#bag-rat the brave

[pengtheplush]

The polls decree and so I shall deliver!

[sar3nka]

Took my stupid rat to the local store with me in a bag and I think he actually liked it

[victory-cookies]

my parents (in their growing fitness obsession) have a cable machine and now a heavy bag so I just worked out with them for the first time and boy am I out of shape

[mooishbeam]

『♡』 Treasures of the Fraud

♡ featuring: pantalone x f!reader

♡ summary: it's been forever since you've seen your friend, and as the hero of liyue, a new interruption has arisen. you pursue it, only to find memories awaiting you. wc: 9.1k+ (D:)

♡ cw/tw: long lonnggg fic, obsession, mentions of murder, mention of suicide, mentions of blood, manipulation, toxic pantalone, mean pantalone, possessive, spanking, degradation, mild praise, fingering, thigh riding, missionary, overstim, begging, edging, comeshot, pet names (darling, slut)

notes: helloooo!! ive been slow to get stuff out college is kicking my ass rn so sorry. not proofread so i apologize for any mistakes. I can't wait to have more time :) art by yion_yi on ig! <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

12 years ago 

“Come get me!” 

The boy with inky curls spiraling down his back dips through trees, ducking under low hanging branches embellished with vibrant autumn foliage. Messy blends of pink and purple melt across the slowly bleeding sun carried into the night. His silhouette resembles that of a malevolent spirit peeking behind the boughs, leaping over tangled twigs and shallow ditches. His excited screeches signal you to chase after the leading direction. You’re both screaming and laughing down the undoubtedly dangerous shortcuts. If your mother knew about the adventurous risks you were taking at 13, you’d never leave the house again. Tag is a troubling game—despite the thousands of times you’ve played with him, you regularly end up being “it”. You don’t care about losing, though; having someone to call a friend is enough.  

You turn into a clearing with columns of trees overseeing your small presence, hundreds of them. The colder night is rising, not a celestial body to shield.  In this deep blue void, the leaves seem to be aggrieved at your interruption of some secret meeting, angry and smiling faces crumpling in the whispering wind. You spin around frantically, looking for signs or laughter, but neither reveal themself. It’s quiet besides the downy linger of grass. Your shoulders are snatched back and shaken to a rattling shock. You scream, and he laughs. 

“Rahhh! Did I get you?” he jests. Your eyebrows narrow, and you push him lightly to a stumble. 

“You scared me!” 

“Hah, that’s the point. C’mon, it’s late. Let’s go.” He's scared too, swiftly grabbing your hand as you both brave the darkness back to the village. 

“We should’ve been home a while ago” you say quietly. You feel the chill in your bones and press yourself closer to him. 

“Yea.” He holds your hand tighter at the sound of a small rock bouncing down a steep hill. 

“I had fun today. Let’s do this again tomorrow.” 

“I have something to tell you.” 

“Okay.” 

“I’m moving in the morning” he states. It was nonchalant, but your stomach turns a churning sickness. One you can’t understand yet, it makes you uneasy. 

“Oh. Okay, then.” It isn't okay, not in the slightest. But it had to be. Your best friend of 8 years looks at you, aiming to register the gravity of the situation. You both say nothing, but tears start to brim in your eyes in the silence. You wipe them with your arm. 

“Will you miss me?” he asks. 

“A lot.” 

“I’ll miss you too. Lots and lots.” He sways your interlocking hands. You pass by vacant homes tattered and aged by abandonment, overgrown with invading ivy. Homeless reside, caring each other to warmth from the freezing draft. You were lucky to have a home in this little forgotten sector of Liyue. It's a small, unfortunate room, with holes in the roof that drips when it rains and bags over the windows to keep the heat in. The stove never works, and you share a bed with your mother, but every birthday she makes sure to save just enough for a slice of cake with one candle. There isn’t more you could ask for. Everyone in the village suffered from poverty but they made it work, sharing crops and dairy to persevere until the next year. That’s how you met him, sitting on a rock as your mother collected rations. You perform two pebbles in your hands, mumbling sea shanties while imagining voyage on a grueling journey—he sat next to you. 

“Those aren’t dolls. They’re rocks.” 

“You’re a rock” you retorted.  

“No, I’m not.” 

“Do you want to be a rock?” 

“...That’d be kinda cool.” You gave him a pile of pebbles, and he joined the trip. 

You’re getting closer to the village, still processing who you’ll play with once he’s gone. You glance at him, he’s spaced out in a faraway stare. You crave the power to read minds. 

“Can we talk about something? I’m getting sad” you sniffle. 

“What should be talk about?” 

“What are you going to do after you move?” 

“I’m gonna be super rich” he assures, looking up at the starless sky as if a meteor would shoot across and grant his wish. “What about you?” 

“I’m going to save the world” you proclaim.  

“Cool. I hope you do.” 

“Me too.” 

You arrive at your makeshift door drawn together with scraps of wood and twisted rope for hinges. A dim candle glimmers inside, most likely your vexed mother waiting for your tardily return. He makes space for your entry, and you undo your hands for the last time. Before you go, he snatches your wrist. His eyes are foggy, cheeks an anxious tinge of pink. He isn’t sure what he’s feeling, but the strings in his heart are tense. His mouth shapes to say something, but nothing returns. 

“Yeah?” 

“...I... I’ll really miss you a lot” he whispers with a lump in his throat.  

“Then don’t forget me, okay?” 

“I won’t.” 

“You promise?” you say and raise your pinky towards him. He curls around it. “I promise.” 

“Good. By the way, you’re it now.” 

“I’ll get you back when I see you again!” he chuckles. You bid your goodbyes, unaware that it would mark the unforeseen conclusion. 

Leaves crunch under your feet as you make your leisurely traverse to Liyue Harbor. It’s just before sunrise and you finished helping the elderly in Qingce Village carry copious amounts of heavy produce to their homes. The thankful candies from seniors' jingle in your pocket as you stretch your weary arms. Your mom offered to cook, but you're determined to locate the best commissions Katheryne had before afternoon. “Maybe I’ll pick up some rice buns” you think out loud at the rumble of your growing appetite. You still had a long way to go before you got to the harbor. 

This was your new normal. After your thundering battle with Ningguang and Keqing against Osial, you became an example of Liyue’s triumph. You also became more aware of Fatui tactics, wiping out their swarms with the raging fury of your pneuma and swinging vision. Days of grueling bloodshed resulted in your victory, cementing you as the lionheart of Liyue. Beat up and bruised, the only request you made after your fight was a hot meal and a place for your mom to retire. They delivered both, and you used your recent hero status to provide help to the villagers where needed, be it casual favors or ruthless assault on Fatui agents. You were neither rich nor poor, and lived off the land and kindness of the Liyue Qixing. They often suggested you focus on less mundane tasks, but to you, the most vulnerable age groups warranted priority. There was something about the lighthearted innocent squeals of children and mellow grandparents rocking in their wooden chairs that made you protective to an almost volatile extent. 

Bustling interactions of trade and commerce carry through the wind as you enter the harbor—a sound that’s brought you peace for years. The smell of food vendors has you drooling instantly. As you devour the complimentary rice bun, you feel the yank of a little hand on your skirt. You look down and a boy with brown hair searches for familiarity in your face. You recognize him, babysitting him numerous times. You kneel and pat his head, but he doesn’t react or move.  

“Hey, what’s up? Where are your parents?” you question, briefly scanning your immediate area for his family. He’s hesitant to speak, as if he can’t find the panicked words, and rushes into your arms. You hug him instinctively and let him sniffle into your shoulder. You pick him up in your grasp and raise his head with your other hand so that he’ll hopefully be open to your compassion.  

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” The boy wipes his chubby tomato-red face. “Grandma is on the floor, what do I do?” You quell your rising nerves to suppress his alarm and speak calmly.  

“Where is she?” 

Speed walking towards the destination, the commotion of a small crowd surrounds a kneeling woman in the distance. She’s on her sun-spotted hands and knees, wailing for some bygone Archon. “Grandma!” he yells and jumps out of your arms. You run after him, relieved that the worst case scenario hadn’t occurred. You push through the group and get eye level with her, forehead pressed to the ground spouting religious scripture. 

“Are you okay? Do you need medical assistance?” Wise sunken eyes wrinkled with age and torn by tragedy stick to your heart. Her feeble hands encapsulate yours, and tears stream down her cheeks. “They took my baby!” she rasps, rocking back and forth. “Who did?” you ask, and she weeps harder. “They took her memory...my baby, my daughter!” You support her weight and lift her hunched figure off the pavement. “What did they look like, ma’am?” 

“A black hood...red mask” she recalls shakily. Instantly miscellaneous chatter ensues. They whisper nervously in each other's ears, he who shall not be named steals their voices. “Fatui probably got ‘er” you hear the mumble of one. Fatui. Your blood boils at the word, and you direct your view to the shrinking man with hands in his pockets. “‘He’ got all of us” he scoffs. “Did they hurt you guys, too?” you ask, and they stare. They’re pained but accepting.  

“500,000 mora.”  

“194,000 for me.” 

They list off their debt one by one, and you’re horrified at the accumulating number. They seem to endure, however; no longer phased by the incurable tally haunting their lives. “H-how are you paying any of this?” 

“We can’t. It adds up. Interest, late payments, it always does. So, we give everything, and ‘he’ takes everything, until we have nothing left. We die poor without a possession to our name” a woman sighs. As a child, you heard of the loan sharks that purposely fed false promises to the poor, and once they were reeled in, charged insurmountable payments to blackmail—it was the origin story of most people in your birthplace. Your soul aches for them, but is there anything you can do? 

“...I’ll help you, all of you. I’m sure I can-” 

Ningguang arrives. She's a nurturing figure to you, the kind that asks if you’ve been eating well and politely scolds you.  “What happened?” You lead the tired elder to the Jade Chamber, and she tells her story through choked sobs. You didn’t expect Keqing to already be there, arms folded and turned away from the situation. Ningguang can barely glance at the woman. 

“They stormed my home and took my jewelry and belongings. They took the pendant my daughter gave me; it had her face in it. Archons give me strength, my baby! I can’t afford it; I have nothing!” she quakes. You rub her back and Ningguang nods, listening—you can’t help but notice the anxiety blooming on her abstracted face. They take her through the process and once she leaves, Ningguang and Keqing look at each other with a silent understanding. The room is eerily quiet, and Ningguang paces back and forth in front of the intel wall contemplating an uncertain danger. You fumble with your thumbs. 

“What are we going to do about this?” you wonder. Keqing clears her throat loudly, attracting the attention of Ningguang. She looks at you, and sighs deeply. “We already know about this issue.” 

Your ears perk up. “Great, so how can I help?” 

“By doing nothing, (Y/N)” Keqing says. 

“...What?” 

“I have eyes everywhere; I’ve known for a long time. The Fatui are not people to be taken lightly, especially the harbingers. A few of their skirmishers were caught trading exotic goods and taxing medicine at high prices, on top of extorting the impoverished regions.” Ningguang points to one of the many Fatui exclusive headquarters on the wall. “Pantalone is the richest man in Teyvat, he has more political influence than anyone can imagine, and they answer to him. We can’t risk getting involved with this. They’ve brought this upon themselves, and unfortunately, they must deal with the consequences.” 

You can’t accept this response. How can they just desert them? It doesn’t comprehend in your naïvity—you scold yourself for not spotting the signs sooner, furrowing your brows and looking at them with distaste. “I expected this. You shouldn’t have said anything” Keqing chides. “...Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve helped before-” 

“You’re the last person I wanted to know about this” Ningguang interrupts. Your anger feels misplaced, and you bite your lip in restraint. She sits next to you and offers fleeting comfort with a graceful hand on yours. “You’re quite the reactionary type. In due time, this will be sorted. But right now, I need you to calm down, and trust me.” It sounds desperate, you know you shouldn’t go looking for answers, but a snagging thread pulls at the back of your consciousness, all too convincing. You bounce your leg. “You should want revenge just as much as me. Where we came from, where they end up, it isn’t fair.”  

“You know I do, more than anything. But we must handle this with care, before too many people get hurt. I’m doing this for the betterment of Liyue as a whole. It’s not easy to make these decisions.” 

“We can’t just go around serving justice, there’s laws we have to act with” Keqing adds. You don’t reply and stand up abruptly to leave. The worried Tianquan grabs your wrist one last time. “Promise me you won’t make a mistake, (Y/N). I’m trying to protect you” she pleads. 

“I promise. Thank you.” You flash a half genuine smile, already planning to rebel against her wishes. 

Who exactly is ‘he’—Pantalone. You don’t even know where to start looking. Too many headquarters, infinite possibilities. The best way you have to find him is through Fatui agents.  

You start taking up odd jobs late in the evening, scouring for the possibility that a fatui agent might fall into your hands. Though you considered playing the part of an impoverished villager taking out a loan at Northland Bank, it didn’t guarantee that you’d meet Pantalone in the flesh—it’s more likely that would raise unnecessary suspicion in the process. It’s awkward at first, seeing the hero of Liyue fish on the dock for petty change throughout the night. As you do, the malicious fire in your eyes burns bright at the occasional voice in chill silence. Your vision glows as you toss the hunting knife between your nimble digits. Listening closely to conversations, hoping that one might be unguarded enough to slip up, but nothing of the sort appears—not even the boldness of Fatui skirmishers enables them to divulge secrets under the baleful existence of Celestia.  

The moon illuminates sweetly on the tranquil waters lulling you to drowse. You hadn’t heard much since the start of your escapade. A fishing pole is weak in your resistless hold, and you’ve evidently given up on the idea of portraying the hardworking fisherman tonight. You vowed to help the people of Liyue, but justice was seemingly unfeasible. Maybe a direct approach? Should I ambush their headquarters? More so a suicide mission, you’d have no luck achieving that. Just as you’re about to leave, the crunch of withering grass straightens your posture. You make yourself hidden with a burst of energy and slouch behind the bushes as a Fatui pyro agent charges along the route. Through the glutted leaves obstructing your vision, you can just make out the heavy bag on his shoulder and jagged blade waiting restlessly on the other. His stride points towards Qingce Village. You hold your breath disguising yourself with the scenery and allow him to take a few feet between you before you begin following him. He’s rather shifty, those veiled eyes darting back and forth at the lightest noise. You’re careful to glide behind trees, moving with the heartbeat of the wind and taking advantage of the various melody's nature offers. You suck in a breath and duck behind a boulder a few inches too close, and his head snaps in your direction. The feeling of being watched besets him, but with no way to prove it and time running out, he secures his knife for the hypothetical ambush, and makes haste towards the target. Turning a tree, you watch as the pyro wielder knocks on the house of a small worn cottage. A short stocky man appears, shading half his body behind the door. 

“H-hello...” you hear faintly. The Fatui keeps his hand firm on the door, one boot propped under the hinge. He presents the flaming knife loosely as he towers over the man. “We’ve given you time.” You were sure now that he's working for Pantalone.  

“I don’t have it. P-please, if you could just give me some more-” He slams his fist against the wood, a resounding thump shakes the home. The man cowers. “Give me everything you have. The Regrator won’t wait any long-” 

A small rock flies past his mask, skidding on the ground until it comes to a stop. He glares in the direction of the tree you’re hiding behind. You have no plan, nothing but the distracting impulse to stop the assailant from attacking. “Stay here” he commands, and stalks towards you. His slow footsteps get increasingly louder, playful stomps toying with your obvious whereabouts. He twirls the razor-sharp knife, and as he sharply peeks around the corner, you’re nowhere to be found. “Here, kitty kitty” he taunts, spinning towards the lake, then the village grounds for footprints. He severs the air aimlessly in mirth, believing some amateur fighter came to challenge him. As he monitors the tracks under you, you drop down from the wiry branches. Legs wrap tight around his neck, and you catch hold of his hood trying to pull his mask off. He gags but he’s too quick, throwing off your steadiness as he slams your spine on the grass. He whips around to take a stab at your chest, but you roll away guarding the vital arteries. You kick him in the crotch, and he recoils giving you ample time to stand.  

You can’t feel the wet laceration dripping down your abdomen as you take a slash at his throat with your weapon, infused with elemental energy. He leans back and meets your strike. You trade blows, the strength of your smite bursting sparks of light above the scratches and bruises. Your wrist burns with the unmoving knives stumbling you. He begins to manifest blazing knives circling his figure, and you jump back from the singing cut melting the cloth. You wipe the dried blood from your mouth, and in the blink of an eye, he disappears. Suddenly, red auras similar to the pyro agent surround you. One by one, the clones charge at you, and you parry their overhead onslaught. Something is different about the last clone, your vision revealing a brighter outline than the others. When the next clone attacks, as you counter you pretend to fall for his trick. With your eyes on the other, he immediately passes through the black fog to deal the killing blow. You’re quicker this time and heave a heavy tear into his chest. Crimson splatters the grass, it shatters his element and rips open the robe. You tackle him on the dirt and wrestle until you kick his weapon away. Your knee digs into his back, and he can barely breathe with his arm locked behind him and knife rigid against his neck. He ttempts to swing at you, but you wrench his arm tighter and slice into his skin just enough to draw blood. 

“Fuck. Okay!” he wheezes. “Where is Pantalone?”  

“I don’t know what you’re- shit!” You’ve lost patience long ago and twist his arm to dislocate the shoulder. He lets out a blood curdling scream thrashing in pain—you tug hard and focus him. “Shut up and answer my question. Where is Pantalone?” you demand. He hisses in pain and coughs up phlegm mixing with reddening soil. “Kill me.” 

“Just tell me and I’ll let you go.” 

“I’m a dead man, either way.” he rasps and hangs his head waiting for the execution. You grit your teeth; a drop of guilt leaves a bad taste as you thwack the pressure point on his neck that forces him unconscious. You glance at the bag he left and limp over to rummage through the contents. Useless papers crumple under stolen items, but one note catches your eye. Presumably a to-do list, you read to the bottom. A list of homes, goods on standby exchanges—at the bottom of those, a rendezvous point: 

Report back- Yilong Bank, Liyue 

You rest in a plot of prickly bushes and leave in the morning after patching yourself up. You couldn’t stop now, not when you were this close to facing him. You soothe your body from the twigs prodding you all night, and check the wound suppressed by gauze. It’s a light scar now, apparent after bathing in the warm water on the outskirts of Qingce. You contemplated telling Ningguang about what occurred, but imagining the look on her face once she knew kept you moving. 

Tucking your vision where it can’t be viewed, you take a waverider to Yilong Port into the afternoon. You concoct a half-baked scheme, one that relies on every scenario being perfect to a tee. Unreliable, but probably your only chance. The plan amounts to scaling the building and breaking in through the office window, snatching everything owned by the villagers and breaking out before anyone notices. Easy in your capabilities, but you have no idea what the building looks like, nor do you know where the office is. The man driving wears all black, an outfit that stands out from the rest of the region. He stares at you blankly, and once you’re aware, you meet eyes. His smile is uncanny, stretching across his face with an abnormal friendliness. 

“Is this your first time at the port?” he asks, finger tapping the wheel. Be it sleep deprivation or ignorance; you don’t recognize red flags in his behavior.  You smile at the courteous face. “Yeah, the weather’s beautiful out here.” 

“Mhm, hot weather up here. On vacation?” 

“Nah, I have business here.” The minuscule edge of your vision catches in the light. He homes in on the passing twinkle. You wonder why his eyes widen momentarily, and his finger starts to tap methodically, as if memorizing a coded pattern. 

“Business...what kind?” 

“Oh...I have some items to trade.” You close off your answers feeling that you’ve said too much. He subsides with a stale expression. “If you’re looking to trade, you might find luck at Yilong Bank” he utters monotonously.  

“And where is that?” You feign disinterest, but victory is too loud on your tongue. 

“Up the mountain.” The waverider halts at the harbor, and he turns his head away from you unusually cold, akin to a mechanical bot shutting down. “Welcome to Yilong Port.” 

You make yourself invisible in the crowd and wait for nightfall. People still roam the port along with Fatui monitoring the front of the bank, which gives you leeway to blend in as you find passage around the back of the mountain. It’s a steep, dark incline jutted with irregular jagged stones. The imposing size of the climb tangles knots in your stomach, and you wipe the persistent sweat on your top. In one huge leap, you latch onto a craggy indent, and begin your ascension. 

Your legs feel like jelly with each contact of the unforgiving breeze. You sway alongside the spirit of anemo and swallow your anxiety before leaping to the next rock. Shoes plant into rock and nails excavate fresh cobble on the next jump. By the time you’ve realized, you’re already up most of the mountain. You tug yourself even with the land as a barreling gust of wind goads your glance to the ground, kilometers beneath you. Your breath stills, and for a second dizziness overtakes your nerves at the thought of slipping. I could die, one mistake and I’m dead. You focus, and spring to the next piece. Without warning, rock gives way into pebbles at the weight of your foot. You nearly plunge, but anchor onto the small bump out with one hand. You’re dangling off the edge, playing with death while you fortify your body. Hyperventilation makes your heartbeat thrum incessantly and stress palpitates tired muscles; If you didn't have your vision, you would’ve fainted to your demise. You bite the bullet, push your heels in and persevere through the hurdles. The next thing you clutch is malleable in your palm. You vault over the cliff, the smell of dew is overwhelming. The back of the bank—the end goal—is visible.  

One Fatui member remains in the front. You scale up the building effortlessly, nothing compared to the hell you just went through. Shifting window to window, your eyes land on the pitch-black darkness of the room at the top of the building. An ideal glow casts on the fraction of precious gold resting on a coffee table. This has to be it. You slink through the window soundlessly, and land on the balls of your feet. Analyzing the dish, you don’t discern the pendant. You can faintly identify some bookshelves near the dish, and tiptoe further inside. You creep around luxury sofas, and squint at the embellished glass case next to the door, containing all manner of jewelry and valuable possessions. You won; this was it. You scurry to it, moving with abrupt carelessness. One more step. 

Click 

The fireplace you didn’t heed is set aflame. It flickers sneering shadows on the opposite wall and brightens the case. You pause and hope. There’s a confining silence stirring in the room, like someone is with you. The case is visible now, and so is the key to opening it. 

You fell into a trap. 

“Looks like I have a little thief on my hands.”  

A bittersweet voice in the sable, reminiscent of rich dark chocolate, rolls off the room. He steps out obscurity behind his desk and your eyes adjust, revealing the tight black turtleneck compressing his willowy torso and gloves adorned with silver rings. You can’t see the upper part of his face, but the chains of his glasses hang in front of that duping smile. You expected the Fatui harbinger to be on the stronger side, physically intimidating. It’s not physical, but you feel a certain fear boiling in your body. He’s not terrifying, but you tremble. His presence makes your hair stand and sends waves of goosebumps up your arms. You can’t find the will to move your wobbly legs. His charmed laugh rings in your ears and causes you to hold your breath. He has no vision; you shouldn’t be afraid. You could take him on easily, why can’t you fight? 

“Hello, honored hero of Liyue” the headless man taunts. It makes it worse that he knows who you are. How long had he known you were coming? Was your plan doomed from the beginning? Your feet are stuck in molasses as your fight or flight shuts down at the man before you.  

“Now, tell me. What is the little thief doing, barging into my office to take the possessions I worked so hard for? Not very heroic of you, If I may say.” There’s power in his stature—you forget how to speak. He holds his palm out to you. Tangled between his fingers, is the ornate golden pendant you’d been searching for, a woman’s face in the frame. Your eyes widen, and the sweet familiar curve of his lips stretches in amusement. 

“Is this what you’re looking for?” The plod of low-heeled boots accompanies unveiled darkness, and you can observe his entirety. Amethyst eyes drunk with an orchid hue pool into your being. Lazy curls brush against his glasses and kiss his porcelain skin. He’s beautiful, a calm enticing rip current that sweeps you with immeasurable pressure before you can pull yourself out. He leans on the desk, observing the chain halfheartedly. If you weren’t careful, you’d mistake the look on his face for genuine kindness; you’d drown, just like he craved. Nonetheless, you can’t shake the emotion his smile grants. 

“Yes. That’s all I need, and I won’t bother you again” you whisper meekly, hoping that he’d let you go with the pendant in a spur of forgiveness. The jest in his eyes says something different. 

“Come get it.”  

Come get it. Your mind begins to piece the man into a stage of your life you’d forgotten. It can’t be him. Memory tells intrusive truth in short flashes. Inky curls spiraling in front of you as you chase. He was consistently miles ahead of you. It was irrelevant how far apart you were; he’d always find you. That big, curving smile for every match he won. Purple eyes glancing back at yours; the same ones that withheld tears when you said goodbye. 

“Come get me!” 

Tears stream down your eyes for the friend you thought you’d never see again. Childhood laughter bleeds into his current cat-like conniving snicker, and you gaze at his face. 

“I... remember you” you choke. He looks up without a smile, perceiving an unexpected thought, and meets your eyes. There’s a hint of affection in the warm smile beaming on his face. “My my, (Y/N). You have quite the memory.” 

You’re motionless, full of something that catches in your lungs. This isn’t the triumph you wanted, and now that you’re face to face you feel powerless. He must’ve known the entire time. Watching you fight and work alone, sending Fatui to roam in Liyue, all done to toy with you. Your lip quivers, swelling in your already deafening heartbeat.  

“How long...” you utter. He inquires with the tilt of his head. 

“How long have you been messing with me?” Your eyes adhere to the floor, pride that won’t permit you to shed misery for Pantalone. He drinks in your resistant frame, the kind he desires to break; perhaps this game of cat and mouse isn’t done, after all. 

“This hurts me too, (Y/N). I wouldn’t be doing this if you weren’t so…persistent.” Your confusion spills over in shaky, weak huffs. You can’t maintain your composure, and make yourself first to oppose the authoritative man on his own territory. 

“How could you do this to anyone? We grew up poor!” You shout with balling fists. 

“It’s inefficient to dwell on the past” he replies with gentle cadence and languid grace unrepresentative of his cruel tactics. You nearly regret raising your voice. 

“These people are at their wits end and you’re taking advantage of them” you chide. He slowly paces towards you. Pantalone looks down on you from height disparity, but the royal glower pities you, judges worth you can’t see. 

“Driven by emotions, are you that simple? You presumed that if you stormed in here, and professed a touching story, that I would suddenly see the error in my methods?” You’re not sure what you’re here for anymore or why you haven’t left yet. Subconscious urges can't determine if they should slap or hug the man inching towards you. “I simply enforce contracts and exchanges. No one can be swindled by a debt accreted on their own.” 

“No one asks to be poor either” you interject. Pantalone’s a foot away from you now, analyzing your reactions to his personal entertainment. He recalls the blurry past—the pranks you pulled together that ultimately failed from your loud hurried sneakiness tripping to alert the farmers, helping out for loose change so that you’d split a snack between each other that wasn’t big enough to share, gazing at the twinkling night imagining a distant future—you changed and stayed the same, but he keeps wanting more.  

“Weigh the odds. They either die impoverished or live by passage of loans. I merely provide a service. Does that make me so cruel?” You can’t find an answer. 

“You’ll always be my friend, but I need it back. It can’t be much to forgive someone’s debt” you plead.  

“You still consider me a friend?” 

“I think…you’re hurt. And you’re trying to heal. We all are. I know I’ve dealt with a lot as I’ve gotten older and I think you have, too. Power corrupts even the best people in this world, so maybe you’re not a bad person. But you’re doing bad things, and this isn’t the right way to get better.” 

Pantalone is quiet for a few long moments. His hands web his face, but you can clearly see the pearly fangs in his open-mouthed smirk. Then he laughs—dulcet and mocking, it lingers for too long as he throws his head back and relishes the obtuse notion. He gazes with insulting compassion and stalks towards you. 

“Incredibly…. gullible. Mora is the pathway to all endeavors. Devoid of gnosis or divine knowledge, wealth has rendered me impervious to control. Suffering and destitution only manifest if I will it. I am the guise of a false god, an emblem of achievement.” It’s borderline delusional the way he regards himself, arms moving in theatric grandeur, the star of his own opera. 

“Does that make you feel good? Stepping on the backs of the community that raised you, and abandoning them because they chose not to be influenced by greed?” Pantalone towers over you. His fingers brush light against your sensitive ears, trail to your clenched jaw, and finally cup your frustrated cheeks with the cradle of a long-lost lover. 

“It does, in fact. I’m not easily swayed by ridiculous optimism, that’s why I’m at the top. You’ve devoted your blood and tears to a region that will succumb to adversity in your absence. Is that not a pointless feat?” 

“So what? That doesn’t mean we just don’t help people. You have nothing without the Fatui, you’re a pawn just like the others” you retort. He brings his lips close to the shell of your ear, and his breath hot on the untouched skin drags a tingle up your spine. 

“And what do you know about the Fatui?” he whispers. 

“I know enough. You’re all disgusting.” He huffs out his nose. 

“Disgusting isn’t the right word. I’d say...opportunists.” Pantalone backs up, sliding his hand up your chin and tilting your attention to the intense glint. “But you’re clever, I’ll give you that. If only you were clever enough to know your place.” You'd forgotten you were acting out of line. You refocus your mindset to negotiation. 

“I’ll do anything you ask for the debt. Please, just give it back.” The word “anything” evokes a malicious yearning—so forthcoming without understanding the implications of “anything”, of eternity. He caresses your cheek. 

“Anything, hm? Even if I said to give up being a hero for good? Would you still call yourself a heroic traveler if you weren’t allowed to travel or adventure as you please?” he teases. Your mouth opens to refute, but you bite your bottom lip instead. Pantalone walks back to his desk and leans while dangling the golden chain. Now that he’s far, the invading space between you two shows how insignificant you are in this luxury palace. 

“Your resolve moves me. Consider this; make an exchange with me, and I’ll guarantee not only her debt, but the debt of all residents in Liyue forgiven” Your face instantly lights up, ready to accept it without thinking. 

“What is it?” you ask. 

“In exchange for regional loan forgiveness, I want you.” 

“...What?” 

“I want everything you have. It’s the fairest exchange I can make. Your obedience, your loyalty, and your body.”  

The choice turns in your frontal lobe. You can’t fathom giving yourself to a man, let alone a Fatui harbinger. It’s unbecoming of a hero to lie with the enemy. 

“Absolutely not” you assure. 

“Alright. Then allow their village to be reduced to nothing.” No, wait. “You may leave. However, if you do, you’ll cause great misfortune to that woman and her struggling family” You play into his covet so smoothly as you stand in the center of the room, reluctant to leave.  

“I’m not a complete monster, so I’ll give you 5 seconds to make a choice.” He sways the pendant in his hand like the transient time of an hourglass. 5 seconds, all you have to sign your life away. 

“4.”  

What if no one ever sees you again? What’s the point of sacrificing your happiness and freedom, are the people of Liyue truly worth it? 

“3.” 

You could threaten him, take him hostage so that a harbinger might bow to your demands. That, or they kill you, and the village suffers anyway. 

“2.” 

You think of your graying mom, the sweet boy with his chubby red face who cries over the smallest things, the grateful elders that give you candy after every good deed, Ningguang and Keqing stressing over the next financial impact. 

“1.” 

“I’ll do it.”  

Pantalone swings the chain into his palm, an undefeated smug overbearing as he sets it on the desk. There was never a point in resisting; he always got what he wanted, no matter how long it took to achieve it. He waited months—no, years—to get you in this exact moment. There’s a daunting beguiling charm in the way he closes the gap between you two. You glare at him; a temper common people would dread shooting. He assesses the pending punishment and lowers himself eye-level. He grins, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“I can see the defiance in your eyes. Do you want to talk back? Go ahead, challenge me.” You don’t test this scenario and turn your head. “Don’t patronize me. Get it over with, ‘Pantalone’.” 

He quirks an eyebrow, and pliable flesh strains your teeth as your face is gripped rough by satiny leather. You’re twisted sharply to the calm expression—it humbles you. 

“That’s not how you address your superior. What should you call me?” You don’t answer promptly to his liking, and he tightens his grip. “Answer me properly, darling.” 

“...Sir.” Pantalone plants a sickly sugary kiss on your forehead, the kind that makes you forget how petrifying he can be, and lets you go.  

“Good.” He walks back to the desk and sits in the onyx chair embellished with silver jewels fit for a king. His chin rests on bridging hands. “Strip.” 

You don’t move, your heart hammers in your chest at the request and you stir uncomfortably. You have no experience with sexual gratification, let alone exposing yourself to an old friend.  

“(Y/N). Don’t make me say it again.” Keen agitation in his voice serves as a final warning. He eats you with his eyes, homed in on your hands clumsily snaking the top over your head. A glimpse of the scar you received during your fight with the Fatui captures him. He takes a mental entry, for an explanation that might justify why the agent suddenly goes missing. You were generally too busy to look in the mirror or analyze your assets, and pleasure was a removed afterthought—so the hungry fervor warming your skin and permeating the room clamped your thighs shut. You’re visibly flustered and nervous fumbling with the clasps on your bra while stabilizing your anxiety, and he delights in every second of the accidental strip tease. It feels like fresh meat introduced to a savage animal, and the instant your bra omes off, a new vulnerability coils in your gut. You move to your bottoms; the sheen of sweat polishes your plush thighs to wiggle out of them. You’re left in nothing but tantalizing panties hugging you in the right places. His eyes undress and redress you, tracing up and down the perk of your nipples, tempting fullness of your thighs, each unseen curve and perfect imperfect mark on your glistening body. He lets out a deep breath to stop himself from jumping over the table and taking you right there. 

“The underwear. Take it off” he says, an undertone of lust. You shimmy the fabric off and fully expose yourself. You impulsively cover your intimate parts and avert your eyes, but you can still feel Pantalone on you, ravaging you. He doesn’t bother telling you to put your arms at your sides, your bashfulness combined with an attempt at stoicism is comical. 

“Ah, the little thief is trying to act tough. That's cute” Pantalone teases and leans back in the chair. Manspreading, he pats his thigh. “Crawl.”  

He’s hellbent on shaming the defiance out of you. It’s a vile command, but you begrudgingly drop to your hands and knees. You drag your chaffed knees on wood, balancing like a newborn fawn adjusting to its legs. It’s humiliating and downright degrading; the cold floor fails at cooling your burning fever. You’re on the verge of tears, but Pantalone can’t help but smile. You get around the desk and look up at him, waiting for the next horrible thing he’ll have you do. “Unfortunately, the stunt you pulled impeded my paperwork. Be a good thing and sit on my lap until I’m done.” A “thing”—that’s all you were now, a shiny trophy meant to be ogled at but never taken seriously, used and thrown away. You stand off your scraped raw knees and straddle his thigh, hands balancing the leg so you don’t fall. 

And Pantalone starts to work. Working as if you’re not there, filling in the spaces on his documents. For some reason, it’s more demeaning this way, you truly are just a prize. One hand dances beautiful penmanship in masterful motions on embossed paper, the other fondles and explores your being. The gloves brush down your delicate spine, nonsensical shapes drawn on your lower back that make you shiver and pool heat in places you’ve never thought of. You’ve never been touched like this, it’s needles light on your skin. They move to your stomach, pleasant circles above the pelvis that threaten to go lower. He’s careful to trail his hand up your cleavage and behind your neck, neglect your hardening nipples and repeat the process over and over. He’s painstakingly slow, savoring the dazed arch of your back, massaging your inner thighs and dragging the sleek material over your rear.

Middle and index sweep across your lips, pulling your bottom lip to reveal teeth, and prods your mouth. Pantalone’s fingers are invasive, they exploit your gums and twirl around the squishy tongue molding to his appetite. He plays with the pink mass, and it fills you like a kiss. He’s everywhere and he hasn’t looked at you once. You hate it, the kind elegance and refinement of his technique that makes every calculated word and action reek of opulence. Yet, arousal pools on the surface, sticking to your labia and clouding your drowsy mind. It’s an extreme ache that doesn’t go away from cold showers or shrugging off like you usually would. You can’t remember what you did today, yesterday, or the day before that. The sensation of him consumes you and persists in spots he left. He smells of expensive cologne, hints of heady wood and sage. You’re lucky his fingers are in your mouth, or piteous moans would spill out of you. Flat on his thigh, the subtle jolts of his leg rub against your hypersensitive clit and set your nerves on fire. Throbbing swells in your core, and you struggle to stay stiff as your hips stutter.  

Pantalone knows exactly what he’s doing. Your labored pants sound like saintly melody while you writhe on his lap. The fabric goads your pulsing pussy, and you hang your head in embarrassment of the juices soaking your thighs and his. He’s surprised you have strength left to withstand the itch. You do your best to hover above it, trailing thick strings of slick. “There’s no need to pretend you don’t like this. Just give yourself to me” he whispers. And it’s so enticing, an invitation that might let you come if you ask. However, remnants of pride cling to your melting resolve, you can’t give in yet. He takes the fingers out and presses on your nipple, flicking the bud. You can’t hold the mewl, and he snickers.  

“So indignant for the hero of Liyue, to be on a harbingers lap, reduced to a pretty pet.” Your ears tune out the insults. The damp gloves pull and pinch your puffy nipples, then knead to soothe the pain. He does the same to the other, switching between both as he feels you squirm.  

He works on the last few pages. Piles upon piles of reports and records—they detail the deaths, or “suicides”, of clients who’d disappeared mysteriously after extended absence of payments for millions of mora, people who dared go against the Regrator. Unruly, uncooperative clients that take advantage of fair exchange, and pay the price for it. 

Your arms get tired, and you settle on him again. Pantalone starts to softly bounce his leg, enough for you to notice the friction on your clit. It’s too much, you can’t take it anymore, and start to rut your hips on his thigh. You look messy, smearing your essence on those overpriced slacks and biting back your moans. Pleasure flows in your veins, and you give up. His cock throbs nonstop, print stealing space in his pants. “Did you believe I wouldn’t catch you? You’re not sneaky enough. You’re not good enough," he taunts from the corner of his eye. You hump his leg like a desperate bunny, chasing the addictive high.  

“Nasty slut, fucking your hips on a man you barely remember.” He moves his hands to your clit and replaces the slacks with slippery leather. You grind on it harder and hold your moans. More, more, more. He coats it in the mess and finally diverts his attention to you. He teases your entrance gliding vertically on your vulva before pushing one finger in. It hurts at first, but your walls hug him eagerly, pulling it deeper. He coaxes it to take another and starts scissoring your gushy walls.  

“I’ll devour you. I’ll inscribe my name upon every surface of your physique until it adorns your lips, and I’m the only thing that remains.” Pantalone starts pumping rhythmically, tormenting, poking everywhere but your g-spot. Gloss drips down his knuckles and glazes his rings. 

“S-sir please, s’too much” you whimper, mustering up an ineffective stable voice. “Hmm? Can you hear the lewd sounds you’re making?” Loud squelches sing from him fucking your insides. Each time you try to speak, he elicits another moan. 

“M-my sto-mach hurtss” you whine. He holds your waist in place with the other hand and continues the assault. “I know, it hurts? Would you like me to alleviate the pain?” he coos. You nod fast. 

“Hold it in. You ask for permission every time you’re close, do you understand?” You don’t reply and try to angle your body to get more contact. You make the mistake of guiding yourself to your clit and earn a harsh stinging slap on your hand. “Don’t touch what’s mine” he orders. You’re frustrated and he’s doing it on purpose, it’s entirely too hot where pleasure and pain blur. “N-not yours” you stammer, and he stops. He pulls out your warmth and you whine from loss of pressure. Looking at him, there's no smile, and the irritation on his face makes your heart drop. You're really in for it. 

Without delay, your stomach flies over one of the chair arms, and you hold onto it for dear life. It presses firm on your ribs, and he slants your ass to the air. “You have courage, speaking back to me” he says. He pulls his gloves off and hurls them. They’re lovely, the silken soft hands of a man who hadn't lifted a finger through combat a day in his life. They sink into your sex, and you moan out for him. The other winds back, and you feel the palm hit brutally on your unsuspecting backside. Crack. It echoes in the room, and you almost fly forward. 

“Disrespectful.” Crack. He keeps pumping through it, and tears collect in your lashes. 

“Disobedient.” Crack. There’s blood rushing to your head, and violent smacks make your pussy flutter and ass ripple; his control won’t give you adequate touch.  

“Little.” Crack. Every time he feels you getting there, he pauses. A masochistic pleasure whirls innermost. 

“Brat.” Crack. Both cheeks are a sore fiery color and beginning to welt, but he resumes. You’re drenching his palm, sobbing from prolonged edging and Pantalone laughs. “Pfft, you’re crying? Too embarrassed to beg? Perhaps I’ll give you what you want, if you grovel hard enough, darling.” An incoherent orchestra of please’s mesh with broken moans. “Sir m’sorry. Wan’ it so bad, p-please!” you mumble. There’s no dignity on your lips, no residue of the hero you once were. Drunken ardor floods your short-circuiting brain. 

“Oh, what do you say? You want it? Is that it? I'll let you have it... but only if you say it loud and clear for me” he croons. He winds his fingers in a come-hither gesture that licks your core. 

“Please...I won’t misbehave again!” He spreads your ass apart and watches your hole pucker from lining the brink. 

“I’m not sure I want to give it to you now. It's a lot more enjoyable watching you squirm and beg.” 

“’M yours, sir. Please give it to me. I’ll be s’good, promise!” you mewl. You’re so pathetic, it’s endearing. He simpers and maneuvers impossibly fast while gyrating your clit. “How humiliating. You’ve satisfied me.” Your eyes roll back, and you dissolve in pure euphoria. There’s black dots in your vision, and it doesn’t stop as he starts torturing your overstimulated clit with the pad of his thumb. Your tears only encourage him. You jerk and spasm, but he moves where you move with insistent skill. “T-too m-” 

“Aww, what’s wrong? Isn’t this what you wanted, where are your manners?” Pantalone pulls out and delivers staggering mean swats to your pussy, and you recoil. “Say thank you” he demands. 

“Thank you, sir.” He hums and picks you up in his arms. Before color can return to your numb cells, he lays you on the desk. You watch him pull his shirt up to his pecs with haste and uncover the lean skinny midsection. Unzipping his pants, he unsheathes his leaking thumping erection. Even his dick is pretty, it curves upwards and shades a starving dusty pink past the thin strip of tissue on the underside of his bulbous tip. Composure thinning, a bead of pre come runs down his tip at the sight of provocation sluicing your ass and thighs. His glasses plunge down his neck, body blushed wildly, but he doesn’t care. Pantalone slides between your labia and groans at the sound. Engulfing the tip in awaiting velvet warmth, “You’re so good for me, hm?” he sighs. You embrace him, delicious searing stretch of your walls forming to his cock. Your orgasm builds just from your body accommodating the size. He places your hands on your calves and holds them at your sides. He slips out, and in one swoop, drives into you. His heavy balls smack against your ass as he thrusts frenetically in the gooey grip he’d been waiting for, stalking and spying for. He digs crescent shapes in your waist and uses you to his abundance. The desk base creaks and grinds on abrading wood and obituaries float to the floor with overturned calligraphy ink from the unrelenting momentum. You throw your head back and indulge the carnal lust washing over you both. 

“You’ll never see anyone ever again. Fuck- you’re mine, and mine alone. You’re nothing but a come dump, your purpose is to please me, hah, until I say it’s over” his voice is unexpectedly deprived and weighty with vulgar whimpers. Pantalone eyes your neck and encapsulates it in his slender hand. He clenches tight and releases in sporadic bursts that have you seizing around him. For a split second there’s the image of you—exorbitant pearled collar wrapped around your throat, with “Pantalone” inscribed in bedazzled letters—and he loses it. He swipes your clit rapidly and feeds you deep strokes; you’ll definitely die. You speak, but it’s unintelligible rambling. 

“Use your words” he lilts, squeezing your airflow taut. “C-can I, sir, please?” 

“You’ll do it on my command.” Pantalone thrusts frenetically, you can feel him bucking, twitching and quickly approaching his climax. His hips sputter, chanting some mixture of your name and curses under his breath. “You’re so obedient for me, aren’t you? F-fuck, darling, go ahead. Come on my cock.” You permit yourself to surrender, white noise streams in and time slows as you come down his shaft. A creamy ring forms at the hilt of his slaps. You recite “thank you” through wails with the semblance of a follower at the altar of their savior. Then he grabs your face and goes in for a kiss.  

It’s sloppy and misses half your lip, but its doughy attachment mellows your blissed out head. His lips taste like the bitter excess of green tea, and you crane for a better sample. His tongue does things his fingers couldn’t, and swirls around yours in a passionate bruising waltz. Pantalone breaks away, a string of saliva when he frees himself. “Mm, coming. Gonna claim you everywhere” he whimpers. Sweat on his lustered abdomen, he pumps his tender cock before spurting thick hot ropes across your tits and stomach. He paints your vulva with the rest and plunges the tip in your entry so as to not waste the endless globs of white. He tremors inside you until soft, and when some dribbles out he fingers it back inside.  

Afterwards, Pantalone opens one of the drawers on the desk and takes out an embossed loan dismissal form. You can’t read the finer details through hazy eyesight. “It’s already signed, so don’t worry. I won’t deceive you.” He caresses your face in his normal sing-song attitude. “We depart in the morning.” You don’t have a clue where you’re going or how you’ll get there as you drift unconscious. Once you’re asleep, Pantalone shuffles in a different locked drawer. He twiddles the stunning purple geode in his hand, a crystal lined mineral you gave to him years prior. He looks at you, then the druse, and cackles. 

“Mine. Always.” 

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Lion's Pride [Part 3]

Gender Neutral Reader x Leona Kingscholar Word Count: 6.2k

Summary: Your new job as a Full Time Royal Therapist does not pay nearly as well as you'd like. Or, Leona is more of a problem child than he would ever admit, but you're surprisingly okay at dealing with that.

[PART 1][PART 2] [PART 3]

Sometimes you felt like you hardly knew what it meant to be a functional person, living a comfortable life on the fringes of society. So in comparison, trying to think of what it meant to be an actual prince, ruling over all of said society was something you literally could not comprehend no matter how hard you tried to wrap your head around it.  

“If you’re a Prince, what were you doing in a hole?” you asked, because you had far too many questions and concerns, and this one at least seemed easy enough to address. And also because you were genuinely pretty curious.  

The newly dubbed ‘Leona’ twitched against your back and you felt the low rumble of his snarl work its way from the depths of his gut all the way up through his chest and out his mouth.

“Holy shit,” Ace wheezed. “Screw this. I’m getting out of here before I wind up implicated as an accessory in your murder.”

And so your trusty friend abandoned you to the wolves lions?—darting away so quickly he always forget his bag, shoes, and everything else in the process.

You waved after him as he departed, knowing full well that he’d wind up stumbling back within the week, maybe two at most. He always did, no matter how much he complained about your Present Company. Plain old ‘murder’ was actually one of his more polite accusations. When he’d run into your Hunter friend the first time, Ace had gone on a wildly incoherent rant about how he was going to find your corpse strung up in a tree like some weird, ritual, sacrifice. And then that had devolved into something-something cannibalism or other. The visiting Hunter had just thrown his head back and laughed, positively enamored with the grisliness of it all. Ace had vanished for almost an entire month after that encounter, but he did come back—glaring up at you with a miserable pout like you were the one who’d gone and fucked off for thirty whole days.

Leona snorted and you felt the puff of breath against the back of your neck.

“Coward,” he grumbled, though he didn’t sound particularly displeased about your friend’s sudden departure.

“Fear lets us be brave,” you responded, wise as a sage. Or maybe an old frog in a puddle.

“Yeah?” he intoned, rolling his eyes. “And when’s that little rat ever been brave?”

“There’s always tomorrow,” you chirped, and that snort turned into something dangerously close to a chuckle. Which—gasp!—how dare such a pleasant sound fall from the lips of someone so obstinately determined to be otherwise! You grinned at the low tones of it, only for the snickering to cut off sharply in his throat once he’d realized what he was doing. And then of course he shoved you forward and out of his lap with a great amount of indignant snarling.

You laid there for a few minutes—face down in the sun-warmed grass and laughing quietly about just how ridiculous this stupid Lion was, before finally sitting up with a pleasant stretch. He could put on airs all he liked, you knew there was kernel of something far less angsty and murderous buried at the heart of him.

“So,” you hummed, lazily making your way back to your feet. “What exactly have I done to draw the realm’s Prince to my doorstep?” You squinted at him suspiciously. “You’re not here about the fairy gate thing, are you? Because that was actually an accident.”

“The what?” he frowned, brow pinched in confusion.

You waved him off. “Ah, nothing, nothing.”

Something in his jaw twitched, like now he was going to push the subject out of principle of you being shifty. But he just sighed and brought a hand up to pinch at the bridge of his nose.

“I need your help,” he said finally. Just as crabby as the first time he’d asked, if perhaps just a touch less imperious.

You arched a brow. “I think you’ve mentioned that already, yes.”

Silence.

The Lion stared you down with a slowly deepening scowl, and you stared back with a smile as placid and unmoved as the shallow pond you’d nearly drowned Ace in not an hour before.  

“If I apologize, you’ll help me?” he asked after a long moment, the question turning sharp at the end on a bitten of growl.

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” you hummed back and he crossed his arms stubbornly over his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he said, with all the pleasantry of someone undergoing a root canal. And all the sincerity of Ace swearing that this was the last time he’d get caught evading the tax man, promise.

You sighed, feeling a bit cheated. But you hadn’t really stipulated anything beyond those two little words leaving his mouth, so if anything, that was on you.

“Alright,” you huffed. “What is it you need help with?”

The Lion glared at you suspiciously for a long moment—glowing eyes narrowed into slits and tail twitching back and forth like he was swatting flies. Finally, he sighed and lifted his hands out in front of him with a pointed flex.  

“It’s not supposed to be like this,” he frowned sourly, wrists twisting to display the pointed claws tipping his fingers. “I’m not supposed to get stuck in between.”

Your eyes traced the fluffy tufts of his round ears, the black-tipped tail swishing irritably at his hind, and allowed yourself a melancholy sort of huff.

“But you look good like this,” you pointed out sadly. Because he really, truly, did. Leona without his squishy lion ears would just be… grumpy. Miserable, and angular, and angry. Nothing soft worth coddling at all.

“That’s not the point!” he snapped, baring his overlarge canines at you. There was a darker cast along his cheekbones that seemed to be making a valiant effort to crawl all the way up into his fringe. “And don’t fucking say that!”

You frowned. One second this stupid dick wanted to be praised to the Heavens and back! Practically swanning about, demanding you bow down and acknowledge his blatant superiority. But, oh no. Apparently your meager half-sentence masquerading as a compliment was too much for his delicate, princely, sensibilities.

“Fine,” you griped. “You’re ugly.”

He growled—low and rumbling—and if he was anymore of a cat you’d say you could see his hackles raising in indignation. But before he could launch into another vicious, verbal, evisceration of your person, you cleared your throat loudly in an attempt to get him back on track.   

“What do you mean by ‘stuck in between?’”

He sneered down at you testily for a moment before reaching up to pinch at the bridge of his nose again and letting out a put-upon sort of sigh that was not at all indicative of the fact that he was the one asking you for help.

“The Shift. When you found me in that pit, I should have been able to Shift between that form and this one without issue,” he frowned, brow tugging down tight with something a bit more disquieted than his usual, flat, annoyance. “The iron was a problem, but once I was out of the trap, it should have been fine. I’ve dealt with cursed snares like this before, and the effects have never lingered as long as this one has.”

You blinked owlishly. That did sound… fairly unpleasant. And honestly, if you were in his position you’d also be at least a little concerned that something else was at play. But, still, all that being said—

“I’m sorry,” you frowned, more or less genuine. Perhaps leaning a bit harder into less.“But I don’t understand how that has anything to do with me.”

“You were down there with me,” he argued. “You dismantled the trap.”

Uh, yeah. By messing with bits that looked breakable until they broke. Not exactly a high-level intellectual pursuit.

You didn’t say that, of course. Because after a few days watching you scuttle about your homestead like a particularly vocal lizard in the dirt, you were sure he already thought you were stupid enough without you outright admitting to it. Nevertheless, the Lion observed your zip-lipped silence with an ever-deepening scowl.

“You took it apart,” he tried again, nearly a growl.

“Yes,” you said with a nod.

“You know how you did it,” he continued, firm. At your lack of affirmative, he pushed again. “You know. I watched you do it!”

You raised your hand nervously and made a little so-so tilting motion.

Anyone less refined would no doubt have had their head in their hands at this point, but Leona just curled his lip at you and looked like he was fighting valiantly not to put your own very silly head through a wall.

“It was charmed,” he spat. “Bound up with talismans, and cursed down to its very moldings. That isn’t something any random farmer could walk up and break.”

“Oh,” you blinked, taken aback, and struggled to recall if there had been anything so obviously enchanted about the trap you’d fiddled into bits. “Was it?”

And head had officially met hands. He ground his clawed fingers into his temples like you were a headache that with enough determination and massaging he may somehow be able to will away.

“Couldn’t you go just home if this is such a big problem?” you asked, still genuinely baffled at it all. “Get help from your family? I mean, you’re a Prin—”

“No,” he interrupted, emerald eyes gone glacier cold.

You frowned, as unimpressed by his prickliness as you usually were. But something in you was hesitant to prod at whatever it was that had managed to tug a feral rage so tightly across his face—like drawing a shade over a window until the entire home was cloaked in shadow, or slipping away behind a carved mask too heavy to ever wear comfortably. It was an expression so sharp and so bitter that if you hadn’t only just yesterday watched this stubborn man lounge about in the sun as your chickens hopped all over him like he was the world’s most carnivorous jungle gym, you wouldn’t ever have known that they could be the same person at all. 

“Alright,” you shrugged, and some of that angry, hunched, defensiveness eased into confusion.

“Hah?” he frowned.

“Alright,” you said again. “We’ll figure it out here.” He glared over at you balefully, and you waved off the obvious retort on the tip of his tongue about something-something-you have no idea what you’re doing-something-something-dangerous risks and lifelong consequences-blablabla. “I have a friend who would know a lot more about those kinds of traps and talismans that I do. He could help, probably.”

“Probably?” he scoffed. Though when he rolled his eyes, they weren’t quite so hate filled—lids hooded with a familiar, begrudging sort of irritation rather than outright malice.

“He’s a bit of an enigma,” you explained—wiggling your fingers in a little, sparkly, dance to emphasize the, well, enigmatic part.

Another huff. But amidst that grumpy bellyaching, you watched those fluffy ears of his slowly perk back up atop his head, and his tail swish leisurely behind him. The Lion certainly didn’t look happy (but did he ever? So was that really a fair comparison?), but he definitely seemed like he’d thawed into something less ‘frigid dead of winter’ and more ‘unpleasantly nippy spring morning.’

“Weirder than you, herbivore?” he sniffed, looking down his nose at you and crossing his arms loosely over his chest. “I find that hard to believe.”

Normally you would too. But, well…

“He’s charming,” you chirped pleasantly, and Leona’s face twisted up like you’d served him a bowl of rancid yogurt.

.

.

That night you composed a letter to your dearest Hunter friend. You thanked him for bringing you the White Moor Stag, elaborated a bit on the new marinade you’d been experimenting with, and then ended the whole thing with a polite plea for his aid in deconstructing the mechanisms of a magical trap you’d encountered. You bribed one of your two carrier pigeons with some snacks and watched it fly off into the unknown with a little, cream-colored envelope tied to its foot. Message talismans were much simpler and far more convenient, but the Hunter always seemed to appreciate the personal touch of postal birds.

Leona glared at you from the window, and made some dramatic swipe at your pigeon like he meant to knock it out of the air. The poor bird tottered about like an overfilled water balloon—jiggling and wriggling in its roundness before eventually righting itself and continuing on into the sky with a warbled coo coo.

“Don’t be rude,” you huffed at him.

“I can’t believe you still won’t let me in,” he sneered from beneath the fluff of that blanket you’d gifted him. “I apologized.”

“Yes, but you actually have to mean it,” you explained, not unkindly, as he prowled just beyond the glass. “But we’re making progress!” you beamed. “That’s something! Maybe you’ll make it in here within the next five years, hmm?”

“Or I could just wipe out the entirety of your ridiculous dirt farm now,” he threatened, a bit of that sandy magic swirling sinisterly along his fingers.

“You certainly could, your highness,” you agreed easily. His lip curled unpleasantly, but that glowing, gritty, arcana faded away and he didn’t move from where he’d tucked himself up under the duvet.

After another solid fifteen minutes of his pissy glowering and barbed insults, you pointedly unclipped the ties on your curtains and let them fall shut so that his ridiculous pouting was hidden away behind the thin, cotton, mess of poorly stitched flowers and herbs.

(You did leave a nice dinner plate on the ledge before that, with extra portions of meat and a neatly frosted cookie for dessert. Because as much as your day had been a bit rough, you had a feeling his melancholy extended far beyond being left out in the dark for another evening.)

.

.

The next morning, your doddering pigeon returned with an elegantly bound scroll—all embellished with golden filagree and tied up in a neat, crimson, bow.

“Why does this freak call you ‘mon cher ami,’” Leona sniffed, tongue curling awkwardly over the unfamiliar words.

You sighed and debated snatching the letter back, but all that would probably culminate in was the paper in tatters and a smug beastman lording his superior letter-wrangling skills over your head like a trophy.

“It’s just one of his little ticks,” you explained with a shrug. “I told you—he’s charming.”

“Ah, yes,” Leona drawled, tracing a claw along the parchment’s edge with a soft shhhhhft. A raised, white, line cut across the paper’s surface like the beginnings of a wound. “Waxing poetic nonsense in a foreign language. Rambling on about all kinds of useless fucking garbage. Charming.”

“You,” you snipped, reaching out to smack at his tightening grip before he could rend the poor correspondence to bits, “are not one to talk about ‘charming.’”

“Oh?” he scoffed. He maneuvered around your tutting to hold the letter over your head. Typical. When you leaned forward to try and wrangle it back, Leona leaned in closer—eyes going hooded and lips curling into a smug little smirk that promised all sorts of trouble. “Haven’t had any complaints about that before. Who’d be saying otherwise?”

“The person you left stranded at the bottom of a pit, you inglorious oaf,” you griped. His ears immediately swiveled to pin flat against the top of his head, and you used the distraction of his indignation to finally snatch back your prize. “Besides,” you huffed, straightening out some of the new wrinkles. “Not very Prince-like, is it? A real prince would have swept in to save the idiot in distress. Sword drawn, banners flying,” you sighed, a bit too besotted with your own imaginings. “Why did you have to be such a dick, huh? Ruined my fantasies for the rest of my life.”

“And what?” Leona snapped. “Some rogue bastard sending you cursive garbage does it for you?”

“Better than being left for dead in a hole after saving their life,” you smiled—perfectly, poisonously, pleasant.

Leona rumbled something indiscernible under his breath and turned to glare petulantly off across your garden.

“Besides,” you hummed, looking over the letter. “There’s more important things. Like this—right here. Do you know what a self-bored stone is? He’s thinking maybe there was a process like that with the iron shackles. Or maybe something to do with seeping the components in herbs… Hmm…”

“Whatever,” Leona scoffed. “I’ll try whatever it takes to fix this shit.”

You clapped him amiably on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit, tête de noeud!”

“The fuck did you just call me?!”

“Poetic nonsense,” you chirped, and Leona looked half ready to drop you back into the hole where he’d found you.

.

.

The first attempt to aid the Lion Prince in his conundrum didn’t go particularly well.

You’d tried to work off of the whole ‘overlap with a self-bored stone’ theory, but all that really amounted to was you gesturing like an over-serious crossing guard for him to walk under every low hanging branch, every arch, beneath the stunted beams of the chicken coop. You dangled rocks from strings and waved around your little creations like slightly more dangerous pompoms.

Penelope clucked irritably when one of the pebbles fell with a plunk into her nest, and Leona frowned up at you from where the wayward chicken had firmly situated herself in his lap.

“How was any of that supposed to help?”

You drew a blank and promised to try something new tomorrow.

The next day you tried herbs. The Hunter had listed off quite a few that were known to cause lingering issues with magical creatures, and you harvested the lot of them from your garden with ease. You held them up to Leona’s face one by one, brow furrowed in concentration, as you waited for… something.

“How is this any better than the rocks?” he complained.

You pushed the bright, butter-yellow, blossoms of some Saint John’s Wort under his nose until he sneezed and shoved you away with a slew of indignant threats to your person.

The following few days were spent perusing your meager library. You carted every book you owned on magic, and binding rituals, and rune smithing out into the yard. Leona looked over at the slowly growing pile of tomes with a truly unimpressed scowl.

“You could have just invited me inside,” he griped, rolling his eyes. He was splayed out in the grass at your side, his head tossed lazily across your lap after he’d complained that he needed at least some leverage to see what you were trying to read.

“Nice try,” you hummed, reaching for your page of hastily scribbled notes. “But you’re not getting off without a genuine apology that easy.”

A week passed in this fashion, with you attempting to string together more and more ludicrous ideas—throwing everything you had at the wall and hoping something, anything, would stick. But Leona’s ears stayed tufted and round. That tail seemed to only grow more twitchy, his claws longer and sharper.

You sent the Hunter another letter and waited anxiously for a reply. When it arrived the next morning, Leona snatched it from your pigeon before you’d even made it out your front door. It was a miserable sort of day—pouring rain and with nothing but the grey cloud cover overhead to color the world.

He read it over once, twice, before dropping it to the ground. You could see the tendons twitching along his jaw, could practically hear his molars grinding in his frustration.

You plucked the note from the grass and looked it over carefully.  

‘Mon ami, while I am loathe to address this, perhaps it is not the make of this trap at all that is causing such a vexation? Is there any chance that rather than this being a lingering malady, that this friend of yours was simply unable to overcome the initial curse in the first place?’

You glanced back up at Leona, who was intermittently clenching his fists at his sides. You could see the harsh indentations from where his claws were digging into the skin of his palms.

‘Sometimes such things just happen, je crains. The flesh may be willing, but often the spirit is weak. You mentioned this Roi du Leon has a powerful family he may turn to for assistance. Certainly one of them may be strong enough to overcome this curse for him, even if he perhaps is not.’

“Of course it’s all because I’m a fuck up,” Leona snarled. Some of that spitting, sandy, magic of his seeped into the air. It bit at the rain like an overeager dog. You could see it dancing along his skin—fighting to pull his features one way or another.

“He didn’t say that,” you pointed out gently. “And even if you were, there’s nothing wrong with needing help sometimes. Your family—"

“—Would rather I keeled over dead and stopped sullying my brother’s perfect fucking reputation!” he snapped. “Heir to the King’s Roar,” he scoffed. “Stupid. I was never going to be a king to begin with. And even if I had been born first, they would have deposed me to put their flawless, favorite, golden boy on the throne anyways.”

That... That was a lot. You stared at the pacing Lion with wide eyes—unsure how to help, unsure if any attempts to do so would only make this worse. This was—this was so above your ‘happy, homey, hermit’ paygrade.

“Of course this is all because of me,” he hissed, that roiling, angry, arcana coiling around him like curdled milk. The pupils in his eyes flickered oddly from round to thin-cut, hard, lines. Beastly. “Of course it was because I wasn’t good enough.”

“Leona,” you tried, as gentle as you could be.

The Prince threw his head back and laughed. And laughed, and laughed.

“I should have known!” he cackled, borderline hysterical. “I should have fucking known!”

“Leona—” you tried again, reaching out a hand.

Only to be immediately knocked on your ass by an explosion of magic.

You’d heard of self-destruction—of implosion. The arcane wonders of the world were a wily and unyielding mistress. While creatures like Leona who were so naturally steeped in ancient magics and sorcery could control that beast more adeptly than some little mortal like you, it didn’t make them any less susceptible to its dangers. If anything, they had it worse. It was like sitting in a shallow stream versus wading out into a roaring ocean. So much more opportunity, such a higher aptitude for greatness, but far too easy to drown beneath the churning tides of it all.

The inky, geometric, swirls along his arms pulsed like a heartbeat. They crawled along his skin and traced black patterns into his veins. Even you could feel the horrible, dark, stickiness of it—as the magic ate him alive. His face twisted back and forth between human and animal, and you watched him contort and snarl under the weight of it before turning on you with a vicious roar.

Uh oh.

The first wave of magic seared the ground, leaving nothing but strange, grey, sand in its wake. The more he snapped and clawed wildly at anything and everything, the more that dusty desert spread. You managed to hop out of the way of most of it—sparing a single, sad, thought for all the poor plants you’d worked so hard to cultivate dying a miserable, grainy, death.

The next arc of magic shot straight from his clawed fingers, and it managed to catch the flesh of your forearm. It was sharper than any dagger or sword that you’d ever had the pleasure of accidentally nicking yourself with, and it tore its way down your arm like a raging beast, leaving an eerie, tacky, bubbling mess in its wake. And ouch did it hurt—like someone was taking a fistful of coarse sand and rubbing it into the open wound. You ground your teeth against the strange, gnawing, sensation and hastily wrapped a bit of torn fabric around the weeping gash to keep it a bit more contained. You waited for the worst of it to pass, for that initial bite to fade into a more manageable throb. But it didn’t. It just got sharper and tighter, hotter and hotter. For a moment it felt like your skin was crackling—like firewood popping and splitting beneath the weight of a blaze. From across the field, Leona made a noise like a hurricane given voice, and you bit back a groan.

‘Oh come on,’ you hissed to yourself. ‘Not now, please.’  

And while you’d been mostly referring to the Lion losing another brick of his sanity fort, your wound seemed to pulse at the command—a sensation not unlike the soft drone of the wards carved deep into the support beams of your dilapidated home, and an impression of words tingling along your nerves without any real shape or form. ‘Alright. Later then.’ Like a breath of wind along your fingertips. That pulsing doubled back, and the wrap you’d hurriedly tied around your forearm hummed low with gentle arcana.   

And then the cracking stopped. Just like that. Like it’d given up on eating you alive and decided to head home early for the day.

Huh, you though a bit dazedly, before hurriedly ducking out of the way of another swipe.

You clutched your still smarting but at least now functional arm to your chest, and Leona turned on you and your ethereal booboo with a raging snarl. But then that glowing glare caught on the blood trailing down towards your wrist in too dark, too thick, rivulets and his eyes went wide. It wasn’t much, but the strange bought of shock rocketing through him gave you a handful of seconds of ceasefire. You reached into your pocket with your uninjured hand and pulled out a thick bit of cardstock. This was supposed to be for emergencies, goddamn it! And you’d spent so much money on this stupid little thing! And—

You shook off the mildly delusional complaints bogging down your brain and unfolded the paper between your fingers. The sigils inked into it hummed against your skin, and the rain sluffed off its face like the cold and the damp were no bother at all.

“Fucking—” you flung the talisman at your ridiculous, rampaging, guest. It fluttered like the beat of a hawk’s wings and dove towards him with just as much vicious precision. “GO TO SLEEP!”

The enchantment smacked into his face with an echoing THUNK and you watched those too-bright eyes of his roll up into his head as he collapsed to the ground in a heap.

With the main source of all the Magical Warfare knocked unconscious, most of the miasma began to disperse—like dust caught up in a gale. The rain washed away the rest. It slid into the mud and seeped back into the earth. The plants and animals seemed to give a collective sigh, and some of your more courageous chickens even started to venture in close to peck at the leftover destruction.

You approached the felled Prince hesitantly. The talisman had been meant for subduing an enemy with a more human constitution, so you doubted it would keep him down for very long.

“Hey,” you grouched, poking his side. He twitched a bit but didn’t move otherwise. “Hey, asshole,” you tried again. Still, nothing. Uh oh.

You reached down to wedge an arm under him and hoist him upright. The singed skin of your forearm brushed along his jaw as you attempted to maneuver his bulk, and his nose twitched sharply at whatever scent was trapped in the dark, cracking, gash there. His brow scrunched up like you’d just doused him in spoiled milk, so naturally you went about waving your wounded flesh beneath his nostrils like the world’s strangest smelling salts.

After a moment he blinked back awake, face twisted up into the most properly disgruntled mien of distaste that you’d ever seen on a person who’d only just barely managed to claw their way back into the world of the living.

“Herbivore,” he rumbled, still looking more than a bit dazed.

Good enough.

You manhandled him back onto his feet as best you could—turning yourself into an impromptu crutch to try and get him mobile again. The sand shifted and sank beneath your heels, making dragging his ridiculous, dramatic, ass even more of a challenge. As you hauled him towards your cottage, you complained to him in earnest. Every little irritation under the sun. Half because you’d probably never have another opportunity to bitch at him so thoroughly without getting your own earful of grievances in return, half to keep him conscious—keep him focused on staying here. With you. And not… Wherever it was he’d gone in those moments of delirium.  

“I still don’t get why you call me that,” you griped, readjusting your grip on him when he’d started to slide down to the point his nose had buried itself against your collarbone. “Herbivore. I’ve cooked so much meat for you since you decided to crash here. Talked about how I prepare it, and the flavors I experiment with—I literally gave you some from my own sandwich when we first met! That I ate the rest of! In front of you!—”

When you finally herded him over the threshold and into your little cottage, the wards and their protection slipped around him like the soft current of a stream. You hardly even noticed the way the old magics ruffled his hair—and that was only because you were actively looking, half convinced the house was still about to toss up an invisible barrier and send him sprawling back into the dirt.

Leona wobbled on his feet, and his eyes were still too far away and grey.

You grabbed him by the ear and maneuvered his too-tall self into one of your rickety kitchen chairs. The wood groaned under the sudden press of his dead weight, but it didn’t collapse beneath him so it wasn’t worth fussing over. Once you were certain he wasn’t about to fold over sideways and crumple to the ground (or at least, that he was angled enough over a rug that he wasn’t going to crack his head on the stone floor), you rushed off to your bookcases and shelves and began hurriedly rumaging through your collection of nonsense.

The charms, the charms. Where were your emergency charms?! You’d thought you left them right there on the—Ah! There we go.

You pulled the raggedy binder from its place on the shelf, blew away the coating of dust that had settled over the top of it, and returned to your patient.

You flipped open the worn leather hooks and began sorting through the dozens upon dozens of sheets of enchanted parchment within. They were unimpressive—just small, rectangular, bits of faded paper inlaid with the softest kinds of magic. Not meant for much more than coaxing warmth into chilly limbs or placing a soft kiss over a scraped knee. But medicines were medicines—whether arcane in origin or otherwise. If you—if you just doused him in the things, that would probably work. Right? Of course it would. That made perfect sense.

So you slapped the first talisman square in the middle of his forehead. Leona swayed at the wet SMACK of the paper gluing itself to his soaked-through skin, but aside from the faintest, startled, widening of his eyes, he didn’t do anything else to complain. So you stuck the next charm to his cheek, and then another on the opposite one too.

“Magic overuse is dangerous,” you chastised as you went about layering a veritable novel’s worth of pasty, paper, enchantments up his arms. The soft spells worked their way into his skin, and you watched those twisting, black, shapes skitter back up towards where they’d once sat peacefully curled around his bicep. “Are you trying to kill yourself, hah?!”

Instead of snapping back at you like normal, he just sort of… sat there. Accepting your angry accusations in frosty silence. He absolutely looked like a cat that you’d fished out of a bag in the river. Pathetic, and sad, and droopy. And… quiet. So, very, quiet. You frowned, because as much as you didn’t particularly enjoy being insulted every minute of the day, the Lion’s biting little remarks had become… familiar, at the very least. Even if they weren’t entirely pleasant. Even if he was far from pleasant.

The dampness on his skin was starting to curl the edges of your talismans, and you reached forward with a huff to at least pull the freezing, soaked-through, vest off his shoulders. The leather jacket landed with a wet plap on the stone floor, a cold puddle already pooling around all its stupidly intricate, embroidered, edges. Something fluttered out of one of the open pockets—small, and off white, and crinkled. You stepped over the whole mess to retrieve a pile of towels and didn’t give it a second thought.

“Make a mess of my home, why don’t you,” you complained, dropping one of the towels over the entirety of his head before reaching forward to start drying him off with perhaps a bit more force than necessary. “Drip all over the floors I just mopped, why don’t you. Be emotionally constipated and almost turn my whole yard into a sand pit, why don’t you—”

A hand reached out to snag your wrist, and you let him pull you away from your attempts to rub all that stupidly thick hair straight off his head.

From beneath the curtain of the cotton towel, you could see Leona glaring at the long, dark, scratch curling along your forearm. It certainly wasn’t… nice to look at. The gymnastics of getting him into your cottage had managed to displace the impromptu bandage, so the whole of it was just there. Bruised, and dark, and odd looking. But ugly or not, it was hardly bleeding or anything anymore! And he was the one who had almost just self-destructed in your front yard!

‘Think of the accusations!’ you wanted to wail. ‘Can you imagine the garbage I would have to deal with if I wound up with a dead royal fertilizing my garden?! No thank you!’

But before you could complain about his fussing, his claws flexed against the soft skin of your palm and you saw the muscles along his forearm tense—like he was fighting to keep still.

“You should be dead,” he muttered, terse.

You huffed. “Look, I know you think humans are all sorts of pathetic, but I’m not that—”

“You should be dead,” he repeated, sounding as if the words had to tear their way out of his throat—scraping like shards of glass all the way up.

You stared at his dark eyes and dripping bangs—the shadows playing across his cheeks and the strange, hollow, wrongness that had settled over all of him. With a heavy sigh you plopped yourself down into the chair across from his and dragged a handful of the leftover charms your way. Pointedly, you took one and slapped it over the wound. And then another.  

“See?” you said, flexing your wrist in his grip to put the creeping, black, cut on display. The talismans glowed softly against your skin and the lingering whisps of darkness licking at the the injury began to fade. “All better. Not something a dead person would say at all.”

Leona frowned, but at least it looked a bit more annoyed than outright bleak. And besides, frowns were better than whatever that stoic, expressionless, numbness had been.

“Though I appreciate your concern,” you grinned, pointedly sharp and prodding. Like a toddler standing by with a stick, hoping to poke out a reaction. “Truly, whatever would I do without the Great Lord Lion there to fret over me?”

But instead of the acidic ‘I wasn’t fucking worried,’ that you were expecting, or even a more muted grumble of dissent, Leona’s brow just pinched in displeasure and your awkward attempts at teasing faded into terse silence.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, almost too quiet to hear—his head low and eyes lower.

You sighed and twisted your wrist around to pat at his hand. There was the faintest tremor in his fingers and you tangled your own between them to give him something to squeeze, something to hide the shiver of lingering malaise that he would no doubt deny with his dying breath. You observed the stern, tight, expression warping his otherwise handsome face—the miserable, puckered, angle of his mouth and the way the emerald of his eyes was cut through with a shadow of genuine remorse. You reached out with your other hand to pet at his soft, round ears. They squished flat beneath your palm and your lips twitched up into a fond, little smile. Leona tipped his chin just enough to glower at you from beneath his bangs with no real heat, and you sighed and gave him one more pat for good measure.

“You’re forgiven.”

.

.

.

TAG LIST [CLOSED]

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[drunknillawafer]

right down the line: zuko x firebender!reader

You grew up close to the Royal Family due to your father's position as a General, but you ran away from home after the agni kai against your best friend. Now, you're just trying to do your part in ending the 100-year war.

hellooo so this is my first official published fic that i will keep up! hopefully you guys like it, let me know! this is set in book 1 ep 10 in the Jet episode! i do not own Avatar or these characters! okayy enjoyyy >.<

Part 2

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

All I can see for miles is shades of crimson and orange. We’re so close to home, it almost feels like I’ve returned.

I’m standing in the trees near Jet and The Duke, peering down at twenty Fire Nation soldiers and their camp, waiting for the right moment to attack. The plan was to keep an eye out and alert Jet if anything could be of use to us. I hold onto my swords in anticipation.

“We’ve been here all morning, what if we don’t get a shot?” The Duke asked.

“Relax, we will.” Jet replied in his infamous cool manner. He was so sure we would score big this time and have one of the greatest victories thus far. I didn’t see the point, it seemed like your average solider platoon. But maybe he was right. He hasn’t let me down yet.

I met Jet when I was 13 and freshly ran away from home. I had left everything that could resemble Fire Nation in my room and took only my closest valuables. With one bag over my shoulder and a week of struggling to find food, the cool leader crossed my path in a forest not too far from where we’re standing now.

“Are you lost?” Jet questioned me.

“No, I’m hungry.” It was true. I hadn’t eaten for so long because I didn’t know how to find food. My family’s position in society meant I usually had servants dressing me, brushing my hair, and finding my food for me. It’s not something that crossed my mind when I left in a rageful fury.

“What’s your name?” He replied.

“Y/N.”

“You’re a kid. Don’t you have parents to feed you?”

“Don’t you?”

And that was that. I had passed Jet’s mysterious test and he invited me into his little world of lost children who were strong, brave, and alone. I was lucky to have found them when I did.

Three years later, the same cool leader has me standing in the trees like a predator waiting to catch its prey. That’s when I hear it. The voice of a teenage boy.

I crouch down to focus on the noise and see the rustling in the bushes near the Fire Nation camp we’re getting ready to bust. A boy in blue appears, looking backwards to his friends in an annoyed tone. Just as I spot him, he spots the soldiers in black and red.

“This is it.” I tell Jet. He nods and whistles his command to the Freedom Fighters, sending us off to our mission.

I come down from the trees and land on my feet, quickly inspecting my environment. Taking out two of my swords, I spot the boy in blue preparing an attack for a Fire Nation soldier who will surely beat him. His stance is all wrong, I can’t believe he’s actually attempting this.

I use both of my swords and dig them into the ground, launching my feet forward and off the dirt floor, kicking the soldier in the abdomen and out of balance. He falls over with the wind knocked out of him.

“Hey! He was mine!” The boy in blue exasperated.

“No, he wasn’t.” I snarked at him. This is the fun part of being with the Freedom Fighters, winning.

After a few minutes, the soldiers scurry off like rats when the lights turn on. They go in every direction, disappearing into the autumn-colored forest.

“We did it!” I celebrate. For a moment, I catch my breath and put my swords back into their sheaths.

The trio of strangers gather together and start walking toward us.

“Who are you guys?” The youngest with a blue arrow on his head spoke first.

“I’m Jet, and these are my Freedom Fighters.” The leader introduces the members one by one, leaving me for last. “And this is Y/N. She’s my right-hand.” He graces.

I wave at the trio, taking them in as they process the new information they’ve just been handed. It’s a Water Tribe pair with another boy in orange. His clothes were strange, when was the last time someone wore Air Nomad clothes like his? I wondered. I had briefly seen the girl bend water, but it was impossible for the boy to be an air bender. The Fire Nation made sure of that.

“Let’s loot!” Jet interrupts my thoughts, and the rebels cheer in agreement. Looting time.

I focus on a tent to begin raiding the soldiers' bags and belongings. If we’re lucky, the group can score something to help us in our efforts—a map, a plan, a supply shipment—anything to take the empire down.

As I go through my first bag, the boy in blue enters the tent. I look up at his glare and stare him right in the eye.

He crosses his arms and gloats, “Just so you know, I could have handled that. But thanks for your help.”

“Didn’t look like that from where I was standing.” I shrugged and shifted my focus back onto the bag. I flip it upside down so the contents come spilling out.

“And where were you standing by the way? You guys came out of nowhere!” Clearly, he wasn’t going to let my swoop-in go.

“We were in the trees, been staking out all morning.” Nothing of importance in the first bag so I move onto the next one, opening the top and letting the soldier’s belongings fall on the floor for me to inspect. “Until you,” I point at his chest, “came along and made the perfect distraction. It should be me thanking you.”

A balled-up messenger hawk message comes out of the bag. I can tell from its design that it comes from the Admiral, lucky me. Ignoring the boy in front of me, I open the letter and read the writing.

The Avatar has returned. From now on, any information must be reported to Admiral Zhao. The Banished Prince is to be ignored.

The Banished Prince. My finger grazes the ink.

“One day she’s going to try and overthrow me, I swear.” Zuko confesses as he lunges forward with his sword. I dodge his attempt at an offense and strike back.

“Even if she does, you and I can take her.” I reply. My mind is focused on the sparring round, but Zuko seems to be somewhere else. He’s not taking any of my bait to back him into a corner.

“You’d help me fight?” His demeaner softens and I know this is the moment I can use to win. I use the gymnastics I was forced to learn to my advantage and gain the higher ground on a bench near the turtle duck pond. His sword falls out of his hand as I send my blade toward him, making sure to not seriously hurt him. Zuko holds his hands up in defeat. I win this round.

“Duh, it’s kind of my throne now too. I’ve grown fond of it.” I hold one hand to my heart, feigning admiration for the title.

The Prince and I grew up together. Learning fire-bending at the same academy, attending snobby important society gatherings, and now practicing sword-fighting at the Royal Palace’s turtle duck pond. We became halves of one whole. If the cosmic forces upon us gave me the mind, it gave Zuko the heart. And together, we felt complete.

“One day I’ll have to be Fire Lord.” He solemnly said.

“One day. But for now, just focus on beating me! Round 4?”

I take a deep breath in and push the memory away. Time makes it easy. The boy in blue waiting for my response to the messenger hawk letter makes it even easier.

“It’s nothing, just old information.” I crumble the paper into a ball once again and throw it with the rest of the useless items I’ve gone through so far. “Do you want to come to the hideout?” I change the subject.

“You guys have a hideout?” His eyes widen in amusement.

“Yes, but maybe I should know your name before I let you go up there.”

“It’s Sokka.” He answers. “And you?”

“Y/N.” I hold my hand out so he can shake it, and he does. When his hand touches mine, a pit forms in my gut. I got the feeling I’d be knowing him for a long time. “Well, Sokka, follow me.”

[fujii-draws]

Hi I just wanted to say that I love Ribbons and Aimilios so much, they're so cute and sweet!!!

May I make a humble request for Ribbons and Amilios fluff,,,

I must know these dweebs are happy and would love to hear how they eventually fell for eachother!!!

AAA!! I’ve thought about this ask so much. And I’m happy to finally deliver!!!

——————

Ironically enough, Ribbons and Aimilios didn’t start out as ‘great friends’ from the jump.

Unlike main game. After Aimilios convinces her to join Wigglytuff’s guild on a whim, their relationship is… well.

Firstly, Aimilios tends to get slightly annoyed by Ribbon’s lack of preparation. Laziness. And hasty behavior. Feeling like she isn’t taking his dream as seriously as he thought she would.

And Ribbons— doesn’t like Aimilios for his stick-in-the-butt, teacher’s pet attitude. And how he never trusts her with things like the treasure bag/map. Constantly putting the load on himself, leaving her with nothing to do.

They still are on good terms! They do enjoy certain aspects of eachother! It’s just that they also dislike other aspects of their partner. Which; results in Ribbon’s teasing of the Riolu. (Playing ‘keep-away’, hiding certain items to get on his nerves.) Which was in good fun in hopes to lighten him up more. That isn’t to say it wasn’t mean-spirited at times.

And Aimilios in turn; rats on her whenever she becomes too troublesome to deal with. His clean-freak nature also causes him to misplace a lot of her items— (Which, Ribbons looked almost ready to bite Aimilios when her brown Patsy bow went missing.)(Until he told her where he put it, deciding to nip him another day.) And in-general their relationship starts on a rocky start. And why they fail so many jobs in the beginning due to their lack of coordination and teamwork.

They like eachother enough to work together… but not to see eye-to-eye. Aimilios starts to wonder if asking Ribbons to join him was a mistake… and that her heroism at Beach Cave was a major fluke.

…until Drowzee kidnaps Azurill.

Aimilios was Frozen when confronted with the hypnosis Pokémon. An outlaw? And not only that— a Psychic type? The Riolu was nothing short of terrified. That is, until Ribbons piped up. Barking towards the criminal with not a single drop of fear in her voice. This, in turn give the Aura Pokémon the confidence to fight back aswell.

(…This is also When their first really positive interaction happens, Aimilios being the one to reciprocate Ribbons joking-tendency with a jab of his own. Stating how starving she must be for her stomach to growl like an Ursaring. Till his stomach does aswell, making both young Pokémon’s laugh.) (And later that night when they’re in their haybeds, he whispers how brave/cool she was today.)

(Which makes Ribbons face light up, before trying to play it off like ‘Yeah that’s cool.’ Until her tail betrays her—giving away how happy that compliment made her. Just from the sheer velocity alone.) (She tells Aimilios to shut up when he laughs at the endearing display.)

After that… they start to trust eachother a little more. Aimilios shares more items with her. Lets her lead more Job Requests, snitching on her less. Actually even aiding her in mischievous/morally questionable activities, like steal A/S Rank jobs.

Chatot is super strict about what Jobs they take as junior Explorers—Aimilios only agreeing because he wants to prove himself. He feels the rush of adrenaline when they escape the Guild with their newfound jobs, Ribbons patting him on the back and ‘welcoming him to the dark side’.

“If Chatot catches us, we’ll never hear the end of it.” The breathless riolu stated. Looking over to his partner, who had a toothy grin plastered on her face.

“Then we won’t get caught.” Ribbons responded with confidence. Playfully placing her paw on his snout.

“Cmooon—That birdbrain won’t know what hit him! As long as you don’t tattle!~”

“…You’re a horrible influence.” The Riolu huffed out, smiling despite his backhanded comment.

On the flip side, Ribbons stops stealing items away from the Aura Pokémon as much like she used to. (She’s still teasing the ballocks out of him. Only difference being that she knows when to stop when it actually starts to upset him.) (The Riolu is still sticking his tongue out in retribution to the Eevee’s crimes. >:<.) (She blows a raspberry back >:3)

And… they start to notice certain things they really like about the other.

Ribbons loves how intelligent Aimilios is. The reason she was so butthurt towards him the first time…was because she was jealous. He was clearly the brains of their little rag-tag duo. She still doesn’t know why Aimilios chose her as his partner. He could do so much better. She also adores how he’s able to be gutless and quick-witted despite his fears. In Ribbons eyes—That’s bravery. Not the dumb, ‘Fuck-it-we-Ball’ mentality she has.

Something else she likes but can’t wrap her head around with the type of Pokémon they meet, is his kindness. She doesn’t know how he does it. Or why he’s able to tolerate so many of their clients. Ribbons… also views that as another strength he had, but she lacked— Arcues knows how short-tempered the Eevee was. And certain Pokémon began to take advantage of Aimilios . Which makes Ribbons extremely protective of him—standing protectively infront of the riolu during fights despite her size. (Around this time; Team skull.) She hates those punks so much. Ohhh do they make her blood boil.

She feels her heart twisting into knots when she sees Aimilios lost all sparkle in his eye. Only dejectedly laying on his haybed with sunken pupils as he lost the opportunity to join the expedition. The Eevee secretly wishes him a goodnight, brushing his fur with her tounge. Before returning to her bed. Praying that he’ll get picked—even if it meant giving up her spot if she got in.

And Aimilios… hoo boy.

Much like in-game, he’s enamored by how fearless she is. How she’s able to speak her mind to the largest and strongest of Pokémon. (You should’ve seen his face when she insulted The Great Dusknoir straight to his face.) He draws a ton of strength from her. He wouldn’t even be accomplishing his dream if it wasn’t for her.

Something else he loves about her… is her jokes. She has some of the most cornball humor to grace the Grass-continents. You can hear the entire guild groaning whenever she makes one.

So imagine to Ribbon’s surprise when she turns to face her Riolu partner one day— covering his mouth with his paws with tears in his eyes. Trying so desperately not to laugh. (She makes it her mission to make his ass laugh and admit to her face that she’s funny.)(It’s an on-going gag even after evolution.) And overall just how infectious her silly, carefree attitude is.

(She’s also the reason why he stops being so much of a people-pleaser. Aimilios didn’t notice it at first, but squabbling and being frustrated with her at times in the beginning… it helped him grow a bit of a spine.)

And that’s when the seeds of their friendship and other feelings begin to sprout.

During their first Expedition with Bidoof, Ribbons sees first hand just how much Aimilios is growing— taking more of the lead and being in charge. Not because he doesn’t trust her— but because he’s gaining confidence for himself. (Her cheeks do not become tinted with pink when she witnesses this.)

And when Aimilios is mere moments away from fleeing from the Groudon-illusion. He sees Ribbons start to grin. Exclaiming how she’s been itching for a real fight. (Which also doesn’t make him fluster up like a Red Gummi. Nope. Natta.)(That’s his hubris-filled maniac and no one else’s.)

And… they mutually get flustered watching the Volbeat Geyser. Aimilios exclaiming just how beautiful it is while Ribbon’s eyes lock on him—Before she laying her head on his shoulder. Making the startled Riolu look her way. Before carefully closing the distance, wrapping his arm around her.

(The guild members absolutely tease those two mercilessly for that display when trecking back to the Guild, and a few more days afterwards.) (Aimilios covers his face in embarrassment while Ribbons tells them to screw off.)

After the expedition to Fogbound Lake— their teamwork and rapport improve drastically. Being able to take on a number of jobs like that hadn’t before. Thanks to their newfound coordination and ability to be on the same wavelength. Complimenting eachother on a job well done.

They do little gestures for eachother to show the other how much they care. (Aimilios helps organize her Treasure bag with permission. Studying Unown runes/Gatekeeping duty. Patching her up from bad jobs.) (Very adamant about the last one.) (Scolding her for barely taking care of herself. Not noticing her staring at him adoringly.)

While Ribbons tends to spare him from particularly mean jokes. Getting actively frustrated towards Pokémon who treat Aimilios slightly wrong. Grooming him with her tongue during nights at the Guild. (He’s so focused on guild work that he forgets to take care of himself.)

The flaws they once detested about the other become things they now love about one another.

Ribbon’s laziness evolves into her teaching Aimilios to relax. Aimilios’s judgmental views are now more worrisome things he notices; asking Ribbons to exercise caution whenever she takes a job alone.

Ribbons listens to the riolu go on and on about a certain book he’s reading with stars in his eyes, gazing softly towards the aura pup. Aimilios listens to all of her bad jokes, barely stifling his laughter around her.

Aimilios watching lovingly at her ability to make connections with other Pokémon effortlessly, even with how dumb she feels.(He wishes he wouldn’t call herself such things.) While Ribbons loves just how intellectual he is, not minding his trouble with looking Pokémon in the eye.

They enjoy eachothers company so much. Becoming nearly nigh inseparable. Going from two, squabbling kids. To being attached to the other’s hip. Substituting for their partner’s weaknesses with their strength. Almost in a Yin-Yang fashion. (Opposites attract afterall ;3)They become co-dependent. (Which is very much a flaw… but it’s the one they never grow out of.)

And After that…! Aimilios is the first one the catch feelings! Mainly bc Ribbons is denser than the Relic Fragment tied around the Aura Pokémon’s neck. Wondering if some divine intervention was punishing him. That and Ribbons just thought she saw Aimilios as a really good friend as the explanation for why she felt fuzzy around him. (I’m not joking.)(You underestimate her singular braincell.)

The aura pup goes to Dusknoir for advice. Trying to be as VAUGE as possible towards the ghost-type when referring to certain ‘Pokémon A’ that ‘Pokémon B’ (which is NOT Aimilios.) would like to get to know better.

Dusknoir immediately catches on, finding this literal case of ‘puppy love’ to be endearing. (And absolutely entertaining.)(He promises to not tell a soul, with Aimilios responding ‘I-I didn’t mean anything by it!! Why are you swearing secrecy on something totally not connected to me—!’)

Although Ribbons is oblivious— her watching Aimilios nearly get murdered by Grovyle made her feel upset. Really upset. Watching him barely breathe while Dusknoir carried the two of them… Ribbons with the last on her strength crawled over to him (Much to the wraith’s dismay, imploring her to not hurt herself.) …Before she curls into him, sniffling a little.

No one else but Dusknoir is able to detach the tearful Eevee from her partner. The cloaked specter only having done so to make sure the Riolu was healed and patched up properly. (That didn’t stop the Eevee from crying out for her partner in her sleep.)(…The ghost-type gently brings the Riolu to her haybed—Ribbons immediately curling into and purring.)

And then they’re dragged into the Paralyzed future. Where their friendship is heavily tested.

The two don’t say anything at first, but hold slight resentment towards one another, mainly towards Ribbons not using her D.Scream, and Aimilios not using his aura sensing/sharing so much information with that damned ghost.

So when looking at the stockade lights, an argument breaks out. Just a screaming match between two terrified kids that want nothing more than to escape the hell they’ve been forced into.

They go back and forth, back and forth on who’s to blame. Until Aimilios’s angry screams slowly transform into uncontrollable sobs. Telling Ribbons that she was right and it was his fault. Ribbon’s heart nearly shatters as she watches Aimilios fall to the ground holding himself.

She immediately rushes to now, sobbing riolu. Telling Aimilios that she was being stupid and she only snapped in anger— begging for him to stop crying. Because if he does, then sh-she’ll…

She pulls him into a hug. Aimilios clings onto her like his life depended on it— with the Eevee embracing her partner so tightly. Muttering apologies like a broken record. The scene goes about the same, the only other change being how Ribbons looks back towards the way they ran from. Staring at the abyss-like cavern in fear of the ghost-type pursuing them. (She shakes it off. She can’t afford to be scared. She has to be strong. For him.)

So Ribbons continues to protect Aimilios during their run from the revenant they trusted. Constantly picking him up, getting infront of him to take hits during dungeons, etc. and it helps Aimilios… continuing to draw strength from his partner. (Even when he’s begging her to stop nearly getting herself maimed in the dungeon. Which falls on deaf ears; Both Pokémon exchanging somewhat bitter glances.)

So how hilarious is it when Aimilios watches Ribbon’s back away in fear for the first time. Being completely frozen just like the time in the future. Unable to retort anything Dusknoir said. Being reduced to tears. Her ears pinning back as her pupils dilated to cat-slits. Breathing heavily as the open clearing spun from vertigo.

Oh how hysterical! Oh how simply entertaining it was to the ghost-type!!

But Aimilios wasn’t laughing.

Not one bit.

He gets infront of his now, trembling Eevee partner; angrily baring his fangs about how they weren’t Dusknoir’s puppets— before yelling loud enough that his scream emenanted an aura. An Aura large enough that made Dusknoir flinch, and even Primal Dialga react—squinting annoyedly towards the pup.

(If Aimilios took a quick glimpse from behind—he would’ve seen a glossy-eyed Eevee, staring up at him in complete awe.)

That same night when they returned to the present— Ribbon’s had a nightmare about Dusknoir. Waking up in a cold sweat as a voice called out so desperately for her. She opens her eyes, only to be greeted with a very worried-looking Riolu.

She takes a moment to process why Aimilios looked so worried, before it all came back to her, every horrible word she spouted towards her precious partner. And how he was still trying to see if she was okay after everything she said. Ribbons cries her heart out—Aimilios now being the one to hold his tearful partner.

When she’s finally shed her tears… the Riolu offers to let her sleep in his haybed for the night. Ribbons hesitates, before nodding silently. Not wanting to use her voice in fear of blubbering again.

Sharing the haybed was a good idea from the way Ribbon’s clung to Aimilios— almost immediately sleeping in the comfort and safety of her partner’s arms. While Aimilios is looking at her… it hits him all at once. How small she is. How fragile she is. Even with how brave the sleeping fox was. He saw her terrified for the first time.

Just how many times did she help him? How many nights had Ribbons listened to him. Comforted him. Gave him confidence. And exactly how many times did he repay the favor…?

This epiphany only makes the Riolu hold onto the frail Eevee even tighter.

Ribbons senses this change when she feels Aimilios is the one starting to take as many hits and she does for him. Confidently asking to lead the party at times as to make the load easier on her. And… it nearly clicks. Ribbons nearly figures out her weird, fuzzy emotions. But keeps suppressing them; save the world first— then weird butterflies in tummy!

And it’s When Ribbons is disappearing— it’s in that moment she finally realizes her feelings towards the aura pup. But…

Rather than making the grand gesture of revealing how she truly felt— she bites her tongue. Hard. Was she really going to make her goodbye even harder on Aimilios? After what she pulled? After lying to him?

…even after she returns. She never tells him. In Ribbons eye’s? She lost her opportunity the second she hurt Aimilios. So much. with her stupid sacrifice. With her stupid words towards the stressed pup in the future. Not feeling worthy of being anything more with the Riolu out of guilt.

(That, plus Future Trio returning adds a bunch more to their plate before they can figure it out.)

Speaking of Which, they act as wing-Pokémon for the two, the three older mons almost playing a game of Cupid with Ribbons and Aimilios. (With Ribbons gaining help from the two grass-types, and Aimilios from the ghost.)(Those three see how much those two are holding back from one another and by the legends they are going to help these kids.)

It takes an absurd amount of time. But…

Ironically enough? The one who’s braver enough to take the first step… is Aimilios.

He asks Ribbons to walk with him towards the Beach, the same one where their journey began. Aimilios also no-so-subtly waited to make his confession when the Krabby blew bubbles. (Ribbons stares at him knowingly and smugly.)(He tells her to ‘B-be quiet—!’ and listen to what he has to say.)

And it’s just… the most corniest love confession. Everything about it. The setting. The bubbles… it’s so overly cheesy and sentimental. Just like Aimilios.

And Ribbons feels her smile faltering more and more when he goes on— before she starts crying unexpectedly. Aimilios asks what’s wrong— hoping for them to be happy tears rather than sad ones. And unfortunately; It’s the latter.

Ribbons tells Aimilios to not waste his time on her. To find someone better—someone who won’t hurt him. She spills her guts about why she was so hesitant to confess for so long.

“…You’re afraid.”

“E-eh..?! I-I mean…” Ribbons looks away, her tail coyly rubbing the side of her shoulder. “I guess…”

“T-then don’t be..!” The Riolu declared— hovering his fists infront of his chest. “I-I want you to be brave..! Be—“

“The bravest ever.” It was astonishing how the two Pokémon read eachother’s mind— finishing the sentence Aimilios begun in unison.

After that I have a little animatic idea in the tune of ‘Best Worst Mistake’ with those two. Which near the end of it… ends with the Aura Pokémon picking up Ribbons and spinning her— to then connect foreheads.

Only for a cyan light to wrap around the two Pokémon… what emerges from it, being a Sylveon and Lucario.

Seeing themselves evolve at the same time… they laugh with tears in their eyes. Ribbons tackles the hell out of Aimilios as their limbs are entangled on the same beach they met. Tails wildly wagging as they embrace eachother. Not minding the sand getting stuck to their fur.

…Future Trio is witnessing all of this happen in real time. With Celebi nearly chuckling as she watches the grass and ghost-types be on the verge of tears.

The two Pokémon go to the trio hours later— telling them how it’s official. Grovyle puts his hands in the Sylveon’s shoulder’s—kneeling as he exclaims just how proud he is. On the other side of the bluff— Dusknoir is telling Aimilios the same thing— cupping the Lucario’s face in near tears. Bellowing out just how far the Lucario has come. (Ribbons and Aimilios Are NOT choked up by their gestures. They both have leftover sand in their eyes. That’s why they’re crying.)

Their relationship is still relatively the same. Ribbons being the same, playful and gutsy girl she is. Playing harmless pranks on her partner. Being overly protective of him, etc. While Aimilios remains the clever pup that he is. Letting Ribbons gnaw on him arm whenever she gets bite-y, keeping track of their shared items. Cleaning her matted tail and adding Garcedia flowers from Shaymin peak… That isn’t to say that their relationship is perfect— still finding themselves hitting bumps along the road and arguing. The main difference being that they’re more mature— and aren’t kids anymore. (It’s us vs the problem, not me vs you) type growth. (Even if it takes awhile to get there with the Lucario’s self-loathing issues.)

That being said, Ribbons loves PDA w/ Aimilios. Even when the poor Lucario flusters. (She stops when he’s about to turn as red as a Cherri Berry.)(That isn’t to say he’s being spared when they return to the bluff >:3)

Yet ironically enough, whenever they’re behind closed doors; it’s the reverse with Aimilios flustering her right back. He’s been able to do so at the start of Post-Game—The only difference being that he’s gotten much more consistent in finding the Sylveon’s weak points. (Ribbons hates him for it.)(How dare he use her own powers against her. She isn’t supposed to be the blubbering mess.)

(Also they begin to share their haybed in the beginning of post-game—Constantly waking the other up to protect them from their nightmare lest they have one.)(They never separated it since.)(…Well okay maybe ONE TIME but THATS FOR ANOTHER DAY >:3)

[Tl;dr: They squabble and get annoyed by eachother. Before they become overly codependent/protective of the other. A silly, unkept, mischievous Eevee/Sylveon—with her stressed-out, lanky, goody-two shoes Riolu/Lucario partner.]

(+ some old art I never shared for y’all’s troubles)

[ants-personal]

oh i just knooow that one day chris felt brave calling benson a fag cause he offered to help randy to simply take out the trash

last time it ended with the bag ripping spilling garbage everywhere and randy hiding tears as he cleaned it up he had asked benson to stay cause really he didnt want to get attacked by a raccoon or one of those really big rats and whos benson to pass up a smoke break and just being near randy plus its one if not the first time randy asked him to stay with him

Chris asks if benson is only helping cause he knows randy sucks off hardy and wants to do the same to him at the dump like the couple of fags they are and really benson was ready to stab christ to death right then and there in the kitchen with the shity rusty pair of scissors or dunk his head in the fryer neck cracking with a hard pop he only doesnt cause when he takes a glance at randy he sees the rage he so rarely sees in his cold eyes posture ridged and like he make actually lunge at chris. He it brings his anger down to a simmer he wants to see what randy will actually do hes more interested in that now than the violent thoughts. Randy grinds his teeth like hes testing the words out first.

"You shouldnt be rude to benson he hasnt done anything to you" Whether a warning or simply a weird way of pleading with chris to be nice benson is left a little disappointed not even a curse word but he did stick up for well benson not himself one step forward two back chris laughing hes bound to make more comments or a bigger scene when randy glances at benson with a minute tilt of his head towards the door any normal person probably would have missed it but benson hasnt and never will be normal and so benson follows they dont say much randy apologizes about chris benson says tells him not to its not his fault chris was born with an ass for a brain randy even laughs a little and bensons anger nearly dissipates

nearly hes still mad and chris really needs someone to knock him down a peg or two so on their way back in benson hangs back randy doesnt ask and he makes his way to his car and then the front of the resturant checking the windows and spots chris he is fully invested with jess on the counter and thats when benson takes out the hunters knife and plunges it deep into the front tire of chris's truck the air hissing is satisfying enough and he makes his way back inside through the back

and when chris sees his truck lopsided as they leave for the day he freaks out and turns to benson with an accusatory look hes about to open his stupid mouth and the knife still in his pocket calls for him when randy points out a very sharp rock that just happened to be near that tire hardy calls chris an idiot for popping his tires on rocks of all things

randy stands next to him when he looks at randy he finds randy meeting his gaze with a sheepish smile benson has a feeling randy knows he must know and he just helped give benson a cover story god he wants so badly to reach out grip randy's shoulder and let him know how much of a good boy he is but he doesnt do any of that and randy tells him goodnight and walks off towards his own car

[omgahgase]

charthur oneshot

so it happened. again. a pathetic wet kitten of a man with his pretty eyes and gorgeous smile captivated my heart and the result is a semi-coherent fic speed written in the wee hours of the morning. this is for all you charthur enjoyers out there, and for @tortureddpoett for always listening to me ramble in the dms. thanks for withstanding my lengthy headcanons <3

Arthur hears it, but he absolutely refuses to acknowledge it, let alone accept it. 

“I can’t kill all of them silently, so…when they chase me, you go the other way.” 

It’s a simple enough plan, one that’s ten times better than Micah’s bright idea of “Shoot the motherfuckers and book it.” Hell, even Dutch agrees to it, and that’s saying a lot because he’s normally the one cooking up a way to escape a potential shoot out. Or, in this case, a quick way to the Devil downstairs. When Dutch agrees with someone, it can only mean one of two things:

It’s in his favor.

He doesn’t have anything better.

And, considering how there’s four heavily armed Pinkerton’s and only four of their men are in fighting shape—Hosea and Lenny are practically bleeding to death on Bill and Javier, Arthur’s surprised those dirty pigs haven’t picked up on the obvious trail of blood leading to their pile of crates—this is the best they got. 

So, when Arthur thinks about it afterwards, maybe that’s why Dutch had to lock an arm around his middle to he wouldn’t fling himself in Charles’ face and explain why this plan is fucking stupid. He fights, dear God, he fights against him. Javier tells Arthur to shut up lest he gives them away, but fuck that because Arthur would rather get arrested with him than let Charles be hunted so they can bag. Dutch tightens his arm around Arthur’s chest, tries to cover his mouth so he doesn’t scream why sacrificing yourself is, again, fucking stupid, but what barrels up his throat and trips out of his mouth like a sputtering gun spitting out a rusty bullet is a choked plea. 

“You can’t—please—”

But Charles—smart, kind, stupidly brave Charles who wouldn’t put himself at risk for anything other than what he believes in, and goddamnit if Arthur doesn’t love him a little more now than ever—is as sturdy as a bison when he cuts Arthur off. 

“It’s your best bet to escape, don’t fight me on this.”

Arthur almost hoped Charles would tack his name onto the end of that demand, give him some idea that he’s saying it more to him than their band of outlaws who wouldn’t be as destroyed as Arthur would be if Charles gets hurt in this dumb fuck plan. He’s lost almost everyone he’s ever cared for, he’s not about to add his best friend to that growing list. 

(He’s also not about to pay any mind to how his chest constricts at the mere thought of lobbying Charles in anything less than the person who holds his heart, but his brain is too busy flagging down the ice-cold dread spider-crawling across his skin and tampering his adrenaline to something worse than fear.)

The arm around Arthur loosens, if just for a moment, maybe because Dutch can feel how badly Arthur’s shaking, or maybe his age is finally catching up to him and he can’t hold back a grown man dead set on not carving out another gravestone for his beloved. It’s enough to break out of Dutch’s hold, nearly sending him flying into a loaded crate with how hard Arthur pushes him back, and in two quick strides, he’s face to face with Charles. Passionate, gentle, beautiful Charles who looks even prettier in the moonlight and with a splatter of blood across his cheek than Arthur’s ever seen. It’s not his blood, thank God,  and that’s all Arthur can focus on before that rat bastard Micah is putting in his two cents. 

“I say let the man go. He’d be doing us a noble cause, letting us go.” 

Arthur growls, and even Charles is a little taken aback. “No one fucking asked you, Bell.” 

“Well, Morgan, you got any other ideas? It’s not like we got the law on our dicks and our friends bleedin’ out, but, sure. Hold up the line. That bullet in the boy’s guts ain’t going anywhere until we do.” Micah chuckles a dry, humorless laugh that, normally, would’ve had him getting real intimate with the end of Arthur’s pistol. Only now, it’s making the shake in Arthur’s hands turn into a full tremble. 

He chances a glance at Lenny, takes in his blood soaked front and the way he’s almost deadweight, slung haphazardly across Javier’s shoulders. His breathing is getting shallow, his eyes barely open. Hosea isn’t doing much better but at least the shot went through clean, he only has to worry about a few stitches. Lenny, on the other hand…

Charles plants a gentle hand on Arthur’s shoulder, and the world stops on its axis, if just for a moment. The gang falls away, the Pinkerton’s disappear, every thought that’s ever occupied Arthur’s mind up until the moment Charles touches him, his thumb a soothing little thing on the gooseflesh of Arthur’s neck, melts into a puddle and drips into the waves lapping at the dock’s edge. 

“I’ll be fine.” Charles says it with such assurance that Arthur is damn near convinced right there. But still, he’s gotta voice the words hammering behind his teeth. 

“It’s a fuckin’ stupid plan.” 

Charles grins, a soft, barely there upturn of his mouth that could be mistaken as just a twitch of his lips if Arthur didn’t know him any better. But he does. He knows how Charles wakes up in the morning, eyes groggy and with just enough energy to piss before grabbing his first cup of coffee. Arthur knows how Charles’ hands feel in his, rough and calloused from the reins of his horse, the ax back at camp, how such big and strong hands can craft the most delicate of arrows, string the tiniest bead into his hair. And Arthur knows that once Charles makes up his mind, there’s no going back. There’s no use fighting him on it, no matter how badly he wants to fight. It’s what Arthur’s good at, arguing, butting heads, but Charles, with all the ways he so easily lassoed Arthur’s heart and hitched it to his person, his stubbornness towards never backing down was the first spark against Arthur’s flint as to why he loves this unyielding, honorable, stupid man. 

One of the Pinkerton’s tilts his head in their direction, squints real tight to see beyond the glow of the shack’s light. “Y’all see something over there?”  

No one answers, but the guy is still staring in their direction, and Dutch is getting real uneasy by just standing around with two guys knocking on death’s door and bags filled to the top with cash. He tells Charles to get on with it or else they’re sitting ducks, and Arthur has half a mind to say fuck it and throw Dutch to the hounds instead, but Charles is grabbing Arthur by the handkerchief around his neck and Arthur kinda of forgets everything else besides the way Charles’ chocolate brown eyes dance in the flicker of the overhead lamps. How the scar on his cheek and the plump of his lips has Arthur wanting to pitch forward and know if Charles’ mouth is as soft as it looks. 

‘Not the time to get rejected, cowboy.’ Arthur swallows. He allows himself a few seconds to get his fill before Charles runs off because he’s a selfish prick when it comes to him, wants Charles all to himself if he could have him, but instead, Charles is gearing up to host the worst game of tag Arthur’s ever played. He huffs. ‘This is a stupid fucking plan.’ 

“I know it’s a stupid fucking plan,” Charles agrees, because who else would he be if he also wasn’t smart like that. Maybe that’s another reason why Arthur’s in love with him.

And because it’s a stupid plan, maybe that’s why Charles kisses him too. 

It’s the shortest, roughest kiss Arthur’s ever had. It’s all force and no finesse, no time to get a good enough feel for each other, and their teeth clicked on first impact, but by God is he gonna think about it for the rest of his life. He doesn’t care that the guys are watching and that Bill is flinging all kinds of insults because he’s a bitch who can’t let Arthur live. Hell, the Pinkerton’s could open fire on them now and Arthur wouldn’t bat an eye. As long as his last conscious thought is Charles’ lips on his and Charles’ hand moving to cradle his jaw and Charles Charles Charles. Arthur doesn’t give a flying fuck. 

It’s over before it could get started, and Arthur is left a little lightheaded from the shock of it all. He’s not shaking anymore, the hand twisted in Charles’ dress shirt isn’t trembling, only pulling him closer because Arthur is selfish and he wants the full line of Charles’ everything pressed against him, but Charles pushes him away, breaks their kiss with a breathless gasp. 

“I’ll find you after,” he promises, eyes doing that thing to Arthur’s insides he’s only recently come to realize is just the overall effect Charles has on him. “I swear.”

He’s off after that, and Arthur is left standing there, a little off his center of gravity and more than peeved that their first kiss wasn’t under the stars near a glowing campfire like how he’d envisioned it. 

He walks in front of them, then breaks out into a run. The Pinkerton’s immediately chase after him, and in the midst of Arthur watching the whole thing go down like a prisoner in chains, Dutch turns to him, expression unreadable. 

“That is one of the most beautiful acts I’ve ever saw.” He checks for the clear then motions for them to follow. “Come on.”

They make it a total of five steps forward before Arthur swivels towards the lot of them, gun cocked and voice steely when he says, “Not a fuckin’ word.” 

Javier snorts, hefts Lenny a little higher on his person. “How about five, compadre? Karen owes me twenty bucks.” 

Arthur growls, arms his pistol at Micah and Bill. “I don’t wanna hear anythin’ from either of you, if you say some vile shit about me and Charles—”

“Don’t get your granny panties in a twist, Morgan,” Bill heaves, moving Hosea so he’s not being completely dragged. “We have more pressing matters to deal with than who you swap spit with.” 

“I’ll bitch about it later,” Micah says, which tears a ‘fuck you’ out of Arthur’s throat, “as for now, that boat’s calling my name and those lawmen,” he points over his shoulder to the flashlights coming dangerously closer, “are on our dicks! Let’s fucking go!” 

No matter how much he wants to shoot both of them because they’re not going to let this little moment go and they will be total assholes when they get back to camp, Arthur can’t argue because the flashlights are closing in and Dutch is nearly out of his sight. 

They make it to the boat and sneak below deck to an empty medbay. Dutch goes to find the captain with a little gold in hand, ‘financial persuasion,’ he called it, while Arthur and Javier get to work on Lenny and Hosea. It’s a grueling task, digging out the broken fragments of a bullet from Lenny’s insides, but they manage it without making him take more damage, and Bill only had to knock him out twice to keep the screaming down. By the time the two of them are all patched up and sleeping in the bunks, Micah found some booze and passed out on the floor. Javier wasn’t too far behind him, followed by Bill, and then it was only Arthur. 

With nothing better to do, Arthur goes to the open window facing the retreating glowing lights of Saint Denis. They departed somewhere around the first time Lenny woke up screaming, and now the city is just a line on the horizon. Arthur’s mind drifts to the camp, wondering if the Pinkerton’s are on their trail now too. He thinks about John and Abigail, worried if either of them are alive, scared that Arthur may return to camp to find Jack without his parents. 

And like how he’s been doing for the past half year, he thinks about Charles. Something in him tells him Charles gave those bastards the slip and he’s safe somewhere, probably lost in the bustle of gossiping men and women demanding to know who could’ve robbed the Lemoyne National Bank and got away with it. 

It sinks in, then, like a bolt from the blue. The robbery, the chase. The bags of gold stashed under the floorboards. They pulled their last heist. The money's theirs. 

Arthur lets out a disbelieving laugh that soon into a full, belly clutching bellow of sheer joy. No more scams and schemes, no more running. He can get some land, settle down, be it in Tahiti or otherwise, Arthur doesn’t know, nor does he care. 

What he does know, however, is that when he returns, he’ll find Charles and they can have a proper first kiss, one without blood and guns and life or death situations. He’ll probably ask Charles to go hunting with him, spend the day shooting game and exchanging tender looks that can last longer than the few seconds Arthur always gave himself. They’ll pitch a tent somewhere in the wild, their bed rolls a little closer than before, sharing a meal with a bottle passed between them. 

Then, as Charles describes the different constellations and explains what the stars and the gods mean to his people, bellies and hearts full, hands touching, thumbs caressing over scarred knuckles, Arthur’ll stop him mid sentence because he’s selfish and he can’t stop himself now he’s gotten a taste. He’ll kiss Charles like he means it, words never said but always felt, exchanging between their lips. Hands and kisses softer than what Arthur could ever deserve because he’s only lived the life of an outlaw, only ever knew how to shoot and survive.

But now, with cash in his pockets and a new dream in mind, one where he’s not just a gunslinger, but maybe a farmer, or a horse rancher—a husband. Yeah. That sounds nice. 

Arthur thinks he can be a little selfish, if just this once. 

[romsabombs]

malevolent part 46 the unclean live listen notes

SPOILERS BELOW

faroe jumpscare

is she haunting him lol

i cant believe he slept

"its probably an animal" u guys keep forgetting what podcast you're in

"you were sleeping?" "NO👹" defensive for no reason

stop hiding things from eachother challenge impossible

"it was just Things" 😐

what is blud yapping about😭🙏

LILY MENTIONED‼️

yeah yeah we know john we were all there🙄

cheesy ass episode where are the horrors

TRAIN STORY CALLBACK :33333

u dont have to remind me this story is bouncing around in my brain at all times

ooohh okayyyy music

arthur is not registering any of this let the man sleep💀

john praising lily for just doing her job is so funny to me

omgg :3 faroe is hanging out

no its not malam his ass doesnt sound like that

is he not even considering that it could be faroe usually he jumps at any chance to mention her

its disney pixar movie brave

shes guiding him?? showing him the way??

do u think they're fae

oh hes being compelled

"we shouldnt just sit here" ya thatd be a boring episode

hes fighting it

they're fae i faer

maybe just go the opposite direction

"what We're seeing" ok arthur

oh ermm😕😕

ANOTHER CULT??? COME ON😐😐

omg crying obsidian literally minecraft

oh dear a child. oh nvm He

its that dead child in the river isnt it

HAHA HE ROBBED THEM

arthur what happened to your decluttering mindset

HAHA YORRICK💀💀💀 they kidnapped his ass

oh his ass gonna is snitch on us

👹fuck mother darkness👹

"as unfortunate as that is" 💀

what makes u think he didnt lie to you about being the last of his kind

"we wouldn't be walking into a trap BLINDLY" "we'd be walking in with MY EYES wide open"

yorrick if you dont rat us out we'll buy you a lego set😇😇 or a chew toy

bro just dont follow him hes obviously just using the bag to bait you

ok dont get the bag guys r u dumb

STUPID!! DONT!!!! ☠️😠 guys i cant keep defending you

they will not ignore the lights bruh🙏

god we're only 19 minutes in

they're gonna die from this bruh

goddamn it john😭

oh no💀💀💀 man come on

they're cooked🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

wait is it actually okay i cant tell anymore

oh😕😕😕 BLERGH☹️☹️

naur the hunt got to him🙏

idk wtf is going on anymore bruh

okay ya its still a trap

dont drink that fucking water bruh i bet his corpse was in there

ofcourse it looks inviting bruh💀💀

they're what

💀💀 HAHA HE LEFT dumbasses

funny as hell now what

DONT DRINK IT HAHA ARE U CRAZY

it looks inviting again huh😐😐

NOOOOO💀💀 jarthur needs a babysitter bruh

"it leads men astray" only men huh😐 god forbid women have hobbies

HEART OF THE FOREST MENTIONED‼️‼️‼️‼️

they're trying so hard to be otgw

IN THE DREAMLANDS?

YEAHHHHH

omg i knew it'd come back

no guys maybe it's the same forest remember when u gave it your finger n u actually didnt need to and u said Lets hope they'll pay us back

FAE FAE FAE THEYRE FAE💥💥

mushroom smell is a core memory for him💀💀

HAHA WTF sillyness

william mentioned

what is his ass yapping about 😭

is this still a trap wtf r these mushrooms doing to him💀

hes dancing???? naur what the hell

hes cooked the fae got to him💀🙏

music is distorting ermmm😕

blud snorted too many mushrooms

WHAT?????? not the traumadumping

madness madness madness

man what the hell

☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️

man i thought he had a relatively good relationship with his dad😕

YOU DID WHAT😨😨

WHAAAT WHAT THE FUCK MAN

did the dancing exhaust him

😕 man what the hell was that

what the hell wait what now

its the king isn't it

this eppy is crazy man ill kms

the fae got to him‼️🗣️🗣️

EVERYONE SPEAKS IN YOUR VOICE BRUH THERE IS ONE VOICE

what is going on bru

WHO?? 🗣️ horick???

was the shrine for him then

bro is bargaining💀

wuh oh😕

WHAT😨😨😨

YOUNGER????? not again arthur💀

once a child murderer always a child murderer

is arthur pulling this guy's chain bru

nah he was definitely lying right😕

fym "what are you doing" what are YOU doing

he what. he slept?? i think arthur was just pulled away from him so he was like. unconscious?? maybe

they just keep making secret deals with evil gods🙄

oh man hes so ashamed

john trying to have a moment with him and getting shot down again

so whats the plan here are you just gonna go back to killing children

"us" hmmmmmm

hes definitely not gonna tell john abt the deal

oh he did. but not about the child part

YEA THE CORPSES RIGHT

yess i was right💥💥💥💥

yeesh😕

i like how in audio dramas the throwing up sound is always just some tin foil getting squeezed

what an episode. i have to pee so bad

MMMM REALLY not liking the theme im seeing in this season (children)

[vintagegirl01]

Loving you is a losing game

Marc Spector x fem! reader (Steven and Jake are mentioned briefly)

Summary: Marc meeting you was one of the best things to have happen to him. However, the demons of his past make him feel otherwise. You help him see that the love you share is one that should be fought for.

A/N: This is what I thought while listening to the song Arcade by Duncan Laurence. Of course with a happier twist.

A/N 2: Purely for entertainment purposes, so please don’t come after me. As I said, I'm still getting used to writing pieces like this.

Marc Spector’s life has never been easy. From the trauma of his young brother’s death to everything he’s during his time as Khonshu’s avatar, he’s felt like a ticking time bomb. Though he’s tried to use his time as Moon Knight to right his wrongs, it never feels like it’s enough.

When he meets you, he begins to see that there is more to life than vengeance. Marc begins to let himself enjoy your presence when he and you hit it off at the gym.

You weren’t a gym rat by any means but you had started a membership in the hopes of getting in shape and learning self-defense by using their punching bag. Seeing you hit the bag by yourself catches his attention and he begins to give you some pointers on how to improve your stance. Over time, this leads to you becoming sparring partners and eventually exchanging phone numbers. Although,this leads to you all regularly hanging out outside your sparring hours.

The day he asked you out was a shock for him because not only did he actually let himself be brave enough to ask the question but you eagerly accepted his invitation. It’s even more surprising to find out that one date led to another. Then another until you both have officially unofficially started dating.

Despite everything going well, he knew that there were things he needed to tell you. About his DID. His past. Being the avatar to an Egyptian deity in exchange to right the wrongs from his ugly past.

This then leads him to begin feeling self conscious about himself. His inner dialogue begins to consist of questions such as: What if he didn’t deserve this chance at happiness? What if she thinks I’m crazy or thinks I’m making this up?

Marc then begins to hear his mother’s voice. Telling him that he is unworthy of receiving love and will only continue to destroy all the lives that he surrounds himself with. Steven and Jake try to snap him out of this but Marc is paralyzed. At this moment, Marc only thinks one thing.

“I have to break up with her before I hurt her”, Marc thought.

_____________________________________

“Marc, this isn’t funny. Stop joking, you say.

“I’m not joking. I think we should break up,” said Marc.

“But why, Marc? Did I do something wrong?”

“Of course, you didn’t. You’ve been the best thing to have ever happened to me.”

“Then why are you doing this?” You take your hand in his, looking at him sadly. “Please, tell me why you’re acting as if I’m a disease.”

“Imthedisease.” He says as if he’s trying to rip off a bandage.

“What, baby?”

“I said, I'm the disease. I seep into innocent lives and destroy them.” He looks at you tearfully.

“Marc, that’s silly. What are you talking about?”

Marc then begins to explain everything. From the death of his younger brother to the lives he took during his time as a mercenary. He also makes sure to mention that he is the vigilante, Moon Knight, and has two other individuals living within his head. He concludes all of this by saying, “Loving me is a losing game.”

Once he’s done explaining all of this, Marc is waiting to see your reaction to all this. Will you call him crazy? Run away from him? Scream?

Instead, you take his hands in your own.

“Loving you isn’t a losing game, Marc,” you tell him. I love you and long as we have each other, we can face whatever life throws at us.”

At this, Marc pulls you into a big hug. He lets himself break down because he knows that you’re here to stay and love him. For his strengths and weaknesses, through good and bad times. He knows you will be there for him.

As you two are still embracing, he starts to believe that he is worth loving after all.

[reve-writes]

—all aboard; kaz brekker.

ʚ kaz brekker x reader | grishaverse | 0,5k words.

ʚ kaz sees you off when you are leaving for shu han. will your feelings remain unuttered to the very last second?

ʚ post soc & ck; spoilers for crooked kingdom (major character death!); pining with no resolution (yet?); soft!kaz.

ʚ a/n — i wish i wrote more. consider this a writing warmup.

Kaz Brekker doesn't need a reason.

He never does, although you suspect he has always had his own justifications. His trick is to never let anyone know, to conceal his cards in places no one dares to look.

You stand on the docks. The sea ravenous and sprawling in front of you; Kaz pensive and his usual brooding self on your right. The air is salty, mixed with the stench of debauchery permanently wafting from the Barrell. Your belongings that you've accumulated in Ketterdam have dwindled to nothing more than a trunk and a bag, slung across your body from your shoulder.

"I'll say," you start, cracking the silence that has settled over the two of you for too long. "I thought this city would bind me here for the rest of my life."

You chuckle, not that you find your freedom particularly funny. The endless possibilities. Places to go, people to meet, countles versions of yourself you can be. Something more than a barrel rat. You can't help but chuckle at how absurd it all feels. How nearly incomprehensible it is that you're boarding a ship soon, headed off to Shu Han.

"I hoped it would," Kaz says, never mincing his words as usual. Casually cruel to a fault. "Everyone else is quite hopeless with bookkeeping. You are the expert."

You nudge his shoulder with yours slightly, rolling your eyes. You let the implications of everyone go—that everyone includes a certain Fjerdan, for whom you've held a funeral for just weeks prior.

"We each have our strengths," you answer, grip unconsciously tightening on the railing. You feel the cold rusty metal burn against your palms. You try to keep your tone light. The two of you carry enough grief to drown this entire island if you start going down that path. Not exactly what you have in mind for a send off.

You brave a look at Kaz Breaker, finding him in his usual dark overcoat and dark shirt and dark trousers. For a moment, it'll be so easy, you naively think. The words are caught on your throat, punching themselves down before it even reaches your mouth. His dark eyes flit over to you and you immediately swallow.

Love is a foreign concept. To you, whose only family left you for dead when you were barely a teenager. To him, who will forever remember the slick, slimy cold skin of Jordie brushing against his. Your bravery has died as swiftly as it rose. Words of affection staining your tongue but never leaving your lips.

"Have you remembered everything? Shu Han is quite the trip." He nods towards your trunk. "You haven't packed too lightly?"

You raise an eyebrow at him. "Since when have you become so fussy?"

"Since forever, although I prefer the word 'thorough.'"

"What are you, my mother?"

He exhaled sharply, his lips curving into an uncharacteristic amused smile. "Neither you nor I are qualified in talking about parental figures."

You blink at him, mouth agape. "Kaz!"

He shrugs, leaning on his cane. Dark eyes start to drift behind you where a ship has already started boarding. A line of passengers form, many amongst them are talking in Shu, while others Kerch. Kaz points his chin towards the ship, "I believe that is you."

You take your ticket out of your pocket, clutching it in your hand. "I'll be going."

Neither of you move, rooted to your respective spots, staring at each other. Something unsaid hangs in the empty space between you. The tip of your tongue grazes your teeth. Once again, it will be so easy. Just, say it and leave. Bolt as fast as you can to the ship. You will be oceans apart anyway.

The distance may dampen whatever rejection he will hurl your way.

"Best be off," he says. "You might miss your departure."

He clears his throat, looking away. Once again, the ease you've deluded yourself into feeling disappears. There's something tight-wrung in you, fed up of being such an illicit thing.

"I am going," you mumble, lazily hauling your trunk. "Take care, Kaz."

Your stomach drops as you turn around, stepping uncertainly towards the large passenger ship. You turn around swiftly — too quick even — when Kaz calls your name. Like a blossoming flower, you perk up, looking over your shoulder.

His hand is awkwardly hovering, like he's going to shake your hand—or grab it—but it drops right back to his side. It's uncharacteristic; makes him look more like a boy and less of a ringleader.

"Be back in two moons," he says. "For a visit, if you would like."

You let out a puzzled noise. "Why?"

"Would you... be opposed to it?"

"No!" You flush at your exclamation.

"No?"

You gather yourself before saying, "I'll be here in one, how does that sound?"

"I will see you then," he says. "Remember to write."

You feel a little lighter now, less like you're abandoning your closest friend with whom you've shared priceless adventures with. You will see him again. Soon. You will bear stories of faraway lands to him. They may pale in comparison to your escapades and heists, but after what you've been through, mundanity may be what he needs.

"As if you would let me forget."

[ ]

[pfhwrittes]

tw for angst and simon riley's canonical backstory (child abuse, torture, death)

jo wasn't always called jo, she remembers.

she remembers Before, when she settled into her skin, only a pup herself to simon's skinny eight year old self, when she was called rat.

an unimaginative name by an unimaginative little boy who desperately wanted to hide away from his dad. from the arguments. from tommy and mum and the bullies in school that would tease and poke and prod until he'd come home with a black eye and torn jumper.

she remembers hiding then, curled up in a lump under the fabric of polo top or in his book bag. she remembers simon hiding then too, under his bed or in the airing cupboard, wedged up tight underneath the immersion tank.

her earliest memories have always been of the smell of fresh blood and of cuddling up close to a trembling body, hiding the way tears would mingle with the blood on his collar by burying his face into her little body.

then simon does something stupid-brave-idiotic and enlists at 17. one year of butcher's offcuts under his belt and a burning desire to flee.

(she remembers too the only time he had ever wished she was something else. something other than small, easily hidden, forgettable.)

jo remembers coming back to manchester, horror struck at pigeon's drab feathers and tommy's sunken face. she remembers leaving, murmuring into simon's ear that he did the right thing by battering his old man black and blue as she latched onto the soft skin of his bull terrier's throat and bit down. hard.

jo doesn't remember roba (thank god) but she remembers digging and digging with her little paws at fresh turned earth praying-hoping-dreading that she wasn't too late.

(she remembers it being the only time she had ever wished she was something else. something other than small, easily hidden, weak.)

she remembers the day simon ceased to exist and ghost took his place. she remembers the day she took the name of jo, a fitting tribute to the toddler that would let her tickle his nose with her whiskers.

jo remembers. after all, such a long memory for such a little daemon.

[jq37]

The Report Card – Fantasy High Junior Year Ep 19/20

Blinded By Rage

Welcome back for a final time this year to Fantasy High where we’re covering both parts of the finale in one go! 

Last we left off here, the Bad Kids had gotten control of the Hangman post dragon fight on election night and were flying back to a much changed Elmville, sky turned an angry red in the process of becoming the divine domain of rage. 

When we return, they’re running out of clouds to ride on and need to pick a place to land. Fabian is concerned about just plopping a chunk of his house randomly in town but time is of the essence so they land at school on the Bloodrush field. It’s 10:20 PM, so they have less than two hours until the polls close at midnight. All the non-Bad Kid students get the hell out of Dodge because they’re useless in a crisis as always and all the brave and competent students (read: The Seven) have graduated. 

Brennan rules that, despite how crazy it was, the K2 Divine Intervention was technically buttoned up and allows Kristen to choose a special effect. She wants K2 back to help with spellcasting which Brennan grants (and will live to regret). 

Elmville is NOT doing well. It’s like 107 degrees and they can hear sirens and gunshots. There’s some real The Purge energy. Mazey has the duffel bag of votes but says she’s not allowed to count them until midnight so they all take a short rest to get their stuff back. They send Jawbone and Ragh to make sure Lydia is OK. They also strategize and throw on a bunch of buffs. Gorgug drinks his crazy strength potion he got as a present from Riz that takes him to a 25 Str. Adaine casts Rary’s Telepathic Bond so everyone can communicate telepathically plus Fly on Fabian, Gorgug, and herself. Kristen handcuffs the duffel bag of votes to Mazey for safekeeping. Perhaps, most crucially, Kristen has K2 cast Ice Feat which has ascended from a mistake to a bit to a homebrew spell with the following effects:

Every creature targeted by this spell takes a level of exhaustion and 1d12 cold damage.

The targets are cured of all disease and poison.

All creatures targeted by this spell make constitution saving throws with advantage and their hit point maximum and current hit points increase by 2d10.

The targets gain immunity to fire damage and the stunned condition.

Remember that last one for later. 

Anyway, there’s a lot more that they do but I’ll mention stuff if they come up in a big way. For now, let’s bust into the gym where Porter plus Jace and the Rat Grinders are trying and failing to do the ritual because they never got the proper name (highlighted by Buddy who in his same blind earnestness from before he was rage star’d thinks Bakarath is the true name and they’re just not believing hard enough).

Porter is furious that he was tricked into using the wrong name and grows to an enormous size, doing the foot stomp stun thing from earlier in the season but Ice Feast gives immunity to the stun condition so with a successful “Loser says what?” from Gorgug, it’s time to roll for initiative! 

To set the scene, the gym (and all of Elmville really) is breaking apart. Team Porter has invoked all this energy but can’t do anything with it so it’s kind of like a ticking time bomb ready to explode. The floor of the gym is cracking and there’s bubbling lava underneath–lava that is actually the carcass of Ankarna and the rage domain is spilling into the material plane. 

I also want to mention that even though several people have abilities/spells active that allow them to see Invisibility, no one can see Kipperlilly. We learn later it’s because she’d never been truly invisible, she’s just that good at hiding. 

As always, I’m gonna just hit highlights for the fight but ooh man, there are some highlights:

Riz on his first turn does a super clutch casting of Slow which gums up the works for the Rat Grinders for a big chunk of the fight. 

Just as they planned earlier (both in game and as we learned during the AP, out of game) Oisin is the top priority to deal with. A tag team of Fig and Gorgug gets him off the board in the first round before he can even cast a single spell. 

Ivy attacks the Hangman on her turn and Fabian returns the favor by brutally one-shotting her his next turn. Like, *extremely* brutally. He has low key had it out for her since she was mean about Mazey way back at the top of the season. But even Mazey (who is joining the fight because they can’t actually kill her, logistically speaking since she needs to count the votes) is like hmm, don’t know if I *love* that. (For the record, Ivy is killed first but Oisin is attacked first. That’s why I have them in this order). 

After Ruben hits everyone with a 9th level spell (highest level a spell can be for anyone not familiar) Fig gives up on the dude. Once the 9th level spells get broken out, the time for talking is over. In disguise as Wanda, she rips a very confused Ruben a new one for not being receptive to any of her attempts to coax him onto a redemption arc. She eventually blasts him into hell which sounds brutal until you remember that it’s functionally just her office. 

Because the Rat Grinders are clustered together in a very non-strategic way, Adaine is able to hit them all with Synaptic Static which not only does damage but also forces a bunch of their spellcasters to lose Concentration on spells. Everyone but Buddy I believe. 

Kipperlilly gets Riz with 8 points of damage but he gets her with 21 damage on his Attack of Opportunity as she escapes which is almost triple. That’s crazy! 

And I wanna pause here to make a quick point. The Rat Grinders are kind of bad at this. Like, they have all these high level abilities–and we know Brennan can be brutal in how he runs NPCs cause we’ve seen them in Neverafter and ACOC. But the Rat Grinders are just seriously dropping like flies. And that’s due to a combination of three things. One, the Intrepid Heroes and by extension the Bad Kids are just really good at this. They’ve had a lot of practice and they’ve had time to strategize. They read the rules. They’re making clutch decisions. Of course they’re good at what they’re doing. Secondly, they got some great rolls. For instance, initiative worked out that they had the opportunity to merc Oisin before he could start slinging 9th level wizard spells. And finally, as we learned in the AP, the Rat Grinders had level 20 abilities but they were still very squishy because they didn’t level up properly. 

Anyway, back to the fight.

Jace splits himself into 4 copies and finally gets Ankarana’s name with a Detect Thoughts on Fig. That’s not the only road block for the Bad Kids. They’re doing really well considering but also taking some Ls. Fabian drops (as does Fig later) and Adaine gets caught with Flesh to Stone.

Riz tries to find Kipperlilly and, when he can’t, he goes under the gym floorboards, shoots at Porter, and introduces the last big element to this combat: with his last 5 feet of movement, he jumps into the lava to hide. Because, as Emily mouthed to him a few minutes earlier, because of Ice Feast, they’re all immune to Fire Damage. Brennan forgot to account for that. The lava is only a hazard for his NPCs. The Bad Kids are all immune. Kipperlilly is so baffled that she goes, “What the fuck?” and gives away her position. 

From this point on, utilizing the combo of Fly and fire immunity to stay out of range of enemies–either in the sky or below the gym floorboards in/near the lava–becomes a major part of their strategy. For instance, Kristen goes under there to do some Mass Healing without being a target.

Porter in this fight is very fearsome. He has Legendary Actions and he can attack so hard that you get hit just from the air moving so fast before his weapon even hits you. Later on in the two-parter, he stops on Gorgug’s skull and gives him two death saves. It’s a whole world of hurt. 

But, the Bad Kids also are no-selling him at every single turn. He insults them but they just say he was a shitty teacher. He tries to activate their rage crystals but, guess what? They all avoided taking a rage token all season so it has no effect. He even tries to give them a speech about how the school sucks and they should be on his side but they’re like, my brother in Ankarna, YOU’RE a big part of why the school has been sucking. Adaine and Fig have great back to back lines. Fig accuses him of having no principles, just pride. And Adaine says the school didn’t MAKE them waste their summer on the Night Yorb quest. That was their mistake and they fixed it. He seems a bit surprised and confused that they won’t engage with his philosophy but that’s really on him if he thought THIS would tempt the Bad Kids at all. They’re great at getting mad all on their own. All he’s offering is the destruction of their homes. 

Riz on his next turn sets himself up in a purposefully clumsy hiding spot where he will be easily visible to anyone looking for him but they will have to get in melee range to hit him and he readies an action to catch a spell. 

On Fig’s turn, she gets away from Porter to get in position but that earns her a nasty attack of opportunity from him that's so powerful it starts carbonizing her blood (which is what happened to Yolanda you'll remember so now we know for sure who killed her). But once she gets away from him, she is safe in the lava (which is also Ankarana’s body). She tells Ankarna that she needs to choose her own path and then does a huge Fireball (which is the actual killing blow on Ruben btw). The Fireball also breaks Buddy’s concentration on the spell he’s been holding all fight which was a Banishment on the ballot box. They now have a way to get the votes delivered! 

This is where part 1 ends but we’re rolling this all together for the recap so let’s keep going! 

(I also have to note that for part two, everyone but Brennan is dressed in emo gear. Do with that info what you will.)

Fabian pulls out Bakur’s gem and throws him out like a Pokemon. He doesn’t break out right away but Brennan takes the opportunity to intro a new mechanic where portals open and on a high enough roll, the Bad Kids can call allies to help. 

Fabian ALSO has the idea to push Jace (well, one of the 4 Jaces) into the lava which, surprise surprise, the fighter/dancer is stronger than the waifish sorcerer. And that’s 18d10 damage so yeah. This fight largely becomes the throwing people into lava challenge. And can you blame them? That’s so much damage!

We get a little bit of elucidation about how the rage crystals work. Porter is a kind of hive queen and he can exert influence over the people with crystals in their chest. We see him do it to Jace and we see crystals leave the chests of Oisin, Ivy, and Ruben (well not his chest cause he’s in hell but from where he was standing). The crystals are parasitic and jump ship to try and find new hosts. 

Mazey gets rage star’d. Bad! K2 Banishes Buddy. Good! (Extra good bc K2 is Invisible and can’t be Counterspelled) 

Porter chugs some devil’s honey and calls to Ankarna that he’s trying to rez her so he can worship her which we know is a lie cause his real goal is to usurp her. Fig and Kristen treat her like a friend who’s getting back with her shitty ex and are like girl he’s lying to you! 

In one of my fave moments of the ep, Kipperlilly falls for the trap Riz laid in part one, going to attack him where he’s awkwardly positioned and not realizing that he was actually forcing her to jump over a pit of lava. The moment she does, he hits her with a Hold Person which stops her in her tracks and causes her to fall straight into the lava. Riz gets in the last word in this one-sided rivalry, “Very good on paper, but no practical application.”

She sinks into the lava and, as she does, we see she doesn’t have a visible rage crystal (only a symbol) because, unlike the others, she is a full willing participant. (Note: She DOES have a crystal to be clear, Brennan mentions that later, it’s just put in a different way).

Mary Ann fully jumps into the lava to attack Fig, tanking the damage and downing a very injured Fig in one hit. 

Adaine gets a very clutch move next, whisking all her injured friends to safer parts of the battlefield and drawing a legendary action from Porter even though she’s one of the least tanky members of the group. But with her Mirror Images, she gets off scott free! Adaine, Battle Wizard! 

Since Mazey is under rage control, Porter tries to make her disband the school but a Clippy style pop up of Arthur Aguefort shows up to say that mind controlling the class president to make them do stuff doesn’t count, you have to win fair and square. The things that this man plans for vs what he overlooks is baffling. 

Not only that but with Kipperlilly dead (and no cleric to heal her since Buddy is banished) their plan is kind of screwed. Even if they can rig the vote, their candidate is dead. 

When Jace and Porter are squabbling about plan logistics, Porter says, “Figure it out Stardiamond or I’ll kill you again,” which confirms that Jace got roped into the plan that way. Maybe Porter knew he needed someone with spells?

Gorgug gets a Nat 20 to pop up (from Porter downing him and giving him 2 death saves as I mentioned earlier) and then destroy another Jace clone, again with lava. 

Gonna pause again to say that I am really skimming over a lot here. Battle episodes are just not conducive to straight up recaps when they’re this long and involved. I’m gonna steal a trick of Adaine and quickly reposition everyone so you know the state of the battlefield where I’m jumping back in with the plot-forward part of the fight. Bakur has busted out of his gem but isn’t sure which side to join at first. The Bad Kids eventually are able to roll high enough to get some allies on the field–Ragh/Lydia/Sandra Lynn/Jawbone/Gorthalax plus  Squeem and Balthazar (but don’t worry too much about them. The most notable things there are Lydia does a sick wheelchair jump assistant by Ragh to get an attack in and Squeem heals everyone with cortados). Mary Ann goes down to lava. Fabian is able to break Mazey out of her rage with The Power Of Getting Your Kisses In and they make it official vis a vis boyfriend/girlfriend titles. 

Fig and Kristen try to tag team to tell Ankarna that Porter is lying to her but they don’t make the Dispel Magic roll to get rid of the Devil’s Honey. You know who does though? With a crit? As she farts and days Blimey?

Yeah, I told you Brennan was going to live to regret letting her live. Zac takes over again and Brennan just says, “No,” and leaves for a bit while everyone else howls with laughter. 

Brennan is so over it that he rules that, after this fight, K2 will be granted true life (Pinnochio style) and then banished to real life actual England. (Which seems dangerous considering Unsleeping City takes place irl but dig your own grave man). 

ANYWAY, All Of That aside, the Dispel Magic does work and Bakur is able to see the lies despite the Devil’s Honey. He joins the fight on the BK’s side. 

Also the bird cop shows up to shoot the last Jace. Don’t worry about it. 

OK, so going into the endgame of this fight, All the Rat Grinders are dead except for Buddy who is Banished. Bakur is there, and fighting with our heroes. Some of their allies have arrived. Mazey and Fabian and both down. All but one Jace (the one who got shot) is fully off the board.  And they still have to convince Ankarna that Porter is a big liar. 

OK, pieces repositioned, let’s finish this fight up. 

Having just been brought up by Sandra Lynn (like I said, I skimmed a LOT), it’s Adaine’s turn and she decides to do something uncharacteristic for a wizard. She takes a leap of faith. She uses her earworm present from Fabian to cast Detect Thoughts on all of her friends in range (Kristen and Fig) plus Bakur and Porter. 

According to the wording of the card (which I assume has been partially homebrewed for the setting bc it’s a bit different than the one in the official book), using the earworm to cast Detect Thoughts sends the information gleaned to the nearest extraplanar creature. Which in this case is Ankarna.   

The Devil’s Honey is dispelled now so it’s just up to if Porter makes his save or not (Adaine tells her friends to fail on purpose). He makes it, but Gorgug throws one of his inventions–a flashbang grenade–at him with another great line. He goes out of his rage and says, “Hey. Don’t be blinded by rage.” FLASH! The grenade goes off and he’s distracted enough to fail the save. His thoughts get broadcasted right to Ankarna. 

Adaine says, "Is this justice? Is this a new dawn?"

In this moment, Brennan lets everyone roll as a cleric of Ankarna for Divine Intervention. I cannot BELIEVE he lets K2 roll but, thankfully, she doesn’t actually get it. It’s Fabian, unconscious and appropriately in a kind of liminal state that’s able to do it (Note: Mazey is supposed to be down at this point so I don’t know how this next thing happens–whether it’s just a continuity blip or in his head or whatever but I’m just reporting what happened at the table, OK?). In his unconscious state, Mazey is really emotional about Fabian going down. She says that he's a really great and caring person even outside all of the things that make him traditionally cool and she wishes they could have lost their V Cards together. Ankarna, goddess of justice, will NOT let such an injustice stand. That’s enough to make her emerge from the lava, fully formed (and Fig, who has the keys to her domain, of course lets her in). She pops up and immediately slices Porter in half with a huge ass god sword. Sayonara Porter! Maybe you can be a boat in hell with Goldenhoard. 

Things start to calm, but it’s still all weird and liminal as Ankarna’s domain is being reestablished. Everyone is separated and Brennan asks them all for a moment of something unfair that they regret accepting. What follows is a bit similar to the American Dream sequence in Unsleeping City where Ankarna offers each of them a chance for vengeance/justice but is turned down. 

Gorgug thinks of Porter unfairly writing him off. Kristen thinks of her bio family. Adaine sees her parents pitting her against her sister who she could have been loving this whole time. Riz sees how hard it was to connect with people but also how he pushed Fig and Kristen this year and sees a bit of Kipperlilly in himself. Fig sees all of her internal conflict from the past year from not being able to make a pact with herself to not being able to act for help. Fabian sees the burden of living up to his father's legacy. Ankarna heals everyone of their wounds but then sadly sends them to a Twilight Forest (presumably Cass’s domain) when they politely say that they appreciate the offer but don’t need vengeance.  

Fabian does have a moment come from this however as Gorthalax and Bakur tag team to bring Bill in for a little heart to heart with Fabian where he says that he’d love his son even if he wasn’t a Maximum Legend and he’d give up his legacy for one more day to spend with Fabian. 

(Also, Lydia and Bakur are cool now. They talked it out off screen.)

With all of that, everyone is now together and Cass is holding Ankarna who is badly injured. Ankarna kind of has the attitude that Cass had at the end of last season where it was like, it doesn’t seem like anyone really needs me and all I’ve done is cause trouble so maybe I shouldn’t be here. The Bad Kids reassure her that she’s more than just her usefulness and that contrary to her declaration that she has no followers, she has at least six in the six of them. Ankarna cries happy tears.

Cass and Ankarna are about to leave to have a well deserved reunion but Kristen holds them up to ask about where the hell Kalina is. Ankarna gets all agitated because she’s NEVER trusted that cat and she’s damn near about to go on a crusade to find her as soon as Kristen brings up her suspicions. Before they leave, they have some business to attend to. 

They raise Rat Grinders (sans Kipperlilly since she was a willing participant) and Ankarna takes her name off of Lucy and Yolanda’s bodies so they can be raised. Then, Cass takes a selfie with Kristen and Ankarna and drafts a social media post to send to Craig to post because Kristen may be great in a foxhole, but she’s not the most organized person in Spyre. 

With this all wrapped up, Aguefort (and Ayda!) finally show up but the Bad Kids absolutely refuse to let him take credit for their victory. Mazey counts the votes. Adaine gets Aguefort to remove the bit in the bylaws about drugs being illegal (he calls it “narc shit). 

Riz pulls Kristen aside to make sure she actually wants to be president and that she’s not just doing it for his sake and she says yeah, (though she later says she wants him to be VP with her which he is very down for). 

Bobby Dawn tries to leave town (without even taking his grandkid!) but Fabian is chasing his ass down for all of his bullshit against his friends. 

Lucy is brought back and confirms that her friends killed her but also says that Ruben was one of her best friends before this started, implying that he was fully personality changed by the rage stars (unlike Kipperlilly who was maybe made more extreme but was rageful from the start). We see this in action when Ruben is brought back, basically tabula rasa. He has no memories of his emo persona and is really stressed to have lost his puka shell necklace. Ivy and Oisin seem like they have more memories and are ashamed of what they did but there’s not an explanation given of why the difference in effect. 

Mary Ann is basically the same and has a very abrupt conversation with Gorgug where she asks him if he has a girlfriend, much to everyone’s delight. Gorgug is so baffled and frustrated but finally lands on, “She’s so hot,” to everyone's further delight. 

Time for epilogues y’all! 

Kristen decides to be a cleric for not just Cass but Ankarna too. She even talks to Tracker (who is on a break from both Nara and Nara's money) about maybe poaching Galacaea from Sol’s pantheon. She also drops Gertie for the possibility of getting into a situationship with Tracker, earning herself a nemesis. 

Riz decides to try and chill out a little and switch from coffee to tea. He still thinks change can be scary but he recognizes that without change, he never would have met his friends. 

Aelwyn delivers a letter from the Court of Stars to Adaine which they open over ice cream sundaes at Basrar’s. Apparently, some wizard is starting shit in Sylvere–their mother. They’re both ready to plan a road trip to go kill that bitch, but before their sister murder quest (a normal thing for sisters to do) Aelwyn says that she hopes she and Adaine can eat ice cream and do magic together forever, and that if the price to have Adaine was suffering their shitty parents, it was a worthy trade. Adaine happily agrees. 

Fabian gets the Tornado to put his house back and rolls for his first time with Mazey. The dice are not on his side but luckily Mazey likes him for his personality, lol. His mom and Gilear show up and announce that they’re expecting…a dog…to guard the new baby. Also Telemaine is moving in. Fabian is distraught, even moreso when he gets a ping on Nemesis Alert. The unborn baby has already declared themselves his nemesis. At least Cathilda is also back! 

Like Riz, Gorgug also takes some time to relax since he's no longer taking 4 classes at once. He hangs with his parents and gets some presents for Fig since she was such a big help to him this year. He also makes things official with Mary Ann. Aguefort asks if he's considered being a teacher after he graduates and Ayda boasts that she always knew he was special. Aguefort also stops just short of saying he might be the bad guy next year and disappears into a flock of birds when questioned. Maddening as always. 

Fig gets some time with Sandra Lynn who is very supportive of her (which is saying a lot considering Fig has Porter’s literal balls on a chain, do not even ask). She decides school isn’t for her and drops out which she is a little concerned Ayda might judge her for since she’s so studious but Ayda says that learning isn’t confined to a classroom and starts a spell to link Leviathan to her domain in hell. Ageufort is also OK with her dropping out personally, but he does warn her that attack robots WILL be tracking her down for dropping out. Insane, but she’s not too worried about that. She just wants some alone time with Ayda. 

And finally, two bits of unfinished business. Unseen to the Bad Kids, Buddy pops out of his Banishment, still a true believer in Bakarath. He believes SO HARD that a baby god comes into existence. Then, out of the shadows KALINA appears and says, "Buddy, we gotta get the fuck out of here. They are coming for us. Your grandfather is not gonna fucking believe this."

And that’s it! End of season. Class dismissed! 

Plot Post Mortem 

OK y’all there was a LOT going on this season and not everything was neatly wrapped up but I’m gonna take a little bit of time to try and put together what we do know. 

We know that Porter was the ultimate puppetmaster of his plot and everyone else was an underling of his to some degree. Jace had a visible rage star in him so it seems that he was forcibly drafted rather than being a fully willing participant. 

The Rat Grinders formed a party (at that time called the High Five Heroes) Freshman Year. They went to the Mountains of Chaos for Spring Break. Near the end of Sophomore Year, all of her friends killed her. 

The Rat Grinders are on record as just grinding rats which seems to be a half lie because we know from talking to rats that they WERE doing that for a time but eventually Porter recruited them and started farming XP for them.

And we know that Kipperlilly was a willing participant of the plan but the other Rat Grinders were forced. 

So my best guess for the series of events here are as follows. In Freshman Year or so, Porter forced Jace into having a crystal so he can have a minion with spells (again, Porter does explicitly say he killed Jace). He spends the year scouting for a good candidate for his plan and finds an already naturally aggro Kipperlilly. 

He starts showing an interest in her and lets her in on his plan. She’s super down because she’s already bitter about the perceived injustice of the system. He feeds her unhealthy thought processes. This is why she starts having more rage outburst in Sophomore Year.

Now it’s never made clear when the other Rat Grinders join the plan and how that goes down. The popular theory is that they all died in the Mountains of Chaos but that doesn’t quite make sense. The only way that works is if everyone died except for Lucy. Why would she leave Lucy alive though? Because she was the closest to her? Was it just happenstance? Another possibility is that once they got there, Kipperlilly was the only one willing to get rage star’d and everyone else got cold feet. So, once they got home, she started putting the pressure on everyone else and eventually started killing them one by one to forcibly recruit them, ending with the dogpile on Lucy. This is all speculation of course, I’m just trying to square the info we know to be true with the bits of lore we have. Kipperlilly expected Lucy to come back like the others and they didn’t. With her dead, they needed a new cleric for the plan which is why Buddy Dawn was drafted. 

Kipperlilly DID have a rage star–it just wasn’t put into her by force. She chose to take it on. It’s not entirely clear how much it affected her–or anyone’s–actions or personality. Emo Ruben still spoke fondly of Lucy and seemed sad about her death. Kipperlilly was more unhinged in Junior Year but it’s not like she was super hinged before. 

It’s also not clear how much autonomy you have when you’re rage star’d. It seems to me that the rage star doesn’t really mind control you so much as play up the rageful thoughts you already have–for instance Adaine when she almost gets rage star’d saying that if she was consumed by rage she’d destroy Falinel and Sylvaire looking for her mom. It CAN mind control you if Porter uses an action to control you but most of the time you’re just an angry version of yourself (though Ruben’s complete personality swap raises questions). 

Anyway, that’s the best I can figure. No need to keep spinning wheels now that the season is done. 

Honor Roll

Adaine Abernant for Some Unorthodox Wizardry 

I am biased towards Adaine but I think she deserves her props this episode. 

A Wizard putting themselves in a position where they have to tank damage is so risky, but she cares about her friends enough to Scatter them to safety and hope her Mirror Images do their job.

A Wizard getting in melee range with a Pally/Barb seems like a recipe for disaster but Adaine was able to parry Porter with her sword. 

And having faith isn’t really in a Wizard’s wheelhouse but she has enough faith in her friends to try a big swing in reaching out to Ankarna. 

(Big Honorable Mentions to Riz trapping KP and Gorgug using his grenade on Porter in the climax). 

Detention 

Kipperlilly for Being a Bad Rogue

I’m not even giving her this spot for being a bad guy. I’m giving her this spot for being a ROGUE and not HIDING when the plan hinged on her SURVIVING TO THE END. Girl, what were you doing in melee range??? You have a crossbow, bitch, use it! Frankly she shouldn’t have even been on the battlefield, but I know for story reasons she had to be. But if she had to be there she could have played it waaaaaay smarter. 

Random Thoughts

Oisin was rage star’d but I have to assume his grandma wasn’t, right? I mean she was buddies with Kalvaxus so she probably just is OK with pillaging and evil. From her POV was it just like oh thank Helio my nerdy-ass grandson finally got cool. 

The way that gods work in this world always kind of trips me up. Because gods have been established to not be autonomous individuals in the way that people are. Saying, “Choose your own path” is nice, but it doesn’t really make sense when your personality is literally decided by your followers. They’re more mirrors than they are people. Same thing with morality. If it’s not Ankarna’s fault that she was made into a rageful conqueror, it’s also not Helio’s fault that he’s a fratty college boy (allegedly, I still think that’s more what Kristen felt than what was textually there). Unless we’re saying that each god has a “true self” and anything that pulls them from that is anomalous, then it’s hard to have conversations about gods while viewing them as people with direct agency. 

What was up with the vision Adaine kept having? Was that a trick to get them to have that party? Because they probably wouldn’t have done that without her visions. Who did that? Was it a Dream spell like Fig was doing to Ruben?

I didn’t mention it but it was very funny for Adaine to pull a Brer Rabbit: Ohhhh noooo. Please don’t throw me in the laaavaaaaaa. 

Who was watching Fig/Wanda “die” in the window, Brennan????? You never told us!!!! 

I thought it was sweet when Kristen was like I do wish I had a sister and Adaine was like, I’m your sister :)

I’ll prob make a longer post on this later but I really do not understand why the Ankarna plot is what was picked for this season when it’s so similar to the Cass plot from last season: Goddess of a concept that can be good but people find scary/are skeptical about is changed by the actions of their followers into something monstrous that is being manipulated by bad actors in the current day who the Bad Kids win over to their side and one of them becomes the prophet/champion of. It even has the beat of the goddess, post-rezzing, being like, “Idk if you really need me.” They’re even married! I don’t have a problem with Ankarna the character but she does feel a bit like a rehash of Cass’s storybeats, just in orange instead of purple. 

I still have some thoughts but they’ll get answered over the next week as I go through the remaining asks in my ask box and I’ve been working on this for hours so I’m gonna cut this short. As a whole, I thought this season was so much fun! Plot-wise it was probably the muddiest of all the Spyre seasons and I would def have changed stuff but it didn’t hinder my week-to-week enjoyment and it’s always a good time hanging out with the Bad Kids. (Also you all know that the #1 thing I’m here for is Abernant Sisters content and I was extremely catered to in this regard, lol). 

Thanks for following these recaps this season! I really appreciate everyone hopping into the tags or asks to talk and theorize and stuff. 

If you wanna engage with more of my writing, you can check out my podcast: Absolutely No Adventures or my visual novels on itch.io. It would mean a lot!

[arealcrow]

plucked

>2k words, dragon age: the veilguard

Rhava meets his mentor. or : Viago de Riva picks up a stray.

"You are either very stupid, or very brave."

Sharp words from a tall man, just loud enough for Rhava to hear as a gloved hand closes around his wrist. He's held still, his fingertips a hair's breadth away from slipping into the pocket of the man's coat.

"Let me go!" Rhava yelps, trying to yank his arm back. It's no use- he's weak from exhaustion and hunger, and the man towers over him.

"I'm surprised you let the kid get this close, Vi," the woman standing next to his mark speaks as she turns, and it's only then that Rhava realizes the gravity of his mistake. Where the man was swathed in rich, indigo silks that gave very little away, his companion was wearing a coat adorned with feathered details. His mark didn't appear armed, carrying only the ornate walking stick that first caught Rhava's eye, but the longer he looked at this woman, the more knives he saw. Knives decorated with wings and crow's heads.

The man- Vi? uses the grip he has on Rhava to pull him into the air, dragging him to stand on his toes.

"Who are you? Who sent you?"

"What? I don't-" Rhava shakes his head in confusion, "Let me go!"

He tries to pull away again, even less successful now that he's been pulled off balance.

"I'll only ask once more. Who sent you?" the man pulls him off his feet, holding him up by his wrist. It hurts, making Rhava struggle even harder, squirming in the air like a fish caught on a line. The two assassins are inspecting him, fishmongers taking in the size of him to put a price on it all.

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

Rhava flails, thrashing his legs out to try and kick at the man holding him up. As a reward for his struggle, he's tossed back into the alleyway he'd slunk out of. The man throws him like it takes no more effort than throwing a bag of rice. The two Antivan Crows stand between him and the street, casting him in shadows.

"I'm not sure I believe you."

The man wraps two hands around his walking stick, starting to pull it open. Rhava expects him to pull out a hidden blade, and falls over himself scrambling backwards. The man pauses the motion when his companion places a placating hand on his arm. The cane clicks shut, and the sharp man shoots an even sharper look at woman.

"Viago, no need to go to such extremes," she says, giving him a look Rhava can't read, "I don't think this one is anything more than a street kid."

"And what does a street urchin," Viago spits the words like they leave a bad taste in his mouth, making both Rhava and the woman flinch, "think they're doing trying to steal from the Crows?"

"I didn't- I didn't know," Rhava's shaking his head again, babbling as he pushes himself to his hands and knees, "Ir abelas, I'm sorry, I just- I'm hungry."

They're both just watching him now. Viago's sharp blue eyes have softened to a duller edge. His companion's expression has shifted to something sad, and her eyes glint with recognition. He feels pathetic, driven into the gutter by the gnawing pain in his stomach. No different from a rat, trying to steal scraps.

"Maker, he's Dalish," she says, elbowing Viago. The way she says it makes Rhava's blood boil, words filled with pity like being Dalish makes him helpless here in the city. He wishes it didn't feel true.

"I noticed," Viago says coolly, "It's likely how he got the jump on us. No boots."

"We should bring him to lunch with us."

"I am not bringing a muddy stray that tried to steal from me to our reservation."

"Then we'll get something we can eat while walking."

"Teia," Viago protests, "We need to discuss what happened at the-"

He cuts himself off, turning his narrowed eyes from Teia's soft expression back to Rhava. Whatever he was about to say was clearly not meant for his ears. He gives Rhava a long look, assessing and judging.

"Get up."

They watch Rhava shakily get to his feet, neither offering a hand.

"You're hungry," Viago says, half confirmation, half question.

Rhava nods.

"When was the last time you ate?" Teia asks.

"Day before yesterday," he says honestly, and then embellishes with, "In the morning."

"You're a poor liar," Viago says, and then sighs, "Come along, then."

"Good instinct, though," Teia winks at him, and turns away in unison with Viago.

The two of them don't wait for Rhava to acquiesce to them taking him out to lunch, they start walking with the confident expectation that their orders will be followed. Rhava's starting to get the impression that in addition to being Crows, these two might be important Crows. It would make sense why they were dressed so well, and accessorized with tasteful but expensive pieces. Potentially powerful benefactors. Rhava follows.

Viago gives them the grace of a peaceful meal before he starts his questioning.

Of course, he spends the entire duration of the meal watching Rhava, who sits on the dock pilings with Teia. She has to remind him to slow down a few times as he scarfs down fried fish, lest he make himself sick, and to drink water. Each reminder seems to furrow Viago's brow further, and if Rhava wasn't so hungry, he'd lose his appetite under the scrutiny. Viago looks like a king judging a subject from his throne of shipping crates, and he looks like he's finding Rhava wanting.

Rhava tosses the wooden stick his fish had been served on into the bay, and then meets Viago's piercing look. A confirmation of his readiness for whatever questions were brewing behind those stormy eyes.

"Rhava," Viago says his name, which had been pried out of him by Teia as they'd walked.

Rhava nods. He hadn't given his clan name, and they hadn't offered him any more of their names than he'd already heard.

"How old are you?" Viago asks.

"Seventeen," Rhava says. It's an easy truth.

"He's bit older than we usually begin training…" Teia starts.

"I was close to his age when I started," Viago says, eyes not leaving Rhava.

"Where is your family?" Teia asks.

"I… am an orphan," the words are true but unfamiliar to Rhava, and come slowly from his mouth.

Teia catches his eye to give him a comforting smile, "Hey, me too."

"It's clean, at least. No loose end there to worry about," Viago says, earning him a cool look from Teia.

"Have you ever killed before?" he asks after a beat, and then clarifies, "A person. Animals don't count here."

Rhava looks down, swallowing thickly, and nods.

"Look at me when you answer."

Rhava lifts his head, expression grave, "I have, yes."

"Who?"

He's not sure if Viago just doesn't believe him, or if the details are actually important to the Crow. He hesitates.

"I will know if you lie," Viago adds.

"It was my parents," Rhava resists the urge to avert his gaze again, letting Viago see the tears that start to well up in his hazel eyes.

It's been just under a year since it happened, a fresh wound in his heart, still leaking. He can hear Teia make a sad noise beside him, but he doesn't dare look, still clinging onto to what little composure he has left. Viago sighs, and Rhava can't tell if it's a noise of pity or disappointment.

"On purpose?" Viago asks, the question sounding strained.

Rhava shakes his head emphatically, welled up tears scattering at the motion. The last of his composure starts to crumble. He's never said it out loud before, and has tried to avoid any questions about it in the time he's spent on his own. He left home so he wouldn't have to talk about it. He left home because he couldn't talk about, couldn't bear to stay long enough to see their bodies get cold.

"I didn't-" he gasps, "It was an accident, I didn't want- I couldn't-" More tears are flung from his face as he shakes his head harder.

Teia stands to wrap a comforting arm around his shoulders, and a small pull from her is all it takes for Rhava to gratefully collapse into her and let sobs overtake him. Sorrow rattles through his body, clawing it's way out his throat in quiet, strangled noises. He wants to go home- a place he drenched in his family's blood. He doesn't think he will ever be able to go home again.

"I think that's enough questions for now," she says, rubbing her hand back and forth over his back. The gesture is as soothing as she intends it to be, Rhava's breathing starting to even out.

"I've heard all I need," Viago confirms, and Rhava can hear the wry smile in his voice when he repeat's Teia's, "For now."

Rhava looks up at him over Teia's shoulder, eyes still wet with recently stopped tears. There's a half smile pulling at Viago's mouth, and a look in his eyes that Rhava has yet to see from him. Curiosity, approval, interest, or some mix, he's not sure, but it's a look that feels good to get.

"Now, Teia, if you don't mind releasing my fledgling.. I need to take him to buy a pair of boots."

Teia does release him, and turns on her heels to face Viago, hands on her hips.

"Your fledgling?"

Viago's mildly pleased expression is replaced with a mask of innocence as he shrugs one shoulder.

"He tried to steal from me. I found him. That makes him mine to recruit into house de Riva."

Rhava makes a surprised noise, that either the Crows don't hear to choose to ignore as they continue talking about him as if he isn't standing right there.

"You wanted to leave him in the alley we found him in, or worse-" Teia protests.

Viago cuts her off, "I changed my mind. You're not the only one who can take in strays."

Teia looks like she's about to start in on Viago again, who's expression softens as he jumps in again before she can get the words out of her mouth.

"I will get our reservation changed to dinner tonight," he offers, "And make it up to you."

"You're going to have an awful lot of making up to do."

"I'm sure."

Rhava's eyes dart between the two as they talk, trying to decipher the nature of the tension between them. It was something more than professional, that much he was sure of.

"Very well. Will you be bringing your new fledgling to dinner, tonight?," Teia puts on an air of bitterness when she says the words, but her stance has relaxed enough that Rhava can tell she is just having fun with bantering at this point.

Viago sighs, genuinely beleaguered by her question, "Is that what you want?"

"Hmm. Yes."

"Then we should take our leave. He's going to need better clothes to go with those boots if he's coming with us tonight," Viago says, finally rising from his seat among the crates, "Rhava, come along."

He turns to leave, but this time he waits until Rhava is at his left heel to start walking. Though Rhava has the feeling there will be more discussion and formality to it later, he senses this as his first chance to say no to Viago's invitation, and promise of care.

He follows Viago, and the two leave the docks of Antiva City as a pair of de Rivas.

[shuichisweave]

come to bed

riddler x reader oneshot sfw

It was the third time this week. Wednesday, late into the evening, almost nine o’ clock, and he wasn’t home yet. KTMJ did not hold him back from home this long and at this point was becoming infuriating. There was absolutely no reason he needed to be out this late and he wasn’t cheating you knew that for a fact. No, you knew exactly what he was doing. Precisely what he was doing and where his secrets lie. He was probably trying to kill some kingpin politician who was getting paid under the table to ignore some sort of underground sex slavery ring. And while you don’t mind some shithead getting what they deserve, you hate the idea that he thinks he's pulling the wool over your eyes and getting away with it. He was not a violent man usually, always using kind words, having a soft voice, and a sunny disposition.

In the garbage bin beside the kitchen sink you found the receipt for rifle ammunition. Then there was the sack of rat food hidden in a closet, underneath a stack of towels that you found while cleaning. The final straw though was the photo of him in the news. You could recognize his eyes behind the familiar gold wire and clear acetate frames he wore every single day, the same pair that he had been wearing when he killed the mayor.

The lamp beside you was dimmed. The clock hit ten past eleven. So now, in your shared apartment, you sat in your chair, waiting and waiting. Like an idiot. Like the idiot he took you for. Rhythmically tapping your nails on the side table adjacent to you until the front door opened after what felt like centuries. In the hallway stood Edward, flushed of face and covered in a mixture of Gotham rain and sweat, while holding a large duffel bag full of what appeared to be his gear. Slowly the door shut behind you. You both stared for a solid minute at each other before finally opening your mouth.

“Eddie my dear, I’m happy to have you home finally,” You welcomed him in with outstretched arms and a smile. Wide eyes looked back at you as he slowly stepped into the apartment, he shook slightly while placing down the duffel bag on the linoleum. He spoke up after you took him into an embrace.

“I-I’m cheating on you!” He blurted out while holding your head in his hands.

It started as a chuckle but slowly began to form into a long winded laugh. “That! Oh my God! That’s really really funny Eddie!” You calmed yourself down to a few giggles and then to nothing, breathing in and out slowly. “No you’re not. I know that you’re not and you want to know why? Because I know who you are. You’re brave enough to commit several assassinations in a leather mask, but I know for a fact you aren’t nearly brave enough to cheat on me” You spoke in between soft kisses to his cheeks. His face showed his evident confusion and relief. “B-but you aren’t mad or going to turn me in?”

“Oh no, I’m unbelievably furious! I’m never going to forgive you. But I’m happy you’re alive, and I’m happy that we haven’t been caught.” You squeezed him against you, pressing your face against him.

“Come to bed you liar” You said taking his coat and hanging it up before guiding him to your bedroom.