#GOD fucking dammit i can never spell his name right on the first try

[chaotic-history]

First I learn Lytton Strachey was into crucifixion and then I learn he was one of the early people to proofread Maurice?? Lore goes deep

[pies-writes-and-more]

Hungover Love

word count: 2,688

pairing: UniversityStudent!Akaashi Keiji x Fem!Reader

warnings: characters getting drunk and hungover - all assumed to be of legal age

a/n: I don’t know where this came from but I started writing it so here it is haha. Got the idea from @moanlightlust‘s list (can find it here!) so thank you! I’ll bold the prompt down below (I kinda changed it for the sake of the story but still got the idea from their prompt list :)) Thank you to @satan-ruler-of-hells​ and @thisnoodlewritesao3​ for reading over this for me! Love you both :)

haikyuu masterlist

“Akaashi?” You repeated the name for the second time as you strained your ears to hear something besides bar music and Bokuto’s loud voice in the background.

“Hm?” The small grunt made you smile, knowing he was probably slumped over on a chair, holding his face in one hand and leaning on a table in front of him, with his other hand pressing his phone a little too hard on his ear.

You let out a small laugh, pausing the show you had on your TV so you could hear him better, “Akaashi, you called me. Did you need something?”

There was another grunt on the other end of the line, and you chuckled as you heard Konoha teasing Bokuto about something in the distance, “What is it, Akaashi?” You inquired some more, listening to him hum quietly to the song playing.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” he mumbled and you just shook your head with a smile. God he must’ve had far too many drinks to be this out of it. “I fucking love Y/N Y/L/N. It almost feels like she can hear me right now,” he was saying and you just laughed. “Like I can... I can hear her laughing.”

“Akaashi, you idiot,” your face felt hot but you tried to ignore it. He was drunk. Very clearly drunk. He didn’t mean anything by it - the last time he was drunk, he told you he was going to leave his college volleyball team and join some new sport because Bokuto was getting on his nerves. 

It didn’t mean anything. It didn’t. It didn’t matter that those were the words you had been waiting to hear from him. It didn’t matter that you’d spent the last two years pining after him. He was drunk.

“Didya know... the other day.... Y/N smiled at me cause I said something funny- what did I say... I can’t remember what I said but I said something funny and she smiled and I just.. God it’s that smile ya know?” Akaashi’s voice seemed so much lighter than it did usually. You could tell that he was smiling and just imagining that goofy drunk smile on his face made your heart skip a beat or two.

“That’s nice,” you tried to keep things casual, avoid getting your hopes up too much. You didn’t want to ruin what you had with him - the nice fun friendship that was definitely just a friendship.

“Y/N?” Akaashi suddenly seemed a lot more present, as if just realizing you were on the line. 

“Yea?”

“Y/N!” The smile on his face was probably a lot bigger from the sounds of it, a chuckle slipping from his lips, “I love you, Y/N! I’ve loved you ever since I met you when you picked up my runaway ball for me back in high school. You were so pretty then and you’re super pretty now. Like you get prettier every day I see you-” his speech was quick and slurred, you could almost feel him getting drunker by the second.

“Akaashi-”

“Bokuto keeps telling me that I need to tell you but I dunno if I can because I’m pretty sure you like that dude that lives across from you and-”

“Akaashi-”

“But I guess I wouldn’t know until I told you right? So I’m telling you because I like you. I really like you. I wanted to bring you to that new ice cream place down the road from your place but you always seemed so busy and I don’t want to bug you, plus volleyball takes up so much time, and then there’s school, and I don’t even know how to balance volleyball, school, and a girlfriend-”

“Akaashi!” Your voice was louder this time, biting down on your inner cheek as his name left your lips. You needed him to stop - it had to stop. Your heart was fluttering too much and you couldn’t even tell how much of this was true. You wanted to tell yourself that alcohol could bring out people’s true feelings, but it also made you do dumb shit. And wouldn’t confessing to someone you didn’t actually like be considered dumb shit?

“Ya that’s me,” Akaashi mumbled, clearly a lot more tired than he seemed five seconds ago.

You tried not to laugh, tried to swallow your fears and your feelings, your heart feeling like it was beating a thousand times a minute. “I need you to go sober up, get some rest and drink lots of water okay?”

“But-”

“No but’s! You obviously drank way too much and honestly, I’ve never heard you talk like this before and I can’t even tell if it’s you anymore,” you acted like you were scolding him, putting up that wall again like you had so many other times before. He couldn’t really like you, could he? There was no way.

“Y/N Y/L/N, I fucking love you!” Akaashi yelled into the phone, making you cringe a bit at the volume.

Your chest was tightening, you couldn’t tell if it was fear or hope but whatever it was, it was scaring the shit out of you, “Shut the hell up! If you love me so much tell me when you’re sober, dammit!” You yelled back, immediately hanging up the phone. Your eyes widened as you watched the call screen disappear, your mouth suddenly feeling very dry.

The next few hours were radio silent from both Bokuto and Akaashi. You refused to text either of them in fear that you might accidentally say more than you wanted to.

It’s fine, he was really drunk from the sounds of it so he probably won’t even remember it right? I mean, the last time he got super drunk, he didn’t remember challenging the bartender to a pushup fight so... so he won’t remember.... right?

You paced in your room for a bit, glancing at your phone every five seconds to see if there was any sort of notification from either of your friends. But nothing. 

You barely slept a wink that night, tossing and turning while facing dreams of Akaashi laughing in your face the next time you saw him.

You thought I meant that? It was just a joke, Y/N.

I only see you as a friend, sorry.

Don’t you think you’re reading into our friendship a little too much? That’s all there is. Friendship. 

The idea of Akaashi awkwardly laughing in your face, giving you that half smile while dismissing your feelings haunted you for hours. By the time the sun came up, you gave up on the idea of sleeping and threw your blanket off of you. It was time to figure out how to survive your day without thinking about Akaashi Keiji at all. 

It wasn’t easy. Everything reminded you of him. Half of your Netflix was shows you were watching with him, or movies you’d already seen with him next to you. Your homework wasn’t any help either (though you definitely needed to get it done). Akaashi would normally come over and study with you, his adorable glasses making him look like some young professor, twirling his pencil around in his fingers while nodding along to some song stuck in his head. You couldn’t get used to studying on your own.

Radio silence finally broke when you texted Bokuto, asking if they all made it home safe last night and he responded with a very badly spelled text message saying, “himw safe so tirwd need adcil heaf hurtinh” (aka. home safe so tired need advil head hurting) 

Your lips curled into a small smile - at least Bokuto was alive. And the fact that he wasn’t all up in your face about Akaashi meant that the setter probably hadn’t said anything last night, or at least, it meant that Bokuto was too busy tending to a hangover to think about it.

A knock on your door made you jump, watching it for a moment before slowly approaching.

“Oi, open up, I know you’re in there.”

You calculated the odds and realistically there were only 3 reasons why Akaashi would be at your door right now, while he was still probably very hungover.

A. He was tired of listening to Bokuto complain about being hungover while also hungover and wanted you to help take care of him.

B. He wasn’t actually hungover and wanted to hang out.

C. He remembered your phone call from last night and wanted to confront you about it.

...

There was no way it was B or C so... it had to be A right?

You opened the door with a smile on your face, trying to pretend like this was the first time you spoke to him since you saw him earlier yesterday.

“Hey, what’re you doing here?” You asked, welcoming him in and watching his movements as he shuffled inside. He was wearing his sunglasses and wincing a little so... it definitely wasn’t B. He was definitely still hungover.

“Good morning to you too,” Akaashi chuckled slightly, groaning as he made his way over to your couch and flopped onto it. “God, my head is killing me,” he grumbled.

You felt almost a bit of relief - he wasn’t bringing it up so... it must mean that C wasn’t an option right? “I’ll make you some tea. Want something to eat?”

He made a noise that you assumed was a yes, grabbing some ramen packages that you liked to have whenever you were hungover.

“How’re the boys?” You asked as soon as the tea was finished, handing it to him as he sat up with a huff.

“Fine... I told them I didn’t want to get drunk,” he rolled his eyes. “But Bokuto kept pouring shots and being a little bitch when I didn’t want to have them... something about how he didn’t want to lose his best friend or something.”

You laughed, shaking your head slowly as you moved back to your little kitchen, “You’re always so busy studying. Bokuto probably just misses having you around.”

“We live together.”

“Ya well you’re always either on campus or here with me so I can see why he’d miss you,” you smirked, humming softly to yourself as you let the noodles cook. Things were okay. Things were normal. Things were going to be fine - all your worries were slipping away-

“So are we not going to talk about it?” 

Akaashi’s voice made you jump, turning around to find him standing right behind you and slowly sipping on the tea.

“Fuck, Akaashi, don’t do that,” you glared at him, hitting his arm, “Could’ve made me burn myself.” 

“Sorry,” he gave you a small smile, leaning against the nearby counter. “But we are going to talk about it, aren’t we?”

The ramen so clearly needed stirring and stirring was a full focus kind of job and this was obviously why you were looking into the pot and not looking at Akaashi, even though you could feel his eyes watching you, “Talk about what? Bokuto missing you?”

Akaashi chuckled and lifted his finger to under your chin, tilting your face to look at him, “I drank a lot. But I don’t think any amount of alcohol could make me forget how embarrassing I was.”

“Embarrassing?”

He watched your eyes for a moment before pulling his hand away from you and looking down at his tea, his smile slowly stiffening, “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I don’t want to make you more uncomfortable. I just thought I should apologize and let you know that you don’t have to reject me or anything. I like being friends with you and that’s enough for me, even if there’s a part of me that wants more.”

You almost dropped your spoon on the floor, staring at him with wide eyes, “S-Sorry what? Apologize? For... for what?”

“For confessing to you while drunk,” Akaashi’s smile was turning more sad now, taking a slow sip from his tea. “I’d been considering telling you how I feel for a while now and I guess I should’ve stopped myself from drinking sooner to save you the embarrassment.”

“Embarrassment? Akaashi, don’t be an idiot,” you ignored the soup still dripping from the spoon and whacked his arm with it.

“Hey!”

“You’re telling me you were drunk enough to confess to me and to remember what you said but not remember what I said at the end?” You huffed, hands on your hips now. 

Akaashi’s eyes lifted to the ceiling in thought, his lips pursing slowly like he did when he was concentrating on getting an answer right on his homework, “I know you seemed mad,” he finally responded, shrugging a bit. “I figured it was cause I put you on the spot like that.”

“No you absolute meathead, it’s because after months and months of pining after you, weeks of Bokuto almost spilling my secret on multiple different occasions to you, him almost screaming to you once about how much I love you, you end up telling me you love me over a drunk phone call and I can’t tell if you’re being serious or just a drunk dummy!” You scold him, hitting his arm again with your hand and shaking your head. God, for a boy with as high of an average as he had, how is it possible that there were no brain cells running around in that head of his?

Akaashi smirked a little, watching your eyes as you ranted, a playful smile on his lips, “So... you love me huh?”

“You better get out of my sight before I dump this ramen on your head,” you glare at him, trying your best not to smile because his smile was just so contagious but ugh that evil little smirk of his-

His lips were suddenly on your cheek, pressing a soft kiss to your skin and letting you feel the smirk still toying on his expression, “Drunk or not. I do love you, Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Y-Yeah yeah whatever,” you avoid his eyes some more, your whole face feeling hot and your cheek tingling where he had kissed you. “Go sit, it’s almost done.”

“Not until you say it back,” he teased, hugging you from behind and peppering your cheeks with some more kisses. “You said you love me, you can’t take it back now. Say it again.”

“Why?” you laughed, trying to pull away from his tight hug.

“Because it’s the best news I’ve ever gotten and I want to hear you say it again and again and again,” he insisted, turning you around to face him and smiling down at you. “Pretty please?”

You sighed with a smile on your face because as annoying as he could be, you really did mean it when you tell him, “I love you too, Akaashi.”

Alone time with Akaashi lasted long enough for him to properly ask you to go on a date with him to that ice cream shop, and was then interrupted by Bokuto showing up at your door and inviting himself in with a grin.

Apparently, the cure to Bokuto’s hangover was just knowing his two best friends had finally confessed to each other.

“God, I thought he’d never get drunk enough,” Bokuto grinned proudly to himself after you had happily explained the details to him. “I thought I’d have to just keep ordering him drinks.”

“What?” Akaashi glared at him, putting the pieces together.

Bokuto just smirked mischievously, “You can’t get mad cause it worked. I figured it would take a miracle to get you two to confess. And getting you drunk is basically a miracle.”

The fact that you were laughing made Akaashi want to kill Bokuto a little less, and even though he glared some more at his best friend, he would secretly thank him later for helping him get the courage to get the girl of his dreams. As much as Bokuto could get on his nerves sometimes, it really would be thanks to him that Akaashi got to take you out on that cute date and tell you just how much he loves you every day.

haikyuu taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added!)

@al0ehas @aurumk @neko-chii1 @thisnoodlewritesao3 @satan-ruler-of-hells @trashy-simp @jeppiet​ @tobi-momo​ @darkvadeeer​ @haikyuutothetop​ @livy384​ @babyshoyo​ @jesssobs​ @b-bakana​

[lunar-wandering]

The Mixup Mashup

finally, i have finally finished the first like, actual fic for the Mixup Mashup AU!! literally this AU only exists to be chaotic, so-

Word Count: 1.3k

read on ao3

----

Pigsy had been having a normal day.

...An unusually normal day. Something was going to happen, he was sure of it. There was no way he could go a single day without some kind of Mystic Monkey Madness going on.

So when the Six Eared Macaque entered his shop, carrying a tied up Monkey King on one arm, and a Red Son who currently looked like a traffic light fashion disaster on the other arm, Pigsy, who had picked up his mop as soon as he saw the shadow monkey, (it wasn't a rake but it would do), couldn't exactly say he was surprised. Disappointed, definitely, but not surprised.

He couldn't exactly say the same for Tang though.

"...Okay." Tang said, upon seeing the scene before him.  "I have one question. What the fuck."

"That's more of a statement than a question." Macaque replied, setting Red Son and Wukong down at one of the tables. "As for the answer. There's been a bit of a......incident."

"And what kind of incident, exactly would lead to the Six Eared Macaque carrying Red Son and a tied up Sun Wukong into my shop?" Pigsy asked, readying his mop for a fight, depending on the answer. Macaque rubbed the back of his neck, his tail swishing nervously.

"Y'see, that's the problem." He said, "I'm not Macaque."

For a moment there was silence.

"What do you mean by, 'you're not Macaque'?" Tang asked. 'Macaque' sighed.

"I meant what I said. I'm not Macaque, I'm Wukong." He said, before pointing at Red Son. "And um. The fashion disaster over there is a fusion of Red Son, MK, and Mei I guess? I don't know what to call it, but they're all in the same body."

Pigsy and Tang glanced at the aforementioned fusion, to see that they were currently staring off into space, looking like they weren't paying attention to anything around them.

"Are.... they okay?" Tang asked. Wukong shrugged. 

"They stopped talking about 6 minutes ago. They were mostly arguing about nonsense anyways, I think they just figured out how to keep that argument internal instead of external." He said, "Having three people in one body can't be easy."

"He's telling the truth." Wukong, no, Macaque, said. (Pigsy would have to find some way to remember they were swapped, or this was going to quickly get more confusing than it already was).

"...If you're Macaque, then why haven't you used the Monkey King's powers to break out of the rope and escape?" Tang asked. Macaque was about to answer, but Wukong interrupted.

"Ah, it's nothing, he just knows I'll be easily able to catch him is all." He said, but his swishing tail gave away that that was not at all the truth. From behind him, Macaque smirked wickedly.

"You'd only be able to catch me because I'm in your body, and it's kinda hard to run in a body that has a broken foot." He said, and Wukong whirled around to glare at him.

"You shut your whore mouth." He hissed.

"You're injured?" Tang said, "Jeez, why didn't you start with that? I'll get the first aid kit-"

"He doesn't need it." Wukong interrupted, rolling his eyes. "My body heals fast. As long as he doesn't move for the next, like, 20 minutes, it should heal just fine."

"It'd heal faster if it was treated though." Macaque said, "You just don't want to admit that you never treat your injuries, and you're just pissy because I broke your foot."

Wukong must've not had a good response to that, as he chose to simply glare at Macaque, who returned said glare with one of his own.

Watching the two of them, Pigsy shook his head, and pulled out two "Hello, my name is ____" stickers, and a sharpie. Quickly, he scribbled on them, and then reached over and slapped them onto Wukong and Macaque's foreheads. The two monkeys both leaned back, going cross eyed as they tried to see what Pigsy had just stuck to their forehead. Pigsy sighed.

"It's so that I remember that you're body swapped." He said, "It'd get confusing otherwise."

"And you really think that a sticker is gonna help you remember?" Wukong asked, a touch of irritation in his voice. Macaque just glared.

"It's better than nothing, right?" Pigsy said. Wukong didn't respond to that, but he did flick his tail in irritation.

"I hate to interrupt." Tang said, "But I have a question."

"What?" Wukong asked.

"Why don't either of you just shapeshift to look like your normal selves?? That'd solve this whole problem, at least, temporarily, right?" Tang asked. Wukong sighed.

"I can answer that." Macaque said, when Wukong looked like he wasn't going to respond. "The spell that did this was originally a spell to stop Wukong from shapeshifting. Your little group of kids just so happened to get in the way, and they fucked it up so much that now it's caused.....this."

"....So neither of you can shapeshift right now?" Pigsy asked.

"Yeah. Unfortunately." Wukong said, finally sitting down at the table.

"Aren't either of you...concerned over any other possible side effects of the spell misfiring?" Tang asked.

"As much as I hate to say it, right now I'm more worried about what's going on over there." Macaque said, using his tail to point over to where the fusion was sitting. They were staring down at the table, hard, and seemed to be deep in concentration.

"You uh. You okay over there?" Wukong asked, drawing the fusion's attention for a brief second.

"Shh, I'm trying to keep them from burning down the place." They said, in a voice that was decidedly MK's, before going back to staring at the table.

"...Should we be concerned about that?" Tang asked. Wukong just shrugged.

---

"Listen. I'm not saying we burn down the place." Mei said, well, thought. The three of them had discovered that they could hear each other's thoughts a while ago, and had finally figured out how to talk to each other mentally instead of externally.

...That didn't mean that they stopped arguing though.

"If you're not saying we burn down the place, than what are you saying?" MK asked.

"I'm just saying we should test out Red Son's powers by burning the table a little-"

"Mei that's arson. We're not going to commit arson." MK said.

"As much as I'm normally all for arson," Red Son interrupted, "I'd really rather you not use my powers thank you very much."

"Oh come on!" Mei whined, "Can't I just use a bit of fire?? Just a tiny bit??"

"No!!! No fire!!" MK said, "Fire is a very bad idea!!"

"....Here's a good idea then." Red Son said, "I get the chance to try out Noodle Boy's powers."

"What? No-"

"Oh yeah! Immortal Monkey powers must be fun!"

"Guys we can't-, neither of you are going to listen to me huh."

"Nope!" Mei and Red Son said, in unison, and MK promptly lost control of the body.

---

The fusion stood up and began walking to the door.

"Uh. Where do you think you're going?" Pigsy asked. The fusion gave him a smirk.

"Oh, you know, me and Dragon Girl are just going to go....test run some things." Red Son said.

"And what exactly are you going to test run?" Tang asked, nervously. The fusion's response was to summon the staff.

"Wait, no-" Wukong started, standing up from the table, but the fusion was out the door before he could reach them, using Mei's dragon abilities to go faster. Wukong stood there for a moment in shock, before sighing.

"Gods dammit." He said, "Pigsy, Tang, you watch Macaque, okay? Make sure he doesn't do anything. I'm going after them."

Before anyone could tell him how bad of an idea it was for him to go out while in Macaque's body, Wukong was already out the door, running after the fusion at top speed, leaving Tang, Pigsy, and Macaque in the noodle shop by themselves. The three of them sat there in silence, staring at each other.

"....Well." Macaque said, "This is awkward."

[cristinablackthornkingson]

My thoughts/comments on roughly pages 700-900 of COI.

**TW/CW**

Alcoholism

Miscarriage

Child trafficking

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Matthew and Elias are more alike than Cordelia thinks, Matthew is just a nicer drunk than Elias. They both have/had their demons and use alcohol as an attempted escape, let's just hope things turn out better for Matthew than they did Elias .

Ahhh I really hope there isnt going to be a love triangle between Matthew, Cordelia and James, unless they become a throuple, but I am more so rooting for MatthewxLucie. Isnt Jesse like 8 years older than Lucie? I mean I guess he's technically forever 17 and doesnt have much more life experience than her but still, I prefer them as besties.

Grace leave James alone!

Uh yeah Grace no duh the Bridgestocks dont like you, you're the woman Charles left Ariadne for, that could have ruined her reputation

GRACE FUCK OFF!

JAMES DO NOT KISS HER, Tessa needs to get back and slap some sense into her son jfc!

DAMMIT JAMES!!!

"I should go" Yes you should! And leave James the fuck alone!

The Famer at the Barrow is Wayland the Smith, calling it now

Yep I knew it!

I want a crossover series where Cortana meets Sumabrander/Jack from Magnus Chase 😂😂

Wayland the Smith wants payment for healing Cortana, uh oh, all magic comes with a price

Wait what is a paladin? Does Wayland want Cordelia to find the killer and stop the killings? Has she not already sworn fealty to Cortana? - Oh no she swore fealty to Wayland, makes sense. Go kick ass Daisy!

Yikes seems as if Lucie's powers might cause some trouble for her

Possible Lucie and Ariadne friendship? Will Lucie help her and Anna get back together?

Okay I fear for Lucie when Grace tells Malcolm about Annabell.

Always thought Malcolm was the one who helped Tatianna preserve Jesse's body, apparently not, new character maybe?

Ooh honey, Malcolm this is so much worse than Annabell rejecting you.

Glad to see Lucie inherited Tessa's sensibility

Ariadne and Anna being Lucie's protective yet kickass lesbian cousins, we stan

Awwww Anna calling Lucie "ducks" 🥺

Oh my God Grace was trafficked??? Tatiana is a child trafficker? As are the Cartwrights? Holy fuck poor Grace!

I hope James is okay, I wonder if he'll tell them about Grace? Or that hes in love with Cordelia? Or that he might be possessed by the killer?

I fucking love Anna fussing over Lucie and calling her pet names, more Anna and her cousins being wholesome please!

But surely Belial cant posses James? He had the spells of protection placed on him as a baby, and he didnt actually die in COG, like Jace did in City of Glass, but maybe its different because he is half Warlock and related to Belial?

Raum venom in my shoe, oh Christopher, never change ❤

"I think he is possessed" said Thomas "He is defacing a book" LMAOOOOOOO throw that shade Tommy!

"He felt an odd sensation, tingling between his shoulder blades, apprehension perhaps?" Jamie, sweetie, I'm demiromantic and have never been in love yet even I know you're feeling love and attraction to Cordelia

"Just wound me then, stab me in the leg if you have to" Ah, young love

Hmmm Cordelia and James spending the night in the same room, sexy times to ensue?

A crack in the gracelet? Perhaps James'true love for Cordelia is strong enough to break it? Could be going a OUAT route here, if they have kids they would be the product of true love, and very powerful, could play an important role in the future?

Lmao Cordelia blue balling James as revenge for him kissing Grace, good for you girl, good for you.

Oh Thomas POV, hope we get some Thomastair interaction, first kiss maybe?

I hope Anna and Thomas dont go in search of the killer, surely Anna is going to tell him to get his ass back inside? Or maybe she's about to talk to him about his feelings for Alastair? Is this gonna be the equivalent of Nora having to confirm to Alex that he's bi?

Nope the dumbass is going on patrol alone, I'm scared for him. Maybe he'll run into Alastair and they'll patrol together and talk about their feelings?

No James you love Cordelia, not Grace. Snap out of it man!

Jamie baby you owe no one anything, please talk to your parents and Jem!

Uh oh killers POV with Thomas out alone, I'm scared

Oh God the killer noticed Thomas and now we have a Thomas POV, I dont like where this is going. Alastair come save your man!

Nooo poor Lillian. I'm still scared for Thomas though, I think the killer is trying to lure him in

Uh oh, Thomas is about to get in so much trouble

Sshhhhiittt poor Thomas. Charlotte can surely help him tho, right? She knows he would never kill someone

Oooh so James has been going out in his sleep to try and stop the killer?

Is Enoch gonna tell them about Thomas' arrest? Will he be able to help Thomas?

I want a brother Enoch backstory!

Alastair was so following Thomas for his own peace of mind, and to protect him because he loves him.

I wonder why Bridgestock has it in for Thomas.

Consul Charlotte reminds me of President Ellen Claremont, I love it.

I think the pithos is what the killer used to remove the runes

I wonder if there's gonna be some Thomastair angst and confessions now they're locked in the sanctuary together for a day.

Why is the mortal sword in Paris? Seemingly with Will and Tessa? Was Charles tried by the mortal sword?

Charlotte and Henry have been TTC for years now with no results, my theory is that the miscarriage was complicated and caused a lot of scar tissue, and now Charlotte cant get pregnant, so once her time as Consul is up (which is presumably soon, given how the merry thieves theorize that Bridgestock is vying for Consul next term) she and Henry will adopt, either twin girls or 2 girls close in age, like 2/3 year age gap at max.

I really like Eugenia and would like to read more about her.

Alastair comforting Cordelia is so sweet, they are such an iconic sibling duo.

James thinking of Matthew, Christopher and Thomas as his brother's is so wholesome and sweet, I adore it!

[caranfindel]

Fic: The whirlwind is in the thorn tree

wincest | about 3000 words | R for language and adult themes | characters: sam winchester, dean winchester

synopsis: My first and probably last stab at Wincest. No actual sex, just post-coital angst.

Flowers in the Attic is a cheesy gothic novel featuring four children who are locked in an attic by their scheming mother who hopes to hide their existence; the oldest son and daughter eventually begin an incestuous relationship.

The title is from "The Man Comes Around" by Johnny Cash, which I never heard until recently but am now obsessed with.

. . .

Part 1: Dean

It doesn't start with romance or lust. It doesn't start with that little flash of bare skin visible above his jeans when he raises his arms (it makes you crazy and you don't know why; you see him shirtless all the time but for some reason that little strip of skin that isn't meant to be showing just brings you to your knees). It doesn't start with you staring at that perfectly sculpted spot at the base of his throat and finally setting your mouth to it and marking him up the way you've dreamt about for years (you've bruised him when you were sparring, and you've battered him in anger, but you've never left a mark for the purpose of saying hands off, he's mine and oh, what you would do just for the chance). It doesn't start with you too drunk to keep holding it all in and Sam too drunk to say no (you would never, you would never).

It starts with terror. Pure balls-to-the-wall terror that you're about to lose him. A horribly fucked-up hunt where you almost die, but more importantly, you almost watch Sam die, and you stumble into your motel room, both still out of breath, still not quite sure what happened out there, and you're checking him for injuries and every breath is a silent mantra, I almost lost you, I almost lost you, and nothing is enough, you want to crawl under his skin, you want to open him up and cradle his heart in your hands to make sure it's still beating, you're holding him tighter and tighter and he's clutching you just as tight, looking into your soul with those big wet eyes and saying “Dean, Dean," like your name itself is a prayer, a request. A plea. Whatever he is pleading for, you will give it to him. And it turns out the only thing he wants is all of you.

Which is convenient. Because the only thing you want is all of him.

. . .

But then comes After, and you have to face what you've done.

When you wake up (his arm is still flung over you, it's so wrong, it's so wrong), you quietly crawl out of bed and hurry into the shower. There is no water hot enough to scrub you clean, no soap strong enough to wash away your sins (watch out for your brother, it's your most important job). When you give up and turn off the water, you realize you didn't bring any clothes to change into, and you sure as hell weren't wearing any when you fled into the bathroom. There's nothing you can do but wrap a towel around your waist and hope he's still asleep.

He's not. He's sitting up in the bed you shared. His hair is a tousled mess, a silky brown cloud, and your fingers twitch with the craving to be tangled in it again. He doesn't look disgusted, or repulsed. He looks… hopeful. Like he hasn't caught on yet that you are a monster.

(He will be the death of you.)

(He is your reason for living.)

You sit on the other bed and try not to stare at that hickey that you finally managed to put at the base of his throat. (There are other marks. Don't look at them either.)

He speaks first. "Look, I know this is some crazy Flowers in the Attic kind of shit—"

"Oh, this is so much worse than Flowers in the Attic."

"Why?" His brow furrows. "Because it's gay?"

Which stops you in your tracks, because of course that's not the problem. But also because you haven't even thought of this as gay. It's not that you're interested in guys. You're not thinking about random guys when you jack off in the shower, or when you can't fall asleep, or when your life sucks and your heart hurts and you need an escape. It's not guys. It's not anyone else. You've chased a lot of tail over the years, trying to convince yourself otherwise, but it's just Sam. Only, always and forever, Sam.

But now he's looking at you like you're some kind of monster, like being a homophobe is somehow worse than being a sick bastard who wants to fuck his little brother. So you quickly say "No, dammit, you know that's not it."

"Then what? Why is it worse?"

And it's not fair that Sam is both your victim and the priest who will hear your confession; it's not fair that you're going to have to say the thing that will make him hate you, make him walk away from you again, but, well. Life stopped being fair when you were four years old. He would have figured it out anyway. He's too damn smart not to eventually realize whose fault it all is.

"It's worse because I raised you, Sam. I did this to you. I made you want this."

"What?" Sam's voice goes up an octave, incredulous. "You're saying you groomed me?"

"Not on purpose! But yeah, subconsciously, I must have done something! I must have screwed you up somehow. Otherwise, you wouldn't… there's no way you would have…"

"Slept with my brother? So there's no way I would have wanted to have sex with my brother unless someone snuck into my brain and planted the idea there? Someone must have made me want it? Is that what happened?"

Oh, Jesus, Sam just needs to stop talking, because he's making it worse. Yes, obviously you planted that idea in his sweet, trusting little head. Who knows when or where or how, but obviously you did that. Obviously you took him, the brother you were supposed to watch out for, you took his innocent love for you and twisted it into something awful and self-serving.

But he's not looking at you like he just realized what a monster you are, like he finally saw the darkness you've managed to hide all this time. He's smiling.

"You're an idiot," he says. "But okay, let's say you're right. Let's say the only reason I would want to have sex with my brother is because someone raised me wrong. Someone screwed with my head when I was little and made me want this. Then who did it to you?"

No, wait. That's not. You stare at him, mute.

"If you raised me to want this," he continues, "who did it to you? Dad? Is that what was going on, all those times you guys went off on a hunt and left me at a hotel? Dad spent the whole time convincing you that at some point you were going to have to throw me on the bed and have your way with me?"

"Dammit, Sam, that's not funny."

"I'm not trying to be funny, Dean. I'm just trying to show you how ridiculous it is to blame yourself. No one made you want it, and no one made me want it. It's just a product of our fucked-up lives. There are no victims here."

Is that possible? You want (so much, so much) to believe it. But even if he's not your victim, he still has to see how wrong it is. You've ripped your heart wide open and he's staring right at its dark, festering core. Surely he sees that.

"It may be a victimless kind of fucked up," you say cautiously, afraid to break whatever spell has been cast. "But it's still pretty fucked up."

"I'm not saying it's normal," he says. "You and me, this is definitely not normal. But we left normal behind a long time ago. We were never gonna have that. And this is something we do get to have."

Oh, okay. Sam can't have normal, so he's settling for Dean Winchester, the world's shittiest consolation prize. Well, that's the only part of this that makes sense. And you're not too proud to accept that role. You look at the carpet (you can't look at him) and nod. He will leave you again someday, when he does find normal, but for now? This is enough. This is still more than you ever thought you'd have. More than you deserve.

Sam throws back the covers. He is still very, very naked. Bruised from the hunt, and bruised from what happened after the hunt. (And so goddamn beautiful. He doesn't even know.) He gets out of bed and sits next to you. Not touching, but close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him. When you do finally force yourself to look at him, he smiles at you again, that fond smile that stabs you right through the heart. You would give anything to have him sitting next to you, smiling that smile at you, for the rest of your life.

"You know," he says, "all those years I spent chasing normal, it was because I didn't think I could have what I really wanted. This, Dean. You and me. This is what I want. I wouldn't trade it for normal. I wouldn't trade it for anything."

If that's true. Oh God, if that's true.

"So," he continues, "maybe we just appreciate it. Maybe we hold onto it. I mean. Only if you want to."

Only if you want to. Like there's anything you want more. Sam is offering you all you've ever wanted, and all you have to do is reach out and take it.

You've lost the ability to speak, but whatever words you came up with would surely fuck it all up anyway. You take his hand and entwine his fingers in your own. He squeezes. You squeeze back. It's just one more in an endless history of wordless conversations, but it's the most important one you've ever had. You both sit there quietly for a minute, and you are very aware that you are wrapped in a towel and he is naked and you're holding hands and… it's not weird. It's okay. It's better than okay.

"You know," he says, "the most disturbing thing about all of this is that you just admitted you read Flowers in the Attic."

You have to clear your throat before you can answer. "It was a book? I saw the movie on TV once, when I couldn't sleep."

It's a lie. He knows it's a lie. He was there with you, that awful winter in Nebraska, when Dad dumped you at that weird old house for a couple of weeks and the only thing to do was pick through the pile of ragged paperbacks some teenage girl left behind. He knows you read it. He doesn't know you got to the incest scene and tossed the book away, no, no, I would never do that to him. I would never. He doesn't know you picked it up again, later, hoping it had a happy ending.

He knows you're a liar. He knows you're twisted and wrong. He loves you anyway. And maybe you don't deserve it, but you'll take it anyway, and hold onto it for as long as you can.

Part 2: Sam

Something about almost losing Dean puts everything into perspective. And yes, you almost died too, but it's hard to see your own death as comparable. Dean's near-death is what matters, the thing that paints everything in stark black and white.

There's no time to talk, no time to wonder, no time to check each other for injuries and try to figure out how you escaped this time. He shoves you into the Impala and speeds away from the scene, and you stare at his (beautiful) profile and think I can't do this any more, I can't die and not tell you how I feel, I can't let you die without knowing what you mean to me, I can't do it, I won't.

But it's not the first time you've told yourself that, or the second or third. And you know you'll fail, in the end, as you always have. Except. Except that when you finally make it into the room you're both still a little panicky, still having a hard time catching your breath, hearts pounding, and he says are you hurt, are you hurt as he paws at you, and then holds you tight and won't let go (you don't want him to, oh God you don't want him to) and you grab him, hold him just as tight and this is it, this is the moment, use your words, dammit, but all you can do is keep repeating his name like an idiot and you finally just kiss him and it turns out neither of you needs words after all.

. . .

Dean's hasty exit wakes you, and your heart leaps panicky into your throat for a minute. You fucked it up, he's running; all those years you held your feelings in check and now you've fucked it up and he's running. But he simply rushes into the bathroom and turns on the shower. He showers for a long time, which gives you time to think about what to say. Because you know he's going to be freaked out. You know he's going to say this is wrong, this is bad, we can't do this again. But there is no going back now; you can only go forward. You salted and burned just brothers last night. The only option now is brothers plus whatever this is. You'll have to make your way through whatever objections he has.

When he finally comes back into the room, every speck of his normal bravado is gone. He looks frightened and guilty (and beautiful, so damn beautiful, with the morning sun peeping through the flimsy curtains highlighting him in gold, picking out each eyelash as if God himself were directing it) and your heart melts like it always does. You are so fucked.

He clutches the towel wrapped around his hips tightly, and you're pretty sure the only reason he hasn't already put three layers of clothing between you and him is because in his hurry to get into the the shower he didn't take time to grab his armor. So, yeah. He's freaked out. It's okay. You'll talk him down (there is no choice, there is no other option) and it will be okay.

But it turns out you are not at all prepared for what his real objection is. Not at all.

You could tell him the truth. Yes, you made me want you. Just by being you. By being beautiful and brave and smart and funny and strong and exasperating. You made me love you in a way you are not supposed to love a brother, just by being you.

Or another truth is this. You think you were grooming me? When I was thirteen? When I was a gangly, clumsy, morose little barely-a-teenager? Because that's when it started, Dean. It wasn't anything you did. You weren't grooming me, you were busy chasing anything in a skirt. I had just turned thirteen years old and all I wanted was you.

But there is another very important truth, which is that you're both kind of irreparably fucked up. And this is possibly a silver lining to that. The fact that you're fucked up the same way, together.

"I'm not saying it's normal," you tell him. “You and me, this is definitely not normal. But we left normal behind a long time ago. We were never gonna have that. And this is something we do get to have." He has to see that, right? He has to understand that you two cannot measure yourselves by other peoples' yardsticks.

His reaction is to withdraw a little bit. Does he not believe you? Can he not tell, even now, that you love him so much it burns? You have no choice. There is no going back. You get out of bed and sit next to him. "You know, all those years I spent chasing normal, it was because I didn't think I could have what I really wanted. This, Dean. You and me. This is what I want. I wouldn't trade it for normal. I wouldn't trade it for anything. So, maybe we just appreciate it. Maybe we hold onto it. I mean. Only if you want to."

You gave him an out. You pray he doesn't take it. He doesn't. Thank God (or no, probably not God), he doesn't. You sit next to him, naked as the day you were born, and he doesn't flinch, doesn't lean away, doesn't say no, Sam, this is weird, this is bad, this is wrong. He just looks up at you like he's dumbfounded, but in a good way. And then he takes your hand. He's clasped your hand thousands of times, shepherding you across busy streets as a child, hauling you out of freshly dug graves as an adult. But this is the first time he's actually held your hand, and it feels like something greater; like a vow.

You need to change the subject pretty quickly, before you make a goddamn fool of yourself.

"You know, the most disturbing thing about all of this is that you just admitted you read Flowers in the Attic."

Dean's voice is hoarse. "It was a book? I saw the movie on TV once, when I couldn't sleep."

It's a lie. You know it's a lie. You made sure he saw you reading it, and you watched him pick it up after you were done. You had a thousand imaginary conversations where he said what did you think about that book and you said siblings locked in an attic for years, all they had was each other, it makes sense that their relationship would transform into something else, it wasn't hurting anybody, and after all, incest is only taboo because of the risk of birth defects, and many civilizations actually encouraged marriage between siblings, it's not really a big deal, and he said exactly, especially in a situation like that where they're literally in their own little world, and I've been thinking, and then and then and then.

None of that happened. What happened was he turned 18 and then 19 and then 20 and grew more and more maddeningly insane and reckless and beautiful and you realized that either he was going to die, or he was going to keep breathing but remain forever out of your reach, and either way you couldn't live like this any more.

But now he's sitting on the bed next to you, almost as naked as you are, holding your hand.

"You want to get some breakfast?" he says.

"I would love some breakfast. Let me shower first."

He gently swats you on the back of the head. "Go on then, Princess. Wash your pretty pretty hair."

The knot of fear that's been squirming in your stomach since you woke up quietly unclenches. And for the first time in a very long time, you think everything might be okay after all.

[zacc-attacc]

Nature: A Javid Oneshot

A/N: My first ever oneshot on this website! I hope y’all enjoy!

Word Count- 1.2k

Jack loved the open sky. He loved the stars, the sounds of nature, and everything in between. But, more than anything, it calmed him, something that not many things were able to do. As a kid, he had always dreamed of falling asleep under the stars every single night. And when he was bounced around in foster care, the night sky had been the one common variable. Always there, like a blanket. Luckily for Jack, Some of the Newsies had put together a camping trip in the woods near campus. They had tents (from the Dollar Tree, probably), a bunch of marshmallows, some hotdogs, and a whole lot of energy. And Jack? Jack an invite and a limited will to live. At least Davey would be there, which, to be honest, had its ups and downs.

Ups, because Davey was single-handedly the sweetest human alive and a fun dude to hang out with. And downs, because Davey was Mom Friend Supreme™ and also had an annoying tendency to make Jack’s normally stoic heart do a tap dance in his chest. Which really was inconvenient because Jack’s last relationship had ended only four weeks ago. It wasn’t a nasty breakup, he and Katherine were actually still friends, but the boys still expected him to be depressed about it. But Jack didn’t like to linger. He was upset for a few days, but now he was over it. Katherine obviously was as well, since she was seen going on a few coffee dates with some girl. 

But tonight, none of that mattered. Tonight, he could be whoever he wanted to be because that’s just how it was with the Newsies.

Tonight, he could eat bargain hot dogs and s’ mores, and avoid the fact that he was hopelessly in love with the only man he couldn’t have; because god forbid David Jacobs dated a mess like him. 

Jack knew exactly where he lay in David’s mind. He was a close friend, maybe a sort of Uncle to his future children with his perfect little life with his husband in the suburbs. David liked him well enough, but he would likely never love him. And Jack had tried to accept that, even though, thus far, it had only made it much worse.

“Ay! Jack! You packed?” Crutchie yelled from his lower bunk. Jack was stretched out on the top bunk, staring at a half-finished political cartoon for his class. 

“Yeah… What time’d the guys say to be there?” Jack sat up, hitting his head on the low ceiling. He wasn’t even that tall and it managed to injure him on a daily basis. 

“...In five minutes.”

“Shit-” Jack muttered, scrambling to jump down the bunk, only succeeding in hitting his head yet again on the ceiling. After hitting the floor in the heap, all Jack could hear was Crutchie’s cackles. 

“Just kidding, It’s actually in 20- I just wanted to see your reaction,” Crutchie wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye. 

“Yeah, real funny, Crutch,” Jack mumbled, rolling his eyes and smiling. As much as he loved his little brother, he, unfortunately, knew exactly how to get Jack riled up quite easily, which normally ended in Jack running into a wall or stabbing himself in the arm with a pen in a panic.

“S’funny to me,” Crutchie choked out, still laughing. Jack pushed himself to his feet, brushing off the assorted chip crumbs that had migrated from the shitty shag carpeting of his dorm onto his shirt.

“I know, I know,” Jack muttered, grabbing Crutchie’s crutch from the wall and handing them to him. Looking at his laughing face, Jack couldn’t help but crack a smile. 

“Alright, let’s get a move on… You ready?” Jack shook his head while still grinning, snatching his duffle bag and Crutchie’s backpack from beside the door. 

“Ay! I can carry that!" Crutchie protested, making a grab at the bag. 

“Wow, brother dearest, won’t even let me carry a bag,” Jack joked, sticking out his tongue and popping into a dead sprint down the hallway. 

“NOW THAT’S JUST UNCALLED FOR!” Crutchie yelled from the hallway. 

“LET ME TAKE CARE OF YOU, STUPID HEAD!” Jack shouted back, slamming open the door for the stairs and sliding onto the railings down the flights. Once he reached the bottom, he pulled out his phone.

“Text RaceyBoi.” 

“What would you like to say?” that stupid automated voice asked back, not fully human or robotic. 

“‘Can you go walk Crutchie to the campsite? Left him for CPS reasons.’” CPS was not, in fact, Child Protective Services, but instead Crutchie Protection Squad.

Smiling to himself, Jack started walking towards the woods on the outskirts of campus. He thought he saw Kid Blink and Spot at one point, Heely-ing towards the woods. He couldn’t help but wonder how the wheels would hold up amongst all the vegetation, and quietly hoped he wouldn’t have to call an ambulance tonight. 

“Hey, Jack!” came a familiar voice from behind him. His heart automatically deciding to kick into overdrive, Jack turned around to see none other than David Jacobs, grinning and clutching a duffle bag. 

“Whaddup, Dave,” Jack grinned back, clapping the taller boy on the shoulder. Seriously, who gave him the right to be this tall? He was like a noodle with a head and arms. 

“You heading down to the campsite?” Davey asked, falling into step with Jack. 

“That’s the plan. Race is taking Crutchie so that idiot won’t try to carry his backpack again.” 

“...You realize he can carry it perfectly fine, right?” Davey said, looking slightly confused.

“Yeah, but I just feel like doin’ something nice for him, y’ know?” 

“You may be stupid at times, but you are a good brother, Jack Kelly,” Davey chuckled, taking off his hat and flipping it backward. 

“Ey, now don’t get to tellin’ the boys that, I have a reputation as a jerk to keep,” Jack couldn’t stop smiling. Why couldn’t he stop smiling? He felt like someone had turned him into the fucking sun from the Teletubbies. 

“I don’t think you could pass as a jerk if you tried,” Davey shrugged, looking into Jack’s eyes so he could get the point across. God, his eyes were brown. Beautiful, chocolatey, perfect brown. 

“You would be surprised,” Jack said, tearing his eyes away. 

Don’t let yourself get attached, dammit. 

“Hey,” Davey stopped. Jack stopped too, staring at him. He put his hand on Jack’s shoulder. 

“Don’t… Don’t talk like that. I know you, Jackie. Okay? And you aren’t an asshole.” 

“Jeez, David, only a few minutes into the trip and you’re already on the late-night talks-” Jack turned away, hoping Davey couldn’t see that he was blushing. 

“I need to hear you say it, okay?” He turned Jack around, forcing him yet again to look into his eyes. 

“Fine. I… I ain’t an asshole. Ya happy?” Jack bit his tongue forcefully. That almost physically pained him to say. 

“Yeah. I… I’m sorry Jack,” Davey said. Jack still wasn’t looking at him. 

“Don’t apologize for caring, Davey.” 

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

It was late. The shitty fire that had taken them almost a full hour to make was burning low, and Jack had to keep prodding it with a random stick to keep it lit. Most of the boys had already retired to their tents and sleeping bags, and Davey was fast asleep on his chair. Race was the only one still out. 

“Do you think we should wake him up?” Race said, tossing the remains of his s’more into the fire. 

“What? Oh, nah, I’ll wake him up when I head in. Poor kid, being a pre-med student probably never sleeps,” Jack pointed out. 

“How long do you think you’ll be staying out?” Race asked, standing up and stretching. 

“‘Till I get tired,” Jack prodded the fire again, before throwing in another stick. 

“Then he’ll be out here all night,” Race joked, cracking a smile.

“I’ll wake him up before then. Wouldn’t want him to get hypothermia or some shit.” 

“It’s the middle of April, I highly doubt he’ll get hypothermia, Jack.” 

“...Did Racetrack Higgins seriously just say an educated statement?”

“Goodnight-” Race turned away suddenly, seeming intent on changing the subject. 

“YOU CAN’T CHANGE IT NOW, WE KNOW YOU’RE SMART,” Jack whisper-shouted, not wanting to wake any of the boys up (especially not Davey). 

Race replied with his silence. 

Sighing, Jack sat back in his chair. Not having any will to sleep, and nothing more to do, he grabbed out his sketchbook. Nature was always good for inspiration. 

Well, it could’ve been nature, or it could’ve been Davey. Because, without even realizing it, Jack had started to sketch the sleeping boy’s figure. His right fist was supporting his cheek, his hat was half-tipped onto his face, shading it slightly. His legs were crossed, and his left arm was set on top of them. 

Behind him was a backdrop of pine trees, and, even though that wasn’t the actual view, a full moon, and stars. So many stars. All spelling out little words of love in Spanish, Jack’s first language. 

Precioso. Bonita. Perfecto. 

His hair was mostly tucked under his cap. His eyes were softer when he slept. A ghost of a smile played at his lips. 

Increíble. 

Perfect. 

Just as Jack was signing his name and dating the piece, Davey began to stir. 

Quickly shutting the book, Jack simply stared up at the stars he could see despite the light pollution and thick trees. 

“Hey, Jack, saw you drawing there,” Davey said, quietly. 

“Oh- uh- yeah, just… lookin’ through some old pieces,” Jack stammered. 

“Can I see?” 

“Uh- no, this isn’t my graded stuff, it’s all just sketches-“

“Y’know, for an art student, you really don’t like showing your art.” 

“Uh- Fine.” Jack gave up and strode across the fire to hand him the book. It was mostly drawings of the boys, maybe he wouldn’t look that far. 

...Spoiler alert, he looked that far. 

“...Is this me? Right back then, when I was sleeping?” 

“Uh-“

“You really made me look better than I’ve ever seen myself.” 

“Well, that’s how I see you,” Jack said before he could think about his words. Y’know, like a normal person who is trying to hide a massive crush that could end one of his best friendships. 

“Th-that’s… how you see me?” Davey was blushing now. Blushing. Not disgusted. 

“Uh… yeah. Y��see here, th-the moon behind ya, the way it… it focuses on you.” Jack said, kneeling by his chair and pointing to it. 

You are digging your own grave, Jack Kelly. 

“Jack, I… that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” Davey was still blushing. He turned his face to Jack’s. He was so close… 

“Well… I draw what I think, Dave, ‘cause words… they ain’t my strong suit,” Jack chuckled, pulling back. But Davey leaned forward. 

“Your drawings don’t need words, Jack. But the artist of them… That is a man that deserves millions of words said about him.” 

“D-Davey… Don’t. Please, don’t do this,” Jack shook his head, standing back up. 

“Did I make you uncomfortable? I- I’m sorry, I thought that we-“ 

“No, David. You didn’t. That’s the exact issue! D-d’ya really think I want to end up breaking your heart? We… We can’t do this, ‘cause it’ll end with me hurting you just like I have a million people! And you don’t deserve that fate! You’re too good for me, David,” Jack might’ve been crying. He wasn’t sure. But he sure as hell was ranting. 

“Jack-“ 

“Don’t Jack me, don’t try to act like it could be any different. We know exactly how this is going to end, and I- I can’t stand losing you, Dave.” 

There was a moment of silence. It was obvious Davey was picking his next words carefully. 

“You won’t.” 

“How could you possibly know that?” 

“You won’t because I won’t let it, Jack Kelly. I won’t let you lose me as a friend, ever. You’re stuck with me, whether you like it or not.” 

“Da-“ 

In two strides, Davey crossed the circle of chairs and shut Jack up with a kiss, half-crushing him with how tightly he was holding him. 

He did this… this thing that made it obvious this wasn’t his first kiss. The way he moved his head up and down just a little bit. The way he seemed all in but ready to pull away if they needed to at any second. 

But more than anything, there was a definitive Davey-ness to him that made it all perfect. 

So Jack had found one more reason to like nature. It was where he shared his first-ever kiss with his boyfriend, David Jacobs.

[popculturebuffet]

Mickey and the Roadster Racers: “Mickey’s Perfecto Day” and “Daisy’s Grande Goal” review or “I think i’m going out of my headcold”

Saludos Amigos!  I”ve been sick, and as such have had no energy or state of mind to continue my look at every apperance of the CABs in the us, concluding with a look at every episode of legend of the three caballeros. 

And today’s stop is one i’m only passingly familiar with: Mickey and the Roadster Racers. MATRR.. wait really that’s what it spells?

No Larry the Cable guy on this blog thank you.  Anyways, Roadster Racers is surprisingly complicated for such a simple show. For starters it’s the successor to “Mickey Mouse’s Club House” another CGI Disney Junior show, Disney’s equivalent to Nick Jr because their clever like that. And to continue the theme of ripping off other properties, the show was Disney’s stab at following the big fake interactivity craze started by Dora the Explorer. And it’s annoying as that sounds with a lot of pasues and an annoying recurring hot dog song that’s obnoxiously catchy. It was mostly just slice of life shenanigans with the mickey mouse crew and when retoolling it they decided to drop the now dated fake interactivity, turn up the slice of life and add some of those nitro burning funny cars vroom vroom. IN a sense genral g rated soft boiled mickey shenanigans with a racing theme. 

Not a terrible series but not terribly intresting hence why i’ve never covered it. It’s a bland inoffesnsive cartoon for toddlers. Enough effort is put in for me not to hate it, as even a toddler show can have effort, but not enoguh so that I really care. I’ve seen better, i’ve seen worse. The only intresting things are the racing gimmick and the fact that as said gimmick diminished they switched names to “Mickey’s mixed up adventures” in season 3. Hence the complicated part as it’s not counted as it’s own series but unlike other disney title changes they aren’t just slapping another label under the logo like the marvel shows. This is  a full on retool. But it still has the same cast and prodcution crew and is counted as part of mickey mouse. Point is it’s weird and not relevant since our boys didn’t show up in that season. Oh and as a final note I learned while writing this/ there’s a THIRD Mickey Mouse Disney Junior Series, Mickey Mouse Funhouse, coming next year. 

But with so little to cover I ended up throwing in a freebie. See normally I charge the same for 11 minute and 20+ minute shows. It’s fair as most 11 minute shows these days pack in as much character as the ones that use the full half hour. It’s just a diffrence in tactics is all. But here I felt obligated to do at LEAST two diffrent, but cabs related, 11 minutes here, so if I had nothing to talk about I could pad it out and If I had everyhting to talk about.. eh I still tried to do the right thing. I regret nothing. But yeah i’m sick, this series is eh, let’s gooooo. 

Mickey’s Perfecto Day So Mickey and Friends are preparing to drive to spain.

No i’m not making a joke. Wish I was would be one of my best but no, Mickey and Friends are just.. casually going to drive to Spain. To explain why this hurts my head a map, on which i’ve drawn the route they’d have to take to get to spain from, let’s say Calisota, the fictional state where Mouseton, Duckburg, New Quackmore, and thus probably Hot Dog Hills, the show’s setting, reside. 

This is a crue map, they oculd’ve gone down through mexico or central america.. but the point is THEY DROVE ACROSS THE OCEAN. And I genuinely do not know if their cars can do that but apparently they can. So either the writer didn’t know where Spain was or didn’t care and either way it’s bad. LIke at least give their cars a plane or boat mode. Go full DKR up in this bitch, give em diffrent racing vehicles. But it wouldn’t be as aggrivvating or bizzare if they MENTIONED how they were driving to spain, like maybe Donald’s car that’s also an old boat and goofy’s that’s a tub have aquamodes and can tow the rest. I get 5 year olds don’t care about this.. but still? I guess? Also MIckey is either the sorcerer supreme or jesus at this point. He can cross oceans by car, astral project, cross into other dimensions.. the only thing missing is raising the dead and  he already did that in the 30′s. 

So as for why the sorcerer supreme and his buddies are going all the way to Spain, Donald has a concert with the three caballeros and this time they all remember him as a memmber and Daisy’s a huge fan. Which is sweet. Then we hear donald duck talk and...

Yeah, Daniel Ross is not the best Donald. Now I will cut the guy some slack here: He’s a voice actor more known for doing bit parts who just got the role in 2016, since racers aired in 2017 and animation lead time and all that. He’s not going to be nearly as good as Tony or Clarence out of the gate. Even Tony wasn’t. He also had a valid reason for picking up the role as Tony likely had two series in production at that time, Rise of the Three Cablleros and Ducktales, and thus had to split his time between both. And having Chris Diamaptolus do mickey in the new shorts instead of his usual voice actor Bret Iwane despite Iwane not being in any serious danger of dying soon has worked out super. So having multiple actors isn’t the problem. Hell after the tragic loss of Russi taylor and with how bad the world is, having an understudy in mind for such an important role is a grim but understandable necicisty. While I belivie tony can go on for decades, he’s only human. 

So my issue is not on Donald’s voice being diffrent or new.. it’s that it’s not very good and the second episode featuerd here shows Daniel Ross really hasn’t improved despite now having worked as the character for a while.I can forgive taking some time to grow in but being this sloppy after a full season is just unacceptable. He’s BETTER but he’s still just not very good and doing the bear minimum. I don’t doubt he’s a good va in other rolls, I don’t want to hate on the guy, but I can hate on aperfomance when it’s bad and it’s not good here. It’s just not. Not in either episode not in any way shape or form. It just feels like a lazy donald duck impression. Disney can do better and Ross can hopefully find better work in the future. But for now this just hangs like a wet fart on his resume. 

Moving on, thankfully, we have our three stories split pretty evenly and all stock plots. “Horay”.  Mickey and Minnie: Mickey tries to have a “perfecto” day, hence the title with Minnie, but instead gives her a rose a baby bull likes.. or maybe it’s SUPPOSED to be full grown but while Mickey and Minnie treat him like a grown bull and react to him like one.. the boy dosen’t look at all, even in the series style, like an adult bull. he looks like a calf. Mickey.. is initimdated by a small child whose horns aren’t sharp enough to hurt him. 

It’s just REALLY distracting and takes me out of the plot which itself is as bland as plain toast and twice as dry. They flee him till the end where Minnie figures out the rose thing at the concert and they make an ew friend. NOt TERRIBLE but not great.  Goofy and Cuckoo Loca: Okay first off who and what is a cuckoo loca? Well she’s a wind up bird that lives in Daisy’s Cuckoo Clock and makes sarcastic comments in a brooklyn accent because nikka futtterman voices her. Still makes more sense than driving to spain. She’s not a bad addition to the cast.. not even that weird as most kids based franchises have an adorable animal sidekick to market. Goofy wants to try some “flamingo dancing” while in spain, with Loca going along to make sure he dosen’t die somehow.. which would be unjustifable for anyone but goofy. Also.. Flamingo Dancing...

But yeah Goofy goes up against ... world famous flamingo dancer horace horsecollar?!

Now apparently this is a common thing for him in this series, apparently, but still it feels like if one of those weird variant ninja turtle figures from the 80′s was a plot point in an episode. Like if we actually had an episode based around birthday magician raph. 

It feels just as odd and out of place for down to earth if showy horace to suddenly be the best flaminco dancer in spain, despite being very much white coded, as it does for the angriest ninja turtle to be pulling a rabbit out of kids hats. Now Rise of the TMNT raph I could totally see as a party magician but any other? He’d probably break his wand over some kids head. 

Goofy ends up winning anyway because he’s stupid, though Flamingo dancing should be a real thing even if this joke is bad and it shoudl feel bad. What an ODD subplot Okay one more then i’m free of this prison. 

The Three Cablleros Plus Daisy:  Okay finally we get to what I came here for. The Three Caballeros! And..they look a tad off. Not terrible but clearly the animators weren’t as skilled with non duck beaks as both of them look ready to do this to donald. 

While Panchito’s color varies. Sometime’s it’s a deep brownish crimson, sometimes it’s poop brown and there’s no classy way to put it. When he’s in this cheap cgi, he looks like a shit chicken. This gets to a larger issue though... the animation here is not great. It’s not TERRIBLE.. but it’s pretty freaking sub par for disney. And i’ve SEEN their other cgi shows around the same time due to having a young niece and nephew. Sherieff Callie, Doc McStuffins, MIles from Tommorowland, and after this T.O.T.S. and Rocketeer. I’m not saying these are masterpieces of the genre, but they have more effort in botht he animation and writing put in. Here it just feels like they do the bear minimum which feels really fucking wrong. These chracters deserve better and have thankfully gotten better. YOu can make a show for preschoolers that’s cutsey and harmless and still have it at least be creative god dammit. It’s why I don’t like covering this show. It just feels so.. lifeless. They try a bit here and there but outside of cuckoo, there’s nothing really new or intresting to really make kids love these characters and it bothers me. it bothers me a lot. 

Moving on thank god, the plot is bare bones as is the boys characterization. So far at least their character has been pretty consitent across all mediums. i’ts something I haven’t really touched on but their seen as world traveler’, Panchito being a Gaucho and Jose being such a ladies man this will probably happen to him eventually. 

I swear to god that was the only part of this movie I can remember. I’m  better off that way. But yeah without Panchito’s pep or Jose’s smooth talking ways, there’s just nothing for disney junior to work with so their just.. friends to donald who are nice to daisy. Which is very nice to see, but isn’t very intresting or gives me a lot to talk about. Donald eats a food that’s too hot, continues to talk poorly, and Daisy has to fill in. He gets back in at time and they sing probably the most forgetable cabs song yet. It’s.. not much honestly.  This was worth covering for completions sake but it dosen’t really add much. If nothing else it at least made me realize so far each mile of the ride has added something fresh to the characters: The original was the foundation, rosa gave them depth and made them feel like real people, and house of mouse made them feel like a big deal to other characters and made donald’s history as a cabllero part of his legacy as it should be. Each one so far has felt like it added.. this one just made me realize that and that is all. It builds on nothing adds nothing and there’s really nothing here other than MAYBE the brown/crimson design for panchito that carries over from the looks of it. The next two versions build on what rosa, the movie and to a lesser extent the house of mouse built. This one adds nothing. This plot is just.. inconqueintal. not bad for kids to know about them but even then it feels like a disapointing introduction. I fondly remember hte cabs episodes of house of mouse and even on rewatch they mostly held up despite some weak parts. This .. this will just be forgotten and I only hope legend and ducktales have done a better job keeping my boys alive in kids minds. God i’m depressed. Well at least this is over right.. right? 

Daisy’s Grande Goal

Okay as I said I was doing two, and rather than do this episode’s paired episode I decided on Season 2′s “Supercharged: Daisy’s Grande Goal”.. and cut the supercharged out of the title for the most part because why would you put the sutitle in your actual title. And only in some episodes. But yeah this season had a new gimmick, SUPERCHARGING... which basically means our heroes roadsters can go into super sayian tron super sayian mode and go real fast. They look real nice though and it has it’s own neat theme tune so there’s that. Otherwise the only other change is the animation which improves greatly. Seriously look at that shot above. That’s quality lin line with the ohter disney juinor shows. It’s still not as CREATIVE, but it’s not as slipshod as it started and I have to give them credit on that. 

So our heroes are in Brazil.. and as far as I can tell they drove there again.. but the diffrence is 1) you can actually DRIVE to brazil and 2) they have super fast super cars now, meaning even if the super charge mode has a timer, it can help with the commute. It’s also one of the boys actual home countries this time. I mean the episode isn’t built around the cabs.. but neither was the last one. Seriously I almost missed that: it’s three unrleated plots and really you could’ve just lenethed the bull and goofy plots a bit and left donald and daisy out. If your not going to use the cabs right hten don’t use them at all. Here though their used BETTER.. still not in the lead unforunately but at least them being on the brazilian soccer team makes sense as jose is from brazil and while panchito is it he’s his best friend, sometimes lover and always there when he needs him. So spending some time in brazil to play soccer/football isn’t a stretch. But that’s about it for their involvment: they say a few lines, are part of the brazilian team our heroes face, and we get Not-Donald saying “No Way Jose”.,,,

Sadly I can’t leave but the main plot is about Daisy’s Cousnt Almonda. She was in the previous episode which I did not watch but I do like both there being a valid reason why our heroes are here, and connection between episodes. While this season isn’t MUCH better.. it’s still better by some metric.  The plot is very basic: Almonda always wins at soccer ever since she and Daisy were kids, and it’s your basic “hero gets overcompetitive to finally win plot and learns to just have fun and to use teamwork heart of the cards and all that” It goes how you’d expect with Daisy hogging the ball and causing disasters and then a ten car pileup before cucoo yells at her, she realizes she was bad and also realizes Almonda had to practice hard to beat her, and ends up beating her through teamwork and you get it. IT’s not much But yeah ten car pile up.. that’s where it is intresting and rediculous as their playing soccer with cars. Which given i’ve always been an advocate for card games on motor cycles, seriously it’s not more rediculous than Yugioh was before that: in the anime and manga before 5ds we had table hockey but the puck is ice with nitrocylcrine in it, a battle with an escaped convict involving vodka and only using one finger, a chinese puzzel box that devoured souls, a dueling monkey, a whole hogwarts style school for dueling, duel spirits, our heroes childhood creations coming to life to help him, our hero merging with his androgynous childhood friend to fight the light of all evils, and on top of all of that, kaiba building a giant murder theme park soley to kill yugi and, even with how rich is he is, not even going to prison for the two months he’d get for that. My point is Yugioh is fricking weird and I love it so and card games on mortocyles is awesome.  Soccer with cars is alright. The teams are mickey, minnie, daisy and donald, for the US and Almonda, Jose, Panchito and.. Pancho Pete for the Brazilian team. Pete’s cousin. He apparenlty has a lot of em. Eh as long as we don’t get petkeem the african dream we’re fine. 

Why why did I make this. Why. But yeah it’s fine, not the best action ever adn the supercharge segments as I said look nice but as I also said ther’es just not a lot here. Daisy’s cousin is intresting, but likely more in the other segment. Here she’s more of a plot device to make daisy into an asshole for the episode so the plot can happen. There’s just not a lot to talk about> Hence me doing two of these. I will say it’s a better episode than the other one: it felt like more actually happened, it was more cohesive, had way more enerjgy and it had billy beagle... the series resident overexcited and loveable announcer voiced by the far from loveable jay leno of stealing conan’s job he gave him and last man standing, for some reason, fame. 

Overall these episodes are.. eh. The first one is kind of a mess, the second one is slightly better but these clearly werne’t meant for adults, let alone older kids and it shows. But I found some material here and made a horrifying combination of a terrible racist wwe gimmick and pete so.. I win/ I guess. I dunno, until next time, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye. 

[carlycchapman24]

The Adventures of Celine Markus-Chapter 3

The following morning, they all get up, step outside their tents, and see Jolien still wide awake outside, “Not a thing happened,” she answered before anyone could say anything. “I suppose we’ll go our separate ways then,” Sidqiel says, beginning to pack up his and Arlech’s tent. “I suppose so, may the Gods and Mother Nature herself keep you all safe, I have some things to do,” Jolien said, standing up and dusting her cloak and dress off. “You can’t come with us to Tortoise Landing?” Celine says sheepishly. Jolien laughs, “No, this is a test to get into a Guild. Having someone like me be there would be cheating, especially according to Mistress Bula, who I dare say would likely disqualify you and kick out her favorite member,” she glances over at Sidqiel who has a look of shock on his face when she mentions him. “Now, I must be off, could day to you all,” she says and turns towards where the four came from, leaving them behind as Daxina picks up her and Celine’s tent. “Well, off we go then,” Sidqiel says and they all make their way down the road. “So, Elf lady,” Arlech says, “are you going to tell us your name or-?” Daxina sighed in annoyance, not wanting to tell the Wizard Girl or the Tiefling her name, but she was tired of them calling her ‘Elf’ or ‘Blondie,’ “It’s Daxina Amakiir, I’m a Pirate and I like fights, are you happy now?” “Yes,” Arlech answered. “What are your names then? It’s only fair that I get to ask too.” “Arlech,” the Tiefling said. “And you?” She asks the redhead, who seemed to not be paying attention. Daxina waved her hand in front of Celine’s face and said, “Uh, hello, Wizard Girl, are you there?” Celine shook out of it and said, “Huh, what?” Daxina sighed, “I said, what’s your name, since we’re all stuck together?” Before Celine could ask the blonde what her name was, Arlech whispered, “Her name is Daxina, she just told me.” Celine cleared her throat, “Uh, Celine, sorry to not pay attention, just, there’s a lot to think about after what’s happened in the few days I’ve been here.” “So you really aren’t from here?” Daxina said, genuinely surprised. “Obviously, did you not see my reaction to that giant fucking cat?!” Celine answered. Before Daxina could be snarky back at her, Sidqiel spoke up and said, “Tabaxi, they’re called Tabaxi, and they find it offensive to call them giant cats, even if that’s exactly what they are.” “So Tieflings, Gnolls, Elves, weird Dragon looking things, Tabaxi, Halflings, Gnomes, Devils, according to something Arlech told me when he was drunk, Demons for the same reason, drunk Arlech told me, but what else is in this ridiculous world?” Celine said, frustrated at having to remember all of these new things. “Much more than that, I can tell you that much. A lot of which I hope you’ll never have to run into. There are some nasty things in this world, and many would scare the living daylights out of you.” Sidqiel answered. “Okay, okay, I get it, you don’t want me to go looking for anything too dangerous,” Celine said, both aggravated and slightly freaked out. “Not until you’re strong enough, no.” The man answered and they continued.

After what seemed like ages, they arrived at Tortoise Landing, only to be greeted by the sound of bagpipes and people rushing out, getting ready to fight, “No, no, please, we’re here to help with your Gnoll problem!” Arlech says. No one believes him and the villagers prepare to defend themselves with what little they have. “No, please, he speaks the truth,” Sidqiel shouts and lets his glowing bronze wings out and both of his eyes glow a bronze color. Out of the crowd steps a, what looks like to Celine, a giant turtle. “I’m sorry, but what the hell is that?” Celine whispers but is told to hush by Arlech. The giant turtle says, “I am Koryver, the Chief of Tortoise Landing. If what you say is true and you’ve come to deal with our Gnoll problem, let us have a feast and discuss more of my job for you.” “Of course, we would be honored to join you for dinner,” Sidqiel says, putting away his wings bowing to the Chief, the other three follow his lead and bow to the Chief as well. When they stood back up the Chief said, “Come along” and they all went after him. After they set up the feast, with the members of the group sitting on either side of the Chief, Arlech and Celine to his left and Daxina and Sidqiel to his right, the Chief stands up and says, “Tonight, we welcome these four brave souls who are willing to rid us of the Gnoll problem we’ve had for the last few weeks. May the Gods smile upon them as they take on these dangerous foes who have done nothing but wreak havoc on our land and our people. Vu uas tewoust!” The villagers repeat “Vu uas tewoust!” The quartet looks on in confusion and after the Chief sits back down, he says, “It means ‘to our saviors’ in Aquan, my language. Now to the business at hand, there are usually three or four Gnolls that attack our village per night. We do not know if they are the same ones each time or different ones, but regardless, I want them dead and I want them to stop torturing my people. Gnolls are cowards, so if they see us fighting back, they’ll run away. If they see that none of their scouting party has returned, they will run. I want you all stationed at the front entrance, Gnolls are not smart creatures and will attack the same place every time, and they’ve been coming through the front entrance each time. Are you willing to take on this task?” All four nod and the giant turtle actually smiles, Celine notices, which is a little off-putting. “Good,” the Chief says, “now let us enjoy this feast and hopefully you’ll be victorious come the morning.”

They finish eating their meal and make their way to where they entered about three hours ago, keeping an eye out on the path ahead. Within minutes, Arlech and Daxina see three Gnolls making their way up the path and they point them out to Sidqiel and Celine. “How far away do you think the first one is?” Celine whispered. “A good one hundred feet, why?” Arlech answered and in an instant, Celine shot off a Fire Bolt, and it impacted the first Gnoll in the line, scorching it alive. All three Gnolls immediately run as fast as they can towards the source of what attacked them. “Good work Celine!” whispers Arlech. The first Gnoll, the one Celine hit, kept on running forward, Daxina also shot off a Fire Bolt towards the first Gnoll, just barely hitting it as well. Seeing what the other two were doing, but not being able to do much, he waited for them to get closer. The Gnoll furthest away just kept running forward, as did the middle one. Arlech looked between the two women, not being able to do much, so he prepared himself and waited until the Gnolls got closer. Celine shot off her Magic Missile and aimed it at the closest Gnoll with direction from Arlech, two out of the three went wide and the third one made impact, causing a little damage, but not enough to her liking. The first Gnoll kept running forward, trying to find its target. Daxina grinned and shot a Fire Bolt at the Gnoll getting closer, but missed, getting too cocky. Celine chuckled at Daxina’s misfortune and Sidqiel rolled his eyes and cast his Spiritual Weapon, which manifested as a Morningstar again, and placed it right next to the first Gnoll, then tried to hit it, but missed. The third Gnoll was keeping pace with the first two. The second Gnoll was right behind the first one. Finally able to do something, Arlech yelled, “You’re worthless, you’ll never amount to anything!” to the first Gnoll, casting Vicious Mockery and it instantly kills the first Gnoll. “You just insulted it to death.” Celine said in amazement. “Yes, yes I did,” he answered her with a wink. Celine rolled her eyes and shot a Fire Bolt at the second Gnoll, now that the first one was dead, hitting it with ease. Daxina pulled out her pistol and fired a shot at the second Gnoll since the first one was dead, and it hit easily. It was looking pretty ragged now. Sidqiel grinned and tried hitting the Gnoll again, it impacted and knocked the Gnoll down. The third, now second, Gnoll shot an arrow at Sidqiel, but missed and the arrow bounced off of a rock and fell on the ground. The second, now first, Gnoll tried hitting Sidqiel with an arrow as well but also missed. Both Gnolls growled at their attackers and Arlech used Thunderwave, hitting everyone. Killing one Gnoll, damaging the other, and accidentally hitting Celine, Sidqiel, and Daxina, apologizing in the process. Celine said, “Yeah, yeah, whatever, let’s kill this last one quick,” and threw a Fire Bolt at the last Gnoll, but just barely missed. Daxina laughed and shot a Fire Bolt herself at the last Gnoll, hitting it, it now started slowing down and was scorched and bleeding. Sidqiel threw a spell none of the recognized at the Gnoll, it was a gray-ish color, but it, unfortunately, missed the Gnoll, “Gods dammit.” The last Gnoll finally reached the quartet and bit at Sidqiel, but its teeth met Scale Mail, earning a chuckle from Sidqiel. Arlech shouted an insult at the last Gnoll, “You are a disgusting creature and no one will love you,” and cast Vicious Mockery, but the Gnoll seemingly wasn’t affected. “Oh move over,” Celine said, backing up a bit, so she was fifteen feet away from the Gnoll, and she casts a new spell of her’s called Burning Hands and a cone of flame came out of her hands, hitting the Gnoll who now looked like it could collapse any second. The others stared in shock, but Daxina shook it off and pulled her Great Sword out of its sheath and sliced at the Gnoll twice, the first slice missed, but the second one impacted it and killed it instantly. Celine collapsed on the ground and sighed in relief, “Holy fuck, thank whatever deities

this place has that we won.” A few moments passed and then Arlech asked, “Does anyone need to be patched up?” Celine, Daxina, and Sidqiel all raised their hands, “So everyone but me, all right then,” the Tiefling said. “I can heal myself, you can take the ladies.” Sidqiel answered, touching his shoulder and casting a spell that Celine didn’t recognize, all she did know is that it had a bright, white, light from her perspective. Arlech walked over and asked Daxina, “May I?” Daxina sighed, “Yeah, go ahead,” and let him touch her shoulder, a bright, white light like what Sidqiel’s spell looked like came out of Arlech’s hand and any bruises from his Thunderwave spell disappeared as if they had never been there at all. This surprised Celine and she blinked and shook her head, as if it was the darkness playing tricks on her. The next thing she knew, Arlech knelt next to her, holding a hand out, “Well?” Celine hesitantly stuck her hand out and Arlech took it and held it for a second, his skin feeling weirdly like warm coals, she noticed, and just as with Daxina, the bright, white light came out of his hand and her bruises from his Thunderwave disappeared before her eyes. “What the hell?” She said, not realizing how quietly she said it. “Well,” Daxina said, “let’s get a pelt off of one of these guys, that was the thing, right?” “Indeed,” Sidqiel answered, “Who wants to do it?” Arlech got up, stretched, and said, “I’ll do it.” “Do you have a knife?” Sidqiel asked. “No, but I have a dagger.” Arlech answered. “That should do it, have at it.” Arlech went down the path to the very first Gnoll they killed and skinned it with ease, taking the pelt off with precision that surprised everyone. “Celine,” he said, getting back up, “put this in your Bag of Holding and we’ll take it back to the Guild,” and gave it to her. “Gross,” Celine said, but did what she was told. Then, they finally went back into the village and were met by the Chief, “Did you kill them?” “The ones that tried to get to the village anyway,” Celine said, pulling out the Gnoll pelt with a disgusted look on her face. “Oh good, here, one hundred gold to split amongst yourselves,” the Chief said, handing them a large bag of gold, “and you’re free to stay for the night in one of the empty houses from the previous attacks. Maybe you could suggest this village to people on your travels so we can become more than just a small village.” “Thank you, sir,” Sidqiel said, taking the bag of gold. They made their way to one of the abandoned homes, split the gold amongst themselves, and went to bed.

The following morning, the quartet said their goodbyes and headed back to Crisherton. “So, how did you all enjoy your first contract, besides, of course, those damn bandits on the way?” Sidqiel asked. “It went better than I expected at least,” Celine said, stretching to wake herself up more. “Your idea to start attacking from a distance was a great one,” Sidqiel answered with an amused tone in his voice. “Yeah, well, after attacking those bandits or whatever they were head-on, I figured it would at least be something to try,” Celine said, rubbing the back of her neck. “Well, it was a smart choice,” Arlech said with a grin. “Well, thanks, guys,” Celine said awkwardly, not really sure how to accept the praise she was receiving. The two days to get back to Crisherton passed surprisingly quickly and Celine could only hope that the pelt didn’t decompose and get all gross inside her bag. When they got back into the Solarstriders’ building, they were greeted by Mistress Bula, “So you’re alive then? That’s amazing, considering you lot couldn’t take on a simple group of bandits that you ran into on the road,” she said and before any of the four could say anything she added, “Oh yes, I heard all about that, the whole town has. Jolien told us herself that she had to heal all of you up and bring Miss Red Head over here back to life completely, as she had been killed, not just knocked out cold. Here’s some advice, and I’d expect more from you as well Sidqiel if you cannot take on an enemy, run if you can. This world has no place for cowards, but nor does it have a place for martyrs. Now hand over that pelt and I’ll induct the three of you into the Solarstriders and forgive the damage from the Elf girl.” Celine sat her Bag of Holding on the desk and pulled out the Gnoll pelt, which to her surprise, didn’t decompose in her bag, and handed it over to the Mistress. Mistress Bula observed it and said, “Interesting, I’ll send this to the leatherworker in town so they can prepare to send it to the tailor for clothing. Now, come along, we need to mark you to induct you into the Guild.” “Uh, what do you mean, ‘mark us?’” Celine asked, which she regretted when she heard the answer. “Well you can’t expect to join any Guild without a branding of some sort, now can you?” Mistress Bula said. “Wait, branding, as in burning us? No. No, no. No, I refuse, I’m not going to get some symbol burned into my fucking skin!” Celine exclaimed and her wrist was grabbed roughly by the Mistress who said, “You will or you’ll be arrested and tried for trespassing in my building and for doing a trial and then leaving. Got it, Princess?” Celine tears her wrist out of Mistress Bula’s hand and massages it to get rid of the pain of the woman’s grip, “I’m not a princess,” she says with venom in her voice. “Then stop acting like one, you may not be from around here, that’s clear enough, but you’ll follow our customs and rules if you plan to stay. Now, as I said, come along.”

The trio is led down a flight of stairs and taken into the first door on the right at the bottom. They stepped in and saw a large furnace with fire blazing, a chair nearby the furnace that looked like a torture device, and a very tall woman, who looked like she was carved out of a mountain, was banging away at a weapon of some sort, “Niria, dear,” Mistress Bula said and for the first time since she met her, Celine noticed the woman had a look of admiration and love in her eyes, ‘Is this her wife or something?’ Celine thought. The giant woman turned around and said, “Ah, Umog, my love, what have we here? Some new recruits?” “Umog?” Celine whispered. “Her first name I assume,” Arlech answers back, just as quietly. “Yes indeed, they need to be branded, could you take the time to mark these three?” Mistress Bula asks. “Of course, but you’ll need to make it worth it since you interrupted me making more weapons for the Guild,” the giant woman said suggestively. All three rolled their eyes as Mistress Bula continued in the same suggestive tone, “You know I will.” The giant woman went over and kissed Mistress Bula on the cheek and said, “Well, then I’ll see you later tonight. Head back on upstairs, I’ll take care of them.” “I’m sure you will,” Mistress Bula said with a smile and left the trio downstairs. When the Mistress was out of sight, the giant woman’s demeanor changed, “Alright you lot, clearly you got far enough to be able to get inducted, so you better be able to handle yourself when I do this. If not, well, I don’t know how you got this far. Now, who’s first?” “I’ll do it,” Daxina said. “Then get in that chair over there,” Niria said, pointing at what Celine had thought looked like a torture device when they walked in. Her fears were confirmed when Niria tied down Daxina’s arms with some type of leather and rolled her sleeve up to her shoulder. “Uh, what’s this for?” Daxina asked. “Well, some squirm when I do this because it’s quite literally hot metal being placed against your skin to mark you.” Daxina went paler than usual and said, “Oh, I guess that makes sense.” “Now, let’s begin.” Niria said and pulled out a brand with a symbol that looked like a sun with a sword surrounded by fire in the middle of it, and above the point of the sword it read ‘Solar’ and it read ‘Striders’ beneath the hilt and pommel. Niria heated the metal until it was bright orange, “Now, take a deep breath,” she said and pressed the heated metal against Daxina’s shoulder with enough pressure to leave a permanent scar. Daxina gritted her teeth and passed out from the pain, which made Celine even more nervous, if Daxina passed out from the pain, she might just die. “Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Niria said and unhooked Daxina after she was done and sat her in the corner. “Who’s next?” the woman asked, holding the brand up. “I’ll do it.” Comes Arlech’s voice, sounding cocky. “Ah,” Niria said, looking up and down Arlech’s form, “Devil spawn, are we? This should be no problem for someone of your heritage. I may not even tie your arms down.” “A pity,” Arlech said, “I was quite looking forward to that,” and winked. “You’re quite charming, but as you saw, I’m a taken woman. Now, sit down.” She said with a laugh. Celine was dumbfounded, Arlech’s flirting almost worked, and the only reason it hadn’t was because Niria was with Mistress Bula. She took a minute to process this as Niria heated up the brand again and pressed it against Arlech’s shoulder with the same amount of pressure as she did with Daxina, if not more. Arlech sucked in air as the pain hit his skin, but stayed conscious, after it was imprinted, he got up as if he felt nothing at all and went over to Celine, “See, nothing to it. Go on,” he said gently. “Come over here, girl,” Niria said, not unkindly. Nervous, Celine hesitantly walked over to the very large woman and the chair, her legs felt like lead and it seemed like it took hours to get over to them. She sat down and let her arms rest on the arms of the chair and Niria tied Celine’s arms to the chair, noticing how worried the young woman was. “Take a

deep breath,” came the woman’s voice, but it seemed slow and distorted to her. The second the hot brand hit her shoulder, Celine screamed out in pain and agony and the next thing she knew, she saw blackness and felt nothing. The next thing she knew, she woke up lying on the ground with Arlech and Niria standing over her with very worried faces and when she sat up, she saw Daxina looking at her nails with a look of disdain on her face, which Celine assumed was directed towards her. “You really are weak,” Daxina said, not looking Celine in the face. “Fuck off.” Celine said as she leaned against the wall. “Are you all right?” Niria asked before the two young women started fighting, “I think I’m okay now, I’m sorry if my reaction ruined the branding so you couldn’t do it.” Celine said with a monotone voice. “No, no, don’t worry about it. That’s the usual reaction, albeit a bit more extreme.” Celine looked embarrassed as Arlech made his way over to her “Here, let me help you,” he said, kneeling next to Celine, “I already fixed up Daxina,” then he held out his hand. Celine rolled her eyes and held out her arm, he took her hand and cast Cure Wounds on her, “There you go, all healed up.” Celine immediately glanced at her shoulder, and the brand was still there, which she didn’t know if she should be relieved or disappointed about. Then it dawned on her, she had no idea how long they had been down here, she reached in her Bag of Holding to try and pull out her phone when Arlech smacked her hand lightly as if to say, “Not here.” Not wanting to potentially fight Niria for whatever reason, she sighed and took her hand out of her bag and closed it back up, deciding instead to ask, “How long have I been out?” “A few hours perhaps, why?” Niria said. “Well, I’m pretty tired after that, but if it’s not dark outside then I don’t want to go to bed.” Celine reasoned. “Well, then you all should make your way back up the stairs. Welcome to the Solarstriders.” “Thank you.” Celine said and got up, then the three of them headed back up to the main room.

“I cannot believe you flirted with her and it almost worked,” Celine said to Arlech when they were out of earshot. Which made Arlech laugh, “I told you it works in the right scenario, but you didn’t believe me.” “Wait, he did what?!” Daxina said in disgust. “You two are quick to judge, it meant nothing. Obviously, she’s with Mistress Bula, it was simply in hopes of having her be gentler with the brand.” Arlech said, rolling his eyes. “Do you ever mean it when you flirt with people or is it all just a game to you?” Celine asked with an annoyed tone at the Tiefling, disgusted at his attitude with such things. Arlech looked genuinely hurt at the accusation for a second and said, “Well, it depends on the person I suppose.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” Daxina asked, now honed in on the conversation. “Well, when it comes to store clerks or others of the sort, it’s merely just to get what I want, like information for example. If it’s someone I’m genuinely interested in, I mean every word.” Both women were still unsure but went with it and Celine asked, “And how does someone know the difference? The person on the receiving end that is? You’ve tried flirting with me multiple times and I haven’t fallen for it, because to me it certainly just seems like some bullshit a lot of men in my world do just to get in a woman’s pants. I call them fuck boys, as do many other people.” Arlech was taken aback and Daxina covered her mouth, snickering. “Mind explaining that term to me?” Arlech said, raising an eyebrow. “A fuck boy,” Celine said, starting to step closer to Arlech, “is a young man or as I say, a boy,” she stepped closer, “who thinks they’re hot shit,” even closer, “and who thinks they’re sexy,” closer still, “and will flirt with multiple women at a time,” she got even closer until she was as close to Arlech’s face as she could be with the slight height difference, “and don’t know how to take no for an answer, and the only thing on their mind is sex. They don’t want actual relationships, they just want a fuck buddy or friends with benefits and will keep on asking even after one of the many women he’s flirted with has said no.” Celine looked Arlech up and down, the tension in the air was so thick that it could be cut with a knife. Arlech stood his ground and said, “Well, they sound like terrible people,” also looking Celine up and down. Daxina looked on, half expecting the two of them to kiss, and cleared her throat, “I don’t know if you’re going to kiss or kill each other, but maybe we can do it outside of the Guild?” Just then, both Arlech and Celine looked around and saw Sidqiel, Mistress Bula, and a few random members of the Solarstriders that none of them recognized, staring at them with their jaws on the ground. Celine stepped back first, “I think I’ve made my point,” she said, glancing over to the Tiefling. “I don’t know if you have, maybe you could explain it further later on,” Arlech answered with a wink. “Maybe I will, but not in a room alone with you, I’m not that stupid.” She replied haughtily and stormed out, finally letting herself flush red at his flirting, which she thought was odd, it had never worked on her before, why now?

Not long after, Daxina and Arlech join her outside and immediately Daxina shouts, “I’m sorry, but what in the Nine Hells was that?! I have never, in the short period that I’ve known you two, seen you go at each other like that. Care to explain?” “I’d ask Celine that if I were you, she’s never snapped at me like that before. She’s been sarcastic, but never gotten in my face like that, it was kind of sexy.” Arlech answered with a grin. “You’re gross,” Celine said a few feet ahead of the two. “You’re attracted to me,” Arlech shot back. “No I’m not,” Celine answered, getting furious now. “Then why did you get in my face like that?” The Tiefling shouted back. Just then, Celine turned around sharply and shouted angrily, “Because I’m tired of your bullshit!” and passers-by in the streets turned to stare at the two. “Just admit you find me attractive and we can settle this,” Arlech said, smiling. “You’re delusional,” Celine answered and made her way to The Clydesdale Inn. “I’m not convinced,” Arlech said to Daxina, who was walking next to him. “I’m not either,” she said, watching Celine walk off. A moment later, a light bulb went off in Daxina’s head and she suggested, “I have an idea, either before or after the next time we fight something, you kiss her and see what happens?” “It seems a bit rude to kiss her without asking, don’t you think? I’ll shamelessly flirt with someone, especially her, no big deal, but unless they permit me to do anything more than that, I don’t go further than a flirt,” Arlech reasoned. “So you do have feelings for her then or at least are genuinely interested in her,” Daxina said. “Well, yes. Ever since I first met her I thought she was cute and rather interesting. What are you supposed to feel when someone claims they’re from a different world? You’re instantly interested and drawn to them in some way, correct?” The Tiefling answered as if it was the most logical thing in the world, “You want to know more, you want to see how they tick, how they react, yes?” Daxina thought on this for a moment and said, “Yes, I could see how that would make you interested or attracted to someone, and while I respect the fact that you want to ask permission before going any further than flirting, I don’t find it very likely that she’d give you permission to kiss her or do anything of the sort with her adamant claim that she’s not attracted to you in any way, shape, or form.” “I understand your point, but it just feels wrong to not ask first.” Arlech insisted. “Fine,” the Elven woman started, “but if you change your mind or feel like you aren’t getting anywhere with her, take my idea into account.” The red Tiefling sighed in a defeated way, “I will.” When they got back to The Clydesdale Inn, Arlech took a seat at the bar and tapped on it to get Mr. Longfoot’s attention, the Halfling turned and went towards Arlech, “Hello Arlech, how are you doing today? What can I get you?” “Nothing today Mr Longfoot, I just wanted to let you know that I won’t be performing tonight. I don’t feel well and I have a lot to think about.” Arlech answered. “Well,” started the Halfling, “it’s a shame you won’t be performing, but if you feel you need time to yourself, I have no problems with that.” “Thank you, sir, I appreciate that. I think I’ll go two doors down to Madam Fibavam’s Bathhouse whilst I think.” Arlech answered, and walked out. Not long after, Celine came down from her room and started walking out, only to be stopped by Mr Longfoot, who asked, “Are you going two doors down as well?” “To the bathhouse? Yeah, I feel like shit after getting branded by the Solarstriders today, why?” Celine asked. “Arlech just went over there too,” he said and Celine froze in fear, thinking Arlech would see her naked, but then she remembered there was a fence between the two sides of the bathhouse and relaxed a little. However, she second-guessed herself and asked Mr Longfoot, “There are two sides blocked by a fence, right? A men’s and a women’s side?” “I believe so,” the Halfling answered, “but I’d ask Madam Fibavam to make sure.” This made Celine

nervous, but she went over to the bathhouse anyway.

As she stepped in, Madam Fibavam was at the desk and she looked up from her book in surprise, “Two people in one night? That’s a new record I think. How are you doing Celine?” “Fine, hey I have a question,” Celine responds. “What is it dear?” The Gnome asks, sitting up more. “Uh, are the baths separated by gender or only the changing rooms?” Celine asks and the Gnome laughs, “Yes, the baths are separated by gender as well, with a tall wooden fence, don’t you remember that from when you were here a few nights ago?” “I didn’t really pay attention, so I suppose not.” Celine answered. “Well, they are, are you wanting to be here for a while too?” Madan Fibavam says with a warm smile. “Yes, two silver, right?” Celine asks and the woman nods. Celine hands over the two pieces of silver and goes into the same changing room as last time and puts her stuff in the same closet. Then she tries to stealthily step into the hot spring so Arlech doesn’t hear her, but unfortunately, Arlech hears her step in the water through the fence. He jumps up, startled, and says, “Hello?” Celine clasps her hand over her mouth and tries to make her breathing slow and silent and succeeds, and her second step was far more silent than the first one. “Hello?” Comes Arlech’s voice again and a shift in the water as if he were turning around to look through the fence to see if anyone was on the opposite side, but nothing. Celine heard him shift again, assuming he was turning his back to the fence again. Celine sighs in relief as quietly as possible and leans against the fence herself. Just then, she hears Arlech talk to himself and clearly hears, “How do you even tell someone how you feel about them? I could just go ahead and say it to her face, but what if she thinks it’s just another attempt at flirting? I could try Daxina’s idea, but she might smack me across the face. Gods, this is difficult.” Celine tilts her head, was he talking about her? She couldn’t tell, all she could understand was that he was clearly stressed out about whatever and whoever he was talking about. She thought back on all of the times he flirted with her from her understanding of what she knew to be ‘flirting’ in her world. The suggestive comments, him calling her cute while he was drunk, him holding her hand when he healed her instead of placing his hand on her arm or shoulder, did he really mean those things or was he just trying to get in her pants? Because what she knew from her world, men, or boys even, would only act that way towards women with one thing, and one thing only on their minds. Then she thought about how his earlier attempts didn’t work on her, yet this afternoon, something changed. His flirting actually worked on her, why then and in that moment? Did he use a spell on her? She knew he had healing abilities, could he make people fall for his flirting with some sort of spell too? “What did it all mean?” she unintentionally said aloud and froze in fear, “Celine, is that you?” Comes Arlech’s voice from the opposite side of the fence. He even recognized her voice, which she was dumbfounded about. “Uh, no, not at all. Who is this Celine you speak of?” She asked with a horrible, fake, English accent. She could hear in his voice that he had rolled his eyes, “That was the worst accent I have ever heard. What are you doing here?” Then it was Arlech’s turn to freeze in fear, “How long have you been here?” She made a split-second decision to lie and said, “I just got here.” Arlech sighed in relief, but Celine couldn’t keep the smirk off of her face, and it could be heard in her voice, when she said, “Why do you ask?” “Don’t torment me like that,” Arlech says, hearing the tone of her voice ‘You torment me enough by just existing,’ he thought. “Okay fine, you don’t have to tell me. I just thought I would take the opportunity to mess with you like you did to me earlier.” She said, and it was that moment when they remembered they were both naked and talking to each other through a simple wooden fence and an awkward silence followed. “So, um,” Celine finally said, subconsciously

covering her top half even though he couldn’t see her, “why here?” “What do you mean?” Arlech asked. “I mean, you came here, as I heard from talking to Mr Longfoot, why here and not, I don’t know, another bathhouse or the hot spring behind The Clydesdale Inn?” Celine asked. “Oh, well, the only other bathhouse in this city is on the complete opposite side of town and the one behind the Inn is pretty small and I wanted to stretch out and maybe swim around in the hot water a little.” The Tiefling explained. “Is the one behind the Inn really too small for that?” Celine asked. “For someone my height, yes, the one behind the Inn is for one person at a time and for just cleaning up and getting out. I think it’s six and a half feet long and three or four feet wide or something, and I’m six feet tall. These ones are about thirty feet long and forty feet wide, each. Madam Fibavam was lucky that she managed to get this much land on this side of town and still be far enough away from the ocean.” He explained, which prompted Celine to look around and see that it is indeed a very large hot spring and for a moment she felt quite lonely in the wide expanse of this spring. “She’s been here longer than this town has been here, this town is maybe a hundred years old, Madam Fibavam is about two hundred years old, so her bathhouse and spring have been here longer than this town, so they had to build Crisherton around her bathhouse. Gnomes can live up to five hundred years, you know.” Arlech says and Celine immediately says, “I call bullshit, there’s no way.” “Fine, don’t believe me, but you can ask her yourself,” he responds. “Maybe I will.” She answers indignantly. Then Celine comes up with an idea, grins, and says, “Oh yeah, you wanted more of an explanation about fuck boys, didn’t you?” Even though she couldn’t see it, Arlech’s mouth dropped open and he said, “Hold on, now this isn’t what I meant when I said that.” “I know what you meant, but I’m not gonna give you what you want. Now, a fuck boy is somewhat in the same vein as an incel. Now an incel is a man, or boy rather, who likes to be creepy to women online, I’ll explain what ‘online’ is later, and they often feel entitled to a woman’s body, which is absolutely disgusting behavior. When a woman rejects this man-child, he often calls her many names such as ‘bitch,’ ‘fat fuck,’ ‘whore,’ ‘slut,’ you name it, it’s probably thrown around and they often assume the account on a dating app or even apps that aren’t meant for dating, is fake just because she rejects him. I’ll also explain what an app is at a later date. They also objectify women, only seeing them as a piece of meat, or ‘a piece of ass’ and see them only as things to reproduce with or just have sex with and leave them for another. Following along so far?” Despite this not being what he expected or wanted, Arlech found himself very interested in her explanation. A few hours and some questions later, Arlech said, “Gods, they really do sound like awful people. I may be a shameless flirt, but I don’t feel like I’m owed anything if I do flirt and they flirt back. I also ask permission before I go any further. I just find flirting to be fun and in some cases, useful.” “Then you’re neither of those things, surprisingly.” Celine responded. “Did you really think I was one of those things?” Arlech asked, somewhat offended. “I didn’t know what you were or how you were. I mean, for Gods’ sakes, I’ve only known you for a week,” and at that moment it registered in her brain, and there was a pit in her stomach, she had been in this world and away from home for a week and suddenly she panicked, “Wait, oh Gods, I’ve been here for an entire week, I died in my first week and came back alive, my parents probably think I’ve been kidnapped, or worse, murdered!” and she started hyperventilating. In the short time he had known her, Arlech never heard Celine sound so scared and panicked, if anything, to him she seemed the least likely to be scared of anything. “Whoa, whoa, slow down,” he said, trying to calm her down to the best of his ability while

naked and separated by a fence, which made it slightly awkward, but he shrugged it off, “Is there any way you can contact them and let them know that you’re safe?” “No,” Celine said, starting to sniffle but holding it back, “my phone doesn’t work here, I have no service, so unless there’s a way to send a letter to another world, it’s hopeless.” Arlech thought it over for a moment, “There might be a way, but it’s rather complex and pricey. There is a sort of magical letter paper that can be sent to anyone in any plane of existence as long as you write their names on it. It is, however, a good one thousand pieces of gold, if not more. Then there’s also something called a ‘tuning fork’ that you can attune to any plane of existence, and obviously, there’s a little bit of magic in your world if The Royal Wizard was able to bring you here through magical means. However, those are rare and require very strong magic.” That gave Celine hope, if only a small amount, and she imagined something that made her laugh through her sniffles, “I just had a thought, imagine what my parents would think of you if we brought them here, the world itself would be strange but imagine if they got brought here and you, Daxina, and I were right in front of them. Daxina looks at least somewhat normal, by my world’s standards, but just with pointy ears. You on the other hand,” she said with a weak laugh, “and Madam Fibavam, and Mr Longfoot.” Arlech began laughing too, “And let’s not forget Niria and Mistress Bula.” “Holy shit, yes.” Celine said, now in a full-on laugh. There was a moment of silence and out of nowhere, with a hint of awkwardness and shyness in his voice, and no evidence of his usual cockiness, Arlech asked, “May I hug you? When we’re out and dressed, I mean, not now. I don’t even think there’s a way right now, even if you were okay with that, which I’m sure you aren’t considering the state we’re in.” Celine rolled her eyes, which he could hear in her voice when she answered, “Yes, but preferably not in front of Madam Fibavam or Mr Longfoot, I feel like they’d take it the wrong way and start some rumors and gossip around Crisherton.” “That’s understandable,” he said and then added sarcastically and playfully, “I wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation of being able to easily reject any of my attempts at flirting with you.” “Ha, ha, very funny.” She responds sarcastically as well.

They finally got out of the hot springs after what seemed like several hours, both of which had wrinkly feet and hands, and went to change. They walked out of the changing rooms at the same time and Madam Fibavam looked at them and said jokingly, “Certainly took you two long enough, I almost thought you’d drowned. I’m glad to see that I was wrong.” Celine laughed and then said, “I have a question, and I don’t mean to offend you,” the Gnome answered, “It’s hard to offend me, go ahead,” “Is it true you’re about two hundred years old and did this city really need to be built around your bathhouse?” Celine asked cautiously. The Gnome laughed and said, “I take it Arlech told you this?” Celine nodded and the Gnome continued, still laughing, “Well, two hundred years old is a bit of an exaggeration, I’m around a hundred and seventy-five years old, but yes, Crisherton had to be built around my bathhouse because I refused to leave when they began building it up.” Celine’s jaw dropped and Arlech burst out laughing, “I told you so.” “Shut up,” Celine said, now embarrassed. Then the two went back to The Clydesdale Inn, having to knock so that Mr Longfoot could let them inside and Celine and Arlech added two extra nights in their respective rooms for four gold each. The Halfling gladly accepted the gold and went back to bed. They both glanced around to see if Mr Longfoot was still in the room, but it was hard to tell, so Arlech hesitantly put his arms out for a hug, which Celine had forgotten she agreed to for a split second, and she cautiously wrapped her arms around him, as did he in return. It most definitely wasn’t her imagination when Celine thought Arlech’s hand felt like warm coals, in fact, to her astonishment, his entire body felt like warm coals, which was rather relaxing. She could feel it through his shirt as her arms were wrapped around his torso, and she could feel it in his arms, which were wrapped around her waist. ‘A first step at least,’ Arlech thought as they let go of one another. “Uh, before I go to bed,” Celine said awkwardly, “may I ask you something?” “What?” The Tiefling asked. “I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination when you first grabbed my hand to heal me or not, but now I know what I felt was real. Why does your skin feel like warm coals? Is it like that all the time?” “Ah,” said he, and they sat down in front of her door, “that’s part of my heritage. As a Tiefling, or a Half-Devil, you have a higher body temperature than beings such as full-blooded Humans, or Dwarves, or Elves. Our skin also does, in fact, feel like warm coals when someone touches an arm or whatever. Think of it this way, a full-blooded Devil’s skin, living in the Nine Hells, would feel like raging fire, or burning coals. A Half-Devil, like myself, living on the Prime Plane, which is what this is called, our skin would feel like warm coals, or a dying, low, fire, like embers.” “Would that change if you went to the Nine Hells?” Celine asked. “I’ve never been, so perhaps, but perhaps not. The only way to find out is if we go, but I don’t think that’s a good idea right now.” Arlech answered, standing up. “Fair enough,” Celine said, getting ready to stand up on her own, but Arlech held a hand out as if to ask if he can help her up. Celine rolled her eyes but had a small smile on her face, and she grabbed ahold of his hand. He pulled her up as if she weighed nothing and said, “Goodnight,” letting her hand go, and the two went to their separate rooms for some sleep.

[bettsfic]

Hey! I was just wondering if you would soapbox a little about your creative process. I absolutely adore your writing advice but was wondering a bit more about how your ideas form and how you choose which to pursue and do finished products look like you want them to? What's a bad habit you're trying to break? No obligation to answer, especially cause an anon is like tell me your secrets! But thank you for all you've written, you are so helpful and kind

thanks for the great question anon! i wrote a bit about my drafting process here but that doesn’t encompass the idea building side of things (also i’ve made some changes to the process so i was thinking about writing a more cohesive, updated version at some point).

i tend to think of project ideas as piles of aesthetic, and usually i only begin writing once the pile has toppled over and i can’t not write it. that’ll make more sense in a moment. 

i’ll walk through 2 examples of my idea generating process, from how they started to where they are now. 

1. Vandal

Vandal is a novel i’m working on that i really have a lot of hope for. i’m about 60k words in right now and 75% finished. it’s about a teenage girl (sierra) who casts a spell on her hot, helpful neighbor (frank) to bind them together. the spell ends up working but backfiring when he becomes her foster father. then, in his custody, sierra gets jealous and casts a spell on his girlfriend (jenny) to break them up, but that backfires too: sierra gets taken out of frank’s custody and placed with a manipulative and abusive foster brother (leo). frank more or less kidnaps sierra and they have to Run From The Law. throughout the novel, sierra is inwardly battling Vandal, an immortal archangel that has possessed her and is trying to get her to kill herself so he can break free of the prison of her body.  

the idea for that story has a looooong breadcrumb trail and a huge aesthetic pile. since i couldn’t manage to get Baby traditionally published, i had a lot of that dynamic i could adopt into something else. i wrote at length about where that idea came from but i can no longer find that post (UPDATE: here it is). it’s somewhere in my training wheels tag. in short, i spent an entire summer watching/reading age gap stories and the male perspective in them bothered me a lot, so i wanted to write a story from the younger party’s perspective, and do the reality of those situations justice. i wrote that story, though, so i didn’t want to rewrite it. 

then, in december 2019, for reasons i don’t remember, i started reading snape/hermione fics. i really liked the dynamic, but it was a little too angsty for me, and none of the fics gave me the catharsis i was looking for, which was basically Grouchy Soft Boy Takes Care Of PTSD Weary Girl. being unable to find anything that fit the exact no-conflict, angstless dynamic i was looking for, i decided to write it myself using an A/B/O reylo idea i’d been kicking around for about 8 months but i could never land on, because i didn’t know if i wanted ben or ren. that fic turned out to be Reclaimed.  

to answer one of your questions, Reclaimed didn’t turn out the way i wanted it to at all, and i’m still kind of shocked by the traffic it has. i felt bad about writing it, because i was setting down so many other things to work on it, and it was a struggle from start to finish. at the time (and this is a major theme of my process), i thought it was a waste of energy.

but it opened a very important thematic concept to me, which is the idea of voicelessness and trauma, and recovery through finding one’s voice.

fast-forward to february, i’m headcanoning with @star-sky-earth just days before i have to head to nebraska for a writing residency. she and i are talking about a certain male celebrity who shall not be named, flirting with his younger female costar who shall not be named, and i said something along the lines of, “wouldn’t it suck to get a crush on a dude like him, only to find out he likes you back, and then you realize he’s actually kind of shallow and boring?”

i remember distinctly saying, out loud, “god fucking dammit,” because, right then, an aesthetic pile had toppled over, and an entire novel unfolded itself in my brain. i pound out an outline. it’s garbage. i play around with a vocal gauge. it’s not quite right. then, two days later, i write an opening scene that i don’t think is great but i send it to some people and they’re like, oh this is fire. 

the aesthetic pile looks like this:

lolita, where dolores is the one in control

delusions of grandeur born from a major traumatic event

obsessions with fairy tales and the escapism they provide

the consequences of extreme neglect

forced voicelessness as both a theme and a major structural constraint

a lot of wolf imagery

non-chronological timelines

i proceed to spend the next two days driving across the country brain-writing. by the time i reach nebraska, i hit the ground running, and write for basically 30-40 hours a week for 5 weeks. then, because pandemic, i decide to stay 2 more weeks, but i hit a snag. i write about 14k of really boring drivel and realize my outline has failed me. i toss the 14k and re-outline and try again. then, my attention is rattled by a crush on a composer who has no interest in me. 

i go home and fall into my annual summer depression and i lose focus. so, that’s where i’m at. i really miss vandal but it’s gotten super dark and i’m finding it difficult to manage darkness with everything going on. which brings me to my next aesthetic pile that has recently toppled over.

2. Eden

that’s not the title but it’s the project name. i’ve begun writing a YA sci fi comedy with an ensemble cast. this aesthetic pile took years to build before it toppled. it started with Elixir of Erised, hands down the best fic i’ve ever written by a huge margin. i reread it this past winter and was kind of amazed i’d written it. 

i really liked the idea of a potion showing you your deepest desires, but until recently have not had the patience to build an entire world around it. so, for the past 3.5 years, i’ve kept a document of “if i WERE to a YA SFF book with the themes of EOE, what would i want to include?” over those 3.5 years, here’s what the list became:

dark academia vibes

heist plot

soulmates

that list is not really conducive to an entire universe, and i never had the motivation to sit down and think through it. 

then i watched breaking bad, and a lot of things started clicking. at the same time, i was talking to my buddy kyle about my fallen knight archetype schematic, and i began fleshing out all the archetypes that went with it. i came up with 12. i built a database. i thought, wouldn’t it be cool to write something with ALL 12 ARCHETYPES?? haha but who would be dumb enough to do that?

me. i would. 

with breaking bad as the missing plot piece (which introduces the idea of conflict around the MANUFACTURE and DISTRIBUTION of addictive substances, with an ensemble cast of morally grey characters, which leads to a war), i had enough to get started. 

i wrote an outline. i wrote another outline. i wrote a third outline. i stopped to write some histories of this place i’d built. i wrote a fourth outline. gdocs became a mess so i downloaded scrivener and taught myself how to use it. i wrote a gauge of the first chapter and landed the voice on the first try. then i did a rough sketch of how a trilogy would go. then i outlined each book in the trilogy to make sure my character trajectories were on point. then i did a lot more worldbuilding. now i’m working on my fifth outline, which breaks the entire novel down scene by scene. 

and for Reasons, i’m tasking myself with writing the first draft in 6 days across two weekends. it’s a high-stakes adventure story with a very tight timeline, so i think it’s conducive to being written quickly.

which brings me to another question you asked, which is, what bad habits do i want to break? i always, always slow down at the halfway mark. sometimes i even give up. i have no idea why. no matter how much preparation i do, no matter how solid my endgame is, at the halfway mark i either slow to a crawl or set the whole project down and pick up something new. i do this with reading books, too. i can only ever read the first half of books. then i either skip to the end or put them down forever. it’s definitely something i have to figure out because at this rate i’ll never finish anything.

okay this took way longer than i thought it would to write but i hope it answers your question. tl;dr i follow aesthetic and thematic interests until they lead me to a point where i can’t not write the stories that develop from them. 

[spacerangersam]

The Medium

a short comedy piece about family drama, ducks and ugly nightwear.

“Darling, look how big Maxwell has gotten! He’s practically fully grown now! I wonder if he still gets your mother to iron his socks...”

“He’s almost thirty, Ruth. Besides, it’s only been a year.”

“Oh sorry, but you know I can’t help it. So much has happened since we last saw him.”

“Indeed it- it has.”

“I wonder if he-”

“Sweetheart, I mean this in the kindest way possible, but could you please be quiet for a-a moment?”

Theodore was stretched out over the round table, squeezed in between an elderly woman with a ridiculous feather boa, and some scrawny pale fellow. He was on the very tips of his worn Oxfords, his long thin fingers just barely touching the Ouija planchette.

The people surrounding him in the table gasped as it slid forward.

“Terribly sorry, Theo,” Ruth apologised, leaning over to pat his shoulder. “I rather forgot you were in the middle of something.”

“It’s not your fault, it’s this blasted woman’s. If she’s so in touch with the spirit world, why can’t she sense my overwhelming need for her to fucking move?”

Both feet were now off the floor as he pushed the planchette towards the O. Almost there, almost.

“Really, there’s no need for insults.”

“Sorry sweetheart,” he said in a strained voice, “but this is- Christ- a very time-sensitive task, I’m sure you understand.”

She huffed, crossing her arms, more for the drama of it rather than actual disgust.

“I do. I just don’t think death gives us an excuse to forget our manners.”

He gave up. Theo it was. The D wasn’t even that far away, it was more energy than it was worth.

Besides, it seemed to do the trick as the five huddled around the table gasped, the youngest pale and shaking. Even the elderly woman, pale with frizzy hair seemed surprised. She hid her wide eyes behind a cough and quickly put on a mask of professionalism though.

“Theo? Does anyone on this table know a Theo?”

“I should bloody hope so,” he huffed.

“Oh look, Max has a ring! I think he’s married!” Ruth gasped.

The youngest, Maxwell, gulped and nodded. The woman next to him patted his hand, looking rather frazzled herself.

“I think I know to whom,” Theo muttered.

Ruth raised an eyebrow and adjusted her glasses, gasping when she picked up on her husband’s hint.

“Max had a brother called Theo who passed not too long ago,” the woman explained.

“Elizabeth? But I thought she was dating-”

“She was.”

“A year ago. Car accident,” Maxwell spluttered out.

“Well, I never. We’ve missed out on so much! Darling, could you ask about it?” Ruth asked.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” the medium said in a grave tone.

“I’m really sorry,” Theodore began, “but that would probably take a while to ask, and I don’t think Maxwell has the attention span for that.”

“Fair point.”

“Am I talking to Theodore Jones?” The medium asked.

Oh thank god, he thought, I don’t have to spell that one out. It didn’t hurt that the YES was close either.

“Can’t you just phase through the table?” Ruth questioned. “Wouldn’t that be easier?”

“Yes, but knowing my luck I’d just phase through the planchette too and we’d have to start all over again.”

Maxwell and Elizabeth gripped even tighter onto each other as the planchette jerked towards the YES. A tense silence fell over the table, interrupted a moment later by the medium.

“Right, well, is there anything you want to ask him or tell him, Maxwell?”

“God, don’t open the stage to him,” Theodore groaned, “he’ll only ask something stupid like if there are any pubs in heaven.”

Maxwell nodded swallowing loudly.

“I just wanted to tell him that I love him, I really do and…did he and Ruth end up in the same place? Are they-”

“Just ignore him and go to the will,” Ruth suggested.

“Good thinking.”

“I have my moments.”

W-I-L-M

“Wilm?” Maxwell queried, brows drawn close.

“Wilm?” Ruth parroted. “I know you struggle with spelling but-”

“My hand slipped!”

He tried again.

W-I-L-L

“Oh, we have a brother called Will, does he want me to pass a message on?” Maxwell asked.

“Perhaps he does. Theo, do you have a message for William?”

“Oh, for fucks sake!”

Ruth didn’t comment on that one, too busy pursing her lips and giving Maxwell a stern eye.

“He never was the brightest, was he?”

NO

W-I-L-L

L-E-G-A-L

“Oh! like his last will and testaments!” Elizabeth gasped.

“Yes!” Theodore cheered, a grin appearing on his face for the first time during this whole ordeal.

“At least one out of the pair has some brains,” Ruth mused.

She perched on the top of a spare chair, watching the amusing expressions of the living five.

“He never wrote one, did he?” Maxwell mused.

I-D-I-D

“It seems he begs to differ,” the medium commented. “Where is it??”

S-O-C-K

His hand slipped again. Dammit.

“Sock?” Maxwell read. “I don’t mean to be rude, but you had a lot of socks, Theo, could you be more specific?”

“Here, how about-”

Ruth hopped onto the table in her party shoes. She crouching down, gently brushing her husband’s fingers away from the planchette and replacing them with her own.

S-O-C-K-D-R-A-W

“Oh, thank you,” Theodore said.

“Anytime.”

He gratefully, and awkwardly, wriggled off the table, standing behind the medium instead. She shivered for a moment but otherwise didn’t react.

“Do you mean it’s in your sock drawer?” Elizabeth asked.

Y-E-S

“We should go find it right away! It could be-”

B-E-L-L-E

“Sweetheart, I thought we were just going to focus on the will?” Theodore asked.

“Well, they know about it now, let me be nosy for a minute.”

“Oh, alright. Just don’t drag it out for too long please.”

“It’s hidden in a bell?” Elizabeth wondered.

Maxwell cleared his throat, tugging at his collar with his free hand.

“No, Belle- that was the name of my ex, we parted a few months ago. Though I swear he never knew…”

Really? He didn’t think I noticed the woman he dated for over six months? Theodore thought. Well, that’s just insulting.

The table fell silent again.

“Ex? That’s all he got for me? I was the fucking light of his life!” A voice yelled.

Ruth and Theodore winced, turning to face their third ghostly companion, a young woman in a ghastly nightdress.

“Oh, Belle, I’m sorry, but we did tell you he’d likely moved on,” Ruth said gently.

Belle began to cry hysterically, with all the noise and none of the tears.

“Oh dear, don’t cry- Theodore?”

“On it.”

He made his way to the corner she had hidden in, next to the myriad of ‘unicorn’ skulls and toad bladders. He held her tightly, rocking her slightly.

“There there, he’s a cad anyway, you can do better,” he assured her.

“How? We’re in hell!”

“Not technically.”

“Wait, is this Penelope?” Maxwell asked.

Y-E-S

H-E-L-L-O

Maxwell breathed out a relieved sigh, a strained smile on his lips.

“Oh, you are together, good.”

A-N-D-B-E-L

He paled again.

“B-Belle? She’s with you? Wait, she’s dead?!”

The living members of the table turned to frown at him. He slouched down in his seat.

“She-she hadn’t been responding to any of my letters so I-I said I felt like she had been avoiding me and perhaps we should both move on.”

“Of course I couldn’t respond, I was fucking deceased!”

“Belle, he never deserved you anyway, sweetheart, let it go.”

“And did you say that in person?” The medium asked.

“Ah, no, letter.”

“…Belle, if you are here, can you tell us when you died?”

“J-June fourth,” Belle gasped out.

Theodore rubbed her back encouragingly. It was a shame she’d died in that dreadful thing, he mused. At least he and Ruth had been given the decency of going out in style.

J-U-N-E-4

Maxwell put a shaking hand to his mouth, and at his side, Elizabeth scowled.

“That was before your breakup, wasn’t it?” She asked.

He nodded.

“Maxwell Jones,” Elizabeth hissed, “I can’t believe you did that!”

“Oh god, we’re completely off track, what if he forgets about the will?” Theodore complained.

Belle began to wail louder. He winced and rubbed her back even harder, desperately trying to calm her down. It seemed to work.

“I was busy with work, I didn’t have time to check on her!”

“Oh sorry, I know this is a lot for you to handle. Do you want to go outside, perhaps? I’m sure Ruth can handle it from here,” Theo assured her.

“N-No. I want to see this through,” she sniffed.

“If I die tragically and can’t respond to your letters, I hope you’ll spare a moment to come check on me,” Elizabeth huffed.

“If you’re sure. But please do remind them of the will again, sweetheart,” Theodore called out to Ruth. “If they don’t find it, I just know they're going to hand over my collection of genuine Roman coins to father and I won't let that bastard get his greasy hands on them!”

“Oh god, not the Roman coins!” Belle sobbed. “They're one of a kind!”

“Yes, and I’d bet he'd either just pawn them for cheap or lose them down a drain like the uncultured tosser he is!”

“This day is getting worse and worse.”

“Wait, how do you know about my coin collection?”

“I showed her them once when I caught her sneaking out of Maxwell’s room at night,” Ruth explained.

“He snores,” Belle sniffed. “Loudly.”

“And you’re upset this relationship ended, because…”

She sniffed again and shrugged.

“I have bad taste?”

Theodore pursed his lips and thought about it.

“We can work on that, chin up.”

S-A-Y-S-O-R-R-Y-B-E-L-S-A-D

“Oh, of course, god, Belle, I’m so sorry. I should have suspected something was wrong and come visited you,” Maxwell said.

“You should have!” Belle loudly agreed.

“You should have,” Elizabeth seconded, pinching Maxwell’s hand sharply.

“Ow!”

Belle sniffed and grinned a little.

“I like her.”

“She is quite something that Liz,” Theodore said. “Shame she has terrible taste too.”

“Do you think we’re done for now? This isn’t exactly a comfortable position,” Ruth commented.

Theodore and Belle shared a look, and after a moment shook their heads.

“I just want to go,” Belle sighed.

“And I believe that’s enough drama for one afterlife,” Theodore announced. “Let’s end this.”

Ruth nodded sharply and returned to the board.

W-I-L-L-G-O-F-I-N-D

GOOD BYE

A golden glow went unseen by the living, and the séance drew to a close.

***

William unlocked the door to the house and cautiously entered.

It had been left untouched, perfectly preserving the lives of its owners in their last-minute rush to get to the party on time. That is to say, it looked like a bombsight. He smiled, strained, and brushed his fingers over an abandoned coat, flung over a cupboard.

No doubt Theodore was losing his mind over the mess wherever he was, tearing out his hair as he tried desperately to find his way back to the mortal plane just to do the dusting.

A hand found its way to his back, and William turned his head to the side to face his companion.

“Remind me why we’re back here? It’s bloody miserable, like the world’s worst museum.”

“Pryce, I told you yesterday, didn’t you listen?”

The other man shrugged, hands falling to his pockets.

“Not really. You say a lot of things I don’t listen to.”

“I’m well aware.”

William sighed and gestured for Pryce to follow, making his way up the dusty stairs.

“We’re looking for Theodore’s will. Max and Liz went to a medium, claimed Theo talked to them.”

“A medium? They got more quack to them than a duck pond.”

“I agree, but you know how hard Max took the death. It is his birthday party they kicked it on after all. And the two insisted that we check, so.”

“I can believe Max buying into it, but Lizzy too? Thought she was too smart for that.”

“Well, she is with Max, so she can’t be that smart.”

“Got a point.”

They reached the top of the stairs and entered the bedroom. As with the rest of the house, it showed the remains of a panic, random dresses and ugly ties strewn about everywhere, drawers upturned and perfume spilt. They’d even turned the mattress upside down, though to what end, William would never know.

“You check Ruth’s drawers, I’ll check Theodore’s, yeah?”

Pryce’s ears went red and he shuffled on the spot, looking closer to five than fifty.

“Is that proper like?”

“Pryce, the woman’s dead, no one’s going to care if you go through her knicker drawer. Besides, you’re looking only through her socks, second drawer down.”

“Just- just making sure.”

William rolled his eyes going to Theodore’s set of drawers.

It was ridiculous, he felt, completely ridiculous. Even if the medium were legitimate, surely Theodore wasn’t stupid enough to just leave his will in his-

He saw it as soon as he opened the drawer.

“Good lord,” he gasped.

“What, you actually found it?”

“I believe so.”

He picked it up and leafed through it. It was Theodore’s hand all right, balancing the line between elegant and impossible to read. He flipped through a few more pages.

He winced.

“Aye, do us a favour and call the lawyer, will you? Father too. And tell him to bring along the coin collection on fear of death.” 

[himbowelsh]

Oh my lord, I went through your shiftab tag and read the secret admirer oneshot, it was so cute! 😭 I know you aren't taking requests for those particular prompts but if possible, could you write a similar 'secret admirer' storyline for winnix or baberoe? Gosh please I'd die of happiness!

i have...  done the thing.  went with baberoe, because honestly i’m never not craving more content between those two, and there are considerably more ghosts than you probably wanted, but i really hope you enjoy, darling!!!

(read here on ao3)

Every one of his better instincts — and, contrary to popular belief, Babe does have a few — is screaming that this is an awful idea.

Quit your Irish dancing around the problem and fuckin’ do it, Bill would say, if only Bill were here. Babe knows exactly what advice Bill Guarnere would give — he can hear it in Bill’s voice, like the man’s shouting it, an entire ocean away. Still, an imagined echo is no substitute for the real thing. Babe can dream up as many Guarnere platitudes as his brain can handle... but they still won’t solve the problem in front of him now.

Namely, a blank piece of paper.

“God dammit,” he says out loud. “I don’t know how to do this.”

There’s no one around to hear him. More and more nowadays, there isn’t. He never used to talk to himself before — that was always something crazy people did, in Babe’s experience, and he could be called a lot of things, but crazy was never one of ‘em. People like Crazy Joe McKloskey could stand on the street corner talking to a lamppost like it could understand him. That’s fine, because it was crazy Joe. Babe Heffron, who delivered papers and chased his brothers through the backstreets of South Philly, never talked to himself... maybe because he was never alone.

To be fair, he’s at war, and it’s tough to be alone in a company of a hundred other guys. He’s gotten good at it, though. Gene was the one who showed him how to seek out peace when he needed it, taught him all the good places to hide, how to go away somewhere in your head the rest of the world couldn’t reach. He’d never needed those skills before, but now that he’s learned them, they’ve proved invaluable. More and more nowadays, with nothing to do but soak in the Austrian summer, Babe finds himself wanting to be alone.

Yeah, sometimes he talks to himself... only because the people he wants to be around, the people who damn well should be here, aren’t. 

You’re overthinking it, the voice in his head that sounds too much like Julian declares. When Babe looks up, he can almost see him — his old buddy, leaning back on a crate on the other side of the musky garret room. Julian has a way of lounging that was so casual it made him look boneless. He was a spreader, too — how many damn times did Babe have to shove him to the other side of the foxhole because Julian’s knee was digging into one of his damn organs? The kid liked to take up space. His ghost absorbs it now, studying Babe with a sort of mocking smirk. Look. Practically tearing your hair out, and you’ve barely even written a word yet.

“Yeah, well, it’s harder than you’d think.”

Babe’s not a letter writer. He never has been. His wrists cramp up when he holds a pen too long, and he can’t find the words anyways. His kid sister writes long letters, filled with funny anecdotes and memories from home; his Ma’s letters are shorter, succinct, and bluntly affectionate. Even Bill sent a message, after agonizing months of silence, letting the whole company know he’s doing alright, back home in the states. Babe treasures every letter he receives, tucking them away in his trunk between his underwear and his Bible... but the entire war, he’s only written his family three times. So far, he can’t bring himself to write to Bill at all.

Yeah, because you’re a lazy bum. There’s Old Guarnere again. He’s standing next to Julian — on both legs, whole and healthy — arms crossed as he blatantly judges Babe’s writing ability. The ceiling’s so low, on a steady downward slope, that Bill’s head hits it every time he moves. Babe can see the disgruntled faces he makes, clear as day, and it draws a laugh from him in spite of himself.

“I just — it can’t be any old letter, okay? It’s gotta be perfect. I need it to be perfect.”

You need to take a nap and quit pretending you’re a better writer than you are, Bill scoffs. When has anything you’ve ever written been perfect?

Babe presses his palm hard against his forehead, fingers tugging at his uncombed mess of hair. “That’s the problem, dammit. It ain’t gonna be perfect... but it’s what he deserves.”

If this goddamn war has taught him anything, it’s that Eugene Roe deserves nothing less than the best. The war sure hasn’t been shy about giving him the worst, over and over again. Gene’s hands have been stained with so much blood that it’s a wonder he can still look at them — can still go about his life as normal, humoring nervous patients and summoning a smile when the other fellas rib him — when he’s dealt with more shit than any of them. Babe just heard about his best friend getting his leg blown off. Gene was the one on his knees in the snow, scrambling to save Bill’s life. Yet when Babe retreated into himself afterwards, grief-stricken and reeling, Gene was the one who anchored him to earth. His quiet conversation and soft smiles put Babe back together, piece by piece at a time. He’s got a gift for healing, in ways he doesn’t even realize. A guy like that... deserves every good thing in the world, and Babe wants to hand them all to him.

As it is, he can’t even write one lousy letter.

“He’s gonna hate it. He’s gonna... throw it right back in my face, cause he realizes he’s talking to a guy who can’t spell ‘adoration’. He’s gonna... he’s gonna...”

Laugh. Except that’s not like Gene at all. Be goddamn disgusted... except Babe knows Gene well enough by now to know that’s not like him either. It’s hard to tell with other guys, especially in the army, where shared foxholes can so easily blur the lines between friend and lover... but he’s seen a gleam in Gene’s eyes when other fellas talk about Rita Hayworth and Betty Grable, like he’s just humoring the conversation while wishing it’d go somewhere else. Babe knows the feeling. No, Gene could do anything, but he wouldn’t be disgusted that a guy loves him.

Maybe... just that it’s Babe.

Now you’re really being an idiot, Julian moans, tipping his head back towards the sky. Babe’s first instinct is to throw something at him — the hand holding his pencil twitches, but he’s only got one, and there’s no satisfaction in swinging at ghosts.

 “I don’t know what to say,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his jaw again. Dear Gene, the letter reads. I’m writing because I need to tell you...

That’s as far as he’s got. Not even a full goddamn sentence.

Have you considered... you’re overthinking it? You’ve gotta actually write something before deciding you hate what you’ve written.

“Julian, you’re a regular goddamn philosophizer.”

I’m just saying! 

Suddenly, Julian is no longer on the other side of the room. He’s looming right over Babe’s shoulder, his presence like a weight bearing down on Babe’s back. Every twitch of his hand is being observed, every uncertain breath noted. Geez, he didn’t crack during jump school training, but this pressure is enough to split him in two.

“Forget it!” Babe exclaims, throwing the pencil down onto the paper. “This was a stupid idea, I give up!”

No, you fucking are not.

There’s Bill again — Bill Guarnere, and his unbeatable determination to butt his head into everyone else’s business. Babe lifts his head, glaring into the spot he imagines his best friend standing. Bill’s answering glare is an echo of the real thing… and Christ, what Babe wouldn't do to see that familiar scowl right in front of him, for real! Bill always made things simple. There was no overthinking when he was around. When Babe was being an idiot, Bill told him.

I’m telling you right now, jackass — you're being an idiot.

“And you’re winning motivational speaker of the goddamn year.”

I’m not trying to win anything here. You are, and doing a piss-poor job of it. I could cry just lookin’ at you. Look at this — ‘I’m writing because’? What kinda opening line is that? Did they not teach you how to write letters in grade school, or were them nuns too busy beating the ginger outta your hair?

“Trying their best,” Babe mutters, subconsciously rubbing the back of his head, where the phantom rap of a nun’s knuckles still stings. Today’s a day for phantoms, he guesses. While Julian cackles begins him, Bill’s specter crosses to the desk, hovering over Babe’s paper with a critical eye.

No, he finally declares, like he’s handing Babe’s bayonet back with instructions to polish it all over again. That’s it. You can’t do this.

“That’s what I’ve been saying!” Babe exclaims, grateful to hear his subconscious finally agreeing.

You ain’t gonna be able to do this… Bill turns, then reels back around, sticking a finger in Babe’s face. So long as you keep thinking ‘bout what he’s gonna do when you hand it to him. What he’s gonna say once he reads it. You gotta write something before he can read it, you realize that, Babe? And you haven’t written a goddamn word worth reading so far. 

Babe assumes there’s a point here somewhere. He curls his fingers around the edge of the letter, waiting for it.

So, if you can’t get outta your own head… then write it as somebody else.

Bill grins, broad and shameless, like he always does when he ain’t making a lick of sense.

“You lost me,” Babe says. “Way back there.”

Keep the letter anonymous, Babe! Bill’s imagined face twists in frustration, his hand coming down to tap the paper. The silent impact rings in Babe’s ears. Don’t sign the thing. Leave it somewhere Doc will find it, and see what he does.

“That defeats the whole purpose of telling him how I feel!” Babe exclaims.

And how much luck are you having with that? demands Julian, coming to stand at Bill’s side. The two of them cross their arms, staring down at Babe with unabashed judgement. Burdened by the weird feeling that he’s being bullied by his own subconscious, he picks up his pencil again. What would Gene’s reaction be to finding a love letter unsigned? Babe imagines him pulling it out from under his pillow, or finding an envelope with his name on it at his makeshift aid station in the basement of Easy’s billets. How his long fingers would unfurl the paper, his lips mouthing the words silently as he read along… how his brows would furrow slowly, disbelief and awe swirling in the dark pools of his eyes… how eventually he’d look up, see Babe standing there waiting on him, and murmur, “Heffron, you’re not gonna believe this…”

And then what? Babe would pull Gene into his arms, and admit he’s loved him all along?

No. No way, not him. Not in this lifetime, at least.

Overthinking, Julian’s voice chimes again, and Babe’s never felt more tempted to swing at a ghost. Will you just write it already?

“Fine, goddammit!” Babe hisses. It’s frustration, really, that gets him to whip out a fresh sheet of paper… and as soon as he starts to write, the words flow from his pen like a dam’s burst open.

See you every day… know your heart… your caring… your sense of humor... impossible not to love you… wouldn’t know how to stop if I tried… love you more than I know what to do with.

I love you.

I’m in love with you, Eugene Roe.

Whatever you want is up to you… but I wrote this letter because I need to let you know.

He doesn’t sign it.

The envelope seals like a promise fulfilled; and when Babe looks up, he’s in the tiny attic alone.

------------------------------------------

It’s just his luck that Gene doesn’t spot the letter until Babe’s standing right next to him, alone in the cozy little infirmary.

Gene doesn’t miss a beat. “Hey,” he says, picking the letter up. “Babe, what’s this?”

There’s nothing on it, is the thing! No way to tell where it came from, and he knows Gene isn’t familiar enough with his handwriting to pick it out of a lineup. Babe stumbles back a step, alarm spiking as Gene holds the letter up. Playing dumb’s his only chance.

“Uhh… looks like a letter, maybe?”

Okay, not that dumb.

“Maybe,” echoes Gene, thoughtful, as he turns the envelope over in his hands. When his gaze is no longer piercing him, Babe can breathe again.

“Where’d you find it?”

“Someone left it on the chair. I sat on it.”

“Wow.” Wow, Babe. Just… wow. “You know, uhh, Vest made his rounds a little while ago, maybe something slipped from his pile. Or maybe he’s playing a joke, huh, you know that Vest —“

Why the hell is he implying Vest wrote his love letter?

“Doubt it was Vest,” Gene mutters, fingernail playing underneath the envelope’s fold as he carefully opens it. He even pries open mail like a doctor, slow and precise. Something in Babe’s heart soars at this tiny detail, and he almost wants to go to his knees in front of Gene right there.

“Well, it had to be someone,” he says instead, taking another few steps back. When he chuckles, it sounds shrill to his ears — like he’s fighting off the urge to scream. God dammit, Heffron, you’ve got all the subtlety of a rock, why’d you think this was a good idea?

It’s not. This is a horrible idea. He can’t look Gene in the face while he’s reading the letter, and if Babe stays here one more minute, he’s gonna give himself away. “Sorry, Gene, but I gotta go now — told Liebgott I’d help him with, uhh, this thing that he — needed help with, and… so yeah, I gotta do that.”

Gene looks up at him, distracted from the letter. Babe manages a grimace, and a tiny wave. “See ya!”

He can’t get out of the basement fast enough. Behind him is only silence, as Gene Roe begins to read.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Gene finds him much later that night, after the sun has already set over Zell-Am-See, painting the town in violet and blue. The late summer sky has always spoken to Babe in a way he can never explain, like a fist locking inside his chest and trying to tug his heart out. It’s nostalgia for a place far away, and a time he can’t return to. As daylight slowly fades out into inky darkness, Babe watches the sky, lost in a time when everything was simpler.

He doesn’t hear Gene coming until he drops onto the window ledge beside him. Babe isn’t jumpy, and Gene’s never startled him yet, so he doesn’t tumble over to the street below in shock… but the look on Gene’s face almost sends him jumping the fifteen feet down.

“Hey, Gene,” he says instead, quickly looking back out at the horizon.

“Hey.” Gene lets the word linger. He fumbles with a cigarette, long fingers moving deftly as he maneuvers his lighter. He gets it lit, and holds it out generously. Babe’s nerves would like nothing more, but his balance can’t take holding onto this will with just one hand. He shakes his head. With a shrug, Gene tucks the cigarette between his own pursed lips.

“You close up shop for the night?”

“Yeah. Unless someone stumbles around drunk and ends up knocking their head… or gets hit with a dart again. Had to pull it outta Perconte’s shoulder the last time.”

“Think I heard that from upstairs. Screaming like a cat the whole time, huh?”

“The man’s been shot before, and he complained less.” Gene exhales through his nose, blowing two long lines of smoke into the air. Babe’s eyes linger on it, transfixed.

“You, uhh —“ Suddenly, he’s frightened of silence, but his mind’s too scattered to keep a conversation in one place. “You get dinner?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Yeah.”

Quiet again. Christ, even when he was a kid, Babe could never stand the quiet; his Ma sometimes pushed him out of the house and locked the door behind him, just to get some peace. Why is it so hard to find words now?

“Look, Heffron —“ Gene starts, and the exact moment Babe blurts out, “Gene —“

They both go silent, staring at each other. Babe inhales, holding the breath in his chest until he feels like he’s gonna burst with it.

A familiar voice in his head — the one that’s a dead-ringer for Bill Guarnere — groans, Will you please spit it the hell out already?

“So,” Babe says, “the letter.”

“Yeah,” says Gene. His gaze doesn’t leave Babe’s, sharp as a needle.

“Look, I wanted to —“

“I know,” says Gene.

“I wanted to say —“

“Babe,” Gene cuts in. “I know.”

Finally, Babe meets his gaze head-on. It’s never possible to read what’s going on in Gene’s head, but his face gives something away, sometimes. The way the corners of his lips twitch when he’s trying not to laugh; the line that appears between his eyebrows when he’s really worried; the way his eyes go soft when he knows someone needs comforting, and turn to hot coals when he’s furious.

Right now, Babe can’t pick a damn thing out of Gene’s expression… but his eyes are very, very soft. It feels like a punch to the stomach.

“You know,” he says slowly, “but…”

The words linger between them for a long, charged moment. Babe’s chest feels like it’s caught in a compactor, being slowly squeezed until his lungs burst and his ribs turn to dust. He huffs out a laugh — a dry, desperate thing. “Jesus, Gene, you look like you’re about to break my heart.” Gene still doesn’t say a word; Babe looks up at him, wide-eyed. “Why’s it you doctors just love to drag things out? Rip off the band-aid quick, and save us both the trouble.”

“Edward,” he says gently, laying a hand over Babe’s own. Babe jerks away like he’s been stung.

“Don’t Edward me right now!”

“Babe,” Gene says, and his voice is softer than ever. Babe’s throat is tight, eyes stinging… but damned if he’ll let himself cry over this, not where Gene can see. Christ, he’s an idiot. He’s so stupid, he should never have done anything, why did he even think —

“I have known... for a while, now. Didn’t need a letter to tell me some things.” Gene pauses, like he’s chewing over the words, before adding, “But it was good to read. Just to know.”

“Now you know,” Babe replies, and inhales a deep breath. “You happy now?”

Gene doesn’t answer. When Babe risks a glance over, Gene isn’t looking at him at all anymore; his eyes are on the sky, watching as the first pinpricks of starlight pierce through the indigo curtain. He looks thoughtful, almost mournful. It gouges something in Babe’s chest.

“Gene,” he says again. “Are you happy?”

“I don’t know.” When Gene inhales, it’s almost like a whisper. When he exhales, it’s like he’s singing to the night air. “Thought about it for a long time. Trying to figure out how I feel.”

“You’ve had a whole afternoon to do it. You get it all sorted out yet?”

“Longer than that,” Gene replies. His gaze flickers over to him. “I told you, Babe. I knew.”

Jesus. So he wasn’t as subtle as he thought. Babe exhales, praying to make the sick-to-his-stomach sensation go with it. Instead, it just churns even harder. If this goes on any longer, he’s gonna need a damn bucket.

Gene’s never been the best with words; expressing himself has never been easy, which is why Babe’s gotten so good at reading between the lines. Gene’s really trying now — for his sake, Babe supposes. “Reading that letter, seeing all those feelings laid out on paper… Babe, you didn’t have to sign it. I’d ‘a known it was you, just from what you said. It was like… listening to your heart. And a part of me already does that every day, so I guess it was easy.”

Can Gene hear his heart screaming now? Babe grips the windowsill until his knuckles turn white, grounding himself. 

“I wasn’t sure how you felt before… and I wasn’t sure how I felt for you. Knew you felt something, but not what, and not how…” Gene swallows, pale throat bobbing. “But now I know.”

“Now you know.” Babe dwells on this statement for a moment before turning, hesitation heavy on his tongue. “So… what now, Gene?”

Gene takes a deep breath, clinging to the night sky for one last moment, before turning his gaze on him. “Do you— “ He pauses, licks his lips. “Do you really mean what you wrote? All of it?”

“Gene,” Babe replies, “I meant every word.”

Something calms in Gene’s eyes, like a storm settling. Babe isn’t expecting the way his gaze clears, or the flash of steely certainty that follows. “Well,” Gene says, “there’s only one thing to do.”

Another thing Babe isn’t expecting — how sweet Gene tastes when his lips are suddenly pressed to his own.

Somewhere far away, beyond the depths of his own consciousness — which is really just a victory parade and firework show, that’s all he’s capable of at the moment — he thinks Bill would be proud of him. Beyond the grave, Julian’s probably cheering for him, glad his buddy’s finally getting some.

For once, though, their voices are drowned out completely. It’s impossible to hear anything over the storm raging in his ears, which only swells to a fever pitch when Gene leans back and smiles at him.

“Well, Babe,” he says, as Babe cups his face like a reverent thing. “Think we can figure things out from here.”

“Jesus, Gene,” Babe declares, and swoops in to kiss him again.

[bladekindeyewear]

HS^2 bloggin’ mainline 2020-04-02

Alright I’ll fix the broken images later right now lets goooooo read the updaaaate I’ve been only spoiled on the chapter title

I don’t even wanna guess.  Jake?  This makes me think of Jake for some reason, even though that doesn’t make much se-- oh right the Vriskas are locked in a school closet with a dead clown.

> CHAPTER 7. Distress Call From the Closet

Yep.

Also, this is how a car design looks when it was invented to have its first appearance be it flying with a human named Tavros looking out from an open side door.

(I’m not ENTIRELY against designing something for its immediate-art-use-purpose first and functional or historical-origination thought later, but usually when you make it that obvious that that’s what your doing it’s best to make that fact funny.  Like the Conveniently Shaped Lamp.)

Also I appreciate this using of Candy as kind of more lighthearted breaks in the action?

> (==>)

I thoguht that protruding fang (?) was drool for a second and wondered what the fuck they were up to in this closet all of a sudden.

Vriska, thriving on it, has not felt so decadently alive in a very long time. Tavros has never in his tragic existence felt so close to death, which is surprising to him.

Vrissy is trying her best not to grapple with any cosmic truths at the moment, since she’s getting a phone call in the middle of hiding for her life.

Vrissy’s implied to be somewhere in-between all that by this joke.  I bet she’ll be comparing herself to Vriska and Tavros alike throughout this mess, wondering where on the spectrum she lands and being ashamed of it AND both of them regardless.  Vriska Original had a ghost version who went on a fair bit of a Page dress-up thing and personality shift, so maybe we could expect Vrissy to struggle with being caught in the middle of the scales... or does that qualify as overthinking it classpectways?

VRISSY: Yeah Harry I would say we are Extremely Aware of the Situ8ion. VRISSY: As it Unfolded the fuck all around us.

Good Christ, Vrissy’s selectively-capitalized Kanaya-isms continue to be cute.

Oh, he’s on speakerphone.

> (==>)

Yep, telling Rose and Kanaya would be the smart thing to do, but it isn’t the Them thing to do.

--ROXY’S PLACE?!??  Hoo boy.  On the other hand, though, we get more Roxy, so it evens out.

Also, I like how Harry Anderson has to spell out Harry Anderson’s entire name for his Harry Anderson chat tag every single time.  Harry Anderson.

> (==>)

Part of the reason, Tavros thinks, that he’s been so game to continue on with the worst plan anyone has ever concocted, is that the more bullshit they endure, the longer they can put off actually doing anything that matters.

If he’s getting sprayed with a sprinkler and getting clown feet in his face, it’s a farce. It can’t hurt him. But if they get to the part where he’s shoving the uncooperative weight of his uncle’s corpse in an incinerator, he will stop floating in protective semi-consciousness above his body and it will all be real.

Ouch.

Can’t one of you assholes just captchalogue him?  Or did you leave all the appropriate-strength moduses at home?  Even you Vriska??

Oh, right.  Everyone knows and you can just leave him here.  Good call.  I mean you don’t really have to worry about forensic evidence with the pictures circulating.

> (==>)

VRISKA: 8ye 8itch.

Oooh!  That feels satisfying!  Yeah, tell off Gamzee’s corpse!

...Wait.

If they just leave Gamzee there, Jane can revive him, can’t she.

Fuck.  Maybe it’s up to Jake to try and stop that.

> (==>)

Karkat and Meenah resistance-time, then, with them presumably hearing about this development on the internet.  Wow, Meenah’s horns are getting long fast.  Plus a hint more of her grown-up self’s height.  I didn’t think she’d keep maturing so fast with her absurd lifespan ahead of her.

Oh shit, I didn’t see at first--

Right, Candy might still be lighthearted compared to the broader plot just due to lowered stakes, but it’s still the Carpet-Bombing-and-War-Filled Shituniverse.

Trolls are made for the battlefield.

From the moment a troll oozes out of the mother grub’s pulsating sphincter, through the trials of the brooding caverns, across the brutal day to day slog of Alternian society, all the way to their Ordeals, to the sucking void of space. They are bred for nothing but endless war.

But Commander Vantas...Commander Vantas is different.

Is... is Meenah narrating right now?  Because fuck.

Or so all the pamphlets say.

The actual Commander Vantas has blisters on his heel and has been taking pot-shots at scouting drones for the last six hours. He could use a bath, honestly.

Or is this one of the trolls on the side narrating who’s kind of internalized the stories of trolls’ prior warlike nature?

> (==>)

MEENAH: yo nubs is that u MEENAH: pretty rank KARKAT: OH MY GOD. KARKAT: I FLATLY REFUSE TO BELIEVE THAT YOU CAN SMELL MY NATURAL MUSK OVER THE STENCH OF BLOOD AND BURNING FLESH.

I guess it probably was Meenah narrating, then.  Unless it’s a really biased alt!Callie doing the talking.

MEENAH: didnt i warn u bout thinking tho? KARKAT: GOD DAMMIT MEENAH, DON’T MEME AT ME.

I don’t know what meme this is and I really don’t want to know.

They have had this argument more than once. In fact, both of them could play either side of it. Karkat has done his time in the field, of course, leading small guerilla operations to free prisoners and sabotage Crocker’s supply chains, but Meenah and the rest of the council is right. Which is why he’s here, instead of at the front lines with his rebels, where he belongs.

His true value is his face. His symbology. At the end of the day, he is a fucking ad campaign.

...is KARKAT narrating here???

SWIFER: boss check the news!

Oh shit, right, Swifer is in the resistance in Candy instead of just a breeding assistant in Meat as the bonuses remind us.

KARKAT: OH FUCK. MEENAH: what KARKAT: JESUS CHRIST. MEENAH: nubs i swear 2 god KARKAT: IT’S GAMZEE. KARKAT: HE’S DEAD. MEENAH: oh MEENAH: well shit KARKAT: I CAN’T FUCKING BELIEVE THIS. MEENAH: u okay KARKAT: NO!

Huh.  Them’s some complicated feelings that could fall in basically all directions at once.

Also, I can’t believe Karkat has hung around humans enough to fully internalize the full-throated exclamation “JESUS CHRIST”, which wouldn’t even really be a thing on Earth C with people who aren’t from Earths B or A.

MEENAH: u outlawed fishpuns i gotta make my own fun

How could you, Karkat.

KARKAT: AND I GUESS IF YOU CALL AN OBSCENELY PUBLIC PALE ACT, PERFORMED IN A FUGUE OF DESPERATE PANIC INTENDED TO PREVENT HIM FROM MURDERING ALL OF MY FRIENDS INSTEAD OF JUST HALF OF THEM “A THING”. KARKAT: THEN YES, I GUESS WE HAD A THING. KARKAT: BUT IF YOU’RE ASKING ME IF I’M SAD THAT HE’S DEAD? KARKAT: ABSOLUTELY THE FUCK NOT.

Okay, I’d hoped not, good...

KARKAT: THAT’S NOT WHY I’M SAYING FUCK A BUNCH OF TIMES. MEENAH: u need a reason to say fuck a buncha times KARKAT: SHUT UP. KARKAT: LOOK AT THE PICTURE.

--Right!  That’s a good reason to not be okay.

KARKAT: I DON’T THINK SO? I CAN’T SEE HER EYES IN THIS PICTURE, BUT SHE’S COVERED IN BLOOD, AND SHE’S CARRYING GAMZEE, SO SHE’S CORPOREAL AT LEAST.

I love this form of analysis somehow.

KARKAT: OKAY...HERE. OH. OF COURSE. CROCKER IS CLAIMING HER SON WAS KIDNAPPED AND FORCED TO PARTICIPATE. KARKAT: AND THEY’VE NAMED ME AS THE MASTERMIND. MEENAH: well we woulda taken credit for it anyway so this saves us the time MEENAH: thanks jane owe u one

Meenah isn’t the “concerned” type.  Lemonade out of lemons.

> (==>)

That middle tweet is my favorite.

Oh dear, “#GamzeeAnon”...

KARKAT: SHIT. OF COURSE THIS WOULD HAVE TO DO WITH FUCKING SERKET. KARKAT: LITERAL MONTHS OF PLANNING, HOURS AND HOURS OF LOGISTICS, AND ALL OF IT GOES UP IN SMOKE BECAUSE OF ONE SPIDERY ASSHOLE. KARKAT: SHE *WOULD* FIND SOME WAY TO WRECK MY SHIT FROM BEYOND THE GRAVE.

indisputable

KARKAT: NOW? KARKAT: NOW WE PIVOT FROM THE SUBLIME TO THE RIDICULOUS.

Um...

What does that mean?

I’m having a lot of trouble not only understanding the basic meaning of what he’s saying, here, but understanding why KARKAT of all people would employ it.

......it’s a meme, isn’t it.  Gotta be.

> (==>)

(Ooh, an eyepatch designed to invoke a Strider-shade.  Nice.)

KARKAT: I NEED TO TALK TO EGBERT.

But....... why??

> (==>)

Oh right, cause his son’s girlfriend is involved.

> (==>)

Oh my goooood what a pair of John and Roxy caaaars! :D

He is too busy with these mental gymnastics to notice his father’s car parked outside.

Ah right.  John’s... not on the best terms with him, I recall that.

> (==>)

Ohhhh myyyy goooood what an image!!!

John, Roxy, and Harry Anderson proceed to have the tail end of a conversation they had before, in another medium.

What the fuck!?  Harry had that conversation WHILE this dead body situation was going on?!  Let me reread that linked bit...

(And she has such a somber smile on her face, but given the conversation content it’s not surprising.)

Harry Anderson looks at the two of them all teary and laughing and hikes his bag higher on his shoulder, shifting his weight. Roxy sees a muscle tighten in his jaw. Her beautiful, smart boy. She wants to run over and hug him, to protect him from the possibility of pain at talking to his father, but she doesn’t. She knows how much he’s wanted this, no matter how much he jokes about it.

She looks back at John, and sees her own awe mirrored in his face. She wills him not to cry, not to fall back on his self-imposed suffering and blame loop. Something about the last hour must have done the trick, though. John stands up, brushes his hands on his jeans, and walks, back straight, toward his son.

JOHN: hey harry anderson. JOHN: it’s really, really good to see you. JOHN: do you wanna go for a drive?

The muscle in Harry Anderson’s jaw clenches a few more times, but when he smiles, it is genuine.

HARRY ANDERSON: yeah, dad. HARRY ANDERSON: that could be cool.

Oh son of a bitch.  Well isn’t that entertaining.  Harry you’re just going to ditch your friends for I’m kidding, this is life fulfillment you’re aiming for, of COURSE you’re going to agree.  (Too bad bringing the current situation in is gonna throw a wrench in things.)

> (==>)

Oh right, that means more of THIS Vriska and THIS John.  They’ve had a good start talking already, I wonder what more they can learn from each other.

HARRY ANDERSON: but no worries, i asked my mom to pick me up some snacks so she’ll leave to go to the store in a sec. HARRY ANDERSON: just sneak in after she leaves and hide in my room, and i’ll be back in a bit.

Harry you enormous shortsighted asshole.  And John’s about to learn all this from Karkat over the phone to blow his cover.

> (==>)

aaaaa roxy art i cannot :D

Wonder if her stealthiness attunement is gonna catch them in the act?

> (==>)

From this jealousy bit, I wonder to what degree Earth C humans are used to Troll quadrants and their various interplay mores.

> (Room: Examine yourself.)

Oh, a proper room introduction for Harry Anderson!  Very fashion-focused, very liking the spotlight--

Oh wait, shit.  This is traditionally where classpect associations are hinted more obviously than anywhere else.  Time to stop holding back on the classpect stuff and take in every fucking word with capital-C Classpect fully in mind.

A bedroom stands empty. There is no boy standing in this bedroom, or indeed anyone else. However, if the boy whose bedroom it was were here, one might remark that his name was HARRY ANDERSON.

And FUCK, one might say, does he like MUSICAL THEATER.

Spotlight, definitely.  But is it for the attention? The possibilities? The acting?

He has been in his fair share of school plays, but he has LOFTY ASPIRATIONS to STAR in bigger and better productions. He especially appreciates modern MUSICAL REMAKES of classic OLD EARTH MOVIES. It's a craze that not everyone is happy about, but in the absent boy they have found a DEVOTED FAN. There is also just enough overlap between his taste and his father’s to allow for SOMEWHAT STILTED CONVERSATIONAL BONDING from time to time.

Hmmmm.  Is it about the majesty of important works of media (I see “Pokémon” and “Alien vs Predator” up there...), or is it about the fact that they’re remakes of past works?  Those are a lot of awards and stage lights now that I zoom in to look... and hats... hats could be important......

The boy who is not yet here has also been known to dabble in ACCESSORIZATION. He could be described as a COBBLER ASPIRANT, a NEOPHYTE MILLINER, or even a BIT OF A WHIZZ WITH A NEEDLE AND THREAD.

Oh, interesting!  Not just putting out different outfits, but making them?  And Milliner is hat-specific creation...

His mother got him his first SEWING MACHINE when he was 10, to keep him from using hers all the time. His looks are HAND-CRAFTED, often IMITATED, but never DUPLICATED.

Space is obviously possible from sewing, but-- A focus on uniqueness!!!  The broader theme is getting VERY specific.  You might feel where I’m leaning already.

His COSTUMES appear in various AMATEUR PRODUCTIONS, the devising of which takes up most of his FREE TIME. His friends are usually LESS APPRECIATIVE of his attempts to dress them up than he would like, though.

Holy fucking shit.  He dresses up and makes unique HATS for his friends and others.  Specifically so they can use them as COSTUMES to act parts!!!!

And the other unique thing mentioned about him here took the time aside to note how he appreciated the intersection in personal interests between him and his father for it.

So you all know what I’m thinking, right?  HATS???  It’s got to be Heart, isn’t it.  Maybe even a Page of Heart, with his long-off aspirations and talent for arming others with it.  Any other additive/giving class might do the trick, too, like Sylph or possibly Maid.  Knight could technically still fit pretty well, but I feel Page is better given what little we know so far, what with so much outward focus bleeding out.

(You can comb through the saga on my infamous hats tag or the summary on the Aspect Duality post, but the gist is that hats (and others’ clothes, but especially the hats. even shoes -- SO many shoes in that picture!) represent the gist of an expressed identity, personal uniqueness whether innate or affected ala a costume.  Nepeta, Dirk, Terezi, and even Stitch have given us examples, some of them deeper than we realized, MOST of them probably overthought bullshit like I thought when I first created the hats tag and started tracking the wonderful importance of hats. ¬_¬)

I’d like to see anyone else’s interpretation. (EDIT: One more potential Nep-allusion in this room.)

> (==>)

Oh nooooooo!!!!  Tavros’s sprite is the saddest looking thing I’ve ever seen!! D:  Like a mix of Jane and Jake that thoroughly regrets his entire existence!  Which he practically does!  D:  Why the Caliborn-like clothes though?

(Some hint at “how different alt!Callie’s Caliborn must have been” like the commentary suggested exploring in fanfiction?  Was the suggestion meant to divert attention from the idea that it’d be addressed in the plot?  Andrew pulled that trick a time or two, why not these authors?)

Also:

Pffff.  Vriska just accessorizing immediately--  Oh, wait.  That might just be a bandana she had at some point coated in Gamzee’s blood. 

Tavros is looking at the news on a borrowed phone -- nice call on disabling the tracking on yours, Tavros.

> (==>)

TAVROS: It’s getting a bit surreal to see my, uh,, frozen mask of horror on every news site,, TAVROS: It’s a good shot of you,,, though, Vrissy, VRISSY: It really is Shockingly well composed.

Heheheh.  It’s fun that Tavros knows exactly what Vrissy/ka would care about.

And yes, Vriska is over there trying out ALL the bandanas.

> (==>)

VRISSY: Oh, is trying on all my 8oyfriend’s accessories not passing the time well enough for you? VRISKA: Desper8 times call for desper8 measures, Vrissy. VRISKA: And this is some dire shit.

They stare each other down. Did she mean the fugitive situation, or Harry Anderson’s fashion choices? Vrissy feels silly wondering this, but despite the situation they’re in, she can’t help but feel more acutely anxious about Vriska’s presence.

She likes her life, and she trusts her own choices. But now, looking at everything from Vriska’s vantage point, it all feels silly. Unimportant. Childish.

She can’t tell if she wants Vriska to rip in to Harry Anderson or if she wants her to stay silent. To put off the moment where she has to defend him or join in.

Real interesting.  Like she’s caught between these worlds after all.

> (==>)

They say it was a long drive, but...?

...WOW.  What a chill, disinterested-looking affect his sprite makes for.  Huh.

He kisses Vrissy’s temple and she leans in to the warmth of him.

HARRY ANDERSON: aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. HARRY ANDERSON: so sorry it took so long. HARRY ANDERSON: can’t rush a heart to heart, you know how it is.

Stop making me deliberate whether you’re trying to drop teasing Heart-aspect hints.  You already know I’m going to be obsessively scrutinizing every word of dialogue around Harry to see if it fits, story. No need to rub it in.

VRISSY: You actually had a Heart to Heart with your dad? How many times did he Cry?

I DIDN’T EVEN READ THE NEXT LINE QUIT SAYING HEART TO HEART YOU EVEN GAVE IT PROPER CAPS THAT TIME

HARRY ANDERSON: but god, it was a mess. i had to keep talking to keep him from looking at his phone or turning on the radio. HARRY ANDERSON: i may have told him more about my deep passions and emotions in the last hour than the whole rest of my life combined, just to keep him from hearing the fucking news.

Holy shit.  You exploited conversation about your deep passions and interests for a separate goal???

Aaargh!  Classpect everywhere!  I’ve relapsed!!!  D:

> (==>)

JOHN IS SO HAPPY

John Egbert has not had a day like this in a very long time. He can barely keep track of this series of epiphanies he’s having. He stretches out on his couch to relax and process the gifts of advice and connection his friends and family and ex-family have just given him.

OH RIGHT TIME TO RUIN IT WITH MAXIMUM SHENANIGANS

JOHN: hey karkat! great timing! JOHN: so much just happened and im kind of reeling about it. KARKAT: YEAH NO SHIT.

Ohhhh.  Much of the time I hate dramatic irony, but those moments before someone is about to be let in on the discrepancy... oh man I love that.

JOHN: is something going on? i just spent the afternoon with my son, and i think he would have told me if something was up with his friends? KARKAT: OH MY LUSCIOUS SHITTING CHRIST JOHN LISTEN TO ME. JOHN: listening!

"Luscious”??  Did they try to type “Lusus” and get autocorrected?

Who’s writing Homestuck on their phone???

> (==>)

J...John?? Are you okay?? XD

This picture.  These two paragraphs.  I fucking love them.

(Wow, being closer to the “canon” story due to ridiculous shenanigans right after his back-to-back self-insights and outlook changes have really been healthy for him huh.  He can probably sense HS^2 reaching him out here.  And you can see the helpless comedian his probably-still-depressed ass became on Earth B in his reaction here. EDIT: Also, how appropriate that even by DYING, the Bard of Rage managed to fulfill his role and shatter the last vestiges of John's narrow-outlooked despair?)

John can’t answer. He can’t speak. His body has given itself over to the long-lost feeling of manic euphoria. It had felt like Harry Anderson was holding something back on the drive earlier, but he had already told John so much. He hadn’t wanted to press for more.

Yeah... after what John’s gone through across his life and session, finding out Harry managed to hide THIS for a whole car-ride is the best sort of punch-line for him.

John can’t breathe. Something is happening. Something is finally fucking happening, and he’s finally awake enough to appreciate it.

--yep.  I was just guessing earlier, but this kind of confirms it’s in part a closer-to-relevance, closer-to-canon feeling bleeding in.  Something is happening that’s important enough to SHOW onscreen and not skip over.  I guess he really does like being anchored in Light after all.

> (==>)

John wheezes himself into relative calm. He has to get Karkat to understand. He clears his throat and breathes.

JOHN: karkat, this can be how we win. JOHN: i know what we need to do.

...holy SHIT.

Karkat, how did you know calling JOHN about this would work out this well??

John actually taking confident action to solve a problem, in a way that isn’t going to end up depressing like his attempt to provide Tavros escape in the Epilogues... this should be interesting.

See you next time.  (I had to image-fix some stupid linked hat posts for this blogpost and I’m out of energy, so I’ll fix the other old post I promised that asker to fix in like, a day or two; I’ll post when I do.)

[danganronpasurvivoraskblog]

The Infiltration

Eh? Who the fuck are you?

Um. Apologies...I got a call about a broken light?

Oh...so you’re the repair guy? Arrived quicker than I thought...

I like to be on time...

Well good. Yeah, a couple lights on the second floor of the building went kaput...We were thinking the circuit broke or something...The main box is on the outside of the building, just down the hall to your left.

Thanks. But um...Sorry if this seems like I’m being too personal, but would you mind if I took a look at the indoor circuit too? 

The fuck? Why?

It’s just to get a better look at the whole system...yeah, I’d rather not bore you with the details...I don’t wanna do it either, but it’s company policy.

Don’t worry, I won’t touch anything I’m not supposed to.

Hm...Fine, if that’s the case. There’s a security office on the left.

Thank you very much.

So...Security Office.

*He takes out the walkie-talkie that he had hidden in his pocket.

Hey, this is Shuichi. What’s my next move?

Kyoko: Good. You’re inside. Where are you right now?

I hid away in the security office. There’s no one in here with me right now...

Kyoko: Ok, good. Keep an eye out in that room. There should be a map of the whole building.

Ok, I found it...Ok, so Eje Karma’s room is on the top floor, and it looks like there are three ways up...The stairs, the elevator, or the fire stairs outside...

Chihiro: I think the best course of action would be to take the the fire stairs. The electric box is out that way, so you wouldn’t get caught...What you do from there, I don’t know...

I’ll figure something out...It’s just to my left out the office, right?

There’s the box that Chihiro cut...Sorry buddy, but I guess you’re not being fixed today...

Hey! You!

H-Huh?

You. You’re the repair dude, right? Here to fix the lights?

U-Um...yeah, I am...

C’mere a sec...got somethin’ ya need to look at...

O-Ok...(Shoot...Don’t have a choice...)

*Shuichi follows the guy to the second floor. He leads him into an office.

Look at this. Our fucking TV’s not working...Mind fixing it for us? Powers on but nothing’s showing up...

Um...Well, I’d like to, but unfortunately, TV’s aren’t really within our expertise...

Oh Bull-fucking-shit! Look, you’re an electrician! TV’s run on fucking electricity! Get the fuck to work, and maybe I’ll pay ya extra...

(Dammit...What to do...)

Kyoko: Shuichi? What’s going on?

Huh? What’s that? I just heard a voice...

Oh, s-sorry, that’s my work radio...L-Let me switch it off...

*Shuichi reaches into his pocket and turns off the walkie-talkie

(That was close...but I’m still in deep...I’ve never even fixed a computer before! How am I supposed to fix a whole Television!?)

We’re waiting...!

S-Sorry um...

Hm...It looks like the TV itself isn’t broken...The connectivity isn’t right...

Don’t you gotta take off panels and fiddle with the wiring and shit?

No, there’s no need for that...I’ll just have to...

S-Sorry for this...

*Shuichi smacks the top of the TV. Unfortunately, this gets no reaction...

Hey, don’t break the damn thing...!

I know, I’m sorry, but it’s really just that simple...Mind if I hit it a little harder?

Just don’t crack it or nothin’

Th-Thank you.

*His face profusely sweating, Shuichi hits the TV with his knee. Surprisingly enough, it works, and the TV turns back on.

(Y-Yes!)

Damn! That’s cool! Didn’t realize it was that easy.

Well, I can’t say I blame you. You seem to have a good head on your shoulders...

Whatd’ya mean?

Normally when these types of things stop working, a lot of people try and give it a good smack to get it working again.

Guess you didn’t want to risk it...

Ah, I see...well, thanks for that. Sorry ‘bout all this...I’ll letcha get back to work...

Thank you...

*Shuichi goes to leave the room, but then as he does, someone else walks in.

Huh? The fuck are you?

Oh, s-sorry...

Captain Karma! This is the dude who came to fix the lights. We just had him take a look at the TV.

Yeah, what he said...(It’s him! Eje Karma!)

...

I-Is something wrong sir...?

You...You ain’t the usual guy...That’s kinda weird...

Oh...(They have a usual guy!? How often do the lights go out in this building!?)

(Then again...this place does look a bit run down...and there’s so many people taking refuse in here...)

This is the first time anyone else’s come for us...What happened to him, huh?

Tch...I’m gonna get to the bottom of this...

Ah, sir wait a moment!

What is it?

Th-The thing is...um...

I feel like there’s been a bit of a mistake down the line...What company did you have your men call?

Huh? Called in Light Electrics...Ain’t that the company where you work...?

Ah...I see the problem...

What?

I think you might have called in two repairmen...I’m from a different company.

What company...?

It’s called...Um...

Kalls: 1. Breaks: 0...

“Kalls: 1 Breaks 0?”

Yes, Calls spelled with a K. K1-B0 for short...

Can’t say I’ve hearda you...

Yeah, so I guess someone else called me in accidentally...

...

...(Please buy it! Please, for the love of Atua, buy it!)

I see...Well, sorry ‘bout all this...You gonna get back to work then?

Yes sir, if you’ll let me. I’m terribly sorry about all this...

Nah S’okay...Just a bit of an error I guess...

Need me to pay you or somethin’

No, it’s fine. Someone already told me they’d sort it out after I was done...

Well, you do your thing. Sorry ‘bout all this, again...

*Eje goes up the stairs to his office.

(Wow...I am surprisingly good at lying!)

(Well...at least I tricked him...That was terrifying though!)

*Shuichi hides in a quiet corner where no one can see him and turns his walkie-talkie back on.

Kyoko: Shuichi! Respond! Please respond...!

Sorry Ms Kirigiri, I’m here...I didn’t mean to worry you...

Chihiro: Oh thank god...You’re ok. I feared the worst...

So did I...I had a run in with Captain Karma, but I was able to trick him.

He’s probably back at his office above me. But in order to get there, I need to take the stairs...

Kyoko: So, what’s the problem?

There’s a locked door, and I can’t get in...It’s a security lock too, so I can’t pick it...

Chihiro: Hm...You’re on the third floor, right Shuichi?

Yeah, I am?

Chihiro: Would you mind going to the window and opening it?

Um...ok...

*Shuichi opens the window and recoils in surprise as Chihiro’s drone flies in through the window.

Ah!

Chihiro: I worked with Kazuichi to make a modification to the drone...Stand back.

*The drone flies to the lock and a small, screwdriver looking instrument extrudes from it. A few electrical sparks glow as the screwdriver touches the lock, and then it suddenly opens.

Ah! It worked!

Kyoko: Those stairs will take you to the roof Shuichi. If you go up there and go down the fire escape, you should be able to get to Eje’s office.

Got it...

Er...

*Shuichi gets to the roof and witnesses a couple of the gang members having an argument. More specifically, it seems like a brawl is going on and a bunch of people are making bets.

Chihiro: I can see about...14 gang members there...

Kyoko: They look busy. I think you should try and sneak past them...

Got it...

*Shuichi scales the edge areas of the roof and works his way around several pipes and stacks of crates that are just lying around on the roof. He easily manages to sneak past the fight and then runs into a fence. In an attempt to climb it, he scales over and unfortunately lands on an unbalanced pile of crates.

Uh...AH!

*He loses his footing and slips, which attracts the attention of the fight observers...

Hey! Who’re you!?

Ah w-well...

*Before Shuichi can reply, three gang members strut up to him and grab him.

Alright...Screw it!

*Shuichi removes his hat and in self defense, headbutts the man who grabbed him. He dodges punches from some other assailants and then jump kicks another guy.

Ah...WAH!

Oh no!

*After being knocked back, the guy Shuichi kicks falls backwards off the roof of the building. Shuichi, at the fastest speed he can run, rushes up and grabs his leg, saving him from falling to hsi death.

AAAAHH! H-HELP ME! I DON’T WANNA DIE!

Easy...now!

*Shuichi, with as much strength as he can muster, is successfully able to pull him back up onto the roof. The thug passes out from the shock of the situation though. Shuichi sighs in relief, but that relief is washed away when he realises he’s surrounded.

Who the fuck are you, you bastard!?

I’m...

Wait...!

Huh?

C-Captain...

*Eje struts onto the scene...

...

Captain Karma...?

Let me guess...You really ain’t some maintenance guy, are ya?

Apologies, no...I wanted to speak to you about something of utmost importance, and unfortunately, this was the only way I could do so...

Awright...Tell me something pal...

Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t have your skull smashed in with a slab o’ concrete!?

...

Simple...You owe me...

Huh!?

Your buddy was just about to fall off the roof and I saved his life...In this gang, you believe you should repay the people you’re indebted to, right?

I don’t know about you, but I think that includes me now...

...

Captain Karma, don’t listen to this fuckers talk! He’s trying to buy his way outta this...

I should also tell you that my allies have already have us surrounded secretly. If you kill me, there’s no way you’re getting my body out of this building...

Tch...

I don’t know what you want, but tell me who you are...and maybe I’ll consider it...

My name is Detective Shuichi Saihara.

Detective? Wait, you’re a cop?

No, not exactly. I’m a detective, but I don’t work for the police.

...

Fine...

What!?

Hey, assholes, get back to work!

Spud! Chum! You two come with me and...Shyhara, to my office...

Thank you for your hospitality Mr Karma...

You got this Kyoko?

Kyoko: Yes. We can see you with the drone. Looks like you got caught huh?

Sorry...I failed you again...

Kyoko: You did no such thing. Your mission was to get an audience with Karma, and you’ve succeeded. But do me a favour. Don’t tell him about your walkie-talkie unless you absolutely need to.

Got it...!

*Shuichi follows Eje and his goons.

[sworn-unbeliever]

30 - Splinter

(or: The Unchosen One) (or: The Completely Canon Story of How Teremy Arrived at Norvrandt)

((The last entry! I wanted to go out with a bang. Or a diatribe since this entry is really long. First of all, a huge thanks to @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast, an amazing person who tirelessly(?) organizes this event and with such passion and love. You’ve inspired so many to write or post, including me. Thank you so-so much. Also thank you to @abeat once again. I had asked her to have the Exarch describe Jeremy and she ran with it. She is amazing and hilarious and I can’t thank her enough for that and everything she’s done.

I debated whether or not to break up the story of how Teremy came to Norvrandt into a 3-part story for free Sunday. Then I opted to take Sundays off. But because of that, I decided to do this story as the last entry, and all in one go. Thus this entry is probably more digested than what it could have been. Either way, I had this silly idea stuck in my head for awhile about the sword in the stone and I finally got to write it. A huge thank you to anyone and everyone who has stuck around with me, my obsessive, self-indulgent stories, and this sarcastic musician-poet-dancer-thug up until now. You can also find me at @adeat, @quasionion, and @aspected-benefic. Until next time!))

Wc: 5,250

“Apologies for taking you out like this, but the citizens are as baffled as the local doctors. Perhaps you are able to shine light on this precarious situation.” said Lyna.

The two arrived side by side at the Rotunda. Upon Lyna and the Exarch’s arrival, commonfolk and guards alike parted, allowing them to pass. The Exarch didn’t have to go far to see what Lyna had been talking about. There in the center of the crowd laid an object that had not been there previously—a sword with a third of its black blade lodged in an oddly specifically-shaped stone. In fact, said object seemed so foreign that it looked as though someone had played a practical joke. Yet, as the Exarch held a hand towards the blade, he sensed great powers within.

“Whomever or whatever had brought this object here is no ordinary being.” said the Exarch. “The question is… what is this sword’s intended purpose?”

“This is why we’ve called you, my lord,” said Lyna, “in which you may hopefully shed light on this puzzling matter.

The Exarch held a hand to his chin and tilted his head. “Hm. ‘Tis most puzzling indeed. Perhaps I may attempt to divine an answer.”

Lyna bowed. “Please do, my lord.”

Closing his eyes, even though no one could see as such, the Exarch called upon the powers bestowed upon him by the Crystal Tower. He looked into the divide between worlds to see who the foretold hero would be. Using his phenomenal magical powers, he created a portal to show an image of the foretold hero. The crowds gasped in awe and wonder at the vision shown to them—a handsome, brown-haired miqo’te with a smile that radiated like the ever-present sun.

“Yes, I see it now. He is someone who is brave, kind and true. He is always kind to all creatures except his enemies. His enemies are creatures who are the bane of all that is good within our world. He feeds hungry orphans and houses needy animals. He is wise, benevolent and handsome—”

“What does being handsome have to do with being a legendary hero—” Lyna mused quietly under her breath. “Wait, is he feeding those orphans bacon bread?”

“—courageous and more powerful than anything across the land and sea—”

Lyna had never before doubted the wisdom of her grandfather, but she felt that was about to come to an end if this sweeping description continued for much longer.

“—he will come to us and slay all of the Light Wardens, Vauthry, and every last Eulmorean—”

“I doubt that’s necessary. Since when is mass murder heroic—” Lyna started to say.

“He is also chiseled like a god of war and has a magnificently long—”

“My lord, perhaps you should to try to summon the hero now?” Lyna interjected to prevent the description of the foretold from quickly going from a PG-13 rating to an 18+ one.

The Exarch coughed. “Yes! He is indeed the destined hero—the one foretold in the records.”

In the background, Moren, holding a tome, nodded vigorously.

“I see…” The Exarch held a hand to his hood, “... I see his name! His name is… Jeremy! Jeremy Itsubishi!”

Lyna quietly sighed, relieved that at least the remainder of the lengthy description had remained decent. “Where is this one, this Jeremy Itsubishi?”

“Alas, it may seem that he is… in a realm far beyond us. Much like the ones that have been drawn before.” The Exarch said tactfully. “But fret not. Mayhap with my magics I may be able to summon him here. Please stand back. I can guarantee neither the accuracy nor the drawbacks of this spell.” He held his staff in front of him.

The crowd, including Lyna, took large steps backwards to give the Exarch all the space he needed.

Closing his eyes again, the Exarch once again drew upon the powers bestowed to him by the Crystal Tower. He channeled his energies to cast a spell—one of which he had much practice. A giant, flat circle appeared in thin air. The Exarch reached inside, his hand vanishing into the hole. Bystanders peered to the sides and out the other end of the portal, yet saw nothing. A few moments later, the Exarch grinned like a cat that had just pounced on its prey.

“I have you now. Throw wide the gates!” the Exarch bellowed.

Everyone in the vicinity raised their arms as powerful gusts of wind billowed violently, yet somehow everyone’s feet remained firmly in place. The Exarch pulled his hand out of the portal. When the the portal vanished, all that remained were the Exarch himself and what he had pulled out.

Or, rather, who—a miqo’te, or mystel as they were known in these parts.

Blinking a few times, said miqo’te-mystel rubbed his eyes, one foot forward in a natural fighting stance, and looked around. “What the fuck is this place…? Can a guy ever get two winks of a rest? God fucking dammit! Agh. Next time, send me a warning ahead of time before you drag me through time and space?”

Lyna gestured to the brown-haired miqo’te-mystel that had just arrived. “Benevolence personified, my lord.”

Not one to be deterred that easily, the Exarch cleared his throat and spread his arms wide. “Welcome, destined hero, to the Crystarium in Norvrandt. I am the Crystal Exarch and I am the one who have summoned you here. You are the one fated for a destiny greater than you could ever imagine, Jeremy Itsubishi!”

“Jeremy…?” the brown-haired miqo’te-mystel asked. Rather than the higher pitch than the Exarch had imagined, this seeker spoke in a lower pitch with a natural velvety growl, even discernable from one word alone. “You mean my brother?”

Silence.

“... brother?” the Exarch asked.

“Jeremy’s my younger brother. I’m his elder twin brother. Teremy.”

The Exarch said nothing.

The crowd said nothing.

Lyna gestured to the brown-haired miqo’te-mystel again. “Once again, your aim is impeccable, my lord.”

* * *

“Teremy…?” the Exarch repeated slowly. “In what realm does one name their child ‘Teremy’?”

“I ask myself that every single day of my life,” said the aforementioned Teremy.

“Hmm.”

Placing a hand to his chin, the Exarch circled around Teremy, looking at the seeker up and down in a similar manner as one would appraise a fine piece of art. All the while, Teremy stood ramrod still, arms firmly at his side, his ears shooting straight up to the sky. Teremy sensed no malicious intent from this very familiar-sounding miqo’te, but at the same time, the longer the Exarch stared at him, the higher Teremy’s fight or flight thermometer rose. Any second longer and Teremy’s instincts will bolt him out of the room, whatever intention they had with him or no! Thankfully for Teremy, the appraisal process ended sooner, rather than later. The Exarch returned to his original position of in front of Teremy, his hand still on his chin.

“Well, he seems to appear the part on first blush,” said the Exarch. “He is quite handsome and his face, height and frame match the appearance of the one seen in the vision. Yet, there’s something different about him. I’m afraid I can’t quite place a finger on it.”

“Is it his hair, m’lord?” Lyna asked.

“Come to think of it, his hairstyle is different,” said the Exarch. “Rather than a lampshade, his hairstyle appears to be rather… messy? Side swept? But no, ‘tis another facet, one I’m failing to discern.”

Right then and there, Teremy wished his hairstyle looked like his brother’s. Then his mind could click on a light bulb as to what the fuck was going on.

“Then perhaps his build, m’lord?” Lyna asked.

The Exarch gave Teremy an appraising look up and down. “Yes, well, while the frame fits, his muscles are certainly much… larger. More pronounced. His shirt may as well be a second skin. A venerable god of war indeed. Perhaps he does even have a magnificently long—”

Teremy flattened his ears and pulled his hood over his head. “Out of sight, out of mind. Out of sight, out of mind. Out of sight, out of mind—”

Lyna cleared her throat. “My lord. Although the spell may have been deceived by facial likeness, perhaps we can still take this situation to our advantage and have him try to pull out the sword from the stone anyway.”

Teremy pulled his hood back down. “Sword in the stone…?”

The Exarch gestured to something behind him. “Yes, well, we had attempted to call the hero seen within a vision to pull this sword out from the stone. Perhaps you can feel the blade’s energies from here? I can sense it. And it has been and shall be foretold—”

Moren, tome in hand, nodded vigorously again.

“—that a hero will pull this sword from the stone and use it to save our world.”

“That’s one hell of a story for you to drag someone all the way through time and space,” said Teremy.

The seeker paused to regain his mental state. He had taken on an empire. Primals. Violent illegal cartels and their lords. Getting dragged through time and space seemed like a logical next step. He pinched himself to see if he was dreaming. Pain. Bad idea. Yet he still stood amid a crowd and in front of a hooded miqo’te no less. Pulled through time and space all because his brother was needed to fulfill some kind of prophecy. And it wasn’t like Teremy could nope out of there. He had no idea where he was in the first place.

Might as well see this great big fuss first.

Teremy turned around to see exactly the description—a sword in a stone. Nothing more, nothing less, except for the sword itself. Teremy recognised the type of blade right away.

A gunblade.

The chamber was the largest thing Teremy had ever seen. The blade itself thick with a black coating except for its sharp edges. What was a gunblade doing here? What was it doing in a stone? Waiting to be picked up like a hero of legend.

Indeed, a legend: Teremy’s own brother.

The seeker’s mind jumped back to a point in time when Jeremy pulled out that own gunblade. Wherever he had found it mattered not. The thing got destroyed in a later ensuing fight anyway, but the point of the matter was that Jeremy had kept it. Prior to then, the younger Itsubishi brother had never shown any particular interest in the gunblade. But then again, things changed. Did Jeremy’s sudden affinity for the gunblade show some kind of destiny at work? Fate’s guiding hand that gestured the way?

And then fate in the form of this Exarch guy nabbed the wrong brother.

Teremy approached the sword in the stone. The crowd and the Exarch took a step back to give him some space.

‘Well, what the hell. Might as well give this a shot. Nothing left to lose.’ Teremy thought.

He gripped the gunblade’s handle. Immediately he felt the smooth coolness as though forged to fit his hand perfectly. He and Jeremy had the same size and shape of hands, but different dexterity, with Teremy being common and right-handed. Then why did this grip feel so natural? Why upon its touch did he feel like his very arm had been stuck in the rock and not this sword’s blade? Did Teremy imagine things? Fully expecting the blade to take his arm off the moment he pulled, Teremy yanked the handle with all his might.

His arm swung straight up with so much force, Teremy fell backwards. He shoved one foot behind him, quickly regaining his footing. The crowd gasped and murmured, but not the kind of gasp that he had expected. Not disappointed but not awed.

Confused?

Flecks of rock and debris trickled down on Teremy’s head and face. After shaking his head, he lowered his arm to see that he had indeed pulled the sword out.

With the sword still lodged in the stone.

In fact, Teremy not only pulled the sword out, he pulled the stone out as well.

Holding the blade sideways, his left hand cupping the flat end of the blade—or, rather, the stone—he turned back to the Exarch. “Does this count...?”

The Exarch’s pursed lips told the whole story. “Hm. Perhaps I truly need to perfect my aim after all.”

“There is always next time, my lord,” said Lyna.

Teremy’s ears darted around to the front and the side to catch the audio filtering in.

Disappointment.

Chatter.

Norvrandt will forever lord under the curse of an ever-present sun. Sin eaters will reign until the end of days. Teremy frowned and stared at the sword-still-in-the-stone again. His mind flashed him images of a time when he still lived under his father’s roof. A time when Teremy had been nothing but a disappointment to his father. A time when he protected no one but himself. His fight or flight radar soared near the top, only to be stopped by a roadblock called his ire. In just a few short moments, Teremy had been dragged around just to let others down by virtue of not being special, and that was that?

The Exarch placed a hand on his hood. “My apologies. I must return to my quarters. Also, I apologise again for inconveniencing you. You are free to stay here at the Crystarium as long as you’d like. We shall summon your brother in due time.”

He leaned on his staff. Teremy held a hand forward to brace him, even if he didn’t feel like he had a right to be in the Exarch’s presence. The Exarch turned his head towards Teremy and smiled.

“Thank you, but I shall be all right. This is nothing new. Believe me.”

Lyna sighed. “Yes, he is correct. This is nothing new. Teremy, if you don’t mind, I shall take the Exarch to his chambers.”

Without knowing what else to say, Teremy held onto the Exarch until Lyna got her hold on the cloaked figure. Once the two headed back, the crowd dispersed as quickly as Teremy had arrived. Teremy looked at the sword-still-in-the-stone.

“What should I do with this thing?”

No answer. Everyone had gone their separate ways. And now Teremy had no other choice but to do the same. Exhaling loudly, he placed the sword-still-in-the-stone on his back where he usually strapped his gunblade. May as well make use of it. Thanks to years of extensive training, he felt very little difference in weight. Had to be good for something.

Teremy wandered south. Some things remained the same as he knew them to be, yet different. Same gardens, though in circular plots with lampshades hanging overhead. Trees yielded leaves of not only green, but lovely shades of lavender and blue as well. Long lamps and domed areas that shone an unearthly shade of blue. He definitely wasn’t in Eorzea anymore.

But the question was… now what?

“Um! Are you Teremy?” asked a vaguely familiar voice that sounded like that of a small boy.

Teremy whirled around to see a dunesfolk lalafell looking back up at him. Blond hair parted in the middle, crimson eyes that matched his bandana and jacket, and an aura of magic surrounding him. But moreso than the lalafell’s presence or his appearance, his voice caught Teremy’s memory cue. Where had he heard that voice before?

Just in case Teremy’s mind played tricks on him again, he spoke cautiously. “Now all of Norvrandt knows my name. No thanks to that spectacle earlier.”

“Spectacle? Ah… I must have missed it.” the lalafell asked. “I just got here myself. Thought to take a walk and get a good idea of this place. Understand your surroundings and all that.”

“Fair. Then how do you know me?”

“I was part of the group that catered to that dance auditions. You know, the one you took part in. When that plant monster attacked, I was your co-tank. The, uh, paladin, if you can call it that,” said the dunesfolk.

The lalafell’s words acted as a cue that triggered Teremy’s memory. The dance auditions in Costa Del Sol. A disgruntled auditionee summoned a giant plant monster in retribution. What Teremy had once believed to be just the catering crew turned out to be an astrologian, a white mage, and a paladin—although more like a hybrid spellcaster who shielded his entire body with big guard and flung magical swords like a red mage—who helped the dance crew fight off the sudden foe. Teremy distinctly recalled the voice of said paladin who warned the party of dangers. A young boy’s voice.

A voice exactly the same as this lalafell’s own.

The lalafell nodded and smiled. “You remember! So you are Teremy Itsubishi?”

Teremy nodded. “If you’re looking for Jeremy, he’s… not here. Unfortunately for the prophecy.”

Joey put his stubby finger to his mouth and tilted his head, looking down, as though weighing options of how to answer as such. When he craned his neck to look up again, he finally spoke. “I just happened to see you and you looked lost and confused. That’s all.”

The seeker rubbed his face. All those years of trying to look indifferent… thwarted by his bewilderment. What a day. “Right. You said you missed the spectacle. Thankfully for my pride. At any rate, what’s your name again?”

“Joey. Joey Madison.” The lalafell gestured to himself with his thumb. “So, um, what brings you all the way to Norvrandt?”

“I—” Teremy started, but stopped. What was he supposed to say? One moment he was in Costa Del Sol chilling with his brother on the beach, and then the next moment he found himself sucked into a portal with only time to grab his clothes. Not even his trusty gunblade.

Joey tilted his head. “Here, come with me. My mistress, Reonora, also got summoned through the portal and I followed her here. She’s going to ask the Exarch some questions. He might have some answers for you too.”

‘Sure didn’t have any answers earlier.’ Teremy thought, but followed Joey anyway. Couldn’t hurt.

* * *

As it turned out, Teremy hadn’t been the only one who got dragged through a portal against his will—the entire Fortunes & Fancies crew—of which Teremy had correctly remembered as the catering crew at the dance audition—had been dragged here as well. The Crystal Exarch’s original aim was to find the fabled Warrior of Light, the one who had saved Eorzea time and time again alongside the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. Somehow, this extended to a humble shopkeeper trying to make a living, and both her retainers. Well, Rosemary, anyway. Joey had followed Reonora here by reopening the portal, but only due to traces of energies. He couldn’t open the portal back. In other words, in an attempt to find the Warrior of Light, the Exarch had pulled in nearly every single Scion of the Seventh Dawn, and them too.

For Teremy, because the Exarch had a vision of some legendary hero that could pull a sword from the stone. Now all Teremy had was the sword… and the stone.

Teremy folded his arms and said nothing as he listened to everyone else talk. To his limited thug mental capabilities, he gathered that the Scions had scattered at various parts around this world, and the Leveilleur twins happened to be the easiest ones to reach. At least from the Crystarium. Speaking of twins. Teremy bitterly wondered how one of them thought if they learned the other had been hailed some chosen hero, yet they weren’t the one and now they’re stuck here. No, no point to think about that. Things happened for a reason. Even though Teremy wasn’t exactly sure as to what yet.

“We should split up.” Reonora concluded. “I can go to Eulmore to find Alphinaud.”

Teremy unfolded his arms and stepped forward. “Then I’ll go to Ahm Araeng to find Alisaie.”

Everyone, including the Exarch, looked at Teremy in surprise.

“Are you certain?” The Exarch asked. “‘Tis true you have been pulled from your homeworld against your will—and for that, I deeply apologise. But you’re welcome to stay in the Crystarium as long as you like. There’s no need for you to go out of your way for this trouble, especially after the trouble I have caused you.”

Teremy cracked his knuckles. “Sitting still makes me antsy. Destined hero or not, I might as well make myself useful.”

Reonora held Rosemary’s hand. The keeper had clearly chosen who she wanted to take with her. Though she looked at Teremy as she spoke. “Then please take Joey with you. He may not look like it, but he is a versatile all-rounder. He should be able to help you in any capacity you need.”

Joey performed an eastern bow. “I’ll do my best!”

Teremy placed his right fist in his left palm and bowed.

“Then it’s decided,” said the Exarch. “Please speak to the Amaro Keepers once you have fully prepared.”

The girls headed out first, followed by Teremy and Joey. As the seeker and his newfound companion headed to the Amarokeep, Teremy wondered what he was going to do with this sword and the stone combination. He quickly concluded that he’d just carry the thing around. If nothing else, having the feel of a gunblade made him feel better, even if half of its blade was rendered useless. All else fails, he had an interesting sword-mace and story to tell Jeremy when he got home.

If he got home.

* * *

The last time anyone saw any trace of Alisaie, she was last seen at the Inn at Journey’s Head. From Mord Souq, Teremy and Joey traveled south—Joey on a flying chair, Teremy on foot. He needed some time to work off his nervous energy.

The blazing hot sun beat down upon them. Occasionally Teremy felt breaths of cold coming from Joey’s own aura. At one glance, he saw a few ice cubes hovering around the lalafell. Magic really could do anything. Although Teremy felt the effects of extra heat from his black clothes, he welcomed that feeling right now. He needed that reminder that he was still alive.

Expected of a place that bared an eternal sun, the Fields of Amber gave home to some of the largest sabotenders Teremy had ever seen. Gigatenders, as the natives called them. The two also passed by varieties of turtles and moles, but none of them gave the two any extra trouble. As they continued south down a rocky ledge, Teremy placed his hands in his pockets. His fingers grazed upon aether-charged bullets. To think, he had the bullets but not an actual gunblade to fire them. His gunblade had been left behind at Costa Del Sol. All Teremy had left was this part blade mostly rock thing. Maybe he could fire off a round or two and a Burst Strike would blast the rock off. He pulled the gunblade from his back and slammed the rock into a nearby larger rock. All Teremy felt was the other rock shatter upon impact. That rock. Not the stone, that looked not even a grain out of place.

Joey jumped and squeaked. Had Teremy not been in such a sour mood, he would have thought the lalafell’s noise to be cute. “Everything okay?”

“Too much sun.” Teremy strapped the gunblade to his back.

“Here, have some cold.”

Teremy never asked for anything, but he felt a cold breeze slowly billow around him. The miqo’te smiled a little. “Hypothermia.”

“S-sorry!”

“I’m kidding.”

“Oh!” Joey placed a hand to his mouth. “A sarcastic type. I see.”

“Glad we understand each other. Thanks for the cold, though. Feels nice.”

Teremy held one hand over the horizon. How much farther was this inn anyway? What kind of inn could even survive in the middle of a desert?

Just when Teremy thought he saw a trickle of blue like an aetheryte crystal coming from between two large rock formations, he also saw a flash of white streak across the sky. Pure killing instinct. And from Joey hopping off of his chair, Teremy knew that the lalafell sensed it too.

What they saw was a sight they had never seen before—beings of pure white with angelic wings but forms of monsters screeching from the sky and diving down towards what looked like hyurs in rags.

“Those are Sin Eaters! We have to be care—”

Joey didn’t have time to finish his sentence, for Teremy already ran ahead at full speed. Imbuing his body with the power of wind, he ran faster than Joey’s lalafell legs could keep up. The miqo’te thought he heard things from the lalafell like “—ful.” “This guy…!” and “Wait!” but too late. Teremy had already committed the moment he saw someone in trouble. And soon, one of the sin eaters keeled back in the air from Teremy’s shoulder tackle. A reverse roundhouse kick to send the next one flying. And a quick burst of qi energy launched like a projectile to push away the last.

“You all right?” Teremy asked what appeared to be hyurs.

And indeed they were. Or whatever they were called in this world—Teremy forgot the explanation nor did he have time to care. His strikes had only served as a distraction. The sin eaters regained their senses quickly and dove again.

“Go, quickly! I’ll hold them off!” Teremy whirled around and grabbed the gunblade strapped to his back. Footsteps pattered behind him. Good.

One of the sin eaters took a large dive at him. Teremy swung his gunblade, except that the weight at the tip felt much heavier than usual—not enough to knock Teremy off balance, but enough to feel the weight of that attack. Rather than slash and slice, the stone still attached to the gunblade bludgeoned the sin eater. Good show but not exactly what he was looking for. Taking a chance, Teremy filled the revolver with one aether bullet, snapped the gunblade back into place, and fired.

Ka-thunk.

The recoil of a burst strike sent Teremy flying back. He skidded on the ground to prevent himself from falling. And yes, to answer his question, the stone remained perfectly intact. Putting the useless gunblade away, he resorted back to martial arts again. A shoulder tackle. A series of hand strikes to points usually vital to humans, but the sin eater didn’t seem to recoil in the same manner. Now what?

A flechette of magical swords impaling the sin eaters answered Teremy’s question. Immediately following the hailstorm came bolts of fire. A sudden bolt of lightning that shocked the sin eater to its core. A bolt of unaspected energy flecked them, followed by a large gust of wind to blow them off target. Teremy watched as a red blur collided onto the sin eater in front of him, but it was the sin eater that inevitably went flying from a impact spell with Joey’s open palm as a catalyst.

“Careful. These sin eaters can sire you into one of them if they feel like it,” said Joey.

“Thanks for the heads up.” Teremy called back. ‘Huh. Magic and martial arts together. Don’t see that every day. Cool.’

Teremy turned around, raising his fists in a fighting stance. Now he and Joey stood back to back.

Turned out that these three sin eaters weren’t alone. Another screech and more arrived. Joey flung spell after spell. Lightning to unaspected kinetic magic. Wind to unaspected kinetic magic that sent sin eaters flying away towards Teremy, causing the miqo’te’s strikes to collide even harder. But the more sin eaters they felled, the more came. The more strikes the duo dished out, the more sin eaters clawed their way. Teremy felt more irritated than winded—the miqo’te was just getting warmed up. But Joey, as befitting of a typical spellcaster, felt his stamina ebb away from him. It wasn’t long before the lalafell fell on his knees, panting, using vercure to heal his and Teremy’s wounds, but the same spell couldn’t cure for Joey’s exhaustion.

Although Teremy could rely on his martial arts to attack, his very instincts reached to his gunblade. He had to be there. He had to be the one in front, to protect the party. To protect the people behind him. To protect his companions.

To protect…

Teremy clenched his teeth. He had known the answer all along. He just didn’t want to see it. He pulled the gunblade from his back. “You know what? Fuck this. I made a vow upon my honor to protect others. Destiny can go to hell!”

With the hardest swing he could muster, Teremy smashed the blade’s stone prison against the rock wall.

CRACK.

The stone shattered. The sword’s blade gleamed in the light, shining brightly like a smile from its first taste of freedom. His grip on the handle never felt any better. As he swung, he felt like this blade was not a weapon, but an extension of his own arm. Moreso than any blade he had ever possessed.

“C’mon!” Teremy beckoned to the sin eaters as his battle aura flared twice as brightly.

He vaulted into the air and spun around, sword outstretched. The blade cut cleanly into the sin eaters’ flesh. Another spin cut even deeper. Sensing the danger that shifted from Teremy’s battle aura alone, the sin eaters now flew away from Joey and towards Teremy instead.

Joey struggled to stay on his feet just enough to see Teremy call all the sin eaters in the vicinity to himself. Even in his tired state, Joey noted just how much the miqo’te’s fighting style had changed. Although powerful and graceful before, Teremy’s moves flowed much more naturally. Much more gracefully. Like he now had the means to complete his purpose. Still, there had to be something Joey could do. He watched Teremy spin around to attack all the sin eaters at once. But that alone, was that enough?

“Teremy. I got an idea. I’m going to imbue your blade.”

Whether or not Teremy had heard Joey, the lalafell proceeded anyway. Using Teremy’s blade as a catalyst, the lalafell summoned magical fire onto the blade. When Teremy spun, a trail of fire followed, cutting and burning into the sin eaters’ flesh. With their combined attacks and another flechette hailstorm, the sin eaters collapsed to the ground. Their bodies dispersed into the air, never to be seen again.

Joey flopped to the ground and sat down, exhaling. Teremy, too, panted slightly and leaned on the wall. The miqo’te laughed. Then Joey. And soon, the tension from the battle subsided from laughter of genuine relief.

“That was a good idea with the fire thing.” Teremy pointed the blade of his sword upwards and turned it with a flick of his wrists, reflecting light from the sun. “I’ll have to remember that technique for myself.”

“And you… you freed the sword from the stone,” said Joey.

Teremy stared at the black side of his blade. “I did, didn’t I? Heh… rather than be chosen, I forced my way, you could say.”

“Sometimes destiny is what we choose for ourselves,” said Joey. “Maybe the stone knew that.”

“Or I hit the damn thing too hard for its liking. Yeah. I’ll go with that story. Fate splintering off into the great unknown thanks to me.” Teremy strapped the gunblade to his back. “C’mon. Let’s go find Alisaie.”

As the two headed into the Inn at Journey’s Head, Teremy felt a wave of relief tide over him. Now he understood why he had been called to Norvrandt. There were people who needed saving and people he had to protect. He didn’t need to be chosen to protect others. He had already decided long ago what he wanted to do.

[eveningcatcher]

Main six + courtiers playing D&D part 2

"And then," you changed the fog, showing a campfire with orcs and goblin's in front of it, barbequing an already dead man. The floor was separated from the tiles, and their characters were hiding behind some rocks and trees.

"We can beat them up? Finally! It was about time!"

"Before you start though," you said, "I suggest that you position yourselves however you want, and I also advise the fighters to take out their weapons."

After a while of rambling and shouting, all of them have positioned accordingly: Muriel was next to Asra, who was near a group of 4 goblins, Volta was right behind Vulgora and Lucio who went straight for the ogres by the campfire, while Portia teamed up with Nadia and Julian. As for Valdemar, Vlastomil and Valerius, they formed a small team together, with Valerius right in front of the group of orcs and goblins, protecting the two spellcasters.

Read the whole chapter here

"Shall we begin then?" you asked as you handed them all d20.

All of you rolled the dices, and once you've all finished, the turn's looked something like this:

Valerius, goblin 1, goblin 2, goblin 3, goblin 4, Julian, Muriel, orc 1, orc 2, Valdemar, Lucio, goblin 5, goblin 6, goblin 7, Vlastomil, Portia, orc 3, orc 4, orc 5, orc 6, Asra, Nadia, goblin 8, goblin 9, Volta, Vulgora.

"How am I the last one?!?"

"You rolled 1," you simply responded to Vulgora's complaints.

"You know what? Fuck it, I'll beat them all anyway."

"Alright," you ignored Vulgora's comments and asked Valerius, "What do you do?"

"Let's see..." he took a glance at everyone's position, then on everyone's turns, "Those four goblins will kill you two," he told Asra and Muriel, "So I will throw one of my javelins at the goblin 1."

"Let me just check quickly if you can do that," you counted the tiles and said, "Yeah, you can. Roll a d20."

"I'm near him, so I expend one of my bardic inspiration dice for the attack!" Julian said.

"Okay," he said and threw the d20. It rolled on 15.

"Just enough," you smiled happily as you threw him two six-sided dices, "Now roll these two for the damage."

Once again, he rolled the dices without much care, getting 5 on both of them.

"It seems like you get just enough of everything," you said, a bit surprised, " But you made the goblin fall on the ground, dead. Now, it's the other three's turn," you raised a d6, "I'll be fair since the two of you are right next to each other. If it rolls on an even number, one goblin will attack Asra, but if it rolls on the uneven number, one goblin will attack Muriel, alright?" once the two of them nodded in agreement, you rolled the dice three times, "Let's see...6...5 and a...1. So, Asra, you will take 1 hit while Muriel will take 2. Now, let's see... Muriel, what's your armour class?"

"16..." he said, sighing.

"Okay, and yours?" you asked Asra.

"Eleven," they took a deep breath and straightened their posture, trying to look bigger, "But it's the strong eleven AC."

"Doubt it..." Julian said.

"Alrighty then," you took two d20 dices and rolled them, "Five and nineteen... One goblin misses you, Muriel, but the other one hits you with a..." you took a small notebook in which you've written all of the monsters, "Let's see..." you flipped through the pages until you've found a goblin, "He hits you with a scimitar and deals," you threw a d6 dice which landed on two, "Two plus two is... four damage."

"Write you new health points here," Asra explained to Muriel.

"As for you, strong wizard," you picked up one d20 roll, and threw it, "Four. The goblin failed."

"What did I tell you? My armour class is unbreakable!" they grinned with pride.

"We'll see about that..."

"Now it's my turn," Julian said happily, "Sooo, I'm going to move that one scary orc away with one of my amazing spell - DISSONANT WHISPERS!!!"

"Was that long introduction really necessary, doctor 069?"

"Roll a d20, and if you succeed, you must come up with something scary to say," you said.

"Very well then," he rolled a d20, rolling on 15.

You looked down at the list of the monsters, "How lucky..."

"And now, my 3d6!" he exclaimed dramatically as he grabbed the three nearest 6-sided dices and rolled them as he added, "There is a huge moth on your back!"

"Like Valerius, you rolled it perfectly," you commented, with a grain of salt in your voice, "I expected you to struggle..." you scratched the orc's name and continued, "Well Muriel, what will you do?"

"Do I have to fight?" he frowned, "Why did we attack them in the first place... Couldn't we just go other way?"

"No, because the plot demands it."

"Hey, I have an idea!" Lucio commented, "How about we start doing the exact opposite things of what MC wants."

"Do that and I'll send an army of orcs at you."

"Who gives a fuck about orcs! I'll kill them all!"

"Maybe if you get the chance to take your turn."

"I don't have any spells for attacking..." Muriel started.

"Then why did you even take the spells in the first hand?" Vulgora asked sarcastically.

"...But I have a scimitar... So can I attack one of the goblins?"

"Sure, roll a d20."

"19..." you looked at the dice, "You sure did hit him! Now roll a d6"

"5, not too bad!" you wrote something near the goblin 2, "It's now bloodied. Now, it's the orc's turn to attack! Since the first one is dead-"

"You're welcome," Julian added.

"The other one will attack, and it has to choose between you, Portia and Nadia... Let's see, if I roll 1 or 4 it hits you, 2 or 5 it hits Portia and 3 or 6 hits Nadia," you rolled the dice, "Two," you commented, "Portia, what's your AC?"

"Sixteen!"

"Alrighty then, let's see... the Orc hits you with a greataxe and they," you rolled the dice, "Hit!"

"Dammit..."

"And they will deal... 8 slashing damage."

"Well that orc can go fuck themselves too!" she commented as she edited her health points.

"Come on, don't get angry, it's just a game," Julian smirked.

"Valdemar, what will you do?"

"Well, I suppose I should get rid of that orc, no?" they pointed at the orc on the left, closest to them.

"Sure, what are you going to do?"

"Attack with inflict wounds," they rolled the d20, which landed on 20.

"Oh my god Valdemar!" you stared at the dice.

"They never played it and they're already winning."

"Give me the ten-sided one," they ordered with a touch of joy in their voice.

"Now roll it 6 times."

"Well then, let's see... five... nine... three... four... five... ten."

"Honestly, just the first three times were enough," you checked orc 4, "Now Lucio, what will you do?"

"Attack that one," he pointed at the one who was right next to Volta, "With a rapier," he rolled a dice, landing on 14. Once he checked to see if he dealt damage, he took a d8 and rolled it on 6.

"Alright, the third orc is bloodied!"

"And now the three goblins are attacking!" you said as you looked at Valerius, Valdemar and Vlastomil, "If I roll 1 or 2, they hit Valerius, 3 or 4 Vlastomil and 5 or 6 Valdemar!" you rolled three d6 dices, not wanting to waste time.

"Why me?!?" Vlastomil asked.

"Because I rolled 3 and 4," you gestured at the dices, "See?"

"Your ACs?" you asked the two of them.

"Sixteen," Valerius said.

"AC is this, right?" Vlastomil asked Nadia, who nodded, "It says twelve... That's bad right?"

"Well, it depends on what I'll roll. So, they all hit with a scimitar," you grabbed the three nearest d20 dices, "Let's see if they'll hit you, Valerius," you rolled one dice, which rolled on twenty, "Consul," you took a glance on him, who knew this was not good for him, "Please don't kill me for this."

"Don't worry," he sighed, "Just get over with it."

"Alright, the goblin deals... eight slashing damage."

"That one is so dead on my turn," he muttered.

"And me?" Vlastomil asked, a bit worried.

"As for you praetor," you rolled two d20s as you glanced over at the papers, grinning to yourself, then checking at the dices, "Two and twelve. One misses, while the other one hits you just strong enough to deal," you rolled a d6, "Five slashing damage."

"See, it wasn't so bad," Valerius said as he sipped his wine, "Stop making a fuss over everything."

"So, it's your turn now."

"I use chaos bolt on them!" he threw the dice a bit too fiercely, hitting Asra's glass.

They leaned over the dice and said, "Fifteen."

"Yeah, you hit them, now let's see the damage," you gave him the three dices.

"Three and two fives, " he said.

"Alright, good job, I won't ask you which damage you dealt, it doesn't matter, you killed it."

"It's what it deserved!"

"My turn now!" Portia shouted, "Let me kill that orc that hit me!" she took the d20, "I'll use my feat sharpshooter on it!" she rolled the dice, "Nineteen... ugh I was so close!"

"Still, you hit him," you commented.

"I did?" she asked with delight in her eyes, "Sweet! Then I'm going to deal," she rolled the dice, "Eighteen damage! Take that!"

"It's dead."

"As it should be!"

"As for orc 5 and 6," you said, "They go for the three of you," you told Volta, Vulgora and Lucio.

"Bitches can try," Vulgora puffed their chest.

"Eek, oh no, that's bad, really bad, what will I do?"

"Nothing tiny Volta, you're just going to heal us while we kill them for you," Vulgora pat her back.

"One or two-Volta; three or four Vulgora; five or six Lucio," you said with excitement in your voice, ' They're close,' you thought as you rolled the dices, "Both of them hit you, Lucio!"

"Bullshit!" he looked at the dices, "You better heal me after this!"

"Oh I will, I will," she bit on the last potato in one of the plates.

"My AC is sixteen, is that good enough?" Lucio asked, a bit nervous.

You rolled the dice and frowned, "Yeah, the right one didn't do anything, as for the other one... he deals 12 damage!"

"But my health points are only 15!" he complained.

"At least be grateful that you lived!" you ignored his other complaints and turned to Asra, "So, what will you do now?"

"I'll get rid of that weak goblin with firebolt!" he said as he rolled natural one.

"Yeah, maybe on the next turn..." you grinned, "And you Nadia?"

"Since we've cleared all of our enemies," she started, "I'll go to the campfire and take out the orcs before they kill Lucio," she grinned.

"Sure, and who will you hit with what?"

"The one that hit Lucio-"

"No way, I'm going to kill them!"

"With my quarterstaff," she ignored his complaints and continued, "I can use my dexterity for that-"

"You can," you agreed.

"And I'll use my unarmed attack as a bonus action."

"Cool, now go on and try," you waited for her to roll the dice. She didn't bother to throw it too harshly, and it turns out it was a good decision.

"Eighteen," you muttered, "Yeah, you kicked him," you waited once more for her to roll a d6, "With nine damage. The orc is bloodied. And your unarmed strike should be... 6, right?"

"Yes," she nodded.

"Well, the orc is dead."

"You're welcome Lucio," she grinned.

"Now goblin 8 and 9 will attack you!" you told Vulgora, Volta and Lucio, "Remember those numbers I told you! Let's see if you'll die now, Lucio!"

"I'm not going to be the first one to die!"

You have, once again, ignored his cries and rolled the dices. "Oh, both of them hit you, Vulgora!"

"Those two... I'll crush them!"

"They hit with a scimitar and," you rolled the dices, "If I remember correctly, your AC is 13, right?"

"Yes!" they proudly shouted as they saw that the dices showed 10 and 6, "Hah, what losers! They're dead!"

"Is it my turn now?" Volta asked.

"It is, what are you going to do?"

"Oh, I will heal the count!" she said proudly.

"Hurry!"

"Alright, alright," she winced, "I use cure wounds for that," she rolled Nadia's dice.

"You healed him for ten hp!" you exclaimed, "Congratulations!"

"Thank you," she blushed as she munched on a salad.

"And finally it's my turn!" Vulgora said, "I'll use my chad great axe to kill the remaining orc!" they rolled the dice, "Just enough!" they grinned as they rolled a d12, "Twelve, I rolled twelve!" they shouted.

"Twelve plus four..." you scratched the orc, "There are no more orcs! Valerius, what will you do?"

"I am a man of my word, therefore I shall go against that goblin! I'll throw a javelin," they said as they rolled the dice, to which he frowned, "Thirteen..."

"But with the dexterity bonus and proficiency, it's enough," you added, "Roll the d6,"

"Six..." they frowned once again.

"But, again, with the dexterity bonus, it's just enough. The goblin 6 is dead. Now, goblin 2, 3 and four will attack!" you rolled the dices, as all three of them landed on two, "Oh, sorry Asra."

"Don't worry," they smiled, "They won't be able to get through my unbreakable AC!" they joked, even though they seemed a bit nervous.

You rolled the d20 three times, "Let's see... nine, one and three... I might start to believe that you are right!"

"What did I tell you?" they sighed, relieved.

"It's my turn!" Julian said, "And I'm coming to the rescue for these two," his PC walked to Asra and Muriel, "I'll attack the hurt goblin with Vicious mockery!"

"Alright, you don't need a d20 on that, however, you have to insult them somehow," you laughed as you rolled the saving throw on it, "Your spell save is 16, right?"

"Yeah," he grinned.

"Alright, roll a d4," you said.

He grabbed the dice and threw it, dealing 3 damage.

"You should be able to kill it in the next turn, are you going to do it, Muriel?"

"Sure," he rolled the dice, "Is fourteen good enough?"

"Yeah, now roll that one," you gave him one of the dices.

"Just how many do you have," he muttered as he rolled a three.

"And it's dead, good job!"

"I'll kill that one," Valdemar said, "With chill touch."

"Alrighty, no need for a d20," you told them as you handed them a d8.

"This will take a while to clean," they commented as they looked at the table filled with dices and sheets, and rolled 5.

"It's now bloodied."

"I'll finish it off with my rapier!" he rolled the dice that landed on 12.

"Go on."

Lucio grabbed one of the d8 dices that were lying nearby and threw it, "Four, I killed it, didn't I?"

"Yup," you nodded, as you were scribbling something down, "What will you do Vlastomil?"

"Shoot them with my light crossbow," he said happily as he rolled the dice.

"Nine... sorry but it didn't work," you said as you rolled three d20s, "Maybe Portia will do better."

"Oh I will!" she said, "I'll use the sharpshooter feat and kick their asses!" she said as she rolled 13, "Oh... maybe sharpshooter wasn't a smart idea..."

"But if you add the proficiency and dexterity it's enough," Julian added.

"Ooh, nice," she smiled, "So, it's an instant kill?"

"Yeah, no need for you to roll the dice," you said as you rolled more dices, "Asra, will you do the deed?"

"I think I will," he chuckled as he took a glance at the spells, "With firebolt once again!"

"Thirteen," you took a quick glance at the dice they threw, then buried your head in some papers, "Good job, now roll the d10."

"Eight! All of them are dead!" they proudly said.

"Great, can we go get that dagger now?" Muriel said, a bit annoyed.

"Oh, but, you are at the Saint Milu's," you grinned as your plot twist unveiled, "Just not at the saint Milu's you thought you were at," you started to manipulate the fog as you talked in a low, raspy voice, "Hey there, look at what Milug found! A big tasty lizard!" a tall, heavily armoured orc said, "Milug can't wait to eat this one!" he raised the lizardfolk that struggled to get out of his grasp, "Love how it struggles!" he squeezed the lizardfolk's neck tighter, "Huh? Why is everyone sleeping...Wait, who are you?" he looked at the team, "What you do to Milug's friends?" his face got redder and redder, "You'll pay for hurting Milug's friend!!!"

"Alrighty," you straightened your posture as you took a glance at the enemies, "More of them appeared! And I've rolled their stats already, so the order should look something like this! Valerius, Milug, Julian, Muriel, Valdemar, wolf 1, orc 1, Lucio, Vlastomil, orc 2, orc 3, orc 4, orc 5, Portia, Asra, wolf 2, orc 6, Nadia, Volta, wolf 3, wolf 4, Vulgora. Notice that Milug is no ordinary orc! His attacks are much stronger and his health is higher! So beware!"

"I can't believe you did this to us!" Lucio exclaimed.

"Why are you surprised at this point?" Valerius asked, "Just try to count how many times they have trolled us in these..." he looked at the clock, "Four hours have passed already?!?"

"I told you that time flies quickly, didn't I?" you giggled, "So, what will you do?"

"I... guess I'll kill one of those wolves," he said, rolling a dice, "With a javelin."

"Alrighty," you looked at the dice, a bit taken aback, "Nineteen... Damn, not too bad, consul."

He rolled the d6 next, rolling it on 2, "So, only three damage?"

"Yeah," you said, "You should raise your dexterity on the fourth level. Now, Milug will attack!" you said as you changed your voice, "You're gonna pay!" Milug charged at Nadia with a great axe you rolled the dice, "Sixteen..."

"My AC is 17!" she said relieved.

"But you didn't calculate his bonuses!" you said with a smile forming on your lips.

"So he will attack dealing... 8 damage!"

"Valdemar, what will you do?" you turned to them.

"I'll use the spell from the scroll to attack Milug," they grinned, seeming to be excited about all of this just as much as you are.

"Go ahead, but that means you'll have to approach him..." you warned them.

"I don't care," he turned to Volta, "You'll follow right after."

"Why me, though?" she complained.

"Because you're the only healer," they grinned, "Plus you also have inflict wounds," they rolled the dice, "Is sixteen enough for this beast?"

"With all of the bonuses yes," you responded.

"Good," they said as they rolled 3 d10 dices, "Two, five and seven-plus my wisdom modifier?" they asked you.

"Yes," you commented, "So eighteen points less for poor Milug..."

"It's still not bloodied?" Lucio asked, surprised.

"Nope! And now wolf 1 and orc 1 will attack you Lucio~!"

"Why me again?!?"

"Because you are the closest! Now, let's see... none of them hit you though..."

"Haha!" he cheered proudly, "Now I shall kill that wolf with a rapier!" he rolled a two.

"Nope, Vlastomil?"

"I'll try to hit the wolf with a crossbow," he rolled 12.

"Yeah, you hit it."

"Good," he rolled seven.

"Just perfect," you smiled as you scratched that wolf, "But now there are four orcs... Two are near Portia, while the other two are near Vulgora and Volta."

"Eek," Volta shouted.

"Let's see what will happen to Portia first."

"Oh no, they won't!"

"We'll see," you said as you rolled the dices.

"See?" she pointed at the dices, "They didn't hit me!"

"Yeah, but I suggest you run away ASAP, you only have 2hp left," after you old Portia that, you turned to Vulgora and Volta, "As for the two of you, if I roll even number, it hits Volta, but if I roll uneven it hits Vulgora," you rolled the dices, "Six and four, sorry Volta."

"Oh please, please don't! My AC is only fifteen!"

"Fourteen and ten, how lucky," you commented, "So Portia, what are you going to do?"

"I'll run away from all of the enemies!" she stopped dramatically as she raised both her hands as if she were to shoot an arrow, "Then I'll hit Milug!"

"With sharpshooter?"

"No, because I assume the AC is too big," she rolled the dice, "Nineteen!"

"Yeah, you hit him," you said.

"Dealing eleven damage!" she said after she calculated the damage.

"Now, what will you do Asra?" you asked them as you wrote down Milug's new health.

"I'll attack the wolf!" they said, "With firebolt. Though only after I get to Portia..."

"Alright," you moved Asra's PC, "Roll the dice."

And so they did, rolling 10.

"With all of the bonuses, you hit it," you stared at the d10 they rolled, "And you dealt 10 damage," you wrote it down, "So close! But now the wolf and orc will attack you, Valerius! ... but they failed..." you looked at the dices with disappointment.

"I'll run away from Milug and try to kill wolf 3," Nadia said.

"Alright, roll it."

"Fourteen," she grinned as she rolled a d6 "So three, plus five, plus-"

"Yeah, it's dead," you stopped her and turned to Volta, "What will you do?"

"I told you already!" Valdemar looked at her.

"No way! Come here and heal me!" Portia said.

"I'll heal you," Valerius said, "Let her get to Valdemar."

"You can do that?" she asked.

"Once per long rest."

"Alright then..." her PC walked behind Valdemar's, "I cast inflict wounds!" she rolled seventeen, "I hit them, right?"

You nodded.

Once she saw your approval she rolled three d10s which landed on 10,7 and 5.

"All of that, plus your wisdom modifier..." you muttered to yourself, "Congratulations, Milug is bloodied!"

"Finally!" "Also," Vulgora said, "I'm activating rage!"

"Alright, so now wolf 4 will attack... you Vulgora!" you rolled the dice, "It succeeded-"

"That fucker!"

"Dealing 6 damage!"

"Fuck him!" they said, "I'm going to Milug and attacking with my greataxe!" they rolled the dice.

"Yeah, you hit him."

"So I dealt..." they started calculating, "Twelve damage?"

"Yes," you wrote down the new hp, "Congrats, you're getting the hang of it! Valerius, what will you do?"

"I'll go to Portia and attack Wolf 2 from a distance."

"Hey, what about healing me?" Portia asked, a bit angry, "You said you'll heal me!"

"Afterwards!" he responded, "Stop worrying, I'm in no better situation than you."

"I have 2hp while you have 4hp, so, I say you're doing better than me!"

"Whatever," he sighed, "I'm hitting wolf 2 with my javelin..." a grin formed on consul's face, "20... I suppose the animal is dead!"

"Yeah, don't bother with rolling the damage," you said, "Now it's Milug's turn! Since you're closest to him, he'll attack you, Valdemar, with his greataxe!" you rolled the dice, "But he failed..." you stared at the 2 on d20, disappointed.

"Well, then I shall attack orc 1!" Julian said, "With my amazing vicious mockery!"

"It failed a save," you sighed.

"And now, I shall deal," he rolled a d4, "Two...plus four-Sixx damage!" he stopped as he thought of an insult, "Your mom is so fat when she walked over the play in a theatre, I missed 2 acts!"

"Julian that joke is terrible," Portia giggled, "But whatever..."

"I'll go to the orc1 and attack with the scimitar," Muriel said, "I succeeded, right?" he asked.

"Yeah."

He rolled the dice.

"Congrats Muriel!" you said, "The orc is dead!" you scratched the orc's name, "Valdemar, what shall you do?"

"I'll cast poison spray on our dear Milug," they grinned.

"Sure, you're not hitting anyone," you rolled the d20 for Milug's saving throw, "I'm sorry, but with that natural 20, you failed."

They just rolled their eyes, "Whatever," then they turned to others, "Volta, you stay here, while others go and kill the other orcs."

"Who are you to give out the demands?" Lucio asked, angrily.

"Why shouldn't I give orders? Do you know anyone better for that?" they mocked him.

"They do have a point though," Nadia explained, "If we kill all of the orcs, then we will be able to focus only on Milug."

"Ugh fine... I'm going to orc 2 and hitting it with my rapier," they rolled the dice. Once he's seen it's enough, he rolled the d8.

"Seven damage... the orc is bloodied."

"I'll move to Portia and Valerius, and shoot that orc with my crossbow!" Vlastomil said.

"For a sorcerer, you don't use that many spells," Valerius commented.

Vlastomil ignored the rude comment and rolled the dice, "Twenty!" he rolled a dice, "Seven damage!"

"You roll once more," you explained to him.

"Oh, how great!" he exclaimed as he rolled the dice again, "Three..." he stared at the dice, disappointed.

"You killed the orc though," you said, "Now the other three shall attack! Since none of you is near them, they will have to move back to Milug!"

"You gotta be kidding me..."

"Nope, so anyways - 1 and 2 for Valdemar; 3 and 4 for Volta; and 5 and 6 for Vulgora!" you rolled the dices: 5, 3 and 3.

"So, they attack Vulgora, but since they have rage it's pretty much useless..."

"Haha, there you go, fuckers!"

"So, Volta..." you rolled the dices, "Eight and fourteen... wow, you're so lucky!"

"Phew," she sighed in relief.

"Portia?" you asked.

"I'll attack that wolf with sharpshooter!" she exclaimed as she rolled the dice, "Natural twenty!!! Oh my gosh!!! Let's see... 10 from sharpshooter, plus 2 plus 6."

"It's dead, therefore, now you only have orcs. Asra?"

"I'll attack the orc 6 with firebolt!" they rolled twelve, "that, plus my wisdom is enough!" he rolled the dice, "So... with everything combined... nine damage?"

"Yeah, it's bloodied now, and ready to attack... it walks to Milug and decides to attack you, Volta!"

"Oh no..."

"...And it hits, dealing... nine damage!"

"I only have 1 hp left!" she panicked.

"Don't worry Volta," Nadia said, "I'm coming to them, attacking Milug with the quarterstaff," she rolled nineteen, "And I'll deal... five...plus five... plus my bonus attack- sixteen damage!"

"Volta, what will you do?" you asked her, "Milug is close to dying, but so are you."

"Uhh...I'll use cure wounds on myself!" she rolled the dice and grinned, "Six, I rolled six!"

"Good job, tiny one!" Vulgora grinned, "Now I shall kill Milug!" they rolled the d20 which landed on 18, "Is this enough?"

"Yup, go ahead."

"Fuck yeah!" they rolled a d12, landing on twelve, "Is Milug dead?"

"Yes."

"Let's finish orcs now," Valerius said, "I attack the hurt one with rapier... And with this eighteen I hit it, dealing... seven damage!"

"It's dead."

"Now I will attack orc 3 with vicious mockery!"

"Again?" you asked as you rolled the dice, "Sorry, but it succeeded."

"Dammit..." Julian sighed.

"I hit the orc with scimitar," Muriel said.

"You hit him," you said.

"Six damage..."

"And this time," Valdemar said, "I'll go in front of the orcs and cast poison spray!"

"Let's see if you'll succeed," you rolled three dices, "You hurt everyone except for the fifth one."

"So, I should deal...thirteen damage combined?"

"Yes, orc 3 is dead, while orc four is bloodied."

"I'll go for the orc 5," Lucio said, "With the rapier!"

"Yeah, you hit it."

"And I shall deal... Two only?!?"

"Two plus three... five damage," you concluded as you wrote something down.

"I'll walk to them and use poison spray too!"

"Sure Vlastomil... no, I'm the one who will roll dices."

"Alright..."

"Yeah, you hit them."

"Oh, how great!" he said as he rolled d12, "Ten damage!"

"You killed them both! Congratulations, you've won! Now, as for the experience... let's see... Overall, you've gotten 2160xp. You can all share it amongst each other, which means everyone will need 120xp to get to the next level, or you can ration it amongst each other so that some of you can advance."

"Let's just share it evenly," Nadia suggested, "We'll get more XP later on."

"I agree, let's not waste any more time. We should go and tell the whole village we killed Milug!" Portia said.

"But didn't that girl say that we need proof?" Muriel asked.

"Don't worry, I'll fix that in a second," Lucio said as he took out his rapier and cut off Milug's head, "This should be good enough."

"Can we take the enemy's weapons and sell them?" Valerius asked.

"Yeah, you can, but the price will be less than the original."

"Alright, let's take it all!"

"But who are we going to sell it to? That shopkeeper doesn't want to see us!"

"Ilya can go there. Maybe the guy will feel pity over him when he sees his face again."

"Oh come on, why do you have to make fun of my face?!?"

"So you will take their weapons... which means you will take over 10 great axes?"

"Now that you mention it... how are we going to do that?"

"Maybe, like, we will take turns on bringing the axes?"

"Or how about we take only the most preserved axes?" Valerius suggested, "There is no point in carrying those," he pointed at some of the axes.

"He has a point," Asra said, "Let's take those five axes, I'll use prestidigitation to clean the axes, as well as clean ourselves."

"Sure, you'll take 6 great axes with yourselves."

"Alright!" Portia said as she nudged Muriel, "Lead the way!"

"You've been walking, and walking and walking until you got to the edge of the village."

"Let's go sell the great axes!" Portia said, "Come on Julian, let's got together!"

"Alright, the two of you went inside while others are waiting for you," you changed the background into the inside of the shop, isolating other players, "Sorry, but I have to."

"Oh no, it's you rascals again! I'm calling the gu-"

"Wait! We're here to sell things, see?" Julian showed great axes.

"Where did you get those?" he asked.

"We killed Milug!"

"Like hell you did."

"But we did sir," Portia picked up one of the axes that were in better condition, "It even has his autograph," she showed him the handle with a bad carving on it.

"You, you killed him!" the shopkeeper shouted as he realised it, "I, I can't believe my eyes... I'll buy it for 700 gp!"

The siblings looked at each other, trying to think if the offer was worth it.

"I say we go for it," Portia said.

"Not so quickly," Julian shrugged, "I'll roll my persuasion check to see if I can raise the price for 760gp."

"...Sure," you said after a moment of silence, "The AC is 18 though."

He prayed quickly and rolled the dice. After a couple of moments, it stopped near you, landing on 13.

"Your bonus is?"

"Plus six."

You shrugged, a bit disappointed, but still, you kept your word," Alright, you succeeded. That greataxe is sold for 760 GPS. As for the other 5 great axes... You can sell each for 11gp."

"Fair enough," both of them said.

"Alrighty, you sold things. Do you want to buy anything?"

"Um.... ten arrows?"

"Sure young lady," the man said, "That will be... 2 GPS."

"Here ya go," she said as she wanted to write her money down, "Wait, how much money did I gain then?"

"Everyone gained seventy-four gp, with one gp left for all of you to share amongst yourselves."

"Or..." Portia said with a smirk, "Maybe we could share that goldpiece between the two of us!"

"Others shall never find out about this," Julian handshake Portia in agreement.

"Very well then, I'll keep my lips sealed too," you said.

"I don't need anything, so let's leave already."

You broke the walls that deafened others, who immediately asked, "So, how much did everyone gain?"

"Seventy-four GPS each."

"Good enough," Nadia said, "Now let's go find that girl and get the reward."

All of them walked through the town, getting glares from people as they looked at Milug's head.

"Oh mi gosh!" the girl ran to them, shouting, "You did it! And you came back alive. I can't believe my eyes!" she stared at Milug's head, "That must be him, right?" with her finger she trailed the old scar on Milug's jawline, "That must be the scar my mom gave him... I remember when she came back after the fight with him....all bloody... and the only thing she said before she died was, 'I only scratched his jaw.'" she put her hands away from the hand, staying quiet.

"Yeah, that's depressing and all of that shit," Vulgora started.

"Not really," Valdemar cut them off.

"But what about the reward?" Vulgora continued talking.

"I..." she was silent for a moment, taken back by the apathy those two showed, "Follow me." she dropped her head low, leading them all to her house.

"Volta is sorry, so sorry for what happened to you," Volta's PC hugged the little girl, "Here," she offered a few her food rations to the girl, "Food always makes me feel better."

"No wonder you eat so much," Valerius commented.

"Thank you," the little girl hugged Volta's PC before she took the small pastry Volta offered.

"You know you're going to die of starvation if you continue giving everyone your food, right?"

"Why are you so generous to the useless NPCs of all characters?"

"You give food in the game like it's nothing, but you would bite my arm off if I tried to take even a bit of food."

Volta just winced at everyone's comments, unsure of how to react.

"Don't worry Volta, just keep doing what you want to do," Nadia reassured the tiny procurator.

"Oh thank you, countess! You're always so kind to Volta!"

"Here we are," the girl opened the doors of a big house, "Come on in. Please don't break, nor steal anything."

All of them walked into the house one by one, some struggling to fit through the door. The girl led them through the hallway, turning back from time to time to check if they were stealing anything. At the end of the hallway, they turned left, to the single door. Before she knocked, the girl turned to them, saying, "Please behave," then she turned back to the door, knocking, "Dad, it's me, I brought the adventurers I told you about."

After a couple of moments, a loud, sharp, 'Come in' could be heard at the other side of the door. Once she heard that, the girl opened the door, leading them all into the room.

"So you did it," the man stood out of his chair, walking towards Lucio who held the head. He took it from his hand and examined it, "It really is Milug," the man smiled as he put the head on the table, "Words cannot express how grateful I am for your actions," he shook Lucio's hand.

"But money can," Julian added.

"But money can," the man repeated Julian's words with a smile, "You've done this village a favour, so here," he walked back to his table, picking up a tray with 11 pouches, "Here, take them. Each one of them should contain 150gp, along with," he took the coupons from the bottom of the tray, "These. Each one of these coupons can give you 50gp from our dear shopkeeper."

"Thank you," Asra said, "Do you know any place where we can spend the night?"

"Do not worry, my friend, I'll let you sleep here, but just for tonight."

"That's all we need, thank you," Nadia said.

"Do you know where Saint Milu's church is?" Portia asked them, "We wanted to go there."

"That church has been abandoned for as long as I remember," he said, "But if you wanted to go here, sure. It's east from the village, a half-day of walking after the bakery."

"Thank you, we shall head there tomorrow," Valerius said, "But now we should finish the long rest, no?"

"Yeah, he's right, let's sleep now."

"Fine," you shifted the surroundings, changing it into dark bedrooms that are separate from everyone. All of them could hear you, but not each other. "You sleep and recover fully, yay. Also Volta," you turned to her, making sure others can't hear you, "When you woke up, you found the note beside your bed: 'Thank you for confronting me today,' with a necklace attached to it."

"Oh, that's so kind of her," Volta said, with small tears forming in her eyes, "It's so nice that people in this game are nicer to Volta than people in real life!"

"The necklace requires an attunement though," you told her, "Just wear it while all of you travel to the church. That should be enough time."

"Alright, Volta will do as you say," she put the necklace on, hiding it beneath the layers of her PC's clothes.

"So anyway," you shifted the surroundings yet again, putting them all together, "You've healed completely."

"Let's go to the shop and buy something!" Portia said happily.

"Sure, you went to the shop," you showed the inside of the shop, once again, "What will you buy?"

"I'll buy ring mail," Volta said.

"Oh, yes, I have one of those just for you," the shopkeeper smiled, "That will be 40gp."

"I also want a scroll with cure wounds."

"So 90gp total, young lady."

"Alright," she handed the man the coupon with additional 40gp, "I have leather armour if anyone needs it," she said.

"Can I take that?" Asra asked, "I'll give you 7gp for it."

"Sure."

"Thanks!" Asra said, turning to the shopkeeper, "I'd like to take a healing potion."

"That will be 55gp, young man."

"How much is it for 20 javelins?" Valerius asked.

"Hm," the shopkeeper mumbled something to himself, then after a couple of moments thinking, finally responded, "3gp."

"I'll take that, along with a longsword and lance."

"That will be 35gp!"

"Can you give me the remaining 15gp from this coupon?" Valerius asked him.

"No, sorry sir, you'll have to spend it here."

"Guess I'll use it some other time."

"Give me studded leather armour," Valdemar demanded with a grin.

"I, I here," he handed them what they wanted.

"Pleasure doing business with you," they said, putting the coupon on the shopkeeper's table.

"I'll also take a potion of healing," Nadia said.

"I'll take inflict wounds spell scroll!" Vlastomil said as he handed the shopkeeper the coupon along with 5gp.

"Question, do you have Charlatan's die?"

"Yes my scarred friend," the shopkeeper told Julian, "That will be 75 gp!"

"Alright," he handed the man the coupon along with money, "Now I need to attune to this?" he asked you.

"Yup, but you should be able to do it while walking," you said with a smirk, "I'll put the rules aside for now."

"Something tells me we're going to be fucked up," Portia said with a nervous laugh.

"Yes," you responded with a grin as you looked into the papers, "You've come to Saint Milu's church!" you changed the surrounding to the front of an abandoned church, "What now?"

"We get in!" Vulgora shouted.

"Very well then," you changed the terrain to the party's familiar tiled floor in the church. The church was old, cold with some small ponds of water in it. But ahead of it all was a huge white dragon, "You'll have to defeat the dragon in order to get the dagger."

"I told you we're fucked!"

"Should we roll the initiative?" Nadia asked as she took the dice in her hand.

"Yup."

After all of them rolled and calculated their initiative, the order was, as shown:

Dragon, Nadia, Valerius, Vulgora, Portia, Asra, Julian, Volta, Lucio, Muriel, Valdemar and Vlastomil. As for the positions, they decided not to part yet, so they put the ones with the strongest AC, Valerius and Nadia in front, along with Vulgora, who just wanted to go and beat the life out of that dragon. Right behind them were Lucio, Julian, Muriel and Vlastomil. All the way behind were Asra, Volta, Valdemar and Portia.

"Well then, this dragon has 200hp."

"Two hundred?!?!?" Vlastomil asked, clearly shaking, "How in the world are we going to kill that?"

"There is eleven of you, this shouldn't be that much of a problem," you commented, "Plus everyone will advance to level three immediately after this fight."

"Seems like a good offer," Nadia said with a smile, "So, the dragon will attack?"

"Yes, using it's mighty claw to attack you, Nadia!" you rolled the dice, landing it on 4, "And it fucking fails!" you said a bit frustrated, "How did I succeed to fail... Whatever," you calmed down, "Nadia, what do you do?"

"I walk towards it and attack it with my quarterstaff!" she smiled as she rolled 14.

"Yeah, you hit it," you said, still a bit salty, "You hit it when it had 18 AC! Fucking eighteen, and I couldn't hit you..."

"So I have the same AC as the dragon," Valerius smirked.

"I hit it with my quarterstaff, dealing, five plus five damage," she smiled, "And I will attack it once again, dealing 6 damage!"

"Good job, countess, now I will walk near it and hit it with my longsword," Valerius said as he rolled 14.

"But before that, I activate rage!" Vulgora said with a grin.

"You hit him too," you said as you watched Valerius roll a 5 with a bit of envy, "So you dealt 8 damage. Vulgora?"

"I run to that son of a bitch and hit it with my handaxe!" they said as they rolled 15. After that successful roll, they rolled d12 which landed on 10.

"So ten plus your strength and rage bonus," you calculated for a moment, "Sixteen damage."

"Ugh, I can't use my sharpshooter," Portia said with a sad expression on her face, "Unless..." she thought for a moment, "If the AC is 18 and my," she continued mumbling, "So I can use the feat if I rolled higher than 17?"

"Yeah," you said after giving it a bit more thought, "But do you think you can do it?"

"I believe you can do it," Julian said with a smirk, "I give her one of my bardic inspiration dices!"

"Alright," she said with determination gleaming in her eyes, "I can do this!" she threw the dice a bit too strongly, making it land in Muriel's empty glass of lemonade.

He took a look inside of his glass and read, "Twenty."

"OH MY GOD!!!" Portia and you shouted, "I did it!!!" she smiled as she rolled two dices, with a comment, "From now on I'm always throwing the dices in your glass!"

"Six and five," you said, "Julian, how much from bardic inspiration?"

"Six," he said with a smirk, "I have charlatan's die, remember?"

"Oh, right, so overall, you Portia dealt... Thirty-one damage."

"Alright!" she smiled triumphally.

"I'll hit the dragon with my firebolt," they rolled the dice, landing it on 9, "Guess I didn't hit it."

"I'll use dissonant whispers on that dragon!"

"It has a saving throw of +6" you warned him.

"And I don't care!" he said as he watched you roll a natural 1.

"So... I deal double damage?" he asked you.

"..." you stared at your hands for a moment, not believing how they all seem to be killing the dragon even though they are all the first level, "Yeah. Roll 6d6."

"Soo... three, two, four, four, two, five, plus 4 because of my spellcasting ability... Twenty four damage!"

"Alright," you said, losing hope, "The creature tries to run away from you, but it has nowhere to go."

"I, I will use my spell bless on Vulgora, Valdemar and Nadia."

"Good job, small one!"

"And now, the moment you have all been waiting for!" Lucio exclaimed, dramatic as always.

"You'll finally leave?" Muriel asked.

"What? No!" he said, "I'm going to that dragon, attacking it with my rapier... Seventeen!" he exclaimed happily once he saw what he rolled.

"Yeah, you hit it, now, let's see how much damage you'll do."

He rolled the dice, dramatically as always, "I rolled a six!"

"So nine damage in total," you wrote down on the paper, "Congratulations, the dragon is bloodied."

"Can I use my cantrip shape water?" Muriel asked you as he pointed at one of the ponds in front of the dragon.

"I, uh," you looked at your list of cantrips, "Sure? But why would you do that?"

"I shape the water and put it in the dragon's nostrils," he responded simply.

"Wait, you what?!?" you looked at him in disbelief.

You know very well that he can do that after all the water was about three feet below the dragon's head, who was already tired from the fight. But if he did that, then he would kill the dragon. It does have resistance to cold damage, but it can't breathe underwater.

"I uh..." you started, "Well yes, you did it, but you didn't deal instant damage. Instead, the dragon will take a... let me think real quick... 2d4 damage as long as you keep using the cantrip. How about that?"

"Sounds good enough," he simply responded, hiding his joy. He didn't want to admit it, but he actually enjoyed the game.

"Good job man," Portia gave him a pat, "So how much damage will you deal?"

He rolled the two dices, "Five."

"Eight," you corrected him, "You need to include your wisdom modifier."

"Well then," Valdemar said with a grin, "I'll use chill touch on the dragon... eighteen," they chuckled, "How lucky of me, right MC?"

You stared at them for a moment, debating whether you should summon another dragon just because they are being a dick. In the end, you decided that it would be better if two ancient black dragons guarded the next artefact, which will hopefully be able to attack, "Yes, how lucky of you, quaestor," you responded through your teeth as you watched them roll 8 on the dice, then 2 on the Volta's d4, "Fourteen damage. Vlastomil?"

"I, I'll hit the nasty thing with my crossbow... I failed, didn't I?" he looked disappointed at the 16.

"No, you hit it," you said, a bit annoyed, "You need to add your proficiency and dexterity bonus to that."

"Oh, how delightful," he smiled, as he rolled 1 on d8, "So... three damage?"

"Yup."

"And now for the main attraction!" you said as you rolled the dice, "I rolled a natural 20! Sorry Valerius, but you'll have to-"

"I use my lucky feat," Nadia stopped you.

"You what?" you asked her, dumbfounded.

"I have a right to use my lucky feat three times a day to ask you to reroll the dice," she explained to you, "So do it," she said with an evil smirk.

"You, you can't do this..." you stared at her in disbelief, "I, I swear I won't go easy on you next time..." you said as you rerolled the dice, "But I rolled 16! Which is enough to-"

"Reroll it again," Nadia repeated with amusement in her voice.

You stared at her for a moment, thinking about how putting two ancient dragons next time is a great idea.

"Fine..." you rerolled the dice, "And I didn't do shit now. Happy?"

"Yes," she smiled, "So now I will attack the dragon, as usual," she said, rolling 18, "And hitting it, dealing..." she looked at the d8 with a bit of disappointment, "Only 6 damage. But then I will hit it with my unarmed strike, and I'll use a d4...dealing 10 more damage!"

"Valerius?" you asked.

"I hit it with my longsword," he rolled the dice, "But I fail," he sighed in disappointment.

"Now I will go for that dragon!" they said as they rolled 16, then 8, "Dealing 14 damage!"

"You can also add Volta's d4, remember?"

"Oh shit you're right!" they said as they rolled 1, "Whatever. Fifteen damage total."

"I'll use longbow!" Portia said proudly as she rolled the dice.

"I'm giving her the dice," Julian smirked.

"And I'm hitting it, dealing eleven damage, plus six, right Ilyushka?"

"Mhm," he said with joy in his eyes.

"Alright, the dragon is left on 17hp!"

"Also, I'm giving Asra my dice too," Julian said.

"I'm hitting it with firebolt this time!" Asra said as he rolled sixteen, "Told you! And now I will deal... thirteen damage!"

"I'm attacking it with vicious mockery!" Julian said proudly.

"Yeah, you failed."

"I can't do anything because of bless, right?" Volta asked.

"Yup," you said with joy.

"I'm hitting the dragon with a rapier!" Lucio said proudly.

"No, you're not."

"I'm still balancing the water in his nostrils," Muriel said as he rolled the dices, "I rolled seven, so... ten damage overall?"

"You did it..." you said, a bit disappointed as you showed the illusion of the dragon collapsing on the ground then slowly melting down, "You killed the dragon. It didn't even bruise you... So, everyone gains 909 XP from this, which means all of you levelled to 3rd level. Look at the features you gain on second and third level..."

After half an hour, everyone decided on all of the features they were going to get and they expected more of the story to come.

"So what loot do we get?"

"You get the dagger," you simply responded.

"Cool, let's try the dagger," Portia stared at the rusty old dagger, "Wait, this is the dagger?"

"Yes, why," you gave them a grin, "Is there a problem with it?"

"Obviously," Vulgora said, "Look at that! It's useless!"

"Wait, I use my religion stat to recall the lore about the dagger," Valerius said.

"Alright," you said, "DC is 15."

He rolled the dice in Nadia's direction, "Sixteen."

"So, the story goes like this. It was a rather lovely evening in the church of Saint Milu, however, Maila's dreams weren't like that. In that magical world, the Abaddon appeared, imbuing her with the holy knowledge, answering one of the most important questions- what happens when you die? The girl knew that keeping such knowledge would mean a catastrophe, so she used her to create this holy weapon, hiding the knowledge inside of it. To make sure that the weapon remained hidden, she put it in the Milu's statue. She thought that abandoning the knowledge was for the best, however, that only led to more miseries. From that point on, nuns kept gossiping between each other how they could hear Milu's statue talking to them, from small things such as reciting the prayers, to starting a conversation. Nuns were convinced that it was Milu talking to them, so, over time, they would talk to the statue, asking it for the advice. And thus, the innocent nuns learned the truths that weren't meant to be known. Over time, they started to spread the dagger's knowledge to common townsfolk. Such knowledge brought misery to the townspeople, making them more focused on stopping death, rather than enjoying life. A certain white dragon watched all of that and decided that it was upon him to end people's miseries. It went into the town, completely destroying it, killing everyone. Then it went into the church and ate all of the nuns, accidentally eating the statue with them. Upon consuming the statue, it also gained the holy knowledge and decided that it was not meant for small, weak humans, so it made a deal with the gods: The dragon will keep the dagger safe from human hands, and it shall live for as long as the dagger is in its possession. It was a great deal which benefited both parties, the dragon didn't have to watch more innocent people dying, while gods were sure that such knowledge won't be used against them. So every time some of the humans would take the dagger, the dragon would die, however, whenever gods returned the dagger, the dragon would come back to life."

"So, what you're saying is," Portia concluded, "That we killed a dragon who just wanted to protect all of us, and the only way to bring it back is to give the dagger back?"

"Yeah."

"Hm," Nadia thought for a moment, "So basically, the only thing that can kill the gods is not the dagger, but rather Abaddon's knowledge inside of it?"

"Mhm."

"So then, can we listen to the dagger's knowledge, then give it back to the dragon?"

"Yeah, but you need to roll 23 on insight."

"Who has the highest wisdom?" Julian asked.

"I believe that would be me," Valdemar grinned, "My wisdom modifier is +4."

"Yeah, it's Valdemar."

"I cast bless so that Valdemar can add a d4," Volta said.

"Okay, I'll allow it."

"I use my bardic inspiration on Valdemar!"

"Very well then," they grinned as they took the rusty dagger, shifting it closer to their ear, listening to it as they rolled the dice.

"Thirteen plus 3 from Volta and plus 6 from Julian... So close!" you said with a grin.

"What about my bonus on insight?" Valdemar asked.

"Oh, right..." you said, "Well then, congratulations, you got the first artefact!"

"Finally!" everyone sighed in relief.

"So, I'll return the dagger if that's alright," Julian said.

"Wait, don't do it!" Asra warned him, but too late. Julian had already put the dagger in the middle of the pool of the dragon's leftovers. As soon as the rusty metal made contact with the strange liquid, it started to shape itself back into its original form.

"Quick, Vulgora," Vlastomil said, "Go talk to the dragon!"

"Fine... Hey buddy," Vulgora's PC stared at the dragon who was ready to kill them, "Look, we're sorry for killing you."

"Doubt it," the dragon responded with spite.

"Well, in the beginning, we weren't, but once we've learned you did it all for the good of us, we felt sorry, so we decided to return the dagger."

"But then why did you come here, if not for the dagger?" the dragon leaned to Vulgora.

"Well, we came for a weapon to kill a god! But it turns out that all we needed was the knowledge inside the dagger-"

"That was the only thing you shouldn't have taken."

"But everything is fine, see?" Vulgora pointed at Valdemar's PC, who seemed to have a different kind of shine in his eyes, "They learned the knowledge and haven't gone insane!"

"I..." the dragon looked at everyone, "So you want to kill gods?" it chuckled, "Why?"

"So that everyone would be forced to become atheists," Vulgora exclaimed proudly.

The dragon gave a deep, loud laugh: "I haven't laughed like this in centuries! You aren't the brightest pests, but you sure are hard to kill. And that seems to be more important nowadays... Fine, I can't deal with the Gods' bullshit anymore-"

"Neither can we!"

"So, I will let you use this place as your home. Just don't disturb me."

"And that's it for today!" you exclaimed as you let the fog die out, "Next time, let's have a group of 6 come over so that it could be manageable."

[maxdark158]

PART TWO OF BEING INSPIRED AND WRITING ANYWAY

PLEASE check out the amazing @ozmav my friend!! AMAZING!!

Characters are probably OOC because MLB is a kids show and you guys liked stressed and cursing Damian so I kept that going even though it’s probably OOC

Angel in Gotham: Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5 ~ Part 6 ~ Ao3

Demon in Gotham: Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Ao3

Fanart for AiG: Riddler ~ Joker thank you @thegreysman

Please tag me in any fanart you draw for this guys ^^

oooOOOooo

Damian tried to ignore his phone after checking it for the thirteenth time. But who was counting?

He was, actually. Because it seems the stupid worry feeling will never fucking go away! It took root, and it’s only growing. Damian wondered if drinking weedkiller works on emotions. The bitches.

He wasn’t even that worried initially! Sure, he wanted his An- Marinette to text him when she got to the hotel, but that was just… a friend thing. It’s what friends ask! And they were friends.

Damian wasn’t worried on the car ride to the manor, he had only checked his phone once then. When his father questioned him about The Riddler incident, he was thoroughly distracted and didn’t check at all. After he left the room he checked twice in one minute just to make sure he didn’t miss anything in the first check.

He checked sparsely while training briefly, adding up to eight… okay, maybe not so sparsely. But at this point the awful god damn plant had grown a mouth and it was gnawing on his sanity, bugging him every moment of peace he had.

Damian was getting really fucking sick of this whole worry business. It was awful! Why did Grayson partake in it for so many years? Why did anyone?

He was beginning to understand his classmates’ sense of humor now. But “I want to ka-shoot myself,” was not as funny as they thought it was.

Damian was so busy thinking about worrying and getting more worried – the fucking circle of life – that when he checked his phone for the fourteenth time, he realized he missed a message from Marinette.

Angel: I’m at the hotel now.

Thank fuck. Damian banished all the worry from his mind – leave, motherfucker – and typed out a response.

Damian: That’s good

Damian: Did you get in trouble?

Wait fuck the worry wasn’t gone. He wanted to smack the phone against his head. Or break his thumbs for typing that without his permission.

Angel: Professor Mendeleiev must’ve been tired or something.

Angel: She didn’t leacture

Damian bit his lip. Marinette needed to work on her English.

Angel: Lecture?

Damian: *lecture

Angel: Quiet, English is hard

He could fucking understand that! It may have been long ago but Damian had to learn once too, ya know.

Damian: Understandable.

Damian: In my original question I meant any of your classmates btw

Holy fucking shit his thumbs would be cut off by sunlight he swears to all the justice league members-

Angel: btw?

Angel: Oh by the way

Damian: yeah

Angel: I’m good at text slang in French, okay

Damian: I don’t doubt you

He really didn’t. Marinette seemed intelligent if The Riddler incident had anything to say about it.

Angel: Anyway Alya tried to bother me but I’m good now

He frowned. Alya? She hadn't told him about her.

Angel: Professor Mendeleiev told her off for bothering me after my ‘traumatic’ encounter with a Gotham villain

Damian: Speaking of, are you SURE you’re alright Angel

Damian sighed, letting his head drop. Okay, fucking fine he was still fucking worried and he hated it. His thumbs weren’t to blame, his fucking emotions were.

He pulled up Google to look up liquid weedkiller when his Ang- Marinette texted back.

Angel: I’m fine

Angel: I’ve survived akuma for three years, I’m not about to let some riddle fanatic with terrible clothing choices ruin my day

Damian: His clothes are that bad?

Good, subject change. Maybe he can stop fucking worrying.

Angel: Too much green, for one

Angel: Green shouldn’t be used in large portions when it’s that bright of a shade

Angel: Also the cloth itself was cheap, but the kind of cheap meant to look expensive if you don’t know cloth good

Damian frowned. That was so fucking obvious. Surely she didn’t actually make that mistake…

Damian: *well

Angel: Whatever

Angel: Also his hat didn’t match the type of suit he was wearing

Angel: If he wants to go old fashioned he should at least match the time period

Angel: Longer coat, more layers

Angel: He is an atrocity

Her comments were appreciable though. He could see where she came from.

Damian: he is

Angel: If I had time to cry then my tears would had been blood

Damian: *have

Damian grinned. If Marinette didn’t want her fucking grammar fixed she should learn how to spell in English.

A different motherfucking bitch of an emotion appeared at that thought. He didn’t like that one either. It made him feel bad for being mean.

Angel: istg

Damian: It appears you’re learning

Angel: Yepp

Damian: Also the Gotham news posted an article online about you

Might as well bite the bullet, right?

Damian: “Unnamed Teenager From France Holds off The Riddler Until Batman Arrives!”

Angel: Wait what?

Angel: But we both held him off?

Damian: I was kind of useless, you did most of the work

God damn it! Damian thought he told that emotion to get the fuck out! He was fucking Robin he isn’t useless, he just happened to not be needed at that exact moment.

Damian: I left shortly after you solved his riddle because the Robins had arrived

He grumbled to himself. He hated emotions. It wasn’t like he hadn’t ever felt them before, but they were easier to ignore. This girl made them hard to ignore, and Damian wasn’t sure why.

He did know that he fucking hated it.

After a moment, he realized h- Marinette hadn’t replied for a few minutes.

Damian: You there?

Angel: Yeah. I was just reading the article

Good. He didn’t want anything to happen- motherfucking dammit.

Angel: The Riddler was bad at hand to hand combat. It was easy to take him down with the practice I have from Paris

Damian: I bet.

He saw the time on his phone. Marinette had more field trip stuff tomorrow morning, right? Shouldn’t she get to bed?

Damian: It’s getting late, Angel. We should go to bed.

Damian: Goodnight

Angel: Goodnight

Angel: Also I’ll find a chat name for you soon, promise

Damian’s smile felt weird on his face but unlike the god damn worry and fucking other emotions, he didn’t hate the feeling of it.

After replying, he prepared to get dressed for his patrol as Robin.

oooOOOooo

“Sooo, Robin,” Drake dropped down next to him. “Want to share why you were at that ice cream parlor with that pigtailed French girl?”

“Fuck off,” is Damian’s extremely eloquent response. He can say it in many different languages.

“Wait, Demon Spawn has a girlfriend?” fucking Todd over the fucking comms in his fucking awful Red Hood suit. At least his current helmet didn’t have the fucking lips.

“No, I don’t-“

“I’m trying to figure that out, Red Hood, so would you kindly butt out of the conversation.”

“Of course Red Robin, good luck getting anything out of him though.”

“I don’t have a fucking girlfriend you numbskulls,” Damian hissed through the comms.

“Wait what’s this about a girlfriend, Robin?” Grayson’s overexcited cheerleader voice screamed. Damian wanted to rip out his eardrums.

“Red Robin, I thought I instructed you to leave him alone about this,” finally, his father, for once being a fucking voice of reason, speaks on the comms.

“Bruce you said I should wait until he admits to having a girlfriend,” Drake sounded too smug, Damian wanted to cut it off his masked face. “We know that isn’t going to happen.”

“I hate this fucking family,” Damian hissed.

oooOOOooo

Marinette hadn’t missed her field trip this time. Or had she? Maybe she slept in really fucking late. Damian didn’t know. He didn’t know what her sleeping schedule was like.

She could have also been captured or killed. Those were not fun thoughts. The fucking worry was back, like a virus. Damian anxiously awaited his weedkiller.

She likely wasn’t kidnapped or dead. His father would have known by now and would have told him. He hopes. If his father didn’t tell him he’s a fucking asshole.

“Master Damian.”

“Yes?” he turned around to face Alfred, grateful to be away from the god damn brain-eating plant in his head.

“I simply wanted to prevent you from walking into that wall,” Alfred gestured behind Damian.

He glanced and – yep. Fucking hell. He almost walked into a wall because of the god damn weed of an emotion forcibly taking his mind hostage.

He was having a grand ol’ time.

“Perhaps you would like to go for a drive?” Alfred asked, a single brow raised.

Damian hesitated. “Alright. Where do you want to go?”

“We can figure it out in the car, Master Damian.” Alfred went to grab the keys and his shoes. Damian checked on when his weedkiller would arrive.

A week.

Fucking fuck fuck.

He should have paid for one-hour shipping.

“Are you ready to go, Master Damian?”

“Yes.”

Alfred didn’t try to talk to him during the drive, for which Damian was grateful though. He hated this emotion thing, and people forcing him to talk made it so much worse.

His phone buzzed. Damian pulled it out and checked it.

Angel: Kill me now

His eyes widened. What happened? Is she okay? Did someone- god fucking motherfucking dammit bitch.

Damian: What’s wrong?

Stupid god damn worry.

Angel: We have to all get lunch as a class before I’m free

Angel: I’m in the group with Liar Rossi

Damian raised a brow. Marinette hadn’t told him much about this girl in her class, but he knew she lied and nobody but Marinette knew she lied.

He didn’t like her.

Angel: Death would be sweatier

Damian: *sweeter

Angel: Rude

Damian: Anyway

Damian: You can’t die yet

Damian: We still technically didn’t get ice cream

Absolutely wonderful excuse you fucking asswhipe. Damian should be a politician with that reasoning.

He looked around, recognizing the streets. They were a bit weird from the actual street instead of the rooftops, but-

Damian: Also you’re at the Gotham City Heroes and Villains Museum right?

Angel: Yes I am

Damian fought to keep the smi- self-satisfied smirk off his face. Bingo.

Damian: I’m nearby

Damian: I can pick you up for lunch

Angel: OMG really? Please do I’d really really like that

Damian: omw

“Alfred,” Damian leaned up toward the front seat. “Head to the Gotham City Heroes and Villains Museum? I’d like to pick someone up.”

“Of course Master Damian,” Alfred’s tone didn’t betray anything about his thoughts, but for some reason that was calming to him.

The car drive to the museum was fairly short, if Damian was honest. They were only a few minutes away to begin with anyway.

When they arrived, Damian saw a redhaired girl with glasses yelling at his An- Marinette. At Marinette. He couldn’t hear what Marinette had said, but it must have been good. The red-haired girl’s jaw fucking dropped. The people behind her looked fucking dead.

Priceless.

Marinette saw him and he waved. Alfred unlocked the door, and Marinette got in. She didn’t look back at her classmates' faces as Alfred drove away.

Shit. Something must have happened. He wasn’t good with emotions though, after all he ordered weedkiller to see if he could get rid of fucking worry.

So, Damian Wayne did what any Wayne would do when faced with emotions.

Ignore them.

“Where would you like to eat, Angel?” Damian asked.

Shit, fuck, too insensitive.

Marinette shrugged. “I’m not sure, I don’t know what’s here.”

She sounded so goddamn miserable-

Damian frowned. “Angel, you okay?”

Fucking shit, stupid mouth. Learn the fucking rules. He should be banned from fucking talking.

“I’m okay,” she mumbled. “I’ve got a lot on my mind right now.”

Damian wanted to press the issue but decided against it. If he was happy when Alfred didn’t make him talk feelings, maybe Marinette would be too.

He was a friend first – wait first before what, exactly?

“Alfred, can you take us to the nearest,” he glanced at Marinette. “four-star restaurant?”

“As you wish Master Damian.”

He hoped Marinette didn’t feel out of place, but he wanted to lift her spirits. She deserved to smile – that was a weird fucking sentence what the fuck?

Damian is pretty sure he’s losing his marbles.

“I know,” Marinette suddenly blurted out. “I know you’re Damian Wayne.”

Fucking fuck fuck.

Shit. She’s probably pissed he didn’t tell her-

“I just want you to know that doesn’t change anything. You’re still my friend, and I don’t care who your dad is and who you are.”

Damian gaped at her for a moment before shaking his head. He should have fucking told her, he’s an ass. “I’m sorry you had to find out on your own. I should have told you-”

Marinette interrupted, “you didn’t have to. You don’t owe me that.”

He was confused. What?

She didn’t want to know who he was right off the bat? She was okay with that secret?

“As a stranger or even a friend, you don’t owe me any details about who you are. Ever,” Marinette told him. “You’re allowed to keep secrets and not tell me things you aren’t comfortable sharing. It isn’t fair of me to demand you tell me everything.”

Holy fucking shit.

This… this woman…

“Thank you,” he said earnestly. “I… nobody’s ever said secrets are okay…”

Marinette shrugged. “I can’t help if I feel left out, but forcing you to tell me everything isn’t how friendship is supposed to work. If you don’t want to tell me, it’s okay.”

Damian’s smile was small, and it felt a bit out of place on his face. He couldn’t find it within himself to care.

“Perhaps instead of a restaurant, I can take you both to the mansion for your lunch?” Alfred, the god damn traitor, suggested.

He wanted to say ‘have you lost your god damn marbles, Alfred?’ but he didn’t.

Instead, he said, “You sure Alfred?” like a fucking loser.

Marinette glanced at him. “You don’t have to if you aren’t comforta-”

“No, it’s not that,” he assured. Why would she think he was uncomfortable? His brothers were menaces, but he was used to them! Marinette, however... “My brothers can be… rambunctious.”

Drake and Todd were going to have a fucking field day, especially after what they pulled last night over the comms. He was lucky Grayson was working today. But those two motherfuckers…

Marinette smiled. “I can handle them if that’s the only reason you’re nervous.”

Damian thought for a moment.

Fucking fuck fuck.

He hoped she could. Because if they caused her any unnecessary harm or discomfort he would murder their asses.

With pleasure too.

But one look told Damian that he wouldn’t need to. This girl was going to be the death of him. He hoped the weedkiller was miraculously early.

He sighed. “Alfred, please talk us to the mansion.”

“My pleasure, Master Damian.”

Fucking fuck fuck.