#why is he a toothpick creature that could fall over at any moment

[soupdwelling]

i’m literally in tears why the fuck does he stand like that

[masterjedilenawrites]

"Youre so full of light, I'm afraid I'll be the one to quench it" with crosshair x reader? is that an option?

Awww yesss, I’m happy to write anything for this grumpy toothpick! 🖤

Crosshair x reader | 2k words

“You’re so full of light... I’m afraid I’ll be the one to quench it” from this prompt list.

Crosshair was avoiding you. That much was obvious.

At first you'd thought he was having a bad day and let him have his space. But then it kept happening. Never looking at you. Leaving the room as soon as you entered. Pretending not to hear your questions. You were back to where you'd started with him, all those rotations ago when the Bad Batch had first arrived on your home world to help drive out some troublesome pirates. He'd been a tough cookie to crack, but slowly, day by day, you'd managed to draw him more and more out of his shell. And the more he did, the more you fell for him.

But now he'd retreated back behind his walls again and you had no clue why. Had you said or done something to scare him? You weren't sure, but you also weren't disheartened. You knew someone as special as Crosshair would take time and patience to bond with. You'd pull him back out eventually, you were confident.

An opportunity came when Hunter announced one day the need for the marksman to scout a nearby pirate camp, located in a clearing just beneath a forested ridge of land. You knew the area yourself and convinced the Sergeant you'd be a good assistant for Crosshair's recon mission. The sniper had had his helmet on when Hunter sent you off with him, so you could only imagine whatever salty expression he sported beneath it.

The two of you trudged along in silence for a while at first. Occasionally you'd suggest a path to take, or he'd caution you from stepping on the more unstable parts of the terrain hidden beneath the underbrush. Otherwise, you let him be, and instead focused most of your attention on taking in your surroundings. Even in the midst of trouble, you still made a point to appreciate the beauty of your planet. The curved and knotted trees, each as unique as a snowflake, with their wide leaves fluttering in the grasp of a stray breeze. The tiny beams of sunlight that sliced through the foliage and illuminated the otherwise dingy forest floor. The echoing songs of the winged creatures that danced above your heads, ignorant to the conflict of the more sentient beings they cohabited with.

Eventually you couldn't help yourself, and you started to hum a song of your own. It was a tune you made up as you went, each note created to express whatever new feeling sparked within you as you ventured further into the forest. You were hardly a composer, and you were certain that even when humming you were off-key, but it didn't matter. The song made you feel light and free, a feeling that was rare but welcomed wherever you could find it.

You realized you were being watched, and turned your head to see Crosshair's worn helmet trained in your direction. He quickly averted his gaze, but it was enough to show you he'd been staring for a while. You hid a smile, not wanting to seem like you were teasing.

"Am I annoying you?"

"No," he said, low and quick. You noticed his grip on his rifle tightened ever so slightly.

"Are there any songs you like? I can try to sing if I know them."

He did not respond, continuing to plod alongside you in silence. Well, at least you'd gotten one word out of him.

You soon arrived at a part of the ridge that gave you the perfect view of the pirate encampment below. You nestled in the crook of a large tree while Crosshair laid himself prone on the ground next to you. He used the scope of his rile to get a better look at the camp, muttering details he thought important while you logged them on a holopad for future strategizing.

"Kriff," he growled. You peered around the trunk of the tree, as if you could see whatever had caught his eye from such a distance. You could only make out little dots of tents and people scattered in the valley below, so you turned back to him for explanation. "Children."

You hummed knowingly, which seemed to fluster him.

"That doesn't concern you?" His scope was abandoned as his helmet lifted to face you.

You shrugged. "What, criminals can't fall in love and start families?"

You couldn't see his scowl but you could feel it. You weren't sure why his grumpiness made you want to laugh sometimes, but you hid your amusement with another shrug, not wanting to upset him further, not when he seemed to be more open to talking to you again.

"Well it's going to make this mission much more difficult," he grumbled, starting to pack up his rile.

"Yeah..." you agreed, but you didn't sound as defeated as he did. "We'll just have to get creative. We'll figure it out."

He was crawling over to your spot behind the tree but paused at your words, his helmet tilting as if in thought for a moment. You raised your eyebrows at him, wishing you could somehow read the marksman's mind. You were certain his thoughts were fascinating; they usually were with the quiet ones.

He settled into the space next to you and fumbled around in one of his pouches, eventually bringing out a couple of small ration packs. You smiled in gratitude as you took the one he offered you. You hadn't realized how famished you'd grown from this outing.

"It's not much," he mumbled as if apologizing. He worked on freeing himself from his helmet and you tried not to stare at the face that emerged from it.

"It's still something," you smiled through bites of... well, whatever it was you were eating. It tasted more like wood than food and you tried to believe it at least had some nutritional value as you forced it down.

Crosshair was shaking his head at your words.

"What?" you asked. He only shook his head again.

You tried to drop it, but your patience was starting to wear a little faster than usual. He was so close to you, and yet he felt further away than ever. You were both angled so that it'd be natural to look at each other, but you could see him purposefully looking anywhere else. You moved your knee experimentally, brushing against his and causing it to jerk away suddenly. Even beneath all his armor you could tell his muscles were tense. Something was clearly bothering him and you hated the thought that you were somehow the cause of it.

"Crosshair," you said, trying to keep your voice soft and non-threatening, but still speaking loud enough for him to know you were trying to get his attention. He reluctantly looked at you, his fingers curling around the rile that lay across his lap in clear display of unease. He almost looked sick. "What's wrong?"

His frown deepened, further than you ever thought possible.

"Cross," you said again, even softer now, scooting yourself just a little bit closer. You felt like you were approaching an injured animal. You needed to be careful if you wanted to help him, lest his suddenly snap and chase you away.

"Nothing's wrong," he huffed, still determined to keep his thoughts private. You didn't move closer, only looked him up and down, trying to figure him out.

"If I did something to upset you," you said slowly, "please let me know, so I can try to make amends. I don't want to be a burden to you."

He sighed, but it wasn't as frustrated or annoyed as it usually sounded. He brought his hands up to his face and dragged them down, slow and forlorn. When he spoke, it was so quiet you could barely understand. "You're not a burden."

You squinted at him, summoning back what patience you'd briefly lost before, waiting.

"I'm the burden," he said a little louder. "You, you're so..."

His eyes cast about the forest beside him, as if he might find the words he wanted painted on the trees. You held your breath, unsure what they could possibly be.

"So full of light," he finally said, allowing his gaze to finally meet yours. "And... I'm afraid I'll be the one to quench it."

You blinked as it became clear to you the cause of his turmoil.

"Your response to everything is positive," he continued rather quickly, as if to get his thoughts out before he could stop himself. "All I see is hardship and difficulty. You sing songs and act like everything is beautiful."

"Most things are," you couldn't help but say, which only caused him to glare at you, proving his point.

"This forest is not," he said. "There are a hundred places someone could've hid and got the jump on us. Those pirates are not... They can have as many children as they want, but they are fools for bringing them along to a raid. These rations are not..."

He threw the crumpled wrapper at you and probably would've continued his ranting had you not let out reached out for his hand and stopped him.

"Okay, okay, I get it," you said with a slight chuckle, only resting your hand atop his, not yet holding it fully. "I'm an optimist, you're a cynic. So what?"

"So..." his voice slipped back into a growl. But he trailed off, unable to explain why it mattered to him that you were so different from each other. You had a guess as to why now; it had become quite clear to you the sniper had feelings for you that were very similar to the ones you had for him.

"You want to know what I think?" you asked with a smile. You waited for his nod to continue. "I think we need each other. I think you need me to ease your worries, show you that not everything is as difficult as you make it. And I need you to keep me grounded. Keep me safe from all the threats I can't see. We make a good team, you and I. That's what I think."

Crosshair looked at you and it was if the walls he'd built up were slowly lowering down again, just as they had when you'd first gotten to know him. The lines on his face, usually so sharp and prominent, softened as your words began to settle within him. You much preferred seeing him like this, relaxed and at ease.

"You won't ever be a burden to me," you said, now letting yourself cross the gap that remained between you, saddling up alongside him so your sides were flushed together and your hands, now holding each other properly, rested on your thigh. "My entire planet is at war. Most of my friends have left or are dead. I don't even have a home anymore. It's going to take a lot more than your grumpy ass to quench my light."

You rested your head against the stiff plastoid on his shoulder. It wasn't comfortable, but it was more to show him the truth of your words. You trusted him. You enjoyed him. You wanted to be close to him.

He didn't say anything, but then again, he was better with actions anyway. After a beat, he let go of your hand and moved to wrap his arm around you instead, pulling you into the crook of his shoulder and placing a toothpick between his teeth with a contented sigh. You let out a happy sound of your own, humming your made-up song as the two of you rested against the tree.

You knew this probably wasn't the end of Crosshair's insecurities, that you had a lot of work ahead of you to continue convincing him that he was wanted and worthy, that you were strong and safe. But it was a good start, and you were more than willing to keep going, knowing the reward of Crosshair's love at the end would make it all worth it.

[transbibennyweir]

dialoge 18 with evil!benny?

“Do you trust me?” / “No.” / “You’re smarter than you look.”

Despite never mentioning it to anyone, Ethan had become a little on edge about another attack of evil doppelgangers. Maybe it was a long shot of it happening again, but you never be too careful in a town like this. It had been more than comforting when Benny emailed him a spell that would come in use just in case something went wrong again and evil Benny popped up one way or another. 

But, Ethan knew that he would look at his friend’s face and think he could do no wrong. Maybe that’s why he didn’t notice the shift in Benny’s behavior immediately.

“Dude, this stone is our ticket to never having to go to class again!” Benny exclaimed excitedly. He held up a shiny gem that was roughly smaller than the size of his palm, it was an inky black with speckles of red. It didn’t look very promising but Ethan would try anything once. 

“And exactly how is it going to do that?”

“Simple, my dear friend.” Benny started with mock seriousness. “A drop of blood and it’ll create an exact double of you. I do a little spell here and there and in no time they’ll be more than happy to take our place in Mr. Hikers fourth period Algebra class.” Benny added in quite a few hand gestures for showmanship, ending with an arm around Ethan’s shoulders.

Ethan stared at him slack jawed, entirely bewildered that Benny could even think something like this would be a good idea. 

“What? Dude, no! No way. We are not doing this again!” Ethan shrugged off the arm around him to stand up and paced around his bedroom, listing every reason why they should totally not make copies of themselves. “Last time, your clone was evil and then was that time Stern pretended to be you and he was evil. Not a good track record with doubles. Plus, there’s no telling if they’ll actually listen and no way of knowing if you’ll mess up and do the spell wrong.”

“And there’s no way of telling if I can do it right either unless we try it out. Come on, E.” Benny pleaded. “You hate that class! And imagine what we could do with all that powe-err free time, I mean! Think of the amount of video games we could play!” It wasn’t a very convincing argument and Ethan wasn’t going to budge on it.

“No, Ben. There’s no way I’m doing that.” Ethan folded his arms. “Just go to class like everyone else. Not everything needs a short cut.”

“Ugh, that’s where you’re wrong, dude. Everything's better with short cuts.” Benny groaned before grabbing Ethan’s arm and pulled him back onto the bed with a small ‘oomf’ as he laid half on top of Benny. He felt a little embarrassed by the fact he was nearly sitting on his friend’s lap, arms wrapped around his lower stomach. Ethan looked up and caught the way Benny tried to hide a soft smile. A small part of him hoped one of them would lean in and….

“It’s a drop of blood. It’s not like you’re going to miss it. Won’t even hurt.” 

Right. Of course, well that sure took him out of the moment. Still, Ethan’s face was warm, his nose and cheeks slightly pink. Benny was almost the same. They seem to try to ignore it.

“Why can’t you just try it on yourself first?” Ethan sat up, frankly getting fed up with the topic. He wasn’t going to change his mind. Benny stayed silent for a moment longer than he should have, seemingly thinking of a good enough answer. “Well?”

“It’s… Easier to try out a new spell on someone else. I don’t want to get my intentions confused and I can,” Benny gulped not wanting to finish and looked away, red faced. “I can focus on you a lot easier.”

“Real cute, Benny. But I’m still not going to do it.” Ethan felt a twist in his stomach and went to stand back up, but got pulled right back down when Benny gripped his wrist. “Come on, B. Let go.” He tugged but the hold on his wrist seemed to tighten, it hurt badly and Ethan winced from the pressure. 

“Why can’t we at least try?” 

“Why are you pushing so hard for this?” Ethan shot back, he yanked his hand away from the aggressive hold nearly falling over from the sudden force. He searched Benny’s face, confused. Benny was acting off but why.  There wasn’t immediately any sign but he knew something had to be wrong. “What’s up with you today?”

“Wha- Nothing. Dude, I just think this would be a total waste to not try it out. I promise it’ll be fine.” Benny stood up, his voice sounded too forceful. Ethan’s eyes darted around, a quick glance to the side of Benny’s head gave Ethan the answer he was looking for. A toothpick placed behind his ear caught his eye. Of course, Benny was still Benny no matter how evil and that meant he’d be too forgetful to bother with fixing small details, but lucky for Ethan it was a dead give away. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Ethan stepped back slightly, slowly and carefully trying to grab his phone from his back pocket without Benny noticing. “Okay, Ben. I believe you mean that. I just think…. It’s still a bad idea.” He tried to buy himself time to get the email with the spell sound file in it, working it behind his back. Once again he was thankful the real Benny had a plan for this.

Last time Evil Benny never really tried to hurt him, if anything he wanted Ethan to join him out of his own free will before going to make an evil copy after being rejected. Maybe he was trying to make another copy here. At least it was good to know Benny was still Benny and he would never try to hurt Ethan out right.

“I know what I’m doing.” He said a little desperate now.

Almost got it. “Okay. If I do this you’ll chill out?” Just play along a little longer. 

“Yes-yeah.” He cleared his throat. “So, do you trust me?” Ben asked with a wide grin, the jet black gem in hand ready to use. There was a moment of pause, his heart pounding hard in his chest as he tried to hurriedly find what he was looking for secretly. Although if he didn’t find it in the next second he would be caught. Come on, come on, com-

“No.” Ethan answered once he thought he had the sound file he needed.

Benny’s face went dark but his grin stayed in place, becoming unsettling. “You’re smarter than you look.” 

Benny lunged at Ethan to tackle him to the ground, a spell on the edge of being casted at the same time. Before he could get any words in Ethan faced the phone towards the evil double, the voice recording of the spell going off and shooting a white blast of light that knocked Evil Benny off his feet, he fell to the ground with a groan.

“And you’re not as smart as you think.” Ethan said coolly. A second passed and he began to freak out a little. “Wait. Shit. If he’s here then where’s the real Benny?” 

Quickly he went over to check on Evil Benny on the floor, the spell had knocked him out cold, but for how long? If he couldn’t find the real Benny soon then it’s going be a way bigger problem. Without a second thought Ethan ran out the room and called Benny on the phone only to get hit by a voicemail, he made his way to Benny’s house next door. 

Ethan wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or not that the front door was still slightly open, Grandma Weir was gone for the weekend, but there wasn’t any sign of Benny. 

“Ben? Benny!” He called out a few times with no answer. The seer was starting to grow anxious with worry. He ran through the house, the bedroom was a mess more than usual but still no Benny. “Benny! Ben-”

‘Bang!’ Bang!’

A banging sound came from under the living room rug. “Benny?” Ethan walked slowly towards the noise, unsure if his friend was trapped there or if it was some kind of creature locked away for good reason. The sound continued louder and quicker, Ethan was going to have to take his chances on this one and pulled the rug off the floor to reveal a trap door. 

Of course, a weird old house like this one would have a trap door. He pried it open, the weight of the wood heavier than any amount he tried to lift before, granted that wasn’t much, but he was still able to flip it open and almost immediately Benny came hurrying out. 

In his rushed attempt to get out, Benny fell on top of Ethan, limbs getting mangled together as they fell backwards onto the hardwood floor. Ethan groaned in pain, Benny’s arm on either side of his face to keep any more weight from squishing him. 

“Ethan!” Benny hugged his friend, nearly giving him whiplash. “I’m really sorry. I know it was a dumb idea and I should’ve told you everything myself and I totally get if you’re mad at me but,” Benny pulled away from the hug. “How did you defeat evil me?”

“I didn’t,” Ethan replied dizzy and flushed. “He’s knocked out in my room from that spell you gave me.”

“Oh. Right… okay that’s an easy fix. Uh, he didn’t tell you anything weird?” Benny asked, his cheeks growing pink. Ethan didn’t totally understand what he meant by it or why he seemed so embarrassed but shook his head no. “Okay. Good.”

“Why? What did you want to tell me?” 

“Nothing important. It can wait until after I fix this mess.” Benny stood up and helped Ethan to his feet. “And I do know how to fix this. Trust me, I learned from last time.”

Ethan smiled at him. “Yeah, Benny. I trust you.”

[chainsxwsmile]

What if, instead of meeting Gollum in the caves, Bilbo meets a certain Troll? (Not much is changed in canon, but this is my first fanfiction!)

---

He had landed on something soft; at least Bilbo had enough self-awareness to be grateful for that. The ample colony of sizable mushrooms softened his fall down the cavern yet the same couldn’t be said for his goblin assailant. Despite Bilbo’s own knuckles skinned raw, his hip throbbing from the fall, and all sorts of grime gathered upon his clothes, his injuries couldn’t hold a candle to the unfortunate goblin who had taken a tumble alongside the hobbit. The creature wheezed, with barely enough strength to move its head about the darkened crevice surrounding them both. Bilbo had half a mind to pity the creature, even if he had only felt its rotten teeth sink into his neck just a few moments before their fall. The edges of Bilbo’s vision still blurred, and he squinted against the lowlight— and jumped as a pair of uncannily massive eyes met his own. A skulking being, vertebrate protruding from its arched back as it stalked forward on all fours, slunk into the dim light. Instinctively, Bilbo stilled within the cover of the mushrooms, and he held his breath as the creature’s raspy voice echoed across the chasm.

“Yesss. Yes! Yes,” the creature grinned terribly, before something between a cough and choke rose from its throat. “Gollum. Gollum!” it hissed, and its spindly hands snatched the ankles of the dazed goblin. The sudden movement launched Bilbo’s former assailant into a frenzy and the goblin thrashed about, shrieking and clawing. The gangly creature returned the blows, stone in hand, strategically smashing in the goblin’s skull; the goblin went limp and the shrieks died in its throat. “Nasty goblinses are better than old bones, precious,” the spindly creature mused aloud, grunting as it dragged its prize behind it. “Better than nothing.”

Only when the horrid creature and its prey slipped from his sight did Bilbo finally remember to breathe. It came out in a shudder, and the hobbit scrambled to his feet; and quite grateful beyond doubt that his sword—still glowing a dazzling blue— buried itself beneath a mushroom cap, hidden from the terrible creature. As Bilbo’s hand steadied the weight of the sword, a metallic flash on the cavern floor caught his eye. He bent down and retrieved in his hand a ring. Golden and simple, yet starkly elegant against the cavern walls. A screeching wail far off in the distance snapped Bilbo from his thoughts, and he trekked forward, pocketing the ring and keeping his glowing sword low. “Aah, too many boneses, precious! Not enough flesh,” the gangly creature cried, and then in a harsher voice; “Shut up! Cut its skin off! Start with its head.” Against his own instincts, Bilbo slunk past the piles of bones that haphazardly littered the cavern floor, his eyes fastened to the creature perched atop a sharp rock protruding out from the cavern lake. “The cold hard lands, they bites our hands, they gnaws our feet, for rocks and stones are like old bones all bare of meat, cold as death, without no breath it’s good to eat.” In every beat of the song, the creature’s hands—armed with a sharp rock— descended upon the goblin’s head. Bilbo winced visibly at every strike and each sickening sound the blows produced. At last, the rock smashed the goblin’s skull once more that Bilbo’s sword flickered like candlelight before being snuffed out, dead.

Suddenly a booming voice growled from beyond the rock, and Bilbo watched silently as the horrid gangly creature scattered from his sight, frightened off by the owner of the voice. From the shadow beyond the lake drew a hulking figure; so large Bilbo wondered how it had managed to get into the caverns in the first place. Nearly five meters tall, the being towered over the fallen, dead goblin, sniffing it shortly before giving what Bilbo presumed was a disgusted growl. Then two glowing, beady blue eyes met Bilbo’s and the hobbit saw the beast’s posture straighten in mild surprise.

It had seen him.

The hobbit scrambled back from the water, back against the rock, and lay still as he could, hoping that the beast would either lose interest or leave. Yet not even a moment went by that Bilbo felt any icy droplet of water on his curled locks. And then another. And as his eyes glanced upward— and upward and upward more— Bilbo felt his heart stop. The beast had silently crossed the lake and stood over the poor frightened hobbit, who gaped helplessly at the enormous foe. The beast quickly lumbered down from the rock formation, hastily putting itself between Bilbo and any means of escape; the behemoth’s movement so eerily silent, Bilbo couldn’t help but start to shake. But that wasn’t even the worst part; as the beast faced the hobbit, a terribly wide grin stretched across its scarred lips. If there was any breath left in Bilbo, the sight of the toothy smile snatched it from him. Canines the size of the little hobbit’s legs flashed a deadly white alongside each pointed, razor-sharp tooth. Heavy brows lidded the beast’s beady eyes in what Bilbo could only assume to be a ghastly intrigued expression. Like a cat licking its maw and readying itself to play with a poor mouse until it was beaten dead. The thought only escalated Bilbo’s shaking, and he was quite surprised he hadn’t dropped his sword yet. This close, Bilbo could see with what he was dealing: the beast was a troll. Not a stone troll; a slate-blue color graced the creature’s rough skin, and a black mane ran down its thick, muscular neck. Its broad nose was shaped like that of a great cat’s and it idled naturally on all fours. Then it spoke, in a deep, rumbling voice that sent a shiver down Bilbo’s spine.

“Hello,” it— he— bellowed. For a moment, Bilbo could only reply with a squeak— as that was all he could get out of his throat, at first. “Y-Yes, hello,” he replied politely, backing against the solid rock and holding his sword out precariously before him. Much luck that sword would do; it looked like a toothpick to the troll! The beast neared closer again, placing his enormous face— and toothy maw— within touching distance. The troll’s nostril’s flared and a sharp exhale billowed Bilbo’s hair and elicited a rather pitiful whimper from the hobbit. Yes, this troll was much bigger than the stone trolls; and Thorin’s company was very likely on the other side of the mountain for all Bilbo knew. Oh, what terrible luck! “Never seen a tasty li’l bite like you b’fore,” the troll mused. A gargantuan hand rose up to prod at the hobbit, and Bilbo quickly reacted, swinging the sword at the giant hand’s threat. “Stay back! Stay back!” the hobbit warned sternly, though his knees shook, and the sword trembled in his hands. The troll blinked, and for a moment Bilbo wondered if the beast would decide to smash him with a fist and be done with it. Instead, a hearty — albeit blood-chilling— laugh rolled out of the troll’s cavernous throat and his terrible teeth flashed evermore brightly. “Easy there, li’l morsel,” the troll reassured Bilbo; or at least, Bilbo wondered if that was even meant as a reassurance. “Just wonderin’ what you are, is all. I don’t get much company these days.” Bilbo blinked, and then swallowed hard, his throat dry with anxiety. “My name is Bilbo Baggins,” he answered, suddenly feeling rather claustrophobic despite the enormity of cavern around them both. Suddenly the clawed hand shot forward again— and Bilbo braced himself to take its blow— until it stopped short before him, extended out in greeting. “Name’s Bruce,” the troll grinned toothily. Bilbo was fairly certain he’d have better luck fitting his whole body in the troll’s palm than successfully shaking the troll’s hand. Let alone wrapping one of his hands around the troll’s single finger. The troll— Bruce— caught onto Bilbo’s hesitation and, after a beat, retrieved his hand. “So, Bilbo,” Bruce continued, still towering over the poor hobbit. “Where’re ye from?” “I-I’m a hobbit. From the Shire.” Bilbo answered quickly, wondering when and if the troll would back away, and allow Bilbo a chance to escape. Or even just a chance to breathe. “A hobbit, eh?” The troll’s smile grew— if that were possible. “Well, I’ve never had a hobbit b’fore,” Bruce chuckled before adding, almost as an afterthought. “Well, never as company, that’s for sure.” With each morbid joke at his expense, Bilbo’s paralyzing fear metamorphosed to panicked irritability; his brows lowered and narrowed his eyes, and his mouth drew to a thin line. “Okay, look— I just want to get out of here, so if you could quit playing your games, I’ll gladly be on my way!” Bilbo pleaded. Well, if he knew how to get out of there. The various tunnels wound about the mountain in a cavernous labyrinth. “Games, eh?” The troll let out a noise which Bilbo couldn’t quite discern; it was either a low, lulling growl or a thoughtful hum. “Well, my li’l tidbit, why don’t we ‘ave ourselves a li’l wager, eh?” Bruce arched a brow. “A li’l guessin’ game, if ye will.” Bilbo furrowed his brows, tentatively. “What, like... riddles?” he asked. “Yeah! Just like that. Ye wanna get out so badly, why not make it fun.” Well, perhaps fun for you, Bilbo grumbled in his mind but considered the offer, silently. He hadn’t any clue this troll would keep his word. But if Bilbo didn’t play along... what stopped Bruce from killing him then and there? The hobbit cleared his throat. “Very well; if I win, you show me the way out of here.” “Ah, that’s the spirit, li’l bite,” Bruce grinned broadly before inching closer, ignoring the sword pointed at his face. “And what if I win, eh?” A short breath slipped out from Bilbo at the thought of such a grisly end; he wondered how this troll fancied to kill him. Perhaps like the stone trolls— maybe the giant brute would cook him alive, or sit on him and crush him, or tear the hobbit limb from limb. Bilbo shuddered before finding his words. “If you win, you can... have your way with me.” Perhaps Bilbo just needed to spare himself the details for now. “It’s a deal, then,” the massive troll replied before backing away; and for the first time in what seemed like hours, Bilbo finally grappled to catch a breath without the beast hovering over him. As Bruce backed off, Bilbo could take in the entirety of the troll without having to move his head about wildly. In the lowlight, Bilbo could vaguely catch traces of a dappled pattern along the troll’s back, shoulders, and arms that appeared like blots and splatters of ink. His toes were shaped more like plantigrade hooves than normal feet. His skin was bare, save for a weathered leather armored skirt that fell to his knees. “You go first, li’l morsel,” Bruce ordered, turning to face Bilbo before the troll reclined onto the cavern floor like a great big cat. Remembering his manners, Bilbo, in turn, sheathed his sword. The hobbit paused a moment in thought before beginning: “Thirty white horses on a red hill. First, they champ, then they stamp, then they stand still.” Bilbo watched as the troll’s face took on a mildly puzzled expression, and Bruce’s beady blue eyes flit across the cavern floors as if the answer lay spelled out the piles of bones. Yet, not a second later, the troll’s face lit up and Bruce grinned toothily. “Teeth?” he asked, and Bilbo felt his own posture deflate. Bruce, however, took it rather victoriously, letting out another deafening laugh. “Hah! Good one, li’l hobbit! Guess it’s my turn, then?” Bruce cleared his throat. “My body is a tree and my teeth are from the ground. I’m carried by the millions, and I lunge to strike you down.” Bilbo wet his lips and nodded, trying to ignore the troll’s constant, predatory gaze upon him. Body is a tree; that means it’s made of wood. Lunging to strike. Not a snake. Teeth from the ground. Not a sword. “A spear!” Bilbo guessed. The troll scoffed, though the smile betrayed him. “What, am I makin’ this too easy for ye?” Bilbo blinked, mouth opened but couldn’t quite find the right, careful words to reply. So, he continued onto the next riddle: “A…a box without hinges, key or…or lid, yet golden treasure inside is hid.” The troll’s smile faltered before a thoughtful expression—one Bilbo hadn’t imagined befalling the face of a troll—crept onto Bruce’s face. Bilbo leapt back as the troll rose from the ground; yet this time, Bruce did so slowly and nonchalantly—so much that Bilbo had half a mind to wonder if this was a trap. That the troll feigned disinterest in the hobbit and more attention to the riddles, only to turn around a snatch him up. Yet as Bilbo watched, the troll’s lips moved silently, as if reciting back the words of the riddle. The hobbit breathed shakily, impatiently. “Well?” “Didn’t think there was a time limit,” the troll retorted, arching a brow, and Bilbo drew back silently… until the troll’s eyes lit up suddenly again. “Eggs?” The hobbit sighed audibly, disheartened, and wondered how much time he’d been wasting trying to keep this beast entertained; Thorin and others were probably on the other side of the mountains by now, and presumably didn’t even notice his absence. The troll didn’t laugh this time at his win, which caused Bilbo to glance up, worriedly. Bruce lumbered back towards him, and the hobbit’s hand subconsciously reached for his sword. “My turn, li’l bite,” the troll purred, moving past Bilbo. A cloud of vocal, screeching bats suddenly took wing from the cavern walls and caught the hobbit’s attention, and he whipped around, momentarily distracted. Yet when Bilbo’s eyes returned to where the troll should have been, a gasp slipped from his mouth. How did such a massive creature just disappear? One moment, Bruce had been there, idling and hovering over Bilbo, and the next— From out of the various tunnels and shadows, the troll’s voice echoed once more, reminding Bilbo that the beast was still very much there. And watching him carefully. “The fallen li’l bat pup caught in the lion’s claws. The fledgling in a mist net. The minnow in gar jaws.” The hobbit felt his brows furrow in confusion; Bilbo hadn’t heard any of these troll’s riddles. “Well?” boomed the voice from the shadows. The hobbit shook his head. “Please give me a moment! I did give you a good long while.” Bat pup? Lion? Fledgling? Minnow? “I don’t know this one,” the hobbit confessed, in a voice louder than he anticipated. Again, the rumbling, growling hum echoed about the cavern walls. Bilbo turned about, unable to find the direction of the source. “Want three guesses, li’l morsel?” the voice crooned. Bilbo found himself nodding, against his better judgment. “Bad luck?” the hobbit guessed aloud. “Close,” the voice bellowed back. “But a bit too broad. Guess again.” Biting his lips, Bilbo racked through his brain, though anxiety threatened to cloud his thoughts. “Prey?” “Ye’re gettin’ there,” the voice crooned again. “Last guess. Last chance.” He was close—at least according to the disembodied voice echoing about the cavern walls. Bilbo turned about, trying to adjust his eyes to the dim light. Trying to pick out the massive troll from beneath the shadows. The hobbit unsheathed his sword, feeling his heartbeat accelerating with every second. “Captured prey?” The voice gave a ‘tsk’ sound with a tone of feigned pity. “Wrong.” “Well, then what is it?” the hobbit turned and turned, sword out before him. Bilbo felt hot breath on his neck and a growl in his ear. “You.”

A giant clawed hand struck out. Before Bilbo could even process the sudden blur of movement, he was on the ground, tiny bones prodding into his back. He heard the distinct clatter of metal against stone and his right hand felt vulnerably empty; his sword glinted almost cruelly just out of reach. All breath left him as the clawed hand weighed down upon his entire body, pinning him to the cold cavern floor. His legs kicked futilely, and he squirmed beneath the troll’s grasp. Bilbo could barely remember his mouth opening, but found his own voice – “No, no, no, no!” – so very far away, as if it didn’t even belong to him anymore and he was dead already. Then the troll’s terrible grin suddenly filled every inch of Bilbo’s sight as Bruce’s face steadied itself half a meter from Bilbo’s own. The little hobbit prayed that it wouldn’t be the last sight he’d take to the grave. “Looks like I win, then,” Bruce grinned triumphantly. The troll didn’t even give Bilbo any time to respond or react before the massive hand flipped him over, and Bilbo could only watch from the corner of his eye as jaws descended upon him. The poor hobbit let out a strangled scream as the enormous canines slipped beneath his chest and above his legs, and he felt hot breath spread across his captured torso. Bilbo struggled and scratched and kicked with every parcel of strength left in his body. He watched helplessly as the ground fell beneath him, as the troll raised him into the air, and the horrid realization set in; Bilbo was held— captured— in the troll’s jaws. It was almost too much for the little hobbit’s heart, and the corners of his vision blurred. Perhaps if he were lucky, he would faint and miss the pain of being torn in two by the sheer strength of the troll’s bite. Seconds felt like hours as Bruce held the hobbit in his teeth’s grasp, and Bilbo glanced about his surroundings, dazed by the attack and partially awaiting the minute that the jaws would snap together, and he’d be reduced to cuts of meat.

But the agony didn’t come.

Suddenly, Bruce lurched forward. They were moving. Forward, he thought, though vertigo set in and, for a moment, Bilbo couldn’t quite tell up from down. He could feel the points of the troll’s premolars digging into both his chest and thighs; luckily, they hadn’t pierced the skin, but would most certainly bruise later. If Bilbo wasn’t eaten before that.

“Where are we going? Where are you taking me?” Bilbo asked, breathlessly. His hands grappled at the flesh along the troll’s chin and his legs kicked weakly in protest. “Ye’ll see soon ‘nough,” the troll replied, his words muffled; this close, Bilbo could feel the deepness of Bruce’s voice vibrating through his body and it did little to calm whatever nerves he had left. The edges of Bilbo’s vision blurred, then darkened, and the little hobbit slipped out of consciousness.

Bilbo awoke with a jolt and immediately felt the teeth digging into his chest once more. The hobbit gave a shaky sigh, disappointed that it hadn’t all been a nightmare and he’d been back in Rivendell this whole time. “Oh, good! Ye’re awake. We’re comin’ up to a dodgy part in the path ahead. If it makes ye feel better,” Bruce said, shaking Bilbo from his thoughts. “Don’t look down.” Don’t look—? In the dim light, Bilbo couldn’t quite discern if the ground had fallen away, or if the cavern floor were simply a pitch black. The troll’s claw dislodged a stream of pebbles that descended into the floor, swallowed up by the darkness below. Well, that answered Bilbo’s question. A sharp ravine wound beneath both him and his captor with a width large enough for the hobbit to slip and fall through. Yet the troll’s size was so great that it was nothing more than a furrow in the middle of the road; Bruce kept his arms and legs on each side, far from the middle of the path. After moments turned to minutes and fear dissolved into disgruntled impatience, Bilbo found his voice returning to his throat. “Why aren’t you telling me where we’re headed?” “Would it matter to you?” The hobbit sighed, dejected, and grew silent. Bruce was most certainly taking Bilbo to his hoard, or his part of the cave to devour. And Bilbo figured that the troll knew that the hobbit knew this. And he hadn’t even his sword to defend himself. “So ‘ow’d ye end up down ‘ere, anyway?” the troll asked, words still garbled from holding Bilbo beneath his teeth. Self-awareness nearly caused the hobbit to scoff with sickened amusement. Here Bilbo was, dangling from the mouth of a giant troll, and the troll wanted to know his prey’s life story.   “Do you ask that question to everyone you eat?” Bilbo asked, impatiently. “Or are you just trying to fill the silence?” “The latter, usually,” the troll replied, with a shrug. “Might as well, while we walk.” “Fine,” Bilbo sighed, brow low as he squirmed with discomfort. “I… I was with a company, but I lost them in the mountains,” Bilbo said, shortly before adding, “But I doubt my absence will matter all that much.” The troll grew uncharacteristically silent for a moment and Bilbo chanced some movement to turn his head, catching a glimpse that confused him greatly. The beady blue eyes of the troll had softened, brows knit with an almost concerned expression. What was it spread across the beast’s face? Guilt that he was going to soon eat his company? Sympathy to Bilbo’s plight?

After a long moment, Bruce finally spoke again.  “We’re ‘lmost there, lil’ morsel,” the troll said solemnly. “It’s just up ahead.” Bilbo turned his head to the side, in the direction of their path. A single thin line of light sliced through the darkness. For a moment, the hobbit could only see white through the shape; yet as his eyes adjusted and the troll drew closer, he could catch colors of green and blue, and caught the scent of pine trees and crisp air. The way out. He was so close. So close to freedom that he could feel the wind of the outside world. Yet, just as the realization had settled into the hobbit’s mind, Bilbo felt the troll lurch to a stop and his heart sank. It was right there. The door was right there! Suddenly the ground rushed up to meet Bilbo as Bruce lowered his jaws to the ground. The hobbit didn’t feel the teeth pull away from him until both of his furry feet were planted on the ground. Already, Bilbo could feel the wind on his face and the warm light from the outside world dip the stark, gray stones around the entrance into a honeyed glow. Even the troll’s features shone clearer; Bilbo noticed the various scars lining the troll’s body and the odd hue of blue in the troll’s skin. He also noticed that the troll stood in the sunlight, yet Bruce’s skin didn’t transform into dusty gray rock. Which meant— Oh, Bilbo’s heart sank suddenly. Even if he made a mad dash for the exit of the cave, the troll would catch up to him. Not even sunlight could save him.

“’lright, Bilbo. Ye ready?” Bruce’s voice bellowed from behind Bilbo, and the hobbit felt his face redden. So that’s how it was going to be, then? The troll would ask the hobbit to just hold still and snap him up, when Bilbo was inches from getting out of the horrid cave? Did the troll think Bilbo would react kindly—obediently— and go quietly as he was butchered? No! Certainly not! This was too much! “You— you absolute fiend!” Bilbo needn’t care about any insult thrown towards the troll; he was going to die, anyway. And Bruce’s treatment towards his prey couldn’t be any crueler. “Is this all a game to you? Taking me all this way out of caves just to eat me? Just to have freedom be right there and snatch it all away?!” Furious, the hobbit punched and kicked at the troll’s legs, thick as tree trunks. The blows did little to move Bruce, and Bilbo doubted the troll could even feel them. If only he’d still had his sword; at least he’d give the troll some pain for the hobbit’s trouble. Only when the hobbit’s attacks persisted did a giant hand snatch Bilbo up again. Yet anger had replaced any fear still residing in Bilbo and his mouth pressed firmly into a line, defiantly glowering at his captor. “I’m not gonna eat’cha,” Bruce confessed, a guilty expression spreading across his scarred features. “Never was.” Bilbo froze, blinked, and then sputtered indignantly. Not that he wished to be eaten or killed or mangled— heavens, no! “Then why didn’t you just say so?!” the hobbit asked as the volume of his voice rose, sternly. The troll heaved a heavy sigh. “I wanted to! I did, believe me! It’s just… I heard the little cave creature followin’ us—” Bilbo blinked in confusion before memories rushed back, of stone in gnarled hand and the goblin’s broken skull. “He was gettin’ quite close to you from the shadows; I needed to make sure he thought ye were a goner.” The hobbit recalled the spindly creature, its throaty, scratchy voice as it bludgeoned the goblin to death. Bilbo could barely find his own words, bewildered. “But you said— “   “You said I could ‘ave my way with ye,” Bruce grinned, yet this time his eyes were soft. Thoughtful, even. “Never actually said anythin’ ‘bout eatin’ ye, that’s for sure.” The troll then reached behind him along his leather belt and retrieved a shining object, pinched delicately between his thumb and index finger. Bilbo’s brows rose. His sword! All this time, he’d thought the troll left it behind them in the cave. With a strange gentleness, Bruce set the hobbit down and handed the sword back to Bilbo, handle first. “Might wanna hurry ‘long then. I smell yer friends up ahead.” The hobbit blinked incredulously before accepting back his sword and returning it to its sheath. He swallowed before raising his gaze up to the giant. “Thank you,” Bilbo said, quite sincerely. “Maybe we’ll meet ‘gain, li’l bite. Hopefully under better circumstances,” Bruce said, giving a nod to the hobbit before turning back towards the cave. Bilbo gave one last look at the troll before nodding in return; and he hurried along, racing down the hill in hopes of catching up to the company.

[therookieking412]

Do you still want writing prompts? If so, heres one - knights at the round table/ King Arthur

There was, of course, no question about it. 

She wanted to be a Knight, just like her father before her. 

He was strong, and brave and sat at King Author’s round table, and he promised her that he would take her when she was older. 

It was a promise she kept close to her heart. 

She remembered, the day he left, and kissed her mother good-bye, and the day the oxen came, with a flat cart where Sir Lohengrin laid, wrapped in burial cloth. 

It was bitterly cold, and she held her mother’s hand - her husband’s shield in the other - as King Siegfried himself told Lady Gardenia that she was welcome in his courts whenever she wished. 

Ahiru remembered pulling away from her mother’s grasp, and watching her reflection ripple on the unfrozen pond. It took all her heart not to give up hope, but she knew it was what her father wanted, for her to chase her dreams. 

She lived on the farm, feeding chickens and oxen, riding her horse and doing everything she could to train to one day be a knight, and take her father’s place at the round table. 

That was her plan, until Excalibur was stolen. 

Until he came. 

Ahiru wanted to go, to find the sword and return it to the king and she could finally prove herself, but her mother disapproved almost.

“No, Ahiru, you’ll stay here, where your safe.” Lady Gardenia touched her cheek, and smiled sadly, it was her way of telling Ahiru she couldn’t afford to lose another.

But then, Lord Drosselmeyer came and didn’t give her a choice. 

He came with magic and an army of rogues, he took her mother and she escaped, but not before she saw the monster. 

It appeared to be a giant black bird, descending from the sky. 

“Well, where is it? Where is my present?”

Even as Ahiru hid beneath the bridge they walked upon, she could see his curling grin, his eyes widening with glee.

She wondered if that’s how he looked when he murdered her father.

“I was attacked, Lord,” The bird said, his voice a low gravel, like the earth itself was speaking. “By a crow-”

“A crow?” She could see it too, the grin falling, but his teeth bared. 

“And I dropped the sword into the forbid forest.” No, not the earth, like a powerful wind blasting through skeletal leaves and bare branches.

“My magnificent creature was foiled by a pesky black bird.”

“A crow, my Lord, you must know of their intelligence-”

“This is something you will pay for.” Anger leeched into his voice, and she wondered if his eyebrows came down before his eyes. “Where is it?”

“It fell in the forbidden forest, lord.” The thick sound of a raspy voice, an old man on the verge of death was the monster’s voice. 

“Fool! How will- nevermind. Gather the men, if I can even call them that now, we shall make our way to the forbidden forest.”

Ahiru left her eyes widen, realizing for the first time that they would go after it. 

The whispered words of her mother filled her ear, go to Camelot, to King Siegfried and warn him! Go, Ahiru, now!

But she couldn’t, she had to get the sword before they did, or else. 

She stole her horse and galloped away, she heard them yelling and knew they weren’t far behind her as she lead her steed to the forbidden forest. 

She was thrown off, and while it hurt she couldn’t stop, not with two goons after her, she ran through the forest, her bright hair acting like a beacon, but she fell into a pond and there was a man there. 

With the help of a crow he beat the goons and walked away.

“Wait!” She called out, chasing after him. “Thank you, for saving me.”

“I didn’t.”

“Oh, well thanks anyways.”

He kept walking, but she chased after him, surely he knew his way around the forest, perhaps he had even seen Excalibur falling...

“My name’s Ahiru, what’s yours?”

“Fakir, now stop following me.”

He had to help! If he only knew what had happened...

“Why won’t you look at me when I’m talking to you? That’s very rude, don’t you know?”

“I’m blind.” Fakir said, walking along, the black crow sitting on his shoulder. 

“Well, Excalibur was stolen! We have to find it!”

“We?”

“Yes! I heard that it was dropped in the forest somewhere, and you must know it pretty well! So if we work together-” 

“I stand alone.”

“Okay, but-”

“If Excalibur if here, we’ll find it, right?” He shrugged one shoulder, and the crow cawed. 

“Well, I’ll go with you!” 

No matter what Fakir said, he couldn’t shake her, besides, how far could a blind man get? 

They moved through the forest, Fakir seemed to know where he was going, but Ahiru felt lost, and she was sure they were going the wrong way when they entered dragon country. 

The air was warmer, and sky was yellow and there was a smell in the air that wouldn’t leave her nose...

The oeace didn’t last long, and soon dragons were flying overhead, but not before he dragged her into a hiding place after the crow cawed. 

“We should be safe here.” He said. “Do you see any-”

“Dragons!” Ahiru shouted, pointing across them there were two, lurking behind a broken egg much in the same way they were.

“Dragons! Where!” One voice called, sharp and shrill. “Have they come to eat us at last! Oh No!”

“Can it, or they’ll find us!” Said the other, but suddenly Ahiru was face to face with a two headed dragon. 

“Don’t eat us! Please!” The shrill one cried, but the other rolled her eyes.

“It’s just two humans, and a stupid bird.”

The crow cawed.

“Humans?” 

It was a stout little dragon, with pale blue scales and green tummy, the shrill one had a long neck and two horns that curled out from the side of her head. “I’m Lillie.” And the other had a short neck, and one single horn protruding from the top. “And you can call me Pique.” 

“We should get going,” Fakir said, “We should stay here long-”

“There they are!”

Ahiru turned and suddenly, like a nightmare, there was Drosselmeyer and his band of marauders.

They started to run, but Pique and Lillie pulled them down a dark tunnel that let out in a cave, and as they walked towards the light they were released from dragon country. 

It was getting dark and they agreed to rest.

Except for Ahiru.

“No! We can’t! If my father were here, he’d-”

“He’d tell you to rest to.” Fakir said, who had suggested take a break, who was the one she had to fight with.

Lillie and Pique were trying to start a fire behind her with little success as all the twigs possessed the ability to get up and run away. 

“My father was a knight of the round table and he knew better than to just stop when-”

“Who was your father.”

“Hmm?” Ahiru looked at Fakir, he was facing the setting sun, and she wondered if he knew that, if he could feel it’s warmth on his face even if he couldn’t see it’s beauty. “Oh- my- my father was Sir Lohengrin.”

Fakir nodded, his hands resting on his staff. “He talked about you.”

She looked at him now, her heart quaked. He knew her father? 

“I was a stable boy, in Camelot, I took care of horses and the like, but one night there was a fire, I did my best to free the horses, but they were so frightened,” He paused and she looked into his cloudy eyes, seeing that at one point they could have possibly been green. “When I woke up, my eyesight was gone. I had given up on myself, but your father hadn’t. He trained me, even though I couldn’t see. He was my only chance of becoming a knight.”

“He was my only chance, too.”

“Come with me.”

Fakir lead her between the trees to a place where living plants grew ten feet tall, he prodded it until it unfurled. “You wait until the last possible moment, and then you strike.” The plant swayed before shooting out at it’s adversary, Fakir stayed until the crow cawed, and then he stepped to the side, and hit it. 

“Now you.”

He handed her his staff, she poked the bud, but she attacked to soon, the vine hit her stomach and sent her flying back into his arms.

“You moved to soon.” He smirked, but there wasn’t a trace of mockery or rudeness.    

There was something in his eyes, something she couldn’t see, but then he convinced her to rest. 

“We’re getting close.” Fakir said, although Ahiru wasn’t sure how he knew that. 

The crow cawed, however, as they moved closer to a forest of brambles as tall as oaks, her mouth fell up, her eyes on the tallest needle point, but she tripped and fell.

“Woah, be careful.” Fakir said, pulling her back up.

“A giant!” The two-headed dragon said, but while Lillie said it full of glee, Pique said it with a hint of exasperation. 

“A giant? Does a giant have it?” Ahiru asked, never once considering them to be real. Even as she talked to a two-headed dragon. 

“There’s only one way to find out.” Fakir forged ahead, entering the brambles, he crotched before a foot print, running the tips of his fingers over it.

 Ahiru spoke, they should hurry, they shouldn’t be wasted time, but Fakir hushed her, and she thought they were beyond point, but he hushed her again, begging her to be-

“There they are!” 

Something flew past her, but she could only watching as Drosselmeyer came running in, she heard Fakir groan, and then she realized that they were being attacked. 

But so did the brambles around them.

The creatures opened their eyes and attacked the intruders, allowing Ahiru to hoist Fakir up onto her shoulder and allowing them to escape.

They found a cave, and Ahiru couldn’t think or see as tears streamed down her face, but Fakir comforted her. 

His hand on her cheek, he asked her to describe the sky, to describe the stars, and he smiled at her. 

She leaned over him, holding his hand, the crow placed a purple leaf on his bleeding side and it healed in a blinding light. 

His hand was on the back of her neck. 

“I’m fine.”

“I’m so glad!” She smiled, and his thumb wiped away her tears.

They tried the giant again the next day, they entered his lair, and found him relaxing, he was using Excalibur like a toothpick. 

They waited until the giant fell asleep for a nap, and Ahiru was lowered down, her ankles in Fakir’s hands, and his own in the hands of Lillie and Pique.

“Hurry up!” Pique called. 

“Oh, if only we could fly! Then we could go down and get it ourselves!” Lillie bemoaned. 

“Shh!” Fakir called. 

But Ahiru grabbed it, they made a mad dash, but then she heard Drosselmeyer, like a never ending nightmare, he was across the ravine, shouting at his men to go after her, but he had woken the giant.

“We’ve got it! We’ve got it!” Ahiru shouted running as fast as she could, the sword and scabbard in her hands, she circled back to Fakir, and took his hand, “We can return it, together.”

He gave her a half-hearted smile. 

They walked to the very edge of the forest, and there it was. 

Camelot. 

And Fakir left her. 

Ahiru did her best not to cry, finally seeing a clear blue sky for the first time in days. He had made his choice, and he didn’t choose her. 

It didn’t mean anything. 

Perhaps she could go back, make him come! Make him see that-

but then, a hand was around her arm, and Excalibur was ripped from her grasp, she watched in horror as Drosselmeyer attached the sword to his hand. 

A permanent fixation that made her stomach flop. 

She was thrown in the back of a carriage with her mother. 

Drosselmeyer came and told them, Lady Gardenia would lead them into the city, and if she refused, Ahiru would die. 

Ahiru was gagged, her wrists bound, she wiggled and writhed, and listened as they opened the gates for Lady Gardenia, to alert the King. 

Ahiru found a rusty nail that stuck out of the wood, and with her hands behind her back, she started sawing at the ropes, and as soon as she was free she pulled the gag from her mouth and leapt out of the wagon. 

“IT’S A TRAP!”

The world was pandemonium as Drosselmeyer revealed himself and so did his band, surrounding those who walked through the courtyard. 

Ahiru lead her mother to safety, but she had to get inside and warn King Siegfried. 

What she didn’t expect was Fakir to suddenly appear, with Lillie and Pique flying at his side.

“You’re flying!” Ahiru said in disbelief. 

“Yes, we’re frequent fliers now!” Lillie said proudly. 

“Come on, I know a way inside.” Fakir took Ahiru’s hand.

He lead her to a secret passageway that ran under the castle, Sir Lohengrin had showed him, and they come out in a large room, the room that held the round table.

Ahiru gasped when she saw Drosselmeyer leering over King Siegfried, he was already injured, his arm in a sling, as he crawled away from Drosselmeyer and his own sword. 

The roof had been burst open, presumably from when the monstrous raven tried to steal Excalibur, and so wood tied to pully systems that would lift it up to where it needed to be placed laid all around her.

“Drosselmeyer!” She called, and he turned his crazed gaze on her, allowing Siegfried to get away. “I will not serve a false king!” 

She’s not sure how she did it, but she pushed off, holding onto the rope, and for a moment she was flying, soaring through the air, and she thought her father would be proud of her.

The plank hit Drosselmeyer’s chest and sent him soaring through the window, and Ahiru stumbled after him, falling to the grass and standing as quickly as she could, mist covered the sky and grew thicker.

He was taunting her, she knew that much, but she couldn’t think about that as she hid, playing cat and mouse, and she was waiting for him to spring the trap.

She ducked the sword, and landed in front of the stone. 

The stone that harbored the sword until the true king came. 

Fakir was behind her, defending her while she sat transfixed to the glowing stone. 

He pulled her to her feet and they moved until their backs hit the stone. 

“Wait for the last possible second.” Fakir whispered.

Ahiru nodded, Drosselmeyer couldn’t hear above the noise of his own prattle. 

He raised his sword, “Two for the price of one!” Ahiru watched the sword coming closer, she could see her breath fog the blade before Fakir pushed her to the floor and the sword sunk into the stone. 

She watched in horror as Drosselmeyer screamed, thinking he would be stuck for forever, but something worse happened. 

He turned to dust, and his spell was broken.

Ahiru wore the white dress her mother made her, her long hair out of it’s braid as she and Fakir were knighted with the sword they recovered. Her mother smiled, Lillie and Pique wept tears of joy, and Ahiru watched the crow on the King’s shoulder transform into a young woman in wizards robes, she smiled at Ahiru, too.  

Ahiru danced with Fakir the entire night, her eyes never left his face, and his hand never left her waist. 

“Isn’t this everything you ever wanted?” She asked him. 

“Not quite.” He said, and before she could pout and fight him, he kissed her. 

They left the place, seeking their next adventure, but finally, finally she was a knight of the round table. Just like her father. 

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

What Might Have Been - 7

I’m now getting to the plot bits of my @goodomenscelebration fic, and felt it was appropriate to add a title and also start posting each chapter separately.

You can read the previous sections here. This section is CW for aftermath of some pretty heavy violence.

(I’m also posting to AO3, but it will likely take until this weekend to get my posting schedules synced...)

Alternate Universe

Aziraphale cut off his conversation with Crowley, not a moment too soon. The ground raced towards him and he snapped his wings open, almost too late, the wind resistance straining the bones and the feathers nearly to the breaking point.

The force of the wind propelled him back up, tumbling end over end, until, twisting and flapping, he finally managed to right himself and started drifting over the ruined land.

Great cracks rent the ground, flowing with lava or magma or some such term. In between, everything was dried to the point of petrification. It might almost have been some other world entirely, except now and then he recognized a valley – flooded or burned; a river – polluted beyond recognition; even a hill – bare of trees and grass. And not a living creature to be seen.

It smelled of sulfur, and brimstone, and lightning, and death.

He glanced up, but the hole in the sky was gone. At first, he thought it had closed, trapping him in this mad landscape forever. But no. He’d drifted, and without a familiar point of reference, he didn’t know how he could find his way back.

Wheeling, he spotted the coast, the tall buildings of Brighton coming quickly towards him. He could see it in his mind now; the little brick-faced townhouses of the outer towns, with fields and parks weaving throughout; the steel buildings, rearing to the sky; holiday-makers lying along the beaches or gathered on the pier. It was too early, really, for sea bathing, but the weather had been warm and humans could be determined.

Had been nice. Now the sky was the color of an old bruise and the clouds stretched uninterrupted from horizon to horizon. And the city itself…

He flew down the flooded main roads, past townhouses and shops flooded to their first-floor balconies. The church in its little park had been torn to pieces, the telltale burn marks of lightning and worse on the few stones standing above the waters. A few larger lorries were just visible as well, and the streetlights, most snapped in half like toothpicks.

The tallest buildings had been shattered, pieces broken off and dropped onto the homes and shops below. He circled one, apartments, hoping the unbroken windows would show some sign of habitation – no luck. There were few of those, and the rooms behind them looked abandoned.

Even the pier was gone, the top of the rollercoaster still just visible, one car eternally suspended on the highest hairpin curve.

Nothing moved. Nothing made a sound.

Aziraphale landed on the top of the Grand Brighton Hotel, where he and Crowley had come for lunch just the week before. Far too many oysters, followed by spicy beef, and fresh Halibut, truffled mash and the marvelous chocolate peanut butter cake. They’d laughed over the idea of getting a room, only a few miles from home, just for the novelty, the sea breeze, the fun of playing tourist.

Now that same sea breeze ripped through Aziraphale’s feathers, flapping his coat behind him. He could see some sort of storm brewing in the distance, towards France, lightning flashing almost continuously. The corner tower had been sliced clean through, too neatly for any human tools. The Metropole next door had fared little better, brick face cracked and crumbling, the “We Love Brighton” across the roof unreadable.

Easing himself over the edge, Aziraphale drifted through the hole in the face of the Grand Brighton, inspecting one of the rooms. Nearly all the furniture was gone – white carpet black with mold, bed little more than a tangle of once-luxurious sheets beside rotten wood that had once been a headboard. The walls had been burned, too, then submerged, then burned again when the waters receded.

He passed through the room slowly, folding his wings back out of reality. Only as he passed the remains of the bed did he realize there was something solid in amongst the fabric. He folded it back to find…it had once been a person, huddled deep in a leather jacket that would have been too big even before decay set in, bloated face leaving no discernable features. Aziraphale placed a hand on the shriveled arm, as if to feel for a pulse, but of course there was none – the body was cold.

He shifted the human anyway, to lie in something like repose, and pulled the sheets back over the face.

How many more were there? In a city of half a million people, how many survived?

The lightning flashed out at sea, again, again, catching his eye as it grew brighter, closer. It looked familiar, somehow, or nearly so. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it filled Aziraphale with a fear he hadn’t felt in years.

He watched the roiling mass of light and dark approach, enveloping everything in its way.

It couldn’t be lightning, he realized. The light was too continuous, too many places at once, never actually going out, just darting from cloud to cloud. Now and again two blasts struck each other, and one might fall into the sea or rise into the sky.

Dark shapes fluttered between the lightning, like birds. Only too large, he realized as the storm finally devoured the pier, bearing now on him. Much too large…

The first angel darted past, flaming sword in hand, golden ichor dripping from wounds. “Retreat!” they called, wings beating a frantic tempo. “Retreat!”

Then more, hundreds, thousands, hosts greater than any Aziraphale had seen assembled since the Fall, so very, very long ago. They screamed, to intimidate, to show fear, it mattered not, the sound was constant. And hot on their heels, riding hellhounds and wielding glowing balls of Hellfire…

An angel crashed to the floor in front of Aziraphale, jacket torn to shreds, kilt soaked with enough ichor to completely obscure her platoon’s tartan. Some of it was hers, pouring from a wound that cut through one wing – white feathers tipped with gold – and across her shoulder, deep and nasty. A human would have lost all consciousness long ago.

“Are you alright, my dear?” Aziraphale asked, bending over, stretching out fingers to inspect the damage.

She leapt to her feet, sword cutting a wide arc that sliced through the wall as if it were an illusion, blade halting just before Aziraphale’s nose. “What are you doing here?” She demanded.

“I suppose I could ask you the same,” he began.

“Why aren’t you in uniform? Where is your sword? Identify yourself!”

“I – I – I – I’m Aziraphale!” he managed, stumbling a few steps back. “Principality of Earth, Guardian of the Eastern Gate.”

“Nice try, deserter,” she snapped, grabbing him by the waistcoat. “If you’re going to give a false name, next time try one that isn’t known to every angel, human and demon in the world.”

“Wh…what?” he managed.

A blast of horns – the war cry of Heaven – shook the city, trembling the floor beneath their feet. Suddenly, the armies moved the other direction, pale shapes of angels flashing out to sea, while the dark demons retreated, lobbing Hellfire over their shoulders. Where each blistering ball struck, all was destroyed – buildings, streetlights, angels.

“Find the Beast!” someone shouted. “He has fled the battlefield! Find him!”

“What’s going on?” Aziraphale demanded, ignoring the blade in front of him to stare as an angel and demon, locked in combat, careened into the Metropole, blasting a hole straight through to the other side. “What beast? Why are they fighting?”

“What do you mean ‘what beast?’ The Beast. Their leader.” At his blank stare, she rolled silver eyes. “Who else would lead the army of the demons in the final days? The Antichrist.”

[maaaddiexo]

Chapter Seven | Peter Pevensie

[Red Series Book Two: Ribbons]

Rosemary returned to England to find things just how she left them - her father and brother missing and her mother drinking in her bedroom. But Rosemary wasn't going to give up this time. She took charge of her family as the Pevensies took charge of a country. 

But it's been a year since all five of them returned to England, and when they are called back by Susan's magic horn, they return to a completely different Narnia. Magic has been dormant for centuries and men now rule Narnia but with brute force and terror. 

The Pevensies know why they've been called back to Narnia but Rosemary is once again left in the dark. And with Aslan making himself sparse, the five kids are left to their own devices to answer their own questions.

Do they trust the exiled prince? Can they save Narnia again, and this time without Aslan swooping in to save them? And in Rosemary's case, why was she called back?

[Chapter Eight] [Series Masterlist] [Masterlist]

From behind a pile of logs, Peter watched as hundreds and hundreds of men worked. The Telmarines worked in teams: some cut down trees, some removed branches in order to prepare them, and others worked on building the bridge across the river. Most of them weren't  soldiers - they didn't have helmets or weapons aside from the tools provided for work. The only soldiers that were present oversaw the work but didn't seem to be lifting a hand.

"They're expanding their territory," Trumpkin observed. "If they get far enough North, they'll find us."

"We won't let it get that far," Lucy insisted. But looking at the sight in front of people - the number of men available to build a bridge - she wasn't as certain anymore.

A horse whinnied close by and they all ducked just in time to not be seen by approaching Telmarines. Rosemary covered her mouth with her hand to muffle her heavy breaths.

"Perhaps this wasn't the best way to come after all."

"You think?" Rosemary interjected, though she knew Susan's words were meant only for Peter. One more glance at the building site and the group of six were off with Peter retracing his steps back to the River Rush. Rosemary easily caught up with him. "How are we going to cross?"

"I don't know but we couldn't stay. The longer we stayed only increased the risk of being seen."

The group was far enough behind for Rosemary to grab Peter by the elbow. He stopped and turned back to look down at her. "That scene back there may not prove that Aslan existed but either way, you owe Lucy an apology. You don't have to believe that Aslan was there, but act like it for Lucy's sake. Please, Peter."

Peter squinted at Rosemary before glancing back at Lucy, who was looking back where the bridge was. He could see the fear in her eyes and understood what Rosemary was implying. Believing she saw Aslan was what was motivating Lucy. He looked back at the group once more and after confirming no one was looking, he leaned down and pecked Rosemary's temple. "Okay."

Rosemary smiled as the familiar blush crept up her neck and to her cheeks. "I am so happy I don't have to swim."

•

"So where exactly do you think you saw Aslan?"

"I wish you'd all stop trying to sound like grown-ups. I don't think I saw him - I did see him."

"Sorry, Lu. It's been sixteen years." Peter hesitated. "I'm trying."

Lucy nodded, glad to see a bit of her brother poking out from behind the dark cloud that had been hanging over him since they left Narnia. "It was right over-" She screamed as the ground below her gave way and she dropped out of sight.

"Lucy!" Edmund surged forward and peered over the edge, expecting to see his sister's body in the water far below. Instead, she was just a few feet below them on another ledge. Safe.

"Here."

Edmund laughed breathlessly. "Guess you found our way down."

Up close, the river was much less daunting. It was more of a stream now, no more than five inches at its deepest point.

"I thought you said you were learning to swim?" Peter asks as Rosemary kept as far away from the water as possible. "Not that you could even swim in it, though I'd like to see Edmund try."

"Ha. Ha." Rosemary stared unamused at Peter. "It only takes two inches to drown."

"How would you drown?" Edmund wondered from behind. Rosemary could hear him trying to hide his laughter behind fake coughs.

"I could trip, fall, and hit my head on a rock and fall unconscious or something."

"Then we would pick you up and carry you. And Lucy has the cordial. Rosemary," Peter grabbed Rosemary's hand, rubbing his thumb back and forth. "Nothing is going to happen to you. I promise."

Rosemary looked between Peter's azure eyes and their joined hands. She could see the determination and surety in Peter's eyes and feel his assurance in his grip on her hand. Firm but gentle. She was brought back to the time they crossed the melting river - a situation fairly similar to the one they were currently in. Peter had taken it upon himself to take care of Rosemary when he had no loyalty to her. She wasn't part of the prophecy so her death wouldn't have had any impact on the outcome of Narnia's fate. Still, Peter took it upon himself to care for others.

And then she remembered Aslan's words. Don't doubt your importance.

She didn't know if Narnia would be different without her, but she didn't have to wonder because she didn't need to know. Peter would keep her safe and that was enough for her. "I believe you."

"You better." Peter pulled her closer to him, their arms bumping. "I mean it."

•

When Rosemary woke up the next morning, it wasn't to Peter gently shaking her awake. Edmund was practically jerking her from side to side. Through blurry eyes, she could see his mouth moving but it took a moment for the words to register in her mind.

Peter and Lucy are missing.

Rosemary jumped up, gathering her things. She noticed Susan and Trumpkin doing the same. They stood for a moment, wondering which direction the two could have gone. It wasn't like there were any paths for them to take.

"Wait," Trumpkin held his hand up. "Listen."

There was yelling and the faint clanging of swords in the distance. Peter was obviously fighting with someone.

"Where's it coming from?" Susan asked, spinning in circles. The sound was echoing in the trees.

Rosemary chose to stand still. Like her father had taught her, she closed her eyes and focused. The skill was meant for hunting, listening for where the prey was. But listening for Peter and Lucy would work too. "This way." She ran north.

The clanging of swords had stopped but Rosemary continued to run. She trusted her instincts and they were rarely ever wrong. She spotted a familiar shade of orange in the distance and pushed herself to move faster. Lucy. Emerging behind a bush, she saw what had Lucy frozen in her tracks. A sword was being held at Peter's throat while Narnian creatures simply surrounded them and watched. She raised her bow. "Lower your sword."

"Rosemary?"

The Protector briefly looked away, her hair flying. "Over here, Ed."

A faun squinted, spotting the red ribbon in her hair. "Is that..."

"Peter!"

Susan, Edmund, and Trumpkin ran up behind Rosemary and Lucy, observing the scene in front of them. Rosemary glared at the man holding Peter at swordpoint. "I won't tell you again. Lower your sword. I don't miss."

"High King Peter," The man whispered in disbelief, glancing at the sword in his hand. Peter's sword. Slowly he lowered it and Rosemary approached, her arrow still aimed at the man's heart.

"I believe you called."

When she no longer considered him a threat, Rosemary lowered her bow, the nocked arrow aimed at the dirt in front of her shoes. "Alright, now who's this joker?"

"I am Prince Caspian the Tenth," The man argued, clearly offended he wasn't recognized. "And who are you?"

"She's the Protector!"

Rosemary turned, smiling at the faun. With her back turned to him, Caspian could see the signature red ribbon. His professor had told him stories about her. After she left, nobody wore ribbons in their hair - especially red ones - as a sign of respect. "Rosemary is just fine."

"I thought you'd be older," Caspian breathed, still staring at Peter. Part of him couldn't believe he was real and the other part couldn't believe he was standing in front of him. Caspian was only a prince, but the boy standing in front of him was a king. The King.

"Well, if you like, we could come back in a few years."

"No!" Caspian rushed to correct himself. "That's alright. You're just...not what I expected." He particularly glanced at Susan when he admitted the last part. Rosemary giggled.

"Neither are you," Edmund replied, warily glancing at a minotaur close by. His time with the White Witch flashed before his eyes.

"A common enemy unites even the oldest of foes," a badger declared, standing next to a dwarf.

Someone else stepped forward. A mouse. It bowed at Peter's feet. "We have anxiously awaited your return, my liege. Our hearts and swords are at your service."

"Oh my gosh, he is so cute," Lucy whispered to her sister. Her eyes were on the mouse while Susan's were on a long-haired boy. Still, the older girl heard and giggled.

"Who said that?" The mouse held his sword up, scouring the crowd for the gossiper. Nobody called him cute.

Lucy stood up straight. "Sorry."

"Oh." The mouse hid his toothpick-sized sword behind his back. He went down into another deep bow. "Your Majesty. With the greatest respect, I do believe 'courageous,' 'courteous,' or 'chivalrous' might more befit a Knight of Narnia. My name is Reepicheep."

"Well," Peter smirked. "At least we know some of you can handle a blade."

"Yes, indeed. And I have recently put it to good use, securing weapons for your army, sire."

"Good. Because we're going to need every sword we can get."

"Then you'll probably be wanting yours back."

Peter gratefully took his sword back from Caspian, securing it in its sheath. He didn't feel like himself when it wasn't with him.

"How much did you take from the Telmarines?"

"Enough for two of their regiments," Caspian smirked, recalling the message he'd left on one of the weapon carriages.

You were right to fear the woods. X.

[Chapter Eight] [Series Masterlist] [Masterlist]

[rallis-fatalis]

The Hero of Crandor

Rallis' first official adventure in the Guild system wasn't a moment she liked to remember. She successfully became a Champion! She stopped mass destruction from spreading! She became known as a great hero and savior! ...And she hated every minute of it.

Crandor was a desolate place. It was cold and charred and dead. The chilly sea breeze tossed years of soot and dust into the face of the island's one visitor. Their bright blue and white guise stood out like a shining beacon against the black and gray of the burnt stony shore. While the island may have been a silent and sad place, its bright blue visitor was anything but. The budding explorer Rallis the blue dragon had landed on its shores, searching for adventure. It had been a long time since Crandor had received a guest, though not the first time it had received a draconic one, and that was what brought Rallis here today. The island was home to a dragon, one she intended to meet. Her mind wandered as she dragged her little boat onto the rocks and stashed her map under the seat.

Rallis had been on a few adventures now, eager to see the world after Reldo set her free from his tutelage. She had rescued people from kidnappers, helped restore a tribe to glory (and get some lovely armor to boot), found the world of her dreams and built a house, and much more. Her name began to spread west of the White Wolf Mountains, but she had no title to back her rising fame. She was just a helpful nobody. And so once she returned east of White Wolf, she took her latest mentor's advice and decided to make a name for herself and join the Champions' Guild. That was what brought her to her current situation.

She began to scale the volcanic mountainous island as she thought back to the conversation she had at the Guild that led her here.

Rallis had been exuberantly eager to join the Guild, rushing to fill everything out and join as soon as possible. She wanted to go on adventures and learn things and she wasn't getting anywhere signing sheets! She was told Guild members of all kinds had access to loads of unique information, and she desperately wanted to know more. She could learn where she came from, or maybe even what kind of dragon she was, and so much more! So she had to join, no matter what!

Unfortunately, most people weren't too keen on that idea. She ignored the stares and nasty comments about her appearance the other Guild members gave her as she went through the paperwork process; she was growing used to humans' closed-mindedness and learned to ignore it a bit more every time. And these people would have to get used to her because she was going to join!

When she handed over her application to the Guildmaster at his table, he just laughed in her face.

"You think I'm just going to let some thing like you work here?" He was an unprofessional sot, halfway done with a third drink when it was only a bit after noon. He took another swig of his drink and looked her up and down. "I mean look at you! I'm not in the habit of hiring beasts, no matter how tame they think they are."

"I've gone on adventures before! I know what I'm doing!" Rallis argued. "I did everything right to get here so let me join!"

The Guildmaster growled at her whining. "I don't care if you cured world hunger, I don't want some filthy beast tainting my good establishment! These lads do that enough as is." He smiled as he motioned to the men he was drinking with, Champions no doubt. They looked foul and acted just as badly.

Rallis frowned. "I will join! I'm better than anyone else here, I'll bet!"

The Guildmaster side-eyed her. "Are you willing to put that statement to the test?"

Rallis nodded and he finally turned to give her his full attention.

"Alright then. I'll let you join my Guild if you can do one task for me. It's something I've been saving for a good while now, waiting for just the right person to come along. Won't old Oziach be so excited when I tell him." He stood and strode over to a messy table, searching for a piece of paper and shoved it into Rallis' hands. "You will go to Crandor and slay the dragon Elvarg that calls the place home."

Rallis visibly paled and the crowd by the table whispered and snickered. Her keen hearing let her pick whispers of her not making it back alive, how the dragon would use her bones as toothpicks when it finished eating her, and so on.

"I won't kill a dragon!" Rallis shouted. "That's wrong!"

"The beast is evil. It needs to be slain. It murdered an entire island of people and still continues to kill. The beast is leaving its island and spreading destruction even farther! Sources say it's eyeing all of Karamja to burn next."

"No! There's no such thing as an evil dragon! You humans must have just made it territorial and need to go away. I won't do it!"

"Then get out and stop wasting my time!" He snatched the paper back and sat back down with his drink. "You're obviously not serious about joining, so leave! Champions kill monsters, so if you can't even kill your own kind you won't make it far."

Rallis pouted. "But--"

The Guildmaster slammed his drink on the table. "I don't want to hear 'but!' The beast is mindless and evil and someone needs to kill it! Are you just as mindless? Can't even tell when one of your own turns bad? Or maybe you're too much of a heartless monster to do anything about it and would rather watch the world burn."

Her ears drooped. This wasn't going how she hoped. These people were terrible and she wasn't about to kill a dragon of all things just to please them. That's when an idea popped into her head.

"You want Elvarg gone because they're causing trouble, right? What if I talked to them and told them to stop? Would that count?"

The room went silent before erupting into cacophonous laughter. "You want to talk to Elvarg?!" the Guildmaster howled as he wiped tears out of his eyes. "Oh, that's a new one! What, are you going to break out a tea set and invite the beast for a spot?" He began to laugh again.

"Unlike all of you I can talk to them!" Rallis retorted. "I can find out why they're doing what they're doing and tell them to stop! It can be peaceful!" The table of people were still laughing at her idea. Rallis growled and snatched the paper with the job back. "Tell me, will that work? I make Elvarg no longer a problem and I get to join. No matter how I do it."

The Guildmaster shook his head with a smile. "Sure, you crazy beast! Go for it! I'd say I don't want to hear your complaints when you run back and realize it didn't work, but I'm sure the monster will burn and eat you as well as any human. I doubt I'll be seeing you again." He shooed her away with a dismissive brush of his hand. "Run off to your death now. I've got things to do."

As Rallis scaled the mountain of Crandor, she scowled. That Guildmaster really was a piece of work. She couldn't wait to befriend Elvarg and show him how great they were. Maybe she would even ask the dragon to fly back with her and rub her victory in his face! Her scowl melted into a smile as she thought of all the ways she could befriend the seemingly monstrous dragon.

The closer Rallis neared the top of the volcano, the more destroyed the land became. The beach below, now a minuscule strip of sand from her spot on the mountaintop edge, was dotted with charred old wood from burnt boats and buildings. But up here it was far worse. The entire ground was a pitch black, layers of scorch marks and soot staining the rock forever. Parts of walls and pillars and other stone structures crumbled all around Rallis as she continued to hike higher, until even the rubble faded away into piles of char. The faint remains of human corpses poked out of the debris, just as blackened and burnt as the ruins around them. They melded with the soot until it was impossible to tell if it was the ash of a building underfoot or that of a human. The mountain peak was a shrine of destruction, and it made Rallis wonder just what had happened to make a single dragon this angry.

The darkened skies overhead began to thunder. It would rain soon. The last thing Rallis wanted to be stuck in right now was wet soot and decay. A crude hole acted as the entrance into the volcano up ahead. Rallis dashed in before the rain had a chance to fall.

Before her now was the type of crudely carved tunnel she was used to back home in Taverley, the large rocky caverns that dove deep into the earth. The cavern descended into the mountain, likely all the way to the heart of the volcano itself. The cold whip of wind was replaced with the dry heat of the volcano's interior. Thankfully this wasn't the active part; Rallis didn't have to worry about a misstep into a pool of lava or overheating. She carefully began to make her way into darkness.

The silence was eerie in the tunnels of the volcano. Back home, there was always the sound of some creature or another. Hellhounds yipping over food, the low grumble of sleeping dragons, the skittering of giant spiders over the rocks. But here it was dead silent. Nothing lived here, even the air was dead. The farther Rallis went, the more foreboding that feeling became. Piles of bones slowly began to appear, some new and some old. Scorched human bones and pieces of shredded armor were the most frequent suspects, but there were surprisingly also the remains of various demons laying about. Claw marks and gashes lined the cavern walls, territorial markings no doubt left by the dragon she was looking for. Perhaps the remains were also a warning. Those signs made Rallis hopeful. Perhaps this simply was a case of an overly territorial dragon defending their land. That would be an easy enough issue to solve.

A soft orange glow grew up ahead, a lava flow no doubt, and finally a sound shattered the silence of the caverns. Angry growls and the sound of something large pacing around quietly bounced down the tunnel. Rallis readied her anti-fire shield just in case  and stepped into the light. Even she wasn't completely fireproof and she wasn't foolish enough to enter an angry dragon's domain without protection.

The rock tunnel branched paths, it continued in one direction and opened into a wide chamber in the other, and there pacing near the far wall of the open cave was a dragon. It was angrily stomping about and shaking its head as it spoke to itself, occasionally growling and snapping at seemingly nothing. Rallis got as close as she dared and hid behind a row of stalagmites that perfectly separated her and the dragon. She took in the scene, hoping to learn as much as she could of the dragon before her before running up to say hello.

The dragon in question was a green, notoriously the most territorial of the chromatics, which gave further credence to Rallis' theory of people not leaving the poor beast alone. There was even a scorched skeleton of a human who foolishly decided to pay a visit leaning against one of the cavern walls to prove it. The dragon was also female, so perhaps she was a mother. Anything that entered a green dragon mother's domain without permission wound up dead. If that was the case, Rallis had to be extremely careful. Thankfully it seemed Elvarg was all alone here, so that took care of one worry. Elvarg was extremely small for green dragon standards, hardly half the size of Rallis' mother, and she was the skinniest dragon Rallis had ever laid eyes on. Her ribs poked through her sagging green hide and her limbs were thin as sticks. Her wings were shredded from battle and looked one wrong move from being ruined forever. Scars covered the dragon's body, some old and some new, and one particularly long gash ran down her entire left side from her neck to her flank. It wasn't healing well.

Rallis felt awful for the poor dragon. The thing was starving and beaten and probably dying all alone in a dark cave. Just as she was about to reveal and introduce herself, Elvarg stopped speaking to herself and sniffed the air frantically. She roared and stomped closer to where Rallis had hid herself.

"INTRUDER! UNWELCOME!"

Elvarg screeched and blasted the rocky spikes with fire. Rallis rolled out of the way and held her shield up to the flames. Elvarg stopped attacking, surprised at the nature of her unwanted guest, and settled for hissing defensively and flaring her wings intimidatingly.

Still somewhat hiding behind her shield, Rallis quietly introduced herself. "Hello. My name is Rallis. I'm sorry for trespassing, but I came to speak with a dragon named Elvarg. Is that you?"

Elvarg was taken aback for a moment. She hadn't heard something speak Wyvernic to her in a very long time. "Elvarg? I am..." The dragon had to think back, as if her own name was foreign to her. "17? I don't... remember." Elvarg flew into a fit suddenly, lashing her claws out against the rocks and running in circles and she shook her head.

Rallis was immediately concerned. She had never seen a dragon act so wild before. "Then I guess that's the name the humans gave you. Elvarg. But I can call you whatever you like whenever you remember."

Elvarg froze. She glared at Rallis with wide crazed eyes. It made Rallis shiver with dread, the cold insanity and ferality in that gaze. The dragon slowly slunk over, towering over Rallis menacingly despite her small skinny frame. "You... a Master?"

"Excuse me?" Rallis said with a blink of confusion. She received no clarification so she moved on. "Listen, a lot of humans are talking about you all over the world. They say you're an evil dragon that killed lots of people. They say you're still trying to kill lots of people! I don't think you're evil, so I came to see what's wrong. Can you tell me?"

Elvarg blinked and slowly turned away, shuffling deeper into the cave. Something was wrong with the dragon, Rallis could tell. It was like she didn't understand anything being said.

"I saw your prey bones and claw marks. Are they warnings? Do you need things to stay away? You're so thin too. Do you need food? I can help you find a place to hunt where humans won't hurt you and you can start feeling better! What do you need?"

"Need...?" Elvarg thought for a moment before smiling wickedly at Rallis and licking her fangs. "I need... to kill!"

"What?!" Rallis squawked. "No, no you don't! I can make everyone leave you alone so you don't have to fight anymore!"

The dragon didn't seem to want to listen and slowly sauntered back over to Rallis. She backed up with every step the dragon took, until she found herself pinned against a wall. "I... will fight! I will kill! The Master... he wants it! He says I am weak! I am nothing! So I kill everyone! Humans! Brothers! Sisters! I eat them all! I am strong! I show him! I need... I need! To kill everything!"

Rallis horrifiedly shook her head. "No you don't! Dragons don't do that! That's what monsters do and you're not a monster! You're a dragon, a good dragon! Right?" Elvarg snorted and Rallis continued. "I can help you! I'll help you work through whatever you're going through! Get you food, fix your wounds, talk things out. Let me help you get better!"

Elvarg lowered her head and stared eye to eye with Rallis. Rallis had never felt scared of a dragon before today, as this feral green stood nose to nose with her and peered into her very soul with the eyes of a beast gone deep into insanity. She gripped her shield like a safety blanket as the dragon brushed her fangs against Rallis' arms and breathed down her neck as she spoke.

"You... are no Master. You... are prey."

Her scales itched, her feathers flared, every instinct in her immediately told her to run. Rallis threw her shield up and in that split second, Elvarg bit down. The dragon latched onto the shield, howling in fury she hadn't grabbed hold of flesh, and flung Rallis against the row of stalagmites halfway across the room. Her arm wrenched out of the shield straps and nearly dislocated from the force. She smacked hard against the rocks with a thud and a whine, Elvarg crunched the shield in two and spat it aside. Rallis didn't even have the chance to feel if her shoulder was okay as Elvarg immediately followed with an onslaught of dragonfire. Rallis dove behind the stalagmites and hugged the ground, feeling the heat and flames slip through the openings just overhead. The flames stopped just in time for Elvarg to continue with a bone shattering strike, force of her swing crumbling the stalagmites to bits and sending Rallis flying into the open part of the cave. Rallis whined and struggled to stand. For such a small and weakened dragon Elvarg was strong, almost unnaturally so. If she didn't think of a way to get the beast to stop attacking, she wasn't going to live long.

Elvarg reared back and blasted forth another round of dragonfire, the force physically shaking the poor weak dragon's body. Rallis quickly dug into her rune pouch and threw up a barrier of ice to shield her. The two elements clashed, the fire fizzled and the ice cracked, and both exploded from their magical force. Shards of ice zipped through the air and stabbed themselves into the ground, the walls, the ceiling, and both the dragons themselves, while the fire whooshed by and shook the cavern violently.

The green dragon screamed at the shards of ice that found themselves stabbed into her old wounds. Despite the pain and tiredness, Elvarg charged at Rallis again, mouth open wide. Rallis wasn't doing so well either, her shoulder sore, what felt like a couple of ribs broken, and bits of her own ice drilled into her leg and arm. But Elvarg was even worse for wear, and if she could tire the beast out she could continue to talk and make sense with her!

Elvarg's fangs were just overhead, and right as she was about to snap down, Rallis dodged out of the way and unfurled her frozen whip. She wrapped it around Elvarg's mouth, snapping and holding it shut, and leapt onto her neck. The dragon howled, muffled by the fact that her mouth was now held shut, and writhed and flailed like a bucking unicorn. Rallis held tight, hoping the dragon would wear herself out soon.

The dragon furiously rammed herself against the cavern walls, trying to shake Rallis off. The entire room quaked from the force, rocks coming loose and falling all around them. Smears of green and red were left behind as she scraped her scales away with every charge and left herself bloody. "Please, stop!" Rallis tried. "You're hurting yourself!" But the dragon didn't care. There was nothing left to the beast but the mindless desire to kill. No words would stop her. Elvarg flared her wings and caught Rallis off guard as she flew up to the spiked ceiling and slammed her back hard against it. Rallis gasped as she was crushed between the dragon and rocky ceiling and let go of her hold on her unruly mount. She fell to the dirt floor with a nasty thud, Elvarg landing much more neatly and snarling over her. The whip snaked off her snout and coiled at Rallis' side, but she couldn't reach for it. She wasn't expecting a fight like this and was far too beaten to continue defending herself.

She looked up sadly at the feral beast before her and tried once more. "Please calm down! I just want to help! Get ahold of--"

The cavern shook wildly, as if an earthquake had struck. Elvarg lost her footing and fell to the floor alongside Rallis, fury now focused on the earth itself instead of the prey before her. Cracks shattered the wall Elvarg had continued to ram herself against and raced up to the ceiling where she threw herself. Had their fight caused a cave-in?! The stalactites above cracked and rocked precariously until they began to fall all around them along with other parts of the ceiling.

Rallis dragged herself away and held onto a rock for support. Elvarg could hardly move, exhaustion from her antics taking over and leaving her prone in the center of the cave. The quaking began to calm, but not before giving one last hurrah and releasing as much debris to fall down below as it could. Just as Elvarg found the strength to stand once more, one final part of the ceiling caved and fell atop her. Rock shards ripped threw her wings and smacked against her raw bleeding skin. She howled angrily above her, a sound that quickly changed from fury to horror. Rallis realized what was happening all too late. She screamed a warning but no sound came. As she sprinted from the ground to help, there was already nothing she could do. The stalactites overhead began to fall with the debris, right where Elvarg was standing. One ripped through her wing, another chipped a horn, another nearly severed her tail, and one final one ended it all. Her howl choked into a gurgled cry as her scarred raw neck was torn open from the rock above. It slammed her head to the ground and staked it to the spot. She howled and cried as blood poured out of her mouth and throat as she weakly grabbed at the rock, but it wouldn't matter. As the shaking stilled, so did the dragon, until soon everything was dead quiet.

_________________________________________________________________

The Champions' Guild was alive with laughter and partying. It had been a good day and everyone wanted to celebrate. There were drinks, food, and games, and someone was already passed out on the floor, a prime target for pranking. Despite the rain and gloom outside, everyone inside was having the time of their life, their laughter and antics drowning out the thunder above.

The front entrance quietly creaked open as someone entered. No had heard or cared, they were all having far too much fun. It was only when the figure stepped into the main room that anyone gave a notice. Someone elbowed the Guildmaster and pointed to the entrance of the room. There stood Rallis, soaking wet and hastily bandaged and reeking of old wet ash and soot. He smiled like the cocky bastard he was and took a sip of his latest drink.

"The local monster returns! I must say I'm surprised! I thought Elvarg would eat you for sure. Did you come to cry at my feet and beg for a different task? To tell me how you failed and barely made it out alive?"

She silently walked over to him and returned the paper with the job for slaying Elvarg. He smiled knowingly. "Giving u--?"

"Elvarg is dead."

The room went completely silent at those three words. The drinking stopped, the laughter ceased, everyone seemed to sober a little. Everyone turned their gaze to the dragon and the Guildmaster.

"Say that again," the Guildmaster demanded. "I'm sure I misheard you."

"Elvarg. Is. Dead." Rallis said each word through gritted teeth, trying to hold back her sorrow.

Murmurs broke out over the news. "Where is your proof?" the Guildmaster asked. "Anyone could claim the beast is dead but without proof how could I ever believe you? Especially since you were so reluctant to do such an abhorrent act in the first place!"

Rallis slammed her hands on the table and snarled, fangs mere inches from the man's face. She wanted to retch and it wasn't because of the disgusting smell of beer on his breath. "If you don't believe me, you can go to Crandor and look for your damn self! She is dead! I tried to save her and I failed and now she's dead! I'm done with your stupid initiation. I did what you asked and I won't do more! If you want to bother the dead, you go see her. I just came to tell you it's done."

Without another word, she turned tail and stomped back out into the rain, leaving everyone wondering if the beast of Crandor was truly gone just like that.

Perhaps a week later, Rallis received a letter confirming her entrance into the Champions' Guild. It was even addressed to "Rallis, the Hero of Crandor." She snarled at the paper and burned it. That was no title she wanted part of. People would certainly hail her as a hero, but she just saw herself as a failure, unable to help a single dragon. She should have been excited; her adventuring career could finally begin! Helping people, exploring the world, gaining knowledge, and learning about herself! But all she could think of was what had happened to get here, and it left her wondering how she was going to handle whatever came next.

[docholligay]

Smoke and Ashes

This is a fic I wrote mostly for me for once but also for @rosepetalrevolution and anyone else who is interested in These Western Fucks, namely Yael, McCree, and Ashe. You can find it in the timeline: here. 3,300 words I would love to know if you enjoy it!! 

“Please don’t!” Tears ran down his face. “For Christ’s sake, please!”

“Wrong audience, motherfucker.” Yael cocked her gun, and fired, an impressive spray of blood spackling across McCree’s boots.

He looked down at them and frowned. “I just polished these, Yael.” He picked some of the brass off the ground. “That was quick.”

“Easy when it’s a bunch a little boys pissin their pants.” She knelt down and rifled through the dead man’s pockets, “Jacinta! You done over there? Quit bein’ so fuckin’ dramatic.”

The echoing fire of a gun was the reply, and Jacinta walked around the end of the truck. “I would think you’d appreciate lingering on this a little bit.”

“It’s not about enjoying the job, it’s a practical matter,” Yael took the cigarettes out of the dead man’s jacket, tapping one out of the pack and lighting it, taking a long drag as she leaned her elbows back onto the dead man’s chest, “Though I don’t hate it. Goddamn, even their cigarettes are terrible, Jesus fucking wept.”

She sat up and put the cigarette out in his cheek.

“Nice cache a weapons, though.” McCree set an AK to the side of the truck.

“Welp,” Yael slapped her knee, “Alls well that ends well, then.” She gave a chuckle and slapped McCree on the shoulder. “We’ll eat good tonight, tell you what. Already have a buyer.”

“Didn’t you,” McCree pushed the brim of his hat back a touch, “Specifically tell me, more n once, not to sell anything you ain’t got in hand?”

“Yael thinks the rules don’t apply to her.” Jacinta put a crate of ammo into the back of the truck, “Thinks she is special.”

“You’d know.” Yael grinned.

Jacinta tried to scowl, but smiled anyhow, as she checked a rifle for a round. “You are not cute.”

“Yael you ever think that the people we sell these to, are gonna go back and sell em to these poor fucks again?” McCree had said it quite without meaning to.

Yael’s internal compass was its own creature, and McCree could never quite puzzle it out. She was happy enough to take the boxes of illegal arms from these people, but the suppliers they sold to probably didn’t exactly ask for an essay on intercultural exchange before they sold them. It’d just fall back, that they’d be back where they started.

“Not those poor fucks,” she tipped her head to the one on the ground, his head split open, flies buzzing around his brains, “cleared that right up.”

And that would be the end of the debate, McCree knew, in the way he knew he’d never stop thinking it. There were certain things, rhythms, in the gang, that flowed through everything they did like a bends of a river, and McCree knew how to point his canoe by now.

McCree had come to them three years ago, but it might as well have been a lifetime. Cody Stenslund was an old man with a scraggy group of hungry young kids, and a smaller band of old men like him. It was the assumption they’d picked up these kids to pass the torch to someone, and it had proved successful, and he hadn’t wanted McCree. No one seemed to, back then.

But Yael was clever, and she was a connoisseur of people who survived when they weren’t meant to, and she’d stood for him. He’d been with them ever since, through his own training and scrapes and Cody’s retirement, and he couldn’t see leaving. Yael was Yael about near everything, but McCree never worried about where he was going to go, what he was going to eat, and the drifting tumbleweed decided this was a fine fence to be caught upon.

Besides that, he’d reflected at Jacinta and Yael’s wedding, it was a kind of a family, and McCree needed all of that he could get.

Carey loaded on an unopened crate to the back of the truck, and flipped up the tailgate, leaning against the back of it and giving McCree a grin, the soft green of his eyes flickering with excitement.  

“Yael said beers are on her tonight.” He tapped out two cigarettes, and offered McCree one, which he gratefully accepted.

“Better be,” he lit the smoke and took a deep drag, “much as she’s had us all runnin around Hell out here.”

Carey chuckled softly. He was a few years older than McCree, like most of the gang, tall and thin, his dark brown hair clipped neatly. He had no idea about McCree. McCree barely had any idea about McCree, even when he thought about walking over to Carey’s bunk in the night and kissing him as the moonlight streamed through the window.

There was nothing for McCree to be ashamed of, and he knew that, but somehow he still couldn’t bring himself to say the words. Yael had done it. No one questioned her or so much as said boo about it.

But the rules didn’t apply to Yael, you know.

“Well boys,” Yael circled around and tossed the keys to Carey, who caught them handily, “let’s get to gettin.”

_____

Ashe stood outside the bar, adjusting the collar of her shirt and trying to get the right angle of the hat on her head. She’d known the Deadlock Gang was going to be here, it was an open secret that they protected this bar and the bar did the same to them, a scrappy outpost at the edge of the world that no one seemed to much care about and that seemed fine to everyone inside.

She walked in the door, the dark and agining place exactly as she’d imagined it, and found the gang immediately. The leader was just as she’d read, when she decided this was the career path she wanted to take, when she got sick of everything her parents expected for her, tired of being a show pony and ready to take it on her own. She was a scary story to tell in the dark as much as she was a person, and Ashe wanted that for herself.

She strode confidently to where she sat, and a lean, green-eyed man to Yael’s right put his hand on a gun.

But Yael just watched, leaned forward onto her elbows, as Ashe approached.

“Yael Rabin?” She cleared her throat, puffing her chest out.  “Been looking for you. “I’m here to join the Deadlock Gang.”

No one said anything for a moment, and Ashe wondered if the entire concept of sound had gone from her, the chatter and music fading away from the space and leaving only Ashe, standing there.

Then Yael drummed her fingers on the table.

“You just looking for trouble in alphabetical order or somethin’? Barstow Boys turn you down already?”  Yael picked up a toothpick from the holder and on the table and placed it between her teeth as she studied Ashe.

It was the sort of look Ashe had not yet become accustomed to, though she would learn it for herself, in time. It was a look that scanned over every inch of her, that took the information and made conclusions, and locked it away until it was needed. It was the searing eye of a hawk setting on a rabbit, and Ashe squirmed underneath despite herself.

“Nice boots you got there, Tex.” A sly smile crept across her face and her collected gang spit out hoots of laughter.

Ashe didn’t give her the satisfaction of looking down, but she noticed the beaten and scuffed hat Yael wore, the way her shirt had faded in rings from being pushed up to her elbows in the sun, and had a sudden moment of realization that the same things she wore that impressed the folks when she did barrel were a mistake here.

Didn’t matter. She was a trick of a rider, she could shoot a gun, and Ashe knew, above anything else, that the infamous Deadlock Gang could only profit by adding her to the group, even if they did make fun of her bright silver buckles.

“Name’s Ashe.” She jutted out her chin and extended her hand.

“Sure it is.” Yael chuckled and leaned back in her chair, and Ashe crossed her arms, her mouth forming into an angry twist, which Yael handily ignored, “You even old enough to be in here? Go home, kid, I ain’t got time to play dolls.”

“How old’s he?” She motioned her chin to the man at her left, though it was hardly fair to call him man, not yet filled in, still gangly with the edge of teenagerhood.

“Jesse?” She turned to him and smiled, “I dunno, how old are you?”

“Forty five this July.” He took a drink of his beer.

“That’s about what I thought, why, thank you Jesse.” she picked up her own beer, “Well, there you have it.”

Ashe popped like a corn kernel.

“You were younger than me, sixteen! When you joined the Deadlock Gang, and now you’re only afraid--”

“I ain’t afraid of shit,” Yael laughed, “You think you can compare yourself to me, Tex? What’s the worst thing ever happened to you, Daddy tell you no new pony this year? Shiiiit.” She chuckled again. “Swear to god, they get stupider every year.” She stood up. “You ain’t hungry enough. You don’t need it enough. You got a net, girl, and we perform without one.” She turned back briefly to her gang. “Gonna go find Jaci and have a smoke.”

She turned her back to Ashe as she left, completely unafraid of anything Ashe could do, and all she could do is stand stock-still, fuming and furious and embarrassed and ashamed and hungrier than Yael could ever know.

___

McCree didn’t ask too many questions, at this time in his life.

It would sound stupid to say it out loud, as he heard the dogs barking in the distance outside the shitty honky tonk, the party having briefly broken up from their reverie, but the last three years had been the most stable in his life since his mother had died. It wasn’t much of a life, rolling along the backroads and still-quiet ways that barely seemed to exist except as corridors anymore, but it was his, and it was consistent, and he knew what he was meant to do and why, and what he brought.

He wasn’t interested in shaking up the flow he’d come to understand in his life, and he wasn’t sure what someone so rich would want with the Deadlock Gang anyhow. Could be that she was an agent trying to infiltrate, but McCree hoped they’d send someone a little better than some little blonde thing fresh out of the ranchwear store. Maybe that was the trick, that they thought it was so stupid Yael’d fall for it.

They didn’t know her very well.

Ashe breezed by him after Yael, having had a few moments to think to herself and still not giving up, and he chuckled. She had plenty of sand, that much was sure, and if he was going to be so stupid as to tell Yael her business, he’d say that a sparrow who’s willing to chase after a hawk with no fear of nothing wasn’t the stupidest idea for the gang. Yael had a kill count that rivaled a small army, and there was no way Ashe didn’t know that. It just didn’t seem to matter. She had an idea of what she wanted, and maybe Yael would have to shoot her to get her to find another one.

They didn’t usually meet people like this, who wouldn’t take Yael’s no for an answer. Yael was particular about her crew, even at the best of times, and though she’d help other hard up folks set up complimentary organizations, or reinstall them their lives back home on their farms and ranches and wilds, her Deadlock Gang was a tightly closed group, only people she would happily sleep with her back to. And this girl was in no way Yael’s kind of people. This was all more stuff she should’ve known but didn’t seem to care much about.

There was a part of McCree that respected that.

Carey walked up next to him and sipped his beer. “What’s the over under on Yael shootin her where she stands?”

McCree smiled over at him. “She’s had, what, three beers? Say ten minutes.”

“You’re a regular optimist, Jess,” Carey clapped him on the shoulder, and McCree looked away from him into the night, “say that much for ya.”

McCree wasn’t sure he’d call himself that, but there was something that told him this girl who called herself Ashe was gonna be a thorn in everyone’s side for a long time.

___

Yael didn’t seem to be listening to her, just walking along and tapping out a cigarette as she looked up at the half-clouded moon.

“You don’t know what I can do!” Ashe spat, the injustice of the situation, the hopelessness of it, drilling into her head.

“But I do know that it’s my gang, and, I don’t like you.” She put the cigarette to her lips and flicked her lighter, shielding it from the wind. “Don’t need no prissy little rich girls whose daddies bought em their titles.”

What Yael needed and what Yael ended up getting could be very different indeed.

“Elizabeth Ashe?” A voice came out of the darkness, and Ashe’s hair stood up at the sound of her name.

She turned around and her eyes met with dark brown ones, ones she did not know but clearly knew her. It was not a question so much as a confirmation, but whatever it was, it furrowed Yael’s brow.

“You know her, Jacinta?” Yael stood up from where she leaned against the beam.

Jacinta took her eyes off Ashe for a moment, meeting Yael’s gaze, and let out an exclamation of rapid-fire Spanish, which Ashe suddenly wished she had opted to take in all of her private schooling.

“Huh,” was all Yael said by way of hint, before asking Jacinta a question Ashe could not understand, and receiving an answer Ashe wished she could know. “I dunno, Jaci, bad idea to me.”

Her ears perked at the English, and she looked back to Jacinta, wondering where she could possibly know her from. She was a handsome woman, dark with glossy in a low, tightly wound bun at her neck, but Ashe could not quite place her name, or where they might have seen each other.

Yael walked over to where she and Jacinta stood, and waved Ashe off. “Git.”

It was the first command of Yael’s Ashe would obey, and it would not be the last, and at her hand she would learn how to give a command so it never seemed like a request, to men twice her size, but right now all she could do was back up until she nearly hit the two young men who had been sitting beside Yael in the bar.

Carey shrugged at her. “Jaci’s your best chance, rich girl.”

Ashe fumed, but didn’t say a word. There was someone, for whatever reason, who was fighting for her, and the argument seemed to be growing more heated, Yael shaking her head, her eyebrows in a knot as she looked to Jacinta, who waved a hand in fury even as she tried to cross her arms in front of her.

“If she wants you,” McCree drawled, “well, Jaci’s the only one Yael’l ever listen to.”

“I don’t know why she does.” Ashe hadn’t meant to say it, but it had slipped out, her thoughts as to all the reasons why filling the space in her head meant for a tough showing.

McCree looked over to her, a brief recognition of her inability to understand that made her blood boil, and chuckled. “Best not to.”

Yael threw her arms in the air and kicked the dip bucket by the side of the back porch, spraying wet tobacco across the wood. Jacinta seemed unimpressed.

“¡Bueno! Christ,” She took her hat off and nearly threw it into the dirt before reconsidering. “You win, alright?”

Ashe felt a swirl of excitement rise in her chest, and pride. She was going to be a member of the Deadlock Gang, the kind of gang that people whispered about, the kind of gang that even someone like the Barstow Boys held in high regard. And she would be, in no time, she was sure, be at the right hand of the hawk, Ashe, a legend in her own right.

These fantasies of her own grandeur were quickly brought back into the reality of the situation as Yael walked up to her and grabbed her by the collar, almost pressing their faces together. Yael and Ashe were nearly the same size, but Ashe was shocked by the sheer strength of her, the grip of her claw next to Ashe’s neck.

“Now listen here. This is against my better judgement or will, Tex, so I want you to take very careful notice of what I’m bout to say.” Ashe nodded as Yael stared deep into her eyes, but she did not break her gaze or let her lip quiver, “You want to be a part of this gang, you’ll come to find there’s work to be done that ain’t all in the papers and glory, and when I say jump, the only thing I wanna hear out of your goddamn mouth is how high. I will teach you to be a gunslinger and an arms runner and every terrible thing you wanna be, and you had better pay me back with your unending goddamn loyalty or I’ll shoot you myself.”

She let go of Ashe’s collar and half-tossed her back into Carey and McCree, who caught her gently by the shoulders.

“Married life’s a whole thing, ain’t it, Yael?” Carey laughed good naturedly.

“Carey, I will leave you in the ditch I found you in.” But she sighed, seemingly forcing herself to make peace with the new, shiny-booted, crisp shirted, silver trimmed reality in her life.

“You won’t regret it, I promise.” Ashe tugged at her shirt, rolling her shoulders back.

“And I ain’t callin you Ashe, so best get used to that idea.” She grinned, and her voice turned sickly-sweet, “Elizabeth Caledonia, pretty little miss of the Texas debutante set. Jesse!”

“Yeah?” he took off his hat and ran a hand through his shaggy brown hair before looking back to Yael.

“You’re off smoker duty tonight, other’n showin Bitsy here how to scrub it.” She waved her hand to McCree, “God knows you’ve earned it. And God knows you will, us having to teach her an honest day’s work.”

“She’s alright once you get used to her.” Carey gave his usual casual grin and shrugged. “Give her a year or two to warm up. Carey.” He gave a tip of his hat.

“Jesse.” He nodded to her.

She gave a snort, jutted her chin out, and looked at the two men who were now her teammates.

“Ashe.”

Carey chuckled as he turned to go. “S’not what Yael said.”

Ashe crossed her arms across her chest in frustration. When she had planned out the life she was going to create for herself, the infamous legend and outlaw she was going to become, this was not how she’d seen her first day on the team. She would learn, at Yael’s hand, how to scramble, how to deal, how to play a low card, but now she was a frustrated trainee.

“Welcome to the team,” McCree said, tipping his hat, “Come on then.”

Ashe gave the smallest smile, and she remembered she had won a victory today. It didn’t matter if she were Tex or Bitsy or whatever Yael wanted to call her today, because she had to call her one very important thing.

A member of the Deadlock Gang.

[perfectcreaturerarelyseen]

The Fate of the Fae | 04 (m)

Pairing: Andrew Hozier-Byrne/Unknown Female

Genre: Fantasy, Modern, Romance, Smut, Fluff, Angst

Word: Chapter 4: 1,821

Summary: Andrew Hozier-Byrne unknowingly searches for the woman that pulled him from the bog 3,000 years ago. Unknown to either of them that in this modern world their souls are still intertwined from the life they shared long ago. She is unavailable, he’s not giving up. Will the woman that inspires his music be wooed by his songs or will he lose his chance? That’s Wasteland, Baby!

Note: A/N: This is a story requested by my best friend to be written about her favorite musician. I have been inspiried by his songs and specific lines. Any reference to his music is used in the name of inspiration and creating art. I do not own any of his music. Any reference to Hozier in this story is fictional and used by the author in the name of crafting art. I want to thank all who read it. I have fallen in love with writing this story and would love to hear from you. It will be written in installments. The finished story will be at the very least over 50,000 words. Enjoy.

The Fate of the Fae: Chapter 4

They called her the willow woman and the forest father was hopelessly heartsick for her.

As they trekked back from the forest father’s cabin to the doomed village he fell in love a little more each day. It was small things. The way her front right tooth was a little crooked but she never tried to hide it when she laughed, which to his delight was often.

Her laugh was like the tinkling sound of shells strung from his cabin roof. It rang through the clearing. He could tell from looking at the elder and the lines creased into her forehead she was losing hope. However her daughter, the willow woman, was hopelessly hopeful still. She maintained that they could save the village.

The forest father did not share her same hope but he still loved to hear her talk about the happier times her village would come to know in the future.

She believed he would save them.

He knew desperately that he was no savior.

When the elder fell asleep at night he would walk the edge of the woods with her. She was the first woman he’d known that did not jump at the sound of the baying monsters deep in those dark woods.

She closed her eyes and relished the sound.

She was wild.

And feral.

He was in love already.

It was unheard of a fae born outside of a clan being with the daughter of an elder.

It was more than unheard of it, it was forbidden.

He knew, he knew, he could not be with her.

Yet, still he'd let his fingers graze hers as they walked, talking about anything and everything. Her dreams, his music, the woods, the water, the trees, this earth that was constantly changing.

One night when he grazed her fingers with the rough tips of his calloused hand she slipped her hand into it. He was shocked and almost froze his heart beating faster than it ever had. He felt foolish in a way. The forest father, pillar of pride, falling in love. He couldn’t help it. It was a force beyond him.

He gripped her hand tighter as if he could keep her anchored to him that way. He ran his thumb over the back of her hand and she did not say anything about how rough his skin was.

They did not talk then. They did not need to. They both could hear what the other’s heart was calling out.

They were in love.

They were doomed.

Such is the fate of the fae.

OoOo

When his time came they could lay him gently in the cold dark earth and he would crawl back to her. The thought came to Andrew’s mind from somewhere deep inside. He felt a connection to this woman, Madison, in a way he had never been connected to someone before.

He needed her. Every move of her body, everything she did made his heart ache. She pushed her long hair back over her shoulder and it almost looked purple in a trick of the light. It was like a punch to the stomach seeing that hair color but he couldn’t tell why.

She looked instead of amazed by his magic trick of pulling the name from thin air impressed. Like this was the response she had been hoping for.

'I’m...” He started to say just to fill in the silence that stretched long and thin between them. She eyed him suspiciously.

“Andrew.” She supplied just as he had and he shook a little. Did she actually know the name or did she recognize him?

“Do you know who I am?” He asked stupidly feeling like it was an arrogant question. It felt different though, as if he was asking her if she knew who he was from a long long time ago even though this was their first meeting.

“No...should I?” She didn’t meet her eyes when she said it. She was hiding something. He frankly didn’t care.

“No. I’m nobody.”

“Everybody is somebody.” She replied a wry smile on her face. That smile matched his. A slightly crooked front tooth. Some memory wanted to tug itself free from his mind but he wouldn’t allow it. Stay in the moment he told himself over and over again.

Her smile faltered as her phone let out a high electric chirp. She quickly pulled it out of her pocket and glanced down at the screen. A look of almost horror passed over her face and she stuffed the phone into her pocket. Scanning the crowd as if looking for someone she turned wide eyes to him.

“I’ve got to go.” She told him in a rush and started making her way through the small crowd of people still hypnotized by the music and gyrating to it’s call.

“Wait...wait please!” He shouted following her through the crowd and out onto the busy street.

“I need to be somewhere.”

“I need to talk to you. Can we exchange numbers or something?” Or anything he thought desperately. He’d gladly throw her laughing over his shoulder and carry her back to his hotel if she’d let him. He shook his head. It was another thought that felt completely foreign to him.

“I...no...I just can’t. Let me go Andrew.” He wasn’t even touching her but he could feel the weight of her words. She was telling him to back off. He respected everything about her so he did. Stopping dead in his tracks on the street he watched her as she wandered away from him. Every movement of her body moved him. When she moved he was moved. It was a desperation.

When she was a good ten feet away she stopped dead in her tracks and paused. He held his breath as she paused. He watched her pull something out of her pocket then she spun on her heels and marched towards him. She got close enough that she could grasp his shirt. She yanked and he obligingly lowered his head.

“Tell no one I gave you this.” She slipped a piece of paper into his hand. The feel of her hot breath on his ear blowing strands of hair that tickled his face made him grow hot. He wanted to turn and let their lips simply brush. A featherlight kiss as if he had never been there. Then he saw the wide eyed look she carried and he drew back. She was scared. Scared of what she’d just done.

She spun back around and stalked off down the street.

He took the time to glance down at the piece of paper tucked into his hand. Her name and a phone number were crawled in hurried handwriting. He looked up but she’d already disappeared. The smell of perfume like lilies of the valley still hung in the air.

He felt empty without her presence. He carefully folded the paper and tucked it into his shirt pocket.

“Hey, I thought you’d abandoned me for another stranger.” Larry joked coming up behind him and almost scaring the crap out of him. He refrained from jumping at the sound of his voice. Still her stared up the street as if the very weight of his stare could force her to come back.

“Any stranger, the stranger the better.” He murmured thinking of this purple haired Cinderella running off down the street at the call of her phone as if the very device owned her life.

“Ready to head back?” Larry clamped him on the shoulder. He had to lift his hand to reach his shoulder as Andrew was sprouted like a tall tree. He waited a few moments before answering still staring at the space she had occupied only moments before. He waited to see if she would return. When the silence had stretched on too long he turned to Larry.

“Yeah mate. Let’s head back.”

He couldn’t help but turn his head one last time and he could swear he saw her resting against the building, one booted foot resting against it, watching him. When he blinked though she wasn’t there.

OoOo

She watched him go until he was safely down the street. Then she turned the corner and rushed down the sidewalk.

“What took you so long?” His voice was slick like oil, the serpent long sent from Eden to terrorize her. She looked up at him, her keeper.

“I had to shake someone.” She told him as he ushered her towards the black town car waiting for her at the curb with a hand on her lower back. Frankly a little too low for her liking.

“Anyone I need to take care of?” He chewed on his toothpick and raised one questioningly eyebrow at her. A chill went through her body. She could imagine what he would do. The blade he would bury in his sternum and jerk until silver blood spilled across the sidewalk. Not Andrew, please not him.

“No I took care of it.” She hadn’t. She’d made everything worse by giving him her number. It was stupid. She couldn’t help it if she tried. When they danced, like they were standing still, like they were the only people in the room, she could feel every ounce of love she felt for him lifetimes ago. She ached for him and his absence from her now hurt like the very knife cut this snake of a man would dig into her if he found out what she’d done.

“As you say.” He mumbled climbing into the back of the car with him. She felt trapped as he closed the door and she stared out the dark tinted windows. She could see but hardly be seen.

Such was the fate of the fae.

OoOo

One winglessly winged creature trapped in the darkness of the life predestined for her drove from the sight of her love long past.

The other trudged through the streets, seeing her in every woman that danced and laughed merrily along the houses of sin he walked past.

Both held the other in their mind.

Both ached for each other.

Both felt the absence of one another in their arms, their hearts, the place they held the ultimate sensual flame.

They felt empty.

The man of the forest pulled out a lighter and lit another cigarette. In the flame he could see her and he could feel himself falling for the flame. He could hardly turn his eyes away from the burning red flame. All you ever have is your fire. Don’t tame it. Never ever tame those demons. He knew though, this feeling building inside of him, the feeling over her note burning like fire in his pocket needed to be kept on a leash.

He thought it ended when he knew love’s perfect ache.

He knew now that this feeling of emptiness would never leave.

Not until he felt the weight of her in his arms.

Her.

Madison.

Such was the fate of the fae.

OoOo

[thewriterwithnoplan]

The Huntress From Hell (Part 9)

Summary: Luci Samael Morningstar daughter of Lucifer and the angel Azrael . Marked as the heiress of hell, Luci might be in a smidge of trouble when she falls into an alternate universe. Here demons run rampant and angels aren’t so high and mighty. With monsters lurking around every corner she needs to turn tail and get the hell out of there. If only. Pairing: Supernatural x OC x Lucifer (Fox) Word Count: 1712 Warnings: None.

“What is it you desire?”

Alastair froze, wriggled around and then withered. He bit his lip, blood pouring down his chin. A minute passed. Another. And another. When five minutes passed, Luci huffed taking a handful of salt and jamming it into his lips. Try keeping it shut now dumbass.

"I-I..."

"Come on, you know you want to tell me. Come on I can keep a secret."

"I want to be king of hell."

Luci gave a delighted grin. King of hell? Impossible and they both knew it. But the soul - no matter how twisted - wanted what it wanted. Or was that the heart? She never could remember those stupid human sayings.

"Well how are you supposed to do that with the angels on your ass?" Luci lent forward. "How about we strike a deal? You tell me who's killing the angels and I can turn a blind eye. You can go off in pursuit of your dream."

He stared blankly even as his lips formed the mesmerised words, "It's not a demon. We have no idea who it is."

Luci snorted, turning to leave the room. Castiel stood watching her through the doorway. Sending a quiet thank you, toward the demon. She may like her own universes type of demon better but she understood that they were kin. Pushing past the trench coat wearing angel and into the other room she perched onto the edge of the table.

"Demons were not involved," Was all she said, pulling a handkerchief from her pocket and scraping the dried blood from her face and hands. "Can I go now?"

"No, you're wrong." Castiel rumbled, "You didn't even pick up a weapon, he lied to you."

"People cannot lie to me, not unless they were made by god for a reason." She concentrated on the blood, picking at the flakes. "Take Uriel, he would tell me the truth because he is just a messenger of god. Sam and Dean's parents were matched, they were forced into existence, as I see it. Made for gods purpose and so they could just as easily lie to you as to me."

"What are you?"

A silver blade slid from his coat. The twin to those Tarlen and Yaras had carried. For a brief moment she was back in that warehouse, staring down a pair of angels. Uriel wandered through the doorway, taking up a defensive position at the sight of the blade. Taking a step toward the harsher of the two angels she grinned. Angling herself so his blade touched the centre of her chest. An almost feral smirk curled the corners of her lips. Twisting her face.

"Who are you?" Castiel once again asked.

"Here, I am simply Luci the Huntress." She turned slightly, the blade chilling her skin. "In my own universe-"

"You're why Yaras and Tarlen never returned," Uriel pressed hard enough to slice through the thin fabric of her shirt.

"They went after me and mine," She hissed. "There is nothing I have if not family. So you angels need to leave us well enough alone. That now means the Winchesters."

The blade pressed harder. She was reminded of when times were simpler. When her father was only just becoming a consultant for the LAPD. When she first met Chloe Decker and Trixie. Long, long ago. And she realised that for the first time in millennia she regretted something. Setting down roots here had been her greatest pitfall. For she would have to chose, the Winchesters or the Deckstars - as they were called at the station.

But Luci was not just some creature for these angels to pen.  No, Luci was the creature. She was the flame of heaven and the light of hell. She was a light bringer and Morningstar. She was a Decker, a Winchester. She was Luci Samuel Morningstar and she had a heart with wings and horns. She was part devil, part angel, part demon, part god.

"I am a flame," She whispered to herself. "And I will not go out."

The angels stared, as they should. For she was all things good and evil. She was heaven and hell, a holy sin. She was the holy flame and there was no one like her, not in heaven or hell, not on earth, not in this universe or any other. Fire. Fire. Fire.

Angels were sculpted from marble in the silver city, demons forged in the bowels of hell, humans hewn from stone. She had done all of those. She had been created in heaven and burnt deep in hells pits, then despite all that she'd stood again and carved a new place for herself in the world. Flame of heaven, Light of hell and Huntress of earth.

"Do it," She whispered. "Kill me, here and now. I don't know where I'll go, but I'll be back because heaven could not tame me and hell could not contain me. Just know that when I come back it will not be to help. I did not come here to do a favour, I came to pay a debt and I did. Come for me or mine again and you will not find I am merciful."

"Yours?" Uriel snarled. "Last I checked it was Castiel who's hand print marked the eldest Winchester."

"Unto each soul thy claims, thee shall place a mark. Three lines of the holy language, one for love, one for repent, the last a warning unto thy enemies." Luci breathed. "Hic amor, Vellem, Non enim potest conteram illud. [I'm sorry for this love I wanted; For it can do not but destroy]."

The metal doors crashed open. Sam and Dean took in the scene, growing angrier by the second. The angels had the nerve to demand the eldest help, to take their adopted family member and then put her at blade point? Dean clenched his fist around Ruby's demon blade. The only thing separating him from the angels was Sam's arm as he held his brother back.

The room stayed silent, a quiet showdown as they stared each other down. The Winchesters glaring at the two soldiers of god, who returned the hard look. Though half-heartedly on Castiel's behalf. The huntress standing awkwardly between the two blades. The confidence drained from her as the boys continued to stare.

Easily. Luci could smite these two celestial disgraces easily. But with the boys here? She wasn't so sure they could hold their own against angels. Especially with a toothpick like Ruby's blade. And she didn't want the brothers anywhere near Uriel. Because if he'd done those terrible things in her universe then here-

"Holy hell," Luci breathed. "Uriel. Uriel, look at me! What do you desire more then anything in the world?"

"To raise our brother, Lucifer." The angel whispered, in a trance. He turned to Castle, still glossy eyed and continued, "You do remember him? How strong he was? How beautiful? And he didn't bow to humanity. He was punished for defending us. Now, if you want to believe in something, Cas, believe in him."

"You were behind the killings?" Cas lunged at the other angel. "Were you gonna kill the whole garrison?"

Uriel grinned, not a Morningstar smirk, not the type that could draw someone in. No, this smile was the type you ran from, the type you shielded your loved ones from. And that's exactly what Luci did. As the crazed celestial punched Castiel into the wall, Luci went for the Winchesters.

There were no two words in any universe that Luci hated more than; Too late. But those were the only two that she could think in that moment. The moment Uriel ripped a support beam from the roof and it came crumbling down. Luci launched herself and managed only to tackle Sam.

The pair gaped at each other for a moment before scrambling up and throwing rubble around. Looking, looking, looking for the eldest Winchester. Until- A hand. Sam grabbed it as Luci pushed the metal and stone from Dean's form. So quickly that none in the room realised that the Huntress was lifting things far too heavy for average humans.

"Go," Sam grunted to the girl as he hefted his brother over his shoulder. "Stop them from doing something worse."

Luci clambered over the collapsed ceiling. Pausing for a moment to gape at the angels grappling at each other. Uriel gained the upper hand, rolling his brother onto his back and slamming his fist into Castiel's face. Once. Twice. Thrice. His back turned to her. Luci approached until she could hear Uriel's harsh growls.

"There is no will-" Punch. "No wrath-" Punch. "No God."

Luci drew Nightbane. She clenched her fist around the hilt of the blade until her knuckles where white. The huntress drew her breath in slowly and held the blade against the angels back. Uriel rose up again, fist ready to hit the trench coat wearing angel below. Luci found herself with tears in the corners of her eyes as she too drew back. Azrael's blade slid through, Uriel's back for the second time at the hands of Luci Morningstar.

"I didn't see that coming," The man whispered as he fell to the ground, eyes ablaze. A sob tore from Luci's throat, the tears escaping as she fell to her knees beside him. Azrael's blade, still coated in blood clattered to the floor.

"I'm sorry."

Castiel stood behind her. The pair watched as two wings etched themselves into the warehouse floor. Luci wondered if they'd wash away with time or if this place was eternally marked with her deed. She wondered if it'd become easier with time, to kill even those who did wrong.

She looked at her hands, stained in blood. "What have I done?"

"You did many angels a great service today," Castiel assured weakly.

Luci looked up at him through glassy eyes. Standing she took Nightbane and stalked into  the room where Alastair still hung from the mangled metal frame. She watched over her shoulder as Castiel picked Uriel up and disappeared. Alastair looked at her curiously, gritting out a few questions and an endless flow of insults. Staring blankly at the demon Luci reached for the holy water, drenching him in it.

"Now you're going to tell me everything you know about Lucifer."

[sweetness47]

Friends and Confessions

Pairing Clint Barton (Hawkeye) x reader

A/N: this is for @maggyme13 and her #maggies500celebration

Prompt: “Not bad. But I prefer this.”

Warnings: fluff, flirting, language, smutty, 18+ only

Summary: Ever since you became a member of the Avengers, life has been great. You’ve made a ton of new friends, and, as luck would have it, discovered one of your best friends from your childhood is none other than Hawkeye. You hadn’t seen Clint since you graduated middle school and his parents moved away with an out of area job offer. Besties once again, you hang out with him quite a bit. But there’s another side to this, and that is the feelings you’ve had for Clint since you were 13, except you don’t know how to tell him that.

The first time you walked into the Avengers tower, you were attacked by with an overwhelming amount of hugs and chaste kisses from your best friend that you hadn’t seen since you were 13. Clint was swinging you around so much you swore you were gonna hurl. But you returned the affection just the same. Twenty years was a long time, and for as much as you both had grown up and changed, you still recognized one another. What amazed you even more, was the scrawny kid you once knew was no longer a toothpick, he was in fact the farthest thing from it. Muscled broad shoulders and arms, a well chiseled torso and a damn fine physique now stood before you.

“Geez Clint, you know steroids are illegal man.” You teased, motioning to his well defined form.

He chuckled. “I could say the same about you Y/N. You were definitely made for this life.”

“Yeah, and so were you dude. Still the best sharpshooter in the universe I see. When did you get drafted?”

He raised a brow. “That is a story for another time Y/N. First we need to get you settled in. Nat here,” he gestured to the red headed woman beside him, “will escort you to your quarters.”

As you walked away with Nat, you introduced ourselves. “Hi Y/N, I’m Natasha Romanov.”

You nodded, “Black Widow. I read the profile. I’m Y/N. I don’t really have a nickname yet. Can’t think of a good one.”  You shook hands and continued walking.

She smiled. “Well maybe we can think of one while you are settling in.”

You agreed.

All of that happened a year ago. Shouts and sounds of metal clashing bring me out of memory lane just in time to duck out of the way as a bus flies my way. I glance toward it’s projected landing spot and see innocent bystanders in direct path of the large object. Using my telekinetics, I divert the bus to a clear opening and it lands with a loud crash. Then I yell at the people to get to safety pronto! They wave a quick thanks and dash toward the nearest subway station.

Satisfied that they were safe now, I turn my attention to the cause of this ruckus. Some large weirdo is trying to destroy New York, cuz that’s totally never happened before. I roll my eyes at my own sarcasm, and study the monster’s movements, and his reactions to different forms of attack. He seems most affected by Thor’s lightning, and maybe slightly bothered by Iron Man’s blasts. Clint’s also been watching, because he’s using electrical arrows to slow the thing down. Running over to where Thor is standing, I explain an idea to him, saying that if we combine our power, it may be enough to fry the creature.

He nods, and summons his power, the crackling vibrating throughout the entire street section, and I place a hand on his shoulder. Willing from deep inside, I bring forth my own electrical currents, and send them into Thor’s body, increasing his own strength twenty times his own. Then the rest of the team watch in amazement as both of us send the surge at the beast, burning a large gaping hole through it’s chest. With a strangled cry it falls, crumpling to the ground like a decimated building. From all around, cheers of joy erupt as the city is safe once again.

Back at headquarters after helping with clean-up, I’m rummaging through my closet for something to wear for girls’ night. This has become a regular thing for myself, Nat and Wanda. But as I search for that one perfect outfit, Clint knocks on the door and comes in after I acknowledge him. He plops himself down on the edge of my bed and watches as I frantically look through stuff, chuckling at my look of panic.

“What’s so funny Clint?” I ask, amused at his audacity, but also slightly annoyed.

“You. Looking through five thousand different outfits, all of which look absolutely smashing on you, and you ‘can’t find anything to wear’ for tonight.”

I shot him a look. “Oh ha ha ha. Well Mr. Fashion, if your so smart, why don’t you pick an outfit for me to wear tonight? Hmmm?”

He laughs as he stands up, accepting the challenge I have just laid out for him. I stand back and Clint begins looking at my choices. Within a few minutes he comes up with six different dresses to try. I take them and go into the washroom to begin the fashion show. The first and second ones don’t get much reaction, but the third is one I haven’t worn in a while. It’s a white, thigh length cocktail dress with gold sequins adorning the top. And it is perfect, not to flashy, but not too plain either. I walk out of the washroom for inspection and a low appreciative whistle escapes Clint’s lips, causing me to blush furiously.

“Damn.” He comments, his eyes raking over my form like a hungry jaguar eyeing dinner. Then he clears his throat, trying to remain nonchalant. “Well, I mean it’s nice.” I roll my eyes. He tries again, and that’s when I notice he’s trying to hide something from me behind his back. “It’s not bad. But I prefer this.” Clint holds up one of my pairs of lace thongs.

Turning a deep shade of crimson, I snatch the garment from his hands as he peals out in a deep husky laughter. He grabs my waist to tickle me, and I playfully slap him with the small article of clothing. That’s when he stops and kisses me. My whole body reacts, as if it’s on fire, and I wrap my arms around his neck, silently pleading for more. His hands move to my dress, undoing the clasp and moving it off my shoulders, freeing my breasts. His hot mouth captures a nipple and sucks on it, his teeth teasing it, causing a moan to escape my lips.

That is his undoing and mine as well, as both of us frantically seek to remove each other’s clothing. This need has been brewing for some time, pent up frustrations, deep forgotten love, and lust all mixed into one moment. Clothing dispensed with, he lowers me to the bed, capturing my mouth with his own, our tongues mating as he pushes my legs apart and thrusts inside my hot wetness. I cry out as I instantly orgasm, coating his hard member with my slick. He moves fast, spurred on by my reactions, and a mutual need to finally confess our feelings for one another.

Words don’t enter the picture. The room echoes with skin slapping, moans, kisses and muffled cries. This is our confession, all the feelings we had but never made mention of when we were kids. My skin is burning where his lips trace down my neck and shoulders, his tongue lapping at my nipples. He pulls away briefly, flipping me over and pulling me to my hands and knees before slamming back into home plate. His movements have become almost primal, hard, filling my cervix all the way as he grips my hips for more leverage. My body convulses as another shockwave soars through me, and I can only grip the sheets, arching my back as I cry out. Suddenly Clint is slowing, and he screams my name as he finds release, loads of hot cum filling me. Exhausted, we both collapse on the bed and his arms pull me to him, my head resting on his shoulder, arm draped across his broad chest.

“I love you Y/N. I can’t believe it took me so long to say that, but…” I reach up and press my lips to his.

“Clint Barton, you have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear those words.” I smile at him, watching those blue eyes of his for any sign of regret, but I find none. “Marry me Clint.”

He doesn’t respond with words, but instead rolls me back under him, his hard cock once again ready to take the plunge, giving me the answer I wanted to hear.

@legion1993 @maggyme13

[dragonsrose18]

The Christmas Coral: Marley’s Ghost

“Humbug!” said Scrooge; and walked across the room.  After several turns, he sat down again. As he threw his head back in the chair, his glance happened to rest upon a bell, a disused bell, that hung in the room, and communicated for some purpose now forgotten with a chamber in the highest story of the building. It was with great astonishment, and with a strange, inexplicable dread, that as he looked, he saw this bell begin to swing. It swung so softly in the outset that it scarcely made a sound; but soon it rang out loudly, and so did every bell in the house.  This might have lasted half a minute, or a minute, but it seemed an hour. The bells ceased as they had begun, together. They were succeeded by a clanking noise, deep down below; as if some person were dragging a heavy chain over the casks in the wine-merchant’s cellar. Scrooge then remembered to have heard that ghosts in haunted houses were described as dragging chains.  The cellar-door flew open with a booming sound, and then he heard the noise much louder, on the floors below; then coming up the stairs; then coming straight towards his door.  “It���s humbug still!” said Scrooge. “I won’t believe it.”  His colour changed though, when, without a pause, it came on through the heavy door, and passed into the room before his eyes. Upon its coming in, the dying flame leaped up, as though it cried, “I know him; Marley’s Ghost!” and fell again. The same face: the very same. Marley in his pigtail, usual waistcoat, tights and boots; the tassels on the latter bristling, like his pigtail, and his coat-skirts, and the hair upon his head. The chain he drew was clasped about his middle. It was long, and wound about him like a tail; and it was made (for Scrooge observed it closely) of cashboxes, keys, padlocks, ledgers, deeds, and heavy purses wrought in steel. His body was transparent; so that Scrooge, observing him, and looking through his waistcoat, could see the two buttons on his coat behind. Scrooge had often heard it said that Marley had no bowels, but he had never believed it until now.  No, nor did he believe it even now. Though he looked the phantom through and through, and saw it standing before him; though he felt the chilling influence of its death-cold eyes; and marked the very texture of the folded kerchief bound about its head and chin, which wrapper he had not observed before; he was still incredulous, and fought against his senses.  “How now!” said Scrooge, caustic and cold as ever. “What do you want with me?”  “Much!”—Marley’s voice, no doubt about it.  “Who are you?”  “Ask me who I was.”  “Who were you then?” said Scrooge, raising his voice. “You’re particular, for a shade.” He was going to say “to a shade,” but substituted this, as more appropriate.  “In life I was your partner, Jacob Marley.”  “Can you—can you sit down?” asked Scrooge, looking doubtfully at him.  “I can.”  “Do it, then.”  Scrooge asked the question, because he didn’t know whether a ghost so transparent might find himself in a condition to take a chair; and felt that in the event of its being impossible, it might involve the necessity of an embarrassing explanation. But the ghost sat down on the opposite side of the fireplace, as if he were quite used to it.  “You don’t believe in me,” observed the Ghost.  “I don’t,” said Scrooge.  “What evidence would you have of my reality beyond that of your senses?”  “I don’t know,” said Scrooge.  “Why do you doubt your senses?”  “Because,” said Scrooge, “a little thing affects them. A slight disorder of the stomach makes them cheats. You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato. There’s more of gravy than of grave about you, whatever you are!”  Scrooge was not much in the habit of cracking jokes, nor did he feel, in his heart, by any means waggish then. The truth is, that he tried to be smart, as a means of distracting his own attention, and keeping down his terror; for the spectre’s voice disturbed the very marrow in his bones.  To sit, staring at those fixed glazed eyes, in silence for a moment, would play, Scrooge felt, the very deuce with him. There was something very awful, too, in the spectre’s being provided with an infernal atmosphere of its own. Scrooge could not feel it himself, but this was clearly the case; for though the Ghost sat perfectly motionless, its hair, and skirts, and tassels, were still agitated as by the hot vapour from an oven.  “You see this toothpick?” said Scrooge, returning quickly to the charge, for the reason just assigned; and wishing, though it were only for a second, to divert the vision’s stony gaze from himself.  “I do,” replied the Ghost.  “You are not looking at it,” said Scrooge.  “But I see it,” said the Ghost, “notwithstanding.”  “Well!” returned Scrooge, “I have but to swallow this, and be for the rest of my days persecuted by a legion of goblins, all of my own creation. Humbug, I tell you! humbug!”  At this the spirit raised a frightful cry, and shook its chain with such a dismal and appalling noise, that Scrooge held on tight to his chair, to save himself from falling in a swoon. But how much greater was his horror, when the phantom taking off the bandage round its head, as if it were too warm to wear in-doors, its lower jaw dropped down upon its breast!  Scrooge fell upon his knees, and clasped his hands before his face.  “Mercy!” he said. “Dreadful apparition, why do you trouble me?”  “Man of the worldly mind!” replied the Ghost, “do you believe in me or not?”  “I do,” said Scrooge. “I must. But why do spirits walk the earth, and why do they come to me?”  “It is required of every man,” the Ghost returned, “that the spirit within him should walk abroad among his fellowmen, and travel far and wide; and if that spirit goes not forth in life, it is condemned to do so after death. It is doomed to wander through the world—oh, woe is me!—and witness what it cannot share, but might have shared on earth, and turned to happiness!”  Again the spectre raised a cry, and shook its chain and wrung its shadowy hands.  “You are fettered,” said Scrooge, trembling. “Tell me why?”  “I wear the chain I forged in life,” replied the Ghost. “I made it link by link, and yard by yard; I girded it on of my own free will, and of my own free will I wore it. Is its pattern strange to you?”  Scrooge trembled more and more.  “Or would you know,” pursued the Ghost, “the weight and length of the strong coil you bear yourself? It was full as heavy and as long as this, seven Christmas Eves ago. You have laboured on it, since. It is a ponderous chain!”  Scrooge glanced about him on the floor, in the expectation of finding himself surrounded by some fifty or sixty fathoms of iron cable: but he could see nothing.  “Jacob,” he said, imploringly. “Old Jacob Marley, tell me more. Speak comfort to me, Jacob!”  “I have none to give,” the Ghost replied. “It comes from other regions, Ebenezer Scrooge, and is conveyed by other ministers, to other kinds of men. Nor can I tell you what I would. A very little more is all permitted to me. I cannot rest, I cannot stay, I cannot linger anywhere. My spirit never walked beyond our counting-house—mark me!—in life my spirit never roved beyond the narrow limits of our money-changing hole; and weary journeys lie before me!”  It was a habit with Scrooge, whenever he became thoughtful, to put his hands in his breeches pockets. Pondering on what the Ghost had said, he did so now, but without lifting up his eyes, or getting off his knees.  “You must have been very slow about it, Jacob,” Scrooge observed, in a business-like manner, though with humility and deference.  “Slow!” the Ghost repeated.  “Seven years dead,” mused Scrooge. “And travelling all the time!”  “The whole time,” said the Ghost. “No rest, no peace. Incessant torture of remorse.”  “You travel fast?” said Scrooge.  “On the wings of the wind,” replied the Ghost.  “You might have got over a great quantity of ground in seven years,” said Scrooge.  The Ghost, on hearing this, set up another cry, and clanked its chain so hideously in the dead silence of the night, that the Ward would have been justified in indicting it for a nuisance.  “Oh! captive, bound, and double-ironed,” cried the phantom, “not to know, that ages of incessant labour by immortal creatures, for this earth must pass into eternity before the good of which it is susceptible is all developed. Not to know that any Christian spirit working kindly in its little sphere, whatever it may be, will find its mortal life too short for its vast means of usefulness. Not to know that no space of regret can make amends for one life’s opportunity misused! Yet such was I! Oh! such was I!”  “But you were always a good man of business, Jacob,” faltered Scrooge, who now began to apply this to himself.  “Business!” cried the Ghost, wringing its hands again. “Mankind was my business. The common welfare was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence, were, all, my business. The dealings of my trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business!”  It held up its chain at arm’s length, as if that were the cause of all its unavailing grief, and flung it heavily upon the ground again.  “At this time of the rolling year,” the spectre said, “I suffer most. Why did I walk through crowds of fellow-beings with my eyes turned down, and never raise them to that blessed Star which led the Wise Men to a poor abode! Were there no poor homes to which its light would have conducted me!”  Scrooge was very much dismayed to hear the spectre going on at this rate, and began to quake exceedingly.  “Hear me!” cried the Ghost. “My time is nearly gone.”  “I will,” said Scrooge. “But don’t be hard upon me! Don’t be flowery, Jacob! Pray!”  “How it is that I appear before you in a shape that you can see, I may not tell. I have sat invisible beside you many and many a day.”  It was not an agreeable idea. Scrooge shivered, and wiped the perspiration from his brow.  “That is no light part of my penance,” pursued the Ghost. “I am here to-night to warn you, that you have yet a chance and hope of escaping my fate. A chance and hope of my procuring, Ebenezer.”  “You were always a good friend to me,” said Scrooge. “Thank’ee!”  “You will be haunted,” resumed the Ghost, “by Three Spirits.”  Scrooge’s countenance fell almost as low as the Ghost’s had done.  “Is that the chance and hope you mentioned, Jacob?” he demanded, in a faltering voice.  “It is.”  “I—I think I’d rather not,” said Scrooge.  “Without their visits,” said the Ghost, “you cannot hope to shun the path I tread. Expect the first to-morrow, when the bell tolls One.”  “Couldn’t I take ’em all at once, and have it over, Jacob?” hinted Scrooge.  “Expect the second on the next night at the same hour. The third upon the next night when the last stroke of Twelve has ceased to vibrate. Look to see me no more; and look that, for your own sake, you remember what has passed between us!”  When it had said these words, the spectre took its wrapper from the table, and bound it round its head, as before. Scrooge knew this, by the smart sound its teeth made, when the jaws were brought together by the bandage. He ventured to raise his eyes again, and found his supernatural visitor confronting him in an erect attitude, with its chain wound over and about its arm.  The apparition walked backward from him; and at every step it took, the window raised itself a little, so that when the spectre reached it, it was wide open.  It beckoned Scrooge to approach, which he did. When they were within two paces of each other, Marley’s Ghost held up its hand, warning him to come no nearer. Scrooge stopped.  Not so much in obedience, as in surprise and fear: for on the raising of the hand, he became sensible of confused noises in the air; incoherent sounds of lamentation and regret; wailings inexpressibly sorrowful and self-accusatory. The spectre, after listening for a moment, joined in the mournful dirge; and floated out upon the bleak, dark night. Scrooge followed to the window: desperate in his curiosity. He looked out.  The air was filled with phantoms, wandering hither and thither in restless haste, and moaning as they went. Every one of them wore chains like Marley’s Ghost; some few (they might be guilty governments) were linked together; none were free. Many had been personally known to Scrooge in their lives. He had been quite familiar with one old ghost, in a white waistcoat, with a monstrous iron safe attached to its ankle, who cried piteously at being unable to assist a wretched woman with an infant, whom it saw below, upon a doorstep. The misery with them all was, clearly, that they sought to interfere, for good, in human matters, and had lost the power for ever. Whether these creatures faded into mist, or mist enshrouded them, he could not tell. But they and their spirit voices faded together; and the night became as it had been when he walked home.  Scrooge closed the window, and examined the door by which the Ghost had entered. It was double-locked, as he had locked it with his own hands, and the bolts were undisturbed. He tried to say “Humbug!” but stopped at the first syllable.

________________________________________________________________

This is my favorite Christmas story, and how Charles Dickens writing is excellently crafted. He is one of the most amazing writers in history. 

[ecotone99]

[HR] Demons

Spring of 1867

“What’s this doing way out here?” Matt asked his brother, Tom.

“I Dunno,” Tom replied. The two young boys gazed down at the mangled body of a lamb, its chest rising and falling rapidly.

“We should show dad,” Matt suggested.

“Nah, they can’t do anything for it. We should just put it out of its misery,” he paused. “But there’s something I want to try first.”

Matt was slightly disturbed by this, but he didn’t say anything.

“Relax, I’m not going to hurt it. I just want to… decorate it a bit,” Tom said, noticing his brother’s uneasiness.

Matt looked down at the poor animal and sighed. Tom could be a little insensitive at times, but Matt trusted him. Tom had an okay understanding of what is right and wrong, he just didn’t react as much as most people, so he came off as being cold-hearted.

Tom smiled, recognizing his triumph. He pulled out a sack he had brought from home and carefully scooped the lamb into it. Originally, the boys had come out to collect firewood in the forest next to their house, but their plans changed when they came upon the lamb. Finding the lamb was particularly unusual because, while the boys did live on a farm with livestock, all their sheep were mature and no one lived nearby enough for a lamb to have wandered off.

After a while of walking, Matt succumbed to his curiosity. “What did you mean by ‘decorated?’” he asked. He could tell Tom wanted to keep it a surprise, but he also knew his brother could not keep a secret, even if it was his own.

“I’ll tell you, but if you tell anyone else I will make your life miserable,” Tom said.

“Understood,” Matt replied. He knew his brother wouldn’t really do anything malicious or retaliatory, but he played along. He was used to this kind of empty verbal abuse.

“Alright, I found this book last time we went into town, and it had some instructions for some freaky cult stuff. I knew neither of our parents would have let me get it, so I stuffed it under my shirt and hoped for the best. A few of the offering or… whatever they are called for ‘the sacrifice of an innocent,’ so I figured this lamb would work. Most of the pages are incomprehensible chicken-scratch, but I found a few pages that were translated.

“So you’re telling me you are a convert to a cult you know next-to-nothing about and you intend to perform a ritualistic sacrifice in honor of said cult’s God or Gods whom you also know next to nothing about?” Matt asked, sincerely concerned.

“Not quite. The reason I’m so interested is because the notes said the rituals have results— like flashing lights and strange noises, so I’ve been meaning to test it myself, but I haven’t had anything to use without being cruel. Then, exactly what I need conveniently appears before me; how could I not use it?

Matt gave him a look of fearful apprehension. “Do you think it will work?” He asked gravely. Tom did not respond.

The boys made it back to the house with the firewood and the lamb with ample time to test the book before lunch. Careful to avoid being noticed, the boys dumped the firewood next to the stump they and their father chopped wood on, walked up to the porch, and entered the house. Matt and Tom lived in a mostly white two-story house with a porch and portico across the front and gable roof with wood shingles. The land behind the house stretched out into farmland and the rest was either woods or meadow.

The brothers walked up to their room on the second story, anxious to see what would happen. Matt was still skeptical about Tom’s little experiment, but he wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to see something unexplainable. They walked in. The room contained two simple beds, a window, two nightstands, and a dresser they both shared with a collection of books and supplies messily laid on top of it. Tom pulled the book out from under his bed and flipped through it, searching for a translated page that fit their criteria. When he found one, he carefully tore it out and laid it on the floor.

The paper described a complex series of symbols that needed to be drawn out on the floor. Tom grabbed a bottle of ink and they got to work, using rolled up pieces of paper to draw so they could make thicker lines than pens. The next step required them to place the lamb amidst the symbols. As soon as they did this, the ink burst into flames that vanished as quickly as they came. The symbols were now permanently scorched into the floor. They both jumped back as this happened, startled.

“We know it works. We should stop now,” Matt said fearfully.

“We can’t stop now, we’ve already burnt a hole in the floor. There’s no turning back now.”

“I beg to differ,” Matt said, sterner this time. “If you paid attention at church you would know that fire represents Hell. We should definitely turn back now. I think we’d get in a lot less trouble if we just explained what happened up to this point, rather than accidentally worshipping Satan!”

“I’m sorry Matt, but I’m not stopping now. Having already read the final step, he acted upon it. He pulled out his pocket knife, flicked it open, and plunged it into the lamb’s chest, piercing its heart.

Hot wind swirled around the room and the flesh of the lamb began to peel away until only a skeleton remained. The area of the floor within the assortment of symbols began to char and crumble away leaving only an abyss. The abyss. To the horror of the two brothers, a long, bony, hand emerged from the abyss. It gripped onto the floorboards, causing them to splinter but not break. Having no better place to go, the boys slid under their respective beds.

The abomination which the hand belonged to pulled itself out of the hole, revealing its head and body. It looked as though it had been starved, but it was taller than any person and far more menacing. It still resembled a human, although it clearly lacked the psychological complexity. Its face was covered with wispy gray splotches as if it had smoke trapped under its skin. The creature also had two shallow dents where its eyes would have otherwise been. It had a gaping mouth lined with dozens of teeth that were as thin as toothpicks and sharp as nails. Its veins, as well as many of its bones such as the ribs and pelvis, were visible through its skin. It used its giant hands to smash through the walls like paper mache and climbed down to ground level. As it began to walk away, Tom climbed out from under the bed.

“What are you doing? What if it notices you? “ Matt hissed.

“It’ll notice us if we stay so close to its portal. Or, if this one doesn’t, the next one will.”

Tom had a good point. The portal was unpredictable and could do anything at any moment, so they needed to get away as fast as possible. Matt followed his brother out of the room, down the stairs, and to the door. Tom cracked open the door and peered out, making sure the creature wasn’t waiting for them. The boys crept over to some nearby bushes for a place to hide. As they did this, a scream pierced the air. The boys’ heads whipped around just in time to see their mother skewered by the creature’s long and grotesque fingers.

“No!” Matt screamed. The creature turned its head to face them but, as it did, their father plunged a pitchfork into its chest. For a brief moment, the boys had hope that the creature could be seriously injured, but that hope was crushed quicker than it came. It showed no reaction to having just been stabbed in the chest. Instead, it picked their father up by his throat and threw him through the wall of the house. Then, it raised its arm and began to emit what could only be described as pure dark energy. The brothers watched in horror as their entire house, with their father inside, was reduced to mere splinters in a powerful explosive blast.

By this point, the boys began to run. Matt started to sob as the truth hit him. They had nothing left except each other.

“What are we going to do?” Matt wailed. “We have nowhere to go and no one to take care of us.”

“We’re gonna be okay,” Tom lied. He didn’t want to see Matt cry, but there wasn’t anything more helpful to say. They could only run.

After more than a half-hour of running, they came upon a fallen tree that, along with the dirt, formed a small cave. They both stopped here and, without a word between them, laid down to rest.

After about fifteen minutes, the boys got up.

“We’re going to need some firewood for later tonight. I’ll go get some,” Matt said. “I brought my pocket knife. That has flint and steel for a fire.”

“We killed them you know,” Matt said as Tom started to leave.

“Don’t talk like that. We didn’t do shit. It was me who kept pushing it when you told me to stop. It was me who had the damn idea in the first place. Why are you blaming yourself, too? Why don’t you hate me?”

Matt didn’t know how to reply.

“I’ll be back,” Tom said as he left to retrieve the firewood.

About ten minutes later, Tom returned to find Matt lying on the ground in a pool of blood, a stick thrust into his abdomen. He was wincing in pain and breathing heavily. Tom rushed over.

“No, no, no! What happened?” He took a second to think about the situation. “You’ll be okay. Just don’t remove the stick and you’ll be okay. We can get you into town.” He started to remove his shirt to use as a bandage, but Matt stopped him.

This wasn’t an accident, Tom. I did this. I thought about it a lot. Our lives are terrible and they will continue to be terrible until the end.”

Tom’s expression immediately changed. “You selfish asshole! Did you think about me?! I can’t live alone! You were worried about killing someone? Now you’ve gone and done it!” He screamed. Tom pulled out his pocket knife and pushed it into his wrist, letting the blood drip onto his lap.

“No. You don’t have to do that. Stop,” Matt croaked.

“Like hell, I don’t.”

Matt leaned against Tom's shoulder and the two brothers died together.

About one month later

Roselake Weekly News

On April 30th, 1867, the bodies of two children were found three miles from the small, neighboring town of Whitewood. The children have been confirmed to be the boys of Andy and Margaret Johnson. Both are suspected to have committed suicide, likely after the events one month before they were found when they are thought to have brutally attacked and killed their mother and father. This conviction was given by the grandparents of the boys who “have always known demons reside in those children.” The couple discovered the crime when they came to visit for Easter, only to find their daughter had been stabbed with a pitchfork and their son-in-law burnt to a crisp under the remnants of what used to be the Johnson’s home., which had been set aflame while he was inside. Margaret’s mother went on to say that “only those Godforsaken devil-children would do such a thing” and “[The children] have always been horrible, I am hardly surprised.” Further evidence was found at the scene of the crime by the sheriff, who claimed the father was clutching a note bearing the words “Forgive my boys. They don’t understand.” This note was reinforced by the fact that the family has a history of serious and obscure mental disorders.

For three weeks, many citizens of Whitewood searched for the boys to no avail, but just recently a group of hikers stumbled upon the bodies of the two brothers and reported them to the sheriff. After hearing the grim story of the Johnson family, the hikers brought it here to Roselake, where slightly twisted versions began to spread as myths and legends. The event became a popular campfire horror story and was spread throughout multiple towns.

submitted by /u/Sagacious_Potato [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2KSpvkf

[chainsxwsmile]

What if, instead of meeting Gollum in the caves, Bilbo meets a certain Troll? (Not much is changed in canon, but this is my first fanfiction!)

---

He had landed on something soft; at least Bilbo had enough self-awareness to be grateful for that. The ample colony of sizable mushrooms softened his fall down the cavern yet the same couldn’t be said for his goblin assailant. Despite Bilbo’s own knuckles skinned raw, his hip throbbing from the fall, and all sorts of grime gathered upon his clothes, his injuries couldn’t hold a candle to the unfortunate goblin who had taken a tumble alongside the hobbit. The creature wheezed, with barely enough strength to move its head about the darkened crevice surrounding them both. Bilbo had half a mind to pity the creature, even if he had only felt its rotten teeth sink into his neck just a few moments before their fall. The edges of Bilbo’s vision still blurred, and he squinted against the lowlight— and jumped as a pair of uncannily massive eyes met his own. A skulking being, vertebrate protruding from its arched back as it stalked forward on all fours, slunk into the dim light. Instinctively, Bilbo stilled within the cover of the mushrooms, and he held his breath as the creature’s raspy voice echoed across the chasm.

  “Yesss. Yes! Yes,” the creature grinned terribly, before something between a cough and choke rose from its throat. “Gollum. Gollum!” it hissed, and its spindly hands snatched the ankles of the dazed goblin. The sudden movement launched Bilbo’s former assailant into a frenzy and the goblin thrashed about, shrieking and clawing. The gangly creature returned the blows, stone in hand, strategically smashing in the goblin’s skull; the goblin went limp and the shrieks died in its throat. “Nasty goblinses are better than old bones, precious,” the spindly creature mused aloud, grunting as it dragged its prize behind it. “Better than nothing.”

Only when the horrid creature and its prey slipped from his sight did Bilbo finally remember to breathe. It came out in a shudder, and the hobbit scrambled to his feet; and quite grateful beyond doubt that his sword—still glowing a dazzling blue— buried itself beneath a mushroom cap, hidden from the terrible creature. As Bilbo’s hand steadied the weight of the sword, a metallic flash on the cavern floor caught his eye. He bent down and retrieved in his hand a ring. Golden and simple, yet starkly elegant against the cavern walls. A screeching wail far off in the distance snapped Bilbo from his thoughts, and he trekked forward, pocketing the ring and keeping his glowing sword low. “Aah, too many boneses, precious! Not enough flesh,” the gangly creature cried, and then in a harsher voice; “Shut up! Cut its skin off! Start with its head.” Against his own instincts, Bilbo slunk past the piles of bones that haphazardly littered the cavern floor, his eyes fastened to the creature perched atop a sharp rock protruding out from the cavern lake. “The cold hard lands, they bites our hands, they gnaws our feet, for rocks and stones are like old bones all bare of meat, cold as death, without no breath it’s good to eat.” In every beat of the song, the creature’s hands—armed with a sharp rock— descended upon the goblin’s head. Bilbo winced visibly at every strike and each sickening sound the blows produced. At last, the rock smashed the goblin’s skull once more that Bilbo’s sword flickered like candlelight before being snuffed out, dead.

Suddenly a booming voice growled from beyond the rock, and Bilbo watched silently as the horrid gangly creature scattered from his sight, frightened off by the owner of the voice. From the shadow beyond the lake drew a hulking figure; so large Bilbo wondered how it had managed to get into the caverns in the first place. Nearly five meters tall, the being towered over the fallen, dead goblin, sniffing it shortly before giving what Bilbo presumed was a disgusted growl. Then two glowing, beady blue eyes met Bilbo’s and the hobbit saw the beast’s posture straighten in mild surprise. 

It had seen him. 

The hobbit scrambled back from the water, back against the rock, and lay still as he could, hoping that the beast would either lose interest or leave. Yet not even a moment went by that Bilbo felt any icy droplet of water on his curled locks. And then another. And as his eyes glanced upward— and upward and upward more— Bilbo felt his heart stop. The beast had silently crossed the lake and stood over the poor frightened hobbit, who gaped helplessly at the enormous foe. The beast quickly lumbered down from the rock formation, hastily putting itself between Bilbo and any means of escape; the behemoth’s movement so eerily silent, Bilbo couldn’t help but start to shake. But that wasn’t even the worst part; as the beast faced the hobbit, a terribly wide grin stretched across its scarred lips. If there was any breath left in Bilbo, the sight of the toothy smile snatched it from him. Canines the size of the little hobbit’s legs flashed a deadly white alongside each pointed, razor-sharp tooth. Heavy brows lidded the beast’s beady eyes in what Bilbo could only assume to be a ghastly intrigued expression. Like a cat licking its maw and readying itself to play with a poor mouse until it was beaten dead. The thought only escalated Bilbo’s shaking, and he was quite surprised he hadn’t dropped his sword yet. This close, Bilbo could see with what he was dealing: the beast was a troll. Not a stone troll; a slate-blue color graced the creature’s rough skin, and a black mane ran down its thick, muscular neck. Its broad nose was shaped like that of a great cat’s and it idled naturally on all fours. Then it spoke, in a deep, rumbling voice that sent a shiver down Bilbo’s spine. 

“Hello,” it— he— bellowed. For a moment, Bilbo could only reply with a squeak— as that was all he could get out of his throat, at first. “Y-Yes, hello,” he replied politely, backing against the solid rock and holding his sword out precariously before him. Much luck that sword would do; it looked like a toothpick to the troll! The beast neared closer again, placing his enormous face— and toothy maw— within touching distance. The troll’s nostril’s flared and a sharp exhale billowed Bilbo’s hair and elicited a rather pitiful whimper from the hobbit. Yes, this troll was much bigger than the stone trolls; and Thorin’s company was very likely on the other side of the mountain for all Bilbo knew. Oh, what terrible luck! “Never seen a tasty li’l bite like you b’fore,” the troll mused. A gargantuan hand rose up to prod at the hobbit, and Bilbo quickly reacted, swinging the sword at the giant hand’s threat. “Stay back! Stay back!” the hobbit warned sternly, though his knees shook, and the sword trembled in his hands. The troll blinked, and for a moment Bilbo wondered if the beast would decide to smash him with a fist and be done with it. Instead, a hearty — albeit blood-chilling— laugh rolled out of the troll’s cavernous throat and his terrible teeth flashed evermore brightly. “Easy there, li’l morsel,” the troll reassured Bilbo; or at least, Bilbo wondered if that was even meant as a reassurance. “Just wonderin’ what you are, is all. I don’t get much company these days.” Bilbo blinked, and then swallowed hard, his throat dry with anxiety. “My name is Bilbo Baggins,” he answered, suddenly feeling rather claustrophobic despite the enormity of cavern around them both. Suddenly the clawed hand shot forward again— and Bilbo braced himself to take its blow— until it stopped short before him, extended out in greeting. “Name’s Bruce,” the troll grinned toothily. Bilbo was fairly certain he’d have better luck fitting his whole body in the troll’s palm than successfully shaking the troll’s hand. Let alone wrapping one of his hands around the troll’s single finger. The troll— Bruce— caught onto Bilbo’s hesitation and, after a beat, retrieved his hand. “So, Bilbo,” Bruce continued, still towering over the poor hobbit. “Where’re ye from?” “I-I’m a hobbit. From the Shire.” Bilbo answered quickly, wondering when and if the troll would back away, and allow Bilbo a chance to escape. Or even just a chance to breathe. “A hobbit, eh?” The troll’s smile grew— if that were possible. “Well, I’ve never had a hobbit b’fore,” Bruce chuckled before adding, almost as an afterthought. “Well, never as company, that’s for sure.” With each morbid joke at his expense, Bilbo’s paralyzing fear metamorphosed to panicked irritability; his brows lowered and narrowed his eyes, and his mouth drew to a thin line. “Okay, look— I just want to get out of here, so if you could quit playing your games, I’ll gladly be on my way!” Bilbo pleaded. Well, if he knew how to get out of there. The various tunnels wound about the mountain in a cavernous labyrinth. “Games, eh?” The troll let out a noise which Bilbo couldn’t quite discern; it was either a low, lulling growl or a thoughtful hum. “Well, my li’l tidbit, why don’t we ‘ave ourselves a li’l wager, eh?” Bruce arched a brow. “A li’l guessin’ game, if ye will.” Bilbo furrowed his brows, tentatively. “What, like... riddles?” he asked. “Yeah! Just like that. Ye wanna get out so badly, why not make it fun.” Well, perhaps fun for you, Bilbo grumbled in his mind but considered the offer, silently. He hadn’t any clue this troll would keep his word. But if Bilbo didn’t play along... what stopped Bruce from killing him then and there? The hobbit cleared his throat. “Very well; if I win, you show me the way out of here.” “Ah, that’s the spirit, li’l bite,” Bruce grinned broadly before inching closer, ignoring the sword pointed at his face. “And what if I win, eh?” A short breath slipped out from Bilbo at the thought of such a grisly end; he wondered how this troll fancied to kill him. Perhaps like the stone trolls— maybe the giant brute would cook him alive, or sit on him and crush him, or tear the hobbit limb from limb. Bilbo shuddered before finding his words. “If you win, you can... have your way with me.” Perhaps Bilbo just needed to spare himself the details for now. “It’s a deal, then,” the massive troll replied before backing away; and for the first time in what seemed like hours, Bilbo finally grappled to catch a breath without the beast hovering over him. As Bruce backed off, Bilbo could take in the entirety of the troll without having to move his head about wildly. In the lowlight, Bilbo could vaguely catch traces of a dappled pattern along the troll’s back, shoulders, and arms that appeared like blots and splatters of ink. His toes were shaped more like plantigrade hooves than normal feet. His skin was bare, save for a weathered leather armored skirt that fell to his knees. “You go first, li’l morsel,” Bruce ordered, turning to face Bilbo before the troll reclined onto the cavern floor like a great big cat. Remembering his manners, Bilbo, in turn, sheathed his sword. The hobbit paused a moment in thought before beginning: “Thirty white horses on a red hill. First, they champ, then they stamp, then they stand still.” Bilbo watched as the troll’s face took on a mildly puzzled expression, and Bruce’s beady blue eyes flit across the cavern floors as if the answer lay spelled out the piles of bones. Yet, not a second later, the troll’s face lit up and Bruce grinned toothily. “Teeth?” he asked, and Bilbo felt his own posture deflate. Bruce, however, took it rather victoriously, letting out another deafening laugh. “Hah! Good one, li’l hobbit! Guess it’s my turn, then?” Bruce cleared his throat. “My body is a tree and my teeth are from the ground. I’m carried by the millions, and I lunge to strike you down.” Bilbo wet his lips and nodded, trying to ignore the troll’s constant, predatory gaze upon him. Body is a tree; that means it’s made of wood. Lunging to strike. Not a snake. Teeth from the ground. Not a sword. “A spear!” Bilbo guessed. The troll scoffed, though the smile betrayed him. “What, am I makin’ this too easy for ye?” Bilbo blinked, mouth opened but couldn’t quite find the right, careful words to reply. So, he continued onto the next riddle: “A…a box without hinges, key or…or lid, yet golden treasure inside is hid.” The troll’s smile faltered before a thoughtful expression—one Bilbo hadn’t imagined befalling the face of a troll—crept onto Bruce’s face. Bilbo leapt back as the troll rose from the ground; yet this time, Bruce did so slowly and nonchalantly—so much that Bilbo had half a mind to wonder if this was a trap. That the troll feigned disinterest in the hobbit and more attention to the riddles, only to turn around a snatch him up. Yet as Bilbo watched, the troll’s lips moved silently, as if reciting back the words of the riddle. The hobbit breathed shakily, impatiently. “Well?” “Didn’t think there was a time limit,” the troll retorted, arching a brow, and Bilbo drew back silently… until the troll’s eyes lit up suddenly again. “Eggs?” The hobbit sighed audibly, disheartened, and wondered how much time he’d been wasting trying to keep this beast entertained; Thorin and others were probably on the other side of the mountains by now, and presumably didn’t even notice his absence. The troll didn’t laugh this time at his win, which caused Bilbo to glance up, worriedly. Bruce lumbered back towards him, and the hobbit’s hand subconsciously reached for his sword. “My turn, li’l bite,” the troll purred, moving past Bilbo. A cloud of vocal, screeching bats suddenly took wing from the cavern walls and caught the hobbit’s attention, and he whipped around, momentarily distracted. Yet when Bilbo’s eyes returned to where the troll should have been, a gasp slipped from his mouth. How did such a massive creature just disappear? One moment, Bruce had been there, idling and hovering over Bilbo, and the next— From out of the various tunnels and shadows, the troll’s voice echoed once more, reminding Bilbo that the beast was still very much there. And watching him carefully. “The fallen li’l bat pup caught in the lion’s claws. The fledgling in a mist net. The minnow in gar jaws.” The hobbit felt his brows furrow in confusion; Bilbo hadn’t heard any of these troll’s riddles. “Well?” boomed the voice from the shadows. The hobbit shook his head. “Please give me a moment! I did give you a good long while.” Bat pup? Lion? Fledgling? Minnow? “I don’t know this one,” the hobbit confessed, in a voice louder than he anticipated. Again, the rumbling, growling hum echoed about the cavern walls. Bilbo turned about, unable to find the direction of the source. “Want three guesses, li’l morsel?” the voice crooned. Bilbo found himself nodding, against his better judgment. “Bad luck?” the hobbit guessed aloud. “Close,” the voice bellowed back. “But a bit too broad. Guess again.” Biting his lips, Bilbo racked through his brain, though anxiety threatened to cloud his thoughts. “Prey?” “Ye’re gettin’ there,” the voice crooned again. “Last guess. Last chance.” He was close—at least according to the disembodied voice echoing about the cavern walls. Bilbo turned about, trying to adjust his eyes to the dim light. Trying to pick out the massive troll from beneath the shadows. The hobbit unsheathed his sword, feeling his heartbeat accelerating with every second. “Captured prey?” The voice gave a ‘tsk’ sound with a tone of feigned pity. “Wrong.” “Well, then what is it?” the hobbit turned and turned, sword out before him. Bilbo felt hot breath on his neck and a growl in his ear. “You.”

A giant clawed hand struck out. Before Bilbo could even process the sudden blur of movement, he was on the ground, tiny bones prodding into his back. He heard the distinct clatter of metal against stone and his right hand felt vulnerably empty; his sword glinted almost cruelly just out of reach. All breath left him as the clawed hand weighed down upon his entire body, pinning him to the cold cavern floor. His legs kicked futilely, and he squirmed beneath the troll’s grasp. Bilbo could barely remember his mouth opening, but found his own voice – “No, no, no, no!” – so very far away, as if it didn’t even belong to him anymore and he was dead already. Then the troll’s terrible grin suddenly filled every inch of Bilbo’s sight as Bruce’s face steadied itself half a meter from Bilbo’s own. The little hobbit prayed that it wouldn’t be the last sight he’d take to the grave. “Looks like I win, then,” Bruce grinned triumphantly. The troll didn’t even give Bilbo any time to respond or react before the massive hand flipped him over, and Bilbo could only watch from the corner of his eye as jaws descended upon him. The poor hobbit let out a strangled scream as the enormous canines slipped beneath his chest and above his legs, and he felt hot breath spread across his captured torso. Bilbo struggled and scratched and kicked with every parcel of strength left in his body. He watched helplessly as the ground fell beneath him, as the troll raised him into the air, and the horrid realization set in; Bilbo was held— captured— in the troll’s jaws. It was almost too much for the little hobbit’s heart, and the corners of his vision blurred. Perhaps if he were lucky, he would faint and miss the pain of being torn in two by the sheer strength of the troll’s bite. Seconds felt like hours as Bruce held the hobbit in his teeth’s grasp, and Bilbo glanced about his surroundings, dazed by the attack and partially awaiting the minute that the jaws would snap together, and he’d be reduced to cuts of meat.

But the agony didn’t come.

Suddenly, Bruce lurched forward. They were moving. Forward, he thought, though vertigo set in and, for a moment, Bilbo couldn’t quite tell up from down. He could feel the points of the troll’s premolars digging into both his chest and thighs; luckily, they hadn’t pierced the skin, but would most certainly bruise later. If Bilbo wasn’t eaten before that.

“Where are we going? Where are you taking me?” Bilbo asked, breathlessly. His hands grappled at the flesh along the troll’s chin and his legs kicked weakly in protest. “Ye’ll see soon ‘nough,” the troll replied, his words muffled; this close, Bilbo could feel the deepness of Bruce’s voice vibrating through his body and it did little to calm whatever nerves he had left. The edges of Bilbo’s vision blurred, then darkened, and the little hobbit slipped out of consciousness.

Bilbo awoke with a jolt and immediately felt the teeth digging into his chest once more. The hobbit gave a shaky sigh, disappointed that it hadn’t all been a nightmare and he’d been back in Rivendell this whole time. “Oh, good! Ye’re awake. We’re comin’ up to a dodgy part in the path ahead. If it makes ye feel better,” Bruce said, shaking Bilbo from his thoughts. “Don’t look down.” Don’t look—? In the dim light, Bilbo couldn’t quite discern if the ground had fallen away, or if the cavern floor were simply a pitch black. The troll’s claw dislodged a stream of pebbles that descended into the floor, swallowed up by the darkness below. Well, that answered Bilbo’s question. A sharp ravine wound beneath both him and his captor with a width large enough for the hobbit to slip and fall through. Yet the troll’s size was so great that it was nothing more than a furrow in the middle of the road; Bruce kept his arms and legs on each side, far from the middle of the path. After moments turned to minutes and fear dissolved into disgruntled impatience, Bilbo found his voice returning to his throat. “Why aren’t you telling me where we’re headed?” “Would it matter to you?” The hobbit sighed, dejected, and grew silent. Bruce was most certainly taking Bilbo to his hoard, or his part of the cave to devour. And Bilbo figured that the troll knew that the hobbit knew this. And he hadn’t even his sword to defend himself. “So ‘ow’d ye end up down ‘ere, anyway?” the troll asked, words still garbled from holding Bilbo beneath his teeth. Self-awareness nearly caused the hobbit to scoff with sickened amusement. Here Bilbo was, dangling from the mouth of a giant troll, and the troll wanted to know his prey’s life story.   “Do you ask that question to everyone you eat?” Bilbo asked, impatiently. “Or are you just trying to fill the silence?” “The latter, usually,” the troll replied, with a shrug. “Might as well, while we walk.” “Fine,” Bilbo sighed, brow low as he squirmed with discomfort. “I… I was with a company, but I lost them in the mountains,” Bilbo said, shortly before adding, “But I doubt my absence will matter all that much.” The troll grew uncharacteristically silent for a moment and Bilbo chanced some movement to turn his head, catching a glimpse that confused him greatly. The beady blue eyes of the troll had softened, brows knit with an almost concerned expression. What was it spread across the beast’s face? Guilt that he was going to soon eat his company? Sympathy to Bilbo’s plight? 

After a long moment, Bruce finally spoke again.  “We’re ‘lmost there, lil’ morsel,” the troll said solemnly. “It’s just up ahead.” Bilbo turned his head to the side, in the direction of their path. A single thin line of light sliced through the darkness. For a moment, the hobbit could only see white through the shape; yet as his eyes adjusted and the troll drew closer, he could catch colors of green and blue, and caught the scent of pine trees and crisp air. The way out. He was so close. So close to freedom that he could feel the wind of the outside world. Yet, just as the realization had settled into the hobbit’s mind, Bilbo felt the troll lurch to a stop and his heart sank. It was right there. The door was right there! Suddenly the ground rushed up to meet Bilbo as Bruce lowered his jaws to the ground. The hobbit didn’t feel the teeth pull away from him until both of his furry feet were planted on the ground. Already, Bilbo could feel the wind on his face and the warm light from the outside world dip the stark, gray stones around the entrance into a honeyed glow. Even the troll’s features shone clearer; Bilbo noticed the various scars lining the troll’s body and the odd hue of blue in the troll’s skin. He also noticed that the troll stood in the sunlight, yet Bruce’s skin didn’t transform into dusty gray rock. Which meant— Oh, Bilbo’s heart sank suddenly. Even if he made a mad dash for the exit of the cave, the troll would catch up to him. Not even sunlight could save him. 

“’lright, Bilbo. Ye ready?” Bruce’s voice bellowed from behind Bilbo, and the hobbit felt his face redden. So that’s how it was going to be, then? The troll would ask the hobbit to just hold still and snap him up, when Bilbo was inches from getting out of the horrid cave? Did the troll think Bilbo would react kindly—obediently— and go quietly as he was butchered? No! Certainly not! This was too much! “You— you absolute fiend!” Bilbo needn’t care about any insult thrown towards the troll; he was going to die, anyway. And Bruce’s treatment towards his prey couldn’t be any crueler. “Is this all a game to you? Taking me all this way out of caves just to eat me? Just to have freedom be right there and snatch it all away?!” Furious, the hobbit punched and kicked at the troll’s legs, thick as tree trunks. The blows did little to move Bruce, and Bilbo doubted the troll could even feel them. If only he’d still had his sword; at least he’d give the troll some pain for the hobbit’s trouble. Only when the hobbit’s attacks persisted did a giant hand snatch Bilbo up again. Yet anger had replaced any fear still residing in Bilbo and his mouth pressed firmly into a line, defiantly glowering at his captor. “I’m not gonna eat’cha,” Bruce confessed, a guilty expression spreading across his scarred features. “Never was.” Bilbo froze, blinked, and then sputtered indignantly. Not that he wished to be eaten or killed or mangled— heavens, no! “Then why didn’t you just say so?!” the hobbit asked as the volume of his voice rose, sternly. The troll heaved a heavy sigh. “I wanted to! I did, believe me! It’s just… I heard the little cave creature followin’ us—” Bilbo blinked in confusion before memories rushed back, of stone in gnarled hand and the goblin’s broken skull. “He was gettin’ quite close to you from the shadows; I needed to make sure he thought ye were a goner.” The hobbit recalled the spindly creature, its throaty, scratchy voice as it bludgeoned the goblin to death. Bilbo could barely find his own words, bewildered. “But you said— “   “You said I could ‘ave my way with ye,” Bruce grinned, yet this time his eyes were soft. Thoughtful, even. “Never actually said anythin’ ‘bout eatin’ ye, that’s for sure.” The troll then reached behind him along his leather belt and retrieved a shining object, pinched delicately between his thumb and index finger. Bilbo’s brows rose. His sword! All this time, he’d thought the troll left it behind them in the cave. With a strange gentleness, Bruce set the hobbit down and handed the sword back to Bilbo, handle first. “Might wanna hurry ‘long then. I smell yer friends up ahead.” The hobbit blinked incredulously before accepting back his sword and returning it to its sheath. He swallowed before raising his gaze up to the giant. “Thank you,” Bilbo said, quite sincerely. “Maybe we’ll meet ‘gain, li’l bite. Hopefully under better circumstances,” Bruce said, giving a nod to the hobbit before turning back towards the cave. Bilbo gave one last look at the troll before nodding in return; and he hurried along, racing down the hill in hopes of catching up to the company.

[pollygone300]

D&D ACT - 1

[So, I started playing D&D, I'm being run through a prep encounter with my DM while we wait for another player. I'm a female Tiefling and this was my first experience playing the game.]

23-year-old Tetra Thorn, a skilled carvers apprentice and beginner sorceress, has just been summoned from her life of mediocrity to meet with the guild master. She leaves her father’s woodworking shop and travels through the bustling city streets with the intent of making good on her summons.

As she nears the eastern district, she hears two men shouting. The Holy priest of the church of Darstar yells at a cocky mage as they slowly circle each other at the center of a large group of onlookers. "Your use of magic is heretical!" Shouts the Priest, "You should recant your wickedness and join the church of Darstar!". The mage is unimpressed and decides to push his luck "If I am so evil then let the Gods strike me down where I stand!".

Tetra is amused and feeling creative, her powers may be weak but her will to prank is strong. She slips into the large two-story church to her right and climbs to the outer balcony, her lack of stealth is covered by the onlooker’s fascination with the spectacle before them. [I roll a 9] Her ascent is regarded with little interest by the few who momentarily notice. As she reaches the ridgepole she slides over and hides on the far side of the building, time for some sorcery and a little beginner’s luck. She focuses her will and magic springs forth within her body, her cantrips are weak but at this distance no one will be any the wiser. She takes a deep breath and slowly exhales as her creation is given life. A large four-armed daemon, with a red light carved into the place where a face should be, emerges in an explosive blaze of flames.

All eyes are instantly riveted in fear as 15 feet of stone-like muscle raises a large flaming sword and levels it at the prideful mage. "YOU!!!!!!!!" His voice booms across the surrounding city, "YOU ARE NOT WORTHY TO WALK THIS EARTH!!!!!!!!!!" His words send chills into all attending the horrific sight. The monstrous creature swings his sword suddenly and a burst of flame is hurled at the surprised mage [I roll a 5]. The Daemons aim is not quite on target, Tetra must be quick to correct this mistake as the flames explode at the feet of the mage who leaps back in terror. Another moment and he might have been toast! The sword is again pointed toward him and again the voice shakes the crowd to the very bones within "THIS IS YOUR ONLY WARNING, REPENT OR BE DESTROYED!!!!!!!!!".

Tetra releases the three cantrips that were holding the monstrous creature together and it explodes into a fiery vapor with one last sickening cry. The priest turns to the crowd as the haughty mage collapses in terror, his vindication is outmatched only by his own mortal fear of what he has just seen.

Tetra lets herself down from the roof and makes her way out front, as she passes through the crowd the priest stops her "You, young woman. What do you know of the glories of Darstar our savior?" [shit, I know nothing, my DM throws me a bone] "Uh" Tetra swears under her breath at her own lack of knowledge, time for some bullshit "Only what I was told as a child". The priest approaches her and lays a hand on her shoulder "And just what where you told my dear?" More intense swearing from Tetra. The image of Darstar enters her mind, something about an honest old man. "That...we should all try to be as wise as the great Darstar and live our lives as honest as possible!".

The priest stares and for a moment she feels she has been found out, then he speaks "Wise words my dear, truly if all could live that way, we would be better off all around" He removes his holy pendant that bears the Gods image "I want you to have this!" He presses it into Tetra's hand and smiles. The dumbfounded look on her face is obvious. She thanks him and abruptly darts through the crowd, even as she makes her escape the priest’s words can be heard following her "Truly I do not even know her name, yet she is as pure a follower as any in this holy flock, let us all aspire to be like her, honest and anonymous!".

The business with the guild master turned out to be a rather unusual opportunity, she was to help build a new branch of the guild in the wild country of the mainland. Upon completion she was to remain as the new guild master for that branch. Trial by fire seems to be her new lot in life but it comes with the promise of relieving a small portion of her parents growing debt. She accepts graciously and exits into the evening of the city, excited to make a name for herself in a place far from home.

This calls for some celebration but alas Tetra is copperless. This calls for some theft!

Tetra moseys on down to the docks and waits for darkness to fall across the city. She plants herself in the shadows of an alleyway and waits. It takes some time, but her patience is rewarded, a drunk ham on toothpicks stumbles out of a seedy drinking establishment and down the street. His coin purse jingles and jangles with his money, time to go to work. Tetra hides behind a large crate in the alley and again calls forth three cantrips. She shapes and molds carefully, shaving away at the edges and angles in her mind until the perfect image meets her mental gaze.

The drunk man looks up suddenly, a petite, sultry, blonde approaches him in a thin white dress hanging dangerously loose off the shoulders. "Hi handsome" Her voice is like an orgasm in and unto itself "Why don't we go somewhere we can be alone together?" Is that an accent? it's beautiful! His drunk mind can barely understand what's happening. She reaches out suddenly and grabs hold of his crotch, his loins burn as her magical touch stirs him to attention. [Roll for deception, 17!!!! and my +3, a full 20!!]

The drunk man is overwhelmed, his senses are going into overdrive. To his addled mind she's more than pretty, she's more than gorgeous, she's god damn angelic. He looks into her eyes and vacantly nods. She gently takes him by the hand and leads him into the darkness of the alley. [It's at this point I discovered Tetra's cantrips last for only one-minute, better work fast.]

The angelic goddess pushes him against the wall in a deep kiss of passion, his eyes close. Tetra throws her dagger from her hiding place. The fat man opens his eyes as a small tremor from his belt brings him back to reality, he stares in confusion as the vision pulls away and smiles, she's holding a dagger and she has just sliced...his purse strings! The now still beautiful but not quite as angelic blonde throws the dagger and purse toward Tetra as she disintegrates into a haze with a smile and a wink.

Tetra's eyes widen as she observes two equally important objects hurtling toward her with time enough to catch only one. She grabs at the purse. [Roll for save or get stabbed!] [I roll 9 + my 3, 12!] Tetra side steps, narrowly escaping impalement at the hands of her own weapon.

The portly man's eyes follow his money through the air as it lands in the hands of a Tiefling "THEIF!" He shouts but all he really sees is her spaded tail disappearing around the corner.

Tetra runs a good eight city blocks before finally stopping to see her haul, all in all not bad. Thirty copper pieces, fifty silver pieces, and one treasured gold piece. She shoves the gold deep into her boot for safe keeping, she intends to give it to her parents to lessen their debt. The rest is a hard-earned reward, now how about a drink?

She walks around for some time before finding a suitable establishment, not so fancy she'll be under scrutiny, not so seedy she'll get robbed.

She walks past the two city guards stationed for preemptive crowd control and makes a beeline for the bar itself. She hops up and plants her rather shapely ass on its surface and crosses her legs. The bar tender, a stumpy dwarf, scuttles up with a stern look. "Hey, whatcha think you're doin sittin up on ma bar lass?" He has a stern look on his face as he dries a tankard with a towel. Tetra explains she's celebrating and produces her thirty coppers. "Three beers and two each for my friends by the door" He examines the money, giving it a stern nibble before sighing. He’s decided it’s better to get paid than to argue and at the moment her ass on his bar is the least terrible thing he’s seen all day.

 The two exchange idle small talk, Tetra explains her cause for celebration and her doubt that she is the appropriate person for the job. The dwarven bar tender is pulled away by customers as her mugs of beer grow ever lighter and her small frame and equally small liver leave her decidedly smashed. After about an hour she suddenly hops up, standing on the bar, like a champion of old, or so she thinks. In reality she bobs and weaves lightly from side to side, an occasional hiccup escaping her lips.

 Tetra empties the remaining money from the purse into her hand and holds it out at arm’s length. “Fifty silver pieces to anyone who can take both the guards at the door!” She shouts with a drunken smile, her words are starting to slur, and she nearly falls off the bar “Or are you all just too chicken shit!”. A dead Silence fills the bar as every drunk eye stares first at her, then the guards, and finally at each other. The room erupts with a flurry of fists and shouts as every man and even one of the bar maids begin to fight amongst themselves, each trying to be the first to knock a guard on his ass. The guards, who by this point are also quite drunk, throw up their fists in a valiant and surprisingly effective last ditch to defend their honor.

 A click and a whir meet Tetra’s ears as she turns to see the dwarven bar tender pointing a rather hefty crossbow at her head “Get off ma bar you!” His eyes are narrow. Tetra calmly picks up a tankard and empties the silver into it. She leans down and shakes it in the dwarf’s face with a smile “This money’s yours if you let the fight keep going” His eyes are on the money, then up to meet her gaze sharply. He sighs and snatches the tankard away “Fine, I just hope they don’t break anything- HEY, PUT DOWN THAT TABLE!” He goes for his crossbow, Tetra laughs “Is there a back door out of this place?” He glares and motions to a door tucked in the rear of the building. Tetra hops down and bolts through the door, it’s almost midnight as she runs through the darkened streets in glee, all the way home.

                                                                         End of Act 1