#she was very polite the entire time Except when she was waiting in a crate. then she got scared

[llatimeria]

BABY WEE CLEAN AND FRESH

[robininthelabyrinth]

I love your Nie brothers content, all of it, but there is so little written about the friendship between Nie Huaisang and Wei Wuxian! We know they were friends in Cloud Recesses, but it's never explored how these genius guys, even if one is focused on magical inovations and the other on strategy and politics, got on. Something which shows how well they got each other would be great

1

Wei Wuxian’s fist trembled. How dare he – worthless peacock – my shijie..!

But before he could throw a punch, he saw a swirl of white – Lan Wangji, sweeping forward with a face like a graveyard, and Nie Huaisang cringing in his shadow – and suddenly he realized that he didn’t need to punch Jin Zixuan.

Speaking of others behind their backs is forbidden.

Sneering without reason is forbidden.

Arrogance is forbidden.

Do not be haughty and complacent.

Do not praise yourself and slander others.

Do not make assumptions about others.

Do not insult people.

Do not take your words lightly.

Wei Wuxian grinned with teeth. “Hey, Lan Zhan!” he sang out, and Jin Zixuan blanched. “Perfect timing!”

Later, after he’d laughed himself sick at Jin Zixuan’s punishment – humiliatingly perfect – and making his appreciation very clear to Lan Wangji, he went to go find Nie Huaisang.

“When did you go get Lan Zhan?” he asked, honestly curious. He hadn’t known he was going to get into a fight until he was there and it was happening, but Nie Huaisang, of all people, had apparently figured out what was going to happen before it happened and took steps to fix it.

“The second they started talking about girls,” Nie Huaisang said promptly. “It’s fairly obvious that Jin Zixuan is resentful of his parents managing his life and he’s lashing out at everything, including specifically your shijie, so a nasty comment was inevitable.”

Wei Wuxian blinked, derailed from his original line of questioning. “He – what? Wait, that’s why he’s so rude about my shijie?”

“Of course,” Nie Huaisang said, blinking back at him. “What did you think? That he just didn’t like her? He’s barely even met her.”

Wei Wuxian hadn’t thought about that way, but it made a certain amount of sense. “When did you get so good at reading people?” he asked, bemused. “I didn’t…uh…”

“Think I have any skills?”

Wei Wuxian coughed.

“I don’t!” Nie Huaisang beamed, clearly very proud of it. “But I do have a lot of expensive hobbies, and that means I need pocket money.”

Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure he understood the connection, and said as much.

Nie Huaisang laughed at him. “The Nie sect believes in self-sufficiency,” he explained. “My brother gives me a certain amount of money to spend, sure, but we’re not the Jin sect; I can’t just buy everything that I lay my eyes on and send the bill back home – my brother would break my legs! I’m expected to find a way to increase the money I get until it’s enough to cover both my needs and wants, necessities and luxuries both, and if I can’t, then I have to do without luxuries.”

Nie Huaisang has never, not once, in the entire few months Wei Wuxian spent in his company, done without luxuries.

“So,” Wei Wuxian said, feeling oddly unnerved and unsure why, “you learned how to read people because you want to act like…a merchant?”

Nie Huaisang lightly tapped his head with his fan, rolling his eyes at him. “Stop being such a landed gentry young master, Wei-xiong. There’s nothing wrong with trade! How much of your sect’s money comes from merchants interested in keeping their trade routes free of resentful energy?”

Wei Wuxian wrinkled his nose a little. “That’s cheapening it a bit, don’t you think? As cultivators, it’s our duty to stand up as heroes, to defend the innocent and defeat evil, to purify –”

“Right, right. Remind me again how the Jiang sect pays for all that pretty purple?”

“Well…I mean…”

Technically, yes, there were all the dye sellers and the fabric merchants, but…

Nie Huaisang was laughing at him.

“Don’t worry about it, Wei-xiong,” he said, wiping his eyes. “You stick to doing your own thing. If you ever need to sell anything, come to me.”

“Of course,” Wei Wuxian said, privately thinking to himself that he’d rather farm for crops than become a seller hawking his goods in the marketplace. “Hey, wait, what is it that you sell, anyway?”

Nie Huaisang sniggered and refused to tell him.

2

It was porn.

Also barbeque and liquor, although in that case Nie Huaisang mostly played the middleman between the vendors of Caiyi Town and the students stuck eating Lan vegetables.

Sometimes he could even be convinced to tug on his contacts for other things, too.

“You’re a true friend,” Wei Wuxian said, clutching the bottle of chili sauce to his chest. “A true and wonderful friend.”

“You still have to pay,” Nie Huaisang said, his eyes curving up behind his fan. “No discounts.”

“A ruthless, vicious, cut-throat friend…”

“I lend you the porn for free, don’t I?

“Wonderful! Wonderful friend!”

3

No matter what Jiang Cheng said, Wei Wuxian was trying to keep his head down during their time at the indoctrination camp. He was taking this whole thing very seriously: he wasn’t making a fuss (too much), he wasn’t being insulting (too much), he wasn’t even socializing (too much).

Lan Wangji didn’t count, anyway; after what had happened to him, he needed someone bothering him.

But Wei Wuxian was being good and keeping back from the rest!

Well, he was, except then he saw Nie Huaisang and just had to go over to say hello. It was only polite, and had nothing to do with the fact that during the months he spent at the Cloud Recesses, he’d learned that Nie Huaisang could sell anyone on anything.

“I don’t suppose you have contacts that will sell you barbeque here,” Wei Wuxian said as a greeting, because the food they’d received was frankly disgusting in a way that made him wistful for the Lan sect like it had been a gourmet restaurant.

“Well,” Nie Huaisang hedged, and Wei Wuxian’s eyebrows shot up. “Don’t get too excited, it’s not barbeque…”

It was meat, though, chunks of that had probably been roasted as skewers at one point, and Wei Wuxian didn’t even care that it was cold as he scarfed it down, immediately feeling ten times better than he’d been before.

“Where?” he asked. “How?”

“There’ll be a surprise inspection tomorrow morning,” Nie Huaisang said instead. “Keep your head down, they’re looking to make an example out of somebody.”

“How do you know that?”

Nie Huaisang shrugged. “I brought art.”

“To the indoctrination camp?”

“Wen soldiers get lonely and bored too, Wei-xiong.”

“You’re trading for information using porn?”

“Don’t be silly. I’m trading porn for meat, and getting the information while we’re chatting. A large number of the Wen sect cultivators used to be their own sects, you know, before they were absorbed, and not all of them are happy about what’s going on here. You just have to figure out who the loyalists are, avoid them, and focus on the rest, and it’s easy.”

“I still can’t believe you brought porn to the Wen sect,” Wei Wuxian said, shaking his head. “What’ll you do if your brother finds out?”

“You’re joking, right? He helped me pack it.”

Wei Wuxian will never understand the Nie sect.

4

Wei Wuxian stared wordlessly at his bowl.

There was a single slice of radish in it.

“Is this a joke?” he asked Wen Qing, because it might be, and she glared at him, meaning that no, it was not. “Don’t we have anything else?”

“With what money, Wen-gongzi? Do you think it comes from thin air?”

“I had a friend once who could make it come out of thin air,” he grumbled, looking down at his bowl. He’d practiced inedia, he didn’t need it, except for the fact that he really, really did. Not having a golden core made things hard. “He could’ve sold fish to fishermen, except he mostly just sold porn.”

Wen Qing rolled her eyes at him. “Wonderful story, Wei-gongzi. Positively heartwarming. But unless your old erotic art dealer is going to come to Yiling to help us sell some radishes, I don’t care.”

Naturally, that was impossible. Wei Wuxian was a villain now, his name blackened, the whole cultivation world against him –

Actually, as far as he could tell, the Nie sect didn’t seem to give a damn about him one way or another. From all the stories Nie Huaisang had told about his brother and from everything he’d seen in the war, Nie Mingjue wasn’t the sort of person to let evil sit around on a mountain while he was busy with other things – if he objected, he’d be there the next day with his saber, ready to put him in his place.

He hadn’t, obviously.

His hatred of the Wen sect was pretty well-known, but he’d taken no action at all to invade Yiling and demand that Wei Wuxian hand them over, and Wei Wuxian was mostly sure that it wasn’t because he was scared of what Wei Wuxian could do with the Stygian Tiger Seal.

…it was probably just the hunger getting to him and making him think crazy things. Not caring enough to go against him was pretty far from supporting him, after all.

But, hey, he wouldn’t be risking anything if he just wrote a tiny little letter asking Nie Huaisang for some advice on selling things, right?

I never thought I’d see the day my Wei-xiong finally became a merchant, the return letter said. I’ll be there in three days. I expect to see liquor.

Wei Wuxian took Wen Ning down the mountain and stood on his shoulders in order to emancipate a jar from the local tavern, but by the time Nie Huaisang arrived, there was, in fact, liquor.

Even Wen Qing – who had opposed the entire outing once she had heard about it upon their return – suddenly thought it was a perfectly reasonable sort of theft when Nie Huaisang offered to trade a giant crate full of meat for it.

“We had some leftovers from a boar hunt,” Nie Huaisang said mournfully, accepting the liquor and a bowl of radishes. “I need variety, Wei-gongzi, it’s terrible. You have to help me get rid of it; I can’t stand to look at it any longer.”

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Wei Wuxian reminded him in between glorious bites of pork. He was going to be a very good friend and do his best to ensure that Nie Huaisang’s request was fulfilled, even if it meant taking seconds and possibly thirds. “I asked for advice, not a visit.”

“You can’t expect me to put my good name on what could be inferior goods,” Nie Huaisang sniffed.

“Your good name? The one known for porn, you mean?”

Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes at him. “So show me what you have to sell.”

“It’s mostly just the radishes,” Wei Wuxian said. “I tried to tell Wen Qing that we should plant potatoes, but –”

“Forget the radishes,” Nie Huaisang said. “What’s this I hear about you designing a compass that pinpoints resentful energy?”

“Oh, that?” Wei Wuxian said, blinking. “Yeah, I made one of those – the Burial Mounds is the biggest source of resentful energy around, and it’s easier to have a compass that points home instead of north, you know? But what does that have to do with selling radishes?”

“Wei-xiong, you’re hopeless. Leave it all to me, and you’ll have your sect up and running in no time.”

“Yeah, that would be – wait, sect? What sect?”

“Actually,” Nie Huaisang said, tapping his fan against his cheek. He was just plain old ignoring Wei Wuxian now, which, hey! “I take it back – before you leave everything to me, show me what other ideas you’ve been cooking up. What about those talismans you used during the war? The spirit-drawing ones?”

“Spirit summoning,” Wei Wuxian corrected.

“Yes, those. Have you improved on those at all?”

“Uh, I mean, I guess…”

“Good. Show me everything.”

5

“So I have a sect now,” Wei Wuxian told Lan Wangji, who had come to visit. “We sell things to support it. Apparently.”

Lan Wangji nodded, apparently already aware of this. “The clan elders have agreed that using your flags to draw fierce corpses and other creatures away from areas with innocent human lives is an acceptable use.”

“Even the Lan sect?” Wei Wuxian marveled. “No wonder we’re making so much money.”

Then he sighed.

Lan Wangji looked questioningly at him.

“Well, I have a sect now,” Wei Wuxian said. “Everyone’s expecting me to – you know. Form the core of the sect.”

“Marry,” Lan Wangji concluded. Possibly advised? No, that didn’t sound like he was urging him to go ahead, which made a total of one person. “You do not have to if you do not wish. You already have an heir.”

“A-Yuan’s too young to be a proper heir,” Wei Wuxian objected, though he was secretly gleeful that people were generally accepting him as one. “And obviously I can’t just pick anyone; how will I know if they’re a spy? Or if they’ll secretly dislike A-Yuan?” He sighed again. “The worst part is, I think Nie Huaisang is plotting against me, too.”

“Plotting?”

“Yeah! He’s encouraging people to ask me about marriage, when clearly it’s better for me to stay off the market…what about you, Lan Zhan? Are you planning on marrying?”

“No,” Lan Wangji said.

“We’ll be a bunch of old bachelors, then,” Wei Wuxian said. “You should come more often, A-Yuan loves you…hey! I have a great idea! Why don’t we get married? Then no one will bother us ever again!”

“Mm,” Lan Wangji said.

“Mm? What does that mean?”

“It means I will need to send Nie Huaisang his payment in the morning,” Lan Wangji said, and moved to sit next to Wei Wuxian.

“Payment? You bought something from him? What did you want to –”

Lan Wangji silenced him pretty effectively, no spell necessary, and by the time Wei Wuxian retained enough ability to think through what exactly the purchase must have been, he’d already been converted to thinking that it was a very intelligent purchase to make.

Nie Huaisang really could sell anything.

[mimisempai]

Wait for me on the other side 1/8

Summary:

Mobius, a watchmaker, and Loki, a teacher, realize that they are separated by two years of time when they exchange letters from different years in the mailbox of the house on the cliff where Mobius lives. As the two lonely hearts feel they have found their soulmate, will they ever meet?

or the Lakehouse AU that nobody asked for.

Notes:

This is my very first multi-chapter AU. I hope you'll enjoy it. Chapters will be released on a weekly basis.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32948254/chapters/81773392

3772 words - rating G

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 (End)

When two people "connect" the bond between them can be so pure and simple as to stir hearts in heaven.

When they connect in all the right places at all the wrong times, heaven weeps for broken hearts. To heal these broken hearts, heaven breaks time.

—Blithe Spiritus

Loki took one last look through the rearview mirror at the cottage on the edge of the cliff, which was getting smaller and smaller as he drove away.

Shifting his gaze forward, his face slid to the crate on the passenger seat, where Croki, his pet alligator, was sitting.

"I hope you will like your new home..." Loki sighed.

Then suddenly, he braked abruptly, holding back the cage with one hand as it slid forward. Then he backed the car up.

"Shit. I'm sorry Croc'"

He walked over to the mailbox. He put his hand through the window, opened the mailbox and put an envelope inside. Then his long fingers pulled the red flag in a vertical position, to indicate that there was mail. All this under the eyes of Croki who followed with attention all his gestures.

He tapped the top of the cage, "Come on, this time we're off for good."

He rolled, speeding up, refusing to look at the sign for the tiny village his home was in, New Asgard.  Loki rolled east, the cliff behind him, then passed a sign: New York, 35 miles.

The traffic became heavier as he approached the city.

After maneuvering through the various streets and making his way through the New York traffic, he stopped in front of an apartment building on a busy street. It was a very recent building, cold and sterile. The contrast with the tranquility of New-Asgard was striking.

He parked, got out of the car and took a moment to absorb the change in his surroundings. Then with a sigh, he began to unload his things.

**********

Loki stopped at the steps in front of the entrance to the imposing establishment - September High-School. He inhaled deeply to give himself courage before moving forward, climbing the few steps and pushing open the heavy door. He entered and walked to what appeared to be the front desk where a busy looking secretary was standing.

Loki asked softly, "Excuse me?"

"Just a minute, okay?"

Loki waited a minute, politely, then tried to get the secretary's attention again.

"Ahem... Excuse me, I need to..."

She handed him a stack of paper, while saying, without looking at him, "Just fill this out and wait for me there, okay?"

Loki handed it back to her.

"No, I'm Loki Laufeyson. I'm a new teacher. I was told to report here."

The secretary looked sheepish, "Oh, I'm sorry, Professor. You need to find Principal Romanov. She should be around here. A woman with red hair, dressed in black, you can't miss her."

He did indeed find the Principal in the hallway that the secretary had pointed out.

Natasha Romanov may have looked young to be a high school principal, but everything about her demeanor, her head carriage, her attitude exuded confidence and authority. She walked quickly down the hallway and Loki, though tall, had a hard time keeping up with her.

The principal handed him a large stack of files as soon as they arrived in her office.

"You will be in charge of the sophomores, this morning you will have three classes to teach and three this afternoon."

Loki repeated to be sure, "Three?"

"That's a quiet day, for a first day."

Loki looked a little dazed, he didn't think he was going to jump into the deep end and thought he would have some time to adjust.

The principal turned around, as if she sensed his hesitation, "The teacher you replaced let us down without notice, and it took us a while to find the right replacement, the students lost a lot of time for their final exams. We have to do our best to make sure they pass."

They walked past a student who was sitting alone on a bench, looking sulky. Romanov motioned to a supervisor.

"What's he doing here?"

The supervisor replied, "He was grounded because he took apart a computer to prove Professor Banner wrong and has to do an hour of gym under Professor Odinson's supervision. However, I can't leave the place unattended, and I was waiting for my backup to take him there.

"Peter get up," said principal Romanov in a sharp tone.

The young man stood up, a sulky look on his face.

"Professor Laufeyson, take him to Professor Odinson in the gym and then you can begin your lessons in this class."

The principal pointed to the door of the classroom in question, then turned and walked back to her office, not waiting for an answer.

"Well come with me, Mister...?"

The young boy followed his lead and replied with a pouty tone, "Parker, Peter Parker. »

"Then let's go Mr. Parker, the computer dismantler." replied Loki with a wink.  He knew he couldn't condone what the young man had done, but he couldn't help but find it amusing.

Seeing that the professor didn't look reproachful as he said these words, Peter lost his pout and got a small smile.

"Although I'm curious as to what could have caused you to disassemble a computer."

Peter seemed to come back to life, explained to an amused Loki, that Professor Banner, who taught biology, had said that nothing could compare to the complex construction that was a living being and Peter had wanted to show him the opposite by dismantling the Professor's laptop.

"But I was about to put it back together though, I don't understand why he got so upset."

Loki couldn't help but laugh.

Peter's face frowned because they had arrived at the gym.

They walked through the door and there a giant blonde man came striding in, "Peter Parker, it's been so long! Tell me what you've been up to again." he ruffled Peter's hair who tried to shy away from it, then he held out his hand to Loki who had to hold back a wince at the strength of the professor's grip.

"Professor Odinson, but call me Thor. Nice to meet you. New professor?"

"Yes, I am the new literature professor, Loki Laufeyson, but call me Loki. I'll leave this promising young man to you," He winked at Peter before continuing, "as for me I'll be teaching my first class."

"Welcome here, and good luck!" threw Thor at him before turning back to Peter, "Go change, we'll start with 10 laps running around the basketball court."

Hearing Peter's grumbles, Loki smiled as he walked away.

A few minutes later, he stopped outside his classroom door and took a deep breath.

"It takes a little time to adjust, but most of the students here are exceptional and the teaching staff is really, really nice."

Loki turned to see who had just spoken.

He found himself facing a black man, taller than him, and very impressive. But despite his imposing nature, his smile and eyes were very warm as he held out his hand. "Heimdall, art professor, welcome."

Loki grasped it and replied, "Loki, literature professor."

Heimdall gave a small nod in the direction of the door, "Good luck." then walked away.

Loki, surprisingly relaxed following this little interlude, walked through the classroom door with a confident air, placed his belongings on the desk and with an engaging smile on his lips addressed his first students, "Hello, I am your new literature teacher and I hope we will work well together."

He paused, letting his gaze roam over the entire class before continuing,"O Captain! My Captain! Who knows where that came from? No one? No idea? It's-"

A young boy raised his hand at the back of the classroom.

"Yes Mister...?"

"Keener, Harley Keener."

"All right Mister Keener, I'm listening."

"It's a Walt Whitman poem about Abraham Lincoln. And it's plagiarism of Professor Keating's introduction played by Robin Williams in Dead Poets Society."

Loki didn't lose his confidence at all and replied, "Thank you Mr. Keener. I'm not going to apologize for the plagiarism. I didn't expect anyone to contradict me since this film was released long before you were all born. Thank you, Mr. Keener, for setting me straight. I won't ask you to call me Captain, Sir, or Professor, but simply Loki. Yes, Mr. Keener, Loki, as in the Norse god of mischief... "

The whole class, including Harley, laughed and Loki thought that it wasn't such a bad start.

But he still felt exhausted at the end of the day, and he slumped into the chair at his assigned desk in the teacher's lounge. He leaned in and put his head back, closing his eyes.

"So they've worn you out already?" it was the deep voice, which he recognized as Heimdall's. He opened his eyes to see that the art professor had sat just at the desk next to him.

"Yet the Famous Five keep talking about Loki, the new professor who is super cool. It's been a long time since I've heard a literature professor on such good terms." It was Thor who came to join them and pulled a chair to sit in the space between Heimdall and Loki.

"The Famous Five?"

Thor chuckled before answering, "They're called that because they're always stuffed together, probably five of the smartest minds in this elite school, and as a result always going out on the town to..."

"…the benefit of science." finished Heimdall.

"That's their argument every time they get busted," Thor clarified.

"Who are they?" asked Loki, curious.

"There's Peter who you met this morning, he's in the same class as his two childhood friends Ned and MJ. There's Harley who talked about how you put him in his place, when he thought he had fooled you. Captain my Captain huh?"

Thor chuckled before continuing, "and finally Kamala Khan, the newest one, a little brunette, a ball of energy who always wears a big red scarf, summer and winter and who the other four have taken under their wing."

"Interesting..." replied Loki, thoughtfully.

"Wait until you're the target of their prank and we'll see if you find these kids interesting." said an unknown voice behind him.

"Bruce my friend! Were you able to fix your laptop?" exclaimed Thor with a laugh.

Loki turned around, only to find himself standing in front of a man who was a little older than him. He stood up and held out his hand, "Professor Banner, I presume."

"Am I that famous?" the man asked, raising an eyebrow as he shook the outstretched hand in a firm grip.

"It's mostly that I had the pleasure of taking Peter Parker for his grounding to Thor." replied Loki

"That brat..." harrumphed Bruce. "He's smart... but his habit of proving he's always right..."

The other men laughed in unison.

"So boys? Are we having fun?" a young woman with short blond hair stepped forward and held out her hand, "Carol Danvers, homeroom teacher at this crazy school."

"Nice to meet you," Loki replied, shaking the outstretched hand.

Unaccustomed to being around so many people and especially such friendly people, Loki felt a little overwhelmed and suddenly the fatigue of this first day seemed to fall on his shoulders to the point that he had to stifle a yawn.

Thor patted him on the back and said, "I have an excellent remedy for that."

"What is it?"

Heimdall and Thor high-fived each other and said in unison, "The Bifrost."

At Loki's look of complete incomprehension, Carol explained, "It's a bar two blocks away, good burgers, good beer and for good company, that's us." she finished with a wink.

Loki realized they were inviting him to come with them but he hesitated and finally replied, "Thanks. I better not drink tonight. I'm dead."

Bruce retorted, "We're all dead."

"Yes, but I still have a lot to unpack."

They nodded, and did not seem disappointed by his refusal, even rather understanding. Loki really wasn't used to this kind of company.

Heimdall put his hand on his arm and then said softly, "Next time, then."

Loki, not understanding why his throat was tight, simply nodded.

A little later, they separated in front of the school gates. Loki on one side and the group on the other.

" Bye Loki!"

"See you tomorrow Captain!"

Loki lived only three blocks from the school and soon arrived home. When he entered he realized how sterile and cold his large apartment seemed.

He had not yet had time to unpack all his things and the boxes were scattered everywhere. The first thing he had unpacked was Croki's terrarium, which took up a whole room.

As he closed the door, he heard Croki's typical little paws coming and rubbing against him as usual. He patted his head and headed for the kitchen. Croki was a Cuvier's Dwarf caiman. Loki had once wanted to get a dog, but in the animal shelter he had immediately felt a connection with the animal, perhaps because he was different, like himself.

Loki opened the refrigerator which was desperately empty except for Croki's fish ration. He put it on a plate and put it on the floor while commenting, "Need alligator food. And human too."

He was going to have to do some shopping tomorrow.

After snacking on a bag of chips, exhausted, he took a quick shower before going to his room.

"Good night Croki."

His room was as functional and depressing as the rest of the place. He went to stand in front of the window. Outside it was all stone buildings. It was very difficult to even see the sky. He sighed, "What a view..."

He pulled the blinds and went to bed. Once his head was on the pillow, he fell asleep very quickly, which prevented him from thinking too much about everything he missed.

**********

A red pickup truck passed the New Asgard sign before parking at the side of the path that leads to the house. Its back end was filled with furniture and moving boxes. A mustachioed man with gray hair got out. He walked toward the cottage on the edge of the cliff and stopped, hands on hips, contemplating the view.

He opened the door, looked for the electric power meter. He turned it on and went to turn on the light in the entrance and then in what seemed to be the living room.

Mobius examined the place, satisfied. There wasn't much. A stereo, some books, an armchair. But the bare and cosy furniture matched perfectly with the austere beauty of the small cottage. He looked out the window at the cliff. He was going to like it here.

It took him a good four hours to unload his pickup truck by himself and install just about everything he had brought. Once finished, he grabbed a cold beer that he had put in the cooler and while drinking it quietly walked around the house before getting in the car to go shopping at the local grocery store that he had spotted on his way in.

Once he had gone around the store, with his groceries in his arms, he went to put them on the counter.

The young owner and his wife were behind.

"Hi, are you new around here?" the owner asked him.

Mobius smiled and replied, "More or less. My name is Mobius."

The owner replied, "My name is Clint and this is my wife, Laura."

Laura smiled and added, "You're going to like it. Especially now that the weather is getting warmer." Then pointing to the groceries, she added, "We'll get you some boxes for all that."

"Oh thanks." replied Mobius.

Laura fetched an empty box from a high shelf. Now that she was no longer hidden by the counter, it was obvious that she was pregnant. Clint rushed to her. "No, honey, let me."

Mobius looked at them, feeling moved and at the same time fully aware of his own loneliness. He paid, took his box and left, but not without promising the young couple to return.

He parked in front of the small road with his groceries in the back of the truck and noticed the mailbox with its flag up. He stopped and opened it. There was an envelope.

For the new tenant.

He took in the groceries, put them away, made himself a sandwich tray and taking the letter, he went to sit on the armchair in front of the bay window. He put his tray on a small table next to it, opened the letter and started to read.

Dear new tenant.

Hello and welcome to your new home and congratulations, blah blah blah. You have made an excellent choice, New Asgard is a wonderful place and this house is a gem, as you may have already noticed.

I'm sure you'll love living here as much as I do.

By the way, I'm the former tenant, Loki.

Mobius looked perplexed but also pleasantly surprised.

The post office forwards my mail normally, but if something should happen here, because the post service is what it is and we are never safe, my new address is below. Thank you.

Mobius turned over the letter.

P.S.: Sorry for the pawprints leading to the front door. They were already there when I moved in, as well as the box in the attic. I think it belongs to the owner.

Mobius stared at the letter in amusement and could not help but check the end of the letter.

He went to the front door. The floor was clean. Inside and out.

"What did he talk about?" he scratched the back of his head before heading for the ladder that led to the attic. He opened the hatch, poked his head through and looked around. It was empty. No box.

Mobius went back down, shrugged, crumpled the letter and threw it away.

He finished his meal and went to bed.

The next day, in his clock store, while repairing an antique watch with an extremely complicated mechanism, he couldn't help thinking about the letter and its more or less strange ending when he was interrupted by the doorbell indicating that someone had entered the store.

He put down his tools, wiped his hands, and headed for the store.

"Hey Mobius! I made lunch, shall we share?"

It was the bubbly and somewhat invasive, Sylvie. The owner of the antique gun store right across from him.

He replied, annoyed, because she had interrupted his work that he loved, "I can't, I have urgent work to finish."

"Oh come on Mobius, there's nothing urgent about an old watch."

"It is to its owner."

She made a disappointed pout, "Well, okay..." she sighed and headed for the door, then turned abruptly. "Is it true you bought a house? Where is it? How is it?"

Mobius rolled his eyes, used to Sylvie's chatter.

"It's an isolated cottage, in a small village called New Asgard."

"You're sick to isolate yourself like that!"

"It's what I want and I already feel at home there. And now, if you don't mind, I'm going to get back to my work, which is not urgent." He walked briskly toward his studio, annoyed by the criticism of his choice, and didn't even hear the door close.

In the late afternoon, after his day's work, he decided to repaint the faded fences that lined the small path. The manual work, like his work on watches, helped him to clear his head.

A few hours later, as the day was getting darker, Mobius was kneeling on the steps and applying a new layer of paint to the weathered planks. He finished, satisfied with the result, and began to put his equipment away.

Behind him, a small dwarf alligator trotted along the path. Mobius didn't notice it at first. The alligator sped up and before Mobius could react, he stepped into the paint and left footprints behind him. "Hey!"

Mobius tried to catch the alligator but it ran back inside the house whose door Mobius had left ajar. Mobius was about to follow him, wondering what an alligator was doing here and if he was dangerous, when he suddenly stopped.

On the ground in front of the house, there was a trail of paw prints.

Mobius rushed to the garbage can and searched with determination through his trash when he finally found what he was looking for: Loki's letter.

He stared at it.

Sorry about the footprints leading to the front door. They were already there when I moved in, as was the box in the attic. I think it belongs to the owner.

He remained for a long moment staring at the crumpled note.

*********

Loki went out to have lunch at a place he had spotted not far from the school.

Finding the weather warm, he opened his coat and continued walking.

When he arrived at the place, he sat down on a bench and started to unwrap his sandwich, a book in his hand. He enjoyed this moment of calm, even if the place was crowded on this beautiful day.

Once finished eating, Loki closed his eyes for a moment, letting the sunlight warm him up. Just aware of the surrounding sounds, the water of the fountain, the splashes and laughter of the children playing there, an old man grumbling about global warming, the pigeons landing not far away, hoping to get some crumbs from those who like Loki had decided to have lunch here.

Suddenly, a horrible noise, a high-pitched squeal and a horn made Loki sit up. He suddenly opened his eyes and looked around.

A few meters away, in front of Loki, a double-decker city bus was trying to stop. It was going pretty fast, although you could tell the driver was trying to brake.

Loki registered it all, the noise, the bus, before noticing the gray-haired man standing directly in the path of the bus. There was nothing to be done, it was inevitable and almost immediate, the man was hit by the bus, and Loki, horrified, saw his distant figure fly ten or fifteen feet into the air before crashing to the sidewalk. The faint sound of the impact reached Loki half a second later, due to the distance.

Loki automatically took out his cell phone and dialed 911. As he walked towards the impact point, he gave all the information to the rescue workers, trying to remain calm.

Once he hung up the phone, he started to run towards the lifeless body.

_______

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 (End)

As always, bear with me as it is not beta'd and english is not my native language I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless🥰

[trulycertain]

setting sail

1.2k of overthinking some offhand romance lines. And Marie De Sardet being a pining, courtly-love idiot. f!De Sardet/Vasco.

Some would say it’s rank foolishness to grow fond of a Naut. They come and go with the tide.

She never had many thoughts on it all – she’d rarely met Nauts, other than for the odd bit of business at the port, when her uncle needed some cargo shifting. She’s drunk with one or two, when keeping Constantin company crawling through the taverns. But between the isolation of her rank and their famed secrecy, she didn’t have the opportunity to truly know many. (Their only conversations consisted of things like "What about that crate over there?" and "No, I didn't know Constantin could balance a glass on his nose either.") The most she knew of the subject was an occasional rumour, usually about some noble spending a night in a way their family would disapprove of, and the odd tavern song. Some of them quite bawdy – but all of the ones about more than a tumble ended up with a broken-hearted land-lubber pining away at the docks.

The thing is, the sailors in those songs were fickle, and Vasco may be one of the most constant people she’s ever met. When he cares for something, he commits: whether that be his calling, or his drive to find his birth family, or this very quest they’re on.

Even so, that’s a dangerous train of thought to allow. She tries not to be too indelicate with her questions, but she’s gathered enough from his sheer amount of tattoos compared to other captains, the odd story he’s let her have, and the way his crew speak of him – he’s somewhat of an exceptional sailor. She’d suspected, comparing his rank to his age, but it was another thing to travel with him. His laying-off smelt of politics rather than aptitude, and she knew it wouldn’t last for long. And so it didn’t; he’s been reinstated, with new marks of loyalty.

(They look like… serpents, she said, in quiet fascination, and he smiled and said, So they are. To represent defeating a monster of the seas. And she remembered the nádaig, and he turned his head into the light, left and then right – allowing himself to show off. His eyes always on her, as if curious to see what she thought of him. She bit her tongue against the truth.)

She’s quite certain they’re friends now, a fact which in itself once seemed more than a little impossible. Good friends, even – the sort that exchange idle words by campfires and gaze at the stars together, that ask after each other’s wounds and drink together while speaking of family difficulties. The sort that shore each other up with kind words after the worst has happened.

He’ll head out to sea soon enough. She’ll send him a letter, and perhaps he may even find the time to send one or two of his own, between sailing through storms and swashbuckling. She’s probably supposed to think that she’ll be forgotten, but somehow, with Vasco, she doubts that. Perhaps, if the world is kind, they might even get to sail together again. She knows he’s done enough work in Tír Fradí. And anything else, the sort of thing she considers in idle daydreams? That will fade, given enough time. She knows how to deal with this; it’s far from the first interest of its kind. And at least this time it’s one of the quietly kindest men she’s ever met, rather than a court cad. There are worse things than to enjoy the company of a fine man.

(And if he looks at her sometimes with his eyes warm and thoughtful, or spars with her word for word, or responds to her endless questions with a huff that seems more like fondness and something deeper, rather than frustration, and she wonders… Well, she enjoys the moment, then tells herself firmly to know a joke and easy friendliness for what it is.)

The alternative is... yes, a dangerous train of thought. Better to disabuse herself of it swiftly. So she asks him when he plans to set sail again. A swift cut is cleaner than a slow one.

Soon, but not yet, he tells her - the answer she expected.

She’s never been one to hold back a kind word, especially to a friend. And at court, it’s a rare gift to tell the truth, so she tries to do it as much as possible elsewhere. “I hope that someday, when this is all over… I will get to sail with you again.”

“I hope so too,” he says. And then he looks at her, and his voice is quiet when he says, “To be truthful, I’d rather not leave these shores without you.” Quieter than a matter-of-fact friend’s compliment, or half-jokes they’ve shared. The sort of quiet that comes with a confession.

...Oh.

She blinks at him. He only looks back at her levelly, his mouth tight, his face caught between softness and a sort of half-afraid defiance. She recognises it, somehow: remembers him turning his newly-inked face into the light, showing himself to her and daring her to have an opinion. Because her opinion mattered to him, and she’s only now starting to realise how much.

She realises too late that she’s staring, and she tries to close her mouth. She has the terrible suspicion that everything she’s feeling is showing in her expression; that it must be obvious her heart is in her throat, or she must look like something from some terrible shanty. He’s always been good at making her too earnest, at catching her off-guard.

He swallows, and then looks over her shoulder, pointedly. “The governor’s aide is looking for you.” He squints. “And making desperate hand gestures.” His words are back to their usual dryness.

She could force it. She could ask the sailor standing next to her, already settling his face into neutrality and putting his hands behind his back, exactly what he meant. (So that she can ask him whether what she’d thought were her idle compliments and endless questions bouncing off him, only being read with half their intended interest, were… something else. Whether all that half-glimpsed softness and the way he’d sometimes seemed to be carefully looking elsewhere when she turned her head were her imagination.)

She doesn’t. She won’t push. She steps back and adjusts her hat, glancing over her shoulder to the harried aide. Gives Vasco one last long look, leaving the rest to him; telling herself that if she hasn’t entirely misinterpreted, there will be time. “Of course.”

She suspects, then.

And because she suspected, it’s somehow not a surprise when he eventually takes her aside, though more surprising is the poetry – poetry, and she was always raised to watch for potential useful alliances, not a man quoting Marcelleau to her like he means it, half-terrified, with his heart in his eyes. Not a surprise, either, is the quiet knock at her bedroom door – or the way they almost forget to close it afterwards, when she takes his hand and he kisses her with such desperate tenderness, the sort that has clearly been stored up and held close to his chest for a long time.

And contrary to all the songs, she’s somehow unsurprised, too, when the morning finds him in her bed - skin pale and ink dark against her sheets, coat tossed onto the chest at the foot of her bed, curled up as if more used to a ship’s hammock and unsure what to do with all the space. Not a story here and gone with the tide. Nor is she some longing ghost, waiting at the docks.

Then we shall set sail together on this bitter sea.

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV Write Entry #29: Stormsong

Prompt: paternal | Master Post | On AO3

Well, this did not go where I thought it would, and certainly isn’t crack. But I think I like it?

Anyway, SPOILERS for The Sorrow of Werlyt through the quest “Sleep Now in Sapphire” as well as the Omega Raid story line.

--

A late summer storm had roared up the coast, driving the residents of Terncliff inside their homes and the Ironworks engineers and Resistance soldiers down into the magitek facility. Most were in their commandeered bunks—at least those not on patrol throughout the town—while waiting for the storm to pass, but for the engineers at least, there was still work to be done in the warmachina bay.

For a given definition of work.

Valdeaulin rolled his eyes as Cid Garlond and Synnove Greywolfe’s shouting echoed down the hangar. He couldn’t fathom the reason why Greywolfe was here, for all that she had taken it deeply personally that she hadn’t been involved in the G-Warrior’s development; something to do with the warmachina’s systems, perhaps, or the recovered pieces of the Sapphire Weapon, currently in one of the secondary bays. He could follow her ranting about aetheric principles to a degree, but the similarities between thaumaturgy and arcanima rapidly ran dry when the arcanist also dabbled heavily in engineering.

From his spot close to the exit out towards the bay, at least, the pounding rain and crash of thunder mostly drowned out the engineers’ row (Greywolfe was standing atop the G-Warrior’s shoulder, yelling down at Garlond as they both shook their fists and waved wrenches at one another for emphasis, the other Ironworks employees not reacting to them at all). If he closed his eyes, he could imagine for a moment that rain was falling on the stone roof of his home rather than sheet metal, that the cool wind blew in from the dark depths of the Twelveswood, that the voices he heard were those of his wife and daughter. But then something would crash in the hangar, and he would be drawn back to reality.

With an annoyed sigh, Valdeaulin opened his eyes and resumed his work on a map of the region surrounding Terncliff and heading towards Werlyt. He didn’t have to do it, but there was precious little else for him to do with the weather so foul and the hunt for Gaius’ wayward foster children and their Weapons project temporarily halted. And it would make the lives of the Resistance patrols easier, at least.

He was making notations on one copy about the local patterns of aether for any Resistance mages—eerily dead, but with the occasional strange spot he could sense of high activity that might be a natural golem, or a pocket of minor elementals—when he heard footsteps trotting towards his position. His ears twitched and he looked up, eyebrows going up despite his attempt to remain stoic.

His time with the Order of the Twin Adders had been relatively short—perhaps two years, if that—but Rereha Reha had been notorious well before she and her sisters-in-arms had stumbled into bearing the mantles of Warriors of Light. Valdeaulin hadn’t served in her unit, but he had seen the fallout of some of her “shenanigans,” both good and ill, and his commanding officer had spoken of her with fond exasperation. Like him, she was an outsider to the Twelveswood, but for some unfathomable reason, she had been permitted beneath its boughs by the Elementals to live and learn in Gridania.

She hadn’t changed much, appearance wise anyway, since that time he had last seen her before Operation Archon: devious, almost smarmy grin, pink hear dyed with streaks of white, skin astonishingly blemish free despite a career outdoors that he had once overheard a Gridanian noblewoman hiss over in a fit of jealousy and left him struggling to disguise his laughter as a cough. She still favored sky blue for anything that wasn’t a uniform, going by her leather coat, but her usual matching stockman hat with its jaunty feather was suspiciously missing.

And…was that a hatchling dragon in her arms?

When the lalafell came to a stop before him, he grudgingly said, “Lieutenant Reha.”

“Ooooh, that’s Captain Reha now, Sergeant,” Rereha said, just shy of cackling.

Valdeaulin nearly dropped his pen. “Dear good gods, why do they keep promoting you?” he said in disbelief.

“Mostly to make me someone else’s problem,” she chirped, easily hopping up onto a stack of crates next to him. The dragonet in her arms croaked reproachfully as it was jostled, but she merely patted it on the head and continued, “I think the plan is to get me high enough that it forces Grand Marshal Brookstone to retire already. I am also, apparently, quite good at getting the job done even if it means someone goes prematurely grey from shock, mortification, or both.”

“That sounds like a quote,” he said.

Rereha held a finger up to her lips in a ‘shush’ gesture, smirking, and waggled her eyebrows.

Valdeaulin shook his head and, to use one of Severa’s favorite phrases, decided to bite the bullet, gesturing to the dragonet. “And who’s your friend there?”

If he hadn’t once been the father of a precocious daughter (one who would be about the same age as this hedonist bard had she lived), he likely wouldn’t have noticed the very brief widening of Rereha’s eyes in the classic children’s expression of oh shite. But he did, and he kept his face studiously blank of anything except polite interest while the lalafell smiled bright and wide—too wide, just a hair—and said, “Oh, this little guy?”

She held the dragonet, a yalm long from nose to tail by his guess, up for inspection. He had black eyes, apparently all pupil, or perhaps his irises were true black, as well. His head was head was wedge-shaped, with fan-shaped protrusions on either side of his head of similar shape to his wings. The closer look showed that his scales were tiny; from a distance he had almost appeared smooth-skined. He was dark green, shading to a paler shade on his belly, and the undersides of his wings and ear fins, plus his extremities, were pink.

The dragonet was, quite frankly, adorable, despite the unsettlingly powerful glare. Something about his aether niggled at him, though; he could have sworn he had encountered it before, but that couldn’t be possible…

“I had heard you and the other Warriors of Light had brought peace between the Ishgardians and the Dravanians,” Valdeaulin drawled, “but I didn’t expect it had extended to babysitting.”

“Dragonets do what they want,” Rereha said with a sniff. “He usually stays in Anyx Trine, but occasionally he comes wandering to find us and beg for bacon jerky.”

The dragonet perked up at that word and he craned his neck and head back to chirp at Rereha imperiously.

She sighed. “Yeah, yeah, I got the goods.” She set the dragonet in her lap and slung her pack off her shoulder.

As Rereha rummaged around in her bag, Valdeaulin said mildly, “Does he have a name?”

“Hm? Oh! Yeah,” she said, popping her head up and triumphantly holding a wrapped packet. The dragonet began hopping impatiently, wings flaring, and Rereha shoved him out of the way, but he merely took that as an invitation to hop onto her head, lean over, and croak angrily in her face. She poked his nose and said to Valdeaulin, “He’s, ah, Deeh Sohm.”

His parental bullshite detector, as his Trisselle had called it, noticed the ever-so-slight hesitation, but as before, Valdeaulin didn’t comment on it. As hilarious as it would be to make Rereha Reha squirm, he assumed whatever it was that was causing her to react like someone with their hand in the biscuit jar, it some sort of Warrior of Light business.

Instead, he merely nodded, and went back to notating the map. Rereha, meanwhile, hurriedly unwrapped the waxed paper to reveal a pile of jerky and began breaking off pieces. For every piece she passed up to the impatient “Deeh Sohm,” she popped one into her own mouth, apparently as ravenous as her small companion. The jerky vanished completely into their stomachs in no time at all, and both dragonet and lalafell belched in satisfaction. A lick of blue flame accompanied the dragonet’s.

Valdeaulin did not comment, though he did briefly wonder if Lisie would have stayed as shamelessly irreverent had she grown up. The thought only hurt a little, this time.

Apparently now that snack time was over, it was time to sleep the food off: Rereha yawned once, laid down with her head pillowed on her back, and promptly passed out, in the manner of many soldiers and adventurers who learned to sleep whenever and wherever they could, with an inelegant snore. The dragonet, briefly dislodged from his perch atop her head, instead stomped down to her stomach, kneading it like a cat before he curled into a ball, wings tucked close.

Valdeaulin shifted just a bit on his own seat, shuffling back to make himself a better windbreak for the occasional stormy gust that howled into the hanger.

Suddenly, the dragonet’s aether signature…changed.

Valdeaulin very, very slowly raised his head, eyes wide. Before, the dragonet’s aether had felt dim, the faintest hum of a repeating tune of power, fitting for a creature that looked so young.

Now, though.

Now, it was a chorus of complex harmonies, of rhythms and tone and melodies that somehow blended into a coherent whole. It was heavy with the weight of antiquity, nearly crushing with how narrowly it was focused upon himself.

The dragonet stared at him, and now he would swear that fathomless, midnight gaze saw through him, right to the very heart of his being, weighing and judging and knowing. A loud, grumbling hmmmmmmm, almost two-toned with reverb, echoed in his mind.

Rereha snorted, though she didn’t wake entirely, and she patted the dragonet on the head. “Go t’ sleep, Dad,” she slurred.

Slowly, the ancient awareness folded itself away, bit by bit, until the dragonsong was muted once more to that simple cascade of notes of earlier. The dragonet blinked at him, yawned, and tucked his head under his wing to nap.

Valdeaulin stared at the pair for long moments, before resolutely returning to his work.

He did not want to know.

[jq37]

The Royal Report– A Crown of Candy Ep 7  Escape From the Bulb Creeps

Journey to the Past

We are fresh on the heels of the deaths of both Lapin and Peppermint Preston (Reeces in Pieces) but there’s no time to mourn because the remaining 5 PCs (Zac is absent all episode) are all fugitives of both church and state. With everyone stunned and out of sorts, Jet takes the lead and begins running towards the alleyway she banished Thad to several episodes ago on a goof turned escape plan. And none of the adults have a better plan so they follow her without argument or question. Ruby sends Yak up to help scout and, as they’re running, each of the group have flashbacks to simpler times:

Ruby: Ruby sees herself practicing acrobatics on the castle walls having just seen the Swirler Sisters perform. Her mom makes her come down and scolds her for not taking her princess duties seriously. Royal life is hard enough without her making it harder with her flights of fancy and she should be training to be ready for it.

Amethar: Amethar sees himself at the Stone Candy Mountain mid-war with his four sisters who have just got the news that he married Katherine Ghee--his dairy wife we learned about 2 eps ago. His oldest sister--General Rococoa--is livid about the shortsightedness and political implications of him marrying a commoner. St. Citrina, the third sister, comforts Amethar and says that if he really loves her, the marriage should stand. The youngest sister, Princess Sapphria, is chill about the whole thing and thinks (1) it won’t matter since he’s so far down in the line of succession and (2) he should have a good time if he wants to. Something ~crazy~ would have to happen for Amethar to ever get the throne so it would be *stupid* to waste time worrying about. (Thousand yard stare.) Lazuli shows up and is very fuzzy on where in the timeline they are--showing her background as a divination wizard--before congratulating Amethar on his marriage. Rococoa wants the marriage annulled and Citrina says that, for that to happen, Amethar and Katherine would need to be in the same place with the priest who performed the ceremony--Father Belford. They can take care of it after the war if Amethar wants. In the meantime, they tell their dad *nothing*.

Liam: It’s Liam’s 14th b-day and he’s still living with his dad (Joren Jawbreaker) and his mom (Spearia Mentha--a cool Vegetanian hippie woman) and his 35 other moms and dads (polygamy is big in the Sweetening Path apparently). His dad shows up and has trouble remembering his name but does present him Preston as a pet which he’s pretty stoked about. Afterwards, he meets up with his mom who says that his entire extended family talked about his going to Castle Candy as a ward/political prisoner and have decided that he can, but that he should be careful. The outside world isn’t as accepting of other spirits and ideas. Back in the present, Liam feels something dark inside him grow with the loss of Preston. Ice creeps up on his crossbow and his magic changes (mechanically speaking, he has gone from a Beastmaster to a Gloomstalker Ranger).

Theo: It’s Theo’s first day on the job as Lazuli’s ward and, after getting some business done (including a short conversation with a cotton candy monk who seemed suspiciously fleshed out to just be a random NPC) she turns to him and asks his opinion on non-sanctioned magic. Theo (who insists on addressing her by all of her titles) says that magic has never been his thing. He doesn’t have the mind for it. Lazuli takes issue with that assertion and Theo is forced to consider that he might be limiting himself for no reason. Lazuli says that she’s realizing that magic is a lot bigger and unknowable than conventional wisdom suggests and then Theo runs off to fetch her more parchment.    

Jet: Jet is 14 and practicing fencing with Calroy. He gets the point with a fencing dagger (which is apparently a thing, confirmed by my one friend who fences) before they ease into a conversation about politics. Calroy asks her if she sees herself challenging convention and we all know Who Jet Is As a Person so her answer (big yes) isn’t surprising. What’s slightly more surprising is that Calroy candidly agrees with her that change is good and needed. A lot of people would love change but most of them aren’t situated in such a way that they have the power to bring about any. Calroy says he looks forward to her reign and they continue sparring. 

Back to Reality 

In the present, church bells toll behind them and Ruby feels a piece of paper fly out from her pocket--it’s the “For Candia” note from Lapin. She grabs it with her Mage Hand and just feels like the worst person on the planet for being mean to Lapin all these years and then watching him give his life for them. He presented as boring and lame but he was a good man. 

They all reach the delirious Thad (he’s been in this alley since episode 3) who Jet flirts with to try and get his carriage but Liam circumvents that by getting a Nat 20 to fully knock the dude out. The servants with him flip out but Jet threatens them into running away and, before they can get very far, Ruby casts Sleep on them which drops them. Then, she casts Disguise Self and Prestidigitation so she looks and smells like Thad (we’re also blessed by Siobhan’s ridiculous French accent) and goes out to Thad’s carriage with Jet on her arm, lying to the servants there that Jet has been knocked up and they have to have a shotgun wedding. Her deception check succeeds and the footman declares, “To the cathedral!” NO. Beach wedding! It’s a beach wedding! They all pile into the back of the carriage--Ruby up front since she’s pretending to be Thad--and head out.

While they ride, Liam unsuccessfully tries to cry quietly and Theo eulogizes Lapin and says that what happened to him was no one’s fault. Jet asks Amethar if he had a death wish back in the Cathedral and Amethar, not in so many words, admits that he did. Yak comes back down from scouting and relays that the Glucian Road (the way back to Candia that they came) is about to be absolutely crawling with imperial soldiers. And cutting through Fructerra to the north (the shortest route) is also bad because that’s Plumbeline’s territory and she’s already proven herself untrustworthy. That leaves the “safest” options Brightgarden (basically the Vatican City of this world so not really a place they wanna be right now) and towards the Harbor. 

Everyone takes another minute to have a full breakdown--especially Liam who is coming to terms with the fact that he’s gonna have to be a war guy now--and Brennan rolls death saves for Thad (he lives) before they get back to business. If they want to go to the Great Stone Candy Mountain (Where Joren Jawbreaker is), going by sea is faster. Ruby points out that they’ll have to go into the territory of Cordeau (aka, Lord Bleu--the suspicious cheese dude Primsy is lowkey courting) if they go by sea but Theo points out that they’re F’d no matter where they go so they lock in the plan. 

A Fun Boat Ride

Once they get to the docks, Brennan points out that none of them have sailing proficiency (Emily: I have tarot cards) so if they just grab a ship with no crew, they’re for sure gonna die. They’d previously asked Calroy to ready a ship for them but they have no idea if that happened and they don’t have a way to ask him. The only ship they recognize in the harbor is The Colby--Annabelle’s ship. And, what do you know? She’s on the ship at that very moment, officiating a wedding for Primsy and Lord Bleu. The dude works fast.      

Theo sees that they’re casting off soon and also that Morris Brie is walking around all agitated and worried--looking for Manta Ray Jack they guess. Liam casts Pass Without Trace and Amethar gets a Nat 20 to open one of the cargo crates they’re going to load onto the ship so they can hide inside (leaving Yak and Sprinkle outside to be their eyes). While they’re in there, they hear Primsy and Bleu talking and learn that he’s gonna be following behind in his own ship (since he’s captain) and they’ll meet back in Lacramor. We also learn later that his ship is called the Dairy Heir because Brennan was put on this earth to test me.

Ruby hears that Morris Brie is still walking around all worried and decides to Message him in Lacra. “Manta Ray is Captured. The House of Rocks has Fallen. All is Lost. Help.” She calls herself a friend and, on a 20 Persuasion, Brie thinks she’s a spirit. She tells him where Jack is and calls him a good man when he agrees to check.

Brennan rolls for an unspecified thing in front of the board--saying they need an 11 or higher and want a 15--and gets a 12. 

The ship is held for a while, long enough that they’re loaded into the cargo hold, and Brennan narrates everything that happens from the eyes of Yak and Sprinkle (bending the rules a bit so everyone gets the benefit of knowing how Ruby’s clutch move played out):

Annabelle is agitated, waiting for Brie and Manta Ray so they can ship off. A messenger comes to her with the information that the Emperor is dead, Candia is at war with the Concord, and Amethar has been excommunicated. Primsy, who is technically in charge, reacts exactly how any sane 16 y/o would--she has absolutely no idea what to do. Another messenger shows up with a bloody letter (and, sidenote, I need Brennan to stop cursing us with detailed info on how various food people bleed. It’s extremely unsettling) from Brie which she reads and before deciding to ship off immediately. 

The Candians decide to stay hidden for an hour which is good because 30 mins later, the ship is stopped and boarded by imperials (lead by Grissini). They check the barrels but not the crates because no one would be able to open them. Well, no one except Amethar on a Nat 20. They’re not found and the imperials leave.

After the hour is up, Ruby can see through Yak that there aren’t any ships except for the dairy ones escorting Primsy back home and there are only about 12 people on the Colby. There’s a long discussion about the best strategy--Should they go up or call someone down? Should they talk to Primsy or Annabelle? Should Jet volunteer as a hostage?--before Ruby makes an executive decision and decides to Message Primsy.

“Primsy, I invoke the friendship of House Rocks and House Lacra.”

On a 20 persuasion check, Primsy, like Brie, thinks she’s a fairy or a spirit, which she is childishly excited about. Ruby says that if she comes to the hold, she’ll show her a secret and Primsy, who has apparently never seen a horror movie before in her life, comes right down. To her credit, she does ask if she can bring Annabelle, but Ruby says no. But that doesn’t deter her. Once she’s down there, Theo, who also has the Message cantrip, says, “Don’t scream, no matter what you see,” which is absolutely the worst thing he could have said and, on a 3 Persuasion--plus Amethar bursting out of the crate to try to show her she’s among friends, Primsy has the correct reaction which is to scream bloody murder, calling down basically everyone, including Annabelle.

Everyone throws down their weapons (Jet just stows hers in her back pockets) and Liam tries to hide but gets a Nat 1. Annabelle is, of course, furious that they’d stow away while fugitives, endangering them all but Ruby is able to slightly charm her (non-magically) and she reveals that the letter she received before says that Brie rescued Manta Ray and they’re hiding in Comida. Ruby is relieved her plan worked and, when Annabelle scoffs at her for taking credit for the work of the spirits, hits her with a Message to prove her abilities. Annabelle seems taken aback that, even while wanted fugitives of basically the entire world, Ruby would take any of her precious time to help Manta Ray. “[He’s] a good man,” Ruby responds, as if the decision took no thought at all. Primsy comforts Liam as he breaks down over the loss of Lapin and Preston again.

Brennan has everyone do a group persuasion check where only one of them cracks a 15. Annabelle and Co. are really in a terrible position here. These are their allies but they’re also being hunted right now and the Dairy Islands really cannot afford to be at war with the Concord. Helping them would be tantamount to a declaration of war. “Please don’t make us make you,” Ruby says. Annabelle scoffs that even if they kill her, either her crew would kill them or they’d kill the crew then die at sea. Ruby apologizes for the empty threat and says she’s just scared. 

Annabelle decides that they can’t help them but they also don’t have to fight them. They’ll take them to Lacramor as prisoners and then assemble a council to figure out what to do with them. In the meantime, they’ll be clothed and fed and brought to a room without chains. The Candians, who don’t really have a ton of options here, agree. 

Sacre Bleu

Soon after they’re situated (they get a short rest here), Primsy invites them to the Captain’s Quarters (which she shares with Annabelle) for tea. She doesn’t allow herself to say anything that would jeopardize her country’s position, but she seems very much on their side and confident this will be sorted out once they land and the council discusses it. She’s also excited for them to meet Lord Bleu, which they’re...less enthused about.

Ruby tries to get it into her head that she’s a strong, independent woman who doesn’t have to just do whatever he says--or even what Annabelle says--but it seems that Bleu has gotten to her first because Primsy says that he tells her that too and that he’s right about everything. Theo asks if he has any enemies in his house and she says no, confused about why he would ask. Jet decides to fully let the cat out of the bag and says that someone from Bleu’s house attacked them. Primsy, with shockingly little genre savviness, says that there have been a lot of deaths in Bleu’s family to get him to the place in the line of succession that he is and that they did get a letter from Plumbeline saying that Amethar would probably be named successor but if not him then it would probably be her. And if anything happens to her, guess who’s suddenly in charge? None other than Lord Consort Cheddar, aka Bleu. Theo tries to tell Primsy to watch her back but, on a 2 Charisma check, he just pisses off yet another House Cheddar lady and Primsy leaves for the Crow’s Nest to catch a glimpse of her new husband on his ship. On a Nat 20, Jet stealths behind her to protect her.

Liam goes to find Annabelle to try and convince her to drop them off at the Candy Mountain instead of Lacramor. He starts well with a compliment (“Your haircut looks fresh”) before trying to pimp out his harem of parents in exchange for the ride and rolling a 4 Persuasion. Liam submits to the slap he knows is coming--but it misses due to Ruby’s Hex giving her disadvantage and making her take her Nat 1 instead of her Nat 20. As she stumbles forward, she notices something in the distance and walks off to check on it, Liam following behind her. 

Brennan has Murph make three mystery luck checks in the box of doom because he is the enemy and Murph rolls a 7, 16, and a 14. For Murph, pretty good!

They’re just about at the Yogurt Shoals (Bleu territory, you’ll remember) and they notice that all the other ships except for the two house Bleu ones have veered off in another direction. 

It starts to rain milk (Brennan seems to indicate that’s what the 7 roll was) and Annabelle yells at Primsy to come down from the crow’s nest. Primsy notices that the other ships are gone right as arrows start to fire from the Bleu ships to hers. Jet, at once, shields Primsy from the barrage. 

Annabelle tries to get them out of there in a hurry but finds the sails are damaged and the House Bleu ships sidle up along the Colby and pull a Ben-Hur, tearing up the sides of the ship until it begins to sink. Everyone roll initiative!

Also, it’s Zac’s Birthday. 

Happy Birthday Zac.    

Medal of Honor

Gotta give out our first double medal of honor this episode, fittingly, to the twins who were on fire this whole episode. 

At the top of the episode when no one else knew what to do, Jet took the reins and picked a plan and everyone else was swayed by her force of will and didn’t even ask any questions. And then later, when Theo fumbled his diplomacy, she again acted on impulse and put herself in the perfect position to protect Primsy.

And then Ruby--in the talkback, they said they were talking about “Ruby’s Big Day” which was great because so was I in my head. Taking her magic--the very thing that put her in so much danger--and turning it to their greatest asset with the clutch disguise and then using the hell out of the Message Cantrip? Lapin has been dead for less than a day and she’ll already taken the position of party Face.

Very Galaxy Brained moves from our girls this ep.

Sunny Side Up

The immediacy of the “Do you think she’s gonna get off?” response from Ally was like they’d been waiting their entire life to make that specific joke. 

Also on the topic of Ally just literally saying anything, watching everyone break as Liam described the game “Stairs” was an experience. And Brennan having to react to that as a parent and acknowledge it was full abuse gave me shades of Kristen talking about all the cult literature in her family’s house that Brennan was hearing about for the first time in that moment. 

The whole sequence in the alley with Thad was such a perfect moment of catharsis after the heaviness of everything else. That, “Point with my hand or?” Siobhan’s French accent. Liam hitting a Nat 20 to knock Thad TF out. Everyone coming up with plans on the spot on top of each other and the big, “NO!” after Brennan’s, “To the cathedral!” The rubberband needed to snap back to comedy for a bit after last week and all those flashbacks and they did it perfectly here.

Jet already having a “Bastard Jet” tattoo and Murph improvising that she made him do it with a cantrip.  

“Advantage for boldness and disadvantage for madness.”

Things I’m Concerned About

Short list this week because the answer is basically “everything”.

Brennan. Brennan, if anything happens to Primsy...I know that this is all pre-recorded and whatever happened already happened but if Primsy is hurt in any way...Brennan…

Very interesting that the Pontifex OK’d the wedding of Primsy and Bleu basically immediately while all manner of insanity was going on but couldn’t find the time to get the emperor paperwork filled out. And by interesting I mean she’s a snake. 

A big ocean battle after only a short rest? With no healer? Don’t care for that one bit. 

I would not want to be Katherine Ghee right now. Idk what she’s doing but if she’s alive and well, I have to assume her life is about to be filled with BS.

Liam’s rage (which he talked to Amethar about) seems like the kind of thing that becomes a problem either for poor decision making reasons or literal communing with evil spirits reasons. So I’m for sure monitoring that situation, just in case.  

Understandably, the gang wasn’t able to go for their allies this episode, but that puts them in a BAD position to put it mildly. If Calroy did ready that ship, it’s possible that at least some of the rest of the Candians will be able to get out once they hear the news. Fingers crossed for those guys but it would be a fittingly brutal story move if all the fun, tutorial level NPCs just get executed now that we’ve left the starting area (which already was pretty brutal to be sure). 

Five More Things

It took me saying the episode title out loud while writing this recap to understand that it was a Bloodkeep reference. I was like, what a weird thing to call an ep. It doesn’t fit the titling conventions for this show at all.

Loved getting to see Amethar with all his sisters, even with the ouchiness of knowing how that all panned out. I especially liked Citrina as a foil for the Pontifex. If the Bulb is nothing but raw power divorced from morality then it’s nice to see someone who has a connection to that power using it in the name of love.

Theo continuing to use everyone's titles even after all that happened is so true to character. Also: “Call me Bastard Jet.”/”As you wish, your highness.”

Zac’s character didn’t show up this ep so I’m very curious when it’s gonna happen. It could happen in the battle ep--some rando helping you mid life or death battle would give very wary people a reason to trust a stranger--but it seems more plausible it would happen next story ep. I wonder if that cotton candy monk mentioned is gonna be his next character. I wonder if it’s gonna be a candy person at all. 

Listening to Ruby and Theo talk about how mean they were to Lapin and how guilty they felt about it was A Lot. Like, we only had him for 6 episodes but they have an entire lifetime of history with the dude and Murph and Siobhan really made that hit home in their tiny moments. It was A Lot.

Also! This has nothing to do with Crown of Candy and it’s circulated a bunch already, deservedly so, but I wanna shout out this hilarious Fantasy High animatic by @morikorii. Super happy we’re starting to get kickass animatics for D20 stuff from crazy talented artists. 

[a-table-of-fics]

Cull to Adventure, Chapter 5, Draft 1

[[As Tumblr increased the size limits for posts, I can finally put this chapter draft all together.]]

Marie was already in a sour mood, having woken up far earlier than preferred. But it got worse as she realized she might as well have slept in; hardly anyone was around today. The heat wave, combined with the fact that all games were postponed until the respawn points have power again, meant that no one was around. Marie knew she couldn’t move too far from where the Outpost was without drawing unwanted attention, but it was a bit demoralizing. She was glad she had the parasol for the scant shade it provided in the midday sun, but she still tugged at her kimono every so often.

Well, if she wanted to find her cousin and the stolen Zapfish, she would have to do it herself. She didn’t want a second celebrity disappearance to cause more chaos, but she didn’t have much choice. Agent 2 would have to complete the rescue mission alone.

As she looked in the Outpost for her Charger, she debated whether Gramps should be alerted at this point. She decided against it, still; he was probably stressed enough about his mission with Agent 3, and she didn’t want him throwing himself in danger trying to find Callie. That was her job, darn it!

She opened a drawer and found her charger waiting, but…where was her uniform? The armored hoodie, the short, the boots, even the headset were all missing. She rustled around; maybe a bit of disorganized Callie rubbed off on her…but no, they were gone! Someone was in here! They took the Splattershot and one of the Ink Tanks, too!

A flash of panic came over Marie; someone had come in, and the outpost was breached! But… wait, why wasn’t her charger taken? Or any other supplies? Just the Agent getup and weapons—Oh.

Oh no.

She ran out of the shack, stumbling over her kimono a few times as she went for the manhole to Inkopolis. She had to get to Ammo Knights, and fast. It was lucky there wasn’t really anyone in the Square; while Marie took care to make sure she wasn’t immediately recognized by the adoring public, she didn’t care as much in the rush she was in.

The doors to the Ammo Knights store burst open the moment she unlocked them. Sheldon barely had time to look up in shock before the idol was in the back, frantically booting the computer up. Several monitors came up, each showing different angles of a new part of Octarian territory. None of the cameras could see anything, but when Marie put the headset on and heard panting and slight whimpering, her suspicions were confirmed.

Cull had gone into Octo Canyon alone.

Marie took a deep breath, turned the mic on, and coughed politely.

“Eh—” started Cull’s yelp, before he remembered where he was and clammed up.

“Oh good, you remembered the headset,” Marie said, keeping her voice level. “Okay, I think we can get you through this, but… I’m not sure where you are…”

“C-came in a-and made it to ch-checkpoint…”

Marie checked. The simulated sunny beach area in Octopolia did have a trail of green, including some inflated sponges. And it led right to a smaller respawner, directly in front of a massive road of pink ink. From where the camera was situated, Marie could see a Balloon Fish, but there were a few things behind it that were too blurry to see.

“They got some- some kinda robot b-bombs!”

“Octopods?” Marie asked. “Shouldn’t be a big deal, right? They just run at you.”

“…B-but that one at the start was so fast…C-can I really take more than one in a f-fight…?”

Marie leaned back in her chair, noting where the blurs were.

“You don’t have to, ex-Agent 4! If you can take that Balloon Fish, the Octopods should all pop with it!”

“B-but if I go up there, w-won’t they pop it and…?”

“Nah, they’ll run up to try to blast you. The Balloon Fish’ll be fine!”

Bad time for a joke, Marie realized, as she saw something shake in the respawner.

“Look, look,” she said, frantically trying to clear Cull’s head of some of the anxiety. “All you gotta do is keep your distance! Pop that balloon before the Octopods get to you.”

Cull finally surfaced, out of the respawner, and swallowed. He looked at the expanse of Octarian pink before him; it was going to take a lot of ink to even get to the Octo-bombs. He started firing, and Marie saw that his attention was divided between his path-making and the upcoming encounter.

“Hey, eyes on the prize, kid, not the road!”

Well, now the kid’s movement was slower, but at least he seemed more alert.

A thought came to Marie.

“…Ignore that when you start driving, ok?”

The Octopods started to rush in, but it was too late. Cull had already hit the Balloon Fish, taking the bombs and their weird red balloons with them. Octarians had the strangest ways of holding Power Eggs.

“Nice.”

That just left a layout of crates in a flattened “u” shape against the wall, a wall which had two Balloon Fish attached to it. As Cull looked up and around, Marie took a moment to swap through the cameras, finding a launchpad at the top, and the next camera showed a checkpoint. Thankfully, nothing between there and their current position Cull would have to worry about.

“All right, so just pop those balloons and swim up there. Nothing to worry about.”

Cull looked, hesitantly, but nodded. The Balloon Fish made short work of those boxes and covered the wall in green. But… he hesitated, rubbing the back of his head. Marie could hear sheepish mutters of “uh” and “oh boy” over her headset. She was about to ask what the holdup was, maybe throw in a joke about enjoying his handiwork, but all that came out was “wh” before she realized the problem – he was a slow swimmer when it wasn’t a vertical slope.

And she had seen the kid climb, too. This looked like a tougher thing to scale, sure, but his grip back then was impressive, and she was sure he could have figured something out. At the very least, it would probably be better than him struggling to swim up like he would have to now.

“Okay kid,” she said, attempting to hide her haste in correcting this, “I don’t usually recommend this, but you might want to try a running jump here.”

“O-okay…”

Marie watched as the ex-Agent stepped back, steeled himself, and sprinted to the wall. He jumped, and Marie thought he was going to slam into the wall, his squidforming was so close. However, it wasn’t close enough to conceal the fact his tentacles were… well, half-gone. He disappeared in the ink in a flash, but Marie could still tell, especially as he splashed and struggled to get the vertical movement.

Marie couldn’t do much more than watch; explaining how to swim to a fellow Inkling would just be dumb, and she wasn’t good at motivational platitudes. Still, she could try to encourage.

“Almost halfway there. Just keep breathing.”

“Just got past the second Balloon Fish; you’re almost there!”

Cull finally slipped over the edge onto wooden floor again. He couldn’t even kidform, and Marie could hear him panting and fully view his squid form.

His fins were much more disk-shaped than most, making his silhouette look less like an arrow and more like a mushroom with a point on top where his mantle ended. His skin had a spotted texture, as if someone had lightly sprayed him with darker green paint. More prominent, however, were his eight arms, all irregular stumps of what was expected, clearly from an injury long ago. His two tentacles, while about as long as most Inklings’, were notably thinner, and showed the same signs of being cut off at the end.

And Marie had sent him headfirst into danger. Worse yet, he refused to leave.

Cull wasn’t panting for too long; he soon kidformed, and was silent on his walk to the launchpad. Marie wasn’t sure what to say; she may like snarking, but humiliating someone was something else entirely.

A few quick key presses, and Marie could watch him land on the next section, where there didn’t seem to be much going on. There was a single sponge floating in the middle of a gap in the road, but not much else to see other than a few pillars. As Cull tentatively clambered down in case there was something, Marie switched to the next available camera. She could see Cull fill the sponge with ink to make a bridge in the distance, but more importantly, there were patrolling Octarians moving in a synchronous circle on some grates that were jutting out of one of the pillars.

“Octotroopers above you,” Marie called out, as Cull walked forward. She could see him step back onto the sponge, looking up and spotting the enemies. He tentatively moved forward, but never so much that he committed to a plan before stepping back. Thankfully, neither Octo seemed to have seen him, their gaze focused squarely on what was in front of them rather than what was below.

“C’mon,” Marie said, after about fifteen seconds of this, “You gotta do something if you wanna get outta here!”

“Uhm…”

“Oh for— just go! Take ‘em out and find a way up!”

Well, at least he was moving forward. The bad news was, the Octarians saw him, and began firing shots through the grate. At least the ex-Agent 4 was aware of this, and trying to zig-zag a little bit. He made it under the grate, with only a few spatters of pink on him for it. When he shot straight up and splatted one of the Octotroopers, however, his reflexive ducking was not enough to stop himself from being coated in green ink.

Despite herself, Marie had to stifle a snicker. Maybe it was just a needed release from stress, but there was something adorable about that pratfall. It reminded her of something that happened when she herself was younger, when she played one-on-one with Callie. The exact same thing happened to her, except she completely missed Callie…

“Y-you there?”

Marie took a breath, composing herself. Cull didn’t need the idea that she was laughing at him, nor did he need to hear her worrying about the other Squid Sister.

“Yeah, um… look for a way up the pillar. Looks like the grating goes to another floor… Just watch for that Octoslob and you’ll be fine…”

But Cull wasn’t looking up now. His attention was caught by something out of range of the cameras. He fired ink offscreen, slowly and carefully. Marie didn’t hear any return fire or Octarian shouts from his microphone, but all the same, this was concerning.

“Uh, I said ‘up’ the pillar…”

“Th-there was a lot of pink ink over here…J-just want to be sure…”

“I understand that,” Marie said, quietly kicking herself for not thinking of the possibility of an ambush, “but they’d have a hard time chasing you up. You might be better off—”

She heard the sound of wood breaking, and hoped to the Crane that Cull was alone; she’d be hard pressed to help him if she couldn’t see.

“Huh…Is that…?” he said, after a pregnant pause.

“Hmm? What was that?”

“N-nevermind, I must be mistaken…”

Marie heard some paper rustling, and then some grunting and splashing before Cull emerged from behind the pillar, now on the second floor. He took a few breaths, leaning against the column, before finally heading to the wall.

After making a break through a few more Octarians and some kind of wall-cleaning robot, he made it to a dead end. Behind a bunch of crates destroyed by a nearby Balloon Fish, there was nothing but a sheer drop to the facilities miles below. To his left, he could just see a large wooden wall, with the launchpad there. He groaned.

All Marie could say was “Sorry, kid, but you gotta make it through this.”

Cull stepped back to look, but he didn’t know if he could make another climb like that so soon. Instead, he looked to the re-inflated Balloon Fish, and then at the wall; not even at the launchpad!

Marie was at a loss for words when she saw the kid start clambering onto the enormous ink bomb, and rather quickly at that. Sure, Cull slipped once or twice, but he never once lost his grip. Within fifteen seconds, he was wobbling on top of it, looking almost like an eight-year-old bouncing on a waterbed. He sat down and started rocking, as if he was trying to get comfortable.

“Okay, look,” Marie finally said, “I get it may be tiring, but that’s no excuse for lazing around and…”

She stopped when he stood up, the Balloon Fish rolling back so far that Marie stood up, shocked at how far over the ledge Cull was. Cull, for his part, had an expression like he swallowed a sunfish whole, but kept his eyes to the wall he had to climb. He took one step forward, waiting for the Fish to roll enough…

And then he jumped. His hands reached out, and he was able to grab onto the ledge. By all accounts, he shouldn’t have been able to keep his grip, but it was dawning on Marie that he was a whip-lash squid.

He hoisted himself up, finding another piece of Sardinium, then looked over the edge to see about that launchpad. It was a simple swing down, and Cull was on his rapid way to the next area.

Marie was there to witness each remaining step. The ambush from above, where Cull leapt screaming into his first Splashdown. The attack immediately after, where he managed to actually take one or two of the Troopers before they even landed. Cull getting splatted again by the remaining Octarians, though he didn’t gasp as frantically when he respawned this time. He was able to finish off the other Octotroopers and make it to some more sponge-scaling situations and an easy battle.

After a bridge made from sponges filled with Balloon Fish ink, Marie’s eyes widened. Up ahead, a bulbous flying thing she knew all too well, and she was about to cry out a warning, but stopped herself. She was already dealing with a bit of a nervous wreck; no sense in giving him a heart attack in all three of his.

Instead, she said, as plainly as she could, “An Octobomber. Gross.”

“What—” Cull started, before yelping. He just saw a Splat Bomb land by him, and it wasn’t his.

Marie sighed as he respawned. Even if she didn’t want to scare the kid, that warning may have been less than helpful.

“Sorry, squid,” she said, apologetically. “Didn’t want to scare you…”

Cull walked back over to where he was, far more slowly this time. Shooting gobs of purple at him was one thing, but now they were hurling bombs at him!

“Ugh… how close is the Zapfish?”

Marie blinked. She hadn’t even been looking for the Zapfish; she was just making sure this kid got out alive.

“Um…”

She could see Cull looking around, mostly up and at the corners of platforms. She assumed he was looking for the camera, but he was nowhere close. At least it kept him safe while she re-calibrated the ZapSeek program that Sheldon wrote.

“Let’s see… the Zapfish is… uh…”

“Ye—?” was all Marie heard in response, before the computer suddenly went black. Her eyes widened, and she frantically mashed the power button, but all she heard was the equally frantic clicking of the button.

Sheldon opened the door behind her, frantically pulling out a set of keys. He dashed to a caged area behind the computer, where he kept the generator.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, trying each key in turn as fast as he could, “Without Zapfish, we gotta rely on this generator, and as you know, this is an old thing, and the fact is, it’ll take a bit to refuel it and start it up again, not to mention the computer booting time—”

“Sheldon!” Marie said, sharply. “Just tell me what I can do to help get it back! There’s a kid lost in Octopia here!”

“Right, right,” Sheldon’s capped silhouette nodded. “Sorry. So, I need you to take the rip cord here and wait to give it a good yank! There’s a coupla things I gotta keep in place over here while you do that…”

Marie walked over, but saw multiple cords that looked pull-worthy.

“Um…”

“You got the rip cord?”

“No…”

“All right, hold on…”

The sound of Sheldon pouring whatever the generator needed slowed to a halt, and he patiently walked over, instantly finding the correct cord and handing it to her.

“I’ll let you know when to pull. It might take a few tries for it to start, but keep at it.”

Marie nodded, not understanding when she heard a variety of switches being flicked, as well as some clatters.

“All right, you ready?”

She pulled the rip cord. A rumble, but nothing else.

“Okay, try again.”

It took a few more pulls, but the generator eventually roared to life.

“Now, lemme take care of getting you started, and I’ll be out of here…”

Marie didn’t dispute that. She was a lot of things, but she was no computer squid. She waited for the slow booting, the password entry, the appropriate programs written by Sheldon…

It felt like hours, but everything Marie was used to was back up. Sheldon saluted, then went back to working on his weapons.

Right, so she could flip through the cameras again, and find Cull who was… still standing at that checkpoint. Her audio wasn’t working, but she could tell he was just calling out, trying to get a response.

It took a minute for Marie to find the volume and fix it, but she was greeted with a quiet, almost fearful “…hello?...Yes?...Is the Z-Zapfish close…?”

“Yeah, hang on,” Marie said, putting on a practiced smile. “It was just a technical thing, sorry.”

“O-okay…”

“Just keep moving forward, m’kay? That Octoslob might have bombs, but he’s pretty slow, so just keep on your guard, okay?”

Cull gulped, but still started taking steps forward. It was slow and halting, with him looking around as if he was expecting the Octobomber to have flown to where he was.

Marie wasn’t going to spur him too far forward; the camera systems for other areas were still loading, and she didn’t want Cull dying down there, especially if it would be from something super avoidable.

Suddenly, after some tentative advancement, Cull ducked into the ink. Marie switched from the loading screen back to him the moment she heard a splash. He was nearing the Octobomber.

“Remember, kid: those Splat Bombs have timers on ‘em. Keep moving, and don’t let ‘em catch you! That’s a rule of the battlefield!”

Cull wasn’t moving.

“Come on, this is no time for hide and splat! You gotta move forward! Once you get to the Zapfish, you can get out of there!”

“But…” Cull whispered, still not so much as swimming an inch, “I-I don’t know…”

“Look, kid,” Marie sighed. “If you want to find your way home, you need to get past this guy. I already told you; keep moving and you’ll be a harder target for him!”

After a second (presumably waiting for the fat flying octopus to look away, which Marie had to admit would be a decent strategy), Cull emerged and started running, firing wildly as he did so. The Octobomber flinched as ink hit them, and they spun around, quickly lobbing a bomb at the Inkling intruder. Cull kept running forward, barely out of the blast’s range. He kept shooting, somehow missing half his shots as he did so.

It gave the Octobomber enough time to fire another bomb. Marie would have congratulated Cull on his plan of circling to avoid the explosives, but she was too busy gasping as he inattentively moved towards the edge.

“Kid, watch it—”

“Yeah, just keep movin’! Works great!”

He cheered as he splatted the enemy, but the cheer was short lived as he fell off the ledge.

Marie didn’t see his ghost swim up. She waited, desperately scanning every pixel, rotating every camera, but she saw nothing.

She started breathing again when she saw his hands inch onto solid ground, followed by the rest of him.

“Oh, thank Cod,” Marie said, more under her breath than anything. “Right, so….”

The hacks into the next area of security cameras finally loaded. Marie wasn’t sure what the delay was. Something about cache? She’d have to ask Sheldon later, but for now she looked into the next set of cameras, and…

“Hey, good news!” she said. “You’re almost to the Zapfish and outta there!”

“Uh, y-yeah…” Cull said, sounding like Marie did when she first learned how to fake smiles. “Uh, al-almost might be a strong word…”

“What are you talking abou—oh.”

A quick pan of one of the cams showed the problem. A series of dry sponges formed a line from the floor Cull was on to the floating island the Zapfish was on. Even if he used the Balloon Fish lined across the sides to fill them up, this would be a struggle for him to swim up what most Inklings could with just a bit of effort.

“Er… yeah, this might be tough…” Marie trailed off. “I’m sure you can make it up there, though…”

“Nnn…”

She saw him standing there, craning his neck to see the sun-shaped wall far above him. She couldn’t see his expression, but she could tell he wasn’t exactly readying up for the climb. Heck, he was walking back to a ledge (thankfully, a part with a railing this time). He looked around a little, but he didn’t see anywhere else he could try to go.

The blue skies made from blue monitor light surrounded him on all sides, illuminating a sparkling blue sea under him. Looking out on the wooden platform into the distant waters like this was filling him with nostalgia, back when he could only be halfway between squid and kid at most. He remembered having to brush his tentacles off his eyes a lot, to see a cloudless sky like this, with rocky beaches and wooden docks. The false sun was still a good one, adding to the illusion pretty well. Even if the air was still the stale air you’d find in caves, it didn’t matter; the atmosphere was so much like that of a beach, giving a very surreal vibe of familiarity along with the floating platforms, debris, and screens. This was inspiring.

“You okay, kid?”

“Hmm? O-oh, yeah, j-just needed a moment…”

He pulled himself away from the view, having calmed himself a bit. He took a breath, and looked at the challenge before him.

He fired at the first sponge until it was dripping with ink. He took a breath, and climbed up to the top of it. It was easier to just climb up the one, and he still had a dry, shrunken sponge in front of him.

He stepped onto the dry sponge, and was about to fire to inflate it as well, but he realized he’d have to do still more climbing with the other pair up ahead. He wasn’t sure if he’d be up to that; even that one small swim took effort. He still wanted to get the Zapfish in something resembling a timely manner, so he looked either way. It’d be a tricky thing, but he’d done crazier tagging a spot on Moray Towers the one time.

Standing on the tinier platform, he looked at the Balloon Fish on either side, and popped one.

Marie’s jaw dropped. She just saw Cull get flung like a ragdoll as the sponge exploded out to its full size under him. He flailed and hollered, but not as intensely as she thought it warranted. Heck, it almost seemed planned, as he landed flat on his back on top of the next set of filled sponges. He grunted, but he quickly got up and leapt at the final wall between himself and the Zapfish’s platform. A couple of grunts and kicks against the wall, and he could move from dangling by his fingers to actually getting onto the platform.

From there, Marie could view him freeing and petting the Zapfish. He sat down as the platform moved to the exit, the Zapfish on his lap. It was kind of adorable, honestly.

[darksunrising]

Sola Gratia (1/?)

Masterlist

Summary : A tired, fed-up archaeologist takes a spontaneous trip to Romania, hoping the Wallachian mountains, the nature, and the silence, will help her resource herself. She didn’t expect getting caught in a storm, didn’t expect finding shelter in an old castle, and didn’t expect for it to be inhabited.

Rating / Warnings : General Audiences, no warning.

Fandom : Bram Stoker’s Dracula, BBC’s Dracula, various Dracula and vampire lore.

Part 1/? (1404 words)

Author notes : This is the first part of god knows how many. Ask me if you want to be in the tag list ! Comments, feedback, and sharing are very appreciated, as this is the first thing I’m actually posting :) Hope you enjoy !

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A streak of silver split the sky open, slithering out along the heavy clouds a moment before fading into darkness. Crouched in a small cavity I could barely fit in, I buried my face further into my scarf. The pouring rain had cut through all my layers of clothes. I wondered if I would ever get any sensations back to my toes. Or my fingers. Would it have killed me to check the weather this morning? It would, wouldn't it? My phone still stubbornly refused to give out any signal, and it was a 7 hour trek back to the nearest village. I was, as we like to call it in academia, royally fucked.

According to my map, there were no man-made structures anywhere close-by, which made sense as the Tourist Office map carefully outlined that the entire zone was restricted. Something about wolf attacks. Or was it bears? If you ask me, some sheep got eaten by a local dog, superstition got there and that was the end of it. Then again, if you tempt me with a quiet, people-less trek in the middle of nowhere, well, of course I'll bite. Even if I could get help, I had no idea what kind of trouble I'd be in for going so far into The Forbidden Mountain. It wasn't like I could sit here forever, at least not if I wanted to finish my life in any other way than hypothermia, or lightning-roasted like a crisp chicken wing. I stood up, only banging my head on the rocky overhang a little, and tried to get back to the path. I mean, if there was a path, there had to be at least some kind of lodge. Right now, I'd go with any kind of creepy little cabin, as long as it had a roof.

Raising my head, I suddenly noticed a flickering red light, through the blinding white of the lightnings. A campfire? Unlikely. Maybe the cabin I hoped for, and with company. Maybe an axe murderer. Who knew? At least, that way of dying would be original. Would make for a sexier news title than “dumbass french tourist dies struck by lightning in mountains she was clearly told to keep out from”.

Struggling not to slip onto the muddy, mossy wet stone as I paced forwards, I couldn't help but shiver under the biting cold wind and the pouring rain, stinging my face like so many needles. Considering the deep darkness the heavy clouds cast on the mountain, it would be a minor miracle if I didn't die, tripping on a murderous root before I reached the salutary orange light.

Rather than sinuous path I had followed all along my trek, I noticed a smooth, very worn path, almost straight through the forest, even though the stones were leveled by trees every once in a while. I figured it had to lead to something, and started following it. After a moment, it came to a clearing that led to a more desolate part of the mountain Even the tall pine tress that already had replaced the tortuous oaks seemed to vanish, if you didn’t account from fallen trunks and dead stumps. Raising my head, I used my hands as a visor to ward off the rain. I noticed what I'd been calling a cabin was way too big to be called that. Perched on a rocky outcrop, it didn't need much protection considering the cliffs surrounding it. It almost looked like one of those optical illusions, with impossible stairs and unlikely architecture. The vacillating light was still there, casting an orange glow through the windows. If there was no axe murderer, there had to be a vengeful spirit of some kind. There, knew I should have taken some salt with me, or a giant cross, or a ouija board.

Not deterred by the sinister appearance of the building, I kept on going through the path, sinuously climbing up the mountain ridge. It finally came to a plateau as my legs were about to give out. Out of the cover of the trees, the rain seemed even worse, and I struggled to even walk. All around, ruined houses of wood and stone had crumbled, as if abandoned for centuries. I usually enjoyed ghost towns, but this one made me fairly uneasy. Was this the actual reason the mountain was restricted? Did I walk into some kind of biohazard situation? Just in case, I raised my scarf to cover my nose, as if it would do any good if I were to catch the plague or something. Except for the howling wind and rain, and the occasional deafening thunder, everything was silent. No one lived there, as far as I could see, except for the light, further up, in the castle. I wondered if I should just take shelter in one of the houses, and call it a day, but the possibility of a warm fire was over any kind of haunting this might involve.

I paced down the street. Some of the buildings seemed like they housed a large variety of artisans, before. Glass bottles full of unidentified, mostly rotten things, or dried herbs, some half faded paint on wooden signs hanging above the main entrances. Felt even more uneasy. Some doors, hanging open. Carts with broken wheels, still loaded with crates. Didn't look like anything was pillaged. What the hell happened here? When? Not like the weather would allow for a newspaper to survive, but… On the ground, near one of the shops, a glint of silver caught my eye. Small coin. Squinting a little, I was able to make out the crest. Local, obviously, maybe 14th, 15th century? Well, that would explain the decrepitude of the place. 

At the end of the “main street”, a gigantic hardwood door was the sole opening of the stone wall defending the castle. It was in a surprisingly in good shape, considering the rest of it. It still looked like it hadn't moved in a while, left ajar, barely enough to let me through. It opened on a vast yard, all but the central path invaded by weeds and saplings, the walls overrun with ivy and moss. My heart thumping hard into my chest, I approached the main entrance, two carved wooden doors standing atop a few stairs. Gathering all my courage, I lifted the bronze hand figure, and knocked down three times on the door. I heard the sound resonate on the other side. I waited a moment, and as I was about to knock, the door clattered loudly, before slowly swinging open in a long, ominous creak. Hesitant, I took a deep breath, and slipped into the hall. Seeing no one, I pushed the door back, and it clicked as it closed. Maybe I had just locked myself in. Well, I was raised to be polite and close the doors not to let in drafts, something that still applied to axe murderers and their homes. Apparently.

“Hello ? Is anyone home?”, I asked in a very approximative romanian.

No response. Someone had to have opened the door, right? Right. The hall was eerily quiet, considering the rain hammering at the windows. Surprisingly enough, everything seemed rather clean. No dust, or overwhelming presence of spider webs, no broken windows as far as I could see. I put down my heavy bag on the floor, against the main door. At the end of the hall, a large corridor ran deeper into the castle, softly lit by the same orange glow that led me here in the first place. I decided, despite my howling preservation instinct, to go toward the light, drawn like a moth to a flame.

I tucked my dripping wet hair behind my ears. Being out of the storm made me realise just how cold I was exactly. My clothes were completely soaked, sticking to my skin like a layer of ice. I didn't bother even looking into my bag for a change. The corridor was long, and the windows on the left wall gave a vertiginous view of the valley and the forest, illuminated only by the intermittent lighting strikes. The trees were so far down below I elected to keep my eyes away from the abyss. My every step echoed on the polished stone tiles as I hesitantly made my way forward. So much for being discreet. I felt watched, but put this on the count of my paranoia.

The corridor ended on a large room, a bit bigger than the main hall. At the end of it, a very large fireplace was lit, which explained the whole thing. From the ceiling, chandeliers made of unusually large deer antlers projected twisted, shifting forms on the walls.

“Is anyone here?”, I asked again, still bound on butchering the romanian language.

No response, again. In front of the fireplace, a terrifyingly large bear pelt was laid on the stone floor, along with a couple of armchairs and sofas. The walls were covered in large tapestries. Above the hearth, a large, bigger than life-size portrait of a man, standing proud, a hint of a smile on his lips. The colors were faded, and the paint had started to crack and chip at the corners. Trusting by his clothes, I would date it somewhere at the turn of the 19th century. The way it was painted made me feel like he was looking straight at me, which made me feel even more uneasy than I already was.

“I always thought it was a disputable likeness.”

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Tag list : @carydorse @thewondernanazombie @angelicdestieldemon @bloodhon3yx @battocar @moony691 @mjlock

[punkpoemprose]

December 10th- A Royal Portrait

Universe: Canon (Post Frozen 2, post Anna’s coronation, but before a KA wedding)

Rating: M-E (This teeters on the mature/ explicit line, read at your own risk)

Length: 3412 Words

A/N: I was in a bit of a rut, so I stole this lovely idea (with permission) from @kristanna who continues to do God’s work on her tumblr every day. The premise here, is of course, Anna sitting for a tasteful boudoir portrait that she sends to Kristoff while they’re apart. Not giving anything away here, but this is mature to say the least. There are also feelings and I actually did research. I apologize for nothing some things!

She thinks about changing her mind. She’s behind the dressing screen, completely naked, and Kristoff is up in the mountains, and no one ever sees her naked except for him. Not even her lady’s maids. She wasn’t particularly shy in any sense, but since she’d started seeing Kristoff there was something in her head that said that the only person that should see her naked was him. Or rather, that the only person that she wanted to see her naked was him. He’d never restrict her so. In fact they’d had an unpleasant conversation about just that point before he left for the mountains to lead the ice harvest. With Elsa living in Northuldra, the need for an Ice Master and Deliverer, someone to lead the harvesters into the mountains and ensure their safety, was more important than ever.

He’d heard that some royals, Queens and Kings in particular, often took lovers, most favored men and women of the court who attended to the regents needs when their spouse was ill fit for the task or off elsewhere. He’d brought it up with shaking hands and a downcast face, unable to look her in the eye as he told her that just because she was betrothed to him, just because they were to be married and soon would be, didn’t mean that he would stop her if she decided she needed someone else.

Her heart still ached. He’d been so nervous, so heart broken at the idea, but willing to submit to the mortifying ordeal for her sake. Even after she explained to him that it was something she’d never want, he’d seemed anxious. Sometimes she worried that he’d never see himself the way she saw him. In private quiet moments, he was so self-assured, so certain of their love, but when it came to the time they spent “entertaining” the aristocracy, or when they held court at the castle, he started to doubt himself. It hurt her in ways she couldn’t begin to explain, and she thought they maybe exile would be the best treatment for whomsoever mentioned the idea of most favored to him. It was a relic from a time where Arendelle’s rulers married for power instead of for love. It was a “tradition” that had died off with her Grandfather.

But his nervousness, even after being told as such, was enough to move her to action, to make her think of an entirely different conversation she’d had just a few weeks before.

When she had been officially crowned Queen of Arendelle, despite ruling since Elsa moved to Northuldra, there had been a weeklong celebration where other royalty from far and wide had come to celebrate. Anna had found herself very much enamored by a contingent of Princesses sent from surrounding Kingdoms and other countries and continents that considered themselves allies of Arendelle.

On the eve of their returns to their own homelands, they may have all spent the evening in Anna’s parlor getting a bit too wine drunk and giggly, sharing secrets and brilliant plans and becoming all in all, great friends. Kristoff had happily surrendered Anna for that night, and she knew that it brought him great joy to see her happily making friends and catching up on many years of doing so. He’d even managed, elsewhere, to become a bit comfortable with some minor nobility of Arendelle and with a man who was betrothed to the Princess of Corona. They’d found a comradery of sorts as she was, of course, one of the giggling women in Anna’s rooms.

They’d all at one point discussed the topic of photography, specifically boudoir photos which were evidently all the rage. Some girls had rather excitedly discussed their own personal sessions, sending them to their lovers, betrothed, and husbands, while others had mentioned that they themselves preferred the idea of having a painting done, and discussed their experiences with it. Anna had, of course blaming the wine, collected the name and contact information for a painter they’d recommended rather than a photographer, finding that she rather liked the idea of the tasteful nature a portrait leant to the whole matter.

She hadn’t expected to call upon the painter however, not until after her discussion with Kristoff.

She let out the breath she’d been holding and peeked nervously around the corner of her dressing screen to where a young woman stood smiling.

“Oh it’s fine to be nervous,” she said gently, “Most people are. If it helps, I’m very discreet.”

She had a soft French accent. Anna had been fortunate that she had been in the country doing some work for other clients when she’d reached out. It had only taken a day for her to come to the castle, and that meant that while Anna had planned to wait quite some time, she’d be able to gift the painting to Kristoff sooner rather than later.

Anna sighed, “It’s not so much that I’m worried about that… it’s just… Kristoff is usually…”

The young woman nodded, “Anna… if I may call you Anna?”

She nodded at that, “I wish more people would. Not that I dislike being Queen or anything, it’s just I like being more personal…” she laughed at herself then, “Well usually not this personal.”

That earned her a small chuckle from the other woman who nodded and continued.

“Anna, I often find the people I paint become more comfortable talking about the recipient before we paint. Maybe you’d like to slip a robe on and tell me about him?”

She found that idea very much to her liking and decided that she had been given an excellent recommendation after all. She’d be writing a discreet letter of thanks to a few Princesses after her session.

She did as she suggested and walked out, laying on her couch in her robe as the young woman did some preliminary sketching.

“So what is he like?”

Anna grinned, “He’s… he’s perfect really. I’ve never met someone so brave and funny in my life. He’s just, well he’d do anything for me, and I just… he gets insecure sometimes and I knew I had to do something for him…”

The woman nodded along, “I imagine it’s difficult being the Queen and having the man you love be of common birth. Others have married like you have, and there is always much love there, but it’s hard to navigate the climate of the court, is it not?”

Anna sighed, the young woman seemed to understand. “You seem to be doing well with it yourself, the court I mean,” she mentioned, knowing that the story others had told her about the young woman implied that she too was a commoner, and that was, of course, part of the reason she was so trusted and highly in demand by many an aristocratic lady looking for a particular sort of gift for their beloved.

“Yes, though I’ve been lucky to only have to work with those I want to work with. Some people, especially those who don’t think highly of people who aren’t of noble birth, aren’t really worth trying to talk to at all.”

Anna laughed at that. She’d met the type.

“But a word of advice for your Kristoff,” she said, turning from the canvas with a smile, “The court is but another mountain to climb to reach happiness.”

Anna gave the woman a wry smile, “How did you know he climbs mountains.”

The woman laughed, “Oh I always do my research, like I said, too many rude royals in the world, I have to know for sure that the person I’m painting for is going to be fun to speak with, and your love story is,” the woman held her hand to her chest and grinned broadly, “Well I’d love to hear more. I’m sure the gigglings of a few Duchesses don’t do it justice.”

Anna shrugged off her robe, feeling confident, and lazed on the couch as the woman excitedly started scribbling with her pencil on the canvas.

“I’ll start at the beginning. I was… unfortunately engaged to someone else…”

***

Kristoff was exhausted. He placed Sven in his stable and pulled from, a pail that Anna had sent along with him, a few carrots to give the reindeer.

Anna.

He thought of her with a heavy heart. He hated how they’d left things. He hated how he often let insecurity get in the way of their relationship. He loved her, and she loved him, and he knew in his heart of hearts that they would only ever want one another. She’d never so much as looked at another person with the love she showed him, and he’d heard a nasty whisper in court and completely lost sight of it. The truth of the matter was that Anna wanted to marry him, the people of Arendelle and most of its aristocracy wanted her to marry him as well. They were after all, marrying for love, but there were many who saw the other potential benefits of their union and they were a fairly well-liked couple as far as all went. Many were pleased that Arendelle’s new Queen was marrying for love like her father had before her, continuing the fairly new tradition of Arendelle’s monarchs wedding commoners for love instead of other aristocracy for political gain.

He’d been listening to the wrong voices, and it broke his heart to think that he’d upset Anna as a result. If it weren’t for the fact that he’d never be able to make it back to the capitol and back before he needed to be out on the ice in the morning to lead the harvesters in their work, he’d hitch up Sven again and head back home, hell he’d even walk there, if only to tell Anna that he was sorry for not believing in her the way he should have.

When he walked from the stable and found, carefully placed directly in front of the doorway into his cabin, a wooden crate.

He lifted it from the ground and brought it in with him, noting the horse prints in the snow in front of his cabin, but also seeing that Anna’s horse Kjekk was nowhere to be found, he realized that while it could only be from her, she must have sent it with a courier or guard to be deposited on his doorstep. He was both grateful to have something from her, and sad to see that she’d sent something along to him when he should have sent an apology to her. If only he could call the wind spirit to him the way Anna and Elsa could call it to themselves and send letters back and forth. He would love to send her even the simplest sorry.

He set to making himself something to eat before opening it. He wanted to know what she’d sent along, but also felt that he needed to punish himself by waiting before he was given the joy of opening something, she’d given him. Anna was too kind, always. She was feisty and opinionated and said what she thought, but she was also forgiving and compassionate, and he was certain that she’d taken what he’d said to heart in a way that made him feel like breaking.

He managed to down some flavorless mush of porridge and realized, just how used to palace cooking he’d become. He’d never complain about any food, knowing what it was like for those who had too little to eat, but also it was one more reason he longed to return home. He wanted to tell Anna that he loved her and that he trusted her and that he knew that what they had was real, and then he wanted to stare lovingly into her eyes while he ate something that tasted better than unflavored porridge. It was, of course in order of priority, though he thought that maybe he could do both at the same time if he just tasted her. She did love having his mouth on her.

He set the bowl down in annoyance when he felt his cock jump at the thought. He was supposed to be feeling bad about what he’d done, not horny.

He huffed and stood, moving towards the box she’d sent along, wishing again, that he’d not been so foolish and had taken the time to love her like she deserved before he left. The week could not possibly come to an end soon enough for him.

The lid had not been nailed onto the crate, which he was grateful for as he was sore and tired and didn’t have the energy to go and find something to break the seal with. He pulled it open carefully, the wood only giving a slight resistance to his efforts due to it being a bit damp from the snow.

Once he had it open, he smiled softly, seeing that there was something wrapped in brown paper, about the size of a book, and that with it there was a letter. She often read to him, and him to her. He thought that perhaps the wrapped parcel was a copy of whatever book she was reading while he was away, for him to enjoy as she did.

It was thoughtful.

He picked up the letter first, breaking the wax seal with a smile as he saw that she had pressed a small flower into it. Anna was excellent with details and small gestures in a way he found amazing. He was not great at planning out romantic gestures, his many failed proposal attempts highlighting that well enough.

She’d sprayed the letter with her perfume. As soon as he opened the envelope it filled the air around him. She’d once told him it was made from rose and bergamot, but to him it just smelled like Anna, and as he pulled the letter from its envelope and found himself inhaling the smell of her, reading her handwriting, his manhood decided that despite his exhaustion it was not giving him a break.

Kristoff, my love,

I miss you terribly. My bed was cold last night without you and without the promise of you not so surreptitiously sneaking into it tonight, I find my heart, along with…other parts of myself… aching for you.

Kristoff paused for a moment closing his eyes. He could scarcely believe that Anna had sent him something so raunchy. Though if he was being truthful it wasn’t so much that he thought that she was incapable of writing such a thing as he was surprised, she’d entrusted it with someone instead of simply arriving unannounced and telling him about it herself. She used to do such things, but her inability to simply take off and follow him without warning was the one downside of her new position as Queen.

He opened his eyes and looked back to the letter.

I’ve sent you a small gift, I hope you enjoy it as much in the receiving as I did in the sending.

Love always,

Your Anna

P.S. Yours and only ever yours.

He smoothed his fingers over her signature, his heart leaping at her postscript. She was impossibly perfect.

She was sometimes insecure too, mostly around points of change, but he did his best to always help her through. That she was doing the same for him, was enough to make his heart skip a beat. He still wasn’t sure of what he’d done to deserve her.

When he set the letter down and lifted the brown paper package from the box, he was surprised to feel that it had much less heft than a book normally did. He found quickly too, pressing the paper, that the back was hollow under his hand.

He undid the twine securing the package and found that written on the brown paper was again, an echo of her letter “Yours and only ever yours”. It made him even more curious, and while he had many thoughts about what it might be, he had never expected what the removal of the paper revealed.

He cursed quietly under his breathe as he gazed upon what he now realized was an unframed canvas. It was no larger than a book, and the amount of detail and expression it contained was unparalleled to anything else he’d ever seen, even in a photograph.

It was a painting of Anna, smiling a bit shyly, reclined on the couch in her bedroom. She was rendered splendidly, the artist perfectly picking up upon the little blush on her cheeks, the half-lidded look through the thickness of her lashes, the slight shine on her lips.

The fact that in the painting she was completely naked, her freckles meticulously added with the tiniest detail, was not lost on him. He knew each of those freckles well, and not a single one was out of place. He’d touched those freckles, counted them, committed them to memory and caressed and kissed and licked each and every one of them in the process of loving Anna.

His heart raced. She’d sent him a beautifully painted portrait of her entirely naked body.

His fingers brushed against the surface of the canvas. She’d posed for it. It wasn’t a last second thought to send him a novel or snack or piece of clothing he’d left behind. She’d sat and posed nude for a painting with the express intention to send it to him.

His and only ever his.

He leaned the beautiful thing on the box it came in and couldn’t help himself but to undo the ties of his trousers, sitting back in one of his rough kitchen chairs as he took himself in hand and stared at the perfectly captured details of her body.

The air around him smelled of her as he ran his hand up and down his shaft. This was what she wanted, and he knew it. She was almost certainly in her bed, laying on the side where he slept, touching herself to the thought of him.

He groaned into the silence of his cabin, “Anna!”

What he wouldn’t give for her to climb out of that painting. It was beautiful, a masterful recreation of her every curve, of the slight slope of her breasts, the blush on her cheeks that extended down her chest. It was all so perfectly Anna, but he would give anything for her to be there, for her to bend over his table and let him show her just how sorry he was for ever thinking for a moment that she’d want anyone but him.

He’d been a fool, but she had been wicked and kind in her forgiveness.

His palm pumped faster and harder as he thought of her touching herself for him, as he thought about her posing for that painting for him, as he fantasized about having her right there bent over the table.

When he came, he closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of her, letting himself forget, if only for a moment, that he wasn’t at home with her, warm and snuggled at his side.

He was going to make love to her when he got back. She deserved more than a quick bout of apology sex. He was going to kiss every freckle again, double checking that portrait for accuracy. He was going to show her why he knew that he could be secure in the fact that she never wanted anyone other than him, and he was going to show her with his hands, with his mouth, and with his cock until she looked as absolutely debauched as he felt.

He was a mess, and as he opened his eyes, gazing upon the portrait, he knew that he owed Anna all that and more as a proper thank you. He’d put it back in it’s box in the morning and keep it with loving care under his bed until the next occasion presented itself that he’d be back.

The week absolutely could not pass quickly enough for him. As he straightened and cleaned himself, he thought again of her posing for that portrait, just for him. His sweet Anna bare and blushing, likely there for hours, just to give him something special.

This time his heart leapt at the thought. He laid himself in his bed and blew out his lantern, warm with the thoughts of her love, and how he would show her his appreciation.

[longneckreach]

Lightning Rod

“Sir?” Alumette bounced and weaved anxiously at the big Wildclaw’s side. “Did you want to look at the chainmail repairs you ordered, sir?”

She dodged the retaliatory snap of teeth, and managed to make it look accidental.

“Idiot! Can’t you tell I’m busy?” he snarled.

“You look very busy, sir,” Alumette acknowledged, twitching her ears back apologetically as she dropped to all fours. “I can tell you’re taking the guards their dinner and I wouldn’t want to annoy you later, when you’re off-duty and trying to relax. So I thought, maybe you might want to get it over with now, instead of—”

His sickle claw twitched, and she cut herself off with a polite cringe.

“You did say you’d be very angry if you had to wait longer than tonight,” she whispered.

“Fine.” The Wildclaw set his heavy pail of stew down with ill grace. “Get it fast.”

“Yes sir, right away sir.” Alumette bobbed her head so fast she gave herself motion sickness. “Oh! Here, sir.” She grabbed the stained leather tarp covering her materials and hauled it over the top of the bucket. “To keep the dust out.”

He didn’t react except to roll his eyes, and followed her to the back of her little unofficial area. Alumette didn’t have a space of her own, exactly; she was a prisoner, really a slave in everything but name. But since they’d started to view her as a convenient source of small repairs she’d found it useful to have a central location where they could usually count on finding her; it made them less angry when they finally did. 

Her “spot” was—okay, it was actually what had once been the trash pit. Slightly to the right of, to be precise. That way she could scavenge and salvage whatever got thrown out in order to make her repairs. It was nearer the warmth of the cooking fires than she would ever otherwise have been able to get, too—the smell wasn’t so bad once you got used to it.

(That was a lie. The smell never got better. But she didn’t freeze to death either, and nobody wanted to spend much time loitering near her, so it served a purpose. She really, really wanted a long shower.)

It wasn’t a large space, but it let her keep her materials and projects organized and accessible. So it was very easy to find the chainmail tunic she’d been repairing for the Wildclaw whose name she couldn’t remember.

Impatient, he used a wing to push her aside and shook it out.

“You said there wasn’t enough darksteel to replace the broken links,” he snapped immediately.

Alumette’s ears pricked forward, eager despite herself. “There wasn’t, sir,” she said. “See? Look closer. I didn’t have darksteel, but I was able to find the materials for Mr Bladewing to blacken standard steel. It’s not a perfect match, but I thought you might like it better.”

“Cosmetic,” the Wildclaw grunted, but he seemed less angry already. “Not worth the time you wasted on it.”

“I managed to collect the reagents before Mr Bladewing reached your tunic in his queue,” Alumette assured him. “I know your time is very valuable. Are there any issues with the stitching where the mail connects to the leather? I reinforced the seam with shed Imperial antler, but some people don’t like the added bulk.”

The Wildclaw felt along the reinforcements, but it was clearly just for show. “Good enough. Not just a pretty face. Gods know you’ve had the time to do it right, though. Take it to my tent.” He gave a vicious, mocking grin. “Feel free to wait there.”

“Yes, sir.” Alumette wavered. “Sir, would you like to take it now? I could take the dinner pail out to the Pit. Then you could be finished for the evening.”

She got a hard, suspicious look. “Yeah? And what’s got you so accommodating, brat? Carrying secrets? Weapons? You stay away from the other prisoners unless you want to join them for good. You’ve got no reason to be near the Pit, your meatshield’s not there. And he won’t be again, either.”

Alumette allowed her pain to show as she shrank away.

“I know,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry, sir. It’s just that I know my brother isn’t coming back.”

He bared his teeth at her. “I knew you were up to something. It’ll go worse for you if you don’t tell me what it is.”

“I just…” She let her voice tremble. “I’m going to need all the friends I can get.”

One of the other guards had said that to her once. A different Wildclaw. But they were all pretty much the same.

What mattered was that her lie worked. The guard’s suspicion faded into derisive amusement, which was exactly what she wanted.

She tilted her ears forward, looking up at him hopefully. “I’ve heard the guards complaining about that delivery, sir. I know it’s long and boring. That’s what I’m here for, isn’t it? You could eat early yourself and relax. Or—or I could bring dinner to the Pit, and then—if you wanted me to bring you your armor afterward, so you...wouldn’t have to carry it…”

The Wildclaw got that glint in his eye again, baring his teeth in a way somehow less friendly than a growl. “Subtle. I won’t give you protection, lightning rod. Bring that armor tonight anyway, unless you want to make enemies instead of friends. And take the pail out to the guards, if you can even lift it.”

Pretending to miss the viciousness under the words, Alumette brightened and twitched her head in some kind of salute.

She dove under the nearest corner of the tarp, and prayed.

This was the hard part. Oh, not the slight-of-hand; she was a tinkerer, anything that required clever paw work was second nature. And not the design, either, that had been easy. The hard part was deciding which deity to pray to.

In the end she prayed quickly to the Stormcatcher, because she was born under his mark, and because her entire plan hinged on the mass of wires and junk contained in a pilfered slop bucket that no one but her would ever have noticed, tucked under its filthy weatherproof tarp next to the garbage pit. And the wooden bowl she’d fitted perfectly inside it, a false top hiding her Plan inside.

(She made a point of grabbing the full dinner pail between her teeth, so that as she lifted, the Wildclaw would see her holding it; so that, as she turned and the tarp fell back into place, she would create a tent effect with her horns, where no one could see exactly what she was doing. She had planned this. She had done a lot of thinking.)

She prayed to the Shadowbinder, for just a few seconds of cover in which to pull off the kind of trick she’d never attempted before, the kind of acting she’d never needed to be good at. 

(With the tent hiding her actions, she quickly set the pail down and flicked her tail, sending a basket of odds and ends rolling. Just loud enough to be audible, she mumbled, “ow.” In the few seconds in which her observer would assume she was tending a bruise, she grabbed a ladle she’d hidden and tipped the top fourth of the stew into the false top of the Plan.)

To the Windsinger, the god of freedom. The Arcanist, because he knew her brother, and also because she was going to do something flashy and really stupid and he seemed relevant.

(She left the dinner pail tucked between two crates where it wouldn’t leave a silhouette, and dragged the Plan, now overflowing with stew, back into the sunlight.)

And one final prayer—in the part of her mind not whirring and sparking and calculating how to pull this off, she called to the Plaguebringer.

Part of that was just polite, after all—Alumette was on her land. But she was also pinioned and hungry and scared, and she didn’t want to die. Alumette didn’t really pay much attention to religion, but she did remember what other people told her. And she’d heard from Plague dragons in the past that their goddess might be ugly and vicious, but she was also the patron of dragons who wanted to survive and were willing to fight for it with everything they had.

Hello, ma’am, she thought awkwardly as she maneuvered the Plan out from under the tarp. I don’t know if we’ve met, but I’m trying very hard, and so is my brother. I don’t think you really help people, exactly. But if I’m wrong, I could use some help. I know I’m not really one of yours, though, and some of these dragons are. I really do think I’m fighting harder than they are. They’re awfully lazy, ma’am, no offense. If you just could please not help them, I won’t ask you to help me, if that sounds fair. I really think I can do this on my own. I just need a chance.

She managed to extract herself from the Wildclaw guard without him noticing anything, and began the long walk toward the Pit as the sun went down.

Belatedly, she remembered her manners, and thought in the vague direction of the Wyrmwound: Thank you for your consideration.

From there, the Plan went...well. She was trying not to jinx anything. 

It was actually pretty simple to talk her way around the Pit. 

The first pair of guards were the toughest; they were the ones positioned at the controls to lower the bridge into the arena, without which nobody could get out, so they had to be smart and observant. And she wasn’t a good actor, so she didn’t try to lie to them. She just asked them, politely, whether they wanted the good stew or if they wanted to eat right away.

They hassled her over it, of course; but she just blinked in feigned surprise and said she didn’t mean to annoy them, ma’am, sir. It’s just that (and cue hunched shoulders, rapid blinking) I got clawed really bad last week for offering the head guards the first serving instead of saving them for last, ma’am. I know it’s hotter now, but the really good meat settles near the bottom as it gets stirred by serving it out, so the last servings are better. I’m not disrespectful ma’am, I swear, I just didn’t know until last week so now I ask.

She’d been prepared for either answer, but it was still a relief when—always looking to get one over on each other—they fell for it and said they’d wait.

The next guard she actually knew; he was the one who kept dropping all those hints about protection and friends that made her scales want to crawl off her body to get away from him. For that one, she dropped her eyes shyly and claimed to be giving him a bigger portion. He was willing enough to believe it.

Aluetted tugged hastily at the cape of the next guard in the rotation, hastily whispering, “Don’t take any. I saw Spinner put something in it when she heard Erund was out here. I tried to tell Adder but she said she’d—just please don’t take any, they’ll blame me!”

And so it went. About halfway around, the guards in the rotation started to notice the pail was still full, and Alumette could stop trying to act, which was a relief. She could just look anxious and unhappy, which was very easy right now in the current moment all things considered, and tell them she didn’t know what was going on but when she told the shift leaders what the stew was they refused to eat it, which was weird, and I don’t know why they laughed when I said I’d see if the others wanted any, that was weird too...but there’s plenty of it, if you maybe want a double portion?

For some reason, none of them were taking her up on it.

And all around the Pit, getting easier and easier as it got dark, unnoticed beneath a Spiral’s tangled body and Alumette’s own restlessness and the clink and flash of her chains, a copper wire spooled from the bottom of her slop barrel.

She’d carefully tarnished and blackened the first several hundred yards of it, so that no light would glint off the surface in her wake, counting on sunset to save her later on. Carrying the pail between her teeth gave her a few precious seconds to tug the slack loose with her paws, and trample the wire into the dust with her hind feet. So far, so good. So far no one had seen it. She’d found that if she kept talking, and moving, and generally being blindingly bright and also nervous, people didn’t notice what was happening near her feet.

Maybe she shouldn’t be a clockmaker, Alumette thought idly as she circled the Pit. Maybe she should be a thief! That would be funny. Aspis probably wouldn’t think so, but she could make him laugh about it if she tried.

If he came back.

No time to worry about that. She was almost back to where she’d started.

The extreme end of the thin copper wire she’d been laying had been kicked under the shift lead’s tail, with a black iron fishhook on one end. Alumette wasn’t exactly a talented fisherdragon, but she didn’t have to aim very well. It had snagged on the chain for the bridge pulleys. From there, she’d been following close along the edge of the arena where she could wrap her wire around the pegs where the jagged net over the arena was anchored to the earth. 

“Hi!” she called, setting the pail down about fifty feet from the shift leaders. Carefully, she moved her paws from the rubber-padded handle and placed them against the bare iron bands running down the sides. “I saved you guys some of the big pieces!”

“You better have!” The reply wasn’t angry or aggressive, but it wasn’t quite joking either. “Never doing this again, I’m starving. There can’t be that much of a difference in the taste.”

“Get over here, lightning rod,” her partner agreed. “Or I’m taking a bite out of you, too!”

“Yes, sir,” Alumette chirped. “Just a minute. It’s still heavy, I think there’s a lot of marrow in these bones.”

The promise of a rich treat won her patience for the last few, precious seconds.

Alumette was a Lightning child by birth; but she’d never gotten any magical training. She could call up her element, of course, but not with any real power or consistency.

That was what engineering was for.

Electricity crackled along her spine, from the tips of her horns down along her wings and racing along the ridge of her back. A lot of it, too much, discharged from her tailtip. But more than enough power raced through her claws and into the iron bands of the slop bucket.

And from there, into the jumble of metal, wires, a silver bracelet she’d slipped from the pocket of a waistcoat she’d been set to mend, several feet of chain, and an only-slightly-rusted metal spring from a discarded mech that she’d spent the past week turning into a rudimentary, unstable electromagnet.

For a few terrifying seconds, there was nothing but a low, uninspiring hum.

And then copper wire began to glow.

[sylvanastari-blog]

Rendezvous on Murder Row

This is a WoW fanfic/erotica that I wrote several years ago. I haven't decided if I'm going to add more to it, yet... but I guess for now we'll just say it's a work in progress.

Chapter 1

She glanced around the alley, glowing eyes hidden beneath her cloak, lightly holding her breath so she could listen to the darkness. She didn't want anyone to see her, recognize her, suspect what she was about. Seeing nothing she slipped from one shadow to the next, heading to the nondescript (well, by elven standards at least) doorway off to the side of the stacks of crates and supplies that seemed to fill every corner of Silvermoon.

She tapped twice, and then scraped her fingernails over the wood in an eerie catlike manner, the signal of her presence and identity, a code known only to the person on the other side of the doorway. The door slipped open soundlessly, not a single hint of light even slipping past to alert anyone that it had opened. Wordlessly she slid her slender body in the opening, the door closing behind her just as silently, no one the wiser for the disruption.

Inside, she lowered her cloak, violet hair escaping in a river down her back. Ah, the joy of being able to let it spill over her skin, how she hated having to confine her luxurious locks. Clothing and all of the trappings of society always rested heavily on the druid, for that is what she was- blessed by Cenarius. Feline, feminine, feral.

Not even bothering with a greeting she slipped past the doorman and up a pair of stairs to her right. A shiver made it's way up her spine, anticipation or fear? Mmm, probably a bit of both she thought, knowing what she risked by being here. Enemies, some called them, cousins said scholars, regardless no one would spare her life if she were caught here. Torture, then eventually, death, were the only things offered to a night elf in Silvermoon. Except of course, in this house...

Turning down a hallway she slipped behind the sheer fabric covering the doorway at the very end. A small rustle of silk, the scent of incense and the feeling of being watched. The entire house was dark, not that she needed the light, she was more comfortable in the shadows. Such was her kind's way. She could see perfectly the outline of everything in the room but took no notice of any of it, instead focusing her entire being on the figure reclined on the plush bed.

He was breathtaking, no matter how many times she'd memorized his features, reality was always more. Dark hair, cut short, so unlike many of his peers, so suiting for him, it enhanced the sharp lines of his face, the green glow of his eyes. His skin sun-touched, his body chiseled and perfect, as if he was a living sculpture. She wondered if the beast in her was attracted to the hunter in him, if some part of her nature just needed him.

She hid the longing in her eyes, knowing emotion to be the real danger, for though they shared their bodies with one another, they'd never share anything more. Conversations were usually related to their business with one another, personal lives, even their own names, weren't mentioned. She was wasting precious time with these inner musings, dawn wouldn't wait for her any more than her lover would. She slipped out of her black leather, eyes not straying from the form that watched her in amusement. He was trying to read her, she could tell, looking for that weakness, grinning when he saw her quick denial of it. Damn. She hadn't been careful enough in her reaction to him. She'd have to make him forget he saw that, distract him in some way so he couldn't use those silly female emotions of hers as a weapon against her.

Naked, she stalked the edge of the bed, her eyes predatory. Toying with him the same way his eyes toyed with her. Knowingly, mockingly. She ran a hand over her hair, gathering it in her hand and letting it slip down the front of her. His eyes followed the violet flow as it caressed her pale skin. It ran seductively down her shoulder, then her breast, a few strands catching on her taut, dark nipple. It continued downward, over her stomach, her hip, her sex and finally stopped just past her thigh. His eyes were riveted, fixated on that cascade of dark silk. She'd pinned his weakness, her hair was almost magical for him, so rare a sight to blood elf eyes. And his gleamed, pure green, entranced.

A soft, mocking laugh snapped his reverie, now they were even. He scowled, but only briefly. Lightning fast his hand reached out and grasped her hair like a rope, yanking the treacherous mass towards him and causing her to stumble onto the bed. Even falling she was graceful, catlike, he thought. Not wanting to lose his advantage he flipped her beneath him on the bed. Now his lips were pulled back into a sneer, he had no doubt his control of her was his biggest appeal. His innate ability to tame beasts and have them do as he bid. It wasn't like night elf men were capable of it, even though some were hunters like he. The women there were the rulers in most things, including households and politics. Druid orders may be under the Archdruid and follow Cenarius, but even HE was beneath Elune, mama's boy...His thoughts were contemptuous, but his hands moved over her body in appreciation of the curves and female muscle bunched beneath the surface of her moonlight colored skin. Fascinating, that difference, his skin golden like the sun, hers pale as the moon. His hand weighed her breast in his palm, drawing a moan from her lips and urging him to continue.

Yes, she thought, to be touched with such desire, such passion. Her eyes were half shut looking up into his face. Here was the only place that she felt matched in spirit and in flesh. His head dipped, taking her nipple in his mouth and she bucked her hips in unconscious approval. More! She lifted her arms to run her slender hands through his hair, holding him there, unwilling for the sensation to stop. She shouldn't have of course, wanting him too much shifted the power to him. Grinning he lifted his head to peer into her unguarded eyes in satisfaction. His hand reached down between her legs, expertly stroking her clit and drawing forth another moan, her hands fisting in his hair at the unexpected move. It was too much, she needed to feast, to plunder. She may be a woman but her strength more than matched his, she pushed him off her and tried to take control. He was prepared for this though and merely rolled from beneath her, off the bed and to a nightstand. He lifted a length of rope, holding it up and tsking at her.

"Still haven't learned..." His voice was deep, rich. Hypnotic. The first words he'd spoken to her tonight and she shivered. He moved towards her almost lazily, despite his obvious attraction. He was taunting her, goading her into these power struggles, knowing he'd come out as the victor. She should know better by now, but her inner nature couldn't resign itself to being tamed. She let him come close, watching his movements like a cat would a wolf- cautiously, in anticipation of the pounce. When he went to spring she dodged, catching his wrist, and wrenching the rope from his grasp.

"I see you still underestimate your prey." She spoke calmly, victoriously as she used his rope to tie his wrists to the bed, knowing that tonight at least, she was going to be the one in control.

Chapter 2

His face mirrored his shock, she’d outwitted him? The rope bit into his wrists, the sensation so unfamiliar. He tried twisting them free, fury in his movements but she was obviously skilled with rope and he soon realized that it was impossible for him to release those bonds. This feeling of helplessness was new to him; he jerked his gaze to hers and saw a look of smugness. That bitch! She was enjoying his discomfort! At the same time he felt his cock stir in response. He wondered at her plans, this was different from anything they’d done previously and the novelty and adventure was not lost on him, he knew the skill of her hands and mouth, her body was no secret to him, her mind though… He didn’t know what to expect there.

She ran a finger teasingly up his arm, tracing up to his wrists and around the rope, her touch smooth in contrast with the rough fibers of it. “Aw, did your trap backfire?” she asked mockingly. “It seems you’re losing your touch hunter, so easily bested.”

His brow lowered in anger at her words, his pride and humiliation palpable. “Your kind always has turned on mine, treacherous bitch!” the words bit out of his mouth coldly. He wasn’t about to let on to how enticing this reversal was, the mixture of emotions in him had heightened his awareness and her skin burned his where they touched. She merely smiled in response and slowly trailed her fingertips down his arm and chest, a fiery path that had him stiffening, his muscles straining and taut beneath her. Her hair, which had whipped behind her in their little encounter, spilled over a shoulder to tickle his skin. He couldn’t stop the quick inhalation, couldn’t repress the shiver that took over his body. He loved her hair, the color, the feel. Not the boring colors favored by females he knew, not the bland browns or reds or blondes. Rich purple, thick and so long, so soft. He caught the smell of wildvine, the rare herb that she used to condition her hair and skin. He breathed the scent in, mesmerized. He was losing, fast, the slippery slope of passion pulling him under.

Her hand had moved down to his stomach now and was slowly making its way further down his body. She stopped just above his swollen cock, pausing to see his reaction before she pounced with all of the energy and fervor of a cat finally capturing its kill. She’d planned on enjoying this, toying with him, she didn’t count on the fact that she was slipping alongside him. She was so wet, her body responding to his even though he couldn’t manipulate it. Her hand stroked up and down his length, causing him to emit a sound between a growl and a moan, she leaned over and placed her lips on his almost tenderly, cautiously.

He jerked at the action, stunned. They’d never kissed one another like this before. It was too intimate, too personal. He couldn’t hold back though, her hand driving his cock as her lips coaxed his to respond. He shifted his lips, demanding fire and passion from hers, exulting when she ravaged him. This was more familiar, this burning desire. He realized his power wasn’t completely gone to manipulate this situation after all. He bucked his hips upward, unsettling her position and causing her to fall on top of him where she had previously been hovering. He squirmed, rubbing his body against hers, teasing and taunting her to go further. The slowness was driving him mad, he had to turn this in his favor, erase the emotions and thoughts before they consumed his last defenses.

She realized what his goal was even as her tongue battled with his. She had to take him, could no more deny him than she could her animal side. Deciding she’d had enough of this part of the game she slid him inside her. She may have given in but she wasn’t about to give up. She took control of the tempo again, taking him slowly but with the same intensity. His attempts to pick up the pace were futile; she simply continued to fan the flames into an inferno until he could no longer think. Her skin was feverish as she rose and fell on him, her hair framing her face, spilling over her chest and down to caress his with each downward movement. Her lips mimicked her movements, dipping and retreating, taking and giving. Her hands moved up to grip his captive ones, connecting them more than they’d ever been in the past. His head was reeling as he felt himself nearing release. Abruptly her lips stopped and her face retreated enough that he stared up at her in confusion. Luminous white eyes met glowing green as she took them both to the edge, her body convulsing around his as he erupted inside her warm depths. He realized now that she’d freed his hands sometime during their union and that he was gripping them as if they were a lifeline. As his body continued to tremble within hers he knew they’d both taken a step over a line into foreign and forbidden territory and he didn’t have the faintest idea what to do about it.

[minsyal]

[My Type, Pipit x Reader]

Summary: ♫ If you wanna be my lover, you gotta ♫ stop playing games with my heart bro like the fuck is wrong with you?

           Classes were cancelled and nearly everyone on Skyloft knew it. The students, knights or not, rejoiced as they fled the campus to run amok around in the town square and surrounding areas. Groose and his gang fled for the Lumpy Pumpkin, Zelda had dragged Link off somewhere, Karane was supposedly training, and even Fledge had plans. You, on the other hand, had absolutely nothing to do. Nobody asked you to go anywhere, nobody invited you to anything, and that left you alone.

           The only other person on campus, who wasn’t a professor or school staff member, was Pipit. He strolled through the halls emitting a melodic whistle followed by the soft pitter patter of heeled shoes against the stone floors. The windows were cracked allowing a gentle breeze to flow through the hallways causing the drapes strung through the rafters to sway slightly.

           You sat cross-legged in your room. It wasn’t the typical bedroom in the Knight’s Academy. With rooms all filled up, you had to settle for a small extra sectioned off from a large closet upstairs. Luckily, it was originally added to board children. Though, it supposedly hadn’t been used for that purpose in years. Your wall was a stack of storage crates decorated with muted red and gold sheets. A small desk was positioned across the room from your bed, a golden lined chest was set at the bottom of your bed, and a few shelves were nailed to the wall above.

           “What’s going on in here?” A familiar voice echoed into your room, a friendly face appearing in the doorway. A small smile spread across his freckled face as your eyes met. He moved so that his entire body was inside, a hand coming to rest on his hip.

           “You’re not out with the others?” He said.

           “No invitations.” You shrugged, moving your book from your lap to the bed side table.

           “Then let’s make plans.” He suggested, taking a few steps inward. “I’m free all day.”

           You and Pipit had an odd friendship. It was filled with hours of awkward sexual tension and even more hours of mindless flirting, but neither of you ever acted on your feelings. You’d go to one another in times of need and would sometimes spend nights stuck in deep conversations. When he patrolled the campus, you’d follow him around complaining of your day about how absolutely tiring school was. He used to discuss crushes he had, but stopped talking about things like that recently.

           Nonetheless, you had a great friendship and a long one too. Even though he was a few years older than you, you couldn’t recall a time that you hadn’t been best friends. When he was promoted to knight, he started doing all he could to get you ready for the next ceremony.

           “What plans then? What’s there to do that we haven’t already?” You swung your legs over the side of the bed and began tugging your boots on.

           “Well,” he was biting the inside of his mouth, “we could go catch lunch at the Lumpy Pumpkin.”            “No thank you,” you looped the laces around your ankles and started tying a knot, “Groose and his minions are there. You know I can’t stand them.”

           “You know, I think Strich likes you.” He smirked, “Possibly Groose too.”

           “Gross!” You sent a pillow hurling toward him that he easily caught. “They are most certainly not my type! Bug boy and the mustard giant are not on my radar.”

           He suppressed a laugh, “Understandable. How about we go explore the bazaar? Maybe Sparrot has a new fortune for us?”

           “Last time he told us I’d come across a small fortune.” You rolled your eyes, “I’ve yet to find that and I’m still struggling to pay for this school.”

           “You and me both.” The bed sunk under his weight causing your body to slump towards him. “What if we go grab some sweets and hang out by the waterfall?”

           “You really know the way to my heart.” You said while pressed against his arm. “I can never pass up sweets.”

           So with a small bag of sweets in hand, the two of you made your way over to the clearing just on the other side of the waterfall that drifted off of the island. Not being the most agile person, you relied mostly on Pipit to go first and catch you on your way over.

           “I didn’t make the cut last time so what makes you think I will this time?” You nudged him, urging him to take one of the powdered sugar covered sweets. The candies jostled around in the bag, mixing together as he leaned over in search of a specific flavor.

           “I’m training you and you’ve remembered all the vocabulary and techniques. I know you can do it.” He stuck his gloved hand into the bag and removed it with a small piece of orange candy that he plopped into his mouth.

           “Yeah? Well, I hope I can. Classes have been boring since you left.”

           “You’ve still got Link, Zelda, and Fledge, right?”

           “Just not the same, I need you there so I’m not distracted the whole time.”

           He narrowed his eyes as the corner of his mouth upturned in a smirking fashion, “Wouldn’t I be more of a distraction? You never stopped passing me notes when we had classes together.”

           “And now I never stop sleeping. I swear, the professor yells at Link and I nearly every day for not paying attention.”

           “So that’s all the more reason you need to win the next ceremony.”

           “What if I don’t want to look like a loser, like you?” You poked at his floppy yellow-dyed hat positioned on his head. “How does that thing even stay on?”

           “Excuse me,” he swatted at your hand, “but this uniform is very important! I wear it with pride and when you eventually do, you should as well. It’s highly respectable and… why are you laughing?”

           Covering your mouth you shook your head side to side, “You get all preachy, Mr. Prideful. I’m joking. I actually think it makes you look quite…” You were cut off by sudden footsteps hurrying in your direction. Looking up, you noticed Karane approaching with a hopeful, almost urgent, look on her face. If she was here, you knew your day with Pipit had come to a close.

           “Hey guys.” She said happily, despite knowing that she was about to steal away one from the pair. Pipit’s normal playfulness dissipated and was replaced with a nervousness that you only saw when he had a crush. While he hadn’t spoken of Karane in a while, you knew he still had feelings for her.

           “Hi Karane.” Pipit responded followed by a simple “Hey” from you.

           “I hate to do this to you [Name],” No you don’t. You thought as she clasped her hands in front of herself, “but would you mind if I stole Pipit for a short while?” A short while? The words rung in your head like the many times prior. It was obvious and you knew that she meant no harm but you utterly loathed her presence in situations like this nonetheless.

           With lips pulled tautly and shoulders tense, you replied, “Yeah, that’s fine.”

           A wide grin spread across her face as she thanked you and motioned for Pipit to follow, who complied without giving it a second thought. As he left, he patted you on the shoulder and gave you a reassuring look.

           “I’ll talk to you later, yeah?” He watched your eyes, waiting for a response.

           “Yeah.”

           He left as fast as Karane showed up, trailing behind her as they made their way across the rocks and back into town, leaving you in the grassy field alone. Maybe it was time to move on.

           In the days following, classes picked back up, the professors yelled at you more, and Pipit was spending a lot of his free time with Karane. It had been rumored that the two had become a couple, but without confirmation from him you chose to take it as a grain of salt.

          Three weeks passed with no interaction with Pipit. Either he was avoiding you, or possibly you were avoiding him. If he and Karane were truly dating, you didn’t want to interject yourself in the middle of it and cause some sort of scene. You found yourself waking too late for breakfast and sometimes missing lunch. Zelda had urged you to come sit with her, Link, and Fledge when you did make it. According to her, she desperately needed another woman at the table.

           While it was nice to sit with them, it wasn’t the same as before. There was no impish bickering, no mouthful laughter, and no flirtatious kicking of feet under the table. Instead he sat with the seniors, seemingly stuck in intriguing conversations concerning flight tactics and drills. Is this the after effects of graduating that you had been desperately fending off in hopes of saving a friendship?

           “You’ve been quiet lately.” Zelda leaned forward from her spot next to you at the table. Her plate was half empty while yours was nearly filled except for a few missing carrots and pumpkin slices.

           “I have?” You questioned, picking your fork back up to push the contents of your plate from one side to the other. Looking around the table, the other two nodded in agreement.

           “Yeah [Name],” Fledge said, “are you alright?”

           “What? I’m fine guys.”

           “Are you sure?” Zelda flashed you a worried look before lowering her voice, “Is it a problem with Pipit? I’ve noticed you two haven’t been talking as much.”

           “Pipit?” You scrunched your nose up before turning to glance in his direction. He was nodding to something someone else had said, clearly having a good time. “We still talk occasionally. He’s just busy right now.”

           “Did you hear that he and Karane are a couple now?” Fledge added, unaware of your feelings for the boy in question. Zelda shot him a quick look, to which he closed his mouth and focused back on his plate. She never outright said she knew how you felt for Pipit, but from the small hints she gave every now and again it was obvious to you that she had figured it out.

           “I did. He hasn’t mentioned it, but it seems like they’re happy together.”

           Quickly changing the subject, Zelda got lost in a conversation with Fledge about upcoming tests and possibly starting a study group in order to prepare. You continued to mix your food with your fork, watching as it slowly mushed together and became undesirable. Eventually, you lost your appetite. Politely excusing yourself, you assured Zelda you’d be back in time for the next class. Then swiftly picking up your plate you rushed to the trash barrels, scraped it clean, and gently laid it in the sink for Henya to care for later.

           Upon your exit, you nearly ran into the body standing in your path. He turned awkwardly and, while rubbing his hands together like a praying mantis, looked as if he had something to say. It was Strich, the last person you wanted to speak to at the moment. On his other side was Cawlin, urging him to speak. It was rare to see them without their pack leader, but with a simple turn of the head you could see him practically harassing Link and Zelda back in the dining hall.

           “Oh, hey [Name].” Strich finally spoke.

           “Hi.” You said blankly, confused as to why he wouldn’t just move a foot to the right and be out of your way. Your body was half in the room, half not, and you didn’t plan on sticking around a moment more than you needed to. Especially not with the two of them. Who knows when the mustard giant would give up on the other two to rejoin his group.

           “Are you busy?”

           “Right now? Yeah.”

           “No, I meant later.” He corrected himself, “Possibly after class?”

           “Why?” You had an idea as to why.

           “I was thinking we could go somewhere.”

           “Like on a walk?”

           “Like on a date.” He finally sputtered out, earning a hearty pat on the back from Cawlin.

           “Uh,” you pondered. Did you really want to go? No. Were the options for suitable men on Skyloft running out? Yes. “Sure. I’ll see you later.”

           Pushing past, you mentally slapped yourself as you made your way up the back staircase to your room where a comfy bed was waiting. Flopping onto the sheets, you rested facedown for a moment before rolling onto your back. Your hands ran down your face, tugging slightly at your skin causing it to stretch then snap back into place. What have I just agreed to?

           The date was apparently right after class before nightfall. He planned on taking you to dinner at Pipers. While you did love a good meal from the town’s chef, you didn’t particularly look forward to dining with Strich. He’s a nice guy, just not your type.

           “Are you ready for the upcoming exams?” You attempted to make conversation. He looked up from his bowl, nodded, and then returned his attention to the dish.

           “Cawlin and I have been helping Groose study.”

           “Oh, that’s awfully nice of you.”

           The rest of the dinner was composed of you struggling to find common interests while he gave short responses unless he was discussing some sort of bug he liked. On your way back to the academy, he would stop to point out a grasshopper or butterfly that had settled down in the area. He even explained that he had some island where he had all the types of bugs he could ever want. Leaving out details about its location, he did mention that he’d show it to you sometime specifically saying, “maybe on our fifth date, only after I can trust you.”

           When you returned, it was night and most everyone had settled into their respective rooms. Strich left you at the front gates after you said you needed to run home real quick to grab something. In reality, you just didn’t want to have to walk to your rooms together. Sitting down on the steps, your face found your hands as your body hunched over. What a nightmare this “date” was. He needed somebody who had shared interests, not someone who found certain bugs to be weird and kind of gross. You needed somebody that wasn’t him.

           “You know it’s not keen to be out so late.” Pipit appeared from thin air, coming to sit next to you on the step. A lazy arm strung around your shoulder, tugging your body closer to his.

           “What’s wrong?” He asked once realizing your foul mood. “I heard you and Strich went on a date. How was that?”

           “How do you think it was?” A firefly spiraled around the two of you before flying off in another direction. Maybe it was a spy sent by Strich to watch you, with his odd connection to the little critters you wouldn’t be surprised. Its neon glow disappeared into the night air, flashing a couple of times as it made its way into the distance.

           “Bad?” He jostled you, shaking your frame slightly.

           “Pipit, he only talked about bugs. Bugs!”

           His shoulders shook up and down as he suppressed a chuckle. “Why’d you even go on it?”

           “He was the only option.” You shrugged. “All the other guys in Skyloft are taken.”

           “What am I then?”

           Drawing your eyebrows together, you raised your head. Eye wandering, they eventually met his. He looked frustrated. His head was tilted to the right and his eyes were flickering from the ground to your face. It was apparent he wanted to say something, as his mouth would open then close.

           “You’re dating Karane.”

           One of his brows raised, “I’m not dating Karane.”

           “Everyone is talking about it.”

           “[Name],” he grasped at your shoulder, “I didn’t take you as one to believe rumors.”

           “I’m not! It’s just- just you and her. You used to like her. I remember you telling me about it. Then you kept leaving to go spend time with her. I just figured…” your voice began to trail off, “I figured it was true.”

           “Well, we did date for a short time.” He started, “A few weeks ago, actually.”

           “You’re not dating now?”

           “She’s not my type.”

           “Then what’s your type?”

           “I know it sounds cliché,” A light hand reached up to catch the stray hair falling in front of your face. He tucked it back behind your ear, his hand lingering for a moment leaving behind a burning sensation on your skin. “You are.”

I always loved Pipit and he never got as much love as I wanted to see. Actually, Skyward Sword never got the attention I wanted it to. IT’S A GOOD GAME LIKE COME ON. Anyway, be prepared for more Pipit stuff in the future

[izzy-b-hands]

In the weirdest fucking headspace today over two very intense dreams I had (that utterly fucked up my sleep last night, hence why I'm waking up at 12 in the fucking afternoon when I had an alarm set for ten lmao.)

Warning in advance that I'm on mobile and this post will be long, my apologies but I need to get this out now or I'm not even gonna be able to roll out of bed. TW for parts of the dreams which feature: a funeral, a funeral procession, issues with family, drowning/death via being swept out to sea, and also some odd romance/implied sex because sure why not apparently.

The first woke me up at like five, and was v weird but distinct:

Mum and I were getting to her car, that for unexplained reasons was parked at a local funeral home, which for some reason was on a hill (we don't have many hills here, v flat place, but in the dream it was all hills, almost mountains.) The implication I got in the dream was that it was the only parking spot left which is weird but sure I guess.

We didn't actually attend the funeral going on inside, but it finished up as we were trying to leave, discussing usual stuff we do before we go home like do we have the cash/feel lazy enough to get fast food on the way home instead of cook. And before mum could back out of the spot they started loading the hearse and ppl were all over the lot which pissed mum off, so she drove OVER THE FUCKING SIDEWALK AROUND PLANTS IN CEMENT PLANTERS ON THE SIDEWALK to get past them!

Which was half pointless anyway, because my grandparents were in their car right by the entrance/exit and made fun of her for doing that and for not wanting to be in the procession to the cemetery. Grandpa specifically told her 'theres a word for ppl who do what you do, we have a saying about you' and laughed at her, but wouldn't explain that further.

This next bit had me legit looking up funeral procession laws when I woke up. Because mum did get caught somehow behind the hearse even tho we'd left the lot well before it did? And was somewhat understandably flipping out because we weren't actually meant to be a part of the procession, we'd only parked there because there was nowhere else to. And if we looked back you could see my grandparents laughing at us for panicking, so finally mum broke the procession and headed up this v hilly road, winding, again almost mountainous. The last thing we saw was my grandparents looking at us and glaring. Mum kept freaking out abt how it wasn't her fault she'd had to break the law and break the procession, but she wasn't going to lose her job over all this (no idea what in the fuck that has to do with it all frankly, but she said it in the dream.)

I kept trying to calm her and said we could turn around, or pause in someone's driveway (the roads were all lined with familiar houses we've driven past irl) but she wouldn't calm, and the last thing I remember before I woke up was her turning the wheel harshly and hearing the tires skid on the edge of the very high up mountain road.

So needless to say that fucked me up and I didn't sleep again until abt eight, because I went to shower and try and chill out before crawling into my bed in my room, before I'd been passed out on the couch.

Only to then have this dream before I woke up just recently:

No family in this one, only band members from bands I like and their family (which is just my brain making a good casting decision I suppose lol.) Specifically, Queen and Avatar.

The issue was...odd. We were stuck very near the seaside, near a boardwalk that looked alarmingly similar to the one in GTA/that tbh you would see in any game modelled after the West coast. In a building that Brian (though in the dream, it was hard to know it was him?? Like him and Bri and Freddie and John kept switching ages, one minute it was 70s Bri, then suddenly Bri now, and it was hard to follow for some reason) knew and explained to us was an old boarding school building, often used for safety for folks during times of flooding.

And in the dream I just went sure yeah okay because I had no reason to believe otherwise, and also a storm was raging outside and had been for the entire dream. Like we could hear waves hitting the building constantly.

Which was extra dangerous, because the Avatar lads and their family members (I was told all their families were there, like Henrik's wife and kids plus Paky and Jacob with Johannes, Tim's pup was there, but I only saw them randomly for the rest of the dream after being told by John (Avatar John, to clarify lol) that they had brought everyone with them) were up on this balcony that we had been instructed (by who, no fucking clue, but we trusted them implicitly apparently) was the safest place in the building and measuring from it and the iron rod fencing around it that matched the same on the building across from us would ensure our safety more (if the waves hit with a certain strength on buildings too far apart, the buildings would both be washed out to sea. Does that make logical sense? Probably not anywhere irl, but it did in the dream.)

So the entirety of Avatar are up there trying to make these measurements, arguing with Bri and Rog especially over this even being helpful to do when

And you can laugh at this, because I did too when I woke up.

There were canoes we could rent (RENT. As if we would be able to bring them back lmao) downstairs instead!! In like a surf shack thing that was in the fucking school building apparently? And bless them for a bit they really thought we could ride out the storm in them (Tim offered to share one with me and his dog. It was v sweet lol.)

Unfortunately, we then immediately (all of us now somehow crowded on the balcony which was way too big for a balcony tbh) watched a bunch of ppl outside the building try to do just that. And they failed. Miserably.

We didn't see bodies, but you just knew they were dead. Paky was crying, John (Queen, since we had two Johns to deal with in this lol) was v upset and kept talking abt how that wasn't a baptism that would get them into Heaven.

So the canoe idea was abandoned even tho the salesdude kept calling up to us and offering what he had left. Nice dude, immediately got swept out to sea by the end of the dream.

Cut back to us on the balcony, panicking. Tim keeps thanking me for holding his dog so she doesn't jump into the sea (she had no intention, and spent the entire dream in his arms, mine, or Jonas's, snuggling and whimpering and it was Honestly Heart Wrenching.) I remind him we're in this together and it's no problem. He pulls me aside for what I'm going to politely censor and just call a v weird and frankly ill-timed makeout session (then again, maybe being about to be swept out to sea is the best time for that?? Idk, but I digress except to say he was a wonderful kisser, but also we both kept crying abt realising we were going to drown, so it was A Lot for both of us I think.)

When we return, Brian has let everyone know that the final calculations are that we will certainly be swept out to sea, but so long as the building stays upright?? We won't drown and die. How does he know this? No explanation was given.

I end up hunkered down with Freddie and Jim and Tim and his pup (the cats for Freddie and Jim I never saw, but heard yowling in their crates so. As safe as can reasonably be???) My Nisha apparently didn't get to go with me for this dream, because I did look for her at points, but couldn't find her (Tim cried with me over that too and helped, v supportive, and now outside of the dream may I say v kind of dream him to do that for me.)

And we just...waited. Knew death was coming, and could do nothing abt it. The only comfort we could reach was that it would be like a museum at the bottom of the sea. Freddie and Tim reasoned that the Titantic, if you could walk in the ruins, might be like that. All old clothes and bones and ppls stuff. And so the school building we were in would be like that too, and we all agreed we liked museums, so maybe it wasn't the worst way to go.

Then the wave actually hit though, and it was just fkn chaos. Tim hanging onto his dog and my waist, myself hanging onto Freddie and Jim by the loops on their jeans (how tf that didn't just rip my fingers off, no idea. *Dream Magic*)

I realized horrifically that as we went down, the building was literally falling apart, bricks and iron work bars flying around us. And all I could see were bones when I looked down into the water, bones from every era but particularly Victorian by the clothes on them for some reason.

What was particularly cruel in this dream was that it ended with a false awakening. I 'woke up' to Tim's arm around my waist, and his nose nuzzling at my neck, asking me wtf I was dreaming abt because I was kicking him and could I pls stop? (Fair request, that's honestly an irl problem that my legs apparently have always tried to fight off bad dreams on their own, much to the bruises and regret of anyone who shares my bed.) And just as I turned around to answer him and tell him how fkn scared I was and how grateful I was he was there and ya know, not dead and drowned,

I woke up for real, alone, in my actual bed.

So now I'm feeling extra lonely, fucked up, and honestly peeved that the dream interpretation dictionary I usually use isn't helping much to make sense of any of this.

[lalunaunita]

The Purrfect Crime: Chapter 2

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7    Music Fanmix by @pennywaltzy

Rating: Teen

Summary:  Commissioner Gordon and Batman meet the owner of a missing cat and a security guard with important information.

The Purrfect Crime: Chapter 2

At 5:58 a.m. the next morning, Batman stood outside the grand auditorium that hosted the Southminster Cat Show, two cups of steaming coffee in hand. It felt a little odd to stand around holding coffee in broad daylight, but even in summer most of Gotham wasn’t awake and on the streets yet. Batman locked his jaw against a yawn. An unmarked sedan pulled up in front of the doors, its quiet engine purring for a moment before it shut off. Commissioner Gordon exited the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut, knuckling some sleep out of one eye as he did so.

“Morning, Batman,” he said, gratefully accepting the proffered cup of coffee.

He didn’t blink as he raised it to his lips and found it creamed and sugared exactly to his liking. Of course Batman knew how he took his coffee. Sometimes the Commissioner marveled at the world he lived in, but it was too early for such existential musing today.

“Good morning, Jim. I trust you slept well—and that Ruffy was around to keep you company?” Batman waited politely as an officer in uniform unlocked the exterior door and held it open for the pair of them.

“He sure was. No worries. Hey, Carl,” the Commissioner greeted the flat foot.

“Hey, Boss. Nothing unusual after they reported the missing cat last night. The place has been quiet. Well, except for her,” Carl said the last under his breath, pointing a thumb over his shoulder at a frumpy looking woman.

“Is that Mrs. Golightley?” the Commissioner asked.

Carl nodded, his lips pressed hard together.

“Say no more.” The Commissioner straightened his tie and re-tucked his shirt into his slacks. “Okay, let’s go.”

They approached the irate woman, who advanced menacingly as soon as she caught sight of the Commissioner. She wore a pink cashmere sweater over a pink, plaid pencil skirt cut below the knee. The color of the rich fabrics clashed with her expensive, red woolen jacket.

“Finally. Finally! I’ve been here since four in the morning!” she fumed, throwing her hands up in the air.

“Hello, Mrs. Golightley, I’m—”

“I know who you are, Commissioner. I see you in the papers often enough. What’s he doing here?” She turned her gimlet eye on Batman, a sneer curling her upper lip.

Unperturbed, Batman replied, “Police consultant. I’m here by request.”

“Ridiculous costume. You can’t expect anyone to take you seriously,” she shot back.

Batman swallowed a response Robin would have been proud of. He turned to inspect the premises, listening as the Commissioner began his interview. They stood in a generous foyer. Soft morning sun filtered through skylights overhead. Batman scrutinized them carefully, but they didn’t appear to have been tampered with.

With a thousand missing cats—and a single cat-themed thief in Gotham—Batman had a short list of suspects. But it wouldn’t do to draw a conclusion without evidence. Catwoman had more than one modus operandi for breaking and entering. He’d check the door locks next.

He followed Mrs. Golightley and the Commissioner as they made their way into the main auditorium. It was decorated in stately tones, the impression of class and poise unmistakable. Even the cat agility course projected an air of seriousness. A few owners were already running their felines over the course, or placing them onto inspection podiums to practice judging procedures. Most of the animals were far more demure than the cats Batman usually encountered. Not a single hiss or spit could be heard as the animals were carefully handled and moved around.

Mrs. Golightley strode through the center of the auditorium, her pace hurried as they neared a door in the back wall.

“This is where the cats stay overnight. We’re not allowed to take them home once they are registered in the competition,” she said, opening the door and ushering them through.

The back room adjacent to the auditorium was spacious enough for a hundred or more cats. Heavy metal shelves were affixed to three of the walls and crates of all sizes rested upon the shelving. Each owner brought their own crate for their cat, Batman realized. Most were large enough to fit two cats comfortably and were kept neat, toys, blankets, and food dishes arranged within. Mrs. Golightley, however, led them to the smallest crate in the entire room—barely big enough for a kitten to stretch out. Batman fingered a lock on one of the closed cages.

“Do the owners receive a key for their cat?” he asked Mrs. Golightley.

She nodded.

“I have a key to this crate and one of the judges is entrusted with the other. No one else should be able to let my kitten out. I think the judge is dirty. There’s no other explanation,” she said in a loud stage whisper.

“Now, now, let’s not go accusing without proof,” said the Commissioner, raising two hands in defense.

Batman knelt before the tiny crate and looked at the bottom of the lock. He grabbed a mini-LED flashlight from his belt and shone its intense beam over the keyhole. The other two watched with interest, Mrs. Golightley forgetting her ire for a moment.

“It’s been picked,” Batman announced, pointing at the keyhole. “See the scrapes against the keyhole opening? A normal key will certainly scratch, as the user misses and finds the fit, but a lockpick kit leaves finer, fresher grooves. Commissioner, I do believe this evidence points to the cat being stolen.”

“I knew it!” Mrs. Golightley roared. “Commissioner, I want my kitten back immediately! It’s a very rare breed, practically priceless! Its value will only increase when I win Grand Prize tomorrow. I want it back, and I want it in perfect condition.”

She poked her nose right into the Commissioner’s face and stabbed one long, bony finger at his tie. She was tall enough that the Commissioner was unable to loom over her, but he tried anyway.

“Mrs. Golightley, I have my best detectives on the case. You’ll hear from us the moment we have news of your kitten’s whereabouts,” he said, clipping the words off succinctly,

“I’d better. I’ll take this all the way to City Hall if I have to,” Mrs. Golightley seethed.

Batman melted into the shadows as the Commissioner opened his mouth to fire back. The two traded comments, unaware of his stealthy retreat. Batman ran his flashlight over the rest of the space as he walked the length of the shelves. He checked out every crevice and nook, seeking a way into the room. He’d noticed the single door into the room was in perfect working order, so the thief hadn’t entered that way - no evidence of lock picking. He wondered about that. If the thief had a perfectly good lockpicking kit, why not just use it to facilitate the whole crime?

A throat cleared quietly behind him. Batman paused in his ruminations and turned to find an elderly security guard eyeing him nervously.

“Yes?” Batman rumbled.

“Can I uh, can I talk to you?” the man asked.

He held his cap in both hands and twisted the brim. Batman watched him shuffle his feet and took in the sight of his bowed posture and rumpled uniform. Batman nodded, indicating a quiet corner of the room. The guard followed him.

“What’s on your mind?” asked Batman.

“I uh, I need to share some information. Off the record, if you know what I mean? The police already interviewed me,” the security guard stammered.

“Okay, Bill,” said Batman, reading the man’s name tag. “I take it you were on duty last night?”

“That’s right,” Bill confirmed. “And I didn’t see anything. I don’t know how that tiny cage was opened, unless someone got a copy of the key or something.”

“It was picked,” Batman supplied. “Were you in this room guarding the cats?”

Bill leaned close to whisper. “To be honest, I was asleep! Please don’t tell the cat show, I’ll be fired!”

He rubbed his neck in embarrassment, straightened out his cap, and settled it back on his head. His gray mustache twitched and he ran both hands over his five o’clock shadow.

“I really need this job. It’s hard to keep awake all night, though. I have to take my daughter to school in the mornings, and-”

“-and we’re going to keep this confidential, off the record,” Batman cut in.

Relief overtook the man’s features and he sagged against the wall. “Thank you, Batman. I want that sweet little kitten found, but I’m not willing to get fired for the harpie over there.”

“You say it’s a kitten? Can you give a description?” Batman asked.

“Sure can. I’ve made friends with a fair amount of these cats in the last week. I suppose they’re all valuable, but in my opinion that little kitty is worth more for her disposition. She’s got a tawny coat and big, sad green eyes. I imagine you’re not much of a cat person, but I am, and that little critter just wants a home where it is loved. I always take time to pet it every night. Since we’re off the record, I can be perfectly honest and say I’m truly glad the kitten is out of that crate. Have you heard the term failure to thrive?”

Batman nodded, not liking where the man’s information was going.

“I know it’s not usually used for a scenario like this, but Mrs. Golightley’s cat was looking thinner and less healthy to me. She’d stop in every six hours or so during the day—we keep a log, so I checked—but she would just run it through the course and drop in some food and water. Other than myself and the other guards, no one gave the kitten any love or attention. I’d personally use the term neglect, but I’m not saying anything illegal happened here. Except the theft, you understand?” His confidence back, Bill’s tone turned stern.

“I understand,” Batman replied, glancing over his shoulder to where the Commissioner and Mrs. Golightley were still arguing.

The rustle of a cleaning cart interrupted the pair as a woman from janitorial entered the room.

“Excuse me,” she said, touching the brim of her cap as she hefted a mop out of her mop bucket and started on the opposite end of the room.

A flash of metal between Bill’s feet caught Batman’s eye. He motioned for the security guard to step aside and knelt down.

“Now, this is interesting,” he said, holding up a small metal screw for Bill to see.

A moment of hunting with his flashlight revealed three more. Bill had been standing in front of the air return grate. A quick inspection revealed it was missing the four screws to secure it in place.

“Commissioner, I think we’ve found the method of entry,” Batman called.

The Commissioner and Mrs. Golightley crossed quickly, the woman slipping on wet tile as she passed. She clutched Commissioner Gordon’s arm to regain her balance.

“Put a sign up!” Mrs. Golightley snapped at the janitor.

The janitor tossed her long ponytail back and immediately complied, popping open a yellow, A-shaped CAUTION sign and standing it on the wet floor. She dipped her head even lower and went back to mopping.

“Commissioner Gordon, Bill and I discovered the screws to the air return were removed. I think our thief came in during the day, removed the screws, then used the ducts to enter and exit last night after the room was locked. Ah, Bill?”

Batman turned to the man, who was nearly quaking in his shoes.

“Bill, did you leave this room last night for any reason? Perhaps to use the facilities?”

Bill cleared his throat and straightened up. “Yes, that’s right Batman, I did. Only once, and I locked the door behind me.”

Batman gave a small smile and snapped his fingers. “That’s when the thief entered. Entrance and escape were already taken care of, so the thief only had to wait for the perfect moment to slip in and pick the lock!”

Bill nodded his head in quick motions of agreement, his hands clutched tightly together. Batman knew it was more likely the thief had waited to hear Bill’s snores before making his move, but it was all the same. Picking a tiny, uncomplicated lock like the ones on these crates would have taken no time at all.

Commissioner Gordon smiled. “I’ll radio forensics to come in at once. Maybe the thief was careless enough to leave a fingerprint behind. In the meantime, Mrs. Golightley, I suggest you go home and try to relax.”

Without warning, Commissioner Gordon went from tough and incisive to charming and concerned. The combination was too much for Mrs. Golightley, who softened a bit as he steered her toward the door.

“Well, alright, but you’re sure you’ve got all your men searching for my little Whiskersoft?” She peered at him over her shoulder, brows drawn together.

“Yes, Ma’am. All my men. On the case. For your cat.” The irony was lost on Mrs. Golightley.

She gave them one last look and clicked away in her black heels, heading for the front of the building. The tension in the room deflated. Bill looked back and forth between the Commissioner and Batman, suddenly aware he was no longer needed.

“Well, then, I’ll take myself off too, unless you have any more questions?” He took a half-step toward the door.

The Commissioner opened his mouth, but Batman shook his head.

“He’s fine, Jim. He already gave a statement.”

Commissioner Gordon nodded. A wet slap behind them reminded the men that the janitor was still completing her rounds in the room.

“Let’s go where we can talk privately, Batman,” suggested the Commissioner.

They went back into the auditorium, where they could speak under cover of the scattered conversations of various cat owners around the room.

“Mrs. Golightley doesn’t care one whit about that cat, so long as it brings her money or prestige,” the Commissioner stated in disgust.

“Bill would agree with you. He thought the animal was getting depressed from lack of attention,” Batman murmured, his voice pitched below the bustling sounds around them.

“The trainer at the circus talked about how expensive his animals are, too. I suppose it’s a concern when we’re dealing with theft, but these are living things.” Commissioner Gordon sighed and shook his head.

“Jim, what with the monetary value of these cats and the cat-burglar techniques used to procure them, I think we have to name Catwoman as the main suspect. She has the skills necessary to do both jobs. She’s also got a nose for valuables. Stealing living animals seems a bit afield of her usual prey...”

The Commissioner pursed his lips. “Diamonds and jewelry, you mean? Yes, it does. But we’ve seen Gotham’s criminals escalate and take new directions before. All right, I’ll put out an APB on her.”

The Commissioner unsnapped the radio on his belt, but Batman placed a hand on his arm.

“Before you do that, do you mind if I try talking to her? She’s a criminal, but she’s generally non-violent. She’s helped me in the past when there was no other option. And she genuinely likes cats. I want to hear what she has to say for herself.”

“I can give you twenty-four hours, Batman,” the Commissioner agreed. “After that, if there are no other suspects, we really must move. Unpleasant owners aside, I have a duty to the law here.”

Batman nodded. “Understood, Jim. Thanks for letting me tag along this morning.”

Batman crushed his empty coffee cup and tossed it into a trash can next to the front door. He stepped out, ignoring the gasps of pedestrians on the sidewalk. Once he was clear of the building, he fired his grappling hook high overhead and swung away without a backward glance.

[keptin-indy]

Dresden Files: Salem 14

Adler makes a bad decision and everyone deals with the fallout for two sessions.  Also I put way too much detail into documenting a bluebooking session because it’s cute.

Previous installments

Sanya asked if they wanted help smiting the demon, but Adler pointed out that they had to find her first and asked for her number from Conan, saying he was going to set up a meeting via anonymous tip.  Baz suggested going to the same warehouse where they had killed the witchhunter, since they knew it was out of the way enough for murder.  Sanya did not want to know this story, but in fairness, neither did Baz and he’d been the one doing the murdering.  Sanya insisted they find another way and Adler said that if he had one, he would love to hear it and was all ears...then proceeded to make that statement literal.  Sanya asked what manner of creature he was and Adler said that he didn’t know except that he was someone who wanted to make things better and give Baz a break.  With no other viable options, Adler called the woman’s cell from a payphone, telling her he had a tip on her dead partner, then gave her the time and place for a meeting.  She very reasonably sounded terrified and asked how he got the number, etc, etc, but he gave no more information.  The group plus Sanya headed over to the warehouse early to prepare, all armed for battle, with Conan in a ski mask “just in case” and with his blessed bullets, and Sanya kitted out with his Sword, an assault rifle, and a kevlar vest with a cross painted on it.  Baz warned him that proximity to wizards tended to break more complicated guns, but Sanya said he’d chosen a Kalashnikov for precisely its ability to keep going no matter what.  Baz asked if Sanya knew any other preparations they could take in a short time, and Sanya said that he had a landmine in his checked baggage, but not much else (making Baz very happy that he would never be on a plane himself).  Ath, the living sword, brought a knife and then proceeded to arrange the boxes and crates in the warehouse to his liking.  Adler turned into a creature that at first glance would appear to be a dog, but that could unfold into one of his horrible claw monster forms.  Baz and Adler took point, standing in the middle of the warehouse, while the others hid amongst the boxes and waited for the woman to arrive.  She eventually did, armed with pepper spray and looking exactly as terrified as a lone woman in a warehouse with a large man with an equally large sword and dog would be.  Seeing this, Baz tried to backtrack, telling her he would stay back, far away from her, and just wanted to talk.  He asked if she knew her partner had been a demon, which she denied, but Evelyn, watching from where Baz could see her, gave him a thumbs down to indicate she was lying and Adler tried to get between the woman and the door, causing her to bolt for it.  Ath toppled the precarious tower of boxes he’d set up earlier, blocking the door, and the woman begged to be let out.  At her rising distress, the ground started to tremble - evidently she was a practitioner, powerful but untrained, and directing all her raw energy downward into the earth.  Evelyn came out and tried to salvage the situation and calm everyone down, but with no easy way to tell if the woman was a demon trying to lower their guard, Baz asked Sanya what would happen if someone tried to look at a Denarian with the Sight.  Sanya told him that the last guy who’d tried had run away screaming, so Evelyn - knowing that Baz was the better combatant should this provoke a fight - volunteered and opened her third eye.  The first thing she noticed was that there wasn’t a Denarian sigil on the woman, but the lack of something was an extremely unusual and slightly suspicious thing to notice so immediately, especially when the less noticeable characteristics included skin like cracked marble and a definite sense that she was both unstable and influence by the infernal.  Evelyn closed the Sight and told the others she wasn’t a demon.  Baz apologized for scaring her, but told her that the person she was looking for was very dangerous and they had to be sure.  The group asked her some questions, but didn’t find much other than that she was searching for Bennett because she loved him even though he was a demon.  Evelyn offered her professional services, Adler turned into a much less terrifying fluffy dog, and Ath snuck out to get coffee and donuts.  Baz told her that they had killed her boyfriend and that he’d been sucking away people’s happiness and killing them with despair.  She was horrified; to her, he’d been nothing but kind, teaching her how to control her magic (though Evelyn didn’t think this was the whole story).  Baz told her she could get training from the Witches in Salem, but she said she might just want to move on, since the town had nothing but bad memories for her now.  Ath came back with his comfort food, surprising Baz, who hadn’t even seen him leave.  With the tensions now soothed, the ground tremors stopped and they all headed away from the warehouse.  Baz and Evelyn gave her their and the Witches Circle’s numbers in case she needed anything, and Ath gave her some money for a hotel room in apology for the panic they’d put her through.  Seeing everything so nicely resolved, however, Adler was unable to resist adding a touch of mystery, turning to the still slightly distraught woman while still in dog form and telling her that things were not always as they seemed.  Her tenuous calm shattered, the woman ran screaming and the tremors returned as a full-blown localized earthquake.  Adler immediately realized he’d made a mistake and turned into a bird, flying around the area to alert people and direct emergency services to anyone hurt in the quake.  Thankfully, there were only minor injuries and property damage, but Adler felt responsible for all of it, and went through a lot of effort to arrange for a hippie healer witch to take care of the worst injury - a broken wrist - because he was avoiding Baz out of guilt.

The next day - New Year’s Eve - Adler showed up on Baz’s doorstep as a dog after not having come home at all the night before.  A worried Baz asked where he’d been and Adler said there was a spot under a nearby bridge that was excellent for feeling shame because bad dogs didn’t didn’t get to sleep in the bedroom (yes they do, said Baz, with much experience).  Adler continued that he was lucky there’d only been one broken bone and that he’d found someone to heal it, leaving Baz mystified as to what was even going on.  Adler didn’t think he deserved his position as Baz’s boyfriend and Baz must surely be disappointed in him.  Baz was mostly just confused and told him to maybe not creep out people who’ve just been through trauma.  Adler finally turned into a human and immediately brightened up.  He explained that he’d arranged the healer because he felt responsible for the earthquake and didn’t want his first act as Baz’s "equal partner” to be making Baz fix a mess he had caused.  Baz told him he’d hoped his first act would be going somewhere for New Year’s with him and Adler told him that’s why he’d come back when he had.  Baz suggested they get werewolf tacos and talk more, [so they relocated to the Howling Wolf Taqueria where Adler explained that when he took on animal forms, he frequently also took on some measure of how they thought, which had led his dog-brain to believe that he had been a Bad Dog and should be much more ashamed than the situation actually warranted.  Once he turned into a human, he saw things much more clearly, though he did worry that Baz would think less of him for running away and not knowing how to handle the extra relationship aspect of these kinds of problems.  With that cleared up, the conversation wandered around, first to Conan and his willful ignorance of both the supernatural and Baz’s sexual orientation, then to whether or not they wanted to be open about their relationship and if it was polite in the modern era to publicly announce one’s dating status and the difficulties in doing so when you couldn’t use a computer.  Baz realized he would have to tell his mother, who had always been a little leery of Adler, and Adler suggested that it was only fair that Baz meet his mother sometime, as well.  Baz recounted the story of when Conan had asked out Sylvia Rowland and been soundly shot down, which turned into telling Adler what the Rowlands had been like, understandably still a delicate subject for Baz.  Adler felt bad on Baz’s behalf and regretted that he was taking all three of their duties on himself, but Baz pointed out that with so few Wardens left, he was the only one around to do it.  Baz apologized for bringing the mood down on their first date, and Adler briefly panicked that he should have put more thought into what he looked like for such a momentous occasion, but Baz pointed out that he’d put a lot of effort into choosing his human face and Baz was pretty fond of that.  Adler said that even the Winters had liked his face, hence the stealing of it and Baz asked what the story had been there.  It was pretty simple, the Winter Court had cornered Adler in an alley and demanded he join them, then they ganged up on him and beat him when he refused, with the troll carving his face off to make a statement.  Carving his own face off later to make the same statement had been much less unpleasant, as he viewed that as suffering for his art rather than torture.  Adler was surprised that he didn’t mind being in constant danger for other people’s sake now that he was working with a Warden; he was just an actor, not a real hero.  Baz told him that being a “real hero” was just method acting as one until it became the truth.  Adler was thrilled by this bit of wisdom and said it validated his entire world view and if it were appropriate to glow in public, he absolutely would.  The two made plans to go to a dance party for New Year’s where Adler could glow all he wanted and no one would notice.  Baz laughed that he had his own little disco ball and Adler wrote him a napkin coupon for one emergency disco party “just in case”.]

Mid-evening, Sanya called Baz from the airport saying that his flight had been delayed again, which meant that something was still up.  Baz called up the others and they all met up with Sanya at the Estate and headed downstairs to the magical map of Boston they had set up to track cultists.  Without a sympathetic connection to anything demon-related, there wasn’t much they could do with it.  Adler’s sensitive ears picked up a strange keening or singing from outside and he told the others to stop talking.  Most of the others also caught snippets of it, so they headed upstairs, but it didn’t seem to be coming from any discernible direction.  They made a circle out toward the bay and then back toward downtown to try and find its source, but Ath and Conan realized that it was coming from multiple places, all of them patches of bare earth.  Baz drew a magic circle in the dirt and used it to pinpoint the epicenter along the banks of the North River.  As they headed in that direction, they could see that the landscape had been changed and more and more of those bare patches of dirt had grown abrupt and jagged rock outcroppings.  The quality of the music changed as they got closer to a large plateau of rock and they realized that they could now hear it through the air as well as the stone.  It was evidently coming from a dancing figure on top of the plateau, who they recognized as the woman from the warehouse - only now she had a second set of glowing eyes set in her forehead.  Sanya called up asking if she would please stop, the city was nice without all the new rocks.  She didn’t stop, so Adler flew Sanya up while Conan and Ath used their superhuman speed to climb the cliff face.  The woman responded by shooting a fist of stone at Sanya, staggering him before the rest of the part could even get to them.  Adler returned to pick Baz up, then Evelyn, and the two swordsmen engaged the demon, though she focused entirely on the Knight of the Cross, the Denarians’ traditional enemy.  Ath jumped between her and Sanya, taking a blow meant for the Knight, and so she retaliated by shaking the whole plateau violently.  Evelyn tried to push the demon off the cliffside with a gust of wind, but she was too solidly anchored to her creation.  The others used all the means at their disposal to take her down, Conan shooting her between all four eyes, Adler raking across her face with sharp claws, and Baz countering her earth magic with his own, but she was largely unconcerned and called up an even more powerful quake, knocking Baz and Evelyn off the plateau.  They landed hard on the ground and didn’t get up.  The others, enraged, redoubled their efforts until finally Conan brought her down with a well-placed shot which knocked her head against the stone spear she had created, Baz had thrown back at her, and Adler had driven further into her.  Sanya and Ath immediately searched for her coin, which turned out to be in a secret pocket against her skin.  Sanya wrapped it in the remains of his shirt and thanked Ath for protecting him, telling him that he’d noticed Ath was afraid of him and that he didn’t have to be.  Ath told him that was completely untrue but didn’t elaborate.  Conan and Adler rushed down to Baz and brought him groggily around.  Dazed, Baz asked about Evelyn and attempted to heal her, but was too injured himself to even move over to her.  He put himself into a healing trance and Adler called his hippie witch friend to look after them.  Around them, the town of Salem was riddled with outcroppings and spires.  The random rock spurs had destroyed several buildings, though they’d taken the magical path of least resistance and avoided wards and strong thresholds.  Conan asked Sanya what to do with their prisoner and Sanya expressed hope that she could be reasoned with and eventually rehabilitated, but warned him that once she was awake, she could summon the coin at will and start the fight all over again.

[krissmnasi]

somebody proofread this so that I can turn it in for my English class

The evening sun shone bright across the horizon as a van with the word ‘RED’ painted on it in crimson skidded along the road of the canyon. One of the doors were broken as the other had a cracked window. Two people sat in the front; a scrawny young man no older than 27 and a larger man with hands that nearly crushed the wheel as he drove towards the base. The scrawny young man had half of a headset attached to his hat that had covered his face. Faint snores could be heard as his legs were propped up on the glove compartment.

As a sharp turn had been made, he nearly fell out of his seat and onto the pavement. Static was heard on the radio before it focused on a young woman’s voice.

“You have the intelligence?” “Yeah, yeah, sure, Miss Pauling,” replied Scout, adjusting his hat and getting himself to sit up straight in order to talk to the voice.

“And you left no witnesses?”

“Well, we, uh-”

“We got the briefcase and left no witnesses!” Soldier blurted out, getting himself into the front of the van and holding the blue case in hand. Heavy, the driver, had difficulty steering.

The van drove right into a sheet that mimicked the canyon, wooden cacti sprouting from the ground just as it has safely gotten through.

“You left, like, 6.” A gunshot from the radio could be heard just after the groan of a BLU member.

“5”

“Hey, Miss Pauling, I-” Scout lingered for a while, his bandaged hand on the back of his neck.

“Scout?”

“I was thinkin’ that maybe-uhm”

“Mhm?”

“Are ya free this Saturday?”

“Well, thanks to you I will be burying bodies all Saturday.”

“Oh, uh, right. You’re very busy-everybody’s busy. I mean, like, I’m busy. See you later.”

The call ended with static as it did when it began. Scout got out of the van, both Soldier and Heavy already out by the teleporters. Two people were by a table where two teleporters were, one no taller than 4’3 ft and the other wearing a white coat. Both of them were discussing something related to the blueprint in their hands, a few formulas thrown here and there.

Scout took the keys from the hood of the van, throwing them at the two scientists. One of which had a hard hat as the other had rubber gloves on. One an engineer and the other a doctor. The keys landed on the floor, both of them watching as it flew from Scout’s hand.

“...nice catch”

“Listen, Doc ‘n’ I have been running a few experiments and I think y’all should take a look at this.”

The engineer, otherwise known as Engie, took a loaf of bread and put it in the teleporter. It popped up in the other one, no change to it’s appearance whatsoever.

“You can teleport bread!” Soldier said, looking at the loaf in amazement. Scout merely rolled his eyes. It wasn’t like the teleporters weren’t working before.

“Great, you can teleport bread-” Medic picked it up as Scout spoke, putting the bread into both of his hands.

“Anyways, when’s Demo gonna come back with the-” He tore it in half, revealing green tumours inside of it.

“Holy mother o’ - What is that?!” He held his hands close to his face, right leg coming up in defense.

“Tumours!” Medic said, a bit too excited. He was enjoying Scout’s little moment of fear.

Engie took his hat and held it to his chest, a stern look on his face.

“Y’all know what this means right?”

“We cannot teleport bread anymore!” Soldier held the collar of Engie’s shirt, just beneath his overalls, and pinned him to a wall.

“Settle down, pardner. You can teleport as much bread as you like.”

“So, what does that mean for us?” An Australian accent rose from the shadows, Kukri in one hand and the other stuffed in his pocket. Tall and lanky, with an unclean shave and a five o’clock shadow underneath his eyes.

The room fell silent before it was broken by a familiar french voice.

“How long before these tumours kill us?” he asked, smoking a cigarette without a care in the world.

“Vell, ve all use zhe teleporter about, say, zhree times a day. Times zhat by 20 years, minus ve’re not bread...zhree days. Ve all have zhree days left to live!” Medic made calculations before breaking the truth to them all, Heavy looking down at the sandvich (not to be confused with sandwich) he was eating.

“Woo! Woohoo! Woo…woo?” The teleporter whirred once more, Demoman holding a crate filled with bottles of who-knows-what in his arms. He missed everything that was said. “What?” He looked confused, even more so due to his missing eye. The sombrero he wore didn’t stay on there for long as it fell to the floor, his expression blank at everybody’s response.

The rest of the day was spent on a meeting. Spy had gathered everybody around for their last meeting.

“Gentlemen, in this bucket is the dying wish of every man in this room. Most would say that men like us would live to die in a tragedy. And that is absolutely correct. Scout, I trust that you have collected the cards, yes?” Spy held a bucket, a few cards in the bottom. Scout nodded his head, hiding a snicker behind his hands.

“So, our first wish is from Scout. He’s...drawn a picture of me getting hit by a car.” The card Spy held had the name Scout written on the back. On the front was a comic-styled image of Spy himself getting hit by a car. It cracked Scout up, him letting out a laugh before calming down to allow Spy to pick another card.

“Okay, next one. An image of the Eiffel tower crying-” He threw the card behind his shoulder, picking another. “Me crying at the Eiffel tower- A crab with a butterfly knife- an arrow pointing at me saying ‘French weas-’- Did anybody put a card in except for Scout?!” Spy threw the cards on the ground, almost dropping the cigarette in his mouth.

“You did not read mine!” Soldier handed Spy a card, the name Soldier scribbled on the back.

Spy didn’t read it. He knew what it was going to be.

“Let me guess; you want the bucket?” Spy rolled his eyes, shoving the bucket towards Soldier as he nodded and trotted off with it. The rest had left the room, Spy taking out his disguise kit to place the lighter back where it was.

“See you in hell.”

70 hours until death. Spy was in his private quarters, smoking and drinking a glass of wine. He was always so fancy and death wasn’t something he was afraid of. Why was this day any different from the others? Death was something that he knew would get him soon and, with the job he works, it’s only closer. Why bother with worry?

A knock was heard on the door.

“Go away, I’m busy dying.”

“Spy, it’s Scout.”

Spy flung the door open, allowing Scout to walk in and talk to him face to face.

“Hey, look, I’m sorry ‘bout what happened earlier.”

“Sure, now go away.”

“Spy, I actually did have a last wish.”

“Is it annoying me? Because you’ve already gotten your wish.”

“I want...I want to go on a date with Miss Pauling.”

Spy was in the middle of pouring more wine into his glass, stopping to listen to Scout.

“I’m listening.”

“Okay, this nevah leaves this room. Spy, you’re-...you are bettah than me.” A grin was plastered on Spy’s face, his glass moved to the side to make way for a microphone he had pulled up. He moved the microphone towards Scout, tapping it to hear it echo around the base.

“I will help you. Under one condition.” He moved the mic even closer towards Scout, grinning more.

“Say that again.”

The training room. It had been emptied out by Spy. He had a metal table placed in the middle along with a mannequin, a bucket of chicken, and a rose. Spy stood with the mannequin in his arms, Scout standing by the table.

“Okay, Scout. Seduce me.”

“Wait, what?”

“Seduce me.”

“Spy, I ain’t gonna-”

“Seduce me!”

Scout took a sudden step back, swallowing his spit then picking up the bucket of chicken.

“Hey, I got a bucket o’ chicken. Wanna-” Spy used the mannequin as a puppet, slapping Scout with the wooden hand.

“I am not one of your fried chicken tramps! I am a woman! I like my men bold, dangerous, mysterious. Not this!” He added emphasis on every word, pretending to walk around menacingly as Scout was on the ground with his hand over a red mark on his cheek.

They both smiled at each other, Spy helping Scout up as he dropped the mannequin to the floor.

The next day was spent entirely on teaching Scout how to flirt. It ranged from learning how to use the right fork to being polite which was something Scout wasn’t used to due to his huge ego.

8 hours before death. Scout was seated in a small desk at the middle of the boxing ring, Spy walking around with a cigarette in hand.

“So, tell me, how do you go on a date?”

“Set a date for 7 PM, head to the restaurant no later than 5:30. Go to the kitchen, check on the staff. Are they good? If not, gotta kill ‘em, replace ‘em with my own guys no later than 6:45. Get to her place by 6:50 and knock on the dot.” Spy let out a chuckle, smoking before he looked back down at Scout.

“You are ready.” “Really?” Scout tilted his head, a genuine smile on his face. Spy laughed, Scout going a bit dull.

“Hahahah, no! Everything you just said was ridiculous. Congratulations, you’re a complete failure. I can’t help you.”

Scout tried to get up from his seat but the desk caught on his knee causing him to sit back down and try again. He got close to Spy’s face, pointing a finger directly at his face.

“Ya know what? I don’t need you. I can date her myself. So whydon’tcha take your little failure, roll it sideways, and-” Spy tapped his watch, a smug grin on his face.

“Oh-shoot, I gotta go.” He stepped down only to step back up for a brief moment.

“Screw you tho.”

On his way out of the room, he slapped a red button on the wall which had multiple sticky notes telling him to not. As he did, the lights blared red and sent an alarm around the base.

In no less than twenty minutes, Miss Pauling parked her purple scooter by the base. She threw her helmet down, taking the gun out of her pocket and adjusting the glasses she always wore a little crooked. When she opened the door to the base, Scout was there dressed in his usual rolled up red t-shirt and a fresh haircut.

“Hey, Miss P.”

“Not now, Scout.”

“Might I say you look absolutely, uh-”

Spy hadn’t given up on Scout just yet. He was in the control room, looking at the security cameras.

“Ravishing, you fool. Ravishing!” Spy knew he couldn’t hear him. He just liked being right all of the time.

“-ravishing to-today.” Scout completed his sentence, hand rubbing the back of his neck. Miss Pauling had found out that the intelligence was still there, wiping away fake sweat and letting out a relaxed sigh.

“It’s-still there. Scout, why would you- are you having a...dance?” Looking over his shoulder, Miss Pauling caught a glimpse of what the base living room had been turned into. Scout had decorated it, moved things here and there, to make it look good for when Miss Pauling would come for a date which was what he was doing.

“Yeah-well, uh, just follow me. I was thinkin’ that maybe we could have dinner togetha’ before I die.”

Up in the control room, Medic and Engie walked in. Medic held a jar, a piece of bread suspended by a clear lime liquid.

“Doc ‘n’ I found out that these ‘porter tumours seem to only grow in yeast.” Engie said, relieved at the discovery.

“Ja! And zhey seem to have zhe ability to create life out of zhese loaves of bread.” He shook the jar, the creature coming to life and snarling through the glass.

“So, I’m guessin’ that means we don’t die in about, hm, 4 hours?” Sniper asked, hopeful at the thought. Everybody was in the control room now. Well, except for Scout and Miss Pauling.

Soldier raised his hand and jumped as if he were a child.

“I teleported bread!”

“And how much exactly, ruskie?” “I have done nothing but teleport bread for the last 3 days.”

“And where?”

Scout was by the door to the dining room, proud of what he was doing.

“I’s right ‘ere!” He opened the door, revealing a ginormous creature. Miss Pauling screamed, grabbing Scout’s hand just before running. It had crushed the walls, causing the rest of the team to come down and try to help the best they could.

From here, it was war against 9 mercenaries and a giant loaf of bread. Spy wasn’t fighting. He was looking for Scout.

“Hey, look, I’m sorry about this.”

“Hey, hand me the wrench over there.” Miss Pauling had opened up the payload, looking for a way to destroy the beast. He handed her the wrench, still attempting to explain the situation.

“I sorta maybe was tryna hook up wi’ cha.” He had dodged an arrow that missed coming from Sniper’s huntsman, picking up the arrow from the ground and giving it to her to use as a screwdriver.

“We don’t have time for this, Scout.” “Y’see, that’s what I wanted to talk about. I only have, like 3 hours left an-”

“Scout, give me your watch.” He handed her his watch, the last object telling him exactly when his death was going to be.

“Look, Pauling, I-”

“Push the cart already!” Miss Pauling had her back to the cart, pushing with as much force as possible. Scout obliged, pushed the cart with her.

“Look, I-” the creature had spotted them, Spy taking both of their arms just in time to save them from an attack.

“I see your date is going wonderfully?” His voice yelled sarcasm and so did his expression. Scout jerked his arm out of Spy’s grasp, obviously embarrassed.

“Yeah, yeah, ya jerkwad. It’s obviously going out as-”

“I teleported bread!” Soldier cried out before being thrown from one side of the base to the other. Sniper shot the tentacle to let Soldier go.

“Okay, we still have the bomb. That’s-that’s okay! Because we can just-find a way to get it there.” Miss Pauling held the makeshift bomb in her hand, part of it made out of Scout’s watch.

“Run!” Spy had paid attention to the monster, running with both of their arms in his gloved hands. Just as he had reached the gates, he jumped in. However, the bread creature had thrown the payload on it. Scout and Miss Pauling were trapped.

They huddled close, Scout using his body as a shield.

Time froze for Scout. He saw Archimedes, Medic’s pet dove, fly from the creature’s mouth and off to freedom. Scout got an idea.

He took the bomb from Miss Pauling, held her in his arms, and closed his eyes.

0 hours to death.

The creature was cut open by Medic's bonesaw, not caring in the slightest about accidentally cutting Scout.

“Wait-I’m-I’m not dead?” Scout went wide eyed, looking at one hand then the other.

“But-but-but, whadabout the tumours?”

“Good news, son! We will live forever!” Soldier, in his all-american cheer, pulled Scout and Miss Pauling out.

“I never said zhat! I just said zhat ve veren’t filled viz tumours.” Medic chimed in, petting Archimedes.

Miss Pauling brushed her now slimy hair, throwing some of the substance to the ground.

“That-”

“I know. Was the worst date ev-”

“Was amazing! You pressed the button and I got worried then I got here and you were having a prom? But we fought that monster and we won and I think my leg may be broken but who cares! Wanna do that again sometime?” She was going a million miles a second, excited in every word.

“Y-yeah, sure. When?”

“Well, uh, this was sort of my only day off. But tomorrow you can come help me on some missions The Administrator set for me.”

“Sure.”

“Well, tomorrow, I gotta bury a few bodies.”

“Pass.”

“You can help me get some australium.”

“Nah.”

“Oh, then you can come along with me on Wednesday. I have to kill a guy who faked the intelligence getting stolen and- oops. You’re already going to be there.”

“Ha ha, really funny.”