#but one of the assassins was in a tree with a crossbow and shot it right at Tophs head

[pengychan]

[Baldur's Gate III] Hell to Pay, Ch. 5

Illustration by @raphaels-little-beast

Title: Hell to Pay Summary: Assassinating an archdevil is a daunting task, even for the heroes of Baldur’s Gate. Some inside help from ‘the devil they know’ would be good, if not for the detail their last meeting ended with said devil dead in his own home. Or did it? Characters: Raphael, the Dark Urge, Astarion, Haarlep, Halsin, Karlach, Wyll. Rating: M Status: In progress

All chapters will be tagged as ‘hell to pay’ on my blog. Also on Ao3.

*** Wyll's bad luck continues as he comes looking for help and finds a headache instead. At least this one is not tadpole-related. Small mercies and all that. ***

“Oh Gods, you were right! I could kiss you - without teeth, I mean. And I will in a minute, fear not. Now keep still, I’ll be gentle…”

“... Am I interrupting something?”

Durge’s baffled words - what were the odds they’d walk into someone having a moment twice in a row? - caused two faces to lift up and look at them. One being that of a very familiar cave bear, the other being Astarion’s, his chin smeared with blood the way it usually only got when he was really enjoying the meal. He grinned.

“Love! Halsin just had a bloody brilliant idea!”

“Bloody’s the word I was thinking of, yes.”

“Don’t underestimate the brilliant part of it. You know what I told you, how the blood of thinking creatures is far more nutritious and better tasting than animal blood? But there’s only so much blood you can drain from a human - or a dragonborn, or an elf - before things go south. So I thought--”

A snort.

“Right, yes, no need to raise your hackles. Halsin thought, what about a creature that is a thinking being, but in the form of a large animal with lots of blood to part from?”

“Ah, that is a good idea. Going by the look of your face, it worked.”

“That’s why I said it’s a bloody brilliant idea, did you miss that bit? Halsin, think I can have juuust a little more? A cup’s worth, maybe?”

A huffing sound that they had learned to take for a chuckle, and Halsin simply leaned back his head to expose the neck. True to his word, Astarion only took a few more gulps before pulling away, wiping his chin. “Ah, that’s so much better. Thank you kindly,” he said, and gave Halsin a brief scratch between the ears. A soft huff, and Halsin yawned, clearly ready to rest while his ursine form recovered fully from the blood loss. Astarion stood and went to the door, a spring in his step. 

“I’ll take down more than a deer tonight, that’s for sure. I’m thinking of a couple of boars, so we can have a proper feast. Are you coming with me?”

Truth be told, Durge suspected they’d be of absolutely no use on the hunt. Since their arrival Astarion had been up in the evenings and then of course through the night; Durge had tried to spend as much time as possible with him, but between checking on Raphael, fulfilling his promise to Halsin to tell some stories to the cartloads of orphans he’d taken in, and generally spending time with old allies, they were awake much of the day too. Which made them very, very sleep deprived.

‘Maybe I should sleep’ was probably the correct thing to say, but they couldn’t bring themself to. So they took their crossbow, downed an Elixir of Darkvision, and off they went. 

With somewhat predictable results. 

“Hah! A perfect shot if I say so myself! One down, one more to-- did you just fall asleep on your feet?”

“Bwuh?”

“On second thought, no need to answer.”

Durge groaned, rubbing their forehead and blinking their eyes open. They had technically fallen asleep leaning against a tree, but didn’t remark on that. Their sleep pattern had been really fucked up lately. It was much easier when it was just the two of them, traveling at night and sleeping through the day. “Sorry,” they mumbled instead, following Astarion to the prey.

A chuckle. “For missing my absolutely flawless shot? Of course you should be, but it’s no big deal. The night is young, and you may very well get another chance to see it. I’d appreciate some cheering if that happens.” Astarion let out a hum, pulling the arrow out of the boar’s neck. As he’d boasted, it was a perfectly placed shot.

“No, not just for that.”

“For not noticing my new doublet?”

“Not, not for-- you have a new doublet?”

“Hmph. You never notice a thing, do you. Good thing I didn’t waste gold on that really nice underwear I saw the other day.”

“I still fail to see the point of it.”

“Of course you do.”

“If we get far enough for me to see it, odds are it won’t stay on much longer.”

“My dear, the finer arts of seduction are wasted on you,” Astarion declared, as though that wasn’t precisely what had thrown him off when he’d first tried to seduce them, and what he’d grown to appreciate later. He shrugged, and put the arrow back in the quiver. “So, what are you apologizing for?”

“This was supposed to be a quick visit. And instead, we’ve been quite sidetracked.”

“Well, neither of us expected a devil on the doorstep. And besides, it’s only been a week. It’s not like we'd decided on a destination yet, so there is no rush to go anywhere. Would you mind gutting this beast? I forgot to change shirts, and I rather like this one.”

Most would consider asking a bhaalspawn whether they’d mind gutting a kill was the rhetorical question to end all rhetorical questions, but Durge still appreciated being asked. A sharp enough dagger did short work of the boar’s skin and muscles and they began to remove the organs, quickly but methodically.

“Still, we shouldn’t need to remain much longer. Raphael, or the half of him that made it to the Material Plane, is a devil no longer. Once we’re sure he poses no threat, we go our way.” And maybe Gale will have news for us, they thought, but didn’t say as much. The boar’s stomach joined its intestines on the forest ground. “I promised we’d find a way to let you walk into the sun again,” they added. “I intend to keep that promise.”

“Aw, you are adorable like this.”

Durge looked over, both hands in the boar’s chest cavity. “While forearm-deep in viscera?”

“Well-- that too. But mostly when you’re making promises you absolutely do mean.” Astarion crouched across them, and looked at them in the eye. “I’m starting to think you’re getting more fixated on this quest for daylight than I am.”

A pause, a sigh. “I saw you looking outside the windows. And that conversation with Aylin--”

“It was nothing I couldn’t handle. Believe me, I’ve had worse--”

“And you can have better. You miss the sun.”

“... Yes, I do miss the sun. And I miss seeing my reflection, and being able to savor the taste of anything other than blood, and breaking into people’s homes without being invited. Most of these things are lost to me. It does make one cranky. But I’m happy. You know I mean that.”

Ah. Durge paused, and looked over. A smile. “Yes. I know.”

“Good. So leave the unnecessary fretting to Halsin, will you? I can handle life without sunlight, but not having to deal with two mother hens,” he added, and grinned. “Besides, I am really curious to see what’s going on with Raphael. And I think you are, too.”

A soft scoff as they finished gutting the boar. “He’s not in an enviable position, that’s for sure. At least Bhaal has no hold left over me. Mephistopheles may still hold half of his soul, if it hasn’t been downright destroyed.”

“And he probably didn’t exactly let this half go.” Astarion tilted his head, perceptive as always. “That’s a concern, too. That he may find out the wayward spawn survived, and send someone to end him - or worse yet, bring him back.” He did not name Cazador, but he may as well have; his gaze only darkened that way when thoughts of his former master entered his mind. ”And if they do find him, everyone else around him will be collateral damage.”

“That has also been weighing on my mind, yes. His continued presence at the inn could put people in it in danger. They have Isobel and Aylin, but they could use a few more blades if it comes to it.”

“Or we could just kill him.”

“... Or we could just kill him.”

“But you don’t want to.”

Well, no point in denying the obvious. Durge nodded and took out a length of rope to string the boar to a tree and drain some of the blood. Astarion usually took care of that quite efficiently, but he’d had his fill from Halsin for the night. “I will admit that his current standing with his esteemed father feels uncomfortably familiar.”

“Heh. I knew it. Not very surprised, either. Remember when I told you that if Cazador ever found me, he may come and butcher everyone at camp to claim me back? Well, I was half expecting you to throw me out. With the damn parasite and the Absolute and everything else to deal with, I knew no one needed to watch their back for a vampire lord, too. But you didn’t.” A pause, and he smirked, gesturing at his face. “If you’d do that for an exceedingly handsome vampire, I’m not surprised you’d do the same for a… passably good looking devil.”

Durge laughed, and headed to the nearby stream to wash off some blood. “I am not sure,” they said, “if you’re thinking of drinking his blood or trying to seduce him.”

“Gods, no! I’d gladly sample his blood, but I have no intention to seduce him. Not least because even I probably cannot compare to a personal incubus, I suspect.”

“Mh.”

“... This is the part where you tell me I am a far better lay than the incubus.”

Durge replied without looking up, getting blood off their hands and forearms. “You’re a far better anything than any incubus. And according to the incubus in question, Raphael himself is nothing to write home about.”

“Talk about giving devils a bad name,” Astarion sighed, and Durge laughed again. When they stood, wiping their hands over their shirt, they felt Astarion’s arms around them, head leaning against their back. 

“Maybe,” he said, “we can call it a night for the hunt. I got us a large beast, after all.”

“Ah, and you’d deny me the chance to see yet another flawless shot?”

A light bite through the shirt, delicate, teeth barely scraping against scales. “I have other flawless skills to put to use, if you’re so inclined.”

They were.

***

While not unheard of, becoming intoxicated on any kind of substance was highly frowned upon in Baator; few self-respecting devils would do such a thing, or at least not before witnesses. That never stopped anyone from indulging in wine, however, since no devil would ever become intoxicated with something that mild. 

Even through the pounding headache and sense of nausea, Raphael knew this. Yet another reminder that he was currently no devil. It did precisely nothing to make him feel better. 

“Uuugh.”

Squeezing his eyes shut against the light coming in through the curtains, Raphael forced himself to sit up and lean back against the bedpost. It made his head spin, but after a few deep breaths it was… better. Slightly better. Maybe he could spare himself the indignity of emptying the contents of his stomach over himself, at least. Slowly, the room ceased to spin. And there it was, right where he had thrown it the previous night - that damned book.  

Pounding head and all, he could now tell that throwing the book against the wall had been a dire mistake. The rat would walk in and they would know they had succeeded in getting under his skin. They’d found a sore spot he didn’t know he had, and he’d made as much painfully obvious.

For a moment he thought of trying to stand and pick up the ruined book, try to put it back together, but he had barely tried to move when his head swam, and he had to lean back again. He turned, and looked at the lanceboard on the nightstand. A simple thing, made of painted wood; then he blinked and before him there was a far more elaborated one, made of ivory and black marble. In the back of his mind echoed a voice he hadn’t heard in a long, long  time.

“You’re more intelligent than you know, but only half as clever as you think you are.”  

The words may have been harsh, but the voice was calm; his-- stepfather? -- mother’s widower never raised his voice, not once. Still, it did not lessen the sting of defeat as he moved a piece, and the game was over.

A Theskan Double-Counter Gambit, but Israfel would only learn the name of that move later on. For now, he just scowled at the lanceboard, at the pieces’ shadows dancing in the light of the fireplace. 

“Ugh. How did you--”

“You were too quick to get on the defense. Retreat begets regret. Remember that.”

“But I had to defend, or else you would have--”

“I wouldn’t have. I hadn’t noticed the opening. You brought it to my attention in your haste to cover it up, and opened up another weak point I could exploit.”

“... Oh.”

“You’ll need to be more decisive than that, and make your intentions far less obvious. The way you’re playing, you may as well send me a messenger pigeon to warn me of each move beforehand.” A pause, then he reached across the small table to tilt up his chin, to make Israfel look him in the eye. He only ever did that when he wanted him to really listen, so he did listen.

“You won’t always have the upper hand. Sooner or later, you’ll find yourself on your back foot. And when that happens, don’t assume your opponent knows they have an edge on you. They may very well not be aware, and you must not make them aware.”

“But if they know--”

“If they suspect they have something on you, you must not turn that suspicion into certainty. That’s inviting them to strike. Do you understand?”

“... Yes, sir.”

Almost two millennia later, a long way from Tethyr, Raphael let out a bitter chuckle. Of course he only thought he’d understood, then, but he hadn’t. A boy of twelve, still a year away from being taken to Cania to meet his father, he’d believed he was getting a lesson on how to play lanceboard. Only later would he understand what it was that the man had been doing in his limited, flawed, mortal way. He wasn’t teaching him how to play lanceboard: he was trying to prepare him for the Hells, prepare him to deal with his own kin and come out of it alive.

And it had worked, all things considered. He’d learned the lessons and put them to use, then improved upon them; it had kept him safe, and thriving, for a long time. Longer than most spawn of Mephistopheles got to live, as it turned out, until the rat had decided to be too clever by half and Raphael had attacked too rashly, in his own home, too certain of victory to consider what being slain in Baator would entail. Clearly, that one time, he should have prioritized defense after all.

And now he’d let the rat know he had an edge on him, too. He’d die before admitting it, but the ruined book would tell the tale in his stead loud and clear.

And when they stepped in, a bowl of something in their hands, it certainly did. Their gaze found the book immediately, and they raised the scaly ridge that served as their left eyebrow. Raphael had never wished to tear off pieces of someone’s face more. “If you have complaints about the quality of the books I give you, you have but to speak up,” they muttered. If they noticed Raphael’s sorry state, or the empty decanter on the nightstand, they made no mention of it.

Any plans Raphael may have had to try and save face promptly went out of the window. What would be the point? They knew. He’d shown his hand. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction to see him shy away from it. “And if you had questions,” he snapped, putting as much venom in his voice as he possibly could, “you had but to ask.”

A pause, and the rat looked at him in silence for a few moments. “... Yes, this was perhaps unnecessarily underhanded,” they conceded. The apologetic note in their voice was not exactly unwelcome - if anything, Raphael would have appreciated to see them take it a few steps further by crawling on their knees begging for forgiveness that would not come - but something about it made him scowl all the same.

“Spare that tone for your pet vampire and his tales of woe. Are you expecting to hear of a great tragedy? Of devil spawn barely surviving the Material Plane until his unholy father saw it fit to welcome him in his home?” He scoffed. It was a common story to most cambions, save those whose mortal mothers were brought to the Hells prior to their birth, but it was not his. It had never been. “You’ll be sorely disappointed. I wanted for nothing.”

“You were luckier than most.” The bhaalspawn picked up the book, or what remained of it. 

Raphael scoffed. “May I inquire where you even found that book?”

“In a box, inside a cave. You’ll find a disconcerting amount of things in boxes inside caves.”

“I am far from the only cambion sired by an archdevil. What made you think--”

“Lanceboard.”

“I beg your pardon?” Raphael said, in a tone that made it plain he was not begging for anyone’s pardon.

“This was about a cambion sired by an archdevil in Tethyr, just as it broke free from the Calimshan Empire. It reminded me of lanceboard. I saw you play it with Mol, and I have been looking at it now,” they added, gesturing at the lanceboard on the nightstand. “You play by Calimshan rules, ancient ones. Hardly anybody does anymore, even in its former nations.”

“Hardly anybody can play a proper game of lanceboard anymore, is what you mean,” Raphael muttered. “A true art form, lost to time. Was that all you based your guess on?”

“More or less.” A shrug, and the breakfast was set down by the lanceboard. “It was just an intuition.”

One that I made a certainty, with the worst amateur mistake, Raphael thought, and could taste bile in the back of his throat. He waited for the rat to continue, to mock him or at least hint at what they wanted out of the knowledge, but they said nothing of the sort. 

“Isobel will come to have a look at your injuries shortly,” was all they said, and they were leaving, taking the book with them. Raphael glared at their retreating back, then glared at the closed door for several minutes for good measure. Finally, entirely ignoring the bowl of food, he drew in a deep breath and lifted his hands. 

“Vis medicatrix,” he all but growled. 

The healing spell rolled over him, and he breathed out in relief. He tried to move his legs beneath the blankets, bracing himself for pain. It did come, of course it did, but not as unbearable as he expected, and both legs answered to his commands. He could move them without searing agony; he estimated it would be a matter of days, maybe even less than a week, before they could hold his weight and he could walk again. And once he did, he would proceed with the next stage of his plan. 

As soon as he worked one out.

***

“What-- in the Hells-- was that!”

Dalah’s voice was strangled, as though trying to force out words through a throat as narrow as a reed. Lounging on their bed - lounging was about the only way they knew how to rest on a surface - Haarlep clicked their tongue.

“It sounds like a forced ascension. Raphael could usually-- mostly-- control his Ascended form before, but that was with his soul in one piece. It seems that only half of it isn’t handling it as well.” A pause. “That, or Mephistopheles went ahead with some experiments. Wouldn’t put it past him. Or it’s both. Either way, I can’t imagine it’s pleasant. Raphael always hated having to resort to it. Getting himself back under control was difficult and I’m pretty sure the transformation itself hurt like-- well. Hell.”

“I’d never seen anything like it. And I’ve been here--” A pause, a grimace. She didn’t know, Haarlep could tell, just how many centuries she’d been there. Given how old Raphael was, it had to be around eighteen centuries, give or take a few decades. “... A long time.”

“Yes, that specific little trick is beyond most devils. He is the spawn of an archdevil, after all, and it comes with heritage. It’s part the reason why so many here hated him, his less than lovely personality aside. It was an insult of sorts, that a half-fiend would have such power. Mephistopheles just got himself an excellent guardian for his vault.” 

“A monster, that’s what he got himself.” A shaky laugh. “That’s what I gave him. That thing could tear through most souls and devils in Cania like nothing, if not for Barbas’ hold on it.”

“All the more reason to keep him on a tight leash.” Haarlep leaned in, taking a good look at her. The somewhat startling resemblance to her son’s human form aside - how Raphael had not seen it, they had no idea - there was nothing remarkable about her, which was remarkable in itself. “For someone who came so close to him,” they pointed out, “you’re surprisingly free of horrid burns, or scarring, or melted eyeballs. And surprisingly alive, if one can call yours a life.”

“It almost got me. I don’t know what stopped it,” Dalah said, a little too quickly to be entirely believable. Holding something back, wasn’t she? That wouldn’t do. She could hold back all she wanted from them, but she answered to someone else who just wouldn’t be denied. 

“If there is indeed a way to tame the new guardian of Mephistopheles’ vault, there is someone who would certainly like to be informed.”

A pause, and she looked out of the window for several long moments, eyes fixed on the icy mountains in the distance. “... I spoke his name. The one I chose, not the one Mephistopheles saw fit to bestow upon him the day he had him brought to Mephistar.”

“Ah, yes. Mephistopheles does tend to do that. He likes to choose how to name his things. He and Raphael have that in common.”

The remark made her hesitate, and turn to look at Haarlep. “What was your name? Before?”

“I didn’t have one. I don’t especially mind, don’t go worrying that mortal mind of yours. Haarlep grew on me.” A grin. “Any name will grow on me, once I hear it moaned with wanton abandon enough times. And believe me, I never failed to make it happen.”

She made a face. “I don’t know why I still ask questions,” she muttered, and turned to leave. 

Haarlep, on the other hand, had a question of their own. “You know, I was wondering,” they said, sitting back on the bed. “All this time, did you think of him as Israfel or as Raphael?”

A pause, her back tense. She didn’t turn, but they could hear her scowl when she spoke. “I didn’t think of him at all, and I was better off for it,” she snapped, and stormed out before Haarlep could ask anything more. They sighed, leaning back with a click of their tongue. 

“Eighteen centuries in Cania, and still trying to lie to a devil,” they muttered, and looked outside, across the courtyard, to the window leading to the outer portals.

Perhaps, one of those days, they may just set out to see how their little brat was faring in the Material Plane.

***

“Hey! Look!”

“Look over there!”

As a gaggle of children abruptly ended their playing around a tree, Wyll found himself wishing he’d traveled at night. Halsin’s charges had been through Hell as it was - figuratively and, for several tiefling orphans, quite literally as well - and he should have known better than showing up like this, horns and all, a devil of all things. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Have they not seen enough horrors as is?

He stopped some distance away, heart dropping, and immediately held up his palms to try and show he meant no harm. 

“Well met. I mean-- I have no intention to hurt any of you. I’m looking for Hals--”

A shriek cut him off, but it held no terror. Several children broke off from the group to start running, but not away - towards him. 

“That’s the Blade of Avernus!”

“It’s him!”

“Daddy Halsin told us all about you!”

“Remember me? We met at the grove! When you were the Blade of Frontiers! You showed me how to swing the sword!”

Wyll blinked, taken aback, but surprise melted into elation when he met the eyes of a boy who looked very familiar indeed. “Umi! Oh Gods, I’m so happy to see you again!” he crouched, forgetting all about his hellish appearance. “Ah, you’re getting tall! I was certain you'd get through it all. You just had to buy enough time to run, remember?”

“It was Rolan who saved us-- but, I’ll learn how to fight well! Like you!”

“Ah, I’m sure you will. Though I believe Halsin’s fondest hope is that you’ll never need to fight.”

“I’ll only do it if I must. To keep us safe. Can I call myself the Blade of Frontiers when I’m big?”

Wyll laughed. “Of course. Name’s up for grabs now, I guess.” 

He tried to stand, but several small hands grabbed at his clothes to pull him back. 

“Are you really fighting devils in Avernus?”

“You and the big lady with the heart on fire?”

“What is it like?”

“How do you do it?”

“Tell us everything!”

Well, what choice did he even have, Wyll reasoned, but to satisfy the request of such eager fans? He laughed, and stood. “Very well, I’ll tell you all that’s happened in the past half year.” Or… maybe not quite all of it. “I do need to see Halsin, though. Could you take me to him while I tell you everything?”

“Yes!”

“He’s at the inn!”

“He’s spending a lot of time at the inn. With the other heroes.”

“The other-- is someone else from my party here, too?”

“Hu-uh. The dragonborn sorcerer and the vampire spawn.”

Oh, Wyll thought, thank the gods. Luck had been in short supply up to that point, and he very much welcomed such a stroke of it, finding three of their companions in the same place. If they accepted to help in what was probably a suicide mission, then the five of them could perhaps hope to succeed.

“What about the lady with the burning heart? Can she come visit us too?” a girl asked. 

The thought of Karlach stuck waiting in Avernus, even in the relative safety in the House of Hope - ‘I’ll just eat dirt or whatever!’ - dampened Wyll’s smile, but only for a moment. “All going well,” he said, “she’ll be happy to visit you very, very soon.”

***

“All right, I think it’s enough.”

“No, it isn’t.” Raphael ground his teeth and took two more steps. Even with most of his weight on the crutches, his legs ached and trembled from the effort. By the door, the most insufferable cleric to have ever graced Selûne’s ranks crossed her arms. 

“There’s no reason to put so much strain on your legs. You’re doing well, and impatience is not your ally. Don’t undo the progress--”

Whatever she said next was lost to Raphael, as he put another foot down and pain shot up his spine. He turned with a scowl, arms trembling from the effort of keeping himself upright. “Don’t presume you may tell me what I may or may not do, mortal!”

Isobel Thorm’s eyes narrowed. “I am sorry, could you repeat? I think I just heard you say you want me to break your legs again, but I may have misheard. Did I?”

Raphael ground his teeth, and he almost dropped one of the crutches to throw the fireball he’d been aching to throw for the past several days. Except that it was unlikely to do her any harm she couldn’t counter, and he’d drop to the floor the second he let go of the crutch. And it would likely bring a bloodthirsty vampire, an even more bloodthirsty aasimar, and the former Chosen of Bhaal upon him like a pack of wolves. Plus a bear, probably; Raphael had not faced the druid directly, but he knew he could deal significant damage of his own.

Overall, there was an overwhelming amount of evidence pointing to the conclusion that attacking Isobel Thorm would be most unwise.

No matter. I’ll make them all suffer at a later time. I’ll make sure it lasts, savor the symphony of their scream to the last note before I end them and then bring them back to do it all over again. They will die painfully for each time they wronged me.

“... If you’re done killing me in your head, would you grace me with a response?”

Her death, Raphael decided, would be particularly slow. 

“Fine,” he muttered instead, trying and failing not to sound like he’d swallowed a lemon. At least she didn’t further humiliate him by trying to help, and let him get back on the bed on his own. The pain lessened and he breathed out, saying nothing as she cast a healing spell. 

The relief was immediate; without agony shooting up his spine, he could tell that at least one thing she was correct. Impatience was not his ally, and bursts of temper would get him nowhere in terms of getting them to lower their guard. The thought made the next words that left his mouth easier to force out. Not that he let his tone betray the fact they left an acrid taste on his tongue. “... That was uncalled for,” he said, leaning back. “My apologies.”

“Apology accepted.” Isobel Thorm’s voice was dry, but no further threats followed. The crutches were taken, and placed against a wall away from his reach. “Progress is slow, but steady. You’ll be able to walk again in days, if you don’t push yourself too hard.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Raphael replied, and watched her leave in silence. He heard the key turn in the lock, and listened just long enough to hear her footsteps on the stairs before he sat up again. A quick healing spell on himself, and he made another attempt at standing, a hand braced against the wall. His knees almost buckled, but held; Raphael ground his teeth against the pain, and forced himself to move towards the crutches.

Impatience was not his ally, but neither was idleness. He was able to walk without searing agony, leaning heavily on the crutches, and wasn’t even short of breath when he got to the window. It was open, but two guards keeping watch beneath it ensured it wouldn’t be a viable way out even if he could go anywhere in his current state. Raphael had never been particularly fond of quaint corners in the middle of nowhere, but looking outside was better than staring at the walls or playing yet another game of lanceboard against himself. 

Until he noticed the gaggle of chattering children marching up to the inn, of course; how much Raphael loathed chattering children couldn’t be overstated. He wrinkled his nose and almost moved away from the window - until he spotted the man walking among them as a few ran ahead into the inn. Or to be more accurate a devil, with a familiar set of horns and an even more familiar sending stone in place of his right eye.

Well, look at that. Wyll Ravengard, self-styled Blade of Avernus - what was he doing there?

Why would Mizora’s attack dog be here, if not for me?

Something stirred in the pit of Raphael’s stomach, a very unwelcomed stab of concern that came much too close to fear for his taste, but he forced himself to ignore it. Why would he be there for him? Had the rat called upon the warlock to slay him? No, surely no. Loath as he was to admit it, no great power or skill would be needed to overpower him as he was now. The bhaalspawn, the vampire, the druid, the cleric, the aasimar - each of them could easily kill him on their own.

He may have been sent by the Hells, of course, to kill him or bring him back. But why? Wyll Ravengard answered to Mizora, and Raphael had no quarrel with her. She was under Zariel’s authority, true, but the archduchess of Avernus was not known to meddle with the business of other archdevils. If his esteemed father knew he lived, he had plenty of forces of his own to send after him.

Unless he promised a reward, and Ravengard just so happened to know where to find me.

Raphael swallowed, stomach clenching, and moved to the side so that the curtain would hide him. He could hear voices - no longer just children’s, although their obnoxious chattering made it difficult for Raphael to catch what the rat and the druid were saying.

“Wyll! We didn’t expect--”

“-- always a pleasure--”

“-- please children, he’ll tell you more stories later--”

“-- did Mizora tell you who your target--”

More words were exchanged, but Raphael couldn’t catch them. He peered out of the window to see most of the children dispersing at last, while the rats headed back inside. He finally heard the bhaalspawn speak only moments before they disappeared through the arches leading into the inn. 

“He’s upstairs. I’ll take you there now,” they were saying, and Raphael heard the warlock sigh. 

“Ah, thank you. I knew we could count on you to kill a devil.”

Then the door closed, as deafening as thunderclap, leaving Raphael motionless at the window, mouth dry as the Calimshan desert. Something gripped his stomach, icier than the glaciers of Cania, as he heard the familiar creaks and thumps of steps up the stairs. Through the terror, he almost laughed. Of course Mephistopheles knew he’d escaped; of course he’d put a contract out on him. Who knew, maybe he’d even been the one to plan his escape so that he could send his dogs after him, for the thrill of the hunt. The rat must have been planning to help his friend collect his head from the moment they’d seen him. 

Why else would they keep him alive? He should have seen, should have known. He hadn’t questioned their intentions enough. An amateur mistake - the last mistake he’d ever make. 

But that didn’t mean he had to make it easy for them.

Raphael turned to face the door fully, leaning against the wall, and dared let go of a crutch to lift his right hand. Between his fingers air sizzled, heat building up as he focused, drawing from any scrap of power he’d left. Not the final act he’d planned for anything, let alone for himself, but it would have to do. It was still better than waiting for the fatal blow in the neck like a beast to slaughter, he thought as the key turned into the lock.

The devilish spawn came forth into our world in blood and flames, the book read. He found some solace in that, at least. There was a sort of poetry to it, leaving the Material Plane just as he’d entered it. The thought made Raphael sneer as the door handle was pushed down.

“And that, love, was that,” he growled, and fire burst forth from his palm just as the door opened.

***

[Back to Chapter 4]

[On to Chapter 6]

[Back to Start]

[thewolfisawake]

So ends con weekend. Waiting for sleep to haunt me since I've been going sleepless since Thursday in prep. But though we tend to play low level, it is always a fun time. And actually, a lot of times, you get to have the same GM. We were playing P.athfinder since there actually was no D&D GMs at this con and though half of it were pre gen one shot, so many of them were so fun. There were so much banter and the like going on. Even some inspiration but idk how I'd even implement them. Highlights include:

"Ah! The plant talked!" "So did you." "Well, it's normal for me to talk." "As is for me, so what is so strange?"

A gang of leshy (small vegetation folk), emphasis on small, so casually threatening violence upon a candlemaker.

"You destroyed Popcorn's bridge!" "Wha-?" "It was a very nice bridge." *proceeds to almost get cleaved by Popcorn before being brought from murder and settling for kicking shins. Twice.*

Playing a quietly exasperated sorcerer that has to team up with his old coworkers to get one last payday.

"Hey, it's you!" (clearly doesn't know name) to "Elsir...this was a stupid fucking job." (And it was the correct name!)

Roommate's druid: "Oh you know, dying is natural. We gotta let it all go back to nature!" *next room with undead tree beings* "NOOOOOOO"

My Cleric, knowing the distraught Druid is not liking the undead trees, "Just kill it with fire, that's natural!"

"Barnaby, how could you?! I believeeeeeed in you!"

"Well, he didn't like that you channeled positive energy." "Well, I don't like being backstabbed. Get rekted Barnaby." *proceeds to murder the shark man*

Goblin brothers, Taldeus and Grizzle, (Twins really) chucking bombs and shanking everyone.

Grizzle dropping holy water on the final boss of the encounter from a rooftop while Taldeus crossbow them right in the face to end them.

Playing a monk that joined an assassin order that's a bit too much of 'senpai notice me' with his cleric master being sent on his first mission with him.

Me, inquiring about the positioning of a guard walking on us tampering with traps, before I state, "While he's talking to our fighter, I walk behind him and assassinate him. Snap his neck." My roommate: * agape * "I am too good to be in this sort of game."

Goblin barbarian enlarges himself to throw his large fiend enemy into a table full of reagents, causing mass amounts of damage and splash damage.

Said Roommate, proceeds to have her druid /ignite/ the now spilled reagents as fuel to her fireball.

I, said monk, proceed to fail the reflex saves needed to avoid getting damaged. All this while I stared at them and said, "Do it."

Did final blow on final boss encounter and for sure was 'senpai notice me.'

[death-and-other-myths]

The Wicked King Deadass Book Review

The sequel to the cruel prince. Cardon is crueler. Jude is progressively becoming more morally gray and creeping everyone out. Taryn continues to suck.

What will happen in this next thrilling installment?!

This is an unhinged book review of The Wicked King By Holly Black

*SPOILERS AHEAD*

It’s 5 months into Cardon’s reign and Jude is his advisor. Things are going fine. At least in the sense that no wars have broken out and no one has been assassinated. There’s one small incident where an old witch woman tries to gift Cardon with a shirt spun from spider’s web, but he’s clever enough to figure out if he accepted it, he would have been enchanted to marry her daughter. I mean Cardon is drunk, not stupid.

He and Jude have a great thing going where she poses as his advisor and has to carefully word things not to sound like a command. He is constantly trying to wrangle out of her clutches and find loopholes to freedom, but she keeps him on a short, unseen leash.

Taryn comes to visit and it’s the first time they’ve talked since shit went down. She marries Locke in a few weeks or something. Jude is defensive but really misses her sister so she says cool. Taryn wants to make up, and says that Maddok isn’t even that mad about the whole “poisoning him and locking him in a closet so she could kidnap his son�� thing.

Jude is like uh huh… thanks for bringing my stuffed animals. I’ll think about coming to the wedding. Let’s try to be friends again. Then Taryn leaves and Jude promptly throws the stuffed animals in the fire.

MONSTER.

The assassin crew keeps intercepting letters from Belkin as he writes from his sad little prison tower. Jude goes there to say “Cut it out” and he flexes by asking one of the guards to slap her. Jude keeps her cool until she’s about to leave, then stabs the guard with a poison needle and kidnaps him. She takes him back to the palace and they get this guy to squeal that Queen Orla of the Undersea keeps coming to visit Belkin and leaves him gifts like shells and shit. Jude is like okay COOL that’s not good. What are these mermaid people scheming?

When she goes back to the palace she finds Ho-Ass Locke chatting it up with Cardon and Cardon decides to make Locke Master of Revelries. So basically a party planner lol. This pisses Jude off to no end as her future brother-in-law is a total trickster and slut, and probably up to no good. It unnerves her that Cardon seems happy. She doesn’t want him happy. She wants him miserable and under her shoe.

Jude is still poisoning herself to build up a tolerance and has a weird night where she wakes up with papers and ink all over her like she was trying to write something in her sleep.

Then she gets summoned because Cardon and Locke were up all night drinking and sexing girls in his royal bedroom/apartment thing. And there’s been an INCIDENT. Jude gets down there and finds Cardon’s apartment in shambles. Like everything is broken. The curtains are shredded. There’s a fire in the corner. This isn’t me being funny. THERE IS LITERALLY A FIRE IN THE CORNER. People are passed out drunk everywhere. It’s the scene from the Hangover in there.

But that’s not the issue. The issue is that Cardon was shot with an arrow while he was banging some girl high off his ass on gold stuff. He’s not fatally injured. Just grazed. But it’s enough to make Jude and the assassin gang be like “Oh shit, which way did they go?” - and he points to the wall. Jude finds a hidden passage and goes by herself. On the other side, she finds the original king’s bedroom (which is ridiculously huge and has a tree in it). And on the dead king’s bed, she finds Nicasia with a crossbow.

Turns out she was trying to shoot the girl Cardon was with (like a dumb, dumb idiot, which Jude explains). She’s all upset because she and Cardon were a thing, then Nicasia left Cardon for Locke, who then left her for Taryn. Because Jude has Nicasia in a precarious situation, she decides to milk this moment for some info and is like “WHY IS YOUR MOTHER FUCKING AROUND WITH ME I MEAN THE KING?”

And Nicasia reveals that queen Orla thinks Cardon is an unfit king, and wants her to marry him so she can rule Faerie land like… through her daughter. Jude asks what she wants with Belkin and Nicasia is like “Eh nothing. She just likes giving him shells.” and Jude is like “That’s bullshit. She’s keeping him happy as a plan B.” And Nicasia is like “Whatevs, I told you all I know. But just so you know, someone close to you has already betrayed you.” and leaves.

That rattles Jude a little.

She thinks it’s Cardon. So she goes back and tells everyone the assassin got away. Then she hauls sexy-ass Cardon (all open shirt and still on like 12 different drugs. Thanks Locke.) to his feet and drags him to her room. He can’t sleep in his because he destroyed it partying. He can’t sleep in the king’s quarters because it’s like... Too soon. Not comfortable doing that. So she throws him on her bed and he flirts with her a little, then asks her to kiss him until he’s sick of it. Then he passes out after saying something like “I don’t know what I was thinking. You can’t be both the poison and the cure.”

Jude stays up all night holding her sword and watching him sleep. Because she’s a creeper. And she doesn’t yet know the difference between liking someone and wanting to kill them I guess.

In the morning, she gives him a new set of commands that is like “You can never order me restrained, detained, injured, killed, etc. You can’t raise a hand to me or make anyone else hurt me for you, etc. etc.” and his reaction to this is hilarious. I love that he openly displays behavior making it clear he hates her, but he’s also super offended that she even needs to prescribe commands like this.

He’s literally like “Okay WHATEVER. Wasn’t GOING TO ANYWAY you horrible bitch who I also can’t stop pining after.”

And Jude is like good. That’s taken care of.

(I suspect it’s going to be TARYN WHO BETRAYS HER. DUN DUN DUNNNN. But we have to see.)

Yeah so anyway, Taryn goes to her sister and is like “Help, my fiance is a total slut.” -- and Jude is like “Um. You know this. You knew this when you started dating him, and he was also going after me. He told you to your face that he likes stirring up drama for shits and giggles. Like.. what are we surprised about here?”

And Taryn says she’s fine with Locke taking other lovers, but she’s not fine with him being away from her being this “Master of Parties” thing. Jude is like neat. Cool. Get therapy. But because she’s her sister, she tries to talk to Cardon about maybe keeping an eye on Locke. Not just because he is such a massive hoe, but because she’s got enough problems with Orla of the Undersea trying to either assassinate or marry Cardon.

Also Jude had a meeting with some kind of high council where they talked over her and were super condescending. (Like, as they should be. These creates are 100’s of years old). And they wouldn’t listen to Jude’s warnings about Orla. And they also said some cryptic, but beautiful stuff about how the king has a kind of unspoken power over even nature in the world of ELFHAIM.

Since Cardon came into power, the smells are smellier. The storms come in stronger. Everything is brighter and more alive. When he’s drunk, his subjects get tipsy. And when he bleeds, things grow. (That’s almost verbatim what’s written. I remembered it because it’s pretty.)

So the parties are becoming more frequent and more violent. And this particular one is at night for some kind of night hunt. Cardon tells Jude she should go home. He also tells her he’d like to get to a point where they work together because they trust each other, and not because she is literally using him as a meat puppet. But Jude is like “NO. I WILL NEVER RELINQUISH CONTROL OR TRUST YOU. YOU BIG DUMB PUPPET. God your lips are pretty. I want to kiss you. BUT FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU!”

Well turns out she should have gone home because Locke gets up on stage and is like “Hey everybody! Want to play that fun game where we kidnap a mortal girl, drug her up on faerie shit, dress her up in garbage and laugh at her? YEAH ME TOO! And we’re going to do it to Jude!!” Everybody cheers.

Jude is in a weird position where she can’t order Cardon to cut it out without blowing their whole arrangement, and she doesn’t want to give them the satisfaction of enjoying her humiliation. So they bring out this gross dress made of forest stuff and a crown of stinking mushrooms (normally the girls are so high off their ass they think it’s a glittering gown and crown made of jewels). And they’re trying to slip the dress OVER her clothes but Jude is like “Hey no. You know what? Fuck you guys.” -- she steps out of her dress, stands there in her underwear and is like “Give me the fucking dress. I SAID GIVE IT!” and she’s determined to make this as not fun as possible for them.

I also like imagining Cardon’s face seeing her not once, but twice in her undies and trying to keep it together. (apparently human undies are skimpy compared to medieval night dress things).

So she’s wearing the gross dress and is crowned the “Queen of Mirth” and Cardon gives the ceremonial speech… and makes some comment that Jude’s brand of beauty is unique. Her beauty is startling, unsettling, dangerous. (Those aren’t the exact words but it’s something like that.)

Jude is impervious to glamors, but some faerie magic can still fuck with her. Like when they play certain music, she can’t stop dancing. She’s worried she’s going to die of exhaustion from all the dancing so she demands it to stop and begs the crowd to let the queen of mirth choose the next song. Then she gives a little speech that sounds sweet, but is something along the lines of “Thank you King Cardon for your kind words. Let me assure you all that I find you all every bit as beautiful as you find me.” and everyone is kind of like… boo… hiss… because they know she’s human and is capable of lying and being sarcastic and being a bitch about it.

Then she’s like “PLAY THE SONG. CARDON, DANCE WITH ME.” so she drags his ass on the dance floor and is immediately like “I will kill you, you hear me? I will fucking kill you and I’ll do it slowly. I am going to rip your god damned larynx out with my teeth and use it to tie my shoe laces.”

And Cardon’s looking at her like “Aw. She’s pretty.”

(She’s also noticing how hot his lips and hair are by the way, and how nice it feels to dance with him again) Okay so when she’s done threatening him, he’s like “Well I did try to warn you. Anyway. Alright, you’re free now. Go home.” and twirls her out of the dance circle. Everyone is in party mode, so they don’t notice and she can slip away. I like how Cardon doesn’t really partake in torturing her anymore, but he doesn’t necessarily stop it either haha. He doesn’t care if she’s humiliated, but I bet he would have stopped in if she was about to be hurt. (She also made him swear to, so…)

So Jude is storming home when she notices a bunch of selkies coming out of the sea.

She bolts back to the party and tells the guards to protect the king, and the selkies show up with a message. They’re like “Hey our queen says if you don’t marry her mean girl daughter, she’s going to drown you and your kingdom and sink this island into the sea. Cool?”

And Cardon says in some very pretty words, basically, “Nope. You can party with us though.”

And the selkies say “Neat! We’re just messengers anyway. Where’s the booze?” and join the fun. Jude is like fuck fuck fuck I told you asshats the merfolk were up to something and no one listened.

And she continues this conversation with Cat Dad in the morning, along with the magic council and Cardon. And they’re trying to think of ways to avoid a war. Cardon is particularly really pissed at everyone for even entertaining the idea that he marry Nicasia. He says in so many pretty words, “I’m not a piece of ass you an auction off for power.”

They call in Nicasia and he is pissed. Homeboy throws a teacup and everything. He says “Nicasia, tell your Mom to fuck off. I’m not marrying you.”

Nicasia is like “FINE WHATEVER I DON’T CARE.” and leaves to go talk to her sea mom.

Later that morning, the Roach brings a pretty dark-haired faerie lady to see Jude. And her name is Asha I think. She was a former consort to the old king and is now in jail. She is straight up Cardon’s Mom.

And we know she has a history of being a real shit mother and basically neglecting, then abandoning Cardon and leaving him in the care of his abusive brother. Jude plans on using her to sabotage whatever Belkin is doing, so she feeds her information. And a few days later, Belkin sends Cardon a pissy little letter that is like “Come see me or you’ll be sorry.”

Cardon orders everyone out except for Jude, who tells him what she’s been up to. Doing her manipulative shit. Jude is like, “Hey I have an idea. Why don’t we use Nicasia and try to charm information out of her? I need you to be your usual seductive self and make her think you’re on her side so she’ll tell you what her mom is up to.”

Cardon takes MUCH OFFENSE to this and is like “Okay neat, you want me to whore myself around so you can play game of thrones.”

Jude is like “Why is this a big deal? You have girls hanging off of you all the time. Let’s put that ass of yours to good use.” and then she spanks him. Just kidding, no she doesn’t.

But I guess Cardon gets tired of being objectified because he starts messing with her-- HARD CORE FLIRTING and holding her chin and face and being like “How should I seduce Nicasia? Should I hold her like this? Should I kiss her neck like this?”

And Jude is getting all hot and bothered.. So he straight up KISSES HER! And even though he was pissed before, this is totally sweet and tender and passionate. I’m listening to this thinking, yeah okay. This is awesome, but I’m just waiting for her to push him off of her, say something snarky, and storm out to do more manipulative shit. This story is very PG.

NOPE. I WAS WRONG!

They totally undress and his tail wraps around her leg, which is adorable, and they fool around. It gets hot. The kind of hot that isn’t explicit though. I thought this was going to be like Hunger Games full of chaste, cute kisses and nothing else. Hot damn Holly Black, thank you!! (this is chapter 15 by the way, 16 in the audible version)

Cardon asks her to tell him what she said at the moon hunt party. And she says “I hate you” over and over again while he does very naughty things to her. Hell yeah, this story is heating UP!

The next chapter starts with Jude going back to her monster ways.

She wastes no time in breaking into Locke’s house and holding him at knifepoint. He’s dumb and thinks she’s Taryn at first. But she tells him, “Whatever you have against Cardon, leave him the fuck alone. Leave me alone. Quit being a little party whore and starting fires, literally and figuratively.”

And Locke replies, “Muahaha I can’t I love chaos. See you at the wedding.”

Right now, Jude’s No. 1 concern is figuring out when the merpeople are going to attack. She thinks they’ll probably do something at Taryn’s wedding because Oak will be in town with Vivi (which is a horrible idea, but they’re doing it anyway). So she starts working with Maddock, Cat Dad to strategize about how to deal with that.

Meanwhile, Cardon finally has an audience with his pissy brother Balekin. Balekin is a total asshole about it and spends the entire time basically saying “YOU NEED ME!” And Cardon is like “Okay that was fun. Back in the tower with you.”

There’s also a part where Cardon shows up all tousled and messed up from making out with Nicasia (LIKE JUDE ASKED) and gets information out of her. That the ocean people are going to attack at the wedding.

He tries to talk to Jude about their sexy time last night, but she brushes him off like “Yeah it meant nothing to me either. I was just getting it out of my system! Hahaha.” And he looks all hurt about it. God I love these stupid kids and the sweetest cruel prince ever.

So it’s the night before the wedding and Jude is on her horse riding to her old home (Maddock’s house) for a little sisters + Heather bachelorette party. And she gets ambushed by like 7 dudes on horses. Home girl holds her own. Gets shot in the leg with an arrow. Steals one of their axes and murders 3 people like it’s nothing. They literally run away in fear, and she enjoys a moment of badassery before allowing herself to feel genuinely scared over the ordeal.

Jude limps into her home, rips the arrow out of her leg and Vivi helps her sew it up with embroidery thread. (Taryn has no idea this is happening)

Vivi, by the way, is so cavalier about faerie shit, it’s hilarious. For starters, she just didn’t tell her girlfriend any of this until they were literally leaving for the wedding trip. She’s like “Oh hey babe by the way, I’m an enchanted cat lady. Cool? Cool. Get on the demon horse.”

Heather is terrified, but surprisingly okay with this. Vivi feels like everything in Faerieworld is so dramatic. She has trouble taking what Jude is doing seriously, because her biggest problem that week was that Target was out of Cheerios. So when Jude is grunting over a bathtub sewing up her leg and almost puking from the pain, Vivi is literally like “Why?? Why are you doing this to yourself? You’re psychotic.”

And I kind of agree haha. Because it’s not like Jude HAS to stay there. It’s not like Faerie is trying to fuck with the real world or something and she’s the only one that can stop it. She’s choosing to do all of this to herself to gain power, because she is, in fact, psychotic. But that’s what I love about this protagonist. This girl is fucking scary hahahaha

Alright, so then it’s wedding time. Everyone is like “Silly Jude! Falling off your horse like a dumb dumb idiot. Did you forget to bring a dress too?” So Oriana gives Jude one of her silver dresses, which is hella slutty. No one in Faerie cares because they’re all gorgeous and show up to formal events nekkid half the time.

So it is the day of the wedding!

Maddock overhears Jude give Cardon a command (to not be alone tonight, no matter what). She’s trying to keep him safe, but he HATES when she gives him commands. So Cat Dad knows Jude’s scheme and now she’s a target for him.

The Ghost and the Bomb come and get Jude and let her know that the sea made its move. Not here, but at the Tower of Forgetting. Before they leave, Jude is like “Let me say goodbye to my sister”, noticing Taryn and Locke have just arrived to the reception (weddings are done in private in Faerie world). She also notices that Taryn is wearing the earrings that were in her bag that were dropped in the forest during the attack and Locke is limping.

Locke and his friends were the riders that attacked her.

Like some kind of weird bachelor party. And she murdered three of his groomsmen and no one is asking about it, just like no one asked about Valerian. LIKE DAMN THIS WORLD IS NUTS.

And it gets NUTTIER. While they’re inspecting the tower, Jude lets Cardon’s mom go. She’s an asshole, but she wants Cardon to have the chance to tell her as much. Balekin has of course been sprung by the sea.

And then THE GHOST BETRAYS JUDE. He’s being a little asshat and says he swore allegiance to Dane, not her. Like Dane got stabbed while naked in front of everyone. Get over it dude. So Jude gets kidnapped by the mer-people and wakes up in the god damned ocean.

She can breathe underwater because magic. And her and Nicasia have some words and some punching. Then she’s dressed in still more skimpy clothes and brought to the queen of the undersea for dinner.

Nobody knows Jude can’t be glamored. So they tell her “You think we’re your friends and you love us and would do anything for us” and she has to be like “Okay!” And pretend the whole time she’s there. But this is great because she can lie to them and finds out they’re getting the master forge guy to make a new crown for Balekin. They have this whole scheme to murder Cardon (they need his blood for the new crown) and they plan on using Jude to do this.

But they still keep her in the ocean for like 4 weeks, in a shitty cell that is just a stone cave. They tell her “This looks like a gorgeous, comfy room and there’s totally food and water in here and you love it.” And Jude is just like grinning through her teeth like “Wow. It’s so nice. Thanks.”

So by the end of 4 weeks she’s basically starving to death. AND WHAT’S WORSE, Balekin is a totally gross pervert who thinks he’s glamoring her to want to kill Cardon, and throws a “kiss me” on top of that. Then “Kiss me like you kiss Cardon” and it’s hella gross.

So eventually, Jude gets returned to the land. Cardon is there looking badass on a horse, and Jude is brought back limping from the sea in her skimpy dress from her sister’s wedding. He doesn’t even look at her as she’s loaded up in a carriage and rushed home. He traded Balekin’s freedom for Jude’s. So now that asshole is out in the world.

Jude tries to get into the palace when she feels better, because a lady from the Court of Termites is like “Hey! The merpeople attacked us and Cardon just LET THEM because it was part of some agreement to get you back, so make this better.” And Jude is like… wracking her brain like “What is Cardon up to? Why would he do that? Could it be because he loves me and would sacrifice large chunks of his kingdom to get me back? NO HE MUST BE UP TO SOMETHING. THAT UNIMAGINABLE BASTARD.”

But when she gets to the palace, the guards won’t let her in under Maddock’s orders. GOD DAMN YOU CAT DAD. I just want to see these two kids hug!! So Jude limps over to Hallow Hall to find a very much free Balekin, who is like “Hey there’s a masquerade tomorrow. Take this poison and kill your brother.” And then he’s pervy and creepy some more and makes her kiss him again. Gross.

Jude goes out and gets a dress for the masquerade, then scales the wall at the palace to break into Cardan’s room. She puts her hand over his mouth and thoroughly freaks him out, but then he’s pretty stoked to see her, so he pulls her in bed.

Turns out he had no idea Maddock barred her from the palace. She gets a chance to tell him everything Orla and his bitch ass brother are planning, and that he needs to play nice with the court of termites. And Cardan has a sweet moment where he opens up about his past, and why he was so horrible (it was the only time his family noticed him). And he basically said in beautiful Cardan words that I can’t remember that he really missed her and doesn’t feel right without her.

She heads back to Hallow Hall to Belkin. He gives her a vial of poison to slip to Cardan that night. They go to the party together and run into Taryn and Locke. Jude is immediately like “Hey punk, I know you tried to kill me.” And he’s actually surprised. He says he just wanted to scare her like she scared him, but she’s not having it. He shot her in the fucking leg with an arrow. Taryn comes back and they play it off like it’s nothing, but I’m pretty sure Locke has a deathwish.

So then Cardan gets there, and it’s a complete shit show. He is drunk off his ass and falling down, walking on tables, just— being fucking crazy. And Jude is absolutely livid. Like where was the sweet, composed guy from last night?

Lord Roiben from the court of termites (who is a super cool guy by the way, I love him and his consort) tries to have an audience with fucked up Cardan and ask for permission to attack the sea for attacking him and injuring his lady. Cardan is like “Nah.” And when Jude tries to get him the fuck out of there, he pulls her on the dance floor. Then, in front of everyone, he KISSES HER.

Jude is real torn about this. On the one hand, she missed him like crazy while she was a prisoner and desperately wants to kiss him. But on the other, they are in public and he’s trashed and this just looks bad. But he makes out with her enough for her to taste some kind of berry on his lips, and she realizes his pupils are huge — and he’s not drunk, he’s POISONED.

So Jude is like shit shit shit — gets some guards to bring water, buckets, and blankets to her room. She’s pulling Cardan out of the room despite everyone being a total asshat and trying to get them to stay— INCLUDING Balekin who is like “Hey Jude, let go of my brother and let me take care of him. I got this.” And she’s like fucking no, get off me. Bye. So now he knows she can’t be glamored.

Jude gets Cardon to her room and is trying to get him to drink water. He understands he’s been poisoned and they’re trying to keep him talking to keep him from falling asleep. So Jude says some sweet stuff about her past — opens up to him a little about her parents. They talk until he pukes, and finally the Bomb gets there and gives him some clay (??) to eat which helps I guess. She reports that the smith guy is full-on missing. And Balekin gave her a note that is like “If you want the anecdote, bring me the crown.”

The Bomb also mentions something like… the king has the power to heal himself or pull power from the land. But Cardan might not know how to do that. And Jude has this revelation like… Cardan has never looked at himself as king. He’s always felt like a puppet and has been conditioned by his family AND JUDE that he is powerless. So she flips into badass mode and is like “I’m going to go see Balekin and get that anecdote for you. The Bomb is going to stay with you and keep you safe.”

And Cardan does, “Hey Bomb, I order you to go with Jude and keep her safe.”

Bomb: “Okay.”

Jude: “GOD DAMNIT!!”

Stomps her angry ass out in the garden in her flowy little apricot-colored gown and talks to Balekin, who is pissed that she can’t be glamored and has been lying this whole time. She strikes a deal with him that is like… “I’ll give you the crown… if you watch me drink this vial of poison you gave me, then give me the anecdote. That way I’ll know it’s real. If I live, then you get the crown. If I die then nobody gets what they want.”

Balekin is like “That’s fucking stupid. Why would you do this to yourself?”

Jude says “I’M FUCKING CRAZY AND IN LOVE AND I’VE MURDERED LIKE 5 PEOPLE DON’T FUCK WITH ME.” And drinks the poison.

Balekin kind of taunts her like “Wow you just drank a whole lot more than I gave my brother AND you’re mortal, so you’re going to start getting real sick real fast. It’s almost tempting to watch you suffer.”

Jude is like “Yeah cool. Guess you don’t want the crown then, you petty douchebag.”

So he gives her the anecdote, refusing to let her touch it and just pours it into her mouth. Then she takes the empty vial that held the poison, spits the anecdote into it, tosses it to the Bomb, and turns back to Balekin like “You are SO DUMB. I poured out the poison and washed out the vial. And now you have no crown and no dead brother. Fuck you fuck you fuck you.”

So Balekin draws his sword. And all Jude has is a dagger. She makes some comment like “Do you want to duel? Surely you don’t want to harm your honor by slaying an opponent with no equal weapon.” And Balekin is like “I know you don’t care about honor. Also, word on the street is you’re kind of a monster.”

And he is not wrong. He tries to kill her. Like full on goes for it. And even though she only has a dagger, Jude BESTS HIM and gets her blade on his neck. “I yield!” He says. So she SLITS HIS THROAT AND GETS SPLATTERED WITH BLOOD FROM HIS ARTERY.

Jude has this badass internal dialogue that is something like… she’s changed a lot during her time in Faerie. She’s been weak. Then she got strong. But she had to keep pretending to be weak. Like when she was captured, and this whole time while she was playing puppet master. Jude decides in that moment to stop pretending and to be a complete psychopath. Just be open about it, girl. Be yourself.

She wonders if she should feel bad for killing Balekin, or feel anything at all over it. But she doesn’t. So homegirl walks back into the palace to check on her boyfriend who has hopefully had some anecdote by now.

He’s fine, just passed out by the fire. So she wakes him up and he seems confused. He asked her why she changed clothes and what she’s doing back here.

TURNS OUT Taryn is a fucking asshole and is working with Cat Dad, and came in there while Cardan was sick and disoriented and pretended to be Jude, and asked if it was cool if Maddock took off with half the army and broke his vow to protect the throne. Taryn (pretending to be Jude) said it was fine and all part of a plan. So he said yes.

Jude is freaking out like “HOW?? She shouldn’t be able to command you with your promise magic because she’s not actually me.”

And Cardan is like “SHE DIDN’T NEED TO COMMAND ME. I TRUST YOU. I TRUST YOU SO MUCH I DON’T QUESTION YOU EVEN WHEN THE PLANS MAKE NO APPARENT SENSE.”

He’s still pretty sick so they call it quits there for now. Let him rest. Jude goes back to her room and throws her bloody dress in the fire. No one has found Balekin’s dead body in the garden yet. But when they do, it’ll start a war with the sea. At least the court of termites will be happy? (I hope so. I like the court of termites). Also?? Jude is going to have to tell Cardan that she murdered his brother.

She’s in a robe when a servant comes to get her and tells her the king would like an immediate audience. Cardan is feeling a little better now, but they’re both still just wrecked. He asks her to sit by the fire… and says he has a question for her.

He says he wants his freedom back. It’s not right, and it’s hurting other people that he is a king that doesn’t have free will. And in exchange, he would like to give her ultimate power, so she doesn’t have to play puppet master anymore. He asks her to marry him and be queen. Then they could rule until Oak is of age, then get unmarried if they want. But that way he could make his own decisions, and so could Jude.

She’s kind of blown away at this, on several levels, and says yes.

Faerie weddings don’t require an officiant or witnesses, because faeries can’t lie. So they have this cute moment in front of the fireplace where they exchange vows. Cardan gives her this ring he stole from her months ago back. He does all this like, on the last reserves of his strength. So immediately after, when Jude is officially queen, she’s like “Lay down.” And he says “Only if you lay down with me.”

And they get in bed and make out and pass out almost immediately. They had a big night of Cardan almost dying and Jude murdering yet another person, so they earned it.

In the morning, they’re woken up by a knock on the door and it’s a guard telling them that Orla is here wanting to know why her ambassador is dead in the garden. And Jude is like Oh shit. And Cardan is like god damnit. And they have half the army they usually have. So fuck.

Can I just take a sec to pause here… and appreciate the fact that Jude is going through all of this hell… meanwhile…. Vivi is somewhere in the real world buying chicken nuggets for Oak at McDonald’s? And like… letting him watch Peppa Pig on the iPad while she and Heather watch some baking show on TV? And then we zoom back into faerie world and Jude is covered in blood and being tortured or Cardan is dying of poison and I just love knowing that contrast is happening. I hope Oak never wants to be king lol. He’s gonna be like yeah no, I want to go to prom. Fuck you guys.

Okay so everybody gets dressed up to go to the sea and tell Orla to fuck off.

She’s there with her army. Nicasia is there in shell armor riding on a shark. Like, shits about to go down. Orla demands to know what happened to Balekin and Cardan is like “He died. He’s dead. It looks like he lost a duel.” and is just crazy rude to her, which makes Jude very nervous considering they don’t have a strong army right now and she has no control over Cardan anymore.

Earlier it was mentioned that the High King had a special connection with the land. During the whole cute wedding scene, the tree in the room bloomed and sprouted flowers while they exchanged vows. Cardan has his freedom back, which means he has free reign to be a complete badass. And he basically tells Orla -- how dare you threaten the land when the ocean you rule sits on top of sand. Volcanic sand. And he moves his hand and the earth starts changing beneath their feet. He pulls up a whole ass new island from the sea like it’s nothing and promptly starts encasing Nicasia in a tree -- much to everyone’s horror.

Orla begs him to cut it out and quit cooking her army with underground volcanoes.

So Cardan agrees. Everyone agrees to a truce. He lets Nicasia go and offers her a spot on the court as a new ambassador, which Jude is not stoked about. Then Cardan flips the script and is like “Alright, now about that murder. Jude. Did you kill Balekin in a duel?”

She doesn’t know what he’s up to, but has to trust he has a plan. “Yes.” she says.

AND HE FUCKING BANISHES HER TO THE MORTAL WORLD FOR IT. LIKE…

She’s as indignant as we are… literally says WHAT THE FUCK I AM THE QUEEN. And everyone is like whaaaat? And she gets carted off by some guards.

And the epilogue is her brooding at Vivi’s house eating fish sticks lol. Vivi is trying to make her feel better. They have such boring lives taking care of Oak. Heather broke up with Vivi after she found out that she glamored her at the wedding. Everyone is just sad and everything is shitty. Jude ends the book by telling herself she is the queen of nothing.

AUGH I LOVED THIS BOOK EVEN MORE THAN THE FIRST. I love these two stupid idiots that love each other in such radically different ways. Cardan is like, obsessed with Jude and infinitely patient with her murderous bullshittery. He’s actually a really great ruler and I hope he never gives up the crown. Jude is such a badass even if she is totally power-hungry and fucking scary. I hope Taryn and Locke get what’s coming to them. I hope we find out why Cardan banished her in the next book… I assume to protect her. We’ll have to see.

Can’t wait to read the next installment.

Deadass Rating: 8.5/10

[magicaltriofromthedreamworld]

Im wanting to make a fic (this is chapter 1 btw) about my ocs so here it is

it was a usual day in new york, the bright lights and the scenery were perfect for this kind of night.

as the sea turtle mutant flew through the trees, her friends who were in the same fate as her were behind her, trying to catch up so they could escape the hunters that were chasing them throughout the forest, and trying to shoot them with their crossbows.

they look at each other and nod before splitting up completely in groups of 2, hoping that the hunters would soon be off their trail.

as the sea turtle mutant and snapping turtle went one way, the yellow mud turtle and striped mud turtle went another.

the snapping turtle and sea turtle made their way to a dead end, not knowing what would happen now that they were cornered.

"this way!" the sea turtle yells, pulling her friend with her to a cave that had lots of water. they found a large pond within the cave to hide in.

once they found the pond they looked back to see that the hunters were close behind them.

"where are you gonna run now? you're our profit so you shouldnt be running away!" the hunter said as he loaded up his crossbow

the turtles let out a low growl at the statement when suddenly, the snapping turtle charges at the hunter, sweeping him off of his feet onto the ground as she took his crossbow and shot the other 2

"you okay?" the snapping turtle said at the sea turtles shocked face. the sea turtle stayed quiet before speaking. "that was so cool! where'd you learn that?" the sea turtle asks

"i used to work as an assassin for this one yokai named 'Big Mama' the snapping turtle replied

"well, my name is Breeze, what's yours?" the sea turtle said, holding out her hand to shake

"Ash." the snapping turtle replied, shaking her hand.

"nice to meet you Ash!" she said while smiling

"nice to meet you too!" she replied

"we have to go help the others!" breeze said, grabbing Ash's hand and pulling them along with her

(meanwhile with the 2 mud turtles)

they ran through the trees, not wanting to get caught. when suddenly one of them stops and starts to climb a tree, the other-wondering what the striped mud turtle was doing- does the same thing.

"why are we climbing trees?" the yellow mud turtle whispers to the striped mud turtle. the turtle doesnt respond, looking down at the hunters.

before the yellow mud turtle could ask another question, the other turtle streches her hand out towards the hunter, trapping him in tough roots, leaving the mud turtle speechless. they stay up in those trees before climbing down when they see the others walk by.

"how'd you do that?! that was crazy!!" the mud turtle asks

the other mud turtle stays quiet, only giving them a smile

"what happened?" breeze asks

"you shouldve seen it! the hunter went right below her and she encased him in a bunch of roots!!" the mud turtle made hand motions to what she was saying

"really?" Ash asks, looking at the striped mud turtle. she gets no response, the turtle only giving her a nod in response.

Ash looks at the mud turtles "what are your names?"

"my names Dew, whats yours" she replies

the other stays quiet before starting to look franticly for something important

"you okay?" Ash asks her

the mud turtle shakes her head no and motions out for a pen and paper. Ash realizes this and starts to speak again "Are you mute? cant talk?" ash asks as the mud turtle nods in response before finding a stick and writing in the dirt

"Silt?" breeze asks. the mud turtle nods once again

the mud turtle looks at the other and points to the turtles left eye

"oh, this? i cant seem to see anything out of it anymore..." Dew said sadly before looking at Ash "im sorry if this may seem rude but, how come you have pink spots?"

Ash replies quick " experiment gone wrong..."

"what kind?" breeze asks

"scars from when i got my shoulder spikes ripped off and the scars on my face were from when i got burned from a strange substance" Ash replies

"im starting to get cold..." breeze whines.

"im sure theirs an abandoned house close by" Ash replied

as they went walking through the forest, they come across what they've been looking for. it was a house that was in full condition and had everything they needed to survive.

"looks like a bunker..." Dew said

"this house is nice!" Breeze added

Silt held out a thumbs up as Ash went looking around for any cameras or hidden trackers and checking if it could be a trap before yelling out an 'all clear'

they went up the stairs to find 4 bedrooms with clothing and a maximum supply of blankets. they all went into their preferred rooms, going to change and take a shower from all of the fighting and running they went through.

(DAY 1 END)

[floral-poisons]

fear for nobody

pairing: rook hunt x gn! reader word count: 3.5k words warnings: violence, politics, assassination notes: this takes place during my twisted wonderland high fantasy au! rook is vil’s most trusted assassin and you are part of the hidden organization as well. however, you soon realize that your childhood friend (and partner) has some reservations about this new job. the title is derived from the song of the same name by måneskin. ao3 link: 🏹🏹🏹

The trees provided shade from the hot sun. Today had been surprisingly hot, hotter than most days. It was only abnormal though and would last for this day only. Despite the heat of the day, your body was weighed down by dark clothes. “How much longer do we have to be here?” You ask, body leaning against the trunk of the tree.

“Only a little bit, dear (Y/N).” The blond answers, his crossbow still aimed.

“Why are we doing this in the day? Shouldn’t we be doing this at night?”

“We’re only supposed to kill the Viscount. And this is the only time he’s alone.” His green eyes blinked for a second. “At night, he’s spending time with his family and wife.”

“A family man. What a rarity. It’s a lot easier to kill when he goes out at night to see his mistresses.” You scoff. “Why do we have to kill him?”

“Dissent. Why else? He’s one of three heads for the Prince LeBlanche opposition. We must eliminate the threat before they rise.”

You straighten your back from the trunk. “He’s coming in.”

“I see.” He kept his composure, finger on the trigger. “Yes, yes. Keep walking like a deer in the woods.” Innocent. A family man. His wife would be devastated. His children devastated. An arrow shot through his body. He took a deep breath before his finger pressed down on the trigger.

— — —

“Good work there Rook. Nailed him right in the head!” You say as you get out of the carriage. By now it was dark. Besides, the estate was empty save for the servants.

“It is the only way to efficiently kill a man.” Rook steps out as well.

“Baron Hunt.” The butler bowed. “And (Y/N). I presume the assassination went successfully?”

“It did dear Reagan. You may store the weapons back in the basement. I will send a letter to Queen Schoenheit. Come dear (Y/N). Let me cook up some dinner!”

“Oh Rook. You don’t always have to cook.” You sigh. “Let me do it for once.”

“You’re my partner! Nonsense. You stayed in the hot environment with me the whole afternoon today. It’s the least I can do.” He smiles.

“You never change, do you?” You chuckle.

“I enjoy cooking for you. Why would I change?”

You purse your lips. “Are you okay?”

“I am okay. Why would you ask that?” Rook laughs nervously.

“Well you seemed…off today. Usually you’re more confident about killing our targets. Today was different.” You frown. “It’s not the first time either. You’ve been like this for the past few weeks. You even rejected a few assignments. What is going on?”

“Nothing (Y/N). I promise. We can resume this conversation at a later date.” Rook walked before you could say anything. Such a mysterious man this was even though you had known each other since childhood and been partners for years. He was hiding something and you were determined to get to the bottom of whatever was bothering him.

Before he set off to make dinner, Rook entered his study to sit down and write a letter to Queen Schoenheit detailing the assassination today. It went well which was to be expected from him. But as he sat down, writing, he couldn’t help but think about the fact that he had just widowed a woman and their children would be exposed to the assassination of their father. It was clear as day an assassination. “Great Seven.” He sighed as he rubbed his face, thinking back to your observations of him. The only answer he had to your question was that it was complicated. But even telling you was a bit risky. This was the kind of life he only knew, you only knew. You were both born in the business and you both were meant to stay in it and never leave. “I must stay focused.” He signs the letter before folding it and placing it in an envelope. He made sure to seal the letter with the wax seal of The Hunt of Hearts before putting it in the drawer and locking it.

— — —

“Rook! Rook! I got it!” You exclaimed, running across the green grass to the gazebo he was relaxing under. The weather was sunny and decently warm and he was enjoying a cup of tea with some snacks as he read a book. He desperately needed to catch up on his reading list. “I got it!”

“Oh you did?” He closes the book.

“The invitation for this year’s Spring Countryside Venture!” You set it down as you sit.

Rook used his dagger to open the envelope and look at the invitation. He took in a deep breath from the invitation. It smelled sweet of apple blossoms.

The acting monarch VIL SCHOENHEIT formally invites MARQUESS ROOK HUNT to a weekend away in the countryside to admire the fruitful lands of Pomefiore. The Marquess Hunt will be accommodated with servants, food, drink, sports, and his own bedroom. The invitee may bring 1 guest of their choosing and they will receive the same accommodations.

“Well, I’m sure the Queen is well aware of who I’m bringing along.” Rook smiles as he looks at you.

“Of course! Besides, people love buying my clothes while I’m there.” You finish coloring the sketch you were currently working on with watercolor. “Something about the countryside just makes them want to spend money.”

“Because everyone’s on vacation and their guard is down.” Rook leans over. “A blue and white ensemble?”

“Yes. It’s a simple color combination but it works extremely well. Someone’s bound to want to wear it when we leave for the Castle of Gold.”

“Well it’s quite regal but also simple. And you’re going for a simpler silhouette this time around?”

“They’re bound to make a comeback soon. Besides, I am the dressmaker for the Royal Court. You know that.” You smirk. “My outfits always make trends.”

“Of course dear (Y/N).” Rook took a sip of his tea before turning his head and noticing that Reagan was approaching the gazebo with a silver tray in his hand. He saw the glimpse of a beige envelope with a red seal. “Great Seven…”

“Master Hunt.” Reagan presents the envelope to Rook who takes it.

“Thank you Reagan. You are dismissed.” He purses his lips before using his dagger to open the envelope. The red seal could only mean one thing. “We literally just finished an assignment.”

“The grind never stops I guess.” You pour some tea in your cup before making it to your preference. Afterwards, you took a sip and it made you feel all warm inside.

Rook unfolded the letter and separated the multiple pieces of paper. “Well from the look of things, the Queen is satisfied with our assassination of the Viscount Cerf.”

“Who’s the next target?”

“The Earl Oiseau.” Rook hands you the profile and the letter. “The Queen wants a subtle death, something that seems accidental and looks like it was a medicinal accident.”

“Ah yes. Poison.”

“Also known as, (Y/N)’s specialty.”

“Yes. It is certainly my time to shine.” You read the papers and hand them back to Rook. “The Queen is moving up in the ranking though. And very quickly.”

“He’s trying to get rid of the most powerful influences for those opposing his rule as Queen.”

You dig through your bag and pull out another notebook. It was decorated to your preference and a lot of fabric samples stuck to the sheets of paper. On the outside, it looked like a normal fashion sketchbook. It just happened to be locked and protected by lethal poison that you were immune to. The sheets of paper were also laced with poison as well, which you were also immune to (due to your training, you’ve become immune to a lot of poisons especially your own concoctions). The cover snapped open with your key, revealing your personal journal of poisons and concoctions. Thank the Great Seven that your handwriting was so illegible that only you and Rook could read it (even so, Rook sometimes had a hard time despite his sharp vision). “Is there a deadline for this?”

“The Queen wants us to get rid of Oiseau before the Spring Venture.”

“That’s in a few weeks.” You look up at your partner with concern.

“Can we make it?”

“Well, Earl Oiseau has his annual dinner party around this time.” Rook raised an eyebrow.

“Oh…” You suddenly came to a realization. “Oh fuck! I forgot to put his wife into my schedule! She has dress fittings for the dinner! And we do this every year! How can I forget?!”

“That’s our way in.”

— — —

Your body was hot. Not from the weather but from embarrassment and stress. You had taken Rook’s large hand fan to fan yourself and have your own body cool down. You could feel yourself sweating through the underlayers of your clothes. What a fool. It’s a little bit ironic since you were a master at poisons and potions but when it came to scheduling, or anything else for that matter, you were completely lost. It wasn’t your specialty. The carriage pulled to a stop in front of a mansion and a woman came up to the door to open it. “Baron Hunt. (Y/N) (L/N). It’s a pleasure to see you. The Countess is excited that you both have arrived early.” The woman bowed her head.

“Thank you Sylvie.” You stepped out of the carriage. Rook came out after you.

“I will take care of your stuff. Baron Hunt, you may head to the gazebo in the gardens to catch up with the Earl. (Y/N), the Countess is waiting inside her dressing room. She is very excited to see what you have to offer this season.”

“I am sure she will not be disappointed!”

You had been here multiple times so you already knew the way to the dressing room. The walls were simple compared to other houses, white with a brown trim. The room you entered had floral wallpaper and sitting next to the window was the Countess. “Oh (Y/N)! You’re here!” She squeals as she stands and meets you for a hug.

“Countess! It feels like it’s been ages!”

“For a second, I thought you had forgotten about me.” She joked.

“I would never. It’s been really busy lately. Shall we sit and discuss?”

“Of course! Of course! I also have tea available and some snacks.” You sat down before pulling out your sketchbooks from your bag. They were set on the table loudly considering how dense they are. “I see it’s been a busy season.”

“It certainly has been. I’ve only had ideas and tons of fabric which is not great because then I continuously create. But here are some ideas I have for you—”

“Oh. I was thinking maybe…something different this time around.”

You looked at the Countess before leaning towards her in curiosity. “Spill.”

“I was hoping to go with something more…masculine this time around?”

“Masculine?”

“Yes. I've discovered a fondness for men’s clothes and dressing like my husband. At dinners I like to wear feminine clothing. But hunting, I like men’s clothing. It’s a lot more comfortable.”

“Hunting? You go hunting now Countess?” You pour yourself some tea and make it to your liking.

“Oh yes. I’ve started. Me and the Earl switched hobbies and discovered we like the other hobby. I do enjoy equestrian sports. I’ve even met a woman.”

You raised your eyebrows. “A woman?”

“Yes. She is absolutely gorgeous, you know. And I may or may not have had a kiss with her.”

You gasped. “Countess!”

“I know, I know. It is only fair though. My husband has been experimenting for years with other men, particularly those from his hunting party.”

“That’s great Countess!”

“So essentially for this dinner party, and for the Spring Venture, I would like a more masculine silhouette. Looser too. I’m tired of tight bodices and silhouettes.”

“I agree. It truly is suffocating. Shall I take your measurements now?”

Meanwhile, Rook sat under the gazebo, fanning himself at a rapid pace. It was beginning to be quite warm outdoors. He thought the one day where you two committed that daylight assassination would be the only hot day in the spring season. That proved to be false. An iced drink was the perfect remedy and thankfully he got his. It tasted minty and lemony, a perfect combination of refreshment. “Baron Hunt, it is a pleasure to have you over! We thought you wouldn’t be coming.” The Earl leans against his seat.

“Well how could we miss one of the biggest dinner parties of the season?” Rook smiles. His body felt heavy. He was tired, worked to the bone. He wanted to rest. Maybe he’ll get the chance when the Spring Venture came. The Roi du Poison didn’t make him work during then. “They’re quite magnificent. Your wife puts amazing detail in the decorations.”

“Oh you’ll be happy to know that I will be decorating this year! I’ve even chosen the theme!”

“Oh. Do tell.”

“Me and the Countess did a bit of a hobby switch. She took up hunting and I took up sewing and embroidery. It’s quite fabulous! Of course I pricked myself plenty but once I got the hang of it…well the designs say for themselves.”

“That’s amazing Earl. I presume you asked if you could take on her duty of decoration and theme and she said yes?”

“Of course! I had to decorate. It’s so much fun, you know! Quite a destressor.”

“At least you’re enjoying your hobbies.”

“Have things been stressful for you lately?”

“A little, yeah.” Rook stirred the straw in his cup.

“Is it the Queen?” The Earl raised an eyebrow. “I would expect nothing else from him.”

“Well what do you mean by that?”

“He’s like his mother.”

“The former Queen?”

“Obviously. Lacking in manners and etiquette. Everyone can see through his act. I’m surprised he’s managed to survive this long and hold so much power.” The Earl sips his iced tea. “Someone of his class status should remain off the throne, out of the court. His mother must’ve taught him well in the art of grabbing.”

Rook stayed silent and only took a sip of his drink. “The Queen has not been stressing me out. It’s more like I’m stressing myself out. You know. Kind of in the existential way.”

“Tell me more friend.”

Friend. The Earl just called him a friend. “Well with the legacy I’m inheriting…I’m just wondering if it’s all worth it.” Rook pursed his lips. “It’s so exhausting, my life. I wish only to live in isolation, away from…well, everything. Politics, business, gossip, everything. I want a cottage and to be able to just stay there and not think about how my actions are perceived every day.”

“Oh Baron Hunt. You amuse me.” The Earl laughs. “We do not choose this life. This life chooses us. And there’s no way of escaping.”

“But what if there was?”

“There isn’t. It’s too complicated even if you wanted.” The Earl looked up, seeing his butler approached who whispered in his ear. “Excuse me. I’ll be back in a moment.”

“Of course. Whatever you need.” Rook smiles and watches as the Earl stands and leaves. Making sure the Earl is out of his line of sight, he reached into his boot and pulled out a tiny vial of power. You had described it as odorless, tasteless, and easily dissolvable. The poison’s effects would be slow and your target would die days after the dinner party, after the two of you have left. It would look like a simple accident with the medicine the Earl was taking. His green eyes looked at the small vial of poison. A simple sprinkle of this in the Earl’s tea, a few stirs, and that was it. The cup of tea was right in front of him. But why couldn’t his arms move?

“I’m sorry. False alarm it turns out.” The Earl sat back down.

Rook hid the vial with a slight of hand before the Earl could see. He smiles. “No worries.”

— — —

“What do you mean you didn’t put the poison in his drink!” You exclaim.

“I…I didn’t. I just couldn’t. I don’t know how to explain it.” Rook ran a hand through his hair. You saw his forehead which was pale and had a bit of a tan line. You couldn’t focus on that right now though! “I couldn’t do it.”

“We are fucked! You know that right?” You scoff. “If we don’t get this done in time, the Queen is going to have a massive fit. And on top of that, our parents! And the leaders of the Hunt! Everyone will be on our asses and we will be disgraced! And it was so simple too!”

“(Y/N), I’m sorry. I…I will—”

“Fuck it. I’ll do it.” You scoff, picking up the vial. “I’ll do it. I have pill molds. And you can’t say anything! If we don’t do this we’re both in trouble, but more so you. Queen Schoenheit might even ask for your heart.” You looked at your partner. “We’re in this together. One way or another. I’ll put these in the Earl’s pills. They look identical to his medication. Problem solved.”

“...Problem solved.” Rook nods. “Don’t get caught.”

“This isn’t my first time. You know that.”

— — —

Rook turned the envelope to look at the wax seal. The seal for The Hunt of Hearts. Your mission had been successful. You received an invitation to the Earl’s funeral a few weeks after you visited, coincidentally just as you were about to enter the carriage to head to the Castle of Gold. Rook would personally visit the Queen and deliver him the letter. “(Y/N)—”

“Rook, we’ve been over this.” You adjust your deep purple ensemble. The two of you were matching since you were coming together. “It worked. That’s all that matters. The Queen will never know.”

“That’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

“Then what is it?”

“I…I don’t want to live like this anymore.”

“Live like what? An assassin?”

“Precisely.” Rook looks out the window. “I’m tired. I’m burned out.”

“Then it will pass.”

“Do you really think burn out for killing people will pass? I’m tired of this life. I want to do something else. I want to be somewhere else. Anywhere but here.”

“Rook, you know that’s not how it works.” You purse your lips. “Not unless we—”

“Fake our deaths. I’ve contemplated doing it. But it would have to be really good to pull it off. The Hunt knows when a death is fake.” He turns to you. “I just want to live peacefully and live a quiet life, away from the politics and complicated assassinations. A cottage would be nice. Some farm animals. And you.”

“Me?”

“Run away with me (Y/N).” He leans forward. “I’m certain I can make a convincing fake death for the two of us. And we’ll run away, away from all of this. A peaceful cottage, animals, and just the two of us. It’ll be peaceful. And we will never have to do anything like this ever again.”

“Rook…” You purse your lips. The idea was tempting. It was so tempting. This life was chaotic. But it was also all you knew. The idea of leaving was…terrifying. And if you escaped by faking your death, the punishment for getting caught would be so severe. “I can’t. I won’t.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I am loyal to the Hunt. I’m loyal to my family.” The carriage stopped and someone approached the door. “And I’m loyal to the Queen.” The door opened.

“Marquess Hunt. (Y/N) (L/N).” The man bowed. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

Rook put the letter within his coat and exited the carriage. “Likewise old friend.”

“We shall take your things and put them in your room.” The man smiles as he helps you out.

The two of you watched as another carriage pulled in. This time with a crest you haven’t seen in a long time. “Wait. Is that!” You watched as the door opened and a boy with pale purple hair stepped out. Another person stepped out with him, dressed in much simpler clothes. “The Lord Cerise. It’s been how long?”

“A few years. He hasn’t been here.” Rook looks at the clear couple. “And it looks like he may have brought his partner too.”

The two of you immediately turned your heads upon hearing footsteps. It was none other than another noble of the court. They smiled but it lacked warmth. “Marquess Hunt. (Y/N) (L/N). It’s good to see you both arrived safely.”

“Likewise.” You nod.

“Now please follow me. The Queen requests to see you both immediately.”

[rllymilerlly]

I literally love all of these

HCs: Taang

Height Difference. This is very important to me, for some reason. Toph’s a little shorter than Aang when they meet, then they kinda even out at 14 – and for a while, it actually looks like she’s gonna surpass him, but then he has a massive growth spurt, and just … doesn’t fucking stop growing again. So, Aang tol, Toph smol. 

PDA. Aang is a touchy-feely person. He likes to hug and cuddle and kiss and hold hands, and be hugged, cuddled and kissed. Toph likes all these things, too. In fact, she loves them. Just … not particularly in front of other people. Holding hands, fine, a kiss on the cheek, too, but everything else is reseved for home. 

Travels. That’s honestly basically it. They travel, a lot, not only because I’d imagine it makes Aang’s job as the Avatar easier, but also because they both are very free spirits, and the world is big, and there’s much to see and explore. 

The Best. I truly believe Aang and Toph are able to bring out the best in eachother; they are able to give eachother what they need, if not necessarily always what they want. Toph helps him to stand his ground, to square up and not back down. Aang help her see that that isn’t always the best way to go about things. He gives her freedom, she gives him stability, things they desperately crave/need when we meet them. 

Chores. Aang is much more likely to do most of them; he has more fun cooking, he doesn’t like it if things get too messy, and letting Toph do the washing is not a good idea. Toph helps out when he asks or when she can see that he doesn’t have the mind to do it at the moment. 

Diet. Expanding on Aang doing the cooking, I also imagine Toph being mostly vegeterian when they’re together. Not out of conviction, though. If they’re with friends/family she will happily eat meat. But I don’t see her going out of her way to cook it herself when Aang’s preparing dinner anyway, and he definitely won’t serve her steak. 

Children. They’d both be pretty hands-on parents, I think. By no means perfect, but doing as best as they could. I can see Toph being a little too lenient, not making that many rules initially (’cuz she had too many), but Aang’s there to somewhat balance that out. (I can’t imagine the Air Temples just being complete chaos; they must’ve had structure and rules, and it didn’t hurt him. There is such a thing as too few rules.) They make a good team. And good parents.

[ladyanaconda]

Helluva Dad Vol. 1: Murder Family

"Dad, dad, dad! Wake up, dad!"

Striker grunted as he covered his head with his pillow, but it was no use as the intruder hopped on his bed. "Kiddo, unless there's a wild animal or a homeless drunk inside the house, go away and let me sleep."

"Daaad, you promised that you'd take me along to the living world this time!"

Striker took a peek at the clock on his bedside table. "Not at 5:36 AM, boy. Couldn't you wait until I'm actually awake?"

"What am I supposed to do 'till then?"

"I don't know, use your imagination."

"But dad-" Out of patience, Striker bared his teeth at his son, tail rattling. Jake raised his hands defensively. "Okay, okay, I'm leaving."

Once the door closed shut, Striker went back to sleep… For about thirty seconds, that is, until the door slammed open and Jake jumped into his bed again, screaming in fright and knocking the air out of his father.

"What the fuck, Jake?!" Striker all but shrieked.

"There's a spider in the living room!"

"... What?"

"Spider!"

"And why didn't you squash it?!"

"It's a big spider!"

Striker's eye twitched. With an irritated grunt, he got off the bed, rolled up a porno magazine on his bedside drawer, and stomped his way towards the living room, Jake trailing closely behind.

"I can't believe it, A son of mine is afraid of a tiny, insignificant…" Striker trailed off and stopped in the doorway. A hog-sized hellantula was tearing the couch apart with big, sharp mandibles. "Boy, go get the rifle."

Once the issue with the spider was taken care of, Striker found himself unable to go back to sleep after the fiasco, so he went to the kitchen and poured himself a big cup of black coffee before making breakfast. Thankfully, Blitzo wasn't inside his fridge this time around, though he made a mental note to go get some more groceries.

As he served the fried eggs and wild hog bacon, Jake walked into the kitchen. He was covered in sweat like he had spent an hour lifting five-ton weights. "Dad, wouldn't it have been easier if we cut up the spider's carcass and take it out piece by piece?" he whined.

"And make a bigger mess I'll have to clean up? No, thank you." Striker placed one of the plates in front of his son. Jake frowned.

"Puaj. Tomato."

"Stop complaining and eat, boy. It's good for you."

They are in silence for the first few minutes. Striker would subtly glance in Jake's direction every now and then, smirking internally at the boy's expressions while he begrudgingly ate his vegetables.

"So, ready for today?" he asked casually.

Jake's expression brightened. "How's the living world like? Is it cool? Does it look anything like hell?"

"You could say so. The only difference is that there are humans living there instead of demons."

"Humans? What are those?"

"Well, you've seen the clients at I.M.P, right? They used to be humans during their lifetime. When they died, they came to Hell and became Sinner demons because they did bad things in life. However, some of them have..." Striker toyed with his bacon as he thought of a proper word. "...pending business with someone in the living world. Our job is to finish that business in the client's stead.

"So… The people who go to I.M.P. are dead humans who want to fuck up someone who fucked them up in the living world?"

Striker snapped his fingers. "Bingo. You're getting the hang of it, kid."

"Hey, dad, think I could use the-?"

"No."

"Hey, you didn't let me finish!"

"Sorry, kiddo. I thought you were going to ask if you could use the blessing-tipped rifle." Striker replied, his eyes reflecting off the knife he was using to butter his toast.

Jake laughed nervously. "Speaking of which-"

"No."

"Come on, dad! When will you let me use those?"

"When you're ready, not a second sooner."

"And when will I be ready?"

Striker dropped his fork to place a hand on Jake's shoulder. "We'll both know. Until then, finish your breakfast."

*HB*

"Moxxie, stop shaking. You're gonna shoot our only hellhound!"

"Wow, I feel so loved here."

Striker watched, uninterested, as Moxxie pointed the crossbow with shaking arms at a photo depicting a human family. "If this were real, he'd already been dead."

"You're not helping, Striker," Millie growled before focusing back on Moxxie. "Just take a deep breath, and let it out."

"But it's a family. Under what circumstances would we ever need to kill a human family?"

"Who knows? Maybe if that's what the client wants." Striker said matter-of-factly as he polished his pistol.

Moxxie wasn't convinced. "Maybe like a shitty dad, or a mob family. That's understandable. But to eradicate an entire innocent-seemingly in this instance-upper middle-class family bloodline?"

Loona frowned. "Hey!" You don't know they're innocent! This kid probably sets dogs on fire, maybe this girl gets off bullying Australian kids online, and this guy…"

"That guy definitely watches," Jake added grimly.

"Couldn't have said it better, little guy." Loona shared a fist bump with the impling.

"Exactly! Humans are full of secret nasties. It's why so many of them end up here."

"But-"

Striker had enough. "Allow me, Mildred." he stomped his way to Moxxie and picked him up by the throat. "Look, wimp, guilty and innocent aren't our business. We're assassins, not charity workers. Killing a target," he swiftly aimed his pistol at the photo and fired a clean shot at the woman's face, leaving a hole in its wake. His point made clear, Striker locked gazes with Moxxie, hissing. "Now pick a bloody target before I throw you out the window."

Moxxie fell to the ground with a loud thud. Millie handed him the crossbow again; he aimed the tip of the arrow at the father's face, trying to imagine it was Striker.

"I just think it's a bit excessive and we could be a bit more selective, is all."

Blitzo slammed the door open at that precise moment, startling Moxxie into firing the arrow. It bounced all around the room, hitting the computer, making a second hole on the photograph, and striking the bottom of the eel tank. Moxie jumped into Millie's arms while Striker quickly picked Jake up from the eel tank when he noticed it wobbling.

"Daad, I nearly had it!"

Blitzo caught the arrow just before it struck the client's skull. "...our newest client!"

The eel tank fell and shattered, spilling its contents all over the floor. The eels burst into electricity, setting the entirety of the room on fire.

Striker frowned at Jake, who was stunned into silence. "To think that could have been you."

"Damn it, Moxxie! I just bought those eels!"

They were forced to evacuate the building as the firefighters arrived and did their job. Striker was sure that this little incident didn't leave a good impression on the client, but surprisingly she didn't cancel. Guess she really wanted that person 86'd.

"Way to go, jughead," Jake told Moxxie sarcastically as they watched the firefighters carry the eels into their truck.

"Shut up, you little brat," Moxxie murmured.

Millie frowned at him. "Mox, don't talk to Jake like that!"

"He started it!" Striker rolled his eyes. Moxxie is 'supposed to be the adult who shouldn't stomp down to a child's level.

Wait a minute. "Did anyone save the fancy book?"

"You mean our only ticket to the other side?" Luna slipped out the blue, fancy-looking tome from her clothing without bothering to look up from her hellphone. "Yeah, got it."

"And that's why you're my favorite, Loonie!"

"I thought my dad was your favorite." Jake pointed out.

"Who says I can't have two favorite people? Your dad's my favorite employee and Loonie here's my favorite adopted daughter. You get a tweat now!"

Millie drew the chalk pentagram on the nearby wall. The lines glowed an eerie red color as the circle expanded and the area inside transformed into a forest. The portal was open.

"Cool! Can I draw it the next time?"

"Maybe. Let's get this over with."

Striker would never admit it out loud, but he found these trips to the living world… relaxing. The air smelled cleaner, like trees and nature instead of sulfur, ash, and lava-like Wrath. Its landscapes were more varied, prettier, and calm, at least compared to Hell's ecosystems. This place was particularly breathtaking; a wide lake surrounded by forest and mountains with the sun setting, giving the sky reddish colors that reminded Striker of Bombproof's mane.

Jake seemed to be having similar thoughts. The impling was looking all over the place, eyes wide. "Whoah…"

"Hey, hey, hold your horses!" Striker picked his son up by the shirt before he could dart into the woods. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I wanna look around, dad! This place is so neat!"

"It's your first time on the surface, right? Don't worry, Jakey!" Blitzo pulled Jake into a hug. "Just stick close to uncle Blitz and everything will be fine!"

"Sides, you and I got a very important job! We're going to keep an eye on... Well, the house, just in case something goes wrong!"

Jake raised an eyebrow. "Come on, Millie, I might be a kid but I'm not stupid."

"Oh, I know you aren't, Jakey." Millie chirped, ruffling the boy's hair.

Blitzo, Striker, and Moxxie silently moved closer to the house and leaned against the wall. The former two peeked through the window. It seemed like a normal-looking household with a mom, dad, and two kids. The target was coming out of the kitchen, platter in both hands.

"That's gotta be her." Blitzo chuckled darkly. "Ready to do your cowboy thing, Striker?"

As he was about to point his rifle, Striker glanced sideways to Moxxie. The cowboy sneered. "Actually, Blitz, this one's far too easy. We should let Moxxie have her."

Moxxie blinked. "Me?" he asked hopefully.

"Well, I don't see another Moxxie around here, do you?"

"He's right, Mox. This one's simple enough for you to handle."

Moxxie's face fell after peering into the house. "It's just a happy mother who just got out of the hospital."

"You snooze, you lose, Mox."

Striker readied his rifle, taking a few steps back to aim. He set his eyes on the blonde human female, licking his lips in anticipation. "I've got you, bitch."

"Wait, are we actually killing a family?" Moxxie asked.

"No, don't be a puss. We're just killing a mother." Striker positioned the rifle as it clicked.

"Yeah, we're ruining a family," Blitzo added cheerily.

"B-But… hold on, hold on. Let's just think about it."

He was pulling the trigger when the rifle was suddenly pushed upwards. The movement made the bullet miss its target by a few inches, hitting a mirror instead.

"Why, you-!" Striker grabbed Moxxie's throat, hissing and rattling his tail.

"What the fuck was that, Moxxie?!" Blitzo snapped. Moxxie seemed to go into a panic attack of sorts, prompting Striker to release him.

"I'm sorry!" he cried, tears in his eyes. "They just seemed so wholesome and happy, I panicked!"

Striker rubbed his temple, murmuring under his breath while Blitzo facepalmed. "Get the fuck over it, you baby dick-!"

PAM!

Striker roared in pain as a bullet blasted through the wall, hitting him in the arm. He gripped the wound as blood scurried out of the wound. Fuck, and on his aiming arm!

"New hole! Scatter!"

"Dad!"

Jake's voice brought Striker out of his daze. The last thing he saw before something struck his head was Millie picking his son up and fleeing the scene. Everything went black afterward.

…

As consciousness returned, Striker felt as if he had been trampled over by a stampede. His head hurt like hell and his wounded arm was no better. He tried to move but found himself unable to. Something was binding his hands behind his torso.

"Striker! Wake up, partner!"

"Wha…? Moxxie?" As his eyes got adjusted to the darkness, Striker realized he was tied up in a bizarre chair, hands tightly bound behind his back. Moxxie was in a similar dilemma on the chair to his right. "What the fuck?!"

"Thank satan you're awake! We're in deep shit!"

"You think?" Striker hissed. "Moxxie, I swear, if those bloody humans don't kill you, I will!"

"Hey, you can't blame me for us getting caught!"

"Oh, really? None of this would be happening if I had hit the target and been done with it! God damn it, Moxxie, I had a clean shot and you made me miss!"

"H-How can you kill a mother and leave orphaned children when you have a kid yourself?!"

"Because that's what we were paid for, for Satan's sake!"

They could have continued to argue if it weren't for the two presences in the room. As they looked around, they saw the two kids from before. He might have confused the little shits with implings if they had horns and red skin; their glowing red eyes and devious sharp grins would make the sadistic smirks of the Princes of Hell look like nervous smiles.

Moxxie chuckled nervously. "Well hello there, little ones. Aren't you cute?"

The children spoke simultaneously in a low, almost inhuman voice. "It's nice to have new critters to play with."

If he didn't know any better, Striker might have thought they were in the Cannibal Colony back in Hell. The entire room was adorned with human heads, limbs, and even organs. The 'food' on the table consisted of a roasted fully-grown man with livers and kidneys as side dishes.

"Moxxie, when we're out of this ordeal, I'm going to fucking pummel you." Striker hissed.

They struggled against the ropes, but the kids had made a surprisingly good job with those knots. They were good enough to impress even Striker himself, and he was an ace when it came to tying up knots. Sadly, there was little he could do with an injured arm and Moxxie's wimpy little arms were hopeless. Striker growled. If only he could reach his knife…

A light outside the window caught his eye. Then a second appeared, then a third, fourth, as if someone was lighting up torches. Striker paled.

"Jake!"

"Millie!"

Both imps shared a concerned glance. The girl pulled out a serrated knife on Moxxie; to Striker's surprise, the wimp pushed the chair backward and fell on top of her. He took advantage of the distraction, using his tail to pull his knife out of his boot and expertly slice through the ropes. Once free, Striker sent the boy flying against the wall with a kick. Moxxie, too, had managed to free himself with the girl's own knife.

Striker tipped his hat with his good arm. "Not bad, wimp."

"Can you move?"

"I'm not limp, it's just a scratch." Striker wrapped his red bandanna around the wound and pulled out his pistol. "Now let's blow a hole through that bitch's skull."

*HB*

Jake had never been so frightened in his entire life. Well, maybe that time when he nearly got eaten by a serpent, but it was different. At least his father had been there to save him. But this time it was him who got hurt and there was nothing Jake could do to help. He tried to save Millie when she got K.O.'d, but he stood no chance against a fully-grown human and was knocked out as well. When he regained consciousness, he found himself tied to a stake in-between Millie and Blitzo.

"Striker had that fucking shot. Goddammit, Moxxie."

The crazy woman was cackling evilly as she held up a torch. "Satan! We return your filthy creatures back to the pits of Hell! May the root of evil remain honored as we continue thy work!"

The torch landed a few feet away from the logs, setting them aflame. The fire rose up around them as Martha laughed maniacally… until she realized they weren't screeching in agony. Blitzo snorted.

"Yeah, that's not exactly how it works, lady. Sorry, your fire doesn't actually hurt us, but I mean I could fake it if that'll get your dick hard."

Jake blinked. "She's a dude?"

"Grown-up stuff, kiddo. You should ask your daddy about it."

"Well, I'll just shoot you in your smart ass mouth!" Jake gulped as Martha pulled out a rifle on them.

"That would be more effective."

"Blitzo!"

Jake closed his eyes shut, whimpering as he heard the familiar click on the rifle. There were two gunshots, but he heard no screams from Blitzo, Millie, or his own throat, and no searing pain. Jake opened an eye warily. There were two smoking holes in the sockets where Martha's eyes once were. Her body collapsed to the ground, lifeless.

A few steps back were none other than Moxxie and dad, both holding their pistols.

"Moxxie! Striker!"

"Dad!"

"You're not getting your god damn paycheck for this one, Moxxie!"

As Moxxie untied the ropes, Jake jumped right into his father's embrace, wrapping his arms around his neck. Meanwhile, Moxxie and Millie hugged and nuzzled each other affectionately.

"I'm sorry, sir. I compromised our objective and put us in harm's way. It won't happen again. I promise."

"Apology accepted." Blitzo pulled Moxxie into a hug, but Striker noticed he was whispering something threatening (apparently), judging by Moxxie's expression.

He waited until Blitzo let go to punch Moxxie with such force that he fell to the ground.

"What the fuck, Striker?!"

"I keep my promises, Mox."

*HB*

Striker wasn't very fond of parties. Frankly, he just wanted to go home, fall to his bed, and sleep, but Jake begged him to stay a little longer to eat cake. After what the boy just went through, he didn't have the heart to say no, so he conceded. Besides, the look on Moxxie's face was fun to look at. He had no idea what put the wimp in such a mood, but he had the feeling it had to do with what remained of the target's bloodline.

"You sure you can ride back home with that arm? I wouldn't like to lose my best shooting asset!" Blitzo protested as he climbed onto Bombproof's saddle, Jake seated in front of him.

"Big deal, it's just a scratch. Nothin' to worry about, Blitz." Striker grabbed the reins with his good arm, the injured one resting on a sling.

Bombproof moved at a slow pace, so it'd take them longer than usual to get home. Millie had once suggested that he and Jake move to Imp City; there was a vacant apartment in the building she and Moxxie lived in and she'd be thrilled at the idea of being neighbors (Moxxie, of course, didn't share the sentiment). Striker regretfully declined the offer (to Moxxie's relief). He was a country person at heart and would rather stay in Wrath. Besides, he wanted his son to experience the ups and downs of rural life.

A loud yawn made him look down. "Tired?"

"No, just resting my eyes," Jake said simply, but the exhaustion in his voice said otherwise. Striker chuckled.

"How about you 'rest yer eyes' for a while, then? I'll wake you up when we get home."

"Really, dad, I'm not tired…" Jake trailed off as he leaned back against his father, resting his chest against his chest.

Striker smiled a bit as he ruffled the boy's hair. "Surely not, kiddo. Surely not."

[walkerwords]

“The Savior Sessions” Part 1 of 33 - Negan x GN!Reader

IMAGE CREDIT: Gene Page/AMC

SERIES MASTERLIST

Summary: This will be a collection of conversations set before the events of season 9 in which the reader speaks with Negan while in his cell as they recount events and memories from their time in the Apocalypse as well as stories of his own. 

Word Count: 2417

Warning: None

Song I Wrote To: “Open Season” by Josef Salvat

Note: These are going to be smaller stories that I will be updating randomly. Each fic will be a conversation/situation about Negan in his cell in Alexandria. Some maybe very short, others not. I am still working on the other stories, but I wanted to post this as I work on those as well. Thank you for your kind words about my family, I really appreciate it.

------

“I just don’t know why you’re asking me to do this, Michonne.” 

You stood across from Alexandria’s head of security in her kitchen. Michonne meticulously cleaned her Katana as you spoke, remaining calm the entire time. When she had asked you to meet her today, you never imagined this would be the reason. 

“Gabriel is worried about his state of mind,” Michonne said, “He thinks somebody should be speaking with him on a regular basis.” 

“Isn’t that already Gabriel’s job?” you asked. “He’s always the one who’s down there.” Michonne sighed, sliding the blade back into its sheath.

“He believes that he can no longer get through to him and that they’ve become too familiar with each other,” Michonne said, placing her sword down and bracing her hands against the kitchen counter, “I also think we can benefit from it and I suppose he can as well.” You frowned. 

“You’re asking me to become Negan’s therapist,” you pointed out. “How is any of that beneficial?”

“Whether we like it or not, Negan did run an entire community unchallenged. He may have insight into this world that we don’t and I have started to think that perhaps keeping him so isolated isn’t doing anyone any good,” Michonne explained. “I am asking you because you don’t have a relationship with him. The two of you never interacted during the war and you made sure to stay out of his line of sight for most of it. You’re not a total stranger, but he doesn’t know you like he knows Gabriel, me, or even Aaron.”

“So, basically, you want someone he can’t push around by pushing their buttons,” you concluded and Michonne grimaced. 

“You were also a teacher, (Y/N),” said Michonne, “that is something you two have in common. Maybe that will get him to open up or at least… God, I don’t know what I want the outcome to be, but Rick wanted Negan to be a symbol for how we can grow as a society. I don’t know if he can ever be redeemed, but if he can even a small amount, then it may start with you.” 

“You pulled out your Rick card,” you said with a sigh, “not fair.” Michonne smiled with a shrug. 

“I knew it would come in handy someday,” she said and you finally gave in. 

“Okay, I will be the big bad wolf’s confidant, but if he tries anything or pisses me off to a degree that makes me want to commit murder, that’s on Gabriel,” you said with a wink and Michonne visibly relaxed. 

“Thank you, (Y/N),” she said, relieved. “I’m going to let you run it the way you want to, but try not to piss him off if you can.” You smiled at her brightly. 

“Oh, you know me, Michonne, something like that is inevitable.”

-----

When you arrived at the cell an hour later, you dismissed the guard who stood out front. 

If you were going to be talking to Negan to gain insight and trust, you didn’t see the need for a chaperone. As the guard left, you pushed open the heavy door and sealed it behind you. 

“Gabe, if you’re here to give me another life lesson, you can save it. I’m not in the mood,” Negan said in the darkness of his cell. You had never been this close to the man before. You had fought against the Saviors of course, but always at an outpost or in a larger fight. Rick had also used your talents with the sniper rifle and kept you up high most of the time. This whole situation was alien to you and while it was unnerving to be so near to a killer, you didn’t let that stop you from stepping out of the shadows. 

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not Father Gabriel,” you said, dragging a chair from the wall and centering it before the jail cell. Negan, who had been laying on his bed with his back to the door, slowly sat up and turned towards you.

In the cool light of the room, you could see him clearly now. His hair was shorter than the last time you had seen him which was when Rick had dragged him into this cell about five years before. He still had the stubble on his face, but the cocky grin that you had gotten used to seeing through your scope was nowhere to be seen. 

“Have we met?” he asked, tilting his head in curiosity. You shifted slightly in your seat, trying to get comfortable. 

“Not officially,” you told him. “I’m (Y/N).” Recognition dawned on his face then. 

“Yes,” he said, sitting forward on the edge of his cot, “Little Miss Grimes has mentioned you before.” It wasn’t news to you that he spoke to Judith. Most people knew that she visited Negan often. The only person who probably didn’t know was Michonne. Judith had confided in you that she wasn’t scared of the man and that all she wanted was for him to know he wasn’t some kind of wild animal. You now started to realize that her reasoning was exactly why you were here. “So what can I do for you, (Y/N)?”

“I’ve been sent by the overlords of Alexandria to be your new best friend,” you explained, crossing one leg over the other. 

“Is that right?” he asked, leaning forward. “Gabe get too bored with little ole me?” 

“I don’t know, I didn’t ask,” you told him, “but I am here as a favor for Michonne so how about we just accept the new normal?” Negan bowed his head slightly. 

“Well then, what exactly do the big shots upstairs want us to do? Compare breakup stories? Organize a block party?” 

“I see you haven’t lost your wit,” you pointed out, leaning back in your chair.  

“We all have our things, (Y/N),” he said, “I am curious, though,” he went on, “where were you when your people were trying to kill all of mine?” 

“Usually on a rooftop,” you explained, “Grimes always had me up high with the guns.” Negan seemed genuinely thrilled by the thought of that. 

“And you never got me in your cross-hairs and took a shot? Damn, that is incredibly terrifying.”

“I was never ordered to,” you told him. “I was more surveillance than an assassin.” 

“Either way, my men never saw you watchin’ me,” he said and it sounded like a compliment. The way Negan was looking at you reminded you of kids staring at a lion in a zoo. Ironic seeing how he was the one in the cage and not you. Every glance was out of curiosity and you thought you noticed a bit of gratitude in his eyes. Perhaps Michonne and Gabriel were right after all. The man just needed someone to talk to.

“Okay, how about this?” you said, after a moment of silence. He waited for you to continue. “You and I are just gonna talk. You can ask me anything you want and I’ll answer and hopefully, you will return the favor when I want to .” Negan raised a single brow. 

“It’s that simple?” he asked.

“Do you want it to be difficult?” you asked. “I think I could add some really brash and annoying terms to the arrangement if you want."

"You are a very strange person," Negan said.

"I'm going to take that as a compliment."

"As you should," Negan said with a cheeky grin. "However, I am curious about one thing. Don't you hate me?" You mulled over his words for a few seconds before shaking your head.

"Hate, it has caused a lot of problems in this world, but has not solved one yet," you quoted easily. Negan's eyes lit up.

"Morrison?"

"Angelou," you corrected.

"Ah," he said. "Wise woman. So what you're saying is that hating me isn't going to solve anything, am I right?"

"Pretty much," you agreed, crossing your arms.

"But I killed your people," he reminded you. Negan was clearly trying to put you off, but you had expected this. 

"And I killed your people," you said. "Do you hate me?" Negan scoffed, leaning back on his hands as he watched you through the bars.

"You're good," he complimented.

"You didn't answer my question," you said. Negan licked his lips before shaking his head.

"No, I don't hate you. Although, I don't even know you so that could change." This time you let out a quick laugh that was pure instinct at this point.

"Fair enough," you conceded.

"Alright, (Y/N), if you are so inclined to answer questions, answer me this: how did you end up with this merry bunch of survivors?" 

"Simple," you said, "I saved Carl Grimes from a Walker." Negan's face dropped at the mention of the late teenager. You knew about the soft spot Negan had for Carl. It wasn't a mystery, hell, Carl wouldn't have lived long after he attacked the Sanctuary if Negan didn't like him.

"You saved him?" Negan asked, pulling you from your memories.

"Yeah, I met Carl and his mom, Lori, shortly after everything happened," you began, "They, alongside other survivors, were camped at a quarry outside of Atlanta. I was on my own, trying to make it to the coast when I came across their campsite. I was wary of people, of course, but I knew I wouldn't make it far on my own. I stayed around the edge of camp for a while, just gettin' a feel for the people when Carl ran off when Lori wasn't looking. He was running around with another kid from the group." You paused, unsure if you should divulge much more, but Negan was staying entirely focused on your story.

"Carl was with Sophia...Carol's late daughter." Slight surprise entered Negan's eyes, but he remained quiet. You went on, "The two of them got turned around and then Carl being Carl, decided to run off alone without Sophia. He was near me when the Walker came out of the trees and grabbed him. I didn't really think at that moment. I just ran for the kid. I shot the Walker in the head and the next thing I know, I had a crossbow pointed at my back."

"Let me guess, Daryl?" Negan figured. 

"Damn right. Son of a bitch thought I was shooting at the kid, but luckily Carl spoke up and explained. They took me back to their camp and Lori insisted I stay so that's what I did."

"And here you are," Negan said, impressed.

"Here I am."

"That kid was pretty damn special," Negan said fondly. "This world really does take the good ones, don't it?"

"I always think that it would have been easier if a person had killed him instead of a Walker, you know? At least then we would have an enemy." 

"What, you don't think the Walkers are the enemy?" 

"They're just a part of the new world," you explained. "Can't really call them an enemy if they didn't intend to be here in the first place."

Negan was quiet again as your words sank in. In fact, you were surprised that he hadn't spoken over you whenever he got the chance. According to the rest of your friends and family, the man loved to hear himself talk. You stored that new observation away for later.

"In your opinion," Negan said slowly, "what kind of person classifies as an enemy, or rather, just evil?"

"I've seen darkness, Negan," you told him. "We all have and it was before we even heard your name. If you're trying to ask me if I think you’re evil, the answer is no, I don't. Most of us here like myself, Daryl, Michonne, we've all seen what happens when someone has lost all trace of humanity. Seen what they do to other human beings and trust me, those are the evil people of this screwed-up world. You haven't lost your humanity, Negan, and I pray you never will."

Negan leaned his forearms onto his knees, rubbing a calloused hand over his bearded face. Something had clicked inside his head, that much was apparent, but you weren't sure what.

Yet.

"Sounds like you've been through hell," Negan whispered.

"And back," you finished. "Multiple times."

"You gonna tell me that story? About the loss of humanity?" His question wasn't overly eager, instead, it was all curiosity and you were starting to think that was the main characteristic of the man who once called himself the "big bad wolf".

"One day," you nodded. "If you'll let me come back again."

"I get to decide?" he asked, intrigued.

"Yeah, no point in coming down here if you won't talk to me. That would be wasting both of our time."

"Then by all means, (Y/N), feel free to drop by," Negan said, spreading his arms wide in a welcome gesture. You rolled your eyes but nodded.

"If it means anything," you said as you stood from your seat and turned towards the door, "Carl once told me that you were the only person he always trusted to tell him the truth, and coming from him, that's a lot."

Negan looked at you for a long moment before bowing his head. "Thanks for that," he said softly. You gave him a small smile, one more out of understanding than anything. Whether people hated him or not, nobody could deny that he cared about Carl Grimes and that the teen's death had affected him as well.

"I'll see you tomorrow," you told him as you pushed open the heavy door and stepped into the sunlight. Negan didn't call you back as you climbed the steps and began walking home.

You watched as Alexandria spun on, unaware of the emotions that ran deep through you at the moment. Gabriel and Michonne had been right, after all, Negan needed to talk to another human being, but perhaps that was exactly what you needed as well and you had a feeling this was just the beginning of an odd relationship. 

TAGS: @thanossexual​

[beauregardlionett]

Beau: A Study in Scars

@swordshapedleaves made this post two weeks ago and i cannot draw for shit but i said i would list out the scars for reference because i am obsessed with our resident monk

some notes before we begin! i skimmed through every combat and only took down notes on damage that would leave physical scars (i.e. psychic and necrotic and poison damage were not counted) and ran with the assumption that bludgeoning damage resulted in bruises that did not leave scars. this also means that i might have missed a few scars because i know there were likely a couple of times Beau might have obtained a scar outside of combat times.

additionally liberties taken include assuming that despite cleric healing spells, wounds were not all fully healed and still potentially scared over. if i learned anything while going through all these battles, it is that her stupidly jacked AC probably saved her ass in the early days of the campaign since she was running up on enemies when she had less than 60HP to her name.

one last note - while Matt does a WONDERFUL job of describing a lot of the combat, there were times where less significant damage was not as fully described, so some scars do not have the best descriptions of where they are on her body, so I used context clues and took my best guess on some, and on others just labeled as unknown. feel free to let me know if you find out more accurate descriptions!

with that - list is below the read more!

e001 - zombie claws dug into abdomen (scars would be shaped as such) and teeth embedded into and between knuckles (scars would be messy and slim)

e004 - busted lip from initiation fight with Dairon (likely a slim, paler scar on lower lip); potentially contusion scar on right wrist

e005 - bite scar on right forearm from gnoll (marks would be on top and underside of forearm); spear to the abdomen (scar would be shaped as such, likely a little jagged around the edges)

e006 - cracked right elbow into the ground hard enough to break skin (potentially light very faded scaring)

e007 - 40ft fall down a hole resulting in landing on rocks on her back (scars - if any - would be jagged and sporadic from impact and scrapes)

e012 - rug of smothering likely resulted in rug burns but damage was categorized as bludgeoning; slashed in the chest by a sword through said rug (specific area not specified)

e013 - assassin left two sword cuts across upper chest in an ‘x’ pattern (scars would likely be clean, long lines as wide as the blade); arcane brand seared on her sternum from an attack; sword slashed across her chest from just under right clavicle to left upper ribs (this attack KO’d Beau and would likely also be a clean scar)

e017 - otyugh bite to torso & infects wound (specific area not specified; scars would reflect size of mouth); piercing wound from tentacle wrapping around her (body part n/a)

e019 - wolf claws/teeth damage (wasn’t sure where but i believe it was on her left arm)

e021 - poison/acid burns on the front of her neck, face, and upper torso from venom troll (this attack KO’d Beau; scars would likely have splatter pattern and the skin would look a little rough, almost like blisters); troll claws dug into thigh and side (side of body not specified; scars would likely be piercing instead of slash marks)

e022 - trident to upper left side of chest and shoulder (scars slightly jagged and piercing wound, not slashing); merrow bite (scars to arm/chest?); took lightning damage while in water (burn scars would be similar to acid scars; right cheek, down her neck and over her shoulder); secondary bite attack to left clavicle and catches her cheek (this attack KO’d Beau; scars would likely be jagged and messy since merrow ripped away from her after biting)

e023 - acid/poison spray to face/upper chest from venom troll (again)

e025 - heated shrapnel sprayed likely over the front of her body (misc. piercing/burn scars); whirling blades scars from gearkeeper (body part not specified, likely over her arms); busted knuckles against armor plus additional shrapnel blast (attack KO’d Beau; scars would be misc. and jagged)

e026 - acid shot (body part unspecified); cold burns/frostbite from Lorenzo (misc. body parts; scars would look almost like heat burn scars, but likely with a different color tinge to them); arrow wound to the shoulder (clean scar; side not specified)

e028 - arrow just below sternum between two ribs (Nott shot her; scar would look disproportionately older in comparison due to Cad’s healing)

e029 - glaive to the back from Lorenzo (scar would be clean line, possibly wider toward the bottom and thinner toward shoulders from slashing motion); cold burn/frostbite from Lorenzo (this attack KO’d Beau; misc. body parts)

e035 - arrow wound (grazed her; small, clean scar); heavy crossbow wound (potentially to the shoulder, side not specified)

e039 - bite from snake priest/yuan-ti to her right shoulder (scars would reflect fang punctures more than teeth); scimitar strike to the chest; hydra bite to right side of her abdomen, secondary bite to her upper torso (area n/a); two additional bite attacks (area n/a; attack KO’d Beau)

e044 - bite/claw scars from merrow to the right side of her neck and shoulder (scars likely long and messy from momentum); claw slashes from Dashilla to abdomen and chest (clean lines from slashing)

e047 - pincer strike to left side of her neck (likely a piercing scar)

e050 - lava burns to hands and forearms as well as blisters to her face and neck from proximity

e052 - shoosuva bite to left shoulder and chest (scars would reflect creature size); piercing scar from tail to left lower back just off to the side from her spine

e055 - misc. burns to upper body from Caleb’s fireball

e059 - mild scrapes from erupting earth during giant fight (scars are likely not even visible); burns from proximity to wall of fire (misc. to the front of her body); slashing strikes from claws to the left side of her face and right shoulder down right arm from babau (scars would likely be clean lines, thicker toward point of origin and thinner at the other end)

e063 - greatsword slashing damage from strikes to her chest; one specifically cuts up the front of her chest, up the right side of her neck, barely missing vitals (scars would be clean lines, thicker toward point of origin)

e065 - scrapes from being thrown off moorbounder (scars likely not visible); gloomstalker bite and claw scars (area of body n/a)

e067 - mist lightning burns on misc. body parts; specific burns on her right palm and fingers from grabbing the gem power source

e069 - slashing scars from the Laughing Hand’s sword/blade arm; one attack left scar on unspecified body part while other was to the left side of her chest, just under her clavicle; two additional scars from sword strikes from Yasha (body part n/a)

e073 - fire damage to knuckles/fists from Remorhaz; bite mark spanning whole torso plus additional burns (attack KO’d Beau); further proximity burns when attacking with her staff

e075 - cold burns/frostbite from proximity to dragon’s breath

e079 - greatsword scar from shoulder down her chest from Yasha (area n/a)

e081 - cold burns from proximity to magical ballista in the HFB

e082 - bite attack from mutant Halas in HFB (body part unspecified); also took bludgeoning damage from being slammed into the wall, but scars likely do not exist (she just took a decent hit here)

e085 - sword strikes from the Caedogeist across her stomach (scars would be clean lines)

e086 - burns from fire storm that Respa cast; sword strikes from the Laughing Hand (scar specifically on her left palm from her attempt at parrying the strike and down from the left side of her chest to her right hip); greatsword scar from Yasha (scar from right shoulder across her upper chest; this attack KO’d Beau); large, long piercing scar just below her sternum from Yasha’s near fatal strike with the Skingorger; left lower side stab wound from the Caedogeist (unclear if this was a piercing wound or a grazing wound)

e094 - misc. slashes from zombie claws (body parts n/a)

e095 - acid burns from balderakes on her legs and arms (potentially; description was unclear); claw attack on right outer forearm

e098 - rusty blade strike from a sea spawn (potentially to her back, description was unclear); minor misc. piercing wounds from poison quills that she did not take poison damage from, no piercing damage was stated even though the quills “hit”

e104 - sword strike from left shoulder toward right hip from ghost on Rumblecusp

e105 - burns and blisters to her knuckles from punching Vokodo; extended exposure to heated water and continuous punching left misc. burns on her body and aggravated burns to the point of burst blisters and bleeding on her knuckles; some on her feet from kicking attacks

e107 - quote, “crushing tooth abrasions” from t-rex bite attack (likely to her upper torso and mid-section; massive teeth puncture wounds)

honorable mention - the scar she probably has on her ass from when Nott shot her with a gun when they were racing up a tree

[ethelphantom]

How to Become a Part of Your Target's Family as Told by Damian al Ghul (or should he say, Damian Dupain-Cheng)

You should be happy and very thankful. I would have given you angst, but then I came up with this and instead you're getting humour with little to no angst.

Ao3

This is Maribat -- Don’t like; Don’t read

___________________________

It was supposed to be easy.

He’d had her in his sights, she wasn’t moving at all, there were no obstacles between them, and she was just a girl. He knew how to aim a moving target even when he was moving as well, this should’ve been easier than ‘snatching candy from a baby’. He was rather certain that was the expression anyway.

But then…

Then why…

Why was she able to sneak up on him, now in front of him, and completely unharmed?

The girl — Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the Ladybug, he’d been told — was standing in front of her, looking like she was just disappointed. For some reason, the chance that was the case stung. She had his crossbow in her hands, as well as the arrow he had shot at her which she snapped in half, and with a sigh, she crossed her hands over her chest.

“Are they serious? A child? Do they really think I’m that easy to get rid of?” she asked, clicking her tongue and shaking her head. “Go home, kid, and please tell Ra’s that just because I said no to his offers doesn’t mean I should be underestimated. If he’s heard about all of his missions around here having gone wrong, he should have already realised it was me and that a kid isn’t going to be what takes me down.”

“I— what? What are you talking about?”

“Oh my god, I was just joking about the kid part, you’re just so short, but you’re actually a child? What are you, ten? Goodness, he’s getting even worse at this.”

Damian, for a moment forgetting all his training and the fact this girl was holding his weapon and that she could see him and was far too close to him for comfort, just stared at her. She was young as well, a little bit shorter than him, and dressed in a red skirt and satin shirt and there was no good reasoning or logic behind how she somehow had managed to approach him without him noticing.

The girl looked at him up and down as though she were sizing him up. Which, now that he thought about it, was most likely the case. “Well, aren’t you gonna try again? Why are you just standing there like an idiot? Surely Ra’s had you trained better.”

The words hit him a little too late, and his eyes just widened. Did this girl actually ask him if he was going to attempt assassinating her again? Just who was she? Was she to be killed because she had refused the league, had she said she was not going to join them? Or was it because she’d been ruining Grandfather’s missions? Was she even telling him the truth?

Still looking at him, she cocked her hips and tilted her head. “Kid, please. You’re the only one in a long time that has made even a mediocre attempt on my life, it’s offensive if you don’t try again. Not trying again would be rude. And you wouldn’t want to offend your target when you’ve also managed to fail at killing them? Like, please choose to either succeed and offend me or fail and at least try once more,” she sighed, placing her hands on her hips. Then she booped his nose. Which, excuse her? Who did this girl think she was? He was Damian of the House of al Ghul, the heir of Ra’s al Ghul and his League of Assassins, and he was not to be disrespected like this, by his target nonetheless.

This was so confusing. “You actually want me to kill you?” slipped from his lips.

The girl shrugged. “I mean, not really, I don’t think I would enjoy dying, but I do want you to try again. If you manage to kill me while you’re at it, that’s fine with me. It’s not like I didn’t ask you to do it.” The girl flipped her hair from her front to her back, pushing it away from her eyes. “Besides, I’m bored. You, kid, are the most interesting thing that has happened to me in weeks.”

Then she flipped out her yoyo — a yoyo? What even… — and made a ‘come here’ gesture with her hand. The crossbow she abandoned on the side, though not without taking it apart first.

Damian huffed out of irritation and unsheathed his sword, brows still furrowed because he was confused and rather offended for getting sassed by his own target for missing. It was humiliating.

He didn’t think enough much, and instead just went for her. That was… definitely a mistake on his part as she simply stepped aside, giggling. Giggling. That had him realise this was not a fight to be won without plans and she was not an opponent to be defeated all that easily, so he jumped and grabbed a tree branch above him, bringing himself to the safety of the shadows of the leaves. The shadows were familiar, they were home — they were the best place to hide.

He knew them and they knew him, and he could use that.

The girl was left yawning on the ground, and her eyes seemed to search where exactly he went. While she was doing that, he studied her and her movements, trying to find a weak spot. There was a limp in her walk, clearly. Maybe she’d injured her knee while they were at it because she hadn’t had that a moment ago?

Well, he had not been trained to fight fairly, he’d been trained to fight to win. He could also use her injury to his advantage.

So that was what he did.

As soon as he moved though, there appeared a slight smirk on her face and she turned to look at him, her eyes locking with his even though she wasn’t supposed to be able to see him. It was disturbing. After all, he had tried to hide from her.

Regardless, he dropped down from the tree right at her, almost managing to pin her under him. The problem was, she threw him off of her, and that was lost.

That continued for a while. He attacked, she dodged. Every single time. She didn’t even try to attack him, which on its own was insulting as well. Did she think he was too young to be attacked? That he couldn’t handle it? He was eleven already. He wasn’t that young anymore. Surely Grandfather and Mother had known how well trained this girl was and decided that Damian was the best suited to take her down.

Aside from dodging and the occasional remark (“Is that the best you got?”, “In order to kill me, you must first be able to actually get the sword to touch me, but nice try”, “Rule number one of assassinating: don’t let the target find you, and especially don’t let them start a game — chances are, they’re better than you and you haven’t got even a chance at winning”, “It’s okay, don’t worry about not succeeding, worry about why I’m winning”, “Actually, you know what, if you’re indeed Ra’s’, maybe you should worry about not succeeding”), the girl did nothing. It was infuriating, and at this point, Damian wanted to slap her before actually killing her.

It took him until the latest remark to actually snap, though.

“Please tell me Ra’s didn’t think he was sending his best because this? This is not the best,” she sighed at some point and shook her head, jumping to the side, away from his blade.

“Silence yourself!” he snapped, clutching at the handle of his sword desperately. His voice wavered a little. “I am one of the best Grandfather has! Mother made sure of it!”

That had the girl stop. She threw her yoyo at his sword and snatched it from him before throwing it away and placing her yoyo back at her hip where it seemed to belong. Then she approached him cautiously, her hands open in front of her so he could see she had no weapon in her hands. When she got close enough, she placed her hands on his shoulders and looked at him with a serious expression, brows furrowed and mouth a thin line.

“Your grandfather? You are the perfect vessel and weapon Ra’s mentioned in passing? You must still be like, ten.”

“I’m eleven!”

“You just proved my point, kid, and that doesn’t make it any better. Okay, yeah, the game’s off, I’m coming with you to the league. Nope, you don’t have a say in that.”

“You’re what?”

“Coming with you to the league. You’re too young for this, and I’m gonna make sure nothing happens to you for failing to kill me. It’s not like you’re gonna succeed anyway, and neither is your grandfather — or mother — if I have any say in it. They’re not the only people in this world with training too excellent. Especially not when one’s been trained by a lot of people, including someone from the league. Besides, if I willingly come there with a changed mind, I doubt Ra’s would kill me until he found out why. So. Let’s go.”

Still, not completely sure about what was happening, Damian let himself be dragged along towards his transportation, and he couldn’t understand how she knew where it was until she showed the little tracker she’d taken from his pocket. This day was proving out to be the most embarrassing and humiliating he had ever had the dishonour to face.

When they got back to where Mother and Grandfather were waiting for him, even they couldn’t hide their surprise at the girl that had forced herself to come along, completely unharmed (had she faked the limp earlier?), smiling. Damian was sure the smile wasn’t happy or gentle though — he’d seen it before so many times, and it reminded him more of Mother’s smiles when she saw someone she loathed or someone she was furious at. It was sharp and dripping with something that could only be called wrath and superiority. Like she somehow had power over Mother and Grandfather.

Judging by how Mother sighed and told Grandfather she was leaving him to deal with this, and how Grandfather just told her that yes, sure, she can stay if she does what the league tells her to do like his offer months ago had been, there was a chance she actually did have power over them. Some, at the very least.

It was confusing.

Years later, the girl — he’d eventually taken to mostly calling her by Ladybug or Akhtaa (my sister) — who had proclaimed herself Damian’s big sister but said that if Ra’s somehow got the idea of making her an heiress or something because she was older, she was going to ruin any and all plans Ra’s had, and then gift that right straight back to Damian as long as it didn’t bring him any harm, and who had become one of the best assassins the league had ever had, told him to stay quiet as she took him to a plane she’d insisted on learning how to fly a year back. He could now see why she had wanted to learn. It was smart of her not to try anything until now. At some point, she stopped, took out a paper and a pen from her pocket, scribbled something on it and slammed it on the wall closest to her. It seemed to be a post-it note as it stuck.

When he questioned her actions, she replied with “They’re abusing you, and you’re still a child, which also means, you still have a chance at a better life and I’m going to make sure you get it before they fucking destroy any chance at the life you might’ve been able to get” before the plane took off.

They ended up in Paris, of all places. If Ladybug was planning on having them hide somewhere, the capital city of France wasn’t probably the best of places. At least she’d left the plane in another country.

The bakery, instead, might have been. It was small, even if popular judging by the number of people waiting in line, but Ladybug — maybe Akhtaa when they were near civilians who certainly didn’t know of her other life — just cut in line (apologising, of course, she was always so very polite to most people despite usually also being superior to them on all fronts), and told them she needed to see the bakers, and no, she was not going to buy anything, she’s not cutting in line that way. It was unlikely Grandfather or Mother would look into a bakery, of all places.

“Maman! I’m back,” she yelled when she got inside, dragged Damian to what looked like a living room and seated him on the sofa. In full assassin regalia. Accompanied by what was at least three different weapons, few kinds of knives and daggers and a sword. How was she going to explain this to anyone, let alone her… mother?

A woman came in, wiping her hands on her trousers. She did indeed look like Ladybug did — and yeah, he should maybe learn to call her Marinette now, shouldn’t he? Unless she was still content with him calling her Akhtaa because that was more comfortable to him —, just older. She also looked way too much like the infamous Nocturne in the league. She couldn’t, right— “Ah, it’s good to see you, baby. My, you’ve grown. Ra’s didn’t treat you badly, now did he? I don’t need to go kick his ass?” the short woman with a pixie cut asked Marinette, pulling her into a hug. Marinette hugged her back and smiled before untangling herself from the embrace and leading her to Damian.

“Maman, this is Damian. I saved him and he’s now my little brother, which, actually, I should probably inform Papa of. Also, I’m not sure he actually listened to me when I taught him how to bake, so that might be in order.”

The woman looked at him up and down, as though she were sizing him up, and didn’t being looked at like that feel just a bit too familiar? At least now he knew where Marinette — no, she’d called him her little brother in front of her mother, Akhtaa was probably still alright — had gotten her ability to do so from.

“You look a lot like Talia. And maybe a bit like— Baby, please tell me this isn’t who I think it is.”

“It’s exactly who you think it is, Maman. Talia’s only son, Ra’s heir and the perfect vessel, but also the son of the Detective Ra’s originally was so obsessed with years ago. I would’ve taken him to his Father but that’s no less safe than staying with the league since he’s an emotionally constipated idiot who fights crime dressed as a Bat instead of getting therapy and would have taken him along, so I took him here. I thought we could keep him until I trust he’s either old enough to actually say no to his father if the need be or at least old enough for the fighting part not to be that bad. It’s not like I could’ve left him now. Oh, and you remember how I left for the league for a few years?”

“Yes, how could I forget?”

“Well, it’s because this kid was only eleven at the time, was told to assassinate me, failed, and you know how Ra’s would have taken that. So.”

A beat. Then a groan, which then turned into a growl.

“I am going to kill Ra’s.”

The exchange between Akhtaa and her mother was, the least to say, strange. They were talking about the league like both knew it like the backs of their hands, and there was a chance they did.

The woman Akhtaa called her mother was the Nocturne, wasn’t she.

It would explain why Akhtaa had said she’d been trained by a League soldier years and years ago. Why she knew exactly how he would move. Why she knew how to handle Grandfather and Mother because there was only a handful of League soldiers who could leave the League and stay alive — she must have learnt it from Nocturne.

Nocturne turned her eyes to Damian and smiled. It was sharp, but not in the same way as Akhtaa’s had been when she’d smiled at his Mother and Grandfather a long time ago. This smile was also soft, like she wanted to make sure Damian knew he was safe here with them.

“Hello, Damian. I’m Sabine, Marinette’s mother, though you might know me better as Nocturne since you’re from the League. And, as she claims you to be her new little brother, I suppose I’m your new mother as well. You can call me Sabine or any version of ‘mother’, whichever you prefer. House rules are as stands: No smoking, no drugs, no underage drinking, no weapons at the dinner table, at least one meal with the family a day is a must unless the rest of the family has been informed of absence at least three hours before, and absolutely no killing within the city bounds. Also, no scaring away the customers.”

Damian just found himself nodding as Sabine continued speaking.

“Marinette can show you to your new room. If you need anything, just tell me or Marinette. Dinner is at 8 pm sharp. Being late is not an option today. You can choose between getting homeschooled and an actual school, but we’ll discuss that later. Have fun, I’ll see you in a few hours.”

And that was how Damian found himself inserted into the Dupain-Cheng family. How he’d gotten here from trying to kill their only daughter, he wasn’t too sure, but honestly? He wasn’t complaining.

Five years later, Akhtaa took him to Gotham and introduced him to his Father and adopted siblings (which, how in the world had Father adopted so many kids? There was at least Cassandra and Jason whom he’d met at some point in the league, Richard, the first of his children and on par with Akhtaa when it came to hugging people, Timothy, the second youngest of the children, and Duke, who was only a few years older than Damian.) They were confused but welcomed him after they’d confirmed he was indeed Father’s blood son, and Damian was relieved about it. He’d come to appreciate found family with the Dupain-Chengs and Akhtaa over the years, so it wasn’t too hard to adapt into this family either — though that was probably because Akhtaa and he had insisted on having her as a family as well. After all, she was more of a big sibling to him than any of the others together.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know how meeting them would have gone if Mother and Grandfather were the ones to send him to his Father, especially if that had happened when he was still younger.

Good thing he didn’t need to know.

He would never need to know.

____________________

Basically, Marinette is hurt and offended because the only one who has made a proper attempt on her life is a child, and Damian is confused and offended that his target is sassing him for missing. You were supposed to get someone actually, physically hurt and instead you're getting this. Be happy.

@kris-pines04 @thethirdwheelfriend @daminett4life @abrx2002 @persephonebutkore @rebecarojas07 @corabeth11 @freshbark @maribat-march2020 @catsandfanfic @fertileleaf @eat0crow @cutechip

[onthepageoftears]

Kill Your Darlings Ch. 10 (Jaskier x Assassin!Reader) || Witcher

A/N: I hope you are all doing well! This was a fun chapter to write so I hope you all enjoy the action and let me know what you think of it! I’ve never written action/violence quite like this before, so I hope it came out as cool as I imagined it 😅

Also If anyone has any ideas for a giveaway let me know, I’m seriously bad at this stuff 

Your comments and feedback are always encouraged and mean a lot to me!

Summary: Some things are especially worth fighting for.

Warnings: somewhat graphic violence, mentions of blood, kidnapping, torture, (this is a violent chapter so beware lol), action, killing/death, badassery, bickering, language

Words: 2,786

Please Don’t Plagiarize My Work!

“Invade a bandit camp? What…exactly…does that entail?”

You kept your eyes forward, trying to keep up with Geralt’s fast pace while also listening to Jaskier. Almost immediately after the three of you left the stream to follow the bandit’s tracks, Jaskier was asking ten questions a second. You tried to be patient with him, but at this point, he was getting under your skin.

“It entails us going in there, finding the girl—” You turned to the bard, your eyes meeting his in a serious regard, “And you staying behind.”

Surprisingly, he didn’t argue at that. Instead, he asked another question.

“How do we even know there’s a camp?”

“They’re not going to be in the village, and if they were, we would’ve seen them,” You spoke again before he could ask the question you assumed he would. “There’s at least four or five of them. They travel in somewhat bigger groups so it’s easier to raid farms and such. If they weren’t hiding out here, the village would’ve been taken over when we got there. Which is also how we know there aren’t that many of them.”

Jaskier’s mouth hung agape, quickly closing shut at the realization that you had answered all of his questions. He gave a curt nod and turned back towards Geralt, who was already a couple more feet ahead of the two of you. You both instinctively quickened your steps, making sure to keep a safe amount of distance from Geralt while also being close enough just in case.

The sound of all of your steps in the forest overtook the silence for a moment. The moment was short-lived, but this time, Jaskier’s voice was quiet, only directed at you.

“Why do you think they took her to the camp?”

You faltered. It was something you…hadn’t really wanted to think about. The only things that came to your mind were bad ones: they could’ve tortured her to the point where she wished she was dead, tortured her until she was dead, or just killed her right away. Of course, there was the slim chance that they hadn’t done anything to her — yet. But that chance was not one you were willing to take.

Jaskier’s eyes stayed on you as you let out a sigh. “If what I think is right, it’s not good.” You turned to him, clenching your jaw as you swallowed the lump in your throat. “Let’s hope I’m wrong.”

Geralt continued to lead the three of you as he followed the track marks. It didn’t take too long for him to stop and direct you all behind a hefty log, but by then the sun was almost past the horizon. Still, Geralt’s skill proved themselves respectable, as if it were just you tracking it would have taken way, way longer to find the camp.

You were all a safe distance away from the sounds of laughter and distant conversation. There was a small camp, but big enough to be surrounded by barrels of what you assumed was stolen goods, as well as makeshift walls against any intruders or monsters of the likes. There were some torches set up on the edges of the camp — the bandits must have planned to stay there for a while. From where you were squatted, you could see eight men — more than you originally thought.  

“So what do we do now?”

You snapped your head towards Jaskier, your voice in a sharp whisper, “We do nothing.”

“What? I can’t let you go in there by yourselves!”

You scrunched your nose, “Why not?”

“Because — well, something could happen, and I’ll need to be there to help—“

“No. Definitely not.” You turned back to the camp, making sure all the men were still there. “You stay here.”

“Geralt—”

You didn’t let Geralt respond. “I’m supposed to be watching over you, remember?”

“Bringing me to find a missing girl at a bandit camp is not exactly keeping me safe, is it?”

You pursed your lips. He was right, but you didn’t want him to be, so you craned your neck to look around the forest. Even further away from the camp, you spotted a large bush.

You turned back to Jaskier and pointed at the spot. “There.”

Jaskier frowned, only looking at the place you pointed to for a second. “What?”

“Go wait it out over there, behind that bush.”

Jaskier blinked. “Are you seriously asking me to hide behind a bush?”

“Not asking.” He stared at you, his eyes squinted in a challenge. You ignored it and reached for the doll attached to your belt. “And take this. I don’t want it getting ruined, and I don’t think Lilla will either.”

Despite looking like he wanted to argue, the bard placed his lips in a tight line, grabbed the doll, and snuck to the spot you pointed to, pretty much completely hiding himself from view. You huffed, trying to ignore the feeling of relief that came over you.

You kept your eyes on the camp and your voice low, “How do you want to do this?”

Geralt watched you from the corner of his eye, “Didn’t think you’d ask.”

You sighed and turned to the witcher. The corner of his mouth was twitched upwards — the smug bastard. You rolled your eyes and looked away before you wouldn’t be able to fight the urge to punch him in the face. “If we do this together, we do it together.”

“Hm.” Geralt pointed over the log you were crouched behind, “Looks like they’ve got a small cage. Whatever’s in there needs to be let out.”

“Think we should go in together, fight our way through?”

“No.” He shook his head, “Don’t want to risk her getting hurt, if she isn’t already. We go in, try to find the key.”

“It’ll probably be on one of them. We’ll need to fight anyway.”

“Right. But once we do find the key, you need to get her out of there.”

You nodded, feeling your own lips lift into a smirk. “Eight guys is nothing.”

“We’ll see.” Geralt moved past you, sneaking so the trees blocked him from view. You took a deep breath, lifted your hood, and closed your eyes.

Showtime.

Following behind Geralt, the two of you weaved in and out of the trees while the bandits were distracted. You couldn’t help but notice your blood begin to boil as you got closer to the camp, where the cage grew clearer and clearer. You stretched your fingers and slid your knife from its sheath, gripping it for the first time in a while.

You were ready.

Finally, you and Geralt made it to the walls of the camp. You were on either side of the opening, where one of the bandits stood guard. Luckily, he was facing away from you, distracted by one of his friends. You turned to Geralt, eyes just barely visible from under your hood. With one simple nod, you spoke a thousand words — it only took three steps for you to sneak behind the guard and jab your knife into the side of his neck.

As soon as the blood squirted from the wound, another bandit screamed, “Get them!”

You saw the bandit lift his crossbow at you, and just as he loaded it, you kept the one man’s body in front of you, holding it up as a makeshift shield. The arrow sunk right into his flesh — you let the body fall to the ground as Geralt rushed past you, holding out his hand and simultaneously causing the man with the crossbow to fly backwards and into a pile of barrels.

You didn’t have time to react as another bandit came at you with a knife, screaming as he tried to sink it in your shoulder. You dodged it just in time, using the leverage to kick the already running man in the back. He lost his balance and fell with a grunt — just as you were about to jab your knife in his skull, a whizzing sound made you duck. The arrow stuck in the wall in front of you; you whipped your head around as the crossbow was being loaded again.

Too slow.

You ran at him, ignoring the fact that he was lifting the crossbow again. He shot at you, but you jumped to the side in time, where you heard a loud yelp. The bandit had hit one of his own — in his shock, he didn’t have time to stop you from pushing your knife into his heart.

“No!” The man who was hit lunged at you, despite the arrow sticking out of his arm. You fell to the ground, feeling his weight on top of your own, pinning you down. He immediately placed his hands around your neck, almost completely cutting your air off — but you didn’t let him. You swiftly lifted your knee to his groin, and he couldn’t help but loosen his grip. With the opening you had, you grabbed the arrow out of his arm and cut off his scream of agony by stabbing it right into his skull.

With a grunt, you shoved the bandit’s body off of you, bringing a hand to your neck as you tried to catch your breath.

Geralt’s voice brought you back to reality. He was crossing his sword with one bandit, teeth gritted in anger.

“Find the key!”

You nodded, despite the drop in your stomach. Who were you kidding — Geralt could handle himself. He was a Witcher for the gods sake.

You dug your hands into the recently deceased pockets, feeling around for anything. Then, your fingers felt cold metal.

“Got it!” You yelled, immediately making your way over to the metal cage.

Once you got there, sure enough, a little girl looked back at you. She was huddled in the corner, her knees to her chest as she looked at you with large pupils.

“I’m gonna get you out of here,” you breathed, lifting the key and unlocking the cell in one motion. You pulled the door open and held a hand out for the girl to take, only just realizing that it was covered in blood. You quickly wiped it on your pants and turned back to the girl. “I’m here to help you, Lilla. Your father sent me.”

At the sound of her name, Lilla perked up. She hesitated, but began crawling towards you nonetheless, her movements weak. You helped her up and turned around — Geralt was still dealing with two other men, but he was definitely winning.

You kneeled down and took the little girl’s hands in your own. “Lilla, I need you to stay right behind me, okay? Do you promise?”

She nodded, her eyes flicking back to where Geralt had just cut off one of the bandit’s arms.

You stood up and hid her face behind you, keeping one of her hands captured in your own. You began walking towards the exit, one eye focused on Geralt.

“What the—“

You stopped in your tracks.

Three more men stood at the entrance of the camp, their faces of surprise immediately changing to anger at the sight of their dead friends.

“Shit.”

One ran at you with just his fists, sending a right hook right at your head. You dodged in time, simultaneously gripping your knife and jabbing it into the side of his skull.

It was then that you realized the hand that was gripping Lilla’s was now empty. When you turned around, she was gone.

But there was no time to think of that now. A sword was already being swung towards you, but you jumped back, feeling a swoosh of air along your stomach. The momentum of the swing caused the sword to hit right into one of the barrels, its blade stuck in the wood. The bandit tried to rip it out, his fearful eyes focused on the task. He only noticed you come up to him when your foot was already in the air, being stomped right down onto his arm, the bone twisting in an otherwise sickening crack.

While he fell to the ground in agony, you switched your knife to the opposite hand and threw it at the other bandit who had begun running toward you. He dodged it, a sneer settling onto his dirty face. Without a thought, you reached for the sword in the barrel and gave one quick tug, freeing it just in time for you to swing your body around and slice right through his neck. Not waiting to hear the satisfying thud of the bandit’s head on the forest floor, you turned back around and stuck the sword’s tip under the previously injured bandit’s chin.

“Please don’t—“

The blade was already through his throat.

A grunt from behind you made you spin on your heels. Geralt was dodging a man with a large bludgeon, who swung faithfully at his target. You reached down for the knife in your boot, lifted your arm, aimed, and released. The knife whirled through the air, and Geralt moved to the side just in time for it to land directly in between the bandit’s eyes.

Geralt huffed and turned to you with a nod.

You nodded back, letting out a sigh of relief at the mess of bodies around you. The fights were always tough, but they kept your blood pumping. The adrenaline felt good, strong, like your own personal drug.

Geralt didn’t bother wiping the sweat from his glistening forehead, “The girl?”

“She ran off.”

Geralt began walking out of the camp, his eyes glued to the ground. “Tracks go this way.” 

You were about to follow him when your eyes caught sight of a table. You walked over to it, stepping over the fallen bodies with careless eyes. As soon as you made it to the table, you grabbed the coins that were left out and shoved them in your pockets — Julian’s next meal would be on you. The rest of the table was lined with knives, an ax, more arrows —and a piece of parchment, rolled up.

You looked back towards the entrance of the camp; Geralt was already out of sight, but it wouldn’t be too hard to find him again. Besides, after an assignment like this you couldn’t help but let curiosity got the best of you. You reached forward and unrolled the paper: immediately, you realized it was one of the missing girl posters that Toby had placed in the village and towns nearby.

You clenched your jaw and crumpled up the paper in one hand, nearly slamming the paper ball back on the table. It was then that you noticed another piece of parchment that was hidden under it.

It was a short note:

Keep the girl until the rest arrive. They’ll know where to bring her.

— Hotch

“Y/N,” Geralt’s voice called.

“Yeah, coming.” You frowned, stuffing the note in your pocket as you turned around.

You jogged back to the entrance and snapped your head to the left, where Geralt was looking at the dirt.

“The tracks stopped here,” he muttered, but you could hear him from your spot.

“What?” You rushed over, eyes searching the ground. He was right — there were no more prints. “So she was taken again? What the hell do they want with this little girl?”

“I don’t know.” Geralt frowned, but his eyes trailed the darkening sky. You could tell he was thinking the same thing: if she wasn’t taken by more bandits, she was alone. And a young girl alone in these woods, no matter how safe Toby may have said they were — it wasn’t good. Your eyes trailed to Geralt, whose frown was more defined than usual. Then, he noticed you looking at him, “We’ll find her. But first we should get Jaskier.”

“Shit.” Jaskier. If the girl had disappeared, then the bandits may have found him too. You ran off towards the bush, heart hammering in your chest.

You rounded to edge of the bush, blinking at the sight. There was no one there. You had to squint to make sure the bard wasn’t blending into the ground.

“Looking for someone?” You swiveled on your feet, turning just in time to see Jaskier, who was standing with a big smile. You rolled your eyes, trying to push down the fear that began rising in your chest at the thought of him being taken. You were about to yell at him for leaving the hiding spot, but you bit your tongue as your eyes trailed downward, where Lilla peeked out from behind his legs.

You couldn’t hide the laugh that escaped your lips, “Son of a bitch.”

———————————————————————————————————

ayyy so that was a pretty crazy chapter! Let me know your thoughts! :)

[thanks--for--listening]

nothing, nowhere, nobody

hello its me back with another bop fic. this one is helena centric but its still got dinahelena bc im a hopeless romantic. also potential tw for nonexplicit suicidal thoughts

(also on ao3)

~

On a Tuesday in April, Dinah asks her what she remembers. About before. Dinah’s sitting on the couch, Helena on the floor in front of her, music playing softly around them. Helena feels her whole body pause, the brainless work of cleaning her crossbow momentarily forgotten. Nothing, she wants to say, but that would be a lie, and Dinah didn’t deserve to hear lies. 

She doesn’t say anything for a while. She knew at least five different languages but none of them could explain the feeling of trying to remember the day before the world ended and coming up blank. None of them gave her the words to tell her that before is hazy, that when she thinks of her childhood she thinks of an open field and a tiny classroom, of bruises and bandaids and arrows, of crayons and church bells and the piano. The time before barely existed, not with any clarity, with the exception of one day, one instant. The rest was just...

“Moments,” She answers, her eyes still on the weapon in front of her. “I remember moments.”

“Then tell me about after. If you can.” Helena wonders where the curiosity is coming from, what prompted it, but more than that, she wonders what it would be like to give voice to the memories living inside her head, to give them to someone else. To give them to her. 

She leans back and tells her what she remembers.

—

She remembers the drive. He carried her to his car, threw her into the trunk and waited until they were out of the city to move her into the back seat. She hadn’t had it in her to care where they were going. He told her anyway, said his family was in Sicily, that the men had been told to scatter so he had the perfect excuse to not come back. He told her that he knew a guy with a plane, that he could hide her in a bag and no one would ever know. He apologized at one point, and she didn’t know why, but it didn’t matter, none of it mattered. She never spoke, not once.

She fell asleep during the flight. It was the last night she slept peacefully.

— 

She remembers the first time she walked into Imelda’s house. It was a Sunday, her first Sunday. Day six. They walked a mile and a half, snuck past houses and parked cars, and she couldn’t hear the bells but she knew the service must have started because the streets she could see were completely empty. It was the only reason she was allowed out in the open, even though they were taking the long way, the path that was hidden behind trees and bushes. Everybody went to church; there was nobody left, except her. 

When they first knocked on the door, she’d taken one look at them and muttered a prayer of her own. She’d sent Helena into her makeshift classroom, equipped with one desk in the middle of the floor and an old piano against the wall. Imelda, she would soon learn, taught all the children who lived too far away for real school. She lived alone, her body weakened by age, her legs no longer strong enough to take her outside her own four walls. She held the respect of the whole community in the palm of her hands, the community that Helena would never get to be a part of. She was a secret keeper, Sal had said, could be trusted with something as dangerous as her. She held everyone’s secrets in her body, including her own. If she revealed anything at all, it was in fragments, never enough pieces to put together a whole picture. She’d fled some sort of persecution. She’d left a man at the altar at least three times. She’d been a grandmother, once; she wasn’t one anymore.

Helena didn’t know any of it that first Sunday, just knew she was handed crayons and paper, left behind while the adults fought in Sicilian. She ignored them. Staring at the paper in front of her, she reached for her imagination but couldn’t find it. When she closed her eyes she only saw one thing, so she drew it.

She’d never taken art lessons. Mama had been obsessed with lessons, made sure she never had a free moment. Horseback riding, archery, piano, fencing, ice skating, anything and everything so long as it taught her how to be proper and showed their wealth. Most importantly, she did everything alone; the Bertinelli’s didn’t join teams.

She was almost done when she heard it. You’ll ruin her, more than she already is. The words cut right through the wall between them, through her mind’s blockades. She stared at the door behind her. Was she ruined? Would she know it if she was? What happened to the people who were ruined?

She turned back, tried to ignore them. She stared at the piano. She’d been taking those lessons since before she could remember. It was distinguished, the piano, and her mother had insisted that the Bertinelli women be distinguished.

She wandered over to it without meaning to, let her hands brush gently across the keys. Her piano had been grand, took up an entire room. It’s music echoed across the house when she played. It was nothing like this: small, brown, and breaking. She knew if she pressed any of the keys, they would ring out of tune, but she sat down anyway. When she closed her eyes, she didn’t hear the yelling anymore, didn’t see the four men with guns and cigars. She saw sheet music. Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. A simplified version, of course, but still an impressive piece for someone her age, according to her teacher. That had been her favorite word, all she’d strived to be: impressive. 

She started to play without meaning to. She’d committed the piece to memory, had planned on playing it at her recital. It was two weeks away. She almost hesitated when she realized she’d no longer be in attendance, but a true pianist never faltered, never stopped until the piece was over. So she played on, through the repeats and the second endings, the Dal Segno and the Coda. 

She let the last chord echo, gave it more length than it deserved. Something told her to turn around and she did, saw Sal and Luca and Imelda standing behind the desk. Watching her. Imelda put something down, and Helena realized it was her drawing. She suddenly knew that she didn’t want anyone else to see it, but before she could lunge for it, Imelda walked over, put her hand on her shoulder. The pressure felt so familiar that she didn’t move, not even to breathe, as Imelda brought her other hand to her chin, pushed it up just enough for Helena to meet her eyes. There was something both strong and soft in them. She didn’t want to look away.

Imelda knew English, knew more languages than she’d ever let on, but she said the words in Sicilian: How would you like to learn something new?

—

She remembers that she used to scream at night. When it happened, after it happened, she’d been forced into silence — by circumstance, but also by her body. The shots had swallowed the noise in her home and her voice had gone with it, but in dreams she could scream. In dreams she could beg and cry and none of it mattered, because in dreams she was given a voice and cursed with the knowledge that no one would ever hear her. 

Except Sal heard her. Luca heard her. And they made sure nobody else ever would. An assassin who couldn’t dream quietly would never go undetected. So she learned her first lesson in the form of scars that still decorated her body. She was told it would not be her last.

—

She remembers her father’s hands. They were bigger than hers, scarred and wrinkled and dripping in blood she couldn’t see. But she knew it was there. He had his own lessons to give her, and even then she knew her classmates wouldn’t be learning what she was. It had made her proud. She walked into class every day with her head held high. She knew more than they did, a fact that made it easier when nobody talked to her. At recess she’d sit alone and tell herself she didn’t need friends, not when she knew which body parts could be amputated without the risk of immediate death. Or the names of every crime family in Gotham, including each branch on every family tree. Or the best way to wash money without drawing attention from the GCPD, however pathetic they might be. She clung to them, her lessons, because they were hers and no one else’s. And they would make her stronger than everyone one day.

—

She remembers the first time she felt the rage.

The fucking bow and arrow. They’d mocked her relentlessly. It had taken a year for them to trust her with weapons sharper than blunt swords and boxing gloves. They’d brought her outside one day, laid them all out on a table and told her to choose. She’d learn how to use all of them, but she would have a primary, one to rely on more than the others. They wouldn’t have her become a jack of all trades and a master of none. 

Instinct and ego had led her to the bow and arrow. It was familiar. She could impress them with it, show she wasn’t a child anymore, despite what her age might say. Put Mama’s lessons to good use.

They’d laughed in her face. Called the weapon a play thing for beginners, for children. She thought that her little archery and fencing lessons made her a fighter? A true assassin used a weapon that could be reloaded without needing both hands, without wasting so much time. A true assassin didn’t follow rules or honor codes or fight without the intention to kill. She tried to put it back but they wouldn’t let her, told her she’d have to live with her choice until she could be trusted with a weapon for adults.

It was something about the way they laughed. More than their words, she heard their laughter, and it was familiar but she couldn’t place it, just knew that as the sound grew the world turned red around her. She didn’t remember turning her hands into fists, didn’t remember charging, until suddenly she was on the ground. Luca had her pinned in an instant, held her there, her face against the dirt, until she stopped thrashing. When the red faded, when she could exhale without her breath catching, he moved, let her pull herself off the ground. She knew he lectured her, but all she remembered was staring at her palms. Four bloody crescents covered each hand, a physical reminder of her rage, of her strength. She never wanted them to fade.

—

She remembers learning about silence. 

It only took ten more outbursts before they decided they needed to do something about it. She didn’t know how to describe the anger — it came out of nowhere, and it never let her go. 

The scariest part was that she liked it. The rage. The fire in her gut, burning brighter than the sun above her. It was the only time she felt anything anymore. And it was so much easier than whatever else she used to feel before her life had ended, when she’d been forced to be composed and feel the right things at the right time and never show it too much. She didn’t know the rules but everyone had expected her to, so every day as a Bertinelli heiress had been a test that she couldn’t study for, a test she was bound to fail. It had been exhausting, but this? This anger? This was simple. Clear. Exhilarating in a way that nothing else was. 

If it hadn’t impacted her ability to fight, Sal and Luca probably would have left it alone, but after she’d snapped her third bow in half, they’d been forced to confront it. They brought her into a dark room one day, in the basement that she would never admit freaked her out. They made her sit on the floor, told her to close her eyes, asked her what she saw. Nothing, she told them. They told her to embrace that nothingness, to let it surround her, to let it become her. She was nothing. She wasn’t angry because she wasn’t anything. She couldn’t yell because she didn’t have a voice. She couldn’t fight because she didn’t have fists. She was nothing. 

Every time she got angry, they repeated the same thing, brought her to the same room, until eventually they could do it out in the open. She’d get frustrated, start to lash out, and Sal would yell.

What are you?

Nothing.

Where are you?

Nowhere.

Who are you?

Nobody.

Again and again and again, until her breathing calmed, until she didn’t need to respond, until she didn’t need them to ask. The rage never went away but she could fight it without saying a word, could find her way back to calm. She knew she’d learned her lesson when she spent most days calm rather than angry, but she still clung to the words. At night, when she woke up to screaming in her head and silence around her, she would lie still and remind herself: nothing, nowhere, nobody.

—

She remembers when she first picked her name. 

She’d been distracted. She was sixteen and had finally graduated to a crossbow. It was mechanical and precise, fit her in a way the childish bow never had. Her movements weren’t fluid enough yet, but after her first training session Luca had nodded his approval, and it was all she needed to know that this was it for her. She remembered almost wanting to smile as she finished the course they’d set up, until he patted her on the back and said you train with this and you’ll kill men with ease one day.

She hadn’t reacted, not visibly, but the words sat with her all throughout the rest of the night, into the morning when she snuck over to Imelda’s for lessons. She’d been coming once a week for years, learning the less physical necessities: languages and history and math. She’d also, upon Imelda’s request, continued to practice piano, but only for her, only at the end of the day. Imelda told her it would teach discipline and focus, but Helena knew she just missed the music.

Today’s lessons were all in Manderin, which meant that her lack of focus was as obvious as the bruises on her body and the scars on her arms. She stared at the characters in front of her but all she heard was Luca: You’ll kill men with ease. You’ll kill men with ease. You’ll kill men with ease. 

She’d always known that one day she would take lives. Even before, it was she who was set up to inherit the family business. Her father had hid some of the details from her but she knew what came with that title, what would be necessary to show her strength and keep their power. What he did behind closed doors.

But it had always been far off. A future so distant it wasn’t fully imaginable. It stayed that way as she trained, as she hung up her drawing and made a promise of vengeance to the ghosts she could feel lurking in her shadows. The bow and arrow, the strength training, the endurance, it had all felt separate from the mission that drove her. But now, with a new weapon in her hand and approval in his eye, it wasn’t just an idea anymore. It was a reality that hadn’t materialized yet, but one that was on its way, faster than she could control. And she wasn’t sure if she was ready for it. 

The smack of a ruler on her knuckles knocked her back into the moment, and she looked up to see Imelda’s eyes on her, stern and unforgiving. “Where are you?” 

Nowhere. “Here.”

Imelda shook her head, then moved the ruler to Helena’s temple. “No. You are lost in there.”

Helena didn’t say anything. She hoped Imelda would drop it, but she just sat down on the piano bench behind her, turned so her back was facing Helena. She watched as she gingerly traced her fingers over the keys, her delicate touch so unlike anything Helena had seen from her.

“You cannot play for me if you’re lost.” She turned toward her, and she’d been taught not to give voice to the thoughts in her head, but she’d also been taught to never refuse an order from her. The latter rule won.

“Do you think I can do it?” She asked, and as the words came out she felt the sting of the ruler on her knuckles again.

“Did I say you could speak English?”

Helena bit back the pain, and asked again in Manderin: “When the time comes, do you think I can kill them?”

She sighed, shook her head, and Helena had the overwhelming feeling that she’d done something wrong. She used to get it all the time before, but it had seemingly disappeared when she’d shown up in Sicily. Now the familiar restlessness was back, and she didn’t know what to make of it. 

“Only you can answer that, Lena.” The Italian accent on her name felt unnatural when the rest of the sentence was in Manderin. Like it didn’t belong in the sentence. Like she didn’t belong.

She looked down. “Helena Bertinelli was always supposed to be a killer. But what if she isn’t?”

Imelda was silent for fifty-five seconds. Helena counted them one by one. Finally, she said, “Your father. He killed many people.”

She didn’t technically know if that was true, not really, but she nodded.

“Yes. But you didn’t know the killer. He’s not the man who came home every night. You knew the father, no?” She nodded. She forced any thought of before out of her mind. She didn’t want to remember. Remembering made her angry. Imelda had witnessed her rage once and made it very clear that it had no place in her home. “So your father, and the head of your family, they were two different people.”

“But they weren’t. Both were my father.”

“What did you call him?”

She didn’t want to remember she didn’t want to remember she didn’t want—

“It wasn’t what his enemies called him, was it?”

Helena shook her head. 

“So there you go.” She looked at her, confused, and Imelda had only just begun teaching her how to read emotions but her exasperation was obvious. “Child, you think I was born with this name? You become the person you need to be. Whether they live, they die, that’s your choice. But if Helena Bertinelli isn’t a killer, and you need someone dead,” she shrugged. “Then become someone who is.”

She said it like it was simple. Helena wondered if maybe it was. 

Two weeks later, Imelda taught her about the gods and goddesses. Roman and Greek. She’d thought the lesson would be useless, until she got to Diana. Otherwise known as Artemis. Otherwise known as the Goddess of the Hunt, of the moon. She hunted with a bow and arrow, protected women and children. Diana was Artemis and yet she was not. She had become what history made her. She contained multitudes of power and personalities, and as Imelda spoke, Helena knew that she wouldn't be the one training, wouldn’t be the one pulling the trigger when the time came.

She had stopped believing in God while she laid underneath the dead weight of her mother, but that night she closed her eyes and prayed, not to a man in the sky but to the woman she would become: the Huntress.

—

She remembers turning eighteen. It was supposed to be the day she inherited everything; instead, it was entirely uneventful. 

—

She remembers being alone. They trained her, fed her, but once she got older, she didn’t need them babysitting her anymore. So they didn’t. She’d spar with them, and they’d watch her train, give her pointers and lessons that never ended, but they disappeared during the time in between. When she was a kid, they only did that at night, but now she had hours during the day unscheduled, and she didn’t know what to do with herself.

Mostly, she did push-ups. She practiced meditation, found ways to truly live in silence. To thrive in it. Voices that used to fill her head had been buried so deep they rarely stuck their necks out for air anymore. She could sit in her room, outside, for hours. She knew this was another form of training, that it was preparation for the time she’d spend waiting once she returned to Gotham, but she also knew that they only taught her this lesson because they knew they could. They only left her because they trusted her. She used the phrase sometimes as a reminder, as protection from any feelings that might try and latch on to the empty space. She was fine with being alone. She liked being alone. She could handle being alone. Nothing, nowhere, nobody. 

At night the mantras didn’t work. The faces she tried to hide from followed her everywhere, but at least she could survive in the daylight, when her shadows were on the ground behind her and not hidden in the darkness of her mind. They blended in too well in there, snuck up on her in a way they rarely did when she was awake. And if she never screamed, if she never gave them a voice, they couldn’t follow her after she opened her eyes.

She wondered if this was peace.

—

She couldn’t remember his voice anymore. Pino. In all her dreams he never spoke, and the silence was worse than anything he might have said.

—

She remembers the day before she returned to Gotham. 

She went through the course again, but it was more of a formality than anything — she could hit anything they threw at her, take them down with or without her bow. She knew how long she’d been waiting, but until the last day, she hadn’t truly felt it. For fifteen years every week had been exactly like the week before. Any changes were so small they quickly became normal. The difference between childhood and adulthood hardly existed, the passage of time rarely worth recognizing. Except now she had to, because she was getting on a plane at nine in the morning and she wasn’t coming back.

She sat with Sal and Luca at dinner, anticipation gnawing away at her appetite. They’d told her what they could: which motel would be the best place to go, the intel they’d received over the years on the four men. But they could only do so much. Once she landed, she knew she’d be on her own. 

She waited until midnight to go visit her. She knew how to get there undetected, but as she left their house she realized she wasn’t afraid of being spotted. For the first time she walked the long way, passed houses and shops, and the streets were still empty but at least she didn’t feel like she was hiding anymore. 

She knew she’d be awake, but she knocked anyway. She heard muffled yelling, took it as an invitation. Helena found her on her couch, radio on and crackling softly from the table. She watched TV sometimes, old reruns of movies from before Helena was born, movies Imelda told her were bad but in a good way, but not tonight. Tonight was for music.

“What language?” She asked, the way she’d begun almost every lesson since she’d first started coming to her. 

“Sicilian. My favorite tongue for your last night,” she paused, before adding, “I assume that’s why you’re here.”

Helena just nodded. Imelda didn’t say anything, just patted the couch next to her. She’d never been an affectionate woman, but neither had Helena, and she found that moments like this, sitting in almost silence, were enough for both of them.

“You have a plan?” Helena looked at her, and she tried to hide her offense but she must not have succeeded, because Imelda laughed. “Relax, child. I meant for after. For when you’re done.”

She shook her head. She didn’t want to lie to her, but technically she didn’t have one yet, not really. Nothing concrete. Just an idea. But it didn’t matter; she couldn’t afford to be distracted, to think about anything other than four men getting arrows through their throats. “I’ll figure it out when I get there, I suppose.”

Imelda just made a noise. Helena couldn’t figure out if it was in approval or disapproval, but before she could ponder over it, she felt a hand on her arm. “Go play for me before you go.”

Helena got up, wordlessly made her way around the corner to the classroom, to the piano. She sat down, started playing without thinking. Sheet music was sparse, so her repertoire wasn’t expansive, hadn’t been updated in the past couple years, but she knew Imelda didn’t mind. 

As she reached the end, she wondered whether she’d ever play again. The thought made her hesitate, but she pushed through to the last chord. She sat on the old bench, could feel it shaking underneath her, but years of coming here meant she knew where to sit to stay balanced. She knew which keys stuck, knew that nothing ever sounded the way it was supposed to but she’d grown to appreciate the sound this piano made, the familiar way each chord rang out of tune. 

She felt eyes on her, and she turned to find Imelda standing behind the desk. She was well into her eighties now, legs still shaky, but she was strong in all the ways that mattered, in all the ways Helena wasn’t. 

“I won’t tell you not to do it,” she said. “But when it’s all over, remember that your hands can create as easily as they can destroy. Huntress doesn’t need to kill Helena to get the job done.”

Helena didn’t say anything. She wondered how she knew the inklings of the plan she’d been formulating. She wondered if this was what she’d meant all those years ago when she’d spoken or ruin, if Helena was well on her way to fulfilling a prophecy she was never meant to hear.

She didn’t stay much longer than that. Part of her wanted to say goodbye, knew that she wouldn’t come back, but neither of them were sentimental. She hoped the music spoke enough for her, hoped it was another language Imelda could understand.

—

When she finishes talking, Dinah doesn’t say anything. Minutes pass, the only noise coming from the radio playing faintly in the background. She thought she’d feel more uncomfortable, but she was surprised by the calm that had come over her in the beginning, the calm that never left. 

“Can you tell me about that day?” Dinah asks, and Helena must react because she quickly adds, “You don’t have to. I just...I worry about you holding it all inside. Memories like that will eat you alive if you let them.”

Helena nods. Dinah’s sitting on the floor with her now, so close their knees brush against one another. She’s told her about before and after, so she doesn’t know what she’s afraid of, but she knows her chest feels tight and her palms are starting to sweat.

“I remember the car ride home. He was teaching me Sicilian. He’d give me a group of words to learn on the way to wherever I was going and quiz me on the way home. That day I got every one of them right. I walked into the house feeling proud.”

“Did he know?” Her voice is hesitant, like she’s scared to say anything at all, and Helena wonders what it means that they’re both afraid of her, of her past. Of saying the quiet parts out loud.

She gives her the truth. “I’m not sure. He never told me, and I never asked.”

She nods, and Helena swears Dinah has more she’s going to say but she doesn’t, just looks back at her. It takes her a minute to realize she’s waiting. It takes her another minute to realize that she doesn’t want to stop talking.

“I didn’t know that they’d been waiting for me until after. I don’t know when the men came, how long my family stared into the barrels of the guns before I got there. How long they had to wait to die. All I know is they didn’t waste any time once I got home.”

She feels Dinah’s eyes on her, but she doesn’t see their apartment anymore. She’s only vaguely aware that words are still coming out of her mouth.

“I stopped feeling when the silence came. I’d never...before that, I knew I wasn’t...I was always like this. The way I am. But I used to try and pretend, and after that, it was like a switch went off. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t anymore.”

“How long did it take? To get you out of there?”

Long enough to feel Mama get cold above her. 

Long enough for the blood that wasn’t hers to dry on her face. 

Long enough to realize Pino wasn’t going to get his car back. 

“Too long.”

She could feel a hand on hers, and it was as if the words were drawn to it, as if Dinah physically pulled them out of her. Her touch gave her bravery she didn’t feel, strength she didn’t have. 

“I remember praying to God to kill me. I didn’t want to be left alone. I remember trying to move, to let them know I was alive so they could shoot me and be done with it, but I couldn’t. I was pinned down. If my mother hadn’t fallen on top of me, if I’d been a little stronger…”

Dinah’s body shifts and suddenly there’s hands around her waist, a head resting on her shoulder, and she thinks that she never wants her to let go. 

“She saved you,” Dinah says after a minute. 

“So did you.” She shifts, looks up at her, and Helena knows she has one more confession to make, and for the first time she’s not afraid of the words. “I told you I didn’t have a plan for after. For when I finished. But that wasn’t entirely true. I didn’t have a plan because…” she swallows, and she wants to look away but Dinah’s eyes are magnetic and she isn’t strong enough to break the connection, not until the words come out. “I didn’t have a plan because I knew I wouldn’t need one. Because my list had five names, not four.”

She turns forward, stares at a spot on the wall. One, two, three, four, five seconds before Dinah stops breathing, before Helena knows she’s understood. Six, seven seconds before the arms around her waist squeeze, and Helena wonders if she’s supposed to be crying now, but she isn’t. Dinah is. A part of her hates that she’s the reason for it. Dinah’s head shifts onto her chest, and she can feel her tears making their way onto her shirt, knows there’ll be a spot there when she leaves, but she doesn’t stop her. Her arms are pinned to her body underneath Dinah’s embrace, but she has enough room to move her hands up to her arm, to hold it. The position is a little awkward and a little uncomfortable but so is she, and she knows Dinah doesn’t mind. 

She stops counting the seconds, so she doesn’t know how long it takes before Dinah’s tears slow down. Even when they do, she doesn’t move, keeps her head on Helena’s chest, right over her heart. 

“What do you mean,” Dinah finally asks, “when you say I saved you? What did I do to make you change your mind?”

Helena shrugs. “I don’t know. It was more of a feeling. That morning, in the restaurant. You were nice to me. I didn’t understand why. All I knew was I liked the way it felt when you smiled at me. When you and Renee started making plans for after, I realized I didn’t want to go. Not yet.”

Dinah keeps her head on her chest, and Helena knows the position can’t be comfortable but she doesn’t look like she wants to move anytime soon. She’s not looking at her anymore but Helena doesn’t mind. Dina’s holding her like she’d float away if she let go, and she wants to tell her she won’t, that she’s here and not going anywhere. She’s her anchor, in more ways than one.

To no surprise, Dinah’s the one to break the silence. “Thank God for margaritas and Mexican food, then.”

Helena knows she’s joking but she can’t stop herself from correcting her. “No. Thank god for you, Dinah Lance.”

Dinah nuzzles into her chest and she finally pulls her arm free, places it around Dinah’s body. They fit together, even with all her missing pieces, and she thinks she would have talked about everything ages ago if she knew it could feel like this. Like coming home. 

They stay like that, wrapped up in each other, for long enough that the radio passes through three commercial breaks. At the beginning of the fourth, Dinah shifts her weight, just enough to get her attention. 

“If I buy you a piano, will you play for me?”

Helena smirks. “Do you know how expensive pianos are?”

“Fine,” she says, and Helena can’t see her face but she can hear the smile in her voice. “If I borrow from the Bertinelli fortune and buy you a piano with your own money, will you play for me?”

She nods, and part of her is glad that Dinah can’t see her face clearly because she knows she’s smiling so big her teeth are almost showing, and something about that embarrasses her, more than anything she’d said before. She can’t help it: the thought of making music, of playing again and having Dinah listen, having her sing along with her, is enough to make her giddy. She makes a note to look for pianos today, although she isn’t sure if she wants a cheap one or not. Part of her can’t imagine playing in tune again, but Dinah doesn’t deserve to listen to cheap music. She deserves the best. So she thinks maybe she’ll buy another baby grand, and maybe she’ll spend her nights in front of the keys, the moonlight shining like a spotlight on the two of them, her hands finally remembering how to create.

[xxstar-bluesxx]

I GOT A UNIQUE DYNAMIC IDEA!

One of the villain's best 5 assassins was send out to kill the Prince from another kingdom, before one day he will be crowned as king.

The Prince is an only child, the king is busy dealing with his subjects. The queen died after she gave birth to her son. He's playful and friendly to everyone, even outside the castle by sneaking with a disguise. But he wasn't allowed to make friends from the village or else he'll get caught. When he's inside of the castle, he's quite lonely.

Some days he would go to the woods, probably taking some fresh air or read his favourite book somewhere. Even befriending animals.

The assassin travelled far until he saw the Prince sitting under a tree. Now on a cliff, aiming on the Prince with a crossbow, he was about to shoot until a bear came up behind them. Jolted and missed a shot. Picks up another arrow in a hurry, aim for the bear, but eventually gets knocked off the cliff and hit the rocks then to the surface. They got knocked out. And injured. The crossbow got broken too.

The Prince ran up to the sound of a roar and a thud. He saw an unconscious person on the ground. Picks them up carefully and take them somewhere safe.

When the assassin woke up, they were surprised that the Prince bandaged them. The Prince never knew he's in great danger, he only thought that he might befriend a stranger who is outside of his kingdom.

[pikapeppa]

Fenris/f!Hawke and the Inquisition: Holiday

Chapter 48 of Lovers In A Dangerous Time (i.e. Fenris the Inquisitor) is up on AO3, after a dreaded few-week hiatus! I’m launching into the Jaws of Hakkon DLC, which I LOVE SO MUCH. For anyone who hasn’t played it, you should still be able to follow along as long as you don’t mind spoilers. I hope you enjoy! 

Read on AO3 here instead; full chapter is >8500 words.

************************

A year and a half after Corypheus’s death…

Fenris shifted his feet and readied his stance. The ice was stinging the soles of his feet, but this was nothing he hadn’t suffered before; this was just another dragon, after all. Just another monstrous beast that spewed ice from its gaping maw. They had fought dragons before and always prevailed. This would be no different.

He ignored the rattling disquiet in his chest and settled his fingers more firmly on the handle of his sword. He glanced at the others. “You have your positions?” he shouted.

Cole, Dorian and Blackwall nodded. Scout Harding saluted him briskly, and Sera gave him a more playful salute. Bull shot him a bloodthirsty and oddly reassuring smile while Varric patted his crossbow. 

He glanced over at Hawke; her face was set and determined. When she met his eye, she smiled and blew him a kiss, and he released a slow breath and tried to return her smile. 

The dragon laughed, then let out an enormous, rib-rattling roar. It launched itself into the air and landed on the frozen lake in front of them just sixty paces away. Behind Fenris, Bull roared and charged toward the dragon. 

The others followed him, splitting off to attack the dragon from every angle, and Fenris lit his lyrium marks aglow. As he watched his companions attacking the monstrous dragon and dodging its frigid breath, valiantly placing themselves in danger for the umpteenth time tonight, one thought kept hammering at his weary mind.

I can’t do this anymore.

**********************

“Varric!” Hawke squealed. 

Fenris looked up to see Varric strolling through the research camp toward them. His face was lit with a smile, and Fenris couldn’t help but smile in return. 

Hawke bolted toward him wrapped him in a tight hug. “I’m so glad you arrived! I’ve missed my daily dose of gorgeous dwarven chest hair.” 

Varric chuckled as he returned her hug. “Have you been that bored without me? I was only gone for three months.”

“That’s two months longer than the last time you went to Kirkwall,” she retorted. “You know I can’t live for that long without your sarcasm and your cheating at cards.”

“By that, I’ll assume you mean my sharp wit and my charm,” Varric said smoothly. He shot Fenris a smirk as he drew near. “Has the broody one not been keeping you entertained enough?”

“Oh, he entertains me,” Hawke said lewdly. “But not in the same way as you.”

Fenris folded his arms. “Should I be flattered or insulted by that?”

She smiled winningly and looped her arm around his waist, and Varric patted Fenris’s elbow. “Good to see you, buddy.”

“And you as well, my friend,” Fenris said. “Rebuilding is going well? Kirkwall is still standing, I assume?”

Varric snorted. “That’s a bold assumption. Maybe I just managed to escape another disaster there.”

Hawke tutted. “Don’t be stupid. Disasters only happen in Kirkwall when I’m around.”

Fenris shot her a chiding look, but before he could reply, a smooth and jovial voice interrupted. “What was that I heard about disasters? Have you been having that much fun without me?”

They all looked up. Dorian was sashaying toward them wearing a very sharply tailored robe that practically screamed Tevinter Imperium.

“Dorian! You’re here!” Hawke cried. She flew toward him and hugged him hard. “This robe is fucking gorgeous. You look like the perfect evil magister.” She brushed his shoulders solicitously and beamed at him. “Getting into character, are you?”

“Exactly,” Dorian said with a grin. “Although I can’t deny that I’m enjoying access to proper Tevinter silk again.”

“I agree,” Bull said as he sauntered over in Dorian’s wake. He elbowed Dorian gently. “Your new silky underthings are pretty damned enjoyable.”

Dorian rolled his eyes and gave Hawke a long-suffering look. “Leave your handsome lummox of a lover for a few months and he becomes a depraved sex maniac.”

Bull grinned unrepentantly, and Hawke chuckled. Then Dorian gave Varric a mocking little bow. “Varric! Still as swarthy as ever, I see. And how could I forget our handsome and fearless leader?” He grinned at Fenris and held out a hand. “How are you, my friend?”

Fenris smirked and shook his hand. “I have no complaints. Or at least I didn’t before I saw your robe.”

Dorian laughed merrily. “Ah, I missed you too. Now come, fill me in on everything. And by that, I mean you, Hawke. I do so miss our daily gossip sessions.”

“I think you should start us off, Sparkler,” Varric said. “Last I heard, you were tied up in some kind of political intrigue in Minrathous?”

Dorian tutted. “That’s putting it mildly. Maevaris and I have been taking quite a few hits from the magisterium recently–”

“Hits?” Fenris said sharply.

Dorian waved a dismissive hand. “The usual sort of thing. Assassination attempts, an attempted poisoning here and there, even an attack by a bound spirit or two. You know how it is.”

“I do, unfortunately,” Fenris said quietly. 

Dorian gave him a kindly look. “Don’t you worry. That’s why I’m here. Maevaris and I are pretending that we’re at odds at the moment, you see. The magisters will think they’ve scared us into submission, and meanwhile we’ll regroup in the shadows.” He nodded to Hawke. “It’s perfect timing that you suggested this little holiday, in fact. It suits me to be away from my dear homeland at the moment.”

Varric snorted. “‘Holiday’. That’s not exactly what I’d call a wander through the untamed wilderness.” 

Hawke gave him a pleading look. “Oh come on, Varric, it’s going to be wonderful, I promise! The Frostback Basin is so gorgeous with the trees and the flowers and the toadstools and all that–”

“Hawke,” Varric interrupted.

She blinked at him. “Yes?

He gave her a pointed look. “You remember who you’re talking to, right?”

She widened her eyes. “What do you mean?”

Fenris cleared his throat. “I believe he means that the two people who came the farthest to be here are the same two who hate the outdoors the most.” He gestured at Dorian and Varric. 

“He’s not wrong,” Varric drawled.

“He really isn’t,” Dorian said. 

Hawke sighed dramatically and gave Fenris a chiding look. “Listen, I know they’re indoor boys, but I didn’t want to point out that they came all this way just to spend time with you and I. It would hurt Bull’s feelings, and he’s standing right there.”

Dorian and Varric chuckled, and Bull gave her a playful little push. “Thanks, little Hawke.”

Hawke snickered and hugged his arm. Then Dorian tilted his head. “You know, that raises the question. Where are the rest of our sorry little crew? I’m rather offended they aren’t here to greet–”

“Your clothes are very shiny,” Cole said. 

To Fenris’s amusement, Dorian jumped. “Cole!” he exclaimed. He released a little breath, then smiled at the spirit-boy. “How I’ve missed your unannounced appearances. In fact, I brought you something.” He reached into the inner pocket of his tailored robe and handed Cole a gift. 

It was a fine ebony comb decorated with an elaborate pattern of mother-of-pearl. Cole peered at it, then looked at Dorian. “What is it?”

“It’s a comb,” Dorian explained. “For your hair. So you needn’t wear that hat anymore.”

Cole blinked. “What’s wrong with my hat?”

Varric chuckled and patted Cole’s elbow. “Nice to see that nothing’s changed.” 

A moment later, Blackwall and Sera joined them, and Blackwall clapped Varric on the shoulder. “Varric! Good to see you!” he said. He nodded politely to Dorian. “Dorian, you look well.”

“As do you,” Dorian said equally politely. “Did you wash your hair? It suits you.”

Blackwall snorted. Then Sera leapt on Dorian’s back. “Now you’re here, we can have some real fun!” she announced. “Beardy and I were down on the beach and there’s these little tiny crabs, see, and–”

“The answer is no,” Dorian interrupted. “Whatever it is, it’s no.”

Sera pouted, and Hawke and Blackwall laughed. They continued to banter and chat as they made their way through the research camp toward Scout Harding, and Fenris enjoyed the familiar novelty of his companions’ talk.

It had been several months since they’d gone on an expedition like this. He and Hawke had been holed up at Skyhold since just before Varric had left, and before that they’d been stationed at Caer Bronach in Crestwood for a number of weeks dealing with some lingering darkspawn and trying to help the still-recovering village while simultaneously appeasing the Fereldan nobles about the Inquisition’s ongoing presence at the caer. Before that, it was a few months at Skyhold and a few at the Griffon’s Keep, a seemingly never-ending cycle of negotiations and meetings and soothing ruffled feathers and trying to muster coin out of thin air… 

Fenris ran a weary hand through his hair as he thought about the multiple problems that he had yet to address when he returned to Skyhold. During the first chaotic year after the Conclave disaster, Fenris hadn’t enjoyed the constant travel and the constant errands. But now that he’d spent an entire year mired in cross-continental politics following Corypheus’s death, he was only just realizing how good he’d had it when his primary duties were fighting and recruitment. Travelling from Ferelden to Orlais, asking people to join the Inquisition, killing demons and closing rifts: that was a simpler time, far simpler than trying to navigate the weblike intricacies of Orlesian and Fereldan and Free Marcher and Chantry politics without stepping on anyone’s toes and without overstepping his own authority – an authority that many people seemed to take for granted, and which Fenris was growing increasingly uneasy about. 

This is probably a bad sign, he thought. To be feeling wistful about the days when they’d been fighting demons and Venatori and darkspawn? And to think that during those days, he’d been wistful for the two years prior when he and Hawke had been on the run from the Chantry. 

He sighed. Was there ever going to be a time when he would be able to simply enjoy his life instead of wishing wistfully for a different part of it?

Hawke interrupted his melancholy thoughts. “This is nice, isn’t it?” she said.

“Hm?” he said distractedly. “Er, yes. It is.”

She studied his face for a moment, then twined her fingers with his. “It’s going to be a good holiday. I promise.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “You keep calling this a holiday as though it’s not still Inquisition business.”

“I know, but it’s low-pressure business!” she said. “Tracking down the last Inquisitor’s body and fighting some angry Avvar? It’s basically a cake walk, you’ll see.”

Fenris gave her a fond but exasperated look. “This is going to be like the times you convinced us to go camping on the Wounded Coast, isn’t it?”

“Which time?” she asked.

“Every time,” he said dryly.

She tutted and poked his arm. “Oh, don’t complain about that. You liked camping. Admit it.”

“I didn’t mind the camping,” Fenris said. “I minded the giant spiders. And the slavers. And the murderers trying to hide bodies—”

“I suppose I can’t promise no giant spiders,” Hawke said loudly. “But Harding did mention treehouses! That sounds fun, no?”

Fenris huffed. “Treehouses to escape the giant spiders, I presume?”

“Exactly,” she said cheerfully. “See, it’s going to be fun.”

Her smile was so bright and lovely, and she was so obviously determined to have a good time – or rather, to show Fenris a good time. This so-called holiday was not only her way to see Dorian and Varric again, but her attempt to drag Fenris away from the stress of Inquisition politics for at least a little while. 

In the last few weeks especially, Hawke had been appearing more frequently with snacks and cups of coffee in the war room or wherever Fenris happened to be working, offering to help him by forging his signature or writing letters to tell people to bugger off. She was always cheerful when she appeared, always chatting and laughing as was her norm. But Fenris knew she was worried about how hard he was working with the advisors, as well as with Cassandra all the way in Val Royeaux. 

There was nothing he could do to assuage Hawke’s worries, though. He was trapped in his role, trapped in this position of authority and guidance, and he had no choice but to keep doing what he was doing and hoping that things would eventually calm down.

Hawke squeezed his hand again. “It’ll be fun, Fenris. We’ll have a good time here, you’ll see.” 

He nodded. Then Dorian’s loud voice drew their attention. “Ah, my dear Lady Lace! Just who I was hoping to see.” 

Fenris looked up to see Dorian gallantly bowing to Scout Harding. He gave her a hopeful smile. “You wouldn’t happen to have any spare boots for a handsome young man, would you?” 

“Sure she does,” Sera said. “Might even have a pair for you.” She cackled, and Dorian tsked at her.  

Harding smiled and folded her arms. “Nice to have you back, Dorian. I assume Fenris and Hawke told you and Varric why we’re here?”

“They did,” Varric said. “The search for the mysterious Inquisitor Ameridan, who disappeared eight hundred years ago.” He gave Hawke a knowing look. “I’m ready to take notes in case I can use this for my next book.”

Hawke slung an arm around his shoulders. “I’d be extremely disappointed if you weren’t.”

Harding turned to Fenris. “Professor Kenric’s been itching to talk to you again. He should be around here somewhere–” 

“Inquisitor!” The Starkhaven professor hurried over to them with an eager smile. “I’m glad you’re here, and with an entire scouting expedition at your side – that’s brilliant, you’ll have many more eyes to collect observations!” Kenric bowed hastily to their party, then turned back to Fenris. “Now, you’ll recall I told you about the buckles I found–”

“Er, buckles?” Varric said.

“They’re also shiny,” Cole said knowledgeably, and Hawke fondly patted his shoulder.

“Yes, buckles,” Kenric said excitedly. “They’re often overlooked by the average person, but in the study of ancient artifacts, they’re absolutely crucial, since other materials like cloth and leather will have rotted away – barring enchantments, of course.” He looked at Fenris with wide eyes. “I’ve found evidence that Inquisitor Ameridan was involved in a fight on the shore not far to the south.” He held out his hand. In his gloved palm was a bent metal clasp. 

“This is consistent with armour links,” he said. “It’s clearly torn. That only happens from a heavy shearing blow, like large claws or an ax.” He then pulled an item from a pouch at his waist and lovingly unwrapped it from its protective silk covering.

“Then there’s this dagger,” he said. “Silverite, with a stylized dragon pommel and inscription reading ‘Kordillus’. This had to be a gift to Ameridan from Kordillus Drakon, the first Emperor of Orlais. No one would just lose such a thing.” Kenric looked around at them all. “There was some sort of battle near the shoreline,” he explained. “Ameridan and his companions were in a hurry, hence the dropped dagger. Lady – er, Scout Harding’s people reported an island near an Avvar fishing camp on the shore. The friendly Avvar, that is, not those Jaws of Hakkon barbarians.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “The locals won’t say much about the island, though. Likely a local superstition.”

“Hmm,” Varric said. “An interrupted battle and an ominous island? We’re off to a great start.”

Fenris smirked at him. “Is that sarcasm? I can’t quite tell.”

“Neither can I,” Varric said dryly.

Hawke tutted and poked them both. “Oh come on, it is a great start! I’m intrigued! Who wants to go to this mystery island?” She raised her hand. “I know I do.”

Fenris gazed at her fondly. She was trying so hard to be upbeat, and he loved her for it.

He lazily raised a hand. “I do as well.”

Blackwall straightened. “I’d be honoured to come.”

Sera elbowed him. “Not leaving me behind, you’re not.”

“I’ll come too,” Bull said. “I hear the hunting is good along the southern shore. The creatures here are fierce.” He grinned. 

Dorian patted his arm. “You are such a brute, amatus.”

Hawke clasped her hands together and beamed at them all. “Fantastic! Off we go, then!” She looped her hands through Sera and Blackwall’s elbows, and together they made their way out of the research camp and toward the southern shore. 

Fenris had to admit the Frostback Basin really was quite scenic; the terrain was hilly and liberally scattered with toadstools and large exotic flowers, just as Hawke had said. The trees were enormous, some of them bigger than the ones in the Arbour Wilds, and the vegetation ranged from tall flowing grasses to full-bodied ferns to vines that hung in long green ropes from the trees. The same brilliant multicoloured birds that lived in the Arbour Wilds also lived here, and their sharp calls contrasted with the rushing flow of the river that wended its way vaguely from the north and down toward the southern shore where they were headed. 

As they made their way toward the fishing camp, Varric, Cole, and Dorian fell into step next to Fenris. Dorian grimaced slightly as he stepped over a pile of feces. “So explain this Jaws of Hakkon business, then,” he said to Fenris. “Who are these fellows, and why did the professor call them barbarians?”

“There are two groups of Avvar here,” Fenris said wearily. “One group has been friendly, but the other group attacks any Inquisition soldier or scout who draws near. We spent some time yesterday fighting them. They have mages, and they’re in possession of some rather chilling magic.”

“Chilling, yes,” Cole said. “Cold, cooling, crawling across the skin.” He blinked at Fenris. “Was that a joke?”

Fenris eyed him in surprise. “I… didn’t mean it to be. But yes, I suppose it was a pun.”

“Hey,” Varric said in surprise. “The kid recognized a pun! That’s good progress, Cole, I’m proud.” 

Dorian tutted impatiently. “Yes, yes, Cole is gaining a sense of humour. That’s lovely. Do we know why these magic-wielding Jaws of Hakkon are trying to kill us at every turn?”

Fenris shrugged, and Varric chuckled. “It really is like old times, then. Well, we might as well enjoy it.”

Fenris shot him a sardonic look. “You? Enjoy the wilderness?”

Varric smirked. “I know, I know. But as much as I hate this wilderness shit, I’m kind of glad to be away from Kirkwall right now. Things are getting a little heavy.”

“Everything but your coin purse, it seems,” Dorian said. “From what Bull tells me, you’ve really been emptying your pockets for the city.”

Varric shrugged and waved dismissively. “Ah, you know. It’s no big thing. I’ve gotta use the royalties from my books somehow, right? Might as well be for that.”

Fenris nodded sagely. Varric could pretend to be casual about all the restoration funding he was pouring into Kirkwall, but Fenris had spent enough time discussing the Inquisition’s finances with Josephine to know that the Kirkwall rebuilding efforts had to be extortionately expensive. 

Varric’s investments weren’t really a surprise, though. Fenris knew how Varric really felt about Kirkwall. Despite the city’s many flaws and the ugly personal history they had there, Kirkwall was Varric’s home. If Varric wanted to feign casualness about his restoration efforts, however, Fenris could give him that.

He shrugged. “Fair enough,” he said. “Are you coming back to Skyhold after this so-called holiday?”

Varric hesitated, and Fenris gave him a careful look. “You’re… you’re not coming back?”

Varric tugged his beringed ear, and Fenris raised his eyebrows. “When did you decide this?”

Varric sighed. “Look, it… it wasn’t really my decision. I–”

At that moment, Hawke bounded over and slung her arms around Varric’s shoulders and Fenris’s waist. “So Varric, if you’re taking notes about this Ameridan business, you need to know all the lovely scandalous rumours that Kenric told us.”

Varric shot Dorian and Fenris a quick warning look, then smiled at Hawke. “Go on, I’m listening.”

“Well,” Hawke said, “one rumour is that–”

Fenris interrupted. “Shouldn’t you tell him the facts first?”

Hawke sighed loudly. “But that’s boring… fine, fine, you tell him the facts.”

Fenris looked at Varric. “Ameridan went missing around the time that the Nevarran Accord was signed, in 1:20 Divine or thereabouts. No one knows why he went missing. He was a close friend of Drakon the First–”

“Who sounded like an utter asshole, by the way,” Hawke interjected. 

Dorian laughed. “You think the first Emperor of Orlais was an asshole? That’s a bold statement.”

Hawke shrugged carelessly. “Well, I’m no historian, but look what he did. He made a huge army and went wiping out all the little religions and spreading his Andrastianism all over the place. Sounds rather like an asshole move to me. Anyway, go on, Fenris.”

Fenris shrugged. “That’s it. Those are all the facts we know about Ameridan.”

Varric raised his eyebrows. “You’re kidding. That’s it? No further backstory?”

“See, this is where the fun stuff comes in,” Hawke said gleefully. “Some people think Ameridan was a lazy noble who just got to be the Inquisitor because he was Drakon’s friend, and he disappeared after going drinking and wenching and so on. Other people think Drakon had him killed because he opposed the Nevarran Accord–”

“–which seems unlikely,” Fenris put in, “since Ameridan was in power with Drakon’s blessing for many years before his disappearance. It’s unlikely that he disagreed with the Nevarran Accord.”

“Right,” Hawke said. “But here’s my favourite rumour. Some people think Ameridan had a secret lover who was a mage. Can you imagine?” she said with relish. “The ancient Inquisitor, famous demon and apostate hunter in the days of early Andrastianism, having a mage for a lover?”

Varric snorted in amusement. “Let me guess. You think they ran away together.”

“I certainly fucking hope so,” Hawke said. “That would be a nice happy ending, if you ask me.” She put on a playful storytelling voice. “‘Once upon a time, the Inquisitor decided that the newborn Chantry was full of shit. He took his mage lover by the hand, and they ran off into the sunset together to live a peaceful and happy life. The end.’” She patted Varric’s shoulder. “Feel free to give me a writing credit in your inside cover. I won’t mind.”

Varric and Dorian chuckled, but Fenris didn’t laugh. The Inquisitor running away with his mage lover to live a peaceful and happy life… 

Cole’s voice grabbed their attention. “They need help!” he cried.

They all looked up. They weren’t far from the fishing camp, but fifty paces ahead, Bull and Blackwall and Sera were engaged in a fight with a group of Hakkonites.

“Let’s go,” Fenris said, and they bolted toward the fight. It was fairly brief; the Hakkonite warriors were outnumbered by Fenris’s party, and in a few short minutes, their foes were dead. 

Dorian curiously studied the dead Hakkonite mage’s staff. “This is fascinating,” he said to Hawke. “There’s a piece of ice embedded in the head of the staff. Did you see this?” 

“It’s strange, right?” Hawke said as she crouched beside him. “I saw this on another mage’s staff yesterday. Crazier yet, the ice doesn’t melt. I think it’s helping their chilling spills to be more effective. We should break down their spell later tonight so we can try and recreate it ourselves…”

Sera pulled a face. “Magey-mage magic, ugh. Any fish stew in there?” She scampered away toward the cooking fire outside the Avvar fishing camp.

Fenris, meanwhile, smiled faintly at Dorian and Hawke. He knew that Hawke had been missing her magical discussions with Dorian, especially since he’d taken on the role of her primary magical confidant after Solas’s disappearance over a year ago. 

As always, Fenris shunted aside the hint of resentment and suspicion he felt at the thought of Solas. He turned to Varric. “Care to join me and chat with the locals?” he said with a nod to the Avvar. “I may need your silver tongue.”

“Aw, you really know how to flatter a guy,” Varric drawled. Together they went to speak to the Avvar fishermen.

Some twenty-odd minutes later, under direction of the fishermen, Fenris and his companions were making their way up the winding path that led to the friendly Avvar’s settlement. Just as Kenric had surmised, it seemed that the locals thought the island was occupied by spirits who were better left alone, and thus they would need the Avvar leader’s permission to travel there.

As they approached the settlement, Fenris nodded politely to each Avvar they passed. Their answering nods or murmurs of ‘lowlander’ were equally polite, but Fenris noted something strange: their eyes lingered on the glowing mark on his left hand, but not with the same fear or awe that he usually saw in people’s faces. Instead, the Avvar simply seemed curious. 

Odd, he thought. Nevertheless, he loosely closed his fist as they moved further into the settlement. 

The sound of cheering and shouting soon met his ears, and Hawke chuckled. “Oh my. Looks like we came just in time to see a nice display of male athletics.” She elbowed Dorian salaciously. 

Sure enough, two half-clad young men were vaulting up a sheer cliff wall while a crowd yelled and clapped. On a nearby platform, a stern-faced and rangy woman who matched the fishermen’s description of their leader was standing next to a tall and muscled man, and Fenris frowned in surprise: the tall man’s body-paint matched that of the Jaws of Hakkon. 

Bull grunted. “That’s strange. Didn’t expect to see a Hakkonite here.”

“It is odd,” Fenris agreed quietly. “We should find out what’s going on.” 

Before they could approach the platform, the Hakkonite descended and swaggered toward them. He sneered at Fenris. “This is not my hold, lowlander,” he said. “I will not shed your blood here. You will face the full might of the Jaws of Hakkon soon enough.” Without waiting for a response, he strode away. 

Hawke huffed at the Hakkonite’s departing back. “Bugger yourself, why don’t you?” she muttered. Then she smiled at Fenris. “Shall we go introduce ourselves to their leader?”

A fresh burst of cheering rose from the assembled crowd. The rangy woman was shouting now to the climbing men, who were standing at the top of the cliff. Fenris nodded to Hawke and made his way to the platform. 

He eyed the rangy woman with some suspicion as they approached. She had been associating with the Hakkonite, after all. When she turned to face them, however, her expression was neutral, but her tone of voice was welcoming. 

“You are the Inquisitor,” she said, with a casual glance at Fenris’s hand. 

“I am,” he said cautiously. “My name is Fenris.”

She nodded. “We heard tell of your arrival. I am Svarah Sun-Hair, Thane of Stone-Bear Hold.” She stepped off of the platform and gestured for them to follow her. “Come share my fire, where we might speak.”

She led them to a warm and well-lit cave that featured a large circular firepit and a rugged throne covered in furs. She gestured politely for them to sit on the furs around the fire, then seated herself on the throne and eyed them all with the same brand of warm curiosity that seemed to be common among the Avvar. “You and your people have come far from the safety of the lowlands,” she said.

“Yes,” Fenris said. “We are searching for the previous Inquisitor, in fact. It is said that he died somewhere near here hundreds of years ago.” 

Svarah nodded in approval. “Giving peace to the dead is a worthy quest. Any help we can offer is yours. Sadly, the Jaws of Hakkon will not offer so warm a welcome.” She settled back in her seat and gave Fenris a wry look. “You met their thane, Gurd Harofson. I wager you have crossed blades with his people in the wilderness. If you would search this place for your Inquisitor’s body, they will want you to pay in blood.”

“Why is that, if I may ask?” Dorian said. “It’s not unusual for people to hate us, but it’s nice sometimes to know the reason why.”

Svarah huffed – whether in amusement or disgust, Fenris couldn’t tell. “A fair question,” she said. “Our people believe that a wise man honours each god to its strength: Bjorn Reedbeard for fishing, Rilla of the Fireside for making babies. The Hakkonites care only for Hakkon Wintersbreath, god of war and winter.”

Bull chuckled. “He sounds like a nice guy.”  

“There is no evil in Hakkon,” Svarah told him seriously. “There are times to fight. But the Jaws of Hakkon care for nothing else. They raid, they fight; eventually they die, and their stories are forgotten. It is the way of things.” She waved a dismissive hand. “They are not the first hold to take that name. All have been foolish.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “They’re not the first? There were others?”

Hawke shrugged at this. “I guess that makes sense. We’re not the first Inquisition, after all.”

Fenris tilted his head; she had a point. Then Svarah answered his question. “There was another group who called themselves the Jaws of Hakkon, many ages ago. They thought of nothing but slaughter-glory. They attacked the lowlanders, and your people fought back and destroyed them.” She shrugged unconcernedly. “They were fools.”

Blackwall sat forward with a small frown. “And the group led by this Gurd Harofson? Are they fools as well?” 

“They are,” Svarah said. “They have forgotten the old ways. They came here a few years ago, after the Blight took their hold. There was land enough for both us and them, so we were friendly.” She sighed. “We did not see their anger. But Gurd Harofson lost too many in his hold to darkspawn. He thinks only of battle and war.” She gave them all a serious look. “To avenge a wrong is a good thing, but only a fool lights the world on fire to do it.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows at this sage statement, and they were all quiet for a moment. 

Then Hawke sat up on her knees. “Svarah – can I call you Svarah?” 

The thane nodded, and Hawke smiled. “Svarah, these Jaws of Hakkon… As you said, they’ve been hassling our people, and all we want to do is find our poor dead Inquisitor and bring him home. Is there any way we could persuade you to help us keep the Jaws of Hakkon off our backs?”

Svarah rubbed her chin. “Bathing my blade in the blood of the Hakkonites would be cause for a feast for most in this hold… but we have pledged peace with them. To attack with lowlanders at our side would make us oathbreakers. This is poor weather for me to ask that of my hold.” 

Hawke nodded slowly. “Is there anything we can do to, er, improve the weather for you?” 

For the first time, a hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Svarah’s lips. “Sharp of wit, you are. Who are you?”

Hawke smiled. “Oh, I’m Rynne! Rynne Hawke, the Inquisitor’s wife.” She patted Fenris’s thigh. “But everyone just calls me Hawke.”

“Hawke,” Svarah said thoughtfully. “Hawks are fine birds and worthy hunters. I hope you live up to the name.”

Hawke laughed. “So do I, believe me.”

Svarah smirked again, then shifted in her seat. “There is a matter you can assist us with. If you did, I would be grateful.”

“Of course,” Hawke said without hesitation – to Fenris’s mixed exasperation and amusement. “How can we help?”

“Among the Avvar, a hold draws strength from its hold-beast,” Svarah said “They are as kin to us. When our hold-beast is strong and happy, there’s joy. When it sickens and dies, it is an ill omen.” She looked at Fenris seriously. “Our bear, Storvacker, has not been seen in days. The hold fears for her. I cannot ask the hold to break peace-oaths unless Storvacker returns.”

“She a tiny bear?” Sera said. 

Svarah looked at her in surprise. “No. Storvacker is a mighty hunter. Why do you ask?”

Sera shrugged. “Just thinking why your people can’t find her.”

Svarah raised an eyebrow. “A great hunt for our hold-beast would show weakness to the Hakkonites, that’s why. But if you lowlanders happen to find her…” She shrugged. 

Dorian winced. “I hate to ask, but… are you certain your hold-beast isn’t, er, dead?”

Svarah shook her head. “If she were dead, the augur would know.”

“Augur?” Fenris asked. 

Svarah nodded. “He gives counsel and shares the will of the gods with us. Speak to him if you would know more.”

“All right,” Hawke said affably. “We’ll speak to your augur, find Storvacker, and then maybe the sun will come out, so to speak.” She gave Svarah a charming smile.

Svarah huffed in amusement. “Find Storvacker, and we will speak again. In the meantime, feel free to look around our hold.”

Hawke’s eyes widened. “We can look around?”

“You have guest-welcome here,” Svarah said. “Speak with my people and learn our ways, if you would spare the time.”

Hawke grinned at Fenris, and he smirked at her in fond exasperation. Of course Hawke would be thrilled at the thought of making friends with a new group of strangers. 

He turned to Svarah and bowed his head. “You have my thanks. For the welcome, and for the information.”

Varric leaned toward him. “The island, remember?” he muttered.

“Ah. Right,” Fenris said. That had, after all, been the point of all this. 

He looked to Svarah again. “We had hoped to borrow a boat to go to the island off the southern shore, but one of the fishermen said we needed your blessing.”

To Fenris’s surprise, Svarah snorted and waved a careless hand. “Bah, Rolfsen. He worries like a scared baby goat. The boat is yours. Tell him I said so.”

Fenris bowed his head once more. “Thank you. We will speak again.”

Svarah nodded in farewell as they rose to their feet. “Lady keep you,” she said. 

They filed out of the cave, and Varric folded his arms and smirked at Hawke. “So if we’d just straight-out asked for the boat, she would have lent it to us without us having to search for their bear.”

She held up her hands. “I know, I know, I’m sorry! It was like an impulse, I couldn’t help it!” She gave Fenris a wheedling look. “But on the plus side, this will be funny. Finding a bear? What a lark, right?”

Fenris rubbed his mouth to hide his smile, and Dorian grimaced. “Did we ask whether it was a friendly bear? We, er, didn’t ask, did we?”

Hawke pulled a little face. “Oops.”

Bull chuckled and tweaked Dorian’s collar. “It’s a good thing your robe is black, kadan. It’ll hide the blood well.”

Dorian curled his lip. “The only one who will be getting bloody is anyone who dares to soil this damned robe.”

Hawke barked out a laugh and slung an arm around Dorian’s neck. “Come on, you beautiful fools, let’s explore and make some friends.”

“Let’s find this augur,” Fenris said pointedly. “He can tell us where to start looking for the bear.” 

Hawke winked at him. “You’ve got it, handsome. Now come on, last one to eat a weird foreign treat is a rotten egg!” She grabbed Sera’s hand and pulled her toward the nearest group of Avvar. 

They wandered through the settlement, and half of their party drifted away to inspect the craftsmen’s tables and speak to the locals. Fenris watched fondly as Hawke flirted and chatted with every person they passed, making even the most grim-faced warriors smile. She cheerfully introduced Fenris to everyone she met, and Fenris continued to feel bemused by the lack of fear or worry in their faces as they stared openly at his flickering left palm.

As Fenris, Hawke, Dorian and Cole made their way up the path to the augur’s cabin, Dorian remarked on the Avvar’s strangely calm response to his hand. “Do you suppose it’s because they don’t understand what it does?” he said. 

“No, they’re aware,” Fenris said. One person had openly – and very casually – said that Fenris was the one who’d closed the Breach.

“You know what’s really odd?” Hawke said. “Some of the people here don’t really seem surprised by you. It’s almost like they expected you. Not in a ‘we foretold your coming’ sort of way, but in a ‘oh, you’re that fellow’ sort of way, if that makes sense.”

Cole nodded vaguely. “The augur knew, so they know. They follow, flickering, feeling, fluttering along the Fade, and he listens.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “I assume you don’t mean the Avvar are following Fenris in the Fade.”

Cole shook his head. “They’re curious,” he said. “They want to know how it feels to be real.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow. “You’re talking about spirits?”

Cole smiled in an absent sort of way. Hawke, Fenris, and Dorian exchanged a nonplussed look, and Hawke shrugged. “Well, let’s hope this augur fellow can clear things up.”

Fenris knocked on the augur’s cabin door, and a rich, deep voice called out from within. “Enter!”

He cautiously opened the door, then stopped short. A large man in furs was standing on the far side of a firepit, which contained a merrily dancing fire – bright green fire that gave off no heat. 

The firepit was full of veilfire. Suddenly Fenris understood: the augur was a mage. 

He frowned slightly and sidled into the hut so Hawke, Dorian and Cole could come inside, and Hawke gazed admiringly at the firepit. “Wow,” she breathed. “I’ve never seen such a big veilfire flame before.”

The augur smiled at Fenris. “So he arrives. Come, come.” He ushered Fenris closer.

Fenris took a cautious step toward him, then stopped once more. The air around the augur was flickering and dancing with light – light that was vaguely in the shape of people…

Wraiths, he thought in alarm. The cabin was full of wraiths. Stranger yet, the augur seemed happy about their presence.

He wasn’t the only one. “Hello!” Cole said cheerfully.

The wraiths drifted toward Fenris, and he tensed instinctively. Why were the spirits approaching him? Was the augur making them do that?

Hawke took his hand, and he tried to force himself to relax. Dorian, meanwhile, was eyeing the wraiths with interest. “They’re not… harmful,” he said. “I don’t think.” 

The wraiths drifter closer to Fenris, and the augur held up his hands. “Don’t throng,” he said reprovingly. 

The wraiths stopped and drifted back toward the augur, and Fenris released his breath. Then the augur raised his arms ceremoniously. “Behold, worthy ones! The man who blazes like fire and mends the air.” He smiled and placed one hand on his chest. “I am the augur of Stone-Bear Hold. I greet you, as do our gods and the gods of our ancestors.”

The wraiths flickered brightly for a moment, then disappeared altogether. The augur sighed in satisfaction. “There! It is done. Now come, be welcome! I would hear news of the north.”

Fenris release Hawke’s hand and frowned at the augur. “You summoned these spirits?”

“The gods of the hold clamoured to see you,” the augur replied. “I obeyed, for I am their voice and their augur.” He chuckled and folded his arms. “And if I didn’t show you off, they would hound me for months.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. Not a summoning, then, but a… a visitation? 

He gestured at the veilfire. “You keep this burning on purpose to help the spirits to cross the Veil?”

The augur nodded. “I take counsel from the gods and share it with the hold. I make their will known to us, and ours to them. Their will comes to us from the Fade, and the veilfire helps me to hear it.”

“Gods from the Fade…” Hawke said slowly. She looked at the augur with wide eyes. “Your gods are spirits. The Avvar pray to spirits?”

“We offer to them,” the augur corrected. “We don’t pray like the lowlanders to a creator they think will weather all the ages.”

Hawke held up her hands. “No judgment from me. I don’t pray to anyone.” 

“Respecting the gods of your hold takes little effort,” the augur told her kindly. “They protect the hold. They help drive off spirits who have gone bad with rage or gloom.” He raised his hands to the air once more. “The gods live with us. Ignore their offerings, offer them nothing, and it weakens us all.” 

Dorian stroked his chin. “Do you actually think the spirits are gods, though? That they’re more than just creatures of the Fade?”

A small crease appeared between the augur’s eyebrows. “The spirits watched us even before we came from the north. They shaped themselves into our gods, and we grew to love them. Their secret gift is this: they reflect us as water does the sky. They show us what we wish to be. That image gives us strength. For that, we thank the gods.”

Hawke turned to them excitedly. “That’s like what Solas used to say, remember? He was all, ‘spirits are what we expect them to be. If you expect them to be demons, that’s what they’ll become.’” She smiled at the augur. “You all expect the spirits to be helpful and wise, so that’s how they are to you.”

“The spirits harbour wisdom in many forms,” he said. “They offer much to those who offer respect in return.”

Hawke nodded affably. “That makes complete sense. Be nice, and they’ll be nice back.” She patted Cole’s arm. “Sounds about right, don’t you think?”

“Kindness, learning, sharing across the Veil,” Cole said with a nod. “It’s very nice.”

The augur looked at Cole, and his eyes widened. “Who is this one?” he said keenly. “He has blood and bone, but… there are bonds about his form.”

“Yes,” Cole said. “I am Compassion. I know that now. I want to be here.”

The augur bowed deeply to him. “Well, this is a very great honour. Be welcome, Compassion.”

Cole smiled vaguely, and Hawke beamed at him and hugged his arm. “Aww, you’re a guest of honour here! That’s so cute!” 

Dorian chuckled, and Fenris pondered it all in silence for a moment. The Avvar’s most respected advisor was a mage who spoke with spirits for guidance, and all the Avvar accepted it? It was so strange, and so vastly different from anything Fenris had ever seen before. 

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. There was one other mage he and Hawke knew who had spoken with spirits for guidance. 

Merrill, he thought. An instinctive surge of dislike rose in his breast at the thought of her, but it was swiftly followed by a pang of guilt. He could too easily imagine Merrill’s scolding and sanctimonious voice if she was here right now and seeing Fenris speaking to the augur in such a calm manner. She would most certainly call him a hypocrite, and… kaffas, she wouldn’t be wrong. 

She wouldn’t be entirely right, either – after all, Merrill’s spirit had turned into a pride demon, and that was her fault. But Fenris himself had called on a spirit for guidance back in the Deep Roads when Hawke had needed healing.

Merrill would call him a hypocrite if she were here, and she wouldn’t be entirely wrong.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, then looked at the augur. “You mentioned that I blaze like fire. You are speaking of this mark, I assume?” He held up his left hand.

“That is correct,” the augur said. “To those beyond the Veil, your hand burns like the watchman’s bonfire. Nearby spirits follow your mark like moths to a flame.”

“We knew that already, though,” Dorian said. 

Hawke looked at him in surprise. “What do you mean?” she asked. 

“Well, that’s how we called that spirit to heal you in the Deep Roads,” Dorian said. “Spirits were near Fenris’s mark in the Fade, and Cole and I helped one to come through.”

The augur folded his arms approvingly. “You do make offerings and appeals to the gods, then. You are more in tune with our ways than you thought.”

Hawke smiled at him. “Does that mean you’ll adopt us as honorary Avvar, then?”

The augur chuckled. “That is up to our thane, not me. You would have to perform a feat worthy of a legend-mark to gain such an honour.”

Hawke lifted her chin boldly. “That sounds like a challenge. All right, my handsome sir, you’re on.” 

Fenris shook his head fondly, then turned to the augur once more. “We have been tasked with tracking down your hold-beast. Do you have any suggestions?” 

The augur’s expression sobered. “Ah, Storvacker. Yes. Our huntmaster last saw tracks of her near Swamp Kulsdotten. I imagine you may pick up her trail somewhere there. But be wary: the swamp is rife with creatures, and the spirits that linger there are not always kind.”

“Good thing we have our own kind spirit, then,” Hawke said, and she gave Cole’s arm another hug. 

The augur smiled at her. “You are fortunate, indeed. Walk well, and may the Lady bless your search.” 

They left the augur’s cabin, and Hawke smiled at them. “Well, that was fascinating. Good thing Bull and Sera didn’t come along for this, they’d be having fits. I’m going to go tell them what happened!” She pinched Fenris’s chin affectionately and ran off.

Fenris smirked and Dorian chuckled, and they followed her down the hill toward the main settlement. A minute later, Fenris shot Dorian a sideways look. “You’re being oddly quiet.”

Dorian gave him a charming smile. “I knew you missed the mellifluous sound of my voice.”

“More like I can hear you thinking, since it requires such work,” Fenris retorted.

Dorian tsked. “That’s hurtful. But I shall tell you my thoughts anyway, since I know you adore them.” He stroked his chin. “Well, you may not adore this, in fact. I was thinking that you’ve changed.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“You know, with the spirits and all that,” Dorian said. “You’re very calm about it. You wouldn’t have been this accepting two years ago.”

Fenris sighed. “I know. I was thinking about this myself, in fact.”

“It’s not a bad thing,” Dorian assured him. “We’re all different than we were two years ago.”

Fenris gave Dorian a considering look. “Do you think you’ve changed a great deal?”

Dorian wrinkled his nose slightly. “I hope I have. I was drunk more often than not before we met.”

Fenris nodded cautiously. “You… mentioned that, yes.”

Dorian shrugged. “I was running away before all of this. I like to think I’m running toward something now, with Maevaris and the Lucerni. Something important.”

“You are,” Fenris said seriously.

Dorian smiled at him, but Fenris was distracted by the faint thrum of guilt in his belly. Dorian’s words were making him recall his earlier thoughts – wistful thoughts of running away with Hawke and leaving the Inquisition and all its trappings behind. In the context of Dorian’s comment about running toward things, toward important and worthy goals, Fenris felt a bit ashamed. It was selfish in the extreme to even consider leaving the Inquisition when so many people were demanding his help.

“Fenris, are you all right?” Dorian said. 

He looked up. Dorian was frowning at him. “You seem more grim than before I left,” Dorian said. “I know your wife isn’t as pretty and charming as I, but still…”

Fenris snorted but didn’t reply. Unfortunately, Cole replied in his stead. “It’s heavy,” he said. “Waiting to be free, wanting something of his own, but weighed down, weary, worn. When will it end?”

Fenris shot Cole a resentful look. “I would rather you didn’t.”

Cole blinked back at him unrepentantly. “Dorian wants to help. Hawke wants to help too, and Varric as well.”

“He’s right, you know,” Dorian said. “If there’s anything I can do–”

“You can’t,” Fenris said. “The Inquisition is my burden.”

His tone was harder than he’d intended, and Dorian raised his eyebrows. Fenris sighed. “I appreciate your concern,” he said in a softer tone. To Cole he said, “Hawke is helping. She just… thinks she isn’t.”

“She would do more if she could,” Cole said softly. “She would take it all away from you if she had the choice.”

“I know,” Fenris said. They all fell silent for a moment.

Dorian broke the silence. “I’m… sorry, Fenris.”

“Thank you,” he said quietly. Then, with an effort of will, he mustered up some Hawke-like positivity and a smile. “Let us focus on finding the bear and inspecting this island,” he said. “I can think of a special role for you in luring the bear out of hiding, in fact.”

Dorian raised his eyebrows. “What role is that?”

“Bait,” Fenris said succinctly. 

Dorian barked out a laugh. “You mean because I’m so tempting and delicious?”

“No. Because you glitter,” Fenris said. He eyed Dorian’s silver-studded robe with disdain. “The bear will see you from a mile away.”

“Ah, Fenris, don’t be jealous,” Dorian said soothingly. “I can have something equally glittery tailor-made for you anytime. Though Hawke would be jealous, I think, if you and I were to match…”

Fenris rolled his eyes, and they continued to pick on each other playfully as they wandered through the settlement. There was no such thing as an escape for the Inquisitor, but Fenris would try and enjoy the bright parts of this holiday while it lasted. 

[greatshell-rider]

day eighteen of quARTine: legion (prompt list)

This planet was an odd one. Sure, Cindy had grown up in a land where plants moved and dealt as other planets’ beasts did, where ze grew up wrangling greater rose-bush ibexes and spiral-fern tortoises into corrals, where cities had buildings grown from vines stronger than steel and taller than some atmospheres. Diluting a carnivorous plant’s venom into a potion to mend broken bones, Cindy knew. Wrestling an oak-croc’s walnut-like heart from its chest so it could be crushed into a powdered drug that gave a soldier their strength three times over, Cindy had done dozens of times with only somewhat fatal injuries as a result. Sure, stories like those fascinated and horrified Jerry, who hailed from a planet Cindy could scarcely imagine, but to zir they were more commonplace and mundane than one of his so-called goldfish.

This, however. This was odd.

Cindy held the quivering arrowhead flat on zir palm and grimaced at it.

Jerry threw himself over the fallen log, ducking beside zir right before a swarm of the same arrowheads zipped overhead, buzzing angrily and trailing gold-white lines of magic behind them as they charged past. Jerry cursed, shaking his head as they passed, then turned to Cindy. He jumped again at the sight of the arrowhead in zir hand. “You caught one?” he asked in disbelief between pants.

Cindy frowned at it. “It crashed by my foot? And I picked it up.”

Jerry leaned warily over, eyeing it wiggling in small pathetic circles that tickled zir skin, before giving it a sharp poke. It spun around immediately and jabbed him back with its pointed end.

“Ow!” he yelped, snatching his hand back. “Why does it like you and not me?”

“Keep your hands to yourself next time, Jerr-Bear,” Lani suggested, vaulting over the log to join them. She crouched down on Cindy’s other side, peering at the arrowhead with great interest. Cindy tried not to feel overcrowded with the two siblings hovering over zir and failed.

To distract zirself, ze asked Lani, “What are they?”

Lani placed her own hand next to Cindy’s, palm up. “I have an idea.” With her other hand, she nudged the arrowhead from Cindy’s palm onto her own. To zir surprise, it went willingly, and once it landed on Lani’s palm, it stopped flopping around, laying perfectly still.

Lani grinned. “Gotcha.”

Jerry leaned uncomfortably far across Cindy’s body to watch Lani. “What did you—?”

The sound of distant buzzing returned as the swarm turned back in search of its prey. Jerry, bleeding from a dozen small cuts on his face, tried tunneling beneath the log. Cindy wished for the familiar—if impractical in this situation—weight of zir crossbow. Lani, however, stood up. The buzzing grew louder, and now Cindy could see the swarm, bigger than it was before, headed their way and all their points aimed straight at her.

“Lani, get down!” Jerry hissed.

But Lani stayed standing. She punched her fist toward the approaching swarm, and between the gaps of her clenched fingers shot forth rays of radiant gold-white light, dazzling the forest around them. Cindy squinted, and could see the dark silhouette of the arrowhead trapped inside Lani’s fist, quivering violently.

Jerry cried out as the swarm descended, throwing his arms over his head. Cindy kept zir eyes open. Ze watched as the thousands of thousands of arrowheads dived for Lani, and in their huge, shifting mass, hid her body—and the sunburst of light—completely from view. The swarm convulsed and rippled like a flag, a cloak of tiny angry vibrating knives, and Cindy thought they must be slicing Lani’s skin into hundreds of skinny ribbons, and when they turned from her to zir and Jerry, not even the bones would remain.

Suddenly the swarm froze, stuttered to a halt as if the batteries in fate’s clock needed to be changed. Then the arrowheads began to spin, slowly at first, around and around in the same loop, and then began to speed up, the circle growing wider, the swarm thinning as it stretched out into an almost perfect sphere. Through the spinning swarm, eyes narrowed against the wind it caused, Cindy saw Lani, still standing tall, glowing fist cradled against her chest. Ze saw her smile.

The sphere crunched, reforming into a long corkscrew snake winding around and around Lani’s body, dodging and weaving between rays of light as if in a dance, a game, all before Lani thrust her fist straight up, and the snake-swarm followed, spiraling up and around her body past the treetops to burst outward in the sky. It split into five groups and four fled in four directions, their buzzing growing faint as they quickly zipped out of sight, but one group remained, coiling over Lani’s head above the trees.

Cindy blinked as Lani lowered her fist, and the small swarm descended, molding itself over Lani’s whole arm, flowing as fluidly as water or cloth, dense enough to block the light from her hand. Cindy absently elbowed Jerry, who stopped cowering long enough to lift his head, then gasp in shock.

“Lani!”

She turned to them, grinning triumphantly, her armful of arrowheads held at a right angle as if she was flexing, showing them off. Which, Cindy supposed, she deserved.

“Told you I figured it out,” she gloated. “And now I’ve sent assassins after the empires’ figureheads, so that’s one problem taken care of. Four, actually.”

“But how?” Jerry demanded, struggling to his feet. “Those things have been hunting us for days!”

Lani shook her fist tauntingly, the swarm swaying with it. “Queen bee controls them all.” Her eyes flashed, grin stretching wide. “And I control the queen.”

Jerry groaned. “I hate magics like these.”

Cindy shook zir head, staring at Lani’s fist and the queen arrowhead held within. Odd planet indeed.

[visionofnoxus]

☠

// And here you go. Last but not least. I hope it pleases you. Decided to do something of an origin story. Please let me know what you thought of it.

“Secure the perimeter. Two guards on every patrol. And no open fire” Swain commanded, walking through the improvised camp. The soldiers all around him nodded, but did not respond, beginning their preparations for the night immediately. “And should any of the guards get any funny feelings, alert others. I’ll have the first “independent investigator” flogged once the Placidium is ours” he reminded his men, leaving the perimeter patrol and heading deeper into the noxians’ camp area. This was one of the several hidden camps in the surrounding valleys, all of these camps containing seasoned veterans in many hundreds. Together, they’d be thousands. And not one ionian knew they even were here. Leaning down as he climbed inside his tent, general Swain sat down on the bedroll. Putting aside the officer’s sword and the hand crossbow he carried on field missions like this. Making sure the flap of the tent was truly closed, he lit a candle, rolling open a map of the surrounding area, going through his plan once more. 

The islanders were finally beginning to find their fighting spirit, monastic orders starting to offer assistance to the village militias. These monks, assassins and martial artists were strengthening the opposition greatly. Looking at the city of Placidium on the map, the Master Tactician nodded to himself. The noxians were overreaching, advancing too quickly, not fortifying the ground taken and reinforcements that were promised from mainland kept being redirected to chase all kinds of wild rumor. If the Noxians would somehow suffer some catastrophic loss somewhere, the islanders might very well be able to just drive them back all the way to the southwestern coast with ease. An irritated sigh left the ambitious commander. Sometimes he felt like the very land itself was fighting their invasion.

They needed to take bridges, break strongholds and capture the population centers before the entire nation would unite against them. Instead they were raiding country side. Raping, pillaging and terrorizing population, running field tests with zaunite weaponry because Darkwill was curious about the results. Terror was an excellent tool of control and a way to break morale, but this… Frankly speaking genocide was not serving the empire. Once the island nation was theirs, who’d work the fields? Assuming that the soil had not been corrupted by some chemical “test”. Who would produce trade goods? Who would the noxians have digging ore in the mines they’d start here? And that was if they managed to secure the nation. He looked once more at the map. 

Taking Placidium, Swain intended to draw out the ionians from their guerrilla warfare tactics into an open battle for survival. And then he’d crush them there, crippling the defenders. With the capitol of Navori under control, Noxians could start fortifying their holdings, focus their efforts to a single location at a time instead of running about everywhere, burning and destroying yet achieving precious little. Tomorrow, his hidden legions would emerge and assault Placidium in blizkrieg style, and they’d take the city intact. The buildings, the riches, the people. He’d turn the entire city into a hostage and a bait so irresistible that Ionians would march to their own doom to save it. 

“Sir. There has been an issue” Came the muffled voice of his lieutenant from outside the tent. A frown rose on Swain’s face. Since he did not hear any ruckus suggesting they’d been had… “A patrol missing?” The Tactician made an educated guess, one which his officer confirmed moments later. “Get me 6 good men. I’ll be out momentarily”. Taking a gulp from his waterskin, Swain fastened his sword on his hip again and grabbed the crossbow. “What is another sleepless night, when I already have so many?” He let out a dry chuckle, blowing the candle and leaving the tent.

The patrol had gone missing on the eastern side of the camp, the side which was covered with more dense forest leading up to the mountains. It offered plenty of cover for would be assassins, but something in the night air gave the noxian commander the gut feeling this wasn’t one of those “ninjas”. Glancing at the tiny flowers glowing in the otherwise dark forest, he scoffed. “Magic everywhere. And somehow I have hunch this is one of those creatures again” He said quietly, gripping the shaft of a spear. Were this once again some oversized animal with wings, he’d rather keep it a shaft’s distance away from himself rather than try his luck with a sword. “Lieutenant, you have your orders about the main mission. And send a second troop five minutes after us”. “Sir”. With that, the seven noxians began moving, four moving us scouts at front while Swain and two others waited for the first sign of trouble.

Half an hour later they had found the lost patrol. Stepping next to the soldier inspecting the two corpses, Swain frowned, kneeling down as well. “They… This is odd” The scout muttered, motioning at the two dead men laying on their backs. Both had similar situation. Their weapons had been drawn, but no signs of combat were evident. It was like something had pushed them down and they’d just… Stopped breathing. No injuries. Though curiously… Swain brought his hand to hover above one’s chest. “The armor… It’s radiating warmth” The man observed, the scout confirming same on the other victim. “Something hit them in the chest and they died… But not of injury”. Magic. Everything on these cursed islands had to do with magic. A femine chuckle caught the general’s ear and he blinked in disbelief, cautiously standing up. “Sir did you…”. “Yes. I heard it as well. Weapons ready!”. All the noxians readied their weapons, peering into the darkness. 

A second chuckle reverberated through air. What a beautiful, sensual voice. It stirred something in him. Something very primal. “I’d like to give this vixen a shafting of different sort…” One of the soldiers crudely remarked, shifting his grip on his halberd, few others snorting nervously. Swain took that as a confirmation. The spike of sudden lust had not been his imagination. “There” one of the soldiers hissed, pointing ahead. And indeed, on the path lighted by the small glowing flowers stood a young woman, dressed in some kind of very simple and hazy dress. But what a woman… The dress did very little to cover her feminine charms, barely concealing the crucials but those few furs wrapped around her waist did their best to cover her. Her hair was dark and a bit messy, unkempt, but shone like most well kept fur only could. And then there was the face. Slightly alien, yet distinctively human, she was gorgeous. And then there were those cute fox ears. “It’s a demon. Kill it!” Swain snapped the instant his mind connected the dots. Unfortunately her men weren’t quite as strong of mind. A bright orb of light shot out of the woman’s hand while she dashed to the side. The ball struck one of the noxians, man flying on his back lifelessly, the something shifting in the orb, a sliver of some new colour being added as the ball grew ever so slightly.

So that is what happened, Swain thought grimly, observing how two of his men leveled their crossbows at the seductress but missed. She dashed and leaped around with grace of a cat, showcasing no issues in switching between running and occasional dash on all fours for a pounce off a tree. Attempting to get in melee, two noxians charged shouting at her, and Swain saw the golden eyes flash, flames appearing on the tips of her nails moments before those flames set the men alight. The armor resisted the burn, but did precious little to save their owners’ lives, the men falling on the ground while screaming in agony. it might be possible to save their lives, but Swain already scratched them out of the roster. He had no time to care about two wounded. “Watch the magic! It’s eyes glow when it casts” He shouted, the fox-woman’s head snapping in his direction and as her golden irises met with his, Swain felt himself swallowing nervously. The full lips formed words. There was no sound, but somehow the noxian heard her in his head. “You are the alpha then..?”. 

Whatever that meant, Swain did not intend to find out. Another burst of fire shot out, the soldiers it was targeting dodging, but one of them got caught by the glowing orb instead, his cruelly taken and added to the orb’s beauty. “Harrowing take you!” Swain cursed out loud, tossing his spear with a trained and drilled practice. Not his chosen weapon, but the fox appeared to had been briefly distracted by the orb’s growth, Swain landing almost landing a hit, earning him an angry stare and a hiss showcasing the sharp fangs of the foxlady. Drawing his sword and bringing up the crossbow, Swain shouted: “Pull back! Focus on avoiding it’s spells” He shot two of the three bolts towards the fox, her attention now completely on him. Oh no… Throwing her arm forward, Swain saw the orb accelerate towards him, stepping hastily to the side and behind a tree. Supporting his arm, he took aim, letting loose the third bolt and discarding the weapon. Time to run. “Retreat!” He barked, dashing away from the creature, not bothering to check if he’d landed anything. The few remaining soldiers did not question the order, discarding their heavy weapons and opting for speed instead, following their commander. To their great relief, the she-devil did not pursue, instead disappearing into the forest and the morning mist slowly rolling in as the night began to fade.

Hissing in pain, Ahri limped herself to safety higher on the forest-covered slopes. Reaching one of the pristine ponds offering clean water that flowed downwards alongside a tiny river, she crouched down, hissing and staring at her thigh. A crude human made stick had pierced the skin, sinking into her leg. A cruel move by the alpha of the Noxian pack. She wondered why they’d chosen to run, for with her injury, her greatest defense, her speed and agility, had been taken. Knowing what must be done, having witnessed the villagers nearby do similar things after fighting with the noxian packs, she gripped the shaft. Gritting her teeth, the vixen yanked the bolt out, her eyes tearing with pain. Why was it, that humans started leaking water from their eyes when they hurt, she wondered as she ditched the offending stick to a nearby bush. Wiping her tears, annoyed at them, she limped closer to the pond. Ahri would have to wash the wound and rest a few days before she could hunt more foreigners.