#anyway point is the companion says these bows are in the game and i believe it

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

i need to share the absolute fucking Experience i had playing minecraft tonight. i'm gonna be emotional about it for days

so me and my friends like to play on this server that's pretty much just a bunch of minigames. one of them is Murder Mystery - of a group of - i think its 13/14 people - one person is randomly selected as the murderer (spawns with a sword), the other as the sheriff (spawns with a bow). the rest are innocent. the innocents can gain a bow by collecting coins. no one knows anyone's status unless the player shows their sword/bow. i'm doing a quest where, in order to get points, i need to kill the murderer.

so as the game start countdown begins, me and my pal are checking out this Red Link skin. it's pretty neat! we're all crouching and punching at each other, as one does. i feel a connection form with Red Link. we're buddies now. we're in this together.

so we're all running around the map. every time i see Red Link, we crouch and punch at each other. the game is going fine, we're having fun. i'm delighted that i've made a one-game friend.

then my friend says that Red Link is the murderer, and i literally have a hard time believing it. Red Link? my Red Link? no, they must be mistaken. we were together at the start. they had ample opportunities to kill me. it can't be Red Link. but whoever the murderer killed was the sheriff, and i needed to complete the quest - picking up the sheriff tombstone grants me the bow.

so i run, trying to find it, and i turn the corner.

there Red Link was, standing at the end of the hall, by the tombstone, with a sword in hand. i froze. i was so upset - not Red Link! not my dear companion! i was so sure that was it.

but i walked forward anyway, thinking that maybe if i dodged around them, grabbed the bow, and turned and shot fast enough, i could get them. the thought was actually distressing! Red Link didn't put the sword away. they watched me slowly approach. we stood on either side of the tombstone, and i expected Red Link to cut me down. i was well within reach of their sword.

Red Link calmly, still looking at me, moved to the side and past me. i panicked and grabbed the bow, ran to the corner, turned and drew - Red Link was already at the other end of the hall, running away. i didn't want to shoot, but i needed the kill - who knows when i'd get an opportunity to complete the quest again. it's a tough one.

i missed, thank fuck, but man. i was in shock. i thought i was a goner.

then, after the game where awards are given - the murderer, who killed them, who collected the most coins - i went up to Red Link and crouched. they crouched back.

then they left the game.

[sacred-stanning]

Chapter 10 Part 1: A Traitor?

As Ephraim heads down towards this port town, we are reminded of the relationship between him and his former lance teacher, Duessel. Though they were from different countries, thanks to their similar personalities, they had a close, teacher-student relationship.

But as Ephraim is headed towards his destination, a messenger pegasus from Frelia arrives.

It seems that the Republic of Carcino, where Eirika was headed, is having an internal power struggle.

The country is divided by people who would side with Grado, and those who are appalled by Grado's invasion of formerly friendly nations.

The pegasus rider says that Eirika was reported to be headed to Carcino, but after that contact was lost.

Ephraim is, of course, worried about this, and he considers turning around and going to help Eirika, but he resolves to press on since defeating Grado is the most immediate, actionable course he can take on his own.

Selena catches up with Duessel, and he initially thinks that she has been sent to support him in his campaign.

Selena presses Duessel to give the orders to attack, reminding him that Renais is an enemy nation. Duessel is still reluctant, and insists that he needs to talk to Ephraim first.

To which, Selena responds, "Yahari, desuka." (It's like that, I see.)

She was testing his loyalty. Even though her emperor, who she holds in high esteem, had told her that Duessel was a traitor, it was hard for her to believe it about this man who devoted so much of his life to Grado until she saw it with her own eyes.

I also want to say how much I love this word, "Yahari", or "Yappari" in more casual speech.

It's such a flexible word, and it conveys a lot of information in one word. I feel like in most situations, it is best translated as something along the lines of, "I see, so things are like I suspected they might be, but I wasn't sure until now."

It's kind of like the English expression "after all", but it can just be thrown out all on it's own and it does all the work without even the need for any companion words, whereas English "after all" would need some help from the likes of "I see it's like that..." or something similar.

It's such a cool word!

So Selena is to take down Duessel, and Cormag is with her. Cormag expresses his doubts too. "Duessel is like a father to you and my older brother!"

To which Selena replies, "If the emperor orders me to attack someone, I will take them down without even the slightest hesitation."

Ephraim arrives just as things are turning, and sees the situation with Duessel under seige. He tells Seth they need to go help, and the army gets ready to run into the port to save Duessel.

Here's who we're bringing.

It's mostly pretty familiar faces at this point, but I'm including Tana because I love fliers, so I want to bring both Vanessa and Tana. And there's enough water and wall terrain on this map that it makes sense to have the both of them.

I also decided on Neimi over Artur. Both of them have kind of fallen behind, but Neimi can maybe shoot down one of the wyverns who's in formation with Cormag? And the more Artur falls behind, the more I wonder if I won't just replace him with Moulder anyway... (They both can promote to the exact same classes.)

Oh, but despite buying weapons from a shop on the map beforehand, I somehow managed to forget to get extra bows. Sorry, Neimi! You can hold out for one more map, right?

Here's our starting position. We've got an initial clump of enemies to our left, and a village that can be visited.

After getting to this point, we'll begin heading south over the bridge to the island/port where Duessel is.

Note the boat on the left. It's a ballista, basically. For some reason, they made these boat ballistas for this stage, and then didn't use them anywhere else in this entire game from what I remember.

It's bizarre in the same way that it's weird how ballistas have an attack animation like other enemies in Fire Emblem: Binding Blade (the first GBA game) but not in either of the other GBA games including this one, even though they are all built on the same engine, with (mostly) the same graphics and everything.

Here's the boat ballista. The one I showed above has a secret book that it drops!

The weapon (long arch) counts as a bow, so it's effective against fliers. But it also only has 69 hit, which is not that high.

Straight down over the bridge, we can see the first of the two islands that make the port. This one also has a village we can visit, and it is where Duessel and his fellow soldiers have holed up to resist the seige they are under.

Aside from land forces, there are also a number of pirates at sea.

Duessel is the leftmost one. He's critical for this map since his death is a loss condition. (Hence the little diamond mark on him.)

To the right is the other island that makes up this port town. We have two forts near the bottom, which will barf out sword enemies, and a big fort with the boss.

The boss is Selena. Or is it!?!?!

(Hint: The boss is not actually Selena. We'll see when we start the map.)

But we can check her out as an enemy unit! She has Thunderstorm, a seige tome, and Elfire.

Finally, on this little island below is where Cormag and his fellow wyvern knights are. Notice that there is one more boat ballista nearby.

I actually LOVE the design of this map. It feels like a very real port town, with the bridges, islands, and little inlets, and the big bridge to the mainland above. Like, I can believe that this place really exists, and I can imagine the traders and fishermen going about their day-to-day lives here!

But at the same time, it's also a good map gameplay-wise! The layout is interesting and gives you some terrain to deal with, and choke points to use.

And as we'll see once I start going through the map, there are also a bunch of fun side objectives, and a timed main objective to make us actually speed through the map without dawdling around!

Good stuff!

Next time: The aforementioned good stuff

[archived-kin]

three names

note from kin: apparently that domestic diluc piece really did wonders for my writers block because i managed to churn this entire thing out within one night

anyway i know little to nothing about childe’s backstory so do be warned that i am only very loosely following the information we get from his story quest/voice lines/etc!

(also as a heads up childe is referred to as ajax throughout this piece! for those who don't know, ajax is his birth name)

fandom: genshin impact

character(s): gn!reader, childe, zhongli

pairing(s): childe/reader

warning(s): death (brief and not descriptive), mentions of blood

genre: angst i guess?? it isn’t SUPER heavy but this is very much Not A Happy Piece

You’ve known Ajax for what feels like forever.

The two of you grow up together on the streets of Morepesok, spending the short hours of daylight chasing each other down icy streets and pelting each other with snowballs until your fingers are frozen solid under their mittens and you’re both lying exhausted under the trees. He’s still a somewhat skittish and shy young boy, always hiding behind you while you ask the local farmers for permission to play in their fields and leaving all of the decisions to you when it comes to your childish games.

You know exactly how to get those blue eyes of his to light up like no other, though. Ever since the two of you were tiny tots, Ajax has always been enchanted by stories of adventures, of heroes who journey far from home to conquer evils beyond his childish comprehension, fighting with both sword and mind to quell any hardships or troubles that come their way. He listens to his father tell him these stories with a sparkle in his eye like no other, and begs for a new chapter as soon as one is finished.

You take advantage of this love of adventure to coax him into playing with you - him, the hero and you, his trusty sidekick, braving fight after fight together until the great sea monster is defeated, or until the brainwashed former friend was released - until the world bows down at your feet. You stand beside him and smile as he cackles, foot set atop a stone and brandishing a stick to the sky like a sword.

While Ajax longs for battle and glory, however, you secretly prefer the stories about the fisherman who wins the favour of the sea gods by saving a seal from a net, about the fae who collects the treasures of the land in an attempt to preserve the remains of a race she has loved and lost, about the dragon who follows the rainbow far into the east to find a companion who has fallen under the control of an evil sorcerer. Where he finds interest in tales of clashing blades and rumbling cannons, you find interest in the warmth of a campfire, surrounded by laughing companions that have shared a long journey together. You don’t love these games for the fights and the victories like he does - you love the games because it means you can be with him.

You suppose that this difference of interests is the reason you stay behind when he leaves on his own ‘heroic journey’.

The two of you are only fourteen - still children, for Archons’ sake - and Ajax has long since lost interest in the mundanity of his daily life.

“All we do is eat and play,” He mutters with a pout, poking at the snow with a stick. “It’s boring.”

You tilt your head in confusion and trot up to stand beside him, face half-hidden behind a scarf wrapped like a vice around your neck. “What do you mean?”

He scoffs a little then, and offers you a boyish grin. “Don’t worry, [Name]. You’re an exception.”

You still don’t understand what he means, not exactly, but it still sends butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

The next day, he knocks on your door, dressed in an over-large coat and his favourite hat, a backpack strapped firmly to his back and a rusty shortsword in his hand. He beams at you as you open the door, and announces that he’s running away to find an adventure, and that he was wondering if you wanted to come with him.

You ask if this is another game he wants to play. He shakes his head and tells you that this is for real - that he’s going to explore far and wide, to seek out the quests that he’s heard so many stories about. He’s going to be a hero, and he wants you to be his sidekick, just like always.

But you have always been a little too timid, too afraid of going so far out into the snow, too aware of the dangers of a reckless jaunt like this. And so, bowing your head in shame, you answer that you can’t

He freezes for a moment then, disappointment clear on his face, but he replaces it with a a grin almost immediately. You don’t know it at the time, but this is the last time you’ll ever see him smile like this again.

“Don’t worry about it!” He reassures you. “I’ll bring back lots of souvenirs for you when I come back! Like a dragon head!”

“I don’t like heads.” You mumble. “Too much blood.”

He doesn’t falter. “A dragon claw, then!”

The two of you exchange brief goodbyes, neither of you aware of the magnitude of what Ajax is choosing to do, nor the consequences it will bring, and then he leaves. And you let him, watching his little figure disappear and melt into the blinding white of the snow.

It’s a mistake that continues to haunt you for the rest of your life.

He turns up again, two days later, lying unconscious on the outskirts of the forest by the village. A mere two days - but somehow, you’ve always felt as if he’d been away for much, much longer.

Ajax is never the same after that. He’s more distracted, more absent - he never wants to go out for walks in the fields with you anymore, nor does he have any interest in playing games or hearing stories. He still lets you follow him around and sit beside him, but he speaks less and less, and spends more and more time thinking.

You don’t give up on him, though. It doesn’t matter how much his blank gaze scares you sometimes, nor how unsettling the look on his face is after he shreds yet another hay training dummy to pieces. You hang around him anyway, talking about every little thing that comes to mind, and sometimes, he replies with the same silliness that he did when the two of you were younger.

It bothers you, the way that he swings so abruptly between the old him and the new him. Sometimes he’s just the boy you’d spent your childhood playing with, chasing you down the street only to stuff snow down the back of your jacket, then making you a hot drink afterwards as an apology when you declare that you hate him. But sometimes he isn’t.

His face stills, and his eyes go cold. He stares emptily at the snow beneath his feet, not responding when you call his name, and he returns to his garden sooner or later, to slaughter another line of training dummies. The way he gazes down at the wreckage, the way his hand clenches around the shaft of an arrow or the hilt of a blade, the way that he seems to hunger for more - it scares you.

Perhaps it is unsurprising that he joins the Fatui as soon as he turns seventeen.

He doesn’t tell you - he doesn’t tell anyone, not at first. He simply slips away and leaves, sometimes for days on end, and returns without a word as to his absence. You believe him when he tells you that it’s a series of job interviews in a different town, even congratulate him on the opportunity. You believe a lot of the lies he tells you.

It isn’t until you come upon him in the middle of one of his assignments that the wool is finally pulled away from your eyes.

You’re out in the city on a shopping trip by your mother’s request, carrying several baskets of fresh produce that just don’t grow quickly enough in your little seaside town, when you spot his auburn hair disappearing into a secluded alleyway. You follow quickly, opening your mouth to call out to him, only to snap it shut when you see what he’s doing.

A woman is lying beneath his foot, and he is crushing the breath out of her with the heel of his boot. There is a blade in his hand, glinting softly in the darkness of the alleyway.

The woman sobs breathlessly, begs for her life to be spared, her face contorted with fear and despair. But Ajax doesn’t flinch. In one, smooth movement, he points the blade to her neck and slashes.

You don’t know if the scream that echoes around the alleyway is yours or hers.

It’s only then that he finally turns around and sees you, and the mask covering the upper half of his face is all too familiar.

Your eyes fall upon the dead woman, her mouth still open in her final plea for mercy.

“Ajax,” You whisper, your voice trembling. “What have you done?”

The bloodstained blade in his hand clatters to the ground. “[Name]... what are you doing here?”

You don’t answer him. Your entire body feels numb. “You’re… you’re one of the Fatui.”

It isn’t a question.

He’s silent for a long time. Finally, he lets out a frustrated sigh, tearing the mask from his face and throwing it to the ground carelessly, and approaches you, hands held out as if comforting a frightened child.

“I didn’t want you to find out like this,” He says quietly.

“Were you ever going to let me find out?” You ask. Your eyes move back to the woman’s corpse despite everything in your brain screaming at you to look away, and your hands start shaking.

Ajax notices. He steps in front of the body, as if trying to shield it from your view. “Of course. I was just waiting for the right time to tell you, that’s all.”

“Why… why would you…?”

He meets your gaze. He shrugs. “I wanted to fight.”

There is blood staining the left side of his face. Your eyes are drawn to it in the same way they were to the corpse, and you feel a sudden burst of anger on her behalf. “How was this a fight? You trapped her in an alleyway - you didn’t even give her a chance to struggle!”

“This is different.” He states, as if it’s obvious, and his eyes go cold. “The woman was defying the will of the Tsaritsa. She needed to be disposed of.”

“Is that all you are now? A puppet of the Tsaritsa?!” You’re practically shouting now, tears threatening to start streaming down your face. You want to punch him, slap him, anything to make him realise what path he’s rapidly beginning to go down, but there isn’t any strength left in you. Not after what you just saw. “What happened to you?!”

“I changed,” He says simply, and his sea-blue eyes are frozen over completely. This isn’t the boy that you grew up and loved - and it occurs to you that he might not have been for a long, long time. “I grew up and I changed.”

“Ajax—” You begin, but he places a finger to your lips.

“It’s Tartaglia now.”

Perhaps if you look close enough, hope hard enough, you’ll be able to fool yourself into thinking there was some kind of emotion on his face - something, anything that proves that he still cares - but there is nothing but emptiness in his gaze.

You don’t sleep that night. You don’t sleep for a long, long time, unable to put a stop to the unrelenting march of thoughts streaming through your head like a gushing river, like the endless depths of the ocean, like the deep blue of his eyes...

You distract yourself as best you can. You move out of town while he’s out on another mission and take your parents with you, settling down in a small village at the base of a mountain. There, you busy yourself every hour of the day, taking solace in the ache of your muscles and the fatigue that weighs heavily on your limbs. The people of the village come to know you as the helping hand, the eager assistant, always raring to go when asked for a favour.

And yet, even as you sit around a table in the local bar, surrounded by warmth and chatter and familiar faces, you can’t help but feel an emptiness opening in your chest. Old Dmitri, manning the bar as usual, slides a tankard over to you with a sympathetic smile, and asks, “What’s wrong?”

You ask yourself that question more times than you can count, digging it deep into your skin, carving it into your mind, unable to help wondering, and yet... you never find an answer. What is wrong with you? Why does Ajax’s absence cut into you like a knife, keeping you awake deep into the night, plagued by dreams of cold, dead eyes and red blood pooling in the white snow? Why is it that, no matter how many times you remind yourself of the man in that alleyway and the body of the woman he’d just slaughtered, of the man that was not Ajax, of Tartaglia - you can only remember the grinning boy of your childhood?

Your parents don’t know why your eyes are always red-rimmed when you come down for breakfast in the morning, nor why you refuse to look at your surroundings when you go out into town, keeping your eyes focused determinedly on your dragging feet.  They don’t know how many hours you spend staring out into the deep sky, wondering if Ajax is watching the same stars as you are, whether he even thinks of you at all.

Everything around you seems to taunt you, and you realise something.

You have to leave. You have to run away, to find a home in a place where the streets don’t stir up memories of days long gone, where the crunch of the snow beneath your feet doesn’t remind you of the sound of tearing flesh, where you can just be without Ajax haunting you around every corner you turn.

And so you set off for Liyue. You journey to the land amidst monoliths, seeking golden soil warmed by the sun to escape the cold snow and icy rain. You do not stop moving until you reach the land where the mountains stretch high and the streets of the harbour are painted with red and yellow, where the people are unfamiliar, the buildings are unfamiliar - where everything is unfamiliar. You’re tired of dwelling on past memories, tired of putting yourself through the same pain.

You settle in quickly, taking up a job at Wanmin Restaurant and eventually saving up enough to afford more than the little hotel box room you first are resigned to stay in. You move in with a new friend of yours, an apparently refined gentleman who seems to have no shortage of money but still always forgets to bring it when he needs it, and you start to remember what living in peace feels like again.

You take a deep breath as you watch the bustle of the city from the open window of your bedroom. The cool evening breeze in Liyue Harbour is soothing, unlike the biting nightly winds of Snezhnaya. Perhaps you can finally let go of Ajax now, you think.

Somewhere in the heavens, Fate mocks your hopefulness.

Two years later, your friend, who has only become even worse at managing his money despite your constant nagging, invites you to a dinner with him and a new acquaintance he’d like to introduce you to. You agree, unsuspecting of the true identity of his so-called ‘friend’.

You take one step into the private room that Zhongli had booked and realise what a terrible mistake you’ve made when you see a familiar figure sitting at the table.

He doesn’t turn around at first, too occupied with trying to take a sip of his tea without burning his mouth. Zhongli smiles at you, painfully unaware of the amount of old trauma he’s inadvertently stirred up.

“I’m glad that you made it,” He says pleasantly, and gestures to the man sitting across from him. “This is the acquaintance I was telling you about. His name is Childe.”

There is a long silence. The initial shock of the moment wears off, only to be replaced by something resembling anger.

“So it’s Childe now, is it?” Ajax stiffens as he hears your voice come from behind him. “How many names does one man need?”

He turns around agonisingly slowly, failing to register the dangerous tilt of the teacup in his hands as it comes close to tipping its contents all over the table. You stare blankly back at him from the doorway.

How long has it been since he last saw you? He doesn’t know. Ever since the two of you had parted ways in that alleyway, you’d all but disappeared. The window to your bedroom had always been dark and empty when he stopped by your home, and neither you nor your parents were anywhere to be seen, no matter how thoroughly he’d searched the town. It had only been when Tonia had mentioned your absence in one of his letters that he’d realised that you weren’t just avoiding him. You’d left. Left the town where the two of you had grown up, left the home you’d lived in for so long, left behind all the friends you’d made over the years - just to run away from him.

There are new scars on your face, a new poise in the way you hold yourself. A sheathed dagger glitters at your belt, and even now you toy with its hilt in a way that tells him that you are familiar with it. You’ve changed so much, and he aches to think that he had been unable to see any of it.

He hadn’t wanted you to go, he never had. You’d always been his best friend, someone he looked up to, someone he enjoyed the company of, someone he cherished - someone he loved. But he’d had a duty to attend to, a new mistress to serve, a new title, a new responsibility. He couldn’t keep fooling himself into thinking he could keep the relationship he had with you forever.

That day in the alleyway - he’s never been able to forget the look on your face when you realised who he had become. It’s been burnt into his memory ever since then, flashing before his eyes just before he strikes, and even now, five years later, he still gets reprimanded by his fellow Harbingers for faltering just before he makes the kill. They always ask - how can Tartaglia, who takes pleasure in watching the life drain out of his opponent’s eyes after a battle well fought, hesitate like that?

He never has an answer for them.

Zhongli looks back and forth between the two of you, his brows knitting together slightly. “Do the two of you know each other already?”

“You could say that,” You reply, though your eyes don’t move even an inch from your old friend’s face. His expression is crumpled, almost vulnerable, a far cry from the stone-cold indifference he wore the last time you saw him.

“[Name],” He says finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “What… what are you doing here?”

You raise your eyebrows at him. “I’ve lived in Liyue Harbour for two years. Why wouldn’t I be here?”

Several seconds pass by with no response.

“It seems the two of you have much to talk about,” Zhongli observes, and gets to his feet. “I’ll leave you for now.”

He’s out of the room before either of you can object. Damn him and his perception.

You don’t sit down at the table. Instead, you move to the window, looking out over the city that you have come to love.

Ajax joins you. He hesitates as he approaches, as if debating whether or not to settle right beside you as he would have in the past. Eventually, though, he decides to keep his distance.

“Liyue is beautiful at night.” He says quietly. “Language is a nightmare to learn, though.”

That earns him a short laugh from you, and he can’t help the way his heart skips a beat as he hears it. “You can say that again. I don’t think I even have a proper grasp of it now.”

“You’re speaking pretty fluently,” He replies. “I’d say that’s a proper enough grasp.”

“It’s all just conversational, really.” You don’t look at him, instead choosing to look down at Xiangling, Xingqiu and Chongyun as they walk through the street below you together, exchanging jokes and nudges. “What about you?”

“I’d like to think I know it pretty well. I had to learn for—”

He cuts himself off, but you already know what he’d been about to say.

“For your Fatui duties here,” You finish for him, and though you don’t move, somehow he feels as if the gap between you has widened. “There’s no need for pretences, Childe.”

He freezes at the way you address him. It’s become familiar to him after using it as an alias for so long, but it sounds so wrong coming from you. It feels as if you’re distancing yourself from him, from the childhood you shared together. As if Ajax, your childhood friend, never existed - only Childe, the Fatui Harbinger.

“Don’t…” His voice breaks, and he forces himself to take a deep breath before continuing. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” You sound so detached, so distant - and he hates it. “Would you prefer Tartaglia? That’s what you told me to call you last time we met.”

He feels as if you’ve stabbed him in the chest. It probably would’ve hurt less if you did, actually, but he knows he deserves it. “...no. I don’t want you to call me Tartaglia, either.”

You don’t respond, but he continues anyway. “I want… I want you to call me Ajax.”

Silence.

You finally turn to look at him, surprise painted on your features. “...what?”

Your eyes are just as he remembers them. He never wants to see them as they were on that day five years ago, filled with despair and tears that threatened to brim over.

He takes a deep breath and repeats, “I want you to call me Ajax.”

You stare at him for a long moment. Your face shifts, as if you can’t decide whether you want to be angry or sad or something else entirely. You open your mouth to say something, but at that moment the door opens again, and Zhongli pokes his head in.

“My apologies,” He says a little sheepishly, “But the attendant informed me that we should start ordering our dishes now if we don’t want to accidentally go over our time slot. That is - if you two are alright with having dinner with each other?”

You don’t respond immediately. Your eyes stay on the man gazing almost wistfully at you, your expression becoming thoughtful.

It’s been five years since you’ve last seen him. Five years of sleepless, tormented nights spent tossing and turning, of days spend exhausting yourself just so that you don’t think of him, of a journey filled with obstacles and monsters just to find a place to be at peace in, and just as you finally think you might be moving on, he shows up again.

Maybe you should be angry. Maybe you should be drawing your dagger and threatening him to stay the fuck away from your city and to take his Fatui agents with him. Maybe you should punch him right where it hurts most for all the pain he’s caused you.

But… you’re tired. You’re tired of hurting, tired of remembering. And maybe there’s a little part of you that hopes - a little part of you that still clings to the boy you played with on the streets of Morepesok, the boy that you lost the moment you let him leave on that journey.

And so you come to a conclusion.

“I’ll stay for dinner. What about you, Ajax?”

[crossdressingdeath]

I’m glad I’m not the only one that believes switching protags makes no sense. Like, I understand for new people who play that first wouldn’t know who the Inquisitor is… but like, at the very least they MUST have the Inky come back and get closure with Solas — either as an advisor kind of like Hawke or as a companion. Anyways my point is I’m glad I’m not the only one bitter at BioWare for this.

Honestly? DA4 is the fourth game in the series, in a series that does have an overarching narrative. If you're starting with the fourth game in a narrative-heavy series, you deserve to be confused.

The thing with the protagonist switch is that it worked between DAO and Awakening (where it was an optional thing so that people who sacrificed their Warden could still play the DLC rather than a guaranteed change, meaning you only got the protag switch if the original protag wasn't available anymore), and it worked between DAO and DA2 (the Warden's story is pretty conclusively wrapped up by the end of all the DAO DLCs and they wouldn't fit the vibe of DA2 as an established world-saving hero anyway), and it worked between DA2 and DAI (the game makes a point of justifying why it isn't the Warden or Hawke with the Warden's letter telling the player why they're gone and Varric lying to keep Hawke out of that role, and again neither of them would really fit the vibe of DAI). It works in all those cases, because one way or another the previous protagonist's story is wrapped up in a neat little bow and over with. Quiz's story, though? Quiz's story is absolutely not finished. Solas's story is Quiz's story in a very real way; Trespasser makes it very clear that a high approval Quiz is the only one who stands a chance of talking Solas down, and while they might not be the only one who could kill Solas they're definitely the one with the biggest personal stake in it. Putting anyone else in the protagonist seat at this point does both Quiz and the new protagonist a disservice: Quiz's story is left without its natural conclusion, and the new protagonist's story will always feel hollow just because either they defeat Solas when everyone playing knows that that wasn't their victory to claim, or they don't defeat Solas in favour of Quiz doing it despite him being the game's main villain and the game's finale is left wanting as a result. And even bringing Quiz back as an advisor or companion wouldn't really work, because... well, Hawke can only have three distinct personalities and they still manage to say a lot of shit in DAI that they never would've said while I was controlling them. No, bringing back previous protagonists in anything more than a letter or mentions from other characters is a bad idea in a game like this. The only real solution would've been to keep Quiz as the protagonist; sure, it would be breaking with series tradition of changing the protagonist with each new game, but this is just not a point in the series where changing it up works. Even if the new protagonist is working for Quiz directly, it still just won't feel right.

[redvoid-40]

A Game for a Kiss

Don’t ask me where this came from. I’ve watched BSD a couple months ago and of course I got the hots for the feral rat-man. -.-

Anyway, slowly I came up with a little plot for an arc with some OCs (weird calling them OCs, when they’re all named after past writers but oh well) and even thought about developing it, but since I’m not in the mood to write a whole multi-chaptered fic, I decided to just write this interaction between Fyodor and my main OC for the BSD-universe, Mary Shelley. You know, as a treat. >.<

I know the fandom is super small, but I thought someone might enjoy this, so here it is! :)

Also, Fyodor might be OOC (it’s hard to get a full understanding of his character) but I see him as creepy-pretty, with no qualms in manipulating women in ways that border on dub-con. So... TW: some making out; Fyodor’s thoughts making it clear his morals are more twisted than a pretzel. 

Anyway, enjoy! :)

Part 1 / Part 2 (NSFW) / Part 3 (NSFW)

“How about a game?” Fyodor proposed, smiling from ear to ear as he moved a chessboard from the side table to the coffee table in front of them. It was small, with tiny and expensive crystal pieces that had a purely decorative role, but he had never minded playing with valuable and irreplaceable things before, so why start now? Much worse to die of boredom than to shatter a hundred-dollar pawn. “I heard you had quite the reputation at the Chess Club in Oxford.”

“It’s been a few years since I last played,” Mary admitted as placed her glass of anise-infused gin on the coffee table and reached out to touch the white king, as if she was caressing a long-lost lover. “Not sure I’ll be a worthy opponent to you, Mr Dostoevsky.”

“How about I give you some impetus then?” Fyodor asked, raising a sole eyebrow as Mary’s eyes shone with interest. “If you win, I’ll give you something. Something I know you want from me.”

Mary quickly pulled back, like a child caught with her hand in the cookie-jar. “You’re already doing so, and I’m eternally grateful for it. Helping me retrieve Adam and right my wrong is all I could ever hope for and more, Mr Dostoevsky. There’s nothing el-”

“A kiss.”

Fyodor’s smile widened and his eyes darkened as a pink dusted over Mary’s cheeks. Her dark eyes made it hard to discern her emotions, but if he were to guess, Fyodor would bet her pupils had doubled in size at his indiscretion.

“I can feel your gaze on me, Doctor Shelley. Every time I walk in a room, your eyes peruse my figure like I’m an appetising treat,” Fyodor spoke, feet planted on the floor as he projected his body forwards, elbows on spread knees and the fingers of his hands intertwined. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think you are interested in me in a way that’s not entirely professional or proper.”

Mary reached for her lowball glass and quickly brought it to her lips, downing the rest of her gin in a way that also wasn’t professional or proper. Fyodor watched her throat move, amused and admitedly a bit impressed at the pace at which she was draining her gin, wondering if maybe he should have proposed a drinking game instead. Who would fare better, her with her gin infusions or him with his chilled vodka?

“... and if I lose?”

Fyodor blinked, lazily trailing his eyes up her chin, passing by her pouting lips, blushing cheeks and up to dark eyes that stared at him so attentively. Lips curled at the corners, he raised a single eyebrow, urging Mary to continue.

“If I lose the game, what would you demand as compensation?” She clarified, and Fyodor exhaled at how she pressed her thighs together beneath her knee-length, black skirt.

“I’m not sure,” Fyodor said. “Why don’t you let me decide later? If I win the game, that is.”

Mary’s eyes turned away from his, moving down to gaze at the empty glass in her hands as some luster in her eyes darkened into distrust. “I think I’ll pass on your offer, Mr Dostoevsky. A kiss for an IOU? Your proposition doesn’t sound fair to me.”

Fyodor retreated, letting his spine fall comfortably against the back of the sofa as an airy laugh left his lips. The woman wasn’t as foolish as he had expected, at least; despite admitting in all but words she was enamoured with him, her shackles remained raised, certain she couldn’t trust him as far as she could throw him.

Must be a woman’s intuition, Fyodor thought, remembering the looks he so often received from the fairer sex throughout his late adolescence and adult life. So many inviting smiles were thrown his way, only to morph into barely veiled jitters when he got close enough to touch. For all his years of manipulating the brightest of the brightest to have his way, Fyodor still hadn’t figured out how to lull women into unravelling themselves for him without promises of money - or some other stimulant - as reward.

“If I win I vow not to abuse my freedom, and will only ask for something of equivalent value to what I offer,” Fyodor proposed, lips relaxing in a smile he hoped Mary deemed trustworthy. “And if you feel I ask too much, you can deny me and I’ll give up my reward altogether. Does that sound fair, Doctor Shelley?”

Mary looked at him through lowered lashes and he could almost hear the gears turning in her head, lust and reason rotating in opposing directions in a struggle to decide.

“Fair enough,” Mary spoke at last, and placed her glass back on the coffee table. Her hand then moved to the chessboard and spun it around so the white pieces were close to her. “But I play white.”

Fyodor almost protested, but the smile Mary threw his way demanded enough endearment that he’d allow her this little bit of despotism just this once. 

He found he rather liked it.

---

To Fyodor’s surprise and satisfaction, Mary proved herself to be a worthy opponent. For the first time in years, Fyodor stood over a chessboard with furrowed eyebrows as he macerated the pad of his thumb between his teeth to the point he could taste iron on his tongue.

“Don’t do that. You’re hurting yourself.” 

Fyodor had just moved his knight when a hand seemed to appear out of nowhere and gently wrapped around his wrist to guide his thumb out of his mouth. Purple eyes narrowed, shooting up from the board to Mary, but his scowl melted into something almost benign at finding the woman hunched over the board, positively pouting. Her hand released his wrist, leaving an imprint of heat on his flesh despite not touching skin, and floated back to her, fingers twitching as they hovered over her pieces, debating their next move.

There was a brief knock on the doors before they opened and in walked Ivan, pulling Fyodor’s attention just in time to see the narrowing of his silver eyes as they fell on the back of Mary’s head. The glare disappeared as soon as it came, so when Mary turned around to greet the newcomer with a polite smile, he responded with an enormous grin and flamboyant mannerisms.

“I’ve come to check upon you, see if everything was alright,” Ivan announced as he stood behind Mary, silver eyes fixed on Fyodor with adoration. “It’s almost midnight.”

Mary’s eyes widened in surprise as she reached for the phone she had forgotten on the cushion by her side. “Oh my, there are twenty calls from Jane. I really should take this thing off silent mode.”

Fyodor’s jaw tightened as Mary’s focus shifted from their match to her phone. “Ivan,” he called with a firm voice that demanded to be the centre of attention again. “Please, let Doctor Shelley’s companions know she is safe and sound with me, and that we’re both occupied at the moment. Also, would you be so kind to have someone bring us something to eat? Something sugary would be best. I will have a drink as well. Vodka, chilled but no ice,” then he lowered his eyes back to the woman in front of him and smiled as he motioned to her empty glass. “Doctor Shelley, would you care for another?”

“Ah, I-”

“A gin for the lady, Ivan. Thank you.”

Ivan’s smile didn’t falter as he bowed his head. “Of course, I’ll have someone bring your drinks. As for sweets, I believe there are a few strawberry shortcakes in the fridge. Would that be to your liking?”

This time, Fyodor remained silent as he stared at Mary, giving her the illusion she had a say in this whole matter, that she could choose her treat in the way she couldn’t choose to refuse a drink. 

Mary’s eyes were glued to his and once again he noticed how her thighs rubbed together at his attention, leaving her phone forgotten by her side. Blushing, she craned her neck to glance at Ivan and nodded. “That would be lovely, thank you.”

“Very well. Someone will bring everything here briefly,” Ivan said, moving his eyes back to Fyodor. “If you need me-”

“We will be fine,” Fyodor dismissed, purple eyes fixed on Mary as he gave her a smile that showed too many teeth. “I believe it’s your turn, Doctor Shelley?”

Mary nodded, turning her gaze to the chessboard. Her hand hovered while her brain readjusted to their match, reviewing the last rounds as it calculated the best moves she could make. It took her only a couple of seconds to review their entire game and make her move.

“Good,” Fyodor said, right hand rising to his lips out of habit, only to stop midway as he felt an intense stare on him. When he looked up, Mary was giving him a look that quickly morphed into a smile when he aborted the movement. He snorted and smiled back. “Worried about my delicate fingers?”

“You’re the one who said you have an anemic constitution,” Mary replied, eyes dropping back to the board. “You shouldn’t hurt yourself; it might take longer than usual to heal.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Fyodor said, letting his eyes move up and narrow slightly at finding Ivan remained still behind Mary, staring at him with a doll-like smile on his face and wide eyes. “Ivan, our drinks?”

“Oh, of course! My apologies,” the man said before bowing theatrically. “I’ll leave you to your match. Good night!”

Fyodor nodded as Mary turned back to Ivan, throwing a polite “Good night, Mr Goncharov”, before once more focusing her attention on their game, waiting for Fyodor to take his turn. He grinned, purple eyes fixed on her as he made his move, enjoying the way Mary’s lips pouted as she concentrated.

He really was having fun playing with her.

---

The game came to its inevitable conclusion hours later, just as the sun was peeking over the horizon and the birds chirped outside the window. After a couple slices of strawberry shortcake and a few refills of vodka and gin, Fyodor let his body fall back on the sofa, smiling from ear to ear as he stared at the pouting woman in front of him.

“Check-mate, Doctor,” Fyodor purred, purple eyes darkening in satisfaction. 

Mary stared at the board for a couple more seconds, as if a solution to her defeat would present itself to her. But when none did, she sighed in acceptance as her forefinger gently laid down her king.

“Don’t beat yourself, Doctor. It was a splendid game; the best I had in years,” Fyodor commented.

“Thank you, Mr Dostoevsky. But your words don’t make defeat taste any less bitter.”

“I guess not,” Fyodor said. “Especially since I have to claim the spoils of my victory from you.”

Fyodor didn’t miss the glance Mary threw his way, clearly torn between enticed curiosity and rational diligence, clearly still wary that he hadn’t made his wants known before their game despite his guarantees. Those intelligent eyes clouded with lust made him lick his lips, and her breath hitched in response.

“I want… a kiss.”

Mary’s eyebrows shoot up. “What?”

“I promised to ask for something reasonable, didn’t I?” Fyodor mused. “What’s more fair than to ask for the very thing I offered?”

“But then… why did we play?” Mary asked, head dropped to the side.

“Well, I don’t feel like moving at the moment,” Fyodor said, letting his knees fall open as his eyes ran over the woman in front of him. “So, since you’re the one owing me a kiss, you come here and give it to me.”

Fyodor had never seen someone’s skin change colour so rapidly before, and he couldn’t help but chuckle at the bright red that bloomed all over the pale skin on Mary’s cheeks and neck. Without thinking, he brought his left thumb to his mouth, nibbling gently on the soft flesh as he regarded the woman with his own sort of unprofessional and improper interest.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” she said, eyeing the contour of his lips around his digit.

“Come and stop me,” he replied.

Mary swallowed his words with the same relish she swallowed her gin as she stood from the sofa, taking a moment to straighten the fabric of her pleated skirt, before walking towards him with soft, elegant steps. She came around the coffee table, sparing a glance at her toppled king before her eyes fell on his widespread knees and ran up his body until they reached his face. And while Fyodor was used to such appreciative looks, he didn’t expect the soft smile she gave him when their gazes crossed; it was usually at this moment that women stepped back from him, frightened by the intensity in his eyes.

Mary sat down by his left, so warm against the side of his body, and reached up with both hands to pull his thumb away from the abuse of his teeth. She brought his hand down to her chest to examine the damage, pouting when she saw the pad of his thumb was red and swollen, with a small laceration that had just barely crusted over and still threatened to bleed.

Fyodor watched her through half-lidded eyes, exhaling deeply when she glanced up at him. From such close-quarters he could make out the limits between the black of her pupils and the brown of her irises; just like he imagined, her pupils were dilated to extremes, wary of and eager for him. The red on her cheeks subsided, leaving a light pink colour in its place that enticed him to run his lips over the skin.

With a small quirk of her lips, Mary glanced back at his hand and shook her head at the damage on his thumb, before bringing it to her mouth to kiss the wound. The touch was soft as a rose’s petal but still knocked the breath out of Fyodor’s lungs. His warm breath gusted over the top of her head, then hitched as a soft, warm hand laid on his cheek.

“That was not what I had in mind when I asked for a kiss,” Fyodor spoke, smiling down at the woman. 

A chuckle escaped Mary and once again she gave him that soft look he was unfamiliar with. Before he could taunt her further, Mary tilted her head and guided his face down, letting her lips ghost over a corner of his mouth before moving to the other, soft and sweet. Hypnotised, Fyodor’s eyelids fluttered shut as he relaxed into these teasing touches that, despite being feather-light in their delicacy, made heat rush in his veins like molten metal, erupting out of his heart to his cock and leaving a trail of feverish desire in his veins that demanded more. More contact, more kisses, more pressure.

Fyodor pushed forwards, folding his body over Mary as his hand reached out to grab the back of her neck, only to freeze mid-air as her cold air took the place of her warm flesh. Somewhere he heard an unholy sound, and only after he opened his dark purple yes to find startled brown staring back at him he noticed he was the source of it. He was growling.

In a fraction of a second, Fyodor wondered about the stage he had set for them. Had he misjudged her interest? Hadn’t he offered her enough drinks? How much did she need his help? How much did he need her and her companions? How far could he push? Was everyone in the house still asleep? If she screamed, would anyone come to help?

Brown eyes narrowed slightly and Fyodor swore he saw a glimpse of himself in them; of something aware, astute, and artful. It was there for a moment so short he wasn’t sure he had projected the connection, so before he could let his brain process it, he was once more being subjugated to that look. That nauseatingly soft look no one had ever given him before, and that he did not know what to do with.

Without words, Mary bent the rules of their game and took his turn from him, cancelled aggression with tenderness as she pushed him back against the sofa gently before swinging her leg over his lap to settle herself on his thighs, pulling a pleased hum from deep inside his chest. 

“May I?” Mary asked, hand playing with the flap of his ushanka hat.

Smiling, Fyodor nodded, and Mary pulled the hat off his head. The motion left his hair messy, drawing a giggle from her lips as she combed the knots away so gently he couldn’t help but shut his eyes and relax against the caresses. 

“Your hair is so soft,” Mary murmured, letting Fyodor smell the gin and strawberries on her breath. He felt her fingers dance on his face, collecting his long fringe to push it back and away from his features. “And you’re so beautiful.”

Fyodor’s eyes opened slightly, just enough so he could stare at the rosy lips hovering so close to his. His hands twitched by his sides, unsure where to go or how to touch. He was used to grabbing, pulling, bruising and scratching; not to soft lips or delicate touches dancing over his skin like her hands ghosted over the chess-pieces only minutes before.

Mary’s lips let out a delicious, trembling breath before moving towards him, avoiding his own mouth altogether to give a kiss on his cheek before moving to whisper into his ear: “You feel so tense. Relax.”

Easier said than done, Fyodor thought, turning his head to bury his nose in Mary’s long, black hair and breath in the scent of her shampoo - something citrusy and common that made him light-headed in a way he only felt when his anaemia got the best of him, causing him to black out and wake up stretched on a hospital bed, with an IV bag of O- blood connected to his arm. 

Still, he couldn’t possibly lose consciousness now, not with Mary’s warm body grounding him so sweetly, not with her breasts pressed against his chest and the heat between her legs trapping him against the sofa’s cushions in the best possible way. Gently, like everything she did, Mary finally laid her mouth over his, allowing a whimper to escape the back of her throat when he pressed against her, not as much as he would have liked, but enough to hold back the most violent aspects of his desires, for now.

At the contact, Fyodor’s passive hands took action, sneaking up Mary’s thighs and hips, before slipping under her blouse to rack his short nails over her naked back as he used his hold over her to press her heat harder against his cock. He half-expected her to pull back again, startled at his boldness, but Mary surprised him by letting out a delighted gasp as she tightened her grip on his hair and arched her back, pushing her breasts even more against his chest.

Fyodor took the opportunity and shoved his tongue inside her mouth, groaning as the taste of her invaded his senses. One of his hands danced over Mary’s skin, causing her to shudder as it tickled by her ribs before moving up to her-

“Oh, Dos! Are you in there? Why is the door locked?”

Nikolai’s happy-go-lucky voice breached the door’s barrier, causing Mary to pull back from their kiss, panting. Fyodor’s nails tensed over her skin before his hands relaxed again, dropping to her waist as he sighed and dropped his forehead against her collarbone.

“I guess your debt is paid, Doctor,” Fyodor spoke against her skin. “There’s work to be done.”

“Of course. I have my mission in a couple of hours as well,” Mary agreed as she pulled away to stand up on shaky legs. “It would be best if I got a couple some sleep before it.”

Fyodor glanced down at himself, at the wet spot on the crotch of his pants, and looked up at her through half-lidded eyes with a devil’s smirk. “Think you need a shower too?”

Mary blushed as she straightened her clothes in a modicum of decency. “I guess.”

Fyodor chuckled, but before he could tease her further, Nikolai’s loud voice invaded the room once more, making his eyes roll upwards in exasperation.

“Quiz time! How long until I force the door open? Two minutes? Two seconds?”

“I will leave you two alone,” Mary said. “Excuse me, Mr Dostoevsky.”

Fyodor nodded dismissively, but the look in his eyes was anything but uninterested. “I will see you later… Mary.”

The woman’s breath hitched at having her first name spoken with such heavy desire before she quickly made her escape, almost slamming against Nikolai when she unlocked the door.

“Good morning, Mr Gogol,” she said with a polite smile.

“Good morning, Mary!” He replied enthusiastically, pulling one of her hands to his lips. “What a treat to see your charming figure so early in the day! Don’t tell me Dos has summoned you at such ungodly hours to talk business?”

“Oh no, we were just having a match,” Mary said, pointing to the chessboard on the coffee table. “He wiped the floor with me.”

Nikolai took a few moments to examine the board and what he saw made him raise an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Really? Looks like a tight match to me,” he said, before turning to Mary. “Next time you should invite me so I can cheer you on! Gods, what I wouldn’t give to watch Dos lose a game…”

Mary chuckled and opened her mouth, but Fyodor beat her to the punch. “You wanted to talk, Nikolai?” He called, smiling tightly at the other Russian. “Come in and close the door behind you.”

“Hmm, grumpy,” Nikolai whispered, sharing a conspiratory smile with Mary as he once again kissed the back of her hand. “Lovely to see you, my dear.”

“You too, Mr Gogol. Have a good one,” Mary said before walking away, throwing one last smile in Fyodor’s direction.

Nikolai waved at Mary’s back as she walked away, closing the door once she turned a corner.

“You know,” Nikolai began in Russian, spinning on his heels to face Fyodor. Both men smiled, but the emotions they showed were something dark, almost cruel. “I believe this is the first time I see a woman in a room alone with you leave without tears in her eyes.”

Feet planted on the floor and knees spread, unashamed of his hard-on or the wet spot on the fabric of his pants, Fyodor hummed a little song as he reached for his hat and adjusted it back on his head. Satisfied, he reached forward and grabbed Mary’s fallen king from the board.

“Honestly, my friend,” he said, bringing the piece to his smiling lips. “I do not know what you’re talking about.”

[the-l-spacer]

Summary: In which Madeleine's latest attempt to hash things out with Espresso gets a little... out of hand.

This is my first cookie run fic i. genuinely can’t believe im writing for this game now. Anyways, hope ya like it!!

- 

He sees the knight striding towards him, spotless armour clinking smartly with each step he takes, cloak billowing ever-so-slightly behind him.

His lip curls, practically a reflex.

“Espresso. Do you have a moment?” Madeleine's voice, like his appearance, is meticulously crafted to capture the attention of anyone in his vicinity. A deep, resonant baritone that carries authority, brooks no room for disagreement, least of all disagreement from a particular surly practitioner of Coffee Magic.

Or at least, that’s what Madeleine likes to think. For all his chivalrous acts and airs seem to have no effect on Espresso in the slightest, who simply sighs and rolls his dark, bespectacled eyes.

“Do me a favour; skip the pretence that participation in this conversation is optional, and get to the point. I have research that needs attending to.”

Perhaps a few months ago, Espresso’s brusque reply would have stopped Madeleine in his tracks, wiped the genial smile off his face. But as it is, they’ve spent far too much time together (unwillingly, on Espresso’s part) for the other to be fazed by mere unfriendliness. So he simply barrels on as if Espresso had never spoken. “It appears as if that young band of cookies are keen on having us join their party.”

As one, they glance over to the campsite a little ways away, where Gingerbrave and Chilli Pepper are engaged in a mock-swordfight, wielding pieces of gathered firewood, with Wizard, Strawberry and Custard cheering on. Gingerbrave rushes forward, ‘sword’ held aloft, but Chilli Pepper sidesteps his attack, and before his momentum can carry him too far, grabs the scruff of his collar, and turns him to face her. “Sloppy work, kid. I could catch that coming from a mile away. Next time, try-” She pauses mid sentence, noticing Espresso and Madeleine’s gazes. She winks, and gives a two-fingered salute. “Hey! Wanna watch me spar with a buncha kids? There’s plenty of room on that log over there, but just a little warning, I charge adult spectators.”

Madeleine waves a hand. “No need to relieve our pockets just yet, friend Chilli Pepper. Espresso and I are perfectly content watching from afar.”

“And besides, we have better things to do,” Espresso adds, “Like being corralled by a paladin into having pointless conversations.” The last bit, he aims at Madeleine, who’s response is to grin wider.

If the irony in Espresso’s statement registers to Chilli Pepper, she doesn’t show it, and simply shrugs. “Don’t let me interrupt. You boys might wanna head a little further away to have that ‘pointless conversation’ though, it’s probably gonna get noisy up in this joint.”

“An excellent idea! My humblest thanks!” Madeleine sweeps into an exaggerated bow, and takes Espresso by the elbow. “My compatriot and I shall head a little further into the woods for our chat.”

Custard perks up at that, and shouts, “Be careful! There might still be cake monsters running around, and as king, I can’t let my subjects be hurt!”

“Not to worry, we’re more than capable of defending ourselves. If our previous encounters with those beasts suggested anything...”

As Madeleine talks, Espresso discretely tries to wriggle free from the hand on his elbow, but his attempts prove futile, Madeleine’s grip is loose but firm, forming a little cage around his arm.

He lets his arm go limp, and when the grasp loosens slightly in response, he flicks his free hand, around which (unbeknownst to the jabbering knight) shadows had been gathering for quite some time.

A tendril of magic whips around and strikes Madeleine’s wrist.

“-And as Knight of the Madeleine House, I was trained since I was but a little cookie, much like your merry band, to- ah!” When the tendril connects with a small thwack, he releases Espresso, jerking away as if burned (in actuality, the magic was really just a moderately heated slap. Espresso didn’t want to do any serious damage to Madeleine, after all.)

The seemingly permanent smile on the knight’s face falters, just for a second, and Espresso allows himself a moment of schadenfreude.

“Is... is everything okay, Madeleine?” Strawberry pipes up from her spot on the log.

“Quite alright, quite alright.” The ten-carat smile is back in full force, and once again, he waves his (non-injured) hand airily, though Espresso notes with some satisfaction the displeased side glance Madeleine shoots at him.

Espresso’s face pulls into a smile of his own, falsely sweet. “Well. Shall we be off, then?” He begins walking into the woods. True, he would much rather be tucked away in some quiet corner, poring over magical scrolls, but if he has to be subjected to this... chat, at least he can try to have some fun while doing so. Make Madeleine regret initiating contact, make him trail behind for once.

And sure enough, Madeleine follows after him, making long strides to catch up.

As they retreat into the forest, Gingerbrave shouts, “Come back in time for dinner! We’re having sweet jelly stew!”

“We’ll be there,” Madeleine replies, not needing to raise his voice for it to carry across the clearing where they had set up camp.

The other cookies give their final waves, and return to sparring, the sounds of cheering and wood striking wood fading the deeper in Espresso and Madeleine travel.

- 

Eventually, the noises from the campsite fade entirely, replaced by the chirping of birds, and the soft rustling of trees. The last of the day’s light dapples through the jelly forest’s leaves, and Espresso might have called the whole scene pleasant, if not for the cookie next to him.

They come to a stop in a forest clearing. “Is this far enough for your liking, oh Knight-Commander of House Madeleine?”

Madeleine leans against a tree, the light glinting off his armour. “You know, the attitude really isn’t necessary, and neither,” he cocks his head, glossy hair spilling over one shoulder, his reprimanding smile akin to a teacher lecturing a particularly irritating student, “was the use of dark magic back there.”

Espresso smirks. “Ah. Have I discovered your weakness? Is the pride of House Madeleine scared of a little magic? I just meant for it to tickle, really.”

A scowl begins to form on Madeleine’s face, before he schools it back into careful neutrality. “You must be intelligent enough to grasp my meaning. It’s not the act itself, it’s the…” He gestures loosely in the air, his right hand still slightly red, “... the spirit of it all. Cookies who fight together shouldn’t turn on one another. It simply isn’t right.”

“Mmm. Mm hmm. Of course it isn’t.” Espresso, in a bid to minimize the dirt from the forest floor getting on his robes, opts to hover just a little above the ground, and Madeleine has to crane his neck to meet his gaze. “And I’m sure wrestling the cookie you’re supposed to be fighting with into the woods is so much more excusable.”

Madeleine bristles. “You wouldn’t have agreed to this conversation otherwise, as you’ve made so abundantly clear in the past. All I did was ensure you wouldn’t be able to weasel your way out of the inevitable yet another time.”

“What about our current situation makes you think this conversation is inevitable?” Espresso snaps. “I’ve told you time and time again I don’t care for your company. Our paths crossed once, we travelled together briefly to achieve our own goals, and parted ways. We work together acceptably, and we tolerate each other, barely. What more is there to be said between us?”

“Well, for one,” Madeleine says, standing just a bit straighter, as if to deliver a set of prepared lines, “I was telling you, before we were interrupted, that Gingerbrave and his fellows seem eager to have us as travelers alongside them.”

“Yes. And?”

“And I’m sure you are as keen as I am on accepting their offer.”

Espresso stiffens. He hates cookies who presume things about him, and more than that, he hates when those presumptions are right. After a moment, he bites out, “Even if I was, what of it.”

“We’ll be traveling together once again. Serving as their protectors, and all that.”

“So what? As I said, we’ve travelled in each other’s companies before.”

“Yes, but I believe this will be our longest journey yet. They seek answers, a way to defeat the evil forces rising, and this is no easy feat.”

“I seek no such thing,” Espresso scoffs, folding his arms. “I only know that they’re searching for the Forgotten Academy, and that particular locality has a library I’ve been meaning to peruse for a while. I plan to travel with them until that point, where we will then part ways.”

“Even then, according to my maps the Forgotten Academy is weeks away. Maybe a month. Months, if we keep up our current pace. A considerable amount of time that allows for sour dough to spoil further. I simply think it… unwise, to allow things between us two to reach such a point.” Having finally said his piece, Madeleine pushes himself off the roll cake trunk, and starts towards Espresso, open palm outstretched.

No, not again. They had done this dance before, and Espresso isn’t planning to retrace those steps. He whizzes backward, out of Madeleine’s reach.

“I’m not interested in becoming friends, knight,” he spits. “And I tire of your constant overtures.”

Madeleine’s hand returns to his side in an impatient motion. “Must you insist on being this- this difficult?” He asks, voice fraught with frustration. “It is a simple offer. Put our differences aside and work together amicably, if only to to make our journey more tolerable for us and our companions.”

“Ahhh but there’s the rub, Madeleine,” Espresso retorts, “I’m afraid our differences are too great to reconcile. If that is all you have for me, I think I’ll be returning to camp. I would say it’s been a pleasure, but… you know better.”

He makes to leave, floating quickly away to leave the knight behind, but catches a blur of movement from the corner of his eye. Before he can react, Madeline moves forward, his armour and shield glowing. With a flash, the shield comes down on the edge of Espresso’s long, dark cloak, pinning it to the forest floor.

Both of them hear the telltale sound of ripping fabric.

“Don’t move.” Madeleine warns.

Espresso’s vision goes red. He gathers the shadows to him, wreathing his clenched fists in black swirls of magic.

He doesn’t move.

A pause, then the shield lifts.

Espresso doesn’t wait to rush backward, heading straight for Madeleine. This time, it’s the knight that finds himself unprepared, as Espresso grabs him, and with the help of his magic, lifts him in the air, slamming him against the trunk of the nearest tree.

“Don’t. Touch. Me,” he growls.

Their faces are close enough now that Espresso sees the tiniest twitch of fear in Madeleine’s expression. He doesn’t yield, keeping him pinned to the trunk.

Madeleine speaks, holding both hands up in a conciliatory gesture. “Now, now, I admit I was rather hasty, but there really is no need for-“

“- doesn’t feel nice, does it? Being trapped against your will?” Espresso cuts him off.

“Listen. I’m sorry things had to come to that point.”

Espresso sneers. Just as he predicted, Madeleine’s ‘apology’ is anything but. His mouth forms the syllables, but like a pedestrian one accidentally jostles on the street, his ‘sorry’ is merely a formality, said to hear the sound of his own voice.

Espresso doesn’t buy it, is what he’s saying.

“Save it. Save your pithy little apologies and insincere attempts at friendship for some other cookie.”

Madeleine’s face twists in indignation. “I’m not being insincere!”

Espresso drops him unceremoniously, the knight’s armour clattering when he lands on the soft earth. He tries not to betray his own fatigue, both in mind and body. Madeleine is heavy after all, weighed down further by his armour and weapons, making the act of holding him aloft (even aided by magic) one that had taken a not-insignificant toll on him. His feet touch down lightly on the ground, the glowing aura around him fades.

“Oh, spare me,” Espresso says coldly. “Every action, every toss of your hair or flick of your cloak, every word that comes out of your mouth betrays your insincerity.”

Having gathered himself, Madeleine finally snaps, drawing his sword from its scabbard with a metallic hiss. “How dare you.” His voice, a dangerous murmur, grows louder and louder, until it carries to the treetops. “I don’t know what I have done to offend you so. I attempted to be friendly, and reach out with offers of peace, as my family taught me to do for years, but you insist on rebuffing me, sullying my good name with your.. your insolence!”

The sword is pointed at Espresso’s throat, now, and the magician takes a careful step backward, keeping an eye on the gleaming blade. Madeleine doesn’t seem to notice, however, as he barks, “I’ve been lenient in the past, but as a cookie of honour, I can’t let such words continue to slide. The Divine, protect me!”

Celestial light bathes the forest clearing, surrounding Madeleine in its radiance. He lunges forward and swings his sword, a ray of light arcing from its blade. Espresso, caught unawares, finds himself knocked back, sent stumbling to catch his footing.

He regains his balance, clutching on to a tree branch, and counters the next light ray with an explosion of coffee beans that makes Madeleine's attack fizzle out.

“You know I’m right about you,” Espresso taunts, “in fact, we both know this is all a little charade you put on, because-” he plants his feet firmly in the ground, bracing himself against a third wave of light magic. “- beneath all your bravado, your shiny armour and fancy new weapons, you are empty.”

“That’s not true!” Madeleine roars, attempting to close the distance between them. But Espresso splays his hands, and a swirling vortex forms, pulling the paladin backward and into its dark center. Madeleine staggers in pain.

“You’re just a selfish glory-seeker, as slow and soulless as the monsters that- gah!”

Dexterity had never been his strong suit, so when Madeleine’s retaliating attack comes, he doesn’t dodge quickly enough. He sees the sword swing, feels an impact across his face, before his world goes blurry.

His glasses!

A lance of panic spikes through his chest.

He can’t see. He can’t see and he can’t look for his glasses either because if he steps on them that’s it. And Madeleine will win or worse he’ll just leave him here, in the middle of the woods.

The attacks stop coming.

The forest is silent once more, but for the two cookies’ heavy breathing.

Then, Espresso hears the crunching of leaves, sees the blurry shape of Madeleine stride towards him. He readies his magic. Madeleine passes him, and bends down over a spot Espresso can’t quite see.

A familiar metallic object is pressed into his hand.

“Your glasses.”

In a flash, Espresso has them on again, and exhales in relief when the forest comes back into focus.

“I never meant to knock them over. I’m sorry.”

Espresso is about to respond, but Madeleine says, “We should not have let our discussion escalate like this.”

“I’m sorry. We?!” Espresso’s recently restored vision colours. “When it was you who dealt the first blow? You, who initiated this discussion in the first place, who-” He trails off, righteous indignation fading slightly when he sees Madeleine, who stands at arm’s length away from him, both hands resting on the pommel of his sword, his expression unreadable.

“..Yes. Fine. As allies, we shouldn’t have turned on each other like this.”

Madeleine says nothing, so Espresso continues. “But as our previous attempts at civility have shown, you are incapable of holding a conversation without trying to domineer over me, push me into situations I do not want to be in. And I… I admit that I went too far in my personal assessments of you, but the fact remains that I simply cannot work with you beyond what we already are. Allies, and nothing more.”

For the second time, Espresso begins walking back to camp. Madeleine makes no attempt to stop him. “Thank you for retrieving my glasses. Good evening.”

Before he can fully retreat into the copse of trees, he hears Madeleine’s voice, saying, “Wait.”

Espresso pauses for a moment, and continues walking.

“Wait. Please.”

The word ‘please’ sounds so strange on Madeleine’s lips, and Espresso realises he can’t recall if the cookie had ever said the word in all the time they had worked together.

He turns his head.

Madeleine is leaned against a tree, arms folded and a foot kicked up against the trunk. His face is hidden by a curtain of hair.

“You are from The Republic, yes?”

Thrown by the sudden question, Espresso says, “Yes. The both of us are.”

“You’re aware that The Republic is a peaceful nation. No conflict within its gates, no monsters to be found without.”

Where is this going? Espresso responds, “Safe, sterile, and utterly boring. I’m aware.”

“Then what,” Madeleine turns his face away from Espresso, addressing the trees, “what use do you think such a nation has for soldiers? For knights?”

Oh.

Madeleine laughs, not his usual hearty guffaw, filled to the brim with bravado, but a short and bitter exhalation. “Do you know what it’s like to be, as you called me, the ‘slow’ one, in a family of scholars and politicians? For your only prowess to be your physical strength, in a place where that skill is entirely unnecessary?”

“But the knight order you lead-”

“- is purely for show. Just cookies dressed up in shiny armour to remind the other kingdoms we’re not to be trifled with. None of them have actually seen a day of real combat outside of sparring.”

Espresso is back in the clearing, picking a position next to Madeleine so he doesn’t see his sympathetic expression.

“Then… the reason you and all the knights were sent out?”

“As I said, my mission was to seek the legendary Soul Jam that is supposed to grant us cookies eternal life. Not that anyone in the Republic really expects us to find it.”

“They wanted to get rid of you, then.”

Madeleine visibly flinches at Espresso’s words. “I wouldn’t put it so bluntly, but… yes. I’m welcome back home, of course. If I were to return, I’d be met with trumpets and fanfare, but not much else, and certainly not anything approaching respect from those who truly matter.” The knight clenches his fist. “This quest is to be my saving grace. My only purpose, and the only way one like me can conceivably bring pride to House Madeleine. The only way I can be of use”

Espresso regards Madeleine, the revelation casting the cookie in a new light.

“So.. yes, Espresso. I am a selfish glory-seeker. Perhaps I have no other choice but to be.” Madeleine’s previously ramrod-straight posture is gone, and in its place his fists are clenched, shoulders hunched inwards, his hair tumbling forward, shielding his face from view.

And a small part of Espresso feels the strangest urge to push that hair back, to place a comforting hand on the paladin’s shoulder. Anything to stop what has to be the strongest — the most annoying, surely, but the strongest nevertheless — cookie he knows from curling into himself, from hurting like this.

But he holds himself back. All he lets out is a soft, “I think I know how you feel. Not entirely, but some of it.”

Madeleine turns to look at Espresso, a blank expression on his face. “You do.”

The mage lets a spark of magic fly from his hand - a single, glowing coffee bean surrounded by dark shadow. “You have called what I do ‘black magic’ in the past.”

Madeleine, suddenly stricken, says, “I wouldn’t go so far as to call it ‘black magic’, but-”

“- Listen. You have, countless times. And it annoys me to no end, but I understand why. It does look like it, no?” He conjures more coffee beans, letting them spin in circles around him. “I’ve had this ability since I was a child. It did not come from dark origins, I did not make a pact with evil forces to obtain it, as some have believed. It simply was. My magic, like your physical strength, is a part of me.”

Madeleine simply nods.

“But people don’t understand Coffee Magic. Whenever I demonstrated my abilities, I’d be shunned, the respectable citizens of our beloved Republic saying that I was a child of Dark Enchantress Cookie.”

“Espresso…” His magic fizzles out, and now, it is his turn to look away, incapable of facing the pity that is surely in Madeleine’s gaze.

“I was barred from every magic school. I had to learn, and practice, and make it on my own. If I didn’t have Latte Cookie, I don’t know how I would have-” Espresso shakes his head. “No matter. All I am saying is that I do know how it feels, not to belong. To have to carve a place for yourself among people who can’t respect you.”

A hand settles on his shoulder, and Espresso almost flinches. He looks up, and his gaze meets Madeleine’s, earnest and apologetic. “Espresso, first and foremost, I am sorry that I ripped your cloak in trying to keep you here.”

Espresso’s eyes travel to his torn (and expensive) wizard’s cloak. “It’s fine. I’ll just have to get it repaired once we return to camp.”

Madeleine continues. “And I’m sorry, truly sorry that I misjudged you based on your magic. That I pushed when I should have respected your wishes. Respected you.”

And this time, Espresso believes Madeleine’s words. He lets his own hand creep upwards to rest over the knight’s.

He sighs. “And I apologise, too. I made undue assumptions about you, and let these assumptions colour my actions. I treated you poorly, and for that, I’m sorry.”

When their eyes meet again, it is as if the forest goes silent, nature’s rustle and hum being forgotten as the two look at each other, and for the first time, understand.

Of course, no moment can truly last, and it is Espresso who breaks the spell, gently moving Madeleine’s hand off his shoulder. “Naturally, don’t think this means I’ll let you strongarm me into doing whatever you want me to. You still irritate me. Incessantly.”

Madeleine chuckles. “Naturally. Besides, I do not imagine such actions will be necessary in the future. I think we understand each other perfectly clearly, now.”

Espresso lets a grin creep across his face. Rolling his eyes, he says, “Don’t assume you know everything based on a tidbit of my past. I encompass multitudes, Knight-Commander.”

“In turn, I request that you not write me off just yet,” Madeleine responds teasingly. “I may not know everything about you, but I would be very interested to,”

Both their eyes widen, Madeleine realising the forwardness of his statement. “That is. I will give you the space you need, certainly, but if you ever feel like-”

“- Wait. Stop.” Espresso takes a breath, lets it out. “I- I do feel the same way. You’re a good fighter, and I did not let myself give you a fair chance.”

He crosses the short distance between them, and extends a hand. “I’m Espresso Cookie of The Republic. Founder of the Coffee Magic School. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Madeleine regards the outstretched hand in wonder.

"... Don't make a big deal of it, knight."

He puffs out his chest, taking Espresso’s hand. “And I’m Madeleine Cookie of The Republic. Servant of The Divine, Knight Comm-” He stops himself, clears his throat. Then, he smiles and simply says, “I’m Madeleine Cookie. It’s an honour to get to know you.”

[siimjaeyun]

Chapter 2: Caution, Gators can eat humans. 

Synopsis: The wishes for a new mystery after the sudden decrease in Seoul sends the teen mystery group to a town nearby. It’s own name justifies itself, and let’s just say: things don’t get pretty when JK (the anonymous caller) sends them on a chase. 

Series Masterlist

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Absent-mindedly, the man continued to drive his SUV  through the bumpy roads of Gatorsville, a small town just miles away from Seoul. 

"We need to pull up for gas." The father made his way to the abandoned gas station, allowing his daughter to walk for a bit with the puppy. 

The small puppy ran off into the bushes; the girl followed suit and called its name.

When she managed to reach her hand in, it met a pair of red fiery eyes back at her. Shocked, she jumped backwards and cried for help. 

"Dad! It's a monster!" In disbelief, the man refused to believe her, but met the same sketched black-green lizard pattern with glowing eyes. 

He didn't manage to say much, but got himself into the car and drove off in a hurry leaving whatever the creature was back in the dark. 

------ 

"I'm bored.." Sunoo plopped backwards and landed on top of poor Sunghoon who was resting comfortably on the floor. 

"What's up with Seoul, there hasn't been a mystery!" Jungwon soon joined Sunoo, crushing Sunghoon as well, making him cry out. 

"Yo Jake, help me!" Jake helped the boy, picking him up and throwing him on the couch with you. 

"Heeseung what's this?" You picked the magazine that was crumpled between the two couch cushions; part of you wished you had left it once seeing the front cover.

"It's a trap illustrated! Where do you think I got the inspo for this beauty." He flaunted the cords hung onto the metal crates.

"And who exactly do you expect to catch?" 

Right on time, the delivery man got himself hung onto the trap set on the front, simply handing him the package once Heeseung managed to open the door and let him free. 

"It's a package." 

A loud thunder banged against the windows, letting the rain and its friends make itself present in the home. With caution, he opened it revealing an object covered by tissue and an envelope stamped in red with [JK] 

"I swear JK gives me the creeps." The group opened the rest of its contents and found a gator skinned bag in the box. 

"Maybe a trip to Gatorsville wouldn't hurt. Safe travels." 

"This doesn't make sense. I thought Gatorsville didn't make skin products anymore." Jake observed the purse, handling each nook and cranny with care. 

"Gatorsville? Like as in actual Gators?" Sunoo tried setting himself apart, clearly intimidated by the idea of gators. 

"150 years ago, miners had moved to Gatorsville in search of oil and gold. Instead, they found the abundance of gators in the area, and mounted businesses on the farms which made them rich. They sold products everywhere, but when there were no more gators, everyone moved out. It's practically a ghost town." 

"Then I'm assuming we have a new mystery?" Heeseung smiled and led the way out the door, at least before all six of you found yourselves captured in the same trap as the delivery man. 

------ 

"Let's look around." They split into their usual teams, and trailed off. 

"So, Jake, how do you like it so far?" You realized you hadn't learned much about the boy besides his past in Australia and his cute dog that visited occasionally. 

"To be honest, it was really boring before Sunghoon invited me to come along. I'm glad I've got people who make life interesting." His small eye smile reassured you and you kept exploring the area. 

From afar, Jungwon, Heeseung, and Sunoo found no hope of a mystery and made their way back to the remaining three of you. 

"I guess JK sent us on a wild goose chase. Let's head back before it's too late." You gladly hopped back into the van and when Heeseung turned his key, the car wouldn't start. He trudged back and opened the car to see his engine had gone missing. 

"Uhh...guys!" Sunghoon walked out, first witnessing the same event. 

"H-how is it possible?" The six teens huddled around the missing spot, and turned around with a blinding light flashed forward. 

"What do you exactly think you're doing!?" A man in his late 50's stepped out of the tow truck, and his eyebags and cuts on his upper eyebrow clearly signaled he wasn't here to talk much. 

"Our engine is missing, think you can help?" 

"And why should I?" He punched his knuckles and caused Jungwon to step backwards with Sunoo. 

"Cause you're a mechanic?" 

"Right. Well you're going to have to wait until tomorrow morning anyway-I have to wait for Seoul to come deliver a new one." 

As the teens tried to call their parents, they received no response. They were either busy or didn’t care, clearly comforting the goofy timeline of teen chaos and drama. 

"Just call Jay, maybe he can come." Hesitant, you dialed his number and received no response. 

"He probably fell asleep. We're gonna have to stay the night." A neon sign was perfectly hung on the side of a building. 

[GATOR INN] 

"Hello, anyone there?" You clung onto Jake who just like you, preferred to lurk in the background while Heeseung and Jungwon took the lead. 

"What do you want!?" A woman appeared from the dark shadows of the motel stairs, letting her fingers trail against the handrail. 

“A room?” 

“We’re all booked.” The woman sat on the closest tool: filing her nails without bothering to look at the teens in their eyes. 

“But your sign says vacancy.” Sunghoon pointed to the sign from before, the clear letters stating VACANCY. 

“Alright, follow me. I have a few rules, the girly over there gets her own room. The five of you that remain can split into two rooms.” 

“Wait, no. Jungwon-he’s my brother; we can share a room.” You gave a slight signal to Jungwon to play along with the game, and the woman simply handed you the keys and walked back. 

Her bright red hair decorated in pink bows peaked from behind her, but disappeared almost immediately once she turned her head forwards to face you. 

“One more thing, if you hear biting, screams, loud shrieks: ignore and enjoy your day.” Her loud hairstyle finally left the hall, and you entered the old furnished room with Jungwon. 

“It’s clear this hasn’t been cleaned in months.” You dropped your bag on the bed, and accompanied the bag to find a comfortable spot to rest. 

------ 

“I wonder why y/n would lie to the woman about Jungwon being her brother.” Jake sat on the nearby chair, pushing the cushion downward. 

“He’s scared to sleep alone; and he’s basically her child.” 

“I’m not sleepy.” 

“Neither am I. Why don’t we head out and explore if there’s anything worthwhile in the Motel.” They grabbed their jackets and exited the room, finding Jungwon and y/n heading out as well. 

The four bodies met at the center of the hall, confused, but not surprised by their need to exit the walls of the motel guest room. 

“Clearly, smart minds think alike.” You scoffed at his statement and led the way out the lobby. There wasn’t much to see clearly. The van was parked on the curb, the sky was dark and covered in a blanket of fog; everything appeared in order. 

The comfortable silence was quickly disturbed by subtle movements in the bushes. 

“I-i think something is there.” Jake reached out to move the branches and get a clear image, but a creature jumped out causing them to fall on their backs. 

“G-gator people!” Sunghoon picked up Jungwon, while Jake helped you up and led you away from the monster that was currently chasing you. You quickly made your way up the flights of stairs: pushing through the other flights that followed to your bedrooms. 

The creature continued; its sharp claws gauging at the walls and leaving a claw nail stuck in the paintings that were nicely hung. Without hesitation, the four of you barged into Heeseung and Sunoo’s room. 

“What are you guys doing here?” Sunoo barely bothered to look up from his screen when he witnessed the same creature enter the room, crushing the door that was once attached. 

“Gator people?” In fear, all of you clung onto the windows from the edge. Your foots collected on top of a single mattress, throwing the closest objects towards the creature.

The room quickly went black. A red glow emerged from the corners from the room allowing the two gators to creep under the floorboards and take a hold of your right leg pulling it downward. 

Your body slipped from the thin lifting of the window balcony, and soon enough it was being dragged from under the five boys,  leaving you to scream. 

Jake and Heeseung plunged forwards, each taking a hold of one of your arms to prevent the gators from dragging your body any further. Sunghoon took the liberty of stomping on the arms of the gators, making them retreat backwards. They slipped on their own tails and fell downward through the same hole they had crept through. You made your way up and looked at the gator skin dangling from your ankle. A white stuffing peeked through the thin fabric; the monster clearly wasn’t real. 

“It isn’t real?” Before Sunoo could continue with his pondering thoughts, the two gators once more crawled from below and sank their claws into the boards. The six teens ran out the door and out of the motel. 

‘COME BACK TO VISIT’ The tacky green sign hung on the side, and was the last part of their vision before securely making their way out of the Gatorsville. They turned their heads back to the issue, and saw as the gators came to an abrupt stop once they had exited the town. Slippery, and cautious, the duo hid once more and retreated back. 

“That was close.” 

“We have to go back, come on!” Jungwon, almost-excited like, pushed his older companions to the inners of town once more. They slyly hid in the trees until they found the two gators pushing large crates into a ship; one crate after another went inside. 

“Here.” Heeseung managed to bust the crate open, revealing packs of gator skinned products. Each marked with the same tag from earlier, ‘100% gator.’ 

Sunoo rolled up one of his sleeves and picked a belt from within the crate, and without thought, he wrapped the skin around his own. After some moments, he released the belt from his grasp and let it fall to the ground with a small clank following afterward. 

“It’s fake, just look at my skin!” Sunghoon and Jungwon inspected him and found a pink rashing forming on his pale flesh. Sunoo was known for his skin sensitivity, and everyone knew that any fake animal product would send the boy into itches and scratches. 

“The only thing we have here folks is a bunch of con-artists.” Heeseung sighs and makes his way to set up another one of his elaborate traps. 

------ 

“Jake, now!” Jake quickly shot the arrow to the target, and it lunged to release the two boxes hanging by cords on the top side of the building. 

The gators made their efforts to leave, but quickly were captured by the teen’s proud ploy. 

“Got them!” Jake once more looked at the boxes with curiorsity, helping Sunghoon push it back towards the Motel entrance. 

“Chief Kim.” The police man trudged through Gator Inn and found the huddled teens around two gator people caught in ropes. 

“What is the meaning of this?” 

“This Chief Kim is…” Heeseung pulled back the mask which revealed the owner of the motel inn and the scornful mechanic. 

“What!?” 

“That’s right. This is our home and when everyone left, we couldn’t just go. This is our home. So we started making cheap products to earn some money. We used the costumes to scare off yee visitors and get them away from our business. And we would have gotten away with it, if it wasn’t for you meddling tourists!” 

Chief Kim quickly gave a nod which sent the gators to get sent to the back of his police car. They didn’t bother asking more questions and were about to drive off when Sunghoon rushed behind them. 

“Wait! We need a ride!” 

Almost on cue, the engine of their van made a growl, and the front lights illuminated their bodies. “Is it haunted?” Jungwon approached it carefully, and lifted the hood of the car; the engine was back in its place and now accompanied with a note hanging from the top. 

“I hope you enjoyed your visit, but remember there is more to come. This is only the beginning of the puzzle. JK”  The signature red stamp with bold letters JK glistened under the moonlight. 

“More? I swear, this just keeps getting more creepy.” The six were left with nothing but to make their way back home, and who knows what they would expect next. 

------

Note: Jay and Niki will be progressively included in the story line. I’m sorry for the long wait :( 

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

Top 10 favorite things about TFS?

Bold of you to assume I can narrow it down to just 10 things, but I’ll try my best. 

Here’s a list of things I LOVE about The Final Season of TWDG, starting from #10 and working my way down to #1.

10. Rosie is best girl and doesn’t die 

Listen, okay? If you give me a game with a doggo companion that I bond with only to have said doggo die for dramatic effect... you automatically lose 2 outta 5 stars on your rating. Case in point: Season 2.

However, tfs knew not to kill Rosie off for dramatic effect, knew it’d be cheap. Plus, Rosie is a sweetheart and I love that she helps Clementine come to terms with her past trauma with dogs and genuinely bonds with her. Rosie is best girl. 

9. Over the shoulder camera/controls 

They’re the best of the series, having come a LONG way since S1. Like, look... Don’t get me wrong. S1 isn’t unplayable or anything, far from it, but they’re not the greatest either. They’re pretty wonky at times, the fixed camera can get annoying when you’re moving around, and sometimes button presses don’t register. It’s definitely something I have to get used to whenever I go back and replay the entire series, and like I said, it’s not the worst controls in the world... but oh man, compared to TFS?

Have you ever played S1 and then jumped straight into TFS just to get a direct comparison of the two? Because I have and it’s jarring how much smoother, accurate, and overall better everything is in TFS.

Just... props, guys. Thank you for the over-the-shoulder, movable camera, thank you for the polished button prompts, and thank you for a run button that has Clementine go into a nice jog rather than a comical run or, eh... does nothing [lookin’ at you ANF... Javi slow].

It’s just so effortless to play. The most trouble I ever have is with doors but that’s a given- Doors make no goddamn sense in this series and I’ve given up trying to learn their secrets. Oh, and speaking of more improvements! 

The shooting mechanic in this game is leaps better than in S1. Y’all remember the Motor-Inn shootout? The one that was such a frustrating pain in the ass?? So much death and anger...

I still die sometimes when shooting the walkers with the bow, especially the ones that are on fire, but it’s nothing compared to the shooting mechanic in S1, so the biggest THANK YOU for that one. It’s actually enjoyable to shoot stuff this time around.

8. Collectibles 

You as Clementine get to pick up various collectibles to decorate her and AJ’s dorm with and it’s great. One of my favorite bits about this game is seeing Clementine wake up in this empty, lifeless room, and see it get brighter and brighter with every collectible you place throughout the game until you reach the final scene with AJ where the room is just FULL of life and personality. Like... it’s officially theirs. It’s such a good feeling! 

And the devs totally didn’t have to add the collectible system in, but I’m so thankful they did. I’m one of those people who gets every single collectible every single time I play. 

7. Ericson’s Boarding School for Troubled Youth

Y’know, I honestly can’t think of a better place for Clementine and AJ to end up than Ericson’s Boarding School for Troubled Youth. It’s awesome, I love it, what a great idea. I also love the sense of wonder when we step outside for the first time and see the inside of Ericson, as well as the others, walking around. Like even Clementine is taken back by it.

Because of course it makes sense for Clementine to end up in a school surrounded by people closer to her age rather than with a group of dumbass adults like in the past three games.

Here it feels like they’re all about on the same level. There’s no older person here belittling Clementine because “she’s just a child and doesn’t get it,” they’re just people, y’know? Hell, if anything, Clementine’s now the most experienced one!

The school’s great! I wouldn’t change a thing about TFS taking place here. The environments are beautiful and I love exploring the world. 

6. Marlon as an antagonistic character/final confrontation 

I have an entire Marlon character discussion/study so I won’t put too much time into this one, but I will say that I love Marlon’s part in tfs. I love him as a surprise antagonistic character, I love how chill he is in the beginning, I love the final confrontation at the end of ep1... I just really like Marlon, y’know?

Ray Chase gives a damn near perfect performance as Marlon, so much so that I wish he survived past ep1 just so that I could hear more of his acting. Marlon himself in an interesting look at a leader character hiding his shame and guilt while trying to maintain control over everyone [including himself] around him, only to be broken down when he’s found out. 

5. James 

I know people tend to be pretty split on James, but I personally really like his role in tfs. I love that they included a character who was apart of the Whisperers, and hell, if anything I’d like to know MORE about James’ past with them. 

I just find him and his whole “walkers are sort of people? kinda?” beliefs. Again, I know some people get annoyed with him because of his beliefs but I think he adds an interesting spin on the whole thing, y’know? Though I do love what a bitch he is if you don’t agree with him hahaha

James is a bitch and I love him, okay? I love his dumb walker mask, I love his dumb boyband hair, I love his whispery voice, and I love his backstory with the Whisperers and Charlie. I love this he’s trying so hard to be this pacifist that he ends up doing the literal thing he said he doesn’t want to do-- hurt people. Y’know... like attempting to kidnap AJ and threatening to break Clementine’s leg in the caves if he’s alive. 

Which, by the way, that whole cave scene is a thing. It’s wild and I love it but not for the reasons the devs probably wanted. Like... it’s a little hilarious? I know it’s not supposed to be! But I can’t take James seriously when he’s walkin’ around his hands on his hips all huffy and puffy, okay? It’s just wild. 

Anyway, I love James and wouldn’t get rid of him. Hell, I’m still waiting for my James with the Whisperers mini-series, Skybound. 

4. Ericson Crew

There isn’t a single character from Ericson that I don’t like, or that I’d get rid of, which is rare with these games. Thinking back to the previous games, there’s always at least one person I could do without or that I didn’t like. I adore all of them!

The Ericson crew just feels closer than previous groups. For starters, they’re way more likable than most in our previous groups. Even when there’s tension [and boy is there tension at points] you still get the sense that they don’t hate each other, unlike in our previous groups. They do in fact love each other as a family and will do what they can to protect one another.

Plus, they’re all interesting. They’re troubled youth and I love all of them! 

Aasim keeps a daily journal where he chronicles everything in hopes of learning from past mistakes to prevent future ones, he’s damn good with a bow, and he’s got a neat little soul patch on his chin.  

Ruby is the tiny yet fiery medic of the group who adamantly believes in manners yet used to chase teachers around with pitchforks. 

Brody is caught up in the twin mess with Marlon but she’s also shown to want an escape, a road trip where she and her friends can go see the beach, but she also suffers with anxiety and panic attacks and isn’t afraid to knock Marlon on his ass or swear at Clementine. 

Mitch is a grumpy, tall boy who looks after Willy like a brother, knows how to make bombs out of manure and propane, and used to fight his neighbors because they didn’t like his face. 

Omar is a sassy chef who has to have every ingredient just right otherwise he’s salty for a week and he can take a bullet to the leg like a champ. 

Willy’s a goober who can climb trees like you wouldn’t believe and he made a bomb of his own in Mitch’s honor that completely wrecked the delta’s ship. 

Tenn is a soft, naïve boy who draws and reads but isn’t afraid to stab a walker bitch if he has to. 

Violet was sent to the school after witnessing her grandmother’s dead, she used to date Minerva who is now “dead,” has abandonment issues,  tries to give off the appearance of a grumpy grump but like once she’s comfortable with you she’ll tell you her life story and do romantic shit like dancing and painting you a pin. 

Louis was sent to Ericson because he was a rich brat who broke up his parents marriage because they wouldn’t let him take singing lessons and has felt like garbage ever since, using humor to cope and push people away, and keeps the façade on until someone’s willing to see past it in which he’ll finally bare his soul to you, name a song he wrote after you, and do everything in his power to keep you and everyone else safe over himself. 

I just... Love ‘em all. 

3. Clementine and AJ’s dynamic 

To think that they almost killed AJ off, or kept him a minor character. That would’ve been a shame and an absolute waste because Clementine and AJ’s dynamic is super fucking good in tfs. 

It’s actually a little baffling that AJ’s as good as he is, from his writing to his voice acting, he’s just great. And his relationship with Clementine is definitely one of my favorites to come from this game. It’s not perfect, but I don’t want perfect. 

I love that AJ looks to Clem for guidance and I love the way our choices affect him, even when it’s a case of the bridge scene. Hate the bridge scene knowing that I gotta sacrifice a character I care about for another I love, but I can’t deny that I love how that choice is made. After everything, do you trust AJ or not? 

Plus, their conversations are so well done, their chemistry is through the roof, and I wouldn’t change it. 

Oh, and the barn scene? Gets me every time, even though I already know everything’s fine and gonna work out. Still gets me. 

2. Clementine is Bisexual

I’ve talked about this in the past, but lemme just say that I love the fact that Clementine is canonically bisexual. 

Doesn’t matter if you’re dating Louis, Violet, or no one, Clementine is still bisexual. The game confirms it through it’s text/subtext and Clementine’s actions that we don’t have control over, and the devs confirmed it. She ain’t straight, she ain’t a lesbian, she is bisexual. 

I can’t express how happy that makes me. Just... 💗💜💙

And with her being bisexual comes her two great love interests: Louis and Violet. They’re amazing, and such an improvement over the previous game’s attempt at love interests... ahem, y’know... Kate.

1. Louis as a character/his relationship with Clementine 

I mean... c’mon. Y’all knew what #1 was gonna be. Do I even need to explain? This entire blog is just me gushing about Louis/clouis. 

Look, Louis is my favorite non-playable character across the entire series. Hell, even when you factor in playable characters, he’s STILL my absolute favorite. Like, even outside of his relationship with Clementine, I find him to be such a compelling character by himself. 

Like I mentioned above, he came from a stupid rich family who gave him everything he ever wanted, but when his father wouldn’t let him take singing lessons, he literally worked for over a year to break up his parents marriage because “you get to be happy or you get to be rich, can’t be both.” 

He gets sent to Ericson where the apocalypse happens, he never gets to make up with his parents, and he ends up using jokes and piano as a coping mechanism to deal with everything, falls into a cycle of being unreliable and the butt of the joke, and lives one day at a time without much thought for the future. 

He puts on the happy jokester persona to push people away from knowing the real him and rarely shares much about himself. Hell, when Clementine does hunting and decides to take care of the walker with him, he actually does let down the wall for a minute to share his view on “this moment” before looking away like “Oof, shared too much-- HEY, GO CHECK ON AASIM :D I’LL BE OVER HERE :D FIXING THE TRAP :D and adjusting the wall ahem--” 

It’s so interesting because you’d think that he’d be more open about his past with Marlon or the twins or whatever [like Violet is] but no, he doesn’t tell you shit about his past until EPISODE 3 and you have to work to get that story. 

I just... I just love him. Could talk about and analyze his character for hours. And I love his relationship with Clementine. It’s just so good. The piano scene where they finally admit their feelings for one another?? That shit has my entire heart. Their entire relationship is my favorite. What else is there to say? 

[zrtranscripts]

Home Front, Mission 19: The Madman’s Crown

Clobber that Cleaning

~

[radio cycles past a snippet of music and some static before landing on the Abel frequency]

SAM YAO: [dramatic narrator voice] Welcome back, travellers, to the thrilling tale of adventure and cleaning that is The Lair of the Abhorroghast. [own voice] Now I don't know about you, but my old shack is looking better already. I can actually see the floor again! Um, now actually, if any of you runners happen to find a Carpet World next time you're out there, I could really use a rug or something.

Anyway, uh, where were we? Ah, yes. Yes. When I left you, you and your companions, halfling rogue Kit and elven wizard Ameline had just mopped up the contents of the Pit of Woe. Ameline conjured a tidal wave that swept the three of you through the tunnels beneath the pit and further into the dungeon.

And as the guy who cooked up this whole adventure, I can predict you'll need some oven cleaning elixirs, scrubbing brushes, and bin bags for the next chapter. Oh, also, make sure your floors and surfaces are clear of clutter. So don your rubber gloves of cleanliness, gird what your mother gave you, and let's return to our quest to cleanse the Lair of the Abhorroghast. But first, here's a song that always puts me in the Pit of Woe.

~

[SAM alternates between a dramatic game master voice for narration, different voices for characters, and his own voice for asides and cleaning instruction

SAM YAO: When the flood waters ebb away, you find yourself bedraggled but alive on the floor of a long narrow cave, but instead of the darkness you have come to expect, the ceiling glitters and the walls gleam. Every surface of the cave is studded with shimmering white crystals that here and there seem to grow in crude faces and other all-too-human shapes.

“Don't move,” hisses Kit. “Don't speak too loud. There's something fishy about this place.” Ameline scoffs. “We've lost enough time to your antics already. Come, adventurer, this way!” But Ameline is cut off by a sudden crunching noise. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch one of the crystal faces grin and then the walls begin to close in! “The water's running that way,” whispers Kit, pointing to the cave's far end. “There must be a door, a switch, a secret passage. Search quick, friend, and search careful, or this crystal cave'll crush us yet.”

Yeah, so what I thought was we'd start with cleaning windows. Spooky crystals, glass, basically the same thing. If you have window cleaner, that works great, but if you don't have Janine's slightly scary doomsday stockpile of cleaning products, you can use vinegar and scrunched up newspaper! Apparently it works great, if you don't mind your house smelling like a fish and chip shop.

Anyway, Ameline is frozen with fear, but Kit creeps along the edge of the room, following the flow of the knee-deep water and running his hands over the walls. As the walls close in, you have little choice but to follow his lead. Hmm. So uh, yeah, get polishing.

~

[SAM alternates between a dramatic game master voice for narration, different voices for characters, and his own voice for asides and cleaning instruction

SAM YAO: As the crystal cave folds in on itself, you have to stoop to avoid being crushed. And then, beneath the flowing water, you spot what looks like a crystal lever growing out of the floor. It takes some effort to pull. When you do, the cave shakes, the walls stop moving, and suddenly the crystal wall ahead parts like a pair of curtains and the water gushes through. You, Kit, and Ameline stumble after it into the searing heat and brilliant light.

Emerging from the crystal cave, you find yourself at the edge of a great chasm in the earth. On the opposite side is an open gate of red stone carved into the rock like a wound. Magma spills from either side of the gate in rivers, sending up tufts of steam where the lava and running water meet.

Before you can take in the sight, the sound of leathery wings echoes above. A host of winged demons claw their way out of the very rock and swoop towards you. Yeah. Yeah, it's the chore that all mortals dread, cleaning the oven. Ministry guidelines suggest not letting grime and greasy black bits build up even in the apocalypse. So prepare to face the fiends of the Infernus Cavern!

Of course, if you don't have an oven, fiends are notoriously fond of gutters, that bit underneath heavy furniture where dry peas and misplaced figurines turn up, the back of the fridge, that... Well, you know. Basically this is the time to do that one horrible household task you hate.

Back in the Lair of the Abhorroghast, Kit snarls as he ducks the demons' razor claws. "These fiends, doomed to serve as jailers of the Abhorroghast for all eternity,” Ameline explains. “Defeat them, pass the red gate, and the treasure is as good as ours.” [scrubbing sound] You want that treasure, don't you? So keep scrubbing.

~

[SAM alternates between a dramatic game master voice for narration, different voices for characters, and his own voice for asides and cleaning instruction

SAM YAO: Oh, that wasn't so bad, was it? And the oven looks amazing! Now then, where were we? [paper rustles] Ah. Ah yes. Right. Fiends. All around you lie the bodies of vanquished demons, their leathery wings strewn on the bloodred stone. Together, you, Kit, and Ameline pass through the door in the rock and enter the pitch black passages beyond.

As soon as you cross the threshold, you feel a deathly chill. Yeah, this is a very hot and cold dungeon, isn't it? You are not alone. Something is slithering through the tunnels behind you, something big, seeking you out. Holding your torches aloft, you see a vast tentacle advancing along the ceiling above and reaching down towards you.

Yes, it's time to clean out the shower drain! I always thought that little hole resembled something from an elder dimension, but you know, the grossness is the challenge. All you really need are rubber gloves and a bin bag. And once the Abhorroghast's tentacles are driven back to the dark dimension from whence they oozed, cleanse the pit around with scouring potions or whatever bathroom cleaner you've got to hand.

Tentacles pulse above and around you as you advance through the corridors of jet black stone. As Ameline drives back a thrashing tentacle with the light from the end of her staff, she cries, “Adventurer, with me! Our only chance is to find its heart!”

As Kit distracts the tendrils, ducking and weaving to avoid the blows of the Abhorroghast’s alien limbs. Ameline leads the way deeper into the labyrinth, her glowing staff your only guide. And remember to keep cleaning the drain with those scouring potions as you go. Scrubbety scrub.

~

[SAM alternates between a dramatic game master voice for narration, different voices for characters, and his own voice for asides and cleaning instruction

SAM YAO: Your blade sweeps through a thrashing tentacle, one two, one two. It recoils back through the twisting corridors of the labyrinth. Ameline leads you and Kit through to a chamber of black stone in the center around a pool as dark as ink. As her staff casts a wan light around the chamber, you see something glittering in the gloom. “Arr, treasure!” Kit cries, unable to conceal his delight. Ameline holds him back. “We've no time to be greedy,” she says. “Find the crown quickly, before the monster returns.”

All right, you're not very likely to find treasure in the bathroom. Unless, well, unless you're really into the digestive system. But that sink still needs cleaning, so let's get it glittering again. [piled coins clink] You search the piles of gold until your hands close around a golden circlet studded all around with black opals. The Madman's Crown.

The discovery does not go unnoticed. Ameline smiles, reaches out her hand, and says, “I knew you were special from the moment we first met above. Come, I'll take the crown.” “Arr, and who'd be fool enough to trust ye with it?” Kit snaps. “This isn't something you can melt down for beer money, halfling,” Ameline retorts. “It grants the power of the mad wizards who built this place to the head that wears it.”

As they argue, you begin to wonder, is the chamber shaking? Is that rumbling growing louder? Something is slithering from the depths of the pool, a mass of long questing tendrils. Ameline strides towards you, holding out her hand imperiously as she demands, “Enough of this charade! Give me the crown now!”

Behind her, Kit cries out, “Adventurer, to me! Don't let her have it!” The chamber shakes violently. Ameline’s staff glows with power. Before the spell pins you to the wall, you hurl the crown away and Kit the halfling catches it. “Much obliged,” he grins.

“Arr, but really, ye shouldn't trust either of us.” He gives a little bow as Ameline joins him. “I can't believe that worked,” she gloats. “I'm afraid Kit and I have been, as they say, in cahoots. Now there's an eldritch horror on the way and Kit and I have a reward to collect for this old relic, so ta ta!”

With the Madman's Crown in their possession, the treacherous pair flee, leaving you to face the Abhorroghast alone. Its vast, slimy bulk rises from the pool, a thousand bloodshot eyes fix upon you.

Right, yeah, that's those rubber gloves on. This is it, the last household task, and the nastiest. Can you clean your loo, or will the eldritch horror that lurks within it snack on your sanity? See you on the other side, adventurer.

~

SAM YAO: [dramatic narrator voice] Mortally wounded, the Abhorroghast shrinks back into the water, its tentacles recede as it drags its glistening bulk back to the hellish dimension from whence it came. The chamber is silent. All that's left is the treasure of the Abhorroghast's lair and the long trek back to the surface world. You shudder as you remember that somewhere out there, the traitors Kit and Ameline are making off with an artifact of terrible power.

But as you dig through the piled gold and silver of the lair, something catches your attention. Ameline’s spell book. In her haste to get away, the elf must have dropped it among the coins and precious stones. It lies open on a pile of necklaces. Sketched within, surrounded by mystic runes and diagrams, is a circle of wizardly figures. As fire falls upon the world, they are bowing down to one in their midst, one who wears the Madman's Crown. Whatever plans those two have for the artifact, they don't look good.

[own voice] But that's an adventure for another day. You've slain the monster made of hair that lurked in the shower drain, dusted for traps on your sideboard, vanquished the slaughterworms of filth and whatever else was making your home less, well, homely. Now it may not seem important compared to hordes of zombies or world-ending catastrophes, but just like playing Demons and Darkness, having a good tidy once in a while can help you feel like you have some control over the world around you. I reckon that's something a lot of us could do with right now.

Like... like pulling an eldritch monster from the shower drain, if we protect ourselves, pitch in, put up with some discomfort for the greater good, we can get through this. And when it's all over, we'll have somewhere worth living in, which is how every adventure ends, isn't it? You go home having made things just a little better than before, a little bit at a time.

~

[horrible-monstrosity]

I find myself increasingly concerned with the direction Legends Arceus is taking the relation between humans and Pokemens. No, I'm not talking about the bit with Pokemans attacking the player directly when you don't have your own Pokeymans ready, that was going to happen eventually, but just... the Sinnoh myths had stories about humans and Pokemon being so close they were considered the same sort of being, there's marriages, what have you, coming from thousands of years back. But this game apparently taking place only some hundreds of years ago... and it's "before Pokemons and humans lived together uwu"? The fuck? I feel like the games have been significantly moving away from humans and Pokemon being equals of a sort who both benefit from being together to Pokemons being some superior beings who humans benefit from but not vice versa and Pokemans are the superior creatures who humans should grovel in gratitude to and put up with all the shit from while never daring to burden them in any way. See gen 7, where living in haaaaarmony means having their lives and culture corralled by some asshole fairies because people can't be arsed to fight the ultra beasts, except the trainers who're forced to become kahunas fight the UBs themselves anyway (where they're forced to become fanatical enough about fighting to become strong enough to do so, but they're not even expected to be strong to fight UBs it's to lead their community... don't try understanding it just eat fairy shit and get excited for more fairy shit I guess). Why not just have a culture of the trainers who want to be strongest, or who have the greatest talent, being lauded as UB-fighters and becoming community leaders as well? Naw man, doing everything as the fairies want is haaaaarmony. Humans can't be strong enough with their Pokemon teams to fight the UBs, but have to be strong for other reasons ordained by The System, but then the ordained stronk humans have to fight the UBs anyway. But the fairies help, I guess. I fucking hate fairies man. Fucking elves of the Pokemon world. Smug sparkling fucks, fuck em I keep forgetting about the ride Pokemon but it still feels like the humans are supposed to bow and scrape to earn the gift of basic movement services so I don't think it really counts Gen 8 I don't know as well but it seems to go like this: Doggos are responsible for all good, their trainers or whatever their human companions are might as well not even exist. The postgame story is about those eeeeevil humans thinking they have some relevance to the doggos or something, eeevil I must say, so they have to do something evil to prove that.... um, something. Just some dumb shit that feels like a strawman argument against humans having any place in this world. Grovel to doggos.

Gen 6 was around the point where the weird cynicism started to creep into the franchise, mostly ORAS's weird abandoned ship segment, but it's pretty clear of this... aside from one random ace trainer or something late in XY who asks you, humans benefit from Pokemons, but how Pokemons benefit from huamn??? huh??? You're expecting an answer from him but he's just like, I bet you can't think of anything huh, hmmm??? Grovel, human.

You compare this to gen 5, and I'm not even talking about the Plasma plot (which was clearly bait on Plasma's part to get the public's sympathy anyway), but things like using Excadrill to dig out the mines. The 'drills were getting to do what they loved- dig- and being treated well by the humans in exchange for digging this spot in that way as directed. An equitable relationship that produced resources. This sort of thing existed as a counterpoint to N and Plasma's stated beliefs that humans were nothing but horrible for Pokemon and that they could never live together... Ironically what the later games are leaning towards, except that there is a way, and that's for humans to go fuck themselves. And again, Sinnoh's old myths, as well as any other myths that involve people and Pokemon together going back thousands of years.

I'd really thought the idea of this series was that Pokemon and humans were practically made for each other, that they were together from the very beginning. Raising Pokemon allows them to have a crafted moveset including TM and tutor moves, gain EVs, use held items aside from the few random ones they find in the wild... it's baked into the game itself completely incidentally. But no, I guess it's a Pokeyman's world and humans are just intruding on it somehow. What the fuck. Sigh.

I'm hoping that "Pokemans are so dangerouse man" line is just about the red-eyed frenzied Pokemon and that we aren't going into all Pokemons attacking humans and humans living forever at their mercy and deserving to scrape and grovel just to survive their onslaught.

By the way, my autistic retard fanfiction: First off, when the wall breaks and the doggo statues are found that make everyone realise who the "real" heroes are (something we can THANK Bede for by the way, because if he hadn't destroyed a priceless cultural artifact Eternatus would have gone off unopposed... but no one ever acknowledges this, as Bede is shat on and disowned by Rose for following what Rose taught him and then forced to trune out by trunny granny. figures she's a fairy trainer, I fucking hate fairies)- the idea that the doggos alone are the "real" heroes is actually a misconception brought on by people/society's tendency to elevate Pokemon, similar to why people bought PLasma's bullshit back in Unova. So when Eternatus is starting its nukes, people are just waiting for the doggos to get going and beat it... but when Hop sees the doggo statues, his budding professor brain immediately sees the truth- both the doggos and their human trainers are needed to unlock the true power of the sword and shield items. This even makes some sense with the game mechanics, as Pokemon typically can't use items more complicated than a berry... so with Leon and co busy fighting the dynamax mons and knowing no one would listen to him, Hop turns to the only person he can ask- you, who saw the doggos in the foggos at the beginning with him, to go retrieve the items so the doggos can actually do their thing. Also, Rose was radicalised and groomed by some crazy apocalypse cult, an ironic inversion of his supposed grooming of Bede (here he actually has a heartwarming father-son relationship of sorts with him). They pushed him to push the darkest day plan up like he did, convincing him there's a desperate energy situation but secretly just wanting the maximum apocalypse-ness out of a single action (while possibly believing themselves that there's an energy crisis but that the real solution is to destroy shit so less people and things use energy). So there's that. In the end he's taken to jail, but it's not some absurdly mundane ending where he just gets arrested for apocalypse crimes, rather he's being questioned for what he can tell them about the cult, on understanding that he was coerced into this, and that he can pay for his crimes by giving information on the cult itself. Bede relates this to you with some concern for his sort-of dad. The Swordward and Shieldbert plot (I forget if that's their actual names but whatever) has the two bros asking you to aid in investigating the apoc cult while preparing to accept their destiny as the doggos' masters. You see, they've been raised for this, learning all about Pokemon companionship but having no actual close contact with Pokemon at all (to prevent any Pokemon from forming a bond with them closer than what they'd have with the doggo- your first Pokemon is special, after all). Book smart but street dumb, in other words. You know, as opposed to some inexplicable dumb shit because Mother 3 ruined an entire generation of game writers. They call on the doggos to battle the baddies and are disappointed they go to you and Hop instead of them, but ultimately accept it. Afterwards, Hop contacts Sonia with a request... soon he has the two brothers over to choose their very first Pokemon. Swordbro was going on about Swordog's nobility and Shieldbro about wanting to touch Shieldog's fluffy mane, so Hop has out a Yamper and a Wooloo, presented as a choice, but he knows exactly which one they'll each choose. This is another manifestation of his potential as a professor- not only doing the professor thing of handing out first Pokemon, but considering what Pokemon they'd work well with. Isn't that nice? Also there's something in there about Bede's long lost identical twin who's also being used as a pawn by the apoco-cult but I'll explain that later

My idea for the origin of the Pokemon world as we know it- Arceus didn't create Pokemon, or the world itself, but it is responsible for the way the world is now. Once upon a time, when humans and Pokemon were one kind of being, there was too much strife and disagreement among the groups and nobody was learning their lesson, so Arceus got fed up and split the world into two types of beings that would have to get along in order to thrive. It instated the "rules" of Pokemon battles, that attacks have set damage ranges and types have well-defined interactions, that attacks in battles only deplete some abstract hit points level instead of causing the damage they "should" for what they are (this doesn't apply to wild-on-wild predation necessarily, so it's a privilege enjoyed by Pokemon being aided or advised by a human). Outsider beings- aliens, maybe ultra beasts, etc- are "converted" into Pokemon when they enter "Earth"'s airspace, which is why even beings from the furthest depths of space follow the rules and biology of earthbound species. These "rules" require Arceus' powers but don't rely on its constant action, so it can be captured and hang out with a trainer for a while, play by its own rules to see how things are going, without disrupting the system. I'd never expected anything even vaguely like this to turn canon of course, because it's so specific and particular to the sort of ideas I tend to have, but... not like this man

[snowfianna]

Fable IV rant:

I'm so pumped up for the 23rd because everything has led me to believe that Fable 4 will be announced this year and the game's existence has been confirmed for a while anyway it's just a matter of time of when will Fable 4 show itself. It's a badly kept secret tbh.

So to those who don't mind a big rant or wish to add on to my rant- here we go!

Can you imagine how good the graphics would be for this game, we've all seen modern games, surely, and they're all bloody fantastic looking. Fable Legends is technically the most recent Fable game despite it being a free to play online game

and that it's cancelled

but it also had a gorgeous look to it all! And the character models did great justice to the concept art and honestly that has my hopes real high because I love the concept art of Fable, specifically from Mike McCarthy, so exaggerated and recognisable- yet in all the games I can confidently say they did not do justice to his character design, specifically for Reaver. Sure, he looks stunning in the third game, but not quite what he looks like in his concept art sadly.

But also, since Fable was made in Unreal Engine (I'm pretty sure at least) we've seen examples of what can be done in Unreal Engine now and it's absolutely breath taking!

If you haven't seen here are some examples and they're so life-like.

Moving on from graphics!

Since Playground Games is behind the development of Fable 4, they would be spectacular at an open spaced world, judging from the Forza games.

I always loved the open world feature added to Fable, it made things more adventurous and you could do so many things that weren't at all related to the main quest to progress the story and it was just thrilling to see there were other things going on! I'd love to just have my dog companion running through fields, fighting enemies left and right and finding buried treasure or forgotten chests.

Run into strangers who request aid in something silly or rather serious and it would be up to you with how you go about the quest or if you even accept it to get renown or gold. Cause a massacre in towns and villages, running off with low morality and plentiful loot- oh one could fantasise of this all day.

Story, characters, writing and voices.

Fable has always had a fun environment of fantasy and a rather good story (despite the curse of mundane or pathetic boss fights in which I hope Fable 4 breaks this cycle) but the one thing that's always kept me on my feet in the games is the writing and the characters. It always just tried not to take itself too seriously, throwing in absurd quests that probably requires cheese or a really weird-looking outfit. It always kept my attention rather than just pure edge and seriousness of life or death.

The characters are a given, the writing done for them all is perfect in my eyes, I love hearing the variations of how characters of NPCs interacted (enough so that I even bought two of the Fable books written by Peter David). Despite Fable 3 not being the greatest at it's time, I found myself absolutely enjoy the characters for how they were- I even cried over Walter's death because it genuinely felt like I lost somebody pretty close (RIP Walter🙏). The writing and the chosen voice actors were superb and I'd love more of it.

I hope this time we can receive a full story instead of how Fable 2 and 3 were where plenty of plot points and such were cut out due to time constraints- thanks Microsoft, very cool. I'm still in anguish when listening to the Developer's Diary 3 of Fable 3 hearing lines that were just never said in the final product and it was definitely not just additional lines that weren't required as it seemed to mention entirely different things that weren't in the game; i.e. Reaver talks about his pirates in Bloodstone and how he misses them- in the final product he never mentions it and it's even shown that he's tried to completely bury his pirate past for whatever reason.

The pacing in Fable 3 was rather strange too, it felt like the revolution should've lasted longer.

Another hope of mine is to have choices that aren't so painfully black-and-white because it's very obvious which is the good or bad option to a scenario- personally for me I'd like to be morally grey rather than pure good or pure evil.

They better have kept the mechanic of your actions affecting your appearance too to the point where you grow horns and get cracked magma-like skin or this slight glow and aura around you and this flawless skin. It kind of died down in Fable 3, only looking more tired or have completely black eyes and the good- eh yeah not much I can say for when you're good. Purity and corruption seemed to also vanish in Fable 3 (at least I think) since you couldn't really change prices of the homes you were renting out, unless I've been a big goof who didn't arrange the rent prices in the game because I didn't know how.

Combat

Combat in all the games was rather straight forward, especially in Fable 2 and 3 where everything was just easy to beat or you could get overpowered around the start of the game. I'd hope the combat improves greatly this time and even bring back real consequences to dying instead of immediate revival with some lost experience and a scar. We need more serious consequences to your actions (this can be applied to all decisions rather than just if you die in a battle) even if it's just having to reload the last checkpoint. Makes things more challenging this way.

Another thing is to make boss fights less repetitive and simple- sure I can forgive it if the boss is from around the start but if they had phases you had to keep ontop of and didn't rely on summoning a bajillion other enemies to strike you, I'd be ever so grateful.

And if there's other characters fighting along side you, I'd hope they'd genuinely be helpful and keep up to speed with the player. I'm sure the AI in the past was the problem for this as AI wasn't at its best during that time so characters fighting by you didn't do too much or just did whatever that wasn't helpful. Now though, AI has improved immensely (I mean look at The Last Of Us 2, the AI is👌) and due to this, I'm sure characters would make battles more fun and the characters be more involved with the fight and even story.

Mana should be brought back as well, in Fable 2 and 3 mana just ceased to exist so you could just endlessly and repeatedly use the same spells and it just gave you too much power and the enemies barely stood a chance.

We need challenges people- CHALLENGES!

Medieval times? Yes.

I love Medieval fantasy and as much as I like the Victorian era too, I didn't think it quite suited Fable, as fascinating as it was to see fantasy turn industrial, it kind of took away from the Fable feel that I so crave. If they have indeed brought the game back to medieval times it means more creatures and enemies are back rather than driven away or limited to the same handful of enemies.

We can all also agree the guns were overpowered, though I did like receiving the Red Dragon late in Fable 2 to absolutely mow down enemies, it was satisfying to say the least. However, guns were far too powerful for the game, so I demand the bows and crossbows back thank you very much- or even throwing knives- I'll take what I'm given.

I'd love to see more of the natural landscape rather than towns or buildings that took over once entirely natural areas (Millfields/Bowerlake). However, I won't object to ruins of old buildings taken over by nature.

Skeptical with Playground Games? Don't be.

Are you worried that Playground Games wouldn't do justice to Fable since it's not Lionhead Studios? Don't be, it's been noted that Playground Games has hired several ex-lionhead workers and plenty other skillful workers to ensure we get the best product. I have high hopes and expectations for Fable 4 even if it's developed under a different studio, I've seen great things from them and I will believe they'll deliver us only the best.

Side note to all this

I will crash and burn if I don't see a crumb of Reaver or Jack of Blades in Fable 4- I don't know how true any rumours are of Fable 4 with time travelling and Jack returning, but we'll just have to see. Reaver still remains as my absolute favourite character of all time and I'd love to see more of him, even see him before he was 'Reaver'.

Jack too, more of his lore is stated elsewhere rather than in the game itself and I'd love to see it all be brought into light and really expand on his lore and make it known- rather than have ever-loving Fable fans like me dig around for these rather delicious bits of canon information.

That's my big rant, feel free to share your thoughts and what you'd look forward to!

Have some accidental art leaks from a Playground Game concept artist- believed to be for Fable 4👀

[kumeko]

A/N: For Crossed Realms zine! I decided to crossover with FF15 and do the rewrite I always wanted to fix the tonal issues I had with the game.

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i. Dedue

The prince was angry. Dedue knew that intuitively, could feel the rage rolling off Dimitri in waves. It was not obvious to most people—even his retainers and childhood friends couldn’t always recognize the conflicting emotions that constantly shimmered under the prince’s skin. Then again, Dimitri tended to hide his true emotions behind his manners. Even now, as they walked through the halls, the maids and household staff bowing as they passed, Dimitri didn’t let his rage show. He greeted each one with a smile, thanking them for their work. It could be forgiven if they thought he was in a good mood.

Yet, Dedue knew better. Dimitri’s hand was curled into a fist, his shoulders square, his footsteps slightly louder than they needed to be. All of his innate strength seeped out of him in the smallest of ways, barely restrained. Dedue had often wondered just how much minuscule damage the castle could take, how many generations had released their anger onto its sturdy bricks.

Still, there was no point in asking his highness about it. Experience had taught him that Dimitri wouldn’t talk about it until they were alone. Fortunately, it didn’t take them long to reach a deserted hallway, utterly clear of any eavesdroppers.

Immediately, Dimitri’s smile dropped, his pace slowing slightly. His brow furrowed and each step sent off a wave of tremors. “This is ridiculous,” he finally uttered.

This was the chance he’d been waiting for. Dedue clasped his hands behind his back. “What is, your highness?”

Dimitri gave him a sharp look. “I thought you agreed to drop formalities when we are alone?”

“I...” Dedue swallowed, remembering. His tongue felt heavy as he repeated, “What is, Dimitri?”

He smiled sunnily before the clouds reappeared once more. “This sham of an engagement.”

Dedue blinked, surprised. Over the years, he had occasionally caught Dimitri in a forlorn mood, longing staring out his windows in the direction of Garreg Mach. It hadn’t taken long to guess just whohe had thought of in those quiet moments or why he would smile sadly when alone. “I thought you wanted to marry Byleth.”

Immediately, Dimitri coloured. “That…it’s not that I don’t…” Utterly red, the anger washed off him for a moment and he ducked his head bashfully. His voice softened. “It’s not that.”

“Then…what is the problem, Dimitri?” He could live to a hundred and not be used to saying the prince’s name, to acting like their positions meant nothing.

The smile dropped, though Dimitri’s cheeks remained slightly flushed. Clearing his throat, he stood straight once more, though his anger was far less palpable than before. “I shouldn’t leave my country. Not now, when the Empire could crush us at any minute.” His jaw tightened. “I should stay and protect my people. My marriage…it is nothing compared to my duties.”

Gently, Dedue squeezed Dimitri’s stiff shoulders. “This will protect your people. Byleth is the archbishop, after all. Once she arrives in Faerghus, we will be under her protection.”

“I…” Dimitri softened once more, no doubt thinking about her. “I wish I didn’t have to rely on her for this, that I could protect us with my own strength.”

“You have,” Dedue replied firmly, shaking his head slowly. He would never be able to describe how he felt when Dimitri had grabbed his hands all those years ago, dragging a poor refugee from the slums to the castle. “And you will. This will reduce bloodshed and possibly deter the empire. There might not be a war.”

“Still...” Dimitri shifted uneasily before stilling entirely. “I wish I did not have to involve her in this at all. That our marriage was not based on this need. Besides, while this is all true, Ido not need to escort her here. You or Ingrid could guide her here—I do not want to leave my people in a time like this.”

Dedue shook his head. He never understood why Dimitri always complicated matters like this, why it was always so hard for him to accept the simple truths in life. Then again, the prince had often said the same about him, and perhaps they were both obtuse in their own ways.

“Her archbishop needs protection to reach here, protection that only you can give. I am not strong enough to protect her.” Dedue smiled sadly, more than aware of how weak he truly was. Compared to the strength of Dimitri’s other guards, nobles who had trained their entire lives to protect the crown, his own powers were paltry. The most protection he could provide was as a shield.

Dimitri’s frown grew deeper, unable to refute that. “I suppose.”

“I am certain she is looking forward to this too. She wants to see you,” Dedue added. It was a half lie. From what little he’d heard and seen of Byleth, it was impossible to read her emotions. But he’d seen the letters they’d exchanged, carried by an invisible, sardonic goddess. Dimitri’s safe was full of them, biweekly letters carried throughout the years.

That had to mean something.

“That’s not why I—” Dimitri flushed once more, the red reaching his ears now.

Dedue rarely disagreed with Dimitri if he could help it. Yet, in matters of his prince’s happiness or safety, he had to intervene. “Despite the pretenses leading to the engagement, it is also real.”

For a second, hope crossed Dimitri’s face. Then, just as quickly, it disappeared, leaving behind a cold expression. Teeth clenched, lips in a straight line, eyes hard—Dedue felt a shiver run up his spine as he slowly looked down the hallway. There was only one person in the castle who caused such a reaction.

Dimitri’s uncle walked toward them, his steps echoing in the hall.

Another good reason to get Dimitri out of the castle. Dedue wanted to take him as far from that man as possible.

ii. Felix

Under a blazing sun, crystal clear waves lapped a sandy beach. Birds trilled as they flew from palm tree to palm tree, and fish swam under the sparkly waters. In the distance, sea gulls cried.

This was paradise.

Felix hated it. An utterly frivolous tourist destination, Rhodos Coast wasn’t the kind of place he’d visit on his own if he had a choice. If he wanted to relax, he’d have stayed home. There was nothing calming about the way the sand burned beneath his rear as he sat. Unfortunately, he was alone in this thought; the rest of his companions were happily scattered along the beach.

“How can you be so grumpy even here?” Sylvain bemoaned, crouching in front of Felix. Dressed in swimming trunks and with a fruity drink in hand, he looked like he was at a party and not part of a prince’s guard. “This place is beautiful!”

The bastard was just out of reach for punch, but not for a sword. Felix contemplated the merit of sullying his blade with the wastrel’s blood. “This is a waste of time,” he growled.

“How?” Sylvain’s eyes widened, his expression guileless. Felix knew better than to believe that. “We’re relaxing.”

“We are supposed to get the archbishop,” Felix replied sharply, irritated. It wasn’t like this pretense of a mission wasn’t a waste of time anyways. No matter how important Byleth was, she didn’t need five people to retrieve her. Even if she did, with the boar prince around, they didn’t need the sword, spear, and shield of Faerghus all gathered together. “Not party.”

“We’re here for an engagement, this is a bachelor party,” Sylvain corrected smoothly, rolling his eyes. He stood up now and stared down at Felix. “You can have a little fun without the world ending.”

“And you can have a little less fun without dying,” Ingrid retorted, standing behind him. Her sleeves were rolled up, her usually neat braid slightly mused. She held a crab in hand and he didn’t have to ask to know she’d caught it herself. Unlike the idiot, she at least was still in her uniform, albeit a more relaxed version. Her jacket was nowhere in sight, her collar loosened, and with her sleeves and pants all rolled up, she might as well have changed clothing.

Sylvain groaned, turning his head as Ingrid dropped the crab into Dimitri’s fish bucket. She’d probably catch more than the prince did, considering how impatient he was.

“Come on, Ingrid, not you too.” He looked at her pleadingly, eyes wide, lip jutted out in a pout. It was a look that worked on most. “We’re at the beach! It won’t kill us to have a little fun.”

However, a lifetime had given Ingrid immunity to Sylvain’s begging. She rested her hand on her hip, frowning. “Look, Sylvain, this isn’t a vacation. We’re catching the ferry for Garreg Mach tomorrow. Could you please take this a little more seriously, before you offend some noble?”

“We’re going to war anyways,” Felix replied, shrugging at the worry. “Who cares how it was triggered?”

“Felix.” Ingrid changed her focus to him and gave him the grumpiest look. At least it wasn’t her glare.

“You two are terrible, I would never start a war.” Sylvain clutched his chest, faking shock. Getting over the betrayal rapidly, he smiled sunnily at them once more. “We’re taking a break today, remember?”

“Just because we’re waiting for the ferry,” Felix corrected.

“And this is Dimitri’s last day as a bachelor,” he continued, ignoring Felix entirely. “We have to throw him a bachelor party, guys—sure, maybe he can’t have a stripper or any of those fun things, but still. It’s the principle that matters.”

“This is what you preserve your principles for?” Ingrid hissed, unable to contain herself.

“You’re the only one who cares,” Felix replied at the same time.

“Dimitri cares,” Sylvain argued back, gesturing at the prince. “He’ll only get married once. Probably. And shouldn’t we make this a memorable time for him?”

Felix and Ingrid followed Sylvain’s arm to where Dimitri stood in the shallows of the lake, his pants rolled up as he slowly walked parallel to the shoreline. Noticing their stares, Dimitri waved at them invitingly, a smile on his face. By his side, a slightly tense Dedue glanced around warily, as though a monster would pop out of the depths and eat Dimitri alive.

“Well…” Ingrid softened. As usual. Sylvain’s charms might never have worked on her, but he’d always been good at persuasion. “I suppose it’ll make him happy…”

Felix rolled his eyes, not falling for his childhood friend’s usual tricks. “This is a waste of time,” he repeated. The prince would also smile when he saw Byleth, if that’s what they were after.

“Party pooper,” Sylvain sniped, and that was the only warning Felix got before a bucket of water showered him from above, drenching him entirely.

Felix sat there for a long second, his clothes clinging to his body like a second skin, before leaping to his feet. “SYLVAIN.”

No one would complain if they ‘lost’ Sylvain. It wasn’t like they needed him to protect the prince after all.

iii. Ingrid

Ingrid knew the sound of death. Contrary to popular belief, it wasn’t choked tears or heart-wrenching wails. Those came after, when a person processed what had happened, when people tried to put words to their feelings. The sound of death was just this: utter silence.

She had experienced it once, long ago, when the Empire had attacked. They had fended off the soldiers, protecting Dimitri, but not before his parents died. Not before Glen, Felix’s brother, her fiancé, died. It had been silent then as well, when she’d received the news. Everything froze, time stood still, and Ingrid had heard the deafening roar of silence before Sylvain had grabbed her, hugging her tight.

Her ears rang now too as she stood on a ridge overlooking the Faerghus capital. Sylvain was saying something, but she couldn’t hear him, couldn’t hear anything as she stared at the smouldering ruins of her home. When she’d heard the news at the docks, that the Empire had attacked, she hadn’t believed it. How could they have struck the heart of Faerghus again? After everything they’d done to bolster its protections?

And yet, it was true. Ingrid didn’t blink, unable to tear her eyes away from the destroyed city before her. Whatever buildings still standing were broken, their walls scorched black from explosions and fire. An acrid scent assaulted her senses, the smell of burning bodies, and suddenly time moved once more. On her right, Dimitri stared in horror, his feet rooted to the ground. Dedue glanced at him worriedly. She should help. She should go to him.

Her feet wouldn’t move.

Felix didn’t move either, but not for a lack of trying. Sylvain had somehow sensed it ahead of time, locking him down by tightly winding his arm around Felix’s in a desperate attempt to get him to stay. He pleaded, “We have to go.”

Felix didn’t bother to reply, his eyes flashing with fury as he strained tor run forward. No doubt he wanted to fight whatever enemies remained, get revenge for their people’s deaths.

Ingrid covered her mouth, realization dawning. Felix’s parents. Her own parents. It was impossible to believe they survived but she refused to think otherwise. They had to be alive. She stepped forward, and Sylvain turned to her, eyes wide as he tried to grab her arm. “Ingrid! Don’t!”

“There could be survivors,” she shouted back, already scanning the ridge for the quickest way down. The slope to the city was too steep to walk, but if she tied a rope around her waist, she could scale it. “We have to save them!”

“We have to protect Dimitri,” he argued, struggling to keep a grip on Felix and stop her at the same time. “We have to leave!”

“I’m going down there,” Felix growled, trying to yank free. There was murder in his voice and any other time, she would have been on Sylvain’s side, keeping his rage in check.

“You’ll die!” Sylvain snarled, his temper no longer in check. “You’ll both die!”

“If we can save someone—”

“THERE MIGHT NOT BE ANYONE!” Sylvain roared, cutting her off as he said what they were all thinking, what they all knew instinctively.

For a long moment, she and Felix stared at him, eyes wide. Before she could reply, there was an almost inhuman cry from her right. Her head snapped to her right to find Dimitri crying out, a strangled sound escaping his lips. With his wild expression, it was like something in him snapped. Nothing about her childhood friend looked princely right now. No, he looked more like a rabid animal, barely restrained.

The second he stepped forward, Ingrid knew that if she didn’t stop him here, there would be no saving him. She didn’t spare a second glance at the city, at the direction her house was, and instead dashed toward Dimitri. “You can’t!”

“Don’t!” Dedue shouted at the same time, grabbing Dimitri by the shoulders.

Enraged, Dimitri tried to shove him away, his monstrous strength directed at them for once. Ingrid grabbed his other arm, gritting her teeth as his rage turned to her now. “We have to go!” she begged, echoing Sylvain’s words. Behind her, the city burned, and she swallowed down her sorrow. “There’s nothing for us here.”

Only death, and she couldn’t stand the sound of it anymore.

iv. Sylvain

Sylvain was used to being the joker of the group. When his friends consisted of the serious Ingrid, the noble Dimitri, the stoic Felix, and the silent Dedue, it was almost a matter of survival. They spent too much time in their heads, overthinking things, refusing to crack so much as a smile. It was a dreary way to live, and Sylvain had enough of that with his own family. If someone had to remind his friends how to loosen up, how to have fun, well, he’d gladly take the job.

Yet, despite a lifetime of practice, his silver tongue failed him now. There wasn’t a joke or a flirt that could change the fact that Faerghus was gone. There was a smouldering crater where their capital used to be, the Empire was invading any smaller cities that haven’t surrendered already, and who knew where their families were. Smoke continued to rise from the capital, mixing with the stormy clouds above.

Even now, he could smell the charred bodies, hear Dimitri’s pained cry, feel Felix’s muscles strain as he tried to charge off into a doomed battle. It might have only been days since the incident, but Sylvain had a feeling he would remember this sensation even years from now. A feeling of helplessness washed over him and Sylvain forced it down.

There wasn’t time for that, not when everyone else was moping around. Sylvain slapped his cheeks, forcing himself to focus on the present. Around him, survivors bustled, and Sylvain was grateful for this small miracle. Not everyone had died. There were enough survivors for a small camp. Sprawled around them was a tent city, with no more than about twenty in it. A small number, in all honesty, but it was better than nothing. He wasn’t sure how Jeralt had rounded them up, but it seemed the ex-captain was more skilled than he let on.

Plastering a broad smile on his face, Sylvain walked over to his closest friend. “Hey—”

“Don’t.” Unfortunately, the closest friend was Felix. Seated on a rock, he sharpened his sword tirelessly, not even looking up to acknowledge anyone’s presence.

“Come on, you don’t know what I’m about to say,” Sylvain replied lightly, though the words sounded forced even to his ears. Even his grin didn’t feel natural. “It could be anything.”

“Unless it’s about how we’re going to beat those bastards, I don’t care.” Felix looked up now, giving him a flat glare. His eyes were slightly red-rimmed and now that Sylvain was paying attention, his voice sounded hoarse as well.

“Felix…” Sylvain swallowed, reaching out to squeeze his friend’s shoulder. “I…I’m sorry. I know—”

Before he could say Rodriguez, before he could so much as touch him, Felix pulled away, his glare hardening. “Don’t,” he hissed, but it sounded more like a plea than an order.

Sylvain had never been close to his family and in all honesty, he never wanted to be. But Felix—he knew the relationship between him and his father was strained, was muddled and confused and with time, perhaps it could have been fixed.

It was time they never got. He had never thought of Felix as fragile before, but every part of the man before him looked like glass, ready to break. And Sylvain had always been a bull in a china shop. He stepped back for now, dropping the smile entirely. “Okay.”

There was something else he should say, but he couldn’t find the words. Looking around, it wasn’t hard to find the rest of his friends. Ingrid flitted from tent to tent, her hands full of supplies and expression determined. Sylvain watched her for a long moment, noticing her tear-stained cheeks and the tiny tremors of her hands as she forced a neutral expression.

Had his friends always been this fragile? This easily broken? He wanted to pull them both into a tight hug, force them to cry it out, but he knew he’d be the one crying. That as responsible as Ingrid was, she’d hold her feelings at bay while she dealt with him and Felix.

She looked at him, her green eyes watery, and Sylvain flinched. He knew her almost better than he knew himself, and he didn’t have to ask to know the question running through her mind, Could I have done more?Because Ingrid always blamed herself when things went wrong, always saw it as a failure on her part instead of others.

And if she asked, he wouldn’t know what to say. Before she could so much as step toward him, he spun on his heels and all but ran to the edge of the camp. Dedue’s hulking figure was easy to spot even from a distance.

His voice cracked slightly as he greeted, “Dedue.”

“Sylvain.” Dedue offered a half-smile, his expression weary.

“How’re you holding up?” he asked, coming to a stop next to him. Sylvain rubbed his arm, trying to force his heart to calm down, to keep his voice from cracking.

“As well as expected, thank you.” Even now, he kept a formal tongue, as though to force a wall between them. “And you?”

“Alive, I guess,” Sylvain half-joked, not sure how to answer that question at all. Really, this whole line of questioning was stupid, why had he even asked that. He rubbed his neck. “How’s Dimitri?”

Dedue sighed, gesturing at the field in the distance. Barely visible was a blue-clothed man in battle. Sylvain tensed, almost about to run after his prince, when he realized there was no enemy. Just a man, in a field, spearing countless invisible foes. Dimitri roared with each thrust, sounding like a wild, rabid animal instead of the gentle prince he’d known for years.

Just where had that rage been hiding, all this time?

“He has not stopped for the last two days,” Dedue answered his unasked question. “He barely rests, barely eats, and I fear for his health.”

“I…” Sylvain’s shoulders sank, and just who did he think he was going to cheer up? He barely knew how to react. “How do I help?”

“I’m not sure if anything can help him right now.” Dedue’s brow furrowed.

“Then what should I do?” His voice cracked.

A heavy hand rested on his shoulder, and he looked up at Dedue’s impassive face. His eyes crinkled kindly, his voice soft. “You live.”

“Live?”

Dedue nodded. “Yes, that is what Dimitri, what all of you have taught me. Even if my people are gone, I am here.”

Suddenly, Sylvain recognized Dedue’s expression for what it was: a man who had lived through this before, who was seeing nothing new. He’d almost forgotten that Duscur was amongst the first to be conquered by the Empire, its people all but wiped out. No wonder Dedue always looked older than he was.

“Living is harder than it looks.” Sylvain cracked a smile, and this time it didn’t feel faked.

v. Dimitri

Dimitri was used to ghosts. He’d had his since he had been a child, watching his parents die in a burst of flames and gunpowder. Their voices had never left him—his father screaming at his enemies, his mother begging to be saved. If anything, the ghosts had piled up over the years, the faceless citizens he could have saved, the people he should have protected.

He was used to his ghosts, and in retrospect, seeing his home wiped out shouldn’t have affected him as it had. What was the weight of millions more, their voices drowning out one another as they all asked him for the same thing: justice.

No, not justice. His blood boiled too hot, his skin itched too much for this to be as cool and neutral as justice. They wanted revenge.

He wanted revenge.

“What are you thinking of?” Gilbert asked, his voice so low and quiet that Dimitri almost mistook it for a phantom’s. The man’s presence was as invisible as one, anyways, and Dimitri wouldn’t have noticed him in Jeralt’s camp if he hadn’t called out. Even now, following him through the abandoned caverns near the capital, it was like following a wraith. It was easy to lose him in the gloom.

Dimitri looked at the older man, at the wrinkles lining his face. They’d known each other for years, but he hadn’t realized how old Gilbert was till now. “You should be with your family,” he replied automatically.

Gilbert’s eyes widened before he shook his head. His huge frame almost curled into itself, shame radiating off him. “I cannot.”

“You will not,” Dimitri corrected harshly, no longer willing to mince his words.

Gilbert’s breath hitched, and he nodded. “No, you are right. I will not.” His hand curled into a tight ball as they walked, his nails digging into his skin.

Perhaps it was a good thing that he had left the others behind, ordering them to keep watch at the cavern’s mouth. There were some conversations Dimitri wasn’t ready to have in front of them, some words he wasn’t ready to hear from them, and a trip through the dark was preferable than having to process the past week.

“Why?” Dimitri asked. The words came out louder, rougher than he’d intended.

“I do not deserve to see them,” Gilbert replied simply, as though that made sense. He gave a resigned smile. “Not after what I’ve done to them.”

And what was done to us?

What do we deserve?

“You can still say that, even now? After the capital was destroyed?” Dimitri asked, resisting to cover his ears. It never stopped the ghosts before, it wouldn’t stop them now. He wanted to get through this conversation without rage spilling out of him like lava from a volcano.

Gilbert frowned, his heavy brow furrowed. “That is a fair point.”

“Then—”

“However, we will have to discuss it when you return, your highness.” Gilbert came to an abrupt stop.

Dimitri looked ahead now, eyes widening as he took in a massive door. Elegant script covered it, a tribute in a dead language, and faintly he could recognize some of the magic ruins covering the stone slab. “This is…”

‘Your ancestral tomb.” Gilbert paused. “One of them, at least. Inside, you might find the help you seek.”

Perhaps there was something wrong about seeking the dead for help, but Dimitri had heard their voices for years. They had guided his hand, whether he liked it or not, and what was one more voice added to the collection.

With no hesitation, he touched the door. It groaned as it slid to the right into a crevasse, revealing a small, circular room with a domed roof. Inside, several statues lined the walls, and he recognized the biggest one as Loog, founder of his country and his first ancestor. In the center of the tomb, a long coffin stood alone.

His feet automatically moved toward it. Dimly, he was aware that Gilbert had stayed outside. Dimitri’s footsteps echoed softly in the room. It threw him off slightly and he stopped, looking around. There was no one here but him.

Dimitri froze. There was no one here but him. He had almost forgotten what it was like, utter silence. To be alone with his thoughts. Not even the ghosts were willing to enter this sacred area. Swallowing, he turned back to the coffin, his hands brushing the lid reverently.

What would the King of Lions have done in his place? Revenge? Justice? Or walked away from it all?

A flash of green crossed his sight, the memory of a slight smile, a soft touch. Byleth.

Peace.

As though to answer him, a sword materialized in the air, identical in form to the one decorating the coffin. Loog’s sword, he knew instinctively. The sword hovered in the air in front of him, waiting to be claimed.

His ancestors had spoken.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, banishing any thoughts of a green-haired woman as he reached for the hilt.

The path before him was one of vengeance. Love had no place there.

[zartemisforever]

Finally the sky began to lighten. Artemis muttered, "About time. He's so-o-o lazy during the winter." "You're, um, waiting for sunrise?" I asked. "For my brother. Yes." I didn't want to be rude. I mean, I knew the legends about Apollo—or sometimes Helios—driving a big sun chariot across the sky. But I also knew that the sun was really a star about a zillion miles away. I'd gotten used to some of the Greek myths being true, but still… I didn't see how Apollo could drive the sun. "It's not exactly as you think," Artemis said, like she was reading my mind.

"Oh, okay." I started to relax. "So, it's not like he'll be pulling up in a—" There was a sudden burst of light on the horizon. A blast of warmth. "Don't look," Artemis advised. "Not until he parks." Parks? I averted my eyes, and saw that the other kids were doing the same. The light and warmth intensified until my winter coat felt like it was melting off of me. Then suddenly the light died. I looked. And I couldn't believe it. It was my car. Well, the car I wanted, anyway. A red convertible Maserati Spyder. It was so awesome it glowed. Then I realized it was glowing because the metal was hot. The snow had melted around the Maserati in a perfect circle, which explained why I was now standing on green grass and my shoes were wet. The driver got out, smiling. He looked about seventeen or eighteen, and for a second, I had the uneasy feeling it was Luke, my old enemy. This guy had the same sandy hair and outdoorsy good looks. But it wasn't Luke. This guy was taller, with no scar on his face like Luke's. His smile was brighter and more playful. (Luke didn't do much more than scowl and sneer these days.) The Maserati driver wore jeans and loafers and a sleeveless T-shirt. "Wow," Thalia muttered. "Apollo is hot." "He's the sun god," I said. "That's not what I meant." "Little sister!" Apollo called. If his teeth were any whiter he could've blinded us without the sun car. "What's up? You never call. You never write. I was getting worried!" Artemis sighed. "I'm fine, Apollo. And I am not your little sister." "Hey, I was born first." "We're twins! How many millennia do we have to argue—" "So what's up?" he interrupted. "Got the girls with you, I see. You all need some tips on archery?"

Artemis grit her teeth. "I need a favor. I have some hunting to do, alone. I need you to take my companions to Camp Half-Blood." "Sure, sis!" Then he raised his hands in a stop everything gesture. "I feel a haiku coming on." The Hunters all groaned. Apparently they'd met Apollo before. He cleared his throat and held up one hand dramatically. "Green grass breaks through snow. Artemis pleads for my help. I am so cool." He grinned at us, waiting for applause. "That last line was only four syllables," Artemis said. Apollo frowned. "Was it?" "Yes. What about I am so big-headed?" "No, no, that's six syllables. Hmm." He started muttering to himself. Zoe Nightshade turned to us. "Lord Apollo has been going through this haiku phase ever since he visited Japan. 'Tis not as bad as the time he visited Limerick. If I'd had to hear one more poem that started with, There once was a goddess from Sparta—" "I've got it!" Apollo announced. "I am so awesome. That's five syllables!" He bowed, looking very pleased with himself. "And now, sis. Transportation for the Hunters, you say? Good timing. I was just about ready to roll." "These demigods will also need a ride," Artemis said, pointing to us. "Some of Chiron's campers."

"No problem!" Apollo checked us out. "Let's see… Thalia, right? I've heard all about you." Thalia blushed. "Hi, Lord Apollo." "Zeus's girl, yes? Makes you my half sister. Used to be a tree, didn't you? Glad you're back. I hate it when pretty girls turn into trees. Man, I remember one time—" "Brother," Artemis said. "You should get going." "Oh, right." Then he looked at me, and his eyes narrowed. "Percy Jackson?" "Yeah. I mean… yes, sir." It seemed weird calling a teenager "sir," but I'd learned to be careful with immortals. They tended to get offended easily. Then they blew stuff up. Apollo studied me, but he didn't say anything, which I found a little creepy. "Well!" he said at last. "We'd better load up, huh? Ride only goes one way—west. And if you miss it, you miss it." I looked at the Maserati, which would seat two people max. There were about twenty of us. "Cool car," Nico said. "Thanks, kid," Apollo said. "But how will we all fit?" "Oh." Apollo seemed to notice the problem for the first time. "Well, yeah. I hate to change out of sports-car mode, but I suppose…" He took out his car keys and beeped the security alarm button. Chirp, chirp. For a moment, the car glowed brightly again. When the glare died, the Maserati had been replaced by one of those Turtle Top shuttle buses like we used for school basketball games. "Right," he said. "Everybody in." Zoe ordered the Hunters to start loading. She picked up her camping pack, and Apollo said, "Here, sweetheart. Let me get that." Zoe recoiled. Her eyes flashed murderously. "Brother," Artemis chided. "You do not help my Hunters. You do not look at, talk to, or flirt with my Hunters. And you do not call them sweetheart."

[theartofbeinganeldar]

The Art of Being an Eldar: Legolas x Reader Prologue

Summary: You're a fantasy-loving, LARPing human from this world, who's the black sheep of society because of your obsession for the unreal and alienation of what's real. When you're in the middle of a LARP battle with some pretty phony boars, you fall out of a tree and bust your head. You wake up, alone, and are suddenly attacked by some very pissed-off, very real wargs. Without any idea of how you got there, you got dropped into Middle-Earth, with only bits and pieces of memories of Tolkien's masterpiece, though your recollection of everything else is perfectly clear. And of all places in Middle-Earth, you got dropped into Mirkwood, with some suspicious, potentially hostile, Woodland Elves...

Chapter No.: Prologue

Key: [Y/N]=Your Name [F/N]= Friend's Name [B/N]= Bro's Name [S/N]= Sis's Name [M/N]= Mom's Name [e/c]= eye color [h/c]= hair color [s/c]= skin color

Notes: So, this is my first fanfiction on tumblr, and I'd thought I'd try it since I have very little time for DeviantArt's chaos. It's much different from my Legolas x Reader on there. I added a small loving family to make the emotions relatable-- even if you don't have siblings, or have more than what I added, it's just fanfiction! Also, I tried to make my pronouns for said reader gender-nuetral so that everybody can enjoy it! The reason your character is so wild is for the sake of not fitting in to this world, yet you're used to it, so that later points in the plot can become more... Well, you'll see. And yes, I made Elves pansexual because I don't think they'd care much about gender or age at that point. LARPing plays a big role in the prologue, because your character is really into it for personal reasons. If this isn't your cup of tea, don't drink it. I hope you like it! Feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

Warnings: Fluff, angst, graphic depictions of gore and violence (Cuz of orc battles y'know?), more angst, slow burn, some light depression in the first few chapters, some amnesia about Middle-Earth because the Valar say you're not supposed to have foresight, hard-core language, feels, lots and lots of feels, mentions of NSFW content, maybe some eventual NSFW content, LGTBQ+ characters, Thranduil being a jackass at first because he's fabulous, Legolas being a hot edgy prince that nobody can handle, Kili being an innocent bean, Hobbits being smol innocent beans, except for Bilbo 'cause he's been through some tough shit, Bard being dad of the year, Thorin being one dumbass boi, awesome dragons, awesome Nazgul, awesome scenery, awesome stuff in general, Elrond isn't listened to by anybody, confused Aragorn is confused,  Denethor's a bitch as always, brace yourself for creepy as fuck Cream of Wormtongue Grima Wormtongue, Boromir lives, Gandalf. (yes these are all legit warnings don't judge me.)

Pairings/Ships: Legolas x Reader, Legolas x you, Aragorn x Arwen, Faramir x Eowyn, Thranduil x Elvenqueen, Galadriel x Celery Celeborn, Boromir x OC, Thorin x OC, Fili x OC, etc. general LoTR standard shippings plus some of my own cuz I can't stand my boys being lonely

Word Count: I try to keep my chapters short, under 2000 words.

Rating: Teen (14+) for now

You'd never been considered normal by anyone. You enjoyed LARP instead of reality. Your "job" was just staying at home and captioning videos all day every day you weren't LARPing instead of interacting with society at a normal job. Your home? A tiny studio apartment that only cost $450 a month without bills, and you did without cell phone, car, and electric for the sake of being your weird self. You hadn't been to college yet, despite the fact that everyone told you to go once your gap year was over, and it almost was. What would you even study? Acting was all that got you close to who you were, so, ok, guess that's fine, but nobody else thought of that as a career. Maybe you could write fiction-- you were good at that much.

You weren't always like this. There was a time when you were just a normal kid, living a normal life. But somewhere around ten, you started to change, and by sixteen you'd become who you were today. If the Old You could see the New You, you weren't sure if they'd think you were weird too, or if they'd stare up at you in awe.

Hopefully it was the latter, which made you feel good.

I mean, come on, were you born in the wrong timeframe or what?! That's what you thought, anyway. There's no way that this world was for you. The fact that nearly all people were heartless jackasses that enjoyed destroying the planet, the fact that everybody had to be the same or were considered freaks, prejudice and injustice were key factors of life and the rich got handed everything on a silver platter while the poor had to scavenge... Just, everything of this reality made you hate it. If only you'd been born five hundred years earlier, or, y'know, in Game of Thrones or Lord of the Rings...

You'd really liked to have been born in Middle-Earth. You had so many books about it, you knew practically everything there was to know, even the confusing shit about Faramir being in the Fall of Gondolin. You'd practically memorized Elvish, and dwarvish, and you knew the whole six movies by heart, every line. And of course, like most Lord of the Rings fans, you had a massive crush on a certain Elvish princeling who was too pretty for his own good. In fact, Legolas was who inspired you to learn archery; maybe one day you'd be as good as he was.

Despite your wishes, you were stuck in reality, however much you hated it

. Even amongst your LARP groups, you were considered outlandish.

Everybody else had normal lives outside of their games, whereas you pretended this was your life. You didn't have any job aside from the small caption jobs you did when you weren't LARPing, no social life, nothing. The only people you had was your mother, brother, sister, and your only friend, [F/N]. They accepted you and your strange fantasies, even if they thought you'd one day regret acting in a way when you could've been beginning a normal life and being productive.

So excuse you if you decided to invite them to a LARP event and let them borrow some of your costumes. It wasn't the end of the world. But your LARP group apparently didn't get that memo.

"You invited your mom?!" A royal asshole sneered, yet you took satisfaction in the fact that his knight costume looked like it was made of cardboard painted silver, whereas your sci-fi Elf getup was actual leather and cloth. His name was Jacob Brent; you'd never really liked him. He'd always had it out for you because your costumes were so much more fabulous than his. Plus you may or may not have actually known swordplay and archery and dagger throwing and martial arts... Kinda. You were still in the process of learning kickboxing.

You cocked a sky blue-- yes, sky blue-- eyebrow to your equally bright blue hairline, spiked up in a short faux hawk. This was your first sci-fi Elf, and you'd wanted to go all out. A cocky grin split its way across your face. "Yeah, so? It doesn't effect you on any level, Tin Can."

He sniggered with his cronies. "I can't believe you don't have anyone else to come with you." He mimicked rubbing his eyes like he was four. "'Oh Mommy, I need somebody to come with me!'" His whole group burst into laughter.

You surprised them by joining in, actually appluading. "Oh, wow! Wonderful, just wonderful! Hey, should I tell Mindy that I seen you feeling up Roxie behind your fort last week?" He paled, and almost everybody in his group of crappy cosplay got 'o' faces. You put your hands on your hips. "Guess what, asshole, just 'cause I'm close with my family and you're not with yours doesn't make it a crime to hang out with them. It's my life, my decision, and I enjoy spending time with them." You hefted up a disappointingly fake spear, turning to walk away. "Oh, and by the way, your paint's chippin' off."

Reason for Hating Reality Number 6, 965: Immaturity levels are almost incomprehensibly high.

Your mom glared daggers at Jacob's Immaturity Harem. She'd always been a tough gal, always sticking up for you when you got bullied when you were younger, but now that you were an adult, she had to let you kick ass yourself; you were pretty good at it. "I don't like him." She stated casually, and you chuckled.

"'Course you don't. He looks like a cheesy robot costume you'd get from Wal-Mart with a too-big crotch protector that's not impressing anyone but himself, and he has the face of a roasting pig. Too tanned, too grubby, and always with something in his mouth."

She smiled slightly. "Has he always been giving you trouble?"

You swung your gear pack off of your shoulder, letting it yank itself down to earth. "Since the day he tried kissing my ass 'cause he didn't know me." [F/N] must've overheard that last sentence, because he burst into laughter when he approached with your brother, [B/N], and your sister, [S/N]. "You talking about Jacob?"

"Sure as hell."

You'd first met [F/N] a year ago, when you'd joined extra-curricular activites for your last year of high school. He thought your personality was incredibly brave, especially in this modern world, but even still... He was just a friend, not a best friend. You'd never had that luxury outside of your tiny family. You just didn't trust him after the life you'd had.

Unfortunately, it seems they didn't like the getups. "Do I have to wear this?" [B/N] asked dramatically, slumping over. He didn't look right in the pauldrons and leather breastplate.

"It's too heavy!" [S/N] complained.

You sighed theatrically. "My piteous children, deal with thy armor, for it must be worn despite thou complaints."

[B/N] pressed his palms together and bowed down. "Screweth thou, false companion."

You mimicked his bow. "Off to hell with thee."

"Hey! You guys! It's starting!" [F/N] cried, and ran off, his pack of weapons and magic bags trembling dangerously on his back. The rest of you followed more slowly, as you explained to your family how exactly LARPing worked. Battles weren't actually bloody, magic was just colored powder, you get points for a hit, and so on and so forth. [B/N] and [S/N] got it immediately, but your poor mom, who hadn't even ever played Skyrim, had no idea how the point system and leveling up worked. You had to explain it six times over before you'd reached the massive gathering of LARPing cosplayers. [F/N] returned to you as you reached it, carrying a map. "We were in Larsgyushter Prairie last, right?"

"Duh," You shrugged, at the same time [S/N] asked with a grimace, "Luckyestire Prairie?"

[F/N] inclined his head. "Well, I made some arrangements because your family joined us. We made for Glewnburg, where we picked up their characters, and then headed into the Elder Woods."

You took the map. "Sounds fair enough."

[S/N] frowned. "What exactly were you guys doing last time?"

[F/N] blushed; he must've liked her, which made you feel proud and like pummeling him all at once. "A quest to defeat a horde of wildebors in order to get a good amount of gold."

"How much?"

"Four hundred."

Your mom seemed confused. "Is that a lot?"

"For the land of Sisgremor," You retorted, "Not much. But it's enough for us. We hunt for food, and sleep in the woods. It's summertime, so we don't have much need for shelter unless it storms, and we know where to find caves. The coin is for some new bits of armor, and some weapon upgrades and a couple of magic books for [F/N]."

"Oh," Your mom said, and you took the lead, getting into your Elven character with a huge grin on your face.

"Come, my children! We must meet the bors by midday!" You ran off, but you didn't miss the looks over half of the LARP community gave you.

~le time skip~

The one thing you didn't like about LARPing was the enemies. They weren't believable and were crappily dressed, at least in your community. They were crappy actors and their dying acts were unrealistic. Unless they were orcs that had good makeup skills and good cosplay, they weren't worth fighting, but you had an imagination to kick them up a notch.

As always, the wildebors were just some guys in black outfits decorated with needles, and wearing pig masks with an underbite bearing tusks. Your imagination knocked them to eight-feet long beasts with bloodstained tusks, wild red eyes, and porcupine-like needles that shot out of their near-impenetrable hides if provoked.

You'd only fought these beasts once. They had three separate healthbars, each a different strength: eight hundred, four hundred, and one hundred. Your spear-- the only weapon you could afford after your bow snapped (Poor prop craftsmanship.), had a damage rate of ten health per hit, thirty if you could make a three-combo move (The highest combo move allowed.).  [F/N]'s magic bombs, bolts of energy, and other magic stuff only varied from ten to fifty health damage per hit, except for his Fyrering, which was a once-a-day power that was ninety health damage, plus a three minute window of burning which took ten damage every thirty seconds.

The boars were also viscious; one hit from them took around fifty health, and at level nine, you and [F/N]'s health bars were only at two hundred and fifty, plus your armor rating of fifty and his of twenty. Your family, however, were only at level one, with a one hundred strength health bar each and armor ratings varying between ten and fifteen.

In short: that meant a hell of a lot of hits, very little openings, and there were always numbers to consider. There were six of them, and five of you. If you had your bow, this would be easy. You'd climb a tree, avoid their needles, and fire your twenty-five damage arrows relentlessly (With the thirty plus bonus from your actual bow.) while [F/N] pelted them with magic. You could take down two, maybe three that way before retreating, waiting for your strength to regenerate and your undamaged arrows to "respawn" before coming back for more battling (The arrows don't actually exist, for safety reasons. You had to wait for ten minutes before an approximated number of arrows, determined previously by the quest-giver, "reappeared" in your "inventory.").

But you had to think of a new plan. A brand new plan. You had three level one novices, two level nine intermediates, and six angry-as-hell wildebors that were level twenty. This was an impossible quest. You should never have accepted it knowing your family was coming.

You were hiding behind a huge oak, and glanced around it; for a split moment, you saw the crappy actors, but your mind quickly fixed that. Above and to your immediate right, [F/N] hid behind a mound of boulders up on a hill, and you'd positioned your family similarly. You just couldn't see them. [F/N]'s hand waving caught your attention. Frantically, he pointed above you. You whipped your head up, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. You gave him a look like WTF dude, and he rolled his eyes. He picked up a rock as an example and pointed back up into the branches, but still, you didn't see anything. He gestured again, almost forcefully, and this time, you seen it: brightnuts, a specialized kind of walnut bred specifically to explode into a bright white light on impact, with dangerous shrapnel and poisonous fumes that had one hundred and fifty health damage.

Of course, in reality, they were just blue and white beanbags hanging in nets rigged all over the branches, but you pretended they weren't.

But still, perfect.

You'd start calling out orders as soon as you started throwing them. [F/N] knew how to improvise to a plan already, but your family didn't. You propped your spear up on the tree, and started climbing, wincing when the bark scraped your palms; you were wearing what'd used to be white bridal gloves, but you'd tinkered with them to match your costume, sewing sky blue patterns into the gloves.

You personally didn't make a sound, but a couple of leaf-covered branches fell; luckily, wildebors were mostly deaf and blind, so you should make it to the top of the tree without any consequences.

You flashed [F/N] a triumphant smile when you reached the topmost branches, snatching a bag of brightnuts and holding them high above your head. He shot you a double thumbs-up, then made a wheel-like gesture to get you to move on. You stuck your tongue out at him, then readjusted yourself on the branch to get a good aim.

A few seconds of struggling against the knot, and you'd gotten the net open. With barely a minute of hesitation, you drew your arm back, and fired. Your aim was almost perfect. You hit one of the wildebors in the side, and you seen the actor as he started the most over-acted reaction you'd seen yet: a violent jump, then what sounded like a deranged "Guuuugh!" You rolled your eyes. So dramatic.

Either way, [F/N] whooped behind you. "Hit! A hit!"

Before you could give any orders whatsoever, [B/N] charged down the hill with his realistic-looking wooden battleaxe bellowing a war cry. You slumped over. "Aw, shit."

In the blink of an eye, [B/N] was officially dead but still pummeling the poor actors, your mom didn't know what to do, [F/N] didn't realize what was happening from behind his rock, and [S/N] was dodging air like a boss. You waited on the branch until the coach of the actors stood, took off his mask, and blew his whistle.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! You with the axe! You died already! Come on everybody, regroup, come on..." Your mom and [S/N] were laughing it off with a couple of the actors, but [B/N] was having a heated argument with the rest of them, and they were starting to shove each other around; he'd always been a sore loser. The coach separated them, and [F/N] called to you from below. "Guess we failed this quest, huh?"

You shrugged. "It's all good. There are other, less dangerous quests."

He perked up. "Yeah, so hurry up and get down here! We've gotta get back to Glewnburg!"

You tossed the beanbag you'd had in your hand back into the net. "Comin'." Unfortunately for you, you were a bit of a show-off. You stood, stretching your arms out for balance, walking quickly and carefully across the bough. A loud snap that echoed through the forest silenced everyone: your sudden movements had weakened the branch down the middle, where a split was slowly cracking open.

"Oh shit." Did I have to choose the top branch?

Everything seemed to be in slow motion as you fell. Your ribs exploded with pain as you slammed into a slightly lower branch full-force. Your ankle snapped. Your arms were whipped and bruised. Your head cracked painfully across the thick, unmoveable base of one branch, and white and yellow dots burst in your vision. Your sight started to fade, as did the pain, until you met the ground with a dull thud.

I should've went to college.

~time skip~

When you woke up, the first thing you realized was, Hey, I woke up! I'm alive! which was immediately followed by, Holy fucking shit what the fucking hell did I break, then a much more painful thought of Why the fuck am I still in the goddamn forest? 

And you were. You were laying on your side, in a couple of very small but still immensely terrifying pools of drying blood, one of which came from the corner of your mouth. Your entire body throbbed painfully. Every breath you took caused sharp, white-hot pains to spiderweb across your entire torso. Your ankle was burning up, and you couldn't move it or your left arm. Your head felt like you'd been hit by a truck. A truck made of solid wood...

Why were you still in the forest? You knew your mother well enough to know that she've panicked. She'd've screamed your name and ran to you and called 911 immediately. [F/N] would've done the same. In fact, there was no reason why they wouldn't have called for a medic. You fell from the equivalent of a three-story building with poles sticking out of it.

By all accounts, you should be near death.

So why were you still in the forest, exactly where you'd fell?

With immense effort, you rolled onto your back, panting heavily and wincing against the pain. Your vision swam, and things were blurry. The trees were different; the tree where you'd fallen from was tall and branchless for most of the way up, and definitely not an oak. To boot, there weren't any nets full of beanbags, and your spear was gone. Behind you was  a cliff with an outcropping of rock that looked similar-- but not the same-- to the one [F/N] had been behind. There were roots and underbrush and bushes and walls of thorny branches surrounding you, and in between the ground was filled of orange and gold fallen leaves; up in the canopy, which hadn't been as thick before, the leaves were all dressed for Fall. You stared at it in confusion. "What the hell?" Shit. Even that hurt.

Where were you? Why weren't you in an ambulance with the sirens blaring? You were pretty positive you'd broken quite a few bones, and from that fall, you couldn't not have internal bleeding. So where were you?

You waited, but no one came. When the sky started to darken and the pain began to worsen, you were forced to move, slowly getting up, inch by inch, until you'd managed to be in a sitting position. It felt like all the blood rushed from your head and torso, making you cold in the evening chill. You hugged your right arm to your chest, really wishing you'd've worn arm cuffs or something; your short, high-collared, sleeveless, sky-blue leather jacket over a thin white crop top and a black corset-style belt really weren't meant for chilly weather.

"Hello?" You called out. Your voice carried on, but you got no return call. Blood trickled down your chin from where your lips had rebusted; you were lucky you hadn't bit your tongue off or shattered teeth. "Hey! Help!" Still, nothing. "Hey!"

After a twenty-minute bout of screaming for help, you gave up. You were confused-- so, so, confused. Where were you and why were you here? Where was your family? Where was [F/N]? Where was the coach, and those shitty actors? Hell, where was the rest of the LARP group? You'd even be relieved if Jacob appeared out of nowhere.

The moon had risen by the time you’d made it to your feet. Your ankle wasn't as bad as it was earlier; you could put some weight on it now, even if it wasn't a lot. You must've only sprained it. You tried calling for help a few more times, but only the crickets replied.

Then, they went silent.

You frowned. In books and movies, that was usually a bad sign. What'd caused them to shut up so abruptly? Not aliens, you hoped, like in Signs.

A low growl from behind you-- behind you, dammit-- made your skin crawl. A chill ran down your spine. You turned, slowly, hoping you wouldn't aggravate the wolf or coywolf or whatever it was; it wasn't either of those.

It stood on top of the small cliff, and it was at least the size of a horse. A boar-like coat, dull brown, covered its entire body, spotted in places. Its head was broad and massive, bearing an underbite of fangs and small beady eyes. Drool fell from its jaws as it snarled at you. You were half tempted to try the "Nice doggie" before you seen the rider.

Damn, it was ugly as hell. Small, malformed, with dark green skin and a crooked nose. Greasy, thin hair hung from its wrinkled scalp. Nasty claws protruded from its wart-covered fingers and dug into the horn of some kind of saddle. It sneered with an evil grin, and a mouthful of sharp teeth.

You didn't know what else to do; you took off running at full speed, ignoring the pains shooting up your leg from your sprained ankle. Branches and weeds whipped your skin, trailing blood. You glanced back once. The monster-- which you knew was an orc-- and the giant dog that you couldn't place the name of watched you for a couple of moments more before the orc gave a sharp order in a language you didn't understand, but it felt familiar. Two more of the giant dogs burst from the bushes on either side of the first, and they did give chase. Shit, were they what'd happened to your family? Some whackjob dressed as an orc riding a pitbull on steroids mauled everybody?!

You pushed yourself to run faster. Your heart pounded in your ears. Adrenaline rushed through your veins. Each step jarred your aching body, but you couldn't stop. The dogs were enjoying the chase, keeping their strides slow enough to still be on your heels, but not close enough to get you yet. A new sound-- a river, maybe-- gave you hope, and you tried to move even faster, your lungs burning from the strain.

It was a river you'd heard, but it was down a steep hill filled of arching roots and thorny bushes. You didn't have time to stop; you barreled forward, tripped, and rolled the rest of the way, hurting your body even further. By the time you reached the pebbly shore (With all of the sharp edges of the rocks jabbing into you unnecessarily.), the dogs were halfway down, the orcs riding them laughing like hyenas.

You couldn't swim, but you'd rather take your chances with the river than with the giant pitbulls. You waded in, and were immediately swept off your feet by the strong current. It dragged you under, and you were bashed into some boulders, getting cut up badly. One slammed into your hip, nearly causing you to suck in. Another rammed into your already-broken ribs, and this time, you did scream, getting a huge gulp of water. A crimson cloud engulfed you as something long and sharp burst through your calf. You were pushed up against another boulder, and you grabbed on, hauling yourself out of the water and hanging on for dear life, hacking and coughing out the water that'd filled your lungs.

The dogs had chased you up the shoreline, and the orcs carried shortbows with arrows of dark wood. A glance down and, sure as fuck, they'd hit you with one in the calf, dammit. You looked ahead of you: rapids, a slow and drawn-out death. Ahead of you, probably a very painful death, but hopefully it'd go faster than drowning while being battered to a lifeless corpse.

I should've gone to college.

You squeezed your eyes shut tight and braced yourself for the next arrow, but you were pretty much forced to open them again when you heard the sound of dogs yelping and orcs wailing. One of the dogs was dead, neck slashed open and pouring blood onto the rocks. It had landed on its rider, who struggled beneath its weight. The other dog had taken off, but its rider had an arrow jutting out of its face.

A troop of warriors, clad in forest-colored tunics of dark browns, greens, and grays had appeared in the second you'd closed your eyes. Every one of them had long, straight hair, braided away from their faces. Most had a quiver of arrows and a longbow, but some, like the one who'd killed the dog, had a curved longsword. Others still had long knives. Compared to the dark orcs, these people seemed to almost be made of light...

Oh shit.

Elves. These were Elves.You could see it clearly now, in the way they carried themselves: regal, majestic, every move perfectly balanced and smooth. Their ears were pointed, but not drastically like the ones from Zelda, and they were taller than most average men. You were in awe.

These were some damn good actors.

No, they couldn't be actors. That clicked, finally. Especially when you were able to see the one that'd killed the dog slice off the struggling orc's head cleanly and deftly before kicking it into the river. Thankfully, it didn't come near you.

Shit. These were real orcs, real giant bloodthirsty dogs, real Elves... This was all real. But how...?

You heard the sound of a bowstring being pulled taut, much closer to you. You couldn't exactly whip around in your current state, but you still moved as fast as you could. Another Elf, standing on the flat rocks halfway across the river, no less than thirty feet away. How the hell did he get there?!

After the initial shock passed, you realized there was an arrow nocked in the bow. You'd already felt one once in the last ten minutes, you didn't need to feel it again, so you stayed still. He watched you with eyes so blue you could see them from where you were. He was illuminated from the side by the moon, giving him an almost ethereal appearance. His hair was somewhere between platinum and very light blonde, and a quiver of orange-feathered arrows hung over two identical sheaths for ivory-handled long knives. His bow was almost as gorgeous as he was: dark wood engraved with golden leaf designs. His tunic was dark green, and you admired his fancy Elven belts and buckles and bracers for a second before your eyes were drawn back to his face, the profile of which was almost... Dished, in a way, like an Arabian horse's. Your eyes locked, and you felt as if you'd seen him somewhere before...

An Elf on the shoreline spoke, breaking the trance. You couldn't understand what exactly he said; you could've swore you knew some Elvish...

The Elf staring you down watched you for a minute longer, then jerked his bow toward you in gesture, shouting an order to one of his comrades. His voice sounded so familiar... It was on the tip of your brain... It was deep and soft and gentle and commanding all at once. You couldn't explain it. Two Elves followed his order, nimbly leaping from tiny rock to tiny rock to get to where he was, then past him, coming to you. Their weapons were sheathed, so you hoped they were going to help you instead of kicking you into the water or something.

Carefully, noticing how banged up you were, they grabbed you underneath of the arms and lifted you onto the flat rocks the blue-eyed Elf stood on, still ready to fire, and stepped back as you coughed up some water in a delayed reaction to nearly drowning.

When you finished, your eyes felt like they wanted to close on their own. You felt too tired, too weak, too pained... Despite that, you sat up, shivering in the chilly evening air. "Th-thank you..." With a start, you realized they might not even understand English.

"Who are you?" The blue-eyed Elf demanded. "Answer me quickly; do not think we cannot throw you back to the river."

Shit. Pressure. Suddenly you forgot your name for a split second. "I-I'm [Y/N]."

"What are you doing in these lands?"

"I was chased," You looked pointedly at the dog and orc.

The Elf watched you for a minute, judging you... He signaled. "Throw them back into the river." Suddenly, you were being dragged.

Aw, fuck. You struggled against the Elf's strong grips. "W-wait! I don't even know where I am! The last thing I knew I was playing a game with my family and I fell out of a tree! All of a sudden I'm being chased by giant dogs and being manhandled by a couple of Elvish pri--!" You were cut off by a bought of coughing that wracked your body so hard that you doubled in on yourself, pulling the Elves down with you. Your eyes widened when blood trickled out of your mouth, leaving crimson droplets on the rocks. Shit.

The blue-eyed Elf ordered something in their tongue, and the two dragging you halted on a dime. He finally decided to lower his bow a little, inspecting you. "Are there more of you?"

You shook your head; you were getting dizzy, and your vision was blacking out. "I-I don't know... I was alone when I woke up."

The Elves conversed in their own language for a few minutes, and the blue-eyed Elf finally came to the conclusion that you weren't much of a threat in your current state. He looked to the Elves on the shoreline, and gestured at one of the ones holding you, who then scooped you up bridal style, but like you were the ugliest bride he'd ever seen. "Und win'doheim!" Shouted the blue-eyed Elf, obviously the one in charge, and lead the progression back to the forest.

I should never have gotten out of bed today...

Despite the crazy situation, you managed to doze off a few times on the Elf that carried you, until a coughing fit or pain would wake you up. A fever spiked up as you crossed a bridge, and you were half out of it as you entered some kind of woody building surrounded by trees and rivers that you couldn't comprehend very well in your feverish state. You were panting and wheezing, and couldn't see straight. It all seemed so surreal, like you were viewing this from somebody else's perspective. This had to be a dream... A very vivid, very painful dream...

The last thing you remembered was Elvish chanting, golden and white lights surrounding you, and the silhouettes of the Elves. Your pain faded, and you fell into a forced sleep.

When you woke up, a breath of relief whooshed out of your lungs. It was a dream! It was all a dream! It was night, and your nighlight had gone out, but your hall light was still on. You turned over to see what time it was, but your nightstand was gone. So was your window, and shelves and desk and computer and all of your things. Your bed was different. Your relief dissipated to terror.

Fuck. It wasn't a dream.

You were in a small room. An orange-hued light came through the low doorway, and the dark walls were ridged, as if carved from the earth itself. You felt the remains of your injuries from earlier-- or days ago, you couldn't tell how much time had passed-- as throbbing remains. Your clothes were still ripped and bloodstained, and as you stood up, it felt like you were just coming off of the flu.

Wobbly, you staggered over to the doorway, hoping to find somebody that definitely wasn't an orc or Elf.

You slammed face-first into elaborately crafted iron bars.

Outside of them, fully-armored Elves patrolled on small ledges beside the spiraling rows upon rows of cells like yours. This was a dungeon.

...Well shit.

Tag List: @tesserphantom​ @thedragonghostofmordor​ @taurlel @hauntedsiriel

[saiilorstars]

Falling in Temptation

Previous chapters • Sequel to Stars Dance •  Fairy Tale Memoirs (Companion story)

Ch. 23: The Investigators

Fandom: Doctor Who // Pairing: 11th Doctor x OFC

Chapter summary: The travelers must investigate the cry of help of a child. When the Ponds get separated from the Doctor, they and their granddaughter get some bonding moments in a creepy doll house.

Taglist: @ocfairygodmother @anotherunreadblog @maaaaarveeeeel​ @stareyedplanet @perfectlystiles

[If you’d like to be added to this specific OC’s stories/edits, send me a message!]

Avalon was in the console room with her journal open in front of her, currently writing yet another little draft she'd been tinkering with. It was so funny how her mind kept coming up with so many new ideas lately. There was just a lot to say right now. She knew the Silence and Kovarian were still out there, and of course there was the fact she still didn't know who the astronaut from Lake Silencio was, but right now she was actually happy. She was content.

Hell, she'd even gotten a little postcard from the Sapling. That alone had lifted her spirits! The Sapling wrote to his parents that he was just fine and that he was having a lot of fun on a planet made up of jewels. He said that he would soon visit them to 'Take his Mother to see the pretty jewels', prompting an excited squeal from Avalon. How could she not be happy with that? So her hand wrote along her endless journal...until someone covered her eyes.

She smiled and lowered her pen. "Who, oh who, could be covering my eyes and therefore preventing me from writing?"

"Only your primary subject of your journal," came the Doctor's smug voice from behind. He lifted his hands from her eyes and kissed her cheek.

"You wish. Not all my stories were about you, you know," she smirked as he moved around the chair to face her. "Actually, I don't think I've written a proper story about you since you picked me up from Leadworth the first time." It was fairly amusing watching his face fall with disappointment.

"What do you mean!? I'm...I'm me!"

"Yes," she laughed. "But the world doesn't revolve around you."

"Oh, but it revolves around you?"

"Yeah, thanks for catching on!"

"Think you're funny, then," he evaluated her and had to stop himself from smiling.

"I like to think so," Avalon answered his question with another of her smirks. "And to be honest, I wrote about a super hero, not a dork in a bow-tie."

There was utter offence on the Doctor's face. "You...you are just mean!"

"I'm sorry but...c'mon," she reached for his bow-tie to give it a little flick. "What on Earth made you decide that these were cool?"

"They don't seem be uncool when you hold onto them," he flashed her a smirk that grew when he saw the red tint cross her face. "That's right, princess, don't start something you can't win."

Now it was Avalon's turn to be offended. "How dare you!"

Before she could either throw the journal at him or smack him, he caught her lips in a kiss. "And there's the ending of that," he declared as he let her go. He yanked her up from the chair to sit down and have her sit on his lap. He was quite smug in the end.

"Well, someone woke up in a good mood," Avalon noted with a playful roll of his eyes.

"Is it hard to believe that I'm happy right now?" He took one of her hands and kissed it and followed with a trail of more kisses going up her arm. It was actually a real novelty for him to feel like that but looking at who he had in front of him, on him, there was no other way to feel.

Avalon smiled at him. "I'd be offended if you weren't."

"Oh," the Doctor rolled his eyes. "Here I am trying to be soft and mushy and that's all you have to say?"

"What else am I supposed to say?"

The Doctor's face was flat as he stared at her. "How the hell am I attracted to you when all you do is be mean to me?"

"Not true, I pay you compliments all the time," she said innocently while she fiddled with his bowtie. "Why, just yesterday I said that the 'Oncoming Storm' sounds like a sexy name for a hero. Was that not nice?"

Judging by the smirk on his face, it was very nice. "Oh alright, I can't stay mad at you." He brushed a finger under her chin.

"No, you can't, because I give you these," she left a pretty nice trail of kisses along his cheek.

"And how happy I am to receive them," he grinned and ducked his head just as she was about to kiss his cheek again, making her kiss his lips instead. It was their last kiss before Amy and Rory came in. They had set up some rules and there was one important rule they were to follow.

Granddaughters were to be off Time Lords at all times.

"Woah!" The Doctor exclaimed as he dug into his jacket and pulled out his psychic paper in urgency.

"What's the matter?" Avalon didn't know whether to laugh or not when he wiggled so weirdly.

"Please save me from the monsters," he read from the paper and promptly put it back into his pocket then turned for the console, "Haven't done this in a while!"

"Done what?" Amy frowned as he went around the console starting the TARDIS up, "What're you doing?"

"Making a house call," he pointed at them before pulling a lever and sending them into motion.

"Oh, you're doing the quiet materialization," Avalon raised her eyebrows with mild surprise, "Must be bad. Well, we best go and see what's going on, then," and she stepped forwards only for Rory to grab her arm and force her to stay still, "Rory?"

"Doctor, are we somewhere okay for her health?"

Avalon groaned. They were still doing it and if they had their way they would continue to do it for all of time.

"Course we are! It's Earth!" the Doctor exclaimed, further irritating Avalon by following the game. He reached over to pull Avalon to his side. "Never bringing my Ava somewhere she shouldn't be."

"One of these days, I'm just gonna kill all of you and steal the TARDIS," Avalon declared in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Quit overreacting," Amy waved her off and headed for the doors, Rory following.

"I'm very serious!" Avalon huffed while the Doctor led them after their friends.

"No offence, Doctor..." they heard Rory's voice as they neared the doors.

The Doctor rolled his eyes and opened the doors. "Meaning the opposite."

"...but we could get a bus somewhere like this," Rory finished and gestured to the area they were in.

"Oh, he's not wrong, you know," she looked at the Doctor, "Not your best work." Avalon looked around and made a face at the estate. It was a bit creepy, like the ones you'd see on television...which might have given Avalon a new idea for a draft.

"The exact opposite," the Doctor sighed as he shut the doors behind them.

"Well," Amy shifted on her feet and turned for Rory, "I suppose it can't all be planets and history and stuff, Rory."

"Yes, it can! Course it can! Planets and history and stuff. That's what we do! But not today. No," the Doctor pulled out his sonic and headed for the courtyard with the others behind, "Today, we're answering a cry for help from the scariest place in the universe - a child's bedroom."

"Mm, no, you mean under the bed," Avalon remarked with a sad smile while they headed for the building. "The Sapling hated what could be under his bed."

"Are you alright, Ava?" the Doctor noticed her expression and moved closer to her.

"Yeah," she sighed. "I just...you know, the Sapling. He was a child not too long ago."

"He said he'd come back and visit soon," he reminded her and motioned behind her for Amy and Rory to help out.

"Yeah! Didn't he say he was going to take you to that jewel planet?" Amy laughed. "You'll have loads of fun with him there."

"Probably get into some trouble no doubt," Rory shook his head.

Avalon half-smiled. That sounded like their usual trips. "Yeah. Anyways, why are we here Doctor?"

They stopped in front of a lift where the Doctor hit the button then pulled out his psychic paper for them to see. Rory leaned forwards and read off it, "Please save me from the monsters. Who sent that?"

"Well, clearly, the child sent that," Avalon playfully rolled her eyes, "Get with it, Rory. Monsters, remember?"

"Yeah but I meant who, as in the identity of the kid?"

"Well I suppose that's what we're here to find out, right Doctor?" Avalon looked back at him.

"Exactly, I've traced the call back to this building but I can't figure out which flat it's from," the Doctor looked around and saw the dozens and dozens of flats waiting to be searched.

"So we need to split up," Avalon gasped lightly and entered the lift as soon as the doors opened up. She yanked the Doctor inside and curled her arm around his. "And I pick you," she smiled at him.

"There's a shocker," Amy snorted.

Their search started from the very top of the estate. The Doctor excitedly brought them to the first door in the hallway and knocked before Avalon could even discuss how they should start their questioning. A couple seconds later, an elderly woman answered.

"Hello!" the Doctor cheerfully greeted her.

"Who are you?" the woman asked.

"Um, we're the inspectors," Avalon came up fast, "...and we're...inspecting..."

"Is this about the bins?"

"Did I mention bins?" the Doctor nudged Avalon for that and made her lightly sigh, "I meant, no, we're not here for bins, Miss?"

"Mrs.," the woman corrected and made Avalon roll her eyes, "Rossiter."

"Fine, Mrs. Rossiter, no we're not here for your dang bins." Again, the Doctor nudged Avalon. "What!?" she exclaimed in irritation, "We're not!"

"Look, can we come in?" the Doctor sighed as he saw this going no where.

Mrs. Rossiter frowned, "Course not! You could be anyone!"

Avalon made a face at the woman. Why was she complicating this so much? "Who else would we be, lady?"

The woman's response was slamming the door on them.

"We should've said we were from the bins department," Avalon sighed, making a mental note for next time then went off walking.

"Yeah, that was the problem," the Doctor made a face and followed after her. She might be as terrible as he was when it came to interrogating. That was certainly new. He smiled after a second or so. Yes, he truly loved that woman.

~ 0 ~

After several more tries, the Doctor and Avalon were making their way down a corridor where they heard Amy and Rory's voice below. Avalon went ahead to try and get them before they lost them. The Doctor moved to follow her when he noticed a young boy peering out a window right where Amy and Rory had just walked by. He hurried after Avalon and caught her in front of the lift.

"They were coming up the lift," Avalon pointed, "So what now, then? Can't you do some thing with the TARDIS to find the kid?"

"Um..." the Doctor considered telling her he'd already found the kid, or boy, but felt like this was one of the moments where he could do things on his own and keep her safe. He didn't exactly know what he was dealing with and he'd rather find out on his rather than have her beside him and in danger.

"Doctor?" Avalon's voice brought him back to the conversation, "So, can you?"

"Um, no, no, it was far too vague," he shook his head.

The lift went off and the doors opened up to reveal Amy and Rory inside.

"Hey! Any luck?" Amy asked them.

The Doctor cleared his throat and answered, "Three old ladies, a traffic warden from Croatia and a man with ten cats."

"What are we actually looking for?" Rory sighed and stepped out the lift with Amy. It would definitely help to have some significant details about the child otherwise they would be there all night.

"Rory, we're looking for a scared kid," Avalon shrugged, "Remember?"

"I found scary kids," Amy remarked quietly. "Does that count?"

"Nope!" the Doctor shook his head. "But try the next floor down. Avalon can go with you."

"What?" frowned the ginger in question. "Why?"

"Just to shake things up!" He planted a sloppy kiss on her cheek and rushed off.

"That made zero sense," Avalon turned to Amy and Rory but both of them shook their heads at her.

"No one told you to date an alien. That was all you," Rory shrugged. "Now you gotta live with it." He ignored Avalon's indignant yelp while they waited for the lift to come back.

When it arrived, they stepped inside and Amy pressed the button for the next floor down. As soon as the doors slid shut, the lift suddenly plummeted down at maximum speed. The trio were pressed against the walls, screaming at the top of their lungs.

Afterwards, Rory was the first to wake up from what ever had happened to them. He was on the floor on his stomach inside a very dark room, "Amy? Avalon? Are you here?"

"Yeah," he heard Amy answer first, "Here. No, here! It's me!" she was crawling over to him, "And Avalon? Oh God, where's Avalon?"

"Right here, don't go crazy on me again," came Avalon's voice not too far from them.

"Oi!" Amy scolded her.

"Are you both okay?" Rory switched on a small torch just as Avalon had joined them.

"Yeah, I think so," Avalon sighed, "But I can't remember how we got in here?" she turned around in the dark room, reminding the others that they didn't remember that either.

"We were in the lift," Rory looked at Amy, "We were in the lift, weren't we?"

"Yeah, yeah. We.. I remember getting in and then it just went down really fast," Amy said, still feeling a lingering pain on the side of her head.

"We're dead, aren't we?" Rory actually groaned.

Avalon snickered and glanced at him. "What?"

"The lift fell and we're dead!"

"Oh my God!"

"Avalon, why are you laughing!?"

"Because of you!" Avalon was laughing far too hard for a situation like the one they were in.

"We're dead. Again!" Rory couldn't believe their luck, his luck! He could actually say he lost count on how many times he had died...and his granddaughter was laughing at him. "Avalon, stop it!"

"I can't...I can't believe..." Avalon had her hands on her knees, her entire body shaking as she continued to laugh.

Amy looked between her and Rory, having no idea who to stop first. Their family really was that crazy.

~ 0 ~

Avalon was walking a couple steps ahead of Amy and Rory, doing her best to keep calm. After getting over the funny parts, the reality that they were somewhere unknown and in the plain dark settled quickly. She realized she hadn't really been on her own, in trouble, without the Doctor since Berlin happened and she wasn't liking it one bit. She swallowed hard as she continued creeping through the dark. What if the Silence were right around the corner? Or Kovarian?

She came to an abrupt stop with those thoughts. She bit her lower lip and looked around the spot, actually yelping when Amy bumped into her. "AH!"

"What!? What is it!?" Rory spun around trying to find the immediate danger to them.

His cries only made Avalon scream again, which then caused Amy to frantically try to calm her down. Avalon had no idea how River managed to live with the threat of the Silence for so long without going crazy, especially since she did it on her own. At least she had the Doctor, Amy and Rory, who, while were very annoying with their overbearing protectiveness, were always there for her.

"Avalon! Avalon, there's nothing!" Amy finally managed to break through Avalon's scream cycle and, with one hand stretched backwards, she stopped Rory from spinning. "Avalon! Hey!"

Avalon caught her breath and looked around. The darkness still didn't make her feel better but at least there were no Silence or...Kovarian. "Sorry, sorry."

"It's alright," Amy said, comfortingly rubbing her hands over Avalon's arms. "You can go back to laughing at Rory if that helps."

Rory rolled his eyes at his wife but yes, that was something Avalon could do if it made her feel better. "Yes, fine. Ava, you're okay."

Avalon nodded, convincing herself that she was being a bit too ridiculous right now. They needed to focus on finding out where they were after all. "Sorry."

"You don't have to apologize," Amy gave her a smile that was only partially seen through the dark.

Avalon tucked some curls behind her ears, licking her lips nervously as she scanned their area one more time. "It's just I keep thinking that maybe the Silence found us again."

"That's natural," Rory hated to think that way because he would give anything to make that fear go away. "It'll be a while before...before things go back to normal."

Avalon shook her head. "It's more than that, though. Have you guys thought about Lake Silencio anymore?" Amy and Rory exchanged mutual looks before awkwardly shifting away from their granddaughter. Avalon groaned and followed after them. "Don't do that! You have thought about it, right?"

"...of course we have," Amy muttered, picking up her pace with Rory.

"Why wouldn't we?" Rory sighed. "It's more crucial now that you went off and..."

Avalon stopped walking, forcing them to do the same and turn around. "I couldn't help it, Rory," she said quietly.

Her grandparents stopped walking and through the darkness Avalon heard Rory go 'Oof' as if somebody had hit him.

"That's not what I meant," Rory said after a moment. "Of course we've thought about Lake Silencio, especially because we know it's going to hurt you the most, Avalon."

"It's already hurting, actually," Avalon admitted. She hurried to where they were. "Because it's still a possibility and lately I've been wondering about that astronaut. What if...what if it was me?"

"What!?" Amy was about to tell her how crazy she was sounding but Avalon quickly added an explanation. She'd been giving the event many thoughts lately.

"Just hear me out! Why would the Silence take me? I mean, no offence, but shouldn't it have been Amy?"

"Offence taken," went the grandmother in question.

"Look, you're River's Mum. They could've taken you or, maybe even Rory. But they took me. Why take me unless...unless they wanted me for something else."

Yeah, leverage, Rory thought and unknowingly Amy thought the same. Kovarian had played it just right with the only person none of them could ever harm. If she'd taken one of them, they would've easily given their lives to protect Melody and ruined her plans. But she took Avalon instead, making it so that even River couldn't get near to extract Avalon from their hands.

But maybe Avalon's words had another truth to them. What if Kovarian had a second agenda in mind for her? Why force her to kill the Doctor in Berlin when she had raised Melody to do just that? Even Melody was confused (and angry) at the fact that her entire life's purpose had been changed at the last moment to accommodate Avalon's presence. She had even erased Avalon's memories in the end, like there was something she didn't want Avalon to know about and tell any of them.

"What if I'm the astronaut and I kill him?" Avalon whispered. "I would rather die myself than do that."

"Please don't say that," Amy begged. She had lost her baby and she was not going to lose her granddaughter too.

"Listen, right now, right now we have to make a plan. A plan to stop that future from happening."

"You can't. Remember what River said-"

"With all due respect, I don't care what River had to say! I'm not letting the Doctor die and I'm sure as hell not going to be the one to do it!"

"What do you even have in mind?" Rory dreaded to think how much time Avalon had thought about whatever ideas lurked in her head.

"The future Doctor came back in time to see us, and now that I've had time to think about it...didn't it seem like his 'hello's' were like someone who hadn't seen us in a long time?" Avalon sure thought it was. The Doctor she traveled with at that point in time did not hug her the way the Lake Silencio Doctor had. He held her so tightly and the smile on his face...it was the same way he smiled at her right now.

"God, how long do you think it was for him?" Amy asked.

"I don't know," Avalon sighed. "But I'm guessing it was a very long time. That means that the Doctor right now will eventually leave...or...maybe something happens to us. Whatever reason it is, we have to make sure that he doesn't leave us."

"And make sure we don't die!?" Rory flapped his arms to their current situation.

Avalon rolled her eyes. "Yeah, that too. So can we do that? Can we just...keep our eyes peeled for anything suspicious?"

"Avalon, we can try but the Doctor is still the Doctor," Amy thought that alone was an explanation for the choices the Doctor made, but Avalon wasn't going to settle for that. "He could have a plan that we don't know about. He's got a big head, none of us know what he's thinking about."

"You're right but I'm sure of one thing," Avalon said with a tightened jaw. "He wouldn't just leave me like that. He wouldn't choose to leave me behind."

That sounded right, but it begged the question why he did it once. Avalon was afraid of the answer.

~ 0 ~

"You know it's obvious what's happened," Rory began to say, disliking the silence that was taking them over. They had continued to explore their surroundings without much success. He'd only acquired a torch from another hallway but that was pretty much it.

"Yeah? Really?" Amy scoffed lightly, "Because it's not obvious to me. How about you Avalon?"

"Not in the least," their granddaughter shook her head.

"The TARDIS has gone all funny again. Some time... slippy... thing," Rory sighed. "You know, the Doctor's back there in Eastenders-land and we're stuck here in the past. This is probably 1700 and something."

"One of my favorite years," Avalon remarked and went along with his words.

"Oh yeah, you know, definitely Avalon," Amy began as well, "Big dresses and parties and-"

"Well if it's royalty then why not?" Avalon shrugged, "All the dances and the dresses, the jewels, and the princes you can dance with," she sighed with content, "Doesn't that sound lovely?"

"Did you forget the part where they're all stuck-up snobs?"

"Not everyone, the Doctor says that he once met a French mistress who turned out to be really nice unlike the others of the French Court."

Amy scoffed, "Oh brother."

"What?"

"Did he tell you who that mistress was? And why she was very nice?"

"Um, I think was something with Pompadour...no..."

"Yeah, that's her," Amy laughed, "She snogged him the moment she was a young woman."

At that, Avalon stopped walking and forced them as well, "Come again?"

"Yeah, he said something about the woman's life being spread around some old spaceship with clock robots and stuff. He became her imaginary friend which then turned out to be a little something, something," Amy nudged her, "You get it?"

"I'm going to kill him," Avalon declared. "Forget what I said, I'm gonna kill him right now."

Amy burst into laughter. Rory shook his head at her. The Doctor would be paying big time for that one.

Avalon stalked ahead, coming into a kitchen. She made a face at it and wondered what kind of house it was because the closer she looked at it, the shinier things seemed. "It's plastic," she realized after a moment.

"What is?" Rory asked her.

Avalon picked up a loaf of bread that was on the table and tossed it over to him, "It's plastic. This entire room's plastic. Look around," she gestured.

Amy picked up a pan off the counter and tapped her knuckles against it. "Hm. You're right."

"That's copper," Rory pointed at it. it had an orangey shade to it that shined through the darkness.

"No, it's not. It's wood," Amy said safer after another study. "It's made of wood and just painted to look like copper."

"That...is stupid."

"Ah!" They heard Avalon and turned to see her grabbing a lamp off a shelf. She managed to turn it on and give them a better idea of what they were looking at. "I told you this entire thing is fake. Plastic things and other things painted to look a certain way."

"Well, not seventeen hundred and something, then." Rory wandered over to a couple of drawers. He went through them and found nothing significant...not like Amy did. The moment she yelled, he darted to her side and yelped himself. He slammed shut the drawer responsible for their momentary fright.

"Wow, you guys are cool," Avalon declared from the other end of the room.

"Shut up," Amy hissed. She carefully opened the drawer again and peered inside. A huge eyeball stared back at her. "It's...it's glass. It's a glass eye."

"No way, let me see!" Avalon hurried over, only stopping midway because her lamp flickered on and off.

"Avalon, not funny!" Rory snapped.

"What? It's not me!" Avalon tapped the lamp lightly. "Stop it!"

"Something else is doing that," Amy grabbed the fake copper pan as a weapon. "C'mon!"

They hurried towards the other door in the room in hopes of getting the hell out of the creepy place.

~ 0 ~

The small family found the front hall of wherever they were in. Rory went for the front door while Avalon and Amy walked round the large entrance room.

"At last." But Rory groaned suddenly and made both gingers look over at him.

"What is it?" Amy called.

"No doorknob!" Rory exclaimed as he patted the doors.

"And this clock," Avalon was studying the large clock in front of her, her hand reaching to touch the numbers, "The hands are painted on."

"What?" Rory turned for them, forgetting the doors.

"I told you this place was all plastic," Avalon frowned, "And no doors? Painted clocks? This is like one great plastic house!"

Suddenly, they heard the sound of a child's laughter and made the trio turn around. Immediately, Rory and Amy stepped in front of Avalon, Rory putting a finger on his lips and motioned for them to walk towards the other door. They entered a different hall and walked silently when they heard more laughter.

"You hear that or is that just me finally going crazy?" Avalon whispered to them.

"No, we hear it too," Rory was careful as they went forwards.

"So why exactly are we going towards it?" Avalon stopped and pulled them back.

"She's right," Amy's eyes widened as she heard louder laughter. "They're getting closer!"

"They?!" Rory whisper-exclaimed.

Avalon sighed and crossed the room where another door laid. She slowly opened the door with her friends right behind her, with makeshift weapons in their hands. She opened the door and winced as Amy and Rory screamed when they saw a life-size doll with a large, chipped head.

"It's a doll," Avalon scolded them and stopped their yelling.

"This is... weird," Rory declared.

"Says the time-travelling nurse," Amy mumbled and made Avalon snicker.

"And the time traveling kissogram," she decided to add while she tapped the doll's head, "It's hollow..."

"Let's just... leave that for now. Come on," Rory reached for her arm and pulled her back, closing the door and turning for a new direction, "Why aren't there any lights? I miss lights. You don't really miss things till they're gone, do you? That's what my nan used to say, "You'll never miss the water till the well runs dry.""

"Rory, rambling," Avalon remarked.

"Except light I mean, not water. Lights are great, aren't they? I mean if this place was all lit up, we wouldn't even be worried at all."

"Rory!" Amy exclaimed, "Avalon's right, you're rambling. Stop panicking, will you?"

"Yeah, yeah. Sorry," Rory cleared his throat.

Suddenly, they stopped when another man came running down the hall towards them, "Help me! Please! Keep them away from me! Keep them away!" Behind him was one of the life-sized dolls they'd seen coming behind the man. It grabbed him by the neck and forced him on the floor. The trio watched in horror as the man slowly turned into one of the dolls.

"I take it all back. Panic now," Amy nudged Rory. He nodded and started running with her and Avalon away from the dolls, screaming.

"Don't run away. We want to play!" the dolls laughed as they came after them.

They quickly entered a room and slammed the door on the dolls faces. They leaned against the doors while the dolls tried pushing their way in. Rory looked down under the door and saw the shadows of the dolls moving away, making them feel a bit more relieved. However, that didn't lost very long when the dolls returned and banged on the door.

"We need to lock this door!" Avalon exclaimed and yelped as the door started opening a bit.

"There isn't a lock!" Rory gestured to the empty spot beside him.

Together, they managed to push the door close again and Rory reached for a giant spool of thread and placed it in front of the door. They backed away from it and looked for another way out.

"We can't stay in here," Amy grew frantic as she saw no more doors for them to go through, "We've got to get out!"

"Lovely idea," Avalon sarcastically remarked, "Any suggestions?"

"Take control," Amy took a breath, "Take control of the only thing we can. Letting them in!"

"She's finally lost it," Avalon pointed, "Are you telling us to let them in?"

"We surprise them," Amy tried to explain her abrupt plan, "We open the door and we push past them. Kick them. Punch them. Anything. You're freakishly strong, it should be a piece of cake!"

Rory looked at the door where the banging wouldn't cease and sighed, "Okay..."

They returned to the door and Rory grabbed a mop for a weapon. Avalon and Amy moved the spool and let the door open, one of the dolls falling to the floor.

"Go!" Avalon exclaimed.

Rory pushed past the other doll with the mop and ran out. The gingers followed but Avalon gave a yelp when one of the dolls caught her, "No!" she cried.

Amy angrily snatched the mop from Rory and whacked the doll with it, not about to let her granddaughter be taken by some stupid doll. As if! She quickly helped Avalon get up from the floor she'd fallen. But as she pushed Avalon forwards, the doll that had originally fallen into the room was back and grabbed Amy.

"No! Please, no!" Avalon watched in horror, along with Rory, as Amy was turned into one of the dolls, "It's my fault!"

All three dolls were now coming after them and with only a mop to defend themselves, it was a one-way battle. Eventually, they were backed away into the entrance room they'd been in earlier, along the top of the stairs. Fortunately, or not, they were going to bump into the Doctor and another man, Alex, who were being backed up the stairs by more dolls.

"Rory! Avalon!" the Doctor would've cheered if they weren't being caught between dolls.

"Where've you been!?" Avalon snapped at him but still hugged him tight.

"Been busy, you know, dolls and stuff," the Doctor considered and took a long sigh. He'd wanted her to stay away from danger and it still caught up with her!

"Doctor! Any ideas?" Roy called as he swayed the mop against the dolls in front of him.

"Working on it...where's Amy?"

"It's my fault," Avalon shuddered a breath as she pointed to the redhead doll on the left of the dolls coming down the stairs.

The Doctor's eyes widened in horror and started shouting, "George! George, you have to face your fears. You have to face them now! You have to open the cupboard or we'll all be trapped here forever in a living death! George! George, listen to me! George! George listen to me! George! Please! George, you have to end this! End this end this. End this now!"

And suddenly, the dolls all stopped right when they had the trio locked between them. The Doctor peered down and saw a young boy, George, standing in the middle of the room, looking terrified.

"George! George! You did it! You did it! It's OK, it's all OK now. Everything's going to be fine," the Doctor assured him but the dolls started moving towards the boy down the stairs, "No. No. No, no, no, no, no! George, you created this whole world. This whole thing, you can smash it! You can destroy it!" but the boy shook his head in fear, "Something's holding him back. Something's holding him back. Something..." he then recalled the fact that George had been afraid upon meeting him because he thought he was being sent away, "That's what did it. That's what the trigger was," the Doctor turned for the other man, the adoptive father of the boy who was in reality an alien, "He thought you were rejecting him. He thought he wasn't wanted. That someone was going to come and take him away."

Avalon and Rory looked down at the boy who was trembling with fear as the dolls moved towards him, "Doctor, they're getting closer to him, why are they doing that?" she looked between the two men.

"Well, we...we talked about it," Alex began.

"Yeah, and he heard you, Alex. A Tenza's sole function is to fit in, to be wanted, and you were rejecting him," the Doctor frantically tried to make the man see the point.

"You were rejecting your own son?" Avalon frowned and looked back at Rory, "See, this is exactly why I didn't want to look for my birth mother," she muttered and missed the look Rory did to the side.

"We just couldn't cope. We needed help!" Alex continued and glanced back at George.

"Oh, great," Rory was once again fighting off remaining dolls from them.

"Yes, but George didn't know that. He thought you were rejecting him. He still thinks it," the Doctor pointed down to the oncoming dolls for the boy.

"But how can we keep him? How can we? He's not..." Alex began but stopped to look back at George again, seeing the dolls surrounding him.

"Not what?"

"He's not...human."

"No..."

"DAD!" they heard George shout from below.

Alex pushed the large scissors to the Doctor and ran down the stairs, pushing away the dolls nearing him. He was able to take George from the dolls and hugged him, "Whatever you are, whatever you do, you're my son. And I will never, ever send you away. Oh, George. Oh, my little boy."

"Dad," George sniffled and hugged him back.

"What's happening...?" Avalon looked around as a bright, white light took over the place.

Next thing they knew, she, Rory and Amy were back on the lift that was opening its doors to a sunny morning. The three stepped out, shaken by what had happened, but none more confused than Amy wa.

"Was I...?" she questioned as they stepped out the lift.

"Yeah," Rory nodded.

Avalon hugged Amy from behind in gratitude and relief of the events that had happened. Amy looked at Rory and smiled at the action before hugging Avalon back. Yeah, she was a grandmother, a grandparent, but she was doing a very good job.

~ 0 ~

Eventually, the Doctor found his companions all sitting on a low brick wall. Avalon saw him first and jumped out of her spot, running up to him in a big hug and a surprise kiss. The Doctor held her tightly for a minute, taking in the guilt he felt for putting her in danger again. It seemed like no matter how hard he tried, it never worked out.

"I'm so sorry," he pressed a kiss to her hair.

"Don't do that," Avalon warned and pulled away. "Don't do that because you have something bigger to deal with right now."

"What is it?" He quickly looked over to Amy and Rory, thinking they'd gotten hurt but instead they were nervous...nervous for him.

Avalon was glaring daggers at him just before she pushed him away. "Tell me, when you mentioned that French mistress you knew so well...you forgot to mention the part where you snogged her!"

The Doctor was stunned at the accusation but he soon realized where, oh where, she could've possibly learned that. He turned the dagger-glare onto Amy and Rory. "You are dead to me, Ponds."

"It was her! I didn't do anything!" Rory pointed at Amy who gaped at how quickly he sold her out.

"You traitor!" She got up and moved for the TARDIS, prompting Rory to do the same.

"You did it!"

Avalon groaned at the pair and continued her own battle with the Doctor. "You are such a liar!"

"I did not lie! I just...omitted some parts!"

"That's lying! You liar! Don't expect me to kiss you anytime soon!"

The Doctor rubbed his face in frustration. "Why are we even giving this the time of day? It doesn't matter! You weren't even born when that happened!"

Avalon waved him off and turned for the TARDIS. "Oh, sure, use that excuse!"

"It's not an excuse! It's literally what happened!"

"Sure!"

"Oh my God..." The Doctor had to take in a deep breath before following her. She was incredibly crazy but then he heard the argument her grandparents were having inside the TARDIS and he realized Avalon never stood a chance. "You're all crazy," he mumbled under his breath then put on his best smile for his grumpy Ava. He'd have to apologize (even if she really hadn't been born yet) but it would be a fun time afterwards. "Ava, my Ava..." he went towards her.

"Leave me alone!" She snapped but he just laughed.

Author's Note:

I loved writing that ending because it's so stupid but so in-character for Avalon xD. I also really like this chapter because it kind of focuses on the Ponds this time around, all of them! P.S I also loved writing the little interrogation moment from Avalon and 11. It was hilarious!

Next chapter is an original one and features the return of someone special! Anyone wanna take a guess? ;)

[queen-scribbles]

Blowing Smoke

for @pillarspromptsweekly fill 106: Awakened Anonymous

---

Of all her duties as Lady of Caed Nua, Tavi’s least favorite, by far, was the petitioners. She liked helping people, sure, but listening to a multitude of them drone on about shit their own mayors should be handling was not helping. It was sitting in an uncomfortable chair for hours on end and trying not to let her mind wander. At least the flow was occasionally broken by someone coming with thanks--or a genuine problem that required her attention. And she had Aloth to elbow her when she failed at not letting her mind wander.

Today though.... today had been an unbroken line of petty grievances and finger-pointing. Tavi was on the verge of tearing her hair out, flinging some choice expletives at the postenagos, and walking out when it finally, finally ended.

“I have never been so glad to see a kith’s fuckin’ back in my life,” she muttered to Aloth as the last one moseyed out of the great hall. She slouched on the throne and ran both hands through her hair, letting out a groan of relief that it was done..

“Today did seem a much greater test of your patience than most,” he chuckled sympathetically, offering her his hand. ”I’m proud of you for not punching anyone, much as I’m sure you wanted to.”

“Thanks, city slicker.” She took his hand and used it to lever herself out of the throne. Her knees were stiff from sitting so long, as was her back. She stretched like a cat, rolling her shoulders to try and loosen the tight muscles. “Berath’s ass, I need to go do somethin’ fun.”

“By which you mean beat the stuffing out of some poor training dummy?” He didn’t let go of her hand as they started down the dais steps.

Tavi shrugged. “’Less Keya or somebody’s willin’ to go a few rounds with me, probably. Is Ioan here? He’s always good for a fight....”

Aloth shook his head. “You sent him to Whitewreath, remember? He hasn’t made it back yet.”

“Oh, right. Fine.” She pinched he bridge of her nose as they stepped through the doors out onto the grounds. “I need my armor. And sabres. And then I need to beat the shit outta somethin’, be it willin’ hireling or sacrificial dummy.”

However, antsy as she was to hit something, enjoy her freedom on a rather beautiful evening, the man loitering near the fountain stood out too much to be ignored. His height and build suggested he was folk, the cut of his burgundy shirt and rich brown jerkin suggested Vailian origin, but none of that seemed terribly relevant considering his corkscrewing ash-grey horns and the flickering flames that swirled around his head.

He grinned when he caught her staring, looked her over right back. “Watcher?”

Tavi crossed her arms and arched a brow. “What’s it to ya?”

He made a deep, theatrical bow that trailed embers and smoke, spark-bright eyes dancing as he met her gaze. “Elias Colgrin at your service, ac? I realize your time is precious and you are likely sick to death of kith asking for your help-”

“But you’re planning to do so, regardless?” Aloth interjected dryly. He looked distinctly unimpressed by the man’s showmanship.

“With no obligation to do more than talk, I assure you, aimico,” Elias winked. “I believe we share a past... mutual acquaintance, and merely wished a conversation.”

Tavi’s brow arched even higher. “I don’t have a lot of acquaintances,” she commented, wondering how long Elias had carried the customary mes Réi  before he shed it in favor of his own name, clever as it was. “Who do you imagine we know in common?”

There were only two options, far as she was concerned. He knew someone from Silversteel, or had had a run-in of his own with the copperfuckers who kept trying to kill her.

“Ah, Watcher, you misunderstand.” He shook his head and leveled a significant look at her. “A past mutual acquaintance.”

The pieces clicked as she stared right back.  There was a feeling, a sense, to fellow Awakened souls; maybe only something she noticed due to being a Watcher, but whatever it was hung around Elias like a newly purchased cloak. Now that was interesting... She grabbed his elbow and dragged him toward Brighthollow, Aloth scrambling to catch up with her abrupt start.

“Tavi,” he hissed, “what’re you doing?!”

Elias chuckled before she could reply. “...You know, dear Watcher, it is usually customary to ask when you wish someone’s company.”

“You fuckin’ wish,” she retorted, then turned to Aloth. “Just trust me.”

He nodded and quickened his pace to open the door for her. Tavi released Elias’ arm once they were inside and led the way up to one of the now-empty rooms her companions had used. She opted to lean against the wall rather than sit on one of the chairs left behind.

“So.” She inclined her chin toward Elias as he dropped into one chair so his chest pressed against the back. “Exactly what ‘past acquaintance’ d’you think we share?”

“Oh...” He let the word trail off coyly. “A certain enigmatic Engwithan. Tall, imposing, impressive beard.” The bright spark of one eye briefly winked closed as he grinned. “Feel free to stop me when you guess it.”

"I think I got it,” Tavi deadpanned. “For someone who acknowledges how precious my time is, Elias, you sure seem intent on fuckin’ wastin’ it with fancy talk and guessing games. If you have somethin’ to say and aren’t just blowin’ smoke, cut the bullshit and say it.”

Elias rested his chin on the back of the chair. “Fair enough. The fancy talk and bullshit is my bread and butter; it’s hard to let it go, ac?” He cocked his head as he looked at her, the flames dimming slightly. “Thaos. I knew him. As did you.”

“What makes you think I did?” she asked, eyes narrowed. She knew some details of her pursuit had become common knowledge, but others had not. MAde her wonder where he’d gotten that idea.

He smiled thinly and shook his head. “Now who’s wasting your time? I do not come to accuse or recruit or whatever you think I’m up to. But I do know that you knew him. Previously.”

“How?” Aloth frowned as he settled in the other chair.

“Kith talk,” Elias shrugged. “You hear things, ac? Especially when in a tavern at the same time as another storyteller.”

She took his meaning; there’d been a good two decades where tavern chatter was her primary method of acquiring information. Kith did talk, especially when they were drunk, excited, or both. “Alright, then, how did you know him?”

He smirked and the flames flickered. “As a shepherd knows a wolf, honey-tongued and wily, come to steal his flock. As one who heard treacherous Iovara and her dutiful sister held up to contrast the waiting fates by those who saw their story unfold. I knew him as a smugly grinning judge who won my people to his faith in a trickle turned torrent, then accused me of heresy for not bending the knee to his wishes.” His Vailian lilt, which had vanished as he shared his past life’s experience, returned, and he smirked. “Heresy that could be forgiven through conversion and repentance, of course. Submission. Otherwise, the cleansing grip of Berath awaited, and hopefully my next life would be more receptive.” Elias gave a dark chuckle. “Given the memories do not extend much further, I think he--I--chose an honest death over a lived lie.”

“Good choice,” Tavi muttered, pushing away memories of pious hymns and muddy boots and the smiling face of a sister not yet betrayed. “And an interestin’ tale, I’ll give ya that.” She shoved off the wall and gave him a measuring look.  “How long have you--”

“Been Awakened?” He shrugged gamely. “Only a few months, aimica.”

She raised a brow. “You’re handlin’ it a lot fuckin’ better than I did that early in.”

“Well, I can’t speak to your experiences, but bearing Magran’s favor has necessitated learning to roll with the punches.” His eyes sparked brighter as he grinned. “Or, at least, look like you’re rolling with the punches.”

“Oh, trust me, I’ve dealt with some fuckin’ stiff punches,” Tavi snarked. “Dealin’ with an Awakened soul is still a pretty big change. ‘Specially when they’re real different from you.”

Aloth coughed into the back of his hand and Tavi winked at him.

“All that aside, though,” she said to Elias, “what made you come to me? Thaos is dead an’ fuckin’ gone, so you’re a couple months late for revenge.”

“What good would that have done me, anyway?” Elias scoffed. “He did not seem the type to ever question if he was wrong. Besides, the past is the past.”

“Well, then,” she cracked her knuckles, “why are you here?”

“As I said, kith talk. You hear things, ac?” He spread his hands. “From the tales I hear, Thaos has been manipulating the course of history and faith itself for centuries... millennia. I thought, .between the two of us, if we compared experiences--memories--we could perhaps find some wrongs he caused, or at least set in motion, that could be made right.”

Tavi’s thoughts drifted to the speech Thaos had made, the boasting of plagues allowed, beneficent leaders replaced with tyrants. He didn’t seem to leave survivors in his wake, aside from his own followers. And sometimes they weren’t even so lucky. Sacrifices for the greater good. Finding  some of the means he’d decided were justified by ends and setting things right was an enticing thought.

“It’s.... not a bad plan,” Aloth muttered, the grudging words yanking her from her reverie.

“Wait, you agree with him?” she blurted. She’d figured it would take at least a couple rounds of persuading.

“Not entirely,” he clarified, twisting one of his rings. “I’m not sure, at this point, how much good you can actually accomplish; in most cases it’s far too late for recompense. But if the two of you compare notes, as it were, you may be able to establish an idea of his patterns and methods, making it easier to trace events he may have influenced.”

“Ac, another good point,” Elias gestured broadly and grinned at Aloth. “I had not considered that; you may also find that useful.”

“And what’re you gettin’ outta this?” Tavi probed. “Most kith I’ve met aren’t this helpful outta the goodness of their hearts, why’re you so fuckin’ eager to help?”

“Who would not wish a chance to solve mysteries or right wrong hundreds of years in the making?” His grin widened and he leaned into the chair back, making it rock on two feet. “The tales alone would be worth my weight in gold, aimica. And to have the honor and privilege of working with the legendary Watcher Tavi Illani, Roadwarden of Caed Nua, well,” the chair thunked emphatically down on all four legs once more. “That will make me highly desirable to the curious. Knowing heroes always pays well for storytellers.”

Tavi stared at him as she weighed out his free acknowledgement of using her for the name recognition to line his pockets against the potential benefits of his proposal. He held her gaze steadily, the flames flickering and twisting around his horns as he waited. It sounded interesting, more fun than most parts of being the Lady of the castle, anyway,and if there was risk to it, well, that had never scared her before. “Eh, we can give it a fuckin’ try,” she finally shrugged.

“Belfetto!” Elias chuckled. “Agracima, Watcher.”

“Just call me Tavi.” She pointed a cautionary finger at him. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said as he pushed to his feet. “Hardly seems wise to cross one with your reputation, eh?”

“Smart man,” she smirked. “There are plenty of rooms free, since most of my friends have gone their separate ways, so you can have your pick of those. We can work things out tomorrow; gives you time to settle in and I” --she headed for the door, snagging Aloth’s hand to tug him to his feet as she passed--”have a previous engagement.”

“Agreeable terms,” Elias nodded, flames dancing brightly. “I shall see you tomorrow, then.”

“Both of us,” Aloth chimed in. However agreeable he was to Elias’ proposal, he clearly remained skeptical of the man himself. Probably a good thing one of them wasn’t swept up in the lure of  righting wrongs and fucking up Thaos’ schemes.

“Ac, of course,” Elias agreed easily.

“Well, this should be interestin’,” Tavi said, linking her fingers between Aloth’s as they headed for her room so she could get her armor and sabres.

“That is one word for it,” he replied dryly.

“Oh, c’mon, city slicker.” She squeezed his hand. “Even if he is just blowin’ smoke”--he rolled his eyes and she grinned at the pun--”having another Awakened perspective on Thaos will be interestin’. It’s a damn good word and you know it.”

“I will concede the point,” Aloth said. He released her hand as they stepped into her room.

“Thought you might,” she gloated as she gathered up the lighter chain shirt she used for sparring and grabbed her sabres. He rolled his eyes again. But Tavi caught his fond smile as they headed out of Brighthollow. He knew, sketchy as it might be, she would enjoy this pursuit much more than she would warming a throne for hours on end and listening to people complain.The possibilities of it were already getting her excited, she had to admit.

Whatever came of it, this would prove very interesting, indeed.

-----------

So, yeah, new OC. :D He’s somewhere between Tekéhu and Scanlan personality-wise, and while I love him, you can imagine how well Aloth will get along with him. :P