#fen is also here. I am not sold if that is her whole name or just part or a nickname or what. but we're rolling with it just now

[ace-malarky]

Welcome

in which the one and only phoenix of the mist worlds finds a new home after definitely not running away from her old one on account of the Changes

~~~

 She hadn’t fled, is the thing, but she couldn’t stand the pitying looks from her friends and family, those that knew her before she changed.

 Before she saved the world. Back when they didn’t think she’d lost anything.

 So she’d left, but she’d told them and maybe she’d be back, but there were whole worlds out there where they didn’t know who she was and what she’d done.

 She flew through the Mist, its cold burning off against her wings. Chose a gate at random, dived through above the line of travellers waiting in line.

 Suckers.

 The world beyond the Mist was a sprawl of a city that petered out into fields as far as the eye could see. It was different from her home, and that was a delight.

 At the edge of the city was a tent, all white and red stripes, and vehicles parked around it. A circus?

 She dived, curiosity getting the better of her.

 There was a buzz of noise about it. Animals and people, all shouting back and forth, running between the tent and the caravans, setting up yet more tents and enclosures.

 There were creatures – Beast, really, with a capital B – that she’d only ever read about in stories and folklore.

 Like she was now, really.

 She landed on a post by one of them that mostly looked like a horse with wings, a bird’s head, and talons on its feathered front legs rather than hooves.

 It cocked its head to inspect her with one bright eye.

 She folded her wings tight against her back and didn’t quite meet its gaze.

 “Is that one of Fen’s constructs left lying around against?” said someone behind her. “I didn’t think she was working on anything like this.”

 The creature clicked its beak, partially unfolding its wings.

 She turned her head to see a woman standing there.

 “Oh, you’re not – Fen!” The woman turned to yell for someone.

 “I’m not a construct,” said the bird.

 “What are you, then?” To her credit, the woman didn’t seem too startled by her talking.

“The phoenix. Where is–”

 “What is it, Hunt? I’m fine-tuning some really delicate – oh you’re a beauty, aren’t you?” Another woman poked her head out of a nearby caravan, welder’s goggles over her eyes. “Oh, you’re a real spark of genius, aren’t you? I bet they’re kicking themselves for losing you.”

 “It’s not–”

 “No one made me,” said the phoenix. “Except maybe I made myself.”

 This one jumped, pushing her goggles back into her hair. “Well fuck.”

 “I’ve never heard of a phoenix sighting,” said the first.

 “Only kid’s stories. Damn, and it was just out here?”

 The phoenix spread her wings, readying to take off. Maybe this wasn’t a good spot for a break.

 “No – wait, wait, sorry. Let’s start again.” The woman with the goggles held out her hands as if to stop the phoenix from leaving. “I’m Fen. This is Hunt. What can we call you?”

 The phoenix hesitated. Her old name was – not known out here, but if people came looking…

 It was also a name for the person she had been, not the being she’d become.

 “Spark,” she said. “You can call me Spark.”

 “Delighted to make your acquaintance.” Fen smiled. “What brings you to our circus?”

 “Curiosity,” Spark replied, folding her wings back in. “I don’t remember the last time I went to the circus.”

 “Well, you’re in luck, my friend, because the Everrin Circus is the finest that travels the Mist.” Fen spread her arms to encompass it, bowing.

 Spark laughed.

 “Would you like a tour?”

 “Aren’t you fine-tuning something really delicate?” Hunt asked, sounding gently amused.

 “That’s not needed until this evening.” Fen waved her off. “Now.” She held out her arm, which was wrapped to keep her sleeves tight against her wrist. “Or you can walk, but riding in style?”

 Spark hopped from her perch to the ground and didn’t grumble as she barely came up to Fen’s waist. This new form was ridiculous.

 Hunt stayed behind as Fen led Spark into the chaotic noise and bustle of the circus.

 “We’ve only just pulled up here,” Fen said. “Normally it’s a little quieter of a morning, but this is also our first day here so it’s all the set up.”

 Spark craned her head to see what she could. “It seems so chaotic.”

 “It is. Organised chaos, but all the same. You’re lucky to have found us here, actually, this is our last stop before entering the Mist again.”

 “You travel it a lot?”

 “Sure do. Which world are you from? We might have been there before.”

 “I don’t know its name.” Spark shook her head. “But it only recently joined the Mist.”

 “Oh, wild.” Fen was silent as she thought that over. “So – are there other Phoenixes there?”

 “No, I’m the only one.”

 “Oh.” Fen fell silent as she led Spark nearer to the side of the big tent, down an avenue between the fabric of it and the ropes holding it in place. “That must be lonely.”

 Spark blinked. “I – I guess so.” It wasn’t that she hadn’t considered it, exactly, but it was definitely something she hadn’t been intentionally thinking about.

 “Sorry,” Fen said. “Didn’t mean to send you–”

 “Fen!”

 “Asin! Fancy seeing you here!” Fen looked up, grinning and spreading her arms wide in welcome. “I’ve made a new friend.”

 “And the drones for tonight? Are they – oh that is cute.” A woman – shorter and curvier than Fen, white and blonde and harried looking, a tablet in her hands – blinked down at Spark.

 “I’ve never been called cute before,” Spark said, spreading out her train a little. “Not looking like this, anyway.”

 “Fen?” The woman tensed, a crackle of electricity playing at her fingers. “What have you done?”

 “I – nothing!” Fen laughed. “Asin, this is Spark. She’s a phoenix from Off-World. Spark, this is Asin, my cousin.”

 “… Sorry,” Asin said. “You said phoenix?”

 “Yup. She can stay with us for a while, right?”

 Asin shrugged faintly. “Sure, why not. Welcome to Everrin Circus, Spark.”

 “Thanks?”

 “It’ll take her a minute,” Fen said in a stage whisper. “Now come on, there’s so much more to show you.” She ushered Spark past Asin. “And yes, Asin, I’ll get everything finished before opening.”

 Spark followed her, bobbing her head to Asin. She hadn’t meant this to be ore than a brief visit, but… well, if they were going to be so welcoming…

 She might as well stay for longer.

[insomniamamma]

Blue Morning: Fennec Shand x F!Twi’lek Reader

A/n: for Writer Wednesday. Don't @ me about canon this second dose of the covid shot is kicking my ass. Thinking of that blue Twi'lek chained to Bib Fortuna's throne in the sneak peak we got of The Book of Boba Fett. I’m not sure who to tag so @autumnleaves1991-blog, and @clydesducktape, and @flightlessangelwings. Also, this is my first time writing fxf fic so please be gentle. ‘Spotchka froths’ are mentioned. Picture a neon blue Sno-Cone with booze.

Warnings: Mentions of enslavement, cannon typical violence, Fennec Shand in formal wear is her own warning, mentions of death in a mythical context. Food mentionsl Alcohol consumption.

“Kiss me again, like you mean it.”  (i botched the prompt a little)

           You scrunch your eyes shut, expecting the blaster-shot to be the last thing you ever hear, chain still gripped in your hands, as if you haven't tried this every day since being sold to Bib Fortuna. You tug the chain in your sleep sometimes, curled on the rough-hewn stone, wake yourself up doing it, Fortuna and his cronies laughing at you.  You open your eyes and you are somehow not dead. The gunslinger stares at you, her mouth slightly upturned, jerks her head towards the tunnels, telling you to run. And so you do.

          Your bare feet slap over the cool, damp stone of the tunnels, carrying you to your quarters without any thought. You have to go. Blaster fire echoes above. The door to your chambers slides open and you close it behind you. You can't lock it. Slave quarters have no locks.         "Kriff." Your tiny closet holds only the filmy costumes you are permitted to wear. You can't make it across the desert in any of this. You have nothing to your name but these ribbons and silks. You don't even have proper boots, just dainty slippers meant for nothing except looking pretty in. Part of you thinks to just run. Just grab what you can and bolt, twin suns be damned. No, think, Blue, you've got to play it smart. There's speeders in the bay. Swoop bikes, you make it there and none of the rest of it will matter. Get a speeder and you can be to Mos Eisley before the suns have time to cook you, you think you know the way, stole glimpses through the half-shuttered windows of the hover-barge that brought you and the other unfortunates here. You grab a few things out of your quarters, the slippers, a few pieces of gaudy jewelry, probably fake, but might net you a handful of credits. Kark. The suns are going to cook you. You yank the threadbare sheet off your cot and wrap it around yourself in a makeshift robe. Now or never.         You creep your way towards the bay. The vast doors are open, why wouldn't they be? The palace has plenty of speeder traffic, though you don't see anyone moving, maybe the raiders found what they wanted and cleared out, maybe--         "Going somewhere?" Dank farrik. Your skin prickles from the ends of your lekku to the tips of your toes. You raise your hands instinctively. The gunslinger. The one who shot through your chain and not your skull.         “You told me to run,"        "And I assumed you weren't stupid," she says, "You got a pickup waiting? If not, you'll be dead in half a day."        "You're going to give me back to him,"        "Who?"        "Bib Fortuna."        "Bib Fortuna is dead," she says. A ghost of a smile touches her lips, "But you are not. What's your next move? You got any contacts in Mos Eisley?"  You shake your head.        "Fennec? Sitrep." You hear the crackle of her comms.        "Found a straggler," says Fennec, "Non-hostile."        "Bring them up."

       Fennec grips you arm lightly, leads you back up through the tunnels to the throne-room. Your insides quiver. Nothing good has ever happened to you in this room. The only thing that came close was when Fortuna would have one of his lackeys bring you the beautiful old Nabooan hallikset to play for a spell. He kept it displayed on the wall, just beyond the reach allowed by your chain, but when you were allowed to play, the room would grow quiet, the lackeys and scumbags and hangers on would stop their chatter and just listen, and there would be something like peace for however long Fortuna would grant it. He'd flick a hand at one of the guards who'd take the hallikset from your hands, and then he'd wrap an arm around you in a sideways hug, and sing your praises as if you were his talented daughter and not his property. And now he's dead, lying in a heap in front of his own throne. You eye the corpse. His eyes are wide open and clouded, obviously dead, but still--        "What have you brought me, Fen?" You look up at the man on the throne. Oh, Maker, a Mandalorian. You've never met one, but you've heard tales. They are feared for their efficiency and brutality in battle. And yet some of the stories paint them as honorable.        "Found her in the vehicle bay," says Fennec.        "Come here," he says, "Let me get a proper look at you." Fennec nudges you, her hand on the small of your back in a gentle push.        "Go on," she murmurs, soft so only you can hear. You step around Bib Fortuna's cooling corpse like it might still try to reach out and grab you. The absurdity of the situation hits you. The man on the throne will decide your fate one way or another, a blaster shot through the heart or he'll send you packing or he'll keep you here, just another Bib Fortuna, maybe better and maybe worse and here you are, wrapped in a bedsheet.        "Show me your hands," he says. The dark of his visor reveals nothing, but he offers his own gloved hands, palms up, so you do the same. The Mandalorian examines your hands.        “So you have worked with your hands."        “Yes, sir."        "Good." You feel something loosen in your chest. If he was going to shoot you, he would have done it by now. He brushes your fingertips.        "You play an instrument," he says. Your eyes flick to the wall where the hallikset hangs.        "Yes," you say, "I was an apprentice--" Here you struggle, to translate what you were supposed to be into Basic, "Tale-singer?" Kriff, it sounds stupid in Basic. Before you were taken, you were tasked with knowing the stories, the songs of Ryloth, but also given the responsibility of finding new tales to tell, not all of them truthful. Utter fabrications and harsh truth are both equally dull, your mentor had told you, lie enough that the tale has interest, but keep truth enough that the message comes across. "Bard. I guess."        "Show me." His helmet jerks towards the wall where the hallikset hangs. The collar is still around your neck, the stub of the chain thumps against your spine, but, for the first time since you were brought here, you go and get it by yourself, cradling it to your chest like a baby. You sit yourself at the foot of the throne and play like you have so many times before, the first song you learned, a lullaby old as Ryloth itself, the three moons racing across the sky as bothers, big brother and middle brother get in a fight, and the youngest wins the race. You sing in Ryl. You end the song. No one speaks.        "I'm sorry. I'm rusty. It's been some time." The dark visor gives you nothing. You gingerly lean the hallikset against the throne and back up, careful not to tread on Fortuna's robes. You back into Fennec, who grips your arms gently.        "What is your name, girl?" You give your name in Ryl.        "But everyone just calls me Blue," you say.        "I am Boba Fett." He says, "My associate is Fennec Shand. You work for us now. We will discuss the exact terms later. Take that collar off her, Fen. Find her some proper clothing."        "You should have seen your face," Fennec grins at you.        "Are you out of you suns-stroked mind?" You mean to yell,  but it comes out  more like a choked-off laugh "Why didn't you warn me?" You stab your arm back towards the throne room, "That's Boba karking Fett! If I'd've looked at him wrong he could've SHOT ME!" Fennec laughs, a brief baring of teeth.        "He wouldn't have hurt you," she says, "He's Mandalorian."        "What does that have to do with anything?"        "Mandos have a habit of adopting people," says Fennec, "You are part of clan Fett now, like as not."        No one touches you. No one makes you dance wearing leather and ribbons. For the first time since being abducted from Ryloth you are treated with dignity and respect. They pay you. It's not always much, but it's something, your own money, your own room with proper locks on the doors. Sometimes you play court musician, sometimes scribe, sometimes bartender, sometimes majordomo. Whatever role is required, your instructions are the same, eyes and ears. You are a soft thing in a crowd of hunters and hustlers, people have told you the most incredible things, thinking you are too naive, too stupid to understand, all happily spilled to Boba and Fennec over spotchka shots once the audience chamber clears out.          And when Boba doesn't need you? You and Fennec are free to explore. The palace complex is huge, full of tunnels and chambers that the two of you are slowly mapping, marking the doorways and passages you've explored with bright paint. The B'omarr monks who built the palace still skitter through the passages. The first time you the two of you ran across one, Fennec drew her rifle.        "No," you said and stepped between her and the stiffly walking spider droid, the brain inside it's housing bobbing gently in the cloudy liquid, "They have no weapons. They can't hurt us." You place your arm over hers and gently lower the rifle.        "So you just let them wander around?"        "They don't do anything. There's no point in hurting them."        "Huh."

       "Maker and stars," you mutter, "All this was down here the whole time?" The room looks like a Canto Bight rummage sale. All manner of art objects, furniture and rolled tapestries in stacks. Plast-sheeted clothing on racks. Paintings leaned haphazardly against the walls and each other.        "You tell me," says Fennec, "This is your stomping ground."        "Yeah, but I've never been this far down." You run a finger along one of the ornate frames, greasy with thick dust.        "You think the boss will want any of this?"        "Perhaps some of the art," says Fennec, "A lot of this is very old. Could fetch us some credits." You wander over to a rack of clothing, colorful dresses and robes in all lengths and cuts, some plain and some gaudy with pearls and lace. You lift the sheeting and stroke fabric that's softer than anything you've ever worn.        "You might as well pick out a couple," says Fennec, "It'll all end up in market stall or a burn-pit anyway."        "A couple? I'm taking this whole karking rack. Help me shove."        "Stupid," she chides, "Let's call the mule-droid."        "You know, this one with the dewflowers on it would look really nice on you." Fennec gives you that barely there smile, though her eyes glitter with merriment.        “Never. In. Your. Life." You twitch your lekku in the equivalent of a shrug.        "Fennec Shand, you are no fun." She raises an eyebrow.        "I'm fun," she says, "I'm tons of fun."        “Threatening to murder people does not count as fun." Fennec grins.        "Don't knock it till you've tried it, Blue."

       Slave One streaks up into the bright sky. Boba has to go off world for a handful of days, some sort of personal business to attend to. I expect to see this place still standing on my return, he'd said, try not to get yourselves arrested.        "Who, us?" Said Fennec.        "You end up in the drunk tank it comes out of your pay."        "Noted."

       "There's a festival in town tomorrow," you say, moving the cards in your hands. You and Fennec are playing Sabacc, a friendly game, no stakes, just to hone your skills and learn each other's tells so you can hustle in the cantinas.  Not because you need to but because it's fun.        "Yeah? An official one?"        "No," you say, "Just a local thing." The Republic and the Empire both had sanctioned holidays, but in the Outer Rim that doesn't mean much.        "The festival of the Twin Suns," you say, "It's about love. About being in love." You feel heat creeping from the tips of your lekku and over your face. You shake your head.        "I don't know the whole story. Something about star-crossed lovers with a bad ending," you say.        “You've never been," says Fennec.        "No," you say, "But I always wanted to. They dance in the street. Everyone wears bright colors. Fortuna had after parties some times. Everyone seemed so happy."        "We should go," says Fennec.        "Really?"        "Why not? Unless you just want to hang out and lose at Sabacc."

       "Holy-karking-hell--" You mutter under your breath. Fennec wears a long, double-breasted jacket that looks straight out of some Old Republic holodrama, a tie the exact same blue as your skin tied at her throat, her traditional braid exchanged for something less severe, blue ribbon threaded through instead of the usual red.        "Close you mouth before something flies in," she says.        "Fen...wow,"        You clean up nice too. Let's go."

       The Twin Suns Festival is every bit as loud and colorful as you imagined, brightly colored flags hang from every building, rainbow pennants and lanterns strung over the streets. Treaded crawlers drag mobile stages through the thronging streets, laden with musicians and dancers. Every so often, the sky explodes in a riot of fireworks. You and Fennec walk arm in arm so not to lose each other in the swelling crowd. You find a row of food stalls and share bantha kabobs so spicy your gums try to peel back from your teeth, followed by chilled spotchka froths to kill the burn. You share syrup smeared haroun bread and smile sticky smiles. In the streets, people hug, people kiss, people dance, all kinds of people, humans and Weequay and Twi'leks, a pair of Gamoreans lurk in a doorway and rub noses. A pair of Trandoshans point up at the starbursts of light splitting the night, their child laughing, gripping their parent's head ridges, a Bothan leans doubled over in laughter at something his Rodian friend just said.        But not everything at the festival is happy chaos, as two of you wind your way towards the Great Square, things become more subdued. Rainbow colors still fly, but now the sills and doorways are lined with low burning lanterns and small candles. Small make-shift altars line the streets, again and again a portrait of two women, one in the simple garb of a moisture farmer, the other in a gown and headdress befitting a queen. Some iterations are crude, stick drawings pressed into tiles of sun-baked clay, others are ornate, woven tapestries threaded through with gold, bright pigments painted on stretched, scraped bantha hide.        “This is them," you say, "The lovers. The twin suns." A pavilion stands in the center of the Great Square, draped in gauzy white fabric and lit with small hanging lanterns. Fennec takes your hand and tugs you towards it.        "It's a shadow-play," she says, "I've never seen one."        "Me neither." The Rodian at the tent entrance greets you warmly, presses printed flimsy flyers into your palms, a playbill of sorts, the names of the puppeteers and voice actors in bleared ink. You toss a few credits in the basket marked "donations" and make your way inside. You and Fennec seat yourselves towards the back. Children and smaller species sit on cushions right in front of the parchment screen. The screen is framed with heavy fabric on all sides to block the light.A few more patrons drift in and then they hood the lanterns. Delicately cut and articulated paper puppets tell the tale. The voices and narration are done in Basic and Huttese, one following the other, but the story is simple. A princess and the daughter of a moisture farmer fall in love. They keep the affair a secret until the princess is betrothed to an Outworld royal to cement a political alliance. The shadow-puppets dance behind the screen, backlit by flickering lanterns. A dance as old as the galaxy. A princess ensconced in a tower, pining for her true love. A clever pauper who scales the tower and frees her princess in the moonlight. Lovers who ran across the wastes and were swallowed up by the sands.        "Searchers spread for days," says the narrator, "But the great dunes had drunk everything down. The hot winds erased every footprint." On the flickering screen two cut-paper women hold each other and slowly sink beneath swaying ripples of sand and then the line of the screen itself.        "The shifting stands of our world are unforgiving," says the narrator. The light behind the stage changes color to the pinks and violets of dawn, "But it is said that the love the farmer and the princess had for each other was so powerful that the old gods of rock and wind and dune rejected their deaths."          The shadowed dunes shift and sway and the lovers rise from beneath them, the ornate puppets replaced by simpler shapes, no crown for the princess, no dusty robes for the farmer just two mirror images facing each other. "Their souls rose from beneath the dunes and were carried on the currents of the Force--" They rise, paper girls floating in an imaginary sky "--to the suns that shine upon our world--" And with this the paper women flash into red flame, a collective oooh from the audience, and two stars appear, the greater and lesser Suns, cut from some red material that the light shines through, filling the white tent with ruddy light, the color of blood, but also of life "--The Suns of Tatooine burn hot, because, even through ages long lost and forgotten, their love for each other remains strong. The warmth you feel after the long cold night, that is their warmth, their gift to you, and to all of us."

       There is a beat of silence and then applause erupts. Your cheeks are wet with tears. The puppeteers and narrators emerge from behind the dark curtains and bow. You paw at your face, hoping  Fennec doesn't notice, which is futile. Fennec notices everything. She puts her arm around you and squeezes, her eyes seeking yours.        "You ok, Blue?" She asks, but she's not teasing at all this time, her face gives nothing but concern.        "Yeah, I'm good," you say, "I never knew the whole story. It's really kriffing sad. I kinda knew what to expect, but still--" Fennec tugs you to your feet. You were so engrossed in the shadow-play that you didn't realize you were still holding her hand.        "C'mon," says Fennec. Her eyes shine in the low light, but that little smile creeps across her face, "Let's get a couple more of those spotchka froths so we can cry into them." You snort laughter.        "That sounds like a plan."

       "Oh, kriff," Fennec's expletive snaps you back to reality. You'd been lost in the music, grooving out to the horns, dancing because you wanted to and not because some sleemo holding the end of your chain expected it, moving your body in the way it wants to move. Fennec sounds scared and you are instantly a shade more sober.        "Oh, kriff what?"        "Kanjiklub," she says, and jerks her head towards the other side of the street, a trio of armed roughs argue loudly with a vendor, "They've got a price on my head. They see me, I'm dead." She pulls you into a shadowed doorway,        "Quick, kiss me like you mean it!" You press your mouth to hers, flick at her lower lip with your tongue and she opens for you. The kiss is slow and languid, the gentle slide of your tongues, the plush heat of her mouth, the soft sounds she makes in the back of her throat. You cup her cheek, the pad of your thumb stroking the faint scars there. Her fingers brush the length of a lek, the faintest of touches but enough to light you up. You push her into the wall and kiss her harder.        When you break the kiss, the two of you stand, foreheads pressed together, arms wound around each other, your chests heaving in tandem.        "Hey Fen?" You breathe against her lips.        "Yeah, Blue?"        "I think..." you press your lips to hers again, a chaste kiss that she smiles into, "I think I meant it."        "I think I meant it too," says Fennec, "How about we go home and do something about it?"        "Yeah, let's go home. Just keep any eye out for those Kanjiklub goons."        "What Kanjiklub goons?" She smirks and you huff.        "Menace."        "Your menace."

@honestly-shite​ , @draper-bobbie​, @artemiseamoon​

[damianwaynerocks]

Ghosts in Gotham

Danny Phantom / DC Comics fanfic

Dedicated to: @dannyphantom-justiceleauge

Summary: The Batfamily has been through their fair share of the supernatural. That’s why they originally weren’t worried whenever ghosts started showing up in Gotham City. Until one day, something happens; Batman is captured and taken into the Ghost Zone. With no way to go in there themselves, the no way to fight the ghosts inside, the bats decide to call the person who can; Danny Phantom. Together, Danny takes Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown and Damian Wayne into the Ghost Zone before the Batman is lost forever.

Words: 2032

ch 2 Masterlist

Chapter 1:

-

Every city had its hero.

Gotham City? Batman. Metropolis? Superman. Central City? The Flash.

Amity Park? Danny Phantom.

Amity Park had mixed feelings about Phantom. Some said he was a helper, a true hero, keeping the town safe. Others said he was a criminal, doing nothing but wreaking havoc on the town. Either way, Phantom was known for one specific thing; fighting ghosts.

Which is what he was doing at the moment.

"I am!! The Box Ghost!!" a short, stocky ghost shouted. His eyes glowed blue and an aura of the same color surrounded the boxes crowding the back of a movie theater. "Beware!" he raised his arms and hurled three boxes at a figure who easily dodged.

"Come on, Box Ghost," a teenage boy with white hair and green eyes floating above the ground groaned. "I don't have time for this! I have to order the new Cheese Viking game before it sells out!"

"Beware!" The Box Ghost shouted again, throwing more boxes at the boy.

Danny Phantom rolled his eyes as his body became intangible, the boxes easily passing through it. He raised his arm, and a blast of bright green energy shot from his palm, hitting the Box Ghost square in the chest. The Box Ghost, with a grunt, was blown back into the brick wall of the movie theater.

Not wasting any time, Danny grabbed the thermos that he had strapped to his back and pointed it at the other ghost. In a flash of light, the Box Ghost was sucked into the thermos.

"Finally," Danny muttered as he took off into the sky.

Danny Phantom, his real name being Danny Fenton, was a sixteen-year-old halfa, or a ghost-human hybrid. He could switch between ghost and human form at will. He'd gotten his powers from an accident with the Ghost Portal, a portal in his home that was a bridge between the human world and the Ghost Zone, where every ghost resides.

Ghosts repeatedly escaped the Ghost Zone through this portal for one of three reasons; to wreak havoc on the human world, to kill Danny or both. Usually, it was the latter.

Danny returned to his house, passing through the walls of the building with intangibility and landing in the lab. He switched back to his human form in a flash of light, changing his hair color from white to black and his eyes from green to blue.

His family was made up of ghost hunters- aside from his sister -so they had an entire lab dedicated to ghost technology.

"Back you go, Boxy," Danny said as he released the Box Ghost into the portal. "Finally," he sighed, "Time to get Cheese Viking."

"No!" he shouted five minutes later at his computer. The new Cheese Viking, Danny's favorite game, had sold out.

"Danny!" a large man in an orange jumpsuit burst into the boy's room. "Are you okay!? Are you hurt!?"

"No, Dad, I'm fine," Danny replied to his father, Jack Fenton. "Except for that stupid Box Ghost making me too late to get Cheese Viking!"

He hadn't told his parents about his life as Phantom until he was fifteen. Well, it wasn't Danny who told them. His sister found him in his room passed out with a gaping hole in his side, and she had to tell their parents so they could help him.

Jack paused. "But.. you got him?" he asked cheerily. Danny smiled.

"Yeah. I got him." Jack slapped him on the back.

"Thatta boy!" he said with a grin. "Come on, Jazz got a letter from Wayne Enterprises and your mom wants the whole family to watch her open it!"

Jazz, Danny's sister, had just graduated high school and had applied for an internship at Wayne Enterprises, one of the largest businesses in the world. An internship there would kick-start her career in marketing. That was the reason she claimed, but Danny was sure that part of the reason was that Bruce Wayne, the billionaire who owned Wayne Enterprises, was cute.

"Finally!" Jazz, a girl with long red hair and a blue headband huffed. "I haven't been able to look for three hours! What were you out doing?"

"Uh, my job?" Danny smirked as he hopped over the back of the couch to sit on it. Jazz rolled her eyes.

"Open it, dear!" Their mom, Maddie Fenton, urged. Jazz grinned widely, opening the letter. Her smile grew, and she jumped up and down.

"I got it!" she squealed. "I got it!! I got the internship!!"

"That's great, Jazz!" the other three Fentons exclaimed at once. Jazz seemed to get even more excited as she continued reading the letter.

"And," she continued excitedly, "All the interns are expected to attend the next Wayne Gala with their families! All expenses paid!"

"Yes!" Jack cried. "We're going to New Jersey, baby!" As the entire family celebrated, Danny couldn't help but be suspicious. Jazz had applied late and while she was smart, she wouldn't have been anything special next to the other applicants.

Something was up. _

"So what, you think she only got accepted because of you?" A girl with short black hair raised an eyebrow as they walked through the halls of their high school. "Why, exactly?"

"Because, Sam," Danny responded to his girlfriend. "It's weird. I was looking at the Infi-map, and there's a portal to the Ghost Zone in Gotham that wasn't there a month ago. And get this? It's five miles away from Wayne Manor.”

"You think Bruce Wayne wants you out of the way for some plan?

"It wouldn't be the first time somebody did."

"But how would he even know who you are?" Sam Manson asked, "I mean, there's no way he knows that you're Phantom."

"Um, because he's Batman?" An African American boy walking beside them scoffed as though it was obvious. "Batman knows everything."

Danny and Sam laughed. "Tucker, seriously?" Danny shook his head in disbelief. "That conspiracy? Batman and Bruce Wayne have been seen at the same time in the same place multiple times.”

"Okay, well, you can clone yourself! Who's to say Batman can't? Or maybe it's a hologram! Or maybe it's one of his thousand children in the suit!" Tucker Foley counted on his fingers as he rattled off the various theories. His eyes widened, and he grabbed Danny's shoulders. "Dude, you have to get proof."

"There's no way I'd be able to get close enough to Bruce Wayne to prove anything."

"Then trick him!" Tucker said, his eyes bright. "Most of Bruce's adopted kids are boys with black hair and blue eyes! Just say you're an orphan and I bet he'll be like 'Of course you can stay, I am always down for more children."

"Okay, first of all," Danny began, adjusting his backpack on his shoulder and prying his friends arms off of him. “His son Damian? That kid scares me, he gives off Dash vibes. Did you see how he made that interviewer cry?"

A few months prior, a video had surfaced that showed Damian Wayne insulting a girl who was trying to give him an interview. The two-minute video ended with the girl crying.

"And second of all-" Danny was cut off as he was shoved to the ground. He looked up to see Dash Baxter, a muscular boy with blonde hair.

"Watch where you're going, Fen-freak," Dash sneered, "Before I shove your puny face into a locker!"

Danny gritted his teeth as he sat up. Dash had been picking on him from the beginning of high school. Two years later, he hadn't stopped.

On any other occasion, Danny would have said something in response, but Dash had already continued down the hall.

"Why can't you just zap him or something?" Tucker grumbled. "He's the worst!"

"Yeah, I know," Danny stood up, wiping dust off of his shirt. "But I can't. It isn't right."

"Your moral code is dumb," his friend snapped back.

"If you're going to Gotham," said Sam with a pointed look at Tucker. "Who's gonna be here to help with the ghosts?"

"I've got it covered," Danny replied swiftly, looking up. "Dani's coming down.  It'll be fine. I have to keep Jazz safe, and figure out what Brucie Wayne is up to."

__

"I am sure Father would have a better plan than to invite some under-qualified intern to the Manor."

A seventeen-year-old boy with spiky black hair rolled his eyes. "Damian, she isn't under-qualified. She meets all of the qualifications for the internship."

The first boy, an Arab thirteen-year-old with the same spiky hair and bright green eyes, scoffed. "There is no way a person from some backwater town would have received the internship if we hadn't needed her brother."

Tim Drake and Damian Wayne, the youngest children of Bruce Wayne. Damian currently held the Robin mantle, while Tim used Red Robin. The brothers were in a large cave decked out with a plethora of high-tech equipment.

"Okay, but you think every place outside of Gotham is a backwater town." Tim pointed out as he swiveled his chair to face a massive computer.

"Amity Park is a backwater town. The citizens there are animals," Damian retorted, crossing his arms. "You just cannot see that because you are also a backwater type."

Tim laughed as he realized what the younger boy was basing his opinion on. "Damian, please tell me you haven't generalized an entire city just because of one tourist from Amity Park ran into you and spilled soda on your shirt."

"It was my favorite shirt! And that cretin did not even apologize!" Damian spat. "The nerve!"

"Okay, well, put aside your dumb grudge and think about the objective," Tim responded. "I think, if you look within that thing you call a soul, you can see that letting one intern that you think is under-qualified is worth getting Bruce back."

"Tt. I suppose," Damian admitted begrudgingly. "If this Danny Phantom character truly has the potential to save Father."

"He's the only one who can." Tim reminded him. "We can't get into the Ghost Zone without a ghost, and I don't think any of the ones we've seen so far would be willing to help," He paused. "Plus, don't the Fentons make ghost hunting gear? Who knows, maybe they have a ghost sword."

After a sudden wave of ghost attacks in Gotham, Bruce had poured in countless hours of research to find out as much as he could about ghosts. He had discovered that they came from another dimension and that there was one person who was an expert at fighting them; Danny Phantom of Amity Park. It didn't take very long for him to uncover Phantom's true identity.

"Tim! Dames!" a voice shouted. "My boys!" Tim and Damian looked towards the stairs and saw a taller man with black hair and blue eyes jump the railing of said stairs, landing in the Bat Cave.This was their oldest brother, Dick Grayson, also known as Nightwing. He grinned brightly. "How's it going?"

"Making sure that we have every possible outcome of this mission prepared for." Tim replied as he continued typing on the Bat Computer. Damian nodded.

“Yes, and so I have decided that I shall accompany them on this journey."

"Damian, no." his older brothers said at the same time. Damian scowled.

"Why not? I am plenty capable of-

"Because people would get suspicious if Batman suddenly didn't have a Robin," Dick answered, strolling towards the younger boy. "That's why Jason, Tim, and Stephanie are going. They won't be missed," He gave Tim a nervous look. "No offense."

"None taken," Tim replied, waving his hand. "Sorry Damian, you'd just get in the way."

"But I have died before!" Damian huffed, his hands clenching into fists. "That combined with my skills- which are far greater than yours, Drake, I might add -makes me much more qualified than you."

"Little D, dude, I just told you," Dick ruffled his younger brother's hair. "It'll be suspicious if you're gone. And besides, I need you. We're a great team."

"But my father is in there-"

"Master Damian-" their butler, Alfred Pennyworth, interrupted the trio's squabbling. "You won't be going anywhere until your homework is done."

"Homework? Finding my father is much more important than an essay on why the Roman empire fe-"

"Master Damian." Alfred repeated in a low tone. "Now."

Damian scowled as he trudged up the stairs. It didn't matter how tough the person was. When Alfred told you to do something, you do it. "I will be going with you, Drake!" he called behind his shoulder. "I promise you that!"

Dick and Tim exchanged a glance and rolled their eyes.

"Children."

[mdwatchestv]

The Magicians 3x10 + 3x11: What Even Are the Rules

Hi, I know, I know I missed a week. It was too late to watch ten, and then eleven was out, and then we just entered total despair free fall. Now here I am Tuesday trying to pick up all the pieces and figure out how I'm going to fit two plot-busting episodes into one reasonably lengthed missive. But I will take up this quest with all the misguided dedication of Beast!Quentin. These episodes were very different in style but Julia's storyline took center stage in both of them, which means maybe I was right to group them together and everything's going to be okay.

We go into 3x10 with only TWO keys left to find and four episodes to find them in, sounds pretty achievable! Q and his current sidekicks, Alice and Josh, learn the next key is in the throne room at Fillory, hey we know where that is! But this retrieval task is made more complicated by the recent overthrow of Eliot and Margo. Our royal pair have taken up residence on their new friend the Muntjac, who can now take to the skies! Also the Muntjac must have a fabulous wardrobe because that Margo's magenta corset and Eliot's sparkly muumuu (?) were to die (Wed morning edit: these outfits were in 3x11 but I was really excited to talk about them) . Q and co somehow hike through Fillory, get all the goss, and then board the ship in the sky. This all happens off screen so I guess we’re not supposed to worry about it. They conveniently deliver the plot point that Fillory is at war with Loria and the Stone Kingdom, due to the violent incompetency of Tick Dick Pickwick. Eliot and Margo springing into action to figure out how to save their kingdom was a nice character moment for them, and marked how far the two have come. While the rest of the Children of Earth are technically also Kings and Queens, they have mostly been vanity titles. Margo and Eliot meanwhile have taken responsibility for something bigger than themselves (for the first time really), and now are showing a selfless devotion to it, which is a pleasing arc for their characters. Anyway they are still Margo and Eliot so they defend Fillory the only ways they know how: with lies, threats and sex. God bless them.

While Josh, Quentin and Alice solve a Zelda puzzle in the Fillory throne room, Quentin finally confronts Alice on why she's suddenly so invested in their quest. Alice reveals she is working for the Library, who also has a vested interest in seeing magic restored. This makes sense because as we learned previously the Library's magic is being fueled by ground up fairy bones! A grim and non-renewable resource. However the Library is also shady af so Q is right to be suspish of Alice (who is shady in general). Anyway the key isn't there, and the quest is a bust.

Meanwhile in the real world, Julia is still on her mission to save the enslaved fairies, and Fen has just discovered emojis. Julia entreats the Fairy Queen to come with her and help free her kinfolk, but it’s Fen's passionate plea that finally sways the Queen into coming. We learn that fairies used to live freely on Earth until Magicians killed them all for their delicious bones. Typical. Julia's plan is to present the Fairy Queen as a slave (complete with Death Necklace), in order to get her to her people and free them. However this plan is complicated by the fact there is no way to remove the necklaces except via beheading. And since the Jaime Ray Newman family has received a large order for fairy bone (likely from The Library that just lost much of their supply), heads are gonna ROLL. Our heroines discover the fairies are held captive by a fairy deal brokered by Dust, who long ago made the ultimate sacrifice in order to allow the OG Fairy Queen (our FQ's mama) to escape Earth. Our current Queen decides to break this deal,  freeing her people, and brutally slaughtering the Newman's (except for Jaime Ray who escapes).

The Fairy Queen laments to Julia that now the fairy's deals will mean nothing since one was broken, but I was a bit confused by this as how is anyone going to know? Like yeah they broke one deal, but pretty much all the humans aware of that are dead, and unless Jaime Ray is writing a breaking news story for The Fillorian Times, I don't really see the ish. Queenie also tells Julia that the fairies have a Quest Key, but it's sort of being used to prop up the whole Fairy World so no one can have it. I feel like our crafty Magicians are going to find a way to get it though, probably by integrating fairies back onto Earth or Fillory-at-large. What's for sure is that this side quest has muddied the morality waters when it comes to the fairy species. Rather than being cut-and-dry baddies, they are victims of greedy humans and they just want to find a home of their own. I foresee a tentative truce with the reinstated rulers of Fillory in our future. Also many Margo scowls. 

Gah so much happened in this episode (as in all episodes) but there was one more important thing! Penny has been sulkily shelving away down in the Underworld library (I guess Kady has gone to look for him tho? She was conspicuously absent from these two eps) and attempting to find a way out. He does con a dead guy into giving him his Metro Card to the pig that takes you out of the Underworld and presumably to Heaven or Hell (what even IS The Magicians), but before he can use it he is pulled aside for a come to Jesus talk by Hades! Hades is the second Greek/Roman inspired god we have met this season (the first being Bacchus), and he is here to keep it real with Penny. He essentially tells Penny that if Penny stays in the Underworld, he will have a much more glorious destiny than if he returns to his sucky friends on the surface. Penny seems to take this advice to heart as he joins the local Library book club, and dessert-fancier group. As the season has gone on, and Julia's powers have ramped up, the mention of gods, the god-touched, and the appearance of gods themselves has been steadily increasing. I feel like in the quest for magic, Hades will not be the last mythological face we see.

OKAY NEXT EPISODE. IF YOU WERE SKIPPING 3x10 HERE BEGINNITH 3x11.

A lot of wild stuff went down in 3x10, but 3x11 was another helping of full on Magicians crazy-time. Once again Julia and Josh (of all people) are the central characters, which is refreshing seeing as how they haven't received a lot of lead story time ESPECIALLY not as a couple (Julia/Josh, pick your shipper name). This episode these two new best friends take a journey into the wild unknown, aka the 23rd Magicians timeline! In season one it was established that there are (at least) 40 timelines in the world of the show (due to a time loop created by...too boring, you remember). This is both insane and totally genius as it is a built in way for the show to bounce into a completely new world, with alternate storylines, whenever it wants. Characters can die, hook-up, become werewolves, anything is possible!  As is the case here when 23 Josh (aka Dick Josh) pulls regular Josh and Julia into their timeline. Here, 23's Beast is essentially immortal and powered by a KEY. The J's decide to pull their weight for once and go after the 7th key on their own, consequences be damned!

As we learned from Season 2 when 23 Alice was summoned into timeline 40, 23 is a pretty f'd up universe. Mostly all of our beloved character's have been brutally killed, and the Beast rules unchallenged. However there is one thing that 23 has that’s worth all of these tragedies and that is KACEY ROHL!!!! My beautiful hedge witch queen lives on in timeline 23! She is just as goth, brash, bitchy, and perfect as I remember. Sure she is missing her signature power pony, but I will survive. She has teamed up with Dick Josh (who has Lasik, a cool jacket, and also werewolf herpes) in a last ditch effort to take out the Beast. Julia and Josh also run into in-love-with-Julia Penny, and GHOST MARGO AND ELIOT. Although one of the strengths of the Magicians is the unexpected fun and character building that comes from different pairings (Josh/Julia, Julia/Fen, Quentin/Penny, etc) there is one couple that should and shall never be parted. Even in bloody horrible death this gruesome twosome shall not be struck from each other's side. I loved the ultimate horror of Eliot being responsible for Margo's hideous death, truly scary! Also half-a-face Margo is still absolutely sickening. Cocks indeed.

However the biggest twist in this world is that their Beast is no longer Martin Chatwin, but Quentin! And to be honest, a much, much hotter Quentin. No one else thirsty for soulless Beast!Q? Honestly seeing him cut down Alice mid-whine was...extremely satisfying. But how did this happen? Well in Season 2 after 23 Alice was brought briefly to talk with 40 Q, she became obsessed with seeing her Q again. She even sold her soul in order to bring him back to life, albeit shadeless. Yes shadeless Beast Quentin is a ruthless, violent, killer, but goshdarnit he's a pretty fun time. Julia cleverly defeats him by lending him her shade, and once Q is back in possession of the full gamut of his shame, guilt, anxiety, and depression, it is but a matter of moments before he kills himself. Cheery. Anyway Julia takes the key and uses it to return her and Josh to their own timeline. But on top of their return 23 Penny and Marina ALSO go through to timeline 40. Historically in fiction timeline mixing is almost always a terrible idea, but Kacey Rohl back in our lives is worth the risk. Also we are entering a sort of Midsummer Night's Dream world here where there are two Penny's, one who is alive and loves Julia, and one who is dead-ish and loves Kady. Cray!

Misc thoughts from the episode:

I am really not getting the Dean Fogg storyline, it kind of feels like they don't know what to do with this character anymore. He's not even a comic relief as his addiction storylines feel more sad than wry. If there is nothing else to be done with this character, I think time to let him loose.

Also what is the 'Quickening'? 23 Josh had become a dick and isolated himself because he was in fear of the 'Quickening' which would kill all those around him. I assumed he was referring to turning into a werewolf (via the herpes), but it seems like this is something that could happen to regular Josh too? I kept up with a LOT this episode, but this aspect escaped me. If you have a clearer understanding, holla at cha girl.

Only two more episodes and ONE more unattainable fairy key to go!

In Kacey Rohl we trust, MD

[calamity-writes]

Glory & Gore - 02

[ part 1 ]

After a week on the ship with only limited exercise, Rahlen's whole body ached. When they'd marched the 'cargo' above decks and onto the docks, Rahlen's bad leg had flared in such a knot that he'd nearly fallen onto Hanin. He hadn't been the only one struggling, the prince had realised.

One of the Avaar men fainted in the heat mid-march through the city. His tribesmen were made to carry the unconscious man until the lot of them arrived at the main city square. A wooden platform was erected along one side of the square, while stalls selling food, clothing and more filled much of the remainder. A crowd of well dressed Tevinter men and women waited by the platform, many with servants fanning them to keep cool in the oppressive heat. 

Rahlen found himself wishing that his education on Tevinter went beyond the First Enchanter's contempt for magisters, and included geographical study so he could figure out where the hell he was. Rahlen squinted up at the bright-stone buildings around him, but something deep in his gut kept pulling his attention to the wooden platform the slavers were leading them towards.

It was a permanent fixture. In Ferelden, Orlais, this might have been a stage for travelling plays, or musicians come to entertain for solstice. Here...

It was a slave market, and the platform where slaves were auctioned off... was permanent. Rahlen felt a little ill at the realisation. There were elves in the crowd, but each wore a collar. Some gilded, some battered and heavy, but every elf in the Square was a slave.

"Take the Princeling elf and the Ferelden giant off the line," the Templar slaver said. Favus, the man's name was Favus. Rahlen had listened and learned quite a bit on the travel to here. Wherever here was. "Master Polonius has a special buyer for those two. Sell the rest as usual."

Surprised, but wary, Rahlen glanced over at the 'princeling elf'. Hanin had grown quiet over the last week, but it was a seething sort of quiet. Anger was good, it would keep the elf from giving up. And who knew, maybe the Inquisition was already riding north on Tevinter to find the heir. Maybe the Hero of Ferelden was calling on Grey Warden allies to find where her own son had disappeared to.

That sick feeling returned as Rahlen watched a guard undo Rahlen's shackles from the line of chain. Who was riding to Fenlin's rescue? Was she just gone? Disappeared into Tevinter like any of the Imperium's countless elven slaves? That wasn't right. It wasn't fair, that she'd saved his life, brought him somewhere that was supposed to be safe, and now because of him, she was somewhere in this Maker-forsaken place. Who knew if he'd be able to find her again?

But he had to. She'd saved him, he wasn't about to abandon her when she needed help in return.

"Follow me," one of the guards said. The other stood behind them, sword drawn. Rahlen nodded. He glanced at Hanin, trying to warn the elf not to try anything. As much as Rahlen wanted to break free of the Maker damned shackles and make a run for it, his leg would hardly let him do so. Better to wait, find a more opportune-

"Magister Bastards," Hanin leapt at the nearest guard, fingers glowing with the start of a spell. Rahlen winced as a clap of thunder and flash of bright light lit up Hanin's Collar. The elf fell to the cobblestone ground, his entire body flexed tight as the collar delivered it's painful shock.

"Had enough, slave?" the guard Hanin had leapt at sneered. "Get on your feet, if you can't walk, Master Polonius sees no reason to keep you and you'll get sold to the cheap fleshhouses."

The collar spat a last few sparks before it returned to it's dormant state. Rahlen held his palms up to the guard when the Tevinter man's gaze swung to him. They'd enchanted the collars then, to discharge an electric shock when the wearer tried to cast a spell. Good information to know, even if it was at Hanin's expense.

"Fuck you," Hanin spat, voice hoarse. The crowd glanced over, but already some were back to bidding on the Avaar. As though this scene was routine, not even worth a second glance.

"C'mon, let's just go see what this Polonius wants. Hopefully it's to apologize and give us access to a bath and a razor." Rahlen held out a hand to Hanin, trying not to think about how itchy his chin was. He had a week's worth of growth on his face. It was... itchy.

"Listen to your friend, elf," the guard said. "This is better than you deserve." 

Rahlen helped Hanin back to his feet, and brushed off some pebbles that had stuck to his shoulder. 

"Maybe we should do what they say?" Rahlen said, the look he gave the elf was pointed. Later, they could figure a way to undo the collars, and get away. But Right now, neither of them was in shape to put up a fight.

**

Fenlin doubled over, resting her fists against her thighs. In each hand was a dagger, blades weighted wood to build up strength. Across from her, the trainer Polonius had brought her to, sneered down at her. Tall, muscular, the Tevene woman stood at least half a foot taller than the elf did.

"What do you think, Cresca?" Polonius asked, standing in the shade, sipping on a glass of wine. 

"I think your fondness for knife ears is showing," the woman said. "But this one does know how to fight," she added reluctantly. "Though it is clear she has not had to for some time. Not successfully, at any rate." The woman looked pointedly at the scar along Fen's side, bared in the... excuse of an outfit that Polonius had given her. Mostly straps and cloth, it bared her entire torso, offering only 'strategic' hardened leather as bracers and greaves. They'd also stuck one of those damn orlesian masques on her. It only covered the top half of her face, but it made the heat worse.

"Do you think she'll be ready in time for the festival next week? I would love to have something unique to show the crowd, and perhaps impress the visiting Houses."

Fenlin listened, but kept her eyes on the woman, in case she came at her again with that damn sword and shield. 

"That's in less than a week," Cresca said, turning to look at Polonius with a frown. 

"It is, but I have some motivation arriving shortly," Polonius said. "Her friends. One needs healing before we can begin training and the other might not be suited for anything other than dying, but if she fails to impress at the festival, I'll sell both to the Seheron front."

Fenlin finally looked directly at Polonius, eyes widening. Even she knew what Seheron was. The main battleground between the Qun and Tevinter. Although smaller fronts had opened over the years, the main force, and the main bloodshed was on that blasted island.

Fenlin shook her head firmly. She straightened and tapped her fist against her chest. She would do everything she could to keep the prince and heir alive. She had somehow risked Rahlen again, failed in stopping them from being caught. It was her fault they were here, and she would find a way to get them all out. She just needed to keep them, and herself, alive.

"Fine," Cresca said, scowling. "Come at me again girl, and see if you can't actually score a hit this time."

**

Athim sat among the other gladiators in the shaded mess area, watching two humans argue about which had a better chance of fighting as the headliner in the coming festival against Athim. If he had to pick, it would have been the lighter one, slightly smaller, faster, but the crowd liked the larger one's showmanship. It would be up to Polonius and the trainers to decide.

Speaking of training, Athim sighed and leaned back against the cool limestone wall, peering at the hedge that hid his view of the main practice yard. He'd much rather be out there, practicing, but Polonius had kicked them out for the newest arrival's assessment and initial training.  

"I bet it's a Qunari, one of them Tal Vashoth," a Rivani corsair said between bites of bread. Mute, don't speak to no one." 

Rumours had started running wild when the gladiators realised that the only voices heard were Cresca's and Polonius's. The new slave, whoever they were, hadn't made a single sound. No shouting, no arguing, no grumts of pain.

"Nah, it's a golem. Control rods keep the things from talking," one of the dwarves said. The other one glared at the first, then shook her head. 

"You'd have felt the golem coming you idiot," she said. "They shake the ground when they walk."

"Oh, righ-"

The iron door to the barracks opened with a clang. Two guards dragged a struggling elf through the doorway and threw him to the ground. he'd been dressed in the same linen trousers they all wore, though his hair had been left longer than the other gladiators'. 

Athim watched as the elf shoved himself up to his feet, and tried to jump towards the guards. He received the butt of a spear to his abdomen for his attempt, and the clang of the door as the guards retreated behind it, back into the barracks.

"Not a Qunari," the Rivani said sadly. "Damnit."

Athim stood, brushing sand from his hands, and walked over to greet the new comer who was now pounding a fist on the door.

"You'll get bored of that pretty quick," Athim said, crossing his arms and leaning one shoulder against the doorjamb. "There's not much point."

The white haired elf, skin pink and angry from Tevinter's harsh sun, looked at him, blue eyes swollen and red. 

"They don't know who I am!" he said, teeth bared. "They're treating me like some kind of-"

"Slave?" Athim said with a wink. "Because you are mate, we all are." He gestured at the rest of the gladiators in the mess.  "But we're a bit luckier than the run of the mill slaves, I guess."

"I'm not a slave," Hanin said, scowling. "I'm the son of the Inquisitor."

"I'm the hero of Ferelden!" piped up one of the dwarves. 

"Aye, I'm th' prince of Starkhaven himself," the Rivani added, and the gladiators burst into laughter. 

"They don't care," Athim said, patting the elf on the shoulder kindly. "I'm Athim. Do you have an actual name? Or just go by 'the son of the inquisitor'?" 

"Hanin," the man said with a wince as Athim patted his sunburn. "Just... Hanin. I came here with another man, Rahlen, but he's hurt. They are'nt going to..." he trailed off.

Aw, Athim thought. He'd come with his lover. That was sweet.

"No, Polonius patches us up pretty well, he prefers to have us in fighting form. If your man was hurt, the Master's probably patching him up before he starts training."

Hanin looked around at the others, possibly for the first time.

"Training for what?" He asked. 

"Fighting," Athim said with a grin. "You're at a Gladiator school. Of course, you don't get to graduate, you either win enough to earn freedom or you die, but," he shrugged.

"A-" Hanin said, staring at Athim. "You die?"

"Not him," the Rivani said, walking over and clapping a hand on Athim's shoulder. "He's the star. Vints love them some elf. You, if you can fight, maybe you'll be the one to kill him, yeah?" the corsair grinned, showing off a few 'golden' teeth. 

"I know how to fight," Hanin said, squaring his shoulders. 

"Which is why you lost a fight against two guards just now, right?" Athim said with a dry laugh. "Come on, you should eat, and drink. Training's going to start this evening. Maybe your friend will be healed by then."

[jillsreviews]

Do you write crime fiction?  If so are you looking for a publisher?

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What their Authors’ are saying:

Charlie Gallagher

I wrote three books over a period of five years and made numerous approaches to literary agents. I lost count of the rejections and then gave up as I realised it was actually damaging my writing. I would get a rejection and it would hit so hard that I would stop writing, sometimes for months on end. But I would always come back to it. I knew I loved it and I decided to go down the self-publishing route. I was just a few months into this when I received a call from Joffe Books who had gotten hold of my third book by nothing more than a fluke.

I met with Jasper Joffe personally. The benefit of being UK based and forty minutes from London. My message was very clear – I just want to be read and I want to get better. Jasper and Joffe Books as a whole really clicked into this and our working relationship has been excellent from the off. Together we totally revised the three books and they are now the first three books of the Langthorne Series. I would only ever work with someone who is as passionate about my work as I am. I think this is a real rarity, but I have found it with Joffe. My day job is shift work, it’s not unusual for me to email Joffe late at night or even the early hours with updates, edits or questions. And it’s not unusual either for Joffe to reply straight away! I look forward to continuing to work with Joffe.

Michael Hambling

I’ve found Joffe Books to be very supportive of my writing. The advice on editing has been great, and the company has reacted positively to any concerns I’ve had about their decisions. I’ve had absolutely no regrets about signing up with them; they are a very forward looking organisation, responsive to both the market and to the needs of their authors. Jasper Joffe is a very sincere person who wants to best for his authors. I didn’t hesitate when it came to re-signing my contract recently.

 Gretta Mulrooney

I started writing crime novels after publishing literary fiction. I submitted a manuscript to Joffe Books and had a quick and straightforward response from Jasper. I have now had three crime fiction novels published by Joffe Books featuring private investigator Tyrone Swift, with the fourth, Watching You, due out now. Joffe Books has also re published three of my literary fiction novels. I find Jasper and his colleagues highly supportive, encouraging, responsive and friendly. Communication is easy and direct and I have been consulted at every stage about editing and book covers. They have worked with me on manuscripts to tighten plot, increase the pace of a novel and to iron out glitches. Jasper is also patient and helpful when I need his IT skills. I get regular feedback about sales and response to my books. I know that Joffe Books is growing and it deserves every success as a publishing house.

Stewart Giles

When I was contacted by Joffe Books earlier in the year, I had mixed emotions. After spending years talking to agents and publishers to no avail I was now the one being approached. I was delighted. On the other hand, I’d had dealings before with what I call ‘The dark side’ of the publishing world – not mentioning any names – and in the past the initial bubble of elation had always been burst when I realised the sole intention of this ‘dark side’ was to exploit the dreams of writers. Joffe Books immediately restored my faith in the industry. Luckily, I had the finished manuscript of ‘The Beekeeper’ and I promptly sent it off, soon to learn that it was far from finished. Roughly two months later, we had a finished book we could be proud of. Working with Jasper and his team at Joffe Books has taught me so much in such a short space of time. Their patience and tolerance of my rather out-of-date tech skills, as well as their aftermarket support has been unbelievable. I’m proud to be associated with such an amazing publishing house and I would recommend them to anyone with a book they want the world to read.

JOY ELLIS

There are some decisions that you make in life, that feel right from the word go. When Jasper Joffe rang me and we discussed the possibilities of working together, I knew immediately that was what I wanted to do. I trusted him, loved his undeniable passion and talent for publishing, and frankly wanted to work my socks off to make a success of things. The last year,( almost!) has been a roller-coaster, and Jasper and his staff have been there every step of the way, freely offering expertise and encouragement. I have struggled for the past seventeen years to find a place as a crime writer, and now, since becoming one of Jasper Joffe’s authors, I can quite honestly say, ad astra per ardua.  And a big Thank You, Jasper.

JOY ELLIS

UK #1 Best Seller with THEIR LOST DAUGHTERS

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“I was born in Kent but spent most of my working life in London and Surrey. I was an apprentice florist to Constance Spry Ltd, a prestigious Mayfair shop that throughout the sixties and seventies teemed with both royalty and ‘real’ celebrities. What an eye-opener for a working-class kid from the Garden of England! I swore then, probably whilst I was scrubbing the floor or making the tea, that I would have a shop of my own one day. It took until the early eighties, but I did it. Sadly the recession wiped us out, and I embarked on a series of weird and wonderful jobs; the last one being a bookshop manager. Surrounded by books all day, getting to order whatever you liked, and being paid for it! Oh bliss!

And now I live in a village in the Lincolnshire Fens with my partner, Jacqueline, and our two second generation Springer spaniels. I had been writing mysteries for years but never had the time to take it seriously. Now I can, and as my partner is a highly decorated retired police officer; my choice of genre was suddenly clear. I have set my crime thrillers here in the misty fens because I sincerely love the remoteness and airy beauty of the marshlands. This area is steeped in superstitions and lends itself so well to murder!”

Helen Durrant

“My books would never have enjoyed the success they have without Joffe Books. They do an excellent job from start to finish. The editing, book covers, marketing and finally, the liberal sprinkling of ‘fairy dust’ Jasper sprinkles over the final product.” – Helen

HELEN H. DURRANT

OVER 250,00 books sold of her Calladine & Bayliss and DI Greco Series

I’m one of the ‘baby boomer’ generation. I was born in Edinburgh to an English father and Scottish mother. My father was from the North West of England and this was where the family settled.

I know the area well, both the good and the bad, and so I set my books here. Sitting between two counties, Lancashire and Yorkshire, and between the city and the hills, it offers a rich mix of the industrial and the countryside and all the character therein. I always planned to write crime novels — to create the characters in my books. Since my retirement from a busy teaching job in FE, this is what I’ve done — almost to exclusion of anything else!

I have a grown-up family and five grandchildren. They see me as something of an eccentric — always on my laptop writing away. Writing is something of a second career and, despite having a bus pass, keeps me busy, young and tuned in the world as it currently is.

Twitter @hhdurrant

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  JOFFE BOOKS – What their authors are saying. Do you write crime fiction?  If so are you looking for a publisher?