#The figs are a bit beat up but considering that they are second hand?

[localaceken]

Me when the boys

@frog4278 I'm gonna microwave Lloyd just to bully you

[kaen-ace-of-diamonds]

On the Road Again

Word Count: 1290 (one chapter)

[AO3]

Genre: Family/Fluff

Pairings: Judal/Hakuryuu, Paimon/Hakuei, Gyokuen/Hakutoku

Characters: Ren family, Judal, Yamato Takeruhiko, Paimon

Summary: Modern AU, Everyone Lives AU. The Ren family gets together for a trip. Hakuryuu wonders whether it's a good idea to stick all of them in an RV for several hours.

~0~

“Wouldn’t it be nice if we were older?

Then we wouldn’t have to wait so long

And wouldn’t it be nice to live together

In the kind of world where we belong?”

- Wouldn’t It Be Nice, The Beach Boys

~0~

At first, Hakuryuu had been staunchly opposed to the idea of taking a family road trip. Hakuyuu, in his more diplomatic way, had voiced some concerns as well. However, their father had quelled their objections — well, most of them — simply by unlocking the door to a three-bedroom RV. He had to hand it to Dad: he didn’t build an international real estate empire by not knowing how to bring together a gaggle of squabbling and clashing personalities. 

Hakuei had already been halfway there, and hearing Paimon’s squeal of delight when she showed her the floor plans on her phone had sealed the deal for her. Hakuryuu had been similarly convinced when the official “significant others are allowed” rule had been announced. Hakuren had already been in, because he had zero ability to anticipate conflict or risk to himself, which had been half of convincing Hakuyuu. The other half had been promising him the steering wheel for the majority of the trip. 

Their mother, of course, had been convinced the second Hakutoku opened the door to the wine fridge. 

“Are we there yet?” Hakuren moans, sprawling out on his bunk while Takeru sympathetically pats his shoulder, his voice drowning out the low babble of Worst Cooks in America from the wall TV.

Hakuryuu, looking up from the dining table, thinks that his brother could stand to be a little bit more flexible, seeing as they had expanded that “significant others” rule to include “bro roommates” specifically for him. He might say so, but as usual, he’s spoken over before he can even open his mouth.

“Hakuren, my sweetheart,” Gyokuen drawls from the passenger seat, absently turning the stem of the empty glass in her hand, “you are thirty years old.”

“I’m too used to flying! I forgot how long a three hundred mile trip actually is...”

Hakuei gently adjusts Paimon, who had fallen asleep on her shoulder about thirty miles ago, so she can turn from the TV to smirk up at her brother. “Well, if you don’t like it in here, maybe you should have gone with Kouen and everybody? Or, even easier, just taken a ride with Aunt Arba?”

There’s a beat of silence as all four siblings seriously consider that, flashing back to their high school driving lessons with chills up their spines, and then burst out laughing at once. 

“Huh?! What’s going on?!” Paimon yelps, startled awake by the noise. 

Taking up as much as he can of the booth next to Hakuryuu, Judal reaches across the table to grab an apple from the fruit bowl and tosses it at her, grinning. “We’re appreciating that we haven’t been driven off a cliff yet, keep up.”

Gyokuen’s lip curls, and she leans over to uncork a new bottle of white wine. “Hakuyuu, darling, floor it, will you? If my sister really is going to meet us all there, I’d like to have at least a few hours of peace up at the house first.”

Hakuyuu just keeps smiling, turning the wheel carefully as they make another turn around the mountainside. “Not a chance. Remember what Dad said? We’re all relaxing if it kills us and the drive counts.”

Gyokuen rolls her eyes. “All right. But just don’t expect me to be nice to her, even if throwing a punch is off the table.”

“Don’t worry, we don’t. I don’t think she does either.” Looking over his brother’s shoulder, all Hakuryuu can see right up to the horizon is a sea of deep green pine trees. Through the window open a crack above his head, he can smell them, too. “It could be worse, Mother. Your father could have figured out where the vacation house is.”

“Oh! Don’t even say that!” 

Takeru raises an eyebrow. “Is this David guy really that bad?”

Judal snorts and gestures next to him with a half-eaten peach; he seems to have claimed the fruit bowl as his personal serving dish. “I was there at the last Christmas party he crashed a while back. He put Hakuryuu’s arm on top of the tree.”

“What?!”

Hakuryuu stretches out in the booth around the table, pointedly scraping one metal heel on the floor and flexing the stiff fingers of his prosthetic arm. “Hakuyuu and Dad helped me get it down and put it back on. Mom, Aunt Arba, and Uncle Solomon were too busy grabbing the swords off the mantle and chasing him back to his car.”

“Ugh,” says Paimon, joining Hakuei, Hakuren, and Takeru in a collective shiver. “What a piece of work.”

“You don’t know the half of it. But, silver linings: that was the year Kouha taught me to play Uno to distract me,” Hakuryuu says, pulling the deck in its well-worn box out of his jacket pocket. “By kicking my ass at it, I might add. Anyone want to see if I’ve gotten any better?”

“Before he cleans us all out at the house, you mean,” Hakuren grumbles. “All right, we can go a few rounds before I switch with Yuu.” 

“Hakuren, I’m all right—”

“We’re going to stop, you’re going to take a fucking nap, and you’re going to like it,” says Hakuren brightly, without looking at his older brother. “Takeru, you in?”

Takeru is already scuttling down the ladder to the loft, while Hakuei and Paimon turn off the TV and make their way to the table. Hakuei looks over to the front seats. “Mom? How about you?”

Gyokuen watches the six of them squeezing into the booth with a critical eye, then sighs and rises from the passenger seat, half-full glass in hand. “All right. But if any of you leave me holding half the deck again you’re out of my will.”

“I’ll take that risk,” Hakuryuu says brightly. He, Hakuei, and Paimon scoot the few inches they have left to scoot so she can take a spot at the end of the booth, trying very hard to look dignified while trying to balance herself on the edge.

Hakuren shuffles and deals out the cards with professional flair; Hakuryuu has always enjoyed the sound. On his left shoulder, Hakuei sits up deliberately straight, gaze fixed on her own hand so as not to catch an accidental glimpse of his or Paimon’s cards. On his right, now that all his space has been taken over, Judal is slumped against his whole side like an oversized cat, eyes shamelessly flicking to the hands of anyone who leaves their cards unguarded. 

The window is still open, but no one suggests shutting it to protect against the wind. Hakuryuu’s glad: he likes the fresh air, the way the sunlight plays on all their faces and makes their eyes even brighter than usual. 

It’s good. Plain and simple. He’s known since he was little how to count his blessings.

His limbs have been lost. His face has felt flame. But Hakuryuu has never once been unsure of his footing. He has never known a life where he could not reach out for help and have his family grab his hand tight. The idea that a world could exist where not only was he too full of fear and hatred to reach out at all, but that nobody would be there to catch him if he did, is inconceivable to him.

Right now, Hakuryuu’s world narrows down to the cool mountain breeze teasing his hair, the scent of pine trees and the purring engine, and the chatter of the people he loves most all around him.

[dreamwritesimagines]

Burn The Witch 5 - Cross Your Heart [Bucky Barnes x Reader]

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support and feedback my loves ! ❤ Here’s the next chapter, I hope you like it as well and please let me know what you think! ❤ Thank you! ❤❤❤

Warnings: Enemies to lovers, fake dating, mentions of blood, sex, violence, death, manipulation, language, guns, knives.

Summary: Lying is supposed to be easy for spies.

Series Masterlist

You were beginning to think undercover operations were some sort of punishments given to agents, because lying was one thing, but creating a whole life around that lie was another.

Not only were your knives replaced by a bunch of paintings on the wall, you now had some photos in frames; old photos of people you didn’t know, people who were supposed to be your “cover” family.

You’d still prefer to have your knives on the walls though.

“You’re my best friend, you’re supposed to be on my side!” you pressed the phone between your shoulder and your ear, and heard Chloe’s laugh.

“I am on your side, I just can’t do anything about your uniform.”

You plopped down on the couch, setting your heels down on the floor.

“Bucky might be from 1940s, but he knows that it’s the 21st century now,” you said, putting the heels on, “No reason to make me dress like a….weird pin up waitress.”

“It’s a part of your mission,” she reminded you, “What, you can kill a target with a wine glass but a pin up costume is where you draw the line?”

You clicked your tongue, “Anyone can kill someone with a wine glass. It’s not that hard.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Babe it’s not rocket science, you just break the bowl part, then use the stem to stab them in the—“ you got distracted when you opened the kitchen cabinet, “I’m sorry, why do I have so many kitchen supplies?”

She held her breath in excitement, “Do you like them?”

“I don’t know what to do with most of them.”

“Cover Y/N likes cooking!”

“And the real Y/N can’t stand her,” you deadpanned, making her stifle a laugh.

“So he hasn’t texted you yet?”

“Barnes?” you asked, “Not yet. Why?”

“Well, I took the liberty of taking a look at his messages the other day.”

“Oh God, don’t tell me,” you said, “He’s seeing someone else?”

“No no, not at all,” she said, “He’s totally single, and probably ready to mingle. With you, that is.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He and Wilson were talking about you the other day. Well, more like Wilson was telling him to get his shit together and ask you out.”

“I don’t think he’s the type to ask someone out via text,” you said, “I think he will come to the shop one of these days.”

“Why?”

“He looked sort of….” You searched for the word in your mind, “Uh-clueless?”

“Clueless?”

“Yeah, you know how assassins usually flirt,” you ignored her noise of disagreement, “He wasn’t like that.”

“You really need to focus on the personal details of his file.”

You scowled, “What is that supposed to mean?” you asked, “I know his favorite weapons, what knives he—”

“Personal file,” she repeated, “You know there’s more to people than their weapons of choice right?”

“I might have to engage in combat if I’m ever compromised, and do you know how many people walked away alive after engaging in combat with the Winter Soldier in all these decades?” you asked, “Three. Three people; Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanoff, and they are legends. I might be good, but I’m not that good.”

“Just memorizing his arsenal can’t help you in this mission,” she said, “Did you know that he hasn’t exactly dated since becoming the Winter Soldier? His ex Connie ended up having 3 kids and a long career at the post office—“

“What am I supposed to do Chloe, stalk grandma’s Instagram?”

“No, she passed away 5 years ago.”

“Of course she did,” you mumbled, “Listen, I don’t have time for this. I’m already knee deep in my own cover, I can’t get into Barnes’s past when it’ll give me no advantage in the mission.”

“Y/N-“

“Trust me,” you cut her off, looking in the mirror to fix your uniform, “I have everything under control.”

                                              ***

You had maybe like one thing under control and that was the milkshake you were currently pouring into a mason jar. After a crash course in different recipes yesterday, you barely needed any help from your coworkers and seeing that the shop wasn’t very crowded, you didn’t have to rush.

And now you knew how to make three things; pasta, eggs and milkshakes.

If Keith were here, he would’ve said those were 3 main food groups.

“Tara, we’re running low on maraschino cherries,” you said as you shook the can and your new coworker turned to you.

“Oh that’s okay, there’s another jar are under the counter.”

You put the cherry over the whipped cream, and handed the jar to her. “There you go.”

“Another week of working here and you will come up with your own recipes,” she said, “Tell me the truth, are you like a spy sent by a rival company?”

You stared at her, then forced a laugh.

“I wish,” you said, “Maybe I’d be paid more.”

“Good point,” she said and walked to give the milkshake to the customer while you put the empty jar aside, then went under the counter to search for a new jar.

“Strawberries….” You read the labels out loud as you heard the wind bells chime by the door, “Figs, berries—cherries!”

You reached out to grab the jar and stood up but as soon as you did, you caught the sight of the figure by the door and held your breath, the jar slipping from your grip before you caught it mid-air.

“Bucky.” You breathed out, before you remembered to plaster a smile on your face.

Naïve, soft hearted civilian.

He stole a look around as if he expected someone to attack him at any seconds in a milkshake shop before he stepped closer to the counter you were standing behind.

“Hi.”

“Hi-hi there!” you said, putting the jar down, “You came!”

“You sound surprised,” he smiled and you shrugged your shoulders, shooting him a mischievous look,

“Better late than never, I suppose.”

He hissed in a breath, “Ouch, was it that late?”

“Just a little,” you said “So what can I get you?”

He looked up at the board over the wall, “What are my options?”

“Well, we have Unicorn Cotton Candy, Pumpkin Spice Latte, Candy Cane Passion, Lavender Macaron—“ you stopped talking when you saw the clueless look on his face and cleared your throat, “Or hey, maybe chocolate? We have chocolate milkshake.”

“Chocolate sounds good.”

“Coming right up.” You took a mason jar from the shelf to get to it and he grabbed his wallet, making you raise your brows.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Oh come on—”

“I’m going to make you an overly complicated milkshake if you try to pay for this,” you warned him, shaking the can before putting whipped cream on top of the milkshake, “It’s on the house, I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” he said quickly, making you point at him with the straw.

“Either way, I’m warning you. I’m armed and dangerous.”

“Consider me intimidated,” he said with a grin as he put the cash into the tip jar and you narrowed your eyes.

“Bucky.”

“Well technically, tip doesn’t count.”

“I wonder where I heard that before,” you muttered under your breath while he walked to pull himself a seat.

“Hm?”

“Nothing,” you said, reminding yourself that your cover probably wouldn’t make dirty jokes and went to place the milkshake in front of him.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” You waved a dismissive hand and rested your elbows on the counter, leaning in slightly.

He was gentleman enough to not check out your cleavage, instead kept his gaze on your face, making you suppress a smile.

“You were right,” Bucky said, his eyes darting around the café after a couple of seconds, “About how this place looked. It is creepily accurate.”

“Really?”

“I mean we didn’t have a neon flowers corner, but…” he trailed off, “Yeah. Yeah, I would say so.”

“Is that why you look like you expect someone to jump out of shadows and attack you?” you asked and his head shot up before he scrunched up his face.

“That obvious?”

“Not that I have lots of experience but so far none of the customers looked this uncomfortable while drinking a milkshake,” you said, “Is it because deep down you actually wanted to try Unicorn Cotton Candy?”

“Oh no, I’m good with classics,” He held up his milkshake, “No I just think that I’m a bit….uh, rusty.”

“Rusty,” you repeated, “On what?”

“On this.”

You batted your lashes, looking up at him and you could almost feel him being lured in.

“I’m sorry, I don’t follow,” you said softly after a beat and he gulped, taking a deep breath.

“It’s just that you’re—“ he cleared his throat, “You’re very beautiful and it’s been decades since I last asked someone out for a date.”

Winter Soldier, credited with over 100 assassinations, you reminded yourself Don’t lower your guard, it’s just a cover.

Don’t believe in your own cover.

You bit down a smile, tilting your head.

“Well, I didn’t think you were rusty,” you said and he raised his brows.

“You didn’t?”

“Not at all,” you said, “For the record, I’m definitely going to say yes.”

“Are you?”

“Absolutely,” you grinned, “Once you actually ask me, that is. With words, not an implication.”

His smile was almost playful, “With words, huh?”

“I’m old fashioned like that,” you taunted him, “Let’s see how we can make it less awkward for you though. Would you feel more comfortable to ask me out if you knew some weird stuff about me?”  

“You know, that would help a lot actually.”

You tapped your fingernails on the counter, looking up at the ceiling, pretending to be in deep thought. Your superiors had always said the best cover stories were somehow based on real life without revealing your identity, so you figured telling him random things about you wouldn’t hurt or put the mission in danger.

“Well, I really like grapes but I don’t like the skin, so I end up peeling every grape I eat, one by one,” you counted with your fingers, “I watched a documentary once and now I can’t swim in any lakes because I keep thinking I’ll get attacked by that weird flesh eating bacteria. When I was sixteen, I was the president of the chess club but I had a boyfriend who didn’t believe in the moon landing—”

“I heard about the moon landing!” he said quickly, “I didn’t get around to watch it yet though.”

“Oh my God, you should.”

“What else?”

“I’m scared of peacocks,” you confessed, “I know everyone says they’re beautiful but they look like they’re waiting for the right time to attack you.”

He looked like he was fighting with himself not to laugh and he pressed his metal fist on his lips, his whole attention on you.

“You can’t laugh!” you exclaimed and he shook his head, trying to look as serious as possible.

“I’m not!” he managed to hide his chuckle with a cough, “Keep going, this is very helpful.”

You heaved a sigh. “Well, do you want to hear the most embarrassing one?”

“Absolutely.”

“I normally keep my phone on mute 24/7 but since last week it’s been on full volume because I was terrified I’d miss something important.”

The amused light in his eyes got softer and he lowered his hand, a smile warming his face.

Hook, line…

“I was um— I was hoping for you to call, you see.” you said, averting your gaze from him to look down for a second, biting on your lip.

His voice was raspy; “Were you?”

You shrugged your shoulders, mumbling an inaudible maybe, and his eyes trailed down to your lips before snapping up to lock your gaze in his.

“What time do you get off work today?”

And sinker.

Time to pull back.

You sucked in a breath through your teeth, “I work at the soup kitchen tonight.”

“Oh –I thought you said it was on Mondays and Wednesdays.”

“I did, I’m just covering for a friend tonight. Family emergency, she says.” you said and pushed your hair behind your ear, shifting your weight, “But my shift is over at 6 tomorrow and I can be ready around 7, I live really close by. If you’re- if you’re free, that is.”

“I am.”

“It’s a date, then.”

“It’s a date,” he repeated and stood up, “See you tomorrow, Y/N.”

“See you tomorrow Bucky.” You smiled as he walked out of the shop and Tara came closer to you.

“Wow, you’ve been here a month and you met someone that hot?” she said and winked at you, “Good job there.”

Right.

Good job.

                                             ***

“So, wait—“ Chloe came closer to sit between you and Keith, holding a huge bowl of popcorn, “He just showed up?”

“Mm hm.”

“And you have a date tomorrow?”

Keith uncapped your beer and handed you the bottle as you rested your feet on the coffee table.

“You’re being careful, aren’t you?” he asked you and you nodded.

“Sure.”

“He doesn’t suspect anything?”

“No, he’s buying this whole naïve soft hearted civilian thing,” you said while Chloe snatched the remote from Keith’s hand, ignoring protests.

“And are you?”

You dragged your eyes from the list of movies on the screen. “I want a horror movie.”

“Well too bad, I want an action movie.”

“We’re watching a rom-com and that’s final!” Chloe pointed at both of you, making you groan.

“Why does this keep happening?” Keith asked to no one in particular and she snapped her fingers.

“It’s my turn and my place so I pick the movie,” she said and shot you a look, “I’m still waiting for an answer, by the way. You don’t….you don’t have feelings for Barnes, right?”

Keith stole a look at you before turning to Chloe,

“I don’t think our dear friend here wants a relationship beautiful,” he told her, “Not after what happened the last time.”

You could feel the goosebumps rising on your arms as a shiver ran down your spine.

“I don’t even know Barnes all that well yet, but I can assure you he’s not the type to—“ you paused, “Do something that cowardly.”

Keith gritted his teeth. “Where is that asshole anyway?”

“Hungary,” Chloe said and you raised your brows.

“Undercover?”

“Yeah. I hope he gets compromised and dies there.”

“Very unlikely,” you murmured, “Anyways, what brought this on? My feelings for Barnes?”

“It’s just that I recently read Vincent Smith’s file,” she said, “You guys remember Vincent?”

“Who?”

“His code name was Marco.”

“Oh, I remember Marco!” Keith said, “That guy took down a whole unit by himself. What happened to him?”

“He is missing.” Chloe said and you pulled your brows together.

“Since when do agents go missing and we don’t know where they are?”

“Since they fall for the target.”

“No way,” Keith chuckled, “Badass spy Marco fell in love? Poor idiot.”

“You’re a terrible person, Keith.”

You sat up straighter, “Wait, did you say he fell for the target?”

“Yeah, I saw the reports from his handler. And now he’s missing, and I don’t want you to run away with Barnes like Marco did with his target.”

You and Keith exchanged glances and you clicked your tongue.

“Chloe babe, he’s not missing.” you said “He’s dead.”

She pulled back slightly, “You don’t know-“

“Yes I do. You don’t fall for the target and compromise the whole mission, not unless you want to end up dead.”

“There’s no report of that,” she insisted and Keith sipped his beer.

“What did his report say, sweetheart?”

“That he was removed from his mission before going missing.”

Keith scoffed, “Rest in peace Marco, you won’t be missed.”

“How do you know—“

“Because that’s the code,” you said, “If the report says he was removed from his mission and went missing, it means he was killed by an agent on our side.”

“We killed our own agent?” she exclaimed and you turned the beer bottle in your hand,

“He stopped being our agent the moment he fell for the target.”

Chloe covered her mouth with her hands, worry etched into her expression, “Y/N, please, please promise me you won’t somehow get too involved in this mission and fall for Barnes and put yourself in danger.”

You let out a small laugh, grabbing a handful of popcorn.

“It’s the Winter Soldier we’re talking about,” you reminded her and chewed on the popcorn, “Trust me, that would never happen.”

“Cross your heart?”

You heaved a sigh and clinked your beer bottle with hers.

“Cross my heart honey,” you assured her, “There’s no way I’d sign my own death warrant by doing something that stupid.”  

Chapter 6

[cactusnymph]

Prompt fill #5 for @dimension20alphabet:

Escape

[part two to this]

Usually it goes like this:

 The Bad Kids eat lunch together in the cafeteria and otherwise Fabian doesn’t talk much to any of them over the course of his day. It’s not like he’s actively ignoring them, but he’s more on the side of the popular kids. The cool guys. The jocks.

 Meanwhile, the others—well, maybe except for Fig—don’t exactly fit the bill.

 Sure, Fabian would die for any of them, but somehow the social structures at school still feel restrictive in a way that gives him a hard time moving against them.

 Now though, now the unthinkable has happened.

 The Ball is ignoring him.

 Well, not as much as ignoring Fabian as he’s actively fleeing from him the second Fabian comes into view. At first Fabian thought that The Ball had just forgotten something in his locker when he turned around and ran—ran—in the opposite direction of Fabian.

 But it happens again during the first break and Riz is not at their usual table when Fabian joins the others for lunch.

 Everyone is looking at him.

 “What?”, he asks.

 His mood was bad all weekend. After the ridiculous dare he received on Theo’s party The Ball was nowhere to be seen. Both Adaine and Theo—Theo of all people, as if he was The Ball’s friend—followed him out of the room while everyone continued to stare at Fabian accusingly.

 Even Gorgug looked somewhat perturbed, like it was Fabian’s fault that a room full of people had chanted about him kissing The Ball. That hadn’t been his idea!

 “Hey man, you know, you could’ve said ‘no’ without making it sound like, you know, Riz was like, a slimy ghoul or whatever”, Ragh had said to him quietly.

 As far as Fabian knows, Theo and The Ball had ended up making out in one of the empty rooms or behind the house. Those pictures in his head didn’t lead to his weekend getting any better either.

 He trained way too much with his mother. He ate so many kippers that Cathilda asked him if he was feeling alright—which he wasn’t, but he couldn’t exactly explain why. He went for a run three times on Sunday and was still feeling on edge about everything that had happened.

 In the end he crashed on his bed with sore muscles and a scene of The Ball and Theo kissing playing on repeat in his mind that followed him into his dreams.

 And now his friends were looking at him as if he had personally murderer The Ball. With his bare hands. For fun.

 “Did you talk to Riz?”, Adaine wants to know.

 “No.”

 Silence answers him and he looks around the table.

 “What? He saw me in the hallway, turned around and ran away!”, Fabian exclaims angrily. His face is getting hot. He hates all this emotional bullshit and almost wishes he could just go back to being his father’s darling boy instead of his own man, because somehow that seemed way easier.

 “Oh no. Poor Riz”, Kristen says and Fabian almost loses his shit right there.

 Why is it ‘poor Riz’? Why is no one acknowledging what a shit weekend he had? And how fucking dumb that dare was? And how it’s offensive to consider that Riz and Theo made out behind the house while Fabian was being stared at like someone who strangles puppies? And also, he fucking hates it to be ignored.

 He is Fabian Aramais Seacaster.

 He refuses to be ignored!

 “Did you try to text him to apologize?”, Gorgug asks.

 Fabian stares at him.

 “For what?”

 “I mean. You know, because. He looked pretty hurt and like. Isn’t he your best friend?”, Gorgug says quietly and Fabian feels like someone has dropped an iron weight into his stomach.

 “I mean, I guess we’re friends, I wouldn’t go as far as to say that, you know—best friends is maybe a little—“

 A voice in his head whispers “Why would you say that, isn’t that a lie?” but Fabian doesn’t get to listen to it as Fig lowers her fork and looks past Fabian at someone right behind him.

 “Oh, no”, Gorgug says very quietly and Kristen gets up halfway from her chair which leads Fabian to turn around just to be faced with The Ball’s very pale and very unhappy face. For a split second Fabian has the opportunity to notice that Riz looks as if he hasn’t slept or eaten for the past two days, but then he notices Fabian looking at him and escapes immediately.

 “Okay, Fabian, I know talking about your feelings is super fucking hard and everything, but get a grip, man”, Fig snaps at him.

 “My feelings are perfectly fine, thank you”, Fabian grits through his teeth but he doesn’t touch the rest of his food and instead spends the rest of his lunch break cursing the universe for having The Ball turn up right at that moment when Fabian announced that them being best friends might be a bit of a stretch.

 Fabian never really had a best friend before.

 Fuck if he knows what that’s even supposed to mean.

 Riz always just went ahead and announced it to the whole world after they’d barely known each other for a week and back then it had been completely ludicrous.

 Now, though.

 Fabian doesn’t know.

 He might have announced that toxic masculinity is dead, but the truth is that it’s still hard dealing with all this emotional bullshit when no one ever really taught him how it works. And he’ll rather be shot than admit that. At least for now.

 It was hard enough to deal with the fact that he never really did anything on his own and was nothing but a pale shadow of his father, but now that he managed to work through that, everything else was still as difficult as before.

 And who the fuck are you supposed to talk to about these things?

 His father is a madman flying a dead dragon through hell.

 His mother heats up whole cantaloupes in hot pans, because she doesn’t even know how to cook some fucking scrambled eggs.

 Cathilda would probably know a thing or two about this stuff, but Fabian has yet to fully grow into the whole Cathilda-is-basically-his-surrogate-mother-and-not-just-his-maid-thing.

 And how is he going to explain this whole mess anyway?

 “Hey Cathilda, I went to this party and someone told me to kiss The Ball and I was like ‘No, that’s ridiculous’ and now everyone is acting like I’m a complete asshole and The Ball doesn’t talk to me anymore, which is quite frankly offensive, because he always says that I’m his fucking best friend.”

 Even to Fabian that sounds ridiculous. And it doesn’t take into account his obsessive thoughts about Theo and Riz kissing or how The Ball might have overheard Fabian saying that they’re not best friends. And his bloodshot eyes with dark shadows under them. And his pale green face with all those freckles.

 And...

 Fabian decides that school can suck his dick on this terrible Monday and he leaves the Aguefort Academy directly after lunch break instead of going to his fighter class.

 It’s not like he needs it, anyway.

 He could probably wipe the floor with his teacher at this point.

 On his way home he receives multiple text messages from his friends.

 “Hey Fabian, where are you? Are you okay?”, from Gorgug.

 “Just text him”, from Adaine.

 “Maybe Jawbone can help you out, he’s really good at this relationship stuff”, from Kristen.

 Relationship stuff?

 What relationship stuff?

 The Ball is not his boyfriend.

 Fabian laughs as he passes a mother with her two kids and she looks slightly concerned about his well being and tugs her children further down the sidewalk.

 What if The Ball wants Theo to be his boyfriend?

 Fabian stops in the middle of the road and stares at his phone. He doesn’t want to talk to Jawbone. Sure, Jawbone is cool and everything. But talking to Jawbone feels too much like admitting that he might have a serious problem, more so than if he maybe just talks to one of his friends.

 For a split second Fabian thinks that wants to talk to Riz until he remembers that that’s not possible right now.

 Because Riz doesn’t talk to him. And also Riz wouldn’t want to talk about anything related to kissing or—or—

 Fabian stuffs his crystal back into his pocket and turns a corner that leads him towards Mordred Manor instead of home.

 Ragh is outside in the vast garden of the manor, wearing a straw hat and some shorts and nothing else while he waters some plants.

 “Hey, what’s up, bro?”, he calls over to Fabian, turns the hose and hits Fabian square in the chest with a jet of cold water. It only takes a few seconds until he’s completely drenched.

 Ragh laughs loudly while he turns off the water and throws the hose down into the grass.

 “You good, man?”, Ragh asks as he walks over to him. Fabian feels like on any other day he might have simply punched Ragh in the face for getting his expensive sneakers wet, but today it just seems like maybe he deserved a shower of cold water.

 “Um—yeah. No. I don’t really know”, he says and his voice reminds him of the time when the whole Leviathan debacle went down. He clears his throat and wipes some water out of his face. “Do you—uh. Have some time to talk?”

 “Sure, dude. Let’s find a spot with a little more shade.”

 Fabian hates the feeling of water in his shoes, so he takes them off and follows Ragh through the garden and into the shade under a big maple tree.

 “What’s up, dude?”, Ragh asks and throws himself down into the ground, pulls the straw hat off his head and leans against the thick trunk of the tree. Fabian sits down cross-legged and puts his sneakers to the side.

 “So—uh”, he starts and then closes his mouth immediately because he hasn’t actually thought this through at all. Ragh looks at him curiously and Fabian wonders if there is a good and nonchalant way to ask the things he wants to ask. Instead of acting cool and composed how he wants to, what comes out of his mouth is:

 “Do you think The Ball and Theo made out?”

 There is a beat of silence in which Fabian considers just getting up and running out of the garden and into traffic. This was not what he is supposed to ask.

 This is not—

 “Dude”, Ragh says and he leans forward to look at Fabian. “You look like you’re about to puke, man.”

 Fabian doesn’t feel great. His chest feels like someone installed iron clasps around it and is pulling his ribs tight and his stomach is doing some acrobatics that it’s absolutely not supposed to do.

 Why did he ask this?

 And what if Ragh says yes?

 Why the fuck does it even bother him?

 The Ball can kiss whoever the fuck he wants!

 “I’m—sure. Fine. Yeah. It’s all—uh. Fine.”

 “Yeah, dude, no offense, but like, it doesn’t look particularly fine to me. So—what you’re asking me is. If Riz and Theo got it going after that whole Truth or Dare thing?”

 Fabian takes a deep breath, which seems particular hard for some reason. This is ridiculous.

 He’s Fabian Aramais Seacaster. He knows how to fucking breathe.

 “I—guess?”

 “Hm”, Ragh says and leans back again. “Not sure if that’s my story to tell, bro. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sorry you feel like shit, but, like. Isn’t that something you should talk to Riz about?”

 Fabian thinks that, if one other person tells him to talk to The Ball, he might actually commit cold blooded murder.

 “Great suggestion, seeing as to how he keeps running away from me like he’s afraid I’m going to breathe fire at him any second”, he growls and crosses his arms in front of his chest. Ragh sighs and cocks his head from side to the other.

 “Would it like, bother you if they actually had made out?”

 Fabian wants to snort and say “No”. What comes out instead is a garbled noise as his brain is bombarded with pictures about Riz and Theo kissing.

 “Woah, dude, okay”, Ragh says and he looks alarmed. “Breathe, man.”

 Fabian can do that. Breathing is really easy, except that it’s not.

 “Okay, dude, Imma just say it now, okay? It’s like ripping a band-aid off!”, Ragh says loudly, grips Fabian’s shoulders and stares at him very intently. “I think you’re totally into Riz.”

 Fabian’s brain feels like it’s suffering from a bad case of frostbite. His thoughts turn sluggish as he tries to process what Ragh just said, but it doesn’t make any sense. Fabian is not into The Ball. He’s not in love with Riz. That is insane.

 “Okay, so, hear me out, bro. Remember how I was totally in love with Dayne? And it took me like a million years to like, get that? Feels pretty similar to what’s happening with you right now, right? Because we’re like, these manly dudes and we’re supposed to be into hot girls and all that stuff, right? So it doesn’t really fit the picture, but it’s totally fine, dude. It’s all good. You can be in love with Riz.”

 Fabian blinks at him. He can hear the words and he can feel the corners of his mouth turn upwards as if to try to form into a grin.

 “Don’t be insane, Ragh. I’m not—That’s—“

 “It bothers you when he’s with other people because you’re fucking jealous, dude. I’ve been there, okay? And it’s like this weird thing of—you’re not allowed to be jealous because that’s fucking weird, right? Because that’s like, your best bro and everything. But then you keep obsessing about him making out with other people and then it’s like, okay, but what if he kissed me and then you feel really fucking bad, right? Because you’re brain shouldn’t go there?”

 For the very first time Fabian imagines what would have happened if he, instead of saying “No, that’s ridiculous”, had actually kissed The Ball.

 He thinks about Riz’ sharp teeth and how he keeps chewing on his bottom lip when he’s nervous and the second Fabian’s brain arrives at Riz’ bottom lip it feels like there is a dam inside his brain breaking.

 He imagines grabbing Riz and pulling him into his lap, pressing his lips against his and hearing Riz make a choked noise against his lips—

 “What the actual fuck.”

 Ragh lets go of his shoulders and nods.

 “Yeah, dude. Intense, right?”

 “But—why?”

 Ragh shrugs and rubs the back of his head with one of his hands. Somehow the cold water drenching Fabian’s clothing feels like a blessing now because his skin seems to be on fire.

 Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck—

 “Because, dude.”

 “But like—what the fuck am I supposed to do with that?”

 “I mean. Sounds to me like you should totally kiss your Ball, bro.”

 Fabian’s stomach does multiple somersaults.

 “But he’s not—into that kind of stuff.”

 Ragh chuckles.

 “Dude, I love Riz, I really do, but I feel like now that you figured this part of the whole deal out I can just tell you, that like. Riz doesn’t want to make out with Theo or pretty much anyone, right? Which is totally fine, bro, don’t get me wrong. But also, like. I’m a hundred percent certain that he would totally kiss you, man.”

 Fabian’s first response is “Of course he does, why shouldn’t he” but then his brain catches up and his skin starts to tingle.

 Maybe this is why kissing Aelwyn for the second time wasn’t really working out. Maybe this is what Aelwyn meant when she said “Well, I suppose we’re not a good match after all”.

 “Riz... wants to kiss me?”

 Ragh nods and grins.

 “Yeah, dude.”

 “Okay. Well—uh. I have to go.”

 “Don’t forget your shoes!”, Ragh shouts after him but Fabian doesn’t give a rat’s ass about his shoes as he takes off.

 Maybe he can unpack all of this shit later. Maybe he should actually talk to Jawbone. Maybe this is going to be yet another thing that makes him different from his father and as soon as he has some time to think it through he can maybe arrive at the conclusion that that isn’t a bad thing.

 At some point he stops running because he actually has no idea where Riz is. Is he still at school? At home? At his damn office? Fabian pulls out his crystal and hastily types a message to Riz.

 “Where are you???? We need to kiss!”

 He deletes the last word and types “talk” instead. Fabian watches with his breath held as three dots appear on his screen very shortly before they disappear again. He waits in the middle of the street, no shoes on, dripping wet. People passing him by look as though they’re concerned for his mental state but Fabian couldn’t care less.

 Maybe now is not the time to be manly about his feelings if he actually wants to fucking kiss his damn best friend.

 “I need to talk to my best friend”, he types.

 The dots reappear immediately.

 “at the office”

 Fabian stuffs the crystal back into his pocket, considers calling the Hangman to drive him over there but then decides that he doesn’t want to wait for him to arrive.

 The last time Fabian was in Riz’ office there was a terribly creepy doppelganger of Riz trying to kill him, but he pushes the thought to the side as he rushes into the building, dripping water everywhere as he heads up the stairs.

 Fabian doesn’t think he can manage another emotional talk today because the last one left him completely drained and exhausted, but the second that he spots Riz behind his desk ripping some papers in a nervous craze his heart leaps into his throat and goes into overdrive immediately.

 Fuck.

 He rips open the door and Riz flinches so hard that he sends all the papers flying. Then he stares at Fabian with his huge, yellow eyes.

 “Why are you wet? And where are your shoes?”, he wants to know, looking completely confused.

 “Doesn’t matter”, Fabian says, rounds the desk and grabs Riz by the shoulders. “We need to talk about Saturday.”

 Riz turns his face away and there is a dark green blush on his cheeks and the back of his nose. Now that Fabian knows what his damn problem is he realizes how fucking badly he actually wants to kiss Riz.

 “Oh—well. Yeah. Haha, weird, right? Don’t worry about it, it was totally ridicu—“

 “I should have done it”, Fabian interjects. Riz’ eyes grow impossibly wider.

 “Wh—what?”

 “I should have done it. Kiss you, I mean. We should have kissed.”

 Who would have thought that the son of the famous Bill Seacaster would die of a heart attack at the age of eighteen while wearing no shoes and dripping wet clothes.

 “Wh—why?”

 “Because I—“

 Fabian didn’t actually get that far in his head. He grabs Riz’ shoulders tighter and fuck, he can’t bring himself to say the words.

 “Because I don’t want you to kiss anyone else”, is what he manages in the end and he watches closely as Riz’ swallows and the dark shade of green on his face grows impossibly darker still.

 “Did you mean it?”, he asks quietly, his voice raspy and hoarse.

 “Mean what?”

 “That—in your text message. About—you know. Being best friends or whatever.”

 Fabian takes a deep breath.

 “Yeah.”

 Riz makes a very small “Oh” sound and then, all of a sudden, Fabian stumbles backwards with his arms full of Goblin. It occurs to him that this is the first time they actually hugged.

 “So—uh. Can I? Um—kiss you?”, he asks and his voice sounds like he swallowed a bunch of sand.

 “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

 It turns out that kissing someone you’re actually into is better than winning a Bloodrush game, better than dancing, better than pretty much everything he’s ever done before. Riz holds onto him as if his life depended on it and Fabian feels like he won’t let his best friend down anytime soon or he might just fall over and die.

 It occurs to him that this must be Riz’ first kiss and something inside him purrs contently at the thought of that as he lets himself sink down into Riz’ chair so Riz is sitting in his lap.

 “Thought you were into that Theo dude”, he mumbles against Riz’ lips.

 “’m not.”

 “Yeah, I get that now.”

 “I’m uh—pretty much only into you. So...”

 Fabian’s heart is doing a very silly little dance in his chest but all he can bring himself to say is “Yeah”. All the other words that he probably should say get stuck somewhere half the way up his throat because his heart is beating too fast.

 “So... no more Truth or Dare”, Riz says sheepishly.

 “No, definitely not.”

 “Cool.”

 Very cool indeed, Fabian thinks, as he kisses Riz again.

[rip-a-dip-dip-you-potato-chip]

Trade ya

based on this ask

TW//Slight violence and a mention of blood

-

Macaque slipped back into the theatre after his little chat with the Monkey Kid.

Boy howdy, that kid had some explaining to do, to his companions. If only he could stick around and watch that mess unfold. But he had to retrieve his lamp.

Honestly, that was easier than he thought it would be.

Wich was concerning.

As Macaque walked over to the stage he paused for a moment, where was (y/n) is all this?

The Monkey King was off doing his own thing for a while, and he'd assumed his kid would be hanging around Mk and his friends, yet the amber-furred monkey wasn't with them when they had entered the theatre.

Did Mk literally forget one of his friends? damn, he was starting to become like the Hero...

despite everything that's happened between them since the whole 'I stole the Monkey Kings powers from Mk and broke his trust leaving him emotionally distressed' thing, he actually wanted to get to know his kid(and maybe convince them to join him)the week of stalking wasn't enough for him to say the least.

Disregarding the thought (though not entirely) he make is way back to the remains of the lap.

And with a little magic it was good an new!

Fuck ya!

As he admirered his handy work for s little longer and sound of clapping caught is attention. Wiping his head around he saw the wired guy in a pin strip suit form the play, if Macaque remembered correctly this was the guy that game my the *Skeleton Key.

"My my, that was such a magnificent performance!"

"Ha, ya well it's over, t-this was the last show actually"

Oh he did not like this for a single second. His fur was standing on there ends screaming for him to just leave.

Just as Macaque was about to use the shadows to escape, in a flash of icy blue light the guy was now behind him, and the next thing he know he was being picked up by the neck and for some reason couldn't, fucking move.

What the actual hell is happening???

"Lady Bone Demon would like a word with you~"

In the blink of an eye, the scenery changed form the damaged auditorium he'd rented out to and underground cave with mechanical parts and machines everywhere.

Just one wif of the musty roten air and he knew he was in the Spider Queens lair. But it looked different then it had been that last time he was there.

Then again it's been centuries since he was last there.

He was shortly let go by the insane suite wareing guy and rubbed his neck where it had been grabbed. And just like that the guy disappeared, leaving the Lady Bone Demon in his stead.

"Why greetings Macaque, its beet long since we last spoke"

" not long enough if you ask me"

The white haired lady let out a hum of acknowledgement as she circled the monkey.

...

"Soo any particular reason why you got one of your brain dead servents to get me?" Macaque questioned, pulling back a bit not wanting to be in her immediate range.

Up purely tactical.

"Ah, well it's come to my attention that you poses something of grate use to me" her icy gaze fixed on the lamp.

"Ya not happening" Macaque said flatly, he went though a lot to get his hands on this thing and he wasn't going to part with it so easily. Besides what ever the Lady Bone Demon was planning, would spell doom for the world as they know it.

Macaque my be a bad guy in some sense, maby even be considered an antihero-that was just more of an ass on a good day- but he wasn't one for wold domination.

In the past he just wanted to wreck heaven with his dear beloved friend befor his change of heart, not enslave mankind. They just wanted to prove there worth nothing more. But this bitch, na she was jack shit crazy. It took the combined forces of Demons and celestials alike to seal her away, himself being one of said demons.

"Ohh what a shame, looks like I'll be keeping this little one then"

In a puff of smoke (y/n) collapses on the foor to her, there fur slightly matted with blood and a visible gash on the left eye.

Similar to where his was-

It wasn't deep and wouldn't cause damage, but it still needed treatment.

Holy hell is this where (y/n) was all this time?

Macaques mind was going a mile a minute but he kept his poker face.

"And I sould care about some random kid because?"

"Oh~ Don't play dumb with me, Six Eared Macaque. You know exactly who this little one is" she started using her powers for lift the amber-furred monkey off the ground there one good (color) eye glosed over and hazy.

"After all this is your child"

"Hate to brake it to ya, but I don't have a kid"

"My sources say other wise"

Several screens descended for the walls and around them, all flicked to like to reveal footage of Macaque during his little stalking mission when he first planed to steal the Monkey Kings powers and found out about his long lost kid, and then some other footage of his watching them from the shadows.

Oh, oh no.

"I had my suspension on the Luner New Years, but your reaction solidify's my assumption"

Wha- shit his poker face slipped! Shiiiit

"So I'll ask again, the lamp or your child- they won't die persay, but I think the underground market would pay a hefty sum for one of such unique lineage"

His heart was beating faster than he thought possible, wait why would it be doing that! He shouldn't care! Should he?

Glancing between the lamp and (y/n)'s beaten form Macaque made a decision he might soon come to regret.

-

(Y/n) was having a good evening, well that was until the Spider Queens minions jumped them while on there way to the theater to meet up with the others(minus Sandy, what he had cats to take care of!)

When the first woke up it was in a dingy cell. And the next thing they knew the Spider Queen tried to get information about the Monkey Kings whereabouts.

"Ya right like the peach loving old man tells me anything! So if you could kindly let me on my marry way that would be fantastic"

You realy needed to know when to such your mouth or just give total bullshit information because Queeni had gotten pissed, and tried to beat the information out of you.

The Lady Bone Demon had to pry the spider off you. Saying you still had a use befor you blacking out.

-

When they woke for a second time everything was hazy, and there was muffled talking almost like they where under water.

Water was nice, you should learn to swim! It seems like fun! Maby you could get Mk or Mai to teach you.

After all the Monkey King was a shitty swimmer- wait no he was crap as under water fights, but wouldn't that require swimming as well-

Uh oh, was you being moved? Nooo das no gooood stop!

Ughhh why won't the muffin voices stop! And why can't I feel my eye!

E-y-e

Y E S spelles yes

E Y E S spells eyes how did that one guy get that confused, and you is moving again ST 0 p

Wait this was more comfy than before, is that red? Oh my moons it is! It's so soft!

And soft it was and you drifted to a more comfortable rest this time.

-

The third and final time (y/n) woke, they weren't in a cell, or had a hazy mindset. Areas not that hazy, but this time it was more so due to medicine than pain.

In fact they lay on a plush mattress, with equally soft pillows and nice heavy blankets tossed other them.

As (y/n) sat up they winced in pain slightly.

Looking down they take notice of the bandages, and a slitting head- and there are bandages on your eye as well fucking perfect.

"Good to see your up" a voice greated. Wiping their head to the side, there stood Macaques with a slight concerned look on his face.

Wha- owowowowowowowow

Probably shouldn't be moving so fast as (y/n) winced in pain again.

As (y/n) tried to steady themselves again and think of a retort, and side of the bed diped and a hand was placed oh your forehead, whilst the other heaped your arm.

"What are you-" "checking to see if you're fever spiked " "I has a heaver?" "Fever, and yes it set is last night after a particularly nasty infection" "oh"

"Wait, why are you-"

"The Bone bitch had you, i-i couldn't just let her harm you any more than she already had"

"That's dumb, you're dumb"

Sigh

"Okay back to sleep with you"

"Where am I?" "One of my safe houses, now sleep"

Sleep but what if...

"I-its okay, it'll be okay I'll be here when you wake again"

(y/n) blinked at him.

"I promise" he said softly as he guided you back down to the pillow, he retucked you in and was about to leave when (y/n) caught his hand.

Well fuck

Uhhh, you know what he's had a long fucking day himself he needs some sleep too.

So discarding his scarf to the side, as well as some armor plating and his shoes, Macaque got into the bed himself and just used himself. As he made himself comfortable, back tuned away for his pup a single thought echoed in his head.

'Im a fucking dad now, geat'

--

*Skelton Keys are said to open any door, plus the cannon key had a skull on it so why not?

UwU Anon you have no idea what this means, you have water my crops cleared my skin and my mind is sane!

I was originally planing to have this thing where the spider queen captured the reader/oc and used the robo parasight to make them a follower, but this, this is so much better sksksksksksk

I did most of this on mobile and my auto correct is bitchy 🙃

[arigatouiris]

chasing lights // tsukishima kei x reader

Author’s Note: My country’s been on lockdown for close to a month now and my mind is fried. I haven’t been productive, anxiety has been off the charts so I started watching Haikyuu to ease the tension in my head. Also, the fact that I haven’t been active on tumblr makes me sad, but help a writer out a bit and tell me what you think? You have no idea how strong your comments are. Thanks ya’ll. 

Word count: 2598

Pairing: (soft?) Tsukishima Kei x Reader

Warnings: slight angst to fluff, angsty thoughts, mentions of insecurity

There wasn’t a lot of things Tsukishima Kei regretted in his life. 

Maybe, he sometimes regretted the repressed anger he sometimes showed towards his brother, and sometimes he regretted snapping at his friends (or Tadashi, because let’s face it, he doesn’t easily consider a lot of people his friends). However, one of the biggest things Tsukishima Kei regretted just before entering high school was rejecting your confession.

It had been an entire semester post your final year at middle school. You were close friends with Tadashi, and since it had been a whole year being friends with him, you were introduced to his rather cold and standoffish friend, Kei, in your second year of middle school. You immediately took a liking to this boy, who seemed a challenge in your eyes, not backing down with how unapologetically original he seemed to be. Tsukishima Kei was one of those people you wouldn’t worry about lying to you, because he just didn’t do that sort of thing. 

But, seems like you misstepped when your confession reached the hard end of the stick. Your eyes were wide as Tsukishima clicked his tongue and called it almost moronic to have feelings for someone who doesn’t feel the same. He didn’t explicitly say he didn’t like you back, but ridiculed the entire ordeal of it. 

     “I can’t believe... No, as a matter of fact, I can believe that you’d say something like this, Tsukki.” 

Your words haunt him till date. 

He was now in High School, and as fate would allow it (or punish him, for that matter), you were there too. Tadashi never spoke a word in edgewise at how ruined your relationship was with Tsukishima, but left matters to how they should be. 

The fact of the matter was this and it was fairly simple: Tsukishima Kei was borderline obsessed with you. 

It might have had to do with how simple you were yet how elegantly you carried that simplicity. You were openly friendly where he was not, ready to smile, accept a challenge, soft and gentle yet bold and confident in so many ways that it drove him insane when he realized that just thinking of you is enough to pass the time. You were on his mind when he listened to music, or went on walks and Tsukishima would be lying if he didn’t have at least four playlists dedicated to you, each assorted according to the season. 

He even remembered the scent of your hair—that gloriously sweet fig and honey essence from your shampoo. He had no idea what it was, but he remembered calling you out on it. He remembered being so accurate that you called him a creep. He was beaming with pride on the inside, but you would never know. 

Now, one can wonder why Tsukishima turned you down even though he felt this way about you. 

He wondered that and regretted that same detail over and over again. He watched you sometimes, heading to the library with your friends, eating lunch with them, rushing to the vending machine during breaks, reading a book and yawning thinking no one else was looking, almost drifting off to sleep in class—every little detail that you believed no one noticed, Tsukishima did, and god, you broke his heart without even trying.

In many bittersweet ways, he knew he didn’t deserve you. You were beautiful; and it wasn’t just superficial beauty, you were so kind, you were a wonder to both Tadashi and himself—having entered their lives randomly. He would be forever grateful to Tadashi for introducing him to you, but such words couldn’t be spoken because you were someone who needed to face a light brighter than him. 

But it was until high school did he realize that there was one such light. And it scared him to no end that maybe, just maybe, you’d find that burning brighter instead.

*

You would be lying if you said you were over Tsukishima Kei, the boy that broke your heart so devastatingly back in middle school. You still spoke to Tadashi and often asked him about the blond boy, but that was perhaps all you were allowed to ask—you couldn’t ask for more. 

Tadashi could see how much it hurt you to even talk about Kei, but you did, you endured because every inch of you genuinely cared for him—you saw how troubled he was over a few things that he thought you didn’t know; you saw how much thought he put into practice, and you knew how much it shattered him to learn the truth of his brother. Tadashi offered to lend you a comforting shoulder to cry on, but you were not the sort to spill your emotions for self-gratification. You carried them because you did not regret them, and that was perhaps the biggest difference between you and Tsukishima. 

You were lost in thought one day when you bumped into Kei in the corridor. You gasped before letting out a meek sounding apology, battling within yourself over whether you make small talk or not. He probably hates small talk, you told yourself before scooting over and walking past him, not noticing how he was as still as a rock just where he stood. Looking down at your feet, you felt tears well up in your eyes from the pent-up frustration over how ruined things were with your crush and your old friend (who happened to be the same person), but a thud sound caught your ear.

You paused before turning to your right and noticing a small boy, your age perhaps but considerably short compared to a few boys you knew, bouncing a ball against the wall repeatedly. He had bright orange hair and his eyes were dead fixed at the ball, conviction screaming from his fingers and his aura, this boy wasn’t going to be distracted even if a meteor was crashing to the earth. Your lips parted a bit, fascinated at how he kept going—wasn’t it a break right now? What was he even trying to do? Isn’t volleyball a team game? What’s he doing practicing on his own? 

Does Tsukki know him—

You snapped out of your thoughts before rushing to class, unaware that Tsukishima had witnessed this entire ordeal. He would never admit it in a million years but his heart shattered at the sight of your mesmerised gaze at Hinata, the light he was so scared of losing you to. And now—it was actually happening right before his eyes.

He clicked his tongue and walked to class. 

The next day, you spotted the orange haired kid again, doing the same thing. You heard from Tadashi that your team had moved on to the Spring Tournament, something you were a tad bit ashamed you didn’t know on your own, but you tended to stray away from all things Volleyball because of a certain someone. You noticed that this orange kid seemed a lot more exhausted, causing you to blink and look down at what you were currently holding—vanilla flavored milk. Sighing, you walked over to the boy who wasn’t taking a break and stood right behind him.

     “Excuse me—”

Screaming, he dropped the ball on his head, which went tumbling away, causing your eyes to widen with guilt for interrupting his flow. Turning to you, while rubbing the new sore spot on his head, his eyes widened and you noticed his face turned a dark shade of red. No girl had voluntarily approached him and spoken to him—his life was finally reaching a turning point!

You handed him the vanilla milk with a soft smile, “Here. You look tired.”

     “A princess!” He screeched before you giggled at his response.

     “I saw that you were practising yesterday too, on your own. I wondered why you keep doing this? You have a team to practise with, don’t you?”

He nodded before wondering whether to take the milk or not. You giggled one last time before forcing it on to his hands, recalling at last that you hadn’t introduced yourself.

     “My name’s (l/n) (y/n), I’m in Yamaguchi’s class. We used to go to the same middle school.”

     “H-Hinata S-Shoyo!” He stammered before blinking and tilting his head, “Yamaguchi-kun? That means...” His eyes narrowed, “You must know Tsukishima too then.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the mere mention of the blond’s name and you wondered yet again for how long that dinosaur loving boy would have your heart react the way it was. You hoped that your face didn’t show any discomfort, and you smiled softly before desperately wanting to change the subject.

     “I gave you the milk to drink it, Hinata-kun.”

Shoyo let out a ‘gah’ before drinking it—almost as if he were doing it for you—and in a minute looked at you again. 

     “Why did you give this to me?”

You blinked, unsure of why yourself. There was something about Hinata that caught your eye, something that seemed...ethereal. Perhaps, it was because he was working on something he really loved, and he was doing it openly—unashamed of it, and how he contrasted the same love for the sport that Tsukishima seemed to have. Hinata was also shorter, much more cheerful, openly energetic and suddenly, your eyes widened.

You couldn’t be that shallow, right? 

Was your mind trying to compare Hinata to Tsukishima? Just so that you’d see that the difference was extreme? That you really weren’t missing out on anything? 

Hinata’s eyes shone like fire orbs while Tsukishima’s had a coldness to them that you thought you could penetrate with time. 

You could only smile at Hinata and say one thing, “You were shining too brightly.”

But deep in your heart, you knew what you were doing.

*

Tadashi and Tsukishima both witnessed your interaction with Hinata, but before Yamaguchi even could say a word, Tsukishima walked away. He didn’t want to get in between the both of you, but it was clearly only one person’s fault in this entire ordeal and whether it was cowardice or not, whether it was shame or something else, Kei was the one who needed to step up and take action. 

Tadashi could understand that sometimes, people wouldn’t know what to do. But, if Kei really wanted you to understand him better, which Tadashi knew he did, then he had to step up. 

Kei, on the other hand, was visibly seething. It wasn’t just the idea behind their names that bothered him, it was the contrasting personalities. It was how Kei knew deep down that you deserved someone who wasn’t so reserved, that you deserved someone who could unashamedly tell you what they think, instead of covering it up with layers and layers or rude comments or sarcasm. If this wasn’t cowardice, Kei didn’t understand what it could be. Hinata was bolder where Kei wasn’t and that was who he envisioned beside you. And even though Kei wanted to hold your hand and kiss you more than anything else, the truth was staring at him right in the eye.

At times he felt that he had almost rather not be in love with you, for it brought him no peace. What was the use of it, if it was only going to be painful?

And that was when he thought of it. He was going to tell you. He was going to tell you the next time fate decided to have your path cross his. He was going to blurt out everything that he thought of you, whether or not you’d accept his feelings, despite the shortcomings, despite the lack of conviction, despite not being Hinata. He was going to tell you he’s always been in love with you, as Tsukishima Kei, and see what you had to say.

Yet, fate didn’t see that happening any time soon. Weeks passed, and December was coming closer and closer. He was selected for a 5-day training camp, yet there was no sign of fate even attempting to pin you toward him. He knew this was merely an excuse; he knew that putting this on fate meant that he was, in a way, running away from it. He noticed that you were on a first name basis with Hinata and that angered him. He noticed how you’d wave at the orange haired munchkin every time you pass him by, and how you’d divert your eyes away from Kei’s whenever you even came close. 

Perhaps, what really drove him to the edge was one small incident. It was something Kei believed he was the only one allowed to know. 

     “Your hair smells like... honey?”

Before you could say anything, Kei’s voice reached out louder than you’ve ever heard him be.

     “(y/n)!” 

He wasn’t too far behind, and it was very, very unlike him to yell out your first name when he hasn’t even spoken to you properly in close to a year. Your eyes widen as your gaze lands on Tsukishima’s, Hinata was baffled as well but was quiet for his own reasons, and you could feel your insides shaking.

     “Tsukishima-kun?” 

He hated it. He hated how he had suddenly fallen from being ‘Tsukki’ to a name that reminded him of how close you were with Hinata, no, Shoyo-kun instead.

     “I need to talk to you.”

His words were convincing enough, and you quickly followed him. No one else paid any attention to the weird interaction, lunch breaks were fairly noisier than Tsukishima calling out your name by standing just five feet away from you.

     “Tsukishima—”

When he decided you two were alone enough, he turned and looked down at you, a scowl plastered on his face. You knew that this was sometimes a default expression, but it’s been months and you didn’t want the boy you were so helplessly in love with to look at you like you were trash.

But then, something miraculous happened. His expression waned and you could see a hurt look sit on his features, his hand reached out to you, almost hesitant, and touched the tip of your fingers. He took a deep breath and you almost smelt it. 

The thought you had when you first met Shoyo. Of their names contrasting. Tsukishima didn’t have to say a word.

     “I’m afraid...” He let out, gulping. “I’m afraid I can’t catch up.”

To what?

Shoyo.

Oh.

You looked up at him and wondered if this was why. If this was why he had turned you down, if this was what was haunting him then was he really, really so hellbent on punishing himself as if no one else noticed?

     “I think,” Your hands wound around the fingers close to you. “I like this light better.”

Tsukishima hated the way you always caught his breath the way you did. He hated how accurately placed your emotions were, he hated the way you felt, he hated how good your shampoo smelled and what he hated the most out of everything was how he desperately needed your affection. 

He craved it, all for himself. You were made for him, and that was how he saw it and as cheesy as these thoughts were, it was a balance he was yearning for and he saw it all in you.

     “Tsukki,” Ah, you were going to kill him one day. “Please, don’t push me away?”

A question. 

He sighed. He looked at your linked hands. Stepping forward, his lips ghosted over your forehead before placing a soft kiss there, feeling the back of his eyelids burn as he shut his eyes.

Fig and honey. 

     “I don’t think that’s possible now.”

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV: A Synthesis of Aether

#FebHyurary Day 17: Food + Day 18: Music

A/N: So I had too many ideas for yesterday, but knew for today touching on Synnove’s aether synesthesia would work well, and then I said, “DT YOU FOOL YOU CAN COMBINE BOTH DAYS FOR HER AETHER SYNESTHESIA.” And lo: a fic! Mostly dialogue, I haven’t done a dialogue heavy ficlet in a loooong time so I feel a bit rusty, but this was a fun exercise!

RATING: T WORD COUNT: 1455 WARNINGS: None!

---

[Installing SCAEVAN SYSTEMICS operating software.]

[Installation successful, running update cycle.]

[Updates complete. Archive Node Unit 453 now online. Please specify primary user.]

“Synnove Greywolfe.”

[USER: SYNNOVE now registered. How may I assist you today?]

“Please stand by for audio recording.”

[Standing by.]

The node’s lights dimmed from bright grass green to soft seafoam as it partially powered down, its northern and southern hemispheres slowly rotating in opposite directions.

Synnove lowered her hand and glanced over at Rereha. “All right, you can babble now,” the Highlander said.

Rere took her hands off her mouth to tug at her braided pigtails and beamed at her. “Whatcha doing?” she said, in the sing-song tone of someone feeling exceptionally nosy, rocking back on her heels.

Synnove rolled her eyes and set her hands on her hips. “Y’shtola’s working on a compilation of aetheric synesthesic perceptions as a downtime project,” she said. “She asked me if I was willing to contribute, to which I obviously said ‘yes.’ But because I’m not often able to spend much time in Revenant’s Toll that doesn’t devolve into Warrior of Light or Ironworks business—”

“—audio recordings you can send or give her are more convenient.”

“Careful, Rere, or other people will begin realizing you’re smarter than you pretend to be.”

The lalafell gasped. “Madam, you wound me!”

She received a satisfied smirk in reply as Synnove added, “And what better way to create an audio recording than with my new archive node?”

Rere pulled herself up onto Synnove’s desk, sitting on the edge and kicking her feet back and forth as she leaned back to rest on her hands. “Did you liberate it from the Ironworks?”

“I purchased this fair and square, I have a bill of sale from Jessie herself.”

“Nero’s OS?”

“The fact you know that term is vaguely frightening, but the man does have an unparalleled understanding of Allagan technology and if you tell him I said that, I will hang you by your toes from the edge of the Steps of Faith.”

Rere mimed locking her lips.

“Hand me that stack of paper, please.” Synnove pointed to Rere’s right. The lalafell snagged it and dutifully handed it over.

The arcanist shuffled through them, humming tunelessly as she did, before she came across the correct page. “All right,” she said, mostly to herself. “Start with Y’shtola’s list of baseline sensations today and go from there.” Louder now: “Begin recording.”

[Audio recording now live.]

Synnove automatically straightened her spine and rolled down her shoulders in the same way she did before she began a lecture for the fourth-year arcanist students. In a clear, strong voice: “Synnove Greywolfe recording for Y’shtola Rhul on the 18th day of the Second Umbral Moon, 11 Year of the Seventh Astral Era, on the subject of synesthetic perceptions of aether. I personally perceive aether, in addition to visual manifestations, as both taste and sound. Occasionally, one sensation will dominate the other, and certain sounds and tastes aren’t exclusive to one elemental type.

“For this recording, I’ll describe the overall generalities I associate with different elemental aether; variance is high depending on factors such as location or origin, in terms of ambient or crystallized aether, or in the case of spells, if they are being performed correctly or are altered in some capacity.”

“How to spot the catastrophic boom just before the boom becomes catastrophic and it’s too late to do anything about it.”

Synnove sighed. Rere giggled.

“Y’sthola, remind me to recalculate the angle needed to ensure Rere lands in Silvertear if thrown from the highest tower in the Toll.”

“Hey!”

“You’d be fine, Hydaelyn likes you best.”

Rere pouted, lower lip pushed out to the point of exaggeration, which meant she wasn’t actually offended.

“To get back on topic: fire. Fire aether most frequently tastes like hot spices, such as peppers; coffee; red meat, such as buffalo; bitter chocolate; cherries; wine. Sound tends to be uniformly brass instruments such as horns and trumpets; very occasionally it can sound like metal striking metal.

“Earth aether is auditorily simple and gustatorily complex. The sound of earth is always rhythmic and steady, if not outright drumming; the sensation of it echoing follows fairly often, too. Taste runs a huge gamut: savory or sweet seasonings, such as cumin or cinnamon; white meat, such as pork; most vegetables, particularly green or starchy vegetables; certain fruits such as apples and figs; bread; cheeses; stews; whiskeys.”

“I’d call most of those foods ‘homey.’”

Synnove frowned thoughtfully. “That’s a fair assessment,” she said after a moment. “Earth aether tends to ‘taste’ comforting.”

“Does that mean Tyr is the ultimate comfort food?”

“Does that mean you want to go flying out of my office window into the harbor?”

“I’m going to shut up now!”

“See how long that lasts,” Synnove said under her breath while her sister smiled beatifically. “Where was I… Ah, wind.”

The Highlander frowned. “Wind aether is another oddity, taste-wise. Mint tends to present quite frequently, along with sweet chocolate, white grapes, vanilla, white wine, arak, olives, and scallions. Thankfully when it seems to be a combination of flavors, it’s complimentary…” She shook her head. “Sound is similar to flutes, chimes, whistles. Bit stereotypical, honestly.

“Lightning…” Synnove paused, frowning again. “Sound tends to be similar to specific string instruments such as violas and cellos; deeper sounds. Low notes on a piano or harpsichord, sometimes simple humming or vibrations. Taste does not tend to be strong, but most frequently has manifested as berries and/or stonefruits. Alcohols such as gin, palm wine, ouzo, and brandy.”

“That is not the element I’d consider boozy,” Rere said idly. She had lain back on the desk and was staring up at the huge arched ceiling of the tower office, twiddling her thumbs.

Synnove shrugged without further comment, already looking at the next item on the list Krile had transcribed on Y’shtola’s behalf. “Water is what one would think would be boozy but I have legitimately never tasted ‘boozy’ water aether before. Tropical fruits dominate; in terms of savory, as horrifically stereotypical as it is, seafood. But almost never in a way that makes sense, I once found a water cluster in a bluefin tuna’s belly that tasted like Coerthan oyster confit.”

“I remember that, you made the weirdest face.”

“I still can’t find the words to describe just how fucked up that taste versus visual dichotomy was. In any event, water aether also sounds like string instruments, mostly harps, dulcimers, and brighter pianos. Also, a very specific drum… Rere, what’s that staccato-sounding drum the Flames have been using in their parades of late?”

The lalafell picked her head up. “Snare drum?”

“That’s the one. Timpanis on occasion, too. And finally…ice. Sound leans towards woodwind instruments like the clarinet and piccolo, as well as bells. Any bell. Taste…hmm. Slaw, fruits that freezes well, fruit juices, Thavnairian sweet tea—”

“That is not tea, that is an abomination.”

“—some melons, cucumbers, white rum, wintergreen.”

“I still can’t believe you’ve never come across ice aether that tastes like the Bismarck’s root beer float.”

“They introduced it to the menu last year.”

“So?”

Synnove sighed that heavy, gusting sigh everyone who spent longer than thirty minutes with Rereha learned. “Y’shtola, I see a note here about Primordial Light and Dark, but I’ll do that in the next recording along with variations and discrepancies, as first, I need to beat my sister over the head with a grimoire—”

Rereha hopped down from the desk and ran for the office door, shouting BYE Y’SHTOLA I LOVE YOU BEST over her shoulder as she did.

“—and second, I’m hungry and now is a good time to break for lunch. Recording end.”

[End of recording. Is there anything else on which I may provide assistance?]

“No, that will be all for now—ah! Before I forget. Please create new nodal designation of own choice.”

[Clarification requested.]

“Pick a name for yourself.”

[…]

[Accessing imperial Allagan databases for repository of birth certificates. Scanning records.]

[Archive Node Unit 453 rename complete. Archive Node Unit 453 is now Kleio.]

Synnove smiled, pleased. “It’s nice to meet you, Kleio.”

[…Thank you. Database scans are currently inconclusive as relates to instruments in modern usage versus those of Allag. What samples are available to provide edification?]

The Highlander cocked her head, staring at the silver-and-green node for a few long moments, before another smile, this one slow and delighted, crossed her features. “I have a few orchestrion rolls that include solos and chamber music that you could listen to while I have lunch, and I can provide lists of which instruments are used in each piece.”

[That would be satisfactory.]

“Perfect! Let’s get you set up…”

[corinthbayrpg]

NAME. Armando Salavieja Roa AGE & BIRTH DATE. 447 & November 4th,  1574 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Genderfluid & He/They SPECIES. Cubi OCCUPATION. Artist & Bartender at Ambrosia FACE CLAIM. Pedro Pascal

BIOGRAPHY

( tw: violence, gore, suicide, the sex ) Colonial Chile, 1617

The stench of gunpowder and gore clogged the air, as thick and suffocating as the mud the conquistador’s knees sunk into. Through the tears and the muck caked into his lashes, Armando stared into the blurry heap of red, swimming matter he struggled to cradle in his arms. Seconds ago it was the most beautiful composition of human features the heavens had designed, lips that relished the taste of sweet figs and Armando’s name; treacherous dark eyes that softened when they landed on his companion, unscathed and victorious, only seconds ago. Seconds. Now it was all running together, slipping through Armando’s pleading grip to join the muck of the battlefield. He retched until his ears were ringing and his lungs burned, his body sapped from this heady business of war and grief. 

He was left with a musket, a single snuff of powder and bullet, and a war-battered horse that was more fit for meat than a mount. Altogether it was a great show of generosity, considering the depravity of his sin. It was impossible to know how long he stayed there, slumped in the gore, until he was wrought of emotion.

Months ago, watching women and children succumb to cutlass and rifle and rotting fever, Armando had come to the conclusion that their God had not crossed to these uncharted lands with them. Even if he had, he knew there would be no negotiating for his tainted soul. So, with the long barrel pressed precariously beneath his chin, he shut his eyes and pleaded to any deity that would listen. 

“Perdoname,” Armando spit through clenched teeth, “Que mi mayor pecado fue amar.” With a final, shuddering breath, he pulled the trigger.

Only... there was no crack of white-hot pain or blinding light, no smell of burnt gunpowder on the air. The woodlands went still. Blood drummed like a battalion in his skull. A sudden chill tore down his spine, alerting Armando that was no longer alone. He’d prayed, and someone… something had listened. It was bristling and primal, something much more ancient than the God he knew. Before he could speak, it had wrapped him in a warm, spiced plume of smoke, much how a mother swaddled her child. She sealed his wounds between the veils of time, his taker-in of wayward things, and offered respite from his sorrow.

Armando, with nothing but his immortal soul left to lose, signed it away.

The deed fulfilled, the indiscernible shadow was gone in a litter of silken white feathers, the smoke dissipating behind. The woodland life resumed its chatter. The grief was gone, now replaced by an equally-encompassing numbness and… and hunger. He was ravenous, though no food would satiate him, only pleasures of living, giving flesh.

The newbred incubus found relief within a small encampment of Spanish settlers, and wrapped them tightly in his coils. In a week, he’d wasted the camp of its souls, each of them enraptured by him until their dying breath, which Armando was delighted to find always tasted the sweetest. The high of consuming a human life was unlike anything he’d felt before, but the euphoria plummeted fast and hard, leaving pangs and more lustful hunger in its wake. He was a new creature entirely, propelled through the world by lust and yearning and instinct, and the unbending anguish he’d felt not even a week prior was now a lifetime away.

Until, when he’d had his fill, his dead lover appeared at the husk of a homestead he’d created. Armando’s heart would’ve stopped, had it been beating. It was as if the shape had separated from the fog itself, a mirage cast of perfectly-cast light and shadow. There was no mistaking him though, albeit his strong features were gaunt and sapped of color. An expansive, purplish scar flayed like lightning across his face, tangled high into the roots of his hair. 

“Estabas muerto,” Armando stammered and reached to trace a finger along the frayed skin. “Te abracé, te enterré. Como estas vivo?”

He flinched when a cold hand caught his wrist before it could reach his blackened lips. “No estoy vivo ni muerto,” The shadow replied.

‘Pastor’ was the closest word he could find for it, a shepherd of sorts, called to herd the souls of the settlers onward before Armando beat him to it. He was an unbound soul, a taker-in of wayward things, without a sturdy enough vessel to withstand Armando’s newfound hunger. Even a single night would be enough for the cubi to consume the reaper’s flickering soul entirely.

And so, the star-crossed lovers were bound, never to consummate their eternal binding of spirit. The decades began to run together, Armando’s eternal pining drowned in hedonism of every shape and flavor. Pirate ports, private palaces, military outposts - anywhere there was a lascivious craving, he could be found entertaining it, leaving only sourness and death behind. His lover visited intermittently through the channel of dreams, though this illusion of intimacy could never be enough to satiate them fully. In time, the rift grew wider between them.

Decades stretched into centuries, and each turn of the clock came with a new vice to entertain. The incubus took up painting portraiture along the way, an art he found to be incredibly intimate in its nature, with the bonus of allowing for the disarmament of willing models through his prominence and charm. With his hunger qualmed, his victims’ living image was forever captured in oil-cast splendor. Armando found it all quite poetic and generous of himself to provide such a flattering life beyond life. A recurring motif throughout his art was a scar-ridden face with striking features, one that would be the quizzical discussion of many European parlor rooms into the early 19th century. 

When painting portraiture fell out of fashion, he took up the camera. Armando found photography to be a flattened bastardization of the world, wholly devoid of life. His portraiture, by contrast, restored life through tactful illusion, while the photograph only staled it. Still, the medium allowed for new cliente, each earnest visitor leaving a bit less whole by the end. Armando’s series gained him renowned acclaim, particularly a series following several subjects over what appeared to be decades of hard living. Few knew the truth of his subjects’ cause for wasting away, but the artist fled San Francisco before anyone could wise up to it.

With the Americas still spent and breathing hard, Greece beckoned, and Armando, a creature driven by basest impulse and desire, followed. 

PERSONALITY

+ self-assured, vivacious, perceptive - arrogant, compulsive, self-indulgent

PLAYED BY THEO. PST. She/They.

[vesuviannights]

Lucio x Reader 🍋🍋

Gender neutral reader, no pronouns or body parts.

As an Omega, you’ve spent your life yearning for adventure and covering your symptoms with any range of spells and herbs you could find. And the world has been kind to you, keeping you hidden from any Alpha who would wish to have you - until a white wolf appears in your forest sanctuary, golden eyes and blood-stained maw, and your carefully crafted control begins to unravel.

5411 words.

Featuring: omegaverse lore, knotting, breeding kink, cum stuffing, biting/claiming, Alpha Lucio, Omega Reader, some Asra x Muriel, mentions of blood, mentions of starvation

*

If you’re familiar with Omegaverse lore, know that I’ve fiddled with some of it to merge it with what we know of the Arcana universe. If not - welcome, and I hope you enjoy your stay! Here’s an informative page if you want to learn about it before you read, but if not there’s just enough exposition woven throughout the fic to give you the basics. 

Also, the whole ‘consent what consent’ vibe in Omegaverse fics always throws me a bit, so there’s some vaguely political stuff in here to address that. 

This is the second fic (and third prompt) for my Terrifying Ten scorecard!

*

You had never wanted to be an Omega. Or a Beta. Or even an Alpha. You had only ever wanted to be you, and free to do whatever you pleased, and not weighed down by what each label meant, or how others looked at you because of it.

And so you had spent every year since your first heat, that horrifying moment you could no longer deny exactly what you were, trying to figure out new ways to stop or mask it.

Casting spells. Starving yourself. Hiding out in certain magical places to mask your scent. Carrying specific herbs or magical items with you to ward off the all-too-obvious symptoms until you could find sanctuary.

You knew it was dangerous. Illegal, in some parts. The right kind of Omega might be considered property by the wrong kind of Alpha, and the longer an Omega went through their heats without sating them by submitting to an Alpha, the more they risked one day being crippled by them.

But you…you risked it all. All for freedom. All for the world. For wanting to see and explore and live how you wanted and not for someone else.

And all because of what your Aunt had told you one day, when you had been walking past the Count’s palace. Her eyes had glazed over, her voice had become fickle and husky, like it always did whenever she was possessed by the spirits.

And then she had turned to you and whispered the six words you knew you could never escape:

One day he will have you.

*

The air is crisp around you as you push your fingers through the damp soil, seeking the mushrooms and roots you need for your evening meal.

Beside you, a basket is already near-filled with them, all sorts and varieties and colours, ready to be washed and made into stew. You would usually never pick so many for yourself, especially not during your heat when you were too nauseous to eat, but you always enjoyed leaving some for Muriel as a thanks for letting you kick him out of his hut for a week.

You didn’t think you could ever thank him enough, really, but you tried to every moment you could. The sanctuary it allowed for you to have was priceless, and no gift would ever suffice in return.

You drop a few more roots into your basket before dusting the dirt from your hands. A little is still there when you move your hair from your face, and flecks of it catch in the strands and on your cheeks.

You huff quietly under your breath.

—and just barely hear a second, more distance huff join it.

You freeze at the sound, an almost low growl that reverberates through the clearing and straight into your chest.

And that’s when you feel it.

Eyes.

Watching, waiting, curious.

Ready to devour.

You stand on shaking legs, your eyes darting around the edges of the clearing. Three rapid beats of your heart pass before you see it, hidden in the shadows of the trees just beyond reach.

It’s a wolf. White as snow, with two golden eyes and a bloodstained maw that curls back over its glistening teeth.

Your knees nearly buckle at the sight of it, the world stilling around you as its eyes pin you in place. There is a burn at the base of your throat, a thickness you can’t quite dislodge. A soft wind pulls at your clothes, rustles the trees around you, and when the wolf takes a single step forward, you’re hit with the faintest scent of honey.

It’s this that snaps you from your daze, that awakens you enough to release a short gasp as you take a single step back. The wolf’s ears perk, its pupils blow out, but it doesn’t take another step, and you manage to clamber your way back into the hut and slam the back door shut.

You pull every lock but it still doesn’t feel like enough.

You wait out the night in the bedroom upstairs in darkness, all curtains pulled, alone with your thoughts and fears until the sun peaks over the frosted forest trees and you are safe once more.

*

There are no more signs of the wolf, a mere figment of your imagination when you set foot back in the city a week later. Asra sends word that same day of his own return—without Muriel, but with fresh fish from the northern rivers.

And so you venture into the markets that evening with your satchel and coins, determined to have at least something in the house other than dried fruits and stale bread. Perhaps some root vegetables and spices for the fish. Some wine to pair with it.

The city is bustling at the evening hour, and you pick your way through it via a series of back streets and alleys you know well. Already in your bag is a fresh pick of swedes, and your mind is set on the mulled wine from the vendor by Salasi.

As you side step a cart and duck into an alley, you let out a quiet sigh—and are immediately hit with a swoop of heat that nearly crushes you.

It moves from head to toe with brutal force, one clean swoop before it settles in your gut. Your knees give from beneath you, and you barely notice the sting of you palms as you catch yourself on the ground.

Your vision is pinpricks of black, a foggy midnight. Racing heart. Short, shallow gasps.

And when you look up, you see it.

The wolf.

The sounds of the city are so distant, cut off by a fog you barely have the clarity to try and push your way through.

There, in the airless alley, there is nothing in the universe except for you and the white wolf as he paws forward, sharp claws clicking on the cobble.

His eyes are searing into your soul, and with each step he takes closer you find yourself keening, little whines and huffs from somewhere deep in your chest as your fingernails curl into the ground, near snapping from the force.

The wolf comes to a stop before you. As you wait on shaking hands and knees, it presses its nose to your face, your jaw, your neck. It inhales, and with it comes an oh-so-soft growl before it begins to circle.

And there you kneel, barely a day after your heat had already passed, brought down by the Alpha who circles and inhales you like its last meal.

When it steps behind you, you feel quiet noises of protest bubble in your chest, little whispers of no no no no no as he presses his maw between your legs—and with that singular action comes the wolf’s deepest growl yet, one that makes your arms give out from under you.

You fall and curl in on yourself, shaking and shivering even though it feels like a baby sun has found its home in your body, flaring and stretching itself out to every nerve and muscle it can find.

You’re barely aware of the wolf shifting, of its human scent hitting you.

A dying campfire. Honeysuckle.

You gasp out and try to shift out of his arms when he scoops you up.

“No, no,” you moan. “Please—please, I don’t—”

“Ssshhh.”

His voice is so soothing, right against your ear. Gentle. Safe.

You relax, the world slipping for a few moments as you press your face into his chest. His hands—one soft, one hard—curl into your body to keep you close. You sway as he walks, a soft oceanic movement that lulls you, lashes fluttering against your cheekbones.

And then the world goes black.

*

You blink and push yourself up on a shaking hand, the room slowly clearing as you brush the sleep from your eyes.

Every part of you is a little sore, as though you had run for too long without water. It’s daylight. The smell of fresh bread lingers in the room, and a moment later—

Asra appears in the door, soft smile and dazzling eyes as he leans against the frame.

The shop. You’re back in the shop.

“I was wondering when you would wake.”

He has that look about him. That freshly-fucked glow, the kind he always has when he comes back from being railed by a rutting Muriel’s fourteen inch cock for six days straight.

You stand, stretch, rub your face. “Is there food?”

“Plenty. You know I always need to replenish when I’m back.”

Downstairs, there is a ridiculous spread. Dried figs, small chunks of cheese, breads and olive oils, cold cured meats from your favourite market vendor. There is even a small selection of sweets in the corner, placed closest to Asra for ease of access.

The sight of so much food should be overwhelming, but you’re used to it. Asra never puts his money where his mouth is, or rather the food—always says he wants to eat and eat and eat after returning home, when really all he wants is to pick at things like a spoiled concubine.

He lounges on his side by the low table, supported by plush silk cushions while you lower yourself to sit cross-legged opposite him.

The two of you immediately begin working through the food while he talks about his plans for the week, how the weather will turn just enough for the two of you to spend a night out in the fields stargazing.

You murmur and agree to each thing, though you don’t really remember them once he moves on to the next one. Your concentration isn’t normally so poor, and if he notices you thinking on it, he doesn’t say a thing.

The spread of food slowly clears, until about half remains, and Asra has stopped picking.

You have a piece of toast halfway to your mouth when it hits you. Hazy and not entirely there and curious.

The alley. The wolf. The…the scent.

“Are you alright, love?” Asra asks, his voice coming to you as though through a thick fog.

You’re frowning, eyes unfocused. You don’t know if you’re alright. You can’t quite recall how you got home, or what happened after the scent.

Asra’s face shifts. He reaches out for your knee, squeezes. Your hazy memories become a little more so, and then you blink, and they are gone.

You exhale softly, and accept a small circle of cheese Asra pushes toward you. Your cheeks bloom in your happiness: it’s your favourite, a kind only available in a far-off city on the continent.

Grabbing it up with unapologetic greed, you take your first bite and release a soft moan. Asra beams at your pleasure, and the final sliver of uncertainty eases itself from the room.

“How did your week go?” He asks.

You nod, and you tell him it went well. You got a lot of reading done. You tried to paint. Muriel has a new row of herbs in his garden, though you couldn’t say what—identifying seeds has never been your specialty.

Asra’s eyes light up, and he laughs. “Muri will adore them, I’m sure.”

And you smile back, and bite into your toast.

“Last time I changed something in his hut,” you remind him, a mischievous glint in your eye. “He pouted for a week. Remember? He hated those carvings. Said he wanted to move out, they were so hideous.”

Asra’s lips twitch up, but something seems to fall, too. You tilt your head and watch as his gaze lingers for a second longer, then loses the fight and drops away.

“He’s…not leaving the hut, is he?” You ask slowly, a little more alert. And then, with a slightly tighter chest, “You’re not leaving, are you?”

He shakes his head, no, and then shrugs.

“Maybe. Muri is getting restless anyway,” he says. His gaze drops to his hands, where he’s picking at his nail beds. “He wants pups.”

“Do you?”

And then, so quietly you almost don’t hear it, a resigned, “Yeah.”

But. There’s a ‘but’ there, one you know not to push.

With the remains of your meal scattered and a new weight settled over the shop, you stand and begin to collect whatever you can save for the next day. Asra remains in his spot, staring at his nail beds, until you crouch by him and kiss his head, nodding toward your shared room.

*

The day melts into the afternoon, until the sun begins to disappear beneath the skyline and you’re stirred from your dozing by the sounds of rapping at the shop door.

Asra murmurs and stretches out beside you, then slowly unfurls each of his limbs from each of yours and moves for the door. Faust slithers out from the sheets at the foot of the bed and curls into the curve of your neck, and the two of you are very nearly back to sleep when Asra returns with a small piece of paper bearing the palace seal on the back.

He holds it up to you between two fingers, nose crinkled in mild distaste.

“It’s—” You pause to yawn, murmuring quietly as you sit up and rub at your eyes. “It’s from the Countess?”

Asra nods.

“The Count’s ruts have been getting longer and longer,” he sighs. The paper vanishes in a puff of magic, and he begins to gather his scarf and coat as he speaks. “And she can only be alone with the insufferable twat for so long herself.”

Your lips twitch a little at the comment, and he slings his bag over his shoulder before offering out a hand for Faust to slither up.

“Muriel isn’t back in the city yet,” he says, looking a little worried. “Will you be okay?”

“Perfectly fine,” you assure. You lean forward to kiss Faust on her nose, and then flop back down into the sheets, ready to settle in for another nap. “Wake me when you get back.”

Asra murmurs his goodbye, and you’re already slipping when he closes the shop door behind him.

Until another rapping comes, this time much firmer and a little more impatient.

Near blind, you push yourself up and stumble toward the door, still rubbing sleep from your eyes with the heel of your palm as you open the door.

And before you stands your white wolf.

Count Lucio.

You know it without thought, without consideration, as though every nerve in your body knew the exact feel of the flames that licked at them whenever he came close, in whichever form he chose.

You wait for it to hit you, that crippling heat, that burning need, but as you stare up at him through your lashes and his canines glint in the torchlight, you find nothing inside of yourself except your own racing heart.

You pause before you speak, body still as your eyes flicker over his face. “How—how did you know Asra would leave?”

He peers into the shop and steps inside, not waiting for an invitation as he looks around.

“I was a particularly insufferable twat today,” he tells you. “So that Noddy would request your master’s company.”

You exhale hard to cover the shake in your chest as you close the door, and against your better judgement you lock it.

“He’s…not my master,” you murmur to him.

He turns to you, canines glinting in the torchlight. “No. He’s not.”

With long, sure strides he stalks toward you, and of your own accord your eyes drop down and you walk yourself back until you hit the wall. He gives a low growl of approval, and—

There it is again, that scent, honeysuckle and a dying fire. Your eyes flutter shut; you can already feel the promise of what comes next.

“You’ll find I’m not a patient Alpha, my sweet,” he murmurs to you.

His alchemical arm reaches down, you feel it brush against the fabric of your clothes before he pulls something out. Your eyes catch on it, but you still can’t look up, still can’t raise your voice above a whisper.

“What is that?” You ask.

But of course, you know what it is.

“You know what it is,” he answers, an impatient lilt there. “Though perhaps you haven’t been knowledgeable in the ways you’ve been using it.”

He holds it out, and you take it in trembling fingers.

Myrrh. You knew it well, despite your attempt at ignorance. Muriel used it so people forgot him, and you used it to ignore what you were.

Asra had introduced it to you as something he himself had used in his battle to fight off his own heat and find true love instead—something that had clearly worked, and knowing that Muriel and Asra were as much in love as they were mated kept you religious about carrying it with you wherever you went.

With a clever combination of other herbs and spells, it kept the worst of it at bay. The pain was still there, but not the crippling heat, not the burning desire to be fucked and pupped without conscious choice.

You had never submitted to an Alpha, and you had never attracted any.

Until now.

Lucio tuts, pushes the hair from your face, laughs with an almost condescending edge.

“You’ve never submitted to an Alpha before now because you were waiting for me. This—“ He snatches it back to brandish it, then crushes it in his alchemical hand with a scoff. “This means nothing. That day in the forest I could have had you, could have pinned you and pupped you while you screamed.”

You shiver at his words. “Then why didn’t you?”

“Because you said ‘no’. Then, and last night when you collapsed in the alley. I’m an Alpha, but I’m not a monster.”

He traces your bottom lip, and it trembles then parts as your tongue darts out, hesitantly lapping at the tip of his thumb. You dare a glance up and see the approval in his eyes, the darkening of his irises, and your stomach leaps at the look. You turn your head and close your lips over his thumb, whimpering and whining as you suckle.

“You won’t last forever, pet,” he says. “You will have to submit. Your body demands it. Even now I can see the sweat of your brow, the tremble in your thighs…the myrrh and spells hide the symptoms but they don’t erase them forever.”

And at his words, your entire body shudders and you drop against him. It’s the alley all over again, a heat licking up your spine and every nerve, clawing at your veins, you’re whimpering and whining and the only thing you know is honeysuckle and dying woodfire.

He is growling, muscles rolling, pressing you against the wall as he nuzzles into your neck, as he paws at your clothes.

Say it say it say it say it—

You don’t know what he’s asking for, your eyes are rolling into the back of your head, your chest heaving, you need it now, you need to be rewarded, filled, fucked, pupped—

The thought slams into you without elegance and without warning, and you gasp out and shove him away, but he comes right back. He smashes his lips to yours, teeth clashing as he ruts his hips into your thigh.

“Say it!” He growls; it’s deeper, it echoes in your mind, demands. An Alpha’s voice.

You whimper, and the word tumbles from your lips in a pathetic cry.

“YES!”

And then he’s on you. He’s shredding your clothes, his teeth are at your neck, grazing and threatening to mark. You can feel the heat of his cock as he throws you down onto the table, you part your legs whining and clawing at the wood.

He snorts at the sight of you, a cold sneer as he looks you over. “What am I supposed to do with you like this? Present yourself.”

You scramble to roll over onto your stomach and push your hips into the air. You can feel your sudden heat lashing at your body, causing arousal to drip down your thighs, lubricating you for everything to come. You push your hips back, panting and whimpering, trying so desperately to find the heat of his cock.

His cock, his seed, to be filled, to be swelled, to be knotted and held there and bred and pupped and fucked over and over and over again—

“Please!” You whine and look over your shoulder, but he growls and pushes your head back down.

“Behave yourself.”

You feel his cock press into your inner thigh, and you know he must have shifted into his mating form, because no human cock could be so large, so thick. You shudder, your eyes sting from desperation.

He just laughs. An Alpha in control, desperate to fuck you and pup you, but he won’t make it easy for you to get what you want.

“Please!” You gasp out again. “I’ll—I’ll be good, I promise—”

“Oh, my dear little Omega,” he purrs into your shoulder blade. He pauses to graze his teeth there, and you go near-feral from the sting. “You will be good no matter what, my cock will see to that. Have you ever taken a cock this big before?”

You shake your head.

“Have you ever taken cock at all?”

You swallow, and when you don’t answer, his grip on your hips tightens.

“AH!” You yelp and jerk away from the bruising, but he drags you right back with a warning growl. 

The action causes the head of his cock to slip into you, and you sob at the stretch of it, as the ache in your body burns even deeper at the knowledge that he’s inside of you, but not enough to sate you.

“Do you want my cock, little Omega?” He purrs. “Do you want me to fill you?” You give a pathetic whine. “Oh, you do? Well, then perhaps you should ask for it.”

Your words begin bubbling out before you can stop them.

“Please, please please—”

He scoffs. “Better than that, my dearest.” 

His alchemical fingertips trace the curve of your spine. You clench and shudder around the head of his cock, but he remains perfectly still. 

“Tell me exactly how you want me to take you.”

Your eyes roll as you gather your next words.

“I—I want—” You attempt to turn your face into the table to hide yourself, the drooling mess of your mouth, the crossing of your eyes, but he twists you back with an impatient growl. “PLEASE! Please, f-fuck me, please fuck me, fill me with your cock, breed me and pup me and fuck me please—”

Your words snap his final ounce of control, and he slams into you in one go with a howl, one that seems to shake the walls of the shop and every object on the shelves.

An Alpha’s howl.

A claiming howl.

The Count of Vesuvia, finally having found his Omega.

He begins fucking you without warning, long and thick strokes you know couldn’t possibly fit inside you. But they do, your body has shifted along with his own and every inch of him can fit inside of your dripping hole.

The room echoes with wet squelching noises as he moves at a brutal pace, his growing knot and balls slamming against you as he buries himself as deep as possible each time.

“Ohhh, does that feel better, pet?” He croons to you. “Does it feel good having my cock inside of you, fucking you like the submissive little bitch you are after you spent so long denying it?”

You nod and gasp, nails dragging along the oak of the table as you try to gain purchase to push back. You want his knot. You need it so bad, you need to be filled—

You sob. “P-please!”

“’Please’?” He laughs, and the barely-hidden edge makes that final hold on you snap.

“I WANT YOUR KNOT!” You scream. “I need your cum—I need it please—”

He reaches forward and closes a hand around your neck, yanking you up and back against his chest. His movements don’t still as both arms close around your waist, caging you in.

“I’ll knot you,” he murmurs into the back of your neck. “I’ll fill you with my cum and then my pups and watch you swell with them over and over again—” You whine as he speaks, and the deep growl from his chest is his approval. “But first, you must give me something in return.”

And then you feel it—the scrape of his too-sharp canines against your neck.

He wants to mark you.

Claim you.

Make you his, and only his, for everyone to see.

“Yes!” You gasp it out without even thinking, without needing to. “Mark me, I’m yours, I’m your mate—”

He lets out a feral growl at the word. “Say it again.”

“M-mate, I’m—” You feel your grip on reality slip, just for a moment, only to be brought back by his hand at your throat, shaking you as he rattles your body with his brutal pace.

“Louder, again—scream it for the city to hear!”

“MATE!”

His hand tightens just that little bit more.

“Again!”

“MATE, I’M YOUR MATE—AH!”

His teeth sink in, right as his knot does, and it’s the most exquisite pain you have ever felt in your life.

While his teeth cut into your neck and mark you with his scent, claiming you forever as his, his knot stretches you to its impossible size, locking you to him as his cum spills inside of you, copious and hot and thick.

You groan and whine and whimper at the feel, the world blacking out for a few moments as your body strains to take it all in. No world, no words, no time; just the warmth of his cum as it swells your stomach, the sweat that trickles down your collar bone along with the blood that stains your skin and his teeth.

When you return to consciousness a moment later, your own orgasm is rocking through you. It’s burning you from the inside out, leaving you dazed and aching, squeezing around his swollen cock and knot, greedily draining him and everything he is offering you.

As you start to come down, panting and gasping, you can feel something at your thighs. You realise, with heavy eyes and barely-there mewls, that there is so much of his cum inside of you, flooding you, that it has leaked out past his knot. It’s dribbling down your heated skin, following the curve of your thigh, the back of your knee, to the floor with soft little pats.

You let out a soft cry as he pulls his canines from your neck, then laves at the marks with his tongue to seal them. Your hand goes to your stomach, still so impossibly swollen with his cum—and one day, if he had his way, with more than his cum.

His hand joins yours at your stomach, pressing gently. You groan in protest at the ache, and he shushes you with a kiss behind your ear as more of his cum leaks out and runs down each of your legs.

“Oh little Omega, look at the mess you’ve made,” he murmurs.

His voice is quiet now, the Alpha sated, though it’s only temporary. Within half an hour, his knot will have receded, and he will be ready to fuck you again, and knot you again, and fill you with his cum again, over and over throughout the night and well into the next few days, until his rut is over and he has had his fill.

You let out a soft cry as he shifts the two of you to stretch out along the table, his body curved along your spine.

“You’ve been coupling thistle with the myrrh, have you not?” He asks.

You nod. Even though you were so careful to never be exposed to an Alpha until now, you still took the precautions to prevent pregnancy.

“That will have to stop immediately,” he murmurs into the back of your neck. He nuzzles with his nose, and then presses a single, slow, open-mouthed kiss there. “I want you swollen with my pups.”

You swallow thickly, and when you don’t nod or make a noise to agree, he reaches forward and roughly takes hold of your chin. Your eyes go to his lips, feeling the Alpha roll through him again, you can’t meet his gaze.

“Do you not want my pups?” You shake your head. “’No’, you don’t want them, or ‘no’, I’m wrong?”

You swallow. His grip tightens. You whimper, and in response you feel his cock twitch inside of you, setting off a new round of heat that begins to curl around your abdomen and the base of your spine.

You’re already panting a little when you answer. “I want your pups. I want to be your—your breeding bitch.”

“Good mate,” he murmurs. His hand goes back to your stomach, pressing against the swell of it once more.

As if pulled by strings, you whine and twitch against him, and his body rolls with a growl as he nuzzles into your neck.

“B-but—” You gasp it out, and feel him freeze behind you. But he waits. “I…I want to wait. Please. I don’t think I can handle…pups, right now.” You swallow, and when he still hasn’t said a word, you add in a whisper, “I want to see the world.”

It seems like an eternity before he speaks, or moves, or gives you any indication of what he feels. His lips remain at the back of your neck, and his hand against your stomach, the pressure there just enough to be a constant reminder of how full you are of him.

“I would never dream of taking your autonomy from you,” he murmurs, breaking the silence. “If you wish to be swathed in silks, then I will find the best out there. If you wish to spend your days lounging in my palace without lifting a finger, then I shall assign you a thousand hands to help. And if you wish to see the world…”

Your breath catches in your throat. You can hear the shake on his voice, the barely-contained Alpha—and beneath it all, the terrified Count Lucio, afraid that affection will not remain forever. That you will not remain forever.

“…then you will see the world.”

You nod, but you can’t bring yourself to thank him. Instead, you lift a hand to his wrist, holding it against your throat for the comfort and security it offers.

It doesn’t take more than a few moments before you feel him tensing behind you, the Alpha’s growl building in his chest.

“I will fuck you on every surface in this shop until sunrise,” he says, voice deathly still. “Until you can no longer walk, until you can no longer swallow my cum or fit any more of it inside your aching hole, and even then. And if your master returns, I’ll make him watch—maybe I will even make him join, no matter who his Alpha is. How does that sound, pet?”

You’re shivering from the heat again; without the myrrh and with your Alpha so close by, with your new mark burning at your neck, there is little to do.

Everything he says sounds so wonderful. So delicious. You want to be fucked and bred and swollen and held down while he does whatever he needs to you, while he coos to you about how much of his cum is inside of you, how swollen and aching you are, how pretty it looks dribbling down your thighs and leaving drops on the wooden floor of the shop.

All too soon, before you have even managed to answer, you feel him beginning to pull out of you. Along with it, some of his seed spills out onto the table, and you feel tears sting your eyes at the loss.

Until he rights you, hips in the air, and rakes his claws down your spine as he leans in to whisper.

“Spread yourself apart for me like a good little breeding slut.”

And then he slams himself into you once more.

*

🍑 Requesting | Masterlist | My Ao3

[jamiebluewind]

A Flame In The Dark: Chapter 1

Chapter 2 is up now! I'll try to link it here when I get the chance ^_^

Fandom: Dimension 20, Fantasy High

Word Count: 3594

Perspective: Riz

Note: Hurt/Comfort. There are a lot of trigger warnings, so please keep them in mind and stay safe.

Characters: Riz Gukgak, Fig Faeth, Adaine Abernant, Fabian Seacaster, Kristen Applebees, Gorgug Thistlespring (implied), Tracker O'Shaughnessey, Sandra Lynn Faeth, Ragh Barkrock (implied), Cathilda Ceíli (mentioned), and unnamed OC

Warnings: violence, death mention, canon typical violence (specifically Riz killing assholes), panic attack, abuse, injury, child abuse, starvation, neglect, isolation, imprisonment, dark themes, trauma, child murder mention, sewage mention, fantasy racism, implied slavery, parasite mention, blood mention (please message me if I missed any)

Summary: A hobgoblin that's responsible for an untold number of atrocities against goblins is dead. The battle is over. Riz's friends run to him to help calm his shaking form. None of them are prepared for what happens next.

"Look at how a single candle can both defy and define the darkness." Anne Frank

*****

The hobgoblin devastator stood there, almost smug as he looked down at Riz. To the hobgoblin, the offer was more than fair. A strong intelligent gobin being allowed to become a chief and fulfilling its roll of serving its betters? It was a kindness meant to somehow balance out his atrocities. Riz's blood boiled.

The smug bastard wasn't prepared for his rapier. Surprised. Sneak attack. Critial blow. Massive damage. A second critical slash while the bastard scrambled for his weapon. Riz was eerily quite, moving as silent as death. And to the hobgoblin, that's what Riz was. Death and pure unbrided rage.

The fight was short, so short in fact that the others didn't have time to act before the monster was laid out before Riz's feet. His friends ran to him. His breathing was heavy. He had always known that goblins were treated poorly in some countries, but he never realized... it made him sick. God it made him sick! The monster that had hurt his people was gone, but the bastard being dead on the floor didn't stop his body from shaking. Didn't erase the images of scars and beatings and dead children.

Someone was speaking to him. Scuffed hands placed Boggy in his arms. His friends knelt beside him so he didn't have to crane his neck. They were banged up from the battle to get where they were and bruises were already starting to form, but they were all there for him. A glance around the room showed that Cathilda and Sandra Lynn were there as well, alert and standing guard so that the kids could be safe while they focused on him. The anger melted away. His logical mind came out of its fog. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

He opened his mouth to speak when he froze. His ears twitched as a soft sound came from the rows of cages hanging a few yards behind the rusted metal throne. They weren't alone. He put a finger to his lips and whispered to his friends to keep talking before he stealthfully crept towards the origin of the sound.

Riz crouched low to check under the suspended cages, but there appeared to be nothing there. That didn't mean that someone wasn't hiding somewhere else. There were a lot of options and the possibility of an invisibility spell to consider.

The floor was a criss-cross of grates with a long open deep gap between the back wall and the floor. The wafting smell and a nearby hose implied that the design was probably meant to wash away waste, but it could also be used as a hiding place. He made sure to watch his step.

The chains supporting the cages could also make for a good hiding place for a decent climber. He scanned the ceiling, paying close attention to the more shadowy areas. It was badly lit at best, perfect for a rogue to disappear into, but perfect for him as well. Nothing stood out, so he kept looking.

The cages themselves weren't an ideal hiding place, but they would do in a pinch. They would also work as a bit of extra armor if someone locked themselves inside one. He relaxed his eyes and focused past the bars of the cages. A small, out of place shape stood out against the angular bars. With his friends still talking nonsense in the background, he slowly made his way over. He considered what the shape could be. Everything from a sack of food to an actual demilich crossed his mind, but he wasn't prepared what he found.

Locked inside one of the suspended cages was a small goblin child. She couldn't have been more than three or four years old. Her dark orange hair was caked with dirt. A threadbare tunic hung off her dangerously thin form. Riz gasped and her head shot up at the sound. She stared at him with intense amber eyes that stood out against the grime covering her face. There was no fear there, only acknowledgement.

Riz cleared his throat. [Hi], he spoke softly in Ghukliak, hoping his accent wasn't too thick. [My name is Riz Gukgak. I'm going to get you out of there... okay?]

A slight curious tilt to her head was the only indication she gave that she understood him. He pulled out his tool and she flinched. [No it's okay!] he said hurriedly as he threw his hands up in surrender, hoping it made him look less threatening. It didn't help. [Look], he said as he tried to hand her one of the tools he didnt need for her door. She snatched it from him.

[This], he said, pointing to his tool, [is something I use to open locks. They can't hurt anyone.] He pulled out a second tool and poked his finger with it to demonstrate. A tiny prick from the pointed edge, but no actual damage.

The child studied the small tool in her hand before cautiously handing it back. Riz took it as a good sign and started to work. The simple unwarded lock was open in seconds.

The door creeked open, but she didn't bolt out like he expected her too. Her head tilted again as she seemed to study the open door and the goblin before her, almost like she was unsure of what to do.

Riz decided to take a careful, patient approach. [It's okay], he said. [You're safe. You can come out now.] She seemed to lean towards the door just a fraction before going back.

Riz stood there and watched. He breathed in and out deeply and tried to relax his muscles, hoping she would do the same. The pungent smell of filth coating her tiny form filled his lungs, but he kept his face relaxed. His plan seemed to work to some degree as the little goblin stopping hiding behind her knees.

The energetic chatter from his friends was starting to die down. They would probably come looking for him any minute now. Riz looked the child directly in the eyes and - with every ounce of sincerely and conviction he could put into it - told her [I promise, I will protect you.]

Something seemed to click within her and she slowly crawled forward.  Her guard was up and Riz had no doubt that she would attack if given the opportunity, but she was still moving towards the door.

She made it to the opening and hesitated. Riz held out his arms. [If you don't wanna walk], he said, [I could carry you... if you want me to].

She looked down at his arms, up to his face, and back again. She seemed to consider his offer before raising her arms. He lifted her up and something in his brain screamed 'too light too light too light!' He tried not to think about the pests in her hair, her pronounced ribs, or what could have happened to her while she was down there. He failed.

Her large ears perked up as his friends started to speak in frantic whispers. He looked down at the child in his arms. [Those], he said with a jerk of his head, [are my friends. I'm going to let them know we're here. They won't hurt us. They will keep us safe.]

They seemed to move closer. He heard a sword being pulled from its scabbard. No time for subtlety. "Guys!" he yelled. She flinched in his arms. "Stay there," he said as he tried to calm her.

"...why?" Fabian asked, confused.

"Are there traps?" That was Sandra Lynn.

"Are you in trouble?" Kristen asked. She sounded worried.

The little goblin turned her head towards the voices and growled low and threateningly. Riz had no idea what the hell he was doing, but he held her close and whisped [It's okay, shhh]. "Everything's okay guys," he answered. "I just need everyone to be very still and nonthreatening."

"What the hell is going on?!" Fabian said. He sounded pissed now.

"We know as much as you do," Adaine answered.

"Is it a trap?" Fig asked.

[Everything's fine], Riz answered. He was too busy trying to calm down a tiny goblin to notice that he was still speaking in Ghukliak. [I found a kid. She's in rough shape. Probably needs healing too if anybody has a spare slot.] Riz also didn't realized that he had walked straight towards his friends on autopilot until someone gasped.

"What the hell is that!" Fabian yelled while pointing his finger at the girl. It was a big mistake. She bared her teeth and lashed out with lightening speed. She missed with her claws, but the tiny points of her teeth sunk into the flesh of Fabian's hand. "Ow!" he screamed as she jerked back towards Riz, still growling and grasping Riz's shirt as she tried to look as menacing as possible. It was nice to know that she trusted him to some degree and wanted to protect him, but gods damn!

"First off," Riz stated, starting to feel fatigued, "don't point your finger and scream at something that's growing at you."

"Uah!" Fabian answered with a sharp exhale, still holding his now injured hand.

"Second," Riz continued, ignoring Fabian's reaction, "this would be a goblin." He looked back towards the area he had just come from. Back towards the rows and rows of rusty cages hanging over a metal grate covered floor. Back towards a place that smelled of sewage and death. "She was... locked in one of the cages." His voice got quieter with each word. "She's just a kid. That asshole... he was locking toddlers in cages."

The others froze. Even Fabian seemed to stiffen as he took in the sight with its horrifying new context. They looked back at Riz and then down at the tiny goblin in his arms. Really looked at her. Bones pressing against skin covered in filth. Sunken tired eyes. Nicks along oversized ears, a jagged edge at the tip of one where a point should have been. Their faces all softened.

Fig shifted her weight and crossed her arms. "Good thing that bastard's already dead," she said, eyes filled with fire and rage, "because I wanna kill him. In fact, can we bring him back so I can do that?" The joking tone that was normally in her voice was completely absent.

"No," Kristen answered softly. "We all need the slots to heal everyone." She walked over to Fig and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Besides," she said as she dismissively waved towards the body of the deceased hobgoblin, "that asshole isn't even worth the time it would take to cast a cantrip."

Fig sighed. "Yeah," she said as some of the fight drained out of her. "You're right. But still..."

Everyone stood silently, save for the child and her steady growl. Adaine cleared her throat. "We should probably get out of here," she said to the group. "I don't believe there are any more, but we don't need to take that chance, especially with a small child in tow."

Everyone nodded in agreement and made their way towards the exit. Riz followed a few steps behind the group, hoping distance from the others would help the child calm down. It seemed to work as her growls quieted slowly as the 'threat' seemed to pass, but she was still on high alert. They continued to walk in silence. It had been a long day.

After over half an hour of walking, Adaine paused for a moment. Riz stopped as well, not wanting to get too close. He watched as she pulled out her spellbook and started flipping through its pages. She mumbled to herself, somehow able to both skim its pages and continue walking at her normal pace without tripping. He wondered if it was a wizard thing.

"I could cast comprehend languages," she said to no one in particular. "Oh but... shoot. That only works on me and only on comprehension, not speaking it. Hum..." more pages rustled as their footsteps echoed in the cave.

"Oh!" Adaine said a bit too loud, amplified by the acoustics of the cave. She didn't seem to notice, too focused on her book. Riz looked down, expecting to see the child on edge again. Instead, she seemed calm and curious about the strange girl before her.

"Tongues," Adaine told the walls. "That could work. Oh... but that one would take an hour to cast..." She flipped a page and ran her fingers over the script. "BUT, I can cast it on anyone and they can both understand languages AND be understood. Hum... it also has a one hour duration and no extra components. Yes. I believe that would be the best option." A comfortable silence followed, save for Adaine reading the complicated spell in a steady tone. Amber eyes watched her intently as the mouth of the cave drew near.

The bright light of the outside made the little one squint and hide her face against Riz's vest. He sighed and pulled off his hat, placing it on her head. If he was going to need to be treated for lice anyway, he might as well make her life a little easier.

Normally the hat would have been far too large for a kid her age, but between her thick hair and the layer of dried mud on top of it, the hat fit her perfectly. She reached up to touch the fabric. There was a flash of a tiny smile that was gone as fast as it came. Riz would have questioned if it had happened at all if he hadn't felt her tiny body relax in his arms.

The further the group got from that horrid place, the more they seemed to relax. Sandra Lynn patted her daughter on the arm before running off to scout ahead. Kristen and Tracker started acting like their lovey dovey selves, occasionally looking back to make sure that they weren't frightening their tiny guest. Soon, the whole party was talking and laughing as Kristen, Tracker, and Fig started working on healing.

That was until the first strum of Fig's bass. Little eyes went wide as her grip tightened on Riz. "Hey Fig!" Riz called out, stopping Fig before she could get another spell out. "I think she's scared of your bass."

"Oh shit!" Fig said, pausing mid strum. "I'm sorry little dude."

Riz furrowed his brow, trying to decide the best course of action. Fig looked genuinely upset over scaring the kid, but her skills were needed. Plus, there was no way to avoid using it in the long term. "Maybe," he said to Fig, still turning over all the options in his head, "you can show her that it's safe?"

"Yeah," she answered with a nod. "I could do that. She looks like she could use a heal anyway."

"Just..." he said, holding up a free hand. "Just let me warn her first."

Riz looked down. The child wasn't growling yet. That was a good sign. [Hey], he said to get her attention. She took her gaze off the others to look up at him. [See that lady with the horns?] She looked away from him towards Fig who had moved closer to the pair, but was still keeping her distance. [Yeah. That's 'Fig'. She helps people and beats up bad guys.] Her death grip on him seemed to loosen a little. [She wants to help you feel better. Is that okay?]

She looked back and forth between Riz and Fig. He watched the gears turn as she silently contemplated and examined Fig (for what, he couldn't say). Finally, she pointed a finger at Fig and looked up at Riz. "I think she's saying that you can come over," Riz said without breaking eye contact with her.

"You sure?" Fig asked, hesitantly. As if somehow understanding the intention behind the words, the little hand currency pointing at Fig became more insistent. Fig laughed. "Okay!" she answered. "You got it boss."

Fig made her way towards the pair. "Hey kid," she said, walking backwards as she faced them. Her longer legs allowed her to walk the same speed as Riz (show off). "I'm Fig. You got a name?"

Riz immediately felt like an idiot for not asking. [She wants to know what your name is], he said. The child looked up at him and tilted her head. She looked... confused. Shit. Shit, shit, shit! How long was she even trapped down there?!

Riz looked back up. "I don't think she knows," he said.

"Shit dude," Fig answered as she fell in step beside Riz. Amber eyes watched her closely. "That's really messed up."

Riz was about to say more when a little finger poked his chest. He looked down and was met with a very scrunched up annoyed face. "Huh?" he asked, a bit confused.

"I think she wants you to translate dude," Fig answered with a smirk.

Riz smiled. His heart felt warm. ['Fig' said you deserve a name], he said tactfully. [So we are gonna help you find one that you like.]

Her reaction was unexpected, but priceless. Her eyes went wide and her mouth fell open. She swiveled her head quickly back and fourth between Riz and Fig, his hat barely staying on her head. She blinked rapidly, trying to process something. Riz wasn't entirely sure how to take the reaction until her smile appeared again. Just the tiniest quirk to the corners of her mouth, only this time it stayed several seconds before it was gone.

"Woah," Fig said. She was smiling too, only it was bright and so big that it made her eyes crinkle. "What brought that on?"

"I told her we would help her find a name," Riz answered.

"Yes!" Fig exclaimed. "We gotta find one that's really cool, like... Bonecrusher or... um..." Fig screwed her face as she tried to think of a second option.

"Fig," Riz said. He was trying to sound serious, but it was hard when you're standing next to someone that though a sexy rat was a great idea. "We are not naming a small goblin child Bonecrusher. That is a TERRIBLE idea. For so many reasons!"

He felt a tiny finger jab his chest again. [Sorry], he said to the aforementioned small goblin child. ['Fig' is really excited about helping you find a name.] The response seemed to satisfy her as she looked back over at Fig.

Fig studied her a moment and slowly help out her bass. "This," she said, pointing to the instrument, "is a bass. I use it to make music, help people, and kick ass. You can touch it, if you want."

The child glanced at Riz. [She said this is a 'bass'], he translated. [It's how she uses her powers. She said you can touch it.]

The child considered this. Fig kept her bass held out as they walked. It was unusual for Fig to be patient about anything. Riz was grateful that today was one of those days.

A tiny hand reached out towards the bass before shooting back. Fig just kept holding it in position. Several aborted attempts later, a tiny hand finally reached the guitar. She looked up at Fig. Fig smiled.

"You wanna hear it play?" Fig asked, her smile now crooked and filled with mischief.

[She wants to know if you want to hear it make sounds], Riz said without being asked.

She looked up at Fig and down at the instrument, her hand still resting on the red finish. She pulled her hand away, only to point at the bass.

"Ask and you shall receive," Fig answered, playing a single note.

A tiny gasp came out of the child as her mouth hung slightly open. Her tiny hand went forward again, hesitant but more sure. She stopped with a finger over a string and looked up to Fig. Fig nodded and her finger went down and plucked a string. A single note rang out. She watched the string vibrate before plucking another with a bit more force. It sounded louder than the first. She tilted her head in a way that was starting to become familiar before plucking the first string again. Then the second. First. Second. First. Second. Her eyebrows furrowed the entire time as if she was unlocking a secret, her eyes focused in concentration. She eventually tried the other strings as well. When she was finaly satisfied, she brought her hand back to Riz and looked up at Fig.

"Not bad for a first try," Fig said, the smile still plastered on her face. She seemed to be enjoying herself and her current audience. "Wanna see something even cooler?"

[She said you did good], Riz translated, [She wants to show you something else... are you're okay with that?]

The child looked up at Fig and waited. Fig took this as a yes and started to play. Normally Fig was loud and brash, but the soft melody was soothing, warm, and laced with a magic that was so very Fig. The child seemed entraced by the song, her sharp eyes watching in awe.

Riz felt the child's body relax as the magic enveloped her. She sighed and laid her head down on his shoulder. Her eyes were still fixed on Fig, her ears pointed towards the sound, but her body was heavy and still. Her grip losened as the magic did its work. Fig continued to play the soft melody as the amber eyes watching her fluttered closed.

*****

Special thanks to @plutosfury for helping me brainstorm the OC and to Pluto and @winterpower98 for being my beta readers. Also, thank you to my wonderful readers @fangirlsftw , @the-ipre , @riz-gukgak , @pete-theplug , Winter, and Pluto who helped me get past my anxiety about posting this. You guys rock! ^_^

[gem-quest]

[ SIDEQUEST 01. — I N F E R N A  &  N E D D Y  ]

taglist: @ayzrules @bebemoon @interluxetumbra @now-on-elissastillstands @pulltheskydown @atimefordragons @armadasneon

aka: how Neddy & Inferna meet! tl;dr neddy saves inferna’s stupid ass, and inferna loves one (1) dragon who is the goodest boi ever <3

After beating Level 35 - ‘Enchanted Forest and Faerie Court’ - Inferna was pooped; dealing with stupid annoying riddles was, well, stupid. She would have rather just fought the faerie queen lady, no matter how powerful she was supposed to be, and then fucked off.

I could have totally 360 no scope’d her, she thought, a bit bitterly.

But faeries reminded her of an easier level; Finvarra’s Gardens, all the way back in Level Ten. Just the thought of all the food she’d seen the first time she passed through made her mouth water. So, Inferna pulled an ictuium potion out of her inventory, and the next thing she knew, she was surrounded by the blue skies and dancing faeries of the level.

She followed her nose to the feast table, and if Gem Quest was an anime, Inferna’s eyes would have turned into a pair of massive hearts. There were glazed hams and candied figs and dainty little sweetmeats; honeyed wine and fruit tarts and a pig with an apple in its mouth. But one thing, and one thing only, would grab Inferna’s attention anytime, anywhere: pastries.

Inferna gravitated towards the sugary confections, eyeing the sweet treats. She reached out to grab one, already able to taste the chocolatey filling melting over her tongue...

“Hey, what the fu-” Inferna muttered as another player - Moonstone, apparently - came out of nowhere and smacked her hand. 

“Bad idea,” she said.

She jerked her lilac head down the table to the end, where a group of fae NPCs were watching them with intense interest. “If you Partake, they get to keep you.” 

Infera looked up, noting the girl’s pale purple hair (it was gorj), before her gaze flitted back towards the NPCs. “Oh.” Inferna frowned. “I don’t remember that from the last time I came through. Has that always been a thing?”

The other girl smiled. “Er, yeah. It’s been a thing for a while- Sorry, you’ve been through this level before and...you came back for-” she paused, looked down, and then looked back up “-sweets? That’s a new one.” 

Inferna shrugged. “Uh, yeah, there’s no fucking way I would have come back to this level otherwise,” she mused out loud, glaring at the NPCs. “The Finvarra guy is annoying. Honestly, all the NPCs in this game are either annoying, assholes, or both.”

She flicked her gaze back towards the purple-haired Moonstone player. “What about you?” she asked, curious. “Why are you hanging out around here? Is something fun going to happen?”

“No- I’m just camping here. For now.” Neddy smiled again, and stuck her hand out. “I’m Enthroned, by the way. But people call me ‘Neddy’. Less pretentious.” 

Inferna smiled back at her. “Cool name,” she said, taking her hand and shaking it. “Both of them.”

She paused, and flipped her red hair over her shoulder. “I’m Inferna. I tried to name myself Iroh, but someone had already taken the name. You know, after the uncle dude in ATLA?”

Neddy seemed...confused, and her brows creased. “What’s-?” she cut herself off as a shadow passed over the feast. There’s a black dragon flying overhead, but it doesn’t take long for it to disappear from sight. 

When Neddy looks back down, she’s grinning. “You want to come meet a friend of mine?”  

Inferna raised an eyebrow, following Neddy’s gaze skyward, and nodded. “Sure,” she agreed. “What’re they like?”

Neddy started off in....some direction. Inferna couldn’t tell, but she was willing to trust her - she was horrible with directions. “Tall, dark and handsome,” replied Neddy. 

“Really,” Inferna said. “Tall, dark, and handsome in the creepy male movie love-interest-slash-stalker way? Not my type at all. I mean, movie Edward Cullen just looks like a white, uglier version of Kris Wu with that dirty blond-ish colored hair.”

Neddy laughed. “Don’t be so sure. I think you’ll like this one.”

Inferna gave her a skeptical look, but continued following Neddy, until they reached what looked like a treehouse, made out of leaves and branches. “Whoa,” she said, impressed. “Did you make that yourself? That’s so cool; I can’t do jackshit when it comes to, like, arts and crafts. Or building stuff in general.” 

“Well, I had a little help bending these thicker branches, but-” Neddy put her hands on her hips, beaming. “-yeah, it was quite the undertaking. One has need of home and hearth, after all, even in virtual reality.”  

Inferna whistled softly. “Still, it’s super impressive,” she said, admiring the treehouse-ish shelter for a moment longer. “I just steal money from other people so I can have, you know, AC. And running water.” She wrinkled her nose. “The freshmen dorms at my school are like, janky as fuck. Is it even legal to force people to live in places with no AC, when it can get up to 100 degrees in the summer? Anyway, after a year of that, I’m never going without AC again. Ever.”

“So, where’s this friend of yours?” she asked, scanning the area around them.

Neddy blinked. “Oh, right- I guess he’s lollygagging. But I’m sure he’ll be along any second.” She gestured towards the tree house with her thumb. “Do you want to come inside until he gets here?” 

Inferna shrugged, though she was a bit suspicious - did Neddy always just randomly invite people into her house? “Sure, I guess,” trying to sound as nonchalant as she could. 

Neddy smiled and turned to head up the twiggy ladder, but she paused as the same shadow from the feast slipped over them. She looked over her shoulder at Inferna and pointed upwards. “He’s back!” 

Inferna, for her part, was shaken out of her thoughts by Neddy’s excited exclamation. “Huh?” she said, then looked up, as Neddy directed. 

She watched as a jet black dragon circled a couple of times before landing lithely in the cleared area outside of the treehouse. Inferna froze, but Neddy went over to put her arms around the creature the same way someone might hug the family dog. Finally, she looked back over at Inferna, one hand still rested on the dragon’s snout. 

Inferna’s eyes widened. “Shit, you have a dragon?” she asked, her own wariness forgotten as she watched the black dragon circle above and then land in front of them. Inferna stayed where she was by the tree as Neddy threw her arms around the dragon’s neck.

“I told you he was handsome.”   

She nodded, slowly. “He is,” she agreed, smiling despite herself. “What’s his name?”

“Jack.” Neddy gave Jack a fond look. “I know he looks villainous, but he has the kindest heart of anyone I’ve come across in this entire game.” 

“Awww, what a good boy,” Inferna said, taking a few steps closer. A thought occurred to her. “What kind of food does he like?” she asked, mentally rifling through her inventory. “Does he like spicy things?”

“He likes everything. Sugar cubes, especially,” Neddy said with a snort.

Inferna’s eyes lit up. “Oh, perfect!” she exclaimed. “I steal those from the Tearoom all the time. Well, not really ‘stealing’ if they’re just laying around on the tables for people to take, I guess, but what is that NPC who runs it going to do? Tell me I can’t bring Tupperware into the place?”

As she rambled, Inferna popped open her inventory on her player-plexus and selected the sugar cubes. “If I throw one to him, will he catch it?” she asked, beaming at Neddy.

Neddy considered Jack, thoughtfully. “I don’t know. Worth a try.” 

Inferna grinned and clapped her hands. “Okay, here goes,” she said, then gently tossed a sugar cube in Jack’s direction.

Inferna’s grin widened, and she let out an excited squeak as Jack snatched the sugar cube right out of the air - a thoroughly good boi. Neddy giggled. “I’ve never tried that with him before.” 

 “Really?” she asked, tossing another cube in Jack’s direction. “He’s so cute!!!” Jack snorted a plume of noxiousness, as if to say that he was in agreement with Inferna.

She frowned, thoughtful. “You think he’d like hot sauce?” she wondered out loud, pulling out one of her tiny bottles of Inferna Sauce. “I made this myself, because the food is way too bland in this game. Is it okay if I give him some?”

Neddy gestured that Inferna should have at it, and Inferna beamed at her, again, then dunked the bottle of Inferna Sauce onto the sugar cube and tossed it at Jack. Once again, the dragon snapped the treat out of the air. However, this time, Jack’s serpent-y tail swished back and forth afterward- he was clearly a big fan of the improved sugar cube.

“Wow. Guess he likes it. If you keep those coming, I bet he’ll let you have a ride,” said Neddy.

“He’ll let me ride him?” Inferna asked, clapping her hands. “I’ve never ridden a dragon before. Awww, but he’s such a good boy!” And she tossed him another sugar cube covered with Inferna Sauce, cooing at Jack in delight as he swished his tail around.

“What do you think, Cha?” Neddy and Jack shared a look. Inferna watched, intrigued, as the dragon dipped his head- up and down again- almost like nodding. Neddy nodded back before looking over at Inferna. “He’s ready when you are, Inferna.”

“Alright,” she agreed happily, skipping over to Jack. She glanced at Neddy. “How does this work? Do I just get on and hold on to something?”

“Exactly. Hold onto one of those collars.” Neddy gave her a boost onto Jack’s back and indicated the lowest collar studded with clusters of rubies as a hand-hold. “I’ve almost fallen loads of times, but he always catches me, so don’t worry about that. Just hang on as tightly as you can. And take off anything that might fly off of you because he goes really fast. I had a circlet whipped off my head once- it was a really pretty one too.”

Inferna settled comfortably atop Jack’s back, grabbing onto the collar that Neddy pointed her towards. She nodded, taking in Neddy’s advice. “Aw, that sucks,” she said, tying her own hair into a ponytail so that it would be out of her face. “The one good thing about this game is the accessories. I mean, shit, where am I going to get boots like this in the real world?” And she indicated downwards to the black leather boots she was wearing, with a matching leather snake wrapped around one of her calves.

Neddy nodded approvingly. “Those are dope.”

Inferna smiled her thanks. “Okay,” she said, making sure that she was holding on tight. “I think I’m ready to go. Is there something I’m supposed to say to get him to fly?”

“I just say ‘let’s go’. Usually does the trick.”

Inferna gave her a crooked grin. “Sounds good,” she said. “Let’s go?”

Jack took off, and Inferna held on as tight as she could, letting out a loud “Wahoooooo!!!” as he swept up into the sky.

All at once, the wind began rushing past her as they flew up into the clouds, and Inferna was very glad that she’d tied her hair back beforehand. She let out another exhilarated yelp as Jack spun them upside down then right-side up again, giggling at the sheer fun of it all.

Inferna guessed it had been about ten minutes - ten minutes of loop-de-loops and dizzying turns and thrilling dives that made her head spin every which way - when Jack began flying back towards the ground, landing in front of Neddy’s treehouse shelter.

“Holy fucking shit!” she shrieked, letting go of Jack’s collar to clap her hands. “That was by far the best thing I’ve ever done!!!”

Neddy applauded. “He was really showing off for you up there. Lots of fancy maneuvers.”

Inferna gave Neddy a curious look. “Really?” she asked, hopping off of Jack’s back so that she could lean up and kiss him on the snout. “You’re such a good boy,” she cooed, digging out another sugar cube and topping it off with Inferna Sauce. “Here!” And she tossed the sugar cube up into the air for Jack to eat.

Jack caught the morsel, emitting a gentle noise. Inferna stayed to play with Jack, and as night fell, Neddy invited Inferna to stay the night. Inferna agreed, of course - who didn’t love sleepovers?

In the morning, Inferna woke up because she was hungry, and groaned. She was still way too tired, so she tried to fall back asleep (her player-plexus said that it was 6:30 AM in-game, and Inferna found that she stayed up till 6 AM more easily than she got up at that time), but no luck.

After about an hour, Inferna gave up. She left Neddy a message via the messaging function on the player-plexus - hey neddy wassup, i’m gonna bounce bc i need some food, but it was fun meeting you and jack and ill see you around!! <3 :***** - and then climbed down out of Neddy’s shelter, waving goodbye to Jack as she pulled out an ictuium potion, headed for the Tearoom.

[radramblog]

Album Discussion- Nonagon Infinity

Last week I said I was going to do the next album discussion on something I unequivocally liked. This might have been a comment made in haste, seeing as I know gushing isn’t the easiest thing in the world for me, but I’m going to commit to that.

When I was looking through albums I’m super in to, I kept finding ones where it was like…oh I’d want to go through all of that artist’s work. Despite the fact that I absolutely will not be able to do that in a reasonable time frame. But when I came across King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard again, I realised that this was the one group that there was absolutely no way I could cover all the material. If only because by the time I finished they’d have three more albums out.

Thus, we’re going to talk about their incredible 2016 album, Nonagon Infinity.  The album’s title refers to its nature, as it’s a 9-track album in which every single song flows into each other- and the final track leads back into the first. Thus, the songs are like a nonagon…that goes infinitely…

…look it’s a banger, okay?

The first track, Robot Stop, opens with the album title. It opens the door. Wait for the answer that opens the door. Et cetera.

YEEWWWWWWWW

Robot Stop was the first King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard song I ever listened to. And it’s a hell of an opening statement, especially considering I was almost entirely unfamiliar with psychedelic rock in general. This track is fuzzier than a kiwi and about twice as confusing on first listen- there’s so much going on here. The vocals are a word salad, there’s like a dozen guitar lines and drum bits (this is a good time to mention that the band has two drummers), there’s like a harmonica or something blaring in the background…if you’re an ADHD person like me, then trust me- this is going to hold your attention. It is kind of impressive how, even with the conceit of the album, that they were able to make a track that works so well as an opener. Even as the track gets to some of its later points and calms down a bit, there’s still a bunch of playing around with different melodies and beats. It’s an excellent setter for the album as a whole, basically, because this doesn’t stop having things happen.

At a point that might be imperceptible to first-time listeners or those not paying super close attention, we shift into track number 2: Big Fig Wasp. You may notice that the riff that opens the song was in fact present as part of Robot Stop- this is something about the album’s theme that I didn’t mention in the intro- songs will share or borrow melodies or sometimes entire sections from other tracks on the album, making the whole feel even more cohesive and fluid. Indeed, Big Fig Wasp repeats an entire chunk of Robot Stop wholesale later on in the song. This does, however, have the issue where some of the tracks end up being hard to talk about individually, and in some cases, hard to appreciate individually. What I’m basically saying is that, as much as I like Big Fig Wasp, it’s kind of just Robot Stop Part Two. It has a similar energy and tempo, and is built around a very similar riff, structure, and sound. If you like Robot Stop, you’ll probably like Big Fig Wasp! But I can’t imagine preferring this of the two, if only because it’s the one you hear second.

Gamma Knife, on the other hand, has a very distinct transition into what could arguably be called a more standardly structured song. However, if you thought you were escaping the madness and word salad of the previous tracks, you’d be wrong- this is a theme that will be continuing for the whole album. This track has a very great moment when you realize that the bar that’s been repeating for a bit, oh they are just going to keep doing that, and letting the drummers solo over that shit, hell yeah, and it stops right before the point where it would overstay its welcome to let the track get back to its roots before it finishes. Gamma Knife could be considered one of the better tracks on the album, actually, and I’m not sure if I’ve managed to communicate that properly… but it’s quite good!

And we get a very menacing transition into our fourth song, People-Vultures. The song sounds much darker than the rest of the album, with a very subtle background organ adding this eerie edge to the whole thing, and the more grotesque lyrics. There’s some real gripping riffs in this track, with the instrumentation having this one-two-one-two in some places that just keeps the whole thing going throughout the way. I don’t have much to say about People-Vultures, but it’s just a very good track from this album. Enough that they chose to, erm, use its opening again two albums later. But with Vulture noises over it. Murder of the Universe was weird.

And then we get to…Mr Beat. I’m going to be honest, this track is kinda the black sheep of the album. It has none of the energy or vibe carried by the rest of the songs, it doesn’t carry or borrow much in the lyrics or tone, and it’s largely just…boring. It has a fun time signature, I suppose, giving it this off-kilter feel, but it’s just so bleh. I think if this song was independent of the album I wouldn’t be so harsh on it, but it’s a weird break in the middle of what is a real rush of a ride, so it feels very awkward here.

Things pick back up with Evil Death Roll, our sixth song on the list and by far the longest. This is owing to a huge section with the instrumental leading into the chorus of the next track, as well as the Nonagon Infinity…chorus…mantra…thing. The majority of the track, however, is instrumental, and it’s a quite solid instrumental overall- it has a bit where all but one of the instruments (no I don’t fucking know what it is) fades out and just that one little riff loops for a while, and its surprisingly serene, before eeeeverything fades back in and all the energy returns, but it’s with this almost calm undertone, as the song shifts into a more normal time signature. And then Stu screams.

Invisible Face is our next track that got its thunder stolen a bit by Evil Death Roll. Fortunately, that chorus is surprisingly not the majority of the track- instead, like that song, it has a lot of instrumental, though in this case it’s a surprisingly quiet, almost jazzy section, with light cymbals and meandering melodies. By this point, the sizzling energy of the early album has vanished, but unlike with Mr. Beat, it feels earned here. Without that track, it would be a steady slow to this point, a smooth transition from track to track that decelerates almost imperceptibly over 30-ish minutes. Alas. Invisible Face is the low point of the album- not in quality, obviously, but in energy, and it does represent both sides of that parabola- its leadin to the next track the beginning of the final tracks’ reacceleration.

Penultimately, we have Wah Wah. I kinda always forget this track exists, but to be fair, it’s the shortest song on the album. Where many of the other songs were steadily falling, Wah Wah is an upwards motion in pitch and tempo, and features this very interesting swaying sort of vocal style in the verses as a result of the funky time signature being used. Like with Evil Death Roll, it does pinch the final track’s instrumentation briefly, but it’s at least quick about it. Wah Wah feels kind of like a transition song, but that’s okay, and what it does have to offer is quite pleasant- I always forget just how great that third verse sounds.

Finally, we have Road Train, potentially the grittiest track on the album. True to its name, the song’s instrumentation sounds like a locomotive, drums rhythmically pounding like the wheels, and guitar chugging along with the engine. It’s also quick for how quiet it is relative to the first couple songs, with the dark instrumentation making the whole thing some kind of distantly disquieting feel. I get the feeling we aren’t supposed to feel like we’re on the train, rather that it’s bearing down on us. Or that it’s just kind of abstractly there in some sort of hellish environment. Road Train is extremely hella, but of course, it doesn’t quire end there- after effectively saying its piece, the song starts to build slowly (enough that it still feels natural) until it’s quick enough and loud enough to break into the instrumentation from Robot Stop. Because the album isn’t over! It goes on and on and on and on and on….

That (technically) concludes Nonagon Infinity. The album is probably my favourite of King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard’s offerings, which are all very solid (at least, all the ones I’ve heard), and has the acclaim and awards to prove it. It’s kind of the logical conclusion of an album album, as opposed to a singles album, such that it’s difficult to reasonably separate any of the songs from the whole. Like, there’s a lot of albums that people will tell you that you can’t take a song out of context from, but the fluid nature of Nonagon makes it stick together in a way that you really can’t effectively separate them. Which does give it a disadvantage in the long run, because it’s not every day you want to sit down and listen to a full album, especially when you have so many good ones you like.

On the other hand, for me, Nonagon Infinity opened the door to not just King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard, but aussie psych-rock as a whole. It was basically a gateway drug vis-à-vis hard rock, being arguably the band’s heaviest album (at the time, obviously Infest the Rat’s Nest exists). And I’m always going to remember it for that.

[safdsdg]

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[xseedgames]

2017 End-of-the-Year Q&A Extravaganza Blog! #2

Our second 2017 End-of-the-Year Q&A Extravaganza is here! There will be more next week, but for now, we have some answers from:

Ken Berry, Executive Vice President / Team Leader John Wheeler, Assistant Localization Manager Nick Colucci, Localization Editor Brittany Avery, Localization Producer Thomas Lipschultz, Localization Producer

Question: Have you ever considered selling the music CDs for your licenses stateside? - @LimitTimeGamer

Ken: That's not really a business we're looking to get into, with the exception being when we've already printed soundtracks as part of a limited edition release and have some leftover. Music licenses are always tricky, and even if the publisher we licensed the game from completely owns their own music rights, they can self-publish digitally on iTunes worldwide so no need for us to get involved.

Question: If possible, would you please consider researching and localizing classic Korean-made PC xRPGs? & Do you have any interest in pursuing the localization of any of the large, beautiful Chinese RPGs that have been hitting Steam? Or are you focused exclusively on Japanese titles? - @DragEnRegalia & @TheDanaAddams

Brittany: The main reason we focus on JP > EN is because we're mainly an office of Japanese to English speakers, and we can verify the quality. We haven't completely ruled out the idea of other languages in the future, but we can't do anything to guarantee these games will be accurate yet. If we hired a person to localize games into a specific language, there's no checks-and-balances system in place for us to know we're investing in a project people will be happy to play because it's the best quality we can offer. Personally, I would hesitate to expand outside of JP > EN localization regularly until we've gained more experience as a company.

We've done a few instances of EN > FIGS, but since our games usually are very text heavy, even this is difficult. I would want to experiment with smaller games first. Hopefully, there will come a time when we can expand beyond JP > EN on a regular basis, since I’ve noticed some badass-looking games outside of the EN/JP languages. I also like the Korean developer Cheritz, who did Mystic Messenger. Jaehee will always be the love of my life.

Ken: We are definitely looking to expand where we source games from in the future and not just limiting ourselves to Japan. Definitely lots of good stuff coming out of China, Korea, and other parts of Southeast Asia these days, and we're big fans of Western indie games too. You will be seeing a lot more variety of games from us in the future, but that doesn't mean that we'll be giving up on our staple of games from Japan - they will be in addition to those.

Nick: I figured I’d field these not because I have any special ability to get XSEED to license a game (we’re all free to suggest games for consideration, which is pretty cool), but because prior to working at XSEED, I actually did localization for Korean and Chinese F2P MMOs.

There’s a lot of game dev talent in places like China, Korea, and Taiwan that we in the west are only tangentially aware of due to their games market being significantly different from ours. To generalize a bit, outside of Japan, Asia doesn’t have a strong lineage of console development, as existing consoles haven’t been widely available in most of those countries. Rather, PCs are where people in Asia play their games – online games in particular, with net cafes being popular places to log in and play.

One of the first bits of localization work I ever did in my career was for the F2P MMO Dream of Mirror Online, for which I handled seasonal quests and ongoing localization (the base game had already been localized before I got there). The developer of that game, Softstar, has a cool, long-running Wuxia fantasy RPG series in China known as Xuan Yuan Jian, one installment of which is available on Steam right now. Wouldn’t it be cool to release an anime-style wuxia adventure RPG here? As a fan of drama, martial arts, and sweet swordfights, it would be pretty rad.

Personally, I’m totally up for dipping our toes into games like this as a company, but there are some extra challenges to taking on Chinese or Korean games that we haven’t had to contend with during our work on Japanese titles.

Perhaps most important is establishing audience interest in these titles. Even if we find cool Chinese or Korean games (and I’m sure we could), if we don’t sense a market demand for those games, it doesn’t make sense to expend the effort to publish them. That’s not a statement on their quality; it’s an issue of market awareness. Japanese gaming has an advantage for us, in a sense, in that it’s been pervasive in Western culture long enough that the names, language, and even history of Japan seem less strange and foreign to Westerners now than they were 20-30 years ago. We’ve come to have a taste for Japanese games and culture, one could say. That sort of natural predilection doesn’t currently exist for games from elsewhere in Asia. I think that a good game’s quality will be self-evident enough that it can become well known, but it would take considerably more work to make people aware of and interested in a cool game from China, Korea, Taiwan, Vietnam, or elsewhere than it would if that game were from Japan. And given that XSEED’s marketing and advertising resources are admittedly smaller than we wish they were, licensing and localizing a cool Asian game for a Steam release could prove difficult if we couldn’t connect the game with enough of an audience that would appreciate it. Before you nay-say me, look around at the amount of Chinese or Korean games currently available in the Western market that aren’t MMOs or mobile games. It’s...not very many, is it?

Not to say we’re not interested, of course! There’s a huge amount of potential in games from Asian developers, and an ocean of possibilities to explore. But I think, before that happens, we have to either find a game we think would be a pretty sure thing our fans would enjoy, or see that there’s a demand here for these games. If you’re interested in seeing XSEED work on Chinese or Korean games, do feel free to write us, especially if you have suggestions of titles you think are particularly worth checking out or that you think are very “on-brand” for XSEED.

Question: What inspired you all to do this kind of work in the first place? Also, what is the story behind the company name XSEED? How did you all come up with it? - @TBlock_02

Ken: The company was founded by former members of Square Enix USA, including its president at the time, Jun Iwasaki. Other smaller Japanese companies would often ask him to publish their games in the West, and even though we came extremely close to starting a separate "Square Selections" publishing brand to distinguish our own titles from third-party titles, we were always just too busy working on Square Enix titles to have the resources to work on anybody else's. Once the new company was formed and the name finalized (we wanted our new business to grow and foster from an initial small "seed"), it was only natural to reach back out to the publishers in Japan who needed a way to release their games in the West.

Question: What was everyone's favorite game(s) to work on this year? - @ArtistofLegacy

Brittany: Trails in the Sky the 3rd. I was very emotionally connected to that game, and its text is something I think I'll be proud of for years to come.

Tom: Zwei: The Arges Adventure, hands down. Most fun I've ever had translating anything.

John: I had a lot of fun with the PR-side of STORY OF SEASONS: Trio of Towns (the Capy comics and marriage candidate intros), though significantly less fun with QA for the DLC.

Question: What's everyone's favorite song from the Falcom games you've released so far? - @Crippeh

Brittany: Can’t choose a legit favorite, but it took me, like, twelve hours to beat the Finale dungeon in Trails of Cold Steel II and I still listen to Phantasmal Blaze regularly.

Tom: I'm actually not a big fan of the Trails games (blasphemy, I know!), but I absolutely adore "Cry For Me, Cry For You" from Trails 3rd. One of my favorite Falcom vocal themes of all time. As far as non-vocal themes go, I've always had a soft spot for "The Depth Napishtim" from Ys VI, "Harlech" from Xanadu Next, "Casino" from Brandish: The Dark Revenant, and basically the whole soundtrack to Zwei: The Arges Adventure.

That’s it for now! Next week, we’ll be answering questions like:

- Ever consider making a podcast/commentary for one of your games? My favorite Twitch stream from XSEED was the Trails in the Sky the 3rd stream followed by Xanadu Next. - The PC port diary thing from CS PC was fantastic. I really liked a kind of…behind the curtain look at what goes into a PC port. (I'd be similarly curious for the localization process overall.) Do you plan on doing more of those for future games? - What are the requirements/makes it likely to get hired as a translator? Would self-taught people stand a chance? - Are there any games you've worked on in the past that you wish you could go back to and do differently a second time around? - What does the first day of a new project look like? What kinds of things are done right off the bat?

See you guys next time!

[easyfoodnetwork]

From the Strategist: The Most Ingenious Kitchen Tools, According to Chefs

The clever kitchen gadgets and cooking doodads chefs swear by, from the Strategist

In honor of Ingenious Design Week, we asked chefs across the country about the clever tools that they can’t cook without and dug deep into our own back catalog to uncover other sworn-by doodads that are truly worth making space for in your kitchen drawer. And while we typically ascribe to the Alton Brown rule of kitchen gadgets — single function is a scam — we found that there are some select unitaskers that will make life better, just as there are likely things lying around your kitchen that can be used in ways you never considered.

Chef’s Press x TrueCooks 8 Oz. Press

If you’ve spent any amount of time in a Waffle House, then you’ve seen a press at work, likely keeping a patty melt flat on the grill. But chef Gracie Nguyen of East Side Banh Mi in Nashville says not just any press will do. She swears by this one from Chef’s Press, because, unlike traditional presses, it features a smart vented design, meaning you’ll never accidentally steam your grilled-cheese sandwich. And you don’t have to be a short-order cook to find this handy. It weighs down meats and veggies “so they cook evenly and consistently,” Nguyen says. “It can also be used to help submerge artichokes while they are boiling or a fat pork chop soaking in brine. They stack so you can add a few on top of each other if you need a bit more weight. Brilliant!”

Baking Parchment Paper — Set of 100 Half-Sheets

Parchment paper half-sheets are the Bounty Select-a-Size of cooking: exactly the kind of thing you’ll go from not knowing exists to being unable to live without. “I use these to line pans for easy clean up,” says chef Cassidee Dabney of the Barn at Blackberry Farm. “But I also use them to cover my cutting board if I’m cutting beets or garlic or anything that might stain with color or leave a flavor. They make a great piping bag, and you can go old school and use them to wrap food instead of using plastic. And they make a great cover during simmering to keep the splatters down.”

Goldspatz Spaetzle Maker and Potato Press

Though you probably don’t think you need a spaetzle maker, Mark Steuer, the chef-owner of Funkenhausen in Chicago insists otherwise. Even cooks who hate unitaskers will appreciate this made-in-Germany Goldspatz gadget for the sheer number of tasks it can take on, he says. In addition to using it for spaetzle, Steuer says, “It makes perfect mashed potatoes, presses garlic, and juices citrus.” It also happens to be dishwasher-safe.

Choice Vented Oil & Vinegar Cruet Bottle Pourer

With this clever tapered spout, never again will you attempt to drizzle a little olive oil into a pan only to have half the bottle come spilling out. Chef Katie Button prefers buying her oils in bulk, and these convenient spouts allow her to convert old wine bottles or regular olive oil bottles into custom pourers. “It’s been a game changer for me at home,” says the Asheville, North Carolina-based chef. “I’ve realized I could also put a spout on a bottle of vinegar and have the makings of salad dressing at any moment. Their uses are really limitless, and they are an awesome tool to have around.” And should you decide to do any at-home bartending, they’ll work for that, too.

Ateco Bench Scraper with Plastic Handle

Though bench scrapers have long been a must-have of pie-makers for their ability to divide dough and clear counter tops, you don’t have to be a baker to find this ergonomically friendly device indispensable. Chris Lewallen, the chef de cuisine at new Nashville spot White Limozeen, points out out that they’re much more effective at picking up minced garlic or chopped potatoes than the side of a chef’s knife. He also uses it to scrape every last bit of food out of bowls and off of cutting boards. “It is a handy multitool that I never go without,” he says. We’ve also found that it’s terrifyingly great at scraping built-up ice out of the freezer or cubing butter.

e-jen Kimchi Container Probiotic Fermentation With Inner Vacuum Lid

Instead of fussing with Mason jars and inevitably misplaced lids, consider the E-Jen, recommended to us by three chefs, including Everyday Korean authors Seung Hee Lee and Kim Sunée and chef Dave Park of Jeong in Chicago. Unlike glass jars, it’s light-resistant and as Park points out, there’s no need to invest in fermentation weights or other fermentation accessories. “It’s really useful because it has an insert that essentially creates a vacuum to press down your ferments,” Park says. “And it has an inner ring where you can either burp your ferments or keep it airtight.” Lee and Sunée add that “they also come with a dial, as to when you made it and when you put it in, so it reminds you how long it’s been fermenting.

Scallion Shredder

If you make a lot of stir-fries or like to julienne vegetables for salads, it’s time to consider a scallion shredder, which makes finely slicing up scallions (or any other small vegetables) a quick job. We’re talking seconds compared to minutes of chopping, which is great if you’re slow with a knife. “I use it for making salad to eat with grilled meats or for making long, wispy strands for Korean barbecue,” says chef Kelly Jeun of Frasca Food and Wine in Boulder, Colorado.

Gentlemen’s Hardware 12-in-1 Detachable Kitchen Stainless Steel Multi Tool with Wood Handles

Although we’re typically skeptical of “all-in-one” tools, chefs Elise Kornack and Anna Hieronomus made a convincing case about this 12-in-1 multitool when we asked them for recommendations on what to bring to a long-term vacation rental. “We take it everywhere we go,” says Hieronimus. “It has everything you need to prep an entire meal, whether you’re in a rental or by the campfire.” It includes a cheese grater, small paring knife, fork, spoon, bottle opener, and even a can opener.

Cooking Chopsticks

If you’re in hot pursuit of the best scrambled eggs, chef Mike Lata of FIG and The Ordinary in Charleston says it’s worth investing in some chopsticks or batons specifically designed for cooking. Compared to a spatula, they’re capable of moving deftly through a pan and are unrivaled when it comes to cooking delicate foods like crepes. Lata says they “help develop the tiniest curds. I crack the eggs into a two-cup measuring cup and beat them with the batons. It’s quick, easy, and much quieter [than a whisk], which is nice because I’m an early riser.” Another bonus: reconstituting oil-based spreads. “The batons are great for stirring separated peanut butter, tahini, and anything else that needs stirring in a small container,” Lata adds. They’re also a far more precise alternative to tongs when it comes to sautéing and grilling.

Grand Grill Daddy Grill Cleaning Brush

We’re at the height of grilling season, which means we’re also at the height of grill-cleaning season. Scrubbing by hand (especially when you haven’t done so in a while) can be a pain, but chef Jordan Wallace of Pizzeria Locale in Denver swears by the Grill Daddy as the be-all and end-all grill brush. Unlike traditional grill brushes, you fill this one up with water, which means you can steam and scrub gunk at the same time. It “cleans a grill better than any other tool. I love it,” Wallace says. “And the name is hilarious.”

Microplane 48060 Spice Mill Grater

The question isn’t what this spice mill, from the same people behind the legendary grater, can do, but what can’t it do. It features the same blades that have made microplane graters essential among chefs — but they’re contained in a battery-free grinder. What’s more, the top of the spice mill features an airtight container for conveniently storing spices between grinds. “Everyone at MeMe’s uses this spice grinder,” Bill Clark of MeMe’s Diner in Brooklyn told us last year. “Behind the bar, it’s how nutmeg goes on our classic punch; I use it for baking, and [co-owner] Libby uses it in the kitchen. We are not gadget people, [but] this is worth making space for.”

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/3fUgwNZ https://ift.tt/2CENGT6

The clever kitchen gadgets and cooking doodads chefs swear by, from the Strategist

In honor of Ingenious Design Week, we asked chefs across the country about the clever tools that they can’t cook without and dug deep into our own back catalog to uncover other sworn-by doodads that are truly worth making space for in your kitchen drawer. And while we typically ascribe to the Alton Brown rule of kitchen gadgets — single function is a scam — we found that there are some select unitaskers that will make life better, just as there are likely things lying around your kitchen that can be used in ways you never considered.

Chef’s Press x TrueCooks 8 Oz. Press

If you’ve spent any amount of time in a Waffle House, then you’ve seen a press at work, likely keeping a patty melt flat on the grill. But chef Gracie Nguyen of East Side Banh Mi in Nashville says not just any press will do. She swears by this one from Chef’s Press, because, unlike traditional presses, it features a smart vented design, meaning you’ll never accidentally steam your grilled-cheese sandwich. And you don’t have to be a short-order cook to find this handy. It weighs down meats and veggies “so they cook evenly and consistently,” Nguyen says. “It can also be used to help submerge artichokes while they are boiling or a fat pork chop soaking in brine. They stack so you can add a few on top of each other if you need a bit more weight. Brilliant!”

Baking Parchment Paper — Set of 100 Half-Sheets

Parchment paper half-sheets are the Bounty Select-a-Size of cooking: exactly the kind of thing you’ll go from not knowing exists to being unable to live without. “I use these to line pans for easy clean up,” says chef Cassidee Dabney of the Barn at Blackberry Farm. “But I also use them to cover my cutting board if I’m cutting beets or garlic or anything that might stain with color or leave a flavor. They make a great piping bag, and you can go old school and use them to wrap food instead of using plastic. And they make a great cover during simmering to keep the splatters down.”

Goldspatz Spaetzle Maker and Potato Press

Though you probably don’t think you need a spaetzle maker, Mark Steuer, the chef-owner of Funkenhausen in Chicago insists otherwise. Even cooks who hate unitaskers will appreciate this made-in-Germany Goldspatz gadget for the sheer number of tasks it can take on, he says. In addition to using it for spaetzle, Steuer says, “It makes perfect mashed potatoes, presses garlic, and juices citrus.” It also happens to be dishwasher-safe.

Choice Vented Oil & Vinegar Cruet Bottle Pourer

With this clever tapered spout, never again will you attempt to drizzle a little olive oil into a pan only to have half the bottle come spilling out. Chef Katie Button prefers buying her oils in bulk, and these convenient spouts allow her to convert old wine bottles or regular olive oil bottles into custom pourers. “It’s been a game changer for me at home,” says the Asheville, North Carolina-based chef. “I’ve realized I could also put a spout on a bottle of vinegar and have the makings of salad dressing at any moment. Their uses are really limitless, and they are an awesome tool to have around.” And should you decide to do any at-home bartending, they’ll work for that, too.

Ateco Bench Scraper with Plastic Handle

Though bench scrapers have long been a must-have of pie-makers for their ability to divide dough and clear counter tops, you don’t have to be a baker to find this ergonomically friendly device indispensable. Chris Lewallen, the chef de cuisine at new Nashville spot White Limozeen, points out out that they’re much more effective at picking up minced garlic or chopped potatoes than the side of a chef’s knife. He also uses it to scrape every last bit of food out of bowls and off of cutting boards. “It is a handy multitool that I never go without,” he says. We’ve also found that it’s terrifyingly great at scraping built-up ice out of the freezer or cubing butter.

e-jen Kimchi Container Probiotic Fermentation With Inner Vacuum Lid

Instead of fussing with Mason jars and inevitably misplaced lids, consider the E-Jen, recommended to us by three chefs, including Everyday Korean authors Seung Hee Lee and Kim Sunée and chef Dave Park of Jeong in Chicago. Unlike glass jars, it’s light-resistant and as Park points out, there’s no need to invest in fermentation weights or other fermentation accessories. “It’s really useful because it has an insert that essentially creates a vacuum to press down your ferments,” Park says. “And it has an inner ring where you can either burp your ferments or keep it airtight.” Lee and Sunée add that “they also come with a dial, as to when you made it and when you put it in, so it reminds you how long it’s been fermenting.

Scallion Shredder

If you make a lot of stir-fries or like to julienne vegetables for salads, it’s time to consider a scallion shredder, which makes finely slicing up scallions (or any other small vegetables) a quick job. We’re talking seconds compared to minutes of chopping, which is great if you’re slow with a knife. “I use it for making salad to eat with grilled meats or for making long, wispy strands for Korean barbecue,” says chef Kelly Jeun of Frasca Food and Wine in Boulder, Colorado.

Gentlemen’s Hardware 12-in-1 Detachable Kitchen Stainless Steel Multi Tool with Wood Handles

Although we’re typically skeptical of “all-in-one” tools, chefs Elise Kornack and Anna Hieronomus made a convincing case about this 12-in-1 multitool when we asked them for recommendations on what to bring to a long-term vacation rental. “We take it everywhere we go,” says Hieronimus. “It has everything you need to prep an entire meal, whether you’re in a rental or by the campfire.” It includes a cheese grater, small paring knife, fork, spoon, bottle opener, and even a can opener.

Cooking Chopsticks

If you’re in hot pursuit of the best scrambled eggs, chef Mike Lata of FIG and The Ordinary in Charleston says it’s worth investing in some chopsticks or batons specifically designed for cooking. Compared to a spatula, they’re capable of moving deftly through a pan and are unrivaled when it comes to cooking delicate foods like crepes. Lata says they “help develop the tiniest curds. I crack the eggs into a two-cup measuring cup and beat them with the batons. It’s quick, easy, and much quieter [than a whisk], which is nice because I’m an early riser.” Another bonus: reconstituting oil-based spreads. “The batons are great for stirring separated peanut butter, tahini, and anything else that needs stirring in a small container,” Lata adds. They’re also a far more precise alternative to tongs when it comes to sautéing and grilling.

Grand Grill Daddy Grill Cleaning Brush

We’re at the height of grilling season, which means we’re also at the height of grill-cleaning season. Scrubbing by hand (especially when you haven’t done so in a while) can be a pain, but chef Jordan Wallace of Pizzeria Locale in Denver swears by the Grill Daddy as the be-all and end-all grill brush. Unlike traditional grill brushes, you fill this one up with water, which means you can steam and scrub gunk at the same time. It “cleans a grill better than any other tool. I love it,” Wallace says. “And the name is hilarious.”

Microplane 48060 Spice Mill Grater

The question isn’t what this spice mill, from the same people behind the legendary grater, can do, but what can’t it do. It features the same blades that have made microplane graters essential among chefs — but they’re contained in a battery-free grinder. What’s more, the top of the spice mill features an airtight container for conveniently storing spices between grinds. “Everyone at MeMe’s uses this spice grinder,” Bill Clark of MeMe’s Diner in Brooklyn told us last year. “Behind the bar, it’s how nutmeg goes on our classic punch; I use it for baking, and [co-owner] Libby uses it in the kitchen. We are not gadget people, [but] this is worth making space for.”

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/3fUgwNZ via Blogger https://ift.tt/2WSULGO

[theupstartsparty]

Chapter 3: Tor

The sky was a tapestry of webs. Webs outlined the constellations and cinched them together, webs held his vulnerable body aloft and held it fast, webs threaded behind his eyes to his soul and began weaving into the smallest folds of himself and dissolved them when they had completed their work. If he could he would have taken his soul and hung it in the highest windowpane of the temple and let the light burn away the webbing. A spider crawled out of his mouth. It picked its way towards his ear, whispering viscid, unintelligible words too close, too close-

Tor gasped himself awake and jolted into a sitting position. His heart pounded, beating adrenaline throughout his body. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. 

In, two, three, four, hold. Out, two, three, four, five, six, seven. 

The earth genasi tried to remember what had woken him up once his heart steadied. Dreams typically evaded his recollection, and this proved to be no exception; he would have been unable to recall the faintest detail about it even if pressed.

Thankfully, one of the perks of traveling alone was not having to be pestered about his nightmares.

There was no use trying to fall asleep as the sunlight was beginning to shine in through the rock crevice he had chosen as his refuge for the night. His white dragonscale armor clanked as he rolled to the side, stopping short just before crushing a nest that he had not noticed in the twilight shadows of the evening before. He moved the nest deliberately farther away from the campsite so as not to unwittingly crush the glossy pink eggs.

Breakfast was the last of the sourdough bread and some dried figs, bought from the treetops of Sherthyr a few days ago. It was a nice enough town, but any consideration Tor had for making a permanent residence there was immediately overruled by vertigo from the swaying bridges a dizzying distance from the ground. He washed the last bit of tangy bread down with some stale water from his skein. 

The morning grew brighter as he sat cross-legged on the grey stone and lit a stick of incense. Light filtered around the thin ribbon of smoke as he recited a prayer. Sarenrae’s worship was not as codified as some of the other deities’ considering her relatively recent revival. Routine and rhythm had been ingrained in his life since his days as an Ashari youth, however, and prayer emulated the grounding effect he had grown up with. He sat in silence for a moment, inhaling the incense and feeling it sting his nasal passages like saltwater in an open wound.

Time to get moving. 

He packed up and began making his way through the crevice. The opening in the stone was narrow, and if it were not for the semi-elemental form of his body to phase him through he would have been wedged tightly in the gap. But nearly effortlessly he exited that night’s shelter and made his way down the base of the mountain. 

-----

The tavernkeep in Sherthyr who had poured him an impressive glass of rubamel a few nights ago told him that the closest settlement on the way to Everspring was a village called Phandolin to the south. 

“I’d avoid anywhere else but here in the Waters,” the plump elven woman said at the bar counter, pulling her neatly embroidered glove tighter down her wrist in a failed effort to conceal a blackened left hand. “We’ve heard tell that there’s a mighty nasty disease going around. Best keep a wide berth towards the mountains while you’re at it,”

“What kind of disease?” the cleric asked, taking a hearty drink of the raspberry mead. By the gods, that was unbelievably sweet. He passed his puckered expression off as an awkward scratch.

“No details yet. Lord Jude had gone out a few days ago to check it out firsthand, but he’s not due back for a few days, so I hear. He brought some druids out there, so with any luck they should clear all of it up,” 

“And how far is it to Everspring from Phandolin? I plan to end my journey there,”

“And with no map in sight,” she clucked teasingly, before ducking below the bar and bringing out a crusty map of her own and spreading it wide in front of them. “There’s a route from there directly to Everspring. It looks about a week’s travel if you’re walking, but you might want to get yourself a ride-- I hear there’s slavers from Ruhn-Shak running along that trail,”

“Ruhn-Shak?” Tor thought he had a pretty good grasp on geography, but the name was unfamiliar to him. The keeper did not try to hide her surprise.

“Where’d you say you were from, stranger?”

“I didn’t,” He took a less ambitious sip from the glass in front of him. “Terrah originally, but I’d been living in Westruun for the past couple of years. I’m Tor of the Earth Ashari, by the way,”

“Chandral,” The keeper said in reply, then poured over the map before putting her finger at Terrah’s location at the top of the continent. “My word, you’ve moved quite a bit,”

“I have my reasons,” Tor said, a bit more gruffly than he intended. Chandral seemed unfazed, merely raising an eyebrow in his direction. 

Breathe in, breathe out. “What’s Ruhn-Shak, then?” 

“It’s a drow city in the middle of the Stormcrest Mountains,” What the hell was a drow? “It’s all underground. Apparently, they’re bent on destroying Illan Dorai. Or Illan Dorai’s bent on destroying them. I always forget,”

A pain had suddenly grown behind Tor’s eyes, and he set his half empty glass down on the bartop, rattling some flatware behind the counter. Chandral looked up from the map and furrowed her brow in concern. 

“Are you alright?” she asked. “Your nose is bleeding a bit,”

“I’m fine, though I’ll have to turn in for the night soon,” He changed the subject. “That’s quite a curse on your hand there,” 

The elven woman drew her gloved hand closer to herself. “I… yes, it is. A friend bought me a set of gloves a while back, and it turned out one of them was cursed. Dried up my hand entirely, it did. How odd is that?”

“Very,” Tor touched the winged symbol of Sarenrae on his necklace. “Allow me to remove the curse for you. As thanks for the information,”

A wealth of emotions played out across her face in the span of a second: confusion, surprise, embarrassment, disbelief, and finally settling upon curiosity to lead her. She wordlessly held out her hand. He took it in his own, pulling his holy symbol from around his neck. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to be a conduit for Sarenrae’s divine intercession, channeled golden energy into her palm. The glove was pulled off and her hand morphed from a dessicated black to a deep and healthy brown. She pulled her hand back and marvelled.

“I’d stay away from any other gifts your friend might bring you,” Tor advised dryly, tucking his necklace back underneath his armor.

Still looking at her hand she remarked, “Her and her husband both. I have a feeling he was behind it,”

He propped himself on the water stained bar table and stood, having at least a head over Chandral. “Sarenrae is allowing for another chance here. You’ll have to decide who will be given that chance,” 

She nodded, looking a bit lost in the verbiage and the message. 

“I can get rid of the glove for you,” he continued, taking the cursed item off of the counter and wrapping it in a worn dishrag from his pack. He placed a few copper pieces in front of the tavernkeep, then turned to walk out the door to his lodgings for the night. “Have a good night, ma’am,” 

-----

The day’s journey would pass through the foothills of the Stormcrest range into a southern woodland of the Verdant Expanse. The morning air was already heating up as he walked out of the mountain’s shadow. Tor took a leather strap from his wrist and drew his long dreads into a ponytail in an effort to beat the sweat. Summer in the south was oppressive to those not accustomed to it. He had spent over a week in this weather already, but the morning heat still punched him in the gut whenever it came in.

The heat wave hit earlier than usual that morning. It drew the energy from his body quickly, and his pace slowed to a crawl as the sun hit its apex. A tree provided ample shelter from the sun’s intense rays for a blessed hour, but he knew he could not linger in one place. After a lunch of a magically procured but incredibly bland roast elk pocket he set out once more to draw into the swampy forest. 

The climate may have been exhausting, but the creatures that were invited by it certainly combated any soporific effects it might have had. Half the day was spent fending off mosquitoes and flowershrouds and some strange lizard-like bugs he could not name. The other half was spent in thought. He had most of his time to himself these days; he was unsure whether or not that was a good thing. On one hand, there was only so much damage he could do being the only person around for miles. On the other, his thoughts had been taking it upon themselves to recount every mistake he had made for the past eight years. 

 Westruun. Sten. Shamsa. Elios. He shook his head to clear it. But the memories still lingered, constricting around his soul like a serpent and threatening to consume him. He invoked a silent compromise to focus solely on the most recent string of events. The serpent acquiesced.

-----

Bellows and howls echoed around the underground arena. The clamor surrounded a small blue dragonborn and an imposing earth genasi in the pit, each circling each other and looking worse for wear. The dragonborn whipped her tail side to side, neck frills flaring and chest heaving, waiting for her opponent’s next move as she readied her shortswords. 

Tor mirrored her, sleek grey greatclub gripped in two hands. He had the disadvantage; the greatclub was much longer than he liked and sacrificed the typical defense of the single-handed mace he was used to. Nearly every attack so far had missed, each swing opening himself up to his opponent’s quick blades. He was bleeding. Much more heavily than her.

She took the initiative, a blue streak of electricity arcing towards him, and suddenly she was in his face. One shortsword slicing through a hand gripping the raised club, the other plunging into a chink in the plates of his piece of shit armor, piercing upwards through his ribcage. 

His chest sharpened and he burbled dark blood through his lips and his head grew lighter and lighter. A bell sounded. Directionless, like the crowd, and so far away. His vision narrowed around the dragonborn punching the air in victory. A brief cradle of warmth saved him, a shot of air reinflating his punctured lung before he fell into darkness.

-----

“What the hell was that?” 

Rawkin Saemlish’s pale gnomish figure was in the process of being swallowed by a heap of white ermine fur. He stood at the genasi’s bedside alone, having left his two usual guards at the doorway. His dark brown handlebar mustache bristled in malcontent as he spoke to Tor, who was lying down to recover in his room after the evening’s match. A fly buzzed a foot to his left, and Tor’s eyes followed its path around the corner of the room while his manager berated him.

“That was a piss-poor performance. No tension! No effort whatsoever! It took Alvyria less than a minute to drop you, all the while you were looking like nothing more than a… than a… than an oaf!” 

The fly landed on a leather-bound ledger that the hopping tea kettle of a man had slammed on the ground in his fit. It began grooming itself with dainty legs. Tor adjusted the bandages on the wrist where Alvyria had slashed him hours earlier.

“Goddamn it, mudcake, what has gotten into you?” An amber eye twitched at the rude nickname Saemlish had given him. “First it was last week’s match against that orc from the Empty Socket, then three days ago with Lyrian, and now this! Have some sense of pride. I’ve spent a lot of gold attempting to impress your patrons, and they have not been pleased these past few matches. Not pleased at all! Spireling Gholesh is considering withdrawing your funding entirely by the end of the month and giving it to Franzi for Alvyria, and may I remind you that he’s the one who’s been paying the most for your stay here?”

The fly was in the air again, repeatedly circling both of their heads in a figure eight.

“Do you know what I think?” An ostentatiously gold-ringed hand reached out from underneath glossy fur, and Saemlish snatched the insect mid flight, crushing it instantly. “I think this has something to do with Elios’s sudden departure,”

A red, viscous anger boiled up from his chest as Tor fixed the Ironmaster with a harsh stare. “Don’t you dare mention him,”

“I wouldn’t have to if you cleaned up your act,”

“You have no right-”

“You know damn well your personal life is not supposed to interfere with your job!” Saelish threw his hands up, pacing around the standard-sized wooden room that had been provided to the pit fighter. “That is part of our contract, the one you signed so eagerly. I feed you, I pay your rent, I train you, I give you whatever your heart desires and in exchange you just have to put on a good show,”

“And bow down to every person who throws a copper my way,”

“Which was something you agreed to! This was never an issue before you met that firebrand,” The gnome whirled around to face his fighter and put his hands on his hips, looking almost petulant. It might have struck Tor as funny if he did not know how truly dangerous the man was. What he was doing, arguing with Saemlish, was risky business in normal circumstances. Challenging him outright, as he was so close to, was unheard of outside of the other Ironmasters, as most who did so tended to find their tongues missing soon after. 

Elios had not mentioned to Tor just who he had antagonized the night he ran away, but the Ironmaster’s well-known intolerance for disrespect placed Rawkin Saemlish as a top suspect. For his own safety, and perhaps Elios’s as well, he held his tongue.

“No. And it won’t be an issue going forward. I forgot myself, Ironmaster. Please accept my apologies,” Asshole.

    Rawkin drew himself up, tilting his head up in a way that, like everything else about him, was clearly overcompensating for his stature. His ermine coat spilled out behind him, sweeping the dusty floor. He crossed his arms.

“I’ll be holding you to that,” he said graciously. His face softened slightly as he seemed to finally take note of Tor’s battered form. “You need to get out of this rough patch so you don’t nearly die every match. That doesn’t benefit anyone, least of all you,”

Saemlish began to head out of the room towards his guards, who held the door open for their employer. He paused a moment at the frame, then turned his head over his shoulder.

“Rest up and heal, Titan. You can’t afford to destroy yourself in this profession,”

The wooden door closed behind the entourage. Tor’s fingernails stabbed deeply into the umber palm of his hand, and he could not bring himself to dig them out.

-----

His mind was numb. It had been instinct to defend himself (was it?) when the mugger had pulled a knife on him as the earth genasi stumbled out of the tavern (where did the knife go?). Before a single word was spoken between them, Tor had grabbed the man by the neck and swung him against the alley wall. The force impacted against the rough brick, made slick with rain, stronger than he had intended (was it?), the man’s pulse slowing and becoming weaker and weaker. It was all over in seconds (and happened in an eternity). 

Tor pulled his hand away and stumbled backwards as the mugger’s body crumpled to the ground. The head lolled at an unnatural angle before slacking down entirely into a puddle that grew steadily with the rain. Shock overcame him. The guards made their rounds near the tavern regularly-- they would find him. He willed himself to move. He willed himself to do anything except stand there and stare. 

Why was he faltering? Why could he not move?  He could have easily subdued the man. So why could he not control himself? Why had he been sabotaging himself constantly for months on end in this distressing and dehumanizing job? Was this how he had been training to react? Like some kind of thug?

Why could he not stop staring?

A single word escaped his lips.

“Help,”

A golden light flashed. He fell to his knees, closing his eyes and covering his face. And when he opened his eyes, his vision had disappeared entirely, a dark expanse of void rolled out before him.

A hand reached and touched his shoulder. He tensed. A guard? But no one spoke. The hand hooked itself underneath the soaked wool on his arm and brought him to his feet. Tor did not protest; if it was indeed a guard, he was undeniably guilty of his crime. 

But the hand instead took his wrist and gave it a gentle but insistent tug. It wanted him to follow, wherever that might lead. He had asked for help, but it was not clear from whom he had drawn the attention. The rain continued to fall much more serenely than seemed appropriate as Tor let the hand guide him through a winding maze of paths, not knowing where he was and who he was with but letting himself be moved regardless.

His vision was returned to him at the threshold of a modest temple, no bigger than a large family dwelling. The door was opened before him to a warm, dry interior with an open hearth, filled with a soft golden glow from the fireplace and accented by a carmine wall. The engraved slate sign above the threshold read:

The Red House of Trickfoot 

Underneath this read a quick blessing: 

“May Sarenrae guide your path into the light,”

Tor stepped over the threshold, and the door softly closed behind him.

-----

The path had gotten significantly drier over the past few days, and the massive live oak and cypress trees cast a pleasant shade over the elevated path through the wetlands. His back ached; he needed a new pack when he got into town and preferably a monk to realign his spine with a few well-placed jabs up his stony vertebrae. 

The sun dipped below the treeline. It would be dusk soon. He could feel the day’s travel begin to catch up with the rest of his body, but he ignored it and pressed on. Phandolin was only a few hours away, by his estimation, and he was willing to risk a point of exhaustion for a secure place to spend the night.

Shadows began to curl between the trees and around the traveler as he neared the first junction he had seen in days. An uneven wooden sign had been impaled into the ground to his left. He had been on what was called the Viburnum Trail, which had officially stopped at this three-way intersection, though a desire path continued on southward. The road running east to west was the Umbarad Passage. According to the sign, he was about a mile outside of Phandolin. He turned eastward, noticing for the first time a small mountain peak ahead of him, previously obscured by the massive flora. 

The twilight deepened as he walked. Instead of fading with the sunset, the forest around him appeared to sharpen as if every leaf was in hyperfocus. This patch of forest felt different from the rest of the Expanse. There was a distinct character behind it; it existed with a purpose, though Tor could not explain why the thought occurred to him. Glowing eyes peered at him intermittently from tree boughs and toadstool caps, but after a quick scrutiny they disappeared, letting the traveler walk as he pleased. 

He had read about the fey as a child in Terrah. Sten had always helmed the research on their identification and ineffable behaviors, and while Shamsa wanted the group of them to study the more practical topics of the Elemental Planes, Tor had found himself entranced by the mysteries and the dangers of the fey. A fair amount of that knowledge had stuck with him even until adulthood.

This forest was brimming with fey creatures. Tor was surprised that the ground beneath him was nothing more than earth, as nearly everything else was alight with magical energy. A swarm of vibrant pinks flitted in the air above him, disappearing into the starry sky above, while ribbons of orange and blue coiled around each other lower to the ground. A cohort of large bipedal ants with spears crossed the path ahead of him, mandibles clicking. Those must be what formacids looked like in person. They paused a moment to look at him, then one nodded and they continued on their patrol.

This peculiar but apparently non-threatening scene would have to be explained tomorrow. The pervasive energy overwhelmed him in his exhaustion. His eyes flickered as he walked into Phandolin, and he barely registered the step up onto the porch of the Easthill Inn, or how he interrupted the blond innkeeper’s flirtations with a handsome red tiefling at the bar, or how the steep steps leading upstairs creaked before he turned into the first empty room. In a brief moment of clarity he removed his boots and the worst of his plate armor, then laid down on the mattress, asleep before his head hit the pillow.