#summon big cheese

[viz-dragon]

After binge watching the jelloapocalypse isat streams I went to experience unicorn tails and was very enthralled by this fuckass neon horse and their big cheese spell. I could always use some horse drawing practice, and what better way to do it than to draw this obnoxiously irradiated protagonist. I considered making them beefy but I chickened out, sorry for twinkifying Dangersoft.

[ask-the-totally-real-peppino]

OOOOO I CAN FINALLY USE MY REAL POWER HEHEHEHE

*SUMMONS AN 5 POUNDS BLOCK OF CHEESE*

Enjoy my fellow pretty rat <3 don't tell gus tho

-cheese anon

Brick: (...)

Brick: (!?)

Brick: (!!!)

Brick: *delighted squeaking*

(Brick is very thankful for the cheese!!!)

[princeofmadnessandotherthings]

Milord I am opening a cheese shop, should I make an offering to your august person to ensure success?

Well, I can't promise success if you make an offering to Me, but I can promise that you won't die! <3

[barbieaemond]

And I dream of a grave

Header by the lovely @ewanmitchellcrumbs 💕💕

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Warnings: angst (!), smut, too many references to graves/burying, mentions of Blood & Cheese, miscommunication, Aemond's coping mechanism is violence and sex, in this order (good for him)

Word count: 3.8k

Author's note: the gif is self explanatory. This is a prequel to A Curse for a Curse, but can be read as a standalone. Big thank you to @irenadel for giving me the idea and being one of the most supportive souls <3

Taglist: @ladystarksneedle @arcielee @multyfangirl

MASTERLIST | English is not my first language

This is more than tempting the Gods. This is forsaking and impudently turning their backs on them.

As she sits down at the banquet, her mother’s words echo through her mind like the vexing sound of the wind on a storm’s night. It sets an unpleasant weight on her lungs, the close and yet shapeless feel of something dreadful. She’s almost grateful, looking around, to ascertain she’s not the only fool dreading this whole act.

The Dowager Queen sits at the table, barely able to contain a grimace. Queen Helaena, she is certain, has never looked so pale, her eyes so vacuous and yet so full of something unknown, elusive, smoke clouding and clearing her unnatural stare. The Hand has conveniently made himself absent. She can’t blame him. Actually, she envies him. If only she too could have been spared such a farce. But as the wife of the King’s brother, the very one they’re all supposed to celebrate tonight, she cannot do that, can she?

To cheers and the blaring of trumpets, the King enters shoulder to shoulder with his brother, tall and proud in his stride, wearing dark green velvet for such a special occasion, and such a special title.

“Do you know how they’re going to call you from now on?” the Queen Mother had asked when he came back from Storm’s end, dripping rain and mud and war.

“I do, Mother.” Aegon had answered, twisting a knife from his seat at the head of the table; she had never caught that glint of satisfaction in his eyes, not like that; it wasn’t dimmed by wine or flesh, but sharp as the blade in his hand. “A title he should be proud of.”

Pride was ever the easiest thing to wear for Aemond, the softest glove gliding on his skin, born out of a pit so deep and full of insecurities and negligence that that same endless depth had grown out of proportion in order to fill itself. To even try scratching his pride was like trying to climb the highest mountain with bare hands. She had cut her palms open to do so.

“What happened, Aemond?” she had asked once alone in their chambers.

“You know what happened.”

“What really happened?”

His good eye had pierced her as if she were made of crystal, but his jaw was too set, on the verge of breaking his own teeth if he carried on keeping the guilt, and truth, trapped inside.

“I didn’t want to.” He whispered, coming down from the peak, “I didn’t want to kill him. I only wanted—”

“Revenge? Well, you had it. Did it make you feel good? Did you bring that boy peace at last?”

It took him a lifetime to say no; a whispered sound, choked even, as if he had bitten off his tongue to get it out of that pit where he had never looked again.

He was biting his tongue in the council, the faintest clench in his jaw but here, here in the council, here in the world, he had to keep that pit buried and stand straight on the highest peak, looking up and up, never down, never back. How could he, how could he admit he had lost control. It was easier, safer, to let them think of him a monster, rather than just human.

“I salute you, brother.” The King had said, raising his cup “True blood of the dragon! We shall have a feast in your honor!" Otto had merely lowered his head in defiance, going unnoticed in the eyes of his King and grandson, drunk with power and finally free of his mother's leash, unaware that a golden noose now held him in check.

He had summoned jesters, musicians, even some dancers to coddle his brother, and raise him higher and higher. She imagined she just had to wait for the fall. Or perhaps pray to the Seven to overlook the insult, to keep a mortal up there with them for a little more. But then again, they shouldn’t ask the Gods for mercy. Someone more unforgiving, more bloodthirsty. Someone who, just as her husband and his brother and each one of their cursed dynasty, did not listen to either Gods or men.

“A toast!” the King says at one point, turning to his left. “To my brother Aemond and a long overdue justice, is it not?”

Out of courtesy and duty, she grabs her cup and raises it, but as everyone at the table sips their wine, all she tastes is contempt, and the cup hits the surface untouched. But not unseen.

“Brother, wine may cloud my judgment, but it seems to me that your beloved wife does not share the sentiment of this fine evening. I wonder why.”

She holds the King’s demanding stare with a firm one, aware of Aemond looking at her even if his eye is fixed on the table. He has ignored her for the whole night, not sparing her a single glance. Because she owns the truth, doesn’t she, and it’s a knife pointed at his back.  

“May I speak my mind, your Grace?”

There’s the slightest shift in Alicent’s posture, as if she were desperately waiting for her, or anyone, to cease all of this, to say this isn’t right.

Aegon pulls a thin, lazy smile and tilts his silver head, swirling his cup. “Why, of course, Princess. My brother tells me you have a habit of doing so.”

“Did he, now?” she resists the urge to scoff; such a despicable habit for a woman in this world.

“Fret not, good sister, I’m certain he holds no grudges against you for your silver tongue.”

“Oh, I’m quite certain too, your Grace. I know for a fact that he likes it.”

A few lords can do very little to hold their snickering, Aegon himself does not hide his malicious smirk, petty at the edges. It must run in the blood.

“Careful though, you don’t want to spend too much time talking, lest you leave my poor brother without any heir! It’s been a while since you two lovebirds tied the knot, isn’t that right?”

She glances beside her, surely Aemond won’t let that slight insult pass, but he stays still and silent like a statue. She can’t quite believe what she’s witnessing. This is the same man who would call the crowned head at the table wastrel, depraved, disgrace.

So much for a disgrace, now that he fosters your pride and lies.

“I can assure you, good brother, that the talking is well outweighed by other activities that involve very few words.”

Aegon plasters a big grin on his face, yet she’s not finished. “But perhaps the Gods are sparing me the burden of bringing a child in such troubled times. A realm at war is not the best place to live in, is it not?”

“It depends on which side you’re on, Princess.”

There’s suspicion in his tone, but she just blinks at him. “My apologies, I was not aware that my loyalty to your House, and my husband’s, was to be questioned.”

“Come now. We are bound by what if not words?”

“I was under the impression that the Crown should fear his own kin more than a simple foreign girl from the West.”

At that, Helaena lets out a strange noise, something close to a wince, and silence falls all over. It is only now that Aemond undoes the stone he walled himself in and acts as he always does when he feels belittled, or worse, threatened. He shuts her out.

“I’m afraid my wife is growing tired, brother. ’Tis best for her to retire.”

She bites her tongue and turns her head. There’s no mistake in his tone, that is an order. She stares at him and he stares back, blankly, and then, just as it is expected of her, she obeys.

She goes without saying a word, aware of Aemond’s eye on her, of Aegon’s little victorious giggle. He snaps his fingers and two dancing girls flock to his brother. She knows this because she can’t resist but turning before disappearing. The girls are said to come from Lys, no less. But he’s not sparing them a single glance. His eye follows her out of the hall, and even after.

Candles almost extinguished, casting a soft glow in the bedchamber, dim but enough to make the shape of her body visible under the covers.

“I know you’re pretending to be asleep.” He says, placing his dagger and eyepatch on the nightstand.

She doesn’t bother to wait a single moment to fly her eyes open. “Was I not supposed to pretend I was tired?”

When she gets no answer, she turns to face him, finding him on his feet near the bed, undoing the buttons of his doublet. His eye is on her, though, wide, as someone ready to hunt but seeing traps everywhere.

“Did you enjoy your feast?” she asks with piqued interest. “Such a shame that I missed most of it. I was eager to watch the girls from Lys dance. How were they?”

“Enough. You should thank me for dismissing you. You were bordering on high treason.”

“Since when telling the truth is considered high treason?”

“Is that what you were going to say? The truth? To make me look like a fool in front of the whole court?”

“I was only going to say that the feast was an insult and a challenge to the Gods or any common sense. And I know that beneath all the pats on the shoulder and the endorsement on your brother’s part, you are of the same mind.” she hopes to see the barest glimpse of validation on his face, at least here, where he can leave behind his pride and admit he made a mistake. Is that what you call starting a war?

But his expression is as closed as ever, wary.

She wishes it would hurt less than it does. “Of all the people ready to betray you, how quick you are to assume I’d be the first.”

“We’re bound by words, are we not?”

“Take your brother off your mouth.” She says absentmindedly; she tries to not let it sting, but it does anyway. It is a low blow, and she knows he does not believe it. He has raised the walls, coiling like a snake, and there’s no point trying to climb and risk cracking her skull open on the ground. She will have to wait for him to come down. “Then perhaps I should consider my father’s proposal.”

She leaves the bed and grabs a letter lying open on the desk. “He wrote me this letter. That is why my mother came all the way here, apparently to see how her daughter was faring.”

Aemond eyes it with the barest twitch in his lips, then looks up into her eyes and, with a sigh, she clears her throat.

“My dearest daughter,

It is with great concern and sadness that I write you this letter.

Words have reached me about the recent events involving Storm’s End and young Prince Lucerys’ demise. My spirits are low when thinking of the fate you’re enduring. But I want you to think carefully of this: annulments are rare but possible. Even more so since you bore no heirs yet. You cannot remain married to a Kinslayer, it is the highest of sins. I only need a word from you, daughter, and I shall hastily consult with a High Septon.”

She can barely register his arm moving, only sees his hand snatching the letter out of her grip, crumpling the paper between his fingers. Nostrils flaring, eye widening, she reads insult all over his face. About time.

“Is that it, Aemond? Is that the reason you’d think I would betray you? Because I didn’t bleed on a birthing bed yet? Is that how you measure my loyalty? What of all the times I drew your bath, washed your hair, pulled the boots off your feet? What about that curtain—“ she adds, pointing to the windows “and the fact that I told the maid to keep that side always closed so the sun will not bother your eye? Do you think I did all of this because of some empty words?”

He looks as if she has just slapped him. Mistrust and bewilderment run together all over his sharp features, trying to win one another, and she waits and waits, and she begs as all the purest things must be pleaded, wordlessly.

Come down. Come down. Lay down with me. In our bed, a grave, it matters not. I'll take the shovel and do the burying.

But he stands still on his high and cursed perch, the grip on the letter loosens, his shoulders slump a little, because this, this comes so easily. Violence. It’s the other glove he wears like second skin.

“You will write to your father and tell him if I hear another word about annulments, I will have his head for treason. And as for you… you tell a living soul what you know, and you shall join the Silent Sisters. You won’t even have to vow your silence, for I shall take your sharp tongue first.”

She watches him go, standing in the middle of the room like a fool; her hands bleeding still and a plea, unheard, choking to death in her chest.

Her hands heal, stay whole for so long. She feels she cannot reach him this time, no matter how hard she tries to climb. She finds no footholds, no inlets, until she stops looking for any.

She finds she has no strength to do it anymore. They’re all dead anyway, each of them in their own way, their own burial.

The king drinks and rages and drinks and rages. Helaena rocks on herself all day long, chasing the highs and lows of her laments. Jaehaera stares at her mother with her small lips sewn, her eyes wide and the Queen Mother weeps and weeps, wondering if the little girl is watching her mother go mad with grief or yet again her twin brother’s head rolling on the ground like one of her toys.

And Aemond…she does not know where Aemond chose to bury himself. He spends the day out, trying to escape the smothering grip of the Stranger’s claws, his curse…or is it only retribution?

Sometimes he’s in the training yard, sometimes that same yard becomes theater for revenge. He kills whoever helped Blood and Cheese enter the Keep, man or woman, he doesn’t care. He tortures them, and she wants to beg him to stop, to tell him that torturing one, two, or one hundred men won’t stop guilt from torturing him.

So, he wanders restlessly, basks in small and big cruelties, until the sun sets and she’s aware, as the bed dips under his weight, that she is his own burial. He takes her at any time, in any place, be it the bed, the desk, or bent over the vanity, she cannot do anything to stop him. She doesn’t want to and yet she aches to do it. Because it’s always sudden, and harsh and hurtful when he pulls her hair, when he spares no time to stoke her desire, when he keeps her bent with her back turned and a firm hand on her neck like some kind of punishment.

It never used to be like this. It had been playful, teasing, painfully slow as if he were separating salt from water, and then fast, urgent, unraveling for two inexperienced newlyweds.

But it had never been like that. There was no joy in it. Only a duty to be fulfilled. Some twisted way to gain control, while anyone else kept slipping from his hands. Just as Vhagar slipped out of his control on that fateful night of storm.

He remembered that dark thrill pounding in his veins, the laughter gushing out of his throat like poison. He couldn’t bring himself to stop. He didn’t know whether Vhagar was fueling his fire or the other way around, perhaps both. Just a little more, he’d thought, as Arrax batted his wings frantically, desperate, mirroring his young rider, to escape the gaping jaws of the Queen of All Dragons.

That’s what he wanted. He wanted to relish in his nephew’s dread, he wanted to drink it. He wanted him alone, desperate, hopeless, just as he had been.

And then he felt it, the shift in the ancient fire pit he was riding, like a boat tipping over and there was no helm to grab onto and bring it back to land. He had sunk his own family into the bleak abyss of Daemon Targaryen’s soul.

He had come to collect, thoroughly. A son for a son, yes, but he had taken much more than Jaehaerys. He’d taken Helaena as well. Even Jaehaera.

Will she ever be able to speak again?

Will my Mother ever forgive me?

Words never spoken, stuck on his tongue and then gagged and swallowed. He cannot look down, cannot look back. He must look up and forward, like soldiers do. To the next battle, to war.

But there’s this woman. And the sight of her in his bed that makes his breath hitch and for two reasons entirely opposite to one another. The first is the most ancient one. But she’s also a thorn in his side, for she knows. She knows everything. She knows all his peaks and depths, every brick in his walls and how to dismantle them; she knows he’s strong and weak, that he’s scared and guilty and worthy of his mother’s contempt, but he cannot bear any of this in front of her.

He flees her presence during the day, only to impose himself on her for the whole night. She cannot refuse him. And he cannot have her prying and dismantling his well-crafted walls and lies, so he takes her and takes her and takes her until he works themselves up to exhaustion and she’s a rag doll in his hands. It serves the purpose, though. As long as she has his cock in her mouth, as long as he harshly pounds into her, cutting her breath from the inside, she cannot ask questions. As long as he keeps chasing his pleasure, and his rugged breaths muffle his own ears, he cannot think straight.  

He's close now and it’s the second time already. The sheets are damp beneath their bodies, his back glints with sweat, damps his forehead as he thrusts inside her one more time. They’re lying on their side, but he keeps her caged against him, his arm has slipped on the mattress and under her neck to keep her still, with her back to him. With his cheek glued to hers, he croons praises in her ear, falling mindlessly from his lips but like drops in the ocean. Once, she would redden, smile blissfully, or challenge him, to go deeper, or harder, or both, but she’s a limp thing now. A mere body panting upon being fucked by another, that’s all.

This is possession. Or a desperate attempt to. Each night, he holds her as if it’s the last time and she could slip away from him at any moment, turning her back on him. She can feel it now, in the way he’s gripping her shoulder, the way his nails dig in her skin, carving into her bones: stay with me. Please. Don’t leave. Please, don’t leave.

But it’s him keeping her away, turning her own back on him.

Don’t you know, she wishes to tell him, that I won’t, ever. I won’t. No matter how cursed you are. I won’t. I won’t.

He grabs her thigh, resting it on his hip, spreading his long fingers on her skin, spreading her legs so he can find the perfect angle and picks up the pace. She shudders with every thrust, gasping with her throat dry, feeling the long bridge of his nose sinking in her cheek, his grunts growing rougher and deeper; some strange choked sound at the back of his throat.

He comes quietly, panting shallowly against the damp fabric of her nightgown. And he stays there, claw gripping her shoulder, head sunk between her neck and collarbone, and deep to the hilt buried in her.

A tear rolls down her cheek. She doesn’t know where it comes from, who she is mourning, she can’t tell these days. Perhaps she’s mourning him, who he was, who he is now and who he is forcing himself to be. She doesn’t know where the deception lies anymore. She wishes she could push it back in, prays that it goes unnoticed, swallowed along with all the others, but she should know by now, the Gods are not in her favor anymore, if they ever had been.

“Why are you crying?”

She turns her head, and her breath hitches. The gemstone glints, yes, but she’s too struck by his eye to even notice the sapphire. There’s something raw there, bare, more than his very skin now. It’s the first time she sees that look on him, torn, heavy lidded and not by pleasure.

This is the burden of grief.

She wonders if that’s the reason he’s so keen on fucking her with her back turned, so she can’t see him. Perhaps she didn’t look hard enough. She thought he had risen too high, out of her reach, of anyone’s. She thought he would never fall, not in every sense of the word.

Hence, she’s at a loss for words, slightly pulling herself up, when he slowly comes down; he curls into himself, into her lap, resting his head there like a child. No Kinslayer, no Dragon Prince, no son, no brother. No husband. Just a human, bare in the skin and soul.

Aemond wraps his hand around her knee, gently, and then tighter and tighter, shutting his eye. He’s on land now, but the room is spinning, the whole world is spinning and he doesn’t know how to stop it. He feels he started it all, he threw a spinning top and got sucked into it. And she’s the only firm thing he can hold onto.

“Do you think I’m cursed?” he whispers, the barest flutter of his long eyelashes against his cheekbone.

But she has no answer. All she has are her hands, sliding on his naked skin, through his loose hair, gently, as if touching the thinnest glass, sealing the cracks. Her palms slice open again.  

“Aren’t we all?”

And I dream of a grave, deep and narrow, where we could clasp each other in our arms as with clamps, and I would hide my face in you and you would hide your face in me, and nobody would ever see us any more."

- The Castle, Franz Kafka.

[charliemwrites]

Government Asset Soap! This is half of the last part (the smut got too long and I wanted to post this dammit).

Original concept comes from @ceilidho’s military asset Soap. Further inspiration came from @391780’s Nikto version “The Summons”. Both are very good and you should definitely check out!!

Content: Post-trauma coping, Non-Con Touching and Kissing, Violence (mentioned), Unstable Soap

It’s probably a fire hazard, the candles. They’re sprinkled across your little cabin like fireflies, feeble but steady heartbeats of a home you’re failing to build. Too many of them, likely. Two, sometimes three, per room. Tiny tealights, smokeless soy, scented pine. It would be easier, safer, to just turn on the lamps you foolishly invested in.

You can’t bear anything brighter than golden halogen anymore, though. The glare drags you back to a tiny cell bisected by cruel metal, holding back an even crueler fate. No, you’d much rather wade through pools of shadow and firelight, fire code be damned.

It’s a small cabin, but you’ve already cluttered it up with furniture and rugs, a theme for each room. Yellow and blue for the kitchen. Purple and cream for the den. Green and brown for your bedroom. Nooks to hide in, spaces to squeeze into, big shapes to huddle behind. You’ll never be caught out in a cold, barren room ever again.

Your days are long regardless of the time of year. Get groceries in town every day, making a point to be friendly and seen so that someone might notice if you suddenly stop coming. Clean incessantly, so many surfaces to dust. Pick hobbies like daisies. Knitting and crocheting, different paint styles, felting. You’re contemplating carpentry, would like to build shelves for all the books stacked up in the den. Keep a dream journal by your bed that you neglect for weeks at a time.

You draw out the nights until you can count the hours until dawn on one hand. Stay up baking, making homemade ink, learning new ways to style your hair, anything, anything, anything—

It’s not the sleeping – or at least that’s not the worst of it. It’s the waking.

Laswell suggested a cat.

You told her to stop suggesting pussy to unstable people.

But it’s still not a bad idea. Another living thing to keep you accountable; the plants are pretty and time-consuming, but not good company.

You talk yourself out of it every time, knowing the worst-case scenario. It’s not catastrophizing if it actually happens, and you can feel an invisible time weighing on your shoulders like another gravity. Tick, tick, tick. Heavier, heavier, heavier. It’s hard to breathe beneath the wait.

The military doesn’t do apologies. It does platitudes at best. Well wishes and good intentions are painted in brushstrokes of blood. Victory flags are planted on bodies, living or otherwise. Laswell apologized. She swore that if there had been another way – any other way…

She didn’t promise to leave you alone. Didn’t assure you that you’d never see her or her goons again.

If you thought it would do any good, you’d tip one of the candles over and set it all aflame. Rebirth through fire. But you never did figure yourself for a phoenix. And besides, a phoenix is still itself, even when the ash falls away.

So, you spool out your time like picking at tapestry threads, one thin string at time.

Tonight, it’s bread. Cinnamon chocolate babka, to be specific. You were craving something sweet. Are debating the merits of some sort of cream cheese icing while you shower off the long, ever-busy day.

Have decided on an optimistic why not as you slip out to begin your overly complicated self-care routine. Moisturizers, hair oils, lotion. An unexpected benefit of overloading yourself, you suppose. Even when you first got out of the military, you didn’t take such good care of yourself. You have a jogging route now. You’re handling your trauma every possible way except therapy. (And sleeping.) Better than nothing, you figure.

The candles have gone out in your bedroom. You click your tongue in annoyance, trying to remember where you left the matches this time. Bedside table?

You pad across the soft carpet, using the edge of the bed as a guide in the pitch black. The only other problem with candles is that their humble light doesn’t reach very far. But you know this house and keep the floors tidy enough that you’re confident you won’t trip.

Make it to the nightstand without incident and pat around. Knock the side of your hand into the little carton and only just catch it before it hits the deck. Let out a little huff and start to fumble it open.

“Nice catch, bonnie.”

You gasp, but your voice doesn’t get any farther than the back of your tongue. The box slips from your numb fingers, matchsticks scattering across the floor. He tsks.

“Shame that. We’ll get ‘em later.”

You can’t move. Can barely breathe. You’re just frozen, heart thundering with a sudden storm of fear and confusion. Hands still aloft in front of you, spine rigid, knees locked.

You feel more than hear movement behind you, and then the warmth of his body seeping into your naked skin. Not quite touching. Not yet.

“Missed you, little bird,” he rasps in your ear.

You always thought that in a moment like this you would scream. Kick and elbow and fight, damn your certain loss. But when it comes down to it, survival drowns out all those stupid, haughty ideas about pride and dignity. So you don’t curse and shout like you always fancied you would.

You whisper, “Soap.”

He hums but it sounds like a growl in your panicked state. “Missed me too, aye? You’re already naked fer me.”

His hands are searing when they settle on your waist like they belong there. He pulls you back against him; in the dark he’s bigger, broader than you remember. At least, you think, he’s fully clothed for now.

“What are you… how are you here?” you ask.

He barks a laugh, mean and rough. “Was only a matter of time after that shite they pulled.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and see it recreated in the phosphenes behind your lids.

Soap buried balls deep inside of you, murmuring a constant stream of filth as he got harder and harder inside you. Filling you up as you twitched around him, oversensitive and teary, afraid of what would come next.

Then the lights flashed, flicked red. An alarm sounded, Laswell’s voice ordering Soap away from you. But he just snarled and hunched over you, hips snapping to bury himself right back inside while you cried out.

The locked door swung in, armed guards swarming in. Yanked Soap off you while you scrambled to cover yourself. Someone grabbing your arm none too gently to pull you from the room. Soap wild-eyed and snarling like something possessed, until he was overtaken by struggling guards and you were trembling naked in that damned hallway.

“Was mad at you, at first, cannae lie,” he says, almost conversational. Your eyes snap open, though you know it’ll do you no good. “But I’ve had time to think on it. Wasnae yer fault, was it? Saw them drag you out.”

An awful relief floods you. Fuck dignity, fuck honesty. This is Soap right behind you, completely unrestrained and unsupervised.

“Yeah,” you answer, voice small. “I didn’t know they would do that. What… um. What happened to you?”

He presses his face into your damp hair, pressing closer, snaking his arms to squeeze you against him.

“Sent me off on some shite mission,” he explains, “probably hoped I’d die out there. You smell so good, lass.”

You shiver as his breath ghosts over the sensitive skin of your neck. Hot, humid.

“And… and then what?” you insist, trying to stall.

You’re not sure what you’re stalling for. There will be no miraculous saves here – not that you really got any last time. It’s not like there’s any real plan to be made here, either. None that you’d be confident enough to risk his wrath on.

“Disappeared. Took care of business. Came to get my pretty little bird.”

A rough hand trails over the curve of your hip, brush the neat curls of your mound. You suck in a breath, hands twitching with the urge to stop him but not sure of putting up resistance when you’re still unsure of his mental state.

“And what about you, hm?” he rumbles. “Been a good girl while I’ve been away?”

His fingers dart down towards your entrance, not nearly prepared for anything. Least of all his thick digits.

“Y-yes!” you yelp, grabbing at his wrist. Relief makes you dizzy when you manage to stop him. “I-I’ve been good. Which means I’m not… I can’t just take you. I need… I need prep.”

He huffs, nips at the tender spot beneath your ear. The thrill that shoots through your stomach is terrifying.

“That’s what these are for, bonnie.”

And to your horror, he starts to push past your resistance like your staying hands aren’t there at all.

“John!”

He freezes. You shudder air into your burning lungs, feeling dizzy on panic.

You can get through this without pain, just think.

“I haven’t even got to see you,” you stutter, voice shaky. Can’t quite inject the disappointment you’re trying for, but hopefully it’ll work. “And I bet you’re all dirty from travel.”

He grumbles. “So what?”

You scramble to think of a satisfactory response. “S-so let’s get reacquainted in the shower, yeah? That way I can see your handsome face, at least.”

He chuckles, grazes his teeth “playfully” across your cheek. “Bossy thing.”

“You like it.”

And to your shock, he agrees with an amused huff. Hauls you up in his arms and walks you back to the still muggy bathroom. You’re set on your feet and spun around, chin jerked up to receive a savage kiss. All tongue and teeth, no finesse. He’s just licking into your mouth, hungry and animalistic, spit dribbling down your chin.

When he finally pulls away, you blink spots from your vision. Finally focus on his smug features and make a soft, horrified noise when you register the splatter of crimson across them.

“Och, that? My little bird had watchers.”

Of course you did. The horror ebbs a bit. Resentment has made you indiscriminately bitter.

“Oh,” you say, “th-thank you. Definitely glad we’re showering first, then.”

“Squeamish?”

You’d like to know when the world turned upside down and John fucking “Soap” MacTavish began teasing you about the blood on his face.

“A bit,” you admit.

“Poor dear,” he coos. “Hard to believe we were made for each other sometimes, aye? Complementary, we are.”

Is that what he thinks? Christ.

You turn to start the shower again, spine prickling with the weight of his eyes on your back. The water rushes down and then he’s crowding you against the cold wall beneath the (thankfully) warm spray.

“Y-you’re still dressed!” you protest between sharp nips to your collarbone.

“Fix it, then,” he snarls.

You claw his shirt up his back, get momentarily distracted by the impressive display of muscle hidden beneath. Draw your palms over his chest and feel him shudder.

“Fuckin’ heavenly, love,” he purrs. “Missed this.”

A vague memory comes back to you, him gripping you close because he felt you naked against him for the first time. Him admitting he hasn’t had affectionate touch in a while.

This… this you could work with.

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Masterlist

[munson-blurbs]

Argyle x Fem!Reader smut

Summary: Your plans tonight only involve ordering a pizza, but a conversation with the pizza boy has you craving something very different.

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), phone sex, masturbation (m! and f!), voice kink, Argyle is a simp as per usual

WC: 1.7k

A/N: This was inspired by me and @word-wytch ordering pizza at Steel City Con where the pizza boy did not want to get off of the phone. Nothing spicy happened, but it made us think...what if it had?

Also, big shout out to @munsonmuses for helping me with the ending. Love you, Addie!

--

“Surfer Boy Pizza, this is Argyle speaking. Can I interest you in a delicious pie? Perhaps the Argyle Special?”

You stare at the shiny brochure in your lap, breath catching in your throat when you hear his voice. You were expecting someone brusque, rushing you off of the line so they can collect the next order, but the man speaking to you might as well be laying on a white sand beach. 

“Um, h-hi,” you wince at the way you stammer, tempted to hang up and save yourself further embarrassment, but you keep the receiver pressed to your ear. Lenora Hills is a fresh start, a place where no one knows you, and you’re determined to spread your wings and become more than the ‘shy, awkward girl.’ So, even though you were going to order a small cheese pie, you push yourself to ask, “what’s the Argyle Special?”

Soft laughter trills from the speaker; it’s warm and welcoming without a hint of malice. “Oh, the Argyle Special? She’s kinda my baby.” Good lord, the way he says baby has your thighs clenching involuntarily. You hear him shuffling a bit, adjusting positions to get more comfortable. “So, we start out with your classic thin crust.” Argyle lowers his voice and adds, “You might think you can toss it in the air a coupla times and call it a day, but you’d be wrong. You gotta knead it, get all the kinks out, right?”

“Mhm.” Your free hand begins to dip below the waistband of your denim shorts before you pull back. What are you doing? Touching yourself to a stranger explaining how to make pizza? “I, uh, I gotta—”

“Next comes the sauce,” he continues, not noticing your interjection. “Now, less is definitely more here, y’know what I’m saying? A little goes a long way.”

You nod, too caught up in the moment to remember that he can’t see you. “A-And then what?”

“Cheese. Enough to achieve that perfect amount of gooey goodness, but not so much that it weighs down the slice.” Another peal of laughter, just as kind as the one earlier. “Some people ask for extra cheese, but in my humble opinion, it takes away from the rest of the toppings, y’know?”

There’s a quiet swishing sound coming from his end, and it draws your attention. “What’re you doing that’s making that noise?”

“Huh? Oh, uh, yo-yo.” Your question has clearly caught him off-guard; instead of further explaining his baby, he asks, “what’re you doing?”

Immediately, your thoughts flit to the way your fingers yearn to be inside you, the way your clit aches to be rubbed each time he talks. But he can’t know that. “N-Nothing. Um, yeah, nothing.”

You can practically hear his brows raise in disbelief. “Doesn’t sound like nothing,” Argyle teases gently. “In fact, it sounds like you’re doing something important.” He pauses for a second. “Lemme guess: top secret CIA mission?”

“No.”

“FBI?”

You giggle despite the embarrassment washing over you. “Not quite.”

There’s silence; his audible breathing is the only way you know he’s still on the line. “You got a really cute laugh.” 

Is he flirting? This is flirting; it has to be. But he doesn’t even know what you look like. 

You don’t know what he looks like, either, and you were about to masturbate to him, you remind yourself wryly. Anything’s possible. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Sweet but also sexy. A rare combo, if you ask me.” 

You summon all of your courage; the ball is in your court. “I, um, I like your voice.” Heat pools in your cheeks as you say the words. 

“My voice? Shit, I always thought it was kinda goofy. My friend Jonathan says I sound like Cheech and Chong. Well, not, like, both of them, but just…one.” A rustling noise; he’s shaking his head. “Sorry, I’m not good with getting compliments and stuff.”

“S’okay. Me either.” You laugh again, finding the ability to be honest refreshing. “Keep telling me about your special. Your baby,” you amend. 

He exhales a cloud of lust. “Fuck, say ‘baby’ again.” Ah, so it had the same effect on him that it did on you. 

This time, you don’t chastise yourself for the way your fingertips graze your cotton panties. You and Argyle are clearly on the same page. Why fight it? “Tell me more about the Argyle Special, baby.”

“I gotta know first if you’re doing what I’m about to do,” he says breathily. 

“I am,” you affirm, finding your clit easily and applying the lightest pressure. 

A sharp inhale, then, just above a whisper, “Good. So, so good.” He unzips his fly and groans as his hand wraps around his cock. “I’m just gonna talk, and you keep touching yourself for me, okay?”

“Mhm. Just…keep going.”

“Shit, yeah, I got you.” Another moan as he strokes himself, his sentences getting choppier. “The toppings…I like to combine sweet and—mmf—savory.”

You tug your panties aside, slipping your middle finger into your waiting pussy. “Keep going,” you urge, desperate for his silky voice. 

“Some diced g-green pepper…sliced jalapeños…and…” Argyle’s focus is split between listing ingredients and jerking off, and one is evidently winning. 

“And what, baby?” There’s a slight edge to your tone—dare you say, a sultriness—as your ring finger joins your middle, fucking yourself with both of them. 

You’re not the only one who picks up on your newfound confidence. “And pineapple,” he manages. “Comes from a can…fuck, I can hear how wet you are.”

You whimper, forcing air into your lungs. Breathing has never been a manual task until right now. “It’s because of you.” Your fingers move faster; you curl them slightly to maximize your pleasure. “You and your voice.”

“I’d talk all goddamn day for you.” His voice is thick with desire. “I’d do anything you asked me to—oh, fuck,” he grunts. “What would you want me to do if I was with you right now?”

What wouldn’t you want him to do is an easier question, but you try to quickly formulate a response. “I-I’d want you to touch me.”

“More specific, honey,” he tuts. “Where do you want me touching you?”

Everywhere. Anywhere. You think about where your own hand would be if you weren’t holding the phone. “My clit,” you say urgently, “or my…my tits.”

“Mmm, I could put my mouth on one and my fingers on the—”

“No,” you insist, cutting him off mid-sentence. “Fingers only. Need to keep your mouth free so you can talk.”

A chuckle, then, “fair enough. Guess I’ll rub that pretty little clit of yours, huh? Make sure you’re ready f’me.” There’s a soft puh as he spits on his cock to lubricate it. “Wish I was inside of you. Bet you’re so wet…and warm…and—ohh, yeah— so tight…”

“I’m so close,” you whine, absolutely desperate for this orgasm. You tuck the phone between your ear and your shoulder, bring your newly-freed middle finger to your clitoris, now swollen with need. “Please, Argyle, tell me how you’d fuck me.”

“Oh, baby,” he rasps, the schlick of his fist stroking his erection becomes louder, faster. “I want you screaming my name. That sweet little pussy st-stuffed with my cock. And I’ll go deeper…and deeper…and deeper…until you can’t—fucking—take it!” He growls out the last four words. 

It’s enough to drive you to the edge. You don’t tell him you’re cumming, but he knows just from the choked moans that you’re there. Your fingers are shiny with the proof of your arousal as you finish all over them, wishing they belonged to Argyle. Wishing you belonged to Argyle. 

“I’m cumming, fucking shit, h-oh, my God.” He’s in another galaxy now, stars swirling around him as his release spurts from his aching tip and coats his hand in his sticky seed. “Holy fuckin’…whoa.” There’s a brief pause. “Gimme one sec, okay?”

Argyle’s racing across the kitchen, phone dangling from the cord, before you can even respond. “Sorry,” he says, panting and laughing when he returns to the receiver, “had to grab some paper towels and clean myself up. Can’t go walking around with jizz on my hands.” 

“Not a good look,” you agree, the warmth from your giggle melting any residual awkwardness. “You definitely need to wash them, like, a hundred times before you make another pizza.”

“Nah, man; I’m actually clocking out now. You were gonna be my last customer, but, uh…” he trails off, and it occurs to you that you never finished placing your order. “We got a little distracted.”

Distracted is putting it mildly, but you’re in no headspace for a semantics debate. “I guess I’ll have to call back the next time you’re working and try again.”

“Y-Yeah, for sure!” Eagerness dominates his tone, and he tries to rein it in. “Or, um, maybe you can come by in person? I’d like to see the girl who made me cum harder than I have since…ever,” he adds cheekily. 

“Mhm. I can do that.” Can you? Yes, you tell yourself, I can. I’m turning over a new leaf, and that apparently involves having phone sex with the pizza guy and then meeting him for the first time at his job. 

You swear you hear a quiet yet triumphant, “yes!” before he says, “You sure? Because I’d totally get it if you wanted to keep this a one-time thing.” His hesitation indicates that he’s no stranger to unrequited pining, like he’s bracing himself for a rejection. “But I gotta be honest with you; I really wanna see you.”

“I wanna see you, too.” You wrap the springy cord around your forefinger. If his voice could make you feel this way, imagine what he could do with his fingers, his tongue, his…

“I work from noon until six tomorrow, if you wanna stop in?” Argyle cuts into your train of thought. “Or if that’s too soon, then we can just—”

“Argyle?”

“Yeah?”

You smile widely even though there’s no way for him to know that. “See you at six tomorrow.”

--

[crappymixtape]

because of you • epilogue

PART I • PART II • PART III • PART IV • PART V • EPILOGUE ❝ an enemies to lovers fic with Steve? 💙 maybe they have to put aside their differences to fight upside down stuff and realize they actually have a lot in common 👀 • 18+ | ( 1k – a little bit of king!steve, mostly angst with a dash of fluff, enemies to idiots in love, steve x reader )

B E C A U S E O F Y O U • E P I L O G U E 🎶 believer – piano version, SYML

❝ WE’VE BECOME ECHOES, BUT ECHOES ARE FADING AWAY, SO LET’S DANCE LIKE TWO SHADOWS, BURNING OUT A GLORY DAY ❞

Walking across the parking lot of Hawkins High with Steve Harrington’s hand in the back pocket of your jeans was a surreal feeling. Never in a million years did you think you’d be on speaking terms with him let alone dating him. You also didn’t think the world would end, so maybe being wrong was something to get used to.

Steve had a bag of clothes under one arm while you pulled a wagon of canned food and blankets behind you. It seemed like everyone was in need of something – shirts, coats, shoes, bread, cheese, shelter – and despite the way everyone had rallied against Eddie, they changed their tune quick after the news broke. Came together as a community to support each other through these unprecedented events.

The story came out that it had been a serial killer who’d murdered those poor kids, not Eddie, and it was all forgotten anyway the minute your little town suddenly turned into a war zone. Helicopters and tanks and soldiers, scientists and news crews from all over the nation. The ash hadn’t stopped falling since the Creel House and in the daylight the damage was so much worse than any of you had expected.

When Steve drove you home, it just simply wasn’t there. Swallowed up in one of four deep gashes splitting the earth at the seams. Your parents had survived, came back to see if maybe you’d go home to find them and tried to salvage whatever they could.

They’d sought shelter with your aunt on the other side of town, but Steve insisted you stay with him. Told you you’d have your own room and space and whatever you needed and when you expected a no, your parents surprised you with a yes, with relief. It was tight enough over at your aunt’s as it was and maybe it was better that way. With a friend – friend.

“Donations?” a volunteer asked, pulling you from your thoughts.

“What?” you started, but Steve held up his bag.

“Yeah, yeah. Clothes, food, some blankets.”

“Great, that’s perfect. Clothes are on the tables at the far end of the cafeteria, food is being collected here in the quad and blankets go to the library,” the volunteer said and Steve thanked her with a small smile.

Even though you were bringing things to donate, it was a weird feeling knowing you’d likely be looking for things for you too. You wondered about everyone else. Wondered if they had lost everything too and hoped they hadn’t. Hoped they were all safe. The Wheelers, the Sinclairs, Max and Robin and Eddie–

“Holy shit–no way! Sweetheart, who’s that in your back pocket??”

As if summoned by your very thoughts, Eddie materialized at the bottom of the parking lot turning your cheeks cherry red, Steve’s hand still tucked into your jeans.

He gave Eddie a big grin and dipped down to press a kiss to your temple, “Shut up, Munson.”

“It’s Steve you idiot,” you snarked, lips tugged up in a little smile, no heat behind it and as soon as you passed the wagon off to a volunteer, your best friend was pulling you into a hug.

“Missed you too, sweetheart,” Eddie murmured into your hair, holding you tight to his chest. His voice wobbled a little and it made your throat squeeze. He’d brushed with death last night, just the same as you, and feeling him here – really here – was like a big sigh of relief.

“Wayne okay?” you asked quietly and he nodded, curls tangling with yours.

“Yeah, thank fuck,” he exhaled, finally letting you go to rub at the back of his neck. “Trailer’s totaled though.”

“My place too,” you commiserated and Steve’s grin faded as his realized just how much had been at stake outside of the party, outside of Vecna.

“Listen,” he started, clearing his throat, “My parents checked in this morning to make sure I was alright, but aren’t coming home anytime soon. If you need a place to stay there’s plenty of room…” Steve jammed his hands in his pockets, unsure if he’d crossed a line or was breaking some unsaid rule, but Eddie grabbed him by the arm and yanked him into a hug too.

“Thanks, man! God, that’d be great. Promise Wayne and I aren’t messy, we’ll clean up and help with dinner and the trash and–”

“Eddie,” Steve laughed, giving the other boy’s shoulder a squeeze, “It’s okay, I’m sure you’re fine.”

You were positive your heart was going to burst, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes for what felt like the hundredth time in the last 24 hours – mostly because of these two idiots – and both boys noticed at the same moment.

Eddie frowned, worried, “Hey, hey, what’s up?”

“Oh–shit–you okay, Princess?” Steve asked, his words blending together with Eddie’s.

“No, I’m okay–” you sniffled, pressing your palms to your eyes, half-laughing at how stupid you felt, “–you two just suck.”

Both boys laughed, we love you, and Steve pulled you under his arm, “Hate to say it, but I think you’re stuck with us.” He shot Eddie a look and the other boy grinned.

“Yep. Sorry, sweetheart,” Eddie gave you one of his too-charming winks, “can’t get out of this one.”

You huffed a laugh and buried your face into Steve’s chest. Warm like summer and the sun, like safe and home, and when you pulled away to push up onto your toes and catch his lips between yours a voice echoed across the quad.

“OH MY GOD–WHAT?? STEVE, WHAT THE HELL?? WHEN WERE YOU GOING TO TELL ME YOU’RE DATING–”

“Oh, Christ–Robin! I’m right here, you don’t have to yell!”

[ I COULDN'T HELP MYSELF, THIS SCENE WAS SCREAMING AT ME LIKE ROBIN – YOU'RE WELCOME ]

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

[dahfloofysmol]

HELLO. This is the official post for YouTube kids’ surprise party on the 27th of March. Any and all gimmick blogs welcomed!

Some roles we need are:

-DJ [real-pollo-campero]

-great DJ (as per requested 🤨) [spotify-kids-real]

-video jockey [buildabearfr]

-Someone to make the cake [forever21-official]

-Puncher server [big-mayo-official]

-Decorator [barns-and-noble-official]

-Party crasher(s) [officialtinder and youtubefr and actually-kroger]

-Corner Person [Pinterest, yahooo-official, reallytimhortons]

-Person who’s dealing with a crazy sugar high [firewaysubs and zotap]

-Emotional support [walmart and def-bjs-guys]

-Mom [Krista the art program and Canadian tire] AND dad friend

-Birthday person IS taken (obviously lol)

-Someone to bring snacks [incognito-mode-official]

-Ring Leader (person in charge of the games) [totally-official-yahoo]

-person who performs a special but confusing (and overly translated) version of happy birthday [google translate ]

-piñata [firehouse-subs-fr]

-setting off fireworks [google-news-official]

-here for the food and bringing tWO DOGS!!! OMG DOGS!!!!! [swearification-and-cursing]

-person currently trying tO EAT THE CAKE!! STOP THAT!!! [shakespeare-official-account]

- stopping the Cake Eater [wow-google-maps]

- putting spiders (?????) under the cake [true-blue-straya]

- the person that is every bisexuals awakening [it’s-target-official]

-pops in for the last 5 minutes with a card + a store bought cake [the-real-google]

- gay wine uncle [the-McDonald’s]

- creepy uncle (???) [rick-e-chedder-official]

-single rich aunt who disappears every night at specifically 8:00 pm [totally-not-kraft-mac-and-cheese]

-shapeshifts between wine aunt and vodka uncle, and the comic relief [the-one-and-only-duckduckgo]

- bringing lights so we aren’t all dancing in the dark [real-vivaldi-browser]

- summoning Satan under the table with a bottle of whiskey and pancakes (??????????) [definitely-canada]

-person asking weirdly specific and absurd questions [actual-aspec-military]

-the COOLEST cousin [support-speaks]

-cousin who hangs out in the corner and looks like they know something you dont [the-official-publix]

-person who hits on everyone at the party even though they’re already dating 2 ppl [fr-winn-dixie]

-contributes Ziploc® bags [totally-scjohnson]

-bringing burritos [the-real-chipotle]

-YouTube's kids southern aunt who blesses everyone's hearts bc they think theyre dumb most of the time [i-bless-your-heart]

-middle school cousin who argues with anyone and everyone to look cool [wallyworld-the-unofficial]

-gives oil (?????????????) and branded pens as party favors [truly-jcjenson]

-the strange neighbor kid who talks to no one but sings the loudest and brings a weird yet tasteful gift [the-real-aperture-science]

-bringing Walmart sugar cookies [not-really-discord]

-guy bringing the Knives [wheatley-labs-official]

-joining in on the games [totally-official-yahoo]

-the disco ball [jollibee-real]

-that one uncle with lore of untold numbers of deaths involved, and that includes guns [partycityistotallyofficailguy]

And any other role I haven’t stated!! I’ll accept pretty much anything

In case what you pick is already chosen, tag your second option ;p

—>The biggest part of the surprise party is wishing YouTube kids a happy birthday, but in the most creative way possible. In the “ask me” works, but literally anywhere; on your blog or on a post from anywhere (that you know they’d be okay with a little shenanigans) works wonderfully.

->Also, saying happy birthday is awesome, but spicing it up would be more fun!!! Day Of Birth, One of Awakening, Oh Child of the 27th, and any other batshit way to say “happy birthday” would both be awesome and absolutely hilarious.

Again, invite any and all gimmick blogs, and feel free to let me know what you’d want to do! We attack on the 27th >:DD

ADDITIONAL NOTE: sometimes there will be more than one person in each role! I do actively encourage for people to come up with silly and niche roles if you think of one ;D

ON THE 24th I WILL NO LONGER TAKE ROLLS!!!! Spread the word please!

@barnes-and-noble-official @basically-bumble @totallyofficialtacobell @totally-official-yahoo @totally-bing @officialtinder @officially-google-translate @officially-ikea @official-fedex @incognito-mode-official @forever21-offical @officialkfc @kfc-official @k-f-c-official @life360-i-swear @xgames-blog @cars-official @big-mayo-official @bingle-official @the-real-google @the-real-firefox @nasa @wow-google-maps @wallyworld-the-unofficial @walmart-the-official @realgoogleslides @realgoogledocs @yahooo-official @unfortunate-wattpad @firewaysubs @firefox-official @pinterest-real @spotify-kids-real @duothelingo @definitely-wikipedia @firehouse-subs-fr @google-2point0 @gimmick-thief

[catcze]

It’s Halloween soon, so here’s a Halloween au idea for you: Wriothesley and gn reader as Little red riding hood and the big bad wolf

OH. OH. OHHH IM BARKING BARKGIN ASDNASDKA

Imagine that it's supposed to be any other day for you. You pack your basket full of bread, jams, cold cuts and cheese, and don your red hood and your walking shoes, ready to set out to your friend Neuvillette's house by the lake in the forest. He's a bit of a recluse— he doesn't often venture into the city unless summoned directly, so you often come to say hello so he doesn't get too lonely.

The problem is, on your way there, you got delayed by a while. So when you get to the forest, you debate between using your usual, longer path that merely circles the forest, or one that pases directly though the woods. On your usual path, you'd get to Neuvillette's house late in the afternoon return home well in the evening. If you cut through the forest, though... you were certain you'd arrive on time. Earlier, even. So you gulp, steel yourself, and take your first step into the trees.

It's fine at first. A cooler walk than had you been under the sun, thanks to the shade of the leaves. But then you begin to hear the crunch of leaves behind you, as if there was something trailing behind... you quicken your pace, too fearful to look behind. But as you hurry your steps, so does the rustling and the crunching of leaves and twigs grow quicker as well.

Eventually, you're damn near running through the forest, taking turns, breathing hard and barely able to hold on to your basket. The steps follow you the until... they fall behind, then fade, then disappear. You quickly run behind a tree, leaning against it and catching your breath. When you peek out, you see there's nothing behind you and breathe a great big sigh of relief. Whatever animal was chasing you probably lost interest, you think, turning around and taking a few steps forward—

Then suddenly there's a grip on your hood, yanking you back so hard you stumble back onto the ground. "Hey—!" you yell, only to quiet when you realize who (or what) is standing before you. A man, quite tall, with spiky black hair and sharp blue eyes. There's a frown on his face and a furrow to his brow. Amidst the fluff of his hair, you make out... wolf ears? When you peek a little, you can see a similar wolf tail swinging behind him as well.

"Are you trying to get yourself killed?" Is the first thing the wolf says to you, a brow raised as he crosses your arms. "Running all over the place, causing a ruckus. Not looking where you're stepping." His attitude immediately turns your fear into indignance, and you rise up, pointing a finger at his (admittedly rather sculpted, you can see the definition even though the top he wears) chest.

"You!" You yell, and the volume has his ears twitching. "You were the one chasing me? You gave me a heart attack!"

He snorts. "I was saving you, Red. Not every day a human wanders in here. Most of you fear the dark and the unknown too much to ever step foot in the woods."

"Oh, so scaring the shit out of me is saving me now?"

He rolls his eyes, crouching down to take a large, hefty stone in his hand. Lifting it like it weighs nothing, he tosses it at the place where your foot had almost been—

Snap!

You watch in horror as a rusted old animal trap snaps around the stone with such force that the metal contraption jumps. You gulp, just thinking of what could have happened to you.

"Those are everywhere," says the wolf by explanation, looking at the hunting trap with disgust. "Left a long, long time ago by crueler humans. We try to remove them where we can, but—" he shrugs, "—The forest is a big place."

You can't take your eyes away from the trap, feeling sick to your stomach. You clutch your hood closer to you, a safety blanket of sorts, and feel your hands tremble.

"Th... thank you," you tell him, sincerely.

He just shrugs again. "So. Why are you here? It's unlike you. You're usually seen on the human path, not passing through the forest."

And that snaps you back. You frantically check the contents of your basket, sighing when you see that nothing spilled or broke.

"I'm here because it was getting late and I have to see Neuvillette, so i thought i could take a shortcut" you say. Then your eyebrows furrow. " 'Usually?' " you echo.

"Humans aren't around here often, like I said. You're one of the few that come on a regular basis, though." He kicks away the trap with his foot, feet heading in one direction. You, however, stay rooted to your spot, watching the way his tail swishes as he walks. When he realizes you aren't following, he turns back.

"What, you wanna try getting around on your own? I thought you were late to see Neuvillette." He prompts, and you gasp, hastily bounding (and being careful of where you step, this time) up to his side. you both walk in pace, the wolf leading the way and you trailing slightly behind.

It's... odd. You've never even met him before, but there's something about him that makes you feel comfortable relying on him like this. Relying on him to get you where you need to go, and not lead you into another trap.

"So..." you attempt to ask. "You know Neuvillette?"

"For a similar reason to how we know of you. He's one of the few odd enough to set their place up somewhere like this," he says.

The rest of the trek through the woods is rather comfortably quiet, sometimes broken by you asking a question, and the wolf answering. You learn a few things about him: that he hasn't always been here, but that he came early in his childhood and lived here ever since. That he rather likes the sunshine. And, funny enough, that he also likes bread with honey and jam on it, if the way he took the symbol of your gratitude is any indication.

But eventually the trees give way and you can see Neuvillette's house in the distance. And you're right on time, too! You smile widely in delight, gripping your basket tighter. You turn to the wolf, who leans on the trunk of a tree leisurely, ears twitching atop his head.

"Thank you for saving me. And for showing me the way," you tell him, smiling gently.

The corners of his lips curl up, just a bit. "You're welcome. Be more careful when you walk through the woods, next time. You never know if there might actually be something out there trying to eat you."

You laugh, ducking your head to hide your face behind your hood, just a little. "Noted, mister wolf."

"Or better yet, you can just save us both the trouble and call for me if you want a shortcut," says the wolf, a large hand gently pushing at the small of your back, nudging you on your way. "I'll hear it, don't worry."

"Oh?" you ask, a quirk to your lips as you turn back at him, draped in shadows. "And what might your name be, big bad wolf?"

You see the gleam of his grin. "You can call me Wriothesley, Red."

[comingyourlugubriousness]

"Oh geez I'm so clumsy; how embarrassing! Huh, oh! You'll help me up? T-thank you!"

A BELLE OF DA BALL Yume for @starry-night-rose's Glimmering Soirée! I saw a lot of people doing this event and have been wanting to draw for it for awhile. Unfortunately, I've been sick the past week.

I went for a more femme design since my last two designs for Yume were more masculine; plus I just think dresses are more fun to draw. Heavily inspired by Cinderella's dress with my own takes.

During the event Yume isn't trying to be the belle of the ball themselves (that would be mortifying), they are actually heavily advocating for their brother Yuuta! (@bunnwich)

They are assisting the Prince's with their duties (mostly Deuce while avoiding Azul) while keeping and eye on Grim to make sure he's acting right! They're also taking pictures of everyone in their fancy clothes; partially bc Crowley told them too and partially for their own scrapbook.

VOICE LINES UNDER THE CUT:

Summon: You my friend, will be da belle of da ball!

Groovy: Everyone here tonight… don’t they kind of look like stars in the night sky…Hey! Don’t laugh! Haha! Was that too cheesy? 

Set Home: We’re all bedazzled up!

Home Idle: Azul tried to get me to sign some contract in order to” secure my brother's win”. Pff! Nice try, four eyes; do you think I’ve learned nothing?

Idle 2: When I walked up to Deuce and he gave me a big fancy greeting! He was so proud of himself; I didn’t have the heart to tell him he curtseyed at me…He’s not really cut out for princely stuff…

Idle 3: *whining* Kalim! Please don’t keep making me dance in these shoes! My feet are killing me *fake sob* who makes glass shoes anyway…

Idle Groovy:  Malleus came up to ask what was wrong with his Tamagotchi and everyone in the room gave us a wide berth. Is it that serious? He’s just some guy?

Home Login: Oh man…I don’t wanna think about how long it’s gonna take to clean all this glitter up. 

Tap: The Royal Sword Academy students keep coming up to greet me oh so politely. Something about it kinda gets on my nerves…

Tap 2: Hey, didja see Grim’s vest? I made it myself. It took me hours to bedazzle the whole thing!

Tap 3: Ugh…I feel like everyone's looking at me…maybe this outfit was a bad idea…

Tap 4: Hey, if you see Vil; don’t tell him I’m not voting for him. It’s nothing personal…! 

Tap 5: *sigh* I need a break. Hey, do you wanna go sit on the balcony with me? I’d prefer the company of the stars right now.

Tap Groovy: Oh! Wait right there! Let me get a picture of you in your outfit! You look amazing! Ready? Cheese!

Here is some sketchy draft for the dress too:

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Sweets and Sours and Maggots

So, a bit more Summoned!König because he's a big sweetie. No pun intended here, because this fic is all about travelling, dancing. and chocolate. A very soft drabble with lots of bickering between Summoner and König.

TWs: None, really. Wait, mentions of maggot cheese (which is a real food)

Wordcount: 1.6K

Art from this post

Story Below the Cut

Sweets and Sours and Maggots

“So, I’m just curious,” you leaned in close as König looked at you skeptically, “what does the other realm look like?”

König relaxed as he raised one hand, “Well, it’s much like this realm in most regards, thankfully.”

“Is it?” you quirked your head to the side.

“Well, except for the fast that the colours are beyond your human comprehension,” König finished, “and surfaces are usually inverted. Oh, and I suppose the strange echoing and the ever present sense of dread and despair can be a bit much to bear sometimes. The feeling of how small you are in comparison to the rest of existence is constantly on your mind. It’s inescapable. It’s a rather psychological realm, if you will. Much less tangible than this reality.”

You blinked, “That’s not like this realm at all.”

“Oh and I suppose there is the strange phenomena where darkness is light, and light is dark,” König continued, “and how the wind feels like a vacuum. It’s a bit strange, I suppose, when your only frame of reference is this existence.”

“And is the sky orange?” you drawled.

König stared at you, “How in the stars did you know?”

“Lucky guess,” you groused as you slumped into your chair, “so I’m guessing that the other realm is ‘beyond my mortal comprehension’, right?”

“You’d be correct in that assumption,” König quipped.

“So you’re never taking me there?” you sighed.

“I’m not particularly interested in collecting the shards of your bones across time, no. Why?” König leaned his chin onto his palm.

You shrugged, “I’m bored. I kinda wanna go somewhere but I don’t know where. You know that feeling?”

“Always,” König laughed, “I suppose you’re starting to understand what it feels like to be a creature controlled by the throes of chaos, yes?”

“My mom always called me a chaotic monkey,” you grumbled.

“Then maybe you have always had an affliction,” König offered, “but either way, you want to go somewhere? Somewhere other than here?”

“Anywhere,” you lay your head in your arms, folded messily over the table.

“Anywhere where you won’t drop dead of poison, implode and/or explode, freeze to death or be instantly incinerated, I’m assuming?” König checked.

You glared at him, “I don’t wanna die today.”

“I figured would ensure proper clarification,” König sniffed, “no matters, Summoner, I ask if you are interested in accompanying me on a journey?”

You perked up immediately, “Where to?”

“Well, I’m interested in retrieving a gift for my mother, and I figured a small little trip would do us well,” König took to his feet to stretch his long body out.

“Hold up,” you held up a hand, “you have a mom!?”

“Yes?” König turned to stare at you, “don’t you?”

“Yeah but like, I’m human,” you pointed out.

“Once I hatched I was raised by my mother,” König spoke slowly, almost as though he was worried he might break your mortal mind, “much like you were, no? She fed me from her breasts and raised me to be the being I am today.”

“So you’re saying there’s more things like you?” you asked bluntly.

König gasped and grasped at his chest, “Things like me! You do wound me, summoner! Gravely so!”

“Well I don’t know what you are! You’re just… I dunno,” you shrugged pathetically, “an avatar of chaos?”

“I’m a [REDACTED FOR READER’S SANITY], don’t you know?”

Once your head stopped hurting and the images had stopped flashing behind your eyes, you were able to shake yourself off and give König a proper glare.

“You did that on purpose,” you grumbled.

“I had a point to get across,” König replied.

“Okay but did you actually,” you grumped.

König closed his eyes and offered you a blithe shrug, “It was effective, so I believe so yes.”

“You’re literally the worst.”

“And yet still you hold a place for me in your heart,” König sang, “which I do appreciate, Summoner.”

“I hate you.”

“And yet your heart says otherwise,” König walked over to pull you to your feet, “now Summoner, tell me, are you not interested in going on an adventure together? Somewhere fun?”

“Your idea of fun is mentally scarring me on a Saturday afternoon at,” you checked your watch, “three-thirty in the afternoon. So, I’m gonna ask you again, is this really fun for both of us?”

“I do believe so,” König laughed as he twirled you in his arms, “I have an idea in mind. My mother has always been fascinated by human delicacies, and so I thought I might find some to bring back to her. What are your thoughts on accompanying me on this little quest, so to say?”

“What sorts of things would you be bringing her?” you asked as he turned you to face him.

“Well,” König took your hips in his claws and swayed you both from side to side, “I have heard some fascinating things from around this realm. I’ve heard of this fermented shark up in Greenland, but there’s also something called casu martzu from Sardinia, a little island off of Italy.”

“Um, what’s casu martzu?” you asked with a laugh.

“Maggot cheese, I believe it’s also known as,” König explained, laughing at how you scrunched your face.

“Do you think she’d like that?” you held back a gag.

“Well, do you have any better ideas for sweets?” König asked as he danced you around the room.

You looked at him carefully.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No?”

“Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“This is no joking matter, Summoner. Finding the finest sweets to bring back to my mother is of great interest to me.”

“König,” you sighed as you followed König’s steps, “you ate my chocolate, right?”

König leaned back, “I had thought you’d forgotten about that incident…”

“That was my period chocolate, König,” you bit back a snarky remark, “I’m not going to forget that so easily,” you held up a finger to his ‘lips’ (you suspected them to be a beak) and shushed him, “look, did you think the chocolate was what you’d call ‘sweet’?”

König nodded enthusiastically, “Very much so! It was delicious! It was absolutely superb! But of course, such a wondrous treat must be extremely rare, no?”

“I mean, yeah, I had that imported from Switzerland,” you admitted bitterly, “so it wasn’t like any regular old chocolate, but chocolate isn’t too hard to find.”

“Are you implying that I’m overthinking my gift?” König asked suspiciously as he dropped you into a dip, pulling you up just as easily.

“I’m implying that maybe you’re not choosing foods humans would usually consider ‘sweet’,” you explained gently.

König seemed a tad crestfallen, but was quick to recover, “Then why not go and get her some chocolate? Surely if it is as you say, it must be easy to get some of the best to bring back to my mother.”

“Well, I think we’d need to go pretty far to be able to get some,” you explained sadly, “the stuff on base is pretty shit.”

“Then let’s go to this… What did you call it… This Switzerland place!” König crowed, “it mustn't be too far from us.”

“König it’s an ocean away,” you drawled as you smoothly followed his steps around the room, taking a moment to twirl before facing him again, “and no we can’t just go get on a plane right now.”

“Why would we need a plane?” König snorted.

“How else would we get there,” you laughed before stilling, “König you’re not gonna teleport me there.”

“I think you’re being rather small minded right now,” König huffed.

“König I saw what happened to the cookies and the pizza,” you warned him slowly, “I don’t want to be killed by trying to travel through whatever magic thing you use to get around.”

“I think you’ll find I’ve improved my skills,” König sniffed.

“I don’t want to TEST-”

You were cut off by a loud VWOOSH as your world was encompassed by an inky darkness. You felt upside down, right side up and sideways all at once as a flurry of temperatures barraged against your skin. You clenched your eyes tight for fear of them being ripped from your skull. It grew hotter, hotter and hotter as you clenched your hands around König’s middle, holding as tightly as you could against the flurry of winds that threatened to tear you apart. You let out a scream, but it was completely drowned out by the raging winds and the vacuum of space around you.

Just as you ran out of breath, you stumbled to your feet. You carefully opened your eyes to find yourself in a small village square, dancing in König’s arms once again.

“König?” you asked carefully.

“Yes, Summoner?”

“Are we in Switzerland right now?”

König chuckled, “Well I’m glad your mind didn’t get scrambled by the journey.”

“You nearly did what to me!?”

“Hush, Summoner,” König held you in close, “just be happy you’re in one piece. Anyways, I never would have let such harm come to such a precious part of my life.”

“You’re lucky I like you,” you rolled your eyes, but relaxed into König’s arms.

“As you should,” König pecked you (quite literally) on the forehead.

“Ow!” you swatted his chest, “you need to stop doing that.”

“What, kissing you?”

“Pecking me!”

“Ah,” the bones under König’s hood cracked and pulled briefly before settling into a new place. He leaned down again to kiss your forehead, this time with chapped lips behind his mask.

“Thank you,” you smiled before reaching up to kiss his chin.

“Anyways,” König drew you both to a stop, “shall we get Mama some chocolates?”

“Mama?”

“My mother,” König chuckled, “did you forget why we came here?”

You tucked your face into his dark robes, “Of course not. I just didn’t expect you to call your mother ‘Mama’.”

“Mama means everything to me,” König stepped back to take your hands, “now, there should be a chocolate shop nearby. How about we go and get her something sweet?”

You stepped to stand by his side with a smile.

“Sure,” you agreed, “let’s go.”

AU Masterlist

[wafflureal]

Pure Vanilla Cookie's Wet Tingles Info !!!

I decided I would make a post here explaining wet tingles to everyone who might be confused

(PLEASE REBLOG TO REACH MORE PEOPLE !! :3 /nf)

Wet Tingles Origin

It all started when i had a dream on November 1st, 2023, where I got a new costume for Pure Vanilla Cookie called "Wet Tingles." I woke up, and it was on my mind all day, so i decided to make an edited sprite of what it looked like

I posted it to Reddit, where it got pretty popular pretty quickly, but it ended about a week later. Then, fast forward to April 2024, suddenly it's everywhere on Twitter. People were making fanart of him, they were making fan costumes of their favorite cookies, and it even made it to the cookie run kingdom discord server.

September 18th 2024 Update:

A few nights ago i had ANOTHER DREAM OF HIM !! There was this one person on Etsy selling homemade CRK plushies and while i was going through their listings, I saw one with the name "Wet Tingles". This wasn't the same original Wet Tingles we all know and love, this one had a complete redesign with actual clothes this time, he had a cream colored long sleeve shirt with a collar with the top button unbuttoned with a brown diamond pattern pullover and the MyCookie pants but it was the same color as his notorious green towel. He had a mohawk and a few face markings, and a confident lookings pose. Funny enough, the cover art for this listing looked like it was drawn by one of my friends, @cortlandkaard, so I had asked it to draw him and we dubbed him "Awakened Wet Tingles". Basically Pure Vanilla Cookie when you awaken him with soulprisms but if you had the wet tingles costume equipped, the costume would change too. Here's the amazing art made by it ! :D

Wet Tingles Story

The story behind wet tingles is rather long. It takes place during Cookie Odyssey Chapter II. Clotted Cream Cookie invited Pure Vanilla Cookie, GingerBrave, Black Raisin Cookie, and Burnt Cheese Cookie to the Creme Republic to discuss the expedition to Beast Yeast. He sent a hot air balloon to the Vanilla Kingdom to transport them. After arriving in the Republic, they go to the council hall and have a meeting with Clotted Cream Cookie in the Council Hall. He tells them to relax for now and enjoy what the Republic has to offer. He grants them a royal credit card that has infinite uses, almost like in Amphibia. The GingerGang (GingerBrave, Black Raisin Cookie, and Burnt Cheese Cookie) are ecstatic and rush through the Republic, using the credit card on everything they can. Pure Vanilla Cookie, however, is having trouble keeping up with them. They notice and tell him to relax at the Creme Republic Spa. He is reluctant, but they force him to relax there. The lobby of the spa only had a reception table with an unknown character as the receptionist. The GingerGang leave him there and continue on their adventures through the republic, exploring the place and buying more things. Some time goes by, and Financier Cookie shows up and informs them that Clotted Cream Cookie summoned them back to the council hall. They rush to the spa and past reception to get Pure Vanilla Cookie. The actual spa area was a rather big locker room size area with a singular hot tub in the center of it. It was almost like a Japanese sentō, so yes, they were naked in the hot tub. There were a bunch of other INCREDIBLY BUFF cookies with white towels around their waists conversing with each other. Inside the hot tub, however, is Pure Vanilla Cookie with two other INCREDIBLY BUFF cookies. He seemed to be rather flustered being in there with them but is still enjoying himself and conversing with them about the glory days of the Pure Vanilla Kingdom. He spots the GingerGang, and they tell him they're needed in the council hall. He gets out of the tub (GingerGang looks away) and ties that notorious green towel around his waist. They leave the spa quickly, and Pure Vanilla Cookie keeps the towel on the for the rest of the day, even during the meeting with Clotted Cream Cookie.

(NOTE: Pure Vanilla Cookie is the only one with a green towel, and only INCREDIBLY BUFF cookies can have white ones)

Future of Wet Tingles?

I have already drawn Pure Vanilla Cookie's Wet Tingles, but I plan to draw all of the ancients with a Wet Tingles costume (Golden Cheese will have her girlies out)

My original plan with Wet Tingles since the beginning was to have it a real costume for Pure Vanilla Cookie in the game, and i believe together we can pressure the devs hard enough to add it

I never expected a simple dream I had to turn out to be this big within the community, and low-key do so much for gender equality in the community (Twitter oomf's words not mine). I am eternally grateful for everyone who partook in the trend back in April and for those who are still fans of the costume

Fanart?

YES!!!!! PLEASE PLEASE !!!!!! When posting your absolutely fucking awesome wet tingles fanart, please use "#wet tingles" and tag me. There are no limitations to what you may or may not draw, draw OG Wet Tingles, draw your OC in wet tingles, draw your favorite cookie in wet tingles, have the characters do anything you want !!

Here are some fanarts I've gathered through the year :3

- @cortlandkaard

- @original-oz-soda and @mein-schatz

- @rxhouse and @thelosers-club

[lemonwisp]

Okay folks here is my honest review of season 4 of the umbrella academy (not that it matters but this is from a person who’s obsession runs so deep I started a meme page for this show, I started making edits because of this show, I found out how to label my sexuality because of this show, after season 1 I bought all the comics and then I also bought the you look like death comics when they came out, I have nearly every funko pop (rip hazel and cha cha when I get you and when I get young Ben my collection will be complete) I love this show more than words can describe)

I was expecting it to be bad, in the way that season 3 was bad, and it wasn’t bad in that way, however there was still some awful cgi (tua really shows me that shows can have wonderful and awful cgi at the same time)

I enjoyed the first episode and became hopeful when Klaus got the dog tags but then he doesn’t even put them on despite keeping them. I loved Klaus’s friendship with Claire, I liked Luther acting like a golden retriever. Blah blah blah. I liked Diego and the piñata and the fact they called their firstborn Grace was really sweet

However the continuity errors in this season really bothered me. At the end of season 3 Klaus still has the dog tags and temple tattoo, in the promotional picture Klaus has the temple tattoo, yet in the show it wasn’t there.

The plot hole of Sloane not being there (I know realistically when Allison told Reggie the timeline she wanted she was being selfish but still)

Also the thing about Lila and hating bracelets totally goes back on the fact that Diego got her one in season 2 and she wore it all the time.

THE FACT IT TOOK THEM SO LONG TO GET TO MAINE BUT WHEN PEOPLE JUST WALKED OFF THEY GOT BACK TO THEIR HOUSES AND STUFF SO FAST

The fact Ray leaving was mentioned only twice and we never got more information on that.

The fact that Klaus pulled the lovers card and Dave didn’t come back! The fact Klaus had time to try to summon Dave and just didn’t. Klaus writing STOP on their hand and then that just disappearing. Also Klaus’s PTSD just not being shown anymore.

I’m not even going to talk about the Lila and Five situation because I’m so unbelievably angry about it. I’m obviously angry about Dave not being mentioned at all.

Also I thought Klaus being a medium was clever but also then it just turned into them being used and idk I just want Klaus to be happy

Also Ben this season was funny, but I just miss brelly Ben so much.

And while they were in the subway station I was waiting for Brelly ben to show up because the scene in season 3 of Ben BEING ON A TRAIN! I was like oh that must be brelly ben, like that’s where he went after turning into swiss cheese and then they’d get him and have him face sparrow Ben or something.

And after all of the lead up to how Ben originally died and it just being that Reggie killed him. I feel like that wasn’t that big of a shock value because Reginald seems like the type to do that. I also feel like it was kind of boring. But I did appreciate the fact the young cast were in season 4

Also I’m not saying Jennifer should have died but they said only one of them needed to die and I know it’s selfish to want Ben to live and I felt bad for Jennifer it’s just I didn’t really grow attached to her

I understand why it ended the way it did but also am upset with the ending. I admit the marigolds at the end were cute, but even though I know it’s self indulgent to wish for this I just wanted them to be happy. Or even if the ending was just like a time loop and it restarted back to season 1 would have made me feel a bit more satisfied.

I don’t know, it’s just that I’ve grown up watching tua, I’ve spent five years of my life hyperfixating on this show, and it feels like the actors care about their characters and the writers do not.

However I’m so glad I got to be part of this journey with all the other TUA fans, I thank everyone who supported my meme page I have on Instagram, who makes fan art, fan fiction, and edits about the show and comics, everyone who cares about TUA, and I’m sorry that it ended the way that it did because frankly seeing the fans care more about the characters than the writers hurts. Knowing the injustices done to the characters hurts, but I’m glad I’m not alone when I say season four kinda fucking sucked.

EDIT: NOT TO EVEN MENTION IN SEASON 3 BEN KEPT DRAWING JENNIFER THEN THAT WAS NEVER MENTIONED IN SEASON 4 and CLAIRE KNEW KLAUS WAS IMMORTAL LIKE WHEN DID SHE FIND THAT OUT

[intrepid-fictioneer-7]

Recent chapters of the underrated Fate spinoff Fate/type Redline got me in my feelings so I had to talk about it at lengths, even moreso now that it hasn't updated in months (the mangaka, Ryouji Hirano, has health problems I believe). Spoilers obviously.

Now, when I call type Redline, "underrated", it's more of a subjective than objective assessment. Despite being a manga and thus far more accessible than the untranslated visual novels or light novel series of TYPE-MOON, I see it discussed fairly rarely. At the very least, as far as I know, there hasn't been much big posts analyzing it, so I believe this should be one of the first.

Just don't expect something really deep, these are mostly my musing, rambling observations.

In fact, for a long time, I didn't really have a well-articulated thought about Redline's themes. The contrast of a Holy Grail War taking place in the middle of a world war simply had me chalk it up to the tried and true "war is hell" and not think any deeper (which was a bit intellectually lazy of me). And there is certainly that, but it's a bit more elaborate than that, or else I wouldn't find Redline as interesting. And it all reached a thematic "climax" of sorts in the recent chapter as of the time of writingé

In reality, the story signaled its central theme from the very start, I just wasn't paying attention. One of the first chapters ends with this page:

At first, I thought this was just about Nobunaga. But it turns out this specific page and its text will become the precursor of how the manga is going to present Servants, and how this presentation fits into its larger representation of what war is.

Something you hear somewhat frequently when people mention Redline is "it made Servants scary again". It is only half true, Servants have usually only been "scary" in specific circumstances (Bluebeard in FZ, True Assassin in FSN, and Jackie in Apo come to mind). What they actually mean is that Redline shows Servants as above human again, and it does so by showing them brutally go through lots and lots of human bodies, when Fate is usually about Servants fighting each other. You see Servants vs. humans sometimes, but it's usually 1v1 deals. The only notable exception I can think of is Clan Calatin against Alcides in strange Fake.

There is also Apocrypha, but they are up against armies of homunculi, golems, and animated skeletons, so the dynamic is a bit different than with modern armies. It does however say this.

Indeed, Lancer of Red could burn to ash and crush the stakes with his flames and divine spear. But the Red camp's odds of successfully opposing the Black camp's overwhelming amount of material resources were fifty-fifty. Fighting a force of twenty thousand was beyond the capacities of even a mighty Heroic Spirit. Even then, there would have been no problems if they were alive, but right now they were Servants. The more they consumed prana in great quantities, the closer they approached death. (Apocrypha volume 2 ch.2)

Which is interesting in light of Redline's story, but I digress.

But here, in Redline, because it's during the Second World War, and members of the military are using Servants to do their bidding as well as planning to use them to win the war, there are a lot of interactions between Servants and modern human armies, usually violent ones, to catastrophic results, as Servants go through lots of human meat like cheese. The picture above is after Oda Nobunaga shoots down an entire fleet of American planes heading to Japan.

It's a type of interactions we only ever really saw when Berserker Lancelot in Zero overtook a JSDF fighter jet to fight Gilgamesh on Vimana, while the other plane got eaten by the Lovecraftian horror Caster summoned. The militarized forces of Faldeus in FsF mostly only go after human mages and steer clear of Servants.

And that makes for an interesting contrast that Redline is all too happy to highlight time and time again. When they say "Servants are scary", they mean "Servants are above human", in every sense of terms. No normal human can harm them or even pose a challenge to them, for they are above human strength and capabilities: they are superhuman, they are inhuman.

And that does not just mean inhuman power, but also inhuman thinking.

One of the main conflict throughline of the manga is the relationship between Kanata Akagi, our main protagonist, and his Servant Okita. They don't clash as such, it's not like Fate route Shirou hindering Saber from doing her job, nor is it like Kiritsugu disregarding Saber. It's more low-key, like a misunderstanding that can never be solved. Okita was a warrior in life, and this Holy Grail War in war-torn Japan is just another battlefield to her. Kanata however was born and raised in a Japan long after the war ended, in more peaceful times where he never had to kill. And it's this fundamental difference in lived experiences and mindset that stops them from ever reaching an understanding about how to approach the war:

Even later, as the war goes on, after Okita almost killed potential allies (more on that later), and Kanata reveals to her he comes from the future and what his goals are (ensure his grandma doesn't die and he can come back), and they decide to have a more honest partnership with each other, it's still not enough.

Because when Okita kills a human soldier again, this time a soldier wounded by Berserker who charged Kanata because he was a Master and he blamed magi for how pear-shaped the whole situation has become, this time she does a 180 and instead of convincing Kanata to become ready to kill, she instead wants him to think of her as his tool to kill in his place and take the burden upon herself:

Kanata can only ask her if she's really fine being a sword to be used by someone else and nothing more, to which she replies that's all she needs.

Do note how completely obscured, borderline blank (save for a small, thin-lipped smile), Okita's face is as she says this. As if Kanata and us readers really can't tell how she actually feels about her own words.

This is not the first time the manga does this with Okita.

Coming back to the almost aborted alliance I mentioned earlier, what happened is that, a few chapter before this, the Rider of this war, Sakamoto Ryouma and Oryou, met with Okita to ask her and her Master for an alliance to stop the war from spiraling further and kill more innocents. It would be normal to be suspicious of their intentions, especially since Ryouma initially hides from her that he is a Servant.

But that's not the reasoning Okita uses to reject the alliance and subsequently attack them:

"There is only one path for me (war)." And here it is again: "She's not human."

And it happened even earlier too. When Servant Assassin (Okada Izou) fights Okita, he grows more and more disturbed as he doesn't feel fear, anger, or exaltation as he fights and cuts her, feeling nothing at all from her aside from the scent of blood. Okada's thoughts are interspersed with Kanata's own thoughts about visiting his dying comatose grandmother in the hospital as a kid. And when Kanata touched his grandmother's hand, just like when Okada faces Okita, all it felt like was that:

As you can see, a lot of emphasis, both textually and visually, that Okita does not feel human, and her way of thinking is so alien people can't comprehend her.

And it's not just her, Servants in general are portrayed this way throughout. You saw the pilot's words about Nobunaga at the start of this post, but it occurs later as well. When she was first summoned in the previous war a few years ago by the Imperial Army, her summoner was an arrogant dude who tried to get her to submit and she casually beheaded him. Following that is this page:

Nothing showing on this blood soaked face except for elongated eyes like those of a monster. And after that, everyone in the room prostrate themselves before her like she is a god they worship.

She picks her Master from the crowd, the half-Japanese girl Kaname Asama, and she treats her surprisingly decently from what we see throughout the manga, giving the shrinking violet of a girl respect like she is her attendant, unlike Kaname's boss Magatsu (more on him later) who threatens her and even hits her.

So you would think they have a cordial relationship? Well, maybe they did, but that was until the recent chapter, which has Magatsu's Berserker fight Lancer, and instead of helping their ally, Nobunaga wants to leave, which leads to this exchange:

The same face and eyes again. Kaname doesn't understand her Servant, nor can she tell what she's thinking, just as Nobunaga's face loses all expression, making it impossible for us to tell as well.

(This is not exactly new in regard to Nobu: Keikenchi, the original author of Koha-Ace and the mind behind Redline, already made a Koha-Ace oneshot previously focusing on her, and in it it was shown that, when she was alive, Nobunaga could not "hear" the voices of other people, other humans, and it's her being unable to understand other people that contributed to both her rise and fall)

Another Servant serving as a good example of this is Berserker, which obviously makes sense when it's the Class that from the very start of the Fate franchise in Fate/stay night was there to be impossible to communicate with. But interestingly, everything that surrounds Berserker, not just the Servant itself, reinforces this theme, as if the story employs irony in making the maddest of them all in a war full of mad people the more in-depth examination of the idea instead of being the most obvious.

But I need to scale back a bit to explain.

The Master of Berserker is Major Magatsu, the head of the Imperial Army's magecraft division and one of the main human antagonist. He is kind of interesting in how it's not just his Servant, but his own actions that act as a fulcrum to demonstrate the point. See, in these last stages where it is clear Japan is going to lose, Magatsu wants to keep the war going. His main goal is that he sees the war as not just for the glory of Japan, but as an opportunity to create a world where mages stand at the top, even planning to orchestrate a secret coup within the Japanese military. He is able to amass a great number of men under him, all fanatically loyal to him due to a mixture of his own charisma and appeal to nationalism as well as cigarettes laced with suggestive tobacco making the soldiers smoking it pliable. His followers are so loyal in fact, that when a team of them comes back defeated after facing a Servant trying to deal with Team Kanata, they beat the only survivor up and torture him for his failure and for failing Magatsu, without Magatsu's knowledge or consent (in fact, he is slightly disturbed by this and thinks to reduce the dosage of the tobacco).

But that doesn't deter him from his tactics. Even when he has to hasten his coup after being forced to when pro-war proponents in the war ministry are assassinated, leading to his enraged troops to blame the proponents of suing for peace within the ministry, he still keeps with the easily pliable and fanatical troops even though it is clear he can barely control them. "When the madman runs, any man not mad starts running" is written on a banner hanging on the wall of the magecraft division's headquarters, and Magatsu, who doesn't know who wrote it, finds it a good quote, not knowing how prophetic the words would become. Regardless, Magatsu has made the entire magecraft division and then some fold under his command by making them believe he will be the hero to save Japan. He makes many speeches about saving the nation and how the preservation of the Empire is vital to the preservation of the soul of the nation, and can easily drive crowds into nationalistic frenzy with talks of using Archer and Berserker to fight on mainland Manchuria, and clearly invoking the spirit of complete sacrifice to the nation like in banzai charges and kamikaze, even if not explicitly:

Sometimes, an ordinary and unrefined person will defeat their fear of death and become a noble person with the resolve to throw away their own lives. This phenomenon, which one could call a miracle, is occuring at this very moment, in various places within Japan. War allows all sorts of miracles to exist.

For these reasons, the Colonel, the so far unnamed high-ranked Nazi who is Magatsu's main ally, praises him for "having a knack for understanding human nature", which is why he gives him Berserker, as he believes that, if he experiences the war from the same position as Servants, Magatsu may be able to come to understand them...especially, as he notes, Magatsu completely failed to have Nobunaga pay him any attention:

Magatsu, for all his charisma and servile attitude, completely fails to have Nobunaga pay him any attention even once since her summoning years ago. When summoned, she ignored him in favor of going to Kasame. She doesn't follow his orders nor does she even acknowledge him as a faithful follower: he might as well be air in her eyes. Not only that, she only talks to his subordinate Kaname Asama, whom he disdains for having foreign blood due to being half-Japanese. And the Colonel rightly realizes that Nobunaga's lack of interest makes him seethe. Magatsu seethes so much in fact that he comes to the conclusion that he doesn't need to understand Servants, especially to win when they don't seem to care what he's they're fighting for, so he would rather settle for Berserker than the unruly Archer, believing he can control him thanks to the Heroic Spirit Restraining Device provided by the Nazis. Very predictably, it goes pretty poorly.

As soon as he's summoned and out of the tank he was put in, Berserker immediately begins to indiscriminately kill soldiers of the magecraft division for no reason, and when Magatsu attempts to use his Command Spells on him, he cuts off his arm and crushes it, making the Command Spells disappear. Berserker then engages in a rampage throughout the magecraft division base, gleefully killing every soldier in his way, yet does not kill his Master despite his failed attempt to restrain him:

Magatsu is unwittingly along for the ride as Berserker carries him in his arms as he goes about his "fun".

Naturally, Magatsu's men try to slow down and stop Berserker using "anti-Servant" weapons (lol) that obviously do jack shit. But they use too much firepower and seemingly ignore Magatsu's cries for help, which leads him to believe that they are trying to kill them both. Berserker agrees in his twisted logic, and enacts more violence as he believes his Master is in danger.

The reality is actually different: when Kaname Asama try to get to exercise more caution so they do not accidentally hit and hurt the Major, when he is clearly an hostage, one soldier slaps her and rebukes her, madly stating that there is no way the savior of Japan would ever get hurt by these weapons.

They keep throwing weapons and men at Berserker, which eventually confuses Magatsu, because weren't they trying to kill him? Why then are they wasting their lives against a Servant?

Which is when the point is made.

As this massacre rages on, Magatsu is telepathically contacted by the Colonel, who congratulates him on summoning Berserker and says that the Restraining Device is working wonderfully saying as the major's mana and life are still intact. Magatsu, enraged, accuses the Colonel of having done something to his men, maybe brainwashing them to kill themselves, which is a fair accusation considering it is the Nazis who did assassinate the war hawks and forced Magatsu to accelerate his coup plans.

Except the Colonel says he had nothing to do with it and the reason for the soldiers' actions is far simpler: they admire Magatsu, they truly, genuinely do. The Colonel explains that his accomplishments, from taking control of the war to making a Servant protect the capital from air raids, made him look like a true messiah in the eyes of his men, and Magatsu was too blind to see it. Of course he denies it and calls the Colonel a liar, until he sees one of his men approach and try to reach him, only to be pierced by Berserker's spear for his troubles, and as he lays dying, Magatsu hears his last words on his bloody lips: "Glory to the Major."

As the one-sided battle against the human waves of martyrs continue, the Colonel throws Magatsu's earlier words about the war "allowing miracles" back to his face, bringing the whole arc to its logical conclusion, and I will transcribe the speech in its entirety since it intersperses scenes of the battle and that's too much images to for this post:

How about you open your eyes to reality for once? The only sane person in that battlefield is you. War is cruel. It burdens its victims with a detestable fate. But look at them. They do it for their country, for you. Their madness calls forth even more madness. All these men rush forward, knowing well only death awaits them. War takes these ordinary men, and turn them into martyrs. War allows all sorts of miracles. I thank you. You've allowed me to witness something beautiful. Did seeing people die finally get to you? Feeling remorse? I suppose you didn't have what it takes to be a soldier. This is no time to be losing your mind, Major. It's not everyday you get to experience war from such a safe position. Revel in it a little more. You are at the center of a miracle. That which creates miracles, and gathers people's faith. What do you call that, Major? Do you know? A God. Congratulations, Messiah. In this exact moment and place, you are the one closest to a God.

Just as the voice of God can't reach mortals, your voice can't reach these men. For alas, there are none who can hear it. Raise your head, Major. The curtain has fallen at last. And you should now be able to understand her a little more.

Archer arrives, looking down at Berserker and Magatsu standing on the mountain of corpses of all the men of the magecraft division, and Magatsu tries one last time to get her to look at him by calling for her help, as all he ever wanted was to prove he was worthy to stand at her side...and she laughs in his face. She mocks him for thinking he could ever control a Servant and finds his tear-stained and snotty face hilarious.

And Magatsu, at this last straw after everything, breaks.

As he begins to laugh maniacally, his Servant joins in, and as Archer, Berserker, and him laugh, it's as if the corpses of his men, their mouth frozen in bloody leering rictus by rigor mortis, are laughing with them. Magatsu finally realizes it was wrong to think to use Servants in a war, because they could never be measured by human standards.

It's not that Servants can't be understood, not solely. This sequence of chapters shows it goes deeper than that: it's war that turns everyone mad, and thus makes understanding impossible among humans. And Servants are humanity writ large, the highest of the high and the lowest of the low, because you need to be larger than life to be remembered for eternity in the Throne of Heroes. Which means that, where war turns humans into mad monsters, it makes the Heroic Spirits standing above humans into the embodiments, the apotheosis, the personified concepts of madness.

They are mad gods.

The World War and the Holy Grail War are both founts of insanity, because that's what war does. The average soldier's brain briefly brushes with the eternal sublime, the mysterium tremendum et fascinans that turns humans into figures of worship recorded and enthroned for eternity beyond space and time. And this brief contact with the Absolute gives them the divine language that makes them unintelligible to other men. Their visages, like Moses' after descending the mountain, can no longer be looked upon. They are completely obscured to us who don't live and breathe for war, for violence is their domain now.

War makes Berserkers of us all.

Is it any wonder that the Classes of the Holy Grail War by design favor warriors and warmongers? This war is rife with adepts of violence: a warlord (Nobunaga), a warrior (Mori), a secret police assassin (Okita), a plain assassin (Okada), and a martial artist (Li Shuwen). All of which mad in their own way and choosing the path of violence over any other options.

And I don't think it's a coincidence that the sanest and most "normal" Servants we have seen in Redline not only belong to the Classes less obviously about violence or weaponry, Rider and Caster, but their identities are also not famous for violence: the Rider was a politician and diplomat, while the Caster is a scientific thought experiment about the laws of physics.

I don't know how this will conclude or shake out, but I have my suspicions. Our protagonist Kanata comes from the peaceful post-war Japan and has so far always been repulsed by violence, despite attempts by his Servant and his grandmother to get him to get used to it to be more effective in the war. In fact, he reaffirms that he wants to win the war without becoming a remorseless bloodthirsty killer.

I can see potential routes the story can take depending on whether he slowly succumbs to war's madness or he heroically resists its call. Especially if he is pitted against what seems to be one of the main antagonists, the Nazi Colonel, clearly war's most fervent prophet, whose face is always obscured.

We'll see. The latest chapter as of the time of writing is the fight between Lancer and Berserker. Even the pair that seems to get along the best, Team Lancer, has the Master threatened by her Servant for almost "interrupting" his fight by trying to heal his wounds. And her (current) last words are a perfect encapsulation of the manga and my whole thesis:

[haunted-xander]

________

"Hey, Owari-san! Can I take a picture of you real quick? I want to snap a shot of you relaxing during breakfast."

"Huh? Yeah sure, go ahead! Just lemme eat while you're at it."

"Of course! Just act as you normally would, don't mind me!"

*Snap!*

"Haha, you look so free! I'm definitely glad I caught this moment!"

"Hey, Koizumi! You need to eat now too! I know you still haven't eaten yet!"

"I'll eat, I'll eat, no need to get pushy! Haha."

________

"Fuahahaha! I see you require my aid, Mistress of Blades. Very well, I shall extend you my mercy and summon forth a suitable beast for your companionship! Fuahahaha!"

"...So, you'll help me? I would appreciate it greatly..."

"Fehehe. Behold! A beast has arrived from the underworld!"

*Meeeeoooow*

"Is that... a cat? It's so... cute... and... fluffy..."

*Mrrrrp?*

"...C-can I... pet it?"

"Is that not what you have requested of me, mortal? I will have you know I do not accept favors from just anyone. Do as you will with your new companion, but be careful. You must treat it with caution, lest it devour your very soul!"

"Of course. I'll... treat it with care."

*Mrreow!*

"...You're so... fluffy... and cute..."

*Prrrrrrr*

________

"Tsumiki, you should be more careful. You're still recovering, you need to take it easy."

"I-I'm sorry, Hinata-san! I j-just wanted to help... I-I-I-I'm s-s-s-so-sorry for being so useless! I'm so sorryyyyyyyyy!"

"Hey, it's okay! There's no need to apologize. I know you just want to take care of the others, but you need to take care of yourself too. I'm sure everyone would be happy to see you recover."

"U-um, okay... I-if you say so, Hinata-san. I-I-I'll do my best! I'll do my best to take care of myself!"

________

"Hey, Koizumi. Let me take a picture of you real quick."

"H-huh? A picture... of me? Why?"

"Well, you said you don't really like selfies, right? So you probably don't have a lot of pictures of yourself. I think it's only fair to have some pictures of you too, since everyone else have a lot."

"Oh! Well, if you're sure then... go ahead. I'm not really sure how to act in front of the camera though... I'm so used to being behind it."

"It's fine. You don't need to do anything big, just a smile would do. ...You're hair looks nice today, by the way."

"H-huh!? C-c'mon, you can't just put that on me all of a sudden like that!"

*Snap!*

"Ah, there we go. A nice smiling Koizumi shot. Cute."

"Ah- Hinata-kun! Did you compliment me just to get me to smile!?"

"Hey, I did mean it! You're hair really is nice today!"

"H-Hinata-kun!"

________

"Hey Hinata-kun, say cheese!"

"Huh?"

*Snap!*

"Haha, it's so rare to see you caught off guard these days! I just had to capture it somehow!"

"Oh, so that's what this is about. Haha, I guess I'm not really surprised easily anymore."

"No kidding! Sometimes it feels like nothing can surprise you. Good to see that's not the case, haha!"

________

"HEY HEY!!!! MAHIRU-CHAN!!!!!"

"W-what? What is it? Do you need something, Mioda-san?"

"MAHIRU-CHAN!!!! Please take a picture of Ibuki!!! Right now!!"

"H-huh!? I-I mean, sure but... what's the occasion?"

"Oh nothing, really! Ibuki just wanted a picture!"

"Haha, that's so like you! Well, alright, get ready!"

*Snap!*

________

"Big Sis Koizumiiiiii! Souda-kun is picking on me!"

"I'm not picking on you! I just said you had to leave some candy for the rest of us! It's not just for you, you know!"

"Huuuuh? You think a nasty little grease monkey like you deserves any candy? As if! The only ones on this island who deserve candy is me and Big Sis Koizumi! ...And maybe the depressed little girl in the pod room."

"Why does Monaca-chan get candy but I don't!?"

"Because Monaca-chan isn't an annoying, whiny little perverted dumbass, that's why!"

"You haven't even talked to her, how would you know what she's like!?"

"Cute little girls have a natural affinity for each other! Not that YOU would know."

"Saionji-san, you're not even little anymore..."

"B-but I'm still cute, right!? I'm still an adorable girl, right Bis Sis Koizumi?"

"Of course you're still cute, Saionji-san."

"Yaaaaay!"

________

"Hey, Nanami-san! Could a snap a photo real quick? I realized I don't have a lot of pictures of you, and I want to change that!"

"Hm? Oh, yeah. Sure. But can you make it quick? I was going to check on Monaca-san in the pod room... I thought she might be bored, so I brought her a 3DS to play with."

"How considerate of you! I'm not sure Monaca-san will be up for playing, though..."

"...No? Hm. Well, I'll hand it to her anyway, just in case she ends up feeling up to it."

"I'm sure she'll appreciate it!"

*Snap!*

________

"Oh, Sagishi-san! Look at what I have found!"

"Hm? What is it?"

"It is a serial killer documentation log! It appears that it has written down all the known information regarding serial killers all across history! Just look how thick it is! I am quite excited to read through this!"

"...You like serial killers a whole lot, huh."

"Yes! I find their way of thinking rather intriguing! Oh, but do not misunderstand! I do not condone or agree with their actions one bit! They are horrible criminals that should not be allowed to run freely to do whatever they wish! ...Oh, but... I suppose we are no different in that aspect..."

"...That's true. But our situation is very different. At the very least, we can now atone for our crimes by living our lives peacefully on this island, removed from the rest of society."

"...I suppose you are right. I will not let my past deeds disturb the peace of my present life! I will atone for my sins by enjoying myself in peace and companionship!"

"Heh. That's the spirit. ...Now then, how about that serial killer log? Why don't you tell me more?"

"Oh, yes! I would love to! Okay, so to begin with..."

________

"Haha, you enjoying yourself out there, Souda?"

"Of course! The water's super nice!"

"Kazuichi-chan's barely even in the water, though!"

"H-hey! Just because I don't feel like swimming right now doesn't mean I can't enjoy the water!"

"Is the swimming ring good enough for a baby like you? Kyahaha!"

"Don't call me a baby! Swimming rings are for everyone, not just kids!"

"You're still a total baby!"

"I'm not!"

"You are!"

"Am not!"

"Am too!"

________

"Hey, almost everyone's awake now, why don't we take a group picture?"

"B-but Komaeda-san isn't awake yet..."

"We don't know if that guy will ever wake up..."

"Please do not be so pessimistic! I am certain he will awake in time!"

"...Yeah, I agree with Sonia-san. Komaeda-kun will wake up eventually, I just know it. He's just taking a bit longer, is all."

"But why's that freak taking so damn long anyway? Is it 'cus his death was just THAT brutal?"

"No, I don't think so... His death was definitely brutal, but... I think some of the executions were decidedly worse."

"Souda's right. If his death was the reason, then Hanamura, Peko, and Tanaka would probably have taken a lot longer too. But they woke up just fine like the rest did."

"Komaeda's delayed awakening has nothing to do with the events of the simulation."

"...Do you have information regarding the Fortunate One that we do not, Lord of Darkness?"

"...I do. But it's not my place to share. Let's wait until he wakes up for that. For now, let's just take that picture, alright? We can always take a new one when Komaeda wakes up."

"Ibuki agrees with Hajime-chan! Iiiiiiit's PICTURE TIME!"

"Well, alright... If that's what everyone wants, then I'm fine with it too. Let me set up the camera and timer real quick! Everyone get ready!"

3...

2...

1...

*Snap!*

[gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot]

Once upon a time in a tavern

@sofasoap @eenochian and @nrdmssgs are bleeding this out of me, so blame them (thank you)

Fantasy AU masterlist / First

In any other town, a tiefling, an elf and a goat sitting at an inn together maybe would have raised some eyebrows.

But in Tharbad, the population was so diverse that one could cross paths with a halfling, a genasi, or a lizardfolk, and not bat an eye.

Once, that very inn had been the foundation of a tiny village on the coast, at a crossroad of the three main roads in the continent that grew until it became a bustling commerce stronghold and one of the most important ports.

The local temples thrived with the crowds of travelers that spent the night while on route to some other place and donated great sums for their safe travels. Local commerce and artisan workshops thrived as well, because there was always someone needing something repaired or made from scratch.

Ruled by a council of nobles and rich merchants, the city was staunchly independent, denying loyalty to any of the Kingdoms around. Said Kingdoms didn’t want any of their rivals to own such a rich city, and thus, Tharbad lived comfortably in a precarious balance.

Loved by everyone, desired by all.

‘‘What do you have to do in this place to get served?’’ Calliara grumbled, leaning back in her chair, with Sebastian on her lap. She was still eyeing up and down the furry creature suspiciously as the kid slept peacefully. That very morning when they woke up in the hay cart, the kid that had been brown the previous day, now had big white splotches on its fur.

And to top it off, when she asked Ol’kha about it, the tiefling had shrugged and said she didn’t see any difference.

‘‘Just being patient’’ Ol’kha smiled, filling her smoking pipe parsimoniusly. ‘‘It’s slow at this hour, and surely the kitchen is busy’’

As if summoned, a bubbly redhead half-elf appeared from the kitchen with a full tray, gliding with grace among the tables, placing meals or drinks and avoiding the grabby hands of some of the patrons. A tall, burly man that seemed to have some orc blood in him stood guard next to the bar counter, eyeing everything, and promptly marched over there to knock some sense into some heads.

‘‘I’m so sorry, serah. Your order will be out shortly, messeres’’ The tavern maid apologized to the tables that were still waiting, and stopped right in front of the tiefling and the elf. ‘‘My ladies, I apologize for the delay, the cook had some problems in the kitchen and needed my help’’

‘‘It’s fine, no need to apologize for being busy’’ Ol’kha waved a hand to disperse the smoke from her pipe. ‘‘When you have time, I’ll have mead, thank you’’

‘‘Same’’ Calliara muttered, looking around while rubbing a finger absently between Sebastian’s little horns. The furry creature’s fluffy tail wiggled happily. ‘‘And something to eat’’

‘‘We have a delicious fowl stew that is almost done, cheese and bread today’’ The bubbly maid smiled widely, ignoring two men that were seated at a nearby table with empty plates and that were whistling at her. ‘‘I’ll bring your drinks shortly, and then your food. Will your little friend want anything?’’

Calliara looked at Ol’kha, raising an eyebrow, and the tiefling shrugged.

‘‘Just water’’

‘‘Right away! If you need to call me, my name is Florrie!’’ The maid practically pranced back to the kitchen.

Calliara leaned back in her chair again, studying the room methodically. Exits, where the stairs were, the windows, what tables were occupied and what tables were free. There was an empty table, big enough for several people, right next to the small stage where a willowy human with chesnut hair was quietly tuning her lute.

‘‘Cozy’’

Ol’kha snorted when she heard the pleased grunt coming from her new friend, and took another puff of her pipe, chuckling.

‘‘Not used to taverns?’’

Two tankards, full to the brim with delicious looking mead were placed on the table along with a bowl with water, and the busy maid disappeared once again.

‘‘Not used to not being gawked at’’ Calliara shrugged, with a sheepish smile, seemingly relaxed with the small kid curled on her lap. She grabbed one of the tankards and brought it to her lips, to taste the golden liquid.

‘‘Gawked at why? It’s not like there aren’t more elves around’’ The tiefling tilted her head in the direction of a noble elven woman, elegant and ethereal, sitting at a table close to the stage and that was now conversing with the minstrel. Next to her, a really tall elven man was trying very hard to look busy with a book, but the red ears betrayed him each time he tried not to look at the pretty human. ‘‘See? There are two there, the lady that owns the alchemy shop and…’’

Her trained eyes noticed something before her rational mind did, and she looked back at Calliara, only to find an understanding smile.

‘‘You noticed’’

Ol’kha frowned, looking at the elven folk again, and back to the one sitting next to her.

‘‘Your ears aren’t as long’’

‘‘But they look the part don’t they’’ Calliara sighed, still smiling. ‘‘Well, I promised I’d tell you at a decent inn. Guess this is as decent as we’ll get’’

The tiefling leaned forward until she rested her elbows on the table, and her chin on her hands, with the pipe in her mouth. The elf, or not so elf, rolled her eyes.

‘‘Well, you know, when a father and a mother love each other very much…’’

‘‘Calliara!’’ Ol’kha nudged her companion’s side repeteadly with the tip of her tail, and Calliara tried to push it away without moving the sleeping goat on her lap.

‘‘Ugh, alright, alright…’’ Sighing again, she left the tankard on the table. ‘‘I’m… mostly elf’’

‘‘What do you mean, mostly’’

‘‘I was raised by humans, up in the North, among the tribes, but my mother was… is a half elf. My grandmother was an elven healer that decided to settle with the tribes, and married my grandfather… Oh, you woke up, little rascal’’

Calliara lifted Sebastian from her lap and set him on the table so he could drink from the water bowl, trying to avoid the wiggling tail on her face. Ol’kha moved dutifully both of their tankards so the kid wouldn’t kick them off the table in his excitement.

‘‘Ok but that would make you a quarter elf… unless your father wasn’t from the tribes?’’

‘‘My father was another traveling elven healer that decided to stay for a couple of seasons. Seems some of them are really fond of saving the savages’’ The elf snorted, dragging her chair on the floor so she could escape the wiggling tail. ‘‘At the end of the first summer since he arrived, poof, there I was. So that makes me, hum… mostly elf. Three parts elf and one part human’’

‘‘And were you born an elf or a little cub?’’ Ol’kha chuckled, making her friend roll her eyes with a smile while they tasted their mead.

‘‘I didn’t change into a wolf until I was almost five, after I got so angry I couldn’t see straight. But don’t ask me why, I don’t remember’’ Calliara shrugged. ‘‘By then my parents had decided to leave the tribes as errand healers, following armies to battle or going to lands ravaged by disease and famine’’

‘‘And they left you with your grandparents?’’ The tiefling raised her eyebrows when her friend nodded, and huffed a muffled laugh. ‘‘A mostly elf living among humans… and your elven grandmother, I hope’’

‘‘She passed shortly after my mother left. I guess from a broken heart’’ Calliara left the empty tankard on the table, and passed Sebastian’s water bowl to Ol’kha when Florrie appeared with their meal. Two fragrant, steaming bowls with a delicious looking fowl stew, that smelled heavenly, especially after being on the road for so long.

‘‘I guess it wasn’t easy’’ The tiefling mentioned, tasting the stew and keeping Sebastian on her lap so he wouldn’t get his hooves inside the bowl.

‘‘I was born there, but I was an outsider. And the second my grandfather died, I was very kindly made aware that I was unwelcome to keep living among them’’

‘‘Bastards’’

‘‘I don’t blame them. I’m not human. I’m not elf. I didn’t owe the tribes any allegiance once my bloodkin had passed away. I can change at will into a wild animal, that I keep under control most of the time. I’m a wild card’’ Calliara shrugged, taking a moment to chew what she had in her mouth. Still gliding among the tables, serving drinks or collecting empty dishes, Florrie appeared from behind the counter to refill their tankards with more mead, before disappearing again with a bubbly laugh.

‘‘Ok, so the wolf thing…’’ Ol’kha made a vague gesture with her hand, pointing at her. ‘‘You said you started being able to change at five’’

‘‘Correct’’

‘‘So… is it a spell? … A curse?’’

‘‘No idea. It’s useful to travel big distances, and my senses are very sharp even when I’m not in wolf form. But if I change too fast, too many times, or for a long time, it gets harder and harder to change back’’ Calliara shrugged, focused on her food, which was almost finished by then while Ol’kha still had half of it. ‘‘My grandfather said my father could do it too, but I don’t remember it’’

‘‘So… what are you?’’ The tiefling smiled, scratching Sebastian’s belly to keep him happy, while the furry creature drooled on her shoulder, asleep again.

Calliara let out a genuine laugh, shaking her head.

‘‘Complicated’’

‘‘You don’t say’’ Ol’kha laughed as well. ‘‘I guess you told me yours, I’ll have to tell you mine’’

‘‘That’s be nice…’’ Calliara stopped talking seconds before the main door opened, looking in that direction. If it wasn’t impossible, Ol’kha would have sworn that her friend’s pointy ears had perked up. ‘‘Ol’kha, that is a…’’

‘‘That is a what?’’ The tiefling turned her head to look at the door too, and smiled. ‘‘Oh, yes. That’s a dragon’’

Calliara stared with wide eyes at the imposing frame of what seemed like a big, muscled man, with short unruly brown hair and muttonchops, enter the tavern as if it was his home. Once he trespassed the treshold, big, green, dragonlike wings stretched wide for a moment before folding again at his back, while a long, muscular tail with green scales moved sinously. He waved a big hand, more like a paw with his sharp, dark claws, at the barmaid and the man guarding the bar counter, before heading for the big empty table next to the stage,

Next to him, a young looking half elf, with beautiful dark skin and dark eyes that glimmered with intelligence and wisdom in spite of his young appearance. Those eyes lit up when looking in their direction, and he raised a hand, gesture that Ol’kha reciprocated with a smile. He was chatting with a human just as tall as him but slightly bulkier, with a long braided mohawk and mischievous blue eyes, and infectious smile. His features looked similar to those of the minstrel.

‘‘Ol’kha, that’s a dragon’’ Calliara’s voice was low, almost reverent. The wolf inside her was shaking, howling at her to flee.

‘‘Oh, yes, isn’t he majestic? That’s… Price, or that’s the name he uses. Nobody knows his real name, of course.’’ The tiefling smiled, admiring the dragon’s wings, whose scales glittered lightly with the light of the candles. ‘‘And the half elf with him is my friend Gaz’’

Calliara nodded slowly. It was well known that one’s birthname was the key to the ownership or your soul and will, especially in the case of sentient mytical beasts with the ability to speak like dragons or sphynxes, in the case of demons or in the case of magical users like wizards and sorcerers.

‘‘I don’t know who’s the human but I think that’s Freya’s brother…’’ Ol’kha continued explaining, and laughed when Calliara looked back at her quizzically. ‘‘The minstrel. Her name is Freya, she’s quite notorious here in Tharbad and along the coast.’’

The mostly-elf-but-not was about to say something else when the main door opened again, to reveal another man, who was so tall that he had to duck to cross the treshold. He seemed to be just a tad taller than Price was, but just as broad or more, or maybe it was just the impression his dark clothes gave. His face was covered with a skull mask, and his heavy steps echoed in the suddenly silent room while he headed for the same table as Price and the other two.

‘‘And that’s… I don’t know who that is’’

‘‘People call him Ghost’’ Florrie appeared from nowhere again, holding a tray full of empty tankars and bowls, still with her wide smile. ‘‘Nobody knows who he is or where he comes from. It is said that Price made a deal with a demon to keep him as his bodyguard’’

‘‘Why would a dragon need a bodyguard?’’ Calliara looked up at the maid, who shrugged without losing her smile.

‘‘I’ve heard tons of stories. That he is a construct. That he is a demon, shackled to Price’s will. That he is a deserter from another Kingdom’’ Sighing, Florrie shrugged once again. ‘‘All I know is that Price appeared with him on his back four years ago, and nursed him back from the death. Since then, he is his shadow’’

Calliara and Ol’kha looked at each other while the maid left for the kitchen, and then looked back again at the group while they shook hands with each other, sitting down. The dragon in human form roared with laughter at something that the human with the mohawk said, while Ol’kha’s friend seemed trying not to laugh as well.

Ghost sat down with his back to the wall, able to look at everything and control where everyone was, and calmly took his skull mask off to place it on the table. Dark brown eyes swept all over the room, until they stopped at the table where a pretty tiefling with dark hair and elegant horns was sitting next to an elf with hair so fair that it looked almost white under the light of the candles.

‘‘Oh’’ Calliara muttered, and Ol’kha looked at her.

‘‘What?’’

The elf seemingly didn’t hear her, while she stared right back at Price’s shadow. Ghost’s scarred face seemeed to soften for a second, or maybe it was just an illusion thanks to the candles, and he looked away. Calliara averted her gaze too, and grabbed her tankard to pretend she wasn’t flustered.

‘‘Are you… blushing?’’

‘‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’’

Ol’kha laughed incredulously, and was about to tease her friend further when the main door opened for the third time.

This time, two men crossed the treshold, talking among themselves while they walked towards the big table by the stage too.

A tall, muscular man with a skintone that suggested there was drow blood in him. In what amounth, it wasn’t clear.

And a big, enormous, burly half orc with a wide smile that showed his lower tusks, golden chains dangling from his neck and over his open shirt, and that greeted Price with a thunderous laugh and a slap on the back that would have thrown to the floor a weaker man.

The men at the table shuffled their chairs to make space for the newcomers, except Ghost, who didn’t move an inch from where he was, listening to something that Gaz was telling him.

The half orc looked around the room as he sat down beside Price, without losing the dashing smile, and that smile widened when his dark eyes fell on the tiefling.

Ol’kha sank in her chair, and Calliara looked at her, surprised.

‘‘Crap’’