#so far 'soul of the dragon' has been my favorite

[rockingthegraveyard]

I hate their look in these movies.

Those are basically just the same white girl. You couldn't "stretch" your style just a little bit???? Can't bother to actually draw a proper nose or shape their eyes??? ppppbbpppbpbpbpppbbbpbpbpbp

[shadszyyx]

im about to be such a stupid hater but as an aromantic person i hate the httyd 3 ending.

[kintheartist]

🌸Cherry Blossom Dragon🌸⁠ Recently Hit Point Press released one of my favorites of the Floral Dragons I created with them and I just had to show it off!! If you haven't yet, please go check out the releases Hit Point Press has been making so far with this project! I'm going to be showing more of them here, too 💚 I poured my heart and soul into these designs and I'm really excited to show them to you guys. HPP made D&D stats for them as well!⁠

[7-wonders]

Never Been Kissed

Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x GN!Reader

Summary: Morpheus cannot possibly wait another moment to let you know how he feels about you. What happens when it appears that you don't reciprocate?

Word count: 2.0k

Author's note: Shitty summary, sorry, but you know the scene in Barbie (2023) where Ken goes to kiss Barbie after the party and she just stands there?

This one? Yeah I got it into my head that it would be funny if eternal drama queen Morpheus was in Ken's position.

Clueless!reader, innocent!reader. This is just a kinda stupid, goofy little fic, idk. If you liked it, I'd appreciate hearing from you! If you didn't like it, sound off as well! My haters are my motivators.

P.S. You might be saying "the Endless aren't allowed to love mortals it leads to their ruin!" And I say that this is my fic so I decide the rules. Buckle up babes.

Death would say that he is head over heels.

Desire would say that it is boringly predictable and far too soon.

Lucienne would not say anything, but she would give him that look over the top of her glasses, the one that says that he had better know what he is doing.

Matthew would say that he is down bad, which is apparently what the youth of today are saying.

They are all right, though Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, wishes they were not. Despite his very best efforts, he has fallen in love once more. With a mortal, a human—you. 

Morpheus has never had much luck in love. Though there were a few occasions (very, very few) where it was not his fault, he is mature enough to understand that he has often been the cause of a relationship’s demise. He falls hard and fast, and he always has. That, combined with his…intensity, is what he believes to doom him each and every time. Perhaps he gives too much of himself to those who don’t deserve it; perhaps he shows his hand too quickly. 

But you, he knows, are different. You won’t hurt him, not in the way that others have. You won’t take him for granted.

Tonight, he has decided that he will finally confess to you his affections. He will bare his realm to you, the parts that no normal dreamer will ever get to see, and hope that you understand that this is akin to him baring his very soul. After all, he is the Dreaming, and the Dreaming is him.

But where to take you? What to show you? Morpheus agonized over these questions for far longer than he would care to admit. Although he hoped to be able to accompany you to the farthest reaches of his realm (a tall task, considering said realm was infinite), to explore so much of the Dreaming with you that he rediscovered lands he had long forgotten about, this first foray needed to be perfect. He needed something special, something that conveyed to you the depth of his feelings.

He decided to start with something simple that most people would like to see: Athens, and specifically the Acropolis, as it was in its glory days. For all of the animosity Morpheus felt towards the Greek pantheon, he had to admit that they, and their worshippers, contributed much to society and humanity as a whole. Next was a glimmering lake that was actually the moon’s surface, followed by a glen in what could be the Scottish highlands populated by dragons—he found himself particularly pleased by your stunned awe upon seeing the mythical creatures.

The penultimate stop was one that Morpheus took great pride in thinking up, for he knew that it would be your favorite. A visit to a fae village, exiled by Titania and given sanctuary in the Dreaming (solely due to Morpheus’s dislike of their monarch), enjoying a Harvest celebration. They were harmless creatures in the Dreaming, devoid of any of the power that fae normally possessed, so Morpheus did not feel any hesitation in allowing you to explore the festivities. Above all else, the fae love a good party, so it was not surprising when a few invited you to join them in dancing, pulling you along with them until you were spinning and twirling as though you had always known the fae folk dance. You reached for him, mouthing “Come dance with me!” but he gently rebuffed you with a shake of his head and a smile, happy to simply watch the way you moved, with a grin on your face and boisterous laughter sounding just as lovely as the music playing.

What you had referred to as a “behind-the-scenes tour” ends in his private gardens, long a place of solace for him. Your excitement, your joy, fuels him. It’s palpable and intoxicating, and Morpheus wishes he could bottle it and keep it with him forever to give him just a hint of this feeling whenever he wants.

“This is…amazing. Your realm is amazing,” you gush, your eyes sparkling. “I feel like that word is such an understatement for what I’m trying to describe, but it’s the only one that comes to mind right now.”

“It pleases me to hear you think so.”

“Thank you for this. For trusting me,” you say sincerely.

Morpheus was right, you do understand the gift that this experience was meant to be. It makes the space in his chest cavity, where his heart would be if he allowed this form to have one, feel warm. It is only the the very least I could, no, would give you, he thinks. 

You’re smiling so sweetly at him, the moon shining down like a spotlight and making you look the closest to holy that Morpheus will ever get. This is it, he realizes. This is the moment where he will tell you of his love for you, and where you will then reciprocate. This is the moment that he will commit to memory for the rest of eternity until his sister locks up the universe behind her. This is the moment that you become his, and he yours. 

There is so much that Morpheus wants to say to you, yet he knows not where to begin. An unfamiliar feeling swells within him—nervousness. What if he says the wrong thing, what if he scares you off with his intensity before he can truly say what he wants to say? No, best to show you how he feels before telling you, that way there is no doubt. With that, Morpheus leans in towards you and closes his eyes, waiting to feel his lips on yours.

That feeling does not come, and Morpheus belatedly realizes after a few moments that it will not come. When he opens his eyes and looks at you once more, you’re still standing in the same position that you were, still smiling, albeit looking a bit more confused

“Is something wrong?” you ask.

All of Morpheus’s plans, his hopes and…dreams, for lack of a better term, come crashing down around him. So you’ve rejected him, then. He has laid his heart bare for you, shown you parts of his realm that no other mortal has been lucky enough to see, and you’ve turned him down. This, he muses, is his fatal flaw. Mentally, he had already declared you his, crowned you his consort, and created an entire life with you.

But the Lord of Dreams should know better than anyone that it does no good to dwell on dreams, for they are nothing but fantasy and can lead only to heartbreak.

“It appears that I was wrong in thinking that my feelings were reciprocated,” he says lowly, looking out at a carefully cultivated rose bush that is rapidly wilting. An icy wind begins to whip up, stripping the bush of its dead petals and sending them swirling off into the night.

Shock, raw and unfiltered, crosses your face. “Oh! You wanted…to kiss me?”

Morpheus pauses at this odd question, for he did not think you to be so obtuse. Did he not make it obvious that that was what he was intending? Are you attempting to shame him further? “Yes? I apologize, since you have made clear that you do not harbor the same affection for me as I do for you.” He has to grit his teeth to keep from spewing anything more vicious, though lightning cracks across the sky and says what he cannot.

“No! I mean yes. I mean–” You take a breath and shake your head as though you’re trying to physically clear your thoughts. “Sorry. It’s just that I’ve never…been kissed. Before.”

The bad weather, which had been threatening since the moment he realized that he was wrong and tried desperately to hide the devastation that was threatening to overtake him, dies down so suddenly that it could have been turned off by some unseen entity hitting a switch.

“What.” It is certainly not proper of Morpheus to sound so shocked, especially when it’s regarding a topic that you are so clearly embarrassed about. But he simply cannot believe that someone like you, someone so delightful and open, so empathetic and, well, attractive, has never experienced intimacy from another before.

“I know, it’s super lame. People just…haven’t ever liked me in that way?” You shrug and add, “Just haven’t found the right person yet,” in a way that sounds so self-deprecating that it must be a line you’ve heard many times before.

“So you have never…”

You shake your head and look away in embarrassment. “No hand holding, no kissing, no dating. Nothing. Sorry to disappoint.”

It goes unsaid what else you haven’t done if those simple, basic acts of romance have been devoid from your life. From the way you brace yourself, you’re obviously expecting him to react negatively to the news, and he assumes that this is from experience. Instead, Morpheus finds that he does not mind in the slightest. No, this piece of information is…rather titillating, actually.

(Perhaps it’s the fact that this means you’re largely untouched by anyone, but specifically mortals, whom Morpheus has seen the worst of for over a hundred years. The filth of humanity has yet to mar you in such an intimate manner. Prior to today, Morpheus didn’t think that he had an innocence kink. Now? He’s starting to see why the gods and goddesses of old so favored virgins.)

He files this revelation away to be revisited later, when he can hope to be in complete control of his emotions and not have them divided by having the object of his affection standing right in front of him.

“I do not find myself disappointed,” he says.

Your eyes meet his once more, and he can see the hope you hold. “You don’t?”

He shakes his head. “It is not your fault that others have failed to properly see the magnificence standing before them.”

‘Magnificent’ does not even come close to doing any justice in describing you, Morpheus feels, but it will do for now.

“Morpheus,” you admonish half-heartedly and bashfully. You are obviously not used to receiving such compliments, which is precisely why Morpheus is now determined to make sure that you shall never go a day without hearing one. 

“Would you be interested in such things with me?” Things, of course, being the list of activities you have never partaken in.

Slowly, a smile spreads on your face. “Really? You like me like that?”

Your naïvete is truly endearing. “I do. Am I correct in hoping that you feel the same?”

“Yeah. You’d be correct.”

“Then might I bestow upon you your first kiss?”

Somehow, your smile widens, and you nod. “I’d like that.”

Morpheus again leans towards you, but this time, his actions are reciprocated. Your lips against his are soft and a little clumsy against his, which is to be expected from someone who has absolutely no experience. The entire time, he can feel the way that you’re trying, and failing, to keep yourself from smiling.

It is by no means the best kiss that Morpheus has ever had. Yet, it will likely remain one of his most fond memories of such an action.

When you pull away, you’re giggling almost giddily. “That was really good,” you praise, as though discussing a book or a meal. It’s simultaneously not at all and exactly what Morpheus was expecting from you, and he can practically feel himself falling further for you.

Tonight will not be the night that he espouses his love for you. He will not whisper promises of the universe against your skin, and he will not whisk you away to his chambers so that he may properly ravish you. Instead, this relationship will be…slow. Although that is not something that Morpheus is used to, something that he’s familiar with, he finds that he is alright with the concept of taking things slow, so long as it is with you.

[thekingofwinterblog]

How to fix Halamshiral as a Zone

Inquisition is a flawed game.

I don't think there's anyone who is going to argue otherwise.

The only question is wheter you place it higher or lower than DA2.

One of the things I think it does better than DA2, is that it managed to give every place a soul, an identity of it's own, and at least a distinct, if not always amazing storyline.

The emerald graves doesnt have a very interesting plot, but it has some spectacular side quests, and atmosphere, inculding a haunted mansion, which might be my favorite possession based quest in all of DA because it shows much better than others just how dangerous untrained mages actually are to those around them.

The storm coast tells a story of what was once an important dwarven port, and shows how it fell and was repurposed over time.

The Hinterlands shows the aftereffects of the templar mage war, as well as solas stupid plan to give cory his orb, and the mage rebellion and an actually decent time travel story.

I could go on, but the point is, I usually have at least aomething nice to say about every single region.

All except one.

Halamshiral.

Halamshiral was the single worst part of all of Dragon Age Inquisition for me, and every single time I boot up this game, it's always the last thing i do before the temple of sacred ashes, despite how bizarre the game flows as a result.

And the reason is because i hate everything about it.

I hate it's unique attempt at side quests, i hate the characters involved, i hate the Orlesians who inhabit it, and i hate how this section tries to copy what worked so amazingly well with Orzammar and Denerim during the landsmeet section, and fails every single shot it lines up.

The ONLY good thing i have to say about this, is that it's at the very least relatively short.

So here's today's question. How to fix Halamshiral?

Let's begin with the three main players.

Celene, Gasparde, and Briala.

The big problem with every single option, is that they all suck.

Celene and Gasparde are both fucking awful people without any redeeming qualities, they have no charisma, and there is no prospect of the Empire reforming itself under either of them, the way Orzammar would under Bhelen.

Meanwhile, Briala is much, much better, but the problem is that we know exactly what is going to happen here if you support her.

Maybe today elves will have it better, but tomorrow, when Gasparde is gone, or celene turns on elves again as she always does all the progress will be repealed, and reversed, along with a few purged alienages.

Its an old story that's been told before in Dragon age.

In short, there is no reason at all to care about this overall plot. None whatsoever.

There were so many reasons to care about both Orzammar and Denerim in the same situation, and every single character involved had so much more charisma than either of these would be monarchs.

So let's fix that.

Starting with Celene, take the idea of her wanting to reform the empire, and actually take it to the next level.

Celene is genuine in wanting to reform the empire, and has already taken grand, successful steps to make the entire thing much better for everyone, even elves, giving them and serfs more rights, outlawing the practice of chevaliers having a tradition of killing unarmed city elves to graduate.

But the catch is, while she is genuinely making progress, she is doing so within the confines of the great game.

Celene has nonintention of changing the great game, no plans of wanting to remove this thing that holds Orlais back more than any other, this center stone of their nobility and it's culture.

Meanwhile, Gasparde is a different kind of reformer, one that takes the ideas he had of him claiming to hate the game, and actually doing something with it.

He is far less progressive, has no love for elves, is far more warlike than Celene ever was... But unlike Celene, his ideas of reform isn't going to act within the grand game.

He's going to break it.

Unlike canon gasparde, this gasparde is hated by every single noble family in the entire empire. His only support, and it's a strong one, is the army. The parts of the army that supports Gasparde, and they are a huge part, are loyal to him personally to the hilt.

And he hates them back. He hates the game, he hates the way it cripples the empire, and he wants to change things. Like Celene he plans to break the serfs free of their chains, for the good of the nation and it's power and economy if not for any progressive reasons.

And he'a going to start with Halamshiral.

For this Gasparde isn't merely positioning men to stage a coup... He's planning to kill EVERY SINGLE NOBLE in Halamshiral. Evety man, every woman, every child there.

He's going to reform this empire by wiping out it's cancerous nobility in one fell swoop, and install himself as supreme dictator to see his reforms through, and wiping out the entire Orlesian nobility that might have opposed him, french revolution style.

And thus the Inquisitor has a dilemma.

Unlike Orzammar, where only one side was a reformer, both of these Orlesians are... But you have to choose one.

Do you choose Celene? The more progressive candidate, who wants a more peaceful Orlais going forward? But who is not willing to get ridd of the grand game to do so, thus making it a permanent risk that all her reforms will be undone...

Or will you support Gasparde, and by doing so be complicit in destroying the entire nobility of Orlais, many of whom are not guilty of the shit that Celene and Gasparde here both hate so much? Gasparde is far less likely to create a peaceful Orlais going forward... But he will have obliterated the Grand Game for good and all, a prize that might be worth this Red Wedding style bloodbath.

Meanwhile there is Briala, the elven spy who has enough influence to allow, or prevent Gasparde's plans from going through.

Here there should be another moral dilemma, quite different from the base game.

Do you convince her to aid Gasparde, in exchange for the Elves getting a duchy of their own in Halamshiral? Do you then back her up with Inquisition forces and support, forcing Him to publicly announce her as such, and trust his own, twisted version of honor to actually stick to it going forward(Something he ultimately does), or do you throw her to the Wolves the moment things get rough?

Or alternatively, do you convince her to side with Celene, and bury the hatchet? And if so, on what terms? And similarly, if she actually wants to get something out of this, you actually need to back her up... Something you may, or may not choose to do.

And voila, here you have an actual story of intrigue, massive, lasting political changes as a result of the Herald's actions, and morally grey on grey choices.

Everything that Denerim and Orzammar had in spades.

Now moving on from the plot to the actual place.

Halamshiral has no soul.

It's a french villa on a mountaintop. Whoop de freaking do.

It has no interesting murals, unique art only found there, interesting geography, or anything really to make it stand out.

Compare it to Denerim and Orzammar, and the way they fleshed out the entire city's levels of power and criminal underworlds, and you see the difference.

Denerim is a very realistic, squat, squalid medieval city, with it's buildings built on top of every single bit of available space.

Orzammar is a full on high fantasy dwarf city lit up by a lake of lava.

Halamshiral is a villa presented as a city.

How do you fix that?

There is an artist here on Tumblr who pretty much showcased what Halamshiral could have been, if they had taken the idea of the Dalish(who were the original owners) taking inspiration from native americans(amongst others), and use that to build a truly spectacular city, which has long ago been paved over, but the structure is still there.

Make it a city on the water, like the aztex capital of Tenochtitlan, a marvel of canals and stone.

Make it this Venezia like city, with canals everywhere you look, and the entire city running on water. A marvel of Dalish city building, where they took something as simple as a couple of islands in a lake, and built the most beautiful city in the world.

And rather than just limit you to the palace, instead let you actually explore this city.

Expand the entire event from one night, to a week.

Let the Herald explore the city, meet the players, interact with the nobles, become friends with a few like you could with Ferelden's bans, which in turn makes the possibility of sacrificing them for the greater good hit so much harder.

Let you choose what fancy stuff to wear to the balls and meetings, rather than have this stupid motto of forcing you to wear one, pre determined outfit like this game had for some reason.

Let you discover the places where what little Elven Architecture and art still remains can be found, and talk with the elves who still live here, the descendants after the first elves the Orlesians enslaved.

Make the plotting of Gasparde and the positioning of troops be gradual, not instantly discovered and twarted.

And at the end, if you choose to back Gasparde, you mirror that scene from Dragon Age 2, where the Templars sail across the bay, and you either step aside and witness the bloodbath you just allowed to happen, or you fight them and be recognized by the nobility(most of which are horrible, horrible people) as a hero who just saved the day.

Have the venatori plot be to kill both Gasparde and Celene, rather than their involvement mostly be about handing the player the the easy knife for the knot of which monarch to pick without having to get your hands dirty.

Also have the entire group be gathered for once. Every inner member of the Inquisition just like at Denerim.

Each of whom have their own thoughts on the events.

Who supports who? What is the right thing to do? What is better for the inquisition? Are you staining your honor beyond repair if you back Gasparde? Does the Inquisitor maybe have a breakdown after witnessing what they just allowed to happen and they walk through the gardens or rooms filled with corpses? Maybe have the scene at the end with the love interest be about a moment of them truly comforting their lover in the aftermath of it all, understanding(or not) that as boss, it's your job to have to make the tough decisions. And now you have to live with them.

Or if you wanna go the other way, this could be one of the breaking points like Origins had. If you support Gasparde, Blackwall choses to tell you to get bent, and that he will die as benefits a knight. Defending the week, and calling you out on how you are just as bad as he ever was, a child killer who's going to run away from responsibility, to pretend you are some better person than what you actually are. You're a murder. Just like he was. You are just as responsible for the blood that's flowing as he was with that carriage back in the day.

It would have been a far more impressive reveal moment for his crimes, that's for sure.

Cole probably would be the one who would be second most upset, but wheter he leaves or ultimately stays should probably be depended on your other choices and your relationship with him prior to this, probably have his personal quest be the determinating factor of what he chooses to do.

And i could go on, but point is, this would be a return to Origins choices actually mattering. There were choices that could make or break a characters bond with you. Shale would not budge regarding Caridin, Leliana and wynne would stand against you if you choose to defile the urn, Sevran would choose to betray you for his old friend if he didn't like you enough, and of course the age old choices at the end of act 3 in da2, where you have to pick between templars and Mages, as well as anders fate, and chances are regardless of what you do, at least 1 person ends up dead.

If anyone reading this has any suggestions for how to further improve this storyline, feel free to share, but regardless, i think we can all agree that this is a vast improvement of what we actually got.

[littlediscoveredstars]

Alright I’m on my Yugioh shit, but I think what Pegasus did to Seto Kaiba was waaaay more personal than any other Yugioh villain.

None of my thoughts are organized, but I’ll try to get it out in some kind of way that makes sense.

Let me first start by saying that Seto Kaiba is a minor through the whole series. This is important to his character, almost more than the others, because it is exactly what he’s trying to erase about himself.

Kaiba dresses himself up in outfits that accent his masculine features similar to how an adult will. His shoulder pads make his shoulders seem broader. His coat goes inward to give a very triangular shape to his torso. He’s got belts everywhere (and while yes, this is just the style of Yugioh, I believe it cannot be completely written off as just that).

At the base of it, Kaiba wants to be seen as an adult. He NEEDS to be. He runs a company and is in near constant threat of being taken advantage of by others. We see this many times throughout the show, especially by Pegasus.

Now, to connect things once again. Kaiba is a minor who was thrust into adulthood far too early, yet, he engages in child-like activities. Duel Monsters, while used for their ancient shadow games, is still just a game. A game Kaiba is OBSESSED with, to the point he becomes the face of the Blue Eyes White Dragon.

(Which is his symbol of power and autonomy over others, which further proves why he so badly hates the ancient talk, but that’s another essay)

Pegasus is the created (re-created, technically) of Duel Monsters. He made the paintings, the cards, the rules. He shows in many tournaments (assumed based off episode 2) and given how much Kaiba has won? I’m guessing they met before becoming business partners.

In short, it makes sense that Pegasus would be an important figure to Kaiba. Maybe an idol, an inspiration, or whatever it might be. Kaiba saw Pegasus and saw a man who’s game kept him alive through his years with Gozaburo, who gave him a connection to his own brother.

Pegasus is powerful. Pegasus has full control of his own actions. He is everything Kaiba wants and changed KaibaCorp. to be.

A little ways down the line, Pegasus becomes his business partner. Kaiba gets to work a littler closer with him. We never see what exactly that entailed besides letting Kaiba use the Blue Eyes (and other cards) without copyright issues and Pegasus using the holographic stages, but even that is a significant exchange.

(Makes me wonder if things hadn’t turned out the way they did, would Kaiba and Duke Devlin view him the same way?)

Then, Pegasus starts Duelist Kingdom. He uses Kaibams vulnerability to his advantage and steps in to take over. He kidnaps Mokuba, then takes his soul and shows it off like a trophy.

Pegasus has not just betrayed Kaiba’s trust, but he turned into a real person for Kaiba. It shows him that, just like everyone else, Pegasus is greedy and selfish. He takes what Kaiba worked so hard for, what he loves, just because he can. And he does so with the same smiles and teasing as before.

It’s beyond disappointment. This is heating your favorite person side with your abusers. This is a childhood hero watching you get kicked and laughing as he kicks you alongside them.

So, naturally, Kaiba won’t forgive him. We see in Battle City how bruised Kaiba’s ego is. He’s mad at Yugi, he’s mad at Izushi, no one is saved from his ire. Even Mokuba gets the short stick every so often. He is compensating BIG TIME and it’s directly connected to how things went over last season.

Might I add that Duelist Kingdom takes place less than a year after Kaiba took over KaibaCorp? This is a still pretty fresh CEO with some very big trauma that he simply has not dig into yet.

I think in a world where Pegasus was not so disillusioned by his own desperation to revive Cecelia, he would’ve been a good mentor to Kaiba. They both have a love for games, for the visual experience (painting and holograms) and they’re both very particular. Honestly, their traits would work relatively well, all things considered.

But it didn’t and we see Kaiba go through cycle after cycle of trying to get better and stumbling every step of the way.

Anyway, that’s my TedTalk. As a Pegasus enjoyed and Kaiba analysis, I found this topic very fascinating.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Do you know the anime Soul Eater? If you do please could you do yan!Malleus/yan!Lilia x weapon!reader.

P.S. you can choose the weapon form of the reader plus could you make it that they don’t need a meister?

I do know Soul Eater, Darling

Infact its one of my top favorites of all time

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

I love this concept so much

I can see you not being super open about this 

Like it's kind of something you realize that just isn’t normal in twisted wonderland

It isn’t until some dire situation that you feel the need to pull-up

Weapon Reader | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

Lilia Vanrouge 

Like imagine he just happens to be the first to find out 

You two are walking and by some bizarre occurrence a magical beast has been released on campus 

It's far past surviving overblot and instead is just a monster with full intentions to eat them

Lilia’s quick to react gaining a read on the situation 

Before brutally attacking with punches kicks 

To find that most are barely causing any damage

“If only I had a..wait! (Y/n)-don’t!”

You run up at speeds close to Silver’s as your arms become scythe blades

And through trained precision and expertise you are slice and dicing at this monster

Until it explodes in ink leaving behind an inky red looking soul floating 

Lilia is stunned as you causally change your arms back before stuffing the glowing ball into your mouth

“Mmmm, that's a different taste from home.”

If he had less decorum his jaw would be on the floor gaping at you like ‘what the heck did you just do!’ 

But he does so he thanks you and will probably continue hanging out with you like nothing happened

When asked by staff how the creature ended up like that he’d take responsibility before confronting you about how on earth you could do that

He happily listens as you tell him about the DWMA and how you apparently have the cursed blood type that lets you be a weapon

He’s enthusiastic about it and begs you to let him take you for a spin

You can refuse all you like but eventually you’ll cave or lose a bet 

And he’s happily swinging you around with some actual expertise

“Ugh I hate having a meister..”

“Oya? But I looove having you as my weapon!!”

He’s genuinely really excited about this 

Now he’s just begging you to come visit him back at Briar valley 

He’d have so much fun training with you!!!

But you resist quite honestly telling him how your not an object and that you don’t appreciate being treated like one

He nods and takes it in before continuing to pressure you into coming with him

Unbeknownst to you that isn’t the only reason why he’s desperately trying to make you come with him

He already loves you a lot

But he just isn’t willing to let you die off in the next 90 years

And even worse he probably won’t get to have all that time with you anyway

But seeing as you aren’t just human

He can exercise a few loopholes 

Not that he wouldn’t have tried anyways this just makes it easier

But until he can get you to agree to walk willingly into his trap home

He’ll just relish to showing off your soul bond when you let him wield you

Because he is insistent he will not fight otherwise

“Lilia!!! This natural Catasrophe will destroy the school if you don’t do something!” 

“Alright…but only if (Y/n)-chan will fight with me…”

“Sure was there ever a doubt?”

“As a weapon.”

“...”

“...”

“No.” “(Y/n) please!!! The school’s at stake!!!!”

“Ugh…fine.”

“Yay!!” 

Malleus Draconia

You guys are going strong before then

You might’ve mentioned in your late night talks

But he’ll dismiss it as a strange human metaphor that your using

But it isn’t until you guys start meeting past the late night talks near ramshackle 

Your in broad daylight enjoying some tea with your favorite dragon-fae 

Only to be discovered and rudely interrupted by Sebek

“HOW DARE YOU, ASSUME SUCH A DELICATE ROLE WITH HIM! I CHALLENGE YOU TO A DUEL TO SHOW YOU A LESSON, IN KNOWING YOUR PLACE!!”

You angrily accept despite everyone scolding him and screaming about how unfair this is considering your the weak magicless prefect of ramshackle dorm

So much so that Malleus gets discouraged from actually telling Sebek to back off

And because Crowley’s useless he facilitates this fight

Sebek is scoffing as he pulls out his magic stick and you stand there hands in your pockets as you wait for the count down

“Go!” 

He fires his hex barely able to see how fast you dodge before darting towards him at speeds he’s never seen

Punch to his neck

Punch to his gut, he drops his wand

You swing your leg past his shoulder cradling his head as it shifts

And for good measure you let your hand take on the blade form as well holding it to his neck

“I think this could be considered my win.”

Everyone is between cheering you on to being deathly scared of you as you back away from Sebek who is just trying to register how easily you actually almost killed him

Lilia and Malleus are both shocked before praising you on making him eat his words

Malleus will have  moped about you eventually dying to Lilia only for this new development to spur the bat-fae on

“Don’t fret my prince, the rules can be bent for someone with witches blood!! Kuku!” 

Not to mention any fear regarding your acceptance among the fae community can be silenced by the actual power of your existence

He’s in high spirits 

For him not only has it been discovered that you can actually handle being his spouse

But he also got to see you fight over him 

He’s not someone for jealousy despite his green eyes but he is one for grand gestures 

And you taking down his own guard to continue being his lover his friend

Its top tier romantic gesture for him

“What are you so smiley about?”

“Hmmm, nothing my child of man…i’m just feeling especially elated.”

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Masterlist

Hi! This is so I don't lose track of my fics so far. I thank you all for your kind reviews and reblogs, they make my day. Main is blueredwrites. Feel free to drop your thoughts be it in the form of asks, replies or reblogs. 😉

REQUESTS NOW CLOSED! SEE THE RULES HERE

What am I working on?

✨️ Indicates smut.

🪆 Indicates possibly triggering.

🍂 Indicates angst.

🧸 Fluff.

House of the Dragon

Alicent Hightower

Oneshots

Crime and Punishment ✨️🪆

The Queen and you get along wonderfully. After all, the strongest friendships are based on shared interests.

Speak now

Alicent is not too sure of how she feels about you. Or about the fact you just proposed to run away. But she is sure about how she feels about the wedding. 

Harwin Strong

Oneshots

Win some, lose some✨️

Harwin and his wife have a disagreement over communication skills. The end result is exactly as the title says.

Lemon cake ✨️

Harwin’s wife is a tough crowd.

Aemond Targaryen

Mini series

Death in four moves 🪆

Aemond and his new partner explore trusting again after SA.

Death in four moves 🧸

Whatever souls are made of 🍂🧸

MAD

Caught in the crossfire of your familiy's ploys, you never expected to catch the eye of the enemy.

Threads of fate

Oneshots

Last man on earth ✨️

No one told King Aemond about the Song of Ice and Fire. As the daughter of Rhaenyra, you have one last mission left.

Categorical✨️

Aemond needs to blow off some steam, so you offer to verbally spar with him. 

Last word ✨️

Aemond instructs you on the importance of protecting your virtue.

Push and pull ✨️

You just love riling him up. Especially on his name day.

Bouquet of Violets 🧸🍂

You are happy in your marriage, even if your husband can be quite hellish. It all starts to go wrong when a secret admirer shows up.

The Seamstress ✨️

Prince Aemond is your favorite client.

We light the way

House Hightower does not have dragons, but they have a magic of their own.

No masters or kings🪆

Aemond has issues around sex. The thought of being married to you, an angel, it's not helping.

Unforgivable

Aemond and you are tired of being pawns. Instead of chess, you decide to play draughts.

Daemon Targaryen

Oneshots

Honesty✨️

Daemon seduces his unwilling Lady Wife.

Mirror

Courting. Daemon's version.

Capital

You think you married the plainest woman on earth, and you look away for one second and suddenly she is not. Typical. At least, for Daemon.

A Thousand Words ✨️

You want to marry him. He wants to fuck you. The two things are not as incompatible as they sound. 

Violent delights 🪆

As a dornish princess, you live by one saying. All is fair in love and war. When Prince Daemon stumbles into your life, you start to reconsider your stance.

Lookalike

Inside the highest tower of the Red Keep, lives a girl with long silver hair...

Bestiary ✨️

Your husband and you do not speak the same language. During your wedding night, you find out that High Valyrian and the Common Tongue pale when compared to the way your bodies allow you to communicate.

Vūjigon ✨️

Companion piece to Bestiary. Daemon has been having sex without love his whole life. It's easy. Marriage should be more of the same, right?

The dragon has three heads ✨️

It's Viserys first day as a King. You and your twin see him off.

You wouldn't believe the things I have done for her ✨️

Daemon lives a dangerous life. You wish you could find a way to protect him, but you are too afraid of guns. Lucky you, Daemon has a plan.

Miniseries

Gold rush ✨️

Your whole life you have been Daemon’s voice of reason. Tonight, you choose to be the impulsive one. 

Little lamb✨️

After the death of Viserys Targaryen, CEO of Targaryen industries, his heirs get into a legal battle over the validity of the will. It's a terrible time to start fucking your sister's brother in law. So of course, you do just that.

Divine intuition ✨️🪆

My take on modern reader meets Daemon

Threads of Fate

Pyrite✨️

A nefarious plot to place Princess Rhaenys on the Iron Throne leaves you, a handmaid, as the sole witnesses. Deciding to save an innocent life, you find yourself an unlikely protector. But Prince Daemon does not make favors lightly.

Helaena Targaryen

Golden Chains✨️

Helaena isn't yours, but you are always hers

Rhaenyra Targaryen

Oneshots

Baby teeth

Cousins. You love them or you hate them. And Rhaenyra knows exactly how she feels about you.

Three-headed dragon ✨️

Three times Rhaenyra marked you, and one time you did too. Or snippets of the love story I so wanted to tell but didn’t feel confident enough to write.

Threads of Fate

Viserys Targaryen (Yuck)

The dragon has three heads ✨️

It's Viserys first day as a King. You and your twin see him off.

[lullaebies]

Hey hope you're doing well<3

Could you please write Jaehaerys' funeral ( i know i'm horrible 🥲) where his body will be burned like Targaryen rituals? Everyone is waiting for Helaena to say dracarys but she stands still so Aegon steps up and says it

I first have to tell you that this is insane brain twinning because because I have written this exact scenario in a reddit comment before, I gasped when I saw your ask!! wish I had a screenshot omg. Also writing this made me super emotional - I hope this heavy dosage of angst will hit well! —

The boy is laid in an unlit pyre, pale body surrounded by blue flowers that are more alive than him.

Forget-me-nots, are what those gentle blue blossoms are called. Helaena is as pale as the corpse she has been overwatching, the crowd surrounding the area just an illusion to a soul already departed, but in her state she still managed to yell her son deserved to have his favorite flowers around him.

Aegon didn’t know those were his son’s favorite flowers. They are unremarkable in color, dainty in shape; perhaps if he had known before, he would’ve been able to appreciate them some, but seeing them now, this way, makes him want to order every single one in the Seven Kingdoms to be plucked out of the ground.  

He dares not voice that order aloud. The ratcatchers dying didn’t clear out the shame, and tearing at flowers will not do so either. The weight of the boy would have been so light to carry in his arms, but now it is heavier than he could ever lift. The guilt made certain of it. And yet his own wife feels it a tenfold, he knows.

Helaena is by his side, but only Dreamfyre croaks and cries beside him; only Sunfyre answers to her. Mother is holding onto Maelor, conveniently far enough apart from them, enough so her daughter wouldn’t break into tears. Jaehaera found herself in the hands of a grandsire, face deep in his shirt, unable to look towards the pyre. He almost wishes he had any option to do the same, to try and forget — but no, there is no place for it, not anymore.

They have a septon read some blessings, before the boy is to be cremated. It’s a farce of a thing, to have anyone believe that the Seven who are One would bless his son in any way when the Crone already led his murderers to him, when the Mother did nothing when his head was sliced off. He almost wishes the septon was the one to be burned instead. But a sacrifice of a raggedy old man won’t bring a lively boy back.

When the man of the Faith finishes, Targaryen blood is due to say the final word, only they able to make the dragons lay one’s soul to rest. Helaena has switched out of that darned, bloody dress to say it; she bathed and combed her hair and wore her crown for this alone. He keeps himself quiet as he waits for her to say it. Aemond and Daeron are glaring daggers at anyone who dare show even the slightest impatience. Dreamfyre approaches, craning her neck above them. He thinks Helaena has steeled herself finally, and he sees her mouth move open, but it opens to no sound, and when it does give one, it is only a sob. Her shoulders turn as if to cave into themselves and he has to hold her arm to keep her still. She’ll drown them all with her tears before she burns the last remnant of their son.

She has been made to make that call once, already. To say what a mother should never say, and now she must say goodbye to a boy who should’ve been the one to see her off, many many years from now. She opens her mouth, but she cannot speak; Aegon doesn’t know if she’ll ever trust her own words again.

She looks to him when he touches her, the puffy bloodshot eyes being daggers of their own. Daggers, swords, scorpion bolts and all — and all they do is ask for mercy. I can’t, they say.

His eyes are pooling with tears as well, and Aegon swallows his emotions one by one. I can’t, either, he wants to say, it is my fault, his mind supplies. But then the silence around them is unbearable, and the crick in his neck reminds him of the crown they lost the boy for. Sunfyre approaches closer, without him saying a word, and he knows his choice is gone. This I must do.

His lip trembles in contempt. For who? The whole world perhaps, he thinks for a moment. This whole world that still breathes when he never had any air to begin with. May be only for myself. 

Aegon looks at the boy, one last time. To remember the face that has been sown back to the body, the cheeks that he has only ever pinched for moments brief, the brows that have once rose so high when he asked his questions, the lips that made his pouts just like his, full but sullen. But he at least knew how to make them into a bright smile, too.

“Dracarys.”

The golden rays made of fire envelop the pyre whole; Helaena’s face comes to hide against his arm, but Aegon is unable to look away. The blue flowers are scorched into ash, mixing with his remains. Forget-me-nots.

He won’t forget. Aegon knows his son will haunt him until he meets him once more, and he hopes he does. He hopes he chases after him the same way he used to chase him down the halls of the Keep, unrelenting and determined to remind him what he is supposed to be.

I’ll listen, this time. The father you’ll meet next would be one that avenged you, Jaehaerys.

[bengiyo]

Get to Know Me Tag :)

I was tagged by @telomeke and shaded by @lurkingshan.

do you make your bed?

Not usually, but I don't have a partner right now. I find that I'm actually really good at cleanliness when I have people in my space regularly. I am better about taking care of things when I'm doing them for the ease of others.

what's your favourite number?

14, but I couldn't tell you why. I think it has something to do with a girl named Ciara who I sat behind in elementary school.

what is your job?

I fix things for a government agency.

if you could go back to school, would you?

Probably. I didn't really know what I wanted to do when I went to college, and was far too much a mess at the time to study what I really should have. If I could do it and maintain my expenses, I'd retrain for my preferred profession.

can you parallel park?

Yes. I am the gay who drives.

a job you had that would surprise people?

I was paid for over two years to be really good at D&D.

do you think aliens are real?

So... I gotta be honest... I hate this question. This feels as loaded as the "Do you believe in God?" question. We are not aware of the existence of life on other planets, let alone sentient life. There is nothing for me to believe in. Do I hope that there are other intelligent beings out there? Yes. I think it would be really cool to engage in communication with a species that also crawled their way out of the muck and made it to space. I think there's much we could learn from each other about life and the universe itself. But belief is such a loaded term for me as a lapsed Catholic. I do not believe in aliens, but I hope that we'll get to meet some in the future.

can you drive a manual car?

Nope! Never needed to learn.

what's your guilty pleasure?

Hmm... Nothing really anymore?

tattoos?

Nah, I've always worked in the public sector in a way that hasn't made it an advisable choice, and I've rarely cared enough about something to mark my body with it.

favorite color?

Purple most of the time, but my wardrobe would say I'm in my green era.

favorite type of music?

I'm a soft rock 90s kid who embraced a lot of 2000s and later alternative. I've been on a huge synthwave kick lately. However, because I grew up in the 90s and remember the era of radio, I have a deep affection for Soul and R&B, classic rock, and pop.

do you like puzzles?

Yes? But not in a way that makes me yearn for them.

any phobias?

Probably falling, but that seems like a normal one for survival purposes.

favorite childhood sport?

Baseball! I was a shortstop.

do you talk to yourself?

Not often. I don't actually have an internal monologue, so I don't need to talk to myself often to get through it.

what movies do you adore?

This is...so difficult. I'm just going to name a ton of films: Pooh's Grand Adventure: The Search for Christopher Robin, Pacific Rim, Ghost Dog, Master and Commander, The Man From Earth, The Sum of Us, Big Eden, Kill Bill 1 and 2, Knives Out, Muppet Treasure Island, Gattaca, C.R.A.Z.Y., Weekend, First Blood, Robocop, Starship Troopers, Drive My Car, Nine Days, Really Love, Set it Off, Make the Yuletide Gay, Shelter, Pig, Kiki's Delivery Service, The Digimon Movie, Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon, Star Wars IV and V, Isa Pa With Feelings, The Way He Looks... and probably many more.

coffee or tea?

Coffee. Tea does so little for me.

first thing you wanted to be growing up?

A train conductor or an astronaut! Trains are so cool, and space is the final frontier! We have to boldly go where no one has gone before!

I'll tag @shortpplfedup, @negrowhat, @chicademartinica, @so-much-yet-to-learn and @happypotato48

[yanderes-galore]

Durnehviir from Skyrim, Platonic/Romantic intentions. Scenario where he's been so lonely in the Soul Cairn and aching for company - particularly Dov company - that when the Dragonborn/Dovahkiin arrives, he decides to prevent them from leaving. If headcanons are better for you to write it out, since you're new to Skyrim, that's also fine. - Scale Anon

I'll do a concept but I will mention your plot! I really did enjoy meeting him in the Dawnguard quest :) I think so far the Soul Cairn quest and the Mage College quests are my favorite. Man... I love dragons :D

Yandere Durnehviir Concept

Pairing: Platonic/Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Isolation, Kidnapping, Manipulation, Dubious companionship, Possessive behavior.

Being trapped in the Soul Cairn surely has to be lonely, right?

Durnehviir hasn't seen his own kind in forever, he also can't be killed.

He's forever meant to fly/roam the Soul Cairn with its endless sea of purple and blue.

That is until he meets you, a Dragonborn venturing into the Soul Cairn with a vampire in tow.

Durnehviir would meet you as he does in the game during the Soul Cairn section.

You come for the Elder Scroll, fight him, and gain his respect.

You'd be right that the undead dragon would crave your attention.

He feels so at home when he senses the Dovah blood within you.

He can feel it when you shout, he can sense it when you're near...

It feels so nice to have Dov company again.

Durnehviir may even be angered at the fact he can't follow you out of the Soul Cairn.

He may not trap you right away but it'll happen with time.

As much as it pains him he'll let you leave after some chat.

He teaches you his shout for you to call his name, in fact he hopes you call his name.

Having a chance to feel the sun of Tamriel and speak with you, even if it isn't for that long, gives him something to look forward to.

Durnehviir even asks if you'll visit him in the Soul Cairn since you're attuned to it now.

Durnehviir then becomes a dragon you feel you can trust, an undead guardian with skills in Necromancy.

Affection between Dragonborn and Dragon is something I feel I should discuss.

For the most part it's respect, verbal communication between Dov is enough to show care.

However, the idea of something more physical feels tempting to write.

Durnehviir certainly yearns for some sort or company with his own kind.

If for some reason during your chats you feel compelled to, say... stroke his face in a gentle manner... it's divine.

He finds himself surprised at the affectionate gesture but does not fight it.

In fact... he'd stay as still as he can just to not disturb you from your moment.

If dragons could purr then he's certainly purring (Growling? Rumbling?).

Durnehviir begins to grow attached to your company.

He could talk to you for hours.

He loves your touch, he loves it when you shout his name to call him, at this point he feels he is loyal to you ever since you proved yourself to him.

You are a worthy Dovahkiin and the last of your kind.

So... do you really expect him to just let you leave him alone in the Soul Cairn?

Your greetings are often verbal, perhaps even shouts.

Yet Durnehviir admits he likes pressing his snout into your chest playfully due to your size difference (even if it's OOC but let me indulge).

If Durnehviir feels he can't be alone anymore then he could trap you in the Soul Cairn.

He can't really die, he always comes back into being within the Soul Cairn.

He's quick with it, too.

Even if you tried to escape the Soul Cairn after one of your visits, Durnehviir suddenly blocks the way.

The large undead dragon stares you down, eyes flaring with a certain passion to them

It reminds you of the blue glow the skeletons have in this place.

Durnehviir doesn't really feel bad for trapping you.

He can't take the loneliness any longer.

Plus, dragons eventually go back to their possessive roots and cravings for power.

In his eyes he's the closest Dovah to you and he plans to keep it that way.

Is it wrong to guard the Soul Cairn's gate to keep you with him? Maybe....

That's not even mentioning the prophecy you're meant to fulfill.

Instead of thinking about the future, Durnehviir wishes to fulfill his own desires.

He'll keep you here as company, his little Dovahkiin.

In the Soul Cairn there's no need to worry about food or living needs.

Here you have no such desires.

All you have now is the ghosts to talk to.

Even then, Durnehviir prefers to keep you isolated beside him.

You both won't ever feel lonely.

He'll take you to a tower or castle within the Soul Cairn and keep you there.

He'll curl around you and keep you under his wing, just so he can look at you with his eyes alone.

This is where you're meant to be.

You're meant to be with a fellow Dov, even if you are not fully Dovah.

Durnehviir will be the only company you'll ever need.

You could always try to slay him again, but he'll come back.

No matter what you do... Durnehviir will always be waiting at the gate of the Soul Cairn to retrieve you.

He refuses to be left here all alone...

So he'll make you stay here as his Dovahkiin... one he can adore and care for all of eternity in the Soul Cairn.

[amatchinwater]

Red String / Eddie Munson x fem!Reader (soulmate AU)

Summary: At nineteen, everyone's red string that ties them to their soulmate appears on their pinkies. You find out in the middle of a Hellfire campaign that it's attached to Eddie, your childhood best friend. Nervous that he might not want you, you lie about it. Being able to see your soulmates string, Eddie confronts you later at your place.

Warnings: 18+(seriously, I will block you), explicit sexual content (fingering, oral m and f receiving, deep throating, p in v sex), unprotected sex (reader on pill, but seriously, wrap it before you tap it people), light angst with a happy ending, slight dom!Eddie, choking, what could be seen as subspace, aftercare

Words: 4033

a/n: I've been having so much fun with these ideas. Working on a part 2 for Collecting Strays! And have a song fic coming too. Send a request if you'd like to my loves 💚 (Master list)

Not my gif, credit to creator!!

You knew.

Right down to the fucking minute you turned nineteen years old, you knew. Eddie Munson was your soul mate. You watched that night during the group’s latest Hellfire campaign. They were willing to postpone it because it was your birthday, but there wasn’t anything better you could think to do spend your night doing. To be perfectly honest, the only reason you were paying so close attention was because everyone kept pestering you about it showing up. 

Dustin was all too excited about it. Saying that he’d remembered the day Steve saw his string show up. That he wanted nothing more than another one of his best friends to be one step closer to happiness. It’s almost like he’d expected you to drop everything and run blindly until you find the source of it or something. 

What you weren’t prepared for was it to show up and be quite possibly the shortest string in existence. Because from where you sat beside Eddie, your pinkies were not even two inches apart from one another. You noticed it before anyone else, seeing as they were thankfully preoccupied from a dragon guarding its keep. Your eyes widened when Eddie just so happened to move his hand to his face and you could see the string grow. 

Eddie’s twenty. He’s had to have known of his string’s existence prior to now. Which leads you to believe that he knows that it’s attached to you. And has said nothing about it. Not even a peep. That doesn’t really sit right with you. Because that translates to Eddie doesn’t want you. To be frank, why would he? 

You two practically grew up together. Your trailers are all of three lots away from one another. There’s literally pictures of you two in the bathtub together when you were still in diapers. There isn’t a single person in the room, probably not even yourself, that knows you better than he does. And you’re far from the cheerleader type that Eddie seems to be attracted to. Like Chrissy Cunningham, his latest conquest. Whereas she’s all ponytails and cheer uniforms, if you wear a skirt, much like tonight, it’s with torn fishnets and combat boots. 

So when Dustin noticed the way your eyes widened at your pinky finger, he lit up with excitement. And you lied through your teeth, saying that it headed towards the door before fading. Trying to make it seem like it couldn’t be anyone in the room at the very least. But Dustin only shook it off, saying that the same thing happened to Steve. You could feel Eddie’s eyes burning into the side of your face the whole time. 

It put you on edge for the remainder of the night. 

He only seemed more ruthless in his duty as Dungeon Master. 

Only Erica made it out alive.

You didn’t know what to think about any of it. So when it was time to leave, you all but bolted out the door and drove straight home. Barely even saying goodbye to the troup calling after you in your haste.

Sitting in silence wasn’t ever something you were really capable of doing. So you shoved your favorite Metallica tape in your cassette player and hoped to every god that it would drown your thoughts out. You’ve rewound the tape to listen to For Whom the Bell Tolls about four times already before you decide to grab a drink from the kitchen. Yanking open the fridge, the fluorescent light illuminates the string around your pinky as you grab a can of mountain dew. 

Glaring at the thread angrily, you slam the fridge closed. Popping the tab on the can, you bring the drink to your lips only to be startled by your front door being shoved open. You only barely manage to not spill it on yourself as Eddie storms into your house, not even looking at you as he stalks down the hallway. 

“What the fuck, Eds? Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” You call after him, trying to yell over the music. Which he promptly turns off. “What the fuck?” You repeat, putting your drink on the counter to follow him. It’s not like he’s unwelcome in your place, but what the fuck kind of entrance was that? “What’s your deal?”

“Why’d you lie?” Eddie asks where you find him pacing around your room, biting his nail, leather jacket and vest discarded on your bean bag chair. 

You bite away the knee jerk ‘hello to you too,’ as confusion pulls your eyebrows together. You don’t recall lying to him about anything. At least not directly. “What?” 

“Henderson,” Eddie pulls his thumb out of his mouth, stopping in his tracks to look at you wildly. “Why did you lie to Henderson?” Shock stills your features and all you can do is stare at him like a deer in the headlights. “Your string,” he doesn’t point to your finger, rather wiggles his own, “you know exactly where it goes. Did you think I couldn’t see it after it appeared on your hand? Did you think I wouldn’t care? Do you not want me?” 

His words sound accusatory and you can’t for the life of you imagine why. Being with Eddie would be the best thing you could possibly ask for. You’ve been in love with the guy ever since fourth grade and he punched Jason in the face for pulling your braid. But not once in the entire time you’ve known Eddie has he ever once looked at you that way. If there weren’t pom poms involved, he wasn’t either. 

“What does it matter if you don’t want me?” 

“What?” He snaps, but his surprise is crystal clear in his bulged eyes. “I don’t want you? You? What kind of bullshit is that? Are you fucking kidding me?” 

Rolling your eyes, casting them to your ceiling, you let out a huff, “no, Eds, I’m not kidding.” When you look back at him, you see his gaze is fixated on your connecting thread, moving his own back and forth as it elongates and shortens with his movements. “Pretty sure the last we all heard, you and Chrissy were fucking in the woods like rabbits, so…” you trail off, not even sure where your train of thought was going to begin with. 

Quit while you’re ahead, right?

Simply knowing that this isn’t a conversation you want to be having right now, you clamp your mouth closed. You don’t want to listen to Eddie tell you that because your string showed up that he’s going to stop whatever he has going with the head cheerleader to be with you. Or even worse, that he doesn’t care that it’s there and is going to continue to be with Chrissy regardless. Either option hurts and cracks your heart inside your chest. You won’t be someone’s second choice. You won’t. 

“I’m fucking- Chrissy and I- what the actual fuck are you talking about?” Eddie’s face contorts further with confusion, the slightest trickle of anger seeping through the cracks. “I’m not fucking Chrissy. Nor do I plan to.” He scoffs, “I’m here because you saw your thread and didn’t bother saying that it was attached to me. You’re the one who doesn’t want this.” 

“I never said-” your words are silenced by Eddie suddenly being an inch away from your face, ring clad hand pinning you to the wall by your throat. Not constricting your air, but enough of a squeeze to indicate that whatever you were planning on saying, Eddie doesn’t want to hear it. “Eds,” his name comes out a mere whimper, your body falling pliant to him, core aching with a need that’s only gotten worse in the years you’ve known him. Your fingers white knuckle the denim of his vest, silently begging for him to not back away.

Eddie halfheartedly sneers at you, “I don’t want to hear another lie, princess.” The nickname he’s always had for you sends a shiver down your spine. His free hand brushes a few strands from your forehead. “I want the truth, do you understand?” He points at you, fingers gently squeezing your throat in warning. “Is the thought of being with me really that abhorrent to you?” 

“No!”

He squeezes again, “why lie then?” 

“Because I thought you wanted Chrissy. I- I thought that there’s no way you’d want the girl you grew up with. The one who you watched get braces and taught how to drive. Every girl you’ve ever drooled after has been different versions of Little Miss Perfect. That’s not me, Eds,” tears well in your eyes, one spilling down your cheek that he stares at. “It’s not like you ever said anything about yours either.” 

Eddie scoffs lightly through his nose, wiping the cascading tear before it can reach your chin. “That’s because mine was black when it appeared,” he explains and your eyes widen. “I thought my soulmate was dead. Turns out it was just because yours hadn’t shown up yet. Can’t have a proper tether if the other half doesn’t exist yet. I saw yours wrap around your pinky and bleed color into mine, I almost choked. You can’t see anyone’s string but yours and your soulmate’s.” Eddie looks down, shaking his head, “but then you told Henderson it went out the door and I thought it could only mean that you didn’t want it to be me.” 

“Far from it, Eddie,” you whisper, one of your hands trailing up to the one still holding your throat. You grab his wrist, fingers twitching around his skin, “it was just my own way of trying to not deal with rejection. I can take anyone turning me down- not that I want anyone else,” you break off on a sigh. “I couldn’t handle the look in your eyes if you told me you wanted someone like Chrissy over me. I couldn’t. So I lied to save myself,” more tears fall from your eyes, blurring your vision as more well up. “Eddie, I’m in love with you.” 

The corner of his mouth begins to curl in a smile but he schools himself. “Prove it,” Eddie says, dropping his hand and taking a few steps back. You look at him perplexed, his emotions almost giving you whiplash, but you consider how his own emotions and your lie must have made him feel. “You can say all kinds of things, but those are just words.” Eddie crosses his arms to his chest, “so prove it.” 

Shaky legs carry you across your room to him as he squares his shoulders. Slow, tentative hands reach out, one uncrossing his arms, the other brushing along his cheekbone to cup his jaw. You take a nervous breath, wrapping an arm around his back, stepping closer. 

“You could just admit you don’t want this, princess,” Eddie says. But his voice is thick and you can see the hope glistening in those brown eyes that he doesn’t want you to stop. 

“Fuck off,” you whisper, inching closer, “I’m just nervous.” 

The stoic mask on his face cracks only just, “would you like me to help you?” Eddie’s fingers grip the waistband of your skirt tightly. 

You want to have the courage to just dive in and kiss him, but you don’t. There’s still some small part of you that’s scared that this is a trick. Some way to get back at you for lying to him. For denying him. For making Eddie think that there’s some world where you don’t want him. As if a world like that exists. You almost think you’d deserve it too. Staring into his eyes, parting your lips as you pant your breath, you nod, “please.” 

Eddie yanks your chest flush, making you gasp. The sound swallowed by his mouth colliding with yours. It’s dizzying and makes your heart palpitate beautifully in your chest. The red string on your pinky tingling warmly when his tongue slips into your mouth, deepening the kiss as your back meets the wall again. His hand finds home around your throat again, cold rings flaring goosebumps on your skin. 

Hiking your skirt up with his free hand, his fingers ghost the band on your panties and your legs spread on their own. You whine into his mouth, pussy throbbing in anticipation, arousal soaking through the material. He chuckles at your needy noises, “not yet. On your knees, princess.” You drop to the floor without a second thought, looking up with wide eyes. Eddie cups your chin, a grin curling the corner of his mouth, “you mean it, don’t you? You’re so sorry that you’d let me do anything, wouldn’t you?” 

“Apology or not,” you swallow thickly, “I would.” 

For the first time of the night, Eddie genuinely smiles at you, stroking your cheek. “Good girl,” his thumb drags along your bottom lip, pulling it down until you open your mouth. “Just a little more and I’ll give you what you want, okay?” His voice is deep, husky, yet so sweet in its sincerity. Like there’s a small part of Eddie that does want to punish you for your transgressions but the other part, perhaps the bigger one, that would never hurt you wants you to know that you’re everything to him. No matter what. 

An assurance in his kind eyes despite the hardened features. You cling to that. Your heart clings to that. To Eddie. Your soulmate. The one you’ve loved longer than you’ve known what love is. So you nod, keeping your eyes locked on him while he unbuckles his belt and tosses in on the floor. Without thinking, you reach out for the button of his jeans, but you freeze, arms falling back to your thighs and you drop your gaze. 

“That eager you want to do it yourself?” Eddie asks, mildly teasing, but you’re too turned on to care. 

Batting your eyelashes, you look up at him again, “can I?” 

Eddie holds his arms out, “I’m all yours, princess. Take what you want.” 

With his affirmation, you hastily unbutton his jeans, yanking the denim down to his ankles, fighting off a growl at the shoes still on his feet. Eddie chuckles cheekily at you, petting your hair as he toes out of them, kicking his pants to the side as well. Face to face with the bulge in his boxers you salivate, fingers curling in the waistband you look up again to find dilated brown eyes hungrily watching you. 

Steeling your nerves, you pull them down, eyes widening at the detailed upside down bat on his thigh. One of the few tattoos of his you’d never seen before. Dreaming of Eddie naked and seeing Eddie naked are two totally different things. His cock is beautiful. Hard and at attention, the vein and dribbles of precum having you ready to drool. Gripping at the base, you flatten your tongue out and lick up his shaft, moaning as the salty, sweet substance coats your taste buds. 

“Fuck,” Eddie hisses, running his fingers through your hair. Swirling your tongue around the angry cockhead, you take him into your mouth slowly. Savoring the taste of him, gently bobbing your head to get him slick. “Just like that, princess,” his grip tightens once you suck with fervor, taking him as deep as you can go. 

With a newfound sense of courage and his moans egging you on, you relax yourself and take him to the back of your throat. Careful of your breathing so you don’t gag. 

“Fuck!” Eddie holds you harder, keeping you in place. Your brain goes nice and fuzzy, the rest of your air escaping your nose. Unable to hold your breath any longer, you pat his thigh and he pulls you off. While you gasp for air, he crouches to meet you, “shit, I’m sorry, are you okay?” 

Your eyes are unfocused when they find his face. Drool dripping from your bottom lip, you grin, “I wasn’t done yet.” Eddie pulls back, shocked and you push him to sit on your floor, bending down to take his dick back in your mouth. Moaning, sucking with a goddamn purpose, loving the way his thighs twitch every time he hits the back of your throat again. 

“Jesus Christ,” he whispers, reaching behind you to pull your skirt up to your waist, grabbing your ass. “Fuck, you’re perfect,” Eddie groans, hips bucking on their own and you moan again. “Ah, okay, fuck, princess,” he growls as you go faster, lost in the feeling of him in your mouth. “Keep going like that and I’m gonna be done embarrassingly quickly.”

“Sorry,” you rasp out, wiping the residual drool from your lips. 

“Don’t apologize,” he cups your jaw, “I’m just not done with you yet.” Eddie crashes his mouth to yours, taking nearly the last of your brain cells away with his tongue asserting dominance over yours. 

Without further ado, Eddie rushes up, pulling you along with him. Before you can even stumble to find your footing, he’s lifting you by your waist and depositing you on your bed. You watch with glassy, hooded eyes as he does the stupidly sexy back pull to get his shirt off. You nearly choke, it’s been years since you’ve seen Eddie without a shirt on. He’s stunning and your thoughts go right out the window. Leaving only lust and hunger in their wake. 

You’re not even allowed a moment to feel weird about still being fully clothed either. Your skirt being dragged off your legs, ring clad fingers running up your thighs, squeezing as they go. Kneading the flesh, flaring goosebumps and little gasped moans from your lips. In your own haste to get naked, you manage to yank your shirt off. Having already been home for a bit, your bra and fishnets have long since been discarded. 

Left in only your panties, Eddie’s eyes rake over you hungrily, “so beautiful,” he whispers. Trailing kisses and love bites up your legs, stopping when he reaches your underwear. His warm breath ghosting over the wet fabric, you slump to your back, opening your legs in offering for whatever he may be willing to do to you. One finger crooks, pulling the material aside to reveal your glistening pussy, gently toying your folds as you sigh. The finger dips inside, your walls clenching around the intrusion, begging for more. 

Eddie chuckles at you, “so needy, princess,” he coos, adding another finger. Hooking them, he hits that spongy part inside of you and you keen, eyes rolling back. Dropping his head, his hair tickles your thighs. But the giggle dies in your throat, breaking off into a loud moan, his tongue swirling around your clit. Eddie thrusts his fingers faster, every breath of yours coming out a moan or a whine for more. “You taste fucking amazing,” he groans, lapping at you until your thighs shake and your stomach tightens. 

Your orgams smacks you right in the face, your head throwing back into your pillow as you cry out for him. “E-Eddie,” you whine, trying to pull his face back, too sensitive from having just come while his tongue and fingers effortlessly work you towards another. The second is no less intense than the first and you breathe out a silent scream, fingers fisting in the sheets and his curls. 

Eddie groans against you, vibrating you straight to your core. Placing a gentle, teasing kiss to your throbbing, swollen clit, he pulls his fingers out. No chance to beg for more because he’s in your face, shoving his tongue down your throat and swallowing every needy moan you let loose. His cock rubs against your pussy, slicking you up with your own release before sinking into you fully. “Oh, princess,” he moans against your mouth, pulling back to just the tip and slamming back in, “you feel perfect.” 

A guttural moan breaks past your lips as he keeps the same pace, your nails digging into his shoulders. You try to spread your legs more for him, but with his cock inside you, the lace of your panties restricts you. Whining, you paw at them to try and get some movement to no avail. 

Something Eddie notices and he leans back, effortlessly tearing the fabric off and tossing it to the ground. You let out an indignant squeak. Those were your favorite pair. “I’ll buy you new ones, princess,” he grins at you, gripping your hips and thrusting faster. You watch in awe as Eddie lifts your hand to his mouth, kissing the pinky with your thread, making it glow. 

Your eyes roll back, his cock hitting that sweet spot with a force that slams your headboard against the wall and your legs spasm. Your orgasm ripples through before you’d even processed that it had started to swell inside you. 

“Good fucking girl,” he growls, working you through the waves before pulling out of you and flipping you over. The moment your knees settle into the mattress, Eddie’s back inside you. Gripping your hips enough to leave bruises, he pounds into you. Thrusting into you with abandon and all you can do is scream through your moans and hold on for the ride. “I’m gonna come inside you, princess,” Eddie sounds breathless, voice strained at the thought alone. 

Turning your head enough to see him over your shoulder, “please, please, Eddie,” you beg. Wanting nothing more than to feel him spill inside of you. You didn’t press about him wearing a condom and you’re on the pill, so it’s not like it matters. You want it so bad that it hurts, so you push back, meeting every powerful slam of his hips. The thought of it alone is enough to make you come again, Eddie’s cock inside you practically demands it.

“That’s my girl,” he coos, bringing his hands up to your shoulders to drive himself as deep as possible. “God, I fucking love you,” Eddie groans, hips stuttering as he comes, but he doesn’t stop. Rather lets the heat of his seed and his continued jabs at your bundle of nerves fly you over the edge of another orgasm. 

You tremble through it, your cries being silenced by your sheets while you claw at them. Eddie gently pulls out of you, laying down and pulling you half on top of him, his erratic breaths beginning to calm. You feel dazed out of your mind in the best way possible, the thought of opening your eyes sounds stupid. So you keep them closed, not caring that your light is still on or that you can feel his come leaking out of you onto your bed. You’re too busy trying to remember what it’s like to breathe properly again.

“You still with me?” He asks and you nod, humming softly at the hand lovingly stroking your back. A shiver wracks your frame. “Are you okay?” Eddie asks while you pant against his chest and he strokes your hair soothingly. “Was it too much?” 

You shake your head no, hoping it’s like that all the time. It was perfect, but words are not something your brain can properly handle forming right now. “Loved it. ‘S just cold,” you mutter, trying to cling to every inch of his warm skin touching you. 

He kisses your temple, “here, princess,” Eddie reaches off the edge of the bed, grabbing a shirt and helping you into it. Looking down, you see it’s his own Hellfire shirt he’s given you to warm up with before his arms lock around you again and pull you to his chest. Eddie wiggles you both for a moment until your blanket covers you both. “Better?” He asks, his heartbeat echoing in your ears like the softest bass drum. 

“Much,” you sigh contentedly, nuzzling into him. 

“Do you need anything?” Eddie murmurs into your hair, tracing shapeless designs on your arm. “Water? Something to eat?” You shake your head no. “Tell me if that changes,” he sighs peacefully, holding you close.

“This isn’t a dream, right?” You mumble, half awake. “You’re here? You’re actually mine?” 

Eddie squeezes you tighter, kissing your head again, “not a dream. I’m yours, princess.” 

[greeksorceress]

“to lucerys.” jacaerys starts, “the last time we saw each other before my leave was in spring, which might not be too long for some, but my heart has missed you greatly.”

lucerys looks up at him with doe, glassy eyes, timidly smiling at jacaerys while his fingers dance over the rim of his cup. lucerys’ stomach hurts from the nerves and the anticipation, for what he can’t tell. 

jacaerys is right, some moons have passed since lucerys bade him his farewell by the dragon pit, anxiously watching over jacaerys to make sure he tied tightly his bags to the mount and fastened himself properly to his dragon. jacaerys had hugged him briefly and tightly before flying north, and now the man that is rising his cup to lucerys looks nothing alike the boy he sent off.

jacaerys’ smile is broad, all high cheekbones and cutting jawline where the boyish roundness used to be a year ago. his shoulders are wider, his arms are bigger and he looks handsome, taller, stronger.

lucerys’ throat bobs as he comes to realise this, and promptly feels himself flush upon the fact that he had noticed such a thing in the first place. he wants to drain the wine and drown his thoughts with it, but jacaerys is not finished with his name day toast. 

lucerys’ name day celebrations are as ostentatious as they can get. it isn’t a surprise, though, every single soul in the realm knows king viserys would never do less for his favorite child’s favourite child. everything around lucerys feels like a blur of gold and lights and copious plates of piquant food. he knows it must have been his mother, the crown princess rhaenyra targaryen had watched like a hawk over the preparations, and not a single arrangement had been carried out without bearing her scrutiny. daemon’s deadly stare right behind his mother had done nothing but help her case, too.

it has been worth it so far.

“the memories of my youth that i hold the closest to my heart are the ones that i share with you. it’s been an honor to be by your side as a boy, and i hope to continue doing so as we both mature. to prince lucerys,” jacaerys repeats, “the realm’s second delight, the velaryon pearl, the light of his family and the heart of his lēkia.”

lucerys’s apple cheeks redden as the guests toast to him, too. “hear, hear!”

he takes a sip from his drink and makes the mistake of finding aemond’s eye already staring at him. 

he almost chokes on his drink, confused and alarmed. it never meant anything good when aemond stared at him like that. it was unsettling, lucerys’ hand was already itching under the coolness of his glass, his heart rabbiting in his chest. 

he doesn’t back down, though, because there’s something that he really likes about the way in which aemond looks at him, too. it makes his head feel ditzy sometimes with emotions he doesn’t understand. his mouth tastes like blood and his veins thrum with it, and there’s some beauty in the danger that aemond targaryen supposes that makes lucerys want to whine.

aemond is promising him something with his burning amethyst, and he wants it so much he could sob.

the moment halts to a stop when jacaerys tucks a curl behind lucerys’ ear and leans down to whisper, “you only deserve the best.”

lucerys can’t help himself when he leans towards the hand that is touching him, and barely keeps down a pleased purr when jacaerys cups his cheek lovingly. can jacaerys feel the mighty fire of his blush too?

he looks back at aemond, like it’s a reflex he hasn’t mastered yet, and jumps with what he sees. aemond’s face remains stony, indescribable, but where passion was simmering few moments ago in that lone orb, a newfound rage scorches the spot in lucerys’ face that jacaerys is touching.

the table and cutlery tremble as aemond slams his fist against it and stands up abruptly, waiting for all the guests to turn their attention to him. he raises his cup and snarls, “final tribute.”

[citrusses]

July 2023: AO3 Wrapped 🎁🍊

A monthly roundup of *some* of my favorite fics of the year.

January | February | March | April, May, June | July | August | September | October | November | December

A Saviour’s Guide to Manners and Decorum by @wolfpants (E, 13K)

Honorary Minister Harry Potter (yes, he's fully aware his job title is meaningless, and he quite likes it that way) is a disaster at public events.

Listen, if there's two things I will never, ever, ever get enough of it is etiquette lessons and longing. This fic is perfect to me.

Everybody Hates a Tourist by @wolfpants (E, 51K)

On a stag do in sunny Brighton with the Gryffindor lads, the last person Harry expects to run into is Draco Malfoy.

Started reading this at night and went, sorry, sleep, you aren't happening. Could not rest until I finished it. The most beautiful discovery of love and oneself.

Fledgling by @tackytigerfic (G, 3K) 

Two young dads meet at a farmers market. They exchange parenting tips, longing looks, and root vegetables.

This is so very, very lovely in a chaotic (newborns!!), achingly sweet way. In my head this is "*The* Drarry dads fic."

heaven to gaudy day by @maesterchill (M, 809)

Istanbul. The morning after the night before. And Malfoy's in a mood.

Under 1000 words of pure gorgeousness.

I only want the ones I envy (I envy) by @porcelainheart3 (E, 13K)

Despite this arrangement he has with Draco, conducted entirely in the privacy of a dusty stationery cabinet, Harry is definitely not gay. But to appease his friends, he agrees to go on one (1) date with a man. Just to be sure.

ABSOLUTE TREAT, SUPREME BANGER. A confection of a fic -- the dialogue, the details, all adding up to a densely-packed, seven layer slice of dessert.

Muscle Memory by @corvuscrowned (E, 8K) 

There's something just beneath the surface, just at the periphery of Harry's mind. They've been here before — they've done this before. If only he could remember it.

I think this has my favorite last line of a fic all year. Maybe ever. This is exactly the kind of narratively layered, brilliant and beautifully captivating fic that Crow has done so well so many times. A gift.

Rich Friend by @sorrybutblog (E, 19K)

As far as Harry can tell, Draco Malfoy is still rich as hell. He’s just not a wizard anymore. Featuring: Draco Malfoy trying to make it as a Muggle pop star, Harry Potter as our confused and horny hero, bad driving, good music, and the mysterious magic of falling for someone.

LKSJ:FLKJSD. I mean, this is a perfect Harry POV fic, the most believable Drarry dynamic in the midst of a fic about Draco as a Muggle pop star named Dragon, the "I'm with the band" fic I didn't know I needed. I love it with my whole soul.

Sun Thief by @floydig, (E, 28K)

It’s 2005, and Draco Malfoy says, “Fuck the Ministry,” Harry works as a handyman in muggle London, and Draco should really stop pissing off the Squib gangs.

Bracingly original, thrilling to read, does not hold the reader's hand at all and just throws you into it -- fantastic.

Waking Up Slow by @sweet-s0rr0w (E, 22K)

'Twas the night before Christmas, although it’s July/Draco’s a shopkeeper, no-one knows why/There’s hiking and witch caves, freak snowfalls and more/Bad Christmas jumpers, nosy neighbours galore/Narcissa’s here too, but… something’s amiss/And what’s in those chocolates that’s making them kiss?

No one can make me SEE a fic the way Sweet does. The writing in this is so tangibly gorgeous, the love story is so tender and sweet and funny and lovely. The most charming of fics.

[wen-kexing-apologist]

15 people, 15 questions

I got tagged by: @rocketturtle4 and @italianpersonwithashippersheart

1. are you named after anyone?

One of my names is shared with a family member.

2. when was the last time you cried?

Probably a day or two ago, my mother is re-homing the dog sometime in January which I am very opposed to, but this trip is the last time I'll see her so I've been very emo.

3. do you have kids?

Not at the moment

4. what sports do you play/have you played?

Swords! hehe, stabby stab.

5. do you use sarcasm?

Oh, probably like 90% of the time, yeah.

6. what’s the first thing you notice about people?

Difficult question, I think it depends on the person and how I met them. I feel like I tend to latch on to people's personalities more than anything else.

7. what’s your eye color?

Not stupid big brown baby cow eyes, even though my commentary on the sort is at least a fraction of my brand on this website.

8. scary movies or happy endings?

Yes. I will not pick one because I think both are important and serve different purposes. Not every story needs a happy ending, not every movie needs to be scary. When I do watch scary movies, I prefer them to be hauntings, so like Haunting of Hill House is one of my favorite pieces because it is just so fucking beautiful. When I think a story really deserves a happy ending it is when the characters have suffered through so much and are finally granted peace.

9. any talents?

I will take a chance not to self-disparage and say that I think I have many talents, just like everyone else has many talents.

10. where were you born?

The best country in the world (SARCASM) 'Murica.

11. what are your hobbies

I mean...I think most people who follow me on this website know what my current primary hobby is, I have 70+ pieces of evidence on it pinned to my page lol. But otherwise, sword fighting and Dungeons and Dragons, so you know...nerdery.

12. do you have any pets?

None that are actually mine.

13. how tall are you?

About average

14. favorite subject in school?

English, Science, honestly the only class I really hated with any level of passion was pre-calc. Fuck pre-calc.

15. dream job

Used to be physician, but I am so far outside of that field now it's hilarious. I'm young, dumb, and trying to get over burnout so I have not been thinking about my future like that for the last year, and it's been amazing.

tagging some friends I do not plague daily with messages: @solitaryandwandering, @wanderlust-in-my-soul, @negrowhat, @dribs-and-drabbles, @telomeke

[grumpygreenwitch]

The Witches and Wizards Job 39-40-41-42-43

THIS IS IT.

As always, thank you so much for coming along for the ride. It always makes me wriggle a little in goblin-glee to see the little like and/or reblog notifications.

If you made it this far, and you have the patience to answer a few questions, I would appreciate it. If not, that's fine. Just please, bear in mind that reblogs heal my soul, and they cost you nothing. Also, you get a cookie if you can guess what creature the Dredgers are modeled after.

Favorite scene? Favorite OC?

AO3 Link

Buy me a Ko-fi?

Remember: Tumblr has no algorithm. Reblogs give me life.

1-2 + 3-4 + 5-6 + 7-8 + 9-10-11 + 12-13-14 + 15-16 + 17-18-19 + 20-21-22 + 23-24-25 + 26-27-28 + 29-30 + 31-32-33 + 34-35-36 + 37-38 + 39-40-41-42

THIRTY NINE

I woke up on a relatively soft surface, which was more than I'd expected. Someone had put a pillow under my head, and there were quiet voices nearby, much louder ones further away. The warmth of Mouse against my leg and on my stomach was a welcome presence, and I reached down to rub his ears. He licked my hand and I heard his tail thumping against something soft. "Did we win?"

"Harry." Parker's voice was nearby. She moved closer and my breath caught. She'd put on the spider gown, an exquisite half-sheath of peach and gold and salmon tones, she'd done up her hair and put on make-up. She looked like a bona-fide, invited, certified guest of the party. In the darkness of the room she gleamed faintly, like a fallen star, the spider silk reacting to my presence. Lights, blue and red and white, flashed through a nearby window.

"I take it the cops are here."

"Well, yeah, but we called them," she specified, sitting next to me. "They're keeping the news people out. Everyone's all over that tidal wave that came out of nowhere and no one can explain." She gave me a tiny, wicked, utterly delighted look. "That was magic. And I was there to see it."

"It was, you were," I agreed. It was hard to get down on myself when there was someone around who so wholeheartedly approved of what I was, what I could do, all the glory and the violence of it, the grit and the beauty. "Nothing else was strong enough to maybe kill the dragon."

"Oh, it did," she assured me, then gestured with her hands to mime something being torn in half. She even made a squelching sound.

I had to laugh, and found that, overall, I wasn't terribly sore or hurt. Bone-tired, yes, I felt like I'd scraped a bottom to my magic I didn't even know was there. But nothing was burn, broken, or bleeding. "The Blackbird? Grandmother?"

"We've got them. Nate said to wait for you, though. Can you stand?"

"Oh, for this I can stand, dance and run a marathon," I told her, sitting up. I rode out a wave of diziness and got to my bare feet, felt them sting a little. My mouth tasted of the sea, and I could feel salt and sand in places best left unmentioned. I was suddenly starved, and I would have loved to wash my mouth if nothing else, but I didn't care. I wanted to see how it ended between Koschei and Baba Yaga.

I'd been lying in a bed that dominated a small room, probably a guest bedroom. My duster had been tossed at the feet of it, and I snagged it as I went, Mouse jumping down lightly to follow Parker and me. On top of a chest of drawers that matched the bed were the rest of my things, and I gave her an amused look. "All together in the same place?"

She grinned at me. "Amateurs. Oh." She rushed back into the room, grabbed a small bundle from the bed, and brought it back to me as I shrugged on the duster. "Nate said you should have this."

I looked down at a familiar bundle wrapped in a plain tablecloth and a lot of duct tape, and a few things made sense. "Fried your bud when you read it, didn't it."

She nodded.

"I should've thought of that."

"Harry, we all should've thought of that. We didn't. I should've got a mirror piece anyways, but I didn't." She shrugged easily. "It still worked out. I stole your earclip," she informed me lightly as she opened the door. My staff was resting by it, and I grabbed it as I followed.

We stepped out onto a hallway and golden light; just past the door, Eliot and Hardison were talking to a man with ash-brown hair cut very short and sharp eyes, dressed casually except for the Red Sox jacket and the discreet bulge of a gun, and a woman with long blonde hair, keen blue eyes and strong, mobile features, dressed as if she'd thrown on the first thing she could find when she'd jumped out of bed, her badge and her gun worn on her belt. Both of them had that unmistakable set to their shoulders of a cop on the trail of something important. He asked them something in the thickest Boston accent I'd yet heard of anyone, and all four of them chuckled low.

Hardison handed him Wattsford's little black notebook. Eliot handed her the sheaf of folders.

"That him?" The man shuffled through the notebook, his face going hard, before he looked up and pointed at me, back to his casual, easy manner. Parker, ironically, didn't get more than an admiring look from both of them, and why should she? She wasn't wearing the skin-fitted black of a thief, she was dressed like someone who'd come to a party.

"I didn't do anything," I replied automatically.

"Yeah, that's him," the woman confirmed with a touch of dark humor to her voice.

I sputtered, vaguely insulted. What's the point of proclaiming your innocence if no one's gonna even pretend to believe you?

"Harry is a consultant," Eliot told them both mildly. "He'll be going home soon, and hopefully we won't be getting him in trouble for a while."

"Like you never get me in trouble?" the man shot back, all amusement, but they all shook hands and parted ways amicably enough.

Eliot and Hardison came over to meet us. The hacker could barely take his eyes off Parker, so it was the hitter who offered me his hand, his eyes dancing, his smile warm as ever. "Sir."

"Sir." I shook his hand back. "I swear I didn't do any of it on purpose."

"The hell you didn't." Eliot snorted in amusement. "I'm glad you're on our side, Harry."

"Til the day I die," I assured him.

"May it be long in coming," he replied as if he were reciting a prayer. "Now come on. Time to finish this."

I followed them down the hallway to the main area of the mansion. "So the van did work, or did you and my dog run all the way across the grounds?"

"I absolutely don't doubt Mouse could run the distance and carry me," Hardison admitted. "I don't run if I can help it, it's undignified. The van did work, it's still working, actually. As much as a seven hundred pound computer made of cathode tubes can be said to be working."

"Those were the original computers, no?"

"No! What I made was better, stronger and capable of carrying you around without fritzing or exploding, capable of hacking into the security cameras so I could see where to go without running into the security people, capable of gagging the electrical system without actually frying it so we could pretend you were being all magic-like while I did my job." The hacker looked entirely too pleased with himself. "You brought me a dedicated, single system OS and I hacked it."

"You hacked magic?"

"I damn well hacked magic."

I couldn't very well refute him. Aside from the spider's phone, every single bit of on-site tech had worked because Hardison had strong-armed it into working, no more, no less.

"You did not," Eliot protested wearily, face scrunched up.

"I did."

"He did."

"Don't enc- Harry, don't encourage him."

"But he did."

"He did not - you did not hack magic, man."

"I absolutely did. Tell me how I did not."

"I -" The hitter shot me a look.

I could only shrug. Eliot looked at Parker. "He kinda did a little," she murmured sheepishly, much to his wounded indignation, and we all went into the main receiving room.

FORTY

"Where's everyone?"

Nate turned from inspecting the small, elegant little clavichord in the room, sipping on a cup of very strong coffee, and examined Leverage's consulting wizard. There were deep shadows under Dresden's eyes, and his hair was going every which way, salt hardening it into peaks here and there. His clothing was singed and still faintly damp, and he smelled of the sea. Not for a minute did the mastermind doubt that he was ready for round two, three and twenty, if that was what it took.

Nate didn't believe in people, not overmuch. He believed in his people; he'd worked with them, he'd seen the steel in their souls often enough to know it ran true to the core of them. But of the average person he expected very little, or nothing at all; he'd seen them crumple far too often under the burdens of the world. He didn't hold it against them, not ever. He himself had crumpled once before, like cheap tin. It had been a labor of years to re-cast himself, to find his own steel. In Dresden, that core ran through and then some. What Leverage faced together, relying on one another, the wizard faced alone. His horrors weren't faceless or nameless; they were solid, real and truly monstrous, even if sometimes those monsters were on his side. Harry Dresden had drawn a line on the sand and he would defend it to his destruction, or that of his enemies.

Then again, he'd seen much the same thing when he'd accidentally Soulgazed the wizard. That, and more. For a while after Nate had kept looking down at himself, expecting to find himself spattered to the neck with blood and perplexed that, every time, he wasn't.

"Gone. None of them wanted to stay to talk to the police," he told Dresden. "We asked mister Stone to keep back only the ones that weren't liable to eat anyone." Over one shoulder he looked at a corner of the room. "And the ones that didn't want to leave."

As if summoned by those words, Classy and his people, six in number, rose from where they were sitting or slouching and drew lazily closer. "We're runnin' a legitimate business here," Classy told Nate mildly; he had never put his jacket back on, or rolled down his sleeves. "Ain't got no reason to run from no fuckin' terriers."

"Yes, well," the mastermind agreed in the same even tone. "You do have to admit that's not a common attitude."

Classy shoved his hands in his pockets and snorted in amusement. "Yeah, alright. I'll be fuckin' honest," he added, tipping his chin and grinning maliciously. "I woulda stayed to see how that ends, police or not." His people muttered in agreement.

Dresden turned to look at what Classy had pointed out. Koschei was sprawled on a chair, asleep, snoring faintly. There was a single, long, thin silver chain binding him to the chair, hardly looking like it would keep him there. What might do the job, however, was the immense bird-like creature hovering just behind him, long neck twisting this way and that, a woman's face at the end of it, its eyes a rich, dark gold with black pupils, like a bird's. She was stout and exceedingly fluffy, each feather three colors, red, black and white-tipped, her train made of iridescent black feathers. She was clucking cheerfully to herself like a contented hen.

All around them, the wizard suddenly realized, were the portraits, eight in total, seven fakes and one copy. "Did you have to bring them all?" he asked Nate.

"I wanted to make a point," the mastermind explained, giving him time to take in the rest of the room. Off by the bar, Vanya Fedorov and Nick flanked the woman from the portrait, who'd wrapped an exquisitely knotted blue shawl about her shoulders; it glowed like a piece of the night sky, dark blue studded with tiny winking dots. Grandmother herself looked far more put together, less fragile and wounded, though still as delicate as the cup full of tea in her hands. Nick had found a garishly colorful shirt and a pair of shorts, and no one had forced him to put on shoes, so he looked absolutely delighted at the proceedings, even if there were none currently ongoing to delight him. Next to him, holding onto a glass of something strong she had yet to sip, was Jessamine Lochlin.

By the door to the main drawing room, never taking his gaze off the shark, stood Stone. He was wearing a plain shirt that barely fit him, and his somewhat bedraggled pants, but otherwise looked implacably unharmed.

"What happened to Fedorov's uncle?" Harry asked quietly.

"Fedorov called his father. Hard to tell which one of them was angrier at the betrayal," Nate replied in the same quiet undertone before pitching his voice to carry. "Sophie, go ahead and wake him up."

Beautiful and radiant still despite the night's shenanigans, the grifter came close to the Russian wizard and pulled from his black hair a lacquered comb - the same comb Parker had originally stolen from the Blackbird's pockets. "That better be enough, I'm not kissing him," she warned Nate dryly. Classy and his people snickered, and the leader of the Dredgers cleared his throat with a muttered apology he absolutely didn't mean.

Koschei roused with a snort and a start, tried to lunge out of the chair, and nearly fell. The alkonost clamped a taloned foot on the back of the chair and forced it back down, and the wizard went with it, seething. He opened his mouth and snarled something, paused… and looked utterly stunned when nothing happened.

"Yeah, that." Nate saluted him with his cup. "I wouldn't bother."

"Release me!"

"Uh, no. Not yet anyways. I've got a couple of questions I was hoping -"

"Release me!"

"- you'd answer before we trade you for your heart."

Koschei went white, though it was hard to tell if it was fury or panic. "You cannot imagine what I can do for you, for all of you. All you know of magic is what that brute Dresden has shown you."

"Ouch," Harry muttered without heat.

"Release me. I will grant you anything you desire."

"Yeah, you already made that offer," Nate reminded him mildly. "You already got your answer. Or do you mean them?" He gestured to the Dredgers with his cup. "You guys want anything from the Blackbird?"

"His guts on a platter, his head on a bowl," Classy growled. His people hissed and chattered agreement, all of their eyes burning with a lambent red light. "His fingers and toes to bite and gnaw."

"Um. Need him alive. Sorry."

Classy shrugged, seamlessly going back to his easy mood. "No harm. Figured I'd ask just in case."

"Stone," Koschei began.

"I was fool enough to make one bad bargain with you, wizard. I will make no more," the golem replied calmly.

"You should ask Fedorov," Nate suggested. "I'm sure you've got many things he thinks he wants."

Koschei said nothing, glaring furiously at the mastermind, and Nate sipped at his coffee. "But it's not so easy, is it, to tempt a man who knows that what he wants and what he needs are two different things. Who knows that those things aren't always going to agree with one another." He pinned a level look on the Russian enforcer. "Or is this because he already made his choice, and there's some sort of prohibition between the two of you?" He gestured lightly at the hand gently squeezing Grandmother's shoulder. "When a Royal chooses one of you, the other can't interfere?"

Koschei exploded into profanities in Russian, as well as a couple of other languages that made Eliot's brows climb nearly to his hairline. Grandmother reached out to pat Fedorov's hand, but the enforcer looked nothing if not confused.

"You don't look like the men in your family," the mastermind told Fedorov. "I mean, obviously that's not an absolute, like genetic testing, but it's pretty telling when you don't look at all like any of the men in your family. We looked them up. Not one. You look like your mother, though. Same eyes, same hair. All the way back seven generations or so. The Sagorovs might have taken you in, but you're not a blood-relation."

"Yes, but -" Vanya hesitated. "My mother was… a casualty of the family's business. They made amends by taking care of me. What does that have to do with anything?"

"She wasn't a casualty, she was the target. His target." Nate gestured at the frothing wizard. "It left you alone, vulnerable at a young age. But then the family stepped in, and he saw the potential for an even bigger payout if he just waited. A high-ranking member of the Russian mafia and a Fyodorov? You don't find a lot of those lying around these days."

Fedorov pressed his mouth to a thin line.

"That's the problem with paper records," the mastermind pointed out mildly. "They tend to stick around for a long, long time."

"How did you know?"

"The invitation," Sophie murmured. "The coat of arms embossed on it was for the Russian Tsars. It just took me a little while to remember it, it hasn't been used for so long."

"I am not this thing. I am me. I am my own man."

"You just saved Grandmother from her greatest enemy in pitched battle." Dresden's voice was very calm, in spite of the surprises rolling out to smack everyone in the face. "Heroes do that. Princes do that."

"Do not call him that," Baba Yaga's voice crackled through the tension in the room. "He has chosen to be prince of a different empire, and that is his choice. As it should be." She leveled a cool, disappointed glare on Koschei. "How can this lesson not sink in after all these centuries, Kostya? We do not choose them, they choose us. Always."

"I don't have the patience for your maudlin beggary. They are mortal, and weak, and flawed. They are tools to be put to use, nothing else. They are power. My power."

"And you wonder why no one likes you," Fedorov commented, then crouched by Baba Yaga. "All I have ever wanted to be is my own man. I do not ask for favors easily." He shot Nate a look. "The price is always far more than one is willing to pay. I would ask only one thing of you, Grandmother." He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a bundled handkerchief. Unwrapping it, he offered her the small, oddly shaped, carved wooden cup, a chicken bone tucked neatly inside it. "I would know what you think of me."

She gasped, and took the cup with wrinkled fingers. Then she looked up and smiled at him. "You already know, little prince. I think you are more than worthy. I think any path you choose should be proud to have you." She touched his cheek lightly and, Russian enforcer or not, he flushed faintly under her praise.

Koschei strained against his bonds with a high-pitched, strangled howl, before going limp in the chair. "So," he growled at Nate. "You win. You would make an enemy of me for all the days of your miserable mortal life. I hope it was worth it."

"Sort of," the mastermind replied. "See, Dresden is supposed to just be our consultant. Answer questions, provide information, that sort of thing. Things, eh, escalated, but he still made time for the information bit, and one thing he made real clear is that you like to carry grudges. You really do. So part of doing all this was also making sure you can't do that to my people, or to him."

"And what will you do, kill me?" Koschei laughed darkly at him.

"We could, I suppose, but we really don't kill people unless we have to."

"I am immortal," the wizard laughed.

"No," Dresden countered. "You just hid your heart so well even death couldn't find it. But then you went and dug it out." He rapped his staff lightly on the floor, and one of the portraits began to glow faintly, as if illuminated by a light behind it. "Worse, you went and dug up the keys to open your little magical lockbox, the same keys where you trapped your death. You might not be a necromancer, but man," Dresden shook his head. "I've walked the edge, and I thought I was close, but you make it look like I was hiking fifty miles from the Damocles Doom."

"A feeble threat from a feeble pack of feeble old men."

"You've been out of the loop. They've got women and everything in the Council these days. Real modern of them."

"You don't have the keys, I stole them back from Dresden's home."

"You made the most basic of mistakes." Sophie came up behind Koschei, just close enough to purr against his ear with Ekaterina's Russian accent before she straightened up and abandoned the persona altogether. "You forgot the first rule of the grift: always keep your eyes on the mark." She moved to stand by Nate.

"You kept looking for heroes," the mastermind sipped at his cup, "because you're used to fighting heroes. But the one hero you found, you kinda. Well. Brought him on yourself." He saluted Fedorov with his cup before giving Koschei his attention once again. "But we're not heroes. We're conmen. And you just fell for the oldest con: the shell game. " He moved to his feet and reached into his pocket, pulling from it the plastic chess piece. "In a tower."

The frame of the portrait began to glow with its own light, as it had back in the vault of the MFA. There, among the gilt and the filigree in the ancient wood, Nate found the carving of the tower, pressed the chess piece against it, and was unsurprised at last to see it sink in seamlessly.

"In a box," Eliot said, reaching for the box of matches Harry had thrown at him so carelessly. It had a treasure chest painted on top, and it was still half-full of matches. The little drawing led the hitter to the right place on the frame.

"I stole those from you," Koschei sounded strangled.

"Did you?" Nate asked casually. "Because we had a set at the safehouse, a set at the pub -"

"A set in Lucille," Hardison pointed out.

"And in the u-Haul," Eliot added, stepping aside for Parker, who frowned minutely at the frame until she found the carving of a rabbit missing a foot, and grinned victoriously as she did magic all on her own. "Inside a rabbit."

Hardison came up behind her. "You look absolutely glorious doing magic," he murmured, blindly shoving the duck-shaped whistle at the frame.

She beamed at him. "I do magic all the time," she replied just as quietly. "Pay at- Hardison, pay attention!"

"Hardison!" Eliot hissed, forcing the hacker to actually focus.

"Alright, ok! Messing up my rhythm here," he grumbled. He was one of the few people present who could reach the top of the frame and return the duck to its graven, flying flock.

"You see, our consultant explained something to us called a Mirror-Mask. When you bind several items together to make it look like they're all the real thing." Nate looked pointedly around. "I think you might have heard of it. Of course you were going to try and steal the keys, that's just common sense. All we had to do was make you think you'd succeeded. Make it, ah," he glanced at Dresden, "believable."

"The real set was never together, not after the first time," Sophie told Koschei mildly. "The best way to keep a magical item from being tracked is to have it always on the move. Harry taught us that too." She grinned at him. "And your own magic to hide the items did the rest of the job." From her purse she pulled the egg, and pressed it lightly to the bottom of the frame.

The painted emerald brooch burst into radiant color, bright enough to dazzle everyone present for a moment. Sophie brought out the key and bit her lip. "Are you sure, Harry?"

"You won't damage it," the wizard assured her.

She lifted the key and put it lightly against the brooch. It sank into the light as if into a lock. The grifter tested it one way, then the other, and slid it around a quarter turn, then another, before pulling it out.

With it came a black velvet bag the size of a man's head, secured with a golden cord, weighted at the ends with cabochon diamonds, each as big as a quarter, one pure, one black. Eliot caught the bag by the strings before it could drop from the key. "Heavy," he commented, his expression full of uncertain anticipation.

Sophie reached for the bag, hesitated, reached again and then took a full step back. "Parker."

"Dresden," Nate added.

"Mister Act," Harry said at once.

"The hell d'yer want me for, wizard?" Classy exclaimed, caught completely by surprise.

"To find out if it's booby-trapped," the wizard replied evenly.

"… Oh."

The bag was set on a small lacquered table, and all three bend down to stare curiously at it. Classy sniffed it lightly. "Dust. Time. Magic. No poison, no bugs, nothin' that bites or stings." He leaned even closer and licked the black velvet, then spat off to one side. "Night's breath and rowan ash. Their power's wore off with time, 's nothing but crap tea and soot."

"No hexes, no curses," Harry agreed. At Classy's dictum he gingerly laid a gentle hand on the velvet, then pulled it back, wriggling his fingers.

"Don't trust me, wizard?" Classy challenged.

"I do," Dresden replied evenly, then shrugged in the direction of the bar. "But I just spend a whole evening sneaking suppression potions into people's drinks. I made sure not to get you or your people, but you say rowan ash and I get paranoid."

The Dredger stared at him open-mouthed before he started cackling. "The Witchwell. That's how you made it work."

Parker ran her hands smoothly over the rich velvet. "There's nothing here but the one thing." She untied the cord and reached in.

The jewel filled both her hands. The emerald was immense, the same vitriolic green of its owner's eyes, flawless, shaped into an oval and set into a frame of platinum that made one dizzy if stared at for too long. Parker turned it this way and that, held it up to the light. Behind her, Sophie breathed out in disbelief. The thief suddenly shuddered and put it down abruptly. "It's wriggling," she declared tightly.

Sophie put her fingertips to it. "The Emerald Heart of Koschei the Deathless," she murmured. She could just feel the faint tremors of a heartbeat against her skin. "It's real."

"And untouchable," Koschei told them smugly. "Go on. Ask mister Stone to break it. Ask Grandmother to grind it up in her mortar. Ask. You do not have the final key, you did not find it, did you. You cannot touch me."

"We did not find it," Nate admitted readily. "We're just conmen. But you brought a hero into the mix," he told the Russian wizard mildly. "And he did find it, rattling around inside a chicken bone. Or what, did you think when you stole it, that we somehow miraculously found another chicken bone with a needle in it?" The mastermind's tone suddenly went to lethal ice. "Dresden."

Without hesitation, Harry pulled off the pin secured to the top of his shirt and flicked off the little mirror shard at the top.

"You cannot kill me." Koschei's panicked voice was a wheeze. "Your Council will murder you for it."

Dresden seemed to consider that. "True. Hey, Fedorov -"

"Wait!" Koschei shrieked. "What do you want, you must want something, everyone wants something. There is always something!"

"There is," Nate agreed, and gestured to the painting. "Tonight you were going to lock Grandmother in there with your heart, and finally do what you couldn't pull off all those centuries ago. You'd taken all the tools she uses for her magic, the mortar, the pestle, the shawl - left her her house, though, that's nice of you." He nodded at the alkonost who curtsied gracefully back. "You were going to lock her in there, and let the curse on the heart do what it was always meant to do. Sell the painting and wash your hands of her fate while you stole her power. So, instead, you're going to step in that cage. We're going to throw your heart in with you and we're going to lock the door. And then that lovely lady over there," he pointed at Jessamine, "is going to take you back to her museum. And if you're lucky, by the time you get out, your heart will have left you enough magic to fill up a thimble." He leaned back, once again the harmless, slightly rumpled, friendly man he could pretend to be so flawlessly. "But you'll be alive, though."

"There must be something you want," Koschei croaked, his eyes gone to rolling green pebbles in his corpse-white face.

"Probably lots of things," Nate admitted. "But I know the difference between what I want and what I need. And since we dosed you with a full suppression potion before we started this conversation, I don't think you're in any shape to offer me either."

FORTY ONE

The Dredgers boxed up the portrait after Dresden pulled the keys back out, and Eliot and Parker carried it out for Jess. The hitter excused himself discreetly, and both young women stared uncomfortably at anything but one another in the dark next to the u-Haul van.

"So you're a thief?"

"Sort of."

"Were you gonna - 'cuz I mean. I never got that vibe from you, that you were using me to steal from me."

"No!" Parker exclaimed. "No, I was, I wanted to work with you, 'cuz it was fun, and you were fun, and we could make plans, and then take 'em apart, and that was so much fun and that's what you're supposed to do with friends, have fun, except now I ruined everything and, and-"

"Alright!" Jess threw her hands out to try and stave off the deluge. She chewed angrily on her lip. "You don't have a lot of friends, do you."

Parker shrugged. "You just met them all but one."

"Oh my gosh," Jess tugged on her curling hair. "I mean, I'm not saying it wasn't fun, but you lied to me. Like, big lies! Important lies!"

"I know. I just… You wouldn't have wanted to make friends with a thief."

"Well… No, I guess not."

"But it was fun?" Parker asked tentatively.

Jess, flustered, wriggled uncomfortably in place. "So what's your real name?"

"Parker."

"Parker what?"

"No, just Parker."

"Well, there goes your free membership," Jess told her sternly.

"Ok, that's fair," the thief agreed, crestfallen.

The silence lingered and grew.

"So you're an art thief."

"Thief-thief, mostly."

"You wouldn't happen to know, you know. The Dutch Gallery."

"I know who did it, but they don't have them anymore, they sold them."

Jess let out an irate little squeal, stomping a foot. "I don't suppose that you'd want to. Do like a. Counter… heist?"

Parker's glum expression shattered under a burst of sunny, delighted surprise. "Would I ever."

"Well, good!" Jess nodded stoutly, then offered a hand. "Hello. I'm Jessamine Lochlin, and I've got a proposition for you."

Parker reached out to shake the young curator's hand. "Hi. I'm Parker, and I'm all ears."

FORTY TWO

"Wizard."

I turned to find myself nose to chest with Stone. "Oh, good," I said in a tone that implied the golem's presence was anything but.

"We made a bargain, you and I, back at the boat-house. That the building is no longer there is not a valid excuse to welsh on it."

"I'm not welshing on it. I'm just not keeping up all that well with local events. The boat-house's gone?"

"You tore multiple holes into the building and then called up a tidal wave, wizard," Stone gave me a look as deadpan as his tone. "What did you expect would happen to it?"

I shrugged. I hadn't exactly been planning ahead beyond getting rid of the zmei. "Come with me. Hey, Ford, a word?"

The mastermind turned to look at me, then up at the golem. "I don't know that I have the energy to deal with your friends tonight, Dresden," he declared wearily.

"Well, you're in luck because this one actually is a friend. Did Eliot and Hardison ever talk to you about the moonlighting I did with them?"

"Yes, briefly. But they also mentioned it was not likely to happen again once you go home."

"To you, no. You're human. But it occurs to me, what if you had a group of non-humans doing what you do?"

Ford opened his mouth. He said nothing, closed it. Looked up at Stone.

"I don't follow," the golem admitted.

"Ford and his people run a small operation. Very neat, very tidy, very challenging," I explained, hoping the mastermind would catch the emphasis on the last word.

"We help people," Ford jumped in. "We help people who have lost the war. We come into a situation when the odds are entirely against us. When our customers have had hope and spirit crushed out of them by companies, by governments, by forces that seem too big, to powerful for any one person to challenge, let alone defeat. Our monsters aren't solid," he gestured at the painting, "but they are real. And so are the challenges."

The golem looked most definitely intrigued. "I don't see how this applies to me. Are you offering me a job?"

"Not exactly," Ford demurred. "You see, while we were working on Grandmother's case, a couple of people approached us. One was a seal-woman."

"Looking for her skin?"

"Looking for her fourteen-year-old daughter's skin."

The golem straightened up sharply. "Was it found?"

I liked him for asking that question. Never mind what he might say about ethics or morals, Stone still had, somewhere under the granite exterior, an awareness of right and wrong.

"We did, and we also managed to sneak in some information to the authorities that won't compromise any other potential seal-women out there, but that will make the lives of the men involved very, very difficult." Nate gestured. "Abstract enemy. Lost fight. We still pulled a win. But… they aren't going to come to us anymore."

"You're human," the golem said thoughtfully.

"You aren't," the mastermind pointed out. "We could, in theory, provide you with the infrastructure, with training, with advice come from our experience fighting these fights. While you, and your team, can reach out to Boston's supernatural community in a way we can't. You can provide them with the… leverage they lack."

Stone was silent a long, long time, looking deeply thoughtful. "I have no team. I would not involve my security people in this matter. They are good at what they do, but that is very much all they are good at."

"Can I make a suggestion about that?" I raised my hand.

"This was your idea and your bargain, wizard. Suggest."

"Nick!"

The shark, who'd been demolishing what was left of the buffet, came trotting over. "Wizard! Tell me you have more fights to offer. This has been the best night since I came to your world."

"No," Stone said stiffly.

"Uh, well, you know," Ford spoke before I could. "Nick's the one who sniffed out Dresden for the seal-woman. He's been nothing but good about following directions tonight, on nearly no notice. And you know he'll never be afraid to call you out if he thinks you're going about a job the wrong way." His eyes strayed to Sophie. "Personal experience talking here, that is incredibly important to the job."

Stone looked down at the niuhi, frowning. Nick beamed up at him, then at me. "Lots of seal-women out there who need help, Nick," I told him casually. "Lots of other people, too, and no one's helping them."

The shark snorted. "You think I could help anyone, wizard? Biting makes as many problems as it solves!"

"Untrue," Stone said. "Biting can absolutely solve many problems without creating more, as long as they are the right problems."

"I'm not very good at telling the difference."

The golem sighed. "I am." He faced Ford. "Perhaps we should speak after all, you and the shark and I."

The three of them walked away and I breathed a sigh of relief. Was the night over yet? I wanted nothing more than a blessedly hot shower, a fresh change of clothes, and a bed, any bed. Maybe just a couch. A sleeping bag. Or a couple of blank-

"You got somethin' of mine, wizard."

I turned. Classy had approached me alone, and I knew his people well enough to recognize the respect and deference he was showing me. Unfortunately, that didn't help me understand what he was saying, and I stared at him with what I knew was a blank, dumb expression on my face. "I do?"

The Dredger stopped playing with the thin silver chain he'd loaned Ford to contain Koschei. It looked like nothing but a silvery piece of jewelry in his hands. He cocked a brow at me. "Ford said you had it."

"He did?"

Classy peered curiously at my face, and broke into low snickers. "Long night, wizard?"

I could only groan in reply. "I feel like I've been put through a wringer and run over a few miles of bad road until all the soft bits are raw -" It hit me then, with the unpleasant mental image. "Oh, I do have something of yours!"

"There you are, found the one thinky bit ain't fallin' down tired," the Dredger cheered me on as I groped around inside my trenchcoat.

"You guys coming out alright out of this one?"

"Well enough." He shrugged, then pointed to where Sophie was having an animated conversation with his people. "Learning about this thing called a Zanzibar market. Humans are fuckin' brilliant, wizard. You think you got one up on them and they're a fucking dozen steps ahead already. Ah, there's my beauty."

I handed over the Burning Witchwell. "You know the thing's nearly empty, right?"

"I know. Blackbird promised he'd empty it for us, lying crow's arsehole. Ain't in the business of killing me own fuckin' customers, wizard. The Witchwell's what I want, not the poison innit."

"Well, hell, if that's all you want I can empty it for you."

"Right?" The Dredger brightened up. "What's yer fee?"

"You know the Bag of Winds Ying Ying Amarin wanted?"

He grinned and winked at me. "You want a stitch or three should come loose on it?"

"That sounds perfect, unless it's gonna get you in trouble."

He cackled. "Caveat emptor, wizard. We're Dredgers. We find what's not to be found. We get into places and things we don't got no business puttin' our hands an' our mouths an' our teeth on. Ain't no one better'n us at what we do. You do business with us at your own risk an' peril." He gave me a yellow-toothed grin and offered me a hand to shake.

I took it without hesitation. "You mind if I do it tomorrow after I get enough sleep to maybe not kill myself and everyone else around?"

He laughed merrily and walked away.

FORTY THREE

The morning of the day after the party broke sunny, warm and beautiful, the sort that promised a hot, breezy summer noon, a perfect day to head down to the beach. Boston stirred under the clattering of the T and the scent of hundreds of little coffee shops, and the tidal wave was no longer the biggest bit of news.

Nate and Hardison met Stone on the steps of the Back Bay Station. Hardison handed the golem the spider's phone. Stone, once again dressed impeccably in a custom-tailored turtleneck and dress slacks, took it with care and tapped his thumb lightly on it. His surprise when the screen actually lit up was very obvious. "I was unaware such a thing was possible," he admitted. "You're giving me a very rare treasure, mister Hardison."

"You're gonna need it. At least until you can get a different setup. You can do tech and magic, you just gotta be willing to, you know. Compromise."

"You do understand this is temporary?" Nate told the golem. "We're not going to handhold you. You don't answer to us. We'll help you set up, but the job's yours, you and your people."

Stone seemed to think very carefully on his answer. "I have worked for someone or another for nearly all of my existence," he explained. "My security firm is the first attempt I have ever made at others working for me, and yet… it was still me, working for someone else. I think this opportunity you offer me, mister Ford - I think it is everything the wizard promised." He smiled thinly. "And I do have the shark to keep me honest."

Nate couldn't help but be a little amused at that. "In that case, here's something to remember today by." He handed over the plain plastic chess tower.

Stone stared at it, then pocketed it. "It will be kept safe as long as I can do such a thing."

Across the Concourse, Harry Dresden, professional wizard, was staring at the growing rivers of people coming and going, a trickle quickly turning into a flood. Boston was beautiful, alive, a city as worthy of attention and devotion as any other.

He couldn't wait to go home.

"Wizard," Classy's rough voice called out, and Harry turned. The Dredger, flanked by two of his people, came up to the wizard sedately, blinking a bit in the bright morning light. The wizard offered him the wrapped-up bundle of the Witchwell, sans duct-tape; Classy dug the small cylinder out and shook it. "Not a fuckin' drop. You do good work, wizard."

"Well, you know. When someone's not trying to kill me."

Classy chuckled. "All said, I'm glad this ain't your turf. Don't fancy the fight if we had to go up against you."

"Nicest thing anyone's said about me in a while," Harry assured the Dredger, and they shook hands. "Stay alive, mister Act."

"Same, mister Dresden. Safe travels and all that crap." The Dredgers turned and walked away, pausing briefly to nod politely at Sophie as they crossed paths.

The grifter was leading Parker and Eliot, and she hugged Harry without hesitation. "Oh, I feel like we ought to keep you here for a month, just to give all those bruises a chance to heal," she protested mildly.

"Believe me, I'm going home in one piece. That's more than I usually get," Harry assured her sheepishly.

"I really did mean it, you know. You were only supposed to be a consultant."

"I did consult," he replied with a lopsided grin. "This is the easiest consulting I've ever done. You told me everything I needed to know, you let me sleep, you fed me. Watered me. Watered me a lot." She had to grin at that. "Hot showers every day, dang. Doesn't get much better than that."

She pulled away, and Eliot offered his hand. "It's all the hot showers, huh?"

"I have no idea what your water heater's made of, but you should invest in the company."

Eliot, who wasn't about to tell Harry the water heaters at both the loft and the safehouse had been replaced three times, merely beamed at the wizard as they shook hands. "Sir."

"Sir."

"You're a good man, Harry. Violence doesn't make you a bad man." He shrugged a little. "It's just a thing we have to do sometimes. You're not responsible for other people's choices, no one is but them."

The wizard's grin stuttered. "You make it sound like it's easy."

"Hardest thing in the world, my man," the hitter admitted. "Because you gotta convince yourself of it every day, every time you get up and look in the mirror. Just remember: forehead to nose, not nose to nose."

"Elbow, not wrist," Harry repeated dutifully, his grin returning. "Or I just hit them with magic really, really hard."

Eliot laughed. "Or that." He bent down to ruffle Mouse's ears and ruff roughly, much to the young dog's delight, while Parker came to stand before Harry.

"Are you really going to be alright?"

"I mean, I'm probably gonna get some version of yelled at for not reporting the Blackbird thing," he admitted, punctiliously honest with her as he'd tried to be all along. "Are you? With Jess, I mean?"

"Oh, yeah, we're good. We're gonna be - we've got plans. We're good. Harry? Thank for you asking."

"Thank you for accepting me. Me, and what I am."

"But it's magic," she protested. "Who wouldn't?"

The wizard didn't say anything, he merely cut his gaze to one side. She turned and looked. "Oh. Right."

Nate and Hardison joined the little group, and the hacker offered his hand with a grin. "Mister Hacker," he said solemnly.

A snort of laughter burst out of Harry, and he offered his hand. "Mister Wizard," he replied.

"I am," Hardison agreed. "And you are. You know, I had the theory in my head, the thought that we were just two sides of the same coin. I'm glad I was right."

"I am super envious of everything you can accomplish," Dresden admitted readily. "Let's start there. But mostly I'm also so mad that we can't do more. If you ever figure out how we can work together without me frying all your equipment, I'll be the first one there."

"Holding you to that, Dresden."

"You bet."

Nate stared very levelly at the wizard. Harry stared just as levelly back.

"Walk with me, Dresden."

"My train -"

"- doesn't leave until Hardison lets it."

The two men walked across one edge of the Concourse, with the mastermind lost in thought. After a few moments, he reached into his jacket and offered Harry a plain white envelope. "Your pay. Plus incidentals, and so on."

"Jeez," Harry stared at the envelope, then pocketed it inside his duster. "Thank you."

Nate stopped and turned to face the wizard. "You did magic."

"I did."

The mastermind shook his head. "You know, after the MFA, Sophie was explaining it to me. She described it as being sheep in a pen facing a man with a shotgun."

"It's not… entirely wrong. But also not completely right."

"No?"

Dresden smiled thinly. "Sometimes the sheep have shotguns, too."

Nate made a faintly amused sound. "Sometimes the sheep hire a wizard."

"And now you know where ninety percent of my work comes from. Congratulations, another puzzle solved," Dresden teased.

"Yes, but -"

"But you don't like the shape of it?" The wizard shrugged. "Neither does most of the world. Give it time, Ford. In a few months you'll be looking for explanations, twisting your memories into things that fit your reality better. In a year you won't think twice about it."

"You make it sound so easy."

"That's because I've seen it happen most of my adult life, and all of my professional life."

Nate thought very carefully on that. "I don't like that. I don't like thinking that the only way this works is if I lie to myself. I'm not interested in being comfortable, or I wouldn't do what I do. I don't want, I don't need the world to be in order, Dresden. I need it to be fair."

"That's our job, not the world's," the wizard replied simply. "We make it fair."

Nate chewed on that. "So it is."

"Besides, I doubt Parker's gonna let you forget that magic's a thing that happens. And hell, there's Sophie right there with you, Ford. If you don't look at her and see what she does is magic, I'm not sure I can help you. I'm not sure anyone can."

That did make the mastermind grin, however crookedly. He turned and offered his hand. "Pleasure doing business with you, mister Dresden. Can I add your number to our Rolodex?"

Harry shook it amicably. "Absolutely. Unless it's Portland."

"Worse than Boston?" They started walking back to the team.

"You have no idea. Besides, you'd have local help there if you needed it."

"Another wizard?"

"No." Harry gestured vaguely, as if to organize his thoughts before he spoke. "Do you happen to know what a Grimm is?"