#Just take all the wind outta his sails

[shrikeseams]

Once again considering the au where Miriel darts out of Mandos the instant Finwe bites it, and appears unheralded in Tirion like Eru swung a metaphorical two-by-four at the back of Feanor's head right before he's about to proclaim the Oath.

[shootingstarwritings]

"Hey bro, how does a crew battle work...?"

Hey, it's me again! The name's James. Last time we checked up like this, I hopped my roommate's body so he'd get better at fighting games. His name's Korrin, but he prefers Kor.

I gotta admit, these powers were a pretty sweet deal. He suddenly had a brand new genre to enjoy and I got to play with his body every once in a while. Seemed like a win-win, right?

Well, we got caught up talking just a bit too much shit during one of the weeklies. Think I ended up messing with my roommate's personality a bit too much while I was jerking off as him. He was far cockier than before I started taking over.

"Yeah, that's right. $500 crew battle," said Kor, flexing his muscles through the tight t-shirt I had mind-fucked him into preferring to wear. "Me and James could beat the shit outta everyone in this venue. Easy."

I wrapped an arm around his shoulder, saying, "Chill the hell out before you spend all our rent money," through clenched teeth. In response, he leaned over and gave me a deep kiss before talking more shit.

We didn't have to play everyone in the venue, but now we were stuck in a 4v4 crew battle; and Kor had successfully pissed off just about everyone who was a regular. We had two weeks to find two other guys to fill out our team or we'd be going hungry for the next month.

The ride home was quiet, although Kor didn’t seem to mind. He stared straight ahead, one hand on the steering wheel while another was on my thigh. Occasionally, he would squeeze while smiling at me. The way his eyes lit up whenever we were together dazzled me. I couldn’t stay mad at him, especially when it was my fault he was the way he was.

"Aww, don’tcha worry," said Kor as he massaged my shoulders, another trait I had bestowed him. My bed was a bit small for the two of us, and Kor had often wondered out loud if we could fit a queen sized bed in my room. “I’m sure we’ll find some guys. Even if they’re dead weight, you and me can wipe the floor with everyone there.” Before I could say anything, he leaned over and kiss my neck. I shivered, toes curling as he greedily licked one of my more sensitive spots.

After I let out a few… unbecoming moans, Kor pulled away and tittered. “Love making you cry out like that,” he said in a sensual tone. “Well, good night. Gotta get to the gym early tomorrow.”

As the door to his room shut close, I stared up at the ceiling and sighed. I had a few other friends that liked games, but they had no interested in fighting games like me. Of course, that had never stopped me before…

Two weeks should be enough time to make two pros, right?

The first guy on my list was Jason. He was a buddy of mine that I met in college. Smart, kind, and eager to show off the gains he'd made at the gym. "I spent three years to get this bod," he had bragged to me, showing off his toned and sweaty torso. Even so, he still enjoyed playing games, particularly RPGs. He was always throwing one my way or another--with tons of fan translations and cryptic guides as well.

I'd have to play one of them to completion one of these days to thank him for the service he was about to provide.

The night after Kor made his bet, I made my move. I locked my door and focused on flying. My body slowly lost its weight, density, and then mass in general. Skin peeled away and disappeared into dust, waiting for the chance to reform once my mission was complete. Organs twisted into neat little knots that blinked out of existence. My bones ground up against each other before vanishing.

It was only during those few precious moments that my soul was free. I sailed through the sky, unable to feel the wind on my face yet elated all the same. The moon was so close to my fingertips that it felt unfair that I couldn't grasp it. However, I knew exactly what I could grip instead.

I phased through Jason's apartment with little issue and found himself soon afterward. He was playing a battle simulator without a shirt on. "It's about a 73% to one-hit KO," he muttered to himself as he clicked through an innumerable amount of tabs. I knew for a fact some of them were months old and untouched for just as long.

Probably another habit I’d have to kick, but it was hard to focus on that when I kept focusing on that tight body he had. I would’ve licked my lips of I had any in that form. Not wanting to waste any more time, I hopped into him.

“Hnng…! Ahhh…hah…!” Jason let out a moan, tongue sticking out involuntarily as a shiver of pleasure ran all throughout his body. “Wh-what the fuck—is happening—“ Jason moaned as he turned around and began to hump his seat cushions. “AH! NRGH AAAAAHHHH!” Any words Jason would’ve tried to cry out were soon overpowered by panicked pants of pleasure. His hands, which would’ve normally reached for his phone to call for help, could only play with his chest and sensitive nipples.

My will overpowered his own, but Jason didn’t seem to mind. He kicked off his shoes, socked toes curling up in pleasure, and rubbed his trembling body all over the coach. “I-I…! K-Keep go—OOAHH—Keep going!” He said, panting and laughing the whole time. His back arched once more as he let out a strangled scream while his erect cock spewed semen all over his shorts. Jason, mind drowning in a hurricane of euphoria curtesy of me, collapsed covered in a sweaty, semen-covered mess.

Eventually, I opened my new eyes and felt my chiseled body. “Mmm, oh Jason. Let’s get your hand-eye coordination to my level.” As I began to strip so I could play in the nude, I saw angry DMs from Jason’s opponent.

Smirking, I walked over to the laptop and messaged him back. “Sorry bro, too busy playing games and fucking bussy to play with a pussy like you. GG you win, loser.”

I laughed as I got another stream of profanities from Jason’s old opponent, but I didn’t care. I was covered in sweat, smelling like a real man, while I was playing my favorite game.

Once Jason was done and truly mind-fucked, I had one more person I needed to visit.

[galaxycunt]

You’re A Part Of My Heart

2k words of me attempting fluff n smut so hope u like it!! @gayafsatan a tag as requested hehehe

It was a slow night, the kind where only the regulars in town filled the booths and tables. Pirate crews came and went, so when a colorful band of rowdy sailors filled the room with chatter, you paid no mind. You saw his flashy outfit first; bright orange hat with long blue hair brushing the shoulders of anyone close enough to the captain, long coat with dirty white fur, sparkly blue clown makeup.

There was no mistaking Captain Buggy with anyone else. You usually didn’t get pirates with a high bounty here, making you a little nervous. You didn’t show it, barely looking his direction until he approached you.

”Rum, top shelf.”

”You gonna chase that down with anything, man?”

He smiles, even with yellow teeth and all that greasepaint he was handsome. You didn’t make it a habit to sleep with every sailor passing through, they’d never leave you alone if you did, but you entertained the idea in your head this time.

”Maybe a drinking partner will make it go down smoother.”

Corny, fits the costume. You smile, watching him watch you set down two shot glasses.

“Fair winds, and following seas,” you say as you both knocked back a shot.

“Oh, you’re far too young to be some washed up sailor setting up in a bar.”

”Do only sailors know that one?” you shrug, leaving him to drink alone.

Your eyes always followed back to his, like he willed it. His always meeting yours. Glancing at the other customers, you decide to drink with Buggy again. At this point, his hat was off and so was his coat. Lingering on his form, the way his muscles flexed with his moments, you set course on your target tonight.

”I was.”

He furrowed his brows a moment, “what happened?”

”Too much death, who would’ve thought piracy wasn’t just drinking in the sun all day?”

He raises his glass to yours, clinking them together. His eyes were hard to read, no doubt thinking of his own loss, whoever it was.

“I was a captain too, not much different than running a bar actually.”

He laughs, another shot. He leaned forward this time, fingers brushing up against your hand.

“The bar and the ship share the same name?”

You wonder if being honest would be a turn off, “ah, no. It’s named after someone I knew. Sailing wasn’t the same, you know?”

Buggy stares at you for a beat, his gaze suddenly uncomfortable. You falter, turning to leave.

His hand grabs yours, “what’s your favorite drink?”

”I like sweet stuff.”

”Me too.”

You relax, seeing the man behind the pirate. You end up drinking with him most of the night, the patrons slowly trickling out of the bar and out of your mind. It’s only him you see, an island in the middle of the ocean. You talk about nothing important, what he saw on his travels, islands you been to.

”See that you got my wanted poster up there,” he points to his own smiling face.

”Keeps the marines outta my hair. You know,” you smile at how clever you are, “it’s a shot for every million. Tradition.”

He rests his cheek on your palm, “is that so?”

Your fingers tingle up your arm into your spine, “let me close up first. I got the good shit upstairs.”

Buggy doesn’t let you go far, trailing behind as your turn off the lights and lock the door. You feel a hand at your waist as you lead him up to your bed. You waste no time with him, capturing his lips with yours.

He tastes like rum, lipstick, and salt. His gloves feel cool against your warm skin, fingers running over every exposed inch. He’s rough with you, desperate to get you closer and closer. Teeth grazes your skin, nails dig in.

”Buggy,” you whisper, “fuck me baby.”

He moans, shoving you on to the mattress. You never seen someone take off clothes so quickly before, his eagerness makes you laugh.

”What’s so funny,” he grumbles before kissing you.

”Oh you know,” you say between kisses.

He stops abruptly, “what did you fucking say?”

”What? I’m saying nothing.”

”My nose, you’re making fun of me.”

He looks angry, ready to rip your throat out. You attempt to reach out to him, he slaps your hand away.

“Buggy, what’s wrong?”

”Oh it’s so funny huh? Get big nose all excited just to laugh at him. I’ll teach you-“

”-I wasn’t laughing at you, shithead.”

He scoffs, and you turn his chin to look at you. His face hides his hurt, except the eyes. You feel like you should kick him out, but something stops you. Buggy looks at you like he’s expecting it.

”Kiss me, Buggy.”

He does, cautiously this time. You move away to wiggle out of your clothes, Buggy helping along the way. His hands detach to your horror, pulling your shirt off your arms.

“Holy shit.”

He only winks, those same hands crawling around your body. It’s all happening too fast to comprehend. You can only think of what else he can do with those hands.

”Chop Chop Fruit.”

You laugh again, giving his cock a few pumps. He swallows, almost like he can’t believe this is happening with you. Kisses litter your chest before he bites down on a nipple, Buggy getting more aggressive with every little noise you make. Red lipstick marks your body with every bite, you tug his hair causing his eyes to roll back.

His tongue reaches your cunt, sliding between your folds easily. He eats you out like a starving man, nose pressing your clit. The pressure feels wonderful, holding onto his head for dear life.

“Buggy,” you beg.

“That’s it, baby. That’s it,” he murmurs into your thighs.

It’s all too much, you shove him off you with a smile on your face. Buggy wipes his mouth before kissing you, you knew you were going to have a hell of a time cleaning all this paint up later but right now you didn’t care.

“You want this cock? Yeah? You want me to fuck you?”

You nod as he spreads your legs apart, lining himself up. He was not gentle with you, and you loved it. Buggy thrusted hard and fast, babbling in your ear. He seemed to like it when you pulled his hair, or bit an earlobe. You were turning into putty in his hands, and him in yours.

Throwing your leg over his shoulder, he hit deeper and deeper. You felt like you were about to burst, Buggy close behind you.

He collapsed onto you, struggling to breathe. You kissed his head as you stroked his hair, eventually he stilled long enough you figured he was asleep. You decided you didn’t mind at all, wanting to stay with him as long as possible.

“This was nice,” he said suddenly.

You gave him a squeeze, “that mean you’re leaving then?”

He lifted his head, eyes intense, “are you asking me to leave?”

What was the harm?

“No, you can stay if you wanna.”

”Do you want me to?”

This shot at your heart, he was a sad little clown wasn’t he?

“I do. Wanna shower with me? We’re red and blue all over.”

He smiles so brightly you’re stupid enough to think too long on it. He’s handsy as expected, his skin burning hot as you kiss his body. You wash the rest of his makeup off, leaning into each other’s touch. He’s dreamy, maybe too dreamy.

”Squeaky clean, butter bean.”

He laughs, “you’re too cute.”

“I don’t have anything for you to sleep in, sorry.”

”Neither do you then,” he winks.

As you towel off, Buggy finger combs your damp hair. He can’t stop kissing you, touching you.

”You’re so beautiful, are you a siren?”

You laugh, and he smiles.

“See? Like a lullaby.”

“You say that to all the girls you bed?”

He shakes his head, “only girls like you, think you’re the first.”

Buggy fluffs up your pillows, turning off all the lights.

Settling into bed he says, “I’m sure you get plenty of handsome sailors saying that.”

”Nope. Just you.”

He throws an arm around you, spooning you. He’s soft, warm, maybe exactly what you needed right now. It had been so long since you let anyone stay in your bed, and he’s pleasant enough company.

Maybe it’s the way he finds a way to get closer even in his sleep, or way he looks in the moonlight, but you feel your chest caving in. You don’t want this man to leave, and you know he will. You shed a few silent tears, feeling sorry for yourself.

In the morning, he’s still there. You stir slightly, and he sleepily kisses your cheek.

“Hey.”

”Hey, baby.”

You search his face, looking for a sign that he feels the same about you. He shies away, burying his face into your neck. You struggle for words to say, scolding yourself for being mushy for a clown.

”So, when do you cast off?”

He groans, “shit. Sooner than later, was gonna leave today.”

“Oh that’s a shame,” you admit.

He looks surprised, “oh yeah? Where you uh, hoping for another around?”

You shrug, “something like that.”

It was a one night stand, no reason to admit feelings. Besides, if he was the kind of guy to tattoo crossbones on his face, a pirate's life was truly for him. He was never gonna make his way back here again.

“I’m gonna make some coffee, don’t get up.”

He smiles, like a boy with his first crush, you figure you’re imagining it. You feel your heart threatening to crawl out your mouth, you needed to get away from him.

It had been years since you opened your heart to anyone, would a man like Buggy want something like that?

He looks so good sitting in bed like that, naked and rugged.

“How you like your coffee?”

”Sugar and cream, with a hint of coffee.”

He looks so happy to see you laugh, that he could make you laugh doing or saying anything.

You sip your coffee quietly in bed together, Buggy looking nervous the whole time. You figure he’s trying to find an excuse to leave, you’re ready to give him one. But then to your surprise, he holds your hand. Your cheeks burn, and you cuddle up closer.

”You know,” he says, “I don’t gotta leave right away. How long has it been since you been on a ship?”

”Too long.”

”Well, guess it’s time for a grand tour.”

He was a gentleman, his features softer in the daylight. As you walk across the pier, you reach for his hand to test the waters. A blush creeps up his neck, but he doesn’t let go.

The Big Top was larger than life, befitting a pirate captain like him. He leads you to an area where he kept his circus tent, it wasn’t set up, the lights and crates strewn about.

“Watch.”

He hit a switch, the lights strung above lit up like stars. Buggy watched you gaze up with delight, you catch his eye, would it be crazy to fall for him now?

You suppose you always did that, you met your first love at a port town, just like this one. They offered you a spot on his crew, before discovering they weren’t even a captain. You served together until you had money for a ship, you were made captain. Anything you wanted, you dove in head first.

”I would love to see a show.”

He loves to hear it, “you get VIP access. Free.”

”Oh yeah? What’s included.”

He hugs your waist, “front row seats, free concessions, access to the star’s personal green room.”

Your lips brushes against his, “deal.”

He didn’t move, frozen against your body. Suddenly feeling anxious, you try to back up.

He holds you tight, “I’m serious.”

”Me too.”

He kisses you again, happy as hell. You feel it coming, nervously smiling at Buggy. He looks so proud, truly born for the sea. For the spotlight.

”You should join, I can offer a private show every night.”

“I can’t. I’m a little too old to run off with the circus.”

He face falls, “oh.”

“I’m not saying no, just not now.”

”Oh!”

He was too cute, “come back, Bug. I would love to see you as much as I could.”

“How about two months? Could…could you wait for me that long?”

You found your courage, “I’ll wait for you until the end of my days.”

[raayllum]

I don't know whether this is a well discussed bit in the fandom or not, but if I may humbly request your consideration — why was Finnegrin really so keen to see dark magic? It went way past his own draconicide motives; why the goading to turn chains to snakes when that wasn't the spell he was after? Was it simply the writers indulging the fans bc let's be real they probably know it's a scene straight outta whumper fanfic? Or does someone have an interest in corrupting Callum and hired Finnegrin to make it happen?

followup to previous finnegrin ask: forgot to mention but I mean how did he even know callum knew dark magic at all? it's just Suspicious is all

I've written about Finnegrin's actions / his dynamic with Callum a couple of times (1, 2), but I think it ultimately comes down to Finnegrin inherently thinking/assuming that Callum is a liar and not being honest with himself, and Finnegrin just having zero qualms about dark magic.

For Callum, being dishonest with Finnegrin/himself is both true and not true. On the one hand, Callum doesn't tend to be a very good liar (stammering over himself in 1x02 about Ezran; Amaya's assessment of him in 5x03: "Callum, you are a terrible liar") and is arguably more honest with Finnegrin than he needs to be (why fess up to doing dark magic or reading it all, for example?) because Callum is just very bad at not wearing his heart on his sleeve. Callum is being honest when he corrects Finnegrin, i.e:

F: Listen boy, it ain't that complicated. You're a dark mage. All I'm asking for is one spell. C: I'm not a dark mage. F: You take me for a fool? You stole the wind right out of my sails.

Finnegrin assumes that because Callum is 1) a human and 2) a mage he must be a dark mage. This might indicate that even though Callum has his Sky staff that the pirates would've confiscated that the wind stealing spell that Callum did was more advanced than what you'd see of typical sky magic, indicating something else. But even when Callum corrects him, Finnegrin doesn't believe him — because Callum is lying — and eventually gets the truth of out him.

C: That was primal magic. I don't do dark magic! F: Never? C: Never.

This is important since, as Callum said earlier, "I will never help you" is likewise something that is going to proven untrue before the episode is over.

Finnegrin is frustrated because he knows, despite Callum's aversion to it, that the kid has done dark magic ("I did one spell. One. I had to, to save my friends") and therefore if that's been a moral bent once, it can probably be bent again.

So then the goading and pressure starts. Finnegrin goes for the clear weakness — going after Callum's friends — with the hand-cutting deal, but the group thwarts it out of solidarity. (Who knows if that would've stuck if Finnegrin had barrelled forward with it, but that's what canon divergences are for.)

So Finnegrin switches tactics and goes directly after the "if he did dark magic for his friends once, he'll do it again" and dangles his friends' safety/freedom over Callum to try to coerce him. Finnegrin thinks if he can break Callum's spirit — if he can get him to do dark magic again — Callum will also spill the beans about the dark magic spell. If he can find the weakness and coerce Callum accordingly, he'll get everything that he wants.

Finnegrin almost gets there, since I do think Callum would've done dark magic for the good of the group to try and free them (you can tell by his expression he's at least seriously considering) although I don't think Just using dark magic again would've made Callum fold on giving the spell. Finnegrin understands Callum quite well ("Just one spell, and you never thought about dark magic again?" / "Look at you: slave to your loyalties, your friends, you pride"), but not well enough to anticipate Callum doing dark magic in the latter half of the episode or that he'd connect to the Ocean arcanum. Finnegrin does seem to goad Callum in regards to fears of being corrupted ("Is it such a big deal dirtying yourself with a bit of dark magic") but it's not the focus; Finnegrin talks a lot more about love and control/freedom than he does a tangible idea of clean vs uncleanliness.

These are all some of the reasons that while Callum is undeniably concerned / disturbed by his decision to do dark magic again because he did so knowing it might make him more compromised to Aaravos in the future, I think giving up the spell also scares him — especially when doing the dark magic worked in its immediate goal (saving Rayla from Finnegrin) and giving up the spell didn't — because it makes it plain just how easily and effortlessly someone can use her to exploit him, and that's ofc scary as hell for a variety of reasons for him.

TLDR; Finnegrin was not hired by anyone (who would have the wherewithal or incentive to order him to do just about anything, never mind coerce an otherwise pretty random mage?) but he does exist from a story/narrative standpoint to challenge and push Callum further down his "path of darkness". Ergo, he's gotta be pushy and trying to break Callum into dark magic use. He doesn't necessarily succeed — he gets the spell irregardless of magic use, so Callum using dark magic becomes a further extension of the lengths he's willing to go to rather than outright coercion

[jacqcrisis]

*sweating* okay I'll talk about one bg3 AU idea with Ronan. It's is a pre-game, no Absolute one where Astarion devises a method of escape from Cazador on his own. He's been let off a lease just a slight amount due to Cazador's planning for the upcoming ritual so he gathers a few necessary items in secret, most notably a extra strong charm potion and a rod of teleportation that'll take him to a predetermined place hundreds of miles from Baldurs Gate.

It takes the right night, but at one of Cazador's balls, Astarion manages to charm another full vampire into giving up their blood, freeing him of his spawn status. This reprieve last only for a moment as Cazador realizes what has happened immediately and tries to capture his ex spawn. In the scuffle, Astarion turns into a bat for the first time, gets greviously wounded, but manages to activate the rod and get outta dodge as he is transported across the continent in a terrible state, but free nonetheless.

On a dark, lonely dirt path up the mountains with a horse the size of a small house, Ronan makes his way back to the temple of Bahamut he calls home, eager to get back to his bed and the temple's cats after a few weeks of being out in the local villages on cleric duty. As he gets closer, a strange rustling in a bush alerts him to a severely injured bat struggling to fly or even walk. One of its wings is torn to shreds and it's got a gash down the side of it and predictably it screeches at Ronan as he picks it up.

Curiously, his usual healing capabilities do nothing for the poor thing, and, unable to just leave the critter to die a slow death, the dragonborn bundles it up in his robes and hurries on home to care for it. He cleans it, patches up what he can, feeds the thing some of his own blood, and makes a little nest for it in his drawer, determined to see it better. At no point, does he suspect anything is off about this stressed, oddly white bat.

When finally left alone as the sun is beginning to come up in the relatively safety of a claustrophobic yet cozy bedside drawer, Astarion realizes three things. 1) Cazador did something to his natural regeneration as his wounds are not healing as swift as they should. 2) He also did something to Astarion's ability to shift back into a person, leaving his stuck in this small, animalistic form for gods only know how long. 3) He went from the hell that was Cazador's palace to now being neck deep in clerics, priests, and paladins for a justice and good aligned god who would no doubt stamp his little bat head flat if they figured out what he was.

And now he's stuck here until at the very least he can fly again. With this weird over-grown salamander. Astarion, of course, hates this.

Lucky for him, Ronan is a good caretaker. He never opens the drawer until well after nightfall, having his own late night schedule. He feeds his bat both blood let from the goats and pigs around the temple and his own. He keeps the bat's injuries clean and well bandaged and keeps the temple's cats away from it. He does his nightly duties with the bat tucked into his robes so it can get outside, and cares not if the critter scurries around his face or hangs off his horns and spikes, seemingly enamored with this new little animal in his life.

This goes on for a few weeks, and when Astarion is fully healed and whatever suppressive magic that kept him in that form wears off, he is free to fly away. And he does, spending that first night hunting his own food in his actual body and feeling like an entirely new person. But then he comes back to the temple, flaps back into his drawer as a bat to snooze the day away.

After everything he's been through, all the trials, all the torture, all the abuse, all the starvation, being in a place that is safe and warm where blood is easy to acquire and he is protected from his master who is no doubt still looking for him... well, it's a difficult thing to leave. And Ronan seemed delighted when his bat sailed back through his window at dawn to scrabble back into his drawer nest. Astarion has had a difficult life, and this is like a vacation, with the trade off being a bat.

He'll leave... eventually. Maybe next week. When he has a plan and a direction to go in and the novelty of having his wings spread out on the dragonborn's warm chest as Ronan reads aloud and scratches behind his ears wears off.

There's a lot more. Like so much. Obviously. Astarion develops a little crush on Ronan eventually, accidentally reveals himself, shenanigans ensue, vampires are annoying to clerics who are very conflicted their pet bat is a hot vampire elf, spawn and werewolves come looking for Astarion, love is fallen into despite both parties reluctance, there a couple of nights of 'accidental passion', and in the end Ronan convinces the silver dragon who is the defacto lead priest of the temple that there's a great injustice happening in Baldur’s Gate in the form of a big ole nest of vampires that they need to clear out. And Ronan and Astarion finally admit to being in love and they go off together to find a sun allergy cure.

Anyways. I like it a lot. It's cozy and sweet and stupidly drawn out like 70% of the stuff I like to write.

[precious-little-scoundrel]

I feel insensitive for asking, but do you still like and write for Elvis? Or is the love you had for him kind of going? Don’t take this as nagging, sometimes I feel this way and I wondered if you’re feeling like it too?

Hey babe, no don’t you worry about that, come right on in.

I’ve loved Elvis since I was a kid, I’m from his home state, he’s been a integral part of my family culture, Christmas nostalgia and dance parties, he’s always gonna be IT.

When I first got on tumblr I was actually a full on American Rev nerd and writer, not full fanfics yet as I was very shy, but that was my historical niche.

When the movie came out I suddenly had so many friends to be found on here and bond over someone that many folks my age rarely cared about. I felt inspired to write and safe enough to share and the fandom repaid me so kindly, so much love and friendship and kudos. I’ll always be so damn grateful for it. I did feel and notice the fandom slowing down some recently, i kept feeling the tug into various feuds and a few other things that ain’t my jam.

I’ve never gotten much hate on here, for which I’m lucky. But I did have my blog and writings reported three different times, blogs totally wiped as a result, and have had to rebuild from scratch each time. Admittedly that did take so much wind outta my sails. I still have a lotta drafts and I am still working on some, the inspiration just is flagging a little right now. But the love will always be there, always.

History is my number one love -hence the tendency of mine to always plant Elvis in a historical setting. So, for right now as my work and personal life are a little intense, I’ve found most Inspo and escape in other things for right now.

I hope that’s as candid and gentle a reply as your sweet inquiry was. I just felt it would be nice to reiterate my affection and love for him and you all!

[boygiwrites]

Harley D. Dixon 9

An amazing edit inspired by this story! (Cred to Cora_Line99) Harley D. Dixon's Pinterest Board! Harley D. Dixon's Playlist!

📖Chapter List.

Author's Note. New chapter! :)

If I had to guess, I'd say a week has passed.

Our days are spent driving, siphoning gas, and sleeping. We wake up in whatever overgrown pocket of forest we spent the night in, buckle up for an entire day of winding up and down side-roads blocked by trucks or dead bodies or fallen trees, and then we spend the night in another pocket of overgrown forest, feeling just a little more exhausted than we were the day before; dirtier, bloodier, and hungrier.

At least nothing more has happened between Shane and my Dad, yet. We've all been too busy trying not to starve for that.

Tonight, as the thicket hoots and rustles around me, I close my eyes.

It's nice to pretend that time has stopped.

I listen as the river flows past my bare shoulders, undisturbed, like I'm just another steady rock amongst its gentle ripples. I let the water skim across my fingers and wash over my hair. I can feel the satisfying smoothness of riverbed stones on the pearly soles of my feet, and I wiggle my toes against the current, breathing in the freshness of night air. It's not as luxurious as a shower, 'cause showers don't quite got leaves and twigs and dirt in 'em, but I pretend it's luxurious, anyway. I feel the day being lifted from my skin and carried away down-stream.

Fwip.

A flock of birds takes off from the trees.

I snap my eyes open.

On the muddy bank of the river, a dead woman drops to her knees. Blood oozes like thick, brown pudding from a crossbow bolt pierced through one of her eyes. I gasp, paddling backwards, as she slumps head-first into the water. The rest of her mossy body slides in after her.

Splash.

The river carries her away, too.

I watch as the fuzzy hump of her back slowly floats away until it disappears around the bend.

Whew. That was close.

"Harley!"

I turn around.

On the opposite bank, from where he's been supervising the whole time, my Dad swings his crossbow over his shoulder.

"Time to get out, now. Ya clean enough?"

Oh, right. I'm supposed to be bathing. I got a little distracted.

"Yeah!" I call back. "I'm clean!"

I squeeze the last of the suds outta my hair.

"Come on, then."

He holds out his hand.

Quick to obey, I wade through the water and onto the pebbly shore. He grabs my arm and helps me step up over the shelf of dirt, onto dry land, where he wraps me up in the big towel that he bought with us. A gust of hot breeze sails through the forest as I hastily dry myself off, wanting to get back to camp as soon as possible. It's never good news when we find walkers. They've been following us for days, travelling tirelessly through the night while we sleep. Besides, dinner is probably being served by now, since I'm the last one to bathe tonight.

As usual, I'm not looking forward to it.

Once I'm dry, I step into my underwear and my purple pyjama pants, and then pull on my frog shirt and my lady-bug boots.

My Dad packs the bottle of hand-soap that I used to wash myself with and my old, dirty clothes into his pack.

He nods me forward. "Let's go."

We start the short hike back to camp. We step over mushroom-infested logs and shallow ditches filled with noisy crickets; our path lit by a flashlight. At one point, we have to duck under a glittering spider-web, which is pretty cool. I like spiders, especially fat and colorful ones.

Soon enough, we can hear a fire crackling in the distance, and we step through the trees.

We made it back.

All the vehicles are parked in a bumper-to-bumper ring around a tiny campfire, where the group is silently sitting together in the grass. Rick rations the cooked food into a bunch of bowls, mugs, and plates as Glenn passes bottles of boiled water around. We take our spots next to Carol. She takes four bowls from Rick, and hands one to Sophia, and then another two to me and my Dad. Dale hands us some spoons. We don't bother thanking them. There's a grim look on both their faces. They don't wanna be doin' this, but they don't got a choice, and neither do we.

Everyone settles down, reluctant to begin eating.

I look over at Carl, who's hair is also wet from his river-bath. He peers into his bowl. He looks like he's gonna puke.

I peer down at mine. I feel the same way.

"Dig in, everyone." Rick mutters.

T-Dog echoes him unenthusiastically.

Oh, well.

I can't survive without food. I should just get it over with.

I start with the intestines.

There are disgusting crunching and chewing and slurping noises all around me as I inch the brown tube into my mouth.

It's chewy like a frozen squid ring, and slippery like sausage-skin.

Tastes like chicken, I tell myself, even though I know it came from a skunk.

I think about what's inside a skunk. It's got a little heart, much smaller than ours, which I think is what Rick is eating, 'cause I can see little pipe-like things hanging off the chunk of meat in his hand. The fire flutters ominously over his face, his stare locked onto a burning branch as it turns to ash. Then there's the liver, which is now diced up on Carl's spoon. He swallows it one go, like cough medicine. There are the kidneys. Glenn got those, but he's not really eating 'em. He's knocking 'em back like big, rubbery pills instead, so he don't gotta taste 'em. There's also its stomach and its spaghetti-intestines, and then the breast and the ribs, which is the good part, which I'm saving for last.

Then, the most shameful parts are the paws and the tongue and, ugh, the nose and the tail and the eyeballs.

Those parts aren't meant for eating. I never even saw 'em in the freezer section at the supermarket.

But we're eating 'em.

We'll starve if we don't.

With oily fingers and scrunched up noses, we bite and chew and swallow every last morsel of the poor skunk, including the feet and the snout, until it's just a bad memory — Just protein and fat to keep us alive, and not animal-guts. I remember back at the quarry, I used to think surviving meant using a single square of toilet paper instead of four or five, but now I know it's this. It's gnashing on skunk organs.

"Saw a walker out there." Dad mumbles, as he nibbles on the tail bone. "S'just the one, but..."

"Where there's one, there's a hundred." Glenn muses.

Walkers are like ants. There used to be a big ant-hill in our yard, and sometimes I'd just watch 'em crawl over each other, mindless.

"We'll pack up at first light." Rick frowns. "One walker ain't gonna slow us down."

"You okay?" Jacqui asks us.

I nod, staring down at my shiny lumps of skunk-gut.

"What happened?"

"It was just some loaner." Dad explains. "Came up to the river while Harley was washin'. Shot it quick."

"More and more seem to be poppin' up." Shane tells everybody. "Keep your eyes peeled tonight, alright? Who's on watch?"

Glenn and Andrea lift their hands.

Then Morales points between himself and Rick. "We take over, afterwards."

Shane nods. "Y'all know the drill. No noisy weapons; no gunfire. Try to keep everyone alive 'till sunrise."

"How close even is Fort Benning by now?" Carl suddenly asks. "We've been driving for ages."

"Carl..." Rick rubs his forehead.

"Listen, we drove down Lone Oak today. We're nearin' Hogansville." Shane says. "So, we're just shy three days away, I reckon."

Carl sighs heavily, picking at his food.

Three more days means three more nights, which means three more dinners like this one. My Dad skinned it the best he could, and it's cooked all the way through, but it's still a little nasty considering we've only been eating granola bars and tinned fruit up until now. Even the squirrel burgers Uncle Merle used to make tasted better than this, 'cause at least he threw some salt and pepper on those.

"It's not forever, baby." Lori comforts Carl. "We just need to stick it out until then."

"Yeah, I guess." He grouches.

As I suck the meat off the skunk's leg bone, I think to myself, Just three more days.

After a while, T-Dog stands.

"Thanks for the experience, man," He sighs, "But I think I'm gonna turn in."

Rick nods. "I think it's best we all do. We got more travelling ahead of us; Need the rest."

"I know I do." Dale scoffs, stretching.

Glenn and Andrea walk off to start patrolling the area for the night, and the rest of us drop our dishes into a bucket of water to be washed tomorrow morning. I say goodnight to everyone and follow my Dad into the truck. He hands me one of the pillows and the blanket to snuggle into. He clicks off the ceiling light, and 'cause he don't sing for me tonight, I count the fish on my blanket until I drift off to sleep instead.

I swear I hear Shane and Dale arguing sometime during the night.

Grrr...

The next morning, I wake up to the sound of a car engine humming lowly. Groggily, I turn over, covering my ears with my blanket. The noise persists. I turn over again, trying to fall back asleep, but again, the noise persists. And it keeps persisting, almost for a full minute, until I begin to think, That doesn't actually sound much like a car engine. Confused, I slowly lift my head, peeking out the wind—

Smack!

A pale hand, grabbing at the glass.

Grrrr...

It's not an engine.

It's a walker.

It's nose bone makes a tick, tick, tick sound as it knocks into the window, its purple gums and black teeth kissing at me, tongue licking.

I scream.

My Dad jumps awake beside me.

Smack!

He's confronted with the sight of the walker mouthing and groping the glass, and he quickly puts his arm in front of me.

He huffs, "What the Hell?"

Smack!

"You okay?"

"Uh-huh." I answer, "But... aren't Morales and Rick supposed to be on watch?"

They wouldn't have let a walker get this close if they could help it.

He peers outside. "Yeah, they are."

Smack!

Behind us, there's another one. With two bloated, gummy hands, a second walker palms at Dad's window, leaving behind sticky hand-prints and gooey blood. He unsheathes his knife, angrily winds the window down about an inch, and stabs it through the forehead. It crumples to the ground, only to be replaced by another one. Then another, and another, all rushing to pile on top of each other, sniffing the air and clicking their rotten teeth at us. I count them — Three, four, five — Five walkers crowding against Dad's side of the truck.

He scoffs, "Found us, did ya?"

Where there's one, there's a hundred.

He winds the window back up, but the walkers wiggle their fingers through the gap like little worms.

"Damn it."

They start tugging it down with combined strength, shoving their knobbly elbows and shoulders and hands inside. Dad tries to ram it closed, but it gives in, sliding all the way open once more. The dead immediately start climbing inside. I scream again. Dad scoots back until we're pressed up against the opposite window, with the original walker licking at the back of our necks through the glass. I can hear it going, Tick, tick, tick.

Dad picks his crossbow up off the floor and loads it, aims it, and—

Fwip!

The closest walker face-plants onto the driver's seat.

"Where are they?" I worry. "Morales and Rick. What if they're in trouble?"

Fwip!

"Just stay behind me."

The next walker slumps on top of the last one.

He yanks the bolt out its nose and stabs the next one in the eye with it, and then the one after that, too.

He grunts as he pulls it out. Grey blood splatters the ceiling.

"Rick!" He calls out. "Morales! Glenn! Where are ya?"

"Dad, they're not answering!"

Dad drives the bolt into the last walker's ear canal, slamming its head into the side mirror. Both the walker-skull and the mirror crack in half, tumbling into the grass below. He lets the bolt fall with 'em, and winds up the window just in time for three more walkers to run into it, their peeling mouths held agape, and their eyeballs rolling up into their lids. I watch them slobber and moan.

One of them has a hatchet in its neck.

Dad drops back down, panting.

I recognise the yellow tape wound around the handle.

Dad must, too, 'cause he says, "That's Rick's hatchet."

The walkers continue slapping the truck and moaning incoherently as we peer out the windows. Over their shoulders, I can see one, two, three, five, eight, ten walkers stumbling through camp, all tripping over the chairs and the logs from the fire. One by one, they latch onto their choice of vehicle with dead hands, like the RV, which is totally surrounded. I've never seen this many walkers, not even back at the quarry. In the back window, we can see Sophia peeking past the curtains. In the front, we see Dale and Glenn trying to get our attention.

My Dad waves to 'em once he notices.

"Where's Rick and Morales?" He yells.

They get the gist of what he's tryna ask, and they both shrug, which makes us even more worried.

"They gotta still be out there." Dad grumbles.

I scan the sea of greasy heads wandering by. They're all half-beaten, blood-soaked, stringy, and mishappen, but oh, not that one — That one's regular, and it's moving way faster than the others. Another one trails behind it, I realize, slightly taller. It must be them.

"Dad!" I point. "I think that's them!"

"Yeah? Where?"

"There!"

One, two, three walkers are slashed to the ground, revealing — Yes! — Rick and Morales.

"There they are!"

Dad leans over me, opening the door. "Hey! Over here!"

"Get ready to go!" Rick yells at us.

The original walker falls onto its back, and both Rick and Morales make a bee-line for the truck, shouldering their way past walker after walker after walker, until they reach the door. They step over the flailing walker and climb inside. We make room for them as fast as we can. I climb onto my Dad's lap behind the wheel as Morales slams the door closed, panting, covered head to toe in blood of all different colors.

"Go!" Rick pats the dash. "Drive! We gotta go!"

"What about all the stuff out there?" I ask.

The dishes, the bucket, the chairs.

"We have to leave it." Rick shakes his head. "We can't stay here a second longer."

"Everyone good?" My Dad asks him, turning the keys.

"Yeah." He pants. "Got— Got caught off guard, that's all. Everyone else was still inside the cars. They're safe."

The truck sputters to life. Dad stomps on the gas. The tyres squeal all at once, and we tear off into the forest, between clusters of thin trees. The walkers try to cling on, but they're too weak to keep up and they topple over into the dirt. We leave them in the distance — shrinking, shrinking, shrinking, until they look like little stick figures, and then like nothing. The truck bumps and wobbles along the dirt road, following after the RV.

Behind us, the rest of the vehicles catch up.

Rick counts them through the back window. He sighs. Everyone's here.

As branches hit the sides of the truck, he speaks up. "You two okay? Harley, you okay?"

"Yeah," I nod. "Just... There were so many of 'em."

He puts his hand on my shoulder, leaning his head back, closing his eyes. "Tell me about it."

We enjoy the silence — the calm — as we make our way through the woods. I can tell Dad wants to ask what happened, but he keeps his mouth shut for now. Caught off guard? What does that mean? After some time, we reach a break in the trees. We tail the RV as it pulls back onto the highway that we started on, feeling just a little more exhausted than we were the day before; dirtier, bloodier, and hungrier.

At least we're alive.

It's not until we've been driving for at least twenty minutes that I spot the bite mark on Morales' wrist.

Oh.

Rick catches me looking, but he doesn't look surprised.

He just looks defeated.

The next time we stop, it's not to siphon gas or to sleep.

It's to kill Morales.

We all wait together on the highway as Shane and Rick march him into the trees. It'll be quick and painless, were the words they used. Apparently, Morales chose to be shot in the head instead of bein' left to turn, and they're gonna honour that choice by killing him. Louis and Eliza weren't comforted by any of this, though. Neither was Miranda. I feel so awful for them. They cling to each other, a family made up of pain and hurt waiting for the worst to come, which will be in the form of an echoing Bang a few minutes from now.

Jacqui gives Miranda's tear-coated cheek a kiss, and Lori rubs her back gently.

It's the best anyone can do.

My Dad sits next to me on the bed of the truck, watching the trio disappear between the shrubs.

Rick's revolver glints in the afternoon sun.

"It's gonna be like Tank again, ain't it?" I ask numbly, ready.

It's quick and painless, the vet-lady had said, before she poked him with a needle that sent him into a permanent sleep.

"Yeah." He mutters.

He rubs my back now, as well.

It's a bit like Jenner, too, I accidently think, And a bit like Momma.

Sadly, I muse, "I liked Morales."

He grips my shoulder and pulls me into his side.

Together we watch summer clouds pan overhead.

Bang!

Kinda sounds like a firework.

Miranda starts weeping.

Quick and painless.

Maybe for Morales.

But not for us.

It's two days later now, and we still haven't reached Fort Benning.

Miranda, Louis and Eliza are no longer part of the group. After Morales died, they wanted to leave, and so they left. After some convincing, Rick and Shane set them up with a box of bullets, a pistol, and a map, and then we all exchanged hugs. Eliza gave me and Sophia each of her two beaded bracelets. We were real sad to be saying goodbye the other kids like this. Their little station wagon drove off into the horizon, and then that was it — We were suddenly down four people; one dead, and three gone, all overnight. I never realized how small our group was until then.

I think everybody's takin' it pretty hard — Especially Rick, who hasn't spoke in days. I think he was the one that shot Morales.

Problems, I can handle. Full-scale disasters, not so much.

Nobody from our group has died until now, so I'd say this classifies as a full-scale disaster.

I think what we've learnt from all this is that whether you're scavenging or travelling, you can't cheat yourself out of danger.

Still, we've been pushing on. It's what we do best.

Sitting in the passenger seat of the RV, I try re-reading Hairy Maclary again while Dale drives beside me, but it's hard to concentrate. I give up after a while and switch to gazing outside at the rolling landscape. Every now and then, we pass a walker, and I'm reminded of everything all over again.

I'm staring at a bird soaring alongside the highway when the RV comes to a stop.

"Ah, jeez." Dale mutters.

I frown, "What's goin' on?"

When I look out the window, the answer is immediately obvious.

"Oh."

"Jammed to Hell." He sighs.

"We gotta be cursed or somethin'." I mumble. "So much is goin' wrong."

He chuckles a little. "I think you might be right about that."

Glenn walks up behind us and grabs both our chairs, peering outside at the littering of cars.

"Wow..." He sighs.

Dale gestures vaguely at it all. "Just our luck, isn't it?"

"Maybe we can circle back?" Glenn suggests. "There was an interstate bypass back there."

Dale shakes his head. "We can't spare the fuel."

I glance at the fuel meter. I don't know how it works, but I'm pretty sure the E is for empty, and the needle is way too close to it right now.

My Dad brings the truck up besides the RV.

"You see a way through?" Dale calls out to him.

Dad nods us forward, driving ahead to guide us through the wreckage. Dale follows. He steers the huge RV along the narrow path, and we crawl along like this for a couple minutes. We watch in unison as a group of birds casually peck at an empty baby seat strewn across the tarmac. They stare at us with their beady little eyes as we pass. There are car crashes mangled in with the guardrail, and walker-bodies smeared into the gravel. I remember bein' on a highway exactly like this one with my Dad and my Uncle Merle, in the beginning, when people still thought they could drive away from it all. We chose to leave after a while, but many stayed. I guess this is pretty much what happened to them all.

All of a sudden, as we're turning a slight corner, the RV gives out a clunk, clunk, clunk noise.

That's not good.

"What was that?" Glenn frowns.

Clunk!

As if to answer, smoke starts trickling out from underneath the hood.

We roll along for a couple more feet before creaking to a definite stop.

That's not good either.

"Ugh, it's that darn radiator hose." Dale slaps his knee, frustrated. "I knew it wouldn't survive the trip. I just knew it."

He gets up, and me and Glenn follow him outside into the hot sun.

Both ahead of us and behind us, the others hop out their cars, confused.

"I said it, didn't I?" Dale complains, watching hopelessly as his precious RV billows smoke. "A thousand times... Dead in the water."

I try smiling. "Don't worry. We'll fix it."

He tries smiling back, but he doesn't look too convinced.

Shane approaches. "Problem, Dale?"

"Oh, I don't know." He sighs. "Just the small matter of being stranded in the middle of nowhere, with a herd breathing down our necks and no hope of ever finding a new—" He cuts himself off, remembering where it is we're standing exactly. "Okay," He mutters, "That was dumb."

We're surrounded by radiator hoses.

"If you can't find a radiator hose here..." Shane scoffs.

My Dad jogs up to us, frowning at the broken engine. "What's goin' on? That the hose again?"

Dale nods. "Broken, just like I predicted."

Dad shrugs. "I can have a go fixin' it up. You got tools?"

"A few. Nothing fancy."

"I can siphon more fuel." T-Dog offers.

Carol suggests, "Maybe find some water?"

"And some food." Glenn adds, cringing already at the thought of eating another dinner of skunk-kidneys. "We could definitely use some food."

Everyone looks like they agree with that sentiment.

Rick considers all this.

It wasn't his plan to scavenge any more, but we need to, and we're not gonna get a more perfect opportunity than this.

"Okay," He eventually decides, clearing his throat. "We'll split into pairs; conquer this one car at a time, together. T-Dog, Glenn. See if you can't find us some more fuel. Shane, Daryl. You're with me. We'll circle the area for walkers, make sure it's safe for now. Dale, you're on watch. We don't need that herd sneaking up on us today. Rest of you, don't wander too far. And keep an eye out for any food and water laying around, okay? We'll be back on track in about half an hour, I reckon."

"Are you sure about this?" Lori asks, clutching her necklace. "This place is a graveyard."

"It—" Rick shakes his head. "It'll have to do."

"C'mon, y'all." Shane says. "Let's just take a look around. Doesn't have to take long."

With that, Rick's new plan is put into motion.

I look down at the pink and green bracelet on my wrist, next to Amy's hair lackey, and I pretend I don't feel sad at all.

I been doin' that a lot lately.

Author's Note.

Okay, admittedly, this one is a little filler-y... I just needed to set up the whole herd situation, and I also wanted to spend a little more time on the road before we reach the farm. I still hope you enjoyed. I've been feeling a little insecure recently about how often I've been deviating from canon, but I'm trying to ignore it, haha.

RIP Morales. Season two just wasn't in the cards for him.

Also the Shane vs Daryl thing didn't really come up in this chapter... Oops. Next time! It's about to get crazy for those two, ahaha. I have some interesting things planned for them and Harley.

Thank you everyone for reading!

[elvisabutler]

1K fluff prompt 7 based on your Selkie AU since they are big on smelling like home/the sea/each other

sea dog

fandom: elvis presley | elvis ( 2022 ) rating: t pairing: elvis presley x female reader wordcount: 1393 warnings: mentions of seal skin. me playing fast and loose with selkie myth. jerry is a werewolf. mention of gambling. this is actually tame so i don't have too many warnings. author’s note: thank you for this anon! i don't know if you're the same anon who sent the angst prompt as well for the selkie au but know i'm working on that as well. just taking a bit longer because a certain @prompted-wordsmith helped me brainstorm/get out of my head a little with it so it might be a bit longer than the rest. it should be worth it. but anyway, super enjoyed this and loved writing it so i hope you enjoy it too! this is done for my 1k gala, based on fluff line “mmmh, you always smell amazing!” this is based on/in the same universe as the selkie au i wrote. not required to read it but it makes things make a lot more sense. y'all know the drill, real elvis or austin elvis works fine for this despite the moodboard.

The funny thing about being friends with a werewolf is that they have one of the best senses of smell out of all supernatural creatures and yet- and yet they're also the most easily fooled. Elvis likes to think that's why he never picked up on you smelling like his skin, smelling like the ocean breeze when you were in Las Vegas of all places. If you were gonna smell like anything it should have been Lake Mead. Jerry's excuse, bless him, was that he thought you were another selkie because your scent had been just different enough from Elvis's own still faintly there scent that he wasn't sure. Besides with how you two had danced around and slowly fallen for each other he- he didn't want to ruin that. He hadn't wanted to ruin the relationship he felt that you and Elvis had started to cultivate.

Call him a sucker for epic little romances. Still, nowadays he can tell the difference, tell how without Elvis's skin you don't smell like the sea. You don't smell like an Ocean breeze or anything like that. You smell like a normal human to him. A fact that Elvis disagrees with every time he wants Jerry to make sure things are normal with you when the two of you have to be seperated.

"Whatdya mean ya can't fuckin', Schilling, you got one damn job-" Elvis growls over the phone only to be cut off by Jerry answering with a growl of his own.

"I'm saying it's faint, Elvis. She's still here, but she's probably spending time in her old room, not the penthouse suite. I know you're made she couldn't come-"

"Damn right I am. We get outta Vegas, ain't trapped on dry land and she tells me she'll meet me in Paris? Like I'm supposed t' enjoy London all by myself. Next thing I know I'll be in Venice all alone too. Want t'enjoy Europe wit' her, not alone." Elvis's growl only gets stronger the more he speaks and by the end he's practically barking over the phone. Jerry shoots you a look as he holds the phone away from his ear and rolls his eyes.

"You know she's busy. You love her-" Jerry starts with a sigh before Elvis cuts him off again.

"She doesn't need to still be doin' it and she knows it! She knows I can- I wanna- I gotta treat my seal wife the way she deserves." You frown listening to the way Elvis talks, how it feels like the winds are leaving his sails. "Jus'- jus' feelin' lonely, Jer."

It's then that you almost spill the beans. It's then that you almost spill the beans and take the phone from Jerry and tell Elvis you're going to be in London tomorrow night but that would ruin the surprise so you bite your tongue and watch as Jerry shakes his head.

"I know, EP. She'll be with you in a few days, just- enjoy London, man. It's your first time there performing and for fun. Live a little." He spares a glance at you, noting how you make a face at live a little as he looks at the time. "Shit- I made plans. Listen, I catch her scent again I'll call ya."

Elvis's only response before he hangs up the phone is a subtle yeah yeah. Jerry looks at you once he hangs up and rubs at his temples. "You two are such a pain in my ass."

You shrug, grabbing the last of your stuff to shove into your bag. "At this point Jerry, I think the feeling is mutual with all three of us." You take a moment to sit on the suitcase and motion for Jerry to zip it up. "Help me out, sooner this gets done the sooner I'm out of your fluffy fur and into his fluffy hair."

The flight is exhausting and the next time you reserve the right to ask Elvis to just send the Lisa Marie to pick you up, damn the surprise entirely. It has already been arranged for you to be allowed access to Elvis's room at the hotel he's in purely because you knew you'd likely arrive during a show. From the moment you walk inside the building your own human nose catches a whiff of the sea that's unique to Elvis and a tension you didn't know was inside of you lessens its grip.

The scent only gets stronger until you reach his room and open it to smell what you've come to define as heaven. If you shut your eyes you can pretend you're on the beaches in Hawai‘i with his arms wrapped around you as you watch the sunset. It's a romantic image and one you find yourself pining for as if he's not your boyfriend. As if to him you're already a wife he just has to convince you to say yes to him, to legally bind yourself to him. Still, you miss him and the jet lag combined with that pining sort of feeling inside your chest has to flopping on the bed and passing out before you know it.

You wake up to warmth against you. Warmth and Elvis practically nuzzling your neck, ignoring how sweaty he is and how gross you probably are from your flight. It takes a moment for your senses to return to you but when they do you're struck by how he smells, how it makes you feel like wherever you are is home. Elvis's voice is a mumble against your skin as you turn over to face him, watching as he goes back to kissing and nuzzling your neck. "Smell so good- Missed this- Smell so amazin'. Always fuckin'-"

A giggle leaves your lips before you pull him up for a kiss, ignoring the sweat and the disgust of the grime you feel between you two. "Could say the same for you. Always smell so amazing. Clothes don't compare to-"

There's a glint in his eyes when he pulls away just slightly. "Ya been smellin' my clothes. Been gone for less than a week and ya smellin' my clothes." He teases before nuzzling at your neck again. "Nice surprise ya givin' me here, comin' early. Coulda told me."

"And miss waking up to this? To you acting like a happy wittle seal?" Your own tone is teasing but you mean no malice in it as your hand moves to run through his hair. "I finished early, missed my seal. Figured you deserved to see all this with me."

"Ya stayin' the whole tour?" His eyes widen, because at best you were supposed to stay for three cities, maybe a week at best not- not the whole tour. "Ya ain't- Ya ain't lyin'?"

"Wouldn't dream of it." Your answer is simple enough but has Elvis barking out a laugh that you only hear him let out as a seal as you grin when he pulls you up out of the bed and picks you up into a hug.

"I get to travel the world wit' ya. Get t'go swimmin' ev'ywhere with ya. Fuckin'-" His hands travel to the sides of your face as he pulls you in for a kiss. "Ain't gonna be able to tell our scents apart. Gonna feel at home every second."

You bite your lip a little. "That's kind of the point, Elvis. Can't have you getting another seal wife when you've got me."

For a moment he looks hurt until he realizes how your eyes are still smiling. You're joking and he swears in that moment more than any other one he's felt with you he realizes he's in love with you. Not because of any supernatural bullshit, but because you're you, the woman who managed to charm him with matching dresses to his jumpsuits and who got him back his life. He tilts his head slightly before pulling away, grabbing your hand as he does. He hums as he pulls you to the bathroom. "The European girls ain't got nothin' on ya. 'Sides, they ain't as much fun in the shower. Gonna join me?"

Your free hand moves to start undressing yourself as you allow yourself to be pulled. "As long as you don't try and shift. You're a bit of a handful as a seal."

"That was one goddamn time!"

[mischievouswritingblog]

A Twist of Fate

I’ve been wanting to continue or revamp this fic for a long time but at the moment I’m a bit stuck. Being that I’m working on a Pathfinder 2e Campaign based on World of Warcraft, I ended up thinking about this fic a lot and I decided to reshare it.

Here’s the first chapter and a link to the fic on AO3. It’s a long one, be warned.

-o-o-o-o-o- Chapter 1: Lucky Number 13     A rough jolt from the wagon shook Khadgar awake. He blinked a few times before he looked up at the night sky. How long had he slept? 

“Hey spell-chucker, is the cargo alright back there?” the dwarven driver called back to him. “I didn’t give ya a discount outta the goodness of me heart!”

Khadgar was squished between large sacks of potatoes and a crate holding bottles of ale. It was uncomfortable, the scratchy burlap of the potato sacks rubbed against exposed skin. The wooden create gave him no room to adjust himself. He did his best to look over the other various bits and bobs of cargo. “Nothing seems damaged, sir.” 

“Good, keep it that way!” the driver ordered. “I’m gonna pick up the pace!” He swung his whip and cracked it loudly. 

“Please don’t!” Khadgar’s body roughly jerked as the wagon sped up. Desperately he clung to its side as his frightened scream echoed out into the night. 

Deadwind Pass had earned its name for good reason. Its paths and trails winded through thick trees and along the faces of steep cliffs. It was all too easy for travelers whether on foot or carriage to fall to their doom into rushing rivers far below. Had Khadgar not hitched a ride with a traveling merchant who was familiar with the area, it would have been his own fate. 

Yet humans were a stubborn species, people still found a way to populate the area. To Khadgar’s surprise, he would spot the occasional house or two nestled among the greenery. Just how they could stand being surrounded by such dangerous heights was beyond him. Even crossing the simple stone bridges made the young mage’s stomach do flips. 

“Look alive, kid!” said the driver of the wagon, his sudden bark made Khadgar jump. “We’re gettin’ close to Karazhan.” 

The wagon rattled along the road as it made its way around a bend. It tilted dangerously close to toppling over the edge but slammed back down onto the road. The cargo and passenger were jostled but miraculously everything managed to stay intact. Khadgar was treated to a good view of one of Azeroth's moons. But his admiration didn’t last long, as his eyes were drawn to something else. Standing above the rock formations and thick wilds of Deadwind was a tower. Bathed in moonlight, it gave off a haunting presence. A proud monolith that stood above everything else, it felt as though Khadgar were being watched by it. A number of lit windows were sign that there was life in the tower. 

Khadgar jumped when the wagon hit a bump that shook the entire thing. He held his satchel to his chest as though it could do more than barely shield him. It had been a long and rough trip. Khadgar had at first thought the worst was behind him after having to sail Menethil Harbor (his fear of deep water did him no favors). Only to find that there was still a long way to go, trekking through wetlands and on the road until he could hitch a ride with caravans kind enough to take on a fledgling ‘spell chucker’. Not to mention the drastic changes in climates, from the mild weather of Lordaeron to the bitter chill of Dun Morogh, to the heat of the southern lands of Stormwind. 

It was difficult and there were plenty of times where Khadgar wished he could turn back. But that wasn’t an option for him. He had no means of going back home, certainly not enough money. The trip down the continent was dangerous enough as it was. No, he couldn’t go back, he needed to be accepted or…

The sound of rattling drew Khadgar’s eyes to the bottles of ale. His eyes grew wide as he watched the valuable cargo begin to bubble within. Khadgar reached out to stop it but a small static-like zap of arcane energy made him pull his hand away. The young mage scooted away from the crate and wrapped his arms around himself.

“Stop it, Khadgar...” he whispered to himself. Khadgar took a deep breath through his nose and released it as a sigh. “You need to calm down.” 

“Here’s where ye get off, kid!” the driver said as the wagon began to slow down. 

It wasn’t long before they came to a full halt. Khadgar looked up at the driver, thankful that he could leave before anything exploded. He snatched up his satchel and climbed out of the cart. Khadgar thanked the driver as he pulled out a coin purse and paid a few coins of what little money he had left. 

The dwarf driver counted the coins before pocketing them. “Now listen, jus’ keep following the road and ye will wind up right in Karazhan. It’s jus’ a little ways from here so ye should make it there before it gets too late. Keep a good pace, nasty things prowl in these parts at night.”

Khadgar looked out at the road ahead of him, he gripped the leather strap of his satchel before he began to walk. Luckily the area wasn’t completely dark. a small mining station by the mouth of a cave provided a little light. It was A small comfort but not enough for Khadgar to relax. He was still far away from the only home he had ever known.

Admittedly, it was his own fault.

Curiosity was considered both a valuable trait and horrible vice of magi. It was what spurred them to learn and experiment with the magical arts, to push the boundaries of what was possible. Of course, there were also downsides, mages that pushed ethics aside just to see what would happen. It urged some to see if they could bind and control fantastic beasts or even raise the dead. Such attempts never ended well.

Khadgar attempted no such things, he followed most of the rules placed upon him by the Kirin Tor. Laws and regulations were engraved into him at a young age, like the brand of the violet eye on his left arm. The problem with Khadgar was that he was born with curiosity that had an insatiable appetite. Often he'd find trouble searching for the truth behind rumors or peeking at restricted areas or tomes. 

Most students would focus their hunger for knowledge to texts and study. Khadgar would experiment with ways to make his snooping easier. He designed tools like a mechanical cricket that would chirp to warn him of powerful magics and wards. He also designed a small spell to enhance his hearing. Picking locks and undoing seals were a hobby to him like crossword puzzles were to others. There were many nighttime ventures around the Violet Citadel. Hunting for anything that would feed his gluttonous curiosity. It was how Khadgar found quite a few dirty little secrets that the Kirin Tor wanted kept quiet. 

Many were harmless, perhaps a little embarrassing, like the Chief Artificer’s weakness for flamewine. Others were more far more scandalous and could tarnish a reputation. Like Korrigan, the Violet Citadel's librarian, and his fascination with demon worshipers and their practices. Or Lady Delth and her fondness for young men a mere fraction of her age. 

Given Lady Delth’s status (both marriage and society wise), Khadgar suspected it was his stumbling onto one of her affairs that was the last straw. The next thing he knew, Khadgar was suddenly selected for a ‘great honor’. He was to go to a place called Karazhan, to learn under ‘The Great Magus Medivh’. Not that Khadgar had ever heard of such a mage.

Doing a little digging he learned that ‘Medivh Aran’ was a hedge-mage, that on its own was incredibly strange. Such magi suffered from a lack of discipline and restraint when not watched by the violet eye of the Kirin Tor. Usually, they would always meet some grisly demise brought by their own hubris. Stories of rogue wizards bringing castles down upon themselves or blowing themselves to bits were a staple in classes of young mages-to-be. The moral of such tales always the same: ‘Never go out on your own, never take the guidance of the Kirin Tor for granted.’

Yet Medivh was an anomaly. He was the very thing the Kirin Tor frowned upon but they appeared to respect the man. So why was there so little information about the magus? There were scraps and bits that Khadgar tried to cobble together into a cohesive picture. 

In one text Medivh was credited for simplifying many complex spells (the names of which were missing). There was also a letter that noted the magus had observed a fascinating phenomenon in the stars. Other bits and pieces Khadgar managed to find were filled with a mishmash of claims that clashed horribly. There was mention of Medivh being a skilled engineer, one professor said that he studied exotic animals, and in one note the magus was called a ‘patron of the arts’. Generous, selfish, kind, cruel, genius, half mad, difficult taskmaster, a man that just didn’t give a damn, all these used to describe Medivh. None of it made a lick of sense.

It was aggravating since it only served to fuel Khadgar’s hungry curiosity even more.

Upon reaching the land where the tower stood Khadgar was surprised to see that there was a village surrounding the base. He could see a number of Houses, an inn, a marketplace, and a small church. It was a strange place for a village, hidden away by the surrounding woods and mountains. Almost as though it were dropped there by some spell went awry. Perhaps it was. 

Khadgar could feel something strange in the air. A presence that made the hairs of the back of his neck stand on end. There was a lot of magic in the land itself, he could feel it flowing through the earth under his feet. If Khadgar stood and focused, he felt energies coursing in the ground beneath his feet. It was like many surging rivers meeting at and flowing from that point. 

But it wasn’t the time to focus on such things. As Khadgar walked through the streets and towards the tower, he opened his satchel and pulled out his letter of introduction. The purple wax seal of the violet eye stared back at him. Like him, the letter had reached its destination, it felt heavy, perhaps more so than the day it was handed to him. It felt like he was holding his own future in his hands. In a sense, he very well was and that was terrifying. 

A small sound suddenly caught Khadgar’s attention, his gaze was drawn to the window of a nearby house. His eyes widened as he saw the glass of the window was cracking. Khadgar felt his stomach twist into a knot before picking up his pace, mentally begging his magic stay in control. He couldn’t afford to his magic lash out, not now of all times. Khadgar tried to calm himself by taking in deep breaths but it was all too soon that he found himself standing before the main doors of the tower. 

Khadgar felt his heart pounding harder in his rib cage as he stared up at the large, imposing building before him. In the dark of the night, it looked almost sinister, even the moon that hung high in the sky felt like it was judging him. It was getting harder to breathe as his chest felt tighter with each passing second. Khadgar swallowed trying to force his emotions down as he raised a shaky hand to knock on the large wooden door. 

A loud explosion shook the tower from far above. Khadgar looked up just in time to see falling, shattered glass heading right for him. The young mage scrambled to get out of the way and managed to do so just in time. Sharp pieces of colored glass rained down right where he had been standing. Had he not moved when he did Khadgar would have ended up a bloodied mess. 

“What in light’s name was that…?” Khadgar thought aloud, a bit shaken. He looked up and saw smoke flowing out from one of the windows of the tower. He could have sworn he heard the distant sound of someone yelling obscenities. 

The door of the tower then opened with a loud groan and squeak of its hinges. Khadgar looked and found himself staring at a tall, slender gentleman that reminded him a little of a weasel. The man’s hair was dark brown, reaching just above his shoulders and well kept. He was dressed in fine red and black suit. But the detail that took away from his immaculate appearance was that he was wearing horse’s blinders. 

Khadgar watched as the man who had brought a broom and dustpan began to clean up the glass. It was then he found his voice and spoke up. “U-um, e-excuse me, sir…?” 

At first, the man in red didn’t respond. It was after another attempt of Khadgar trying to get his attention he looked up at him. His eyes scanned over the youth, his face was a mask of pure of boredom. It was hard to tell what he was thinking as he looked the mageling over. The man then made the slightest frown before he finally spoke. “I take it you have business here?” 

Khadgar caught himself staring and scrambled to hand the man his letter of introduction. “Khadgar.” 

The man in red gave a confused blink before he eyed the letter but made no move to take it. Instead, he looked up at the boy with a quirked eyebrow. 

“Of Dalaran.” Khadgar abruptly continued. “Khadgar of Dalaran, in the Kingdom of Lordaeron.” His face grew hot the more he talked. Words surged forward like a broken faucet. “I was sent by the Kirin Tor. In the Violet Citadel. In Dalaran. In Lordaeron.” The mageling's voice went higher in pitch with each sentence as embarrassment engulfed him. 

“I see...” the man in red said before the slightest hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Well, Khadgar of the Kirin Tor, in the Violet Citadel, in Dalaran, in Lordaeron, I am Moroes. I’m the tower steward and Castellan of Karazhan.” 

“Castellan…?” Khadgar blinked and looked around at the town surrounding the tower. “That’s like a governor, isn’t it?” 

“Hmm, awfully astute of you...” Moroes said in a mild sarcastic tone. He then set the dustpan and broom aside and clasped his hands behind his back. “Yes, Master Medivh owns the tower and the land surrounding it. It’s my job to keep things in ship shape and running while he performs his duties.” 

Khadgar blinked, his eyes widened a little. “Is the magus a nobleman?” 

Moroes gave a small shrug. “He is, but the most the Master calls himself is an ‘over glorified landlord’.”

“I-I see...” Khadgar said. “M-may I meet with him?”

Moroes he reached into his pocket and took out a pocket watch. With a click, it opened and he looked at the time. “Hmm, it’s not ungodly late yet, I suppose it should be fine.” Moroes snapped the watch closed and slipped it in his pocket. “Perhaps a visitor will put him off working on that mechanical monstrosity late into the night.” 

Khadgar eyes were drawn up towards the broken window far above. He couldn’t help but wonder about the explosion from earlier. A loud clearing of the throat brought his attention back to Moroes, who was waiting for him in the doorway. 

“Did you want to come in or do you wish to sleep under the stars tonight?” asked the Castellan, his voice never losing its ‘ho-hum’ tone. 

Khadgar jumped slightly then followed him through the door. With his first step inside the tower, Khadgar felt goosebumps rise from his skin. There was an odd presence to his new surroundings, time itself felt strange as if it slowed for a moment. 

Khadgar followed Moroes while allowing his eyes to drink in every detail they could. He saw carvings of horses that lined the higher parts of the walls that led to the entrance of what appeared to be stables. A loud clearing of the throat from Moroes urged Khadgar to hurry his pace. They passed through a crafted stone archway; Khadgar's boots thumped heavily against marble stairs that led to a ballroom. 

“Master Medivh is up in his study, we’ll be taking the servants’ shortcuts to get there in quicker time.” Moroes explained as he looked over his shoulder to Khadgar. “So please try to keep up, the last thing you’d want is to get lost here.” 

“Yes, sir!” Khadgar said while walking faster. 

Keeping up with Moroes was easier said than done. As soon as the pair slipped into the servants’ passageways the Castellan moved at a brisk pace. Khadgar was surprised such a lanky looking man could move so gracefully. The man glided across the floor like a specter, his movements fluid and soundless. 

The servants’ passages were hidden and had no windows. After all, nobody wanted to see servants; perhaps nobody wanted to see the young mage either. The walls around them were winding and terribly narrow, claustrophobic. Khadgar followed Moroes around corners and up and down stairs. The layout of the passageways made no sense; it shouldn’t have been possible. It left Khadgar feeling disoriented. At one point he lost sight of the lanky man. Khadgar’s gut twisted in a panic until he spied the flick of a coattail from around a corner. With a sprint, he desperately tried to catch up. It almost seemed the Castellan was secretly trying to lose him. To leave the young mage lost and left to wander in a maze until his death. 

The horrifying thought was cut short when Khadgar rammed into Moroes’ back. He stumbled back a bit and saw the Castellan was waiting for him next to a door. 

Moroes dusted himself off before opening the door. “This way.” 

Khadgar hurried out of the passageway and was greeted by the sight of a balcony. He walked towards the railing and his eyes grew wide at the sight of an incredible library down below. Its size shouldn’t have been possible yet there it was. There were different levels with walls lined with bookshelves. Large tapestries that hung between windows emblazoned with fantastic beasts and mythic figures. The floors were decorated with an elegant pattern of star-like shapes and circles. Looking up Khadgar saw more balconies and bridges that led to a number of rooms and different sections. He felt a strong urge to go see what was up there but he had to reign his curiosity in, he needed to focus. 

Moroes led Khadgar to another, more discreet door, opened it and allowed the young mage inside. “This is Master Medivh’s personal study, pardon the mess.” 

The study had two levels to it, an upper level that had a display of a number of planets that surrounded a gigantic, moving astrolabe. Khadgar stared at it in awe before his gaze moved upward to thousands of small, glittering lights that floated above the display. His jaw fell slack when he realized that it was a map of the stars. Khadgar had never seen anything like it in Dalaran, not even in the Violet Citadel. 

“Close your mouth, you’re not a codfish.” Moroes chided while continuing ahead. 

Khadgar followed Moroes down into the lower level of the study. It certainly looked much more ‘lived in’ compared to the upper level. While still beautiful with the continued motif stars and planets it was much less tidy. The young mage noticed various books stacked about on tables, shelves, and even the floor. Khadgar’s keen eye caught some of the titles. While there were texts on magic and science, they were mixed in with fiction books. He recognized titles of adventure novels, dramas, romance and...erotica. There was a shameless collection of smutty books that were kept together in their own little area of the study. 

“An...avid reader, I take it?” Khadgar asked before he looked at Moroes, not wanting to lose the man. 

“Yes, of various things.” Moroes said as he continued to lead the boy through the room. 

There were other details stood out to Khadgar. On one table was a chess set, next to it were playing cards, dice and hearthstone board that was left half open. There was a large, comfortable looking couch that obviously served as a bed. On it rested a plush animal, some sort of black bird. It looked soft, large enough that it could serve as a pillow, and well loved. An item of comfort from a time when life was much more simple. Khadgar had a favorite plush when he was a child as well. Though his was taken from him when his caregivers thought him too old to have such things. 

“Over here, young man.” Moroes stood before a large wooden door, he beckoned Khadgar over before turning to face it. “This door leads to the Master’s lab, he’s shut himself in here all evening.” 

Khadgar noticed that there were effigies of ravens carved into the door. Their eyes, that looked almost a little too real, felt like they were locked onto him. 

Moroes reached for the door’s latch but suddenly paused. His brow knit together in a small frown as he looked at it suspiciously. Raising his hand, Moroes pressed the back of his hand against the door. “Stand back...” 

“What? Why?” Khadgar asked as he took a few steps away. 

Moroes didn’t answer, instead he pulled a large handkerchief from his breast pocket and wrapped it around his hand. He took hold of the door’s handle and carefully pulled it open. From within the lab came the roar of flames and a wave of intense heat that made Khadgar reel back. 

It was like the door led straight into a dragon’s den. Khadgar threw his arm up to protect his eyes. The light within the room burned like hellfire, angry and ruthless. If he squinted, Khadgar could make out the silhouette of a man within the room. He blinked and winced at how his eyes ached, who could bare being in such heat? 

The flames from within the room started to die down. The cool air from the rest of the study was a much-needed relief. After a few blinks, Khadgar could finally see the man in the lab clearly. They were tall, dressed in a loose-fitting shirt, a pair of trousers, and oddly no shoes on his feet. Their long, raven hair was tied back into a messy tail and a pair of work goggles shielded his eyes. 

But what made Khadgar nervous was the fact the strange man was wielding a lit welding torch. It’s flame burned so bright that it hurt one’s eyes to look at it directly. The magical energy that radiated from it made Khadgar suspect that the tool was meant to imitate a dragon’s fire. 

The torch-wielding man looked up at the clockwork golem. “Curator, how are you holding up? Didn’t fry anything too badly, did I?” 

“Checking systems...” the golem spoke, much to Khadgar’s surprise. Its gears turned and the runes carved in its metal frame glowed dimly. “Language circuits received minor heat damage. Speech functions are still operational. However, the wrong blueberries may get used from time to butterscotch.” 

After the heat died down Moroes walked into the study, motioning for the fledgling mage to follow. With a loud 'hurrumph' he caught the man’s attention. Moroes then spoke in a stern, commanding tone that made Khadgar jump. “Master Medivh, you have a guest!” 

“Huh?” Medivh looked at them, his head canting in a bird-like way. “Oh!”

The magus set the blowtorch aside on a worktable. A number of burns and stains of dirt and sweat marred his clothing, it all smelled of oil and metal. Khadgar noticed that aside from the goggles and gloves, Medivh wasn’t wearing much else for protection at all. 

“None too scorched I hope...” Medivh pushed up his work goggles to rest atop his head. His eyes were forest green, dark circles under them was the telltale sign that the magus was lacking sleep. Yet his eyes still held a certain shine in them that contrasted to the rest of Medivh’s dirty face. 

“Not as bad as your gloves.” Moroes said while resting his hands on his hips. “Speaking of which, one of them is on fire.” 

“What?” Medivh looked at his work gloves and sure enough one of them had caught fire. Startled, the magus gasped before pulling the glove off and throwing it to the ground. “Gah! Damn it! You’d think ‘flame-resistant gloves’ would do as the name implies and actually resist flames!” 

The golem, or ‘curator’ as Medivh called it, moved its arm in a convulsive motion and pointed it at the magus. With a loud ‘clang’ a nozzle popped out of a compartment in its wrist. “Fire threat detected. Extinguishing.” 

Medivh looked at the curator and threw up his hands in a poor attempt to shield himself. “Wait, stop! No! No! N--” 

Lines on the curator’s frame began to glow. Much like a mage, it gathered moisture from the air, converted it into water and sprayed its master. The fire was put out but Medivh had been thrown right off his feet. 

“The fire has been extinguished.” the curator announced, sounding rather pleased with itself. “Master Medivh is safe.” 

Medivh was sprawled out on the floor. With an effort he sat himself up and coughed, spitting up some water. “Yes, you saved me.” Medivh said before coughing once more. “You’ve earned yourself a rest, take a nap Curator.” 

“Understood, entering ‘sleep mode’. Goodnight.” the curator announced. It slumped forward before its gears stopped turning and became little more than a clockwork statue. 

“Shall I go fetch Doc?” Moroes asked. 

“No, no, I’m fine. All that’s hurt is my pride.” Medivh said with a raised hand to wave the offer off. Carefully, he climbed back onto his feet and looked down at his soaked clothing. “A towel would be nice though.” 

“That and some dry clothes.” Moroes added before marching towards a wardrobe. “You’ll catch your death gallivanting around like that.” 

“Yes, yes, Mother Hen.” Medivh rolled his eyes before taking hold of his long, dark hair and wrung out the water. Without another word, he begun to undress, not caring that a stranger was in the room watching him. 

Khadgar stood flabbergasted, his mouth agape while his face flushed at the boldness of this strange man. His eyes couldn’t look away while the magus shed his clothing, acting like the fledgling mage didn’t even exist. Khadgar's mind scrambled to put together the puzzle set before him. There was no way this was Medivh Aran. There had to be a mistake. Perhaps a large, elaborate joke at Khadgar's expense. This man was far too disorderly to command such respect from his fellow magi. 

Moroes returned with a towel and fresh set of clothes for his master. He glanced at Khadgar and saw the boy was gawking. With a roll of his eyes, Moroes reached over and gently lifted the boy’s chin and closed his mouth. “What did I tell you earlier? Stop impersonating a fish.” 

Medivh sauntered towards the pair. The young mage could feel himself being picked apart as the magus quietly studied him. His eyes came to an abrupt halt at the thick, white stripe in the boy’s hair. “Is that some sort of fashion trend?” 

Khadgar���s face flushed red before he covered the streak of white with his hand. Being teased for having a ‘skunk’s stripe’ since childhood had made him embarrassed about it. “No, sir.” 

“Who are you?” Medivh sniffed and wiped his nose before taking the towel Moroes offered him. He took a moment to wipe the oil and dirt from his face before drying himself off. 

“My name’s Khadgar, sir...” Khadgar spoke up. His eyes started to trail down the older mage’s body. 

If he had to guess, Medivh had to be in his early to mid-thirties which was young by mage standards. It was strange that the Kirin Tor would be so insistent that someone Medivh's age should take an apprentice. Khadgar couldn't stop himself from continuing to study the older man's body. Dare he think it, the magus wasn't unpleasant to look at. He couldn't deny that Medivh was attractive but what stood out the most was that his skin was marred with numerous scars. Some were old and fading while others looked much newer and eerily fresh. Many of them had a certain viciousness that couldn't have been from backfiring experiments. 

"Battle scars...?" Khadgar muttered to himself. His gaze continued to move even lower before his face flushed hotly as it blushed red. He immediately forced himself to look away. 

“And what business do you have with me?” Medivh asked while starting to redress himself. The young mage then shoved the letter of introduction at him almost hitting the magus in the chest. The wax seal of the violet eye stared back at Medivh, almost tauntingly so. A look of disgust spread across his face as if the boy just handed him a cockroach. 

“My name is Khadgar I’ve-” 

“Been sent by the Kirin Tor.” Medivh finished for him in a blunt drawl. Without another word, he plucked the envelope from Khadgar’s hand and walked towards the study’s fireplace. He gave the envelope a brief look before tossing it into the hungry flames. 

Khadgar made a loud, strangled whine that caught Medivh and Moroes off guard. The two watched as the boy turned deathly pale as his future went up in smoke. Lab equipment that sat on a nearby worktable began to rattle violently. One of the glass beakers was knocked off of it by an unseen force and shattered when it hit the ground. 

Medivh looked at the broken glass on the floor, then to the shattered window of his lab. He frowned as he quietly contemplated something before turning to face Moroes. “Is the boy ill?” 

“Perhaps worn out.” the Castellan said with a slight shrug. “We took some shortcuts and it may have left him a tad winded.” 

“Th-the letter!” Khadgar finally managed to form words. 

“What of it?” Medivh asked, his tone cold. “Oh, wait, let me guess what it says!” he cleared his throat before speaking gracefully but laced with sarcasm. “‘Great Magus Medivh, Lord of Karazhan, we send you greetings from the Kirin Tor, the magical authority of Dalaran, the adviser to kings, protectors, preservers, and teachers of the magical arts…blah, blah, blah, you get the gist, right? They always fluff up their own importance before getting to what they want.” 

“I-I wouldn’t know, I was told not to read it.” Khadgar said. 

“But you did, didn’t you?” Medivh challenged him, his eyes took on a slight glow. He looked dangerous, like a cat about to toy with a mouse. “Granted, I would too if I was sent all the way out here from Lordaeron,” Medivh smirked. “I’ll admit that you’re clever, I almost missed that the seal was tampered with.” 

Khadgar swallowed. “How did you know what it said though?” 

“Magic, of course!” Medivh said as a wolf-like grin flashed across his face. “As soon as I touched it the words just flowed into my brain.” 

“...Really?” Khadgar asked, a little uncertain. 

“Of course not, that’s just silly!” Medivh said before laughing. “No, the fact is, you’re not the first one the Kirin Tor has sent to me. I’ve read that damned letter plenty of times already.” 

Khadgar’s hand pressed against his stomach when he felt it twist, he felt sick. “H-how...How many have they sent…?” 

“Hmm, let’s see, you are...” Medivh made a show of looking thoughtful. “Oh my, you’re lucky number thirteen, fancy that!” 

Khadgar’s heart grew heavy and began to sink like a stone. He had no illusions that his sudden assignment was for his accomplishments as a student. But this felt cruel. “Th-thirteen…?” 

“Yes, so to commemorate the occasion we’ll avoid all the hassle your predecessors went through.” Medivh said as though it were a benevolent act. “I’m not ready to take on an apprentice and I want your masters to stop harassing me.” 

“N-no, wait, I-I…Y-you don't understand!” the words tumbled from Khadgar’s mouth as panic washed over him like a tidal wave. “Sir, please! I don’t have any means of going back!” 

“If you wasted your funds like an idiot, that’s your problem, not mine.” Medivh said while waving a hand, like shooing the issue away like a pesky fly. 

“I didn’t waste anything! I was barely given enough to get here!” Khadgar snapped, he felt power behind his words and a short gust of wind. He tried to reign himself in immediately but saw the wind had blown against the magus. 

Khadgar may as well had made an offending gesture at Medivh. The older mage glared at him, his green eyes became venomous. He called arcane power to one of his hands forming a crackling ball of violet light in his palm. Khadgar backed away but before the magus could throw it at him Moroes stepped in his path. 

“Medivh, calm yourself.” the Castellan drawled in a stern tone. He acted as though he weren’t in the way of a deadly spell. Perhaps he simply didn’t care, it was hard to tell since Moroes’ face was an aloof mask. He stood his ground and didn't flinch while Medivh scrambled to stop himself from striking the servant. “Are you really going to drench your hands with the blood of a child?” 

“It doesn’t help that the so-called 'child' is walking powder keg!” Medivh snapped while glaring at Moroes. Regardless, the Castellan stood firm and unfazed, he simply gave a firm stare of his own. A look that was reminiscent of a parent when they scolded an ornery brat. A silent minute passed before Medivh's eyes finally softened, his gaze shifted back to Khadgar. “You have a hard time controlling your emotions, don’t you?” 

Khadgar swallowed and broke eye contact. “...S-sometimes, sir. But I'm-” 

“And that can make for volatile magic." Medivh interrupted him. "Quite dangerous to yourself and others should you never learn to control yourself.” He crossed his arms over his chest and looked cautiously curious. “Is that why they sent you to me? They thought I’d take you on as a challenge or something?” 

Khadgar huffed out an irritated sigh. “Maybe you would have known if you hadn’t burned the letter.” 

Medivh gave a befuddled blink. He looked like someone had slapped him in the face. Both mages caught the sound of a loud snort that escaped Moroes before he turned away from them. Khadgar noticed the servant trembling, he could have sworn he heard a small, stifled laugh. 

“I...I-I...Well, that’s!...Th-the letter...” Medivh’s retort died into silence. He eyed the fireplace while trying to think of an argument. A moment passed before the corner of Magus’ mouth twitched and formed into an amused smirk. “Huh, well I’ll be damned, you actually got me!" He broke out into a hearty laugh. It echoed throughout his lab and lifted the heavy tension with it like it were a mere feather. "You have a little bite to you! I admit it, I like that.” 

Khadgar felt a small swell of satisfaction in his chest, as petty as it might have been. 

Medivh's eyes searched the boy, looking for something Khadgar couldn't quite comprehend. Perhaps it was dishonesty. If that was the case then he had nothing to hide. “So, you claim the Kirin Tor have done you a huge disservice?” 

Khadgar blinked at the question, his hands began to fidget a little. “Well, surely it wasn’t on purpos-” 

“They said nothing of their other twelve attempts to push their people onto me.” Medivh interrupted him. “Furthermore, they sent you all the way to Stormwind with barely enough funds to get here. Is that correct?” He then snapped his fingers in rapid succession. “Come on, be quicker than that, a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ will do.” 

“Y-yes, sir!” Khadgar answered abruptly. 

“These are serious accusations, boy.” Medivh said. His tone then shifted, sounding almost sympathetic. “Yet not all that surprising. You’re certainly the youngest they've sent to me. I wonder, what did you do that got under their skin?” 

“I...I don’t want to talk about that...” Khadgar said, looking away from the magus. 

“No need to then.” Medivh said while giving a small shrug. “But I suppose Moroes has a point. I'd rather not have your blood on my hands. Turning you away would be like killing you myself." Medivh lightly tapped his cheek with a finger and looked thoughtful. "I’m feeling a little generous today.” 

Khadgar looked up at Medivh hopefully. “Sir…?” 

“You could stay as one of the tower’s staff for a little while.” Medivh suggested. “Until you’ve earned enough money to safely return to Dalaran. That’s my offer to you, take it or leave it.” 

Khadgar chewed on his lower lip, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I’ll take it, sir.” 

Medivh's eyes shined with mischief, their green color reminded Khadgar of poison. "Welcome to Karazhan." 

-o-o-End of Chapter 1-o-o-

I hope you enjoyed reading. If you’re interested in checking out the rest of the fic, it can be found here on AO3:

A Twist of Fate

[hcark]

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝟎𝟎𝟑 — 𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐙 𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐙 .

High is the grand sky's blazing eye, bringing light unto everything that toils below. Beautiful and picturesque it may be — he fucking hated it. Not a single cloud dotted the stretch of blue, so he's left sweating from both nature and so called nurture. Those that eagerly occupy the surrounding stands are all a bunch of twits. People and shades of all sorts, from all regions, have come here ( of all places ) to watch some glorified combat shit? Count him the fuck out.

No, seriously, count him out.

Please, he's nearly begging to slink out of public view and back into the shadows. There's a reason why he lurks in the gloomy nook of the Wildwoods, and it wasn't solely to avoid UV damage.

"Well, well, well." A brusque voice drawls, efficiently snapping Jebidiah back to the unfortunate situation at hand. "Never thought I'd ever get the chance to give your royal arseness a piece of my mind."

Recognition immediately sets in once his eyes slide back into focus. "Norbert, you singlehandedly bust the fuck outta the suggestion box before your stay's even up. Every single fuckin' time. Honestly thought you'd run outta shit to say, but nah— you got a landfill of horseshit to spew, don't'cha? Gonna flood the sewage and waste folk outta space if you keep at it."

A vein bulges from the middle of that awful sevenhead before Jebidiah's even finished. "The hell you know about business?" The man accuses, none too softly as a meaty finger's jabbed across the field. "Place's falling apart and the service's always fucking diabolical—"

"Then why do I keep seein' your sorry ass there, huh? Fuckin' get gone, you craggy sack of shi—" The man's flying towards him in a fit of rage. To which he doesn't find blame for. Not his fault the dimwit's got such a fragile ego, but none of that matters. What matters is the quickest way for him to get out of this stupid shit.

Which would've been a whole lot easier if this pissant wasn't intent on bashing his fucking skull in.

He's not sure where all the bits of metal come from. Seriously, the guy was exclusively wearing a tunic and trousers. No cool jacket with a million pockets or bag of holding-too-damn-much-shit. Norbert simply transforms into a metal plated goliath in a blink of an eye. Which means the direct blow to his ribs really fucking hurts.

The wind's knocked from him clean as he's sent sailing backwards. Whatever war cry the shitheel bellows hardly trumps the ringing that consumes his ears. By the time his body skids, the whole damn ground's shaking. Giant metalclad feet thunder in a frenzy to close the distance. And as much as he'd like to just lay here and tap out at ten seconds.. Something's telling him pissbaby Norbert won't fucking let him. So he tries his damndest to suck in whatever air he can. Somehow amp up the will to survive just as a patchwork foot shadows over him and stomps.

A roar of applause takes air as the metallic transformer opponent tramples the same spot twice more. Each time more victorious than the last. The fourth attempt was soaring back down with the foot's suddenly halted mere inches from the indented floor. Shocked and confused, Norbert tries to push down with all his might until a gasp interjects. Whatever was halting the stomp pushes back — shoves with enough force to offset the metal colossus' balance completely. Backwards the giant falls, crashing to the ground hard enough that tremors rattle the nearest seats.

"Why's it.. when I wanna be left the fuck alone— it's dipshits like you that fuckin' interfere?" A voice, one much deafening and guttural, shouts from earthen cavity. Two claw tipped hands grip the edge. Then three. Then four. Out Jebidiah emerges, transformed due to sheer self-preservation. Two ghastly horns, four wiry arms, and a pair of molten orange wings unfurl as he stands half slouched. Chest heaving out of exertion and growing rage.

"Just leave me the bloody fuck alone—" His body torpedoes forward in an instant. Doesn't matter if Norbert's almost on two feet again. Jebidiah latches onto the head, hellbent on tearing the metal plates apart. And he does. Even as hands grab at him, he makes enough leeway to see that chucklefuck's terrified face. There's no last word. No villainous monologue before an inferno shoots forth from his maw.

The shriek that ensues melds with the crumble of metal. They drop among the debris. One still lit aflame and the other cocooned in wings. Both continue move upon landing. Norbert squirms to extinguish the fire, and Jebidiah merely stands to watch. "Put yourself out n' stay down if you know what's good for you."

And to that fucker's credit, he fucking listened.

[grigori77]

Critical Role Campaign 3 Episode 35

Oh dear ... Sam, please have mercy upon us. This robot skit is BAD. But in a good way ... wait ... Marisha is beat boxing? Really? And now they've BROKEN TRAVIS ... Marisha: "You suck Adverbot!!" Yes. Yes he does ...

Meanwhile, does this mean Sam's gonna be GOLD for the rest of the episode? Like that time he did that Blue Man Group skit?

Liam: "Let's go to the pumpkin patch to watch Laudna rise!"

And then the episode starts proper and MARISHA'S GONE AGAIN!!! NOOOOOOO!!!

No direction, let's just get the flock outta here ...

Travis: "The person who takes really good notes isn't here any more." Thanks for reminding us, Travis!

Treshi: "I can get you gold." Imogen: "Fuck your gold." FCG: "Wait, how much?"

He offers them 10,000 in gold, platinum and silver. Fearne: "Well that's not very much."

Wow ... Taliesin gets first roll of the night and THAT IS ABYSSMAL, isn't it?

Laudna IS NOT CARGO!!!

Imogen trawls Treshi's mind ... oof, this really doesn't give us much to go on, does it? Oh, hold on ... shit, that was a bust too. Gah! So basically Treshi was just a STOOGE!!! Damn it ...

Perpetually and professionally confused ...

Oh, the orb ... it's dark. Technically that's a GOOD THING.

I love that we're just calling it "red moon shit" now. I think that's what it should be called all the time now.

Seriously, why is he still being so full of himself? He's completely useless now.

Mould storage? Sounds good. XD Yeah, that's more like it. Have fun getting the black lung, Treshi!

Ashton: "But everything arouses you these days." Chetney: "Well that's just an old age thing ... yeah, that's the dnd of that thought."

It's true, all of this is SHIT if they can't save Laudna ...

Laudna's already undead ... so if they undead her undeadness, that's gonna make her ALIVE?

Ashton was DEAD dead?

Seriously? Imogen, you wanna stay as far away from THAT crazy evil bitch as possible ...

Yeah, Whitestone. Go there.

Ah yeah, the Briarwood Saga gets a loredump from Orym. Sweet.

You see, this is the problem. Until they get back to Jrusar everything else is academic. They're basically stuck in a holding pattern ...

Gods, I hate this right now, this is agony.

Yeah, I think Imogen just needs some company at night right now ...

Messages, messages.

Here we go ... calling The Voice of The Tempest. Oh man ... this one starts to break Imogen ...

KEYLETH!!! "Pick a tree." OH SHIT!!!

Chetney: "Whoa! That is the best use of wood I've ever heard of!" I swear Chetney's at full salute right now ...

Wait, does this mean that Hexum is in on the plot too? Imogen: "Is EVERYONE evil?"

Okay ... message to Jianna Hexum ... "Sweet little metal boy ..." XD

Imogen: "Thanks for wasting our spell, bitch."

Yeah, she's totally gonna want FCG. There's no two ways about it.

Ashton is PRICKLY about this shit. He really loves his little metal man.

Laura: (gasps) You have a Shared Dream spell?!!"

Travis: "That's some Teen Wolf shit."

Imogen sleeps in the hole with Laudna's body. With it open, of course.

"On the second day of travel ..."

Shit. Sandstorm ... looks like a BITCH, too ...

Skill check? This doesn't sound good ...

Ashton Rages to hold onto the rope ... and Taliesin rolls an 8. Shit! They've lost a sail!

Chetney: "OLD MAN STRENGTH!!!" Travis: "I get in thereand let my sweet pythons go to work." 21! Nice!

FCG helps Xandis stay super focused with Enhance Ability.

Chetney: "That's a hard deck!" But this low down it's not so fucken wimdy ...

Whoa ... seriously, are they using the wind to DRIFT THE SKYSHIP LIKE A TOKYO RICE ROCKET?!!!

Fearne: "Wait, why's everybody looking at ME to do something?"

Sam: "Guys, this search for spells is sponsored by D&D Beyond."

Matt: "That's the second failure." General gasps. Ashley: " I knew it!"

Oh fuck! Xandis: "I don't got it!" They've lost a sail, they are in CHAOS!!! Are they gonna crash?

Ah ... turns out Plant Growth is useless in this situation ... but the broken deck does turn into a beautiful garden before it whips off into the storm.

Hold on, guys! Oh fuck! FCG is GONE!!! Just vanished!

26 points of bludgeoning damage on impact!

TWO natural 1s? Snake Eyes?

Oh fuck ... Ashton is ALONE on the ship with the rest of the crew as they emerge ...

Everybody else takes 36 POINTS OF BLUDGEONING DAMAGE!!!

And now they're all scattered wherever when the storm clears. Fuck ...

My gods Xandis is SO Dutch right now ... Matt, are you doing that on purpose?

Travis: "Are there any HOLES around any of us right now?"

Fearne starts screaming ... then uses her Pan Flute to try and guide the others to her.

FCG'S rolling his way through the fresh dust like R2D2 ...

Oh ... Fearne is SINKING. Mirthful Leap? Somehow that actually works ... wow. Whoa! That was a CREATURE?!!! Fuck ...

Fearne is walking weird ... oh, she's trying to do the Arrakis sand dance so she doesn't walk with rhythm! Is that actually necessary right now?

FCG has to follow her tracks to keep from GETTING EATEN!!! And it doesn't make any real difference. I KNEW IT!!!

Imogen casts Fly on FCG and scoops him up.

The Silver Sun is coming ... RUN!!!

Bait and Switch - Orym saves Fearne by kicking her in the back? Okay ...

Oh dear ... Fearne's out but Orym is now IN THE PIT with a scary sandworm thingy ...

Yuck ... this thing is NASTY. Travis is NOT HAPPY. I swear Matt does that on purpose just to mess with him.

Imogen's gonna try a Superman rescue ... but Orym's shield is WEDGED in its maw. Oh shit ... she tries to shout an order to it go release and it doesn't work. Telekinesis instead, then ... 18! Yes! They're free!

FCG has a ROTOR BLADE ATTACHMENT?!!! Matt: (laughing with incredulity) "That's right!"

Chetney gets scooped up like Jamie Lee Curtis in True Lies. Cue girly screaming.

Thank fuck THAT'S over ...

They need to repair the ship ... Chetney's time has come! Look at all that damage for him to mend ...

Oh shit ... is Treshi dead? Oh thank fuck ... he's just unconscious ...

Time for a break. Just in time, looks like. Everybody is BATTERED.

So Laura screwed up her math and thought she was weaker than she is ...

Damn it Matt, stop cranking up the tension like that. Oh ... you mean there's ANOTHER STORM BEHIND THEM?!!! AAAAAARGH!!!

Oh no, turns out that's a GOID THING!!! Tailwind! Nice! Shave off a whole day of travel!

Laura's offended by the crumbs on Sam's notebook. Which are actually bits of nail polish he's been picking off. Which is WAY worse.

The rest of the journey is uneventful ... thank the gods ... they return to the docks without further incident. Xandis rightly wants them politely GONE.

Second airship ... is that anything in particular? Doesn't seem so ... yeah, I REALLY don't trust you right now, Matt.

Treshi is NOT a happy camper. Which is a bonus. Back in the hole, bitch.

Awwwww ... Orym gives the spyglass that Fearne stole from Xandis back. That's so sweet.

Is Xandis naturally ridiculous or is it a cunning ruse? Either way is fun.

Wait ... is FCG looking out for that one particular bastard seagull?

The Herald's Breath ...

Farewell, Captain Xandis, we love you, you ridiculous little dude.

I love that little in-character groan from Laura at the mention of the gondolas ...

Ah ... okay, watching FCG trying to get his coin back from our resident klepto Fearne is peak comedy.

FCG tries to get to the root of WHY Fearne does that ... it excites her, clearly. Is he actually seriously offering her THERAPY for that, right now?

Ashton: "Something is being learned by someone and I honestly have no idea by whom. "

I think you're being awfully optimistic, there's no way Otohan is dead.

Orym's head's on a swivel as always ...

Back to Eshteross' place ... knock knock ... the door unlocks on its own. That can't be good ...

Imogen sends to Eshteross ... phew. He's okay, he's just being SUPER PARANOID. Damn, they almost just walked into a boobytrapped house of DEATH ...

Fuck, he's REALLY gone overboard with the traps, hasn't he?

Ashton gives Eshteross a present ... by emptying out the hole with a flourish.

So ... anonymity or money ... which is better right now?

Maniah Terai ... OH!!! She's overseer of treescapes? THAT might be helpful right now. I mean couldn't she at least point them to a nice fat tree for Keyleth to walk through?

Ooooh ... bonuses ... that looks like a SHIT TON of platinum.

Okay ... another message to Keyleth, then. Imogen's making this sound SO desperate, too ...

Keyleth's still busy ... shit ...

Imogen: "She's not so righteous that she might turn us away?" Orym: "No. No."

Oh yeah, reckon Eshteross' house is the safest place for Laudna's body right now.

Sam, WHAT THE FUCK Re you doing with your flask THIS TIME?!!! C'mon, man!

Okay, so they're just telling Eshteross EVERYTHING then. Including the Residuum and the Cerberus Assembly ...

And now he's as worried as they are, clearly ...

Imogen: "I think all of us are in too deep to pull out now." Everybody slowly realises just what Laura actually just said and they start laughing. Cue Beavis and Butthead impressions and puerile laughter. Matt tries to carry on but he just loses it ... she has COMPLETELY derailed the episode. Was that by accident or intentional, Laura?

Oh no ... stale gingersnaps are no fun ... OH!!! Yeah, for Laudna! Yeah, that's a sweet idea. Eshteross is a baking sugar daddy and we love him for it. XD

Oh! Greater Potion of Healing! Sweet! Liam: "This dude's hoise is John Wick'd OUT!!!" Travis: "Trade-off is he can never find his TV remote."

Oh no ... Laudna's Vial of Blood has turned into a vial-full if ASH?!!! Gods ... I really didn't need THAT pain right now ...

Lead box into FCG's mouth? Really? He won't just digest it?

Dealing out the potions ...

Off to the Chandei Chambers, then ... is it Orlana or Alana Seshadri?

Imogen: (into guards head) "We have her bounty." Guard: "Come this way." Travis: "Nice!"

Wow, she just wants it right there, then ... okay. Ashton almost just dumps it all out right on the spot.

Information exchange, then ... the whole info dump? Nope, tit for tat ...

Ah yeah, Artana ... never mind, kid ...

The Nightmare King, then ... so she knows who Ira is. Not good. And then the Paragon's Call. Yeah, drop THAT name ...

Fearne does an insight check ... oh, 13? This is a politician, guys.

So, the Paragon's Call. Oh, so THEY'RE out now that Treshi's been found out. Okay, dodged THAT bullet at least.

Ashton has the crate with him ... so HE gets the Perry Mason moment instead of Chetney.

The Cerberus Assembly doesn't quite convince, it seems. They need proof for THAT ONE then. But otherwise ...

Okay, she's just walking off ... is this not a good thing, then? They're all getting paranoid, and I'm with them ...

Okay, payment ... but no favour. Yeah, that's about right.

Fearne: "Are you excited for the Apogee Solstice?" Seshadri: "I am not sure what that is." Ashley: "Insight check!" Everybody else: "Ooooooh!"

Chetney made a Bells Hells logo. Ashton takes exception and DEFINITELY wants final approval for THAT.

Wow ... 12,000 GP? Fucking hell ...

Wow, it IS getting late.

Meanwhile once again Laura's channeling Vex again as she divies up the coinage ...

Okay, NOW what? Taliesin: "Where's somewhere somebody could get in a lot of trouble attacking somebody in?"

Spire By Fire! Yay!

So Imogen and FCG are gonna go looking around in Ashton's head, then ... yeah, nothing could POSSIBLY go wrong with THAT plan ...

Holy fuck ... so Ashton basically died by stepping on a magic landmine? Ouch.

This whole death experience sequence is pretty much pure nightmare fuel ...

Oof ... Ashton's brain as a galactic representation of MEMORY? That's fucking trippy ...

Oh dear, is Imogen getting too deep into this? Shit, it looks like she IS. She's lost in Ashton's memory galaxy ...

Wait ... now FCG's trapped in there too? Fuck ...

They're trapped on opposite sides of the crystal prison ... Sam: "It's like Kirk and Spock!"

Sam: "I will cast Command on Ashton." Matt: "You need to SEE the subject of your Command." Sam: "Can I cast it on myself?" Matt: "You are an Ashton-based construct right now." Travis: (laughing) "Oh shit!"

This shit is starting to get dangerously psychedelic right now ... Travis' mind is being BLOWN right now. ALL of our minds are being blown ...

"There is strength, but there is pain. There is pain, but there is strength."

So Ashton is gonna try and punch himself in the head and rage ... yeah, this sounds like a truly IDIOTIC plan ... epic fail. This is NOT WORKING.

Wait ... did they just bust out? That was crazy. I mean that was A BLOODY MESS ...

Hahaha ... are they seriously saying that Ashton is the Universe Brain Man? That's fucken wild.

Ashton: "I thought maybe it wasn't just random fucking chaos but it is very much just random fucking chaos."

Whoa ... does that mean Ashton was once HUMAN?

So basically Ashton's brain is a psychic bear trap. Ashton: "I can respect that."

This whole group is a whole big mess of crazy backstory craziness. Except for Orym. Which is about right.

The night passes without incident. Now what?

Time go find a tree.

Imogen's casting a Sending spell ... on Delilah Briarwood. Fuck's sake, Imogen ...

She's dying. And she's taking Laudna with her ...

Okay ... going to wherever Keyleth is. That's the smart move.

Wow ... this place is GORGEOUS. The Bodhan Collective. Here we go ...

Okay, Terai seems like a completely fascinating individual. Quite adorable in fact.

Another message to Keyleth. This is getting complicated ... is she coming to them or are they going to her?

Oh shit! The tree portal thingy! Okay ... OH MY GOD!!! KEYLETH OF THE AIR ASHARI!!! THE VOICE OF THE TEMPEST!!! SHE'S HERE!!!

Whoa ... okay, she's still the same old Keyleth, then. That's adorable. I can't stop grinning like an idiot ...

Okay ... so are they all going with her to Whitestone? Really?

They rush through the archway ... and THAT'S the end of the episode.

So ... wait ... hey, that's cool ... could they maybe let MARISHA be Keyleth in this next episode? That would be so cool for her AND for us ...

[mxdragonica]

I've got a character rattling around my head at rapid speeds, so I'mma talk about 'em. Heroforges will be at the end.

Introducing: Risha, the Hadozee warlock of an Efreet. This flying monkey is a pyromanic gambler who got her deal because her patron liked the cut of her jib. Risha was a wizard's apprentice, in theory anyway. The wizard wasn't interested in actually teaching anyone anything, so used Risha as a glorified errand girl, and thus, quickly got a high score on her shit list.

Cut to sometime later, the wizard has sealed a Noble Efreet in an iron bottle. Whatever plans he had for this powerful extra-planar being are about as important to this story as they are fruitful, which is to say, not. Risha, once her 'mentor' had left the tower to get off his ass and do something himself, slips into his lab, and promptly pops the cork. Having been told very much not to, she figured there'd be something in there to help her get some revenge.

So, the Efreet comes out, and before he can actually get into any kind of spiel or theatrics, Risha asks this:

"What do I need to do to get you to melt this tower into slag?"

Now, this understandable takes the wind outta the sails of any tirade this guy would've gone on, and instead he strikes a deal. Not every day a scorned apprentice releases a powerful elemental of fire and dubious morals to destroy their captor's house after all.

So, Risha gets to collect a few things, including the iron bottle the Efreet was sealed in, now with brass filigree added on as it will be her spell focus, and the material symbol of their deal. Then, once outside, the Efreet melts the stone tower to magmatic sludge, and arms his new monkey friend with pyrotechnic spells.

Now, as well as being a fire mage that is often watched as entertainment by her patron (he just kinda wants to see what she's gonna do), Risha is, as I mentioned, a gambler.

She loves shiny things, and money. She's proficient with dice, and even has a loaded set. However much she's able to bend the rules in her favor though, there is another who does it just as well. And unlike the Efreet this character actually has a name.

Introducing: Mayja, Queen of Bones. She's a Loxodon, and has had a reputation in among gamblers and gambling houses alike for likely a good couple of decades longer than Risha has been at it, earning herself a title befitting of someone that is rumored to have seduced some god of dice, luck, or both.

Mayja and Risha have had an ongoing rivalry for about as long as they've known each other, potentially as long as they've known of each other.

I haven't got to use her in a campaign yet, and the ones I'm currently in she either wouldn't fit in setting wise, or probably wouldn't work with the party. Well, actually she could maybe fit into the Knights of the Road game, but it just wouldn't be the same, I don't think. She was made for 5e D&D after-all and Knights of the Road doesn't give you access to magic, iirc.

Honestly, after typing all this, I think i might work on Risha's patron a bit more, or at least give him a name.

Anyway, as promised, everyone's heroforges. I just kinda wish that HF had better monkey options, since they've even partnered with Fools Gold, and one of the player characters is an awakened monkey wild mage. Risha's wings aren't accurate either, since the options for flying squirrels are even more sparse.

I'm also most happy with Mayja's expression of all the character's I've made in HF, just because I was pretty much only needing to worry about the eyes, without the mouth making things weird, or needing to be accounted for.

Risha

The Efreet

And Mayja

[shawnjacksonsbs]

“A father is a man who expects his son to be as good a man as he meant to be.” —Frank A. Clark. 6-17-23

“It doesn’t matter who my father was; it matters who I remember he was.” —Anne Sexton

I found 3 very fitting quotes. Fitting for Father's Day, Fitting from me to my kids, Fitting from me to my dad who is gone, and Fitting for the poem I wrote in place of a regular entry this week.

I also do this cool thing in here where I get to do . . . whatever I want, so I used one of the quotes for the title. Not the first time, doubt it'll be the last either.

I'm not normally a poet, but this fell outta me and it felt right.

~I am an Eagle's son

Eagles push their young from the nest

It's the very definition of the word test

Time to mount up with wings like an eagle

And Majestic doesn't have to mean royal or regal

So much ignorance surrounded my first try for flight

Against the wind I flew with all my might

Let loose too early with not enough fear

And way later in life I shed my first tear

Flying like chaos, but never a man

Naive confidence had me crash land

I had to learn on my own all tattered and tore

And I may have found a better way to soar

In the end, there's no need to be fake

Recognizing that there are no mistakes

How better to correct the old ill-trained day

Than to fall with the pushed and show them the way.

And eliminating every single ounce of their doubt

Is what my life should truly be about

Because I, too, have Eagle sons

I'm also the grandson of some hawks, but that's a whole 'nother story... for a different time.

Here's the Happy Father's Day shout out to my son dads, my step dad, "father-in-laws", just all the dads out there, especially the ones in my life- trying to be good, decent fathers. The love I have for you all transcends the normal. . .I love you. We are connected differently men. Please don't ever forget that.

Who we are meant to be, doesn't mean nearly as much as who we really are now, like right now.

Even when it feels unfortunate, everything has happened the way it was supposed to, so if you feel a kinda way about it, do things differently in the now.

And remember that the littles in our lives need our love and our laughter every bit as much as we did when we were littles ourselves.

Also, show them what it looks like to be kind to others. "Attitudes are caught, not taught."

And lastly, I can't say this enough, if you got a dad of any kind fighting to stay, fighting to protect, fighting for you - be grateful.

Until next week;

“A father is neither an anchor to hold us back, nor a sail to take us there, but a guiding light whose love shows us the way.” —Unknown

[un-pearable]

see the problem with my ships is that game!sonic is a great representation of an ace character in my incredibly biased opinion and reflects a lot of my personal experiences with it and actually this is not a problem in any way literally everyone in his life is just incredibly important to him :)

[orange-waterfalls]

Thunderstorms

Captain Magnum x gn!reader

ask: Don't really know how this works I haven't been on here long enough but uh- if your still taking requests for Markipliers egos and stuff could you do a Captain Magnum x reader who has a huge phobia of thunderstorms and Magnum notices while there's a thunderstorm going on and comforts them :')? 

A/N: I wrote this during a thunderstorm so I could keep track of my movements when I got scared. That is my official excuse for how long this took. I missed Magnum so much. Nothing but respect for my Captain. I’ve been into pirates recently because of Our Flag Means Death streaming season 1 now on HBO Max. Also, my writing teacher has assigned us to write everyday but she never said what so expect extremely short bullshit posted more often. Maybe on Ao3. I don’t use tumblr anymore lmao.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Uh. Destiny 2 reference. Battleblock Theatre reference. Mention of. genitalia. yep. Fear of thunder.

--

In hindsight, you probably should have mentioned the extreme fear of thunder before you joined a pirate crew. On the sea. Where storms… happen. And they happen frequently. And strongly. And loudly.

You had no idea how they could do that. Stand out there. With the wind whipping the sails and waves throwing the boat the rain stinging their skin and the lightning striking anything it found and the fucking noise. The boom of the thunder. The explosions deep in the sky, a threat from the gods telling you mortals that you could die at any moment. It was fucking angry. Like Poseidon invited you to Olympus for dinner and you slapped him in the face.

Not that the crew cared. The crew was fucking joyous. The crew… the crew was fucking dancing, goddammit. You couldn’t tell them now. You couldn’t. It’d be the death of any respect they might’ve had for you. You were pretty sure you heard Magnum's booming voice yelling "COME ON! GIMME ALL YE GOT! YE DON'T HAVE THA BALLS". 

You couldn't tell them now. You couldn’t.

The door swung open, cracking the wall, and making you flinch. Magnum waltzed in with a laugh that reminded you of Lord Shaxx to a degree.

"Hoo, the waters be wild tonight, eh, mate?" He stomped into the room, hands on his hips. He looked around, but you weren't sitting in the room. His smile fell. "Mate? Where are ya?"

"In here." You called from the wall. A hole in the wall, moreso. A hide hole. Behind the mirror. It came with the ship, or so you were told. 

He bounded over and opened the mirror, leaning his head to the side to see. You were sitting on the floor, knees to your chest. He frowned.

"What're ye doin', child?" He asked. You shrugged in response. "Couldja get outta there?"

You shook your head.

"Why not?"

You shrugged.

"Alright then." He closed the mirror and you thought that was the last of it. At least until you heard the distinct sound of wood cracking and breaking and splintering, making you hit the deck for fear that the storm had just gotten that strong. 

You looked up once it stopped to see Magnum holding the mirror. The one attached to the wall. That was no longer attached to the wall. It was basically a door, honestly.

"... hi." He said. You blinked at him.

"Hi, Cap." You sighed. 

He looked around your cabin a moment before deciding to just set the mirror against the nearest wall. He then shuffled into the hide hole, needing to duck down quite a bit, and plopped down next to you with his legs resting high up on the wall.

"... what's tha matter?" He asked, softer than you were used to from him.

"There's no matter. Nothing's the matter. I'm fine." You rambled, avoiding his gaze. Your eyes flicked back to him, where he sat squinting at you, scrutinizing.

"Don't lie to me. I can see it in your eyes." He waved a finger at you. You looked back at him and tilted your head.

"Really?" You raised your eyebrows.

"No, but ya just admitted ya lied, so mission accomplished." He laughed. You scoffed.

"Oh, you're an asshole." You shook your head, but had a smile on your face.

"Oi! I may be an ass, but I am no asshole, y'understand?" He teased.

"10-4, good buddy." You nodded and stared at the wall in front of you.

"... what's tha matter?" He asked again.

"That mirror was stronger than I thought it'd be." You brought the conversation in a completely different direction. Magnum looked back at the new hole in the wall. He then looked at you, suspicious. 

"Fuckin' strong for some glass and wood." He agreed nonetheless. 

"I thought it'd shatter, but she's still intact. Fuckin… fuckin strong-ass storm, but she's intact… she's alright… for now…" 

Alright, maybe not completely different a direction.

"... what's tha matter?" He repeated for the third and final time.

"Nothing. I'm fine." You shook your head.

"You said." He quirked an eyebrow.

"Then why're you asking?"

"Cause I don't believe you."

"... right. Ok." You took a deep, calming breath, reminding yourself that your captain wasn't shallow. Well, actually, he was shallow. Extremely so. But he liked you. He was your friend. Maybe a little more, though you weren't sure whether it was further in the platonic direction or veered into romantic. You exhaled and turned to your captain. "Magnum."

"Hm?" He hummed his acknowledgement, giving you the softest eyes you've ever seen from him.

"You like me, right?" You started. He squinted at you once more. 

"... mm-hm?" He hummed, already not knowing where this conversation was headed.

"And you respect me?" You continued.

"Yeah…?" He snickered, bringing his hands up and dropping them back on his thighs.

"And that won't change right?" You begged. 

"Not unless ya give me reason to. Where're ya goin' with this, mate?" He crossed his arms and shifted so that he was facing you a little more. His eyebrows were furrowed and he looked confused and worried. You didn't like it.

"... Magnum, I have… a confession." You turned to face him fully. He looked you up and down, trying to investigate your body language.

"... go on." He raised an eyebrow again.

"I'm afraid of thunder." You blurted out. For a moment, neither of you said anything. That continued for about 3 more moments.

"... and?" He said, eventually. 

"What?" You asked.

"Is that it?" He started to laugh.

"Wh-yeah." He sighed and clapped a strong hand on your shoulder, making you wince.

"Mate, we all have fears."

"Yeah, but mine's… dumb…" You mumbled. You tucked your knees into your chest and turned away from him.

"... I'm afraid of something." He murmured after a few seconds. You snapped your head up to look at him.

"What is it?"

"... rats." He sighed. You barked out a laugh. He gaped at you, incredulous. "Oi!"

"I'm sorry I just… remembered elephants and… yeah. It-yeah. You're just so big, it seems so silly." You rambled, still giggling.

"I'm trying to comfort you on your fear, and you're over there laughing at mine!" He scolded.

"I'm not, I get it! You're just… why would they be ascolded. To you, specifically?"

"Are ya serious! Y'ever heard of the plague?"

"Vaguely aware of it."

"Nasty, nasty business."

"You afraid of mice?"

"Nah, mice're cute."

"Well, that's presumptuous. Mice can spread disease."

"So yer afraid of thunder." He cut off the debate once he knew you'd made a reasonable point. You rolled your eyes.

"Yeah. The only good thing about a storm is the rain. And rainbows."

"It's just water. And light."

"It's pretty. But I'm hiding here. From the storm." 

"Mm. A'right. I'll wait too then." He stated. You frowned.

"Oh, you don't have to. Go enjoy the storm. Don't mind me." You waved your hand towards the door. He matched your frown.

"Well, no. I can't leave ya alone. What kinda cap'n doessat make me?" He scoffed. 

"You like the storm." You pointed out.

"There'll be other storms." He countered. 

"You can't be with me for all of them." 

"I can be with ya for this one." You tried to stare him down. He stared back. You soon got very, very uncomfortable and looked away with a tsk.

"... fine." You acquiesced. He smiled apparently pleased with himself.

You both sat there as the storm raged on. You flinched and covered your ears at any particularly loud BOOM, and Magnum flinched at your flinching. Whenever he thought you were being a little dramatic, he thought back to when a rat had gotten onto the ship and he screamed like a 5 year old girl he accidentally frightened once. That shut the thought down as quick as it popped up. He squeezed your shoulder when you whimpered and rubbed your back when you curled in on yourself.

Eventually, he couldn't take it anymore. He looked at your shaking figure and it made him feel so… what, sad? He hadn't felt sad since '04. So he made a decision.

He grabbed you by your upper arms and dragged you towards him, putting you in his lap. Your back was against his chest and he wrapped his arms around your middle.

"Mags?" Your voice cracked when you tried to ask what was happening.

"Try to go to sleep." He instructed. Another loud boom made you flinch hard.

"I can't…" you whispered. He sighed and rested his chin on your head.

"... dream of quiet places. Light wind and sprinkles of rain on a sunny day. Maybe a rainbow, if you'd want. Birds and worms and koi fish. All the dumb shit ya like. I'll bring ya to land soon and you can enjoy the quiet. Just… deal with it for now." He squeezed your middle. You closed your eyes and took a few deep breaths, the vibrations from his chest soothing you a bit. 

He moved his hands to gently cup your ears. The sound it made calmed you a little. He slowly opened them again and flattened his palms to try and protect your ears from any further noise.

"Night, Mags…" You muttered.

"Night, mate." He rumbled back, not knowing if you could hear him or not.

It stormed through the night, and he made sure to wake you up to see the rainbow that appeared on the horizon. You stared at the rainbow, unaware that he had chosen to stare at you instead. 

[hanjisungs-bigtittyg0thgf]

🍷: two brats just teasing the fuck outta eachother. i would LOVE that. two brats>two subs. two subs would be too…subby? like i’d bloody love wooyoung. forever. please. and he would love being mistreated too(hint hint: make me a dinner wooyoung-hongjoong from that one vlive)

if you could pick, out of following, who would you pick as your brat tamer: hongjoong or san?

two subs is cute but two brats is a mess and i love it. wooyoung definitely loves being talked down to. he wants it to be clear that he’s not the one in charge no matter how hard he tries to be.

lord i feel like this is a trap. san seems like the obvious answer but like…hongjoong though… let’s take a look at this

san

he would take a more playful approach, i feel like. he’s a tease and a flirt and he just has so much fun. he is inherently erotic so this is his comfort zone. he will wind you up and make you think you’re winning but then he’d snatch everything away right when you’re on the edge. he’d have so much fun torturing you with your pending orgasm. he’d refuse to give it to you until you begged and cried and promised to be good. from there it’s smooth sailing.

hongjoong

he would be THE best dom. like he knows he doesn’t have to exert force, that him being in control is because you want him to be, even if you test him. he’d act uninterested in your attempts to rile him up and you’d get all huffy and pouty and only then would he give you any attention. it’s push and pull with him. he wants you to submit of your own volition and he will act so nonchalant it drives you up the wall. you have to be good to get what you want. he won’t be harsh and rough with you just because you’re acting up. that’s what you want. rough sex is for when you’re being good. he will take his time and it will drive you insane and you will be so high strung that you give in and beg for him to just please let you cum. even then, he might not, just because you need to be punished for acting up. don’t worry, he’ll make it up to you later though.

————

damn maybe i went too hard here