#Morning reblog

[violetprosejoe]

Shadowheart: Halsin, if I were a druid, what animal do you think I'd be?

Halsin: Given your memory issues, perhaps a goldfish?

Shadowheart: I'd hoped for something a bit more exotic... but would you carry around my fishbowl, feed me flakes of food?

[lyrifaun]

Frankenstein with long yellow hair

——————

Bonus Alecto edit of the original because I cannot help myself, apparently

[moorishflower]

The Riddle of the Sphinx Ch. 3 (Dream/Hob fantasy AU Explicit)

The Riddle of the Sphinx || Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling || Explicit || Chapter 3 of 5 Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Sphinxes, Riddles, Human Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Child Loss, Marriage Proposal, bonding over shared traumas, Mates, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Human/Monster Romance, Non-Human Genitalia, There will be no barbed cat penis sorry, There's a knot tho, Hand Jobs, Frottage, Kissing, Oral Sex, Oral Knotting Fantasy

At some point during the summer, a sphinx had moved into the cliffs at the edge of the Endless siblings' property. Dream of the Family Endless, in an ill-fated attempt to remove the sphinx that has built a lair on his property, finds himself coming to know the creature more intimately and sweetly that he ever could have imagined.

You know how it is when you go to write an epilogue and turn it into almost another fic entirely

Anyway they bone in this chapter

Read Chapter 3 on AO3 Here

[dell-amor-te]

“The Hare, the Crow, & the Unhappy Marriage”

Word Count: 5,906.

Warning(s): Spoilers for what��s been revealed in pre-released content, canon-typical combat depictions, no beta but I try my best.

Pairing: F!Rook x Lucanis Dellamorte. 

Summary: Lucanis takes on a major contract and makes an acquaintance he’ll never forget. (Also known as “the Lucanis and Nöa pre-canon cringefail meetcute that won that poll forever ago that I finally finished.”)

🐦‍⬛ Read on ao3.

9:51, Dragon.

Minrathous, the Thalsian Estate.

“It was a lovely service, Magister Thalsian. A perfect coda for the loss of a titan of our empire. Worthy of a man of your father’s standing.”

She stood still and poised like a marble statue in the moonlight gardens, waiting for any sign of life from the younger man standing before her. His black-clad back remained affixed in her direction while he stared up at an actual, imposingly tall marble statue that was carved in his father’s image.

Larger than life, much like the now deliciously departed Festus Thalsian, Sr.

His living junior always seemed small next to his father, but the statue’s towering height made the discrepancy almost comical.

Once she was certain he would not answer to her first statement, she cleared her throat, making another: “I imagine, as the newly appointed representative of one of the Imperium’s oldest and most respected families, you must be feeling quite proud somewhere underneath your grief.”

A beat, a reconsidered addendum to follow, but not a misstep.

“Somewhere amidst all that grief, of course.”

Nothing still.

Now she was growing impatient.

Again, then.

“I—”

“What do you want, Magister Renata?”

“So formal, my lord.”

Zara smiled easily, taking the break in his silence as her invitation to come stand at his side in the looming presence of his father’s cold and impassive homage. He gave her a not-so-veiled look of derision before his face turned down once more, his tired eyes further fatigued by dark circles under them.

She took a chance to take a proper look at the statue. While the flesh and bone Festus was already ashes stuffed into a gauche urn and shoved on a mantle somewhere in the grand Thalsian estate, this monument would remain in the family’s private and labyrinthine gardens; his perpetual company would be the other members of the family tree who had been so honored.

Forever able to give his son those same withering glances he always had.

“He looks as proud as your father always did of you.” Zara lied smoothly.

“Again: what do you want, Zara?”

“Tut, tut, Festus. Is it so wrong to want to offer you my condolences in person?”

“It is when the funerary services were a private family affair.” His reply was as stiff yet spineless as his current stance.

“I almost married your uncle.”

“But you didn’t. How did you manage to secure an invitation?”

“Oh, I still see him every so often.”

Festus sighed haggardly.

“Really, I’m hurt, Festus.”

“And I’m still left wondering why you’re here. You must want something. You always do.”

Zara chuckled. “See, you do know me.” She said, though it brought Festus no pleasure to be so praised.

To wit, then.

“Your father’s death creates a power vacuum in the Magisterium that having a son and heir to take his seat will only quell for so long. Your father cast quite a large shadow.”

“And we all know I don’t have what’s needed to fill it.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” She chided with practiced gentleness.

Not here, anyway.

Zara clapped her hands together. “You are more than capable of rising to his heights, Festus. He and my father began their time in the Magisterium together, if you’ll recall. Neither one of them was anything more than we two are now when they began.”

Festus studied her with wariness, like she was an asp—a shining smile hiding fangs ready to strike. While she may have been missing the fangs, she certainly managed to hold the same venom and sharp tongue.

“True enough. But my father had exploits no other mage in our family could hope to replicate. So grand that they made up for his few shortcomings.”

Such as the fact that neither of the sons he produced were born Dreamers.

Zara closed the gap between them, heels clicking authoritatively against the cobblestone. “Then why not show our peers why you’re the heir to the Thalsian name?” She challenged.

“We all know why. It’s certainly not because of my own merit.” Festus snorted, looking to the memorial statue again for a moment.

“And why can’t it be?” Zara asked sharply, shoving one perfectly painted nail into his chest, right into his very heart. “Because you’re going to show them that you’re capable of righting even your unimpeachable father’s wrongs. What could be a finer tribute to his legacy?”

Festus’ brow twitched.

“I’ve had the pleasure of reading some of his notes on Dreamers and the ancient elves, you know.” Zara informed him. “He was onto something with those experiments of his. I know you know that—he mentioned you in his writings.”

“Yes, but if you’ve truly read them—and I won’t even question how—then you know he abandoned them.”

“Yes, because he lost his two prized lab rats. Or should I say lab rabbits?”

“You could say that. But it would be incredibly on the nose of you.” Festus’ own nose crinkled in distaste. “They weren’t just prized. You must have seen the records and ledgers, too. He almost bankrupted our family on purchasing hundreds of different brutes over the years. They were the only two who weren’t only viable, but exceptional.”

“Indeed. His golden goose and lucky rabbit. What’s the elven for that again?”

The younger mage’s spine stiffened with a sharp intake of breath.

“This is a moot point.” He said quickly. “The mother was killed by my father.”

“But the little rabbit escaped. Obviously.” Zara scoffed.

He scoffed right back.

“Come now, Festus, surely you don’t take me for a fool.” She crossed her arms, resolute. “Elves might not be rare in this city, much as we all like to pretend, but elves who bear those savage markings are rare indeed. And I doubt it’s a coincidence that this one goes by a moniker that happens to match the name your father gave her when he came into possession of her.”

Festus set his brow. He wouldn’t indulge her.

“Glower all you like, but I know you must be aware of her exploits.”

“Oh, and what makes you so confident?”

“Because the Magisterium won’t acknowledge what’s happened. A rogue rattus ran about, a runaway, stealing others property and setting it free? And no one can seem to catch her? And then she vanishes into thin air? You know as well as I how our colleagues love their gossip, and they won’t even dare to speak of her. They’re embarrassed.” She nodded. “Just as you keep quiet. Because you habor some sentiment for your lost pet.”

Festus’ cheeks burned red, catching as quickly as a wildfire from a firebolt gone awry.

“You’re hardly the first man in this city to get a little too attached to one of the family pets.”

“That’s quite the accusation to make without any sort of proof.”

“Is that right? Tell me, isn’t that locket you refuse to let leave your neck made of ironbark? Or am I mistaken?”

She, of course, was never mistaken.

Festus said nothing, confirming her suspicions without so much as uttering a single syllable.

“It has her portrait inside of it, no doubt.” Zara spoke in a disinterested tone, picking at one of her nails with another nail before strolling away from the statue.

She kept walking until she reached the balcony overlooking the rest of the gardens below, draping her back against the cool stone of the baluster, the cape attached to her gown lying tastefully of the smooth barrier. She smiled knowingly when she turned to find Festus close at heel, absently fiddling with the locket in question.

“You’re proposing I get her back and continue with my father’s plans.”

It wasn’t a question.

“This world needs Dreamers. More importantly, the Imperium needs Dreamers.” Zara mused, smiling as if he had missed his own joke. “And it should be the Imperium who brings them to life.” She heaved a dispassionate sigh. “It’s a pity that such pristine breeding must be tainted so by lesser, wild blood, but we all have to make sacrifices for the greater good of Tevinter.”

Festus met her at the balcony at last, his arm supporting him as he leaned in and considered her words. He never had managed to learn how to read her. She remained as lost to him as an esoteric tome from eras bygone and best left forgotten. And yet he couldn’t stop trying to understand.

If not an understanding, then at least to twist to his advantage.

“She may be persona non grata throughout the Imperium, but people will catch on if I or my men go hunting her bounty, no matter how we try to spin it. And then there will be no Dreamers. Do you intend to offer my men aid?”

“For the right price, of course, darling. And believe me, once payment is confirmed, I’ll happily use every tool in my arsenal to help you. In fact, I’ll have a new shiny toy soon enough, if all goes to plan. And once the blade’s been honed, I’m certain there won’t be anything standing between you and your little rabbit’s sweet reunion.”

“I’m sure that price tag must be hefty. I did mention my father’s spending habits nearly bankrupted our family, didn’t I?”

“Oh, but who can appraise the priceless gift of acclaim that will accompany being the man to reestablish the Dreamers in the bloodline of the First Dreamer himself?”

“You, I’m assuming. Or you think you can, anyway.”

“It’s a trifle, truly, in comparison to having your precious little—”

“Zara.”

She heaved a sigh. “My father has designs to marry me to some cadet branch from a particular family—one who has recently joined with those traitors, the Lucerni.” At Festus’ pointed look, she waved a dismissive hand. “He’s desperate, and he’ll see the contract through even to them for the sake of creating alliances. Unless someone can make a better offer, of course…”

“And you’re short of suitors.” Festus assumed.

“Not if a certain newly-minted magister puts in his bid. I hear he’ll be plagued with marriage offers come daybreak. And won’t all those pesky marriage interviews keep him from his true passion—his studies?”

It was a grim prospect, one the more introverted Festus didn’t relish.

Zara moved in closer, her breath warm against his cheeks as she whispered in his ear. “Besides, this potential Dreamer will need a more…tamed mother, won’t they? One who won’t ask questions or betray the existence of her sweet husband’s…” Her head bobbled as she considered the best phrasing. “Well…less-than-appropriate mistress?”

Festus hid his repulsion for the woman hanging on his arm under a thinly-veiled feint of consideration. It would be a lie to say he hadn’t thought of her everyday since her unfair escape from his family’s estate. Dark-bright eyes oft haunted his dreams. They haunted his waking hours, too. It was a lie he kept close to his chest.

What he wouldn’t give just for the chance of seeing her again…

“It’s traditional for my family to marry at the end of the year, during the holiday festivals.” He informed her. “Now, would you like to share this plan of yours with your fiancé?”

Zara smiled knowingly.

…

The memory played again and again in his mind.

I’ll never forgive you.

I understand.

Lucanis Dellamorte sighed.

The toes of his boots hung off the edge of the rooftop by mere centimeters.

Below him, the city of Minrathous danced at its full tilt. Lights of magical-illumination. Bursting pubs. Beggars in the gutter. Unaware of his presence, and yet Lucanis knew better than to let his guard drop. He certainly couldn't while he was here, not while he was in unfamiliar territory.

Vyrantium was one thing. Minrathous was another beast entirely.

But his target was here, and so he had come.

His target.

Zara Renata. Newlywed of Magister Festus Thalsian, the junior of a recently deceased father. A brave match that could see the Empire forward for generations with the heights they could reach together.

Unless Lucanis got to work, that is.

Little was known about the Thalsian family almost in spite of how well-known they were. What was known beyond their names and prestige was limited to what its members allowed outsiders to know. They were prideful, ever seeking more power and power beyond. This fact was likely not helped by their connection to the first recorded priest of Dumat. The lack of any other concrete information about the family as a whole—not to mention individual members—was frustrating for Lucanis.

He hadn’t been able to fill even a full page with what paltry intel he had been able to gather before journeying to Minrathous. In a perfect world, he would have had another week to do some more footwork, perhaps even a day or two to observe the Thalsian estate before he ever crossed the threshold.

But the world was not perfect, and Lucanis had not been consulted on setting a date for this particular wedding.

While the Thalsian family remained obfuscated, the Renata family was much more prone to chase the spotlight. They were a moderately affluent house, but this union would no doubt do wonders to elevate their standing in the Imperium.

The last time he had crashed a wedding, it had ended with the father-of-the-bride dead before Lucanis was mysteriously spirited away from the festivities.

Even as unfamiliar as Minrathous was to him, Lucanis was able to follow the interconnecting alleyways easily enough. A fancy manor in this city was much like a tree in a forest or sand on the beach, even with the special occasion being held at this household. Lucanis was able to find the Thalsian estate with little trouble, and without detection.

The serpentine crest wrought into the black-iron gate of the estate confirmed the proud owners of the home. Sneaking inside undetected amidst the sea of well-wishers and wedding guests was one of the easier maneuvers Lucanis had executed in his time as a Crow.

And so he found himself in much a similar position as the one he was in out on the streets, tucked up and out of the way on a makeshift perch. Rather than a seedy and rain-slicked rooftop, he found security behind a granite-carved serpent, an eave mounted high about the festivities below, stuck in an indefatigable vigil over the decorated and gilded ballroom.

He was charming in a disarming sort of way, Lucanis could see that much from his current vantage point.

The magister’s smile was ostentatious. It wanted your attention—no, demanded it. It was bright, flashy, like vibrant scales that warned potential prey of poison lurking in the body of a predator, just waiting for the one foolish enough to fall to its charms.

It certainly didn’t help that his looks would appeal to anyone.

“You’re sure it’s secured?” He asked with minimal movement of his lips—Lucanis just barely made out what he was saying to his new bride.

Zara Renata offered a much more practiced, poisonous smile as she made to meet her groom. “Of course, darling. She’s downstairs with the rest of the wedding presents.” She said, lip movements less covert than Festus’.

Festus stiffened then, but nodded with a certain eagerness that Lucanis found raising his hackles. The shine that overtook the magister’s eyes did nothing to set Lucanis at ease. There was a hunger—an affection, if it could truly be called that—that had been missing from every moment spent with his bride, even while he bound himself to her.

The bride herself, however, did not share Lucanis’ offense.

“I must admit, she’s prettier than I expected. I can almost see the appeal. Almost.” Zara told her newly-wedded husband, hooking her arm in his. “She shouted something at me in that blasted tongue of theirs. So uncouth.”

Surely they didn’t mean…

Lucanis cursed the magisters under his breath. Both of them—for good measure.

Though his mind immediately set to lecturing him, reminding him that he had a job to do and his window to do it and get out was closing with each step the couple took toward their marriage bed, his heart and legs rallied all the stronger. He left his serpentine perch with a soundless leap, heading into the first corridor he saw with a descending set of stairs, mindful of each step.

His gut lurched with each repetition in his ears of those words as they played over and over again in his mind.

Wedding presents. Wedding presents. Weddings presents.

He heard Illario’s words in his ears, too, ringing like a warning bell, tolling and warning him away from a course he was already on.

We’re not heroes, cousin.

Lucanis kept close to the ancient stone walls. For all the variations in façades, Tevinter homes above a certain degree of nobility and prestige all had similar layouts. Wine cellars often masked more nefarious rooms—holding cells. Often barely distinguishable from the house servants’ sleeping quarters, though they sported chains and shackles the quarters did not.

The sounds of the wedding party slipped away from him as he neared the false wall of casks, and a hushed conversation filled his ear instead. He knelt down behind the end of a row of casks that acted as the mouth to a slip of hallway leading to the unlit cells beyond.

His brow twitched as he listened in.

“Oh, hush, Strife! I’ll have us out of here in no time.”

“Didn’t you say those things were untested? What if you tip off the whole damn household?” A man’s deep cadence questioned.

Whoever he was, Lucanis could hear the years in his voice. The certainty was unusual, raising Lucanis’ eyebrow. Most caught up in the slave system of Tevinter didn’t sound so confident, especially if they had years under their belt.

“Please. I can hear the band playing from here, which means they might as well be deaf up there. Besides, the mister and missus should be making their way to the marriage bed by now. Now stand back, will you? Just in case.”

The second voice was distinctly feminine, sporting an accent that sounded slightly Nevarran to color her words. It was clear she was well-acquainted with the man she spoke with, given the familiarity in her tone.

In the low light of the pocket hall, Lucanis couldn’t quite make out what was happening, and he certainly didn’t come to terms with it until after it had happened. A bright flash of light—completely soundless—exploded into the air. Unprepared, Lucanis flinched away, pressing his forefinger and thumb into his eyes to alleviate the discomfort.

It took everything in him not to curse aloud.

Beyond the wall, the conversation continued.

“Ye of little faith.” The woman declared smugly. “I tell ya, people in this town are too obsessed with figuring out how to use magic to stop time, or turn it back, or how to manipulate people using their own blood. A little bit of creativity, and they’d actually be a threat.”

“It’s not little faith in you, brains. It’s little interest in having your old man turn me into a walking dead man if he finds out I let a Thalsian get hands on you. Again.”

“Good thing I’m going to kill Thalsian, then. Two Thalsian’s, now.” A pause. “You know that’s not what my father does, right?”

“Don’t try to explain it to me again, please. It’s weird.”

“Only in places that aren’t Nevarra.”

“Yeah, which is everywhere else in Thedas. Come on, let’s liberate our fellow man and get outta here.”

“After y—”

The pair went quiet.

While Lucanis blinked away the after effects of the shocking surprise, his vision still a colorful daze as though he had looked directly into the sun, a pair of thighs wrapped around his neck. The Crow cursed that time, shifting his focus on getting this unseen person off of him.

His hand instinctively went for one of the knees, hoping to disbalance and then sling his assailant off of him. Instead of loosening grip, their knees closed in, ankles locking for extra security.

He couldn’t catch his breath. If they had half a mind, no doubt they could twist their lower half and take his neck right along with them. At such an angle it would be unlikely to kill him, but he still didn’t relish the thought of a neck ache or the accompanying headache.

He just had to catch them by surprise.

And so Lucanis struggled to his feet, balancing precariously with the added weight on his shoulders.

And then he let himself fall backwards.

His piggybacker made a tactical decision to protect themself from injury—rather than keeping a hold on him and risk hurting their own back, their legs released his neck, allowing the attacker time needed to roll out into a safer position just before they both hit the marble floor.

“Bloody shem!” The woman’s voice was warm against his neck.

The woman from the cell, he saw now.

Before either of them could make another move, laughter echoed off the stony walls.

“Take it easy on the poor guy, Nöa.” A tall, muscled elven man, the owner of the male voice Lucanis had heard, chuckled amicably, standing over them in their entangled heap. “I don’t think he’s interested in hurting either of us.”

Lucanis said nothing, only offering an easy smirk in reply once his coughing subsided and allowed him to. He rubbed at his neck absently.

“Oh, forgive the mistake—I saw a figure in black and my brain assumed Thalsian guard.” The woman, Nöa, chuckled easily, offering him a hand up as soon as she was back on her feet.

Lucanis considered the outstretched gloved hand for a moment, before accepting.

“Sorry for trying to choke you, by the way.” She added quickly. “I usually buy people dinner before I start wrapping my thighs around their neck.”

“No, no. I don’t mind…”

Strife snorted, and despite the smug look on her face, the woman blushed. When he realized what he had said, Lucanis cleared his throat.

“Are you alright?” He asked instead.

“Hm? Oh. Fancy meeting a friendly here. You’re not to Festus’ tastes, so you must be a gift for the new madame of the house.”

“What? No. I came to help you.” He shook his head. “No.”

Actually, he had come to kill the new madame of the house and her new husband. But here he was. He could almost hear Illario berating him. It was a harmless enough lie, since he knew she was also keen on seeing the sun set on the world with two less magisters in it.

The woman put her hands on her hips, head cocking to the side as she studied him, rounding him like a surveyor. “Hm. You’re obviously not with the Shadow Dragons.”

Her left eye glinted with a mischievous light, its prosthetic partner seeming to reflect the same sentiment despite its inorganic nature.

“Neither are you. Obviously.” He said pointedly, standing straight up as she circled him.

“Oh, and that accent.” She all but crooned, leaning in closer when she rounded back to face him. “Antivan, right?” Conspiratorially, she posited: “I’d wager you’re a Crow, then, given your ensemble? I’ve always wanted to meet a Crow.”

Lucanis’ brow betrayed him by bunching up, belying his bemusement.

What in the Maker’s name is wrong with her?

Before he could do more than open his mouth, she raised a hand to keep him quiet.

His lips pursed.

A pair of Thalsian’s estate guards passed by, but now before the shorter woman had pulled into an alcove, her taller companion already back behind the wall. Lucanis would have protested, but his focus was squarely on the two guards.

The woman’s hand held him in place, pressed into his chest, before her eyes darted to him, then to the guards.

They were drunk, by the way they laughed and hung on one another—unaware. No doubt they had imbibed on their lord’s wedding wine. They didn’t even notice that the elves tucked within the cages held onto doors that were half-open and slowly, carefully closing.

“And then what did he say?”

“Well, he goes—”

Before the guard could finish their tale, Lucanis and the woman moved as one. They both closed the gap carefully. Just before they reached the pair, the woman muttered something—a spell—under her breath.

The pair quieted, then stilled. Lucanis prepared to end the guard on the left with a clean twist of his neck, but the woman stopped him. It was curiosity, not mercy, that stayed him. He watched as she put a rag to the man’s nose.

His eyes rolled back in his head, and then he crumpled to the floor.

She gestured for Lucanis to let go of his quarry, and she repeated the action with the rag.

“Yeah, just like that. Big, old breaths. Really take in those heady notes of felandaris.”

“It’s a paralytic, but I added in a little extra surprise.” Nöa told him. “They won’t remember a thing.” She folded the rag back into her breast pocket. “Totally harmless to the touch, but works a wonder once it’s inhaled.” She explained. “I don’t mind killing where it needs done. These guys are barely more than slaves to the powers that be, though. Might even be indentured.”

Lucanis hummed curtly. She was much more…exuberant…but the way she spoke of the chemical reminded him of Viago. While he could picture her with a similar deadpan, he couldn’t conjure up a Viago so lively, even in his imagination.

“Well, now that that’s settled, you can shake a leg” Nöa nodded her head toward her companion, the man she called Strife.

She stared at him expectantly.

“Me?” Lucanis had to keep his composure. “I don’t know Minrathous well enough to get them out of the city. You clearly do.” Lucanis said. He gestured toward the man with a sweeping arm.

“No can do. I have business here with Thalsian.”

“And I have business with Renata.”

“Alright, you two, that’s enough. This is getting a little too hot for my tastes.” Strife stepped in between them, separating them with his body.

“I assure you, you’re in no danger from me.” He looked from the elf to the shorter, somewhat elven woman. “The only one I’m here to kill a magister.”

“Well, so am I.” She insisted.

“Crows don’t abandon contracts.”

“He’s mine.”

There was so much conviction in her words that Lucanis found himself frozen.

“I’ll get them out of here.” Strife decided at last. “Nöa, do what you have to do—but if it comes to it, let ‘em take the Crow.” He smirked at Lucanis before turning back to his companion, staring her down seriously as his hand found her shoulder. “You get yourself out of here, that way I don’t have an angry necromancer using me for anatomy lessons because I let his daughter get herself nabbed.”

“Your skeletal structure would be very good for articulation lectures.” Nöa mused.

“See, that’s the kind of strange stuff you’ve gotta stop saying.” Despite his words, the man chuckled fondly. “I better be seeing you back at base.

“Jumper’s honor.” She signaled him off with a small wave before turning to Lucanis. “Shall we go ruin a marriage?”

Lucanis followed her, even if he couldn’t help but wonder what exactly he was following her into. He studied her as they slunk back up the stairs. There wasn’t a hint of tension in her shoulders. If it wasn’t for the surreptitious nature of their movements, he would have thought she belonged here.

“How do you know where to go?”

“Who says I do?” She teased.

“Your body.” He said.

“Ser, that implies you’re paying attention.” She hummed, pleased. “Like what you see?”

Lucanis didn’t answer, which made her laugh—quietly, mindful of their situation.

“Let’s just say I’ve spent more time in this house than I want to think about. Thalsian and his bride will be in his chamber. Which will be in the west halls. It’s a whole private suite—belonged to his father before he croaked.”

Lucanis said nothing, pausing when she reached back a hand, holding him in place. She barely reached her head around the end of the corridor leading back to the main ballroom. Then she swore under her breath.

“Venatori.” Nöa told him, turning around to face him with a thoughtful hum.

Her hand didn’t leave his chest.

“Wouldn’t that just ruin the good Magister Thalsian’s name if it got out.” Lucanis noted, raising an eyebrow at her.

She met his gaze. A wolfish, understanding smile struck her features.

“After you, my lady.”

Nöa hummed, pleased, before reaching down and pulling a simple dagger from her belt. It looked like little more than a letter-opener, but she held it with certainty.

“So, were you all invited, or are you the hired help for the night?”

“That mark on her face! It’s the Hare!” One of the agents cried.

“Well, fools! Do your duty. Just don’t kill her—Festus wants her alive.” He sneered, lips twitching. “No doubt he’d prefer her face untouched, too. Her pretty little friend is fair game, however.”

Lucanis glowered, readying his own choice weaponry. “I’ll go left.” He told Nöa, practically growling.

Nöa said nothing, setting to work on the right side of the small troop.

They worked quickly, methodically.

Whoever these Venatori agents were, the spellcasting couldn’t match either of their opponents for speed. Nöa had uttered spells and conjured fire before they could get out more than a syllable. Who she didn’t burn, she stabbed.

Lucanis, meanwhile, showed his foes what a Crow could do. They may as well have been a training exercise compared to contracts he had taken. Forfex came to mind at once, along with a slew of names he couldn’t remember.

“And then there was one.” Nöa said, panting slightly as she leveled her gaze at the magister before them.

“Magister Iranicanus.” The portly man bowed dramatically, unfazed by the efficiency with which his men had been dispatched.

Lucanis wondered if it was pride or sheer arrogance. With magisters, sometimes there was hardly a difference.

“Never heard of you.” Nöa said dryly, stalking toward him.

“How dare—”

With a muttered but committed spell, Nöa had the man frozen, though Lucanis couldn’t see any signs of frost or fractals on the man. She swaggered toward the magister, unfazed, surveying him with a critical glint in her eyes.

Then, she used that particular dagger from her belt to create a simple but deadly cut along the path of his carotid artery. It was precise. Almost surgical. There was no pleasure in it, only a sense of necessity.

Justice.

Within seconds, whatever magic she had used on the man disappeared, and he fell to his knees, then to the floor. Dead at her feet, bleeding freely even after life had left him. That blood trickled down the steps of the altar that had been used to bind two magisters earlier that evening. Now it acted as the resting place of another.

“Well, this was fun.” Nöa decided at last, smiling once again.

Lucanis blinked in surprise, stunned by the sudden feeling of her lips against his cheek for the briefest of moments. He stared at her, eyes wide and lips pursed.

She laughed, no doubt inspired by the look of shock on his face. “What? This poor altar deserved to see at least one proper kiss today. And I’d say you’ve more than earned it.”

“You call that fun?” He asked, still stupefied.

“Well…” She drawled out harmlessly. “At least a magister died today. Right?”

Lucanis sighed. “Now, what do we do about Renata and Thalsian? The whole household will be on alert now.”

“I—”

“Well, don’t just stand there! After her!”

“Like I said.” Lucanis said with absolutely no satisfaction in his voice.

He heard the woman speak in a language unfamiliar but not unknown to his ears: elven. If her tone was any proper indicator, she had cursed.

“Thalsian.”

She reached for a dagger tucked against her waist.

Lucanis grabbed her wrist, shaking his head firmly.

She waved her hand at the door, eyes wide and incredulous.

This was the whole point.

“It’s too public.” Lucanis hissed.

She huffed, frustrated.

“Come on, we need to go.”

“I thought Crows didn’t abandon contracts.”

“We don’t. But we retreat when we know it’s necessary. You can try again if you get out. Not so much if you get killed.”

They were both running out of time.

“Fine.” She grabbed his hand. “Come on, there’s a window with a trellis just up the grand staircase. He never locks it. We can get out through there.”

Lucanis didn’t argue—not with her plan and not with her authority over his hand.

They bounded up the stairs quickly. Nöa climbed into the deep sill of one of the overarching windows, unlatching it and pushing its heft frame open before giving Lucanis a hand up. He joined her, but not before the doors below opened with a resounding crash, tailed by the march of Thalsian guards.

“Hey, Crow. What are you doing?”

He looked over his shoulder, then back at her.

They would follow too easily if he didn’t buy her time.

“Hey, hey!”

He shut the window, ramming one of his daggers into the lock so she couldn’t pry it open. And slammed a fist against the outside of the window, horrified.

He offered her a small smile, and then he dropped out of the sill.

It didn’t take long for those rushing footsteps to reach him.

At least Illario hadn’t come with him, after all.

“Well, well, well…”

It wasn’t Thalsian who had come, after all.

“If it isn’t the Demon himself. This isn’t Vyranitum, you know.”

Lucanis froze, keeping his back to the witch he knew stood behind him.

First the attack on the ship, now this.

The magister ran her fingertip along his chin. “Hello, Master Dellamorte. I’ve been oh so eager to meet you. Seems like someone else gave you a warm greeting, too.”

Her fingertip traced upward to his cheek, removing lipstick red as blood. He knew the cut on his cheek was bleeding, but it took a moment for him to realize the witch now had access to his blood.

Access to him.

“Or was it a bitter farewell, hm?” Zara chuckled, the sound malicious and melodic. “You let the little beast escape. My husband will be disappointed, but, well…that’s not my problem.” She clicked her tongue. “But what to do with you, darling?”

He couldn’t move. Not his hands. Not his legs. He couldn’t lash out. The only thing left untouched by the tendrils of her blood magic was his eyes. She wanted to see his fear. But he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

“I do hope that little act of chivalry tasted sweet while it lasted, Master Dellamorte. And I do hope she was worth it. Though, I suppose one good turn deserves another. I won’t tell my husband she was here. Fair enough?”

Lucanis closed his eyes.

He thought of Illario, and of a summer spent chasing after pretended-wyverns in the mud.

And then he thought of nothing at all.

[damselsdontwearglasses]

🌻COMIC UPDATE🌻

[aduckwithears]

Sharing this in its own post. See here for context - basically a scene in Job's basement "planning" what to do with the kids... like most of their plans it is lacking in details, but makes up for that with longing glances. (i guess i write fic now??)

---

I'm torn, because this conversation could have happened in the cellar, or it could have been a speed-run on the way back from seeing God talk to Job. Anyway, I ended up writing the first scenario. Feel free to fill in the blanks afterward with any, um, more physical activities you like, you degenerates (affectionate).

Aziraphale's First Magic Trick (or, how Crowley unwittingly starts the career of The Amazing Mister Fell, an act which will have Repercussions)

Aziraphale is very full. He's never been fuller. Although he has no reference point for his own stomach, he is starting to suspect that a human would never consume an entire ox. By oneself. In one sitting. 

He glances over at Crawley who seems to be completely enjoying himself, lounging with head lolling back, his wine cup half raised, and eyes half closed. There is a temptation to linger on this sight, but Aziraphale remembers (after several longish moments) that he, as an angel, cannot be tempted, and rapidly readjusts his gaze. It falls upon a clay bowl and 3 multicolored shape-shifted children.

"Crawley, the children!"

"Hmmm?"

"The children! They can't stay newts!"

Crawley hoists himself up on one elbow and looks over at the bowl. "Nahh, not newts. They're a type of lizard - meant for the desert, them. They're fine."

Aziraphale levels a stern, if slightly greasy stare in the direction of the demon. "That's not what I meant. How are you planning to return them to their parents?"

Crawley looks surprised. He had been trying to think of the exact type of lizard the form of the transformation had taken. He thought it might be a grecian but that didn't seem quite right. Greco? Still not it... He tries to focus through the wine. "Back to their parents? Doesn't seem very demonic." He shakes his head. "I got rid of them - no more kids, poof, gone - seems like it would take a miracle to get them back." He waves a hand dismissively. 

Aziraphale huffs out a breath. "Well, they can't stay that way forever. If we could get them back to Sitis and Job after the bet is over, maybe they could be taken as new children..." He trails off, realizing what he is saying.

Crawley is now sitting all the way up, wine goblet forgotten and dangling from his fingers as he slowly raises both eyebrows and aims a golden gaze at the angel. "Ohhhh, do go on," he drawls. 

Finding it suddenly very important to look anywhere but Crawley, Aziraphale feels his shoulders hunch. The taste in his mouth is too oily and his tongue seems raw. "Ahhhh," he says eloquently, casting his eyes about the cellar and encountering bare oxen ribs in his attempt to not look at the attentive demon. He turns his gaze miserably to the floor. 

Several minutes pass and the uncomfortable silence grows, until a wiggle turns into a rustle turns into a black dressed form elegantly scooting (possible if you were once a snake and your human spine is open to suggestion) a little closer to his despondent companion. 

"What about a magic trick?" 

Aziraphale flicks his eyes over to where Crawley sits nearby, long legs folded, gazing up at him. "A... trick,” he manages over his oily tongue.

"Look," says Crawley, "between you and me, Gabriel couldn't tell these kids from Cain and Abel. I doubt he can even count to three." Aziraphale chokes a little, halfway between a laugh and gasp, but he must hand it to the demon, Gabriel has never seemed to be the brightest angel in the choir. He thinks about his recent conversations in Heaven and Gabriel’s insistence that God will provide seven new children to Job. Via Sitis (oh that poor woman).

The red hair and beard shimmer in the low light as Crawley leans forward and catches Aziraphale's eyes with his own. "So we'll do a magic trick. Sitis's births have to start sometime, why not right away?"

"Because... uh... well, you see..." Aziraphale himself is completely at sea. He reflects that perhaps humans do not eat entire oxen because it seems to diminish the power of thought. Does he have a general working knowledge of human reproduction? Yes. (He'd been on the human planning committee after all). Could he explain it to the wide-eyed being sitting in front of him? No. This is probably due to the taste of oxen stifling his brain. No other reason. Certainly not. 

Crawley sighs, points to decimated ox. "Do ya get it? Ribs!" He grins. 

Aziraphale feels his mouth drift open. He looks at the ox, ribs glinting white in the flickering light. He remembers another day, a flickering morning, and a woman taking her first breaths… and more importantly, a birth process Gabriel would believe… “Eve!”

The demon’s grin, impossibly, widens. “Exactly. Even if there are a few angels hanging around it should be easy to plant a few ribs, sneak in a few lizards” (what WERE they called? Gemini? Arghh…) “…and poof! Kids!” His hands flutter in the air. A distant, anachronistic part of Aziraphale’s brain categorizes these as Jazz Hands.

“Magicians!” Aziraphale allows himself a small smile. His shoulders relax. He crinkles his eyes towards Crawley, misses the small intake of breath from his demonic cellar-mate. “That could work!” He hesitates. “As long as no one asks directly which children these are, we should be fine!”

Crawley scoots back and resumes his comfortable position from earlier, refills the forgotten goblet, raises another toast. “Angel, the archangel Gabriel wouldn't notice if his wings were on backward. You bring the ribs and gecko-kids (that was it!! Geckos! Course it was!), I’ll do the talking. We’ll be fine." He takes a deep drink of wine.

Aziraphale's smile grows and he thinks that maybe a few of those ox bones need a little more work to be truly clean. He wiggles a little at the anticipation of the rich taste. He casts a quick glance at his companion, who seems, true to his word, not particularly lonely. His magician’s assistant. They will be fine. 

[writing-a-to-b]

Title: Autumn Word Count: 3,460 Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader (with a side of platonic Ellie Williams X Reader) A/N: This work is written in collaboration between @specialagentmonkey & @bangaveragewhitewine. 

We’re back! We are planning to post weekly; two more seasons, plus some ~interludes~ in between the main seasons fics. 

Thanks for reading folks, any comments and feedback are greatly appreciated! Follow and turn on notifications if you would like to hear when we post the other seasons / chapters, or sign up to our taglist to be kept up to date with what we post!

We do not give permission for our work to be posted on other sites. 

Seasons of Us Masterlist

Contains: domestic goodness, illusions to sexy time

��

Autumn brought rain to Jackson; steely grey skies that prepared the town for the snowy months ahead. It’s raining now.  Joel knows the rain has come because your hair is damp; not because he can hear the rain behind the banging and sawing he’s been doing in the workshop, and not with the near constant ringing in his ears, that he is usually able to tune out. 

Joel loses himself in his work so you made sure - as often as you could - to bring him his lunch that you packed him that morning. The lunch that he forgot to put into his pack before coming down to the workshop. You know he probably does it on purpose just so he can see you during the day. Your jobs move you around Jackson with the seasons; fruit picking and tending to the greenhouses or the animals, supervising in the schoolhouse. No matter where you were, what kept you busy from dawn until dinner time, you always made sure to go have lunch with your man. 

“Mr Miller,” you greeted while pulling the workshop door closed to keep the wind and rain out. You wiped your boot-clad feet, “The lunch you forgot - again.” You fixed him with a pointed look as you held out the plastic container.

Joel rose from the stool and quickly wiped his hands on a dusty rag before closing the gap between you, kissing your cold lips with a hum. “You’re wet,” he said, scrunching up his face and lifting a hand to run over your damp hair.

You scoffed and nudged the box into his stomach, “Rain’ll do that to ya.” 

Joel took the offered plastic container. “I didn’t forget it, not this time anyway,” he admitted with a sheepish smile that made you roll your eyes.

“I knew you were doing it on purpose,” you huffed and shook your head before pecking him once more, “I brought mine to eat with you.”

Joel nodded and turned back to the workbench seeing the clutter and chaos, scratching the back of his neck. “Jus’...gimme a sec,” he mumbled and moved around the bench to clear some space, brushing off the worst of the sawdust and clearing any nails out of the way.

“Ever the gentlemen,” you teased as you perched onto the second stool Joel had brought over.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, it never was for you and Joel. You’d been together for so long it was just being with each other, neither of you felt the need to fill the silence with small talk. Both of you got stuck into the packed lunches only briefly interrupted by Joel when he left the bench to go into the back of the workshop, coming back with two steaming cups of the mint tea that he had grown reluctantly fond of.

After the lunches were eaten you held the cup between your hands, appreciating the warmth it brought to them.

“How’s the decoration makin’ goin’?”

“We think we’ve got most of it done, the children have loved doing it. We’re hoping that the weather holds off until after Halloween but…who knows.” You shrugged, glancing over your shoulder out the window, “I just hope the pumpkins grow…”

“Why wouldn’t they?”

“Last winter was awful for the ground, we’ve had so much trouble with the gardens this year in the spring,” you explained softly, “We’re all rooting for the pumpkins because it’s not Halloween without them and it’s going the first Halloween that we’ve managed to find and plant pumpkin seeds - but what if they aren’t ready in time?”

Joel seemed to ponder for a moment his mug paused resting at his chin, “Well…if they ain’t my Momma used to say that years ago- and I mean years before anythin’ went to shit, when they didn’t have pumpkins they carved turnips,” he paused seeing the slightly bemused expression on your face, “Y’got any big turnips?”

You couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up at the thought, carving out turnips. It seemed ridiculous, but very plausible.

Joel deflated and huffed at your laughter, “Just an idea, you don’t gotta laugh at me-”

“No no, no, I’m not laughing at you,” you stopped yourself, put your cup down and slid off the stool to come stand beside him, leaning into his upper arm. “I wasn’t laughing at you, it was just the image of people carving out turnips, it- I found it funny,” you slid your hand up his back and over the collar of his flannel shirt to the back of his neck, “It’s a wonderful idea. Thank you for sharing that with me, about your mom.” 

He raised his eyebrow and gave you a sideways glance. The teasing lilt in your voice was still there but the kiss you laid to his cheek did the trick. “Alright, now go on. I’ve got work to do.” 

Grinning against the beard on his cheek, you cup his jaw to turn his face towards you, placing a slow kiss to his lips, “Are you kicking me out after I brought you food?”

Joel hummed against your lips, his free arm wrapping around your waist, “Yup,” he said once your lips separated. “‘Cause you, darlin’ are a distraction and I don’t wanna have’ta get stitches again.”

“That,” you pointed a finger at him, poking his chest, “Was not my fault.”

He hummed, unconvinced, and gave your backside a tap, “Rather be safe than sorry.”

“You’ll be home for dinner, yeah? Ellie is joining us tonight.” You told him as you started packing up the plastic containers. 

“Aint she out with- uh…”

“Dina,” you supplied with a small smirk and nodded, “She is, but she’s coming home for dinner.”

“Right.”

“So,” you slipped into your coat with Joel’s help, “Make sure you’re home.”

Joel held either side of your coat, “Yes darlin’,” bringing you closer to his chest, “I promise, I’ll be home for dinner.”

—

The early Autumn rain eased over the next few weeks as the fall season brought crisp cool days and crunchy leaves to sweep and gather in piles. The younger townsfolk took great pleasure in jumping in said piles, their laughter ringing through the streets made you warm inside; they had a chance at having a real childhood in this town, far from a QZ or a regimented FEDRA upbringing, tucked behind Jackson’s safe walls. 

You swapped recipes with your neighbours, making the most of the meat the hunters brought back and the vegetables from the community garden. Best of all was the pumpkins. News of their growth and readiness for harvest in time for the holiday spread through the town; you brought it right to Joel yourself, along with warm homemade soup for lunch. 

“It’s not just that they’re ready to be harvested in time for Halloween, Joel. We’ll save the seeds for sewing, that’s almost a guarantee for next year…” You spoke with a childlike glee of roasted pumpkin, stews and soups and pies, and the plans for pumpkin-carving with the little ones in the schoolhouse. 

Joel’s spoon hovered in mid-air as he watched you, that small smirk on his lips. Seeing you so happy made his chest tighten in the best way. 

You caught him staring - no, gazing was far more accurate - and stopped, almost breathless from your happy rant. “Sorry. Eat. I just.. I never even cared much about Halloween that much… not until this year.” You shrugged as your cheeks tinted with warmth. 

“Shit baby, I could listen to you all day. I’m really pleased.” Joel’s hand covered yours and he squeezed. “Hey. Least we won’t have to carve turnips,” he winked, seeing you soften again. 

“Hey I still might, Miller.” You point your spoon at him, “Put it out on the porch too.”

You both continued with your lunch, swapping summaries of how your days were going, any tidbits of gossip you had heard - pumpkin-related and otherwise - until your bowls were empty and bellies full. 

“Oh shoot. Did Tommy tell you? Doreen found a stash of old movies in her attic - they’re gonna show The Addams Family for the kids at Halloween, after the costume pageant - ain’t that sweet?” You smile over your shoulder as you pack up the bowls and thermos to take home.  You made a note to tell Ellie, she was settling into the life you three had carved out for yourselves in Jackson. 

Joel nodded, approving of the film choice sidled up behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder with his hands on your hips. “If it means we might have the house to ourselves I’m all for it.” You could hear his smile, feel it in the way he squeezed you gently. 

“Oh you mean so you can go out to your little ‘man cave’ and work on whatever it is you got going on there without being interrupted?” You asked with a raised eyebrow, your head leaning to the side to give him a sceptical look, “Or maybe do some work on the front porch for the umpteenth time.” 

Joel’s ears tinted pink, “I do not- it’s not a mancave…it's just a shed I work in. And the porch actually needed work doing to it, thank you very much. Those boards wouldn’ta lasted the winter, the way Ellie thunders down ‘em. But hey, if you wanted to fall on your a-” 

You turned in his arms, reaching around his neck to cut him off with a peck. You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled from you, “Yeah, yeah, Miller. Thank you for looking out for my ass.” 

—

Your chance to tell Ellie about the Halloween plans came sooner than later, as you bumped into her on your way home after she had been visiting Shimmer, sneaking her extra apples as always. “I won’t tell if you don’t,” you said, as she linked your arms as you both walked home. She had been quiet lately, especially when you had brought up Halloween - you were going to get to the bottom of it.

“So, The Addam’s Family. Y’heard?” you asked, smiling down at her with the assumption that she already made her own plans with Dina. You clicked your fingers, hoping the reference wasn’t lost on her. 

“Weird.” That answered your question. “I heard about it… Never really got to ‘do’ Halloween before this. Obviously.” Ellie shrugged, leaving you both in a loaded silence. You gave her the space to decide if she wanted to continue. 

You let the silence melt into the chilly Autumn air around you, mixing with the sounds of Jackson as you strolled toward home. She stayed uncharacteristically silent until you were back in your house, washing up after lunch while Ellie lingered near the door, ready to continue. 

“I guess I like the idea of it… Halloween, spooky shit. Going to this stupid movie. I - I just have some shitty shitty memories surrounded by Halloween decorations. It’s stupid.”

Fragments of the girl's past slotted together in your mind - the mall, the bite, Riley… 

You turned around from the sink, wiping your hands before leaning against the counter. Ellie stared hard at the floor, not meeting your eyes as you spoke.

“It’s not stupid. How you feel and your memories aren’t stupid, babygirl. You can still make new memories and still remember the good parts of those shitty ones..” You let your words sit with her before Ellie finally looked up. You give her a sad little smile,  “I think she’d want you to be happy.”

You barely had time to brace for impact before Ellie wrapped her arms around you for a tight hug, which you gratefully returned. Pressing a fierce, loving kiss to her head, you held each other until Ellie complained she couldn’t breathe with your squeezing. 

After loosening your hold, she tilted her head back to look at you as you spoke again. “Go see the movie. If you’re not having a good time, you can come home anytime. Tommy or Maria would walk you back.” You cup her face, smushing her cheek with your thumb playfully. “Orrr.. you could stay in with us old folks. Joel’ll probably fall asleep on the couch, I’ll be reading my book… Super fun Halloween, right?”

Ellie rolled her eyes before squeezing you so tightly again and then sighed, “Fiiiine I’ll go.”

—

By the morning of Halloween the pumpkins had been harvested and split between the schoolhouse and the community kitchen and food bank, ready to be carved and cooked. There was a buzz of excitement around the town, especially with the children; most of them didn’t know what Halloween was until they got the school up and running.  There was a general consensus with the adults to keep it light, not too scary - the real world was scary enough for these kids. Laughter rang from the schoolhouse as goofy and jagged faces were carved into the hollowed pumpkins, the flesh saved for the kitchens of Jackson. 

Once they were finished, the kids proud of their handiwork, the pumpkins were loaded into a trailer and brought to the middle of the town, the same area that the Christmas tree was displayed every year. The decorations and lights surrounding the town centre  really made it all come together, and the costume pageant in the town hall was a huge hit. You had never seen so many giggling  bed-sheet ghosts. 

A few hours later, when the sun began to set behind the mountains that overlooked  Jackson, everyone came outside to admire the lit pumpkins. Maria and the townspeople on cooking-duty surprised everyone  with mugs of steaming roasted pumpkin soup and slices of pumpkin pie for after - another hit with the children, and the adults. 

The evening got cooler and everyone began to disperse, most heading into the hall for the movie screening. “Are you sure you guys don’t wanna come?,” Ellie offered, Dina waiting a few steps  behind her - the other girl  was still warming up to you and Joel. 

Joel shook his head, taking one last look at the pumpkin display before throwing his arm over your shoulders, “I think we’ve seen enough horrors. You enjoy yourself kiddo. Remember-”

“-yep, I know, be home by eleven.” She looked at you as you gave her a confident little smile and wink.  Ellie waved you off and jogged to catch up with Dina. 

The two of you turned and started walking slowly towards home. You tilted your head back looking at the clear evening sky and twinkling town lights.  Leaning your head to the side you peered up at Joel, admiring his features. You pressed a kiss to his cheek before slipping your hand into the back pocket of his jeans. 

Joel looked down at you, brows lifting. “Ma’am, you do realise we’re in public? Out here groping my old ass.” His tone is light as he tries to keep his smile off his face, shaking his head in false disapproval. “Town Council sure will have something to say about that, s’indecent.” 

“It’s a perfectly decent ass, Joel. You got a licence for this thing?” You gave him a pointed squeeze and almost snorted as he choked on his own laughter.

—

You had a late supper and a couple of whiskeys out on the back porch to look forward to when you both got home that evening. It didn’t take long until the very real scenario of Joel and yourself having an empty home for the evening became too enticing and you found yourself making your way upstairs with Joel hot on your heels - his hands palming over your denim-clad behind now, leaving his overshirt and belt and your sweater in your wake.  That was almost two hours ago.

Joel was propped up against the pillows, one arm bent behind his head and the thin sheet pooled at his waist, leaving little to the imagination. He watched as you came back from the bathroom wearing nothing but his t-shirt- one of his favourite sights. You made the shirt look ten times better than he ever could and he never let you forget it. 

You approached the end of the bed,  lifted a bent knee onto it and crawled into the space between his legs. You placed gentle kisses to his chest  as you let yourself melt into the safe embrace Joel created.

It wasn’t often you got this sort of alone time -  between work and making sure Ellie was keeping out of trouble - but when you got to spend time with Joel alone, intimately, you definitely made the most of it. 

After a while of simply holding each other, sharing small touches and kisses, you settled back under the covers with him. Your nose pressed into the side of Joel’s neck, breathing him in for a few blissful moments as his lips pressed to your hair, beginning to speak.

“What’d you dress up as- when you were a kid I mean?” he asked, smoothing a hand up and down your side before settling on your hip. 

“For Halloween?” you reply, tilting your head back to peer up at him. The buzz about town over the last few weeks brought back memories for everyone.

Ever the asshole that Ellie never let him forget he was, Joel fixed you with a deadpan look, “No for Saint Patrick’s Day.”

You scrunched up your nose and dug your fingers into the softness around his waist. “Alright, shut up,” you tutted, but couldn’t help the smile when you heard Joel’s rumbling laugh. “Let’s see,” you hummed while moving your hand over his hip to his ribs, “The first one I remember, my Mom dressed me as Alice in Wonderland but I’ve been so many- my favourite one was dressing up as Princess Leia.”

Joel nodded with approval -like every man his age, he had it bad for Carrie Fisher growing up. “Star Wars, huh? Space buns too?” Joel saves that tidbit from your old life, stores it away in the increasingly large space you inhabit in his mind.

“Duh, you’re not Leia without the buns, hon. I loved to watch it with my Mom…” The ghost of a sad smile crosses your face before looking up at him. “Your turn. Lemme guess.. Cowboy?”

“I have you know that I made a mean John Wayne,” he said lifting his nose in the air, “My Momma made all the costumes from old bits of clothing so…it looked a bit mismatched but it worked, got me plenty of candy.  Tommy was always covered in camo paint and running around like some army man,” he waved his hand in the air dismissively. 

You sigh happily. “Now that I’d love to see. Little Joel Miller running around in cowboy boots, a stetson. Plastic revolver twirling around your finger…”

Joel huffed a short laugh, “You ain’t too far off.”

“No Johnny Cash?” You asked, your eyebrows lifting as you smiled, knowing how much Joel loved to sing old country music songs.

“Him too,” he smirked and pressed his lips gently to your forehead, “and Hank Williams.” 

You swapped memories of the best candy you got while out trick or treating and the first horror movies you had seen. After so long together, you were still learning about each other.

 A little later, as your fingers stroked through Joel’s hair, his head against your chest, you remembered the time. “Ellie should be back soon, we should make ourselves decent.” 

“She’ll just go into her room and stay there until she smells breakfast, as usual.” Joel’s voice was almost dreamy as he felt close to sleep, curled up with you.

Before you could move, you heard the front door open and slam shut, making both of you wince. No matter how many times you and Joel had told Ellie about slamming the doors, she still managed to shake the house. 

“She’s gonna bust that door off the hinges soon,” he grumbled and rubbed his forehead, letting out an exasperated sigh. “Another damn thing to fix.”

“What the fuck?!” Her muffled voice drifted up the stairs, “Ew! Guys!” There was a beat of silence before you both broke out into quiet laughter. You shook your head and pushed yourself to kneel, taking Joel’s head in your hands to peck his lips a few times. “I’ll go collect our clothes before she really starts to freak out.”

You look back at Joel as you open the door. “Well, if Halloween didn’t spook her, we sure just did.” Your straight-face crumbles as Joel groans in frustration behind you, burying his face into the pillows. “You been readin’ that stupid pun book again? Jesus lord..” 

Despite Ellie’s utter disgust awaiting you downstairs, you think this might just be the best Halloween you have ever had.

[sunjinjo]

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The second part in this series by Lumier, and this one had me by the throat from the very first sketch! (use the little arrows to see Lumier's art process by the way!)

We’re getting to the 'processing his trauma’ part of his sword-and-fan dance.

Kintsugi suddenly, finally flipped his white fan to the as of yet unseen side. Red. A vivid blotch of contrast against his white clothing as he held it to his chest with cramped fingers, staring into the audience, eyes unseeing, body gone still – an eerie pause after his frenzy of movement. At the center of the stage, the puppet trembled in a way that did not seem scripted. He bowed his head, his hair falling into his eyes, looking as if his legs might give way and he might crumple to the floor at any moment. There couldn’t be a greater difference with the measured dignity he’d displayed up to that point.

(in Japanese kenshibu dance, the fan can symbolize any number of things. the sword, a more limited number of things. the fan is most suited to a certain heart, here…)

[my-soliloquy-chamber]

O my mountain hyacinth What shepherds trod upon you With clumsy, rustic foot? Now you are a broken seal:   A scarlet stain upon the earth

The story follows Kassandra and Brasidas through the events of the game and beyond.

[woelfin-sheeps-clothing]

I'm a huge fan of giving things that don't have tails tails, especially if it gives them a cute run in a video game. I love watching Ratchet's little tail bounce back and forth as he's running around, something about it is just too adorable. I love how they work mood indicators as well.

Part II of the work on progress on this piece. The sketch where it started is so rough in comparison to the line art. I'm still debating if I want to do screen tones like on manga or full color. Their clothes are still not beat up enough for my tastes, especially for two people who likely wouldn't have much income at the start and clothes that are likely borrowed. Where on earth did Daxter even get clothes for Jak?

[brynnmclean]

fell in love with the fire long ago

or, a little round up of my surprise Uncorrupted Mairon Madness yesterday [AO3 link, relevant notes/rough drafts tag] in case anyone missed it

chapter 1 - Mairon visits Ossë [tumblr, AO3]

In this life, in this timeline, Mairon realizes that he would be shattered beneath Melkor's hammer. He realizes he might not like who he would become after forging himself anew. Alone.

chapter 2 - Mairon makes A Certain Dagger [tumblr, AO3]

Mairon likes sharp things. He does not like wielding weapons himself.

chapter 3 - Mairon has Friends (and a Crush) [tumblr, AO3]

All his projects would have gone awry if he had stayed. He cannot stop his hands from shaking.

[archesa]

From the past, with all my love - 1335 AE

Dust had gathered in the study, a thin silver lining veiling the furniture and golden specks twirling like snow in the sun filtering through the frosted windows.

A shroud of salt and rust stained the glass and the cascade of fire orchids falling from the heights of the greenhouse onto the side of the fort had rained a storm of withering petals on their courtyard where Trahearne had summoned minions to help him beat the rugs and pillows – a flesh and vines golem repeatedly charging a carpet hanging on the low branches of a plum tree.

In the meantime Anwen dusted the furniture Trahearne had omitted to cover before his hasty departure for Cantha – most of them, really, but how could she blame him – and used this opportunity to declutter and reorganise their quarters.

Their desks in particular required some attention. A pile of heavy leather-bound volumes on magical theory and the dragon cycle were stranded there – vestiges from a time just passed – in the midst of Trahearne's own research on the quaggan and largos' exile from the depths – recently proved not to be owed to the elder dragon of the abyss.

She scoured the notes and slipped them in the escritoire, the familiar scent of parchment and ink filling her lungs and welcoming her with a sense of belonging. Under the canopy of glass and metal, in the shade of orchids and wisteria, lulled by the sound of waves breaking on the fort, she was home.

The stationary barely fit the cylinder desk. Her curiosity piqued, she pulled the escritoire from the drawer, a bundle of letters neatly wrapped with a gold and sapphire blue ribbon, falling on her lap, from the depths of the secretary.

She stared, awestruck, as her own writing spread endlessly on the page – deep blue ink and never sealed messages she had long thought lost and regretted she never sent.

And here they were. Every single one of them – most unfinished, as she had left them, dated from 1325 to 1327.

Dearest friend,

An eternity it seems passed since we last met.

I hope life in Orr is treating you well, and that your duties to Pact allow you some respite.

I am writing from Lion's Arch, on my way to the Black Citadel at Tribune Brimstone's request. Assistance with the constant afflux of refugees from northern Ascalon.

The city is the same as ever but the sight of Claw Island, in the distance, beyond the bay, gives perspective to these last months. So much happened in so little time that neither of us really took the time to process.

I expect our business in the Citadel will conclude shortly – after Zhaïtan, what threat could be so hard to dispose of – and if you so agree, I shall bring you my transfer request for Caer Aval in person within a fortnight.

Yours truly,

Anwen Evergreen

PS : Meryw sends her love!

Dearest friend,

Our business in the Citadel it seems will require my attention longer than I originally planned.

The Dredges and the Flame Legion have formed an alliance and they harass these people endlessly. The Imperators seem helpless to deal with their guerilla – hit and run, scorched land – methods.

I took the liberty to offer the Pact's assistance – even if said assistance was then limited to Meryw and I – and assumed coordination of the agents and vigils already mustered there.

Dearest friend,

My sincerest apologies for not writing sooner.

Since Wintersday the days have grown, and yet they're still too short.

I hope you know you are on my mind-

A celebration of the Pact's victory is to be held in Lion's Arch in a fortnight. I dare hope our paths will meet there. I have so much to tell you. I realise now that you probably received a good dozen reports on the events that kept me in Central Tyria but–

Dearest friend,

I must once again delay my coming to Orr.

Captain Theo Ashford, who was killed during the attack, was a close friend of Logan Thackeray's. He asked me as a personal favour to assist the investigators – a detective of the Reach by the name Marjory Delaqua.

I am to meet her and her assistant – a friend of my brother, from the Academy, it's a small world! - in Lion's Arch today for further investigation of the crime scene.

I hope we can find the culprit shortly and I will then be free to officially file my transfer request to Orr.

I long to see Caer Aval again, and I cannot wait to offer my meager gardening talents to the restoration of the isles.

Yours truly,

Your friend, Anwen Evergreen

Dearest friend,

I wish to reiterate my family's thanks for your kind words and well wishes.

My brother is, I believe, on the verge of recovery as this misadventure did not even harm the most prominent part of his person : his ego is unfortunately unscathed. He seems more concerned by the ladies who witnessed his heroism than the healer's orders. And I worry for Meryw who must now endure him for the fortnight – and who definitely does not seem as annoyed as I had expected at the prospect of spending two weeks at the manor with Faren. I dread to think of the influence he might have on her! For all the love I have for my brother, I fear the world cannot endure another like him!

As for Scarlet Briar – or Ceara as she was once called – her motivations are still elusive... Chaos? Perhaps. But I fear there is more to her assault in the Reach – on the Queen's Jubilee – than most would deem.

The Shining Blade and the Seraph see no further than the immediate threat on the crown and Kryta. And the Arcane Council envoy dismissed her actions as a madwoman errance. But I have rarely met such a conflated ego – even for an asura! – and never seen Meryw have such a strong immediate dislike for someone, and though she remains tight-lipped on her reasons, I trust her judgement. Emissary Vorpp might be a brilliant dynamist but his expertise on the intricacies of the mind seem shallow at best.

But I digress.

These recent developments, I fear, will keep me in Kryta yet again.

Until we meet again, I remain yours truly,

Your friend, Anwen Evergreen

I killed you. Scarlet made me see this, made me do this. I know it was just a hallucination – just a nightmare but I see you every time I close my eyes, I feel your blood on my hands and your head on my shoulder as you breath your last.

Meryw saw Sieran.

Scarlet... This toxin showed us a glimpse of our subconscious, a place I hope my darkest nightmares will never wander back to... Every one of us peered into our deepest fear.

Mine is a world without you.

Dearest friend,

I hope this letter finds you well. I can barely believe it has been a year since last we met. I never expected

Caer Aval must be quite tranquil with the arrival of winter. If your duty allows, I would be honoured happy delighted honoured to have you as my guest for Wintersday.

The winter fêtes of the Faren house are famed for the brightness of their illuminations and the sweetness of their spirits.

If it so pleases you, we could avoid the crowds together.

Merry Wintersday, dear friend.

Letter after letter, she revisited this distant past – two or three lifetimes ago, it seemed – until the familiar sound of footsteps interrupted her.

Trahearne froze on the threshold, seeing her sat on the floor, the letters scattered around her and on her lap.

"You had them... I never sent them, and I thought they were lost forever, how...?"

"Meryw."

She stifled a breathless laugh.

Of course!

If there were anyone she could trust had innocent – or at least unequivocally good – intentions sending her correspondence, it was her shield-maiden.

"She wrote a few words with every unsent message, telling me of the unlikely places she had found the letters – blaming your distraction, your forgetfulness."

"I was busy...", Anwen smiled apologetically.

"I had noticed.", Trahearne chuckled. "These letters offered me a glimpse of you – stories I dared hope you would one day share with me."

"And... did I live up to your expectations?"

He laughed and knelt by her side, considering a moment everything they had been through these past ten years, the promise of tranquility after a decade – a lifetime in his case – of constant crisis almost too painfully sweet to believe.

"Our life together surpasses everything I could have imagined."

She leaned in his embrace, a content hum rumbling in her chest as she rested her head against him.

"Rereading those...", she sighed, "I realise how far we've come... and how close I have been from seeing my nightmare come true."

"A second Faren!", Trahearne breathed, in exaggerated horror. "Meryw is immune, but I believe Canach is a good contender..."

Her laughter filled the room with light and his heart with joy.

With the secondborn returned to Tyria to flaunt his success around the most elitists salons – and incidentally find more patrons to finance the Friends' Detective Agency – and Meryw recently recruited for the preparation of the wedding – and as such not-so-reluctantly entangled in the procession of bridesmaids counting in their ranks the oldest friend of Kasmeer, it seemed their orchard had succumbed to the gravitational attraction of Anwen's brother. And, most alarmingly, did not seem to complain!

He felt rather than heard her breath catch, a tremor in the quiet rise and fall of her chest against his.

“Dearheart?”

He reluctantly broke their embrace, a sinking feeling settling in his chest when he noticed her eyes glistening in the faint light. She blinked rapidly, a broken sob shattering on her lips.

"Anwen, what troubles you?"

“Sorry, I– I'm fine. Don't worry, I– I don't know why–...”

“It's alright.”, he murmured, tenderly holding her while she cried and leaned in his touch when he dried her tears.

“I'm so tired, Trahearne..."

It was a simple admission, but it was a relief.

"I... I think it's the first time since these letters that I cannot see further than the next step."

After they defeated Zhaïtan, she had naively believed there would be peace. They had defeated a dragon awakened for over a century and Trahearne had shattered its hold on the land it corrupted. Hopefully, the others wouldn't wake for a few centuries. And if she knew they would eventually bring the fight to Kralkatorrikk she had secretly hoped, since it was as good as dormant since Glint's death, that it would have taken years - time enough for the Pact to gather intel and reform an army to instill fear in the heart of an Elder Dragon. She had hoped...

"I... wanted nothing more than to spend all my time here, with you. And now we're finally there, now we can finally rest, I'm... ruining it."

"You're not ruining anything...", he breathed, tightening his embrace and resting his forehead against hers.

He knew this feeling. After the completion of his wyld-hunt he had felt… Bereft. Helpless. Forlorn. The great purpose of his life was complete and in its absence only remained emptiness and aching.

"Anwen, you're allowed to be tired. You're allowed to be sad because this chapter of our lives is over and relieved there is not battles left to fight. You're allowed to be unsure about the future and elated by what's to come. You're allowed to regret, to be proud of what you have accomplished."

"I'm– I just want to rest... with you."

"We rest, then.", he said softly.

She nodded feebly, a yelp stuck in her throat when he lifted her off the floor and carried her to the sofa nearby. A breathless chuckle broke on her lips, dispelling the shadow looming over them.

"I shall brew us some tea.", he offered, leaning forth to grab the nearest bundle of letters and laying it on the cushion beside her. "The one we brought from Seitung Province?"

"Would be perfect.", she smiled, the bitterness of nostalgia fading at the mere memory of the scent and aroma of white tea and sweet summer peaches.

Trahearne tenderly replaced a stray lock behind her ear and leaned in to lay a kiss on her cheek.

"Rest easy, Anwen. I'll take it from here."

(special thanks to @your-toxic-cat-universe for this beautiful piece! )

[twistmusings]

Since it's pride month, I put together a poll to see what sort of ships and genderqueer headcanons the Twst fandom enjoys seeing content for the most. The poll will be ongoing throughout the rest of the day! Feel free to drop your votes!

[doodliydoos]

Look a t me and tell me there's a god he made me in his own image I specifically love the half empty cat gaze you gave these sons oml

your adopted sons are about to rat you out

[damselsdontwearglasses]

🌻COMIC UPDATE🌻

[my-soliloquy-chamber]

I swear this oath by Apollo Physician, by Asklepios, by Health... and by all the gods and goddesses: In whatsoever place that I enter, I will enter to help the sick and heal the injured, and I will do no harm.

The story follows Kassandra and Brasidas through the events of the game and beyond.