#handler verse

[raptorladylover6969]

Love how in just a matter of almost a year I went from just wanting to give The Handler a silly gf to now it’s a fully fledged alternate universe that stretches way past Jurassic World Rebirth complete with it’s own plot and also has other ppls OC’s in it teehee

[catwyk]

the silt verses chapter 12 // the silt verses 43

[just-horrible-things]

‘Verse: Resistance AU: Healer and Handler, co-author @whump-sprite

Who [ First | Prev ]

The overnight footage from Alex’s cell – and the whole block – has been deleted.

“System update fucked up the datetime on the cameras,” Peterson claims. “The rolling store got cleared early. Nothing I can do.”

It's absolute bullshit of course. Nowhere else in the facility was affected. But Peterson isn’t budging, and if the footage is somehow hidden rather than deleted outright, Ari doesn’t have the tech know how to find it.

She files an incident report for misuse of electronic resources. But unless Peterson's pulled this shit before she knows he won't get more than a slap on the wrist. Even if they don't swallow his “system update” story, he’ll say it was just a fuck-up and they’ll believe that.

She only has three suspects. She can't imagine any of those creeps putting a stooge up to it – there’s no way they’d miss out on the personal satisfaction.

So Ari spends about an hour – in between monitoring the live feeds and answering calls – trawling the recording from the closest untouched cameras, taking note of who enters and leaves the dead zone and when. Going by the blood on the floor this morning, the incident probably happened earlier in the night rather than later, but that’s not a lot to narrow it down by.

Unfortunately it turns out Frazier and Henson were both working last night. It shouldn’t be surprising, they probably talked each other into this petty little show of spite. Ari’s reminded of the time Riven spent a month stealing the ink out of one of the printers just to get under that one analyst’s skin.

She files another report, this one against Frazier. He's not supposed to have access to the healers anymore. But this isn't the first time she’s reported the same damn thing. They'll revoke his clearance, again, and in a few weeks he'll find another excuse to get someone to reinstate it. Probably Peterson again, the little rat bastard.

Probably not Peterson, she doesn't actually think he has that authority. It's just easy to be angry at his stupid smarmy face right now.

Frazier or Henson. 50-50 odds, but if she confronts the wrong one, she’ll look like an idiot. Better to be sure.

She might be able to get the answer out of Riven, he does like to run his mouth. But not today, because Frazier and Henson will still be asleep at home and they probably won’t have filled Riven in on their little ”prank” yet.

Back to Plan A, then.

She takes the time to pick up a plate of cafeteria food for Alex's afternoon meal. It'll be lukewarm by the time she gets it down to the cells, but it’s still better than his usual fare.

She hears the healer jump at the sound of the door. Sounds like he knocked a knee or elbow against the wall or floor. Hopefully not his head. He’s scrambling to get on his knees as she lets herself in.

He’d gotten less scared about that. Ariadne’s never punished him for being slow to get up, or even for skipping the formalities. But it’s no surprise he’s more hasty again with fresh stripes as a painful reminder of proper discipline.

Even though it wasn’t discipline.

“Easy,” she greets him, “it’s just your dinner.” She’s pleased to see his eyes widen with anticipation as he sees what she has for him. He’s not so miserable that he can’t be happy about a decent meal.

He reaches for his hot water first, like always. If she can convince them to change one thing about standard protocol it should be that – or turning the thermostat for the cells up. More heat getting into the healers, one way or another.

She forgot to pick up his sweater from the corner of his cell this morning. She was going to get rid of it, but Alex has struggled back into it despite the dried blood and the rents in the back and despite how much it must have pulled his back getting it on. Ariadne ought to take it off him – it’s going to start stinking soon – but she can’t quite bring herself to. Not while he’s eating.

It was only a couple of months ago she had to hold every bite to his mouth. He’d twitch at everything she said, and he could barely get a flicker of magic out without flinching and choking on fear. He’s doing so well for her. All it took was a bit of a gentler touch.

“I need to know which of them came in here and whipped you.” Terror is immediately stark in his eyes. “I won’t tell them you told me. I’ll tell them I got it out of security, okay? But I need to know. So that I can keep it from happening again.”

He doesn’t trust her. She sees it in his eyes. He doesn’t believe she has any interest in stopping them. Frustration itches, but she pushes it down. It’s a lot more to ask of him than trusting her to let him shower without raping him. He’s still doing well.

“This isn’t negotiable,” she prompts. It only takes the faintest hint of steel to make him flinch. “I’m s-s-sorry –” “I know. I’m not mad – not at you. But I need to know.”

He shrinks in on himself. Patience, Ari cautions herself. Her steady attention and expectation is enough. He’s just scared.

“N-Neil,” he whispers eventually. “I-I mean, F-Frazier, sir.” “Okay,” Ariadne agrees levelly, “Good. Well done.”

She makes herself take a deep breath and turn away from Alex so that he knows it’s not directed at him before she lets herself exhale anger.

“Jealous fucking creep. What a petty, insecure dipshit of a guy.” Alex looks shocked. But there’s something else too, something that could be appreciation or even humour just about edging out the fear. “I’d kick his teeth in if I had the chance,” Ariadne confides with a hint of a hard, conspiratorial smirk. Alex almost, almost smiles back. “I’d…” he starts, but he doesn’t finish the thought.

Ari grins at him anyway, just for a second before she turns serious again. “I will not be telling him that you told me,” she promises, “so don’t you go fessing up, okay? They don’t record audio from these cells, so it’s between you and me.”

The healer looks nervous, but he nods his head. “Okay, sir.”

She’s about to leave him when she remembers about the sweater. It's probably unsalvageable, but…

She crouches beside him and takes the hem to get a better look. As she thought, the blood’s the least of the damage. The fabric is practically shredded, not worth mending even if she was inclined to, which she isn't. Darning a healer's clothes would be ridiculous.

“I’m – sorry sir.” Alex’s voice is suddenly choked, giving away the tears in his eyes. “I – I didn’t have time t-to take it off…” “Hey. It’s okay.” “I would’ve – I d-didn’t want to ruin it but he didn’t –” “It’s not your fault. Hey, listen to me. I’ll get you a new one. It’s no big deal.” His throat bobs as he tries to swallow his tears. “Thank you, sir,” he manages. “I’ll get you a new one,” Ari repeats. “It’s okay.”

She can’t even pat his shoulder. Fucking dipshit Neil. She pats the healer's head instead. His curls are starting to grow in again. He sniffs, and wipes his nose on the back of his hand.

When she leaves, Ari’s careful to close the door softly. She changes the code on the lock again. Frazier’s clearly getting his buddies in security to sort it for him, but it’ll slow him down. It’s an obstacle in his way. And if he’s going to be fucking petty, two can play at that game.

Finding Frazier's shift pattern is a little more work than finding Henson’s. He's on nights all week, so Ariadne could catch him tonight by staying late. She doesn't much feel like rising to the bait though, not when she has nothing to use against him and it'd only be giving him the opportunity to gloat.

Before she goes home, she spends another while crawling the security feeds, trying to figure out the options that she doesn't usually have any reason to use.

If she knew how to have the cell footage make a second copy of itself or something, somewhere those assholes couldn't wipe it… but it would probably be an infosec breach if she did.

She'll find something. Frazier clearly doesn't realize what thin ice he's on after the last round of allegations. He doesn't get to mess with Ari's healer.

[kivaember]

head in hands sigh im writing a sulla/walter fic and yes. it is canon to apv...... the ex....

i do find it hilarious tho how like. walter's backstory is like. "he grew up in a lab. he tried to kill his father at age 12. he fled to ganymede after the fires and grew up to become an ac pilot in furlong dynamics. met michigan and fell in love with him. predictably sabotaged himself and left ganymede (and michigan) to stick to some self-given mission to destroy the coral. runs into sulla. makes bad decisions (of the sexy kind). loses his arm and leg. gets betrayed by sulla. makes the hounds. then finally gets 621. loses all of his hounds except 621. goes to rubicon and gets kidnapped by snail to be re-educated :|"

sorry walter, you just can't catch a break. you were born cursed.

[beatricebidelaire]

[anonymousonesposts]

(Making a fic, this is definitely gonna be boring, but it's about Corvin's life and how it came to be like this)

Life in the eyes of Corvin

1st person/Corvin's pov:

How did I get here? I'm not sure, I don't remember much of my life, all I know is that neither of my parents wanted me, the only people who loved me are dead and I'm questioning whether or not my boss hates me or likes me. I wasn't raised like any other normal kid, I was raised raining the second I understood my surroundings, I don't have any friends, I was never approached by anyone at school, they look at me weird, I don't know why they do that, some students call me names, I don't think they know my real name, but that's fine. Looking back I didn't actually live life, I was surviving it, one wrong move and my father would go off, he always was about presentations and status, my mother never did much, I think she loved me at least, but father says she left because of me, I was sent away, no one knew I was his kid or my mother's, just that I was their weird 'niece', I like my new mom, she doesn't talk much, but she cares, my twin doesn't tell me whenever something's wrong, until I found her note about going into the forest, wanting to get away, I found her, or, at least what remained of her...

My job requires a lot of exercise, my boss is a pain, it's okay though, she lets me keep my raptors and she pays me. She sometimes takes me somewhere to do stuff, I never question it, her mom looks at me weird as if I did something to hurt her. I think she hates me. I was training one night when my boss called me, she wanted me to take DNA samples of dinosaurs from Isla Sorna. I ended up with some marks.

To be continued...?

[sigurism]

Everyone, at some point in their lives, wakes up in the middle of the night with the feeling that they are all alone in the world, and that nobody loves them now and that nobody will ever love them, and that they will never have a decent night's sleep again and will spend their lives wandering blearily around a loveless landscape, hoping desperately that their circumstances will improve, but suspecting, in their heart of hearts, that they will remain unloved forever. The best thing to do in these circumstances is to wake somebody else up, so that they can feel this way, too.

— Lemony Snicket Horseradish

[shimmerbeasts]

Initially waking up in Avernus had been as expected. The memories of his human life, his death, had stuck him and his entire lemure body was racked in pain. He had known of what would become of him, but he hadn't expected this level of pain. Yet, unlike many others who had been cursed to this fate, he had left an unforgettable impression on his patron. As such he wasn't left alone long before Mizora found him. The transformation into whatever he was becoming was equally as painful as being a lemure. He could feel limbs growing, and bones crunching into place. Words were being said as it was happening, but he simply couldn't hear over the exquisite pain. Eventually he blacked out, unaware of his new form. When he awoke again, he found himself over stimulated by the sound surrounding him, from the imps and cambions moving about to the screaming of something else for mercy, maybe lemure by sounds of it. The next thing to happen was his eyes fluttering open and almost immediately he could see that he was something entirely different now. Wyll could feel a set of legs, where he hadn't had them before and his head was heavy as if he once more had a set of horns. He was just starting to move when he heard a younger cambion girl greet him, followed by the aroma of something delicious in front of him; a bowl of flesh, with various spices added in. His mouth watered at its smell and instantly made his way to the bowl, devouring it as if he were starving, ravaging it. What followed was a satisfying hum, his devilish tail swinging happily as he finished his meal. The mention of Mizora caused his ears to straighten up, his tailing continuously swaying back and forth at the prospect of seeing her. 'Mizora? Did she change me? I don't remember having limbs before. Where is she?' No words cames out of his mouth, but they went directly into the cambions mind, though he was amazed he could do so. 'What am I?'

The Cambion girl smiled satisfied at Wyll emptying the entire bowl in seconds. Reaching down to pick up the bowl, she said: "Lady Mizora will be happy to know you are eating. Do you want another plate? She gave specific instructions that you are to eat and drink as much as you like."

Hearing the dog's telepathic thoughts, the girl grinned at how quickly he seemed to be able to pick up on his abilities, if only in part. The lady of the house surely knew how to pick who deserved to be more than just game for her. Having finished the fish platter, the Cambion girl picked it up to carry it to the room, where the hellcats tended to longue. They were rather spoiled and preferred more eloquent meals than just spiced lemure flesh.

The Cambion said: "Yes, Lady Mizora did change you, Wyll. You must have left quite a favourable expression on her. Few newcomers to the menagerie are treated as well as you do. In fact, I don't think I have ever seen a lemure become a harakin so fast before. The lady of the house must really like you. She is likely in her private chambers. I can deliver you to her if you are not hungry anymore."

She cupped her chin as she eyed his horns crucially, biting her lips. The maid remarked: "We might wanna give your horns some polish though. After all, if you are to meet Lady Mizora in her private quarters, you might wanna make yourself look presentable."

@faerunscursed cont. from here.

[llimerrence]

Meet Eddie, he's....he's just a guy idk what u want from him

[cardsknight]

@the-commissions-deadliest (The Handler) said "... the loveliest lies of all ..." // Over the Garden Wall Starters // Accepting

The rest of the Anatomy class had finished their labs and Cards had stuck around to clean up, still in the process of sterilizing instruments as he sung quietly to himself (not that he would EVER sing around his classmates, too much stage fright for that despite having a decent voice).

"But where have we come … and where shall we end? If dreams can't come true … then why not … pretend? How the gentle wind … beckons through the leaves … as autumn … colors … fall … dancing in a swirl … of golden memories … the loveli--"

Not only did he stop singing abruptly when another voice joined in, but it had startled him to the point of nearly dropping the retractor in his gloved hands, causing him to fumble a bit to catch it as he snapped his head toward the stranger ... who looked eerily familiar. He was accustomed to that feeling of 'familiarity' -- that was the 'I remember you from a dream' level familiarity, even if he couldn't quite remember how.

Ever awkward, he spoke. "Sorry ... are you ... uhm, are you needing the lab?" Completely avoiding the whole ... singing ... thing. "I'm just -- I'm just finishing up. Don't mind me."

[akumanoken]

Souji: (on a private line) Emi are you sure there was no one else for the mission?? It's hard to do what I need when Leon is incapable of playing along....

Emilio: honestly he's the only one I can trust to keep you on task and keep you safe, so if he gets spiny deal with it. You're a menace during these missions and one of you has got to keep their head on straight.

[barrysbaby]

i can't go on like this. / will being emo as usual

PROMPTS FOR DEEP CONVERSATIONS

“Okay,” Moira says with a shrug of her shoulders. “So don’t. Go on a different way. Make a change. Back up. Take a left turn instead of right this time.”

It may sound like she’s joking, but she isn’t. Will can sit here and mope about how awful everything is, how unfair and difficult (and he would be correct on all accounts), or he can do something about it. Or, better yet, he can mope and do something about it.

“You’re not stuck,” she says. “And even if you were, screw it. Unstuck yourself. So what if you tear a few limbs in the process? At least you can regrow them.” Then, in a much softer tone, she adds, “you’re not alone. You have Sherry… and you have me.”

@gviral

[just-horrible-things]

‘Verse: Resistance AU: Healer and Handler, co-author @whump-sprite

Whipped, pt3 [ First | Prev | Next ]

Their list isn’t too bad. It looks like the night was pretty quiet. Ariadne has time to grab another coffee without the doctors getting on her case. She doesn’t need both hands free to manage Alex – not for the first few patients, anyway.

Aside from how drawn and shaky he is, you wouldn’t know he’d been whipped hard that night. Some of the newer healers get sullen after punishment. Some of them get extra-flinchy and polite. But Alex is always silent and obedient and today’s no different. 

Ariadne sees the signs of exhaustion, though. His wheeze is worse after just a couple of routine cases, and in between patients he’s rubbing hard at his wrists. When she puts a hand on his shoulder – lightly – to signal they’re moving on, she can feel his shaking. He knows better than to cough on the patients, but as soon as they’re away from the bedside he coughs hard into his mask.

Normally Ariadne tries to give him a break about halfway down the list, provided the nurses aren’t snapping at their heels. Today he’s doubling over hard enough to need Ariadne’s support before they’re even close to half way. “Alright. Water break.” The gratitude is in his eyes, but he doesn’t have the breath to thank her.

Ari seethes quietly to herself while she waits for Cole to get done with the coffee machine. This proves everything she’s been saying. She’s right about it being an energy. The magic is used up when the healers heal, and regenerated while they rest in their cells. If they’re warmer and better fed, it regenerates faster. If they can’t rest, they don’t make as much magic. 

Alex did better when she gave him more slack. Last night he got less sleep, less rest, and today he has less magic. The sheer obviousness of it is frustrating.

Cole finishes up and Ariadne steps up to the coffee machine. Alex shuffles forwards on his knees to stick close to her leg. The machine is slow to respond to button presses and she bites back the urge to hit the damn thing.

“Rough night?” Cole asks. For a second Ariadne takes it for a jab about Alex. She scrutinizes Cole for any hint of mockery, any clue that he was in on it. But honestly he just looks… fucking hungover. His expression is miserable indifference, just a guy trying to make some small talk over his coffee as he slurps it and winces repeatedly at the heat. His healer is waiting a few paces away, hands folded in her lap and eyes down. “Irritating morning,” Ariadne answers. “You?” “Yeah…” another wince, rueful. “Rough night. Rough night.”

Ari’s coffee is ready. She swaps the cup out, presses the button for hot water. Waits another thirty seconds for the machine to acknowledge the command.

“Healer acting out?” “No,” she sighs. “Personal shit.” “Right. Well. Good luck with that. Better get back to work, I guess.”

Alex downs his water like it’s soda, like he always. Ariadne wonders sometimes if he’s got asbestos for a throat or if he just doesn’t care about getting burned.

“Back to it then.” His shoulders slump a little further, but he gets up.

She knows him by now, knows the pattern of his magic. The way the glow fades faster, takes longer to get up to strength, starts to flicker and falter as he runs out. The way he gasps when he’s close to coughing, and needs a chance to step away from the patients to get it out. She knows when to expect blood under his mask, and when it’s likely to start seeping through.

She knows the look when he’s about to hit the deck, too. She steps in behind him, close enough to catch him if he starts to slump, and watches his magic flicker as his hands shake. He doesn’t always hear verbal commands when he’s close to the edge of consciousness, so she takes his wrists, counting in her head to gauge how much magic the patient’s had. 

As soon as she reckons it’s enough that the doctors would approve it, she lifts the healer’s hands away. His legs buckle, and he collapses against Ari’s front. The contact knocks a quiet mew of pain out of him.

“Is that it?” the patient demands. “Yeah, sorry. Healing’s a limited resource.” “Can’t you make it do more?” “I can and I will, but you’re not the only one who needs it. I need to move on.”

If the disgruntled patient has anything more to say, Ari ignores it, half-dragging Alex as he struggles to get his feet back under him.

“... done.. sir?” he pleads threadily as soon as they pause. Ari grimaces. “Not yet. Do one more for me.” He doesn’t have the breath to agree, but she knows he’ll do as he’s told.

He’s probably going to faint. She tries to avoid it as a general rule, but it’s not always possible. She really tries to avoid making him go back to it after he faints. That’s what leaves healers unconscious and drowning in their own blood. She’s noticed Mederos following her lead, at least with the weaker healers. Drawing a line and declaring them done after the first time they pass out.

Henson says it only encourages them to fake it, but you have to be some kind of idiot – or very new to this maybe – to be fooled. They breathe different when they’re really out.

Ari almost thinks they’re going to manage that one more without any fainting. Alex takes it slow and steady – he’s finally starting to trust that that’s what Ari wants from him when he’s almost out. The patient breathes easier second by second as the pain eases.

Then all of a sudden Alex is slumping forwards and Ari has to catch him hard to stop him tipping onto the patient. He slides down her body and she lets him drop to the floor at her feet. When she looks up the patient is making owl eyes at her. “Damn fragile healers,” she grumbles. “Looks like he’s out of magic, sorry. Bad luck. Either I’ll see you again tomorrow, or the doctor’ll tell you you’re in the clear.”

Alex isn’t coming round instantly, so Ariadne drags him. Once she has the space, she hauls him up by the arms and hefts him over her shoulders. The nurses prefer the handlers to drag their healers, but they can just deal with it. Ari’s not clumsy enough to go around knocking things over with his head and feet.

“Agent Milonas,” Dr. Lang calls to her on her way out. “Done already?” “Yes, doc,” she answers shortly. “Healer’s out.” “Did you get to Sanchez yet? His superiors are breathing down my neck.” “I’ll do him first thing tomorrow,” Ariadne promises. “By tomorrow we’ll have some new emergency.”

The healer picks the exact wrong time to start to stir and to cough.

“Look, there he is. Still functional. Come do Sanchez now. It won’t take long, it's only a fracture.” Ariadne puts Alex down so that he can cough more effectively, but Dr. Lang seems to take it as assent. “I’ll accompany and sign the discharge immediately. I just need him off my ward and out of my hair.” “If he heals more now he’ll be next to useless tomorrow,” Ariadne argues. “If we do it first thing tomorrow he’ll still manage a normal round after.” “I don’t care,” Lang returns, then softens it to, “Then let’s hope tomorrow is as quiet as today.” “Why is Sanchez a priority? He’s fine.” “Operational reasons.” Lang rolls her eyes. “Apparently he’s needed urgently somewhere else. Come on, Milonas, it might be the end of your shift but I don’t have all day.”

“I - c-can do it, sir,” Alex croaks. Ari’s shocked into silence. He never volunteers for extra work. No – he did once, when he offered to heal Ariadne’s ankle. That was a pretty obvious bid to curry favour. What does he think the stakes are this time? “Wonderful,” Lang declares, “good healer. That’s the attitude we like to see.”

There’s really no arguing now, so reluctantly Ariadne helps Alex back to his feet and leads him after Lang.

The doctor is at least right that it doesn’t take long. Not all kinds of injury seem to take the same amount out of the healers. Broken bones are pretty easy, Ari reckons, as long as the break is clean. Alex doesn’t even pass out, although he turns grey and needs his hands holding in place.

When he’s done, he struggles to stand up. Ari picks him up again, this time only half over her shoulder with her arms behind his thighs like he’s a kid. He clings to her unsteadily, arms around her neck.

Once they’re out of the hospital proper, he coughs long and hard. The force of it leaves him whimpering softly between gasps, and his grip on Ariadne loosens enough that she thinks he’s probably half-fainting again.

She can’t pat his back to soothe him, so she just carries him in silence back to his cell. He slumps exhaustedly to the floor as she sets him down, and mumbles gratitude for the blankets as she tucks them around his body. The mask comes away from his face trailing bloody mucus. He holds still while Ari wipes his face clean.

“What was that back there, hey?” “S-sir?” “You volunteering to do another patient.” He looks wounded. “It wasn’t a bad thing,” Ari’s quick to reassure him, “you did good. Just you never usually volunteer like that.” He winces again, hearing that as admonishment too. Ari exhales. “That’s not a criticism. Of course you don’t volunteer for more work, I don’t expect you to. Just, you did today. What’s going through your head?”

He blinks up at her, still looking hurt but like he’s trying not to be. “I’m… n-not too fragile to, to w-work. Sir.” “Oh, you heard that? That’s not your fault, is it. It's the fault of the fucker who decided to mess you up last night, yeah? Look, I was just – saying that. It doesn’t mean anything. You did good today. You did great.”

Alex is the first to break eye contact, gaze sliding away to settle somewhere in the corner of the cell. Ari’s not sure he appreciates the reassurances. He’s gone closed off again, and it’s hard to tell what he’s feeling beyond tired.

“I c-can work,” he repeats, almost too quiet for Ari to hear. “I know. I know you can. Let’s get some food into you, okay? You must be starving.”

He looks like he’s still more queasy than starving, but Ari takes his breakfast to the break room microwave to reheat, and when she puts it back in front of him hot, he can’t resist. He can never resist anything warm.

That’s how Frazier got him turning towards touch like he does, she understands without wanting to. Body heat is still heat. 

She stays to watch Alex eat to be sure he finishes the plate. He needs the calories. He needs more than he gets, really. But there’s a limit to how much extra she can give him without raising too many eyebrows. She’ll bring him something extra for dinner.

[Next]

[wanderingguest]

+ @factiousfcrged​ ( starter call ) muse : Jade Hastings Trigger by Chinchilla

“Did you see me crumble? Did you hear me cry? Cause I’m just fine. And you just lost your mind.”

[shimmerbeasts]

One of the things Wyll enjoyed about the Emerald Grove was that he got to help train young warriors. Thus when he was not running about attempting to find Karlach, or out on other hunts that Mizora sent him on, he was here. Many of them knew the Blade of Fronters here, especially the children who often looked up to him. These children often came to him for lessons, which he was doing now. "That's a good swing, but you have to adjust your posture," Wyll instructed calmly as he knelt down before the small tiefling child. He brought up his hands to straighten the child's back and shoulders, then guided his hands to his hands. The rapier the child was wielding was adjusted to a more regal hold. "Like that. Now follow my lead and keep this pose." Wyll stood up and mimicked the pose with ease, pointing his blade at the mannequin ahead before them. A normal human and stone eye briefly flickered to a female figure approaching them, Mizora. Thanks to his eye he would always feel her, no matter the disguise he would always know it was her. There was a glint of grin then, before he turned his attention back to the mannequin as he craftfully thrusted his blade forward, landing a precise blow.

"Exactly like that, if you need do a little dance with your feet, pace back and forth. Now you try." Wyll backed away a bit to get out of their way, moving closer to Mizora. "Come to check in on me, did you?" He whispered into her ear, though never taking his eyes off the tiefling as they followed his instructions. "Perfect strike! Keep that up and you'll be like the Blade of Frontiers in no time. "Do you have any pointers, stranger?" His eyes gleamed with recognition at Mizora, his grin widening. "You look like you could teach him a thing or two."

The Emerald Grove masqueraded its tensions and agitations with warm colours and a group of treehuggers. Even now, Mizora could sense the anxiety and fear, lacing the air like the smoke of a hidden fire. The druids saw nothing but hellions in the tieflings, meanwhile, the tieflings feared they would be turned on at a moment's notice. All the while, not too far away from the grove, the goblin pack was ever encroaching upon their territory.

It was a disaster, waiting to happen, and while Mizora normally would have delighted in such things, right now, she didn't care much for the fate of the grove. Wyll was using this as a distraction. Idling around, trying to play the hero once more when he had a hunt to fulfil. Karlach was still out there, breathing, and Zariel had been livid about her escape. So livid in fact that her mother cared little for whether or not, the tiefling would be brought to her dead or alive.

If Karlach died, then her soul would respawn upon the Styx and Zariel could claim it for herself. That blasted tiefling would finally be below Mizora in status! So below in fact that Mizora would be able to get away with torturing Karlach and have very little fear of repercussions. At the same time, the mere thought of getting to eat Karlach's head... Mizora rarely engaged in openly vile acts, but this would sathe her appetite quite nicely.

To avoid aggravating the tension between the tieflings and druids even more, Mizora had intentionally taken on the shape of a beautiful woman with cream-rose skin and luscious, strong, golden-orange hair. Nobody in the grove questioned her presence. If Mizora wanted, like any devil, she could fool with your senses and make you accept her being there. At the same time, she also knew exactly how to draw your attention exclusively towards her.

Right now, Mizora's sole focus was on the young, brown man, who stood on a wooden podium with training dummies. Wyll's rapier gleamed in the light. He was surrounded by a small flock of tiefling children. They kept just enough distance from Wyll, so that he might show one child in particular how to wield a small sword, which looked already way too long for the brat. Mizora climbed up the ladder and stopped by the staircase's post, crossing her arms before her chest as she watched Wyll finish his little striking lesson.

Like the good bloodhound, he was, the famed Blade of Frontiers heeled immediately and stopped by her side. Their eyes met for a few seconds before, both Cambion and warlock chose to focus on the tiefling child trying its hardest to mimic their steps. Mizora replied: "You have found yourself a nice, little place to idle, Wyll. But remember: Our arrangement still stands. Karlach is still making the Sword Coast unsafe. As entertaining as this little detour is, you must remember your priorities."

She fell silent when suddenly the tiefling children approached her and Wyll curiously. One of them, a young, red-skinned girl with a bandage over what must have been an injured eye, looked between the two of them and gave a cocky grin. She said: "Well, well... Will you look at that? The famed Blade of Frontiers has got a special someone after all? Don't you think you are dating a bit up the ladder, buddy?"

Shock gave way to a swell of laughter. Mizora bent forward and waved her arms a touch as she laughed hysterically, silver eyes closing a touch. The tiefling child shouted: "Oih, what's so funny, Harpy?" Mizora gasped for air and brushed across her cheek with a knuckle as she finally managed to settle back down.

She said: "I am very sorry for laughing, deary. It is just... You are mistaken." Mizora leaned forward to be more on the tiefling's eye level. "I am a very treasured friend of the Blade, not his lover. We go way back. One might even argue, I know the Blade's beginnings."

"Ooooooh", made all the tiefling children in excited union as Mizora rose again and flashed Wyll a grin of her own. However as he suggested that she might be able to teach the children a thing or two, a frown crossed her face. It was hard to pinpoint whether the suggestion was spoken in jest or earnest.

Her red eyes drifted over the tiefling children, who looked between her and Wyll in curiosity and expectations. If her tail were visible, it might have twitched now. Still as Mizora took them all in, an idea sprung into her mind. Curling her lips, she resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she thought: Alright, puppy. Let's indulge that stupid idea of yours.

Mizora squinted her eyes as if she was indeed thinking about what she might be able to bestow upon these children. Rubbing her chin, she suddenly smiled and said: "I might only know how to handle a rapier, but I feel you little rascals would have a much better chance if I taught you something only you can do. Did you know you are naturally capable of creating fire?"

@faerunscursed cont. from here.

[ingolds-archived]

[ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐄 ] ― sender massages receiver with a scented oil 🌕 the five senses

they hadn't thought armand was serious about the suggestion.

not when he'd entered the room wearing that truly idiotic shirt, theo nearly straining a muscle with the strength of their eye roll. but then armand had lit a few candles on the windowsill, curtains drawn, a bottle of scented oil in his hand and, well —

here they are.

theo lays on their front, arms by their sides, an intentional effort at being relaxed. orange blossom and laurel leaf drift in the still, silent air, jojoba seed on armand's hands as he warms up the oil between them, and theo tries not to jump when his fingers first land on their wrists. he starts soft, palms pressing into theo's forearms, over his triceps, fingertips curling to rub the tension out of their shoulders. it's gentler than they would have expected from him.

theo turns their head, watching him work, bright eyes caught on the locks of dark hair that drift over armand's forehead. they think at the end of this, they'll have something to say about his choice in wardrobe. something smug and well-earned.

the problems start when armand reaches their upper back.

the pads of his fingers drift gentle over the backs of their shoulders, probing for tightness; when armand finds it, he pushes into the knots worked deep into their muscles, firm and intent. a rumble rushes out of theo, as rough and deep as a purr, and they have to glance away from the smug slash of armand's smile. they think he must have been holding back, testing the waters of what he could get away with. it's smart; theo still hates him for it.

his fingers drift lower, mapping out the scars and freckles, as if searching for something. abruptly, he digs into the muscles on either side of their spine, deep into the years of strain they've been holding there, and theo's hands flex into fists, back arching. they make a high, thready noise, halfway between pain and pleasure, the smell of citrus swirling dizzily up from the webbing of armand's hands. they hadn't realized they'd been storing so much of their struggle there, blood shed and bones broken twisting deep into the muscles that carried them through the day. armand's hands smooth lower, down to where their spine dips, and his wrists turn to allow his thumbs to touch to the large fibers there. his fingers wrap around their waist, the ridges of his thumbprints working into the tension he finds just above their pelvis.

warmth flares out from the contact, and theo doesn't bother to try and bite down on the whine that leaves them. they hazily think to themselves that if armand keeps doing that, they'd let him get away with anything.

the smirk armand presses into the nape of their neck tells them he heard it loud and clear.

@godpyre