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luci-in-trenchcoats · 5 years

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Make It Through The Night (Part 3)

(x)

Summary: The reader meets Dean’s friend, Benny, but everything isn’t as smooth sailing as it seems...

Masterlist

Pairing: Apocalypse!Dean x reader

Square: Dean Winchester

Word Count: 3,100ish

Warnings: langauge, minor violence

A/N: Written for @spngenrebingo

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“Morning sunshine,” said Dean as you walked into the kitchen. “Eggs and rice for breakfast.”

“It’s hot. I ain’t complaining,” you said, fixing your arm in it’s sling.

“You change your bandages out yet?” he asked. You yawned and nodded, taking a seat at the counter. “Ever been shot before?”

“No. Hurts like a bitch,” you said, looking around. “So where’s the rice come from?”

“One of the largest rice distribution plants is about twenty minutes down the road. I stocked up,” he said.

“Smart move,” you said. “So where the hell am I exactly? This place I mean.”

“Short version, there used to be these guys, Men of Letters. My grandpa was one. This was their base of operations. They got wiped out in the fifties though,” said Dean. “They used to research monsters, how to kill them, that sort of thing. Through a very long series of events which started long before I was born, I wound up being raised by a hunter, my dad. Along with Sam. Hunters used to kill monsters back when the world was normal and no one knew about this stuff. After my dad died, it was me and Sam for a while and a whole bunch of other bad shit happened and then he got on demon blood and we went our separate ways. I ended up meeting my grandpa who traveled through time before he died and he told me about this place. It’s safe from monsters, demons, you name it. It runs itself. There’s a bunch of information in that library that might be useful. It’s pretty...I lost you at the time traveling grandpa, didn’t I.”

“If that’s the short version, I can’t imagine the long,” you said, resting your head against your palm. “You’re serious?”

“My life’s always been strange. Everyone else finally caught up a year ago,” he said.

“It’s completely safe here?” you asked.

“I mean, nothing is completely safe but it’s probably the safest place on the planet,” he said.

“Good,” you said, closing your eyes. “I could do with someplace safe.”

“It’s not pretty out there. The world now I mean,” he said, handing you a plate, your eyes fluttering open.

“Those guys were probably going to sell me to a monster...or a demon. It seems to be the hot commodity,” you said.

“Speaking of which, after breakfast, you’re gonna have to get tatted up,” said Dean.

“Um, what?” you said as you started to eat.

“Tattoo,” he said, pulling aside his flannel and t shirt, showing off a tattoo on his chest. “Anti-possession. A demon can’t take over your body that way.”

“Oh. Yeah, that’s probably good to have,” you said. “You know how to do tattoo’s?”

“Personally, no but one of my friends should be getting back home soon. He was out on a supply run,” said Dean.

“Oh. Cool,” you said.

“Y/N,” he said, poking at his food. “I thought about last night, what we talked about, what you said. You’re right. I can’t kill Sam. I never could. I don’t want to kill him. It’s my job to fucking protect him. I’m not going to give up on him. I want to try to talk to him, figure out how to catch him and get him off of the demon blood, get rid of his powers. That’s the only option. I know you offered but I won’t go down that road.”

“No killing Sam. Okay,” you said with a nod. “We’ll figure something out then.”

“Thank you,” said Dean.

Thirty minutes later you were in the library trying to figure out some basics about demons when the front door opened and man in combat gear came walking down the stairs with a box.

“I found you extremely stale gummy bears. You’re welcome,” said the man, setting the box down on the war room table, staring at you. “Cher.”

“What?” you asked, glancing at Dean.

“It’s a nickname thing he does. Y/N, this is Benny. Ex-vampire I met in purgatory. Benny, this is Y/N. Met her yesterday when a few unscrupulous fellas were on my property again,” said Dean.

“Vampire,” you said, instinctively getting out of your seat and taking a few steps back.

“Ex-vampire,” said Dean as he flipped through a book. “He doesn’t bite.”

“Unless you’re into that,” he smiled, flashing you a wink.

“Dude. I get that the dating pool is limited but-”

“Excuse, Dean,” said Benny, ruffling his hair as he went past and took a seat. “He’s a worrier. Plus it’s fun to tease him. He’s totally into you anyways.”

You blinked slowly, Dean giving Benny a bitchface.

“Let’s not scare off the first company we’ve had in oh, months? Hm?” said Dean.

“Ignoring the purgatory part of that sentence for right now, how does one become an ex-vampire?” you asked, staring at Benny.

“Ordinarily there’s a cure but it only works if the person has never tasted human blood and if you have the fang of the vamp that turned you. Benny though...well when we got out of purgatory, he was still a vamp,” said Dean.

“I was almost at the point of asking Deano to end it for me. I knew I would break and hurt someone. But the world decided to go to shit and I drank from an infected person. I got really sick. Majorly sick,” said Benny, peeling off his boots and kicking up his feet in a nearby chair.

“We tried the cure, figured what the hell and now Benny is as human as the day he was born,” said Dean. “He’s like really fucking old by the way.”

“Shut up,” said Benny, pushing Dean’s face, a smile popping up on it for a moment. “So ex-vampire. No need to be afraid.”

“Alright,” you said as you sat back down.

“What’s with the chicken wing?” asked Benny, nodding at you.

“Shot yesterday. Graze on the arm, through and through in the shoulder,” said Dean, flipping through his book again. “Y/N’s gonna stay here, help with the Sam situation.”

“Good. We could always use a few more hands,” said Benny.

“How many hands are there?” you asked.

“There’s a network of hunters out there. It’s not huge but it’d be useful to get close to Sam,” said Dean. “Plan’s changed by the way, Benny. We take him alive and cure him or it’s the end of us.”

“Whatever you want, brother,” said Benny, standing up with a sigh. “I’ve been on the road all night. I’m gonna shower and crash before I have to head out again.”

“I’ll need a tat done before you go. Gonna stick around more than a day for once?” asked Dean.

“I’ll be here a few days. I know you miss this pretty face, Deano,” he said. Dean rolled his eyes and Benny wandered off down a different hall.

“So purgatory...no one can ever say you have not led a full life,” you said. Dean chuckled and leaned back in his seat.

“Full of horrors. But yeah, I suppose you’re right. It’s been interesting,” he said.

“Did you like...die,” you said, Dean cocking his head. “Purgatory.”

“No. Accidentally wound up there when I killed a special kind of monster. I met up with Benny there. We found a way out together,” said Dean. “Just because a monster is a monster...they can be your friend too. I got a buddy who’s a werewolf actually.”

“Here I thought study abroad would make me exciting,” you said. Dean smiled and slid over his book to you.

“Read this one. It’ll give you some good info. We’ll go over some good ways to kill demons maybe later in the week,” he said.

“I’m not a soldier. I don’t know...everything I know, I picked up on my own,” you said.

“I’m pretty confident in your abilities,” he said. “We don’t have to go after Sam this second. Something like this, we need to know our game plan first and I don’t even know where to start so focus on healing and training a bit for now.”

“Alright,” you said, Benny cutting back in wearing nothing but his boxers.

“Dude. We have a lady in the house now,” said Dean.

“She can walk around in her underwear too. I don’t care,” said Benny, going to the box and pulling out a bottle of soap.

“You and your old spice you freak,” said Dean.

“Don’t knock it,” said Benny. “There’s some shaving cream in there too in case you decide to shave that peach fuzz.”

“Asshole,” said Dean as Benny laughed, carrying the box away with him.

“I like the beard,” you said with a shrug.

“See, brother? Match made in heaven right here,” he said.

“Oh shut up,” said Dean. “Go get clean. You smell filthy.”

“Whatever you say,” he said, whistling as he went.

“Sorry. He’s a bit...Benny sometimes,” said Dean.

“I like him,” you said, glancing through the pages.

“You actually like the beard?” he asked. Your eyes glanced over and met his, noticing just how pretty of a green they were.

“It suits you. You look like some badass or something,” you said. He smirked and you rolled your eyes. “Oh my God. I can only handle one man-child at a time.”

“Speaking of badasses, you’ll need some new gear. I’ll take a look around in storage,” he said. “Also, I am so not a man-child.”

“Gummy bears?” you said with a smile.

“Touche,” he said, grabbing his notebook and jogging up into the library. “You get bored of reading come find me. I’m sure we can find something for you to work on.”

“Hey,” said Dean a few hours later. You let out a hiss and grit your teeth, Benny wiping off your bicep. “How’d she do?”

“She was good,” he said. “Barely made a peep.”

“How’s it look?” you asked.

“Good,” said Dean. “It’s just a precaution we have to take.”

“No, it’s fine. I probably should have gone with the right arm is all,” you said, wincing a bit.

“Come on you two. Dinner’s done,” said Dean. You followed him back down the hall while Benny turned off the equipment. Dean plopped a bottle of pills in front of you at the table. You shook your head and he took two out, putting them on your plate. “Y/N. Take the pain meds. It’s fine.”

“So you come up with anything today?” you asked as Benny joined you, diving into his bowl of stew.

“Maybe. I was thinking Ben, we could retrofit the dungeon, turn it into a holding cell, detox chamber kind of thing,” said Dean.

“It could work. How we get him inside is another problem,” said Benny.

“Do you think you could work on gathering materials, figuring out the best way to build a safe room?” asked Dean.

“I can think of something. I’ll head up North, visit Donna. She’s good with that sort of thing,” said Benny.

“So are you two an item yet or are you still living in denial?” asked Dean, giving him a smirk.

“Who? Me and Donna?” scoffed Benny. “No way. Strictly platonic. We both been burned before.”

“I know about the camping store incident,” smirked Dean. “Benny bear.”

“Fine. We’re dating. You girls gonna chat about this too?” he said, crossing his arms.

“Maybe. We do love to talk about boys and braid our hair,” teased Dean. “Nah, man, that’s great. You and Donna make a good team. Tactically.”

“Shut up. Worse than a high school girl,” said Benny. “You see what I’ve been dealing with during the end of the world?”

“Is she cute?” you asked, Benny throwing up his hands.

“Oh yeah,” said Dean with a laugh. “Donna’s a pretty girl. Sweet as can be but she’s tough. She and Jody…”

He trailed off and pursed his lips, Benny nodding.

“Jody didn’t make it,” said Benny. “Demons. If you guys are all set, I’m gonna head out soon.”

“You travel at night?” you asked.

“Safer actually,” said Dean. “Most of the infected people, they still sleep for some reason. Benny can get up to Sioux falls by dawn pretty good this way.”

“Write down any gear you think you may need,” he said, finishing off his drink before he took off.

“Why is he leaving already?” you asked. “He just got here this morning.”

“He has a job to do and I told it to him,” said Dean. “Benny moves at his own pace. If he wants to go tonight, he can go, I won’t baby him.”

“Doesn’t he want to rest?”

“Benny crashed most of the day. He’s good,” said Dean. “Unlike you. Early bedtime tonight.”

“What are you, my mother?” you mumbled.

“Do I need to be?” he asked. You rolled your eyes and went back to your food, Dean finishing his off before he started to pick up.

You closed your eyes and rested your head against the table.

“I feel funny,” you said. “Did you drug me?”

“It’s the pain med’s, dumbass. They’re kicking in. It’s pretty strong stuff,” he said. He walked over and sat you upright. “Finish your food and then you can sleep.”

“Or you drugged me,” you said, reaching for your knife. Dean quickly knocked it away and you pulled the gun out of the back of his pants. He froze as you turned off the safety.

“Y/N. Calm down. No one’s going to hurt you,” said Dean.

“Back up,” you mumbled. He stared at you before you were suddenly on the floor, gun back in his hands.

“Are you infected?” he asked, aiming the gun at you. “Are you?”

“Whoa,” said Benny as he came rushing back in. “What the hell is going on in here?”

“She thinks I drugged her which is insane,” said Dean.

“This ain’t pain medication, dip shit,” you said, flipping him off as you propped yourself up against the wall, the cold floor making you shiver. “Fuck you. You’re the one that’s nuts, not me.”

“You’re both idiots,” said Benny. He walked over to you and reached behind his back, a pair of restraints around your wrists. You shoulder would have been killing you if it weren’t for the drugs. “I drugged her.”

“Excuse me,” said Dean, suddenly lowering the gun and tucking it away. “You did what, Benjamin?”

“I heard of this chick, the second you said her name I knew who she was. She knows Sam.”

You shook your head when Dean slowly turned and stared you down.

“I don’t. I swear,” you said.

“I definitely heard of some demon talking about this chick right here and Sam,” said Benny.

“You’re thinking an inside job?” asked Dean, pulling the gun out again.

“Possibly. Could be a human that decided to side with what she thinks is the winning side,” said Benny. “Could be a lot of things but point is, we can’t trust her.”

You were too tired to say anything more, simply sat there and shut your eyes, trying not to think of how odds are you wouldn’t be waking up again.

“Y/N,” said Dean. You breathed slowly, Dean’s hand on your shoulder shaking you. “Y/N. You with Sam or not?”

Last thing you remembered you slumped over, straight to the ground.

“Hey,” said Dean. Something wet was on your forehead, a washcloth if you had to guess. It took a moment for you to get your bearings, finding yourself in your room strangely. “Relax. You’re okay.”

“Drugged me,” you said, frowning at him, pushing the washcloth away. “Asshole.”

“Benny made a mistake,” said Dean.

“I wanna go,” you said, shutting your eyes, head swimming. “Let me go.”

“You can go. Just let this stuff get out of your system first,” said Dean. He took the cloth away and you scowled when he put it back. “I’ll make up your bag for you.”

Four hours later you were standing in the garage, trying to get your bag on unsuccessfully.

“Y/N,” said Dean quietly. “Maybe you should stay.”

“Maybe you need better friends,” you said, throwing the bag on, immediately shooting a hand to your shoulder. You sniffled and swallowed hard, giving Dean a dirty look when he stared at you. “What?”

“We both know that if you go out in your condition, the first sign of trouble and you’re dead,” he said.

“What do you care?” you said. You tried heading out but the pain was too much and you had to shrug off the backpack.

“Something is going on. Benny was adamant that he heard something involving you. I was adamant that whatever your part in this is, you aren’t the bad guy,” said Dean. “You know how it is now. You can’t take chances and Benny wasn’t taking one. But I will.”

You sighed and set the bag down.

“Why?” you asked dryly.

“Because you’re not the bad guy. If you want to go, you can go. Or you can stay and recover and maybe you can help me save my brother.”

You spun around and went past him, heading inside.

“Next time something like that happens, I shoot. No questions asked,” you said. “And don’t think I didn’t realize you put a brick in the bottom of my bag.”

“Welcome back, Y/N.”

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A/N: Read Part 4 here!

#supernatural #spngenrebingo #spn #dean x reader #dean winchester #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean #winchester #dean spn #au #apocalypse au #bearded!dean #apocalypse!dean x reader

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corpse--diem · 4 years

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An Offer You Can’t Refuse | Felix & Erin

When: Very shortly before Big Felix Featuring: @streetharmacist Summary: During a drink to celebrate a job well done, Erin and Felix decide they’re not quite finished after all.

It wasn’t a conventional location by any means, but the way Felix saw it, they had left convention behind a few miles back. Dale was dead. Bea was alive. There was plenty of reason to celebrate. And what better way than watching humans embarrass themselves at the Siren’s Serenade? With an Absinthe Hemingway in hand, he sat at one of the tables farthest from the karaoke stage. He didn’t mind a spotlight or two in the slightest but...time and place. It could come later. Roy Chambers. The name Erin had mentioned. It made sense why it lingered in his dome for so long. It was a familiar name. The kind that bears repeating. A few utterances invoked the spirit of old connections and he was nonetheless eager to share. If only to see where the threads all went to. Felix took a sip and eyed the door as he waited. The way things were, it was a matter that certainly demanded to be discussed.

Finding Felix in the Siren’s Serenade crowd didn’t take long. Hard to miss the only guy in the place with sunglasses and Erin made a mental note to sensitively bring that up someday. She took just a moment to ready herself, straighten up, shake the tension from her shoulders. The job had been taken care of - Dale was dead. No cops were breaking down her door. Felix was being paid in full again. Generally speaking, things were that surface-level kind of okay that made meeting up for drinks not nearly as terrifying as it could have been. “Some real beauts in here tonight, huh?” She greeted him with a warm grin. Thank God he’d picked a table far, far away from that mess. The whiskey she ordered when she passed by the bar came as she settled into the spot opposite him, and was quiet otherwise until the plucky server left them alone. “How’s business?” Erin asked over the top of her glass, watching the curve of his lips in lieu of black glass. “Running smoother, I hope? Now that you’ve got that big ol’ bald roadblock out of the way.”

“You really missed out on a winner earlier,” Felix said as he sat up a little straighter as Erin approached the table. “Just when you thought folks got tired of Bohemian Rhapsody, bam, there it is again. Just a pitch higher and a pitcher more drunk too. You gotta love it.” He adjusted in his seat, propped an ankle up on one knee as he settled. At her question, he smiled and took a sip of his absinthe. “Business? Well, it’s business and business is booming. I think it’s the encroaching summertime. Really gets the people in a certain sorta way, y’know?” It wouldn’t do to mention how much he and Blaine had discussed how sad the youth of White Crest could be. It was an off time for most and when that was the case, it was an on time for them. At big ol’ bald roadblock, he gave a loud laugh and set his glass down. “Well heck, I can say that the push and pull is making a lot more sense and that’s always real nice to see in my line of work,” he admitted with a tilt of his head. “And yours? It’s not, ah, going under, is it?” He smiled. “Surely it’s not. Certainly not after a loss like that, huh?”

Erin spared a glance at the travesty on stage and immediately winced. “Does that mean that A Whole New World duet I was looking forward to with you is off the table?” She asked playfully, trying hard not to watch his smallest gestures and movements with too much scrutiny. Something had changed. She wasn’t sure what exactly, and it wasn’t something she’d be quick to call it trust. Maybe she should have been more unsettled by how easy it was to joke with a man who was basically an accomplice to the murder she organized. “Yeah? Glad to hear it. I’ll take it that means all is well.” She shook her head, eyes dropping to watch the ripples slam against glass. Oh boy. She’d need an emptier glass before she asked him to shine a light on any of that. Wouldn’t be good. She looked up again at his question. “Well, losses are my gain, generally speaking,” she shrugged. She sat back, tapping her finger against her glass as she contemplated her next words carefully. “Honestly? Retirement is starting to look pretty damn good right now and I gotta tell you--the packages available in our line of work? Not great. I know our buddy Dale would agree.” Warmth flooded her cheeks and suddenly she swore she could feel the heat brimming from the crematory chamber that very same man had left this world in. She paused, pushing past it and ease into another smile. “I’m hoping maybe you do too.”

“Oh, I won’t turn down a duet but let’s see how things are a few weeks from now, huh?” Felix said, mouth more in a curved line of knowing than anything close to a smile. “I’m nothing if not in it for a chance at some old-fashioned theatrics.” He loved his shadows without question but put the right spotlight on him and even a guy like him wanted to shine. And on the off chance it was the light of an interrogation room, he could make do. If he were someone else, gifted with the same knowledge, maybe they’d be put off by the way Erin smiled post-murder. Maybe even by how he did. They’d certainly be put off by the way they laughed and clinked glasses. Their stomachs wouldn’t handle it. Some people were just hungrier. A fact of life that his teeth fit around just fine. He could smile around it and he did so. “Oh yeah, very well but things could always be better,” he said with a thoughtful hum. “But ain’t that just how it is? Place like this, with what it has going on, it’s hard to ever really be satisfied since the work is never really done. I mean, you get it, right? All things considered, you got job security for life.” He tipped his glass towards her with a low laugh. As she spoke, he considered what she said carefully. There wasn’t any buzz in his chest other than the absinthe on his tongue. Words were everything to fae. They meant the slimmest difference between being in or getting out of a bind. “Hoping I do too, huh? Sounds to me like you’re looking for a newer, better deal. Very FDR of you, I dig it,” he said as he leaned forward intently. “Since we’re on the subject and all, I’ve got some information you might like to hear. About the ol’ bossman of yours.”

Old-fashioned. Erin had to laugh at that. Seemed to be this guy’s MO. It worked for him. “Why am I not surprised by that?” But he wasn’t wrong, about any of it, and part of her wondered if Dale had done them both a favor. He’d been the catalyst, the wild card that had spurned all of this on. Pissed Felix off enough to darken her doorway that fateful evening, stirring up tempers and trouble for them all. She could admit she’d grown comfortable, almost complacent in her rage, stewing and simmering. Now it was boiling over almost recklessly. It’d brought her here. If there was any hope to be had, it was right in front of her. Felix was quick. More knowledgeable than he let on. And sharp. She could tell that much already. Judging what side of the blade she fell on here was harder to distinguish but she knew she wanted to one the right one. “There’s always a better deal,” she nodded at his words, matching his dry smile. “Just ask any of my vendors though--I’m a hell of a negotiator.” Her eyes jumped from her drink to his sunglasses, momentary uncertainty flickering across her well set poker face at the mention of her boss. So much for that. “Do you? And how much is that gonna cost me?” She asked, shrugging nonchalantly. If she’d learned anything, it was that nothing came free. “If it’s worth anything at all. If you’re about to remind me that he’s a son of a bitch, trust me. I’m well aware.”

“You’re not? Dang, I gotta keep working on my front then.” Felix said with a smile as he unfolded an old matchbook and lit himself a cigarette. He waved the match out, breathed in nicotine, then breathed it out the side of his mouth. The karaoke choice shifted to something poppy that he didn’t recognize. It was bold what he and Erin were doing. Discussing dark things in the dim light of a karaoke bar. That was half of the thrill, really, the likelihood of being seen by the forces they discussed. Even if they were, no one would think anything of it right then. They were just chatting. See them now, but when the knifepoint touched to a neck with a pulse that hammered so hard the knife trembled, they might have wished they looked harder. Death granted a keen hindsight to the dying. One last gift. “Oh, I believe it. Death is an awful expensive business and while dirt naps are cheaper sometimes, can’t fault someone for wanting to rot in mahogany,” he said as he pulled the cigarette from between his lips and tapped it against the ashtray. “But gotta say, it’s good to know that you ain’t satisfied with all this business yet because I ain’t either. I think we can get dealt a better hand here.” He smiled. Erin was sharp. Quick. That was good. He appreciated the kind of company that could cut thin but cut deep. “Not much,” he admitted vaguely. “As for what I know, this guy, Roy Chambers? He ain’t just here. I’ve got some fellas in New York that know the name. He’s got his fingers in a lot of pies. A lot of pies that other people have made. Now that? That doesn’t sit right with me at all. Between you and me, guys like that shouldn’t have so much. It’s unseemly.”

There was something so incredibly appropriate about Felix lighting up that cigarette. Shadowy booths, shady conversations, smoke billowing around them in the dimly lit bar. Theatrics, case-in-point. Erin shook her head slowly, barely suppressing the smirk that lifted the corner of her lips. All they needed now was a black and white filter and a costume change to truly set the mood. “New York?” she echoed, raising her brows. Shit. This guy was a bigger deal than she anticipated with a reach like that. She could practically see the cogs and wheels spinning behind Felix’s glasses. “Of course he did. He probably thinks he’s the Elon Musk of White Crest,” she said, rolling her eyes. Didn’t surprise her though. Greed fueled monsters like Roy Chambers. He was a glutton, and a comfortable one. Constantly hungry, constantly devouring. Already trying to take bites out of her with her mother’s bones still stuck in his teeth. Her jaw set tightly and she glanced up from the napkin corner she was picking apart. “That’s a lot of pie, though. Sounds like you’re thinking about taking a few slices for yourself, yeah?” They were tiptoeing around it but there was no mistaking what Felix was implying. “If you’re offering--I could eat.”

Felix nodded through the smoke. “Yup. Makes sense. White Crest isn’t exactly a hub for this kinda work. Not really,” he said as he raised a hand and spread his fingers out. “He’s got a nice web here, sure, but a guy like this, it’s always bigger.” He smiled to himself then as he shifted forward and lifted himself from the shadow of the wall. He grinned. Erin got it. He had a feeling she would. She was tired of it and when people got tired of bullshit, they got restless. Proactive, even. And they made it known in ways that wouldn’t readily be forgotten. “Precisely, precisely.” His word manufacturing slowed as he got to thinking, his tongue pressed against the top of his mouth. “You see, I’d be fine taking a figure off or two, free up some space,” he admitted with a shrug, his tone easy. “Could do that, sure. It’d make things a little easier, you know, for you and me.” He gestured between the two of them. The grin he wore lessened by the second. “But I don’t think we’d be satisfied. Half-measures don’t sit right with me. Half-measures get you right back where you started.” He shook his head and looked at Erin. There wasn’t any concern or doubt in him. She got it. “Nah,” he said as he stabbed his cigarette into the ash tray. “We take off the whole fucking hand.” He laced his fingers together and sat up. “These debts you inherited? A couple Roy phalanges ought to cover it. With interest.” Money was a motivating factor in plenty but getting a guy back, that went further. It lived longer. “We do this? Really do this? We’re square for life. So yeah, Ms. Nichols, I’m offering.”

There it was--the proposition Felix had been inching toward since Erin had sat down across from him. At some point she knew it was coming. Maybe he needed someone low on Roy’s radar, capable of stomaching the hard jobs with a motivation matched his own. He sure as hell looked at her like he’d found someone to fill that slot. She could do it. He just needed to say the words and make it real. When he finally did, something dangerously close to hope woke with a hard start beneath her ribcage. She hadn’t expected that but she couldn’t pretend that it didn’t feel good. Her mind had been made up long before she finally spoke.

“Let’s really do this, then. Let’s cut off the hand. I’ll take the whole damn arm if that’s what it takes,” she answered without hesitation. Bit back a big, sharp grin. If they failed, they died. That wasn’t lost on her for a second. She’d been in survival mode for so long now though that it was easy to forget what she was doing now was purely existing. It didn’t sustain or nurture. Just kept her alive enough to trudge through the next day. It was time. She was ready to live again, even if trying was the last thing she ever did, and she met Felix’s hand halfway across the table. “I’m all in.”

#wickedswriting #chatzy #chatzy: felix #an offer you can't refuse

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gerrinson · 6 years

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MOAR CONTENT

I am going to try actually generating some content. I am expecting to embark into adventure by running a monthly Kingmaker campaign. For those not familiar with Kingmaker, it is a series of adventures set in the mythical world of Golarion, put out by the company Paizo for use in their Pathfinder gaming system. It’s basically Dungeons & Dragons. And tons of fun!

In the meantime, I am going to present some highlights from my prior, and sadly defunct, gaming group. The party consisted of:

Yoshimori Mochizuki, a Kitsune sorcerer with a red panda animal companion named Niyati.

Ilyat Krugasdottir, an orc barbarian, former slave, lesbian, and bubble bath connoisseur.

Drogo Brownlock, a halfling rogue with a mild obsession with cooking.

Haran-ne-quet Lindele, an elf wizard who had parted ways with his family and traveled under the sobriquet of ‘Simon’, a nickname given to him by human friends.

And Allinav, a human bard, who grew up on the streets of Absolom and stumbled onto the path of the bard.

I take credit only for creating the stories that brought them together. The player running the character of Allinav wrote journals from the PC’s perspective for the first few sessions. Here are the journal entries, in his own words:

Entry one.

Today is the day! After weeks of training, my resume into the Pathfinders guild has been accepted. I received notice today by a very nice gentlemen that I am to be sworn in, as well as given my first orders as a member of the guild in three days’ time, and that I should and I quote "maybe purchase some more efficient clothing..." I guess this miss matched Hodge podge of an outfit sourced from local lost and founds does appear to be lacking in that official Adventurer Looks. This is most certainly going to be an amazing adventure, I cannot wait to see who I become partied with, A noble knight, a wise wizard, A cunning Evlish ranger, a Mighty Dwarven Paladin, or maybe a catlike rogue! Hmm, I wonder what sort of things I should bring with me on this trip. I feel like I should have a grappling hook... All good stories have a grappling hook... I think I'm going to buy a grappling hook.

Entry Two.

It's an Orc. There is an Orc not 10 feet from me, and it’s a Lady Orc. This is ridiculous! How did an Orc manage to become a member of the pathfinders guild!? Is there not some sort of law against allowing Orcs with great swords bigger than a person to just walk around Absalom all willy nilly? Today was the day I found myself partied with the strangest cast of characters I could ever imagine. We have the aforementioned Orc, Ilyat. She is just... Ginormous, at least a foot taller than myself, and the most strange and to be quite honest disturbing part of it all, the heavy dense smell of lavender. It's almost hard to breath! I wonder is this the scent that the stories always spoke of, that orcish scent that sends weaker men running from the battle field.

In addition to Ilyat, there is an elven sorcerer named Simon, He seems like a pretty nice fella, all things considered, was looking some place called "The Academy" We don't really have any academies from my area of town, maybe one of the richer folks can assist him in finding directions.

Next up is Yoshisomething somethingsuzuki, Looks like a regular human Sorcerer, but oh my word he has a red panda named Niyati. It is the most amazing thing I have ever seen, upon further inquiry he found it when it was a babe, whilst foraging in the jungle... I have made a note that at the next nearest opportunity that maybe we should go in search of more red pandas.

Finally, we have the worst of the group, and that is saying something when one of the group is an Orc Barbarian. Drogo the Halfling rogue. To those that may find this journal, if I am dead, Drogo is the cause. Not 5 hours after meeting this Halfling, He asked If I could show him where he could gamble a few coins, Obviously having grown up on these streets I knew just the place, what I did NOT know however was just how quickly the Halfling was to be angered, and even quicker he is to flee, and abandon me to the mercy of the 4 armed thugs he picked a fight with, and that had just lost out on a very large purse filled with coin. Ultimately I was able to scare the lot off with a little bit of bravado and a whole lot of telling them that I have it on good authority that a giant Orc would be coming by any second to check up on me. Suffice of to say, that Halfling is not to be trusted.

On a better note however is I've got a mission! Col Arkola is sending us to Maina. Apparently Goblins have been raiding the village, and in addition to that someone has been stealing Live Stock. I wonder if the two could be connected. I bet it's a bunch of Halflings… Halflings appear to be just the worst.

Side note, be sure to investigate getting limbs replaced with dragon bones.

Entry Three.

Drogo shall feel the wrath of any ancestor I may have that might deem me worthy of dealing out wrath. I was informed by one of the guards that Drogo attempted to steal from my pack last night while I slept inside the Guild Barracks. What sort of monster attempts to steal from his own group on the very first night, not a very nice monster that's for sure.

I will say though, one of the perks of being an adventurer, the food. They feed you like kings here, fruits, vegetables, breads, Beef Stews, Tankards of mead. This truly is amazing, although the stew wasn't as good as a hearty bowl of mystery meat.

We leave by boat today, after talking to the others, I've realized that I'm severely under geared. All of that Gold I'd saved is nearly gone now. Although Col. Ma’am informed us that we would be awarded 100 gold for completing the mission, as well as anything we legally obtain along the way. Of course the Halfling would need a definition of "Legally"

Entry Four.

Everything is going Tits up. Not an hour into our adventure everyone is bleeding, half of the other passengers on the boat hate us, and I'm pretty sure the orc managed to kill a half dozen elves while nobody was looking. She swears that it wasn't her that put all those elf skulls into that trunk, but I'm still skeptical, the next story I hear about a good Orc will be the first story I hear about a good Orc.

After seeing the Orc with a chest full of Elven Skulls, and then the Halfling trying to rob the poor lady's second trunk, which was fucking trapped by the way, seriously what kind of rogue just flings open a trunk like that; hence all the blood, It took me a good portion of the rest of my gold, and a solid hour worth of talking to both the captain and the woman to make sure everything was squared away, and no charges would be filed. I feel as if this is some sort of cruel trick, I've been partied with what appears to be a group of felons, and a red panda.

Fun fact of the day, some Elvish clans send their remains and ancient relics to special shrines so that their souls be at peace. Keep that in mind the next time you run across a nice lady with a trunk full of skulls.

Entry Five.

My first attempt at travel by boat has ended. Three of the longest, partially sleepless night aboard this boat during the storms is over, I never wanted to be on solid ground so badly before. We have arrived at ‘Oppara’, the first stop on our journey.

Have you ever heard the rumors that Adventuring is a good way to make some gold pieces? Those rumors are a lie. It's been less than a week, but my coin purse is not nearly empty. In order to complete the next portion of this journey we will need to take a barge up river, and in order to do that it's going to cost us double because of the Orc. Between paying for the Orc Tax, and constantly keeping an eye on the Halfling I have little doubt that I will either end this crusade dead, or very much so in debt.

It's raining again, Captain Slather has informed me that it is almost time to push off. Maybe playing some music for these chaps with get us to our destination faster.

Entry Six.

Forget everything I've said. Adventuring is Amazing. It's been three days since the barge began to head up river towards Maina, and today we saw our first action as a group, without any Halflings running away.

Sometime around lunch I was watching the waves the barge made as it swiftly moved upstream when from under the water we saw some otters, sure they were not as adorable as the red panda, but these ones appeared to play with us by splashing us with water, The orc didn't seem to even notice them, but what do you expect from such a beast. What was unexpected however was when the otters turned into Nixie! Two Magical fae sea creatures! Simon appeared quite smitten by them as they were talking back and forth in what sounded like garbled noise. Yoshi, who was less enamored, made sure that the rest of us understood what was going on. Apparently the Nixie were in search of champions to help save their children from a fearsome Taztlewrym, which according to the stories I've heard is a DRAGON!

After a brief debate, and a promising to the captain, Barnabus Slather that so long as they wait for us at shore we will give them an additional 5 gold pieces, we began our journey up an offshoot stream to the nixie's den. After assessing the situation, and taking up positions, the Wyrm made its appearance charging with full force towards Ilyat whom was guarding the land entrance. This “mighty” Dragon was of little threat to such a magnificent cadre of heroes, a couple of powerful swings from Ilyat's great sword, and a single Arrow from Simons bow, we felled it without a single wound received. After the hide had been carefully skinned and stowed away for sale at a later date, And the Halfling nearly murdering all of us by trying to remove its poisonous sacks, the Nixie were kind enough to provide us with some potions, and well wishes. I'm still low on gold, but the rush of battle shall keep me energized for days to come.

Entry Seven.

After 3 more days on the barge, we have arrived in Maina without further incident, which in of itself is a minor miracle, but even better we have sold the wrym skin, and I have won a story telling competition! After stopping off at ‘Meklo, Meplo, and Shrine’ and meeting a true to life angel person The group split up to take care of the business of restocking supplies, I of course Sent word back to Col Arkola informing her of the news she may here regarding the Elf Skulls, and after that I decided to visit the trumpeting swan from the recommendation of Miss Shrine, which as the name might suggest, has trumpeting swans which sound once for each hour, on the hour. There was so many talented bards and the fact that I won reaffirms that I made the right choice in deciding to finally leave Absalom.

The competition was to tell two stories, And It appears that most of the other bards were not prepared to tell the additional story, I however was able to make up a short story based on the day’s earlier events.

The Orc and the Angel Has any a time seen such a more odd pair One so full of rage and ready to strangle The other so stunning you can only stare But looks can be deceiving One searches for acceptance While the other is scheming The subtle change in stance, By the beast so wounded "That orc has no worth" spoken with venom How can someone so lovely, say something so stupid Little does she know this orc is a Phenom.

Of course in order to get to the finals I had to tell the tale Of how we had slain the mighty two headed dragon in order to save the Meer folk city, and how in the middle of battle I squared off with the dragon face to face, Lute versus fire breathing destruction, and how we came out victorious against all odds. A little embellishing never hurt anyone. The 75 gold pieces added to my cut of the Wrym skin has my gold pouch nearly filled to the brim. I should investigate purchasing a second one, possibly a third which I'll trap to keep that filthy Halfling on his toes. Below is a rough impression of my first place medal, its solid bronze, and would no doubt work quite well in a fight.

*Editor’s note - he didn’t actually include a picture so you’ll have to use your imagination.

#pathfinder #homebrew #allinav

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charlottebent-blog · 8 years

Text

Permission to Push

With yet another Sunday night trauma under my belt, somewhat of a tradition in the Bent household these days (along with a ‘you have no control and you’re meant to be a 22 year old adult argument. A direct result of crying about dumplings in my stew), it’s a miracle that I’d managed 5 hours sleep, especially with my dog’s snoring reputation. I now find myself on a cramped tram full of elbowy commuters. To add to this idyllic scene, never have I looked more like a drowned rodent, thanks to torrential Manchester rain, followed by a gale-force makeover.

It’s one of those days where I’m calculating which body organ I can offer to fellow passengers in exchange for swapping lives for the day. Realising that in my current state of health, this may not suffice, offering a hair transplant to the severely bald man grumpily slouched beside me, now stands to be my only option. Whilst plucking up the courage to break the ice with a: 'knock knock’ 'who’s there?’ 'Humpty dumpty’ joke, he abandons the tram (much to my relief as I’ve forgotten the punch-line). With only luscious haired individuals in sight - with the exception of a shady character with a potential receding hairline under his hat, off of Indiana Jones - I accept defeat and mellow in Monday morning misery. With the prospect of anxiously stepping onto the scales edging ever-closer, I try to remain calm by playing 'spot the mid-life crisis business men having secretarial affairs’. Considering an uncomfortable weight gain previously, this week had exceeded expectations. However, I quickly recognise (as I scoff soggy, cold banana porridge with great urgency to heighten chances of weight gain) that this morning is especially shit to counteract any prior optimism.

Arriving at the drug den, I soon see Paula wearing an identical coat to my own. Unsure whether to acknowledge our similar taste in outerwear (as lovely as Paula is, she’s still 50, an age I’d like to think doesn’t reflect my fashion sense) Paula comments on our matching wardrobe. Playing it cool, as if I hadn’t noticed, the situation is made worse when she informs me that she only paid £10 for it. Mentally cursing her for finding such a bargain, (simultaneously calculating how many lattes I could’ve bought had I discovered the same deal - a precious saving of £40) she produces the scales. Now tactically done at the beginning of the appointment, just in case I require the full hour to be reassured that weight gain isn’t bad and my head won’t fall off - crucial, not to mention, life-affirming information. Confirming that my weight hasn’t spiralled out of control, and luckily all my vital limbs are still very much attached to my body, I tell Paula of my attempts to get my life back on track i.e. apply for 3 part-time jobs and text my friends back within an hour of receiving their message. Congratulating me for this, with a sort of sympathetic/small sense of pride expression (similar to how a Mum would react to their child finishing 4th place in a School’s sports day egg and spoon race) I can sense Paula is keen to hear about the juicy details behind this week’s fiery 'disagreement’. Essentially; me sobbing frantically, whilst my Mum tries to embrace me with a forceful hug and my Dad indiscreetly tells me to 'blow my nose, for god’s sake’. As if anorexia has distorted my ability to recognise snot dribbling down my own face.

Chuckling like a squirrel on speed, it’s good to know that someone is getting amusement from my distress. Despite this set-back, she says things are looking more positive. Nodding in agreement, I tell her that at the end of each day I feel like I’ve earned the pleasure of taking my bra off (whilst letting out a satisfying successful sigh) - an indication of a particularly productive day. Furthermore, I can feel my old self slowly remerging. My energy. My drive. My humour, although according to my Mum it seems being malnourished has only resulted in enhanced dry/insensitive humour (mainly directed at her shocking attempts to make small talk and refusing to 'sing’ in any key lower than descant i.e. bleeding ears). Having previously discussed how pointless my existence is (minus feeding and generally maintaining the dog) Paula questions why I think this. Simple. I believe my parents aren’t proud of me. I often compare myself to my sister. An overachiever. At the youthful age of 24 she has: moved down South with her reliable fella, got 2 degrees, bought a house and a car, and been promoted to deputy head of her department having worked there for less than a year. Even Mother Theresa would struggle to match her standards, I never stood a chance. Having been born, I should’ve taken one look at my sibling contender and crawled back into my Mum’s womb. Unfortunately, due to my man-like shoulders this is now anatomically impossible. Quite honestly no-one’s going to be bursting with pride about having an anorexic daughter - particularly one with the soul of a poet, mimicking their every word and pushing them to their limits with excessive panic attacks/constant food anxiety. The only slightly worthwhile thing I have done is University. With this being my sole achievement, I explain to Paula that I am surprised they’ve not turned my degree certificate into wallpaper, to dwell on the only success I’m likely to bring them. She looks at me with affectionate disappointment, like a puppy who’s soiled the carpet. Attempting to boost morale she states some other mediocre accomplishments i.e. beating my sister at GCSE Maths. I debate adding training my dog to sleep in her own bed. However, even this I am yet to fully achieve as she still insists on emptying her bodily fluids on my bedding.

Mumbling some crap about how I will make an effort to please my stomach, rather than my parents, I praise Paula once again for her excellent coat purchase and resist the urge to merrily skip past the delightful drug/alcohol offenders. Never have I been under the impression that defeating this defect would be easy, but feeling determined I give my Mum permission to push me further. Having tackled another scale-tipper, I celebrate with a ferociously smug grin (similar to how I imagine the Cheshire Cat would look having consumed it’s body weight in sherbet). If I’m going to feel groggy and unattractively overweight, I may as well take the role on fully - with a facial expression so hideously petrifying, I anticipate a future career as a scarecrow. In the meantime I’ll have to settle for causing small children to scream in such a horrific, blood-curdling manner, you’d think that Elmo had died.

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