#I can’t stop drawing my silly little thief man.

[timbit-robin-art]

Sorry for goober-posting.

[be-gay-do-heists]

OKAY finally finished with eliot hand pain hurt/comfort fic, and i couldn’t actually decide whether i preferred it in second or third person POV. this is the version with the third person POV, otherwise nothing is different from the other version !

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Contrary to what the four crazy people he spent his time risking his life for nowadays thought, Eliot didn’t like the pain.

There was nothing cleansing about it, nothing satisfactory. A ringing hit to his jaw didn’t feel like penance. The actual protection aspect was a different story. Standing like a wall between your people and danger, there was nothing that made Eliot’s ribs ache with pleasure like that; a wall didn’t feel, didn’t think, it was just an immutable fact. He was an immutable fact. The problem was that the wall-as-Eliot, or perhaps the Eliot-as-wall, had to become human again sometime after the last man went down and the last dollar bill was stuffed into a duffel. To hurt was human, and not just to hurt but to remember the wound long, long after, for it to live in your knees and wrists and between the vertebrae in your spine. Some days— and this was a product of how long after a job it had been, how hard he had pushed—some days were worse than others. The fact that some days the first sound out of his mouth wasn’t even a groan, but a whine, or worse the half-awake pleading for please please make it stop i’ll do anything just make it stop—

No, Eliot didn’t like the pain.

Comparatively, today was a good day. Today, he could get out of bed. His head and body were blessedly in agreement that it was in his best interests to swing his twinging knees to the side of the mattress, push himself up onto legs that were sore but stable, with arms that shook only slightly. But compared to Eliot’s best days, the ones where except for the old shoulder injury which would never let him forget it and the scar on his hip that put a falter in his giddy-up in all kinds of weather, the days on which except for those he sometimes even forgot the pain, this didn’t hold a candle. Today his hands were so beat and weak that the ache radiated up to his mid-forearm, settled into him all familiar-like and made its home in him.

In the bathroom, Eliot used his wrist to turn on the faucet and stuck his mouth under the water to drink. Holding a cup was off the agenda. His morning routine was interspersed with winces, not unusual for his post-job bathroom adventures, and if it took Eliot longer to shimmy on the sweats he knew he wouldn’t be getting out of today, it made him appreciate the comfort of wearing them a little more.

Going handless was fine until he was face to face with the fridge, and resisting the urge to growl at it, like that would solve anything. Taking a deep breath, he put a hand on the stainless steel handle, testing his grip. A light flex had Eliot drawing it back like the metal had burned him, like someone had snapped a tight clothespin onto each ligament. He took a moment to pace a couple steps, let out a loud but cathartic expletive, and then wedge his hand between the handle and the door so he could open the fridge with his elbow strength. The feeling of triumph behind his collarbone faded quickly as the hitter scanned its contents and realized there was nothing he wanted to eat, or at least nothing he wanted to hold and eat. The thought of grasping a fork brought another growl to his throat, and he slammed the fridge door to stomp to the couch and throw himself down, cradling his hands in his lap.

Eliot knew the drill: in an hour, he would grit his teeth and get to up to try and fumble open his bottle of painkillers, and if he succeeded, he would wait another hour for them to truly kick in so he could handle the tv remote, put on whatever game was on, and vegetate on the couch until further notice. The phone he had left on the nightstand rang loudly, fully audible from the other room, blaring out the chorus to “Macho Man” that Hardison had put as his ringtone and Eliot hadn’t figured out how to get rid of yet. If it was important, whoever it was would call again, so he ignored it. His ire rose when the same noise sang out from the bedroom a couple minutes later, a bit-off groan escaping from his clenched teeth as he levered himself up to get to it as fast as he could, awkwardly accepting the call and maneuvering the phone between his shoulder and ear. “What?”

“Man, we haven’t heard from you since we split yesterday, I thought we were gonna get a beer downstairs last night?”

He rubbed his eyes with his wrist, frustrated that he had forgotten he was supposed to get together with Hardison the night before. Getting home, washing the sweat and blood off, and falling into bed had seemed like the only goal in his mind. “Look, sorry, I’ve been busy. And if this ain’t important, you—“

“Bullshit. Absolute bullshit, you’re using your tough-guy, bullshit voice. And you actually apologized, so something is double wrong.”

Eliot snarled. “I don’t have— Hardison, I don’t know what you’re talking about, just leave me alone.”

“Too late, we’re already at your place.”

Before he could open his mouth, his doorbell rang, drawing a groan from him. If he was correct about who the “we” was, it seemed silly to even ring it. His suspicions were confirmed thirty seconds later as the door clicked open anyways and Parker and Hardison came in, having the decency to at least look slightly sheepish. Eliot had already moved back to the couch, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. “Make yourself at home, why don’t you,” he growled.

“Excuse us for being worried about your wellbeing, Mr. Suffer-In-Silence,” Hardison scoffed.

Parker leapt onto the couch cushion next to him. “We thought you might have been captured by ninjas.”

“You would know if I had been captured by ninjas,” Eliot muttered. “It’s a very dis— look, you’ve seen that I’m not kidnapped, it’s our day off, can you please leave and let me rest.”

“You still owe us a hangout from last night!” Parker chirped. “Don’t worry, we won’t stay long.” She vaulted back over the couch to go rummage through his snack cabinets, getting into the granola bin by the sound of it. Eliot made a note to restock it before she came back next.

When he next opened his eyes, Hardison was lightly sitting on his coffee table, looking at the hands still resting in the hitter’s lap. “What’s up with your hands, Eliot?”

Eliot’s first instinct was to deflect. He trusted his team, sure, but this was different. They weren’t supposed to know that he had these days. That he wasn’t invulnerable. “Nothing’s wrong with them, stop sitting on my coffee table.”

“Mhm mhm, sure,” Hardison said. “Go like this for me?” He wiggled his fingers in a “hey sailor” kind of fashion. Before Eliot could tell him just what he thought about that, Parker’s ponytail swung into the side of his face, the thief reaching down to poke one of his hands faster than he could stop her.

By the time Eliot was able to refocus and pull himself back from the whiteout of pain, Parker and Hardison were looking at him with open concern, the hacker leaning back slightly, a little pale. Eliot thought he might have howled; he wasn’t sure. Both his hands were clenched tightly to his chest, wrists together, arms outward, wishbone shaped. He felt just as brittle as one, with their stares on him. He summoned the anger from his throat, the only weapon at his disposal (only half-expecting that it would work, always defenseless when it came to their prodding).

“Can you leave me the hell alone now?”

Hardison looked at him, taking his time formulating his thoughts, but it was Parker who spoke. “Nope.” Eliot turned to her where she was perched on the couch. “You get hurt taking care of us. Now you let us take care of you.”

Eliot looked at Hardison pleadingly, hoping he at least would take pity on him and let him wallow by himself. The hitter wanted to hide like the trap-escaped, half-dead badger whose den he had accidentally put his foot into half a lifetime ago in the Italian Alps, earning him an earful of hissing that scared the shit out of him. He wondered if he seemed as belligerent as that now.

Hardison just shrugged and smiled gently. “Hey, you heard the woman.” He leaned forward slightly, just enough in Eliot’s space to let him feel his warm presence without crowding. “Couldn’t get rid of us if you tried.”

He didn’t want to try, was the thing. It was only that it wasn’t their job to take care of him. It was his to take care of them. They just seemed to be wholly unaware of this.

“You taken anything for those yet?” Hardison asked, pointing at his hands. He hummed at Eliot’s slight head shake. “Thought so. Which ones?”

“White bottle, red pills. Only need a half,” Eliot mumbled, slouching. Parker was already up and heading to the bathroom.

“We need to get something you can actually open when this happens, some kind of spring-loaded catch maybe,” Hardison mused. “Alright, let me see them.” He patted his legs, frowning at Eliot’s growl. “C’mon, none of that. I know they hurt, I’ll be really, really gentle. I won’t even touch without asking.”

Eliot looked him in the eye for the sincerity he already knew would be there, the eagerness to help that (damn him) was one of his favorite traits of Hardison’s. Hesitantly, he extended his hands, rolling his eyes at the hacker scooting forward to offer his knees to rest them on.

“I assume you got antiseptic and ointment on these knuckles already, so totally disregarding those, even though it sucks. Nothing broken?”

“No, just. Aches. Like a son of a bitch. Can’t make a damn fist. Happens sometimes.”

Parker bounded back in, armed with a glass of water and half a pill in her open hand. “So no jobs for a while. Easy, I’ll tell Nate. Open up.” With a scowl, Eliot took the medication from her fingers with his teeth (gently, gently), and let her raise the glass to his lips, nearly choking as she tipped it a little eagerly, and choking for real when Hardison said, “Whoa, woman, let him swallow.”

“It’s not just the last job, Park, it’s jobs two years ago, or five, or ten,” Eliot managed, once he had his breath back. “Part of the package that comes with the lifestyle. It just happens sometimes, don’t matter what schedule we’re on.”

She frowned. “Still. We shouldn’t be doing jobs if you’re hurt. Nate should know that.”

Hardison leaned forward a little more while he was distracted trying to find the right response to that, that they wouldn’t be doing any jobs at all if that were the case, that Nate trusted him to get the job done no matter what, reaching out to his forearm and stopping just a hair’s breadth shy of touching. The hitter froze, and Hardison did too, meeting his eyes. “It’s ok. I’m just trying something out. Is it alright if I touch you here?” At his tiniest of nods, the hacker placed his fingertips on his arm, rubbing circles so lightly that Eliot almost couldn’t feel it. “Let me know where it starts to hurt, okay?” Hardison applied the slightest pressure as he added his other hand and lightly started rubbing down his forearm. When he got to his wrist, Eliot couldn’t help the strangled noise that partly escaped through his nose, high and strained. Hardison moved away from there immediately, going back to tracing soothing, gentle patterns. “You’re ok, you’re ok. I can work with this, no problem. Where do you keep your hot pads, man?”

“Bathroom, lower right drawer,” Eliot grit out. Parker was zipping off to get it and warm it up before he could even process. Hardison applied a little more pressure with his fingertips, rubbing the meat of his forearm. Eliot breathed out long and slow at how good it felt once the initial ache had ebbed.

“I want to try giving you a hand massage, but I don’t wanna hurt you more than it would help,” Hardison said, pausing slightly. “You up for it? I’m not gonna pressure you either way.”

Eliot’s thoughts stuttered, and then bolted in different directions. The feeling that he didn’t deserve this, that this was too much to ask, which had been simmering this whole time leapt to life again. It joined with the wounded, snarling animal part of him that still wanted to hide, burrow down with the covers over his head until his pain faded into the muted background noise of the world. He didn’t even know if a hand massage would work, might make the pain worse.

But it might be nice, a small, hopeful part of him murmured. Eliot couldn’t remember the last time he had been offered something like this, let alone the last time he had taken the person up. If there was anyone he trusted to do it, if there was anyone he wanted to receive it from, it was these two. How could he refuse them even he wasn’t fully on board with what they were suggesting?

“Sure, just…” Eliot said as Parker returned with the hot pad, pausing from tossing it hand to hand like a hot potato to fix her stare on him. He licked his lips, swallowed around a dry throat. “Just be gentle.”

“I will,” Hardison said earnestly, taking the hot pad from Parker to gently maneuver it under Eliot’s hands, resting on his knees. Eliot tensed slightly as the thief leapt up onto the back of the couch, perching above his head, but otherwise relaxed as the warmth of the hot pad started to loosen the ache in his hands. Hardison started where he had before, applying the slightest pressure to the hitter’s forearm. Parker ran her fingertips lightly through his hair, humming.

“Your hair is kinda wonky,” she said, fingers catching on a tangle. Eliot winced.

“That’s what happens when you go to bed without brushing it properly, you know that,” he grumbled, breath hitching as her fingertips grazed his scalp. His breath stuttered again as Hardison’s hands started working towards the sore meat of his wrist. Eliot’s hand began to shake.

“It’s ok baby, I got you,” Hardison murmured under his breath, more soothing sound than words. Eliot cracked open an eye to see him looking between his hands and his phone, playing a video where it was propped on his thigh.

“Man, are you watching hand massage tutorials right now?” he gritted out, doing a poor job of masking his genuine amusement with frustrated disbelief.

The hacker tapped his index finger against Eliot’s arm lightly. “I’ve been watching videos dude; think you’re so slick, tryna hide your hand pain from me. I just wanna make sure I get it right in real time.”

Parker’s fingers running through Eliot’s hair more boldly silenced any follow-up thoughts he had, mind going fuzzy with how good it felt. Without thinking, he insistently pushed his head up further into her touch, making her laugh. The sound reverberated in his chest, leaving him longing to hear it again. Instead a half-whine left his throat as Hardison probed the bottom of Eliot’s palm, the ache drawing him back to full awareness.

The hacker backed off for a moment. “Sorry, sorry. You still cool to keep going?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eliot breathed shakily.

“Just tell me if there’s anyplace else that needs to be handled more delicately, or you don’t want me going at all,” Hardison said, putting his clever hands to Eliot’s again and taking up his gentle, slow pace. Parker’s fingers had paused in his hair a second, but went back to running through it again, scratching his scalp on every other pass.

Slowly, slowly, the vice of pain on Eliot’s hands started to dissipate, bone by bone, finger by finger. He don’t know how long he sat there in a haze, as Hardison and Parker patiently touched him, fixated on the single task of caring for him. The thought made the tender space behind his breastbone twinge. When he surfaced from the half-asleep contentment of their efforts, the television was on, Star Trek playing at the lowest volume. Eliot grunted, lifting his head from the couch to look at the two of them sitting beside him, grinning at his movements. Hardison’s warm hand was still in his, but instead of massaging he was just holding it softly.

“Hey sleepy,” teased Parker, throwing herself over Hardison to get closer and forcing an “Oof!” out of him.

Eliot looked down to his hands, flexing one experimentally, in disbelief at how the ache had faded to an almost imperceptible hum. With the other he tightened his fingers around Hardison’s hand, moving his thumb lightly over his.

“Hey,” Eliot simply said back, a real smile rising to his lips.

[wingblade1357]

Here is that drama of Lilia and Hikari lol

originally I just plan to write a script like story, but... but... it turn to a full chapter, standing in 1000 words. Enjoy~~

this chapter was inspired by a song I’ve been listening to for a while. It is by an Indonesia singer, Raisa. The song is titled “Kali Kedua” or “The Second Time”. I’ll link the English lyrics so you guys can understand the lyrics.

Raisa, Kali Kedua English Lyrics

“I wish I had a camera with me now.”

“Lilia, you know you can just poof up a camera right here right now.”

The fae chuckled and with a wave of his hand, a camera appeared out of thin air. “Smile, my dear~~” he said and the girl posed a peace sign with both of her hands. “The three of you are so adorable~” he sighed fondly, cooing at the image.

“Surprisingly, they’re both heavy sleepers.” The brunette gently placed her hand on the little boy’s head, brushing his bangs away. “Silver, I expected, but Sebek? I didn’t know he could fall asleep five seconds after laying down.”

Lilia magically made the camera disappeared. He kneeled down. “Well, I guess you’ve worn them both out. They were so energetic during the whole day when you agreed to play with them.” he observed Silver’s sleeping face, smiling at the boy’s peaceful expression. “But bedtime is bedtime.” he took the little boy into his arms.

The brunette grinned as she gently lifted Sebek into her arms. The boy stirred in his sleep, nuzzling his head into the crook of her neck as he wrapped his arm around her. The two caretakers made their way back to the castle, ready to tuck the two little boys into their beds. The two boys and the babysitter had snuck out to go on a night stroll and stargaze by the castle’s garden.

Lilia looked down. “I think they just want to spend more time with you.” he said with his eyes closed. Hikari looked at the shorter man before turning her gaze to the boy in her arms. She patted his back gently, a small smile across her lips. “They knew you were leaving tomorrow. The both of them managed to convince me to skip today’s lesson, so they can play with you.”

“How sweet.” Hikari cooed. “I didn’t think they'd like me at first since they thought I was a scary thief coming to harm the Young Lord.” she laughed at the memory while also keeping her voice down.

Oh how could Lilia forget?

The fae chuckled. “It was amusing.”

“Partly my fault for always coming here with a dark cape and all that…” the brunette sighed.

“How time flies.”

“That was only two weeks ago, but yes. Time flies when you’re having fun.”

The two finally reached the boys’ room and tucked them to bed.

Hikari gently closed the door and she raised an eyebrow when she caught Lilia staring at her. She raised her eyebrows, a slanted smile appearing on her lips when the fae didn’t look away. “What? Did Sebek and Silver draw something on my face?”

Lilia chuckled into his fist. “You look fine, my dear.” he reassured and the girl childishly wiped invincible sweat off of her forehead. He couldn’t help but smile whenever she was around. Whatever silly gesture or whatever jokes, he couldn’t help himself. “Are you sure you can’t stay for a few more days? For the boys?” he asked, tilting his head a little.

“You know I can’t…” Hikari answered with a soft sigh. She glanced to look at the boys’ room. “But I’m considering it… just to you know… see their adorable reactions.” she hummed, rubbing her chin as she began to reconsider.

Lilia smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He knew she was just joking. “May I take you out for a stroll in the garden, my dear?” he bowed like a gentleman, holding his arm for her to hook her own arm with him.

“Why, of course.” The wielder did a curtsy before linking her arms with his.

The night was chilly. The early Autumn breeze gently blows from the north. The moon was bright, shining above them like a spotlight and illuminating their way as they took a peaceful stroll around the garden.

“So... “ Hikari began, stretching the o. “Whatcha wanna talk about?”

“You know me too well.” Lilia chuckled. They’ve known each other for quite awhile and while Hikari often leaves after two weeks of staying with him and Malleus in the Valley of Thorns, they manage to build up a bond like no other. The strongest knights, brave and powerful. “A question for a fair lady.”

“Alright, hit me with your quiz!”

“What does being a wielder mean to you?” Lilia questioned, stopping in his tracks, making the brunette walking beside him stop as well.

Hikari blinked. “Huh…” it was a heavy question and judging from Lilia’s expression he was serious about it. She wasn’t sure why Lilia brought it up again. They had this conversation before, where he asked if she always wanted to be a wielder. “It means everything. I wouldn’t be able to protect anyone or meet all of you if I hadn’t accepted the keyblade.” she answered honestly.

Lilia sighed softly, a wistful smile. “I knew you would say that.” they were by the fountain area. The sound of the water from the fountain and the crickets chirping were the only one that could be heard as the two were basked in silence. “Each visit leaves a wider gap. Hundreds of years have passed since we’ve known each other. We don’t truly know when you will return to your own time and your own world.”

Hikari followed him closer to the fountain and waited for him to continue.

“Which is why, my dear, tonight… I’m confessing my feelings to you.”

The brunette turned to look at him, eyes wide and jaw dropped.

“Lilia…” Hikari bit her bottom lip. There were mixed feelings. He could see it all. “May I ask since when did you start having these feelings?”

“354 years ago.” Lilia answered honestly. “The battle with the Heartless was what made my feeling clear that you are more than just a fellow knight.”

“I’m so sorry.” The first thing that came out of her mouth was an apology. She was frustrated at herself. “I didn’t know. Lilia, I’m so sorry.”

The fae gave her a smile, shaking his head.

He chuckled, tilting his chin up to gaze at the moon. “I wanted to let you know before I regret not saying anything.” He turned his gaze to look at her again, gently taking her hands into his. “I respect your position as a wielder, but there’s a selfish part of me that wishes for you to stay by my side.”

“Lilia… You know I can’t… This is not my timeline.” The wielder didn’t know she could feel so many emotions at the same time. Her position as a wielder made it mandatory for her not to stay, but her friendship and feelings for the fae made her think twice. She had never thought about him that way, but as soon as he confessed, she began to think of all the times they spent together. “I might cause something bad to happen if I stay too long.”

“I know…” Lilia gave a bittersweet smile. “But I was hoping you would reconsider. I’m not just a regular fae with a few years worth of knowledge.”

Hikari cupped his cheeks, staring down at him. “Lilia… You deserve someone better. I made you wait for 354 years.” she looked at him straight in the eyes. “I would just hurt you more.”

Lilia brought Hikari’s hand up to his lips. He kissed her knuckles gently, his bright eyes staring at her.  

“And I wouldn’t mind waiting for another thousand.”

[pinnithin-writes]

The First: Aftermath (Part 3)

A collaborative work between myself and @reneethecyborg on what happened after Lupin III: The First. Part 3 of 4, 1332 words.

“I’m going to get a brain freeze.”

“Then take it off.”

The world’s greatest thief sighed and made no attempt to remove the ice pack from his neck, so Goemon got up from his chair and did it for him. Revealing the dark purple bruises on his throat brought a grimace to Goemon’s face.

“You’re lucky you can still breathe,” he intoned.

Lupin only croaked, “occupational hazard,” and cracked a grin.

Goemon shook his head as he sat back down. It was dark in the safehouse bedroom and the rain pattered soft outside. Jigen should be returning from town soon after his late night call to INTERPOL, leaving Goemon on hospital duty. His hands were just as skilled with sutures as they were with a sword, so the task of stitching Lupin back together generally fell to him, anyway.

The ice pack chilled his fingers. He set it on the floor beside his chair, where it clinked against the empty whiskey glass.

He had been sitting there listening to Lupin’s labored breathing for several hours now. This seemed a step further than the usual part-of-the-job wear and tear. The details of what happened in the airship were still unclear, but judging by the injuries the man had sustained, Goemon could draw his own conclusions.

In this line of work, Goemon had experienced it all. Fractures, lacerations, concussions - he kept a telltale tally. Some of it was to be expected, and he had long grown past being squeamish around the smell of blood or the cracking of bone. But as his hands had traced over the ruin of Lupin’s ribcage earlier that night, he couldn’t help but feel something insidious behind the welts and bruises.

Lupin had been utterly thrashed up there. Swung around like a tetherball, a punching bag for a madman. The rage had ebbed from Goemon’s nerves a while ago, leaving only exhausted frustration in its wake. There was nothing he could do about it except clean the blood from his face, and that was possibly the worst part of all this. He couldn’t un-break Lupin the Third. He couldn’t kill the man responsible for his pain.

He couldn’t even hold it against Lupin for getting involved. Moth-to-flame missions of saving the world were his modus operandi. He took to them like he had something to prove.

Delicately, he reached for Lupin’s freshly realigned wrist with one hand, checking the pulse, the joint, feeling out his carpals and tendons to make sure everything was where it should be. His radial artery fluttered against his fingertips. He wasn’t fine, but he would be. Goemon had to keep reminding himself of this.

“Sorry you have to do all this.”

Lupin’s voice was thick with pain, coming and going periodically throughout the night as he fell in and out of consciousness. In the present dimness, Goemon could no longer see him clearly, but he still flicked his gaze seriously in his direction. He did not let go of his wrist.

“Occupational hazard,” he shot back matter-of-factly.

Lupin’s attempt to laugh broke into a pathetic whine. “Shit, this sucks,” he bemoaned dramatically. “Is this the price I pay for glory?”

Goemon did not want to exacerbate the damage done to Lupin’s windpipe or his fractured ribs, but the frustration simmering under his skin prompted a hot response.

“You could perhaps tone it back.”

Lupin answered with a smile in his voice. “Don’t be silly. We both know I can’t.”

“Can’t,” Goemon answered tersely, “or won’t?”

Silence followed, but it was brief. “Can’t,” Lupin insisted. “It’s in my DNA. I can’t help it.”

“Sure.”

He heard a soft rustle of sheets and then a grunt of pain from Lupin. No doubt he had tried to habitually talk with his free hand. This restless rubber band of a man would likely be back on his feet sooner rather than later, no matter what state his bones were in. Goemon scraped his chair closer and skimmed up to his elbow, checking the joint with careful fingers.

“I’ve told you, I have a responsibility,” Lupin went on, his voice quieter than before. “A legacy to uphold. Granddad set me on this path and I have to follow it.”

He didn’t have to, Goemon wanted to say, but he kept his mouth shut. He knew all about legacies, though his was far longer and more impersonal than Lupin’s was. Goemon Ishikawa the First, who thieved his way straight into folklore generations ago, had set the bar so high it was nigh unattainable. This removed the burden of responsibility somewhat from Goemon’s shoulders; he could content himself with only being a man and a myth when the position of legend was already taken.

Unlike the man in the bed beside him, Goemon didn’t have the stain of his father’s deeds to scrub out of his genes, but the Ishikawa line still worked alongside Lupin’s on the road to an early death. He understood his proclivity for destiny far better than most.

After a moment, Goemon just frowned and said, “I know.”

He examined his shoulder next, the one that had been knocked out of alignment sometime between the Hitler impersonation and the Eclipse implosion. Lupin had managed to jimmy it back into its proper place after arriving at the safehouse, while Goemon had struggled to get him to lie still. The swelling wasn’t nearly as bad as it was around his throat and abdomen, but the area was undeniably tender after whatever collision had caused the injury.

Lupin was silent as he let Goemon inspect him, his breathing shallow against his protesting ribcage. It was likely he had fallen back into his own thoughts, or he had simply given up trying to speak through the pain. Goemon’s fingertips traced the curve of his shoulder where the bones met as gently as they could. Wounds upon wounds, surviving one after the other. This man was a patchwork of miracles.

He heard Lupin let out a shaky exhale, nearly inaudible.

“I’m going to need you to take a couple deep breaths,” Goemon said at length.

“No, thank you,” Lupin grimaced.

“Okay,” Goemon replied tonelessly. “Have fun catching a lung infection, then.”

Lupin simmered in a few seconds of sulking before he complied. As he drew in breath after shaky breath, Goemon could feel the tremors under his skin, hear the hitch in his throat that betrayed his pain. He let his hand drop from his shoulder. Waited it out until he could give him the order to stop.

Coughing out a laugh, Lupin settled back against the sheets. “Maybe someone should do this to Jigen, eh?” he joked. “Finally kick that smoking habit for good.”

Goemon hummed his disapproval. “You don’t have to do that.”

Lupin’s daisy grin dropped like a deadhead; Goemon sensed it in his tone. “Do what?”

“That act you do,” he elaborated, his voice low and sharp. “You’re hurting. We know. And you don’t have to hide it from us.”

Lupin didn’t bother to answer, and Goemon only felt a little bit guilty about it. Sometimes he felt that this was a poor way of loving Lupin, pressuring him to become a smaller version of himself. To live a little quieter, to play with a little more caution.

But he couldn’t love a person if they were dead. Even if the two of them were destined for an untimely end, Goemon at least wanted to be there with him when it happened.

Beyond the walls of the bedroom, Goemon’s ears caught the tumblers of a lock turning and then the subsequent pressure change of the front door opening. Jigen’s light footfalls shuffled softly on the carpet; he had returned from his trip into town and likely had information to report.

“You did a good thing today,” Goemon told Lupin, rising from his chair. “But maybe have a better regard for your own life next time.”

With that, he left the room to meet Jigen at the front door.

Part 2 (by Cosma) < --- > Part 3 (by Pin) < --- > Part 4 (by Cosma)

[galactic-dragoness]

Perhaps SlyFox short featuring the line: "It's just the two of us... who's going to find out?"

I had the idea in my head for a while, but my writing skills are lacking lol

I gotchu!

The thief scales his way up the decent-sized building in Paris in the darkness – counting the floor levels as he goes.

Eventually he stops at the window. His target. He swiftly fiddles with the latch to the window, and like magic, it opens.

But as soon as he swings his body inside and his feet softly, softly touch the ground – the light flicks on and he hears the cocking of a shock pistol.

The intruder finds himself staring at a disheveled but angry young fox woman in bed. He raises his hands and smiles in greeting.

“Relax ‘Lita, it’s just me.”

The vixen huffs and lowers her gun. “Ringtail, what have I told you about breaking into my place without a notice?”

The raccoon man chuckles. “Don’t you like surprises?”

She rises from her place on the bed and approaches him. “Not really. Any surprise from you can go sideways fast.”

When she’s close enough he automatically wraps his arms around her and buries his face in her neck – showering her with playful kisses.

“Well that’s not very fun” he murmurs in-between kisses. “A life without a little shock here and there isn’t a life – it’s a schedule.”

Carmelita Fox hums in reply as her lover embraces her. She strokes the back of his neck and he pulls away to gaze at her.

“So what brings you here tonight?”

Sly Cooper shrugs. “I just couldn’t stay away from you.”

“Sweet, but try again.”

He cocks his head. “Beg your pardon?”

“You’re not being fully honest with me. You have a tell you know, when you lie.”

He replaces his face on where her neck meets her shoulder and bites ever so gently. “You know me so well…”

“Ah...hey…”

He pulls her closer, biting and sucking down her neck to her shoulder.

“Easy Ringtail...don’t get carried away. And don’t try to divert my attention either…”

“Can’t we just make love and forget about it? I’ve missed you…”

“Hey.”

He sighs in defeat and pulls away from her. She stares at him – eyes hard.

“I’m not going to ask again. Why are you here?”

“You’ll laugh at me if I tell you.”

“That’s absurd.”

He looks away and hesitates, unsure of what to say. Carmelita studies him, and her detective instincts immediately notice the dark circles under his eyes, his tail twitching restlessly.

“Are you having trouble sleeping?” She asks.

He looks back at her. “Kind of…”

“Kind of?”

The raccoon says nothing. Carmelita’s tail flicks with impatience.

“Ringtail, please, tell me what’s wrong.”

Sly looks into her amber eyes and decides to come clean.

“I had a bad dream, and I wanted to sleep with you.”

She cocks her eyebrow. “Sleep as in..?”

“Nothing sexual. Just, y’know, sleep together in the same bed.”

“Oh…”

He frowns. “You think it’s silly, right?”

“No! Of course not!”

“Then what are you thinking?”

The fox woman breaks eye contact, just for a moment. “I’m not opposed to it...it’s just...won’t your gang notice that you’re gone?”

“They’re cool, they won’t ask.”

“You haven’t told them about us right?”

“Of course I haven’t – I know how much it’s important to you that this is a secret.”

Carmelita says nothing in response.

“Is there something else you’re worried about?” Sly asks.

“I don’t want someone to see you in the morning. People might ask questions…”

“Carmelita, it’s just the two of us. Who’s going to find out?”

The vixen sighs. “I know, I know, I just...there’s a lot at stake here Cooper.”

“Listen, if you’re not comfortable I can just go…”

“I don’t want you to leave,” she says very suddenly.

“Okay, I won’t.”

The Inspector pulls away from the thief and closes the window behind them – locking it. She draws the blinds and turns back to her partner.

“I hope you brought pajamas. And please take off your boots.”

__________________________

The raccoon and the fox lay together in the sheets, cuddled next to each other.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Carmelita asks.

“About what?”

“The dream.”

“Oh...well...I think you know…”

“I do.”

There’s a pause, then the fox woman speaks.

“I’ve...read your case files. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry that you’ve read my files?”

“Don’t be an ass. I’m trying to help.”

“Right...sorry.”

Another pause.

“You didn’t deserve what happened to you.”

Sly says nothing, and Carmelita continues.

“I’m also sorry that the justice system failed you.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I know, but something should’ve been done regardless. You shouldn’t have had to track down all of the Five and dealt with them. That was supposed to be our job.”

“And yet here we are.”

“Are you angry?”

Sly scoffs. “At you? Absolutely not – that would be asinine.”

“I know it is...I just...I can’t help but feeling that I could’ve done more.”

He kisses her cheek. “You did plenty.”

A third pause.

“Sly?”

“Hm?”

“You know that we can’t keep this up forever.”

“...I am aware. That’s why we should enjoy it now.”

“I don’t want this to end badly, for either one of us.”

“Me too.”

“If Interpol finds out…”

“Carmelita, the more you think about it the more upset you’ll get.”

“But we need to make a plan in case someone actually does find out!”

“And we will. But right now we’re safe, we’re together. That’s all that matters.”

Carmelita prepares to retort, but Sly silences her with a kiss.

As they break apart Sly gazes at his vixen lovingly. She chuckles.

“Eventually that technique of yours won’t work on me one day.”

He purrs and turns over, spooning her from behind.

As the two mammals slowly fall asleep together, Sly whispers into Carmelita’s black-tipped ear.

“Je t’aime”

The vixen smiles. “Te amo, Ringtail.”

No more words were exchanged that night. Just soft breaths of sleep.

[stragglewort]

Tales of Barovia - “One-Offs in the Mist“

Picture from WarlordStrahd on World Anvil - copyright Wizards of the Coast

TW: Blood, fighting, burning, kidnapping

_______________________________________________

“A Royal Visit in the Blue-Water Inn” -

     This was the result of our DM bringing a certain someone to our tavern room after a rousing day causing trouble in Vallaki. He, of course, left us off on a two-week cliffhanger - naturally I had to fill in the blanks. (Ardolf, in-fact, did not get kidnapped by Strahd at the end of this encounter. Strahd did, in-fact, leave through the window in a puff of mist.) 

----------

        Ardolf jumped for Irenea. Grabbing her shoulders and drawing her back with whatever sliver of strength he had in him. His hands flickered with a faint light blue – the color of wards – the magic shimmering from his fingertips like thread being pulled from the air. It was pitiful compared to his usual show, but his magic (what little he was practiced with to start) had been drained through the chaos of the day. It left just a light, fading glow that engulfed the woman before the color seeped from both the glimmer on his fingers and the tan of his face. Even in the darkness he had gone noticeably pale.

        That was the last of the magic he could conjure on his own; without the intervention of the divines he would need to rely on his shield and the others around him if the Devil decided to pull anything hostile.

        "You look ghostly, have you been eating well?" Strahd rose from the seat, taunting them, and the whole party shifted. He strode forward, walking with the confidence of a man who knew none could oppose him.

        Honestly? He was right.

        He grimaced at the ward, looking down at the woman who glared back with a fiery rage. If the magic held, he could hurt her – sure – but he couldn't charm her, couldn't scare her. Ardolf held solace in that idea since it took the rest of his wavering energy to keep the spell functional.

        "Doctor – Physician General – You do care quite so much about these people you've never met." Strahd ran a single sharp nail across the woman's cheek, moving slowly, taking care not to cut her. No one dared to move, but they watched, stunned –

        "Don't touch -" Ardolf started, but Zarovich continued.

        "…And the paladin, the Templar, here to spread the joy of your god to the dark reaches of a land who doesn't even know its name." Imposing on the Elvish woman he tapped gingerly against her shield, scraping the holy symbol etched in its body. "Lastly? You two." He almost chuckled, facing the thief and warlock. "We're a little more personal, you being here for my head." He stopped again, towering over them while the party tried in vain to stagger away. "Really, doctor. You should've saved your spells for yourself." His hand shot, first what looked to be towards Irenea before it shifted, like a crossbow bolt curved by the wind, and grabbed the doctor by his throat.

        Strahd was strong, terribly, horrifyingly strong –

        "Tell me, doctor. Could you spare the dying while bleeding out on the floor? Could you mend their wounds with your throat ripped out?" His voice lowered to an icy whisper, his hollow eyes meeting Ardolf’s before he broke out into mischievous, freezing laughter. "Oh, but you can't, can you? You finally rely on your magic and you're all used up – pity."

        Ardolf couldn’t tell if he gasped or the others – he tried to speak – but Strahd’s grip tightened. Even if there were still some semblance of magic in the man, he wasn’t going to let him drudge it up.

        “Alright!” Strahd hummed, stepping back faster than the party could comprehend to catch him. Ardolf’s feet dragged across the floor in the shift. “You’ve refused everything, and I’ve been very generous, so I will give all of you one last offering out of politeness.” He had a strange idea of politeness, punctuated as he raised the doctor off the ground – lifting him like a ragdoll. If Ardolf didn’t realize he was supposed to be the leverage in some horrible plan, he would’ve feared Strahd would break his neck then and there.

        They hesitated, Ardolf hesitated, and Strahd waited for the split second it took them to process his words –

        “Stop this, please, stop this.” Irenea cried; her voice shrill but hushed.

        “Oh, I will!” Strahd answered, near instantly. “You know exactly how to make me do what you want… you just haven’t done it.”

        “Go.” Ardolf struggled the word out before he could feel nails pierce into flesh of his neck. “You –“ He winced. “You know where to go.” Did they? Did they really? The answer was no, but Strahd didn’t need to know that.

         He lessened his grip on the man’s throat, just enough to let him speak. “And that would be…?”

        “Anywhere but here.“ If they weren’t seeing things, it almost looked like Ardolf had grinned. Though the look cleaned off his face as Strahd scratched further into his neck, drawing blood.

        “Is that your decision, truly?” He scanned the room; they’d drawn their weapons, but the majority wouldn’t move with their only healer like puddy in his hands. He turned to face the rogue who had broken from the group to take him by surprise – catching him right before their own desperately calculated attack. “If that’s your decision, then you forfeit my kindness. It’ll be a chase, then?”

        “No! We can –“ The Templar started, pushing through the group.  

        “Yes.” Ardolf interrupted. Strahd grinned, that fanged smile the last thing the party saw before, in seconds, they both disappeared into out the window and into the night faster than was even comprehensible. The room now two monsters less.

        Where the Devil planned to take their doctor in this horrible, unwitting game of cat and mouse they had no idea. But the gods knew damn-well they’d scour every inch of Barvoia if it meant getting him back.

_______________________________________________

 “Impromptu Rendezvous” or “My Assumed Worst-Case-Scenario” OR “Me Not Knowing Anything about Ravenloft but Writing it Anyway”

        This one was from the far start of the campaign - Ardolf had just been found out to be a lycanthrope, we were just starting to learn about what Strahd was and how he worked, and I’d just been told about Ravenloft. Not to mention we’d just saved the Freek and Myrtle from the Old Bonegrinder. Even though we had actually found a place to keep the children safe, our DM still found a way to put them in danger by the ending battle.

---------

         There wasn't any place to secure the children, because of this Ardolf and the rest of the party had instead decided against their better judgement and brought them along. They'd been wandering around the borders of Castle Ravenloft for days by that point, daring to stay in one spot lest The Devil catch them intruding. At first Ardolf didn’t mind the idea of facing Zarovich alone - at the worst, he hoped the monster would make the encounter quick. But they had children now - even living in Barovia hadn't corrupted them, and their presence, along with the camaraderie from the others had given the poor doctor a sense of normalcy he hadn't realized he had lost.

        He was afraid to lose it again.

        It had become routine: move camp, fight the undead that horded around the castle, and do whatever possible to keep the others healthy. It nagged that Strahd could be watching them - it was almost impossible that he hadn't noticed their presence being so close to his home, but Ardolf chose not to focus too sorely on the idea. It's hard, though, when the thing you try to Ignore grabs you by the neck. He'd been bandaging a scratch on one of the children's arms when something, unbeknownst to either Ardolf or the young boy, grappled his neck and trapped him in a hold as tight as an iron trap.

       "And here we are...” A sharp, cackling voice whispered. “Blood, like wine, gets better with time - wouldn't you agree, doctor?" The voice hissed into his face, a cackle hinting under the words while they spoke.

       All his fears of being caught came to the fold - gods, so many ideas passed his mind over what he could do; functional ones, things that might help you when staked at the neck by a demon. But the child was there, he couldn't risk getting the boy hurt. Strahd's breath, cold, boasted against Ardolf's skin - he was too afraid to move.

        It was then that a too-familiar clawing dug in his stomach.

        The child had never seen him turn - it was such a silly worry, but he couldn't let his fear put the boy in any more danger than he was now already in. "....Letting that worry, that horror seep into the blood for days; it's really quite a delicacy. You should try it." The monster got closer, if it wasn't for the razors against his neck assuring Ardolf he was still alive, he would've assumed his heart had stopped. It beat too fast for him to process. He knew he had few options that didn't lead to his own instantaneous death, submission or aggression - neither were things he wished Freek to see. Ardolf hesitated, his voice shaking against his breath as he struggled to take in air -

        "Please... Freek, look away." Ardolf hushed, pleading.

        He wasn’t sure, then, as he let the curse take over if the boy had the time to get away.

_______________________________________________

"I Wonder What It’ll be Like... Trying to Kill Strahd”

        Something about lycanthropy, something about a silver family crest Ardolf carried around with him as motivation - this one wasn’t my idea, though!

...I just wrote it.

----------

        "It's a shame you came all this way for failure." Strahd's clothes were shred and his armor dented, but as a man he seemed entirely intact. The fight had gone on for hours and the party was nearly torn.

        "Get out of here, we can return again at a different time!" Ardolf threw a frantic wave to Lùthien and the party, he yelled, screamed that they retreat. He was trapped in front of the count, trembling, a tremble in his hands he'd mostly repressed, a tremble he couldn't quite get rid of. Strahd could see how much he tried to shadow his fear, how his resolve was mostly shattered. "You're a monster, Zarovich."

        "Such harsh words, Doctor. It's almost like you hate me." The vampire hissed.

        "Almost -" Ardolf mimicked while he readied himself again; the undeniable possibility of his death was already settled, with that in mind it made no sense to back down.

        "You're barely standing - what makes you think you can hit me?" That blasted, freezing laugh bellowed off the stone walls of Ravenloft's hall.

        "I managed it before -" He cut his own words off and swung his mace back after the vampire, pushing all his energy to aiming. It had to land, had to hit, just one more would be enough -

        "Gods, Ardolf - wait! Watch yourself!" Lùthien, having realized their healer wasn't with the party in their retreat turned and caught the scene just seconds too late. Strahd took advantage of the doctor's careless hope and struck him, forcing him into the ground as he sprawled across the carved brick inlay. He rolled over the tiling and the bag he'd kept so dearly close to his side broke open at the seams. Papers, ink, and fabric fell over the hall - one particular white cloth rattled from the casing and unfolded - revealing a brandished crest. Something not even Lùthien recognized.

        "What's... This?" Strahd spoke in a hollow whisper, the fear in the doctor's face when he approached the metal urged him further. A strange sun shaped sigil was molded on it's face - sternly carved common written over and under the polished seal. He took a moment to read the doctor's reaction before he lifted the small decorative piece off the ground. A short look of surprise - of shock - scrawled itself over his face. "Silver, doctor?" He asked before he continued his inspection. "No Man Left Defeated. Take it this is yours?"

        Ardolf hesitated, but ultimately refused an answer.

        "...Or your family's? You did say something about them. Human affairs, pathetic ones. How long has it been since you last saw them, Greymouth?" Strahd knelt to the doctor's side, came down to his level. Hardly humbly. "Years maybe, time moves slow in my world - slower than out there. They might've forgotten you. You might've even forgotten them?"

        "I wouldn't." Ardolf spat out, a sputtered cough cried out against the words.

        "Everyone forgets, doctor. Can you see their faces? Have their voices muffled?" The Count's eyes lit up with a bout of sudden realization. "I'm not a monster. Please, let me give you something to remember them by." It wasn't difficult ripping the canvased fabric of Ardolf’s shirt, the count's nails were practicality razors. He exposed his skin and before there was even time to react, forced the brandished symbol into his chest. The sound of a rough, searing hiss rang off the stone walls. It danced scattered with the doctor's screams while the silvered crest burned its image into his flesh.

_______________________________________________

        This one’s pretty different compared to my other posts, I know! I haven’t gotten around to writing much of anything new, school-work made working on drafts impossible. But! We just finished our Curse of Strahd campaign (which I used Ardolf as a character in) and I’ve had these saved in the memos of my phone forever. I thought about trying to post all the in-universe journal entries I wrote for Ardolf on here as well, but formatting those into a post might be a little much. 

Poor Ardolf, though. I would’ve written the others in the party - but I’ll be honest, I felt really bad writing any of the other player’s characters in these situations. They don’t deserve this kind of treatment; Ardolf just has the misfortune of being mine.

[ch4o7ix]

Edaclark - Singapore night

oh hello there. i said i was gonna post my edaclark fic here, so here i am. originally it was in portuguese, and for this i just googled, used an app and also made some modifications, but i think it’s okay! If the fic has any grammar mistake, feel free to say it.

Enjoy! <3

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

The cold night wind hit his face, his gaze distant, focused on the not-so-starry Singapore sky. Clark liked to be there at night, not only because of the pool he shared with beautiful ladies but also because of the beautiful view that the place affords him. Lowering his gaze, he could gradually see the illuminated city he loved so much. A smile formed on his face as he traced with his eyes the path he normally took during his runs. He really loved what he did, flying was wonderful but still ... the adrenaline he felt was not what he expected to feel.

Normally, the excitement of flying was not in the uncertainty of his victory, since it was guaranteed, but mainly in the fear of the plane falling in any way. And that was not a pleasant feeling to feel. He rested his head on his hands, a tired sigh coming out. He missed feeling the real thrill of a race, but the last time he tried to have a real competition it didn't end well.

Just thinking about the last race he had with Lewis made him feel guilty. He was not directly guilty of causing this accident, he knew very well who set up the veteran, but ... he still felt his chest tighten with the overwhelming sense of guilt. This feeling intensified when he remembered his newest mechanic, Edamura. Although he disguised it well, his look of disgust directed at the men who ruined his former employer's life was quite remarkable.

The young competitor, if he could really call himself that, just wanted to be able to have a real contest, without scripts, without frames. Sure, he loves his brother, but he couldn't deny that the methods he uses are, in addition to being harmful, dangerous. The prince was tired, tired of the guilt he carried, tired of his brother's "scripted entertainment", tired of this false emotion, tired of lying.

Clark takes one of his hands to his hair, pulling it back, letting out a long breath. Problems and guilt are not going to go away with that, but at least that little gesture calms the young man.

The man is startled to hear the sound of footsteps, accompanied by a relatively loud yawn. He turned around, hoping to find a guest coming to get some air or even the older Ibrahim. But he was surprised to find a well-known mechanic, Makoto Edamura, walking towards him with a small smile on his lips. He felt his heart skip a beat, smiling back at the Japanese.

— Good night, Clark! – he said, his lovely accent noticeable even with that simple sentence.

— Hi Edamura! – The older one smiled, watching the smaller one lean against the fence that prevented them from falling while looking at the sky with a frown. – What happened? Are you cold? – He asked, even though he knew that the white sweatshirt the other was wearing was probably warm enough.

— No, I just ... I imagined that the sky here would be more starry. When I talked to Cynthia she told me that the view from up here was so beautiful. – He sounded disappointed, turning to the one with the dark blue eyes as if silently asking: "Do you understand?", making him nod in understanding, looking away again at the sky.

— It's quite annoying that the city is so bright at night that we can't even see the stars in the sky. But still, it's a beautiful view, depending on where you look. – He lowered his vision, leading Makoto to follow his gaze to the illuminated city, a breathtaking sight. The mechanic's eyes shone and he smiled in awe at the view, the sounds of the city gradually synchronizing and forming a unique soundtrack for that moment, which was attentively watched by the younger Ibrahim, who felt his chest warm and the damn butterflies if they churn in your stomach.

Edamura's smile is beautiful. Clark would do anything to be able to see him smile like that more often and would do anything to be the reason for that smile. Since he talked to the man for the first time, the prince felt something for him. He didn't know how to name it, but he knew it was complex ... and good. When the brown eyes met him again, filled with enthusiasm and shining with the reflection of the Singapore lights, Clark felt his stomach turn seven times in clockwise and counterclockwise direction, causing some sickness in the older man. Sometimes the feeling was not so good.

— Do you come here a lot? You must come, I never got to see a city from above, and from here everything is so bright! It even makes me forget about the fear of heights, you know? – He looked back at the city, taking his cell phone out of his sweatshirt pocket to take a picture. The older one smiled silly, seeing his face concentrated to take a perfect picture.

— Yes, it is. – "but not as much as you", he wanted to say, however, kept the thought to himself. – But I thought you lived in Tokyo before, how have you never seen anything like it? – He asked, making Makoto turn his face to face him, lowering his cell phone slightly, beyond the glass fence. "Oh, oh, I already see where this is going," he thought, looking back into the man's chocolate eyes.

— I'm afraid of heights, so the most I've seen were in pictures. – he replied to the surprise of the Singaporean, who until then imagined that every Japanese would have seen the city from above at least once in his life, as cariocas would do with Christ the Redeemer.

— If you are afraid of heights, then don't worry, my little Edamura! – he dictated, placing his hand on his chest gloriously, before hugging the smaller one from behind, drawing a small exclamation followed by a laugh from him. – Your prince here will see to it that neither you nor your cell phone – he took the device from the other's hands, who were protesting with laughter. – fall from that deadly height! – Finally, Clark gave a kiss on the top of the mechanic's head, who stopped laughing, still surprised by the action of the bigger one.

Makoto turned in his embrace, raising his face with a frown, his cheeks so red it looked like he had even been slapped, not a hug. Clark felt his heart accelerate again, his mouth slightly open and his eyes locked on that beautiful face, in the eyes that he had so often compared with chocolate, in his slender nose, his lips forming that attractive pout, so inviting… His body moved involuntarily, and when he found himself, Clark was just inches away from kissing the brown-haired man, who was in shock in his embrace.

The proximity between them was sufficient for them to be breathing the same air, but still, neither of them dared to move for a good two minutes. Two minutes that lasted an eternity. An eternity that Clark was enjoying. He was enjoying feeling the synchrony between his breaths, his heart beating together with that of the Japanese, the looks they exchanged, and the fact that so far, the other has not retreated. That was good, right? Perhaps it was by surprise, but even after the time of the initial shock, he did not move.

The older man's unoccupied hand was placed on the other's back, a move that was enough to get Edamura out of the initial trance. He quickly emerged from the prince's embrace, whirling a little and then stopping some distance from him, showing a mocking smile and waving his cell phone over his head. Ibrahim was still processing the fact that the moment between the two ended when he realized that the device was no longer in his hands. When did he get it?

— I didn't know you were the type to steal, Edamura! – He laughed, one eyebrow raised while still trying to understand when the cell phone left his hands.

— It's that saying: thief who steals thief, has a thousand years of forgiveness! – He laughed, going to the pool area while unlocking the device, being followed by the pilot.

— I never heard that saying, but for me, if you rhyme, then I'll believe it. – he said, trying to get Makoto's cell phone again. This one, however, was faster, deviating fully while walking again, taking care not to get too close to the pool. – If a thief steals the thief who stole it, how many years of forgiveness would he gain?

— And you think you could steal me? – the brown-haired one asked in disbelief, crossing his arms and consequently hiding the cell phone from Clark's heavy hands, receiving only a smile from the other. – Okay, if a thief manages to steal the thief who stole it, I think he would have... Ten years of forgiveness!

— Only ten?! Why?

— Because that means the robbery was a success in the end. A thief was unable to steal, but the thief who was stolen in the beginning continued with the stolen item, so he remains guilty of theft. – He smiled victoriously as he faced the employer's expression of defeat, who only sighed in response to his hypothetical arrest.

Almost a second later, Clark surprised Makoto by jumping on him, but as usual, he swerved gracefully...

— Haha! I told you that you- –… to immediately take a step towards the edge of the pool. At that moment, Edamura could have sworn he saw his life passing like a short film before his eyes, one of the most striking phrases being that of Abby, calling him a virgin for the hundredth time.

Clark luckily held his hand, preventing the fall from occurring. Both smiled in relief before the betrayal occurred. Clark took the damn cell phone from the mechanic, who widened his eyes in disbelief at the older man's attitude. As soon as his objective was in his hands, a final evil smile was given towards his friend, before his hand dropped him to his icy death.

The sound of the fall was painful to hear, mainly because drops of cold water from the pool reached the prince, but in the end, he was still dry and had managed ten years of forgiveness.

— You are an asshole! – Makoto said as soon as he emerged, frowning and drenched, like a cat that ended up falling into the water unintentionally, which was not far from reality. – You are a bastard and an asshole!

— I am not the one in a pool, in the cold, and on top of clothes. – Ibrahim scoffed, placing the cell phone on one of the chairs that were nearby, to crouch in front of the angry Japanese. – But I can think of helping you with one condition! – he said with his index finger raised and a wide smile growing in his face. – For a kiss, I-

And again, the sound of a body submerging in the icy water was heard. Makoto gave a short and evil laugh with his revenge. Clark emerged quickly, already shivering with a frown instead of his usual smile.

— Ugly face for me is hunger. – Makoto said, resting his elbows on the edge of the pool as he watched the Singaporean dive and appear on his side, looking more comfortable with the temperature, although he still trembles slightly.

— Your luck is that it's not that cold today. – The pilot leaned on the edge of the pool sulking. – And you cursed me earlier, you cursed someone from royalty! – he exclaimed, almost convincing the minor that the offenses offended him, narrowly failing due to his exaggerated facial expression.

— Well, maybe I can think of helping you. – the scammer said, joining in the game and imitating the mocking air that the prince had taken when he offered him help. – For a kiss, maybe I can forgive you, how about? – He asked with a raised eyebrow.

Even though Clark knew it was a joke, he couldn't help the uncontrollable urge to try and get that forgiveness. And it was a stupid idea, he certainly shouldn't even consider it, since it would probably be a badly received kiss and would end any chance he had with the mechanic, even if they were tiny. But you know... Clark Ibrahim was never afraid to execute stupid ideas. Of course, the last one he executed ended up severely hurting one of his best friends, preventing him from doing one of the things he loved the most, but there were no lives at stake now! Maybe his, if he were to consider what his older brother used to be, but, no! No lives at stake!

And it was with this assurance of the only trusting voice in his head, that the Ibrahim approached the smaller one, who just looked at him with a small smile and a confused expression. He just smiled back, taking a hand to his chin and lifting him up, simultaneously bringing their faces together until their noses touched. His breathing was heavy and he could feel his hands tingling, just as he could feel the rhythmic heartbeat of the youngest. Before proceeding, he looked at those chocolatey eyes again, surprised to find that the man was also looking at him.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and kissed the other one, still a little anxious about his response to the act. When he realized that he hadn’t moved, the man turned away regretfully, taking his hand to the back of the neck, and avoiding eye contact with the youngest, who just looked at him without understanding. Clark was sweating cold, the anxiety intensifying his shaking a little and causing a lump to form in his throat. Maybe he didn't like the kiss, maybe he was going to hate him for going out kissing him like it was nothing, maybe he was scared and so he didn't react, but that wasn't necessarily good, so...

"Oh, shit, I fucked it up!", The thought echoed in his mind, as he felt his breathing quicken, a whirlwind of hypotheses crossing his mind.

— Clark? – Edamura called, placing a hand on his shoulder.

— I’m sorry! I-I should have asked you before doing something like that, I know you were kidding, I just- – he didn't finish the sentence, since Makoto's moist and slightly cracked lips reached his before.

— It's ok! – he dictated as he parted their lips, getting closer to the pilot and placing a hand on his face, lightly brushing his beard. Makoto lightly stroked Clark's cheek with his thumb while watching him fondly. – It's okay, I was just a little surprised. I didn't think you were really going to kiss me! – He said with a smile, his accent pulled up again. The older man's cheeks heated up, and he finally looked into his friend's (Lover? It was just a kiss) eyes again. – When in doubt, it doesn't hurt to ask! – His warm smile touched the biggest one immensely.

Ibrahim nodded, holding it for a moment in Makoto's small hand, his eyes closed, appreciating the heat it emanated. He heard the water stir, and soon felt Makoto's body closer to his, the weight of his head on his shoulder and his free hand lightly caressing his arm. He soon wrapped him in a hug, and the two of them stood there, hugging each other, in their clothes in a pool, for a while.

Unlike the other moments of that night, when a touch that was even more intimate with Makoto made Clark's heart race, now the only things he felt were comfort and peace. Despite being exposed to the cold, he remained warm, the proximity of the bodies warming him, a smile on his face as he enjoyed the heat that settled in his chest and spread over his body, not wanting to leave that position. Just a few more minutes like that. It wasn't even so cold.

That was when the mechanic left a small kiss on his shoulder, taking the initiative to leave the position. Clark missed the heat, the icy water soon doing its job, and guaranteeing him another shaking crisis.

— I think it's time to leave, right? – damura said, sitting on the edge of the pool ready to leave the cover and go to a warmer place when his hand was held by the pilot's, who looked at him with an abandoned dog face. – Do you want to stay in the cold? Seriously? – he asked exaggeratedly disbelieving, getting a little laugh from the Ibrahim.

— Of course not, I just wanted to be with you more. Usually, when I'm in a pool with someone I like, the tendency is for me to use my princely skills to win over the beautiful lady! – the prince dramatized, following the movements of Edamura, who sat on the edge of the pool watching him with amusement. – It’s not always so… slow, i guess. – he ended simply.

— Yeah, but, unfortunately, the prince is awful with romance and was afraid to kiss his humble subject, and because of that, now he will be left in the infinity pool, dreaming with the lips of the beautiful young man who works for him! Am I right? – Edamura looked at him with irritating conviction, and Clark couldn't help but roll his eyes, inevitably smiling. Unfortunately, he was right. – But you know, – the man suddenly became shy, raising Clark's curiosity. – it's not like I'm going to deny you a kiss ... Not that I'm suggesting anything, far from me! It's just ... a reminder.

— Ah, good reminder! Really good, I will make good use of it! – The blue-eyed one exclaimed, not really sure if he would make good use of the reminder. And the minor noticed it, watching as it sank a little deeper. How can a guy as womanizing as he can't get a simple kiss?

Edamura sighed audibly and jumped back into the pool, right in front of Clark, who took a step back in reflex; however, the Japanese man prevented him from moving further, pulling him by the collar of his blouse and taking his lips, startling the man with the sudden act, who took a while to return the kiss. Edamura was soon in his arms again, his hands between Clark's messy, damp strands, pulling him closer, and seeking to deepen the contact. And, God, he was loving it!

Maybe it was the thrill of kissing someone after so long, but Makoto's body seemed to burn just with that simple contact. The butterflies in his stomach fluttered and his heart beat like a samba school drum, playing faster and harder with each little act of Ibrahim, losing the rhythm with each bite distributed over his lips. When Clark asked for permission to deepen the contact, he didn't think twice before giving in, allowing the eldest to guide him in that delightful dance.

However, the kiss was soon stopped, since they lacked air. They were panting, strangely hot, and flushed. Makoto smiled, leaning back against the edge of the pool. He pulled his hair back, receiving a curious look from Clark. He was very expressive, he thought, approaching and stealing a little kiss from him. He shouldn't be fraternizing with the enemy, at least, not like that, but since he was already breaking rules, he would enjoy it.

— So, – Clark began, leaning back beside him, both back in the same position they were in when they met that night. Thinking about it, Edamura looked at the sky again, now admiring how the pilot's eyes weren’t too far from matching that shade of blue. – How was it to kiss a prince, Mr. Edamura?

— Honestly, I should be the one asking this question. – He replied, again making Clark laugh, this time more restrained. – I kissed you, prince!

— Okay, okay, let's keep this part a secret for your sake! – Ibrahim replied while Makoto turned to face him, eyebrows raised in disbelief. – Imagine what a scandal it would be, a servant daring to steal the prince's lips?! It’s better to think that I seduced you. It will also be easier to believe since I am practically irresistible! – and as soon as he finished the sentence, the prince was hit with cold water, complaining soon after, while Makoto laughed at him.

— Clark! – Came a deep voice, which the lovers immediately associated with the older Ibrahim. A chill ran through Edamura's body, fearing Sam's reaction when he saw them in the pool. Well, at least he didn't arrive at a more compromising moment. – Clar- what the hell are you two doing here? – He asked as soon as he saw them, receiving an embarrassed smile from his younger brother and a grunt of shame from the mechanic.

— We fell. – Clark replied simply, scratching the back of his neck, while Makoto plunged in shame and cold water. But apparently, that simple excuse was enough to convince the organizer. It must have been something common, or maybe he just wasn't interested in what caused two people to fall.

— We have some things to talk about, so let's go. – Sam said, and from his tone, that was not a request.

With a sigh, Clark left the pool, following his brother, who was already heading for the elevator. The younger Ibrahim waved to Edamura, whispering "good night" and sending a puffed kiss to the mechanic. Edamura waved back, following him with her eyes until it was no longer possible. Her cheeks flushed and her chest warmed as he remembered the events of that night. Makoto was really screwed if he was forced to tell everything to the team, and honestly, he was no longer so attached to the idea of ​​deceiving those brothers ... well, just one of them.

He sat down on the edge of the pool again, reclining until his back touched the floor. Edamura looked at the sky, and the sky looked back. A few stars shone and brought a smile to the scammer's face. Singapore's sky might not have been the most beautiful he had ever seen, but it was certainly comforting. It reminded him of a certain pilot, whose eyes were similar in color to the sky, and who marked his stay in that country.

[glacecakes]

Alchemy Lullaby (9/?)

Of all the changes that came with living in the castle, becoming a father was not one he anticipated. When Eugene encounters a small child suffering like he did, he gives them the opportunity to grow up the way he never did… helping them both heal. (AU where Varian is 4 and gets adopted by Eugene)

Varian's growing up fast! So fast Eugene isn't sure how to handle it.

Read the rest on AO3

Me: the next chapter is gonna be something light, a collection of drabbles and headcanons Varian servers: baby hugo Me, opening up my laptop and throwing all my papers aside: BABY HUGO

Shoutout to @finnoky who makes an appearanceeeeee

“...Water is a pol….polar mole..cule… which means it… it has a slight charge,” Varian rambled, hands glossing over laminated words. He sat near a roaring fireplace, its heat seeping into tiny bones. Eugene laid sprawled out by his side, eyes shut. It was one of those cold, dreary days, so they were holed up in the library. Usually Eugene would read to Varian, happy to change his voice and act out fantastical stories. Varian hung onto his every word like gospel. Somedays, Varian would read for himself, happy to learn reading by entertaining Eugene. But today, Varian had grabbed a book the size of his head, lugged it over to their reading nook, opened it up, and began a mini lecture. Staying awake with a fireplace at your back was hard enough, but coupled with teaching? It was a losing battle, and Eugene accepted his defeat with grace. 

Varian did not. 

“Eugene!” Varian whined. The man gave a noncommittal hum, but that only angered his toddler more. 

Thwack. “Pay!” Thwack. “Attention!” Thwack. “To!” Thwack. “MEEEEEEE!” Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

“Ok, ok!” Eugene shrieked, holding his arms up to protect his head from any more blows. “I’m awake! I’m listening!” He sighed fondly at the big pout Varian sported. “Aw, buddy, I’m sorry, it’s just so comfy!”

Varian didn’t take kindly to that excuse, judging by the crocodile tears. He flailed his legs. “Nooooo, no sleep! Only book!” 

“No sleep ever? That’s gonna be a little tricky.”

“Noooooooooo!” 

Eugene finally took pity on the kid. He pulled him close and rolled onto his back so Varian was laying on top of him. He nuzzled his face into soft black hair. It still smelled faintly of blueberry shampoo. Varian was learning fast, maybe too fast if Eugene was being honest. The kid ate through book after book, quickly surpassing simple storybooks and easy nonfiction. Now he was slowly chewing through bigger nonfiction. A quick glance told Eugene he was being taught middle school chemistry. Whenever Varian wasn’t playing in the garden, or shadowing one of his favorite adults, Varian was usually here, consuming the entirety of the kids section. Most of those times, Eugene would inevitably join him, and they’d spend hours reading side by side: Varian, stories, and Eugene, parenting books. 

Rapunzel called them her little bookworms, but Varian had cried when she first called him that. He didn’t want Eugene to be a worm, Eugene called him bluebird, and birds eat worms! 

It was so cute, Eugene secretly hoped Varian would never grow out of kid logic. 

He closed his eyes, tuning out Varian’s complaints. This truly was the life, wasn’t it?

-

A few days later, and Eugene’s life was ending.

Well, that’s being overdramatic. 

After their library day, Eugene brought up the incident to Rapunzel, who spoke to her parents, who pulled a couple strings, and now Varian was going to every parent’s worst nightmare. Varian would be pitted against other kids in a place where children lost their individuality, their fun logic, the little quirks that made each child unique and special. 

Kindergarten.

Varian, for his part, didn’t seem all that scared of Kindergarten. But to be fair, no one told him what it was, either. He’d bounced around, happily carrying his Schultüte and accepting gifts from maids and guards alike who all wanted him to have “fun at school”. Pfft. Fun at school? Impossible! Eugene hated every second of school. He stopped paying attention and look how he turned out! Totally fine!

“You sure you want to go?” Eugene asked. He gripped Varian’s hand so tight his knuckles were nearly white. Varian didn’t seem to mind all that much, skipping as they walked. For his first day Rapunzel had gifted him with a new set of clothes, a pair of blue overalls with a little flower patch on the pant leg. He wore a simple green shirt underneath it, and a backpack filled to the brim with snacks, folders, pencils, and anything else a kid could need. 

“Mhm!” Varian said, jumping over a puddle. 

Eugene gulped. “You sure you’re sure?” Would anyone notice if he just took Varian out for a few hours, and pretended he’d gone to school? Everything Varian needed would be in the castle, why does he need to go to school anyway? 

“Yup!” 

They stopped in front of a small, unimposing schoolhouse. It was painted light yellow, its windows covered in drawings and posters, no doubt done by the nefarious children inside who were only full of cruel words against Eugene’s angel of a bluebird–

“Ok bye!” Varian let go of his hand and ran to the door. 

“W-wait!” That’s it!? No hug goodbye? No “I’ll miss you”? No “Please don’t leave me!” “Ok we’ll go home”? 

Varian stopped before entering, confused. Then, he lit up like a beacon. “Oh!” He raced back, wrapped his arms around Eugene’s legs in a hug, and then bolted back to the school. “Bye Eugene love you!” He cried, and just like that, he was gone.

Eugene gulped, running an anxious hand through his hair. He’s just overthinking it, right? Varian would be fine! Heck, this is good, now he can have a little me time! He’s been torn between teaching guards and raising Varian, he could use a few hours off, right?

-

Varian felt a little bad for his dad, he seemed so… upset? Betrayed? When Varian left, but he couldn’t help it! He’d spent 6 months watching school through windows, and now he was in one! With other kids who were just like him! Not trying to steal his food, or push him around, no, they’re here to learn too!

By the time he entered his classroom, he was practically vibrating with excitement. The walls were covered with fun little decorations, ways to memorize things. The alphabet lined the top of each wall, spanning across the whole room, illuminated by sunlight. In the corner was a plush red carpet, and seated on top were a bunch of kids! He sped over, happily sitting himself front and center, facing the teacher with eager eyes. 

“Good morning class, how is everyone?” 

“Good morning!” Everyone parroted back, startling Varian. He didn’t know the ritual, what to do! Did he look silly? He hoped not! 

Thankfully, no one called it out. Instead, the teacher turned kind eyes to him. “Everyone, we have a special friend with us today! This is Varian, can we all say hi?”

Varian blushed as a dozen tiny eyes turned to him. All of a sudden, he wanted to hide in the back, where no one was staring him down and scrutinizing him. It was like he was still in the castle, with nobility looking down at him! Maybe school was a bad idea...

“Hi!” The children all chorused, just as friendly and happy as their teacher. Varian blinked in shock, confused at the prolonged silence, before he realized what they wanted. “Hi,” he said meekly, satisfying the teacher. 

“Varian, I’m Mr. Finn, let me know if you need any help, alright kiddo?” Varian nodded vehemently. 

The morning passed smoothly, with Mr. Finn reading a story and practicing basic writing and math. While Varian was now an excellent reader, and easily followed the story, writing proved more challenging. He stuck his tongue out in frustration, slowly dragging the pencil down his page. 

“No,” A high pitched voice chimed next to him. He glanced over. The kid next to him was staring right back. He had long blonde hair, longer than Cassie’s but shorter than Rapunzel’s. Sea green eyes shimmered behind frames. “You gotta follow the lines. See?” He held up his paper, proudly displaying a series of “d”s.

“I am,” Varian complained, gazing down at his paper. He could ask Mr. Finn, right? He said so, after all. He went to raise his hand, when the kid grabbed his arm.

“See, you start here,” Though his movements were sloppy, he held onto Varian’s arm and helped him trace out a letter. Varian blinked. That easy? He’d been doing it all wrong! His face lit up in delight. 

“Thanks!” In no time, the rest of the letters were filled in. Varian may not have gotten in right away, but he was a fast learner. It only took a few more letters before the rest of the page was no problem. “I’m Varian,” He held out an arm, like he’d seen the King do.

The boy in front of him grinned, showing off a missing tooth. “I’m Hugo!” He didn’t take Varian’s hand, so the boy put it down. Oh well, maybe it’s just a castle thing. 

What was Eugene so nervous about? School was fun! He already had a friend!

-

Eugene cried into his third helping of mashed potatoes.

“Wow this is sad. How is this any different from days when we babysit?” Cassandra asked, unimpressed. When Lance burst into the castle, insisting that she and Rapunzel come to the Snuggly Duckling and help Eugene, she’d expected a bar fight, or at least something that wasn’t… this. 

Lance shrugged, taking the plate away before Eugene could make himself sick. “Because he can’t go check up on Varian, I think.” That only upset Eugene more, and he let out a tiny whine. Rapunzel, who had been rubbing his back, sped up her soothing motions.

“There there, you’ll see him in a bit,” She said. “To think, a year ago you were Corona’s most wanted thief. Now you’re a dad making a difference!” 

“I’m a dad without a son,” Eugene moaned. That got him an eyeroll from Cassandra.

“He’s been like this since he got here,” Lance added. It had been slightly terrifying. Eugene had burst in, waterworks in full effect. He’d draped himself on Lance’s shoulders, just like he used to when they were kids, acting as if his son was dead and not at school. 

Honestly, it was confusing. Eugene seemed so adverse to getting Varian schooling, but one of his biggest arguments about adopting Varian had been his education! He’d gone on and on about how smart Varian was during those first few days, and how he needed proper schooling, not the poor excuse of an orphanage. But now that Varian was actually in school, it was as if a switch had flipped. 

Rapunzel gained a fire in her eyes, and with a small grunt, pulled him out of his seat. “Come on, Eugene, let’s go cheer you up. How does a day in town sound? Or maybe a haircut?” 

“Varian needs a haircut soon,” was his response. 

The quartet spent much of the afternoon in town, taking in sights and sound. Even after she’d been living here for nearly a year, Rapunzel doubted she’d ever tire of Corona and all it had to offer. But each stop seemed to only remind Eugene more of his son. First was Monty’s where Rapunzel maintained juuuust enough civility to not throttle the man when he asked Rapunzel if she would adopt Varian one day. 

(She fully planned to, but that’s beside the point.)

Then came Xavier’s. The blacksmith was always kind and understanding, and after a quick explanation, he’d been happy to ignore any and all mention of children. That was, until Eugene picked up a dagger with a sigh. 

“Should I teach him how to fight?”

“Eugene he’s not even 5.” Cassandra spoke with a monotone voice.

Eugene nodded. “You’re right. I should’ve started him sooner.” 

He left Xavier’s with a bruised gut. 

“I don’t get it!” Rapunzel cried in frustration. They’d stopped for a break by the fountain, where Eugene sat, staring off in the direction of the schoolhouse. “We’ve taken him all over town, spent the day with him, yet he’s still sad! Is he going to be like this every day Varian’s in school?”

Lance nodded, agreeing. “I thought parents were supposed to be happy when school started.”

“You know I can hear you, right?” Eugene called from his seat. At least his friends and girlfriend had the grace to look guilty. He sighed, redirecting his gaze down at the fountain water. 

In all honesty, he wasn’t so sure either. He loved Varian from the bottom of his heart, but sometimes that kid truly was a handful. Not to mention it had all been so sudden, just like Rapunzel said... That’s when it hit him.

“Stability.”

The others blinked. Rapunzel tilted her head in confusion. So, he elaborated, “My entire life was just, one crazy thing after another. I didn’t stay in school, I became a thief, I ran from place to place. I never had stable housing, or income, or, or anything! And it sucked! A lot! I was constantly stressed out, even when I was in control, I kept waiting for the shoe to drop.

“I know I took Varian in because I wanted stability for him, but…” He glanced up and sheepishly smiled.

“I guess I want it for me, too.” 

-

The school was built right next to a playground, so the children got 30 minutes outside every day. It was a simple thing, with all the basics and a large field for kids to run in. Mr. Finn stood by the school’s door, watching from afar as his class played with one another. 

Hugo pulled Varian along, tugging him past the wooden playground and into the grass field. Varian had never had a friend before, was this how it worked? Regardless, he was happy to come along. 

“Mr. Finn said you live in the castle, is that true?” Hugo asked, stopping in the middle of the field and squatting down into the grass. Varian followed suit, happily twirling a blade of grass between his fingers. 

“Mhm! I live there with Eugene, and Cassie, and-”

“What’s the princess like?” Hugo buts in, staring with wide eyes. They were so close their noses nearly touched. Varian didn’t mind in the slightest. 

“Punzel’s really nice, she lets me paint with her!” He giggled, and Hugo sat back in amazement. 

“My mom says her hair is super long, is that true?” 

“Suuuper long! I like to hide in it.”

“And she lets you!?” 

“Yup! I always get tangled, though.” It was like clockwork: Eugene and Varian would play hide and seek, Varian would hide in her hair, Eugene would find him, he’d get stuck, and Rapunzel would shake him out. She never complained, even though Eugene always made him apologize. 

“It doesn’t hurt,” She reassured them. “I would do the same!” 

Hugo hums, thoroughly impressed. “My mom has really long hair too, and she lets me braid it sometimes!”

Varian gasped. “Really? She lets you?” Gosh, his momma would never let Varian let anywhere near her hair! Apparently he tugged on it as a baby. “That’s so cool!” 

“Really?” Hugo’s face lit up like the sun. 

“Yea! Maybe one day you can meet her!” Varian cheered, directing his gaze down to the grass. There, innocent and unassuming, a small flower grew. Its purple petals furled upwards, allowing Varian to stare right into the yellow center. The first flowers of the season! 

Hugo looked up to find a flower right in front of his face, with a grinning Varian at the other end. “For you!” He said, and Hugo’s face lit up. 

“Thanks!” With one fluid motion, Hugo grasped it and ate it whole. He didn’t even blink. 

Varian blinked. It took a second for what just happened to register. 

Then, he burst into giggles. 

-

Eugene sighed and trudged up to the schoolhouse. As if on cue, a bell rang, and children poured out of the doors. Kids ran to their parents, who were more than happy to scoop their kids up and hear all about their day. Eugene was no exception. Varian exited, and upon seeing him, lit up and flew towards him. 

Eugene caught him easily, spinning around so they were facing the others. “Hi, Varian!” Rapunzel chimed. “How was your day at school!” 

“I liked it a lot!” Varian giggled. “We learned to write, and had pretzels, and, and-”

“Varian!” 

They all turned to see a very nervous looking Hugo, with his cheeks flushed. “I-I just wanted to say… it was nice to meet you! And maybe we can hang out sometime soon and you can show me the castle ok bye!” He then promptly fled, back towards the arms of an exasperated older woman who was probably his mom.

“Bye Hugo!” Varian called, waving in their general direction. “That was Hugo, he’s really nice.”

“I’ll bet,” Cassandra muttered, mildly amused.

Eugene couldn’t help the beams of pride. One day in school and he’d already made a friend! That was more than he could say for his own time in school. “You’re growing up so fast,” Eugene whispered, pulling Varian close. He bounced his arms, Varian happy at the rhythm. “Don’t grow up too fast, ok? Otherwise I’d get all old and wrinkly.” 

“Ah, your highness!” 

Rapunzel turned to see a teacher headed their way. “I’m Mr. Finn, I was with Varian today.”

The princess beamed. “Oh, that’s wonderful, thank you! How was it?” 

“He was great, princess, a delight! I look forward to seeing him in September.” Mr. Finn leaned down to Varian’s height. “I’ll see you in a few months, Varian!”

“Bye bye!” Varian responded, frowning when Eugene stilled in his bouncing. 

“Wait, September?” He asked, confused. Wouldn’t he be seeing Varian tomorrow? It was Wednesday, after all. 

Cassandra laughed. “Oh, we didn’t tell you?” She leaned on his arm. “Varian’s too young for kindergarten. He can’t start till the new school year, when he’ll be 5.”

Eugene paled. “So, I have to go through this… all over?” Varian cocked his head in confusion when Lance barked out a laugh, and Rapunzel covered her mouth to hide a smile. The handmaiden patted Eugene’s back in mock sympathy. 

That night, Eugene cried into another serving of potatoes while Varian practiced his letters.

[rankdisasster]

obstacle 1

Billy Hargrove x fem reader

“24 & 41 w some soft billy 🤧” requested by anonymous.

#24: “You’re trembling.”

#41: “I feel like I can’t breathe.” from dialogue prompts

warning(s): slurs, violence, panic attacks

a/n: angst but it gets better I promise!! title of the fic comes from a fucking phenomenal Interpol song. also beware if you send me a number from a prompt list there’s no way I know how to make it short like a drabble, I only know how to draw it out pretty much haha.

—

“What the fuck is the matter with you? Huh?”

Billy’s back had been shoved up against the wall, his lip trembling and eyes red rimmed with unshed tears. His father’s fingers are tightly clutched around his jacket, ugly nostrils widely flared, looking down at his own son as if he were a mistake; as if he were the scum of the fucking earth. And Billy knows that that’s true, too.

“I had to get a call from the sheriff, at—” his father breaks eye contact for a split second to eye the clock that hangs on his son’s bedroom wall, “three-thirty in the goddamn morning, only to be told that my gracious son has been caught stealing chocolate bars from the drugstore, like some fucking delinquent. How do you think this makes me feel, William? As your own flesh and blood,” his father sighs and pats his own chest, pretending like he’s hurt because Billy made a fool of himself and embarrassed his family. Of course, only his father would be making all this about himself yet again and not seeing with his blind dumb eyes that it’s a cry for attention and help.

It was impulsive and stupid, Billy can admit that at least.

He was hungry, he felt like acting out, and there just so happened to be a drugstore nearby and thought it’d be kinda funny. Billy assumed that the security would be shit, and he also assumed he’d be smooth enough to not get caught. He played the part pretty well, at least what he considered to be convincing. Whistling and peeking at his surroundings as he casually stuffed around twelve, maybe even more chocolate bars down his pants and coat pockets and then sprinting like a bat out of hell to the parking lot.

He swore he was in the clear, and would eventually get to enjoy the candy bars and have a funny story to tell you later. Have a happy ending to one of his shenanigans for once, instead of ending in tears and blood. That is until the way-too-beefy-for-this-job clerk behind the counter saw him and called him out before chasing him down, slamming his entire front into the concrete. Holding him there until the boys in blue show up and handcuff his hands behind his back before shoving him in the backseat. The bruises from the comfy cement came out nice and big, Billy already checked them out in the bathroom mirror at the station. Seriously, he’d never seen a guy get that protective over Kit-Kat bars since he was in grade school.

After fucking begging the officers to just let him off the hook and promising it’ll never happen again, that it was just a silly fluke; they had betrayed him, and unsurprisingly at that. Like all authoritative figures have done to him his entire eighteen years of living. The pricks really did it, they really called his dad on him, and now here we are.

“Answer me this instant!”

Billy flinched at the deafening tone his father used to screamed right into his face. Their noses are practically touching. He can even smell his father’s alcohol consumption through his breath, and it’s so fucking grotesque that Billy wants to throw everything he ate that day up.

“I got popped for stealing chocolate, s’not the worst thing I’ve done,” he weakly murmurs, cursing himself internally because he felt a tear bust out of his left eye. He can’t cry in front of this monster, he fucking can’t.

Why can’t this be over with already? Why not just a slap on the wrist, one and done? This shouldn’t be as bad as the time he got caught tripping on acid in the woods that his weird ass classmate Mike gave to him. Yet he’s still here, spitting on Billy’s face and gripping him tighter, voice thundering louder. Susan doesn’t ever give a fuck about what’s happening to her step son, so why would Billy be foolishly praying that she would save the day this time? The helpless boy even imagines a scenario ending with his little step sibling Max stepping in and calling the cops. But all that’s just wishful thinking. Those things only happen to people who are cared about, and nobody gives a rats ass for Billy’s well-being in this household. Not even the cops would throw his nutcase of a father in jail and swallow the key.

The cops only care about petty misdemeanors, such as teenagers stealing candy bars from drugstores. They wouldn’t bat an eye at seeing a troublemaker like Billy with bruises and scabs scattered all over his face. They don’t care. None of them do, and none of them listen either.

“Yeah yeah, sure. It’s just a couple candy bars, right? But here’s how thieves work,” Neil starts his lesson, looking down his nose and pointing a finger at Billy’s face accusingly. “First, it’s just a candy bar. No big deal, right? You’re just having a little fun. Then, it gets bigger. You get away with that, then one day, you think you can get away with stealing a car,” he takes Billy’s jaw in one hand to keep him in place before giving his cheek a quick sharp slap, leaving it stinging and flushing red. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

The first punch is always a shock, and has the teen holding his breath waiting for what the next one will feel like.

“You are a fucking disgrace, a worthless juvenile with nothing better to do,” his father winds up for round two, even grinning like a sadistic bastard. He grins even wider when he sees his son’s face leak with more tears, and hissing when he wipes his own face too hard from brushing the evidence of the blow with his finger. More insults are thrown at him, like “faggot” or “disappointment”. He’s heard it all before, but it’s seeping further into his skull now, right along with his dear old dad’s fist. Cutting deep, deeper than it ever has, and not just in his face.

And Billy, paralyzed and hopless while lying on the ground, realizes that his father had to have been right all along.

Throughout his teens he consciously wondered if he actually was the reason Mom left, or if that’s just his dad fucking with his head. Which usually happens to be the case. But now, Billy is petrified that he’s telling the truth, and he’s giving it to him raw, like a sick reminder of his utter worthlessness. Maybe he will grow up to be no good, just another bum and a thief, getting caught doing more stupid shit. Billy wonders if this is really a sign that he should wise up before it’s too late.

His dad has finally stopped knocking his head into the wall and sucker punching his nose and cheeks, now seemingly satisfied with the work of art done to the boy’s face. With blood pouring from the boy’s nose like a faucet, he scrambles to plug it up and hug himself while bracing for a potential next hit. To Billy’s relief, his dad up and leaves at that, slamming the door behind him with a scoff and more damaging insults murmured under his breath. As soon as the door is shut, the boy fumbles to shove open his window, rushing to crawl the fuck out and nicking his injuries on the way out. He can’t fucking take this anymore.

By the time he’s out in his driveway, tears are still flooding out of his fucked up purple eyes and he rips open his Camaro door. While starting up the engine, he shakes his head before speeding to the only safe place he knows.

Your room.

—

When Billy makes it to your house, still just as hot of a mess as he was when he was being beaten and screamed at, the way up to your room was no picnic. He skinned his knee on the way down, falling three or four times before finally making it. His strength isn’t at it’s best at the moment. He carelessly shoves your window open and stumbles as he climbs through, landing directly on the floor. His back is to your door, and he adjusts himself to sitting with his legs crossed as he waits for your return. You’re probably downstairs, or in the bathroom. He doesn’t fucking know, but he wouldn’t doubt that you’d leave him too, like everyone else had when they discovered how much of a burden all his issues really are. History often repeats itself, and maybe it’s a mistake unveiling his mask and shitting all over you with his fucked up problems, but he doesn’t know where else to go.

Yours and Billy’s relationship strictly consisted of fun. Just joking around without any drama, maybe once in a while getting up to no good together. When you two would drink heavily in your room on weekends, sometimes he’d kiss you but you wouldn’t talk about it in the morning. Because that’d be just too much to deal with, and the packaged guarentee he got with you was that you weren’t anything to deal with. You were the most laid back, good time he’d had in this town. This wouldn’t be the first time he’d snuck up to your window and crawled in, however, it will be the first time he ever showed up this vulnerable and seeking comfort. Your comfort, specifically.

Billy’s back is still facing the door when you finally arrive, and you let out a squeal in fear before recognizing it’s him. You’d know that mullet, that jacket, and those tight blue jeans absolutely anywhere. It was your good friend Billy sitting on your floor.

“Holy shit man, you scared the Jesus outta me. Gimme a warning next time, ay?” you laugh, holding your chest to slow your quick heart down. It’s pretty late, and it’s a typical Saturday. You’re in your pajamas with a rejuvenating green face mask smothered all over your skin, as well as a bowl of cookie dough icecream in your grasp. It almost went flying when Billy had frightened you, and that would’ve been a bitch to clean off the carpet.

“I have some cookie dough icecream here. I could get you your own bowl too, if you want,” you offer, not yet hearing a peep from the boy seated on the ground. He’s eerily quiet, but you’re still oblivious to it all. “I heard this gossip around town, and oh my god, it totally reminded me of you. Some dipshit got caught stealing a bunch of Kit-Kat bars from the store right by your place,” you chuckle, then worry a bit as he remains unresponsive.

“Billy?” you tread lightly as you tip toe closer to him, then observe his shoulders shaking, and then his entire body too as if it were freezing in here or something.

“You’re trembling,” you notice, now terrified of knowing what happened to this boy to make him this freakishly twitchy. You hastily put your hand on Billy’s shoulder before the ice finally breaks. He turns his head to you , finally exposing the dried blood that’s still down his nose, as well as the black and blue all over his face. His tears were falling silently at first until he steadily starts to sob violently, letting you cradle him in your arms and shush him soothingly.

“I’m— I, I didn’t mean to, it was just s’pposted to be a joke, but I messed up so bad, he got so mad at me this time, and—“

“Who? Who got mad at you?”

Billy’s vision is blurring rapidly, to the point of barely seeing any shapes or colors. His chest is heaving up and down way too fast to be normal, and he thinks he’s about to have a fucking heart attack. His dad would probably throw a parade if his son moved into a hospital instead.

“I feel like I can’t breathe,” he panics, whole body still trembling while holding you tight enough to hurt as his salty tears land on your shirt. You could give a fuck about your mask that’s still on your face and getting slightly ruined. Little bits of it is now smothering Billy’s hair, and that makes you want to smile, but this is no time to be smiling.

“Do you want some water? Fuck, I think I have a water bottle in my bag—“

“Please don’t leave me,” he implored, halting you from getting up by burying his beaten face into your chest.

“You got it! I’m staying right here, I swear. Um, I might remember the steps to doing mouth-to-mouth, if you need that?” your eyes are wide and apprehensive, praying to whatever God in the sky that Billy doesn’t die in your arms tonight. That seemed to get him to crack a smile, a weak one, but small progress is still progress. “I’m serious! I might be wishing I payed more attention in class when they talked about this stuff, but I’m here for you. I’m practically PhD certified,” you assure him, sounding less than convincing. Your ignorance is working it’s magic though, humoring Billy and making him finally take deep breaths at a normal rate, instead of the hyperventilating he’d been doing a second ago.

“Pfft. Sure, yeah, I can tell I’m in real good hands here. You got any a’ that cookie dough left, Doc?” he sniffles and licks his lips, staring at the bowl that still has a decent amount of scoops of the dessert left unmelted.

“Hell yeah, and there’s more where that came from. In fact, when you leave tonight, or tomorrow— whatever, you can stay as long as you want— I expect you to gain at least five pounds from this,” you hand the bowl over to his grabby hands, smiling sweetly as he scarfs it down. He suddenly stops for a moment and shrieks when he eats too much too fast, giving himself brain freeze. “You eat faster than my dog.”

“I’ll take the win on that challenge, actually,” he grins, inhaling more of the creamy dessert, letting out occasional hums when he gets an especially good bite of the sugary cookie dough.

After a beat of silence, you decide to get up and put a record on your record player, sticking with a classic Tom Petty album, setting it on low so that there’s some background. You know Billy favors it too, remembering all the drives you’d go on together with Petty playing through his speakers. You head to the bathroom which is only a small distance of five steps away, you grab a washcloth and wet it with warm water to clean Billy’s gross bloody face. You’ve never seen a guy look as fucked up as he did right now in real life. Only in the movies had you seen blood oozing from somebody’s face, or splotchy bruises like polka dots sitting on somebody’s face. Basically, you had no idea how to help him, but you were gonna try. He came to you after all, he trusted you enough to let you see this side of him.

“Is this the part where you give me that line, shit, what is it? Oh yeah, ‘you should have seen the other guy’?” you ask as you go up to him, making sure you’re as gentle as a feather while dabbing the damp lukewarm cloth on his battered cheekbones as he continues to eat.

“Nah, the other guy is just fine if you ask him,” Billy scoffs, finishing the bowl and putting it down next to him. He zips up his jacket further up his neck, then shoves his hands in his pockets as you tend to his wounds.

“You cold?”

“Eh, kinda. Not really though,” he answers, but you’re able to read between the lines at his body language then reach behind you to your bed, dragging a blanket over. Ignoring his protests about not needing to be babied this hard, you wrap it around him. He just shuts up and nods his thanks, holding it tighter by proving you right about how chilly he felt.

“I’m sorry about all this, by the way. I probably freaked you out, and I’m kinda wishing I hadn’t done that,” he sighs, in hindsight realizing how humiliating his meltdown was.

“Don’t apologize for showing emotion. That’s a fucked up male habit,” you scold, the boy nodding vigorously.

“It was me, you know,” he says , resulting in you raising your brows at the questionable ambiguity. He rolls his eyes at having to explain himself then goes on. “I did it. I uh, stole all those Kit-Kats from the store.”

You pause your cleansing his face then can’t hold in your giggles anymore at the fact that you were fucking right, of course Billy would be the one to do a thing like that.

“Yeah yeah, laugh it up Y/N,” he claps his hands, sarcastically urging you on.

“C’mon, that’s some priceless shit!”

“At least someone found it funny,” he grumbles, staring down at his hands and the soft blanket keeping him warm.

“What’s the matter with you?” you ask playfully, covering your mouth muffle your boisterous laughter.

That stiffens the boy up, thinking back to his father’s words, “What the fuck is the matter with you, huh?”

“Holy shit, you should’ve called me! I so would’ve been there to like, cause a distraction, maybe flirt with the cashier so that you could take a pack of those expensive cigarettes you’ve always wanted to try,” you laugh, then take his silence into account and find him shutting down again. You don’t know what you said, but you had to make it right.

“Hey, hey now. Don’t get all emo on me again, we were just starting to have some fun,” you peek his undamaged chin up, looking at him in the eyes and trying to stay positive, or better yet keep him distracted from his demons that won’t quit.

“Do, um. You don’t think I’m gonna grow up a low life asshole, do you?” he asks, wanting to hear it from somebody that he’s doing a good job. Making somebody on this earth proud, because pleasing his dad is a lost cause, and getting back his mom is about as likely.

“No. Why? Is it that you think you will?”

“Kinda, yeah. That’s what everyone drills into my head anyways,” he laughs, but you refuse to because that isn’t funny.

“Well if you give me all their names, I’ll go to wherever they’re at and sock them in the face. I don’t care if they’re bigger than me, I’m fucking doing it. Let’s go, come on. What are their names?” you assert without an ounce of humor. Billy’s lips curl into a smile, huddling further into the soft blanket you had given him. He isn’t at all in control of how fucking wide his lips get when he grins, all from the fact that his short stack best friend would do all that just for him. He suddenly wants to rub it in his sad sack of a father’s face that somebody really cares about him.

And he wants to really kiss that somebody right now.

“Think it’s time you wash that uh, whatever that is,” he gestures to the face mask that’s since dried when he came, “Off your face. I could come with you, if you want.”

Your blush is hidden under the green goo, and you nod your head in confirmation before grabbing his hand to lead you two to the bathroom.

“What is it even for, anyway?”

“Oh. For like, exfoliating, and... honestly, I don’t know. It could be complete bullshit, I just threw it on hoping something might happen,” you give up trying to explain your attempt at keeping up with personal hygiene, then Billy just shushes you and points to the sink to hurry you on washing it off.

With a good three minutes of Billy staring intently at you splashing your face with water, you self consciously look away and grab a towel to dry off. He looks you down once more, shakes his head, then leans in and caresses your cheeks with both his hands. His kiss is long and makes you feel so warm and tingly everywhere, but you’re mostly worried about fucking up his face doing this. As if on cue, your nose bonks his, making him moan.

“I’m so so sorry, did that— that hurt you, didn’t it?” you ask with dread, before he shuts you up with another kiss, not letting what his dad had done to him stop him from enjoying you. After making out by the sink for as long as he could hold out for, the two of you pull back and take a breather, still panting and smiling so happily. He pets your perfect cheeks that rest in his palms, and he hums in thought before speaking.

“Your skin’s real soft,” he observes.

“Yeah? Thanks, I um. Guess the face mask isn’t total bull after all,” you laugh, most of it coming from the nerves.

“Huh. I could try it sometime, yunno, only if you keep your mouth shut about it,” he playfully threats, poking you in your stomach as you continue laughing from how it tickled you.

Billy decides to stay the night at yours, playing the little spoon in your arms tonight. Tom Petty is still quietly singing from your record player, the empty bowl that was once filled with cookie dough icecream still sitting on the floor. The boy’s face hasn’t gotten much better, and he knows he’ll have to deal with his dad again tomorrow. It’s inevitable, really. But he knows now that you’re by his side, ready and willing to even whoop his dad’s ass if he gets him hurt again. And that’s more than enough for Billy to feel like he can really pull through.

—

happier about how this one turned out:) thank you all so much for being so kind and patient and everything. the people who write on here are wonderful, the people who read on here are wonderful, everybody is so amazing and I can’t express how grateful I am!!

I really wanted to write the reader as being kinda clueless about what to do with taking care of him, cause I’ll be honest, I have no idea what I’d do if a guy like him ever came to me looking super fucked up😂

[lokiofassgards]

Beyla (Loki) 4

We all enter the Observatory and step onto a platform. Heimdall climbs into the large control apparatus at the center of the room and readies the Observatory.

"Be warned. I will honor my sworn oath to protect this Realm as its Gatekeeper. If your return threatens the safety of Asgard, Bifrost will remain closed to you. You'll be left to die in the cold wastes of Jotunheim." I look at Loki who is already gazing at me. He grabs my hand nodding. "Everything is going to be fine."

"The Bifrost energy quickens along the Bridge, feeding into the Observatory. Heimdall turns his sword in the control panel. The giant turret swings around aims toward a section of space. As a final step, Heimdall plunges his sword deeper into the control panel. The great turret blasts, the Rainbow light of the Bifrost energy blasts out of it. The Bifrost opens at the end of the platform. Thor starts towards the Bifrost, turns back to us grinning.

🌿

"We shouldn't be here," I say as I plant my feet on the icy surface. "Too late now."

"Actually, it's not. We could turn right around, hop back to Asgard, share a mug by the fire. It could be nice."

Thor ignores us, headed off. I stay close behind Loki as he looks around, anxiously.

"Perhaps we should wait." Thor turns back to his brother. "For what?" "To survey the enemy. To gauge their strengths and weaknesses from a distance."

"We know all we must. It's time to act!" Thor heads on. Reluctantly, the others follow.

We trudge behind Thor across the frozen wasteland. I should myself from the howling wind and cold. "It feels good, doesn't it? To be together again, adventuring in another world?" Thor asks his fellow friends.

Fandral speaks, "Adventuring? Is that what we're doing?" "What would you call it?"

"Freezing."

"Starving."

"Whining."

The party reaches the edge of the city, its ancient structures of jade and ice melting and crumbling, ravaged by warfare long ago. A temple lies before them, across a central plaza.

"I see nothing. Where are they?" I ask shivering. Loki holds his vest open around me in an attempt of warmth.

"Hiding. As cowards always do."

As we reach the plaza. I sense the shadows in the crevices, surrounding us now on all sides.

"What is your business here, Asgardian?" The Jotun's voice itself sounds like cracking ice.

Thor bombs, "I speak only to your King. Not to his foot soldiers."

"Then speak."

We turn towards the source in a balcony of the temple, where Laufey sits, veiled in shadow. The Jotun King is ancient, noble, powerful -- too proud to reveal even a hint of the years of suffering he and his people have endured. "I am Laufey, King of this Realm."

"And I am--"

"We know who you are, Odinson. Why have you brought the stench of your blood into my world?" I back away to Loki frightened of this red-eyed giant.

"I demand answers." Laufey stands, sizing up Thor, tries to piece this together. "You demand?" "How did your people get into Asgard?"

"The house of Odin is full of traitors." I tensely exchange a puzzled look.

"Do not dishonor my father's name with your lies."

"Your father is a murderer and a thief. He stole what was ours, and left our world in ruins. We have the right to reclaim the Casket." "Not when you'd use it to make war against other Realms." Laufey laughs, cold, mocking.

"And why have you come here? To make peace? You long for battle. You crave it. I see you for what you are, Thor Odinson. Nothing but a boy, trying to prove himself a man."

Thor grumbles, "This boy has grown tired of your mockery." He takes a step towards Laufey. The other Jotuns step in front of Thor, blocking his path.

I finally see the Frost Giants now, terrifying, blue-skinned, standing eight feet tall. Loki moves next to his brother and quietly implores him.

"Thor, stop, and think. Look around you. We are outnumbered."

Thor looks down at him. "Know your place, brother..."

"You should listen to his counsel. You know not what your actions would unleash." Laufey steps out of the shadows. "But I do. Go now, while I still allow it."

Thor simmers. Loki speaks up. "We will accept your most gracious offer." Thor stares Laufey down a beat -- then relents. He turns to leave. His comrades breathe a sigh of relief and follow when a Frost Giant nearby mutters under his breath. "Run back home, little princess."

Thor stops in his tracks. Loki looks at me and gulps. "Damn,"

In one quick move, Thor pulls Mjolnir, swings it, and knocks the Jotun clear across the plaza. The Asgardians reluctantly draw their weapons, gathering into a circle around Thor. Volstagg looks around at the angry Jotuns approaching us."Silly hammer! Has a mind of its own!"

Ice forms on the Jotuns' bodies, creating a frozen armor around us, extending off the ends of their arms like swords. Thor leaves the circle of Asgardians, swings at another Frost Giant. His comrades from another circle around him, separating him from the Jotuns, as he whirls his hammer around once and catches it with a cocky grin. He's enjoying this! We're in danger and he's simply laughing remarks.

Thor takes out yet another Frost Giant, then all hell breaks loose as we and Jotuns begin to battle. One of the red-eyed monsters backs me up against a wall of ice. As the Giant hurls an ice blade fist at me, I force out my hands and release fire bees. The large bees pierce into the ice wall, cracking the entire blade apart. I hoist myself up, dodging the Giant's second blow and leaping over him.

Nearby, Sif expertly stabs one Jotun after another with her double-bladed staff. One knocks her viciously to the ground.

Loki backs away from an approaching Jotun, finds himself at the edge of a deep crevasse. I sprint towards him in worry. The Giant sees he's vulnerable and swipes at him. The Jotun's arm passes right through him, he stands there, confused, when the real Loki comes out from behind a structure and shoves the Giant into the crevasse below. I ran to him pressing my hand to his wrist. "Sneaky move." Loki looks down at the abyss. "No, they're just pathetic."

As we turned back to the battle. Two Jotuns come at us from either side. Loki lets two daggers fly, ending both Giants at once. "Come on!" Thor roars when he hurls his hammer to take out a Jotun, the Frost Giants seize the opportunity. A group of Jotuns swarms Thor from all sides, keeping him separate from his weapon. Mjolnir falls to the ground. A Frost Giant desperately struggles to lift Mjolnir off the ground, to no avail. An energy wave sweeps the ground below. I stop and look towards a foreboding crack of ice below my feet." "This can't be good." Loki says grabbing my hand.

Suddenly a shadowy figures moves in the ice, dozens of jotun warriors awakening beneath the surface, rousing to join the battle. Loki turns to his brother, who still battles a group of the Giants.

"Thor, we must go!" He shouts shielding me from the creped wind and threats.

"Then go! I can stop them!" I step up screaming. "Thor, this is foolish! You will die!"

Jotuns break up through the ice all around us.

Thor ignores his comrades, and continues fighting. Reluctantly, we flee back toward the inner edge of the planet as the Giants break up through the ice and give chase.

One of Thor's attackers hears something roaring up behind him. He whirls around -- BAM! -- Mjolnir nails him square in the face, then flies into Thor's outstretched hand. Thor raises the hammer up high, and brings it down on the ground with all his might.

Lightning strikes down from the sky, the hammer channeling the blast, firing the electricity out at the Jotuns around him. They're blasted back in a massive shockwave. The Jotuns convulse, drop dead to the ground. But the force of the blast also cracks the ice below, the shockwave continuing to spread outwards. It moves out, breaking up the ground beneath, exposing the black void of space below.

I look around in shock. "What's Thor done?" Loki stares around panicked. "Likely killed us all!" He brings me close, "I am so sorry, my love."

As the Jotuns race towards us, The swirling mists quickly engulf us as we flee. We all stand unable to see in the mist. I latch onto Loki's side. Hogun takes a step back, the ice cracking beneath him. "Stop! Don't move!" I declare in fear of falling through, into the void below.

Thor lands beside his comrades in the shroud of mists. "Beyla, we need to see." I stand forward and raise my arms, concentrating, and soon the mists dissipate.

The view before me is horrifying. The faces of the Frost Giants. And there are hundreds of them! Volstagg looks down to me, "Actually, could you bring the mists back, please?"

The Giants move in for the kill when they hear a deafening roar. A hole in the sky opens up, and the Bifrost blasts down onto the inner edge of the planet. Out of the maelstrom comes the sound of thundering hooves, and, to the shock of all, tearing across the frozen wasteland comes Odin Allfather astride his powerful, steed. Laufey slams his fists into the ground, and the ice beneath his feet raises him towards Odin. We start to react, thinking it's an attack, but Laufey just stands face-to-face with Odin.

Asgardian and Jotun alike look on uneasily, unsure what's about to happen. "Laufey. End this."

"Your boy sought this out."

"You're right. These are the actions of a boy. Treat them as such. You and I can stop this before there's further bloodshed."

"We are beyond diplomacy now, Allfather. He'll get what he came for... war and death." I whimper prompting Loki to grasp my waist in a calming manner.

Odin looks grim, determined. "So be it."

Without warning, Laufey swings an ice blade at Odin, but Odin is quicker. The Allfather brings his spear down upon the ice. Laufey and the nearest Jotuns go falling backward in a wave, the ice cracking beneath their feet. The other Frost Giants turn tail and run.

"Father! We'll finish them together!" Thor screams proudly.

"Silence!" Odin hisses. The hole in the sky opens, the Bifrost energy blasting forth from it. The Bifrost envelops all of us, and yanks us off the ground and up.

Heimdall stands at the Observatory controls. Odin pulls Heimdall's sword from the control panel and throws it to him. Heimdall backs away.

I sigh, allowing myself to calm. "Why did you bring us back?" "Do you realize what you've done? What you have started?" "I was protecting my home."

"You cannot protect your friends. How can you hope to protect a kingdom?" Odin turns to the others telling them to exit. "There won't be a kingdom to protect if you're afraid to act! Whatever the cost, the world must know that the new King of Asgard will not be held in contempt.

Odin stares at his son, "That's pride and vanity that talks! Not leadership! Have you forgotten everything I've taught you? What of a warrior's patience, cunning?"

Thor grows angry yelling at his father, "While you wait and be patient, the Nine Realms laugh at us! The old ways are done. You'd stand giving speeches while Asgard falls!"

"You're a vain, greedy, cruel boy!"

"And you are an old man and a fool!"

I gasp tensing at the tone of his speech. Odin stands to look at his son. "The whole world seems to stop at Thor's words." He falls quiet. When he speaks again, something terrifying lies beneath the calmness of his words.

"A fool, yes! I was a fool to think you were ready." Loki takes a step towards Odin imploringly.

"Father..." Odin turns and gives Loki a look which stops him in his tracks. I pull him back to my side.

"Thor Odinson... You have disobeyed the express command of your King. Through your arrogance and stupidity, you have opened these peaceful realms and innocent lives to the horrors of war."

The Allfather plunges Gungnir into the Observatory's control panel showing the Bifrost energy building along with Odin's rage. It fires, as the Bifrost opens at the end of the platform, creating a portal behind Thor. I watch as Odin turns angrily to his son.

"You are unworthy of this Realm..." Odin tears a disc off Thor's chest. "...unworthy of your title..." He rips away Thor's cloak. "...unworthy of the loved ones you've betrayed. I hereby take from you your powers." Odin extends his hand towards his son. Mjolnir goes flying from Thor's grasp into Odin's hand. "In the name of my father..." Lightning comes off the hammer and hits Thor, disintegrating the right arm of his armor and part of the chest piece. "...and of his father before..." Another strike disintegrates the remainder of Thor's armor, including the cape and torn-away disc on the floor. "I cast you out!"

Odin thrusts Mjolnir before him and with a crack of thunder, Thor is hurled back into the open Bifrost and disappears in the vortex. I fall onto my knees as Odin turns to me. "Beyla, you are freed of the proposal for now." He struts away with anger.

Loki peers at me and helps me up. I wrap my arms around him as he buries his face into my neck. "Loki..." "Shh, darling. I know... I know."

🌿

[nortromthesilencer]

Repercussions (Compile)

The Next part of the Madinni story... Started with an ask meme prompt about one falling asleep on the other and we decided to carry on the story.

NortromtheSilencer

As the sun slipped behind the rocks and night came to be, Nortrom sat in the orange glow of the camp fire and yawned. How long had he been awake, traveling on foot, without a break? By this point he didn’t know or care, instead glad he had encountered Rizzrack before the sun set once again.

What a strange concept: being happy to see this strange pink Keen. it meant he was finally back out of enemy territory, no longer at risk of ambush, and able to relax for once. Another yawn as he pondered this, intently staring into the flames.

With each passing thought his eye lids grew heavier, fatigue winning a lawn drawn out battle of attrition now that his guard was down and destination mostly reached. Without even realizing it the Silencer had tilted to the side and fallen asleep, fallen to his side, head pushed up against Rizzrack’s legs.

Rizzrack

It must be close to the end of times, because for once Rizzrack was the cleaner of the two (having finally made use of that gift of soap). What a sweaty dirty man to have stumble upon the keen during the last few days of putting ol’ Timbersaw back together. What had the Silencer been up to? The man didn’t share much probably because he was quite tired, but Rizzrack assumed he wasn’t GOOD enough to be told of such things!

Ah, no, just tired then it seems.

“Erhm, y-you’re on my…” Rizzrack’s legs are held hostage, pinned between Nortrom’s head and the log he sits upon. His expression twists, unsure whether to be annoyed or worried. The latter wins over as he finds it uncharacteristic for Nortrom to be this lax. Something must be wrong.

Very lightly he pokes the man’s forehead. “Nortrom?” No response. Maybe he’s been drugged. Lightly the keen jostles his legs. “Nortrom…?”

Rizzrack looks past the flames, past his little shamble of a shack and to the outer edge of the woods. Trees stand bare, branches leafless so that the unknown may not be hidden during day, but at night… at night the darkness is just as untrustworthy. The shadows creep closer and the light recoils away from the edge, leaving the two eventually on a small glowing island in a black sea.

His holiday was coming to an end, and with that the inevitable return of fears. Spring isn’t far away, and when there’s spring there’s…

The keen’s breath goes still and he listens intently. What was that sound? It was just the fire right? Does it ever crackle that loudly? He was so lost in his thoughts that anything could have ambushed them!

“Nortrom, wake up…!” Hopefully a harsh whisper and some nudging would be enough to get the man to wake up.

NortromtheSilencer

Jostled and spoken to, the Silencer snorted, slowly stirring from his slumbering state. As he moved to right himself his balance faltered, the log they were resting on betraying his tired state and causing Nortrom to abruptly roll to the ground in front of Rizzrack. Groaning and muttering an assortment of curses under his breath as his hands moved to clear dirt from a few days worth of unshaven stubble, Nortrom shook his hair out in an effort to regain composure.

“W-What? Is there something wrong?” The man didn’t even notice he had been lying on Rizzrack, instead combating embarrassment from falling and trying to keep his eyes open once more. The task was made easier when he saw that look of worry across the Keen’s features.

“What’s the issue?”

Rizzrack

Using his hands to motion at Nortrom to be more quiet, Rizzrack keeps his eyes on their surroundings. “There’s something… out there…” He leans over ever slightly, feeling his every movement being tracked. “…watching…”

A glint in the darkness.

That was enough to get the small-keen to frantically jump to his feet. At this point he’d already be climbing up into his suit, but alas, it’s still within his little hut and not quite completely put together yet. Should he run? No, he’d be lost in the darkness along with that thing. Stay with the fire. Oh right, fire.

Without another moment’s hesitation, he yanks out a piece of burning wood. Mustering up all of his strength, he lobs it out into the darkness at his hidden foe. It lands with a crunch in the thin snow, cinders bursting out and faintly sizzling until the orange glow dims down into darkness behind the campfire once more.

The small-keen crouches closer to his fire. He’s just over reacting. It’s too cold, too soon it to start, isn’t it?

NortromtheSilencer

Following the Keen’s gaze, Nortrom squints in an attempt to see just what it was that made him so jumpy. (Besides everything) About to comment on the fact it was most likely just some random critter foraging for food, he instead had to jump back as cinders sparked in protest to being jostled in Rizzrack’s make shift weapon attack. The trail of orange flares up, illuminating the ground and barren brush as it flew, only to pathetically douse itself in the snow upon landing.

Still staring, the Silencer yawned quietly. Again he brushed his face with his hands, the faint blue glow of his eyes visible on his skin in this dark hour. With a frown the man continues to watch, silently. If something was there, it would have since changed position seeing as Rizzrack gave away the fact that they saw movement. And if it was nothing? Then it was a waste of good fire wood.

Rizzrack

How can he act so calm about this?!

Because he knows you’re just hearing things, Rizzrack. It’s all in your mind! Not everything else obviously, just this… It can’t be the trees, they’re dead still. Maybe it’s a wolf or, or a yeti… No no, it’s probably just clumps of snow that fell. If it was either of those other two they’d have been attacked by now right? Right! What’s he getting so worked up over for then? Silly silly Rizzrack.

… It still wouldn’t be such a bad idea to finish getting his suit together.

“Heh… G-guess it was nuthin’ after all? Hmph, it’s still got me worried though, I should get the suit up and running before it’s too late.”

There’s another audible snap that makes the keen flinch. Chuckling at his reaction, he scoffs and waves a hand through the air to dismiss his nervousness. It’s just the damn sn-

A shred of the shadows tore from the darkness and clung itself to Nortrom’s back. Before Rizzrack could even register what he was witnessing, the black figure lunges a dagger into the man’s back. With a yelp the keen falls back onto the ground, staring fearfully at the large cat-like being kneeling on top of Nortrom.

“Move, he dies.” The blood-dipped blade is moved dangerously close to Nortrom’s neck.

Rizzrack looks as if he’s just seen a ghost.

“M-Madinni?” He killed her, and now she’s back for revenge.

NortromtheSilencer

Nortrom nodded, feeling on edge from being suddenly woken up and believing that having the timbersuit operational would be a wise choice.

“A good idea. I will attempt to stay awake just in ca—” Cut off by having the air forced from his lungs by a sudden weight pressed into his back, the Silencer twisted to see what had landed on him only to snarl in pain and fall forward, chest hitting his knees and weight pressing him even further down. Teeth clenched he hissed, the thing on top of him only further aggravating the now stabbing pain pulsating from the fresh wound, blood staining the back right side of his clothing as it seeped out.

Still confused due to just how fast this all went, even after hearing the vaguely familiar voice, it wasn’t until Rizzrack spoke that name, that forgotten yet distinct name, that Nortrom remembered just where he had heard it before.

A pawed hand tangled into the man’s hair, wrenching his head back at an uncomfortable angle in order to gain better access of the throat she so threatened. Wasn’t this the very damned thing he was attempting to avoid by staying at Rizzrack’s camp?

“What the hell do you want?” His words were pained, yet ever defiant. Did she even know who he was, given their encounter was during a period of time when Nortrom was a youth, a spell she knew nothing about? More than likely Madinni was merely after Rizzrack and he had the unfortunate fate of being stuck in between her and her prey.

Thinking on that options were present, only a couple came to mind: He didn’t doubt his strength was much more than her own, and able to still stand and perhaps throw her off. There were a few issues, however, given the grip on his head and the dagger at this throat that would make this a very risky venture. Another option was to throw a curse on her, the pain known to cripple all but the strongest of wills. Again, the dagger left this at less than desirable odds of getting out from under her. Damnit.

Through all of this, Nortrom thought less on his own well being and more on the fact that if he were to be killed it would leave Rizzrack alone with this crazed feline out for blood and revenge. For now, the best course of action would be to wait and see, and just breath through the pain.

Rizzrack

“I-I’m so-” Rizzrack stops himself and rethinks his response. “I’m NOT sorry for what I did! You evil untrustworthy thief! You deserved to die! Now back off or I’ll kill you again!”

Sharp eyes reflected fire and gazed upon the keen. “You did not kill myself. You killed another. You *murdered* my sister.” The feline harshly yanks Nortrom’s head back even more, displaying his throat to Rizzrack and her intention to spills his blood in front of him.

“In turn I take the life of your friend. Or you submit to me yours. Choose, keen.” She makes her statement pressing the blade roughly to his neck enough to draw a line of blood.

Rizzrack stammers, unsure of how to process her statement. He is lost in his refusal to believe he killed an innocent, and self-preservation makes him hesitant to answer immediately. Who knows if he would have agreed to or not, but Madinni did not wait for an answer. She was going to kill the keen either way. His answer would have only decided how quick his death would come.

The blade is buried into the base of Nortrom’s neck and forgotten as she lunges as the shrieking Rizzrack. She won’t need the dagger, only her claws.

Such a fragile race the keenfolk are without their machines.

NortromtheSilencer

The stinging feeling of even more pierced flesh brought about another small hiss from the Silencer. He glares towards Rizzrack as best he can at the odd angle, and motions with his shoulders, “Rizzrack, run.”

Obviously not liking this instruction, Madinni chaotically stabbed the knife into the man and lept off him towards the keen. Nortrom was shoved into the ground, gasping in pain and reaching up, feeling for the wound, expecting to be choking on blood or exsanguinating at a rapid pace. Instead, the odd angle and rushed stabbing forced the knife downward, through his muscles and more towards the collar bone at the base of his neck. It hurt like hell, greatly overshadowing the previous stab wound from behind, and the Silencer feared that removing the blade would rupture something important. Leaving it in however, would most definitely cause more damage if he ended up moving too much.

One hand held the skin between his hand and the blade, and despite the ringing in his ears and throbbing pain, his other hand reached out towards the lunging Madinni. Using the last ounce of concentration he had, Nortrom cast the curse of “Last Word” on her before rolling on to his back and fighting to keep pressure on the wound.

Rizzrack

Claws dig deep into the side of his face, dragging and drawing blood that runs hot and cold in the winter air. Even by the light of the fire he can’t make out her features except for her eyes filled with rage. Another hand smothers Rizzrack’s face some more into the snow, covering his mouth and nose with intent to suffocate him and muffling his cries for help. Believing Nortrom to be incapacitated, she focuses all of her attention to him.

“I will cut you to ribbons and string your entrails across the woods.” She trails off with a hiss. A phantom hand seizes her throat and strangles not only her breath, but her mental focus as well.

The keen kicks and struggles beneath her, finding opportunity to slip away while the feline grasps at her neck. Desperate to survive, he runs into his shelter and hopes that the feline is distracted long enough for him to get his suit running.

The curse fades. That damn man getting in the way. Apparently he’s not dying fast enough.

“The keen is your friend? So quick to abandon, yes?” The lithe figure casually kneels down beside his head as she rubs at her sore neck. “Expected of such a coward. Hmm.” Her gaze hardens as she turns Nortrom’s face towards her own, caring not if her claws marked his features. “Se’ami, have we met?” Her senses picked up something subtle about this man. Not just somewhere in his looks, but in his scent and voice as well.

“Tell me, where are you from? Maybe Madini will leave you for dead instead of killing you now.”

NortromtheSilencer

Heavy, heaving breaths continued as he lie there, the Silencer being exceptionally careful not to move the blade at his neck as he rummaged in his gambeson for the salve he knew was stored within. He felt it, the smooth vial tucked away, and slowly pulled it free, holding it concealed at his side once hearing the approaching steps. Not enough time; Never enough time.

Nortrom winced as he head was turned, muscles bending where he had been attempting to avoid strain, her claws scrapping against his course stubble. Eye to eye with this conniving creature, his brows knit.

“Don’t act like— like your sisters death was unprovoked. You knew what you were doing by deceiving and selling that child into slavery.” Each word, strained. Each breath, tortured. Hopefully this distraction gave Rizzrack a chance to run, to get away, “I’m rather glad you failed, or else I wouldn’t have been able to see your most lovely face once more…” His words were seeping in sardonic venom.

Rizzrack

Madini’s pupils slit so thinly her stare could cut. She won’t know by what means a child became a man so quickly, but she couldn’t deny it was him.

“Silence your tongue before I take it.” She roughly lets go of his jaw, tossing his face away from her own and aggressively retrieves her blade from his neck. “Si’ak lamtef. It is the way of this world, but Madini only want gold, not death for child.” One foot following the next, she steps onto Nortrom’s chest and casually sits, caring not if he struggled to breath. “But that is no longer.” Paw meets cheek and claws rake across Nortrom’s face. “There is a price to pay for taking Lijuni’s life. Gold is not worthy, and now Madini demands more than just the keen.” She leans over slowly, body curling and resting her paws on his chest until her breath meets his ear.  “Mont ahgo.”

Fuses in. Lights checked. Engine cranks. The rumble kicks in and immediately a blast of noxious thick smoke fills the shelter causing the keen to cough and squint from the burning smoke. Metal squeals as stiff joints bend and swing to break away the shack. Rizzrack didn’t know what to expect when he got back out with his suit, but he never would have imagined he’d see the feline with her fangs dug deep into Nortrom’s neck.

There was a taste of blood she found to be delicious. Spilling life garnished with revenge. Jaws closed ever tighter, ensuring he’ll never take another breath. So absorbed in her killing, she mistakes the Timbersaw for her own delighted purring and is nearly shredded by the swinging saw.

Utter horror. At first glance the keen was fooled to believe Nortrom had been decapitated by how much blood there was. Rizzrack looks to the feline, noting the way her smirk glistens by the light of the fire.

“How does it feel, Rizzrack? Enjoy living with the blood of the innocent on your hands. Until playing is over, then you die.”

The saw swings again, and again, each time missing Madini as she dodges with ease. The suit staggers and stomps about with each attack, bringing the Keen to follow her away from the light and towards darkness, refusing to let her escape with her life.

The night’s darkness masks all but the buzzing saw. She is nowhere, yet everywhere in the black that surrounds him. Rizzrack continues but his attempts are fruitless. She is gone.

Back to the camp the suit returns, the pilot’s breath fogging in the cool air. Hands on the dashboard, he admits to defeat. Madini has gotten away, and Nortrom… There’s no way he’s alive.

NortromtheSilencer

It’s funny how people tend not to think about how amazing breathing is until something or another hinders them in some way. We take it for granted, the breaths we take, just how important each gulp of air really is, and continue about our day forgetting that we give ourselves life out of pure reflex; That is, until the task no longer becomes easy.

A dagger lodged in the base of your throat and ripped out again so that every breath is a pained, dangerous affair? That will make you remember the feeling of breathing again. An adult sized figure pressing up against your chest so that you can’t fully inhale? Yup, each labored breath will be fought for and savored. But, when faced with the prospect of not breathing at all, this all changes. We no longer think about how lucky we were to breath normally in the past, or about every breath we force ourselves to take during the time. No. Only one thought enters into our minds as we choke and gag:

The battle for just ONE breath.

Nortrom had no mind to care about the past or the future as the strong feline jaws compressed his windpipe and shredded his throat. He only thought about the single breath he couldn’t take, and put all his effort into that one focus.

When Madinni finally did jump off him, it wasn’t by any effort of his own, limbs too weak to push her off, but something else that occurred beyond the slowly retracting range of his sensory perception. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter: he could breath. Sort of. At this point it was pure adrenaline keeping him going, forcing bubbling gulps of air through blood drowned tubes, coughing, sputtering, that circle of perception growing smaller by the second.

He felt the salve, remembered it there in his hand. Nortrom found himself nearly too weak to even lift the thing onto his chest, both hands shakily fumbling with the smooth glass bottle in an attempt to uncork the top. Precious seconds ticked by, breath in, breath out, but with so little blood and the lack of feeling in his extremities only getting worse, the cork wasn’t moving.

Breath in. Breath out.

It hurt less and less with every forced breath. His limbs felt heavier with each half coughing gasp that splattered more blood from his torn flesh. The bottle wouldn’t open: He just didn’t have the strength left to do it.

Rizzrack

Timbersaw groans and the engine halts, leaving the keen alone to his thoughts. If he could think at all. His mind is blank. He can think of nothing, and can barely take in the events that just happened. Why?

Before he can begin to answer himself, he hears a strange sound. Raspy, slow and labored breaths without rhythm. Where is that coming from? Is it…

Rizzrack’s head twists around and he stares wide-eyed at the supposed corpse. He’s still alive?! “O-oh God.” He nearly falls out of the cockpit not getting to the silencer fast enough. “Oh God Nortrom I-I thought… I-its okay now j-just…” Gloves are yanked off and trembling hands are pressed to the throat. Quite a futile attempt for so much blood was already lost.

What do I do what do I do-

Eyes catch sight of the salve. What a beautiful green glass orb of salvation! There’s relief and a chance for Rizzrack’s thoughts to organize themselves as he retrieves the object from cold fingers. Everything is going to be okay! He just needs to…

The paste is applied to the wound, mixing with thickening blood on the keen’s fingers. The effect should have been immediate but there was none. Why?

“Why… Hehe… Why isn’t it… ” Words scatter in between rapid panicked breaths. “Why isn’t it working?! It…. Please… Nortrom help me I can’t….”

Death was not new to the keen, but it was a reality he feared to face. Through many years a perverted sense of Justice may mask the truth of his destruction, but it cannot lie to him now.

Rizzrack breaks down, being left nothing more than a child alone in the wilderness once again.

NortromtheSilencer

A salve can heal many things, but it cannot heal the dead. Eyes no longer faintly glowing, they instead store ahead blankly, their light gone in both a literal and metaphorical sense. Blood soaked into the Silencer’s clothing and began to slowly feed the ground, and as if by some mocking sense of irony the night had gone silent. No wind, no creatures, no birds; Even the fire was eerily quiet now that Madinni had fled.

Her revenge was far from over, for there would come a day when she would return for the Keen’s life. For now, however, she thought best that he wallow in his own vision of death, and feel loss as she had.

[punk-in-docs]

Every question with a 1 (except 100) ❤

Ask and ye shall receive. I did them all cause it’s rainy day and I’m bored.

1. Name: // ok, easy. Libby.

10. What's your current job like?/What job would you like to have? // Current job, uh none. I am an aspiring illustrator doodling and avoiding any real responsibility in life - apart from my writing. I would die for my writing. Ideal job? Having a suspicious amount of money and being unemployed. So I can write and drink the good wine and paint and draw crazy things, read long books, enjoy the little things in life. Rather than being stressed to heck.

11. Your birth order // I..? don’t??...know...what?? this, means??

12. How many siblings do you have?// None. My parents created the perfect child and decided to stop it there.

13. Do you have good relations with your family? // I very much do. We’re very close. And they are the twin pillars without whom, I would not stand.

14. How many friends do you have?// Irl? About two. On tumblr? About 4. And they are all gorgeous gorgeous people.

15. Your relationship status// Taken, but not married.

16. What do you look for in a SO? //

Oh god. I don’t know? Healthy sense of humour? Must have all their own teeth. Like dogs. Can be Silly. And appreciates my cooking.

17. Do you have a crush? // yes. And if you read anything I write. You’ll get it.

18. When did you have your first kiss? // listen man. My brain is so old. I can’t even fucking remember when. But I do know it was in a Pret A Manger. (Thats not rude I promise, it’s a chain cafe place) And I’m pretty sure it was the worst kiss ever recorded in history.

19. Do you prefer serious and meaningful relationships or casual dating/one night stands? // Serious and meaningful. All day (and night) long. I’m not blessed with the casual dating gene. I’m too soft.

21. How was your day? // Today was very stormy and grey and raining. I am inside. Very warm. Under a blanket. Not going out in it.

31. What was your last awkward situation? // Does an awkward sex position count?

41. What's your [device] background? // The Cornish seaside. Cause I don’t live nearby anymore and I miss it daily. Take me back to the sea, yeet me back where I belong.

51. How would you describe your style? // I get called quirky a lot. I’m never sure if that’s censure or a compliment. I have bright orange hair. I wear chunky DM boots and I love punk music, wrap around dresses, and big jumpers. There is my style in a nutshell.

61. Favourite artist/band/genre? // Don’t make me pick one, I am so eclectic with my music taste. I can go from Billie Holliday and Siouxsie & The Banshees in one playlist ok? Favourite artists for today? In the past hour? Amber Mark. Lianne La Havas. Andreya Triana. Jorja Smith and Raveena.

71. Which fictional character is you? // I flatter myself that I cannot be tied down to any one character. I am facets of a lot of people. No two people may have the same take of me. And I like that. That’s how I like to be.

81. Your favourite books (manga also counts) // The Book Thief by Markus Zusak. My favourite book ever. Jojo Moyes. Tessa Dare. Veronica Henry. Also so so brilliant.

91. If you had to change your name, what would be your pick? // weirdly. I don’t mind my name. I don’t meet many people with my name. I kinda like that it’s unique. If I had to change it? Lol. Idk. Ask me in ten years time when I’ll have eventually found maybe (maybe?) one that I like.

100. ..... or .....? /// cake? Or wine? That is the question. Both. Always both.

[penprp]

On P5/DCMK...

I saw a very interesting post earlier that compared P5 and Detective Conan/Magic Kaito, drawing parallels between Hakuba and Kasumi, and between Akechi and Shinichi. (Not reblogging because the OP does not need my word vomit clogging up their dash.) I’m going to have to say that honestly, I see it the other way around-- Akechi is Hakuba and Kasumi is Shinichi. I suspect the OP has seen a bit more of the Royal trailers than I have, of course… but I’m gonna do a bit of a deep dive into Hakuba and Shinichi’s character evolutions first, and then explain the way I see the correspondence. I know the OP was focusing almost totally on their relationships to Joker... but I’m going to nerd out a bit further.

Okay, so it all starts back in the late 80’s with the manga Magic Kaito. Aoyama’s first manga series, if you can believe that. Magic Kaito introduces us to Kuroba Kaito, teenage magician, prankster, and occasional pervert. (It was manga in ‘87, that was practically required.) He slapsticks his way through a school day, and then discovers that his father, long dead in an accident, was the legendary thief Kaitou Kid! But Kaitou Kid is holding a heist tonight! Kaito crashes, dressed in his dad’s old costume and learns that his father’s accident was actually murder, and swears to bring the culprits to justice. So right away, we’ve got the tone set-- a lot of slapstick and silly humor, with the occasional dramatic suckerpunch hitting when you don’t so much expect it.

That goes on for two volumes, with mostly silly stories about Kid escaping an army of robot surveillance cameras, Kid helping a little boy deal with bullies, Kid dealing with an honest-to-god witch who’s attempting to put him under her spell, Kaito and Aoko hunting ghosts that turn out to be a teacher trying to hide his research into hair growth formula… you get the idea. Then in 88, Kid went on hiatus, as Aoyama had moved onto his next manga, Yaiba!

Then we hit 1994. Yaiba has just ended, as has a short baseball-themed series called Yoban Saado, and so Aoyama comes back to Kid. His drawing style has evolved and so has his storytelling-- seven years of continuous work will do that to you. There’s still a lot of slapstick and silliness, but the drama has tightened up its act and is now setting snares for you instead of just punching you and running off laughing. It’s in this period of time that we meet Hakuba Saguru.

I should pause at this moment to say that Aoyama Gosho has some of the strongest special interests I have ever seen in a mangaka. The man loves Sherlock Holmes, Arsene Lupin, stage magic, and baseball, not necessarily in that order. He also loves working in a semi-unified world. Yaiba ended with a character announcing that “Kuroba and Nakamori,” IE, Kaito and his best friend Aoko, were finally going out. The new volume has a chapter in which Kid goes up against Yaiba in one of the most ridiculously slapstick things the series has done at this point. Remember this for later.

So into this mess comes Hakuba Saguru, transfer student. Hakuba’s role, as suits the slightly more focused and dramatic tone of the series in this volume, is to be an antagonist slightly more competent than Nakamori. His initals make him a reference to Herlock Sholmes, but as he’s half-British, reading his name in the Western fashion does evoke Sherlock Holmes. Really, at this point, Saguru is not narratively one particular reference as he is The Detective-As-Antagonist. He’s handsome, smug, confident, charming, brilliant, and basically a rival to Kaito in every arena, from school to romance to their nightly activities. His very first appearance has him ignoring the trick that the rest of the police fall for, forcing Kid to step up his game. Not long after that, he actually manages to realize that Kuroba Kaito is Kaitou Kid, and comes up with a clever plan to prove it. Unfortunately, he’s still in the Magic Kaito manga, and thus is thwarted by a witch riding in on her broom. (It makes sense in context.)

It’s towards the end of this volume that Kid learns of the gem Pandora, the reason his father was murdered, and vows to find the gem himself and destroy it. At this point, Kid switches from stealing various interesting baubles to targeting gems and only gems.

… And cue Detective Conan, which has been running for, as of this writing, twenty-five years. (Dear God.) This introduces us to Kudou Shinichi, detective and Sherlock Holmes otaku extraordinaire. One of the first things we learn about Shinichi is that he is incredibly privileged. (He’s also a huge dork, but I digress.) He’s handsome. He’s rich. His parents love him, but they’re out of the country, leaving him to live on his own with a ridiculous degree of freedom. He has cases to stimulate him. He’s a brilliant detective whom the police and media adore. The kids at school love him, though none can really be considered his friends except Mouri Ran, his best friend. Shinichi’s biggest problem in life is that Ran has a nasty habit of cracking concrete with her fists when he says something insensitive. Later flashbacks and retcons tell us that Shinichi, while he can be hugely thoughtless, is nevertheless instantly ready to throw all of that power and privilege behind protecting the weak and the innocent. He’s just… better with victims and witnesses than he is with normal social interaction.

Contrast this with Hakuba, who while, yes, he’s rich and charming and his father has enormous social and political pull as the Superintendent of the police... he’s still half-white. And thus will always be, on some level, an outsider. Neither manga does a lot with this, but it is still there.

Then he witnesses a drug deal, gets shrunk into an elementary-schooler, and it all goes down the tubes. Shinichi starts off as being very much like Hakuba-- or rather, Hakuba was a sort of proto-Shinichi. But Shinichi has twenty-five years of appearances and is the protagonist, so he gets the kind of character development Hakuba could only dream of. Shinichi loses almost everything and has to build it anew, without the privilege he had to begin with. In the process, he grows and changes, becoming more thoughtful and more appreciative, with less smugness and ego.

Into this world, Gosho decides to do one of his usual things, and drop Kaitou Kid in for a story. Holmes vs. Lupin, it’ll be fun, right? The fans ate it up, and so Kid became a regular guest star. After that, when doing Sunset Mansion, a story loosely based on Young Kindaichi’s “House of Wax” story, which involves a detective gathering, Hakuba Saguru was a natural choice. And here we come to one of Hakuba’s issues as a character.

It’s now the year 2000. Detective Conan, always more serious in tone than Magic Kaito, given the rampant murders, has progressed in the past six years. The art is better, the storytelling is more dramatic… And Hakuba’s previous narrative slot has been filled by Shinichi. What does Gosho do with him? I think a lot of the characterization that follows was Gosho trying to get a handle on who Hakuba IS, in a world where all the characters he played off of have changed so dramatically. In Sunset Mansion, he acts more like James Bond than either Herlock Sholmes or Sherlock Holmes. He’s handsome, charming, and dangerous, and while he’s not convinced of Kid’s essential benevolence, he is adamant that Kid is no killer.

Fast-forward to 2006. Hakuba shows up again for the Tantei Koshien, a detective competition that seems designed to play up the differences between Hakuba and Hattori Heiji, Conan’s best friend and fellow detective. This is quite possibly the most characterization Hakuba gets, and he’s… not shown in a great light. He’s scornful of Heiji’s impulsive nature and rash action, and lets his focus on thefts and frauds mislead him into identifying the wrong culprit. He takes his correction rather graciously, but hasn’t appeared in Detective Conan since.

And now it’s 2007. Kid is rabidly popular, enough that Gosho puts out another volume’s worth of Kaitou Kid chapters. Now that we’re back behind Kaito’s eyes, we see a combination of the goofy prankster in the earliest chapters and the smooth gentleman thief we’ve come to know in Conan’s tales. These stories are more tightly plotted, with more danger and escapes, the magic tricks used to set up a central “howdunit” for the chapter, and there’s a bit more character development. Kid also evinces more detective skills, as there’s often a mystery for him to get to the bottom of, as well as his own tricks for others to decipher. Hakuba makes a guest appearance, calling Kaito to give him information when he’s going head to head with another kaitou over a rare gem, and then shows up when Kid is threatened by a murderous thief named Nightmare. At the end of this case, he agrees with Kid in deliberately hiding the truth of Nightmare’s identity, as the man is dead and the truth would only hurt his family now.

Hakuba is still charming, flirty, and confident, and to be honest, still kind of smug. But now he’s being shown as someone capable of empathy, not a detective concerned only with the law, or even the truth. He’s come to understand that justice requires mercy. But we don’t get to see any of this happen, and he’s still only in a few pages in two stories out of five.

Hakuba and Shinichi both have complicated relationships with Kid that can’t be boiled down to “rival” and “enemy” quite so easily. The biggest difference, in my opinion, is that Hakuba is chasing Kid to catch and stop him, while Shinichi really sees Kid heists as a chance to match wits with an intellectual equal. Hakuba is concerned with Kid’s breaking the law, while  Shinichi seems to consider that mostly a non-issue, being focused more on beating Kid as almost a matter of pride. He’ll give it back and nobody died, no big deal. … That said, Hakuba’s characterization in spinoffs such as the Magic Kaito specials is leaning a bit more towards actual rivalry, but that’s because in that continuity, he has bigger spiders to fry.

So why did I go into all that? We don’t know much about Kasumi, but we know a lot about Akechi, so I’m going to start with him. Visually, he resembles Hakuba much more than Shinichi, with the perfectly pressed appearance, light hair, and visually adult fashion choices. He’s a media darling, and is incredibly charming. Beyond that, in all his interactions with the Phantom Thieves before his reveal, he is apart from them, even when assisting them. His outfit is brilliant white and gold, rather than the blacks and reds of most of the team. He even tells them that while he will help them clear their name of murder, they have to stop thieving. This is all very Hakuba. Of course, it’s all a mask, but even so… he wants to stop the Phantom Thieves. He’s tied into the forces of law and order, both in his mask persona and as Yaldabaoth’s pawn. (Law and Order being two different forces here… although maybe not so different as they seem.) He’s strongly drawn to Joker and winds up helping him, despite what his position and duties would suggest.

Kasumi is… well, we don’t really know. Visually, however, as a thief, she strongly resembles Joker. We’ve seen that she seems to act as a Phantom Thief, even if she’s quoted as saying that she doesn’t believe in their justice. (“Thieves are boring,” Conan scoffs, right before meeting a nutter in a white top hat.) A lot of her visual shots are set up to suggest a strong parallel between her and Joker, and there’s a possibility of her being yet another Wild Card. Kaito and Shinichi are canonically said to resemble each other strongly, and while this is probably partially Gosho making fun of the fact that all his hot teenage boys look alike… he’s said there is a deeper reason for it.

This is all speculation, of course. We won’t really know until the game comes out. (Can we get a Switch port Atlus? Please?)

[dreadhaus-literature]

{Collection} A Haunted Haus : Day One

Welcome, spooks and ghouls, but most especially a gooey warm welcome to the star of this collection, our very own resident zombaby, Monica~♥

This is the first day of Spooktober 2019, a 31 day celebration of my favorite time of year, Halloween! As detailed in the Prompt List, there’s a multi-faceted collection taking place this month, prompts on weekdays and chaptered short stories on weekends. Diving a bit deeper into that, I’ve decided to follow Monica’s oh-so-tempting route and am making the prompts linear, so everything written in the next month will be connected by a single plot point.

A plot point that we’ll be introducing tonight, so give me tonight to set up the plot and then we’ll get to the really good stuff in the later prompts. And like any witch’s cauldron, you can expect a wealth of ingredients to this spooky concoction--

Mystery, murder, monsters--oh my!

My witty alliterations aside, I hope this collection is enjoyed. ♥ I went back to our roots and made it Family-centric, as I feel there’s no better time to celebrate Family than the holidays. That’s why we have them, right?

So you can expect the usual cast of characters, but reader beware...

Day One, Start.

“If you say let’s split up, Gun, i swear to god.”

The man in question allowed his jaw to snap shut audibly, effectively trapping the predicted sentence from escaping and inciting Brendan’s wrath. The shorter male had the decency to look sheepish at being caught in his cowardice, but it didn’t change the fact that he did want to suggest splitting up. The fact of the matter was Gunnar couldn’t get far enough away from his current location. He’d be surprised if he ever felt safe again.

Around Brendan and Gunnar the October night sky was inky and dim, stars hidden behind clouds but there was no obscuring the orange sliver of the moon as it sat in it’s perfect crescent shape, as if winking down gleefully at the start of All Hallow’s Eve. It may only be the first of the month but the air was beginning to bite with crisp frost that caught at the mens’ jackets like wolves’ teeth, leaving them shivering from cold just as much as fear. Being on the outskirts of New Senzannini was normally not a scary experience in and of itself; the streets were well-lit and traveled, the populous continent was typically abuzz with life at any given time of day but tonight seemed unusually quiet. Neither of the men were the least bit surprised by this, given they’d had a very unusual past few weeks. Coincidences were one thing, but Gunnar’s battered face and the limp that kept Brendan’s right leg from fully straightening out were just a few telltale signs these two-bit thieves had had a rough time of it as of late.

The reason behind their sour luck was clutched like a lifeline in Brendan’s dirty hands, wrapped in a sheet tied with rope because neither man could stand that thing looking at them anymore.

“Well if you don’t wanna fuckin’ split up, then what do you wanna do?!” Gunnar demanded in a hissed whisper, dark blue eyes glancing at the sheet in Brendan’s hands unconsciously, as if he couldn’t stop himself from checking to make sure it hadn’t moved.

“I don’t...” Brendan exhaled in a rush, teeth worrying his lower lip. “I don’t know, just let me think.”

“We ain’t got time for you to think,” Gunnar shot back immediately. “Besides, it was your dumbass thinkin’ that got us into this fuckin’ mess.”

Brendan’s head snapped up as if pulled by an invisible string made taut. “The fuck it was! I wanted to leave after the first room, you were the one who thought this thing would be worth a fortune and decided to grab it!”

Gunnar whirled away in agitation before he hauled off and hit Brendan--and for what? Being right? It had been Brendan’s idea to do the job but Gunnar had taken one look at the ugly but valuable artifact now wrapped in the sheet and his sticky fingers hadn’t been able to help themselves. He’d known he’d made a mistake the second he’d picked it up--it had felt wrong, like entering a room that was supposed to be full of people only to find it dead silent and empty, but he hadn’t had time to think twice about it. Being a thief was about being opportunistic and being fast; he and Brendan had done countless jobs together since dropping out of high school decades ago but this was the one that went south and not in a way either of them could have predicted.

It had started from the second they’d gotten into their get-away car and driven away from the darkened manor and it hadn’t stopped since.

The larger homes in New Senzannini were often owned by old money and with that came the understanding that a family legacy could be worth millions if thieves could pinpoint which families had heirlooms worth lifting. This particular manor had been non-descript, just some old coot who was a recluse with little to no family left but more money than anyone would know how to spend. The manor had no security guards and a minimalist security system that could be easily patched into from a low-tier smartphone. The job had seemed too easy to these seasoned criminals but low-hanging fruit is often hard to ignore. They’d decided to go through with it anyway and initially it had seemed a great mark. They’d loaded up on valuables ranging from fine antiques to electronics and even cash, but Gunnar had felt something...odd from a room with a quadruple pad-locked door. He and Brendan had initially decided that what was out and easy for the taking was more than enough to justify the breaking and entering but Gunnar hadn’t been able to resist that pull. The more he stared at that ominously locked door, the more he wanted to open it and get what was inside. Brendan had put up a few weak arguments to the contrary but Gunnar couldn’t be dissuaded and after prying the door open with his crowbar, Gunnar had come face to face with a stark room that was completely barren with the exception of a grotesquely hideous looking figurine sat right dead in the center of the room. Gunnar’s flashlight beam threw the thing in such stark relief it had nearly taken his breath away. It had no real discernible facial features but it did have a place where a face should be; instead there just seemed to be an endless void with two pits for eyes and a gaping mouth that seemed capable of fitting his entire fist inside it. The “head” was misshapen, almost as if someone had stepped on it repeatedly, but had been unsuccessful in completely destroying it. It had four arms, not two, and all four of them were twisted in obscene ways, in ways no arm should ever be contorted. They were thick from shoulder to wrist and the “hands” were just three prongs, like a fork--sharpened so that Gunnar was certain a slight poke would draw blood. It’s “legs” were arranged in a tripod, the knees bent at such sharp angles it seemed ready to pounce on the first thing that moved.

It had been difficult to explain why Gunnar felt so put-off by the thing. It just looked...wrong, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself from entering the room. Like a car accident leaving bodies twisted and mangled on open display he couldn’t stop himself from wrapping his fingers around the torso of this toddler-sized talisman and picking it up. It was heavy, like lead, and the closer he brought it to himself the sicker he felt. What...was this thing? Gunnar turned it over, to the left and right, and marveled in almost horror at the way his flashlight beam seemed to be swallowed up by the black obsidian this thing was made of. Why had it been so tightly secured? It seemed so ominous, that the locks were positioned on the outside as if to keep the thing inside...but that was just silly, right? Gunnar was a grown man, a hardened criminal who was here to rob some rich old man so he could support a few vices. He didn’t have time for ghost stories or “bad vibes” from some weird collector’s item. He’d just take it and pawn it with the rest of the shit--with his recent good luck gambling streak maybe it would turn out this thing was ancient and worth more than the house it was currently being kept in. He could make a killing and pay off his debts and then some. He’d move, maybe give up this criminal shit, be comfortable enough to give life a proper go instead of sleeping in crack houses or in the back of Brendan’s truck when it wasn’t safe to go home--

Gunnar had nearly dropped the thing when it’s head turned toward him with an audible snap!

...It had no eyes but Gunnar would have sworn on a stack of bibles the thing was looking at him.

A split second later, Brendan had stuck his head in to see what Gunnar had found and audibly voiced his distaste for the thing, demanding Gunnar “leave that ugly shit here, it can’t be worth a goddamn.” But Gunnar wasn’t going to hear it. There was a reason this thing was in this house and there was a reason it was so tightly locked down when nothing else had been.

Gunnar had been right, of course, he just had the reason wrong.

Once outside in Brendan’s pick-up, their loot in the backseat, the two had been clipped by a run-away semi-truck that had come barreling out of nowhere. Then in the hospital, Brendan’s stitches got infected and Gunnar’s medication got swapped out for high-dose insulin three times, nearly sending him into a coma. Once out of the hospital, their luck only got worse. Brendan’s wife left him, for some reason fed up with his thieving ways when before she’d been more or less passive, and Gunnar’s dog ran away, never to return. While that could be explained as “bad luck” or “coincidence”, as the days ticked by luck began to be the least of their problems. Brendan started hearing voices in his ear at night, as if something was leaning over his bed and whispering horrible things to him.

“You’re gonna die soon.” “I’m going to kill you.” “Open your eyes, Brendan. Look at me. LOOK AT ME!”

But there was never anyone there.

Gunnar was seeing things. Demons, monsters, ghosts--he didn’t know what they were but he hated them. Their faces were always wrong, half-melted or oozing pus from their eye sockets or so horribly twisted their heads were on backward. He’d be washing his face and straighten up to see one in the mirror behind him, or roll over in bed and find one lying beside him.

It hadn’t taken the men long to realize the one piece of loot from the old man’s house they couldn’t unload was the cause for their waking nightmare. No pawn shop would take it, no street level trader wanted anything to do with it, no one wanted the thing and when Gunnar got fed up and threw it away, he woke up the next morning to a frantic call from Brendan that the thing was on his kitchen table. So Gunnar threw it into the ocean, only to wake up the following day and find it lying next to him in bed, one of those sharp-armed prongs so close to his eye if he’d coughed it would have blinded him. Whatever material it was made of was like stone and wouldn’t burn, and even locking it in the trunk of Brendan’s car did nothing to stop their horrible visions, the whispers, and the god-awful luck--bad luck that was beginning to turn life-threatening. What started as inconveniences like runaway dogs or mild infections was now people “accidentally” pushing Gunnar off the crosswalk into on-coming traffic or Brendan’s brake lines failing for no discernible reason. As days turned to weeks with this horrific doll in their lives, Brendan and Gunnar knew they were going to die, that it was only a matter of time.

The final straw happened at 9:37PM on September 30th, nearly seven hours ago. Brendan and Gunnar had been drinking beers at Brendan’s kitchen table, the doll tied up in a bedsheet on the table in front of them when they’d heard it. The doll itself never made a noise, and while it moved it rarely did so while they were looking at it, so the men knew what they were hearing wasn’t coming from the doll...but it was coming from Brendan’s upstairs hallway.

Thump...thump...sliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiide.

Thump, thump...sliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiide.

They still didn’t know what it was. Gunnar had just gotten to his feet when Brendan let out a shallow cry of terror at the distorted face that loomed into view. The creature was like something from a nightmare, glistening gore and elongated limbs, teeth made for tearing into something until that something never moved again. Brendan took off like a shot, only just having the presence of mind to grab the doll before he was gone and as Gunnar took off after him, the creature made the most horrible sound, a cross between a wounded animal and the rage of the predator tearing it to pieces.

Brendan’s house was now blocks away but any time the men slowed down, the creature caught up. It just kept coming! It left them with no idea what to do; they had to get rid of the doll but just tossing it aside didn’t break the curse. They didn’t know what it was and thus had no idea how to transfer ownership. They’d stolen it, thus taking possession of it, and they needed to unload this onto someone else before they were ripped to pieces by the thing chasing them down the darkened streets of New Senzannini.

It was Gunnar who saw the creature first, letting out a bellow of surprise before turning and shoving Brendan in the opposite direction with a fierce, “Go, fuckin’ GO!” and the men took off, running as fast as they could with the terrible knowledge that that thing would never get tired. It wasn’t human, it wasn’t natural, so it couldn’t be stopped. They were running on borrowed time and they’d become so sleep-deprived, so battered down by the doll in Brendan’s hands, that they were on their last leg. They weren’t going to last much longer.

Desperation can make a man do things he might not, otherwise.

That thought was the reason Gunnar slid to a stop in front of the massive gate on a very notorious bridge, reaching out to catch Brendan’s jacket.

“Wait, here!”

Brendan turned and drew up to his full height, chest heaving with exertion. He took one look at the gate before glancing at Gunnar in disbelief. “Are you out of your fucking mind?! Do you know where that bridge goes?!” Without waiting for an answer, Brendan gestured with one hand toward the foreboding, starkly lit gate. “The Stone Spider Family lives there, we can’t fuckin’ go there!”

Thump, thump...sliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiide.

Gunnar glanced over his shoulder, hearing the creature dragging itself ever closer with that god-awful sound and he turned back to his partner. “We don’t got a choice, Bren. We gotta unload this cursed piece of shit or we’re gonna die.”

“And what’re we gonna do, go up and knock on the door and offer it to one of them like a house-warming present?! We’ve tried gettin’ rid of it before!”

“We’ve tried tossin’ it away, like trash, but givin’ it away is what we ain’t tried.”

“Yes we did, no one would take it!”

“Willingly,” Gunnar stressed, pushing Brendan toward the gate. “But I got an idea. I know your leg’s fucked so I’ll give ya a boost up but we gotta go, Bren.”

Brendan had never experienced true fear before this moment. At their back was some unspeakable evil, a creature that shouldn’t exist according to natural law, running them down like dogs with the desire to break them, rip them into unrecognizable pieces and for what? Because of this doll clutched to his chest. Brendan didn’t dare drop it, risk angering it even more, but he still didn’t understand what Gunnar was planning. The Stone Spider Family were infamous in New Senzannini, people you just did not fuck with. Gunnar and Brendan had been thieves since they were teenagers and never once had they ever had the desire to even attempt to rob anyone even remotely affiliated with this powerful Family. And now Brendan was scaling their security gate with a cursed doll, waiting to be shot dead at any moment for trespassing. He might welcome that, especially with the thing bearing down on hm and Gunnar--and he definitely didn’t want to face any one of the Family members. He’d heard enough horror stories to put him in an early grave, if this damned doll didn’t do it.

But as he landed on unsure feet on the other side of the gate, nothing happened. No gunshot rang out, no security camera swiveled to their position and demanded identification. Gunnar landed next to him and gave him a hard shove toward the bridge but Brendan didn’t feel a sense of relief putting the formidable gate between himself and the creature.

If anything, heading toward what was known as the Stone Spider Haus seemed the greater of two evils and Brendan didn’t know how to feel about that.

The bridge was high over the ocean, connecting the Family island to the mainland. It was not a trafficked road, only utilized by those affiliated with the Family, but given the late hour the bridge had not a single car on it. It was well-lit but the fog rolling off the ocean kept visibility lower than either man would have liked. Brendan hoped Gunnar knew what the fuck he was doing because he himself had no idea what he would do if asked who he was or why he was there. He couldn’t explain why the security cameras hadn’t followed their movements; this Family was infamous for a reason and it wasn’t for lax security. No one trespassed, no one broke-in, no one fucked with this Family and there was a myriad of reasons for that and Brendan had no desire to find out any of those reasons...it was just bothering him that he and Gunnar had gotten in so easily. Were they so over-confident they didn’t care who approached their island? That didn’t seem right. Brendan glanced down at the silent sheet he was holding onto and some part of him wondered if the doll didn’t have something to do with that. He couldn’t hear the creature chasing them, anymore, either. Was the doll happy with this turn of events? Had Gunnar made the right choice?

The bridge was lengthy, likely over a mile and by the time the two men reached the other side they were nearly spent. Lungs burned and legs ached, Brendan’s already injured so badly it nearly gave out when he finally slowed to a stop. He braced himself against the steel barrier that separated the end of the bridge from the drop off to the ocean below, trying to catch his breath. Gunnar had his hands on his knees, drawing in deep gulps of air but he’d noticed the creature didn’t seem to be chasing them, anymore--he didn’t feel out of the woods, yet, but almost as if the doll was waiting to see what they would do. Either that, or he’d been driven insane by the goddamn thing and was now making up thoughts for the inanimate object. He didn’t know and at this point, he didn’t care. He just wanted it gone.

“So...” Brendan managed between puffs of desperate air. “What now?”

Gunnar’s battered face looked haggard under the two lights that illuminated the edge of the bridge. Before them, the bridge bled into a single, lone road that wound into a forest so dense neither man could see anything between the trees. It was as if there were black sheets draped between the huge trunks and the wind that whipped through them seemed kissed by the ocean and felt like icicles in their lungs. No matter what was chasing them, neither man wanted to set one single, solitary foot into those woods.

“We’re gonna bury it.”

Brendan lifted his head in confusion. “Bury it?”

“Yep.” Gunnar reluctantly reached for the sheet and Brendan hurriedly handed the doll to him. He would never, for as long as he lived, forget the heavy, dead weight of the thing in his hands.

“...Will that work?” Brendan couldn’t even be ashamed of the hope in his voice. He wanted that thing out of his life.

“Dunno,” Gunnar stepped off the bridge, a few more steps off the road, to the base of one particularly large tree. “But this ain’t our land, and maybe if we bury it here it’ll latch onto them instead.”

Brendan hesitated. “That don’t seem right, Gun.”

“What, like all the shit we’ve done our whole lives has been? Don’t grow a fuckin’ conscience on me now, not when we got a chance to get rid of this cursed piece of shit.” Gunnar all but spat from the side of his mouth, dropping down to his knees at the base of the tree. He dug at the soft earth, found the soil rich and yielding as it settled beneath his fingernails. He didn’t know if this would work, but he thought he remembered some shit from his church-going youth, something about planting evil like a seed and letting it sprout where it lay. Maybe this thing would take a liking to this Family, find some tastier prey to fuck with than two low-life thieves who’d made the biggest mistake of their lives.

Brendan moved a little closer to Gunnar, glancing around nervously. The creature might not be chasing them anymore but he felt eyes on him all the same. They shouldn’t be here, doing this, and they both knew it.

“Maybe...” Brendan faltered, trying to find a way to make himself feel better. “Maybe they’ll be able to handle it?”

“If anyone can, they can,” Gunnar muttered.

The doll, still wrapped in it’s sheet, was dropped in the shallow grave and hurriedly covered, buried like a horrible secret at the base of a tree that could never tell a soul. Gunnar straightened up, brushing the dirt off his hands with finality. He didn’t feel great about it, but thieves aren’t known for their honor. Better someone else than him, as far as he was concerned.

“Do we just...go?” Brendan asked.

“And hope it don’t try to follow.” Gunnar replied, turning away from his dirty deed with the slumped shoulders of a defeated man. Brendan fell into step beside him, the men moving back onto the bridge with ever intention of quietly slinking home with their tail between their legs--

Thump, thump.

But that dead, beating pulse resonating from the buried doll sent them sprinting away into the fog, to the creature still waiting for them at the gate.

The doll was done with them. It had found a new Haus to call home.

- x -

“If you say let’s split up, I swear to god.”

“...Well I wasn’t wasn’t going to say that.”

There’s something to be said about a “disappointed Mom tone”. Helen Brigham usually hears Monica tell Dot she has it, but Monica had it too, and it was truly to the delight of everyone except the one she’s disappointed in, to hear it. The loving amusement in the Shadow Reaver’s green eyes was uncharacteristic and would surprise anyone who knew her, but given the person she was looking at, should be self-explanatory. Seated in her home office, behind her hand-carved desk (made from wood blessed centuries ago), Helen was hard at work going through the field reports handed in by Beauregard Frenzy, her Junior Detective for The Society. He’d had a busy week, what with the seasons changing and the barrier between dimensions waning and all. Helen preferred to read his reports personally, and if asked she stated feeling responsible for the young man--but the truth was she had a soft spot for him and that had everything to do with Monica.

The beautiful young woman in question was seated in a comfy, plush panda bean bag chair, surrounded by snacks, while Beau sat cross-legged beside her in his own wolf-faced bean bag. The two were playing a co-op video game, survival horror in nature, and it amused Helen to no end the decisions that Beau made (or attempted to make) in-game. It was partly so amusing because Monica was having none of it.

“Why the hell would we split up?! I know you’ve seen horror movies, Beau. We all watch them all the time.”

“Because this isn’t a horror movie,” Beau reasoned, holding up one finger to accentuate his point. “It’s a horror game.”

Monica stared at him.

“...So the...logic is...different.” Beau finished, a lot weaker than when he started.

“We’re not splitting up.” Monica declared definitively as she turned back to the screen.

“I concur.” Helen chimed in, her accented voice softer than usual as it was whenever she spoke to Monica. The young woman smiled, a little nervously perhaps, but all that did was warm Helen’s heart. The Reaver turned back to the current report she was reading, perusing a few lines.

“Ms. Helen,” Beau called over his shoulder, eyes never leaving the screen. “Have you gotten to the part where I shot the Bigfoot in his big butt?”

“...No, I haven’t.”

“...Oh, okay.” A pause. “Because I shot a Bigfoot in his big butt.”

Helen, by the grace of a nameless god, was able to keep her poker face firmly in place. “You don’t have a firearm, Beau, what did you shoot it with?”

“Jax’s slingshot.” Beau sounded incredibly proud of himself. “And some of Usopp’s stinkbombs that I think I actually got from Wade. Who I’m pretty sure he said were just his burrito farts but--”

Helen downed the contents of her wine glass in two gulps before speaking. “No off-regulation weaponry, Beau, and for god’s sake do not use anything Wade Wilson gives you.”

“Monica does,” Beau said by way of defense.

Monica had finally stopped laughing enough to turn to him. “Don’t tattle!”

“What?! She’s not Diesel, she’s not gonna take them away!”

“Take what away?”

Beau and Monica both froze as if realizing too late that too much had been said.

“D-Don’t you need more wine?” Monica turned, gesturing toward one of the Haus servants standing obediently nearby. “She needs more wine!”

Helen didn’t take her eyes off Monica as the servant rushed to fill her wine glass. But Beau was right, Helen wasn’t Angelo, and she let Monica get away with anything and everything, freely and happily, because that little girl was the source of Helen’s smile. She was an angel and could do no wrong, and so the Reaver turned back to the report, now dreading getting to the “Bigfoot’s big butt” part.

The start of any Holiday season was always cause for celebration amongst the Haus and October was no different--it was the beginning of Halloween and the hallways and rooms had been decorated accordingly, with the Staff working for the past week to ensure October 1st greeted each member of the infamous Stone Spider Family with cobwebs, hanging spiders, bats and ghosties and even the Haus menu items reflected the time of year, from Frankenstein Franks for lunch or Dracula’s Devil Food Cake for dessert--Helen wasn’t sure which Dracula that particular dish was named after but she figured, ask any one of them and they’ll likely claim it. That was the overall feel of the Haus; it was a Family, the Family, infamous and known to all of New Senzannini and while Helen had never had much use for family prior to the merging that brought literal thousands of people together, she found she wouldn’t know what to do without it, now. It was a sentiment shared by every other member that lived in this happy halls, and the reason? The reason was currently kicking quite a bit of zombie ass on screens broadcasted throughout the Haus.

Monica was, rightfully so, the center of the Family. She often found herself too shy to really think too hard on that, and perhaps other days found her mood lacking and allowed the thought to slip to the back of her mind--but all she needed to do was look around and she’d be reminded just how much she was loved. It was in the way the Family supported her, took care of her, loved and adored her and desired to be apart of every single aspect of her life. Case in point? The right side of the screen she was playing on had a running chat with the Family all chiming in with words of praise and encouragement for Monica as they watched her play her game. That was her life, day in and day out, and Helen was among the countless others who took up protective vigilance to make sure her world was always happy and safe--

Thump, thump.

Helen felt her pulse still, her entire body stiffening like a predator who just noticed another in it’s territory. Centuries of life lived knowing danger was just around each and every corner meant Helen was always hyper-aware of her surroundings and even at home, at the Haus, she never let her guard down. It was this vigilance that allowed her to hear that dead, hollow beating like a dying heart, that insidiously crept into the walls of the Haus. Monica and Beau missed the sound, so entrenched in their video game and conversation, and Helen was grateful for that. The sound reminded her of the wet splatter that breakable bodies make when they connect with solid concrete from a 100 foot drop. It reminded her of the last gurgles of a drowning victim, the desperate fight for air when only water is filling the lungs and mouth.

It was the sound of imminent death and it chilled her to her bones.

Helen remained still as a statue, her entire body attuned to the surrounding environment as she listened for the sound, again. What the bloody hell was that? As much as she didn’t want to hear it again she desperately needed to, to place the sound and the feeling of horrible dread creeping up her spine like frostbite. But only silence greeted her, the whisper and whip of autumn wind and the trees dancing in the October night air, shaking their leaves loose in preparation for snow. Around her, the fireplace was aglow with warmth and the wine in her belly met the heat evenly. Monica and Beau were laughing, enjoying the entertainment on screen and the Haus itself was alive with it’s usual activities. The world kept spinning, seeking to put her at ease but she’d heard something. Something that told her their world was no longer happy and safe.

“Ms. Helen, did you get to the part yet?” Beau, childlike exuberance on full display, couldn’t help but ask again. But when silence met his excitement, he turned and the smile dropped off his face immediately, replaced with uneasy concern. “Ms. Helen?”

Monica turned when Beau did, the two watching as Helen stared, still and silent, out the window. She didn’t seem to hear them, and Monica was surprised to hear that Helen’s heart wasn’t beating. Her entire body had gone completely stone still and Monica, gifted Supernatural that she was, could tell Helen was poised, waiting for something. Listening...but for what?

Knock, knock.

“Ms. Helen?” Thomas Grady, long-time partner and Head Detective at The Society, was all concern as he politely knocked and then let himself in to the spacious office. He spared Monica and Beau a smile that was meant to reassure, but Monica caught the uneasiness in his ocean blue eyes. The Detective stepped fully into the office, shutting the door before clearing his throat. He didn’t want to bring attention to an unsettling prospect, especially in front of Monica, but felt he had no choice--especially since Helen was now looking at him expectantly. “...Did you...happen to feel that disturbance a few minutes ago?”

Monica and Beau exchanged a glance. “Disturbance?” Monica asked, looking between Thomas and Helen. “What happened? I didn’t feel anything.”

Helen looked from Thomas to Monica with an expression the young vampire had a hard time reading. She seemed...relieved, but concerned at the same time. The Reaver was breathing again, her heart once again beating steadily, strongly, but she took a moment to consider her words before she moved to speak--

Only to be interrupted by an automated voice overhead. It was JARVIS, and he sounded concerned.

“Ms. Helen, I beg pardon for the interruption but I’ve received several reports from members of the Haus who have heard or felt something peculiar in the last few minutes. I thought it pertinent to bring it to your attention. Would you like to see the recordings?”

Helen glanced down at Monica and Beau momentarily, as if weighing the pros and cons of having them present for these unsettling recordings of that horrible noise she’d heard, but Beau was training to handle these types of scenarios and shielding Monica wouldn’t necessarily protect her. Still, she held out her hand to the younger woman, and was relieved when Monica stood and came over. Helen gingerly took Monica’s hand, guiding the shorter woman onto her lap, where she could provide a safe, protective presence for what was sure to be an ugly reveal. Anything bad happening on Haus property was never, ever a good sign and the Reaver was not pleased with this turn of events. Not pleased at all.

“Go ahead.” Helen finally gave the all-clear and JARVIS’s overlay took command of both Helen’s computer screen and the game screen Monica and Beau had be utilizing, allowing Helen and Monica to watch on the computer while Beau and Thomas watched the television.

The first recording was the Patriarchs, Angelino and Atamu, who were seated in their den with several other members of the Council of Elders. The group were sharing drinks and stories, enjoying one another’s company, laughs and loud conversations abound until something unseen and unheard happened--it seemed Atamu heard it while Angelino felt it, as the werelion’s dreaded head snapped toward an unheard sound, while the vampire placed a single large hand on his chest as if gripped by some unknown emotion that was openly hurting his heart.

The second recording was of Cavon and Ewan, sharing drinks in Ewan’s “shed”. Ewan was sprawled on the ground while Cavon was half on the couch, half-off, the two fully relaxed until the same unheard and unseen thing happened--then Cavon was on his feet, ready to fight but with no target to be seen, while Ewan had his hands over his ears as if the sound was over-amplified by his blood alcohol content.

The third recording was of Stephen Strange, who was in the process of flipping through one of his magic tomes when the sound reached him. It was subtle, but very telling, in the way he froze and then slowly, slowly turned to look out the window at something the camera couldn’t pick up.

The fourth recording was of the Fancy Club, but not everyone in the room seemed to be aware of the unheard, unseen disturbance. Zaos noticed, his long ears wiggling, bending at the tips as his entire body went rigid, tea cup poised in it’s saucer as the sound washed over him, through him, like a wave of nausea. But Savon, who was in the middle of talking to Renee, hadn’t seemed affected by whatever happened, and could be heard asking, “Zaos? What, what is it?”

The fifth recording showed one of the playrooms in the Nursery, or more specifically, Alma and Alessa, who were having a tea party. The unseen sound seemed to freeze both little girls in their tracks and as Monica watched, their teacups were rattling in their saucers. Whatever the sound was, it was so loud, so physically present, it was shaking inanimate objects--but a little ways away, Little Walter was napping undisturbed, snuggled in his blanket, unaware of the sound.

The sixth recording was down in the Haus Labs, where most of the “Science Bros” were currently working. Bruce Banner was standing at a whiteboard with William Birkin, the two computing some hellacious looking equation together when the sound seemed to hit them both the exact same way--they jumped, shrinking back as if physically attacked by something coming from the same direction...but of course, there was nothing there.

The seventh recording was from the adjacent lab, where loud rock music was blaring while Tony Stark and Franky were working side by side on what could only be described as a Mecha Suit--though for who still remained to be seen. Monica somehow doubted either of them would be able to hear anything over the music but what startled her was the music went dead. One moment it was playing and then it was just dead silence and it was in that moment that Tony’s reactor seemed to flare to life as if his pulse spiked, the man yanking his goggles off his eyes to look around the room as if for an assailant. Franky’s massive arms were raised, guns cocked as the sound finished rumbling up his spine like an earthquake.

But of course, there was nothing there.

The eighth recording was of one of the training rooms, where a lot of the younger superheroes could be seen training. A combination of mutants, spiderlings, robins, and super-babies combined were sparring, practicing, but the same strange phenomenon occurred--some of them reacted, like Doreen Green shrieking and putting her hands over her furry ears or Jason Todd very loudly asking “What the fuck?!” as he yanked his distinctive red hood off. Miles Morales was perched in an intricate web that was shaking but he couldn’t seem to tell why, while Jon Kent nearly fell out of the air where he’d been hovering nearby, hands flying to his ears to block out a sound that none of the recordings had picked up.

“I’ve many more similar recordings, Ms. Helen, from many different areas of the Haus. But none of the recordings have picked up on what so many are obviously hearing or feeling. I’m afraid I’m at a loss.”

Thomas turned from the screen to look at Helen. “Did you hear it? Or feel it?”

“Both.” Helen replied.

“I felt it.” Thomas supplied without Helen having to ask, knowing she wanted to know. He patted his chest, his other arm supporting the move. “And it was...awful.”

“I don’t understand,” Beau stood from his seat, looking around the office. “What was it? Why didn’t Monica or I hear it? Feel it?”

“You were distracted,” Helen ventured carefully. “I believe it didn’t necessarily want to be felt or heard.”

“What didn’t?” Monica asked quietly, her tone prompting Helen to rub her back in a gesture designed to comfort.

“I’m not certain yet, dear. It could...perhaps only have been a passing disturbance.” But Helen didn’t believe it; she was a realist, not an optimist. The words weren’t meant to be hollow but rather to provide Monica an alternative to much bleaker possibilities--that something wicked this way comes.

The office door opened a moment later and in strode the Patriarchs, their faces matching and grim. Atamu immediately crossed the expanse of the office to scoop Monica up--whether for himself or her, neither could truly be certain. The male simply needed to hold her, to reassure himself that she was fine and his protective instincts were absolutely in over-drive. He’d heard something and though he didn’t know what it was, he knew what it sounded like and it was not a sound meant to set anyone at ease. Helen didn’t protest, though her long fingers lingered down Monica’s back before Atamu moved away, his little one held in a vise-like grip to his strong chest.

“What was that?” Atamu asked, deep voice a rumbling growl. The werelion was close to shifting, agitated by the disturbance he couldn’t put a name to. His strong fingers were stroking through Monica’s hair in a gesture meant to comfort--himself or her, again, was left undetermined.

“I’m afraid I don’t know, not yet.” Helen moved to rise from her desk. “But, I will be ordering a sweep of the Haus and it’s grounds for any clues as to what was heard, or felt.”

It went unsaid that on such a huge property, that was going to take time.

“For now,” Helen offered by way of reassurance, “staying vigilant is going to be our best defense should this turn into something.”

“Though we hope it won’t,” Thomas couldn’t help but add. Ever the optimist, he found Helen’s abrupt, realistic plans too jarring when situations were bleak or uncertain. He even turned to give Monica a handsome smile, wanting her to know that no matter what, everything would be okay.

Helen, for once, didn’t chide him or even send him a withering glare of censure. Typically she found such optimistic musings like adding flowers to a grave. What was the purpose? But with Monica here and so much uncertainty in the air, for once she allowed the flowers without complaint. It was the way of families, she’s learned, to take care of one another in times of uncertainty and crisis. Love and optimism have their place in families, even if she isn’t the one to provide such comforts.

Perhaps, if she were to be proven right about what she felt, that familial bond would be just what the Haus will need in the coming month.

Beau seemed to pick up on that, looking around the office with a smile of reassurance. “Yeah! Yeah, I’m sure it was nothing, we’ll be fine--”

It was a nice sentiment, but it seemed a little deliberate that in that moment, every light in the Haus burst, plunging the Family into collective, oppressive darkness.

Day One, End.

[brokengem]

Ok ok ok ok I don't care if I may be bugging you but I got a prompt. Harry/Evie "protection".

Dude! Not bothering me at all. I love getting prompts any time, I just apologize if it takes me a bit to answer them. I get distracted super easily XD. But here we have a little Hevie(with implied Ben/Evie/Harry). I do hope you like it ^.^

You can also read it on AO3 under my one-shot collection Let Me Tell You a Tale! 

Bloody Pirates. The irony wasn’t lost on Harry as he scowled at the man grinning far to smugly down at him. It was in poor sport to label the man a pirate while not at sea. No, he was a bandit with a band of thieves just outside the carriage. They were the poor man’s excuse for piracy. Bloody land pirate.

“Lost a bit of yourself haven’t you Hook? Ever since you’ve been tied down,” the thief chortled at his own joke as he eyed him from his spot by the open carriage door.

A hot coil of rage rolled down his spine, silently promising the man a sweet death once free. Harry met the bandit’s eyes, his lips twisting into a devilishly frightful smile. “Why keep me tied up, boy? Untie me and I’ll show ye just how much I’ve lost myself.”

The bandit scoffed and yet Harry could see a hint of fear creep into the man’s eye. He was nothing more than a poor excuse for a land pirate delegated to babysitting.

“Where’s the Princess?” he asked.

Harry huffed, turning to glance away from the man. A brief flash of movement teased from the  edge of his sight, cold metal helded just a breath away from his neck. The rage he felt only continued to boil over as he bared his teeth at the bandit.

“You have nowhere to run, Hook,” the dagger bit into the skin of his neck, “no one to save you. Just tell me where the Princess is and we’ll be on our merry way.”

A short laugh slipped from Harry’s lips. If the bandit expected him to fear him, he would be severely disappointed. “She be a smart lass. No doubt fleeing back to the King for help.”

He was treated to a darkened scowl as the man stepped back, dagger still in hand. Harry’s eyes followed, catching sight of the smallest stain of red on the blade. Lovely he broke skin. It explained the sting.

Harry leaned back with a smile, pleased with the unnerved expression crossing the other man’s features. Clearly he wasn’t used to dealing with someone of Harry’s temperament. The pirate tugged at the ropes that bound his wrists. A fruitless effort if the bandit’s smirk was anything to go by.

“You can’t escape Hook. Tied those knots myself, there’s no escaping them,” he beamed pridefully.

Blue eyes could only roll in response, the smile wilting from the others lips. “Ye say me as though I know ye intimately. Yet I don’t recall crossing paths.”

“Nash,” the bandit answered.

“Nash, Nash, Nash” Harry tossed the name on his tongue before baring his teeth once more, “can’t say I’ve heard of ye.”

“You bastard,” the bandit growled, clenching his dagger tighter and drawing it closer. He made to step back in Harry’s spot, only for his brows to knot down in confusion as he remained still.

A lilt voice tuted from behind the thief, “what am I going to do with you Harry?”

Harry’s eyes brightened at the sight of the sapphire-haired Princess, “If it isn’t my sweet bonnie lass,” blue eyes dragged over her features as she gracefully walked to his side, “took yer sweet time love.”

She shrugged, turning dark eyes to the paralyzed bandit before them.  He struggled against whatever witchcraft bound him in place. Evie shook her head, “I wouldn’t move too much if I were you,” she offered sweetly, turning her attention back to Harry. The pirate nudged her knee with a silent plea. She hummed, slowly easing the knot loose, “you’ll only hurt yourself if you try. I’ve used a potent little powder of my own creation that stills movement. It’s quite usefully in times like these.”

Harry snorted, rubbing his wrist once freed. He’d seen Evie’s collection of powders, each with a property more deadly than the next. The bandit got off lucky, but not for much longer. The pirate’s hand was itching for his blade, yet he’d have to make due with a borrowed dagger. Nash’s borrowed dagger.

A predatory smile claimed Harry’s lips, boosting himself up to his feet and crowding the thief’s space. The fear radiating from the other man only encouraged Harry as he grasped the hand clenching the dagger.

“You’ve messed with the wrong carriage, boy.” Slowly he pried finger by finger off the hilt of the dagger and gleefully tested the weight in his hand. It was a pretty little treasure with a golden design intricately carved into the hilt. He may keep it as a spoil for his troubles. First to pay the little welp back.

“Harry,” the Princess’ hand caught his elbow, warm and keeping him from striking, the tone in her voice offering a soft warning.

The pirate smiled dangerously, leaning in until he was sure his breathe would bother the other man, “luck seems to be on your side today, welp.”

Evie rummaged around in her purse beside him, a soft noise of success escaping her when she found what she wanted. A small blue compact appeared in her hand, opened swiftly as she smiled sweetly, “sweet dreams.”

She blow gently into her palm. Harry quickly covered his mouth and nose as the blue powder covered the men. While not as satisfying as plunging a dagger into the man’s chest it was pleasant enough to see him crumble at their feet no more than a second after inhaling the powder.

With a satisfied smile on her lips Evie stepped over the sleeping thief, Harry following quickly behind before he succumbed to the same fate. He shook himself free of any stray powder, surveying the area around them. Three more bodies lied soundly around the carriage covered in blue.

“Ye can be terrifying darling,” Harry laughed, coming to her side as she carefully released their horse from the front of the carriage. A simple shrug was his reply as she smiled innocently, her hand gently brushing the horse’s snout.

“I wouldn’t bother. They’ll be out for an hour. Ben’s already sent men out to arrest them,” Evie stopped him from returning to the men to bound them. He couldn’t help the groan that came from his throat.

“Ye didn’t already speak ta the King did ye?” He asked, helping her onto the mare’s back before hoisting himself up behind her. She clicked the reins in her hands as his hands settled on her waist.

“Of course I did,” she teased, he could just imagine her eyes twinkling mischievously. “He only agreed to this little escapade of mine on the condition that I brought you along for protection since he couldn’t join us. Who knew I’d have to rescue my pirate from a silly band of bandits?”

He scoffed, burying his nose into the exposed skin of her throat. He nipped it gently in response, smiling at  the way her hands clenched tighter at his touch. His hand rested against her stomach. Ben would certainly give him a halfhearted earful for allowing himself to get knocked out and bound by the thievies. The Princess was pregnant after all and he was meant to be protecting her little adventure to gather more flowers and herbs for her magical powders. Harry knew he and the King where protective enough, this new variable only added to that need.

“He’ll love this story,” Harry could hear the smile in her voice as she patted his hand.

“Aye, he will,” he nuzzled her neck once more, “right after he’s given me a rightful smack.”

[emzysimagines]

Finding Out Their S/O Is A Professional Thief...

Warnings - It’s my first preference. And killer gifs.

Request -  Altair, Conner, and/or Ezio finding out their s/o (or soon to be) is a professional thief, sorta like Catwoman I guess.

A/N - Sorry, if it’s unsatisfying, dear Anon. Also, Desmond’s part was recently added in advance.

Altair would probably find out about your little dirty in one of his missions. The creed would probably hear about that so called “Cheetah”, who has robbed almost all the rich Templars in Jerusalem and is only known for the way she dresses, and so he would be sent to find that thief.

He would be trekking undercover in the streets of Jerusalem when he would find an agile body, jumping from house to tower on the rooftops so, he would immediately track them. Being as agile as his s/o is, they would notice the slightest changes and slightest noises and so, would lead her follower to an ally to confront them away from intruders’ eyes.

When she thinks it’s time, she would spin her body around in the air to hit her intruder in the head. Altair would fight her, not paying attention to her techniques until he sees the cut ring finger. He would get into defense mode as he would try to pin the thief then, it would click his mind as he carefully watches your techniques. Then, he would catch your arm as you would aim for a collar hit with your palm, having admired those techniques over a thousand times. He pull your hood down, revealing your face and clearing your vision. Your eyes would widen in shock and panic as you would see his face.

“Altair..” You trailed off, his shocked face being the last to see before he presses that pressure point you showed him, knocking you out.

You wake up, sitting in a chair in an abandoned building. You stretch, not noticing Altair staring at you with a blank disapproving look from the shadows, in front of you. When you notice him, you immediately sit back, again staring at the ground.

“Do you have anything to justify what you’ve been doing for the past few months?”  He says in quiet tone.

“Uh, trekking on buildings and tracking Templars?” You joke with a sweet smile, that immediately disappeared as you saw his disapproving look. Silence is all that can be heard as you shift in your seat.

“Give me a good reason why I shouldn’t report you and bring you back to Al Mualim for punishment?” He bends down to be level with your eyes.

“That I never stole from a poor person or a poor person in need.” You shrug, sadly. “Look, I found strange stuff that point strange fingers to supposedly good people. That is why I gotta keep doing what I do. And have you seen the people of Jerusalem? They all need help - not just in killing those who hurt them. What I do is steal a bit of money and other stuff from the same bad people that we, Assassins, hunt to help the people. Altair, you know that’s not something that makes me guilty.” You explain. He looks to the ground, shielding his face from your eyes. You cup his face in your hand, raising it so, he meets your eyes with his, again. “I don’t steal from those in need.” You assure, softly. He kneels in front of you on the ground, looking up at you as you drop your hands from his face.

“I don’t want you to get hurt, doing this.” His eyes soften and there is the Altair you love.

“We’re Assassins, silly. Everything is permitted.” You smile at him, softly as you rest your forehead against his. He closes his eyes, relishing in one of the few rare loving moments of yours. What are you to do without him, honestly?

Ezio is a thief himself and that never changed, really. So, when he hears about an untouchable thief in Constantinople, he lets it cross, thinking it was the casual thief and so, he sends another Assassin to check it. However, when that Assassin came back empty handed, Ezio thought he would check it himself so, one day he decides he is going on a trek around Constantinople, looking for the Light-handed Master.

As he jumps from rooftop to another, he finds his target, sneaking outside the Grand Bazaar. He waits, watching as his target tails a merchant in fancy clothing until they pull him in a dark isolated corner. Ezio immediately, sneaks closer to the the scene in front of him, wanting to be in hearing range.

“Where is your lord?” You hiss at him, pinning him by his collar to the ground as you sat on his torso, preventing him from breathing.

“I do not know! I swear! All I have of him is the title, they call him by! Please!” He begs under you.

“Hey! Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” Ezio makes his presence known as he stands a few feet away from you. You go rigid for a few moments before turning back to your little prey.

“I will let you go, now and you’d better not say a word about this. And when I find you, you better have information about your dealer.” You get off him, standing up with your back to Ezio, watching as your prey runs.

“Wit’ your agility, I presume you are one of mine.” Ezio smirks - the familiar charming Auditore smirk - as he crosses his arms. You stay silent with your back still turned to him as you hesitate to turn around. “C’mon, Amore. Show me your beautiful face.”

You turn around with a sigh, lowering your head and the scarf, that hid the bottom part of your face. You look at him with an unimpressed look, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Amore mio!” Ezio is taken aback. He goes silent for a few moments before leaning on one leg and smirking at you, flirtatiously,”I did not know you had it in you.”

“’Show me your beautiful face, amore.’ Glad to know I’m special, Ezio. You do say that to everything with no extras like you, huh?” You glare at him. He opens his mouth and closes it, noticing his mistake.

“I can explain..” He started, going tense.

“You should.” You snapped at him before turning to walk away.

“Amore! Wait!..”

Let’s say that on the contrary to Altair’s, this you would give Ezio an earful..

Connor is literally this honorable giant brooding teddy bear, who does nothing illegal with no reason. He would only hear about the thief in Boston but, would only send his Assassins after them. He would ask them for the intel they have on them and just imagine his surprise when he is told that the one who’s doing all the robbing is an Assassin. He would discuss that thief with you multiple times but, you always get defensive over the thief.

“They’re not stealing from anyone in need, are they?!” You shoot at him in the middle of one of your talks.

“They’re still stealing, (Y/N).” He calmly, says with a tired sigh.

“I think you’re jumping to conclusion about this, Connor. Maybe they’re helping. Some tribes need the help they’re giving them!” You stood your ground.

“They’re gonna cause us being figured out. We can’t allow that.” He deadpans.

“Unbelievable.” You grunt as you decide to walk away from your s/o to give yourself room to calm down. Connor rubs his face with his hands as he replays your conversation in his head. Wait, how did she know they were helping tribes?, that thought passes in his head as he sits alone on the tree branch, you shared with him a few minutes ago. He immediately, gets up from the log to stare after you with a shocked expression.

His gaze turns hard as he realizes what to do.

The next day, as you’re strutting in the shadows of Boston in your attire for these type of things, you see a man, wearing fancy clothing with the Templar crest. You quietly follow him, not knowing that is leading you to where he wants you to be. You silent your confused thoughts as you follow him into a building of some sort. He turns around, abruptly catching you by surprise as he slams you to the wall, with his hand on your throat.

“Assassin, I’ve been expecting you.” He smirks in your face. You instantly, recognize the familiar features.

“Haytham Kenway.”  You glared at him, pushing him off you to brush the dust off your clothes. “Infancy seeing you here.” You sassed.

“Likewise.” He smiles at you.

“What business are you into, today? Murdering innocents? Robbing lands? Stealing from innocents?!” You shot daggers at him with your eyes.

“No. Just working as a delivery man, today.” He stretched.

“Delivering what?” You frowned, curiously just as someone jumped from a rooftop to land beside you.

“You.” He grins. You gasp as you turn to see a blank faced, angry eyed Connor walking towards you. “Good luck, sweet daughter-in-law.” Haytham pets your head, sarcastically before leaving the same way Connor came.

“Connor..” You raise your hands in defense.

“You should be ashamed of yourself!” Connor snaps at you. You took a step back as your face fell.

“But..”

“Stealing! Lying! Where is honor in that?!” He steps towards you, aggressively.

“Please-”

“No! Where are Achilles’ teachings?! You have made me very disappointed!” Connor raises his voice, making you step back into the wall.

“Did you think of the Creed while doing it?!” Connor got in your face. “Did you have anyone in mind but, yourself as you stole from people with power?!”

“Connor..” You spoke, softly. He immediately, stops as he breathes heavily.

“I am s disappointed in you.” He shakes his head walking away from you.

Desmond is a man with multiple mood swings, due to everything he’s been through with the Animus and everything. Desmond has been told by his father that someone’s been hacking into Abstergo members’ bank accounts and funding the Assassins. They both never paid much attention to that but, when Abstergo starts sending more people after him, Desmond starts wondering why.

Then, one day while everyone is off doing their own business and Rebecca is resting a little, Desmond comes out of the Animus, seeing you with your back turned to him, tapping urgently on your laptop. He stays still, watching you until he realizes what you’re doing.

“It’s you! It’s been you all along!” He accuses as he sits up. You turn around, abruptly. “You’ve been lying to us?!”

“What’s all this shouting about?” Bill says as he runs over.

“You’ve been the one, drawing them here and you’ve been so careless about drawing danger to us!” Desmond yells at you.

“I’ve been trying to help.” You defend yourself, quietly.

“Desmond, calm down. (Y/N), what have you done?” Shaun snaps at Desmond.

“I’m the one, who’s been hacking into Abstergo’s bank accounts.” You sigh as you tell him.

Shaun goes silent for a few moments. “What is it?” You ask.

“I’m just jealous that you have the skill to hack into them so easily while it takes me months to do that.” He admits.

“What? She’s been drawing their attention here!” Desmond exclaims.

“Calm down, Desmond. This is your girlfriend you’re talking to and you will respect her.” Bill hisses back at him.

“What? Do you even realize that she’s been lying to us about this? And you’re okay with tha-”

And everything goes black for Desmond. However, Desmond would totally apologize the next time he sees you because, sometimes he doesn’t have full control over his emotions and mood swing and oh well.. He’s your Desmond. 

Part. 2 for Ezio and Connor?