#“remember how you sobbed in bed like a pathetic loser for hours when you invited x to y and they bailed at the last minute?”

[selkie-ifs]

Something that's been a challenge for me so far is that I'm kind of with Umbra on this?

As much as I want to feel truly close with someone--as desperately as I wish I could be physically held and feel loved and seen and truly cared for, the pain of repeated disappointments just doesn't feel worth it. I've tried so many times to cross that gap and all I have to show for it is exhaustion and a hole in my heart. It feels like what I want is an unrealistic fantasy, and the more desperate I get to experience it, the more I risk leaving myself open to be hurt and taken advantage of. Besides, I can't even manage simple friendship without my dumb ass always feeling inadequate, crowded out, and/or let down. It's ridiculous to think I could handle anything deeper...not without "becoming Mom" and tail-spinning into a cycle of fighting and post-fighting angst.

The reason I'm struggling to get anywhere working with Umbra is because, deep down, I still think they're 100% right.

[ace-jug]

Richie and The Rabbit Hole

Summary: When everyone goes back to their lives after Pennywise, Richie doesn't. He stays in Derry and finds a portal that leads back to 1989, only a few months after the loser club "defeated" Pennywise the first time.Using the help of the younger losers, adult Richie goes back in time to fix all the wrong that Pennywise caused when he came back the second time.

Rated: Teen+ (for now, might change later) 

Words: 5,848

Chapters: 1/?

Read on archive

Chapter 1: Promise me

Don’t say goodbye. When did we get so old, so old, so old?

Richie feels weird when he sees Eddie again for the first time. He has so many feelings and memories that he forgot he had. He relives more and more memories, the more he talks to Eddie and the more he explores Derry. It's weird that this man was Eddie. Short sweet little rainbow shorts Eds was now a full fledged adult and he wonders, when did they get so old?

They were 40 and yet, feelings of when he was 15 and younger seem to be the most prevalent right now. He lived in the moment of 15, when he was with his friends and he hadn't forgotten them yet.

As soon as he notices how weird it all is, how old they are and how they are all here together, in these new memories, it's already over, and it's time to say goodbye for good.

Richie watches Eddie lay there on the dirty ground, he’s sobbing, and he doesn’t believe what he’s seeing. It can’t be true. It just can’t. Eddie never even got to say goodbye to him and he didn’t want to. It wasn’t fair. It could have even been him, but not Eddie, please god not Eddie.

We’re so much older.... All I want is one more life with you.

He’s at the river, trying not to remember the events of what just happened and he thinks, he fucked up. He watched his first crush and best friend, die, right after all the feelings of when he was 15, right before he left Derry, surface. He never even told Eddie how he felt and even though he wasn’t sure he was ever going to tell him, it hurt most knowing that his 1% chance with Eddie turned to 0%. That he couldn’t even be friends or talk with Eddie, because yes he survived the last 25 years or so forgetting who Eddie was, but now that he remembers, he’s not sure he can go through that again.

When did we get so old? Why’d you get sick? And how could you die?

How could Eddie die? He was so brave and Beverly saw how they all died when she saw in the deadlights, but why not RIchie? Why did he become aware with reality as soon as Eddie got stabbed. That stupid fucking clown had taken everything from him and he didn't even understand why. Eddie was brave. Eddie saved him and he had to pay for it.

You promised me you’d never grow up. Now I have to let go. God, I miss you so much and even when your heart gave out, I was thinking I’d love you ‘til forever.

Richie can’t fight how he feels and Richie isn’t sure why, but he doesn’t leave. He can’t bring himself to. Not after what happened.

The first thing he does when he gets alone is go to the kissing bridge, where those two letters are still carved into the wood. They’re dull, but still legible, and like resurfaced feelings, he carves back into the wood to make the letters pop again. It stings, but he smiles nonetheless and he stares at the bridge for awhile, not leaving for hours. He doesn’t want to face the truth and every time he thinks he’s done crying, he’s not and it’s the worst feeling he’s ever experienced.

And I can’t face the truth; that I died with you.

Richie doesn’t leave the next morning and when he awakes, he realized he still has his ear buds in. The song plays again and he doesn't change it. He's had the song on repeat for awhile now. Promise me we'll never grow up. I don't wanna let go, i wanna stay young . He sighed, letting his memories go again, and wondering if this music is making him feel better or worse.

A little of both. He's been listening to sad songs ever since he got back to his hotel room. First was how to save a life, which made him think of how he could have prevented Eddie's death, gone too soon, which made him wish he didn't miss 25 years of seeing Eddie, and now promise me. That really made him feel things. He should stop, he really should, but instead he let it play yet again for the millionth time.

Cause I'm the happiest when you smile at me . Man, he must fucking hate himself, because with each repeat, the song feels even more true and his chest tightens. Everything hurts and he has no more tears, which only leads him to chokingly and silently scream.

In the middle of listening and feeling sorry for himself, his manager calls him. He doesn't answer, even when he calls over and over and over again. He should go home, he really should, he knows that. It might even make him feel better. He wasn’t even supposed to come to Derry in the first place and he’s on a very strict time schedule. He could lose his manager, his gigs that are lined up, as well as his popularity.

However, he can’t even bring it in him to think about any of that. None of that mattered compared to how hurt he felt inside right now and even if going back to LA would make him feel better, he couldn’t bring himself to dishonor Eddie that way. Eddie was his best friend after all.

It was awful, it made him want to throw up again and every once in awhile, tears came out, before they became dry once more. He hated feelings. It felt like they were consuming him on the inside, because they won! They defeated Pennywise, for good this time, but it still feels like he lost.

The whole day went by, he stayed in the hotel another night, and he tried really hard not to make any brash decisions. He finally decided to text his manager, telling him he lost a very important friend today and he just needed to be with his friends one more day for the funeral. However, that wasn’t true. There was no funeral planned yet and nobody but the losers knew Eddie was dead. He had no idea when Stanley's funeral was either and he probably wasn't even invited to that since he hadn't been part of Stan's life for 25 years. Plus, most of the losers had gone home by now. Ben and Beverly left together, hand and hand. Bill went back to his wife and Mike, even though he was here and probably sad as well, didn't feel the damage that Richie felt. Didn't see his "first love" die in front of him and after everyone else left, Mike hadn't reached out. Probably didn't even know that Richie was still here like a pathetic loser.

He had gotten the short end of the stick, that’s for sure. He was doing great in LA and he felt good about himself. The only thing he was missing was his true friends, that he had forgotten he had and a lover, which was never even his “lover" in the first place. As soon as he got a feel for what he was missing in his heart, it cracked, and was left broken, by a sloppy bitch clown, nonetheless. The other loser’s got to go back to their lives and Richie, Richie couldn’t stop sobbing, couldn’t stop thinking about Eddie. About their childhood and how that day at the arcade, when he was so upset, he marked his and Eddie’s initials into the kissing bridge for the first time. Or worse, remembering the night he left at 15, when him and Eddie hugged. How Eddie didn’t want to let go and how, their lips got so close, but in the end, Richie was too much of a pussy to move forward. Too afraid of his own sexuality to try and kiss him, or wait to see if Eddie would kiss him, even if it was his last day in Derry.

They had so many moments when they were younger or at least Richie’s pining middle school mind thought they were "moments", even though Eddie was undoubtedly straight. Richie could feel everything from when he was younger, like he was reliving it 27 years later, and the crush was just the same. Eddie changed yes, he grew up, but deep down, he was still the same Eds, and being out here made him feel like a kid again. Eddie acted very similar to his middle school self, especially when talking to Richie. When Richie and Eddie talked, it felt like they could talk or kid about anything, like they could be their complete annoying ass selves. It felt like Eddie even liked him back sometimes, even if it was wishful thinking and Richie, he would never know if Eddie liked him back or not (even though his mind was sure he didn't). It was too late. Eddie was dead and Richie would forever be wondering what it would be like to kiss Eddie.

He didn’t even go to sleep that night and in the morning, he didn’t get out of bed until 2pm, where his stomach, felt so sick, yet so empty, it hurt. He had to move, but he didn’t want to.

It was in that moment, half awake in bed, that he remembered something. A man, a few months after IT, asking him and Beverly questions, as they tried to learn how to dance before homecoming and Beverly left Derry.

It was a short memory, yet, maybe not even a memory. The dancing surely happened, but the man, it felt like a figment of his imagination, like it was something that wasn’t meant to be recalled.

Confused and dazed, he found himself getting up without making a conscious decision to do so. It was like his body just knew what to do without thinking about it and he didn’t make any effort to stop it.

He found himself in his car, driving. Not really sure where, but somewhere. His hands directing the wheel like they knew where they were going, but Richie didn’t. He had no idea where he was going. He just knew it felt right.

................................................................................................................................

He found himself in Libson Falls at a small diner that read, Al’s diner. He didn’t think twice before hopping out of his car and opening the door. He was a man on a mission, even if he wasn’t sure what the mission was yet.

A man behind the counter, roughly his age looked at him a second before ushering him to sit. The diner was practically full, bursting with families and laughter. There was only a small table left when he sat down and the guy behind the counter was the only one working. He seemed very overwhelmed and Richie could sense that the man had already forgotten about him, but Richie felt at ease knowing that. Like, he was about to do something the man wouldn’t like. It was an incredibly confusing experience.

Richie, now is your chance.

He didn’t understand what was happening or what was urging him to get up, after the man turned around and was handing a different table some food, he got up and he ran. Straight into the back and the man didn’t even notice. Richie felt relieved, but he also didn’t know what he was looking for.

He must have gone crazy. Why was he in this diner, rummaging through a man’s kitchen? It didn’t make any sense, but he didn’t stop searching for the thing, whatever it was.

Then, he saw it. There was a big door that went into the pantry and Richie began to get nervous. He looked around to make sure the man wasn’t back yet before he pulled the door open and walked inside the pantry like somehow this was a movie. That he'd walk through and find himself in Narnia.

Something in him believed that this pantry lead somewhere. Somewhere he needed to be and he was right.

As fast as he walked in, he popped out. It was weird. He was still in the same diner, but when he walked out, the kitchen had a cook that wasn’t there before and he looked at him angrily.

“Who the fuck are you?” The man yelled at him roughly and right, he was in the kitchen of a diner that he didn’t even work at. He probably shouldn’t be back here.

“Uh, I’m sorry, I was trying to find the bathroom,” Richie said, trying to make up an excuse, but the cook wasn’t having it.

“Your full of bullshit, you know that right? Get out of my kitchen or I’ll chop your hand off!” The cook yelled at him and yup, that was definitely enough to get him moving.

“Someone forgot to drink coffee this morning,” Richie mumbled to himself, happy that the cook didn’t hear him, as he ran out of the diner, not daring to look back before walking outside.

He still didn’t understand why he decided to be as stupid to go into the kitchen of a diner he had no business of being in. He was really going crazy. Richie sighed, looking up to find his car, so he could drive back to the hotel and maybe eat something too, considering he didn’t eat at the diner.

But, where the fuck was his car?

Richie scrambled, looking at the only two cars in the lot, which were two old cars, probably made somewhere in the 1980s. Nothing that looked like the shiny red convertible he rented.

That was weird. Did someone really steal his car? He was only gone 5 minutes and someone already stole his car? A rental car for that matter.

As Richie sighed, trying to think of what to do in a situation like this, fate finally decided to give Richie a hint of what was going on.

A newspaper, with a puff of wind, falls at his feet and he looks down, bringing the newspaper to his face to find the year and date reading: 9.9.89.

That's weird, he thinks and for a moment he wonders if he's having a back to the future moment, but that was impossible, right?

Right, because this was just a random old newspaper. I mean, he's just overly depressed and sleep deprived. His mind just wanted him to believe that there was a fix to the madness of the last week.

Except, the newspaper said something about a missing boy, one that he clearly remembers was killed by IT back 27 years ago. He doesn’t even know how he remembers, especially with how blurry his childhood has been until very recently.

He doesn’t understand. Was IT somehow still alive and trying to fuck with him? Was it another weird evil alien thing?

He thinks it's the previous thought, that maybe he's just really sleep deprived and is either having a very vivid dream or hallucination.  He didn’t know and honestly, the lack of caffeine wasn’t helping.

All he had to do was go down to the sheriff department, give them his information about his stolen car, and as he waits for them to find it, he can eat some breakfast, have some goddamn coffee, and call his manager to get him on a flight back to LA. It was that simple. The diner was in town at least, so all he had to do was find a pedestrian to ask where the police station was. Yes, walking was going to take awhile, but he’s sure it won’t take that long before he could reach the police station or at least somewhere with a working phone.

Because of course Richie left his phone inside the car and of course he didn’t have his keys. He’s pretty sure he actually dropped them on his way in. He was tired and dazed, he wouldn’t be surprised if he did. That was probably how it got stolen in the first place. Only Richie could be that stupid.

Richie groaned, looking left and right, not really sure where to go, until he sees another car pull into the diner, another old looking car. A man comes out with his wife and Richie walks up to them, knowing fully well he probably looks homeless in his dirty clothes, uncombed hair, and very much sleep deprived eyes.

They look at him weirdly, but Richie couldn’t care less.

“Uh, hey, I was just wondering if you guys know where the police station is in this town?”

“Sure, it’s a half a mile up this way,” the lady points, “right next to the grocery store.”

“Thank you,” Richie says, thanking the universe it isn’t too far. He was already too tired and stressed to walk at all. So the shorter the distance, the better. As Richie walks, he remembers what the couple looked like. In the moment he was disparate. He noticed, but had other concerns. Now though, he had a half a mile to walk and the couple, they looked different. Not someone from 2016 that’s for sure. It was weird. It looked like they were in older style clothing.

It wasn’t much to note though. It didn’t look overly weird, the way they dressed and for all Richie knew, there was some weird reenacting cosplay stuff going on.  

It's just, everything in his mind is screaming that everything is way too off. Something isn't right and he's had a vivid lifelike dream before and he always knows he's sleeping, even if dream him is usually running anyways.

He wasn't sleeping. He knew that and he noticed the cook right after he got out of the pantry, even though he didn't remember stepping out of it either, and he wasn't there before, and the man before, the guy working by himself last time wasn't there.

Both men looked drastically different too, so it wasn't like they were the same person. The cook looked old and bald, with a very angry personality, while one man show was nervous, in his middle ages, and lanky.

It wasn't long into his thinking that his head started pounding and he had a full blown headache.

Wonderful. This day just couldn’t get any better!

He continued to walk, having trouble thinking, and after what seemed like hours, he reached the police station. He didn’t think much when he saw it and sure the town itself looked old. Everything was out of date, but he’d never been to Libson Falls either. He’s sure that everything is just really out-dated due to the budget. I mean, it’s a small town in Maine, what did he expect?

He shrugged off what he was seeing and entered it. Going up to the receptionist desk immediately.

“I would like to report a stolen car,” Richie said frantically and the woman behind the desk nodded.

“I’m sorry sir, what’s the license plate?”

Fuck, Richie wasn’t sure. He didn’t have his paperwork, his license, or his phone. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

“I’m not sure, it’s a rental.”

“Well, sir, I’m sorry to say that without a license plate, I can’t report a stolen car, however, why don’t you call the place that rented you the car and get the license plate. For now why don’t you tell me the year and model of the car.”

“Well it’s a 2016-” he starts, but the lady behind the counter laughs, cutting him off.

“Sir, are you okay? You know you just can’t come barging into a police station faking a stolen car, right?”

“What do you mean? You only asked for the-”

Oh fuck.

“What year is it?” He asked and she looks at him strangely. “Listen mister, I don’t have time for these stupid games,” she says and Richie starts to ignore her, seeing a calendar on the wall behind her. A 1989 calendar.

“You know what, thank you mam for everything, but I really must be going,” he says, looking at the calendar for a few more seconds, blinking to make sure he was seeing it right and he was.

He walks out in rush, knowing that if he stayed too long the lady would likely taze him or send him to a mental hospital.

He was so confused and hungry and tired and just, god, this had to be the weirdest day of his life and he fought a demonic clown for fuck sakes.

He didn't know what to do. All he knew was that he needed coffee and he needed it now. So, he walked a little further until he found a coffee place and like a douchebag, when no one was looking, he took money from the tip jar. Yes, he knows he's an asshole, but he had no money and he would come back with money for the tip jar after he figured out what the hell was going on.  

He got his coffee and sat down in the corner, trying to think of the best thing to do. What he really needed was to call a cab and get into Derry. However, he didn’t have a number for a cab driver or the money, which meant he either had to walk there (and there was no way in hell he was doing that) or he had to get money, then find a phone book to call a cab.

That could be easy enough, right?

To get enough money for a cab. It wouldn’t be that much, except it was out of town and considering the population size of both towns, there probably weren't many cabs close by.

Richie sighed, disgruntled, drinking his coffee, and then a woman sits down on the table right next to him. She’s old and she rests her purse close enough to Richie that he could easily slide his hand over to his wallet.

He was going to hell.

When the woman's name was called to pick up her coffee, he acted fast, reaching over and opening her purse. He found her wallet quickly, taking out a handful of bills, but it doesn’t take long for anyone to grab a coffee, so of course the woman turns around before he can set her wallet back into her purse.

“Hey, what do you think your doing young man?”

Oh fuck.

Of course, Richie does the stupidest thing he could have done in this scenario, he ran, he ran like his life depended on it, even when the woman was screaming.

“Come back here you huligan! That man just stole from my purse!”

Richie looked behind him after a few seconds of running outside the cafe, and all he could see was a way healthier, more in shape, young man running after him.

Yup, he was going to die.

He tried to run faster, but he was already so out of shape and also really tired. It didn’t work and the other man was so close to him, so what does Richie do?

He picks up a giant rock mid run and throws it at the guys face, who falls down quickly, and holy shit, Richie was a monster. He kept running though, not daring to look back. He makes sure to turn a couple of times to make sure that if the man got up, he wouldn’t be able to find him, and before he knew it, he found himself in front of the town library, which was oddly convenient.

He quickly makes his way to a phonebook, jots down the number on a piece of paper that he got from the librarian and waits outside for the cab. He looks at the money in hand, $50. Not bad and surely enough money for the taxi, yet he couldn’t help but feel bad. He not only stole money from the barista’s tip jar, that were already probably making minimum wage, but he also stole money from an old lady, as well as knock out a man who was just trying to get an old lady her money back.

He could have done this a better way, he’s not sure how, but he’s sure there was one better than stealing and physically hurting innocent people. It was kinda too late now though and if only they knew the great cause, they’d be okay with it.

Or maybe not. I mean, who’s to say that this is actually a different year? It probably isn’t. He’s just going crazy and stole money from an old lady for no reason.

As Richie scolded himself for being a bad person, the cab came up and Richie quickly got in. “Derry please,” he sad. “Where in Derry?” The man asked, looking at him through the mirror. Right. Where was he going in Derry exactly? Then the dance played in his mind again and somehow that’s where he ended up telling the driver to go.

It didn’t take long to get there and when they did, his heart launched right into his throat, because standing right across the street was Beverly, but she was only 13 and she was dancing with someone, a boy. It was Richie. 13 year old Richie was dancing with 13 year old Beverly right in front of 40 year old Richie. This was ludicrous. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t have been. Time travel is impossible, there is no way-.

“Are you going to pay me sir or not, because sure I charge by the mile, but I have things to do.”

Right, that.

Richie pulled the money he owed for the cab out from his pocket and handed it to the cab driver, getting out of the car. It felt weird and surreal. He watched them dance and laugh, like there was no worries in the world. They were cute and he couldn’t help but smile as he watched younger him awkwardly dance.

He got lost in thought then, remembering homecoming. How it was Beverly’s last dance before the move and how cute Eddie looked with his bow tie. How close he was sitting to Eddie when a slow song came on and half the loser’s went on the dance floor to hold someone. He so badly wanted to hold Eddie, but he was a coward, he knew he couldn’t.

“Hey asshole! Do you enjoy staring creepily at children, because I’ll give you something to stare at it!” young Richie yells at him from across the street, putting his fists in the air, as Beverly holds him by the collar and yeah, that was Richie alright. Too real to even be a figment of his imagination. I guess he really was in 1989. I mean, if it wasn’t, he’d know it. This was too real and even if it was fake, well, he might as well make the best of the situation incase it was real.

“What are you like 12?” He yells back and young Richie just glares at him.

“13 dickwad,” young Richie yells back at him and Beverly hushes him. “Are you trying to get us killed,” she snaps at him and then looks back at future Richie. “Sorry mister, he’s always like this.”

“Oh, I know,” Richie says cockly, a smirk on his face and young Richie furrows his brows. “What do you mean, “you know”, you don’t know anything about me! Unless you stalk me like a fucking pervert, which I wouldn’t doubt.”

“I’m not a pervert,” older Richie states again, taking a few more steps forward so they can hear each other better, but still far away enough that young Richie doesn’t attack him with all his pubescent rage.

“Listen, I know this is going to sound weird, but I’m you from the future,” he says directly at young Richie, who looks at him even more confused than before.

“You’re what now?”

“I’m you from the future,” he states again, not sure why he’s even telling him this, because he knows how crazy it sounds; also he’s pretty sure that there is rule about time travelling and not being able to see or talk to your younger self, but whatever.

“I heard that dipshit, what are you from the mental hospital? I mean you kinda look like you’d be from there, you do look homeless and you are acting like a nut job.”

“No, I’m not from the mental hospital. Listen to me, Pennywise comes back,” older Richie says and both Beverly and Richie’s eyes widen.

“Wait wait wait, you know about Pennywise?” Beverly says and future Richie nods.

“Holy shit, I remember you, I saw you in my vision, when were older and we all die. Oh my god. This can’t be real. You’re fucking with. You aren’t Pennywise are you?” She asks and older Richie puts his arms out in defense.

“No, I'm not that sloppy ass bitch, okay. Just listen to me, alright? We defeated Pennywise just a few days ago and Ed- people die okay. I survived, but not everyone, and afterwards I found this magical pantry that led me here, so if this is truly the past and not some weird dream, I need you to help me defeat him before he comes back in 27 years and kills more people.”

Beverly and young Richie stare at each other in disbelief, because this can’t be real, it just can’t. However, demonic clowns are real, so why not time travel?

“Okay, we’ll help you,” young Richie starts after an awkward silence, “however, you need to prove to me that you really are future me and not just Pennywise again or some other weird demonic creature.”

Alright, that’s fair.

“What’s my middle name?” Richie says, eyes wide and future Richie can not believe how stupid he is.

“It’s Thomas,” older Richie says, resisting the urge to strangle his younger self.

“Okay, what’s my mother’s middle name?” young Richie asks, leaving Beverly and older Richie very annoyed.

“This isn’t getting us anywhere,” Beverly interrupts, “just tell him something only you two would know or I guess just you would know, considering you might be the same person.”

Future Richie thought for a second, remembering Pennywise’s song again. I know your secret. Your dirty little secret.

Fuck, okay, he knew what he had to say, but Beverly was standing there too, and he hadn’t even told anyone in the present about this yet.

“Could you maybe take a few steps back and put your hands on your ears,” older Richie asks Beverly.

She glares at him and young Richie shakes his head. “We aren’t stupid! That would be the perfect time for you to kidnap me!”

“Well, I don’t think you’re going to want Beverley to know about this yet, considering we’re the only ones who know.”

Young Richie goes bug eyed in fear and looks like he’s about to cry. He hated seeing him like this, but he had to. It was the only thing Richie ever kept to himself, considering Richie never stops talking.

“Listen, all I need is Beverly to take a few steps back, and put her hands over her ears. She can keep her eyes open and I’ll whisper it into your ear, okay?”

“What if you try to eat my face?” young Richie asks taking another step back.

“Well, we are in the open world,” Richie gestures to their surroundings. There are a few people and buildings around and Pennywise wouldn’t kill him in front of everyone. He’s pretty sure at least, so he trusts his gut feeling.

“It’s okay Bev, you can step a few feet back,” young Richie says and older Richie takes a step closer and brings his mouth to his ear, getting ready to let the words flow out of his mouth, even though he’s never said it out loud. It made him nervous and it took him a second to gain confidence.

“Can you hurry up, you smell like ass,” young Richie says and older Richie glares at him. “Fuck you, I do not smell like ass. I mean, I haven't taken a shower in days and the only thing that cleaned me from the sewers was that gross lake that we used to jump into when we were kids-” he starts, but stops as young Richie gives him the ‘I told ya so’ look.  “Okay, fine, yeah, I probably do,” older Richie replies with a huff and whispers in Richie’s ear. “You’re bisexual and have a crush on Eddie Kaspbrak.”

Young Richie flinches, eyes wide in horror, he thinks it’s fake, and he waits for Pennywise to appear and swallow him, but he doesn’t. Adult Richie just takes a step back, looking defeated at the younger version of himself.

“It’s true?” young Richie asks and older Richie nods. “I mean, yeah, but you already know that.”

Young Richie shakes and takes a deep breath. “Yeah, okay.” He looks over at Bev and ushers her over. She takes her hands off her ears.

“The real deal?” she asks and young Richie nods, still shaking from hearing what he just heard. “The real deal.”

“Alright,” Beverly says looking at future Richie. “What can we do to help?”

“Well, first,” older Richie starts, hating to get children into this, even if one of those children were technically himself. It wasn't like he really had any other choice though. He needed to get Eddie back and he was going to promise himself that whatever happened, he was going to make sure that the whole loser club, including Eddie and Stanely were going to live. It's what they deserved.

“I need you to get the rest of the loser club.”

[abra-ka-dammit]

AU That Should Never Happen Pt. 3

:-)))

(pre-warning for some horny scenes, but that’s just par for the course in this AU)

[Part 1] [Part 2]

“And who might this be?”

The Grand Warlock was strewn lazily across his gilded stone throne, one leg hanging off the side and kicking back and forth idly as he eyed his surprise guests.

General Catfeetz grinned wide, his sharp white teeth shining from behind dark lips.

“I’ll tell ya who it is,” he said, pride obvious in his voice. “This here’s the Steelknuckle boy.”

“Oh?” Gremix’s brows rose and he flipped himself upright, landing softly on his feet and striding down the steps to take a closer look at the prize.

This “Steelknuckle boy” was, at best, pathetic. The son of a trade princess? No way. Short but beefy, one would think the guy tough; but there he stood, sobbing loudly, hardly coming off as an adult with tears and snot streaming down his face. Gremix grabbed the collar of his shirt and tugged it down to reveal the characteristic Steelknuckle family flower tattoo emblazoned on his chest. Yep, he was the real deal. Somehow.

“How did you get him?” Gremix asked in fascination.

“Scouts caught him tryin’ to steal a boat, probably meanin’ t’ escape th’ harbor.” Catfeetz snickered. “Easy catch, too. This guy’s a joke. Didn’t even fight back.”

“Hm,” Gremix muttered, scooping the prisoner’s chin with his fingertips to lean his face up to his own. “Identify yourself.”

With a loud, disgusting sniffle, the crybaby choked out “Zubert, sir.”

Gremix smiled ever so slightly. Not often they came in pre-respectful.

“He should be a good bargaining chip for taking down Zippa. If I remember anything about that bitch, it’s that she only has one family member, and it’s this bozo.”

“Seriously?” Catfeetz scoffed. “She should’a had another after this loser popped outta her cooch. Li’l “Zubert” here ain’t fit to lead a cartel; can’t even escape from an island in the dead ‘a night, shit.”

“Please,” Zubert muttered, giving another sniff and peering with frightened, watery eyes between the two overlords, “I don’t have any money, Ma cut me off. There’s no point to keepin’ me.”

“Money?” Gremix barked a laugh, Catfeetz in turn grinning his nefarious grin. “Please; I melted down all the gold I owned to gild my palace.” He raised his arms, gesturing to the room around them, where not only his throne but all the pillars and even the stairs had intricate golden designs decorating the stone. “Money means nothing to us anymore.”

“Who needs money when ya rule th’ world, eh?” Catfeetz said with a chuckle. “Nah, we don’t want yer momma’s dough, kid, we want her dead.”

“Wh-what?!” Zubert’s eyes widened. “Don’t kill my mom! There’s gotta be—I mean, can’t ya jus’ negotiate, or, or…” He swallowed hard, the tears welling up again in an instant.

Gremix rolled his eyes. “What’re we doin’ with him for now?” Gremix asked.

Catfeetz tugged the ropes that bound Zubert’s hands in front of him, leading him closer to the warlock. “Don’t ask me, Boss figured I should give ‘im to you. You got a much less, uh,” Catfeetz squinted one lichlight eye in thought, “open floorplan at your base.”

“I see.” Gremix considered Zubert for a moment. What was he supposed to do with the bawling young man? There was plenty of dungeon space, of course, but if he wanted to use Zubert to negotiate with Madame Steelknuckle, he’d need to stay in decent condition—at first, at least. More could come if she refused to cooperate; but for now…

“Drixzy,” Gremix said flatly. “Come to me.”

The fel-infused rogue was nowhere to be seen in the throne room, but within moments the fast clicking of boots echoed from one of the stone halls and she entered.

“Yes, Master,” Drixzy said, stopping at Gremix’s side and kneeling into a bow. He patted her gently on the blonde head and Catfeetz gave a sharp whistle.

“Well how’d you train her t’ do that? You psychic now too?”

“Hardly,” Gremix laughed, motioning for Drixzy to stand, which she immediately obeyed. Gremix took her hand in one of his own, lifting it to display the golden cuffs that decorated her wrists. “I’ve been working on some fun toys, however.”

Catfeetz gave a vaguely impressed nod. “You’re weird as fuck, brother,” he said. “But whatever floats yer boat. Now take this idiot so I can get back t’ important stuff.”

Gremix turned his head ever so slightly, peering at his faithful servant. “I have a pet for you, my Drixzy.”

Drixzy’s light brows could be seen rising just above the cloth tied over her fel-glow eyes. “For me?” she asked.

“Yup,” Gremix said, Catfeetz handing the confused woman the rope that bound Zubert. She rolled the rope around in her hands, face tilting as she looked at the young man through the unnatural sight granted by her Master. He seemed pretty cute for a guy that had all sorts of gross fluids running down his face.

Gremix raised a hand, placing it gently on one of Zubert’s cheeks—Zubert flinched, but stayed in place, squeezing his eyes shut in fear of whatever the hell was going on. But to his surprise, the hand was warm and inviting… perhaps almost supernaturally so. His body relaxed, his mind emptying of all those worries that had plagued it merely moments before, a warm bliss expanding through his body from his cheek. The longer it stayed there the more unfocused he became, until he felt almost as entranced as he would during a really good fuck. There was a snap in the back of his mind and his focus returned, Zubert finding suddenly that he had been so lost in pleasure he’d almost forgotten where he was. Gremix’s hand had lowered, which he determined to be the cause of the abrupt end to that bizarrely wonderful feeling.

“Wh… what?” he asked, blinking slowly. He wasn’t sure what was going on anymore; but at the same time, he did. The faces around his blurred and came back into focus repeatedly until finally settling into normalcy and he focused on something concrete—Drixzy. She was staring straight at him, Gremix having already left to return to his throne and the general already out the great stone doors. Or, he thought she might have been staring, but surely she couldn’t see him from under that blindfold.

“Take good care of Zubert, child,” Gremix said. A sly smirk sneaked onto his lips as fel-tinged magenta eyes watched the silent exchange. “He’s yours; do as you wish with him in your idle hours. But keep him in okay condition for me, alright?”

“Yes, Master,” Drixzy said, giving a curt nod. “I am ever grateful for your gifts.”

Zubert could do nothing more than blink in puzzlement, his mind still trying to reconnect the dots that all fell apart the moment Gremix touched him. The rope around his wrists tugged him forward and still in a minor daze, he plodded along behind Drixzy as she led him away.

Gremix watched them leave, then casually flipped himself around to lay upon his lavish throne once again. Maybe this will be good for Drixzy, he thought. She’d gotten so moody since his own little “pet” had shown up, after all. Maybe having a little boytoy of her own would keep her quiet, considering how little interest he found in “playing with” her these days. Oh, forget the smooth curves and soft skin—all he could think about was the dark path of tummy hair leading down to the unmentionables of the ex-rebel Rusco; who since leaving, permanently collared, had not shown hide nor hair around the palace. But Gremix knew he’d be back. He bobbed his foot up and down once more, humming a tune to himself as he stared up at high ceilings, lost in pleasantly distracted thought.

Drixzy had brought Zubert to her quarters, but she puzzled over what exactly to do with him. Gremix had never left her a charge, after all. Zubert quietly peered around the room. It had stone walls like the rest of the palace, lit by torches that displayed floating, glowing green crystals instead of fire, a soft blue carpet on the marble floor and an impressively large, luxurious looking bed draped over with sheer canopy… but very little sign of character. There were no wall decorations, no furniture aside from the bed and a dark wooden wardrobe, no knick-knacks, nothing. Was she just a really boring person? Oh, no, it was probably because she was blind, right? Zubert shrugged, turning his attention to his captor.

“Uh, Miss…. Miss Drixzy?” he asked quietly.

Drixzy glanced at him, frowning.

“What?” she snapped.

Zubert flinched at the cold, careless tone of her voice, swallowing.

“Uh, I won’t…. I promise I won’t try nothin’, I swear; so could you untie me?” He raised his bound hands in front of him to emphasize. “My shoulders are crampin’ somethin’ awful an’ I’d love t’ get a good stretch in.”

Drixzy considered him with distrust. “I’m not an idiot,” she hissed. “Now be silent. I need t’ think.”

Zubert wilted a little. “But I—okay…” he muttered. He looked around again but finding no furniture had magically appeared since last time, he just flopped down onto the ground, folding his legs and staring down at his lap miserably.

Drixzy paced the room, her demonic hoof-design heels not issuing their characteristic clicking steps in the downy carpet of the room, leaving the two in an eerie silence as she thought.

What was Gremix expecting her to do? Was this some sort of test? Or was he really just letting her have a person? But why? She was naught but a servant herself, surely she didn’t deserve such a thing. There had to be something else…

A sniffle interrupted her thoughts, Zubert still suffering mild sinus drainage from his earlier cry. She sighed in annoyance.

“Alright,” she said, conceding and striding over to him as she pulled a large dagger from her hip. Zubert perked instantly, holding up his hands with grateful eagerness so she could saw through the rope. As the bindings fell to the ground, he stretched his arms out to his sides with a huge sigh of relief.

“Thanks, Miss Drixzy!” Zubert said with a big smile, continuing to sit. She watched him, but he just… sat there, smiling like a doofus.

“If you so much as raise a hand to me—” she started, but she was cut off quickly by a startled “goodness, no!”

She cocked her head questioningly.

“I’m sorry, that was rude a’ me t’ interrupt, but I swear I wouldn’t ever hurt you, miss. I mean, I know I’m like, a prisoner a’ war or whatever right now, an’ most people would try an’ get away, but, uh…” He chewed his lip a little bit before continuing. “Ma kicked me out, so I wasn’t livin’ nowhere anyways. I don’t got anywhere to run away to, so I think I oughta jus’ comply an’ make it easier for both of us. You don’t gotta worry about me pullin’ nothin’, I’ll jus’ do whatever you tell me to, an’ get to sleep under a roof again.”

Drixzy’s face screwed up in befuddlement. “What? You’re just… acceptin’ your capture?”

“Yup, pretty much,” Zubert said. “If I try ‘an run for it, I’ll definitely get attacked an’ maybe even killed, but if I listen t’ you, I don’t, right? I’m not the best thinker, but even I can see what my best option here is.”

Drixzy nodded slowly, re-sheathing her knife. “Yes. But I don’t trust you, nevertheless.”

“Fair,” Zubert said almost understandingly. “You jus’ met me, after all. But I’ll show you, I’ll be a real good, uh…” he squinted. “D-did that warlock guy say pet?”

Drixzy pursed her lips. “That warlock guy is my master—and by extension, yours as well—The Grand Warlock Gremix Rivensoul, and you will address him with proper respect.”

Zubert hunkered down a little in shame. “Oh, sorry. But th’ question remains… what exactly am I?”

Drixzy let the question bump around in her head for a while. What was he, indeed?

“We’ll see what you prove yourself to be,” Drixzy decided. “It’ll be up to yourself to determine how you are treated, so act mindfully.”

Zubert nodded enthusiastically. “I’ll do my very best!” he said with a big, stupid smile. Why did he keep smiling? It was almost annoying Drixzy; yet at the same time, there was something about the dopey face and big kind eyes that she couldn’t help but find kind of cute.

“Can I ask you some stuff?” Zubert inquired. “T’ get used t’ the way things are here an’ whatever.”

Drixzy sighed. She had nothing to do right now anyways; the family was between ambushes and waiting on something she wasn’t told of (upper management info only, after all). “Fine,” she said, crawling onto her bed until she could plop backwards into the lush pillows. “Ask what you will.”

“Cool!” Zubert chimed. “So firs’ thing’s firs’… uh, can you…. see?”

“Yes, and no,” Drixzy said. “I can see normally, but blindfolded I hold a special form of sight much more intricate than what your own eyes will show you; yet it also conceals some things from me that you can see.” She shrugged slightly. “It’s hard to explain, but for all intents and purposes, just keep in mind I am watchin’ you.”

“Oh!” Zubert exclaimed. “That’s pretty cool. So what do I look like under there?”

Drixzy scoffed. “If you aren’t gonna ask relevant questions, then just keep yer mouth shut.”

Zubert wilted a little again. “I’m sorry, I was jus’ curious.” He pondered a moment. “So what was, uh—” he squinted, trying to find the right words—"what th’ heck happened t’ me out there? Th’ Grand Warlock guy touched my face an’ I got real dizzy an’ weird feelin’.”

“That was a gift,” Drixzy said, her voice softening as though the words were a happy sigh. “The Master’s Blessing is the promise of sheer bliss as reward for obedience. All who follow him melt at his tender touch.” Drixzy’s voice wandered off dreamily, the goblin seeming to zone out for a second. Coming back to herself, she continued, “when you do good, he rewards you with more. If you do poorly…” Drixzy frowned. “Well, just don’t anger the Grand Warlock and you’ll never need to find out the rest of that sentence.”

Zubert gave a curt nod. “Noted,” he said. He thought for another moment, then posed his next question. “Who’s that guy that brought me here?”

“General Catfeetz leads the military side of the family,” Drixzy said, crossing her legs comfortably. It was strange, but she was finding herself enjoying talking to Zubert—she couldn’t remember the last time she just had a conversation with someone that wasn’t instructions, commands or other work issues.

Zubert stifled a laugh but a pfffft escaped his lips anyways. “C-catfeetz? That’s the dude’s name? Really?”

Drixzy scowled. “He’s no laughing matter.” Her face dropped once more into a stern serious look. “General Catfeetz is powerful, ruthless, and cruel. He leads through fear—his soldiers know that dyin’ in battle is a merciful end compared to what he’ll do to them if they fail or betray him.”

“Yikes,” Zubert muttered. “Okay. He was pretty buff so I didn’t wanna mess with him anyways, but that’s probably good to know.”

Drixzy breathed a laugh, then tilting her head back such that she would be looking at him down her nose, she said “come up here,” patting the bed beside her with one leisurely hand.

Zubert’s ears flicked upwards, the tips noticeably reddening along with his cheeks. “Oh! Uh. Are you sure? I mean, that’s your bed and—”

“NOW.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Zubert leapt to his feet, almost falling over in his haste before scrambling over and onto the bed. Crawling over, he warily laid beside her–not because he was scared, but rather, uncertain of her boundaries.

“Do you have any more questions?” she asked him.

“Lots!” he said with another dumb smile. And those… cute dumb… biceps. A thought crept into the back of her mind. Did Gremix hand over this tiny beefcake to preoccupy her? She wasn’t sure if she should be hurt or happy for the gesture if that were so; sure, maybe he was trying to make her feel better about his own lack of attention, but shoving another man at her to do it for him? She rolled onto her side, leaning her head into a hand to look at the guy as he went on with another question about the palace. There was something so nice about just talking, though—she would worry about that all later.

To Drixzy’s surprise, the young Steelknuckle heir did in fact stick to his word. She left him untied in her bedroom for hours at a time and when she would return, he was sitting there waiting patiently for her. Sure, she’d left a guard at the door just in case, but it became clear in short time there was no need. For some reason, Zubert was genuinely just going along with it all. She was baffled, having seen so much resistance against Gremix’s rule from those who were brought in since the uprising. But here was this guy, brought in against his will, just cheerily doing as she said without batting an eyelash over it.

Oh, and she told him to do things. Before long, he was following her around the palace to do her bidding at a whim—lift this, move that, and for the love of the Light, please take off your shirt first. Over time she chose to decorate him: clasping a sparkling gemmed leather collar tight around his throat, combing his hair up however she liked, painting his nails, and dressing him in tight pants and minimal other clothing. Slowly but surely, she became accustomed to the idea… he was hers. Her pet. Her toy. Hers to do with whatever she pleased. And she wanted to do some things, admittedly. But a thought nagged at her.

She was Gremix’s.

And so it came, an awkward conversation she was about two convincing words away from not going through with:

“May I have sex with him?”

Gremix stared blankly at the blindfolded blonde from behind the war table, where maps and notes and other miscellaneous papers were spread out and pinned with meticulous planning.

“What?” Gremix asked. “What do you think I gave him to ya for?”

Drixzy’s shoulders rose in embarrassment, her ears pinning. “O-oh!” she said quietly. “It’s just that, Master, my body is yours, an’…”

Gremix strode around the table, approaching her and laying his hands on her cheeks, drawing her face close to his own, his touch enough to make her hitch a breath.

“You are, and always will be mine,” he agreed in a low voice. “And since you are mine, you are mine to treat; and the Steelknuckle boy is your treat. I care not what you do with him. Sleep with him or hang him upside-down from the ceiling with a burning candle shoved in his ass for 12 hours, it don’t matter to me.”

Drixzy swallowed, giving a tiny nod.

“After it all, you will still be mine,” Gremix said, dropping his hands to her waist and moving his face in closer until their cheeks brushed together and he could speak directly into her ear in a near-whisper that sent a shiver down her spine, “because I do it better.”

Drixzy gave a nervous laugh—the closeness had her heating up in an almost pavlovian response to his physical attention. Oh, why Zubert? Why Zubert when her master was here, so warm, so gentle, so full of that delicious power that seeped in through her skin and made her sigh in pleasure and press her body into his. Gentle kisses on her neck were enough to drive her crazy normally, but oh, when he put his Fel into it… She simply wanted to dissolve into him where they stood.

“Master,” she said breathily, “please…”

A quiet chuckle in her ear denied her request, and Gremix backed away, to her massive disappointment. She felt so hot and her heart was pounding, and she wanted him so badly—but he shook his head.

“I’m very busy, silly girl. You’re hot an’ bothered now, ain’tcha? Go use it on your little pet. I bet he’ll appreciate it.” He gave her a smile that almost seemed kind, and in that moment, she thought of the doofusy grin of the foolish loyal man set away in her boudoir, no doubt cheerily awaiting her return. She gave a quick nod.

“Thank you, Master,” she said quietly, and left him to his planning.

Probably needless to say, Zubert had no complaint when the woman returned, her calm steps devolving into a near sprint when she had the door closed behind her, then becoming a leap that resulted in her tackling him onto the mattress. He only blinked up at her and gave one of those stupid, cute smiles of his. Damn that smile! She would be rid of it, by pressing her mouth to his.

And oh, what a kiss—at least, for Zubert. There was that feeling again. That dizzy, almost orgasmic fuzziness that Gremix’s touch had caused. There was no need to convince the more-than-willing young man, but had he been resistant before, he surely would have caved in to her desires as the wave of pure, unadulterated, unnatural bliss came over him.

She pulled her face away only barely, and without bothering to catch her breath as his eyes dazedly cracked open, she panted out a simple command:

“Fuck me.”

“H’okay.”

Didn’t need to tell him twice.

And so things continued; Drixzy freely indulging herself for satisfaction from the frustration that Gremix’s continued general absence caused, with whom she decided to call her “attendant”. After all, he did attend to her every need, there seemed no better term. Zubert liked it better than “slave”, anyways.

But it wasn’t just his servitude, sexual or otherwise, that kept her interest. For some reason, he liked to just talk. And it continued to seem so strange to her, just talking, about anything. Zubert talked to her about ships, about Steelknuckle isles in their heyday, about the ocean and fish and food he liked and something funny his friend said once… She herself kept quieter, content to just listen to him and interject when he asked her something. She would openly answer most things about the family but wouldn’t speak of her past. He’d only brought it up once, but her sharp, instant demand that he never inquire again ended that line of curiosity right quick.

Months passed by as such. Zubert became a palace-wide spectacle: guards would snicker at his slutty outfits as he passed by, plodding along behind Drixzy as she went about her daily business. Others whispered rumors of who he might be or where he came from—perhaps simply a hapless commoner Drixzy found attractive? A relative of one of the generals? One such rumor that wasn’t held by many as true said he was in fact the heir to an entire cartel. Nobody asked, however. After all, nobody dared talk to Drixzy about anything besides work.

“New batch of prisoners, here!”

Catfeetz’s lieutenant arrived with a posse of guards to the castle, a string of captured rebels in tow to be offered up to Gremix’s forces. As per the usual routine, they were brought to a dungeon and stripped to their underthings, chains around their necks hooked to the stone floor ahead of them, keeping them kneeling uncomfortably as a pair of shackles attached to their wrist from another short chain behind them kept them forced upright. It was a pretty typical bunch of rebels, some jeering and spitting when their gags and blindfolds were removed, the others solemn and quiet. One by one, Gremix offered his “Blessing”, and they either accepted it or were killed. Drixzy stood by—and as she did, so did Zubert—much to his horror, as he watched those who rejected the Grand Warlock quickly offed by a skilled slice of Drixzy’s poisoned blades across their throats. Luckily, it seemed the more common answer to “do you want to die or live in heavenly bliss serving me” tended to lean to the latter, but the blood oozing over the stone floors from the first who’d denied the gift was enough to make him feel ill.

The Grand Warlock was halfway through the set of rebels when the next one he approached was a rather tall, fluffy-white-haired goblin who was sobbing hopelessly into his gag, hiccupping and rocking himself back and forth the little amount the chains would allow. Gremix rolled his eyes, and removing the gag and blindfold from this one, was met with what was probably the most terrified face he’d ever encountered during a conversion.

The goblin didn’t jeer or spit; in fact, he said nothing, only making a tiny throat squeak as he tried uselessly to liquify into the floor and away from the green glow that pulsed within the warlock’s pupils.

“Don’t be afraid,” Gremix started, gently, as usual, but he didn’t get very far before the captive broke into full bawling again. He gave an agitated sigh, standing and patting dust off the robe at his knees.

“This one’s defective,” he said, waving a hand at the crying mess to signal Drixzy to end him as he stepped over to the next goblin.

Drixzy drew her blade and started towards the young man, who was all but balled up now. But she only made it one loud-clicking step before she felt a tug—a hand on her arm. She looked back to see Zubert with a panicked expression. He didn’t know what he wanted to say, and even if he did he didn’t think he could get words out without puking at the moment anyways, so he just shook his head over and over, beseeching her with pleading eyes.

Gremix, noticing the uncharacteristic hesitation, looked back at the two with a scowl. “What’s keepin’ ya? Get to it, Drixzy." Drixzy glanced at Gremix briefly before inspecting Zubert’s desperate head-shaking once more.

“Yes, Master,” she said, brushing Zubert’s hand from her arm, the musclebound servant wilting in hopelessness as she left his side to do the deed.

The crying captive lifted his head only slightly to see his oncoming killer, and for just a moment, his eyes met what would have been Drixzy’s, were they uncovered—but the moment was the same regardless. The tearstains streaking his cheeks, face and eyes red and puffy, afraid… Drixzy suddenly understood why Zubert wanted to stop her. He was just another Zubert.

“Master,” Drixzy said, tentatively. “I’m sorry if I am oversteppin’, but…”

Gremix’s eyes narrowed as he eyed her with suspicion.

“May I have this one?”

The suspicious look fell to make way for one of surprise instead.

“What?” Gremix peered down at the chained goblin, who was still apparently attempting to burrow into his own being, head once more tucked down into his chest. Gremix made a disgusted face at the wretch before letting his gaze return to Drixzy. “You… want that pathetic thing?”

Drixzy fidgeted with her dagger. “Do you… remember when your Rusco was here?”

Gremix remained silent, so she continued; “He was defiant, but you didn’t have me kill him, because you looked at him and saw something you liked, right?”

The sobbing continued, but tear and terror-filled eyes were once again barely peering up at the people openly discussing his fate. His gaze wandered the room, where it then met that of a person the bound goblin hadn’t noticed before—Zubert stood back in the shadows, wringing his hands anxiously and giving the guy a forced hopeful smile before he burrowed into himself again.

“So you’re saying you see somethin’ in this trash heap that you like?”

Drixzy’s mind buzzed as she flipped through every explanation she could think of, trying to find the one that was truest.

“I have a thing for beta males,” she decided on, pointing behind herself with a thumb directed at Zubert—the comment said so flatly that Gremix couldn’t help but bark a laugh in return.

“Fine, fine.” Gremix said, shaking his head in bemusement. “You’re not getting another until one of these ones die, though, got it?”

“Yes, Master,” Drixzy said, glancing back at Zubert who had perked up significantly, and was now eagerly bouncing in wait for her word.

“Take him to my room,” she said to Zubert. “Chain him and return to me here.”

Zubert stood up straight, puffing out his chest and giving a firm salute. “Yes, ma’am!” he said, then hopping over to the person whose life he had just saved to unlock the chains.

“Wh-what?!” came the first words from the mouth of the crying but otherwise until now silent prisoner.

“Gag him,” Gremix said with an apathetic wave of his hand, and Zubert paused, picking up the cloth that had been dropped to the floor and re-tying it around the head of a now somewhat struggling goblin.

It took some doing, but he got it on, trying to reassure the frightened goblin that he would be safe and shouldn’t worry… but panic set in, and the captive was having none of it anymore, now desperately pulling against the chains he had no chance of escaping from. Zubert held the chain key tightly, giving an uncertain glance to the others.

“Oh, for the love a’…” Gremix sighed. “Hold him still.”

Zubert nodded, obediently moving behind and holding firmly the shoulders of the soon-to-be “blessed” man. Wide eyes watched in abject horror as hands rose to his face—he tried to jerk his head away but a strong grip from behind turned it back to the Grand Warlock and his warm hands cupped sharp cheeks.

The prisoner choked some sort of noise from behind the gag as green flames burst from the hands on his face, squeezing his eyes shut just to reopen them in confusion a moment later when he felt no burning.

Zubert watched in fascination—he’d never seen the Blessing from a third-party perspective, only having experienced it himself. The flickering flames looked terrifying, but no sound of pain came from the unwitting convert; of course not. After all, it didn’t hurt when it happened to him, either.

“It’s alright, see?” Zubert said quietly, a slight flick of ear the only indication he had been heard.

The flames seemed to be sucked into the held skull, a bright green erupting from behind tear-filled eyes as the convert stiffened—muscles in his shoulders and back twitched feverishly, but it was as though he could not move. The flames gone, Gremix lowered his hands, and the guy slumped forward into himself once again; but this time from sudden wooziness. Heavy, deep breaths came from him like convulsions and with one last horrified glance up, the Fel glow faded from his eyes. A calm seemed to come over him, the shaky anxiety and fear all but nullified.

“I don’t like blessing unwillin’ parties,” Gremix said, rising once more. “You will repay me for havin’ t’ do that later.”

“Yes, Master,” Drixzy said. “Anything, any time. I thank you for allowin’ me this gift.” Her attention turned to Zubert.

“Take him now. And be back quickly,” she said, “you will need to remove the bodies of these insolent rebels when Master finishes the conversion.”

Zubert swallowed hard, not entirely enthusiastic about that specific task, but ever faithful, he unlocked the chains and led the dazed and confused stumbling beanpole of a goblin out of the chamber.

It was quite a while before Zubert returned to Drixzy's room again. When he did, however, he came with a tall glass of water in one hand and a crumbly buttered biscuit in the other.

“Hey!” he chimed as he closed the door behind him with one stubby leg's foot.

Chained to the stone wall in the corner of the room, pressing himself as far into the joint of two walls as he possibly could, the goblin Drixzy had spared eyed him warily.

“Don’t worry,” Zubert said, approaching slowly such as not to startle him. “I’m not gonna hurt you or take you away anywhere. This is where you’ll be staying now.”

The bound goblin shook his head indignantly. Zubert shrugged.

“I mean, you don’t have much choice, y’know? If ya just behave an' listen to Drixzy and the Grand Warlock's every command, you’ll be perfectly fine, like me! Drixzy might even unchain you if you prove you won’t pull any tricks.”

The other man did not look convinced, but Zubert, a few feet away, placed the water and biscuit onto the soft carpet and raised his hands slowly in front of himself.

“Look, don’t kick me or nothin', okay? I’m gonna ungag you, Drixzy said I could. I also snuck you some water an' food, an' it’s the cold water I’m not supposed t' take, too. Figured it might be nice after havin' that thing in your mouth so long.”

A wary nod signaled that Zubert could come closer, though there was still a untrustful stiffening of his shoulders in preparation for some sort of trick… but the cloth loosened and Zubert pulled it away like he said he would, then backed up a few steps and gave him a goofy smile.

Zubert looked him over—the guy was scrawny, and not entirely impressive sitting there in threadbare boxers, but Zubert had to admit he had a thing for tall, lithe people. But more importantly, this dude clearly couldn’t feed himself, arms bound behind his body, so Zubert concluded he had to assist. Well, that was his job, according to Drixzy, right? Helper.

It was a clumsy event, Zubert tilting the glass to a very dry, desperate and eager mouth, such that between the two of their efforts a notable amount of water ran down his chin and onto the carpet; but with a relieved sigh and smacking of finally moistened lips, it was obvious that he’d had enough to satisfy, at least.

Zubert sat beside him, taking the biscuit and breaking off a piece to offer up. The captive sighed, but opened his mouth such that the crumbly bread could be popped into it.

“I’m Zubert, by the way,” Zubert said. “Zubert Steelknuckle.”

Swallowing, his companion simply said “Stix.”

“Nice t' meetcha, Stix!” Zubert said, breaking off another bite-size piece of biscuit. “We’re roommates now, so I hope you’ll stop lookin' so scared of me soon.”

“I don’t wanna stay here,” muttered Stix. “I don’t know where I am, I don’t know what’s going on, I don’t know who any of these people are n' I wanna get outta here!”

He looked the muscley and… tightly panted goblin over pleadingly.

“Y’ have the key, don't'cher? Let me outta here, c’mon.”

Zubert frowned. “No, Drixzy has it. And even if I did, I’m not allowed t' let you leave. If you try to run, I’m just gonna have to escort you back.”

Stix made an agitated sound, opening his mouth for another bite of biscuit, which he chewed in thought for a silent moment.

“Sho then, yer jusht one of ‘em, choo,” he decided, food still in mouth.

“No,” Zubert said with a chuckle. “I’m being held for ransom!” He paused, the cheeky smile on his face slowly dropping until he sort of just looked distressed. “Y’know, t' get my ma out of hidin', so they can kill her.”

Stix balked. “Why do they wanna kill yer mum? And who are they?” He really did seem genuinely confused about everything going on.

Zubert scrutinized the tone of Stix's voice, brows lowering in concern. “You mean, you have no idea about th' Gutshot Takeover?”

“Th’ what? No!” Stix looked appalled.

“Where the heck have you been?”

Stix nodded upwards. “Zeppelin. In fact, I was riding one jus' yesterday for a delivery, and then…” He scowled. “We we’re just passing by th' harbor when a ton of flyin' machines showed up outta nowhere and shot us down!” The goblin's ears lowered slowly. “I… I don’t even know if anyone else…”

Zubert perked; oh no, was Stix about to cry again?

“Hey, hey! Don’t worry. They uh, they like taking prisoners more than jus' killin' folks, cuz they make them join the troops, an' then there’s more of 'em.”

Stix looked horrified. “That doesn’t make me feel any better,” he groaned.

“Oh. Sorry.”

Silence befell them for a few minutes as Zubert fed Stix the rest of the biscuit. As he finished the last bite, licking crumbs from his lips, Stix decided to speak again.

“So, er… explain this whole takeover thing?”

“Oh, sure,” Zubert said, sitting and leaning back against the wall nearby Stix. “I don’t know all the details from their side, but, uh… I guess there was this mafia my ma was makin' deals with, an' they got a little weird an' started talkin' about takin' over Bilgewater's whole thing. Ma cut ties with 'em cuz she thought they were bonkers! But she was a big financial investor, so I think they got mad at her.” He scratched at the side of his face with a ponderous look. “Guess they were serious about takin' over, cuz the Grand Warlock and General Catfeetz are somehow ridiculously powerful, an' all the Bilgewater guys started following 'em because they were toutin' that they would slay Gallywix an' make things better for goblins everywhere. But then it just twisted more 'til they straight up decided they were jus' gonna take over th' whole world, an' now everything’s a big, scary mess. They’ve taken basically all of Azshara, killed Gallywix, an’ I’ve heard some of the followers say there’s a big plan coming to fruition soon.”

Stix looked as though the blood had completely drained from his face. “What the fuck?” he said under his breath.

Zubert shrugged. “I dunno, man, but I didn’t get too bum a deal outta it, so I’m jus' mindin' my own business here, y’know?”

Stix looked pensive for a moment, squinting down at the soft blue carpeting beneath him. “So… if I stay here, I’ll be safe?”

“Yeah!” Zubert said. “Miss Drixzy’s real good to me, an' I know she’ll treat you just as nice. Just you wait.”

Stix nodded, then gave a sigh and sunk into the corner.

“My shoulders hurt,” he grumbled.

Zubert tilted his head, peering at Stix. “Want me t' give 'em a rub?”

“No.” The reply was instant, and Zubert got the feeling Stix wanted minimal contact, so he shrugged it off.

“When's she get in?”

“Miss Drixzy?” Zubert pursed his lips in thought. “Heck, I don’t know. I haven’t seen a clock in so long, I don’t even know what month it is anymore. She don’t have a regular schedule though anyways. Jus’ kinda shows up when she shows up.”

“Oh.”

Silence fell once more, and Stix zoned out, staring at nothing on the ground, probably lost in thought. Zubert figured so, anyways. He certainly didn’t seem to want to talk though, so Zubert just sat there with him quietly.

“You. Up.”

Zubert snapped awake suddenly, blearily blinking and looking around as he lifted a head that had drooped to one side as he unintentionally dozed off. As he came to, he realized the speaker had been Drixzy, and he scrambled to his feet.

“Yes, ma’a—”

He didn’t get to finish his word, as warm lips pressed into his own. He didn’t mind, though, his eyes closing as he happily reciprocated the surprise. Drixzy pulled away and, as though only now remembering the guy, turned her head to Stix, who was staring wide-eyed at the two in what could only be described as pure confusion.

Zubert gestured to Stix with one hand, stepping back to introduce the two.

“Miss Drixzy, this is Stix. He’s a’right.”

“Stix.” Drixzy stared quietly for several moments before Stix leaned closer to Zubert and whispered, “Can she see us?”

“Oh, yeah,” Zubert said.

“How?!”

“Um… magic?”

Stix scowled at the unsatisfactory explanation, peering nervously back at the demonic woman. He couldn’t see half her face, but the tight, thin purple leather of the odd but sexy leotard she wore accentuated all the right things. Maybe this wouldn’t be all that bad.

Drixzy, seeming to have satisfied her staring, once more faced Zubert.

“Unbind his arms.”

“Yes ma’am!” Zubert said, approaching Stix, who cautiously scooched around to face his back to Zubert. The knot took a moment, but soon enough Stix’s sore arms were released, and he pulled them around to his front to rub the ache from his shoulders.

“Th’nks” he muttered, backing into the corner again and glowering his distrust.

“I expect Zubert has caught you up with your current situation?”

Stix glanced to Zubert, who only smiled. Looking back at Drixzy, he gave a single nod.

“Good. Now, I ask if you plan t’ be compliant. You will live well cared-for, and The Master’s blessing will bring you joy. If you choose not to comply, then I will revoke my decision to spare you.”

Stix frowned, giving no answer for several moments.

“Stix,” Zubert said in a gentle, hushed voice, “please answer Miss Drixzy.”

A dirty look was tossed his way, but with a deep breath, Stix finally answered.

“I guess so.”

Drixzy’s stern face gave way to just the faintest hint of a smile. “Prove so and I will let you roam the room freely as Zubert does.”

Stix sighed, leaning his head back to stare at the ceiling, where eerie shadows were cast by the fel-light gems that lit the room. He watched with fascination as one of the shadows seemed to flicker and shift a little despite the still nature of the light. His brows creased, and he decided not to look there anymore.

Drixzy, in a contradictory motion, elegantly flopped onto her soft bed, giving a gentle sigh as she sank into it. Zubert glanced between her and Stix, unsure who he should be near at the time. That was answered for him soon enough, as one of Drixzy’s arms rose and gave a come-hither finger wave.

Zubert shuffled over, crawling up into the bed with her, where she rolled onto her belly and said into the blankets “massage.” Like a good doggie, Zubert obeyed, shifting over to straddle her lower back to get a good angle to start working her shoulders with firm, strong hands.

There wasn’t much else to do but watch, so that’s what Stix did. Watched. Watched as Zubert kneaded at the back of a sexy woman, the cut muscles in his bulky arms flexing noticeably with each movement. Stix was pretty sure this was how one of the smut books he’d read started.

Zubert scooted back a little on top of Drixzy as he moved down to work on her upper back, then eventually moved a little further to work on the mid-back… By then he was straddling her butt, and Stix squinted as he noticed Zubert’s crotch moved against it as he rubbed her. Now he wasn’t “pretty” sure; Stix was 100% sure he’d read this one.

Pleased little “mmm”s escaped Drixzy here and there as Zubert worked, and she squirmed beneath him ever so slightly—Zubert flinched, trying to choke a gasp as a soft, barely-clad behind pressed against his accidental excitement. The woman’s head turned away from the face-smothering position she’d been resting in, and a sly smile could be seen on her lips.

“Pleasure me.”

Stix balked; these two were seriously about to do it in front of him? He glanced around frantically. Was this weird? Should he look away and pretend nothing was happening? Should he watch?

Zubert gave a nervous chuckle. “Uh, y-yes ma’am, but, it’s just…”

Drixzy’s brows furrowed. “What?”

Zubert glanced behind to Stix, who looked startled at the sudden attention.

“I mean, someone’s here.”

Drixzy scoffed. “Then pull around the curtains, you baby.”

“That’s not…” Zubert took a deep breath. “Yeah, alright.”

Stix cleared his throat, mumbling a half-hearted “I mean, it’s, uhm, it’s fine.”

Zubert’s ears perked, one brow lowering in consternation. The gears in his head took a moment, but finally he barked a single laugh, turning back to Drixzy.

“Never mind,” Zubert said, fingers trailing up her back to the small zipper tag at the top of the neck of her leotard.

Stix swallowed. Yup. Zubert was just gonna let him watch. He wasn’t sure if he was excited or mortified, but all things considered, it was hardly torture to watch two very attractive people have sex. Just like the books; except instead of words, it was—he choked on a bit of spit as Zubert tugged down his pants. But… he supposed now the tiny goblin had to have something going on to compensate in some way for his unimpressive stature, and that was it.

The act was certainly something. Drixzy, despite being “bottom”, stayed entirely in control, guiding Zubert’s every action. He was fast to catch on any time she changed what she wanted; Stix, trying to ignore other feelings, thought about how strangely in-tune they were with each other. Did they just have good sexual chemistry?

By the time it was over, Stix was hugging his legs as tightly to himself as possible; his hot, red face nestled into his own knees.

Breathing heavily, the very much naked Drixzy—well, naked but for the blindfold and the golden cuffs on her wrists which glowed faintly with fel runes—sat up and turned her attention to the man in the corner, who swallowed hard, his eyes very much unable to meet her unseen gaze, as they were lost on so many other things.

She ran a hand down the front of her body, tilting her head to the side, curtains of long blonde hair cascading down off her shoulders.

Stix couldn’t say a damn thing. A pathetic sort of squeaking whimper was all he managed, burrowing his head further into his knees, though he simply couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.

Zubert, who had flopped down and not moved even a little bit since they finished up, finally shifted around, pushing himself up onto his elbows to peer over at Stix as well.

“Good show, buddy?” Zubert gave a cheeky grin.

Stix’s hands finally rose to cover his burning face and he curled into himself like a dead shrimp.

“If you behave yourself,” Drixzy said, leaning back into her pillows with her arms folded behind her head, “perhaps I will let you have some fun as well someday.”

A hopeless breathed laugh came from the center of the Stix-ball. “A’right,” his muffled voice could be heard saying. “A’right, a’right. This can’t be real. This is a weird wet dream. Wake up. Wake up.”

Zubert pouted. “You ain’t dreamin’, Stix. Well…” He glanced to Drixzy with a sideward smirk, “…not yet.”

A slight smile crept onto Drixzy’s lips. “Oh, you little ham,” she muttered.

Zubert winked at her, and Stix pulled his head out from the depths of his body to give them both a disbelieving look.

“This is ridiculous.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Zubert said with a content sigh.

Something told Stix that wasn’t true.

Well, he had sort of been wrong. Not entirely, but he became more relaxed over time, though internally terrified still; something about Zubert’s ever-present smiling mug perhaps? Or maybe he was just coming to terms and accepting his fate. Drixzy began to dress him about as strangely as Zubert, and was slowly but surely chipping away at his defensive shell with coos of adoration and compliments. He wasn’t comfortable around her, but she was always a looming figure in this caged life he couldn’t avoid.

He stayed silent, mostly. Zubert would press him for conversation, but more often than not was harshly denied. Sure, he may have been settling in, but he wasn’t gonna be happy about it. He would barely let either Zubert or Drixzy touch him willingly, either—Drixzy would lay a farewell kiss on his angular cheek every time she left for an extended period of time, which required a gentle but firm Zubert to hold him still as he tried to squirm away from it. There was always something about those kisses. They were so, so warm. And for several moments after she pulled away, he would think, maybe this isn’t all so bad. And that thought horrified him more than anything.

The chains stayed. He was too twitchy—Drixzy was hesitant to trust him. Not because she was worried he’d get away, obviously; they’d find him before he even escaped the palace, and that would only be a death sentence. But as he had at least complied as much as to not attempt to claw Zubert’s eyes out when he approached with food and drink, Drixzy decided to offer him a modicum of freedom, via a classic combination of ankle shackle, chain, and an immensely heavy metal ball that couldn’t have been anything as simple as iron or steel. Zubert, shocking nobody, was able to lift the ball without too much struggle, but much as he tugged, Stix couldn’t make it so much as budge, only managing to cut up his ankle trying to pull away from it when the others weren’t around.

This new form of bondage was at least better than before—he was now allowed to be led around the palace by Zubert, who would tote the ball so they could sit in the gardens for fresh air, or to the mess hall where they’d try to haggle the actual good food away from Gremix’s followers, who generally just regarded the two with befuddlement before ignoring them.

One garden trip resulted in, to Zubert’s surprise, the lanky goblin whipping out a half-empty pack of cigarettes and a lighter, which he seemed very excited about.

“Where’d ya get that?” Zubert asked.

Stix wiggled his fingers as he said “cafeteria,” his other hand already popping a cig between his lips.

“You stole it?”

“Duh.”

Zubert looked displeased, but he said nothing more, deciding he would keep quiet about the contraband to Drixzy. At the very least, Stix seemed more relaxed as he smoked than Zubert had seen him in all the time he’d been there.

How long was that now? Weeks? Months?

Zubert’s eyes rose to the sky above the towering garden walls: grey and smoggy as the harbor always was. He had no idea what the date or time was, every day blurring into the next and becoming one conglomerate concept. With a twinge of concern, he realized that he had almost forgotten he hadn’t always been there, there were times before the palace; the memories of which were faint and fading. Steelknuckle Casino, the isles, his mom… Large ears lowered, and his brows knit. Zubert wasn’t often very critical of his current living situation, but sometimes, a creeping realization like that would sneak up and…

“You, uh, ready t’ go back in, ‘r what?”

Zubert seemed to snap out of a daze, blinking over at the floofy-haired thief, who was snubbing the last nub of his cigarette out against the delicate marble seat of the bench they sat on.

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” Zubert hesitated for a second, squinting one eye. What… what had he just been thinking about, again?

Zubert slipped off the bench, and grabbing the chain just above the ball, hefted it up and they headed back inside.

How much time had it been?

Stix stared at the bottom of the bed’s canopy in the dark. He didn’t like it, but what choice did he have when Drixzy wanted him to sleep in the bed? Zubert would haul his ball onto it, the short chain not giving way for escape to the floor.

How much time had it been?

Drixzy rolled over in her sleep, a soft arm coming down atop Stix’s chest and he hitched a breath—but it was nothing, as usual. His eyes dropped to her arm. Slowly, carefully, he pulled one of his own from under the blankets, hovering it just over her green skin in a hesitant moment before gently laying his fingertips upon it. She didn’t react, so he let his palm slide down onto her arm as well; yellow eyes watched her through the dark to be sure she didn’t wake. But then, he stopped.

He had meant to carefully lift and move her arm away, but as his hand rested there, a warming calm came over him and he opted to just leave it resting there. What an odd feeling. What a nice feeling.

His eyelids began to droop, sleep overtaking him.

How much time had it been?

Who cared?

“So what color are your eyes, Miss Drixzy?”

Zubert lay on his belly, his feet kicking back and forth behind him, face perched in two hands as he leaned onto his elbows.

Stix was there, too, his ball and chain keeping him stuck on the bed with them. But he was starting to think he didn’t mind it so much anymore. He’d started talking a bit more, and though he was still uncomfortable with touch, he was much more willing to be within a handful of inches of both Drixzy and Zubert.

“Green,” Stix said. “You can see it through her mask, can’t’cha?”

Drixzy chuckled softly, petting a hand through Zubert’s hair as she relaxed. “You’re right, they are green, now.”

Zubert pursed his lips.

“What color were they before?”

Drixzy frowned. “Before what?”

“You said “now”, didn’t you?”

Drixzy was silent for a few rough moments.

“I don’t… recall.”

“Bet’cha they’re still that color, but just glowy, right?” Stix offered. “Like th’ Grand Dickhead’s, his’re pink but th’ green shit comes from inside, yeah?”

“Oh yeah!” exclaimed Zubert. “We could jus’ look an’ tell you!”

Stix sat up in interest. He had no idea how long he’d been there anymore, but in all that time, he’d always wondered what was beneath the blindfold—and Zubert did too.

“You can’t,” Drixzy said, defensively. “I mustn’t show my eyes to anyone but The Master.”

Stix scoffed. “How’s he gonna know?”

“Yeah, jus’ for a second! It can’t hurt, right?”

Drixzy’s hand paused its petting motion. Admittedly, she had been desperately curious to see what the two boys looked like in the real world; what she saw through the blindfold was vague, forms and shadows of depth, the concept of facial expressions, but not true to life. She chewed her bottom lip for a second.

“Fine, but just for a moment,” she said quietly, sitting up and raising her hands to the back of her head.

Zubert and Stix leaned in, eagerly awaiting the answer to their burning question.

Untied, the strip of dark cloth fell to Drixzy’s lap, and long-lashed eyes slowly opened.

“Holy fuck,” Stix yelped, backing away quickly.

“What?” Drixzy asked, glancing between the two of them. Her eyes were adjusting to the light she so rarely saw, but they tried to take in her people-pets’ forms anyways.

“Your eyes,” Zubert said, his tone low and serious, “they’re so bright with the Fel that I can’t tell.”

Drixzy rubbed at her eyes, blinking away the stars. “Really?” Finally, her eyes focused and landed on Zubert. Oh. He had such a cute baby face… but then from the neck down, was hot. She had not seen that disconnect before. Charming. Her gaze turned to Stix, who swallowed and leaned away as much as he could without falling over. Stix, unlike Zubert, was skinny, tall, and seemed, in a way, slightly worn out; like an old letter from a friend, or a well-loved paperback.

“Your hair is white,” Drixzy stated.

“Y-yeah,” Stix said.

“I could never tell,” she said softly. “I can’t figure out colors very well with this—”

A loud bang interrupted her, and she froze in terror. She was facing the opposite direction, but she was more than aware that that sound was the door being slammed open. Two guards with sharp polearms entered, followed by none other than the Grand Warlock, who walked in calmly, hands folded behind his back.

She had never felt so afraid in her life. The dread was almost tangible; her breath seemed caught in her chest, as though she were choking on the very air. Zubert and Stix could feel it too.

They done fucked up.

“What, exactly, do you think you’re doing, my dear Drixzy?” came Gremix’s voice from behind her back.

Zubert looked frantically between the glowing-eyed woman and the eerily collected warlock, interjecting; “W-I mean, I convinced her t’ take it off! Please don’t be mad at her, it’s my fault.”

“What’re y’ doing, idiot?” Stix hissed under his breath. “You’re gonna get yerself killed!”

“Silence, both of you.”

Zubert’s ears drooped; the command had come from Drixzy.

“Come here,” Gremix said flatly.

Drixzy, swallowing a lump in her throat formed of sheer fear, obliged. Gradually, she backed up to the edge of the bed closer to the door, only turning to face her master as her feet found the floor.

She’d only met his gaze for a split second when she gasped in sudden, sharp pain, stumbling back a step and shooting a hand to her cheek—which was now red and stinging from an unexpected backhand.

“Hey!” Zubert shouted, making a move as though meaning to go defend Drixzy, but Stix grabbed his shoulder and tugged him back.

Tears welled in Drixzy’s eyes and she regarded Gremix fearfully. Despite literally having just slapped her, the warlock seemed just as cool as the moment before, his stern expressionless gaze locked on her.

“I’m sorry, Master,” she said quietly, her voice barely a squeak.

“You certainly are.” Gremix looked over his shoulder, nodding a head to one of the guards. “Take the slaves.”

Drixzy’s ears whipped upwards. “What? Why—they didn’t do anythin’, Master, please!” Despite her objections, the guards headed deeper into the room, seizing Zubert and Stix; the latter trying to make some sort of resistant effort, but Zubert, as ever, allowing himself to be directed without a fight.

“You will put that blindfold back on immediately and wait here for my decision about what happens next,” Gremix said, glancing aside to the guards as they escorted the two young men away. “You will not leave this room; d’you understand me?”

Drixzy wrung the cloth in her hands for a second, but gave a slight nod, and lifted it to her face to tie on once again.

“Do make sure to actually obey my instructions this time,” Gremix concluded with a note of venom as he turned on his heel and strode out after the guards.

Drixzy watched as more guards outside saluted him, then closing her door and, assumedly, guarding it.

Her knees seemed to give out, and she sat on the edge of her bed, trembling.

What had she done?

They stood still, eyes lowered. They didn’t look but they could tell he was staring them down. The warlock’s gaze felt like needles on their skin; Stix, for the first time in quite a while, had begun to shiver.

“It’ll be okay,” Zubert said. “We’ll be okay, don’t worry.”

“Is that what you think?” Gremix asked from where he lounged upon his throne. The guards held the two goblins before him at the bottom of the lordly steps for his consideration, and he’d been picking his brain for the best way to go about his intentions.

Zubert swallowed, not responding. A shaky breath shuddered from beside him. Every instinct told Zubert to pat Stix’s shoulder, or hug him, or anything… but Stix probably wouldn’t have wanted it, anyways.

Gremix observed the two for a few moments, deep in thought. Then, fel-tinged magenta eyes flicked to Zubert.

“Steelknuckle.”

Zubert flinched, but raised his eyes to meet the warlock’s gaze.

“Punch him.”

Both Zubert and Stix looked taken aback.

“Stix? W-why?”

“Jus’ do it. Hard as you can. Straight in the face.”

Stix whimpered, a fearful look tossed Zubert’s way. Zubert shook his head incredulously.

“I can’t punch him… he didn’t do nothin’ to me.”

“Are you defying me?” Gremix asked, one brow raised.

“Uh…” A chill ran down Zubert’s back. “No, no of course not, but, it’s jus’…”

Gremix gave a disappointed click of his tongue.

“And here I thought Drixzy would have done a better job on you.” He slumped back in his throne, stroking his jawline in thought.

“Ah!” Gremix sat up straight suddenly, snapping his fingers before pointing at the guard holding Stix’s ball. “I’ve got jus’ the thing. Why don’t we playtest that lovely new whip I was given last week?”

“Excellent choice, master,” the guard said.

“I will retrieve it for you, Master,” piped up a follower who was coincidentally walking down a hall to the side of the throne room.

“Thank you, child,” Gremix said with a head nod towards the follower, who saluted and jogged off in the direction from which they had originally came.

Stix looked like he might faint.

Zubert raised his eyes, giving Gremix a pleading look. “D-don’t hurt him…! Please.”

Gremix simply stared at him, blinking slowly.

Zubert’s eyes welled with tears. “Please! I—I told him he’d be safe! I told him he’d be okay if he stayed here!” Zubert swallowed back a desperate sob. “Please, he didn’t do anything.”

Stix peered aside at the pleading goblin.

“Don’t… don’t make me a liar.” The tears, having no room left to well, began running down the soft curves of Zubert’s cheeks.

“How odd,” Gremix said. “His face is leaking.” His gaze drifted to the guard holding Zubert. “He should see the doctor to get that looked at, I think.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Master,” said the guard. “I will deliver him.”

Zubert’s brows knit in confusion. “Huh? Doctor?” He got no explanation, however, and was tugged away down a hallway, glancing back at Stix as he turned the corner—their eyes met for just a moment, and Zubert could only feel his stomach sink to his feet. He looked… betrayed.

“No, please,” Zubert sobbed one last time, but the guard jerked him forward and he disappeared from sight.

“Here it is, Master,” said the follower from before, now toting what could only be described as several strands of rusty barbed wire braided together on one end to form a crude steel whip.

“Ah, lovely,” Gremix said with a pleased smile. “Guard, will you do the honors, please?”

“Of course, Master,” the guard behind Stix said. He placed down the heavy ball, stepping away to take the “whip” from the other follower, who then giddily approached Gremix, bowed, and received a gentle brush of his hand on their cheek; a blissful sigh was the last thing from them before they returned to whatever business they had been tending to before.

There was no forewarning, and no words for the feeling, Stix yelping loudly as the steel wires lashed across his back unexpectedly. Fabric and flesh tore, and his eyes overflowed with tears of pain as he tried to gasp his breath back. Suddenly dizzy from the shock, he fell forward to his hands and knees, shaking and huddling into himself. Hateful eyes rose to see the Grand Warlock lounging upon his seat, looking nothing more than bored.

“Why?!” Stix whined. “What’d I do t’ deserve this!?”

“Oh, silly boy: nothing, I’m sure. I’m punishing you…” Gremix said, leaning his cheek into a hand, elbow propped onto the arm of his golden chair, “…but the punishment is not for you.”

Stix’s ears pinned, but he had no time to parse that as the wires struck his back once more, cutting and gouging at already tender, bleeding flesh and causing him to cry out in pain.

Gremix smirked. “Let’s do twenty, shall we?”

“Yes, Master.”

Somewhere deep within the mazes of stone hallways that led underground, Zubert trudged along with his guard. It was creepy enough in the dank, empty halls, but even worse, he kept hearing an eerie screeching sound echoing from somewhere distantly behind.

It seemed they’d walked forever. There was no way Zubert was going to remember the route back… though a nagging voice in the back of his head said that might not be a concern soon. Finally, the guard stopped him, creaking open a heavy metal door plastered with warning and hazard signs, revealing a large room full of whirring medical equipment, steel tables with long sheets of tissue paper spread over them, and…

“Oh, a doctor. I got it.” Zubert said.

“Well, they don’t call me that much anymore,” came a smooth voice from the corner. “No respect, these lot.”

Zubert whipped his head around to identify the speaker. Behind a cluttered desk sat a goblin man with long, fiery red hair pulled back into a ponytail. He was chewing on something and leaning back in his chair with his feet on the desk, clearly comfortable in this odd, chemical-smelling, machine-riddled room.

“What’s this, then?” asked the supposed doctor.

“Test subject.”

The doctor’s brows rose, and his eyes shone excitedly. He kicked off from his desk, chair rolling back enough for him to hop to his feet.

“Can I—?!”

“Non-fatal only.”

The doctor’s cheery face dropped into a disappointed scowl.

“Fine… but I’m never gonna get anywhere on Serum K if you guys don’t give me some expendables!”

“Yeah, yeah,” groaned the guard, shoving Zubert forward into the room. “I’ll let the Master know your concerns.”

The doctor crinkled his nose. “Yeah, sure ya will.”

The guard gave a final wave and a sarcastic “have fun!” as he left, sealing the door behind him.

The doctor turned and gave the tied-up Zubert a strange smile.

“How d’you feel about needles, little man?”

Drixzy hadn’t moved an inch from where she sat. Hours had passed, but she felt frozen. What was going to happen to her? She had spent so long following Gremix faithfully, catering to his every demand for years, and in one foolish moment had thrown that all away. What was she thinking? Why would she do something so stupid?! She rubbed at her temples, mind racing. It was Zubert and Stix—something about them. She was becoming weak for them, forgetting her place… and theirs.

Drixzy gasped, startled from her thoughts as her bedroom door opened once again. A guard’s head popped in.

“The Master calls you. He wishes you to clean up an unsightly mess in the throne room.”

Drixzy, puzzled, stood from her bed to follow the guard out. A mess? Was he making her do chores as punishment?

As soon as she crossed into sight of the throne room, she found herself wishing that true.

She cried out in despair, running into the room with loud, fast CLICK CLICK CLICKs of her boots on the stone. Reaching the center below the throneward stairs, she fell to her knees, hands shaky and unsure of what to do to what she found there… an unsightly mess, indeed. Stix was unconscious, his shirt shred to pieces and his back all but mutilated and losing him significant amounts of blood. She turned her head to the throne to see Gremix seated there, staring down at her, expressionless and cold.

“Master--!”

He raised a hand, flicking his wrist to toss something down at her. Drixzy caught it skillfully, whatever it was, and she brought it close to herself to see it. Small, green, and lightly glowing, it appeared to be a minor healthstone.

“Embed that into his back, an’ clean him up; you might have a chance to keep him alive yet, my pet.”

Drixzy swallowed back tears, brushing one hand’s fingers through bloodstained hair—hair she now knew was white. And this is what he got for her knowing.

“Oh, Stix, I’m so sorry,” she muttered into his ear as she stooped down to lift his limp body. Plenty of guards and other followers were around, and they watched her quietly, some whispering to one another, but not a one offering to help as she hurriedly part-carried, part-dragged the significantly taller, bloodied goblin away.

His eyes didn’t open right away when his consciousness returned to him. Stix pondered in the darkness of his mind if he was dead. Was he in the afterlife? The afterlife felt like a very comfy bed. But slowly his senses returned to him, and he could make out quiet noises. Little subtle sounds that signaled that another person was around. Well, he certainly couldn’t be dead, then; his happiest afterlife, he thought, would be free from dealing with other people ever again. He was already not keen on most people, and recent events were really only setting the roots of that feeling even deeper.

Recent events?

His eyes finally cracked open, just to see nothing but darkness. Wait, was he dead? He lifted his head—no, he just had his face in a pillow, after all. Damn.

He regretted the movement instantly.

“Nnngh--!!” Stix groaned as he winced, plummeting his face back into soft feathery pillows.

“Don’t move!” came a concerned voice from somewhere nearby. Drixzy’s voice.

He only groaned again.

“You’re injured, just lay still and rest,” she said. Her voice was soft, delicate… sad.

He didn’t want to feel bad for her—he was the one who suffered for her! And yet, the tone of her voice seemed to tug at his heart. What annoying, confusing, conflicting feelings he’d had since entering this palace.

“Stix,” Drixzy said, walking over to the side of the bed where he laid, “do you know where Zubert is?”

Stix thought about it. His memories of what happened before he passed out were fuzzy… what was that word again? It had seemed such an odd thing that Gremix said. Oh--

“Doc’r,” came his pillow-muffled response.

Drixzy stumbled backwards as though she had been shoved by the invisible force of his voice.

“D-doctor?!”

“M’hmm.”

“Stay here!” Drixzy said, turning to make a dash out her door, but she paused. “I mean, you probably can’t go anywhere right now if you’d wanted to, but…” Oh, what was she saying? She was in a rush!

The clacking of her boots as she sprinted down halls and around corners echoed throughout the lower chambers. One might have thought that cacophonous sound would be enough for people to keep an eye open, but Drixzy still nearly mowed someone over in her rush. She didn’t stop to apologize. Did she ever stop to apologize? She didn’t remember being polite to followers ever. Why wasn’t she polite to them?

The warning-adorned door smashed open with a loud BANG!, Drixzy immediately yelling, “BAZLEE! WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM!?”

The doctor, this Bazlee, blinked at her, apparently having been in the middle of an experiment; syringe in hand, surgical mask over nose and mouth, and someone green and struggling bound to the metal table before him. Her heart sank. It wasn’t Zubert.

“Hello to you too, Drixzy. Why yes, I’ve been lovely, thanks for asking!”

“Where is he?”

Bazlee looked puzzled. “Whom?”

“Zubert!” Drixzy shouted, fear straining her voice. “He’s—he’s short, an’ has black hair, an’ tattoos, an’ really sexy arms!”

From somewhere deeper in the room came a weak chuckle. Her ears perked and she dashed towards the sound.

She went around a large, humming machine of some sort to find Zubert sprawled out on a stained bedroll on the floor.

“You really think my arms are sexy?” he asked. His voice was but a scratchy wisp of strained breath, his face pale and eyelids drooping.

Drixzy knelt beside him, placing a hand on his cheek. He was cold as ice. She swallowed hard, ears pinning.

“Are you in pain? Can you move?” she asked.

Zubert took a bit to respond, seeming to have to gather the energy to over time.

“Badly. Can’t move.” He gave a weak smile. “I’m sorry, Miss Drixzy. I failed you.”

“No, no, of course you didn’t, don’t say that,” she murmured, cupping his cheeks in her hands.

“He ain’t gonna die, you can chill. Probably, at least. …Maybe.”

Drixzy turned, scrutinizing Bazlee, who had snuck up behind her at some point.

“How do I help him?”

The doctor pursed his lips to one side, giving an exaggerated “hmmmmmmmm…”

“Bazlee! This is no time for your crap!” Drixzy snapped.

He snickered and shrugged.

“I dunno, honestly. Warm him up? I design the poisons, not the antidotes.”

Drixzy huffed. She scooped her arms under Zubert’s back and tried to lift, but with a groan of strained effort, she realized that while the bottom half of Zubert was within her limits, his upper body bulk was far too heavy for her to heft all the way back to her bedroom.

Zubert gave another weak chuckle. “Sorry…”

“Stop apologizing,” Drixzy said, rubbing her hands down her face. What was she going to do?

She scanned her surroundings, seeking anything that could give her an idea—and her eyes landed on Bazlee, who was no longer paying attention to her, instead pulling bloodied rubber gloves from his hands to dispose of.

“Bazlee,” Drixzy started, her voice softer than it had been any time she’d addressed him before, “please, will you help me?”

The doctor eyed her.

“Please—we used to be friends!”

This puzzled the red-haired man, whose brows lowered in concern. “What? When?”

Drixzy paused. When? She could have sworn… her head pounded as she tried to dig up where that thought had come from.

“I… I don’t know.”

Bazlee gave her an incredulous look, but shrugged it off.

“I guess. That useless idiot they just gave me died before I could get anythin’ done, so I could take a break…”

Stix had dozed off, pain wearing him down into sleep again and again, but a clattering awoke him. The sound of the door opening, and what sounded like squeaky wheels…

“Thank you,” Drixzy said, taking one of Bazlee’s hands in her own with a grateful squeeze after they had moved Zubert from the wheeled stretcher they transported him with to the bed.

“Yeah, well,” Bazlee mumbled, pulling his hand away from hers and shaking it off like she’d gotten water or cooties on it. “Next time one of your dudes ends up in my lab, I’m not doin’ this again. Jus’ for the record.”

“You will never see them in there again.”

Bazlee laughed, and taking the stretcher, wheeled it out of the room. A few moments after he closed the door, fast wheel-squeaking could be heard from the halls, along with a “YEEEEAHHHHH!”—then very soon a “WAIT, NO—” and a crashing sound.

Drixzy pursed her lips—she had no time to go attend to the doofus doctor who she could only assume just tried to ride his stretcher down the halls.

“J’fnd’m?” came a muffled voice from pillowed face.

“Yeah,” Drixzy said. “I found him.” She placed a hand tenderly on Zubert’s chest. His breathing was slow and weak.

She tried piling blankets upon blankets upon blankets over him, but nothing she did seemed to warm him, and it seemed the color was completely draining from his body—she’d never seen a green so white. She searched her mind desperately, staring down at her hands. Useless hands! They couldn’t even save her… pets? No, they weren’t pets to her. An ache in her chest denied that term, and she longed for something else. Her eyes drifted from palms to the golden cuffs around her wrists. The fel runes on them flickered and glowed, seeming to move and shift around the surface. She hadn’t quite figured out what these were, but she knew that Gremix had created them, and somehow had been summoning her through them—not by sound, but a strange feeling that emanated from them and crept into her mind when he called her name. Perhaps there was more to the shackles than that. Maybe it was a two-way thing.

“Master,” she whispered. “Please… let me save them.” Zubert watched her, pretty sure he was dying and thus slipping away from reality because Drixzy was definitely talking to her own hands.

Nothing happened—until something did. The runes’ glows shone brighter in a burst of sudden green energy, then faded, the color turning into a vapor that dissipated in the air. What did that mean? What kind of help was that?

But then she felt it. A tug in the back of her mind—like when Gremix called for her, but ever so slightly different. This feeling was not saying “come here.” Instead, it simply said “kiss”.

She was too desperate to question, so she leaned in, and laid a kiss upon Zubert's cold, pallid lips. It was then she understood.

A warmth came from her hands, rising up her arms and into her body. It was the touch of her Master—but not being given to her. It was siphoning through her, and as it rose to her head, she heard a gentle inhale from the near-frozen goblin.

Stix, curious of the quiet shuffling, turned his head just enough that he could peek over with one yellow eye. What he saw, he couldn’t quite explain. Well, he could explain the part that was Drixzy smooching Zubert like she tended to, but the fel glow overflowing from beneath her blindfold and bursting in waves from her wristbands was another thing. The lights seemed to materialize into a green fog, which then drifted around Zubert, where it seemed to then be sucked into him. Miraculously, color was rapidly reappearing in his skin, starting with a golden red in the cheeks and ears signifying not just life but that he was quite enjoying what slowly but surely became a much deeper kiss. Regaining his ability to move, Zubert sat up—hands met faces, silent pleased noises escaped them, and the fel clouds continued until finally Drixzy pulled away. Zubert, half lidded eyes making him seem entranced, tried to lean to follow her, but Drixzy put her hand on his face and for a few seconds they just sat like that. With a twitch of an ear, Zubert seemed to find himself again, though looking confused, and Drixzy lowered her hand.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

Zubert looked down at his hands, turning them around, then moved his arms around a bit. “Yeah! I’m kinda achey, but way better now!” He gave her a perplexed look. “What did you do?”

“I d'no, but I don’t like it,” came a muffled voice to the side.

Drixzy frowned. “Stix, let me heal you too.”

“Hell no!” Stix said, wincing as the slight chest movement only served to reopen barely-scabbed gashes, gushing hot blood into the bandages wrapped over practically his entire torso. “Keep that demon stuff away from me.”

“You’re bleeding profusely and in so much pain, though,” Drixzy said, voice low and concerned.

“Don’t care.”

Drixzy sighed. “I’m sorry. This is all my fault, I failed to take proper care of you both but just ended up hurting you.”

“That’s not true!” argued Zubert.

“Yeah,” Stix agreed, brows lowering into a look of disgust. “You didn’t hurt us, that monster out there on his shiny chair did!”

“Do not speak that way of The Master,” Drixzy said disapprovingly.

“Seriously? How c’n yer stand up for that guy?! Don’t y’ see he’s terrible?” Stix asked indignantly.

“He isn’t,” Drixzy disagreed, slipping off the bed and walking around it to Stix's side. “You don’t know him like I do. You don’t know how he is when we’re alone.”

Stix blinked in disbelief. “Are you even hearin' yerself?”

“Stix,” chided Zubert. “Jus’ stop.”

“No! This is insane, this—nnh!”

He had started to try to push himself up, forgetting until too late that every single movement stung like a razor down his back.

He felt hands on his face, which gently turned his head in the opposite direction, towards Drixzy.

“Don’t,” Stix said. “C-c’mon…”

“It really works, Stix, I feel way better now,” Zubert said, trying to offer some reassurance.

“I’m only helping,” Drixzy insisted.

“I don’t want yer help.”

Drixzy scowled.

“Well, I don’t care what you want. You’re mine, and I’ll do as I will.”

Stix couldn’t exactly back away or fight her off, so he just squeezed his eyes shut as she leaned in, twisting to meet his pillow bound face, and pressed her soft lips onto his.

She hadn’t kissed his lips even once; Stix figured she just had Zubert for that kind of stuff. He certainly didn’t think she’d kiss him, and he certainly didn’t think he would have enjoyed it so much. There was a strange warmth that seemed to seep from her lips, tapping into his own body. His mind became vague; were they using tongue? It was as though his consciousness had left his body to float in a liminal space. It was a painless place, an anxiety-free place. So nice. So heavenly.

He blinked, suddenly finding himself once more in his broken body, strewn across Drixzy’s bed. He felt dazed, yet renewed. Shakily, he pushed himself up to sitting, and Zubert gave an excited applause.

Stix still looked worse for the wear, having lost significant amounts of blood, but as shown by Zubert carefully peeling bloody bandages off the skinny goblin, the horrendous mutilated flesh had closed up quite a bit, thick scabbing holding the cuts closed as though it’d had several days to heal already. Stix shuddered as the cold hit his now-bare torso, then hissed sharply through his teeth—“fuck, it still hurts.”

“Still as much?” Zubert asked concernedly.

Stix considered himself carefully before answering.

“Nah. Less, but it still hurts.”

Drixzy peered down at her bracers, but the runes had died down to their usual faint flickering glow. “I don’t think I can do any more. I’m sorry.”

Stix grumbled, but Zubert, much more enthusiastic about not feeling like he was freezing to death, chimed in with a “you’ve done plenty! More than we could have asked for.”

Drixzy gave him a weak smile, and the door creaked open behind her. She glanced over to see a guard simply holding it open. For a moment she was puzzled, but then she realized why he was there as the back of her mind prickled: come here.

She peered at her boys, both better but tired.

“I’m being called for. Try to get more rest, you two.”

Zubert nodded, Stix giving no acknowledgement of her even having spoken.

Drixzy turned and strode out the door. The call wasn’t coming from the throne room this time. She could sense his power even from afar. He was in his chambers.

With a deep breath, she started down the halls.

She entered slowly, warily. The dim, fel-lit room was same as it always was: cold, slightly spooky, and containing the one thing she was truly afraid of…

Gremix.

“You called for me, Master?”

“Yes,” he answered from where he lay, casually leaned against the strikingly carved and engraved headboard of his luxurious bed, arms crossed behind his head. As usual, he wore a delicate, fancy robe, which spread from his crossed legs like a fish tail.

“Join me.” He pulled his arms from behind to pat the mattress beside him. “You’ll be sleeping with me tonight.”

Her heart skipped a beat—it’d been so long since Gremix had let her sleep with him. She wanted to be excited, but a pit in her stomach warned her that Gremix was probably still very displeased with her. Cautiously, she came forth, hefting herself into the soft bedding and crawling over to lay beside her master. An uncertain hand lifted towards his chest, but she hesitated to touch him.

“It’s fine, dear,” he said with a smile that didn’t look quite genuine.

She laid her hand softly on his chest, scooting in close to him and nuzzling into his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, Master,” she nearly whispered. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“Bygones, bygones,” Gremix said, combing clawed fingers through her nearly-white blonde locks. “What’s up with you lately, huh? Of everyone, I never would have thought you would disobey my direct command.”

She burrowed further into his shoulder in shame.

“I’ve been feelin’ so strange,” Drixzy said. “I keep getting confused. I told Bazlee we used to be friends”—Gremix’s brows furrowed immediately—”but that can’t be true… I don’t remember that, nor did he. I don’t know why I said it.”

“I see,” Gremix said, no note of concern in his tone despite the betrayal of a distressed face. “That’s very silly of you. You never met Bazlee until the Palace.”

“I know… but for a moment, I was so sure.” She frowned and shifted back to look entreatingly at the warlock. “What’s wrong with me, Master? I feel like I’m losing grip on myself.”

Gremix pursed his lips, scrutinizing the woman’s face a moment. Reaching up slowly, he lifted her blindfold up and off her head. She opened her eyes, and as usual, they glowed with unholy intensity.

“Don’t worry, my dear,” Gremix said, a soft tone to his voice that Drixzy hadn’t heard in so long. “I am going to fix you.”

“Thank you, Boss.”

Gremix froze, and the abrupt stiffening of his muscles indicated to Drixzy that something she said was wrong. Her eyes widened, and her hand shot to her mouth, covering it in confused horror.

“Wh… why did I…”

Gremix's ears pinned, slight movements in his jaw a sign of clenched teeth.

“Never. Call me that. Again,” he said, some sort of powerfully serious frustration seeming to bubble inside of him.

“I-I'm sorry, Master—oh!”

Drixzy found herself suddenly flipped onto her back, the warlock hovering above her on his hands and knees. She couldn’t remember the last time Gremix had looked so upset. Or had he ever looked upset?

“Master,” Drixzy started softly, swallowing a lump in her throat, “how… long have we been here?”

The Grand Warlock’s hand slid up the front of her body and he leaned in to her ear, his warm breath giving her goosebumps.

“Always.”

Zubert and Stix had waited a while for her, but Drixzy did not return that night, and they fell asleep sprawled out in the spaciousness of the bed. When they awoke, she still had not returned. It wasn’t until a while after the door guard brought them dinner that the blindfolded young woman came back.

There was something about the way she was walking—hips swaying, each heeled bootstep like a step down the catwalk. Her lips were tight and straight, her posture immaculate. Expressionless.

“Welcome back, Mi—” started Zubert, practically a dog wagging its tail at its owner’s return.

“Silence.”

Zubert paused. Her voice was flat, cold. He glanced aside at Stix, who returned his troubled look.

“On the floor, pets. Where you belong.”

Both guys seemed to wilt a little, scooching themselves off the comfy linens in disappointment. What happened? Drixzy seemed to have completely changed overnight. Zubert thought it felt familiar… Like how she was when he first arrived.

“Drixzy—”

“I said silence.” Drixzy sneered at them, her voice carrying a malice that chilled them to their cores. “I have failed my Master by being too soft on you both. You will learn your places, or else be destroyed.”

Stix paled. Killed, sure; but “destroyed” sounded—somehow—worse.

“Do you understand me?”

Stix and Zubert both nodded fervently.

A smile crept onto her lips, but not the soft, tender smiles from before. It seemed, in a way, sinister. As though merely watching them fear her was a pleasant joke. A horrible realization crept up on both of the guys.

She was smiling just like him.