#Especially since his lore is often hidden behind a wall and that wall is my shyness

[aberrantundead]

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Connor is an Undying Warlock with a neutral good alignment. Connor’s pronouns are he/they. They are classified as undead, aberration, and humanoid. They are 470 years old. He stands at 7 feet tall, or 2.13 meters. His weight is around 80-110 lbs (this includes the tentacles). Connor is intersex, non-binary, and pansexual with demiromantic tendencies. They are polyamorous and love being loved and loving others.

Connor as a character is unorthodox to the fullest extent, as they are largely homebrew. He is in a level 1-20 campaign ran by @skeletone that has been ongoing since 2019, and is expected to be ongoing for years to come. This character for me has been an ultimate expression as a coping mechanism for my relationship with death, fear of outer space (with Connor practically being an alien), and an expression of queerness that I, as a queer person, enjoy exploring. In a way, this character is a self portrait of major parts of myself.

Connor’s personality snapshot: expressive, open, self revealing, loves/hates large parties, loud, social, outgoing, does not like social isolation, assertive, positive, always busy, likes to fit in but also likes to stand out, enjoys leadership, brutally honest, trusting, optimistic, desires attention, dominant, aggressive, attachment prone, wants to be understood, lonely, melancholic, self loathing

Currently, Connor and their friends have saved the city of Waterdeep. They have struck alliances with many individuals such as Renaer Neverember, Volothamp Geddarm, Jarlaxle Baenre and Laerel Silverhand, while dealing with The Xanathar, mindflayers (most notably Nihiloor), devils, the Cassalanters, and Manshoon. Recently, they have ventured out to the North to successfully kill Auril who relentlessly was wailing on parts of Toril with her unforgiving winter weather. Auril’s demise was accomplished with help of another god’s Chosen, who took Auril’s divine spark and corrupted it with their own god’s essence. With Auril’s inflicted weather now removed, Connor and their friends can travel the oceans she froze to get to a Golden Forge that belongs to a golden dragon underneath Waterdeep. The group promised the golden dragon they would help reclaim it from another dragon who overtook it.

As of late, the golden dragon the Five have struck a pact with, Aurelius, had become infected with a mindflayer tadpole and shed its face and skin to become a brainstealer dragon named Placidjurax, which the Five had to promptly put down. Laerel wants the Xanathar and Nihiloor eradicated, to which Connor and company eagerly agreed to. It is because of them through a long string of events prior that Aurelius got infected.

Overall, the big plot for The Five is that they’re on a mission to collect the idols of Toril’s gods to restore the deteriorating weave. The sky is falling, literally. This need to collect the idols will require them to venture around the planet, including the use of the Golden Forge to travel to multiple dimensions.

Connor’s in-depth information is below, and while I wish I could divulge all of Connor’s secrets, some of my teammates are on this site and are mutuals and in general are aware of the existence of this space, so I can only unveil right now what’s been given in game.

Current revealed facts about Connor in Legends of the Five:

• Connor once lived life as a human before. He was born as a human. Lived and loved as one. Connor’s previous name in life before taking up the name Connor was Alistair Reiter.

• Alistair Reiter had a wife, a child, and ran a church dedicated to Lathander. He was a priest.

• Present day Connor has a phobia of horses. This pertains to the fact that Alistair’s/Connor’s daughter in life was trampled to death by a horse.

• In hopes of trying to resurrect his dead daughter, Alistair dabbled into unknown forces of necromancy and made a pact with a mysterious entity in order to channel said necromancy.

• Learning this necromancy allowed him to attach another pair of limbs to himself amid his experimentation.

• Alistair’s hubris is what led to his death and downfall. Such is what happens when you play with forces of life and death and try to play God.

• For some years after his death and his body long since decayed, Alistair’s dead body was animated by a mysterious force and was sent on a killing spree against any wandering adventurers before the Spellplague deactivated him. His body was then put in a crypt, and wrapped in golden chains.

• Alistair was resurrected by a necromancer who found him in the crypts years later. Alistair then takes the name Connor out of a desire to not affiliate with his wretched past. Symbolism of a clean slate and starting over. The necromancer that resurrected him ended up being a short lived lover and partner until they both split amid an argument. Only recently has Connor been able to get over their ex. His ex is Innis Pyrescribe, who belongs to my DM skeletone.

• Connor finds out that he cannot die, and any time he is destroyed, he often reforms hours later. Whatever force keeps him animated, is clearly by a higher power—likely his warlock patron. Using dispel magic on him also temporarily deactivates him.

• Connor is part of a hivemind that has origins from the Far Realm.

• Connor has a sibling (or technically another him, if they’re a hivemind) named Exodus, who breached the material plane during a summoning ritual for a Far Realm entity named Auc’thil’une—with Exodus as the emissary of Auc’thil’une. He changed from an incomprehensible entity into a human with tentacles in his eye sockets that he hides behind shades.

• Similarly, Connor is actually the mass of tentacles inside of the skeleton that was once his when he had flesh.

•Connor was born in the body of a human and lived as one—Exodus did not. Exodus finds himself disgruntled and disgusted at Connor’s empathy and love for this world, and at Connor’s developed humanity. Connor is an anomaly among aberrations for this reason. In no way should an aberration have humanity. • Connor’s golden chains apparently keep him sentient, and when they are removed, Connor loses all sense of self and begins to indiscriminately attack anything living, plagued by a feeling of hunger. These chains seem to belong a small organization of necromancers called The Order of the Golden Chain. They were often used by necromancers on their undead. Connor is considered a rogue undead with no master/necromancer controlling him. • Connor finds out that they have a suppressed appetite—and it’s a desire for living flesh. Dead flesh does not satisfy whatever dark primal hunger sits inside Connor. This rightfully horrifies Connor.

[tathrin]

Ooh how about #9?

#9 is "in public" which is a delightful one to write for them, thank you anon. Prompt taken from this; anyone can feel free to send other numbers in at any time, I don’t care how long it’s been. (Just maybe add some context to your ask if it’s been like a month or more since I posted this, because otherwise I won’t know what to do with the random number in my inbox lmao).

Dwarves are a private people, secretive even. They are not shy, but they keep themselves to themselves and are glad of it. Their own language is not one which they share with outsiders, and only the most common and transparent of their customs are known outside their mountains. They do not even share their true names; do not even engrave them on their tombs but rather hold them secret in their hearts even after death, a matter to be known only to themselves and their Maker and their closest kin.

Elves are less retiring, and none less so than the Wood-elves of Mirkwood. "More dangerous and less wise," they are often described by those who do consider themselves among the Wise of Middle-earth: more dangerous, for they have learned to be, living in a forest full of so many more dangers than those with which the rest of Middle-earth must regularly contend; less wise, for they are more interested in celebrating their joy at being alive amidst the darkness than they are in books and lore and ancient histories that rarely involved any of them and, when they did, rarely paid their efforts in those endeavors much mind.

Éomer knows all this, in a general sort of way. He is a Man of Rohan, and they too spend little mind on the lore and legends of others; the bulk of his people do not even read (a thought that is scandalous to the rest of Middle-earth, yes; but their histories and tales are oral things, passed down by memory and song and shared knowledge, not recorded in dry books and locked away behind dusty doors). He has learned much of elves, and especially of dwarves, in recent years, for Rohan now has a growing populace of dwarves itself, living in and reshaping the glories of the Glittering Caves of Aglarond.

Éomer never paid much mind to caves, either. He is a Horse Lord, and like his people's beloved steeds, he is far more at home galloping across an open field than he is walking under solid stone. But even he can see the beauty of Aglarond, now that Gimli and his people have opened the caverns to show them to their taller neighbors.

"Incredible, Gimli," Éomer says, staring around himself in genuine awe and delight. "It still staggers me, even now, to look at what you have made here and think that this beauty was hidden here all along simply because we did not have the eyes to look."

"Ah, well," Gimli grins, "it is hard to see things clearly from so far up in the sky, I am sure."

Éomer guffaws with laughter, the merry sound ringing off the bright stone walls so that it sounds like a whole host of men are laughing with him. "Indeed! That must be it," he chuckles. "Well, thank goodness Rohan has shrewd dwarven eyes here now to show us better."

Gimli smiles, and Éomer can see that he is pleased as much by the genuine compliments as he is by the banter���yet there is a distance in his friend's eyes that he is less accustomed to. Gimli's smiles are here with him as he walks Éomer through the newest rooms to be opened in this magnificent cave, but his thoughts are somewhere far away.

"What occupies your mind?" Éomer asks. It is a prying question, perhaps, rude by the standards of more dissembling people; rude likely even by the standards of the very private dwarves, but the Rohirrim are straightforward and bold, and such questions come naturally to their lips. Gimli knows this well enough not to take offense when Éomer unknowingly breaches some line of dwarven propriety, and he is likewise just as ready to tell Éomer to mind his own business when he does, knowing that the Horse Lord will not take offense at that, either.

This time his eyes shift evasively and he only mutters, "Ah, well, it is deep into fall now, and I only thought...ah, never mind! Come, let me show you this waterfall, it is a magnificent structure..."

Éomer follows the dwarf through the rest of the cave, and is suitably delighted by the wonders thus revealed; yet he cannot help but look at his guide as much as he does at the sights, wondering what weighs on Gimli's mind in such a manner that he will neither speak of it clearly nor declare the subject one not to spoken on. This is not how Gimli normally acts, and Éomer is curious now.

Eventually the tour winds back to the entrance, to the section of cavern that was once a storage area for the fortress of Helm's Deep and which the dwarves are busily turning into a glorious entrance hall for their new home. Éomer feels as though every time he comes to Aglarond, the front room has been once again transformed into yet another stunning example of dwarven craftsmanship and natural beauty twined in some impossible harmony.

He is opening his mouth to say something to that effect, knowing that Gimli takes great pleasure in all such effusive praise for his people's efforts and expertise—the most lyrical and poetic, the better—when a sudden commotion by the entrance catches both his and Gimli's eye.

They turn just in time to see a blur of green and brown and gold fling itself at Gimli and nearly bowl the steady dwarf straight off his feet.

Instincts that have not forgotten the years of war that preceded these days of peace have Éomer's hand on his sword-hilt, only stopped by drawing the blade as his ears recognize the silvery peal of elvish laughter dancing off the bright stone walls.

The laughter is more muffled than usual because the elf from whom it issues has plastered his mouth to the face of the dwarf in front of him, and is currently kissing Gimli as though the Lord of Aglarond holds all the air that fills those caves, and must be made to share it with each visitor directly.

"Hello, Legolas," Éomer says mildly.

Legolas sketches a greeting with one long brown hand, the only bit of attention that he seems able to pry away from the dwarf he has flung himself to his knees before, and Éomer snorts.

He is not the only one; the other Rohirrim who stand milling about the cavern entrance seem to share his amusement, as do most of the dwarves. Some have not looked up, too fixated on their work to notice anything shy of a mumak bursting through the walls; others scowl or grumble into their beards, and a few newer faces whose names Éomer has not yet committed to memory gape in slack-jawed shock. The sight of their reaction makes Éomer snort again.

They will have to get used to their lord being greeted in such a fashion, if they mean to stay in Aglarond. It may not be how dwarves reconnect with one another after an absence, but it certainly is how Legolas and Gimli do.

Éomer remembers the first time he witnessed one of their effusive displays. He had been visiting Ithilien with a small company of men to see his sister and her new husband. He had barely swung Gimli down off his horse before a Wood-elf was dropping from the trees and tackling him backwards into the grass.

The horses, of course, had not shied at all at the sudden arrival, so merry did the smell of Wood-elf make them, the four-legged traitors; but all the Rohirrim had been startled and Éomer himself had actually drawn sword on the elf out of shock. They had both teased him mercilessly about that—as had his sister—and even Éomer had grudgingly been able to admit to the amusing irony of it, given how his first meeting with Legolas had gone...at least once his heart had stopped pounding.

Since then, he has grown much more used to the nonsense that ensues whenever Legolas is in a room (or cave, or field, or especially a forest) with his dwarf. The Rohirrim take bets on their greetings now. Will Gimli be knocked completely off his feet this time? Will he have time to speak any words of greeting before he has an elven tongue thrust down his throat? Will the dwarf manage to do or say anything to make the elf blush, or will Gimli be the only one of the pair to redden when they finally pry their lips apart?

This time, Gimli manages to stay upright (Éomer has noticed that this is much more likely outcome on stone than on grass or wooden flooring, although he has not mentioned this observation aloud to his men; some of them have picked up on it as well, but not all of them, or at least so he surmises from the betting pool) and Legolas's ears show only the slightest flush at their tips. (After long discussion, the Rohirrim have decided that this does not count as blushing for their purposes; the flush must reach at least halfway down his ears for that, otherwise signifying as it does nothing more than a baseline arousal at Gimli's presence.)

Éomer pretends he does not see his people silently tallying the results of their bets in their heads, and grins at his friends as they come up for air.

Gimli, of course, is redder than his beard, and cannot quite bring himself to meet Éomer's eyes. Legolas, conversely, has no concept of a sense of shame, and hops back to his feet to face Éomer with a beaming smile and a, "Hail and well met, King of Rohan!"

Éomer snorts and shakes his head and pulls the elf in for a hug. "Running late this year, aren't you?"

"Am I?" Legolas blinks. He looks down at Gimli, who is now studying the stone at his feet as though planning another masonry project involving the cavern's floors. "I am sorry, Gimli, I did not realize. I left as soon as the apples were done..."

"Ah, of course you are not late!" Gimli replies, lifting his blazing face at last to scowl at both of them, especially Éomer. "We both know very well that your travel is dictated by the seasons of Ithilien's plants and not by any arbitrary dates. His highness here is only jesting with you."

Éomer smirks and says nothing. The autumn chill always comes later to Ithilien than it does to Helm's Deep, and Gimli always mopes as soon as the weather turns without the arrival of his elf. This year it must have come particularly late, because Éomer usually makes his autumn visit to Helm's Deep in company with Legolas, who musts pass by Edoras on his journey from the south; but this year, as the days passed with no such arrival, Éomer had begun to worry that he had missed Legolas and so set-out for Helm's Deep on his own.

He likes to see his friends, of course, but he also knows that his soldiers would be disappointed not to be able to witness the seasonal reunion of elf and dwarf for themselves. It is must less satisfying to be told that one has won—or lost—a bet than it is to watch the winning or losing for oneself.

"Oh!" is all Legolas says, and smiles again at once. "Well, then! I have brought fruits from Ithilien for both men and dwarves, and Aragorn has sent some new herbal brew from the Healers of Gondor that is supposed to be very good for winter coughs. I can show you..."

"No need," Éomer demures, grinning. "I'm sure my people can handle stowing everything, and I expect some of Gimli's folk have already headed up to handle their share...?"

He catches the eye of a white-bearded dwarf watching them all with an indulgent if bewildered smile, who nods confirmation.

"Well, then!" Éomer's grin widens and he supplements it with a wink, which has Gimli's cheeks burning even brighter, so that he almost seems to resemble some of those apples that Legolas has no doubt brought with him. "In that case, I hope you will both excuse me, for there are matters I should discuss with the Lord of Helm's Deep—and of course, Gimli will want to show you the changes that he and his people have made to Aglarond since you were last here, Legolas."

"Thank you, Lord Éomer," Legolas says gravely, while Gimli somehow manages to go even redder without actually igniting. "Will we see you for supper?"

"Of course," says Éomer. And not a moment before then, I am sure, he adds to himself with a smothered chuckle as he turns to leave the caves, waving for his people to fall in behind him. Several will go back down to converse with dwarven friends (and no doubt exchange coin and goods to cover certain bets as well) before they all rejoin for an evening feast, no doubt, but for the moment they have transactions to see to among themselves—and Gimli does, of course, have quite a lot of caverns he will want to show to Legolas.

Somehow, though, the autumn tour always starts in his bedchambers. Absolutely no one makes any bets about that, anymore.

[sipsteainanxiety]

Hiihii can i request bakugo x fnaf fan reader? Ff or hc anything as you please

🖤 stay safe and drink water luv x

omg i swore i wouldn’t let my fnaf past catch up with me but it did anyways HAHAHA thank u for the request! <;33

fnaf? bakugou has heard about it a few times around the dorm— mostly in passing. he didn’t really care too much about it though. after all, he was too busy training and studying nowadays to be interested in some stupid horror game with predictable jumpscares. so what if you and kaminari often spent hours up at night playing the game together? he didn’t care, that’s for sure!

curiosity did plague him though, especially when you and some of your other friends would stay up in the commons room numerous times, discussing different theories for the franchise. bakugou often found himself lazily reading a book while this happened, only slightly paying attention to what was being talked about. 

“okay okay, matpat said that the books don’t necessarily have canon compliant events in them,” you told kaminari one evening. “he said that they could be hints. even scott cawthon said so himself!” 

“i know that! like, those strange disks on the character models in the games are mentioned in the books, right? so they have to mean something!” kaminari replied as he rubbed a hand on his chin in thought. 

“don’t those disks help baby camouflage herself as a human, or something?” kirishima pondered, his body draped along one of the sofas. “that was one of the mini stories, i think.”

bakugou, to put it shortly, was fucking confused. since when did that stupid game have books?? and apparently a movie was in the works too? what the fuck.

now, normally he wouldn’t give a shit about your interests, especially with his other dumbass friends. but when your conversations always tended to shift towards fnaf—no matter what topic you had all started off with—he found himself getting irritated. poor boy had a bad case of fomo, but he wasn’t about to say that out loud.

so one night, he found himself knocking at your room door, planning to ask you to explain fnaf to him. not because he wanted to spend time with you or anything... don’t be fucking ridiculous! he would just prefer you to explain the game to him instead of his other loser friends.

when you opened the door to see bakugou standing there, asking you to ‘show him that dumbass horror game of yours’, you were surprised. you didn’t think he was interested in stuff like that. when you told him so, he only scoffed:

“fine then, i’ll just fucking leave—” you grabbed his arm and told him you were just kidding! he needed to chill out sometimes.

you were still excited that he was expressing interest in one of your hobbies though! you dragged him over to your bed and plopped down next to him with your laptop. you showed him the numerous games that had been released so far, along with the books and upcoming plans for more games. you even pulled up the first one for him to try out.

he didn’t last too long.

when you teased him about it, he only gritted his teeth together and told you to shut up. he then spent the next few hours trying to beat the game.

you spent a while trying to explain the story behind the game, pointing out all the hidden secrets that the original fnaf had—like the changing drawings along the wall and the golden freddy poster. you could tell bakugou was kind of interested in everything, so you did your best to get him to understand the lore. 

“that’s so fucking confusing,” bakugou said when you attempted to explain all the shit that happened in the VR game. “does anyone even know the lore completely?”

“nope,” you responded  with a shrug. “though some theorists are probably closer than anyone else at figuring it out. who knows at this point.”

honestly? even after hearing you explain everything about fnaf to him, bakugou still wasn’t that invested compared to you and your other friends. again, he had better things to do. and the jumpscares did get repetitive after a while, he wasn’t going to lie.

but still, it was nice seeing your eyes light up as you tried to get him more interested in the game. it was also cute how you would send him news for anything fnaf related, along with game theories about the franchise....

...not that he would ever admit that, of course.

[ao3komorii]

Behind the Blade’s Shadow (Talon/Reader)

Starting posting my league stories! I have 3 atm but plan on writing more, but wanted to post my Talon one first. May have taken some liberties with his personality since there’s not a lot of lore material available for Talon but I’m happy with how it came out. As well, just a warning that there is smut at the end of this one!

----

Noxus was a place of power, a place where the strong rise up and carve their own paths, dooming the weak to cower in their shadows. Power is achieved in many ways, and the powerful always had a place in Noxus, provided that they were willing to defend themselves from those wanting to take them down and take their place.

You learned the realities of Noxus from an early age. Your parents were as ambitious as they came, both rising up in the ranks through their own strength and cunning. By the time you had been born, they had formed an alliance with General Du Couteau, securing themselves high ranking positions in the Noxian army. Their power was unquestioned, and the final piece of their empire was complete when you were born.

You were to be their successor; that expectation had been made clear to you since you were old enough to talk. You were their legacy, and every single thing you did would reflect back on them. You were to be a warrior, a leader worthy of carrying on the family legacy of strength and power.

It had always been a burden that you didn’t want to bear. It all started when your powers manifested; magic was seen as a great asset in Noxian society, a weapon that could be used to gain an advantage on the competition. But as soon as your parents’ excitement rose, it was snuffed out. Your magic could be mistaken by nobody in Noxus for power. The light blue glow that you channeled in your hands could heal wounds, but could not cause them.

Healers in Noxus did not bring prestige upon themselves. Warriors, leaders, mages… they could carve their own paths. Healers were used, but they served from the shadows. They were not to be seen, and were not worthy of the respect and admiration of the masses. Before you could begin to feel any curiosity and pride in your powers, you were instructed by your parents to hide your abilities. They would not be the parents of a lowly healer, that much was made clear to you at the age of eight.

There was so much pressure put on you that it became hard to take. Between combat lessons and lectures from your father about the qualities of a proper Noxian, you had no time to be like the other young girls you saw walk by outside from the view at your window. Your only free time in the day was when your parents finally decided that your wounds from practice were severe enough to end early, and you were sent to your room to heal your own wounds. They knew that you still used your powers, but it seemed to be a comfort to them that you did it hidden away in your room, away from the judging eyes of Noxian society.

When you turned ten, your parents added stealth training to your lessons, as assassins were becoming a larger presence in the ranks of the Noxian military. These were the only lessons that you looked forward to; your teacher was incredibly harsh and ruthless, but you put immediate use to your new stealth prowess by sneaking out of your house at night. What started as an attempt to test your skills turned into almost weekly trips into the city to satisfy your curiosities about the world outside the fortress that was your home.

The nighttime streets of Noxus posed little danger to you. There were always shady things going on, but nobody had any care for one lone child as long as you stayed out of their business. You were careful to be back before your parents noticed you were gone, as you had come to fear their ire more than anything.

What little pocket money you were given was spent on a small bakery that made sweet buns that your parents would never let you have otherwise. You knew they would be unhappy to hear that you were deviating from their plan for you, even a small infraction like sweet buns would likely earn you a verbal lashing or a day without food. Noxian tough love at its finest.

Your training that day had been especially hard; you were fairly certain that your teacher had broken some part of your arm, and those always took you forever to heal and left you feeling exhausted. If there were any day you needed a sweet bun, it was today. You waited only a few minutes after your parents left for a meeting to sneak out of your window. You normally would be more patient, but you wanted your sweet bun immediately. Your parents’ meetings with other Noxian officials usually ran for several hours, so you would have plenty of time to get to the bakery and back with them being none the wiser.

The streets were as busy as usual; Noxus came alive at night with activity. You had made this trip so many times that you could almost do it with your eyes closed. The small bakery was no more than a twenty minute walk from your house, ten if you ran the whole way there. You didn’t see many familiar faces on the way, but that was usual for Noxus. Not a lot of people who came out to play at night liked to openly flaunt their faces to the public while conducting shady dealings.

There was never a long line at the bakery, and today was no exception. The small, unassuming store never saw much late night traffic, which worked out for you as the owner would often give you an extra sweet bun as they would otherwise go bad overnight.

You greeted the owner meekly. As nice as she was, she was still a pureblood Noxian, built intimidatingly despite her profession. You were never sure if she liked you or not, because her face remained stony even as you watched her add two extra sweet buns to the bag before handing it to you. You smiled despite your nervousness; an extra two sweet buns was something to be excited about in your world right now.

The whole encounter had only taken a few minutes at most, and you were confident that you would make it home with plenty of time and have enough sweet buns for the next few days. You were so busy counting the buns that you were caught off guard by a brash laugh ringing out near you. You nearly dropped the bag of buns as you hurriedly backed up into an alley and peeked out to see your combat trainer walking along with several other men.

You couldn’t let him see you. There was no way that he wouldn’t report you to your parents if he caught you sneaking out. You waited for him to walk by the alley you were hiding in so you could run home, but as if fate was taunting you, him and his buddies came to a stop just beside where you were hiding.

Your brain went into panic mode. You had been doing well with your stealth lessons, but you had never managed to beat your trainer in combat. His battle instincts were hardened over time, and there was no way that you could sneak past him when he was mere feet from you. You would have to find another way home.

You didn’t give it another thought, slowly backing farther into the alleyway, your eyes on your teacher, terrified that he would suddenly notice you. But he was caught up with his companions, and your fears were unfounded. As soon as you got to the end of the alleyway, you turned and ran in whatever direction you felt might get you to your home.

The alleyways were all connected, and you found yourself in a maze of grungy walls. You didn’t know where you were or when you would find yourself on the streets again. You only felt like you could breathe when the next turn finally brought you out in the open air again. But with that came the realization that you were definitely lost. This was bad.

You felt tears prick at your eyes immediately. You had never been caught sneaking out before, but you knew your parents would not be forgiving. You stumbled forward, wiping your tears on your sleeve as you looked at your surroundings.

The area was barren; thick, grey stone walls of nearby buildings caged the area in. Your eyes were immediately drawn to a small bridge, one that had not seen water beneath it in a long time, as the soil beneath it looked thirsty and cracked. With how much trouble you had gone to in order to accidentally stumble upon this place, you had to assume that its location was lost to most, hidden by the swirling alleyways.

Clearly some people still found their way here, you assumed, as you noticed some blood on the ground that looked still somewhat fresh. You took another look around, but didn’t see anyone, so you felt that it was safe to proceed.

You were going to walk around the bridge until you noticed a glint of silver from beneath the bridge that drew your curiosity. You changed course, climbing down from the small ledge that separated the two sides connected by the bridge, taking a few steps forward only to fall on your back in shock as a figure rushed at you, their gleaming silver knife just missing the flesh of your chest.

You gasped in fear, holding the bag of sweet buns to your chest as your attacker emerged from the shadows of under the bridge. You were confused… he was just a boy. A boy no older than you were. He had shaggy brown hair, and was wearing a ragged-looking pair of pants and a long-sleeved shirt that was torn and stained red on one sleeve, droplets of red falling from the fabric to the floor as he stared you down, knife still raised high. His eyes were both angry and afraid, and you found yourself more concerned for him than you were afraid of him.

He made no further movements toward you, which gave you a little more time to look at him. He was dirty, like he had slept outdoors for a month or longer. And his exposed arm not only gave you a look at the deep cut along his forearm, but also at how thin it was. What had you stumbled upon?

“Hey…” He flinched at the sound of your voice. “Do you want me to heal that?”

He looked wary and confused, but not like he would hurt you, so you stood up slowly, dusting yourself off. You took a step towards him, and he took one back in return. “Wait, please! I have healing magic and your arm looks like it really hurts!”

He glared at you, his brown eyes full of suspicion, but he didn’t move, staying still as a statue as you walked over to him and took his injured arm and held it gently. You could feel his eyes on you as you placed your paper bag on the floor, his eyes tracking your every movement. You gently ran a hand just above his wound, and watched as the blue glow swirled from your fingertips and began to mend his flesh, leaving not even a scratch behind when you were done.

“You…” he whispered, staring at his arm in awe.

You grinned sheepishly. “I’ve never healed someone else before.”

He put down his knife at last as he lifted his arm up to his face to look at it the second that you released your hold on him. He almost seemed to forget that you were there, and you reached down to pick up your bag of sweets. The crinkling of the paper bag drew his attention from his arm, and you had a brief mental war with yourself; you had been looking forward to the buns, but he was so thin, and it wouldn’t be a stretch to assume that he was hungry.

With a bit of selfish reluctance that you pushed down, you held the bag out to him. He looked a little confused, so you reached into the bag and pulled out a bun. “I got some sweet buns… they’re really good!”

You held it out to him, plastering a grin on your face to try and seem less scary. It was such a silly thought; he’s the one with a knife and here you were trying not to scare him off. As a last attempt, you ripped a small piece from the bun and popped it in your mouth. You had really missed these, and if he didn’t want them, you would eat them yourself!

He snatched the bag so fast that you almost dropped it. You watched as he took a bun out of the bag and bit into it, devouring the whole thing in a matter of seconds. You giggled as you watched him eagerly eat a second bun as well.

You realized that you didn’t know his name, and readily introduced yourself, asking for his name in return. He stared at you, eyes flickering to the paper bag as he mumbled his reply.

“…Talon.”

“Nice to meet you, Talon!” you replied with a grin.

Your focus was then drawn to the skyline, the sun almost fully vanished from the sky. You had to get home before it was too late, but you still didn’t know the way. Maybe your new friend would know?

“Hey, Talon?” you asked. “Do you know how to get back to the main streets? I’m kinda lost and I have to get home before my parents get back.”

You could have sworn he looked a little sad as he nodded. “This way.”

He carefully set the bag of buns under the bridge, where you also saw a few trinkets and a threadbare blanket. You didn’t want to make him sad, so you didn’t bring up his dreary living arrangements, instead choosing to follow him over past the other side of the bridge and through a very narrow alleyway, barely wide enough for you to fit through.

It was a short walk, but the alley was too thin for most adults to get through, so you could see why the spot with the bridge was so isolated and empty. It had probably been built long ago, before all the other buildings had been here to close it off from the world’s notice. Gradually, more and more light began to filter into the dim alley path until you arrived on a street you were surprised to discover that you found to be familiar.

“I can get home from here!” you announced happily, and Talon only nodded in response.

He brushed past you, and you felt sad at the imminent loss of his company. You had no friends; the only kids your age you were ever around were your parents’ friends’ children, and all they cared about was showing off their combat prowess by giving you more bruises than you could count.

You grabbed Talon’s sleeve without thinking about what you wanted to say, which resulted in a short moment of silence. “Can I come see you again?”

He looked at you for a moment before turning his face away. “Do whatever you want.”

“Okay, then I’ll come and see you again soon!” you promised.

You were going to take his answer for a yes, and waved goodbye to him before dashing back onto the streets, keeping a careful eye out for your trainer as you hurried home.

Your heart was racing in your ears as you crawled back through your window, terrified that your parents had noticed your absence or your trainer had seen you. But as you sat on your bed for the next few hours with only your thoughts as company, you didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. Not that night, or the next day. You were hyper observant of the behavior of everyone around you, but noticed nothing unusual at all. After a few days, you were finally confident enough to say that you had not been caught.

As soon as your paranoia faded, curiosity took its place. You had never had a friend before, and the fact that he was a secret friend that your parents didn’t know about just made you more excited to see him again. You excitedly counted down the days until your parents would attend another meeting. You had so little to look forward to as of late, and the mysterious boy was just what you needed. A friend that wouldn’t judge you, or report your failings back to your parents. Part of you knew that you didn’t know Talon very well yet and he may end up being a jerk, but the bigger part of you was too excited to have a real friend to think of much else.

You began to visit Talon every chance you got. Your parents had been having lots of meetings lately, and you took every opportunity to go see your new friend. At first he seemed surprised to see you again, like he thought that you wouldn’t make good on your promise. He still didn’t talk much, but you did enough talking for the both of you, telling him about your life and your parents as he silently listened and ate the sweet buns that you always brought him. He never told you much about his life, but eventually he admitted that he didn’t have any parents, which you had suspected. You wondered about him, but didn’t want to make him feel bad, so you never pried. He would often have new cuts or scratches, which you happily healed for him. It felt good to be able to use your powers to help someone, even though your parents had forbidden it. You and Talon were secret friends, and nothing would keep you from seeing him.

In hindsight, you had been overconfident. You were stupid to think that a ten-year-old girl could keep such a big secret from parents that happened to be high ranking Noxian officials. You had been in your own little bubble for the few months that you had been seeing Talon for that you began to get sloppy covering your tracks. Your parents had noticed a shift in your personality, and unbeknownst to you had instructed your stealth teacher to follow you when you were alone.

You had seen Talon as usual before heading home, not knowing that it would be your last visit to your friend. You felt your blood freeze in your veins as you crawled into your window as you always did… only to find your parents standing in your room. The stern glares on their faces told you that something was wrong, and your stealth teacher entering the room sent you to your knees with fear as the assassin calmly gave your parents a report of all that you had done when you were out.

Your parents listened quietly, and your father’s solemn nod made you think that things might not be as bad as you thought until he opened his mouth. “Kill the boy.”

“No!” you wailed. “Don’t hurt him, please!”

“We cannot have you believing that associating with street orphans is acceptable behavior,” your mother added. “Not for a future general of Noxus like yourself.”

Scared tears ran down your cheeks as you pleaded desperately for Talon’s life. “I won’t see him again! Please don’t kill him! I’ll stay here and I won’t leave again!”

Your parents regarded you coldly, and you watched as a smug smile slowly grew on your mother’s face. “See that you don’t. That street urchin is a distraction, and you must have no distractions if you want to succeed.”

You were almost too scared to breathe. Did that mean that they wouldn’t have Talon killed? Even if it meant that you couldn’t see him anymore, you had to save him.

Your father sneered at you. “Stop snivelling. I will spare the boy, provided you do what you must for the future of Noxus. You must learn now to keep to your word or I will be forced to undertake measures to ensure that you do.”

You were so relieved that Talon would be okay that you didn’t think about what your father had meant until the next day when you came back to your room after sparring to find bars on your windows. Your door began to be locked whenever you were in it. You were truly a prisoner in your own home.

Your life became training and sleeping; every little kindness or happiness you had before was stripped away the moment you had been caught. At first, you wept for your lost friend, wondering how he was doing and if he missed you as much as you missed him. You had gone so long without friends, and to have the only one that you ever had ripped away from you took from you the last bit of fight that you possessed. You would be a good little possession and never disobey your parents again, although it wasn’t as if you had any choice in the matter now. Your life had always been in their hands and it was either obey or perish.

As the years went by, you stopped crying for Talon, as it had been so long that your time with him was a fading memory. You sometimes wondered what happened to him, but those times became few and far between. When you had reached adulthood, your parents finally eased some restrictions on you, but by then they had already broken you with years of harsh restrictions. You had no desire to leave your room, even if the door was unlocked.

The main difference now that you were no a longer a child was the political lectures really ramping up. You were forced to memorize names and faces of both ally and enemy to your parents. They would bring you along to lesser important functions and you were expected to have a response ready for anyone who conversed with you. You would be happy to stay home, but now that you were a picture of the perfect Noxian lady, your mother insisted on showing all of their hard work off.

You were starting to get restless with your sudden debut into Noxian social circles; it was painfully obvious to you that you had never socialized with anyone who hadn’t been paid by your parents. You were proper and knowledgeable, but never made any real connections. You didn’t know what to say to the people your age that truly enjoyed engaging in brutal violence for the sake of Noxus, and you certainly didn’t care to talk about which enemy of Noxus had been assassinated that week.

It was at your mother’s insistence that you finally reinstated the previously forbidden walks you had taken as a child, as your despondency to the world had long affected you at social functions you were dragged to. You supposed it would be impossible for her to do anything solely for your own benefit, but you had agreed after she had insisted that you would not be trailed on these walks. So there you were, at the age of twenty-four, taking your first walk alone outside in fourteen years.

You had been places with your parents, but you didn’t stop to enjoy the scenery, so it was a new experience for you. The city had changed and evolved since you had been kept indoors. Now that you had your own agency for the short time your mother had allotted for you to walk around, you found your feet taking you to that same alleyway you had gone through to see Talon so long ago. You knew you were being dumb, there was no way he was still there waiting for you. You had no idea if he was even still alive, the Noxian streets being as they were. But something inside you insisted that you had to see for yourself, but the alley was too thin for you to get through now that you were an adult.

The small alley may have stopped a less capable person, but you had nothing in your life to focus on but training, so scaling a building was nothing for you now. You knew there were people around you, but you would be up and over the building before any of them could stop you and question you on what you were doing.

You nimbly ran along the rooftop before scaling down the side of it to land right in front of the old bridge. You almost felt like you were ten years old again, coming to meet your friend. But that was so long ago, and hope had left you that day. You were simply here to satisfy your unrelenting curiosity, chasing after some closure.

You approached the bridge, some small part of you expecting to see the boy sitting there. But there was nobody and nothing. Not even Talon’s old dusty blanket. No sign that he had ever been here, although you knew that you hadn’t imagined him. You sat down where he used to be, losing yourself in your only recorded happy memories for a few minutes until you decided it was time to leave. Your mother would be expecting you, and there was nothing more for you here.

You began to notice a pattern with when you were being sent out on walks. Whenever you would come back, you would cross paths with associates of your parents who were just leaving. Without fail, your parents always seemed to have company over while you were gone.

Your parents had never hid their work away from you so obviously before, and had been bringing you with them to their strategic meetings before this pattern had started. So what had changed? What were they doing that they were trying to hide from you?

You knew it must be nothing good; your parents were endlessly ambitious, and this time, their plan must be something big. Something they couldn’t risk even their daughter knowing about. You were curious, but more than that, you began to worry. Were your parents getting in over their heads? They were tough, but they weren’t invulnerable.

You had to know what they were getting themselves into. But you knew that they would never tell you if you asked. You tried to brainstorm ideas as you walked around town the next time you had been sent out at your mother’s urging, but nothing was coming to mind. You did everything they asked of you, so why couldn’t they trust you with whatever they were planning?

The streets were too loud, and it was proving to be too much of a distraction for you to concentrate on your own thoughts. You decided to divert your path at the next alleyway, heading down the dingy path once you determined it to be vacant. Almost immediately, you noticed a change in the volume of the world around you; the raised voices and noises of society dulled the farther down the back alley you walked.

Even being in total silence did nothing for your current dilemma. What could you do to discover the truth without your parents finding out? Wracking your brain for ideas only ended up giving you the familiar tinges of pain that you knew would turn into a headache if you didn’t give yourself a break from thinking yourself to death.

You came to an abrupt stop as you noticed a figure slumped against a wall just ahead of you. Cursing yourself internally for not paying attention to your surroundings, you weighed your options. You could turn around and go right back where you had come from; one glance at the person told you that they didn’t even seem to have noticed you yet. They were likely a drunk or a vagrant, and you knew that your years of training meant that if you wanted to escape from them, then they wouldn’t be able to stop you.

But another part of you felt compelled by your mother’s lectures on pride. You shouldn’t be afraid to walk by one drunk passed out in an alleyway. You needed to hold your head up high and show this person that you were not a coward, nor someone to be messed with. You felt embarrassed when you realized you had gotten in your own head again, and a distinctly male groan from the person just ahead of you spurned your feet into action.

You would just walk right on past him, like it was no big deal. But you couldn’t help but scrutinize him as you got closer. You couldn’t see his face, as he wore a long blue hooded cape, the hood hanging down over his eyes. You were surprised to see the cape split into tails that were tipped with sharp blades, as well as the large blade strapped to his wrist and forearm. You knew then that the man wasn’t just a drunk in an alleyway, but the time it took to make that observation cost you dearly.

You took too long to realize the danger he truly posed, as before you could blink, you cried out as you were pushed against the wall behind you, the man’s blade at your neck.

“So eager to die,” a deep voice growled as you stared down at his blade, knowing that he only had to press it a little more into your neck to end your life.

Now that he was right in your face, and much taller than you, the hood did much less to obscure his face from your view. He was handsome, something that may have flustered you if you weren’t in mortal peril. His dark brown hair hung just above his eyes and was cut to his collar. His face was angular, his expression set in haughty intimidation, but something about his face called an almost-lost memory to the surface.

“Talon…” you spoke before you could think.

You were too preoccupied with the past. Now this man would think you were a basket case, and you didn’t think that would improve your chances of surviving this encounter. But you were surprised to see that man stumble back from you with a surprised huff. What had happened? Was there some new threat you would have to worry about on top of the assassin in front of you? Unless… could you dare to hope?

“…are you really Talon?” you asked softly, advancing on the man.

“My name is not your concern,” he growled back at you, and then you noticed the blood.

How had you missed it? There was a large tear in the front of his shirt, which revealed both lean stomach muscles as well as a horrible wound that was gushing blood. No wonder he had been slumped over like a drunk; it was a miracle that he could stand at all with a wound that bad. Just as fast as he had advanced on you, he was now trying to flee using whatever endurance he had left. But you knew that without treatment, he wouldn’t be able to make it very far. And whatever had happened to him, whatever he had become since you had last seen him, you weren’t willing to lose him so soon after you had found him again.

“Please don’t run!” you pleaded, hastily telling him your name in hopes that he would remember you. “You’re really hurt! Let me help you!”

He tried to back up further down the alleyway, but since he was injured, you were faster than he was now. He put his blade up to resist, but then his arm dropped by his side as he felt your healing magic connect with his deep wound. He stared into your eyes with an expression that you couldn’t read as his wound healed rapidly before your eyes, and then he was left with a bare patch of torso that showed no signs of injury at all. Before he could even begin to calculate a next move, you lunged at him, wrapping your arms tightly around him, his surprised grunt echoing in the empty alleyway.

“I didn’t think I would see you again!” you cried, allowing him to push you gently back and create some distance between the two of you.

He was careful not to hurt you, but his eyes were not the same shy boy you had known before. His expression was dark, clouded with the years of pain that you couldn’t even begin to decipher.

“Don’t get any closer to me. I’m not the weak child I once was,” he snarled, and the anger in his voice shattered what hope was still in your heart that maybe he had missed you too.

“Talon, please–” you began, inching closer to him, desperate to not lose him again.

He stared at you for a short moment, his gaze unwaveringly cold, before he turned and scaled the tall wall of the alley in the blink of an eye, and then he was gone.

You could have tried to follow him, but his rejection stung you fiercely. The only person in your life who you ever had a genuine connection with, and it turned out that he didn’t care at all. It had been so long, you told yourself, and he had grown up. He had no obligation to a girl he knew when he was ten, a girl he probably thought had abandoned him. He didn’t have to care about you and you knew that you shouldn’t have put those expectations in your head. Clearly the time you had spent together as children was only precious to you.

You were too stunned to cry as you turned and ran all the way home. Your abrupt entrance startled your parents, who had still been in a meeting with their associates, a bunch of documents spread out in front of them on the table. You rushed past them and to your room before your mother could yell at you, burying your face in your pillow as the tears finally came.

You were so stupid. That was the single thought that coursed through your mind that night and the entire next day. You had trouble focussing on anything else, and had paid the price in training when your teacher had almost dislocated your shoulder. You tried not to be upset, but giving up your secret hope that maybe Talon had been thinking about you all those years too was more than you could take right now. You needed a distraction.

Luckily for you, your parents were finally attending a meeting that wasn’t at your house that night. You had been curious about those papers they had in front of them, which would undoubtedly be kept in their study now. And with your father’s insistence that you stay behind and work on improving your earlier failures in combat, you had the perfect cover to do some snooping around. You bid them farewell with a smile you hoped didn’t look too eager for them to leave. They were none the wiser, and left the home at last, leaving you alone with your plan.

Their study was locked, which didn’t surprise you. But you had been trained in picking locks, even expensive and complicated locks such as this one. You just had to be patient and find the trick to this ones. Your steady hands paid off as you finally heard the click of the lock disengaging after several minutes of picking it.

You carefully hung the lock on the inside of the door as you stepped into the room. You had never been in here before, but it was certainly less exciting than the grand study you had imagined when you had pictured it in your head before. There were two large desks, as well as a simple table with a large map strewn across it. The most daunting part of the room was the sheer amount of papers laid across both desks and even spilling onto the floor.

You were confused; you had never known your parents to be anything but tidy and orderly, almost to a militant level. This level of disorder was so unusual that it was setting off your already frazzled nerves. You felt a deep sense of foreboding settle in your stomach as you bent down to pick up the papers that had fallen onto the floor.

Looking over the papers in your hands, you only had more questions instead of answers. You were looking at a list of meeting dates, as well as the names of those who attended the meetings, some of which you recognized as people you had been introduced to before. The names were generally the same under every meeting, but you couldn’t make any sense of what your parents needed the lists for.

You discarded the papers on the table, choosing instead to look over the map that was spread out over most of the table’s surface. It was an ordinary map of the city, but it had been dotted with arrows and a large circle drawn around the Noxian war command building in the center of the city. Was there something happening there? Could Noxus possibly be starting another war?

Feeling even more worried, you began to rifle through the papers on the desks, paying no mind as to how you would put everything back in its place when you were done. You were desperate for information, but the first few papers you looked at gave you no new insights. A breakdown of the defence budget, a summons for a meeting; you discarded papers left and right, looking for anything that stood out. Just as you were ready to toss a particularly wordy paper to the side, the name at the top of the page caught your eye.

General Du Couteau.

Reading over the document, you discovered that it was a report on the general’s daily activities. Why would your parents need this? It didn’t seem to be provided by the general himself, which meant that your parents had someone following the general’s movements and reporting them back. A quick glance at the bottom of the list told you that it extended to today, and the last note made your blood run cold.

Du Couteau will be in place at the war command building. Assassination will take no more than ten minutes.

The note was written in your father’s handwriting, unlike the foreign scrawl of the rest of the document. You couldn’t breathe; your parents planned to assassinate General Du Couteau, the leader of the Noxian army. Suddenly the scribbles on the map made sense. They had been plotting this for who knows how long, and it seemed like tonight was when they executed their plan.

You forced yourself to move, to sift through the remaining documents as fast as you could; you needed to know why they were doing this. Killing the head of the Noxian army was treason of the highest order; you knew that your parents were overly ambitious, but you never thought that they would plot to kill one of Noxus’ most high-ranking officials simply for their own gain. But the more documents you read, the more it became clear. Your parents were unsatisfied with their positions, deeply jealous of perceived favoritism from others towards Du Couteau, and were ready to do something about it. Tonight.

You had to stop them. This time their greed had brought them to a place where they might not be able to come back from, and you couldn’t just sit here and do nothing. The assassination was happening potentially any minute now, and you had to get to them before they made a choice they couldn’t take back.

You threw the papers back on the desk and turned around to sprint out of the room. You didn’t stop to change or grab any weapons, leaving the house and running towards the war command building in a pair of flimsy shoes and the short-sleeved black shirt and pants that you always trained in. Your feet were hurting, and you were sure that people were staring at you as you passed, but you couldn’t afford to pay any of that any mind.

As you got to the building, you could tell that something was already wrong. You had passed by here sometimes on your walks, and the place was always heavily guarded. But right now, you could see no guards, nobody outside the large building at all. It worked well for you now since you could pass through the gate and approach the heavy doors without any difficulty, but you knew that it was a bad sign for whatever was happening inside right now.

You pushed open the door and nearly fell, skidding to a stop by grasping onto the wall. Looking down, you realized what you had slipped in. The entryway was a bloody mess, and your shoes were now sticky and wet with the blood that ran from the corpses of several guards that lay on the floor.

You now understood what had happened to the guards outside, and the brutality was almost too much for you to bear. Throats ripped open, bones and organs visible, eyes still open, reflecting the shock and pain of their final moments. It was horrible, but you knew that they were too far gone for you to possibly save. You could not bring back the dead.

Things that you could not undo had already happened, and you knew that you had to move on. If you didn’t get to your parents soon, Noxus would lose its most valued general, and the entire country would be sent into a civil war. You steadied your feet, carefully stepping around the blood that flooded the floors and running farther into the building.

You encountered more guards the farther in you went, but they were all dead, just like the others. Whatever had happened here, the responsible parties had already moved on. As you got deeper into the building, you began to follow your ears. You could hear the sounds of a commotion, which gave you hope that you weren’t too late. You finally had a door in sight, and sprinted down the hallway to reach it as fast as possible.

Just as you were getting within reach of the door handle, a scream from within the room stilled your hand. The scream rang out with pain, but you recognized the sound of your mother’s voice anywhere. You forced your hand to move, throwing the door open and rushing inside.

You were too late, that much was clear to you. But not for the reason that you had thought.

It was a bloodbath. Bodies littered the floor, their blood covering the ground in a layer of red. You didn’t see Du Couteau anywhere, but you did see your mother as she fell to the ground, and you immediately recognized the deadly redhead behind her as she collected her knife from where it had been embedded in your mother’s back.

Your mother laid still on the ground, and made no movements or sounds. Your eyes were then drawn to the body that lay next to her… your father. They were both clearly dead. Even without looking at them, you knew that the deadly Katarina Du Couteau didn’t leave targets alive.

Now that you saw her here, you knew. It had all been a farce. General Du Couteau wasn’t here, and it was obvious that he had seen through your parents’ plan and sent his own assassins in to deal with the traitors. Your parents and their cohorts had never stood a chance.

You couldn’t help a gasp at watching your mother die before your eyes, a sound which you regretted the moment it brought Katarina’s attention to you. She twirled a dagger in her hand, the same dagger she had just killed your mother with, sending you a smirk that promised you that you were next.

Before you could blink, she had disappeared, and you were barely able to roll forward to avoid being stabbed in the back with her dagger. She slashed forward with a cry, and you scrambled to your feet to avoid the blow. Since she had appeared behind you, she had cut off your exit. There was very little chance of you getting past her and back out the door. You didn’t see any other living people in this room, which meant that she had singlehandedly executed everyone in here by herself. You knew immediately that this would likely be your tomb as well.

She was so fast, and it was all you could do to keep just ahead of her blades. But your dodging would not save you forever, and she was very obviously backing you into a corner. But you had no weapons, so you had no way to fight back and prevent her from caging you in. You were paralyzed with fear as your back hit the wall; you hadn’t even realized that you were that close to the wall to begin with.

Katarina’s dark laughter sent a shiver down your spine, and you could only watch as she raised her dagger, sauntering slowly over to you as she knew she had you trapped, and there was no need for her to rush. You couldn’t look at her anymore; if she was going to kill you, you just wanted it to be over with. You couldn’t make peace with this awful situation, but you could stand your ground here and not cry. You closed your eyes, breathing in and out as you waited for the impact of her dagger.

You heard her sneer, and braced yourself as best you could, until you heard Katarina let out a disgruntled cry as well as the clang of steel meeting steel. You obviously weren’t dead, so you opened your eyes to see why.

You could barely even see Katarina over the tall figure that stood between you and her. From how you had last parted, you didn’t think Talon wanted anything to do with you, but here he was, blocking Katarina’s dagger with his own blade. You didn’t know why he was here, but you were grateful for his help.

“You want to handle her yourself, Talon?” she asked him, and you felt numb as you realized that they were clearly on the same side. Why was he standing in the way right now then? Did he truly wish to kill you himself?

“Katarina…” Talon growled, and she rolled her eyes in response, sheathing her daggers.

She shrugged her shoulders in a manner that was too casual for being in a room full of people she had just killed. “Suit yourself. I’ve had enough of a workout today anyways.”

You both watched her go, and Talon didn’t turn around until she had left the room.

“Why are you here?”

The question startled you, and the anger in his voice made it hard for you to look at him. “My parents… I followed them here. They…”

He didn’t answer, and you finally looked at him. “Talon… you work for Du Couteau?”

He looked like he wanted to snarl at you again, but your saddened expression made him reconsider his answer. “…yes.”

The carnage around you devastated you, and as much as you wanted to grab onto Talon to remain afloat, he had shown no signs of warmth towards you. You couldn’t read him at all, and were scared to voice the thoughts in your head, scared to ask him if he was going to kill you in Katarina’s stead.

Talon turned away from you again, and you felt compelled to call out to him. “Wait!”

“Go home,” he replied sternly, and you got the impression that he was trying to put a wall between the two of you with his words. “You don’t need to get involved with me.”

“Talon!”

He didn’t reply, turning invisible before your eyes. You had no way to chase someone who was invisible, so you were forced to let him go. You just wished he would tell you why he was so desperate to pull as far away from you as he could.

You knew that you couldn’t stay in this room that smelled so strongly of blood that it was making you feel ill. You kept your eyes on the door, trying desperately not to look at the bodies of the dead, especially your parents. You should feel devastated at the loss of your parents, but you just felt sad. You had never held any great love for them, only respected them out of fear, and the notion that you would no longer be bound to their goals for you gave you a sense of freedom that you had never felt before.

They had aimed their ambitions too high, and the cost had been too great to bear. From what you knew of General Du Couteau, he was not a forgiving man. His ruthlessness and cunning had brought much to Noxus, but it also reflected back on his own people. Noxus stamps out the weak, and your parents were no exception. Their lust for power had made them an easy target for Du Couteau to flex his own power. You didn’t know what you would do now, but you couldn’t stay here. Especially if anyone decided to come back to make sure the job was done.

The way home was a blur. The moment you got home, you realized that you couldn’t recall the walk back at all. The house was silent, which somehow felt more oppressive than when your parents were here. You trudged back to your room, the blood on your shoes and pants leaving droplets behind you as you walked.

You tore your shoes and pants off before grabbing a cloth to scrub at the semi-dried blood on your calves and feet. You couldn’t recall when you had eaten last, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to have any desire to eat. All of your recent stress was collapsing upon you, and you laid down on your bed as you felt all of your energy leave you. You would worry about all of this tomorrow, because you couldn’t keep yourself conscious any longer.

You felt resolved the next morning; you knew what you wanted to do. You would try to talk to Talon one last time. You wanted him to tell you directly he hated you, that he wanted nothing to do with you, something. He had been sending you so many mixed signals that you wanted a straight answer for once. You would be hurt to hear him tell you that he didn’t care for you at all, but then you would know. Then you could stop deluding yourself and clinging to a fruitless hope.

Now that you knew he worked for Du Couteau, you had an idea of where you could find him. The Du Couteau estate was huge, and likely housed many members of the general’s faction, and you were hoping that included Talon. You had to give it one last try. Whatever happened today, your life in Noxus was over.

You knew that it would not be long before the news spread of your parents’ failed attempt on the general’s life, and as their kin, you knew a target would be on your head. You had maybe a full day at the most to grab what you could and flee Noxus before the general’s loyalists stormed your home to claim your head as a prize to present to the general.

You knew that to go to the Du Couteau compound was essentially walking into a den of hungry wolves, but getting one last chance to talk to Talon was worth it to you. You just hoped that it wouldn’t cost you your life.

You bathed and changed into something more presentable before you began to set aside everything you would need to leave this place behind forever. If you had as little time as you thought you did, it would help to have your things ready to grab and go as soon as you returned. You packed lightly for the short trip to the Du Couteau estate, bringing along a single dagger for protection but hoping that you wouldn’t need to use it.

You tried to calm yourself down during the walk over, but you couldn’t help feeling like you were walking to your own execution. You had no idea what would happen when you got there, but you intended to stick to your decision. You wanted to see Talon one last time, if only to say goodbye.

You approached the estate to find two burly guards talking amongst themselves, both garbed in Noxian military uniforms. They didn’t look approachable by any stretch of the imagination, but you didn’t have anything to lose. If they told you to leave, you likely wouldn’t be able to push it.

You forced yourself to at least put on a façade of confidence as you approached the men. You could tell that they were appraising you as you came obviously within their notice, assumedly assessing whether or not you were a threat. You hoped that you looked innocent enough, despite the dagger that you had hidden on your person.

“What’re ya here for?” one of the men asked as he stepped forward, arms crossed over his chest as he stared down at you.

Your mouth felt dry as you realized that you hadn’t really planned what you would say to them. You couldn’t just come out of the gate and say you were here to see an assassin who may or may not live here.

You were taking too long to answer, and the other man raised a hand to rest it on the hilt of the sword at his waist in a threatening manner. “If you don’t have business with the general, I will ask you only once to leave.”

“She has business with me,” a sultry voice rang out as a hand was placed on your shoulder from behind.

You looked back quickly to see Katarina Du Couteau standing behind you, brushing a loose strand of crimson hair out of her face with the hand that wasn’t on your shoulder. She didn’t return your startled glance, staring ahead at the guards with her eyebrow raised impatiently, lips curled downwards in a frown.

The guards’ posture became rigid immediately, and they almost tripped over themselves to open the gate for you. Katarina brushed past you and walked toward the gate, turning back and gesturing for you to follow her when she noticed that you were still frozen in place. You were just making all sorts of dangerous decisions today, but she didn’t seem to be posing a threat to you at the moment, so you followed her onto the grounds of the estate.

She didn’t head into the large building, instead leading you into a small garden at the side of the estate. You didn’t see anyone around, and you weren’t sure if that was a good thing or not. Katarina was a hard woman to read, and you were still trying to wrap your head around why she had helped you out with the guards in the first place.

“I really should kill you,” she said as she examined her nails, before her eyes snapped up to meet yours with a smirk on her lips. “But lucky for you, I’m enjoying seeing a little crack in Talon’s armor at last.”

“What do you mean?” you asked carefully, not wanting to provoke her into putting her initial statement into action.

“Don’t bother pretending,” she laughed. “I know Talon, and he doesn’t stick his neck out for anybody. But he protected you, and I want to know why.”

Her voice was light and conversational, a complete departure from yesterday when she had come at you with everything she had. You didn’t have to explain things to her, but her words gave you hope that maybe she would have some insight into why Talon was acting the way he was. And so you told her your story, probably more than you needed to, but it felt good to let someone in on your secrets. She listened with a thoughtful look on her face, and didn’t interrupt once, even as you described what you found in your parents’ office, and what had led up to you rushing to the war command hall the previous night.

“So he had a childhood sweetheart,” Katarina replied at last, looking smug.

“Um, I don’t think we were…” you trailed off, feeling yourself get flustered.

“That’s not what he thinks,” she refuted smoothly. “I have never seen him protect anyone weaker than him without being ordered to by my father.”

You flinched slightly at being called weak to your face, but Katarina didn’t seem to mean it as an insult, just a fact. It was the Noxian way to be brutally honest, and you couldn’t deny her assertion anyways. Even with all your training, you were a long ways off from the likes of her and Talon.

You were about to reply, but closed your mouth when you heard her click her tongue. You quickly noticed that it wasn’t directed at you; she was looking at a spot over your shoulder, and you turned your head back to see a man exiting the estate through the front doors.

“You should probably leave now,” she muttered lowly. “That’s one of my father’s advisors. He can never mind his own business.”

She began to walk back towards the gate, and you hastened to match her pace. If she didn’t like the guy, and she was on the same side as him, then you didn’t want to be anywhere near him.

As you approached the gate, Katarina signalled for the guards to let you through.

“I’ll tell Talon you came by,” she told you, sounding pleased with herself.

“Okay,” you told her, feeling unable to tell her of your immediate plans to leave Noxus as soon as you left here. As you waved goodbye to her and began your journey home, you decided that you would be willing to wait the rest of the day to see if you could see Talon. You could only hope that Katarina would be able to convince him to see you.

You weren’t sure what you had expected to happen, but having girl talk with Katarina Du Couteau was definitely not something you had expected. You took the time on your walk home to mull over her words. Talon was important to you; he had kept you company as a lonely child and protected you as an adult. But Katarina’s words had awoken something that you were embarrassed that you hadn’t even considered. All this time you had been telling yourself that you wanted to seek Talon out because he represented a happy moment to you as a child. But when you thought of him now, you saw his handsome profile in your mind, and felt the residual tingles on your skin that you felt whenever you heard his voice.

You were so in your head that your body was on autopilot, pushing open the door to your house and failing to notice that the door wasn’t locked. You only broke out of your thoughts when the door to the living room was closed right after you entered… but not by you.

You realized immediately that you were surrounded. A large man garbed in black stood behind you, blocking the door and forcing you to move towards the center of the room to get away from him. There was really nowhere for you to run, as there were at least fifteen men scattered around the room. They all seemed to defer to one man who stood facing you, his shoulders squared confidently. Looking around, you didn’t recognize a single one of them. You didn’t think Du Couteau would send his men after you so soon, but here you were. Though the men looked a little rougher than what you would expect of those who served under the general, so you weren’t sure what to make of the situation other than it was not good for you.

The leader stepped forward, and you were unnerved by the way his eyes roved over your body in a way that made you feel entirely too exposed. You wanted to back away from him, but with his lackey right behind you, that wasn’t an option either.

The leader grinned at your panic. “I’m here to honor our deal.”

“Deal?” you retorted. “I don’t even know you!”

“That ain’t my problem,” he replied dismissively. “We made a deal with your parents. We give ‘em the men and supplies, and they give us their precious daughter.”

“My parents are dead!” you said angrily, shocked and infuriated by your parents’ actions. “What they promised has nothing to do with me!”

“Now that’s where you’re wrong,” he said, and you watched warily as the men around him began to slowly come towards you in an effort to fully cage you in. “I lost a lot of men in that plan of theirs. You got a lot of work to do for this exchange to have been worth my time.”

He wasn’t even listening to you, or he just didn’t care. And his lecherous gaze was sending unpleasant chills along your skin. Looking around, you saw very little ways out of this. Why couldn’t they have waited one more day, when you would have been long gone? Your only advantage would be that you knew your house better than they did.

You couldn’t fight them, not as outnumbered as you were. But you might have a chance to outrun them. Your parents had made this house their fortress, as it had very few weaknesses, but that also meant that there were very few escape routes for you. The men were still advancing slowly on you, and you hoped that you could use the element of surprise to get away from them. There was a small gap between two of the men that led to the stairs up, and you knew there was a window at the end of the long hallway. If you could get out of that window, you could use your speed to get away from them and out of the city. You would have to play this smart.

If you waited a second longer, you would lose your opportunity, so you dashed at the gap with everything you had. They clearly weren’t expecting that, and you were easily able to run to the stairs to a chorus of shouts from the group of men behind you. You heard the leader scream at his men to follow you, and then the air exploded with the sounds of many footsteps following you. But you knew that you were fast, so you continued running as fast as you could. The window was within your sight, and you couldn’t look back now. This was your only option for escape.

You clearly hadn’t thought things through fully as you stumbled with a scream as pain burst in your leg. You turned back to face your pursuers in shock, which was all the time they needed to shoot you again, this time the bullet impacted your chest, just above your heart, and the pain winded you. They were still pretty far behind you, but you couldn’t make it out of the window now, not as injured as you were. The pain was so intense that you could barely think, and you were running out of options.

You had one last option, you realized, as you noticed that you were right next to your parents’ safe room. It wasn’t an escape, but the lock on the room was incredibly tough to crack unless you knew the combination. The men continued to shoot at you, but you were able to punch the passcode in with shaking fingers and crack the door open just enough for you to slip in, the door shutting tightly behind you.

You fell to the floor immediately, the pain raging intensely. You cursed yourself for not noticing that they had guns. You were so close to escaping, and you had botched it. Your consciousness was fuzzy at best, and you knew that you didn’t have the concentration required to call upon your powers to heal yourself, not when it was all you could do to remain conscious. You heard the sounds of gunfire against the door, and the yelling and swearing of the men just outside the room, but it all faded to nothing as you watched blood run from your leg as you began to feel your consciousness drift farther away.

It had been an easy mission. For a trained assassin, his target had been sloppy. He was nothing but weaknesses, his defences so thin that Talon felt like he was felling an injured animal. The targets that were a challenge were always more satisfying, and this one had been a disappointment, both to Talon and likely to whoever had trained him in his mediocre skills.

Talon was silent as he returned to the Du Couteau estate. He didn’t often conduct assassinations in the daytime, usually preferring the cover of night, but he obeyed his orders. General Du Couteau was not a patient or forgiving man, and his orders were absolute. It was the life that Talon had lived for so long that he was used to it. But you were different; you didn’t choose the life of a ruthless assassin, and he had to keep you away from his world.

He never thought that he would see you again. When you had stopped coming to meet him at the bridge, he didn’t know what to think. Eventually, he had accepted that he was on his own and would stay that way. At least until he was defeated by Du Couteau and then joined his ranks.

The only things he knew about you were the bits and pieces that he remembered you telling him when you were children. You had been a brief ray of light in the pitch black of his world. Just like back then, you had healed him without asking for anything in return, which he had never experienced from anyone else in his life.

You were as pure of a soul as they came in Noxus, and Talon had never worked a legitimate job in his life. He had grown up on the streets, thieving and killing when he had to in order to survive. He couldn’t involve you in the danger he faced on a regular basis, and he had pushed you away at every turn to ensure that you stayed away. But he couldn’t figure out why you continued trying to get close to him. Even when he had admitted to being involved with Katarina, who had killed your parents, you had tried to reach out to him. And he had run like a coward.

Every time he thought about you, he felt frustrated. Why were you trying so hard to get close to him after all he had done? He wanted you as far away from this world as possible, even if it meant that you would be far from him as well. He would suppress the part of him from childhood that wanted to let you in and do what he had to do to keep you safe.

As usual, the guards opened the gates for Talon as soon as they saw him. He had a reputation, and both parties preferred if they didn’t have to interact. Not many people went out of their way to talk to him, not when he was one of the three most talented blademasters in the Du Couteau house, and certainly the least friendly.

His plan to head directly to his room was thwarted immediately by one of the few people who did talk to him, despite how little he cared to make casual conversation. Katarina stood just inside the gate, arms crossed and gaze locked on him as if she had been waiting for him to arrive, which was unusual for her unless her father had asked her to pass information on to him. The likelihood of receiving information from the general by way of his daughter was the sole reason his feet stopped in front of her.

She looked pleased with herself, and Talon knew that was a bad sign, especially when she opened her mouth. “Your girl was just here.”

Talon glared at her. Katarina didn’t need to say your name; they both knew who she was talking about. Talon was both impressed and irritated with your courage; coming directly to enemy territory to try and see him was a very dangerous decision. But at the same time, he couldn’t help but wonder what it would take to get you to understand that he wasn’t a good man, and certainly wasn’t worth all the danger he would add to your life just by being in it.

“You should go see her,” Katarina pressed. “She’ll never understand if you just keep acting like a jerk. If you’re not into her, then you’re leading her on by treating her like this.”

“This doesn’t concern you,” he snarled back, the anger clear in his voice. Why was she trying to get so involved in his personal life?

“It concerns her,” Katarina replied back. “What if she comes back here again, Talon? You were lucky I was here. Anyone else would have killed your little girlfriend on the spot.”

Sparks flew in the air between the two assassins. Katarina was grating on his nerves with her nosiness and refusal to back down. Talon was angry, but as little as he wanted to entertain this nonsense right now, at the back of his mind, he had to admit that she was right. He couldn’t let you keep trying to come to find him here. He needed to give you one last shove to keep you away from him. He felt his mood souring, but before he or Katarina could say anything further, their attention was drawn to a commotion at the front gate.

Talon and Katarina both turned to look as the gate opened and one of the house’s messengers rushed in. It was unusual to see the messengers be in such a rush, as there weren’t many emergencies occurring due to the general’s overprepared nature. The messenger was headed to the estate, but stopped in his tracks when he saw the two assassins staring right at him.

He bowed hastily, and Katarina rolled her eyes, prompting him to just spill his news instead of wasting further time. “I was sent to observe the traitors’ house for any movements.”

“…and?” Katarina implored him impatiently.

The man nodded his head too many times; it wasn’t unusual for people to be nervous in Katarina’s presence, but as soon as Talon had heard that it was related to your parents, he was ready to cut the man’s tongue out if he didn’t get on with it.

“There were suspicious movements by a group thought to be allied with the traitors. They broke the lock and entered the home just before the traitor’s daughter returned home. I suspected that they were regrouping their forces to plot against us again, but then I heard gunshots and a woman’s screams, so it seems they’ve turned on each other,” the man reported.

Talon’s ire turned to alarm as he heard the report. You had nothing to do with your parents’ treachery, so that could only mean that one of their disgruntled allies had decided to come after you for their failures. He didn’t have a complete idea of your combat abilities, but he doubted they would be enough for you to take out a group of armed men.

He didn’t spare a moment, immediately running at the estate’s wall and leaping over it, jumping from building to building as he rushed to get to your home as fast as possible. Talon hadn’t felt desperation like this in a long time; he always ensured that situations were under his control, but the thought of you in mortal peril had spurned his feet faster than his mind could keep up with. Here he had been trying not to involve you in his dangerous world, and yet danger had found you anyways. He felt no pity for the men that would soon die by his blade; he could almost feel the steel pulsing with hunger for their blood for even daring to be near you. He could only hope that he wouldn’t arrive too late.

Meanwhile, Katarina watched Talon disappear before turning to the flustered messenger without batting an eye. “No need to report this to my father. I’ll see him myself after we handle this.”

The messenger looked relieved to not have to report to the general himself, but that wasn’t Katarina’s concern. It would be much more convenient for Talon for her father to not hear information related to you. As the man left, Katarina smiled to herself; who did Talon think he was fooling with his uncaring façade? Him rushing immediately to your aid told her more about his true feelings than any of his words had.

But in her brief conversation with you, Katarina had found that she liked you. It was certainly more than dreary around here with all the serious men her father surrounded himself with, and she personally wouldn’t mind having you around again, especially if she got to see Talon acting all lovesick. Talon would likely need help if he wanted to rescue you quickly, so Katarina left the estate as well, following right behind her agitated fellow assassin.

She caught up to him just in time to watch him surveying the scene from the building next to your house. They could both see a group of well-muscled goons patrolling the first floor, but no sign of you.

“Do you think they killed her?” Katarina asked.

Talon’s worry wasn’t strong enough to overpower his battle sense. These men wouldn’t stay at the house if they had accomplished their goal already, which meant that you were likely still somewhere in the house. Talon didn’t need to say his thoughts out loud as Katarina could see the same thing he could.

“I’ll take care of the ones on the first floor,” Katarina asserted, and then they were off.

They both jumped in through an open window, and Katarina stopped to face the group of men. “Hope you boys are ready to dance.”

As Katarina jumped towards them, daggers at the ready, Talon used the distraction to turn invisible and run past them and to the upper level of the house. The sounds of the fighting going on downstairs began to fade, and Talon’s invisibility wore off as he emerged at the start of a long hallway. He didn’t see you anywhere, but zeroed in on several men beating against a door at the end of the hallway.

“Shoot it down if you have to!” one of the men screamed, his face red with fury. “That bitch can’t hide forever!”

“She won’t last long either way with those bullets we got in her!” another man replied with a loud laugh.

Talon didn’t wait a second longer after hearing the men’s words. He moved silently down the hallway, and the men were none the wiser until the sharp end of his blade met the flesh of the leader’s neck, and with one smooth movement, the man’s head had been removed and rolled a few feet down the hall before he could even scream. Blood spurted from his neck as his body fell to the floor, both of his companions screaming when they saw what the furious assassin had done to their boss.

They raised their guns to shoot at Talon, but he was faster, leaping through the men in an instant, the blades on his cape dicing their flesh at the same time he cleaved their heads off their necks to join their leader’s on the floor. Talon didn’t like to be messy, but he needed them dead as fast as possible, and no matter who these lowlifes were, there was no way for them to come back from decapitation.

But if what they had said was true, you didn’t have time to wait. He would have to get to you immediately.

You had been in and out of consciousness, half-feeling like you could hear your mother’s voice telling you to get up, but then realizing that the voice was just a hallucination that your delirious brain had created. By now, your blood had run down your clothes and pooled under you. You knew that you couldn’t lose much more, but that mattered less to you when you knew that you had no power to help yourself. At least you would die on your own terms, far enough from those men that you could die in peace, even if you were in horrendous pain.

You didn’t know how long you had been in the safe room for when the screaming started. You thought it was in your head at first, but the noises continued for a few seconds until it stopped and everything went quiet. You couldn’t heard the men’s voices or them pounding on the door. It seemed impossible to think that they had given up, but even if they did, you couldn’t stand up with your injuries. You were as good as dead.

You felt another wave of intense fatigue hit you just as you heard a new sound from outside the room… a shout of your name. You were willing to write it off until your name was called again, followed by a sound of something impacting the door. The voice sounded so familiar and comforting to you, but you couldn’t place why. It took one more shout of your name to finally put the pieces together in your fuzzy brain.

“Talon!” you cried out, surprised at how rough your voice sounded.

There was a short pause on the other side of the door. “Open the door!”

“I can’t…” you replied sadly. “I can barely–”

You were cut off by another wave of drowsiness, barely able to keep yourself awake this time, your heart pounding in your ears.

“Give me the code!” Talon growled back, sounding desperate.

How was he even here? You still felt like this was a cruel dream. Couldn’t you just die without your brain giving you false hope that you would see Talon one last time?

“The code!” he shouted, his words finally knocking enough sense into you that you were able to focus on listing the numbers to him.

As soon as you did, the door began to open. But you didn’t have the strength to keep your eyes open any longer, and you collapsed fully to the ground, your neck and the back of your head now laying in your own blood. You felt your head be lifted and placed in someone’s lap, gentle fingers brushing your hair from your face.

You forced your eyes to open and saw Talon’s face above you, his clothing stained with blood that didn’t seem to be his. His eyes were focussed on your face, and he stared at you with a gentleness in his eyes that you had never seen before. His mood notably picked up the moment he noticed you looking up at him.

“You need to heal yourself,” he told you sternly.

You shook your head weakly in response. “Can’t…. I can’t focus…”

Your eyes drifted closed again as you felt your body become more and more numb. You couldn’t hold on any longer. At least you had Talon here with you at the end…

Your eyes shot open with a short gasp against his lips as Talon kissed you. You felt like you had been electrocuted by the shock as his lips pressed harder against your own before pulling away at last.

“You’re awake now, aren’t you?” he pressed. “Heal yourself.”

“Talon, you–”

He ignored you. “Heal yourself!” he demanded, and your brain followed the command at last, calling to the power you didn’t think you could use right now.

You watched as the blue glow that you thought was out of your reach grew in your hand. You lacked the strength, so Talon grabbed your hand, bringing it to your chest and watching closely as the bullet was pushed out as your body repaired itself. When he was satisfied that your chest looked much better, he carefully bent you so your hand could reach your leg wound as well, your magic ejecting the other bullet from your skin as well.

The immediate alleviation of pain came as a huge relief, but you realized that using your powers while you were in such a state was beyond anything that your body could cope with. Before you could even warn Talon, you felt your limbs go slack and your head droop, unconsciousness taking you before you knew if Talon had caught you or not.

Katarina pocketed her daggers, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she sauntered upstairs after Talon. Those guys had been all muscle and no skill; she would almost have felt bad if she were a better person. But they were in the way, so they died. They were allied against her father anyways, so there was a likely chance she had just crossed an item off of her to-do list a little early.

Katarina encountered no one until she reached a long hallway, and it was immediately clear that Talon had been here. There were small pools of blood that led to three men, or what was left of them. Their heads had been sliced clean off of their necks and had rolled to various parts of the hallway. Katarina paid them no mind; the sight was no shock to a person like her. Once she got to the bodies, she noticed a door that was slid halfway open that caught her attention.

Walking silently up to the partially-open door, she was able to clearly see Talon kneeling on the floor with your body in his arms. Katarina placed a hand on the door, slowly opening it so she wouldn’t startle him as she entered the room.

“Is she dead?” Katarina didn’t bother to mince words.

Talon looked over at her before carefully standing up with you in his arms. “No. She healed herself in time, but she passed out from blood loss.”

“So you’re bringing her back with us?” Katarina pressed, turning back to leave the room, already assured of his answer before he could say it.

Talon didn’t reply, but followed her into the hall. Katarina began to open doors in the hall, leaving Talon to stare at her, unimpressed that she was wasting time with whatever she was doing.

Katarina caught his stare and raised an eyebrow in return as she walked into one of the rooms. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’re both drenched in blood. Unless you want her to wear bloody clothing forever?”

Talon watched Katarina walk over to the bed to look through a bag that was laying there. She rifled through the bag for a few seconds before closing it again and slinging it over her shoulder.

“Looks like your girl was already packed. Guess she was planning to skip town if you didn’t come see her,” Katarina surmised.

“Are you finished?” Talon replied coldly, walking past the room and towards the front door, Katarina easily catching up to him.

“I’ll take this to your room,” she said, gesturing with her chin to the bag she carried. “You might want to take the long way back unless you want people to think you’re walking around with a dead body.”

She didn’t wait for an answer, heading through the door and back to the estate on her own. She was right; there was no way he could scale buildings while carrying you. He stuck to alleyways and less populated areas to not bring more attention to your situation, but he felt relieved that he could see your chest rise and fall slowly as he walked. You had come so close to death that he thought he wouldn’t be able to save you. Having you here in his arms, alive, had calmed his restless soul. His lust for blood sated with the deaths of your attackers.

He had been putting so much effort into pushing you away that he had left you alone and vulnerable. He could only hope that you hadn’t lost too much blood before you had healed your wounds. You were pale, much more than was healthy, but there wasn’t much he could do other than take you somewhere safe and hope that you would wake up.

The walk back was eventless; the few people to cross Talon’s path quickly backed up and fast walked in whatever direction they had come from. He was used to that behavior already, given his intimidating stature and ever-present glower. But he was forced to admit that he did look like some sort of crazed murderer as he carried you in his arms, both of you soaked in blood and leaving a trail on the ground behind him as he walked.

It was early in the evening when he arrived back at the estate, the setting sun falling behind him. Katarina must have warned the guards that he was coming, because they had made themselves scarce. Talon adjusted your body against his shoulder as he pushed the gate open with his other arm.

He took the usual way to his room, heading to a side entrance. Not many people were allowed to be on Du Couteau property, let alone live within the walls of the towering estate, so there was not likely to be anyone in his path. Talon’s room was even more secluded, in a wing where no one else resided, so he always had plenty of space to himself. General Du Couteau put a lot of faith in him, and rewarded his loyalty and skilled service. But even if the rooms in Talon’s wing of the estate were available, his reputation kept people away for fear of angering him.

Talon scoffed at the notion; he would not simply strike someone down for being on estate grounds, not without an order from the general. But he preferred the solitude his area of the estate offered, so the paranoia was convenient for him, especially now as he carried you into his room.

Katarina was looking out of the window, but turned to look at him as he entered. “Took you long enough. You can put her down and then wait outside.”

Talon glared at her, not understanding what she meant, and she laughed. “She needs her clothes changed, so unless you were planning on stripping her yourself…?”

Katarina didn’t need to finish her sentence to know that Talon had at last gotten her drift. Whereas normally he would have argued with her, he walked over to gently lay you on the bed, turning and walking a few paces away and crossing his arms, but not leaving the room.

“Suit yourself,” Katarina scoffed at the overprotective assassin as she began to remove your bloody clothing.

Talon kept his back to the scene, knowing that Katarina was getting a little too much enjoyment out of this. He listened to the sound of his bed creaking, as well as the sounds as different articles of your clothing hitting the floor as Katarina discarded them. It took her a few minutes, but eventually she instructed Talon that he could turn back around.

When he turned back, you were laying on top of the bed in a soft gray dress. Katarina was wiping blood from your forehead with a cloth, your body noticeably less bloody as well. There was still traces of blood in your hair, but it was no longer caked on your skin like dirt. Seeing you looking much cleaner made Talon realize just what a state he was in as well. The scent of blood clung to him, but he was so used to the smell that he was able to easily tune it out.

“She’ll have to bathe to get the rest of the blood off, but I did what I could for now,” Katarina said, leaving the bloody cloth on a table by the bed and making her way to the door. Always eager for the last word, she looked back at Talon when she was halfway out of the door. “Nobody comes by here, so you two can be as loud as you want.”

Katarina left, knowing she wouldn’t get a response from him, heading into the hallway and towards her own area of the estate. Talon began to remove his own blood-stained clothing as his thoughts drifted. Katarina seemed more than willing to keep you a secret, but even if the general knew about you, Talon doubted he would care. As long as he accomplished his missions, the general did not pry into his sparse personal life, and if keeping you here with him was Talon’s price for his service, the general would have no choice but to agree.

Talon did not even entertain the thought of allowing you to go back to your home when you woke up. Without your parents to protect you with their influence, you were incredibly vulnerable to the dregs of Noxian society. Deep within him, Talon wasn’t quite ready to admit that the larger reason for his decision was backed by his desire to keep you by his side.

Talon had never had the desire to be close to someone in a way other than professional respect. General Du Couteau had been the only person to ever defeat him in combat, and so he had agreed to serve under him to learn and improve his own skills. He had moved up from being a skilled thief to become one of the three strongest members of the house of Du Couteau. His time in the service of the general had taken him all over Runeterra to assassinate enemies of the general, and he had never found his life to be lacking, not until he met you again after all your years apart.

Having you here made him want things he had never wanted before. He selfishly, possessively wanted you. His cold demeanor had temporarily held him back from being consumed by his desires, but now that you were here with him, now that there was nothing holding him back from being with you, his emotions threatened to consume him. And while he could assume what you felt, he hadn’t heard it from your own lips… yet.

All he could do was wait and hope that you would recover. He approached the bed, pulling the collar of your dress down to look at your wound. There was only the slightest cut in your skin, not even enough to bleed. Looking at the wound on your leg, he found that it was the same. Katarina had wiped away most of the blood from your injuries, and it was a relief to Talon to see you no longer drowning in your own blood.

He had done all that he could for you at the moment, and so he covered your body with a blanket before leaving his room to do some training. There was no guarantee when you would wake up, but he was reassured that you were somewhere he could keep an eye on you from. Those thugs had been an unfortunate happening, but he would do much worse to anyone that dared to attack you from now on. Very few had ever survived an encounter with the blade’s shadow, and he had no mercy for those who got in his way.

You saw your mother and father. Somewhere in your mind, you knew that shouldn’t be possible; they were dead. You began to wonder if this meant that you were dead as well. The last thing that you remembered was Talon finding you in the safe room… and kissing you.

Your parents didn’t say anything, just stared at you, their faces slowly changing from healthy to gray and dead. You backed away from them as their eye sockets bled black and they stared at you with blame in their eyes. You wanted to run, but found that you couldn’t move. Their deathly figures got closer and closer, and you flinched, closing your eyes as they were almost upon you, but instead finding yourself embraced from behind, a familiar scent engulfing you.

You heard your name being called by his voice, soft in your ear. Talon…

You still couldn’t move, but you wanted so badly to turn around and see him. To kiss him again. To be by his side.

He had shown more care for you in the short amount of time with you than your parents had in your entire life. You felt overwhelmed with desire to see his face, to be able to hold him back. But this wasn’t real, and the ghostly touch against you wasn’t him. You had to wake yourself up. You had to see Talon again.

You realized that your eyes were closed, and your head felt clear. You opened your eyes at last to see soft light filtering in through a window and no shadowy figures around you. You didn’t recognize the room you found yourself in, but considering you weren’t shackled to the bed, you had to be somewhere safe.

You sat up in the bed, which caused a damp cloth on your forehead to fall into your lap. You picked it up, staring at the simple navy blue fabric that reminded you so much of Talon. Was it too much to hope that it was him who had brought you here?

Running a hand through your messy hair, you were disgusted to find flecks of dried blood on your fingers. As you wiped the specks of blood off on the cloth, your full situation came back to you. You were surprised that you were even alive with how severe your wounds had been. You had been prepared to die in that room, a casualty to the ambitions of your parents.

The door to the room opened as you had pulled back the blanket to look at your injures. You looked over to see Talon pushing the door open, wearing more casual clothing than you had seen him in before. He wore a simple pair of black pants and a dark blue shirt which stretched over the muscles of his arms in a way that made you nervously avert your eyes.

Talon paid your sudden shyness no mind, walking over to your bedside as soon as he noticed you were awake. You weren’t sure where to look, so you settled for staring at your hands as they rested in your lap. You noticed a spot of dried blood on one palm that you had missed and began to scrape it off with a fingernail. You were probably too focused on the task, and only stopped when Talon put a hand over yours to move your hands apart.

You looked up at him at last, and he only removed his hand from yours when you met his eyes. You had been so desperate to see him, but having him be by your bedside like this was making it hard for you to function, especially with how casually he was dressed. He was so effortlessly handsome, and here you were all dirty, your hair matted with blood and skin clammy from sleeping off your injuries. The thought sent your gaze downwards again as you began to feel self-conscious.

“How long was I asleep for?” You cringed at how dry and raspy your voice sounded.

“A week,” Talon answered, reaching down to tilt your chin up to face him when you didn’t reply to him. “Are you still in pain?”

“No,” you replied at last, the closeness of his face driving your heart rate up, especially considering you now knew how long you had been asleep for. You must look pretty bad right now, and that wasn’t even touching on how you must smell at the moment.

“Can… can I have a bath?” you asked, your voice coming out as more of a squeak.

Chancing a look at Talon’s face, he didn’t seem to be annoyed with you. In fact, he looked more relaxed than you had ever seen him. At your words, his hand drifted from your chin to brush gently over your tangled hair, and you desperately fought against the urge to shy away from his hand. The moment only lasted a few seconds, and you found yourself missing his touch as soon as he brought his hand back to his side.

Talon nodded, turning back to pick something up as you eased your way out of the bed, your balance a little shaky as you stared at his back. Now that it wasn’t covered by his hood, you had a proper opportunity to admire his hair; it looked much too nice to belong to someone as deadly as he was, and your fingers itched to run through it like he had done to yours. But you didn’t know where you stood with him right now, and feared he might pull away from you if you tried.

Your focus was then put on a small basket that was handed to you. Looking at it, you found what looked like various soaps and bathing oils, which was not something you imagined that Talon would have had lying around.

You looked at him in surprise, and he caught your train of thought immediately, giving you a stony look. “Katarina prepared those for you.”

You couldn’t help a giggle. “Sorry. I couldn’t help but imagine you bathing in roses when I saw this stuff.”

His lips twitched up in a smirk. “I see your wounds didn’t affect your brain. What a shame.”

Your mouth dropped open. Was he teasing you? Talon, one of the most deadly men in Noxus, had just implied that you were dumb.

His eyes glimmered with playfulness for a moment before he turned away, not giving you a chance to reply. Not that you could even think of a reply; his sudden teasing had taken the wind right out of your sails. You hadn’t expected that from him, and he had taken full advantage of that fact.

He turned his head to look back at you, and you took that as your cue to follow after him. He led you out of the room and to a room a few doors down, which turned out to be a bathroom. Talon closed the door behind you, and you waited a few seconds before undressing, realizing that there was no point in listening for his receding footsteps as he had clearly trained himself to move silently.

You turned the tap on, the warm water feeling heavenly on your skin as you sat down in the bath. It was very clear to you how much you needed this bath; as soon as you began to wash yourself, the water grew dirty from the grime and blood that covered your skin and hair. By the time you were done, the water was tinted a light red, which you quickly set to drain. You really didn’t need any more reminders of how gross you had felt prior to the bath.

Putting your clothing back on, you almost felt like a new person. It was an especially big relief that you could finally stop worrying about smelling bad on top of everything else you had to worry about right now.

It was a relief to you when Talon finally went to do some training later on that day. It had taken you some time, but over the day, you had come to a realization; he was definitely flirting with you. You had been hesitant to believe it at first, but over the course of the day, you could no longer have any doubts.

It had started with him being closer than usual, which was already new for you given how hard he had tried to flee from you over the past while. But now he seemed to take every opportunity available to him to sit near you while sharpening his blades, or brush a hand over your skin while checking your injuries. At first it could have been a coincidence, but you caught the ghost of a smirk on his face too many times for it to be innocent, which led you to accept that he was being like this on purpose. But he hadn’t mentioned the kiss, or tried to kiss you again, no matter how amicable you would be to a repeat of that moment.

You felt like a timid alley cat being offered a piece of fish; you wanted the reward so badly, but were scared to open yourself up and be vulnerable enough to take what you wanted from him. His behavior seemed to give you the impression that he would be open to the idea, but it was hard to work up the nerve, and you were just about reaching your breaking point.

You basically had to insist that he go train for a bit, if only to give your cheeks a break, as there was only so much blushing you could take before you felt your cheeks would burn off. You knew that you couldn’t fool him; he knew exactly why you were so determined that he go do some training, but had gone along with your request. If only you could figure out what to do about the sudden tension before he returned.

You couldn’t think of anything. If you confessed to him outright and he just stared at you, you didn’t think you could take it. But at the same time, you had to get some closure. You couldn’t take any more of Talon’s flirty gestures without knowing what you meant to him, what the kiss had meant to him. In the hour he was gone, the only course of action you could settle on was just asking him why he had kissed you. Then at least you could get an insight into his feelings without putting yourself too far out there.

You rehearsed what you would say again and again in your head, and even a few times out loud. Just as you were beginning to feel like you could do this, the door opened and Talon came in, discarding a few blades of varying sizes on the table, and you almost physically felt your nerve break. You felt his eyes on you immediately, and your rehearsed words fled quickly from your mind. How did you ever think that you could do this?

You couldn’t even move an inch from your seat on the bed, almost too scared to breathe. You couldn’t even look at him, and neglected to recall just how good he was at moving silently until he was right before you, his hand on your shoulder drawing you back into reality.

“Have you finished healing your wounds?” he asked, removing his hand when he knew he had your attention.

You looked down at your chest, pulling your dress back to look at the wound. You had entirely forgotten about it, but allowed the familiar blue glow of your powers to light in your hand as you began to heal the last of your wounds. You had healed them most of the way before, but with one more dose of your magic, they were gone as if you had never been injured at all. As you felt your leg fully heal as well, you looked over to Talon, your focus drawn to a thin cut on his cheek that you had only noticed now that he was so close to you.

Without really thinking about it, you reached a hand up to his face, trailing your fingers in a line down his cheek along the scratch. He kept his eyes on you, putting up no resistance to your touch. As you moved your hand back and his cut fully healed, the intimacy of the gesture finally hit you and you retracted your hand as if you had been burned. Talon remained where he was, and the closeness sent a nervous shiver down your spine.

You tried to even your breathing, hoping that would help you bolster your nerves. You had to know. You would just repeat that to yourself until you could make your mouth move.

“Talon…” You used every bit of your willpower to get the words out. “Why did you kiss me?”

You heard an exhale of breath that sounded suspiciously like laughter from the assassin. “I didn’t recall you being this dumb when we were children.”

“What?” you replied incredulously with a frown. “I was being serious, Talon!”

“So was I,” he replied coyly. “I didn’t think that loud girl I knew would grow up to be so naïve.”

What was he even saying? He was clearly trying to say something, but you were having trouble reading past the insults.

“So you’re not going to answer my question?” you asked with thinly veiled frustration.

He leaned down, his arms on either side of you caging you in. You had nowhere to run unless you were forced to put up with his smug smirk as he leaned down towards you, getting close enough to kiss you but holding himself back just enough for your lips not to touch. You couldn’t help but let your eyes flit to his lips, wary of the look in his eyes when he caught you staring.

“If you were paying attention, you would have your answer already,” he said, voice low and more seductive than you had ever heard him sound.

It was taking all you had to keep your eyes on his, especially with how close his lips got to yours with every word he said. You would only have to move an inch and then you would be kissing him again. And with him this close, you couldn’t help but think that maybe he wanted this too. In all the time you had known him, you hadn’t known him to do or say things he didn’t mean. He had been teasing you mercilessly all day, and you just wanted to believe that this meant something to him.

“Can you… kiss me again?” you whispered, closing your eyes as you were too nervous to look at his face.

There was a few seconds of silence, and you opened your eyes to see what was happening just in time to see Talon’s face close in on you, his lips connecting with yours as he used his weight to press you down on the bed. You had been too surprised to resist, but you readily welcomed the contact, your fingers gripping at his shoulders as you closed your eyes.

His movements overwhelmed you; before you could even process it, his hand slid over your breasts, fingers closing around one as you tried to keep up with his tongue. You squirmed under him, moving a hand up to finally get a feel of his hair now that you were fairly certain that he wouldn’t mind. You were just wearing a simple dress and a pair of underwear, but the closeness was heating up your body in a way that only removing the suddenly-too-warm clothing from your skin would alleviate.

It was futile to try and predict his movements; you jerked back from the kiss with a moan of his name as he pressed his fingers against your clit, fingers that you hadn’t even realized that he had snuck under your dress. As his hand slipped in your underwear, he took advantage of your exposed throat, leaving heated kisses on your neck. You found yourself fleetingly curious about where he had picked this up, but the thought disappeared as he pulled back to nibble at your ear with his teeth.

He removed his hands from you, leaning his lower body against yours and supporting his weight with his hands. His lips were still at your ear as you felt the hard press of his cock against your lower half.

“You still don’t know why?” he probed, grinding slowly against you, the friction not even close to enough for you right now. “I tried to keep you away from the way I live, the people I kill. But you were more persistent than I thought.”

“Talon…” you whispered, wishing he would just press a little harder, but he stayed frustratingly light and slow with each roll of his hips into yours.

“You chased after me, so now you can’t complain about what I do to you,” he growled in your ear, his words making you shudder with anticipation.

His fingers crept back under your dress, and you spread your legs as much as you could with him still on top of you to give him room. You blushed as you realized just how wet you were as Talon’s attention moved from your clit to press a finger inside you with ease.

You cried out at the intrusion, pulling his face down to yours so you could feel his tongue against yours again. He seemed more than happy to kiss you breathless as he added another finger, reaching so deep within you that it was making you curl your toes until they began to hurt. You felt like you could barely keep up with the kiss anymore, but Talon’s focus did not waver.

The cotton of his shirt began to brush uncomfortably against you, and you tugged at it, unable to verbalize your request due to how thoroughly he was kissing you. The tugging got his attention and he pulled back at last, looking all too pleased with himself, ripping his shirt off with one hand while the other continued to pump in and out of your pussy. With him now on his knees on the bed, you finally got a look at what was pressing against you earlier.

Talon’s cock was straining noticeably against his trousers, and the sight made your tongue dart out to nervously run along your lower lip. Talon caught you staring easily, and his fingers began to curl inside you, the sensation making you flutter your eyes closed with a moan. Only when you felt a noticeable draft did you realize that he had taken advantage of your distracted state to slide your underwear off completely and discard them on the floor.

You were warm, way too warm, and Talon allowed you to push his fingers away from you so you could sit up as best you could and shimmy your dress up your body. You felt somewhat shy, but you were so overheated at the moment that you couldn’t keep your dress on any longer if you didn’t want to spontaneously combust. It also didn’t hurt to watch Talon’s eyes hungrily follow your movements, and when you noticed him about to dive back against you, you held up a hand, deciding to be cheeky.

“Not until you take off your pants,” you said, staring at him with a challenge in your eyes.

Talon’s eyes looked dark as he reached towards the clasp of his pants, knowing he had your attention fully captured. He didn’t leave you waiting, discarding his pants quickly and leaving him as bare as you were.

He leaned back down, your faces almost touching. “When we do this, you’ll be mine. Is that what you want?”

“Yes,” you replied breathlessly, and he took your legs in his hands, bringing them around his waist.

He needed no further convincing, and you felt the prod of his cock, which felt so much better without any layers of clothing in the way. You had no coherent words as he began to sink into you easily given you were so wet that he didn’t even need to go particularly slow. You arched your back with a gasp, your ears rewarded when Talon let out a quiet groan as he finally bottomed out.

Before you regained your composure, Talon was sliding out and rocking his hips back towards you, shattering what mental facilities you had left. You could do little more than grip at his arms and the bed sheets as you looked up at his dark eyes that were focussed on your own. You couldn’t stop yourself from moaning at the feeling, especially when he brushed his thumb just right against your clit, the resulting surge of building pleasure almost overwhelming you.

As you got more and more vocal, you began to notice how responsive he was to every little noise you made. Every moan or cry seemed to make him thrust into you a little harder than usual, and you decided that you wanted to hear him too. He had been largely silent so far, and you wanted to know that he was as affected by this as you were.

You began to roll your hips to meet his, squeezing your inner muscles every time he rocked back into you. Immediately, you noticed a stutter in his breath, and after a few repeats on your part, his eyes narrowed on your face, and he began to slow his pace as he leaned down towards you, his teeth grazing your ear.

“You think you’re getting away with that?” he growled, sending pleasant chills along your skin with his words. “You really are naïve.”

He pulled back from your ear to kiss you deeply at the same time he began to move at a much harsher pace, every movement sending jolts through you and a flush to your face as he began to hit on just the right spot. He was so close to you that his chest pressed against your breasts, the added friction driving you crazy. His hair was finally close enough for you to tug on, the resulting groan he let out only spurning you on to be rougher in return. You were both desperately close, but Talon’s brutal pace did not slow one bit. You made a brief mental note to tease him about his stamina later.

Talon came first, pulling his mouth from yours to bite at your neck as he stilled for only a moment before continuing at a gentler rhythm, his fingers playing with your clit as he bit and sucked at your neck. You tightened your grip on him, your nails biting into his back as he carried you through the waves of pleasure until you fell back on the bed, feeling boneless. Talon was quick to follow, pulling out of you and wrapping an arm around you to keep you close to him.

You brought your hand back to brush some hair away from your face, brows furrowing in confusion when you noticed blood under your nails. It only took you a second to make the connection, and you sat up, quickly looking over Talon’s shoulder at his back.

“Your back– I’m sorry!” you hastily apologized, seeing the thin streaks of blood that dotted his back from your scratches.

You frantically ignited your hand with blue and healed the shallow cuts on his back. You had been so panicked that you only realized afterwards that your position leaning over his back had put your breasts right in his face. You made eye contact with his blank stare, and almost fell off the bed as you pulled away in a hurry, only saved by his strong grip on your arm.

“Where are you going?” he asked, his face impassive but eyes betraying his mirth.

“I didn’t mean to–” you started, but cut yourself off with a cry as Talon used his grip on your arm to pull you forward to press his lips against yours.

You allowed him to lay you back down next to him as you kissed. You were fully distracted when he pulled back with a smirk.

“Did you really think I’m repulsed by your breasts?” he asked, and you could only answer him with embarrassed stammering.

“Do you need me to prove that I’m not?” he murmured, palming your breasts with his hands, his thumbs brushing over your nipples and making you shudder.

You couldn’t bring yourself to resist the insatiable assassin, kissing him as he flipped you on your back as his touches became rougher. You certainly wouldn’t be escaping him any time soon, and found yourself immensely grateful that there was nobody around to hear the two of you, because it was a while before Talon would let you rest.

[hermits-that-craft]

Marionette Roulette - Chapter 4

TW: Abuse, murder, violence, death, blood

ao3 link in the reblogs

Eret looks out over the prison, his eyes set in anger. He saw what Dream did to Tommy. He knows where the teen is. Dream may have the rest of the mourning server wrapped around his fingers, but Eret won’t let himself be puppeteered again. He won’t fall into line.

But he can’t just break in.

He was at the funeral. He was heralding that Tommy was alive during the funeral preparations. Surely, it would feel more complete. Surely, Dream would have brought his body back.

Eret doesn’t know why he didn’t tell everyone that he saw Dream take Tommy into the prison. It could be guilt, from not confronting the man. It could be fear. It could even be that he knows that the server will not allow him to move on from his betrayal - that the server believes his crown is gilded with blood.

But it isn’t that. It’s not as selfish as Eret lets herself believe it to be.

She’s scared for Sam and Puffy.

Sam, who built the prison. Sam, who lost his job after Dream returned. Sam, who is nothing but kind to her. Sam, who ignores Eret’s past crimes. Sam who visits her in her lonely castle. Sam who took Tubbo and Tommy’s deaths as though they were personal failings, as though Sam killed the pair. Puffy, who practically adopted Dream. Puffy, who let Dream stay with her. Puffy, who patched Dream up after fights. Puffy, who wouldn’t let Dream push her away like he had with his other friends. Puffy, who visited Eret over the winter. Puffy, who had Christmas dinner with Eret instead of her girlfriend. Puffy, who writes to Eret as often as possible. Puffy, who took Tommy and Tubbo’s deaths as though Dream had killed her children.

They don’t want to watch two of the kindest people they know die, be punished for what Dream did.

They don’t want their only parental figures to die.

Eret glares at the prison, not noticing someone approaching them. In fact, they didn’t notice the other person until there was a tap on their shoulder. Eret screeches indignantly, panic squeezing their lungs as they spin around.

“Sorry for scaring you.” Fundy says softly. “You’ve been staring at the prison for a while, I got worried.”

“It’s alright.” Eret sighs, smiling weakly at their friend. “I’m- I’m fine.”

Fundy gives her an incredulous look, but sighs, turning away from Eret. Eret doesn’t feel guilty for lying - she’s making sure his friend won’t snap, won’t fall off the deep end. She can’t allow Fundy to hurt because of Eret. The poor man is already upset because his ex fiance killed his uncle, she can’t let her friend be lead down the path of revenge.

“Where are you staying?” Eret asks quietly.

“Dry waters, with Niki.” Fundy responds. “We’re going back today, probably won’t be back for a while.”

“Oh.” Is all Eret can muster, not having the strength for what they know will come next.

“You could join us, if you’d like?” Fundy asks. It’s the same question, the same offer.

“I have a country to rule.” He responds, his eyes tired. Fundy doesn’t - can’t - notice, Eret’s eyes firmly hidden behind his sunglasses. “I can’t leave everyone without a leader, especially not since Dream hasn’t been punished.”

“You’re going to go up against Dream?” Fundy mumbles, shock on his face.

“Everything’s gotten out of hand. He killed Tubbo!” Eret snaps, she doesn’t understand why Fundy doesn’t see this.

“Eret, promise me one thing. Just one.” Fundy says, taking Eret’s hands. “Don’t make me come back to the SMP for your funeral.”

----

Tuboo walks alongside Ghostbur and Glatt, taking in the land. He remembers everything - all the suffering, all the pain - but allows the two elder ghosts to tell him the lore of the land. And the laws that they made. No one follows them, Tuboo notes, but he can’t find himself caring all to much about it.

What he does care about, is Eret. The king stands, staring at the prison, for hours. Ghostbur and Glatt don’t explain, and when Ghostbur begins to melt without the presence of water the two elder ghosts book it for the Aether.

Tuboo floats towards Eret, ready to talk to the king. They would be the first living person to know that Tuboo is real, the first living person to see him. Tuboo wanted it to be his father, but he isn’t certain that his father will want to see him.

“Are you okay, Eret?” Tuboo’s voice echoes slightly, taking on an airy quality.

“Tubbo?” Eret spins around, tears in his eyes. “Oh, Tubbo. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“You didn’t do this.” Tuboo says, though he knows none of this would have happened if Eret didn’t betray them. Tommy and he wouldn’t have lost their first lives. But Eret didn’t want their deaths. Eret was - is - the only adult to know what Wilbur and Techno were like to Tommy. Eret didn’t want Tommy and him to die. He wanted to protect them.

“If I hadn’t of-”

“Dream would have done this anyway.” Tuboo shrugs. “Death is not the end of the road. Just the turn off that will take you to your next destination.”

“Then why are you back here?” Eret doesn’t sound judgemental, just confused.

“Because I failed. I failed to protect Tommy.”

“You saved his life.”

“Dream executed me. Why are you staring at the prison?” Tuboo asks, the grass beneath his feat wilting. Eret looks down nervously, as though he doesn’t want to admit to something.

“I saw Dream take Tommy into the prison.” Eret blurts out, her voice wavering. “I tried to tell the others, but no one would listen to me. I tried Tubbo, I really did! No one trusts me anymore, this is all my fault if I hadn’t of-”

“Eret, shut up.” Tuboo says softly. “You didn’t throw the axe. You didn’t send us off. You tried. Now, let me help you get my best friend out of prison.”

Eret smiles, offering his hand to Tuboo. Tuboo considers it for a moment, before taking the hand. Tuboo’s always liked the king, and the good memories that he pushes away outweigh the anger. The betrayal. Tuboo is glad that the king is on his side, and the two walk towards the castle, hand in hand, as the moon rises over the horizon.

----

Phil sits in Techno’s house, a lukewarm cup of green tea resting in his hands. Snow falls onto the ground softly, and Techno’s soft snores hit his ears. He promised his son that he would sleep, but can he sleep? Phil had heard what Ranboo had said to the other members of the smp. Techno and he pretended not to hear, but they did. Techno refuses to let Ranboo sleep in his own house now, worried that the teen will be hunted for what he said.

Phil doesn’t think people will hunt Ranboo. There are now only two children on the Dream SMP, and Phil doesn’t think that anyone will kill them. Not after the joint funeral for the other two. Not after everyone saw the too small caskets get lowered into the ground.

“I should check in on Eret.” Phil mumbles to himself, his communicator lying on the table besides him. The king seemed hysterical from Tubbo and Tommy’s deaths. They insisted Tommy was alive - quite possibly due to the fact that a body has yet to be discovered - and wept every time that someone told them that he wasn’t. Eret is looking after his grandson, even if the fox hybrid seemingly doesn’t care for their family. Phil won’t let Eret’s hysterics harm his grandson.

Phil sends a message to the king, asking if they are alright. No response is given back, though perhaps that is a good thing.

It’s two am, and Phil’s tea is ice cold. Phil tips it down the sink, mourning the loss of the tea that he didn’t even drink.

Did Phil spend enough time with Tommy? Did Tommy die thinking he was unloved, unwanted by his family? Did Phil, in his attempts to help Techno control his voices and help Wilbur learn to fly, push away his youngest? What could Phil have done differently, in order to make the teen less reckless? Phil blew up New L’Manburg to teach him a lesson on corruption and recklessness, why would Tommy continue to run into danger?

Phil drops his cup, tears blurring his vision. He doesn’t understand, doesn’t understand where he went wrong. Sure, he spent more time with his eldest two, but Tommy always was so fucking independent - refusing his help when offered, learning to read before being taught how, even toddling around their home without help.

Cuts dig into Phil’s knees. He doesn’t know when he fell onto the ground, he doesn’t remember dropping his cup. His knees bleed, but is it enough? Is the blood that flows from the enough to staunch the wound that Tommy and Tubbo’s deaths opened?

Is Phil hurting enough?

Phil killed one of his sons. Pushed the other away, even before grief had overtaken him. Ghostbur doesn’t visit anymore, and Tommy and Tubbo’s ghosts haven’t been seen. Techno funnels his grief into anger and Ranboo blames him - blames everyone - for his friends deaths.

Phil stands up, leaning against the wall. He can’t stay here, his wings itch against his skin. He needs to get into the air. He needs to leave, leave the warm home that he doesn’t belong in. He craves the comfort of war and blood and death falling from his hands, gifted to innocent civilians and soldiers who stand in his path.

The cold comfort of violence beckons him, and Phil flees the sanctuary his only living son built. The moon lights the sky above him, and Phil flies over open fields, not willing to touch the villagers that Techno and Ranboo spent months trading with.

He finds a village, a good seven hundred blocks away from Techno’s home. Phil flies in front of the moon, his black wings illuminated from behind. The angel of death. A euphemism that Phil more than once preened himself on. A mortal, an emperor of a hard to reach land in a far off world, having epithets and euphemisms as though he were some underworld god the mortals dared not speak of, in fear of incurring his wrath.

Only the moon bares witness to his slaughter.

Blood stains the grass as animals and people die without a chance to struggle. Blood pools on the floor and coats walls. Phil is no psychopomp, but he serves the same purpose, ferrying the dead to the underworld.

Phil washes the blood off in a nearby river before he flies back to Techno’s base, hopelessness making him moonsick.

----

Tommy curls up in his cell, his ears pressed flat against his head. His tail wraps around his waist, trying to help him warm up. He’s still chained to the wall, though he isn’t bleeding anymore. A plate of food sits on a chest nearby, and Tommy’s new instincts scream at him to take it. That he needs to eat so that he can continue to grow. To live.

Tommy doesn’t want to do either of those things, so he doesn’t touch the food.

Tommy knows Dream is watching. He knows that Dream will come in, will force feed him until Tommy either passes out or throws up. He knows, because Dream is always watching. Because he can feel eyes watching him. Tommy knows, knows too much. He’s scared, he doesn’t want to have Dream force food and potions down his throat.

But he wants to be held again.

Dream is pack. Dream isn’t family. Dream is safe. Dream hurts him. Tommy doesn’t know the truth. Sure - Techno and Phil told him that what Dream had done to him in exile was wrong, was abuse, but they also teamed up with Dream to destroy his only home. Does that make his family evil, or Dream good? Is Tommy the problem, or is Tommy the victim?

Tommy knows one thing for certain about Dream. The man is the only person who visits him. He comforts him after Tommy gets punished for his mistakes, he made sure Tommy is feeling alright after his tail grew in. He gives Tommy apples and a caldron to wash them in. He gives Tommy shiny things to hide around his cell - his den .

Dream wants to help him. Dream wants to hurt him. Tommy doesn’t know, doesn’t care. Maybe if he eats Dream will come. Dream will come if he doesn’t, but maybe he will if Tommy does eat. Maybe.

He won’t eat, even if Dream promised to come. Dream is pack, and Tommy wants to see him again.

He lies on his bed, wishing for his abuser to come back and hurt him again, if only so that he can feel again. He wishes to be hurt or helped. Saved or slaughtered. Killed or kept. Tommy buries his face into the pillow and weeps for a lost friend. For the only brother who didn’t hurt him, the one that wasn’t even blood family.

God, he’s such a fuck up.

[dreadhaus-literature]

{Story} “IT’S ME.“

ITSMEITSMEITSMEMONICAITSMEITSMEITSME.

“But why hasn’t he called?”

Monica shifted her phone to her shoulder, pinning it to her ear to better hear the response of her coworker as she padded into her kitchen in search of something sweet to eat and treat herself with. It had been a long day at Fazbear Entertainment, as most days often were, but having a coworker she was close to helped immensely.

“I don’t know why he wouldn’t, but I called,” came the quiet response, but there was an underlying rumble of jealousy that Monica had come to expect from Tod. “That...should count.”

“It does,” Monica replied with an easy, good-natured laugh. She was used to Tod Lakhani’s somewhat hostile treatment of other men in her life; he was protective, overly so, and incredibly sweet...if not a touch on the possessive side considering they were just friends. Monica would date him instead of Zacharie if she thought she could survive the smoldering intensity that lay behind Tod’s two-toned eyes. “It counts so much.”

That seemed to appease Tod, because when he spoke again, his deep voice wasn’t full of biting teeth. “He said he’d call tonight?”

“Yes! Well,” Monica stopped to give it a second thought, green eyes sightlessly perusing the contents of her fridge as she concentrated. “Not exactly, but things have been going really well, and--”

“You don’t have to explain.” Tod interjected gently. “Even if you didn’t have a standing phone date, it’s common courtesy to keep in touch. If it were me, I’d call you every day.”

“Tod,” Monica’s laughter returned. “You do call me every day.”

Tod didn’t even flinch. “Damn right I do.”

The night air outside Monica’s home was balmy, a hint of sunlight still trapped in the invisible gusts as they whispered and wound their way through leaves and branches. A storm had come through the night before and the remnants of the wind rushed along the side of her house and as it went it disturbed the thin, blond and white strands of hair of the “man” hidden in plain sight right outside her window.

Two-toned eyes, one sky blue, the other the color of arterial spray, were riveted to Monica’s movements, following her as she walked around her kitchen in her pajamas. A slight whirring sound could be heard as the eyes moved, hinting to the intricate wiring hidden beneath both artificial and stolen skin. The “man” had no use for breathing and thus made no other sounds as he watched the object of his undying affections talk on the phone. There was nothing that could distract or disturb him from his task, his objective solely to catalog every moment of her that he possibly could, filling the kilobytes of storage inside his head that already had countless hours of her stored, locked lovingly against the still, stolen heart in his chest. That searing red eye memorized her walk patterns while the mesmerizing blue eye drank in every glimpse of her satin soft skin. Slowly, he raised his hand, sagging flesh pressing flat against the window as if he could breach the distance and feel for himself; the nerves in the flesh didn’t work but the cold metal beneath, did. He knew she’d be warm to the touch in ways he could never be, but...well, he hoped what he’d done would make that better. He’d tried.

For her, Ennard really, really tried.

Ding dong.

Monica turned, brow furrowing, as her doorbell echoed down her front hall. Tod was still talking as she pulled her phone from her ear, the time 9:33PM illuminated at the top of the smartphone screen. Who the fuck was at her door at this hour?

“...Tod, hang on, someone’s at my door. Can I call you back?”

“No, but you can take me with you to answer the door.”

Monica bit back a smile. She was normally not one to like being told what to do, but Tod phrased his protective “demands” in a way that was pleasing, not scolding or belittling. He always came from a place of loving concern and she was grateful for it, especially now. There was a slight pinch of unease at the pit of her stomach as the doorbell chimed again but realistically, it was probably just a neighbor with something benign. Monica replaced her phone to her ear, making her way down her dimly lit front hall toward her front door. There was silence on the other side of the wall of wood, but what did she expect, honestly? Someone to be banging a gong, shouting “TOP OF MORNING,” like some sort of Irish lunatic?

“Who is it?”

Monica hesitated for a split second before she stretched up on her tip toes, pressing her face gingerly against the solid wood of her door to peer through the peep hole. As soon as she did, she breathed a side of relief, seeing blond hair and blue eyes illuminated on her front porch.

“It’s Zach,” she told Tod, her pulse slowing. “I guess he decided to come over instead of call?”

“...I guess I won’t eat him today, then.” Tod resigned. “But if he upsets you again, that’s the dinner bell for Ol’ Zach.”

Monica laughed. Tod didn’t.

“I’ll leave you to him, then.” Tod didn’t try to hide his reluctance or disappointment, but there was a small smile in his voice. “Good night, honey.”

“Good night, Tod. See you tomorrow?” Monica couldn’t help the hope in her voice, even as she reached for the deadbolt to unlock her door.

“Wouldn’t miss you for the world.”

The line going dead was heard even as Monica was pulling the phone away from her ear, lifting her head to give Zacharie a smile. “Hey, it’s a little late to show up without calling but--”

Monica cut herself off as Zacharie lifted his head, her blood turning to ice in her veins as her phone clattered to the floor in shock. He was smiling at her, but it was the most unnatural smile she’d ever seen in her life. He looked...thrilled to see her, the smile stretching his lips so wide she was worried they might split at the seams--seam being the literal use of the word, since it seemed his face was sewn together down the middle. Zacharie looked...taller, at least two feet taller than she remembered and as he ducked into her doorway, she nearly fell backward to get out of his way. His joints creaked, and if she focused passed the terrified pounding of her heart in her ears, she could hear a slight whirring, mechanical sound every time he moved. His steps were heavy, thudding against the wood of her floor and as he came closer, the light from her entryway cast him in horrible relief. His blond hair was only half it’s usual tawny sunshine; the left side of his head was a wispy silver, as if the pigment had died and withered away...and speaking of death...that half of his face was much paler than the right side, the pasty white flesh drawing her attention up to a red eye--not blue. It gleamed at her, raked over her like a laser and seared her as it did so, as if she could feel each pass intensely.

No...No, there was no fucking way--

“Mon-ica,” ‘Zacharie’s’ voice was not his voice, not even close. This voice sounded deeper, clearer, like a scalpel’s edge against metal right at the center of an echo chamber. It reverberated off her ribcage, wrapped itself around her heart like livewires to cinch tight and steal her breath right from her lungs. She’d only ever heard her name sound so broken and mechanical over artificial intelligence, as if she were asking Google to pronounce her name aloud and she had a horrible, horrible feeling she knew what she was dealing with.

“S-Stay back!” Monica gestured with her hands out in front of her, backing further into her front hall to put distance between herself and this strange creature wearing Zacharie’s face.

‘Zacharie’ tilted his head at her, the smile sliding off his face but he didn’t listen, taking a few thundering steps after her. “What...What’s wrong?”

“L-Look I don’t know who the fuck y-you are but--”

‘Zacharie’ swept out his arms, that whirring sound mixing with the pull of skin over something other than bone and Monica was drawn to his hands, long fingers ending in sharp, unnatural points that appeared almost sharp. His gesture was meant to be a mimicry of one she’d seen a million times, a motion of obvious ‘take a look’ but it was off-kilter, incorrect, as if he wasn’t human enough to pull it off.

“It’s me,” ‘Zacharie’ insisted, his arms still splayed wide. “Monica...it’s me.”

The second time he said her name was much smoother than the first, and all the more unnerving for it. It sounded as if he was learning.

“Y-You...” Monica’s voice died, failed her as the machine wearing Zacharie’s skin drew closer and she could see the porcelain mask lying beneath the skin of it’s “face”. The baby blue eye she’d though was Zacharie’s wasn’t his at all. It belonged to a ghost, a silly office urban legend, a joke told by coworker’s to scare new hires.

Ennard. The skin-stealing, serial-killing rogue animatronic of Fazbear Entertainment lore.

Except Ennard wasn’t real. Monica had been a loyal Fazbear employee for years now, and she knew all the animatronics and she knew them well. After all, she was responsible for writing their cutesy backstories, and composing the lyrics to all the songs performed on Freddy Fazbear’s stage every night. She knew Circus Baby’s favorite flavor of ice cream was strawberry, that Freddy liked the color red, and that Chica’s favorite kind of pizza was any kind of pizza--why? Because she’d written it. Any new animatronics commissioned, she was brought in on the ground floor to help design them from their conception, to help a seamless integration with the rest of the Fazbear Family. Ennard wasn’t real, couldn’t be real, because she’d never heard of him outside of jokes and whispered rumors of him “haunting the vents” at night. Sure, there were the occasional office pranks where someone would fix a faulty animatronic overnight and “blame” Ennard by saying he did it but that was just a story. Ennard wasn’t real.

But...everything she’d heard about Ennard seemed to be staring her in the face. He had one good working eye, blue, and one factory-issued red retinal scanner (because he was discontinued and thus never given a full set of eyes) Ennard wore a porcelain mask over the wiring of his face, complete with a clown nose and while she didn’t see the clown nose she could definitely see the porcelain mask under the sagging skin stretched over his “face”. Ennard was immense in size, eight feet tall, as he was meant to be one of the “fatherly” figures of the Fazbear Family and had to stand comparable to what a child might imagine the father of the animatronics would look like. He was never given anything other than his facial mask so his massive body was a collection of wires and metal parts; rumors swirled that he changed them out at night in the factories, constantly working on and improving himself--because the scary resolution to all the stories was that he would one day rise up and kill the head of Fazbear Entertainment, put on his skin, and no one would ever know. Monica could recall all the times she’d laughed at the stories, enjoyed making some up herself just to watch her interns all jump every time an air vent made the slightest sound, but it wasn’t supposed to be real.

Ennard wasn’t supposed to be real!

“Do you...like it?” Ennard brought his long arms in, the mechanical whirring blending with the pull of cloth as his long fingers patted his stolen face. “I made it just for you.”

Oh god, Monica’s brain was processing information too fast for her to keep up with and her stomach roiled at the knowledge that her crush had his skin literally peeled off his body by the rogue animatronic Ennard.

“I thought you’d like me better this way.” Ennard lowered his hands from his face to adjust his bow-tie. His wiring might be covered beneath the cloth and stolen skin but he wasn’t going to lose everything that made him who he was. “If I looked like him. Like...Zacharie.”

Monica put shaking fingers over her mouth, shaking her head side to side in denial, but Ennard wasn’t very good at reading human emotion--at least, not yet.

“No?” His frown sagged almost comically, the skin around his mask drooping a little too low to be natural. “Is it the stitching?” Ennard’s fingers came up to his face as he turned to examine himself in her hallway mirror, eyes on the clean line holding two halves of the stolen face together. “I can make it better.” He nodded, pulling and pushing at the mask over his natural face. “I will make it better for you.”

“E-Ennard?” Monica’s voice was hoarse with emotion and it caught his attention immediately.

The whirring was audible in the silence as Ennard turned to her, his two-toned gaze nailing her to the floor. His body was stone still and it got so quiet she could hear herself near gasping around the adrenaline coursing through her system. For a few more seconds he said nothing, his gaze committing this moment to literal stored memory before he uttered, “Again,” in such hushed reverence Monica thought she misheard him.

“W-What?”

“Again.” This time it came out like a bullet, Ennard’s massive form closing the distance between them with such a powerful gait one of Monica’s decorative figurines rattled off a hallway table, clattering to the floor. Ennard’s fingers were cold, the skin only a slight barrier to the icy metal beneath as he cupped her face, his red eye bright enough to cast illumination on her face; she realized with a terrified shudder that he was recording this, their first meeting. “Say my name...again.”

Too terrified to deny him, Monica desperately swallowed until she got her voice back. “...E-Ennard...”

Ennard’s blue eye drifted closed, ecstasy clear on his stolen features, but that red eye remained open, recording so as not to miss a moment of this joyous, momentous occasion. With an unnatural, guttural sound, Ennard’s arms slid around her petite frame and he hunched over her, hugging her close, threatening to crush her as he had no inkling how to treat a fragile human body.

“We’re going to be so happy,” he enunciated his words, punctuating them as if he could speak them into reality--and for him, they already were. This was the happiest day of his life. “I knew you were the one. We all know how special you are.”

Monica didn’t need to know he was talking about the other animatronics, confirming another office rumor--that they were all sentient and very much aware of what was happening around them. It was an unspoken rule one treated the animatronics with respect and that rumor was 98% of the reason why.

Swallowing thickly, Monica couldn’t help noticing the sickly sweet scent of cologne against metal and if she...ignored she was hugging the leftover skin of the beginnings of her crush, it had an odd appeal to it. She turned slightly as she felt Ennard nuzzling his cheek against hers, as if trying to meld their skin together, to get closer, and considering Ennard had a penchant for enjoying being under someone’s skin...she could only imagine how close to her he really wanted to be.

“Zacharie was a mistake. A flaw in the system.” Ennard spoke of reality the way one might expect him to; he was an animatronic, a computer-built program who ran on simulations and based his reality on what was allowed inside his particular simulation. “I corrected the flaw. Now there’s nothing between us.”

“I-I don’t...u-understand.”

“You will.” Ennard promised, unaware of how that made Monica’s pulse spike in alarm. “Once I get you home, you’ll understand.”

“H-Home?” Monica tried to draw back but Ennard’s grip was, unsurprisingly, like iron. He was not allowing space between them, not anymore.

“Yes. Home, sweetheart.” Ennard tried out his first term of endearment and found he liked the way Monica’s skin warmed further when he used it. “We’re a Family now, and what’s a Family without their mother at home with us where she belongs?”

- - -

A/N: Hehe okay so author’s notes are tacky and I hate doing them BUT! I did want to add a few things here because this...was a doozy to try and write “quickly” and have it still make sense. I’m still trying to get back to writing and with that comes the fear I’m not describing things well or coherently because getting your thoughts back in that mindset takes practice, kind of like reeling them in so to speak. So if this is confusing I’m sorry!!

I just--oh right okay so first things, the “ITSMEITSME” up there, the intro line to the fic? It’s clickable, and shows the version of Ennard in his skin suit that I used as inspo, here.

I also just made up some rando to be your “crush” in here, love, since Ennard...was gonna take his skin, lmao, I didn’t wanna use anyone actually from the Haus.

Tod was a little cameo, so. 😋 That was just a little treat for you~

But basically what I tried to lay out here was an AU where you work for Fazbear Entertainment and Ennard has learned all about you from watching you in the vents, and from the other animatronics who all of course refer to you as their Mother as you’re the one who really created them. That makes him the Father to your Mother, and his infatuation with you reaches the point that he decides to kill your crush, take his skin, and win you over that way. Flawless plan is flawless, right? 10/10 in Ennard’s mind.

So I hope that wasn’t too confusing! I wanted to build suspense and mystery without revealing everything until the very end so I hope it wasn’t like ??? the whole time, lmao. I just wanted to write something that features a little bit of creepy, a lot of obsession, and I know how much you love Ennard’s “skin suit” from Sister Location so I thought, perfect combo!

Thanks for letting the weirdos love yoooooou 😘 i’m including myself in that bunch, too, because Senpai is perfect and i am a lucky ducky. 💛

[mrslittletall]

Title: Keeping it together (Chapter 16) Fandom: Dark Souls Characters: Dragon Slayer Ornstein, Hawkeye Gough Word Count: 1.926 AO3-Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16328084/chapters/41892992 Previous chapter: https://mrslittletall.tumblr.com/post/182556779114/title-keeping-it-together-chapter-15

Summary: Ornstein returns to Anor Londo.

(Author's note: Hm, now that Artorias is buried and everything why continue, you may ask? I still have some plans for Ornstein in this scenario, but I am pretty sure there aren't too many chapters left. I hope you stay with me on this ride to the very end. This story is very dear to me and I hope other can enjoy my headcanon and interpretation of this canon lore too.)

“Ciaran is not coming back.” Ornstein sat leaning against the wall, a hand propped against his chin, his golden lion helmet tossed on the ground next to him, his gaze staring right through the giant.

Gough didn't answer. Instead, the giant focused solely on his work.

“...You knew it, right?”

“Hmm, I was expecting it.”, Gough answered. “The way she acted, I had the feeling that could be the case.”

Ornstein sighed, shifting his weight a bit, sitting on the stone ground in his armour wasn't comfortable at all, how could Gough stay like this for so many years now? He inspected the giant, still wearing his armour after all these years, the helmet with the filled up eyeholes which had turned him blind eventually and his great bow still at his side... wait...

“Your greatbow, where is it?”, Ornstein asked.

“I gave it away. There isn't a need anymore for me to use it.”

“You mean, because the last dragon to threat Anor Londo has been slain?” Ornstein shifted his weight again, exhaling a deep sigh. “It feels like the end of an era.”

Gough stopped his carving and looked at Ornstein, slightly next to him, like always.

“In just a few days, the once so famous knights of Gwyn have practically been disbanded.”, Ornstein said, voice gloomy. “One retired, one dead, one has quit and...”, he took a deep breath, trying to hide a shiver that went through his body.

“...and I am on the verge of just abandoning it all and go on a journey. I feel there isn't the need for a dragon slayer anymore.”, Ornstein finished.

“You still aren't over him.” Gough stated. Ornstein simply nodded.

“But you have come to me first, because you are unsure.”

Another nod. Ornstein hated how easy it was for Gough to see right through him, even without eyesight, but he also was glad for it. He needed that voice of reason for helping him to not do something stupid.

“Anor Londo needs me.”, he said. “I still have my duties there, especially now, that Ciaran and Artorias won't come back. And...”, another deep breath, “I can't leave Gwyndolin alone.”

“Whatever would happen to us, I was always certain of one thing, Ornstein, that you would stay loyal to your very end.”, Gough said. “But remember, sometimes you have to thrust your sense of duty aside in order to find true happiness. Don't let it get you down, Ornstein. May the flames guide your way.”

“...I will come back to visit you all...”, Ornstein murmured, standing up, fixing his helmet on. “But for now, I have to return to Anor Londo. I have been away long enough. Farewell, Gough.”

Ornstein didn't turn around when he walked to the ladder leading down the tower, but he was sure that the giant had raised his big hand to wave at him. Like he always did.

Only when Ornstein's feet reached the ground at the bottom ladder, did he try to think about the words of the giant. Words that would come back to him, much much later, but for now, his feet would only carry him forward. Back to Anor Londo. Where he belonged. Now that he kept it together for so long, he would be able to make it a tiny bit longer. Even though this tiny bit could be as long as it needed to be.

The sun already started to set, glistening on his armour, when Ornstein could see the silhouette of the cathedral. He braced himself, even though there still was a bit of way to go. This wouldn't be easy at all... He wondered how much the silver knights already knew? Questioning anything didn't help though, the silver knights were overdue to getting their training and some clear orders, that should be all that counted. Ornstein travelled the remaining distance to the cathedral while the sun was setting completely and the stillness of the night laid itself over Anor Londo, the moon rising, a full moon like it always was. Ever since Gwyndolin had took up the mantle of ruling in lieu of Lord's Gwyn and Princess Gwynevere, the moon had always been full. Ornstein had the feeling that it was because of Gwyndolin's association with moonlight magic. Now, that the sun had set, a chilling breeze had set in. Ornstein could feel it, even through his armour. Had it always been that cold at the nights in Anor Londo? He didn't remember. It didn't matter anyway, he was at the front of the cathedral and the silver knights on duty there audibly gasped when they saw him approaching.

“Captain, you're back.”, the first of them said. Ornstein recognized the voice, Herman, a seasoned veteran. Of course not from the dragon war, no silver knight from the dragon war around anymore. They didn't live that long.

“Is it true? The news about Sir Artorias...?”, the second one added, a freshman named Jervis, but he quickly got hushed by his companion.

“We have agreed to not ask about this.”, he whispered, but loud enough for Ornstein to hear. Ah, so they didn't knew yet. Great, meant that he had to tell them next roll call.

Herman turned his attention back to Ornstein. “Excuse this, Captain.”, he said. “It is good to see you back though, there has been a lot brought to our attention lately. It has been brought to our attention that people have hidden undead and they are wrecking havoc when hollowing, demon's from Lost Izalith have been wandered into the burg, we need a new schedule for our duties and there seem to be some execution's scheduled which couldn't get conducted without your presence, cause, you know, our young lord normally doesn't attend to them and...”

“Stop, STOP!”, Ornstein interrupted the volley of words of the silver knight. “I have just returned and need some rest first. Can we talk about this the next day, please?”

“Of course, captain.”, Herman said and him and Jervis of them returned to their guard duties, whispering to each other. Ornstein passed them and sighed in relief once he was out of earshot. What he first and foremost needed now was a bath. He hadn't bathed several days now and felt very dirty. He first needed to get his belongings to his room though and on the way to it...

“Oh, Captain, you're back. Any news?”

“Do you have any new orders for us?”

“Didn't Lady Ciaran come with you?”

“Are the rumours true...? Is Sir Artorias...?”

Ornstein had to tell each and every single one of them to not bother him now,he would tell them everything the next day, until he got so annoyed by the questions that he just started to growl whenever a silver knight opened their mouth. After what felt like an eternity, he finally arrived at his room, opened the door, closed it behind him and crashed face down on his bed in physical and mental exhaustion.

After around five minutes of laying there, the weight of his armour became far too uncomfortable, so he rolled around and stood up, getting rid of his armour. He eyed his travel bag but decided to unpack it later, it was too late for the servants to do the laundry anyway. He opened a chest at the end of his bed and searched for a bathing robe, then got some soap and a washing cloth from his cupboard. Equipped with this, Ornstein made his way to the bathroom.

The Anor Londo bathroom was some kind of big thermal bath, probably kept warm by pyromancies, Ornstein never had fathomed how it worked, as long as it would fulfil its purpose. At certain days the bath was open for the public, but mostly it was meant for the knights and servants, separated into one for man and one for woman. At this time of day, he could expect it to be practically empty and he strode into the bathroom with a satisfied smile when he saw that it indeed was the case.

Ornstein sat down in the hot water, feeling how it embraced his sore muscles and pretty much broke down there and then, all flooding into him at once. All the stuff he had experience in Oolacile, that Artorias was dead and he would never see him again, that Ciaran hadn't come back with him, that he had been on the verge of abandoning his post for good. That he was now back, at Anor Londo, and everyone was expecting him to solve all the problems, him alone, without any help, as if he was their kind of hero or saviour.

But that was who he was. He was the man who had managed to single-handedly slain over 80 dragons, who had proven himself worthy to be the silver knight captain at a young age, who had been given enough trust of his lord to get assigned one of the four knights of Gwyn, who had been trained personally by the master, who would set things right. What else should they expect from him? Surely not him having a mental breakdown while taking a bath.

“Keep it together.”, he murmured to himself. “They count on you. That was why you returned to them. Because you are needed here.” Ornstein slowly grabbed for a washing cloth and began to clean his body, while reciting his mantra again and again, starting to not believe it himself anymore.

Ornstein spent a lot of time cleaning himself, felt like the filth of that beast he had seen in the abyss was still crawling on his skin, only stopping to scrub when it started to hurt. His thoughts wandered to Artorias. He often had come here to bath late at night, but often enough Artorias would have dragged him into the bath when it was fairly occupied and he could still hear the hearty laugh of his friend when he joked with the silver knights or when Ornstein scolded them for trying to peak into the woman's bath. Often enough Artorias had taken it upon him to try and wash Ornstein's long hair, until the lion knight had become mad at him because he would tangle it even more.

When he left the bath, Ornstein felt a certain moisture on his face. Unsure if it was just the water or tears, he wiped it away with his towel anyway and got dressed into the bathing robes, wadding his dirty clothes into a ball, making a beeline for his room, hoping that no other silver knight would distract him anymore.

Back in his room, Ornstein just tossed the dirty clothes on the floor, looking at his travel bag, deciding it was too late to unpack and he could do this the next day right after getting up. He had just laid down into the bed, when his stomach growled.

Oh right, lately he had barely been able to keep any food in him. Because of this he also had barely ate anything this day, wanting to keep the food in him and now it showed. It was far too late for the kitchen to be open now and Ornstein was a horrible cook, so he had to wait for breakfast.

At least that meant that his food would stay down this time. He nestled himself in his blanket, grabbed his comfort pillow and closed his eyes. Next chapter: https://mrslittletall.tumblr.com/post/182847826289/title-keeping-it-together-chapter-17

[prettylittlecostumers]

Fantasy Wednesday: Sauron Attacks Osgilliath (T.A. 3018)

“Escape from Osgiliath” (2004) by Katrin Anke-Eissman, who graciously allowed me to use her amazing art for this post. She’s super talented and she paints Faramir as if she had seen him through my eyes, so please excuse me while I fangirl awhile.

Above: Me, Fangirling. Filmed by my GF. No, Seriously. That’s really me. (GIF Source: https://youwritefiction.wordpress.com/category/uncategorized/page/10/)

It’s always such a delight to slip into fantasy, especially when it’s to talk about my absolute favorite Fandom and some of my absolute favorite characters!

OTD in year 3018 of the Third Age, Sauron attacked the remnants of the city of Osgiliath, and almost won the crossing over the Anduin. His forces outnumbered the Men of Gondor, led by Boromir and Faramir, and the fear borne to the field by the mere presence of the Witch-King - which hadn’t been felt in Gondor long enough to have been forgotten - defeated them quicker than any other weapon. His forces were only halted due to the destruction of the last bridge over the river. The entire eastern garrisson was lost except for Boromir, Faramir and two other men, who were able to swim across the Anduin in their chainmail. Not an easy feat. Boromir recounted these events during the Council of Elrond in such a compelling manner in the book, that you can feel the terror through his words. It was also on the eve of Sauron’s assault that Faramir first had the dream that sent Boromir into his journey North:

“Seek for the Sword that was broken: In Imladris it dwells; There shall be counsels taken Stronger than Morgul-spells. There shall be shown a token That Doom is near at hand, For Isildur's Bane shall waken, And the Halfling forth shall stand.” - J.R.R. Tolkien, “The Fellowship of the Ring”

“After the dream” (2005) by Katrin Anke-Eissman. Reproduced with her permission. I’d love to write a fanfic about what I imagine when I see this image. It’s so inspiring!

I’m digressing, as usual... According to Boromir, the dream or one like it, came often to Faramir again, and once to himself as well. Different from Denethor’s highly explanatory speech in The Two Towers’ EE movie, Boromir says in the book that:

“This only would he say, that Imladris was of old the name among the Elves of a far northern dale, where Elrond the Halfelven dwelt, greatest of lore-masters.” -  J.R.R. Tolkien, “The Fellowship of the Ring”

Boromir then takes it upon himself to go instead of being sent to Imladris by his father.

“ Therefore my brother, seeing how desperate was our need, was eager to heed the dream and seek for Imladris; but since the way was full of doubt and danger, I took the journey upon myself. Loth was my father to give me leave, and long have I wandered by roads forgotten, seeking the house of Elrond, of which many had heard, but few knew where it lay.”  - J.R.R. Tolkien, “The Fellowship of the Ring”

“Boromir sets out” (2009) by Katrin Anke-Eissman. Reproduced with her permission. I love both their expressions so much here. Boromir’s underlying uncertainty and Faramir’s quiet attempt to infuse him with confidence. Ah, Bromance at it’s best. Love it! Thank you so much again for letting me bring this post to life with your paintings!

I love all the intrigue and strategy behind this particular battle, even though we don’t have as many details about it as we do about the Pelennor for instance. Sauron’s test of Gondor’s forces indicate how long he had been planning his final advance on Gondor. His use of the Nazgul in this particular battle - after thousands of years concealing them - can be read as a decoy, since  their true mission, which was the search for The One Ring, had to remain hidden from his enemies. Boromir and Faramir’s plan to halt the enemy by destroying the bridge shows that they also prepared in advance to this day. One does not simply pull down a sturdy stone bridge after all. Their preparations speak of intelligence gathering, which was likely up to the Ithilien Rangers, since they basically operated behind enemy lines since Ithilien was lost. Which, along with their brave stand against the Witch-king until the bridge was pulled, goes to show how Beregond was right in his assessment of Faramir as a commander in ROTK.

“ He is bold, more bold than many deem; for in these days men are slow to believe that a captain can be wise and learned in the scrolls of lore and song, as he is, and yet a man of hardihood and swift judgement in the field. But such is Faramir. Less reckless and eager than Boromir, but not less resolute.” - J.R.R. Tolkien, “The Return of the King” p.1003.

I’ve mentioned it before: Faramir is my favorite character in the Legendarium. I love how human and down to Earth he feels, the depth of his relationships with his father and brother, his pride and his kindness and I shipped him with Éowyn while still reading “The Two Towers”, right after he meets with Frodo and Sam, so you can imagine the apoteotic fangirl moment that kiss on the walls was for me, right? I love it that he pitched himself at least 3 times against the Witch-King, the same foe that she later killed.

I hope I’ll get another chance to come back to Middle-Earth soon! I’ll gladly take all the chances I have to talk about it!

[dreadwolfiscoming]

A snippet of a Solavellan WIP

So I’m trying to write this ‘what if the end of Trespasser was a dream?’ fic and it’ll clearly be complex and annoyingly tedious to write (in a loving way) but here is a bit with the sunflower. I apologize for not hiding half of it behind a read more tag but I’m on the road atm. ✌️

— 

Often she walks these trails, outside of Haven’s gates. It’s an arduous trek, especially in winter, when boots are required. Boots that hinder her ability to tell what is underfoot. But it’s better than frostbite, she reasons.

It’s late winter now, the frozen river is crackling as the ice melts and shifts down stream. Somewhere in the naked trees she can hear a squirrel chattering angrily at some threat, and birds who beat their wings wildly as they take off from their perch. 

She pauses for a moment near the riverbed, listening for the creature that has alarmed them. Only the crack of branches as snow falls from the trees can be heard along side the tinkle of water at her feet. 

Her trek continues for some time, as she silently walks, avoiding frozen braken and icy waters. Eventually she turns to look down river and is surprised when she can no longer see the rubble of Haven’s walls. More surprising is the dim light that fills the clear but Breach-scarred sky now, no longer the happy blue of afternoon but the subdued purple of early evening. 

How long has she been walking? 

The path is familiar but her location is not. The same chatter of squirrels and beat of wings on cold air calls to her again, this time closer. Louder. 

She squints her eyes and looks through the now-dense forest of trees. Something moves deep within, filling her with a curiosity at its faint sound. It drives her, urges her into the evergreens where the snow doesn’t reach the needle covered floor. 

The sound pulls her away from the river, deeper into the trees as she dodges low hanging limbs with increased speed. Before long she finds herself running after the creature ahead of her, certain she is close on its trail. 

A lone howl echos through the valley she’s in, causing her to change directions. Further still from home. Home. It’s a lie she tells herself, that home is the makeshift camp they’ve made in Haven’s rubble, certain no prying eyes will bother their post-Inquistion efforts. She has no home, and hasn’t since she became the Inquisitor. Briefly she had entertained the notion of family with him, but that hope was snuffed almost as soon as it caught flame. 

It’s dark now, with thick trees blocking what little sun she left behind along the riverbed. She throws a spell, casting a warm light at her feet so she can see as she runs through the woods. She’s abandoned her shoes, frostbite be damned and feels more alive and more connected with herself than she has since she left to spy at the Conclave. For the first time in years, she truly feels Dalish. Even with a naked face. 

The dirt, though cold, feels refreshing between her toes and the sticky smell of pine sap invigorates her. The wolf howls again, deeper still into the forest. Without hesitation she follows, quickly and quietly. The light at her feet is dim and fades more and more as her eyes grow accustomed to the darkness. 

Awash in moonlight, there is a clearing ahead. The same direction the howls came from moments ago. It reminds her of the few occasions her and Solas had stolen away from Skyhold and their responsibilities to be alone, sighting exploratory missions around the fortress. Cullen had always insisted he had such things under control, but a stern ‘no thank you’ from Solas always seemed to quell any further argument. They would explore her rift manipulating abilities, with him always pleasantly impressed with her natural talent. She chalked it up to him being a better teacher than Her Trainer. What a nut she was. 

Anticipation clenches her stomach into butterflies as she sees an unexpected face. Hidden under greasy blonde hair and a wide brimmed hat, a familiar, lanky spirit sits on a stump, perched as if waiting for her. 

“Cole?”

He looks up at her with a sigh of relief but doesn’t move from his spot. Leather scrapes against the wood as he shifts to see her better, his eyes alight in excitement. 

“You are here. I mean, you’ve been here. You are always here.” He shakes his head to clear his thoughts. “But you’re here now. He’s here too. Close. Closer than ever.”

“Close? Who?”

“You’ve been chasing him, for what feels like endless nights but is mere moments in time, twisting together, dancing, to and fro. Near and far. You must catch him. You must.”

She has a strong suspicion she knows who he refers to, but must confirm. “Who, Cole?”

“The wolf.”

The Wolf. She knew the answer but it doesn’t make it sting any less. 

“He is your pain, Elle. You know what your pain is. It’s my job to help with your pain. His too. But he won’t let me in, so I have to come through you.”

Her pain. Solas. She frowns as she looks around the moonlit clearing, uncertainty and excitement bubbling inside. What will happen when she finds him? Can she? Will he let her? What help is one spirit in her search?

“I can help, it’s what I do,” he answers her thoughts quickly and enthusiastically, afraid she’ll say no. “You are both hurting, hiding, but together you can heal. It’s like a wall though, thick and tall, it’s hard to climb over. Slick with anger and blood. Hard to catch a glimpse, but the pain is there, glowing red, and without each other, everything will go wrong. So much more wrong than it already has, so you must catch the wolf. You can and it must be with both hands. Do not let go.”

She raises the stump of her left arm as her lips curl into a sneer. “That may prove difficult.”

“Yes, now it definitely is. But later, or before, it will not be.”

Her brow furrows in confusion at his twisted way of speaking.

“Where is he, Cole?”

He jumps down from his perch, silent as his shoes hit the hard ground. His face is lit up in anticipation, like a child gifted with a new toy. Like he’s been waiting for her to come with him for ages. It’s been a year since he disappeared back into the Fade with vague notions of helping others who needed compassion. Only once had she seen him in her dreams, just before she saw the wolf watching her for the first time. She feels a delayed warmth spread in her chest over seeing him, like a long lost family member. Despite being a spirit, she always thought of him as a younger brother. Solas had too. 

“Follow me,” he instructs in her native tongue. 

“You speak elven?” 

“Of course,” he says, though his tone implies he thinks it’s a silly question. With the cock of his head, he turns on his heel and they head deeper into the forest to find the wolf. 

—

I’m also maybe looking for a beta for the first time ever because the lore is so deep here that I’m liable to fuck up. If you’re interested, and have a solid grasp of DA, msg me plz. 🖤

[crimsonrevolt]

Congratulations Paige you’ve been accepted to Crimson Revolt as Augustus Rookwood.

↳ please refer to our character checklist

Welcome back Paige! To hear from you was such a pleasant surprise and to have you back is even better! We never know what Augustus is going to do and that’s what makes him so great! He’s complex and interesting and we’re ready to have him back on the dash!

application beneath the cut 

OUT OF CHARACTER

INTRODUCTION

Paige, 25, she/her, EST. I’m from Tennessee in the United States!

ACTIVITY

I’m currently having to share a laptop with my mom, and Chronic Fatigue keeps me pretty dead for most of the day, but I plan to get online at least once daily to reply to anything I owe. So 5/10 maybe? I mean, I’m ALWAYS available via chat though, to plot or just talk.

HOW DID YOU FIND US?

Originally, Alexis, your former (original?) Rabastan. Then I was here for months, left, returned for a year, left, and I’m baaaaaaaaack! Lol You know I can’t stay away from my trash son.

WHAT HARRY POTTER CHARACTER DO YOU IDENTIFY WITH MOST?

In the past, I said Hermione without hesitation. I was always the one who felt a bit left out when new to a school, the one who lived to make teachers happy, and was a little too weird to make friends on my own without an intervening force. However, now I would say Minerva. In my friend group, I tend to be “mom”. I use logic and my mediating skills to make sure everyone stays out of too much trouble, work on guiding them through tough situations, and I always offer snacks when someone is upset. Also, cats are my life, and if I could become one, I would. Though even with the benefit of magic, the process would be incredibly complicated and I’m super lazy.

ANYTHING ELSE?

Nope!

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED CHARACTER

Augustus Rookwood.

Middle name: Xavier.

Name’s full meaning: Majestic, splendid, bird/forest

FACE CLAIM

Daniel Sharman

REASON FOR CHOSEN CHARACTER

What I put in my first apps: I’ve always been drawn to the darker characters. Especially the ones who appear very controlled when in the public eye, and then “let loose” when they’re behind closed doors. Then there was mention of his family basically putting him on a pedestal. I’ve always loved (and had a muse for) characters that have a little too much responsibility put on their shoulders by their parents, and then begin to crack under the pressure in highly destructive ways.

Augustus seems like the type of person who originally started out trying to be the best son he could be. Who nodded and smiled at his parents’ plans for his future, worked his hardest in school, and then one day realized there was someone out there (The Dark Lord) to whom he could devote himself, and not have to be so perfect and “good”.

Which is why he will last in this war. No one suspects the “good little quiet boy” who kept his nose in his books, and his potentially deadly spells to himself. Not even the Dark Lord wanted him at first. Not until Augustus showed him exactly what he was capable of, behind a locked door, when everyone else was out trying to make as much noise for their cause as possible.

Now that he has an excuse to use the dark skills he’s kept to himself for years, Augustus kills when asked to and tortures just for the fun of it. However, he draws the line at children, and will convince another member of the group to kill/torture them when sent to “take care of” an entire family. He can’t exactly explain why he’s protective of children, or why that mindset changes as soon as they’ve reached an age when they can defend themselves. Perhaps it’s just too easy, and he likes a challenge.

Now that I’ve actually played him: He evolved over time and his ability to suppress his emotions slipped drastically depending on who he was with. There were far more bad influences than good ones, and soon, a few too many people knew his secrets and he was caught. Since then, he has retreated back into himself as much, if not more than before, and mainly focuses on his job and making the Dark Lord proud. And God, he feels like screaming every minute of every day. As the climax of the war draws nearer, situations become more and more tense. The whispers behind his back make his skin crawl, and although he knows he will be protected if he lashes out, he swallows his curses like acid. He was betrayed once, and won’t let it happen again.

PREFERRED SHIPS // CHARACTER SEXUALITY // GENDER & PRONOUNS

Preferred ships? Augustus/everyone, to be honest. Augustus will have sex with anyone. Long time friends, people he wants to manipulate, strangers, whatever. Sex isn’t tied to emotion for him. It is purely the pursuit of pleasure. Hell, he would probably have sex with the Dark Lord without even being commanded to do so. Because yolo? But romance is an entirely different animal. It requires trust and emotional connection and way too much of oneself. Therefore, Augustus has only felt such a connection once, and he’s not sure he wants to repeat it. However, he could easily be in a relationship or marriage with someone out of convenience or friendship. Though no monogamy or cute stuff unless pretending for the public. He thinks it would be selfish to tie someone down like that if he can’t offer them what they need emotionally.

Overall, Augustus identifies as an aromantic pansexual (though those labels aren’t exactly a thing in the 70s/80s), as a cis male (he/him/his). There has been some gender experimentation with polyjuice potion, but that was purely for fun.

CREATE ONE (OR MORE!) OF THE FOLLOWING FOR YOUR CHARACTER:

Patronus: Lynx. (Lore states that the secretive lynx represents controlled power, individualism, and sharp-sightedness. Lynx people are generally exceedingly observant, quiet, intelligent, and curious. Though their independent nature can strike some as aloof, they are often excellent guides and steadfast friends.) Boggart: Someone outing him for what he’s done. Such as, a member of the Wizengamot reading a list of his crimes. Wand: Hazel (Wandlore states that “A sensitive wand, hazel often reflects its owner’s emotional state, and works best for a master who understands and can manage their own feelings.”), 10 inches, Dragon heartstring core, Unyielding.

Blog: http://avgvstvs.tumblr.com

LINK TO VISUAL AESTHETIC

Brief playlist: “Choke” - I Don’t Know How But They Found Me, “Strangers” - Halsey (ft. Lauren Jauregui), “Run” - AWOLNATION, “The Last One” - Black Veil Brides

Aesthetic: On one hand, he’s a smoking gun, hands dripping with blood, wet leather after a surprise storm, teeth on pale skin, the way a bottle of alcohol holds the scent when empty, skin rubbed against a rough brick wall, and sins in hallowed places. But then he’s also the smell of old books, chalk covered hands from solving impossible problems, secrets whispered to empty rooms, lies screamed into crowded places, nails digging into palms, tantrums behind locked doors, cold chains, hot coffee, lightning and hurricanes. But then as an Unspeakable, there’s all this mystery surrounding his job, and the strict rules he must follow.  So order and perfection. But as a Death Eater, there’s all this chaos and mess. Augustus in school was far different. Sweaters with sleeves a little too long, glasses to read that kept slipping off, smudged parchment, top marks hidden from fellow students, praise from teachers sounding too much like the praise from his parents, the death of a sibling and the expectation to immediately get over it, sitting in windows and watching the world move too fast. Everything was perfectly imperfect, and he did everything he could to grasp and absorb the chaos around him, and hold it tight.

IN CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE

The following section should be looked at like a survey for your character. Answer them in character and feel free to use gifs. Or, if you’d rather, answer them in third person or OOC without gifs. Answers do not have to be extremely lengthy.

♔ If you were able to invent one spell, potion, or charm, what would it do, what would you use it for or how would you use it? Feel free to name it: “I would not invent my own. I would simply rework the pre-existing Obliviate and make it much more permanent and impossible to reverse. The incantation would be obliviscaris in perpetuum (forget forever) and it would be invaluable for those who wish to use it on victims, or for those who have something traumatic or highly sensitive in their past that they’d rather forget..”

♔ You have to venture deep into the Forbidden Forest one night. Pick one other character and one object (muggle or magical), besides your wand, that you’d want with you: “I would choose to take the Dark Lord with me, obviously, despite him never being one to follow someone else. His powers surpass anything the forest could throw at us. Also, I would bring a time-turner with me, due to its ability to help me return to any moment before I run into trouble, and allow me to take a different path.”

♔ What kinds of decisions are the most difficult for you to make? “Those that require me to go against my deceitful nature and be completely honest with people. Like, a decision that if I am being truthful, would end my carefully constructed public image.”

♔ What is one thing you would never want said about you? “I would never want someone accusing me of something, whether I did the deed or not. How I spend my time is an entirely private matter, and I would rather not have others prying into my life, no matter what they believe I have done.”

REACTION TO LAST EVENT DROP

While Augustus is glad that the Ministry is fully within the clutches of the Dark Lord’s side, he disagrees with the eradication of non-purebloods. He has never been a blood purest due to his childhood as an outcast and the discovery that those with colorful family trees tend to be the kindest. And after his time spent in America surrounded by Muggles, Augustus doesn’t really give a shit who your parents are. He plans to do almost everything he can to avoid a total genocide. Sure, murder and mayhem are fun, but one must draw a line at the slaughter of friends. Perhaps. While he has no plans to actively work against his fellow Death Eaters, he will not turn down direct orders. And for now, his orders are to stay focused on his work in the Department Of Mysteries. He has a plan for The Dark Lord that only someone who works in the Love Chamber can properly research.

WRITING SAMPLE

Augustus hadn’t been in this to make friends. Since childhood he’d fully accepted that he was born to be a loner. Besides, everyone else just got in his way. But as he sat, with cold metal chains wrapped around his wrists and ankles, clinking every time he tried (and failed) to find a more comfortable position, he felt truly and utterly alone. For the first time in his life, he began wishing there was someone by his side. Anyone, really. Just another warm body to deflect some of the angry, betrayed looks coming from the seats in which sat the Wizengamot and others. At that point, he would have even accepted a few of his least favorite acquaintances.

Unfortunately, everyone he knew was either dead, in Azkaban, or in the audience, watching with bated breath. This trial was one that had brought out spectators from every department of the Ministry. NO ONE had suspected the quiet wizard who went directly to and from the Department Of Mysteries every day, never making enemies or even standing out very much. He’d played his role perfectly. Even now, he kept his true self behind a facade, acting the part of the wrongly accused. Because he truly intended to leave the trial a free man. What good was the word of Karkaroff against his? The headmaster of a foreign school known to breed dark wizards, against a ‘friend’ of many at the Ministry? He’d spent countless hours cultivating false relationships with these people, earning their trust, and then gathering secrets. And until his name was spat by Karkaroff, it hadn’t so much as flashed through people’s minds. Not since he was pardoned all those years ago after his interrogation at the hands of Aversio.

The questions were easily answered with lies, and he even asked some of his own. “Where were you on the night of (…)?” “Where was I? Where were your Aurors? How could you let this happen?” “Who else answers to He Who Must Not Be Named?” “Clearly you’re bringing anyone in these days. If I pointed at any of you, would you put them on trial too?” Until the lies weren’t enough to get him released, and a vial of Veritaserum was brought out.

Rookwood started to sweat in that moment. His breath became ragged and his hands began to violently shake. If he was being honest with himself, he would have realized that it was sheer terror he was experiencing. As the potion was carried across the room and uncorked, he’d half expected someone to burst into the room and save him. The other part of him knew his entire life was about to change for the worse. Even as the liquid was forced into his mouth, possible scenarios of escape danced through his mind. If only the chains were slightly loose. Maybe one of his fellow Death Eaters sat amongst the crowd. Yaxley? Cassius? Dolores? Perhaps someone would have a sudden change of heart and remember how impossible it seemed for him to be a part of this. But alas, the chains were magic, all of his comrades had already been captured or killed, and after the trial of Barty Crouch Jr., no one trusted even the least suspicious person.

And then words were spilling past his lips, almost too fast, with the sting of Veritaserum still on his tongue. When asked about his dealings with the Death Eaters, he held nothing back, despite the deep ache within his very soul that got stronger with each new thing he revealed. Both the Wizengamot and the audience gasped as he told details of the lives he’d destroyed. How he’d stalked several entire families before torturing and killing them. The bodies he’d left in alleyways. The memories he’d stolen from those he’d left bloody and beaten. The way it made him feel when people begged. He told them it was an almost sexual satisfaction, and the Veritaserum-induced smirk that went along with his words must have been the final nail in his coffin, because the trial ended swiftly after that.

Augustus was forced to watch as his beloved wand was snapped in half in front of him, and he was immediately taken to a cold, damp room where an elderly wizard stripped him of his fine, embroidered robes and a pair of striped, dirty ones were shoved into his hands. He would be taking a portkey to Azkaban directly from that room, without a chance to say goodbye to anyone. Not that he cared very much for anyone in his life, especially those not currently residing in the prison he was destined for, but it was all very sudden. Like a flower being plucked from a vast garden and shoved into a dusty old vase, just waiting to die.

And in this little vase of his, he was alone.

[sea040561]

Don’t Underestimate the Winchesters

Title: Don’t Underestimate the Winchesters

Author: @sea040561

Beta’d by: @sofreddie

Pairing: Sam x reader

Summary: Sam runs into a problem while showering

Word Count: 2664

Warnings: vampires (mentioned), some sexual situations (not much), humor

Author’s Note: For @thecuriouscrusader’s #Crusader’s 1K Challenge. My quote was “I think you’re kinda overdoing the manscaping”.

You and the boys had been on non-stop hunts for the past several weeks. It seems there was a spike in supernatural activity for some unexplained reason. You had only managed a half of a day in between each hunt. In fact, none of you had time to return to the bunker at all so you were forced to wear the same clothes for weeks, including your FBI outfits. You were seriously getting sick of the same wardrobe. Sure, Sam and Dean constantly wore jeans and flannel, which you didn’t know how they survived in some of the 90 degree weather you had been forced to deal with.

However, you often liked to switch up your FBI outfits as well as your hunting clothes. Yeah, you might not be some glamourous model with a stunning wardrobe, but in the life you lead, you had to take advantage of the small things. Your clothes were a big part of that, aside from your ever-changing hair color.

Sighing, you shifted your body into a more acceptable, yet comfortable position in the backseat of the impala. You were currently on a stakeout watching the dilapidated, partially boarded up house that you were parked near. It sat in the middle of the bayou in Louisiana, fucking hot as hell with full humidity. You and Dean were searching for a new nest of vampires.

You chuckled softly to yourself, causing Dean to raise his head, gazing at you through the rear view mirror.

“Well, I was just thinking that this is a little bit too much True Blood for me,” you replied with a grin.

Dean smiled knowing how much you had loved that show, “Yeah, well, if you see Bill Compton or Eric Northam, please let me know. If only it were that easy, at least I’d know who I was looking for!”

You huffed knowing that Dean was right. This was serious. It seemed that new vampire nests were popping up everywhere lately. Even in places that had NEVER shown any supernatural activity.

Your mind began to wonder as you thought of the comic relief that all three of you really needed. All of you were famous for playing pranks on each other to relieve the tension that mounted during hunts. As long as they weren’t going to cause any permanent injury, anything was game.

The last time a prank had been implemented was about five weeks ago when Sam had put green dye in Dean’s shampoo. Because his shampoo was a green color, he paid no attention when he poured it onto his hand and applied it to his hair. It wasn’t until he had showered, dressed, and walked into the kitchen that he realized something was wrong. You had been staring at him stifling a laugh. He had run over to the toaster, holding it up to check his reflection. He cringed as he whirled around, “You d-”

“No, it wasn’t me,” you had said holding your hands up in surrender.

“SAM!” Dean had bellowed as he had stomped down the corridor looking for his little brother. You could hear the echo of a door slamming in the distance then the sound of tires peeling out of the bunker garage.

You don’t think you had ever laughed so hard in your life. You had tried helping Dean wash out the green color but a faint tint of it still wouldn’t wash out. With no other choice, Dean had to live with it. He just hoped that no one asked him what happened, especially Jody or Donna.

Now, weeks later, you needed some comic relief. The minute that Sam had left the afternoon of the dye prank, Dean had begged you for your help on with revenge.

Between you and Dean, you had finally decided on slipping Nair into Sam’s ‘special’ body wash. Yeah, more like ‘expensive-as-hell’ body wash, as Dean had complained numerous times.

You knew that your boyfriend had chest hair and hair on his arms and legs. You were thankful the hair on his head wouldn’t be affected. You didn’t dare touch that beautiful mane of hair. God, just thinking about it made you remember your past adventures in the bedroom. Running your hands through it and tugging on it while he fucked you like the world was going to end tomorrow. Come to think of it, you never knew with the line of work you were in.

Shifting your attention back to the upcoming prank, you couldn’t wait until you got back to the bunker to implement Dean’s plan.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Finally, five days later, after obliterating the vampire’s nest, which consisted of ten vampires, you were almost home. You had about thirty more minutes before you arrived. You knew that Dean had a lead foot but some of the weather had been horrible driving back to Kansas from Louisiana so he was being careful.

Your plan was to rush out of the car first, feigning PMS cramps. You knew that Sam wouldn’t question you about them. Your first stop would be your bedroom then Sam’s bathroom. You had previously bought a bottle of Nair and had hidden it in your chest of drawers.

You sighed in relief as the bunker’s garage door came into view. You impatiently waited for Dean to finish pulling Baby into her designated parking spot.

Before Dean could even shut the engine off, you were bolting to your room.  You swung the door open, cringing as it banged against the cement blocks of the bunker’s walls. Rifling through your top drawer, you snagged the Nair and skidded out of your room and to Sam’s bathroom. Spotting Sam’s body wash you were elated to see that it was a full bottle so you were pretty sure that he would never notice you added anything to the bottle. Thankfully, Nair had come out with a lavender scented hair removal formula so the smell wouldn’t be a problem.

Finally done mixing the Nair with the body wash, you hid the bottle of Nair back in your chest of drawers and began to walk to the war room. You could hear Sam and Dean coming in with the duffle bags.

“Y/N?” Sam shouted concerned, “Are you ok?”

You appeared in front of Sam with a smile on your face, “Yeah, I’m better now. I took some Motrin so I should be good in an hour or so. Thank you for asking.”

Sam hugged you to him. As he wrapped his arms around you, you could feel the nerve endings in your body begin to tingle. You breathed deeply as you inhaled Sam’s scent, “Eww, go take a shower, you stink, Gigantor.” You giggled and lightly slapped Sam on the chest as you pushed away from him.

“Ok, ok. Geez, you don’t have to tell me twice.” He whined as he glanced towards the hallway then spun on his heels.

A few minutes later, you could hear the shower turn on in his bathroom. Dean and you looked at each other as the smiles on your faces began to grow until you both fell into chairs in a fit of laughter.

“Oh, and I really can’t wait to see this,” Dean said, “he will never mess with me again.”

You glanced at Dean with a raised eyebrow, “Seriously? With the way you and Sam are, these prank wars will never end. Besides, it is a stress reliever for all of us. We might use hunting to blow off steam from our frustration and anger but we need a secondary outlet to blow off the effects of hunting.”

Dean looked at you knowing that you were correct in what you were saying. He sighed softly and flashed you a knowing grin. “So, how long until you think he notices something’s different,” he asked Y/N.

“Hmm,” you contemplated thoughtfully, “I really don’t know. I rarely ever use Nair. Give me an old fashioned razor blade any day of the week. In fact, a men’s razor blade.”

“Well, I’m going to hold off on taking a shower so I can witness this outcome,” Dean stated as he sat back in his chair, pulling one of the many lore books contained in their library towards himself.

You nodded your head in agreement and situated yourself comfortably as you began to troll your Twitter and Instagram feeds.

Because you were so involved in your activities, you and Dean missed the sound of the shower shutting off in Sam’s bathroom as well as the faint muffled yell that resonated through the bunker halls. Dean jerked his head up with wide eyes. You noticed a slight look of fear in Dean’s eyes that was almost instantly gone. If it wasn’t for your quick hunter observation, any other person would have missed it.

You stifled your giggles by slapping your hand over your mouth. You could hear the pounding of feet against the tiled floor.

Sam skidded to a halt at the entrance to the war room with his left hand tightly gripping the towel he had wrapped around this waist. You also noticed that he had an additional towel wrapped around his torso and the ends tucked underneath his left arm.

You stood up gently and cautiously approached your boyfriend with your master poker face on, “Hey, Schmoo, what’s the matter? Did Cas zap in while you were showering?”

“Yeah, I’ve never heard you yell like that no matter how many hunts we have been on,” Dean interjected.

Sam reluctantly leaned down towards your ear. You could feel his minty, hot breath caressing the hair at the back of your ear. You shivered involuntarily as you could feel your nipples quickly hardened into little pebbled buds. Sam’s chest brushed against your shirt which rubbed against your sensitive, aroused nipples. Your breath hitched in your throat. You had momentarily forgot that Dean had played a prank on Sam.

“What?” You gently asked. You watched as Sam’s eyes roamed yours.

Sam whispered something in your ear. You could see Dean standing behind Sam. As you listened to Sam, you attempted to keep the grin off your face and potentially reveal involvement in Sam’s predicament.

You leaned back and looked into your boyfriend’s eyes. You cleared your throat delicately before formulating a response, “Let me see, sweetheart. It can’t be that awful.”

Sam glanced back at his brother then looked back to you. He sighed heavily while nodding his head. Since his back was to Dean, Sam knew Dean wouldn’t be able to see anything if he opened his towel.

First, Sam raised his left arm and unwrapped the towel under his arm. He looked up at you shyly. He really didn’t know how you were going to react. He wondered if this might potentially alter your sex life in some way. He huffed as he glanced down letting you have your fill of his chest.

Your core tightened in desire at you stared at his beautifully smooth chest. As much as you loved Sam’s chest hair, you were a sucker for a completely hair free chest. You had never asked him to shave or wax it even though the thought had crossed your mind numerous times. You gingerly raised your hand and reached out to touch his chest. As your fingers ran over the flat plains of his pecs and abs, you moaned almost inaudibly. You caught yourself realizing that Dean was witnessing all your movements. You widened your eyes in fake horror, “What happened?”

Sam grimaced, “I, uh, I honestly don’t even know, Y/N, but that’s not all.”

Your eyes slid back up to gaze at his face. “Okayyyy,” you said dragging out your words. You gestured to the towel tied around his waist.

Sam’s cheeks blushed a deep pink as he dropped his eyes not able to look you in the face. He really didn’t want to see your disappointment in your eyes. In the four years that you had been his girlfriend you had never expressed any interest in him eliminating any of his body hair. In fact, you couldn’t get enough of the long mane of hair on his head.

He cautiously gripped the fluffy towel around his waist and quickly opened it. Sam continued to stare at his feet. He could feel the heat of your gaze on his body. He was surprised when you leaned down to get a closer look. Sam’s chest tightened with anxiety. He had no idea what happened in the shower. Why had the hair on his chest and groin area fell out but yet the hair on his head was fine? So many questions were running through his mind that they were slamming into each other one after another.

You breathed deeply before addressing Sam, “I think you’re kinda overdoing the manscaping.”

Sam scowled back at you.

Dean chuckled loudly, “Come on, Sammy, I never thought you would honestly become a full fledged metrosexual.”

Sam’s eyebrows furrowed in amazement wondering how Dean even knew what metrosexual was. Besides, how the hell would he know what happened to him in the shower. Unless, as Sam’s brain began to work in overdrive, Dean was involved in his current plight. The longer Sam glared at his brother, the more he noticed Dean fidget which only confirmed Sam’s suspicions.

Sam opened his mouth several times before he felt a warm hand on his cheek guiding his face away from Dean. He looked into the depths of y/e/c noticing your pupils dilating. Sam knew from experience that when your pupils dilated in a well-lit room that you were extremely aroused. Sam’s eyes widened as it dawned on him that you were turned on by his problem. He could hear your breathing getting heavier with each passing second.

Your fingers grazed his cheek as they travelled down his chest, feeling the smoothness. Your upper body visibly shivered as you looked into Sam’s eyes, watching his reaction with every move your fingers made. Your hand continued passed his waist and over to his right hip bone, squeezing roughly. Pausing for a half of a second, your hand glided down his right leg with featherlight touches. You could see the desire building in his hazel eyes.

“Something you might not know about me is that I have a hairless fetish, with the exception of the hair on your head,” you uttered in Sam’s ear, “I want you to fuck me so hard right now. I want you to bite me, mark me, claim me. I want everyone to know that I am yours, always and forever. I want to feel that smooth skin of your chest,  your groin, and your legs rub against mine”

“Please, guys, not right here!” Dean pleaded weakly as he heard the words you were uttering into Sam’s sear.

Sam turned to look at his brother with a fierce glare, “This is not over by a long shot. I will find out how you did this, because if I know my girlfriend at all, I know that Y/N had some involvement in this but not all. But for right now, I am going to fuck my girlfriend into oblivion.”

You squealed as Sam grabbed your arm and pulled you close to him. “I would suggest that you either go out, for a long time, or resign yourself to blaring music while wearing headphones.”

“HEY!” Dean shouted, “You can’t torture me like that! I can’t even call Donna. You know she went to that spa for the weekend.”

Sam stared at Dean as he scooped you up into his arms, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist. You settled your head on Sam’s shoulder contently. You had hoped the evening would end in this way.

“This is only the first part of your punishment,” Sam’s voice cackled echoing through the bunker hallways as he walked farther away from the war room where Dean stood, “Watch your back, dear brother.”

[freelancer-chronicles]

Click to read ANOTHER story, we have been blessed

Tendrils of fog crept in past the curtains on the bar door. There was no keeping the stuff out when the season came. Max found it worse than the oppressive darkness or the skorpions, which at least had the good sense to stay out of her bar. It was a bad time to be doing business, and a lot of wiser heads wouldn’t try with so many bad omens about, but in Max’s experience deals wouldn’t wait. You seized opportunity when it appeared, no matter how grim things around it might be.

She watched the men across from her as they studied their cards. It was never a good idea to take your eyes off Regulators for too long. Especially if you were a Regulator yourself. Cheating fellow Regulators was almost a sign of respect. Almost. This deal was taking too long, Max felt, there were too many risks. Not least of which was that her wife Lena would get tired of waiting for her to come home and send someone to collect her.

“I’ll raise you twenty.” The older man, one of Zhim’s negotiators, smirked at Max. He was down too much coin to make a comeback. Max figured he was trying now to lose with the most panache.

The younger Regulator groaned and laid his cards down on the table, “This again? Fine. I’m out.” He was from Heliost, representing the new boss there, and trying to make a good impression. Not quite succeeding, Max thought, but trying.

“Vin, you haven’t got twenty left to raise.” Max leaned back against the booth and looked pointedly at the paltry couple of coins in front of the older man.

“I’ll write you an I.O.U.” Vin shrugged, unconcerned.

“You won’t,” Max countered him firmly, “Not when Zhim already owes me for a strider full of javelin parts.”

Vin frowned, “Dusty would’ve taken my marker.”

“Which is how Dusty lost this damned bar in the first place. You can’t wager what you can’t lose.” She watched him try to palm a card he’d just pulled from his boot. “And you’ve got nothing. New management, new rules, Vin.”

“But still no sign on the door. That can’t be good for business.” Tenzin, the younger Regulator spoke up, “Are we done here? I want to get back to my strider before the roads are full of skorpions.”

“I like you, Tenzin.” Max nodded at the young man, “You’ve got sense.”

Tenzin started to get to his feet and Vin waved at him to sit. “This hand’s not done.”

“Sure,” Max shrugged, “Let’s see if that ace you had in your boot’s enough to save your pride.”

Laughing at the older man’s chagrin, Tenzin rose and half-bowed to Max. “You’re sharper than Dusty, that’s for sure.”

“That’s why I’m still alive.” She smiled and waved for him to go.

“Give my regards to Lena,” Tenzin said, “I’ll contact you about the goods when I’m back in Heliost.” He left.

Vin eyed her across the table. “Tell me something, Max. The hit on Dusty’s strider – Was that you?”

Max laughed sourly, “With all the coin that slippery bastard owed me? He could never afford to die.”

The old Regulator grunted, getting to his feet, “So it was the curse again? Bad business there. Zhim’s worried. More than a dozen new owners for this place in the last few years.” He flipped over his cards, a hand full of nothing, plus a stolen ace, and caught Max’s eyes. “Fort Tarsis is too important to change hands so often.”

“Tell Her Glitching Highness I agree with her.” Max waved for Vin to go, and watched the older man shuffle out the door to be swallowed by fog.

Max rose from her booth, gathering up cards and the notes that sealed the deals she’d been closing. The last patrons of the bar, a trio of Freelancers reeking of Fortuo Brew and unwashed javelin padding, ambled towards the exit telling each other the same story for the tenth time about Lucky Jak fighting some sort of carnivorous plant as they left. Max pulled the gate down behind them and viewed her empty bar.

The fog brought in business – plenty of people in Tarsis opted to fortify their bravery with the aid of a drink or two – but more customers meant more to clean up. The fog played tricks on her eyes, making the Freelancers’ table look like the scene of a grisly attack. Spilled drinks pooled like blood in the dark, swirling light, dripping slowly from the edge of the table onto the floor. She sighed, calculating how much time she had left before Lena started to worry.

“Amal, take inventory,” Max said, grabbing a rag and a mop from beneath the bar. “If we’ve got to restock something, I want to start looking for it now. It’s not like we’re getting anything quickly in this weather.”

“Just leave it to me, Max!” Amal’s official job title was, “head bartender,” and while Max did employ three bartenders, he was easily the least in-charge of all of them. Privately, Max had given him the promotion so Amal would stop pestering the other bartenders with questions during work hours. Amal cheerfully took several old, dusty bottles down from the shelf to examine the contents, then paused, squinting suspiciously at the far corner. “Hey, I think those Freelancers left something behind. Can you grab it? Maybe we can still catch them.”

Max pushed aside the partly drawn curtains draping the corner booth. Amidst the bottles and pools of swill on the tabletop sat an old, threadbare newsboy hat. Even calling the thing a “hat” bordered on optimistic. Whatever color it had originally been had long since faded to a sickly taupe. The brim was spattered with irregular dark stains. As she examined it, Max got the slightest whiff of stale silver. A chill ran down her spine, and on impulse, she felt inside the band and found a hidden pocket with four playing cards and an IOU too smudged to read.

“Max? Should I try to catch those Freelancers?” Amal asked, half-hidden behind bottles.

“Don’t bother. It’s not theirs.” Max walked over to the bar and dropped the hat in the trash. She returned to the corner and started mopping up the pool of swill from the trashed table top with a rag.

“Shouldn’t we put it in the lost and found?” Amal sounded shocked, “The owner might come back looking for it.”

“It’s Dusty’s,” Max shrugged, “No way he’s coming back to claim it.”

“The curse.” Amal whispered. From behind her came the sounds of several bottles clattering into one another, followed by Amal letting out a string of horrified, “Whoops! Oh! Crap!” as he tried and failed to catch any of them before they fell to the floor. Max winced, but a glance back at Amal told her that at least none of the bottles had broken.

“Amal.” Max said dryly, “Try not to wreck my bar.”

The flustered bartender tripped coming out from behind the counter. “How? How could it be Dusty’s hat? He died months ago. Where did it even come from?” He gathered the dropped bottles and held them all in his arms like a moonshine bouquet.

“How should I know? Glitched crap happens all the time around this place.” Max cleaned the worst of the mess from the table and started mopping the floor around it. The air stank of unwashed lancers who’d spent a little too much time out in the darkness. She tried not to breathe. Without the dark pools of drink, the place looked less like a crime scene, but the tendrils of mist rising off the floor still made the dark corners of the bar look like something out of a half-remembered dream.

For a moment, Amal was quiet except for the clinking of glass as he moved bottles back and forth from the shelves. “Still,” he said, “It was Dusty’s. Maybe we could’ve… I dunno, not thrown it away?”

“It’s just a hat. We’re not building a memorial for a hat.” Max put away the rag and mop. “Finish cleaning up out here, will you? I’ll take care of the books.”

“Right. Of course.”  

~

Max entered the back room and closed the door behind her. It was hard to tell where the floor was through the fog swirling around her feet. This really was the worst season in memory. She winced, thinking of Lena at home alone. Her wife could make hardened Regulator bosses crumble with a look, but lived in terror of the dark. Their apartment always had a light on. At least one. Sometimes several, but with this fog... She was just settling down to count the money when Amal shrieked, “Max!”

She ran out to the bar. “You all right? What’s the matter?”

Amal pointed a shaking finger. “It’s back! It came back!”

Max followed Amal’s terrified gaze to the table near the gate. The old, threadbare hat was hanging on the back of a chair. “Very funny, Amal.”

She walked over and picked the hat up with a sigh. It was undoubtedly the same hat. The same smell of Dusty’s favorite drink. The same playing cards in the band, the same bloodstains. Max put it in the trash bin a little more firmly this time, as if maybe it just hadn’t gotten the point before.

“Take the trash out, would you?” she asked, returning to the back room.

It was darker in the back than Max remembered. The fog reached with its misty tendrils up the walls and curled around the sconces on the wall, dimming the lights. It swirled around her desk, and the cashbox, and the deck of playing cards she’d left there. Max waved it away, annoyed. “I’m not playing with you,” she muttered.

She heard heavy footsteps and the clanging of the gate as Amal took the trash out to the fort’s incinerator. At least that was done with. Max sat down at her desk and opened the cashbox. The sooner she finished this, the sooner she’d be home with Lena. Half an hour later, a series of thuds and whimpers from the bar told her Amal had returned. Max looked up from the books and rubbed her eyes. It was getting hard to tell where the floor and walls were anymore. The back room had been almost entirely swallowed by fog, leaving just the faint lights of the sconces. She rose unsteadily to her feet and started to feel her way towards across the room when a bloodcurdling scream came from the bar.

Max ran to the door and stumbled out to find Amal sobbing wordlessly by the front gate. She strode over and grabbed him by the shoulders.

“Amal! Get ahold of yourself.” Max gave the terrified bartender a shake and he met her gaze, eyes wide with terror.

“It’s back again! I threw it in the incinerator, Max, what if it wants revenge?” Amal’s voice cracked on the last word.

Max looked around, puzzled, saw the bar, and felt her heart sink. “It’s a hat. Even you could take it in a fight.” She grabbed Dusty’s hat, crumpling it in her hand, and shoved it in the trash can. “Go home, Amal. I can deal with this, all right?”

“But Max!” Amal started to object but was interrupted by a loud knocking sound. Max and Amal stared at one another for a moment in confusion. The knock had come from the door to the back room.

Max took a deep breath. Glitched shit happened all the time, she reminded herself. It didn’t mean anything. “Go home. I’ll lock up.” She took a step towards the back room door.

“No!” Amal shrieked, desperately throwing himself in her path and waving his arms. “It’s the curse, Max! Don’t answer it!”

“Amal,” Max tried to make her voice soothing, but it came out weary instead. She had never been good at soothing. “It’s not the curse. Curses don’t knock. Go on home. It’s been a long day.” She stepped around Amal and opened the door.

No one was there. For a moment, Max wondered what she’d expected. She felt a chill run down her spine, looked down and saw the hat on the floor. Behind her, Amal began wailing like a child with a skinned knee.

Max shut the door.

“All right. You’re going home, right now.” She took Amal firmly by the shoulders and turned him toward the gate.

“But you’ll die!” Amal sobbed, “If I leave the bar the curse will get you, and I don’t want another boss!” He stubbornly clung to Max, preventing her from walking him out.

“That’s sweet, but it’s also the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Max said as firmly as she could. She managed to drag Amal a few steps toward the exit.

Another loud knock came from the back room door.

What was left of her nerve snapped. “We’re closed!” She shouted in the general direction of the back room, and without missing a beat, she herded Amal out the gate, pulling it down behind him.

“Max?” Amal sniffled sadly, standing in the entrance.

“I’m locking up. Watch yourself on the damned steps.” She waited for Amal to disappear from the little semi-circle of light the spilled out of the bar into the fog.

Once Amal was gone, Max walked slowly to the back room and stood before the door. Heart pounding in her chest, she stared at the handle, trying to calm herself enough to open the door, and growing increasingly angry with each passing moment that she found an ugly old hat so terrifying. This was Amal’s fault. Stirring things up that shouldn’t be stirred. She reached out and opened the door.

The hat lay silent and still on the floor.

She stared at it for a long moment. Max took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then picked up Dusty’s hat. She brushed it off, which did nothing whatsoever to improve its appearance, turning it over once in her hands.

“All right,” she said, glancing around at the empty room, “Fine. We’ll cut a deal.” She walked across the room and hung the hat up on a hook.

It stayed there. It was, after all, a hat.

Max realized after a moment that she was holding her breath and slowly released it.

“We good?” She asked the empty air. When nothing happened, she nodded, satisfied, and switched off the lights to go home. Lena was going to kill her.

Special thanks to Neil Grahn, Ryan Cormier, Cathleen Rootsaert, Jay Watamaniuk, and Karin Weekes

[ofirithyll-blog]

Head canon | Gertrude is Gwynevere’s daughter and was locked up by Lothric’s will.

So this is going to be…a bit long. Hence why it’s under a Read More. As the preliminary title above states, I believe that Gertrude is irrefutably Gwynevere’s daughter; one of three I believe exist. The second half is a personal head canon but I will be presenting lore to go with my theory: when Lothric took control of, well Lothric, he deemed the Angelic Faith to be heresy:

Armor of the Winged Knights, who swore themselves to the Angels.

Worship of the divine messengers was viewed as heresy in Lothric and unrecognized by any of the Three Pillars of rule.

This is believed to be why Gertrude, the Heavenly Daughter, was imprisoned in the lofty cell of the Grand Archives. ( winged knights set )

 In this declaration, he ordered for Gertrude to be locked up within a cage high above the Grand Archives which had by this time been sealed shut. Leaving her where no one could get to her due to her influence.

In order to get why I think this I really gotta put out a lot of lore bits to you. Remember my head canon a few days ago about Sulyvahn being the scholar that we find disliked the linking of the flame? In Lothric there are the Three Pillars of the King’s Rule and they rank in this order: High Priestess, Knights, and the Scholar at the top. Closest to the King:

In Lothric, the Scholar has long been considered one of the Three Pillars of the king’s rule, and is therefore master of the Grand Archives. ( scholar’s ring )

 With Oceiros locked away in madness and the Queen having fled ( though I personally think she fled after** ), Lothric is clearly the one on the throne. We can also interpret this because his boss room eerily mimics that of what you’d imagine the throne room would be like. There are chairs seated on either side, it is grand in size and decorated. And the place on which the throne would sit is high above; out of reach but clear in sight for all those who sit within this room. That would place both Lothric and Lorian as the one’s making the calls in this city at the time of our arrival. We know from the Winged Knight set that:

Armor of the Winged Knights, who swore themselves to the Angels.

Worship of the divine messengers was viewed as heresy in Lothric and unrecognized by any of the Three Pillars of rule.

This is believed to be why Gertrude, the Heavenly Daughter, was imprisoned in the lofty cell of the Grand Archives. ( winged knight set )

When we first arrive in Lothric upon its lower walls, we find one of these winged knights stalking about in a circle, surrounded by the corpses of both Lothric Knights and one other winged knight. To me this depicts that a war has been occurring. Waged between two factions. We have one of the three pillars trying to uphold the word of the King, smashing down any and all who continued in their heretical belief of the Angels. And the Angels fighting back fervently for their Heavenly Daughter, Gertrude, as well as their belief. It shows that at the time of our arrival there is discourse through Lothric.

Now, continuing forward, we know that Gertrude is the daughter of Gwynevere through a few item descriptions. The main one being from Bountiful Light: 

Miracle taught to the knights by Gertrude, holy maiden to the Queen.

The Heavenly Daughter is said to be the Queen’s child.

 If we look at all of Gertrude’s spells - too - we can see they are a weaker form of all of Gwynevere’s spells. A direct link to her mother there. And even further with that point, we can see that all Way of White spells are weaker forms of Gertrude’s spells: linking her directly with this order that believes in the Gods and the Linking of the Flame. Finally, we can draw the conclusion that this is a daughter of Gwynevere from the feathers found in her cage. These are the same featherstyle that we see connected often to Gwynevere herself. And it is something you see in all of her children’s areas: Lothric and Lorian’s boss room is coated in them, Lothric’s spells even disperse a few, the mangrub staff outside of Rosaria’s bedchamber ( yes I think she’s gwynevere’s daughter ) shoots a miracle that is trailed by feathers. It is an intricate piece of aesthetic design we see that links these children together. You also know they are somehow connected ( Rosaria and Gwynevere at least ) by the random appearance of a mangrub beneath the cage that once held Gertrude.

Gertrude was the foundation and main source for the Angelic Faith:

Miracle of Gertrude, the Heavenly Daughter.

Brings down multiple pillars of light in vicinity.

The Queen’s holy maiden Gertrude was visited by an angel, who revealed this tale to her.

Despite losing both her sight and her voice, she was determined to record the tale. Ordinary men cannot decipher her fragmentary scrawl, nor comprehend how it became the foundation of the Angelic faith in Lothric. ( divine pillars of light )

 Her rendition of what an Angel showed her ( leaving her both blind and mute, and let’s remember how faiths in Dark Souls heavily belief and listen to the blind ) scribbled on a scroll was the beginning of this faith; with Gertrude as its symbol. I mean, all throughout Lothric there are minute signs of worship and belief of the faith. Through both their queen being Gwynevere - a goddess who since Dark Souls 1 has pushed us to link the flame - winged angels throughout Lothric. Statues seeming to be small, petite angels. That shows us that this faith has been here for quite some time. Far before our arrival or even Lothric’s birth I imagine. Hell, I believe that Gertrude is one of Gwynevere’s first children, born before she married Oceiros ( duh ), and went with her mother to Lothric ( further evidence of her presence here that Gwynevere is possibly the queen ) when she moved.

We also discover a painting in if I remember right Archdragon Peak, hidden behind an illusionary wall. Before it we find the Winged Knight set, and it’s a painting depicting a heavenly angel; feathers, wings and floating. Within this same room we find a shield that is known as the Sorcerer’s bane:

A treasured antique of the Way of White, known to some as the Sorcerer’s Bane.

The large blossom design that graces the shield is said to be a sacred flame, and the shield is blessed with high magic protection.

 I do not think this shields placement is anything but purposeful. If there is a war waging between these two factions, it would seem wise that this shield be used against those who side with Lothric. After all, he is known for spells. So is Sulyvahn and the scholars in general. What better way to protect themselves than with such a shield? Hence why it was hidden away with a painting that was now considered heresy.

Now, lastly, furthering my proof that Lothric was the one who sentenced her incarceration: the crystal chime:

A sacred chime, once the possession of Gertrude, the Heavenly Daughter, and defiled by the scholars of the Grand Archives.

The power of crystal granted the scholars a degree of success. In this case, their work enabled this chime to be suitable for casting both miracles and sorceries.

 This chime was Gertrude’s! The item description literally tells us as such. We discover it behind a book case, in a corner tucked away, discarded. Where it has obviously been corrupted by the use of the scholars within the Grand Archives. Who do the scholars follow faithfully? Lothric. Who permitted their defilement of this holy symbol? Lothric. Well, perhaps not he, per say. Perhaps it was Sulyvahn, though I do feel that it would make more sense for Lothric to have turned a blind eye to this corruption. I mean, once she’s been sentenced to hang high above the very same archives, of course he’d strip her of her means to heal or cast any sort of miracle.

On top of all of this: there are three heavenly ascended angel knights guarding the entrance to Gertrude’s cage. Outside we find the Hunter’s ring, which is another secret faction dedicated to eliminating the enemies of the king:

The hunters serve Lothric on the fringes and in the shadows. For generations, rulers of Lothric have relied especially upon the Black Hand hunters to punish enemies in ways that the king's Three Pillars cannot. ( hunter’s ring )

  We can surmise by its presence that the blackhand who’d gone to dispatch Gertrude - to eliminate their holy cause - perished to these winged knights. Below, we discover the cage with not one but two openings to it now. One high above and another right before her. We find a corpse and this is where we get her spell…yet I do not think that is Gertrude. I believe evidence shows us that she perhaps escaped: maybe somehow through the help of her sister, Rosaria ( naw I don’t think gertrude is rosaria ).

All in all, Gertrude got the shitty end of a stick handed to her. For she went blind and mute before coming to Lothric I believe. And it is here that her faith - and the hope of the gods reign to continue - is denied and she is locked away. Her things destroyed by the whimsy of man. You guys, I just really love Gertrude.

** PS - the reason I think that Gwynevere fled after is simple. She’s a woman that has - as I stated - who has pushed us to link the flame. When the scholars convince her son to throw his purpose away, to turn his back upon being a lord of cinder, she is in direct opposition of him. Who’s to say that it wasn’t Lothric who locked his father, Oceiros, away? If this is so, then I can see why she’d flee. Who’s to say he’d not turn on his own mother after locking up his own elder sister like a criminal. I guess that’s another head canon by itself, though.