#she also told me shes stolen way more than she paid from this chain so it all evens out lmao

[queer-ecopunk]

Was chatting and joking around tonight with the lady in front of me at the supermarket as she rung up 3 carts of groceries. Ended up being $700 of stuff.

As she's paying she says something like, "I have never bought this much stuff. Usually I get like how much you have in your basket. How much do you think that is?" And I'm like, "idk, $40?"

And she's like, "I'll pay it." and hands me two twenties. Apparently she won the lottery.

[soramei]

Intentional - Part 2

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader (she/her)

Summary: Landing your first real job at JYPE was something short of a miracle. You were prepared to face the new struggles of this elusive career whilst moving to a new country, however, nothing could have prepared you for him. Will stolen glances, secret touches, and hushed nights spent in the recording room ever be enough for the both of you?

Genre: idol!bang chan au, forbidden relationship, coworkers to eventual lovers, slow burn

Warnings: none right now, eventual smut,

Word Count: 5.2k

Masterlist

A/N: o my god i did not expect so many people to have read the first part… even if only one person reads im still happy :D anyways heres the second part (i swear bang chan wont just be a side character later on hhahaha)

The insistent beeping of the alarm on your phone was what first woke you up from your dazed sleep. Your head still pounded from the night before, and frankly, you were ready to get fired for an extra five minutes of sleep. Tapping the ‘cancel’ button on your phone, you flipped over head down on your pillow to find the beautiful dreamland you were in. However, after just five more minutes, the triggering beeping of your backup alarm took you out of your slumber again, this time really waking you up. 

You trudge towards your bathroom, still dreading the day, on your way to take a shower. Thankfully, the steam from the warm shower combined with the fragrant smell of your conditioner slightly woke you up and dampened the aching in your head. 

Being drastically more awake than before, you made your way over to your kitchen to prepare breakfast. You opened the fridge, mind blank, just staring at the empty shelves. I seriously need to do some grocery shopping, you thought before grabbing an egg. 

You struggled to turn on the stove, not knowing which knob correlated to which burner. Turning a random one, you flinched when an excessive amount of fire appeared. However, after an embarrassingly long amount of time, you finally figured out the stove. Why are there still gas range stoves when electrical stoves exist? You wondered. 

You looked at the sad cooked egg in front of you. 

Was this really how you were going to live from now on? You cursed your whole family for spoiling you so much back home. Sure you were grateful for being able to live with your family for twenty three years, but the consequences of your mother making a fuss when you tried to cook for yourself was really showing now. 

You were about to dig into your lonely meal when your phone buzzed all of a sudden. Taking a quick peek at it, you saw Na-eun’s name flash up. You beamed with joy. Although you already worked up the nerve to be the first one to contact her, you were thankful she did first to break the tension. However, there was a small — microscopic even — part of you that wondered: what if that were Bang Chan?

You unlocked your phone. 

Na-eun: Hey! I know it’s kinda last minute, but do you wanna meet for breakfast?

Na-eun: There’s a café five minutes away from the building. 

Na-eun: ^-^

Smiling to yourself, you quickly typed a reply.

Y/n: Sure! My breakfast looks too sad to eat… 

Y/n: ^-^

In a flash, you stuffed your egg into a plastic tupperware container and put it in the empty fridge before booking it out your door, making sure to carefully enter the passcode to lock it before running to the staircase. You almost tripped over the stairs going down as you tried to sprint and text Na-eun at the same time. Checking the maps app on your phone, you told her how long it would take for you to arrive at the café. 

Na-eun: Do you mind if I bring my roommate? She keeps complaining about how boring it is at home haha.... 

Na-eun: She’s really nice though! ^^;

You happily agreed since you weren’t in the position to turn down another potential friend. Already two potential friends? You were so excited. 

There was a bounce in your steps as you made your way down to the subway. Scanning your card, you made your way to the big group of people on the platform and waited for your train. Taking the subway was so new, yet refreshing. There was something exciting about seeing a brand new set of people board the cart every stop, it was almost like refreshing your Instagram feed over and over again. 

After just a couple minutes more of waiting, your subway came. You naturally found your way in by shuffling along with the flock of people and found a good place to stand. 

You surveyed your cart. Some high school students, a few elderly, and many many businesspeople dressed in attire very similar to you. They all seemed to be busy on their cellular devices, so you quickly pulled yours out as well, eager to blend in. Your little Tamagotchi friend was happy to see you. 

The sound of the automated woman’s voice was what drew you out of your concentration, as she announced that the subway would be stopping at your destination next. When the subway stopped, the sea of people rushed out in a big tidal wave and you just went along with the flow. 

The map posted on a big pillar in the station was difficult to read at first, but after embarrassingly asking a station officer, you were confident you knew where you were going. The station was big with many interwoven hallways, each connecting to a different location. It had a couple shops and convenience stores located along the sides where students running late could buy some bread or tired businesspeople could inject their early morning dose of caffeine. 

You weaved your way through the long halls, confident that you could remember how you got out the right exit yesterday. Finally, after passing by many familiar stores and signs, you eventually made it above ground at the right exit. It was a cloudy September morning, the wind flew past you at just the right speed to elicit a slight shiver. You curse yourself for not bringing a jacket in your rush to the café. The streets were busy with cars zooming by, but it was nowhere near as congested as the subway traffic.

You started following your phone’s GPS to the marked location, and after a couple minutes, you spot the café. You immediately recognized it as a chain café as you’ve seen a few more of these scattered around the city as you got around. This one, however, appeared to be larger than the others (presumably because it was near so many big name companies) as it had three floors in total. 

You texted Na-eun, telling her you’ve arrived. She let you know that they were both in one of the booths on the second floor, so you decided to order before heading up. Walking over to the cashier, you scanned their massive menu, trying to find what you were looking for.

“One mango juice, please.” You politely ordered. “And also a slice of the red velvet cake.”  

After you had paid, you waited patiently, hands folded in front of you for your food. Because it wasn’t busy in the morning, it wasn’t that long until one of the baristas handed your food to you on a tiny plastic tray and you started making your way up. You reached the top floor and scanned your eyes around the room to find a familiar face. 

“Y/n!” Na-eun waved.

You waved back and made your way over. She was in the booth, and there was another girl sitting beside her. 

“Y/n, this is my roommate Yoojin.” She smiled at you and made a gesture towards the smaller girl sitting beside her. She was a fluffy haired girl. Her appearance was puppy-like, with her wide eyes and a large smile that was almost too big for her face. 

“Hi Yoojin.” You said as you sat down. 

“Hi Y/n! Na-eun told me about you yesterday. It seems like you have similar jobs.” She looked back at you with wide eyes. “But I think you got luckier because you actually get to interact with the idols.” 

“I think both of us are lucky to even be working there,” you chuckled, “plus, I don’t actually get to be working directly with the artists. I could only wish.” You joked. 

“Still extremely lucky, Na-eun told me she saw Bang Chan and Felix from Stray Kids at your building’s cafeteria yesterday.” Her hair bounced. “Finally, now I can say I’ve indirectly met famous people.” 

You and Na-eun both laughed. Although Yoojin looked the same age as you, there was something about the way she acted that just seemed so precious and innocent — like a little sister. How old was she anyway?

“Yoojin’s younger than me by a few years,” Na-eun said as if she read your thoughts, “She graduated university a year early. Top of her programming class. She knows everything about technology; one time, I stupidly forgot the passcode to my P.O. box and she cracked it for me in less than fifteen minutes.”

“Stop it.” Yoojin whined, looking down and playfully hitting Na-eun on the shoulder. “I told you before that I don’t like it when you talk about me. Let’s talk about Y/n instead. Na-eun told me you’re not from here, what do you do at JYPE then?” 

“I’m an assistant to help market some of the artists in China.” You leaned in a bit. “Actually, to be honest, I’m working on a secret project and Bang Chan from Stray Kids is technically part of the team.” 

Both Yoojin and Na-eun’s eyes widened. “No way, you’re so lucky.” Yoojin said. “Why can’t you have a job like that?” She poked at Na-eun.

“Get your own job first,” Na-eun smirked, “then we can talk about mine.”  

“Hey! I do have a job.” Yoojin clenched her jaw, looking at her plate and avoiding eye contact.

“I’m not sure if talking to people online all day counts as a job.” 

“Whatever.” Yoojin swirled her fork on her plate, stabbing at a piece of her cake. The scraping of metal on ceramic made all of you wince. 

“Anyways,” you started, trying to change the atmosphere, “did anybody watch the first episode of that new drama?” 

The two girls seemed to have a mood switch, looking relieved to start a new conversation. They gladly added their input and opinions on the new drama, talking about both the plot and the actors. Time passed by twice as fast as the three of you sat at the booth talking about the most random things. However, it was soon time to go to work for both you and Na-eun. 

“Hey, before you leave, could I get your number?” Yoojin asked. “We should hang out again sometime.”  

You gladly typed your contact into her phone, excited to hang out with Yoojin again. She was so full of energy, it reminded you of your university days. Not to mention that fluffy curly hair. It was so cute. 

You and Na-eun both made it out of the café and walked side-by-side over to your building before parting ways at the elevator corridor. It was a miracle that you managed to arrive at your cubicle in time, without getting lost. There was a pile of papers on your desk; they were the files you worked on yesterday. You remember that yesterday Manager Chen marked some improvements that could be made to the papers, but you checked your email just to be sure. 

Hello Y/n,

I put the documents from yesterday on your desk for some final edits. I’ve also added a few more. Could you finish them all by the end of the day?

Best, 

Manager Chen

You flipped through the stack of documents, and sure enough, there were about five more letters that needed to be worked on. Feeling determined, you gritted your teeth, got out your pen, and started to do your job. 

There were more corrections to make than what you expected, plus, you wanted to make sure your work was perfect this time. You skipped a trip to the cafeteria for lunch and ate something from the vending machine at your desk instead. You tried your best to work diligently, but because of your inexperience, it was taking longer than expected. You lost track of time as the hours passed by. 

“Your team is working hard today, Manager Chen.” A voice came from across the room. You looked up from your stack of documents to see Manager Kim walking over towards Manager Chen, who was standing casually outside her office doors. 

“What can I say, I keep them busy.” She replied. “Are you heading home now?” 

“Yes, and so should you.” Manaker Kim stopped at your cubicle, putting a hand on the wall. It was cat-like the way he looked at you. “Y/n, you’re working hard. Are you going home now? I’ll give you a ride.” 

You couldn’t head home now, not with the amount of work you still had with the new letters Manager Chen added to the pile. “Thank you for the offer, Manager Kim, but I’ll stay later today. I need to finish this work by today.” 

“Let her be, Manager Kim, you know how new employees are.” Manager Chen nagged and crossed her arms. “Come, I’ll walk you to the parking lot.” 

You bowed at both your managers and stretched your back before getting back to your work. The black lines of both languages started to blur into one as you strained your eyes to hold a tighter focus on the documents. It wasn’t until two more gruesome hours later when you finished your work. You did a long deserved stretch of the arms and checked the clock for the time, praying that it wasn’t too late. Thankfully, with the time being only eight, it wasn’t that dark out. You took a quick peek at your phone to check your notifications before leaving the office. 

There were only two texts sent fifteen minutes ago. Both from Bang Chan. 

Your chest tightened when you unlocked your phone. 

Bang Chan: Hey, I know it’s a bit late, but I have some ideas for the project and I was thinking we could meet up to discuss them

Bang Chan: Only if you want that is…

Your brain was in jumbles as you thought of what to text back. There were a couple staff that wrote you emails about their ideas for the project, but none of them asked to meet in person. And now, the first person who asked you to have a meeting in person was Bang Chan. Whom you rode back to your apartment drunk with. On your first day at work. And now you missed his work-related text by fifteen minutes. However, even though it was late, you still felt like you needed to take his ideas in. After all, like Manager Chen said, you know how new employees are. 

Y/n: Hi, sorry my reply is late… Are you still free? 

You anxiously stared at the blue-lit screen of your phone, jumping in and out of the text app waiting for a reply. After less than a minute, you saw the little dots at the bottom which indicated that he was typing. It disappeared for a moment, only to come back less than a second later. Your thumbs started unconsciously fiddling with one another in front of your phone screen as you waited for what felt like eternity. 

Bang Chan: It’s alright haha 

Bang Chan: There’s a cafe about 5 minutes from our building, wanna meet there? 

You immediately knew which café he was talking about as you conveniently hung out with Na-eun there this morning. You texted Bang Chan back, letting him know that you would be there as soon as possible. You grabbed your bag, along with your trusty pen and notebook,  before leaving your desk for the elevators. The elevator ride was unusually fast as it was already well past working hours for most people.  

Once you were out of the building, you made your way down the familiar sidewalk, passing by the familiar street shops as you felt the bite of the wind against your face. The sky was becoming dim as the sun made its descent, but the illumination coming from the streetlamps helped guide you there. After five minutes of a brisk walk, you saw the familiar sign of the café. You also saw a familiar person standing outside the door, dressed in all black, with his head down looking at his phone. 

You tried to make your footsteps slightly louder the closer you got to him in order to make your presence known. It seemed to have worked, as Bang Chan heard you and turned his head up. He immediately gave you a boyish grin, putting his phone in the pocket of his hoodie and pulling his face mask down to his chin. 

“Hey,” You waved awkwardly, “did I make you wait long?”

“Not at all.” Bang Chan said as he held open the door, “Let’s go in, it’s pretty chilly today.” 

You thanked him and walked inside. You both made your way to the cashier and looked up at the menu, deciding on what to buy. 

“I think I’ll get an iced americano.” Bang Chan said. “Are you getting anything?”

“Hmm. I might get the mango juice.” You decided and lined up behind Bang Chan, waiting for him to order first. 

Bang Chan walked up to the waiting barista. “Hello, I’ll get an iced americano please.” A second passed. “Also a mango juice.” 

Your eyes widened as you silently tried to stop him from buying your drink, feeling embarrassed that Bang Chan — who was essentially your coworker — was buying your drink. He didn’t seem to notice your quiet protests, as he pulled his card out of his wallet and quickly tapped it on the pin pad. After he was done paying, he turned around and tucked his card back in his wallet, giving you a smug grin. 

“I’ll pay you back later.” You insisted, embarrassed once again that he was doing something for you. 

“Of course, of course.” He casually replied and stood beside you with his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. “I’ll wait for our drinks. You can go find a table.” 

You nodded and left to find a table on the first floor. Surprisingly, there were more people there at night than when you were there in the morning. Some people had their textbooks out to study, some were quietly enjoying a book. Some were on dates. 

Finally, after weaving through many fully filled tables, you found an empty one near the table. You sat down, taking out your pen and notebook to prepare for Bang Chan’s ideas. Not long after, you saw Bang Chan walking around, turning his head left and right to look for you. You caught his eye as you waved at him to come over. He strolled over and put the tray of drinks down on the table, placing yours beside your notebook. 

“So,” You took a sip of your delicious mango juice, “do you wanna get started now?” 

“Sure.” His usually friendly face turned serious. It seemed like he took his work seriously. “So I was thinking, we need to film some content to start promoting our debut right? How about we film content for the Mid-Autumn Festival? It falls on the same day as Chuseok, so we can use this as a small promotion for our debut.” 

You nodded in agreement. Although this idea would be a little last minute to carry out, it was a great opportunity to promote their group in order to gain more popularity before their debut in China. “This is a great idea Bang Chan,” You hurriedly jotted down everything he said, “did you have more to add on?”  

“We could make several episodes of this content. I was thinking we could camp in the mountains and maybe cook some food, make mooncakes.” 

“All of this is really good, we have three weeks until the actual Mid-Autumn Festival. If I rush this idea to Manager Chen, we could have one week to plan it, and two weeks to film and produce it.” You beamed, glad that you could be involved in a potential big production. 

You and Bang Chan kept discussing his idea for content, and as time passed, your conversation turned more casual as it eventually evolved into topics unrelated to work.

“So, why are you having coffee this late anyway?” You tipped your chin towards his glass. 

“There’s this part of a song I’m working on that I just can’t get perfect,” Bang Chan noticeably clenched his jaw, “I wanna figure it out before I leave.” 

“Do you usually stay up late to work?” You asked. 

“I can’t sleep anyways, so I might as well work.” 

“Insomnia?” You questioned. He shrugged his shoulders and took a sip of his coffee. A few seconds of silence passed. “You know, my mom made me pack some of her special tea before leaving. She said it was for jet lag, which is weird because there’s only a time difference of an hour here.” You rambled. 

“Oh?” Bang Chan tipped his head. 

“I could give you some tomorrow.” You said. Your eyes wandered everywhere except to him. “If you want.” 

“Really, you’d do that?” His eyes widened as he stirred his coffee with his straw. 

It may have been your subconscious need to make friends, or just the fact that you mom gave you so much tea for your non-existent jet lag, but you gladly offered your mom’s solve-all remedy. “Of course, anything for a friend.” 

He blinked a couple times. He stopped stirring his coffee. “Thanks.” He looked at you with a slight grin. 

“Plus, this way I can pay you back.” You teased. 

“Okay, fair enough.” He chuckled. A dimple appeared on his cheek as his smile widened. “But seriously, you don’t need to worry about paying me back for anything next time.” 

Next time? You wondered. Of course he would have more ideas for his own group. You wanted to roll your eyes at yourself. It seemed like, despite his easy-going personality, that he cared a lot about not only his job, but the boys he worked with. His work ethic inspired you and made you want to work just as hard as he did. Except you definitely couldn’t stay up as late as he did. 

The two of you kept up the back and forth that was established, talking about whatever came to mind, with a few sprinklings of work-related conversations throughout. You talked about your first day impressions and how well you were adjusting to life in a new country, and he retaliated by sharing his own experiences of moving across the world. You were so enraptured by your riveting conversations that you easily lost track of time. It wasn’t until you had already spent minutes playing around with your straw in the empty glass that you finally remembered how late it was.

“It’s kinda late, I think I should get going now.” You said as you checked your phone for the time. 

“Are you taking the subway?” He asked as he started gathering the empty glasses. “It’s pretty dark now — I could walk you there.”

“It’s alright. I don’t wanna take time from your work” You said, gathering your notebook and pen. 

“It’s no problem, really, it’s just a five minute walk.” He stood up with the tray of empty glasses in one hand and pulled up his face mask with the other.

The two of you left the café and walked the short distance to the subway stairs.  There, you parted ways and you started your trek home. Taking the subway at night was vastly different from morning; the morning rush was filled with rows and rows of busy people, whereas the night train had a completely different feeling to it. There were actually available seats, to begin with. You found an empty seat and took out your phone to kill time. You checked your missed notifications.

Yoojin: Hi Y/n!! ^-~ Today was so fun, we should go again sometime! 

You smiled at the little text from Yoojin, visioning her wide smile stretch across her face. Texting a quick reply back, you were about to put your phone back down when another notification popped up. 

Unknown: Stay away from him. This is a warning.  

A flash of panic rushed through your body making your chest tighten. Your heart was coming out of your chest, the beating was so hard you could hear it even in the running subway. Completely fixated on the bright white of your phone, your eyes strained from the light. Adrenaline filled your blood, and in the spur of the moment, you quickly blocked the number and deleted the text chain. It had to just be a prank text, after all, you have gotten pranked through text multiple times before in your past. 

You put your phone down slowly, turning your head to survey your subway cart for any suspicious acting people. There was only a grandma with her cane and a few middle school girls comparing their new lip tints. Your thumbs naturally started fiddling with each other. Your eyebrows knit together as you clutched your bag tight to your body for the rest of the subway ride. 

The walk back to your apartment was done carefully. You chose the side of the sidewalk with more light as you kept your senses open, trying to remember the face of every person that walked past you. Although it was more likely than not that the text was just a prank, you were still somebody living alone with very few connections in a new country. Your legs quickened at the thought and you hurried your way back.

Arriving at your apartment door, you carefully entered your lock combination and slammed your door shut, double checking that it was locked. Your home was dark, with only the moon casting long shadows on your furniture. You quickly switched your light on. You tried to put this text to the back of your mind as you got ready to sleep, but it loomed, feeling like a shadow cast by the moon. The shadow in your mind stayed as you closed your eyes, waiting for your sleep to chase it away. 

The next morning, you woke up to the obnoxious beeping of your alarm. You sleepily sat up, getting ready to perform your familiar morning routine. Everything felt like routine, so monotonous that the text from last night was completely forgotten. You opened the fridge and ate your suspicious egg from yesterday morning. 

Before leaving, you suddenly remembered to bring your mom’s magical tea. You rummaged through the cupboards until you found the ridiculous packaging your mom insisted on using. 

The route to work was already starting to feel familiar as you mindlessly made your way from your quaint apartment all the way to the opulent blue building. You entered the office and sat at your desk, checking for new emails. After nothing of immediate importance came up, you got out your notebook and started to type up your notes from yesterday. 

You were in a trance. The repetitive task of reading and typing completely hypnotised you as hours passed by without you even noticing. What broke you out of your trance, however, was the voice of your boss. 

“Bang Chan.” Manager Chen called out. You looked up from your monitor and peeked up from your cubicle to see the familiar hair of a certain man you knew. Assuming he was here for a meeting with Manager Chen, you went back to your hypnotising work. The walls of your cubicle were too high for him to see you anyways — something about eliminating distractions to maximise work efficiency. 

You hit ‘enter’ on your keyboard to start a new paragraph when all of a sudden, you spotted an object appear on your desk from the corner of your eye. 

A bottle of mango juice. 

Quickly turning your head around, you were met with Bang Chan’s back. He was already making strides towards Manager Chen, but something about the sway of his broad shoulders and the way his right hand stretched open told you that it was him who gave you this little bottle of happiness. You unscrewed the lid and took a sip before getting back to work.  

Thankfully, the gift you received was enough sugar content to keep you working efficiently for the rest of the day. You had finished all your work and could hopefully pitch Manager Chen the idea by tomorrow. You found your mom’s tea in your bag while gathering your stuff, remembering your promise to Bang Chan. 

Y/n: Hey, I have my mom’s tea — I could give it to you right now?

There was a reply almost immediately. 

Bang Chan: Sure ^^ I’m in a practice room on floor X right now, I’ll wait by the elevators. 

You made your way over to the elevators and tapped your nails on the package of tea whilst silently waiting for an elevator to arrive. The silence, however, was promptly cut off as your phone started to ring. It was from Yoojin. She probably wants to hang out soon, you thought as you happily answered right away. 

“Y/n!” Yoojin yelled into the phone, she sounded worried. 

“Yoojin, is there something wrong?” You frowned, concerned for the girl. 

“I-I was in the parking lot near your building, a-and I fell down the stairs.” She sniffed. “I think I sprained my ankle or something — I can’t stand up. It hurts so much.” 

“Oh god, Yoojin, do you want me to come help?” You were in the elevator by now, already pressing the button for the main floor. 

“If you’re not far, I don’t want to trouble you.” You heard sounds of her wincing. 

“It’s no trouble Yoojin,” You exclaimed, “your ankle is much more important now. I’ll be right there.” 

“Thank you Y/n.” You heard her sniff again through the phone. 

You bolted out of the elevator as soon as it reached the main floor, stuffing your forgotten package in your bag. Ignoring the looks of confusion of the people you sprinted past, you located the parking lot building as soon as you left the main doors of the JYPE building. Your chest burned and your breaths were heavy. 

You were worried for Yoojin. She seemed like such a sweet girl that it pained you to even imagine her hurt in any sort of way. With her fluffy hair and wide eyes, it made you feel like you were helping an injured puppy. 

Your legs felt like concrete after a while of running, but you finally made it to the parking lot building. Entering the parking lot, you looked for any sign of a staircase where Yoojin said she fell on. There were none. 

“Excuse me, where are the stairs to this parking lot?” You asked the parking lot attendant, assuming it was just hidden somewhere. 

“There are no stairs here,” He said, “if you want to get to the second floor, there is an elevator over there.” He pointed to the other side of the lot. 

You thanked the man and ran to the elevator, hoping Yoojin wasn’t too hurt by now. You’ve experienced injuries like these before whilst playing sports back home, they hurt like hell. Your breathing was staggered by the time you reached the elevator, however, you didn’t give up and kept looking around trying to find the girl. There was nobody. You were about to call Yoojin again just to make sure you were in the correct place, but a voice interrupted you. 

“Y/n.” 

It was Manager Kim.

[rhysismydaddy]

Prisoner's Game Pt. 2 (Rowaelin)

Part 1

~Rowan~

Rowan didn't think he'd ever been so pissed off in his life.

The only time that even came close was when he lost his first and only court case, but over the years he'd come to live with that.

This though?

This immature, childish, irritatingly clever woman... he had a feeling he'd carry the rage he felt against her until the day he finally died of it.

Although, if he was honest, his returning move had been a little childish, too.

He'd ordered one of the guards to strip her cell of everything except the chess set. Her mattress, the makeshift knife he shuddered to think she'd had in the same room as him, her pillow.

If she wanted to steal his shit, he'd steal hers, too.

He'd also had the guard move one of his pawns forward on the board.

Not the most creative, but he didn't have many options.

What did you take from a woman who had nothing? How did you punish someone who was already serving the longest punishment available?

The bank had seized her assets when she'd been locked up, and the lease on her apartment had long since run out. She didn't have any personal items with her, didn't seem to even care about anything besides making his life hell.

Case in point, when he got home that night, exhausted from dealing with Aelin and spending a long day at the office, he'd discovered her retaliation.

She'd stolen his bed.

The whole goddamn thing, frame and all.

How she'd managed to get it out of a penthouse condo with security not realizing a thing, he had no idea. He knew from experience it wouldn't even fit through the door.

It'd seemed if she was going to be uncomfortable, so was he.

Steaming with anger, he'd showered and flopped on the couch like an idiot, not even able to sleep thanks to the rage she'd worked him into.

She was completely kicking his ass. From the inside of a jail cell.

He hadn't gotten more than a few hours of sleep before giving up on even trying. At six, he'd dressed and driven to Whitehorn and Salvaterre, the law firm he was a partner at.

If he couldn't sleep, he'd at least figure out how the hell she was pulling this shit off.

Looking through her folder, he went through her daily schedule, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

Eight am wake-up, breakfast, shower, lunch, yard time, dinner, lights out at nine. Between activities, she worked out in her cell or read a book from the run-down prison library.

In the eight years she'd been in prison, she hadn't had a single visitor. Her cousin Aedion--a playboy Rowan couldn't be paid to associate with--delivered a care package on the first of every month.

Strange, considering nothing of the sort had been in her cell.

She'd been in solitary confinement ever since randomly attacking her cellmate a little over a month ago. She was still allowed yard time and meals with the other prisoners, but she was chained at all times.

Also strange, considering Aelin wasn't the type to do anything randomly.

Rowan watched the security tapes he'd strong armed the guards into giving him, going through the past few days to see how she'd gotten out of her cell to rob him.

He watched as she was escorted to the yard, watched as she ate breakfast and lunch and dinner alone, watched as she put herself through vigorous training in her cell.

Days of footage, and he didn't find anything.

Feeling like a bit of a creep, he watched the nighttime footage of her sleeping, but there was nothing out of the ordinary.

She didn't move too much or too little--both of which would indicate it wasn't really her under that thin blanket. There were no attempts to pick the locks in between her wrists and ankles, no digging into the wall behind her toilet.

Nothing.

Which meant someone was helping her.

He could go through the official channels and ask the police for her known connections, but he hadn't reported either of the robberies yet.

Partly because he wanted to deal with her himself, partly because he felt a bit stupid getting robbed from a woman in the most secure prison in the city.

Which means he'd have to go about it a different way.

Grabbing his keys from his desk, he debated how else he could make her miserable, unfortunately finding nothing else he could do to her, no revenge he could get from robbing her tiny little cell.

No, he'd have to try something new.

Maybe he could bribe her into confessing. She didn't have anything right now, but maybe he could give her something to lose.

He'd bring her lunch, force himself to apologize for yelling at her, and just politely ask who her accomplice was.

He thought on it as he rode down the elevator to the garage. It probably wouldn't work, but he didn't know what else to do.

And besides, he knew from experience Aelin didn't respond well to his anger.

Checking his email to make sure he wasn't missing any important meetings, he pressed the button on his car fob, expecting to hear the resounding beep from his designated parking spot.

Except the beep never came.

Slowly looking up, Rowan had to amend his earlier statement.

Now he didn't think he'd ever been so pissed off in his life.

He stormed over to the security booth, hardly refraining from grabbing the man inside and throwing him to the ground.

"Where's my car, Rolland?"

"In your spot, boss," the stout little man replied instantly and surely, snapping his gum and looking at him in confusion. "Haven't seen you drive out yet."

"Yes, exactly. Which is why it's a mystery why it's no longer in it's spot."

Rolland caught up slowly. "You mean... it was stolen? From here? From you?"

Jaw so tight his molars were practically fused together, Rowan growled, "Just let me see the security tapes from this morning."

The guard nodded quickly, eyes nervous as he typed something into the desktop in front of him.

"That's weird," he muttered a moment later, typing faster and sending Rowan a nervous glance.

"What?" he asked, trying to calm himself down with a few of the breathing techniques he'd learned over the years.

"The tapes are gone, but there's... this."

Rolland turned the screen so Rowan could see it, and all the breathing in the world couldn't keep him from slamming a fist into the side of the security shack.

The footage was gone, and on the blank black screen read: Bishop to J7.

He was going to fucking kill her.

~Aelin~

"Enjoy your taxi ride here?" she asked sweetly, leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs.

Rowan scowled at her as he crossed the small room inmates could use to talk to their lawyers. He yanked the chair across from her out, then threw himself into it. "You are such a pain in my ass."

She just shrugged.

He sat across from her, angry and broody, and for a long time, he just stared at her.

Finally he asked, "Why are you doing this, Aelin?"

"I told you. You locked me up for something I didn't do. I want you to be as miserable as I am. It's simple, petty revenge."

Nothing about it was simple, but that was besides the point.

He was quiet for another moment. "Why now?"

She sighed, but she wasn't upset. Truthfully, she'd been waiting for him to ask that question.

"I want to tell you a story."

He stood up suddenly, face exasperated. "I'm not fucking joking around. And I'm not going to let you waste any more of my time."

He made his way to the door, and his dismissal of her pissed her off enough to say, "Sit down, or your car's going off Whigsby Bridge."

He smiled like he'd won their little game. "So you admit you have it."

"Sure," she said casually, honestly not giving a shit about the car.

His brow furrowed. "You're giving up? Just like that?"

"You're a fucking idiot if you think this is about your car, Rowan. But sure, I admit I know exactly where it, and your bed, and your little dagger are being hidden."

He narrowed his eyes. "This conversation is being recorded, and you just admitted to being an accessory to robbery, so-"

"You aren't going to press charges," she cut him off, pulling a cigarette out of her pocket and lighting it.

Nasty little prison habit she'd developed, smoking.

Or maybe she just did it because she knew he hated the smell.

"Oh, really?" he asked incredulously, eyeing the cigarette with disdain.

She grinned. "Once you sit and hear my story and realize I'm telling the truth, you're going to feel so guilty you won't even care about the car. Now sit down. I'd hate to see a classic get totaled because you're being stubborn again."

He glared at her, but came back to the table and sat down again.

Then reached over and snatched the cigarette from her lips, putting it out against the steel table top.

She just pulled out another, lighting it with one of her last matches. The irritation on his face made it worth the loss.

He waved a hand as if to say Get on with it.

She'd debated how to tell him this story for a long time. It was long, and messy and not particularly pleasant for her. But she wanted him to know the full thing, so she'd decided to start at the very beginning.

"My parents died when I was four," she began, ignoring his dramatic sigh. "I went into foster care, and as you can imagine, I was a particularly unruly child."

She smiled at the few memories she had. "I stole from the nuns, snuck out of my room at night and ran through the house, set all the clocks back an hour so we could sleep in. Small stuff. But it irritated them, because they couldn't prove it was me."

"Sounds familiar," he grouched, making her grin.

"I was adopted by Arobynn Hamel a year later."

As she'd predicted, his mouth fell open at that.

Arobynn was the known king of the underworld in Rifthold. He had a hand in every aspect of crime, yet no one could do anything about it because he never committed the crime himself.

His name was revered, so much so no one ever dared to cross him.

"But your record says-"

"That I stayed in foster care until I turned eighteen, I know."

Arobynn hated public records and had a deal with someone in the system that he'd take some of the kids off their hands if they kept quiet about it. Illegal as hell, but he wasn't someone you refused without suffering serious consequences.

It was the perfect crime. No one would miss unwanted kids, and it gave the system one less mouth to feed.

"I didn't know it, but he'd been watching me for a while. He... I don't know, saw something in me. Natural, innocent talent he could work with and turn into something different. He adopted me on my fifth birthday. And then he started training me."

"To do what?" Rowan asked, shoulders tensing.

"Everything," she answered with a shaky laugh, taking a long drag from her cigarette. "Stuff I wanted to learn, like how to pick a lock or walk without making sound. But as I got older, he taught me other stuff. Stuff I didn't want to know."

"How to kill," he finished, picking up on her tone.

She nodded, finishing her cigarette and flicking the butt on the floor.

"I was good," she told him quietly, looking down at the table. "By the time I was fifteen, he said I was the best he'd ever had. None of his other... children could beat me in a fight, not even the older ones who had a hundred pounds on me. And I could steal anything and not leave a trace."

His eyes didn't show an ounce of doubt, and she didn't know how to feel about it. But she kept going anyway.

"I was his favorite. I was his best asset, and I didn't care about anything that would compromise me. I lost my parents, and despite how much he wanted me to, I never loved him. I had no weaknesses. Except Sam."

"Another of his students?" Rowan asked, and it wasn't lost on her he said students instead of children.

She nodded. "We were adopted around the same time, grew up together. He was a year older, and whenever I had a problem, he was the one I'd turn to. He was good to me, and by the time I was seventeen, not a small part of me loved him."

Aelin broke off and took a deep breath, wishing she had another cigarette and trying to figure out how to put into words how much he'd meant to her.

"Was?" Rowan asked, so softly and quietly and understandingly that she was reminded of the man he'd once been, the one she'd loved.

Shaking her head to clear it, she said, "He made a mistake. He went on a job; he was supposed to break into one of the underground casino's owned by Arobynn's competitor and memorize the ledger, but he got caught. It was messy and horrible and stupid, and the owner wanted blood. Arobynn promised he'd kill Sam as retribution."

Rowan's eyes widened, almost like he hadn't realized how brutally she'd been raised until that moment.

"I begged him not to. Sam had saved me and helped me so many times that I couldn't not do the same for him. I told him I'd do anything."

She studied her hands, regret and guilt thick on her skin. "Arobynn said if I took ten of the jobs Sam was supposed to do, he wouldn't kill him. I thought they'd be similar to the one he'd messed up on, small break-ins or robberies. So I accepted."

A tear rolled down her cheek, and she batted it away as she continued, "The second I shook his hand, Tern--another of Arobynn's--shot Sam in the head."

Rowan's face blanched so quickly, she thought he might pass out.

He started to say something, but she spoke faster. "I... snapped. I killed Tern, tried to kill Arobynn. You called me a murderer, and that's true. I am, and I don't regret it. Tern was a sadistic bastard, and I'm glad he's dead. And one day, I'll kill Arobynn for what he did."

Rowan shook his head, confusion and shock and something similar to pity in his eyes. "Why didn't you leave, run away?"

She leveled a look at him. "I didn't exactly have a choice, Rowan. My punishment for Tern lasted for over a year."

There was a long pause.

"Punishment?" he asked in a breathless voice that made something in her chest hurt.

She looked at the table again, skin pebbling at the memory of that year. "He locked me in a cell in the basement, in the dark. Once a month he'd come in to ask if I knew someone named Sam. It took me ten months to get confused, another three to say no."

Still not meeting his eyes, she looked at his hands, noticing they were clenched so tightly the knuckles were white. And a part of her, buried under all the rage and resentment and sadness, warmed at the thought that he was... he was angry for her.

"It took me a long time after to figure out what was real and what wasn't. But Arobynn never let me forget our deal. And right before I met you, he told me the first job."

"What were the jobs?"

Aelin looked back up at that, the air thick between them as she said, "You already know."

"The murders."

She nodded, somehow managing to keep her spine straight despite the feeling of a hundred pound weight being lifted from her shoulders.

He at least knows why now, she thought to herself.

It was one of the things that had bothered her over the years. That he didn't know why she'd done what he thought she'd done. That he thought she'd.. wanted to do it.

He was silent for a long time, just watching her with a carefully emotionless face. "Thank you for telling me that," he said eventually. "I never could understand why."

Then he stood and walked to the door again, and it was only when his hand was on the handle she spoke again. "You asked why I'm doing this, and why I'm doing it now."

He opened the door but paused. Waited.

"It's because I tried to tell you this all those years ago, and you didn't care. You just assumed I was guilty because the evidence looked like it."

She spoke around the lump in her throat. "I told you I didn't kill those people, Rowan, and you didn't even care."

He spun around, slamming the door so hard it rattled, and in a split second, he was in front of her. A hand on the table, the other on her chair, he leaned down and got in her face.

He was so angry, so unbelievably enraged she couldn't believe it. He was angry?

"I didn't care? I didn't fucking care, that's what you think? Watching you get dragged away in cuffs was the worst moment of my life, and you think I didn't fucking care?"

Shock hit her like a bucket of ice water.

That moment was crystal clear in her mind, and she couldn't put what he was saying with what she knew.

He'd watched her with that same expressionless face, with cold eyes that had haunted her ever since.

She opened her mouth to say something, but he wasn't done.

"I fucked loved you! I thought you were the love of my life, Aelin. I begged you to tell me something that would help, tell me anything. But you didn't! You just kept saying you were innocent; you didn't give me anything to actually work with."

"I-"

"I found that stupid fucking list five days before I reported it, did you know that?"

She shook her head, because she hadn't.

"Exactly. You don't know what the hell you're talking about," he growled, eyes flashing. "I spent five days investigating it myself, trying to make sense of why you'd know those names. After your arrest, I spent two weeks trying to find anything, a single piece of evidence, that said it wasn't you. And after the trial, I spent another two months trying to poke holes in my own goddamn case."

He slammed a hand into the table. "I did everything I fucking could! I was desperate for it not to be you. I argued my case so your lawyer could plead circumstantial evidence. I put you on the stand so you could say anything you wanted. I went for life sentences instead of the death penalty to give you time to actually tell me what the hell was going on!"

She was breathing heavily, heart breaking and reforming over and over again at what he was saying, what he was implying.

"I didn't assume shit," he said in a low voice, so close they shared air. "You didn't tell me anything."

Aelin's voice trembled as she croaked, "I tried."

He shook his head, letting out a breath of amusement. "No, you didn't. If this past week has proven anything, it's that you don't try to do anything, you do it. You didn't tell me anything, Aelin. You're still not telling me anything."

"I'm telling you to look again! I'm telling you you didn't look hard enough, because I left breadcrumbs only you could find, breadcrumbs that explain everything."

"Stop playing games with me!" he shouted, eyes flashing with a fresh wave of anger. "It's been eight years! Stop holding onto whatever secret you're holding onto and just tell me!"

Gods, she wanted to.

He was the one person she couldn't trust with this secret, this stupid, most important secret, and yet he was the also the one person she wanted to tell it to.

She opened her mouth to tell him, but what came out was, "I didn't kill them, Rowan. I promise I didn't kill them. I can't... I can't tell you anything else."

"Jesus, Aelin," he spat, pushing off the table and turning to leave.

"Just look into it," she called after him, fingers digging into the table to resist the urge to try and follow him. "I promise you can figure everything out, and you'll understand everything. Please."

She knew why, after all this time, it was so important for him to know the truth when that hadn't been her original plan.

It was because she'd spent eight years believing he hadn't tried, believing she hadn't been a good enough person for him to even look into the possibility it wasn't her.

And maybe it was because he was once again leaving her, or maybe it was because she felt like she was in that courtroom again, begging him to believe her, or maybe it was because of something she didn't even understand yet.

Regardless of the reason, she found herself saying, "I loved you, too, you know."

He looked at her with sad eyes that she was sure mirrored her own and shook his head. "Not enough, apparently."

"You don't believe that," she argued, shaking her head and trying to keep the building emotions down.

"If you'd loved me, you would've told me. You would've given me the proof, whatever breadcrumbs you're talking about. You wouldn't have let me watch them take you away."

"Rowan-"

"You wouldn't have thought, for a second, that I didn't try to fight for you. And you sure as hell wouldn't have waited eight years to do whatever it is you're trying to do."

"I had to," she whispered, even as she knew it wouldn't be enough.

She shook with the effort to not tell him everything, but even after all he'd told her and how everything had changed, she just couldn't. Not yet.

He stood at the door, watching her with those eyes she'd once thought looked like the most beautiful emeralds. "Sometimes I think about it, you know. What life would be like if I hadn't tried to fix your sink in the middle of the night."

She smiled sadly. "Me too."

Rowan shook his head, gaze taking in her face like he thought he'd never see her again.

He thought it was over now, she realized. He thought that now she knew he hadn't given up on her immediately, now that she'd told him the story she'd wanted to tell him, that it was over and she'd give up.

"Look again," she whispered. "You know I didn't do it. It's why you're here, why you kept looking after the trial ended. You know I wouldn't."

"Goodbye, Aelin," he said instead, not telling her any of the things she really wanted to hear.

It wasn't until the door shut behind him she finally let herself cry.

She'd told herself that it didn't matter; that in a month the truth would come out and everything would be normal again.

She'd told herself she was only messing with Rowan for revenge, not because she wanted to see him again or test that he'd find the clues she'd left for him.

She'd told herself this was just a game.

She'd told herself all sorts of things that turned out to be lies.

~~~

Part 3

@audreycressworth @whimsicallyreading @onceupona-chaos @lil-unoriginal-weirdo-273sole @surielandiareendgame @captain-swan-is-endgame @poisonous00 @vasudharaghavan @sailorsassley @endlessdaydream @swankii-art-teacher @beanco8 @stokingthemidnightflame @mis-lil-red @ladyfireheart-and-buzzard @sheharahu @perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @live-the-fangirl-life @ireallyshouldsleeprn @highqueenofelfhame @gracie-rosee @rowaelinismyotp @nahthanks @ghostlyrose2 @lovemollywho @inardour @tillyrubes10 @claralady @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @thegoddessofyou @awesomelena555 @booksofthemoon @greerlunna @jlinez @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace

[strawberrylemonz]

January 20, 2021 - DSMP

Here is my review of what happened on today’s stream! Keep in mind that I was only watching Tommy’s POV, but will be analyzing any other viewpoints that I come across (Mainly Tubbo’s)

I’m going to be honest with everyone, I was unsure as to whether not any of our boys would make it out alive. I went into the stream preparing the worst.

Tommy and Tubbo talking each other up, preparing to leave made me feel all kinds of thing. Like I stated earlier, I was prepared for the two to end their adventure today. I vibed with them when they walked down the prime path, and froze up when I saw the first person in line. I’m not ashamed to say that I nearly sobbed when I saw everyone line up to say their goodbyes to the boys (I’m sensitive, shut up). 

The way Sam kept giving them stuff??? Loved that

The way Tommy and Quackity’s voices quivered when they spoke to each other? Punch to the heart?

Tommy telling Eret that she was always the true king??? YES!!! POP OFF!!!

The entire trip to where Dream was both made me happy and broke my heart. Here, we saw these boys, children forced to grow up quickly to be used by those they trusted, do their best to be kids for a moment. They were kids for, what they believed, could be the last time. They had their serious moments where Tommy kept reminding Tubbo that it was okay to not feel okay about the situation. Where Tommy didn’t want Tubbo to hide his inner thoughts from him just to try and make him feel better. The moment that they watched the sun together made me all sentimental and shit. Tommy preparing to die and have Tubbo leave and tell his story broke me. 

“Why did you tell me to bring Tubbo?”

“Because, it’s always been you and Tubbo against me, remember? Ever since the beginning, Tommy and Tubbo against Dream” (paraphrasing)

I actually got hyped up when Tommy got the disc. It reminded me of Tommy’s clutch the time he dropped the disc down to Tubbo and knocked Dream off the tower using only planks. I had let my hope for them grow. And then I had my heart broken.

Dream using Tubbo against Tommy was something that I expected would happen, but I still wasn’t prepared for it to actually happen. I don’t think I’ll easily forget about how Tommy gave up the disc to Dream, even when Tubbo begged for Tommy to keep the disc and go. My heart nearly dropped to my stomach when I saw Dream break that first dirt block. It dropped when he told the boys to put their armor in the hole. 

I have to admit, I was kinda confused that the homeless man had an evil lair and not a home, but pop off I guess??? The elevator was pretty cool, ngl

When I saw the two discs on the floor, I thought, “Bitch, you better be polishing this fucking floor every 30 minutes. Disrespect Nicki Minaj? What?” My second thought was, “why tf did you make two giant ass shrines for these discs??? Didn’t even center them, wtf dude.”

When Dream was monologuing and showing off the stolen goods and pets (and Skeppy) he stole from everyone, I knew he was on something. Him calling Tommy the key confirmed that Dream was overthinking everything and seeing things in places they didn’t belong. Did Tommy initially bring these bonds? Bring all the things Dream said he did? Yeah, I’ll admit it, he did. But it was the people in the server that kept that going, kept it alive. If not Tommy, someone else would have started that chain. The way Tommy look horrified and uttered with a horrific tone, “how do you not hurt?” when Dream mentioned how he cut off all his attachments was hnnnnnnnn

Tubbo actively trying to protect Tommy from going to prison while Tommy was actively trying to protect Tubbo from permanently dying was-

Man

Man, that broke my heart.

“You wanna be the hero of this server? Every hero has an origin story. Batman had his parents, Spider-Man had Uncle Ben. You have Tubbo.”

The look of complete horror/terror that came across Tommy’s face the instant those words were spoken. He genuinely looked scared. He kept trying to defend Tubbo, despite Dream repeating how defenseless Tommy was against him. Dream telling the boys to say their good byes hurt me in more ways that I can describe. Tommy was panicking, actively trying to come up with ways to get Tubbo out of there, no matter the cost or price that he had to pay. Tubbo telling him that it was okay, everything would be okay, he would be okay. The way Tommy was desperate to hold onto his best friend, his Tubbo, whilst saying, “You can’t be okay with this! Why are you okay with this?”

My heart nearly stopped for a second the moment Tubbo said “goodbye, Tommy”

My mind flashed back to Tubbo saying those exact words whilst exiling Tommy, his best friend, for the sake of everyone being safe. Now, here he was again, saying those exact words to the exact same person. The only difference? He wasn’t sacrificing his best friend for the sake of everyone and Dream. No, he was sacrificing himself for the sake of his best friend, his only true friend, Tommy. 

“Get away from them”

“Punz?”

“I’m sorry Dream, but you should have paid me more.”

Literal chills. I cannot. It’s the “On your left” of the DSMP. The way everyone came through the portal to line up against this tyrant that manipulated them all. The way I imagined everyone coming through to see this decked out dude with a god complex about to murder a bloody and bruised child, said child’s best friend (also bloody and bruised) was watching, begging to have his friend spared. Imagining how they saw the tear streaks down the boys’ messed up faces as they accepted their fates. As they saw their fear turn to hope as Tommy got Tubbo behind them for safety. How Tommy entrusted them to keep Tubbo safe. How they all came, decked out, to defend these two children. 

How Quackity came in nothing but his yeezys because he just fucking knew that Dream wouldn’t put up a fight. The way Dream was so confident that he had power over everyone because he rid himself of his bonds towards objects and friends, only for that to be his downfall. The way Sapnap, Dream’s old friend, his buddy, was the one to give Tommy the pickaxe. The way Puffy was there to protect the two boys she renounced his duckling title for (and the nation).

The way Tommy dug a hole, without any protection or weapons, and had Dream throw his stuff in. The way he didn’t blow any of Dreams shit up, like he had happen to himself, and, instead, used Dream’s things to protect Tubbo and everyone else. The way Tommy took away Dream’s first two lives, paralleling the times Dream took Tommy’s two lives. The way Tommy boxed him in, like Tubbo was at the festival, and the way Tubbo held a bow to Dream. The way Tommy screamed at Dream to tell everyone what he had done. How Dream was the one to blow up the community house. How Dream tormented the poor boy in exile. The way Tommy didn’t spare him because he liked him, or wanted to play mind games with him. No, Tommy spared him because he had a chance to get his brother back, his family. 

“Let’s make Wilbur proud. SUCK IT GREEN BOY!!!!”

“SUCK IT GREEN BOY!!!!”

The way the boys sincerely thanked everyone for showing up, fully knowing that they didn’t have to do shit. The way that Tommy said to go to Tubbo’s vc, obviously warming Tubbo’s heart. The way they made it to bench, and finally had a chance to breathe. How they could sit their, listen to their discs, and be kids again. No wars, no going against Dream, nothing. They could just be Tommy and Tubbo, like it’s always been since the beginning. 

Then Wilbur fishfucking Soot had to crash the moment like the older brother he was, lmaooooo. 

“You didn’t die”

“Ghostbur?”

“I’m not Ghostbur.”

I sucked in a breath, not knowing how the interaction was going to go. Was Wilbur still in the mindset he was whilst blowing up the nation he and his younger brother created? Was he in a mindset before that? Was he sane? 

I must admit, their bickering match, along with Tubbo’s dancing, made me realize how much I missed their dynamic. I realized how much I missed Wilbur being in the picture. (Tommy whispering to Tubbo how he liked Ghostbur was hilarious)

Wilbur complaining about being stuck with Schlatt in the afterlife was hilarious. Wilbur admitting that he was preparing, waiting, for Tommy, his younger brother, to join him in the afterlife had me gripping my plushies. Wilbur telling Tommy that he’s proud of him put a sledgehammer into my fragile dam. 

“I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you soon.”

THEY. ARE. BROTHERS!!!!

It was just so refreshing to see these two get the happy ending they deserved in this arc. The pain and suffering these two children went through at the expense of others, how they were forced to grow up quickly because of their situations, all of that was finally pushed towards the path of recovery. And although they’ve been through hell and back, it’s still them. Although the future will be hard for them, throwing more trials and difficult choices, they know that they’ll make it out, because that how it’s always been. And if their strengthen bond after today can tell them anything, it’s that it’ll always be like that.

It’s always been Tommy and Tubbo.

What I want/what I predict

FOR GEORGE TO BE AWAKE FOR FIVE FUCKING SECONDS

Everyone complimenting Niki on her new fit better fucking happen, I will manifest it

Dream will use his favor from Techno to break out of prison

Connor playing a bigger role in the SMP

Foolish revealing that they don’t need Dream alive (hopefully)

Ghostbur to say a proper goodbye before Wilbur is revived

GLATT

GLATTBUR

SBI reunion with every alive for more than five fucking minutes

Wilbur ignoring his dad Phil and zooming over to little brother Tommy so that he can hug him and tell him that he’s safe now and that he’s so proud of him

THERAPY ARC!!!! FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYONE LOVELY, PLEASE

JUST GET EVERYONE INSIDE THE THERAPY GROUP SECTION AND TALK ABOUT THEIR TRAUMA AND FEELINGS SO THEY CAN ALL CLEAR UP THEIR MISUNDERSTANDINGS!!!!!

The egg will start to negatively affect people, causing those not affected to fear for their home and friends

SBI + TUBBO AND RANBOO VS EGGPIRE????? POG?????

Tubbo nuking L’manhole to get rid of the spreading red

Techno/Phil to come to an understanding with Tommy; vice versa

Those unaffected teaming up to safe those affected

Someone (preferably Ranboo) unintentionally activating the End Portal lmao

The rest of the SBI + Tubbo saving Tommy from being murdered by Jack and Niki

Jack and Niki learning that killing the child is not the fucking answer to their problems (If it didn’t work for William Afton, it won't work for y’all. Stop trying to be the man behind the slaughter)

Techno and Tommy rebuilding their trust and friendship with each other

Tommy giving Techno the Axe of Peace

Sam being influenced by the egg and becomes corrupted

Ranboo being free??? Pog???? Pog

Puffy and Niki having a one-to-one conversation about their personal opinions and goals

Puffy visiting Dream whilst he sits in his cell

Skeppy and Bad to be okay again :(

Everyone infected to be okay again :(

Tommy bonding with Eret

Big Q continuing to hold Clingy Duo close to him

Schlatt coming back but instead of trying to run for president and mess with everyone, he’s just everyone’s drunk uncle that somehow gives wise advice to every situation

Wilbur coming back but he’s that angry older cousin that only allows the favorite family members(Tommy)/friends to stay in his room 

GIVE ME MEXICAN DREAM AND GIRL DREAM!!! ONLY HETERO RELATIONSHIP I SEE THAT IS BEYOND POGGERS

Lani and Drista to make a comeback at the same time

Tommy meeting more family members

The kids being able to be kids

Lani selling yeezy

Drista w/ bedrock

Drista laughing at Dream’s imprisonment

Everyone finding peace within each other’s chaos and living in harmony

[rosepetals-flyingbirds]

These Monsters.

With: Geralt x Reader.

Word Count: 2,436

Another town, another search for a monster so Geralt could gain some coin.

Roach walked slowly and Geralt gazed at the new town, it was dirty and smelled weird. Common.

Sometimes he wonders about Jaskier's questioning of retirement. Geralt chuckled at the thought, where could he possibly live after retirement?

"Oh shit! You bloody bitch!" A man yelled and Geralt searched for the disturbance. "Stop meddling."

"I ain't! I'm asking politely and with coin for the dog!"

"Stop caring so much. You and your damn dogs!"

Geralt got off Roach and walked close to the scene. "Don't curse them! Their lives matter more than yours." You yelled.

The man held your forearm. "Oh you-"

Geralt approached and the man looked up at him, he wasn't short, but Geralt was gigantic. "Do we have a problem?"

The man looked at him up and down. "Don't meddle, Witcher." He spat on the floor and Geralt looked at you.

You knew he wanted an answer so you chuckled. "This man refuges to sell me his dog, even though he is a monster that is selling him for terrible people who will kill him for rituals."

"Rituals my ass. There are using them for magic."

Geralt glanced at the man and then noticed the dog that was being held by a firm rope. "Selling?"

You nodded. "Yes."

"Why won't you sell for her then. Its the same price?"

The man rolled his eyes, not believing the annoying you and a Witcher was bothering him. "Its! But this is about my pride."

You laughed in mockery making the man angrier. "What pride? Your assassin!"

Geralt looked at you with gleam with his eyes, you were short, probably couldn't handle a sword for your life if needed, but there you stood causing chaos to save an animal. Then he looked at the man again and extended his hand to grab the dog's rope. "Give her the dog, it'll be for the best."

The man looked at the Witcher's hand and looked offended. "Don't touch my dog!"

You intertwined quickly making Geralt smirk at your ferocity. "Is not yours! You're selling him to slaughter!"

Geralt looked at the man again and gave him a look of knowing. "Give it to the girl, now."

He looked at you, the scared dog, the Witcher and rolled his eyes he took the coins from your hand and marched to the opposite way mumbling some curses.  

You kneeled on the floor and caressed the baby's head. "Hello girl, we will go home okay?! You will be treated with respect."

Geralt could walk away, he should have, but his feet were glued to the spot. Why did you care for such a small creature? 

Fighting with dumb people to save them.

Realizing the broadening figure that still stood near you, you stood up and held the damned rope. "Thank you, for helping me. Honestly, that asshole wouldn't give in and I was desperate."

He hummed and a small smile broke his lips. "You? Desperate?"

"Yeah, because if I stole him then they would kill me, probably anyway. I have stolen others before and... if I die all of this will be hopeless."

"Why do you care so much?"

"They are alive beings, man's best friend! And they betray them and its disgusting!" You saw the pretty horse in a few steps away and by the black bag that was propped by the horse's side, you connected it to the man with white hair and striking eyes. "Is she yours?"

Looking at Roach he nodded. "How did you know?"

"Well, for one she is well treated, that gives away a lot, and I've never seen you before."

"I'm a Witcher, I'm searching for a job."

"You kill monsters." You thought out loud. He nodded and you looked at the curious people that were going outside their houses just to look at him. "If I had enough coin I would give you to kill these monsters." Geralt knew you meant the people and he found that amusing. "Well, I will go now. Thank you for helping me and if you ever need help or a cup of tea, or ale," You chuckled. "I live deep in the woods, you'll probably hear the dogs if you approach."

Smirking at you, Geralt saw you walking away.

                           …

Nearing your house you held the baby in your arms and opened the door carefully, you allowed your other dogs, or as you call them, children, to smell the new baby and you went to cook something for them.

As you prepared the food your attention went to the Witcher you met in town, how he helped you made you smile. 

Yes, he was very very, painfully so, handsome; But the fact that he helped you when everyone else called you crazy was amazing to you. And how his horse was so well treated made you smile believing he cares for the animals too.

You placed the dogs' food in the table waiting for it to cool off and took the new baby to wash her. "Hello you, you have been through some rough time uh?!" She shaked with the water and you tried to go as quickly as you could so you could dry her up.

In the end, you rubbed a towel in her fur and went back to the kitchen placing the food on the floor and watched the nine rescued dogs eating.

                           …

Geralt found a job, a ghoul. It was stealing dead bodies at the local cemetery, and of course everyone was afraid of the 'demon that is destroying our ancestors' as the blacksmith said.

It wasn't easy, and at the end of the fight, he was embraced in ghoul's gut and a wound in his thigh.

"Fuck." He grunted and threw the body in the floor, he watched the almost opened graves but avoided it, he was paid to kill the monster, not to clean it's mess.

He walked back to town limping a bit, the beast's nail perforated his thigh and he needed to find Roach and take one of the potion elixir that helped his witcher magic heal him faster, the one made with veratrum, stramonium, hawthorn, and spurge.

On the way back to town, where he would rent a room he heard a bark, well, a bunch of. He thought of you along the day, the people he met in town where rough, most of them didn't have their teeth, nor education for the matter.

Yet you shone upon them, not only because of the gentleness with smaller creatures, but also how good you looked. 

As if you ran off a castle. 

You did invite him earlier did you not?

Letting a grunt he tried to decide if he should or shouldn't go visit you.

Following the barks he reached a small house, no dogs outside being locked in chains, he peeked inside and saw by the window a dog with white neat fur. So you let them inside too?

A lot of barks erupted as if the dog in the window told the others that a visitor was approaching their home and they didn't know if Geralt would hurt their human or not.

You approached by the window to call the dogs but realize he was outside.

Quickly you opened the door and looked at him up and down, the smell of guts was strong but the injury in his thigh was prominent by your eyes. Even with the dark cloth of his trousers covering it you could see his blood, then it might be disastrous.

"What happened?"

"I found a case."

"I can see that." You smiled but he could see the fear in your eyes, not because of him, which made him feel comfort. "I, uh, can I help you? Do you wanna bath I think I have some herbs ointment here." Geralt looked at dogs howling at him and you shushed them making them stop. "Come in."

"I, I don't want to get your house dirty with ghoul's guts."

You smiled and shrugged. "I don't know what that is but I don't mind."

As Geralt walked in you spoke with the dogs. "Luna, Ásia let him in, he is a friend."

Geralt looked at them and followed you to what looked like a bathroom. "I don't know your name." He spoke with a grunt and you smiled. 

"I don't know yours either." He hummed and you grabbed a towel for him, and searched for a tunic and trousers big enough to fit him. 

Geralt looked at the water buckets and you told him he could use them. Getting back at the bathroom you placed the clothes in a chair. "I don't know if they will fit but I believe it's better than these ones." You pointed to his clothes. 

"My name is Geralt. Geralt of Rivia."

"Nice to meet you, I'm Y/N, Y/N of... here? I guess." Seeing he used the buckets of water you would use before his arrival you pointed to the sponge and allowed him space to clean up. "I will be outside."

Geralt appreciated the gesture and got out of his clothes slowly to not hurt his thigh further, gladly his healing process was way faster and efficient than humans.

You went to your kitchen to fetch something for him to eat, Geralt was a Witcher, he hunted monsters, killed them and with that he automatically helped people too. Why people hated them? 

You knew the dumb tales, and the stares everyone threw at him earlier on made you upset.

He wouldn't hurt you... would he?

Ruby, the most caring dog you had, patted you in the thigh as if asking what was wrong. "Its okay boy."

                       …

Sometime later Geralt opened the wooden door and you looked at him wearing the loosest clothes you had, but even then they were a bit firm in his body.

"How is your thigh?"

Geralt sat in the chair near the table and you placed a wooden cup with ale for him, and as you have placed the bread, fruits in the table ere you sat to make him company. "Better, it will heal overnight." He drank the whole cup and started to eat the bread.

"How?"

"Magic." He answered simply, not revealing how the magic could help him much less where his magic came from.

"You don't talk much do you?" He smiled and looked at the almost destroyed bread he was eating.

"I'm sorry."

"No it's okay, I'm just curious about you. Magic you say uh?!"

"Yeah."

You saw him looking at the fruits as if something was missing. "I'm sorry but I don't have any type of meat here, I don't hunt nor buy it."

"It is okay, you're very generous."

Geralt felt something touching his feet and looked at the dogs surrounding him.

"They like you."

"How?"

"Well, they are not barking and are asking for bread." You smiled.

"Should I give them?" For a moment you swore you saw a glimpse of worry in his eyes.

"No no, they already ate and bread isn't good for them." He nodded and you served him more ale. "So, where you'll sleep tonight?"

"I will find a room in town."

"You'll leave tomorrow?"

He got silent for a while, deep in thought. "Yes."

In that would be the last time you saw him, or any Witcher to be straightforward. "You'll go home?"

"I don't have one."

"Not even in Rivia?"

"Definitely not in there."

"So you go from town to town? All over the state?" He nodded. "I don't know if I would be able to do that." Geralt smiled at your sincerity, almost everyone he met annoyed him about their lives and how lucky he is for traveling, when it isn't luck, its a curse. He was transformed into a Witcher and didn't have the luck of having a home or a family. "Well, I will wash your clothes. Or you want to take them dirty and all?"

You awaited for the answer and Geralt opened his mouth, but shut it quickly reconsidering his words. "If it won't be an inconvenience I would appreciate it."

"Sure thing." Leaving the kitchen you grabbed the stained clothes in the bathroom and went outside to wash them.

Geralt stood up from the chair and moved at the place, the dogs were looking at him contemplating the weird man in their home, he sat in the couch and propped his back, letting a sigh of relief. He was exhausted, days sleeping in the woods because of the search for a job. So finally feeling a warm house with a comfortable sofa was amazing to him.

Half of an hour later you entered your home again and placed the clothes in a made-up line near the fireplace, it was cold outside so it wouldn't dry them with the same efficiency.

You saw three of the dogs sleeping near the fire, two under the table and then the one you rescued earlier in the sofa, near a very tall Witcher. Geralt was passed out, you studied at him and then at the door, he said he would rent a room in town earlier on, but you wouldn't wake him up when he was so obviously relaxed.

Going to your room and finding the other three dogs near your bed, you petted one of them and grabbed a blanket you had made recently, you placed it in Geralt's body and gazed at him seeking for any sign of discomfort.

Finding none you walked back to your room and closed the door. Putting a small dagger you had under your pillow, you sat in bed and caressed your dog, Ubbe. Geralt wouldn't try something bad, you were sure of it, but to be sure you had to at least be prepared.

And as for Geralt, he slept better than he had in days.

                          …

The night passed and he woke up with a lick on his face. Grunting he opened his eyes and saw the dog he helped you buy the day prior, he smiled at the small creature and sat in the sofa stretching his sore muscles, touching his leg he realized the injury was apparently gone. And looking at his surrounds he smiled at how the sun rays swept in the atmosphere making everything look warmer, brighter, and better. 

And adding the place to the way you treated him with nothing but gentleness he smiled. Yeah, people were shitty but sometimes he was blessed by meeting good souls.

And he will try his best to treat you with nothing but.

                      …

[fairymadnessyeah]

Secrets in the Dark

Shigadabi week day 1

Ao3 Link

Summary: After a job well done, the party starts their journey home. But the path is tricky and the past sneaky when memories start to show their ugly face.

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Memories / Fantasy / Bittersweet 

"We'll rest here for the night," Tomura said as he watched the rest of his party drag their feet through the forest floor.

As Bounty-Hunters, their jobs were usually easy. They did what people didn't want to do. Nobody would search for a murderer or criminal and risk their life when you could hire them and let them do it for you. Nobody would go into a dungeon when they would go for the right amount of money. It didn't always go the way the client wanted, but that was their fault for trusting Bounty-Hunters.

This job was one of those examples. They had been hired to retrieve a dagger from a nearby hunted cave. The legend said it could reveal every secret someone had and, judging by the unhappy married life the lord who hired them had, he probably wanted to check if his wife had a lover. Too bad they wanted the dagger more. The quest took them two days, one to retrieve the weapon and another one to forge it.

It wouldn't be the first time they did something like this. Twice, an excellent alchemist and blacksmith, was the best at making doubles of things. The copies didn't last though, so once they were paid and started on their journey back home, the lord figured out their scheme. He sent a squadron after them, who chased them non-stop. When night fell, they had finally lost them but were too tired to continue.

"Wonderful idea, Tomura," Compress exclaims as he takes out a marble of his pocket and throws it to the ground. The marble explodes and reveals a giant tent, which they all enter.

"Ugh, I'm beat," Spinner moans and starts cracking his bones behind his scaley skin. "How far are we from Furesurbs?" he asks and collapses into the pile of cushions he slept on.

Furesurbs was the cannibal city of the continent. Only the bravest and most skilful of heroes had been able to go through it without ending dead. Or that was what the common people knew. Foresurbs was actually a lawless city. Thieves, killers, Bounty-Hunters, they all lived in peace with plenty full jobs to earn money. The hero who ever stepped foot inside was dead the moment he breathed.

"I'll track a course for tomorrow, for now just rest," he tells the others and takes out his map of the region. As a warlord, he was well-versed on many subjects. He was almost positive he was the only one who had had an education in some way. But then again, they didn't know much about Dabi or Compress.

Their group of Bounty-Hunters, The Vanguard Action, was not the usual group. If anything, their partnership shouldn't work. Why would it? A Warlord apprentice, an Alchemist with a personality disorder, a druid with a craving for blood, a known thief and con-man, a survivor from the Draco kingdom and ex-slave, a witch trapped in a man's body and a cursed runaway arsonist. Their teamwork should have been a disaster, a failure.

Yet, somehow, after half a year of travelling together, they had become such a tight group that Tomura was sure his Sensei would be disappointed of his attachment. But in an unlikely moment, the young warlock didn't care. His Sensei's approval and pride should be his drive, his greatest achievement. But his party -his friends- they meant the world to him, and he would make sure that when his time to rise came, they would get everything they wanted.

And bizarrely, he knew the feeling was mutual. From the hundreds of times they had had his back, to the quiet nights they spent comforting each other; Tomura knew his party would be there for him when it mattered. Magne, Toga and Twice repeatedly told him so, Compress, Spinner and Dabi showed it with their actions. They all said he had brought them together, that he had saved them in some way or another. That they were a family and they wouldn't let anybody come between them and their happiness.

Thought this journey would put that trust to the test.

"Stop playing with that, Crazy, it's not a toy!" Tomura was distracted from his routing by the disturbance. Toga and Twice were testing out the new dagger, passing it between them and asking questions, to which the dagger would burn if the one holding it lied. Magne was cooking while Compress and Spinner were sleeping, but were distracted by the mess.

Dabi, the one who scolded the two fools playing with the ancient and powerful tool, was up from his own nap and trying to get the dagger from the girl. "No! Wait for your turn! I'm using it now!" Toga threw her tantrum and tried to keep the artefact away from the older man.

"Yeah, don't be a party pooper, Dabi!  You trying to hide something, cursed boy!? " Twice said as he helped Toga.

The three entered a tug war, with Dabi trying to get the dagger and Toga and Twice trying to keep it to continue their game. The rest of the party soon lost interest in the usual shenanigans. It was a daily occurrence that the three would argue like siblings, and they went back to what they were doing previously. That changed when Dabi screamed. The dagger clattered against the floor as the arsonist held his bleeding arm close and cursed out loud in pain. They tried to get close to him and aid him with his injury, but he stepped away and told them he was alright before stomping out of the tent. He was probably going to his horse, Licen.

"Good job, you morons," Spinner tells them once Dabi is not in the tent. "Now he is going to be even more cranky," the lizard-looking man complains.

"Don't worry, once Dabi gets some sleep and food, he'll be as happy as he can be," Magne tells Spinner and stirs the stew she is preparing. "But you two better apologize and stop playing with that thing. Dabi is right, it's not a toy," she turns to the two blondes and scolds them.

"Yes, Big Sis Mag... Why don't you make me, Old Hag!?" Twice says.

Toga, however, doesn't. She is staring at the dagger with rapt attention and holding the blade in her hand. "Hey Tomu, what does Blue blood mean?" the youngest member of their group asks him out of nowhere.

"Usually it means the person is part of a noble family," he answers her. Toga always asked him stuff out of nowhere. She had lived away from cities and society for most of her life, and she didn't understand most of the new world that surrounded her. "Why are you asking?"

"That's the blood that came out of Dabi," she tells him and shows him the blade of the dagger. It wasn't a lot, but the small amount of liquid the blade had was blue-purplish colour. 

"That's impossible," Spinner comments about the implication of the blood. "Dabi hates royals and nobles more than any of us," he argues. And he was right. Even if rich families were the largest source of income for the lawless, there was no Hunter or Thief alive who didn't hate the higher society. Dabi did so with a passion and never stayed quiet about it. He could look past a lord or count that were in the rich inner circle of the kingdomes, but royals were a pest in his eyes. Tomura had noticed the small chain he had with stolen Royal rings the hunter had collected over the years. To think that somebody like that came from a noble family was ridiculous. Unthinkable even. 

"Can't it be that since he is cursed, his blood is blue now?" Compress cuts in.

"No, cursed blood is purple," he tells them. "Maybe he is a bastard from a noble family, or the descendant from a dead royal house. But it is none of our business, now is it?" he asks the rest of the tent, with a clear hint of dropping the matter.

It works though, and they all go back to their tasks. Magne gets help with dinner by Twice, and Toga cleans the dagger and places it in a scabbard that doesn't fit it. When they get to Furesurbs, they can have one made. The tent is plagued with silence until Magne announces it's dinner time. Dabi still hasn't come back by that time. Tomura is not worried. If Dabi wants to be a gloom and be alone, that's his problem. He doesn't need the fire user. Even if he is a great source of heat in cold nights.

When they finish dinner and Dabi still hasn't appeared, Tomura has had enough. While the others build a fire to keep warm, he takes his hooded cape and goes looking for him. Their camp is hidden between the plants of the forest they were in. Licen was still here, but the mare also had the heart of an apple at its feet. Dabi spoiled his horse like no other, always giving her an apple even if it meant hunger for him. Licen in exchange was the most loyal horse there could be, even if she was a stubborn mare that only let a few ride on her. So if she was still here, Dabi couldn't have gone far.

Tomura found him a few feet away from the camp, near a stream. Dabi was a sight to behold. He had patches of healthy skin but most of his body was covered in deep purple scales. His curse was slowly turning him into a monster. When he lost control, the scales would start to take over his body, covering more skin, and he would become more animalistic. It scared the crap out of them the first time it happened.

They had come to a crossroad with another group. The party of teenagers because, yes, they were a bunch of teenagers along with an alchemist knight and they had unfortunately been after the same target. They were both looking for the golden scabbard of All Might's famous sword. They wanted it for the money, but the kids needed it to unlock something, they were in a quest with pointless ideals of heroism. They had ended up clashing, and Dabi lost control, though he wasn't the only one. He was in battle against The half cursed prince, Todoroki Shouto, and as the fight grew heated, both men turned into monsters. Both groups had to separate them by force before they killed one another. Dabi didn't speak for two days after that, and they didn't get the scabbard.

However, curse and all, Tomura couldn't help but find the hunter mesmerizing. It was like he was made to distract him. His strong jaw, his deep hoarse voice, his dry humour and his eyes. Oh Divus, his eyes. Tomura could drown in them. Deep, bright blue orbs that he could stare at and get lost in at any time. Even now, in a dark moonless night, he could still see them. It infuriated him.

"Did you come here to stare, creep?" Dabi asks him, turning to see him.

"You missed dinner," he tells him and sees the other roll his eyes at him. "Let me look at your wound," he orders him.

"It's fine, I cauterized with my magic," he says but still holds his hand to him.

The wound is not deep, but it's large, it starts at the bottom of his finger and ends in the middle of his forearm, cutting through the purple scales. With a simple chant, his hand lights up in a red hue, and he starts healing the hunter. He can feel Dabi's eyes on him. Those blue gems piercing his being and somehow looking into his soul. He didn't know how, but Dabi was one of the people who were able to read him like an open book.

"Stop that," he tells him as he heals him.

"Stop what?"

"You know what..."

His relationship with Dabi was weird. Sometimes he wanted to kill him. The hunter loved to rile him up. He was lazy and disrespectful. He would attract trouble wherever he went. He could count the times they had been persecuted out of an area because of the messes him, Spinner and Twice had gotten in. However, he trusted him with his life.

If something happened, he knew Dabi would be there. He was his right-hand man. He could leave the Vanguard Action with him without worrying things would collapse the moment he left. Dabi and him on some late nights, when neither of them could sleep, would be there for each other. Tomura had told the arsonist secrets he didn't even share with Kurogiri. And Dabi had told him things none of the other league members knew. They had bonded in some sort of way.

And sometimes, even when the raven was just a few centimetres apart from him, he wanted to be closer. Tomura was not afraid to say he finds the hunter attractive, scales and all. He was as hot as a fireplace and as a warlock, whose dark powers sucked all the warmth from inside him, he had many times cosied up to the fire-user to get warmed up. All of the party had. There were times he would see couples on the road and imagine it's him and Dabi. There was also the dream accident.

A few months ago Magne convinced him in trying her new sleeping potion. They had just come from a good-paying job, so using the free time they had, he accepted. The concoction was supposed to trap him in a dream for a few hours and rest his mind and body. Tomura tried it, following Magne's instruction and soon enough fell asleep. When he opened his eyes, he could tell he was not awake. The first indication was the changing background. The second hint was Dabi entering the room and kissing him without a hesitation. In that two hour nap, Tomura was caressed, worshipped and loved by Dabi. But even if it was a dream, it felt so real. When he woke up, he couldn't look at the hunter without remembering his dream. He avoided Dabi for an entire day. He still felt awkward about it.

"There, done," he tells him and quickly takes a step back from the raven. "Now come to the tent, we have a long journey tomorrow, and your food is getting cold," he turns, giving his back to his party-member, but stops when he hears the other speak.

"You're not going to say anything? About the blood?" he sounds... nervous, which is very offputting, since this is Dabi who's talking. He always talks in a monotone, leaving people guessing what he meant by his tone.

"It's none of my business," he responds. "We all have our secrets, Dabi. If you ever want to tell me, I'll listen," he heads back to the tent and hears Dabi silently walking behind him.

The rest of the party is already in their bedrolls when they arrive. They aren't asleep, just laying comfortably around the small fire. Dabi sits in between Toga and Compress and starts eating his bowl of stew. Shigaraki goes back to his maps and tracing a road, idle chatter fill the tent as they all get ready for bed, but Tomura interrupts all of that.

"We have a minor inconvenience," he announces, and they all turn their attention towards him. "If we take the easy road, it might take us a while to get to Furesurbs. But we can cut that time to three days if we don't avoid some of the more dangerous areas,"

"What areas?" Dabi asks.

"For the first day of the journey, we have options. We are surrounded by three of the most magic-hated cities, Servusurbs, Magumless and Torquecastra. If we want to avoid them, we need to go around them, but that is going to add three days to our travels. Though we could go through the Aurum Mountains, using the mines. Although I doubt we'll find a way past it without help, and that is going to cost us a lot of money," he explains.

The rest of the group is pensive for a moment. Torquecastra is a fortress, getting in they might be able to achieve, but getting out is going to be tricky. Servusurbs would be easier to get in and out, thanks to their slave business, but Spinner was not going to set foot in that place again. That left only Magumless, but the place was very strict with their magic laws. All those who possessed magical abilities had to be collared and sorted by colour, and they could only enter if they had an escort.

"I know a way we can get through Magumless," Compress says. "There are underground tunnels we can go through, used for smuggling magic-ingredients in. If Dabi doesn't show off his flames and Magne hides her potions, we would have enough escorts to get to them," he explains and looks at the ones who would have to get chained along with him, Toga and Shigaraki. They all nod, agreeing to the plan.

"What about the second day?" Magne asks.

"We have two options if we don't want to spend another three days travelling, Libidine forest or the Erat fields," Tomura explains and watches everyone groan.

Libidine forest was a death trap. The place was plagued with Succubuses and Incubusses and it was theorized to be sacred ground for them. If they caught you, you were either sacrificed or used as breeding stock. They would have to be on high alert if they went there, but that wouldn't mean they would make it out.

The Erat fields were the same. A spell was cast in the form of a mist on the place that created illusions to confuse travellers. Going alone was a sure death, but since they were a group, they might just make it. They would just have to keep each other grounded.

"What about the Nix mountain range? It would be a day more, but better than any of the other options," Dabi says.

"We are not prepared to spend two days in a frozen hell," he explains. "And it's wyvern season," Dabi grunts at his logic. "Erat is our safest option," they all nod, agreeing with him.

 --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 The next day of their journey went well, luckily.

They arrived in pairs to the city, and once they were registered and inside, they would meet in an arranged location. Magne and Compress went first, then Toga and Twice and lastly, Tomura with Dabi and Spinner. The city of Magumless had a metal system to identified magic. Steel collars meant useful harmless magic, bronze was useful harmful magic, gold was useless harmless magic, silver was useless harmful magic, and black iron was dangerous magic. Tomura was collared with one of the laters.

They almost arrest him when he entered the city after the collaring. But Dabi, whose clothes covered his scales, stopped them, lying about a life debt he owed him. The guards luckily left them alone after that. Spinner, who was acting as his stead for the day, might have a lot to do with that. Nobody would come in between a man with a warlock and a giant lizard monster at his beck and call. Once they reunited, the trip went on smoothly. They weren't able to take out the chains until they reached the other end of the city, but below the city, they didn't have to be on constant alert.

By nightfall, they were all out of the town and camping by the side of the road. It took them another day to get to the Erat fields. They decided to wait for the next day to cross it and camped a few meters away from it. The next morning, they all woke up already dreading the journey before them.

"So what exactly are the fields going to do?" Spinner asks in his big lizard form asks as he carries Tomura, Twice and Magne. "I know it's supposed to be illusions, but what kind? Monsters? Or something like that?"

"The stories vary," Compress answers by his side, riding a magic-made horse Tomura conjured, Toga behind him. "Some say you see your past, your happiest moments, and you desire to go back keeps you in here. Others say you become delirious. You turn into a future of yourself that may never happen and get trapped inside the fantasy," As theatrical Mister Compress was, he was right. The stories were told by those who were able to survive the fields, and the only consistent theme in their tales was that they would never go back to it.

They soon got their answer, though. Magne suddenly let out a scream, scaring all of them and making some of them unsheath their swords. Luckily it was a false alarm. Magne just panicked because out of nowhere it looked as if she had been burned to death. When Shigaraki had met her, she was in Furesurbs running away from her family of witches. They didn't accept her as herself and gave her an ultimatum, be normal or die. She ran away and joined them.

One by one, they all changed. Twice suddenly looked like a teacher -(he was once offered to teach at the university of Libriratum, but he refused)-, Toga turned more druid-like (she had been raised by druids, but got kicked out when they didn't approve of her magic), chains and whip welts appeared on Spinner (he had been sold and bought as a slave until Tomura saved him), and Compress looked like he had been hanged (he had escaped from prison before they were able to do it). Tomura didn't change much. Instead of looking like a warlock in his black clothing and magical jewellery, he looked like a farmboy. His shirt turned rough and scratchy and his hair, which was a platinum and identified him as a Master of the Dark Arts, changed into its original black colour. Toga also complained about his smell, but she was the only one who noticed. Dabi was the last one to change. And boy, were they not ready...

The first hint they had that he changed was the metallic clangs and Twice's gasp. When they turned to look at Dabi, the person they knew was gone. Their cursed leather-wearing hunter with a hot temper and a cold stare was nowhere in sight. Instead of him, the dead prince of the Flame Kingdom rode beside them in his stead.

Golden armour on his legs, a white silk cape with golden trims flailing on his back, a blue regal vest with King Enji's emblem, his skin clear out of any scale, red hair sweeping with the wind and adorned with a golden crown encrusted with gems. Even his horse had a golden armour and a brand new leather seat. His crossbow was gone, as well as everything else and only his sword remained by his side. The only reason they knew it was Dabi was because of his eyes. The same blue as they ever been.

None of them dares to utter a word. They just stared at their friend as they walked. It was so weird to see the man so adorned and wearing so much expensive stuff. Especially since this was Dabi. The guy who had spent an entire job without a shirt because he wanted to cut expenses to afford some more food for his horse. He didn't cover up until Tomura bought him a new shirt.

"Stop. Staring." said guy says after a while, his eyes never leaving the path ahead. His request fell on deaf ears though. He sighs frustrated at his peers gaze. "You can ask one question each. After that we don't speak of this. Ever. Again." he grunts.

"Aren't you supposed to be dead? A GHOST!?" Twice exclaims with his usual tact.

"I never died, I just faked it and ran away," Dabi tells them.

"Why? You were living in a castle, with servants, freshwater and food and everything you could ask for, why give that up?" Spinner ask.

"I don't need much to be happy," Dabi shrugs. "'Sides, being king wasn't worth the price,"

"Do you have one of those lovely royal rings?" Compress suddenly asks, staring at his new attire with interest.

"I do. You take it, and I will cut off your fingers and feed it to Toga," Dabi warns, and it's enough to ward off the old thief.

"My turn! My turn!" Toga exclaims happily. "Let's see... Oh, were you ever betrothed?" she smiles and Tomura feels his blood heating up.

"Twice," Dabi answer with a grimace. "First to a princess who died before I could ever see her and then to the daughter of my fathers' army general as a prize after their last campaign," Tomura doesn't like this question.

"Don't you miss your family?" Magne asks softly.

"Sometimes, but they seem to be alright without me..." he answers surely remembering the last time he was his brother.

'His brother... the half cursed prince...' Tomura remembers, and his gears start turning in his head. It couldn't be a coincidence that they both were cursed. The two princes of the same kingdom, of the same family, supposed to inherit the same land? It didn't sound natural. Curses were like a string they had a start and an end, but they were also personal. Only a person could be cursed. Objects or other things could be blessed or damned, but curses were the result of a human. But who could have done that?

He had lived in the Flame kingdom for a while, and even if he didn't, it was no secret how much the people loved the heirs of the Royal family. The four siblings were praised for their selflessness, kindness and compassion. Princess Fuyumi taught how to read outside the palace to whoever passed by. Prince Natsuo was a diplomat who had given the people of their kingdom lower taxes. Prince Shouto was a brave warrior and a gentle soul. And Prince Touya, Dabi, he had had the closest relationship with the people. He was known as the Free Prince before his death. Always running from his duties and spending time with the peasants outside the castle. The kingdom had mourned his death for months. They had expected a great ruler from him, even greater than... the current... king...

"Was the king the one who cursed you?" Tomura asks, hoping to be wrong.

"Yes, he did,"

 -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 They all turned back to normal once they were out of the field. They took a moment to rest after it, the experience draining them all. None of them had a past worth going back to, so being reminded of everything they had run away from or escaped had hit them quite strongly.

They didn't stay there for long though, and soon enough they were at Furesurbs. Toga, Twice and Magne decided to go to Kurogiri's bar to unwind when they arrived while the rest of them went to their quarters. Being Sensei's apprentice, Tomura had been able to afford a big enough place for all of his party. They were near the bar where they got their jobs, and they were able to guard each other's back while in there. Their line of work gave them more enemies than friends, and they were stronger united than separated. Not to mention it was cheaper than any other inn or place they could rent.

Dabi was laying in his bed, unable to fall asleep when he heard a small knocking in his door. Believing it was one of his drunk partners, he ignored it. They would get tired soon enough and leave. He wasn't feeling up to being with anybody at the moment. But when the knocking came again, he figured whoever was doing it wouldn't stop until he opened the door. He gets up with a groan and opens the door, ready to send whoever it was away, but his words die in his mouth when he sees who it is. On his door is his leader, Shigaraki Tomura, with a crazed look in his eyes and a scratched up neck.

The guy doesn't even wait for him to let him in he just pushes him to the side and gets in. He is only wearing a loose pair of black pants and a black shirt with a simple pair of boots. His silver hair is messed up, and he is mumbling in a low voice.

"Tell me more about your curse," he demands once Dabi closes the door.

"...What?"

"Your curse, how does it work!?" he asks again.

"Why the sudden curiosity?" Tomura had never inquired about his curse. Ever. So what could have changed?

"How does it work, Dabi? Don't make this more difficult!" he goes off again, the scratching getting worse.

"No," Dabi crosses his arms. "Why do you want to know? Do you think once I'm cured you can use me to take over the kingdom? You want to use me for your world domination!?"

"JUST TELL ME, DAMNIT!" the warlock screams.

"TELL ME WHY!?"

"I DON'T WANT YOU TO DIE!" Tomura finally snaps at him, leaving Dabi speechless. "Curses usually end in death! You can't avoid it! You either finish it, or  it  finishes you! Now tell me everything you know about it so I can try to stop it!"

Dabi is quiet for a few minutes as Tomura hyperventilates after his rant. "... you can't," Dabi breathes. He had given up a long time ago. "The curse is the missing half of my brothers. One day we will turn into monsters and kill each other for the throne. Once my brother is crowned king, the curse should be broken-"

"It won't work," Tomura interrupts him. "Curses are conditional, if your brother wants to be king, he needs to fight you," the warlock tells him. Dabi feels as if he was shot through the heart when he says it. He falls to his bed defeated and stares at nothing.

"It won't happen," he hears Tomura mumble under his breath as he walks to the door. "You might have given up on it, but I won't. I will find you a cure, and I'm going to remove that curse from you," he tells him and flees the room, leaving an ex-prince behind with a heart that won't stop beating, as if trying to jump out of his chest.

[underthewingsofthblackeagle]

“Berliner Fernsehturm” * Foto: BernardoUPloud

After her marriage with Frank Randall has failed and Claire Beauchamp flees from her violent husband, she finds refuge in the house of the Fraser/Murray family in Berlin-Wilhelmshorst. But then tensions arise between Britain (which has since left the EU) and some EU member states. All holders of an English passport are required to leave EU territory within six weeks … and suddenly Claire’s fate looks more uncertain than ever.

This story was written for the #14DaysofOutlander event, hosted by @scotsmanandsassenach​

Chapter 10: 14 Men (6)

         "Now you will tell me that this is all publicly available information and I would agree with you. But I was not aware of it before. In a way, it woke me up. It took some time but when I had the opportunity to take over another week of night shifts I immediately agreed. In this time I developed a kind of plan. I was eager to find out if Frank's statement was true. At first I tried to track when he was going to conferences or work meetings. Not all of them, but several of them took him to England and Scotland. I can't prove it, but I had the impression that his travels became more frequent at times when 'the Scottish theme' was boiling over. Later, after 2015, and particularly after the Brexit, his travel intensified."

        To Jamie's surprise, Claire reached into her handbag, which she had hung on the back of her chair, and pulled out a piece of paper she handed over to Ferdinand Groide.

        "This is a list of all the trips my husband has taken since 2013, supposedly for reasons of his work as a historian."

        Groide skimmed the list, then put it aside.

        "Thank you very much. We will try to verify the data."

        "In the weeks that followed, I voluntarily took several weeks of night duty, because there was another advantage to this. I was at home while my husband was at university and could look through his records almost undisturbed."

        "Will you share the knowledge you have gained from this?"

        "Yes. But perhaps we could have some tea?" Claire replied as she looked at Jamie.

        "Certainly."

        He got up and left the room for a moment. Ferdinand Groide pressed the 'stop' button on the recorder. Then he got up and stretched a bit. Claire did the same.

"Tea” by Pexels

        "It's good to take a little break," Groide said as he slowly walked across the room and then paused at one of the windows. Claire, too, had stood up and stretched. Her steps led her to one of the dark oak bookcases. Slowly she let her eyes slide over the old leather-bound volumes. Then her gaze wandered over to Groide.         Ferdinand Groide was, at least as far as she could judge right now, an impressive person, even on the outside. Claire estimated him to be in his mid-60s and should be almost right. The 66 year old, tall man stood bolt upright in front of the window and had his arms crossed behind his back. He was moderately slim and not muscular, but his movements suggested that he had kept himself physically fit for his age. His black, short cut hair showed grey patches only at the temples. From the first moment they met, Claire had been attracted to the unusual shape of his face - you could almost call it rectangular. The way he appeared and behaved radiated calm and a kind of positive authority. He was wearing a black three-piece suit of virgin wool, whose jacket he had taken off before dinner. The timelessly elegant waistcoat that appeared beneath it, from whose small side pocket a golden watch chain protruded, and the discreet tie of dark Italian silk jacquard that matched the pocketkerchief of his jacket contrasted with the visitor's simple but flawless white shirt. Groide wore gold-framed, thick glasses that suggested myopia, a simple gold wedding ring on the right hand and a signet ring with a dark blue stone on the left hand. At dinner, Claire had also noticed the rectangular gold cufflinks bearing Groide's monogram. Everything about this man underscored Claire's impression that she was dealing with a person who not only knew exactly who he was, but also what he was doing.

        Moments later, the door opened and Jamie entered.

        "Tea will be here in just a few minutes. Would you like something else to drink?"

        Claire shook her head, Groide turned to Jamie and said:

        "Thank you. Not yet."

        A little later, a knock caught their attention.

        After Helene Ballin served tea and everyone had a cup, Groide asked:

        "Can we continue?"

        Claire nodded.

        Groide pressed the record button on the recorder, and Claire went on to talk:

        "My husband has always had a certain reluctance towards the new media. Of course we had a PC in the house that was connected to the Internet. But my husband used it very rarely. An yes, he also has a notebook. But it was never allowed to be connected to the Internet. Frank was always afraid of viruses or that hackers would steal his work. Before 2015, when he used the term 'work', I was thinking only of his research and the manuscripts of his books. But since that conversation in November 2015, I wondered if it could be about something else entirely. My husband always took his notebook with him to the university. But that was not a problem. Because Frank was obsessed with the thought that his notebook might get lost or - even worse - be stolen. So..."

        “.... were there disks, USB flash drives?" Groide asked interested.

        "No," Claire replied smiling, "papers.”

        The expression of highest astonishment was to be heard in the older man's voice.

         “Papers?”

        "Yes, papers. Frank believes that only what is written by hand will remain in ones memory. That's why everything he later typed into his notebook was first written down by hand."

        "And you had access to these handwritten documents?" asked Groide, who had now put his arms on the table and moved his whole body forward a little.

        "No," Claire replied smiling.

        "Too bad."

        An unmistakable disappointment spread over the face of the German.

        "Why?" Claire asked, adding: “One can get access."

        She laid her head to one side coquettishly, smiled and shrugged her shoulders.

        Once again, astonishment spread over Groide's face. Meanwhile, Jamie had to pull himself together because he almost laughed out loud. This woman was not only intelligent and strong, she also had a sense of humor. It was delicious to watch the rapidly changing emotions she was able to conjure upon Ferdinand Groide's face.

        "So you have ... gained ... access ..." he said, trying to remain objective.

        "Yes," Claire, in turn, noted objectively and took another sip from her teacup.

        "One Friday evening, it was in early February 2016, my husband came home from university in a rage. He said that he had had a dispute with the university management about his research funds. Later I was to learn that this dispute never existed. In fact, it was that one of his affairs had dumped him. But that's another story. As always, when he was angry or did not know how to handle a situation, he became aggressive and drank. And that's what happened that weekend. "

        Claire paused for a moment, looked at the table and took a deep breath.

        "Then on Sunday ... he started drinking whisky after lunch. He drank until he was laying snoring on the sofa. I used this opportunity to make a copy of the key to his filing cabinet and the key to his desk."

        "How did you know how to do that?" Jamie asked, looking at Claire in amazement.

        "As I said, I was raised and educated in a very ... nonconformist way. In port areas you can ... come into contact with ... people ... who ... help you with ... such questions ... I had used the pre-Christmas period to, well, let's say, make contacts there. Frank hates to go shopping and so I knew that on these days I did not have to expect that he wanted to accompany me. In a bar I inquired and the waitress behind the counter told me that she could make a contact for me for the payment of $100. I gave her $50 and the number of my department at the hospital as well as the dates on which I was on night shift. Two days later, a man calling himself 'Joe' called. We set up a meeting the night of the next day. He promised to give me two small boxes with a mass to make prints with. He asked me $600 for them. The next night, just before the night shift started, I met ‘Joe’ in the parking lot of the hospital. He gave me a brown bag, the kind you get in burger and fast-food restaurants. Inside were the little boxes. I gave him an envelope with the money in it. We agreed that if I got the prints, I would get back to Brenda at the bar. It took some time, but at the beginning of February, as I said, I finally had the opportunity to carry out my plan. When Frank fell asleep drunk on the sofa that Sunday afternoon, I took the bunch of keys from his jacket pocket. Then I locked myself in the bathroom and made the prints. When I returned to the living room, Frank was still asleep and it was easy to slip the bunch of keys back into his jacket pocket. I had taken the boxes with the prints, wrapped in a towel, into the bedroom. There I stashed them among other things in my doctor's bag.”

“Medical Bag” by Raimundo Pastor

        Claire held out her cup to Jamie, who poured tea for her again.

        "A few days later I went back to the bar, gave 'Brenda' another $50, the boxes and a note with the details of my next night's duty. It took about 10 days, then 'Joe' called during my night shift and announced that he would bring me the keys the next evening. And that's exactly what happened. He gave me the keys and I gave him another $600. The next day I went back to the bar and gave 'Brenda' another $100, as I had promised her. That was the end of the deal. In total I paid 1400 dollars. I thought, this investment will certainly pay off."

        Now Claire took a big sip from the cup that Jamie had left for her.

        "Investment?" Jamie asked.

        "Well, I was curious if Frank was really working for the Secret Service. To be honest, I still thought his story was just bragging and I didn't expect to find anything real to do with MI5. But I was hoping to get hold of evidence of his affairs. Evidence that, in the event of a divorce..."

        Claire paused for a moment.

        "Our marriage had gone downhill in the years leading up to it ... I had heard rumors, I had suspicions. "But my studies and work didn't give me time ..."

        "And then you put the keys to use?" asked Groide, who was very keen to make sure the conversation didn't drift into secondary topics.

        "Yes, in mid-March the opportunity arose. Frank flew to Edinburgh for a weekend, supposedly for a conference, and I took the opportunity to look around in his filing cabinet. I was frankly amazed at how well the keys worked. When I opened his cabinet I found, among other things, 14 files relating to the 'New Jacobite' leaders. They contained detailed information about each of these men. CVs, family trees, family relationships, friendship and business relationships, relationships abroad and more. In each of these files there was also a folder with pictures. I didn't recognize Jamie, I mean Mr. Fraser, in Boston. Because in the pictures in the file that Frank keeps on him, he has red hair and no beard..."

        Claire looked over at Jamie, whose hair and beard were black. He smiled and stroked his hair, slightly theatrical, and said:

        "There's nothing like a good make-up."

        All three of them smiled. Claire picked up her cup again and drank. Then she continued in a rather nonchalant tone:

        "It was very interesting to read about the lives of these men. "

        "After all these years, do you think you can still remember what you read in these files?" Groiede asked.

        "Anything?" she asked with a smile.

        "I can remember everything as if I had a photographic memory."

        Again she reached into her handbag. To the surprise of the two men, Claire's delicate hand produced three silver USB flash drives, which she slid over to Ferdinand Groide.

        "Each of these sticks contains one terabyte of data. I photographed all the pages of the files and placed them in folders with the appropriate names."

        The men looked at her first, then at each other in silence for a moment. Ferdinand Groide took the sticks and looked at them.

        "You ... said ... that ... you ... did this ... research ... in 2016, so seven years ago ... does that mean the files are up to 2016?"

        Her answer came quickly and came as no surprise to Ferdinand Groide or James Fraser:

        "No, I made the last additions three weeks ago. At that time Frank was - supposedly - at a meeting of historians in Canberra. So all the files should be almost up to date."

        Groide was struck dumb. Jamie had no recollection of ever seeing the old man like that. He had sunk slightly into himself and his face had lost the rosy colour that was so characteristic of him. He was obviously aware of the heavy responsibility that came with owning these sticks. Claire's information could change the fate of at least three or more nations. Groide knew it and Jamie knew it, too. But was Claire aware of it? Jamie could not answer this question.

        His friend took off his glasses with the angular golden rims and wiped his eyes. A long breath of air escaped the old man's lungs. Then he looked at Claire:

        "And you want to give me, I mean us, this information freely?"

        Claire nodded:

        "Yes."

        "May I ask you, are you doing this to get back at your husband?"

        "No, I mean yes, you may ask me. But the answer is no. I was thinking of using it against him in case of divorce. But having read so much about the history of Scotland, I think that something like this ... must never happen again. And..."

        "And?"

        Now ist was Claire who took a deep breath.

        "And having learned by chance this afternoon what a member of my husband's family had done to Mr. Fraser, I don't want anything like that to happen to anybody else."

        Groide looked over at Jamie, but kept silent.

        "All I ask is that you use the information you receive from me in a way that will prevent harm."

China-usb / CC BY-SA (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)

        Groide had his eyes on the tabletop and the USB sticks in front of him. Claire and Jamie heard the hands on the big wall clock that hung behind them ticking. A few moments passed, during which they all remained silent.

        "Mrs. Beauchamp, I want you to know that I have great respect for your decision. I'm just one small weel in a much larger machine. But I promise you that I will use all my influence to see that this information is handled as you wish. I also want you to know that we have no hostile feelings towards your country here. On the contrary. The Brexit and its consequences are much regretted in our country by most people. And not just for economic reasons. We miss the voice and political weight of your country. The oldest democracy in the modern Western world has always had an important, a great weight in this Union - also to establish a political balance. You know, there are member states that have not been familiar with the democratic system for so long. So far, things have gone reasonably well, but the loss of the British vote in the Europan Parliament could lead to dangerous imbalances ... And then we must not forget the human relations. I myself grew up many decades before the reunification of our country in a West German state where British troops were stationed. The British were neighbours for us. A friend of mine, who has since passed away, married an English woman, joined the Anglican Church and became military chaplain for these troops in his city. Friends of mine had planned to buy a small cottage in the southwest of England and spend their retirement there. Many of the cities where I lived had partnerships with English cities. We all very much regret the developments of the last ten years ... and we can only hope that a future generation may be able to reverse them. I hope you know that you are very welcome, not just because you are giving us this information or as a health professional, but as a person. And I hope you'll be able to settle in."

        Claire nodded. Then she reached out her hand and put it on the old man's right hand.

        "Thank you, Mr. Groide. I appreciate it."

        "You can call me Ferdinand, if you like."

        "Sure, Ferdinand, I'm Claire."

        "Thanks, Claire."

        "Well, after that eventful work meeting, let's have a nice drink, shall we? How about a whisky?"

        Jamie looked at her expectantly.

        Claire nodded.

        "I'd love one."

        Groide shook his head.

        "Jamie, you know I don't drink that stuff. I'll have a vodka, please."

        "You see Claire," Jamie said with an ironic undertone, "you might as well learn something about the Germans here. When it comes to alcohol, they have no taste."

        He handed her a glass of whisky.

        "He's right, Claire. And remember one more thing. We have absolutely no sense of humor either."

        The men began to giggle and Jamie had to stop for a moment before he handed the glass of vodka to Groide.

        "You may say what you usually say about my taste in alcohol, Jamie," Groide then said jokingly.

        Jamie looked at Claire with a grin.

        "He spent too much time with Russians, they spoiled his taste."

  Wodka / Vodka Rene1905

        "Sa sdarovje!" was all Groide would answer. Then he turned to Claire again:

        "You said earlier that you intend to ask for a divorce from your husband?"

        "Yes, I do. I hope it's also possible from here."

        Groide looked at her thoughtfully.

        "Do you object to Claire's request, Ferdinand?"

        "No, I understand the request very well. I'm just worried it might put MI5 on to you, Jamie."

        A mild shock drove Claire through and she nearly choked on the whisky she'd just taken.

[amatchforyourmadness]

as stars that wait to fall (in love)

Chapter: 1/?

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia × star!Jaskier | Dandelion

Words:2268

Summary:

“Here’s what Geralt was looking for: a space rock for one of Yennefer’s potions. Here’s what he finds: the girl Destiny-bound to him and a man dressed in flashy clothing that throws a handful of mud at his face.”

In which Yennefer asks for a favor that leads to Geralt getting stuck with a feral star, which just happens to be adored by a little girl in a blue cape and hunted for the youth-granting delicacy that is his heart.

Stardust AU

[ AO3 link ]

————

It is all Yennefer’s fault, really, as usual.

He had been listening, but not quite. It was a habit, really, because Yennefer could either talk at length about matters of most value and importance, worthy of the most deep and thoughtful inquiries, or complain about a person of a place that was either a bitch or an asshole and several offenses she had endured bravely and his mind would wonder to when was the last time he had given Roach an apple, because she was starting to act out on him. By the end of her lengthy talk, he had been nodding thoughtfully while thinking how likely was he to find apples on the kitchen of the — What had it been this time? An Earl? — whoever’s castle Yennefer now had influenced into her hold in his way out in the morning.

“So you’ll do it then?” She had asked, eagerly, and smiling bright and just this side of looking like she was about to drag him into shit.

He had blinked confusedly.

“Hm?”

“The star.” The mage says, smile dying immediately as she figures out he had not paid attention to most if not all of what she had said. He almost feels guilty, but she still looks like she’s about to drag him into shitl. “The one that fell. You’ll find it for me?”

“Hm…”

He tries to wither out of it, he really does. He asks her to consider one might have taken it, or animals might have brushed it away or simple things like rain and wind could have easily moved it and he had a child surprise to look for, by her own threat no least, whose life was very much endangered in the current context they find themselves in, two months from the fall of Cintra, and it’s stupid to think that a bit of stardust might be so powerful and dangerous that it needs to be stolen away before the Empire gets their hands on it, but Yennefer had given him no room to ask and no room to talk back, pressing the matter as of utmost urgency.

As always, no one has ever won a battle against Yennefer, not of wits and not of any other kind.

“Just go out there and get me the star or I’ll hire someone else that will!”

And that had been it.

———

Now it has been at least a week if not two since the star fell, and Geralt is not sure if he has any luck on finding a rock in the ground so long after it fell. He follows the directions in which Yennefer says the star might have fallen, and does so with no small amount of complaining to Roach. He certainly is not interested in space rock and the matter of urgency has rather led him away from the Path, from good coin and beast-slaying.

He finds a small village at the edge of Brugge creatively entitled Wall in honour of its one grandiose feature, and they say that not far from there, where the remains of their country meet Sodden and Temeria, there had been a great impact, so strong it had shook the small stone wall at the edge of the village and loosened a few of the stones from their places, and that the impact had been followed by a brilliant ball of fire that had been the end of a good deal of the forest there, trees reduced to smoking rests of logs.

That has him about ready to go, but then there’s the talk of silly horror stories told amongst the children — the unruly boys that had ran to quell their curiosity instead of listening to their parent’s warnings — about a monster inside a crater in the ground, that had shone at night as if he was made of light and groaned in pain, grunting ‘help me, help me’ until he lured a girl, equally as strange and disobedient for being out at the woods at that hour, until she slid into the crater, the glow had died down and she had not climbed out again.

Unruly boys were also cowardly boys, by nature, no matter how curious. They ran back home instead of being made the next snack.

Geralt lifts himself onto Roach’s saddle and rides to where the smell of burned wood still lingers.

———

As soon as he steps past the burned trees, Roach’s reigns in his hands and the mare close to his side, he can’t say he’s not impressed by the destruction. He walks around the crater, taking in the damage a bit of space rock can do. The earth nearer to the edge of the crater is still burned, and he looks for a way down as much as he looks for a hint of the stone inside it.

He stops, glancing to the trees and Roach’s ears twitch the same direction. He looks at her as if to ask for her opinion before following the sound of shuffling feet back into the woods, atent to the smallest sounds. He can hear whispering, an urgent discussion being spoken in half-voices, and he takes large steps towards them until he finally finds the origin of it.

He frowns at the girl, small and pale, with green eyes and ashen blond hair, wrapped around a deep blue cape staring at him, weaponless buy somehow still fierce. Geralt opens his mouth, ready to question who the fuck was her, and it’s in barely a second he regrets it, when he is hit with a clump of burned earth and tiny rocks on the face and some of the vile mixture hits him square in the face.

“Go, Fiona, run!” Hisses the voice of what no doubt is a man that probably had been hidden behind her.

“I’m not leaving you here with him!“

“I won’t hurt either of you.” Geralt says, raising his hand in front of him, trying to placate the wrath of whatever gremlin was sharing the woods with the blonde kid who had very much not been eaten by any sort of monster. 

“Don’t touch her!” The man hisses when he stumbles ever so closely to their chatter and before he knows it, someone is biting his arm.

“Fuck!” He curses, stepping back to get his arm free and hitting his back against Roach in the process, only to be hit by get another clod thrown at him and his mare. “Hey, don’t throw mud at my horse!”

“Just go away and leave us alone!”

“I’m looking for a star! Tell me where to find it and I’ll leave you alone, it must have fallen somewhere around here—” He blinks away the mud, wiping the remains of dirt to his eyes before he finally gets a good look at his attacker, sprawled on the ground with his left leg in a weird angle, heaving profusely. “Why are you sitting there like that?“

“He broke his leg.” The girl informs, trying to pull the man upright again. Maybe he’s her uncle, or her cousin. Maybe they’ve been attacked. That would explain the hostility.

“I am looking for a star.” He states again. “It fell around here.”

“Yes, and I broke my leg, you idiot.” Curses the man once more, and the little girl can’t help but give him a look that’s half annoyed and half wondering what of the situation he’s not getting. Geralt must say, he does not get most of it, and frowns. He can see his leg is broken, and he might be inclined to help if it doesn’t earn him another handful of earth to be thrown at him, but he doesn’t see what that has to do with the star. “I broke my leg when I fell. There, is that clear enough for you?”

It takes him yet a moment, before the pieces adjust themselves into his mind and he raises his brows.

“You’re the star?”

“And you’re a clodpoll.” That’s not an answer, but Geralt supposed that he did spell it out to what the star considers his own limit, and now there’s nothing to give voice to but enraged curses. “And a horse’s ass, a ninny, a numbskull, a lackwit and a coxcomb and a— what the fuck are you trying me for, you bastard?!” He says, laying a good kick to Geralt’s gut with his good leg as Geralt pulls his arm and binds his wrist with the light silver links Yennefer had provided him, backing away before he could get his shoulder bitten too — the man was like a wild animal. “What’s this?” The man says, shaking his wrist to take in the glittering silver chain at the same time his charge asks:

“What do you think you are doing?” The girl has been sparked into action once more by righteous fury, pushing Geralt away (and he lets her, even though she can’t do more than tickle him), but that doesn’t make him any more inclined to let go to the band of enchanted chain. She takes in the sight of his bound wrists and tries to tug it off.

“Taking him south with me. I made a promise I’m already starting to regret to a sorceress that would have my head if I don’t return with the star.” He says, first to the girl as matter of fact as usual before he turns his focus somewhat embarrassedly about the whole situation, before offering. “Nothing personal, I was looking for a diamond or a rock. I certainly wasn’t expecting a man.”

“And, having found a man, you have to drag him into your foolishness? And for what?” Geralt doesn’t answer as he ties the other end of the silver chain to his wrist, and it magically binds around it, securing that ten star won’t drag far from him. “Oh, I see.” The other says, narrowing his eyes at the magical spun link that now ties them both together, before he’s sneering. “Should have figured! A star’s heart, I bet your mage friend will enjoy it, maybe you will take a bite of it too, huh? Well, I hope you choke on it!”

“Your heart?” The blonde girl asks, panicked and confused, shooting worried looks to him and accusing ones to Geralt. He much thinks he misses the time things made chance. “No, he can’t! Please, sir, you can’t!”

What the hell does his heart even have to do with anything, a lost Geralt wonders. Yennefer better pay him for this. Pale hands hold onto the girl’s shoulders comfortingly and pull her against his side, but even curled against the man-star, her worry doesn’t seem to waver, nor does the anger to the blue eyes of the one holding her.

“Listen, I want you to know, that whoever you are, and whatever you intend with me, I won’t give you no aid of any kind, nor assist you, and I will do 

whatever is in my power to frustrate your plans, and your mage’s by the matter!”

There’s a heavy silence then, and the whole atmosphere is rather tense.

“Can you walk?”

“No. My leg is broken.” He enunciates it slowly, jingling the chain pointedly by the side of the clearly broken leg. “Are you deaf, as well as stupid?”

Geralt closes his eyes and takes a deep intake of air, as if that could give him any more patience than the little he already doesn’t have. Roach whinnies by his side, shaking her head, and he cracks golden eyes open only to glare at the mare. At least one of them is having fun. Or maybe it’s just her being happy that she will not be ridden back to Wall to try and find an in that will take the three of them. Either way he shoves her head away gently, and reaches for his bedroll.

“Do your kind sleep?” 

The star sputters in offense, throwing his head to the side to glance at the blonde girl sat by him, frown still in place even if she smiles ever so slightly as he shakes his head to her and mutters something about a dickehead and being able to believe, before turning to him with an offended glare.

“Of course, but not at night.” He finally manages, and it’s the same time of ‘are you dumb?’ he and the child have been using so far and Geralt’s good will is wearing thinner than it already is. He raises a pale hand to gesture to the night sky above, to prove a point. “At night, we shine.”

“Well, I can’t think of anything else to do. I’ll sleep. It’s been a long week. You should try to sleep, too. We’ve got a long way to go.”

The star scoffs again and the girl seems about ready to argue, but exhaustion is etched at her face, and when he builds a small fire from the few not burnt twigs he could find, he can hear the man talk her into laying back nearest to the fire, that they’ll figure out things in the morning, settling by her side reassuringly and doing his best to keep the chain out of her worried gaze.

Through the silence of the night, he can hear the silver chain forged with Yennefer’s magic being tugged at fruitlessly as the man settles on the ground and the girl near him. It doesn’t take long for the child’s breath to fall into a quiet, gentle pattern that can only mean she’s fallen asleep, but Geralt falls asleep without hearing the star do the same.

————

buy me a coffee?

[laurelsofhighever]

The Falcon and the Rose Ch. 66 - The Promise of Spring

Chapter Rating: Mature Chapter Warnings: Gore, Dismemberment Relationships: Alistair/Female Cousland Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Fereldan Civil War AU - No Blight, Romance, Angst, Action/Adventure, Eventual Smut, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Fereldan Culture and Customs, Cousland Feels, Canonical Character Death, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Read it on AO3

--

First day of Wintermarch, 9:32 Dragon, First Day

Dim, early morning light seeped through the curtains in Rosslyn’s room. Her windows faced east and north, over the sea, and for years her mornings had been spent hiding from the sun to catch a few more hours of sleep before the inevitable start to the castle’s day, but on this morning, the first peek of dawn did not bother her. She was already awake, if barely, warm under the covers and content. Alistair lay beside her, sharing her pillow, his legs tangled with hers, running gentle caresses along her arms and back with the tips of his fingers.

“I should go,” he told her, breaking into a yawn.

She nudged forwards, brushing a slow touch over his collarbone. “Just a little longer.”

“I’ll be missed,” he warned. “And then I won’t be ready in time. And neither will you.”

“You’ll be cold if you leave,” she pointed out, with a pout.

“I’ll just have to keep myself warm thinking of you.”

Still not quite awake enough to laugh properly, Rosslyn sighed, and leaned into the soft touch along the side of her face before wriggling closer to rest her forehead against his.

“You know, this wouldn’t be such a problem if you married me.”

Her smile widened. “Hush with your logic.”

The subject had become something of a joke between them, moments of levity strung out like beads on a necklace that started when she had airily asked if she could expect him to steal the last pastry at breakfast every morning of their lives. Since then, they had discussed so many things, from the inane to the serious, what colour they should use to monogram the egg-cups and whether it would be better to live in Denerim with the king, or in Highever where they could help Fergus rebuild.

She leaned into him now with a slow press of her lips against his, the gentle hitch of her leg over his waist, a quiet hum when his palm graced her thigh.

“Are you sure you’re not a little bit tempted to stay?” she asked, with her fingers carded in his hair.

“I know what this is,” he replied. His expression remained soft, but worry pulled at the corners of his eyes and she found herself wanting to hide away in the safety of his shoulder. “I won’t ask if you’re sure –”

“I am.”

“And I’ll be beside you for every step of today,” he promised. “And after that, it’ll be over.”

“But they’ll still be gone,” she mumbled. “Is it strange, that after all this time it still feels like a little part of me was hoping that… that they’d just spring back into being?”

Pressing a kiss to her forehead, Alistair shook his head. “When my mother died, they wouldn’t let me see her.”

She held herself closer; he talked so rarely about his childhood.

“For months I wouldn’t believe she was dead, I kept insisting that she was travelling no matter what anyone told me. I grew out of it eventually, I guess, but it’s hard, not getting closure like that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he answered. Their hands found each other and laced together. “I wish I could do more to stop you hurting – but I’m not staying!” he amended quickly, as one fine eyebrow arched.

“Worth a try,” she teased.

“You’re incorrigible.” He scooted across to kiss her. “And I have to go before your maid comes in and scolds me.”

She huffed good-naturedly against his mouth. “Fine. If you must.”

“My lady is so gracious.”

He brushed one last kiss over her lips and rolled over to wriggle out from under the covers, careful to avoid opening their space to any chill inrush of air. As he winced along the cold boards retrieving his clothes so haphazardly discarded the night before, she stretched under the blankets and watched him, and when he reached the door still shrugging his jerkin onto his shoulders, he glanced over at her and his smile might have melted the winter around them.

“I’ll see you soon,” he said.

“I love you.”

--

Three hours later, she stood on the headland outside the city on a flat spur of rock that lifted itself above the tide line, protected from the buffet of the wind by layers of leather and quilted samite, and a hood of thick fur that tickled her cheek with every gust. The sky over the sea had darkened with the burgeoning threat of a storm, an occasional flash of lightning behind the charcoal smudge of heavy rain, and it stirred a bitter tang of damp wood and rotting seaweed in the back of her throat.

The journey down from the castle had begun with the usual chaos of the season, the celebration for the turning point of the year that came with shouts and coloured streamers and a turfing out of old things, and with Alistair and Fergus at her side she had led Highever’s population to a cove rimmed with greyish sand and flat, smooth boulders poking out of the shingle in the low tide, topped with limpets and serpent-green seaweed. A single column of rock rose out of the surf among its smaller brethren, its uneven face stained with rust from the ancient iron rings riveted to it at half the height of a human, a landmark that had once been nothing more than one of many eroded sea stacks along the teyrnir’s coast, but which had been pressed into service generations ago for moments just such as these.

As a crowd gathered on the dunes around her to watch, guards in Laurel blue marched to the cage drawn behind their carriage and hauled Howe from the floor before dragging him to where she waited with the others. He was filthy. The people they had passed in the streets had thrown ash over him from the dead fires of the previous year, but the grey streaks over his skin did little to hide the way it sagged, the stains on the cloth and the lank hair, the sores at his wrists and ankles where the cuffs had cut too deep. The guards gripped him by the elbows as Rosslyn stepped forward to address the crowd, and it was only in part to make sure he didn’t try to escape.

“The year past has been hard on us all,” she called to the people, in a voice lacking the wobble it had carried that faint, faraway day on Harrowhill when she ordered the retreat. “We have lost, and we have mourned, but we have also survived to stand in defiance of those who would have trodden us into the mud.” Rapt silence met her words. “We have much to rebuild, but today is a day of celebration, a day of hope, and a day of justice for those who have done us wrong.”

Without waiting for a response, she turned and drew the Rose’s Thorn form its sheath.

“Maker spit on you,” Howe snarled as she approached. “I deserved more.”

“I agree.”

One of the guards fisted his hand in Howe’s hair to keep his head still. He struggled nonetheless, but she paid him no mind as she drew the tip of her blade along the crest of each sallow cheek, deep enough for a line of blood to well and mix with the coating of ash, but not deep enough for true disfigurement.

“After today, you will be forgotten, your name never spoken, and your bones left to rot in the depths of the sea,” she told him in an undertone. “You had best hope the cold takes you before the sea drakes catch your scent.”

At that, what little defiance was left in his eyes drained away. He had been present to witness her father dispose of the Orlesian duke who had stolen the Cousland seat and treated the people like amusements, had seen first-hand the old punishment brought into new use, the ritual that was both catharsis and warning for those left standing on the shore. Perhaps Howe had thought she would lack the spleen to use it.

She let her gaze slide past him and turned back to the crowd. Her voice, raised from the stomach as Aldous had taught her, reverberated from the circling dunes so that it had an almost magical power. “Now, as for generations, we send the ashes of our past griefs into the sea, to be cleansed so that the world may be renewed.”

A small wave of her hand, and the guards shoved Howe along the causeway, beyond the stretch of the sand and the maze of boulders to the spire already being licked with the first waves of the incoming tide. One held him in place while the other passed chains through the central ring, then fastened the ends around each of his wrists. He would have enough slack to move, to pace if he wanted, but not so much that he would be able to keep his head above the water – if he kept his head at all. The people watched in silence as the guards returned to stand with the rest of the Cousland escort, and even the storm itself seemed to pause, as if waiting to see what happened next.

“What now?” Alistair asked in her ear. Officially, he had come as the king’s representative, to see justice done, but his presence at her back steadied her even if the method of execution wasn’t to his liking.

“We wait.”

The water rose slowly. It undulated in and away, creeping to cover the rocks until only little bobbing patches of seaweed marked their place and then they too disappeared, while crests of white foam lapped at first the shingle then the sand, then at Howe’s ankles where he stood chained to the spire. This was the point, the dread of the inexorable ending. Even from so far away, she could see the nervous darts of his head as his eyes scanned the water, his start as the first spines broke the surface. On his other side, a narrow draconic head smooth with grey-blue scales lifted from the waves with a plume of spray from its nostrils, its head turning this way and that to regard him with large, yellow eyes, before it slipped back under the next crest and disappeared. More shadows stirred under the water, each movement becoming another half-glimpsed fin or a lightning flash of scales, attracted by the smell of blood and Howe’s splashing as he backed against the stone.

The water reached halfway up his thigh when the first sea drake hauled itself onto the causeway. Even half-submerged, it was still huge, with a thick neck and powerful shoulders, a sloped back armoured with interlocking scales that narrowed and paled down its flanks. Webbed black spines ran in a ridge down its back to a broad, paddle-shaped tail, and up to a pair of vestigial horns that crested its head like a crown. Rosslyn had only been small when she had first seen one through her mother’s glass, sunning itself on the pebbled shore of a rocky islet, but even so many years later her awe of such a creature had not diminished. Howe kicked water at it and shouted as it stalked towards him on short, stately legs, and with the air of an affronted cat the spines flared along its back, its hiss a thing of primeval menace as it dived into the swell of an incoming wave. Before Howe could celebrate his triumph, however, another drake surfaced on his other side and made a feinting snap at his knees. He drove off that one, too, but others were already closing in.

“And we just watch?” Alistair asked, trying to keep his voice steady. “How long do we stay here?”

“Until it is finished,” Fergus answered.

“This is how things are done,” Rosslyn told him, her eyes fixed on the far, struggling point. “You were right that we can’t match the suffering he caused, but it isn’t about killing him.” Her expression softened into doubt, and she turned to him. “You don’t have to stay.”

The crash of a wave drowned out Howe’s yelled curse, but not the chorus of inhuman cries that followed it. Alistair’s jaw clenched at the sound, but he reached for her hand anyway.

“I promised I would,” he said.

She had told him what was planned, waited with held breath for him to make her choose between his righteousness and justice for her people, but he had merely nodded, and followed her lead, and now the last of her worry washed away in a sigh of relief. A scream behind her brought her gaze back to Howe. The water reached almost to his chest. For a moment she saw only a patch of darkness spreading like oil over the water, and then stillness, and streams of sinuous forms moving against the current. And then the water frothed pink. Howe shrieked. His arms jerked to try and get away, the chains sparking against the rock, until with one final shudder his body fell limp, and the only movement then came from the squabble of the sea drakes over their feast.

Through it all, Rosslyn watched stony-faced, forced herself not to look away. A single tear leaked from the corner of her eye and rolled down her cheek, but she ignored it. For a moment, the emotion stirring beneath her ribs went unrecognised, like a call in the darkness, until her breathing eased and she realised the slow spread of peace through her limbs. The encroaching storm and the rising water swallowed up the scene before her. It would take days for the bones to be picked clean, and somehow that was enough, final enough, that a weight she had not realised she had been carrying lifted from her shoulders, and when she turned her head to face Fergus, he met her gaze with the same tired look in his eyes. When they had stood together on the steps of Castle Cousland nearly a year before, her head had been full of the stories of battle, valiant triumphs and victories over fearful opponents, but few had mentioned what came after, the emptiness when there was nobody left to fight, and nobody waiting at home to welcome the hero’s return.

She had forgotten Alistair’s hand in hers until he squeezed it lightly to get her attention. People were already starting to leave. Watching them, the slow, steady amble back to hearth and home and family to light the fires for the coming year, she sagged and let her head fall on his shoulder, accepting the quiet flow of his strength with nothing more than a sigh. Her mind drifted back over the past few weeks, to their argument and the question he had asked her. They had spent so much time together since then, sharing meals and sneaking out of each other’s beds in the mornings, small moments that would have been unthinkable to the girl who had thundered out of the barbican gates in the middle of the night at the head of an army.

“It’s getting late,” Alistair murmured as the first drops of rain pattered the rock around them.

“It’s done,” she agreed. “We should go.”

The journey back to the castle passed in silence, and more silence met them beyond the barbican. Aside from the complement of volunteers filling the duty roster, most of the guard and the servants had taken the day to visit friends or relatives after the services in the chantry. As Rosslyn descended from the carriage, her thoughts drifted to Morrence, who had found her home a wreckage of the one she knew, and who had gone with Leliana to spend time with Gideon and his brothers.

“You’re back!” Amell cried from the top of the stairs, her voice nearly blown away by the wind. “Lord Fergus needs his treatment.”

“Can it wait?” Fergus asked. “I want to walk in the gardens.”

“Your Lordship, the weather –”

“Dearest little sister, how about we take a turn together?” he interrupted.

Something in his tone reminded Rosslyn of their mother when she was determined to get her way, but she had inherited the Seawolf’s steel, too. “Are you warm enough?”

“What, under the four blankets you’ve already piled on top of my five layers?”

“I feared you wouldn’t be able to walk if I added any more,” she told him with a wry quirk of her brow.

“I’m fine,” he huffed. “You fuss worse than Nan ever did.”

Alistair delicately cleared his throat. “I’ll be in the library.”

She squeezed his fingers, mourning that she had to let them go. “I’ll see you soon.”

For an instant, his gaze lingered on her mouth, but with their company he let her go unkissed, and they parted, he up the keep steps into the warmth of the castle, and she after her brother, who was already halfway to the door in the curtain wall that led down to the uppermost terrace of the gardens. The stairs in the pass were free of ice, but the narrow corridor channelled the wind into a freezing knife that cut at any flesh not safely hidden under winter layers. The gravel paths beyond wandered as they always had between beds now devoid of their summer verdancy, as if no horrors had befallen the castle at all, with only the ragged line of the clipped rosemary hedges betraying the months of neglect.

Fergus’ cane tapped a steady rhythm along the path, keeping time with the pace of Rosslyn’s thoughts as she fidgeted with the silence. She let him lead her, distracting herself with the work that would need to be done, and hoping the sky would leave off opening long enough for her brother to say whatever was clearly on his mind.

“That was a good speech you gave today,” he said eventually, poking at a weed that had sprung up between the stones. “Are you going to take your own advice?”

“What do you mean?”

“Moving forward,” he answered. “Building a life.”

He turned off the formal walk to a path that clung to the base of the keep wall, and her step faltered. She knew where they were going.

“The war isn’t over yet.” She picked a stray bit of leaf from her glove. “There are still things to do.”

He stopped, turned. “You have a man who loves you – a good man, who’s worthy of you, as far as I can tell. Putting that off helps no one.”

“Putting what off, exactly?”

For the space of a breath, he held the challenge in her gaze, battling her will to be obstinate in the face of his prying, until he grumbled something unintelligible and lifted his eyes skyward. Whether he was cursing her or the weather was difficult to tell.

“You’ve become quite grouchy in your old age,” she remarked as they continued along the path.

An elegant glasshouse waited at the end of it, set against the northern wall of the keep and best placed for the sun and the views as the terraced levels of the garden gave way to sheer basalt cliffs. Many of the glass panes between the wrought-iron frames had broken, and dead leaves piled inside the door, but with nothing to burn or to break, the interior had been left mostly untouched. The servants must have kept the plants watered for there to still be so much greenery, but Rosslyn doubted many of Howe’s soldiers had ventured far enough into the gardens to even discover Oriana’s solar, the gift she had found waiting for her when she stepped off that final ship from Antiva.

Of course Fergus would want to spend time in this place, on this day. He was already wandering through the space, his hands brushing the leaves of the orange trees his wife had planted as the rain finally unleashed itself upon them. It clattered on the glass like a volley of ballista bolts, globs of gritty sleet that turned into a water race towards the gutter and spilled over the broken bits in the roof. He ignored the roar as the front passed over them and settled into a steadier drone against their shelter, busy instead with an overturned chair that he dusted off with the tail end of one of his blankets.

“He asked you, didn’t he?”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not talking about this with you. I had enough of you all prying into my personal life years before I ever met Alistair, and it’s not going to change now. It’s between me and him. And I can’t believe you would be so hypocritical! You nearly ran away to Antiva when Mother mentioned –” Her mouth snapped shut, but too late to avoid the grief pinching at the corners of her brother’s eyes.

“Don’t deny yourself happiness out of pity for me,” he cautioned. “I lost everything except you, don’t – don’t add to that. You deserve the same joy I had. There’s –” He blinked and looked up at the rain. “There’s nothing like it, and we Couslands don’t do well when denied our passions. We mope, and you’re awful when you mope.”

Unsure of how to reply, she turned away from him and out to the raging sea. It was all well for her brother to sit and hand out advice like one of Canavan’s battle lectures but he had had nothing to lose in pursuit of Oriana; he would still have been himself. She wanted the future she saw with Alistair, that image of them curled up together in the library with the sunlight streaming through the window, but in the darkness when the nightmares woke her and only the sound of his breathing kept her panic at bay, the fear of losing him – of the husk she might become without him – became a visceral, living thing that threatened to engulf her whole. She couldn’t take the step, couldn’t make it real.

She deflected for something simpler. “What about you?”

“I’ll do my duty, as Father would have wanted,” he answered, stabbing his cane through a leaf. “And if that prince of yours ever forgets how good he has it, I’ll have to step in and remind him. Forcefully. With a sword.”

At that, she smiled. “You’re so annoying.”

“It makes up for all the years you tagged along after me, trying to keep up,” he shot back, and even stuck out his tongue.

“We used to drive Nan mad.”

“It’s a shame she worked out our scheme for stealing biscuits from the kitchen.” He sighed. “Go on in and see His Highness, before he comes out looking and thinking you’ve fallen down a rabbit hole or something. I – I want to stay here for a while.”

Alone, he didn’t say.

“And your healing session?” she asked.

“I’ll manage without it.”

The dutiful part of her worried, wanted to argue, but she remembered Deerswall, and the solitude she had looked for in the grove away from the eyes of all looking to her to lead. So she nodded, and drew her weather layers more tightly around her shoulders for the walk back to the keep.

“Don’t stay out too long,” she said, and stepped out into the rain.

[pulpwriterx]

Ben Solo, Gladiator.  Part 2 : Lost, Stolen, Sold?

***

Prime Minister Organa-Solo was on pins and needles all day.

She hadn’t made any appointments, because she knew she would not have been able to keep them.

She locked Poe and Finn in her office when he arrived.

“Well, was it Ben?” Leia asked Poe.

“It was the Chief! I know Ren, I was in his command crew! Me and Poe got a seat in front…”

***

About a half hour into the spectacle, the Ringmaster came out to thunderous cheers.

Almost everybody but Finn and Poe knew what was about to happen.

“Ladies and gentlemen of all races and species! This is the moment you have been waiting for. I give you your champion! The Wookiee!”

Four other Wookies led a huge man bound in chains into the center ring.

He wore nothing but a Wookiee battle helmet and arm-guards, a short kilt or skirt of something that looked like interlinked rows of black flaps of carbon-fiber armor, an ordinary pair of black exercise shorts, and a pair of dusty Imperial boots.

The gladiator the called the Wookiee strained a little to the left and the right and then, with a great roar, he snapped all his chains like they were made of paper.

The crowd roared.

The gladiator ignited that familiar red lightsaber and the crowd roared, louder.

“Vengeance is mine! Valhalla, I am coming!” the Wookiee roared.

He fought three well-armed and fully dressed former Imperial officers at a time, killing them all, and one black-robed Sith, who also had a lightsaber.

They were not, Finn observed, First Order Officers.

“Those are Imperials, Poe. Old Imperials. Men who were officers for the Empire.” Finn pointed out.

“What difference would that make?”

“They aren’t his people. Our people. First Order guys. We had some Imperials on the Finalizer, but they were all pilots. The old Imperial officers, they were Snoke’s guys. Most of them were pretty brutal, and universally despised. Even by First Order officers. The Chief’s war isn’t over. As long as one of them is alive? He can’t stop fighting.”

Poe nodded, understanding dawning on him.

Ben, because it was Ben, danced his Imperial opponents around for show, to please the audience, but he had to genuinely fight the Sith.

Finn and Poe knew he would win, and they knew he would either cut the man in half or take his head.

Ben did both.

He swung his lightsaber, forehand and cut the Sith in half, and then decapitated him on the backswing.

He caught the head as it was falling and held it up to the crowd.

The eyes were still blinking, and the mouth gaped in shock.

He walked around the bloody ring, shouting, and brandishing the head.

“Thus always to my enemies! Death to the Imperials of the First Empire! Death to the Sith! They are the ghosts of the past and they must die! And I will kill them all!”

The crowd roared.

“Send them all to Hell, Chief!” someone yelled.

Finn stood up.

“Four more for us, Chief!” he yelled.

There was a scattered cheer, from the crowd.

“I will hunt them to the last man, woman and child, my brothers and sisters!” Ben promised.

“The Chief was a good commander. He never asked us to do anything he wouldn’t do. We followed him because he was a good commander and we respected him. Not because we feared or hated him. That kind of loyalty doesn’t go away.” Finn explained.

As everyone began to file out, Finn and Poe made a beeline for the exit.

Poe went one way to look for Ben, Finn went the other.

Finn went out the rear door.

Behind the arena, under a large metal awning against the near-constant Arkanian rains there was a row of stalls.

Ben was standing in one, taking off his bloody armor.

There was hay on this dirt floor, and every gladiator had a stall.

Finn was so embarrassed for his Chieftain that he tried to leave without being seen.

“Hey, soldier! FN2187! I hear you got a name now. Finn. That’s funny, because I lost two names along the way. I’m not dead. You’re not being haunted. Come over here and talk to me.”

Finn turned around.

His Chieftain was smiling at him.

Finn went over to the wooden stall, even though he was almost overpowered by the smell of blood, gore and sweat.

The man who had been Kylo Ren was encrusted with all of that, along with a coating of thick Arkanian mud.

In a stall, with hay on the floor, like an animal might have.

With a collar around his neck, to keep him from escaping.

It made Finn think of when he had served under this man, and how they had called him “My Chieftain” or just “Chief”

He had been a good commanding officer.

They had feared Smoke, but loved Kylo Ren; he had always been one of them

Whatever fate the man deserved, this was worse.

When Finn got close enough, Ben trapped him in a back-slapping, hearty man-hug.

“How the fuck are you? I didn’t hurt you too bad on Starkiller Base, huh? I’m sorry, Finn. It was the betrayal that hurt me. I didn’t know what you knew then. That I could escape. That l could be free.”

“Chief, you’re not free, yet. What are you doing here?”

“My time. Like you said. That’s four less of the bastards who enslaved us. Four more for us.”

“Poe! Come here! I have to get you out of here, Chief. It’s not worth it. You can’t be in this place like a slave. Like an animal. It’s not right. Maybe you deserved punishment, but you…we changed. Both of us. We switched sides. I killed a lot of people when I was a Stormtrooper, too. But I made up for it, and I’m still trying to. I mean, you and Rey pretty much won the war. And people say Ben Solo killed Kylo Ren. So, you don’t have to hide out here. You’re a free man, now. You don’t have to live like this.”

“I’m not hiding out. I’m making up for my crimes. Doing time for them, anyway.”

“Not like this, Chief. I know it’s hard to accept freedom. To live with what you did in the past. But doing this won’t help.”

Poe walked up beside Finn.

“Ben? Holy Mother Force! I was really hoping that wasn’t you! How did you…never mind. We’re going to get you out of here.”

“I can’t just leave. You see this iron collar around my neck? It’s not just to attach shackles to. It’s a shock collar. If I go too far? It's a humane death. A quick shock, and I’m bantha fodder.”

Finn looked away.

“This is worse than the First Order. So much worse.” he said, his voice cracking with emotion.

“Ben, what the fark? If you try to leave, they shock you to death? You’re like my unofficial little brother. You think I’m going to leave you like this? I’ll get money. Lots of money. Your mother’s loaded. How can you stand the smell?” Poe persisted.

Ben laughed, sadly.

“You get used to the smell. And I don’t want to go. You guys should free somebody who’s here against his will.  I sold myself into slavery for five years. I might make it ten. It was good to see you both. I’m glad you found your way back. But there isn’t one for me. I’d like to talk to you guys for longer, but a very rich lady paid the Ringmaster a lot of money for my company, this evening, and I have to go take a shower and a bath. I’m doing hard time, you know.”

He winked at them.

“Who?” Poe asked.

“Did you see the Askajian Princess? She’s a big girl, but in all the right places, and she is six feet tall. Blonde. Blue-eyes. Beautiful. And you know Askajian women have four sets of tits. I saw her in one of the private boxes. That means she paid good money for the show, and for me. She always tells me I’m her favorite. Maybe she’ll buy me from the Ringmaster and keep me on a big pink cushion at the foot of her throne. A man can dream, can’t he?”

Ben winked.

“Its not all bad. I’ll see you guys around. I’ve got to go drown my angst in a beautiful woman.”

***

“Did you see anybody like that, Poe?”

“Yes. But I also saw Hela Darkstar. Ben was waving that head at her like it was a long-stemmed red rose. And she did keep him, as a concubine, once. For six months. He bet his ass on a hand of Sabacc, and lost. It took Han six months to negotiate a price with Fenrir Darkstar, and I was there the day he paid it. Ben didn’t want to go. And Hela didn’t want to let him.”

“I remember her. She was Thursday. And even when she didn’t show? Nobody else was Thursday. We’d better hurry. If Hela buys the Chief back from the Ringmaster? Why the fuck would he want to come with us?”

***

Leia put her head down on her desk.

“I’ve been trying to get that hellhole shut down for decades. Now they have my son. Fighting him like a dog and breeding him like a bull. Meanwhile,  I can give out fifty executive orders. The Darkstars will never carry them out. Unlike her father, Hela isn’t a big fan of the Arena, but she tells me it brings in a quarter of the revenue Arkanis gets. More, in a slow year.  She can’t just shut it down. Otherwise, who the hell would go to Arkanis? I keep telling the Senate, if we re-opened the old Imperial Academy as a branch of the Republic Academy then the Clans could afford to shut down the Arena. But it’s the Outer Rim. Nobody cares. Maybe they will, now. Did you find out how much Ragnar wants for Ben?”

“Two million in Imperial Gold Coins.” Poe replied

“Ben has that. I don’t know where he’s hidden it, though.”

“But I think Ragnar Darkstar would sell to his cousin and Chieftain for less.”

“Hela?”

“I saw her there. So did Ben. He told us an Askajian princess had purchased him for the evening, but I think it was Hela. Because it was Thursday. If she buys his freedom and takes him away? She’ll give him back his great-grandfather Kylo Skywalker’s clan. And Ben will have no reason to ever come home.”

“Yes he will.”

“You mean Rey?”

“I mean Rey. I hate for her to see him in that place, but there’s nothing else we can do. That Twi-lek trader? Fix it so he innocently tells Rey the story. She’s our only hope. I can’t just go bust him out. But she can.”

***

“Ben, what are you doing in this terrible place? You’re breaking my black heart. I hate this Arena, but my planet would starve without it. But seeing you here? I want to kill my cousin Ragnar, free you all, and burn this place to the ground.”

“I’m not going with you, Hela.”

“You are the son of Leia Skywalker, the grandson of Anakin Skywalker, the great-grandson of Kylo Skywalker, the rightful Chieftain of the Raven Clan. The scion of the usuper doesn’t deserve your birthright. Why let him have it? You took Kylo’s name. Now take your birthright, Ben. We’ll take it, together.”

“Going to war with you to free my people? It’s tempting, Hela. But I’m not worth to be Chieftain of the Raven Clan. I’m not worthy to be Ben Solo. I’m not worthy to be anything but what I am. So, are you really going to waste your money talking all night?”

Hela shoved a chest full of Imperial Gold Coins at his feet.

“That’s 500 large, in Imperial Gold Coins, and you’re worth every one, you son of a bitch. Like it or not? You’re coming with me. I gave Ragnar two weeks, at the most, to finish your bookings? And then? You’re all mine. Again.”

Hela Darkstar was wearing her long red hair loose, and her Arkanian tattoos, and nothing else but the dagger strapped to her round white thigh.

She was sitting in a big, overstuffed chair.

“You can’t just buy me, Hela. This is my punishment, for the wrong I've done.”

“I can so just buy you, Ben. I spent a small fortune out-bidding that Askajian Amazon, just for tonight. You want punishment?”

She opened her legs as far as they would go.

“Kneel down on the rug, right about here and I’ll punish you. I’ll fucking drown you, and at these prices, you’d better lick it up and swallow every drop.”

“Don’t you even want me to take a bath?” Ben asked, laughing.

“Later. Right now? You want to be a cheap man whore? I’ll farkling well treat you like one. I’ll have you fine and filthy, and fuck you right on the goddamn floor.”

“You and I both know I don’t come cheap.”

Hela winced.

“That was a terrible pun! Get on your knees and beg my forgiveness for saying it!”

***

“Keep your eyes closed.”

Hela Darkstar, Chieftain of the Wolf Clan, High Chieftain of all the Clans of Arkanis, sniffed Prince Organa-Solo's hair.

“Nope. Still smells a little like bantha shit. I have to wash it, again.”

“I can do this, myself.”

“Ben, when you do things, yourself, without a smart woman around? You fuck up.”

Hela washed his hair, again, and rinsed it.

“Now we’re clean. But this water isn’t. I’m getting out. Parlay in the bedroom?”

“Parlay for what?”

“That chest of Imperial Gold Coins.”

Ben was still drying his hair with a towel when he came out.

“I’m listening.”

“Fucking pirate. So, is being a man whore the way you thought it would be in your fantasy of ‘By the Force, yes, women are going to pay to have sex with me? Where do I sign?’ Or do you find the whole thing a little demeaning?”

“Most of the time? It’s just like any man’s dumb teenage fantasy come true. But some of these women? Demeaning isn’t even the word. I’ve been asked to do some really weird things. Disturbingly so. And when I refuse?  Ragnar yells at me because he had to give people their money back. And some of these girls who just wanted, you know, the usual? They were awful to me. They treated me like I was…”

“A slave? A whore?”

“Speaking of which? General Pryde paid for an evening with me. Ragnar just looked at me when I said, ‘Go ahead, take his money. He’s been in love with me for years.’ It’s not what you think, Hela. I just wanted to spend some time with a human being who loves me. We talked. He tried to convince me to leave. Called me “Benjamin” and “Young Lord Vader”. Brought me the kind of cookies I liked. I cried, and he hugged me. And I said, ‘Alright Enric. You win. I give up. You can give me a blow job. I’ll take off my clothes. And he said, ‘My dear boy, my beautiful boy, I have been waiting for ten years for this, but I love and respect you too much to take advantage of you. You’re terrible at being a whore, you should quit.’ That was my low point.”

“You should quit. And you don’t have to live here. Come and live with me. You can just come here and do your fighting, and then come home to me, until your time here is served. Then I don’t have to give Ragnar this money. Also? You have to call your mother. And I won’t have time for you, every day, so you’re going to let Rebel Girl know that you’re alive. These are my terms.”

“They aren’t bad. Can I have the Askajian Princess to my rooms?”

“No. And no other women but Rey. You want to fuck around? Rent a room. You’ve got the money.”

[tintin-is-my-life]

- FANFICTION - 1st part

An Unexpected Meeting

In these radiant weather, Tintin was walking around the flee market, hoping to find some reading treasures. Suddenly, he froze. He had just noticed a magnificent antique: a Caravel.

He looked at it more closely: "The Unicorn" as it was called. Tintin paid the seller, but at that very moment a man rushed to the stall. He was an American, wearing blue felt clothes. He asked Tintin if he didn't want to sell him the beautiful ship. The answer was no, of course. After that, the man warned him against ill-intentioned people who might be willing to do anything to take the ship. The man got further and further away, and finally left.

Suddenly, a voice was heard:

Wonderful...oh... it's just wonderful...

No need to wrap it up, I'll take it as it is, you don't mind if I pay by check?"

An other interested party... thought Tintin.

The salesman answered: If you want to buy it, address it to this boy!

The man replied: I see... so let the boy name his price...

It's not forsale, Tintin replied.

The man introduced himself : My name is Ivan Ivanovich Sakharine. I recently acquired Marlinspike Hall. And,this ship, as you must surely know, has always been part of the estate.

Tintin: Of the late sea captain?

Sakharine:Yes, but the family has suffered great setbacks. They lost everything! They've gone from bad luck to bad luck. . . Let's talk about. . . generations of drinking and irrational behavior.

Tintin: I'm sorry, but as I told you before, it's not for sale. Goodbye,sir.

Sakharine turned to the seller, asking him if he had any idea who he was dealing with.

Seller: You don't know him? It's Tintin. A famous reporter, he is very well known in Belgium but also in the whole world.

Sakharine: I've never heard of this... kid at all. * squinting eyes and looking scornful* Besides, I've only been in Brussels for a short time. He said as he watched Tintin goaway. Then he left without saying a word.

Meanwhile, Tintin returned to his apartment. He had questions in his head. First of all, why did this boat attract so much covetousness? And what secrets could it be hiding?

Tintin put the boat on his cabinet and went to the library. He needed to learn about the history of this caravel. He learned that "The Unicorn" was in fact a ship in Louis XIV's fleet, and that Louis XIV had offered the Captain, Sir Francis Haddock, a priceless treasure as a reward for his loyalty.But the ship was attacked by pirates, and only the Captain escaped.And ever since then, the family has been under a curse.

In the book, an inscription caught his attention:

"Only a true Haddock can discoverthe secret of The Unicorn..."

Later, Tintin returned home and discovered in amazement that the boat had disappeared. On this discovery, he decided to go where he was sure to find it, at Marlinspike Hall, in other words, the present home of Mr.Sakharine.

He arrived on the spot and without surprise, he found the model ship. But suddenly he received a blow to the head and collapsed.

Sakharine : Welcome to Marlinspike Hall !

Tintin went straight to the point: I came to retrieve my property !!

Sakharine: I'm sorry. I am not sure I follow you...

Tintin : Oh, I think you do !

Sakharine: I'm afraid you're mistaken, Mr. Tintin!

Tintin: There's no mistake ! It belongs to me!

Sakharine: Are you sure?

Tintin: Well,of course I'm sure, I took it home, I put it on the cabinet in the living room. A cat came in and dropped it while I was chasing it ! But, hum... (clears throat) How can that be? The mast is intact....It's not my ship.

Sakharine: It certainly isn't your ship, young man! This one I've had for a very long time.

Tintin : I am sorry, it looks identical.

Sakharine: Well, look can bedeceiving !

Tintin: Yes, indeed, but I don't understand ! Why did Sir Francis make two ships exactly alike? And you have one already ! Why do you want another one ? What is about this model that would cause someone to steal it ?

Sakharine: Goodness me! Why so many questions?

Tintin: It's my job, there could be a story here. That's what I do, you see.

Sakharine: Well, it's not a great mystery, Sir Francis Haddock was a drunkard, and a hopeless reprobate. He was doomed to fail and he bequeathed that failure to his sons !

Tintin: So it's true! The Haddock line is cursed!

Sakharine: What else have you find out ?

Tintin:What is there to find?

Sakharine: That depends what you'relooking for !

Tintin: I'm looking for answers,...Mr.Sakharine.

Sakharine: You're looking in the wrong place. ...It's late! I think you should go home, young man ! Nestor! Take him home!

The butler named Nestor met Tintin at the door and said, "It's too bad, sir... That the mast is broken on your model,sir... I hope you've found all the parts, things get lost so easily.

Sakharine called Nestor back, who finally greeted Tintin before closing the door.

A few minutes later, Tintin went home. He took the keys out of his pocket before he realized his door had been forced. When he entered his apartment, he discovered that all the rooms had been returned, but absolutely nothing was missing. Meanwhile, it was clear that this burglar was looking for something specific, but what?

Suddenly, Tintin saw a light under one of the pieces of furniture, especially the one where he had put the caravel down a few hours earlier. He went down to look, and found a small cylindrical silver-colored object. Inside it was a scroll :

Tintin returned to his office to examine what he had just found.

Then he read the manuscript:

"Three brothers joined , three Unicorns in company sailing in the noonday sun will speak. For'tis from the light will dawn. And then shines forh the Eagle's cross. »

Just after the message, strange signs were written.

Tintin doesn't really understand the meaning of all this:

I don't understand what it is. But it explains why they ransacked my apartment. He must have been looking for this, and they didn't find it. Which means...they'll be back...

Suddenly, the doorbell rang, the concierge went to see who it could be at this hour. Going down the stairs, Tintin recognized the voice of the man he had met in the flee market : the "American". He told Mrs. Pinson that he would take care of it.

The man called out to Tintin: My boy, is that you?

Tintin: What do you want?

The man:Listen, I won't tell you everything, but I swear to God, I never thought he would kill for that !

Tintin: Who? Who are you talking about?

Man: I'm trying to tell you that your life is in danger!

Tintin: Answer me, WHO?

The man didn't have time to answer because suddenly he was shot. He collapsed in the hall of the building with just enough time to leave a clue. With his blood, the man had indicated several letters that made up the word: "K-A-R-A-B-O-U-D-J-A-N."

The next morning, Tintin received the Dupondt for the investigation. The man who had been targeted was called Barnabé Dawes, and he was a very high-ranking Interpol inspector. The Dupondt retrieved the newspaper for evidence and left. Tintin walked them to the door. He stepped out for a moment to say goodbye to the Dupondt as they left. He didn't notice that a man had just stolen his wallet, in which the scroll was. Indeed, earlier in the morning, the Dupondt told Tintin that they were on the trail of a pickpocket who had been raiding the city and its surroundings for several weeks.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Meanwhile, on the boat Karaboudjan...

The ship's captain, Kathrynn Haddock, was busy making an inventory of the goods on the ship, when suddenly one of her "crewmen" injected her with a syringe of a powerful soporific. It was Tom, one of the ship's employees, under the command of a certain Sakharine.

Sakharine had become an intruder on the boat. And now that the captain was out of harm's way, he could take complete control of the ship. Kathrynn found herself trapped in her own boat, in her own holds.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Meanwhile, while Tintin was quietlywatching the Dupondt leave, he was stopped by two so-called "deliverymen"... who immediately applied a chloroform swab under hisnose. The two men loaded him into a crate and drove him to Karaboudjan.

Tintin woke up chained to a cage. Hesoon realized that his pockets were being searched.

Sakharine arrived in the hold andexclaimed:

Tom, Alllan! Have you found it ?

Allan said, He doesn't have it !

Sakharine : If it it is not here, then where is it ?

Tintin, barely awake, answered: Where iswhat?

Sakharine : The scroll from The Unicorn, apiece of paper like this !

Tintin: You mean the poem ?

Sakharine : Yes...

Tintin: The calligraphic poem ?

Sakharine : Yes...

Tintin : Who was in a cylinder ?

Sakharine: Yes !

Tintin : Concealed in the mast?

Sakharine : YES!

Tintin smiled a little and said: Idon't have it !

Sakharine went into a black anger.

He brandished the sword he had hiddenin his cane and threatened Tintin.

You know the value of this scroll,otherwise why would you want it?

Tintin: Two caravels, and two scrollsforming part of an enigma, you have one, you need the other, butthat's not it, there's something else...

Sakharine: I'll find it with orwithout your help. I advise you to think about how useful you are to me...

Sakharine and her henchmen are on theirway back.

We'll deal with him on the way, he says.

By the time Sakharine reached thebridge, he was angrier than ever.

Ah! He's lying, he must have thatmanuscript, the question is what did he do with it ?

Allan : We searched it thoroughly, boss!

Sakharine : I want you to go down there and makehim talk, break every bone in his body if you have to!

Another henchman of Sakharin's cameshouting:

Mr Sakharine, Mr Sakharine, the Captainhas come to her senses, she's conscious and accuses us of mutiny. Shesays you turned the crew against her!

Sakharine : Well, don't just stand there, give hera shot!

Yes, Boss, they say.

Allan and Tom went back to interrogateTintin, who unfortunately had no means of escape.

Well, this time, you're going to tellus where the scroll is ! Said Allan.

Tintin: I've already told you that Idon't have it.

Allan: All right! We'll have fun then!Tom, you joining the party?

Of course, he said, closing hisstitches.

Allan took Tintin's hair to hold hishead and started kicking him in the stomach.

*Cough*... Tintin spat blood.

After a few minutes, Allan pulled out agun to try to get something from Tintin. But it was more to scare himthan anything else, because Sakharine hadn't ordered to kill him inany way.

Allan : You're going to tell us where thescroll is, or else you can say goodbye to your life !

He placed the gun to his temple.

Obviously, Tintin didn't say a word. Helooked at them scornfully and mockingly.

Allan, very upset by the situation,kicked him in the face, then continued with a punch. He then grabbedTintin's collar. And looked him in the eyes.

Allan : You should tell us, becausewe're really going to end up killing you if you don't.

Tintin, about to faint, tried to say afew words.

Allan: What ? I can't understand whatyou're saying ! (Allan didn't realize that Tintin had actually calledthem idiots.)

And with those words he hit him again.This time, his body couldn't resist anymore, Tintin fainted.

Allan : We won't get anything out ofhim now.

Tom: Yeah, let's go tell the boss! And,it's not going to be a party... He hasn't told us a thing...

When they arrived in Sakharine's cabin, Allan and Tom told him that Tintin hadn't confessed to anything aboutthe parchment's hiding place. And, of course, Sakharine became furious:

I told you to make him talk, not to make him sleep! We're wasting precious time while this kid "rests"...In the meantime, go about your business as a sailor. And, Tom, beforeyou do that, you'd better check that Haddock is all right. I don'twant her to find out about our shenanigans. It's much too early forthat now. She mustn't find out. It'll make revenge all the sweeter. He said, rubbing his hands together.

Next on another post ^^

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Indecent

This is a dark!Loki and OC fic. It will contain noncon content amd possibly other senstive matters. Please mind the trigger warnings.

Note: I posted this months ago on ao3. I've had a recent wave of people asking to continue. So I've decided to post it here and see if it's worth carrying on.

Please let me know what you think and please reblog if you can.

Summary: Sigorna must save her brother after he is caught cheating at a gambling house.

Sigorna was sat on her front step, chiselling a hunk of jade into a perfect tear drop. Next she would twist silver around it and attach it to a chain. Another bobble to add to her wares. They were simple adornments but they sold well. Affordable, but attractive. Besides, peasants didn’t need elaborate jewelry, not like those nobles who spent their days judging each other by the cut of their fur and the girth of their gems. It all seemed so trivial to those who lived coin to coin.

Something was amiss. Giermund never spoke to Sigorna. She saw him near every day but it was rare he ever paid her any heed. It was better that way. The few words they had exchanged were sharp, if not heated. She couldn’t understand why her brother, Audun, spent his time with such an oaf. He had a nose for mischief, always finding a new way to bend his morals or stir trouble. There was too much work to be done to waste on an imp like Giermund but she could not forsake her brother his friends. They were blood and she loved him regardless.

Giermund stood before her, staring down at her expectantly. His shadow was ominous as the sun cast if over her front step. She looked up, keeping chisel and stone in hand. She glanced around for Audun but he was nowhere to be seen. That was the first sign that the pair had found trouble. Sigorna tilted her head and gave a long sigh.

“Giermund,” She greeted dully, “What brings you to my door?”

“Sig,” He replied, adopting her brother’s pet name for her. She scowled but kept quiet. His brown eyes were dilated; he was afraid. “There’s no time. You must come.”

“What’s going on?” She stood, tools in hand.

“I..I’ll explain on the way but we must hurry,” The lack of venom in his tone and the desperation in his eye unsettled her. Giermund always held a special spark of loathing for her. She looked down at her chisel and the chunk of jade and tucked them in the pocket of her apron. She hadn’t the time to lock them away in her chest.

“Explain,” She waved him back the way he had come, walking at his side. His strides were almost too long to match. Sigorna was a strong woman; her muscles thicker than most of her sex, but she was short. Her dark red hair varied between a deep auburn and unnatural violet, the tight curls bound at the nape of her neck.

“We were at the Asp’s Coil,” He began and Sigorna growled. “We were winning, you wouldn’t believe it. We got so much silver we could have cried.” He grinned, “But, well, I guess it made the staff suspicious and they pulled us aside. They interrogated us and...they let me go but they said Audun's being held still. They said he was to be arrested.”

“Gods damn it, Giermund,” She stopped short and seized him by his jacket. He was much taller than her but she easily halted him, “The Asp’s Coil. What have I said about the gambling houses? Especially those in the upper hills.”

Giermund had the grace to look guilty but his inherent defiance burned in his glare. Sigorna grimaced and released him, turning back to the street. “Come on, before they haul him off to the dungeons. I should at least like to bid farewell before my brother is locked away.”

She kept silent for the rest of the walk. She had a feeling that Giermund was not telling her everything and that he had played a bigger role in her brother’s detainment. She looked up as they approached the gambling house. Two golden snakes formed an arch above the doorway, their heads twisted  around each other at the top. There was a drunken man passed out at the bottom of the steps and a woman begging for coin not far from him. She was surprised to see such characters in this neighbourhood; it was closer to the palace and oft frequented by nobles.

She marched up the steps and through the door, the guards within halting her as they spotted Giermund. “Hey,” They caught him by his collar, “Didn’t we just toss you out of here?”

“I...I’ve come back to see my friend before he’s sent off to the prison. Please, I said I would return. Ask your boss.” He sputtered.

“I am the sister of the man you are holding here and I should like to speak with him,” Sigorna demanded.

The guards looked at each other. “The lady can see him but not you,” They tossed Giermund back through the door and he barely steadied himself before he could stumble down the steps, “Go before you join your friend in his fate.”

“Boss won’t be happy ‘bout her,” The other guard said, “He’s come all the way down here to deal with these idiots and now this.”

“The boss is never happy,” His companion grumbled, “And I’m done arguing.” He looked down at Sigorna as he crossed his arms, “You come with us and you make it quick.”

They guided her to the left of the entrance and through a door marked for staff only. She felt as if she were being marched to a prison herself with a guard on each side of her. She had never been in a gambling house before and it was as inhospitable as she had expected. The walls were painted with scenes of debauchery and the rabble of voices always seemed to be present even in the vacant hallway.

A set of stalls waited at the end of the next corridor, bars enclosed each and a dark figure sat huddled in one of them. It seemed they needed cages for hustlers more often than not. As she neared the occupied cell, the figure stood and she recognized her brother peering out at her. He clung to the bars, his cheeks streaked with dry tears. His fear mixed with shame as she approached.

“Audun,” She shook her head, “How many times have I warned you about these places?” She hissed.

“Please, Sig, I don’t need an ‘I told you so’,” He pleaded, “Especially if this is the last time we see each other.” He sniffed, “I didn’t know the dice were loaded.”

“Loaded dice?” She winced, “Aud, they’ll take a hand for that.”

“If I’m lucky that’s all they’ll take. I...Giermund gave me the dice but I don’t think he--”

“I knew it,” She interjected, “Do you still think he’s a friend now? You’re behind bars because he wanted to cheat criminals out of their money. We must tell them they were not your dice.”

“I tried that but...you really think they’ll just let me go?”

“Where’s the owner of this sty?” She asked, “Let me speak with him.”

“Sig, this isn’t just any gambling house, the owner…” His voice died as his eyes widened, looking past his sister.

Sigorna’s ears pricked and she slowly turned. The guards were no longer leaning lazily against the wall but stood at alert as a new figure stood between them and her. His black hair shone in the lantern light and his green jacket was limned with golden hems. He looked thoroughly intrigued by their conversation and she guessed he had been listening for the last minute. She had seen him before but only from afar.

“I am the owner of this establishment,” He grinned, “Prince Loki of Asgard.” He preened, “And your brother has stolen royal property. An offense punishable by--”

“Death,” Sigorna felt her blood turn cold. She knew the laws as well as any. She also knew the man before her was a trickster. “Surely, that’s a little much for a pair of dice."

“We must maintain law and order. Justice being blind and such,” He said casually.

“You can’t--”

“I am a prince, I can do as I will,” He shrugged, “But…” He looked her over, his green eyes piercing her, “I am not entirely heartless. I did offer your brother another form of recompense but it seems he cannot fulfill it.”

“What?” She peeked over her shoulder. Audun’s head was lowered and he seemed terrified of the prince.

“You may, however, take on the debt yourself.” The prince glanced past her before returning his attention to Sigorna, “I would prefer however we weigh our options elsewhere,” He motioned to the corridor that stretched behind him, “I value discrepancy in these matters.”

It was a spark of hope but it seemed much too good to be true. It might take ages to pay off her brother’s misdeed but it would mean his life. She could not forgive herself if she did not at least try to find an alternative. And if she could not, she would likely follow her brother to the ax as she would not restrain from throttling Giermund for his trickery.

“Very well,” She agreed reticently.

“If you would,” He gestured for her to follow him down the next corridor. He stopped at the third door and pushed it open, waiting for her to enter first. She had thought it improper to precede a royal but she would that this be over quickly. She did sense, however, the heat of his gaze on her as she stepped into the room. It irked her.

“Sit, please,” He nodded to a chair. She neared it cautiously. Slowly she lowered herself into the seat and folded her hands in her lap. She was suddenly very nervous. She wasn’t sure she could save her brother this time. Loki approached the other side of the desk before her, setting down a glass decanter and two glasses. “Wine?” He offered as he poured the first glass.

“No, thank you,” She answered, “I don’t drink it.”

He tilted his head but left the second glass empty. He sat across from her and sipped, looking at her over the goblet's brim. He set it down and cleared his throat. He had drained almost all of it. “While we did catch your brother before he could make off with our silver, he has still committed a grave offense and if this establishment is to uphold its reputation, we cannot let it go unpunished.”

“You said he could not afford the recompense,” She was tiring of his ancillary monologues. “What would that be?”

“My, you are rather straight to the point, aren’t you?” He raised a brow and she frowned. He seemed amused by her impatience. “I would only that your brother repay what he would have stolen from me.” She nodded, waiting for him to continue. Could he not say anything outright? “Which would be twenty thousand silver.”

“Twenty thousand?” Sigorna gasped. Her chest tightened and she found it hard to breath. It felt as if fire was burning her flesh. “I...I’m only a simple crafter, I can’t possibly--” She paused, trying to keep calm. She hadn’t cried since her parents had died but she could have sobbed right then and there. Instead, she breathed deep and gritted her teeth. “I’m sorry. I can’t afford that either,” She said in resignation, lowering her eyes. “Not all at once, anyhow.”

Silence formed between them. She knew she should just go but she didn’t want to say goodbye to her brother. She didn’t want this all to be happening. If she stood and left that room, it would mean her brother would marched to his death.

“Well...there may be one other alternative,” Loki’s voice was low; deceptive. He was making her an offer but she knew already she would not like it. She didn’t like anything about the prince thus far.

“Dare I ask what this alternative is?” She countered and he chuckled.

“You know, I’ve never been spoken to quite contentiously by a peasant. And you’ve not even given me my proper title. That in itself is crime,” He grinned. “But I understand. You're emotional; careless. Not too mention your class would have you ignorant.”

“What is it?” She asked bluntly, “This alternative?”

“Well, there are several ways of paying this debt. First, your brother’s death, which you don’t seem very keen on. Second, in silver, but it seems you lack enough coin for a dress without patches. Third,” He held up three fingers, having counted down his options, “It is a bit unconventional, admittedly it’s likely not found in any law books, but I am a benevolent prince.”

Sigorna swallowed, annoyed by his roundabout speech. She gripped the arm of her chair as he watched her, basking in her anticipation, her frustration.

“I would release your brother and forgive his debt if you would take his place,” He said and her mouth dropped open slightly. She didn’t relish her own death but she would willingly give her own life for Audun’s. “I wouldn’t have you given over to the gaoler, however. That would be much too cruel. No, you would be mine.”

“Pardon?” She hissed in confusion.

“You,” He pointed at her as he stood, “Would belong to me.” He rounded the desk and rested his hand on the back of her chair just above her shoulder, leaning over her, “I don’t make this offer to just anyone. In fact, I would’ve had your brother dragged to the prison already in another circumstance. I had only just gone to his cell to make the order but you, my dear, intrigue me.”

Sigorna stared up at him mortified. She knew what he was offering but was too stunned to believe it. Yet she knew she couldn’t say no. She couldn’t let Audun die for her own self-preservation. She couldn't let Giermund take her brother from her as she had always feared. But it would mean giving herself to someone even worse.

“Should I have the ax sharpened or…” He let the words hang, savouring the drain of colour in her face. She pressed her lips together, glaring at him like a crow ready to peck his eyes out. Her lip twitched and her throat tightened. She forced herself to answer before she lost her will.

“No,” She said. “Don’t kill him, please. I’ll…” It took all her strength not to look away from Loki’s taunting eyes, “I accept your offer. I’ll take his place.”

He smirked and his gaze flicked up and down her body before he pushed himself away from her. He clapped in triumph and turned back to reach for his wine. He downed the last swill left in his glass and set it aside. His hand rested on the decanter and he looked to Sigorna, “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a glass?”

“I'm certain,” She replied, “I’d like to say goodbye to my brother.”

[alayne-stonecoldfox]

Uhhhh can you tell me more about your incestuous morally corrupt ship????

Uuhhhhh I can’t make my brain work enough to condense them down very well but I’ll try and ramble and you can see how long you can last without clocking out babe lol

Ezra Montaigne is the youngest son of the Matriarch of the Montaigne family (currently alive characters all stem from a set of five siblings) and he is the (somewhat) calmed down version of his hellish teenage/early twenties self, desperately attention seeking as the youngest, and the ‘spare’ heir to his oldest brother who he both idolised and resented, by acting out. Highlights include sleeping with his violin teacher as she was the most attractive women at the all boys school they sent him to (but it was ok because daddy’s money paid for the abortion). Setting the schools priests quarters on fire because he was a known pedophile, and the bastard REFUSED to pay the bribe money Ezra was demanding from the pervert to keep it quiet. He’s just HELL to every body of authority to ever get in his unfortunate way.

Then something happens. Hiram, the good and true responsible groomed from birth to succeed oldest son...disappears. He leaves. With the older wife of a very very bad man who should not be crossed, and with millions and millions of his dollars. The Montaignes are blindsides. No one can find him. Not even the very very bad man...which makes this man angry, which puts the Montaignes into a very very bad situation...but I best not talk about that night he made them pay for what their son had done, what punishment they took in his place....but Ezra never forgot, and Ezra found it very very hard to forgive, and after that, drugs seemed a great way to cope with it. 

Experimenting with just about EVERY drug gets him in even more trouble, but he doesn’t care anymore, because even with Hiram gone, the Hiram that betrayed them, that wasn’t their to face the consequences the bastard coward had everything and gave it all away bastard, Ezra STILL wasn’t replaced as the favourite in fathers eyes so who cared anymore? Uppers downers 8-balls and oxy are SO fun, I’m very smart and capable I COULD be just as great as Hiram was, and so much more LOYAL because I love this family more than any of the fake, money desperate ‘friends’ around me, but no, no, it won’t be good enough. Hiram ran away and now I’m all the son you’re stuck with, Think I’ll run around the world, get tattoos, throw our family name even more under the bus of social standing, because at the end of the day, our money is more powerful than what they think of us, why don’t you just let them talk, we could wipe out any countries debt at any time we please, we can fund any politician we like, we can bribe any judge any court, our money is godly.

Except when one is cut off. Which dad eventually did, after Ezra attended a ball in Vienna and got in a fight with the heir to the throne of spain, but he doesn’t know what the bastards problem was, because he only fingered his mother, he didn’t fuck her like he’d heard, it was only a miscommunication. ANYWAY. Takes to living with his dear lesbians sister Tess in her art studio as she tries to be less of an aristocrat and more a bohemian (not without all her money of course, don’t be mad). Tries to suck a dick in a club bathroom in exchange for cocaine in an opportunistic turn of events, but decides even though he wouldn’t mind being bi for the cool points, even though tragically, he is heterosexual, it was rather traumatic in a way he wishes he could supress, and also this tastes disgusting, asks the old man just to give him half because even though he couldn’t go through with it, your cock WAS in my mouth for about five seconds, that worth something? no? ok, a scene ensues, Ezra is about 6′2 btw, all of the Montaignes can be flagged at any european social gathering, they are all legs. The blow job solicitor has him thrown from the premises. Ezra decides to hunt down the mans wife. For the drama. through this old dame, he meets one of her book club (read: swingers club) pals, who is a 45 year old duchess who wants her needs met. He becomes some sort of sugar baby? Why not. She buys him ALL the drugs and he’s basically siphoning ALL of her money out of her accounts as Ezra rather has a talent for lying, manipulating and finance. He’s very fond of her. Anyway, this is getting long, drugs drugs drugs, disappointment, clinging onto being as self destructive as he can at every turn, yadda yadda, overdose number 3 happens, drama, ENOUGH IS A FUCKING NOUGH. Dad corners him, alongside dear sister, ever loving mother, favourite sympathetic uncle, cousins who are his best and only true friends, chain him to a radiator as he is shaking vomitting incoherent for the past week due to drugs, he is told he has two options, and only two. Marry this girl I have chosen for you. She is aristocratic as well, but low down on the list of eligibility, but your in a position of beggar, not chooser. Her father is almost dead, and she will inherit a small (by their fucking rich rule the world with money standards) company and fortune, use this oppertunity to show me what you can make of yourself, OR, and heres your other choice, kill yourself. Heres the gun. We’ll give you a minute with the radiator.

Ezra married the girl, it is a desperately bleak marriage. She’s not ugly but she’s not pretty either. she’s english, and whines when Ezra and his cousins speak french. She’s always whining. About the man she wanted to marry and how he left her, how her father made her have an abortion because he was just a waiter. Her suicide notes aren’t even poetic. But at least Ezra, over a long long decade, puts his actual talents and brains to work. They’re almost as useful as that devilish charisma and high propensity for risk taking, scheming, and getting what he wants, when he wants it. He’s almost, almost getting along with his father now too, though mother scolds him for stepping on the oxygen tubes too long (it’s only a joke).

but then...

Incidents happen. Hiram Montaigne, the elder brother, the prodigal son, the runaway off the grid hasn’t been seen in almost two decades son after he ran away with another mans wife with millions and millions of stolen money son....returns. Cryptically. In a phone call to their dear lesbian sister Tess. He’s drunk. It was all a mistakes. He’s so sorry. He’s convinced he’s being poisoned? he doesn’t make any sense.

But when Ezra catches wind of this call, Tess and him are very close and share almost everything (by rich white aristocratic standards) he immediately has everyone of their phones tapped and traced. Because its their brother. Because he has to get his hands on him. Because he’s their family and they love him. Because he’s always dreamed of seeing him again and beating his betraying head against a rock. Because he’s in danger and they must help. Because how dare he have the nerve to do what he did.

He traces him. Successfully. because he’s Ezra Montaigne and he gets what he wants, and he’s wanted his brother for close to twenty years.

He comes to a lake house, all the way across Europe in Denmark, isolated. Small. Hidden. Hiram isn’t home.

But Ginette is.

Pretty girl. Wide eyed at the black cars (of course Ezra brought his most trusted security) that arrived at the house that barely saw anyone besides those from the small town, over 30 minutes drive away from their home.

The man asks her if Hiram Montaigne lives here. She says he doesn’t, but he does, it’s only that his daughter has only ever known the false person he had to be after he did what he did. 

Ezra takes note of her bright blue eyes, like his, and his brothers, and her long lanky legs, and then her red hair. The woman Hiram ran off with had red hair.

Ginette asks him who he may be, and Ezra replies “I think I may be your uncle.”

[leggeteconme]

The Court of the Fae

My mother believed in faeries.

She could see their wings in moments of blinding sunlight where the air seemed to shimmer with a thousand colors, feel their touch in a breath of wind across her pale skin, hear their laughter in the tinkling of gypsy bells on Market Street. My father said the bells were the instruments of devils. He despised the gypsies, and believed in nothing that wasn’t mentioned in his Bible.

I believed in faeries.

The faeries loved my mother.

She left acorn caps carefully arranged across the kitchen every night, filled to their brims with sweet clover honey. The caps were always empty in the mornings -- empty, washed, polished, and stacked neatly in a corner. Sometimes there were small trinkets left behind in thanks: a silver thimble, spools of silken thread, once an ivory comb inlaid with mother-of-pearl. My mother kept them all in a velvet-lined box locked with a tiny brass key she kept under the false bottom of one of her vanity drawers. The drawer also held a well-read Bible, a wedding gift from my father. She sat with it for hours every night until he fell asleep, until she was free to slip away to the kitchen to set out the acorn caps.

On the days my father was away on business, she spent the mornings in her lush gardens, gathering brightly-colored berries I was warned never to eat and velvet-petaled roses with razor-sharp thorns. She placed them all in a picnic basket with an old medicine bottle filled with rainwater and delicate honeycakes cut into circles the size of my fingertips, dancing off into the forest with bare feet and unbound hair and staying there until just before dusk, when my father returned. I followed her once and found her in a vast clearing dappled with sunlight and filled with wildflowers, sitting under an ancient and gnarled oak tree, singing sweetly as dozens of tiny winged creatures fluttered around her, sipping at rainwater from rose petals, feasting on berries and honeycakes, braiding her long dark hair and twining it with violets and buttercups finer than the purple silks and golden chains of any empress.

I followed her often after that day, enchanted by her otherworldly escape. Day after day she stole away to the clearing; week after week her beautiful face glowed with the intoxication of the world of the fae; month after month that glow vanished at the first sight of my father and she flew to the solace of the woods.

Her entourage grew each time she returned, the clearing filled with a rainbow of wings from delicate beings as captivated by my mother as she was by them. They came from the forests and hills, from the rivers and oceans, from the skies and from the mountains to see her, to hear her voice, to bring her gifts in exchange for her baskets of offerings, until one warm summer afternoon the Elf-king himself was drawn to our forest. I saw him from across the clearing in robes woven of sunlight, a crown of flowers perched upon his fair brow. He gazed upon my mother in a way my father never had, standing there and watching her for hours before he faded back into the shadows. He returned twice more before emerging from the trees and gliding softly towards her. The buzz of the clearing quieted, my mother’s winged companions dropping into low bows as he passed. My mother’s eyes followed him as he approached her, and she stood slowly, languidly, as though she floated in water. When he reached her, she began to dip into an obeisance of her own, but the Elf-king stopped her with a long, deep bow. He spoke a few words as he straightened, his voice rich and warm and carried away by the wind before I could understand what he’d said. My mother understood, and flushed as he offered her his hand. They danced to a melody that pierced my soul and made the forest sing, swirling around the clearing with a captivating elegance. My mother looked like a queen, a glimmering star matched only by the man with his hand at her waist. She did not return home until morning.

My father found her box of treasures that night. He struck her when she returned and locked her in her room, ordering the servants not to allow her to leave the house. She was desperate that he would soon abandon the endeavor, but my father had a will of pure iron and, determined to save her soul from “these devilish hallucinations” -- as he called her encounters with the fae --, kept her confined to her room. It wasn’t long before she fell ill. There was no cough, but with her wasted form and face bright from fever the doctors called it consumption anyway. My father insisted it was a disease of hell and brought in priests to cure her soul of its wickedness. I alone knew the truth: that she was mad from the loss of her only joy.

My father was away when she died. I knelt at her side as the last breath left her body, saltwater tears wetting the hand I clutched to my cheek. When I heard the footsteps in the hall I flew to my feet in a rage, wanting nothing more than to destroy my father for having done this to her, but it was not my father who stood in the doorway.

The Elf-king paid me no mind as he entered the room. He walked slowly to the foot of my mother’s bed and gazed upon her face with the emotion I finally registered as love. He bowed low before her, golden tears streaming down his otherwise serene face, and offered her a long-fingered hand.

“She’s gone,” I tried to say, but the words caught in my throat. He knew, he must have known, but he stood there still, his hand as pale and cold and lifeless as hers. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from them, despite somehow having fallen to the floor, weeping until my vision was blurred so that I could hardly tell if what I saw was real.

The Elf-king opened his mouth and began to sing, the haunting melody from that summer day so long ago pouring from his lips in a pleading, devastating waterfall. He begged her to return to him, to leave with him, to reside with him forever in his court beneath the hills. He spun fever dreams with his voice, bent swirling sunlight to his will with his heartbreak. The room danced dizzyingly with golden mirages as he sang; my head ached and still I could not look away. The scene crescendoed until I felt sure my head would split open and suddenly, impossibly, my mother’s emerald eyes fluttered open.

She rose from her bed, floating across the floor like a Wisp, and took his hand, sinking effortlessly into his embrace. He murmured her name as he held her close, and with a final swirl of golden light they were gone.

I awoke to my father’s rage. My mother’s furniture lay in overturned heaps, her faerie trinkets scattered and broken on the ground. My father seized my shoulders and shook me, demanding to know where she was. He beat me when I told him, cursing the demonic apparitions that had fled my mother for me.

I did not attend my mother’s funeral. I laid out acorn caps filled with honey and hummed the Elf-king’s melody as tiny, winged fae crept tentatively in through the windows. That was the last time I was permitted to leave my room, the last time anyone left out offerings of honey. Now the milk is spoiled, the horses lame; now I have fallen as ill as my mother. The servants pray for sanctuary from the demons she and I have unleashed upon them, praying even for death that their children might no longer be stolen away in the night, their wives and husbands crippled and sickened. No more do I see the delicate creatures I once know fluttering at my windows; no more are the goblins and other, darker fae merely legends from my mother’s books. They emerged slowly at first, one after another, until a horde of them had infested the house. They circle my father like vultures, slipping into the shadows whenever he turns. I can see the Elf-king waiting in the corner now, sharpening his blade, watching the man who killed his queen. I know it will not be long now before he takes his revenge. I wonder if my father will scream when he is carried away beneath the hills. I wonder if he will beg for mercy. I wonder if he knows that the Court of the Fae is more ruthless than any human king.

I laugh as I feel my eyes begin to close for the last time, the madness that took my mother finally taking me. Not long now, I think as the Elf-king glides from the shadows and darkness overtakes my vision. Not long at all.

[thewritingstar]

The Assassin Code

A KiriBaku Multi Chap Au

Summary:  Bakugou is known by many names. he's a hunter, a killer a top paid assassin and his new task is to kill the beast that lurks in the kingdom of Ekon. What happens when a paid assassin realizes that maybe he is not hunting a beast but a hot and thoughtful man?

I’m really proud of this first chapter so I hope you all enjoy! Its already up on A03 and that link is on another post. 

Chapter One: The Journey Begins.

--------

Bakugo entered the gates of the temple, he knew why he was here, he always did. He became a known name, well if you knew who to ask, doing the dirty work for the lords and ladies across kingdoms and digging into the riches they provided for his services. He was a master of weapons, a cunning foe like a fox, and an expert at manipulation, maybe that's why assassination came so easy. He had blocked his emotion years ago, watching your parents die at the hands of a dictator really messes you up and he vowed to kill the blood of the corrupted.

He had shut himself off from the world, only emerging from the shadows to strike a sword or arrows into his prey. Like a plague, he spread and killed silently and was gone without a trace. He was known across the lands, but was never seen.

He was escorted towards the throne room where his client would be. Taking the time to gather information he looked around the hallways he traveled. Golden portraits of the king's face line the halls and his family was everywhere too. One of the faces he hated was plaster on the wall. The prince of this castle was none other than a duo haired boy who expressed nothing but a scowl and rumor had that he had gone missing months ago. “Probably someone who could ruin his name.” Bakugou thought as he glared at the pictures, only someone of extreme high status would parade their face around.

Bakugou hated all royalty, that was just his nature. But they were rich and paid to have him take care of things so as long as he could get a paycheck, the crowns were no threat. He had done it all. Kill kings, murder mages and suffocate sirens. It didn’t matter to him, the only rule was they had to be evil, no innocent person would be slayed, that was the assassin code. But royalty was different. He knew the man who he was about to see was a crook as well so in no time he would probably be paid to take him down too and move the throne line faster. That's how it worked, like a network of webs, Bakugo was the spider and no one knew he that all the spun silk lead to him. He wasn’t the only assassin, just one of the best.

He went by many names, no matter where he went, he was always referred as something new. The Killer, The Crimson Blade, The Hunter, Lord Explosion Murder, he liked that one the best. In fact no one knew his real name and he was going to keep it like that. A dark hood swallowed his body as his deadly ruby red eyes were the only seen feature. The ones that held emptiness as his victims fell to his leather boots. He carried his sword on his hip and a bow under his cape. Weapons were hidden everywhere but he is also skilled in magic.

Finally he reached the throne room, a guard opened it and Bakugos patience was already wearing thin. The door closed and he was left standing in front of the king. King Endeavor of the Ignatius Empire. He knew he possessed the power to wield fire but he wasn’t intimidated in the slightest, he had fought many foes and won every time, a little bit of flame wouldn’t scare him.

“You must be Red Shadow.” The king stated and Bakugou held back an eye roll. He learned the hard way to keep quiet and take the task, ask only the important questions and get out. He nodded and the king lead them to a table and chairs. He would keep his temper in check for now and release his fury on the prey.

Bakugo sat and set his sword on the table letting the king know that he was prepared. It was crafted out of the toughest steel and the jewels that forged into the handle were made from the drops of blood from the man who killed his parents. It was a reminder; Bakugou always won.

A map made of dusty partridge was set in front of him. “The village is called Ekon, north of the banished woods is where you will find the man to kill.” Endeavor pointed and Bakugou thought it was the shittiest map ever made.

“Guilty?” Bakugou asked, he needed to know if the person he would kill would actually be evil or if it was a petty argument he had no time for.

“Extremely. You see the king and queen here had a son once-” Bakugou raised his hand.

“I don’t kill children.” He stopped him.

“Well luckily he is a man now. Well more a monster. You see he was born with a quality as one would say. Razor sharp teeth those of a man eating shark that taint the seas. Bloody claws that scratch at the throats of its victims, he is no child, hell he killed his own parents.” The king spat.

Bakugou straighten his back, his eyes held a deadly glare. Kill his own parents? “Why do you want him dead?”

“There have been rumors that he has sent his men to disrupt kingdoms and as a large one myself, I’d rather keep my village safe and peaceful for the time.” The king shrugged, his crown was made of heavy gold and had multiple rare jewels so he knew this would pay well. The thought came clear as a small velvet sack was laid in front of him.

Bakugo stared at it. “Please open it. I'm hiring the best and I want the job done right.” He opened it and smirked wildly but the king couldn’t see it. It would probably pay off half of the villages debt but he gladly collected it.

“Anything else?” Bakugou asked as he stood and secured the payment in his hidden bag.

“Don’t die.” Endeavor said and Bakugou let out a scoff.

Red eyes glared at the kings. Die? Did this fucker think that some beast could take me?

“I lost a group of my best guards to him. That's why you are here and I expect that iron claw to be on this table once you’re done. No time limit, just get it done.”

“No time limit?” That was a first. Usually he had a deadline but he would be quick anyways. In and out was the best way to do it.

“That kingdom is far, i’d rather have the job be done properly or not at all.” The king shrugged.

“And what if i just run off with the pay?”

The king laughed and looked back at the cloaked man. “I have more money than the three surrounding places combined, there is always someone better, so I'll just kill you.”

“Like hell you will.” Bakugou spat and when the king turned back, he was gone.

--

The velvet paycheck dropped onto the table with a thud. Huffing Bakugou removed his dark cloak and realized that he was sweating immensely. “Stupid fucking cape, can’t fucking breathe in this shit.” He complained and tossed it to the floor.

“Here.” A bowl of what seemed like stew was placed in front of him. He looked up to see Denki.

“Why are you here?” Bakugou grumbled.

“Because I can be dumb ass. Also I robbed Endeavor.” Denki smirked. He placed a dusty sack of jewels next to Bakugou's. “Belonged to the prince but since he's gone missing, no one was keeping guard of his room,quite the mistake on their part.” The blonde thief smirked as he ran a hand through his hair, dusting over his black strands that represented his electric charge.

Denki was one of Bakugou few thieving companions, if you can even call him that. After almost getting his weapons stolen and Denki almost dying at his sword, the pair had become an acceptable duo to take from the rich, like robin hood but with more blood and torture.

Denki, like Bakugou witnessed the death of his mother. He was born as a slave to a rich family in another land but after they killed his mother, he used his magic of electricity and light forming to steal and murder the family. After that he lived village to village until Bakugou and him set up camp in a scheduled part of the woods. A place hard to reach and out of sight, perfect for a pair of bandits. Although those weren’t the only two in the gang. Now he spent his time as a bandit, he didn’t kill often but was no wimp when it came to blood.

Sero was a master of the deadly art of torture. He used his magic of possession to hold the whips and chains that would be used to torture his prey, bad people to pay the price. However he only came by rarely as he was sought out publicly by many royals. He time was spent in dungeons, destroying the corpses of those imprisoned. Dirty work belonged on the hands of someone in the shadows. Someone who couldn’t get caught.

Lastly was the mage named Mina. Her specialty lied in her used of potions and deadly substances. She worked mostly with Denki as she could ease a guard to sleep with spells or even transform the moats surrounding a castle into poison water, not to mention the acid and spite that leaked from her fingers, gloves were a caution but she was a silent killer. She was a traveler, always leaving to find supply and had the connections in underground bandit ring.

Together they all traveled to do the dirty work of others. Outside of their ‘work’ they were quite interesting people but kept to the shadows and themselves for safety, even they didn’t know who the others were fully and that's how it would stay. They all were given other names,

“You robbed him while I was there?” Bakugou snapped. It was a careless move but Denki craved for the adrenaline rush. Like an electric eel, he was on the move for the next kill.

“Kinda. Before you arrived. Just in case.” Bakugou rolled his eyes and scarfed down the food in front of him. “I’m not dumb enough to do it afterwards.”

Denki saw the velvet bag and the duty map next to it. Picking it up he examined the trail.

“I assume you are going to be on killing leave?” Denki asked and he was met with a nod. “I adjusted your dagger. When you push the button venom will leak. Easy kill.”

“I heard a conversation, a group of nobles are coming in a few days. Perfect time to rob.” Bakugou told him and Denki nodded.

“Ekon?” Denki flicked the page.

“You heard of it?” Bakugou asked. Denki nodded.

“Guy who rules it is called the Red Riot, heard tales of his hardening magic, practically invincible. If he's the one you’re after you might want to stop at Frops, maybe one of her potions could stop him.”

“I don’t need your help Sparks.” He growled but made a mental note.

“Yeah, yeah I know. Gotta run, thanks for the tip.”

The blonde assassin huffed as Denki left as silently as he came, probably going to the pub for a drink, he didn’t know and didn’t care.

He got up and made his plan to pack, soon an iron claw would sit on the kings table and he would go to the next mission. It was a routine he had been doing since he was a boy, one he knew that would end his life but death had ceased to get its hands on the former assassin.

---- It was safer to travel at nightfall. Bakugou decided not to bring anyone from his gang of bandits. Sometimes he would on bigger projects but this was just one man, or beast for that matter. Plus he was easily annoyed with any company and preferred the silently whispers of the wind. Based on the map, Bakugou made the decision to travel all throughout the night until he reached the town one over from his designated area. A village that was known as Wild Lily Musk. The name came from the overwhelming aroma of the bog that was covered in beautiful yet deadly water lilies that emitted a potent gas.

Hours had past as his legs burned from walking so far. The woods were full of spiny plants and although he could mange in the dark, his calves were scrapped a little. Luckily he didn’t encounter any low life thieves who would try to steal his goods and no animals tried to take him down as a meal.

The cold air of the night fell off of him as he removed his cape before entering the small inn. It was quiet and the only person there was an employee. He recognized the woman sitting at the desk trying to stay awake as her eyes tried to doze off. The bell chimed and the frog like eyes of the woman blinked before she stood and smiled.

“Ribbit. Bakugou. Ribbit.” The woman spoke or croaked. Bakugou was not the friendliest, quite the opposite actually. Even in his daily form, he had the glare of a demon. He hated the noise that came from people and only restored to interacting when he had too. He had exceptions but even then it was half-assed kindness.

“Froppy.” He huffed. The first time he had encounters the Frog Mage, he was trapped in the dreaded bog. She had helped him and in return he hunted down the man who stole from her family, since then they had a mutual relationship, he stayed at the inn for free and he did their dirty work for no pay. It was rare but useful. She didn’t know he was an assassin, and it was going to stay like that.

“Ribbit. Room 3. Ribbit.” She croaked. She passed him the key and he placed a emerald on the desk. “Ribbit, you don’t-”

“Take the damn thing. I don’t have time for payback.” He snatched the key and made his way up the creaky stairs.

“There's fresh muffins in the kitchen. Ribbit.” She called as she examined the precious jewel closely. It was an expensive payment, one that would pay for the inns doors for a few months, Bakugou knew that.

“Whatever” He yawned but they both knew he would take a few before he left in the morning.

The inn was damp and musty. The view from the window was bare and boring and since it was dark and he wanted people to mind their own fucking business, he kept the burlap curtains closed. The scent in the air loomed from the deadly bog, everyone in the town had developed a mutation, giving them the qualities of the swamp inhabitants. The Frog Mage was just one of the many who was granted that look, luckily Bakugou wasn’t staying long so the air wouldn’t taint his blood stream.

Flopping onto the bed, he took out the scrolls that had Ekon knowledge on it. He had stolen it from the records of the library but that didn’t matter, no one had even touched them.

“What the fuck?” Bakugou examined the first scroll. Written on the parchment was a poem, no a tale of what he assumed was about the child.

. A child born with the strength of a thousand knights. Armored from head to toe. Sharp like a sword and swift as the streams, he was a deadly creation. The darkness covered the kingdom as blood from the beloved king and queen spilled from the child's iron claws. Locked away in the tower he stayed, ruling with fear and a deadly glare. He stayed there, never to be seen. A child turned to beast. .

“So the flame brain was right?” Bakugou huffed and read more about the history before shutting his eyes knowing he had to get up and travel some more before the sun rose. After a few grueling minutes of little information, he threw the scrolls on the bedside table and let sleep take over for a few hours.

Before the sun could casts its golden rays onto the village of Wild Lily Musk, Bakugou was already up and heading down stairs. The frog mage was asleep in the chair so he gave a firm knock on the desk.

“Ahh-oh Bakugou. Ribbit.” Froppy croaked. The key was given back.

“I need a potion, something I can use to immobilize someone. The dumb ass blonde said you got something so make it quick.” He stated. She blinked and tilted her head.

“Hmmm, Ribbit. Let me go get it.” She disappeared behind the door and he could hear the clinking of glasses and bottles as she shuffled through the mess. He leaned against the inns lobby desk and looked at the pictures on the wall. His frown never left as his eyes traced over the many photos. It was the frog mages family and even a few friends, none of which he knew nor cared.

He turned back and snatched the potion out of her hand before putting it into his woven bag. “This better work.” He growled and she blinked again before handing him a muffin.

“It does. Ribbit. Just don’t spill it on you or you will be stopped too. Ribbit. Lasts an hour. Ribbit.” She said and the little bell jingled as he disappeared into the night. ---- Daylight arrived as Bakugou reached the town of Ekon. A small village that looked to have no inhabits.

“What the fuck?” He questioned as he looked inside the window of a nearby shop. Dusty coated every aspect and it seems like the town had been abandoned for months. Usually a town even as small of this was bustling with noise but everything was quiet almost as if sound was illegal.

He continued looking through the stores and worn down homes, even breaking in and taking some supplies along the way. In the center of town was a statue. Crafted from iron was a sculpture of a man and woman. Dead flowers rotted beneath it as ivy and weeds crept up the metallic sides. Bakugou pulled of some weeds to reveal a plague.

. For the king and queen of Ekon .

“What is this, a grave?” He asked but kept walking. In the distance he saw the castle and decide to get a move on so he could kill his prey. A shiver ran up his spine as he climbed up the hill side through the thick trees, he couldn’t risk getting spotted. He was a professional after all.

As he neared the castles wall the smell of rust and sulfur filled his nose and he almost gagged. He covered his mouth with his cloaked hand and coughed loudly as his lungs became full of the scent. He paused and leaned against a thick oak tree, taking a moment to establish a plan to get inside and catch his breath.

“Window there, there and there. Easy.” He smirked and resumed his walking. Small twigs snapped under his leather boots and the sun has become soaked up into the dark fabric making him sweat more than he already was. He didn’t see any guards as he came closer and wondered if anyone was here at all. Suddenly his vision blurred as he was whisked into the sky.

“What the fuck!” He yelled as rope rubbed against his ankle. His body began tied up into a next and struggled to break free. He felt like a mouse just caught in a trap. “Shit” He cursed knowing that being caught was the last thing he needed. Hopefully they wouldn’t know who he was. He needed a plan fast.

“Are you alright?” A voice came from below. He couldn’t see as his cloak had covered his eyes and his hands were pushed to his sides. He tried to wiggle free again but it only seemed to tighten his position and burn the rope further into his skin.

“I’m fine.” He growled but felt his body lowering to the ground, his back hit the moss floor of the forest and he finally could take his dreaded cloak off.

As his vision cleared he came face to face with a hand that offered to help him up. Grunted he pushed it away and stood up on his own, dusting off the dead leaves and chunks of bark caught onto the fabric of his pants. “I said I was fine.” He snapped and pulled his sword out and aimed it at the face of the mysterious man.

A man his age stood with his arms up and oddly a smile. One that had sharp fangs. Bakugou looked him over. Broad shoulders and lots of muscle like him. He wore only a vest so Bakugou averted his eyes so he wasn’t staring at the mans bare abs. He would be lying if he didn’t think he was attractive but he just glared at him.

“I know but it's better to get help plus that is one hard trapped to get out of. Anyways you seemed lost, please follow me and lets treat that wound of yours.” He pointed to Bakugou's leg where a deep red gash was. The firm rope had torn his flesh and the pain just got to him. He winced as he looked down and gritted his teeth.

“Nah I don’t need help, especially from someone with such shitty hair.” He nodded and the man rolled his eyes and let out a laugh. A strange feeling swept through him as he heard the laugh, there was something about this man that intrigued him but he was on a mission.

“You’re funny. Come let's go.” he walked past Bakugou, not bothering to care about the sword pointed at his face. “Oh and I don't think you should insult the man who just saved your cute ass.” He winked and Bakugou's blood ran hot as he followed him.

"So whats your name?" The red haired man asked. He skillfully guided them through the woods and to the clearing of the cobblestone path.

Bakugou debated on telling him. Maybe it would be best to get close into the castle so he could have easy access to the beast. Plus no one knew his real name anyways. "Bakugou." He spat and kept his small dagger out just in case the man pulled any funny business. they stopped at the giant oak door, the one that would lead him inside his enemy's home.

"A cute name for a cute man.' he heard him flirt and the tips of his ears matched the color of his eyes.

"Yeah and what about yours?" Bakugou asked. The man turned and leaned against the door flexing his muscles slightly and Bakugou noticed.

"Names Red Riot but you," he looked Bakugou up and down. "Can call me Kirishima." He smirked and opened the door.

Bakugou stopped in his tracks and gulped. "Fuck" He whispered as he followed the man he was suppose to kill into his domain.

---

I hope you enjoyed!