determined face.

Sunset: …I remember everything now.

Starlight: Remember everything…? You mean… your death…? and who was responsible?

Sunset nods

Sunset: Cozy… Cozy Glow was there... The three anarchists were her and her parents!

The whole room gasps

Starlight: But wait… you died more then two decades ago… Cozy was just a filly when we met her… how does that possibly work?!

Sunset: Allow me… to explain…

I’ll begin with saying who Cozy’s parents were. Her father was a unicorn named Cheque Mace, who was a burly stallion, his Cutie Mark was the king piece of a Chessboard. Like said piece of the chessboard, he’s slow, but he was calculating and strong. Cozy’s mother was Glitterani an average sized pegasus mare. her cutie mark being the queen piece of a Chessboard. Like the Queen piece, she could be quite fast and dangerous.

What they had in common they were both narcissistic psychopaths. They could not feel love, and their only definition of friends were if they did something for them and/or gave them power, their only reason for marrying and giving birth to Cozy was to have more ponies in their ranks. As even back then, even the more antagonistic ponies wanted nothing to do with their sociopathic tendencies or thought their goal was insane.

Their goal was to take all of the magic in Equestria, either to take it for themselves so they can rule the world. Or if failing that… make sure everypony is magicless in the twisted statement of “if they couldn’t have it, no one else will”. They seeked 6 powerful artifacts capable of being conduits to gather all the magic of Equestria in one spot...

The entire rest of the group gasp recalling that’s exactly what Cozy Glow did under the School of Friendship

Sunset: To be perfectly clear of what would of even happened if they managed to succeed for long. Was that it wasn’t going to really be possible for either of them to gain power from collecting all the magic of Equestria. It most likely was going to result in Equestria becoming magicless, but even if these 3 knew that’d be the most likely result. They didn’t care, they wanted to inflict pain and suffering on the entire world.

I have no idea why they got so evil, but it may be safer to just say they were just born pretty messed up. Because there was not going to be anything redeemable about them, the elements that make up Friendship never occur to them.

They’d rather lie and mislead then be honest.

They have a twisted sense of loyalty that they say only applies to them

They are not generous at the least, and would refuse to give even the most basic needs.

They have no kindness in their hearts.

The only thing that makes them laugh is the suffering of others.

And the magic of friendship is only power to them...

I had to try to take them out somehow someway before I fully retired, as I was afraid they’d fulfill their plan within the next few years before Celestia found Twilight. I could nip them in the bud before things really got bad, and while Cheque Mace had some skill as a unicorn. I would wipe the floor with him on a 1-on-1 duel, Glitterani was fast but nothing my magic couldn’t handle, and Cozy Glow was the most unknown but she was a just a little filly who was also a Pegasus. Perhaps if there’s one thing I underestimated the most about them, was Cozy’s manipulation tactics…

*Flashback*

Sunset had just arrived in the location that would later become New Haven. The train tracks leading here hadn’t even been made yet, and there was only one building at this time that had a front and back entrance, the back leading to Nightmare Cliffs. Sunset had received a tip that’s where Cheque Mace, Glitterani, and their young daughter Cozy Glow fled once they caught wind Sunset was after them. As Sunset approaches the building, she can hear the faint sounds… of a crying child. Sunset gets a closer look, and finds a little pink pegasus filly straight in the middle of the building with curly light blue hair and bows, she had no Cutie Mark yet.  

Sunset identifies her as Cozy Glow. She approaches cautiously. Cozy Glow looks toward the front entrance and sees Sunset. Continuing to cry to try and get the sympathy of Sunset.

Cozy Glow: A…ar…are y-you… S-Sunset Shimmer? You’re the Princesses’ protege, aren’t you?

Sunset: Not anymore, really. But even so, I am here to put you and your parents into justice. You will never take the magic of Equestria away.

Cozy: Whaaaaaat? Me facing justice? But I’m only a filly! I’m not responsible for my parents’ actions!

Sunset: Even so, I don’t know what they taught you. We may try to at least see if you can be changed... if you can prove that you’re different enough from your parents.

Cozy: Oh, Golly! But I am! I-i-i-i have no choice to go with them because they’re my p-p-parents… they take p-p-pleasure in a-a-abusing me physically and emotionally. And when it comes to crimes, if I refused, they would k-k-kill m-me… and they tell me that if I was captured, I’d just end up r-r-rotting in the Canterlot dungeons… But you said they’d try to help?

Sunset isn’t completely sure she can take Cozy’s words at face value. But she wouldn’t put it past the other two to end up having a daughter that wants to be good but they abuse her to the point where they force her to go along with their plan.

Sunset: Yes, if we deem that you can be a good pony in the way your parents can’t… Equestria would welcome you...

Cozy: Wow! That sounds so swell, Sunset Shimmer! Wanna be friends?

Cozy looks at Sunset with a big grin and puppy-dog eyes.

Sunset: I… guess?

Suddenly a voice from just outside is heard

Cheque Mace: COZY!

Glitterani: How dare you betray us! We ought to destroy you along with Scumset…

Cozy: Ahhhh! Help me, Sunset! My parents are here!

Sunset puts up a determined face, and steps in front of Cozy to protect her

Sunset: Cheque Mace and Glitterani! Your life as criminals are coming to an end today! And with any luck, Cozy will be a better pony then you two ever will be.

Cheque Mace: I think you are mistaken, for it is your life that is ending today.

Sunset: Not when I have a reason to get back, once I’m finished with you.

Cheque Mace: Oh... are you talking about your “darling” Fi-Fi

Sunset goes wide-eyed

Sunset: How do you know about me and Firelight? I never even told the Princess about him…

Cheque Mace: I have more eyes then you think, Sunset. Maybe when I’m done with you, I’ll give him a visit. And show them your decapitated head!

As Cheque laughs evilly, Sunset rages and blasts both Cheque Mace and and Glitterani out of the building and gives chase leaving Cozy behind in the building. Sunset confronts Cheque and Glitterani near the edges of Nightmare Cliffs. They stand at first at a standstill, a decent length from each other in a triangle formation. Sunset on one point, Cheque Mace to the right of Sunset’s view, and Glitterani on the left.

Glitterani takes the first move, speeding towards Sunset and spins around fast enough to create a tornado. Forcing Sunset to use magic to bend some earth around her hooves so she remains stationary, so she isn’t blown away by the tornado. This however also leaves Sunset vulnerable to Cheque’s lasers without protection. Sure enough as Sunset entrenches herself, Cheque fires lasers but Sunset knows defensive shield spells that easily protect her. Glitterani just trying to fly around to distract Sunset and force her into putting down her shield just enough for Cheque Mace to get a direct hit on Sunset. But suddenly…

*THUNDER BOOM*

A lightning strike startles Glitterani as she wasn’t too far from the bolt as it struck. She stops in the air, covering her ears after the large boom, and shock of almost being seriously hurt or worse. This leaves a clean shot for Sunset to make a small hole in her shield, so she can target Glitterani. Sunset fires her shot, and she gets a direct hit on her right wing. Rendering it useless for certainly well past this fight. Glitterani falls dangerously close to just off the cliffs but just manages to land at close to the edge.

This also gets rid of the tornado that Sunset had to keep herself stationary for, now free to move however she feels. Leaving Sunset only having to deal with Cheque Mace on a 1-on-1. An advantageous position for her. Off in the distance a faint laugh of a child is heard, but Sunset ignores it as she locks eyes with Cheque Mace. The stare down as either waits for the first move.

Finally, Cheque is the first one to flinch as he fires a large blast at Sunset’s direction. She smugly smiles and says

Sunset: Check. Mate.

Just as she gracefully dodges via a backflip that transitions into a teleport closer to Cheque and fires a counter laser that curves straight at him

Cheque Mace: Noooooooooo!

The laser hits him off to the side, and off the cliff. Sunset assumes he’ll teleport before he hits the ground. Though a thud is heard, followed by the faint sounds of a splash a moment later.

All that was left now was the injured Glitterani. Sunset had basically already won swiftly, though as Sunset approached Glitterani. The sounds of a laughing child get progressively louder every so often.

Sunset: It’s over Glitterani, once I get you and your husband’s injured selves to Canterlot you are facing justice to the full extent of the law.

Glitterani just grumbles as Sunset gets closer, but as she looks up. She sees a small silhouette that is either moving forward or sideways in straight line like the Rook piece of the chessboard, and she grins smugly.

Glitterani: Not yet!

Sunset raises an eyebrow as Glitterani starts laughing, thinking she’s trying to comfort herself with sociopathic fits of laughter. Sunset thinks nothing of it as the silhouette up in the sky gets to just above where Sunset stands… and something is dropped from it. The unwary Sunset still facing Glitterani.

Sunset: Just what are you laughing a-

*SMASH*

*CRACK*

A large rock hits Sunset right at the base of her horn. It’s weight puts pressure, cracking the horn before ultimately it bends too far, and falls off, The rock also hits hard on Sunset’s forehead. She screams out in pain, and falls off on her side. Her vision keeps fading in and out of blurriness as she lays there. A full-on concussion. She also has a black eye as part of the falling rock scraped her still open right eye as it fell off. It takes a few minutes before finally Sunset can look around, she looks up wondering where the rock could of possibly come from and she now has a clear view of who dropped it.

It was Cozy Glow, who just looks at the scene with glee and sadistically jokes

Cozy: Ooooooops, golly… did I do that? Ehehehehehe

Sunset rages, she sits back up and yells at Cozy

Sunset: What… I thought you said weren’t on your parents side! You… you… you liar!

Cozy: Hey, I didn’t totally lie. They do abuse me… But I never said I didn’t like it! Ahahahahaha! Oh and by the way… Mom! I have my cutie mark!

Cozy glow shows her flank and both Sunset and Glitterani see a rook shaped cutie mark. Glitterani laughing.triumphantly

Glitterani: Hahahaha! Cozy, you are indeed one of us!

The rook cutie mark now etched into Cozy’s flank confirms this was a manipulative plan she came up with her parents the entire time.

Cozy Glow: Too bad, poor dad isn’t going to get the chance to see it. I think he had a pretty big tumble and water’s probably filling his lungs right now! But meh, we don’t need him. Right, mom?

Not even an ounce of empathy, Sunset realized then and there that the apple didn’t far from the tree. A rotten apple from a poisonous tree at that, as Cozy was just like her parents. Falling for Cozy’s lie has already cost Sunset her horn. But her magic is the only thing that’s going to reach Cozy from up there if she’s going to get any payback, so despite intense pain still throbbing from the loss of her horn. She decides to fire something, without a full horn to truly focus her magic... whatever is fired at Cozy could be almost anything. Firing something makes the pain in her head worse but something does get fired straight up at Cozy Glow.

Cozy sees the approaching blast, and freaks out before dodging just before it hits. She then proceeds to mock Sunset.

Cozy: Haha! Missed me, Shamset!

But then a slight boom is heard from up above her. Cozy at first thinks nothing of it, thinking it was just thunder. But as she looks up, the blast that Sunset blasted starts expanding into a transparent white dome with star symbols on it, Cozy is too close to it as it starts to suck her up like a vacuum cleaner. She tries to fly out of the dome’s suction but she loses strength quick, and she screams as she’s flung straight up into the dome. The dome then disappears with no sign of Cozy.

Glitterani: C-c-cozy? Cozy?! Cozy, where are you?!

Sunset takes this chance to laugh herself, albeit still through some pain. She approaches Glitterani at the edge of the cliff.

Glitterani: Stop laughing! What did you do to Cozy?!

Sunset: I didn’t think you’d have concern for anypony, even your daughter. But I’m pretty sure what got Cozy was a time travel spell. That dome is pretty classic Starswirl. But... because she broke my horn. I have no control of how far she went. She could of been sent some years to the past, maybe years into the future, or maybe she’s been sent back to the age of the dinosaurs! She may be nothing but dino-chow right now!

Sunset just looking down with a smug face. But then Glitterani gets angry, suddenly leaps up and grabs Sunset pinning her down on the ground.

Glitterani: If we’re going down… I’m taking you with me!

Glittering starts rolling them both close to the edge. This was a fall neither was likely to survive without Sunset being able to teleport to safety.

Sunset: What are you doing?! We’re both going to die if you roll us off!

Glitterani: That’s kind of the idea, you fool…

Sunset: No, wait! Please! I have a family!

Glitterani: And I had one too… before you ripped that away just now. This was exactly why we had you follow us here to these cliffs. We put on a brave face but we knew deep down you were too good... but then Cozy plotted with us a way in which even if we fail... at least we weren’t going down alone... plus whatever happens... no one will know what happened here... You’ve doomed your family to despair! And the best part is… they’ll never know what happened to you!

Sunset: Noooooooooooooooo!

Holding on tight to Sunset to make sure she fatally plunges with her. Glitterani rolls them off the edge and they start plunging down to certain death. Sunset has to act quick, and try something with her horn as it’s the only move she’s got. Sunset charges up what remains of her horn. Though Glitterani sees this and puts a hoof over the hole that was Sunset’s horn. Inside Sunset’s head a burning sensation gets hotter, hotter, and hotter as the pressure of her magic being blocked by Glitterani's hoof makes it build higher and higher until…

*BOOM*

Just a few feet before hitting the water. A big explosion from Sunset’s head envelops the two falling ponies. And if there was anything left of either of them… They were cleaned up by hungry sharks and other meat-eating water predators to eat their fill with. Sunset Shimmer and Glitterani had met their end. Cheque Mace as implied by Cozy had also fallen, he hit his head amidst falling, going unconscious as he fell into the raging waters, body sinking, and thus ultimately drowned. While Cozy was sent into a then unknown time.

*Flashback ends*

((Story continues after the break))

The entire room gasps again having been told the whole story of how Sunset died. Glitterani was ultimately the one who forced Sunset to essentially blow herself up, but without an assist from Cozy Glow breaking Sunset’s horn… Sunset would of most likely survived. So indeed, Cozy Glow had a role in the death of Sunset Shimmer. The room stays silent just processing the story.

Twilight: So… if I heard what happened correctly… Cozy Glow was sent through time… and it just happened to be somewhere over two decades into the future… where at some point she caught wind of the School of Friendship… and she manipulated us in order to infiltrate as a student in order to eventually do what she and her parents wanted to do… with assistance from Tirek.

Sunset: Wait, Cozy actually ended up collecting all of Equestria’s magic?!

Twilight: Yes… and she nearly trapped me and my friends in Tartaurus in the meantime, plus she also had your daughter trapped in the sphere of magic collected. It was thanks to a particular team of 6 students plus the Tree of Harmony intervening under the school that she was defeated. And magic was returned.

Sunset: I see… good that she was defeated quickly enough… otherwise I’m sure by now nearly all life would be dying right now…

Twilight: Huh? What do you mean?

Sunset: Remember what you learned from Jinn? Our souls are magic too, although Cozy and her Parents plan can’t collect soul magic… and neither can Tirek for that matter…  Since soul magic is a lot less tangible, as what it becomes is determined how they lived their life

But without the magic that can be taken such as the casting magic Unicorns have, Pegasi’s flight plus weather-changing abilities, as well as Earth ponies ability to tend the land… Equestria would become a depressing place that can’t do anything about the dark magic that would slowly envelop the world. And with so many unhappy or worse inhabitants, the death of life everywhere would only increase the dark magic, hastening the extinction of life. The world would return to the state of when the Sun and Moon did not move. But there’s too many clouds made of dark magic to see either sunlight or moonlight on top of it.

Twilight can only be reminded of a certain timeline she, Spike, and Starlight saw during their time travel confrontation.

Twilight: That wasteland me and Starlight saw in that timeline… That might have been if Cozy Glow and/or her parents succeeded…

Starlight’s has had her head lowered down for the whole time since hearing the full story of how her mother died, though she briefly raises her head up and goes wide-eyed having heard that the final timeline they saw could have likely been the result of Cozy succeeding. She lowers her head back down, but she seems to have a rage building up inside.

Sunset: Twilight… where is Cozy Glow right now, by chance?

Twilight: She’s trapped in stone alongside Tirek and Queen Chrysalis.

Sunset: *phew* That is such a relief. Of those three, Cozy deserves to stay in stone forever… she may just be a filly. But trust me in saying there’s no redeeming her.

I understand Chrysalis has been stubborn, but perhaps the right circumstance could do it if we can reconnect her with her army... since most of them were her own children.

I doubt Tirek could be changed easily, but he has family issues in regards to his father and his brother Scorpan that could be perhaps worked out to perhaps make him less antagonistic…

But Cozy is a lost cause that must be kept in stone, forever. It’d take outright brainwashing to erase the evil in her heart and there’s no guarantee that even works. I don’t want to know what kind of Dark magic would be released if she died.

Twilight: I admit from appearances alone… it’d seem like Cozy was the most capable of changing… but given what you’ve told me she’s done… and recalling that timeline… not even Tirek and Chrysalis wanted to wreck Equestria that badly… them ruling Equestria would still be bad… but they mostly intended on ruling over us… with an iron hoof or fist probably…  but still not exactly ending all life on the planet…

Rainbow: So wait… if Tirek, Chrysalis, and Cozy Glow’s team up succeeded in defeating us… that could of resulted in a civil war where of all situations… Tirek and Chrysalis would be the good guys?!

Sunset: By comparison… yes.

Applejack: Gosh, that’s bleak…

Apple Bloom: Ah can’t believe we helped such a monster!

Sweetie Belle: We were such suckers…

Scootaloo: If we had known Cozy was like that, we would of left her crying!

Sunset: It’s ok you three, one of Cozy’s skills was manipulation. She fooled me too when I fell for her act of not actually being in cahoots with her parents.

Rainbow Dash: And from what I heard from Sandbar and his friends at school… she had almost all of our students against them!

Twilight: She also manipulated me when joining the school in the first place, when she came into my office to enroll. She started with a sob story about how she was an orphan… and while it wasn’t exactly a lie that she was orphaned… I couldn’t tell her parents were two of the worst ponies to ever exist… let alone that Cozy Glow was from more then 2 decades ago in the past…

Though actually speaking of Cozy’s parents… if they died… what did the dark magic that came out of them become?

Sunset: The dark magic from the deaths of Cheque Mace and Glitterani unleashed a twin pair of strong Hurricanes in the ocean they died in, likely devastating any coastal cities in their path. Large enough for me to see on the planet from the soul shield. These hurricanes return every few years, but each time thanks to the cities putting up more defenses, as well as the strength of friendship magic increasing, thus weakening dark magic everywhere. Just like how the Windigoes are hardly a threat any more, those hurricanes eventually will amount to nothing.

Starlight finally speaks up

Starlight: So… if I’m hearing from you right, mother… dark magic being unleashed from the death of someone evil can be beaten back with time…?

Sunset: Well yes… but it’d still be safer to make sure they don’t di-

Starlight’s voice and anger rises with each sentence

Starlight: And not get any ounce of satisfying retribution for her role in your murder?

For manipulating me and my friends, trapping me in a sphere of Equestria’s magic… and nearly dragging me wherever it was going to go?!

For being part of the reason I never got to know you are until now?!

For being the reason my early life was so terrible?!

For trying to remove all magic from Equestria?!

AND FOR TRYING TO KILL ALL LIFE ON THE PLANET?!

I HAD THAT LITTLE MONSTER IN MY BUCKING OFFICE AT THE SCHOOL! IT IS FAR PAST TIME THIS BRAT FACED DISCIPLINE! AND SAID DISCIPLINE SHOULD BE ETERNAL DETENTION AS A PILE OF RUBBLE!

The group doesn’t know what Starlight’s about to do, but there’s plenty of concerned faces. Meanwhile, Starlight pulls out a piece of portal gum, and starts chewing.

Twilight: Starlight, what are you doing?!

Starlight blows the bubble, Starlight manages to spawn a portal to the exact spot where Cozy is trapped in stone. And she starts charging a powerful laser.

Sunset sees what she’s doing and beckons Twilight to stop her

Sunset: Twilight! You have to stop Starlight before she kills Cozy!

Twilight: On it!

Starlight blasts her laser that will both fit into the portal, and if it hits Cozy’s statue will most certainly shatter it, and thus kill Cozy. But before it even crosses the portal, Twilight gets in front and forms a shield, blocking Starlight’s blast. Starlight stops firing to speak.

Starlight: Twilight! Why are you protecting Cozy?! You heard my mother… she’s an irredeemable psychopath, and if the tables were turned… she wouldn’t hesitate to do the same thing! And even if her death does release devastating dark magic… we’ll have the power to shrink it in time!

Twilight: I agree that Cozy is never going to change, but unleashing some unknown, devastating form of dark magic on what will most certainly be all of Ponyville isn’t worth the immediate satisfaction of a sudden execution! Cozy is already facing justice as a statue! You’ll just put everypony in Ponyville in danger just for the brief moment of satisfaction of killing in revenge, even if it sounds justified!

Starlight thinks for a moment before trying to blast through anyway, despite Twilight’s insistence. So Sunset puts up a determined face to talk to her daughter.

Sunset: If you won’t listen to Twilight, maybe you’ll listen to me as your mother… Yes, Cozy was partly responsible for my death. I hate her about as much as you do for it, but this isn’t the answer!

Starlight stops firing, and her rage shifts into sadness and overflowing tears

Starlight: Why isn’t it?! She didn’t directly kill you… but she may as well have! The circumstances of your death was the true reason I turned to darkness. I couldn't control what happened then, but I know what I can do to rectify that!

You would have been fine if Cozy didn’t break your horn! 

I would of had a loving mother such as you around so I wouldn’t have had such disdain for something that should have been one of the happiest moments in my life… receiving my cutie mark and knowing the pony I was destined to be… 

AND on top of that she planned on ending life as we know it!

So what if Ponyville has to deal with something like a storm of dark magic every so often… 

Won’t it feel like justice to you?!

Sunset: No! Because whatever damage the dark magic from Cozy’s death does could endanger more lives then it’s worth in exchange for the brief satisfaction of ending Cozy’s life. Letting anger fuel you as you end a life will also only end up bubbling up potential dark magic from your own soul’s magic.

Starlight: Didn’t you technically kill Cheque Mace when you blasted him off the cliff?

Sunset: In a way, I suppose I did.... But I didn’t do it intentionally, I was thinking he was going to teleport before he fell… I didn’t know he had become unconscious until Cozy implied he was dead. This is a world where emotion and morality influence our magic power and determine what our soul does after we pass, whether we add additional strength to the soul shield or become vengeful dark magic that wrecks the planet.

Putting our harshest and/or most stubborn villains in stone is our way of punishing them harshly without them unleashing dark magic that can hurt others. Killing them, even beyond the ensuing dark magic devastation… may end up only making Cozy a martyr for potential villains of the future...

Starlight: Wouldn’t leaving a statue just make something potential villains idolize or even try to free them if they’re magically adept?

Sunset: That is a possibility, but not if we outright properly educate who Cozy was and why she needs to stay as a statue… Just look at her face… even I know that Cozy’s scared look as she’s petrified is another of her manipulation moves. Before turning to stone, she acted quickly to look like she was scared and innocent, so she could perhaps one day fool an onlooker to think we petrified an innocent pony…

Or… if we destroyed her as a statue… make it seems like we executed an innocent little filly… and whatever comes down on top of Ponyville would seem like retribution from nature to some who would want to follow down Cozy’s path of psychopathic evil. In that sense, you could end up only creating more Cozy Glow’s...

Starlight’s finally stands down and takes a moment to calm down, though still at least gives a suggestion. Meanwhile, Twilight take the opportunity to closes the portal as Starlight speaks.

Starlight: Alright… I think I understand… but I think at the very least if we’re going to consider the future like this, we should then think about putting Cozy in a place where a potential future villain like her could not use the statue to idolize it or even get freed by someone adept in magic enough to reverse petrification. Do we have a super secure facility? Or you want to try putting Cozy in Tartaurus again only this time she’s a statue ON TOP of being trapped there?

Twilight ponders something

Twilight: I think I may have an idea… what if I put Cozy’s Statue in it’s own pocket dimension. And much like our gum portals. Only those with the magical authorization can access it. What good is Cozy’s manipulating petrified pose, if almost no one’s going to be able to see her?

Starlight gives a smug look that harkens back a little to her old ways before Twilight and the others befriended her.

Starlight: Hahahaha! Almost makes me want to be able to at least free Cozy’s head temporarily just so I can see her face as she hears where we’re leaving her!

Rainbow: Geez Starlight, seems you still have a little bit of that evil dictator side of you

Starlight: Maybe, but can you blame me? Cozy’s part of why I was led on the path to become one in the first place. I’m not actually serious about freeing Cozy’s head, I’m just saying... it’d be satisfying.

Sunset decides to play along with a bit of an exaggerated disappointed mother.

Sunset: Starlight Glimmer... enough of that talk and I may have to ground you for the first time! *giggles*

Starlight: Maybe, I should let you ground me just to have a taste of the mother you would have been *giggles* I even know a spell where I can play out if you had been around for my childhood

Sunburst: You mean that spell you used to try to get me to play Dragon Pit with you again?

Sunset: Oh I loved the Dragon Pit board game! I played it alot with my brother when we were kids. I would of played with you and/or Sunburst almost all the time. Too bad I won’t be able to roll dice and move the pieces. Iiiii can’t exactly touch objects aside from the floors, I have to sort of float since I can kind of fly in order to sort of go on stuff like beds, and I can’t float stuff with my horn anymore.

Starlight: Always the option to have somepony roll and move your player for you!

Sunset: That is true!

Starlight: But in all seriousness... knowing Cozy will cause no more harm nor be able to potentially manipulate somepony who doesn’t know better about her will be great to know.

Sunset turns toward Twilight

Sunset: Putting Cozy’s statue in a pocket dimension is a great idea. And in fact if you know somepony else who might have devastating effects somewhere should they die, you should probably do the same thing.

Twilight: The only other villain I can think of on that level is Zathir, I’ll definitely have to petrify him as well, and put him in the same pocket dimension as Cozy.

But until then, I think now that we’ve solved everything. We’re going to start to head back, we ought to go see how Applejack’s parents are doing with Big Mac, Sugar Belle, and Granny Smith.

Starlight: If it’s ok, Twilight… I’m going to stay the night here, to spend some more time with my mother. Since pony Spirits can be down here indefinitely, right?

Twilight: This is the first time we’re having spirits down but I suppose I can let you stay the night here with your mother. Though I’m not sure what will happen if Sunset tries to sleep, though given I’m part spirit… I might at least have a hypothesis... if a spirit goes to sleep… They may go back to the soul shield, similar to how when I go to sleep, I go back into my bottle.

Sunset: That feels like it makes sense. After all, our comet-like forms are kind of also us sleeping

Firelight is a little distraught.

Firelight: Shimmy… you’ll go back up there in the soul shield if you sleep?! I… was almost kind of looking forward to being able to have you sleep with me again… I’ve felt so lonely hoping one day you’d come back… cause I didn’t know you were dead this whole time…

Sunset smiles, touched that her husband thought about that.

Sunset: Well, I still could. I just have to not go to sleep myself. How about this… We’ll sleep in our bed tonight, and I’ll only go back to the soul shield sometime after you’ve fallen asleep. And if you want to see me again tomorrow or any other point. Just get Starlight or yourself to go see Spike to summon me down again.

Starlight: We also have a wedding between 2 of Twilight’s friends in Saddle Arabia to attend in two days. We could… perhaps summon you down so you can attend if you’d like.

Sunset: That sounds lovely, I won’t exactly know much about the 2 being wedded. But if perhaps you and Fi-Fi are going, I could definitely go.

Starlight: I think I was going to go regardless, but It’d definitely be great to see you there.

Firelight: I wasn’t going to go initially… but if you’re going to be summoned down for the wedding. Then I absolutely have to be there.

Sunset: Then of course, summon me back down on the day after tomorrow’s wedding and I’ll be there the whole way.

The room cheers and claps to have a spirit attendee.

Applejack: Heh, ya’ll could even become spirit friends with mah parents if we invite them too!

Twilight: That does sound like a pretty good idea.

Rainbow: Hey everypony! Don’t look now, but I think the storm’s over!

The whole group walks back outside, and perhaps appropriately with the skies clear… the sun itself is setting in a fitting fashion with the return of Sunset Shimmer. Starlight walks on over to the Cutie Mark Crusaders as Sunset continues talking with either the Elements of Harmony and/or Firelight

Starlight: I want to thank you three for starting me on the road to find out who I am. You deduced that I inherited my magic power from my mother. And now I know that I’m the daughter of a former Celestia protege. Whatever I do with the magic I inherited from my mother is up to me and me alone to decide. For now, I intend to use it to lead and protect the School of Friendship. But who knows what the future holds.

Apple Bloom: No problem, Starlight! Ah’m happy ya’ll got t’ see ya mother fo’ the first time just like ah did today!

Sweetie: Yeah! Your mother is amazing

Scootaloo: Definitely, one of the coolest ponies I’ve ever seen!

Starlight now turns to Sunburst and Trixie.

Starlight: So Trixie, what do you think of my mother?

Trixie: Your mother’s great, Starlight. Now I know why you’ve always been so talented. And… I’ll admit the full story of what happened made me cry a few times… ok that’s an understatement… I cried most pretty much the whole time hearing how much your mother’s death impacted your life…

Sunburst: I might just stay the night in Sire’s Hollow with you as well Starlight. Not just for my own mother and my father being back for good, but getting to know my long-lost Aunt.

Starlight: Plus, we’re cousins now… that means your plan-filled mother is my own Aunt heh heh

Stellar: That’s riiiiight, my newfound niece!

Stellar smiles and boops Starlight on her nose

Sunspot: We welcome you to the family, Starlight. We already thought of you fondly when we didn’t know you were related, but thanks to all the reveals we got today from summoning my sister… you are always welcome in me and Stellar’s household.

Firelight and Sunset walk on over. Firelight in particular turning to Stellar Flare.

Firelight: Hey Stellar, I have a suggestion…

Stellar: Yes, Firelight?

Firelight: You know the museum that we agreed to build over there?

Firelight points to the construction currently being built

Stellar: Yes, what about it?

Firelight: I want to give it an official name

Stellar: Huh? Isn’t it just going to be called the Sire’s Hollow Museum?

Firelight: That was the plan originally… but I think I have a better name and purpose for it. I’d like to call it… the Sunset Shimmer Museum. It’ll still have a section dedicated to our town, but mainly because Sunset was going to make this place her home. I think it’d have a greater purpose to sharing the world who she was. As not everypony’s going to be around for when we summon her spirit down again.

Sunset gasps, but is ultimately touched that Firelight would dedicate an entire museum to her.

Sunset: Oh Fi-Fi, you’re so sweet… You don’t need to dedicate the whole museum to me…

Firelight: Maybe I don’t need to, but I really, really want to. You deserve some recognition for keeping Equestria safe before Princess Twilight would just about finish the job by providing the peace we have now.

Suddenly, Celestia walks up from behind.

Celestia: A museum dedicated to Sunset sounds like a great idea, I still have plenty of cherished items back in the Canterlot castle related to Sunset’s time as my student that I can donate.

Sunspot: I guess that’s where I can put your horn, sis… if that isn’t too much of a reminder of what happened…

Sunset: It is a little grim… but hey, plenty of museums have real skeletons. It’d make sense that the only trace left of my body would be at my own museum.

Starlight: An interesting thing about this is because we can summon you down here, you’ll technically be able to be a tour guide for your own posthumous museum!

Sunset: Ha, that might be fun. It’d certainly make it more interactive. Maybe I can even play a bit of a prank on some guests thinking I’m just a highly advanced magic hologram. And then at some point do something that surprises guests when I suddenly say or answer something that would be impossible if I was a pre-recorded hologram!

Starlight: Now that would be funny!

Sunset: Can’t be there every day of course, but for special days I’d love to do it.

Stellar: The museum’s far from finished anyway, but we’ll love to have you back down for opening day when it is.

Sunset: Absolutely!

Sunset turns to Princess Celestia

Sunset: On another subject… Princess Celestia… I think I heard in passing somewhere that you’ll be retiring with Twilight taking your position. I don’t know what you plan to do in your retirement, but know I’ve always been proud of serving you. I know you kick yourself hard for things you see as mistakes fair or not, like Princess Luna becoming Nightmare Moon or not coming with me for my last fateful mission...

But know for every failure, you’ve maintained Equestria in balance for long enough for ponies like me, Twilight, and my daughter to make Equestria an even better place. Everypony in Equestria owes a gratitude for you whether they realize it or not. And if you get Spike to summon more of your many generations of loyal staffers and guards, they’ll say many of the same things I’m saying now. Without you… Equestria would of fallen apart long ago.

Celestia’s eyes well up with tears of joy

Celestia: Thank you, Sunset. I… really appreciate hearing that…

And um, Sunset. I can wait a little while before you do. But on an occasion you’re summoned back down, I’d really like you to meet my sister Luna.

Sunset: Oh yes, I’d love to get to meet her as well.

Celestia: In your younger days, you actually reminded me quite a bit of Luna when she herself was younger. I think you’d two would make great friends.

Sunset: I knew how much you missed her even back then, so I know she must be amazing. So I will definitely cherish seeing her for the first time. Maybe I’ll see her if you’re both at the wedding

Celestia: Yes, me and Luna will be attending the wedding. That’ll be the perfect opportunity for you to meet my sister for the first time.

Sunset approaches Celestia for another good long hug.

The group now splits between the family of both Starlight and Sunspot. The Elements of Harmony, Spike, The Cutie Mark Crusaders, Trixie, and Princess Celestia are next to a portal to Ponyville. As they all wave to each other.as they start heading out the portal. Twilight the last one to go back, and gives her goodbye before walking in.

Twilight: We’ll see you all at the wedding in two days! Goodbye Starlight, Sunset, and family!

And thus a family fully reunited after years of mystery and hardships. The family all hugging each other one more time before talking the night away. Sunset will return to the soul shield during the nighttime once everypony was asleep. But there was now a sense of closure for the entire family

UP NEXT: Chapter 30: A Pear-fect Reunion

[juliafied]

Snippet Sunday

Thanks for the tags, @nug-juggler, @luzial, and @pedlimwen! I’m getting to it a bit late (a good bit past Sunday in my timezone), so tagging forth anyone who sees this and hasn’t been tagged yet and would like to post something :)

This is an excerpt from Chapter 9 of The Lone Wolf’s Call, my longfic WIP that is getting away from me in its ambition:

“I am curious,” Fenris said, holding out his bare palms to the firelight. Thankfully, Seri did not walk away.

“What prompted you to join Aron and his company? As far as I have seen, the Dalish do not often involve themselves in the affairs of flat-ears and shems. And city living is hardly your custom.”

She huffed at his question. “And what would someone like you know of the Dalish? There have been no clans within the borders of Tevinter in an age.”

He felt a flash of irritation. “I left Tevinter a long time ago,” he muttered. To answer her question, he added, “I had a… friend.” Merrill had more been Hawke’s friend, and to Fenris, a tenuous ally. Nevertheless, he continued. “Her name was – is – Merrill, of clan Sabrae.”

At that, Seri snorted. “She’s hardly one of us. Sabrae threw her out, didn’t they? She was always kind of weird.”

Fenris chuckled despite his earlier annoyance. “Yes, she remains so, as far as I know.”

They stood in silence for a few moments, listening to the crackle of the fire. Seri was the next to speak.

“You wouldn’t recognize them, but I wear the vallaslin of Sylaise. She is the goddess of the hearth, who gave fire to the elves. I chose her,” and here, her tone became fierce, “because she is said to be protector of all children and families that gather around her creation. And nowhere in our stories does it say she protects only those with blood writing to mark them.”

He did not regret his question, perhaps only the surprise with which he had posed it. He did not think it unjustified, since the majority of Thedas, humans, elves, and dwarves alike, cared little enough for the plight of slaves in Tevinter. He thought of the times when, early on under Danarius’ heel, he had dreamed of the freedom of the south while resenting their apathy towards him.

“Thank you,” he whispered, the words rising from his throat unbidden, and now it was Seri’s turn to look at him, a curious, though guarded, expression on her face.

“You need not thank me,” she said in an even tone. “There is an opportunity here to right a great injustice. I acted as anyone should and seized it.”

Barely anyone would, though, Seri, he thought, and gave her a quick nod before walking away.

[savagc]

@mxnstersarereal​ - gets a plotted thing.

she watched caspian in the dancing firelight, the exposed skin down her spine showcasing ink. others chatted and sat around, mingling in their own conversations, pulling in the people around them into their own talks and carrying on, but luna found herself sitting quietly watching caspian lost in her own conversations. there was a little one resting against luna’s thigh and her fingers ran through the little boy’s soft hair while his tiny eyes were drifting closed in sleepiness, but her eyes remained where she wanted them. every now and then caspian’s eyes met hers and a soft smile was exchanged. this clan of the night was working towards independence and luna’s clan was the first to ally beside them. 

luna looked around and she saw the children here, the parents, the young warriors wishing only to protect their own, not wage meaningless wars over meaningless things like land and power. they wanted a way of life that was all their own, they wanted to choose that way for themselves. it was beautiful, more than just that was beautiful. eventually the people would settle in for the night, eventually the talks would quiet, eventually she would be watching caspian take off to immerse herself into the night...and luna knew that she would follow. for now...she sat quietly, she enjoyed the feeling of seeing this clan of people rising up from the night and claiming the lands that bordered the sea, and she felt hopeful that it would mean...cas would be much closer to her now.