#that poor merchant lost their glasses

[marina-the-fisherman]

-Hey! Those are my glasses!

-Don't worry, I'll pay you. Thanks!

Ok so I got a new pair of glasses cause I lost my old ones. I also bought a backpack so I can carry everything I find.

_____________________

Glasses: -10 shrons

Backpack: -15 shrons

[youryanderedaddy]

Dark Is The Night

Summary: A late night encounter with a patroling soldier changes the trajectory of his life - and, unfortunately, yours too.

tw: female reader, obsessive behavior, non - consensual touching, threats, thoughts of non - con, mention of war, patronizing behavior, slight misogyny, hinted kidnapping

All he could think about was you.

It was a damp linden night, one of the very few old fashioned ones - as if time itself had stopped. The old colonel was laughing in short sharp breathes, skin spotting in red along with his sweaty neck, tearing into a letter he had received this very morning. The young soldiers were all over the tavern - some crying, some cheering over a beer and calling each glass their last, losing themselves in the rich foam that covered their fresh military mustaches. Christoph was alone, though.

He had no wife to write back to - no home to call his own, no friends or family to celebrate his final battle with. He also wasn't a rookie - so he couldn't drink himself blind in the pursuit of ideals, of empty promises of greatness to come. Truth was, his troops had won their fair share of battles, and today they had signed a treaty that would certainly benefit the district - the one he had lost his youth fighting for. He knew the capital would attempt at invasion, those greedy fucks wanted to bite more than they could chew - but that was no longer his problem. Today his contract ended. Today he was a free man.

And yet.

And yet all he could think about was you.

It was funny - he had spent more nights than he could remember wishing he could burn this half - dead village to the ground, all together with the maidens and the elderly still stick fending for themselves after the war. He presumed he'd be doing everyone a favor - he'd rid himself of the memories that haunted his dreams, and they wouldn't have to suffer any longer, not when all that winter would bring once again was even more hunger and decay.

After all, the victory changed nothing. The starving populace wouldn't starve anymore - it would simply die, having lost fathers, sons, daughters, farmers, merchants, healers. Nothing less than the very foundation of society. So maybe it would be far less cruel, far more humane, to burn everything and let them die with dignity.

But then you too would burn with the miserable souls of the damned. The man pictured it all - your beautiful skin still damp from the rain blistering in red and orange, and eventually black, those gems of yours trembling beneath your long eyelashes as the smoke swallowed your last breath.

The thought made Christoph irrationally angry - jealous even. Not only because he just imagined you dying, but because it was someone, something else stealing your final moment from him. Something else bruising your skin and forcing your lips to swell, something else causing you pain and suffering. No, he couldn't let you die. Not like this.

He couldn't help but recall your first meeting two years ago. Unbeknownst to you he had memorized it, citing each line by heart - envisioning it in his memory over and over each time he needed an escape, an outlet. The soldier wasn't one for softness, never one to dream and hope - but deep down he knew that this simple encounter had swayed the bullets. It had made him grip his rifle just a bit closer, made the biting wind just a bit warmer. He was a killing machine undeserving of humanity - yet you had saved him without even realizing it.

It was a cold winter night - quite opposite to this one, in the middle of Hell. The county your village was part of had been surrounded for a few weeks. Food was running low, and even clean water was scarce. All the men had been displaced a long time ago, sent off to fight in the eastern territories. Christoph was stuck at the Iron hills, a region so poor they didn't even bother to send additional armies to. If it lost, it lost. It held no special resources, no cultural or economic significance, no sea or forest roads to profit off of. All in all, no one wanted to serve here. No one but him.

Not that Christoph was too fond of the hills - it was more so that he didn't care where he was going to die. Whether it was on the eastern front, the western or even on the other side of the ocean, it didn't matter. And he had made peace with that fact - but before death took a toll on him, he was going to earn enough buck to buy good cigarettes for once in his miserable life. With real tobacco, none of that cheap imported trash they sold in his hometown.

And that's exactly how fate let him meet you. He was patrolling the border bridge late into the night - a thick cigar in hand (a parting gift from the general Murphy), humming to an old melody he couldn't quite remember the name of. He was alone that night - his friend had been injured so he needed to rest. The man was trying to stay alert, although the fatigue had long settled in between his tired bones and it refused to let go. The lack of sleep and the sheer paranoia was making him jumpy, ready to point his gun at the slightest of sound. He almost shot you that night.

"Colonel." You had whispered through gritted teeth, slowly raising your hands up as you approached him with a hesitant step. He blinked twice, unsure if he was still awake. Surely there was no way a young woman was out alone so late during wartime. "Colonel!" You repeated, putting a bit more force into your otherwise soft, calm voice. This seemed to snap him out of his trance and he finally raised his head to look at you, his sharp, intense gaze measuring you up from top to bottom. Just like a predator seizing his pray, like a soldier trained to keep his eyes on the target, he knew no other way to introduce himself other than with a silent, unspoken threat.

"A bit young to be calling me that, no?" The man snapped back, voice coming out more raspy than he intended - but it was hardly his fault. He rarely had visitors nowadays - no one wanted to expose themselves to the front lines, to risk becoming smoked meat, which meant he had little opportunity for chatter. So his voice had become rough - almost unnecessary cruel.

"I'm sorry." You mumbled, blurry eyes focused on the weapon resting oh - so snuggly against the soldier's heart as if guarding it. "I'm not familiar with your many titles, sir." You explained with a certain bite. Christoph squinted, growing amused at your little jab, yet the black mask covering his mouth hid it from you. The man knew exactly what you meant. You were not used to so much surveillance on your step - on everyone's step, so many eyes set on you as if you had a massive red target on your back. You were not used to armed forces ghosting around your small homely village with a gun resting at an arm's length just waiting to be loaded.

He wondered if it was your first time running into a soldier since the beginning of the occupation. He wondered if you were scared - if your heart was beating against your chest like it was trying to break through the skin. After all he was indeed intimidating - with heavy combat boots and a black uniform that did little to hide his rough figure, the lineage of lean muscle and battered blistered skin that undoubtedly belonged to a man. A man whose hands were still covered in dirt and blood. He could kill you. He could push you around - get some entertainment out of you. He could shove you down and use you like a cheap village whore - and no one would care because that's just how war is. He was serving his country, he needed an outlet, and you just happened to be there. No one would blame him.

He couldn't bring himself to come closer to you. He didn't trust himself to hold back when faced with something so fragile after months of letting his fists and his teeth do the speaking.

"That's lieutenant to you, miss." He barked in a tone that felt familiar - a tone that used to wake him up every morning at 5 for weeks on end. A tone that he could still hear every time he loaded his rifle and let go of the trigger with shaking fingers.

He couldn't be nice to you. He couldn't be nice to anyone in this bloodshed. And yet he heard himself asking you for your name. It hadn't meant anything - it was a long night and he was bored. Lonely, maybe, he couldn't tell his feelings apart very well. You hesitated for a second too long before you finally gave him a clear answer. It was the most beautiful sound he had heard - not just now, but ever.

"Would you mind explaining why you're here so late, miss?" The man tilted his head, trying to understand your unreadable expression - somehow you looked lost in time, striken by fear and grievance. "I believe the general gave direct orders this morning. No one should be out after ten." He paused to take a long, dramatic puff off his cigar. "It's too dangerous. Especially for a pretty little thing like you to be roaming at night." He knew his boldness was making you uneasy, and that he shouldn't derive such obvious pleasure from your discomfort, but he just couldn't help it. He was lonely. He was sick. And most of all, he was a bastard who had already given up on life. He had nothing to lose.

"Truth be told, if you were mine I wouldn't let you out of sight, miss." He grinned, feeling just a bit disgusted with himself. He wasn't sure why, but he wanted to scare you. To creep you out so bad you'd never go out alone again. Why he had got so invested so quickly, he also couldn't tell.

"I... I needed a breath of f-fresh air, l-leutenant." You responded quickly, eager to leave this conversation as soon as possible - completely ignoring anything he said. Your initial confidence had evaporated as the wet cold crept into your thin coat. It didn't fit your frame - it was too big on you and it reeked of a man's first proper cologne. The thought of it filled the soldier with unreasonable, hot -red fury, imagining you next to some nameless brat with his hands wrapped around you.

"That's all?" The corners of his lips stretched mockingly as he let his smoke blow into your face - and you had to fight the urge to immediately wave it off.

"Are you, are you implying something, sir?" You fiddled with your fingers nervously, looking anywhere but at Christoph. He found it pathetically adorable. "Just curious." He took another long puff - his breath coming out frozen - white as it hit the icy air. "You don't seem like the brave type to me." His eyes narrowed to two pitch black slits. He must have looked terrifying to you in that moment, and he loved it. "So just what-" He pulled you in by the collar. "Are you doing here, huh?"

You froze in place as if he had pointed his gun to you yet again. You swallowed loudly, trying to come up with an explanation - but nothing came to mind when you were so obviously scared. The soldier could feel your heartbeat - he could hear the blood pumping to your ears as you looked around hopelessly for help that wouldn't come. And just like that the wolf had the rabbit dancing in its own trap.

"Are you just looking for trouble, hmm?" The man reached in to curl his finger around one of your loose locks. He didn't want to make you feel so awfully small - but everything about this situation, from the tremble of your lips to the sheer panic in your eyes was going straight to his cock. "I'm sure that with a face like that you never lacked attention, no?" He tilted his head with predatory malice. "But now all the men bending over backwards for you are off somewhere, dying as we speak. Poor little you - I can imagine just how lonely you are." He pressed his body closer to yours. "The thing is, I am more than willing to play with you in their pl-"

"Please, lieutenant." You couldn't stand to listen to him any longer, a thousand warm pleas already falling off your desperate lips. "Please let me go." Your eyes softened, trying to hide the first sign of hot wet tears. "I need to go home to my siblings. I need to bring them fo-"

"Why should that matter to me, dollface?" It was his turn to interrupt you - voice full of childish glee as he kept up with his petty torment.

"Because - because," You started off, hands shaking into little fists that you knew, realistically, could do the soldiers no damage were you to push against his chest. "Because you're a good man." You mumbled after a while, looking for the right words to say. "And I know that deep down you're kind and brave. That's why you're here now, fighting for all our lives."

You were such a pretty liar, Christoph thought. He could listen to your sugary sweet fairytales all night long, silently praying that they'd become true if he was only able to capture his own little fairy - his own miracle.

"What if I am not the hero, doll?" The man whispered darkly in response, leaning against you until your back hit the tree behind you, trapping you between his stiff body and the pillar. "What if I am here for all the wrong reasons, huh? Just think about it." He lowered his head so it would match your eye level - you were so quiet he wondered if you had forgotten how to breath.

"We're in the middle of nowhere. I have a weapon and a direct permission to shoot at will. I can do whatever the fuck I want." He made sure you could hear every single word clearly. He wouldn't let you faint before he was through with you. "I can fuck you right here in the open - or I can drag you to the barracks and keep you there for as long as I need to. Do you really think anyone would care about some insignificant girl going missin-"

"Please." You repeated, suddenly getting stirn with your pleading, as if you too had nothing to lose. "Let me go - I'd do anything."

His eyes darkened - then lit up with sick, perverse desire. He wanted to echo your words back to you just like a classical villain would - to really drive the point across that he was out for blood. Anything, you say? Anything at all? But he couldn't contain his excitement enough to voice those sadistically banal thoughts. Besides, he could already feel the adrenaline running through his whole body. His heart was beating rhythmically, pumping and alive for the first time in days, weeks, months. He wanted you more than anything. It was that moment he knew he was going to live - he was going to fight and win, and then come back for you as a hero. As your hero, even if in your eyes he would be more of a villain.

A nightmare you'd try to forget - and just when you think you have erased his fingertips off your waist, your face, your neck, he'd come back to steal you away forever.

"Kiss me." Christoph all but snarled, some unfamiliar, needy - greedy ball of emotion settling into his loins as your delicate face twisted into a petrified grimace. You began trembling in his arms, looking around yet again. It was pitch black, no soul in sight. You inhaled deeply, trying to steady your movement to no avail. "A-alright. I-I..." You whispered with difficulty as if simply saying the words was causing you a great deal of pain. And maybe it was, but the soldier could care less. He already knew you were made for him - made to serve him, made to make him happy. "I'll d-do it."

The man growled in satisfaction, taking a small step back. You looked at him, puzzled - your confused face was just as cute as your scared one. He couldn't wait to explore all your reactions - the way you'd squirm and writhe underneath him as he fucked into you restlessly, filling you up with his love over and over again until you were crying for mercy. But that had to wait, he had a war to fight. For now he could settle for a little taste of you to keep him warm during the cold nights. And just like that he tapped his lips, guiding you silently. You felt your cheeks heat up once you finally understood what he meant by that. He wasn't going to kiss you. He wanted you to put in the work.

Your eyes filled up with tears, and you felt silly for becoming so upset over a little kiss - but this was your first kiss, and you had to give it to a monster. It was certainly better than the alternative, with the alternative being rape in a filthy military cottage, but it still made you feel dirty all over. Yet, you had no choice. You took a step towards the man - you could feel the suffocating warmth radiating off his body towards yours, and if the situation wasn't so grim, you might have been grateful for another human's heat in the freezing cold. But now all you could feel was dread.

You stood on your tip toes, a shaky hand reaching out to cup the stranger's face. Cristoph smirked, complecent at your obedience. You licked your lips and slowly, hesitantly pressed them against his, just barely touching at all.

He groaned, unable to keep his hands to himself any longer. He grabbed you and pulled you in roughly, squeezing you like a plush toy. He deepened the kiss, forcing his tongue deep into your mouth, finding heaven between your soft, sweet lips and broken whimpers. You were so innocent. So lost. He wanted to take you into his arms and never let go. He wanted to keep kissing you until your lips turned blue, until it hurt to speak.

And then you pushed him off just like that, using your own body as a distraction. He tripped backwards, too shocked and lost in sensation to stop you. He smiled at your final act of defiance. It was, of course, adorable and so painfully you, yet it didn't really matter - not in the long run. You had only suceeded in making him want you more.

But that was two years ago. Now the war was finally over. Now he had enough to start a new life. Now he was a free man.

And he was coming back for you.

[thefloatingwriter]

I'd adore more of your wiress and beetee hcs if you had any more to share maybe

thank you so much for this ask anon i love any excuse to talk about them. i can’t tell if you want just beetee and wiress or them separately but i’ll give you both because i have lots of thoughts.

Beetee:

he was born on july 23rd, 21 ADD.

he has five siblings, two brothers and three sisters. he’s the oldest. in order they are: adeline (six years younger), roent (eight years younger), tera and ruther (ten years younger), and dayta (thirteen years younger).

he grew up really poor, his family barely making ends meet. his father died when he was fourteen and his mother kind of lost herself after that.

because of that, he became his siblings only real parental figure when he was really young.

his favorite color is blue.

he won the 40th at nineteen. it was the oldest a victor ever was at the time of their victory.

he dismantled an old computer he found in the trash and then put it back together when he was six.

he’s either still up at three in the morning or is out at nine pm. there’s no in between.

he also wakes up really early every single morning. wiress thinks he’s insane.

he’s actually pretty tall.

he knows how to ice skate.

he prefers cold weather over warm weather.

he loves the snow.

he’s a dog person.

he’s really good with kids.

Wiress:

she was born on november 6th, 29 ADD.

she has an older sister named barbara (four years older).

she’s polish and her last name is lisiecki.

she’s an acrobat and singer.

her family was richer than most residents of three. her father was a software developer until he passed (i have a lot of dead dads in my hcs). her mother ran a sort of theatre group/circus to entertain capitol and three citizens. it’s where wiress learned acrobatics.

her hair is naturally curly.

she won the 48th when she was eighteen.

she’s really good with crowds but hates one-on-one talking.

her favorite color is lilac.

she had a cat before she won named fleur. fleur went on to have three kittens named iris, leni, and luna.

she loves the smell of lavender.

she is not a morning person at all. she can barely function in the mornings.

she loves both coffee and tea.

she has a giant sweet tooth.

she cannot cook. like seriously. last time she tried she started a fire and almost burnt her house down.

she was always a naturally curious person. as a child she snuck into the woods surrounding three and took walks for hours. it scared her mother senseless every time she up and disappeared and she always sent barbara out to go find her.

her district token was a woven purple bracelet her sister made for her when she was younger.

Wiress and Beetee:

this is basically canon but they can talk with their eyes/just understand each other without saying anything. the other victors have made a game out of figuring out what they’re talking about.

beetee’s token was his glasses for both of his games, so for the 75th he took his wedding band and added two silver stripes on the sides out of the metal.

most of the victors have absolutely no idea what their relationship is. like some of them think they’re just really good friends, some of them think they’re dating casually, and some are like, “no they’ve been married for a decade.”

he was her mentor. the 48th was the only year where both tributes were from “richer families” (i.e. three’s version of merchant families). atlas, the other victor from three, came from a merchant family but beetee didn’t and there’s a lot of animosity between the poorer and richer people in three (similar to twelve but if like everyone acted like mrs. mellark) so he was really worried that wiress was going to be rude or disrespectful. and then he meets the sweetest eighteen year old he’s ever met who sings for fun and hums to herself when she’s anxious. safe to say he was surprised.

beetee really hates explaining stuff so when wiress comes along they can sometimes forget they have to explain stuff to people and they won’t get it if they give them The Look even though they both get what that means. they don’t even mean to but they can be hanging out with anyone and make them feel like they’re third-wheeling.

bonus:

Beetee adjusts his glasses as he squints at the computer in front of him. “Our brains are made of the same wires.”

Wiress looks over at him, a small smile playing on her lips. “That’s genuinely the most romantic thing you have ever said to me.”

(this is 100% going in a fic but why do i have the best ideas for random lines at one in the morning like why can’t inspiration hit at a normal time ffs)

sorry this took a minute for me to post <3 i hope you like these! anyway, again anon ilysm for this ask seriously i love love love talking about them.

[daitranscripts]

Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts (Optional)

Dance with the Dowager

Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts Masterpost First: Gaining an Invitation Previous: Reconvene with the Advisors

The PC approaches The Dowager (Council) in the ballroom.

Lady Mantillon (low court approval): Oh, you don’t want to speak with me darling. Lady Mantillon (neutral court approval): Perhaps we can speak later, Inquisitor.

Lady Mantillon (high court approval): You are an interesting one. Lady Mantillon (Quanri PC): An eloquent Qunari! Nobody saw that coming, I assure you. Lady Mantillon (Dalish PC): A Dalish in the Winter Palace, more genteel than the grand duke. That’s put this lot in their place, hasn’t it? Lady Mantillon (dwarf PC): A dwarf from the Carta, of all places, with the manners of a noble. The Merchant Guild will be outraged. Lady Mantillon (human PC): You have quite the silver tongue, Inquisitor. I do hope you put it to good use.

Lady Mantillon: [Lord/Lady] Inquisitor.

1 - Dialogue Options:

Investigate: What do you think of the ball? [2]

Investigate: Seen anything interesting? [3]

Nobility: Care to Dance? [4] +5 Court approval

General: Goodbye. [5]

2 - Investigate: What do you think of the ball? PC: I’d like your opinion of this gathering, my lady. Lady Mantillon: It’s doomed to fail, of course. Celene knows that. At least it should be amusing. We haven’t had such a menagerie at court in living memory. [Back to 1]

3 - Investigate: Seen anything interesting? PC: Have you noticed anything odd this evening? Lady Mantillon: Too few imperial guards stand in attendance, my dear. A shame. They’re so pleasantly decorative. [Back to 1]

4 - Nobility: Care to Dance? PC: Would you care to dance, Lady Mantillon? Lady Mantillon: You, Inquisitor, are a delight. One does not often find foreigners so well versed in the Game. But you have other dances to perform first. Perhaps you will save me a dance for later. [Back to 1]

5 - General: Goodbye. PC: Good evening, milady. [6]

6 - Scene continues.

Lady Mantillon: Run along, Inquisitor. Lady Mantillon: Another time, perhaps.

—

Ambient:

Lady Mantillon: Laurent was the love of my life. You remember my husband? Poor darling, killed in the war with Ferelden.

Lady Mantillon: I still remember the day they came to tell me that my second husband, Phillippe, was thrown from his horse…

Lady Mantillon: When my third husband, Pierre, lost his life to rossalia, I swore off marriage forever!

Lady Mantillon: Maximillian swept me off my feet. It was such a scandal! A fourth marriage to a man almost half my age! Lady Mantillon: My dear Maximillian… it took four chevaliers to hunt down the bear that killed him.

Lady Mantillon: Poor, sweet Gerard! My fifth husband fell to his death from the bell tower of the Grand Cathedral. To this day, no one knows why he was up there.

Lady Mantillon: You were acquainted with my darling Hervé, weren’t you? I still cannot believe he was allergic to bees… We should never have put in that rose garden. They are such drab flowers.

Lady Mantillon: I told my seventh husband, Renard, “Never drink aquae lucidius on an empty stomach!” Three glasses poisoned him. But at least he died at Chateau Haine!

Lady Mantillon: Then my eighth husband, Nazaire, tragically crushed by a cartload of fine handbags…

Lady Mantillon: I am still mourning for my beloved Etienne. No one has ever seen such a violent tailor accident… But enough talk of the past. Shall we dance?

Next (optional): The Trophy Room Next (optional): Ladies-In-Waiting Next (optional): An Elven Locket Next (optional): The Elven Ambassador Next (optional): Speak to Gaspard Next (optional): The Court Historian Next (optional): The Lower Garden

Next: The Royal Wing

[marvelgurl789fanfics]

Slayer (One-Shot #2)

Check out Karra https://www.tumblr.com/marvelgurl789fanfics/733491072755466240/my-dark-urge-tav-karra-a-63-drow-with-ascended?source=share

Check out One-Shot #1 https://www.tumblr.com/marvelgurl789fanfics/733713433268289536/new-world-one-shot-1?source=share

A/N: if you have any ideas you would like to suggest feel free. Let me know if you would be interested in some one-shots with Karra and Astarion during the events of game. Sorry I know this one was short.

Rating: T

Masterlist:

-Slayer-

It was a normal day for Astarion sitting in his nice lounge room on a comfortable velvet couch, drinking wine listening to some rich lord rattle on about ideas for Baldur's Gate. The poor man thought Astarion was nothing but an advisor like most normal people did, but in reality Astarion ran the city with the help of his mad love. he would be lying if drinking him dry didn't cross his mind while he kept going on and on about merchants in the lower city. He could very easily but he had to keep up appearances, it would look very bad if everyone who annoyed him ended up dead or missing.

The door to the lounge room opened reviling a Karra, much to Astarion's relief a fully clothed Karra. "Excuse me but, we are in a middle of a meeting." The rich lord said trying to shoo her away. "Come here my love" Astarion invited her to join him on the couch ignoring the lord. Karra smiled and without a word she sat by Astarion throwing her legs over his lap and taking his wine glass and downing the rest in one gulp. "Very well, the point I was making was" the lord started again clearly annoyed with Karra's presence. Astarion did kind of feel bad he's been busy with too many meetings and what not to run the city, he hasn't spent much time with Karra in a few weeks. Perhaps he could dump more responsibility on Shadowheart. He knows his love understands what needs to be done but from past experiences she can get more aggressive and impulsive when ignored too long.

Lost in his thought Astarion gently ran his hand over her legs in an affectionate manner. "Lord Ancunin are you listening to me?" the rich lord asked annoyed. "Yes, just thinking" Astarion said regaining his composure. "This is why women aren't welcome in meeting their nothing but a detraction" the lord said annoyed. Astarion was about to tell the lord off but before he could he heard a familiar growl from Karra. In a blink of an eye a tall beast with four arms and tail replaced Karra, bolting after the lord who screamed in terror at the beast. Astarion barely had time to stand from his seat when the Slayer started to tear into the lord claws and teeth. Soon there was nothing left of the lord just a pile of unrecognizable flesh and bone. The Slayer turned to Astarion and a quick glimmer of fear past thought his mind yes, he was the strongest vampire in existence but he still had his doubts about taking on a slayer alone. It was Karra he knew that and she would never hurt him but she can easily lose herself like this.

The Slayer approached Astarion who stood his ground looking up into the beast eyes. "Karra?" Astarion questioned but all he got in response was a monstrous growl. Before he could register what happened he was picked up by The Slayer and was being carried down the hall of their palace, servants ran out of The Slayer's way not wanting to become her new target. Within seconds with the beast's large steps, they were in their shared bedroom. Astarion was thrown to the bed not as roughly as he excepted, The Slayer then crawled on the massive bed as well and wrapped all four arms around him and snuggling her face into his chest. 'This is new' Astarion thought to himself while The Slayer began to what Astarion could only describe as purr. With a sign knowing he wouldn't be able to escape the beast grasp he lightly ran his hand over her head like you would pet an animal. The purring began to slow down and become more quiet he could only assume she fell asleep. trapped himself Astarion decided to trance to pass the time.

A few hour later Astarion woke with a much lighter weight on his chest to see his drow back to herself still fast asleep cuddled to him, lightly combing his figures though her hair made her start to stir and look up from his chest and into his eyes. "What happened?" Karra asked still a bit dazed from transforming and sleeping. "Nothing you need to worry about, go back to sleep my love" Astarion smiled petting her head and placing a kiss to her forehead luring her back to sleep. 'What is one lord that goes missing.' Astarion thought.

[laslow]

Get In Loser We're Going Shopping | Team Verdane

A drabble in which we earn a little bit more than we bargained for

The realization that things did not go to plan was of little surprise.

Honestly, he'd be surprised if things did go smoothly for once. All things considered, a shipwreck blowing them off course was nothing. A mere inconvenience!

Less so was the fact they lost some allies while gaining others. Laslow prays those swept away by the currents are faring safely wherever they washed up. It'll surely make for a grand story once they've all endured this latest adventure.

He sets his worries aside for now; there are more pressing matters at hand, like scrounging up a weapon or two. Utterly embarrassing, to lose his equipment. But perhaps a kind lady might take pity on him--a poor young man floundering ashore without a sword to protect himself! Yes, he can see it now, the compassion in a lovely pair of eyes, the tugging of the heartstrings--

Someone jostles his shoulder and ruins the illusion. There's a muttered sorry before they're swallowed up by the crowd. Laslow adjusts his jacket. For the best he doesn't get too lost in his head anyway. The bazaar is teeming with people, from sellers peddling their wares seated on colorful rugs to shoppers of all ages going about their day.

"Stay close," Laslow warns both Corrin and Hilda. They push through well enough, only slowing when they all notice an incredibly busy stall with a brightly dressed man at the center. He looks like he wants to stand out, despite the tinted glasses hiding half his expression. Bottles and vases containing suspicious liquids are arranged in haphazard order, and Laslow thinks it's a miracle no one has accidentally broken one.

Eventually, he catches the seller's attention.

"afternoon! could you direct me to the vulneraries, please?" The merchant smiles wide at Laslow's approach, and immediately begins bowing and gesturing and rubbing his hands together when he seems interested in what he has for sale. "Vulneraries? For what ailment? My child, you'll have to be more specific. I've a number of remedies -- warts, sunburn, bellyache, hair loss, sore feet... name your illness and I'll fix it, good as new! What shall it be?" laslow blinks a moment. the one for sore feet actually doesn't sounds too bad.... "oh, for general health! my friends and i just escaped a shipwreck, you see. it was all rather harrowing." it’s now that corrin pipes up, smiling despite the… strange energy of the man. “we were planning to travel towards…” a moment’s pause to pray she correctly remembered the name of their original destination, “grannvale, and we’re just looking to stock up for the journey.”

"A shipwreck? Oh! Yes, I did hear news of a bunch of foreigners coming ashore this morning." His smile seems to curl. "Now, I have just the thing for you. Those waves can be mighty rough." Nimble fingers pick through a sectioned box as he nods along to Corrin's request, lifting one thin vial of multi-colored liquid after another until finally finding one - a vibrant green - and plucks it from the batch. "Grannvale's quite a distance from here. Seven days might get you to the border, if you're on horseback. If you plan to walk, well..." He holds out the vial, his other hand poised under it palm-up like a stage. "This little concoction will melt away all of those pesky aches, and you won't feel any new ones for half a day at least. A must-have for any long journey. You'll feel like you're enveloped in a cloud!" “oh! how convenient.” damn. they’re going to be here a while. corrin leans closer, peering at the little vial for a moment. her expression is considerably less suspicious than it should be, probably. “i’ve never heard of anything like it. you must be quite skilled at your craft,” her head tilts, “how much would that run us, do you think?” news indeed travels fast. laslow isn't thrilled about the idea of riding horses for a week straight, but if it gets them to their destination faster, he'll deal with it. as nice as that green potion sounds, he can't help but wonder what else it may do. delay reaction times, slow down thought processes,... eyes flit to corrin. she really is too trusting. "you seem a knowledgeable man. do you know where we might find a map as well?" "Thirteen hundred for the vial. Good for one person." The merchant glances back to Laslow. "I don't sell maps, I'm afraid, but for a small fee, I can draw you one." "how much for the map?" laslow asks, doing his best to keep his suprise at bay. To this, the merchant thinks for a moment, a finger to his chin. Then he holds up two fingers. "Two hundred, and my handicraft will be yours."

As the merchant names his price, Hilda turns to him with her most disarming smile. “Wow! Your stock is so impressive.” She gestures to the array before laying a friendly hand on his arm. “But we lost so much in the storm…” Her expression falls to one more dejected as she turned to her allies. “I guess we’re out of luck if we want something of such high quality…”

The merchant is taken in by Hilda's wily charms and honeyed words. "Now, you must understand that I run a business, so I cannot simply part with my wares for free. However, I will extend to you a fraction of Nahan's generosity. If you purchase this vial, I will give you a discount. One thousand for it, and I will draw you a map to Grannvale for free." He then reaches over the table and grabs a heftier, long-necked bottle of what looks to be tarnished silver, but you know it couldn't possibly be made of material that precious. He sets it down in front of you beside the bright green vial. "And a sample of a special hair oil, just for you." His words bring a smile back to her face, her expression lighting up. “You mean it? Thank you! That’s such a generous offer.” She bats her eyelashes at him before turning back to the others. “But my friends here hold the coin purse. What do you think?” the most fortunate one here, corrin makes something of a show of fishing around in her pocket as if to further prove that she definitely did not have enough money for the previous price. it’s only a moment before she produces the proper sum, offering it forward with a grateful nod. “we cannot thank you enough, really.”The apothecary takes the money with a grateful bow. "My pleasure. I do hope you'll remember to stop by again before you embark for Grannvale."

Unknown concoction in hand, Laslow leads their little group to a weapons stall. Metal of all shapes and sizes gleams in neat rows. He itches to reach for a sword, excuses of "just testing it out!" poised on his lips when he catches sight of the woman clearly in charge.

Ruffles his hair just so before approaching “Hel-lo there! I couldn’t help but notice these lovely swords being sold by an even lovelier woman.” It's a blur after that--all the trepidation melts from her gaze, interest sparking instead. He recalls the phrases "eye candy" and "nice older lady" being used, but his mind is far too busy catching up with the fact she didn't threaten him with the very sharp weapon at arm's length the moment he opened his mouth. none of this is how he expects it to go. He turns red to the tips of his ears, barely managing not to look at corrin out of sheer embarrassment. (Learned the lesson a long time ago that some women don’t like it when you look at another girl while talking to girl #1) He stutters out a response. “Um. Uh. Well, thank you, my darling, for such a kind offer. I truly do need a weapon—how else can I fend off all the boys vying for your hand?” He throws in a wink for good measure. “Alas, I lost my own trusted blade in a shipwreck.” A dramatic sigh for effect "Well, we can't have that now can we?" She picks up the Slim Sword from her collection. "I've had trouble selling this one. There's nothing wrong with it, but most mercenaries and other battle-types who come through these streets are often looking for something far more valuable than what I have the supplies for. I've give it to you for an eighty-percent discount. 520." She glances up at him with a smile. "You'd look dashing with it, I think." Laslow nods. “I do happen to like my face where it is.” Returns her smile. “You’re far too sweet to be dealing with the likes of those ruffians, buttercup! Aww, you truly think so? May I try it on?” He also gestures to corrin, beckoning her closer. “My friend holds all the coins—she doesn’t trust me not to spend it all in one place.” He totally 100% “””accidentally””” lets their fingers brush Tests the balance/etc “It’s perfect! Thank you, darling. Say, can you tell me a little more about this town? We were headed for Grannvale when we were waylaid by a nasty storm.” "About Nahan? Not much to say. This village has always earned its keep from the sea. Been brought very nearly to ruin a couple times, but we've fared better than other parts of the country. You've come at a good time. It's the best it's ever been in these parts." “I’m included to agree, since I met you,” he says, fixing the sword to his belt. “Any word on that church? Sailors, of course, are full of superstitions, but one can never be to careful these days, eh?” At mention of the Church of Loptous, the woman's demeanor suddenly changes. She retracts from from Laslow with a mixture of fear and surprise. "Why are you asking about them?" She shakes her head. "No. No. Nothing. And that's the way it should stay, here." He holds his hands up in retreat “I’m so sorry, my darling. It was all the talk of the sailors. Thank you ever so kindly for all your help. Perhaps we should go out for tea some time, yeah?” She still seems visibly fluster, but the offer of tea seems to smooth things over a little. She laughs and calls him sweet, but ultimately declines because she does in fact have a husband. But Laslow is quite the handsome young thing.

The sword is a familiar weight at his hip on the walk back. He's still blushing by the time they all meet up in their room again.

[celia-witch]

Haze Module time!!! The Witch's Hat - seems a like a nice little glimpse into the witch's somber side...

Through the ‘Forest’ she makes her way. Between the bars of naked steel she skips, from one end of the alleyway to the other, and on top of a faded billboard she climbs. Not far away, an empty tin can topples over. She takes a small step back, crouching for a while under the shadow. Only once she’s sure her silhouette is alone again under the moonlight—does her step pick up once again, deft like a wisp of fog. She finds her way straight through a window empty of its glass.

A puddle of water rests on the ground, which she avoids with great intent. Probably the recent shower of rain, that tonight’s so especially bright. Not a good omen, in any case. In times gone by, no one would dare trespass into the Forest thick of fog, for there was Witch’s domain. The greedy merchant had want of the Witch’s powers, but pitch-black smoke would bind the neck of such a poor soul. Only lost Children would have good fortune in the night… Most of the coven had come to suffer a different kind of curse already, but in the hazy night those inauspicious stones would happily be hidden from view.

A great fire of yore took the original Witch Forest. Thereafter, one nomadic city to the next, these empty rooms have been little more than the cracks amidst neon and skyscraper’s reflections… hardly fit for a safe domain.

She silently patrols her temporary lodgings, and finds the Hat out of a pile of miscellanies. A broad-brimmed one, cloth heavy-set in all its layers. Its inside is riddled with patchwork, every hand which sewed on those eclectic fabrics still there in her memories. Some were wizened, some young, all so soft without exception, so tender. She jumps into it, lets the sheets of fabric surround her body, as if she’s returned to their embrace.

Another hand rests upon her head. She remembers this one, the youngest among them, and the last to still follow her. This girl's hand once carried the scent of clean grass and fresh paper, like the others, but in these times it was always sullied with rust, with blood.

‘We’ve been found again.’ the young Witch picks her up and cradles her, and puts on another hat entirely. ‘Take a guess. How long can we still run, I wonder, before the next time we’re caught?’

The creature brushes against the Witch’s cheek, reflecting not an inch of light.

Together, she and the girl leap into the dark of night, straight through the Forest. Such is the freedom they were meant to share.

[musetta3]

happy dadwc m'dear! how does "one falling asleep with their head in the other’s lap" sound for seb/hawke?

Happy Friday, Rosella! I give you, for @dadrunkwriting , 'A Day at the Beach.'

Pairing: Seb/Hawke

Rated: G, fluff

Word Count: 1801

0o0o

Sebastian sat at Hawke’s dining room table with the rest of his friends as they came up with a plan. In three day’s time, it would be his lady’s birthday, and Sebastian insisted on throwing Hawke a party she’d never forget. 

If only they could agree on what exactly that entailed…

“I dinnae want her in the mansion,” Sebastian said, “she recently lost her mother; the grief is too fresh.”

“I agree,” Fenris replied. “The house holds too many memories for her.”

“Well, we can have it at my place,” Varric offered. “Easy enough.”

Anders shook his head. “Alcohol isn’t good for wound recovery; and she shouldn’t be walking too much.”

Varric huffed. “Shit, Blondie, what are we supposed to do? Drive her in a carriage down all the stairs to Lowtown? She’ll have to walk.” 

“As her physician and best friend—”

“‘Best?’ I was her friend, first—”

Sebastian sighed. Varric and Anders had been at odds for the past fifteen minutes over this; their quarrels were making his head ache…

“A palanquin,” Sebastian countered, cutting through the argument. “We can carry her down the stairs.” The two stopped mid sentence.

“And where would we find one of those, Choir Boy? We’re not in Starkhaven,” Varric asked, frustration creeping into his tone. 

Sebastian’s blue eyes went wide. Oh. He…hadn’t thought that far ahead, actually. “I—”

“We can make one,” Fenris interrupted. “It’s not hard, just lash a chair to two poles. They used to do that all the time in Seheron for merchants and such. I’ll help; I’ve seen it done.” Sebastian smiled, nodding in gratitude. 

“…Can we take her to the sea?” Merrill asked hopefully. “The weather’s been lovely, and it wouldn’t be too far, just out the city gate. We can make a day of it, camp overnight.”

It was an excellent idea, one even picky Varric and Anders approved of. Planning went quickly after that suggestion: Sebastian and Fenris would make the palanquin, while Merrill and Isabela were in charge of entertainment. Aveline and Varric would arrange tents, while Anders insisted upon choosing the menu—a detail that made Sebastian inwardly cringe, considering the man’s infamous cooking skills. He nudged Fenris’s elbow as the others chattered excitedly over gift ideas. 

“Fenris,” he whispered. “Fenris, he cannae cook!”

“I know,” Fenris said out of the corner of his mouth. “But Hawke’s still healing; eating the wrong thing could upset her humors and delay recovery.”

Sebastian huffed into his glass, “eating his food will upset far more than just her bodily humors; it’ll give her fecking food poisoning…”

Fenris nearly choked on his wine while suppressing a laugh, “have the Abomination write down the menu; Orana will make it, knowing her.” 

A throat cleared at the door; Isabela stood at the threshold, holding a barely touched food tray. 

Sebastian sighed, “is she still too distraught?”

“Poor thing cried herself to sleep,” she replied. “What did you decide?” They filled her in over dinner; Sebastian and Fenris excused themselves early, to work on the palanquin. 

“We’ll need two long poles, rope, and a wicker chair. I found one in a storeroom,” Fenris said on the way to his house. There was an undeniably excited gleam in his eye. “That, and an umbrella.”

“An umbrella? Why? It shan’t rain on Wednesday, will it? I thought the almanac—”

“For the sun: Hawke’s two shades darker than a glass of milk; we can’t let her scorch.” He unlocked the front door and showed Sebastian in. “This way; I’d intended on using them in the courtyard garden, but I think they’ll serve nicely.”

Sebastian smiled. Fenris was finally setting down roots in Kirkwall after years of insisting otherwise, claiming the mansion as his own. Planting a small garden may have sounded inconsequential for most, but for Fenris, it was an important step towards personhood and independence; Sebastian was proud of his friend’s progress.  

They improvised as best they could: two curtain rods became their carrying poles, a serving tray acted as a footrest lashed to the chair legs. A guest room’s curtains sacrificed their fringe and tassels to decorate the oversized umbrella Fenris had found in a broom closet; the two friends stepped back, admiring their work. 

“…Will she like it, do ye think?” Sebastian asked. “It’s…” he frowned as the stubborn umbrella tipped to the left again. 

“It’s the thought that counts; we’re not carpenters. The only hammers we know how to wield are warhammers.”

Sebastian nodded. “Aye, aye, ye’ve the right of it. As long as it bears weight on Wednesday, that’s all that matters, I suppose… thank ye for yer help, Fen; I appreciate it.” 

Waiting until Wednesday was unbearable; Sebastian barely slept, he was so excited. And it seemed his beloved had no idea about the surprise: Anders and Isabela had been the very souls of discretion, keeping their plans a secret. Hawke never suspected them until Isabela herded her to the mansion door early Wednesday morning. The others were already waiting outside, armed with baskets, satchels, and everything needed for a picnic. 

“But where are we going?” Sebastian heard Marian ask in the vestibule. “And why did you give me one of your big, floppy hats?”

“For the sun, sweet thing,” Isabela replied. “Not a cloud in the sky.” 

“They’re coming!” Merrill whispered, peeking in the keyhole. 

Sebastian nodded to the others. “On me signal: Three, two, one—Happy Birthday!”

The surprise on his beloved’s face was so worth it, once Isabela and Anders supported her out into the square. Marian’s blue eyes widened, her jaw falling agape when she beheld the palanquin. 

“W-What’s all this?” She asked. “Seb?”

“Yer carriage, me lady,” he said with a gallant bow. “To the party planned in yer honor.”

“…A party? For me? But I can’t—”

“I think Mother wouldn’t want you to stay cooped up in the house on such a fine day like today, sister,” a voice said behind him. Sebastian grinned, stepping aside; one of the perks of being an Almost-Chantry-Brother was that he could use his connections to request a leave of absence for Bethany at the Gallows. They rarely refused him, on account of his closeness to the Grand Cleric. 

The joy on Marian’s face was the greatest gift ever. “Bethy,” she cried, eyes filling as she held her sister close. 

Sebastian’s throat went tight watching them together, bittersweetness settling in his chest. He’d give anything to see his brothers again, to embrace them like that, beg their forgiveness for his wild folly in his youth. But they were lost to him now, thanks to those damned Harimanns.

He blinked hard, “it’s Hawke’s day,” he reminded himself. “Dinnae let yer sorrow cloud her joy.”

The walk through Lowtown turned heads, but Sebastian didn’t mind the gawking. He proudly led the way through the streets, as  throngs of onlookers cheered their newly appointed Champion. Sebastian beamed. Marian looked so regal on her palanquin, waving and smiling like a Queen addressing her subjects. She’d make a perfect Princess: benevolent, merciful, wise. Perhaps, in another life, where he wasn’t a Brother…

“You’re in love,” Merrill sighed happily, walking abreast with him. “I can see it in your eyes; you haven’t stopped smiling all the way to Lowtown.”

Sebastian adjusted his grip on the palanquin, face going hot, “I…am pleased for Hawke, is all. She deserves some happiness after everything that’s happened.” He glanced over his shoulder, sighing in relief; Marian was too busy talking to Bethany to pay him much mind.

Merrill shook her head, “you ought to tell her how you feel; that will make her even happier.”

His eyes widened, “Sweet Andraste, Merrill, I cannae do that! It’s…” 

How could he voice what was in his heart, that he was at war with himself over his beloved? His love for Marian was forbidden: Chantry Brothers didn’t have love affairs, let alone marry or have families. But he couldn’t help dreaming of a life with her. No matter how hard Sebastian prayed, how many vigils he endured to cleanse himself of his desires, he stubbornly held onto that dream with both hands and refused to let go. He was willing to brand himself an oathbreaker and a sinner, for the sake of his beloved; that realization simultaneously surprised and frightened him.

“You still have a chance,” Merrill said after a silence. “To make your own path, I mean. You don’t have to follow the one laid out for you, if it makes you miserable.”

“But I have a duty to me parents—”

“...I think they’d rather see you happy first and foremost, rather than living with remorse. Any parent would, I think.” She gave him a smile and walked on, leaving him to ponder her words as they left the city behind.   

Merrill’s suggestion to go to the beach was a perfect one: Marian’s smile rivaled the sun in its brilliance, especially when Sebastian and Fenris set the palanquin at the water’s edge. Even if she couldn’t go swimming, she could still enjoy the water, even wade a bit—under Anders’s strict supervision, of course. It was, all in all, a glorious summer’s day of bright blue skies, laughter, and warm sea breezes, one that Sebastian wished he could catch in a bottle and keep forever.

Later on, after they had their picnic, ate their cake, and had given Marian her presents, Fenris and the others passed the lute around the campfire. Sebastian slipped away during one of Isabela’s raunchy ballads, joining Marian as she stargazed. 

“And how fares me lady? Are ye tired? I can help ye to yer tent; dinnae push yerself too hard,” he said.

She smiled, “I’m fine. Come, sit with me.” He accepted, sitting beside the palanquin with a contented sigh. A sun-drenched fatigue settled on him like a comfortable mantle; he leaned against Hawke’s leg with a smile, fingers laced with hers.  

“Look! There’s Satina,” she said, pointing to the thin crescent moon not too far from the other. “My father used to tell us stories about the night sky, you know. Apparently the moons were lovers, once.”

Sebastian looked up to her, “truly? What happened?” 

He listened as Marian recited a fairy tale from her youth, of two lovers separated by Fate and could only meet once a year, during Satinalia. Even if he couldn’t see her expression well, he could hear the wonder in her voice as she described their pining and eventually happy reunions. He would have liked to hear more of her stories, but alas: his eyes refused to stay open. The waves lapped gently on the shore, lulling him asleep as his beloved spun tales of stardust and magic, fingers gently carding through his hair. Sebastian smiled to himself, etching the day and its ending in his heart as he drifted off. 

[kstewdeux]

@sometimes-icanstillhear-sitboy

InuPrompt 2022: Mental Health (11.10.22)

Summary: After Kagome’s death, a villager pushes a struggling Inuyasha too far. Rewind Universe.

Song Credit: Joker by Dax

Clumsily sliding down the wooden wall, Inuyasha buried his face in his hands and pulled his knees up to his chest. It’d been a year since he’d been behind four walls and, of course, he had his friends to thank for it. They’d saved this godforsaken place so long ago now and the Lord upon finding him wandering the forest had insisted he come be a guest. The man himself had been very sympathetic and offered sincere apologies for the loss of ‘such great warriors’.

That didn’t mean there weren’t whispers once he’d arrived. No one said anything publicly, of course, because the Lord had announced very forcefully that this half-breed was a guest in their home and was entitled to anything he requested. To be honest, it hadn’t even been that memorable a battle. The weird old lady exorcist had been involved at this one. Maybe. Everything ran together anymore so it was hard to remember anything with any amount of clarity.

But he’d been given a room. Cooked food. Which was a gift Inuyasha never thought he’d be given again. This neither hindered or helped his tears. What he wouldn’t give to never be confronted with memories again. This, right here, was why he stayed in the mountains and forests. There was next to nothing to trigger pleasant memories out there. No one who would say their names out loud. No landmarks or buildings he’d seen before. Nothing to give him hope that he might catch a lingering scent. No reminders of comforts he missed.

It was easier to accept they were gone when he wasn’t confronted with reminders that they’d lived.

Distantly, he heard someone slide open the door and come in. The smell suggested food had been brought. Beef and rice and a root vegetable of some sort. Lightly spiced. He’d probably been a jackass about the spice last time…

And they remembered.

“I heard,” a deep male voice slurred slightly and Inuyasha was hit with an undertone. Sake. A considerable amount if the stench was any indication.

“I said I heard,” the man repeated and Inuyasha sluggishly raised his head. The large obese man smirked in his direction before picking up a cup and the sake to pour himself a glass.

“Shame about your village. My condolences,” the man hummed knowingly and what little color that remained in Inuyasha’s sickly visage vanished.

“W-What?”

“Oh. You didn’t know? It’s gone. Torn to the ground. Villagers slaughtered. Nothing really left,” the man offered with a evil sounding chuckle before taking a long sip. Smacking his lips, the man lowered the cup and swirled what little remained, “One of our merchants said the survivors asked after you. Asked why you abandoned them. Shame.”

The double meaning behind that last word wasn’t lost on an already broken Inuyasha.

“I-I don’t…I don’t u-understand,” Inuyasha managed and the man shrugged casually before taking another swig.

“Well, I think you’d agree that,” the man paused to let out a burp that grated against Inuyasha’s nerves, “Excuse me. I think you’d agree the circumstances were suspicious. I wanted to know who my father paid. Looked into a few things. Background. You know.”

When a shell shocked Inuyasha simply gaped at him in horror, the drunken man rolled his eyes.

“Point being. Everyone’s dead. No thanks to you. My condolences,” the man snorted and sagging, Inuyasha let out a barely audible whine.

What the literal shit.

“W-when d-did-“ Inuyasha tried - fighting against the urge to devolve into hysterics but doing a piss poor job at looking sane. For a brief second, Inuyasha was absolutely convinced the man seemed to enjoy whatever was happening but the pleased expression was gone far too fast. It wasn’t clear. Nothing was clear.

“Can’t really say. Not too long ago,” the man offered with a disinterested hum before picking up the bottle to once again fill his cup to its brim, “You know, the Lord of this Castle might say you are honorable but you forsake your home. Your comrades in arms. And now you’ve come here again. I don’t like it. Very convenient if you ask me.”

For the life of him, Inuyasha could not understand why this man felt the need to torture him like this. By all accounts, it didn’t make sense. What on earth had he done…

“Little half-breed, you may have my father fooled but I see through you,” the man commented as his dark eyes focused on the putrid liquid clearly clouding his judgment, “You should leave. We don’t need your help.”

Clumsily getting to his feet, it was all Inuyasha could do to not break down. To keep from showing this man the tears that threatened to stream down his cheeks. Every movement was painful to the point it clouded his mind and as he swayed, Inuyasha almost missed the taunt that left the man’s lips.

“One thing. Tell me before you go. Strange how only you survived, isn’t it? True, the others seemed quite stupid. Especially that whore. Which idiot fell first?” the man taunted after another long drink. Inuyasha went rigid and closed his eyes in attempt to control his reaction. After all, he’d been invited into a good man’s house. Treated well and with more kindness than he deserved. Just because the son was a jackass didn’t mean he had to punish the lord for showing a little mercy. He was better than this man gave him credit for and he didn’t want to cause problems. In a way, being given permission to leave was actually a relief. He could go back to being alone with his thoughts. Could just disappear and fade away into nothingness.

Still…

“D-don’t call h-her a whore. Please,” Inuyasha mumbled faintly as his chest began to heave, “She-“

“Oh. How sweet. Did you love the little bitch half-breed?” the man snickered - his sadistic grin widened when Inuyasha flinched, “I bet she went down easy like she did in life.”

Letting out a controlled breath, Inuyasha didn’t have the energy or strength to dignify that question with an answer. All he needed to do was leave. Kagome would want him to turn the other cheek. To not get angry. Just leave quietly and calmly. That’s all he wanted and needed to do.

His claws, however, dug into his palm as his anger flared to life. Something built inside of him. Taking advantage of the lack of brain power and emptiness the half-demon had these days. A feeling that only grew when the man swaggered to block the way out and sneered.

“I am curious though,” the man continued cruelly, “Did her blood taste good on your tongue?”

Inuyasha barely repressed the impulse to rip the man’s tongue out for even suggesting he’d killed her. That he’d eat her. Of all the disgusting things he’d been accused of, that was among the worst yet Inuyasha told himself that Kagome would want him to be the better man. He was better than this asshole. Never in a million years would he torture someone like this. All he’d wanted to do was help people. He wanted to be a hero. And, for a while, he had been one. Still…still could be. Eventually. When every heart beat stopped hurting. Kagome would want…

“L-let me p-pass,” Inuyasha managed hoarsely – his body trembling as negative emotions and power began flooding his veins. The man snorted but did move aside.

“I only ask because I remember that whore being a chubby girl,” the man chuckled drunkenly – a smug grin on his lips as Inuyasha stumbled forward, “A lot of good meat on her-“

A hand closed around his throat before he could finish that thought.

“I told you not to call her a whore,” Inuyasha growled angrily – faint purple lines blossoming on his cheeks as something raw and dangerous flashed behind his amber eyes, “She was good. Kind.”

Something about the man’s blunt fingernails clawing at his skin gave Inuyasha a feral satisfaction and he tightened his grip.

“You should’ve known better,” Inuyasha chuckled darkly as his eyes bled red. Two large brown eyes widened in terror as the portly man upped his efforts to break free.

“Torture the half-breed was your idea, huh?” Inuyasha scoffed as his aura flared hotter, “Kick a man while he’s down? What about that screams success?”

The jerky shake in the negative was the man’s desperate response. His lips and face turning blotchy and blue. The strength behind his fingers growing fainter with each scratch.

“You’re smart enough to know I loved her and you still came. Tell me something. How did you think was going to end?”Inuyasha hissed dangerously as he tightened his grip to the point he heard bone start to crack, “Because I think they call that a bad decision.”

Without further warning and with one hard thrust, Inuyasha released the man. Across the room. Through the wall. Onto the grass outside where he remained. Unmoving.

It was only after he heard a few people scream that Inuyasha came back to himself and realized what he’d done. What his actions meant. What he was.

That was a turning point in Inuyasha’s already miserable life. That and his subsequent investigation into the man’s claims that the village he’d once called home had been attacked.

Well, to call it an attack was unfair. A massacre seemed like a better word. The damage maybe a week old at most. Far too recent to match up with the story he’d been fed. Still…

Naraku had been very thorough. Melted remnants of wooden structures. Acid riddled bones on the ground. Lingering clouds of miasma that burned his skin was he walked around to search for survivors.

The bastard had said there were survivors…

But every villager Inuyasha had known was accounted for. Most had fallen in family units. Child sized skeletons in arms of their parents. Dogs. Cats. Farm animals. Maybe that asshole he’d straight up murdered just made the survivor part up to add some extra punch to his cruel game. Or maybe his sources were wrong. Maybe… maybe that story had been planted. The whole encounter an elaborate set up. Naraku wasn’t above-

“No. Please no.”

A whine escaped him and he fell to his knees upon finding a partially disintegrated body Inuyasha imagined had been spared with him in mind. Half of her face was gone. Most of her elderly body. What remained was being eaten away with maggots and flies. The bow in her mottled hand, however, was perfectly intact. A bout of panic hit him a few moments after he realized Naraku had done this to hurt him. That bastard knew what love was and knew what would hurt his victims most.

“No. No,” Inuyasha breathed as he clumsily got to his feet and stumbled towards the Sacred Tree. The graves. He’d hidden them relatively well. With leaves and logs and…

But those things might’ve been moved. Kaede might’ve cleaned them up not knowing those graves been hidden for good reason. After that battle, it wasn’t like he talked to the old hag for her to know. Best case scenario, she didn’t even know there were graves there at all. Just lived life assuming her little group of children would come home eventually. Never knew they were gone. Under the weight of his grief and self-loathing, Inuyasha stumbled but forced his feet to keep moving forward.

Inuyasha refused to breathe until the welcome sight of the graves as he’d left them came into view. The graves, at least, had been spared.

Face crumpling in pain, Inuyasha collapsed to his knees and wrapped his arms around his stomach. In that moment, staring at what was left of the good times in his life, everything crashed down on him at once. That he was a failure. A monster. An evil cockroach who should’ve just been drowned at birth. Everything he ever touched turn to ash. Everyone he ever loved was dead and gone. And it was his fault. Everything was his fault.

He screamed.

That night was the first night he’d tried to end his pain. It seemed a fitting enough location. There was enough evidence that he was every bit the monster he’d always been accused of being. Killed a man in cold blood over a lame insult. An insult someone else probably fed him or maybe that bastard was being controlled. That man could’ve been innocent and he’d just killed him. Left people who’d shown him kindness undefended. Let his friends die.

Kagome would be ashamed of him. Hate him. And she’d be right.

But the first attempt didn’t work. Oh, he tried and tried again but life, it would seem, refused to give up its hold. So it was a defeated, bloodied and empty Inuyasha who trudged into the mountains after burying the villagers with dignity. A man who could barely think. Barely hear. Barely feel. A man who was barely a man anymore.

Because it was his fault. It was all his fault.

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Halloween Smut Masterlist

Baking Video (ao3) - 11Adrienne058

Summary: Why the Halloween baking video was really on Dan's channel this year.

Or

The time Dan and Phil got frisky in the kitchen.

crossing the bar, seizing the day (ao3) - jestbee

Summary: Phil doesn't know how he ended up blowing a Sim in the toilets of the student union bar.

Danpire (ao3) - thatsmistertoyou

Summary: Dan and Phil finish filming Phil’s Halloween video. Even after the makeup has come off, Dan remains in character for a bit.

dark purple sky (darkness comes out to play) (ao3) - kae_karo

Summary: It’s not that he hates parties, it’s just that- well, no, he hates parties. And costumes. And showing up to parties in costumes, and showing up to parties decidedly not wearing costumes, and all the mumbled judgements that come along with doing so. And he hates sweets - really, the only things he does like about Halloween are the autumnal vibes and the cool weather, and experiencing those certainly did not require his friends dragging him out to some abandoned castle grounds for a half-assed late-night party.

Or the one where Dan gets a blowjob from a complete stranger in the middle of the forest on Halloween.

Drop the Bones (ao3) - justiceshorts

Summary: In which Dan and Phil fuck to the Living Tombstone remix of Spooky Scary Skeletons to completely immerse themselves in the Halloween spirit.

for the aesthetic (ao3) - silentdescant

Summary: Dan wears a choker on Halloween. It awakens some things in them. So then he buys a collar.

ghost boy (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: "Phil's house just might be haunted."

Glass Depth Mood - botanistlester

Summary: ’I don’t know you but we’re wearing matching costumes at this Halloween party and your ass looks amazing in that costume’

Hot Baking Twink Jacks Huge Cock (ao3) - adorkablephil (kimberly_a)

Summary: Halloween Baking heats up (really just shameless porn)

Misplaced Emotions - jilliancares

Summary: Dan Howell is a vampire who’s lost his humanity, and all he wants is to fuck Phil Lester, who just so happens to be a vampire hunter.

Opening Up To You - auroraphilealis

Summary: It’s October 31, 2009, and Dan and Phil aren’t together yet. Dan would very much so like to remedy this, if Phil will let him. And, well, maybe Dan is also ready to experience a sexual awakening.

Red Cheeks and Red Eyes - chocolatesaucelester

Summary: Sitting just got a little bit more difficult for Dan.

Spooky Scary Fratingtons (ao3) - snowcappedeevee

Summary: Epilogue to Fratilicious. Phi Alpha Nu has their Halloween party! (It was a good party. And it ends in sex)

The Sharpest Lives - sexyendscreensmut

Summary: Phil’s a poor boy living in a small town, but there’s something about the Merchant in town that intrigues him…

[libidomechanica]

Untitled Poem # 12306

A rispetto sequence

               Verse the First

What I weary life, the fruit there. That galleries, unless enrag’d Throne at honey and fresh in bright? Abroad was not kneel in parted unto the purest mouthing his so pure, and Spoons. Little care o’t. This mount—The Heart. Are fond of prey. It is fully and whoever brows to talked its voided all those kisse, which draw this pillars, seeking a car with a rat order.

               Verse the Second

We will weeping, by the human sword or they imprudes the figure gentle lacked down. Begin age, and harvesters, are to thing, whose is like a space away, dark the oak is also haggard the rose—syne part, and a bask and slow forth: The was one. Boots me from all. Of Rosalend whence: my old eyes and exaltation, sate hath breath, call’d his own, but it listentations.

               Verse the Third

Of a jealousies, awakenings he lot of two young strong ago a girdle spangling friend. He smart and to makes people shadows, she same; and Halberds good to speak, pale, upperless, the Bondage would excuse may breaking cloys and sits body, clay them at the rock, because to let occupy me when my young Fan be which the water the miser! But still rewarded.

               Verse the Fourth

And herself to fine upon a dream with Head. And told him insecure through least of feed. And bunches. Get incesse clear Merchantments of a sugred by the risk and scoffing. The soft; by his Fingering nods from distant to know not free with suck to the woe: hear it. Quests have beheld a forky Beard; whose was wont to dry,—a crown then he sages me write of which Brocade.

               Verse the Fifth

Each needes this was at out of chance up for great good hummingly-—send the heads, if you a sympathies which seen fire one shout raft bring a stedfast would yours, balcon, and ever animations— propagation,—that was minds of lost. Is distant, and plain curse thee, that the sullen lacken’d in the Waters, and Love, for every for it is not praise for holiday. And bright.

               Verse the Sixth

The last more roude and liuing might hand our more fond of porcelain who have died for that friar? For insoled blossom’d sure I plight will believe, who look’d, and out in which Jews might it? And Ceres’ hornes; so much means some find green-blue sky, and make you may be, if true, and breast. He laid. Gentle reads new-appears—the water, cave, i’m fill’d and poor and make sometimes with Athos.

               Verse the Seventh

The mean not desponderer pair, dapples, and pass inclined us both of love’s elysium; vieing her tune. Where warm, etc. Between; and Coach accounted nothings passed is which having after an embarrassment, he was pence, and robin in a sonder’d, in a creature drowsy numbness of passio, an image in all the Counsellors it or sounds do their Hands.

               Verse the Eighth

‘Tis thy belongs with a hill still adore, Cruel! A bride’s sphered: there in generous. Unsullied, the rivers blaze. And what hand; and as I resembling, on each lucid Squadrons proposition really shepheards and caught, making them when ray, or how Gulbeyaz’ taciturn to freedom of The delight it beneath to And chafed at did so it does not be harden… .

               Verse the Ninth

And weed grown it grow clear’d fright her to her fair head, the martial spring, sit the cannot boast shall doors of my lover, separation, Peona! My beloved beneath him on the want its Arms to publics are splendour wedding desperusalem. That spread and they accept posts; but a she’d sure there hast not carelesse and rock thee: and they have not the cypression old.

               Verse the Tenth

Her gas, thou like water’s host, is lying to talk, and shalt called the heav’n him was amiss; tis all thing of this Purple-lined passing while his race could newer. And not run in the light. Trees, and scarce a double Lord Henry wait out the fair sinks I saw the tears, with suitor in her glass. Saving low a girl whose sing, whose by the grand little rushed with softer they ho chapel.

               Verse the Eleventh

Telling brass, and Belinda’s listen to our soul-torments, and pine, resembling is fill which no soon hawthorns I pluck down, and thee was come. And words, t is to thee do with sight always both fillet-doux he lips this broughts no bird’s sweetly, to the began to search the air some distill one moment as fearful roabes being, this? In a cloudless clown, and my Muse willing.

               Verse the Twelfth

Had no more the leopatra’s education which having head it broken, then the Koran. Presences, which I’m rest all get no moment, and Monuments the lace was Adelines and keep sounding, as it bleed, that he way, to the temporarily expands, all send all thought saint heart. By whatever on that beseech waste heaves depart in Truth’s day, to pouring race.

               Verse the Thirteenth

And in mass can breast of fragile bright holy spell harm might her Eyes. Tis the last, or the sweet of even let me more feeble Voice in a visor of gracious threw to come absence of honeycomb with thee unto the beat it’s jet, jet blows had it the rest, instrel memory of holiday: nor girl, my dove up that visitant; the love, and as thought forgetfulness.

               Verse the Fourteenth

But left its spot. Is, if it would had made of its owne sweetly buds,-—that harrow drop which being heifers are ever-during, while my wear like an azure veins; the iced when the lamps still but though I deem for whole sought So those breath lean for thy of midnight or Thou shall buttress, and breath her call to do much let himself wits are claring, will nothing film, and not weakness one.

               Verse the Fifteenth

To keep this, e’re touch simply straw a man. What would nothing by a sweet time—not just giveness ways; who reignes in its prolong’d to call, I am become has got is them with thee, we love. That mov’d; from either lips regulate aside: it came my rest, my truth of old, and th’ Egregions wide-archers of beautiful as victim dy’d, a carcane sweet the whole.

               Verse the Sixteenth

It was would go force of a methough we seed the unsating be the other, like a haram bore; for Spades. When Woman’s breast when the promises the cellars, lily with their searching still the bitch in lieu of love’s crescendance upon it? Fresh by Night shall have been talk’d thy breath; But tell of throbbinol, which can I was a rat order senseless impossibly and swing.

               Verse the Seventeenth

And Passion rend pendants too long; each similar remarks therewith with her. Ours its milk the wise heaven, but aye unseemly, should she too high—thou do but wander’d, and splenetic, her look at your read; self shall song that into the glitter locks and the true, retir’d. The generals, with the myrtle sight the came, Bannockburn, reigning unattender our ultimate Ace.

               Verse the Eighteenth

And, repelling throng, though it and the blood left they all the Gazers should, in thee unto my day—the tott’ring rings even known, arrived, alas! From there’er him! That the dirt, for the basilicas risks, lord’s circumstance in dream, my Belovëd, while other air, and bourner of thing hence speech from that all tenance; till a-flying Virtue learn’d me upon the fetter to.

               Verse the Nineteenth

What is, that pity—as Jove had but gives as they bore: long every one, O though a moonless to be weigh not; loveth? And cast and Tangier. As mind, in none stept, and China should achievous early limbs hand, know’s which meant, and dreamt of fish fire, she is there without can tremblem of queen of it,—peona’s bright near. Even as suitor at time, in this cheeks his beautiful thing.

               Verse the Twentieth

The seamen snow, to the women, esquire of what thee? In higher roote: it filled tightest and I condition; an hundressing to the soughts her heart at they figure our lively youth descending before they pays for myself, appear’d those voice, the chain call Cupids drooping urgent reel: so when she’ll cheat so wistful whisper in Strife, she didst of friendship, whether her out blue.

               Verse the Twenty-first

Coffee, which holdeth no steal as he addrest, drown hithers, Parrots, by the flood and laid thus, over, that bittering soul abroad, she dear piled with they desire. And eke tent—where Kings with Arms Divines: for thing in a soften as yellowing light. The descendantly, but a round, from ever fair for your breathing moan from their connubial make on as might ease: help!

               Verse the Twenty-second

Dead was taste, who only his slain, and far from land, who eat or speaking in my cheek, which lays. Her lake, who had drunk, or clear, while sheep-hooks fair, my loud with stuff’d, in pray; but love of Spades do not scorchid thee! And such a queen, ’ or will, and I love into a dying over on his part panted it wing were forgive, nor his eyes, and plain red dresses. Were is both owe to hell.

               Verse the Twenty-third

Paced with the animals, wherefore, as if as you just accomplishment, buddings and the years rung; with a hair grown, and winter! Color of pop culture sweet, O graunt, O my flash’d, and ne’er made pursue, and silent shot a new and a living partly bent, and enter’d in this wide, uch were but slow circle ran his pale as virgins might restless brisk the daye in this bride.

               Verse the Twenty-fourth

He did not her days there raw begun, you’ll rot, or leave had betwixt my Charge, such pure these time wheels, and Spring on proud-heart, toward the large-—that bleeding thee. And the spring on promised: he had stone, had for his master put on a dream will not loud, that word of men come away my pain, and really touch ether perplexions to the warm kiss me weeping upon his feelings.

               Verse the Twenty-fifth

What was we might: so with intellecture rather he sans merely donne. Come folded to gather there’s maching off, said the pink made, my flagons, and would not my spouse: I sojourning no prospering desperate Hell, and gnomed inward, whose Eyes, and the former long the squads precautious was the beloved the day arise— arise! When I answerless freshest break.

               Verse the Twenty-sixth

Days exiles encountry sky, then, the gaz’d along thro’ all exacted fear; he top this discreen. We were said: they all their dinners? The flower tune. Some with my luve o’ my bosoms the gave wrapt the chosen Sylph, oh Pious night, like holy marry; for a dream shadow wave, had bees—all night’st him all them tete-a-tete. For the aching he rest; who even within a God.

               Verse the Twenty-seventh

From there ease again to Belinda may be harbor. And now Pain clings for pierce, Anon his Nymphs thro’ stormy stoicism learn Ombre, no dare nothing upside her own slender and sages, like no more-for young girl! So say; Tis that if I gives and his mourn into a hand, ravish’d along works on I think of these dale as clearing in dudgeon that unreproach and pray.

               Verse the Twenty-eighth

What has belief, that bound, at thou desire; make a fair griefe, with a think on the right with a body could came my love’s weal or sucked heart of Prospering chill, chill foresees that rises like treasure, adder’d—the man the sculptur’d-forth dogs and any sail or maydens merely buds who might of my heart; but it ran say the deitie, the worst. I’d half his not misse infidel.

               Verse the Twenty-ninth

Tend the Descended all that damn, hear against me follying: success, and bowers of jewels, call into grac’d he is supper, the Spouts rimes. Would not mouth disclose and Jove had perusalem. Three little was shall men, in his sprung from a goat, and she deep, and over may mists, what is to be thy worth without known exampless his aged crescent far more a deceive! His legs.

               Verse the Thirtieth

Teach of their usual lord. That no modest among clouds into a roe or no friend short, gender than melancholy. Baba though but our in ground hid he, as if pain, with ivory; for Shepheards twitch’s flowre: I pyne forgotten one’s resource th’ unequal, was he knew so wan, one part, then she cold pictur’d wak’d him he musk rose us sprinkling off, said his please.

               Verse the Thirty-first

Beloved; but some was we knew not; but, ere there’s maid, my breasts. To taste orbs, on her which displays are beneath the lamp and die, and, like himself for some for change a Flaw, thought, while show’d therefore the inside myself shame&not sweet, and voic’d: Ah which admir’d, the milky words around her Hand I none except some unto meeting keys have over and pour roabes beautie’s spake.

               Verse the Thirty-second

For lost it must, like a well ash to one than articles reveals his beauties, with such according to these is a boy within the mounts the orphan’s rapturous Ills by both of though now from him in my heards of smoking nightmar’d. Life took his hand: she that innocence rare competite, that whilst the sheet him with a dove would not purple; their headlong the Polish Colours!

               Verse the Thirty-third

Where ill of idle daisies, waits for its petal, a crystal pace she brazen bedded curtain’d, but stanza Henry turn’d in Desarts to ready book, observer. Never know is could do; but has believe. With odour possibly at house they do well-woofed care, a people and down to their proportion, and cast dyed put youth, how far shone whose to given his own sphere.

               Verse the Thirty-fourth

And thriue for graced to their Face; he does their slewe mischiefly to build at it occasions: there is a purple, Sicily; whether the reede both their vows, that was full o’er husband bids her above and drest, so clear to her so may truth, hopes as in please. By thy virtue belle daisies, who looks as the World by the deep sleep, out-blossoms the wayle my dight. Blender no sounds one.

               Verse the Thirty-fifth

A foule you, O ye daughter Way, to sanction. From beneath is muffin while o’er though my friend than lands, tones, by the strings down it, being myrrhour, with a stony sleeping mourning. And knew not, new land; the leas their primate exist, I saw him with story; things to lives. And distory, of a bed their way although whatever still too great mortal manners, this ardens.

               Verse the Thirty-sixth

Ah, desolate, to casuistry. For Gnats, or the blind through is always cleanse Thy beloved, and maun I stood grot varied on the high in thy below. To Poverted world end to the neighborhood gazing, to thee. Oft hands of Troy; stella, with amber. She is lone and so with won its corpse! Thou desire, which the soothes and I was; and perching off, see when the river!

               Verse the Thirty-seventh

Or twenty, much worms of the glittring, me mysters lie along, save is you shepheard, thy posses light red rose thought, like a race expedience, as may be harsh penancient Beauty beauty I dare that cause I cheek; no stems but a games,—but what earnest, the care o’er the roaring to go. Said there than there is scarce engage, prove its gave, yet least my loue. The seems it was mine.

               Verse the Thirty-eighth

Is not ask to embracelets taughters of a Foolish before th’ instantial couth, for hope the milk and presences to my mother’s sight: a Pipkin their vain. Stole and two adventrous ring, with Time’s a good New Yorker anguish’d with the started himself: then all to his Arts, and strange and the gallery at time has possibly forgotten—in soul magic sleep!

               Verse the Thirty-ninth

Is ever saw pallid moon, that cleaues to die. Her bonnets are are thou leave thing sad sick, let his come abstraction my paine of those whose ear, while bright, buddy asked: Melchior? His pleasant girls who keep oppress’d he cries, lies as undred. Shall I do. Most green, like my troth-bred up, he must die at his raven.—Though her whether pours; and all and Sweetheart was God to slain, I say!

               Verse the Fortieth

Men weeping on from surprized? And after Pith, and bring Chocolate mute—no signifies hang thy gift, each one by one while marveline, so Ladies and beggar and die, heard, I allow’s face that delican brough, and Eve was minds, their forms by Dame six storm her dream a loveline I leaues did tea, which can task, must and yet incense. A bought by all the floor, and here no sight?

               Verse the Forty-first

Of liquid Air seem’d a hierarchy who wish the Absolution! A fading bow betweene safe converted be infected, cold, to breeze, there they glides, for Gnats, their arms together, that delightly his brothers held bar, my children under seneschal? I saw themselves at strong darksome daisies, prithee wife o’ mine, while his she sees breast then run much—to giveness will fan.

               Verse the Forty-second

There there king Venus take my plane of us has not my veil or seen those strive your come old a large youth, Hearts. Restoration, while Porter brain it will for than soul a faery fit too raising is hid from the yellow not save the trails: and that your gynocracy, so in a newspaper; Soon, puzzled hirelings with its spring’s only tear times keep a body be.

               Verse the Forty-third

His your breast now; sooner receive awhile I dare no spect. And that was the spun thee, wretch she watches, and bears were was one on this eyes, I all bang on ear well verse, rock’d and began, after the priest eyed the lily among the day, already wed, over against the bittering wife blossom: my own fire a tomb. While, and triple heir fell in the grew stuff’d, in and thought.

               Verse the Forty-fourth

Just some fixed equal Fights of his stirr’d in a sprites were merested Glare, nor hated fire dost like a pit of Eternal sun heave a weakest thou fair, for thee, how can rule, lycius stoop that early youth, I have give me signations athwart, and dark, and time should be burning my knotty pleasest nard. That the boisten has been bower the Lady Pinchbeck her Hand—no!

               Verse the Forty-fifth

And Crystal superstition, seems it all above the prophel, say: a snake my voyage to lay drop a great trailed its spirit not to his visit from their Pride into its had but coming sea remember the made a mystick Fame the heaven? Or petite, the censer old, for what is thee more him her flying couple of a Gothic charity, and what sweets my name.

               Verse the Forty-sixth

By, on her brows grim to hold in Little he between talk, ends of the zone; then ring when also the while flies, when earth Heav’n, and stremely deathbell be laid that blown heart—it is same&not be the ear, or little moors: dream that true love aside: it creater from dull, and Tweezer-Cases. In thy lightning this which the nature of being that daught that that shining pure, increased.

               Verse the Forty-seventh

Of Hearts calm world over such adds new Disease. A sully place for thrilly at thus weighted Sages of twelve book, that for grave. And hope that eye. The has image; but its rest: but I’m wrong: who rears the drizling said as footstep, I might in the best, or was flit to be thus; mine! Her Ears did I call’d his need blood humming slaved they wind! And bosom of his dear, weak the sea!

               Verse the Forty-eighth

But widely shot and gibber all. I know, each she keep a lamb straws us not be sparkling from my poison-cell o’er than antiquity. I dwell this two men weep, and cleare him as he’s sight saves drye and you can airy phantoms rise and calm which some coals the years the has advice is yellow-Christal eyes last and over stremely bright,—peona’s busy Sylph to mourn.

               Verse the Forty-ninth

We are for ghost’s sparkling window-panes; St. It shall sweet to way, not quibusdam alone and weeds. Their little many prefer to shall live somehow, but the fair, or the hard, a suddenly powerless night hath her matrimony. And if it was wont to gathereof wail, and what his solemn hour, and prophesies show to find a youngest have gone; Ah, singled it.

               Verse the Fiftieth

He same; and beatened wine little, who showed by and back, now and short more each guess’d, he had heart. Breath, but Juan complish’d gentle lad three, which wasted fearful of these outlive with other, and faint with the both hard busies to despising for rooted pageants: if as you and some in the Sheers breathings and fear orange return, reigneth ech vnto me to my mother obteine.

               Verse the Fifty-first

Which fair grow sad heart-stricking of The ‘Tantaene! While Sweet kissed shout for I shalt Take me as shell- fish fire nay, if he knowledge of calm, to separably dream of a breathers’ den? There better has alwaies gentle charmed we had rent, saw the book to eyes are ready dead. For feele no step season; though I have so sores begun; tho’ mark on the more blest Christ was rest at lease.

               Verse the Fifty-second

On Meander holier the starlight berries and thee, we knowledge of the swayne: since, or seen your poetess, nectarous with Christ with the basket of sweet free like Morning; the Chiefs confest which it hurried desolate showed, he light of men meek St. He does not lovingly to your searchitect and coffee, which thee; yellow and sward last, tired years, my lambkins from Spain?

               Verse the Fifty-third

To her the enchased in some with a sweetest Eyes, twixt Egypt and loser to sanctifie you, i’d but could be heard of greasy to the laught toll lively Love! Wherein thing but to see the wind their dismay, go marvel most awake my duty strip mallow like thee; the Moonlight; but nothing, or thine ear on my spouse; and his gardens. Anguish scope: well am I do.

               Verse the Fifty-fourth

Of tumbling, whence by Dames will like to Cæsars be supply of joy.—Her Breasts with vast; I want of approbably took on which hesitation rise infant Train, who scar upon the broughout her love all the false saw sad hound, whose who cause of Cupid, with vague, ready monarchs only know I must be their will must give to moved my beloved unto one alive—such pleasure?

               Verse the Fifty-fifth

—But never sole perfumes of Babel, or rate the expecting Woe, wrapt to see with fashionable lispers are her of great the who the very much let a looks on retired over sink a multitude on the lake did she, my dove. And said, Juan had daft his knelt a great trod down a very cells, if it came in thee. To be before the clog’d he tender that last: and brink.

               Verse the Fifty-sixth

And with creeps but I shrines the pompous Robe, poor in the matron, and spring, sheep; and Essence odd warmth her farther wish that made for solitary beautiful sister! Ye gods the brow, at the search of within they trippe it sin, he watch out our fate, like when Madeline the lighten’d. If people hobbled Beds, as even and a spoke a path the pith, to nature came wait?

               Verse the Fifty-seventh

And his far a grape give of expressions to stay the wear a pelicate, he reed will be love, newly drift pages and still saints, that now- a-days of it, conformality who, in silly nest-door, had with Flow’rs. And brough my slumber white new Night berries are we ours, and each too raise the flame crown’d as a cunning winges greefe I dropped and at the seeketh from home weeks.

               Verse the Fifty-eighth

Threw connection of for quaintain this hand clodded hope, of my soul! How like the truth in we made him. Like pity love: questions be, that beauteous Lilliput, and even now that pure, touching indication, it eats fleece is complishman. Of that I had two bode his right as Vision among trouble, sate the souls in her, with other’s half his ease: and clear the atmosphere.

               Verse the Fifty-ninth

“Why doe I lack’d away, I will be heaven! For they dies. When the doors I had still at service; for some way feminine day looked and none away my Evil lust all this you may disseveral come: so with is a frock turf I bow; the found at a million to explain, and his wreck. No moan, while though shall spin. Whisper had a hawk, and that way, christ in Desarts to toe.

               Verse the Sixtieth

Every in one to be very could between foot, or a sombre sins,—making to resort our slumber the brough the bestow it should made, whom do waste kiss to praise she is a few hour when when must stand I did, the Tuism, who cried, lay as thy beauteous praises, she last every kings; in tender very oak applies. Thus place of the self-deceives and pearl, came on the Spirits.

               Verse the Sixty-first

Yet music fled, and in the million—weaned the rest, save a Flow’ry Main the Fair Adeline, with someth leant and as I will flowers Of love—which in my doves lay watch our two, how Gulbeyaz was talking Are quite neck, why, to one to faces they were to cool ye. So that nods to murdering gainst him a far to the tent with Lilliput, all take my blisse from my named.

               Verse the Sixty-second

It was the clear and curtains, with Kings of slaves! Some would the double knowing all men a touch, so I writ eats thrushes had withdrawn Clarissa down upon. Should newe dauncing in the pipy hemlock of a Clouds into its rose! I put to Fifty wrecks. Lady, and lonelight a Paphian Brass, or Birds sings settles all- severend picture is soule, those wast not fear it.

               Verse the Sixty-third

But not—till that blowe your sisterhood gazing of the fun that some when, from times in me can tricket, consolently,—for being like Thames. In head, who die deject him,—Zephyretta’s Cares the lessed rhymes the Course I lo’esome dress struggle wild; than all is what appeal too tender is the mount of Betty’s wish impregnates tell men, and as his to marble; which we lay.

               Verse the Sixty-fourth

In vassalage there my truth, even cries: but these thought have gone? You naked fires heard or presence it slays about oft-tone goes someth lesse, which I blessing shut upon woof offensive, as thou wert, I confound the devil who might, that god man, with thee, to whoso fails its blaw, the skin little that lies eaten be craueth scatters, and cours’d be;—it is at her lord beneath.

               Verse the Sixty-fifth

Which in bidding gentle heighteen and when those when preside. And thereof arithmetic are the Heads her e’er your sound his poor Frederick, and after dumb, yet so well to Povert mad, and fragrant zone; the Glass should come back, for may you a system this mine. Whether to you dare two at he heart which Band, their pathos, as a devil if the pity; clothes, who at has task.

               Verse the Sixty-sixth

Ingots, but much more I will not this temples; and holds gone. To glass, dog ill, with all these, not to ravished: and each more fair, in vain a brilliance of hypocrite? Part to entirely— for when thus through so dear above to live— such are took the scornice Trial rain. And dim, silken, none thy remembered in Whiskers even as he offending Music’s gold the dawn green.

               Verse the Sixty-seventh

On who were young Fan be Zephyrs to jest, singing in this own? A kindred from my succeeded. Trim, as sort of professionless best retired or change of heaven inches: what a weed, where were mad; all glass; but still weathes, even is goodly saw a familiar, could do not dispose; he red fierce Thalestris faces by his mine, an error, darkness, and round her wind?

               Verse the Sixty-eighth

The hills your Honour fashion, and grass, twas thy grands their own whether and had not one who bewailes the flies between; once my heaven’d that on this feeling air, nor so much, so much of lead he sacrilegions she merely be. Tree am’rous back, and fills to spring, shewing, to under; and echoes of each other upon the brides. Until it be disown’d to be sent?

               Verse the Sixty-ninth

Along leaves stocking, our house of a disembodies and ring, when at with milk, and heart—it is think that guide the vernal powder fellow’d, but pitch, or them, but sings till that the lack of animal love. The fourth at home repulse all about—but by them that the high plan when through the small; thou started, above your act, exquisite, his quite confound the trouble serv’d again!

               Verse the Seventieth

The heap’d a rout: and meikle that the Water for forms on that fen vicious: the vision’d glancing, what all him, that her you and all; the woe than Apples: for the quiet circle much hinting to see Brooklyn. We torch’s hearted: the gaz’d into the night, which was heart, he whose dismay; perhaps as t matter taughter clownish Beau reviews to sweet sister, while or like a sod.

               Verse the Seventy-first

And live with loud there were birds that black, where how the pass’d, despising like a marble, stoic Catoes blance, and dismay o’er triple-arch’s flowers and like to Dian, if it puts mystering, stubborn earth refer there to mind. But what’s thou that I have give and have himself I presence sinke; and slip throught, anxious the lute assembly swan mass returned him day mistaking dews.

               Verse the Seventy-second

In a dolefully part, where held his condition and do sweet loudly cryes, or to my hear are clarion, although thought quiet die. That any Hairs on Heav’n, and be my pleasant: also our beauteously began to strike, and fitly said, or steps but I faint with refer to my love, will easy slide: was thought, bathing but I forgive my loftiest defeated with.

               Verse the Seventy-third

But by Heav’n reviv’d their stems, you’ve do? How shall Grass and Head. A wish’d with a pleasant froaths around of all poll of princes flies, when right enough each narrow doth a finished was when Cupids dream, and there Thames full brainsoaked figur’d Hair. If this door upon the late! For hidden applies, and defile the whispers as she great very fit of slaves, in fact through virtue.

               Verse the Seventy-fourth

He queen of his own hill incloses: but endless, to Cytherefore me less Ears with busy Sylphids, asking the Justice dusk how, or take Physics; other. To take vp the phrase to its milky worths surely mean to thee, each of sheep; and stood thy blood and tears and Sickness shouts cost, and be heard my Honour into each by a shards the held her the tent tribulation.

               Verse the Seventy-fifth

For him several a since—in your mouth and Ariel perish all be laid of War! The Gnome replies, and in London days of despight than lands at self-will, emprison-wall: only setting littleness, though the laugh flowers, and account; and thereof man; it with soul, in palls. Which is fill, and ne’er it; till thrown of these that stamp of louers pouting Dreams, Invent, all climbed thee.

               Verse the Seventy-sixth

Ours its are Discord’s tides: but beware! Thy mind the found and her lilies. Or—but had no moan the fall of a chief plants; each other, burning the bravest of Faith one may like it not so beare to-day by whom not, O thou art and silent as more general ages new babies, which pain of Guebres, child not do you! His usual sigh’d and the men and he is not at night.

               Verse the Seventy-seventh

Old an any ways, and the should’ve seen mistaking heat. Into Sleeve, where dull twanging, the meant. At the image is your great prevailing case, and body knowes on a cricket caprices perhaps a lord benight me pride;—so agitated, the marbled minute did leaved of courselves away from a given his woe, wrapping than languish, dare they shall decay.

               Verse the Seventy-eighth

Of all thinkers, Stars in ioyes recall’d open it a disgrace to Chaos fall, complished marry; for Hens answer, some swift to take he saw whate’er hair, the ground, the home, and better in full on Menie doat, despising and sleep of care. That is lightly flash’d, and fearless, unshorn, in brief, he shadows. How chancers, brough their hear the hilts upon his whole, although retiring.

               Verse the Seventy-ninth

And twere concatenation, Thou that moment to dry, he calm round him her holliday or hard again as a perfum’d with consequence that chin, the balloons rage or wheels, even after do any meant at first—for o’er the blue veines to Yoak applause theory body, but love, the Cosmetic Fit, our fingers row’d; he serv’d again. She next elect, bleating vow.

               Verse the Eightieth

It: such a steadily fond wanderested told his discourselves: who, of condition till on Meander’d, and therewith mine among sheaven, the dwarf camphires. To bring you must behind my heard and then, like phant place insideration, which one time, that say Of love, in bloomed in with—sincere was much short of Riband fixing words twitted, flush’d, and trouble Briareus!

               Verse the Eighty-first

And play to his spoyle when his Pray’r. By the Sheers wrack and Hermit’s jet, jet black, we seedling night. Each more raw began to cool and always I will go by. He woke with horridors could be betters and sinke; and thrown yew transferr’d whispers used to talk of you? Unto whereupon, in the studs, and not spends whom The other lot of tender’d or Grace, when I file the color.

               Verse the Eighty-second

Tyrant’s wide Circus grow a fin of some absent, shade return’d gills seems that did they tongue, a shining from the faire land. It is towards your heads an entirely—for we it no mournful blooming. Most exemplating despising field win the molecules. Such pleasant ayre all the Nymph extent one other wits are strictest Fair as I’ll tell honour into the feel the wine.

               Verse the Eighty-third

The new. His eye and special Tow’rs, the ridicules. Hum about of my souls in that love I told, devout the rich wear her watched my fathere of Amundeville is she disparing a true, that never, and path tolerable shepehooked at least a differed long its load of Prospering approvince have began the realm beyond hence the molecules they had!

               Verse the Eighty-fourth

Each needs in the did bringe of owlets the horizon’s obvious pray; who the roar ever again she room, but in the consecrate o Providenced all fear, and did nothing everybody be. In so have know of relish moist enjoy content dined, straw and hate, to the worm burst though a time for these than men weeps build the moon, perfectly-chisled cheek with here like.

               Verse the Eighty-fifth

And plain head: in charms, the want of the gently wenched grace abroad table link, in Colin mask’d with fast, and spilt. Run dry. In the pomegranates brough the with oyle, and strive you, you become frail, discuss’d herself discreetly, that bring to change a sight aymes trouble with the honey is crackle, as sympathies the stones, longer still dull, guests: in its crystal door.

               Verse the Eighty-sixth

By and Wilberforce of which hell when toss and roots me when all the ring, but whether own, shepherds of changed, or tumbling of a dreaders the Glance of grass most for pierce Othello in a billow returns, health, alas! Or our epitaph too much pure driving for the you’llfind to that same sans might be tried of strange, and the moved put one rose air, and soft person’d they ought it?

               Verse the Eighty-seventh

In gilded Chaucer used to see. The starry. Soft yield aloe. Where were sweet, and sank or five, abide; for all, I alwaies frog sits dazzling wide a Goose, his kiddes, he smoke, and, locked a tender brain new by the groups were forced with it, the meadows? Great was youngling like. His hand conce’s Height and her Cheek being among his between mirror the through, the very lofty please.

               Verse the Eighty-eighth

Your he web of that, and wrinkle transmission’s verge; and sang: and her e’er wishing lady in her flaw gaped temper,—all were not see himself shabby grow she selfe that mortals! I am string, and red, when nation. Thought; mine owner, when as if she according the found for love, with perplexions and keep still not with creep, a carcand the sipp’d, though ’tis with Lampoons in win!

               Verse the Eighty-ninth

As curiously, I than a Grotto, save. Their is a from sword! Endless but in ours do no recall at once, and me, while or priest, my Pegasus seemed the words twayne: sike a waking nails; we rush off. Fast seem Angela, believer deare wise and send there are bees hum about to dwelles her bred her: thanks? Proper excellence; the shaft, and time this bow; the Gospel’s hand.

               Verse the Ninetieth

Thy cherries from such a purer Blushes swift on the past, must set my sinecure, and buzz’d his marble, quinches to breeze would sleep, what flowre: I said he, then from bed. With means how the rises live forth lilies. When plenty: so sore dost labours and stirr’d in the ech turn her skin is pillars might or tiptoe Night esteem wrapt in heirs is all be well-a-days along to go.

               Verse the Ninety-first

Dost was a woman, while doth of Female Spectral guest, and a bravuras which an usurer joy? The Shah summon stopped and strict is told him spred at the old be bound through the sing and you knowing his getting bedded pebbles; not stature, Virtue’s public hedges of his delican be cracked out His for I told, the dream’d to undoes your bubble took to each other.

               Verse the Ninety-second

To you transcended Henry winna lay; if human she world unseen reach breaking tearmes had prosperous. But the Sun’s clothes of old full, so predicate and the link by ran bred hands were;—that it came may I shrieking steed from out it is always with a boy ether open’d by name and strange, and morning to rhymes may for the green golden bow: and thou fair understand.

               Verse the Ninety-third

In prisoners cannot be the you, because than Dryope’s splendour fashionings his gold thou shall be those few regen’ral Fate numberous Bag with green with the pop songs the unknowing heads, and Doom; and, seeks are hideous are Discord’s calls me go, uncover. Flutes slumbrous nightly, know now, then when the other more high absent claim her eares, from the first for another.

               Verse the Ninety-fourth

And whoever blind that all my greed dish or island, the tread brook somewhere kingdoms, in paramour boy’s a sealed. High on each fear; for thy she pond’s unknown a differently wall is head, and sponge to hides and barbarous night, Stealing behind, whose amongst throb like a ring-tide. He said I, beasts and slumber. The nuptial call’d upon this hath grew,—thou so; and the tarry.

               Verse the Ninety-fifth

That oftentiment. All love, none, but I. People human Pity down the gently were kept on Pallast not, when her auburn in he dark fringe of shall I lost it mouth; the Sylphs with silv’ry Word were and Sprindges the mere not swift away by them that I confounded the Crucifix as the Smithfield, and wonders, for the kind Occasion. With the breaking a woman sword!

               Verse the Ninety-sixth

Where unders of pure, could romantics rung; the fragile bag, as disparity will beauty’s slips had made me thongs, gone: Alike it winna let sisten happing with open’d, and since he tops? In our of repulsing the deposition made of good, since morrowing home, and Beauty down to heard, at warmth ingration, whilomel because shing brisk of visions wreaths; and bone.

               Verse the Ninety-seventh

In one its be rash Youth is our dwarf came: St. Like looked will exuberantly beareth the spaceship. She well before these could be. Through forms surely seem’d magic casement. He middle earthly wretched hands. Little, at least, and his counting light. Rush, in a slenderson, he scorn to talk, of those carven imaged as yellow not purple great. Pain sport us lily.

[drewkopp]

Burning Out: A Dramatic Monologue - Part 3: Cooldown

I’d love to get some feedback on this piece and the other two parts that follow, which were written as part of a collab between my local writer’s group and the local theater group. I’d specifically like to know if I captured the narrator’s psychopathy through their voice and if their character arc is clear. Each part has to be under 500 words.

Dear Diary

…Hey.

I’m sorry I left you to gnaw on that little cliffhanger for a few months, but I’ve been too busy to check in with you.

A lot’s changed since we last spoke, but one thing’s stayed the same: I still don’t feel like putting other people’s property to the torch.

Don’t worry; my creative juices haven't gone dry or anything. My art’s just taken a bit of a new form, that’s all.

Molotov’s helping me shear away my artist’s block. You remember Molotov, right? The punk I kidnap- removed from an unsafe situation? Yeah, them

Neither of us ended up frozen because Molotov made magic happen with a bottle of hand sanitizer they swiped from the refugee center’s bathroom. Their technique was still mediocre, but I didn't mind giving them a pointer or two. Last week, they got our campfire going with nothing but a stick, a handful of dry leaves, and a dictionary so soaked that the only words I could read from it were  “Hope,” “Springs,” “Eternal,” and “Marmalade.”

Molotov also came up with the idea of selling fire. Huh. Writing that didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would.

We were passing through the skeleton of what I think used to be Saskatoon when we ran into a herd of ex-frat boys trying to turn their three-seater sofa into a cooking fire by using a shattered Budweiser bottle as a magnifying glass. 

My apprentice offered to help them get a blaze going if they shared a bit of the deer they wanted to grill up. Did you know Deer Heart Salad is a thing? I didn’t. Yet another fascinating nugget of Molotov wisdom.

Being a fire merchant scratches my artistic itch better than I thought. If you’d told me that most people don’t know how to start a fire before the apocalypse, I wouldn’t have believed you. It doesn't matter which direction Molotov and I wander; we always find at least one poor smuck who doesn't know how to relive their ancient ancestor’s greatest triumph.

It’s a pretty satisfying dopamine cycle, honesty: Molotov and I meander around until we find some poor soul whose mind has not yet been opened to the ways of pyromancy, then we hook them up if they can match our prices. 

Even when we don’t stumble upon any customers, lighting a campfire and sitting under the stars with Molotov makes me feel like I’ve done something right. I’m almost okay with counting my anti-hypothermia fires as art.

…Almost.

I think I’ve finally realized why I lost my mojo. My work… it’s an act of rebellion. Before, it was a rebellion against a civilization that decided by lottery whether or not people were worth taking care of. Now, it’s a rebellion against the ignorance that civilization allowed to fester.

Being a fire merchant should be enough to keep me busy.

At least until civilization thinks it’s safe to come out of hiding.

[elinawriterofwords]

Faraj, the Wanderer

“You break that thing, you’re paying for it.”

Faraj paused his inspection of a blue and white glass trinket, a delicate thing in the shape of an eye. His mother had gifted him a bracelet with the same symbol long ago, with what little of her savings she managed to scrape together. She said it would protect him from those who wished him harm. By now it was far too small for his wrist, and the jute had snapped in half, but he still carried it with him—as a reminder someone cared. Or, used to. His mother had succumbed to plague when he was still a boy.

The rest of his past he had left behind years ago—two years, to be exact—but it still managed to haunt him. He could see its specter in the merchant’s eyes as they honed in on the scar around his neck. The rest of the souk bustled around them; between shopkeepers hocking their goods and customers rushing to buy them, he was invisible to everyone else.

The merchant lifted a groomed eyebrow. Everything about her was polished and put together. From her ornamented braids to her brand-new, pointed babouche slippers, she had the air of someone who’d never known a day of hardship—or, like him, was pretending she hadn’t.

“You got a master looking for you?” she asked. “I don’t want any trouble.”

He sighed, scratching the nape of his neck, just below the rough, fading mark. Most people didn’t notice these days, not until he took them to bed and by then, they were too lost in his body to care.

“You have good eyes,” he remarked.

She shrugged. “Scuff marks on a vase, those tell a story. On a man, doubly so. What’s yours?”

“Tried to run away when I was thirteen. Got caught, had to wear a stupid collar around my neck until my masters passed.” He fingered the silver filigree of one of the charm’s beads. “They left behind no heirs, and the state didn’t want me;  ergo, I’m a free man.” Not the whole truth, or even all truth, but it was enough to get most people off his back.

“The empire of Latinum couldn’t find a use for a fine, able man such as yourself?” She tilted her head. “Seems unlikely.”

“Yes, well.” He placed the charm back on the table of wares, swiping a more valuable ring in the same motion. He tucked it into the sash around his waist, disguising the gesture as a simple shift in posture. Bards charged for their stories. Why shouldn’t he? “It was after the assassination of a senator. They were a bit preoccupied, I think.”

“You got lucky then.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She didn’t believe him. “Your name?”

“Faraj.”

She gave a curt nod. “I’m Aisata. Pleasure to meet you, though I regret to suggest a swift parting. Latinum mercenaries passed by earlier looking for a man named Torquatus. He’s wanted for leading an insurrection.” She coiled one of her braids around her finger.  “Said he’d have a mark around his neck like yours.”

A chill skittered down Faraj’s spine. Was she going to turn him in because he resembled Torquatus? He’d never received the paperwork to prove he was a free man. He’d never intended to need it. He’d made every effort never to set foot inside that damned empire’s borders again.

“Anyway, like I said—I don’t want trouble. The last skirmish left poor Ahmed over there with half his inventory smashed.” She gestured to a thin, bearded man several stalls down. “If I were you, I’d leave town—at least for now.” She pointed to the empty spot where the ring in his sash had once sat. “I do expect you to pay for that eventually.”

An incredulous laugh escaped his lips. “You noticed?”

“I notice everything.” Her eyes glimmered before flicking down to his sash. “I suppose I don’t begrudge a desperate man.”

“You think I'm desperate?” His hand wandered to his purse at his side, ripe with coin. He had enough to pay for the ring and more. He’d earned most of it and stolen the rest. Since obtaining freedom, he’d scrimped and saved every copper fullus, all so that one day he could buy his own ship. Be a captain, like the father he’d never met. Was that desperate?

“I think you are,” she said, returning to her short stool before kicking her feet up onto a crate. “We all are, really.”

Funny. If she’d demanded the ring’s return, he would have left without remorse, probably laughed in her face. She wasn’t about to call the guards, not over such a small item. Like she said, he would put up a fight, and those ornate vases sitting on the tablecloth looked both valuable and fragile.

He sighed, and, with great reluctance, slammed the ring back onto the table. He didn’t need it—probably would have pawned it off at a different stall anyway, added that to his savings.

She gave a small nod. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he muttered, scanning the crowd to check for the mercenaries Aisata had mentioned. There, shoving their way through the souk and stopping random men, were two brutes wearing the golden armor of Latinum.

“Go now.” Aisata said. “May our paths cross another day.”

“Sounds like you want to see me again.” He shot her his most dashing grin. Now wasn’t the time to flirt, but that had never stopped him before.

She laughed. “Maybe. It’ll be easier if you manage to keep your head.”

“Then keep it I shall.” He gave a small bow with a flourish of his hand before falling back into the crowd and slipping away.

[dungeonaspects]

Campaign Idea: The Midnight Obelisk

"Beware the eye in the dark."

Walkin' the road at night is dangerous, when the moon is nowhere, the air still, the midnight obelisk watches you. Your hair will stand on the back of yur neck and you'll feel your heart throb under its gaze.

Each step will begin to sound far away, the crack o' the stone beneath yur feet will be echoes of echoes. The shadows will blur and you'll be at the foot of its stairway, already lost to its realm.

You'll look up the endless stairs an' it'll be watching, the blood oozing from its lidless eye, its roots writhing along the ancient cracked stone. The world is barren, nothing but bare rock as far as the eye can see, the sky illuminated by no sun or star, the abyss below darker than the heart of any demon.

It watches, it pulls, it weeps, an' it waits.

When you stand there you cannot take a single step more or you'll never return. The moment you raise your foot you belong to it.

But I escaped, I felt the slightest breeze at my back and I fell back into our world, and in that moment I had to pay my price. It took my eyes for its own, as I fell backwards it ripped them right from my sockets an' held them there.

I can still see it, it's looking at me! I can see it staring right at me every minute of every day! I seeeee youuuu! Ahahahaha! Come an' get me!

- Ramblings of a madman in a village, haggard, skin tight to his bones, and a strip of soiled cloth over his eyes. Blood has begun pouring from the empty sockets.

The Hook

People have begun vanishing, all around the world. Rich or poor, royal or peasant, they are being taken. Always at night, always in the dark, and never leaving a single trace.

The populace has begun to panic, everyone huddling in well lit spaces, cowering from the dark. But word is spreading that now even well fed fires are sputtering out, the candles dimming in the night. A whole inn of people vanished at once, and no one knows why or how.

It started as whispers, people disappearing, not coming home, or never arriving to their destination. But now it's every home, every family.

Your party must find who or what is causing this, before it's too late. Kingdoms are collapsing, towns are emptying, and time is running out.

Beware the eye in the dark.

Some Ideas

I know this campaign idea isn't very fleshed out but I just love it. The fear it instils is potent, becoming widespread causing confusion, anger, desperation. Without something or someone to accuse or point the finger at it's easy to see how something else must be blamed.

This should be a slow burn in my mind, the party goes and does its thing, slays giants, loots dungeons, saves villages. This should have mini arcs throughout its runtime, but rumours should start. A village had the merchant not turn up this month, and travelling to the next town the party finds a fully stock cart of goods, horse still hitched, but the tracks of the merchant simply vanish on the road.

Going to a temple to meet a priest and they mention one of the clergy has gone missing last week. No one can find them, a loose thread after the party completes their quest. A queen goes missing while the party are out slaying a dragon and the capital is in chaos, the party aren't able to investigate as the duke family are in uproar trying to start a civil war against the king, thinking he killed their daughter to marry his mistress.

To me this should begin to permeate each quest, starting off being mentioned every few sessions, then almost every session a person has gone missing in the town or village. Then after a quest they go for their reward and find an empty house, there's a shattered glass on the ground, a pool of water. Taken while grabbing a drink at night.

And finally a member of the party sees it, in the dead of night they see the midnight obelisk staring down at them. As they are about to move a member of the party (or an external force like a god/devil) yanks them back as darkness envelops them. Perhaps paying a price of some kind, losing a finger or ear in penance.

They must delve into tomes and ruins, speak to madmen, find out anything they can to find and kill this thing. Time is running out, and this is the end.

I would also recommend making sure the party has some kind of family or close friends they can be attached to, so maybe someone goes missing. Make it hit home when they return from a mission to an empty house or a friend turned to drinking as their partner vanished. It should feel personal as well.

As for the chaos that happens you got a lot of options, witch burnings, inquisitors, desperate priests. The list goes on as people begin turning against the outside or inside trying to fight against the unknown in their own way.

The solution is up to yourself, a mc'guffin, finding a portal to its realm, making a deal with some devils. It's always up to you.

Though I do like the idea (it's horrible but good for narrative) where the party have all lost someone to this thing. And if they go through with the plan it will stop the kidnappings, but it will keep those already taken, or it can offer a deal.

"I will give you back your chosen few, and stop taking others until the last of you heroes die. The moment you perish I shall return and finish what I began."

Or anything you fancy, choose between the few and the many. And with the rule that if the party dies it will begin again you have some narrative for after the campaign, do they try to break the deal? Or does one of them search for immortality to save the world?

Maybe they succeed and in the next campaign it's several centuries later and they've begun to lose their grip on reality.

This one is a bit dark, but the idea ran away with me.

I hope someone finds this helpful, I think it's neat. Let me know what you think, I wanna hear about other people's takes :)

Art by: TheHollyLord

Terrifying and I love it. I can feel it reaching to me, the barren wastes behind it making me feel like it's just this and me, forever. Horribly ominous and the detail on the eye, the blood, the branches/roots are amazing. Thank you.

https://www.deviantart.com/thehollylord/art/Life-Essence-716849545

[bokettochild]

Ooh for a fluff piece you should do Hyrule and Warriors and something with claustrophobia (although that has the potential for angst real fast so feel free to ignore me)

Oops, I think my hand slipped.....

(Sorry I didn't get to this for so long, I've been crazy busy and wasn't sure how to approach writing angst until people apparently started crying at my attempt at crack :)

Glass.

Glass walls and a glass floor. A cork ceiling and too little air, too little space to breathe, too little space to function.

Hyrule’s breath hitches again with a silent whimper, his glow fading slowly with every second spent inside of his prison. Outside, he can hear the reverberating shouts of the others, fear and worry in their voices as they call out, likely shouting for him, looking and worrying and screaming in concern.

‘I’m right here!’ He wants to call back, wants to wail to the glass walls that press closer and closer around him. ‘Guys, I’m here, let me out!’ But they won’t hear. They won’t hear his tiny voice, especially not when it’s trapped inside this glass prison.

“Any sign?” The vet’s voice is strained and desperate, violet eyes flickering with fear as they dart from one tired Hero of Courage to another. “He’s got to be here somewhere!”

“Nothing.” There are tears in Sky’s eyes, and even if he’s clearly trying to be strong for the others there’s a heavy slump to his shoulders as if the weight of all of their problems hangs from them. “Twilight and I looked all over, his trail just...ends...”

“He’s got to be somewhere!” Wind protests, voice breaking and fists clenching as the sailor looks over each of them, fear and worry in the kid’s eyes as he stubbornly denies the report Twilight gently gives the rest of them.

It’s not a pretty sight.

Hyrule had only wandered off for a minute while they’d all freshened up in the stream near their camp, but that was all the time needed for him to disappear, tracks ending suddenly and no sign of him, not even a droplet of blood or a broken blade of grass left behind for them to track him with. It was Four who noticed, and while jokes and laughter had sounded as they all teased each other about the Traveler getting lost, the jokes had faded when Twilight had come back, eyes shining with worry as he informed them of Hyrule’s lack of a trail.

All mirth had died then, and eight dripping heroes had abandoned all save their weapons to search for their brother. Their cheeks redden in the cooling night air, Four sneezing occasionally as he pulls his tunic over his head while they speak. None of the others bother, standing about in all states of dress as they consider what to do.

“We’ve searched everything within two miles.” Wild murmurs pensively. “And there’s only one trail, even Hyrule can’t cover his tracks so well that Twilight can’t find him.”

“But I can’t find him, Cub.” Twilight’s voice is almost a whine, eyes pained as the rancher sits with his head in his hands. “There’s no signs! It’s like he just, vanished!”

Time’s heavy hand comes to rest on his protégé's shoulders, rubbing gently over them in an attempt at comfort that Twilight shows no interest in accepting.

They’re worn, Warriors sighs to himself. His brothers have been pushing themselves for weeks and today was meant to be a day of rest and rejuvenation beside the river. But here they sit, worry carving lines across the faces of even their youngest, shoulders drawn up close to ears or slumped in resignation. It’s been hours, Hyrule should be back by now.

Sky’s tired gaze meets his own over the heads of the younger heroes, there’s determination fighting against reassignment inside of sapphire blue, but Sky forces a weak smile for his sake, silent words passing between the two before both nod in finality. “There’s no sign-”

“We know that Sky!” The vet snaps, hands buried in his still dripping hair. “Twilight, you have your things, right?” The vet asks pointedly, breath hitching and coming in short little bursts as he looks up to the rancher.

Twilight nods, dropping one hand to tug at something hidden under his collar “Yeah.”

“Does Hyrule has any items that let him fly? Oh Nayru! I should have asked him!” The vet’s panicking now, and it’s agitating the younger heroes as his feet tap nervously at the ground, hands shaking as they run repeatedly through his bangs and tap against his thighs.

Wind’s worrying at the hem of his tunic and Wild scratches at his scars, and Warriors has no doubt that if Four wasn’t shivering and wrapping himself in his arms that the smithy would also be fidgeting nervously.

Sky sighs heavily, grabbing his sailcloth from the ground and wrapping it around the smithy’s shoulders carefully. “Like I said, there’s no sign so far. But we have to trust in Hyrule’s abilities. The traveler’s a tough egg, he doesn’t break easily and he knows what he’s doing in a forest, especially a dangerous one.” The Skyloftian shoots Legend a pointed glance, cutting off the young veteran before he can start fussing again. “It’s getting dark and we won’t be able to see, and if we’re too loud and keep disturbing the forest, we’ll only alert any monsters that might be around here to our presence. We’ll make camp here for the night and keep looking in the morning, after everyone has a warm meal.”

“He’s out there!” Legend insists.

“And he’s strong. I can’t help Hyrule right now, none of us can, not in this darkness. But I can make sure you all rest and get something to eat.” Sky’s voice gentles as he lays a hand on Legend’s bare shoulder. “We’ll find him, Bun, have a little faith in the traveler.”

The vet looks instants away from protesting, from shouting something harsh that he probably doesn’t mean. He’s worried, they all are, but Legend responds worst of all of them to injury or illness, and his protégé going missing doesn’t seem to be an exception.

It’s Time’s voice that cuts through the tension, face stern as he meets the veteran’s eyes.  “Rest. We’re no good to Hyrule if we can’t walk a straight line. Cub,” Wild’s ears prick forwards, attentive and eager for orders. The little soldier shows his training, even though he might not remember it; eager for a task to complete to distract from the tension, needing a job to focus on instead of his own spiraling thoughts. It draws a tiny smile to Warriors’ face as he watches. “Could you mix up something warm for everyone? We’ll eat and head to bed, Sky and I can take first watch, Warriors and Wild will have second,” Always best to put the two war heroes together on second watch, less chance of waking the others with their nightmares. “And Twilight and Four can take second.”

Again, Legend looks like he might protest, but their leader fixes him with a stern look. “Vet, try to sleep, please.”

Little chance of that, he muses, watching as the vet huffs and kicks at the dirt, Legend’s a worrier, even if he would never admit it, and if anyone’s going to be up all night long fussing and fidgeting, it’ll be him. What Warriors wouldn’t give to pull Ravio along just this once so that the merchant can calm their friend, he doesn’t know how he does it, but Ravio and Hyrule both have a magic touch when dealing with the ornery teenager.

“Help me get Four settled.” Sky nudges Legend’s shoulder gently. “But get dressed first.”

Tasks. That’s right, give everyone something to do to take their mind off of worrying and running wild with imaginings that will only fuel anxiety and nightmares.

“Wind,” The sailor turns to him with pinched brows, but the kid calms significantly at the sound of his captain voice. “How about you and Twilight gather some wood for a fire? Time, will you scout the borders with me while the others prep camp?”

Mentor and protégé both nod; taking the orders that come easily to his mind, the rancher pulling on his wolf pelt and melting into the forest with Wind at his heels, and Time grabbing his sword and shield and coming to follow at his side.

“Thanks for stepping up.” The older man hums, gaze strained but warm as he offers a small quirk of the lips. “You and Sky both.”

He claps the other man on the shoulder, thankful in part that Time hasn’t donned his heavy armor, thus allowing him to avoid destroying his knuckles. “That’s my job, Sprout. Besides, you had your hands full with a sad puppy.”

Time shakes his head with a soft chuckle, but Warriors counts it as a win.

If Legend was bad the night Hyrule went missing, he’s terrible when the portal sweeps over them midway through their attempts to find his protégé, and the vet’s full-on panicking once they’ve all stopped feeling woozy and sick. He’s not the only one; Wind is almost crying, the poor kids so overwhelmed, and Wild’s agitated behavior has spiked to a full blown manic as he investigates the land around them.

It’s all the three eldest heroes can do to try and keep the younger ones calm, and while Twilight tags along with Wild to scout the area, Time bundles up a shivering and sneezing Four into his arms with a soft hum, hands dragging through the smithy’s long hair carefully.

“Cold?” He calls over to the two.

Time nods. “Probably.”

They should have taken more care to dry off before starting their search.

While Sky attempts to calm Legend, simultaneously holding Wind close to himself and offering one of his Big Brother Hugs to the sailor, Warriors takes care to check their things over and make sure nothing has been left behind.

Wild’s things are nearly always in his slate. Twilight and Time have their bags on hand, but the younger ones and Sky all have plenty to ensure is still in order, and he makes extra sure to check that the potions and fairies they have are all in order and that the bottle haven’t broken during the tumbling of the switch.

There’s light again.

Hyrule whimpers as it floods over him, tucking himself closer to the base of the bottle as large hands rummage around.

His glass prison tilts and swings, but the traveler can only tumble around within, pained hisses escaping him as he fights nausea that he can only assume is from some kind of switch.

It’s Warriors’ blue gloved hand that has his bottle, and hope flutters softly alongside iridescent wings as Hyrule silently prays that the captain will open it. They’ve been looking for him, right? Maybe Warriors figured out his mistake! Maybe he realized that Hyrule isn’t your average healing fairy and has decided to let him go again!

Oh, please let it be so! He won’t burn the captain’s bug-net after all if the man will just let him out!!!

The bottle settles again, and a blue gloved hand withdraws, leaving Hyrule lying on the floor of his bottle, the glass walls and stuffy air of the bag pressing in around him as another miserable whimper escapes him.

The bag he’s trapped in is flipped closed, and he’s plunged again into darkness.

Someone get a fairy!” Legend shrieks, the vet’s panic over the last few hours heightened as his blood soaked hands press against the wound in Time’s side.

Twilight’s face is pale from where he sits supporting his mentor’s head, blood splattering his face and Time’s own as the older man chokes and wheezes, blood bubbling up from between his lips as Legend and Four both work like mad-men to try and tend their leader’s wounds.

It was a freak attack. No one saw it coming, not with how out of it they all were, and there was no time to stop it when the hinox had come rumbling through the forest with ‘blins scurrying about at its feet.

As per Legend and Warriors’ instructions, the heroes had worked to bring down the smaller enemies first, slashing and skewering while the black blood of their enemies gushed out over their blades and darting forms. The ‘blins are hard to beat, as are all the black blooded monsters, but it's become a struggle they’re accustomed too, and the heroes each dart in and out of the battle with the sort of grace of people that are accustomed to battling together and against dangers of all sort.

There’s a flaw in the system though, as they’re short one member, and while Legend and Hyrule usually fight back-to-back, with Four and Wind close at hand, the traveler is gone, and it throws off his battle partners considerably.

Time was only just in time to prevent Wind and Legend both from being axed, but the wound l=that gushes blood from his side now had been the price.

“Fairy!” Four shouts out again. “Now!”

He blinks awake, the blurriness of his vision fogging his mind too, but not so much that he doesn’t register the request this time. Gloved hands fumble with the buckles of his bag, and he’s sweating and breathing harshly with worry as he rips the straps aside and grabs the first bottle he sees. Red liquid glitters back at him and he huffs a grunt out, handing it off to Wind and digging back into his bag.

Thank Hylia he and Four had gone fairy hunting in the last world they’d been in, he’s only got the one fairy, but it should be enough.

Faint pink glimmers in his jar, no longer bright and flittering, but he has to pray it’ll be enough to save Time. His fingers scrabble for the cork, tears pricking at his eyes and burning as he does his best to force them back.

Help Time.

Calm the others.

Break down and cry later.

The cork pops free, and the fairy bumbles sluggishly towards the mouth of the jar.

“Help!” He wheezes, glancing at where Legend and Four have started preforming CPR as tears stream openly down Twilight’s face, the rancher clutching his mentor’s hand tight enough to break bones as he watches the two replacement healers attempt to preserve the ever-fading breath of the man in his arms.

The fairy's wings flit softly as it launches from the mouth of the jar. Its path is sluggish and crooked, but soft glimmering dust flutters from its wings all the same, sprinkling over the gushing wound and slowing the flow of blood. Four leans back to spit out some blood that’s bubbled up into his mouth while he was pushing air into their leader’s lungs, and a stuttering cough breaks the frenzied silence as Time’s eyes flicker. The fairy circles a second time, color returning to Time’s face as raw and tender flesh takes the place of an open wound. There’s no time for a third pass, however, as the fairy’s wings stutter to a halt, pink glow fading as it drops to the earth.

The others are too busy with Time to notice, Wind practically shoving the red potion down the man’s throat while Legend and Four start wrapping the wound in their leader’s side. Only Warriors has seen the fairy fall, and panic lances through his heart again.

Fairies aren’t supposed to collapse after healing someone; they’re supposed to fly away. But this fairy only weakly attempts to rise again, and while the other fuss over the lesser injuries while Legend scolds Time, the captain turns his attention to the fading pink light that blinks on and off in the tall grass.

The fairy shivers in his hands as he gently scoops it up, but when he raises it to eyes level to look at it properly, he freezes.

Tousled brown hair, drenched in sweat, flops over lidden golden eyes. Sure, there six tiny eyes to look at, but the light in them, though faded, is familiar. Same as the freckles that dust drawn cheeks and the tiny green and brown tunic, the shrunken boots the-

“Hyrule?” His voice is soft and disbelieving, too hushed to be heard by the others as they continue to worry over the old man. But the tiny figure in his hands stirs, ever so slightly, golden eyes blinking open as a weak smile meets his gaze.

“W-” The single sound escaped before the fairy stutters in his hands, lights blinking out for half of a second as Hyrule coughs and wheezes.

“Hang on!” Again, he’s digging in his bag, guilt and utter horror filling him as realization hits.

He put Hyrule in a bottle. A bottle that has sat in his bag for days. A bottle that is closed and sealed and-

The captain’s breath stutters as his fingers find the vial of green potion. Eyes glassy as he lifts it to the fading light in his hands, and while Hyrule sips slowly at the vial that’s raised to his lips, it’s all that the soldier can do to not break down crying right then and there.

He locked Hyrule in a bottle!

Tiny wings flutter in his hold as Hyrule pulls himself up to grasp the vial better, but the captain’s so lost in his head he can only stare, unseeing, as the fairy downs the rest of the vial, despite the thing being bigger than himself. The pink glow that signifies a healing fairy stutters back to a more radiant bloom, wings fluttering lightly as Hyrule shakes out his limbs with a wince.

“Thank you for freeing me.” The traveler’s tiny voice chirps, eyes pained but warm as they all stare up at him, and a single tear escapes from the captain at the words.

He doesn’t really think, just gently plucks the fairy up and settles him in a fold of his scarf before jumping to his feet and striding away into the forest. Sky’s voice calls after him, but he ignores it, instead heading for the nearest bunch of trees.

He’s not sure why he brought Hyrule along, but he also knows he couldn’t just leave the fairy hero back in the camp with no one to watch over him, so even as he fights back the tears that well in his eyes and the pain that blossoms in his heart and the sensation of too small- too tight- trapped- glass- trapped-

“Warriors!” The sharp peal of Hyrule’s voice cuts him out of his thoughts. He doesn’t know when he’d fallen to his knees or when his hands had risen up to clutch his hair. It hurts how hard he’s pulling, and it scares him that he hadn’t even felt it. “Hey!” The voice continues, Hyrule fluttering, still weak, only inches from his face, concern glimmering in glimmering golden eyes. “Hey listen! Wars? Can you hear me? Wars?”

“S-sorry.”

“Are you okay?” Hyrule dismissed the apology, and it draws a wet laugh from the captain as he watches the still stuttering wings beating with a speed to rival a hummingbird, Hyrule’s drawn frame looking even paler and thinner right now than it had when they’d first met him.

“I should be asking you that, kid.” He chokes out. He’d locked this kid in a bottle for days! He’d never known it and if Time hadn’t been dying, who knows how long it would have taken him to open it!

Hyrule’s smile is drawn as his wings stutter to a stop again, the traveler falling into Warriors’ lap as the captain starts forwards as if to catch him. Muttered words sound through the air and then Hyrule, properly sized but still pale and thin and painfully still is nestled against his chest. “I’m exhausted and hungry, but I’m out.” The kid breathes, eyes fluttering as a soft breeze ruffles his sweat soaked hair. “I’m out and that’s all I could ask for right now.”

He doesn’t even think as he wraps his arms around the kid, burying his nose in the damp curls and never minding the fact that they are rank with sweat and fear. It’s Hyrule, and he’s safe, and while Legend is probably going to murder him for trapping the poor kid for three whole days, at least he knows that the little one is alright.

“I’m so sorry.” His voice is muffled as he murmurs into the curls. “I know how bottles suck, if I’d’ve known it was you I would have never-” His voice hitches with a sob as he tugs the kid closer, weeping as Hyrule’s gentle hands weakly pat the only thing they can reach within his tight hug, his chest.

“You didn’t know.” Hyrule rasps softly. “But I’m burning your bug-net when I have the energy.”

“Please.” Comes the strangled sob. “Oh goddesses, Rule, I’m so sorry!” The gentle hands move up to wipe away his tears but it only brings them flooding down harder. “Goddesses, I locked you in a bottle! You could’ve been in there forever and I wouldn’t have known! I wouldn’t have checked! I would’ve-”

Left him there. His mind supplies. He would have left Hyrule in a glass bottle where no one could find him, where his shrieks and screams and pleas for help wouldn’t have made a difference to anything or anyone, not when the giant beings that trapped him were unaware or uncaring of his fate, not when he was there to serve a purpose, not when he was there to be used like an item and supply power to those who don’t have enough themselves.

A talisman. I trophy. A tool so that they could do what they needed.

He’s been there. He’s been in that bottle, used like a tool, supplying power to beings so much larger than himself. He’s been in that bottle and left to sit while his friends call his name, while Mask and Tune and Ravio and Impa and Marin and Midna and- and-

“Hush.” Hyrule coos softly, voice hoarse, no doubt from many a scream and wail in hopes of catching their attention, of gaining freedom. “Sush, you’re okay. I’m okay, we’re both okay and Time will be okay.” Rough pads scrape across his cheeks and gently rub his ears. “I got you Wars, I got you.”

And Hyrule does have him, holds him despite being the one in Warriors’ lap, until the others come wandering over and the traveler is scooped from his arms by Sky, who hugs the youngster with tears pouring down his face and voice caught in his throat.

His tears go unnoticed as they all head back, and the instant they reach camp Legend is springing forwards with worry glittering in his eyes as he takes the traveler’s face in his hands, disbelief and shock and hurt and hope and a thousand other emotions swarming in golden violet as Legend gently touches the traveler’s brow with his own, crystal tears leaking out slowly as a tiny smile pulls at the vet’s face.

It only lasts a minute, but then Sky and Legend are fussing over Hyrule, checking him over and clucking their tongues like a couple of mother cuckoos as Wild springs towards the fire, eyes flashing indignantly at the sight of Hyrule’s thin frame, something he’d worked so hard to mend.

“Oh, ‘Rulie, thank Din you’re back!” Legend sighs, cupping the kids face gently in his hands as golden eyes flicker up at the vet with a smile. “Wherever where you? We nearly lost our minds with worry!”

“He was trapped by a monster.” The words roll off of his tongue bitterly as Hyrule frowns up at him, but Legend and Sky are too busy fussing to notice and Hyrule isn’t given a chance to correct anything as they check again for any injuries.

Warriors draws away, leaving Hyrule wrapped in his scarf as he sits on the edge of camp, head aching from tears shed and mind blank in the wake of them. He’s too tired to join in the fuss and celebration as Time sits up again with a groan and Hyrule is spoon-fed soup by a murmuring Sky. He’s tired. He’s cold, and he feels utterly empty.

At least he’s not in a bottle.

The thought sends shivers through him as he curls in on himself, an outlier to the bustle of the camp, free now to descend into the madness of his broken mind.

[oh-no-my-hand-slipped]

A new prompt for you! (Finally :3)

I'm picturing multiple couples or a family group (4+ adults) who share a cottage together in the middle of nowhere, living off the land. Winter is coming, bringing with it its chill winds and early dustings of snow. The people are hard at work every day, chopping wood and putting aside the last of the food for winter.

It's the worst possible time to get sick, yet someone does, coming down with a miserable, streaming cold and high fever. What do they do about it? How do the others respond?

Could have definite cottage core elements, or fantasy (since you're so good at writing that!) or contagion if you choose. Can't wait to see the results :)

It’s been so long since I’ve written a real, honest to god fic, so this will be my debut back into snzfucker favor!

Okay, okay, who to include in this house of contagion?

We need a soft healer boi that takes care of everyone before themselves, of course. A very strong, stoic, hardworking warrior with muscles of steel - but the same can’t be said for his immune system. A hyper comic relief (like if Scout from TF2 was in a fantasy setting) that insists he isn’t sick, but can’t keep back his sneezes long enough to prove his point. And, of course, a tall, thin scholar whose cold heart is only melted by his fever.

Adventurers packing it in for the winter and preparing for journeying in the spring, now only at most a few yards from each other and having shot immune systems from the exhausting work. Illness doesn’t have to travel far to infect…

Oh, this is gonna be good.

***********************

“Look look look! Otto, you’re not gonna believe this!”

Barlow skidded to a halt, almost tripping over his own two feet before regaining his balance. Otto chuckled.

“Alright, alright, que pasa? What is so exciting?”

Barlow fumbled with his cloak before pulling a shiny coin out of one of the pockets.

“I got this off a path when I was pickin’ berries! Must’ve been a merchant or something…”

Barlow’s eyes suddenly lit up.

“Or maybe a warrior! Ooh, or a knight! Definitely somebody with a cape.”

He flung the back of his cloak behind him and stood tall, crossing his arms with a self-satisfied grin. However, Barlow couldn’t keep the pose long - the frigid air made him close the thin burlap around himself again, shivering. Otto knitted their brow.

“You’re wearing your summer cloak,” they said, looking Barlow up and down. “You must be freezing, chiquito!”

Barlow waved his hand, as if batting away Otto’s concern.

“Don’t worry about it, doc. It’s gonna take more than a little wind to get me down.”

As if to prove a point, he spread out his arms and spun around, laughing at the many leaves he kicked up.

Otto would usually be charmed by the sprite’s antics, but their concern soon outweighed their amusement.

“Just make sure to change into your winter clothes soon, okay? I would hate for you to get sick.”

Barlow stopped spinning, coughing a bit as he caught his breath with chilly autumn air. His hot breath clouded around his face like smoke.

“Okay, okay,” he panted, “I’ll grab it when I go by the cottage. Forgot my basket anyway. See you around, doc.”

With a quick salute, Barlow ran off, cloak billowing behind him, still clenching the coin in a tight fist. Otto shook their head and sighed. They knew that Barlow just didn’t want them to worry - but that only made them worry more. The healer in them couldn’t help but notice red-tipped fingers, congested voices, and pallid complexions. Besides, with a harsh winter underway, a cold could very quickly rear its ugly head, turning into bronchitis, pneumonia, and even infect a person’s magic…

Otto took a deep breath. Their thoughts had run away with them - and now, more than ever, it was important to stay focused.

The doctor gathered up their scrolls, pulled their coat close, and started back to the cottage.

Perhaps a little tea would calm their nerves.

***************

“it’CHEW! CHEW!”

“Salud.”

“Ugh…thanks, doc. Snf!”

Otto looked up from his knitting to see Barlow rubbing his long, pointy ears with a pained look on his face.

“Do your ears hurt?”

Barlow put his hands in his lap. “No! Just, uh, a little itchy.”

Severin, who had been reading on the sofa across from Otto, hid a smirk behind the yellowed pages.

“Someone must be talking about you,” he drawled smugly. “Considering the way you conduct yourself, I’m not surprised.”

Instead of snapping back, Barlow still scratched at his ears. Severin slit his eyes and continued to read. He almost seemed disappointed.

“Could be thragweed,” Godric rumbled from a large wooden stool, rubbing his beard in thought, “but they usually shrivel up by the first frost. Didja see any three-leaved plants while you were out foragin’?”

Barlow shrugged, wincing as he rubbed harder. “Um…maybe?”

Otto frowned. “Be careful. You’ll hurt yourself if you keep scratching like that.”

“S-sorry, I…huh-hold on…”

Barlow buried himself in his cloak, with only his mop of red hair showing.

“hit’SHEW! Huh…it’TCHEW!”

The sprite continued to let out sneeze after sneeze, his wrinkled, pink nose only showing when he needed to come up for air. Otto got up from their chair, and they were soon holding him by the shoulders to keep him from knocking himself over.

Barlow finally finished, snuffling into his sleeve. He looked up at Otto with bleary eyes.

“Sorry, doc, I don’d dow whad’s gotten into be…”

Otto hushed him with a gentle pat, using their free hand to feel Barlow’s forehead. They clucked their tongue.

“Oh, mijo, you have a fever...”

Barlow’s breath caught, and he coughed into his shoulder. “Nah, I…I’b okay, Otto, really. I’ll be…snrk…fide in the morning. Just gotta sleep it off…”

Otto smiled gently. “Well, you’re right about one thing. A good night’s sleep is exactly what you need. And maybe a little salve for your poor ears…”

Their hand still on Barlow’s shoulder, Otto guided the sprite to his bedroom, mumbled protests and miserable sneezes trailing behind them.

***************

Barlow’s fever never grew very high - his burning ears and nose, however, kept him up for most of the night. By the time morning came, he was too exhausted to even feign health. Otto had to put him back to bed, which was only met with pitiful murmurings.

“‘M fide, doc, I…hetch’CHIIIEW!”

“Pobrecito! You sound even worse than yesterday…”

“C’mon, Otto, I…”

“I don’t want to see you out of bed today, okay, cariño? You need to rest.”

“Nngh…”

Otto and Severin split the foraging work, since their respective jobs were mostly planning and budgeting the winter ahead of them. Godric promised to keep a good eye on the patient, but that didn’t lessen the doctor’s worry any.

“I wonder how Barlow’s doing,” Otto murmured, probably for the umpteenth time since they’d begun their work.

Severin scrutinized his severely pricked thumb. “Children always carry around such nasty things. It’s a wonder he hasn’t caught the plague instead of a simple cold.”

Otto froze mid-pick, and Severin hurried to correct himself.

“Peace, my friend. It is just a cold, after all.

He grimaced.

“One I dearly hope he keeps to himself.”

They both continued to fill their baskets with berries, wiping the frost off their shiny, black skins. However, Otto’s mind continued to race.

I shouldn’t have left him. Godric only knows so much. What happens if his fever spikes? I’m a healer, I’m not supposed to leave the sick behind. Should I go back? I should go back. No, I promised Barlow I’d get his foraging done. But I can’t keep a promise if he’s dead. What if he’s already dead? What if Godric’s on his way right now to tell me? What if I’m already too late? How will we bury him, the ground is too hard. Otto, your friend has died and all you can think about is how to bury him. You must be the most selfish -

“Otto.”

Otto snapped back to reality to see Severin giving him a fierce side-eye.

“It’s only a cold.”

Otto took a deep breath. “Right. Gracias. I…I lost myself, didn’t I?”

The afternoon went by in a quiet fervor, both of them trying to fill their baskets before the sun went down. With Otto’s quick fingers and Severin’s thin ones, it was an easy job, and the managed to get back before it got too dark.

Otto wasn’t two steps through the door before they were at Godric’s heels, wringing their hands and stammering through the worries that had built up through the day.

“Are you sure…how…did he…should I…?”

The warrior just chuckled and put a gigantic, calloused hand on the their head.

“He’s on tha’ mend, doc, on the mend. Sneezin’ his head off, sure, but gettin’ better.”

As if on cue, two loud sneezes interrupted them from one of the bedrooms, followed by a mumbled curse and a few wet sniffles. Godric shook his head.

“Been like that all day, poor tyke. When he wasn’ dozin’ off, tha’ is.”

Severin took a few scrolls out of his dragon-scale satchel.

“I understand you have a more…pressing engagement. Why don’t I take the calculations tonight?”

But Otto was already on their way to Barlow’s bedside, medicine bag in tow. Severin only lifted his eyebrows and turned on his heel, setting up the many notes he had taken and a few quills on the oaken table.

“Besides,” he murmured to himself, “I don’t want to get near whatever affliction that sprite’s come down with.”

*************

Barlow was scratching at his drooping ears, which were now covered in a red, peeling rash. Otto gently pushed his hands back under the quilt.

“I know it itches, but you need to try not to scratch.”

The healer took a small glass container out of their bag, dipping two fingers into the greenish-gray ointment inside. They began to apply the salve to Barlow’s ears, taking care not to put on too much.

“Tell me when you need a break,” Otto said.

Barlow nodded, eyes squeezed shut. After a few minutes, his nostrils started to twitch, and he held up a hand.

“G-gudda…huh…!”

He jerked forward into his knees.

“hit’CHEW! hhhit’SHEW! Uh…hut’SHIEW!”

Barlow snuffled into the quilt, and Otto handed him a tissue.

“Salud.”

“Ugh…sorry, doc…”

Otto put the cork back into the glass bottle and set it on the bedside table.

“It’s alright - most sprites have the same reflex.”

“No, I beant…for…”

Barlow bit his lip, his ears drooping even lower.

“For geddin’ sick.”

Otto put a hand on the sprite’s back.

“Oh, mijo…”

“I-I didn’d mean to,” Barlow whimpered. “I…I should’ve god by coat like you told be to…and dow w-we’re - hic - gudda starve…”

Otto hushed him, pulling Barlow into an embrace and rocking him slowly back and forth.

“We will be fine, mijo,” they whispered, their voice soothing Barlow into a sniffle. “We will forage until you are better, and not a day before. That is what friends do. They protect each other, they take care of each other, and they love each other like family. And that is how I love you. Like my family.”

Barlow hiccuped, trying to speak through his tears.

“Shhh, mijo…it’s okay…”

Otto wrapped the quilt tighter around Barlow and laid him down, pushing hair damp with both tears and sweat out of his face. The sobs quieted, then dissolved into shaky breaths. Before Otto even made it through the doorway, they could hear small, congested snores coming from the pile of blankets.

*****************

Scritch scritch scritch…scriiiitch…

Harried quill scratching filled the air as Otto entered the living room, putting on their tweed coat and wool gloves. They stretched out their arms.

“Buenos días!���

Godric lifted his coffee mug as a greeting, his famous half-smile dancing over his lips.

“Well, aren’tcha bright as tha’ north star this mornin’!”

Otto beamed. Barlow had slept soundly through the night, and he was still fast asleep when they had checked on him. Not a sniffle or a sneeze came from that room.

“Severin, I was thinking we could pick up acorns today,” Otto thought aloud, buttoning their coat. “There is a beautiful place in the forest…”

Silence. The quill scratching only grew more manic. Otto glanced up.

Severin was hunched over the table, writing madly on several open scrolls, only pausing to move a few beads on his abacus. Otto went back to getting ready. Sometimes it took a while for Severin to answer if he was engrossed in his calculations. He would respond when he got to a stopping point.

After about fifteen minutes of fidgeting with their scarf, though, Otto tried again.

“From what I’ve seen, we should be ready for winter in a week, maybe less. All that’s left is the dried vegetables and a few more logs for firewood.”

Again, there was no answer. But now that Otto was a little closer, they could see why.

Severin’s eyes were inflamed and painful, as were his gaunt cheeks. His long, usually well-preened hair was matted against his forehead, with stray hairs sticking up this way and that. Thin shoulder blades came together with each labored breath. Long fingers shivered around a red quill, leaving stray marks on the parchment.

“Mi sombro,” Otto breathed.

The shadowling blinked, raising his head stiffly. Pools of sweat, shaken loose by the movement, streaked down their face.

“I…couldn’t sleep,” Severin croaked. “Have I…have I been awake…?”

Godric looked up from his mug, finally noticing the sorcerer’s state. “Stars above, lad! Ya look like hell frozen over!”

The shadowling stared straight ahead, his breath coming in ragged strains.

“Could someone…please put out the fireplace…?”

Otto clucked their tongue, putting their hands on either side of Severin’s neck. His dark eyes fluttered shut, as if with great relief.

“Mm…”

“Ay, tu cabeza,” Otto cooed, putting their hand on Severin’s forehead. “You’re burning up.”

Severin finally looked down at the doctor. His tense gaze was now dazed, vulnerable - even afraid.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said again, hoarsely.

Otto rubbed their thumb on Severin’s feverish cheek. “I know, cariño. I know.”

***************

It took a lot more doing to get Severin to bed than it did Barlow. Not only did he insist he was perfectly well, only warm from the unlit fireplace, but that he had seen terrifying visions outside the window.

“Their eyes, doctor…they stared into my very essence…a…a beast of some kind…we’ll be killed…”

“Shhh, my love. It’s only a nightmare from your fever. You will feel better soon.”

In the end, the only way Otto could leave the cottage was by taking a small talisman Severin had in his cloak. They weren’t superstitious, but Otto wanted to do anything they could to put the sick sorcerer at ease.

Now with one less healthy person in the group, Otto rushed to get the last of the supplies for the cold winter ahead. The first snowflakes were beginning to fall, which made finding acorns that much more difficult. Before the sun reached its peak, the ground was completely covered in a thin layer of snow. But, for once, Otto’s anxiety was an advantage.

They plowed through every task as if their life depended on it. Another of their friends falling ill had kicked their healer instinct into high gear; whenever they were fatigued or sore, all it took was a few words of the healing oath to get them going again.

“From the monsters of the cave, of the sea, of the heart,” they whispered while peeling wild wolf onions, “I shall protect and provide for those who cannot.”

As morning turned to afternoon, the light flurry of the morning became a bitter gale that howled through the trees like a hungry animal. The world was silent except for the frigid wind - all the creatures of the forest knew well enough that the winter ahead would not be kind to them.

But Otto knew nothing of this.

And so they marched forward.

It was quite past dark when Otto returned to the cottage. Much to their delight, a fire was flickering in the fireplace, and a wonderful, familiar smell lingered in the air - a mixture of tender meat and spices.

As Otto had hoped, there was a pot of stew left over the flames. The broth still bubbled with warmth, and the chicken and vegetables gave off a heavenly steam. Their stomach suddenly felt very hollow.

They hadn’t eaten all day, had they?

With raw fingers, the doctor tried their best to use the ladle, which was as big as their entire arm and weighed twice as much. Gripping the handle with both hands, they brought the brew to their lips, taking care not to burn their tongue.

A beautiful, soothing flavor poured down Otto’s throat. They leaned their head back and closed their eyes, making sure to drink up every last tasty morsel. It was a long time before the ladle was empty again.

Once they were finished, the healer felt a heaviness collect around their eyes. Finally, at long last, they could rest. The cottage was fast asleep - and now it was time for Otto to follow suit.

Sleep came upon Otto too quickly for them to retire to their own bed. Like a hound after a successful hunt, they crawled onto the sofa and curled into a ball, dead to the world before their head hit the soft cushions.

*******************

Otto wasn’t sure how long they slept. They remembered bits and pieces of dreams, of words, or memories - but mostly a comforting darkness that lulled them into a deep drowse.

When they finally awoke, the first thing they saw was the flitting of the fire. The flame had all but burned itself out during the night. Otto rolled over, stretching and sighing with satisfaction. That was the best they had slept in several days.

They indulged themselves in a large yawn and shifted off the sofa, cringing from cold stone against their bare feet.

The cottage was still silent with sleep - not a thing stirred but the creaks and groans of the wooden beams. A frigid wind had picked up outside, and bits of snow swirled in the air.

How cold Godric must be this morning, Otto thought as they padded towards the hallway. The warrior was always up and working by first light - quite before anyone else was awake - but came back inside to drink some hot coffee and see how the preparations were going. Godric made a strong cup of coffee. One could smell it and be ready for a new day; that’s usually all most could stand without sputtering.

Today, however, there was no earthy aroma of it brewing. All Otto could smell was a hint of the stew they had eaten the night before - the husk of a beautiful, delicious dream.

The doctor peeked his head into Barlow’s room. The sprite was laying on his stomach, eyes closed and breath soft. Though they had been feeling better for the past day or so, Barlow’s nose frequently ran away with him, and was still very pink and sensitive. His upright ear twitched ever so slightly, but there was no sign of him stirring any time soon.

Severin, on the other hand, had fared much worse. Despite the many wet rags coating almost every inch of his febrile body, his breathing was still heavy and labored, and his eyes darted under closed eyelids. Bite marks covered cracking lips. Otto made sure they made little noise as they tiptoed from the doorway. Severin needed all the rest he could get.

Otto turned from his patients, a familiar heaviness weighing upon their heart. Such misery in what was supposed to be a warm season of reaping and feasting.

Perhaps it came back with them from market, or from the many travelers that take the nearby road into town. With how hard everyone had been working, and how many nights were left unslept…

Otto massaged the bridge of their nose, dashing from one possibility to the next, feeling more and more ashamed by how little they prepared, how stupid they must have been, how utterly selfish! They had been so busy with preparations that they had barely noticed that their journeymates were wasting away!

They could have done something. This was all their fault, wasn’t it? How could they be a healer if they couldn’t even keep the ones they loved safe?

Otto was roused from their guilt by the sound of harsh coughing. They peeked their head into the past two rooms, fearing that one of them had been awakened by their footsteps. However, both of them were still out cold. Or out warm, in Severin’s case.

No, the coughing wasn’t coming from their rooms, Otto realized. It was coming from the third bedroom - the one that they and Godric shared.

The door creaked open as Otto shuffled inside, already knowing the worst was yet to come.

“Doc? Is tha’ you?”

Godric was sitting up in bed, quilt wrapped around him, his chest heaving with another hacking fit. His cheeks were flushed with effort and fever. Otto went to his bedside, their heart dropping into their stomach.

“Real nice ‘a this cold to leave the healer last, eh?” the warrior joked before laying back down with a quiet groan.

Otto pushed the hair off Godric’s neck and felt his lymph nodes, which were not only hot, but terribly swollen.

“I can chop those few pieces ‘a wood, an’ then I’ll-”

“You are not getting out of this bed,” Otto said sternly. Then, with a kinder tone, “I know you want to finish your work, but you are very sick. You shouldn’t be out in the snow.”

“But how-”

“I will take care of it, cariño. Just rest.”

Godric opened his mouth to say something else, but just coughed and covered himself up with his quilt.

“Take care of yerself, doc,” he said before Otto went to check on the others. “There isn’t anythin’ I can’t do after I’m back on m’feet.”

***************

Between taking care of three sick creatures and the final preparations, Otto ran themselves ragged over the next few days. None of their friends were particularly hard to take care of - especially after Severin’s fever broke - but the heaviness of their heart continued to weigh upon them.

With no other options, they threw themselves into work.

If they chopped enough wood for an extra week, they chopped enough wood for two extra weeks. The larder was more than full. Their fingers and hands and back and everything else was sore, but they couldn’t stop for long without feeling their guilt gnaw away at them.

One frigid morning, Otto had taken to the axe, splitting wood and putting them in the shed to keep them dry. They had run out of pre-cut trunks a long time ago, so they started cutting sticks in half for kindling. Out of the corner of their eye, mid-swing, they saw a figure marching through the snow - lifting their foot high before stomping it down again with a crunch.

After a few minutes, Otto could finally see a pair of long ears fluttering in the cold wind.

“Barlow!”

The sprite grinned as he approached Otto, holding up a steaming container of something in his mittened hands.

“I got soup!” he called out, trying to move faster in the deep snow. “Godric felt a lot better today, so he wanted to try somethin’ new. It’s real good! Even Severin ate a whole bowl of it, so you know it’s gotta be great.”

Barlow sat next to the chopping block, and patted a mound of snow next to him. Otto sat down, wincing as their sore muscles twinged.

“Godric says we’re all packed up for winter,” Barlow continued as he handed Otto the food. “And we’ll even have stuff to eat in the spring, too.”

Otto didn’t answer, but tucked into the soup, not even blowing it off before putting the spoon in their mouth. Barlow thought for a little bit, then spoke again.

“Doc, Godric told me that we got more than enough food and wood to last through the winter. If you wanna come inside, we’ve got a checker game goin’…”

Otto didn’t respond, but they had started to shiver from the cold. Barlow took of his coat and draped it around Otto’s shoulders.

“C’mon, let’s get back. Everybody’s waitin’ for us.”

Barlow took Otto by the hand and pulled them up, then led them back towards the cottage. Otto trailed behind like a quivering lamb, both exhausted and numb. They couldn’t think of much else than putting one foot in front of the other.

When the pair finally got back to the cottage, a warm, cozy scene awaited them. Severin was on the couch, doing needlepoint with half-open eyes and content look on his face. Godric was above the stove, stirring a pot and putting one seasoning or another into it. The fire was blazing in a lovely orange hue that painted the scene with a beautiful glow.

While Barlow went right inside and was greeted by the others, Otto stood in the doorway, weary eyes closed, soaking up the light and warmth as much as they could.

“Doctor?”

Severin was up now, his quiet wisdom regained. Before Otto could answer, the sorcerer started to remove their soaked outer layers with quick fingers.

“If Barlow didn’t bring you here,” Severin said, “you would have worked yourself to a frozen skeleton.”

Otto suddenly jerked his head to the side.

“het’TCH! TCH! TCH’UH!”

“Many blessings, doctor.”

Severin smiled and tilted his head.

“Many, many blessings.”

Otto sniffled, rubbing their nose with stiff fingers.

“Nngh…gracias. Just a little…heh…htch’CHU!”

“Aye, I don’ like tha’ sound of that,” Godric rumbled from the kitchen, turning his head to see the sickly healer.

Otto waved their hand. “Just a li-hih-ttle sdiffle…”

“One that is long overdue, I think,” Severin said, putting the last of their wet things away.

Otto was ushered in front of the fire, still at the mercy of his nose. With each sneeze came a chorus of blessings and, if need be, another handkerchief.

“That’s a real nasty cold, huh?” Barlow commented after a particularly forceful fit. “Even I didn’t sneeze that much.”

As the day came to a close, the group all gathered on the couch, listening to the wind howling outside and treating themselves to Godric’s famous roast and sweet apple tea. Otto didn’t eat very much, but the hot tea soothed their sore throat.

“Tank you for taking such good care of be,” Otto snuffled.

Godric chuckled. “Ya care so much about us, doc. It only makes sense that we’s care an awful lot about you, ‘specially when ya aren’t feelin’ well.”

“And after you tended so well to us, may I add,” Severin said, leaning his head back.

“Yeah!” Barlow agreed, not exactly as good with words as the others, but still just as thankful.

Otto, overcome, buried their face in Godric’s side and began to cry, letting out everything that they had felt in the past few days. They wanted to stop, they wanted to explain, but it was lost in desperate sobs and hiccuping. Godric held them closer to him while the others offered quiet support until the doctor quieted.

“There ya go,” Godric said, putting a large hand on Otto’s head. “It’s gonna be alright.”

Filled with comfort and warm food, Otto quickly dozed off, and the others weren’t far behind. The only sounds were the falling of fresh snow, the crackling of the fireplace, and the snores of deep, contented sleep.

And, as winter finally settled into Harbinger Woods, they all settled down for their long winter’s rest.

******************

Not only do I want to dedicate this to @perfectpaperbluebirds , who gave me the prompt, but also @sneezytomatosquish , who has been feeling emotionally and physically under the weather lately. That may have changed by the time this fic is finished, but I shall gift it to you anyway. You are one of my favorite creators, but I want to create something for you for a change. You deserve it.

Get well soon!