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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 7 months

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The Equestrian Club finds themselves with an onlooker during one of their practices.

"Oh, Rollo-senpai, have you taken a liking to my horse? His name is Vorpal."

"Rollo-senpai, it is a pleasure to have you here, I hope you find the Equestrian Club hospitable."

"YOU DARE SHOW YOUR FACE AFTER WHAT YOU DID TO MALLEUS-SAMA!?!?"

Thoughts I had while writing this:

1) Sebek seems like he’d be a Brony

2) Sebek would call Rollo maidenless if given the chance

Don’t ask why I was thinking these things—

Like Fire, Hellfire.

"My, if it isn't some familiar faces," Rollo noted frostily. "I'd almost forgotten how rambunctious you all were. What a pity—I long to return to that peaceful bliss."

His gaze cut away behind his starry handkerchief. Rollo’s voice dropped into a hateful hiss—one he was certain only Riddle, Sebek, and Silver could hear. “Alas, this world will never know true peace so long as that wretched Malleus Draconia yet lives.”

Silver tensed, his eyes flashing dangerously. Sebek’s body moved sooner than his inhibitions did.

"WHY, YOU...!!”

Sebek charged at Rollo with a thunderous roar, fully prepared to deck him with all of his might. Collision with Rollo's face never came. Instead, Sebek's fists were caught by Silver's palms. The knights' foreheads grinded together, each holding their position and refusing to yield to the other.

"Stop this, Sebek!!" Silver bellowed fiercely, his expression deadly serious. "Rollo-senpai is a visitor and a guest to our school. If he has committed no wrong on our campus, we have no grounds to stand on to apprehend him. You would be considered the instigator!!"

"OUT OF MY WAY, SILVER!! That man has the NERVE to appear before us speaking ill of Malleus-sama and expecting no repercussions for his grievous crimes?! HE'S LUCKY THAT THE YOUNG MASTER IS MAGANIMOUS ENOUGH TO SPARE HIS PUNY HUMAN LIFE!!"

“Yes, he said something rude about Malleus-sama,” Silver agreed, “but you must find it in yourself to forgive and to be courteous. We cannot perpetuate this cycle of hatred.”

“NEVER!! I WOULD SOONER DIE MYELF THAN ALLOW THIS CUR TO GO UNPUNISHED!!”

The horses startled at the booming that was Sebek’s shouting. Distressed whinnies filled the grassy field, and mob students immediately rushed to soothe the spooked equines.

“I can see that you’ve done learned little about restraining your volume or your temper,” Rollo commented dryly, his eyes lidded in half in amusement, half in disappointment.

“I’m sorry. He’s not usually like this.”

Yes he is, the mob students thought—though none of them were dim enough to intervene.

“Sebek is really a good guy,” Silver continued, oblivious to his peers. “Please give him some time to collect himself and…”

“DON’T APOLOGIZE TO HIM, SILVER!! HE’S NOT WORTHY OF OUR SYMPATHY!!”

“Neither of you are making these circumstances any more easier to navigate!!” Riddle chided, stepping out from between the pair. He grasped Vorpal’s reins in one hand, guiding the horse to step forward with him. “You two, stand down. Leave this matter to me.”

“S-Sir!”

Both Silver and Sebek snapped to attention, saluting to the short redhead--their superior.

Riddle promptly cleared his throat. Vorpal snorted softly in greeting.

“Ah-HEM!! As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted… Rollo-senpai, Equestrian Club welcomes you. I noticed you watching our practice session. Have you an interest in riding?”

“Riddle-kun.” He bowed his head in an act of mock respect. “… I prefer it to flying. I partake in the sport back at Noble Bell College. Forgive my brazenness for observing—I was taken aback by how well-trained your steed is, and how well you handle it.”

“You have a keen eye. Vorpal here has been my invaluable partner since I first joined Equestrian Club. He is quite steadfast."

"Hmph, it takes well after its master." Rollo paused, casting a cold glance at Sebek (who furiously glared back). "Rather than training horses, don't you think your club would benefit from better training your members?"

Sebek bared his teeth. Silver put an arm in front of his underclassman, a warning to not engage.

"Of course," Riddle said with a tight smile. "We in Equestrian Club are always striving for personal growth and self-discipline. However, I will confess that it takes some of us longer to learn these principles than others."

While Riddle spoke, Vorpal stared at their guest with big, curious eyes. Rollo stared back, cocking an eyebrow. Soon Riddle was doing the same as him.

"... May I?"

"By all means."

Rollo extended a hand, gingerly placing it on Vorpal's neck. He ran his hand up and down, gently stroking the equine, who brayed in contentment.

"Vorpal seems to like you," Riddle said in surprise.

"WHAT!! The horse is a poor judge of character!!" Sebek declared indignantly.

There was a scoff from Rollo. “It cannot be helped. Is it any wonder that horses shy away from a shameless loudmouth such as yourself? They’re delicate, sensitive creatures able to sense impure souls.”

"IT'S YOU WHO HAS THE IMPURE SOUL!!" Sebek roared, clenching his fists at his sides. "If we're comparing the cleanliness of souls here, Silver has you beat by a large margin!! THE WOODLAND CREATURES FLOCK TO HIM EVERY MORNING!!"

He whipped his head to his fellow knight. "SHOW HIM, SILVER!! SUMMON YOUR ARMY OF FUZZY COMPANIONS!!"

"I don't think that would help... Besides, you know they can be skittish around you, Sebek."

Vorpal made a noise vaguely akin to a grunt of disapproval. Rollo shook his head and tutted.

"GGGGGGRGH! I'LL SHOW YOU!!" Sebek stomped toward Vorpal, thrusting a hand out. "COME HITHER, EQUINE!! ALLOW ME TO DEMONSTRATE THE FULL BREADTH OF MY AFFECTIONS!!"

That’s the most aggressive way I’ve ever heard someone offer head pats to a horse!! The mob students winced as they watched the tragedy play out before their very eyes.

Vorpal screeched in distress, a high-pitched whinny piercing the field. Beating strong hooves against the ground, he turned tail and raced away from the approaching first year.

“W-Wait…! I COMMAND YOU TO COME BACK!! I HAVE YET TO PROVE MYSELF AS A SUPERIOR COMPANION!!” Sebek called after the frightened horse. He pathetically chased after it, only pushing Vorpal further and further away from him.

Rollo sighed, disappointed but not surprised. “As I thought. Animals can be taught to be obedient—but I’m afraid the same cannot be said of mages. All you do is act and speak out of turn, causing trouble for others around you.”

“Excuse me?” Riddle suddenly frowned and crossed his arms. “I take offense to that comment.”

“Hmph, and what of it? I speak the truth."

"While it may be true of the newer students, it is the responsibility of their upperclassmen to shape them into diligent, responsible young men. As a dorm leader and a club captain, those duties, too, fall upon my shoulders--yet you just implied it's impossible to whip these students into shape?"

Riddle let out a haughty laugh. "I won't have you insulting my abilities as a mentor and role model. The Equestrian Club shall show you the fruits of our labor!!"

"Will you now?" Rollo's eyes narrowed. "And how exactly do you plan to do that?"

"Simple. We already stand upon a suitable stage." Riddle gestured to their surroundings. "You and me, let us see which of us is the superior rider."

"Oh, that's a great idea, Riddle." Silver smiled at his classmate. "Having a friendly competition is sure to bolster our bonds."

Friendly? No, there was nothing friendly in the intense gaze shared between Riddle and Rollo. The atmosphere had thickened with tension, taking a turn for the oppressive. (Silver didn't notice any of it.)

It's so nice that they're getting along, he thought, his smile growing. I was worried about them for nothing.

"... Very well, I accept your proposal, Riddle-kun." Rollo allowed a smirk upon his lips. "Prepare to be utterly humiliated."

#twisted wonderland #twst #Riddle Rosehearts #Rollo Flamme #Sebek Zigvolt #Silver #disney twisted wonderland #twst interactions #twisted wonderland interactions #spoilers #Rollo at the Writing Desk

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tessa-liam · 1 month

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Marabelle Series

The Game of Kings 2

Chapter 11

Choices – The Royal Romance, AU – (cross-over with Rules of Engagement)

Series Premise – An American teenager from New York City is introduced to the world of a small European country and its society of royalty, nobility, and commoners. How will her life story be transformed? Will this new adventure bring her happiness...or regret?

Marabelle Series Masterlist

Main Pairing – Prince Liam Rys x F!OC Lady Sophia (Sophie) Taylor

Other Pairings – Maxwell Beaumont x M!OC Daniel (from NYC), Drake Walker x F!OC Melanie Smithson

Most characters belong to Pixelberry Studios

Series Rating – M*🔞Warnings: this series will have NSFW material & innuendo, crude language, intimidation, physical violence.

Not Beta’d - Please excuse all errors.

Category – Alternate universe/on-going series/angst/fluff/cross-over with Choices Rules of Engagement

Words: 3259

The Game of Kings, Part 2 – Chapter 11

Chapter Summary – It is game day! Let the games begin... Liam discovers Leo’s plans to abdicate. Sophie is targeted by an opponent.

Music Inspiration: Till Forever Falls Apart, Ashe, FINNEAS

A/N1: Bethany Beaumont, Maxwell’s mother, is originally from the U.S. and is Barthelemy Beaumont’s second wife. Annabelle Beaumont (deceased) is Bertrand’s mother.

A/N2: ‘Social Season’ in this AU series refers to a traditional period in the spring/summer for royalty and members of the court to take part in Balls, dinner parties and charity events.

A/N3: My submission for @choicesaprilchallenge24, dialogue prompts: “(Congrats.) You’re one of us now.”, ‘games’

The Royal Cordonian Polo Club, Game Day

The sun was shining brightly over the expansive polo field, casting a golden glow over the lush green grass and fluttering banners that adorned the venue. It was the day of the highly anticipated charity polo match to raise funds for flooding relief due to the earthquake that struck the coastal duchy of Portavira.

The atmosphere was charged with excitement and anticipation as spectators arrived at the venue. Royalty, nobility, and the common folk were all greeted by the sight of elegant tents and marquees set up around the field. Grandstand bleachers were erected around the perimeter of the playing field to the south, while across the field in the VIP area, distinguished guests and sponsors were treated to a luxurious experience. The VIP tent was elegantly decorated with floral arrangements and comfortable seating, offering a panoramic view of the polo field. Waitstaff moved gracefully among the tables, offering champagne and hors d'oeuvres to the noble classes enjoying the pre-match festivities.

Members of Liam’s team, Sophie, Drake, Melanie and Maxwell were assembled at center field waiting anxiously, but enthusiastically, to start the match. The opposing team members, Rashad, Penelope, Neville, Kiara and Tariq stood opposite, discussing strategy in hushed voices. As each player stood beside their steeds, Marabelle snorted impatiently, muscles tense with anticipation as she felt the energy pulsing through the crowd. Sophie stroked Marabelle’s mane as her hooves pawed the ground, eager to explode into action.

Standing beside Maxwell, Liam listened intently to Drake’s scheme to outwit the other team but was periodically distracted by Sophie’s voice as she spoke soothingly to her horse. He looked over and admired the smooth contour and silky skin of her neck as her long hair was pulled up and hidden underneath her safety helmet. As Maxwell asked Drake a question, Liam stepped closer to Sophie and murmured into her ear, trying not to be overheard. "I have a confession to make.”

"What's that?" Sophie giggled as his breath tickled her neck.

"I'm totally checking you out right now." Liam shamelessly flirted, watching her reaction with delight, and enjoying the moment.

"Oh, am I distracting you, Your Highness?" Sophie cheekily whispered, grinning wide.

"Extremely," he admitted, their banter adding an extra layer of excitement between them.

"Then we're even," she smirked, batting her eyes.

"Even for what?" Liam chuckled not knowing where Sophie was going with that comment.

"For the flowers and the note." Liam paused, recalling the gift he had sent over to the Beaumont estate on Valentine’s Day.

"Ah, yes, the flowers and the note," he said, biting his lip, trying but failing not to smile.

"That was very sweet of you." Sophie replied glancing up, watching his reaction through her eyelashes, smiling demurely.

"Well, I try." Liam winked, turning his attention to acknowledge the referee walking towards him.

Melanie could not help but notice their intimate, and soft conversation as she needlessly adjusted her mare’s saddle, moving in close by to stand beside Drake.

“Congrats. You’re one of us now.” Drake’s voice interrupted her thoughts with his congratulatory remark to Sophie as she spun around to his voice, her annoyance clear.

“What?” Melanie snapped; her tone sharp as she pivoted to him.

"Whoa ... whoa, Smithson! Calm down..." Drake responded, raising his hands in a placating gesture, seeing Melanie's irritation. The tension between them was now palpable, adding an uncomfortable twist to the atmosphere between them.

Melanie's frustration simmered just below the surface as she glared at Drake, her eyes narrowing. She had always felt like an outsider amongst this group, and seeing Sophie being welcomed so warmly and repeatedly by everyone only intensified her feelings of exclusion and jealousy.

Drake, sensing her ire, took a step back. "I didn't mean to upset you, Melanie," he said, his tone more cautious now, trying to diffuse the situation. "We're just happy to have Sophie join us."

Melanie huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Sure, whatever," she muttered, turning her attention back to adjusting her mare's saddle. But deep down, she couldn't shake off the hurt of feeling left out once again.

Drake's face fell. He'd meant what he'd said, but it seemed like no matter what he did, it was always the wrong thing where Melanie was concerned.

He opened his mouth to apologize, but then stopped himself, realizing that anything else he said would only make things worse.

With a heavy sigh, he turned and walked away, leaving Melanie to stew in her own irritation.

Meanwhile, Sophie, oblivious to their underlying tension, beamed with excitement at being accepted by the group. She couldn't wait to join them in their adventures and create lasting memories together. Little did she know the dynamics within the group were about to shift in unexpected ways very soon.

The referee approached Liam, bowing respectfully before him, presenting the game ball with a solemn air. Liam inspected it carefully, making sure it was in good condition. After confirmation, Liam signaled all the players to mount.

"Good luck out there, everyone," the referee said, and then he stepped back, signaling the start of the match.

Liam led his teammates as they kicked their horses into action, eager to get the game underway.

Sophie, riding Marabelle moved alongside Liam. Her heart was racing, and she could not believe she was about to play in front of such a large crowd which included the king and queen.

She looked over at Liam and nervously smiled. "There are so many people here," she called out.

"Yeah, this is the biggest turnout we've had in a while," he responded. "Are you ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," she answered, feeling the butterflies return to her stomach.

"Just focus on the game and having fun. That's what it's all about," Liam smiled.

"Right," she said, taking a deep breath.

"We've got this," he assured her.

As all the players took to the field, the crowd cheered and waved flags bearing the colors of their choice team.

Liam rode his horse first onto the field. His teammates followed behind him, each looking confident and determined.

"And here they are, ladies and gentlemen, the Cordonian Royal Polo team and the Domvallien Polo Club team!" The announcer’s voice boomed over the sound system.

The applause was thunderous as Liam smiled and waved at the cheering crowd.

Lord Rashad, the heir to the Duchy of Domvallier led his team onto the field as he also waved to the crowd.

"Let's give them a big hand," the announcer continued. "They're going to be giving their all today, in support of the relief efforts for the victims of the recent floods in Portavira."

Sophie smiled and nodded, trying to calm her nerves, as she noticed her Aunt Bethany and Daniel waving to her from the stands as she rode by.

The starting pistol sounded and the game was underway. Liam and Drake took turns driving the ball toward the opposing team's goal. Sophie watched their fluid movements with admiration, trying to predict their next moves alongside Maxwell. Across the field, Neville and Rashad were also closely following the play as Kiara and Melanie followed closely behind Penelope and Tariq.

Liam passed the ball to Sophie, who received it confidently, her body moving in sync with Marabelle.

She deftly guided the ball toward the opposing team's goal, her mallet striking the ball with precision.

The crowd cheered as the ball sailed through the air and landed in the net.

"And the first point goes to the Cordonian Royal Polo Team!" the announcer shouted.

"That was incredible," Liam shouted, smiling with admiration.

Sophie smiled back, her heart pounding in her chest.

"Let's keep it up," he said, giving her a wink.

Sophie's heart fluttered, and she nodded, her determination renewed.

As the game progressed, Neville seized an opportunity for the opposing team and scored a goal, eliciting cheers from his teammates and spectators. Passing by Sophie, he could not resist shooting her a snide glare, his expression smug and condescending.

Sophie, unfazed by Neville's behavior, remained focused on the match and ignored his intimidation tactics. She knew that in polo, actions spoke louder than words, and she was determined to contribute to her team's success.

Liam, watching the interaction, felt a surge of protective instinct towards Sophie. He made a mental note to keep an eye on Neville's antics to ensure that Sophie was not affected by his arrogance.

Sophie and Liam's performance throughout the game was electric and their team was flawless as they dominated the field.

Sophie felt a sense of pride as the crowd cheered. She could not believe she was actually doing this. It was exhilarating.

VIP Tent

"Duke Barthelemy, so glad you could make it," Constantine welcomed, offering his hand.

"Constantine, good to see you," Barthelemy acknowledged, shaking his hand. Dressed in a tailored suit, his salt-and-pepper hair neatly groomed, he took a seat at the table next to the King.

“Your Majesty.” Bertrand bowed. "This is quite a turnout," Bertrand commented, surveying the crowd.

"Indeed, it is," Constantine agreed. "I see Maxwell and Sophia have joined my son's team for the match."

"I must admit, I'm a bit surprised to see my youngest son playing on the same team as the prince," Barthelemy said, a hint of disapproval in his voice.

"Nonsense, Barthelemy," Constantine replied. "Maxwell is a fine player, and a valuable addition to the team.”

"And it's always paramount to support the Crown," Bertrand added.

"Yes, well, I suppose," Barthelemy said, his lips pursed.

"Oh, come now, Barthelemy," Constantine chided, laughing heartily. "There's no need to be so apprehensive. This is a charity match, after all. Lighten up and enjoy yourself."

Barthelemy gave a tight smile. "Of course. You are right, your majesty.”

"Good," Constantine said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Now, let's watch these youngsters put on a show."

“However, Constantine, I am surprised your other son is absent from today’s activities."

"He's a grown man, Barthelemy. He has his own life."

"Still, this is a very important day for the monarchy, and he should be here, supporting the Crown and country. He is the Crown Prince."

"Leo has a lot on his mind, and he needs time to sort through it." Constantine replied stoically, purposefully not revealing any information to his old friend.

Barthelemy noticed the look of irritation on the King's face. "I see. Forgive me for being forward, Your Majesty, but I feel the need to remind you that this is a pivotal moment for Cordonia. And as the Crown Prince, Leo has a responsibility to the people of our country along with his betrothed."

"I'm well aware of my son's duties," Constantine replied, his voice low and terse.

"Come now, Constantine. There is no need to be distressed." Regina patted his arm trying to defuse her husband's aggravation.

The game was nearing half-time as Barthelemy watched his niece with admiration. His thoughts were singular... Her dedication, talent, and composure on the field spoke volumes about her character and capabilities.

As he watched Sophie and Liam's undeniable chemistry and teamwork, Barthelemy's thoughts turned to her future. He knew that Sophie had all the qualities of a great leader and ruler. Her compassion, intelligence, and ability to inspire others were qualities that would make her a remarkable queen one day.

King Constantine glanced at Barthelemy, noticing the proud smile on his face. "She's quite impressive, isn't she?" the king remarked, acknowledging Sophie's talent.

Barthelemy nodded, his gaze never leaving Sophie. "Indeed, Your Majesty. She has exceeded all expectations today. It's moments like these that reaffirm my belief in her potential."

'She will make a remarkable queen', Barthelemy mused, having heard abdication rumors amongst the nobility; his speculation peaked.

The match continued with intense excitement, each team giving their best effort. Sophie and Liam's team kept their lead, highlighting their dominance on the polo field. The atmosphere was filled with excitement and anticipation as the last moments of the first half approached.

At half-time, the players dismounted and enjoyed refreshments in the players tent. Speaking with Liam, Rashad asked what he thought of Leo’s phone call to his father, the king.

Liam sighed, "Leo is probably just frustrated and needed time to think, away from the palace."

Rashad looked concerned. "But the timing couldn't be worse. With your father's health declining, and Leo refusing to take the throne..."

"Rashad, I've known Leo my entire life. He's stubborn, but he always comes around."

"I hope you're right," Rashad sighed.

“My apologies, your highness,” a royal courtier addressed Liam, interrupting the conversation, handing Liam an envelope.

After ending his conversation with Rashad, Liam read the note from his father announcing that he was to meet with his father at the Royal tent at the end of the match.

As the game progressed, it was clear that the Cordonian Royal Polo Team had a strong advantage to win.. They scored several goals, much to the delight of the crowd.

Sophie felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins with each successful play. The cheers and applause from the crowd fueled her determination, and she rode Marabelle with unwavering focus and skill.

Sophie's skills were improving with every play, and she quickly became an asset to the team.

However, as the game continued, she could not help but notice that Liam seemed distracted, his usual focus and intensity absent.

As the final whistle blew, the crowd erupted into cheers and applause. Sophie couldn't hold her joy and excitement, exchanging high-fives with her teammates and sharing a triumphant smile with Liam.

The Cordonian Royal Polo Team had won the game and the match raised a significant amount of money for relief efforts in Portavira.

Liam approached the players'tent, a broad grin on his face. "Congratulations, everyone," he said, his voice filled with pride. "That was an amazing game. I couldn't have asked for a better team."

Sophie blushed, the thrill of victory still coursing through her veins.

"We couldn't have done it without you, Liam," Drake replied.

"We couldn't have done it without our secret weapon," Liam corrected, his gaze resting on Sophie.

"Thanks, guys," Sophie replied, touched by their support.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Drake asked. "Let's go celebrate!"

"Not just yet," Liam said, his expression growing serious.

"What is it, Liam?"

"My father has requested to see me. I will meet up with you guys later at the beer garden."

"Sure, whatever you need, man," Drake replied, patting Liam on the back.

Liam kissed Sophie's cheek. “I shouldn’t be long, love.”

“All right, see you later.” Sophie grasped Marabelle's reins and started walking towards the stables.

Liam left his team, walking across the grounds toward the VIP tent. He spotted his father standing outside, surrounded by a small group of nobles and officials.

Constantine noticed Liam approaching and waved him over. "My son," he boomed.

"Hello, Father," Liam said, his expression solemn.

"That was quite a performance out there today."

"Yes, thank you. The team performed admirably. "

"Indeed. And Lady Sophia," Constantine added."Quite the addition to the team."

Liam's face lit up. "She's incredible, isn't she?"

"I can see that you are quite taken with her. She is a charming young lady."

"Father, I don't just think she's charming, I --"

*I know," Constantine interrupted. "But we can discuss that later. For now, I need to speak with you about an urgent matter."

Liam nodded in understanding, "what is it, Father?"

"Your brother," Constantine replied, his voice grim.

"Leo? What about him?"

"He has refused the crown."

"He has what?" Liam's jaw dropped.

"Calm yourself, Liam. You are in the presence of others," his father reminded him.

"Father, I..."

"Later," Constantine cut him off.

Liam was shocked and angry. He couldn't believe his brother would abandon his responsibilities like this.

"Liam, it's time we had a discussion about the future of our kingdom," Constantine said, his voice low.

"Of course, Father," Liam replied, his thoughts racing.

"Walk with me," Constantine instructed.

The two men walked in silence, the crowd of nobles and officials following them at a respectful distance.

"Liam, you must prepare yourself. The crown will soon pass to you, and with it, the heavy responsibility of leading our country," Constantine began.

Club Stables

Neville had been watching Sophie with growing annoyance. He couldn't understand why Liam and the others were so taken with her. She was just a commoner, a nobody, and yet they treated her like she was special. She was fortunate to be a relation to House Beaumont, however, she was an American. Not nobility. Another commoner for Liam to grant station to.

After Sophie dismounted from Marabelle and secured her into a stall, Neville approached, a smug smile on his face.

"Good job, Lady Sophia," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Sophie looked over and ignored his comment, trying to get her bearings.

"Hey, I'm talking to you," he snapped, stepping in front of her.

"Leave me alone, Neville," she retorted, trying to push past him.

Neville grabbed her arm, his fingers digging into her skin.

"Get your hands off me," she hissed, struggling to free herself.

He pushed her and Sophie stumbled backwards, losing her balance. She tried to regain her footing, but her foot caught on the edge of the gate, and she tumbled to the ground, landing hard on her side, her head smacking the ground.

She winced in pain, clutching her arm.

"You should be more careful," Neville sneered, stepping over her.

"You bastard," she muttered, tears stinging her eyes.

Neville laughed, his expression mocking. "That's what you get for thinking you're better than you are."

As he walked away, Sophie lay on the ground, tears streaming down her face.

She was hurt, and angry, and she didn't know how she was going to get up to get help, feeling dizzy. She laid back down holding her arm close, listening to Marabelle whinny as she reared in her stall.

But one thing was for certain: she was not going to let Neville get away with hurting her like this.

"Squirrel? Are you okay?" Daniel exclaimed, rushing to her.

"No, I'm not," she replied, her voice choked with emotion.

"What happened?"

"Neville happened," she said, anger replacing her pain.

"What? Why would he do that?"

"Because he's a jerk," Sophie replied, her voice breaking as she covered her face with her hands.

Daniel helped her to sit up, his face etched with concern. He reached for his phone and tapped Maxwells number.

"Do you want to tell Liam?"

"No, I don't want to make a scene. It's just a few bruises."

"Okay, if you're sure," Daniel said, his voice uncertain.

...I swear that I'll be yours forever, till forever falls apart...

📌Perma-tags: @bascmve01 @busywoman @kristinamae093 @differenttyphoonwerewolf @kingliam2019 @ao719 @alj4890 @emkay512 @karahalloway @twinkleallnight @malblk21 @tinkie1973 @queenmiarys @emersyn-in-cordonia @dutifullynuttywitch @charlotteg234 @lovingchoices14

📌Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @choicesaprilchallenge24

#tessa liam writes #the royal romance #liam rys #trr #trr fanfic #choices fic writers creations #choicesaprilchallenge24 #marabelle #sophie taylor #trr liam x oc #prince liam

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crimson-phantom-designs · 7 months

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I'm genuinely amused no one in the show has cracked a joke about Stede's name being 'Stede' as Steed meaning a noble, spirited riding horse.

I expected at least Calico Jack to. XD

Oh please let Izzy the next time Stede cracks a joke about his 'horsey leg'.

Iz: "Really bold coming from a man named after a horse."

~~~

CJ: Wait. So your name's Stede not Steve?

Stede: *he sighs tensely and tirdly. He's done dealing with the man, or speaking even* Correct... as I've told you five times now...

CJ: *he pauses to consider it to then grin* ...So... Stede as in 'a noble stede' like one of those fancy riding horses?... *snorts* Your parent really named you that?- *shrugs* Fits...

Stede: *with a wide eyed stare between shock and furt, his lips thin snapping back* Now what's that suppose to mean?!

Ed: *He forces himself invetween them, pushing slightly to widening the gap* Alright, guys. Settle down. CJ, probably don't called Stede a horse, please.

CJ: *He cocks an eyebrow with a blunt stare* But... that's what his name means...

Stede: Oh for gods sake. *He takes a step closer with rigid posture and a condescending tone* You're inferring to STEED. S-T-E-E-D not S-T-E-D-E, you imbecile... besides it is a very common name unrelated to the animal.

CJ: Heh, same deal, same hoof. You're a pompous, fancy little horse man, Stede. - Heh, horse man, I'm calling you that from now on.

Stede: *He glowers, his cheeks heating in blessed rage to keep what insult is hot on his tongue at bay. Instead, he cut a sharp stare with a huff mixed with brooding as he shot a stare at Ed* I don't have to put up with this. *he turned on his heels and storms off toward his cabin muttering quietly* I'll be in my quarters.

CJ: Awh, where you going, horse man? Don't run to the stables, come back!

Ed: *Stede is gone, Ed sighs with a hard stare toward CJ* Jack, that was mean...

CJ: *snorts* Hey, at least I know who's doing the riding now. Speaking of.... *he grins with a jostling shove as he crooked a brow* Was he really spirited to train? Bare back or saddle?- Ah ha ha- and a riding crop! This is fucking hilarious!

Ed: *his face undeniably flushed under his glare* Jack, that's enough...

*Stede's out his door with a slam having heard that, a blazed indignantce on his face as he stride quickly toward them. For the first time in his life, he has aspirations to purposely kill a man*

CJ: Uh oh, he's coming back at full trot- CHARGE NOBLE STEDE! *runs away*

#I'm tired off work and thought of this #our flag means death #calico jack #ofmd #stede bonnet #edward teach #improper qoutes

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aita-blorbos · 4 months

Note

AITA for hitting on my partner in front of several unrelated people?

I (28 M) am in charge of a group of soldiers near the southern border of our country. Since we frequently receive visitors from across that border, I make an effort to welcome people with open arms— especially since my countrymen are much less welcoming to outsiders. Some time ago I opened our camp up to a passing adventurer (W, mid twenties), and I cannot begin to tell you how lovely they are! Good-looking, quick-witted, strong and funny and… well, I would be here all day! There’s nothing they can’t overcome! I may have been a bit too outspoken about my admiration— I will admit I have been quite the flirt before in my life, but that’s neither here nor there. W managed to entirely capture my heart and my affections, and when they revealed they felt the same I was beyond giddy. I promised that at our encampment they would always have a home, and they seem to have taken my statement seriously. Everyone here seems to love them, too. It’s like a dream come true.

Recently there was a new year’s event in the country across the border that my assistance was required for. Apparently an enthusiast of horses was insistent that horses were superior to a form of travel we frequently use in the region— that is, it is common to find bipedal birds large enough to ride that we train to be loyal partners to travelers. As my family is famous for our skill with training these birds and it is something of a passion of mine, I was asked to bring a few of my best to compete with the horses. However, my family’s crest depicts a unicorn— which is of course the most noble of horse-based creatures. I have always greatly admired both beasts! So I opted to wear a horse mask while bringing the birds around for the visit and fully intended to make my statement of neutrality clear and then leave.

Except… my partner was present. Looking very fine and beautiful. The way the lamplight shone on their skin was splendid. I may have become a bit overwhelmed with affection as I was announcing said neutrality and instead announced that… I would prefer W as my noble steed. Whom I would be pleased to clean their hooves, feed them the finest carrots, and so on. Everyone was speechless, and I had the sense from W’s face I may have overstepped a line. The strangers seemed to have thought it was simply an eccentricity, and moved on after a moment, though W was… well, characteristically quiet as they are around strangers, but since I was wearing that mask, they may not have realized it was me…

… Except now that the festival has ended, they keep making jokes about it to me at my expense, so I assume they did indeed see through my disguise. Should I actually buy them carrots? I sort of figured they were insulted or assumed I was on another flight of fancy…

All that said, dare I ask AITA?

#aita #am i the asshole #unreality

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beardedmrbean · 4 months

Note

Oh sorry didn’t know you have a special tag for me now. Of course ac mirage is glorified and gaming form of Baghdad. But what the gaming does as while we play in a golden age, the character we plays as those we fight for suffering from the corruption and wickedness of the time as no era is perfect.

Well you lived through it, but I think a lot of modern historian have guilt over the reactions towards Arabs after the Iraq invasion and 9/11. So they double down hard on Muslim “achievements” to show they are not savages

But it lead to them infantilizing brown people and demonizing the west.

Which we got women king because black activists hatred towards white people. I wonder how many native Africans are going to treat black Americans like me like a plague after that movie?

But why I pointed out mirage is that, audiences want non white civilizations to be shown as PEOPLE not the equivalent of fictional young adult novels noble savages take on them. Show the good, show the bad, show the humanity

Also I think the main issues with Islam stuff is because the left will call out Christians crimes against people. While forcing a Hindu to be side by side with a Muslim. Obviously varies, but I learn about the Kashmir Hindu genocide that happened on January 19th, 1990

It disturbing that such a religious genocide happened only about 10 years before my birth.

You gave yourself that tag, sort of at least, called yourself that and it made me laugh so I decided to run with it.

Bush 1's Iraq war didn't really do much in the way with public opinion, up till 9/11 the Muslim community was a pretty solid republican bloc

Then they moved left, political party wise culturally they're still pretty solid red they just know the DNC will bend over and take it from them in the name of diversity points.

Case in point, imagine what would have happened if the city council that banned all but government flags on government buildings had been made up of white Christians.

They're be riots, and you will be hard pressed convince me otherwise.

Which we got women king because black activists hatred towards white people. I wonder how many native Africans are going to treat black Americans like me like a plague after that movie?

Can't find the video but at one point there was a gifset of it on here where the person was asking black Africans, probably in South Africa, if they taught about American slavery in their schools.

Their answer was a good one and the response on here to the gifs was exactly what you would expect from the perpetually offended, self absorbed, and self important people who would comment on this kind of thing.

'The whole world isn't America' they have their own history to teach and SA wasn't involved in the transatlantic slave trade anyhow, not that I'm aware of at least.

The response on here can be summed up in a single reaction image.

I'm seeing stuff with a bunch of African countries acknowledging their role and apologizing including Benin which contains the territory of the former Dahomey empire.

Not shockingly at all they're also still unironically seeking reparations, which I'm sorry no refunds on the merchandise you sold us (to put it crassly)

Depictions we're likely going to have to deal with, which I'm ok with that to a point, it's a romanticized picture of the people, time, and place.

We imagine knights on horseback charging into battle full armor on then going to do battle on foot when their loyal steed is killed.

We don't think about the fact that they couldn't take that stuff off to go to the bathroom so they just shit their armor and did battle with poopy feet, among many other nasty gross things.

So to A point I think fictionalizing things for entertainment isn't so bad, just so long as they don't go too far with it, people have different lines for that kind of thing too.

As for that last bit, posted this a couple days back.

Here's a highlight for you

Some took notice when this centuries-old religious conflict flared in 1989, as Sudan's jihad slaughtered 2.5 million Christians and enslaved perhaps 200,000 more. It ended only in 2005, when the U.S. helped broker a peace deal; in 2011.

I haven't verified those numbers, but it's Newsweek I feel like someone probably did.

Also these guys,

made the mistake of kidnapping a bunch of girls, if they'd just kept kidnapping boys to brainwash into becoming child soldiers nobody would have cared,

example

but wait no they're talking about the boys right there!!!!!!!

Yes well

10+ times as many boys per year and now they're mentioning finally

Sorry this took a while, I had a bunch of other stuff going while I was putting it together.

#zoomer huey anon

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breathalyzerfail · 2 years

Text

(At the next epistolary phase, Hob receives the following letter while recovering from the duel with Prince Apollo in the hospital ward)

Dearest Knick-pnack,

I thank you for your most diverting letters. They have whiled away many a dreary hour in these humble quarters.

That said, loath though I may be to direct harsh words to honest sentiment — STOP BEING AN ASS.

We are brothers in battle, you and I. We have charged the hungry spears of a thousand different perils. We have tread the footsteps of bloody-handed Mars to a thousand distant battlefields.

It wounds me now to see you quake upon that field of Love where — much like our noble lord — our soldier’s hearts oft find their rest.

You. Are. Worthy, Knick-pnack. Ever have the steeds of my noble house sought only the finest companions in battle. And with your friendship, I stand with pride alongside my kin who have ridden with gods and kings alike.

My friend, do not fear to charge headlong into Love. As always, I will ride with you to share in whatever joys and heartbreaks may come.

Yours in fellowship,

Wrackimus Speltington IV

P.S. Have you heard that they’re turning The Green Hunter into a movie?

#dimension 20 #a court of fey and flowers #acofaf #capt. k.p. hob #major knickolas pnackleless hob #wrackingspelt

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sam-glade · 9 months

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Find the Words Tag

Tagged by @charlesjosephwrites here and @i-can-even-burn-salad here. Thank you💜

Tagging: @starlit-hopes-and-dreams @little-peril-stories @memento-morri-writes @mrbexwrites and leaving an open tag. Your words are: sleep, wake, eat, play

Let's go with the latest draft of Prodigal Children.

From @charlesjosephwrites: twice, please, people, and guide

TWICE

“Would you really swear twice, Lissander?”

“What difference does it make, if I swear the same oath once or a hundred times? I have to uphold it all the same.”

PLEASE (rare Anthea's POV)

“I don’t suppose you can be convinced to get some rest?” Erya asked, keeping her voice down. Anthea shook her head again. “Then can I at least get you anything? Food, drink?”

It was a sensible offer. Anthea had been there for hours already and there was no telling how much longer this would take.

“Yes, please.”

Erya squeezed her shoulder gently.

“I will be back soon.”

PEOPLE

“It’s for personal interest,” Erya said truthfully. The White Dragon wasn’t convinced. “My prince, some people collect trinkets, others books. I collect secrets.”

GUIDE (Horseback fencing practice)

Then the show picked up. Erya was quite amazed that the young prince could keep up with his grandfather. Ianim did not have the benefit of steering his steed with his thoughts, and yet he guided Cloud masterfully. He was fast and agile, and of course had a wider range of movement than his grandfather, which evened things out further.

They started keeping more distance from one another, charging at each other and clashing briefly. The points were scored much more suddenly, and Erya could barely keep up with their movements. It was a fascinating display, but so far nothing extraordinary.

The show really began when they charged at each other and a moment later Ianim disappeared from his saddle. Erya tensed up; her first assumption was that he fell, but Cloud then cantered in front of her, showing the other side and the young prince hidden behind it. He pulled himself back up easily with one arm. Erya wasn’t sure if that was fair on the White Dragon, but she definitely didn’t mind watching such acrobatics.

~*~

From @i-can-even-burn-salad cold, chance, cruel, crude and cut

COLD

"Have you had breakfast?" Erya asked.

Anthea turned to her and shook her head.

"What about supper last night?"

Anthea sighed. This was all the answer Erya needed.

"Then before we talk, can you please eat something?" Erya insisted, pinching the bridge of her nose. Anthea really should know better than this.

Anthea offered her a permissive nod.

Erya grabbed the attention of a maid passing by and requested a tray of cold cuts and bread to be brought to Anthea's study. She pinned Anthea with an unyielding look - fortunately, the Prince didn't argue.

CHANCE

“Is that the other thing you wanted to discuss, ma’am?”

“As a matter of fact it is,” Erya admitted. Gullin waited for her to narrow it down. “I had a chance to speak to the young prince in private last weekend, and I can’t get a read on him.”

Gullin nodded with understanding.

“It’s scary, isn’t it? How he just trusts a person, without any reservations.”

CRUEL (From The Prince's Shadow, since all of the occurrences in PC are spoilers)

This brings back memories, Lissan thought when a horizontal line cut across the silver clouds, as if someone slashed them with a knife and pried open with cruel fingers. Inside the rupture there was only blackness.

CRUDE

They took off right after a crude breakfast - flatbread cooked over a bonfire, porridge that slightly stuck to the bottom of the pot, water that needed to be brought from the nearest village. There was something exciting about the setting, something that appealed to the nobles, making them feel like they had plunged into the adventure novels they enjoyed so much. Lissan was reminded of the year that led up to the Traitor’s capture. Ten years later, he remembered his own adventures with fondness.

CUT

“A Sword shouldn’t be able to hurt a person they care about," Catnip said. "They should instinctively, subconsciously protect them. It’s the same principle as thinking about the people around you when you’re about to die.”

Lissan wrapped his hands around the glass. He knew that Gullin cared for him deeply. He wasn’t sure if Catnip was going to believe him though. Still, he was going to try and convince her. It was either that or letting the seeds of doubt sprout in her mind.

“I know,” he admitted first. “I know that that’s the general rule. It's not the first accident like this we've had though. When we first started training, I didn't believe that my Sword could cut the wind, and I knocked him out with my full release by accident."

#tag game #writeblr #writeblr tag game #find the word tag #prodigal children

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foxghost · 2 years

Text

Joyful Reunion

Translator: foxghost @foxghost tumblr/ko-fi1 Beta: meet-me-in-oblivion @meet-me-in-oblivion tumblr Original by 非天夜翔 Fei Tian Ye Xiang Masterpost | Characters, Maps & Other Reference Index

Book 5, Epilogue (Part 1 of 2)

Two years later.

Chen’s main forces, two hundred thousand strong, assemble for battle at the foot of Mount Jiangjun. Meanwhile, across from them is the Yuan forces, as vast and numerous as raindrops in the ocean.

Both sides counted, there are four hundred thousand men here altogether, and not a single horse lets out a neigh. Snow flutters in the air. The melody of that song once more rises in Duan Ling’s memories.

The Mongolian forces part to make way. Borjigin Batu steps out in full armour, while Duan Ling steers his warhorse to the front of his formation. They face off against each other at a distance.

A gale is rising. Chen and Yuan war banners flap loudly in the biting cold.

“It’s time to begin,” Duan Ling says gently.

Clad in black armour from head to toe, Wu Du comes to Duan Ling’s side unhurriedly.

Snow whips violently as it spirals through the storm. On the distant horizon, a million souls of departed war gods seem to fall to earth, trailing white light behind them like meteors, and as they reach the battlefield, each turns into a shadow that has long-guarded the territories of Great Chen, urging on their noble steeds, galloping through thin air.

“It’s time to begin!” Someone’s voice is shouting, “Let’s fight!”

In his black armour, Xie You heads to the vanguard position.

“Sons of Great Chen —!” Duan Ling’s voice and Xie You’s decisive shout blend together.

The voices of the Chen army are as loud as the roaring of a tsunami.

The Silver River above has become a boundless wind of light, and that man, on his White Tiger steed, spreads a war god’s wings as he soars through a vast sea of light.

White Tiger of the western sky, lord of war!

His steed pads through the air from the horizon where the sky meets the earth, the radiant silver light that surrounds him shining onto the battlefield.

“Are you willing to die for His Majesty?”

Again, that call is answered by a furious, unified howl that seems to topple the mountains and overturn seas, loud enough to put a crack in the firmament.

My son.

That gentle voice rings out next to Duan Ling, and in his armour of light, with stars as his cape and the moon as his crown, dragging the Zhenshanhe behind him, Li Jianhong flies towards the battlefield.

“Dad.” In Duan Ling’s eyes is a dazzling night sky and the eternal Silver River.

It has been there all along.

A million years may pass, and it would remain the same.

“Let the battle begin.” Duan Ling raises the Zhenshanhe and points it into the distance.

All at once, two hundred thousand soldiers of Southern Chen, under the blessing and protection of generations of heroic spirits who’d sacrificed themselves for their homeland, charge at the Yuan army.

In Jiangzhou, a thousand miles away, light snow swirls like dust through the sky. Li Yanqiu stands on an upper storey in a rear palace hall and looks up at the drifting snowflakes.

“They ought to have arrived in Mount Jiangjun by today. Jianhong, please watch over Ruo’er.”

On the snow fields beneath Mount Jiangjun, the front line on both sides launch their attacks under the call of a signal horn. The new Northern Command kicks up powder and runs into the battlefield.

Countless moments in time have been frozen during this one battle, and the historians set down many episodes in ink: how Zheng Yan leads his troops to outflank the enemy, charging into their formation before having to retreat for his wounds; how Wu Du is forced off his horse after prolonged fighting, and Duan Ling rushing in to rescue him; how the Mongolian Army Supervisor Timur is killed by Wu Du with a single strike of his sword.

Qinchatai’s subordinate Chaghan Temur is shot dead with an arrow, and his men choose to fight to the death rather than surrender.

Xie You takes his men to attack the Mongolian army from the flank, but due to Borjigin Batu’s deft direction, is unable to gain full victory …

The first battle between four hundred thousand men drenches ten thousand miles of snowfields in blood, turning the entrance to the canyon into a meat grinder. The Chen army had gained the overwhelming upper hand almost as soon as the two armies meet, yet the Mongolians insist on fighting to the death rather than retreating; as they are driven off a precipice by Zheng Yan’s troops, their landing sets off a chain-reaction avalanche.

Hundreds of Mongolian soldiers had fallen off the precipice, and the avalanche buries tens of thousands of Mongolian soldiers, but the Chen army is also split into two forces.

Duan Ling sets up an ambush for Batu with his troops, and as soon as they meet face to face, Duan Ling shoots Batu off his horse. Amga rushes in, putting his life on the line to save Batu, bringing him back to their side.

“Catch him!” Someone is howling in Mongolian. “All we have to do is catch him and we win!”

By now the Mongolian army is at the end of its tether; counting those buried by the avalanche they number less than one hundred and twenty thousand. Yet with their backs up against the wall, they would rather die than surrender — even in this chaos, they’re thinking about catching the Chen crown prince in order to dissolve the other side’s offensive.

Chen runs into even fiercer resistance then, and their main forces are split apart by the assault. The vanguard troops, led by Wu Du, and the main force, led by Duan Ling, are separated by the avalanche.

“Your Highness! They’re catching up to us!” Someone howls.

“How many of them are there?!” Duan Ling only has a mere two thousand men or so left at his side. The rest are with Xie You.

Someone yells, “Twenty-thousand!”

“Go around the canyon!” Duan Ling shouts decisively, “Rendezvous with the vanguard as soon as possible! We’ve already won! This is all they have left!”

Twenty thousand Mongolian soldiers launch their assault downhill, and snow rolls towards the Chen forces like a tsunami. Under his bodyguards’ escort, Duan Ling charges at the end of the canyon.

“I’ll hold them off!” Shulü Rui shouts, “Go ahead, Your Highness!”

Duan Ling looks back behind him. Shulü Rui had already reorganised his men into a force to hold off the pursuing twenty-thousand Mongolian soldiers, and a melee ensues as soon as the two sides meet. Many of the soldiers also get past the defences to rush towards Duan Ling.

The guards escort Duan Ling to the end of the canyon, but another thousand soldiers are charging at them from the valley in front of them.

“Benxiao! I leave it all to you!” Duan Ling shouts.

A stray arrow hits Duan Ling, the arrowhead glancing off his White Tiger armour. Duan Ling charges into the fray, ignoring any danger that may befall his person, and he sees a man with his left arm covered in layers of cloth rushing at him holding a heavy two-handed greatsword. The sword is also coming down on Duan Ling’s head with all the weight of a greatsword!

The sword throws up an arc of light, and Duan Ling recognises Amga’s blood-stained face behind the weapon. However, he has no way to retreat, so all he can do is turn his shoulder to the blade to take Amga’s strike!

But as the force behind that blow is about to shatter his shoulder, a black silhouette flits by, steps hard on the saddle with one foot, and wraps an arm around Duan Ling. His left fist punches the sword, causing a dull metallic thud that rings painfully through Duan Ling’s eardrums.

The man wraps his arms around Duan Ling and leaps away from Benxiao, while Benxiao charges into the enemy’s ranks and draws a thousand of their pursuers away with it.

The momentum takes Duan Ling into the snow, but as he’s about to roll off, a strong hand grabs him, locking their fingers together and dragging him out of the snowfield. Duan Ling’s ring finger slips and feels emptiness where the man’s pinky finger ought to be.

“Kill them!” Amga howls.

“Lang Junxia?!” Duan Ling says, his voice trembling.

Lang Junxia is dressed in a faded warrior’s robe, tattered and worn in places.

“How long have you been following me? What are you doing here?!”

“Shh, don’t ask,” Lang Junxia says, his eyes smiling as he put two fingers of his right hand between his lips to whistle. Benxiao gallops back to them.

“Get on the horse!” Lang Junxia shouts, pushing Duan Ling once again onto his horse. He then gets on the saddle behind him.

“Be ready to shoot!” Lang Junxia asks, “Are you cold?”

Duan Ling is dressed in armour, and his eyebrows and hair are covered in snow. Benxiao comes to an abrupt stop as it faces a thousand soldiers led by Amga.

“I’m not … not cold. I’m very warm.”

“Even your voice is shivering. Where’s your bow?”

Duan Ling takes the bow from its sling and wraps his fingers around the grip. Amga toses his greatsword into the snow and draws the sabre at his side. The Mongolian soldiers step back. They get ready to charge.

“You’re dead, crown prince,” Amga says. “No one can protect you anymore.”

“He still has me,” Lang Junxia murmurs.

Lang Junxia rides with Duan Ling behind him, his clear eyes reflecting the one thousand Mongolian soldiers before him as well as those archers who’d just appeared on the cliff above. They have their bows nocked and drawn, aiming towards the centre.

Duan Ling aims his arrow at a point in the distance, so nervous he doesn’t dare breathe.

“Did you see the letter?” Lang Junxia says.

“What?” Duan Ling asks with a frown.

Lang Junxia is quiet for a beat before continuing, “It’s in the Qingfengjian’s scabbard. This isn’t a very good sword, but I’ll try to block them for a while. It’s your turn to cover me this time, Duan Ling. Keep your eyes on the cliff across the way. I leave it in your hands.”

Duan Ling’s heart seems to stop. He fires off the first arrow. Then Lang Junxia is shouting, “Gup!”

With two people on its back, Benxiao gallops towards the canyon’s exit. At the same time, a thousand Mongolian soldiers launch their attack, and charge at them under Amga’s lead!

As quickly as possible, Duan Ling fires off one arrow after another into the enemy ranks.

In the very instant the two sides meet, Lang Junxia crash sidelong into Amga, his long sword flicking up to meet his sabre!

Naturally there’ll be people there to protect you all through your life. There’s no need for you to stand before me …

If I failed to protect you, then I’d have failed in my duty. If that day ever comes, even if I’m not dead someone will come finish me off. But that’s no matter. Once I die, there’ll naturally be plenty of others who’d line up to stand in front of you to block blades and swallow swords for your sake …

The voice is coming from a long way away, but it also seems like it’s right by his ear.

In the split-second they brush past each other, Lang Junxia and Amga exchange blows.

Amga thrusts his sabre into Lang Junxia’s chest. Lang Junxia quickly grabs the blade with his right hand, then clapping his palms together, he turns the blade and locks it into place between his ribs so that it can’t penetrate his shoulder to harm the Duan Ling seated behind him.

Then with a beautiful flick of his wrist, he pierces Amga’s throat soundlessly with his sword.

And just like that, Benxiao rushes past the enemy formation, kicking up powder as it leaves their pursuers far, far behind them in the snow.

Duan Ling turns back to look. He shouts, “We’re through!”

“Very … good.”

“You’re hurt! Lang Junxia!” Duan Ling touches the back in front of him and draws back a hand covered in blood. The tiniest bit of metal blade is protruding from Lang Junxia’s back.

Benxiao gallops farther and farther; it gallops into a forest, then out of it, leaping off a cliff, landing then charging down a snow-covered hill, kicking up frantic waves of snow in its wake, only stopping once it’s carried the two of them into a ravine.

On a snowy clearing in the deep ravine, Lang Junxia collapses sideways into the snow.

Duan Ling dismounts, and a stumble takes him back a step. Lang Junxia struggles to his feet in the snow, but no matter how hard he tries he can’t seem to stand up straight.

When Duan Ling notices the sabre buried in Lang Junxia’s chest, he lets out a despairing scream — but Lang Junxia firmly pushes him away.

“Don’t … look.” Blood seeps out of Lang Junxia’s mouth. With a stumble, he forces himself to stand up straight. He pulls the sabre out of his own chest and coughs up a mouthful of blood. He falls backwards.

Duan Ling runs towards him, and as Lang Junxia topples over, he falls into Duan Ling’s arms.

A gale begins to blow, and snow curls through the wind, obscuring everything for miles around.

In the midst of a blizzard, Duan Ling kneels on a boundless snowfield. Snowflakes flutter through the air. Lang Junxia lies in Duan Ling’s arms. He reaches up, shivering, struggling to run his fingers over Duan Ling’s cheek.

“Lang Junxia …” Duan Ling says, choking back tears, “Why did you have to come back.”

The corner of Lang Junxia’s mouth curls up almost imperceptibly.

It’s almost like they’ve gone back to that gentle evening many years ago in Shangjing; just like this, he’d lain in the snow, and a little Duan Ling had wrapped his arms around him, using all of his strength to drag him back into the house.

"Because … I …

"Wanted to … see if … you’d grow up … to become … a … very good …

"Little …

“… Emperor.”

This translation is by foxghost, on tumblr and kofi. I do not monetise my hobby translations, but if you’d like to support my work generally or support my light novel habit, you can either buy me a coffee or commission me. This is also to note that if you see this message anywhere else than on tumblr, it was reposted without permission. Do come to my tumblr. It’s ad-free. ↩︎

#相見歡 #fei tian ye xiang #joyful reunion #xiang jian huan #fox translates things

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dorothygale123 · 6 months

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I was gonna do a pretty funny story today, but I decided it needed background information first so we're doing that today. Funny dum-dums tomorrow.

ONWARD!

For those familiar with JttW, you may have heard of the Dragon Kings of the 4 Seas, Ao Guang of the East, Ao Run of the West, Ao Qin of the South, and Ao Shun of the North. Or rather, you're probably familiar with Ao Guang because he's the only one that ever does anything significant to the plot and are vaguely aware the other 3 exist. Ao Run (otherwise known as Ao Jun or Ao Ji) also has a semi-decent chance of getting recognized because his sons are Ao Lie, the dragon horse that Tripitaka rides that's so committed to his role play as a noble steed he only ever does anything cool once, and Ao Moang, the dragon prince who helps the gang out one time when his asshole cousin beats up a river god and kidnaps Tripitaka for the third time that week. Other than that, they're kinda just... there.

Anyways, if you know about them and read my post yesterday about the dragon princess, you may be wondering which of the 4 dragon kings is her father and the answer is.... none of them! You see, there's another, more biggerer dragon king that's the boss of all of them! I can't really find a name for him other than Long Wang (lit. Dragon King) but he seems to be in charge of the other 4 and was the one that put them in charge of their respective seas to begin with. I like to interpret this as him being their father and the biggest baddest dragon king, which would make the dragon princess from yesterday their sister and Chiantang their uncle. I think that works out pretty well, don't you?

Other than that there's Ao Bing, Ao Gguang's third son, whose claim to fame is getting killed by Nezha that one time because his dad couldn't leave well enough alone, and Ao Lie and Moang's sister Xihai Longnu who's apprenticed to Kuan Yin, and their brother Ao Cinxin, who I couldn't find anything interesting to say about.

And that's the whole Dragon Clan! (Mostly) Do with them what you will!

Sh*tpost Masterlist

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burdenedreverence · 4 months

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His hand comes against the side of Thunderer, the horse that has served him for five years faithfully. The midnight black coat of the animal feels smooth against his hand.

Hayden has only an apple between the two of them.

"Shh." He'd hush softly, coaxing the powerful animal to calm. His hand reaches into his satchel, lifting up the fruit to it's lips. It bites down, eating quickly the last bit of food between the two of them. Hayden's hand pets it's snout softly, forgetting for a moment the troubles that plague him.

The world has not been kind to him, nor has he been kind to it truthfully. But he does not have cruelty in him to not feed his partner. The beast has saved his life more than once, and together they have rode at the head of many charges. Hayden can never repay that.

The sun is setting. An orange haze illuminates the fields of Demacia. His home, to which he is now leaving. Will he ever return? He does not know. All he knows is he must leave.

Distant mountains call to Hayden, the wayward soldier. And he must answer those calls. No matter where they take him.

But for not he must make camp, or find shelter. A distant, but near, smoke rises from the trees. Not the type of a wild fire, he knew those well, but a controlled one. Small, perhaps a campfire. It could be shelter for the night, provided the owner proved amicable.

He mounts Thunderer, throwing his weight onto with the ease of a cavalryman. At a slow trot he makes his way towards the fire, the crunching of leaves and twigs under the mighty steed alerting any of his presence. When he bursts through the thicket of trees, whoever sees him would gain a good look at him.

A powerful frame indicating that of a fighter, a saddle of Demacian make. A spear which is secured to the side of the horse for storage, and a curved heavy saber which dangled at his hip. Saddlebags that looked empty, once full with supplies, hang limply.

He cannot see the figure, who is cloaked. He speaks.

"I offer my apologies for the intrusion, stranger. I am a traveler, seeking succor. Upon my sacred word, and honor, I will do you no harm."

His accent is Demacian but notably not noble. Certainly has the lilt of that someone who was immersed in the strange customs and curtseys of that land.

It is evident: He was apart of the Dauntless.

@ferinehuntress

#v. a burnished heart . runeterra #ferinehuntress

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fiction-box · 1 year

Text

Leonie X Lorenz Pinch Hit

Happy February! I have been away from my computer these past few days, though when nearby, I've been working on this piece. Happy belated @nagamas to Kenzotenmas on Twitter! More pieces to come!

The story will be continued beneath the cut.

“Worry not! I will have any threat we run into removed in moments-”

“Or your name isn’t Lorenz Hellman Gloucester. Yeah, I’m well aware.”

The noble in question raised a brow, “Perhaps. Though some members of our number seem to need a constant reminder of the fact.”

This would be the first (and the last, as his partner had assured him) time that Lorenz and Leonie had been assigned the duty of border patrol since they had first reclaimed it from those bandit-pests. Nothing eventful had happened so far, though as the gentleman and the noble, Lorenz naturally insisted upon leading their path.

“I think I get more than enough of them, thanks,” the commoner woman quipped.

Lorenz nodded back at her, “In that case, why not put your lance away and relax a bit? I’ll happily handle any issues on the patrol-.”

“Or your name isn’t Lorenz Hellman Gloucester.”

“That was not what I was planning to say.”

Leonie rolled her eyes, “It may as well have been. Come on, if this is because I’m a girl, or because I’m some commoner you can’t risk being outdone by, I suggest you drop the act now. I’ll have you know I’m able to defend everyone else just as well as some stuffy noble. Honestly, you haven’t changed a bit since I last saw you.”

“E-Excuse me?”

He slowed his horse, allowing her to proceed next to him as he attempted to argue his point.

“I am only being considerate of you. You work hard enough as it is; there’s no reason for you to further exert yourself if it can be avoided.”

“So I can’t do the work, is that it? You’re fine on your own, and I can just head back to camp?”

Lorenz searched for the right words to say, “If that is what you want, I see no reason to stop you.”

“And what if I asked you to head back to camp?” she challenged.

He laughed, “How preposterous! I would never leave you to defend us on your own out in the woods.”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. Wordlessly, Leonie’s face morphed into a scowl. She steered her horse in front of his own and cantered up ahead, continuing until he couldn’t see her anymore.

Shaking his head, Lorenz debated going after her. A true noble wouldn’t let her go off on her own to get hurt, but perhaps this could be a lesson for her. It wouldn’t get through her head, otherwise.

Although…he had found himself rather…unconventionally fond of her during their academy days. That attraction had only blossomed further at how she had matured over the years he had not seen her.

What was he thinking? Leonie had proven herself far more than capable of taking care of herself, and Lorenz was well aware of that. She tended to be far more independent than the women he would meet in the court; he should have known suggesting otherwise would be seen as an insult.

“Leonie!”

Lorenz charged his horse forward, attempting to catch up with the woman. He needed to apologize before their relationship became any worse than it already was. The last thing he wanted would be for her to think he did not value her.

It was just difficult with her. Everything came out wrong any time he opened his mouth to speak, it seemed.

The more he charged on without luck, the more confused he became. There was no way she could have gotten that far in the short time he had hung back to think.

Glancing around the forest, he caught sight of a shift in movement. The swish of the tail of Leonie’s horse.

Relieved, he changed directions, heading toward that small clearing. Slowing down as he approached the animal, his entire complexion paled.

Leonie was not there.

He held his lance up in a defensive position as he anticipated an attack, looking from left to right.

“Leon-”

A shrill whistle interrupted his call, and his partner’s steed perked up. It galloped off further into the forest, Lorenz close behind as he gripped his lance tighter.

Reaching another clearing, the violet-haired noble identified the armor of three knights from the Empire. Granted, two of them were dead on the grass, but the third…

Leonie had the third pinned against a tree with the blade of her own lance.

“How many more of you are there?” she pressed.

“J-just us three! We were told nobody would be out here!”

The woman lowered her brows, “Tch! Then you were told wrong.”

With that, Leonie swung her lance around so that the wooden end knocked against the soldier’s head. He collapsed immediately, thudding onto the ground and dropping his sword.

Lorenz could only look on from the back of his horse.

“Some help you were. And after all that talk, too,” she scoffed at him.

“Three soldiers found you in the time you rushed ahead? And you didn’t think to call me?”

“I found them, and I wasn’t about to lose them to go cry for some help that I didn’t need!”

The dark mage sighed, relieved and frustrated at the same time. Was there truly no way to show that he cared for her well-being without her taking it as an insult?

“Think for a moment, Leonie! What would you have done were there more soldiers waiting out of sight? If there were ten soldiers instead of three, or archers in the bushes?”

“That’s why we go on patrol, genius! So that more than three never get this far!” she quipped. “Now if your noble hands aren’t tied, I could use some help getting this one back to camp.”

Together, they used their horses’ lead to tie up the surviving knight. He was then tied to Lorenz’s mare as the two prepared to return to Garreg Mach.

Leonie mounted her steed, “Honestly, my horse is a better patrol partner than you.”

“That is not fair in the slightest! Had you not…run off like that, I would have been right at your side for that skirmish!”

“Pssh, please! You know I’m just teasing.” She turned back to him, raising a brow, “Besides, I would hardly call that a skirmish.”

Lorenz frowned, “Be that as it may, I had originally meant to find you so I could apologize. I meant only to keep you out of harm’s way earlier; it was not my intention to insult you.”

Leonie turned her chin up, but the noble didn’t look away, “I offer you my sincerest apologies.”

As he watched Leonie throughout his attempt to make amends, Lorenz noticed a faint blush spreading across his partner’s face.

“‘Out of harm’s way?’ We’re out here looking for trouble, not wildflowers.”

It was his turn to feel embarrassed, “I am well aware…*ahem* that is to say…”

“Look, apology accepted. All I want in return is for you to acknowledge that I can take care of myself. If you can handle something on your own, so can I.”

“Understood,” the violet-haired knight nodded. Truly, he did understand. But some part of him that he could neither identify nor stifle knew that he’d be just as worried if he found Leonie in the same situation again.

Perhaps this matter was better left dropped than pressured. He could better communicate his thoughts to her once they were back at the monastery. At least, if he could muster the courage (and if she would actually hear him out).

#nagamas #nagamas 2022 #lorenz gloucester #lorenz x leonie #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem #fe3h #fiction

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adickaboutspoons · 1 year

Note

I will gladly put you in charge of all staffing decisions at the castle on the condition that there will be a hot stable boy (adult). he brings out my noble steed Bob Muffin for my morning rides and wears overalls a lot. also I think the librarian and the gruffy groundskeeper should have a weird thing going on but that's totally up to you

I must insist that all employees of Castle Mew are of proper majority to even be considered for service, m'lord, so have no fears with regard to the age of your stable boys (and girls and otherwise). Sir Wodehouse informs me that the gruff groundskeeper ought to be Scottish if at all possible, but I should not presume to interfere in the relationships of the staff, nor, indeed, your lordship's guests, unless specifically requested, at which point, I shall endevor to consider the psychology of the individual. Perhaps I can attempt to ascertain the librarian's opinion with regards to the Outlander series of novels before securing their position?

#I have the honor to remain your obedient servant A.D.A.S

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aardvark-123 · 9 months

Text

~How Minh Reclaimed the Sword of Fire from the Castle of Burning Steel~

Many years in the future, in the sundered realm of Massachusetts, the people of a small steading near the eastern coast had come into danger. To their aid came Lady Minh the Dauntless of the Order of the Minute, riding hard upon her fiery yellow steed.

"Every girl's dream! Every girl's dream! Oh, &$@% off," spat Minh, kicking the refurbished Giddyup Buttercup in the shin. "Stupid tiny metal and plastic horse, everything aches down there."

In spite of the... disagreement with her noble steed, Sir Minh came anon to Finch Farm, where the local headman, Abraham of Finch, beseeched her for aid.

"Ours was a happy, peaceful hamlet once. We had little compared to the city people in the south, but we had enough." Abraham wiped a tear from his eye. "But alas, black smoke now rises from yonder Saugus Ironworks. Cruel men have established themselves in there, dwarves and orcs calling themselves the Forged..."

"Dude," said Minh, "what the %£&@ are you talking about? What's an orc, and do you not know women can be raiders?!"

"But alas!" Abraham cut in. "My fearless, foolhardy son Jake, he always seemed to tire of our peaceful ways. He went to them, good knight! He took our clan's ancestral sword, the Infernal Blade of Shish'kebab, and I fear he plans to face those brutes himself... Or what if-?!" Abraham's voice dropped to a terrified whisper. "By the Sun Goddess, if he means to join them?!"

"Well, that wouldn't be great." With a sigh, Minh checked her map. "Saugus Ironworks... I guess can pay them a visit."

With courage in her heart and the light of Lady Evetora shining down upon her, Minh rode to-

"No I DIDN'T, dumbass! I walked! Well, ran. I'm a video game character, we run everywhere."

Oh, Minh, can you at least try to work with me? *sigh* With courage in her heart and the light of Lady Evetora shining down upon her, Minh trekked at a gentle jog to the ancient Ironworks. Lord Saugus, father of the dwarves, had once blessed the castle with his shining hammer, but Minh felt a trickle of fear when its smoking spires rose above her.

An imposing figure in broad, spiked metal armour met her at the gate. "Halt, stranger!" he bellowed in the guttural tones of a Bostonian orc, banging his halberd against the flagstones. "None may enter the seat of the Forged who have not yet been tempered."

"Oh, I'm not here to enter anyone's seat, I'm here for the Dungeons and Dragons game at six. Minh Vu? You might know me as Debbie, um, Xiao Long... The half-elven paladin?" Minh said sweetly.

"Those who steal cool-sounding surnames from cartoons are not worthy!" bellowed the guard. "Your weak flesh will become food for the Forge. Prepare to die!"

The guard surged forwards, but with a swipe and a flick of her nailed baseball bat, Minh had him drawing his last breath upon the ground. Her troubles were only beginning, though, for the warriors of the Forged were charging out to the gate. Tall, well-built orcs and short, well-built dwarves, shouting battle cries and raising a din with their twisted metal armour.

Minh stood her ground. With her longbow, enchanted by the elves of Sanctuary Hills, she opened fire on the enemy ranks, wounding many. Yet the Forged were no mere rabble, and they pressed upon her with bombs and gouts of flame, conjured by some foul, arcane engineering.

Poor Minh so nearly was roasted in her jumpsuit, but she was not to be defeated by overwhelming power alone. Fleeing into the shadows, Minh called upon the mystic aim-taking magic of the Vault Priests, and one by one she picked off her pursuers with burning red arrows. Exhausted, she fell upon the cold, muddy grass and into fitful dreams.

When she awoke from her impromptu nap, Minh found herself in unfamiliar surroundings. It was hot, although the jagged stone bricks and the faint morning sun through the stained glass windows suggested it should not be.

"Ah, the good lady of Sanctuary Hills awakens."

Minh sat up with a gasp, reaching for her bat. "Who are you?!"

"Fear not, Sir Minh. I am a servant, but I can assure you that I am no ally to Lord Slag and his Forged."

Minh's eyes were wide with amazement. Before her stood a heavy-set metal creature, an orange crystal glowing upon their head. "A Protectron? Juuuuust great. Where the Hell am I, exactly?"

"You are in the Saugus Ironworks," the good-natured atronach replied. "I carried you here, to a room where few warriors tread, that my masters would not discover you outside when dawn broke."

"The %&£$'s an atronach? I mean, thanks for..." Minh cleared her throat. "Did you dip my hat in white paint?"

"Your helmet is being washed, good sir knight. But we have more pressing matters," said the atronach. "Lord Slag is about to execute young Jake of Clan Finch, on the flimsy reasoning that the Infernal Blade of Shish'kebab was too easy a tribute to give."

"Tribute... Ugh, so he DID want to join up!" Minh groaned. "Why do people have to become Raiders? I mean, I guess it's fun, what kind of LIFE are they gonna have?!" She paused. "A short one. Thanks in part to me. I'd better go and talk him out of it."

Thanking the noble atronach for his aid, Sir Minh alighted from the bowels of the fortress. With cat-like tread, she snuck through the keep, feeling all the while as though the air was growing hotter around her...

Lord Slag had been waiting in the heart of the castle, on a gilded balcony above a lake of molten steel. His armour was like nothing Minh had yet seen, thick pieces of metal tied and riveted together into a tower, a scrapheap of fury and might. And kneeling at his side, trembling in a battered old rain coat, was Jake of House Finch.

"Ahh! At last, the great hero approaches!" Slag crowed in a voice like thunder. Not an orc but a man was he, and a formidable one at that. "Sir Minh of the Minute, what a fine name for a fine warrior. It seems my Forged had not the means to keep you away..."

"Cool," Minh lied. "I'm here for Jake and that sword. Do you wanna do this the hard way, or-"

"I am not an unkind man," Slag lied, "so hear my offer. By slaying my warriors, you have proven yourself a worthier man-"

"Woman!"

"Shut up. You have proven yourself a worthier man than all who fell before you. Worthy, perhaps, to be Forged! I offer you a test, Minh, one final show of loyalty." Grinning savagely, Slag picked Jake up by the collar and threw him to the floor below. "Kill this useless mongrel. Take his head and become my right-hand man!"

Minh smacked her forehead. "Do you even know what 'woman' means?!"

"Of course I- Er...?" Slag squinted down at her. "Oh! M-my apologies, good lady. I, er, that is to say, your hair is so short..."

Minh chucked a grenade at him.

Sound and heat filled the chamber, yet when the smoke from Minh's flame spell faded, Slag still stood. He strode, laughing, towards her, stepping on Jake in the process. Narrowing her eyes, Minh unsheathed her baseball bat and advanced on the dread lord of Saugus Ironworks.

"You had your chance, Minh," Slag laughed. He unsheathed a bright metal sword that caught fire when its blade met the air. "Now you will learn the truth of the Forge, that the strong are tempered by fire and pain, while the fate of the weak is but to melt!"

The Infernal Blade of Shish'kebab...! Minh fought to keep surprise off her chiselled face. "The Order of the Minute taught me this, Slag. The strong are not only the iron bars who become shields and axes! Sometimes the strong are the kind hands who weave cotton into a bed, coax good crops from the earth, and give comfort to the sick. But today, the strong is I, who shall deliver your evil unto its end!"

The thought ocurred to Minh, What the Hell am I saying?! No, seriously, what WAS that?!, but the time for words was past. Burning steel met wood and nails as she gave battle with Slag, beating away his savage strikes and scoring scratches into his armour. But Slag was strong, and rallying well he forced her back towards the wall.

Drinking a vial of Psycho Jet, the elixir she had been given by a witch from the Cambridge Institute of Thaumaturgy, Minh leapt over Slag's head onto the upper balcony. The mahogany shuddered beneath her boots, but it held, and she raised a hand alight with magic.

"Eat bottlecap mine, screwball!" roared Minh, and she threw her, um, arcane rune at Slag's feet. Mystic energy and the tops of around ten Nuka Cola bottles filled the chamber as Slag's armour was reduced to dust.

"Gaaahhhh!" Slag cried out in pain. "Such power...! You should have been mine, Minh. You should have been Forged! But I am lord of Saugus Ironworks, and only I will see the next dawn. Behold the true power of Lord Slag! Behold dragon fire!"

While Slag had been making his grand speech, Minh had been scampering down the walkways until she saw him directly overhead. She pulled from her bag a mystical staff of Lexingtonian make, the powerful Double-Barrelled Shotgun, and took aim at Slag's feet.

"&%£$ yeah! How d'you like them holes in your feet, asshole?!" Minh rejoiced. She could take no pleasure in vanquishing this great foe, for near him lay young Jake of Clan Finch, coughing his last few breaths with a footprint pressed deep into his chest.

"Jake..." Minh sighed. "Tough break, kid. I can't believe he trod on you!"

"Nor can... I..." groaned Jake, dying.

It was a solemn moment when Minh bent down over the body of her slain foe, his heart silent, his feet bleeding through their socks. Slowly, carefully, she untied Slag's belt from around his stout waist and took the Infernal Blade of Shish'kebab's asbestos sheath.

She picked up the discarded sword and sheathed it, cradling it in her hands for a moment before she slung it from her own laden belt. As Minh headed out of the castle, her footsteps echoing in halls now cold and silent, she thought only of the poor Finches, down one son, and how Abraham was probably going to want the Infernal Blade back before she'd even got to try it.

"I-I get to keep the sword?! Thank you, Todd!" squealed Minh, kissing Abraham on the lips.

"I-I'm not Todd! I'm Abraham!" gasped Abraham, furiously wiping his mouth.

"And he's married!" cried Abigail. "To me!"

"Oh, I know! Don't worry, I could never compete with you," Minh lied. "Sorry about your son, guys. I was... too late for him."

"Dear Jake... The pain of his loss will remain with us forever," sighed Abigail. "But know this, Sir Minh. Thanks to you, a dark cloud has lifted over the land today, and perhaps... Perhaps now someone else's son will keep his precious life. You and and your order have our gratitude."

"Will you stay for the night?" asked Abraham. "We have mead and Fancy Lads Snack Cakes, surely not the fare you are accustomed to, but..."

"I do believe I will." Minh smiled. "Thanks, Abraham, Abigail, and the other one. Give me a minute, I need to get my stupid horse watered..."

#Fallout #Fallout 4 #my writing #fun with pixels #gaming

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