#He would literally pull out gold coins and pay for shit that way

[radiance1]

The Ghost Prince does not, under any circumstances, answer a summoning after it was made aware he existed. None know why he doesn't, some are bitter and hateful of it while others are thankful that it's one less bloodthirsty manic to deal with.

The Ghost King meanwhile hasn't been seen in multiple eons, so the magical community who wanted to use his power just, stopped, trying to summon him for a long time.

Most magic users knew that the Ghost Prince never answered a summons, and that the Ghost King just dropped off the radar.

So could you really blame Constantine for not taking it that seriously when some wannabe hotshot cultists try to summon both of them in the middle of a city to wreak havoc?

He'll give them some credit though. Points for doing it in broad daylight and actually being somewhat of a threat with not relying on just summoning the Ghost royalty and figuring out what to do from there.

The area they were in was somewhat destroyed, then the cultists manage to complete the summoning circle to summon both of them and Constantine, well he just light up a smoke.

It isn't going to work anyways so what does it matter?

...

Is that a fucking Ice cream truck he hears? Who the fuck is driving an Ice cream truck while their city is being under attacked with cultists trying to summon eldritch ghost royalty?

He'll give them some points for dedication, though.

Then he looked at the cultists and nearly had a goddamn heart attack to see that the summoning circle is actually fucking lighting up and working.

The Bat is so gonna give him a headache over this.

----

Danny Phantom, crown prince of the Infinite Realms. Does not answer summons.

For one, it is annoying as shit, whenever someone interrupts his day just to ask for infinite power (that he can't give), world domination (that he won't do) or infinite riches (which he also can't do).

It just got annoying being summoned all the time so. One day he just, well, no. And hey, it worked out well enough for him to not continue doing it.

Then he also learned that Pariah Dark is basically the same, after he got out the coffin and stopped trying to take over the world for whatever reason. He was actually a pretty swell guy!

He was just with him too, with him being not so swell at the time for making him go through lessons about Ghost etiquette, rules, stuff that's expected of him as the crown prince.

And don't even get him started on the engagement and marriage proposals.

Overall, he just wanted to find an excuse to leave. Then he felt the familiar suggestive pull of a summoning and, instead of rejection as he usually does in a second. He thought for a bit if he wanted to go with that or crown prince duties.

It was tempting, but dealing with cultists seemed worse than this so he was about to reject.

At least, before he heard an Ice cream truck playing in the background. He doesn't even know how the hell that popped up through the pull but by the gods has it been a while since he's had Ice cream.

So he answers and is gone with a pop.

Pariah Dark just stares for a good second or two, before breathing out and deciding to also answer. Fright Knight is just there, off to side, questioning what he should do now.

Danny wastes no time with the cultists on the other side and in fact, he pushes them out of the way and goes diving for that Ice cream truck he hears. Only to realize he doesn't, have any money on him.

Fuck.

Pariah Dark is less inclined to follow the rules imposed by humans like money, but he does know it can be important. Once in a while. Not that often, but it has its times.

So when he sees his adopted son being sad over being unable to pay for some kind of human delicacy, he digs around in his hair (yes, his hair.) and pulls out some money and puts it on the counter as payment.

The man inside the tiny vehicle had shrieked before getting what they wanted. Which is good. Fear is a good motivator, Pariah thinks.

Unknown to him, it wasn't out of fear (Well, mostly) but because the Ghost King placed down a coin made of pure, solid gold on his counter.

The two then go about their business in the human realm, completely forgetting about the fact that they were summoned here for something.

Constantine is both relieved and about to have an aneurysm at seeing Infinite Realm royalty only answering a summon because of Ice cream.

[danydragons21]

The Shadows That Sing: Chapter 28

Read it on ao3 here.

Chapter 28: Words

“You look like shit,” Cassian observed.

Azriel grimaced. “Thanks.” 

“If anyone in this room has an excuse to look shitty, it’s me. You know, the one who quite literally came back from the dead,” Cassian said. 

The latter part of his sentence had Nesta, who was curled up on his other side reading a book, whipping her head up to glare at him, the mere mention of his near-death experience sending a tangible rush of distress through her. Cassian patted her hand placatingly. She refocused her attention back on the book, though every once in a while she would shoot her mate a suspicious glance out of the corners of her narrowed, blue-gray eyes.

“Instead,” Cas continued, “well, you know how I look,” he smirked, gesturing to the healthy flush of his skin. “I look absolutely incredible.”

“If I had a gold coin for every time you’ve said that in the past 48 hours, we could move out of the House of Wind and buy a new mansion.” Nesta said dryly. 

Azriel would never admit it to Cassian—his brother needed no extra boost to his confidence—but he did look incredible. His complexion was glowing. His eyes were vibrant and clear. Even the muscles beneath his sun-darkened skin looked stronger and more robust. It was nearly impossible to imagine that only a few days ago, he had been on his deathbed. Now he could very well enter a male beauty contest—and win. He was a living, breathing, walking and talking miracle.

And the shadowsinger was one of only two people who knew just how that miracle came about. And the other person—the miracle-maker herself—was avoiding him like the plague.

Hence why he looked like shit. In the two days since Cassian’s recovery, Azriel hadn’t even seen Elain, let alone spoken to her. Every time he recalled the horrible things he’d said when they were last face-to-face - which he thought about, oh, every other minute or so - guilt and regret threatened to pull him under. 

“And you’re being useless, like always.”

Gods. He didn’t deserve to live after saying that. Or maybe he did deserve to live and have to forever replay the utter devastation that had splashed across her face following his ugly declaration. That seemed like a fair way to pay his penance. 

After she’d left him in the den, he’d wallowed in misery for a few moments before visiting Cassian, confirming for himself that his friend was going to make a full recovery, and drawing up a chair next to his sick bed. He’d barely left his side since, spending nearly every second with him and Nesta in the infirmary. 

Azriel would like to pretend this commitment stemmed solely from being a good friend and wanting to ensure Cassian remained healthy, but that would be a lie. The truth was that he was avoiding Elain just as much as she was avoiding him. 

He’d fucked up—royally—and he didn’t know how to fix it. He didn’t even know how to begin . Words had never been his strong suit, and he didn’t know how to adequately explain how incredibly and deeply sorry he was while also begging for forgiveness and ensuring her that he had not meant anything he’d said. 

Because he hadn’t meant it, not even a little bit. She was anything but useless; she was as bright as the stars in the sky; she was everything . The hurtful words he’d said had been nothing more than an awful defense mechanism. A rudimentary and cruel way to attempt to guard his heart from any more breaking. Even in his head, though, the explanation sounded pathetic and not nearly good enough. 

So he had not even tried to find her yet, because he was unable to stomach seeing her and experiencing her cold shoulder. Or her apathy. Or the wounded hurt in her eyes. Worst of all, he had a nagging fear that the next time he saw her, she was going to end—going to end whatever this thing was between them. And despite thinking only days ago that the culmination of their relationship was inevitable, he found that the thought of letting her go right now was utterly unbearable. 

If she couldn’t speak to him alone, though…well, then she couldn’t end it. And so here he was, camping out in the Manor’s hospital wing like a coward and impeding on Cassian and Nesta’s privacy. 

“So, Azriel, do you still want to have a threesome with us?” 

He blinked, sure that he did not hear Nesta right. But no, she and Cassian were staring at him expectantly, waiting for him to reply.

“...What?” 

“See, I told you he wasn’t listening,” Cassian nudged Nesta. “Pay up, Archeron.” 

She scowled. “ I told you he wasn’t listening, you brat. Are you sure there aren’t any unfortunate side effects from this so-called near death experience? You seem to be dumber than usual.”

A grin spread across Cassian’s face. “There aren’t any unfortunate side effects, no. However, I can tell you there are some fortunate side effects, my sweet little mate,” he said, tugging Nesta closer to him. “Such as a renewed virility and an entirely new desire to—”

“I have NEVER said I wanted to have a threesome with the two of you!” Azriel said loudly. He could feel his cheeks burning. 

Nesta rolled her eyes good-naturedly and lightly separated herself from Cassian (though only by a few inches, and if Azriel wasn’t so entirely avoiding her icy-blue gaze, he would have noticed that her cheeks were rather red, too). “We made a bet,” she said.  

Azriel opened his mouth, gaping wordlessly like a fish out of water for a few seconds. “What does that have to do with a threesome?” he choked out. 

With a great roar, Cassian burst out laughing and, in typical-Cassian fashion, started rolling around. Nesta giggled, a very not-typical-Nesta thing to do.

Azriel glowered at them. 

“Oh, stop pouting,” Nesta said. “We made a bet on if you were listening to us or not. When it quickly became apparent that you were in a world all of your own, it just escalated into saying the most outlandish things until you finally registered that we were speaking to you.” She shrugged. “You really need to work on your awareness skills.”

Well. That was a humiliating thing to hear as the Spymaster of the Night Court. 

“We’re just playing with you, Az,” said Cassian, “but we know you’re hiding out here for some reason.”

Azriel did his best not to give any reaction, but it didn’t matter. His friends had already seen through his flimsy mask of security to what he really was: a distracted, heartbroken fool.

Leaning over, Cassian gave Azriel’s shoulder a rough, encouraging pat. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. We’re here if you need us. You can third-wheel with us anytime you want, buddy.”

“And do let us know about that threesome,” Nesta said off-handedly, returning to her book. 

Azriel shook his head. “Sometimes I can’t tell if she’s joking or not,” he said to Cassian under his breath. 

His friend nodded in understanding. “I know. It’s scary, right?” 

“Thank you,” Nesta said as she turned the page.

Azriel’s shadows suddenly started swirling around him. One sidled up to his ear and whispered. The High Lady approaches with urgent news.

“Feyre is coming. ” he told Cassian and Nesta. The latter frowned. 

“How do you know?” she asked.

He sent her a funny look. “My shadows told me.” Of course , he wanted to add, but didn’t.

But Nesta continued to look disturbed. “I thought your shadows couldn’t hear in the Mortal Manor,” she said slowly. 

It was like an icicle to the heart, sharp in the way his panic hit, melting in the way it cascaded throughout his veins, putting all of his other senses on high alert. He’d forgotten, for a moment, that his shadows could not hear within the Manor; their whispers were a sixth sense to him at this point. 

Except she was right. Until this very moment, he’d never been able to hear his shadows while inside the Manor. Because of…

Instinctively, he stood up.

“Shit,” Cassian exhaled deeply through his nose.

Shit was right.

***

Sometime over the last week, autumn had faded into winter; there were nearly no leaves left on any of the trees, and every morning a thin dusting of frozen dew coated the grounds. Elain usually hated the cold, but for the past two days, the chilly and barren woods had become her solace. Her sanctuary.

She’d spent hours on end finding dead plants and occasionally animals and testing her powers on them. The plants were easy to bring back to life; the animals were not. It made sense; animals were that much more complex, and healing an injured living creature was not nearly as difficult as completely reviving a dead one. Yesterday, though, she’d had some luck reviving a frozen butterfly, so she knew she was improving.

It annoyed her as much as it pleased her that she found mastering her healing magic so much easier than her seer powers, though that, too, made sense to her. Healing was brought forth by love and positive energy; well, Elain had so much love. Sometimes she thought she loved too much. 

Summoning visions, on the other hand, required her to shut off the emotions that came so naturally to her. And while usually this was a difficult feat in and of itself…ever since Azriel had so cruelly cut her down with words in the den, she’d found it nearly impossible to close off her emotions. Found it nearly impossible to feel anything but wretched hurt and anger and betrayal.

How dare he? How dare he say those barbed words to her? He, who more than anyone else, knew just how deep those words would slice at her confidence. She would never have believed the male could say something so callous. And so untrue. Because Elain was not dense enough to take Azriel’s insult seriously. Perhaps it was the fact that she’d brought his best friend back from the brink of death only a few days ago, but she knew without a doubt that she was not useless. And she wasn’t going to let some stupid, insensitive, and annoyingly sexy bat tell her otherwise.

She just wished she didn’t miss him so much. She hadn’t realized how much better she'd been sleeping with Azriel beside her until sleeping next to him was an impossibility. Now, he haunted her dreams like all the other ghosts of her past. 

Ugh . She scowled at herself. She had far more important things to do with herself than wallow in pity over the potential demise of her relationship with the shadowsinger. 

For the past two days, Lucien had been urging her to tell the rest of her court about her newfound powers. She had to admit that he had a point. Ever since Cassian’s “miraculous” healing, everyone had been coming up with theories for how he could have possibly survived such a terminal wound. Each was more ridiculous than the last. 

At first the theories had been relatively plausible. Rhys had suggested that Koschei had never meant to kill Cassian; that his injury was only supposed to push him to the brink of death before whatever magic the death lord possessed pulled him back to the edge of safety. 

“He wants to remind us that he’s in control,” the High Lord had said grimly. 

Now though, days after the fact, the theories had gotten utterly unhinged. Jurian had gone so far to suggest that Cassian was not healed at all and instead was a puppet for Koschei to spy on them all. When Mor came to visit briefly, she’d mused aloud on if Cassian was descended from a rare breed of Fae that possessed miraculous healing properties in their blood. 

“They’re practically invincible,” Mor said, her eyes shining. “That would explain why you’ve survived so many wars while being on the front lines.”

“Yeah, because it can’t just be the fact that I’m the best warrior in Prythian,” replied Cassian in an offended tone.

Elain crept quietly out of the room after that because she was worried the guilty look on her face would give her away. 

She was running out of reasons not to tell the rest of her court and family about her healing powers. In fact, she only had one reason remaining, and it wasn’t a very good one: she just didn’t want to. Not until she was perfectly adept with her magic, at least. It was stupid, but when she finally told the others, she wanted it to be on her terms, and she wanted to be fully capable of healing in every which way. She just couldn’t take any more pitiful looks that implied she was a burden rather than an asset.

First things first: Elain needed a plan of action. And what better way to plan than to see into the future? Sure, she hadn’t had much luck purposefully summoning visions lately…but there was a nagging feeling in Elain’s stomach that told her she had to keep trying. That told her it was imperative that she keep trying. Almost like time was running out, if she was to be that melodramatic and foreboding. 

She sat cross-legged on a small tree stump and closed her eyes. Took a deep, controlling breath. 

What do I want to see? What do I need to see? 

Behind her, a twig snapped. She whipped around, heart thundering in her chest. Her sharp Fae eyes caught a small mouse darting across the forest floor, and she whooshed out a half-frustrated, half-relieved sigh.

“Focus,” she ordered herself. Slowly, she felt her taut muscles relax as a soothing numbness consumed her. Hollowed her. Carved her into a vessel for whatever visions would come her way.

What do I want to see? What do I need to see?

I want to see what to do next , she thought. I need to see the path I must take. The path to where, she was not sure…but she was starting to understand that fortune telling was not an etching of set events into stone; human nature was too fickle for that, too inconstant and dynamic. To be a seer was not to predict with certainty that which was too far away to consider: it was to let the next step in the path be illuminated.

And with that revelation, a vision came to her immediately. 

She was sitting at a long table, tomes haphazardly stacked atop the surface, and was flipping through one of the books with a look of deep concentration on her face. Beside her was Lucien, who was also scouring a thick volume. They were in a library, though that word was far too simple to describe the gorgeous room, with its dark wooden interior and intricate gold detailings and arching windows that revealed the most stunning view of a cloudless cerulean sky and puffy white clouds. The rays of sun beaming into the room had never seemed so bright, so pure. 

The red-haired male beside her excitedly pointed to a passage in the book he was reading. “This could be—oh, never mind,” Vision-Lucien murmured disappointedly, shaking his head. Vision-Elain gave him a sympathetic look and turned back to her own tome.

The loud cawing of a bird jolted her from the vision. Crisp and cool air stung her eyes as they opened. The bleak winter sun traversing through the nearly-barren branches seemed much dimmer than the brilliant light in her vision. A rush of clarity seared through her. 

She knew what she had to do next.

***

If Elain hadn’t been so preoccupied with her most recent vision, she would have noticed how ominously quiet the Manor was upon entering. As it was, her head was so entirely filled with what she’d just seen that she barely noticed where she was going. It wasn’t until she was mere feet away from the throne room that she realized where she was; a moment later she registered Lucien's deep voice sounding from behind the arched doors. Huh. Her subconscious must have led her straight to the person she wanted to talk to. 

Perhaps she should have been a little more aware of her surroundings and registered that there were other voices inside the room, as well. Instead, she barged straight in, throwing the double doors wide open in her haste, and strode right for Lucien.

“We need to talk,” she told him. He blinked down at her in surprise.

“What?” he asked after a moment, his voice strangely hoarse. 

“We need to talk,” she repeated, more urgently this time. “I just had a vision.”

“Elain.” It was Nesta who had spoken. The eldest Archeron sister wrung her hands nervously. “Elain, something has happened.”

Her heart slowed. Glancing around the throne room, she fully registered the others who stood around them—her sisters and their mates, Jurian and a few select soldiers from the legion he commanded. They all wore the same grim and melancholy expression, made even more somber in the dim light from the flickering torches that lined the walls. 

And there, nearly in the corner, half-ensconced in the darkness, was the Spymaster. She couldn’t make out his face—she didn’t allow her gaze to linger on him to seek out his expression—but she could sense his anxiety from the way his shadows tensed and pulsed around him.

“What happened?” 

Silence. When Jurian let out a small sniff, her heart started back up again, racing far too fast.

“If someone doesn’t tell me what’s wrong this instant—”

“It’s Vassa,” Lucien croaked. “Her curse has returned.”

She clapped a hand over her mouth. Dread was a living thing that moved inside her body; it slithered through her, cold and damning. Despite all the anger she’d harbored toward the mortal queen these past few weeks, all she felt now was pure and utter panic. Not Vassa, no, he couldn’t take her, he couldn’t have her, and oh gods, she was supposed to save her friend, this was her fault, she hadn't tried hard enough, she had not been enough —

“Koschei took her?” she asked fearfully.

“No,” Feyre said, shaking her head, blue eyes full of sorrow. “She has not been made to return to the Lake—yet. But she has been forced back into firebird form during sunlit hours.”

Breathing became slightly easier. Vassa was still here; she had not been taken by Koschei. Thank the gods. And yet the fact that her firebird curse had returned did not bode well for any of them, least of all the queen.

“Where is she?” Elain asked, her voice scarcely louder than a whisper. Oh, Vassa. Brave and bold Vassa, trapped inside a body that was not her own. An immense pressure bore down upon Elain’s heart.

“She’s circling the grounds.”

As one, they looked out the massive windows overlooking the grounds. There, in the distance, high above the trees, flew a large avian creature. It was colored with brilliant crimson and gold plumage. As they watched, the bird emitted a heartbreaking cry. She immediately recognized it as the call that had roused her from her earlier vision. The lament seemed to echo throughout Elain’s very being, a chilling and sorrowful song that rattled her bones with its intensity. 

“What do we do?” Jurian asked.

“There is nothing we can do right now,” said Rhys. “It seems the only way to free Vassa of the curse is to destroy Koschei. Our best chance of doing that is to wait until the ball, when we can put our plan into action. I know that’s not the answer you want to hear, but…” he trailed off as Lucien started pacing furiously, his hands cupping the back of his neck, the scent of his frustration clouding the room. 

He spun around and pointed at Elain.

“I thought you were supposed to be helping her.” His good eye was bright with rage.

Shock rendered her silent for a moment. “What?” she finally replied. 

“You were supposed to use your powers to find a way to rid her of this horrible enchantment,” he said loudly, voice shaking. “To figure out how the hell we can stop Koschei.” 

“Lucien,” said Feyre, her voice low with warning. “Stop. Your frustration is misplaced.”

What the fuck was with all these alpha-Faes thinking they could yell at her? Well, she’d had enough. “As a matter of fact,” Elain cut in angrily, “I just had a vision that told me what our next step should be. Now can I share it, or do you have any more unfair and unfounded accusations to throw my way?”

Everyone blinked. Lucien’s face turned nearly as red as his hair as he took an embarrassed step backward, averting his eyes.

A few moments of awkward silence passed. “Well, what was your vision, Elain?” Jurian asked breathlessly.

She relayed the details quickly. 

“I was with you?” Lucien asked once she’d finished.

“Yes,” Elain replied shortly, not bothering to look at him. 

“This library,” Rhys mused, “do you know where it is?”

“I’ve never been there before...but yes, I think I know where it is. I believe it’s at the Day Court.”

“The Day Court?”

“Yes. It’s just a hunch, but it feels right.”

Rhys hesitated before continuing on. “May I take a look inside your mind and confirm? I’ve been to the Day Court library before, you see.” 

She eyes her brother-in-law with thinly-veiled suspicion. Did she really want to give him permission to sift through her memories? There were some things she’d rather he never see (and a lot of them involved her sex life with a certain someone). But at this point, Elain knew her mental magic was good enough that she’d be able to put up a decent fight. Besides, as misguided and arrogant as he could be, she didn’t think Rhys was cruel enough to invade her most private thoughts.

Nodding once at Rhys, she relaxed and lifted the mental barriers inside her head. His eyes focused elsewhere; a moment later, he blinked. “Yes. That is the Day Court library. You are clearly meant to find something important there.” 

She nodded back in agreement. “I don’t know how exactly it will help Vassa, but I know that it’s going to,” Elain said, and saying the words out loud had her feeling even more sure of their truth. “I just can’t see the end result yet. Which means I need to go to the Day Court. And you,” she turned to fix her gaze at Lucien, a little unwillingly, “have to come with me.”

Lucien’s mouth dropped open. “Me?”

Elain frowned. “Yes, you. No one else was in the vision.” 

“Oh, right,” he said, ducking his head. 

Gods. And she was the useless one? Resisting the urge to throw something, Elain continued in a steady voice, “With your permission, High Lord and High Lady, and of course the blessing of Lord Helion, I would like to visit the Day Court as soon as possible. With Lucien, too, if he agrees to come,” she added.

“I’ll come,” he said quickly.

“The Day Court?” Feyre said, and perhaps Elain was imagining it, but she thought she detected a hint of nervousness in her sister’s voice. “Just the two of you?” 

Rhys sent his mate a loaded glance. What the hell is going on? Elain thought, bemused.

Then a deep voice spoke from the far end of the room, effectively stealing all of her attention. “If you need someone else to go, I’m happy to accompany Elain, as well,” the Spymaster said. 

She stiffened, her gaze flicking to where Azriel leaned against the far wall, wearing his shadows like a second-skin. Even in the semi-darkness, his glowing hazel eyes were piercing as ever, and they were directed straight at her. She hated her traitorous heart for stopping mid-beat in her chest. 

“I don’t think Elain and I need a chaperone, but thanks for the offer,” Lucien said. Still caught in Azriel’s intense gaze, she watched as his expression turned dark and dangerous (or, well, darker and more dangerous than usual). 

“Careful, Vanserra” the shadowsinger warned quietly. Elain would never admit it, but the deep, raspy timbre of his voice made her unnaturally hot between the legs. 

“Or what?” Lucien sneered.

“Knock it off, you two,” Nesta snapped. 

The two males immediately obeyed her elder sister and went silent, but the daggers they glared at each other were as sharp as ever. 

Now Elain was more than annoyed. She was ready to be done with this conversation.

Taking a deep breath, she collected herself, then faced Rhys and Feyre. “Well? May we go?”

Apparently the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court had already discussed the matter mind-to-mind. 

“Yes. You may go. I’ll reach out to Helion at once,” Feyre answered. “I am sure he will be more than fine with it.” Once again, there was a guarded expression on her sister’s face that Elain could not quite comprehend. She’d have to ask her about it later. “Upon receiving Helion’s blessing, you, Lucien and I will depart for the Day Court immediately.”

“You’re coming with us?” she asked in surprise.

“I have other matters to discuss with Helion, so yes, I’ll be joining you.” 

Well, that was a relief. If she was going to have a third companion, Feyre was a much preferable option than Azriel. She felt sick even thinking about the sheer awkwardness of trying to make conversation with Azriel and Lucien together. Hells . She shook off the disturbing thought. 

“The Day Court is one of the safest places in the realm, but it’s often in the safest places that we let our guards down,” said Rhys. “Don’t do that. Always be on alert. Keep mental notes of anything odd you notice. And most importantly..don’t do anything risky.”

Elain nodded her acquiescence, pretending she didn’t notice the worried look Nesta sent her way.

Clapping her hands together, Feyre said, “Well, I’m going to get a message to Helion. I’ll let him know this is urgent business. Elain and Lucien, I’d go pack a bag immediately. Chances are Helion will reply in the next hour or so, and we have no time to waste.”

She started to nod again when a thought occurred to her. “If we leave before Vassa…transforms back,” she swallowed down the emotion stuck in her throat, “will you tell her where we went? Will you tell her that we’ll be back soon?”

It was Jurian who replied. “Of course.”

She wished she could be there when the queen returned from her cursed form, but perhaps it was for the best. Elain knew Vassa, and she knew that her prideful and spirited friend would likely not want to speak to anyone for a while. 

“One more thing,” said Rhys. “Make sure you wake up before the sun rises.” 

“Why so early?” she asked before she could help herself.

A small smile tugged at Rhys’ lips. “Believe me. You won’t want to miss the sunrise in the Day Court.”

***

She felt him before she saw him.

“You know, most people would call appearing unannounced in someone’s bedroom an invasion of privacy,” she said, not bothering to pause in her folding of garments as she packed a small bag for her trip. Feyre had informed her just a few minutes ago that Helion had gotten their message and invited them to the Day Court. They’d be leaving as soon as the clock struck noon.

“It’s only an invasion of privacy if it’s an unwelcome visit.”

She huffed out a humorless laugh. “If you’re waiting on me to invite you in, you’ll be waiting a while, I’m afraid.” 

A heavy silence. “Elain,” he said eventually, deep and demanding. “Look at me.”

No , she wanted to say. No, I can’t look at you, because then I might consider forgiving you, and I’m far too hurt and angry to do that right now. Instead, she said nothing at all.

“Please, Elain,” he said raspily. Her heart seized up and this time, she did pause in her tasks. How could she not when the ring of genuine regret and apology in his voice threatened to melt down her walls of resistance? 

He spoke again. “I messed up.”

She nodded slowly, still facing the other way. “Yes.”

“I’m so sorry, Elain. You have to know I didn’t mean it. Even if you can’t forgive me, you have to know that.”

She let out a long sigh. The thing was, she did know that. She knew he didn’t mean what he’d said—but he had meant to hurt her. And that intentionality was what gnawed at her heart the most.

“Yes, I know that,” she said finally, turning to face him.

The wintry afternoon sunbeams shining through the window reflected beautifully against his eyes. It made the deep green warmer; made the gold flecks brighter. He was so beautiful, standing there in his shadows and his sorrow. He was so beautiful, and yet she was still so angry with him that it physically hurt. 

“Do you forgive me?” 

She smiled sadly. “I didn’t say that.”

He made a pained sound in the back of his throat. “Is that why you are going to the Day Court with him?” he asked, and there was a desperation to his tone that she’d never heard before. “Are you doing it to punish me?”

Shock had her taking an instinctive step backward. “When have I ever done something to purposely hurt you?” she asked incredulously. “When have I not had your back? I’m on your team , Azriel. I always have been, and I have always acted with your best intentions at heart. Meanwhile, you’re tailoring your words to hit me where it will hurt me most, and even worse, you are doubting me! Doubting us .”

He flinched. 

She let out a frustrated sigh. “We have less than a month before the ball. Vassa’s curse has returned. Koschei is coming for us. We are running out of time. Everything I am doing is what I believe must be done in order for us to survive the coming storm. I have no ulterior motives.” A pause. “And you have to know I would never hurt you like that. Not intentionally.” Her voice went so low it might as well have been a whisper. “I care for you far too much.”

Anticipation was a restless beating in her chest as she waited—and hoped, and wanted, and wished—for his response to be something substantial, something she could grasp on to. But after several moments of silence, it became apparent that she would wait in vain.

Swallowing down the crushing disappointment, she returned to her packing, hoping he didn’t see her shaking hands. “I’ll see you when I return.” 

In the span of a breath, he was behind her and spinning her around to face him. 

“Please, wait a second,” he said, low and urgent, “I don’t want to leave it like this.”

“We don’t always get what we want,” she snapped back. A vein in his jaw twitched, and she had the sudden urge to flick it.

“Tell me what you want,then,” he begged. “What do you want me to do? What do you want, ‘Lain?” 

His hands were still on her shoulders, holding her in place, and she seemed to register it at the same time as him. Their eyes met. 

“I want…” she breathed, trailing off as the familiar wave of desire flooded her senses.

She didn’t know who moved first; maybe they moved at exactly the same time, the way they always have, as if drawn together by an invisible magnet, but suddenly his body was mere centimeters away. And then, a beat later, his chest was flush against her own, warm and solid and sculpted like a statue, and her back was arching as one of his hands found the small of her back and the other cradled her face, and the heady, familiar scent of him made her as lightheaded as southern wine—

Gods. Gods . How could it still be like this? She thought her desire for Azriel would have been quenched at this point. Somewhat sated, at the very least. And not only because of their recent argument, but because they’d been sleeping together for over a month now—often and consistently—and yet…and yet she still wanted him just as much as before. Her pulse still skyrocketed at his very proximity. She still ached for him, all the time; ached for all of him to be intertwined with all of her. 

But she wouldn’t really have him , would she? She would have his kisses. His demands and praises. She would have the singular feeling of his keen, intoxicating gaze devouring her body, worshiping her with his eyes. She would have the indescribable comfort and safety his presence brought her. Yes, Elain supposed, she would have all of that. 

As long as it was behind closed doors.

Azriel leaned forward, pushing his forehead against hers. “I’m not good with my words,” he murmured. “I don’t…I don’t know how to fix this. But I want to. Desperately.” His hot, sweet breath ghosted over her ear, then traveled down the curve of her jaw, and Elain had to bite her lip to keep from whimpering. “So please, tell me what I can say to make this better. Tell me what to say and I’ll say it.”

He was looking at her so fiercely, so sincerely, that she considered—just for a moment—giving in. But the feeling was as fleeting as it was dangerous. 

Gently, she disentangled herself from his embrace and took a step back. His arms fell limply to his side. 

“You are not as bad with words as you think,” she said, not unkindly. “You knew what you were saying the other day.”

Pain crashed across his face. He opened his mouth at the same time the clock struck noon, and then the manor was filled with the usual clanging of bell chimes. When the bellowing echoes finally ceased, Elain spoke.

“I have to go,” she said.

He nodded stiffly, that vein in his jaw still working.

“When you get back, we’re going to have a talk. I promise, El. Yeah? A talk, just you and me.” 

She nodded, throat too tight with emotion to speak. Gave him as genuine of a smile as she could muster, but she could tell that it was a weak attempt.

Something visceral flashed in his eyes, but before she could decipher it he was stepping back into his shadows. “Have a good trip,” he said, expression unreadable, the vulnerable male she’d seen just moments ago gone completely. “I’ll see you soon.” A pause, and then, like he couldn’t help himself: “Be safe, Elain. Please.”

He vanished. She swallowed down the lump in her throat. Smoothed out a crease on her gown. Slung her pack over her shoulder and exited the room.

She had a mission to complete. 

And while she was at it, she hoped she got to pet a pegasus or two.

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[isagisyoichi]

BREAK YOUR RULES!

synopsis: nagi as your boyfriend

characters included: nagi seishiro

warnings: swearing, gender neutral reader, nagi is a little shit

a/n: bye i’ve had this in my drafts for like months and i remembered it existed like last week LOL enjoy nagi stans

for: nagi’s goth gf @sun9rin 🥰🥸💗

i feel like your relationship with nagi would be relatively chill and low maintenance. i really don’t see nagi being this overly romantic person or whatever 

so basically, just expect nagi to act as your best friend who kisses you sometimes lol

onto your actual relationship-

cuddle sessions and naps together are definitely a thing between you two. having nagi’s arms wrapped around you as you drift to sleep makes you feel so safe and content. not to mention that nagi runs warm, so it’s like cuddling with a heated blanket.

but also, nagi’s a huge baby so he gets all whiny when you have to get up for anything LOL

“seishirou, i literally will piss on your bed, let me pee”

nagi, with his arms still wrapped around you, squeezing you tighter: “no i’m good”

dates with nagi are lowkey and causal- they’re mostly at his house or yours, or maybe he’ll take you on a walk around a park if he’s feeling it that day, but he’s really not the type to go on extravagant dates

however, if nagi really wants to put in some effort into a date, he’ll take you to an arcade, because of course he would

nagi will pay for everything, like food, coins, etc, expect that he will crack a joke about you being a gold digger here and there LOL

but still, it is really fun!!! you guys both feel like little kids again, and the glimmer and excitement in your eyes, and the way you laugh wholeheartedly out of joy makes it all worth it to nagi

nagi even indulges you by taking pictures with you in the photobooth the arcade offers.

(he keeps one of the pictures you guys took in his wallet <3)

but, if you end up wanting to playing a game where you have to play against nagi, he beats you every time with no mercy ⋋_⋌

but also, he makes up for it by letting you use all his tickets to get whatever you want at the prize counter. make his pockets hurt!!

“i still think you went overboard with the prizes.”

you, with six plushies in your arms, and two more that nagi’s holding: “i have no idea what you’re talking about, sei.”

nagi also offers to teach you how to play video games !!!! please say yes, he just wants to do one of his favorite things with his favorite person ;__;

he’s actually very sweet when he teaches you. he has you sit on his lap as he teaches you how to play, and guides your hands using his as you try to get the hang of the controller

he kisses your forehead as a reward for when you’re doing well, or when you need some motivation when a boss is kicking your ass 

when you get good enough to play with him, nagi always pulls some dirty shit to win: like kissing you out of nowhere or lightly pushing you with his side to break your concentration 

i mean, he was probably gonna win anyways LMAO but he just likes agitating you

if you can’t come over, nagi’ll facetime you as he plays. he doesn’t talk that much while on the phone because he’s “concentrating,” but he does like your presence.

if you hang up because he wasn’t talking, he gets all pissy, as if you two were actually having a conversation or something LOL

“why did you hang up” “you weren’t even talking to me” “so? call me back” like WHAT 

but also, if you fall asleep on facetime, when he eventually takes notice, nagi smiles at how cute you look and pauses his game to take screenshots for his “y/n is kinda cute i guess” album

nagi refuses to acknowledge this album’s existence, though

“aw, babe, do you have an album of just me?” 

“no, those are pictures of my dog.”

“you don’t even have a dog, you ass.”

nagi has totally asked you to buy the ps5 for him. don’t do it, don’t cave, i know he’s cute but don’t!!!

"for the last time, shiro, i am not buying you a ps5"

"you’re all are the same" yeah ok this is exactly why you’re not getting shit (¬_¬)

also, i hate to break it to you but he’s 6’2, very attractive, and a kickass soccer player, so he definitely has people all over him, i am so sorry

you trust him, so you don’t get jealous often, but it does help a lot that nagi’s so frank with his rejections

literally just says “i have a s/o,” when he realizes he’s getting a confession and just walks away, doesn’t even let them finish, very king shit of him! 

but on the rare occasions you do actually get jealous, nagi has the nerve to think it’s cute! men!

but after teasing you for a little, nagi always reassures you that you’re the only person that he could ever want and that’ll never change. 

and you know he’s telling you the truth because nagi’s always been so straightforward with his words and has never been one to shy away from saying the truth 

for someone that’s never had a relationship before (and, don’t get me wrong he definitely could have had one before, have you seen him? it’s just no one else has piqued his interest enough that he wanted pursue a relationship with them, so you’re pretty special to him), nagi’s a pretty good fucking kisser.

like, it literally makes you go like hmm  (￣、￣〃)  sounds fake but okay!

most of the time, his kisses are swift and chaste, opting to give you them on your forehead or cheek. 

but when gets serious, oh boy. 

every time without fail, he leaves your head spinning and your chest out of breath, and you just can’t help but want more each time. 

whether he actually gives you more depends on how he’s feeling that day (◣_◢)

i feel like this is a given but, reo’s around you guys a lot lol

sometimes he complains about being a third wheel like he’s not the one who invited himself to whatever you and nagi were doing 

but even so, reo does really like you. because not only do you make nagi happy, but you motivate him to play better during games, which helps reo’s whole “becoming the best in the world” agenda a lot, so in a way he wins too

speaking of nagi and (soccer, not virtual) games, he really does show out a little more when you attend. 

he doesn’t do anything crazy, but you know nagi well enough to tell he puts in a little more effort than usual when you're there. but he denies it when you bring it up LOL

for pet names, nagi just sticks with the classics, like “babe,” or maybe “baby,” if he’s feeling soft, but honestly he just probably gives you some kind of weird nickname like he did with barou, and uses that as his go-to. 

“hey, dookie pie.”

“i literally don’t like you, seishirou.”

but deep down, you prefer that because it’s special and just for you, you know? 

you may be a dookie pie but, you’re his dookie pie <3

nagi loves when you play with his hair! makes him feel at peace. like from time to time, nagi wordlessly grabs your hand and puts it on the top of his head and expects you to know where to go from there.

nagi would even let you tie up his hair into whatever weird styles you want as long as you’re playing with <3 he’d even post it on his finsta or private story on snapchat when you’re done, with some stupid caption like “fresh cut courtesy of y/n 🔥”

nagi’s a weird texter once you get to know him LMAO. like he’ll send you like the most random shit ever like two buildings or something and be like “us lol,” with no explanation whatsoever. like come back here! we need some elaboration!

and when he’s comfortable enough with you, he’s the type to talk to you about anything that comes to his mind, so you guys end up having some pretty weird late night convos

nagi, literally out of nowhere at 2am: “on god i hate walruses” you: “so true bae”

nagi probably first says “i love you” during the most random moment ever when he thinks you’re not listening 

plot twist: you were. and he says it so softly and fondly that you felt like you could melt right then and there.

you get a best friend and a boyfriend with him, so 20/10 definitely recommend, get yourself a nagi

[thetriggeredhappy]

recently rediscovered your blog and read the fic from your dad spy au where scout starts out as the "guard" and then becomes scout from there and lemme tell you that shit put me on some s-tier brainrot. like a cranial decay type beat.

i had a concept in my head that instead of being hired as a guard, he could have been hired as a right hand man to the administrator like pauling, because i think hed be awesome in that position. like imagine having a personal merc who can get in fast and out even faster. but maybe he would stay in the base like the rest of them, sort of like a secret on call intel gatherer, who also maybe sometimes has to dig a couple graves. and also like, nobody on the team expects anything from him at first because its this 20 year old newbie kid. hes dressed in his formal clothes and he talks like somebody from relatively around boston but not quite. i can just imagine one day he comes back during a team dinner with his shirt half untucked and stained with blood, hair disheveled as he asks soldier if he can borrow his shovel, or him debriefing them for a mission when miss pauling is busy. same vibe as the fic i mentioned before but scout gets to have a job as cool as miss paulings. honestly id write it myself if i didnt have the attention span of a fly

anyways your scout content gives me life thank you

scout teamfortress but 20% more competent standing next to miss pauling teamfortress while she's doing her job and doing like silly quips and otherwise contributing nothing like it's a buddy cop film is literally my fucking ideal

(warnings for some canon-typical violence)

-

“Oh, Pauling, it’s good to see you again,” greeted the chairman, smiling in an imitation of a grandfather and clasping her hands perhaps too-kindly considering she barely knew him. “Young as ever, and still so stylish, I see. And who’s the new fellow?”

“He’s just here to help with transport, Mr. Montgomery, nothing unusual,” Miss Pauling replied, returning his smile and adjusting her glasses. “Heavy cases, you know how it is.”

“Of course, I remember you almost toppling clean over last time we made a trade!” Montgomery agreed, frowning at the memory. “You’ll pull a muscle that way, better to be careful. It’s a pleasure to meet you, young man. And your name?”

“Mr. Normandy, sir,” the new kid replied easily enough despite his slight East Coast accent, giving the man a firm handshake, expression neutral and stony, the picture of professionalism. Internally, Pauling breathed a sigh of relief.

“Firm grip there, young man,” Montgomery praised, nodding approvingly. “Tennis player, perhaps? Or golf?”

“Baseball, sir,” he replied, still evenly. “First baseman.”

“Ah! Of course! Were you any good?” Montgomery joked.

“At everything but playing in front of the crowds, otherwise I’d be in the major leagues,” he replied, tilting his head just slightly to imply that he was joking, his sunglasses glinting at the movement, and Montgomery barked a laugh.

“I like this one, Miss Pauling!” Montgomery said, and Pauling just barely caught herself from physically relaxing at it.

“We do too, Mr. Montgomery,” she agreed. “I was under the impression that you’re very busy today, so we won’t keep you for too long, we just wanted to sort out the final details surrounding the manufacturing rights for the—“

“—Pacific Northwest branch, up into British Columbia and Alberta, of course,” Montgomery agreed, nodding faintly. “Of course, of course.” He turned to regard his own man in a dark suit, the one standing to the right, who appeared to be unsuccessfully trying to stare down Normandy, who was completely ignoring him. “My briefcase, please.”

The man handed over the briefcase, and Montgomery put it on his desk, opening it and pulling out a sheaf of papers. “All our requests are submitted and approved, at this point we just had a few dustbins to take care of regarding initial percentages and making sure everything is wired to the correct accounts, which names are undisclosed, things like that,” Pauling explained as he glanced through the papers.

“Right, right, everything looks good here,” the man murmured, nodding to himself, sending his long-white hair just ever-so-slightly out of place. “I’m assuming these more sensitive documents should be sent some way besides through the mail?”

“If you finish them today I can take them with me, otherwise either me or Mr. Normandy can return to pick them up at your convenience,” she replied, to which Normandy gave a singular nod.

“Oh, it would only take me a short while,” Montgomery said, waving a hand. “We have a lovely lounge just down the hall from here if you’d prefer to wait there, it should only take me ten, fifteen minutes at most. In the meantime, I do believe there’s also the manner of payment for services rendered.”

Miss Pauling tilted her head just slightly to one side, confused.

“I arranged with Helen already,” Montgomery explained, not looking up from where he was initialing a few things. “The payment, rather than being wired, she asked to be made in material investment. A venture of mine from years ago that she’s willing to sit on. Rather than gold or bonds, she agreed to take some old currency of mine that my family collected, from early 18th century New Zealand and Australia. Monetarily it’s worth around the same, and I’m quite a bit attached to it to be entirely frank, but it was at her request to buy the whole collection from me, and after years of the work we’ve been doing together, well, I’d never trust it with anyone else.”

He gestured to the other man, the one on his left, who stepped forward to hand him a manila envelope, which he passed to Pauling.

“Inside is both keys, the door alarm codes, and all other security information for the building where the collection is being stored. They’ll ask for a few codes and confirmation of identity, only because several other art collections and artifacts are being stored there by other affluent individuals such as myself.”

“Thank you, Mr. Montgomery,” Pauling said, taking the envelope gratefully.

“Think nothing of it, my dear. Helen talked me into it all her own,” he said easily enough. “Now, gentlemen, if you would let Miss Pauling and Mr. Normandy into our lounge? I should have these wrapped up before any of us can even think about lunch, eh?”

One of the suits showed the two of them through the doors and down the hallway, through two doors bracketed by similar suits who simply nodded politely at Pauling and ticked their chins at Normandy as they passed them.

Normandy posted up beside the door for all of three seconds before they shut and Pauling pulled her glasses up, rubbing at the bridge of her nose and making a vaguely distressed noise. He then promptly relaxed, instead leaning his hip against an armchair probably worth the same amount as a small car. “So, uh, we’re glad that he’s giving us a bunch of commemorative coins from when dinosaurs still walked the earth?” he asked just below normal speaking volume, eyebrows raised.

“Yes. Very glad. Because unlike about six people total on the planet, he hasn’t figured out yet how valuable those are.”

“What, is a picture of a kangaroo on some copper really gonna make up for a couple hundred thousand American dollars?” Normandy asked, sounding doubtful.

“Not copper. Something else,” she replied. “I can’t tell you much more about it other than that, but these coins are made of something priceless to us. And to the Administrator.”

“…Love? Memories? The magic of family?” he joked, cracking a smile, and she rolled her eyes, moving to open the envelope and start reading the papers inside. “Hey, uh, not to question whether my job should exist, but what the hell am I doing here, exactly? Besides carrying a briefcase. Like, chivalry isn’t dead but I really don’t think you need me carrying your bags and holding the door for you.”

“You’re helping with security, basically,” she replied, adjusting her glasses to squint at tiny handwriting about the collection. “Mr. Montgomery is trustworthy, but he mostly hires out to… well, people like us. His security detail is mostly people we’d rather have screened, freelancers, stuff like that. A lot of people we contract out to are like that. Most of them have heard about me and know better than to try and pull something, since I can hold my own pretty well, but if they haven’t, seeing a second person might persuade them to think it over again.”

“Oh, so I’m like, uh, when it says ‘tow zone’ next to the no parking signs even though nobody checks, or when they’ve got a camera in the corner of the store that isn’t even plugged into anything,” he said, and the looked up at him, confused. “Like, uh, what’s the word… I’m a casual deterrent.”

“Sure,” she said, because it sounded like he knew what he was talking about, shuffling the papers back away and closing the envelope again, making a note to ask the Administrator if she should change their current containment procedures to be closer to Mr. Montgomery’s. “Just… if there’s a fight, you deal with it, otherwise you just stand there and look like you’re paying attention.”

“That’s what the sunglasses are for,” he agreed. “I was blinking morse code at the guy across from me literally the whole time.”

“You know morse code?” Pauling asked, surprised.

“Just the alphabet, ‘S.O.S.’, and ‘ass’.”

She rolled her eyes again, and that’s when the door opened.

She expected Mr. Montgomery, not one of the men in suits. “Excuse me, both of you, if you don’t mind,”the man said, accent having the slightest English tilt to it, a Londoner if Pauling had to guess. “You’re Miss Pauling, the Mann Co. affiliate, yes?”

“That’s me,” she agreed, hesitant, and glanced at Normandy.

“I’m afraid there’s been a mistake. Mr. Montgomery have you the wrong envelope on accident,” the man said apologetically, extending a hand forward. “We apologize for this unfortunate mix-up, it’s really quite embarrassing, but those documents are sensitive and we’ll be needing to see them back now.”

Pauling looked at him, and within a moment, shifted her expression. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” she agreed, nodding. “No, right, of course. These aren’t the papers for the currency collection?”

“I’m afraid not,” the Brit agreed, head tilting just slightly, hand still extended, moving a fraction further forward.

“Well, thank goodness we figured out now and not with us halfway back,” she joked, and moved to hold the folder closer to her body. “I’ll take this right back to Mr. Montgomery, then.”

“He’s sent me to correct the error,” the man explained simply.

“Right,” she said, and saw in her periphery that Normandy had already started sneaking a hand in towards his primary, clearly having pieced together something she was only suspecting. “We can bring this to his office, then, right down the hall.”

“You misunderstand,” the man said, taking a step forward again. “I’ll be taking it to his office myself.”

“That’s funny,” Pauling said. “I didn’t realize you had clearance to be in there. Or to be carrying a semi-automatic instead of a standard handgun.”

The Brit reached for the semi-automatic, and before he could even get it out properly, Normandy hit one clean shot to the side of his head and another to his thigh, sending him crumpling to the ground.

Pauling had only as far as pulling her own handgun free, thumb on the safety, and breathed a sigh of relief, glancing over at Normandy, shifting to more comfortably hold her gun. “Quick reflexes,” she noted.

“Just noticed a lot sooner, maybe,” he shrugged, stepping forward to glance over the body, tucking his gun back away.

“What was your hint?”

“He’s here to give us the right folder, yeah? Well, why were his hands empty, then?”

She was just starting to nod and realize that as well when a second man shouldered through the door, holding a gun at the ready. Normandy scrambled to draw his own, but Pauling fired a shot into his knee, shoulder, and neck to send him dropping before he was even close. “There’s quick on the draw, and then there’s prepared,” she said pointedly. “Gotta think of if there’s more than one, new guy.”

He nodded, and drew his gun again, bending to hit the guy on the ground at the temple hard enough to knock him out if he wasn’t unconscious already. He then glanced up at the sound of a shout from the other side of the door, two men shouldering through, guns drawn but lowered. It was only the firm eye contact they made with both her and Normandy that made her pause the millisecond it took to realize these ones weren’t trying to kill them.

“Pauling, what on earth is going on here?!” Montgomery demanded, entering the room and staring with wide eyes at the bodies on the ground. “What could’ve possessed you to—“

“He was trying to run off with these documents,” she explained quickly, gesturing with the envelope. “He knew whatever was in here was valuable.”

“He drew his gun, sir,” Normandy added, tipping his head down towards the body, and Pauling glanced down as well and found herself a little surprised. He’d rearranged the man just slightly, apparently, adjusting the arm to be holding the gun a bit further outward. “Other one was aiming to kill.”

“My, my,” Montgomery tsk’d, shaking his head as he surveyed the scene. “What a mess. My apologies, Miss Pauling, Mr. Normandy.”

“It’s alright, but you need to start doing more thorough checks on your staff, Mr. Montgomery,” Pauling stressed.

“He’s only been here two weeks, sir, he was one of the men we hired in a hurry after the incident last month,” one of the bodyguards said, and Montgomery shook his head.

“Thank goodness nobody was hurt,” he sighed. “Mutiny, and besides that, they’re bleeding on my carpet. Here are those papers, Miss Pauling—what a day, eh?”

“It’s really alright, we handled it,” Pauling assured him, giving her bravest smile, a little exasperated now.

“Right, right, you and the first baseman,” he agreed, and Normandy fought back an actual smile.

“If you’d like, we can take care of those for you,” Pauling said, gesturing at the bodies. “To pay you back for the carpet and the scare.”

“Sounds fair to me,” Montgomery agreed, clearly relieved.

-

“My dad’s gonna be pissed, by the way,” Normandy was so helpful as to say on the way back up the path to the base. “And you’re fielding that.”

“About the suit, or the fight?” she asked, glancing at his clothes where he was somewhat covered in a fine dusting of mud and grime from the gravedigging, shovel still in his free hand.

“Both. Mostly the fight. Your fault for saying it’d be an easy one to start with,” he said.

“If it was going to be that much of a problem, you wouldn’t have gotten this job. I’d just have made you go do dishes all day or something,” Pauling replied.

“Point taken,” he said, walking ahead to get the door, holding it open for her. “Wait, we’re allowed to mention what we do, right? Just not names?”

“Or locations, even with travel distance. Round up to the hour if it comes up,” she replied.

“Sure, sure,” he agreed, trailing a step behind her as she led the way through the base.

In the common area, there was a bit of a ruckus happening. Soldier, Heavy, and Demo appeared to be having some kind of arm wrestling competition on a rapidly-toppling table, the Engineer was on a stepstool trying to fix the ceiling fan, and Sniper appeared to be half-watching the beginnings of an argument between Pyro and the Spy regarding use of the oven as Medic patched up a burn on his arm.

“Hullo,” Sniper greeted the two of them, sounding a little bored, Medic giving them a brief, polite nod. Normandy’s eyebrows were raised pretty far as he surveyed the room.

“Hi, Sniper,” she greeted in return, then cleared her throat, raised her voice. “Team meeting in five minutes! New mission for next week!”

Groans from the room at large, the eight mercenaries starting to finish up what they were doing and filing out. Spy moved over, glancing over Normandy and starting to talk to him in rapid-fire French, picking smaller bits of gravel off of his suit as they walked.

“Alright,” she addressed the room, Normandy peeling off from getting mother hen’d by Spy to stand next to the blackboard with her. “Monday, you’re all going on a transport mission. Getting the truck from point A to point B with everything in the boxes intact. Already we’ve had to put up with some people trying to get ahold of these things, so bring your guns.”

“Oh, our guns, you said? Lads, this is a serious one, keep your heads on a feckin' swivel, she’s sayin’ we might even need guns, can you believe it?” Demo faux-gasped, and chuckled when Spy bopped him on the arm, rolling his eyes at the Scot's theatrics.

“Yeah, yeah,” she waved off, flipping through the papers a bit. “So Engie, I’ll need the keys to the truck, me and Normandy are going to be loading those tomorrow, all of you need to be at this drop point bright and early.”

“How early?” Heavy rumbled.

“Six. Hour and a half of drive from here.”

Some complaints from the room that she sighed at.

“Hey, hey, calm the hell down,” Normandy cut in, and she glanced over at him where he had his arms crossed and a stern look on his face. “You chuckleheads get to have all eight of you to unload the damn thing, me and Miss P gotta do all the rest of this on our own and probably kill twenty guys on the way there and back. She had to be up at 6 AM, workin’ since 7 AM, lunch break at noon and nothin’ else, and we just got back now at, what, fuckin’, 10, 11 PM? Any of you work her shift and then see if you even got the energy to complain about wakin’ up early, how about that?”

The room went utterly devoid of complaint or backsass. “Thank you, Normandy,” she said politely, and he just nodded once, glancing off to the side. “Anyways, anything new on this end? Spy, how are you adjusting?”

“Very well,” he said simply. “I have nothing pressing to say. Once I’ve been updated from the stock weaponry provided here to my requested preferred weaponry, I believe I should do just fine.”

“I see you already have Herr Normandy digging graves,” Medic chimed in. “Straight into the hard labor, ja?”

“Eh, hey, y’know, it’s why they keep us young people around,” he shrugged, grinning, and there was a brief uproar to drown out Medic’s entirely offended scoffing and Spy’s snort-laughing.

“Get ‘im, lad!” Demo cheered, and Normandy indeed looked fairly proud of himself.

“Monday, transport mission,” Pauling noted over the noise, writing it up on the chalkboard to hide her own smile from the room. “Normandy, you and me are doing the boxes tomorrow. Everyone on the same page? Good. Dismissed. Oh, and Pyro—stop taking the fire alarms down when they beep. They’re beeping because you light things on fire in the base. Do that outside.”

“Oh, hey, uh, helmet guy, All-American Beef,” Normandy called, and Soldier straightened up. “Here’s your shovel back. Gettin’ my own tomorrow.”


Soldier walked directly over to him, clasping a hand on his shoulder. “That’s a high honor, Cadet,” he said, tone grave. “Do not take this responsibility lightly.”

“I, uh, I won’t?” he said hesitantly, and blinked a few times as the shovel was carefully taken from him before it was promptly marched from the room in double-time. Only then did Normandy look over at her. “So he’s always like that?”

“You’ll get used to it,” she assured, dusting chalk from her hands. “You should get to sleep soon, we have to be up early.”

“Sure thing, Miss P.”

[ninja-go-to-therapy]

Febuwhump 24: Memory Loss

This is in fact an AU, but I'm not telling you what it's based on yet because yeah.

Summary: The kids go to the mall. Things take a turn.

Trigger Warnings: none

1258 words

The doorbell rang, prompting an explosion of footsteps running down the stairs.

“Lena and Violet are here!” Webby squealed, the other three behind her. She opened the door, and as the two stepepd in, the others were greeted with Violet speaking rapidfire, similar to Webby when she got particularly excited.

“You will not believe this,” she said, “there’s this huge shopping mall not too far from here that we just heard about, and it’s got this book store I’ve been wanting to go to forever, and… sorry, I am very excited. Hello Webbigail! How are you today?”

Webby laughed, hugging the sisters in greeting. “We should go to that mall!” she said, “it sounds like a lot of fun!”

“I’m down,” Lena said. “I’ve never really been to a mall before.”

“Never?” Dewey gasped, practically appearing out of thin air beside her. “We’ve got to go!”

Thirty minutes later found them doing just that, the little group entering the shopping mall in awe. It was massive, definitely bigger than any mall the triplets had ever seen before. Natural light came in through various skylights, illuminating the place beautifully. A huge fountain sat towards the middle of the place, a couple kids throwing in coins.

“Whoa…”

“Tell me about it.”

“If only we had, like, money,” Dewey said, staring at all the shops in wonder.

“Oh yeah… money is important,” Webby agreed, thinking for a moment. “I… am broke. Does anyone have anything?”

“My allowance is not very large,” Violet frowned. “Perhaps I should have taken that into account before suggesting we come here. It won’t be a very good time if we can’t buy anything.”

“Hello, children!”

The group jumped, turning around to find a tall adult duck standing behind them.

“Oh, I do apologize. I didn’t intend to startle you,” he said.

“Who are you?” Louie asked.

“Oh, silly me! I’m Mr. A, the general manager of this mall. And I couldn’t help but overhear about your little… money problem,” he said, chuckling.

“What about it?” Huey asked, frowning.

“Well, as the man in charge, as it were, I’ve been put in the unique position to help you out of your… financial predicament.”

“How, exactly?”

“I can offer you these,” he said, holding up a number of golden credit card looking things. “Special membership cards. They’re as good as gold in any of our fine stores.” He handed out one to each of them, that same customer service smile on his face the entire time.

“You’re just giving them away?” Dewey asked increduously.

“How do you know we’ll pay you back?” Louie added, frowning.

“The good patrons of this mall always pay us back,” Mr. A replied easily. “Now, I have to go take care of some manager business, you kids have fun!” he said, patting Huey on the head before turning and beginning to walk away.

Huey grumbled quietly, fixing his hat. “Why would he just give them to us?” he mumbled, staring at his card in bewilderment.

“Beats me, but who am I if not the person who’s about to take advantage of this mall’s stupidity — I mean, er, generosity.” Louie said.

“Last one to find something awesome is a rotten egg!” Dewey exclaimed, running into the nearest store.

“Hey, no fair, you got a head start!” Webby shouted, chasing after him.

Huey frowned. The mall was pretty new, they probably did this to attract customers. He slipped his card under his hat, following the others into the store they’d chosen.

———

“I usually prefer libraries,” Violet was saying as she and Lena entered a massive bookstore inside the mall. “But I’ve heard that this store has a particularly old book that I can’t find anywhere else, so I’m willing to make an exception.”

Lena nodded, poking around the shelves of the store herself. She wasn’t quite as into reading as her sister or Webby, but it could be fun, she supposed. She wouldn’t mind a spell book or two, if they had any.

By the time they made their way to the register, Violet had a whole stack of books in her arms. Lena raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, well… they had a few books I was wanting to purchase,” Violet said, flushing.

Lena laughed. “No judgement! Are there any shopping baskets? You really shouldn’t be carrying all of that around.”

Before they could begin to look for one, a man popped up behind the register, startling Lena so bad that she almost dropped the singular book that she was holding onto.

“My apologies!” he chirped.

Lena frowned. “Mr. A?” God, that man was good at scaring the shit out of people.

“Aren’t you the manager of the whole mall?” Violet asked.

“I am, yes. My cashier here had a bit of a personal emergency, so I’m filling in for an hour or two over here. What good am I as a manager if I don’t see to it that my employees are treated well, hmm?”

Violet smiled. “That’s very thoughtful of you,” she said, carefully placing her books on the countertop.

He began to ring them up, swiping the gold card Violet handed him.

“Oh, I’m afraid you’ve maxed out,” he said, handing the card back to her.

“Oh… I can put some of the books back—”

“Just charge it to my card,” Lena said, handing over her own.

“Thank you!” Violet said, smiling brightly.

“No problem, sis.”

A beeping sound from the computer rang out. “Your card has reached its limit as well.”

Lena stared at him blankly, then looked back at Violet. “How expensive are those books?”

“I’ll just put some back,” Violet said, reaching for one.

“Oh, there will be no need,” Mr. A said, smiling a little bit too wide.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, dear Violet, that It’s time for you two to pay.”

———

“What did you guys get?” Dewey asked, bouncing in excitement as he held his purchase close to his chest.

“Glitter!” Webby responded immediately, pulling one of the tubes out of her bag.

“Oh, fun…” Louie mumbled.

“I got a new pair of tap shoes!” Dewey exclaimed.

“Oh no,” Huey said.

“Oh yes!” Dewey exclaimed.

“I got some phone accessories,” Louie said. “And a pair of headphones that have cat ears on them.”

“Awesome!” Webby cried, “Can I see?”

“What did you get, Huey?” Dewey asked, plowing forward and invading his personal space, just to be annoying.

“Nothing,” Huey shrugged. “I’m trying to be responsible with my money. If I save up, I can buy my own car by the time I’m 16!”

“Boring,” Dewey grumbled.

“Financial security isn’t boring!” Huey cried, offended.

“We’re related to the literal richest duck in the world, I think we’re safe,” Dewey said.

“So? I still want to buy my own car!”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“We should go,” Louie said, “it’s getting late.”

The others nodded their agreement.

“I feel like we’re forgetting something,” Webby said, glancing around the mall as they headed for the exit.

Huey frowned. “Got your phone? Wallet? What else did you come in with?”

“No, none of that. I don’t know what it is, I just… feel like we’re forgetting something.” She just couldn’t figure out what, and it was unsettling her. Would she have remembered if it was really that important? Hmm…

As they passed two mannequins showing off a striped grey sweater and a green turtleneck respectively, Webby stopped to check her bag. “Everything’s here,” she announced after a moment. “Huh, I guess I imagined it.”

They went on their way.

[greekbros]

"greek-Bros: Phallic Judgement"

*Surprisingly, Dionysus had gone back to Rome to cause more mischief with Hermes, this time they've brought Ares along*

Dionysus: *again disguised as a wine seller* ok gentlemen, behold. The foulest creatures to crawl on the face of the earth. *Shows just random Roman citizens*

Ares: *who for some reason decided he wanted to disguise himself as the world's most intimidating slave* ......ugh....the goats? *Sees a goat*

Hermes: *cleverly disgusted as farmer* haha no. You see, these guys are absolutely weird. They insist of "rationing" Sapa, they have taxes for literally existing and above all.....their wine is watered down! But they have the best bread I've ever tasted though.

Ares: ... really?

Dionysus: don't be fooled by their baked goods my dudes. These are cruel and unrelenting scum folk. Uncultured, ignorant, and above all....they've inslaved every single country they've conquered.

Hermes: .....it's mostly about the wine isn't it?

Dionysus: ....*turns dramatically* their most unforgiving sin.

Ares: *has wondered off to see a statue of himself*.....my dick isn't THAT small.......*looks at the name plate saying "Mars"* ......I can't believe these guys misspelled my name....*takes some charcoal, scratches out Mars and writes Ares*

Centurion Gaurd: Excuse me slave! Where is your master! Slaves are not allowed near the devine statue of the gods.*sees that Ares has wrote his name on the statue's nameplate* What the?

Ares: *doesn't know the centurion was referring to him considering he's in disguise* .........*turns to the see the back of the statue* ....at least they got the ass right.

Centurion Gaurd: EXCUSE ME! Please stop making remarks about the sacred statue! You've defaced sacred property!

Ares: *slowly peaks over to the centurion* ....hey ugh there's a thing on your helmet*

Centurion Gaurd: oh really? *Pats around his helmet* where?

Ares: *points to the centurion's face* There's a shit attitude a little all over your FuCkInG ugly mug.

Centurion Gaurd: *realising what he meant* YOU'RE UNDER ARREST!

Dionysus: *walks into the situation* Oh there you are Skippy! Bad boy I thought I told you to stay close to me and not open your mouth! *takes a little stick and weakly whips Ares's shoulder with a single thing of wheat*

Ares: *confused* ...wut?

Centurion Gaurd: Is there YOUR disrespectful slave?

Ares: wait you said I was going to be a noblem-*gets a loaf of bread in his mouth by Hermes*

Hermes: please shut up or we'll leave you here to fend for yourself.

Ares: *kinda just enjoying the bread* hmfhmf.

Dionysus: You see my good sir, my slave is extremely stupid, dumb and has testicles the size of grapeseeds. He was used as a human kickball when he was an infant and was raised by goats. He can't help himself sometimes. *Tries to clean the charcoal off the statue*

Ares: *angry noises* ?!?

Centurion Gaurd: .....Ok...you have the pay the "Disrespectful Slave" tax fine.

Dionysus: .....*grumbles and takes a bag filled with gold coins* ....*gives it begrudgingly* .....*grits his teeth* have....a...good day.

Centurion Gaurd: *takes the gold and sees that it's drachma* .....hmm.....*takes out a piece of paper with a semi-crude wanted poster of Dionysus, Apollo and Hermes* ......hmm.....I watching you....sir. *leaves to find Mortus*

Dionysus: *turns to Ares and glares at him* ....you owe me 20 drachma.

Ares: *has finished eat the bread* Why? Don't these mortals know we're gods?

Dionysus: No! We're here in disguise so that was can destroy the city again. You are here to make sure the country doesn't get a chance to get back up.

Ares: Fuck yah. *Literally has no idea what he agreed to*

Hermes: *saw the wanted poster in the centurion's hand* ugh...guys we REALLY need to finish what we came here for because they're definitely on to us.

Dionysus: yeah yeah I know....come on let's go. I want to destroy the coliseum again.

Ares: what's a coliseum?

Dionysus: *suddenly a huge grin forms across his face* Hermes .....is the coliseum....open?

Hermes: let me check. *Literally speeds next to the coliseum and saw a Roman sign that says "Grand Re-Opening" and zips back to Dionysus* yeah. It's open.

Dionysus: perfect. *Pops a waterskin filled with wine, and chugs it* oh gods I'm FuCkInG dry. It's like this place sucks your very essence or something.

Hermes: hmm....yeah, shame really. *as he was following Dionysus and Ares, he accidentally dumbs into a familiar face* oops sorry miss.

Octavia: *turns around with a baby in her arms that looks suspiciously familiar* Oh pardon me sir. I didn't mean to bump into, the market seems rather busy today doesn't it?

Hermes: It's ok, I was just heading to-*knotices the baby* .....ugh...

Caius the baby: *smiles at Hermes as if he knew Hermes was his dad* ba-ba :D

Octavia: Oh sweetie, daddy is working. Oh children are so wonderous, even at a few months old, they have such an imagination. By the way, have we met before? You look so familiar....are you from the countryside?

Hermes: uuggggh *trying his best to not look Octavia in the eye* yeah, I get that all the time. Trust me I have some of my own, I mean children that is. Also no I don't think I have? *Literally hoping she doesn't recognize him even though he shape shifted into her husband a year ago*

Caius: *still happily cooing over his real dad*

Dionysus: come on buddy le-*put two and two together and scowls at Hermes* ......you didn't.

Hermes: ugh....

Dionysus: nevermind we're off! *He pulls Hermes to the direction of the coliseum*

Octavia: hmmm what a strange young man. He's handsome though.

Caius: *coos in disappointment* :(

*later*

Dionysus: *rubs his hands* hehehehehe....

Hermes: this better be worth it. I thought we would write our names on the temple walls here or something.

A Roman Announcer: Ladies and Gentlemen! This grand reopening of the Coliseum shall be in honor of our Lord and Emperor Caeser!

Caeser: *does the Royal British wave*

Dionysus: peeeeerfect.

Hermes: ......hey I got to ask...why did you bring Ares?

Dionysus: some bulky bastard is currently the head champion gladiator here, he use to live on Crete before the Romans decided to kidnap a few warriors there....let's just say my pettiness will come with effort.

Hermes: ......ok seriously man what are talking about?

Dionysus: look no one says that their dick is bigger than mine and actually gets away with it.

Hermes: ....you know....you could just smite someone. I mean it's not graceful....but it's effective.

Dionysus: hoho, I'm going to make this extra dramatic.

The Roman Announcer: And now! You're great champion, Maximus the Well-Endowed!

Maximus: *a huge, hulking man came out, roars out* HAIL CAESAR! *Leans to the announcer* I am going to get my 20 hot virgin women after this right?

Announcer: *whispers* yes yes. AND HIS CHALLENGER *looks at a note which was scribbled on his hand* ..... "Skippy the Not-Well-Endowed"! *Looks back his hand still not believing what he had read*

Ares: *is just happy to get into a fight, however was oddly enough only was only wearing a loin cloth and a helmet, armed with a shield and spear* ......oh boy, a whole stadium just for killing? These people rock!

Hermes: ........you didn't....

Dionysus: yep.

Ares: *steps side to side like an exited kid* comeoncomeoncomeonstartthefighting.

Maximus: Alright Skippy, time to end your tiny dicked existence. *Raised his sword on to Ares but Ares was able to break it with his helmet* !?

Ares: ....that's it?

Maximum: *confused* ugh....*waves to order in more weapons, all of which fail to hurt Ares*

Ares: .......aw come on...you guys have some shitty ass weapons. Bet YOUR weapon is just as shit.

Maximus: grrrrr.....YOU PUNY SLAVE! *Rips off his armored skirt* See! You're fucking wrong!

Roman crowd: *gasps*

Dionysus: .....

Hermes: *whistles* holyshit....dude this guy is hung.

Dionysus: If there's one god who can contest me....the only god who's dick is so epic, so powerful, so irresistible, so near perfect......that Aphrodite can't FuCkInG resist it on a daily basis.

Hermes: Heracles?

Dionysus: No buddy, Ares. Ares is the guy who's dick is better than mine I mean come on a guy who shags the goddess of love more times than any living thing HAS to have something going on down there

Some Roman Karen: EXCUSE me is pronounced Venus! We don't use greek words here.

Dionysus: Please leave me alone lady.

Some Roman Karen: *rhees in anger*

Dionysus and Hermes: *both are struggling to ignore her*

Ares: ....ok...that dick of your isn't that great.....*rips off his loin cloth* .....THIS....is a dick.

Crowd: *the women and gay men swoons over the perfect of Ares's bare body, men quake and cringe at their own feeble members and put to shame*

Caesar: *completely unimpressed and decided to leave* hmf. Pathetic.

Maximus: *wriggles in shame* HOW c-C-C-could this be?! The most PERFECT COCK? Oh my gods why is it fucking glowing?!

Ares: ....what you don't shave yourself weekly? I mean come on man that's how you keep the ladies coming back?

Maximus: *starts crying a little*

Dionysus: *cackling uncontrollably* SO THATS HIS SECRET! *writes on a piece of paper saying "shave, dick, weekly"*

Hermes: *still not fully understanding why all of this* ........you brought Ares here JUST to emasculate some gladiator?

Dionysus: Oh much more than that Herms.....much much m-

Roman Karen: EXCUSE YOU SIR ITS MERCURY!

Dionysus: *has had enough and turned her into a chicken* there much better.

Hermes: .....are you ok? Did you have your wine today?

Dionysus: I RAN OUT OF WINE LONG AGO!

Hermes: *deep sigh* not again.

Ares: *now in full naked display* ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?!? *The crowd roared and cheered*

Dionysus: well....yah want to set the animals free from their cages?

Hermes: fuk ye-*feels a tough and strong hand practically crushing his shoulder* .....*turns to see an old man who clearly was Zeus* .....

Zeus: .....boys.....

Dionysus and Hermes: .....Uh Oh.

Zeus: *took each of them by their ears like a discontented mother* you're BOTH grounded for bothering these mortals and above all abusing the dark, unholy power of the sacred male member ....if I had a third arm it would be reserved for Ares. *Looks down at Ares now just doing some naked dance for the crowd*........*deep and disappointed sigh*

Dionysus: but dad, I do that like everyday.

Zeus: I don't care if I don't discipline you or Hermes right the now, Hera will have MY male member nailed to the wall.

(Later that day)

Mortus: *inner noir detective monologue* after several months, nothing. Absolutely nothing. The suspects disappeared from the face of the empire. Likely their crimes have caught up with them. My only consolation to solving this case....is the mysterious birth of my son and my faithful wife. .... speaking of which...why does Caius have blue eyes? Me and Octavia have brown.....did ...she?....nah that's impossible.

The Centurion from earlier: MY LORD! I FOUND THE SUSPECTS!

Mortus: *dramatically turns around* This better be the right ones this time.

*much later after apparently an orgy broke out at the coliseum*

Mortus: .... Absolutely disgusting. Practicing Sexual Festivities without a license is punishable by crucifixion, Mark.

The Announcer (Mark): B-b-but sir! It wasn't my fault! Some slave was to challenge Maximus and they just decided to remove their clothing and everyone went wild! ....to be fair the slave did look a little attractive BUT the fornicating ceased once the slave disappeared.

Mortus:....was he accompanied by a portly, dark haired ..... individual?......an extremely attractive blonde slave and a thinner more athletic young man with brown hair?

The Announcer: ...hmm...well yes minus the other slave.

Mortus: Hmmm.....the plot thickens.....are these the mysterious criminals that destroyed the coliseum last year?....What is the motivated behind these depraved individuals?.....

The Announcer: ugh...why are you talking to yourself?

[dhwty-writes]

I've had 'Just give me a reason' by pink stuck in my head all day lol, I humbly offer it as a song prompt if it sparks anything :D

“If it sparks anything”... Fam, I just astralprojected back to 2013 and my first kiss! I had a lot of fun with it (although I got a bit distracted midway through, I’m sorry!)

I also couldn’t decide whether I wanted to do a post-mountain fix-it fic or a modern AU, so you’ll get both! Here’s the angsty one (that’s way longer than expected) :)

Read on AO3

The unfairness of it all as he staggered down the steep mountainside was overwhelming. Twenty years of his life for... what exactly? For nothing at all!

Over half of his measly human life he'd spent trailing after that grumpy... horse's arse of a witcher. He poured his heart and soul into a song cycle just to change Geralt's undeserved horrible reputation! (And to get rich, of course, but that was neither here nor there.) By rights he should claim ten percent of Geralt's income, but did he? No, of course not!

He'd never asked anything in return. Nothing but company, a friend, a tiny bit of affection even. Not love, of course. He might be delusional and a hopeless romantic, but not that much of an imbecile.

He knew Geralt loved Yennefer and that the affection was mutual. It was pretty much obvious for about anyone who saw them together. And Jaskier wasn't just anyone. He and the witcher shared just about anything — food, coin, clothes, beds sometimes, when it was cold or there was only one room left. And, though the witcher denied that fervently, Geralt talked in his sleep sometimes.

Jaskier had discovered that one freezing night in a tavern in Kovir, when he'd woken up because he was uncomfortably warm. Additionally, to the heap of quilted blankets they laid under, Geralt had draped himself over him, too, clutching him tight against his chest. 'Cute,' Jaskier had thought, 'Geralt's a cuddler.'

But then he had started talking, and it had been torture of the most exquisite kind. Most of his ramblings were unintelligible, but those he could understand were unbearably sweet. "Don't go," Geralt would say whenever Jaskier tried to move away. Or "C'mere" and tug him closer to his chest. There were plenty of "Y'smell good"s and, on one memorable occasion an "I love you". None of them were meant for him, of course. But, oh, how he wanted them to be.

Jaskier had fallen for Geralt the moment he'd spotted him in that tavern, grumpily nursing his tankard of ale. He'd been absolutely smitten as soon as they walked free from Filavandrel and Geralt smiled at his "Respect doesn't make history" nonsense, thinking he wouldn't see. They had travelled together for the better part of a month, before destiny had parted them again. At an inn at the crossroads Jaskier had stolen a pretty lad's virginity and Geralt had ridden off into the sunset, not knowing he had stolen Jaskier's heart in turn. 'Good old days.'

Only that they weren't good anymore. Jaskier heaved a sigh that sounded more like a sob than anything else. What had previously been a rose-and-gold-coloured fantasy of a memory, seemed now rather dull, truth be told.

After a few weeks going their separate way, Jaskier had heard of a witcher near Hagge and gone to seek him out. They had travelled again, on and off. Most of the time it had been him, who had actively looked for Geralt, tracking down rumours about white-haired monster hunters. But not always.

Right before the whole child surprise ordeal, it had been him performing in a tavern and Geralt barrelling inside, interrupting him mid-song. "Jaskier!" the witcher had shouted. "There you are. I've got a contract, come with me?"

Or that other time in early fall. He'd gotten himself a comfortable place for the winter in the home of some noble lady, who he'd been entertaining with music, poems and other uses of his silver tongue alike, when one early evening a servant knocked on their door, quite adamantly insisting there was a visitor for the troubadour. His host had been none too pleased when he'd gotten up and dressed to greet a witcher of all people. "What the fuck were you thinking, bard," Geralt had growled, "not showing up all summer. I thought you were dead."

All in all, Jaskier had thought that his affection was, at least to some extent, reciprocated. And now this.

After twenty years the moment he'd dreaded had finally come. Twenty years of lavishing Geralt with love. Geralt, the person who'd been told he couldn't feel, mustn't feel. Twenty years of shouting his adoration to the heavens, to finally be told that it was unwanted.

To borrow Geralt's words: "Fuck." He needed a drink.

~*~

Geralt of Rivia was an idiot and he knew it. The revelation had dawned on him almost instantly after his foolish outbreak. Well, not entirely instantly. He had a feeling, at the very least, although he hadn't expected the bard to take his words literally. 

He hadn't been able to get rid of him with his gruff exterior before, so he hadn't thought he would now. The realisation that Jaskier was truly gone dawned on him, when he reached the base of the mountain a few days later and the bard was nowhere to be found.

Roach was still there, as were Geralt's bags. Their content wasn't. After twenty years of carrying frivolous outfits, chewed-on quills tattered notebooks that smelled of lavender, they were uncomfortably light.

"Fuck," Geralt said quietly. He didn't know why, but some part of him had hoped to find Jaskier there. 'Where he belongs,' his brain supplied unhelpfully. He frowned deeply, trying to rid himself of that thought. Jaskier wasn't some kind of possession to be owned.

But when he settled down for the night that evening, the forest devoid of any melodic chattering, of joyful laughter, of life, he knew it was true. Jaskier might not belong to him, he mused as he crawled into his bedroll. 'But he belongs to my side all the same.'

Somewhere along the twenty years of companionship — gods, was it truly twenty years? It was nothing for him, but such a long time for humans, who aged so fast — Jaskier had managed to firmly worm himself under Geralt's skin, to the point where there was something missing now that he was truly gone.

Geralt slept terribly that night. When the sun rose the next morning, he set out on another hunt. Not for a monster, that time, but the best thing destiny had ever given to him, that he had chased away with his brashness.

The scavenger hunt led him halfway across the continent, until he stumbled into another tavern on the coast of Temeria. Jaskier's trail hadn't been too hard to follow. Apparently, his friend had been fucking and drinking his way through three kingdoms.

And the bard looked as if he was doing a good job of adding a fourth one. He was more than just a little tipsy, sitting rather than standing on the stage. An agonised look passed over his face when he saw Geralt. He wanted to rush over and pull him into a hug, but then Jaskier started singing and the witcher was just frozen in place. It was the most heart-wrenching ballad yet. It took him only about three lines to realise who it was about. 'Fuck,' he thought.

All his instincts told him to flee. He wasn't prepared for this. He couldn't do this. But Jaskier had seen him already. No getting out of it now.

So, he shouldered his way through the crowd Jaskier always attracted and tried to hide in some secluded corner of the tavern. It took incredibly long for the bard to finally finish his set, and even then he made no attempt to seek Geralt out. Instead, he languidly leaned onto the bar, flirting with the barmaid behind it.

He barely suppressed a growl. 'Fine,' he thought and got up to confront his mistakes. He slammed his tankard down next to Jaskier, scaring the barmaid off in the process. "Jaskier," he greeted him.

"Oh, great," he sneered in response. "There goes my bed for the night."

"Hmm," he answered and ducked his head. "I'm sorry."

"What, for chasing off my newest conquest? I fucking hope you are!"

"No, Jaskier," he answered honenstly. "I'm sorry for what I said to you."

"Hmph, you need to do a lot better than that," he said and reached over the bar for a bottle of strong-smelling liquor. He poured himself a glass and knocked it back. Without pause he continued: "Because you know what? I'm fucking angry, Geralt."

"Do we have to do this here?" he hissed. They were attracting glares. Never a good thing for a witcher.

"No," Jaskier admitted and stood up. Bottle in hand he walked towards the stairs. "You're paying for the room."

"Sure," he grumbled and flagged down the innkeep. By the time he had managed to acquire a key, Jaskier had already dragged himself upstairs and drained a good portion of the bottle.

Geralt snorted and unlocked the door, but didn't comment on it. "What I've been trying to say-" he began, and was promptly interrupted:

"How about trying to shut up?" Jaskier hissed and kicked the door shut. "How about trying to listen to me after twenty fucking years?!"

"Jaskier, what I said-"

"This isn't about what you said! Don't you understand? What you said is only the tip of the figurative dragon mountain. I thought you actually liked me! I thought we were friends."

'Shit,' Geralt thought and ground his teeth. "Hmm."

Jaskier laughed hoarsely. "Oh, great. That same old story again. Why am I even bothering...?" He drank straight from the bottle, swaying a bit on his feet.

"You're drunk," he tried to say as neutrally as possible.

"And you're shutting me out again," he countered. Neither of them were wrong.

"I don't know what to say," Geralt tried.

Jaskier wasn't impressed: "Evidently." He made no attempt to follow that up with anything.

After a few moments of silence, Geralt realised that it was his turn to try and fix this mess with words of all things. "I can't sleep," he tried. "Not since you left."

"Poor you," Jaskier mocked cruelly. "I can't either."

"I can't sleep without you," he tried again. "It's cold. I'm dreaming. And when I wake up I'm alone. Roach is a horrible conversationalist and my camps are too big."

Jaskier put the bottle down slowly, gaping at him.

"I walked the path for decades without you and it was fine. It's not anymore. I can't do it any longer. And I guess... I guess I was scared." The words weren't any less intimidating once he'd finally said them. "You said I talk in my sleep?"

"You do."

"I don't. It's been beaten out of me in Kaer Morhen."

"So?"

He closed his eyes as tightly as he could. It was stupid, he knew. Childish, even. But he couldn't look at Jaskier for this. "So, I meant it. Every word of it."

No reaction.

"Please, Jaskier, I need you to forgive me."

"Give me one reason and I just might." He could hear him come closer. "Say it," he demanded. "Look me in the eye and say it."

It took him every ounce of his discipline to open his eyes and look at Jaskier, barely two feet away from him. "I love you," he said quietly.

"Louder."

"I love you. I've loved you for years, and it scared me, so I couldn't let you know. Witchers aren't supposed to be scared, and that scared me even more, and-"

The rest of his words was silenced by Jaskier's lips. The bard practically leapt at him, snaking his arms around his neck and pulling him close. "You're an idiot," he said when he pulled away. "A fool, a nitwit, an absolute imbecile. The stupidest man alive!"

"I am," he agreed, looping his arms around his waist.

"Why, oh why, do I have to love you of all people?"

"You love me?"

He laughed a teary laugh. "I do, I do. For years and years. How didn't you notice?"

"Because I'm a fool," Geralt said and kissed him again. He just couldn't resist.

"I'm still angry," Jaskier informed him.

"That's alright. But you don't hate me?"

"Far from it."

"And when I wake up on the morrow, you'll be there?"

"Yes," Jaskier promised with another kiss.

Geralt couldn't help but grin. "Good."

[arcencieldoux]

don’t take my shit please

Budapest, Hungary, Saturday May 19th, 2015    

Glasses clinked as chuckles among the wealthy guests are heard over the piano that’s being played lightly by a small band in the corner of the open hall. Louis feels the jacket to his middle-upper-class suit shift as he reaches for his flute of champaign. He is sat at an extended table where food expanded across it in colourful mounds. A banquet for guests.

It was a place with promised grandeur, perhaps an overshot if they were going for a pristine essence, for an auction, but at the prices things would sell for, it was understandable. Walls were trimmed with gold frames and velvet drapes hang from the domed ceiling, which was painted with tunicked Greek gods. The entire left wall was decked by a bar Louis was surely thinking about visiting later.

The room full of elegantly dressed ladies and gentlemen completes the aura of an antique, million-dollar auction that many guests, most of whom have come internationally, mingle and talk. It was the beginning of an auction in Hungary, in a beautiful building. Everyone was just arriving, but envy was still present, masked by a pretence of politeness.

You could see it with the small glances to a conversing group at the other side of the room, where one of the rich people would side-eye them with a look of pure envy and rage, and the tight-lipped smile they gave out. A lot of the guests were like this. But in the end, they were all eagles there to ravage an animal. Every-man-for-himself and all that.

There were the rare ones, where smiles shared between two friends who lost touch were genuine.

All of that, even the simple way they held their flutes of bubbling champagne, is observed and copied by Louis. He knows if he's supposed to be one of them, rich and wasting millions of dollars on a flowerpot, he'd have to act perfectly.

Louis has been at this event for a half hour, chatting up all different types of guests, and acting like a scored man who has more money than he should.

Currently, he excuses himself from the banquet, and takes up that thought on the bar. The bartender comes up to him, but Louis waves him away.

Maybe it’s his uncaring expression, or the suit, but people start to take a notice of him. One even approaches him. It’s a man, with almost zero lip, the hard line to his jaw pudged with age. He has a boring white flower design embroidered on his breast pocket.

“Hello, my name is Francis Boul de Sav,” the man introduces.

Louis smiles politely. They shake hands. “Pleasure meeting you, Francis. Can I call you Francis?”

“Oh yes, that’s alright.”

“I’m Louis Thompson. I love your embroidered flower, by the way. Trillium, is it?”

For ten minutes, he talks with Francis Boul de Sav, who had an interesting story to tell about his botanist daughter, who'd urged her father to come, even though he was reluctant at first. That would explain the flower.

Louis pays enough attention, so should the people he talked to ask for his opinion, he wouldn't be unaware. But he is ignorant enough of their words to focus on his target: Matthew Morrison, an American buyer, supposed to arrive here with his wife Golana Morrison.  

His eyes station themselves at the front entrance where people in fine clothing and jewelry that just screamed "rich" are coming in, in with partners, and solo. They cascade onto the marble flecked floors in a flow.  

There has been no sign of Mr. Morrison yet.  

Louis keeps himself at low-profile, though. There are enemies everywhere, and one slip of who he was could blow up his mission. Quite literally. Take the agent in the room, for example.  

He is not stupid. Agents were sent to take him down all the time, every day, and he is used to it. This one would be no different, just like the rest. Maybe the next could be a she? Louis wishes wistfully the one sent to kill him after this one would be female. Just so he could know that modern society is slightly better than it was before of their pictures of women.  

He grins at that thought, despite how disturbing it may be.

At that moment, Golana Morrison comes through the doors. She's a taller lady, with dusty brown hair streaked with natural highlights, pulled into a composed bun at the back. Her tanned skin revealed that she and her husband live in California valley, something Louis already knows. She laughs at something another woman guest was saying in a contained manner.

Louis scans the area surrounding Mrs. Morrison. There is no man with her.  

Louis has always been good at multi-tasking. It's why he excelled in this part of his profession. Not only was he carefully watching the entrance, but in the corner of his eye, he monitored the agent. He can tell he wasn't just another guest. The way he moved, didn't interact, kept a safe yet visual distance between him. It was practiced and thought-out.

It was something about that. Something about the way he watched Louis. It wasn't normal. It wasn't just the slip of the eyes. It's the look a Jaguar had, while it covertly hunts its prey. It's the one police had while undercover. It's the one of another agent sent to detain him.  

A woman with pale skin, curled hair and few freckles talks to Louis. Social skills were an important thing, and Louis could be a master at that if he wanted. Instead, he got lost in his current state of mind.

He knew how much the agent was worth. Or, he could guess, with only one look. The way he held himself, how he moved through the crowd, how he smiled at ones who looked his way.    

But he's been in situations like these before, an agent sent to get him while he was on a mission (sometimes not on a mission) that from the moment he saw the agent he shrugged it off, finding that the agent who thought he could differ from all the others was impractical.

If only he knew the number count of agents, spies, governments. Maybe then he'd change his mind and leave Louis be.  

A staff caught his attention as they stepped up onto the stage at the front where the auction was yet to be held. His hair was black and slicked back, in a French stereotypical way, and wore a suit with golden buttons to match the theme of the event. He tapped the microphone. The chattering among the buyers quietens, and they turn their attention to him.

"Ladies and gents, before we continue our auction event, we've invited a band to play for you to dance to with your partner, and those of you who wish to dance, and to simply enjoy. The room is yours," He says with a slight bow. His accent is most certainly French, and the 'R's roll right off his tongue. "The auction will commence in 30 minutes. We have a bar, and of course, a buffet with plenty of foods for you to eat. Thank you and enjoy." Then he bows again and walks offstage, and a lovely melody picks up with the band.  

Get them all drunk so they will burn their money later. It is obviously part of the reason there is a bar, other than it's mature and shows how much money the building has to host the auction.

Of course, the lady he had been talking with notices his small smirk, and mistakes it for a smile. But Louis wasn't, and was barely even listening, and was about to excuse himself when the lady blurts out: "Dance with me?" She flushes immediately. An outburst like that apposed lady-like behaviour that Louis never cared for nor dwelled upon.  

Louis kindly declines. After she leaves he orders water with ice, thinking why not? He inspects it and sniffs it, then deems it drinkable. Before he could take a sip, a light finger touches his arm

"I'd make sure it's safe to drink first and not drugged. Don't want you getting hurt."  

He was very sure that the agent disagrees with his statement

Instead of fawning over him or acting tough like he usually did with men to fool them — depending on what side of the coin Louis thought they were —, he took a sip and put the glass back down. He wouldn't hide his act of innocence with this one, sometimes it just got tiring. And it was a bold decision of the agents to approach him this soon, even if it had been an hour already. So, Louis made a bold choice too.  

He looks at the person. He's relatively stunning. "I think I'll manage," he says.

A slow grin spreads across his face, kind of boyish charm. He holds out a hand.  

"Harry."  

Louis simply took another sip. The hand drops. Louis stands, smoothing down the front of his suit. "I know." Then quietly, so no one else heard him, he adds, "agent." He'll research him later.  

"You're Louis," says Harry, "A darling of The Circus, criminal..." Louis bristles at the word, but he makes no comment on it.  "Legally not a person, by the way," Harry adds. "You weren't that difficult to find, but I'm sure you'll make up for it with bringing a challenge when you leave with me."

"I won't be leaving with you anytime soon," he answers with what was almost a sneer.  

"You realize that I know a lot about you, right? Enough for you to know your place."

At that, Louis' breath catches. He panics momentarily, but it's fleeting, and he reconstructs his composure. There is no possible way for him, for anyone, to know a lot about him. There are barely any records of him anywhere. "Now what makes you think I would do anything you asked for?" Louis says contemptuously.

Harry offers him a card, a business card with a navy blue theme and an official vibe to it. It’s plain except for a circular black emblem, difficult to see because of how dark the navy blue is. It has a bird-figure in the circle's ring. He stares at where it was between Harry's two fingers, then back to Harry's eyes. Harry raises his eyebrows, waiting for Louis to take it.  

"You will eventually."

"You can't be serious," Louis says.  

"I am one hundred percent serious."  

"I thought you were an agent, not an advertiser."  

Harry put it on the mahogany bar, tapping his index finger with it once. "Just take it."  

Louis accedes. He leaves his seat at the bar, making sure the agent understood he was that confident in his abilities that he turned his back to him. He waited for the beginning of the auction, where he would finish his mission.

He went to find Golana. She wasn't the mission, but her husband was. And he had a plan.

He walks up to her, chatting with another guest. The other one notices him first, Golana’s back to him. Louis comes closer, a set smile on his mouth. The woman stops talking, Golana turning to see who the guest was looking at. Mrs. Morrison was the same height as Louis, but her bone structure was quite narrow. She definitely seemed like the type of person to own vanilla citrus candles and have fruit salads as a snack.

Still at the bar, the agent is watching Louis meet Mrs. Morrison. He sees Louis with a grin and talks for a minute with Mrs. Morrison and the other woman, who has jet black hair, dress, heels and eyes, but a kind face. He watches as the darling he has been sent after makes his way onto the dance floor with Mrs. Morrison.

The tune is slow, yet not too slow, so Louis doesn't have to stand too close to the woman as they dance. She quickly agrees after he did a job of eyeing her with patient, irresistible blue eyes, which he found disgusting. People's standards have decreased to practically nothing, and would cave after a look. Not to mention... Golana probably doesn't love her husband as much as she should, if she's so eager to dance with a younger lad. But she was talking to him and he was about to earn another mission point.  

He was never told exactly why his targets were certain people, most of the time something vague, like they didn't pay back full price or an artifact was wanted and, in those cases, he'd just threaten and 'encourage' them to choke up some more to give back to The Circus. And he obeyed, because the alternative was a loss of the only sense of home. Plus, there was an unspoken reaction that may involve a bit of torture, but.

So every illegal thing Louis did to or for people it was not because he liked it, but because he had to. It was them or him, and he preferred him.

Flashing colours pass by his eyes. It's all headache-worthy, but Louis stays strong.

The ballroom is like bottles of all the royal colours spilled onto a canvas, the different paints forming one picture. Maybe people find him attractive, he'll never know. As soon as they get a glimpse of Louis, the memory of him dissipated, and he is forgotten about seconds later. After all, this was an event concerning money and valuable purchase, not just one pretty face in a crowd.  

Louis dances with the woman as Harry, the open-plan agent joins the floor and asks a lady to dance, and since this was a switch-partner type of dance, she agrees.

For two whole minutes Louis talks with Golana Morrison, prying kindly for information, and to pass the time. While she speaks about when she almost got hit by a car one time, Louis calculates the time in his head until it would be appropriate for him to slip away and find the actual man he was looking for, then bring him into a restroom where he'd be threatened by the many knives hidden in various places around his outfit.  

Louis always comes prepared. Guns are way too loud for such a public event, anyway.

And if that means dancing with Mrs. Morrison (who was terribly kind, remorsefully so) for two minutes while secretly keeping an eye on the one he was really hunting to throw the agent off his rhythm and to fool him, it is what he'd do.  

Louis tries to focus again on the wife, fixing his smile with pink lips that made his blue eyes look less dangerous.

He suddenly twirls her, but like always, she was prepared, and went with it without a stumble. Before she could spin back to Louis, there was one with red hair already there, who caught Louis and tried to make conversation right off the bat.  

"You look familiar. Have I seen you before?"

The tune was picking up, going faster. The new woman who was maybe in her 30s kept pace with it, twirling under him before he could reply. Her red dress skirted outwards in the spin. Before Louis could frown at the sudden change in partner, he got caught not by another woman, but with none other than the agent.

Harry had one hand on his shoulder and one in his hand, and Louis put one of his own on his waist, looking up at his face. Harry's flush lips, hinting at possible lip gloss or balm of sorts, curved into a smile.

"Finally," he said.

Louis just sighs through his nose and flicked his eyes away from Harry's face and searches the crowd. Sustained eye-contact is not a biggie with Louis. Unless necessary, he likes to avoid it.  

"I thought a lovely face like mine would improve your mood, not lessen it."

It was odd for an agent to be so communal with Louis—unusual, but odd. It made Louis wonder what Harry was doing, and what his plan was—if he even had any.

Reluctantly, Louis drags his eyes to Harry's.

"Is this even legal?" Louis asks.  

The agent chuckles lightly. "Probably not. Not in this country." Yet he kept dancing with him. "You look splendid tonight, absolutely enchanting."

Louis doesn't find his tone funny, so he ignores him.  

With his eyes near the agents' neck, he sees a silver chain peeking out from the collar of his vest. Louis frowns at it for a moment.  

"Your eyes. Sparkle," Harry says just as monotonous.

"Suit is a nice black."  

Louis' jaw clenches. He steels his eyes to the wall behind Harry's long hair. It’s cream with gold trim, and a scene painting hung in the middle with a burgundy inner-frame.  

Then, "are you frequently this verbally inactive or just shy?" is whispered beside his ear.

If it weren't for the fact that the two of them were practically on different poles of the earth in terms of society positions, Louis might have cracked a grin, possibly even a chuckle. Instead, he kept his voice firm and responsive, far away from any amusement. "In my life, I've had loads of agents after me, sometimes multiple at once. Never, though, has one been as irritating and foolish as you."  

Which was the truth, and at least deserved a point to Louis if this were an insult contest.  

"I’m honoured."

“Yeah, you shouldn’t be. Who do you work for? Or, what, do you work for?”

Before anyone could say something else, the music switches, catching both Louis and the agent’s attention. Around him, partners were dispersing to the sides of the marble room. It became clear why when the same slick-back French man announced that the auction would begin in five minutes.  

Detaching himself from the agent’s arms, Louis went to an open arch of white stone that was basically an entrance hole in a wall, except with a purpose. It opened up to another room full of tables, with four seats per each. There were many people already in there, taking their seats, and chatting among their companions. Louis found a seat for himself and sat down. The agent was right behind him.

Tensely, Louis took a brochure from where his plate would usually be. He pretends to read it, slowly. Meanwhile, he was getting more anxious by the second. How was he supposed to finish his mission when the agent was looking over his shoulder all the time — literally.  

"Is it interesting?" Harry asks, his eyes trying to peer over Louis' shoulder. If it weren't for the situation, it might have sounded like an honest question; it was sarcastic.

"I find it entertaining," Louis replies.  

"I guess it could be 'entertaining'." Harry sighed, moving his legs under the table. "Especially if you're trying to ignore someone." Out of Louis' peripheral vision, he saw Harry look around the room.  

How was he so calm? Why was he so calm? It brought back what Louis thought earlier: an agent, hit man, whoever was after Louis always stalked from a distance, plotted then struck, yet failed. What Harry was doing was an entirely fresh approach for Louis, which could forth-come some problems. New was bad. It's better to stick to pre-mutual knowledge.

He tried to take advantage of the situation. Gain something out of uncertainty. "Who do you work for?" He asks in a confabulated manor. "FBI? The Avengers?" Louis flips a page. There was a picture of a glass egg. "Interpol?"  

"Interpol works for the government, you know."

Louis sets his brochure down with precise movements, back straight like his spine was a rod. "I know. I just wanted to name three examples. Sounds better, doesn’t it?”

"Well, I don't work for any of those," Harry says. “I'm under a separate organization. Not run by the government."  

"It's an NGO?"

"Correct."  

This was unreliable information. What was the size of this NGO? Were they large enough to hunt Louis for a sustained amount of time? Could they be associated with those superheroes in New York? Well, if that were the case, they were probably government run. Or was Harry lying? If Harry worked under the government, at least Louis would know a precipice of their plan, and measures they may take. Interpol strategies were predictable enough. An organization working beyond the government and their regulations was different.

Louis blinks hard. He's trying to refocus. Eye on the game, shoot bullet to the target. What's his target? Mr. Morrison, also known as the very rich and frankly a bland man.  

He clears his throat. The room had suddenly filled with guests, and was buzzing low from everyone's talking. A woman laughed somewhere in the room. The room was almost full, and Louis had yet to find Mr. Morrison.

"So you're an adherent to an 'NGO' cult, then?" Louis says mannerly. Caught off-guard, Harry's face lit up with a smile that even touched his eyes. Louis refused to acknowledge the reaction.  

"No, I'm not in a cult. Although would you like to hear a funny thing?"

Louis actually couldn't believe this man. His face must look doubtful and judgmental and when he says "Why are you even here?", He said it incredulously, because why was an agent socializing with Louis.  

"I thought we premised my intentions already," Harry says curiously. He went on. "Anyway; when I got assigned this mission, I thought I'd be dealing with a cult!"

Louis blinked at him, mouth a straight line.  

"So I thought—"  

"Stop talking."

Cut off by Louis' abrupt demand, Harry closed his mouth. Louis didn't like when Harry looked amused. Tampering down his irritation, Louis said calmly, "the auction is about to start. I suggest you stop talking, unless you're willing to miss the available purchases."

Harry snorts deprecatingly. "Okay."  

Louis shifts his attention to the front, the displays of red carpeting and a stage light that is the only source for light in a dark room making his nerves go haywire. The only way to explain it.

Just then, the same man from earlier strides to the center podium, a smile still on his tanned skin. Under the lights, the man's black hair looks sleekier than previous states, and light reflects off it. It's oddly enough of a grounding for Louis to grasp his senses and steel his mind into the mission; soon.  

Louis tips his head to the left a bit, stretching his neck. He realizes how the room has filled up.

The man clears his throat and the rooms' talking dies down. "Hello to everyone, pleasure to have you here," the man speaks. The room's occupants are smiling at him, and not to be outdone, Louis plasters on a smile as well. The man goes off to a talk relative to the admiration for attending, the auction's history, the first item being brought out, so on.  

Throughout the course of an hour, he endures people raising paddles to up the prices, and whenever one gains an artifact from the front, the room claps. As if they weren't ascending to madness another item was passed along. Unless they had eyes set on something specific, it was free feeding.  

Louis sat straight in his chair the whole time, so when Mr. Morrison was betting against another man across the room for the Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered 3 painting, worth roughly half a million American dollars after the prices were raised to the stake, he didn't show any facial expression change. Mr. Morrison won. Harry looked back at Louis and with a slow turn of his body, and his lips curled into a twisted smile. Louis’ eyes hardened a layer.

So he knew.

[billcpher111fics]

Royalty and Thievery

Prince Roman leaves the castle and explores his kingdom for the first time and meats a very interesting individual.

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Royalty and Thievery AO3

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Roman was ecstatic! He was finally 17! And his father, King Thomas, had agreed to let him leave the castle for the first time!

He could hardly wait another minute!

Unfortunately, he had to be guarded. Which sucked.

Luckily, it was his favorite guard, and personal friend, Patton! So his first trip outside the castle walls was bound to be a fun one!

"Come on Patton!" Roman yelled as he ran out of the castle with his scarlet hood pulled over his face. He did not want his day to be ruined by being recognized by his future people.

"Slow down kiddo!" Patton exclaimed as he rushed to Roman's side, "We have all day to explore after all!" He cheered happily.

Roman rolled his eyes fondly, "Yes, Yes, I know. But you know how the saying goes, 'Time flys fast when your on an ADVENTURE!" He twirled as stars danced in his eyes.

Patton laughed, "I don't think that's exactly how that phrase goes, Roman."

"Whatever! Let's go!" Roman yelled as he grabbed Patton's hand and rushed closer to town.

Patton, having left the town many many times now, took pride in showing Roman the many wonders his kingdom had to offer as they traveled threw shops and markets where people sold goods like silk, paintings, food, and jewelry.

A particular silver necklace with a Lapis and Pyrite charm had caught Patton's eye. "This is gorgeous!" Patton exclaimed as he looked at the neckless.

Roman smirked, "Are you going to bye it for your little apprentice alchemist~?" He teased.

Patton went red, "What! Oh no no no no no! I-i mean maybe! But- Oh I don't know if he's a jewelry person and I don't one him to feel obligated to wear it if I got it for him! Oh, I just couldn't! ... But maybe?..."

Roman laughed at his friend's antics. Logan and Patton had practically been pinning after each other since Logan had first gotten his apprenticeship at the castle. He had decided to check out a few other close stalls while Patton figured out what he wanted.

As he went a few booths down, he could help but notice to young kids staring up at a table that was selling food. Romans's heart ached, those pore kids looked like they hadn't eaten for a while. Now that wouldn't do.

Roman grab two loaves of bread and handed one to each kid, "Here you go, kiddos." The children looked up at him and smiled before thanking him and running off. Roman smiled as the two ran off, they seemed like sweet kids.

Just as Roman was about to reach for his coin purse so he could pay the vendor, a hand suddenly grabbed his arm harshly causing him to flinch in pain, "Ow!"

"Are you stealing from me boy!" The angry vendor shouted in Romans' face, gathering the attention of some nearby people.

"What!? No, i-"

"Don't you lie to me boy! I saw what you did! Do you know what happens to people who steal from me!" He screamed as he grabbed a large butcher's knife and slammed Romans' arm onto the table and holding it there.

Holly shit! That maniac was going to cut off his hand! "No! I was just about to pay! I was reaching for my coin purse and everything!"

"Like I'll bye that!" He shouted as he raised the knife upwards. By now a large crowd has formed and he could faintly hear Patton's voice as he looked for him. Roman flinched and squeezed his eyes shut as the man started to swing the knife down.

So much for his first day in town, now he was going to lose a limb.

"Woah, whoa, whoa," A calm voice spoke up.

Or maybe not.

When he opened his eyes he could see a pale looking man in a black outfit and purple patches holding the salesman's hand as the knife was about to chop off Romans' hand.

"You heard the guy, he was literally just about to pay. And you had to go off and jump to conclusions? Your gonna end up cutting off the wrong person hand off one day pal." The mysterious man said.

The street vendor rolled his eyes and yanked his hand out of the man's grip, "I do not need sage advice from you, street rat," the man hissed, "Besides, this concubine was stealing from me and needed to be taught a lesson."

"Concubine?!"

"Ok, ok," The man said and he mand sure he was properly between the two. "Let's not start with that, it is clear this man is way too classy to be a concubine," The man said, sending a wink to Roman who then flushed to the color of his cloak. "But you can clearly see that the man has money, so let him just pay you. Its 3 gold a loaf, right?"

The vendor narrowed his eyes, "5."

"What! You raised the price!"

"That doesn't matter, he either pays up, louses an arm, or I call the guard. His choice." The vendor smirked.

The pail man was about to argue but roman cut him off, "Alright. I'll pay." He said as he reached into his pouch and retrieved the money. Roman handed the money to the kind man and the man handed the vendor the money, but not before sending Roman a wink.

The vendor smirked and put the coins in his pocket, "Alright, there you go man! We all goon now" The man asked as he patted the vendors back as he smirked victoriously. "Its been fun but me and my friend really have to go now! By-by!" He said happily as he pushed roman threw the crowed and deeper into town.

"What was that all about? And what's your name?" Roman asked.

"The named Virgil, and we might want to start running before he notices these are missing," Virgil said holding up the coins. Only a second past before the two could hear the vendor yell for guards, "Haha! Run!" Virgil yelled as he lead Roman throughout the marketplace, avoiding guards with each turn.

Roman was having the time of his life! He had always hoped for excitement or adventure, but this? This was adventure! He followed and somehow kept up with, Virgil every step of the way, from building to building. It was invigorating!

Roman couldn't help but laugh as they finally lost the guards. "That was amazing!" Roman cheered.

"And impressive, have you done this before?" Virgil asked.

"No!" Roman laughed, his father would have a fit if he knew what he just did!

"Then you're a natural baby!" Virgil cheered.

Roman chuckled, "Only because I was following you. You were truly amazing." In fact, the only thing more amazing than what Virgil had done, was how fast he went from cool and badass to a flustered mess over a simple compliment. Roman couldn't help but laugh at the sight.

Before Virgil could really say anything back, Roman sighed as he looked over the kingdom from the tall building they were on, "This is a lovely view."

Virgil, after calming himself, got an idea, "If you think this is a good view, then I have something that will blow your socks off." He smirked. "Wanna see?" He asked.

Roman looked excited and nodded. Virgil grabbed Romans' hand and started leading Roman from roof to roof. Heading higher and higher until arriving at his own home which had an amazing view of the kingdom.

Roman gasped as he looked around. "This is...Beautiful! Do you live hear?" Roman asked as he looked around.

"Yep,"

"This is a better view than from the castle!"

"You're from the Castle?" Virgil asked causing Roman to clam up, "That explains the fancy digs and the lack of social awareness. What do you do?"

"I- uh I- i- I am close to the-, uh The Prince" Roman panicked. "Ah yes! I am an advisor to the prince! And today was actually the first day out of the castle!" Roman announced.

Virgil looked skeptical but went with it, "Cool. Must be nice in the castle."

"Its... Good."

Virgil looked at him confused but brushed it off, "Well the prince must have it easy. Lounging in that castle... Doing whatever he feels like." He said with a hint of jealousy.

"It's not as peachy as you might think." Roman sighed as he looked up at the castle. Virgil gave him a strange look, "I mean- I heard from the prince that it's actually quite lonely! His father is busy running the kingdom, his friend the junior alchemist is almost always working or studying and his only other friend is a guard who spends most of his time protecting the prince. Making it hard to spend time together." Roman sighed sadly.

"He... He tries to talk to other guards or maids or butlers... But no matter how much he talks to them they are alway to afraid to talk to him... It's rather lonely..."

Virgil stared at Roman for a moment before shrugging and stuck his hands in his pockets. "Sounds like it."

"Anyway!" Roman jumped up, shrugging off his previous sadness. "I don't believe I have introduced myself, My name is Roman!" He sang happily.

"Well, it's nice to meet you roman. You said it was your first time leaving the castle? How did you like it?" Virgil asked.

Roman laughed, "It was amazing!" Roman answered as he began to tell Virgil about his day.

Virgil and Roman spoke for hours and hours as the bonded. They had a few arguments and disagreements here and there but they seemed to genuinely get along.

"-And how did you manage to snatch those coins back away from that vendor! That was quite a sight!" Roman asked.

Virgil laughed, "I can steal anything from anyone!"

"No way! There is no way you can be that good!" He laughed before noticing that it had started to become dark. A feeling of panic began to settle in as he remembered that he had split off from Patton and he was probably in a panic looking for him. "Oh my, it's getting late! I must be going!" Roman said dusting himself off as he stood up.

"Already?" Virgil asked.

"Unfortunately. But it has been an absolute pleasure meeting you." Roman said.

Virgil nodded, "You too. So you...uh... Maybe want to meet up sometime again?" He asked.

Romans face flushed, "I- uh, id love to!" He said giving Virgil a small farewell hug. "Farewell!" Roman said as he started to leave.

"Roman waite," Virgil said. When roman turned to look at him he smirked and held up Romans ruby neckless, "Told you I could steal anything." Roman patted his neck to the that, yes, his necklace was indeed gone. That trouble maker.

"Keep it," Roman said as Virgil moved to return the stoled jewelry. "And the gold."

"What?" Virgil asked, "No, I couldn't-"

"Think of it as a gift."

Virgil stared down at the neckless in shock before looking back up fondly at roman. Virgil then gave roman a small kiss as a goodbye.

Roman walked home a very happy and in love boy.

[wish-ful-thinking513]

Here’s another story based off a prompt by @lgbtqwritingprompts. I feel like I didn’t go where I wanted to, but that’s alright! I hope it’s enjoyable anyways.

Tw for putting something in a drink (it’s a potion, but I feel like that can still be triggering).

“And you’re sure this will work?” Jack said, holding up the bottle. The pink liquid inside shimmered. 

“Of course it will work. No one is immune to a love potion,” the peddler responded. “Just a drop will do. Put it into her drink, and she’ll fall head over heels.”

Jack contemplated this for a moment, then pulled out a gold coin. “I’ll take it.”

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

Alice sighed as she flopped down into a chair. It had been a long day at work -- maybe she should hire more employees? It was starting to get more popular, afterall. It would be nice to have someone to run the tea shop with. Yeah, hiring someone would be a good idea.

The bell above the door chimed, and Alice looked up. “Jack? Y’know it’s nearly closing time, right?”

“I know. I’m not here as a customer,” he paused to give a soft smile. “I’m here to visit a friend!”

“Oh,” Alice smiled back. “Well, that’s alright then. Do you want me to pour you some tea?”

“Alice!” Jack laughed. “I told you, I’m not here as a customer. Now, stay sitting down. I’ll pour you a cup!”

Alice raised an eyebrow. “You’ll pour me a cup? Alright, if you insist… Do you know where everything is?”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Of course I do! I’m always here. Do you really think I wouldn’t know this by now?”

“...I suppose you’re probably right.”

“What kind do you want?”

“Meh, jasmin is fine.”

“Alright!” Jack poured water into a mug and started looking through the jars of dried herbs lined up on the wall. “It’s been a while since I last saw you. How’ve you been?”

Alice sighed a long, deep sigh. “Well, business is booming. That’s supposed to be good, right?”

“I’d say so.”

“Then how come it doesn’t feel like that?”

“...Come again?”

“I just feel tired and overworked. I don’t think I’ve ever been this stressed out!” Alice sat up straight, making direct eye contact with Jack. “I think I’m starting to get grey hairs.”

“What? You’re only 25!”

“I swear to you, Jack, I saw it!”

“Maybe you just need a vacation or something?”

Alice scoffed. “In this economy? I’m finally getting enough coins to pay rent!”

“...Maybe you need help?”

Alice smiled. “Y’know, I was thinking the same thing.”

Jack smiled back. “I mean, I’m stuck in a dead end job, anyways. I wouldn’t mind-”

“Wait, whoa, what? Jack, you’re not serious.”

Jack shrugged. “I know my way around the place. And like I just said, I am not a fan of working in a fairy dust factory.”

Alice was silent. “... Well, you’re right… but take some time to think about it more. I don’t want to hire you if this is just a spontaneous thing.”

“What? Why would you say that?”

“... Jack, you always do things like this. When was the last time you actually thought through anything?”

“I think through shit all the time!”

“You literally went on a trip to the other side of the world without saying anything to anyone!”

“...It was for something important, okay?”

“...Jack, are you alright?”

Jack turned away, not wanting to look at his friend. “Yeah… yeah, I’m alright. It’s just… Can we not talk about it?”

“...Yeah. Yeah, alright. I’ll drop it. But… just think about it more, alright?”

Jack nodded. “Okay.” He pulled the bottle out of his front pocket and poured a few drops into the tea. The liquid turned pink for a second, then returned back to normal. He took a deep breath and walked the cup over to Alice. 

“Thanks!” She smiled, taking a sip. 

Jack stared intently, holding his breath. 

Alice looked up. “What?”

Jack blinked rapidly. Did it not work? “Nothing… How are you feeling?”

“...Confused.”

Jack laughed nervously. “Sorry…” 

“Yeah… Jack, you’re acting weird. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing! Nothing at all!”

“...You made jasmin, right?”

Jack gulped. “Y-yeah. Why do you ask?”

Alice swirled the tea around. “I don’t know. It just tastes… off.”

Jack froze. This was it. He was done for.

“It tastes like…” Alice looked up again, dread washing over her face. “Oh no. No, Jack, you didn’t.”

Jack didn’t answer. 

“I can’t believe you, Jack! Why would you do this?”

A tear began to trickle down his cheek. “...Because I love you, Alice.”

Alice was silent as she glared daggers at Jack. 

“I… I wanted you to love me back…” 

“So you used a love potion on me?”

Jack looked down at his shoes. 

“Do you know what I am, Jack?”

“Uh… an elf?”

Alice sighed. “I’m an aromantic lesbian.”

“An…” Jack’s mouth went dry. “Oh my gods. Alice, I-I didn’t know!” Alice was still glaring. “I wouldn’t have done that if I had known! I’m so sorry!”

“You realise it’s fucked up no matter what, right? The fact that you would even do this is fucked up.”

Jack nodded. “Yeah… yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

“‘Suppose’?”

“Er, no, you are right.”

The two were silent for a moment. 

“Sooo… I’m guessing it has no effect on  you?”

“Nope.”

“...Do you hate me now?”

Alice sighed. “Jack, I don’t think I could ever hate you,” she ran a hand through her hair. “But I’m super fucking pissed at you.”

“...That’s… fair…”

“And I don’t think I can be around you anymore.”

Jack’s head shot up. “What? No!”

“Yes, Jack. What you did is unforgivable.”

“No, no, Alice, no! I can’t lose you!”

Alice crossed her arms. “Should have thought about that before buying that potion.”

Jack buried his face in his hands and started to sob. 

Another sigh. “Maybe we can rebuild our friendship someday. But not now. Now, I need some time away from you.”

Jack wiped the tears away and nodded. He stood up. “Goodbye, Alice.”

“Bye,” Alice said curtly. 

Jack stood there for a moment, then walked out the door. Alice didn’t watch him go. 

After a moment, Alice stood up and poured out the tea. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I do need a vacation. She turned off the lights and locked the doors, then went upstairs to her apartment to sleep.

[garrettauthor]

New D&D Campaign

Today we played the first Game Zero of the new D&D Campaign I’m starting with a group of adult friends. This is the first campaign I’m DMing since my family campaign petered out last year.

Other than my wife, no one in the group has played D&D before, except for maybe a few half-games when they were teenagers. We’re all adults, we all have kids, except for one couple. At present there’s seven players total.

To introduce the players to the game in a less chaotic environment, I’m grabbing them by twos and threes, and playing a Game Zero with each of them. 

(You might recognize this as what Matt Mercer did with the cast of Critical Role before Campaign 2—that’s where I got the idea).

It lets new players learn the rules without dealing with a table of seven people, and with as few distractions as possible.

These are called “Game Zeroes,” i.e. the game you play before the REAL game starts. And today, we did our first Game Zero.

At the table was my wife, @underrealmgal​, playing her Half-Orc bard, Shielda.

A quick aside about Shielda:

My wife has played in two campaigns and a one-shot so far. She enjoys the game a lot. And so far, she’s played rather “typical” race/class combinations. First, a human fighter. Second, an elf cleric. In the one-shot, a goliath fighter.

When I started putting this campaign together, she said, immediately, “I want to play a half-orc bard.” She wanted to do something completely off the wall. 

Shielda is an absolute shit-mixer. She literally plays punk rock on her lute. She’s been touring local towns since she was a teenager.

I love her.

And, OF COURSE, we're designing a custom mini on Hero Forge. Here's the work in progress: 

Shielda heard a legend of a guitar out there in the world, made of diamond and strung with silk. The elf who told her of the guitar said it was gone from the world, “Never to be seen again until the platinum dragon returns.” Then he vanished.

Shielda set out from her sleepy little town to search for whatever “the platinum dragon” is, in hopes of finding the guitar of legend.

The other player in this Game Zero was a new friend named Cameron, playing a drow rogue named Zelren.

Cameron has been a dream player during the setup process. Came up with his own backstory, dove into character creation, super excited. I’m so happy to DM for him.

Zelren was raised by loving parents. His father was a member of an elite fighting unit called the King’s Fist, who were in the employ of a duregar king named Gargrond.

But jealous members of Gargrond’s court convinced him the drow were plotting to overthrow him. Gargrond had them all killed. Zelren’s mother barely got him out of the kingdom, but she herself was killed in the escape.

Zelren was caught by a slaver and sold to a smith who had criminal contacts. Zelren picked up a few tricks from them, and after some decades, he was able to escape. Now he’s set out for revenge on Gargrond.

Cameron was super stoked to find out about Hero Forge, and he’s designing Zelren now. He should have him by our first real session. Here’s the work in progress:

Okay, this post is getting a little long, so I’m sticking the rest under the cut.

As Game Zero opened up, Shielda was being dragged into a jail cell by the city guard of Tirisfell. She’d met a man who said he’d heard of the platinum dragon, but couldn’t remember any details. But he had the address of a dragonborn named Marlasar Klexxad who would know more. 

The stranger bet the address in a game of cards against Shielda, who’d been wiping the floor with him all night. But with such important information on the line, Shielda didn’t want to leave things to chance. She cheated, and the stranger caught her at it.

Unfortunately for her, the guard captain Corbrik Strongarm happened to be in the room. He’d had a few run-ins with Shielda, and he didn’t like her much, so he scooped her up and took her in.

As the cell settled to silence, Shielda went to look out the window of her cell. (This was a local drunk tank, not supermax). And who should happen to be passing by the jail, but a drow dressed in black with his cowl pulled up.

Shielda got his attention, and the drow introduced himself as Zelren. He’d had his own run-ins with Captain Strongarm, and was easily persuaded to help break Shielda out of the jail cell.

Zelren’s thieves’ tools made short work of the jail window, and he lowered it to the ground. But then a whispered argument broke out. 

Shielda wanted Zelren to come into the jail to help her retrieve the rest of her stuff. Zelren wasn’t much of a fan of jail cells, and he wanted her to come out. They could circle back around and figure out another way to reclaim her possessions.

In the end, the decision was made for them. Shielda raised her voice just a bit too loud, and a guard down the hall heard her. He started coming towards the cell, and Shielda told Zelren to put the window back in place.

Zelren tried...and dropped the window on his foot instead (Natural 1).

He screamed a very undignified "FUCK!" just as the guard stepped into view and saw him.

The jig was up, so Shielda dove through the window—but with her own Natural 1, she tripped, faceplanting on the street outside (and taking 1 point of bludgeoning damage).

The chase was on. Two guards pelted out of the jail after them. But early on, Zelren and Shielda managed to dodge around a crowd of drunken revelers that the guards slammed into headfirst. Soon after, the adventurers lost themselves in the crowds packing a large town square with a massive statue of a drow knight at its center.

With her flawless knowledge of the city streets (and a Natural 20 on an Intelligence check) Shielda led them back to the jail. They surveyed the front door from 40 feet away, discussing what to do.

Zelren decided to sneak up to the window and see what was going on inside. But before he did, Shielda hummed him a little tune he’d never heard before. (Someone from our world might have recognized it as the Rocky theme song.)

Suitably inspired, Zelren crept up to the window, silent as a mouse, and peeked inside. Two guards sat inside—one by the jail’s front door, and one by the door leading to the cells.

But far more importantly, there was Captain Strongarm. He was sitting at his desk, studying a slip of paper by the light of a lamp. He had a deep frown on his face, like he’d received some disturbing news.

Zelren returned to Shielda and told her what he’d seen.

And Shielda had an idea.

Together they returned to the jail. Zelren took up position by the front door, waiting for a signal. Shielda promised he’d know it when he heard it. Meanwhile, Shielda poised herself just beside the window Zelren had peeked through.

When all was ready, Shielda leaped into view in the window and sang a song her mother had sung to her every night before bed—albeit with a bit more of a punk twist. 

Tendrils of magic wove into the room, and both of Corbrik’s guards passed into a magical slumber. Corbrik blinked hard, gripping the edge of his table ...

... and then the spell passed, and he stood, seeing Shielda framed in the window. His face twisted into a mask of fury.

He went to rouse his men, but Zelren was faster. The drow darted into the room and slashed with sword and dagger. Corbrik reeled back under the blows. But such a burly man couldn’t be brought low so easily.

Corbrik struck back, his blade biting into Zelren’s side. Shielda saw her new friend injured, and she unleashed a string of vitriolic insults from her place at the window. 

Zelren hadn’t thought so much profanity could fit into a sentence in any sort of grammatically sound way.

Unfortunately, her insults fell flat, and Corbrik was unaffected. Shielda decided to do things the punk rock way and climbed through the window, ready to slam Corbrik’s head into the wall instead.

She never got the chance. Zelren struck again, and the pommels of both his weapons crashed into Corbrik’s temples. The guard captain fell senseless to the floor.

Zelren heard footsteps coming from the door leading to the cells. They didn’t have much time. He barked an order to Shielda to hold the door while he opened the confiscation locker to get her things.

Shielda threw the lock on the door, locking the rest of the guards inside the building, and throwing her shoulder against it for good measure. Zelren turned to the locker—but as he did, he spotted the key to it poking out of Corbrik’s pocket.

And when he went to retrieve it, he also found the slip of paper Corbrik had been studying earlier. It contained the address Shielda had “won” in her card game. The address of Marlasar Klexxad.

Zelren froze.

Dim through the years since his childhood, he remembered the name. Marlasar was a dragonborn sorceress, and she had been one of his father’s close friends. Zelren hadn’t thought of her in years, and hadn’t seen her in decades.

But there was no time to wonder at it now. He went to the locker, which opened easily with the key he’d lifted from the captain. Inside, he found Shielda’s rapier, her lute, and the coins she’d won from her games that night—100 gold in all. 

He also found a pair of supple grey leather boots, and a small grey leather bag of the same material, as well as a small glass bottle holding a red liquid.

“Zelren!” said Shielda, as the pounding on the other side of the door grew more insistent. “We’ve got to go!” Zelren scooped up everything in the locker, and they beat a hasty retreat.

Possibly against their better judgment, they returned to the tavern where Shielda had been arrested that evening, hoping Captain Strongarm was in no condition to pursue them that evening. The barkeep, Marlan, a red-haired dwarf with Einstein hair, greeted Shielda with a laugh. “I knew they wouldn’t hold you for long, girl.” (Though he did demand an extra gold piece to pay for the disturbance she’d caused earlier).

Shielda gave Zelren 50gp of what she’d earned earlier that night as thanks for his help. Then they sorted out the treasure. Marlan recognized the potion as a healing potion. Shielda tried on the boots, which magically expanded to fit her massive feet. When she stood up, they realized her footsteps no longer made any sound. She handed the boots over to Zelren, figuring they were quite a handy thing for a sneaky drow like him to have.

The real surprise came when they opened the grey bag. Inside, they found three small furry balls. Shielda took one out and dropped it on the tavern’s table.

A full-grown panther sprang into existence before their astonished eyes.

Marlan nearly choked in astonishment. “Get that damn thing off my table!” he roared. “Where did it even come from?”

After taking a moment to reassure herself that the panther wasn’t going to eat her, Shielda motioned to it. “Hey, get down from there.” The panther instantly obeyed, sitting docilely by her side. Shielda scratched it under the chin, and soon its rumbling purrs were shaking the floor.

“You want to try?” said Shielda, proferring the bag.

“Are ... is this what we’re doing?” said Zelren, utterly bewildered.

Shielda only responded by shaking the bag.

Sighing, Zelren took out a second fuzzy ball and dropped it on the table. The poor, abused table groaned anew as a massive direwolf appeared on top of it.

“SHIELDA!” bellowed Marlan.

Zelren hastily ordered the dire wolf to sit beside him. It did, looking across at the panther with what seemed to be a cool haughtiness.

With the treasure sorted, it only remained to figure out what they were doing next. 

Now that she had the address, Shielda was determined to seek out this Marlasar and see what she knew about the platinum dragon.

Zelren, too, was interested in finding the sorceress. He confessed to Shielda that Marlasar had been a friend of his parents when he was younger. Neither of them were quite sure why the two of them, from such different lives, would happen to be drawn together by something so strange as a name on a slip of paper.

But for Zelren, it was a matter of pragmatism as much as anything else. He only wanted one thing: to kill King Gargrond. But he wasn’t even vaguely ready for such a feat. To accomplish it, he’d need a lot more training, and powerful allies. And what better ally than a sorceress? 

And if the plucky, hulking half-orc before him happened to be traveling in the same direction, why not travel together, even if only for a while? 

So, almost against his better judgment, Zelren found himself with a new friend. And Shielda found herself with a traveling companion who was somewhat more stealthy and skilled at fighting than she was. A win-win situation.

Shielda paid for their rooms, and they settled in for a night’s rest. When they woke in the morning, they were somewhat disappointed to learn that their animal companions had vanished during the night—but there were two new furry balls in the grey bag, so that was something.

* * *

And that was the first Game Zero!

I’d like to keep a log of this campaign here and on Tumblr. So every once in a while I'm going to dump what happened in the last game. It won’t be polished, of course. But I love these characters so far, and I love the idea of following them as they grow.

It feels good to be playing D&D again.

[dyinganddice]

Chapter Six

[Chapter 5]

The Adventerurs have a bugbear that just walked in, three goons that may or may not try to attack them from behind, Faelen is holding onto a Witchbolt on the Bugbear, Baileys is holding onto Talia and Talia is holding onto her life. But only for a moment, as the Palidin rushes forwards without the support of her team (yOU’RE gOnNa dIE?!?) to attack the Bugbear, using her holy energy to FULL ON DIVINE SMITE IT (and then also get a nat 20) and take the creature down in one hit. Some of the bandits looked like they were going to join the battle earlier. They no longer look like they’re going to join the battle.

With that settled, Briar tries one more time to get any information out of them, but all that’s really found out is that there’s definitely more bugbears. Still not wanting to cause more murder than needed, especially when it looks like these ruffians have no interest in continuing to be ruffians anymore, Briar waves them off, and as they run out Faelen stops one of them, scaring him half to death, to let him know of the bandit they had locked in the room earlier so they can get him out.

Since it was clear that the Wizard was head of operations, here at least, and because there was still no sign of where the son and father might be, or Yarno, the original price that got them doing this job, everyone heads back to the Wizard’s chambers to search for clues. Brick thoroughly goes through everything under, around and in? The bed, finding some gold and gems, the gold she holds onto herself, the gems she passes off to Baileys before the rest of the team can stop her. Meanwhile Baileys rifles through the desk and finds a letter addressed to their dead wizard friend, signed by a spider stamp. That letter also confirms his identity as Yarno, that guy Syldar wanted them to find. Well, at least they can go turn him in for that 200gp. Faelen goes through the office, looking for any information about the son and father, only to find more bits and pieces of weird shadowy magic, which he finds odd as, most dark magics he has some form of knowledge about…

But since there’s not much more to do except run into more Bugbears, and technically they had completed their objective, Brick grabs the body of the now less invisible dead Wizard Yarno to take back to the town hall and give to Syldar, Baileys holding onto the letter as proof that he had been Up In Shit He Should Not Be Up In. They decide to walk the body through the town instead of sneaking it about, since it’s early enough that nobody in the town is awake other than maybe Qualeen, since no coffee exists out here. (THOUGH WE HAVE RECEIVED CANON CONFIRMATION FROM SHAZZBAA THAT IT EXISTS IN CITIES NOW YES THE STRAT OF BOTHERING THE DM ABOUT COFFEE PAYS OFF.) 

Once Syldar arrives at the town hall, Baileys explains all of what happened within the mansion, from their run in with Yarno who seems to be at the top of all this, as well as releasing Meena and her daughter, clearing most of the hideout, the few that scampered off, bugbears, and the shadow magic. Syldar is definitely torn up about this and struggles trying to remember anything that might have hinted that such a  thing would happen, and worried about what more sinister activity could be in the area. The only leads they all have is this spider signature and the mention of the Cragmal Castle, which maybe if they find that…? Nonetheless, he pays the group 200gp for their dealing with Yarno and the bandits, and offers 500 if they can dig up any further leads. 

The adventures return to the inn to pass out after being up all night, though Baileys takes a detour to sell off the loot they had collected and divvy up the spoils between everyone, using the extra gold and silver pieces that didn’t evenly split to buy the party a congratulatory bread, meat and cheese basket to share after they all wake up. They also make it known that they held onto the Pearl from the wizard’s gem collection instead of selling it, since they have a feeling it might become useful later, magically. After enjoying their better than usual breakfast, or more, lunch at this point, everyone suits up and heads out to start their detective adventure.

First stopping at the provisions shop though to grab a metric shit ton of health potions, everyone except for Baileys ends up buying at least one. Baileys actually waits outside even, using his instrument in attempts to gain a little coin while the others ask Ethell, the shop keep, about who they can talk to about finding locations in the area, like this Cragmal Castle. Ethell points them back to Qualeen, who knows everyone, thus she is able to point them towards a Druid up in Thunder Tree that sometimes stays in her barn, and Deryn, an ex-adventerer that owns the Orchard on the outside of town… though he’s sometimes hard to talk with. 

Qualeen also asks if they’d stick around so Carp could talk with his new heroes! (Briar and Baileys exchange looks oh his name really is Carp) and politely excuse themselves from the company of a child, end up going to have a nice afternoon snack together and chatting at the inn. Brick stays around to tell Carp about the adventure, Faelen shows off his new glass staff and Talia tells tales of the bugbear, of course keeping it all kid-friendly. Brick even lets Carp pretend to shoot her down with Faelen’s staff that’s way too big for him, before Qualeen finally rescues them all from the excitement of a child, and the Wholesome Trio go off to find the rest of their company again. 

Heading out to the orchard, they meet up with an older elven man, who clearly had the energy of an adventurer and looks to be retiring with this land. (Unfortunately for Briar and Baileys, Deryn was apparently another one of these Wholesome Excitable Types) While they don’t get much information out of him that they were looking for, he does tell them of strange necromantic happenings down near the Owl Well, and that if they’re interested in dealing with that for him he’ll try to round up some of the local goblins for information, since Cragmal sounds like a goblin named location. The group leaves before he pulls them into another extraneous conversation, and huddle back at the inn for the night to make their decision. While the necromantic issues at the well sound possible, they all agree that it’d be quicker to try and track down the Druid and explore Thunder Tree first, and head out first thing in the morning. 

The first day of the trip was quite uneventful, but rather early into the night the group is awoken by Faelen when he hears some undead ghouls approaching their campsite. Everyone is quick to getting up, except for Briar who Faelen had a bit of trouble getting out of bed (both of them in the back of initiative lineup) probably due to the lack of coffee in the countryside. The ghoul battle goes by pretty uneventful at first, as most of the ghouls are apparently terrible at hitting their targets, especially ghoul 2 who keeps critically failing literally everything it does. But suddenly, one of them manages to get two deep strikes on Briar, bringing her down to one HP and perhaps traumatizing her a bit, as this is the first time she’s ever gotten hit in battle this adventure. 

While the rest of the team leap to assist Briar, except for Brick who’s decided to take three of the five ghouls on her own, Briar smartly is the first to uSE ONE OF HER HEALTH POTIONS ON HERSELF IN BATTLE and manages to get off a killing shot or two in revenge. The rest of the battle goes rather smoothly, except for ghoul two finally getting a paralyzing, near death hit on Brick before being descended upon by the rest of the adventures. Everyone settles in for the night, tucking a paralyzed and recovering Brick back into bed as Baileys takes up the watch for the rest of the evening...

[Chapter 7]

[exothermic-filth]

Drinks On Me

 Uni and research has kicked up a FUCK ton for me, so I apologize for going AWOL on everyone, especially to those I’ve promised stories/updates on. But thank you for sticking through and I hope you enjoy this as much as I did while writing it! (I had the utter, horrified realization I basically was gone for roughly a year. I am... so sorry OTL....)

Junker-Adventurer!Reader x Junkrat mini-fic. NB reader, SFW (except for a bit of swearing). To celebrate having 45+ followers <3 Never thought I’d make it this far, so cheers!

It’s been a long day. 

The sun is beginning to set above the horizon and you thank the heavens for small mercies. The heat dissipates from the air as fast as the scorching sun rays fade. You see a scraggy outcrop of rocks ahead in the distance: perfect place for a break. With a bit of encouragement, you urge your battered motorbike onward. 

By the time you reach the rocks, the air is cool and downright delicious. With a flick of your foot, the stand pops out and you’re letting your bike lean and rest. A quick circling reassures you that you’re alone and you finally relax, stretching out the stiff joints from sitting and riding all day. 

You unpack and settle down. A bit of foraging yields just enough twisted branches and bone-dry sticks for a nice small fire. You double-check the crate you’ve got strapped onto the back of your motorcycle: nice and tight, not going anywhere. Visions of gold dance in your head as you think about the profit these babies are gonna’ bring you. Junkers will pay coin for booze, but rumor has it the Queen herself would paid handsomely for specialty liquor imported (stolen) from the outside. 

Usually, you’d never risk building a fire but you’re feeling confident. There’s something about tonight that feels different: the air is (marginally) crisper and the stars feel brighter. Despite being a ragtag outsider, you’ve always enjoyed Junkertown. The Junkers made for vivacious, if not interesting company. And the thought of refreshing your rations and supplies definitely put an extra pep in your step. 

You rustle through your pack and produce a battered tin pot and a depressingly light sack. Normally, this would warrant a “tsk” but tonight, you’ll feast. Within minutes, you’ve got a nice little gruel going. Some precise rigging and you’ve got a few lizards to roast as an entree. 

You stare out into the distance, listening to the gentle snap and crackle of the fire, the sweet corn meal gruel bubbling away softly. Life is good.

Before your muscles could truly relax, you feel the skin on the back of your neck tingle. Before your mind could even register, you’ve got your shot gun in your hands, pumped and ready to shoot at the intruder. 

“Evenin’?” Came a nervous giggle. 

You blink, “Do I... do I know you?”

A tall man stands before you, looking a bit worst for wear. Despite the impressive amount of bombs and ammo strapped to his chest, he’s bruised and cut up all over. His left eye bulged out in a black and blue mess. 

Despite all this, the man puffs his chest out and looks insulted, “Do you... Do you know me? How do you NOT know me?”

You scowl, “Because I’ve never met you before?”

“Darl’,” he says, rather condescendingly, “I am a man whose reputation proceeds him. I am THE-”

You stand up aggressively, “I don’t care WHO you are or who you THINK you are. What do you want?”

He scowls back, “How the FUCK do you NOT know who I am?”

You feel a sharp pang of fear in your chest; this man isn’t fucking around. The bandoliers on his chest glint dangerously in the fire light. 

You raise the gun but take a step back, “Alright... who are you then?”

The man looks like he’s been waiting for this question his entire life. He throws his arms out in a grand, theatrical gesture and declares, “I am the INFAMOUS JUNKRAT!” 

“...who?” You raise a brow. 

He drops his arms to his side and balls his fist, “Oh come on! I didn’t get fuckin’ kicked outta’ Junkertown for nothin’!”

You struggle to keep the chuckle down, “You got kicked out of Junkertown?”

“Oh? You think that’s funny do you?” He snarls. 

“Well.... yeah, you got kicked out of the most lax city on earth,” you laugh, incredulously. “You can literally do almost anything there.”

“Lax?” He sputters, “LAX?! I couldn’t get a bomb in edgewise anywhere with ol’ Queenie up my arse about it!” 

You lower your gun, giving him your most disarming smile, “She’s got a point there... Junkrat? You said?”

“The one and only,” he grins back, matching your charm with his. 

You take the time to look at him: underneath the soot and dirt, and despite the nasty shiner he’s sporting, he’s not bad to look at. Even though he’s a few meters from you, you can smell the smoke on him, that burnt charred smell... of... lizards?

You jump, “SHIT!”

He starts back, shocked, then realizes why you freaked out. 

You toss the gun aside and rescue the lizards from the fire and throw them on your pack to save them from completely scorching. 

You stand back up, dusting your hands, “Alright. So. We can stand around all day and you can be insulted with me not knowing who you are...” 

He crosses his arms, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, “Or?”

“We can sit down and enjoy some charred lizard and corn gruel,” you gesture openly. 

The tall man slouches a bit and smiles sheepishly, “Yeah, I’d like that a lot.”

You plop down onto the dirt and offer him a blackened lizard on a stick.

He takes it and plops down by you, “Thanks, mate.”

You watch him tackle the meat with ferocity, “You always do this? Stumble into people’s camps and get insulted when they don’t know who you are?”

He pauses mid-bite, “Only when I’m particularly hungry.”

You give him a friendly kick, “You could’ve just fucking asked!”  

He laughs and goes back to ripping another mouthful off the lizard. You observe him and his injuries: all the mottled bruises, the nicks and scratches all over his body. They’re fresh. 

“Got yourself in a fight recently?” You ask casually, but quietly your ears are perked. A knot of regret begins forming in the lower pits of your stomach: what kind of trouble could this one potentially bring?

He makes an awkward gasping noise, trying to talk and swallow lizard at the same time, “Sure did. Showed those drongos what for!”

You smile, eyes casually flitting around and behind his hunched figure, “What was the fight about?”

“Oh the usual,” he straightens up and takes a deep breath, “‘Oh Junkrat you can’t mod the mech with that!’ or ‘Junkrat you can’t throw that at the Queen!’”

You blink, “You’re a mech fighter?”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, “As if I’d be any of those hot-headed ego maniacs!”

You scoff back and raise a brow, leaning towards the fire to grab the bubbling corn gruel off the embers, “Alright, then what is it that you do, Junkrat?”

“I’m a mech mechanic,” he puffs out his chest and crosses his arms. “I’m trying to work me way up through the ranks right now.”

“There’s ranks?” You give a bemused smile. 

“Oh sure,” he nods emphatically, “You start off as a complete bottom of the bucket mechanic, doing stupid shit like polishing the weapons then you work your way up before they trust you enough to start unscrewing shit and putting shit back together.”

“And where are you right now?” You blow on the corn gruel and tuck in. 

Junkrat looks particularly proud of himself, hooking his two grenade straps with his thumbs, “I craft the explosives.” 

“Impressive,” you rummage through your coat’s inner pockets, before finally finding your flask.

He flicks his eyes up, interested, “Now, what do you have there, mate?”

You pause, meeting his eyes. You didn’t want to admit it. But the way he said it was slow, and low, like he was asking a dangerous question. And it made you...feel. 

You clear your throat and unscrew the flask’s top, continuing to give your best disarming smile, “I never told you what I do for a living, did I?”

“You certainly didn’t,” he finished his lizard and tossed it behind him with a laugh. “So, who do I owe the pleasure of meeting this evenin’?”

“Well,” you gently shake the flask, gauging how much is left, “My name is *Y/N* and I am you local, friendly booze supplier to Junkertown.” 

“Oh my,” he grins, leaning forward, “So I can thank many a wild nights and shitty mornings to you, huh love?”

You find yourself chuckling, almost missing the fact that he just slipped a pet name into that interaction.

“Partially,” you take a sip, “Lord knows Junkertown must use more than just me considering how much you Junkers drink like it’s your lifeblood.”

He holds a hand out. It’s a familiar gesture for you, a bonding ritual really with any stranger you’ve met. And honestly, it’s just good manners out here. You pass the flask to him, your fingers grazing his during the hand-off and you find yourself lingering a bit longer than you wanted.

You clear your throat again but he doesn’t seem to notice. He takes an appreciative sip and smacks his lips, a confused expression forming. 

Taking advantage of the situation, you lean in and whisper conspiratorially, “Not what you expect?”

“It’s... light, and uhm, what’s the word,” he’s scrunching his face in thought. “Delectable? No... delicate! It’s delicate tasting.”

Keeping the hushed tone, you grin, “Between you and me, I hate the way most liquor tastes. This is just my own personal brew.”

“I’ve... I’ve never tasted anything like this,” he’s taking another swig, trying to parse out the flavors and notes. 

“Yeah, you get bored on the road, you start mixing and blending your own brews,” you jerk a thumb towards your bike. 

“You travel alone or is this a group venture?” he gestures generally. 

“I work alone,” you shrug, turning your gaze towards the fire. You feel yourself drifting a bit. 

“Do you like it?” 

“I do,” you murmur.

“Wasn’t a very enthusiastic ‘I do,’“ he elbows you in the ribs gently and you’re suddenly pulled back, very aware of how close he is to you. 

You blink for a moment and put on another amiable grin, “Haha, I do, I really do! It’s quite fun and it’s a decent adventure most of the times.”

“And the other times?” He asks, softly, in that same dangerous, low tone from before.

“It’s... quiet. You’re by yourself a lot on the road. So it’s... quiet,” you reply, a bit more morose than you intended. 

“Well then,” he stretches his arms above his head, “Good thing I inconvenienced you and stumbled onto your camp, huh?”

You laugh, “Yeah, I didn’t think I’d have any dinner guests but this was a nice change of pace.”

He smiles then his frame shifts a bit awkwardly and his voice lowers, “Uhm, truth be told *Y/N* I wasn’t feelin’ too great when I did run into you. But this was fun. I needed it.”

“I think I needed this too.”

He takes a deeper swig from the flask before handing it back to you, “I’ll confess, I’m on my second strike with the Queen. One more mess-up and I’m not allowed back into Junkertown.”

“Ah,” your eyes flick once again to his bruises and cuts, “She can be a real hardass, huh?”

“And then some,” he scoffs mirthlessly, “But thanks, I mean it.”

“Of course,” you don’t really know what to do so you give him a gentle pat on his knee.

He flinches at first but relaxes under your touch. 

He clears his throat, a clear flush growing on his cheeks under all that dirt and grime, “So, uhm, *Y/N*?”

“Yes, Junkrat?” You smile. And it’s your real smile. You don’t feel the need to put up disarming pretenses. 

“Call me Jamie,” he grins sheepishly, “My real name’s Jamison but no one calls me that.” 

“Alright,” you nod, “Yes, Jamie?”

“Were you just going to camp out here until tomorrow then head into Junkertown?”

“Yeah, that is the plan. Why?”

“Well, uhm, not that I’m shittin’ on your choice of accommodations but there are better places than outside at night in the Outback. It gets freezin’ cold,” he says seriously. 

You hold back a snort and solemnly nod back, “Ah yes, I hadn’t considered that. In all my years of camping and trekking through here, the freezing cold!” 

“So, I have a proposition for you,” Jamie opens his palms outwards like a salesman getting ready for his pitch. 

“Alright, I’m listening.”

“You should come into Junkertown tonight. Stay at my place, and come tomorrow morning you’ll be right there in town, ready to do business,” he says with a final, dramatic flourish of his fingers. 

“You’ll be alright with that? A stranger crashing at your place?” You raise a brow, still smiling ear to ear.

“Least I could do to pay you back for dinner and drinks,” he stands up and dusts himself off, before offering a hand to hoist you up. 

You take it, bringing yourself up to your feet, “Oh, my pleasure, really.”

He starts kicking sand into the fire and turns to you with a glint in his eyes, “Oh, I should warn you there’s only one bed back at my place.”

A shiver runs from the nape of your neck down your spine, “Well. You did say it gets freezin’ cold out here. We should make the most use of it.”

He stops, your matched boldness surprising him. He laughs a bit and says, “After a long work day tomorrow, will you have dinner with me again?”

“Of course,” you start packing up some of your gear. You flick your eyes towards him and with a leisurely softness in your voice, you reply, “Drinks’ on me.” 

[cha0ticmimzy]

The Shadow of Fereldan

Autor’s Notes: Before she even faces Corypheus, before she became the Herald of Andraste, she was the Shadow of Fereldan. And she had a job that was left unfinished. Characters: Sylthana Lavellan, Zevran Arainai, Cullen Rutherford, Cassandra Pentaghast, Leliana Warnings: Brief scene of torture, blood Word Count: 2617

Cullen’s men didn’t stop her as she left through Haven’s gate, despite the fact that she walked alone. She had told Leliana what she had planned- what she needed to do. A job that she had taken on before this shit show had begun, before she’d become the Herald of Andraste. She’d left behind the clothing that she had been given, that had been forged for her by the smithy. Instead, she wore what she always did when taking on a job: black. A pair of black boots whose soles had been worn down so where they matched the very arches of her feet. Black trousers that clung to her legs, laden with pockets and weighed down by the daggers that were hidden within. A black top that was fitted to her figure, with a black cloak atop it all. A mask covered the lower part of her face, her eyes and valaslin the other things to tell who she was.

On her back she kept a broadsword, it’s pommel inlaid with emeralds. It had been her father’s, and her father’s father’s, and so on and so forth, handed down through the years to the first born. No one has asked any questions when she strapped it onto her back; they simply gave her a wider berth. She’d lost count with how many daggers she had; a few on one hip, some within the pockets of her trousers, a hidden blade released via firing mechanism upon her left forearm. Pins hidden within her hair, which she had painstakingly coiled back from her face. She was armed to the teeth, quite literally.

She left Haven upon horseback, a wraith streaking across the snowy landscape. Her trusted steed, Malek, strong beneath her. She knew that Cassandra would lecture her, that Cullen would frown upon this- but she had a job, and she would see it through. That much she could do- for him. For the life that had been stolen from her clan, months prior to the Inquisition forming. She could still see it, if she closed her eyes. His body artfully arranged, the ribs splayed out, the bed beneath him nearly black with how much blood had been spilt. It was not for a ritual; she’d seen blood magic rituals. No, the body of Uthriel had been posed. She could still hear the way his lover screamed in horror upon finding him.

Sylthana could still remember the way her nails felt scraping through the guard’s flesh as she slapped him.

The ride to Denerim was long; she was unsure of whether Cullen would have his men come after her. Yet, when she looked to the sky, she could see one of Leliana’s beloved birds tracking her. Always watching from the shadows, she was.

Denerim was familiar; she’d traversed through the city many a time, collecting pay from those who sought out her services. This was where she would find him: Pitch. No one knew his actual name, since he’d abandoned it years prior. No, now he was just a cutthroat for hire, a brutal assassin known for his barbaric ways of killing. Each body he left behind was posed, making a mockery of the body’s owner, and causing quite a bit of trouble when it came to cleaning up afterwards.

She’d fought him, once, years ago, when she was naive and cocky; he’d bested her easily, and she barely left with her skin still intact.

Drakon’s Peak loomed high above the city, visible for miles away before the fortress turned city came to view. It was when she stood a mere hundred feet from the walls of the city that she pulled her mask on and tugged her cowl over her head. She left Malek tied to a tree, where he could eat plenty of grass and not be bothered. Her job would take time; the entire day to track him down, and then to wait until nightfall to make herself known.

Stepping into the city, she fell into the ebb and flow easily. Keeping her head down, her coin purse hidden within the depths of her cloak. The dirt streets were familiar, the old whore houses and taverns singing an old tune. Sapphire hues never strayed from her course, even as she slipped into the alleyways. No one approached her; her reputation within the city itself still very much alive. No one here knew who she was now. All they knew was that the Shadow had returned after taking a sudden hiatus.

She’d been halfway into a Tavern frequented by those who shared her title when a familiar voice caught her ear. Eyes widening, she quickly stepped back, head turning this way and that to catch sight of blond hair and tanned skin. Instead, she found herself pushed to the wall, a blade at her throat and a silky Antivan accent purred in her ear.

“Brave of you to traverse these streets alone.”

A smirk curled her lips as she turned, facing the handsome face of the assassin- and the Hero of Fereldan’s lover. “Bold of you to assume I’m alone.” She replied, watching as Zevran’s face split into a grin. The blade was pulled away, replaced instead with his arms as he pulled her close.

“I’d heard whispers that you were back, but I did not expect to find truth within them.” He murmured, pulling back to study the girl- or, what he could see of her given the mask she wore. How long had it been since he’d last seen her? A year? More? He couldn’t be sure. “I’ve also heard curious whispers about your involvement in a certain heretical movement.”

“Heretical?” Sylthana echoed, disbelief dancing across her features. “I’d hardly say it was heretical. But let’s not talk here.” She lowered her voice, eyes darting about. A smirk pulled at his lips as he nodded in agreement, leading her from the establishment. The market was safer, as odd as it sounded. Voices blended within, and it was hard to tail someone when so many people were mingling.

“Tell me, is it true?” Zevran asked, arm linked with her arm as they wandered through the dirt streets. “If so, I want to help. I owe you that much.” After she’d saved his ass from an ambush four years prior, he’d been in her debt. A debt he hadn’t the chance to pay- or, that she allowed him to pay.

“It is,” Sylthana replied, pulling her mask down to allow it to hand around her throat. “I wouldn’t mind having eyes and ears outside of the Inquisition. I’m working with an old friend of yours. A certain Nightingale.”

Surprise danced across Zevran’s features as he paused in his steps, before a laugh escaped him. “Of course you are. That does not surprise me in the least. Is she well?”

“She’s cold and sarcastic. I like her.”

“That is a rarity, for you to like a human so easily.”

“What can I say?” Sylthana shrugged, pausing to study a jewelers booth. “They aren’t all bad. Most are. But some aren’t.” Moving along without purchasing anything, she let her gaze sweep the market.

The assassin hummed in response, watching as she searched the crowd. “You are here for blood.” It wasn’t a question.

“I am.” She didn’t bother hiding it, not when she was obviously armed. “I’m here for revenge. You see, a friend of mine was murdered wrongfully so,” she began as she tugged him closer, nails pressing into the skin of his arm; a subtle warning. She carefully pressed to fingers into his skin: two were following them. A tap, then another- twenty feet behind. “And I plan on fixing what was broken.”

He nodded slowly in understanding, and carefully steered her towards the richer parts of the city. The dirt turned to stone beneath their feet, and the men who had been tailing them drew back quickly. “So I was right.” He sighed, shaking his head as she stopped them, studying a stunning ball gown of rich sapphire and molten gold through the window of a shop. “You came alone?”

“No. I was followed. Nightingale sent some of her agents after me- no doubt to make sure I returned in one piece. Can’t have the Herald being butchered, can we?”

“Herald?” Zevran’s eyes widened as he stared her down. Without speaking, she removed her glove and raised her hand, the anchor flaring the life. “So you are the one…”

Sylthana gave a bitter smile as she let her hand fall, sliding her hand back into the smooth, worn leather. “Afraid so. Seems we’ve both been chosen for a higher calling, old friend.” Her voice was tired, showing the exhaustion she felt. His heart ached for her. “… Do you happen to know where the Warden is?”

"No," he shook his head, a small smile curling his lips as they began to walk once more. "She is trying to find a cure, you see. The Calling has returned-" 

 "I know. We have a Warden among us. Blackwall. He explained a little of it." She interjected as they began to near Drakon River. "... I need to go, Zevran. I've much work to do, and little time left to accomplish it." 

A hum left him as they stopped, his gaze sweeping over her face. Young, but so very strong. She reminded him of her, of his Warden. The one who held his heart. He reached up, cupping her cheek oh so tenderly. "Do be careful, mi amigo. The man you go after is dangerous." 

 A laugh escaped her as she tossed her arms around him, pulling him close. "You say that as if I'm not. Please, stay out of trouble. And finish off those bastards of an organization soon." She pulled back, smiling as he winked. 

 "If you need me, you know how to find me." With that, he backed away before turning, whistling an old sailor's tune. She sighed, watching him retreat before turning, heading back down to the poor part of the city. 

Mask pulled back into place, hiding all but her eyes. The labyrinth was difficult to traverse if one was not familiar. Thankfully, after spending far too long within the city, she understood the way it worked. Slipping down an alleyway and making quick work of the stairs that lead further down, she quickly found herself among those who could not be trusted with a blade or coin. Perfect. Sauntering into the tavern, she let her gaze drift across its patrons. 

The building itself was set up with a purpose; a large chandelier hung in the center, casting plenty of light there. The walls were cloaked in shadow, perfect for those who did not wish to be seen. Lip curling, she made her way to the bar, settling down within a chair. The bar keep paused, good eye studying her before both widened in surprise. "You're a sight for sore eyes." He commented, though she noted the way sweat began to bead up upon his forehead. "It's on the house," he added, sliding her a flagon of ale. 

She caught it, but did not raise it to her lips. "I'm looking for a man. Goes by the moniker of Pitch." She stated simply, sapphire hues narrowing at the way his eyes darted about. So he was here. 

 "I'm afraid I don't know-" she cut him off, placing the coin purse- purposefully open- upon the top of the bar. Jewels and gold coin alike sat within, glinting in the piss yellow light of the tavern. 

 "Allow me to repeat myself. I'm looking for a man. He goes by Pitch. And I know he is here." The sound of a chair scraping and falling let her know that the man she sought out had heard. And was running. "This is for your silence. Thank you." The back entrance slammed shut. She pushed away from the bar and made her way through the tavern, listening to way silence spread throughout with each table she passed. 

 A Shadow fallen upon the establishment. 

He ran. He knew she was following him, even as the sun descended beyond the horizon and the moon rose. He knew she was there, watching. He'd make a spectacle out of her, bring her into the market, flay her alive. That would teach anyone. He took alleyway after alleyway, twisting and turning through the labyrinth of Denerim's poor. A dead end. No matter. He turned, watching the opening of the alleyway in anticipation. He could hear the drunken voices of sailors singing, the pleasured screams of a whore as she worked for her coin. But she didn't appear. 

The sound of a body hitting stone behind him made him jump. She crouched, her head low, her body relaxed. She looked like a living shadow, a manifestation of the dark itself. He clenched his jaw, and a grin forced its way onto his face. "Big mistake, little elf." He hissed as she raised her head, baring coral hued valaslin and sapphire eyes. There was no light within them- no, that was wrong. There was one, a dark light. A dark delight. Blood lust. Anger. Hatred. For the first time in his life, he felt afraid. But that didn't stop him from rushing her the moment she rose.

She side stepped him easily. He turned, daggers poised for her neck, and was gifted with a harsh, swift kick to the gut. A surprised cough escaped him as he staggered a step back, only to find the slimy dampness of the wall pressing against him.

A moment later and she lunged.

He hadn’t had the time to even prepare, not as she crushed his hand against the wall. He didn’t realize what had happened until he felt warm liquid trickle down his arm, and then the pain echoed through him. She’d driven a dagger through his wrist, into the wall behind him. He went to reach, but she grabbed his other wrist and with quick hands, broke it. The broadsword she carried upon her back was out, and the pommel was driven into his hand, crushing the delicate bones of his fingers.

A scream escaped his lips, echoing through the alley, blending into the sounds of the night.

“You cunt.” He gasped out, beady brown eyes wide as she crouched before him. He could kick her, but his body was in shock; too much pain coursing through his system at once.

She didn’t respond as he continue to throw curses at her, words that could curdle milk with how sour they were. Instead, she brought out another dagger, and placed this one above his thigh. Silence swept over him. “You killed Uthriel Lavellan. I’m here to pay his respects.” Her voice made a chill dance across his skin. Saccharine sweet, dripping in honey and acid.

“You flaunted his death, and the money you received for it. The girl’s father paid you handsomely. And you went on a spending spree. You killed her lover, and then bought yourself pretty new knives and clothes and all the ale you could want.” As she spoke, she began pressing down, the tip of the blade easily piercing through the rough material of his trousers, into the fleshy, meaty part of his thigh. A whine trembled from his lips as she kept the pressure steady. “A big mistake, you know. It makes you easy to track. Any good cutthroat knows not to spend it all at once.”

“Just kill me!” He exclaimed, voice raw and quaking as she suddenly drove the dagger down hard enough that he could feel the reverberation of it striking the hard earth beneath him. A new scream tore through, and he found himself soiling his trousers due to the pain. Tears spilled free, streaking down his thin face. “Just do it!”

“No.” The word made the blood freeze in his veins. She pulled her mask down, revealing her face, and recognition danced through him. He knew that face. He’d fought her, long ago. “You should have killed me when you have the chance.”

“You-” he shook his head in disbelief. “You’re the Shadow of Fereldan. The little runt of a bitch I nearly beat to death.”

A pleased grin stretched across her face, and he realized he had never seen something so terrifying in his life. “I’m going to make you wish for death.” She cooed, leaning close- only to drive a new dagger into his shoulder, pressing through, cracking bone, tearing muscle apart. A hoarse cry left him. “When the city guard finds you, they will be picking the pieces off the ground.” Sitting back on her knees, she reached down, pulling the dagger she’d driven through his thigh free. Blood gushed from the wound, turning the ground beneath him black. Pressing the blade against his thumb, she hummed. “Which finger?”

“Please, have mercy!”

“Ah, thumb then. Alright.”

“Have mercy!”

The ride back to Haven was a pleasant one. The weather was nice, and she ran into no trouble on the road. Malek was in a pleasant mood as well, dancing at times as he trotted along the path. She’d sent a raven home, carrying a parchment with a lock of hair, the words reading nothing more than a simple “It is done.”

As she traveled, the air grew colder, cleaner, clearer. She drew in a deep breath of the mountain air as she breached the top, the Breach in the sky coming into view. Sapphire hues lingered upon it for a moment, taking in its sickly green shade, before she clicked her tongue one, directing her mount down the strep incline.

No one greeted her as she approached, or as she passed Malek into the hands of a stable boy. The Iron Bull watched her from his tent, an understanding air about him. Krem gave her a tense nod, his lips drawn thin. Cullen was not with his men, nor could she see Cassandra training, cutting the life out of a training dummy.

Varric sat by the fire and watched her with a wary but understanding gaze as she walked past. She cared not for these looks. Leliana was within her tent, a relief she hadn’t realized she’d been wanting. Idly, she began to set the weapons she’d borrowed down, keeping her own on her person.

“I heard word from Denerim that the cutthroat Pitch was found dead.” Leliana commented, not looking up from her reports. Sylthana made a noise of disinterest. “The city guard found him with his legs pulled out of their sockets and flayed, his jaw broken, and all of his fingers cut off. He was also missing his eyes.”

“How curious.” Sylthana replied, though she didn’t bother keeping the pleased tone from her voice.

“Curious, indeed.” Leliana replied, turning to study the elven woman. “I will not ask why you decided to do this, only that I wish you now be at peace.”

“Peace doesn’t exist for people like us, Leliana.” She sighed, stepping away from the table. “We’ve too much blood on our hands to ever truly find it.” Leliana nodded once, understanding. “Zevran said hello. I assume Cullen and Cassandra are waiting within to lecture me?” She asked, rolling her shoulders once, twice.

“I was unaware that you knew him.” Sister Nightingale murmured, eyes widening in surprise. She quickly composed herself and nodded, amusement dancing upon her words. “I believe Cullen has been rehearsing what he wishes to say to you.”

“Lovely. Care to join me as I receive my verbal lashing?” Sylthana mused, smiling as Leliana set aside her reports to walk with her into the Chantry. Almost immediately, Cullen and Cassandre descended upon her.

“Have you any idea how worried we’ve been? You’re the Herald of Andraste! You can’t just up and leave when you wish!” Cullen scolded, lip curling up.

“You should not have gone alone. What if something had happened? This was reckless and foolish.” Cassandra shook her head, frowning deeply.

Sylthana smiled, moving past her advisors. “Hello, Josephine. Have we received word from my clan?” She asked, watching as surprise danced across the ambassador’s features.

“Yes, your worship. We just did.”

“Good. Have it delivered to my quarters. Tell me, what news have we of the Templars? Are they willing the meet?” She asked, enjoying the stunned silence from Cullen and Cassandra. Leliana let out a soft laugh as Sylthana turned to study the quarter with a raised brow. “Well, don’t just stand there! We’ve a job to do, do we not?”

“Ri-right, of course.” Cullen coughed, rubbing the back of his neck as he quickly walked past the Inquisitor, leading the way to the War Room. Cassandra remained standing in the hall, Leliana beside her.

“What just happened?” The Seeker asked as she watched the Inquisitor and Ambassador follow the Commander. Leliana laughed, a soft, rare noise.

“That, dear Seeker, is the Inquisitor in her prime.”

[writing-frenzy]

I feel this soul deep (now that I have one)

I’d like to thank @crowsketches for helping to inspire this; if I wasn’t bouncing ideas with you, I probably would have never had the inspiration to write this! From this AU Idea, I bring you angst!

Warning: descriptions of violence, pain, and suffering along with some mental instability. If you can’t handle that well, be careful!

No own Cuphead!

It’s interesting, how the simplest of things can knock down, mess up, and even destroy the best laid plans of monsters and fools alike. An unexpected gust, a misplaced word, a little hope have more power than most would ever expect.

In this story, it was a simple observation that caused all the chaos that would change everything in it.

(And yet, sometimes it all just boils down to luck in the end, giving everyone a chance at least once.)

Letting the last of his parchments in his hands enter the hellish fires before him, one Mugman couldn’t have been more pleased with himself then he was now. They beat The Devil himself after all, that should more than enough be a reason to feel just a little proud here! Almost made the punishing chores Elder Kettle would surely give them for this stunt seem just a little more insignificant in the grand scheme of things.

...They did after all have to get into their grandpa’s potions, which were not cheap, or easy to make at all, especially since Peashooter was usually very expensive, if not one of the most expensive ones... So resupplying the old potioneer’s ingredient stash, as well as assisting in making them would be the least the boys can do for their grandfather after he stuck his livelihood out for them. Still, that did not mean it would be in any shape or form fun; there was a reason the old kettle either ordered out or hired professionals to get the things he needed for his concoctions… At least the brothers could now defend themselves as they did it...

Heh heh, heeh, oh, it was going to royally suck.

Sighing, Mugman decided to look around, to get his mind off his chore filled future as well as curious about his surroundings, having never seen an actual throne room and all, even if it was a demons. Seeing said demon still dazed as all those little explosions twirled around them from their throne, and that Cuphead was still burning his contracts, what with him holding more, the blue mug moved a bit, just to take in the vast hall all around them.

It really was ridiculously lavish, gold, marble and what the mug was sure was silk everywhere, with a high ceiling to fit it all in, maybe also show just how small a person was. The younger brother could see how a demon like the Devil could probably like it, seeing as it this space was probably needed to fit their ego. Chancing another look over at the said being, a familiar item on their side table caught his attention.

Was that? Could it really?... Hesitant, as it would put him in proximity to the demon again, yet curious all the same (especially if he was right), Mugman tiptoed over to the rather large table, for him, the mug managed to sneak a peek at the papers that caught his attention, his eyes widening as he took them in.

‘They are! There are more soul contracts!’ was Mugman’s thoughts, taking in the many papers on the table, all laid out before him, along with a number of binders prime and ready to be used.

‘The Devil must have been confident he would win, already planning how he would sort everything here and now…’ Mugman frowned, even as he narrowed his dark eyes at the tables contents. ‘Well, let’s just show him the error in that arrogance of his!’ and with that, the young man grabbed the contracts on the table, a slight smirk on his face as he took them over to Cuphead.

“Hey bro, look what I found!” Mugman nearly chirped, getting his bro’s attention easily, making him look up, seeing just what he had found.

“Ha, nice one Mugman! Whoa!” Cuphead said, before exclaiming as the one he grabbed let out a lot of dust with the rough grabbing movement. “Looks like some of these are pretty old; probably have to be careful not to get tetanus or something” the older brother frowned, glaring at the offending parchment.

“I rather doubt we’ll get something like that; surely they make sure to properly care for items such as these.” Mugman said, even as he threw a few of the contracts into the fire, making sure they burned.

“The Casino is run by the Devil, and is over a literal hell mouth; I doubt they have the best health regulations around.” Cuphead answered, getting his brother to blink over at him as they finally threw their own contracts into the flame.

“...You know, if you had more sensible moments like these, I might stop being surprised every time you say something that actually makes sense.”

“Ha ha, I’ll have you know I’m sensible all the time.”

“You bet our souls to the devil.”

“I SAID I WAS SORRY!”

“Still never gonna let that go bro; neither will Elder Kettle.”

“...Shit…”

“My thoughts exactly.”

One King Dice, Manager of the Devil’s Casino and right hand man of the being, knew he probably deserved some sort of reward for not drinking even one drop of alcohol the whole day.

And boy, if there was a day to get roaring drunk, it would certainly be today.

“Yes, I would like the schedule the reconstruction of the Devil’s Casino at your most convenient timing. Yes, you will be payed- No, we will not pay upfront- No, you will not be paid that mu- I can easily wait for assistance from the mainland, don’t think we can’t… You will be payed a fifth of the payment upfront, which should be enough for building supplies, and not a damn coin more, do we understand each other… Good, glad you see things my way.” King Dice finished, having to force those words through gritted teeth, his eyes green from frustration and anger. Letting out an even breath, the man allowed himself to sit down on a nearby barstool, a gloved hand going to rub at the tension gathering right above his eyes of his die. Unfortunately, this also allowed darker thoughts to start circling.

‘Would a ‘lacky’ be able to do this? Would a good for nothing be able to pull this dump back together again, piece by piece? That bastard better be glad I owe him for saving my ass, otherwise-’ Gritting his teeth, eyes bright green now, the die winced as the tension in his head spiked, having to close his eyes for a bit in pain as he did.

He… needed a moment. Just… To stop thinking for a bit; a distraction would very much be appreciated right now.

“Everything okay Sir?” was said, thankfully getting the manager’s attention, making him look over to the familiar stack of poker chips that was his co-worker.

“Hmph, it will be eventually Bettigan; the construction company will be here in the week, so the casino should be fixed up as good as new pretty soon… How is Wheezy doing?” Dice asked, the green finally leaving his now dark eyes, showing just how tired they were as they stared at the other man.

“A bit touch and go there for a bit Sir, but your quick thinking saved him in the end; with just a bit of rest, he should be okay.” Chips answered, voice in a soft drawl as they looked at their boss in concern and no little respect.

“Please, all I did was push him into his ash pile where he belonged; I just didn’t want to have to deal with the audits he would no doubt leave behind for me to handle.” Dice huffed, scowling even as he heard Chips chuckle in reply, though making sure to look innocent all the same.

“Sure boss, I’ll be sure to tell him that.” the texan drawled, even as he gave the most fake innocent smile to pair with his look, making King shake his head.

Really, sometimes he wondered about his employees.

“Anyone else damaged?”

“The Tispy Troop, along with Pip and Dot got out the lightest in battle, though they are still kicking themselves over the lost. Hopus’s magic went a bit wild for minute, but that’s been calmed easy with some carrot juice.” Chips started, closing his eyes as he thought of his coworkers, “Phear and Mr. Chimes both got out alright too, though they're still smarting over their damaged equipment; won’t be cheap to replace…” Chips grimaced, Dice doing so as well as the bills just kept on piling up.

Luckily they had insurance, even if that was going to be a bitch to go through later, it would make the hit the casino took at least a little less.

“Mangosteen and Pirouletta, next to Wheezy, are the runners up on this shit list; Mango got sick real bad, damaged a rib, while Letta broke her leg and some burns. They should both be fine in a week though, so there’s that if anything.” Chips explained, face grim even as he delivered the hard news, getting a sigh from Dice.

Thank hell for magic; made everything so much easier when it wasn’t being an utter pain in his ass.

“Good to know… Though you did forget someone in your report Bettigan.” Dice said, narrowing his dark eyes on the stack of poker chips, which blinked up at him in confusion, before understanding lit up their eyes.

“No worries here boss; might have looked bad, but I’m used to pulling myself back together easily. Second nature now.” Chips assured, even as his boss’s eyes started going green.

“Be that as it may, you will have a check up at the infirmary before the day is done, am I clear?”

“I’ll be right behind ya boss.” was the reply he got in turn, make the die roll his eyes.

“I am fine, so need to get your chips out of place over it.”

“That would be easier to believe sir if you didn’t look like you would pass out at any moment.” was the blunt reply the texan gave, getting a glare for his cheek.

Unfortunately, he did have a point; matching black eyes and a missing tooth, combined with his cracked die and rather tattered outfit probably didn’t paint the best picture. Not to mention he honestly felt how he looked, sore and tattered in places he hadn’t known existed; Bettigan was right in his observation, King Dice was not at his best right now, and could probably use an aspirin or two.

Did not mean he wanted it pointed out though.

“Thank you for your opinion, it has been noted; now, if you’re well enough to blather about, you can surely help with the paperwork.” Dice said, motioning to the rather large stack he had going on at one of the few intact tables, one he had been interrupted from with the construction company’s callback.

That managed to elicit a nervous chuckle, “You know what, maybe I should go for just a quick check in, never hurts to have someone else double check you know.” they managed, even as they backed away warily.

“Be sure that you do-” a sharp feeling in his chest cut him off, a gloved hand reaching there, even as he suddenly gagged, feeling as if something was choking him, strangling from his neck to chest.

“Boss!” was all he managed to hear, only for darkness to steal away his senses all together after that.

King Dice frowned, feeling at a lost as he stared into the inky blackness all around him, not even able to see his own hand in front of him, though at least able to feel it, judging by the pressure on his face.

This… was rather disconcerting… The die just opened his mouth, wondering if his hearing was just as impaired as his sight, when an utterly profound, painful, near awful feeling came over him. He couldn’t even scream, the pain so much in his simple flesh and blood, taking over everything thought, every action, every single point of focus in this all encompassing darkness.

And yet, despite the agony he was going through, despite all the pain that brought a wet heat to his eyes, Dice could never remember feeling so complete as he was now. Like fixing a dislocated limb, it was as if one were jamming a missing piece he had been unaware this whole time into his very being. The process ever so painful, and yet so filling it left the proud man in tears.

Oh,but it didn’t just end there; with this completed feeling, images soon came to join with the pain, some going so fast he could barely comprehend the emotions with them.

(somanyfacessomanysmilesjustforhimsmilinglaughingteasingloving.)

Others though seemed to slow down, letting the man actually take them in, savor their emotions for just a bit before they too were just as gone from his grasp.

(A smiling woman, so full of love, her hugs just as warm as a mother’s should be, always open for one more.)

Gasping, King grabbed at his head, curling into himself as the barrage continued, the slow/fast pace of it all nearly impossibly for his mind to handle.

(astrangerwithhoneyedwordsandmouthcharmingpromisingseducing.)

Until suddenly, it wasn’t just in his head anymore, the tide seemingly curbed for now as a glow in the darkness shined out, easily getting his attention. Despite the lingering ache his body was in, King forced himself forward, even as each step towards it seemed to rip and tear at his very being when finally, he made it to where the glow originated from.

Before him, what was shining was a mirror, barely being able to call it as such because it looked like just merely a reflective sheet of glass. No, what made it so was when Dice looked into it, it was as if he was staring into an amusement park one, the sight inside giving the man a shock.

Tired, yet glowing yellow-gold eyes stared hard back into pained glowing greens, twin faces similar in looks, though one done in purple while the reflection was red.

For this moment in time, Dice could only just stare at this other version of himself, so many thoughts and feeling welling up in him even as he did, so many questions as well accompanied them. Just as he was about to voice his confusion, the die blinked when his reflection beat him to the punch, their lips moving, yet no sound coming out.

It was more than enough for the master manipulator though, lip reading just one of their many skills.

You need to remember.

“What?” Dice couldn’t help but ask, only to take a hasty step back when he heard a thunderous crack, the mirror before him filling with them, even as the reflection continued to stare on forlornly.

Remember what is important. Was all the the red pip die was able to managed, just as they shattered before his very eyes.

And yet, even as he stared on, those shining shards of mirror falling all around the horrified die, Dice did.

He was remembering.

Two people, a young die and a handsome man, dancing under a fun moon’s glow, candlelight surrounding them even as they moved all around.

“Do you love me?”

“I do.”

“More than anything?”

“Of course!”

“How much?”

“I love you, with all my heart and soul- wha?”

“Haha, I was hoping you would say that.

“I-I don’t, whats?”

“Amazing really, the most damning things said in love.”

A youth running, hurrying, fast as they can, getting away from that monsterdemondevil on their tail.

“Can’t let him, I-I can’t let him get them…”

‘Have protect them’

“My-hack-family.”

‘Can’t let that bastard get to them; not now, not ever.’

“Gotta warn... them.”

‘No matter what.’

The two figures are back together again, except there is no tenderness here with a devil revealed, as the young die at their feet screamed, pain all but consuming them from the magic taking place here tonight.

“You have cost me most powerful souls, welp. For that, I will not forgive… But we will have time to make sure you learn your lesson, won’t we?”

Glowing yellow eyes burned bright up at their tormentor, even as slowly, inching deeper and deeper, a hypnotic green started filling them, much like an infection, the pips gaining a purplish color to them on the die’s head.

“Heh, yeah; you’ll have plenty of time to learn your place.

“...” Dice stared, just taking it all in, gathering as much thought as he could managed together even as he felt himself falling, falling, falling ever so slowly downward, upward, side to side.

His entire life was a lie… His loyalty, his trust, himself… Just a sham, a fake… Not even his memories were spared...

The Devil tricked him out of his soul, messed with his mind, and lied to him his own life...

Stunned as he was, shocked by what he had seen, the die didn’t even realize he was awake until he felt something wet on his face.

Blinking, the casino king brought a gloved hand to his face, trying to find the source of the dripping he was feeling. It took him an embarrassingly good chunk of time to realize he was the source, the wetness on his face tears.

That… That was new. Or at least, King couldn’t remember the last time he actually cried.

-waswhenthedeviltorturedhim- wincing at the pain, King closed his eyes, hissing between clenched teeth.

Oh, he was going to be in for one hell of a time, the die could already tell… Question was, just how was he going to spend the experience? Could he really stay at the casino, with-

NO.

King let out a full body shudder, not even needing to finish the thought; that had been a stupid question honestly.

(Who knew just what he would do to his old boss, if he saw them now?)

Looking around, King felt a bit of relief seeing that he was in the infirmary, as not only could he get some pain medication here before he left, it was conveniently close to the Casino’s back door entrance. Lucky him, it seems.

Getting up, cringing slightly as how even this simple movement brought him pain, the injures from before still there along with the painful ache of getting his soul back, Dice made his way to the medical supplies. Easily finding the aspirin and downing two dry before deciding to pocket the bottle, they paused at the sight of bit of red from the corner of his eye. Blinking, Dice turned slightly, wondering if he was bleeding, only to stop in his tracks as he fully registered what he was seeing.

It was the red pip die he had seen in his ‘dream’, except much older and injured than before, though those tired yellow glowing eyes were still the same. Bringing up a hand, Dice touched the reflection, with it mirroring his action in return.

...So, this is what he looked like with a soul…

(How was he suppose to feel about this? Happy? Angry? He really didn’t know.)

Shaking his head and turning to leave, Dice was only stopped by a pointed cough in the corner of the room. Frown now firmly in place, they turned yet again, only to blink in surprise at the familiar sight of one of his coworkers, Wheezy, in bed.

And boy, did they look like they needed it; a bit burnt out, and smoking slightly on the darker side, the cigar had a few more cuts to his name, with a paleness that would only disappear in time. And yet, even pained, those yellowed-red eyes were still sharp, narrowed in on his boss as they frowned right back, concern and worry easy to see in the lines of his face and brow.

Blinking slightly, Dice wondered at that, not remembering them being particularly close, but then again, while King’s always had a good ability of reading people and using it to his advantage, the reasons behind why and how they could come about were always a mystery to him…

(Then again, those without souls weren’t the best with emotions, understandably.)

And yet, he looked at Wheezy, and could see that the man respected him, cared for maybe, from how long they have worked together and all, so the worry wasn’t misplaced… In fact, it was returned, Dice just as concerned about his co-workers own damage as he was with his own...

Guess having one’s soul back brought out the emotions in people…

(Wasn’t sure he liked that or not.)

“Leaving already King? Not even a goodbye kiss to remember you by?” Wheezy rumbled, eyes unblinking, keeping an even stare with the man standing, playing casual even as their whole body was run through with tension and pain.

“Like you could even handle one in your state; you’d probably keel over before anything could even start.” Dice replied back automatically, grimacing slightly at the rather weak retort. He could usually come up with something more cutting than that, but considering his mind’s state right now, he’ll give himself a pass on it.  

At that, the Cigar gave him an unreadable look, gone so fast the die didn’t even get a chance to try and decipher it. The other let out a breath, dark smoke coming out heavily with it, twirling in the air and leaving the smell of spices and tobacco over the sterile environment, before motioning over to something on his left with an uninjured hand.  

“True enough there, but at least I don’t forget the essentials when I’m leaving a place; lucky you have some helping hands looking out for you.” The Cigar said, which was what prompted Dice to look over, eyebrows rising in surprise.

Right on the table next to what had to have been his bed, the sheets and pillows all in disarray, was his black suitcase, his gloves and cards jumping all about, but then standing to attention when they noticed they had his. But what really got his notice was a simple paper atop his case, already filled out and just needing a signature to finish it.

It was a resignation letter, just one simple page and written beautifully full of backhanded compliments and dry subtext.

Dice choked, hand going to his mouth even as he could feel those damn tears start up again. Closing his eyes, taking a deep breath, the former casino manager grabbed the pen on the table, writing his name down, surer in this then he was in anything else right now.

He knew it was best for him to leave; if nothing else, his mental health would need the time away… and yet, he still felt pained, the thought of leaving this hell.

(Amazing, the places one can grow fond of even as you hate them.)

“Dice.” was called, making the desired man look up, eyebrows raising as he saw Wheezy holding a paper of his own. “Make sure to keep in contact; if you get found in a ditch, who knows how that will impact the casino’s good name.”

“...Probably might just improve it, really.” Dice said dryly, a weak smile on his face, even as he went for the paper in the cigar’s hands, getting a laugh at his words.

Looks like he wasn’t as alone in this little misadventure; somehow, that made things look a little brighter at least..

Far away from the magic and chaos of Inkwell and a certain casino, a woman that could only be described as a goddess done up in reds, yellows, and black blinked, her wine colored eyes going to her glowing pendant on his chest. The shining sun that glowed in the garden she was in did not do anything to hide said glow, as the pendant shown red in the woman’s hands.

“My Lady Luck, is everything well?” a servant asked, even as they delivered a most lovely tea to the classy lady, only the best for such an elegant being.

“Oh, nothing to worry yourself; just a mother’s worry.” Lady Luck answered absentmindedly, the red jeweled die in her hands still giving off a light most ominous.

Whatever this would bode for in the future, the mother could only hope her child would make it through alright.

(She’s already lost him in spirit; she doesn’t want to lose him forever.)

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

So there’s this guy in work that I don’t think likes me. Fair enough, like, I’m proper dreadful. But.

So he’s got a couple of roles with us - on the animal side of things he drives the vans, meaning if animals need shipping to/from the vets he takes them, and if donations need taking to the shops for sale, he’ll take those. On the environmental side of things, he’s essentially grounds maintenance. He keeps the tools, cuts the grass, keeps the paths, checks for dangerous trees, all the good stuff. He also takes wood that’s been chopped down and cuts/seasons it, either for us to sell or for our resident carpenter to turn into saleable goods like bird boxes.

My job, by contrast, is more directly environmental and partly community engagement. My primary job is to manage the site to make sure we’re maximising the wildlife benefit. I survey all 78 acres from spring to autumn to find out what’s living here; I plant trees; I use volunteers to put up mouse and bird boxes; I set management goals in different areas as needed (keeping all foot traffic away from badger setts, for example); I design and set up trails so that the public can come and Experience the Wonder Of Nature. I was hired to spend almost all my time in my office, actually, but I spend about half outdoors, actually doing stuff like pulling ten-year-old rabbit guards off trees, and cutting down dangerous dead ones, and planting new ones, and poking wood-mice. There’s a sense in which he’s subordinate to me, I guess, but it’s literally just that I decide the direction we go in for the different compartments across the site. Like, “let’s not cut the grass until after July 16th.” That sort of thing. Otherwise, our jobs run parallel.

Anyway, I have started spotting for a while now that he thinks I’m legit his manager. A few months back everyone was laughing in the staff room about the old CEO and the weirdly clueless things he’d tried to get the staff to do for a bit, and I said that I think managers, on taking their stations, should have to first spend a month in the trenches, as it were. So that they know what the job actually is, and what the staff are dealing with on a daily basis. It got general agreement, until This Guy, in that joking-but-not kind of way, told me “Well, you should be taking your own advice, then!”

I found it so bizarre I literally didn’t know how to respond, because I am not a Manager. In retrospect, that’s exactly what I should have said. 

Anyway, a week or so later, I was tasked with putting on a giant rabbit costume for a promotional event because my job is weird sometimes. Having finished, I was in the staff room and I jokingly said something along the lines of “I’m not paid enough for this shit.”

“Yes you are,” This Guy said. “I know what you’re paid.”

(Side note: my job required a degree whereas his doesn’t, so it isn’t a shock to me that I’m paid more. However, I am not paid much, and I am in fact paid less than the industry standard. I’m not fucking minted, is my point. I don’t swim around in a pile of gold coins. I can just about pay the mortgage and still eat. All of which is irrelevant to him saying that of course, but like the manager thing, it’s just bizarre enough that I feel I need to mention it.)

Since then, there has been a constant cavalcade of “You should leave your office some time and do some real work” from him, always dressed up just enough like a joke that I can’t call him on it. He only ever does it in front of other people, too, so to do so would mean Making A Scene. 

Fast forward to Present Day. We’re setting up a Christmas Trail right now for this weekend, which means five Elf Houses (my job is weird sometimes.) The fundraiser and I set up the willow frames of the houses last Friday, and we also took five old wooden pallets from This Guy’s area to be the floors. He was out on the vans all last week, but as luck would have it, he did turn up as we were carrying them down, and he was fine with it.

I have Mondays and Tuesdays off, but yesterday the fundraiser had some volunteers in, so she got them to help her put some more trail decorations up. This included her taking some large logs from This Guy’s area and putting them out as elf stools and work tables. I was off, and so knew nothing about this.

I got back into work today and found I had two emails waiting. One was from the Animal Centre Manager, sent to me, the fundraiser, and reception, telling us that for future reference, the wood being stored under the canopy in This Guy’s area isn’t for general use, and that it shouldn’t have been taken.

The other is this:

Hi Elanor.

Could you tell me why you have taken the logs from under the desk, under the canopy area please ? 

As I have been keeping them dry and seasoning them till next year, where I was going to get them sliced, sanded and varnished, to be able to use as either cheese boards or trays. As they have a unique design on them. 

But now that they are out in the forrest getting soaked, if I try to dry them out they will split and be useless.

As a future reference, I have spoken to Gary about this, anything under the canopy is NOT to be taken.

If you or anyone else want anything from that area it would be a courtesy to ask me please. 

Thank you

He’d sent it to me, but CC’d in my boss. For the record, he has me on Facebook, and normally if we need to talk work like this we do it over messenger. This time, he wanted to make sure he could officially yell at me and have my boss see it, apparently. But, you know, he was annoyed, fair enough.

I sent an email back, saying I’d been off but presumably the fundraiser had done it, so I’d talk to her today. I didn’t think much more of it.

...except, then I spoke to the fundraiser, who tells me that she saw him yesterday morning and talked to him face-to-face, where she’d apologised and said it was her fault. She’d also sent an email back to the Animal Centre Manager and This Guy and reiterated it there.

And when I checked the date of the email from This Guy, he sent it at nine o’clock last night.

So after he already knew it was nothing to do with me, he nonetheless sent an official email to me, making it clear that he thought I’d done it, and CC’d in my boss so she’d know too. I’ve just double-checked the message too, and he even took a photo of the remaining logs and added it, presumably to ‘prove’ I’d done it.

In conclusion people are awful and this is why I prefer trees.