#dear dragons i am tired of being on edge though.

[lovenpeace-pkmn]

Hey Sliggoogle can I take a dinosaur to child custody court

[imtrashraccoon]

…..I don’t mean to bother but I’ve had some major art block sooooo maybe a small Drabble for some inspiration? I’ve been on a tangent with undertale and dragons lately(mentally) but I’ve been so freaking busy and tired that I’ve just not had anything to put down onto paper. So dragon au if you don’t mind( Your The Dark Fortress AU has me in a star’s dammed chokehold)

Have a great weekend!

I'm so sorry this took a while but I hope the length makes up for it! These guys may have me in a chokehold too lol

This is a sort of part two to this post.

Future Tumble Edit: I made a prequel to these drabbles.

Donovan

You woke up in a cold sweat, desperately trying to inhale as much oxygen as you could. It was that same dream again; the one where you were constantly running but could never escape the invisible screams. Besides terrifying you, the nightmare served as a continual reminder that you were completely alone in the world.

The little nook you'd claimed as your own was dimly lit by distant firelight but you couldn't tell what time it was otherwise. The dark fortress was silent, as if even the structure itself was resting like it's scaly residents within. You should probably try to go back to sleep but after such a rude awakening, you were reluctant to do so.

Then, you heard heavy footsteps approaching your little hideaway and the dim light was replaced by a cyan glow as the last dragon you had wanted to see peeked inside. Because of his size, Donovan could only fit his head into the entrance but for the moment, he chose to remain outside. Both of you sat there for a moment, just staring at each other silently.

"I could sense your distress earlier. Are you alright?" the black dragon finally asked.

You frowned and averted your gaze. "No..." you whispered.

He seemed to consider your answer for a moment. "I suppose that was a silly question to ask," he started to say. "Would you be willing to talk about it?"

You shook your head, "No, not right now anyways."

He gave you a slight nod. "I won't force you but I am here if you decide you want to."

The idea of unloading everything you'd had to carry since you were a child onto your superior wasn't something you liked, especially because he was the one responsible for your trauma. Sure, he hadn't personally killed everyone you had held dear or destroyed your home town, but indirectly or not, you were still resentful and afraid of him.

"No matter what you believe, I consider you a valued member of my horde," Donovan added. "I value your wellbeing just as much as I do any of the others."

That was surprising. You'd only been here for a short time and in that time, he hadn't given you the impression of being so forthright. Still, he'd never lied to you, or any of the other dragons, as far you knew.

When you nodded silently, you heard him shuffling outside the nook and the cyan glow from his eyelight briefly disappeared. It returned after a moment and you looked over at him curiously.

"Would you like some company at least?" he asked in a soft voice.

You raised an eyebrow and gave him a confused look. Wasn't that what he was already doing?

He seemed to change shape before your eyes into a more compressed form. He still looked like a dragon but now he was wearing some rather formal clothes and was closer to your own height. You had a feeling he was still much larger than you though. The important thing was that he could fit into your little hideaway now, which you weren't sure if you liked.

He rolled his shoulders and flexed his phalanges, giving you the impression that he wasn't used to this form. Notably, he remained outside and waited for you to answer his question.

Once you'd regained your ability to speak, you shrugged. "I guess not?"

He gave you a toothy grin before crawling into your space and settling down at the edge of your makeshift nest. You noticed he had a book tucked under one arm and a part of you felt relieved that he didn't seem interested in just making conversation.

You laid back down and pulled the blanket up to your chin. One of Donovan's tails was resting against your leg but you didn't mind. Just him sitting near you seemed to ease your lingering anxieties. The sound of his breathing and occasionally turning a page soon lulled you into a comfortable slumber. Maybe in the morning you'd ask if he was always able to change his form like this.

Dirk

Steady...

You readjusted your grip on your sword and tried not to dwell on how sore your calves were becoming from squatting for so long. You were perched in an alcove above the courtyard where your opponent was currently searching for you.

You wouldn't exactly call the dragon a friend. He loved to tease and prod until you inevitably snapped. You knew that he got a kick out of seeing you mad but you weren't much better. You had always been a hot-headed person and whenever he wasn't purposely being annoying, you liked to test the limits of his own patience.

Sure, it was basically suicide to poke the literal beast with razer sharp claws and teeth, but you liked to live dangerously. While you also had to stay clear of the blade he liked to strap to his tail, you actually enjoyed the little cat and mouse game you two played. How far was too far? Who would chicken out first to keep from hurting the other?

You couldn't keep yourself from grinning as Dirk slowly stalked through the courtyard. He had an incredible sense of smell so you knew he'd figure out where you were eventually, but by then it'd be too late. As soon as he wandered beneath your hiding spot, you dropped down, landing squarely on his back.

Dirk reacted immediately and with a snarl, did his best impression of a bucking bronco. You stubbornly dug your heels into his sides and held on the best you could, but were soon sent careening across the courtyard.

You scrambled to your feet, inhaling sharply at the pain that would soon become many bruises. With a roar, Dirk charged and you just barely managed to leap to the side. One of his wings came down hard against your back. You struggled to catch your breath.

"Is that...all...you got...?" you panted.

His smile twisted into a cruel grin. "oh i've just barely started, cute stuff~"

You grinned and beckoned him closer.

Dirk didn't hesitate any longer and you braced yourself to meet him. He swept your legs out from under you with his tail. You kicked his stomach and rolled to your feet again. He just barely grazed your back with his claws. You smacked his snout with the flat edge of your sword. He barreled you over onto your back. You clawed at his eye sockets with your own nails.

Then he sat on you and no matter how much you struggled, you couldn't throw him off. Your sword was pressed against his throat, as was his tail blade to yours. You both stared at each other for what felt like ages, daring the other to stand down first.

"you're getting better..." Dirk remarked in a quiet voice. The target that floated above his chest was pulsing wildly but he didn't seem even close to being winded yet.

You huffed and rolled your eyes. "You're an awful liar..."

He snickered and licked a wet stripe up your face. "you're not wrong about that!"

Maul

You let your feet dangle over the edge of the wall and inhaled the cool autumn air. Somehow, you'd managed to survive living in this terrible fortress for three months. Finding your place in the rankings had been difficult but as the days passed, your confidence began to return.

While you still avoided most of the resident dragons whenever possible, there was one who didn't seem to mind your presence. Compared to the others, Maul was even-tempered and patient. The only time you remembered him lashing out was when Dirk attempted to steal his dinner once.

The big guy had left a couple hours ago without saying a word to anyone, which is why you were sitting outside right now. He was different from the others and you couldn't help but wonder why. He definitely took satisfaction in kills but he also wasn't one to boast about them. He also didn't usually go out of his way to hurt people but he was all too willing to defend himself if needed.

Just as you were thinking of going back inside again, you spotted the familiar silhouette of the dragon on the horizon. As he drew closer, you noticed that he was holding a large stag in his talons. You waited until he'd landed before creeping back inside the fortress again.

By the time you'd made your way to his quarters, he'd morphed into a sort of person-sized dragon and was already beginning to dress the carcass. You didn't know that he was able to change his shape but it would explain how he managed to always have preserved food on hand.

Unfortunately, being in a different form certainly hadn't dulled his senses and just as you were thinking of leaving, he paused and slowly turned around until he locked eyes with you. For a moment, you felt rooted to the spot as he studied you suspiciously.

"...do you...want to help?" he asked in a quiet voice.

You had expected him to tell you to leave and when he hadn't, you were taken aback. You didn't have a lot of experience with butchering but it couldn't be so bad if he was allowing you to help.

"Um, I suppose so? What do you want me to do?"

You crossed the room until you were standing next to him, purposely staying on his left side to avoid startling him. He'd already hung up the stag and sliced it's throat to drain the blood into a basin underneath. You could tell that he'd been careful when killing it, likely to avoid losing most of the meat, and it didn't seem like it had needlessly suffered before dying.

Maul retrieved a sharp-looking knife and handed it to you. "...watch," he grumbled.

With his own claws, he began making careful incisions in specific areas along the carcass. You did your best to pay attention but you couldn't help noticing that despite his obvious skill, he had a slight tremor in his hands as he worked. It wasn't so much as to ruin the pelt but you were beginning to understand why he might've wanted help.

He soon had you copy his movements and with some guidance, you helped him peel off the pelt, which was set aside for later. After that came the process of carving up the carcass into various cuts of meat. You weren't sure how he was planning on preserving all of it, but you had a good feeling he would smoke it and a part of you hoped he would let you try some when he was done.

It took several hours and you definitely wanted a bath afterwards, but working together had made the arduous task a lot easier. You could confidently say that you'd butchered an animal now, however you wouldn't say that the process had been enjoyable. Your skin felt sticky from sweat and other fluids, so on top of a bath, you would also have to thoroughly wash your clothes to get all the blood out.

While cleaning up, Maul had started a fire and began roasting a sizeable chunk of venison, which was helping to clear the almost overpowering scent of blood from the air. The tantalizing smell also served to remind your stomach that you hadn't eaten a proper meal all day.

Just as you were about to sneak away, Maul dropped a heavy hand on your shoulder. "...where do you think you're going?" he growled.

"S-sorry, I just thought-"

He didn't let you finish protesting before all but picking you up and dropping you into a chair near the fire. "...stay." He sternly pointed a claw at you to punctuate his demand.

You nodded, feeling more than a little anxious all of the sudden. Why was he upset? Had you ruined something?

Maul sliced off a decent hunk of the roasted venison before approaching you again. At least he had half the mind to set it on a tray before offering the still piping hot meat to you. When he didn't explain and just stared at you expectantly, you took a careful bite. He let out a pleased rumble before pulling up a chair and sitting down himself.

It wasn't anything fancy, but to you, it might as well have been the best thing you'd eaten in years. You couldn't remember the last time you'd had any venison that wasn't tough or incredibly gamey. You hadn't noticed Maul adding any seasoning, but he could've while you were busy cleaning and you wouldn't have noticed.

"It's really good..." you hummed softly.

He gave you what probably passed for a smile as far as dragons were concerned and ruffled your hair. "...you helped, so you deserve to enjoy it."

The finality of his statement stuck with you. While the scarred dragon wasn't much for speaking, you had a feeling that he meant everything he said. The thought that he was happy with how hard you'd worked made you feel warm and fuzzy inside. Maybe he actually liked having you around after all?

Reven

You wished you hadn't gotten out of bed today. Not only were you existing on maybe four hours of sleep, but your old scars had decided to act up as well. Needless to say, you were in no mood to deal with any of the dragons' shenanigans and had sequestered yourself on the ramparts, hoping none of them would find you.

A sudden gust of wind had you drawing your cloak even tighter around your aching body. It was a foolish idea to even be out here and while you knew you would regret it later, you really didn't want to go inside. At least you'd had half the mind to bring your whetstone so you could be somewhat productive, but now that your sword was sharp enough to split hairs, you didn't have anything else to do.

For a moment, the sun was blotted out by a large shadow but when you looked up, you didn't see anything. You were starting to consider going inside after all when Reven appeared out of nowhere, landing on the stonework a few meters away.

You held your breath, hoping by some miracle he hadn't spotted you and was simply surveying the area. Of course, you were proven wrong when he turned his head and fixed you with an unimpressed look.

The cloaked dragon was impossible to read even on the best of days but if there was one thing you knew, it was that he was best left alone. He wasn't as "stabby" as Dirk tended to be but you had witnessed how quickly he could snap on multiple occasions. Oftentimes, he seemed to grow irritated for no reason and when that happened, he would lash out at anyone unlucky enough to be nearby, which was usually Dirk.

You regarded Reven silently. It didn't seem like there was anything bothering him at the moment, but you really could only see his eyes beneath his hood and they always seemed full of hate. Today was different though. Sure, he looked like he'd been force fed a lemon for breakfast but there was something else there...

"H-hey..."

He narrowed his eye sockets at the sound of your admittedly pathetic voice. Suddenly, the empty space in the center of his mismatched eyelights constricted and a very familiar realization came over you.

No matter how friendly they could be, there was no changing their nature. You would never be more than prey to them.

Before you could even think of running, Reven had you. The next thing you knew was the deafening sound of wind in your ears and how every movement made your stomach lurch. How sharp daggers threatened to pierce you on every side. How you couldn't move. How you didn't dare open your eyes for fear of what you might witness.

The seconds seemed to stretch on for an eternity. You were still alive? What was he doing? Why hadn't he flung you against the wall? Or dropped you from a thousand feet? Or swallowed you whole? Or...?

You let out a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding. Slowly, you tried moving your fingers and then your toes. The daggers kept you from moving the rest of your body since you weren't about to chance what would certainly prove a horrific way to die.

You chanced a peek at your captor and came face to face with one of his eyelights. While it sharpened slightly as it focused on you, the psychopathic bastard said nothing, but how could he? It was awfully rude to talk with your mouth full.

Reven was apparently hellbent on taking you...somewhere. Unless he had finally gotten fed up and decided to do away with you where Donovan would be unawares? No, who were you kidding? Nothing escaped the corrupted dragon, nonetheless the absence of his favourite pet.

You placed your hand against Reven's jaw. There was nothing you could do but accept whatever he had in mind. So, while it seemed insane, you willed your body to relax. Anything could happen next and you needed to be ready for it.

Your acceptance seemed to do the trick or maybe he had just arrived at his destination. A wave of butterflies welled up in your gut, threatening to burst out as he descended back down to the ground. You felt a jolt pass through his body and into yours as he landed.

He deposited you onto the ground and while you panicked at first, he only gave you an annoyed look and settled down in the grass. To say you were confused was an understatement. He hadn't said a word the whole time and now he was just ignoring you?

"Reven?"

He let out a huff but turned to look at you out of the corner of his eye socket.

"Why did you...kidnap me?" you asked quietly.

He looked away again and towards the horizon. "you were acting like a sad sack all day," he muttered. "thought a change of view would help."

You frowned slightly at that. He'd taken you to a rocky outcrop overlooking a lake surrounded by a pine forest. It was certainly different than the often bleak fortress, so much so, that you could actually see the sunset.

You watched as the sun slowly sank beneath the horizon, painting the world in a swash of oranges, yellows, and reds. The sight was certainly spectacular and once the colours began to fade, you turned to Reven again.

"It's beautiful, thank you..."

He only grunted in response but you could feel his gaze on the back of your head when you looked away again. He didn't seem interested in making conversation but that was alright with you. Sometimes just sitting next to someone who cared was comforting in and of itself.

[iwilltransyourgender]

Rant time.

Okay, look, we all know Viva Las Vengeance is a whole…. something that isn’t quite Panic! At The Disco, nor is it anything particularly amazing either because Brendon can’t write for shit, but I think one aspect in which we can cut it some slack is the beautiful musical disaster that is:

Sad Clown

What could possibly be the saving grace for this astronomical fuckup of a song?

Well, you’re absolutely right in that it is an underwhelming absolute lack of an orgasm after chafing your genitals for a fucking hour, but dear god, in a way, doesn’t that make SENSE? Look, we know Brendon Urine didn’t do it on purpose at all cuz, you know, he’s a dumb cunt and not a 5’1 autistic man hoarding literature degrees like a useless dragon hoards gloves for hands it doesn’t have. But if he HAD done it on purpose, Sad Clown could have been recognised as a satisfyingly UNsatisfying metaphor for, well, unsatisfying…ness.

Consider:

"I pop a pill to feel euphoria. Five minutes, ten minutes, to a half an hour, But not the rest of my life."

And

"Even though I'm smiling, I'm crying. I'm sick and tired of trying, I'm dying. Is this all there is?"

In a badly done, even babygirlification somewhat, of the Hey Ya theme of sad lyrics on a preppy dance tune (and look, I never said the lyrics were good), we can extrapolate the story being told here; ex-lovers, one, Maggie presumably, has moved on quite happily whereas our protagonist has not, though he puts on a front of happiness and copes with drugs, and while the drugs may give him a temporary relief, he knows that he cannot rely on this permanently.

How does this make a shit song a good song?

In an overly analysed close-reading of the music, which I am absolutely qualified to do because I took music theory class for one year in highschool and I'm a man on the internet, I can conclude that this song just doesn't have a chorus? Sure, Urine tried, but if you actually ignore the urge to do a dancey dance and listen for like two secs, you'll realise that the "chorus" is just a whole lotta buildup with no payoff. Bridges, no chorus. Chafing, no orgasm, whatever fucking analogy you wanna roll with. We literally get like three bridges in a row:

"Five minutes, ten minutes, to a half an hour For the rest of my life."

I call this the pre-bridge. It's different to the verse, and we get a sense of "change is coming" in the dropping of the notes towards the end of the bar, and even the general softer, more emotive tone in Urine's voice in "For the rest of my life," however this isn't yet a bridge in the same way most of us would recognise one.

"Leave me alone (a paliacciao triste) Leave me alone (he not so molto bene)."

Bridge 1: Huge musical buildup in the drum, the dropout of other instruments (again, a common indication of "get ready, it's coming!") and the inclusion of the backup singers singing the goofiest fucking shit I've ever read in my life.

"Your majesty's magnificent. My tragedy is imminent. Even though I'm smiling, I'm crying, I shall win."

Bridge 2: Oh, another bridge? I mean, it COULD have been a chorus, but its that last line where we get basically exactly the same musicality of the first bridge, but louder, and man I'm on the edge of my seat. I'm waiting for the climax, I'm rearing to fucking GO.

guitar riff

Oh.

That was it?

That was...

Well, I didn't come that's for sure.

Where the fuck is the chorus, Urine? Because I sure as shit didn't hear one! I feel like I'm back four years in time with my ex who had the weakest dick game I've ever seen in someone without erectile dysfuction.

And then that ending too. He screeches that last note (and this is the only comment I'll make on Urine's actual singing capabilities because that's a whole other rant for another day) and then everything just... dies. And not even in a satisfactory way. No fade out, no sharp sudden stop; it gives the vibe of the orchestra awkwardly realising the conductor's stopped and is glaring at the trombones.

It is unsatisfying

BUT IT FUCKING WORKS.

AND I'M SO MAD THAT IT WORKS.

Literally an entire song about dissatisfaction, faking pleasure/happiness, relying on temporary highs that ultimately never amount to anything, AND IT IS MOST UN-FUCKING-SATISFYING SHIT I'VE EVER LISTENED TO.

WHY

[fandomscombine]

Exploding Stink Bomb

Platonic!Weasley Twins x Reader

BG: Chaos ensues when the twins steal your latest prank invention. How much worse could it be when innocent people are caught in the mess?

WC:1744

Entry for @feetoffthetable​ 's 500 writing challenge. A week late I know-sorry! Cause I lost the initial draft. (Note: Do NOT trust auto save that much) So I had to rewrite it.

The prompts are taken from Random Prompts List No. 4 and No.11. (Are in bold in the text)

4. “…Are they dead?” “I don’t know! Why don’t you ask them!”

11. “You’re being remarkably calm about this.” “Thanks, it’s the shock. Give me fifteen minutes, the screaming will happen.”

>>>MASTERLIST<<<

Fred Weasley, George Weasley and Y/n L/n, also known as 'The Pranksters Trio' of modern day Hogwarts.

It is the winter of senior year, and your stress levels are increasing by the day. NEWTS are to be held in a couple of months and you have managed to procrastinate completing your mock papers. At this rate, you would get a passing grade but in all honesty you know that wouldn’t cut it, you know your abilities. If you actually put effort in your subjects you can bump a level up.

You've made a deal with your parents that if you had completed your practice papers, you could spend the last week of the Christmas holiday with the Weasleys.

Which you are; 3 days in, 4 days left till school.

'What your parents don't know won't hurt them...' You mumble to yourself as you stir the bubbling green mixture clockwise.

See you haven't finished the potions assignment yet. Your parents thought you did last week, but in reality what you were working on was a little fantastic smelling concoction that could contribute to the twins' upcoming new joke shop merchandise lineup!

During the journey to King’s Cross, Fred had come up to you and asked if you could help brainstorm a new product that would blow people's minds away. Of course you agreed, a multitude of ideas already brewing, you would do anything to help out your friends.

That night, it was all you could think about. Naturally you are itching to get started, before the thought flies away. Pushing your potions textbook aside, you got to work. It took 18 hours of no sleep but it paid off. The product was now in your hands.

A shiny burgundy shimmering marble-like sphere. The final product was smaller than the blueprint- the amount of ingredients you had on hand in your muggle household were limited- you do a mental note on raiding the potions supply closet once back in school for dragon hide.

But when you do finally have all the resources, the sphere should be the size of a baseball.

For now, at 30% of the ideal size, this mini test sphere could stink up a small bedroom. Which is enough to do damage but also has a small enough impact that you fix if anything were to go wrong.

BAM! You knew the quiet was too good to last.

“y/n/n, my dear!” Greeted Fred, waltzing into Ginny’s room.

“Are you--” George placed his hand on the door, stopping it from slamming back to his face. “Oi! Why’d you have to kick the door so hard? You could have ruined my handsome face!” He shouted to his twin.

Dropping your quill back into the ink bottle you sighed. “Nooo, how many times do I have to tell you? I’ll be finished when I’m finished. Most likely tomorrow, the earliest.”

“Why can’t you just let US test it though?” voiced George.

“Because I came up with it and it’s the only one we’ve got!” You reasoned. “I wanna see it when it explodes!”

Right then, the boys’ eyes lit up.

“IT EXPLODES?!?!?” They exclaimed in union.

“SHIT!” It was too late to cover it up. The secret is out.

The twins shared a look, you don’t really believe in twin telepathy but in the case of your 2 best friends and mischief, they almost always are on the same page.

You are sent flying sideways off your chair and hit the air mattress. “Offph! George! Let….me….go!” With all your might, you try to push George off you but to no avail. The muscles built up during quidditch training are to his advantage.

In the other side of the room, Fred is rummaging through your trunk, eagerly looking for the mysterious and highly sought after invention.

Although he may not know what it looks like, Fred is still one of your accomplices in sneaking prank items to school, meaning he and Geroge know all the secret compartments in your trunk. As do you with their trunks.

This setup made sense, it was a precautionary method devised so that in a matter of incoming danger or when suspected of something, the others could easily get rid of any incriminating evidence.

The system is perfect! Well expect now when it backfired on you.

“AHA GOT IT!”

Your face snaps to the direction of the voice. Cursing internally, right there, raised high above Fred’s head is the prized Exploding Stink Bomb.

“WICKED!” cried George. While the twins are reveling in their success, you took the chance to push George off you and launch towards Fred.

While George was caught off guard, Fred had the few seconds in which you got up to process what was happening and sprinted towards the door.

“IMMA GET YOU FRED!”

“LET’S SEE THAT SMALL LEGS!”

“GOT YA! AHHHHH--” One moment you had your hand on Fred’s shoulder, next you felt a tug on your waist. “GEORGE LET. ME. GO”

“No can do y/n/n.”

His hold wasn’t enough to hurt you, but it was certainly tighter. “Learned from your earlier mistake eh” You teased.

“Just caught me off guard” George reasoned.

Fred walking backwards, bids his farewell. “See you Suckers!” He shouted, taking a bow. With that he disappears round the corner.

A THUD.

“Ginny!”

You and George shared a look of confusion, what was going on?

Arriving at the scene, you are not surprised to see a sneering Ginny.

“That’s what you get for going in my room!”

What you’re more surprised to see is a frantic Fred. You knew that Ginny is fully capable of being terrifying but this was all in good fun right?

Slowly George walked up to his brother. “Freddie what’s wrong?”

“The ball… it slipped”

Eyes wide, your heart starts to beat faster. “Where…?”

You barely had gotten the question out, the answer is given.

As if on cue, you hear shouts coming from your right, Ron’s room.

Ginny being the closest, beats all of you to the door. When it opened, you catch the faint bit of purple smoke before it completely clears away, no other evidence of the stink ball in sight-you smile at the result, hard work does pay off.

‘Now is not a time to be happy y/n’ you told yourself. Your gaze reached the unconscious bodies on the two beds. “Well that’s…..uhh... new...”

Here are 4 guilty looking teenagers looking at the scene of the crime.

Ginny gingerly poked Ron’s side, keeping a fair distance away just in case he jolts back. “…Are they dead?” she asked, breaking the silence.

“I don’t know! Why don’t you ask them!” George paused his pacing to point his finger at both you and Fred.

“Hey! I am not the one you had thrown the stink bomb into the room!” You said defensively. “Besides I told you to test it when I’m ready! BUT NOOOO… you two wanted it now WITHOUT EVEN KNOWING IT’S FULL CAPACITY AND RESTRICTIONS!”

“I…..I…” When George couldn’t come up with a come back, he changed tactics. Turning to Fred he challenges. “You’re being remarkably calm about this.”

Fred, who was still standing rooted at the entryway, replied. “Thanks, it’s the shock. Give me fifteen minutes, the screaming will happen.”

“What the heck happened anyway?” asked Ginny.

“Yea, I thought it was just a stink bomb that could explode!” added George.

“It is just an exploding stink bomb!”

“Then why are they unconscious?” George’s panic becomes more evident as in addition to his pacing, his voice is now an octave higher.

“I think that the stink bomb was too powerful for such a small room.” Sighing, you gestured to the closed windows. “There’s no adequate ventilation too. Must have cause them to inhale a larger concentration”

“How long will they be out?”

“I don’t know Ginny…really.” You shrug. “It could be hours, one to two at best.”

“TWO HOURS?!?” The twins say in union despite one clearly in utter distress while the other scarily unmoving.

Fred gripped his hair, placed his head in between his thighs and let out a scream that could rival a lion.

George now having lost hope of his brother functioning, took charge. “Mum is gonna be back any second now. What are we gonna do?”

“Well, first…we’re gonna check the boy’s condition again for progress” You suggest, dragging Ginny to check on hair while you check on Ron.

“Then..we’re gonna say..”

“GOT YA!” You 4 shout, finger guns at the ready.

“Wait.. WHAT?!!?? WHAT’S HAPPENING?” George looks at Harry and Ron- who are surprisingly alright and laughing their heads off, to you and GInny looking very smug.

Fred tilts his red face up to the commotion.

“YOU JUST GOT PRANKED! SAY CHESSE!” You announced, indicating to Ginny with the camera.

“Cheeseee” murmured the twins in defeat.

~

“How’d you do it?”

You knew that they would be back with questions. You keep them on the edge as you finish up your potions essay.

"You lot are predictable."

"Predictable?" George scoffed.

Tidying up the study table you continue "Mhhhmmm hmmm. Predicted that you would test it out on Ron, knew that you would try to steal it from me cause you both are very impatient- especially you Fred."

"Heyy!"

"But how did you wake up Harry and Ron?" Piped George. "We shook them but they were still unconscious!"

"Ah George ever the curious. It's simple really." You lay on the bed with hands behind your head, enjoying this moment of outsmarted the boys. "Your siblings were all very tired of been pranked so when we saw an opportunity to have you taste of your own medicine we grab them chance."

You glance at them.

"The time of you setting off the stink bomb is unknown but we were ready. I've made a nose blocker chewing gum while I was tinkering with the foul smell of the stink bomb."

"No sense of smell, no effect." stated Fred.

"Exactly, the rest I'd just improv and acting! The boys weren't actually unconscious, just a temporary numbing spell which Ginny and I reversed when we checked on them."

Sitting back up, you continued.

"What I didn't predict was how crazy you with react. I've never seen you two gone off the rails scared shirtless like that before." You admitted. "Priceless."

"And now you have a photo of it" grumbled George.

"And video too!"

"WHAT?"

Taglist [All/General]: @gruffle1

HP Taglist: @onlyfreds

[johaerys-writes]

Words Are Futile Devices

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Dorian Pavus/David Trevelyan

Summary: 

The last thing Dorian expected when he came to the South was to find love. In fact, he had entirely given up on the notion. Yet, when the gentle, shy and enigmatic Inquisitor Trevelyan came into his life, things started to change.

A (very belated) birthday gift fic for my dear friend @tessa1972 featuring Dorian and her OC David Trevelyan! 

Read here or on AO3!

A full, silver moon hung over the Frostback’s snowy peaks. Skyhold, for once, was quiet.

Dorian leaned back in his desk chair, rubbing the inner corners of his eyes between forefinger and thumb. It had been a long day; and an even longer evening, though he had hardly realised where the time had gone. He had spent most of it studying in the library, indexing books and codexes, helping the new apprentices find their way around. They kept streaming into Skyhold from all corners of Ferelden, and sooner or later they all came to him, asking him this and that, about the library and the hold and where everything could be found.

It was troublesome, certainly —Dorian had never sought to become the Skyhold library’s archivist— yet he found himself oddly drawn to the role. It wasn’t too different from what he used to do in the Minrathous library, where throngs of students from the university would follow him around to ask for his help on their research, or his opinion on various manuscripts. He had never admitted it outright, but he’d missed that sort of life; besides, being asked for help was much preferable to being overlooked and sneered at, which had, sadly, been the case for most of his stay in the South.

He tsked softly, letting the book he’d been reading fall closed. That Southerners could hardly appreciate genius even when it hit them straight in the face was no secret to anyone, yet it gave him a tiny bit of satisfaction to see that the tide was shifting, even a little.

The library was thoroughly empty at that hour, and the wick of the oil lamp above his desk was sputtering softly, close to dying out. It was the only sound in the Tower that could be heard, other than the soft cooing of Leliana’s crows overhead. Dorian stood up slowly and lifted his arms over his head, stretched his sore spine. Skyhold’s desk chairs were far less than comfortable, and his back was certainly not thanking him for it.

He was just about to leave when he noticed the bundle of books that he had gathered earlier that day, and left on the plush purple armchair close to the window. His stomach dropped somewhat.

It was Helisma that had informed him that the Inquisitor had been to the library the day before, searching for books on wyverns and dracolisks. He had left before Dorian had even arrived to his desk empty handed and hadn’t said another word to anyone.

When Dorian had teasingly suggested to Helisma that perhaps the poor man had been so confused by her archiving system that he decided never to step foot in a library ever again in his life, the Tranquil had given him one of her blank looks that somehow managed to speak volumes about what she thought of him and his observations.

Dorian sighed. The books were definitely on the heavy side when he picked them up, but he didn’t train every morning for an hour for nothing. He secured them under his arm, and, after putting the oil lamp out, silently walked out of the library.

Every step that took him through the largely quiet throne room, and closer to the Inquisitor’s quarters, made his heart sink deeper, ad deeper into his stomach. By the time he was standing outside his door —a rather plain, wooden one, considering that behind it lay the largest of all rooms in the hold— Dorian thought his heart would slink out of his ribcage and slither into his boots.

He took a deep breath, and knocked.

“Come in,” the Inquisitor’s smooth voice sounded from behind the polished wood.

“Good evening, my dear Inquisitor,” Dorian said with a wide smile that little belied his nervousness. If anyone was good at hiding his feelings, then that someone was none other than Dorian Pavus of Minrathous. “Or shall I say good night? It is rather late.”

“That it is.” Inquisitor Trevelyan was sitting behind his large mahogany desk, half hidden behind a high stack of papers and scrolls. A merry fire was going in the hearth, filling the space with warmth and shifting amber light. It caught in the highlights of Trevelyan’s chestnut hair, his soft violet eyes. He seemed more than a little tired, the corners of his eyes tinged with red, but there was a gentle smile on his lips. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Dorian stood at the threshold for a moment, admiring the space. Though he had never found himself in the Inquisitor’s quarters before, he had heard lots about it. The rumours did it no justice. It was wide and spacious, if on the colder side, with plush rugs lining the floor and expensive furniture lining its corners. It was rather obvious that Ambassador Josephine had spared no coin when it came to their leader’s accommodations.

Said leader was certainly a more than impressive man. He was tall and broad of shoulder, with impeccable manners and a gentle disposition. He had stood up from his chair at Dorian’s arrival and was gazing at him calmly. He seemed perfectly at ease, if a little uptight, yet Dorian couldn’t help the feeling that the grandeur of his quarters made him seem a little… out of place.

He wasn’t quite sure why the thought made a wave of sympathy rush through him. Perhaps because he deeply understood the sentiment.

“A little birdie told me that you visited the library yesterday in search of books, yet you walked out mysteriously empty handed.” He confidently strolled into the room, setting the heavy bundle of leather bound tomes on the low coffee table before the hearth. “Naturally, I had to make sure that our humble library did not disappoint you. I would take that as a personal affront, you know.”

Trevelyan blinked at him, a lovely blush creeping up his cheeks. It was bright and rosy and warmed up his features, and when a soft, nervous smile graced his lips, Dorian felt the ghost touch of them against his own.

Maker, it felt like a lifetime ago, when Dorian had last touched those lips. In reality, it couldn’t have been longer than a fortnight.

“I am setting out for the Exalted Plains in a week, and one of Leliana’s scouts reported sightings of dracolisks in the Ferns. I wanted to be prepared, should our party come into contact with them. I searched for an hour but I couldn’t find—” He shifted uncomfortably on his feet, his blush getting a deeper, more vibrant red. “I didn’t mean to inconvenience you. If I did, I apologise.”

“Oh, it’s nothing, never you mind all that,” Dorian said with laugh and waved his concerns away, though he wouldn’t have minded letting the man go on for a little while longer, just to watch that flush make its way down to his graceful neck, his pretty ears that were hiding underneath lustrous locks of warm brown. “It only took me a few minutes. I couldn’t well leave our precious Inquisitor walk into the wilderness without detailed knowledge of wyvern mating cycles. You know what they say: a thorough education is the best weapon for any situation.”

The Inquisitor laughed, shaking his head softly. “I believe you are quite right. My father used to tell me something of the sort; though I believe he was referring to an education of a different kind.” He threaded his fingers through his hair, pushing it behind his ear. “I… thank you, Dorian.”

Dorian was momentarily distracted by the sight of those long, slender fingers, the grace of their movements. He suddenly wanted to walk up to him, thread his own fingers through those locks. He could almost remember their smell— lavender and soap, the sweet musk of his skin. He swallowed thickly.

“Whatever for, Inquisitor?” he said with an easy, practiced smile. “It was no bother, I assure you; the whole search was done and over with in a minute.”

“I believe you. Still… you have my thanks. Just for thinking of me.” Trevelyan’s lips widened in that soft, infuriatingly warm smile again, and it was Dorian’s turn to feel a blush creeping up his cheeks. “It is much appreciated.”

The fire crackling in the hearth and the wind sweeping over the Frostbacks' peaks beyond the wide windows were the only sound for a long moment as they both gazed at each other. It seemed as if they were looking at each other across a great gulf; so near, and yet so far.

It was Dorian that tore his eyes away, as always. He wasn’t quite sure what he would be compelled to do, if he continued to stare into the face he had spent days thinking about, dreaming of, longing for.

“I see you are quite busy,” Dorian said, gesturing towards the high stack of documents on the mahogany desk. “I should probably leave you to it.”

He smiled and bowed his head respectfully, turning to leave. The tail of his silk coat fluttered with the motion, the light of the fire catching amidst the folds of the fabric. If there was something that Dorian was good at, then that was a dramatic entrance, and an even more dramatic departure.

His hand was almost on the door handle, when Trevelyan’s smooth voice stopped him.

“Wait.”

Dorian glanced at him over his shoulder. Trevelyan had left his chair and his desk and was standing before the coffee table. He made a small motion when their eyes met, as if wanting to take another step, get closer to him, yet he didn’t.

“Stay, please.” He smiled at him, just a little awkward, never taking his eyes away from Dorian’s. “My work is far from done, and yet… I would appreciate the company.” He shifted just a bit on his feet, then nodded towards the liquor cabinet at the corner of the room. “I was recently sent some Fereldan whiskey. It is said to be very good. I thought, perhaps… you might like to try it.”

The edges of Trevelyan’s lips quirked ever so slightly upwards, and there was something so earnest and childlike about his smile, about the look in his violet eyes, that Dorian’s heart did a painful little thump.

“Whiskey, you say?” He let his hand drop from the handle and took a step closer. He crossed his arms before his chest, cocking his hips slightly to the side in a confident stance— far more confident than he felt. But what was it that people said? ‘Fake it ‘til you make it’? “However can I refuse, when you ask so nicely and bribe me with fancy drinks? You certainly know the way to a man’s heart, Inquisitor.”

Trevelyan let out a quiet laugh, a deep and mellow sound that warmed Dorian inside out. “I’ll pour you a glass then, shall I? Oh, and please. Just call me David.” He tilted his head to the side, his gaze growing even softer, if that was possible. “All of my friends do.”

Friends. Dorian couldn’t help but wonder whether they were simply friends, or if there would ever be hope for something… more.

“Very well,” he said with a smile and graceful incline of his head. “David.” He watched the man’s straight and broad back as he turned around and moved towards the cabinet. The smell of the whiskey was strong and aromatic when he pulled the cork out of the bottle and prepared to pour it into glasses. Dorian’s voice stopped him. “Actually, I think I may have a better idea.”

David’s eyes were curious when he looked at him over his shoulder, and Dorian had to bite back a grin.

~

“I never pegged you for someone who appreciates the great outdoors,” David said with a curious smile, gazing at the vast expanse of glittering snow, jagged peaks and lakes covered in ice. “Quite the opposite in fact, judging from the last time we were outdoors.”

Dorian chuckled softly, leaning against the stone wall of the battlements. A cold wind was blowing, ruffling the fabric of his robes and combing through David’s hair, but the magical bubble that always surrounded Skyhold did not let much of the chill from the mountains pass through. It was tolerable, even for Dorian, and Maker knew his tolerance for the blasted Southern cold was exceptionally low.

He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to bring the Inquisitor -David, he reminded himself- to that quiet corner of the keep. It wasn’t too long ago that he had taken to visiting this place when the walls of his room became stifling, bringing with him a cup of wine or brandy, and simply gazing at the stars. He didn’t know why, but it brought him a strange sense of peace.

The fact that it reminded him of the night that David and he had spent together not too long before was an added, if somewhat confusing, benefit. It was an evening not too different from this one, with a crisp wind blowing and the night sky clear above them, the stars reflecting on the glassy surface of Lake Calenhad. David had accompanied him to the dreaded meeting with his father, and on the way back they had camped there, talking and drinking the night away.

Dorian wasn’t going to fool himself by saying that he hadn’t been attracted to the man the very first moment he laid eyes on him. Still, being attracted to a pretty face, and suddenly finding out that the pretty man not only had a heart and a brain, but enough empathy and understanding to sink a small barge, were two entirely different things. David had surprised him in more ways than one— with his kindness and his honesty, with his wry sense of humour and his sweet, childlike smile, with his steadfastness and his quiet, profound care.

Never before had Dorian bared himself like this to anyone. He had expected judgement and scorn, yet had received none. At first, he couldn���t quite believe it. He had kept searching for the catch, the knife hidden amidst the roses, but more time passed and he could find none. Until…

Dorian swallowed thickly as the memory of the kiss they had shared flashed in his memory. David was watching him patiently now, waiting for his answer that had taken a tad too long.

“I’m full of surprises, as you well know,” Dorian said with a teasing smile. He poured some whiskey into the glasses they had taken with them, and offered one to David. “It’s simply a quiet spot I like to visit sometimes. There are few lovely things the South has to offer, and I believe this view is one of them. It’s quite spectacular, is it not?”

“It is,” David replied, accepting the glass. He was standing in a square of crenelated moonlight, half obscured by the shadows, and his eyes seemed bright like lit up stars when they focused on him. “What are the others?”

“What others?” Dorian sipped distractedly on his whiskey.

“The other lovely things that the South has to offer.”

You, Dorian thought instinctively, and he hated how the thought made his heart flip and jump, his insides tie themselves into impossible loops. “Well, this whiskey, for one,” he replied quickly. “And I’m partial to Fereldan cheese. Much preferable to those smelly Orlesian ones. Tevinter doesn’t have much of a tradition in cheese-making. A pity, if you ask me, but my people tend to avoid consuming anything fermented, unless it can get them blind-drunk.”

David laughed, shaking his head, and the sound warmed Dorian inside out. “You don’t know cheese until you’ve tried the Marcher varieties,” he said. His smile was bright and earnest, and lit up his entire face. “Fereldan cheese is great, don’t get me wrong, but it has nothing on Ostwick’s soft blue goat's cheese, trust me.”

“Blue cheese? My goodness, you Southern barbarians have none of the Maker’s fear in you, do you?” Dorian hid his grin behind the rim of his glass as he watched David laugh even more. “I suppose you made it with your own bare hands back in Ostwick? How terribly bucolic of you.”

“As a matter of fact, I did. It’s a yearly tradition in Ostwick, for the children and women of the household to help in the cheese making on Summer’s day, when the cows’ milk is at its richest. My siblings and I used to have the fun of our lives on that day; we could play with the animals in the farm and get our hands and clothes dirty while milking the cows and hauling the buckets of milk to the dairy workshop, and neither our mother or our father were allowed to tell us off. We would eagerly await that day all year.” He took a sip of his whiskey, looking out over the vast expanse of snow below. “There are moments when I miss those simpler times.”

“I can imagine. Your childhood sounds idyllic indeed,” Dorian said softly, his voice mellowed out even more by the nostalgic smile on the other man’s lips. “You’ve never told me about any of your siblings.”

The smile of David’s lips lost some of its nostalgia, but only a little bit. There was fondness and a shadow of sadness in his eyes when he said, “There used to be more of us than there are now.” He took another sip of whiskey, leaning against the battlements. The wind combed through his hair, bringing a lock of chestnut hair before his brow. “Virgil was the eldest. He died quite young from illness. There was nothing we could do. And Sieden...” He stopped and took a slow breath. “I was born a twin. But my brother, Sieden, did not make it through the labor. He was stillborn. My family still celebrates his birthday every year, along with my own, but it’s different from other celebrations in the family. It is a day for silence and contemplation, and for remembering the brief time he was in the world.”

“I’m… very sorry to hear that,” Dorian said quietly, a lump lodging in his throat. “It must have been very hard for you, not to celebrate your birthday like other children did.”

“It wasn’t so bad,” David replied. His gaze still managed to be warm and friendly when he regarded Dorian, despite the mellow sadness in his voice. “We lit candles, and I got lots of gifts, from my parents, my other siblings and my beloved friends. I also got a kiss from my mother, and a hug from my father. But that stopped after—” He tensed just a little, looking away. His brows gathered in an almost imperceptible frown. “It doesn’t really matter now, I suppose.”

Dorian stayed silent for a moment, wondering whether he should urge David to talk or let the silence linger between them. Yet it wasn’t long after that David turned to him again, and a warm light was flickering in his gaze once more. “My family and I have lost much, but not everything. I still have two sisters who I love dearly, Fae and Leah. The first married when she was quite young and moved out of the house, and the other became a lay-sister. I still write to them both, especially Fae. You could say she is the closest to me, despite our age difference. She is quite lovely. I’m sure the two of you will get along perfectly when you meet. She’s rather eager to see you, actually.”

Dorian’s curiosity was piqued. He tilted his head to the side in question. “Your sister knows about me?”

David gave him a wide- eyed stare. “No! Well, yes. I mean—” He paused abruptly, then let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. It could have been a play of the light, but Dorian thought he could see a blush creeping up his cheeks once more. “We write to each other quite often. She always asks me all sorts of questions, about my daily life and the people I’ve met here and… I suppose… I may have told her a few things about you. Just a few, mind you,” he added quickly, seeing the surprised expression on Dorian’s face.

“You… told your sister about me?” Dorian was sure his heart skipped a beat right at that moment. Something bright and warm, something like hope rose to his throat, and then something like dread twisted his stomach. Had he told his sister about him… about them? About their late night talks, their slightly awkward and nervous banter, their… kiss?

That moment flashed in Dorian’s memory once more, and this time it was much harder to brush away than others. He still remembered it, crystal clear: the moment when David had come to find him in the library, the evening after they had returned from Redcliffe. Dorian remembered how the flickering light the candles had caught in the depths of his violet eyes, how his deep and soothing voice had carried in the empty library. He remembered the concern and the warmth in them, the care. And, most of all, he remembered his clean and warm scent in his nostrils as David had drawn closer, the softness of his lips against his own, the strength of his arms around him.

Maker, it had felt like heaven. Tender and gentle and… so brief, that it sent Dorian’s guts twisting again. They had peeled apart soon after, and each had gone their own way. The tension between them had been sizzling ever since, thick enough to cut with a knife every time they so much as looked at each other. Hundreds of times Dorian had thought to pull him close again, to feel his body against his own, but something always held him back.

What if it was just a one-time thing, never to be repeated? What if David didn’t want anything more, what if he’d simply changed his mind?

Dorian leisurely crossed his arms before his chest, hiding his unease behind a wide smile. “So? What have you told your sister about me, pray tell? I hope you’ve mentioned how dashingly gorgeous, impeccably dressed and impressively smart I am, for starters.”

Dorian had only been half-joking when he said that. He hadn’t exactly expected a serious answer, but David’s reply startled him.

“That goes without saying, Dorian,” he said earnestly, his voice firm and unwavering despite his blush that brightened, distinctly visible even in the moonlight now. “Of course I told her all of those things, it’s only the truth. I also told her… that you’re brave and generous and kind. Actually, you’re one of the kindest people I’ve ever met.” He smiled awkwardly. “I hope it wasn’t terribly forward of me.”

Dorian stared at him for a long moment, his breath catching in his throat. He wracked his brain for something to say, anything at all, but for the first time, perhaps ever, he was totally speechless.

He took in a shaky breath. “Do you truly believe them?” he asked quietly, holding David’s gaze. He couldn’t take his eyes away, even if he’d wanted to. “All those things you told your sister… do you believe them?”

“I do.” The other man’s reply was quick and sure, and his eyes met Dorian’s levelly. “There isn’t a moment that I thought otherwise, Dorian. I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while. You are… special. Special to me.”

If Dorian could stop time right there, he probably would have. If the stars and the planets had ceased their constant motion right at that moment, if the wind had stopped blowing and the moon had continued shining above them, silver and iridescent, Dorian would gladly stay in that moment forever and a day. Just so he could hear the fondness in David’s voice, watch that smile tugging at the edges of his lips when he spoke to him, the affection in his eyes when he looked at him.

Those eyes had always told Dorian so much more than David’s words had. And this time, Dorian understood.

He took a step forward, leaning towards him. The moments before their lips met felt like the leap from an impossible height. David’s breath skimmed Dorian’s skin, warm and spicy with the scent of the whiskey. Soft lips parted beneath his own, and Dorian was falling.

His fingers threaded through silky, chestnut hair, and David’s scent filled his lungs: lavender and herbs, that delicate soap he liked to use. Strong arms came around him, pulling him closer, and Dorian sighed softly, deepening the kiss as he let himself be drawn. He was helpless, utterly helpless when it came to David, melting against him, every one of his thoughts and defences melting away. Their kiss was tender and passionate, soft and just a little bit desperate, and everything he’d ever wanted, everything he'd dreamed.

David pulled slightly back, cupping Dorian’s cheek as he did so. He gazed at Dorian’s face through heavy-lidded eyes, his lips glistening. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do that?” he asked quietly, his thumb brushing over Dorian’s skin in a tender caress.

His words washed over Dorian like a wave. He leaned against the other man’s chest, linking his wrists behind his neck. His heart was beating giddy and excited, making his head swim, and he could almost feel David’s heart through his clothes, beating in the same rhythm.

“Thank goodness one of us has a little initiative,” Dorian said teasingly, brushing his nose over David’s. "Let's not wait so long next time, yes?"

David laughed gently, the sound reverberating through Dorian where they touched. He leaned in for another kiss, slow and gentle, and this time Dorian really had no more words left.

"I'll make sure not to," David whispered against his lips, hugging him tightly.

[maaaddiexo]

The Within Series | Legolas Greenleaf

Book 1: The Devil Within - Part 1.9

Mainlist | Serieslist

Nyx of Tyndall does not know love or kindness. Cursed at a young age by a jealous witch, Nyx has lived a life of solitude and death.

Until Gandalf the Grey requests her presence and uncontrollable skill in assisting a young Hobbit across Middle-Earth with nine others to destroy a ring so powerful all fall victim to its evil.

Not only must Nyx face Orcs, demons, and creatures she’s never seen before, but also the devil inside. Controlling the devil is the key to finding freedom in a spell that can’t be broken. But it will not be so easy for Nyx when every obstacle she faces pushes her to an edge she cannot return from.

Chapter Nine

Nyx slept soundlessly that night, which surprised her. She’d been dwelling on her decision to join the Fellowship the moment she’d agreed. She was tired. She didn’t want to go any further. And yet, looking into Frodo’s eyes and feeling no judgement from Aragorn, how could she possibly say no?

An elf woke Nyx up in the early hours of dawn, helping her into a warm tub and rubbing the stress away with a sponge. Nyx did her best to fight the anger at not being allowed to sleep in but she was aware of the water heating up a few degrees when it should have been cooling. Her anger was stronger than before. Harder to control.

Afterwards, the elf helped Nyx into dark pants – she couldn’t tell if they were brown or black – and a dark blue turtleneck tunic. Overtop, she was given a thick woollen cloak, black as night. Her hair was braided into two inverted braids which were then secured in a bun at the nape of her neck.

“Low maintenance,” the elf explained, standing up. “Will you be joining the others for breakfast?”

Nyx inhaled. Since her arrival she’d avoided eating in the dining hall. Being around so many people made her uncomfortable, which made it easier for the evil within to take control win. But she would be traveling with these people now for who knew how long. She would have to get used to it. But, perhaps, not yet. “Oh, um, no. I need to finish packing.”

The elf nodded and left. Nyx moved to the end of her bed, where Elrond’s gifts from the day before lay.

“You will need weapons, my dear. And not just this old…thing,” he looked at the scythe with disdain. The blade was chipped and dull, and the wooden handle was thinning where she often gripped it. The wood was also stained with blood, but it often was and Nyx had grown tired of washing the wood when she didn’t even see anyone.

“I don’t have any other weapons, Lord Elrond. I’m sure I will be fine.”

“Nonsense. Since your arrival, I have had my people working on some new weapons for you. Including a new scythe. Gandalf tells me you are quite attached.”

“It’s the only way I’m connected to them.” Gandalf had told Nyx that her parents had lived on farm before they had her. And though she didn’t have any memories of them, this made her feel close to them.

Elrond nodded and placed Nyx’s old scythe against the wall. “Then it will be waiting right here for you when you return. But you cannot take that into war. It will splinter on the first strike. Here,” Elrond lifted his arm and two Elves came in. One carried a thick bundle wrapped in cloth while the other carried a scythe made fully of metal, with strips of black wood running with the long handle from top to bottom.

Nyx ran her hand along it in awe. “It’s beautiful.”

“It is strong. It will serve you well. And here.” The second Elf unraveled the bundle of cloth, revealing two daggers with birch hilts and a knife with a red wood hilt. “For extra protection.”

Nyx smiled at Elrond. “Thank you. You owe me nothing and yet you always offer so much.”

Elrond smiled. “You are worth so much more than you think, Nyx of Tyndall. Soon you will see.”

Nyx smiled. “I really am sorry about your gazebo. And your Council Room floor.”

Elrond laughed. “Already forgiven. But don’t expect me to forget anytime soon.”

Nyx sheathed her weapons in the leather holster the Elf had dressed her in underneath her cloak. There were slots for her two daggers and the knife, plus an additional holster that she wore over her cloak. One strap went around her chest while the across her chest like a sash. The holster was on the back. She’d had a similar one before, but it seemed Elrond had replaced that as well.

Nyx knew breakfast would be over by nine, so she was in the courtyard at nine-oh-five, patiently waiting for the rest to arrive. Ever the punctual Elf, Legolas was the first to arrive.

“Good morning, Lady Nyx.”

Nyx grimaced. “Please, just Nyx.”

Legolas inclined his head, hands behind his back. He carried a bow and arrow, the bow made from a material unlike anything Nyx had ever seen. The holster for his quiver was similar to Nyx’s. His hair was braided the same as the day before: a small one going around each ear and a larger one for the hair on the crown of his head. He was dressed differently than when he had first arrived. He wore tall brown boots and grey pants. Arm guards over a grey shirt and a green elven tunic. He touched Nyx’s scythe, which she had in her hand at the moment. His fingers ran over a small inscription in elvish near the hilt of the blade.

“Dilthen lúg. Little Dragon,” Legolas read. “What does that mean?”

Nyx furrowed her brow. “It is what Gandalf used to call me…when I was a little girl. I almost forgot he used to call me that.”

“Why did he call you that?”

Nyx closed her eyes, but the memory was a good one. Those were rare for her. “I had the short temper of a dragon. Plus, my bad habit of catching fire made the nickname an easy choice for Gandalf. I used to find it endearing. Now, people say my name with malice and fear in their voices.”

“Why? You do not look so dangerous. Except, of course, for the large weapon in your hands.”

Nyx looked at the scythe as someone else joined the two of them and spoke. Aragorn. “Do not doubt her, Legolas. She has more fire in her than you think.”

Nyx looked away and took a few steps back, under an old stone arch. The two conversed and she ran her thumb over the inscription Legolas had pointed out. She hadn’t even noticed it until he’d mentioned it. She looked over at the Elf. He was laughing with Aragorn freely and she wondered how two people who’d seen battle and taken so many lives could still be so happy.

She looked at Aragorn. Though she knew he meant nothing ill, his words bothered her still, and she felt the anger inside her swell.

Take control of it.

Nyx leaned her head against the stone wall, closing her eyes and taking a few deep breaths. They didn’t work. It seemed she had less control over the evil inside her since she carried the Ring.

“Nyx!”

Gandalf was standing in front her, waving his hand back and forth in front of her face. The rest of the Fellowship had arrived but, thankfully, no one was paying attention to the two.

“Sorry, Gandalf.”

“What is troubling you, my dear?”

“It’s the Ring. It did something to me. I feel…angrier. The littlest things are making me angry. This morning, I nearly cut off the Elf’s head when she woke me up. And just now, Aragorn.” Nyx shook her head. “Maybe it is best if I do not journey with you.”

“Nonsense, my dear. You are one of us. There is more good in you than you think. Come.”

“The Ring Bearer is setting out on the Quest of Mount Doom,” Elrond announced. “On you who travel with him, no oath or bond is laid to go further than you will. Farewell. Hold to your purpose. May the blessings of Elves and Men and all free folk go with you.”

“The Fellowship awaits the Ring Bearer.”

Frodo turned nervously, taking the time to look at all the people who had chosen to accompany him on quest they may not return from. He walked through the group, leading the way.

The moment they crossed over Rivendell’s border, the air of magic dissipated, and Nyx suddenly felt it hard to breathe. She was at the back of the group with Aragorn who noticed instantly.

“Sacred Elven places suppress other forms of magic that is not their own for the sake of protection,” he explained. “Now outside of Rivendell, you once again feel the full force of the curse.”

“It wasn’t this bad before,” Nyx whispered, mainly to herself. “The Ring did something to me. To the curse.”

“Perhaps when we destroy it, you will go back to normal.”

Nyx didn’t know what normal was. “Do you really think we will destroy it?”

Aragorn was silent.

That afternoon they stopped for lunch and a longer break than usual. While Boromir helped Pippin and Merry work on their swordsmanship and Sam handed out plates of food to everyone, Nyx sat silently beside Gandalf as he smoked his trusty pipe.

Gimli, who was slightly behind Nyx and Gandalf, spoke surely, “If anyone was to ask of my opinion, which I note they are not, I’d say we are taking the long way ‘round. Gandalf, we could pass through the mines of Moria. My cousin, Balin, would give us a royal welcome.”

A sour taste filled Nyx’s mouth at the name of Moria, but she wasn’t quite sure why.

“No, Gimli,” Gandalf replied softly. “I would not take the road through Moria unless I had no other choice.”

“Why?” Nyx asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Evil lurks close there in the shadows,” Gandalf replied. “And since we are already walking straight into the fire, it would be best to avoid it when possible.”

Legolas, who had been watching the north, suddenly moved to the other side of the rocky outcropping to watch the south. He stared intently.

“What is it? What do you see?”

Legolas glanced at Nyx, who was squinting to try and see what he saw.

“Nothing, it’s just a whiff of cloud,” Gimli insisted.

“It’s moving fast,” Boromir stood. “Against the wind.”

“Crebain from Dunland!” Legolas shouted.

“Hide!” Aragorn shouted.

Nyx grabbed for Legolas, who remained where he was, quickly searching for the perfect place to hide. She found it nearly instantly, five paces from where they stood now. She dragged him along, tugging him under the curved boulder. Together, they tried to quiet their breathing and still their movements. Nyx heard everybody else scatter, their feet thumping against the ground as they ran for cover. She could feel Legolas’ chest against her shoulder and tried to match his steady breathing. It was hard but she managed to slow her breathing and calm the fire dwelling in the pit of her stomach.

The sky darkened with the birds’ arrival, caws piercing the air. Nyx saw their shadows on the ground in front of her as they flew by, circling the area before leaving in the same way they came. Slowly everybody emerged and watched the birds leave. Legolas looked back at their hiding place. From where he stood, he could barely see where they’d hidden.

“That is an excellent hiding spot,” Legolas admired.

Nyx shrugged and walked away. She was good at hiding. “What are they?”

“Spies of Saruman! The passage South is being watched. We must take the Pass of Caradhras.”

Nyx looked up at the snowy mountain, its peak hidden above the clouds. She grabbed her pack and tightened the laces on her boots. They set out immediately, climbing the steep incline of the mountain range. Nearly to the top, there was a grunt from behind Nyx and she turned to see Frodo tumbling down the hill.

“Frodo!” Gandalf called, unable to do anything but watch him roll down the slope of the mountain. Thankfully, Aragorn stopped him before he could roll too far and immediately Frodo reached for his chest. The Ring was gone. He spotted it just as Boromir did, lifting it up by the chain and holding it closely to his face.

“Boromir,” Aragorn said softly. The man either did not listen to him or did not hear him.

“It is a strange fate that we should suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing… Such a little thing.” He reached up to touch it. Aragorn called his name again, this time firmer. The man heard him this time.

“Give the Ring to Frodo.”

Nyx watched from beside Gandalf as he reluctantly returned the Ring to Frodo and ruffled his hair. She turned to the wizard.  “I do not like the way he looks at the Ring. And I especially don’t like the way he looks at Frodo.”

Gandalf clenched his jaw, shifting his weight. “Neither do I, my dear. Neither do I.”

Part 1.10 ➺

[chattahoochiecoochie]

Various Storms and Saints Review

I’m alive! As per usual here is my disclaimer. I’m a fan in every sense, though I write fanfiction, and even some personal stories in my free time, I am in no way qualified to actually judge or critique anyones writing. Therefore, this is just a fun way for me to express what I liked about my most recent reads. Without further adieu lets get started.

This story is by @viridianatnight and can be found on AO3. 

This is going to be long, so pack in, I’ve got a lot of thoughts. First and foremost, I’m a summary kind of gal. I like to know what I’m getting into, I analyze the tags, fully digest the summary down to the punctuation. VSAS lacked a summary but the reviews were raving so I went ahead and dove head first. Man oh fucking man did she nail it. Maybe our dear author isn’t one for summaries or maybe she planned it. Every chapter had me on the edge of my seat, waiting for that final reveal, the big drop in plot, the crescendo. It was worth it. Through every guess and shot it the dark it was worth it. She delivered.

Every so often you read a story where there isn't a syllable wasted. This is one of those. From that damn pebble in a box all the way to Narcissa’s nickname for her son. My dragon? Are you joking me. 

Never before have I felt I have known Hermione. You love her, always, she's a star. But here she is human. Here she is a woman. Here is a character who I know, who I have met, who I will meet again in life. She is drowning and swimming, lost and found. She is me. She is all of us. Self loathing is so deeply tragic and for the first time that I have read, Hermione is tragic. This story is as much a romance as it is a tragedy for the ages. You watch the little girl you loved as a child, who’s character came alive on paper, start to die in front of you. Without becoming to much of a sap, the simple fact is this, if you as a woman want to feel seen go open your web browser and get to reading.

And Draco. What a man. Tall and handsome is to be expected, but multifaceted and palatable is another beast entirely--and yet here he is on screen, all of those things. His relationship with Theo is (I hate to overuse the word) human. They’re boys still, really, who love one another deeply but will never admit it without a fight. They’ll defend one another fearlessly and bite hard when confronted about it. Draco often has passion in the stories I’ve read but not like this. He has a fire inside him that burns for Hermione, for his best friend, for his mother, and even for his enemies. He is completely consumed by his love and his anger. He is almost nothing outside of those feelings. They make him as a man, good and bad. Sure he might be a touch scary but boy oh boy is he the kind of partner (and lover) we all long for. 

Before we get into the little things I want to talk about Ginny. What a star. What a friend. In most stories Hermione is cut away from the group, relegated to Slytherins almost entirely. Its wonderful to see her friendship with Ginny thrive, and even more to see it be genuine. There is sisterly love sure but Ginny puts up a fight, as every good friend has. 

Molly. You bastard. Her letter to Hermione left me gutted. Especially when she’d been so great at holding Ron accountable in the past. 

The cellphone was truly something special. The way it allowed Theo to step further into the light as a main character was brilliant. Speaking of his role, theres a happy ending! Our comic relief and great logician (seriously his wisdom is what held this all together) finally gets an ending he deserves. 

That of course launches me into another ramble. Queerness is so rarely written without angst. Seamus and Dean are just in love. There is no hardship or pain written about. They are two young men and they are in love and there isn't anything else to say about it. And the way that Theo feels no shame about being in love with a man, rather just shame that he can’t have him, its just beautiful. It’s simple and plain and perfect. 

Okay okay I know I said this was going to be long and I promise I’m wrapping up. Heres a rapid fire round before I sign off entirely. Lavenders death? Crippled me. She is a virtue? I squealed. Peace and love, I’m so sick of having to google French. So sick. So tired. I’ll keep doing it though, till the day a man calls me mon coer.

Honestly my joy is too much for words. This is one of the greats, without a doubt. Viridian, you have a gift, and I pray that you never stop wanting to share it with us. 

If you liked this review you can find my others here TRTTD | Manacled | Remain Nameless | Apple Pie and Other Amends Sorry if the links are funny, I completed traded places with my secondary blog a while back and its been weird :/

[howtowhumpyourhiccup]

70 : Hiccup, Viggo, tiny

YYEEEEE, HERE IT IS! I had so much fun writing this one! And thank you for requesting the son! <3 <3 <3

Prompt: I’ll carry it.

Warning: implied/referenced threats of rape/non-con

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

"I'll carry it."

Viggo's words make Hiccup halt in his tracks and Viggo, who is walking beside him, stops as well.

"Excuse me?" Hiccup asks, wearing an offended look.

Viggo either doesn't catch on or doesn't care to catch on to what offends him so. He raises an eyebrow.

"The boy. I imagine you must be tired, so perhaps, I can take over from you." He offers, referring to the baby boy, named Vigi, strapped to Hiccup's chest in a deeply red sling made of a soft cloth.

Maybe he thinks he's being helpful and overwhelmingly generous, but the lead Dragon Rider looks quite angry for someone who has been made such an offer. Brows low, his lips are pressed into a thin line and his jaw is tense.

The Hunters and Flyers around them stare, some attempting to do so subtly while others forego all subtlety and openly stare. The Dragon Riders aren't loved, but Hiccup and Viggo's interactions always spark some interest, even if it's just interesting gossip.

Besides, it's strange that Viggo would even offer to help him out. And with a baby, no less! This man has a bastard or two running around and not even them are given as much attention as Vigi here.

But then, Viggo has some strange affections for Hiccup, who is both the leader of the enemy and the first person he has ever shown such affection for.

"Am I supposed to know what that look is for?" Viggo asks, so he really hasn't figured it out.

"You called him an it." Hiccup tells him, offended on his young son's behalf. The boy turned three-months-old just a day or two ago.

Vigi looks up to Viggo, a curled-up fist in his mouth as he blinks curiously. At his age, he can't sit up yet and that's about as far as his knowledge of babies goes. But he's a lot more aware than last time Viggo saw him and noticeably bigger, too. That voluminous mess of red hair has thinned out significantly, however. Babies can bald, too, apparently, but Hiccup doesn't seem concerned with this.

"Yes, well, my bad." It's strange that Viggo would even admit to something being his fault and Hiccup raises an eyebrow in question this time. The other continues on.

The flat of a sword on his back pushes him forward, a wordless order to follow Viggo. While questioning the kind of audacity it would take to push someone holding a baby, Hiccup listens and follows after the former Hunter leader.

Viggo is taking him to his cell and he doesn't know where they put Toothless as they've been separated ever since their capture. Hiccup can't imagine how worried the Night Fury must be and hopes that he's okay.

With most of the Dragon Riders gone on a mission, Hiccup and Tiny should've still been protected by Toothless and all the other dragons on that island, namely the Night Terrors standing guard on their posts.

Though the Edge's dragons have always counted on the human-dragon duos to keep them safe, they've been returning the favor ever since Tiny's birth three months prior.

Their enemies must know because they waited until Hiccup and Toothless were away from the island to down them. And since the baby was with them at the time, the two hadn't put up much of a fight.

As a matter of fact, there hadn't been a battle at all. Some ballistas and a net flew and Toothless landed on the nearest island, a tiny one that could barely sustain any life.

The Edge was in the far, far distance on the horizon, they hadn't gone far from home on their leisure flight and were still in their own waters.

But considering their recently changed familial situation at the moment, the Dragon Riders are jumpier than usual. Hiccup hopes this means that they're well on their way already.

Hiccup doesn't believe any of these men necessarily capable of hurting an infant, but they've surprised him before and he isn't willing to find out if they'll surprise him again.

He's especially wary of Krogan, the man who seems to have a particularly sadistic side to him and whom Hiccup believes responsible for the state Garff was found in. The poor child was found nearly tortured to death.

Hiccup growls just thinking about it. And part of the bad taste it left them all with? This was a Deathson they've cared for before they found him a home with an adult individual. However brief their time together had been before Garff's adoption, they had all come to love him. Seeing him in that kind of state was horrible, they thought he was going to die.

So on his way, Hiccup holds his own son closer, Vigi laying his head on his collarbone. It's time for his nap anyway.

Garff is doing much, much better now and lives with them again on Dragon's Edge so long as his parent remains missing. But if something that unthinkable were to ever happen to Tiny... No, Hiccup would pretty much rather die than ever let it happen.

The boy has already been through too much as it is.

"We're here." As they reach the dragon cages that make for cells in their base, Hiccup is pulled from his thoughts by Viggo as he speaks. He opens the door and steps aside to let Hiccup in.

"Toothless!" But Hiccup doesn't quite go in yet, spotting his dragon muzzle in a different cage.

The Night Fury has already pressed himself against the metal, having heard his Rider's approaching voice and recognizable footsteps.

He croons, wondering if they're both unharmed.

"We're okay, Bud! We're-" Hiccup comes over, hand outstretched to touch his nose, but Viggo grabs him by the arm. There's a lot of manhandling done to someone very clearly holding an infant to his chest.

"Unless you want to risk harm coming to either one of you, I suggest going inside the cell." He tells Hiccup and Toothless' protest is instant.

"I'm still okay, Bud. We're both okay, don't you worry about us." Rider reassures Dragon and he quietens down, sagging in his cage. Hiccup lets himself be dragged away.

"You better hope that boy ends up smarter than you," Viggo mutters under his breath as he pulls Hiccup inside his cell and closes to then lock the door.

Due to their close proximity, Hiccup hears him.

"Wow, petty insults now, Viggo?" He asks while the door is locked and he can't figure out who Viggo has insulted more.

"It's merely an observation combined with a hope, Hiccup." He tells and Hiccup leans on the door, suddenly realizing the other hasn't referred to him as "my dear" once. And not just today, but ever since he's found out about Hiccup's son.

A peculiar thing...

"An observation?" But Hiccup moves that realization to the back of his mind and focuses on their conversation instead.

"The dragons on your island have become more proactive and without a doubt that has everything to do with the two of you. But instead of staying where it is safe, you took your infant son and ventured from your island." While Viggo elaborates, Hiccup rolls his eyes at that.

Vigi is his son and he's perfectly safe with Hiccup and Toothless in the sky. Besides, this way he's going to grow up used to being in the sky.

And what does Viggo know of childrearing? He has a bastard here and there, of this Hiccup is certain as well, but he cares little for them. Hiccup wonders if he even knows their names. Hiccup does.

"Now you've been captured, together with you infant, and instead of following along nicely, you talk back and try to run." Hiccup is taken aback by both of these "observations" that Viggo claims he has seen. Because how is correcting Viggo that his baby isn't an "it" talking back and when is checking up on Toothless trying to run away?

No, Viggo has been acting strange ever since he's been captured. It almost seems like he's been judging Hiccup on everything he does, says, or seems to be thinking. Even with the Riders, who he couldn't care less for, aren't as judged as Hiccup's been since his most recent capture.

If he were a friend or an ally, Hiccup would've just shrugged it off. Maybe it's because Viggo is an enemy that he has a hard time doing so, or maybe it's because his judging for Hiccup is so out of character of him, or maybe it's because some of these judgments have to do with his son. Because Viggo always has something to say either to him or about him, but nothing about things so trivial.

"But it would appear to me that making foolish decisions is simply something Hiccup Haddock does, isn't it?" Viggo states, his gaze going down to little Vigi and lingering.

Hiccup follows his eyes, looking down at his son, who now has a fistful of his dad's tunic and which he happily salivates. His little fist and the sleeve of his little tunic are both soaked.

Hiccup looks back up at Viggo and their eyes briefly meet before the latter turns and walks away.

Why was Viggo staring at his son like that? Did he just call him a mistake?

And then it all clicks in place, Hiccup makes another sudden realization. He's not really surprised by this one.

"You're jealous, aren't you?" He asks confidently and Viggo stops in his tracks.

Hiccup can't see his eyes widening, a crack appearing in his façade. When Viggo turns to face him, finds him leaning with an elbow on the door of the cage, the look of surprise is gone.

"Excuse me?" He asks.

"Viggo, Viggo Grimborn. I've taken you for many things, but a jealous man? No wait, I did take you for that, too." Hiccup is so confident that he allows himself to sass, which honestly doesn't take much.

The former Hunter chief approaches again, Hiccup's demeanor not changing a bit.

"And what exactly would I be jealous for?" He asks, almost challenging him to tell.

"For not being the one to father my son. You're angry that Vigi isn't yours." So Hiccup does and when Viggo growls lowly instead of denying it, he knows he's right.

"You've always looked down on my Riders and thought of them less than you while almost pretending like our confrontations alone were dates. Treated me like an equal, well, treated me like an equal most of the time. You've challenged me, played with me, tried to seduce me?" Hiccup makes a list.

"And then you found out about Vigi, figured out that only one of the Riders could've put him in me, and you don't like that it wasn't you, do you? As a matter of fact, I think you even hate it." He is so self-assured, so confident, in his belief that he's figured Viggo's strange behavior out. And maybe there's also a false sense of safety, the assumption that his foe wouldn't stoop as low as to harm him, not with Vigi with him.

Toothless has been listening in quietly, watching the two cautiously. He would've preferred Hiccup keep all of this to himself, but it's out now and he can only watch what will unfold before him now.

Because like stormclouds suddenly appearing on a sunny day does Viggo's expression darken. Clearly, he doesn't like being called out like this, especially when Hiccup is right.

Grabbing the bars, he leans closer to Hiccup, invading his personal space even through the cage. He stands so closely the younger man can feel his warm breath.

"Congratulations, you've figured me out once again." Viggo starts and that is only the beginning of what he has to say now. He looms over Hiccup threateningly.

"But, my Dear, do you also realize that, if I had known all along what you have underneath your clothes, that you would indeed be holding my son instead of whoever you let fuck you?" Viggo tells him, Hiccup's self-assurance melting like snow before the sun.

He stares at the larger man wordlessly, wide-eyed and mouth agape. It's been a while since anyone has made him feel this small.

"Let that sink in and think before you speak next time. You may not like what your reckless words can cause you to hear." Viggo warns him and Hiccup can't come up with a suitable response. He can no longer respond at all, too disturbed by what Viggo means to imply with his claim.

Hiccup successfully silenced and Toothless growling in warning through his muzzle, Viggo is satisfied. He turns and leaves again.

Ever since his defeat at the hands of Hiccup, Viggo was fully prepared to just let their war be.

He had enough, his empire was destroyed, his face scarred, and the sight in one of his eyes lost. It was time to admit his defeat and quietly stay out of Hiccup's way, he thought. That is, until Krogan and his Flyers found him.

But, indeed, if he had known Hiccup capable of having his heir, their war would've gone quite differently. Maybe it still would've ended in Hiccup's victory, but at least one minor detail would've been different.

Hiccup's firstborn would've been his. Of that, Viggo would've made sure.

[ikemenfics]

Chocolate Kisses

Kennyo: You’re going to hell, you know that right?

Me: ...hashtag worthit

2521 written pieces of evidence that I shouldn’t be writing. later...

For: uh....Kennyo.  @daeva-agas​ Help me.

Up in the mountains, shrouded by trees, a lone figure sat atop a rock, meditating.  His features were deep set with the pains of a man who had seen painful years.  A deep scar bisected his face, a lone witness to the tragedies that had befallen him.  

Though his eyes were closed and there was no sound, he felt something shift.  Like those instincts animals have before an earthquake.  He had prepared for this moment.  Reports of strange happenings in both Azuchi and Kasugayama had put him on high alert, though he wasn’t quite sure what to expect.  Opening his eyes, Kennyo watched as a blade pierced his reality, slicing a clean line through the air, as if ripping through an invisible screen.

A figure stepped out.  He was clearly not Japanese.  His features reminded Kennyo of the traders seen around Nobunaga’s ilk, but his clothing marked him as being not one of the Portuguese.  Kennyo had seen few of the foreigners who had recently taken to Japan, but he knew none wore such blinding fabrics.  There was an air of elegance from the man, from his flashy clothing to his poised stance.  Clearly, this was a man of rich living and rigorous training.

“Greetings,” the man said, bowing with a flourish, sheathing his rapier in a fluid motion that bespoke a lifetime of practice, “My name is Edgar and I have been commanded to give you this.”  With a sweep of his arm, Edgar produced an item, tossing it to Kennyo.  Instinct bade Kennyo catch the bag, though he did not give it any further attention.

“Why?  The Devil King now sending foreigners to do his dirty deeds?”  Midnight eyes met with emerald in challenge.  He didn’t get up, but Kennyo eyed the newcomer, assessing what fight this Edgar might bring.

“Devil King?”  Edgar grinned, an expression that left a cold spot in Kennyo’s soul.  The man’s eyes sparkled with amusement, to be sure and his face looked the part of a jovial man.  But something…deep in those glittering depths, that smile took an edge that recognized that title not of a separate man…but the kind of recognition that only comes with ownership.  This one clearly thought he be the devil of this world.  “My good man, I am not here to commit a ‘dirty deed’,” even the way that was worded made Kennyo well aware that this man was well versed in deeds.  “I merely come to bring you joy to spread on this day.  For today must be quite special, indeed.”

“And if I do not desire this…joy of yours?”

“That is not my jurisdiction.  I simply was sent to deliver.  And now, I bid you good day.”

The figure in white stepped back into the void he’d created and unsheathed his sword, using the thin tip, resealing the world from the bottom up.

Kennyo finally looked down at the thing the strange figure had tossed to him.  The pouch itself was clear, shiny oddly shaped pieces of silver something inside.  There were odd markings on the bag itself and it crinkled as Kennyo moved it about in his examination.

“Joy…” he muttered, dropping the item, “Such a thing does not suit a demon such as myself.”  After a moment’s hesitation, he plucked the thing from the ground, opting to carry it versus littering the pristine environment that was kind enough to hide him and his men during these war-torn times.  Another moment, he inhaled, moving to finish his morning’s meditation.  After all, he had new things to think about now.

Meanwhile, a group of figures sat at a table, sharing in a game of cards.  Edgar entered, leaning down towards one of the figures.  “Apologies…”

The figure nodded and stood, grabbing his scarlet cloak as he did.  “Don’t tell the doctor,” the man said, placing a cap upon his head before leaving.

“Are you sure you got this, old friend?”

“That is none of your concern.”

His eyes were still closed, but yet again, there was that feeling.  Like almost nausea, but from outside his body, however that was supposed to work.  Kennyo opened his eyes again, but rather than a slicing into the world, there was a flash and Kennyo found himself staring into ruby orbs that, to Kennyo’s amazement, shifted into a deep blue.  (Another demon…).  If Edgar was flashy, this one was just simply gaudy.  Same blinding white uniform, but now a flash of scarlet that Kennyo could still see even when he blinked.  

“I was not aware I needed more joy…” Kennyo muttered.

“You were told to spread joy,” the man said, his voice cold as ice and as distant as the moon, “to refuse the King of Hearts will lead to ruin.”

“I am already ruined.  I am simply a transient demon here to enact retribution before I fade away.”

Azure flashed to crimson again, “So be it.”  The world became so bright, Kennyo had to block his eyes, fearing they would burn away…

Back at the card game, the caped figure returned, dressing down to resume in the game. 

“You look tired..” a concerned voice

“That one is stubborn.”

That moment, two more heads perked, listening to unheard orders.  They stood, one plucking a black hat from the table. 

“It seems more reinforcements are needed.”  One said, nodding to the other.

“An unknown difficulty has arisen.  Let’s not be late.”

In Kasugayama, Shingen sat, the cold air tightening his chest.  It was a relief from his never-ending battle with his inner temperature, but the chill air was not kind to his lungs.  Still, it was nice to finally not feel uncomfortable inside his clothing, though any excuse to be natural with a partner was never unwelcome.

There was a strange glimmer in his view, then the appearance of a pale man.  Shingen examined him.  Pale was an appropriate descriptor, as this person made Kenshin’s icy appearance seem vibrant.  Even the man’s hair was pale as moonlight.  Shingnen stayed put, sudden understanding dawning on him.

“If you take our weapons again, be advised there’s apparently backups now,” he stated.

The man chuckled, his pink eyes dancing with amusement, “Then I’m quite glad I won’t be needing to take them.” 

Shingen laughed as well, “I must ask what brings you by, then.  Not that I mind company.”

“Oh?”  The man smiled, giving the warlord a look, “Though, sadly, there isn’t enough time for genial company.  I bear news that you might be interested in hearing…”

Across a distance in Azuchi, you were walking the halls when the world warped.  (OH NO!  NOT AGAIN!) You backpedaled, having little to no intention of repeating the incident featuring six hot guys and one almost faint you again.

“Ah, ah, ah, don’t be so quick to run,” a voice said, a hand grabbing the back of your kimono.  Another hand reached, tearing a swift opening in reality, “I’m just an innocent, harmless person with a message for you, dear lady!”  He stepped into the world, flicking aqua hair over his shoulder, before clapping.  “But oh my, your robe!  It is quite decorative.  I think I would like one when I return to cradle.  Though,” he looked almost aghast, “should you be wearing it out here?  In this weather?”

“It’s ah…a kimono.  Traditional clothing for this place.”  The man nodded, taking it all in, “A robe to wear outside.  Brilliant.  And the color.  Oh but I shall have to postpone girl time for later.  I have news of one Kennyo that I think you should hear..”

He entered his camp, his men approaching with worried expressions.  He waved his hand to them, “I am fine.  My meditations took longer than I thought they would.  Have you all had your midday meal?”  They nodded and Kennyo returned the gesture, “Good.  We need our strength if we’re to keep with our plans.  Any news from our spies?”  Kennyo shifted, hearing a strange crunching.  He glanced down, seeing a spot of a clearish item catching the light.  He pulled out the pouch, eyeing the shining things inside.  Something tugged at his memory, but he couldn’t identify the noisy bag, nor its contents.  Call it instinct, though, but he was sure they were somehow important.  “Where did these come from…” he muttered to no one.

“Did you say something, Kennyo-sama?”

“Ah, no.  I will attend the lake for some fresh water.  Apologies that I did not help with the meal.”  Kennyo took the package, eyeing it on and off as he went.  The small things inside glinted and caught the light, but also held folds and imperfections that Kennyo couldn’t quite come to terms with.  If this was metal, it was rather damaged metal.  What use could these possibly have?  And yet, that nagging feeling just simply wouldn’t leave.

He could smell gunpowder and knew he was no longer alone.  [That strange ninja is here, again.  He better not be scaring off the wildlife again.]  The pop of a firecracker let Kennyo know where the location of the nuisance was.  He approached, Sasuke darting up a tree before Kennyo came too close.

Kennyo stared up at the man, “How many times must I tell you not to practice your tricks here?”

“Apologies.”

“Why do you keep coming back?”

“It’s out of the way of everyone.”

“Obviously not everyone.”

“Ah, but you aren’t in your camp.”

The bag in Kennyo’s hand crinkled, drawing Sasuke’s attention.

“Oh dear…”

“You know what these are, then?”

Sasuke hesitated, remembering his own adventure with the confections, “They’re called kisses.”

“Absurd.”

“It’s true.  They’re a candy from my village.”

Kennyo looked nonplussed, “You eat poor metal.”

“You remove the foil.”

What a strange man, a strange item, and just a strange day.  Kennyo shook his head.  Turning, he left the ninja and gathered his water, muttering about the lunacy of wanting to name food after kisses.

Later, Kennyo and his men descended from their hideout, moving into the plains.  The plan was simple, disguised as soldiers from The Devil and the Dragon’s armies, the townspeople will be more against the warlords and side with Kennyo, bolstering his numbers.  He himself remained as the monk that would provide the balm for the injured souls of the people.  

His men separated, leaving Kennyo to walk alone.  It wasn’t long, though before Kennyo realized something was very very wrong.  For one, the town seemed entirely peaceful.  Too peaceful.  There should have been a sign of struggle by now.  

He clicked his tongue, intending to check on his men, but found riders coming towards him.  The standard let him know that Oda Nobunaga was racing towards him.  Alone and beyond outnumbered, Kennyo grimaced and fled.  The men didn’t seem to follow, allowing Kennyo to slip into the trees, tracing his way to the town, change, and hide in one of the tea houses.

“The dainty man was right.  I’m impressed.”

“I have no desire to converse with you.”  Kennyo passed Shingen, intending to hide himself away in a corner.

“Is that any way to greet an old friend.”  Shingen followed Kennyo, leaving the man unable to move again, lest he draw attention.

“What do you want?”

Shingen tapped the table as if pointing to some unseen object, “In exchange for an exquisite item known as a ‘cupcake’ I am here to help you with those.”

“And ‘those’ would be?”

“With the kisses.  That’s what these are.”

Shingen shifted slightly, pointing to the pouch that didn’t quite fit right in Kennyo’s robes.

“I shouldn’t be surprised that you would know of such strange things.”

“Well…” Shingen smirked, “it would be remiss of me to not offer myself to my friend as the first to receive such a gift.”

Kennyo eyed Shingen, “I’m not going to kiss you.”

“No love for your friend and brother.  I’m hurt.”

A low growl rumbled from the monk.

“I could see if one of the Oda army would be willing-”

Kennyo had grabbed the bag, shoving it almost violently to Shingen, “Fine.”

Shingen’s lips remained upturned as he opened the bag of chocolates.  “I remember when Sasuke brought these.  Delightful little things,” he said as he plucked one out, unwrapping it, and placing it in his mouth, giving a lewd sound as it melted on his tongue. 

He glanced to Kennyo, who looked somewhat ill, “Promiscuous lech.”

Shingen  and stood, leaning to kiss Kennyo atop his head, “Don’t forget to spread the kisses.  Last time someone defied the kiss gods, Kenshin lost his weapon.  Quite tragic.” 

Kennyo stared as Shingen left.  Spread?  To who?  He huffed, grabbing the chocolates, giving one to the old man that had served him.  “Give a kiss to your wife.  With blessings of the Buddha.”  It sounded weird to say, but Kennyo didn’t seem to know what else to make of it all.

As he moved through the town, he gave a piece to each he’d seen, directing them to kiss their spouses or lovers in exchange for the blessing.  If Buddha was going to make him spread kisses, he might as well spread them to any and all.  [This is penance, isn’t it?  The demon having to give the people blessings before he’s sent to hell]

“Kennyo-san…” He knew the voice.  He turned, finding you.  You held out your hand, expectantly.  Kennyo plunked a chocolate into your hand, “Blessings of the Buddha.”

You shook your head, “That’s not how you give a kiss.”  You stood on your toes, bringing your height to his face, planting a small kiss on his cheek, “I was told by someone that’s a correct kiss.  Thank you, Kennyo-san.”  You took your treat, unwrapped it, and ate your gift.  You bowed, pointing towards a path, “By the way, I was told that was your safest bet to not get caught.”

Kennyo sighed, shaking his head, “Your his woman and giving me help out of town.  Will wonders never cease.”  You smiled, bowing again, and moved past the man, leaving Kennyo to his escape.

He slipped into the forest, up the mountain, and to his camp, finding his men relatively unharmed, though rattled.  Someone had ratted your plan to the Oda AND Uesugi armies.  Luckily, the men had seen the forces and doubled back to wait orders from their leader.  Kennyo praised his men, assuring them there would be a next time.  For now, though, he was tired and was sure they were too, so rest was needed more.

He went to his little shack, settling himself on the floor contemplating the day’s events.  Small nails tapping let Kennyo know a guest arrived.  He picked the tiny creature and placed it in his lap.  He took out his final piece of Hershey’s, unwrapping it as he’d seen you and Shingen do, giving it to the small weasel.  “Here, Hozuki.  Blessings of the Buddha.”  Recalling what you and Shingen had done, Kennyo leaned down, giving Hozuki a kiss, the critter giving a squeak in response, taking the chocolate with gusto.  “Glad you like it.  Hope this completes this joy.  I don’t think I can tolerate more.”

Writer… Yes?

Are you SURE it’s just soda?

Cherry coke, why?

Is it original recipe coke?

Ha..ha..no

Kennyo has a new stamp Uh...yeah

Are there other new stamps

Uh…

Writer?

OH HEY LOOK, IT’S EDGAR

“The writer does sure love their strange humor”

[mable-stitchpunk]

A Fool’s Endeavor: Sparring

Still at the beginning of their travels, Jester Lure and his companions have stopped at a small village to rest. During the night, Lure cannot sleep, so he goes to find a distraction. Little does he know but he is not to be alone long.

-

  The night was cool and the jester caught the scent of smoke from a nearby bonfire or chimney. He grimaced at the familiar smell and turned to the edge of the inn, stepping into a small alley and into the patch of empty space between the inn and the house behind it. It wasn’t much room, but it was enough for what he was intending on doing. The cover was more than enough to keep him from embarrassing himself and somewhat protect him from less than savory watchers. He looked over the spear, weighed it in his grasp, and lightly began to sway it back and forth. He jabbed it forward into nothing, as though stabbing a snake through the scales. It felt like it would be easy to wield it. Perhaps this would be a better choice than playing around with a short knife with a slippery grip.     Just when he was starting to become familiar with his invisible enemies, he heard the sound of low footsteps from behind. Paranoia kicked in and he braced himself, clutching the spear close to his chest as he waited to see if they were passing by or watching. Another soft footstep. It could’ve been that man that was watching back in the inn. Lure held his breath and pointed the spear ahead, hiding the opposite end between his arm and torso. He took ahold of spear tighter and waited for the footsteps to get closer. Once they did, he shoved the bamboo spear back, striking whoever it was with the blunt side of the weapon. It made contact, but then the intruder grabbed ahold of the spear and yanked at it. Lure spun himself around and used his weight to try and yank the pole out of the man’s grasp.     There was Morrick. Looking tired and as sober as ever, he yanked the spear easily from Lure’s hands. Though the jester wasn’t exactly fighting to keep ahold of it.     “If you had a proper grip, you wouldn’t have lost this,” Morrick spoke as he lifted the spear for emphasis. Lure didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or not, but he had run out of words for a moment or two. “…I expected Balsam to ask me how to use this, but he isn’t interested in fighting. He’s made that clear.” Morrick continued, “but you are, and if that means you need to learn then so be it.”     “I think I know what you’re suggesting, but you’re trying too hard to be vague,” Lure pointed out. Then the amusement returned, “And you scolded me for my wordplay earlier.”     “Do you want to learn?” Morrick asked directly.     “Are you willing to teach a jester?” Lure challenged back. “Even though I’m such an untrustworthy fool, would you risk your time?” He then remembered that it was not the knight who had said those words- mostly because Morrick got a confused look. “You can’t stand me.”     “More the reason to get you in a battle,” Morrick retorted. The corner of his mouth turned upwards in a small smirk. Something was weird about it. Or, more accurately, something about seeing the smirk made the jester feel a lot smaller. “If you agree to it, then I’ll help you. If you won’t, I won’t offer again.”     “Then we have the night!” Lure jovially remarked. He took the spear back and put immediate distance between them. He needed at least a foot of space to regain his bearings. “Teach me, dear knight. Teach this humble fool the art of your trade.” He planted the spear into the dirt and gave a dramatic bow.     “Don’t go too far. We’re starting with something close.” With a few steps, Morrick was back to looming over the jester, who stared upwards at him. “This is the easiest thing I can teach you and probably the most important thing that you can learn. Since you don’t have much formal training and are weaker in the arms, this will be the key to stopping your enemies.” He took the spear right back. Then in a subtle swoop, he caught the pole behind one of Lure’s feet and knocked it out from under him. The jester teetered a moment before regaining balance.     “For someone made for jester work- hopping around and moving too much- something like this doesn’t seem effective, but the bigger they are the harder they fall. If it’s a knight wearing armor and they go down,” Morrick smirked. “They stay down.”     “That’s clever, but it seems a little…”     “It’s basic,” Morrick finished. “You need these basics to keep you afloat. You can’t just wield a spear for one day and think you can handle anything above the simple rules.” His smugness then returned once more. “Now let’s see how many times I can get you on your back.”     Morrick showed him the exact same motion as before, but slower. After that one time he began to make due on his promise; he began attempting to outright knock the jester down. Lure was quick, he learned fast, and he nearly danced his way out of every motion.     Then Morrick’s eyes shifted upwards. “There’s someone watching,” he forewarned. Lure blinked and looked back into the night.     “Probably just that guy eyeing us- Ugh!” This was the first time that Lure hit the ground. He immediately felt his ribs seize as the muscles in his back protested. There was a wave of pain that he wasn’t expecting. After a moment, he choked in air, “That- Very clever.” He coughed and made no attempt to stand. “…If you just broke my ribs, I’m making you carry me back upstairs.”     “That was barely a stumble,” Morrick scrutinized. Not that the jester was surprised; not only had he probably seen worse, but he knew absolutely nothing about the wounds he was recovering from. “More of a reason not to get knocked down. Make sure to focus on your enemy.”     “You were so much more fun earlier,” Lure lamented as he rolled onto his side. “Just need a second.” Sweat caused his already tight costume to cling uncomfortably and everything felt too stuffy. Especially his mask, which he regretted not being able to just take off. Being on the ground only made it all feel so much more uncomfortable.     The knight wandered over to a stack of firewood propped behind the inn and sat himself down. He briefly checked over the tethering on the spear before setting it beside him and staring out. He had brought his new weapon with him as well but saw no reason to unsheathe it. It wasn’t the weapon being taught; it would just leave the lesson confused.     Then Lure pushed himself upwards and stared across the grass at Morrick. The mask seemed to almost glow in the scarce moonlight, giving it a haunting appearance. His voice was direct, “Why don’t you like jesters?”     The knight remarked with a dry chuckle. “You’re taking that fall harder that you are supposed to. You’re supposed to get back up, brush yourself off, and fight back.”     “No, not the training. How dull do you think I am?” Lure corrected. He crossed his arms defiantly, still sitting on the ground. “Let’s do this now so that we don’t have to do it later when Balsam is watching. You clearly have trouble being in a group with a jester.”     “I don’t trust people who I know for only a day and almost manage to get me killed,” Morrick agreed, “but you manage to still stand out on your own… Ever hear of the tale of Mince the Martyr?” Lure perked at this question.     “Of course! Mince the martyr monk leaves the monastery- with a jester, of course- to find a dragon’s tooth so that he may impress the king of the lands. Who hasn’t heard that one?” He tapped his gloved fingers on the ground. “Mince then lets it go to his head, takes all the credit, and becomes the king’s right-hand man. All the while, the jester-.”     “Stabs him in the back with a silver blade,” Morrick broke in. “The jester is jealous and gets his revenge… But you’re not the type for revenge.”     “And that means?” Lure’s voice lost any forced interest. It now was stuck on a low tone, prepared to snap back. “You can’t assume that all jesters would kill for revenge.”     “I don’t,” Morrick clarified. “I could see you as more like Mince. I could see you abandoning us if there was a better path.” Lure’s hands tightened in the grass. This wasn’t what he expected to hear and it was surprisingly upsetting him. He sort of would’ve preferred being compared to the jester in the scenario. He closed his eyes and forced himself to stand.     “That’s really a shame,” Lure answered. He stared Morrick down with coldness that wouldn’t make it through his mask. He spat out, “because I didn’t get these bruises on my body protecting myself.”     With that, he turned and headed off. He couldn’t roll with it, he couldn’t stay in character, and he angrily went to leave.  By time he stepped back inside Balsam and his shared room, he was a mess of frustration. He stormed over to his bed and tore off his mask, throwing it down on the bed. Then he started to go for his cowl-.     The door started to open and anger turned to alarm. Lure let out a choke and fumbled to reach for his mask. He couldn’t tie it on in time, so he was stuck holding it against his face as he turned back towards none other than Morrick. Morrick sent a glance to Balsam’s bed, seeing him still asleep, and crossed to the jester. He handed over the spear and the jester stiffly accepted it. He then expected the knight to leave, but he didn’t. Instead, Morrick quietly spoke.     “I apologize,” he started. “You took care of the princess, you protected her… And my suggestion that you would turn against her or any other is out of line. I think I am above judging someone over their profession…” Morrick took a moment to pause and Lure crossed his arm over his chest. It was supposed to make him look more unwavering, but he doubted it was working. “…But we’ve antagonizing each other since we met and this partnership isn’t going to work unless we can get past this.”     “It’s just part of the act,” Lure defended. He clutched himself a bit tighter. “I’m not actively trying to disrespect you, I’m just doing what I’ve done for years. Eventually you become the mask.” He tapped onto his mask for emphasis to this claim. Then he shuffled around on his feet.     “I know. I can’t afford to take it hard, not when we’ve got more important things to worry about.” Tiredness passed Morrick’s face and he suddenly looked more human than knight. It was a baffling transformation and more potent than his confession at the campfire. “We need to pull together for the sake of the journey and the sake of the princess.”     “If we don’t kill each other first,” Lure muttered softly. Yet while he said this, he couldn’t help but be in a state of shock. Nobody ever apologized, let alone acknowledged that something they suggested upset him. Especially considering that it was a nobleman currently admitting that he was at fault, when in actuality it was them both. “But… You’re right. Maybe I have been antagonizing you a little too much. Balsam seemed to think that…” He let his voice trail off. Before Morrick could add in, Lure continued. “I apologize as well and I agree that we need to try and work together. This… General bitterness- whatever this is, we’ll have to work around it.”     “I agree.”     “As do I.”     “And I would be honored to teach you. You’re willing to learn from a knight who failed in his golden hour; that is much more respect than I have shown you,” Morrick offered.     “And I would be honored to learn,” Lure responded. “To even get the offer is more than most would give.”     Unfortunately, this led to a long period of uncomfortable silence. With Lure still holding his mask and Morrick looking towards Balsam, neither seemed like they knew how to end this conversation. Then the knight took charge by turning and heading to the door to return to his room. The jester set the spear aside and followed him to the door and considered how he would end this.     “One more thing…” Lure quietly alerted as Morrick stepped out into the corridor. “You’re much more fun when ale’s involved,” he playfully quipped. He awaited a response, wanting to see if everything was really back to being alright.     “Maybe,” the knight agreed. Then a small smile came back with a slight smugness added. “At least I can handle it.” A joke at the jester’s expense, but certainly not malicious. Instead of offense, Lure felt relieved.     “That stuff tasted like lamp oil and you know it,” Lure denied right back. “But if you ever get anything worth a damn, let me know. Preferably something that had to be aged.”     “I don’t think you’re ready for something that strong. Might put you on your back,” Morrick pointed out, “and I can do that without wine.”     “I don’t exactly like the way this conversation is turning,” Lure pointed out with a small chortle. “So, I bid you good night, my good knight.” Then he shut the door. It was over and maybe this time the recovery would stick.     His pulse started to quicken in giddiness. A knight- of noble blood- had spoken to him as an equal, even after treating him like something much lesser. There was a funny anecdote here, but it was too late and he was too tired to work it out.

-

This is the turning point in Lure and Morrick’s relationship, for after this moment the two work to become civil and the animosity wanes. Though they began travelling together before this, this truly is the moment where they become companions.  And the beginning of the temptations that come with it.

- - -

A Fool’s Endeavor: https://www.amazon.com/Fools-Endeavor-Janetje-Amabilis/dp/1719844909

[gold-eyes-vengeful-heart]

White vs Blue

((Runya fights the Diamond Weapon.

Spoilers for the Diamond Weapon part of the questline (5.5 stuff)! Also real big warning for Runya being a colossal asshole and Blue being very angry and yelling about Gaius’ war crimes.))

===

The Diamond Weapon soared out through the deck of clouds ahead of them, and Runya gunned Blue towards it, completely ignoring the startled shouts of the Ironworks men and Sorin and Baelsar in the process. He far outstripped the pace of the heavily-burdened G-Warriors, though the barrage from them had arrived ahead of him...and did absolutely nothing.

Of course it did nothing. That was a Weapon. Had they really expected that to work?

He sent Blue twisting to the side as those shoulder lasers lanced towards him, though even that wasn’t quite fast enough--one nicked the edge of Blue’s wing and the blue Weapon’s thoughts shot through with pain and anger that he had even been hit.

{badbadbadbad--}

“Yes, that was very naughty.” Runya didn’t even so much as slow the two of them down as they barrelled at the Diamond Weapon; his eyes flashed gold as his own mind pointedly melded further into his own Weapon’s, and this time the shower of lasers he simply ducked Blue under, missing the attack entirely and firing back with the aetherial cannon in Blue’s mouth.

{Something’s wrong.} Blue was still focused, at least--Runya would have been quite displeased if he hadn’t been--but he finally gave ‘voice’ to his unease, and Runya didn’t have to ask to know what he meant.

Something was off about it, wasn’t there?

“Runya!” Sorin’s voice crackled in his right ear, which automatically swiveled to follow it (highly disorienting when his subconscious was half-convinced he was a giant flying Weapon at the moment). “Fall back! We’re going to capture it!”

This still seemed like a damned fool’s errand.

“Runya.”

He was half-tempted to simply ignore them. He, after all, genuinely did not care what happened to that stupid girl and her stupid siblings.

“Runya, answer me.”

But...there was Sorin, and so he just snorted in a fit of fine ill-temper and pulled back on the controls, sending Blue arcing up into the sky and letting the two G-Warriors sail by underneath him.

{Hmmmm.}

“Yes, you’re as dubious about this as I am.” He slowed Blue and deliberately dropped him back a bit, and as the Diamond Weapon tried to follow, it zipped between the two G-Warriors...and got caught right in the capture field they generated instead. “Though it did at least stop it for a few moments. Better than I thought it would go.”

The Diamond Weapon’s craggy features split into a hellish roar, and it struggled mightily against the sparking barrier.

{...Runya-friend.} The cautious remark lapped around his ankles. {It talks.}

At first, Runya wasn’t terribly put off by that. “So do you. And I believe all your siblings do too--”

{It is someone.}

Runya sighed again, watching the Diamond Weapon rage against the capture field with increasing savagery. “And so are you? I’m afraid I don’t get what you’re getting at.”

{It has a person-brain!}

Ah.

Runya blinked, rapidly, almost kicked entirely back into his own mind by the surprise.

“...Beg your pardon?”

{It’s...yelling about ‘Allie’?} Blue didn’t even sound certain. {It wants to save her.}

And then it all clicked in Runya’s mind. He interrupted, before Blue could go any further. “Well, I can only presume that was her one brother that wasn’t dead. How...very Merceus of the VIIth Legion.”

Blue’s tail lashed behind him and his wings shivered at the thought, though. {Nonono. Don’t want it. Don’t want to fight.}

Oh, now was really not the time, and Runya’s grip tightened warningly on the controls. “Ah ah ah, it’s a bit late for that.” That barrier was shivering and sparking uncontrollably under the onslaught, and he even had to tweak Blue’s flight path down a bit to dodge a rogue laser. “We’re not running, dear.”

{It doesn’t wanna fight for the Empire. It just wants to be left alone--}

“Blue. Blue...dearest Blue.” The panic and reluctance of the Weapon crystallized around his thoughts and he knew very well he had to convince his own machine to do what he wanted, and he didn’t have very long. Either Blue would run or the Diamond Weapon would burst out of that energy rapidly failing to contain it. “If it really does have one of those boys’ minds in it, he’s likely gone completely mad by now. And there’s no getting him out of there. There’s no getting someone like that back to normal.”

His voice dropped lower until it was almost a growl. “I would know. It’s what they did to Angerona.”

A hint of sadness plinked through the heavy weight of Blue’s hesitation.

“I know you must think it’s cruel to destroy it,” Runya continued, his eyes narrowing and his mind prodding more firmly into Blue’s, “but consider: it would never truly ‘leave everyone alone’, and it would even be a mercy to simply slay him.” Not something he entirely believed, but enough so that it wouldn’t immediately get him caught. (All he wanted to see was those idiots dead, at this point. All that mattered was that it got them out of his way, and taught Baelsar a lesson into the bargain.) “He isn’t like you. His mind was ripped out of its socket and crammed into a death machine, and I very much doubt he’s going to suddenly stop being a death machine just because he blew up the VIIth Legion’s base. You have logic. You have rationality, and you can be spoken with.”

The Diamond Weapon’s chest cannon freed itself, and an ominous glow built in its depths.

“He wouldn’t be fighting his own daddy if he was something that could be saved.”

Blue dropped a bit more, level with the Diamond Weapon, as it hurled invectives at him and snarled that it would keep Allie safe like a mindless drone--even as Baelsar’s voice continued to crackle over the communications link, begging him to stop.

“They failed to shoot him down, and they failed to catch him. So we can and should just kill him.”

The blast carved a notch through the barrier field and the Diamond Weapon shed its armor in a burst of aether, loosing a strange creature of all metal and lanky legs and spikes and a gaping maw that screamed defiance at Runya and Blue, using a pool of aether like a springboard.

“So, Blue. Kill him.”

The Diamond Weapon collided with them in a rending screech of metal, and the weight of an entire extra machine drove Blue back down into the roiling stormclouds below, down towards the fields of Werlyt...out of sight.

--

Sorin panted as he ran, crossing rain-sodden farmland and still wielding his sword.

They had to be around here somewhere.

“Runya!”

He really doubted that the Miqo’te in question could actually hear him, but he tried anyway, without thinking twice about it. He tried in vain to dash the rain from his eyes, but it worked for only moments, and he was left squinting through the downpour to no avail.

“Runya...” He spoke more softly that time, taking more careful steps, lest he dash right past a sign of where Runya and Blue and the Diamond Weapon had gone. He gnawed at his lip a moment, and for just a moment worried not just about Runya, but about Baelsar--

(The Imperial had yelled at him to just go when the VIIth’s Legatus came charging in, and yes the man was responsible for many an atrocity but he wouldn’t wish death on someone who could at least be open to learning from their mistakes--he was friends with Runya for Twelve’s sake, he was no stranger to the concept!)

--but he was still alone and his furred ears swiveled but were overwhelmed with nothing but the raging rainfall...though...

Wait.

He frowned and his brow furrowed, and his right ear swiveled just moments before his head turned to follow it. Those were not natural noises. Heavy thuds, like--

A shadow loomed up out of the rain, limping slowly.

Sorin bristled and brought his sword to bear, though his muscles ached on him after so much running.

The footsteps thumped into wet earth, accompanied by the hiss of hydraulics and the chattering of loose metal.

For a moment, it looked as if the dark silhouette had the Diamond Weapon’s head and his breath hitched, though he quickly shifted to a stronger stance as it advanced.

And then Blue dropped the severed chunk of the Weapon’s corpse just yalms from his feet, his eyes lighting the rain-soaked gloom in red.

--

Runya-friend had been very pleased that he had killed the other Weapon. And when Runya-friend’s thoughts had turned towards crushing people, to attacking the little dragon-lady that had fallen out of the bad-weapon’s cockpit, he had knocked Runya out--he knew quite well now how to activate the failsafe that was installed into the Miqo’te, and though he hesitated to use it, he would do it if he had to and he very much had to.

He hadn’t wanted to kill it. He was convinced he had to, but he didn’t want to, and even if he had made it very dead and pulled its head off so it couldn’t hurt people anymore, he didn’t like it, and even the relief in Sorin-friend’s expression and in the thoughts radiating off of him didn’t do much to un-sour Blue’s mood.

(That he was in a significant amount of pain, even with the crystallized parts keeping him from bleeding out, didn’t help.)

(But more importantly, he didn’t want to do that.)

“You defeated him?”

He could dimly hear Sorin-friend through the vortex of his own thoughts, and he just shrugged, though it left part of the armor on his left forearm sparking and sending terrible warning signals to his head.

{bad-weapon is gone.} The tone of his ‘voice’ put a frown on Sorin-friend’s face but he was too tired to care much. Too sad. {bad-weapon-pilot is back there. Runya-friend wanted to kill her.}

And Sorin-friend looked so alarmed that he was quick to carry on. {But didn’t want to. Made Runya-friend stop and go to sleep.}

“I...good job, then.” Sorin-friend closed his eyes. “I’m sorry he did that to you, he really needs to learn to not be like that--”

“Allie?!”

That voice. Blue knew that voice, even if he had only heard it from behind a big horned mask before.

Baelsar came to a screeching halt at the sight of the Diamond Weapon’s severed head, jaws gaping wide in its demise, no signs of life (mechanical or otherwise) in its eyes; his gaze snapped quickly to Blue, still standing some distance away.

Blue was tired and Blue was hurt and Blue was very not happy at all to see him here again. The same man that had given Legatus Merceus the space and the people and the money to hurt him and make him like this when even the empire of thousands of years ago hadn’t done anything half as bad to him as that.

He charged with a snarl of anger, and though Sorin-friend stood in his way, he didn’t have to--Blue wasn’t going to stomp Baelsar even if he might have before meeting the two Miqo’te, and he stomped to a halt just short of them. Given the sheer height Blue had, he had to bend and that hurt a particularly ugly injury in his right leg and sent more warnings screeching into his head, but the dam had broken and the flood was in full force and that anger was not going to be stopped by hurt. Enhanced by it, maybe.

And still, Baelsar had the boldness to stay where he was, and even managed to hiss out a question in the face of an angry IXth Legion Weapon.

“Where is Allie?!”

{Alive. Sleeping.} Blue’s answer remained blunt and disinterested, in the face of the sudden aggravation he felt. {You should go away.}

“Why--”

But the question provoked another growl. {You know why you should GO AWAY.} The last two words, rattling into Baelsar’s mind at greater volume, made the man flinch but he still didn’t move.

“...You were the IXth Legion’s, weren’t you?”

Did he not remember, did he not did he not did he not--

Blue suddenly roared then, and the noise and air blew both Baelsar and Sorin-friend flat; the latter clamped his hands over his now-flat ears, but Blue was beyond reason and his thoughts tidal-wave-crashed over everything in range.

{YOU. HURT. ME.} The roar died away like a receding rocket, but the (undamaged) plates at his neck bristled and his tail lashed, even though that created some sparks and painful jolts. {You hurt Sorin-friend! You hurt Runya-friend!}

“I had nothing to do with--”

{You let the bad men have rooms and money and more men!}

Baelsar went very quiet. Blue went on, storming past any of Baelsar’s more subtle thoughts (and Sorin-friend trying to get him to stop).

{Runya-friend and Sorin friend told me about your bad men. And the little ones you made bad men so you could have more people to hurt people with.} He did overhear Sorin-friend thinking about the leader-little-one (Fordola?) that he had fought, and angrily prodded it into Baelsar’s head too. {And the way your bad men hurt people. Made them monsters. Made them hurt forever. You let your bad men do that.}

Baelsar swallowed hard as Blue leaned in so close that his breath steamed out in clouds around him.

{Your fault. YOUR. FAULT.} Blue hissed out loud. {You didn’t care. You don’t. Not enough. You only care about being hurt, not not hurting anyone else.}

And though Baelsar closed his eyes, as if expecting death, Blue just straightened back up and turned, tail swishing through the air some yalms over Baelsar’s head. {No. I won’t.} He flared his wings tentatively, and then a bit more strongly. {Runya-friend and I are going home.}

Before any of them could protest, Blue stumbled into a shambling run, and his thrusters flared to life and propelled him into the air, wings straining but holding to keep him up in the sky. And the sheeting curtains of rain closed up behind him.

[nikibogwater]

“Feline Paralysis”--a Tales of Arcadia fanfiction

Feline Paralysis (def): A state of immobility caused by the presence of a cat on top of one's person.

Archie's boy has been working himself too hard ever since Merlin took them in, and Archie is determined to put a stop to it by any means necessary.

It is Soft Douxie-Archie Friendship Hours, my dears. @poetryinmotion-author gave me the prompt, and I think I may have taken it way further than even she was expecting, so....yeah, buckle up, it’s time for some Feels. 🙃

Read on AO3

Or below the cut:

Archibald was on the hunt. 

It was actually a rather nice change of pace, truth be told. Archie hadn’t needed to hunt even once since Merlin took them in two weeks ago, and while he certainly appreciated having immediate access to food at all times, he had been growing a bit stiff and lethargic as a result. A cat (and a dragon too, for that matter) simply had to spend a little time stalking and chasing, or else they would lose their edge. Today’s hunt was a bit different, however. This hunt was not about obtaining food, or even just keeping his claws sharp. No, this hunt was about something a little more dear to Archie’s heart. 

Today, Archie was hunting Douxie.

Something strange had come over the boy in the last two weeks. He had been uncannily industrious, jumping at every opportunity to do even the most menial of tasks, slaving away in Merlin’s study long after the Master had retired, even badgering the old wizard for more chores to do. Douxie was no stranger to hard work, that was true. He may have been an excellent con artist, but he still had to earn his bread the old-fashioned way from time to time. But he also relished what downtime he and Archie were able to get. Douxie had a mind that liked to wander, and a great affinity for sleep. And he was still a growing boy on top of that. He needed his rest. Yet ever since they had come to live with Merlin, Douxie had hardly stopped moving, except to collapse into bed at any ungodly hour of the night, only to rise again with the sun a few hours later. It was beginning to take its toll on the young wizard’s health. He somehow looked more gaunt and malnourished here than he did in the gutters of Camelot, and his normally brilliant mind was a jumbled mess of task lists, potion ingredients, and whatever new spells Merlin was managing to teach him in between his frantic bursts of labor. 

Archie intended to put an end to this nonsense. This just wasn’t like Douxie. Whatever was going on with his Familiar, he intended to suss it out and squash it like a bug. And so, the hunt had begun. He had been stalking his quarry since breakfast, and had yet to see him so much as pause to breathe. In just four hours, Douxie had gathered and prepared thirteen different varieties of herb for potion brewing, tidied and swept the study, memorized seven new spells, milked the Slorr, done the laundry, tidied and swept the study again, and now he was occupied in reorganizing the bookshelves (which he had already done just yesterday). Archie prowled in the shadows nearby, tail flicking back and forth as he watched for the opportunity to strike. 

Douxie’s arms were full of heavy tomes, and he had a quill pen stuck between his teeth as he glanced between a roll of parchment on a nearby lectern and the half-empty bookshelf. He fumbled with the books for a moment, managing to slip one back into its proper place on the shelf before the other three went tumbling out of his arms and landed with a soft thud on the floor.

“Oh, fuzzbuckets,” Douxie groaned, taking the quill out of his mouth and crossing something off of the parchment. He set the pen down and knelt to gather up the fallen books. He wobbled a bit as he stood up, and had to brace himself against the bookshelf for a moment. Archie flexed his claws impatiently. Douxie shoved the other three books into place and checked his list again, crossing off a few more lines. He stopped for a moment, eyes darting between the parchment and the bookshelf once again, and his brow furrowed. He looked over at his Familiar, who immediately pretended he had been washing his face the entire time. “Archie, you haven’t seen Merlock’s Grimoire of First-Level Spellcasting, have you?” 

“You left it in your quarters last night,” Archie replied, lifting his glasses with one paw so that he could wash around his eyes with the other. “Though why you were studying it is beyond me. You already know all of your first-level spells.”

“Fuzzbuckets,” Douxie said yet again, dragging his hand across his weary face. “I don’t suppose you’d go get it for me? I don’t want Master Merlin to miss it if he needs it.” 

“What, and break my spine trying to lug it all the way back here? No thank you. This is your job, Douxie. You do it.” The boy shot Archie an irritated look that was only intensified by the evident exhaustion in his face. A lesser cat would have broken. But Archie had seen an opportunity here, and he intended to exploit it. He held his ground and stared back with blatant defiance. A moment later, Douxie heaved a sigh and shuffled out of the room, unaware that Archie had stood up to follow him the moment he turned away. 

Douxie’s chambers were far less orderly than the study, which was rather impressive, considering they hadn’t been living there for very long. But the floor was already a mess of open spellbooks, hastily-scribbled notes, and various magical bits and bobs to study and observe at a future date. It was almost too easy for Archie to slink into the room at Douxie’s heels and conceal himself amongst the chaos. He crouched behind a stack of books, golden eyes fixed unblinkingly upon his target, waiting for the perfect moment. Douxie rifled around the mess on the floor for a moment, checked inside the writing desk he hardly ever used, then finally noticed the object of his search sitting innocently on the bed, half-covered by a fold of the blanket. Archie tucked his paws beneath him and coiled up like a spring as Douxie approached the bedside. The boy bent down to pick up the book, and that’s when the dragon attacked.

Launching himself into the air at full speed, Archie shifted into his larger reptilian form and slammed into Douxie’s back with his full weight. Weakened and unaware as he was, the young wizard toppled onto the bed with a startled yelp. There was a moment of confused flailing and scuffling, and for one terrifying heartbeat, Archie could feel the tension of defensive magic in the air, as Douxie’s powers flared instinctively. But it was gone a second later, as the boy managed to roll over and see his Familiar perched on his chest, grinning down at him smugly. 

“Really, Arch?!” Douxie barked. “I could have killed you!” 

“Don’t make me laugh,” Archie scoffed. “The worst you could do in this state would be to ruffle my fur.” He settled down on Douxie’s chest and began to knead. 

“Arch, stop it. You’re being an ass.” 

“And you are digging yourself into an early grave,” Archie shot back, never wavering in his kneading. “Do you know how many hours of sleep a boy your age needs?” Douxie opened his mouth to argue, but Archie cut him off. “Nine to eleven hours, on average. Do you know how much sleep you’ve been getting every night since you came here?” Once again, the boy tried to speak, but Archie wouldn’t hear it. “Four to six. You spend all day running around after Merlin, and even when he dismisses you, you won’t keep still, you just go hunting around for more work to do. Your head is so jammed up with magic incantations, it’s a wonder you even remember to breathe sometimes. You are killing yourself, Douxie. And as your Familiar, it is my duty to put an end to it. You are going to lie here in this bed until I say you can get up, and you are going to think of nothing related to Merlin or your apprenticeship while you do.” 

“Archie!” Douxie protested. 

“No arguing. Now keep still.” 

“Archie, you don’t understand!” Douxie’s voice had shifted from annoyed to pleading. “I have to finish my chores. I have to study. I need to do a good job!” There was a moment’s silence as the cat regarded his boy, taking note of the desperation swimming in his sunken hazel eyes. 

“...Why do you feel that way, Douxie?” he asked softly. “Why do you feel like you’re not allowed to rest?” 

“...I....I don’t...” The young wizard fumbled for an answer, eyes darting around the room to avoid meeting Archie’s gaze. 

“Hisirdoux,” he said gently, using a tone of voice that Douxie hadn’t heard from him since he was a small child. “Please talk to me.” Archie felt his boy give in beneath his paws as Douxie let out a long, tired sigh. 

“...I don’t want to go back on the streets, Arch,” he whispered. “I don’t want to go back to hiding who I am.”

“Well, of course not. But what does that have to do with the late nights and the obsessive cleaning?” 

“...I guess....I don’t want Merlin to regret taking me in. Living here in the castle, learning magic from a real Master Wizard, having a real home...It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of. I don’t want to screw this up. But I do screw things up, all the time. I’ve mislabeled ingredients, spilled ink on one of Merlin’s books--you know, he won’t even let me practice real spells yet because even my magic is full of mistakes. I need to do better. If I can’t do this right, then....what good am I to him?” He paused and took a deep breath. “...I just want to be worth something to him.”

A long, heavy silence followed. Archie had stopped kneading and was staring sadly at Douxie, who looked uncomfortably close to tears after that admission. His poor boy, thrust out of his home and family when he was only eight for something he couldn’t control, rejected by the world, beaten down by poverty, and his only source of love was a little black cat searching for a purpose. And though Douxie put on a brave front, laughed in the face of misfortune, and did his best to carry himself with all the dignity of a true wizard, he was still just a child; a child who had suffered terribly from the unfairness of a cruel world, and was somehow convinced that it was his own fault. 

“Douxie...” Archie began softly. “...I can’t speak for Merlin. I still don’t know what motivated him to rescue you from the knights that day. But I do know that, with as many mistakes as you make, you are good enough for me. I’ve met a great many humans in my time, Hisirdoux, but you were the only one I chose to be mine. And if you are good enough for a dragon-turned-Familiar, then you are certainly good enough for that crusty old windbag. He won’t turn you out simply for being human and making a few mistakes.” Archie laid his head down and tucked it beneath Douxie’s chin. “...I won’t let him.” 

He felt the boy’s breath stutter and heard him swallow thickly. Two scarred, gentle hands came up around Archie and held him close. Douxie’s thumbs stroked absently across his Familiar’s fur as he spoke in a quivering whisper:

“Thanks, Arch.” Archie purred and pushed against Douxie’s chin, his paws resuming their methodical kneading against his chest. Another silence fell upon them, this time a warm and comfortable one. Douxie sniffled once or twice, but his hands were steady as they ran up and down Archie’s back. “...I really should finish organizing the books, though,” he murmured. “I left the study in such a mess.” 

“Now, now, Hisirdoux.” Archie dug his claws into Douxie’s shirt--not enough to hurt, but enough to make his point. “You wouldn’t be cruel enough to turn away a poor, wretched cat that has come to rest upon you, would you?” He shrank back down into his feline form and squinted his golden eyes fondly. 

“No, no, don’t look at me like that. Archie...!” Archie snuggled down against his boy and gave a contented purr that he knew could never be resisted. Douxie gave up with another sigh and closed his eyes in defeat. “Fine. Just for a little bit.” 

*****

“Hisirdoux!” 

Merlin Ambrosius had had many apprentices in the past, but none of them had ever mystified and bewildered him as much as the grubby lad he’d pulled off the streets two weeks ago. The boy was a whirlwind of energy and untempered magic, always hovering at Merlin’s side or bustling around the castle. The old wizard had even resorted to asking some of the castle servants to abandon a few of their chores, just so he would have something to keep the lad occupied and out of his rapidly thinning hair for a few hours. And now after all that, he had returned to his study after a long morning of attending to a very irate Arthur only to find half of his library strewn across the floor, and his newest apprentice nowhere to be seen. 

With an exasperated sigh, Merlin magicked all of the books back into their rightful places (Why were they even out to begin with? Didn’t Hisirdoux reorganize them just yesterday?) and stormed out of the study, already preparing an extensive lecture on the dangers of carelessness and lack of focus for when he found his young ward. A brief scan of the nearby area for magical signatures told him that the boy was currently holed up in his chambers. That was a bit odd. Hisirdoux usually didn’t spend much time there. No matter. Merlin swept down the stairs and through the hallways with the great sense of purpose that only a Master Wizard can achieve, and burst into his pupil’s room without even bothering to knock.

He was immediately greeted by a blast of fire. 

Fortunately, he was able to fling up a magical shield just in time to save himself from what would have been a very nasty burn, but to say that Merlin was displeased by this greeting would have been an understatement. He turned his furious gaze onto the culprit, who was hovering in midair and baring his fangs like a wild beast. 

“Archibald, what is the meaning of--!”

“Shh!” The ungrateful little creature cut him off with a growl. “If you wake him, I swear I will end you.” Merlin looked past him to see Hisirdoux curled up on his bed, sound asleep. 

“What in the name of all things magic is going on here?” Merlin hissed. “Why was my study left in complete disarray, and what is my apprentice doing lazing about in bed in the middle of the afternoon?!”

“Your apprentice,” Archie spat the words out like poison. “is a child. A child who has been working himself to the bone trying to please you. He has been dead on his feet for the last fifteen days, and I was only able to get him to rest through brute force and manipulation, two things which I would rather avoid using on my own Familiar when at all possible. We are grateful for your kindness, but I will not allow you to disturb him now, regardless of the state of your study!” 

Archie had been prepared to drag the Master Wizard from the room by his hair if necessary, so he was rather surprised when Merlin reacted, not with anger, but genuine surprise. 

“...Hisirdoux hasn’t been sleeping?” he queried softly. 

“No,” Archie replied shortly, landing on the floor and staring up at Merlin disdainfully. “He hasn’t.” 

“But why on earth not? I did tell the servants to provide him with a comfortable mattress.” 

“The mattress isn’t the issue. Douxie believes that if he does not make himself useful at all times and do everything perfectly, he will be cast out of the castle.” 

“Who put such madness into his head?” Merlin demanded. “Of course I expect him to earn his keep here, but I never told him to expend himself to the point of exhaustion. And as for perfection, if I had been looking for that, I certainly wouldn’t have gone searching for it in the gutters of Camelot.” 

“...Then may I ask what exactly are your intentions regarding my Familiar?” Archie inquired, narrowing his gaze. 

“I simply wish to help him, Archibald. Nothing more or less.” The cat opened his mouth to reply, but froze as Douxie gave a muffled grunt and shifted in his sleep. The wizard and the Familiar both silently regarded the boy for a moment. “...I suppose the life of a street urchin can dull one’s belief in basic human kindness,” Merlin sighed, a gentle look coming into his normally stern eyes. He looked back at Archie. “When he awakens, please tell him that I have decreed in no uncertain terms that he is in no danger of losing his home here.” 

“I...” Archie fumbled for a response for a moment. “...Yes, of course.” Merlin gave him a curt nod, then looked back at Douxie. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then he raised his hand and, with a soft pulse of green light, pulled the rumpled blanket across Douxie’s slumbering form. Then he left without another word, closing the door softly behind him. Archie sat where he was for a minute, staring at the closed door as though he could still see the wizard who had disappeared behind it. Then, shifting back into his cat form, he rejoined Douxie on the bed, curling up against the boy’s back. 

Good enough, indeed, he thought. You are more than good enough, Hisirdoux.

[d20owlbear-deactivated]

Joy of Cooking (or the Cookie Fic)

Chapter 1 will be on AO3 on July 10th! With a podfic version by @groovyaviator and as part of the @do-it-with-style-events minibang! 

Rating: T

Warnings:  Trauma about the Fall, mental health spiral, breakdown about the Fall and implications therein

Tags: Aziraphale (Sister Frances), Crowley (Nanny Ashtoreth), Warlock, Ineffable Wives, Crowley/Aziraphale (sort of, pining) 11-year interim, building the world, making cookies, cookies as a metaphor for trauma, God is a Kitchen Witch, the universe is made of shortbread and other things, burnt cookies as fallen angels, Warlock is presumed the anti-christ, so sometimes, expectations override reality, if you're an angel and a demon who believe something a lot, Warlock kinda sorta has powers, Crowley has to Face His Emotions Like An Emotionally Mature Being, where we tackle topics like, can anyone be inherently Bad or Good or is God is just cruel, with a four year old, Heartbreaking meta disguised as friendly theological debate between two hereditary enemies? In MY fic? More likely than you think!, a 4 year old as a stand in for God

Summary:  Nanny Ashtoreth is doing her damndest to instill the virtues vices a young Prince of Darkness. So, she teaches him about how the universe was made so that he can eventually remake it when he's 11 and grown into his birthright.

On her day off, she ends up giving Warlock a more hands-on lesson, patching together shortbread biscuits the same way God did in Her cottage at the Edge of the Universe before it was made when She created the angels. All the while telling Warlock the story of how She made the Earth and the Firmament and even Crowley herself.

But somehow, those sorts of thoughts don’t seem to end on a high note for Nanny... Luckily, Sister Frances is here to help. Or try to, at least.

Sneak Peak below!

Chapter 1: In Which Warlock and Nanny Talk About The Universe

“Nanny?” Warlock mumbled sleepily, “I’m not tired.” Crowley raised an eyebrow at that.

“Of course you are, dear. And just what did I say about lying?” She asked sternly, stopping on her way to bring the hellspawn to his bed, and looking him in the eye, letting her bright yellow gaze peek over the rims of her sunglasses.

Warlock, of course, had never been afraid of them, liked them even and Crowley had been able to report a stunning casualness in the face of outright demonic and evil activity, for which she’d been golf-clapped rudely. Remarkable achievement in Hell, really.

“You said,” Warlock sighed dramatically, which she was also quite proud of, “That if I’m gonna lie, gotta do it good.” 

“Well.” Crowley corrected absentmindedly, but continued walking and shuffled the antichrist in her arms so he could wrap his stubby arms around her neck—yes, just like that, when you’re older it’ll be a perfect stranglehold, my little dragon, hold on tight—and let him bury his head into the crook of her neck. “But, young prince-of-this-world, that was quite a good first step in your mischief. What was the next going to be?”

Warlock groaned and wriggled in her arms so that she nearly dropped him, only stilling once she hissed under her breath and held him tight against her chest. Usually it was simply a matter of waiting, and Nanny had something bordering on an infinite amount of patience, at least where Warlock was concerned. 

“Was gonna say you had ta tell me a story, Nanny.” Warlock grumbled after a child’s eternity passed, “And I was gonna mis-chiv and tie all Jeeve’s shoes together if you didn’t.” Crowley smiled slyly and tapped Warlock’s cheek fondly. The butler was, of course, not actually named Jeeves, but he took the compliment admirably whenever Nanny and young master Warlock were around. Mr. Ainsworth was a bit harder for a four year-old to say, antichrist or no.

“Ah, an ultimatum, masterfully done, my little dark lord. Just as you ought.” Crowley adjusted Warlock a little higher on her hip with a huff. “But, my dear, just why would I care if you made mischief for the butler? Why would you choose that to punish me for not giving you what you wanted?” Crowley emphasized the correct pronunciation of mischief. 

Warlock didn’t take quite as long to think about it as Crowley thought he would and his answer was a bit surprising. “I heard Jeeves and you talkin’ an’ a maid said he was,” Warlock screwed up his face and very carefully continued, “in-tre-stid in you. An’ she said ‘t was lucky. So ‘f I made him mad at you, wouldn’t be lucky.” 

Crowley stopped short in front of Warlock’s door and raised her eyebrows at him. “Oh really now, did she. How interesting…” she muttered before pushing her way into the room, not bothering to flick on the lights. She could see perfectly fine as it was and Warlock didn’t need to go anywhere.

“And that’s how you were going to punish me? Make me unlucky?” Crowley asked, setting Warlock on the bed and crossing to the wardrobe to pick out sleeping clothes for the boy. “I suppose that could work, but you’d have an easier time of it if your ultimatums or threats were against something I actually liked.”

“Like Sister Frances?” Warlock asked after a few moments of thought, raising his arms for Crowley to change out his shirts. 

“Now what makes you think I like anything at all? Let alone Sister Frances. Most everyone else seems to think I hate her.” Crowley continued the conversation, even though it was waking Warlock up, making him think like this, rather than putting him to sleep. Warlock, of course, had always liked when she asked him about “tactics”—especially when he was destroying block cities with his dinosaur toys—and was happily responsive. 

“You smile at her.” Warlock shrugged again, “An’ she gets to see your eyes. Only me and’ Frances get to see your eyes. And I know you like me ‘cause I make you.” 

“Ah, that’s true. I am but a humble servant to your whims, my little dragon.” Crowley smiled a little too fondly, a little too softly, and tapped Warlock’s cheek. “Very well then. It was a decent try, I’ll give you that. But next time, you’ll have to do better if you want a story. Understood, Warlock?”

“Yes!” Warlock jumped onto his bed and shoved himself under the covers messily. Crowley could, of course, only approve of the chaos. She tucked him in and took her usual seat by the bed.

“Alright, my great beast.” Crowley began slowly, letting her words fill her mouth and a story spin itself behind her eyes. “Let me tell you about how the world was made. So that when you reshape it and bend it to your will, you know what to do.

[crispyjenkins]

'ullo! Dicky here, what do you think about a song prompt? I give you the song and the ship and you let the song guide you??? Ship: Obikin Song: Help by Hurts Prompt: Aftermath of Satine's death By the way, I love your blog (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

(hello!! heck yeah you can!! oh man i haven’t listened to hurts since devotion came out, it’s so strange to listen to them again, so thank you for the rec ゞ(´ε｀●) i’m so flattered you like my blog (always lovely to find another on the spectrum!), i’m having so much fun with it and all you lovely people. 

is this what you wanted?? because anakin fought my ass the entire time and i hope you like it anyway!) 

Anakin had not seen his master grieve for Qui-Gon. In the whirlwind of the battle, and the funeral, and the celebrations, and then trying to figure out where he fit in a temple he was not raised in, Anakin just... hadn’t noticed Obi-Wan dealing with Qui-Gon’s death after Naboo. 

  It’s only now, watching Obi-Wan return to the Negotiator that Anakin realises that that had been by design. 

  Because Obi-Wan debriefs Cody like it’s nothing, accepts his reprimand from the whole council on holocomm like it doesn’t hurt, and then asks Anakin how the 501st is doing like he hadn’t just held the love of his life as she died in his arms.

  And the thought makes the dragon in Anakin’s chest so unfathomably angry he doesn’t even—

  “Anakin, are you quite alright?”

  “I’m going to throw you out the airlock.”

  Obi-Wan blinks at him with sincere surprise, and that just makes it worse. “I beg your pardon?” he asks calmly, pausing in the hall on the way to his quarters. Anakin technically has to get back to the Resolute, technically has to help sort out this entire mess of a mission, technically has to step up and be a proper general and Jedi and do his job, but Obi-Wan has always been more important than all that anyways. 

  Anakin takes a deep breath to stop himself from yelling, bolstering the Force around himself, because surely Obi-Wan isn’t actually this heartless, isn’t actually this put-together and proper, he can’t be. “Didn’t she mean anything to you?”

  Obi-Wan’s brows twitch before smoothing back into blank indifference. “I surely don’t know what you mean.”

  “Satine, Obi-Wan!” Anakin jerks his hand in the vague direction of the nearest viewport, though it’s only hyperspace rushing by. “How can you just prance around like she wasn’t just murdered right in front of you? Like she meant nothing? You’re the perfect Jedi, I get it, but you can’t just—”

  Obi-Wan grabs his wrist before he can gesture again, grip too tight as his chest jerks. “Do not,” he says, just short of gasping, “presume to know what I’m feeling at this moment, Anakin.”

  Anakin stops from ripping himself free, startled by the way Obi-Wan will not meet his eye. Force, now that Anakin's been forced to pay attention, his master looks awful, skin almost translucent and eyes over-bright, a gauntness to his cheeks that Anakin doesn't remember there being before. The fingers that hold his wrist tremble, and Obi-Wan's whole body leans away from him as if expecting to be struck, as if preparing to run. 

  It's so out of character, this fear, that Anakin forgets everything he planned to say. 

  "Do not... mistake my control for apathy." Obi-Wan slowly releases him like it physically hurts to, and Anakin wishes he understood the expression that he can't quite will back to calm and collected. 

  "Obi-Wan," he starts, but his usual quick-thinking fails him immediately.

  "Just because I do not rage does not mean I am not filled with fury." He takes a step away and clenches his fists instead, and Anakin realises he's never been on the receiving end of Obi-Wan truly angry, not like this. "Have you learned nothing from me, Anakin?"

  And then Anakin's a padawan again, after another fit of temper at another inappropriate time, scuffing his shoe under his master's disappointed gaze. Force, but he always hated upsetting him. 

  "Master, I..." He swallows and has to look away, clenching his jaw.

  "A Jedi cannot be controlled by their emotions, we cannot let our... feelings dictate our actions. I went after Satine against the council's wishes, I let my fear control me, and she paid the price. Do not presume that what you see is all there is to know."

  "So you cannot grieve?" Anakin snaps, rallying his anger like a shield. "You can't even admit if it was your fault?"

  The Force flashes a warning, like it does before blood is spilt, like before everything goes to kriffing hell, and Anakin freezes as Obi-Wan leans into his space with a snarl. "I only appear not to have blood on my hands, because Satine did not bleed."

  Anakin lets him whirl around towards his room, and does not follow.

-

  Only once the watchguard cycles over does Anakin sneak back towards the command quarters, dodging his own men and Obi-Wan's with practiced ease. He resolutely doesn’t think as he goes, because he’ll chicken out if he does, and he knows he can’t leave things the way they had.

  The way he had. Kriff. 

  He keys in the code for the door and tries to ignore the way Obi-Wan’s shields slam up around his mind. His old master sits on his bunk with his back to the wall, shirtless in the warmth of his quarters, and he barely looks up as Anakin shuts the door behind himself.

  He looks him over, the bruising from the fight with Maul that he should have gotten checked out, the way the blanket pools around his waist, and notes with disdain that it doesn’t look like he’s cried even a little bit. 

  Sighing, Anakin toes out of his boots and leaves them next to Obi-Wan’s on the mat by the door, before padding softly the rest of the way into the room. He’s here to help, not antagonise Obi-Wan, so he eases himself onto the floor by the bunk, close enough that Obi-Wan can reach for him if he wishes, but far enough away that he can ignore him instead, if that’s what he needs.

  “Master, I... wanted to apologise.” He shuffles uncomfortably. “You know how my mind gets ahead of me, I didn’t...”

  “I’m too tired to lecture you, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says softly, and Anakin mentally curses.

  “No, that’s not—” Exhaling harshly through his nose, Anakin takes a moment to get his anger back under control before trying again. “I know you don’t let anyone around when you’re hurting, and you sure as hell weren’t going to ask Cody, and I just. Didn’t want you to be alone.”

  The silence that settles over them isn’t quite as heavy as it was before, but it isn’t good either. Anakin had tried telling himself that he’d be alright if Obi-Wan didn’t forgive him, that just saying the words was more important because this wasn’t about him, but that doesn’t stop the hurt.

  Then, so quietly Anakin almost misses it, Obi-Wan says, “I almost left the Order.”

 Sighing, Anakin drops his head back onto the mattress and glares up at the ceiling. “If Satine had asked, I know.”

  “I was going to leave after my trials.” But that was years after his time with Satine, and she hadn’t actually asked him to, had she? “I couldn’t abandon my apprenticeship, I owed Qui-Gon far too much for that, but I... I stayed for you.”

  Anakin’s throat closes like a dam, his body going rigid: he’s heard this story, that Qui-Gon had begged Obi-Wan with his dying breath to train him, that Anakin was a padawan of obligation. This story has passed the lips of every initiate and knight in the Order, whispered where they think Anakin won’t hear. Part of him has known not to expect more of his bond with Obi-Wan, but if Anakin is good at anything, it’s caring so recklessly that there’s nothing left of him by the end.

  “Obi-Wan,” he growls, but Obi-Wan doesn’t give him the chance to continue.

  “I stayed because you needed a family, whatever Qui-Gon asked me be damned,” he says firmly, with more bitterness than Anakin expected. “You were a child, Anakin, I stayed for you, and I do not regret it.”

  Oh. But that... is somehow much, much worse, Anakin decides, watching Obi-Wan’s expression crumble at the edges before he can right it again. It’s worse than thinking himself a last choice, a pet project, a karking final request, because this means... Obi-Wan actually cared, right from the beginning, and Anakin hadn’t seen it. 

  He still finds himself asking, “But Satine...?”

  “Anakin,” Obi-Wan sighs, and holds out a hand. Compelled, Anakin takes it and lets Obi-Wan curl them both in his lap. “I loved her, I will always love her, I don’t know if I will ever love anyone as I did Satine, but I would not have traded a life with her for the years I’ve had with you.”

  “Stop,” Anakin chokes out, feeling like his lungs are shrinking in his chest. “Force, you can’t just— Obi-Wan.”

  “I can’t what, padawan? Master Yoda didn’t want me to train you, despite the council’s wishes, and I would have left with you then. I was prepared to train you away from the Temple, and if you had asked us to leave any time after that, I would have.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” he finally manages, glad it’s his flesh hand in Obi-Wan’s so he can’t crush it in his grip. 

  Obi-Wan shrugs. “Because you needed to hear it.”

  “This isn’t about me. I came here to comfort you, you can’t just— How are you so calm?”

  “I’m not, my dear Ani.” He squeezes his hand in return, leaning closer. “But you seemed to misunderstand my relationship with Satine. There was a time I would have left the Order for her, there was a time I almost did, but I... would still leave for you, if you asked.” 

  “Holy kark, stop talking.”

  Stop before he says something he regrets, or thinks he can take back, or thinks Anakin can handle when he can’t.

  Obi-Wan blinks at him in surprise, and maybe Anakin is broadcasting, but he doesn't care. He hauls himself up onto the bunk right into Obi-Wan's space, pulling their joined hands against his chest to stare at him helplessly. Obi-Wan stares back as if startled by their closeness, but doesn't push him away. 

  "You can't say things like that," Anakin finally decides on. "You can't leave the Order, the council would fall apart without you, you're the perfect Jedi."

  "I can assure you I'm not."

  "But you are.”

  Obi-Wan lets out a little breath and leans the rest of the way in, setting his foreheads against Anakin’s as if they’ve always done this. “Not with you.”

  Which explains so much, and yet nothing at all.

[the-dragons-knight]

WoLtober 2020

Day #1) As you Wish

Wish - ‘to want; desire; to long for’

<Slight Suggestive Content>

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Exhausted was an understatement for how Katsum felt as she trudged through the streets of the Pillars towards Borel manor. It had been a long flight through the outlands in the Garlean provinces, dodging the imperial missiles and downing some of the airships for good measure. She and Raihogg had lost sight of them in the mountains just beyond the Ghymlit Dark, and by then, both she and the red dragon were nearly drained from fighting. When they finally entered the city, it was long past the nightly bells, nearly the middle of the night. There had been a few guards here and there, yet Katsum had kept her eyes towards home. The only thing keeping her going was the promise of the warmth of the manor’s hearth and the strength she would find in her beloved’s embrace.

The snow fell softly on her armor and cape, and she flicked her ears to keep the cold flecks from settling on them. A puff of white, freezing breath left Katsum’s lips as she trudged past the Astrologian’s guild, the glowing windows of the manor acting as a shining beacon for her tired eyes. She hugged her armored arms as she struggled towards the entrance. She wondered if Aymeric had fallen asleep yet as the lamps were still lit and she knew at this hour the house staff had gone home. With the late hours he had been working, he had been falling asleep rather quickly after getting home, yet just as she thought this, movement in the parlor window caught her eye. She looked up just in time to see Aymeric de Borel’s gaze shining down on her, a bright smile spreading across his face as he waved. She felt her body gain some strength at seeing his handsome features and she forced her own smile as she hurried her pace and he turned to leave the parlor and meet her at the door. As the tired Miqo’te ascended the stairs and reached the door, it opened wide to the smiling face of the Lord Commander and she collapsed into his arms.

“Oh, Katsum!” He caught her as she fell, wrapping her tightly in his arms as Katsum snuggled into his chest, “Thank goodness, I was worried about you,” He pulled her with him into the manor and closed the door behind them and she started shivering at the change in temperature, “You’re freezing, love!”

“Had t-to...fly over the mountaintops...to get home...s-sooner...” Katsum mumbled into his neck, pressing her face into his warmth, “It has been...a long day...”

“I can only imagine. Here, let me help you out of your armor,” He led her over to the bench in the foyer and sat her down before kneeling down to pull off the buckles on her boots and greaves. Katsum’s ears fell flat a little in embarrassment and she moved to fumble with the buckles on her gauntlets and gloves to try and pull them free, yet she quickly caught up to her and gently took her hand from her with a warm smile, making her heart melt as she let him take off the rest of her armor, cape, and coronet. Once she was freed from the frost covered steel pieces, he turned to her, “Would you like a hot bath to warm up with?”

Katsum looked down in her lap suddenly feeling a bit shy as she replied, “That sounds n-nice, yes...but are you s-sure you feel like it…?”

“Of course, I would love nothing more. But you must let me carry you,” Before she could speak, Aymeric reached out to her and pulled her arm up around his neck before leaning down and sweeping her off the chair and into his arms, “Let me take care of my sweet little wife, as I have missed her so today.”

She wanted to protest, yet the moment she felt the warmth of his arms and chest felt around her, she wouldn’t dare to, laying her head on his shoulder as he moved towards the stairs and carried her up to their room. She felt him place a kiss on her forehead, “Where did you travel to today?”

She sighed as she breathed in his smell, “The provinces. Was following a lead.”

“I see. That explains why it took you so long to get home then,” He stopped at the door of their bedroom and moved sideways to pull down the handle to step inside, “Did you find who you were looking for?”

“No...the soldiers moved them before I could. They heard I was coming...so the search continues.”

“Hmm. I am sorry to hear that, my love. I know you and your father have been searching for your mother for quite a while. I hope you can catch them soon.”

She sighed again sadly and nuzzled his cheek, “Yeah...me too...”

He walked them into the bathroom that was adjoined to their bedroom and set her down on the stool sitting beside the tub as he lit the candelabras around the room so he could see to turn on the water, “Can you remove the rest of your clothes? If not, I shall help once I ready the water.”

She blushed a bit, “I-I can undress myself...”

He chuckled, “As you wish, my dear.”

He turned back to the bath while she set about pulling at the strings and laces of her tunic and sleeves, loosening them to pull it over her head and fold it before setting it on the floor beside her. Her fingers trembled as she pulled at the cord on her trousers to pull them off at well, taking off her socks too and settling them down. She glanced over at Aymeric’s back as she was left only in her underclothes now, her tail curling in her lap to cover herself. Though they had been married for a few years or so, she still got moments of bashfulness when in moments of undress, at least at first. He was her first love after all, her first and - if she had any say in it - her last one as well, so of course she was certainly not used to being so exposed in front of another person, even after the many nights of their love making. Suddenly, a very familiar scent filled her nose and her attention was captured by it. Her eyes fell on the vial of essential oil that he was adding to the water, the sweet scent of the Azyema’s Rose filling the air. He must have felt her eyes and glanced back, seeing that she was still sitting in her under clothes, worry flooding his expression, “Do you need assistance?”

Her fur stood on end as she tucked her tail closer and tore her eyes away from his, “N-No...I’m ok...”

He chuckled, but nodded and turned back to the water, rolling up his sleeves to mix the water and the oils. Katsum quickly rid herself of her under clothes while he was looking away, not hiding herself completely from him, but still curling her fluffy tail around in her lap. She watched him as he finished his work and then turned towards her slightly and holding out a hand for her, politely keeping his eyes turned away from her.as she bashfully covered herself with her arms and tail. He helped her slowly step over the edge of the tub, holding onto her hand as she sank into the warm water up to her shoulders. She leaned against the edge of the tub as she closed her eyes and sighed happily, her tail waving under the water as she let go of his hand.

“May I massage you?”

Her ears perked as she glanced back at him,seeing a small grin on his face as she waited for her answer. She could not deny that her muscle did ache from fighting, so she nodded and pressed back against the side of the tub, back some as she nodded, absentmindedly leaning towards him as he drew near. She felt his fingers brush her neck and then her chin, holding her as he leaned in and kissed her cheek.

“Tell me if there is any pain, or if mine attentions are too rough, alright?” She could feel his smile on her cheek as he said this, and she huffed softly.

“Ok...I shall,” Katsum murmured softly in response, “Help me to relax and rest better for the night.”

“As you wish, my dear wife,” She felt his fingers slide over her skin back down to her shoulders where he gently caressed the muscles there thoughtfully, “Still, the sentiment remains.”

She nodded and he kissed her just behind her jaw. She felt his hands knead into her shoulders gently, and her ears twitched backward as she sighed. Her eyes slid shut as she pressed closer to his hands, feeling his palms press into the back of her shoulders before his fingers ghosted over where her shoulder blades met her neck, rubbing the tightened muscles tenderly until they loosened. She felt his warmth disappear for a moment, and she almost opened her eyes to look back when she heard the sound of the vial being opened again. His hands returned shortly after, the chill of the oils on her skin making her shiver lightly and the massage resumed. As her body began to relax, she felt herself drifting in and out of sleep, trying to keep herself awake to enjoy this moment with her beloved Elezen. She heard Aymeric chuckle quietly as his fingers moved to her arms and worked his way down to her fingertips on one before moving to the other. Katsum almost felt herself drifting off completely, all thought fleeing from her mind under Aymeric’s careful attentions.

“Aymeric...” Katsum finally got herself to speak, though her voice was quiet and spoke of her nearly falling asleep.

“Yes, my lady?” She felt his warm breath tickle her feline ear, “What would you ask of me?”

“Come join me,” She mumbled, turning in the water to face him and pressing her forehead against his, her earlier shyness forgotten as she pulled her arms out of the water to wrap around his neck and drench the collar of his house coat, “You’ve been working so much lately... you deserve a moment to rest too.”

She felt him chuckle as he leaned forward and stole a sweet kiss from her lips, “Are you sure?”

She nodded as she opened her eyes again to blink at him sleepily, trying her best to give him a pouting expression, “Yeah. Come enjoy the water with me.”

His eyebrows raised as he quietly, unwinding one of her hands to kiss the back of it, “Your wish is my command, my queen. It would be my honor. But you must let me go so I may undress first.”

[poorlittleangels]

Spared the pain

Hi all, here's a little something I've been working on lately. It's about my OC Calen, a young man who works as a teacher at a boarding school alongside his friend Daniel. One night he returns from dinner with Daniel and his wife Eline feeling less than well. And so ...

Content warning: hospital, medicine (pills, injections), mentions of death/wanting to die, extreme pain, vomit

---

He lifted his shirt to look at his stomach. It was very slender and pale, a soft, smooth underbelly marked only by a trail of light hair leading between his legs and a vaguely heart-shaped birthmark on the right side. He rubbed at his stomach gently in an attempt to soothe the pain, wondering what could be causing it. He had eaten quite a heavy dinner at Daniel and Eline's home, and perhaps the cream sauce and spices weren't agreeing with him. That, or he had overindulged on desserts and a cup too much of wine, and was paying his due penance for it. How could you blame him, anyway? It wasn't his fault Eline made such a rich coconut cake, and he hasn't drank in months. He sighed and pushed himself off the bed, clutching at his abdomen. He would be alright, he supposed, if he used the bathroom, washed up, and had a good long rest. Very little couldn't be made better with a hot bath and a good night's sleep.

After he'd taken his bath, he dressed in clean white pajamas and warm socks. He made himself a cup of mint tea, hoping it would settle his stomach, and took some stomach medicine as well, just for good measure. The two little pink pills didn't go down easily, though. He felt nauseated putting anything in his mouth.

Finally, he drained the last sip of his mug and settled into bed for the night, content but still feeling a nagging ache in his midsection. Lying on his side, he could hear it making gurgling noises, feel it squeezing gases around, working extra hard to digest his meal. Sweating slightly, shaking a bit when the pain grew, he tried to ignore the pain and distract himself to fall asleep.

He eventually succeeded, since he found himself awake the next day with light pouring in through the curtains. The very first thing he noticed was the pain. Oh, gods, please, the pain! It was worse than anything he'd felt in his life, somehow worse than when he'd broken his arm as a child, or the migraine that left him immobile for two days. This was a different breed of dragon. His organs felt like they'd been twisted inside out and set afire. His stomach, especially, right under his ribs, was cramping so furiously it brought the first tears to his eyes. His intestines writhed like angry snakes and his whole belly felt uncomfortably full and heavy, gurgling and blooming with new pain as his guts shifted around.

The more aware he became, the worse the pain became as well. Never being one to tolerate pain well, now Calen was unsure if he could stay conscious. Tears leaked down his cheeks and chin and pooled on his pillow, making his cheeks and nose sticky. He cried out into the dim room, whimpering and moaning. He could barely move, let alone speak a coherent sentence, and screaming was his only distraction and relief.

The second thing he became aware of was a tightness in his throat. His mouth had started to fill with a metallic saliva and his hands were shaking. Something felt like it was threatening to come up. He managed to lean over the edge of the bed and reach his wastebasket under his chair, dragging it to the edge of the bed. Unable to sit up, he leaned his face over the bin and sighed shallow, shaking breaths until he coughed and finally vomited.

A torrent of puke hit the plastic liner of the bin, white and sticky like porridge and with soft chunks of half-digested food. A little trail of pink in there, too- some red wine making its way back up. Calen's stomach squeezed in on itself, driving the liquid up his gullet and past his lips violently. The pain seized him even more, and he was feeling faint. He hung his head over the bin, sobbing in between vomiting, gagging at the horrible smell. He begged the gods for the pain to stop, to pass out, to die. It was simply too much to bear. He eventually must've exhausted himself, or been in so much pain, that he fell unconscious, head on his arm, facing a basket of his own puke.

The next hours passed in misery. Once in a while Calen would awaken, get sick again, and be unable to escape the pain tearing his stomach up. He no longer was aware of the room around him, of anything but his own blinding pain. He screamed and cried without deciding to; it was simply all he could do, to survive moment to moment. Sweat poured down his brow and his throat had gone hoarse from his crying and the bitter dregs of bile he spit up. He couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't even lay a hand on his stomach without it cramping even more horribly. And then, his pleading and prayers would come true for a few minutes, and he'd succumb to the pain and mercifully black out, going limp, only for things to start back up in due time, even when his body had nothing at all left to give.

He awoke later to a soft, gentle noise. The voice was familiar, deep and a bit rough, but spoke barely above a whisper. It took some concentration to understand it.

"Calen? Calen, are you awake? Oh, dear..."

He heard plastic crinkling and then someone's footsteps in the kitchen. His visitor must have tied up the bag of vomit and thrown it out for him. They returned to his bedside.

His body was completely exhausted. He didn't have the strength to open his eyes. He felt a warm touch on his shoulder, a hand rubbing his back.

"Calen, it's Daniel. Can you hear me? Gods, you look awful..."

With some effort he managed to open his eyes. Daniel was sitting on the edge of his bed, face sunk with concern. The room was pale gray and smelled of sick. He could make out the clock; it was a little past noon.

"There you are. I've been so worried. When you didn't show up today the main office called you three times, but when you didn't pick up they asked me to come check on you. My, I'm glad I did... You look like you've been suffering..."

He pressed the back of his hand to Calen's forehead. "Hm, you don't feel warm... But you've been vomiting, yes?"

Calen nodded. Suddenly he curled in on himself, attacked by a sudden cramp. Tears stung his dry eyes and a gasp escapes his lips. The pain refused to relent. He tried to scream, but his throat was raw. Daniel's eyes widened in shock.

"Calen? Calen, what's wrong? Is your stomach okay?"

"H-hurts..." He whined. "Hurts so bad... Please, please make it stop, just make it stop, I can't take it anymore, it won't stop..."

Daniel's tone dropped to a grave note. "Calen, I think we ought to get you to the hospital."

Calen didn't reply. Really, he couldn't articulate himself because of the pain. He continued whimpering, wailing, begging for mercy.

Daniel had taken his telephone and called for a doctor, his hand rubbing between Calen's shoulderblades, trying desperately to soothe him even a bit. Calen was barely aware of what was happening. He heard footsteps coming up the stairs, new voices. He felt cool, gloved hands on his arms, and something prickly pushed into the inside of his elbow. After that, the world grew dimmer and dimmer. The pain dulled to a low throb, and his eyes grew very heavy. Before he knew it he was in a heavy, dresmless sleep.

He awoke, eyes shut, in a bright room. It smelled of cleaning products and something slightly sour. People were walking in and out and in a hall outside. He must be in a hospital. For some reason his limbs were leaden and even to move was an enormous effort. He couldn't think properly either.

"Sir?" someone said "Calen Callophan?"

He pried his eyes open with a massive effort. A nurse was standing over his bed, some kind of monitor in his hand.

"You're finally awake. That's good. Don't be alarmed. You're on some pretty heavy painkillers right now and you might be feeling a little loopy."

"W-what happened?" He coughed, his throat feeling very dry. The nurse handed him a glass of water, which he graciously accepted. The nurse took his temperature and blood pressure and counted his heartbeats, and, satisfied with the results, put away his instruments.

"You've contracted a rare stomach infection and you'll need to be on pain medicine for a few days before you can go home and work. We don't have a cure for it, so you'll just need to wait it out."

"Am I going to be okay? How long was I out?" Calen was beginning to feel quite tired already, and his eyes had trouble focusing.

"You've been sedated for about five hours. It's almost dinnertime. We'll have you try some broth and juice, if you feel up to it."

So the days passed, Calen awake for little of the day, the medicine in his veins needing to be so strong to spare him the pain that he could only manage an hour or so of wakefulness at a time. It wasn't all bad, though. He drank hot broth and cool juice and, when he could manage that, a bit of porridge. Daniel or Eline stopped by a few times to see him, Daniel brining him a few yellow chrysanthemums in a vase, Eline brining some of her homemade clear soup, which he found delicious and nourishing. She fretted now more than ever about how thin he was and how she wouldn't stand to see him lose any weight. He was grateful, and with their best efforts he actually managed to put on a pound or two, owing to how little activity he was doing. By the time he could return to work he felt far better, though still recovering strength and needing plenty of rest at nights. Slowly he recovered fully, though, not meaning to offend Eline, he did swear off coconut cake for a while after.