#I made a cleric that is SO unbelievably in love with him

[pandulce135]

HI!! You don’t understand how unbelievably happy I am to see someone writing for Glenn close because I am in love with that man. Can I request an x reader where the reader is the assistant coach to the kids soccer team. They’re very sweet and look after the dads as a cleric but can be a little overbearing. They’re always worrying about something and trying to mediate inner group conflicts because theyre afraid of the group breaking apart. Glenn and the reader sort of even each other out in that they keep him from doing anything too stupid & he knows how to get them to loosen up. Sorry if I did this wrong, I don’t send many requests ^^

It Can Take A While (Glenn Close x Reader)

A/N: Boy oh BOY was this fun to write. I’m getting back into the swing of writing so I hope this kind of fulfilled your simple simp desires cuz I sure know it filled mine. I need to find my writing style again but until then, here’s this!!!

Warnings: Spoilers of around episodes 20-30-ish of S1 with some creative liberties taken, loser of the sexiest podcast character poll (rip), alcohol, public make outs, swearing, gets kind of steamy by the end, lmk if there’s anything else. reader is a nerd

Word Count: 2.8k

It was another long day that passed in the foreign land that you quickly discovered was known as the Forgotten Realms. Tensions were high as your group traveled in the white Honda Odyssey with Darryl at the helm and Henry in the passenger seat. The boys, your sons, were still missing, taken by mysterious men in purple robes. Everyone was tired.

The two in the front were going at it, their difference in views was beginning to get the best of them… again. Beside you, in the back seat and behind the passenger was Glenn. In the very back were Ron and Paeden.

“Hey, hey,” Paeden’s nasally voice hovered over your shoulder. He sat directly behind you. You flinched and rubbed your ear against your shoulder as a discomforting tingling wave made its way down your side. You heard Glenn chuckle.

“Oh, dude, don’t do that.” You shifted to get a better view of Paeden. “What’s up?”

The boy behind you sniffed. “What are they fighting about?” He gestured to the pair in the front. They seemed to be getting more angry as their voices began to rise.

“They just have different opinions about things, bud, don’t stress it,” Glenn seemed to wave off their fighting as it was something that happened often. They always butted heads due to their differing opinions; from parenting styles to personal beliefs, they found a way to antagonize each other.

You wished you could be as chilled out as Glenn sometimes. You wouldn’t get so anxious about the group arguing so much. Somehow, you always find yourself being mediator. That’s just what you’ve always been good at, you guess. As assistant soccer coach (a position Darryl was angry at you for ‘stealing from him’), it was your job to promote everyone to be their best self. Arguing wouldn’t get anyone anywhere. It wasn’t constructive, only critical and you were all desperate to get your sons back.

“Oh, so that’s what it’s about? I’m sorry I can’t live with the fact that we killed over one-hundred people with that pyramid, Darryl.”

There it was.

Henry was the first one to let his anger really get to him. While he refuses to get angry with his sons, he has no qualms with getting angry at anyone in the group. Just an observation, you supposed.

“We need to be able to get our sons back, and we can’t do that if we’re facing whatever justice system is in place.” Darryl barked back.

There was a collective soft sigh in the back of the van, even from Ron, as the pair bickered.

“Darryl, if you’re going to fight, please park the car. We can talk this out.” Your voice was calm, as you spoke your suggestion. “We’re all tired and scared, and your emotions are valid, but if your emotions are going to get the better of you like this, then you should park the car,” you reiterated, leaning forward in your seat to be closer to the two men in the front. “Have a discussion, not an argument.”

Glenn, from your right, spoke up. “Well, I think arguments can be just as constructive as discussions.” You turned to him, furrowing your eyebrows together. “I’m just saying.”

“No, no, they’re right. Let’s park the car, and we can have a civilized discussion,” Henry relented with a gesture of his hand.

“Oh, great, we’re stopping.” Ron’s voice came from the back, sparking a moment of silence for him. “I really have to use the bathroom.”

“Okay, okay.” Darryl took a breath. “We’ll stop, Ron does what he needs to do, and we can workshop a way to get our sons back.”

There was a tense silence that followed Darryl’s statement as he started slowing down the car to a bumpy stop. Everyone began to pile out of the minivan and Ron rushed to get to a private area to relieve himself within the forest you stood in.

All around you, trees towered over you and bushes threatened to stab your legs. The ground was uneven and you wondered how the Odyssey’s suspension was holding up. The group of you had been traveling on this uneven terrain for weeks now and it hadn’t undergone substantial damage yet.

“What’s this really going to accomplish? Huh?” Darryl looked at you, his larger stature standing over you with his arms crossed.

You placed your hands on your hips. “For starters, so that no one would get hurt in case you lost your cool while driving.” Darryl was about to object when you held out a finger to stop him. “Also to actually have a face to face conversation with everyone involved. You two aren’t the only ones going through this. It’s not fair to us if you leave us out of the conversation.”

“You’re right, you’re right. I’m sorry we did that,” Henry spoke from beside Darryl.

“You are forgiven,” Ron’s voice came from beside you. You felt your heart drop as you jumped away, your hand flying to your chest.

“Jesus, Ron,” you breathed out, placing a hand on the nearest person’s shoulder to feign support. Your hand landed on a worn down leather and you know you placed it on Glenn. He, Darryl and Henry laughed.

Yet another day of nipping an argument in the bud.

“You don’t like Christmas music?” Glenn exclaimed, causing you to shush him. You two were up talking by a makeshift fire while the rest of the dads were fast asleep. Neither of you could sleep and ended up chatting away.

You let out a laugh. “I loathe Christmas music. My retail gigs in college sucked.” You leaned back with your hands on the soft earth while he leaned in close, the orange flames highlighting his face against the darkness.

“You probably like Linkin Park, too.” He rolled his eyes and sat with his elbows on his knees, his feet flatfooted on the ground.

You faltered, struggling to come up with a response that wouldn’t upset him. It probably showed on your face.

“No!” He whined, his head rolling back before snapping upright to face you again. “Really? Linkin Park?”

“They got me through school! You can’t be mad at me!” You pointed a finger at him from across the fire.

“I forget you’re a nerd. What was your major again?” This time, Glenn leaned forward, the brightness of the fire once again illuminating his face and reflecting off of his eyes. It was almost like he was asking seriously.

You scratched the back of your head, your eyes averting his. “Computer science- cybersecurity.”

“So you’re a huge nerd!” Glenn laughed and you had to shush him again. “So what, you can like, hack stuff with what you learned?”

“Well, I’m paid to do the opposite,” you explained before a grin took hold over your lips. “But I have done a bit of hacking before.” The pair of you laughed as Glenn processed the information.

“No way. Goody-two-shoes you? Hacking?” Glenn leaned forward agin, his eyes squinted in humor. “Dude, you gotta show me sometime.”

You shook your head. “A hacker never reveals their secrets.” You turned away from the musician.

“Ah, playing hard to get, are we?” Glenn’s brown eyes narrowed at you, a sly grin exposing a bit of teeth. A heat ran up from your chest to your neck, where it crawled the rest of the way up to your face with a burn.

You turned away in an attempt to hide yourself. “Shut up, Close.”

“Get your head out of your ass for two seconds, Glenn!” You shouted. The rest of the dads were off trying to resolve an issue Glenn started while he and you stood behind a tavern. You were getting sick of his attitude. If the other dads were here, you knew they would be shocked at your yelling.

“Yeah? Where else would you like my head to be? Huh?” He took a step toward you, and it took all your willpower to not take a step back from him. You had to hold your ground and your eyes remained locked with his. He was definitely insinuating something else, you weren’t stupid, but you weren’t about to let him get the best of you.

“Maybe somewhere where you’ll be more aware of the situation?” You suggested, sarcasm laced through your words. “Dammit, Glenn. With all the touring you’ve done, you can’t fucking realize when to shut your damn mouth? You nearly blew it in there for us.” You pointed at the tavern you stood behind. The rest of the dads were in there.

“I didn’t think it would go south like that!” He tried to defend but you spoke up before he could get anything else out.

“Do you think at all?” You were nearly nose to nose apart from each other. Your anger seeped off of you as you glared at the man before you. Your eyes glaring straight into his and his were locked on yours just as harshly. Until you noticed the slight movement in his eyes. Glenn glanced downward slightly before holding your stare again. A heat began to flood your cheeks.

“You’d be surprised how much is on my mind lately.” His voice came out soft, unlike before, and your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“What?” Your own volume matched his as his eyes glanced down again. You knew what he was looking at. The sudden change in tone caught you off guard. Your heart beat heavy in your chest, and you even heard it in your head.

Glenn reached out for your hand to hold it in his. You felt your blush worsen. He held your gaze, but it wasn’t as harsh as before. Instead, it was warm and welcoming. There was something else that took you by surprise: shyness. “I-”

Behind you, you heard the snap of a tree branch and turned yourself around just in time to see Henry appear from the side of the tavern. You managed to put enough distance between you and Glenn so you wouldn’t appear to be too close or… intimate.

“Hey, guys,” Henry greeted. He looked tired, the bags under his eyes were deep and dark and you didn’t know if it was because of the whole journey or just from having to clean up Glenn’s mess. “I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything.”

You coughed and tried to get your cheeks to cool off. “No, nothing. How did it go?” You asked, taking a few steps forward toward the taller blond man.

“We managed to cool off the situation inside. We’ve got a few rooms for us to sleep in for the night, too.” He sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. “I feel like I need to say this now, to avoid any potential disasters: there is a bar in there. Drink responsibly. We still have stuff to do.”

“Aw, hell yeah,” Glenn cheered from behind you. You couldn’t help but put your hand on your forehead.

“Don’t have too much fun, Glenn.” Henry shot a pointed look at the man in question before walking up and whispering in your ear. “Please keep an eye on him.”

“Hold on,” you pulled away from Henry. “Why do I have to be on baby sitting duty?” Henry simply turned around and began his departure from you to go back into the tavern. “Henry,” you tried. “Henry, not cool dude.”

You watched as he turned the corner, thus disappearing from your view before turning around to Glenn. He wore a shit eating grin. You sighed. “I need a drink.”

“Fuck yeah!”

You didn’t know how you were still functioning. You were three ales deep with a fourth in your hand as you leaned on Glenn. Somehow, throughout this entire adventure, he didn’t smell all that bad. He actually smelled of fresh soil and very woodsy. His free hand sat at your waist while yours was hanging onto the shoulder your head leaned on. He was on his fourth ale as well, but was holding a water for the two of you to share.

The rest of the dads decided to call it for the night and retired to the rooms they reserved earlier. It was rest well deserved, you’d say. You appreciated their ability to cool off the situation to ultimately get comfortable beds to rest in and alcohol to fill your stomach (and head).

“This stuff is strong.” You couldn’t help but nuzzle your cheek into his leather clad shoulder, his still shockingly soothing scent wafting its way to your nose. “I didn’t think it would be so crowded here tonight.”

“It’s a bar, these places always get packed this time of night,” Glenn’s smooth voice spoke into your ear and a chill ran down your spine. The blush that plagued your face before was coming back tenfold. The heat burned and you were nearly sure Glenn could feel it through his leather jacket. “Is it too much for you?” The question caught you off guard.

He was usually so full of himself. Checking up on you? That was almost unheard of on this little adventure you’ve been on. You felt his hand tighten on your waist, almost urging an answer out of you. You felt a lump form in your throat as your breath got caught.

“Oh, uhh,” you struggled with your words. You looked down at the ale in your hand and moved to slam it back until his hand moved from your waist and caught your wrist. You moved to face him. “Glenn!” You whined.

“You were supposed to be the one taking care of me,” he laughed at your growing frown. “If I let you drink this, will you drink some water?” His brown eyes held yours in an amused stare.

You peaked down at the two cups in your respective hands before looking back up at him. “I promise.” Your words came out in a slur, the syllables blending into each other to form a barely cohesive response.

He let go of your wrist and you moved faster than you knew Glenn thought you would. You slammed back the ale and stumbled into his chest. There was a rumble that resonated through his chest as he laughed at you.

His arms instinctively wrapped around you to keep you steady. “Since when were you such a party goer?” His voice rang in your head as it buzzed. Your world was feeling woozy but you felt like you were floating. You missed this feeling.

“Oh,” you chuckled, a grin stretching across your lips. You peered up at him through half lidded eyes and your blush was finally beginning to to get under control. “You would’ve loved me during my college years.”

“Yeah?” His facial expression mirrored yours. The water in his hand had been discarded on the bar next to you in favor of holding you to him. “Pray tell.”

“Why tell when I can show you?” Talk about liquid confidence. You leaned in, nose to nose with Glenn. Your alcoholic breaths colliding as your hands began to slide up his arms and around his neck. The front of your chest was pressed against his. He was locked in place just as you were.

“You’re speaking my language,” his said, speaking with a sultry tone you’ve never heard from him before. And Gods was it hot.

It was like a force brought your lips together and you couldn’t let go. Your fingers raked through his shoulder length black hair, holding him to you. His hands slid up and down your back and you felt a chill run down your spine and goosebumps appear along your arms. The hairs at the back of your neck stood as his hands finally rested at your hips.

He pinched at one side of your hips and you couldn’t stop yourself from letting out a small gasp. With a chuckle, his tongue met yours in a dance, twirling around each other. Out of instinct, you let out a moan which caused him to pull back an inch, a trail of saliva still connecting you. With his sudden disappearance, you had to fight off the urge to whine.

You looked up at him, breathless and flushed. He looked the same. It was a good look on him. Red cheeks, swollen lips, breathing a bit heavier than normal but not completely out of breath. His warmth returned to the side of your face as he leaned into your ear.

“How about we continue this somewhere else?”

[plasticfangtastic]

Carnivorous Lamb Ch. 2

A homelander x M! OC fanfic

A/N: forgot to included the links for the original fic in the 1st chapter so here ya go :) hope y'all like this--

tags: R18, NTR-ish, dubcon, age gap (Homelander is in his mid 20’s, OC’s in his 40s) older man, DILF, priest kink, moral degradation, slow burn.

Chapter Two

Winter

The gardens had looked less lush, local fauna had feasted on the leafy greens and rockmelons, if there had ever been any brussel sprouts they'd been reduced to fibrous stumps. Venturing into the chapel he found the only familiar face he knew in town.

The town was small and close just your typical cornbread American town, where football is king and farmland is all the eye can see, a town so plain it made the man wiping the floor look out of place.

He lifted his chin surprised to spot the young man once more, putting his mop aside to welcome him.

“It's nice to see you again. I saw you on the telly… you saved all those people from that capsized ferry…” He said with a warm smile.

“I didn’t save all of them…” he said bitterly.

He turned around and headed to a small bucket holding cleaning supplies, taking a tube of paper towels and glass cleaner into his hands.

“Why don’t you give this old man a hand while we talk?” He walked slowly towards him– You’re too harsh on yourself, my son. That’s good… but it will wear you down… and we don’t want that, right?”

He had come to noticed his age didn't match his face, when he was able to stand in front of him that he could admire just how handsome the man was– squared jaw, a strong nose and brow and beautiful green eyes… his pale blonde hair falling just the right way around his temples… Homelander swallowed, taking the tube with a stiff grin.

It was the kind firmness in his voice that made him want to stick around, the man moped as Homelander wiped the windows to the best of his abilities, smudging dust more than cleaning he would come to realize, but the man didn’t mind. They both conversed letting him spit it all out, there was never any judgment, or chastisement, Amarello simply listened and spoke kindly with him, never saying upsetting things, agreeing with him or not truly disagreeing either.

It became a routine, to come-by whenever he needed guidance, whenever he wanted to be taught the scriptures, whenever he wanted to pretend he cared about anything in that old book because for once he had genuine company… the more he came the friendlier the strange man was, and it felt unbelievably good... how much he enjoyed having this to look forward to, as meaningless as it might be for some.

He was rude of speech, barely liked saying please, his sight was always miles away, he talked to him with ease in a way that nobody treated him before, he was a good host offering him fruit and coffee every visit if not at least a place to unwind.

Sometimes there was no burdens, advice or interpretations to discuss but Amarello still welcomed him in his humble home, Homelander began to wonder if this was what normal people experience.

It was so confined it made him uneasy at first, too familiar to a place from not that long ago, yet the more he spent his afternoons, mornings and evenings sitting watching the small tv or pretending to enjoy a drink on the dinner table instead of the gardens– it came to matter very little.

All that mattered was that for once in his life he had somebody talking to him so jovially, who had no expectations from him, nor intending to trick him, just the rewards and satisfaction that came from human interactions.

The man was abnormally kind, he thought. Always throwing an odd joke here and there, laughing at Homelander dirty humor something that amused the Supe greatly.

They would laugh at each other's observations, leaning against the other as they shared cold peach ice tea and gossiped about the town folks' drama and superhero BTS.

Both enjoying each other's company– much to John’s surprise.

So why did it all have to change…? 

With the passage of time and as the garden was blanketed in inches of snow… here he was staring at him… watching him set up the nativity set as he lazily dug for Christmas ornaments to decorate the church.

Watching him closely as the man grumbled.

“John. I can’t find the donkey. Is it in your box?”

Homelander looked at his box and unsurprisingly he found nothing in the beaten up box.

“Could you go to my room? It might be in the closet… I must’ve put it with my personal ornaments… it should be in a green box, hopefully.”

The man continued to grumble frustrated at the incomplete nativity, Homelander listened heading towards the small room, he had grown so accustomed to the room, he knew of every nook– it had looked so frightening but now it was trully cozy, pressing walls just the right size, the uneasy familiarity of having everything in a single room no longer unnerving, for it smell like him and not like chlorine.

The room was plain, all the pieces second hand and aged, his closet was bare mostly just a dozen of the same shirt in various shades of black and dark grays, folded jeans and dress pants with the only colors coming from his collection of sweaters and jackets and even that was minimalist, he looked around spotting two boxes tucked in the narrow closet.

His hand took the first one, a smaller box that would have never fit the ceramic donkey– he was just curious, he told himself.

Just wanting to know more about him.

More than the stories they shared, more than the rehearsed storylines he delivered, he wanted to discover everything that made him tick, just to know if it was alright to keep him around-- nobody in the tower knew of his escapades all assuming he was still doing his patrols, and not flying to the middle of nowhere to spend a couple hours with a stranger they might not approve, for he didn’t fit their image at all.

They didn’t need to know how or where Homelander had learned to pray better, how much he had learned of the good book… how much he didn’t believe in any of it.

But above all he was afraid of getting too close, so close he might slip and break the illusion– for Amarello believed that he was proof that god was real, that all his sacrifice would amount to something in the afterlife, that there was this genuine invisible force watching over all that was living and not that he was proof of the unethical scientific progress.

But he wanted to keep him, he wanted to be consoled by the older man who treated him with more kindness and care than any of the olderlies or Voguelbaum ever did, whom refused to see him without an appointment, appointments that grew further and further apart in availability… he had hoped that now that he was out, the man would let him be around, that he had only cut the umbilical cord to help him grow out of tough love-- not to dispose of him to stare at the shiny new thing that his son had made.

As he looked at the frozen dinners in the Priest freezer with box in tow, he wondered if he also would spend the holidays alone, he had offered to welcome him for thanksgiving for the church organized a small backyard feast for the elderly who had no family in town anymore, those who wanted to come and the loners… but he had said no on the promise that Voguelbaum had considered inviting him… delivering the bad news the day before, for his wife didn’t feel comfortable with him around– a lie he could smell.

He signed feeling a sting in his eyes, thinking of how nice it would’ve been to spend Thanksgiving eating dried turkey and canned cranberry goop with him, instead of watching a movie in his penthouse alone.

His hand glides gingerly atop the lid, taking the top off.

That tear dried quickly.

Pretty men stared back at him.

Yellowed magazines of handsome hunks, half naked men in their hairy glory, the box held a nearly emptied small bottle of lube and a toy.

His mouth dried as he took the small dildo out the box, it was flesh coloured and veiny, smaller than his own– modest he dared think. He gave it a squeeze to make sure it was real and not some crazy hallucination, the smell of dish soap flooded his flared nostrils as his cheeks grew hotter.

He stood frozen like a deer, his mouth so dry he wish he could have eaten the snow to quench his puffy tongue.

“John…?”

The man stood by the entrance, his hand firm of the silver pummel, pale and clammy, staring at the young supe holding something sick in his hand.

Homelander tried to brush it off with an awkward smile, force his shoulders to unwind, to make himself relaxed but the flush on his cheeks painted his whole body.

He ran after him, ripping the box and the toy off his hand, as if he was a stove and the box a child’s hand. He wanted nothing but to scream or cry or run, but he was there unable to breathe, clutching on the shoebox.

“Leave… please… just leave…” his voice was so light even he barely picked it up as he whistled his sentence.

Homelander didn’t want to listen, to pretend he never found the box, to just laugh it off but as Amarello looked up with sunken eyes ready to bawl, unable to stare at him for long– he did.

He took a step back.

And he was gone.

Amarello stayed in his kitchenette, hovering on the table while staring at his curse.

Wishing he had been strong enough to get rid of it, wishing he could go back in time and get the box himself, or hide it better at least. 

Wishing Homelander hadn’t seen it at all…

He was so pretty, he wanted to stare at the little lamb for longer, he liked the sound of his voice, the softness of his hand and the color of his hair, he liked how touchy the boy became-- always wanting to put his hand on his shoulders or his back, how much he liked it when he reciprocated. At first he brushed it to growing up without his parents and the deprivation that came from that experience, for the yearning of an adult figure in his life, a formed belief based solely on the way his eyes looked when he spoke of a man named Voguelbaum, and the way his voice wavered when he spoke of a Madelyn… Now he just felt like that’s something he needed but dare not say loudly... and Amarello had liked it too much... he liked being touched by him and feeling his warmth.

He seemed lonely too, just as much as he did… and perhaps that's why he indulged the boy… he gave him his company and he got to gawk at the pretty thing that made him, at this present from the Lord.

He would’ve never touched him past a stroke of his neck, he would have never tricked him, he would’ve never done anything to him, so why did he had to find out, he looked up wondering if even indulging the thought was worthy of punishment, that he had his fun, that he was gonna lose control and lead him astray, perhaps.

Amarello found himself sinking in his couch, letting the sounds of the television fill the gaps that Homelander’s presence would have, trying not to think of the wind picking up outside or the cold permeating in the room. 

He jolted awake as his voice came from the box, an advert for soda with his face on it. He watched the short 30 second clip looking at nothing but those thin lips.

[seiin-translations]

2.43 S1 Chapter 2.4 - Dracula and Princess Briar Rose

4. BEAUTIFUL WORLD

Previous || Index || Next

“Suemori-san.”

I was startled when my name was called. It was a calm voice that was humble but not excessively servile.

Kanno stood at a distance of about three meters from me. I was holding the net at the center line, and Kanno’s feet were above the attack line, so he was actually three-meters away. There was a clear difference in height now without even having to stand side by side to compare. I think it was a difference of six or seven centimeters. I didn’t think…it was past ten centimeters, but… When I was picturing myself next to Kanno in my head, even though he squirmed a bit uncomfortably, he didn’t apologize fearfully and meaninglessly like in our first year.

Suemori-san. I pondered the voice that called me. The last time he called me “Ibara-chan” was last September. And I feel like this was the first time he called me “Suemori-san”—we hadn’t called each other’s names once during these nine months. I wondered at what point during those blank nine months did I change from “Ibara-chan” to “Suemori-san” within Kanno.

“About the ballgame tournament, I received the list of who’s in each event for our club, so I have been told by my senpais to consult with Suemori-san and decide the allocation of duties, but…”

He’s still speaking with formal language mixed in, even to someone in his own grade, I thought, and while feeling something that was like nostalgia and sadness, I said, “It’s fine. If that’s the case, let’s do it on our way home today.”

I tried my best to respond in a natural manner, trying to be somewhat distant for the three meters of space Kanno had opened between us, but also not too blunt. I’ll be in your care, Kanno said, bending his long back and quickly bowing his head.

I watched his back as he left, him who was dressed unseasonably as ever with his long T-shirt and long pants, even though it was June. Kanno still participated in the girls’ team practice for half of the week, but ever since they witnessed his seizure on the outside court, no members made fun of him anymore. On the contrary, there was a mood of “Kanno-kun is working so hard even though it’s hard on his body,” and everyone became weirdly nice to him. Even now, when he ran over to the girl who was drawing the net strings to the side of the pole and said “I will do it” as he reached out his hand, he was politely refused with “It’s fine. Akiton should sit down” and ended up having nothing to do. Akiton was Kanno’s new nickname. Come to think of it, I haven’t heard Dracky at all lately.

From where I was looking, I thought that seemed pretty awkward, but anyways, my role as Kanno’s (unwilling) knight was no longer necessary.

I noticed that there was a girl looking at us from the entrance of the gym. It was Ayano, holding a basket lined with drink bottles.

“…I feel like I haven’t seen Ibara-chan and Akiton talking in a long time.”

“Oh, we’re just getting in touch about clerical work, for the ballgame tournament. I’m helping the boys this year.”

I felt like I was being glared at, so I unintentionally made an excuse. It wasn’t even an excuse, it really was nothing more than talk about work. “You don’t have to worry about that,” Ayano said, her lips tapering into a pout and she turned away.

“No, no, I’m not worrying about it at all…”

Nonetheless, my behavior towards Ayano was still mostly filled with a sense of guilt. Ayano might like Kanno…looking at her actions during that incident last year, even I, who was completely unfamiliar with matters of love, could tell that. I wondered if she confessed to him…I didn’t know what happened after that incident, since my conversations with Ayano had decreased considerably since then. I did the worst possible thing—disparaging a girl’s body in front of the boy she liked.

“It’s thanks to Ibara-chan that I lost weight, so I’m really not thinking anything right now…”

Ayano muttered in a slightly soft voice while still turning away.

That’s right. Ayano, who had been chubby, had slimmed down quite a lot since then and, taking advantage of her bust and hips which had been ample by nature, now attained well-balanced proportions. It seemed that my words triggered her to go on a diet. I was surprised at the unexpected willpower that lay sleeping within Ayano. That wasn’t at all. Maybe because her body was lighter, her play became agile and nimble, and she became a bench member in her second year. Since she didn’t have the stature, her spike power was inferior, but she was praised for her thorough and careful defense. What I hated so much and concluded that a strong player didn’t need, Ayano became stronger without throwing it away.

On the other hand, as for me—as evidenced by the fact that I was dispatched as a coordinator with the boys’ team for the ballgame tournament, I had been languishing without being selected for the bench. In middle school, if I worked hard, the results of my hard work came naturally to me, but since I became a high schooler, I kept getting betrayed by myself.

I loved volleyball. I wanted to be better than everyone else. I was willing to cut away anything that would hinder me from that. As a result, I ended up losing my friendship with Ayano, the reverence from Kanno, and my pride as a volleyball ace that should have been everything to me.

“Yeah…now I’ve become the most shameful and useless thing.”

I let out a weak self-deprecatory remark. “Ibara-chan…” Ayano turned her face towards me. The top of her nose was wrinkled, and she looked she was about to cry.

“Ibara-chan, you’re not going to quit the team, are you…?”

I didn’t answer her, only giving a forced smile.

I had actually received a club withdrawal form. The coordinator thing this time made it doubly sure for me, and I had made up my mind. I intended to write my name on it and hand it in after the ballgame tournament work was done, and leave volleyball. I intended to seriously quit it.

——Until the day before yesterday.

The day before yesterday, when I saw the boys’ practice on the outside court——.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

The ball that rose high up into the blue sky shone in the afternoon sunlight, burning my eyes. The one who took off from behind the attack line and rushed in like a bullet was that first-year, Kuroba Yuni.

That was a back-row attack? That jump distance was unbelievable. He jumped in with his whole body all the way to the net, as though he was attacking from the front row. His figure, arched in midair, seemed stationary, as though it was a photo. Such a long flight duration. His arm flexed like a spring that had stored up energy and returned it all at once, and he punched in the ball.

However, in the next moment there was a cloud of dust rising on Kuroba’s side of the court. “Daaah—” Kuroba groaned in frustration as he sank down and landed. Even I, who should have been calmly watching on the courtside, lost sight of the ball’s trajectory for an instant, but Aoki-senpai, who had jumped for a commit block, covered it with his long arms and shot down the bullet spike.

Amazing…just amazing. That was so cool. I couldn’t suppress the long-forgotten thumping of my heart. Each moment of that play was bold and so fast that I almost couldn’t follow it with my eyes. Just when I thought the ball had disappeared from my view, a dust cloud leapt up from the ground with a dynamic sound, like something exploding. I squinted many times at the dazzling aerial battle that unfolded while causing grains of light to burst into the air.

For me, the most beautiful sport on Earth was there.

There was a world that I couldn’t stop longing for, so much that it was painful.

For the first time since I reaped what I sow and lost many things, I thought that I did love volleyball after all, and I didn’t want to quit. Perhaps now, I could say this with the purest feelings I had since I met this sport.

I loved volleyball.

***

It took twenty-five minutes riding on a local line that was only composed of two cars to go from Nanafu to Monshiro. Bench seats against the windows were only placed on both sides of each door, and the rest were box seats with seats for two facing each other. Kanno and I occupied one of those seats, and we sat shallowly on them with our knees facing each other.

“…Even assuming we can manage with the staff for the first and second games, the problem starts from the third game and after. When Team C’s match starts, the team members will pack the court, and we’ll have to get the members who went out to basketball and futsal back immediately…”

“I think we’ll definitely not have enough staff at some point.”

“We’ll have to adjust the games so we’ll have enough. We’ll move the fourth game of Team E versus Team F over here, and the sixth game with Team D versus Team F…”

“Oda-senpai is in Team F, so I think it’ll work out well.”

“Oh, I see.”

While we were humming and hawing, at a loss, the two of us wrote on both sides of the notebook that was spread out on our laps. The notes were becoming unreadable due to the flood of arrows, boxes, strikethroughs, and desperate-looking messy lines.  

The boys’ volleyball team had just eight members. From that, we would send out four people as staff members for each game, and there were those who took part in each event as competitors apart from that, so it would be impossible to run the boys’ volleyball division without the full rotation of eight people on a meticulously calculated time schedule. A lunch break was out of the question, and we might not even be able to give them a bathroom break. I mean, even if you rotate them at full speed, it was bound to break down somewhere, right?

Looking down at the messy notebook, I got a headache. Ah, I wanted to open the window and just throw it outside.

Around seven p.m., there was still a thin light outside the window. Come to think of it, summer solstice was approaching, so this was the time of the year with the longest daylight. After passing through the cities of Nanafu and Suzumu, the two-carriage train was moving a slow pace through the countryside wrapped in a warm, dim light. Since the rice planting was just finished in May, there were still only green seedlings planted in the fields. The water surface limitlessly reflected the distant mountains.

Every time the car swayed a little too much, I felt ticklish from the rubbing of my kneecap against Kanno’s kneecap beneath his spread-out notebook. I was tempted to retract my leg, but it felt somewhat like a waste of time to do so.

“We both got some irritating work forced on us, huh.”

Though I was grumbling, that was why we didn’t have to finish talking about work for the time being. However, Monshiro Station was already coming up soon. Usually, I slept for the twenty-five-minute ride when I could sit down, but each minute and second felt strangely precious today.

I curled my back and dropped my gaze to the notebook. Kanno also looked down at the same notebook from above my head. I had my toes standing up, and Kanno’s heels were on the floor. The fact that the notebook was kept level meant that the length below our knees was that much different. He just kept shooting up.

He’s got an awfully big lead on me, I thought once again, but strangely, the jealousy and hatred and uneasiness and chaotic feelings I had in my first year that made my heart hopelessly ugly, did not appear anymore. I wonder if I matured a step…that also felt wrong, and I was quite confused about myself.

“I don’t really think it’s irritating. I’m having fun right now.”

I heard a whisper above my head. My heart leapt at the word “fun,” but,

“I only play with the guys half of the time, and I can’t help much with setting up or cleanup, so…I’m glad I’m able to help out with this kind of work, because it makes me feel like I’m doing club activities with everyone else. The senpais didn’t say anything about that, but I think they knew that and gave me this job.”

“I guess you’re more comfortable in the boys’ team, huh?”

I didn’t mean that sarcastically, but it must have sounded like I was, because Kanno flinched and his face tightened. It seemed that he still hadn’t fixed his habit of peeking at my expression.

“The senpais on the boys’ team seem like good people. The girls’ team has a strange atmosphere, and you can’t always go all out, can you? I know you’re holding back in the intra-team games.”

“Well…if I go all out, I’ll blow the girls away.”

In the past, he might have put himself down and immediately apologized with a “I’m sorry,” but he pouted slightly as he plainly affirmed that. It was as if something like the core of self-confidence had taken root within Kanno, and I felt relieved, but at the same time, I felt somewhat sad for some reason.

Even before I realized it, Kanno himself must have been aware that he was starting to outstrip the girls in terms of strength and was out of place among them. And that wasn’t something that could be obtained “without much effort, just by the good luck of being born a boy,” like I had accused him of before.

I happened to see Kanno in his training wear in my neighborhood last year on an early autumn night. He was jogging and entered the park near the middle school, and unconsciously concealing my presence, I watched him do strength training on the bars and seesaw until the end.

Kanno somewhat looked like a normal athletic boy during the night, not wearing his hood completely over his head and frightened by the threat of the sun like he was during the day. It was then that I learned about the side of Kanno who worked harder than others because of his physical disability. No, I was supposed to know that a long time ago. He was the target of unreasonable teasing, and there was no reason for him to go out of his way to stay in the girls’ team to the point of feeling uncomfortable, but he worked harder than anyone even in basic training that was nothing but painful, and never missed a day of practice.

Because, like me, he loved volleyball—he told me that I was the one who taught him the fun of volleyball. Maybe that was the only thing I could be proud of.

He was probably still training at night on his own. He looked stronger, with another faint layer of muscle on his neck and arms. The nails on his fingers gripping his mechanical pencil were deeply trimmed. His fingertips were a bit chapped, but it was an indoor sport, so the underside of his nails wouldn’t be darkened with dirt. His protruding joints was due to the repeated spraining of his fingers. His long fingers were for catching the ball and accurately handling it, and his large palms were for powerfully driving in spikes. The hands that I thought were beautiful were characteristic of male volleyball players.

Kanno had become independent of the “shadows” that had been clinging to my back and only stirred up my frustration and impatience, and after taking some distance and time where I was able to calm down, I was feeling a bit nervous right now, coming in contact with him like this again.

I knew what I was saying was too convenient at this point. There was no way the selfishness of trying to get back something you pushed away but wanted later could be allowed unchallenged. You had to take responsibility for what you have done.

We were approaching Monshiro Station. I closed the notebook and put it in my bag.

“Aaah, we didn’t finish it. Let’s do it tomorrow.”

I secretly cherished the feeling of our kneecaps brushing up against each other, but I quickly stood up and carried my schoolbag and enamel bag with me. It was a one-man operation train, so if you were too slow, it was easy to miss your stop.

“…Kanno?”

Right when I stepped into the aisle, I looked back suspiciously. Kanno hadn’t even attempted to stand up, his behind still stuck to his seat.

“I’m riding to the next station, don’t worry. I can’t walk you home, but be careful.”

“Hah? Why?”

“Um…well…I can’t get up. My knees have no strength…”

“Huh…what’s that about, did you get hurt? You want me to escort you home?”

Worried, I brought my face closer. “N-no, you’re mistaken,” Kanno pulled down the hood of his hoodie and turned his face to the window.

“When I was talking to Iba-Suemori-san today, I was actually really nervous… I summoned up all of my strength to call out to you, and once I did, I surprisingly felt like I could talk to you normally as a friend, so I was so relieved that my muscles went limp…Oh, I know that I already got rejected, so I’m really not thinking about anything more than that now, but it’s hard not being able to talk to each other at all during practice…”

Kanno’s pale face, hidden by the hood, turned red like the old days, and he talked quickly like he was feeling restless. While I was standing stock-still in the middle of the aisle, Monshiro Station’s platform slowly slid into the train window. The scenery stopped along with the vibration of being pulled sideways, and there was the sound of the doors whooshing open. There weren’t a lot of passengers, but some still passed by here and there. No new passengers got on from the platform. The departure bell immediately started ringing. “You have to get off,” Kanno urged, his face still hidden.

My toes hesitated for an instant over whether to go or not, but ultimately I placed my bags on the seats again and sat back down in front of Kanno.

“Wait, Iba…Suemori-san?”

Kanno raised his panicked face.

“It’s perfect. We still haven’t finished the arrangements, so let’s just do it now.”

“Yes, but…”

“And it’s a bit fun to go all the way to the final stop and loop back, so how about it?”

I spread the notebook on top of our laps without giving Kanno a chance to object. Looking like he found it hard to accept, Kanno chewed on the tip of his lip, but…

“Thank you…”

In the end, he gave in and said in a limp voice.

I was slightly discouraged to find out that Kanno had already finished drawing a line between us within him, but I was glad he said it clearly. I shouldn’t be forgiven by Kanno, and I didn’t want to be forgiven by him. I was sure that I would live with this regret for the rest of my life.

The bell stopped ringing, and the train started to move. The view of the platform fell out of sight.

I wasn’t saying to whom, but…if I had to say it, I made a promise with myself. When we got off this train and went our own ways home, I would put a lid on these feelings once and for all. So, just a little bit more. I was ready to carry a lifetime’s worth of regret, so wasn’t it okay for me to draw this out…for just a few more minutes?

***

“Um, it’s hard to say this, but…if we take this train to the end of the line, there are no more trains available to take us back…to Monshiro.”

Kanno brought that up when the curtain of night had completely fallen outside the window.

“What, why didn’t you say that earlier!? What’re we gonna do!”

“We can walk home or something. But it’ll be the middle of the night by the time we get there. I’m fine with nights so I don’t mind it at all. Suemori-san, I’ll carry you on my back if you’re tired.”

Considering that he said it was hard to say it, Kanno had a slightly happy expression on his face as he said that, and my resolve immediately wavered.

Previous || Index || Next

[coeurvrai]

Last we left off, Nadya passed out for the billionth time after escaping from the room where she was imprisoned and was found by Malachiasz. This time, Nadya wakes up bandaged in a room at the top of Pelageya’s tower.

Pelageya tells Nadya that she knows who she and Malachiasz really are and is aware of her status as a Cleric, because “this palace has been without any blessing of the divine for so long that you were practically shining when you stepped inside.”

“Though,” she considered, tugging at a spiral curl, “he’s not your king. Not mine, either. He’s not even sterevyani bolen’s king, now, is he? Is it treason if we all here swear to different crowns? Except…” Her gaze narrowed on Malachiasz. “You can’t really swear to your own crown, now can you?”

“Careful…” he murmured. He flexed his hand over the arm of his chair, nails flashing iron in the dim candlelight.

Shut the fuck up, Malachiasz. Also @jefflion​ already told me this particular spoiler, that Malachiasz is actually the Queen’s illegitimate child, so I’m both annoyed but also it kind of makes sense? Because either way, Malachiasz wants the crown and sees the crown as his.

Pelageya explains that a certain Vulture rose up the ranks and found out a way to attain godhood, so he told the King in a way to strengthen the relationship between the court and the Vultures; because the previous “Vulture queen” was ruining the sect and the Black Vulture wanted equal power. And so King Izak wanted to perform the ceremony, to give him the power he desperately craved.

“The Vulture disappeared. Poof! There one night, gone the next, leaving his cult to scramble in his absence. Because the Vultures need direction, they need their Black Vulture to lead them, and he had vanished.”

Nadya was listening at a distance, refusing to let the witch’s words catch up to her, to connect all that she was hearing, but she knew, she knew. Would that it had been so simple, that Malachiasz were just a Vulture recruit who got scared and fled. The world was falling out from underneath her and she had no anchor, she had nothing, because nothing was even real.

AND NADYA PUTS TWO AND TWO TOGETHER.

Look, I’ve been 99% sure from the start because that’s what happens when you advertise your book as a villain romance and also say it’s for Alina/Darkling shippers. The plot twist isn’t really a plot twist.

It was Malachiasz. It had always been Malachiasz. The leader of the cult, the one who had spun all of this into motion, the one who had smiled and charmed his way into Nadya’s trust because he could do terrible things with her power if he had access to it. She wouldn’t be sitting here with bandages covering her body if not for Malachiasz.

Look, you didn’t have to listen to him. You didn’t even have to go with him and Rashid and Parijahan to that church, because you had no reason to trust him or believe their plans or to even stick around to hear their plans. You, by all rights, shouldn’t had no actual reason to have been in that situation in the first place.

It’d be more believable if the book had gone along that Nadya was naive and unbelievably sheltered and that had a great effect on her nature and how she interacted with people.

But we literally threw away any semblance of that out of the window by Chapter 2 to double down that Nadya is Independent and Capable and Can Make Her Own Decisions and her upbringing at the monastery and especially as a Cleric has no greater effect on her perception of the world and her social skills.

Also you still haven’t found out what he did with your blood that one time!!!

“But he fled?” Nadya asked. If she pretended the one they were speaking of wasn’t sitting in front of them, listening in calm contemplation, maybe that would make this easier.

“He did,” Pelageya said. “But he came back. Do you think that is coincidence? That this clever boy and his clever magic have returned now?”

“Malachiasz?” Nadya said, her voice smaller than she would have liked, weaker. She willed him to look at her.

He looked different, sitting in the witch’s chair in a way that made it seem almost a throne. His black hair parted far on the right side, falling over his shoulder in inky waves, his pale eyes cold and blank. Less a boy, more a monster. Was that all he was? The silly boy who smiled too much and felt too deeply just a mask for the monster underneath?

Had she fallen for his lies exactly as he wanted her to?

I am going to scream.

You literally have called him a fucking monster and an Abomination and a Heretic ALL of the time, just to remind us that, yes, you still consider him an Enemy even though your hatred is paper thin and not at all believable even though your hatred for Tranavia and Vultures especially is supposed to be Important to your character.

But yes, you did.

He finally met her gaze, eyes softening, growing familiar. “It’s all right, towy dżimyka,” he said, voice soft.

It wasn’t. Not at all.

Pelageya laughed. “Is that supposed to make her feel better?” She stood up, walking around Malachiasz’s chair. “Is that supposed to earn her trust again?” She hooked a finger underneath his chin, forcing his gaze up to hers. She looked young. Nadya didn’t know when the shift had happened but knew the witch was a force of nature. A magic just as old and dangerous as either of them possessed, made worse by the wisdom of her years. “What have you done, Chelvyanik Sterevyani?” she whispered. “What will you still do? I don’t think love is such a force that it will stop you. I’m not sure you’re even capable of it.”

Okay, words are just getting thrown around now.

Also, bullshit! It’s not even something close to love. It’s more lust and attraction than anything else. They barely know each other! So of course love isn’t going to be able to stop him because there isn’t love between him and Nadya, because there hasn’t been time for love to develop between them.

Also this isn’t an enemies-to-lovers dynamic. I know I’ve said that before, but I want to just say it again. This isn’t enemies-to-lovers.

Nadya starts to have a moment, blaming herself and then saying that maybe he had changed, maybe they had changed him, maybe Pelageya is just trying to make trouble.

“I just want to end what I started,” Malachiasz finally said.

Ah yes, with a king dead at your feet and a crown sitting on your head.

Pelageya carries on, throwing around more words:  

“But, this isn’t just about you, Veshyen Yaliknevo. Chelvyanik Sterevyani. Sterevyani bolen.” She sat down on the arm of his chair and he shifted to the opposite side, as far from her as he could possibly get. “This is about the little scrap of divinity you’ve drawn to the depths of Tranavia.”

Nadya lifted her chin. She wasn’t going to let them see she was falling apart.

“She followed you a long, long way from home. What did you tell her to make her come so far without putting a blade in your back?”

Nothing too difficult, really. Just that they had a plan to assassinate the Tranavian King and for some reason, Nadya just went along with honestly without that much fuss, because y’know, the plot demanded it.

Also, as much as I find Pelageya amusing and intriguing, the way she’s being all touchy-touchy with Malachiasz, who is still a teenager, slightly uncomfortable.

“... Now that you point it out she does have the look of a girl who goes for—” She leaned over and tipped Malachiasz’s head back again, baring his throat. His fist clenched over the arm of the chair, nails now just long enough to be visible claws. “—sensitive flesh.”

Like, could you not? We get that Pelageya is creepy and strange already, Emily Duncan, you established that in a Serefin chapter with the prophecy thing.

“I never told her anything that wasn’t true,” he said, voice carefully restrained.

Lie by omission is still a lie, mate. What you omitted was pretty important. I mean, it was obvious and I already knew it, but still.

Pelageya still keeps creepily touching Malachiasz and Malachiasz keeps trying to find excuses for everything, insisting that they’re going to end the war. 

“Why are you here, Malachiasz?”

“I have told you. My reasoning hasn’t changed just because you know what I am now. I want to save my country. I’m one of the few people who can; surely you understand that.”

He was giving her nothing, less than nothing.

“I don’t believe you,” she said softly.

That’s one of the smartest things Nadya has ever said, and that’s saying something.

Nadya, who didn’t know how to hold herself together after this. Nadya, who couldn’t pull her gaze away from Malachiasz, unable to reconcile that the boy she had traded jokes with, that she had kissed, was a symbol of Tranavian heresy. A monster greater than all others.

I- you literally knew that he was a Vulture. That made him “heretical” as is. You knew he was powerful, you literally he was more powerful than Serefin! You called him a monster.

I know, objectively, that this is supposed to be a betrayal for you but you can’t just act like you haven’t been calling him all these things for 75% of the book!

She thought she knew what she was doing, coming here, but now she was in a foreign country, surrounded by her enemies, and the one she had anchored her safety to had been lying to her from the start.

Because the plot demanded that you trust him and go along with their plan even though you had no real reason to.

Pelageya tells her that the entity connected to the necklace that Kostya gave to her is called Velyos, a former member of the Pantheon. That the reason she is cut off from the gods currently is because King Izak is strengthening that “veil” of blood magic that hangs over the capital. 

“There is your magic, which is good, of course. And then their magic. Blood magic. Heresy.”

“It’s just magic,” Malachiasz said.

Still haven’t explained why Marzenya just can’t fuck shit up when magic is one of her domains, plain and simple. And yes, you can argue “the veil” but the veil is still made from magic. It still hasn’t explained why blood magic is so different and untouchable when blood magic is still, at its core, magic.

Pelageya tells Nadya that a witch is just someone with magic of their own, not beholden to the gods. Nadya balks at the thought. Pelageya taunts them both, stating that Malachiasz doesn’t have the power of Vultures that he once did.

The witch had said it to sow more discord, but if he didn’t have full control of the Vultures, maybe that meant he actually was helping them? She shouldn’t give in to hope. She hated that she was so damn hopeful.

I’m rolling my eyes, because Nadya is being predictable at this point and I have no hope for any character consistency besides the fact that it's inconsistent.

A sudden insistent knock on the door made all three of them pause. Then a voice, terrifyingly familiar, came from outside.

“Pelageya? I need to speak with you.”

Of course it would be the prince.

And that’s the end of Chapter 26! YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS!

[glasyasbutch]

3, 12, 21 for as MANY ocs as you want to talk about! It's ask meme monday, it's a national holiday. go a little wild. treat yourself

it’s not ask meme monday again for 2 more hours so this isnt late. 

As a general rule, I’m picking mostly OCs who I haven’t developed as much just for funsies!

3. Scars/Painful spots:

Gent: I think I’ve said once before he has a jagged sort of circle-y scar on one of his shoulders from the time he and his crewmates got drunk and tried to play wine bottle swords. I also think he’s got a healed over stab wound in his thigh from sexy pirate dagger battles. His hands and shoulders used to be a lot sorer, when he was working as a boatswain/general deck hand, but now that’s he’s graduated to navigator, he doesn’t get as much physical exertion and he doesn’t hurt as much.

Udoora: Taking a page out of Fjord Criticalrole’s book, I think she has some pain around her tusks. While for Fjord it’s because he physically files them down, for Doora, it’s more natural. Elf jaws are shaped even worse than human jaws to have hugeo tusks in them, and given that she’s half drow, there’s a lot of tooth in not a lot of space in there. It’s not like, excruciating pain or anything, but they can get irritated, like when your wisdom teeth first start coming in and pushing on your other teeth. 

Gildy: She has arthritis! Mostly in her knees at the moment, which makes it hard for her to move around (especially in heavy armor). Thankfully it hasn’t gotten into her hands yet, so she can still smith easily. If it does start creeping in, she is a cool cleric now and can probably provide herself with fairly good pain relief so she doesn’t have to give up her hobby!

12. Grudges & Vendettas:

So like, Craving and Stella and Ezra all have super huge grudges that are the basis of their entire backstory so we’re gonna skip them. Don’t beat a dead horse and all that. 

Roona: She is so unbelievably petty, she has SO many grudges. She has gotten slightly better over the years, and Vinny’s been an especially good influence on her, but she still is kind of the opinion that people who don’t enjoy her brand of sponteneity and doing shit for the sake of doing it are just stuck up lame-os who need to get out of their own heads, even if Roona’s way of living is like. Actively disruptive to them. Still not her problem. The grudges come in whenever someone confronts her about this difference in lifestyle rather than just rolling their eyes and moving on. Name just about any town she’s been to (on the normal material plane) and she can give you the name of at LEAST one person there who sucks major ass spoon.

Hed’ja: Their religious poetry is objectively terrible. But if you say anything of the like to their face, you’re on the shit list. Now, they’re very good in general at not letting their grudges show from day to day. But you know, maybe your family’s offering will go missing in transit to the shrine when praying for a rich harvest. Or maybe the villian who gets gruesomely be-headed and de-boweled in their next 42 stanza ballad will happen to share your name, which is fine, cause you won’t ever read it, ‘cause you think its sucks. 

Udoora: She’s an absolute sweet as sugar, bleeding heart, forgive and forget, everyone has their hardships and it’s best not to judge since you can’t know what they all are type of girl. She’s a lawful good paladin. She lays on hands with cheek kisses. She doesn’t hold any grudges! She actively tries to love harder the more she’s hated. Fight fire with water type of thing.

Except there’s this one fucking miner from her hometown who bullied her relentlessly as a child and she’s cordial and pleasant to her as much as the next person she meets, but also if her patron was like “I’m gonna close my eyes for one hour and whatever you do, I will not see it, go fucking apeshit”. Doora knows where she’s going.

Nissy: I will simply say that this man walks through the world with an attitude of grudge-worthy until proven innocent.  

21. Turning points in their lives: 

Ok for this one I’m picking out one turning point explicitly NOT related to their main backstory conflict. 

Craving: I’ve talked about this once before, but Tiefling Homeschool because that was baby’s first crush on a girl. 

Tov: I’m thinking about a Gladeroth scene for another proseboy sent by Morgan so fuck it! I’ll say it! Meeting Glade for one night in the woods where someone looked at him and decided he could possibly be a good dude.

Stella: Owning her first pet! She grew up in the woods like Around animals but had never had a pet before, and once she had her own regular job and could pay to take care of an animal and didn’t have to move around too much to have one, it was a marker for her mental health and self confidence to be able to look at this little thing and go! That’s mine! I made that stay alive!

Hedja: Losing their eye. 

Gildy: The first moment she was told she was going to be a Grandma. 

Ezra: When he was eight or so, and one of the Clerics in the temple found him crying in the library because it was taking him so long to read his book of prayers, and getting gently pushed towards the training hall for the bigger boys, blowing his nose into the cleric’s sleeve, and entering this huge empty space smelling like sawdust and old sweat, and being asked to swing his tiny little eight year old fists at this huge punching bag, and doing it, and doing it, and doing it, until he realized he wasn’t crying anymore, and keeping doing it until he was exhausted, and teetering over to the bench and sitting down with the cleric and being told there’s more than one way to show piety, if words in mouths aren’t working, courage and hands might be another way.

Udoora: The first time she met a drow other than her dad.

Nissy: Getting sat down at his third decade or so and getting told about the beacon, and consecration, and really having den politics explained to him, and becoming brutally aware for the first time in his life how long all these expectations were going to be borne on his shoulders. 

Ebbie: When his brother and husband got married and adpoted their first kid, and suddenly Ebbie wasn’t the baby of the family any more. 

Roona: Realizing they literally just. Didn’t have to go to school if they didn’t want to. Goodbye.

Gent: When his moms got married! He was about 7 when they met, and 10 when they officially tied the knot. Going from a one parent to a two, super queer, parent household was really formative for him!

[roraruu]

wip: maneater

tw: blood and gore

past the point of editing anymore lol

She sees Mila. She sees everything so starkly clear for a brief second. Mila’s expelling from Archanea, flocking to Valentia. The ages-long war with Duma. The battles of Rigel and Zofia, the rise and fall of the Zofian king and the preposition of a calendar. The changing seasons and flowers that all come and go and then her, as a child in the church in Rigel, running through vineyards with other children. 

Then, a deafening crash. She’s at the gates of the cemetery, a guttural laugh filling the air as her eyes open, seeing everything so precise, so clearly. From the drops of dew on the grass beneath her feet to the ragged chips and rust that take over the iron gates. 

Gnarled fingers curl around the bars, knuckles white. “You’re a long way from your priory, cleric.”

Python. 

Her head snaps up, too quickly much too quickly. She moves quick, faster than any human should be able to. 

Human. She is human after all. 

Above, on some ungodly high, she sees him moving towards the dying sun. An feels the burn of venom tracing through her body. 

She cries out, no noise being made but deafening all the same. Her eyes, vision flickering crazily flock to the source of her pain. Her wrist. It drips with blood and black venom, his teeth indented into her skin. 

Mila above. She looks quickly around, as if anyone can explain whatever has happened to her. 

Then, at the edge of this plane, she comes back. Her eyes flutter open, taking in every sight before her eyes, of the blood stained roses and rain lilies before her, of her satchel spilt out over her, the relic just inches from her. Silque reaches out to touch it and gasps loud and hard when it burns her fingers. 

The relic burns her, blinding pain running through her fingertips as she pulls back. It’s holy magic running though her body like the tingling burn of white magic. 

Python is walking forth into the sunset. This is sick, like some tale of star crossed lovers sent to die. 

Golden hour approaches, the sun scorching along the horizon like a deathly plague. It is the time when day and night collide for only a moment, the last chance for him to flee. But Python walks closer and closer to death. Silque can only reach out for him helplessly.

His steps grow more and more laboured until—

Silque pushes her legs as far and as fast as he can, it’s a little more than a stumble towards him, reaching out helplessly like a child. 

She fumbles forward, weakly calling out. “S-Stop.”

He continues to walk, his boots dragging in the dirt. Silque moves further out of the forest, the sunlight growing brighter. Newfound instincts tell her to run and fast; but she won’t leave him. “Y-You’ll d-die.” She begs.

He slows a little. She forces herself forwards, tripping over her feet. She lurches into his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric. “Py-Python please.”

Slowly, Python glances over his shoulder as she wraps her arms around his back, curling tightly into his shirt to tether him to her. The last calls of nightbirds fill the air like a death knell, the sounds of bells from a nearby town clanging to mark a new morning. She holds him with all her strength, begging him to look at her as if it is her strength, her love. 

“Please.” Silque cries out, voice cracking. She bites down on her bloodied lip and focuses hard on him, her voice deepening slightly. “Look at me.”

Such focus elicits a reaction from him at last. Python turns around so quick that she sway and almost falls back. She wavers, reaching out for him. He stares at her with apprehension, anxiety and then disbelief.

“How are you—“ He begins but leans closer staring deep into her eyes. They linger about her face, then to her blood-stained white robes and hands. There’s still roses and lilies curled loosely in her hands.

She swallows back hard, an ache burning through her throat as she speaks again. The night has taken a toll on Python, whose tunic is smeared with blood and black plasma. Mud bites at the edge of his pants and up his trousers. He grabs for her, taking her hands in his and holding her close against his body. For a fleeting moment, she curls against him and allows herself to feel relief.

But it is all too quick. He pulls her a little, and she is still unused to new footing and the like. “We have to go to the cemetery. It’s the only place we can stay now.”

She feels a rush to her face, not quite heat or tears, but her eyes well. This time, tears won’t roll down her cheeks. Instead her vision blurs for a minor second, then returns to the overwhelming details that she had never before seen. 

“Okay.” She manages, reaching for his hand. It’s freezing in his, all warmth gone. “I will follow you.” She says, softly and gently, a charm lingering in her voice.

Python stares at her with such curiousity for a moment, gaze lidded and softened. For a split second, she swears he’s about to kill her with a kiss. He breaks her hold on him and pulls her into his arms. The forest becomes a fleeting memory as they break through the gates of the cemetery.

The crash startles her, driving her grasp into his arm. “Relax.” He whispers. 

“My bag.” She whispers, glancing around for it. He disappears for a split second, returning with the leather satchel and handing it to her. She winces, the allure and ache of the relic working harder and harder to keep her away from the bag.

“It’s the relic huh?” He says, her eyes flickering up to him.

She nods quickly. “Yeah, it’s keeping me away.”

“So... you’re really like me?” He asks.

She nods. “I assume.” Silque says glancing down at herself. The blood-stained down unsettles her. Her gaze flocks to where the invisible blade, Mila’s wrath, had stabbed through her gown and drove into her flesh. Her fingers trace over the mark, feeling only cold skin on her fingertips. “There’s no wound at all.”

“Really?” Python says, unbelieving. He cranes his neck.

Silque sidesteps. “H-Hey.” She whispers, swaying a little. “Privacy.”

“Why? I already saw you—“

“S-Stop!” She cries out, feeling heat flood her cheeks as the other vampire smirks. “Seriously, there’s already too much going on.”

“Fine, fine.” He relents. “But we’ll have to get you out of those clothes.” 

Another invisible blush. Her gaze narrows. 

“Get your mind outta the gutter.” Python says, smirking softly in the dark. “We have to find you new clothes and soon. Walking around like that... someone will think that you killed a cleric.”

Her lips curve into a frown. “But I did, didn’t I?”

Python stays quiet, hunkering down beside a rotted grave. “Nevermind that, how the fuck did you survive?” he asks.

Silque shrugs. “After you bit me I think I died...” She murmurs, slowly lowering herself against the ground. She steadies herself against an old tree for support. “But the bite settled in my system and must have taken over before I was completely gone.”

He simply stares. “You were different, were you not?” She asks.

“Curse.” He reminds her.

“So I was bitten. By you and changed.” She whispers. “Gods, I’ve become the thing I’m meant to hunt...”

Realization strikes her again. “The priory.” She whispers.

“Hey, hey Silque, relax.” Python says, touching her hand, she flinches away instinctively. “Listen, there’s not much you can do—“

“Not much I can do?!” She cries out. “If I go back they’ll kill me!”

“Then don’t go back, stay with me.” He argues.

“But I was supposed to...” she frowns, her voice dying. “This is Mila’s punishment.”

“Hey, look at me.” He orders.

She glances up into his red gaze, holding it for a moment. “I’ll protect you. If you’ll protect me and I intend to keep you.”

“Python, that’s not enough.” She says. “My entire life has been dedicated to Mila and her teachings. I can’t just leave it now, I’ve a debt I owe.”

“A debt to a Goddess who killed you?!”

“I submit to her no matter what.” Silque breathes, voice breaking. No tears fall, just a gasping cry that she covers with her mouth. Her hands begin to shake, convulsively as Python’s eyes widen. 

“Aw shit...” He grumbles. 

“What?” She asks. 

“I didn’t think this through—“

Silque drives her hand into the earth, her nails digging into the dirt. Pain overtakes her.

“You’ve gotta drink.” He says. “Whatever’s left in your system is gone.”

“I will not kill a human.” 

“There’s ways around it.”

“I won’t have anything to do with the undead.”

“Well I’m sorry Sister, but I don’t think you have that choice anymore.” Python says. He hauls off his cloak, throwing it at her feet and frowning. “Buckle in, it’s gonna be a long day.”

Silque does not understand the length of his words. Seeing Mila and everything and nothing was just the beginning. Throughout the day, she stifles blood-thirsty cries, clawing into graves and shivering out a fever that won’t break.

If she had have known that this was the exchange for eternal life, for him, she would have said no. But still, that light at the end of the tunnel, the possibility of becoming human again is too elusive too much to turn away from. 

The horrible fever last three days, the sight of foliage and every tiny vein in every small leaf on the branches over her head becomes ingrained in her mind. The earth in permanently damaged from the flickering wrath that she places into it. She cannot sleep, no matter how hard she tries. The entire time, Python stays close by, watching on in concern.

***

Night falls on the third night of the fever and Silque can finally move. He kneels down to her level when the sun sets. 

“Show me your teeth.” Python says.

Reluctantly, she smiles as he cusses and shakes his head. “What?” She asks, leaning closer.

“Your fangs came in.” He says softly. She closes her mouth and runs her tongue over the new, sharpened fangs that have come through; her mouth aches. “The hunger will come sooner rather than later.”

“So...”

“We should get something to eat.”

“I said I won’t drink.” She says. The ache in her throat says otherwise.

“You need to otherwise you’ll die.” Python says. “I’ll do the nasty stuff, just shut your eyes.”

“Python, I don’t think I can.” She says, getting up and following him. They stand on the edge of the graveyard.

“It’s not a matter of can, it’s a matter of doing, Silque.” He says passively. He holds out his hand to her, and she glances away.

Python turns away. “You may not be able to control your speed. Just try to follow me.” He says.

In a flash he’s gone from the cemetery. Silque takes a step on shaky legs, like sea ones and then another. She swallows hard then takes an unnecessary breath and takes off. Her feet move faster than ever before, the graveyard becomes little more than a spec on her memory. 

She focuses on the back of Python’s shirt, her eyes wide and wild, taking in the sight of every thread before her eyes, every piece of dirt and blood that is stained to it; the smoothness of his skin below and the tense of every muscle as he runs.

Then, he stops. 

Silque’s head whips around, trying to look at what he sees. Then she smells it. Something delicious, something fine. Python’s staring at a human before him. He holds a lantern, wide-eyed and scared. He looks like a messenger, wearing the symbol of the Zofian army. His eyes grow wide as he tries to speak something. Silque cannot hear it, sound is blocked from her ears, save for the thudding of the messenger’s heart.

But Python looks between him and her with side eyed realization. His lips move, but nothing comes out. The hunger sets in. The messenger’s eyes are stark wide with fear and Silque can smell his scent, understanding now what Python meant. He smells amazing, like wine and shieldfish and cheese; like a fine meal—

Before she realizes it, Silque has the messenger pinned to the ground, legs over his chest and her hands pinning his wrists to the earth. Instincts that have never surfaced before kick in: she brings her mouth down on his neck, tearing at his flesh and drinking him dry.

And when she’s finished and she realizes what she’s done she scrambles away from the corpse crying out.

“Hey, hey I’m here.” Python says, suddenly at her arm. His hands curl around her arms, pulling her up. She almost throws herself into his chest to look away from the corpse.

“I—“

“I’ll take care of it.” He says softly. Tenderness doesn’t sound right in his voice.

“I’m sorry,” she manages, no tears falling.

“It’s fine. We’re all like this when we turn.” Python says. “Try to clean yourself up while I take care of him.”

Silque nods, bites down on her lip and brings herself to look at her hands that are smudged with dirt and blood. She frowns, guilt hanging over her as she licks the last bits of blood off her lips. She catches up to Python, asking to say a few words for the messenger.

She forces herself to gaze upon the body, to commit it to her memory until the end of her days: be them mortal or immortal. As Python hauls his body into the ground, Silque wills herself to say Mila’s death rites, the words burning in her throat with every words as he fills the grave with soil.

“Hold on.” She says. Python stops.

She pulls the cuff of her dress down further and further so that it reaches the tips of her fingers. She reaches into her leather satchel, fighting back the nausea and revulsion that the relic works. It may have broken on her, but it is still full of Mila’s magic and blessings. Her hand shakes as she looks one last time at the silver necklace.

“That’s your relic.” He says cautiously.

“The Mother has left me.” She says. “The chain broke the other night.”

“And you wanna chuck it?”

“I have no use for it.”

“But what if those revival springs can make you human again?” He asks. “What then?”

“The Mother won’t have me, she’s made sure of that.”

“Silque, you could join another church—“

“Python, she spoke to me.” Silque’s voice is stronger now, as if trying to use her charm against him. He simply stares at her, hands in the dirt. “She said that if I abandoned faith I would have nothing and I did. She will not have me, no matter how much I repent.”

The other vampire simply stares at her and shakes his head. He pushes his hands further in the dirt. Silque drops the relic into the earth, watching as more and more soil is dropped upon it.

[amnachil]

Hi, I like your stories very much! Could you think about writing a church/cleric related wg story? 🐷

So since you didn’t give any specifics, I just wrote what went through my mind uwu I hope you like it :)

Devil's food cake

Canter was a little town in the middle of nowhere. It had one grocery store, one garage, one school... one of everything needed. The inhabitants knew little about the outside world, and the outside world knew nothing about them. Not that they cared anyway. Canter was and would always be a godforsaken hole. But the people were very united and they were happy all together. At least until that fateful day when Father Phil got sick. The priest was a local celebrity. For years, he had been their guide. The elders loved him. The youngsters respected him. Thus, his health condition worried all Canter. Mary, the young nun, was especially concerned. She knew it was impossible for her to manage the church on her own. The community needed a priest. She needed one. After one week of worries and failed cures, the sister contacted the bishop. Thinking more efficiently and logically, this latter understood Father Phil was slowly joining the Lord. After all, the man was 84 ! The people of Canter wouldn't admit it, but his time had come. And for the bishop, it meant he had to send someone to stand in for Father Phil. Also, he sent to Canter a young cleric that was very eager to prove his worth. And that is how this story began.

The newcomer (Sister Mary pov)

Sister Mary wasn't her usual self this morning. During the Mass, they all noticed how stressed she was. It was kind of obvious when she almost spilt the Host. What was wrong you wonder ?

"The bishop sent us a new cleric." she explained to answer their questions. "He said Father Phil and I have to train him in order to make him the new priest of Canter."

Now that was quite a stunning new. The people paniced all at once. What did that mean ? Was Father Phil going to leave for an hospital ? Or worse ? And this new cleric, who was he ? Can he be as good as his predecessor ? They doubted it.

"Please my dear friends listen !" hailed Sister Mary. "Don't be agitated. I'm sure the new cleric will be a very nice person. Beside, it is our duty to welcome him as best as we can."

She barely finished her sentence when suddenly, the doors opened. They all turned to stare at the newcomer. He was a very fit young man with blond hair and blue eyes. He was kind of handsome. But well, that wasn't the point. He wore a cassock which named him as the cleric. I'm glad he's finally here. Sister Mary approached with her brighest smile.

"Welcome to Canter." she said warmly. "It's nice to meet yo..."

"This town kind of sucks." cut off the guy.

He sounded... pissed ?

"The bishop told me I would work in one of the greatest church of history and this is what I get ? Lord, this old man must be kiddin' me."

"Actually, our church is one of the most ancient in the territory and..."

"Oi you, the nun." he interrupted her again. "Lead me to... hum... I think the old man called him Father Phil ?"

Sister Mary gulped. He's not how I imagined him. And he looks very disappointed. Around them, the people weren't glad with this turn of events. Well, she wasn't eiher. But they did not have a choice.

"Follow me." she mumbled.

Meet Father Paul (Father Phil pov)

To everyone in Canter, Father Phil was sick. But this one knew better. At 84 years old and with a full life, he knew what was waiting for him. He had been glad when Sister Mary finally asked the bishop for help. The Church would send someone to take his responsabilities. A knock at the door attracted his attention.

"Come in."

The nun and a man entered in his room. Young, fit and seemingly smart. The bishop sent a good one. Father Phil sighed, relieved. His last days would be easier now.

"You're the old dying priest ?" asked the newcomer. "Dude you smell."

The called old dying priest gawked. What was wrong with this lad ?

"I'm here to stand for you." continued the other. "But I don't like the place nor the people. They're all starin' at me weirdly. Anyway, I will start my work tomorow but I'm not stayin'. Just so you know."

I vowed to God I would never swear but it's pretty hard to resist. This kid is a brat ! Father Phil didn't know what to say. He was supposed to train this young man but to be honest, he wasn't even able to get off bed.

"Father Paul, you're supposed to become the new priest of Canter !" complained Sister Mary.

Thanks Lord she's saying what I wanted to say. The cleric snorted.

"You want me to be the priest of this town ?! We're lost in the middle of nowhere ! Look, Imma work just fine but I will not stay around here. As soon as I can, I'm out. Dying Father or not."

The truth about Father Paul (general pov)

Let's face it, the encounter between Canter's population and Father Paul didn't go well. The elders knew he was disrespectful. The youngster knew he was arrogant. And they all decided they didn't like him. It lasted for two weeks. Sister Mary noticed it first. The truth about Father Paul. Each morning, he woke up early to plan his day. He came at school every two days to speak with the children about tolerance. He was visiting the farms around daily. He always took the time to see the grannies in the late afternoon. The young cleric was harsh but more than willing to help. During the third week, the youngster finally admitted he was fine. During fourth week, the elders agreed. During fifth week, they all accepted Father Paul as the best substitute for Father Phil they could ever have. But here was the problem : The cleric didn't intend to stay. He had been adamant about that : he would leave as soon as possible. Of course, he liked the kids. Sure, the grandpas were nice. But Father Paul wanted something else. Sister Mary tried to convince him many times. She even asked Father Phil for help, in vain.

The plan (Sister Mary pov)

Sister Mary was desesperate. Father Phil was weaker with each passing week, and Father Paul didn't intend to stay. She thought the cause lost, until one fateful evening. She and the cleric were having diner together. The nun wasn't focused on anything, worrying too much about the future. But she heard perfectly the young man sigh with pleasure. She looked towards him, and saw how satisfied he looked.

"You know what Sister ?" he said. "Imma be honest with ya. What I will miss the most when gone are those delicious devil's food cake. The name say it all but woah, it taste so... perfect."

Sister Mary smiled timidly. It was true their town had a special way to make devil's food cake with a heavy load of chocolate. Yeah, even more than in regular devil's food cake. That was why they kept the pastry for very special occasion. But Father Paul liked them a lot. Loved them even. Sister Mary suddenly realised it. The solution of her problem was right under her nose !

The next day, Sister Mary gathered all the community of Canter while Father Paul was busy planning his day.

"My dear friends." she said. "I know how we can make our beloved Father stay a little longer. I can  tell he loves our devil's food cakes very much. You people should offer him these every time you see him, as much as possible. We must make him realise he'll never find any other place with such delicious delicacies and people able to make them."

"But Sister, don't you think he will grow tired of cakes ?" asked the elders.

"And Sister, don't you think he will take it as a bribe ?" asked the youngsters.

She knew it was legitimate doubts. She had thought about it too.

"My dear friends, we don't have much of a choice." she recalled. "But these pastries are named from the devil for a reason. I'm pretty sure Father Paul will never dislike them. Besides, think about it as gift to thank him for his continuous effort. Please my dear friends, bear in mind that we need him."

The inhabitant agreed. After all, she was right. They needed Father Paul.

The first day of the plan (Father Paul pov)

"Here's a little devil's food cake for you to enjoy." said the teacher. "The whole class made it for you."

The cleric looked at the children, and then focused back on the cake. Smells amazing. He gadly took it of course. Who was he to decline free food ? Especially such a succulent dessert.

"Your blessings are always welcome." complimented the farmers. "As a acknowlegment, let us give you these devil's food cakes. We hope they'll fit your taste."

Father Paul grunted. What are they up to today ? They're unusually sympathic. Not that he cared. He accepted their present. After all, these cakes were delectable.

"We're so thankful for your kindness Father." smiled the grannies. "You're always so nice with us old biddies. Here, take those devil's food cakes. We insist."

Yeah well, they didn't have to insist. The young priest loved them so much. They were so mouthwatering, it was unbelievable.

"How was the day Father ?" asked Sister Mary. "I made diner, and I cooked some devil's food cakes, since you said you liked them."

Father Paul glanced at the table. He felt a tight pressure around his midsection, because he ate with the youngsters not that long ago. I don't why, but they had prepared devil's food cakes too. The lad was someone rational. He knew what a feeling of fullness was. But god be his witness, these pastries were just so... right.

Taking a liking to the town and others (Father Paul pov)

Gluttony was one of the seven deadly sins. Father Paul was a sinner. What can I say ? The people of Canter had taken an habit of offering him devil's food cakes. Youngsters as well as elders. Even Sister Mary. It was like if they had spread the words among themselves. Sure, Father Paul could have declined the gift. He could have explain he wasn't here to stuff himself but to work. Feeble argument when he could work AND stuff himself at the same time. And let's face it : the devil's food cakes are just too good.

This very morning, Father Paul woke up earlier than usual. He had a meeting with the still-not-dead Father Phil. Indeed, it had been exactly three months since his arrival in town. At first, he intented to stay only two, which was the minimum time the bishop demanded from his clerics. But for a reason or another, Father Paul was still here. The young man entered his bathroom. He peed, showered, shaved. He had almost finished when his belly let out a loud rumble. Well he was starving. The cleric rubbed unconsciously his stomach. Wait a second. He felt a softness he wasn't used to feel. Father Paul looked down only to notice a slight roll of fat that he had never noticed before. A bit mortified but mostly curious, he patted this added stoutness gently. His belly jiggled. Of course this is not bloat. With all the cakes he wolfed down daily, he got used to sport a swollen midsection. The cakes. Of course this is the devil's food cakes fault. I'm stuffing my face for a month or so. Father Paul went to his mirror for a more general observation of himself. He wasn't that different... just... well softer around the edge. The young cleric had often taken pride in his body but he wasn't displeased with his new self. He looked kind of... stronger this way. His tummy stand out with a small but noticeable curve. His ass was rounder and strangely, he liked it. He had gained weight so what ? Guess it's no big deal in the end. He loved the devil's food cake too much to cut anyway.

Father Paul arrived late at his meeting. Thankfully, Father Phil hadn't many things to ask. In fact, they came to his main worry very fast.

"You told me you were leavin' but I see you're still here." the old priest stated. "Should I believe you're taking a liking to our town ?"

"Maybe." replied Father Paul. "I havn't decided anything yet."

I don't know about the town but I'm sure I took a liking to your devil's food cakes.

A decision is taken (Father Paul pov)

Father Phil died three month later. The funeral was pompus and warm at the same time. Canter was in grief. During a week, the town was awfully quiet. Sister Mary was inconsolable. And then, the question began. Nobody asked Father Paul directly, but he could hear them whisper behind his back. Was he staying or leaving ?

Father Paul was not the kind to lie. The inhabitant of Canter were nice. Elders and youngsters. But he had always dreamed of a big church with thousands of followers. He had always thought he was promised to a great destiny by the Lord himself. However he had met the devil in his way. Well, the devil's food cakes at least. He was still perfectly doing his job. He was still very good. Nothing really changed. But at the same time, a lot of things had changed. He had changed. He couldn't resist these pastries. If he left, he knew he would miss them way too much. Of course, Father Paul had managed to keep his gluttony under control. His weight had increased steadily but slowly. He could deal with the whole "chubby priest". Sure, his thights were rounder than he remembered. Sure, his rear had widened. Of course he got a belly. A round, soft and nice gut. But he liked that.

"Are you gonna stay ?" wondered Sister Mary one evening.

Finally someone dare ask me the damn question.

"Yes." he replied. "I think so."

The end

[twitchesandstitches]

It'll be easy, they said. Awaken a dragon titan from beneath the world and make a bargain with her, they said. She'll make a great familiar, they said.

Vriska Serket, aspiring sorceress, pirate queen and hopeful empress of the world (for starters, she had her many eyes on claiming a throne in the realms of the gods and becoming a full on goddess herself) had honestly figured that finding a dragon that wouldn't instantly kill her for the disrespect would be the easy bit. She'd found the cutest one she could, way back before she'd even gotten up to conquering a kingdom and overwhelming them with her hotness and persuading them into serving her forever. She'd figured that having an adorable minion would be an extra bonus and damn if her dragon wasn't the most gorgeous monster troll in all history.

The first part of that was, surprisingly, not that tricky. Dragons were, on the whole, a fairly mild people. Mighty, unpredictable and unspeakably ferocious, yes but... not as destructive in general. Sure, in their youth they could be feisty and prone to rampages in their pursuit of absolute dominance, but as they got older they tended to settle down and contemplate the wisdom they had accrued, or shape themselves into mortal form to wed adorable mortals. Vriska studied their legacies intensely, isolating the traits to locate the right dragon, and just to be sure had gifted her dragon with a rare redblooded cleric to be her personal servant in all the red quadrants she wanted.

She'd found Terezi Pyrope beneath a forest; it hadn't been there when her egg had hatched there a couple hundred years ago, but it had grown as her power grew. Maybe that was a bad sign, in retrospect. When you looked for a destructive focus of power to reflect your own strength into, you probably shouldn't pick one who made pretty things grow. But Terezi, about Vriska's age in dragon terms, had been a fairly mild dragon, only occasionally ravaging a sorcerer's tower or attacking a castle. The strategic nature of her destruction, attacking only the tower or castle and slaughtering the wicked ones within while leaving the surrounding cities or countryside untouched, had pleased Vriska. She valued precision.

Only later did she bother to investigate and find out that those she attacked were... well. Bad. Wicked, deserving of vengeance.

She'd wanted a lazy dragon that just did what she was told, not a self-appointed paladin dragon, HOW DID THIS EVEN HAPPEN.

Vriska walked into the caverns worked into the stone forming the lower regions of her giant fancy sky boat, which technically qualified as a castle in terms of sheer size. Enormous crystal structures strung alongside it like webs, powering the complex spells that kept it afloat and generally told the laws of physics to go bother someone else. She moved into the deeper part of those caverns, and some fancy spells building on the presence of so much magic stretched space out down there so that it was technically boundless; you could fit entire worlds in the spaces below. And on the way to her minion's treasure trove, she ran into other minions, small and giggly things spun from her own essence and so generally colored blue and resembling spiders, bowed to her and did little songs in her honor; she smirked. At least they knew their place.

Each minion was bout the size of a regular human, others were far larger, as big as the average troll. Others, generally the most monstrous, dwarfed them. And even those brutes were so small as to fit into Vriska's hand. Draining the powers of her defeated rivals into herself, studying ancient relics and assimilating their powers too, and slurping down every bit of magic she could possibly get her claws on had transformed her into a living dynamo of magical energies, spinning more of it like a spider making her webs. Her stature had grown to match her ever growing power, and she permitted herself a smug quirk of her full lips as she marched down the caverns, past teal flames flickering in crystal basins upon the walls.

Minions as big as humans moved out of the way of her heeled feet, dodging steps bigger than entire boats. They gazed up at her; Vriska's hips were extremely wide compared to the rest of her hourglass-shaped body, her tremendous backside wobbling faintly as she walked in an easy 'yeah I know I'm awesome' walk that she'd worked very hard to get just right. Breasts bigger than her torso, projecting outwards so that the layered fabrics of her ludicrously fancy robes made a sort of shelf, produced a counterbalancing bounce. Those robes were clingy enough to show how slim her waist was, nearly a swivel-point between her excessive breasts and hips combo. She walked down stairs big enough to contain a city, and from the heels of her finely tailored shoes (so big they had once been ships she had sailed upon) to the tips of horns that armies of minions labored to polish and shape, she was a true giantess, filling up most of that space.

Already, Vriska was proud to note, she was so big that she didn't even need magic most of the time, she could swat down most foes of her choice. She could tread upon armies rather than magically reaching into their minds and flipping a switch marked 'Vriska is the best, you should worship her'. Even buildings looked small to her, puny and fragile things reserved for servants ...

And yet... a curl of lingering resentment tinged with admiration for such fierce stubbornness rose up in her head, at a mind she couldn't just make do what she wanted. Too fiercely passionate about things Vriska didn't bother with, so frustrating. So obnoxious. So... astounding.

And so much bigger than Vriska.

Vriska, in all her tremendous size, walked into a chamber so big she could have lived in there with enough room for all she could ever want. Pillars of pale red crystal swelled in arcs to outline the distant reaches of the area, deepening to more vibrant shades as magic flowed through them. Since there was so much magic emanating from her familiar, who lived her most of the time, they were almost permanently crimson, like fire made into shining glass. There were few treasures; libraries of magically-stored information, stories and lore and all things Vriska had learned over the years, uploaded to magic viewing crystals for the gigantic denizen to pursue, and in a form that you didn't need eyes to understand. Traditional dragon treasures, gold and jewels and interesting relics, were kept elsewhere. Instead the whole place was lined with luxuries; cauldrons that duplicated any food and drink you placed in, island-sized pools that changed temperature to match your desire, immense pillows and blankets that the mightiest kings might think a tad excessive, and excessively complex games all over, still blinking the lights from their visual displays.

And for all of this place's immense size, it was still mostly dominated by the gigantic dragon-troll that dwelled there.

Terezi Pyrope, easily the mightiest dragon of recent days (but nowhere as legendary, yet, as her famed ancestor) was so big that Vriska could have fit into her hand, or mouth. Vriska could have stood on those thick... insubordinate (kissable)... lips, or rode between those long and narrow horns. Vriska might have been big enough to fill the space between a city's buildings, but Terezi was so large that she was bigger than that city was. Magic didn't just make her bigger (and she had been large to begin with, as big as a building), it was birthed in her, replicating and expanding and escaping into the world to suffuse everything around her with raw magic... especially Vriska, as per plan, but Terezi somehow managed to absorb most of her output to keep growing bigger... and growing... and growing...

At the very least, though, she put it to good use. Vriska suppressed a flush as Terezi turned around to gaze at her, laying on her side so that her thick belly squished against a pillow, and her unbelievably massive breasts stacked up over her own body. Larger than her torso, globes suggesting softness, a maternal attractiveness; Terezi was muscular beneath the softness of her enormously curvy body, but she was nearly dwarfed by her own bustline, and it was exquisitely tempted to command Terezi to do a familiar's duty and pick up Vriska to rest within that monstrously big teal cleavage-

Shit. Terezi was grinning, wasn't she. Vriska had closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, trying to deny those treacherous thoughts, and peeked a few eyes open. Oh no, that smile. Thick lips, dark and terribly smoochable, teeth glinting and eyes half-lidded in such an infuriatingly knowing way.

Terezi adjusted position, gently leaning over to support herself on her breasts, which provided as much support as laying on another Terezi would have. She moved smoothly so as not to upset the several thousand tiny red-blooded trolls busily grooming her body (polishing scales, grooming her hair, and scratching the difficult places) and who looked identical, and were in fact the same troll magically duplicated and his mind spread out to better serve her. Karkat Vantas; a troll cleric who was a living battery of magic, and whose usefulness currently considered mainly of keeping Terezi placated him. She adored the little pain in the neck, even if she loved to pester him, and had him duplicated into thousands of identical and nearly indestructible bodies with his mind simultaneously directing all of them.

Terezi's infamously huge backside still loomed over her body, even with her wings curled tight and her tail curled out. “You just can't keep your eyes off me,” Terezi rumbled, her voice shaking the chamber. She grinned wider. Gold, silver and other precious metals gleamed off her body; Terezi was technically nude but wore all the treasure she had accumulated, from the various dungeons she'd raided and the foes she had bested, upon her body in a glimmering mass. If it was shiny, Terezi liked it on her body. Given her sheer size, though, even her vast hoard mostly amounted to a bikini and small loincloth clanking upon her. And it showed so... much that was pleasant to see.

Vriska's thoughts treacherously slid to pleasant thoughts regarding her dragon familiar. The impossibly curvy and motherly frame, bigger in every respect than her own hourglass body. The broad shoulders that would be so nice to run her body over. The firm belly, full and plump. The shockingly big thighs, hips bigger than Vriska's own-

And all of this sliding against the certain knowledge, the infuriating problem that her familiar never did what she goddamn WANTED her to do.

Vriska drew herself up haughtily. She felt herself growing bigger, the familiar tickle in her bones and chitin as she got taller. Her body swelling with power, her hips getting wider; her robes pinching a bit as her backside become a touch too large to fit comfortably, the pressure against her breasts heavier, the ceiling-sky becoming marginally closer-

Oh damn it, the air was drenched in magic, flowing with energy like the ocean depths had wetness. Terezi was forcing magic out, knowing how the familiar-sorcerer bond worked, knew that Vriska couldn't do anything but soak it up and get bigger even if she didn't want to-

Terezi was grinning.

“You little shit!” Vriska yelled, shaking her hand. Her sleeves were quickly getting a bit cramped.

Terezi giggled, and it was a giggle; merry and loud, shaking forests when she was ground-side. Almost musical, if you didn't acknowledge the bone-shaking low bass she could put out. You didn't expect a mighty dragon to make a noise like that. “Hey, you wanted to get bigger. I'm just getting you what you want~!'

“Turn it off!” Vriska snapped. “Lower it, or... whatever! We're getting too much; I won't be able to fit into half my clothes by this rate, and we're flying too high up! I'm going to miss my showdown with Eridan's fleet and I have been planning this shit for two months, if you ruin this for me I swear I'll... I'll... do something messed up!”

Terezi's eyes blinked indifferently. They were bright red, burned red, completely blind in the fashion of an ancient red-blooded prophet who had foretold many things. Her own prophetic abilities were useful, if only she didn't constantly word them in a way for Vriska to get completely wrong, she was doing it on purpose, Vriska was totally sure. “Ooh. Yeah. That's terrifying.” She yawned, rising up as she sucked up more of her own magic, growing bigger; the mountainous slopes of her breasts, big enough for Vriska to build a castle on them and live there, grew even larger, scales shifting before her.

“I'll...” Vriska hesitated, but only for a second, this was a dumb idea, this was a bad threat, this was the worst thing- “I'll relocate your minion! I'll reassign him to... to some really boring duty where you won't get to mess around with him!”

The room grew significantly colder. The red specks decorating Terezi's body – grumpily from their constantly complaining, their shrieks making a noise that Terezi found lovely, and yet they did it all with such absolute adoration that was hard for Vriska to work out, this was sole pale/red bullshit with black undertones – froze in primordial fear. One Karkat, barely as tall as Vriska's finger-joint was long, backed away from Vriska in sudden terror, scurrying away to Terezi's side. A massive teal claw suddenly dropped down in front of Vriska, shielding him from her sight. Next the claw rose up, pointing directly at her. Terezi's expression had drained out its good humor, and there was only cold fury there now. “You'll what?” she said. The Karkats, all several thousand of them, clung tightly to her body.

Vriska thought fast. Never go back, never say sorry, never admit a mistake and never give her any leeway she didn't maneuver into; that was how it worked. Trying to keep her composure, she said loftily. “Oh, I might rethink that if, oh, maybe some pain in my ass familiar pulled back on the magic and let me actually lower my citadel...?”

Terezi considered this. Puff of teal flame gusted out over her lips.

“And I'll toss in more treasure for you,” Vriska added, sweetly. “If you also fight Eridan's spooky kraken guardian, while we're at it.”

“Oh, fine.” Terezi grunted, and sat up. “...Can't have your loser minions get wiped out fighting Feferi, can I?”

Vriska looked smug, while trying not to let on how relieved she was. Or how... tight... her robes were getting. “Uh. You gonna lower the magic soon?” She tugged at a cleavage piece that was rapidly dropping. “I'm going to be showing boob straight to my gut!”

Terezi stared at her, mulling something over. She raised a Karkat to her aural clot, listening to him whisper something, and chuckled at that. “Say, but I thought that's what you wanted, Vrisky! I figured you'd want to be facing against your fishy warlord rival, dressed to impress!”

Vriska gaped at her. She immediately prepared a counter (“What I got already is just fine!”) and realized that this ran counter to her intentions to literally never stop growing or outdoing everyone else. Weakly, Vriska mumbled and finally could only manage, “Goddamit, I hate you so much!”

Terezi just giggled again, and winked. Flirtatiously. One of the Karkat's whispered something to her again and Terezi nodded, almost imperceptibly. Vriska felt something enormous moving, behind her, and turned around to see a wall of teal scales coming at her. Too late, she realized she ought to have been keeping tabs on Terezi's tail.

It curled around her, bigger than a Vriska-scaled house, and lifted her up. The cavern peeled away from her as Vriska was brought up to Terezi's face, to those thick lips and that infuriating (gorgeous), absolute pain in the ass smirk (damn but she looked kissable)...

Those enormous lips curled up, above her and below her, as Terezi's tail brought her in closer. Warm breath, tinged with flame and enough magic to nearly make Vriska pop out of her robes right then and there, washed over her. They seemed so inviting, so soft, so sweet... Vriska felt herself relax, let herself be brought closer to that, her whole body prepared for a kiss.

And then Terezi raised a hand, and very gently flicked Vriska right of her tail. The mood shattered like glass hit with a hammer.

“You complete ass!” Vriska howled, magically forcing the laws of gravity to piss off and she floated gently to a stop on the ground. Terezi was rearing back, cackling so much that her whole body was jiggling in a very hypnotic... attractive way but Vriska was too angry to take much notice. How dare she do that right when things were getting all mushy and nice?!

Terezi blew a kiss and, with some direction from the Karkat's on the way to face, winked.

Vriska groaned, trying to deny the rush in her blood and the heat in her thoughts and the twisting, piercing intensity of the sudden need, damn Terezi and her goddamn blackrom coach of a minion! “You are the worst familiar ever.”

[princessamericachavez]

Trust me, that's what I will be

Jester is not stupid —she knows that much, at least— but no one’s ever called her smart, or clever, or impressive. In her house, she was The Ruby of the Sea’s daughter, which meant she was either treated like a rich kid (not that she minded) or like a hidden bastard (not that she minded, really). No one expected much of her, she had no chores and no responsibilities aside from staying hidden and quiet. 

Then the Traveler’d found her, and given her all of this amazing powers that allowed her to do the craziest thing, and then people noticed. Of course, that could cause some issues, like with that lord that now wants to kill her, but it can also help her make the most wonderful things, the craziest pranks, the most unbelievable tricks.

The first person to really, truly, be impressed by her powers was Fjord. She still remembers the look he had when she used thaumaturgy the first time. She keeps using it weeks later, trying to get the same reaction from him, but so far she thinks she’s going to need bigger tricks to get that look again. Of course, it’s really not that she is impressive so much as her powers being impressive, and those are really the Traveler’s, but she’s not complaining. This powers made her The Cleric of the team too.

Jester loves being The Cleric. Because she is the one, the only one, and she knows the team needs her to stay alive. It can be exhausting to run around trying to heal everybody, and frustrating when she’d rather be doing cooler spells, but there’s a sense of accomplishment she had never felt before when she succeeds at it. Being the cleric means they need her around. She’s not replaceable or expendable to her, so they will want her to stay around. She likes that.

And then, they start their new big missions and they give her a solo mission: distract the guard so that they can all get in. She nods and pretends to be calm, but inside she’s shaking with nerves. This isn’t a thing she’s very good at. She’s not good at lying like Fjord; she’s not street smart like Beau; she’s not flashy like Molly or sneaky like Nott; she’s definitively not as smart as Caleb, and her magic can’t help her here. She has to face this all on her own and make it work.

She stands tall, controls her voice in a way that she knows people find less annoying, puts her best lie forward and it works. It works! Even when Nott has a little accident and Jester has to go a little over the top to keep her out of trouble, in the end she gets them all in and the excitement sends her brain spiraling with excitement. 

Except, before she can go in, her running ideas stumble upon a memory: Ulog! They promised to meet him before going in! 

“Shit, shit, shit,” she hisses.

She looks between the road and the Tri-Spire. Her friends went in already, they will be waiting for her, but they need Ulog. They promised they’d meet him. Should she go get him? Oh, Traveler, help. For the first time in maybe ever she’s alone to make the choice and the pressure twists the pastries in her gut until she almost wants to throw up. No. No. I can do this. I can. No one told her she can, but she has to believe it.

She runs back, finds the curious man impatient and moody, and brings him into the Tri-Spire. Getting him in is tricky, especially because he’s such a bad liar, but she tries her best again, thinks on her heals, improvises on the spot and in the end they let them in. She lets out a shaky breath as they walk up the street to meet the others. I did it. I really did it.

“What the hell, Jester? Where were you?” Beau asks when she joins them. “We were worried you’d gotten caught.”

“Well,” she says, sending her a quick wink, “I went back to get Ulog, you know, like we had planed? Right?”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Fjord picks up before Beau can argue.

“Let’s move,” Ulog presses, walking away towards their first target.

Once he’s out of ear-shot, Fjord squeezes her shoulder and gives her a look. 

“That was very smart, Jester. Good job,” he tells her.

A sense of pride washes over her, like it does when the Traveler laughs at her jokes. Except this isn’t her deity, this isn’t her best and only friend, this is someone else entirely that just told her- wow. 

Excited as she is, Jester puts her best into the rest of the mission. The grappling hook thing could’ve gone better, but it’s a good thing they have Beau. And then the carpet thing went terribly, but it’s a good thing the others could fight it in time. When it’s her turn —with the letters— she gives it her best. Again, this isn’t magic, this isn’t something the Traveler has gifted her with, this is all hers. Her hands shake with nerves, wanting so bad to make them all proud, and she messes the first letter up entirely. The second one, though, Beau leans over and gives her a couple tips and in the end it’s nearly perfect.

“Great work, Jester,” the monk prizes and she smiles back, relieved. She did it, she did a good job again, all on her own. Sort of. Well, okay, Beau helped but really this is a talent Jester has and it helped and she’s delighted beyond herself. 

The escape from the house doesn’t go too well, but she manages to save Nott and sort of get out of trouble with Molly’s help. She’s glad he came and got her. She’s not expendable. They need her around. They want her around. They will be waiting for her again, so she guides Molly back to the entrance and starts bluffing again. She’s good at this. She knows now that she is. If there was any doubt of it, Molly’s little congratulatory fist-bump as they walk back into the Tri-Spire confirms it.

So, okay, she is good at this; she knows that now. So when they need a plan to get into the High Richter’s house, she suggest she can help, and as she does so her voice trembles a little but she clenches her fists and tries to believe in herself. 

“Sure,” Fjord nods, without a trace of doubt, and again she forgets how to breathe. 

She does her best, focuses on her face, on her disguise, on acting like every entitled rich lady that’s scoffed at her in her life, and it works. She can’t believe it once they are inside. Oh, gods, oh gods. Okay. Okay, she will just follow Fjord, he’s smart and strong and he knows what he’s doing. He finds the traps and how to turn them off, he encourages her to keep searching, and she’s happy to follow his lead.

When it comes her turn to hide the letter, she doubts. Fjord thinks one thing, but her instincts say another and-

“Sure, go for it,” he encourages her and through the nerves as she scatters things around she feels a sharp pang of happiness inside her gut. He trusts her. He’s letting her do this, the most important part of the mission, and he’s not questioning if she can, not looking at her like a silly girl that needs tending to.

By the time they complete the mission, Jester feels stronger than ever, taller than ever, able to do pretty much anything. For the first time in forever, she feels like she is useful beyond who her mother is or what the Traveler can give her. She is enough. 

And then it all goes to shit.

She’s not sure when it starts, if it’s with Fjord and Caleb arguing or the High Richter showing up or Ulog freaking blowing everything up. She tries to use her magic but it all fails her, she can’t fight the Richter, or stop Ulog, or heal Caleb. She can’t think, or be happy anymore, all she can do is carry Caleb out and try to help and rush everyone back into the sewers and try to push past her own fears to stay alive, to trust that she can survive this even if it seems impossible. 

“Are you sure they weren’t looking for us?” She asks in the darkness and her voice trembles with horror because they were- those men were killing others- and they were breaking the law, and she’s never been afraid of that before, not even when the lord was involved, but she’d never imagined a punishment so brutal either.

The others try to reassure her, insists that this has nothing to do with them, but she’s not sure. What they did- it was supposed to just be leaving a few letter but now someone’s dead, someone’s actually-

“The High Richter is dead, you guys!” She sobs.

She is dead. She is dead and Jester knows, deep down, that this is on her. For the first time in her life, this isn’t on anyone else, not in her mother, or her caretakers, not even the Traveler’s magic. She did this all on her own. She got them into the Tri-Spire, went and got Ulog and she- she actually got him into the Tri-Spire and now he killed that woman! She got them inside the house, she planted the evidence, she did this, she-

Shaken, it takes her a moment to notice the figure all her friends are staring at. She sees him just in time as he charges forward with a scream and a horrible sword. 

A million thoughts cross her head in a split second: her friends need her; she can’t be The Cleric because she barely has any magic left; she can’t bluff her way out of this like before; she can’t ask anyone else for help or guidance. All she has, right now, is herself. That’s useless.

No, no it isn’t. It can’t be. She knows who she is, what she’s worth, what she’s able to do. She knows her friends trust her, that they need her, that they are counting on her like no one ever has.

She grabs her shield with one hand and her axe with the other. All she has is herself, but that’s enough.

[theassthatquits]

Plane of Celebrations Chapter 5: Day of Honesty

You can read the first four chapters here. 

Summary: Barry attempts to hide from Lup. It doesn’t go well. Barry and Davenport share a moment. 

It was several weeks after Lup and Barry left the note to Eies that they were contacted. It had been a pretty normal night: everyone ate dinner together, Merle and Taako fought about something mundane, and Lup attempted to start a food fight. After dinner, Lup and Barry had stayed up on the deck a little too late debating some research that they had been doing in the lab in an attempt to locate the light, but that quickly devolved into talking about the universe and looking up at the stars. It was well past midnight when the two of them parted ways to their rooms, ready to turn in for the night.

As soon as their heads hit the pillow they found themselves standing in another plane, endless darkness from all sides but able to clearly see themselves and one another. “What the actual fuck, Bear?” Lup sounded panicked. “Are we asleep? What the fuck is going on?” They each grabbed for the other’s hand and held tightly.

“I don’t know, I think we’re in another plane, but I can’t be sure -”

“Welcome, my children.” A booming voice came from all around and inside of them, sending shivers down both of their spines. Fading into view in front of them was the largest being either of them had ever seen, made up of pure light. “Do you speak for the Hunger Blasters?”

Despite the stressful situation they had found themselves in, Lup snickered. Barry cleared his throat and took a step forward. “Yes, Eies I presume?”

“We have felt an unstoppable force coming for some time now. None of us have felt anything like it. What is it?”

Lup takes a step forward to join Barry. “Okay, so basically it’s this giant dark cloud that eats up entire planes of existence to add to itself and it’s going to be here in less than a year.”

“What you say is unbelievable, yet I see in your past that this is true. What do you ask of us?”

“There is something that is called the Light of Creation. If we find it and take it with us, the Hunger will leave your world alone. That is the only way to save this plane. But all of you are very powerful, we were hoping that maybe you’d be able to help us stop it once and for all.”

“We are very powerful, yes, but we cannot interfere with what is destined to happen and we are destined to be consumed.”

Barry and Lup looked at each other, confused. “What do you mean, ‘destined’? If you help us find the light at least, we can make sure your plane is safe.”

“Some things cannot be changed, they are already woven in the fabric of time. We cannot pull this thread. We thank you deeply for the service you have done and the sacrifices you all have made, but with this we cannot help you.”

Barry looked distraught and his voice sounded desperate. “Please, you’re the most powerful beings we have ever come across, surely we can figure something out together.” He got down on both of his knees, dropping Lup’s hand. “Please, we are so tired of running and so, so scared.”

“It is okay to be scared, my child. What the universe has asked of you is an impossible task, but you will finish it one day. You are not yet ready, your journey is not complete. It will be difficult, but you will move mountains. It is okay to be scared of many things, but be not afraid of love; it will save you in the end.” With that Eies waved her hand and Barry opened his mouth as if to shout but it was too late and he woke up screaming in his bed.

---

“Okay so I think the way to get through this day is to try to stick to light subjects. Nothing heavy, we can’t risk the whole crew falling apart because someone decided to get into an argument.”

They were having their normal pre-holiday briefing before the next one in a couple of days. Davenport was currently at the front of the room holding the meeting. “Barry, will you please go over the events of the day again.”

“Of course, Captain.” Barry stood up and cleared his throat. “So, this is the Day of Honesty. A zone of truth spell is going to be cast over the entire town, so for 24 hours we have to tell the truth. It’s designed to get us talking about our feelings and sorting out our issues. I agree with Davenport, no one talk about anything heavy. People get into a lot of arguments because of this day. Sometimes there’s actual physical fighting. Just stay out of things and away from people.”

“What about the bonfire at the end of the night, can we go to that? Hicrue and I were planning on going.” Lup inquired from the back of the room.

Barry turned to Davenport who said, “Yeah, I think that’s best if we go. We want their help in locating the light, so best not to potentially insult anyone by not participating in the holidays.”

“Any other questions?”

“Not for another couple days,” Taako declared ominously from the back of the room. “This is going to be fun.”

“Zone of truth, what kind of spell is that? Can a cleric cast it?” Merle asked.

“Does it really matter? You do whatever the hell you want anyway,” Taako responded.

—-

Despite orders from Davenport to not stir the pot, on the morning of the Day of Honesty Barry walked out of his quarters to find Magnus, Merle, Taako, Lucrecia, and Lup sitting in a circle in the common room. Lup’s face lit up when she saw him, “Barold! Come sit down, we’re testing the waters of the spell.”

“Er, I’m not sure if that’s such a good idea, Lup.” The last thing he wanted was for Lup to find out about his little crush on her, that would ruin everything. He needed to get out of this situation, fast. “I have an experiment running in the lab I need to get back to.” It was the truth, he always has an experiment running in the lab. He and Lup agreed to ignore what Eies had said and continue looking for the light. “I think I’ll be in the lab all day.” Also the truth, he wasn’t leaving that room until the clock struck midnight.

“Ugh, come on, Barry! Have some fun. I want you to come hang out with us, just for a little bit. Please?” She gave her best pleading eyes and he was done for. He could never say no to Lup. He wanted to give her everything she ever wanted and more.

“Well, all right. Just for a bit.” He sat down in between her and Magnus while she continued.

“Okay so let’s start with something simple: What was everyone’s first impressions of each other? I’ll go first. Taako: I thought you were the more attractive twin.” She immediately slapped her hands in front of her mouth. “That’s not what I meant to say!”

A grin spread across Taako’s face. “You think I’m the more attractive twin.” He stood up. “Hear that, everyone? Lup thinks I - Taako Taaco - am the more attractive twin!”

Lup sat with her arms crossed, grumbling something Barry couldn’t hear.

“All right, Taako sit down. Merle: I thought you looked too old for this mission. Magnus: I thought you were cute in a little brother goofy sort of way. Lucrecia: Damn girl you can rock a red cloak. Barry: Huge dorky nerd.”

Barry’s face dropped. Everyone else - except Merle - got great compliments. And of course he got huge nerd. He should have known based on her outburst during his speech at the press conference. She would only ever think of him as the nerd. He tried to put a smile on his face the best he could and keep his mouth shut, he didn’t want anything accidentally coming out.

“Okay, hmmm Magnus. Now you go.”

“Okay, so Taako: I thought you were confusing, like I didn’t know what was going on with your outfit. Lup: I thought you were the coolest looking person I’d ever seen. Lucrecia: The first thing I noticed about you was your dope duel writing ability. Merle: I saw you whispering something to a plant and I will never forget it. In a bad way. Barry: I first saw you nose deep in a book about Planar travel so I thought ‘yep, there’s our designated nerd.”

This wasn’t turning out to be any fun. Barry was desperately trying to figure out a way to get out of this situation when Davenport saved him: “Now what the hell is going on here?”

“We’re testing the parameters of the spell, Captain. We’re going around and each saying what our first impressions of each other were! It’s harmless!”

“It’s harmless until someone’s feelings get hurt and you can’t take it back. Lup, Taako start on breakfast. Barry, continue working on triangulating the light. Everyone else disperse. I don’t want to see something like this again.”

Everyone muttered a “yes, Captain” while Barry breathed the biggest sigh of relief.

But Davenport was right: everyone thought that he was a nerd and they never were going to be able to take it back.  

—-

“I just narrowly avoided seeing Hicrue this morning on my way here, I think he was coming to pick up Lup.” Nathan sat on a desk in the lab, hiding along with Barry. They had been spending nearly every day together, Nathan constantly lamenting his unrequited love. “I don’t think he would have asked me any questions but also I didn’t want to accidentally blurt out ‘hey the weather’s nice today, also I love you.’”

“Yeah, that would have been bad.” Barry was across the room from him, nose deep in some coordinates attempting to locate the light based on the information Hicrue and Lup brought back from one of their expeditions.

“He just looked so good today, I don’t think I would have been able to stop myself. Hey, what do you think of -“

The door of the lab burst open and Hicrue and Lup walked in. “What up, nerds? What’s going on in here?”

Nathan broke out in a cold sweat and started hyperventilating so Barry spoke up without looking at him, “I’m using your research to try to locate the light.”

“Don’t you ever stop working, Barry?” Hicrue asked. “It’s a holiday after all, you don’t need to be so boring all of the time.”

Lup glared at him. “That’s not funny, Hicrue. Barry isn’t boring, he’s dedicated. We have the weight of existence on our shoulders and Barry actually takes it seriously.”

“Come on, Lup, I’m just having a little fun.”

“Not at Bear’s expense, you’re not.”

Recently Lup and Hicrue had been fighting around Barry and Nathan, mostly because he always picked Barry to tease as an easy target. Barry would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy Lup sticking up for him.

Hicrue scoffed. “Okay, then. C’mon Lup, let’s leave these two lovebirds to themselves.”

Nathan finally spoke, “Lovebirds?”

“Yeah, cause you and ‘Bear’ over there are always spending so much time together, we figured you must be dating.”

Not looking up from his research Barry responded monotonously, “We’re not dating. Nathan isn’t my type.”

Barry wasn’t paying attention and didn’t notice Lup’s sigh of relief. “Well, we’ll leave you boys to it. We’re going to go poke around in that forest area we talked about yesterday, Barry. Hopefully we’ll come back with some good news.”

“Good luck, ring me if you need anything.”

Lup saluted at Barry and left the room while Hicrue only offered a sneer.

After a few moments, Nathan sighed. “Whew, that was close.”

--

Nathan and Barry spent the entire day in the lab successfully hiding from their crushes after the first altercation earlier in the day. Barry attempted to locate the light while Nathan went on and on about all of the things he loved about Hicrue. None of this information was new to Barry and he tried to stay silent except for the occasional “wow that’s rough.” He didn’t want anyone else knowing how he felt about Lup, it bothered him that Nathan was at least aware of the existence of the crush.

It was nearly time for the bonfire when Davenport interrupted them. “All right boys, it’s time to head out.”

“Captain, I’m getting really close, I think I could make significant progress tonight if I don’t attend the bonfire.”

“Nonsense, the entire crew is required to attend. That includes you. And I guess our new honorary crew member over here.”

“Really, sir, I think I would be of better use to the mission -”

“Barry, is there a reason you don’t want to attend tonight? I’ve noticed you haven’t left this lab at all since I split up the little circle this morning.”

He was silent, trying really hard to pick his words carefully, long enough that Davenport kept talking. “I overheard what was said this morning and I know I ordered you all to stop, but I want a turn.” He took a deep breath. “Barry, when I first met you, you were a grad student on my research team. The first time I saw you was outside the lab on the students’ first day. You were consoling a peer of yours who was incredibly overwhelmed with the pressure of it all and you listened to her, let her cry, and you talked her down and eventually had her laughing.

“My first impression of you is that I was looking at a man who cares deeply about others and will be there for his team. That was one of the reasons you were selected for this mission and I have not regretted my decision. The first holiday here you went out of your way to gather everyone to hold a feelings circle and made us all feel better. Yes, you are easily the smartest person on board this ship, yes you spend most of your time in the lab, but Barry you are not the resident nerd. You are the resident heart of this ship.”

Barry didn’t respond, he was too busy crying. Davenport understood. Silence stretched between the two, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Eventually he stood and walked up to the captain, bringing him into a hug.

“You’re welcome. Now get your ass to the bonfire, that’s an order Bluejeans.”

[mallow-vrinn-akkar]

The Truth Comes Out

Mallow paced in front of Senlok's chamber door. She didn't know how to tell him anything of what had been going on the last few months. She was scared to death. Thinking about it was hard, almost impossible. He'd told her to keep her head down, not to draw attention to herself. Here she was doing the exact opposite. She hadn't known. She hadn't thought about it. She and Kiawe were careful all the time. She knew there were still risks, though. There were always risks.

Finally, after another few moments of pacing, she took a deep breath, turned towards the door and hesitated. Her eyes filled with tears. The thoughts that Senlok was going to be angry with her ran through her head time and time again. She straightened up. there was nothing she could do. She couldn't hide it. She was already starting to show. Taking a deep breath, she knocked.

The door opened almost immediately, Senlok staring down at her with a bemused expression. "Here I thought I had an assassin at my door." he laughed. Mallow did not smile. He stared at her for a long moment, taking in the sight of her worried eyes, and frown. "Come in, then." he said, stepping off to the side. She walked in, not sure how to say what she needed to.

"Papa..." she trailed off, wringing her hands.

Senlok made sure the door was shut nice and tight, taking Mallow as far from the door as he could. He sat down with her, his concern growing the longer he looked at those desperate eyes. "Mallow, anything you need to tell me, it's okay."

"Are you sure?" she asked. She had never wanted to disappoint him. Here, now, she felt like she would do more than just that.

Senlok searched her eyes, nodding. "Just let it out."

"I'm pregnant, Papa. With twins." her bated breath all came out when she spoke, leaving her gasping.

"You're pregnant? Twins?" Senlok had a look of shock on his face.

"The night that I was sent out with the others, the night we fought the bandits. I almost died. A druid saved me. Kiawe. He turned into a Dire Bear, and had a pack of wolves help him in the fight. He brought me back to his place to heal me. He was going to bring me back right away, but the sunlight hurt my eyes. He could tell it weakened me, so he decided to wait. We talked, and talked, and it was wonderful. The whole place was wonderful. Then he took me to a hill so I could see the moon and stars. He took me on a fishing date. He taught me how to cook some things, and bake things. He taught me how to ride a horse. He's so gentle with the animals." she stopped to take a breath.

Senlok was standing, watching the one he concidered his daughter ramble. She was nervous, scared. He hung on every word, getting ready for a ball to drop.

"We've been careful, but the protection must have failed, and I became pregnant. He's been changing his home, making it bigger so we can run away to him, Papa. So, we can leave this place."

Senlok closed his eyes. "Mallow... I don't think what you and Kiawe are doing is... The house..." he didn't know what to say. It was unbelievably kind of this man to think of Mallow's family. He grabbed her hands, looking to her with a smile. "Mallow, you need to go. You need to be safe. In your condition, that's what we all need to worry about. I will be okay, your brothers will be okay."

"Not if I leave. They'll know that I betrayed them, that I ran. We just have to wait a little bit longer, just a little while more, and it will be okay."

"Don't worry about us."  Senlok said, "You need to worry about your children, and your life. We will be fine."

"I'm not leaving you behind."

"Mallow."

"I'm not. It will be okay. We will figure it out, but I am not leaving you behind."

Senlok sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I just want you to be safe." he said. Mallow looked defeated. Senlok wrapped an arm around her, giving her a squeeze.

"Get some rest, Mallow. We will figure this out later. I just want you to be safe."

"I know. I can't leave you guys. I just can't."

"It's okay, Mallow. Just go get some sleep. You will need it. You'll have to go to our Cleric if you stay. The news will spread fast. It won't take long before you won't be able to defend yourself."

"I know." Mallow sighed, rubbing her arm.

"And when you get bigger, you won't be able to run around all willy nilly."

"I know."

"You have to leave, Mallow. You have to go."

Tears welled up in the young woman's eyes. She left the room, leaving behind the man that raised her, and went to her own. She shut the door, locking out everything but herself. She collapsed on the bed, unsure of what to do. Senlok was right. The longer she waited, the harder it would be to remedy the situation. She had to leave, but she could not bare leaving him.

They had gone through the horrors of the UnderDark together. It wasn't right she had the chance to escape, and they were stuck with whatever rage the Priestesses threw their way.

She had to think, and had to think fast. She didn't have long before Senlok's worries came to light. She would not have her children down here, she would have them with Kiawe, but she had to figure out how to spare Senlok, Didan, and Goton. Mallow refused to give the Priestesses any real reason to go after them. Leaving had been their dream, the four of them, and they finally had the chance. She wasn't going to leave them behind now.

Kiawe knew Mallow's hesitation. The last thing he wanted was to make her choose between all of them. She wouldn't, even in her condition, be able to choose. He couldn't do that to her.

He had just about exausted himself, looking at his handy work. There was still a lot to do, but he was making progress. It would be uncomfortable for now, but there were four cots, for the men, and he had made up his bed the best he could for Mallow. While there would be pletny of room for the two of them to sleep on the bed, he did not wish to make it harder for her family to acclimatize. Until he was able to finish the house, or at least get bedrooms in order, he would be careful to try to keep everything from being too awkward.

It would be best if they went to the Clerics in town, saught refuge until the twins were born to make sure they would all be safe. He didn't know he could get Mallow to agree to that, yet alone her family who would know nothing of the TopSide. Hell, he didn't know them besides what Mallow had said.

Kiawe sat down, taking a long breath. He ran a hand through his hair, looking out to the night sky. He would have to go to sleep at some point. It was getting late, and he wouldn't be able to keep this up at any rate. He had think about what he was going to do. He sat down at his dinner table, thinking over things. Finally he put pen to paper.

Senlok,

My name is Kiawe Akkar. I know you don't know me, and this is not at all how I wanted to do this, but I needed to ask you. I love Mallow Vrinn, your grand-daughter. I know she also loves you, and your family. As such, I'm offering for you and your family to come to my home. It's not ready yet, but it's the only way I know I can keep her safe. She won't leave if you don't come. Not until it's too late. I want to make sure that doesn't happen.

Kiawe hesitated, his pen poised above the parchment. His heart raced.

I want to marry Mallow. I want your permission first. I know its a little late, but I do love her, and have long before we found out about our children. I have no reason to try to save face, no one ho cares that deeply about my personal exploits. My wanting to be with her is genuine, as is my offer for you and yours to come and stay at my home.

Thank you for understanding,

Kiawe Akkar

He melted wax, and placed a bear claw stamp down on it, causing it to imprint the warm wax. He would give it to Mallow next he saw her. He hoped Senlok would take his words to heart.

[coeurvrai]

Good evening everyone and welcome back to me suffering in YA fantasy hell. I feel like this book is more like YA fantasy romance, because that’s really where the heart of the story - and this author - lies. The actual fantasy worldbuilding and setting is secondary to Malachiasz and Nadya’s relationship.

But I digress.

We begin, as always, with an excerpt from the Codex of the Divine. I wish these tidbits meant fucking anything.

Silence and fear; those who worship the god Zlatek know that above all else, those two things are paramount.

Why the hell is fear paramount? Silence makes sense because Zlatek is the god of silence (I still take issue with the specificity of some of these domains when you’re working with a pantheon of 20 deities) but why fear? It hasn’t been stated before that Zlatek is a god to be feared or that his power makes you feared.

At best, they stated that a person chosen by Zlatek would be best suited to a life of being an assassin, since guaranteed sneakiness. Are people blessed by him supposed to inspire fear in others? I don’t fucking understand.

Anyways, we’re starting off straight after Nadya finished her duel with Felicíja and she is still very injured and has a nosebleed. A healer wants to deal with it but Nadya’s like nah, I’ll do it myself, I want to get out of here. Because apparently she can’t “stomach the stench of death any longer.”

That’s rich coming from someone who is the Cleric of the goddess of death and sacrifice and was totally cool with the whole murder thing and with killing Tranavians and has already murdered people. That totally makes sense, Nadya.

Malachiasz trailed behind her, silent. If he spoke, she was going to kill him, and he seemed to sense that.

Oh bullshit, Nadya! lmao I would genuinely love to see you attempt to actually, seriously, murder this guy. Because we both know you won’t, you hypocrite.

Malachiasz and Nadya enter the empty hallway leading to her quarters before she turns on him, unprovoked. Why isn’t Parijahan with her, at least? Also where the hell is Rashid? I guess we’re supposed to forget about him until the plot requires him to have page time again.

She couldn’t wait any longer.

She moved without warning, slamming him into the wall, her forearm against his throat, szitelka drawn and pressed against his side.

He raised both hands in a sign of surrender, lifting one farther to unhook the mask from his face. It was made of iron and covered his mouth, stopping just where his tattoos started on the bridge of his nose.

“There was no need for you to interfere,” she said, her voice a snarl.

He swallowed, his pale stare icing over. “Were you going to kill her yourself?”

No, she wasn’t, because she’s a hypocritical idiot that won’t kill a person who belongs to a nation of people she claims to hate with every fibre of her being, that she refers to as “heretics” and “abominations”, that she wants to uproot their kingdom so that her nation’s religion can be forced upon Tranavia again.

She hasn’t earned this whatsoever.

The Nadya that this book claims her to be would’ve killed Felicíja without hesitation because she’s xenophobic and would’ve probably been relieved to be given an excuse to murder her without raising alarm.

Then again, the Nadya that this book claims her to be would’ve never ended up in this situation in the first place. But I digress.

She pressed up harder on his windpipe. “I can handle myself,” she replied through clenched teeth. “Understand?”

“Perfectly,” he wheezed.

She released the pressure on his throat but didn’t pull away or sheathe her szitelka. “If anyone saw you—”

He cut her off, voice low. “Let’s go somewhere a little more private for this discussion, shall we?”

His expression was carefully blank. Had she angered him with her outburst? Good. He deserved it. He couldn’t place the whole plan’s success on her and then not trust her to see through what was necessary.

I am fucking both flabbergasted and infuriated right now at the SHEER mental hoops Nadya is going through to justify herself. His assumption was right and he was right to not trust you to kill her because you fucking said you would grant her mercy and not kill her! It’s a situation that required a victor and a corpse and you would’ve probably been killed for refusing to kill her!

I can’t believe I’m defending Malachiasz in this situation but your logic is so fucking stupid it’s genuinely unbelievable! You were the one who placed yourself in this situation in the first place! If you hadn’t retaliated against Felicíja and then accepted her challenge to a duel, then she would probably be alive right now! Malachiasz wouldn’t have had to kill her for you then!

Also you can’t handle yourself because you couldn’t kill your sworn enemy for some fucking reason after going on and on about how much you hate Tranavia and how you accept the terms and burden of being Marzenya’s Chosen One! 

You were fucking out of control with the combination of blood magic and divine magic that you were tapping into at once! And even before that, you stated that you couldn’t keep up with Felicíja because you couldn’t multitask between tapping into the divine magic and then tearing out the pages and pretending to cast your divine magic as blood magic!

I desperately want a Serefin chapter right now. I need that incompetent asshole to save me from this hell and guide me back to a limbo of mediocrity.

She kicks the door shut to her quarters very angrily. I still don’t know what the fuck a szitelka is and I’m pretty sure at this point I’m never going to fucking find out. Thanks, Ms. Duncan.

“You murdered her.”

He was insufferably calm. “You hesitated. That was a duel to the death, there was no room for anything else.”

“You’re right, silly me, I forgot that Tranavians are all bloodthirsty with no capability of understanding concepts of mercy, thank you for reminding me.”

Malachiasz blinked. Hurt flickered across his face and he turned away. Nadya thought seeing one of her jabs land would feel good, but it just made her more frustrated. How dare he play the victim here?

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST NADYA, I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD.

You think YOU’RE frustrated? I have to sit here and read this bloody chapter and experience the cognitive dissonance you suddnely have. Your bloody logic is driving me up the wall and I hate it so much. Man, I might even hate you more than I hate Tris from Divergent and that’s bloody saying something.

It’s not that Tranavians are incapable of showing mercy, it’s just that you’re such a fucking idiot. I was right! It was a life or death situation with needed a winner and a loser, with very clear terms of what needed to be done! You outright refused to do what was necessary for “the plan”, after mucking up the plan as it was! Malachiasz probably saved your fucking life too!

At the very least, Nadya, killing Felicíja would’ve been taking responsibility for your fuck-up and could’ve been twisted as something necessary but avoidable and you could at least feel guilty for killing someone that could’ve so not died if you had just listened to Parijahan!

“You can’t talk your way out of this. Her blood is on your hands, not mine.” She leaned closer to him.

“I can live with that. You’re trying to paint it as something it’s not.”

“It was murder.”

“She was a slavhka, raised from birth to slaughter Kalyazi, and as necessary, other Tranavians.”

“That doesn’t make her a monster!”

“We’re all monsters, Nadya,” Malachiasz said, his voice gaining a few tangled chords of chaos. “Some of us just hide it better than others.”

I AM *THIS* CLOSE TO FUCKING SCREAMING.

I’m going to fill up my glass with water and get myself a snack. I’ll be back in a few minutes, I swear. I just need - a quick break.

[newkate]

The Cure

For @teamblueandangry Kandersgiving event - Day 4: AU/Free

AU where the touch of Justice cures Karl permanently. 

(I’m not saying that would have changed the whole plot of DA2 and DAI but yes it would have. I kind of want to write 40K of this but here are the bullet points.)

1.

When they were free and safe, catching their breath on the narrow bed after a messy, shakily desperate reunion, Anders offered to remove the brand from his forehead.

Karl traced the raised ridges of the sunburst with his finger. He’d not seen it in the mirror yet, not since he’d been cured, but he’d already made up his mind.

“No, love, leave it,” he said. “It’s fine. It happened, no point pretending it didn’t. You have plenty of new scars too.”

He ran his hand over the recently healed sword wound over Anders’ heart and leaned in to kiss it.

“Love, my love,” Anders sighed, and then the spirit that had mended Karl’s sundered mind was looking at him from his lover’s eyes, its voice coming from the familiar lips. “They’ll never take another mage. We won’t let them.”

2.

In those half-formed dreams he had, before his dreams were ripped from him altogether, Karl had imagined they’d run away together. They’d hide in some village, never again do magic to avoid any suspicion. They’d have a little farm, a cow and a goat, and they wouldn’t need anything else.

Things were different now. Anders, for all that he still was every bit Karl’s Anders, had become something new: more than human now, indestructible, unstoppable, burning with one purpose: to make this world a just one, a safe one.

And Karl himself was changed, new, bare, tender, like a thin pink skin that’s revealed when a scab comes off.

“I’m just… emotional,” he told Anders’ friend Bethany the next day. She came to visit while Anders saw to his patients, likely because Karl seemed too unstable to leave unsupervised. Even just thinking about that brought him near tears, and he had to bite his lips to stop them from trembling.

Bethany, a sweet little hedge mage half his age, patted his shoulder comfortingly.

“Emotions are good,” she said. “Better than not having any. I was like this all through puberty, I remember. Even now if I hear ‘Andraste’s mabari’ at the wrong time of the month, I’ll bawl my eyes out. But you’ll get used to it. Just cry whenever you need, it really helps.”

He wasn’t going to, would hate for Anders to see him like that. But that same night as soon as they kissed again the tears spilt out, burning and abundant, and Anders held him tight while Karl wept on his shoulder.

“I’m not sad, I’m just - too happy,” he sobbed out, and Anders kissed his hair and said it was all right, and soon it really felt like that.

But, whether he was fine or not, they had work to do.

3.

Samson’s name had been passed around Gallows in whispers, from one trusted friend to another. Before he was given the brand, while he’d still been planning to escape with Anders’ help, Karl had counted on Samson to get them out of Kirkwall, provided they could find the money.

“Apparently, if an escaped mage can’t come up with coin, Samson sends them to some unsavoury people,” he explained. “Some of them could be slavers. We need to make sure this doesn’t happen.”

Anders promised Samson any treatment that could ease the pains of Lyrium withdrawal, Karl promised not to burn him alive, and just like that, Samson was now working for them. Soon he brought them their first mage runaways, Feynriel and Olivia, and Karl had students again. Olivia’s father tipped them about the escaped Starkhaven mages, and with their friends’ help they brought them in, too. They all spent some weeks turning the sewers into a decent enough place to live, for themselves and other refugees. Between them they could provide clean water and safe fire, they could reshape stone and light darkness. They diverted the sewage away from the living spaces, widened the gaps in the rock to let in more light, and began trading their skills and knowledge for food and necessities.

The plan was coming together.

4.

A few weeks later Karl felt strong enough to talk about what had happened to him, and asked Anders to take him back to the chantry. There he prayed before Andraste’s statue for courage and then approached the Grand Cleric and pushed his hood off to show her the brand.

“I am a Harrowed mage,” he said. “I was illegally made Tranquil, against my will, by Ser Alric. With, I suspect, Knight-Commander’s full knowledge and approval.”

“This seems highly unlikely,” she said calmly. “You don’t sound like a Tranquil. Are you sure your brand isn’t a fake, child?”

“I… got better,” he said, already trembling, overcome with anger and frustration. “Will you bring them to justice?”

“The misdeeds of the Templars are the Knight-Commander’s domain. You should speak to her.”

“As I said, I believe she had a hand in this.”

“You seem to be here without templar escort,” she said. “Am I to understand I’m speaking to an escaped apostate? If you wish me to start the investigation and have a chance to take this to trial, you must turn yourself in. That’s the proper way to see the justice done.”

“I’m not going back to the Circle. I’m not safe there. That’s where I was illegally made Tranquil.”

“There’s little I can do on a hearsay from an apostate, I’m afraid.”

He stumbled away from her, weeping in strange, inexplicable, helpless shame, and Anders put his arms around him and led him outside, into the light.

“I want to ask your spirit,” he said when he could speak again. “Can murder be justified? Am I consumed by my anger?”

Anders had killed many templars to save him, Karl knew. He’d killed before, too, in his time with the Wardens. Perhaps even earlier, if he was cornered during his many escapes. But for Karl that would be a new line to cross.

“Justice isn’t vengeance,” Anders said. “It’s not about an eye for an eye. It’s about creating a better world. I believe this particular murder would go a long way toward that goal.”

They ambushed Alric the very next day on his way from the brothel. Karl forced him to his knees and pressed his fingers to Alric’s forehead, and set his brain on fire.

He was ill for days afterwards, unable to keep anything down, his hand sore as if his own fire had harmed him. The catharsis had brought some measure of solace, he supposed.

5.

Hawke was about to head out on his daredevil expedition, and Anders declined to go and leave Karl behind.

“Well, without the Warden and the healer this enterprise just became a lot more dangerous,” Hawke said. “I understand, it’s just that I wanted to take Bethany with me, to make sure the templars don’t snatch her while I’m away. Now I’m not so sure.”

“She can stay with us,” Karl offered, and she did.

While they waited they took her, Merrill, a few Strakhaven mages and Fenris all around Kirkwall, trying to dig deeper into the grizzly matter that was brought to Hawke by Ser Emeric.

“If we are to live free among other free people, we have to do our part in fighting those who use magic for evil,” Karl said. He knew Fenris still had reservations about their little commune, and it seemed important to show him their dedication. Karl’s right palm still itched a little, but he mostly ignored it. Solving this crime would be the comfort he needed. “We know a mage is involved. We will find and stop them.”

They kept digging, and eventually came to the end of their search. The dead murderer’s secret room held some remnants of his horrific experiments, and a shrine to a woman who looked disconcertingly like Bethany’s mother.

“Imagine if this creep met her and became obsessed with her,” Bethany said and turned the portrait to face the wall. “Well, she’s safe now.”

6.

Orsino stared at Karl, fascinated. They’d arranged the meeting in the Darktown, and the old man’s huge eyes were watering, perhaps from the stench, perhaps from the same emotion that had Karl on edge of tears too.

“Unbelievable,” he said again. “Karl, I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you. But this, this is a miracle.”

“It’s a simple enough cure,” Anders said. “I can do it with a single touch, but summoning a spirit isn’t difficult. Anyone can do it. We can cure everyone, and we don’t have to be afraid any longer. The templars have lost their best weapon.”

“This changes everything,” Orsino agreed. “I will make sure the other Circles know. This can not be silenced.”

“I’ll cure everyone I can get my hands on,” Anders said. “Anyone you can send my way. Afterwards we’ll take care of them right here, in this sanctum we’ve built, among our people. We’ll nurture them through their recovery, help them face the horrors they might have been put through. Make sure they heal, the way they’d never be able to if we send them back to Circles. This is what we’ve been working toward.”

“That’s very good,” said Orsino. “A good start. Let me talk to other First Enchanters. I understand you’re overjoyed to be free and together, and you might not be seeing the bigger picture yet.”

7.

Later that year the conclave had voted for separation of the Circles from the Chantry, and the uprisings were on the way. Grand Cleric Elthina left Kirkwall, fearing for her safety. The Nevarran accord was broken, but the Templars and the Seekers both were in disarray, a lot of them opposing the order once the truth of the Rite of Tranquility was known.

The Gallows stood empty, following a swift uprising of mages fully supported by the new Viscount. Dumar had retired to rebuild his relationship with his son, and named Hawke his successor. Hawke, friend of the mages, darling of the nobility after all the favours he’d done for them, a close friend of the new Starkhaven king and even a trusted ally of the Arishok, ruled well and fair, even though there were rumours that his friend Varric did most of the work. Once the Kirkwall mages rebelled, Hawke sent in the city guard to fight on their side. After a short siege, with the mages who’d not escaped by then holding the Gallows and keeping the templars trapped in the courtyard, the templars ran out of lyrium and surrendered.

For a few happy years Karl and Anders lived and worked side by side, teaching the children, curing the Tranquil, building a community that accepted mages as their own. They penned a few papers together arguing for the rights of mages, outlining their ideas for peaceful coexistence.

“What would I do without you,” Anders kept saying. “I swear, without you, without your love, I’d given up a long time ago.”

“I know you too well,” Karl said. “You’d never give up.”

Still, it was good to know he was helping. It was good to be alive, to be able to love, to be loved. His unruly emotions had mostly settled down, except for one: he was still as overcome by tenderness and desire whenever Anders touched him, looked at him, smiled at him. But that they could certainly live with.

There was a call for help from a rebelling Circle, and they gathered a fighting force of battle mages and set off. Halfway into their march the forward scouts brought back an elf in tattered clothing. He seemed weak and confused, he refused to talk, and he was clutching a strange dark orb to his chest.

“Friend,” called Justice to him as soon as he came near. “I know, this is strange. Like you, I didn’t want a body, but you will see, you will understand the beauty of this world. You will love it. I will help you.”

“What?” Karl asked, but Justice only kept beaming at the man, and didn’t explain. Karl could sense the man’s power, though. Definitely a mage, in need of shelter, food, probably healing. “Well, he’s right, anyway. You’re among friends now. You’ll see, we’re good people.”

[usashirtstoday]

Chaotic Good Boy Dog Glass Colorful T Shirt

Chaotic Good Boy Dog Glass Colorful T Shirt, T-shirts, Hoodie, And Sweater

The zookeeper, tiger breeder, and the peroxide-haired offender is an unbelievable figure that captivates social media enthusiasts with a character bigger than him and his escape. It brings after a day of work from home, it’s no wonder that his wardrobe gives viewers a respite from their own eyeglasses! and Chaotic Good Boy Dog Glass Colorful T Shirt. Joe’s outfit, with a horrific taste, ranging from sequin vests, shirts with Western-inspired fringes, bootcut jeans to park uniforms – always stylized with a ball cap Baseball. On special occasions, such as the wedding of his three partners, Joe prefers a hot pink blouse and a black cowboy hat. With his music video Carole Baskin killed her husband, he was tied up in an all-black tuxedo with a clerical collar. A tiger print fringed jacket can grab my staff’s arm, but they can’t be my style. There was nothing left to chance, his clothes added to his performance.

Chaotic Good Boy Dog Glass Colorful T Shirt

https://moteefe.com/store/note-to-self-it-is-illegal-to-stab-people-for-being-stupid-shirts

https://moteefe.com/store/i-think-i-need-glasses-because-i-keep-seeing-a-lot-people-with-two-faces-shirtss

https://moteefe.com/store/dont-study-me-you-wont-graduate-shirts

https://moteefe.com/store/if-i-ever-were-to-lose-you-id-to-lose-you-id-surely-lose-myself-shirt

https://moteefe.com/store/mike-echo-oscar-whisky-hou-do-you-copy-over-shirt

https://moteefe.com/store/no-i-dont-jusr-sit-there-some-times-i-fly-upside-down-shirt

https://moteefe.com/store/note-to-self-it-is-illegal-to-stab-people-for-being-stupid-shirt

https://moteefe.com/store/the-greatest-weapon-against-evil-is-gods-word-shirtssss

https://moteefe.com/store/ich-hasse-morgenmenschen-und-morgen–menschen-shirt

https://moteefe.com/store/i-think-i-need-glasses-because-i-keep-seeing-a-lot-people-with-two-faces-shirt

https://moteefe.com/store/i-like-beer-and-basketball-and-maybe-3-people-shirt

https://moteefe.com/store/god-is-great-cats-are-good-people-are-crazy-shirt

https://moteefe.com/store/dont-study-me-you-wont-graduate-shirtss

https://moteefe.com/store/biden-haris-2020-shirt

Welcome to Chaotic Good Boy Dog Glass Colorful T Shirt. The docu-series, released in the first weeks of isolation, is the intimate story of Joseph Allen Maldonado-Passage, owner of Oklahoma Exit G.W. Zoo, and its staff. The program’s eight-hour show depicts a tightly knit but chaotic story of a network of deeply connected characters like Carole Baskin, owner of Big Cat Rescue, with the support group of a group of journalists, animal traders, Las Vegas playboys, with insight into Joe’s wild personal life, the murder case that hired him into jail, and the violent abuse, and occasionally lost an employee’s leg in a tiger-related incident. The program is free, revealing its own twists and turns, from targeted harassment and threatening videos to wild accusations and accusations by Joe Exotic, about Carole Baskin for his husband ate tiger meat, and eventually, he died. Program participants capture filth and gluttony in the unfiltered screen of utter madness. At its center, Joe and his wardrobe, are identifiable with the entire premise of the show.

https://moteefe.com/store/baking-because-murder-is-wrong-shirt

https://moteefe.com/store/a-big-piece-of-my-heart-lives-in-heaven-shirts

https://moteefe.com/store/zombie-boogeyman-shirt

https://moteefe.com/store/zombie-ashy-slashy-shirt

https://moteefe.com/store/you-cant-scare-me-im-an-electrician-ive-seen-it-all-shirt

https://moteefe.com/store/we-are-best-friends-because-everyone-else-sucks-shirtssss

https://moteefe.com/store/vince-carter-half-man-half-amazing-shirts

https://moteefe.com/store/this-is-my-scary-skull-costume-shirt

https://moteefe.com/store/there-is-power-in-the-name-of-jesus-shirtsss

https://moteefe.com/store/some-grandmas-wear-pink-real-grandmas-wear-pink-shirts

https://moteefe.com/store/just-a-witch-who-loves-softball-shirt

https://moteefe.com/store/its-going-to-be-a-dog-and-dunkin-donut-kind-of-day-shirt

If comfort is a top priority, choose a versatile T-shirt. This simplest shirt! and Chaotic Good Boy Dog Glass Colorful T Shirt, made from lightweight and flexible fabric, is the evergreen style. Though not a hot favorite of runways, it was the consumer demand that made it the best-selling dress of all. Choose tube fabric according to temperature and wind requirements. Available primarily in a casual style, you can wear later for all such occasions. By design, it does not allow you to move freely, so wear it with your favorite t-shirt or T-shirt as the situation requires. With tube skirts, you will have many options for printing and stripe. If the occasion is special and you want to look attractive without losing comfort then the maxi dress is perfect for you. The charm of the maxi shirt makes it a hot favorite among celebrities at parties. Since they are specifically designed for appeal, you have a number of customization options to personalize it. You have a pleated maxi skirt and floral print to give you a gorgeous look. The smart combination with smooth blouses and long boots can be a great value addition.

https://moteefe.com/store/im-so-gay-i-cant-even-drive-straight-shirt

https://moteefe.com/store/i-wish-a-karen-would-tshirtssss

https://moteefe.com/store/i-roll-with-my-kitties-and-im-hard-as-fuck-shirts

https://moteefe.com/store/have-a-bewitching-halloween-i-am-a-september-girl-happy-halloween-shirt

https://moteefe.com/store/have-a-bewitching-halloween-i-am-a-october-girl-happy-halloween-shirt

https://moteefe.com/store/have-a-bewitching-halloween-i-am-a-november-girl-happy-halloween-shirt

https://moteefe.com/store/have-a-bewitching-halloween-i-am-a-july-girl-happy-halloween-shirt

https://moteefe.com/store/have-a-bewitching-halloween-i-am-a-december-girl-happy-halloween-shirt

https://moteefe.com/store/have-a-bewitching-halloween-i-am-a-august-girl-happy-halloween-shirt

https://moteefe.com/store/fishing-on-the-moon-halloween-gift-shirt

https://moteefe.com/store/fear-the-brow-3-anthony-the-brow-davis-shirts

https://moteefe.com/store/emerald-isle-north-carolina-nc-dolphin-shirt

https://moteefe.com/store/eff-you-see-kay-goat-why-oh-you-shirts

https://moteefe.com/store/created-to-worship-psalm-150-shirtsss

https://moteefe.com/store/allen-iverson-the-answer-signature-shirts

If you are looking for shirts that give you the freedom to move, pine shirts are for you, available in a range of lengths and designs! and Chaotic Good Boy Dog Glass Colorful T Shirt. If you’re in the size group with fluctuating waist size, the T-shirt is best for your outing. You will have a great view but beware of your resizing feature. Wrap skirts are more suitable for casual occasions, but you can create more excitement and dynamism by matching them with a matching blouse and matching heels. Honestly, skirts give you the freedom to choose from design, printing, and of course fabric. You know your body type and level of comfort. So choose the ones that fit your personality and suitability. The election favored long midi denim in the shirt trend for 2020. Buy one to feel the joy of wearing something meaningful.

[gravelgirty]

There is No Quiet Night in the Rainy Season: A Hogan’s Heroes fanfic

Part 1 of Tape and Needle and Scissors and String And...

Part 2: Irish Rejected Potatoes...

Part 3: Above My Pay Grade...

Part 4:

Deep in the Germans’ mess hall—a place LeBeau was grudgingly willing to consign as one of the less-well-thought-out circles of hell—there was a lot of noise. You could almost hear it over the artillery-grade raindrops smashing into the galvanized tin roof.

Banging. Rattling. Thumping. Muffled cursing.

“Every time we let those prisoners into the kitchen, this happens. Every time!”

The grumbler was the cook—He was from a very poor part of Germany. So poor, in fact, that he owned the dubious ability of being able to identify every form of edible vegetation in the forest. He’d grown up next to one of the more pretentious parks under the Kaiser, and the Kaiser had a habit of throwing entire families in prison if a single member trespassed on his territory.

(And as Hans knew, urinating across the fenceline into the hunting preserve counted as an encroachment. He still missed the Donners…even if they had been an indispensable part of WWI’s civil engineering projects…)

Hans was treasured and feared in equal measure. There was always a ratio of soldiers that didn’t know which part of the potato plant to peel. But Hans’ skills with meat were between ‘doesn’t bear thinking about’ and ‘unmitigated disaster’.

He grumbled in his drafty old kitchen. He puffed and muttered and banged things back and forth. That little Frenchman and his foreign ways! How dare he touch his tools of trade? Was there no respect in the profession between equals? For Hans considered LeBeau his counterpart to the prisoners—forced to make do with the miserable ingredients, and serve them up to a sourly ungrateful populace.

“Unbelievable!” He swore as he found another exhibit for offense—the Frenchman had sharpened all of his knives! They hung gleaming on their bar—and sorted according to size! How hard could it be to put things back exactly as they had been?

There was nothing for it. Hans wearily sat down and started on the largest cleaver—it was an excellent beast for skinning vegetable marrows or taking the rinds of very tough turnips. But too sharp by half. With his lips set, he started a long, boring campaign of running the bladed edge across the cutting board.

 - - -

The remainder of the day—if “day” meant weather that the Black Forest would call unfit for mushrooms—was spent with the Stalag in a consensual state of misery.

Hogan split his men and put them in short teams—half to transfer the latrine to a spot that was far too close to Barracks noses for comfort—and the other half underground hastily shoring up, blocking up, and doing whatever they could to fill up what had once been a comfortable and useful section of tunnel. When it looked like it was time for a break, he made them switch.

It was back-breaking, grueling work but no-one complained. They all sensed urgency if not impending disaster.

Anyway, some idiot pointed out, it was at least quieter outside than it was inside. The newer prisoners were starting to show signs of psychological breakdown--weeks of heavy cold raindrops on the roof could do that to anybody, but especially to men who had been three feet from the front lines less than two months ago.

The only exceptions to the workplan besides Hogan:

Baker, who had shaken off Klink’s hooch in record time and was now sleeping it off to a three-octave, one-man chorus with his uvula and soft palate. Wilson had the throat-drops waiting for when he woke up.

LeBeau, a man under fire, working frantically to produce enough hot caffeine to get the men through this dire period.

And Newkirk. The Brit hunkered dangerously close to LeBeau’s stirring-elbow, whip-stitching up a contraption at record speed. His earlier depression was gone as if it never existed; he was on a man with a mission, and he was cheerful. This would worry Schultz to see it, even if he wanted Newkirk to snap out of his mood as much as anyone else.

A happy, cheerful Newkirk was a Newkirk presented with a solvable challenge that would discomfit Germans. Even Cpl Fritz, the only man in the Stalag dumber than Klink, knew this.

Ill-feelings were running amuck and morale was AWOL for guards and prisoners alike.

The guards were sopping wet  because ‘sideways’ was a perfectly normal direction for winter rains. They thought longingly of LeBeau’s patented, secret, imitation coffee and wondered if their lot would improve if they just took off their uniforms the second they returned to their own dank barracks and stood naked by the stove. They envied the wretched POWs, who hadn’t any reason to be outside other than roll call and latrine-digging, and they knew from long, long experience that the mud cladding the POWs was a wonderful insulation.

“Lucky swine.” Wolfe shouted over the rain.

“What??” Langenscheidt yelled.

“I said, Lucky swine!”

“I know you’re Langenscheidt!”

“That is not what I said!”

“What??”

“The swine! The swine!” Wolfe had no choice but to carry on--he was committed. “They’re no wetter than we are, and they don’t have rain falling on metal hats!”

“Eh?” Langensheidt looked over the edge to the prisoners below. “Hah! You know, they look like swine! At least they don’t have a tin roof on their head!” He laughed and rapped his sodden knuckles on his own helmet.

Wolfe gave up. he just wanted to live. He wasn’t sure what he had to live for, but anything was worth avoiding Hell, which might be what he was seeing in the mud right now.

---

The POWs were achy, sniffly, and sweating under their layer of this mud because this natural insulation wasn’t letting an atom of respiration out of their pores. They collectively wondered if a few well-placed holes drilled into their shoes would let the sop out from between their toes. They envied the bloody Germans, who could at least breathe inside their wool uniforms.

---

In the Kommandant’s office, Klink was writing a very stern note to his cigar-supplier. Contrary to all claims and the expensive installment, the humidor was worthless. He now needed a dehumidifier. This was the third in a series of such letters, which boiled down to the company thinking Klink was insane because everybody knew, Germany didn’t get that wet—where did he think he was, Podgorica? But Klink’s clerical talents had risen to the challenge--he couldn’t do anything about Hogan stealing his Cubans, but the complete lack of any decent tobacco could get him sent to the Russian Front if the wrong official came by.

Or Hochstetter. He didn’t need cigars--real or withheld--to send him to the Russian Front.

- - - 

Hogan was in his office and trying to think of the fastest journey to Stage II of his plans. If he could get the latrine moved, it would be an effective if smelly temporary blind for their attempts to build a new tunnel. The guards had their own latrine—and loathed theirs.

And with good reason, he thought glumly. Rats loved the POW latrines—it was a straight shot between the back of the soldiers’ mess, and on the other side, a thick bramble thicket. The brush was only waist-high and not worth the effort of trying to escape through the cover—there was no human-worthy cover with that vegetable barbed wire.

That was alright for the non-human--or should we say, inhuman, infernal things that did use the brambles for camouflage and hideaways.

Like the creepy, pallid, humpbacked crickets that lurked in the dark and crawled at you with terrifying purpose when you weren’t looking.  Or the toads, which looked like clods of earth with eyeballs. Nobody knew what those things were, but the guards and guard-dogs were terrified of them.  Carter said they looked like the ‘lil’ hoppers’ back in Bullfrog, and if you ate one you’d be talking to gigantic furry lemon-yellow polka dots that whistled show tunes. Hogan had made it very clear that he was not allowed to test for comparison, and no, Newkirk, we aren’t putting it in the guards’ soup-pot. Yes, I am a spoil-sport. Part of the privilege of command.

The rats reigned over all these beasts, and ate them with relish. Perhaps a daily diet of poisonous toads explained their behavior--they didn’t act like the rattus of Hogan’s tough childhood. They didn’t act like any rats he’d ever heard of.

The latrines were horrible but they were the perfect place to hide and chew on one’s ill-gotten contraband or secret stash of chocolate, gum, and the home-made raisin moonshine that nobody would ever admit to making but somehow, the stuff just kept…happening. And since the brambles still had tons of weathered fruit still hanging on to the vine from summer, the damned vermin had the best living arrangements of every living thing in the Stalag—possible exception being Oscar and Heidi’s dogs, who had the closest thing to red carpet treatment.

It was very ironic that the superior supply lines of Stalag XIII was nurturing these foul creatures. Klink had his excellent black market-skimming campaign going on that shorted everybody but himself (and Hogan would give one of Klink’s stolen cigars to learn his secret), but Hogan also had his Top-Notch smuggling and supply lines over and under the Stalag thanks to willing POWs and good old Oscar and Heidi. Between all these avenues sang opportunity for the bold rodent that saw anything unguarded and un-poisoned. There was also the third underground grocery store on part of the guards--willing to sell out either Klink or Hogan’s pass of chocolate or cheese if they got their own cut.

The guards’ latrines weren’t all that charming, but they were well-built and clean and built over one of the original concrete foundations. The POWs had a packed-earth foundation topped with old pallets. It was leaky and drafty and cold even in the dead of summer. In the drought season they had to hose it down in case it would burst into flames. It was the best place to go for contraband deals because the roof was airtight. The rats found easier pickings with the POWs than the guards. At least, Newkirk said snidely, the rats the POWs caught had more meat on their bones.

Hogan sipped his coffee and continued to think. Outside LeBeau was struggling to wring another miracle out of rations, potable water, and if you believed his rants, cinnamon-sprinkled sawdust. For some reason he was angry that he couldn’t get all of Carter’s hot peppers.

Hogan was also getting down because the men were supplying him with increasingly dismaying reports on the soil. Who would have thought any amount of rainfall would get through that brick-hard dirt? They needed dry earth to dig if they all didn’t want to die, and dry earth was so far as concept as realistic as glass slippers and talking wolves.

And…Germany was the country for both…

He glared at the tiny bookshelf nailed to the wall. GRIMM’S FAIRY TALES sat next to his mothy reading collection—a surprise birthday present from Schultz. The sergeant had made a comment about idle time was better spent reading than ‘naughty doings’. Hogan still didn’t know what to give him back for thoughtful revenge.

BANG-BANG.

Hogan jumped slightly and beat Carter to the door before the young man could filthy up his doorknob. The pyrotech was a walking lump of mud but at least one could see his eyes and mouth.

“What is it, Carter?”

“Aw, how’d you know it was me?” Carter pouted. Behind him Newkirk and LeBeau were snickering in that fond, cruel way good mates had, even as they hovered protectively over the stove and stitching.

“You left your hat on, Carter.” Hogan pointed out the obvious. “That makes the shape of your head a little distinctive.”

“Oh. Aw, shoot. Well, at least it kept me from hearin’ the rain. Honestly, its a lot quieter outside--”

“What is it?”

“Oh. The boys wanted you to know we’ve got as far as we can for the day. The walls of the pit are startin’ to, uh…jellify.”

“’Jellify?’” Hogan repeated. Behind Carter, Newkirk and LeBeau imitated this, and both looked as confused as Hogan felt.

“Yeah, they jiggle when you slap ‘em.” Carter nodded, which sent a good chunk of the Stalag’s terra firma hit the ground with a splat-splat. “Like pipeclay.”

“Pipeclay?”

Newkirk sucked in his breath with the force of his mother’s Electrolux vacuum. “Gov! Get ‘em out if that’s the case! Pipeclay’s not stable! The walls’ll be falling in and they’ll be in the bottom--!”

“You heard him, move!” Hogan barked.

Shaken, Newkirk watched them vanish into thin air. Only Hogan’s missing jacket and a trail of mud proved they ever existed. He risked looking at LeBeau. He was willing to bet they were both the same shade of pale. Over their heads, the relentless rain hammered and hammered and hammered...

“Mon d--.” LeBeau murmured. “Now what will we do? The Colonel needs this dug out.”

“Oh, uh…he’ll think of summat.” Newkirk rucked in as much optimism as he could manage, consider the circumstances. “The lads’ll need a lot of something hot to drink. Do you think you have enough?”

LeBeau grimaced. “Perhaps. I could do miracles with another pot, but I don’t think that old mushroom in the mess hall will let me borrow one for a while.”

“Did you sharpen his knives again? Shame on you.”

“The greater shame is to Krupp Steel!”

“Well, don’t worry. I’ll get you one. I’ll just pop--“ Newkirk realized what he was saying and closed his eyes. “Bloody ‘ell. We’re all gunna go stir-crazy, aren’t we? What’s that word Carter uses…cabin fever?”

“Yes.” LeBeau assured him with deadly calm. “And this fever, I do not have soup for.”

[moonlightfiction]

Chapter 12 - Part 4

There is not much time left, our heroes should hurry ...

Start Here Previous Part

It was like the village was plunged in darkness. Not because the sun was not shining or there was no light. But the people had a dimmed smile, conversations were quickly hushed. Although the villagers were looking at the little group lovingly and trying to welcome them, Falenyo noticed the lack of light.

But this was nothing she could do against. The Goddess of Light’s powers were to heal and give life. Sure, as a priestess, Falenyo could bring some fertility and life to this place. However, as a low ranked cleric, she would not have enough powers. Also, this was a problem in the nature of this place, nothing, that could be fixed easily with magic.

Hence, she became even more interested in Zesa and what he would do.

For now, he was just standing with the groups while it was Shijira, who walked towards the people here.

“Please excuse me,” she started with her happy and friendly smile. “Can I talk to your chief, please? It is about the drought that is afflicting this place.”

The farmer’s eyes widen and he asked, “Are you from the capital? That was faster than we thought but yes, of course, please come with me.”

As he said that, Filian moved slightly forward.

Curiously, Falenyo looked at him and saw the slight frown. He was an official after all, wasn’t he?

“You have sent a report to the capital?” he inquired.

“Why, yes! Just a … few sunrises ago, in fact.” The farmer scratched the back of his head. Then he put down the pitchfork. While turning around to lead the way, he waved the small group.

Ina was the first to move. When she started walking, she shoved Filian to the side with her shoulder. Her following words made it clear, that it was intentional, “Well, well. How lovely it must be for the populace to be hoping for an answer, while the Grand Duke is away with his children and the sister Grand Duchess is trying to seize the throne. It’s a good thing you have Zesa helping you out.”

She only glanced back shortly to Zesa, but when she did, Falenyo saw, how many people were already staring at him.

Of course they would. He didn’t hide his animal descent after all.

But to her surprise, they were not taken aback. There was no disgust in their faces. Only curiosity. Maybe even something warm.

Falenyo was tempted to show her rabbit ears to hear better. Since she couldn’t, she just started concentrating to hear the low, low whispers.

“Oh, he’s handsome!” – “Do you think we can touch his ears?” – “A cat … I think I’ve heard of him …” – “Haven’t the other villages said something about him?” – “I’m glad I came here. Here is no discrimination at all.” – “Indeed, he must be from the capital!”

Hearing such kind words about an animal in human form made the girl feel all fuzzy inside her chest. It was so strange. Even in Egaios, the cradle of the most benevolent goddess, she had never heard something like that.

“Hey, everything alright?”

It was Ina, who tapped lightly on Falenyo’s shoulder and looked at the girl in concern.

If the cleric was honest, she would have believed Frecker to be the one talking to her. But her guardian seemed to be preoccupied with something else. Which was strange, since he was always so keen on keeping her safe.

So, she just looked at the man in confusion before smiling at Ina. “Ah, yes, it is … I just can’t believe it … how can … people accept so easily what … we are?”

“Is that what has been bothering you?” Zesa chimed in and smiled gently at the girls. “For us priests who put their god above anything, Gladisu seems like an unlikable place with beings that have forsaken the gods. But as you can see, they have found something else on contrary.”

He made a gesture towards the whispering villagers who quickly looked away in embarrassment. Yet, Zesa’s expression was gentle. “They have learned to respect everything else the world has. It is not sure but either the griffons have chosen this place because of the openness of the people here or they came here specifically to teach the people acceptance.”

Falenyo’s eyes widened and she looked back to the majestic beasts that have decided to graze in front of the settlement, looking through the sparse grass that they had to offer.

In the world of animals, some were seen as supreme, stronger than the others. Wise, powerful and beautiful. The priestess had always heard about them: griffons; dragons; phoenixes; unicorns; and such. Even though she had been forced to hunt a dragon on the Earth, having been told about the majestic beasts all her life, made her respect them so much.

Now, she could see why they were talked about so much.

It was even confirmed to her from a side she did not expect: During their little talk, they had reached the chief’s house. He had stepped outside to see what the commotion was about. Now he was smiling wildly at the group.

“It was the griffons who taught us to see animals differently,” he immediately started to explain. “Even though they look different from us, even though they cannot talk or use some things like us; they are still sentient beings. With thoughts like ours, feelings like ours, lives like ours. So, be they in human form or not, animals are not different from us in any way.”

The elderly man nodded a few times to his own words. Then he continued, “We are all the same. Beings, that were thrown out of Elysium.”

Beings, that were thrown out of Elysium. Falenyo lowered her gaze a little bit as she heard those words. That was something she couldn’t say at all. She was still blessed by the goddess after all.

It was curious how easily Constance had accepted the cleric as a political ambassador. This was Gladisu after all. The place where one had turned away from the gods. Heretics as they would be called.

Wasn’t it Falenyo’s duty to proselytize them? To find more believers and followers for her goddess to strengthen the light? Yes, it was her duty. Only because she was in a foreign world, there was no reason for her to forget what she should do.

Hence, the little girl opened her mouth and stepped forward the moment the chief looked at Zesa and asked, “So, what brings you to us? I do have heard from some peddlers that some villages were able to recover temporarily until the capital could help. Was that your doing?”

“Yes, indeed,” the man confirmed while putting a hand on Falenyo’s shoulder.

The priestess flinched and shut her mouth again while looking meekly at her colleague.

“I have my ways with nature, so I should be able to bring some water back to you for a while. It won’t last long but if you want, I can help you.”

A smile appeared on the chief’s and on Falenyo’s face. A wide one on the elderly man’s face and a slight one on the girl’s face.

How heretic it was for a priest to say that they could use their magic with the nature’s force and not through the blessing of their gods. But since Falenyo used magic like that herself, she knew it was true. It was just that their own magic’s power was amplified by a blessing.

She peeked at Frecker as he was always so keen on the proper protocol on being a priest. As she had suspected, his mouth had become a thin line. Still, for once, he wasn’t interfering and just let it happen.

Maybe he was curious, too.

Meanwhile, the whispers of the villagers had become more excited. Not only them, even Ina was looking at Zesa happily. She and Shijira looked like they were about to drag him to the next well just for him to perform his abilities.

Since it was not hard to see that everyone was just waiting for something to happen, Zesa looked at Falenyo and nodded. He wanted to teacher her something after all, so she needed to be going with him.

The priestess followed and heard her guardian just right behind her. Ina and Shijira were just on the other side of the cat man. Just like before, Filian followed last.

Falenyo almost trembled in anticipation. When Zesa stopped in front of the well and put his hand on the stone, she could almost hear him starting his prayer.

I bow before the house of the titan of nature, directing my pleas to her … hmm, how many children does the titan of nature have? At least, he was the god of sea called Aruna.

The priestess cleared her throat as she caught herself reciting the prayer in her head. She was a priestess of the Goddess of Light. As Selena had said, she shouldn’t bow before any other god or pray to them.

But it was amazing to see Zesa work. She had also already seen her priest colleagues at work and it was the very same. Their demeanor became more graceful and their presence began to glow slightly. Did she herself also change like this when she was praying?

Anyway, now that Falenyo thought about it, Zesa surely must be a high-ranking priest. Gods did give their blessings to strengthen their priests but this was literally a miracle that was being performed. Gods only answered their most trusted priests in a direct manner like this.

Just when will Falenyo reach such a level? More importantly, would she ever reach a level like that?

She doubted it as she could not become a high priestess. That was why she needed to succeed in her role as an ambassador.

Before she knew it, Zesa’s glowing light faded and he stepped back from the well.

“Please, take a look,” he requested.

The villagers were already in awe before they could confirm whether there was water or not. The man, who had brought them to the chief, was the quickest to go to the well. With some quick movements, he let down the bucket.

“There is water!” he exclaimed as he started to pull the bucket up again.

Now more and more people hurried to the well and crowded around it. After they all could see the water in the bucket and hear it splash, they turned around to Zesa.

“Thank you so much!” – “We have water again, we can stay here!” – “What strong magic, it’s unbelievable.”

They praised Zesa’s magic and just couldn’t thank him enough. The people seemed so much more energetic again and their smile was contagious. They truly believed that the priest was a powerful mage.

That was not wrong at all. Zesa had already had a strong magic and his god amplified it when he answered the prayer. Thus, they believed in the magic that the cat boy had which was the god’s magic.

Falenyo’s face lit up, when she understood what it meant: Gods could gain power through this belief even without people who explicitly worshipped them! And it was the priest who would receive all the glory, the thanks and the recognition. All in all, it was really …

“Clever!” the girl shouted. Now she was the one looking in awe at Zesa.

He noticed her gaze and winked at her before his eyes wandered to Frecker.

When Falenyo saw that, she also looked up to her guardian. His face was still stern but his eyes had become soft. As soft as they always had been when he was looking at the animals surrounding the Tower.

He was about to say something when one of the villagers shouted, “Look! Soldiers from the capital! They are here to help us!”

“From the capital?”

Ina and Shijira looked up, then to Filian. “Can you make the distance from the capital to here in a few days?”

“No … not really,” Filian started and took a few steps forward to have a better look at the soldiers. “And they wouldn’t really send soldiers for thi—” He went pale and whispered, “Those are Lady Ludis’ ancients. How could they get here so fast?”

Ina’s gaze went grim. She replied, “It seems like someone from your lady’s people is able to open portals. You don’t want to be seen here, do you?”

Before she had finished her sentence, Frecker had already stepped nearer to Falenyo. At the same time, the priestess stepped back to be at his side.

The villagers caught how the mood of the little group changed and looked at them in concern.

“Is everything alright?”

Before there could even be an answer, one of the higher ranked soldiers already shouted, “Bring us food and water! We are from the capital and need to keep on moving soon! Provide us with your best and you shall be rewarded!”

“If they have portals, they can arrive at the stronghold at any time. We need to reach His Grace soon,” Filian whispered.

But at that point, Falenyo’s ears picked up how they were already spotted.

“Hey … isn’t that the princess’ advisor? Maybe we don’t need to bother to go to the stronghold …”

“Filian?” the priestess meekly started. “I think you should leave first …”

“Hey!” In that moment, one of the captains walked over. “Aren’t you the stable boy Milan or something? Filon? Anyway, how come you’re out here, so far from the capital?”

The man had a hateful grin on his face and when his eyes flicked over to Falenyo, she flinched.

Cold eyes, strong body. Maybe they should just say, he had the wrong person. Or something like that. But they should leave.

Behind the captain was at least a company and the alchemist’s stronghold should really be prepared for such a meeting. Furthermore, the way they were mentioning Constance told Falenyo that they were not respecting the crown princess in any way.

They needed to get the Grand Duke as soon as possible.

But the captain’s eyes stayed on Falenyo and he examined her from head to toe. “Hmmm? That garb … could you by chance be … a prie—?”

He didn’t fully finish his sentence when he was suddenly sent flying by a hook from Shijira.

With a stern look, she shouted, “Zesa and me are going to handle this. Leave!”

Next Part