#sharing food and passing on messages and hiding weapons

[luna-nuova]

fuck i wanna write an exr wwii fic SO BAD

grantaire living in his little hut in the french alps, with his goats and his chickens and his donkey, basically uncaring of whats happening in the world

one fine day one of his friends asks him to hide a partisan of the resistance and he agrees because why the fuck not, its not like he cares about the nazis and what they might do to him, hes just doing his friend a favor

and so he finds himself “living” with enjolras

fierce but frazzled, bone-tired enjolras that sometimes burns hot and bright but some other times just looks so ground down to nothing that grantaire just wants to wrap him in his arms

[topaz-witch-tea]

Yanqing’s Happy Family AU: Yingxing’s Parenting

It’s been a while since I last posted something for Yanqing’s Happy Family AU. I took a much needed vacation from work so now I am a lot more energized and ready to write. Work and the fact that my free time is 9 PM - 12 PM makes it hard to write, which is why my work has a lot of typos. I try my best to catch all of them but some do slip through.

Please enjoy my head canons on Yingxing’s parenting. Please feel free to send me asks and messages, you can also send them anonymously if you wish. You can ask about head canons, current, or future works and anything that strikes your fancy. I am opening to answering most things. I hope to have a proper writing schedule set up for me so I can write more. My brain keeps cooking food but I can’t plate and serve them efficiently. 😂

1. Yingxing makes all of the swords Yanqing uses. From his main sword to the spares on his back and even the daggers he hides on his body, Yingxing forged all of them. This was his child after all, how could he let anyone else but the best make his son’s weapons and he was the Furnace Master, and therefore, the best. Improperly made weapons could decide life and death in the battlefield and he would be damned if the reason his child was buried before him was because of poorly made weaponry. He poured countless hours and funds into creating these weapons all to ensure that it was the best. Yanqing, in turn, shared his father’s love for swords and loved collecting them, especially ones his father made. Private auctions or competitions were the only way to get non-custom swords made by the Furnace Master and Yanqing competed in them constantly. Sure, he would spend his entire allowance for the next two weeks just to get his hand on a sword his father crafted completely out of jade, but it was absolutely stunning from a collector’s point-of-view and he simply could not let the opportunity pass him by.

2. Yanqing would collect the swords of other master’s as well, but he would never use them on the battlefield. Until one day, when a new craftsman who had transferred from the Yaoqing arrived on the Luofu. He was an expert in daggers infused with qi and Yanqing was absolutely smitten with them. So much so that he replaced the daggers Yingxing gave him with the qi-infused ones during an minor expedition. The expedition was successful and Yanqing was more than happy with his purchase. Yingxing, however, was not happy to hear he was been replaced with someone else. To him, swords were his and Yanqing’s thing, so to hear that Yanqing no longer carried his daggers but those of another craftsmen was a strike to his heart. He fretted over whether it was due to his skill as a craftsman or maybe the designs were not in style. He took this matter so personally that he had suddenly burst into tears right as he and his husbands were going to sleep. Of course, Yanqing got tired of the daggers in a week or so and returned to using the ones his father crafted for him. They just felt more comfortable and far more suited to his fighting style then anything else he could buy at the market.

3. Yingxing, out of the three, is by far the strictest. His success in life was due to self-discipline and perseverance, something he hopes to impart upon Yanqing. However, “strict” should be taken with a grain of salt. Yingxing will say no to Yanqing when it comes to certain purchases but a successful sword lesson or an excellent exam score is enough to make Yingxing open his wallet. He does try his best to teach Yanqing financial responsibility, but it’s hard for him to preach that when he was doing the same thing at Yanqing’s age.

4. Before every mission, Yingxing checks every weapon Yanqing is bringing with him to the battlefield. It doesn’t matter if Yanqing has polished and inspected each item the night before, Yingxing has to look at it. The sharpness and sturdiness of the blade, the quality of the sheath, even the way it is attached to Yanqing- everything has to be checked. While Yingxing will tell his son that it is for his safety, it is more for Yingxing’s own anxiety. There are times he is unable to follow his child onto the battlefield, and in those moments, his mind spins a thousand horrible scenarios of his child’s fate. To know that all of Yanqing’s weapons are in order is the only thing he can do as he waits for his child to return home.

[call-me-aesthetic]

If Twisted Wonderland was an American Public School

WARNING: There are some slight sensitive topics that are featured in here! Reader discretion is advised!

Part 2 can be found here

Heartslabyul

Riddle Rosehearts:

- That one preppy girl who takes all honors and AP classes 😑

- Wants everyone to know that he’s becoming a doctor one day for his strict parents or he’ll dishonor the family

- Reminds the teacher about homework, knowing well that he’ll get slander for it

- Complains about how he got a 90 on his test or a B on his report card, a try hard much?

- Wears a cardigan with thicc but cute glasses since he’s one of those people with can’t see shit on the board so he has to move to the front of the class

Ace Trappola:

- The SoundCloud rapper, that’s it

- “Wanna listen to my mixtape? It’s pretty fire, my guy.” 😩🔥

- You will not miss him BLASTING out some song on his Bluetooth speaker, that shit be echoing through the hallways

- Tells you to stop what you’re doing only for him to either sing horribly or do a backflip, thinking that he’s so cool

- Wears a Supreme jacket with AirPods and waves on his head

Deuce Spade:

- Assuming that he’s still a delinquent, he’s that kid with the most fucked up school record

- Not much of a bully but will still talk shit to your face without caring, might even throw stuff at you during a lesson and you would be the one getting in trouble instead of him 🗿

- If he ever gets mad, it would be overdramatic like kicking the desks, punching the lockers, or walking out of the classroom unannounced and everyone would look at each other wondering wtf happened

- Covers the entire desks with drawings of skulls and those “s” if you know what I mean

- Wears Champion hoodies, wants you to know that he’s broke and rich at the same time

Trey Clover:

- The guy that’s not really popular but everyone knows him since he’s in all their classes

- Most people might have a crush on him because he’s REALLY nice 😳👉👈

- Gives off “older brother” vibes based on the way he looks and acts, like offering you a ride home if you beg ask nicely

- Secretly bakes creme brulee but doesn’t want to mess with the flow so he sticks to the status quo

- Wears the school’s hoodie just because he thinks it looks good on him, and the fact that he doesn’t know what else to wear

Cater Diamond:

- Hot Cheetos girl 🥵

- Has a whole buffet of food in his backpack and will not hesitate to eat them during a lesson, no sharing either sorry

- Excuses himself to the bathroom or full on skips class just to film a Tiktok

- Has about 100 followers on Instagram Magicam and brags about how he’s famous

- Wears a Thrasher hoodie with large hoop earrings and his hair in a bun

Savanaclaw

Leona Kingscholar:

- The kid who flunked their freshman year that also sort of vibes with new classmates

- Always gets mistaken as a teacher by people since he looks and sounds old

- Knows the lessons but still fails them anyways, didn’t really give a damn either 🙄

- Captain of every sports club you can think of, never actually plays but has a lot of knowledge on them

- Wears the school’s letterman from years ago since it used to be his brother’s and that he’s too lazy to buy a new one

Ruggie Bucchi:

- That one kid who NEVER has money for the book fair or any other school event

- Always has to ask his classmates for some cash

- If he somehow does, then he’s one of those kids who buys Diary of the Wimpy Kid or the World Record books

- If he’s feeling cheap, he’ll buy the “cool stuff” like the chocolate scented calculator or fruit snacks 😭

- Wears oversized hoodies and basketball shorts that are clearly hand-me-downs

Jack Howl:

- That one athletic kid who’s both scary good and competitive when it comes to school games like football or soccer

- Literally the best player on his team and without him, they’re trash as hell 💀

- Tries his absolute best to support his teammates without yelling at them for how dumb they are

- “KICK THE FUCKING BALL! DO YOUR LEGS EVEN WORK?!”

- Wears the school’s jersey just to show off his “school spirit”

Octavinelle

Azul Ashengrotto:

- The kid who sell snacks for “charity” but everyone knows he’s keeping the money to himself

- If you don’t have cash or try to negotiate with him, the only thing he’ll do is raise the price up

- “What do you mean you don’t have ten bucks? I can see it in your pocket.”

- Just bring nothing with you, he’ll doing anything to steal your stuff 🤭

- Wears a collar shirt with a tie and khakis that have pockets to keep his glasses and money in

Jade Leech:

- The kid who puts on a goody two shoes facade but is actually a stoner

- Only does “safe” drugs like vape but occasionally smokes weed, mostly in the bathroom or behind the school 🌬

- Can play it off and hide the scent when he’s high, teachers never suspect anything from him

- No one really cares to stop him unless he gets caught or something idk

- Wears clothing that either makes him look like a businessman or a junky, there’s nothing in between

Floyd Leech:

- The kid that’s plays basketball or volleyball just because he’s hella tall, and is actually good at the sports but doesn’t put much effort into them

- Always stays behind after gym, even though the teacher tries to make him leave for his next class 😬

- “I swear after this one shot, I’ll go to class.” *He never made that shot*

- Will jump you no matter who or where you are, and will get angry if you step on his new shoes

- Wears the jersey of any famous team with the latest pair of Jordan sneakers

Scarabia

Kalim Al Asim:

- VSCO girl at best, don’t lie to me now 🤡

- The only words he knows are “And I oop– sksksk.” and “Save the turtles.”

- Walks during a track meet while everyone else is running and sweating hard, the teacher doesn’t care either

- Doesn’t really do anything in gym but talks to his classmates and stands near the water fountain to refill his Hydro flask

- Wears tie dye shirts with cute scrunchies

Jamil Viper:

- That one quiet kid who everybody thinks is a serial killer but he’s actually not, I swear

- He just wants school to be over and spend the rest of his summer relaxing 😔

- Although he shouldn’t abuse his “power,” he‘ll move his hands in his pockets or backpack to make it look like he’s about to pull a weapon out.

- “Chill, I’m just grabbing a pencil.” *Everyone in the class started crying*

- Wears dark colored hoodies that intimidates people but are actually comfy

Pomefiore

Vil Schoenheit:

- The baddie popular girl 😌💅✨

- Arrives to school late with a Starbucks in hand from his local Target

- Fixes himself every 5 seconds like reapplying his lipgloss or spraying Bath and Body Works cherry blossom perfume

- Uses acrylic nails and long hair extensions as weapons during a cat fight

- Wears a crop top with ripped jeans and those clout sunglasses

Rook Hunt:

- That creepy guy in the hallways who tries to get your attention, even if you don’t know him

- Scares people when he says, “Ayo, where my hug at?” 🥶💯

- Uses at least 10 cans of Axe body spray a week after gym class, which stinks up the locker rooms

- Waves at you if he passes your class, even walking into the room just to say hi

- Wears literally anything but always include a hat

Epel Felmier:

- The artist girl who just wants to be alone 🧑‍🎨

- Purposely draws in front of you but pretends like you’re not looking

- If you complement him, he’ll just brush it off and proceeds to diss himself

- “Thanks but I’m not THAT good at drawing, teehee.” *Insert Radio Rebel face*

- Wears a hoodie or a cardigan with big pockets to put his art supplies in

Ignihyde

Idia Shroud:

- I don’t even need to tell you who he is, y’all already know ahaha 🥴

- Sneaks a whole PlayStation in his backpack so he can play with it during lunch

- Is on his phone 24/7 even in class to the point where teachers don’t care anymore

- Tries to get people into anime but only to little success

- Wears a shirt of any anime character or that damn ahegao hoodie, girl bye

Ortho Shroud:

- The nerdy kid who’s known for destroying others at many games

- Plays classics like D&D, Yugioh, Pokémon, the whole shabang

- Daily Beyblade battles during recess with everyone surrounding him, the menacing aura radiates off of him

- Will steal your things if you lose to him but gives it back a week later cuz he’s sweet 🥰

- Wears light up Sketchers shoes and those Minecraft shirts you find at Old Navy

Diasomnia

Malleus Draconia:

- The theatre kid who also goes to band practice, change my mind 👁👄👁

- Takes his role seriously when it comes to school plays and concerts, even if he gets casted as a damn tree or doesn’t go solo

- Remembers the songs and their lyrics to any musical you name, a really good singer at that too

- Plays almost every instrument, you definitely know this since you can hear him down the hallways during a test

- Wears a white button up shirt, black pants with fancy dress shoes, and top it all off with a fricking Rolex watch

Lilia Vanrouge:

- The weird guy who pranks people and vandalizes school property in every way possible

- If you ever get a textbook with a message that tells you to go to a certain page only for you to found a picture of a dick, yeah that was him 😒

- When using a Chromebook, he’ll leave a tab open on YouTube so when the next person uses it, pray that your ears will still work by tomorrow

- During lunch, he is a literal DEMON that mixes milk with chicken nuggets together and having the audacity to eat it too

- Wears an oversized raincoat or a windbreaker but idk wtf kind of things he has hiding underneath

Silver:

- That guy in class who consumes Monster energy drinks and falls asleep 99% of the time but somehow manages to pass the class 🤷

- Whenever he’s awake, he’ll talk to the teachers since he’s basically friends with them for some reason

- Writes his name out of boredom on any desk you sit on but in different places, sometimes around the corners or the sides

- Has a sixth sense because he’ll wake up if you try to draw on his face and if you did get something on him, it’s on sight

- Wears those colorful hoodies that zips all the way up to cover his face with a matching backpack, it’s pretty cool ngl

Sebek Zigvolt:

- That kid who literally knows everything about historical wars and will show it off during class

- Also has knowledge on weaponry, which has people questioning him but he’s just very dedicated on serving his country and people

- Knows how to fight and defend himself from a bitch since he spent his summer at a military boot camp, put respect on my man’s name 😤

- Honestly a great partner for a group project, actually does the given work but not the whole thing for you

- Wears anything that has camo pattern and chunky combat boots

I only made this because me and my friends were talking about our school memories so yeah. This is based from my experience so they might not be exactly accurate. Might even be a part two if you want.

[realcube]

CELEBRATING YOUR BIRTHDAY 

characters ♡ bokuto, tendō, matsukawa & suna

tw ♡ gn! reader, timeskip! bokuto (all sfw tho), swearing, reader wears makeup (matsukawa), swearing, mentions of death & food 

cred ♡ thanks to anon for this request <3

KŌTARŌ BOKUTO

♡ he was literally counting down the days to your birthday, he even took the day off practise to celebrate it with you so imagine his surprise when the special day finally rolls around and he wakes up to an empty bed

♡ at first, he thought that perhaps you were just around the house somewhere but nope, the place was completely empty and even worse, all signs pointed to his theory that you had gone to work/school on your birthday 

♡ outraged. he was absolutely outraged. 

♡ firstly, he tried calling you but you wouldn’t pick up, even after his many attempts so his next resort to call your place of work/school reception 

♡ obviously he managed to get a hold of you then-

♡ he was originally gonna yell about how you lied to him about taking the day off on your birthday but there was no way he could be angry at you — almost ever — so instead, he made the quick decision of telling you to have a nice day before hanging up 

♡ you were kinda pissed that he wasted your time like that but how could you stay mad at him? he’s fkn adorable! he blew you audible kisses over the phone for good luck!

♡ you laboured your way through the day, putting in great effort yet through it all, the only thing on your mind was how much you wanted to just pass out on the couch with bokuto as soon as you got home. you weren’t even sure if you had the energy to change into your pjyamas.

♡ however, when you finally did arrive home, there was no need to put yourself through the onerous task of changing clothes as the first thing you were greeted by when you stepped foot in your own home was a chorus of cheers of ‘surprise!’ followed by people spilling out into the foyer from the kitchen and living room 

♡ then there was bokuto, the loudest of them all leading the crowd, blowing into the party horn while dashing up to, throwing his arms around your shoulders to pull you into a tight hug, ‘happy birthday, sweetie!’

♡ a light gasp escaped your lips at the sudden hoots, and the unfamiliar — and frankly uncomfortable — sight of many friends swarm towards you had you on edge but when you felt bokuto wrap you in his warm embrace, you knew you were home

♡ he held you close until you were forced apart by many guests tearing you away to personally wish you a happy birthday

♡ now that the initial shock had died down, you noticed that there wasn’t as many people present as you thought, it was a humble gathering of all your closest friends 

♡ there was a massive pile of bright-colored gifts lying on the stairs, and it was hard not to immediately acknowledge them as the sheer mass and number of the presents scattered across the steps prevented anyone from being able to go upstairs

♡ the following day, you were made aware of the fact 90% of those presents were addressed from ‘your best ace husband ;)’ which was pretty straight-forward considering you only have one husband; kiyoomi sakusa. 

♡ jokes, you married bokuto but sakusa was also at the party. he originally just wanted to drop off his gift then leave but bokuto persuaded him to stay, though he seemed to be regretting it now as almost everyone at the party now shared an unspoken goal to slam sakusa’s face into one of the cupcakes that decorated the circumference of your cake

♡ speaking of the cake, bokuto remembered what type of cake was your favorite from the wedding planning and he was so chuffed with himself. in fact, he was so confident in his cake picking ability that he ordered a massive 3-tier monster of a dessert 

♡ neither of you would be able to finish it before it goes bad so you ended up cutting it up into pieces  and sending each guest away with a little goody-bag with a slice of cake inside lmao 

♡ once you had finished your goodbyes and everyone had filed out of your home, you flopped onto the couch and let out a deep sigh of relief. well, it was only a sigh for a few moment as it became a wheeze when bokuto laid down on top of you 

♡ ‘happy birthday, (y/n). i’m sorry if i tired you out.’ he hummed, fiddling with your fingers as his lips curled into a shaky smile

♡ ‘i’m a bit sleepy but i had an amazing time. thank you so much, kō.’

♡ bokuto smiled, his heavy lid falling shut as he finally rested his neck, being able to fall asleep comfortably now that you’ve told him that you had fun

SATORI TENDŌ

♡ unlike bokuto, he’ll actually mention your birthday a few weeks prior to the celebration so he can plan the perfect date :3

♡ ‘so do you wanna go to the aquarium or the theme park? because i know we’ve went to the park before but they remodelled it apparently. plus, maybe the aquarium is a bit underwhelming for such a special day, but it’s up to yo--’

♡ ‘we won’t really get to spend much time in either. if you consider the time school finishes, the train ride and the time the aquarium and park closes so maybe we could just chill at my house instead.’

♡ tendō deadpanned for a moment, the most unamused look taking over his features until he suddenly burst out laughing, cackling as if you just told the joke of the century, ‘seriously, (y/n)? you’re gonna go to school on your birthday.’

♡ ‘yes, of course.’ you replied in all seriousness, resulting in tendō awkwardly beginning to stifle his chuckles.

♡ he frowned, slumping back into the seat beside you, ‘c’mon, it’s your birthday, though! you deserve the day off.’

♡ you shook your head, kindly declining his suggestion, ‘i have a test on that day.’

♡ ‘all the more reason to ditch!’

♡ now it was your turn to deadpan

♡ tendō tossed his head back while letting out a sigh  of defeat, draping his arm around your shoulder to lovingly pull you to his chest, ‘alright, then. whatever you want, dear.’

♡ you smiled, glad that you didn’t need to disagree with him any longer — and you were even happier on the day. even though you insisted that he keeps things small on your birthday, he still managed to find a way to make things extra asf by getting you a massive plush that was about half the size of your stature and a hamper of homemade chocolates ><

ISSEI MATSUKAWA 

♡ honestly, he’s never been the best at giving gifts but he tries extra hard for you 

♡ like if you off-handedly say that you are cold during class, he’ll buy you a bunch of new jackets, jumpers and gloves

♡ or if you say you need more mascara, he’ll buy you exact same one you usually wear 

♡ he’s observant enough to notice and remember the exact shade and brands of all your cosmetic products but he’s not observant enough to pick up on the subtle hints you drop as to what you want for your birthday 

♡ you can never guess what he’s gonna get you and that adds to your anticipation for the day 

♡ if your birthday is on a school day, he’ll bring in a batch of homemade cupcakes (which hanamaki helped him with) and stick a candle in one of them for you to blow out 

♡ he offers you one but they are all pretty stale- just smile and nod while your teeth feel like they are being shattered trying to bite down on the cupcake 

♡ it might set off the fire alarm but oh well, just count that as another present

♡ oikawa will probably get you something like a bouquet and try flirt with you so at that point, matsukawa and hanamaki begin using the cupcakes as weapons 

♡ they are a two for one deal so you’re going to be spending the day with both of them tailing you like lost puppies

platonic RINTARŌ SUNA

♡ (requester specified) your birthday is on the same day as his so ofc he’s going to be a little salty abt it 

♡ you both created a game to see who receives the most birthday wishes and whoever won gets ¥1500 from the loser’s birthday money

♡ for the past few years, he’s usually been the winner by just a few but this year, you made it a point to befriend all him teammates in order to ensure victory 

♡ having to pretend to be friendly with atsumu — who wasn’t very good at hiding his massive crush —was definitely a challenge but you powered through 

♡ in fact, you may have played the role too well as both the miya twins gave you a gift 

♡ osamu gave both you and suna a plastic bag filled with some food he made and water bottles

♡ as for atsumu, his gift to you was a massive hamper filled with an assortment of many different luxury confectionary which didn’t look cheap at all but it didn’t feel appropriate to question the price so you simply took it from him with a bright smile

♡ of course, suna was excited (and very hungry) as he expected the same gift but he was more than disappointed when all he received was a bag of chips and a slap on the back

♡ he goes out of his way to tell every teacher it’s your birthday in hopes that they’ll make the class sing happy birthday to you 

♡ but it pisses him off to no end when you add that it’s his birthday too so he ends up getting roped into your misery 

♡ also your thumbs are going to be sore at night swiping through all the various candid pics that suna took of you throughout the day (in less than flattering poses) which he uplaoded to almost all of his social media stories with stupid ass captions 

♡ but dw bc he’ll eventually post a nice photo of you with a sweet message

♡ ‘happy birthday to @(y/n) . i would die for you, bitch (even though you annoy the hell out of me every single day 🤠).’ 

[ibijau]

Futures Past pt15 / on AO3

Nie Huaisang returns to the Unclean Realm after his failed year in Gusu

The Unclean Realm, usually a noisy place, had fallen nearly entirely silent as most of the disciples and quite a few servants gathered around its gate. They were all careful to keep a respectable distance from the gate in question, in case things went wrong, but still did their best to be close enough to get a good view. Not that it was particularly necessary to be near enough to hear what was happening. Nie Mingjue had a voice that carried, and it only got worse when he was angry at his brother.

Which he currently was, of course, and for good reason everyone thought. After all, Nie Huaisang had just returned from his time studying in the Cloud Recesses, though he’d apparently done little learning there.

But it wasn’t his failure to pass his exams that had his brother so upset. It was more the fact that on the way back home, Nie Huaisang had decided to leave on his own and disappeared for well over three weeks. The other Nie disciples travelling with him had just found a note on his bed one morning announcing that he didn’t feel like going home yet. They had panicked and sent an urgent message to their sect leader, who had also panicked and launched a search for his brother, in vain.

“You could have been kidnapped!” Nie Mingjue shouted at his brother, who had arrived that morning, looking as careless as if he’d just been gone for a shichen on an errand. “You could have been attacked by bandits! Did you even have your sabre with you?”

“Of course I did!” Nie Huaisang exclaimed, patting the weapon at his waist. “What was I going to do, walk around?”

“It would have been safer than flying in your case! What if you’d fallen?”

Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes. His cultivation had actually improved quite a bit while he was in the Cloud Recesses, if only because the Lans didn’t let him avoid training as much as his brother did. He was even quite close to forming a golden core, something he’d more or less given up on, and for which he hoped he’d get praised, whenever his brother calmed down enough to hear the news. So while he wasn’t the strongest of flyers, he was doing much better than he used to.

Not that Nie Mingjue was in any mood to hear that.

“I was careful, I swear,” Nie Huaisang sighed. “You’re always saying I should be more independent anyway!”

“Independent, not reckless! And who’s that?” Nie Mingjue roared, pointing at the person next to his brother.

That had been the question on everyone's mind since Nie Huaisang had arrived a little earlier, a boy much younger than himself walking at his side, but so far Nie Huaisang had avoided answering.

“Oh, that’s Xue Yang,” Nie Huaisang cheerfully announced, patting the young boy’s shoulder. “I picked him up along the way. You should test him, I really think he’s going to be a great cultivator someday! Xue Yang, that’s my brother, say hi to him?”

Xue Yang threw Nie Mingjue a very unimpressed look, and gave a half-hearted bow.

“It's an honour to meet Nie zongzhu,” he said with some uncertainty, probably wishing he hadn't been so close while Nie Mingjue shouted at his brother like that.

“Huaisang, where did you find that child?” Nie Mingjue asked.

“It’s a long story,” his brother said.

Nie Mingjue nodded, and waited for the story in question to be told. Nie Huaisang just smiled at him.

“Are you going to tell me how you found him?” Nie Mingjue insisted when nothing more came.

“No. It’s a long story, but it’s not very interesting. He’s here now, though, so that can’t be helped.”

Hearing this, Nie Mingjue turned his attention to Xue Yang, as if hoping he might get an explanation there. The young boy just gave him a wicked smile.

“He said I’d get candies if I came,” Xue Yang said. “Am I gonna get them now or what?”

Nie Mingju’s eyes snapped back to his brother.

“Huaisang, did you steal a child by offering him treats? You realise how bad that looks?”

“It’s not stealing when it’s a person,” Nie Huaisang protested, nervously twisting his fingers for a moment before hiding his hands behind his back. “And I think children count as people, not things. Right?”

“Fine. Did you kidnap a child?”

A little embarrassed, Nie Huaisang hunched his shoulder and looked down at his feet without answering. A mistake, it turned out, because Xue Yang took that as his cue to explain things.

“It’s okay, I don’t have a family anyway,” Xue Yang announced. “He asked before taking me with him, to make sure I’m an orphan. And your brother’s nice. He took me to all those nice inns along the way, and every time he made sure I had food and a bath. He said the baths were very important.”

Nie Mingjue glared at his brother who winced because that could indeed be misunderstood. Which was exactly why Xue Yang had said it like that, he suspected. But really, Xue Yang had been in a pretty bad state when Nie Huaisang had picked him up. His hair was nearly stiff with dirty, he’d recently bled all over his clothes, and he had lice, and...

“Fine, I guess I’ll have to tell the story,” Nie Huaisang grumbled. He had already come up with a sanitised version of events that he could actually share with his brother, but it still annoyed him to not be trusted more. “So, I wanted to visit Kuizhou, you see? Everyone says the landscapes around it are so gorgeous, and so melancholic, and they are by the way. I want to go back to paint and write and…”

“Focus, Huaisang,” Nie Mingjue ordered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Yes, right. So, I went there,” Nie Huaisang said, playing with the hem of his sleeve. “And I was visiting and stuff, and then I see a grown man punching and kicking a kid! Just because the kid had grabbed a few things from him!”

“Yeah, it was just his purse, and there wasn’t even that much money in it,” Xue Yang helpfully provided. “Well, and a few buns from his stall, and those apples from the stall next to his, and…”

“Shut it,” Nie Huaisang hissed, before returning his attention to his brother, a bright smile on his face. “So, you always say we have to defend the weak, and nobody’s weaker than a kid, so I went to check what was going on, right? And the man told me that kid is a terrible thief that’s plaguing their town, and he’s going to beat him up until all his bones are broken and he can never bother anyone else. But it’s just a kid!”

“Yeah, I’m just a kid!”

“Shut it! Anyway, I rescued the kid, because he really was in a bad state. And then I figured, well, how can someone that’s just a kid be such a good thief, right? So I checked and he’s got good dispositions for cultivation!”

It had been a lucky realisation, because he hadn’t known for sure that Xue Yang even was meant to become a cultivator, nor a talented one for that matter. In fact, the whole thing had been unbelievably lucky. Sure Nie Huaisang had spent three whole days searching everywhere for Xue Yang, but he’d been about ready to give up when he’d finally found him in roughly the exact way he'd described.

“The local sect are a bunch of pricks who didn’t want to take him in when I asked,” Nie Huaisang explained, as if he could ever have left Xue Yang into the care of strangers who might have failed to stop him from becoming evil. “So I brought him home. He’s going to be a great disciple!”

Having listened to that story with mounting annoyance, Nie Mingjue glared at his brother.

“Huaisang, that’s…”

“You always say people deserve a chance no matter their background!”

“Oh so you do listen when I talk sometimes?”

“He’s an orphan, and he’s talented, and someone has to do something, and we can’t send him back or else he might continue stealing maybe!”

“I’ll definitely continue stealing if you send me back,” Xue Yang promised with a smirk.

Nie Huaisang glared at him. Evil or not, Xue Yang knew how to be annoying.

He also knew how to be charming, though. He’d been absolutely delightful with a bunch of people they’d met on the way to Qinghe whenever he’d thought he could get something out of it. And it had worked, too. Xue Yang had obtained a lot of sweets from a lot of people, as well as some money here and there. And that was without mentioning the stuff he’d just outright stolen, sometimes from the very people generously sharing something with him. He was a little pest, all right.

But he was smart too, smart enough to understand what an incredible opportunity he’d been given. It would have been easy for Xue Yang to run away into the night, taking with him all of Nie Huaisang’s money. He was a skilled enough thief to manage it, especially once he’d realised that Nie Huaisang wasn’t a skilled enough cultivator to pursue him. But he hadn’t, because he’d been promised a chance of becoming a cultivator if Nie Huaisang could just convince his brother.

Of course, that was a pretty big 'if'.

A year earlier, Nie Huaisang would have been certain that he could convince his brother of anything. He’d never had any reason to doubt that, not until his future self had come into his life uninvited and whispered poison to him about Nie Mingjue having a bad opinion of him. And maybe he was right, that old prick. Nie Huaisang had messed up so badly in the Cloud Recesses, failing his classes in a way most people never did. He’d shamed his sect, his clan, his brother, and now he had the galls of asking for a huge favour, as if he had any right to…

“How old are you?” Nie Mingjue asked Xue Yang, who shrugged.

“Dunno. I think I’m older than nine, maybe, ‘cause I remember that bad drought we had one year. But old Cheng says I’m probably less than twelve, ‘cause I don’t have all my teeth yet.”

To prove his point, Xue Yang clenched his jaw and bared his teeth. He was indeed missing one canine on the left, while the right one was just starting to regrow. It made for a very odd smile, and yet Xue Yang knew how to use that to look cute sometimes.

Cuteness wouldn’t work on Nie Mingjue though. Years of dealing with Nie Huaisang had made him nearly immune to it.

"What did my idiot brother tell you to convince you to come all the way here from Kuizhou?" 

"He said I'd learn to be a cultivator, and people wouldn't beat me up ever again for stealing," Xue Yang recited. "And he said I'd have to learn to be good and stuff, because it's a second chance for an honest life, and I figured, well, it's better than the streets."

Nie Mingjue nodded, though he still looked severe enough that Nie Huaisang wasn’t sure yet of his victory. 

"We have a certain way of doing things in my sect, and dishonesty isn't allowed. And I'll need to check if you can be taught at all. Come closer and give me your hand." 

Xue Yang, impossibly cocky a moment before, suddenly hesitated and glanced at both Nie brothers before hiding his hands behind his back. 

"Which hand ?" 

"Either one, it makes no difference." 

"It might a bit," Xue Yang grumbled before reluctantly raising both hands. 

Nie Mingjue frowned when he noticed that one finger was missing, but Nie Huaisang took it to be an encouraging frown and finally relaxed. It expressed concern rather than anger, and that had to be a step in the right direction. 

"That looks old," Nie Mingjue noted, grabbing Xue Yang's left hand to inspect it. "Hm. That's not neat enough to have been cut off. What happened to you?" 

"Someone's cart ran over my hand on purpose," Xue Yang muttered, trying in vain to pull his hand free. "I was little. It's fine now, I swear!"

It was far from fine, actually. Xue Yang himself might not have realised it since he was used to it, but Nie Huaisang had noticed that the young boy favoured his right hand a lot more than was normal, even for a right-handed person. In another sect, that might have been a problem. But Qinghe Nie was more martial than most others, a little more reckless too, and they had their share of cultivators who'd had nasty accidents. 

A missing finger in a stiff hand wasn't so bad compared to some people. 

"We'll have to get you a light sabre," Nie Mingjue said, mostly to himself after a quick check of the boy’s meridians. "Something you can use one-handed, like Huaisang. And I'll ask our doctor to have a look at it. It looks painful." 

"No, it's fine, I don't feel pain anymore," Xue Yang proudly announced as he pulled his hand free. "Trained myself out of it, mostly."

"You are definitely going to see Zhilan," Nie Mingjue replied, frowning harder. "Huaisang’s right, you do have potential, so we'll train you.” He turned toward their audience of disciples, and gestured for one man to walk closer. “Zonghui! Come and give that kid a tour, and a meal. When he's eaten, take him to see Zhilan, and have a bed prepared for him."

“I’m in?” Xue Yang asked, so startled that for once, he really did look his age.

He glanced at Nie Huaisang who grinned at him and nodded, then turned his eyes back to Nie Mingjue who nodded as well.

“You’re in. Go with Nie Zonghui, he’ll explain everything you need to know about being part of this sect.”

With surprising obedience that had to be a side effect of surprise, Xue Yang trotted away with Nie Mingjue’s first disciple. Nie Huaisang tried to follow, equal parts curious and worried about what might happen next if he lost sight of Xue Yang. He hadn’t taken two steps before Nie Mingjue grabbed him by the collar to stop him.

“And where are you going?”

Nie Huaisang pointed toward Xue Yang. His brother gave him a pointed look, and started dragging him in another direction, leaving him no choice but to follow or be strangled.

“I’m tired,” Nie Huaisang complained. Then, noticing that they appeared to be going toward the training grounds, he struggled against his brother’s grasp. “Wait, da-ge, I’m really tired, I mean it! We’ve had to walk so long, you know! We’ve only been able to hitch a ride on carts for some of the way, so I can’t feel my legs anymore for how much walking I’ve done lately.”

“If you’d come home directly from the Cloud Recesses, you’d have ridden in a carriage,” Nie Mingjue retorted without an ounce of pity. “Now let’s see if you’ve made any progress with your sabre, aside from using it to run away. We’re going to spar together.”

“I can’t, I’m so tired!” Nie Huaisang whined. “I’m going to die if I have to move! And you’re so much stronger than me, there’s no point in training together, the difference is too great! Da-ge, have some mercy, let me eat something first! Let me rest! And I need to change clothes too, and I really should check how my birds are, and…”

“Shut up you brat! This is your punishment for getting me so worried!” Nie Mingjue snapped, pushing his brother onto the softer soil of the training ground. “Do your warm-ups!”

“But I’m starving, da-ge!”

“That’s your own fault for running away!” Nie Mingjue replied, showing yet again he was the most cruel person in the entire world.

And yet as soon as Nie Huaisang started stretching in preparation for a friendly fight, Nie Mingjue asked a disciple to go ask the kitchens if they might send some fresh buns and a little tea that way. Aggravated as he was that his brother only cared about checking his cultivation and martial art progress, Nie Huaisang couldn’t help but smile.

After everything his older self had said about Nie Mingjue really despising him, he’d been worried that his brother would indeed be furious at him for everything he’d done, from failing his classes to forcing him to take in a miscreant. But no matter how shouty and frowny he currently was, it was clear to anyone who knew him, as his brother did, that Nie Mingjue was worried-angry rather than angry-angry.

Nie Huaisang had gambled and won, thus proving to himself that he definitely knew his brother better than his older self did.

[cafeinthemoon]

The Home I Crave - Chapter 8

Title: The Home I Crave

Genre: Fanfiction

Pairing: Tobirama Senju x reader

Rating: teen and up

Word count: 2769

Chapter: 8/?

Symbols: ⭕ | ➕ | 💛 | ▶️▶️

Read the previous chapters here: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

N. A.: I want to use a different gif so badly but I'm afraid that the change would difficult for readers to recognize my story in the tag. Maybe in the next chapters I will change it 😅

Chapter 8 - Invitation

The following days of your marriage were not so different from the first one in terms of establishing a routine and working to follow it, making the necessary adjustments along the way. You convinced yourself that focusing on this while performing your tasks as your father’s advisor was the best way to adapt to your new life.

However, you weren’t still convinced that this was enough to diminish your discomfort, specially when you were at home with your husband.

Tobirama’s routine and habits were not so difficult to understand after all: he had his time to take care of everything and never procrastinated; you soon saw that thanks to his Shadow Clones, he reached a level of competence that a normal person would take years to achieve, or never would. You were still getting used to see them around the house without getting a fright and even worked with them sometimes; they did you favors in return, such as offering you help when you had to do something outside the house or giving you valuable information to make your life easier in the village.

None of this could make you feel that it was easy to deal with the man himself, though. After trying to maintain a light conversation with him two or three times without success – if it was because of his lack of interest in this type of conversation or because you didn’t know how to start them, you couldn’t tell – you found yourself avoiding his company whenever you don’t have to work together. It wasn’t hard: you only had lunch together (Tobirama took his dinner to the office), and when one of you was at home, the other was probably in a meeting with Hashirama, so that you didn’t spend much time in each other’s company. Besides, you barely spoke between yourselves in the few times you both were at the Hokage’s office. It was true that the light mood of the older Senju brother turned things a little easier, but the weird sensation that established itself between you would come back as soon as you left his presence.

Things were even stranger at night. You rarely would go to bed at the same hour: you used to sleep earlier, and while you prepared yourself to bed you would only see Tobirama leaving his office when you went to your bedroom; most of the times, however, he even left the office at all. Sometimes you wondered if he spent the nights there, but there was this time when you woke up in the middle of the night and found the other side of the bed empty; you touched it and noticed it was cold, as if nobody laid there that night, which confirmed your suspicions.

Days have passed since you started living together, but he never took you nor made any advances towards it. Yes, you both agreed in delaying the wedding night because you were tired and weren’t comfortable – you didn’t have a single chance to talk before the ceremony, after all. But the days would come and go and almost no familiarity grew between you two: except for the forehead kiss he gave you during the ceremony, you haven’t kissed yet; you haven’t shared a hug or holding hands either. At first, you considered the possibility of taking the initiative instead of just waiting for him: with only you two living in that house, you had enough privacy; besides, just like the portrait you found at Mito’s house, the real Tobirama was indeed an attractive man. It wouldn’t be that hard to give yourself to him – but he didn’t give you any chance. You never spent much time in the same room except when you were working, and you would sleep first and not see when he’d come to bed while he would wake up and leave before you can notice.

He seemed to be fleeing from you as much you were fleeing from him now.

***

That morning in particular came quieter than you expected, even though you were already used to the silence that dominated the house whether Tobirama was with you or locked inside his office. Maybe this quietness was the reason you didn’t notice the sun was high in the sky and got late to your tasks.

You took care of yourself in a few minutes and went to check your task list: most of the things there still could be done immediately, but some of them you’d probably have to leave for the night now.

You started working as soon as you finished your breakfast and when you looked at the clock again, it was close to lunch time. You stopped what you were doing and went to the kitchen to prepare something.

Most of the times you took the initiative in doing it, both because you were used to make your own food since you started to participate in shinobi missions and because you finally found a weakness in your husband’s lifestyle: sometimes he could get so involved in his work that he would forget to eat or to send a Clone to prepare his meals, so whenever you started to cook, he would know it’s time to stop.

That day, he didn’t appear when the lunch was ready. You found that strange, but soon you were convinced that your delay could be the cause of it. You left the table organized and went to his office.

When you reached the closed door and knocked, nobody answered the call. You knocked again and the silence persisted on the other side. It was when you realized that the abnormal quietness you’ve been sensing was provoked by the absence of the Clones: you haven’t seen a single one of them since you left your bedroom.

That was unusual, you thought. Tobirama didn’t tell you he would leave home the day before, as he used to do. You turned the door handle and frowned: the door wasn’t locked. Could it be that he forgot it open or did he leave in a hurry, maybe to solve some urgent matter? You couldn’t tell.

You pushed the door and for the first time since the day he showed you the house’s rooms, you saw yourself in Tobirama’s office. It was empty as expected. You noticed the same organization and tidiness of that day as you looked around… except for a corner of the table where you saw a white sheet and ink.

You approached and immediately recognized the text of a correspondence. You started reading it without noticing what you were doing. It was a reply to a letter received recently. It wasn’t finished yet.

To the head of the … clan, Fuyuki-sama:

In the name of our Village, it is with sadness and preoccupation that I, Tobirama from the Senju clan, reply to your previous letter. The decline in your second daughter’s health is indeed a worrying matter. But as you asked in your previous letter, I kept this information out of your advisor’s knowledge until further notice. At the same time, all the support Konoha can offer you must be asked in your next letter regarding the preparations for your people’s travel…

You didn’t even touch the paper while reading it, but you stepped away from the table as if you got burned by the text. So, your husband was writing a letter for your father as a reply to a message he sent to Konoha with bad news involving your immediate family and you weren’t informed? Your sister was sick, and nothing was said to you about the nature or the gravity of her state, and not even the possibility of a delay in the travel was discussed with you, your head’s advisor? How could your father do that? That didn’t sound like him! Who could have suggested something of this kind…

- What are you doing here?

You startled when you heard his voice coming from the room’s entry, but you didn’t scream or throw weapons at him this time. Instead of the fear or shame one would feel when caught in a place they shouldn’t be at, you only felt a growing anger.

- Me? I am the one who should be asking – you grabbed the sheet and shook it in your hand for him to see – What are you doing here?

Tobirama didn’t need an explanation to understand what you meant. You didn’t see a hint of embarrassment in him when you showed the letter, not even irritation: the only thing he had for you was something between tiredness and exasperation, as someone who is used to work alone and now sees themselves forced to share their methods with a new and unprepared partner.

That irritated you as nothing else did since you arrived in that place.

Still, you heard what he had to say.

- This morning, a bird with a message from your clan arrived at my office’s window when I was about to leave it. It was sent directly by your father. He said your second sister, who stood in your place after you left your compound, fell sick. He explained that this could cause a delay in the travel because she was chosen to be one of your people’s Captains thanks to her knowledge of farthest territories and he was reluctant in sending someone less experienced as a substitute.

- And what were you going to say to my father about this? – you crossed your arms to hide the trembling in your hands.

- I am going to suggest him to wait until Konoha send a team of experienced ninjas to replace her and work with your clan’s team. They are in better conditions to help your people as they approach our lands. Your sister must stay in your compound and recover.

You were forced to agree that this was the most practical solution to the problem. But you couldn’t agree with Tobirama acting all by himself without consulting you, no matter what your father asked in that letter: she was your sister, after all!

- So you were going to solve this and leave the explanations to the day when my people would arrive at the village’s gates and I start looking for my sister and can’t find her?! Isn’t it absurd to your standards?!

- This absurd, as you say, is the will of your father, y/n-san – he replied without rising his tone – I cannot disrespect it even in his absence.

- She is my sister! I have all the right to know what happens to her! – you started screaming even though it wasn’t your intention, but that was too much – Besides, my father would never ask something like that from an ally! It’s obvious that some grumpy elder suggested that to him!

You tossed the paper back on the table, but didn’t see where it fell. Apparently this attitude of yours displeased Tobirama.

- Maybe they suggested it because they knew this would be your reaction once you found out about your sister – he pointed at the place you threw the paper at; and, after a sigh – Worrying about a sibling is what any normal person would do. I know that. However, your clan sent this letter in an official envelope, so that we must reply according to its content. And the said content included this request. I could not act in contrary, whether you like it or not.

You leaned your hand on the table’s corner, your fingers tapping its surface with anger.

- And where have you been?

- I just came from the Hokage’s office – he replied without hesitation – I asked my brother to send a medical ninja to help in your sister’s treatment. He could not send one of his Wood Clones, because it would not last the whole travel, so he sent one of his apprentices.

You raised an eyebrow.

- And who I should thank for this? Him or you?

This time you sensed a sign of irritation in his manners.

- The best you can do to thank us is to put yourself together and reconsider what you already know about these type of…

- And the best you can do for us now is not speak to me like this! – your patience was now gone and you interrupted him without caring about formalities – I know about all of this better than you can suppose. I have been working on this for years. I know my clan’s head and each elder that works with him as I know myself, so I could even tell you who suggested the secrecy to my father and guess what? He’s not so different from you! That’s why you agreed with that so easily!

You walked toward the door to leave, but afraid that he would stand in your way. Fortunately, that didn’t happen.

But that didn’t mean Tobirama would let you leave without hearing a last word from him.

- You are right, y/n-san – and after seeing you turning your neck in surprise – I do not know your leader and your elders as you do. But whoever this person you talked about is, you should recognize his value in your council. Thanks to the work of people like him, the personal matters of each community member can be kept separated from the public ones, and the individual passions cannot become the cause of a clan’s ruin.

There was something different in his tone this time, though you were unable to tell what. Maybe he was really offended by what you just said, or he was speaking about an old experience with another clan. You immediately remembered what you knew about the legendary rivalry between the Senju and the Uchiha and supposed that his statement had something to do with it. Whatever the case, you wouldn’t stay to discuss it.

You were done with it.

- You have a point in this. Things would be difficult if we didn’t have anyone to guarantee that the laws are being respected. But I am not asking you to disrespect anything. I am asking you to stop underestimating me.

You turned your back without waiting for a reply and left the room. You weren’t sure of what you were going to do with those new, serious information you got by accident, but you would need time to think of something.

A time you didn’t have at that moment, because you didn’t take two steps outside the office when someone knocked on the front door. You went to answered it and found Mito Uzumaki standing on the entry. She was alone, carrying a small bag on her left hand.

You were polite, of course, but didn’t hide the fact that you weren’t expecting visitors.

- Mito-san...? How can we help you?

You must have stared at her for too long or looked too desperate, because she startled at your reception.

- You look pale, dear. Are you alright?

You shook your head, praying for her to give up on asking.

- I am. I just woke up a little late today, so I’m on a hurry with my tasks. I’m a bit tired – and standing out of the door’s way – Do you want to come in?

Mito smiled.

- No, thank you. I have my own things to take care of and besides I don’t want to bother you. I just came to make an invitation – she looked over your shoulder and raised her voice – For both of you.

You glanced behind and saw Tobirama approaching the door. When he stopped close to you, she continued:

- Hashi and I want you to join us for dinner tonight. He knows this has been a busy week for you two, but there are matters he wants to discuss and he might not find another opportunity in the next week.

This last sentence sounded peculiar to you. Hashirama might not find an opportunity to discuss something with his advisor? You looked at Mito again and read the subtle message in her eyes: Hashirama wanted to check on his brother, as much as she wanted to make sure that everything was going well with you. You didn’t know if you should silently thank her or run.

Whatever the case, the final decision ended up not being yours.

- Tell my elder brother that we accept the invitation – Tobirama’s voice was heard behind you – And thank him for us.

Mito nodded.

- I will. See you tonight.

She left in an instant, as if she didn’t want to give you a chance to change your mind.

[fandom-puff]

Exhaustion

Pairing: Jon Snow x reader

Requested by: anon

Summary: you’ve been up for well over a day, helping Queen Sansa with returning winterfell to its former glory. Jon, back from the Wall now that Greyworm has ventured to Naath grows increasingly concerned for your health as you wear yourself to the bone

AN: so yeah this is totally a season 8 fix it bc we all got incredibly screwed over :) can you tell I’m not too fond of Danaerys after about... season 1? Anyways I love writing for game of thrones lol! Gif creds, as always, to the owner <3 ALSO: YNN= your nickname

Warnings: sleep exhaustion, season 8 spoilers

“There is damage to the wall, my queen, the entrance to the castle as well. The stables were burnt by dragon fire, the armoury... well, most of it is gone. The statues of the direwolves are also destroyed, more so than when the Bolton’s were here,”

Sansa nodded slowly, her hands grasping the ornate wood carvings of the arms of her throne. She looked sideways to you, her closest friend and most loyal advisor, a lady from a lesser house in the north. You turned to the fellow Northman in front of you and surveyed him for a moment.

“For now, we have little need of an armoury. For any horses who survived the dragon fire, we will source wood to build a temporary stable so they may sleep out of the cold,” you said.

“Lord Bronson, please see that the horses are kept sheltered and that any builders hired are paid adequately for their time,” the queen addressed her newly appointed master of coin. “As for the damage to the wall of the castle, we need stone and men to rebuild it. Scope around for volunteers in the keep, they too will be paid for their extra work,” the man nodded and bowed to his queen. “As for the statues... have the Smithy melt down any damaged weapons and use the steel to remodel the Direwolves,” the master of coin scribbled down the funds and nodded.

“That is all, my queen,” the man said.

“And what of the Northmen? Those nearer the wall will have been hit hard by winter and the night king. The harvests were poor, the livestock is weak. We have an excess in our own kitchens. I want hearty food and good ingredients delivered to the villagers to ensure they survive until a more permanent solution is found,”

“Your highness, perhaps we should send a raven to your brother in the south? Out of loyalty to you and his ally, the North, arrangements can be made between the Crownlands and their ports and the fertile grounds of the Reach? Just because the North is now independent does not mean we ought to sever trade links entirely,” you said slowly, your hands clasped in your lap.

Sansa was quiet for a moment. You could see the internal struggle between wanting to do everything herself without help from the south, and wanting to keep the people fed and strong. She turned to you slowly. “Have a message sent to Bran,” she said firmly, nodding slowly to show she trusted you. “Surely there are resources we can trade with Kings Landing. Have another sent to Highgarden, I believe the Reach was relatively unscathed by the Mad Queen,” you bit back a smirk at that nickname. “They have always been fond of our embroidery,” you nodded. “Thank you for your report,” Sansa turned again to the man in front of her. “We will set to work as soon as possible. You are dismissed. Go and see to your wife, my Lord, I believe she is reaching the end of her pregnancy,” she smiled kindly, and with a low bow, the man left the hall.

With no one in the room but herself, you and the master of coin, Sansa sagged into her throne.

“You’re doing wonderfully, your highness,” you said gently, smiling softly at her. “Winterfell is almost restored and I have never seen a ruler show such compassion and sensibility to her subjects. The King of the South will help us- he probably knows already. And if need be, I will tell my brother that I’m staying at winterfell a while longer, should you need me. I trust him not to run my House’s keep to the ground while I’m gone,”

Sansa smiled at you with appreciation, and she soon gave you leave while she went to visit her Maester. As you were reaching the door, she called out. “YN! I’ve had word from Castle Black. Jon is returning to Winterfell. He should be here tonight,” you tried to hide your excited smile, and couldve sworn you saw a sly smirk tugging at Sansa’s lips as you bowed slightly and hurried off to your chamber.

Jon was coming back! You had been furious when the unsullied had him banished to the wall for killing the Mad Dragon Queen. From the moment you saw Danaerys, you did not trust her in the slightest, having heard the stories from across the Narrow Sea. In your eyes she was a glorified tyrant, as mad as her father and as deceptive as Queen Cersei. You knew she was almost nothing without her dragons, which caused more harm than good. Breaker of chains, she had called herself, when in reality she forged chains of her own- bend the knee or die was not a free choice, it was a threat, and had Danaerys Targaryen taken the throne as she was adamant she deserved it, you would’ve been slaughtered for your loyalty to the North, to the Old Gods, to your family, your friends, and not to a glamorous tyrant who would surely burn Westeros to the ground just as her father had planned.

Once returned to the north, you and Sansa had spoken of Jon a few times, and Sansa always got a mischievous glint in her eyes when you did. She must have planned his return, as he had no real need to stay beyond the wall after the Unsullied left for Naath. Smiling to yourself, you set to preparing yourself for dinner, asking a few passing maids to help you draw a bath. Unlike most nobles, you helped the maids, rather than watch them, and spoke kindly as you heated the water for your bath. Once there was enough water, you thanked them and allowed them to leave as you bathed, washing your hair and scrubbing your skin. Once towelled dry, you rubbed sweet smelling oils into your skin, before slipping into your smallclothes and a simple, yet beautiful, dark green gown, discretely embroidered with your house’s sigil at the trim of the neckline and up from the wrists of your long sleeves. Lacing the dress up at the side, you sat in front of your mirror and set about sorting out your hair, towelling it dry and braiding it around your head. Finally, you fastened a simple silver chain around your neck, your sigil hanging over your heart.

Smiling to yourself, you stood, leaving your chamber and walking to the Great Hall where dinner was normally held. When you slipped through the door, however, the room was empty, only a few candles lit. Frowning, you turned, hearing the sound of two sets of footsteps as Sansa and Jon rounded the corner. Sansa trailed off from what she had been saying and smirked slightly as she pushed Jon towards you.

“Er... Lady YLN,” he spoke in his thick, northern burr. You repressed a shiver and have him a bright smile.

“Jon! Just YN, remember?” You said, slowly walking towards him. Gladly, he accepted your embrace, and you buried your face into the thick furs at his shoulder, not caring about the flecks of snow. You pulled away and beamed at eachother, before Sansa cleared her throat.

“I thought we’d take dinner in my chambers,” she said. “The three of us reunited,” you both nodded and followed your queen. “Jon, I’ve had a room prepared for you, there should be a fire to warm you and new clothes there too,”

“But, your majesty, I... I took the black. I’m in exile,” he said lowly, frowning.

Sansa merely smiled and carried on walking. “No. You were in exile, therefore unable to take an oath of any sort. That, however, was when the unsullied insisted on ‘justice’. The unsullied are settled in Naath, and furthermore, you are a Northman. The north is an independent kingdom. Therefore, you are released from your exile,”

You shook your head fondly at your friend as you entered her chambers, were a maid was laying out the table. She turned when she heard the door and sunk into a low curtsey. “Thank you Amya,” Sansa said. “This looks wonderful,”

“Yes m’lady,” the young girl said, smiling proudly as she was dismissed.

Once fed and watered, the three of you retired to Sansa’s personal chamber, drinking wine and sharing anecdotes. Already smiling serenely from the wine at dinner, having more was making you feel a little floaty. You stifled a yawn as you fiddled with your necklace as you listened to Jon. “YN... you look exhausted,” he said softly, tipping your chin up to face him properly. The flickering light of the hearth highlighted the growing bags under your eyes and how glazed over your eyes were.

“‘M alright,” you mumbled, resting your head on his shoulder. “Can stay up a bit longer. Finish your story,” you insisted, but your eyes were already fluttering shut.

Sansa pursed her lips. “YN... after last night’s small council meeting, did you even go to sleep?” She asked gently. “And today... we’ve had about 15 lords and 12 smallfolk coming in for audiences, all of which you attended...”

You smiled slightly. “Was in the library last night, Sansa...” you mumbled. “Needed to look up the logistics and the finances,”

“Oh, YNN, we have a Maester and master of coin to do that,” she said gently, reaching over to place her hand over yours. “What about when the maester called for a break?”

“I went to start on the letters to my brother and the King in the South,” you mumbled. “And Highgarden...” you let Sansa hold your hand and give it a firm squeeze, still nuzzling you’re face into Jon’s furs as the last two days finally caught up with you. “Nodded off at my desk, though, so I’ll have to start the letter to King Bran again,”

Sansa frowned. “YNN, you’re working too hard. I appreciate it immensely, but I cannot expect you to help me if you aren’t taking care of yourself. Tonight you will rest, and when morning comes you may rest some more. You are allowed to care for yourself, alright? You must. Because without you by my side, I question everything I do. I need you by my side. The north needs you in excellent condition. And so does Jon,” you nodded slowly in understanding, but her soothing words and gentle tone were lulling you to sleep. “I want to make you my hand, YN. But first, you need to sleep,” you nodded again and let out a mumbled ‘yes, my queen’ as you finally turned your head fully into Jon’s furs and let exhaustion take you.

What felt like an eternity later, you were jostled awake. You let out a small noise of complaint and nuzzled you’re face further into the soft thick furs in front of you, your fingertips brushing a lock of curled hair...

“Jon?” You whispered, barely audible.

“Shhh, I’m here. Gotta get you to bed, YN. no arguing, now. Queen’s orders,” you nodded, and mumbled ‘alright’ as he carried you to your chamber. He found your bed already turned down, and gently lowered you into it, letting you wriggle out of your dress. He averted his eyes as you tugged the covers over yourself, despite it being dark. You settled into the pillows, already drifting deeper into your slumber, when you heard the door creak open.

“Jon?” You murmured, reaching an arm out for him.

“Yeah?”

“Stay?”

Your eyes were shut and you were practically asleep, but you heard the door shut and lock and the sound of heavy leathers and cloaks hit the ground. Best of all, you soon felt the safe warmth of Jon pressed against your side.

Tag List: @diksy1112 @zodiyack @soleil-dor @sleepylunarwolf

[voidstilesplease]

Swords and Arrows

or That Summer When The Ares and Athena Cabins Finally Allied For Capture The Flag part 1 of 3

⚔️🏹⚔️🏹⚔️🏹

(A Steo Demigod AU) || For @anonymous's prompt: "Scott as a Roman demigod instead of Greek" || word count: 2,647 || The Entire Demigod Series -> [AO3][Tumblr] (it's finally a working link tfg)

Stiles pulls back, "I was going to ask if you missed me," he says, face flushed and beaming. "But it appears I don't need to."

"You never need to."

🏹⚔️🏹⚔️🏹⚔️

I.

"Why the long face, little brother?" Tara asks cheerfully, wedging herself on the bench between Theo and one of their half-siblings, and placing down her tray brimming with colorful food as opposed to Theo's bleak and half-empty one. She grins at Theo, but he's not in the mood to return the goodwill.

Theo pokes half-heartedly at the contents of his tray: a lonely sealed bag with a couple squares of ambrosia inside - the food of the gods - some cheese and two slices of wheat bread. "Don't call me little brother," he mutters with little heat, leaning to the table to whisper a request to his goblet, which immediately fills up with sparkling water.

Tara looks over Theo's head at Fred, their Head Counselor, sitting on Theo's other side. "He's not back yet?"

Fred shakes his head, wiping the bbq sauce at the side of his mouth. "Nope," he replies, popping the 'p' and catching on to the question without much elaboration. By now, there's only one 'he' that reduces Theo to a brooding and sulky man-child. "He hasn't answered Theo's last IM, too."

"Try the last five Iris Messages," Theo grumbles in annoyance. He turns to Tara, face contorted in a sour expression. "I mean, how difficult is it to take my call? He always has drachmas in his pocket exactly for this reason."

"He's probably busy disintegrating monsters," Fred says reasonably. Which, of course, makes sense. Monsters make the most infuriating and persistent roadblock of all. They make any journey twice as long for demigods - if they don't manage to kill you, that is. "Or, you know," Fred adds, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. "maybe he's being an accomodating companion to the Son of Jupiter."

Theo grinds his teeth hard and fixes his head counselor with a death glare. Fred only shrugs at Theo's reaction, obviously aiming for the exact response, and chuckling through a bite of ambrosia. Theo has half a mind to punch him in the jugular. He doesn't need a reminder of who Stiles is with, thanks. Spitefully, he harshly impales a piece of grape from Fred's tray with the tines of his fork and shoves it to his mouth in the most menacing manner he can project.

It only makes Fred guffaw, spraying bits of food onto the table. The campers across from him slide their trays away protectively, shrieking an indignant chorus of "Fred!" as they make sure no stray bits made it into their platters. Fred raps at his chest as he reaches for his goblet, still laughing his dumb ass off while trying to wave his hand in apology.

Their neighbors also share their opinion on the appalling table manners of the Ares brood - spitting out food may slightly be a common scene from their lot, unfortunately.

Brett from the Apollo cabin throws corn kernels at Fred, a strange display of solidarity if you can believe it, while Ara, the half-Korean junior counselor of Athena cabin, gives the Ares and Apollo tables a look of disapproval. She's a pretty terrifying 15 years old, which is why Stiles is extremely fond of her. With Stiles gone to New Rome the first week back to camp, Ara is doing a kickass job taking over the head counselor duty. (But, to Hades with it, Theo would much prefer Stiles to be scowling at their table.)

"Okay, first of all," Tara says over the little chaos. "Fred, you're disgusting. Second," she holds Theo's chin to compel him to look at her, then smirks, "Stealing a piece of fruit is not a cabin 5-worthy intimidation tactic."

Theo opens his mouth for his scathing retort, but at the same time, one of Stiles's younger siblings points in the direction of the cabins. "Hey, it's Stiles!"

Many heads look up, but Theo springs to his feet instantly, scanning the area for Stiles. He catches sight of him almost immediately, bounding to the Mess Hall in his orange shirt, face bright under the camp's enchanted borders, as radiant as the last time Theo saw him four long months ago. Without much thought, Theo finds himself carried by his feet towards Stiles.

Stiles sees him coming too, and his smile broaden. Theo sprints, forgetting himself and where they are. They meet halfway, by the entrance of the Mess Hall, with Theo knocking into Stiles's open arms strong enough that it's a surprise they're still upright on the ground.

Theo squeezes him to make sure his mind did not conjure a Spectre to appease his longing. Stiles feels solid under his hands, if a little sweaty, and he smells as if he was run over by monsters. But underneath the grime, he catches the scent of Stiles's favorite body wash. He feels himself sagging in satisfaction.

Stiles pulls back, "I was going to ask if you missed me," he says, face flushed and beaming. "But it appears I don't need to."

"You never need to."

Theo doesn't know how long they stood just smiling at each other, but they break apart at Chiron's pointed clearing of the throat. It's not even in Theo's head to be embarrassed by his actions despite the cackling and many leering faces of the other demigods. Mr. D merely raises an unimpressed eyebrow, though the twinkle in his eyes can only be from amusement.

Chiron is sitting on his wheelchair today, hiding his horse's ass behind the illusion of human legs - why he still does it is a wonder - and rolls forward to them.

"Stiles Stilinski," he greets merrily, the lines of his eyes crinkling when he smiles. "Welcome back." Chiron gazes a little behind them, then, nodding kindly towards another boy Theo only notices, is standing patiently at a distance.

The boy, Scott McCall, son of Jupiter and a praetor of the Roman demigods' army, the Twelfth Legion Fulminata, steps forward to bow his head in respect of the centaur. "Chiron," he also acknowledges Mr. D who didn't bother to get up from the head table. "Lord Bacchus."

"Hm," Mr. D hums without correcting the demigod, sipping on his diet coke dismissively.

Theo doesn't hate Scott, but he also doesn't like him - strongly, irrationally, dislikes him. Instinctively, he shuffles closer to Stiles as if his boyfriend is going to dissolve into the Mist if he isn't close enough to pull him back.

Theo's been agitated since Stiles told him, a week prior, that he was flying to New Rome in California where Camp Jupiter is, the Roman camp, for a 'friendly' visit. Everyone's allowed to cross borders, but no one has really done so just to tour around. After all, the camps are on opposing sides of the country and monsters don't pause to consider not killing vacationing demigods.

A couple of times before last week, when Theo visited Stiles in his Manhattan apartment, he'd, out of the blue, mentioned the varied courses and scholarships that New Rome University offered, as Theo laid his head on Stiles's lap while the latter read. Theo hadn't minded it at the time, as Stiles quickly dropped the subject. But another month passed and Stiles mentioned it again, randomly, during one of their IMs, adding that he might check into the enrollment requisites. Theo started to worry, then.

If Stiles goes to New Rome for college, Theo can't follow him. He never even got to finish eighth grade. And Scott, he's one of the Romans, their leader, and grudging as he is to admit, one of Stiles's friends now the more he visits Camp Half-Blood. He will eagerly encourage Stiles, telling him of the countless perks that Camp Jupiter has. He will be as big a hero there as he is in Camp Half-Blood, and he can rise to praetorship alongside Scott if the Legion so wishes it.

Scott is not a bad person per se, but he wears the color and insignia of the place Theo might lose Stiles to. And if Theo blinks the wrong way, he might not see quick enough that Stiles is being whisked away to the other side of the coast, leading a life without him.

⚔️🏹⚔️🏹⚔️🏹

After officially welcoming the son of Jupiter to the camp, feeding him, and getting him settled in Cabin One, the campers go about their daily routine of training.

The blade vibrates when it hits the shooting log, right on the marked spot. Then it disappears into thin air and reappears in Theo's hand only to be thrown back to the same spot. He does it repeatedly, unrelentingly, until Tara aims with his bow and hits his blade with an arrow to send both weapons clanging to the ground, a few meters away.

Theo heaves; he doesn't even know he's breathless just from throwing until then. Wiping beads of sweat from his forehead, he nods appreciatively at the bow in Tara's hands when his sister stands beside him with a smile. "If we aren't siblings, I'd mistake you for a daughter of Apollo."

"Please," she laughs, opening her palm, gesturing at the fallen weapons. Both her arrow and Theo's blade fly to her hands in a matter of seconds. "I don't want to light up like a glow stick while waxing poetry during a fight." Children of Apollo don't actually do those in the middle of a fight, but they do glow when they're healing, and they can make others speak in rhymes just for fun. Tara offers the knife back to his brother. "Also, we're children of Ares. By birthright alone, we should know to wield any weapon of war."

Theo takes the knife and snorts, "And yet, I suck at archery."

"I can't summon weapons out of thin air," She points out, grinning at him as she puts the arrow back to its sheaf. "I guess we just can't have it all or Zeus would be zapping us one by one."

Theo scoffs, leaning into position to begin throwing again.

"Speaking of Zeus," Tara says, a playful tone in her words. "Where's your favorite son of the Sky God?"

Theo spares her a glare before flinging his knife and burying it onto the battered practice log. He purses his lips before answering, "He's at the Big House with Chiron, Mr. D, Stiles, and the other head counselors." He clenches his fingers around the blade's hilt when it returns to his hands. "They're talking about a little orientation on New Rome University's scholarships and handing brochures and study guide for the DSTOMP." Theo doesn't bother hiding the acid in his voice from his sister. She'll recognize it anyway, even if he masks it with neutrality. He can't mask it with neutrality.

She quirks a brow, "You don't sound too eager," she notes. "Are you still jealous of Scott, little brother?"

"I'm not jealous of Scott," he says, gritting his teeth. "And don't call me little brother."

"Why are you so strung up, then, if you're not baselessly jealous?"

He finds his reply being interrupted for the second time that day, this time by a distant rumbling coming from the sky. All activities on the ground cease as everyone turns to the increasing volume of an invisible running engine. Theo scans the space above them, at first not grasping anything in motion, until a burst of light reveals a flying, glowing red bus coming down fast to the ground.

🏹⚔️🏹⚔️🏹⚔️

Someone goes to alert Chiron as the rest of them scamper to the landing site by the amphitheater. The bus landed surprisingly smooth, despite its breakneck descent.

"Is that a Ferrari bus?" One of the campers points out.

Sure enough, the logo at the front of the vehicle, a black prancing horse on a yellow background, is of the famous luxury sports brand. But why would there be a flying Ferrari bus at Camp Half-Blood?

"Oh gods," Lori gasps somewhere on Theo's left. "Is that dad's sun chariot?"

As if on cue, the bus door opens, and a teenager who looks about Theo's age exits, wearing what he can only describe as a hipster look. He flashes a blinding grin - and quite literally at that, since they have to shield their eyes momentarily from the glimmer of his teeth - clears his throat dramatically, and announces:

"Hello demigods

The sun landed on your grounds

I am so awesome."

There's silence at first, then a series of enthusiastic applause from Brett and the rest of cabin seven comes next. The teenager bows theatrically, although Theo finds nothing extraordinary about what he just said. But soon, the others join in with half-hearted claps, recognizing the powerful aura suddenly seeping into their skins that could only mean there's a god among them - well, another god, aside from Dionysus, their Camp Director. And with the terrible haiku, there will be no mistaking who graced their camp today. The last time Theo had seen him, during the almost war on his first year at camp, the god had worn the body of a muscular mid-20's blond man. Now, it seems he favors to look even younger despite his four thousand years.

"Lord Apollo," Chiron's voice drowns out the applaud as he trots forward, now in his form as a white stallion from the waist down. "It's a pleasant surprise. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood."

Mr. D isn't as warm. He snorts, rolling his eyes. "Oh, bother, what brought you here now?"

Apollo's bright persona doesn't falter as he gestures at the bus - that is apparently his sun chariot. Theo remembers the time when he almost drove Apollo's chariot, if the Hermes cabin did not snitch it from under their noses, and thus putting three cabins grounded after a severe prank war. He had to take Liam's dish duties and pay him just so his present for Stiles could be delivered in time for Christmas.

"I'm here at the request of my little sister." The god says proudly, as the door opens again, this time with grumbling teenage and prepubescent girls coming out from the bus. All dressed in the same outfit: silver jackets, silver camo pants, and black combat boots, and they carry at their backs a quiver of sharp silver arrows. They glance at Apollo with apparent distrust, standing as far away from him as possible, as the god continues, "To deliver her hunters safely while she's away on a personal errand."

Several demigods groan in displeasure at the news, and even Chiron's lips form a thin line, though he tries to smile through the tension. Mr. D seems to be delighted now, though, happier to see the strange, vicious-looking ladies than his own brother. Personally, it feels like an omen of danger. Mr. D is never happy unless something perilous is about to descend upon his campers - even if his own daughter, Malia, is among them.

"Thank you, Lord Apollo." One of the hunters says albeit she looks physically pained by her words. She stands at the front of the group, a silver ring headwear around her head, with bouncing black curls, a pointed nose, and a strong chin. The other hunters also look at her when she speaks. It's easy to recognize her as the group's leader. "And thank you, Lord Dionysus, Chiron, for accomodating the hunters of Lady Artemis."

Chiron nods at the girl, eyes softening with kindness born out of familiarity, "You're always welcome, Allison."

Mr. D laughs boisterously, then. Like his punishment has just been lifted and he can go back to Olympus and away from the brats, celebrating by getting drunk on wine after years of prohibition. "Well, at least, Capture the Flag this Friday seems more enticing now, don't you think so, Chiron?" He gives a wicked grin at his campers, not waiting for a reply, his change in demeanor promising a torturous next few days for the demigods. "Ready to lose the Camp Half-Blood banner to these little girls for the 58th time in a row?"

~•~

[qvid-pro-qvo]

a southern education

rafael barba x female!reader. a series of moments during cases leads barba to learn a common turn of phrase from you, a detective on the squad.

word count: 4559

rating: teen, for endless teasing and the kind of contempt only the south can offer (canon-typical mentions of rape and violence, but frankly a whole lot of fluff, too, as well as an additional warning for the author knowing nothing about how law work besides what law and order tells me). 

-

It was like a different world, when you and Rollins got to chatting.

It was the way your accents got thicker, the way your laughter seemed to echo. There was always an inside joke, always a tease before you got paired off with Fin and Rollins inevitably found Sonny once again, words dripping with something sugary sweet as the two of you parted ways. The others didn’t get it, what you two would get so riled up about, but with you and her, it was like two peas in a pod.

It was just the South in the two of you. And yes, the capital ‘S’ was justified.

The South. Muggy nights and wretched summers and air thick with humidity and the mosquitoes that didn’t even give you a chance. Cicadas yelling as soon as the sun set and sitting out on porches drinking your beer or tooth-achingly sweet tea. Tipping hats and holding doors open and taking your sweet time. It made New York feel that much smaller, just two Southern girls trying to make it.

There were the shitty parts, too. There were the parts that make you and Rollins come to New York in the first place – the realization that women would never make it like men do, the suffocation of trying to fit into a box not made for you. So New York was far from home, but for good reason, and sometimes all of the South you need was hearing Rollins say y’all just as much as you.

Like now, for instance.

The newest case was a weird one, for sure, but at the center of it all was a young boy in the crossfire. Caught between his adoptive parents and the criminal enterprises his biological father was involved with. The squad was waiting for some food, and you, Barba, Carisi, and Amanda were all sitting around the wooden table, using the chairs to move from section of evidence to section of evidence.

“Poor guy just wanted a good home,” you said, looking at one of the pictures of him. It was a sweet photo, and you sighed before pushing the folder away from you. You moved to stand from the table. “Bless his heart.”

It came out of you without thinking, your voice somber, solemn. Rollins just nodded, because she got the gist, but Carisi just turned to look at you like you just grew devil’s horns.

“What does that mean?”

You looked up from the picture and met Carisi’s eyes. His brows were furrowed, and there seemed to be something tense in his shoulders.

“What do you mean?” you asked, looking amongst them. Barba was raising his brow, but his gaze was fixated on his notepad, his pen in his fingers as he scribbled something. “It’s just a saying.”

“Well, because Amanda says it to me sometimes,” Carisi said, and there was a twist to his lips, one you wanted to chuckle at. He looked so… solemn. “And usually she’s being sarcastic. I just don’t think what they did to this little boy is funny, that’s all.”

You glanced back at Amanda, and the two of you shared a look, smiling in that way you shared. She was hiding it behind her hand, and you turned back to the two men, ready to placate.

“Neither do I.” When I was saying that, I meant… that’s really sad, for him, and… y’know. Poor thing. Poor guy.” You lifted your hands, pointing to the picture. “I wasn’t being sarcastic, this kid is… he’s in a shitty situation. It’s kind of a catch-all. It’s about the intention behind it.”

“It’s a Southern thing,” Amanda finished, shrugging a bit. “It just means what you want it to mean.”

That seemed to soothe Carisi’s troubled soul enough, and you smiled at him before lifting completely from your chair, moving to get some more coffee. You asked the table if they wanted anything, and the only response was Barba lifting with you, and the two of you walked towards the coffee maker.

You didn’t mind the lawyer. Sure, the ADA wasn’t always your thing – after all, working with him could feel like you just ran a marathon – but Barba was good at his job and treated you all well.

Plus, if you happened to know your favorite combination of suit, tie, and pocket square that he wore, that was between you and God.

“I could’ve just gotten you something if you wanted, Barba,” you told him. “I know you like your coffee, even the bad stuff here.”

His smile was small, but it felt real enough, and you gave him a returning one, trying to ignore the thrill you got from the way he looked at you.

“You always add too much sugar,” he admitted, and you just rolled your eyes, smirking.

“And you always add too little, so. Maybe one day we’ll meet in the middle.” His little chuckle was cute, and you leaned against the little bar, glancing out the breakroom to where Carisi and Rollins were. “Today I won’t touch it, how ‘bout that?”

“I appreciate it.” He too glanced over to the other room, and you watched as Amanda seemed to explain something to Sonny, her hands circling a little as Sonny just shook his head at her. “So, blessing your heart? A common thing?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” you laughed, pouring a couple of cups and sliding one over to him to do as he wished. He just picked it up and sipped at it, the monster, but you added three sugars and stirred it plenty. “Trust me, sympathy isn’t always its message, but like I said. It can mean a little bit of everything.”

Barba just laughed again, shaking his head. “It seems innocuous enough. You’re telling me old women can weaponize blessing someone?”

That made your mouth twitch up, and you finished stirring your coffee with a flick of the plastic straw. With a little smile at him, you reached forward, turning him, getting close. You narrowed your eyes, pursing your lips a little. A once-over, eyes calculating, and he just stared, wide-eyed and brows creeping towards his hairline as you let out a little sound, putting all the condescension into it. And if your accent was a bit strong, well. You let it play.

“Oh, bless your heart. You just don’t understand. The South doesn’t pull punches.”

Your eyes didn’t break from his for a moment, and then you let out a little snort, shaking your head, moving past him. He seemed more than a little confused, and when you looked back he was just watching you, watching the way you walked toward the roundtable once more. You chuckled a little again, gesturing with your head towards Amanda and Carisi. 

“Oh, Northerners. Come on, Mr. Barba. No more blessing hearts today. I have a feeling this’ll be continuing education.”

-

You stood in Liv’s office a few weeks later, the two interrogation rooms on either side of you. In one, the victim, the other, the perp. A classic he-said, she-said, and you found yourself lingering on the perp’s side, watching as Carisi and Fin interrogated him. Their voices came through a little staticky, but you caught every word, your mouth twisting into disgust as you watched him spin a tale of woe.

“I did not do it,” he cried out, and his entire being reeked privilege. It was so easy to watch him pull every card out of the book, and watch the two detectives stand by, unimpressed. If he thought his charm and his smile would woo them, he was sorely mistaken.

“Look, you wanna know the truth, kid?” Carisi said, leaning back in his seat as Fin leaned against the window. Almost as if he knew you were standing by, watching. “We don’t give a rat’s ass who your father is, we don’t give a damn about your GPA. All we care about is what happened that night. So tell us what really happened now, and we won’t have to drag you out of your classes with our lights going.”

You huffed out a laugh at Carisi’s statement, which earned you a fellow lurker. Barba, there next to you. He normally didn’t get the cases this early, but with something like this he liked to hear everything from the beginning.

“Anything of value from him?” he asked, and you shook your head, turning to face him, one eye still on the interrogation.

“Nah, he’s just spinning his wheels. He thinks Daddy’s money can get him out of this bind, like every other one. Hasn’t caught the memo that we’re not that easy.”

Barba smirked, shaking his head. He turned to you, and his gaze lingered on your face, making you straighten a bit as he glanced back to the glass. “We certainly aren’t, detective. You’ll let me know the details later?”

Your brow raised. “Yeah, I can come by, if this isn’t something you’re gonna pass off to Callier. Course, I can fill her in, too.” It’d become an unofficial part of your job description, relaying the updates of the investigations to the D.A.s office when needed, trading off with Carisi. Mainly because the two of you liked going to see the counselor the most, for… different reasons.

Barba’s nod was short, and then he started migrating to the other side, where Liv and Rollins were in talking with the girl.

Suddenly, the whiny voice of the perp caught your attention.

“You can’t do this! My father won’t stand for it, do you hear me?”

Your nose wrinkled, and your little scoff was sharp enough to make Barba turn back, stop in his tracks. “Oh, bless his heart. He just doesn’t get it, does he?”

There was a warm chuckle from the other side of the room that made it your turn to look over, and you watched as Rafael Barba ducked his head, a hand lifting to cover his mouth as he did his best to look innocent.

“What’s so funny, Barba?”

When he glanced your way, the hand on his mouth lifted in surrender, the other sliding into his pocket. “Nothing. I just… think this is part of that continuing education you were talking about, detective.”

Your previous conversation came back to you, all of a sudden, and you watched as he chuckled again and pushed towards the interview room to watch Amanda and Liv.

“Trust me, you haven’t heard the last of it, yet,” you told him, and when he glanced over his shoulder he was smirking.

“I hope not.”

It was your eyes on him now, and you found yourself grinning and ducking your head before it became full-on staring, a warm feeling on your cheeks as Carisi and Fin came back into Liv’s office. You found yourself chuckling to yourself for the rest of the day, thinking about the way he looked while he smiled, at the way he laughed.

You wouldn’t mind seeing that smile more often, you decided.

Wouldn’t mind one bit.

-

The SVU squad room didn’t always leave you with smiles, of course. It was a lot of heartbreak, a lot of pain that circulated through interrogation rooms and interview sessions. A lot of sorrow, sitting in courtrooms and watching strong, powerful victims testify against their assailants.

A lot of pain. But… friends were a bright spot.

And slowly, Barba was becoming that, too.

Your role as the inbetweener was essentially official. More often than not you were accompanying Liv to One Hogan Place, the two of you in his office and trying to talk him into something (and him usually trying to talk the two of you out). A lot of times, you went on your own, making it just you and him standing on either side of his desk, discussing what could and could not be done in the eyes of the law.

It was still work, at that point, too. Because you could give him the details without skipping the important facts, could give it to him straight without hemming and hawing. You could defend your fellow detectives without taking it personally, knowing when wrongs were wrong and when to push.

And if those conversations started stretching longer, and if you found yourself lingering in his offices more and more, well. Amanda had permission to tease you about it in private.

But only in private.

In public, she could only send sly looks, looks you stubbornly avoided by meeting others’ gazes or looking down at your laptop.

Like in that moment, when Barba’s gaze met yours in his office, and the little nod he offered seemed enough to make your heart pound. A glance at Amanda, with her laugh behind her hand and head shaking, told you all you needed to know about how gone you were.

“Detective?”

Your gaze shot back to Rafael. This time his gaze wasn’t one of equals, but one of concern, his head tilted almost a little. And in that moment, you realized that he was asking you a question, that he had been nodding at you to answer…

“Sorry, sorry,” you scrambled, blinking a few times, trying to ignore the way Amanda kicked you under the small round table. “What was the question?”

“You’re the one who visited Miss Stevens last,” he said, pushing from his desk to stand up tall, walk towards you and your friend. “What’s your take?”

The interaction with your witness came back to you, and you grimaced a little at the thought of her taking the stand.

“Bless her heart,” you said, on instinct, shaking your head as you thought about her answers to the simple questions you asked her.

“That bad, huh?” the blonde said with a wince, and you nodded, sighing.

“Unfortunately.”

“What?” Barba’s brow raised with his question, and you realized that while Amanda got the gist, you were leaving the counselor in the dust for once.

Well. How to explain… politely…

You bit your lower lip a moment before speaking. “Miss Stevens is very… kind,” you offered, shrugging, “but her attention span is not the… greatest. A little… naïve, is the word I’d use, I guess.”

After a moment, Barba looked to Amanda, who just smiled sweetly. “I think what Y/N is implying is that, after talking with her, she realized that… uh.”

Nothing from Barba, who just looked between the two of you.

“Is what?”

It wasn’t worth the games anymore, even though the confusion on Barba’s face was hilarious. You turned to nod at Amanda, before leaning back in your chair, sighing.

“She’s, frankly, as dumb as a doornail.” When Southern politeness didn’t work, the next step was brutal honesty. “Which shouldn’t matter, but you put her up there –”

“And any defense attorney worth their salt would have her saying whatever they wanted her to,” Amanda finished. You reached over to pat her hand in thanks, and she just grinned at you, the two of you turning to the lawyer simultaneously. He didn’t answer immediately, eyes flicking back and forth between the two of you. 

“If you prep her really well,” you offered to him, “there’s a chance. But it has to be… really well.” You and your fellow detective stood, and as she moved to the door you just shrugged at the attorney.

“And you have doubt in my abilities to prep well?” Barba shot back, and you grinned at him. For the moment, Amanda was gone, just you and him and some verbal flirting to finish off the day.

You lingered in the doorway, and ignored the sound of Amanda’s foot tapping on the carpet. “I have doubt in her abilities to listen well.”

He just chuckled, shaking his head and letting out a breath. Whatever it took to finish a case. “All right. Well. I’ll figure it out. Thank you, for the extra lesson today. Three ways to use a phrase is… more than I was expecting.”

You chuckled, shaking your head at him, before an idea sprung to mind that made you pause before you turned out of the room.  

“Want me to call her in tomorrow? Bring her down to the precinct?” When he seemed to hestitate, you pushed a little. “She might be more comfortable with me there, and she’s already been to the precinct in one of our interview rooms. Might be best to introduce you at someplace she’s… familiar?”

Maybe you were hallucinating, but Amanda might as well have been on Mars. Because the smile Barba gave? It had to be all for you.

The case ended up finishing strong. Or, almost finishing. The tail end of the case found the two of you jogging out of the courthouse into a rush of cool fall winds, your noses going numb at the feeling as the sun started to set over the skyline.

“She did well,” you praised, hunching your shoulders against the cold. “Should never have doubted you.”

“Couldn’t have done it without New York’s finest,” he admitted, and when you glanced at him the only way to describe it was… mirth.

“Damn straight, counselor.”

Your steps were in time. No other detectives, no other lawyers, just the two of you making your way down to the street and relishing in the feeling of a well-fought battle.

“All that’s left is the jury,” you hummed. “Waiting’s always the hardest part.” 

“We could go grab a drink,” he offered with a little shrug. “Kill some of that time?” 

It was sudden, out of the blue. A moment that you were sure you imagined. “What?” you asked, turning to face him. You expected him to be staring out to the street, or up at the sky, but he was just staring at you, smirk ever-present and adding some sweet seduction to the offer.

“A drink. You, and me.”  

You tried to ignore that butterflies that suddenly took roost in your stomach, and the way your hand hastily went to your hair to make sure the wind wasn’t messing with it too much. “The case isn’t over yet, Barba. Are you sure you want to risk it?”

After a glance around the front steps, he stepped closer to you, smiling. He was wearing that bronze-colored wool coat, and you resisted the urge to reach a hand out, brush off imaginary lint. When he smiled, it was like his eyes lit up, the browns in the coat making the greens shine bright. 

“Then after the case,” he amended. “Once it’s over. Nothing to risk.”

He was serious. He wanted a drink. With you. You had to blink a few times, ducking your gaze to laugh. Amanda would get a kick out of this. Would probably also say that she told you so. “Hope you didn’t just push our luck saying that out loud,” you teased, but his smile didn’t waver when you met his eyes once more. 

“I mean it.”

It was that moment, you supposed. That moment when you looked at him and realized the counselor was looking at you the same way you knew you looked at him.

He was looking at you, and he was smiling, and you couldn’t get enough.

When you nodded, it was short, a little shy, your head ducking again as you pulled your own coat tighter around yourself, your hand tucking your scarf in to keep out the chill.

“Yeah, counselor,” you said. “I’d like that a lot, actually.” 

Then, because you couldn’t help it, you reached forward anyway, let your hand brush something off of his shoulder, flattened out the collar and let your fingers catch on the material. Smiled, as you looked at him.

“It’s a date.” 

-

You loved watching your boyfriend in his element. Because before almost anything else, Rafael Barba was a lawyer. And a damn good one.

The victims, plural, shared some vicious horror stories when they came into the squad room, some stories that they were brave enough to repeat on the stand. Rafael walked them through it, led them to places where they could share all of the details, and prepped them well for the defense’s return volley.

And considering that it was Buchanan, the victory was all the sweeter, especially since the perp was a scumbag who hadn’t wiped the smug look off of his face the whole trial.

Until today, of course. Rafael did his job, and you got the joy of catching his wink as he moved back to his seat, the perp’s words fumbling in his throat as Rafael trapped him in one lie after another. It was like music to your ears, and the sight of Buchanan putting his head in one had was visually just as sweet. 

“It isn’t over yet,” Rafael told you, meeting you at the doors once the jurors filed away, but you just shook your head.

“Not like you to be humble,” you laughed. “Come on, handsome. You know it was a good day.”

You relished in the way his eyes scanned you, the sight of the smirk on his face, the relaxed set of his shoulders.

“Let’s not jinx it. Just. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

You just chuckled, offered a brush of your shoulders to tide the two of you over, and together you started moving out of the courtroom. Only to be stopped by Buchanan, of course, whose voice made your spine stiffen.

“Just a moment, counselor.”

The two of you turned in sync, Buchanan meeting up with you right outside before the hallway. As the three of you stepped out of court, the tension you always felt between the two lawyers seemed heightened. Buchanan’s usual relaxed attitude was gone, replaced by a furrowed brow hestitation as he stepped towards the representative of the people.

“Well, that was quick,” Rafael sighed, and you bit your lip to keep from laughing.

“I want to discuss your offer. Rape Three, on both counts.” 

Rafael’s scoff was sharp.

“After what happened in that courtroom, I think we both know the deal has changed,” Barba shot back, raising a brow at the man in front of him. You couldn’t help the smirk on your face, glancing down to your shoes as Rafael talked to him. “Both counts of Rape Two, served consecutively, and I’ll consider only adding sexual misconduct for the Queens cases if he pleads guilty.”

“You call that a deal?” Buchanan scoffed, and your man just shrugged. “That’s barely a discount.”

Rafael didn’t back down, though, glancing towards the empty pews. “It’s better than two counts of Rape One, which we both know that jury is going to heavily consider. You had your chance for a better deal. It’s my final offer.”

The aghast look on Buchanan’s face was priceless. “Kicking me while I’m down,” Buchanan sneered, and you glanced up in time to see him direct his words at you. “Can you believe this guy? Punishing me for having an off day once in a while.”

It made your skin crawl. You hated the way he looked at you, and you found yourself lifting your chin to meet his gaze head-on.

“Well, bless your heart, Mr. Buchanan,” you told him, oozing fake saccharine from every pore. “Lord knows we all have bad days.” Your smile was tight, and he had the gall to return it.

“Look at that, Barba,” Buchanan said, nodding at you like your words actually meant something. “I think you should take a lesson from the detective here. No one likes a sore winner. Show a little courtesy, for me and my client.”

“My offer is final. Take it or leave it.”

Buchanan’s smile was tight, and he shook his head at the A.D.A. before turning away. “We’ll discuss it later today.”

“Is that a yes?” Barba called after him, and Buchanan visibly sighed, dropping his chin.

“I need to confer with my client,” he called back, and he turned a corner, vanishing in the maze that was the courthouse.

You shivered as he turned the corner, hating that you even thought about smiling at him.

“Suddenly decide to play nice with defense attorneys, cariño?” Rafael asked, his tone light as he watched all of your hatred finally show. You could tell he was teasing, that he knew the taste of your tone as well as any other.

“That, darlin’, was a good ol’ Southern fuck you,” you ground out, and Rafael’s hand lifted to rest on your back, turning you towards the elevator. You glanced toward him, as the two of you walked, and there was something like admiration on his face, a little smile that nowadays made you warm because you knew it was all for you.

“I don’t think anyone else gets you this riled up,” he teased lightly, and your eyes rolled even as your chin lifted. The doors opened, and the two of you were the only ones who got on. “And believe it or not, I could tell just what sentiment you were trying to get across.” When the elevator door closed his hands went to your shoulders, squeezing a little, fingers rubbing into the junction at your neck to work the muscle there.

“But I don’t think Buchanan did,” you laughed, the tension Buchanan always put in your shoulders leaking away as he continued to touch you, pulling you close for a kiss on your cheek before the doors slid open again.

“Eres una bendición,” he whispered to you, walking behind you as the two of you got off, and you turned to smile at him, raising a brow when he used a word you didn’t recognize. He just shook his head, threw a wink your way. “Meet me at my office?”

You chuckled a little, waving your hand, already missing the feeling of his fingers on your skin. “After work, of course.”

“Of course, counselor.”

-

(The sign of a good education was always that the student could put the lessons into practice. And Rafael was nothing but a good student. So in the end, it was meant to happen, and you were just lucky enough to witness it.

A night late night in his office, different paperwork wars being waged. An occasional tease from his desk thrown to your position on his couch, where you had set up shop.

Eventually though, the night wound down as it always did. The two of you sharing the couch, shoes off and feet tangled in the middle as he scribbled where he needed you, and your fingers typed away on your laptop.

The exhaustion was starting to get to you both though, and after your eyes crossed and blurred for the third time, you had to click save and close your laptop.

“I think I’m tapping out,” you groaned, leaning back against the arm of the couch. “Any longer and I’ll go blind from the blue light.”

“Not even midnight, cariño. Don’t tell me you’re giving up now,” Rafael teased, and you kicked his calf at the comment, eyes closing as you settled in, feeling the warmth of him on your legs.

“Unlike someone, I was sitting in a car to watch an apartment at dawn, so I think I have a good excuse.”

“Well, bless your heart,” he returned with a little verve, and your eyes shot open. Widened, as you sat up to stare.

It didn’t sound right in his mouth. His own New Yorker tone, his quick lawyer beat, it made it feel all jumbled up. Not enough oomph to really get the point across. But even as painfully wrong as it was, he said it, and that was what made your mouth stretch into a grin, made you scoot a little closer to him as he flipped through his own file, your laptop set (perhaps a little precariously) on the arm.

“What did you just say, counselor?”

It hit him the moment after you asked. Confusion washing over his features, and then realization, followed by something that looked a little like astonishment.

Maybe horror, but you didn’t hold that against him.

“Rafael,” you laughed. “I think your lessons in the South have ended, and I am the best teacher.”)

[yespolkadotkitty]

Catfish for Dinner

A dark!Catfish piece inspired by @pajamasecrets​ ‘ HCs here (and thank you for the beta!!). This will be a series of one-shots like my Hummingbird and Nightingale ‘verses.

My Asian OC has been tasked with infiltrating a dangerous weapons cartel undercover.

Warnings: Violence, insinuations of violence, and insinuations of rape.

Catfish for dinner, the note read. I stuffed it in my mouth, chewed, and swallowed without tasting. If anyone were to discover that Maria the cook had been passing messages to me…. my stomach whirled at the thought of what might happen to her.

What the note meant, I had no clue. I only had to stay alive until I found out.

Later that day, the buzz of a small plane interrupted a make-out session I was enduring with one of Cerrino’s lackeys. I didn’t dare look up; I continued moaning as if his mouth was a gift from God (it wasn’t).

The pilot of the little Cessna 172 appeared at dinner. The staff served their usual smorgasbord of mediterranean fish, steak, and vine leaves, with copious amounts of wine.

Cerrino stood and gestured widely. “Ah, at last, our new pilot,” he announced. “May he live longer than Nikolai.”

I swallowed, the wine like dust in my mouth, as I recalled the end Nikolai had met. Unsavoury was a severe understatement.

The stranger stood on the steps leading up to the big table, silent. A ballcap that read standard oil company was tugged low on his head, hiding his eyes. I got the impression of a strong jaw, scruffy at the edges, and broad shoulders. He wore a faded red button down and dirty jeans atop aged hiking boots.

“Meet Catfish,” Cerrino drawled, toasting with his glass. A little wine sloshed down out of the glass and on to one of the cartel lackey’s heads. He did not react; he knew better. “Before you sit at my table, I need to know you are loyal.”

Without preamble, he pulled a Glock 19 from his waistband and tossed it to Catfish. The tanned man caught it and checked the cartridge.

Cerrino yanked up the lackey he’d spilled wine on by the collar. The man’s dyed blond hair was streaked with red from the alcohol, a twisted sort of foreboding. “Kill him.”

The lackey started trembling.

My gaze was riveted on Catfish. He lifted his head and I caught his gaze for a fraction of a second - big soulful brown eyes that looked very, very tired.

He pulled the trigger. His hand didn’t shake. Not once.

A couple of lackeys came to clean up what was left of their colleague. Cerrino sat back down and stuffed a vine leaf in his mouth like he wasn’t covered in blood spatter.

Catfish had made a clean kill - a single headshot. But my stomach still rebelled. I covered it by taking a tiny sip of wine, holding the liquid in my mouth, and trying not to vomit.

“Come, sit.” Cerrino gestured to the space between me and another girl, also Chinese, her inky black hair pulled into a high ponytail. Cerrino and his fellow arms dealers seemed to have a thing for Asian girls. Not that I could complain. It was the reason I’d been able to infiltrate them, wasn’t it?

Catfish slid the pistol into the back of his waistband and moved over to our side of the table on silent feet, despite his rangy, muscular form. He wasn’t big, but lean and lithe. Dark hair curled out from under his ballcap. As he pulled out a chair and sat, I glimpsed a smattering of grey in the patchy scruff clinging to his jawline. His scent reached me, motor oil and clean sweat and just a kiss of thyme. A combination that could quickly become addictive, if a girl wasn’t careful.

One of the staff moved to pour him wine. He didn’t react.

I clenched my free hand on my thigh, nervous. Was this who Maria’s note had meant, and if so, was he going to say something?

“The house is yours,” Cerrino said across the table through a mouthful of oily fish. A little grease ran down his chin; he didn’t bother to swipe it away. “As are the girls. Any you like; I am generous to those who... remain loyal to me.”

The unspoken subtext in his words were crystal clear.

Catfish sipped his wine. His gaze darted to me and then to Abigail, the girl on his other side. She smiled at him nervously. Newer than me, she’d cried the day before yesterday and narrowly escaped a beating for it.

Abigail - not her real name, I suspected - met my gaze behind Catfish’s back, and shook her head minutely. She’d been a virgin when she’d arrived here-- I knew.

I hadn’t even breathed a syllable about my real intentions here to anyone. Even Maria, on agency payroll, wasn’t a hundred percent sure who I was-- only that I was important and that she was to feed me whatever information came her way.

Resolutely, I winked at Abigail. I would make advances on the man between us to save her from having to bed him. I let my gaze rake over him. Tall, rangy. Mid forties, perhaps? Those big dark eyes would be nice to look into while I pretended to enjoy myself. Over the last six months I’d become very good at pretending. 

If I didn’t get out soon, the line between pretense and reality would blur even further.

Abigail’s face deflated in relief and she went back to picking at her food.

“What’s the matter?” Cerrino asked, his wine glass full again. “Those two not to your liking?”

I looked up and around the room. I had become used to this debauchery at dinner. Several of Cerrino’s inner circle had girls on their laps who fed them tidbits of food. Sometimes they fed  us girls, either with their hands or directly from their mouths. That was my least favourite.

Cerrino’s right hand man, Addison, sat to his left, his tongue so far down a girl’s throat that he could easily have been examining her tonsils. I hated kissing Addison.

I’d been surprised an hour earlier when Abigail and I had been seated together, no man between us. Now I knew why.

Catfish set his wine down and drummed his finger on the table. If I was reading him right, he had no wish to dally with either of us, but I knew Cerrino when he was drunk. He liked everyone under the cartel’s influence to fall in with him; share his vices, be equally complicit.

“Kiss me,” I hissed.

Catfish’s dark brow winged up.

“Not Abigail,” I murmured, smiling through it as I leaned into him. “Me. Abigail is scared.”

If he understood what I meant, he didn’t show it. Instead, he gave me an almost imperceptible nod, and then pushed his chair back and tugged me on to his lap. I perched on his thigh as his arm came tight around my waist and he lifted his face for a kiss. I couldn’t read the emotion in his bottomless brown eyes--if indeed any emotion was present--but I’d rather it was me than Abigail, so I lowered my head and met his mouth.

He kissed me hard, licking into my mouth right away. He tasted of red wine and just a shiver of mint, and the scruff on his top lip tickled my skin. At any moment, I expected his free hand to come up and grope me, somewhere, anywhere, but he only kissed me, nipping my bottom lip as he ended the contact.

Cerrino had sat down to eat again, apparently satisfied. I knew what would happen now. I would have to go to this man’s room tonight. I would be at his mercy. 

Dinner continued. Catfish held me on his lap, saying nothing, and I wondered if I would ever hear his voice. I kept replaying the moment he’d shot the lackey in my mind, like taking a life was nothing to him. If that was so, he truly belonged among these terrifying men.

I tried to eat. Catfish didn’t comment as I forced down a few bites of vine leaves and fish. The food was delicious as usual, spiced and savoury, and I gulped water. For his part, Catfish seemed to listen to the conversations between the men and Cerrino. His face seemed relaxed, but I could feel the tension coiled in his long, lean body as he sat beneath me.

I peeked over his shoulder. The Glock sat there, just a few inches from my arm around his neck. 

Abigail saw the path of my gaze and shook her head minutely.

I could do it, though. I knew I could.

I just needed a distraction. Was I planning on shooting anyone right now? No. Of course not. But a gun, stashed somewhere in my tiny little room, that’d be something worth having. Even if it had only that one bullet in it. I could surely steal the correct ammunition from somewhere in this Godforsaken pleasure pit.

Humming as if I was having a grand time, I trailed my hand up Catfish’s chest, toying with the open neck of his button-down shirt. He didn’t outwardly react, but I saw a muscle in his cheek tic. I’ve got you, I thought, my fingers slipping over the hollow in his throat, as the palm of my other hand slowly descended down his back.

“Dancing with the devil, honey?” he asked, and the endearment was not said as such.

In that moment I realised two things: one - his face might be nice, but his voice, that husky-edged, kiss of Texas drawl, was made for absolute sin - and two, Catfish was a guy I wouldn’t be able to win over as easily as most of the one-brain-cell lackeys here.

“Just getting a taste of what’s to come tonight,” I lied, sweetly.

Catfish snorted. I noticed he’d barely touched his wine. Either he, like me, was here on false pretences, or, even more dangerously, he was one of them, but without the usual vices of women or alcohol to dull the edge of his more unsavoury appetites.

Which one it was, I would find out soon enough.

******

 Part 2: Off the Deep End

Tagging: @emmy-dandiliom918​ @spacegayofficial​ @thirstworldproblemss @cinewhore @poenariuniverse​ @keeper0fthestars​ @scarlettvonsass​ @casually-introverted​ @knittingqueen13​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @10-96dispatcher @buckstaposition​ @agirllovespasta​ @songsformonkeys​  kiizhikehn-cedar

[mallickshah]

A safe place (I)

February 11th @ Yureif’s Tavern ;  Evening ( of DOOMDAY )

A safe place had never been part of the things he’d grown up to need. 

When Saiyah had come into his life, she’d brought along something that had long been foreign to him. The touch of something that kept everything else at bay, she’d also brought her own safe place. She’d needed it more than he’d had, she’d grown with the need for a protective shield rather than the will to fight, because she was a serf, human, unwanted by many, shun by all in this faction. A species that could not find a way to survive on these soils.

The first time she’d told him about having somewhere she could hide and let herself feel safe, where she’d felt like no harm could come to her, he’d found it strangely uncanny. Mallick had the strength, mind and physical, to hold his own in fights, to hold his own in life in general, he’d never needed a hideout for the things he couldn’t confront. Because Mallick had been raised to confront it all, it was unfathomable for him to be a Shah and a Club and not have the will to fight his fight and hide somewhere when they became too much. There was simply not such a thing as too much. 

Their beginnings had been rocky, between his unrelenting need to show her that she could be strong, the need to protect her and her soft resignation that she just would never amount to what he’d grown used to. Their minds had collided more than once. But, somehow, in the midst of it all and the gruntings he’d left her with at times, Saiyah and Mallick had managed to create a bubbling world that had, with time and the years, come to make him realize what she’d meant by a shelter where nothing mattered and you felt as if nothing could harm you. 

Saiyah had given him a safe place. 

Mallick had never realized though, not until he’d lost her, and even then--he hadn’t truly understood why his world had been shaken to the point where his trust in everything he’d ever believed in had been shaken to its core. He hadn’t understood it after a year, or two of being in the resistance and he hadn’t all these years. 

Rather, he was understanding it now. 

The news came while he was at Yureif’s tavern, the only pint of the night he’d be drinking still in his hand. Somewhere in that situation, Mallick would find humor with his brother later on, because the news of Saiyah’s death had also found him in the same position. Hand wrapped around a cold beer and playful banter passing between comrades of any and all kinds. Yureif’s tavern welcomed any and all for a good time, no brawls, no violence and the means to evacuate anyone who would dare to disturb the peace. This was the only tavern of their family with such strict rules, implemented because Yureif did not want to have to explain to his wife, or his children, why he was running a place that could turn out to be dangerous.

Also, largely in part because Yureif was against violence. He despised it, had always despised it. He was more of the type to find danger in nature, rather than in people. When they’d been little, Mallick had always loved watching them, Yureif and Pribas, the only twins among his brothers, like ice and fire. Because where Yureif was a thrill seeker in anything that was not breathing, unless it was an animal, Pribas had always been quite fond of taking more than his fair share of hits and bruising as much as he got bruised. 

Needless to say, their arguments always reflected worry for one another. Yureif with his dangerous animals, Pribas with his dangerous fights. So when the men came in, loud and ready to deliver the news, Yureif was the first to step from behind the bar, cloth thrown over his shoulder to remind them of the rules of his tavern. It didn’t matter your ranks, he’d make sure that it was followed, so would the customers of the tavern. A lovely regular bunch who liked to keep it peaceful and would act as volunteering guns if necessary. 

“We’re only delivering the news.” One of the men raised his hands and Yureif nodded towards him who spoke. 

“Then deliver and get gone.” 

The mistrust was evident, their weapons were not hidden, their stances too aggressive to be taken as a pacific walk in. They gauged their audience and Mallick leaned back against the back legs of his chair to do the same, a look over how many of them they were, where they might have come from. They looked like the guards of the armory, as far as he could tell. He recognized one face among them and if they noticed him, it didn’t seem to show, their eyes not staying put on the arch of the eyebrow Mallick was sending their way. 

“These are orders from our Ace, they need to be followed to the letter and anyone who even thinks of not abiding by its code will face the consequences.” That was when the man let the leaflets reach Yureif’s hands, although it was more so slapped on his chest and he held it there for a bit, refusing to take a look until the men made right by their promise to not cause any commotion.

The man, who seemed to be in charge given that he’d been doing all the talking, tilted his head and marched his guards right back out of the tavern. They had nothing against the guards of the armory per se, but ever since Mallick had made it obvious to Yureif that he had his reticences with their Ace, his brother had somehow grown a sensitive bone towards anything that involved the man himself. Did Mallick want his brother involved in this? Of course not. But it was not a surprise that Yureif would take a strong stance, whether it was his fight or not. It was in the blood, was it not? It was what made Mallick the designated leader of the family, this power they all had flowing through their veins to protect everything, especially the people in their family.

The pride in his chest would never cease to amaze him, the swell of it had him rising from his seat. But Mallick had a frown almost instantly as he saw Yureif’s own at reading the message scribbled on the paper.

“What is it this time?”

Mallick’s hopes? That the good conversation they’d been having about the barbarians getting some action last night would be somewhat continued once the message was read. So to see Yureif frowning and cursing under his breath was not a good sign at all. 

“Fuck, why is it that your instincts always have to suck so much at being wrong?” 

Mallick shook his head, more than confused. However, once he took in the message on the leaflet, it all started to make a whole lot of sense. 

Every information leading to the death or arrest of HIM, the barbarians or a member of the resistance will be rewarded with an extra food ration.

The message left him feeling with a tangible bitter taste in his mouth, but it wasn’t that terrible. It did get wrinkled and tossed right out where the guards had brought it from, but just as soon as it was tossed, Pribas was running in, making the revolving door shake in his haste to come in. He was panting, had to take his breath but once it was done and the feathers were done falling from his quick shifting before he got through the doors.

The message Pribas carried made the taste stronger, more palpable, Mallick could almost taste ashes and blood. The heaviness of it was unrelenting and he wanted to do anything, anything but be here right now, listening to Pribas ramble on about what was going on out there in the quietness that Mallick had thought would be a constant for a little while. It would have come with such relief, wouldn’t it, after all that HIM and his barbarians had caused. After all that ruckus and hurt, and Mallick’s words to the resistance’s members who had wondered if they should act.

What had Mallick told them again? 

It might not be our place this time, we should wait to see what the Ace does.

Because as much as it’d pained him to sit still and watch, he’d somewhat thought him capable of handling this without the need for any externally drastic measures. But now, not only was he not putting out something like a hit on every resistance’s members, he was also seemingly going the same route that HIM had. 

Doing what he thought would be right to do, by force. 

Mallick had been wrong to think that an Ace would be able to handle this for the good of his people, without causing more hurt, he had been wrong and he needed the resistance now more than ever. He needed something, something he’d thought long gone when he’d lost Saiyah. 

He needed that constant had he known, had never once made him regret to have chosen them. Mallick needed his safe space, to be able to give the same to everyone else in Clubs who had never asked for anything else but that. Peace and safety. This was obviously not speaking to those who preferred the chaos of it all, it spoke of those who had not chosen that path or been given the ability to have it. Those who like Saiyah, had been forced to seek shelter somewhere other than where they’d been born and even that was being threatened by the one person who should have been doing the right thing by his people.

Which, if that was the case, then two did not need to play at this game. Both pieces of this chess needed to be tackled and taken out of the field, consecutively or at the same time. 

It was time for a plan that was for the people, not for power.

[agameforgoodchristians]

Death by lion for not punching a prophet (1 Kings 20:35-36)

Note: This card was previously discussed by one of our guest bloggers. We wanted to nerd out about this card and do a deep dive from another perspective. This will include addressing why Card Talks like this one result in us having to read hate mail. Regardless, no prophets were killed in the making of this Card Talk (as far as you know).

Punch or Die

At the command of the Lord a certain member of a company of prophets said to another, “Strike me!” But the man refused to strike him. Then he said to him, “Because you have not obeyed the voice of the Lord, as soon as you have left me, a lion will kill you.” And when he had left him, a lion met him and killed him. (1 Kings 20:35-36)

This is all seems pretty straightforward. Prophet 1 (P1) tells prophet 2 (P2) to hit him. P2 says no and promptly gets attacked by a lion. However, the story continues.

P1 finds another prophet (P3) and makes the same request. P3, possibly knowing what happened to P2, acquiesced and beat the crap out of P1. But this is where things get interesting. Prophet 1 covered some of his wounds with bandages, and disguised himself as a solider coming back from the war that was raging in the area. He then waited for Ahab, the king of Israel, to come along the road. When king Ahab arrived, the prophet told him a story:

In the midst of the battle, an officer told him to guard a prisoner. If the prisoner escaped “the solider” would either be killed, or forced to pay a fine of a talent of silver, which is over 100 times the average cost of slave (c.f. Exodus 21:32). In other words, the fine was tantamount to a death sentence. As with all battles, crap happens and the prisoner escaped. “The solider” asks the king what he should do. King Ahab has no pity on “the solider” and says, “So shall your judgment be; you yourself have decided it” (vs 40) (i.e. “you’re screwed”). At this point, “the solider” drops his disguise and Ahab, recognizing him as a prophet, knows he’s in deep trouble. The prophet condemns king Ahab, saying, “Thus says the Lord, ‘Because you have let the man go whom I had devoted to destruction, therefore your life shall be for his life, and your people for his people’” (vs 42). King Ahab then returned home thoroughly shaken, waiting for the judgment of God to fall.

The end.

Okay, but none of that explains the deal with P2 and the lion attack. But yes, it really does. Ultimately, this is a story about two people “getting what they deserve” for not listening to the voice of God.

King Ahab Gets What He Deserves

A little background might help. Chapter 20 of 1 Kings tells the story of king Ben-Haddad of Aram waging war against the northern kingdom of Israel.

In (brief) summary:

(vs 1-6) Ben-Haddad gathers a huge army, besieges Samaria (the capital of Israel), and tells Ahab “your silver and gold are mine; your fairest wives and children also are mine.” To which Ahab responds, “cool.”

(vs 7-12) The elders/nobles of Israel, not okay with this arrangement, tell Ahab to grow a backbone. So he does, telling Ben-Haddad he politely declines. Ben-Hadad’s reply can be translated to mean either, “I swear by god, my army is so vast, that there will not be enough ground to stand on when we come to level this city!” OR “I swear by god, my army is so vast, that when we finish leveling this city, there will not be enough dust left to fill the hands of my men if they wanted to take home souvenirs!” (#TrashTalking). Ahab swings back with, “one who puts on armor should not brag like one who takes it off” (vs 11). In other words, “run your mouth after you win!” So Ben-Haddad, who is drunk when he gets this message, screams for his men to get into fighting position.

(vs 13-22) A prophet of God gives Ahab a battle strategy involving a lightly armored, special-forces unit. They attack in the middle of the day and catch Ben-Haddad off-guard because he’s still drunk. God leads the Israelites to victory, routing the superior force and their heavy weapons, and lifting the siege. They pursue Ben-Haddad, but he is able to escape. Though victorious, through the prophet, God warns of the another attack.

(vs 23-27) Sure enough, Ben-Haddad has a new battle plan: fight at a new location with more troops.

(vs 28-34) But God is ready for the forces of Aram and says, “wipe them out.” And they do. Mostly. Ben-Haddad gets away again and goes into hiding. His servants convince him to attempt to make a peace treaty. They contact Ahab for parley and make terms for a ceasefire. Ahab accepts. And that’s the problem.

God felt that Ben-Haddad was an evil to be eradicated, not an ally to make a treaty with.

This brings us back to the confrontation and the prophet’s words to king Ahab:

“Thus says the Lord, ‘Because you have let the man go whom I had devoted to destruction, therefore your life shall be for his life, and your people for his people.’” (vs 42)

Ahab went against God’s long-standing commandments about not working with his oppressors, and he is getting what he deserves.

And while we could spend time arguing about what to do with the Bible’s use of God-directed violence in this text (as we do with some others), the lesson of this passage is wrapped up in the biblical assertion that you do what God tells you to do: if God says, “kill them all,” you kill them all. It’s a lesson Ahab should have already learned from history. Ask King Saul: he pissed off God doing pretty much the exact same thing (1 Samuel 15).

What’s more, the prophet gave Ahab a scenario which exposed him as a hypocrite: he was condemning a man while not living up to the same standard. This is exactly what Nathan did to David in regards to his treatment of Bathsheba and Uriah. And is is also the same standard that Jesus holds us to, and says we should hold others to (regardless of how horribly He is misquoted).

And while all of this is well and good, you’re probably (still) asking, “but WTF does this have to do with the death by lion part?!”

Glad you asked. But first, you should know that the lion probably didn’t kill him.

Just messed him up a bit. Maybe a whole lot.

The Prophet (P2) Getting What He Deserved

Let’s start with the job of a prophet: one who presents the word/vision of God to the people. The prophet bears the weight of divine command and responsibility. So when one prophet gives another prophet a divine command, that second prophet knows the authority under which the first prophet is operating. Denying the words of the prophet is denying God.

(Read that again.)

In this story, P2 refused to heed the call of God. Just like Ahab refused his instructions. But, as with most things biblical, things get more interesting (and complicated) when we dive into the diction and definitions of the words employed.

Below we’ve parsed the Hebrew in the passage; notice the highlighted words. Hebrew readers: you’ll see where we are going pretty quickly. Non-Hebrew readers: be patient, we’ll explain.

At the command of the Lord a certain member of a company of prophets said to another, “Strike {נָכָה nakah - hiphil imperative} me!” But the man refused to strike {נָכָה nakah - hiphil infinitive} him.

Then he said to him, “Because you have not obeyed the voice of the Lord, as soon as you have left me, a lion will kill {נָכָה nakah - hiphil perfect} you.”

And when he had left him, a lion met him and killed {נָכָה nakah - hiphil imperfect} him.

Then he found another man and said, “Strike {נָכָה nakah - hiphil imperative} me!”

So the man hit {נָכָה nakah - hiphil imperfect} him, striking {נָכָה nakah - hiphil infinitive} and wounding him.

~ 1 Kings 20:35-37

In case you missed it, “strike,” “striking,”���hit,” and “kill”are all the same word in this passage {נָכָה nakah}, but with different parsing of the verb (Non-Hebrew readers: think of all that “hiphil,” “imperative,” “infinitive” stuff as different ways to conjugate the verb).

The Hebrew word nakah means to “hit” or “strike,” but the hiphil imperative in vs 35 and 37 is referring to a very serious blow/attack. This could also be rendered, “beat the ever-living crap out of me!” Which makes sense: the prophet’s disguise only works if he looked like he got wreaked on the battlefield. So props to the prophet for being willing to take a beating for his mission.

This is a form of the prophetic “sign-act”— a physical parable, the action of the prophet is symbolic of a deeper truth. They are common in the Bible and include Jeremiah breaking pottery in front of religious leaders (Jeremiah 19:1–13), walking around wearing a yoke for oxen (Jeremiah 27–28), and offering wine to prohibitionists (Jeremiah 35:1–19), Isaiah walking around naked for three years (Isaiah 20:2), and Ezekiel cooking food over human excrement (Ezekiel 4:9-15).

However, this unnamed prophet was performing a “sign-act” with higher stakes. He will bear the marks of his commitment to God’s message in his very flesh. And maybe that’s part of the point: if he could take the beating, why can’t the other prophet give it? But don’t be too worried about the second prophet: like we said, chances are that he wasn’t killed by that lion.

Notice that in verse 36, the Hebrew for “slew him” is nakah again, however, this time it is the Hiphil perfect. Meaning, we was probably just mauled by the lion, not killed. Which, while not great, is certainly better. But also consider the balance of the image presented by a mauling: because he didn’t do God’s will, he was made to suffer the same injuries as the other prophet. He shared in the first prophet’s pain.

You Don’t Have to Like it to Understand the Message (or Keep your misinformed hate mail to yourself)

The Bible is an ancient text filled with stories that, on first (or second, or third) pass can seem very nasty, brutish, and short. But there is generally an underlying morality that makes perfect sense in an Ancient Near East context. Read that last part again: it fits into the ANE context.

Every once in a while we get hate mail, not because we said something blasphemous and some SOLIDER OF THE LORD has to point out our evil ways, but because someone who was burned by Christianity (or a Christian, or a “christian”) wants to rant about how the passage we’ve explained is proof positive that the God they don’t believe in is evil and not worthy of worship. Generally it’s because of Card Talks like this one, where we explain something that does not fit into our modern sensibilities. So we’ll say it again:

The Bible is an ancient text filled with stories that, on first (or second, or third) pass can seem very nasty, brutish, and short. But there is generally an underlying morality that makes perfect sense in an Ancient Near East context.

However, while this is true, there are often still lesson that can be applied to our lives today (otherwise, what the Hell are all those clergy people doing every week…other than ignoring passages like this one?).

Perhaps we should think about our own hypocrisy: the times we hold others to a standard we do not uphold ourselves.

Perhaps we should think about the ways we do not live up to the calling on our lives, not doing the things what we know we’ve been told to do. Perhaps the resulting consequences, the punishments, actually do fit the crime.

Perhaps we should think about what we are willing to do, the sacrifices we are willing to make, in order to bring the Word of God, a vision of God, to others, remembering that word, that vision, can be a blessing, a hug, a kind word, a song, an encouragement, or countless other positive, life-affirming realities we often makes excuses instead of bringing into the lives of others.

But what do we know: we made this game and you probably think we’re going to Hell.

[badolmen]

The Botanist Meets The Stranger

Aleks leaned back in their chair, smiling at the two dark haired children running through the tall grass and wildflowers. They had their mother’s eyes, dark and curious and full of life. Occasionally a dog’s dark head would poke between the blades of green, nose twitching and soft, playful barks chasing the giggling children.

“They’ll tire each other out,” Kalina said, voice was as she set down a platter of ice water. “It will be quiet tonight,” Aleks smiled at their wife, the glint of her silver wedding band shining in the summer sun as she drank from a glass. They took a sip from their own, the water sweet and clean.

“I was thinking we could head to the village. I heard one of the young couples over there is getting engaged. Oh, who was it?”

“That hunter from the outskirts, and that quiet girl from the chicken house…Jadwiga, I think. We went to school with her.”

“Ah, I remember her. Always had someone trying to court her. Why did her mother have to give into that hunter?”

“I have no idea.” Kalina sighed, eyes closed against the warm sun. “At least poor Jadwiga can get out of the house.”

“Goodness knows how much better it will be in his camp for her.” Aleks shifted in their wooden chair. The grass had fallen silent, the laughter of their children absent as they scanned for movement. “He’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and he’ll prove it sooner or later.”

“I’ll have some of the villagers keep an eye on those two, make sure he’s a good man well before the marriage.” The couple jumped at a child’s cry, one of the boys breaking through the grass with tearful eyes and a flush face.

“I didn’t mean it!” One called, still hidden by the wildflowers.

“Mama, mama Kazik pushed me into Leon!”

“No, I didn’t! Arek’s lying!”

“Inside you two, we’ll get you washed up and have a look.” Kalina said, voice firm but gentle as she knelt to Arek’s level to look at his bleeding hand. “Oh, it doesn’t look too bad sweetheart,” The small boy whimpered, eyes looking to Aleks for their input.

“You mother’s right. It will be better before you get married.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” Aleks said, planting a kiss on their son’s dark curls. “Now, go with your mother.” The two boys clambered into the house, Kalina’s laughter and smile following them. Aleks waded out into the tall grass, whistling for the dog, and soon the beast bounded to their side, panting under the bright sun and covered in burs.

They knew it was a dream. It always was. But it was a dream that came to them more frequently as days in this dark forest passed, with no sun or warmth or Kalina to remind them of what was real. Would it be so bad? To dream, just for a moment. Just for a taste of what could never be.

The botanist jumped, the warmth of the light gone and the sky bleeding orange by the evening sun. But the sky’s change hadn’t woken them – something within their greenhouse rattled, a broken pot.

Against their better judgement, Aleks bolted upright, adrenaline flooding their veins. They had no weapons and no armor; they felt naked as they watched a shadow cross over the fogged windows. It was humanoid.

The fresh bruises on their side ached as they shifted to their feet, keeping low and moving slowly towards the now ajar greenhouse door. The traps were gone – not set off, not disabled, just gone. If it was a savage, it was frighteningly intelligent. If it wasn’t...they didn’t want to entertain what other creatures lay beyond their clearing.

Still, they stalked closer, peering through the door. Their axe still sat on the shelf atop their neatly folded jacket. They stepped into the greenhouse; the damp air heavy with tension as their eyes found the source of the disturbance.

The broken pot on the floor only held an experimental sterilized seedling, stunted and sickly. The same one the Wolfman had knocked over, once again broken. Perhaps it was their fault for balancing it so precariously...The dirt tracks led deeper into the greenhouse.

The figure was standing between the bean poles, the vining leaves obscuring Aleks from view – but the botanist knew every leaf and shadow in this building, and easily picked out the broad-shouldered silhouette. Shaking fingers wrapped around the handle of their axe, the blood dried on its blade now blackened by age.

It would draw too much attention and take too much time to put on their jacket – besides, this was their home. They knew every path and loop. This savage or whatever it was wouldn’t know what hit ‘em.

Aleks quickly and quietly made their way toward the figure, who seemed entirely entranced by their food storage bins, up to its elbows in the potato basket. The botanist was well hidden behind the row of tomatoes but felt the tension that coiled in their stomach relax as the figure continued to rummage between storage bins. This person was a human. Probably.

“Do you normally walk into someone’s home and take their things?” The barrier of the tomatoes made the botanist feel bold enough to address the figure with a whisper of annoyance in their voice.

The stranger jumped, hitting their head on the wooden shelf above the storage bins and letting out a strangled and muted hiss of pain. Though the person pointed a shovel at the botanist as a clear threat, Aleks felt little fear of the interloper.

“I’m judging by the lack of howling and blunt weapons you’re not one of those savages, right?” Aleks swatted away the shovel head with their axe, the clang of metal on metal a subtle message to the stranger that invaded their home. “I’m willing to share if you’re hungry,” They said, beginning the walk around to the other side of the tomato row.

The stranger have moved away from the food storage bins, now rummaging between the seed bags the botanist had hung from the selves.

“Hey, hey!” Aleks waved their hands to get his attention. They paused only a moment to process the grey and scarred skin that peeked between bandages and the stranger’s hat, his eyes shining with clear distrust. “What are you looking for? I doubt it’s pomegranate seeds.”

They swatted his hand away from a bag, eyes drawn to the blood stains on his jacket arm. They probably didn’t look in much better shape then him, their undershirt still bloodstained, and their scarred face screwed up in thought.

“You need bandages, right?”

A stiff nod, hands still tightly gripping the handle of the shovel.

“They’re over here,” The botanist beckoned, keeping an eye on the stranger to make sure he followed. He did, slowly and reluctantly, always a shovel’s distance behind. “You got a name?”

The stranger was silent, save for even breathing and a half sigh.

“Fair enough.” They crouched at the supplies shelf, hiding a hiss of pain as their stitches tugged on bruised flesh. “Sorry, was in a bit of a rush last I used these – do not touch that,” The botanist chided, already exasperated with this stranger touching their stuff.

The stranger reluctantly moved his hand away from the Amanita mushrooms that grew in a cluster from their pot. He crouched next to the botanist as they flipped open the medical kit’s cover, the bandages mussed and slightly tinged red by blood and water damage.

Slowly he pulled bandages and antiseptic from the kit, shadowed eyes watching Aleks like a nervous animal as he tended to the gashes on his arm – no doubt from a savage’s club. The botanist tended to their smashed pot and sickly seedling. This time, they put the pot on a shelf far from the entrance.

[thetradeway]

Session 51 Sep 18 2021: “No! Get out of my orifices!”

Right - where were we? Oh yes, we fought some piranha and found some chests and some Duergar statues. We fill Mina in on what she missed; she offers to craft Gideon a new finger.

“No… No, I don’t want your goblin crafts on my body!”

Then there’s some waffle about covid deniers. (Ed believes covid is real; Gideon does not.)

Who wants control of the urine-drenched sorcerer? Sophie, OOC: “You make it sound so appealing.”

She agrees to take Ahleqs, if Matthew will help her out.

Now, when I put a message on the group chat earlier to ask if we were starting at the usual time tonight, our illustrious DM messaged back to say ‘Yep yep yep thumbs up emoji smiley face emoji’ which was far too enthusiastic. We are all now very wary. Ardvack slams a potion before we get started.

Right, where were we going? There is still a strange magical island with a wall around it to explore. There is a boat that leads to it; Gideon advances to Investigate. It looks old but in good shape and water-tight. There are oars. He thinks three will fit in it; he volunteers as do Tarragon and Melaina. Gideon, sternly: “No pilfering, rogue.”

Tarragon rows us across. Do the others want her to go back and pick them up? Apparently not.

Gideon investigates the magical barrier, which is blocking the door, but rolls a nat 1. We make Perception checks - the giant statue of the dwarves god of crafts has an offering bowl at his feet, with something written in Dwarvish. Gideon would read it, but Ed’s buggered off.

“You cannot enter this room.”

Tarragon decides to take this as a challenge. She takes out a gold piece and puts it in the offering bowl; nothing happens so she takes it back out. Gideon covers the ‘not’ part of the carving so it reads 'you can enter this room', but that doesn’t seem to help either.

Tarragon looks at the magical wall. It’s blue, and looks a similar colour to the brazier in the other room. Could we light a torch from the brazier and try waving that at the wall? Maybe. In the meantime Gideon puts some food in the bowl; nothing doing.

Ardvack, shouting across the water: “Have you tried blood?”

Gideon squeezes some blood from his severed finger stump - still nothing. Tarragon rows the boat back to get Kessler, who has hopefully been lighting one of her torches. She has not been able to light her torch from the brazier, however; it won't catch.

Is the bowl loose? Could we pick it up? No, it’s attached to the floor. Could Kessler pick up the brazier? It won’t move either. Time for stupid ideas.

“Hey Carl,” shouts Kessler pointing at the brazier, “put your hand in that.” Carl does not. Kessler gets just such a doggy look from Ardvack; she laughingly tells him she can’t tell because he has no face. Instead he leans down and says snottily, “Carl is precious.” He investigates the brazier. Can he feel warmth coming off it? Nat 20.

There is no heat coming off it. It does create light, but there is no noise. It is not consuming anything physical. He doesn’t think it’s evil or necessarily good; it’s just a spiritual fire. Ahleqs does an Arcana check. It’s some kind of divine magic; he is fairly certain it could be extinguished with a high enough levelled Dispel Magic spell.

Ardvack puts his hand in the brazier; it doesn’t burn him. He puts his whole head in. He’s a bit light-blinded afterward for a minute or so, but is otherwise unharmed.

Tarragon has Dispel Magic, but doesn’t have it prepared. What about Ahleqs? He doesn’t have the spell at all.

Gideon wants to rest his battle-axe on the offering bowl; he does that, but nothing happens. He rescinds the axe. Perhaps crafts, considering the nature of the god? Perhaps something he’s made?

Ahleqs has Ardvack’s leather face mask at the moment; since that was made by Kessler, perhaps we could try that.

Melaina is Investigating the door behind the wall of force. She can see beyond it to a ruined dock. If she puts her hands out to the wall of force, she can feel it though it doesn’t harm her. Would putting the brazier out remove the wall? She rolls a low Insight check and doesn’t know. Gideon rolls a low Religion check as well; he doesn’t know either.

“Alright Goblin, you’re up. Do your thing,” says Gideon. She puts Ardvack's mask in the bowl, but still nothing happens.

DM offers a clue if we roll good on Insight; Ardvack, Melaina and Gideon all do. They think the inscription refers to the desired offering. Gideon wants to put something in the bowl that would not fit in the door.

What about a fish? They breathe air, and so could not pass anywhere above the water. Tarragon steps into the bowl and Wild Shapes into a fish; still nothing happens. She changes back. Is this one of those children’s riddles that we should have definitely got by now? Joe says we will absolutely kick ourselves when we get it.

Ardvack picks a handful of mushrooms - and that bloody well works. You cannot enter this ‘room. Goddammit. Joe removes the wall. If Ardvack had a face, he’d be looking smug.

We go through. Goblin shield goes first. She sees something horrible - it is currently standing motionless. It looks like a huge dwarf in heavy armour, but made of stone, and there is a faint red glow emanating from its chest. There is an open chest next to it full of shiny shinies; Kessler points them out to Melaina, possibly in hopes that she will go first. Melaina, sadly for Kessler, does not fall for this trick.

Ardvack ventures too close and it spots him - initiative time. (Ed has disappeared again. While we wait, we discuss Matthew’s zombie campaign. We will all be level 2 when we return, which gives us an ability called Zombie Grab. Matthew and Sophie order pizza.)

Tarragon Potions and readies a Thorn Whip (which always reminds Sophie of a Walnut Whip. Not the Ann Summers sort of whip, Joe asks? No, but interesting that his mind went there.) Melaina hides and shoots - 24 hits, for 22 damage. Her bow is magical, correct? Yes. Good. Okay. Bits of rock fall off the golem. Hooray!

Does she want to move, say, to run away? (Oh shit.) She moves back so everyone else can get in.

Kessler takes aim with her crossbow. 24 hits for 7 damage, and her weapon is magical as well. She reloads and shoots again for 7 more damage while Matthew and Sophie decide what Ahleqs is going to do.

They decide that he will cast Shatter on the golem. Ba-boom! It has to make a Constitution save - at Disadvantage. “Because you’re made of stone. Like an idiot.” But it gets Advantage on saves versus magic, so that’s just a straight roll. 13. “Ha! You lose!” It takes 19 Thunder damage. Ahleqs cheers, then hides behind Tarragon.

It rushes at us - Tarragon looses her Thorn Whip but misses.

Carl uses his big stick that Tarragon gave him, but misses, almost hitting everyone else around him. He was excited. He doesn’t move, but holds the line.

Gideon is up. “Ed stop eating sausages!”

“… How did you know what I was doing.”

He Acid Splashes it. The Golem fails the save, even with Advantage, and takes 9 Acid Damage.

Like the hero he has proved himself to be, Ardvack does a cautious tactical repositioning to get away from the golem, does Shksdjlsdglsghjkhhbllhh, and then casts Eldritch Blast. It hits, and more stone crumbles off the golem.

Tarragon does Greater Shlgljksdkgjfhl;jjjhh, just to flex on Ardvack, and hits it for 11 Bludgeoning. She bares her teeth at the golem.

Melaina falls back a little, and shoots again. Matthew and Sophie suddenly seem unable to hear the rest of us, so there is a short recess while we sort that out. Their wifi has died. I decide, in my infinite wisdom, to restart my computer; of course, it decides to install something without even asking and so I am still waiting for it long after Matthew and Sophie return. I miss a bunch of stuff; some people do some damage, and the golem does a thing where it forces a Wisdom save - those that fail have their speed halved, and can do an action OR a bonus action on their turn, but not both. Joe makes an attack for me, which hits. Tarragon is pleased. And then I’m back!

The golem is looking ropey. Its light is still glowing, but bits are falling off it. It turns on Carl, even though Kessler has imposed Disadvantage on it if it attacks anyone but her. 14 still hits, as does 29, and he takes THIRTY NINE damage. Carl is now on zero, having had exactly 39 HP previously.

Matthew, sounding worried: “This changes things.”

Carl makes a real death save - and fails. "No! Carl!"

Gideon's turn - and Ed has snuck off again. Or fallen asleep. We skip him for now and move on to Ardvack. “I’ll save you Carl!” Then, to himself as he runs, “Not my precious Carl…” He casts Life Transference. (A lovely, sacred, holy Cleric spell.) He saves Carl, but instantly regrets walking closer to the golem.

Tarragon batters it for 16 damage - the light begins to flicker and sputter in its chest. Does she want to move? “Nope!” She could bonus action dive in the water with the Quippers if she wanted? “… No thank you.”

Melaina does a Scorching Ray - one of the three hits for 7 fire damage total. It’s looking ‘exceedingly ropey’ but is still up.

Kessler gets the how-de-do-dis with her Thunder Gauntlets - she runs up it and yells “Red means stop!” and punches it in the chest. It falls to the ground in a big pile of rubble. We solved Joe’s Golem puzzle!

Matthew, immediately: “Loot its corpse!”

Kessler is holding the gem from its chest; it is no longer glowing. Ardvack sets about the treasure chest. It is open, and there is gold inside. He clicks on the loot chest, and adds 100gp to the 3000cp he finds. (428 cp, and 14gp each.)

Kessler: “Anyone got a Transmute spell?” (That's a lot of coins.)

Ardvack shares out the treasure as equally as possible. Kessler finds herself overburdened. Melaina slyly: “I could carry your treasure for you.”

Kessler: “No thank you.”

Where to next? There was a rope bridge in the room with the brazier that led to an island with a dead giant spider on it; Joe zips us all there for expediency.

Melaina crosses the bridge to approach the ‘very very dead’ spider; it looks like its moving around. Not the legs, but as if there’s something moving under the skin…

A swarm of maggots burst out of the spider, taking her by surprise. They swarm up her legs and over her flesh.

Melaina, equally horrified and furious: “No! Get out of my orifices!”

(This is why Joe was so pleased earlier isn’t it.)

She now has two rot grubs burrowing under her skin. We’ve all heard of these, the subject of adventurer’s tales swapped in taverns. Melaina knows she has to burn them while they’re still just under her skin, or they will burrow to her heart and kill her.

Well shit.

We roll initiative…

Ardvack fails at Eldritch Blast, and the grubs become resistant to that type of damage (Force I think?) for 1d4 rounds. (4. Fuck.)

Ahleqs does a Burning Hands at them. They fail the save and take 6 fire damage. Several screech, and curl up and burn.

Melaina wants to cast Scorching Ray on herself - she can do that. She takes two fire damage, and the grubs die. She can spend the rest of her action to squeeze them back out of the holes they burrowed in through. Delightful.

Tarragon moves to the side and Thunderwaves the swarm - they fail the save and are pushed off the bridge into the water to be eaten by the Quippers. Yay! Everyone wins! We move forward, Melaina at the head.

DM suddenly: “Stop there, Melaina!”

Us immediately: “Oh no!”

She finds a door with a shape carved in it - the gem that Kessler took from the golem looks like it would fit in there. That is not relevant right now, however, as she has charged forward and tripped a trip wire. She fails her Dex save and a giant ballista bolt sticks her for 14 damage. Could have been a lot worse. She decides she’s not doing anything else, even when tempted with a treasure chest; she goes to sit in a corner and sulk.

The treasure chest is on a different island, reachable only via a broken bridge. Kessler suggests throwing the dead spider into the water to distract the Quippers while we jump across.

Do we want to take a short rest first? Yes. Tarragon makes up some Relaxing Bark, allowing everyone to regain a couple of Hit Dice which we roll, and take potions. Ardvack casts Life Transference on Carl again.

We are about to move on when the DM has us all roll a d20. Uh oh. Anyone who got ten or more can get five more HP back, as we burned incense in a temple. Yay!

Matthew, grumbling: “Oh as soon as we get a long rest, you can bet I’m going to be re-summoning Admiral Pancakes…”

Do we want to jump the bridge after the treasure? Is it worth it? Melaina wants to; the rest of us are dubious. How far can she jump with a run-up? Ten feet. She could jump it.

“Alright then, I’ll do it. Whoosh.” Kessler follows her.

Melaina checks for traps - an 8. She can’t see any! Sophie, OOC, resignedly: “Oh, right, okay.”

She checks the chest itself and finds a trap mechanism - some nozzles sticking out of the ground next to the chest. She makes a roll with her thieves tools, and by the skin of her teeth (13) disarms it. It would have been bad; one nozzle would have squirted her with flammable liquid and the other would have set her on fire. She finds a Brooch of Shielding! There is another item, a ring, which seems magical; Kessler takes eleven minutes and casts Identify as a ritual. It’s a ring of Swimming!

Melaina gives the brooch to Ahleqs, as he would almost certainly appreciate anything that would give him some extra protection. We decide to crack on, as it would take another hour for him to attune to it. Besides, the longer we’re down here the more this place sucks so we’re all eager to leave.

Kessler puts the gemstone into the hole in the door and it creaks open; we walk through. We enter some tunnels, which are very claustrophobic after the caverns. It’s very dark. We follow them until we come out into another large cavernous room.

We jump to another map…

There are more islands with about ten foot tall towers with glowing orbs at the top. More water, and a broken stone bridge. (Is anyone reminded of Beverly?)

The bad news is, this room has glowing orb lights, a broken bridge, and more islands. The good news is, it seems quiet enough that we could take a long rest.

Kessler does her Alarm spell, and Carl - not needing to sleep - takes all the watches. We all take turns to watch with him as “his Perception is for shit.”

Kessler takes first, Tarragon takes second, and Melaina third.

Carl and Kessler make Perception checks. A 3 and a 6; oh dear. Kessler thinks she hears water noises, but it could be just the water on the shore.

Then Tarragon and Carl. 13 for Tarragon and a 16 for Carl. We watch some bats flitting about in the light from the strange tower; nothing dangerous, however. Everyone but Tarragon now completes their long rest. She retires, and Melaina and Carl roll Perception.

Carl is on fire tonight; a 17. He makes an Intelligence check - a 9. That’s actually not bad. After about 3 hours he becomes agitated and tries to say something, but can’t. Melaina’s nostrils are assailed with a foul stench; she looks to the water to see something breaking the surface of it. Which means that whatever it is doesn’t get a surprise round…

Melaina and Carl roll initiative. Carl has used all his good rolls on Perceiving. But he’s ready for anything; he’s got his stick.

Whatever is crawling out of the water looks like a troll, but dripping with horrible ichorous black ooze and smelling like a busy harbour at low tide.

Matthew, OOC: “They smell like a bonfire of nappies. No - a burning zoo.”

Melaina hides behind some mushrooms; triggering Kessler’s Alarm spell as she leaves the area (because Kessler didn’t specify otherwise). We all wake, and can roll Initiative next round. Melaina takes aim with her longbow. 19 to hit with Sharpshooter, which does. She gets a nat 1 for her Sneak/Sharpshooter which is only a measly 25 total, plus her bow’s damage of 9 for 34. The thing lets out a howl, which would have woken us if the Alarm spell hadn’t.

It approaches us. It’s wearing a loincloth; small mercies.

Everyone but Ardvack and Melaina makes CON saves as the troll runs a filthy claw down its own forearm for a venom spray attack. Gideon and Tarragon take 18 poison damage and are poisoned. The others take half damage and are not poisoned. Now it does its multi-attack.

It has a bite at Tarragon but misses, then a claw at Kessler and misses. Then it claws at Gideon, and misses again. Ha!

Another one shambles up, but doesn’t attack yet. It’s Carl’s turn; he uses his zombie agility to run up to one of the trolls and give it a good old Slam - “Classic Slam - ” and uses his Zombie Grab to try and grapple it. They make contested STR checks - Carl wins even with a 14. The bad news is that part of the troll’s corpulence is ruptured, emitting a black foul ichor into the air - Tarragon and Kessler take more damage as it, however unintentionally, does an Acid Splash.

“… Thanks Carl.”

Melaina goes first. She goes to move but takes 15 Force damage from the towers. What??? Sophie OOC, to Matthew: “Honey, I’m being shot by the nasty tower.” She was just inside its range. She shoots one of the trolls. She hits, and causes another Acid Splash. Tarragon has just woken up from a Long Rest, and is now under half HP. Melaina does do 34 damage to the troll though.

Gideon, with advice from Matthew, casts Grease under the troll that Carl is *not* grappling. This seems a classic ‘Grease’ situation. It rolls a DEX save, and fails, falling prone.

Tarragon casts Lesser Restoration on herself, ending the Poisoned effect, Rages, and steps out of range of the Venom spray.

Ahleqs screams the incantation for Mage Armour, and steps back also. Kessler’s turn, and she will risk stepping back. One is restrained and the other prone, so no attack of Opportunity. She takes out her crossbow and shoots at the one grappled by Carl. 20 hits for 11 piercing damage. “And I will shoot that sucker again.” 17 also hits for 7 damage. She drinks one of her potions; wise.

Carl takes 18 poison from Kessler’s attacks on the troll, but he’s immune to poison. Carl has the Grappler feat, so even though the troll is a size larger than him it doesn’t get Advantage on the Strength check to free itself. They roll straight Strength checks - Carl rolls a ten, and the troll rolls a 6, even with a plus four modifier.

The prone one uses half its movement to stand up and moves forward, biting at Kessler - 26 to hit. It actually hits her! Even Shield won’t do it! She takes 6 piercing and 6 poison damage, and is poisoned until the start of the troll’s next turn.

It claws twice at Tarragon; “Bring it.”

24 hits, the ten doesn’t. Ten slashing (halved to 5) and 6 poison (not halved). She’s at 19HP now, and hasn't even attacked yet.

Ardvack wakes up to see the trolls attacking. “Ah. It must be Wednesday.” Matthew, OOC: “Im going to do… something… stupid. Or… brilliant.” Seeing the damage Tarragon and Kessler have taken, he heals Tarragon for 11HP. She blinks with surprise, and he backs up.

We call it there as it's getting late...

[tearsofthemis]

Tears of Themis : Chapter 2 “Unbearable Love“ Part 10

[Previous Chapter] | [Masterlist] | [Next Part]

▌Location- Hotel Room 1817

(PAX Group’s successor Lu JingHe was incidentally wrapped into a homicide case, the murder weapon being a box of chocolates Lu JingHe had gifted the victim. After my interrogation with Lu JingHe, I uncovered that before he left, the victim had consumed a piece of chocolate and was alright afterward. Therefore, I’m speculating that the chocolates were tampered with after Lu JingHe left the banquet, although Mo Yi expressed his reservations about my hypothesis.)

Mo Yi: “From what I’ve gathered thus far, your hypothesis may be correct, however not yet infallible.”

MC: “Why would you think that?”

Mo Yi: “There exist loopholes when comparing Lu JingHe’s testimony with the information provided by the detectives.”

~~~Analysis Start~~~

[Select: Shen Xi ate chocolate, Tetrodotoxin content]

(I skimmed over the lab results of the chocolates from the police and came across an important piece of data.)

MC: “Tetrodotoxin may incur a delayed onset period as long as three hours after ingestion.”

Mo Yi: “For most patients, symptoms of tetrodotoxin poisoning will appear around thirty minutes after ingestion, though there also exist people who do not experience symptoms until much later. The sample taken from the poisoned liquor chocolates determined that the amount and concentration of tetrodotoxin weren’t high. This may explain why Shen Xi experienced a delayed reaction after eating the chocolates and did not experience symptoms until after the banquet ended.”

MC: “Lu JingHe saw Shen Xi eat the chocolates about a quarter after 7 PM. If we assume she experienced symptoms three hours later, then… Shen Xi would have displayed visible symptoms around 10 PM.”

Mo Yi: “Do you remember the timeline that Yan Wei gave us? It must have happened approximately between 9 PM and 2 AM.”

MC: “So we still can’t eliminate the possibility that the chocolates Lu JingHe gave the victim were already tampered with.”

~~~Analysis End~~~

Mo Yi: “Besides the information about the incubation period, the report also mentions that not all the chocolates contained the toxin. Of the twelve chocolates in the box, excluding the two pieces that Shen Xi ate, seven out of the ten remaining chocolates tested positive.”

MC: “So let’s say the second piece Shen Xi ate contained the toxin, then there were a total of eight pieces of chocolate laced with tetrodotoxin?”

Mo Yi: “That’s right. The detectives found pin holes on all seven poisoned chocolates.”

MC: “That means the culprit used a syringe to add poison into the center of the chocolates.”

Mo Yi: “Mm, from the looks of it, there exist two possible points of doubt. What do you think?”

MC: “The first point is…”

[Select: Why did the culprit poison the chocolate]

MC: “Why would the murderer choose to poison the chocolates? There would’ve been plenty of finger foods at the banquet.”

Mo Yi: “Why do you think so?”

MC: “What’s your standpoint on this, Dr. Mo?”

Mo Yi: “I think the murderer’s choice to poison the chocolates makes sense. In a buffet-style venue, it is very unlikely that someone would go out of their way to consume something specific. For instance, if a server is carrying a tray of wine, your victim will have a choice between many glasses. Aside from this box of chocolates that was specifically gifted to Shen Xi herself, there was no other way to predict what she might eat yesterday night. Therefore, the box of chocolates is the best vessel to choose.”

MC: “I can’t disagree with that.”

[Select: Why the murderer chose not to poison all the chocolates]

MC: “Why didn’t the culprit poison all the chocolates? Four out of the twelve chocolates were left as is. By chance, Shen Xi could’ve had a one in three chance of surviving.”

Mo Yi: “If Shen Xi ended up sharing the chocolates with others, and she just so happened to consume one of the good chocolates, then the murderer’s plan would have gone up in flames. Even if the culprit was perverse and didn’t care if they would harm others in the process, they needed to guarantee that their target would be eliminated. Therefore, the fact that not all chocolates were poisoned is our first point of interest. The syringe used to administer poison is a point of interest too.”

MC: “If the goal was to poison the chocolates without leaving a noticeable mark, then a syringe would be used, right?”

Mo Yi: “But how would the culprit know that Lu JingHe would give Shen Xi chocolates?”

MC: “Ah, that’s right. Lu JingHe said he bought the chocolates on his way to the banquet. If it wasn’t planned previously, then the culprit wouldn’t have the time to prepare the toxin and the syringe.”

Mo Yi: “If it wasn’t premeditated, then what kind of person would have syringes on them at all times? One possibility is that the culprit has some kind of illness that requires self-administered medicine. The culprit would have already hatched a plot that required the use of a syringe, but upon seeing Lu JingHe gift the chocolates, they could have changed their plan on the fly to frame Lu JingHe.”

MC: “That’s so impressive, Dr. Mo! To be able to deduce all that from one syringe!”

Mo Yi: “Your praise is greatly exaggerated, this is only an occupational habit to look beyond one's actions in great detail. Regardless of the deductions, the culprit must have the chance to interact with the chocolates.”

MC: “So the person who helped Shen Xi keep the chocolates, her secretary Jiang MingYue, is very suspicious.”

(Just then, someone knocked on the door to Room 1817.)

Officer: “Dr. Mo, Jiang MingYue is ready for interrogation.”

(Jiang MingYue stood behind the officer, her head hung low. Her left hand clutched her right side, almost as if she was cold and shivering.)

Mo Yi: “Miss. Jiang, please have a seat over here.”

(Instead of gesturing to the sofa, he pulled a chair over from the writing table and even placed a throw pillow against the back of the chair. After our chat earlier, in my eyes, Jiang MingYue was a suspect. I scrutinized her as she took small steps into the room.)

MC: (Is she the real culprit?)

~~~Observation Begins~~~ 

[Observe her hand]

[Note: It’s an allergic reaction]

MC: (The red patch on the back of her hand and wrist… is that an allergic reaction? Is she allergic to alcohol? There must have been alcoholic beverages served last night at the banquet. Even the chocolates that Lu JingHe gave Shen Xi had liquor in them. What if she came into contact with alcohol after trying to tamper with the chocolates?)

(I took another glance at Jiang MingYue. The red patch on her hand was sizable.)

MC: (If the syringe accidentally brought her in contact with alcohol, the size of her skin reaction wouldn’t be this big. It’s also unlikely that she drank at the banquet unless she was unaware that she was allergic to alcohol. This is something worth questioning Jiang MingYue about.)

[Observe Her Coat]

[Note: She’s not well-off enough to change coats]

MC: (Venus Fashion is a clothing design company. Their boss's secretary must be required to dress impeccably too, right?)

(Jiang MingYue wore a dull business ensemble that was a little too big on her. The oversized clothing made her look even smaller, as if a strong gust of wind would knock her over.)

MC: (There’s no requirement that she has to wear branded clothing labels, but as a professional, shouldn’t she know not to pick clothes that don’t fit her? Unless she purchased this outfit a long time ago? If work gets busy and she isn’t eating or sleeping right, causing weight loss, perhaps she wouldn’t have time to buy new work outfits?)

[Observe Her Eyes] 

[Note: She’s scared]

MC: (When I first arrived at the hotel, I saw that Jiang MingYue was crying. Was she upset about Shen Xi’s death?)

(Suddenly, Jiang MingYue lifted her head and looked at me. Our eyes met, and Jiang MingYue hurriedly averted her gaze.)

MC: (Why would she avoid my gaze? Does she have a guilty conscience?)

(I thought back to the countless clients I had interacted with. More often than not, I notice this type of reaction.)

MC: (If not for a guilty conscience, then is it possible that she’s nervous and trying to hide something?)

[Finish Observing]

MC: (The allergic reaction and her work status are both important points to hit on during the interrogation. It may also be worth delving into whether her relationship with Shen Xi was bad or good.)

~~~Observation End~~~

(Jiang MingYue sat down on the office chair, hugged the throw pillow to her chest, and sighed after a long period of silence.)

Jiang MingYue: “You guys must be CEO Lu’s lawyers, right? Please just ask whatever you have to ask.“

MC: “Hello, Miss. Jiang, I am CEO Lu’s attorney, MC, and this is…”

(I was about to introduce Mo Yi as a psychologist, but…)

MC: (If Jiang MingYue knew that Dr. Mo was a psychologist, would she be more likely to hide the truth?)

MC: “This is the police department’s consultant, Dr. Mo.”

(After the introduction, my phone lit up. Mo Yi had sent me a text message.)

(“If you want to observe Jiang MingYue’s reaction and find the flaws in her story, I suggest you leave the questioning to me.”)

(I raised my head to look at Mo Yi just in time to see him tuck his phone into his pocket and hold his hand out to me.)

Mo Yi: “The person of interest files from the detectives, can I see those?”

MC: “Oh, okay.”

(I passed the dossier to Mo Yi, not knowing whether I should start questioning her right away or if I should wait until after Mo Yi finished reading over the documents. Mo Yi smiled warmly at me after noticing my hesitation.)

Mo Yi: “No need to wait for me, you may start the interrogation. Although, I will be interjecting during this process. For that, I apologize in advance.”

(Mo Yi nodded at us and elegantly gestured with his hand that we may start.)

MC: “Alright then, Miss Jiang, I’ll begin the interrogation.”

——-

[Previous Chapter] | [Masterlist] | [Next Part]

——-

《CREDIT》 Translator: humi Editor: @cL QC: @hallowsivy​ 《未定事件簿》Tears of Themis is a 2020 Chinese otome game by 米哈游Mihoyo. All original credits go to 米哈游Mihoyo.

《 VOICE ACTORS 》 Mo Yi | Jiang GuangTao: https://weibo.com/jiangguangtao Yan Wei: https://weibo.com/lengquanyeyue Jiang MingYue | V17 Vila: https://weibo.com/u/7360408881

[mariofallenstar]

Super Mario Bros.: Fallen Star AU (Part 4)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

What did Luigi feel in the face of his approaching execution?

A lot of jumbled-up things, most of them seemingly incompatible with each other.

See, Luigi had no intention of saving himself by giving up Peach’s location to Bowser.

After being captured for what seemed to be the final time, he looked over the course of his heroing career and saw nothing but failure.

He hadn’t been able to save the Mushroom Kingdom or Mario.

He’d rescued many Toads from Bowser’s tyranny, but there were so many more left behind.

And even the ones who had been saved were now living in exile.

Luigi, in some twisted way, saw himself dying to save Peach and Stella as a redemption,

A redemption it never occurred to him he didn’t need.

His silence was the one thing he still had left to him.

If he could keep his silence, his niece and her mother would be safe.

Well, he wanted to think like that,

But when he thought of his family, not just Stella and Peach but Daisy and his own children,

He nearly broke.

He didn’t want to leave them. He wanted to stay with them.

Each time he tried to reconcile himself to his “sacrifice,” their faces appeared in his head, and he railed against the deep unfairness of it all.

Little did he know,

His niece had no intention of letting her uncle die.

Stella emerged from the warp pipe hidden in an empty mine where Bowser’s forces wouldn’t think to look.

This was the first time she had set foot in the Mushroom Kingdom since she was sixteen, and the first time she had ever done so alone.

She was in awe as she traversed the country she still thought of as her birthright.

“This rock is mine. This tree is mine. That horizon is mine.”

Of course, that’s not how royalty or property works, and to some extent, Stella knew this,

But she was also young and mentally overwhelmed. 

She looked over the terrain the way a farmer would survey the untamed patch of wilderness they had just purchased,

Seeing both what was there and what would be underneath once every obstacle was cleared away. A sort of greedy double-vision.

But, of course, Stella had a job to do.

Luigi’s execution was in six days. She had to make her way to the site of the old castle and interrupt it somehow.

She didn’t really have a plan,

And the Mushroom Kingdom had become an unwelcoming place.

Everything about the country had changed, even its name.

It was called “New Bowser Kingdom” now. 

Much of the old cities had become industrialized, and new towns had sprung up surrounding ember-spewing weapon factories.

The sky was choked with pollution, and the air filled with the metallic clang of hammers.

Toads had been reduced to second-class citizens who toiled in dangerous and thankless jobs. 

And, while many were still secretly loyal to Princess Peach and dreamt of the day when she would return,

Others were consumed by bitterness, thinking that Peach had abandoned them.

Many of them had lost their last shred of hope in the wake of Luigi’s upcoming execution. 

Stella was deeply saddened as she moved through these sad, soot-filled cities.

These were her people. They needed her.

But she had no idea how to help them.

For the first time, she understood something of the full weight of what her mother and uncle were up against. 

Now, naturally, a human girl in the isolationist New Bowser Kingdom was bound to attract attention,

And if anyone discovered she was Princess Peach’s daughter, that could jeopardize her rescue mission.

But, Stella had a cover story.

She told any Toad to whom she showed her face that she was a reporter from the Metro Kingdom. 

She had come to see if living conditions in New Bowser Kingdom were truly as inhumane as the rumors claimed.

When people heard she was a reporter, they became eager to talk to her. 

They all seemed to have something they wanted her to say to the outside world.

Some felt it was important to communicate how bad living conditions really were.

They told Stella of overly long hours, low pay, strict rationing in winter, merciless fatigue in summer, how a coworker had fallen into a smelting vat and the smell had lingered for weeks.

Others had loved ones who had already escaped or that they had simply lost track of.

They urged Stella to send out inquiries and give names.

“It’s me, Todd. I’m still alive. I miss you.

“Publish that for me, will you? Maybe she’ll see it.”

Still others had messages they wished to convey to Princess Peach.

“Long live the princess!”

“This kingdom is still yours, Princess! It will always be yours!”

“We’re fighting for you, Princess Peach! We know you’ll come back one day!”

It was this last group that hit Stella the hardest.

She found her eyes welling up with tears as she heard those earnest words, pledges of loyalty to her mother.

The Toads were taken aback by her tears.

“It’s just very moving how much you care for your princess,” she managed to choke out.

The Toads came to see her as a living bottle, carrying all their messages. They wanted to protect their messages,

And so they tried to protect her.

Stella found people willing to hide her in their homes, people willing to share their food. 

Still, there were a few close calls.

Stella found herself unable to stand back and watch as an overworked Toad was disciplined by a Hammer Bro. for passing out in the street,

So she jumped in and fought the Hammer Bro. off.

She knew it was probably a mistake, but the testimonies of the Toads had left her so riled up, she felt she would explode if she didn’t do something.

She’d had to retreat before reinforcements appeared by crawling into the sewer.

It was there, sloshing through who-knows-what in the dark,

That she discovered her uncle had not been the only one fighting for the kingdom’s freedom.

As previously stated, Luigi had been very hush-hush about his rescue work in New Bowser Kingdom. There were many aspects that he had never told Stella about.

That included his allies.

Stella found herself confronted with a cluster of very dirty, very fierce looking Toads. 

They were the remains of the Toad Brigade.

No longer an exploration team, they now served as the major resistance organization in New Bowser Kingdom. 

In the intervening years, Captain Toad had changed from a wide-eyed idealist into someone much more jaded and cynical.

Stella, overjoyed at having found a real resistance, confided in him her real goal of rescuing Luigi.

Captain Toad told her she was out of her mind.

Luigi was already dead. They couldn’t count on Mario, and they can’t count on Luigi.

They had a hard enough time keeping their numbers up as it is. Risking the entire Toad Brigade to rescue Luigi was a foolish gamble.

They had already seen so many brave souls fall.

He didn’t even want to mention what had happened to Toadette.

Before Stella even had time to ask, “Who’s Toadette?” Captain Toad had already turned away.

“Forget him. Head home. Nobody asked you to meddle in our business.”

The Toad Brigade had been tracking Stella, but they didn’t know who she was, and they were not impressed by what they saw as her feeble efforts to be a hero. 

Stella had no choice but to play her final card.

She opened the backpack she had been carrying and pulled out a hat.

It was a plumber’s hat, much like her father’s and uncle’s. It was in pink with an “S” above the brim.

She put it on and told Captain Toad to look at her.

He did.

He huffed.

“That stupid cosplay isn’t going to change my mind.”

“It’s not cosplay,” said Stella.

“Look in my eyes.

“Don’t you know who I am?”

Captain Toad looked.

He blinked. 

He couldn’t look away.

Stella’s eyes looked exactly like Peach’s.

And that determined expression underneath that hat...

“Princess Peach...the hero you called Mario...

“They’re not strangers to me, either. 

“I already lost my dad. I don’t want to lose my uncle.

“I know you think we failed you, but I promise it will change.”

In spite of himself, Captain Toad was in tears.

“Has it really been that long?

“Is she really a mother now?”

“Please, help me!” said Stella.

But, Captain Toad shook his head.

“Go home. Go back to your mother.

“Do you think we want to lose you, too?”

But, Stella was tired of being protected, tired of being told it was enough just to live.

She had never felt more strongly that she had so much more to offer than her continued survival.

“If you don’t come with me to save Zio, I’m going alone.”

Looking at her blazing blue eyes, Captain Toad saw Mario.

He knew she was serious.

He agreed to help her.

The Toad Brigade bowed to their princess.

Luigi’s execution was in two days.