#I’m trying to train away my accent again and the ‘lord have mercy’ makes it come out full force

[possum-quesadilla]

List of things Blue needs to stop saying:

- Slay (cringe)

- Bestie (cringe)

- holy moly (too vanilla)

- dear lord (too southern)

- lord have mercy (too southern)

- radical (too 90s)

- yaaaay! (Princess Unikitty voice) (people are scared when you pull the Girl Voice outta nowhere)

- my dogs are barkin (too southern, also what the hell)

- that dog won’t hunt (too southern)

- Baby/babygirl/babydoll DIRECTED ONLY AT MEN?? (Why do I do that. It’s insane.)

- BAD LUCK TO KILL A SEABIRD (no one gets that reference. Just sounds insane)

More to be added…. This is just from the last hour

[littlefreya]

Let Me In

Summary:  You have your very first fight and he is not inclined on apologizing properly. So he is trying a different trick of winning your heart back.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x Reader (You)

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: Smut + Fluff, Captain Cunnilingus returns with some Oral Sex, sexual innuendo, manhandling, dirty language.

A/N: Based on a prompt requested by @wondersofdreaming AND inspired by my many conversation with @agniavateira who also is a queen and edits my work :3

Prompt: Kisses exchanged as they move around, hitting the edges of tables or nearly tripping over things on the floor before making it to the sofa, or bed.

Title: Let me In

You feel like an idiot. For 3 months, you’ve waited for him to get back from Iraq so you two can finally reunite. You’ve thrown the most outrageous outfit on yourself: a dark blue velvet dress that made your ass look like a piece of heaven on earth, and a pair of fuck-me-pumps which were set to send a clear message. 

And it worked its magic. Syverson’s hand possessed your ass in seconds, not wanting to let go. He collected you in his grip and had you in his lap for the entire evening, his manhood growing hungry for your hot embrace. It took every measure of self-discipline to battle the urge to take him to the pub’s restroom and let him fuck you on top of the sink like a furious train.    

Yet here you are, walking down the streets at midnight, teary-eyed and lips red with rage. Your uncomfortable heels echo on the hard damp road while you tug your skirt down, muttering to yourself how much you hate that big oaf. 

“Get back here, babygirl, we ain’t done talkin’.” You hear his voice yelling after you as he chases you down the street. His steps are heavy, thudding on the ground.

“Go away! I don’t want to see you anymore.” You yell back, not even bothering to look at him. 

You’re afraid that if you’ll see him you might just burst with anger and slap him, even though at this point he definitely earned it. Syverson’s long legs outmatch your heel-wearing feet, though. The large man quickly picks up the pace and Lord knows he has the stamina of a bull. 

This man is a trained special forces captain, after all. You, on the other hand, are just a girl.

“C’mon, doll, I didn’t mean it...” he walks along your side. You catch that stupid smile of his from the corner of your eye, and his voice shows not even the slightest hint of remorse as if he’s too proud to beg for mercy. 

“I didn’t think you'd be offended.”

“You didn’t think I'd be offended?!” You echo, eyes blazing with fury. Syverson looks down into your eyes, wearing a naive look on his gruff face. “You told your entire crew of soldiers that you bought me a vibrator so I can ‘fuck myself’ during our Skype calls, while I was sitting right. fucking. there!” 

Syverson shrugs, lifting his hands in the air as if he still doesn’t get what the big fuss is about.

“Ugh!!!” You grunt and turn on your heels, stomping your feet while rushing toward your home. “Go away Sy. Go back to your stupid friends at the pub, this is not happening tonight.”

He sighs, his hand brushing your wrist, carefully trying to grab you. But you slap it away, hoping that your small palm did enough to hurt the big log. “Babygirl, it was a mistake. Now don’t be like this, let me spend time with you.”  

Not even that deep, gravelly voice can help convince you. All you can think of is the redness on your cheeks as he casually told a group of deranged elite soldiers how you masturbate on video for him. Never in your life have you felt so ashamed. Syverson carried himself with such pride, adding to your embarrassment by mentioning: “It’s not as big as the real thing but at least it keeps her covered until I’m back home.” 

You’re almost at your apartment, stomping up the stairs angrily with Syverson trailing behind you, his sight fixed on your ass while you’re fishing for your key inside the tiny black purse. His aura radiates confidence, without even glaring at him you can tell this man is 100% convinced he is walking into your apartment and getting his slice of that cake.

Think again, buddy.    

“Leave! I’m not gonna ask twice.” You threaten him while unlocking the door. His hands come onto your forearms and in a flash, you’re shoved against the door with his body pressing you into captivity. 

“If I said we ain’t done talkin’ then we ain’t done talkin’, woman!” he says menacingly. You smell the whiskey on his breath and feel each of his hard muscles against your small figure. His knee pushes between your legs, keeping them apart as he offers you a smirk. 

“You want me to beg, babygirl? You know that ain’t happening. I ain’t no goddamn pooch like them city boys you’re used to.”  

You bite your lip trying not to whimper, your body already betraying you into submission, in need of that perfect Alpha male to give it what nature entails. You can already feel the smooth, sticky wetness against your panties, and your nipples harden through the velvet fabric, much to Sy’s delight.

His eyes beam with triumph. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? Now are you gonna let me in there, or are we doing this here where your neighbors can watch?” 

“You are not coming in,” you answer, your voice entirely unconvincing as you break into a tendril of tiny little moans, elicited by Sy’s coaxing hands. His skillful fingers roam at your curves, giving attention to every inch of your body. His thumbs graze at your nipples, circling around them before gliding down as he moves to kneel in front of you.

“Don’t,” you warn him, your eyes staring at the empty corridor with alarm.  But Syverson’s callous hands ignore you, holding your legs apart and running up the skirt of your dress. “Then let me in,” he suggests with a growl, his digits coursing their way into the heaven between your thighs, each stroke of his rough fingertips against your delicate skin makes you succumb more and more. 

You should know by now, Sy has no problem fucking you in public.

“Have you any idea how much I missed eating your pussy?” He murmurs in his thick Texan accent, his breath hot against your inner thighs as he pushes your legs further apart. Your black lace panties are already down to your knees. Being a military macho, Syverson sure misses a lot - but the fact that you wore a new, expensive pair doesn’t go over his head. He looks up to meet your gaze, wearing a smug grin on his chiseled face. 

You hate him right now, how he embarrassed you, how weak he makes you every single time, reducing you to a moaning whore.   

“No?” he asks, his eyes gesturing at your white knuckles that clutch the door handle. You collect every drop of strength still left in you and shake your head in protest. 

Syverson emits a bastard’s grin before his head dips between your thighs. His nose bumps against your clit, his beard grazing your tender skin as he shifts to taste the ambrosia at your core. You rush to cover your mouth, muffling the yelp that escapes you. 

It begins with a lover’s kiss, praising that which is kept waiting for him for months.  

You are so yearnful, so desperate, shying of the juices that drip from your womanhood as if there is any shame for being such a wanton woman. Yet Sy breaks through every prudent thought you’ve ever had. He pushes you to new extremes of pleasure with every sexual encounter between the two of you, and damn if he isn’t attentive and talented. 

Sy doesn’t just fuck or makes love, he wrecks you.  

You gasp, your breath making your palm moist while Sy’s tongue greets your swollen labia. He’s licking with lingering, long strokes, coating his tongue with every fervent drop of your desire, before delving inside. 

“Fuck,” you cry into your own hand, feeling the heat spilling from your abdomen while he twirls his tongue inside you and suckles on the peak of your pleasure. He feasts on you as if you were the sweetest of delights, his tongue lavishing with enthusiasm. It makes you tremble and attempt to clench your legs together as you can hardly take the stimulation inflicted upon you. Yet Sy forbids you to, restraining your legs before giving all his attention to your clit. 

You were wronged; this is not a prize, this is punishment. 

Syverson laps and sucks at you with angry passion, lips tightening around your engorged nub, the coarse hair of his beard leaving you red and raw. You fall apart in his strong hands, coming undone weak and powerless. 

Fuck, you missed this. 

Your underwear is still locked around your knees as Sy climbs back up to meet you, licking his lips with arrogance and wiping his wet beard.

“See? I knew you’d come around,” he praises you, impressed by the sight of your weary eyes and your lips that are plumped with lust. His body pushes against you once more, letting you feel his rigid cock. “Let’s go inside now, I’m really not in the mood for your neighbors catching me fucking you here.” 

You heave against him, his cocky smirk making you furious within seconds. No, this time you want power, you want him to beg and apologize properly instead of fucking you into submission as he always does.

“Beg for it, darling.” 

Your hand tightens around the handle and with great agility, you manage to sneak past the door and shut it in his dumbfounded face. 

Gasping with disbelief, you lean against the wooden surface, hearing Sy’s heavy breath on the other side.

“Babygirl, this is not funny.”

“Who said I was joking?” You call back, making sure the door is locked properly, just in case. “I told you, I don’t want to hear or see you until you apologize for being a jerk.” 

“Open up, darlin’, don’t make things worse for yourself,” he threatens, his voice becoming lower with authority as if he is speaking to one of his subordinates. You snort in reaction, shaking your head at yourself.

“Woman, I said open the door.” He demands again. You feel a slight creak as he leans against the door. A man like Syverson can possibly take that door down in mere seconds if he wanted to, yet he won’t do that. The big grunt has his limits and even though he is a rough lover, he will not act in such violence toward you. 

“Fuck you, Syverson. As you so clearly told everyone, I’ve got a toy now. I don’t need you or your dick anymore, so fuck off.”

There is silence on the other side of the door, accompanied by Syverson’s fuming breath. Even without seeing him, you can tell his nostrils are flared right now, that frown lowering his brow and making his lips curl with anger.

“Don’t bother callin’ me crying later.” He finally answers with spite, and you hear his heavy steps thundering away from your door. A gasp of air leaves your lips, you fall against the surface, fingers playing with the hem of your dress with disappointment. A growing sensation of void begins to form in your chest.

You certainly didn’t imagine your reunion after months of longing to end with you crying alone in your apartment. 

**

It’s 1 a.m. Syverson hasn’t called you, nor has he left any messages on your phone. Your tears have dried out after a couple of hours of alternating between hating him, missing him, and wishing you’ve never ran into him in your life.    

You pace around the house getting ready to sleep, dressed in one of his red t-shirts that got “lost” in your laundry basket. It still smells like him even after you washed it. Making your way to the bedroom, you hear a small knock on your door. 

Your heart jumps down to your loins, the glass of water in your hand slightly spills on the floor. You make careful steps toward the door, hoping that whoever is on the other side won’t hear you approaching.

“Kitten, you there…?” 

You sigh with relief, recognizing that baritone in an instant. The captain has returned and by the way his voice slurs you can tell he had more than a few drinks. You lean against the door, pressing your cheek onto the wood. You can smell the scotch from outside.

“Go home,” you answer, thrown between being flattered and disappointed. The latter is stronger though. You wish he hadn’t gotten drunk, that his apology would have been sincere but it seems like you’ve been asking for too much. 

“Please forgive me, kitten.” He murmurs, his fingernails scratching at your door like an abandoned little puppy. 

“Sy… just go, we’ll talk in the mor…”

“Wise men say only fools rush in, But I can't help falling in love with you. Shall I stay? Would it be a sin? If I can't help falling in love with you”

Your jaw drops to the ground as Syverson’s deep bass strokes the lyrics of the song ever so melodically. The captain has many talents, but this is the last thing you ever expected he’ll be good at or even want to try, being such a rough hardass.   

“Are you singing?!” You ask in disbelief, a huge smile beginning to spread on your face. Even in his drunkenness, he manages to carry out the song with an oddly enchanting vibe. He sings romantically, the chords of his baritone trembling tenderly with dedication for you.

“Like a river flows, surely to the sea, Darling, so it goes, some things are meant to be”

You feel your cheeks burning as you sit next to the door, a silly smirk breaking onto your face. Your muscles loosen with the hum of his voice as if this was some sort of a primal coital ritual.  

“You’re an idiot,” you blurt out, loud enough for him to hear. 

Syverson pauses for a moment and you swear you can feel the smile on his face through the door. That damn bastard knows very well that you’re sitting right on the other side, blushing like a schoolgirl. 

“You're just too good to be true, I can't take my eyes off you…”

He continues to sing, his drunken voice slurring the words, his voice deepening with intoxication. Still, he sounds surprisingly better than you’d expect. 

“You'd be like heaven to touch, I wanna hold you so much”    

“Oh my god...” You slap your forehead, convinced your neighbors must hate you by now, that is, if they haven’t caught your little performance from before. “Fine.”

Rising to your feet, you cave in, seduced by Syverson’s drunken tricks. That man has a grip on you that no one had before and hearing him like this, drunk as he may be, just raised the bar. You unlocked the door to find him on his knees, forehead sweaty, eyes drowsy with alcohol.

“I love you baby and if it’s quite alright…”

“Stop,” you shake your head at him and reach out your hand, signalling him that he’s forgiven and fallen under your good graces. The large man swaggers to his feet carefully, his body nearly blocking the entire entrance to your house as he stands in the doorway. You take his hand in yours and pull him inside. 

Once the door is shut, your hands wrap around his thick neck, pulling him into a passionate kiss. He tastes like whiskey and beer, but you’re enchanted, mesmerized by his devoted performance. No man has ever sang you love songs and when it comes to Syverson, no other man has ever made your heart spiral into chaos just with a gaze. He kisses you back sloppily, trying to lead the way on heavy feet. Your bodies bump into corners, tipping things over and ignoring them as they break on the floor. 

Both of you dance your way through the corridor as you try to make it toward the bedroom. You stop against the walls, peeling off your clothes hastily, bodies grinding into one another with desperation. 

“I was looking for this shirt,” Syverson frowns as his red t-shirt is discarded from your body, only now realize you’ve been wearing his clothes. You distract him with a kiss and shove him through the bedroom door, finally making it to the bed. With a devious look on your face, you grab his chest and push him to the bed.

“Woah there, kitten,” he smirks at you, putting his hands behind his head .“Am I to understand you’re assuming control tonight?”

“Yes!” You rasp with excitement. “Give me a second.” 

You skip toward your wardrobe, grabbing a pair of handcuffs as a brilliant idea springs through your mind. You realize he still owes you an official apology. Turning back around to look at Sy, your smile immediately disappears. 

Sprawled naked on your bed, the captain already has his eyes shut, emitting soft snores through his nose. You sigh and shake your head. With a little smile on your face, you move to lie next to him instead, putting your head onto his chest and playing with the soft hairs on his body. * Read part 2 - Set me Free 

[doctordiscord123]

My Way or the Highway -- Whumptober 2020

Illinois stumbles upon something big but quickly learns to regret it.

Commission Info | Buy me a ko-fi

@whumptober2020

Tags: @demon-dark-666 @devon-rever-860 @smash-ash26 @bender-of-life @verse2wo @vociferous-chaos @itsjustkyss @takethepainawaybae @the-pan-anon @ts-famderartist @rottingmolars @revolutionbastard @toothfairy2298 @sororia04s @sirkawaiipotato @darkest-shade-of-light @bitchbyebibye @posts-random-art @xoskeletonkid @lulu-chaos-incarnation @regalrain02 @parental-tendencies @tried-my-best @mirrored-calamity  If you want to be added to the list, just let me know!

 Warnings: Blood, Kidnapping  Pairings: None  Characters: Illinois  Word Count: 1511 words

Illinois panted, wiping the sweat from his brow as he hacked at the jungle foliage, constantly readjusting his grip on his machete with the heat and humidity making his hands sweaty. He’d been out here for a good few weeks now -- first scouring the foothills of the Andes in Colombia, before turning his attention to the Amazon. Sure, El Dorado most likely didn’t exist, but that didn’t mean Illinois wasn’t going to try. He’d done his research, learning from the mistakes of those before him. 

Besides, even if he didn’t find anything, it was still a Hell of an adventure.

Grinning despite himself, despite the unbearable heat and bugs and sweat, Illinois continued to push his way through the jungle, making sure to watch every step in fear of snakes or other creatures that could kill him easily. There was nothing quite as terrifying as being at the mercy of nature, and it was a fear Illinois knew well, and he’d learned to obey and use that fear to avoid winding up dead where no one will ever find his body. Not before the animals got to it. 

Hacking once more at the vines foliage blocking his path, he winced as his machete seemed to hit something thicker. Probably a tree. He pulled the vines aside to allow him through, and -- well he wasn’t really sure what it was. It -- didn’t look right to be a tree, so heavily covered in plant life that he couldn’t see the trunk. He couldn’t even see where his machete had hit it. Looking up wasn’t any better, since the the roof of branches and leaves all seemed interconnected anyway. Illinois squinted up at the jungle ceiling, before back to the suspicious probably-not-a-tree, and rubbed at his eyes. How long had he been walking now? He could probably afford a bit of a rest before trying to decipher what this was.

With a heavy sigh, Illinois dropped his machete and his backpack, and sat down on the forest floor, leaning against the maybe-not-a-tree.

And immediately, the area flooded with golden light.

Illinois’ eyes snapped open, and he tried to scramble to his feet, but he was so used to accounting for the weight of his backpack he just fell back down. And then he was frozen in awe, watching as rows of men, soldiers, packed into the jungle, seemingly from nowhere. He assumed they were soldiers, anyway, going by the face paint, shields, and spears. In fact, they looked -- like they were straight out of murals of Aztec warfare. Ancient soldiers, stuck in time.

Illinois swallowed nervously as he realized he might’ve stumbled upon what he was looking for.

...He didn’t account for it still being populated.

One of the men in front -- Illinois could tell he was important from the way his outfit was gaudier, bigger, and the way he carried himself -- slammed his spear into the ground, glaring down at Illinois. He said something in a language Illinois didn’t understand, raising an eyebrow. When Illinois didn’t reply, he repeated himself, definitely angrier, slamming the butt of his spear into the ground, glaring pointedly at Illinois.

Illinois swallowed again, moving slowly back to his feet. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t --”

The second he tried to move, the man in charge slammed his spear again, shouting something in that other language, and two other soldiers rushed forward. Illinois didn’t have time to even think about running before they were grabbing him roughly under his arms and hoisting him to his feet, dragging him along. Illinois cried out in protest, trying to dig his heels into the jungle floor, but the soldiers were strong, and it did little to slow them down. Still, Illinois’ struggled, trying to wrest himself free of the soldiers’ grasps. “Wait! Wait wait wait, hold on, I --”

Illinois cut his own words off with a sharp jolt of fear rushing down his spine as the tip of a very sharp spear suddenly found itself at his throat. The next soldier in the strict, military line glared him down, and Illinois obediently stopped moving, relaxing as much as he could force his body to, eyes locked on the shaft of that spear. Only the steady, trained beat of their march kept him from injury, but if they stopped short -- Illinois could only imagine what it would feel like to have that spear in his throat.

Illinois was dragged through what he now realized were gates, and into the commotion of the lost city. In nearly any other scenario, Illinois would take his time fawning over how well it was hidden, the city built around the forest itself, using the great canopy as cover. He would’ve admired the beautiful gold the building were accented with, the sun glinting of of the streets themselves and the buildings’ valuable designs. Now, he was only concerned with the public display he was becoming, people exiting their homes to watch him be paraded through the streets, Illinois’ pulse pounding in his ears in time with their footsteps, and that spear so fucking close to his throat.

The soldiers stopped dead, and Illinois could help his desperate cry and impulsive jerk to get free -- but the spear stayed at his throat, only nicking his skin a little. His heart was racing, he was hyperventilating, and he cried out again as he was spun around and shoved forcefully to his knees. Disoriented, he tried to lift his head, but then what definitely felt like a foot was being braced against the back of his neck, forcing him to bend completely, his forehead pressed to the golden street beneath him.

He heard the voice from earlier, the soldier in charge, and the foot moved away from his neck. Illinois didn’t move regardless, swallowing hard. But -- then there was a different voice, one that sounded like a woman, but Illinois didn’t have time to try and process it further before there was the sound of things being thrown down beside him, and he flinched, gasping a little. A quick glance out of the corner of his revealed it was his stuff being thrown down -- his backpack, hat and machete. The woman spoke again, and she sounded -- surprised? Confused? -- followed by the angry tone of who Illinois was going to dub a general.

There footsteps, slowly approaching.

Illinois lifted his head in a panic, opening his mouth to explain himself -- or at least try to --

Only for the foot to press back against his neck, and his head was slammed back into the ground with a force Illinois wasn’t expecting. His forehead cracked against the ground loudly, his nose smashing against the stone, and Illinois cried out sharply. Distantly he could feel his wrists being yanked behind him, rough rope being wound around them, but he was a bit more preoccupied with the increased pounding in his skull and the blood he could feel pooling beneath his face.

The footsteps halted, and Illinois felt something hooking beneath his chin, forcing his head back up. 

Blood and tears were smeared across his face, terror bright in his eyes. The woman only raised an eyebrow as she lorded above him, her foot the thing forcing his attention. Her black hair was cut short, to chin level, her dress golden, simple, but regal all the same. Golden bracelets decorated her arms, heavy hoops dangling from ears, necklaces draped around her, but perhaps the most elaborate and eye-catching thing she wore was her headdress: made of a leopard’s pelts, various bird feathers, with uncut jade decorating the brim.

If Illinois thought the general held power, this woman radiated it.

She hummed softly, eyebrow arching further, and she tilted her head to speak to one of the men standing on either side of her -- guards, Illinois assumed -- though she never broke eye contact. She said something in some sort of amused tone, and, judging by the way the guards and soldiers snickered, it was probably something at Illinois’ expense. He couldn’t find it in himself to care if he was being made fun of, not when she smirked, and lifted her foot a little more, forcing Illinois to tilt his head back further.

She said something else to her guards, her smirk growing a little.

And suddenly everything was moving again as Illinois was dragged away.

He tried to fight again, tried to wrestle free of the grip on his bound wrists, but that only earned him lost footing and being dragged across the stone ground, struggling to get his footing back as his knees scraped across the road. He was dragged off to what looked like a temple, elaborate and grand -- no doubt where that woman lived. He was dragged inside, dragged through what felt like endless hallways until --

He was tossed into an elaborate bedroom, forced to his knees once more, and his wrist bound to the wooden post of the bed.

The solider left.

The door was closed.

...And Illinois was left alone to wonder what the Hell his fate was going to be.

[goat-yells-at-everything]

Final Thoughts: The Witch

*SIGH*

I didn't hate it.

I wanted to hate it. I use to hate it.

I didn't hate it.

I didn't even hate William as a character as much as I use to. Still hate Ineson, though.

My Bias

Let me start off with my bias. If you couldn't tell by now, I love goats. What originally drew me to The Witch that day in Family Video (not sponsored) was, of course, the goat on the cover. After watching the movie I did some reading on it and the VAST majority of coverage about the movie was about Black Phillip. "Fine by me!" I thought. "I'd rather read about the only star that matters here anyway!"

And that's how I learned of Charlie. Charlie was a beautiful black buck with gorgeous piercing golden eyes. There isn't much base information about him but from my own research and knowledge, I beleive Charlie is an Old Irish. Funny enough, the striking horns that earned Charlie his place in the movie because of how large they were are not actually that big by Old Irish standards. These boys can grow some IMPRESSIVE racks. *cough* 

Charlie was not the most dedicated actor on set. If they wanted him to be boisterous and act aggressive, Charlie wanted to take a nap. If they wanted him to hold still and display the calm demeanor of The Devil, Charlie wanted to run around like a kid discovering his legs for the first time. This description didn't shock me in the least. "Thats...thats just a goat?" I thought. "Thats just how they ARE." Goats are like...well, goats are unique animals. While even a cat can be trained with enough patience and the right reward, goats are wonderfully intelligent and MIND NUMBINGLY STUPID animals all at the same time. You look into their eyes and you see the infinite knowledge of the universe AND the mindless empty void AT THE SAME TIME. That is just the nature of the domestic goat. So of course you will never have a goat do what you want it to on the first, second, or even tenth try. If you work with goats in any way, you just need to accept this.

So Charlie, this incredibly intelligent and extremely stupid animal, was on a set of a movie where He was the antagonist in the minds of the characters, actors, and crew. Charlie could have been just fine on the set if the actors had kept their animosity to filming sessions, and most of them did just that. Most of the actors and crew were, at worst, neutral towards Charlie when not actively filming a scene with him. Most of the actors.

Ineson was not among them. Ineson is quoted as saying "From the moment we set eyes on each other it was just kind of hate at first sight." Now, because of their vast infinite nothingness in their heads, goats really aren't capable of "hate at first sight," but they CAN sense animosity from others towards them. Like when your cat knows that your dad hates cats. They just know. So you have an incredibly intelligent moron that weighs just over 200lbs looking at this imposing angry man that was Ralph Ineson and he knows the man does not like him and Ineson has decided that every action Charlie makes is just to spite him, specifically.

It was not the best paring...

By the 4th day of filming, Ineson reported that he was on pain killers for the remainder of the 5-week shoot.

The thing was, the rest of the actors and crew (aside from Eggers but he was trying to direct a goat in a movie so he gets a little leeway) actually recall how sweet and wonderful Charlie was. Anya Taylor-Joy has said that the shoot was a "beautiful" experience. Anna Kilch, a veteran animal trainer, said Charlie was a dream to work with.

So I'm not the biggest fan of Ineson...

The Movie

With that said, what did I think about the movie?

It was...not horrible. In fact, if I put aside my own animosity towards Ineson, it was pretty ok. There are PROBLEMS, no doubt about that, but it was decent.

The Good

The atmosphere was beautiful. It was shot in a quaint little bit of nowhere in Northern Ontario. Pretty sure they put a blue filter over everything but it really did work. It muted all the color and made it all very dreary and damp feeling. In most other situations this would be a major detriment but the overall feeling of hopelessness from the characters was perfectly accented by the misty and drab landscape.

The characters....there were problems but I'll touch on that later. What I liked was how they represented the Deadly Sins.

William is pretty clear. He is the Sin of Pride. It was his pride that had them exiled from their settlement. It was his pride that caused him to lie and steal from his own family. It was his pride that kept his family in a place that was blighted and would not produce anything. It was his pride that made him refuse to see Black Phillip for what he was.

Katherine was also very clear. She is the Sin of Wrath. Her anger at Thomasin for the loss of her infant blinded her to everything around here. It blinded her to Thomasin's innocence. It blinded her to her other childrens sins. It blinded her to how hard Thomasin worked to regain her mothers favor. And, eventually, it blinded her to the avatars of the devil that came to her that dark night.

Caleb, again, very clear. He is the Sin of Lust. Caleb was a bright young boy who was dedicated to and dearly loved his family. He loved one family member a little too much. Caleb lusted after his elder sister. That lust eventually lead him into the arms of the titular Witch as she seduced him with her HUGE....tracks of land... c:

Mercy and Jonas are harder to pin down. Eventually I settled on Envy and Sloth respectively, though I'm not 100% sold on them. Jonas I'm a bit more sure on. His character is fairly one note and all about shirking any work his elder sister tries to give him. I settled for Envy for Mercy mostly because of the scene near the creak. She seemed to envy the attention her father and elder brother gave to Thomasin. Neither one are very strong connections though.

Thomasin didn't really show a sign of a serious sin until the very end. Actually, she almost seemed to embody ALL of the sins in the end after being almost pure as snow for the whole movie. Almost. She displayed minor sins throughout the movie but it made her a believable character. She was a young woman, somewhere between 14 and 16 I'd say. She got angry at her siblings, she wasn't totally focused on her chores, the normal teenage stuff.

However, by the end of the movie, Thomasin displayed nearly all 7 Sins. She was wrathful towards her father. She was greedy for her mothers love. Black Phillip's offers display Gluttony (Butter) and Envy (the Dress). She was certain that she was right in all of her actions, blinded by Pride. She was apathetic once her family were all dead, leaving them all to rot in the elements as she wallowed in self pity. And finally she disrobed and frolicked with the devil in her Lust.

The Bad

Oh yes was there bad.

The sound direction was OBJECTIVELY horrible. What should have been ambient sound effects were too loud, the dialog was WAY too soft, the music was all over the place. It fell well into that nasty hole that Horror has of turning all the sound to soft and quiet before hitting you with a sudden jolt as the action jumps to life. When used well, this can elicit a visceral feeling in the viewer that lets them connect with the urgency of the scene. When used wrong, its just a cheep tactic to get a scare just like jump scares. This REALLY needs to be called out more often in Horror. We all denounce jump scares as cheep and over used and we need to do the same for the auditory equivalent.

The dialog was really hard to understand. I understand the choice considering the setting, but it was the biggest wall that kept me from enjoying anything the first time around. By the nature of Old Low English, words would blend into one another and become almost gibberish. Its a very lovely language to read, but a chore to listen to. I put on subtitles this time around and was able to follow the story much more easily. I would absolutly advise putting on subtitles while watching it.

The ending was the weakest part of the movie aside from the sound issues. I mean the very last scene. Everything leading up to that was actually very well done. The way Thomasin goes to Black Phillip and demands he talk to her. The way he offers her everything she could ever want. How you see both the hope and defeat in Thomasin when Black Phillip began to talk to her. It was clear he was the one who set in motion the cogs that ended with her families death but they were all victims of their own sins in the end. She saw his power over their insignificant lives and was crushed by his seeming superiority to the Lord she had been raised to love. At the same time, she saw the power he could bestow on HER, a clear tangible power unlike the "story" of Heavenly Power that she never saw physical examples of.

To end on the scene of this naked woman, no longer the innocent girl burdened by heavy trappings of modesty, walking into the woods with the black billygoat hot on her heals would have been so powerful. Just cut to black right there. You can even still have the witches chanting as it cuts to black and the end credits fade in.

But they decided to take it one step further and it did NOT help the ending. It was just too over the top with the naked women writhing erotically around this fire. When the camera turns back on Thomasin and she begins writhing and moaning and laughing and you see her rise into the air, maybe its just me but it took away the power of that sure confident woman walking into the woods.

It just feels like a step too far and would have been much stronger if they'd just left that part out.

The G.O.A.T

The best part was still Charlie.

Black Phillip, Black Phillip

A crown grows out his head,

Black Phillip, Black Phillip

To nanny queen is wed.

Jump to the fence post,

Running in the stall.

Black Phillip, Black Phillip

King of all.

Black Phillip, Black Phillip

King of sky and land,

Black Phillip, Black Phillip

King of sea and sand.

We are ye servants,

We are ye men.

Black Phillip eats the lions

From the lions' den.

[qhostqizmo]

Date Night

*pounding fists on table* Let them date!! Let them date!! Let them dATE!!

- - - - - - - - - -

She played the conversation over and over again in her head. Try as she might, she couldn’t deny that everything about the invitation had been rather… intimate.

Maybe Adela and Abe had been right when she’d offhandedly brought it up to them. It sure sounded like Amon had asked her out on a date, as the duo suggested. Just her, and the heir to the Illiad name; no one else, going to dinner and play. No one else had gotten an invitation. No one else had gotten to see his quirky nervous half-smile, and see the color rise in his cheeks, or the joy in his face like she had.

She could make the excuse that because they were Aurumval, everyone else had other plans in mind. Adela had been hitting up the jewelry shops a lot lately. Rava had been joining her, or trying to pester the Master Seeker into further training pranks. Sulhadur was spending much of his time with his idol or practicing alongside Abe; and Abe himself was spending time with either Sul or Pen (when the later was not out looking for a lay). Even Pri’cha had found themselves a hobby in meeting with the local shopkeep at Whitemore’s for conversation and study.

But the fact that the nobleman had asked no other than her was suspicious. He hadn’t made it secret that he’d only come to her, but the word ‘date’ had never entered his vocabulary. She’d thought nothing of his offering, other than eagerness at being able to spend any time with her nobleman.

Staring at the sets of clothes laying out out on the bed, Essätha was at a complete loss with what to do.

“Wear the wine one, it makes the gold of your eyes stand out and goes with your skin tone.”

“But should I really be wearing a gown? Maybe just a shirt and slacks…”

Adela peered up from the necklaces she’d been picking through with an empty expression. “Honey, he’s taking you to the theater in Aurumval and out to dinner. It’s going to be an event. This isn’t a ‘nice blouse and skirt’ occasion. You’re in the capitol. Everything’s going to be expensive taste and fine etiquette.”

Nibbling on her lower lip, Essätha folded up the camisoles and pants to put away. She peeked over the dresses left; some more conservative than others. The deep purple one Adela pointed out did have a nice off the shoulder, with a cinched waist, and a flowy bottom. There was a slit on the right side that went a few inches above the knee, though.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit… much?” she choked out.

The Tiefling did a sideways glance towards the garment. “Looks fine to me.”

“I like it,” Rava agreed, her hand getting swatted as she reached over to examine a bracelet. She pouted at the jeweler pitifully.

“No touching, you’ll mess up my organization method.”

“What are you even doing with all that jewelry?”

“Trying to find the right hues of gold and amber that fit well with the dress and Essie’s eyes, now shush. Let me concentrate.”

Essätha met the wood-elf’s gaze. The young elf shrugged helplessly. She’d only joined the preparation party as a way to scope out Adela’s gemstones.

Giving an enormous sigh, Essie picked the dark plum dress up off the bed. As though stamped with a life sentence, she sulked with her head low in the direction of the bathroom.

“Wear this with it too,” Adela remarked, pointing at a thin cashmere shawl. It looked like it was made of spun gold, and had a sheen over it.

“Uh… okay?”

“Listen if I can’t go out with my fiance, I’m going to have to live through your date,” the Tiefling explained. “Now go get dressed and let’s talk about some shoes while we get your hair and makeup done.”

“That sounds a bit selfish,” Ravamora remarked, picking up a set of earrings to study. “How much are these?”

Determined to escape the squabbling (and the rogue’s attempt at learning to gauge jewelry value, as if that couldn’t go wrong), Essie discretely slipped into the bathroom and softly closed the door behind her. She thunked her forehead gently to the doorframe to groan with despair.

Which was worse, going over the top to a mediocre event, or going underdressed? And frankly, why did she care?

Grabbing the hem of her shirt, she ripped it roughly off her head, musing her bun in the process and scattering her hair pins to the floor in frustration.

She was going to make the best of the damn evening with Amon, regardless.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Essätha, are you ready to go?”

Ready as she was ever going to be.

Smoothing out the front of her gown, Essie opened the door to the restroom to slip nervously out. She clutched her hands nervously in front of herself to avoid messing with the tedious waterfall of braids Rava and Adela had done for her. The one thing she’d managed to push the pair off of was cosmetics. The last thing she wanted was a test run between the pair of them. She went with her usual mostly nude hues, with only a single outrageous change from her comfort zone; adding a shimmering metallic gold eyeshadow that went well with the glittering jewelry.

She didn’t bother to look up, tightly holding her clutch in her hands. “I think I’m ready…”

The gasp that escaped Amon was partially a wheeze, as though someone had struck him in the chest.

Startled, she looked up from the short pumps her eyes were fixated upon to the Briarton Lord. His jacket was a tailcoat was a shade of navy so dark, it could almost qualify as black. The white dress shirt he wore beneath was crisp and freshly pressed beneath his dull gray-blue vest. The only color on his person that stood out in his hands; which were shaking, a single hybrid peachy to red rose.

Her face felt as hot as Amon’s looked; as though someone had dusted his features with a the pink of a setting sun. A wash of humiliation immediately settled over her as he had trouble staring at her for more than a second at a time, twirling the flower in his hands.

“It’s too much, isn’t it?”

The nobleman cleared his throat. “No… No you look… sublime… like perfection.”

“Thank you.” Her face felt even hotter. “You look exceptionally handsome yourself, m’lord.”

His jaw worked, and he swallowed loudly. Essie reached for his hand out of impulse. He looked so distressed, she couldn’t help herself.

He startled beneath her touch, looking from her hand to her face. The tension in his smile was still prevalent as he offered her the bloom sheepishly.

“For you,” he squeaked, voice cracking.

“Oh, thank you.” She accepted the rose, holding it awkwardly. Her eyes looked around the room. Should she leave it here…?

“Um. Well. Here, may I?”

“… S-Sure?”

“Sorry, I didn’t think this through,” he mumbled, accepting the floret back. She stood absolutely still as he tucked the stem carefully behind her ear, through the bouncy twirl of her curls. The brush of the back of his hand skimmed her flush skin and against her cheekbone as she glanced shyly away. He had a tremendously careful touch, adjusting the petals and lightly brushing his fingers along her hairline.

“There… Your beauty accents it well.”

“I thought it was supposed to be the other way around.”

The warmth in Amon’s eyes grew. His smile softened. “No. Your beauty definitely outshines even the most exquisite flower.”

She gave a stiff, nervous laugh. “Perhaps I should wear a dress more often, I didn’t realize it made such a difference.”

A pained look of hurt flickered through the nobleman’s eyes. “It’s not the garment that makes you so gorgeous, Essätha.”

“… What?”

“I… I just… You are a very beautiful woman, Essie. You don’t need any of these things to prove that. I was a bit stunned; in a good way, seeing you in something so different, but you are always… breathtaking.”

She could not meet his eyes. She could not look at him any longer, fearing the trembling in her knees and fluttering beneath her ribcage. If he had any idea the way he made her feel; strong yet vulnerable, resolute but shy, spirited and on the other hand calm. She felt a hundred emotions around him; some old, some new and freshly budding that she had never felt before. She wanted things her mind could not comprehend, her lungs could not voice. Things her heart yearned for against the protest of sense.

How was she supposed to keep eye contact with him tonight, when he was so lovely, so sweet, and so charmingly handsome that it made her insides nauseous with want?

He took her hand; the one not holding her handbag, with a gentle grip. It was a safer place to look then to the ocean of his eyes that she would otherwise get lost in.

“May I escort you to our carriage, Miss Essätha?”

Straining on a nervous giggle, she curled her fingers between the spaces between his. She liked this better than simply holding his forearm, even if her palms were a bit sweaty. It was like a security blanket. She knew everything would be okay, if he kept his hand in hers.

“You may; I will grant you that honor.”

“And what an honor it is.”

Gods have mercy, she was going to faint before the evening was over.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The coach came to a halt outside of what looked like an elite restaurant. Everyone stepping in and out of the building was dressed in finer clothes; though few had attire quite as nice as the two of them. It made Essie’s insides squirm all the more as Amon lead her out by the hand of the chariot. He spoke briefly to the coachman as she anxiously bobbed her weight from one shoe to other, passing him a few shillings and a nod before joining her once more.

“What was that about?”

“Oh, just affirming roughly the time he should be back by to pick us up from the theater. It’s only a short block away from here, so I thought we could take a stroll there after we dine in…” His eyes suddenly widened with panic. “Unless you would rather take the ride-?”

“No, that’s okay. A walk sounds fine.” Gods she hoped her smile didn’t look as dopey as it felt. A walk? Like, a romantic stroll down the boulevard?”

Amon only appeared somewhat relieved by her answer, taking hold of her hand in his once more. His fingers were clammy, and a bit awkward as he fumbled with hers. “Let’s get checked in for our reservation.”

She nodded, stupidifed. Reservation? How long had he been planning this? She hoped it hadn’t been booked days in advance. This seemed far more high-class and over her head then she was used to.

He opened the door for her as they approached the building, as usual. It eased some of her nerves. Some things never changed, just like the bold triumphant lingering in his eyes upon hers. He took her hand again as they stepped inside, sending sparks hurtling through her bloodstream once more. So much for clear-headed. She felt drunk off him all over again; and intoxicated by the aroma of ginger, sage, and tonka bean blended with leather and agarwood on his skin.

Holding on to his hand, Essie’s gaze moved throughout the elegant décor while he spoke to a gentleman up front about their reservation. It was even more dazzling on the inside than the outside. Everything was glowing in shades of amber, illuminated by glass and mirrors that made the candlelight bounce from room to room. Her insides swelled, taking a daring moment to glance at the distracted, chuckling man at her side as he spoke with the doorman.

Definitely even more wonderful on the inside than the outside; which seemed impossible, but true.

“Right this way,” the host acknowledged, nodding to the pair of them as he snapped his booklet shut. Amon passed her a proud but shy smile, following their guide close to her side as they made their way through the establishment. The man stopped at a privately enclosed curtain, adjusting it for them to pass with a murmur for them to enjoy their meal.

The view was spectacular. She held her breath, staring out at the remnants of the setting sun and incoming twilight stars sprinkling the skyline. Her eyes ventured to Amon’s, and the patient but bashful expression he wore.

All of this, for her?

“Here, allow me,” the nobleman rasped, clearing his throat while tearing his gaze away from her. He appeared flustered as he pulled the cushioned chair out from the table.

Brushing the back of her dress flat, Essie gratefully accepted her seat. She looked up, seeing how distant the other end of the table was with a twinge of remorse.

“How much trouble would we be in, if I asked you to move your chair closer?”

Was it possible for the man to have a devilish grin of mischief? It seemed so.

“I’m renting out the space, I think they’ll make an exception.”

She snickered as he picked up his seat to place it adjacent to hers. Her greedy hands sought his to hold as she leaned over to rest her head against his shoulder, staring out at the last light of the day fading.

“This is nice.”

“I thought you might like this place.”

Biting into her lower lip and smudging the stain of color on her lips just a touch, Essätha tilted her head so her eyes could meet his. They were twinkling with the light of the stars, and the flame of the lanterns throughout the space.

“I… I meant this,” she clarified, her voice small as she squeezed his hand.

There was no mistaking his wide-eyed surprise. The shape of his pupils exploded within his iris.

“I…”

“Good evening, monsieur and misse- oh, m-my apologies-”

The pair of them instantly sat up straight, eyes snapping towards the red-faced waiter stepping through the thin curtains.

“I- I will be back I’m so sorry-”

“N-No that’s okay,” Essie rasped, her fingers still lingering in Amon’s grasp. “You can stay.”

The man’s face went from her, to presumably Amon’s. Too embarrassed to look back, she wondered what the nobleman’s face said to the man. Probably something impassive. He was good at covering his emotions, unlike her.

“Very well,” the gentleman squeaked, slowly approaching to offer out two identical sheets of fine parchment. It had very few items on it to choose from. “Can I get the two of you anything to drink to start off with?”

“Bring a bottle of sauvignon blanc, thank you,” the nobleman requested hoarsely. Essätha’s lips pulled into a frown as she side-eyed the nobleman. He was very flush.

“Excellent choice sir, I’ll be right back,” the server replied, bowing quickly before he disappeared behind the veil.

Lord Amon cleared his throat, taking her hand from beneath the table to hold fondly. He looked mesmerized even through the pinkish blush on his face as he smiled adoringly back at her. “Now then. You were saying how much you enjoyed the view?” he teased.

Giddy laughter bubbled up in her chest, and she made a playful swatting motion towards him.

“I do. The atmosphere is… staggering, but I’m glad you’re here to keep me grounded. I’m happiest when you’re with me.”

His smile was downright goofy now. “As am I, when I’m with you.”

“Really?” she breathed, amusement dancing in her eyes as she insisted, “You’ve outdone yourself. This is a stunning location. The view reminds me a bit of a lodge I stayed at once. It was situated at the highest point in the town; made it an easy landmark for people to direct around that way, and it had some of the spectacular sunset horizons above the buildings and treetops…”

“Tell me more.”

She wasn’t sure who was more breathless, him, or her. Equally absorbed with only each other, as the rest of the chatter from the restaurant seemed so distant in their private space.

Beaming from ear to ear, she jumped right in to the story, finding it never easier than that moment to tell anyone about her past in her life.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Huffing, Essie pushed aside the plate containing the remains of the chocolate lava cake. “Not another bite.”

“You? Turning down sweets?”

She scowled at the taunting curl of Amon’s smile. “You fed me too much food! If I eat another bite, I’ll explode.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that,” he chuckled, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. He adjusted the shawl as it slipped, wrapping it delicately back into place. “Oh, here, let me just…”

She froze, confused as the nobleman lifted his napkin from his lap. She squinted her eyes as he dabbed at the corner of her lip.

“Ganache.”

“Thank you.” Oh dear. That was embarrassing. Not nearly as embarrassing as the idea of how she’d wished he’d taken it off though; her face inflamed at the thought.

Amon’s gaze lingered a moment too long on her mouth. His face turned a shade of beet red as he cleared his throat, scooting back his chair from the table and tossing the cloth upon it.

“We had better start walking, I’m afraid. We’ll be late for the play otherwise.”

“Oh… okay.”

Amon dug into his coinpurse, leaving a large handful of extra coins on the table. Before Essie could decide what to do; conflicted, the nobleman slowly drew her chair a bit from the table for her to slide out easier.

“Always a gentleman,” she remarked warmly, stroking his arm. Amon’s gaze followed her touch, and his throat jumped once more.

Timid once more, she drew her hand back to fiddle with her clutch.

As they stepped from behind the drapery, their server hurried over. Amon spoke quietly to the young man as her eyes scanned the main room, now bustling with even more bodies then when they’d entered.

A large, round table of boisterously laughing men near the doors to the kitchen looked their way.

Essätha looked away, but it was too late. Two of them had already gotten out of their chairs, and were headed over.

“Lord Amon? Is that you?”

“Oh… Hello.”

She winced in sympathy to the hollowness in Amon’s voice. Not everyone was aware of his stripped title.

“And who is this scrumptious treat you have here with you?” one of the men inquired, offering a respectful bow. He extended a hand towards her.

“Essätha Meduza, sir.” She placed her hand uncertainly in his. That’s what he wanted, right?

“Essätha? An exceptional name for a fine looking lady.”

As the man lifted her hand respectfully, his lips puckering, she quickly pulled it free of the man’s gentle grip. He seemed a bit surprised, but quickly corrected his composure.

Her eyes slipped towards Amon’s. She hadn’t done so terrible taboo, had she?

His jaw shifted like he was grinding his teeth. He had a narrowed gaze locked upon the man who’d touched her. If he’d known any sort of magic, she’d swear he was preparing to cast an inferno upon the wealthy looking gentleman.

“Found yourself a young lady willing to tolerate your time, aye Bearmaster?” The other man jested, passing a wink to Amon.

He smoothed out much of his expression, but she could still see the frosty annoyance beneath his eyes.

“I do hate to break a reunion short, but we’ve a play to get to-”

“Oh. Oh I- we- apologize, milord. We should get together though, sometime. Maybe a hunt. It’s been what, three years since I last saw you?” He nudged the other man with his eyes still taking in Essie’s face. “Let us leave these two to their night. It was nice to see you Amon, Miss Meduza. Enjoy your show.”

Confused, she inclined her head to the man politely. He grabbed the other by the arm, almost requiring to drag him to get him to take his eyes off her. She ventured her gaze, meanwhile, back towards the nobleman at her side. Amon stiffly tugged on his coat, trying to get it to lay flat again as he unbuttoned and buttoned it. She reached out, brushing her fingertips against his anxious hands.

He turned his eyes back up to her, slowing his movements to a crawl while staring into her eyes.

“Ahem, I…” Swallowing, Amon offered out his hand with a nervous smile. “Are you ready to go?”

Squeezing his hand, Essätha gave a short nod. “With you, m’lord Amon, of course.”

The rigidness in his shoulders relaxed. With a tender regard upon her, he steered them through the restaurant and out to the street. With the darkness settled in on the city like a chilled blanket, Essätha shivered as the night air struck her exposed arms, creating goosebumps.

Popping open the buttons he’d frustratingly just fixed, the nobleman dragged off his tailcoat to drape it across her shoulders as soon as she went to clutch herself, shivering.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He pulled the sides around her to block out the breeze with a smile. She stepped closer, sighing gratefully as he tentatively wrapped his arm around her waist. There was an open spot on his shoulder for her to rest her head against gratefully.

“I guess I should have had the caddy pick us up…”

“Don’t feel bad; this is fine.” She breathed in deeply, soaking in the scent of his fragrance that was in the coat.

He chuckled quietly after a moment, resting his cheek against the side of her head as they wandered down the cobblestone street.

“Let’s not waste any time though, I don’t want you to get a chill.”

She hummed in vague agreement, too focused on how good it his arm felt against her, and the heat of his jacket that felt like a permanent embrace of him hugging her, encircled all around. She was fine catching chill, and going slow, if it meant stealing a little more time, and a little more him, all to herself for just a while longer.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Amon fished their admissions out from his pocket, and slid them across the table to the ticketmaster. With a nod after they examined the stiff pieces of paper, the manager motioned for them to enter into the parlor ahead.

Essie moved to shrug off the jacket and return it to the nobleman, but he shook his head gently. “Keep it a while longer; if you get too warm I’ll take it back.”

That suited her plenty. When he took her hand to guide her inside, she smothered her face discretely into the collar of his coat. The scent of his cologne made her insides feel warm, light, but lonely. It was a weird feeling that made little sense when he was right in front of her.

The venue entry was spectacular. Sofa arrangements were in the middle and around the sides of the room, allowing people to sit and converse during half-times and prior to the plays. Servers were wandering the floor, offering out drinks and small hors d’oeuvre’s. A large chandelier hung high in the middle of the room, with glass dangling off to send the candle flames dancing across the room. Smaller candelabra dotted around the room as well, and the carpeted floor had a fanciful looking golden pattern upon plush red.

Unlike the restaurant, where Essätha felt her clothes were a few tiers higher quality then most of the nice blouses, skirts, and dresses some women were wearing, she felt positively peasant-like here. Women were wearing dresses studded with gemstones, large pearl necklaces, colorful decorations and even a few exotic furs and feathers. Meanwhile she was in a single-tone gown, hiding beneath a coat too large for her that she wished could swallow the rest of her up.

“Would you care for some wine, Essie?”

“I’m okay, thank you m’lord. Help yourself though.”

There was a twinge of concern in the frown that tugged at his lips. As they stepped further into the room, his hand holding to her own, one of the waiters did approach.

“Can I get you two anything?”

“Water, please.”

The server raised their eyebrows, but made no objection. They bowed elegantly from the waist, replying, “Give me a moment, sir and madam, I will return with two glasses at once.”

Her eyes scanned the room, searching for some place less stuffy to stand. It smelled vaguely of alcohol and tobacco through the theater, although no one appeared to be smoking or chewing anything at the moment.

“Would you like to take a seat somewhere?” the Illiad heir inquired, licking his lips anxiously.

“I…” Her eyes moved around the room, pausing awkwardly on a woman staring directly at her. The lady smiled, and before Essie could decide which flight instinct to follow, she was already moving their way, tugging a man along with her.

“Well hello there! Lord Amon, is that you? Fancy seeing you here!”

The nobleman winced slightly, and turned to offer the woman a polite smile. “Lady Darcy, Lord Moreno a pleasure seeing you two as well.”

“Yes yes I know,” Darcy sang, ignoring him completely. She had her thousand watt exuberant smile aimed towards Essie, which was a touch on the overwhelming side.

“Who are you, sweet dear? Awful young to be seen out with an old dull man like this one.”

Amon’s face turned scarlet, and he looked torn between appalled and infuriated by the insult.

Uncomfortable in her own right, Essätha offered a poor courtesy. She refused to loosen her grasp on the coat as she introduced herself quietly, “Essätha Meduza, ma’am.”

“Meduza? I’ve never heard that house name…”

Essie’s smile grew tight. “You wouldn’t have.”

“Mmm. I see. Where are you from, dearie? And what in the God’s name is someone as youthful and with a face as pretty as yours doing with the Bearmaster of all folk? Now I have a nice son-”

“Darcy.”

“Oh but honey I’m only kidding!”

“I’m so sorry Miss,” her husband muttered, joining in on the congregation of blushing and humiliated individuals. “She’s got a poor sense of humor. Love her to death with or without it though. Don’t mind her trying to sell our boy off, she’s always trying to push him on any lass we meet.”

Pawing at her partner as though to silence him, Darcy leaned eagerly towards Essie. “Where did you say you were from, dear?”

“Ahem, Lady Darcy, though I hate to intervene, Essätha and I were going to take a moment to go find where our seats are going to be in the theater. If you don’t mind…”

“Oh, always a bore Amon. Yes, go, run away with her if you must.”

Nodding curtly, he gave the smallest tug on Essie’s hand to draw her attention. She obliged, murmuring a respectful ‘good evening’ as she trailed at Amon’s heels.

“She’s… interesting.”

Amon grunted. “Darcy is a… nice woman. Means well. She gets under people’s skin though.”

“I can see that a bit, yeah.”

The nobleman gave her a thin smile. She twined her fingers in through his, until the nervousness in his expression melted into one more genuine, and sincere.

“I guess we really should go check where our seats are…”

Spotting the server hurrying in their direction briskly, with two goblets, she leaned into the warmth of his side with a grateful sigh.

“I’m okay with that.”

She wondered if it was her imagination, but she could swear through the hitch of his breath, the noise, the lights, the laughter in the room, she could feel the sound of his pulse acutely against her wrist, jump erratically. It was a steady heartbeat; strong, confident, dare she think almost wishfully… beckoning.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Listening to the drama unfold on the theater floor; actors shouting, singing, throwing their arms into the body language of their character, it was miraculous. A true character of showmanship. Parts were funny; parts were sad, other things made her question and ponder.

She rested her head on Amon’s shoulder; turned into a parenthesis curling against him. The arm of the chair prevented her from climbing into his lap, but only just. He found his own way to the edge of his seat; his cheek atop her head, his arm around her, rubbing heat into the coat. She wished his hand was beneath it. The thought of him any closer made her shiver; conflicted and yearning.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The concession area was even more packed than before as the show cut into half-time. Those who showed up late, or went to seat early, all were huddling into the room for drinks and snacks, or hitting the bathrooms off to the left. There wasn’t enough seating for some, left so squat or shuffle if they didn’t go back to their seats; a lady or two taking up residence on their date’s lap here and there. Essie had to smile, catching two young women huddled in an embrace on the arm of a chair, oblivious to those around them to share quick pecks between words.

Her eyes moved to look up to Amon, and down to their unified hands. Nagging questions nipped at the back of her mind, and the ache in her heart seemed to intensify. She couldn’t put into words the solitude in her bones; the sense of homesickness in her veins when she looked at him. What did she possibly want? What did he have that some part of her needed; something beyond the wonderful friendship they shared?

Among the conversation and quiet chatter they picked up; between each other and some of the other guests, they sipped their glasses. Her own held a sweet dessert wine, while she was pretty sure his red was something dry. It smelled good though, on his breath. It made her curious how it tasted.

If her cheeks weren’t already a bit heated from the drink, they sure would be then from the mortifying thought. He wasn’t likely to share his drink. Shared backwash and all that. She tried to ignore the root of the thought; the true though, buried in the back of her mind. She’d not drank nearly enough to think in such a manner. Warm, soft lips…

“Oh milord, it’s been far too long.”

Essätha’s thoughts shattered, turning her attention to the blonde-haired woman that approached them. Her eyes were like seafoam, and there were pointed tips on her short ears. Half-elf, she’d assume.

Amon straightened against her; his spine going rigid. It made her go tense, too.

“Good to see you, Carmen.”

She offered her hand out. To Essie’s surprise, he tried not to notice. He nearly gave himself whiplash snapping his head to turn to the nearest server, and take a fresh glass.

The woman’s lips thinned, but she recovered to place her hand against her hip. “You still look quite regal in your outting clothes.”

“Thank you,” he grunted. His grip tightened against her side. Essie looked between them, her confusion only growing.

Carmen���s eyes darted over to her. Essätha could swear she saw the woman’s lip twitch, like someone resisting a sneer before she smiled wonderfully once more, reaching out to stroke Amon’s shoulder.

“I’ve missed you, casanova. Thought you might try reaching out to me again after a while.” She pouted. “At the very least, see if you needed someone to help you keep that shoulder loose and everything else… stiff.”

Oh. Oh no.

Mortified, she looked between this Carmen woman; her hourglass figure, seductress bedroom eyes, and to Amon, who was grinding his teeth and blushing deeply. She tried to unsee the way the woman looked at him, like she was undressing him with just a glance.

“My shoulder’s fine,” Amon reported in an impassive tone. His eyes darted over to meet hers. He looked nervous? She blinked, and he had shouldered off Carmen’s hand to angle himself more towards her.

“Carmen, this is Essätha.”

The half-elf woman forced a smile over towards her. “Nice to meet you! Are you Amon’s… secretary?”

“She is my friend, and my date for this evening,” Amon jumped in firmly.

“Oh! Oh a friend, I see. Well, we all must have plenty of those lying around, shouldn’t we? Never enough friends in the world.”

Essie’s smile grew less real the more her stomach twisted into knots as she stared back at the woman and her lethal cheeky grin. The woman was vile. She wore her jealousy shamelessly, and spat venom like a cobra.

But why did it hurt so terribly?

She looked off to the side, feeling a rift crack through her. She just wanted to go home.

As Carmen turned her proud smirk back to Amon, Essie glanced up to him, hopefully.

He was still looking at her, concern in his eyes and a soft smile.

She flickered his glance towards his ex-lover, and back to him. He ignored the woman’s ramblings. He seemed to be waiting on something. Or looking for something?

Whatever it was Lord Amon searched for from her expression, he must not have found it. He looked even more worried, and gently took hold of the Carmen’s wrist as she flamboyantly flung her hand in the air. She grew silent. There was fire in her eyes. Victory. Desire that was more than hunger.

“It was nice seeing you, Carmen. Perhaps you should go see if your own escort is looking for you?”

As though she had been slapped, the half-elf recoiled; her cheeks pink. “I…” She snapped her gaze down at Essie. She was livid; and barely managing to conceal it.

Amon overlooked the wounded, angry look in Carmen’s face; jaw hanging open, to pull Essätha closer. He smiled down at her, muscles taut but otherwise, calm. Focused. He kept his composure, and his attention, on her.

“Let’s see if we can’t stop another server; your drink’s getting low.”

“Amon?” Carmen weakly murmured.

He raised his brows questioningly to the woman. Her mouth worked, but no words escaped her.

Essätha looked between the pair of them. He shut her down without hesitation. Turned her away without a second thought. She still wanted something from him; but he wasn’t looking back he was looking… forward.

His puzzled gaze darted over to meet hers.

I choose you.

Now she was certain no drink could ever make her face feel as hot as it did now. She had to be glowing.

Between the women who knew him who knew him how long enough; still hanging on for hope, still flirting with him, teasing him, yearning. He was turning down a woman who clearly held some kind of status that had been hoping to catch his eye again, all these years, to spend his time with her. Her, who came from nothing; escaping herself and a place thousands of miles away, staring at her like she brought out all the stars in the night sky.

He must really think the world of her, to give up an open invitation to spend the remainder of the night with her.

She could almost scoff at herself. And to think, she’d been frightened and intimidated by the woman. Carmen was about as much a threat to their time and happiness together as a fly was; obnoxious, but easily disregarded.

“M’lord Amon,” Essie piped up, winding his arm around her shoulders. “I can get the drink myself, if you’d like to finish your discussion?” She held her head up confidently; pretending that the half-elf’s dagger-eyes were bouncing off metaphorical armor.

“No, we’re already done here, right Carmen?”

The woman faltered. “I-I…”

“Wonderful. Again, charming to see you,” Amon remarked, dipping his head. His arm tightened around Essie’s shoulders. “Lead the way.”

Essätha passed the woman a smile. It truly said what she could not; that she wished her all the best.

She looked defeated, and dejected.

Her heart pitied the half-elf. She tried to picture being in her shoes, and shuddered. Maybe it would be easier to consider if it was any other man other than Amon shunning her, but that image…

Just to check. Just to verify the fearful stab her soul took, she peeked up at the nobleman.

He was still all warm, enchanted grin and dark eyes unwavering upon her. All her energy felt zapped and gained all at once. She wanted to collapse, but at the same time she never felt taller, braver, and more empowered.

He picked her in that moment. Wearing her most giddy, ridiculous smile, she felt as though she’d won everything she’d ever wanted, or needed. Even if it only lasted a little while, right now, she had it all.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Moving through the corridors of the palace, Essie couldn’t shake the events of the night out of her head. She wrapped up Amon’s tailcoat like a blanket, his arm around her, it all seemed so surreal. Maybe it was the liquor talking but it really had felt a lot like a… date. All that careful planning, just the two of them. The special spot for them to dine, the seats close to the front to see the play, the way he stood up for her; held to her most of the date.

As the nobleman opened the door to their bedroom, her brow knitted as she stepped inside. The gears were turning over and over. The rented carriage ride throughout. The walk to the theater, where she could see other’s; couples, making their way in a similar manner to the theater. Even recalling the ride back; how she’d rested, leaning into his chest and his arms around her, the heat of his breath tickling her neck, the steadiness of his hands warming her and their legs tangled.

As Amon stepped into the room, closing the door, she turned to look up at him.

“M’lord, why did you only ask me to go out with you tonight?”

He startled, and staggered. She hoped all that wine wasn’t getting to him, too. Making him see things… feel things…

Scratching the back of his head, he exhaled loudly. “… I thought it would be nice, just the two of us. Did you… not enjoy yourself?”

“I did,” she affirmed quickly. “I… I enjoyed myself immensely. I’m just… trying to process. You didn’t ask anyone else, did you?”

He shook his head, wide-eyed and breathing heavy. What was he acting so shaken up about?

Reaching up, she tried to run her fingers through her hair. She’d forgotten about the waterfall braids; tangling her fingers through some of them. A curse tumbled out of her, and Amon stepped closer. He murmured something; she was too flustered to really hear, and helped her remove her fingers from her hair.

Gods he was close. He looked more than just flush from when they’d left the play. It hadn’t been cold out enough to warrant him looking quite this red. How much had he drank? No more then her, and she was pretty sure she was still mostly clear-headed…

Their fingers were still wrapped around each other, and she was lost in his eyes. She breathed in; breathed out, mumbling, “Why me?”

“Why not you?”

“Why only me?”

The demanding note in her voice slurred a bit. His smile crept up further; grew more handsome and made her entire body ache. She wanted that joy more then anything. She wanted his happiness like she wanted air, or water. It was so fulfilling; so beautiful and so perfect. She wanted that for him, always; and she wanted to give it to him.

“I like spending time with you,” he explained sheepishly; the red wine still on his breath. He held her hand close to his chest. “You make every occasion better, and brighter. I like how you make me feel. I like how you make the world feel. I only asked you because… I didn’t want to split my concentration. And I didn’t want you to split yours,” he admitted, almost guilty; shameful.

“So… you wanted me all to yourself?”

His gaze was strangely piercing. “Does that upset you?”

Her heart fluttered. “… No. No I… I like being all yours.”

Amon smiled. It was dangerous. It did things she couldn’t explain inside her.

“I’ll let you use the bathroom to get ready for bed first,” he whispered.

She nodded, numb and aware she was doing so. “Okay.”

There was indecisiveness in his stance. He teetered for a moment in place. The blackness of his pupil was an eclipse, and it was washing over her.

He leaned in, and brushed his lips in a kiss against her cheek she barely felt.

“Thank you for joining me tonight, Essätha.”

He was too warm, and too close. The deep, raspy huskiness of his whisper made her knees turn to jelly.

Suddenly afraid she was going to do something stupid and irrational, like throw herself at him, she turned her burning gaze and cherry-red face away. “It was my pleasure, m’lord,” she crooned softly. How her feet found locomotion to move towards the bathroom door, she’d never know. Perhaps she had a bit more power left in her then she thought.

As soon as she was inside the restroom, she closed the door behind herself, and placed her back to it. Sure enough, she slid down; her jelly-legs unable to support her weight until she sagged to sit upon her rear on the bathroom floor.

Placing her face in her hands, Essätha breathed raggedly. The whirlwind in her chest had turned into a hurricane; throwing her world out of balance. An incredible first date; unexpected, denied up until the very end but… She knew what she wanted; what she needed, what her wanton heart longed for.

Him. Every road, every yearning, every happy thought and plan for the future, it all lead back to him. Her nobleman.

She groaned into her palms, grinning so hard it hurt. She was in love with Lord Amon Thomas Illiad.

She wondered if he was in love with her, too.

[fallenidol-453]

31 Days of Unedited Writing: Days 22-31

I’M DONE.

7 or 8 Fanfiction (Dark Parables/various Mystery Case Files games starring OC Moira, Viking Destiny, and Dragon Prophecy trilogy) and 3 or 4 Original Fiction. I’m tired and my math is trite.

I strongly advise skipping Day 26 if you’re averse to descriptions of popping pimples!

Day 22: Fanfiction, Mystery Case Files: Escape from Ravenhearst

Moira’s hands shook. The animatronic newborn’s eyes flashed different colors. Red. Green. Blue. Those were the colors of the wires it was attached to as well. The eyes changed colors too fast. How was she going to know which wire to clip?

She aimed the wire cutters at the far-left wire and counted to three. Snipped the red wire when the eyes were—

Green.

A gurgle was her only warning to dive out of the way as the newborn exploded.

Day 23: Fanfiction, Mystery Case Files: Ravenhearst Unlocked

She remembered an explosion. Fireball of debris racing toward her. She ran. Her only option had been to—

Jump.

Cold ocean sea at night. The water dragged her under.

Boat. Someone pulled her out of the water.

Bright light. Loud beeps. Numb. Her eyes open. Barely. She hurts but has enough pain tolerance to lift her arm where it hurts worst. A thick sutured scar runs from the end of her palm and down part of her wrist. It glows.

Someone is talking. She hears words. Injuries. Delirious. Her?

Red hair. Posh accent.

“A transfer to Manchester Asylum—closest in county—"

She can’t do anything to stop them. Her mind is screaming but she’s too drugged to vocalize.

Anything. Anything but there.

Day 24: Original Fiction, codename Grisaverse

The sheer amount of spellwork surrounding the black crystal makes Davaros’s blood run cold. There’s a whole network of weavings, as thick as rope in some places and as thin as spiderwebs in others. All of them link to the crystal’s strange, hollow center. The weaving had gone on for generations. Since���

“Luc, there’s no way we can undo all of this in two months. Lady Grisa will know we’re tampering with it.”

“That demon in your body was pretty damn adamant that his Prince was being held hostage in there, having his power siphoned away,” Luc replied. “He’ll probably help us free him. If you’ve been held hostage for centuries and have your powers taken from you, you’d be angry about it. Right?”

“R-Right.” It’s the most Davaros can say right now; he can feel Moseptus crawling under his skin, can feel he wants to emerge and take over. He doesn’t want to vomit more blood as payment. He loses focus and then feels Lukasz snap the shields back into place.

Day 25: Fanfiction, Mystery Case Files: Ravenhearst

Moira ran up to the car and pounded on the window. Sterling rolled it down hurriedly, shocked at her disheveled appearance.

“Moira, I asked you to take pictures of the door locks! What happened?”

“There’s a skeleton in the house!” she exclaimed. “I think it’s Emma’s body, from the journal—”

Silence. Moira’s heart thunders in her chest. Sterling has the audacity to shrug.

“Are you sure it’s not a prank?”

“The bones aren’t made of shitty plastic and the coffin smelled,” Moira snapped. “Follow me.”

Day 26: Fanfiction, Mystery Case Files: Escape from Ravenhearst

The bed frame creaked dangerously as Moira straddled the obese Dalimar matriarch’s gut. She forced to herself to breathe through her mouth, trying to not smell the piles and piles of plates covered in rotting leftovers of food that lined both sides of the bed. Abigail was hurling verbal abuse at her, but it was easy to tune out. The abuse was for her son, not her.

There was really no other way to accomplish this task, was there?

The hand clutching a pair of tweezers shook violently.

Just—just squeeze! She shouted at herself.

She positioned the tweezers on a fat pimple on Abigail’s cheek, closed her eyes, and squeezed. Pus popped out and landed close to the open wound. Moira opened her eyes and grabbed the pus, putting it in her gloved palm.

She was grateful this was an animatronic doll, and what she was forced to get was solid and fake.

It didn’t make it any less disgusting.

(This is a real thing that happens in-game. It’s as nasty as it sounds.)

Day 27: Fanfiction, Dark Parables (Not sure which games, but probably the later/newest ones)

She tries to not think about anything involving her life late at night. But sometimes, the dark thoughts creep in in the haze between waking and sleeping, or when she catches a glimpse of herself in a mirror. She’s approaching forty, yet she doesn’t look or feel it.

Well, the latter might be a bit of a stretch. She’s resilient enough but can’t bounce back on her feet as fast as she’d like after taking a hard fall from a great height or falling victim to yet another unfortunate carriage accident. It’s a miracle she didn’t break every vertebra in her back after that one incident in Montefleur.

Day 28: Fanfiction, Dragon Prophecy trilogy

Harwing’s forehead stung. The foolishness of it all, walking straight into a tent pole while trying to make a hasty retreat from Lord Vieliessar’s pavilion.

Fortunately, the distance between the High King’s camp and that of House Mangiralas’s was long enough for him to gather his thoughts and rehearse what was written on the paper Aradreleg gave him. Memorizing the words of a formal declaration of surrender was no issue – his spy training saw to that – but the tight knot in his stomach was going to make him stumble over the words as he recited them.

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

“To Warlord Faurilduin, Ladyholder of—wait.”

He gazed at the paper. Aradreleg’s tidy handwriting stared back at him, clearly listing which titles came first. It was just a matter of reciting them in the correct order.

“To Ladyholder Faurilduin, Mangiralas’s Warlord—”

Mangiralas’s camp became perilously closer with each step he took.

Day 29: Fanfiction, Dragon Prophecy trilogy

He could see the mistakes those assistants had made as clear as day, but for every situation he mentally changed, every course of action he took differently, the chain of events still led to Gunedwaen’s capture by Caerthalien’s forces and his century in hiding, crippled and cast aside to die at War Prince Bolecthindial’s amusement, never able to fight again.

If he had seen that result, in his imaginings as one of those assistants, would he have killed Gunedwaen as an act of mercy?

For a split second, he felt like he wouldn’t have had the strength to do that. Not just out of loyalty, but out of love as well.

Was it a love born of loyalty?

His gratitude toward Lord Thoromarth was one brand of loyalty. His upbringing within Oronviel itself, even as the son of a lowly castel Horsemaster, was a sort of loyalty itself toward the House. If he fought alongside Lord Thoromarth in battle and was ordered to kill him to spare him from being captured, he would do it without hesitation.

But if he had been on that battlefield on a rainy autumn, holding a dagger and staring down at a badly injured Gunedwaen and told to deliver the same mercy kill—

He wouldn’t do it. Couldn’t. He would try to save him, against all odds.

Day 30: Fanfiction, Viking Destiny

Asmund has been keeping his half-brother in check admirably well these past few years, and he does not want to instigate an unneeded conflict or shatter his oaths and relationship with his king beyond repair.

“I once knew a brave and loyal shieldmaiden named Alva,” he replied instead. He chose his next words with care, not wanting to clue the princess in on her true heritage just yet. “She served King Asmund and was his fiercest warrior. I can teach you to fight like her - and your father does not have to know about it. It will be our secret.”

Helle’s face lit up. “I want to fight like a warrior!” she exclaimed.

Soini made urgent shushing noises, and Helle reluctantly calmed down.

“We will start at first light next--”

“Helle?”

Both Soini and Helle turned toward the sound of Prince Bard’s voice. Soini didn’t see his shadow looming over them in the darkness, but he sounded relatively close.

“Will we meet here?” Helle whispered hurriedly.

“HELLE!”

“Yes. Go to your father before he finds you,” Soini answered.

Day 31: Original Fiction, codename Sleeping Princess

Cila inched closer. She couldn't see the rise and fall of the stranger's chest that indicated she was breathing… but the woman wasn't dead either. There was no smell of decay and rot. Cila reached out for the woman's hanging arm--

--and stepped back in fear.

All around the bed was a spell caul of her father's making, a caul to trap someone in a magic-induced sleep. Cila knew she could have been affected by the caul’s effects if she’d touched the woman's arm.

She contemplated trying to unweave it. It was a task far beyond her ability to unweave spells - but she could try. Her father was holding this woman hostage, whoever she was. It didn't feel right to leave her under the thrall of the royal family, much less her father.

Her father believed her to have no magic at all, not realizing that she had been a late bloomer. She had kept her knowledge of her magic to herself, practicing her unweaving on the most basic of wards that anyone could trigger by accident. She had escaped getting caught - so far.

But a creeping doubt caught hold of her heart. Even if she unwove the caul, even if she freed this woman, what would she do? Cila didn't know this woman's name and she didn't know where she was from. She couldn't disguise this woman as a servant - the royal family would identify her in an instant.

Cila could help the woman escape. She knew all the secret passages out of the palace… but so did the royal family. Even worse, her father could discover her using magic and undoing his work. The beating she would receive from him would among the worst in her life. Her bruised back ached, a reminder of the most recent one at the hands of Gilla.

What was she going to do?

An idea formed in her mind. Father didn't know she could do magic - yet - and thus didn't know of her talent. If he discovered the caul being undone, he could suspect one of his rivals was doing it. Risky, as her father could strengthen the caul, but it would mean more practice for her… and more chances to get caught, if Father disabled his rivals’ magic.

She could try. There was nothing wrong with trying.

[nitewrighter]

Dragonback Pt. 2

Dragonback Part 1

The quest to get Rei’s dragon back (Finally!) continues! Now with lots of Shimada Lore Dumping!!!

---

A draft blew into the hangar of the Talon Croatia base. Reaper watched as a small crew readied the Vaquita, Talon’s small, long-range stealth flight unit. The hems of Reaper’s long coat rippled in the breeze. He glanced over at Andrea-- she was just as tall as Maximilien, and even bulkier than him between her SEP serum, tactical gear, and Maximilien’s own sleek suit. He didn’t want to think about how old she was, how old she was really. Moira said the artificial aging process within the amnio tube still took several years, and was slowed even then by the brainwashing process, and she was aged up even older than Aedan. It made his gut wrench. A strike team of four was checking their weapons before heading into the Vaquita themselves, their heads and identies all completely concealed by Talon helmets. Pretty standard six person mission. 

“I hope you understand this tracker represents no small investment of time and money,” said Maximilien as Andrea turned the tracker over in her hands.

“So if I’m not her controller on this mission...” said Reaper, putting a hand on his hip, “Who is?”

“That would be me,” a French-accented voice spoke behind him and Reaper turned around to see a pale girl with champagne blonde bobbed hair donning what appeared to be a Talon tac-gear variation on a chauffeur’s uniform. Her temples were pocked with neuroprosthetics.

“Oh... you,” said Reaper, maybe 75% remembering her, “...Fossie?”

“Faustine,” Faustine and Maximilien said at the same time, 

“You’re sending your daughter to watch my daughter,” said Reaper flatly.

“I’m sending my protégé to watch your clone, yes,” said Maximilien. He gave a slight pat to Reaper’s shoulder, “Knight and Bishop. Just like us, eh?”

“I don’t play chess,” said Reaper, folding his arms. 

“I could give you a few lessons sometime,” said Faustine with a smile, tugging at her black driving gloves and smiling, she gave a glance over to Andrea, “Knight and Bishop are very effective in the endgame, especially for taking a King.”

Reaper scoffed, “I know enough about chess to know that kid is not a King,” he muttered.

“Certainly not,” said Faustine, “Just a pawn who has no business being on that side of the board.”

Reaper just grunted.

The nanite tracker in Andrea’s hands started beeping suddenly. Andrea turned it on and it projected a small hologram of a globe, with a little red dot blinking in northern Japan.

“Speaking of no business on that side of the board...” said Maximilien, “You have a long flight ahead of you.”

“And you have much work as well. Au revoir, Papa, we’ll see you when the mission’s over,” Faustine kissed Maximilien on the cheek and Maximilien gave Faustine an affectionate touch under the chin. Andrea looked at Reaper, stood at attention and saluted before boarding the Vaquita.

---

Shirakami-Sanchi forest was quiet. Then again, growing up between Oasis and lab facilities with heavy amounts of  internal security that would fence him out of whole sections, Aedan decided he probably had not walked in enough forests to determine what was a ‘quiet’ forest. There was sound--the wind rifling through leaves, the odd bird call cutting through the air---but there was an eerie tranquility to this place… or it was probably just eerie to him. He watched the Shimadas as they easily walked through the forest paths. Despite a red-eye flight on a drop ship, they kept a pretty mean hiking pace. 

Aedan was the outsider here, as always. If Angela were here, maybe there might be someone to share in the alienation of being a scientific mind on what could only be assumed as a spiritual mission—Mercy hated his guts, he was aware of that much, but it would have seemed less isolating, at least. Aedan watched Rei, easily ambling after her father and uncle as they walked deeper and deeper into the forest. Despite Rei’s teasing, his time on missions with Overwatch and environmental research trips with Mei had made him a bit hardier in the wilderness. 

“So…” Aedan broke the silence with a human voice, “You all… come here often?”

“That is not your concern,” Hanzo said crisply.

“Uncle used to bring me here for ninja training when I was younger,” said Rei, smiling.

“Rei,” Hanzo said her name in warning.

“What?” said Rei, “We can trust him.”

Aedan reddened a little.

“I mean, this isn’t exactly Overwatch-breaking information, anyway,” Rei added, “It was fun! I wore this big, dorky ankle weights and I’d have to chase after him along all these paths and jumping from tree to tree…”

Hanzo huffed.

“I think most of our tree markers from that time are still here,” Genji said, his eyes scanning the light filtering through the leaves above. He sighed a little wistfully, “You were so little, then.”

“Dad—“ Rei started with an eye-roll.

“You tried so hard,” Genji’s fingertips were pressing along his faceplate.

“Dad,” Rei’s voice was harsh with exasperation. She looked back at Aedan, beet red. Aedan kind of liked the mental image of a smaller version of Rei jumping from tree limb to tree limb. It seemed like her, anyway.

“Our father trained us in this forest too,” said Hanzo.

“If by ‘training’ you mean, ‘Left us alone for 5 days in the wilderness,’” said Genji, “Which, it turns out, is not a normal parenting thing.”

“According to Angela,” said Hanzo.

“According to most of the Watchpoint,” said Genji.

“Which, as we have discussed, are not a good model on which to determine what is ‘normal,’” said Hanzo.

Aedan gave a glance over to Rei, who was furrowing her brow as her father and uncle bickered. Aedan only shrugged at her. The term ‘normal parenting thing’ gave him some pause—after all, he had known from his very inception that his existence would not be a normal one—exactly how abnormal it would be he wouldn’t find out until later, but Talon had raised its children with the idea that Talon would change the world, that they would live in Talon’s world—Overwatch, well it wanted to make the world a better place, certainly, but it wasn’t the same vein as Talon. It wasn’t willing to burn down everything to start from scratch. It raised its children to adapt to and understand the world around them as it was. He sort of envied them for that. He, or Rei, or Samir or anyone could raise a question regarding the morality and legality of their actions and it would be considered just as seriously as if they were a senior member like Jack or Ana or McCree. Overwatch was an organization that was constantly facing the mistakes of its past… while Talon’s morality was malleable enough so they didn’t really have to grow, and thus, didn’t.

“So this forest has… a lot of meaning to the Shimada family, I take it?” said Aedan, looking at Rei’s pained expression and hoping he might take the focus of the conversation off of her and the proper means of raising her.

Both Genji and Hanzo looked over their shoulders at him and he suddenly felt very small.

“You… could say that,” said Hanzo slowly.

“Uncle, it’s where the clan got the dragons,” said Rei.

“He does not have a right to that information!” Hanzo snapped.

“Well he’s here, so he should know,” said Rei.

“He is merely a medic whose standing within Overwatch is probationary at best!” said Hanzo.

“Well… I told Angela in the early months of the Recall,” Genji said quietly.

Aedan could feel his own face burning at this point. He wasn’t sure how comfortable he was having his relationship with Rei compared to that of Rei’s parents.

Hanzo, apparently thinking the same, looked sharply to Genji. Aedan looked to Rei, who was still hiking along, but with her face buried in her hands at that point.

“The relationship is not comparable,” Hanzo said flatly. Everyone avoided eye-contact with each other for nearly half a mile after that.

“So!” Aedan managed to blurt out after the insufferable silence, looking at Rei, “How the clan got the dragons, huh?”

“Which is a story reserved for those within the clan,” said Hanzo, tensely.

“I told Angela,” said Genji.

“Well as I’ve said earlier, you’re married and the relationship is not comparable—“

“And McCree,” said Genji.

Hanzo closed his eyes and inhaled slowly and deeply through his nose before exhaling through his mouth. He opened his mouth to retort to Genji but was cut off as Rei cut in.

“And… maybe people outside of the clan should know the story?” said Rei, “I mean… you both put so much effort into collapsing it…”

“Moira was trying to understand the origin and purpose of the Shimada dragons for years,” said Genji, quietly, “If we were telling Jack or Ana or Pharah, I’m sure the story would be yielded more freely but…”

Aedan’s stomach knotted. Usually any mention of Moira tended to shut down any discussion of anything near him. As far as Overwatch knew, he could still be her Trojan horse.

“Well I’ll give him the abridged version,” said Rei, putting her hands on her hips and slowing her pace slightly so Aedan could walk alongside her.

“What?” said Aedan.

“What?” said Hanzo.

“So, the whole dragon thing started back with this lady in the Heian period, Reiko Shimada,” said Rei.

“Rei…ko?” said Aedan.

“Yeah, Dad named me after her. ‘New start’ and all that. But anyway she was like… super pregnant during this hardcore siege on her family’s castle--”

“‘Like super pregnant?’” Hanzo repeated Rei’s words, arching an eyebrow, “The story is well over a thousand years old. I think you owe your namesake a bit better than ‘like super pregnant.’”

“Fine, heavy with child,’” Rei imitated Hanzo’s dramatic timbre, “Anyway, during the battle, her Lord husband got killed, and she gave birth the night her family’s enemies finally broke through their defenses, and she named her baby boy Hikaru Shimada. And then her most loyal servant put both her and her newborn into a wheelbarrow and wheeled them as far away as he could from their burning castle until he got an arrow in the neck and she had to continue on foot. And she managed to make it to this forest. And she and her newborn son survived for 5 days here before her baby got this fever, and she thought she was going to lose him, but then she found the shrine of moonlight.”

“The shrine of moonlight?” Aedan arched an eyebrow.

“It sounds better in Japanese,” Hanzo said tersely.

“But the Shrine of Moonlight is where the dragons descended on her all like, ‘I shall protect you and all your bloodline for as long as a Shimada child lives!’ And baby Hikaru miraculously got better, and I guess all Shimada have dragons now…” Rei trailed off, “Except… y’know…”

“Except we’ll find the shrine and get your dragon back from it,” said Genji, slowing enough for her to walk up and meet him, where he tucked her hair back slightly. He had his visor on. Aedan wondered if Genji would still have his visor on if he wasn’t there. It became very clear to Aedan that this was a family affair, that if Mercy wasn’t busy patching Jack together from his latest foray in a battle he was far too old for, that she would be here, not him. Rei’s mother should be here, not him. She rescued Rei from Urdr, not him. Maybe if Mercy had resurrected Rei and not him, maybe Rei would still... Aedan felt his pace slowing, the Shimadas easily maintaining their hike ahead of him. Aedan tried to clear his thoughts. No, he was a medic. He had a place on this mission. He had to see this through, too.

Rei’s voice suddenly cut through his melancholy. “Wait--’Find?’” she said, “’Find’ as in, you don’t already know where it is?”

“Well Hanzo found it before,” said Genji but Hanzo glanced off.

“Uncle...?” said Rei.

“Well... it was more like it found me,” said Hanzo.

“Oh scheisse,” Rei muttered under her breath, “The storm arrow story.”

“Rei, I wouldn’t bring you out here if I didn’t believe there was something in these woods that can help you,” said Hanzo.

“You were bleeding out and delirious!” said Rei, “You said yourself you don’t know if you dreamed it!”

“Wait-wait--back up--Storm arrow story?” said Aedan.

Hanzo and Genji exchanged glances. Genji looked expectantly at Hanzo. Hanzo scoffed. 

“Fine,” he said, “So long as we’re spilling all of our family’s secrets to an ex-Talon clone of a mad scientist--A few years before Rei was born, I was dependent on a weapons supplier for a unique arrow called the scatter arrow. Our meeting point was at the border of this forest. Unfortunately while I was resupplying myself with his product, I learned the hard way that he had sold me out to my family. I was unprepared, and set upon by several assassins. I managed to dispatch them as well as my traitorous supplier, but in doing so, destroyed the resource for my most powerful weapon aside from the dragon. I stumbled through the woods, losing track of time and space--” 

“And you were bleeding out,” said Rei.

“And I was bleeding out,” Hanzo conceded, “I tried to clean out and patch up the worst of my injuries at the river but... ended up passing out into it.”

“If you sit by the river long enough...” Genji quipped but Hanzo rolled his eyes.

“I remember a blue light and a distant voice--I remember the feeling of the dragon dragging my mind back to consciousness...” said Hanzo, “When I came to, I had washed to a riverbank, and all my injuries were healed.” He extended his arm and the blue light of his dragon spiraled around it, “And in that moment I knew, something had awakened in my dragon as well. It felt... brighter, stronger...more present in me than ever before,” he looked back at Rei, “There is something in this forest Rei. Something connected to the dragon. I would not be here otherwise.” 

“So the dragon saved you,” said Rei, furrowing her brows.

“The dragon is dependent on me, Rei, there had to be something else.”

“Or someone else! What if a hiker just found you and happened to have a biotic cannister on them and they healed you and just... left?”

“A hiker? In the middle of the night? Leaving me in a river where I could still get hypothermia?” said Hanzo, “Seems unusual for someone trying to save someone...”

“Well... you are kind of heavy,” said Genji, but Hanzo gave him a sharp look and Genji cleared his throat.

“It was the shrine,” said Hanzo, stopping and looking at Rei, “I know it was.”

Rei pursed her lips, “We’re really scraping the bottom of the barrel for getting the dragon back, aren’t we?” she said quietly.

“Rei--” Genji moved to put a hand on her shoulder but she shrugged it off and picked up her pace.

“Rei...” Hanzo started after her.

“You said you found it when you fell in a river, right?” said Rei, her voice bitter, “We’d better start walking if we’re going to find it. Maybe if I’m lucky I’ll get a head injury on the way and we’ll definitely find it!”

Hanzo sighed and rubbed his forehead, Genji paused, unable decide whether to catch up with her or give her her space. Aedan did decide. Despite having longer legs than her, he still had to practically jog to catch up with her, far enough away from Genji and Hanzo to be out of earshot, but close enough so that even in the brush and trees, there was still a faint visual.

“Rei--” he spoke after her.

“Don’t,” said Rei.

“I know it doesn’t look certain--”

“You said we’d get it this time!” Rei whirled on her feet at him.

“...I said this time would be different,” said Aedan, glancing off.

Something wet glistened in Rei’s eyes for a second but she bit the inside of her lip and turned away from him. “But you didn’t know,” she said “You don’t know.” 

“I don’t,” Aedan admitted, “But... I believe it’s different this time.”

Rei’s face dropped. “Believe? Aedan--you’re always going off about science and empiricism and all that stuff. You’re not a ‘believe’ person.”

“And you’re someone whose family has this thousand year old legacy of pulling magical dragons out of thin air! And--look--back at Urdr--I didn’t know I could do what I did. I didn’t know. And look, my Mum, she probably analyzed as much of your dad’s DNA as she could get her mangled hands on, and she still couldn’t figure out where the dragon came from--How it worked. For me, Fading is like flexing a muscle that... that isn’t there. And bringing someone back that was... It was something inside me--something that was always there that I just had to figure out how to call. And I think the dragon is something similar for you. There’s another element at work here that none of us could understand... not yet... and I think that requires heading off into the unknown for that.”

Rei was silent, staring at him, eyes wet and shining. Aedan hesitantly reached forward and grabbed her hand. “You’re right. I’m not a ‘believe’ person. But I believe in you.” 

Rei looked down at his hand clasped around hers, and then back up to his eyes. Heterochromatic, earnest, searching, always a little anxious. Aedan felt her fingers squeeze around his.

“Aedan--” she started but was interrupted by Hanzo pushing through the brush behind them.

“Rei,” he was saying, “I know the situation seems--Oh--I’m sorry I didn’t mean to--”

Rei’s hand jerked from Aedan’s in a second.

“It’s--it’s nothing,” she stammered, “It’s fine. I’m fine now.” 

“Oh... Well... good,” said Hanzo as Genji pushed through the brush after him.

“Ready to keep going?” Rei forced a smile.

“You were painfully accurate earlier,” said Hanzo, “As you said, we do believe our best bet is looking for a river or similar body of water.”

“Well, I guess we should find it then, shouldn’t we?” said Rei.

Hanzo and Genji gave a nod and the four continued on their way.

Rei looked over her shoulder and mouthed a ‘thank you’ to Aedan, and Aedan gave a small thumbs-up to her.

“What did you say to her?” Genji’s voice was barely audible, even to Aedan, but Aedan just awkwardly shrugged.

“Y’know I... let her know I have a good feeling about this,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

---

“Arriving in Tōhoku airspace now,” the Talon pilot said as the Vaquita glided over the ocean.

“Excellent,” said Faustine, sitting primly in the co-pilot’s seat. She extended a hand to Andrea. “If you will,” she said.

Andrea handed over the nanite tracker. Faustine peeled off both of her driving gloves, revealing the mosaics of neuroprosthetics on the backs of her hands. Faustine extended the fingers of her right hand toward the tracker while extending her left hand toward the Vaquita’s GPS on the dash. Andrea tilted her head with some curiousity as vein-like wires slid out from beneath Faustine’s fingernails and threaded themselves over the tracker, and likewise wires from her left hand stretched taut into the dash.

“Triangulating new coordinates,” said the Vaquita’s AI as the pilot tilted the ship slightly.

“You know you could just plug it in,” said the pilot.

“Well, as Maximilien said, it’s a highly delicate and expensively produced piece of machinery,” said Faustine, “Should there be any fluctuations on the vaquita, I can insulate it from the surge.”  Faustine’s eyelids fluttered slightly as she looked at the GPS, “Shirakami-Sanchi?” she arched an eyebrow, “You hardly struck me as the outdoorsman, Aedan.”

“Do those hurt?” asked Andrea, watching as Faustine inhaled and wires extending from her fingertips seemed to twitch like veins.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” said Faustine, “Nervous disorder when I was little--you know, pain is in the mind. And the nerves. And sometimes it’s not real. But thank you for your concern.”

“I was only asking in case such modifications might make me more useful to Talon,” said Andrea, “If the pain distracts from my missions, such modifications are best specialized to you.”

Faustine smiled. “Oh they are definitely best specialized to me,” she said, “Knight,” she motioned with her head toward Andrea, “And Bishop,” she nodded for herself, “We all have our parts to play.”

“Hm,” Andrea gave a nod.

“New Coordinates found,” the Vaquita’s AI spoke up again, “Adjusting course.”

“I have a good feeling about this,” said Faustine.

[sassysweetstories]

Mixed Signals

Request: “Hey girly! Can I request a little Pietro one shot where he flirts with the reader obnoxiously, like sexual and super flirty and no matter how hard everyone tries to convince her and she's like naw he would never and that's just him and then after a hard mission he tells her he just needs to hold her?” 

Ship: Pietro x Fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, swearing, flirting, crying, mentions of death, minor kissing, etc. 

Notes: none of these gifs are mine, credit to owners. 

Tagged: @bailey-hoover @kiralivelove @thalia-prior-of-ravenclaw @anamcg317 @bellasett @queentiffanyyy @archer-whovian-violinist @beingmadinwonderland @princessisabelle19 @violence-and-velvet 

Your P.O.V 

Sweat dripping down the side of face, I punch the dummy in front of me before kicking it again. My breath is hitched from breathing so hard. Training, especially as an Avenger, is never easy. But with a little bit of water and some motivating music, I can punch through, literally and figuratively. I grab my water and phone before heading over to a different set of boxing equipment. I’m focusing so much on the task at hand, I almost don’t notice a warm body watching from behind me until that person speaks. “Damn, I didn’t think you were so rough, princess.” Pietro.. The second the words leave his mouth, I can’t stop the blush from forming onto my cheeks. He makes me so flustered so easily it grinds my gears. 

Turning over my shoulder to scoff at him, my eyes nearly fall out of my sockets. He’s shirtless, again. How was I not expecting that. I subconsciously rake my eyes up and down his body, muttering softly. “Oh sweet baby jesus, lord have mercy on my soul.” He grins down at me with that stupid smug smile, sizing me up. I force my gaze away and try to get back to what I was doing but I can’t get that image of him out of my head. And before I know it, his hands are on my waist. “Stand like this-” Pietro says softly, his lips grazing my cheek and ear as he uses his massive hands to position my hips. “Good. In this position you’ll have more-” He pauses and brings his warm lips up to my ear before whispering, “-control.” And before I know he’s gone, vanished out of thin air. 

I fan myself, resting a hand on the wall to catch a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding in. God, I’m such an idiot for let him control me like this. A few flirty words or gestures and I’m literal puddy in this guys hands. None of it’s real though. He’s toying with me. I go back not long after to shower, too heated by the interaction to focus on anything other than his warm hands. Tony, Sam, Steve, Bucky and Natasha reside in the kitchen, eating and chatting about something I don’t care to insert myself into and instead opt out to pick out some food and read my book. Grabbing a plate, I smile at the gang before grabbing a few articles of food that was until a new body came in front of me. “Princess.” He says with his smooth accent. I roll my eyes and nudge him out of the way, spitting back. “Asshat.” 

He clutches his chest, dramatically. “Ouch! And I thought we were getting along this morning, princess.” I refuse to meet his gaze, shimmying past him to grab some grapes and strawberry’s. My ass unintentionally grazes against his crotch before moving past him. “Sorry, sweetheart. Better luck next time.” I saw sweetly before heading to my room, hips swaying without trying. Later that day, I came into the living room to see the majority of the team catching up on some sports. Plopping down between Bucky and Steve. Buck takes one good look at me and says, “(Y/n), you keep this up and Pietro will literally spontaneously com-bust.” Sam, Nat and Steve nod their head in agreement but I have no idea what they’re referring to. 

I give them a puzzled glance. “What are you guys talking about?” All four of their jaws fall to the ground at my genuine surprise. “Sweetie, it’s Pietro. He likes you.” Natasha says, watching my reaction closely. Now I’m the one who gawks. Pietro?! Pietro tall, foreign, hot tamale, cute ass, Maximoff?! He only acts the way he does to rile me up and annoy me. There is literally no way, it’s impossible. “That’s ridiculous. Pietro doesn’t like me.” Bucky looks right into my eyes, almost like he’s trying to see if I’m lying or not. When he knows I’m serious, he shakes his head. “(Y/n), doll, he’s smitten for you. There’s no doubt about it. He checked you out as you were leaving. He likes you.” I look at each one of them, searching for a lie. This has to be a joke, lord knows I don’t actually believe. 

The next day Pietro zoomed around me, leaning against the kitchen railing, he smiles. “Damn, princess. Are you a campfire? Cause you’re hot and I want s’more.” Bucky and Sam snort mid cereal bite, snickering into their food while I tilt my head at Pietro, confused by the statement. “(Y/n), I gotta ask you. Which is easier? You getting into those tight jeans or me getting you out of them?” Before I could respond, Bucky and Sam nearly fall off their chairs laughing. Suddenly Tony is in the picture, watching the interaction with an evil smile. “Princess, do you like Nintendo? Cuz “Wii” would look good together.” Tony snorts this time while the others can’t bare to keep their mouths shut, laughing so hard their faces turn red. 

Why the fuck were they laughing? He’s just a flirty person?? I pat his face with a faint smile. “Pietro, go talk to a girl who’s actually going to show you the time of day.” I say before walking out. His mouth goes slack and his jaw falls in shock by my dodge. It was stupid to even think he actually liked me. I mean, he’s him and I’m me. We’d be the most unlikely pair. Pietro? Liking me? Impossible. Later that day, I say goodbye to the team before they head off for another mission, not needing my expertise this time around. By the time they all get back, it’s nearly midnight and I’m burred nose deep in my newest novel obsession. For the first time that night, I tear my gaze away and glance up to find a tired looking Pietro. 

Circles cascade across his under eyes, making his cheeks appear more hollow and pale. I’d never seen him look like this before and it scared the hell out of me. He was always this flirty, chipper character. Now, he was solemn and sad, near tear-eyed. “Pietro.. Are you okay?” I ask softly, putting my book down so quietly it almost doesn’t make a sound. Pushing myself up and off the couch to walk over to him, his warm eyes never leave mine. “C-Can y-you hold m-me?” When he asks that question, I’m shocked. It hadn’t sounded like him, not even remotely. For once, his voice is soft and broken, not like his usual suave, cocky self. I nod and open my arms. Before I know it, we’re back on the couch, wrapping in each others arms. 

His head rests comfortably on my chest, arms wrapped around my waist while I find myself playing with his hair. A blanket over our bodies, not sure where it came from while Pietro attempted to pull himself closer to me, nuzzling his face in the crook of my neck. I kiss the top of my head, smiling at how normal the interaction was. “What happened, Pietro?” At the question, he drew himself closer to me before muttering, “I couldn’t save a mans life. He died. Right in front of me.” Before I knew it, I felt something wet and faint fall onto my neck and chest. It took me a minute to realize that Pietro was crying. I wrap my arms around him and kiss his head, whispering words of comfort. “It’s not your fault, Pietro. Sometimes things like that happen. I’m so sorry.” 

I couldn’t even imagine the kind of trauma he’s going through, let alone the others. It’s nearly one in the morning by the time we’re nearly unconscious, limbs wrapping in between the others body. We’re surprisingly comfortable molded together. Right before sleep happily takes me, I hear a faint voice mutter against my collarbone, “Thank you, princess. I love you, so much.” I can’t help but reply, “I love you too, Maximoff.” 

(I hope you guys liked it! Please comment below!!) 

[propshophannah]

Nessian - Depressed!Cassian

Here is part 3/the last part of my Nessian fic. Thanks for reading. Enjoy the angst! Part 1, Part 2 

[Depressed!Cassian - 3/3]

Three days later, Nesta knocked on Cassian’s door. She had no idea what she was doing there. What she was going to say.

She waited for him to give her permission to enter. She wore a velvet dress in deepest blue. The sleeves were long and tight, the neckline modest.

“Who is it?” Cassian said from within.

“Nesta,” she replied in a voice that was smaller than she’d intended.

“Come in.”

She took a deep breath and opened the door.

Cassian sat on the end of the bed, back to her. He wore only a pair of black trousers. He looked over at her, elbows braced on his knees. He’d been staring out the window at Velaris as as the sun set. The golden light gilded his beautiful face, and Nesta had to look away.

So she’d looked down. And that had been the wrong thing to do because the muscles of his chest were visible above and below the bandages that kept his wings bound tightly in place.

Those muscles were covered in swirling black tattoos that accented the deep-copper undertone that had all but gone missing from his skin these past weeks. But there, somewhere in the natural ash-brown coloring that gave him away as Illyrian, Nesta thought she saw some of that copper. Some of that life.

“Nesta?” Cassian said playfully.

And she realized that she’d been staring. That she’d stopped walking like a lust struck imbecile to stare at him. She picked her jaw off the floor and met the slumbering light in his eyes.

She prowled to him. And when she was directly in front of him, she turned her back and lifted her hair.

“My dress,” she said haughtily. “I can’t get all the buttons myself.” A bold move—even for her.

“Did you even try?” She could hear the amused arrogance in his voice.

And even though she hadn’t bothered to try at all, her anger spiked. “Are you going to help me, or am I to keep Lord Devlon waiting?”

“Devlon,” Cassian said, taking the first of those buttons in his fingers and looping it shut right above the curve of her backside. “Is a prick.” He looped the next few buttons. “Who treats females poorly”—his hands were half way up her back now—“and will never do more than fall into bed with you”—he was at her shoulder blades—“because he believes in only breeding pureblood Illyrians.”

Nesta caught herself leaning into him as his hot breath caressed the back of her neck. She whirled around and—

He was standing. Cassian was standing behind her.

She stared at him. Stared up at him. Then down at his feet. At the pants he wore—at the muscles, too.

She took a step back and said, “You forget that I only want someone to fuck.”

“Oh?” Cassian said, folding his arms across his wide chest. “And why is that?”

Nesta had no answer. She had no answer because her date with Devlon was a complete lie and because she hadn’t expected him to care.

Cassian gave her a swaggering smile. “Funny,”—he took a step toward her—“how you only want someone to fuck you, Nesta.” The way he’d said her name—Cauldron have mercy. “Because it sounds as if you’re holding out for—”

But he didn’t finish the sentence. He’d taken another step and lost his balance. Not used to walking without his wings. Not used to having to balance with just his legs and arms.

Nesta caught him just as he caught himself as he staggered to the side. And just like that any light that had returned to his eyes vanished.

Nesta immediately let go of him, fully aware of his embarrassment. He did not look up at her as he sat back down and placed his head in his hands.

It was too quiet. The room was too quiet. And Cassian—

She lifted a hand to place it on his shoulder but stopped.

“You should go,” he said, not bothering to look at her. “You’ll be late.”

And she left.

Just like that, she left, closing the door behind her and walking across the wide hall and straight into her bedroom. She closed the door.

What was she supposed to do? What was she supposed to do?

He was embarrassed and wounded—his pride hurt. There was nothing she could do. Nothing she could do would take that shame away from him… right?

Nesta looked down at the beautiful blue dress that brought out her eyes. The beautiful blue dress that he thought she was wearing for someone else. The dress she’d picked for him because she’d always thought blue complimented the copper and brown of his skin, the red of his siphons—

What the hell was she doing?

Nesta Archeron did not sit on her ass and hide in her room from haughty males, with hulking muscles, too much heart, and who only wanted to sit in their bedrooms to brood and sulk because they couldn’t use their wings. Fuck. That.

If Cassian wanted to act like a child, then fine. She’d treat him like a child. But what she would not do was sit around like her father, like Tamlin, like she’d done those first few years of poverty before Feyre had been taken. When she’d been content to watch them starve just to punish her useless, pathetic fool-of-a-father.

Nesta was not that girl anymore. Something had changed in her when Feyre had been taken. The moment their hovel door had shut and their father had sat back down—had done nothing—she’d realized that her anger had blinded her to the fact that she had turned into him. The thing, the person, she hated most in the world.

So no, Nesta Archeron would not sit on her ass and do nothing while someone she loved suffered. Not again—never again. She would get Cassian out of that room and she’d do it her way.

Nesta Archeron stood up straight as a pillar of steel and marched across the hall like a battering ram. She did not bother to knock as she forced open the door—with a loud bang—and prowled into Cassian’s room.

Poor Illyrian baby. If he wanted to sulk, then he’d do it at the damn dinner table on the balcony where she’d planned to take him all along.

“Get. Up.” She could feel that burning rage and power rolling off her skin.

Cassian was lying in bed, his back to her. “Go away, Nesta.”

“No,” she snarled.

She yanked the covers off the bed.

Nothing. He didn’t move. Fine. She knew just where to apply the right pressure.

Fire crackled at her fingers and she incinerated the bed sheets until they were nothing more than a smoldering pile of ash and soot on the glossy floor.

Cassian looked over at her then. He hated when things were dirty. “You’re cleaning that up.”

With a wave of her hand, Nesta sent a hot breeze through the ashes, scattering them all across the floor. She raised an eyebrow as if to say: “Make me.” She smiled—cruel and wicked and utterly merciless. “Get up,” she demanded. “You’re taking me to dinner.”

“Maybe you haven’t noticed,” Cassian said, “but I’m not exactly steady on my feet, or capable of flight. Ask Az—”

“Pathetic.”

He sat up at that. Straight as an arrow and said, “Excuse me?”

She prowled as close to the bed as she dared and braced her hands on her hips. “I said. You’re. Pa-the-tic.” She enunciated every last syllable. And because Cassian looked as if he were truly going to slaughter her, she added, “Did you hurt your wings or your ears? I told you that you were taking me to dinner. Now get up.”

And Cassian did more than just get up. He practically launched himself off the bed to stand in her face. He glared at her. She glared at him.

“You’re walking just fine to me,” she said in a voice so innocent it was deadly. “You should consider putting a shirt on though. The balcony gets rather chilly in the evening.”

The burning light in his hazel eyes shuttered then exploded into hot, burning rage as he understood all she’d implied.

Cassian tapped each siphon—covering his arms, chest, and legs in armor so tight it was like a second skin—he growled, “Lord Devlon is coming here?”

Nesta let him simmer for a moment more. Then she turned on a heel and practically danced to the door. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

And that indeed was all it took to get Cassian out of his room. He prowled after her, hot on her heels all the way through the residential part of the House on Wind and into the private dining halls.

Nesta strolled through a pair of beautiful glass doors and out onto an empty balcony. In the center, a table had been set for two. Faelight bobbed around the delicate bouquet in the center.

Nesta glided over to a chair—which Cassian beat her to. He pulled it out for her, scanning their surroundings with trained efficiency for any sign of Lord Devlon.

“Thank you,” she said as she sat. She noticed then that his armor had not covered his wings, only the skin beneath. Bandages were still wrapped around each wing, holding them together and keeping them immobile. But the thick gauze that had bound his wings to his torso had been cut thought. She didn’t let the thought bother her, didn’t let her eyes pause for too long on them. She’d tell one of the healers later.

“Where is he?” Cassian growled.

Nesta flourished a hand and said, “How am I supposed to know?”

Cassian marched around the table and sat in the only other seat, like a king taking his throne. Wings or not, Cassian sat like he owned every inch of that balcony, as if he were daring Devlon to take his seat.

“Wine?” Nesta said. She didn’t wait for him to answer before she filled the only other glass on the table. Cassian took it, drinking deeply. Nesta was pretty sure the way he was gripping the glass was not from rage or lack of manners, but because he wanted to leave his hand prints and smudges over every available inch of it. She fought a smile.

“Bread? Chicken?” Again, she didn’t bother to hear his reply before she snapped her fingers and dinner appeared before them.

As expected, Cassian wasted no time taking several bites of everything, making sure to use every available utensil and napkin that should be for Devlon. Like a dog marking his territory.

Nesta ate as well. Casually sipping her wine as she went.

When the sun had just dipped below the horizon, Cassian stopped shoveling food and glassware into his mouth and looked up at her.

“You never had a date with Devlon did you?” he said.

And maybe it was because she was satisfied with herself, or maybe it was because she was truly happy, Nesta let some of her smile free.

~

Cassian blinked. And blinked again, taking in everything about the way Nesta looked with a smile. The beautiful curve of her mouth, the narrowing of her pale blue eyes, the pinch in her cheeks and the two small dimples that formed right under then. He briefly wondered what other things she could do with her mouth that might also bring out those dimples…

“No,” Nesta said. She sipped her wine.

Cassian stared at her. “Why?”

She shrugged, lounging back in her chair. “Why not? You always came off as rather gullible. I wanted to see for myself.” She took another sip of her wine.

He paused for a moment, then tipped his head back and laughed. And laughed and laughed. The sound was low and rich as it reverberated off the stone balcony.

“Care to tell me what’s so funny?” Nesta said smoothing the velvet over her thigh.

Cassian placed his elbows on the table and folded his hands. “You.”

“Me?”

He smiled. “Yes, you.” She raised an eyebrow. “All this,” he said, waving a hand to the table, the balcony. “All this—the bracelet, the necklace, your dress”—the memory of what it’d felt like to button her blue dress, to know the delicate curve of her spin, the urge he’d had to run his fingers, his mouth, along the lily-white skin there, flashed through his mind—“you did all of it because you couldn’t just ask me to go on a date with you?”

She snorted and rolled her eyes.

But didn’t deny it.

Cassian let out a low whistle. And he saw, rather than felt, that light return to his eyes. Saw because whatever it was, glimmered—no, reflected—in Nesta’s eyes, dancing like a prized fighter around an opponent ready to strike.

So he said, “Sweetheart, if you wanted to take me to bed, you didn’t have to buy me dinner.”

A blink was Nesta’s only tell.

And then her smile vanished. As she hauled up wall after wall after wall around her.

~

Something thick and hot and sticky crawled up Nesta’s back and settled over her neck and shoulders, her face.

Stupid. Dinner had been a stupid idea. There were a thousand other ways she could have gotten him out of his room, gotten him to come back, to snap out of it. But this dinner had been a foolish idea.

“You flatter yourself, Cassian.” Her words were chips of ice. “I wouldn’t deign to entertain even the thought of taking anyone as pathetic and as lamed as you to bed.” She stood, ignoring the look on his face. The look that told her he was not hurt by her words, but his own. By what he’d not meant to imply.

She backed away from the table.

Cassian stood. “Nesta, I didn’t mean—” Too close, he was too close and she needed to stop him, wound him. Enough to get him to stay away, but not to lock himself in that room again.

“Didn’t mean what?” she spat. “That you’re a cheap date? That you’d take anything to bed?” She ignored the look that clouded his eyes as she backed to the door and laughed in a shrill, near wild pitch. “You’re unbelievably gullible. I mean you thought—what? What did you think? Did you think that I did all this for you?” Her back hit the glass door, and she fumbled for the handle. “You’re not that simple are you? Cauldron, I did this for me.”

He took a few steps forward. “That’s not true—”

“Yes, it is,” she yelled. And something in her fractured. “I’m a mean, heartless bitch. I’m everything Rhys tells you I am. In fact, I did this to get him to shut up—”

“Rhys has never said a word about y—”

“He doesn’t have to say a damn thing, Cassian,” Nesta screamed. “I see it every time he looks at me—what he thinks of me. Stupid, shitty High Lord Rhys. Spends a few years at the beck and call of a tyrant, and thinks he’s got me all figured out.”

She had no idea why she couldn’t stop talking, why she couldn’t just shut up and run away. Couldn’t stop hurling secrets at him when she knew they’d do nothing to stop him. She tried and tried and tried to stop, but the words just kept spilling out like bile—one horrible truth after the other. Her ugliness laid bare for the eyes of the one person she’d never wanted to see.

But she couldn’t stop. And so she continued.

“Rhys,” she screamed, “who never asked Mor if she needed to talk about what happened to her; Rhys, who never once asked Amren what she really is because Cauldron-forbid he seem obtuse; Rhys, who’s never spent a day in his life starving, or freezing, or crying while he begged his father to do sometime—anything—to save his mother who lay dying in a bed for months and months. And all his father could be bothered to do was sit on his ass and watch.” An image of her mother—too pale, too thin, and wrapped in white bandages for bed sores—shuttered through Nesta’s mind. “Until one day when she’d wasted away so completely, so fully, that her heart gave out. And the bastard had the audacity to mourn her.”

She’d not known she’d started crying, not known for how long she’d been clutching the handle of the door.

She choked out, “…to act like he cared, only after it was too late.”

Cassian took a few steps forward. “I didn’t mean to imply that you didn’t care about me, Nesta.”

She opened her mouth to cut him off when a white piece of bandage slipped off one of his wings and pooled at his feet. Cassian followed her eyes as she stared and stared at that piece of gauze. Some of the white was yellowed. Her stomach twisted.

She turned on her heels and pulled the door handle. She didn’t know if she’d make it back to her room before she got sick.

Covering her mouth with a hand, she moved as fast as she could through the halls. She didn’t bother to listen for Cassian. She was going to vomit and—

The back of her throat lurched backward only to launch itself forward. Nesta doubled over and heaved into a clay pot that appeared at her feet. A hole in the dirt from where the plant it’d held had been ripped out.

She flinched when Cassian’s hands pulled her long, golden brown hair away from her face.

She wished she could winnow. If only so that he would not get to see her like this—shaking and retching and blinking back tears. The stench of her sickness so much more potent to her Fae nose.

Cassian crouched beside her, shielding her from anyone who might pass by. Her knuckles were white when at last her stomach settled and she released her hold on the clay pot.

She was running through a list of choice insults when Cassian said, “You did not sit by and do nothing when I needed you, Nesta. You did not pretend as if I were a lost cause, or as if I would one day get better without help.”

She turned her face away from him, toward the wall.

“Thank you, Nesta,” he said. And something in her broke. Broke so fully that she was sure he’d heard it, sure the world had heard it. She fought the tears that swelled—and lost. “Thank you for saving me. For caring enough to help me when I could not help myself.” Cassian released her hair and flattened his hand on her back. It was large and warm, and she did not shy away. Just let him keep it there as she tried her best to hide her sobbing, her shaking.

He rubbed idle circles over her shoulder blade with a thumb.

“Look at me,” he said.

She could not.

“Look at me, Nesta.”

And still she could not.

A calloused hand slid under her chin to rest along the far side of her face. She knew he could feel the tears there. The hair that had become plastered to her skin.

Slowly, Cassian turned Nesta to face him.

She didn’t know where to look—left, right, down. But when she glanced at his eyes—what she saw there… she could not look away.

A large, rough thumb rolled over her cheek and wiped her tears.

“You are not your father,” he said in a voice that was as deep as it was warm and gentle. “You are loving and kind and brave. And I see you, Nesta. Beneath all of it—the fire, the venom, the rage. I see you. And you would tear the world apart to help someone you loved.”

Cassian slid his hand from her back and tucked the hair behind her ear, the one that was closest to him. He tucked back that golden brown curtain so she could not hide from him, not anymore. He brushed his knuckles along her cheek, wiping the tears.

Her eyelids fluttered at the touch, but she choked out, “So you think you’re someone I love?”

A smiled lit Cassian’s face like the morning sun cresting the horizon, and Nesta thought she might’ve gone blind from not seeing it. From missing it all these weeks and months.

He said, “You’ve been in love with me since the moment you first ignored me at your dinner table.” Nesta snorted, careful not to get tears and snot and spit all over him—though she doubted he’d care. “Which is good,” he added, “because I fell in love with you the moment I sat down at that table.”

They stared at one another for a too long moment. Then Nesta brought her hands up, wrapped them around Cassian’s armored wrists, and gently pulled them away from her face. Cassian tapped each siphon, and the armor retracted, then vanished entirely. By the time Nesta had pushed his hands down to her lap, she held his bare wrists. His skin was warm.

Her heart was a hummingbird in her chest as she stared down at his hands.

He held them awkwardly, unsure if it would be okay to relax them, or lay then down against her. She stared at them a moment. And Cassian flipped his wrists so that his palms were facing up. An offering, and a silent question.

Nesta had never realized how much bigger his hands were then hers. How much darker they were, too.

She swallowed thickly and let his wrists go.

But Cassian grabbed her hands with his. Nesta’s eyes shot up—and she found his hazel ones devouring her. She had no idea how long he might have been staring at her, watching her.

He rubbed his thumbs along the backs of her hands. She wasn’t sure she was breathing.

But Cassian was. The rise and fall of his chest was rapid. His broad shoulders, his muscles, expanded and contracted with each inhale and exhale.

“You’re not wearing a shirt,” Nesta said.

Cassian smiled. “Are you mad?”

“I think you killed the ficus.”

Cassian looked over to the plant he’d ripped from the clay pot. “Is that what those tiny trees are called?” He was still rubbing the backs of her hands.

She huffed a laugh. “You should probably pick it up before Elain sees… or your High Lord.”

Cassian looked back at her. He squeezed her hands. “Rhys does not blame you, Nesta.”

“I don’t care what Rhys thinks.”

“Rhys does not know what it’s like to be starving. He does not know what it’s like to be so young and so angry. He only sees Feyre, what she did and—” Cassian shook his head. “He cannot understand that. Your father was the parent, Nesta. It was his responsibility to protect to his children—all of his children. Not yours.”

She wanted to tell him that it didn’t feel that way, that she should have done something, but all she could do was nod.

Cassian said, “And if I ever meet your father, I will remind him of that, of his failings. I’ll remind him that he sat on his ass and let his children care for him. And that you are nothing like him.”

Nesta blinked.

Cassian stood, pulling her to her feet. “Come on,” he said, letting go of only one of her hands. He turned down the hallway toward their rooms. “You smell like vomit, and I can’t eat dinner with you if you stink.”

Nesta scowled but kept pace. “We already ate dinner.”

“Yes, and then you heaved yours into the ficus pot. What kind of male would I be if I let you end our first date on an empty stomach?”

“This isn’t a date.”

He turned to her and smiled. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

Nesta stared at him from the corner of her eye as they walked down the hall. She took a deep breath and tightened her hand around his. “If I have to wash my mouth, then we’re binding your wings back up. And you’re putting on a damn shirt.”

“Is the view making you uncomfortable?”

“Of course not,” she lied. “Your ridiculous temper tantrum shredded the bindings and now I can see all the pussy parts and stitches. It’s disgusting. And I’d rather not vomit again.”

Cassian tipped his head back and laughed—all the way back to their rooms.

[End 3/3]

[drawingsdrawingseverywhere]

Trollhunters Dadswap AU part 15

Jim’s birthday brings new allies… and new threats.

starting off with Heimdrel again. He currently has his hook hand in place. His eyes are on the sky with a strange totem in his other hand. Heimdrel sits the totem down and gets to work. He digs his hook into the ground around the totem, making an array of markings and runes. He rises back up to his feet and backs away, uttering an incantation under his breath.

The runes begin to glow and the Totem starts to shift and grow. Heimdrel smiles.

“Not even daylight cannot protect you now, trollhunter. Soon there will be nowhere to run.”

Jim’s birthday morning goes similarly to how it does in the show, up until they go to trollmarket. Angor Rot is causing mayhem in the forge with his golems when Jim and Toby arrive, and it isn’t long before Jim is caught and the surprise party is revealed. Jim is happy to see everyone excited and happy to celebrate, but like in canon isn’t very interested in his birthday.

Strickler isn’t as bothered about it as Blinky was in canon, as some humans just aren’t too big about Birthdays, but still asks Toby if he’s alright. Toby explains and Strickler nods.

“I see.... well I suppose we’ll just have to make it up for him.”

“yeah. Speaking of, I’ve got a joyride I owe Jim. We’ll be back later!”

We once again follow most of the episode’s plot up until the Stalkling attack. Once Jim is safe, albeit a bit scratched up, he returns the bike and both he and Toby race back to Trollmarket. During the attack, the beast loses a scale and it gets stuck in Jim’s coat. With this clue, it’s straight to Blinky and Dictatious, however they can only lead them so far down the Rabbit Hole.

“perhaps Vendel will be of more use to you. While we can tell this came from a Stalkling, our records are unfortunately lacking.”

With Scale in hand our heroes enter the Heartstone to discuss things with Vendel, and he is able to more fully explain the creature and what it pertains.

“From what you have described, and from the off texture of this scale, I’m certain this was a Summoned Stalkling, and not your everyday trained breeds.”

“so what’s the difference?”

“Trained Stalklings are more merciful, for starters. It has been some time since I have seen a Summoned Stalkling, but that was because the art of doing so was lost many eons ago at the fall of the Tyreta trolls and their other mountainous cousins.”

“When Heimdrel killed them all,” Angor Rot mumbled under his breath.

“So if this giant death bird is after Jim, he can never be alone?”

“Not unless he’d like to be lifted thousands of feet into the air and then dropped onto rocky terrain. I would suggest staying indoors as well, Trollhunter. Stalklings can fly for days without rest, especially the summoned breeds. I doubt it has stopped to rest even once since it tracked you.”

“great.” 

Jim goes to school the next day, already planning what he could do to make sure he’s with someone at all times, when Claire mentions that he has to really step up his game in rehearsals, especially since Steve got in that crash and Jim was the main for Romeo again.

Jim thinks it’ll be ok since he can get his mom to pick him up afterwards.

And like in canon, he is proven wrong when not only is his mom running late, but Toby is nowhere nearby. Jim starts to ride home on his bike, Amulet close at hand. Toby answers his phone after about 3 calls, the first two being unheard over the movie Toby tried introducing Angor Rot to since video games only went kinda well last time.

Cue Jim getting caught by the Stalkling. Jim is starting to be carried higher and higher until he is far above the canal bridge. By that point he is starting to lose his breath, and struggling to get the amulet out of his pocket. Jim swears he can see movement down below, but he’s fading fast.

Jim finally summons his armor and sword, and zaps the Stalkling with lightning like in canon. As he’s plummeting to his doom, Toby and Angor Rot see him falling. Angor Rot quickens his pace, trying to reach him in time, when something leaps from the trees. Something catches Jim mid-air, and lands a few feet past Angor Rot. Angor Rot turns to see Aargamount with Jim hanging out of his mouth by his coat. Angor Rot draws his dagger just in case, but then Aargamount backs up, the remains of the Stalkling crashing to the ground on the bridge.

Aargamount gently sits the weak Trollhunter down into his hands and locks eyes with Angor Rot.

“Angor Rot.... free troll?”

Angor Rot slowly nods, lowering his blade.

“Human trollhunter.... friend to you...?”

Toby slowly approaches once he’s close enough to see Aarghamount. Angor Rot silently nods again as Aarghamount sits. He rubs his hand across the scar around his neck- caused by the collar.

“You free me. I save boy. I am... free troll too?”

Aarghamount watches quietly as Angor Rot puts away his dagger and walks towards him. He winces as Angor Rot raises his hand. It’s clear he’s terrified of being somehow punished or attacked. His eyes slowly open when he feels Angor Rot’s hand gently rest on his shoulder. He looks down at the Assassin.

“If you wish to be.”

“Heimdrel has prison. Still in danger. Fear The Jailer may come for me.”

Angor Rot lets that sink in and nods- giving his shoulder a calm and reassuring pat.

“I will get you your freedom. Even if I have to pry it from both their stone felled hands.”

 Aarghamount weakly smiles. Now that he knows it’s safe, Toby joins the group and smiles as well.

“he can stay at my place! You already know how blind my Nana is, I’m sure she wont notice he’s a troll if I tell her I brought home a really big cat.”

“I think that will work, at least until I can convince Vendel to remove the mark of the Witch from Aarghamount.”

“AAARRRGGHH!!!”

Angor Rot and Toby look over at Aarghamount.

“You can call me AAARRRGGHH!!! That was name humans and Angor Gave me.”

Toby put his hands on his hips and thinks it over.

“I like it! AAARRRGGHH!!! it is, then!”

“I will inform Strickler once we are all home safe that AAARRRGGHH!!! will be staying with you.”

“Great! Oh just you wait, new roomie. I have all sorts of games we can play, and movies you can eat, oh! And I can borrow the power washer in the garage and get some of that dirt off of you and-”

as the group walks home, new ally among them, Heimdrel watches silently from the shadows. Once they are gone, the troll leaves his hiding place and picks up one of the stones left of the Stalkling’s body. He lets out an enraged growl, crushing the stone in his hand.

“I am through playing games with you, boy.”

“My lord,” Mr. Takato bows to Heimdrel as the furious troll returns to the building site. “I just received word from our German supplier. He’s arrived with-"

Heimdrel grabs Mr. Takato by the throat.

“It all will be for naught if the Trollhunter interferes! I am done hiding! I want the boy’s head, and I want it now!”

Mr. Takato struggles for breath as he continues, “B-but sir! He.... He says he’s brought someone with him! Another.... another changeling on our side! He says.... that he has the... the keystone!”

Heimdrel’s grip loosens enough for Mr. Takato to breathe and leans forward.

“what did you say?”

At the airport, Otto casually approaches the changeling working there as he does in canon.

“Have you brought the Keystone?” she asks quietly.

“even better” he replies with a grin.

A man approaches from behind Otto with a box under his arm. He is every meaning of the word big- even going so far as to literally tower over the German changeling- with fiery red hair.. A well polished metal cane gently taps and then rests on Otto’s shoulder before the man uses it to make him take a sidestep. The man smiles at the woman and removes his hat as he walks forward for her to more properly see him.

“Bhaltair?” She looks towards Otto before the man uses his cane handle to move her head back towards him.

“that it is, missy.”

His accent was thick and Scottish. The woman nervously bows her head a moment as he takes the box out from under his arm.

“I need you to send a message to my champion brother, The Executioner.”

“wh-what shall I tell him?”

Bhaltair smiles and opens the box for her to look inside. Her eyes widen as she gazes upon the Keystone. She looks back up at the man as he leans forward.

“The Jailer is bringin’ him a gift.”