#future installments will have more tickling

[ma1dita]

a wish your heart makes

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 1.4k

summary: (established relationship) The one where you share dreams, burn cookies, and it still reminds him of home. You try to do something nice for your boyfriend and everything goes wrong, or so you think. Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader

a/n: I thought about May Castellan, alone in her kitchen, baking cookies and making sandwiches for a son who would never come ho—OH FUCK OFF, UNCLE RICK. sidenote this haunted me.

(posted 1/26/24 unbetad)

—

Luke’s dreams were always different from yours. 

Both when he’s awake and holding your hand up until sleep finally rips him away from your earthly embrace, he’s always been certain of who he was and what he wants to achieve. To be a hero providing salvation for the needy, to be a half-blood son worth the love of a god, and to be a fierce soldier, leading his troop into battle for glory. These are the thoughts he routinely pounds into his brain, so much so that anyone who knows him knows of his aspirations.

You don’t think you’ve ever met anyone so insistent on wanting to be remembered. Luke wants to leave a legacy worth dying for, worth talking about for millenia to come. And your boy persists, despite the trials of life, the ignorance of his father, and the strings of the Fates.

Your dreams, however, were always much simpler. 

Cuddled under your covers and brushing your lips against Luke’s forehead to quell the growing unease that occupies his brain, you whisper what you deeply wish for.

“We’re getting old,” you mumble, and the breath of his laugh tickles your ear. He lazily runs his nose against the slope of your collarbone, sighing when he finally hears the steady beat of your chest, “We’ve definitely surpassed the average life expectancy of a typical demigod. Look at us…” he jests.

Your breath jumps in amusement as you feel his lips against your sternum, and then your boyfriend is smiling against your heart, using you for comfort as you both pass the time waiting for Hypnos to come calling.

“In a year, we’ll be nineteen…And I know you never wanted to stay here forever, so… What’s next?”

You hold in a bated breath, always unsure of where to place yourself in rank of his priorities. Who were you if not his biggest supporter?

Luke contemplates for a moment in the silence of your bedroom. It’s much easier to think and have more adult… conversations… without the many meddling children of cabin 11 always asking for one more lullaby, one more glass of water, and one more tuck-in goodnight. Here in the privacy of your room, he gets to be a boy void of his responsibilities besides hiding under his girlfriend’s duvet, giving her another shirt of his to wear, and kissing her until Apollo’s rays of light gently help you wake.

“You tell me, Trouble. What does the future have in store for us?”

Us.

He’s sweet to indulge in your fantasies like this, and you stroke your fingers through his curls as you speak, ‘I think it’d be nice to go to college. Made it this far, so maybe being normal won’t be so hard…”

A soft noise leaves his throat, urging you to continue as you bite your lip and smile.

“Maybe someday, we could get a house. One on top of a hill. I don’t need much, something like the Big House, but one we can call home.”

You can feel the teeth of his sleepy grin against your skin as he whispers the next words into your heart.

“We could do that. House with big bay windows, and the smell of my mom’s chocolate chip cookies in the air. Sounds nice, baby.”

And it does.

Luke’s eyes flutter shut shortly after, but your mind is awake with how to make the dream you now share a reality. Perhaps you couldn’t give him glory, or pray hard enough to Hermes so that he’d talk to his son, but you reckon that chocolate chip cookies would be easy enough. 

—

At least, it was supposed to be—until you set off the smoke alarm again.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” 

Clouds of grey are billowing from the communal kitchen oven after your multiple attempts of trying to get this right. The dryads had both partially given up on the havoc you wrecked upon their workspace as well as your increasing frustration towards them. It wasn’t their fault, you knew that—but as a perfectionist who followed the recipe to a t, how was it possible that everything was still going wrong? The first batch, you got too excited and mixed all the ingredients together, making them lumpy and inconsistent. The second batch was over-creamed, and you had to scrape them off the tray, and with this one… well you had the oven setting on a bit too high.

You sigh deeply, pressing the palms of your hands into your eyes as you try to will away the mania creeping up your neck. Being the daughter of the god of insanity was hard, having to consistently control your emotions for the sake of others. Taking a shaky breath, you stare blankly at the darkened cookies, close to being burned to a crisp. The jingle of the windchime against the door rings across the room and you barely hear it until you feel Luke’s hands skate past your waist to go open a window.

“What’d you get into now, Trouble? Been looking for you,” he says, coughing lightly from the smoke.

You groan, trying to cover the mess behind you on the counter and accidentally catching your arm on the hot tray, making you flinch.

“Ow! Ugh, babe, you’re not supposed to be here yet! I thought you were still sparring…”

Your boyfriend approaches you, squeezing your arm to examine if you’ve gotten hurt and tugging you towards him.

“That was an hour ago—how long have you been here, baby?” Luke pulls you into his arms, placing a kiss on your warm wrist, instantly soothing your anxiety until you see his eyes meet your latest failure.

“You bake now?”

“Clearly not, Luke, I’m sorry…I tried but I kept getting it wrong and then I got mad at myself for fucking up something so…” your voice weakens, tears welling in your eyes again thinking you’ve disappointed him.

Luke steps away from you and towards the kitchen counter, warm cookies browned to a crisp. He reaches out to pick one up before you can stop him, crunching down on it, the bittersweet taste filling his mouth as he sniffs.

Just like his mother would make them, through her madness and all.

He’s transported back to a memory of a house with big bay windows, kind of like the one you two dreamt up last night, but he’s nine and sitting at the kitchen table drinking Kool-Aid while his mom makes peanut butter sandwiches. May Castellan forgets the cookies in the oven again, and for a moment, Luke forgets that the last time he saw his mother was a lifetime ago. 

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until he feels your fingertips brushing away the saltwater from his cheeks.

“Didn’t mean to make you cry, angelface, I’m sorry…” you mumble, but stop speaking when you see him take another bite.

“They’re great.”

“What?”

He chomps on another singed cookie, his lips quirking into a soft smile. Luke’s not going to let you throw the rest of this batch out. Chuckling weakly, he lifts you onto the kitchen counter as he slots himself between your legs, rough hands patting your thighs.

“Well, they’re not great. But they’re perfect. Just the way I remember them,” he smiles, kissing the furrow in your brow. You don’t bother trying to comprehend his statement, happy that you didn’t mess up a memory he holds dear. 

Luke wonders if maybe he’s been blessed by his father after all, to have such extreme luck to exist at the same time as you. He doesn’t answer to the gods, to fate, but he does answer when you call his name, and settles into your arms. Love is an action after all, uncontained by just words, and he knows you tried your best, which makes it more than enough.

“She would’ve loved you, I’m sure of it,” he says rubbing his nose against yours before you can interject again, “I love you, so I know she would’ve too.”

Luke presses a tender kiss against the palm that caresses his jaw, before meeting you in the middle and finding your lips. It’s a dance you two have memorized, sweet and breathless as you meld both of your grins together. To him, you taste like chocolate chips and feel like home.

“I love you too, angelface. Almost burned the kitchen down for you,” your chuckle is cut off when he goes to press against your pout again hungrily, tracing patterns against the soft skin of your thighs as he just eats you up. The sound of your moans escapes between kisses as you wind your legs around his waist and it dampens the sound of the kitchen timer when it goes off. 

(You forcibly have to detach from Luke’s embrace, much to his displeasure so that you don’t burn the next batch too.)

—

"Your name is humming inside my chest. I think this is what it means to love. I think this is what it means to be living." -Emma Bleker

ask to be added to general/luke taglists!

luke taglist (some won't let me tag, turn on my post notifs?): @kissingyourgrl @dorcas4meadowes @lorarri @andrewgarfldsgf @noodlesketchbook @10ava01 @poppysrin @ashisabitgay @timhalamet @liv1104 @leeknows-wife @mxtokko @bugcuti3 @luvvfromme @midmourn @2hiigh2cry @yuminako @niktwazny303 @lukecastellandefender @intergalactic-padawan @iliketopgun @annybah @dangelnleif @thegrinningghost @alyssajunelle @obxstiles @m00ng4z3r @visndcaitswhore @b0ok-lover @elegant-face-tree @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @amortencjja @idonevenknow1359 @maliaaaa @targaryenluvs @sakyira @dhdjdjjdhsjdiri @number-onekidqueen @nininehaaa @bradynoonswife @stevenknightmarc @hoodedhavok @happy-mushrooms @homebyeleven @anotherblackreader @too-deviant @liviessun @lilacspider @theadventuresofanartist @sucker4seresin @simpforsunwoo @zanzie @starrystormwritings

[ramp-it-up]

II Most Wanted Part 6: Came Out of Nowhere

Pairing: Syverson x OFC Reader "Buttercup"

Summary: Will it be church, or another kind of worship this Sunday morning? 😏

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. RPF. S MUT, SINNING ON A SUNDAY MORNING, some Fluff, a tiny bit of Angst, talk of being physically uncomfortable after vigorous sex, voice/dirty talk kink. Thigh riding, nipple play, manual sex, squirting, oral sex (female recieving), fine dining, anal play, talk of anal sex, size kink, slight choking, graphic depiciton of sex. This was meant to be a drabble but it got away from me. This gets nastyyyy. And I'm proud of it. :) Happy Mother's Day for all of those who care for another human. 😘

Read at your own risk.  Not Beta’d. All errors my own.

A/N:  This is the sixth installment of II Most Wanted. I'm in love with these two; they are bringing my writer heart back to life. If you like it, please reblog and comment.

I don't have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

Previous part here

----------

Sy woke up the next morning, elated that you were warming the bed next to him. Your hair had come out of the towel and was an unruly halo around your head; he had to be sure to get some satin pillowcases, he thought.

He smiled as he gazed at you, excited about his dreams of you coming back to him after this weekend. Sy’s heart was hopeful.

Last night you’d said you wanted to spend the night with him, and the way you smiled at him as you drifted off to sleep, after telling him that he’d ruined you, was like a gift from heaven. Truth was, you’d ruined him, the way your screams echoed off the walls of his house. He was addicted to that sound.

And he wanted to hear it for the rest of his life. 

Sy must have stared at you sleeping for over an hour after the sun rose. As much as he wanted you to profess your undying love for him, he didn’t want to pressure you. He wanted you to be his of your own free will, not out of any obligation, but couldn’t keep his hands off you, and he couldn’t keep his mind from making plans for the future.

He knew he was chipping away at the wall around your heart, but he didn’t have much time left.  There had been a lot of water under the bridge, and you had to be sure that you wanted to cross it. 

He’d waited 20 years, he could wait a little longer. He had hope. 

He concentrated on enjoying the moment. You were tangled up in the sheets, no makeup, hair disheveled, and more beautiful than ever. 

“You’re a creep, you know that?”

Your sleepy voice did things to him.

“How’s that, darlin’?”

Sy gathered you in his arms as you turned around and stretched, poking your ass toward him and your breasts out as you yawned.

“Watching me sleep. Probably listening to my snores and watching me drool. Creep behavior. Hahahaha, stopppp!”

You giggled as Sy tickled you lightly on your bare stomach. You turned around and punched him on the shoulder. But you were smiling a mile wide.

“It was a beautiful sight. Almost as beautiful as you in the shower, or you bent over for me, or the way your pussy—”

“Speaking of God.” 

You cut Sy off and he laughed.

“We gotta get up. I have to go get my church clothes.”

Sy groaned, pulled you close and started kissing your neck.

“You’re playing around now, Buttercup. We could stay in bed all day, I can eat, then make you breakfast…”

You squirmed in his grip, enjoying his hands on you.

“You’re the one that’s playing, Sy.”

Sy’s eyes came back up and his eyebrow arched as he slowly slid down your body.

“You’ve broken my box, Jacob.”

Sy stopped what he was doing.

“Not the government name. Okay. You must be serious.” 

He came back up to look into your eyes.

“Are you okay?”

The last thing he wanted to do was to hurt you.

You looked him in the eye. His care and consideration was the sexiest thing. You wanted him. You needed him.

“I’m more than okay, Sy. This weekend has been… I’m good.”

Sy kissed your lips tenderly and suddenly you felt like a china doll that wanted to be broken. But now you just had a view of Sy’s muscular back and was as he went into his closet and came back out with gray sweatpants slung low on his hips.

You bit your lip but Sy just smirked at you and said, “Let’s get a move on.”

—---

Sy was a gentleman and made you eggs and coffee, refraining from doing anything more to you than kiss you on the cheek. It was driving you crazy, making you only want him more. But you couldn’t go back on what you said. The looks, though.

The looks you and Sy exchanged as you drove back to your air bnb were enough to set the world on fire. You had a new plan for the morning as you pulled up to your place.

Sy relaxed in one of the armchairs in the small bungalow as you busied yourself with getting ready, and after you’d finally tamed your hair and walked out of the bathroom to put on your jewelry and finish getting ready, Sy raised his eyebrow when he saw you. He watched you closely as you sauntered over to the closet in front of him and gave him the back of you as you leaned over to put on your black strappy heels from the other night.

You straightened up and turned, giving him your profile as you smoothed the dress down and looked in the mirror. Sy noticed that you were still glistening from the body oil you’d just applied, and your black jersey shirtdress wasn’t buttoned all the way up. He could clearly see some side boob. The way the dress was clinging to your ass made him question if you were wearing panties, since you clearly weren’t wearing a bra. 

Sy remained silent as he took you in. He was perfectly content to pray at the altar of you today, his goddess. If you really did intend on going to church, God might just strike him dead for the thoughts he’d be thinking.

When you glanced at him in the mirror and did a double take as you put on your earrings, he knew he had you. He stared at you and licked his lips, silently telegraphing his intent.

Your almost imperceptible sigh told him everything he needed to know.

Sy inclined his head and you walked over to him. You stood between his outstretched khaki covered legs as he lounged in the armchair in the combined living/sleeping area of the small rental. His long arms allowed him to grab the back of your knee and pull you to him as he slid his hand up your thigh.

His gruff voice shook your soul.

“The way you look in that dress is causing some unholy thoughts, Buttercup. Don’t know how we’re gonna make it to church.”

You smiled down at Sy, a strange feeling snaking around your heart. You smiled wider as you realized it. Yes. He was yours. And you wanted it to be so.

Your eyes flicked down to his crotch.

“What? Can’t keep it in your pants for a couple of hours Sy? It’s for a good cause.”

Sy palmed the ridge of his cloth covered cock and stared up at you adoringly.

“I just want to worship you, darlin.’”

He ran his hand up the backs of your thighs as you suppressed a smile. His eyebrow arched again as he reached your unclothed ass. He palmed your bottom in his hands as he pressed his nose into your crotch.

The way he looked up at you was everything, and you ran your hand through his curls, messing it up from its carefully arranged state.

Sy stood up, and you put your arms around his shoulders because you were weak in the knees.

“Changed my mind, Sy. Want you to ruin me some more…”

You breathed it into his mouth as he watched your lips form the words. And that was all that he needed before he pressed his body into yours and slid his fingers into your freshly coiffed hair.

“I can’t resist you, Buttercup. And I’d much rather spend time inside you than inside a stuffy building full of hypocrites. The sacrament is between me and you.”

Your lips met in a practiced dance and your tongues spoke things without words. Your hands were underneath his polo, teasing his nipples that you knew were sensitive and Sy pulled away to bring it over his head, grabbing the belt of your dress as you took it in your hands. He gathered you toward him by it and slipped his hand into your cleavage, weighing your breast and rolling the hard nipple in his fingers.

“Every part of you is so beautiful, Buttercup. I love you so much.”

He lowered himself back down to the chair, all the while keeping your gaze and puts his hands back on your thighs. Next thing you knew, you were on his lap, ruining his dress pants as you ground against him, your nipple in his mouth as he suckled you as if he was trying to draw out your life force.

Your head was thrown back, and you peered down at his rosy lips pursed around the stiff and aching bud in his mouth. It was almost too much to witness, and you felt your wetness spread against the fabric of his pants.

“Ohhhhh, ssssssssss. Yes, Sy, Baby… yes….”

Sy smiled around your nipple at the pet name, and reached his hand under the skirt of your dress, palming your clit and sliding a finger inside your embarrassingly wet and hot cunt. He released your nipple with a pop, and grinned up at you as you whined.

“Fuck, Buttercup, I’ve been so excited to finally be with you, I didn’t pay enough attention enough to how much you like me lovin’ on your tits. But I’ve caught up now. We only have one more day, and I’ve got a lot to learn…”

He whispered up into your face, flexing his huge thigh as you undulated, your dress riding up around your waist. You groaned and grabbed his face as he palmed the globes of your ass and kissed you. You were definitely ruining his pants now.

“Shit, Buttercup, I swear I can feel your clit throbbing through my pants. So fucking hot. Where d��ya want me, hunh?”

His hungry mouth traveled down your neck, collarbone and chest, finally arriving again at a nipple, tongue snaking out to taste, only to abandon it again to shrink in on itself against the cool air that he blew on it next.

You moaned again as his warm mouth closed against the tight bud, sucking with increasing intensity until you arched your back, pushing more of your flesh into his face. His hand reached your other breast and clutched it, rolling your other pointed peak against his palm, causing a slight delicious burn on your skin. 

“Sy… I- I love your mouth…”

Your eyes were cast down, so he grabbed your chin to make you look at him.

“You want me to eat you out?”

Sy quickly switched nipples, after asking his question, laving and blowing on the hot one to cool it down. 

“Ughhhhh, yes, please, Sy… ever since you mentioned it this morning.”

Sy talked you through it as he pushed and pulled you on his thigh and played with your nipples.

“Why didn’t you tell me then, Buttercup? I could still be eating you out in my big ol’ bed.”

He started sucking the other nipple as you looked down on him and pulled his curls when you answered, your head thrown back.

“I– oh shit, Sy! Hunh, hunh…. “

You licked your parched lips as he ministered to your breasts.

“I wanted to come get a change of clothes. Wanna spend… some time... Fuckkkkk, Sy!”

He watched you as he switched up, again and again, until you were a writing mess. He pulled off of your wet nipples and run two fingers around one pebbled areola, his gaze hot on your skin.

“Syyyyyyyy,” you sigh-gasped as you watched him lean over and take your nipple in his mouth again, this time through his fingers. When those blue eyes looked up at you, you almost came.

His hand moved, but his mouth didn’t as he found your needy clit, and began circling it with his wet fingers.

“Tell me what you wanna do Buttercup?”

He was as out of breath as you were as he watched you come undone.

“I-I– oh fuck. I want to spend the rest of the weekend at your place, Sy.”

Sy moaned, your words having the effect that his hands were having on you.

“You telling me that you’re mine, for the rest of this time, Buttercup?”

Your head was thrown back again, and his hand was sliding toward your neck as your hips moved faster on this thigh.

“Yes, Sy! Yes, I’m yours…and not just for the weekend…oh my god!”

The freedom of admitting it just came out of nowhere, and suddenly, your thighs started shaking and you soaked his trousers, biting your lip as he extended your orgasm with his fingers on your clit and nipple.

“That’s what I’ve wanted to hear for s’long, Baby.”

Sy was slurring his words, drunk on you. And he wasn’t even inside you. Yet. He held you close, as you wrapped around him like a vine, rubbing your back as you came down.

“Then let’s get you packed up and gone. You’re at my place until tomorrow.”

His voice was gruff as he guided your hips until you were standing up, your legs unstable as he rose in front of you. You shakily made your way over to the nearby vanity and lean on it as Sy made his way behind you and looked at you in the mirror.

“Who am I kidding Buttercup? I’m not leaving here until I see you cum at least one more time.”

Sy’s hands snaked around you, wrapping you up and pulling you close to him so you could feel his hardness in your back. He held your gaze in the mirror as you witnessed him leaning down to whisper in your ear.

“I love you. So much, Buttercup.”

Your eyes closed and you leaned your head back on his chest as his hands reached into and under your dress, bunching it up, but you were beyond care. He skirted two fingers into the wet split of you and plunged them inside you, only to bring them out much quicker than your liking. His dripping fingers ran your clit between them, and you moaned each time his passing knuckles pinched it tighter. 

“All this is for me, huh? How’d I get so lucky?”

Sy was rolling your nipple with the other hand, and your mouth was open, gaping at what he was doing to you. He leaned down and sucked your pulse point as he tuned you to his preferences.

Your hands splayed on the counter as you tried to ground yourself from the electric pleasure he was giving you, but Sy’s voice won’t let you do that.

“That’s my good little Buttercup. So so good, letting me…godamn you’re so wet… letting me have my way with you.”

He breathed heavily into your ear.

“I want what you want, Baby. Want to eat you out again. From behind. Need to shove my tongue up your ass and have some fine dining. Maybe we do need to go to church. Might need to pray for your man, Buttercup, because they wouldn’t let me in, what I’m thinking of doing to you, Buttercup. Wanna train your ass, wanna slip my cock in there and make you cum so hard. But that’s not holy. Is it?”

“H-h- holyyyyyy shittttttttt, Sy!!!!!”

You whined, your body dripping onto the floor. Sy felt it and got down on his knees to witness it.

He kissed your ass, then kneaded it, kissing, licking, and biting as he slowly opened you up to him. 

“Make me so fucking hard for you. So godam pretty. Everywhere. Make me wanna kiss you all over.”

Sy licked into you, tracing his tongue over your puckered hole.

“Fuck Sy.”

“Yeah? You want it? Want my cock in this hole?”

Then he circled it with his tongue, making you feel as if you would pass out. You whimpered and bit your lip, a tinge of fear making your heart race even higher.

Sy read your mind.

“You can take it Buttercup. Like a good girl. Promise you’ll be begging for it.”

And then Sy licked and suckled his way into the deepest parts of your soul. 

“Sy!” 

You could hardly say his hame as your body pounded with pleasure again.

“You’re right, Buttercup. Nee’ ‘ore ti.”

Need more time.

He tongue fucked you in the most indecent way as he tried to speak to you. It was the hottest thing ever. He pulled off as his finger took over, because he wanted to make sure that you heard him good.

“I’d need at least a day for you to wear a butt plug.”

He said it wistfully as he traced two fingers through your sopping wet folds.

“I’m thinking stainless steel, heavy, and with my initials engraved on the end.”

The way you clenched at that image and your silence made him smile and you heard his belt coming undone. You dripped down his hand, and you looked back to see Sy licking his fingers.

“Yeah, at least 6 hours (don’t know if I could take much more than that) and then you’d be good and gaping for me, Buttercup.”

Sy’s finger found its way into your tightness, and he leaned forward to suck your clit as you raised your thigh onto the counter. He stopped again and you almost screamed. Then you noticed his cock in his hand, angry red and leaking head disappearing and reappearing rapidly. You gave him the moan of his dreams as his blue eyes met yours.

“I’d make you cum, at least twice, and you’d be ready for me to slip this in. Wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, Sy! Give it to me now!”

They way Sy’s jaw clenched was the thing that put you on the edge of nirvana.

“Don’t…” 

The man growled. Then he looked up at you.

“Now’s not the right time. Cum on my face. Wanna drink you up.”

And he licked and slurped his way to victory, earning a close up view of you raining down on him. After you’d finished, He quickly stood up and started jacking his cock on your ass, squeezing it so that he could view the object of his focus.

“You said I broke your box earlier, Buttercup…”

His heart was literally beating out of his chest.

“....FUCCKK! Just let me… just let me cum on this tight little….ughhhhh!

Your clit pulsed again as you felt his hot cum on your asshole, and you reached down to bring yourself home again.

“Fuck yes, Butercup YESSS!”

You watched Sy’s lurid look of lust in the mirror as he watched your hole wink at him through his spend. 

“Good god woman!”

He looked up at you and grinned in the mirror. 

Then he smirked. 

Because now it was your turn to be on your knees.

——

Next part here.

Like it? Hit Reblog, please!

[weebsinstash]

I didn't think about this before until I saw some tasty poly 3v art on r34 but like: Valentino and/or Vox forcing a tech/TV/computer Reader to play porn on their screen face for them to not only watch the porn but also get off on humiliating/objectifying you

Like could you even imagine you're just this. Little fucking TV DWEEB and Valentino hires you as some kinda manual labor goon after literally scouting you off the street because you kinda remind him of Vox and, maybe he'd fuck you if you got fixed up a little more, and one day Val's phone is broken and he makes you use your face/body to help him do a thing, check his email or something, and Valentino just pauses, quirks his mouth, "can you get porn on this thing?"

and because not only is he Your Fucking Boss but also an Overlord and Scary As Fuck, you cave; he only has to get a little growly and impatient and you fold like a lawn chair, pulling up whatever he told you to look up. In a future event where you were to "misbehave" and draw his ire, I can see him forcing you to play something of Angel to psychologically fuck with both of you if the two of you were friends

First, it starts with just Valentino, but then he invites Vox to come and watch you, and the tech CEO is immediately interested in your physical body/appearance but most importantly curious about your hardware/software capabilities (and maybe feeling vaguely threatened/insecure Val is going to replace him with you)

Have I ever mentioned "computer/smartphone/laptop Reader who can be used as a computer by other people and you have an actual track pad your 'user' has to touch to click and move the mouse" before, because I keep thinking of a Reader who either has a track pad on the palm of one of your hands, or, it being a specific square/rectangular shape on your upper chest/clavicle sort of area (which you would be extremely embarrassed if someone was using your trackpad by force because you have to wear lower cut shirts or they're all but holding your hand and tickling your palm)

Velvette who doesn't want to fuck you or anything but if you're going to constantly be in her house you might as well look presentable and you quickly become her new favorite dress-up dolly/tablet. fml you're basically gonna be like her equivalent of a customized phone case except she's styling you and maybe even changing any coats of paint you have to different glosses or textures if need be. She's using you like a PDA, logging notes she needs to remember, putting appointments in a personal digital calendar, making you take photos of her and her models and send them to her

Yandere Vees who customize your tech body by force??? 😳 Vox who thinks you're a cool cute little computer but you're literally like an OG big ass dial up computer and he just, forces you under the knife or whatever and you wake up with completely modern parts? Vox who forces you to be the hardware he PLAYS VIDEO GAMES ON? Vox who forces you to watch his favorite shows with him by streaming them through your body, maybe even installing a projector on you (or you already have one) so you sit beside him while streaming? The Vees forcing you to be like an assistant that follows them around taking pictures of them and they decide your photos are too shitty and pixelated and they forcibly update your camera and video capabilities? The Vees who force you to change not only because they think you would look better but because they are literally actually LITERALLY USING YOU to perform different tasks? Literally using you like a toy and object?

You're internally hoping maybe one day you can rise up and escape (potentially to a certain audiophile demon who actually likes your original, almost vintage sound quality once he helps revert you back, perhaps?) and meanwhile Valentino is asking Vox if they can start installing some sort of Go Go Gadget Gorilla Grip Pussy equipment inside of you or "did you figure out if they can vibrate anything yet--"

[thorin-is-a-cuddler]

A very devilish angel

A/N: A demon and an angel are in love and while that could be embarrassing for the demon, he would definitely not let it stop him from making plans for their future (in secret of course, though keeping it secret from tickling angels could be pretty hard.) Just floofy fluff floof and a pinch of feely schmeelies, pardon me.  

It hadn’t been long that they’d been together. Officially together.

And Crowley just couldn’t stop blushing.

Every time Aziraphale did something even remotely romantic, he froze, his eyes widening in disbelief and his voice leaving him hanging as he turned speechless.

The worst part was that Aziraphale seemed to find this incredibly endearing. His lips tended to quirk into that very specific, charming, almost sympathetic smile and his eyes glazed over with a warm playfulness, a soft infatuation with Crowley’s reaction.

Crowley could swear that, had Aziraphale installed any fire alarms in the bookshop, they’d be going off all the time from the hot, embarrassed steam the demon produced at any instance Aziraphale gave him that specific look, often accompanied by a gentle chuckle.

From what Crowley could tell, his behaviour did nothing but inspire Aziraphale to turn increasingly more affectionate. His blushing never seemed to come to a halt anymore as the angel came up with all sorts of gentle gestures and fond phrases to make his insides melt.

He’d feel his lips quiver when two perfectly manicured hands smoothed out the fabric of his shirt, making his chest feel warm in the touched places and his cheeks even warmer. “You look absolutely gorgeous today, my love.” The angel would say as he’d lean in to place a kiss on Crowley’s 100 degree face. Turning boneless, Crowley would make an awkward little step to the side, snarling and hissing – even though Aziraphale argued that he was in fact purring – before pushing himself past his lover to act like nothing was the matter.

Crowley had reacted the same way when Aziraphale had kissed the back of his hand for the first time, or whenever he took off his glasses to look fondly into his snake eyes before kissing him on the lips, or when Aziraphale had had the audacity to put an arm around his middle while he had been busy skimming through the pages of a book, complaining about the general concept of dusty imprinted, tree-skeletons. He’d almost jumped out of his own vessel then, dropping the book in question – that Aziraphale had then caught effortlessly – and zipping it almost instantly.

“You were saying?” Aziraphale had asked smugly, putting his chin on Crowley’s shoulder and beaming up at his deeply flushed face.

Yes, his angel had figured him out quite well. And Crowley was loving it deeply. To not be but a riddle to which Aziraphale knew all the answers was one of the most comforting experiences of Crowley’s existence. Nevertheless, the effortlessness of his angel’s reactions to him never seized to surprise him, to leave him breathless, weak in the knees, all wibbly-wobbly inside. And that could at times be a little frustrating for him.

Currently, Crowley was busy turning a map around in his hands, seated on one of Aziraphale’s larger sofas. With furrowed brows, he was trying to figure out where exactly he’d have to go to reach the coast, something the two of them had been talking about a lot in recent times. His angel had been busy preparing tea and was minutely returning, a silver tray with clinking cups in his hands, his reassuring angel-voice humming sweetly. Crowley’s neck was tingling comfortably at the noise.

“Oooh, a maaap!” Aziraphale exclaimed excitedly as he settled down next to the demon on his couch, placing the tray upon the table in front of them

“Don’t call it a maaap!” Crowley groaned, sending him a reprimanding glance over the brim of his dark glasses.

“I didn’t,” Aziraphale answered with a small lift of his eyebrow, making Crowley’s heart jump  a little.

“Yes, you did!” He insisted, before lifting the map in a way that made Aziraphale’s face disappear from view. Aziraphale’s presence made him so tense that he lifted his shoulders to his ears without even noticing it.

Aziraphale was chuckling softly, taking a sip of his tea, before sticking his nose over the top of the map, glancing down at what Crowley was looking at.

“What are you doing?”

Crowley narrowed his eyes at the angel and sniffed in an unbothered way, as if nothing of interest was currently happening. “Looking. At a map.”

“Yes, but whatever for?” Aziraphale’s eyes were smiling now and Crowley’s shoulders shot up a little higher.

“Nothing you must know about right now.”

Aziraphale, that terribly sweet angel, pushed his head past the crook in Crowley’s arm, his face ending up rather close to the demon’s and rather past the map in question. “Are you planning something?”

Crowley blinked at him, mouth agape, a tender blush creeping over the bridge of his nose. “Y-you will find out s-soon enough!” Quickly, he tried to look away from the angel, gulping. But Aziraphale had other plans. Chuckling gently, he pushed the map down and leaned in even closer to Crowley than before.

“I like it when you make secret plans. I wonder for how long you’ll be able to keep them from me, though.”

Crowley blushed a deep red when Aziraphale went to push him down into the cushions, his warm hand on his collarbone, his familiar, beloved vessel weighing him deeper down into the sofa. He felt his lips quiver as the angel’s nose touched his own, one of Aziraphale’s hands moving away from their propped up position next to his ears to remove his glasses. Bright blue eyes were gently looking into his own.

“Are you trying to bribe me, angel?” He asked, covering up his shyness by raising his eyebrows at the other playfully, an excited turmoil raging in his stomach. Aziraphale had him trapped on the sofa now, his left arm on the demon’s chest, his right one extended to place the glasses on the table next to him.

“You know, I have methods to get you to speak…” A mischievous glance sprang to the angel’s eyes as he started to wiggle the fingers of his now free right hand around.

“Now, wait a minute!” Crowley gasped, sobering up a little, seeing what he had done with his mindlessly uttered remark. “You cannot do this, I- I am the demon! Y-you are an angel, you’re supposed t-to spare people, for whoever’s sake!”

For Crowley’s taste, the angel was enjoying his insignificant attempts at wiggling out from underneath his stylishly dressed ‘boyfriend’ far too much. Blue eyes were sparkling with joy as demonic hands came up to protect a rather defenceless upper body.

“Do you hear me, angel?? People. Angels. Sparing!” Crowley repeated a little more hysterical when Aziraphale’s hand started to get closer to his body. It was embarrassing really how his voice went up the second Aziraphale’s threatening hand moved slightly faster towards him.

The angel was having a great time, evidently, laughing at Crowley’s demise. It didn’t really help with Crowley’s general embarrassment and fidgeting and melting and not-actually-trying-to-get-away. Apparently, he was too soft to spoil Aziraphale’s fun. (And maybe he also did enjoy it a little, when Aziraphale teased him like this.)

Sympathetically the angel tilted his head to the side, before saying: “Oh, Crowley, you’re not people.”

After that, Crowley was nothing at all anymore really – nothing but a bubbling, squeaking, laughing pile of demonic goo on a dusty bookshop sofa, as Aziraphale’s hand travelled straight to the ticklish spots on his left side, squeezing the sensitive area repeatedly and deepening Crowley’s blush immediately. “NO! Angel, wait!! WAIT!!”

“Wait for what, my dear?” Aziraphale asked as if nothing was the matter, his lips curled up in the most self-congratulating smile, while his fingertips were expertly seeking out the bits and pieces of Crowley that made him arch his back and toss his head around. Red curls were getting dishevelled on the red sofa cushions. Bright, pointy teeth glinted in the sombre bookshop lighting, yellow eyes filled with mirth, disappearing from sight whenever Crowley had to squeeze them shut against the ticklish sensations.

“PLEASE STOP!!” He squealed, his laughter bright enough to open the gates of Heaven, impossibly sweet for a snarling, moody demon. “PLEASE, ANGEL!!”

“But you haven’t told me anything, yet!”

Crowley doubled over with laughter, when Aziraphale’s fingers started scribbling at his stomach. He couldn’t kick himself out from underneath the angel and his flailing and pushing hands had the same effect on him as Beelzebub’s flies if they were to plop against him.

“Oh, the demon’s weak spot,” Aziraphale teased, chuckling when Crowley gasped for air dramatically, as if it were necessary. “Are you trying to make me pity you?”

Crowley started shaking his head violently when Aziraphale’s fingers began wiggling into his ribs, his lungs burning from all the laughter. “JUST STOP! STOP AND I’LL TELL YOU!!”

Aziraphale wasn’t cruel – not that cruel, at least – and granted Crowley his wish. Smug and pleased with himself, he put both his elbows up on Crowley’s chest and smirked down at his flushed face. A demonic chest that was currently moving up and down rather fast, indulging unnecessarily in the drama of the moment – a poor, unjustly tickled demon, trying to regain his breathing after a vicious, vicious attack from a very ruthless angel…

“You’re being really dramatic right now,” Aziraphale commented, chuckling when Crowley stopped the act and started pouting instead, yellow snake eyes glaring at his face. The dishevelled demonic mess seemed to have a rather softening effect on the angel, who moved one hand up to push a strand of hair out of his forehead. “It suits you very well.”

“Shut up!” Crowley exclaimed, a small smile clinging to his features as he tried to sound convincingly exasperated. One gentle caress to his hair sufficed and Crowley was purring- err snarling again. “You are a very devilish angel.”

“How dare you!” Aziraphale huffed with a grin, his hand wandering to Crowley’s side again to tweak it one last time in retaliation, relishing in the way the demon squawked.

Crowley couldn’t help but laugh afterwards, amused by his own noise, joined quickly by Aziraphale. “Stop it, seriously!”

“Of course,” Aziraphale put his hand back on Crowley’s chest and made an expectant face, “but you better start talking real fast.”

“Secret plans are in fact very secretive, you know.” Crowley answered, his hands gently moving up the angel’s back, who made a rather pleased little noise.

“Does this mean you do not plan to tell me about them?”

Crowley smiled and pulled Aziraphale closer towards him. “For now.”

The demon pulled the angel in for a tender kiss, reversing their positions progressively until he was the one on top, his hands cradling the angel’s chuckling face.

“What?” He slurred, drunk on angel.

“You tend to do this.” Aziraphale answered, his fingers caressing the skin under Crowley’s chin.

“What?” The demon asked again, snarling against Aziraphale’s ear now.

“Be … ‘more straightforward’. After I’ve tickled you.”

“Reaaally? Is that soooo?”

“… Yes?”

“Hmmmm, surprising, I wonder what opportunities my newly gained position might offer me…”

“… Ehm.”

“Whatever might inspire a demon like me to get ‘more straightforward’ after an angel like you goes so far as to tickle me??”

“Now, Crowley, let’s not do anything we might regret here…”

Now it was Crowley’s turn to chuckle. “Oh, we are far past that point by now, angel.”

And maybe the muffled giggling noises that could be heard from inside the bookshop were the sounds of an angel who hadn’t seen a hellish revenge coming his way. But who was happy to endure it nonetheless. Because secret plans were being made for him. Which meant that his love was going to last.

Maybe even an eternity.

[yourlocalmerchgirl]

Is it ok if I call you mine? Part Three

Soft!Joel Miller x Neurodivergent/ anxious F!reader

Part 1 Part 2

Summary: Joel is falling for you as deeply and quickly as you are for him, both taken by surprise that the other actually feels the same way.

Soft! Joel miller x neurodivergent reader AU (outbreak never happens)

Warnings: soft Joel, concerned Joel, protective Joel, neurodivergent, audio overstimulation, anxiety. Best friend Tommy, falling in love. Acceptance, low self esteem.

A/N: Writing this story and connecting with all of you that it’s touched has been exactly what my heart needed! This will be the last installment of this story (at least for now) but I’ll be focusing on bringing you all more neurodivergent reader stories! Please let me how what you all think of the story conclusion for these two and if there’s character stories you’d like to see in the future

There’s not a lot of descriptors about reader other than eye color but they can easily be changed.

Song pairings for this arch:

Dave Matthews Band: Here On Out

In complete shock that Joel would even remotely share the same feelings as you, all you can do is nod your head as tears well in your eyes.

Joel runs his calloused hand along the side of your face before resting to cup your cheek.

“What’s wrong sweetheart?” He asks as he searches your eyes, wiping away the tears with the pad of his thumb.

“Nothing…I promise these are happy tears… I just I never thought you’d share the same feelings I do, I was honestly ready for the rejection.”

“You make me feel happier than I’ve felt in a very long time, more like myself than I have in a long time” Joel says and leans in to place a gentle kiss on your lips, his lips surprisingly soft.

You waste no time returning the kiss as your hand finds purchase in his hair.

Joel pulls away wrapping his arms around you and rolling back over onto his back pulling you into his chest. You both just lay there holding each other and just taking joy in each others presence. That is until your stomach growls so loud it makes you both bust out laughing.

“What do you say we get you some breakfast baby girl?”

“And coffee?” You giggle out

“You think I’m gonna give you breakfast with no coffee? What’do I look like a crazy person?” He chuckles, watching you as you sit up swinging your legs over the side of the bed.

“No I’m just making sure. You don’t want to see me without my coffee” you tease as you turn back to look at him, it’s the smile you give him that does it. Even while he’s still laying down, your smile makes him weak in the knees.

Joel sneaks up behind you as you’re mid stretch wrapping his arms around your torso, pulling you flush against his chest. A giggle bubbles out of you when his scruffy beard tickles your neck as he peppers you with kisses. He hums at the sound of it, he can’t believe this is real, that you feel the same way as him. The warmth of his body around yours is soothing.

“You make me so happy Baby Girl” he says looking at the two of you in his mirror.

“You make me so happy too Joel” you tilt your head back to look at him, unable to help the smile you have when ever you’re around him.

“I like you calling me baby girl” you say, smiling wider when you see the look in his eyes and the smile on his face at your comment.

You pad down the stairs a little bit ahead of him and catch a glimpse of Tommy in the living room as you reach the bottom.

“Tommy!”

“Hey Darlin!”

Joel watches as you hurry over to Tommy as you hit the floor, his heart swells at the love and care you have for him. He understands the bond you two share over your similar disorders understanding each other in away only the two of you could. Joel’s so happy to see his brother have someone like you for a friend.

“You alright? Did you get some rest? I was really worried about you”

“I was worried about you too Tommy, you didn’t have to put yourself out into the storm, I know the thunder isn’t your friend either”

“I wasnt gonna have the two of you out there alone, you two are the most important people in my lives. I couldn’t not be there for both of you.”

Tommy pulls you into one of his big bear hugs, as he squeezing you tightly you let out a little grunt.

“Jesus Tommy be easy with my girlfriend would ya?” Joel teases. You can’t help but smile hearing it out loud, a smile that Joel doesn’t miss.

“Shit sorry sweetheart didn’t mean too…

Oh…wait did you say girlfriend…are you two….shit are you two official?” Tommy asks whipping his head back and forth between you and Joel.

Tommy’s gaze settles on you as you’re smiling ear to ear.

“We are” you say nodding with a smile as you reach your hand out to Joel. Joel gabs your hand pulling you into him and settles his arm around your waist.

“Bout damn time” Tommy says laughing.

“But seriously I’m so happy for you two” as he throws his arms around you both.

When you get up to grab some more coffee you over hear Tommy and Joel talking.

“I’m gonna still go over to the house and do some things and make sure everything’s all good from the storm and I’ll be back before the Cowboys have there kick off for tonight’s game”

“Shit…you sure? I know you need help with the dry wall and installing some of the new sinks, I can help after work this week.”

“Take me with you guys” you pipe up from the edge of your coffee cup.

Joel and Tommy both turn to you shocked by your comment.

“What?”

“I don’t want you guys changing your plans because I’m here. If you need to go work on Tommy’s house, take me with you. There must me something I can help with? Painting? Cleaning?”

“Are you sure, you don’t have to do that?”

“Of corse I’m sure, I’m going to need to borrow some old clothes to wear though.”

Joel can’t help but light up when you enter the bedroom wearing the sweatpants and shirt he gave you. The sight of you wearing his clothes made his heart skip a beat.

“Those look way better on you than they’ve ever looked on me”

“Oh please that can’t be true, but they are cozy”

“Are you sure about this? I’m not trying to put you to work or anything.”

“Joel…I would feel extremely guilty if you didn’t help Tommy just because I was here, I want to go, I want to be helpful. Plus I also just want to spend time with you.” You turn to face him to find he’s already looking at you.

“You would come to work with me for the afternoon just because you wanted to spend time with me?” Joel says pointing at himself almost as if he didn’t believe the words coming out of his own mouth.

“I would, if you wanted me there, I’d be there everyday with you.”

Joel doesn’t say anything, he just looks at you in amazement. That’s when the panic starts to set in. Am I being to much? Was that to much to quickly. I’m being clingy. FUCK. I’m being clingy.

“Sorry! I shouldn’t of said that…I’m not trying to be weird” you say nervously when he continues to say nothing.

“You just keep amazing me more and more. Give yourself some credit sweetheart. I’d happily take you to work with me every damn day. You think I wouldn’t jump at the chance to spend time with you?”

————————————————————-

Tommy sets you up, having you doing some painting in the living room while him and Joel are working on some other projects.

You don’t see him but every once in a while Joel poked his head into the living room to see how you doing.

“Tommy! You wanna come help me lift the counter top with the sink” you hear Joel yell down the hallway

“Tommy!” Joel yells again, mumbling under his breath when Tommy doesn’t respond.

You look back to see Joel trying to lift the counter top himself.

Jesus.

“I can help you with that” you say as you hurry to your feet and over to him.

“You sure sweetheart? Thank you”

“Well I can’t have you hurting yourself on my watch” you say making you both chuckle.

“Plus Tommy’s music is loud enough to wake the head, he’s never going to hear you yelling”

The two of you lift the counter top up into the position.

“Thanks baby girl” Joel coos as he gives you a kiss.

“C-can you…uh can I watch you install it? I can hold the flash light for you.” You smile nervously, immediately worried about being in his way.

“You want to learn how to instal the sink and counter top?” Joel inquisitively asks tilting his head as he looks at you.

“Oh only if I won’t be in your way…never mind it’s ok I’ll just go back to painting”

“I would love t’show you bout what I do”

Joel hands you the flash light as you sit down on the floor together. As you guys lay there under the sink Joel is explaining every step and why each step is necessary. Your silence as he’s explaining makes him think for sure that your just humoring him, that you asked to learn about his work because you thought it’s what he wanted to hear but he couldn’t be further from the truth. When he turns his head to the side to look at you he sees just how intently your listening to him. You eyes are filled with happiness and interest. He loved how content you were, how much you truly enjoyed being on the job with him learning and asking questions when you wanted to understand things better. It’s in this moment Joel realizes how happy you make him, how completely in his element he is when he’s with you. That you completely except him for who he is, there’s no need for him to try to hide parts of himself to placate you.

“Well shit, ain’t the two of you just cute under there.”

“Oh Tommy shut up, someone had to help him when you didn’t, plus he was teaching me and I was enjoying it” you tease sitting up from under the sink. And that’s when you hear it, Joel’s laugh. His boisterous full belly laugh at your response that makes you melt. From that moment on it’s your goal to make Joel laugh like that more. Your pretty sure the sound of pure happiness in his laugh could cure any anxious feeling, any self doubt about how he feels towards you.

Joel is your person. Nobody in your life has ever made you feel more comfortable in your own skin like he has. The comfort that he makes you feel in his unwavering desire to make you feel seen and heard instead of expecting you to change yourself or to act more “normal”. Joel likes you for you and you like him for him. You hope your able to make him feel even a faction as happy as he makes you.

“Can we stop at the store on the way home?” you pip up from the back seat. Joel’s heart is bursting with happiness hearing you call his house home.

“Course we can sweetheart” he says smiling at you in the rear view mirror.

“I’m just going to run in real quick”

Joel jumps out of the truck to take the bags from you when he sees you juggling 2 full bags of groceries.

“What’s all this for sweetheart?” Joel chuckles as he takes the bags.

“I’m going to make dinner for the three of us” you say as you hop in the back seat.

“Really?”

“I heard you guys saying you wanted to watch the football game and you guys busted your asses today so I thought I’d make a family dinner for us all, nothing crazy” you explain, you can feel your eyes soften the longer Joel holds your gaze.

Joel tenderly pulls you into a kiss, before Tommy embarrasses you buy whistling loudly.

—————————————————————

Joel admires the way you’re moving about the kitchen singing along to the music. He watches you for a few moments, silently gushing over how comfortable and beautiful you look. You’re in the zone while your washing dishes that you don’t see or hear Joel coming until he’s embracing you from behind, his large hand splayed over your stomach pulling you against him. A giggle bubbles out of you as your head falls back on his shoulder. A smile so wide it reaches your eyes as Joel nuzzles into your neck resting his head on your shoulder.

“Dinner was delicious baby girl thank you s’much”

“You’re welcome, I’m so glad you guys liked it, I loved having a family meal. I put the left overs in the fridge”

“Y’don’t have to hide in here, come watch the game with us”

“I’ll be in in like 10 minutes, I just wanted to finish cleaning up so we can go upstairs and relax after the game”

Your upstairs curled up in bed flipping through the channels when Joel gets out of the shower. He pauses in the doorway at the sight. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the sight of you in his bed. It makes his heart beat a little after thinking about how badly he wants you to be what he sees every night before he goes to bed,how he just wants to hold you in his arms until you fall asleep.

You notice him out of the corner of you eye and turn to him.

“Did you have a nice shower babe?”

“I’did but it’s even nicer now that I’mma bout to crawl in bed with you.”

“I found a movie to watch, want to watch it til we fall sleep?”

“I’ll do anything as long as I get to be next to you”

“Come here” you say pulling back the blankets, your arms out stretched.

Joel climbs in bed and wastes no time curling into you, wrapping his arm around your torso, placing his head on your chest in the place right above your heart. The warmth and weight of him setting every last nerve in your body ablaze. It didn’t take long for you both to fall asleep like that, two people who spent most their lives feeling unwanted and unloveable being embraced now by the person they loved most in this world.

@kalllistos @justasadlittlebean @bcon24 @its-dee-lovely @fishingforpike @macaroni-artist @gengar-neutral @morgaussy @sailorsophiee @samarav @dionysusinparis @arlovesper @fandomsohmyohmy @lovelyladiess @lovebandrry @joelmillersblog @pinkbowsandcoffeestains s @pascal-is-punk @thatgirlpeaches @alyhull @fandomwhored @hiddenbabynyc @goldenhxurs @frecklefacelm @amyispxnk

@alongfortheridereader

[castleinthemist]

Attract Mode Issue 4 (September 2024)

Welcome to this month’s issue of Attract Mode! If you’ll all allow me to indulge, I want to focus this issue on RPG Maker games I’ve been pecking at lately:

Helen’s Mysterious Castle A 1-on-1 RPG that focuses on rapid, volley-like combat that feels wonderfully fast and rhythmic. It achieves this by making all of its stats available to the player - weapon, shields and spells all share the three stats: Eff, Def and Wait. All of these inform the pace of battle and add to that rhythmic feeling. Real fun and a decently sized, short RPG. Attraction: Saw some praise for the game and its combat system, and while that very much in the draw, I find that there is a snes-era charm to its default assets graphics.

Labyrinth.os (Demo) “The rabbits are always watching you” left with that warning, or premonition, you are newly reawakened and welcomed by the Patron Spirit of the Labyrinth, who provides you with a form to inhabit and a party to form (comprised of some off-kilter classes such as Gun Witch, Bondage Paladin, Technomancer and Assassin Nurse to name a few). This can affect how smoothly battles can go, or what tools you have at your disposal when you form the party but you are free to rearrange it at a shortly later time in the demo. Furthermore, the demo conveys a wonderfully serene mood to the dungeon crawling levels, and befitting to the game’s name, are labyrinthine without feeling too long or tedious. Features many mysterious characters that fit the tone of the demo really well. Attraction: While it’s not 100% my cup of tea aesthetically, I think there is an air of mystery about it, and a cool looking, almost mixed media effect to it’s artstyle.

Aozora – Ancient Abyss Another 1-on-1 focused game where you’ll be balancing your resources (health, the limited items you acquire and turn order!) to succeed in these tense battles. Wonderfully short and engaging. Paints an enticing world with it’s limited story and brief glimpses into its characters. I hope to see more adventures with them in the future. Attraction: There’s a charming scrappy-ness to it – I always enjoy seeing what folks focus on in smaller works like this.

Cataphract OI Engaging in a playful and inventive feeling manner with standard RPG systems, notably the command based menu and the usage of battle formations – Cataphract OI manages to be a creatively fresh feeling game, that no matter how frustrating at time it can feel, due to its difficulty, the whole is so thoroughly engaging and inventive that you can’t help but want to keep playing it. Attraction: I saw there was a time limit mechanic and blacked out to later find it installed onto my PC. Jokes aside, my growing fondness for specific restrictions in games did pique my curiosity with this one.

--

And that’s a wrap! I really enjoyed this issue and I hope you found something that tickles your fancy in here too! Next month, we’ll start pulling away from some RPGs and get going on some other types of eye-catching games. Please look forward to it and take care!

[bl00dst41ned]

*.·:·.✦ catering day ✦.·:·.*

pairing: jude bellingham x female oc (Ryan)

summary: in which it’s time for Nugget to fully move in in the house and her owners go a bit over the top

author's note: part one here, read it for content. requested by @hummusxx, delivered by me. also some things might not make sense, so like J.Lennon said, imagine. enjoy besties !

warnings/content: a very obsessed Jude, fluff, fluff and more fluff (since I love cute relationships)

word count: 839

The sun was rising, waking Madrid up. On a normal day, Jude and Ryan would have woken up way later and lazed around the house, crushing their screen time. But today was different. Jude had woken up at the crack of dawn, getting ready for the excited day he and his girlfriend were about to have.

“Ray” He softly sang in her ear, his breath tickled her neck making her scrunch her face in her sleep. “Ryan”

“You sound like a serial killer” Ryan mushed his face away, rubbing her eyes open. She wrapped her arms around him hugging him tightly as he left multiple kisses on her neck.

They stayed in this position for a few minutes, Jude almost falling asleep from his girlfriend sweet touch. She ended up letting him go and getting up from the bed.

“Jude, it’s 6 in the morning, why would you wake me up?” She was already on her way back to bed before he quickly grabbed her arm.

“We have to take Nugget to the vet at 9”

Jude had taken it upon himself to book an appointment at the veterinarian, finally putting his few spanish lessons to use. Which surprised Ryan, since he would not try to speak for his life.

The two had gotten ready, now in the car on their way to the vet. While Ryan kept her eyes on the road, Jude kept his on Nugget, his index finger rubbing his growing fur. Ryan took few glances at them and appreciating him bonding with his new pet.

Nugget had been at their house for two days now. Jude stayed glued to it most of the time not even letting Ryan take care of him unless he had practice. They tried to feed it the best they could even buying a syringe so that it was easier but they wanted to give their pet the best care.

Once they arrived at the vet, they waited a few before entering the office. The doctor examined Nugget, trying to determine its age, give appointments for his vaccins and scan it for a microchip. They found out that Nugget was actually a female, was only one week old and probably stayed outside for two to three days. He gave them a brand for cat milk to improve her growth before letting them go. Ryan and Jude left the veterinarian, Nugget stuffed in her box.

………………………..

Jude drove the cart through the pet shop, Ryan’s arm wrapped around his bicep as the couple walked through the aisle. Jude basically wanted to put everything in the cart, Ryan trying to be responsible even though she too wanted to buy the whole place.

She scrolled through her Pinterest looking for ideas as Jude complimented everything.

“Can we create her a little room in our mhouse?” He asked with a wide smile after seeing a picture on her phone.

She gave in, finding it very cute too. They looked through the shop for her furniture. They picked up a green pastel sofa, covers, cushions, everything in mini size. Jude picked up way too many stuffed animals for Nugget showing it to the little animal even though her eyes are still closed.

“Jude, Nugs can not see” Ryan broke his happy bubble making him snap his head towards her, mugging her.

“This is between me and Nugget, mind yours”

He went back into a conversation with his now bestfriend as Ryan looked through essential stuff.

“Look at this collar” She pointed to a baby blue one with clouds.

It only took a second for them to decide to take it with them.

………………………..

They ended up checking out, leaving with a full cart. At home, they immediately choose a bright and calm space in their living room to install her mini room. And they took it very seriously. Ryan drew a sketch of the space, calculating the space with her actual and future size+ while Jude did all the furnishing. Once they were done, they put the final touch, Nugget’s shoe box. Since she seemed to enjoy it, Jude and Ryan agreed to give their shirt for it to become her cover.

“Seems right to me”

They admired their work before looking around at their house.

“We should think about decorating our place too” Jude spoke, pointing at their lack of furniture.

They recently moved in, but did not take the time to buy furniture. Boxes were all around the rooms since they didn’t even had any cabinet to put their stuff into.

“Yeah” Ryan dragged, not motivated at all “Maybe another day”

As they did since they’re together, one’s laziness caused the other’s. The two decided to spend the night watching their signature movie, Paddington, Nugget layed on Ryan’s lap, after an eventful game of rock, paper scissors.

They treated Nugget like their child, spoiling her with everything to give her the warmest home. Nugget’s life had not started easily, making them want to cater her. With her addition, they have now become a family.

like and repost (hope you enjoyed it)

masterlist for more

[cursedonyx]

Professor Fig Adopts the Emerald Trio (Part 2)

The second instalment of an AU in which Professor Fig has survived, and has adopted Sebastian, Ominis and Dracaena.

Part 1

Sixth year begins and with it comes the NEWT preparations. Fig discusses with the Trio what careers they might take, and tries to help Ominis begin to process his childhood trauma. Sebastian and Dracaena end up in possession of contraband.

Word Count – 5.7k

Warnings – Mentions of childhood abuse (Ominis) | Contraband (drugs)

The summer of 1891 was an enjoyable affair for the Emerald Trio. Dracaena, Sebastian and Ominis spent most of their days taking full advantage of the mostly empty castle, exploring every nook and cranny and delving into places they were more than certain they shouldn’t be, before retiring for the evening and having dinner with their new guardian, Professor Fig.

Dracaena took the opportunity early on in the summer to show them all, including Fig, the Room of Requirement, revelling in the praise heaped upon her by her mentor and her best friends for all she’d done with the space. It became a retreat of sorts for her and her best friends, a far warmer and more comfortable hidden spot than the Undercroft, which they visited only on rare occasions (and mostly when hiding from Peeves). Fig didn’t come into the Room all too often, telling the trio that it was their space, and he’d only enter if he needed them for something that couldn’t wait. That didn’t stop him enjoying his frequent invitations, particularly enjoying spending time with the beasts Dracaena had acquired during her adventures, and bonding with the Phoenix that she had named Miriam.

But time marched on, and summer eventually came to a close. The other students came back, and word quickly spread that the three were now cared for by none other than one of their own Professors. Some muttered irritably that they were now protected from consequences, and others tried to test the waters by teasing and attempted hexes, but they were dealt with as Sebastian, Ominis and Dracaena had always dealt with irritants. Swiftly and without mercy, which landed them all detention before the first week of term had ended.

The weekend arrived, and Dracaena lounged on one of the sofas in the Room of Requirement, her feet propped in Sebastian’s lap, occasionally tickled as he turned a page of the book he was reading. Ominis was tending to a large Flutterby bush he’d been cultivating all through the summer, and Professor Fig was seated at an elegant desk, marking homework. Deek swanned around, a smile on his face as he offered them all tea and biscuits, the light pattering of his feet accompanying the gentle music piped from a magical gramophone.

With a light sigh, Fig placed the last essay onto the pile and leaned back in his chair, running a hand over his face as Miriam the Phoenix ruffled her feathers from the perch behind him. He eyed the three Slytherins, one corner of his lips lifting and pulling out a touch. His charges. His kids. His smile broadened, and he decided to disrupt the soft peace by clearing his throat.

“I think we all need to have a little chat,” he said, fighting to make his expression stern as all three of them stilled, throwing guilty looks to each other, Ominis doing a remarkable job of it, all things considered. He let the silence hang a long moment as they turned to him, then he chuckled.

“About your future careers,” he clarified, smirking like a schoolboy as his adopted charges all uttered various sounds of relief and irritation at his little joke.

“Merlin’s arse, Elly!” Dracaena said, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. “You made me think we were in for a bollocking!”

He chuckled, warmed by the freedom with which she now spoke to him, her comfort with his presence obvious. The lads weren’t quite so informal, but that would come with time. At least they all still called him ‘Professor’ when they were around the rest of the school. He waved a hand, and the three gathered in front of his desk, conjuring their preferred chairs and settling before him.

He clasped his hands and leaned forward with a smile. “So, any thoughts on what you want to do once you’re finished with Hogwarts? I know the careers advice of last year might not have sunk in with all you endured.”

Dracaena was the first to answer, ever eager and certain of herself.

“I thought being an Auror would be good,” she said.

“Yeah, I thought about that too,” Sebastian agreed. “Or maybe a cursebreaker, or research, or something like that.”

“Marvellous ideas,” Fig said, turning to Ominis. “What about you?”

He gave an elegant shrug. “I’ve no idea.”

“Surely you must have some thoughts?” Fig pressed.

Ominis twisted the corner of his mouth. “Nope,” he replied, his hands tightening in his lap.

Sebastian and Dracaena shared a significant look at this oddly colloquial word, and Sebastian cleared his throat.

“You know, I’ve got to go grab something from the library,” he said. “Care to give me a hand, Drac?”

“Yep,” she jumped to her feet, and caught Fig’s eye, tilting her head meaningfully at Ominis with a look that said he needs your help. Ominis began to rise, but Dracaena put her hand on his shoulder, leaned down, and whispered in his ear. A flash of fear crossed his face, but his friends were already halfway out the door.

“Well…” Eleazar cleared his throat gently as the young Slytherin before him shuffled his feet, looking for all the world as if he wished he was anywhere but here. “Is… everything alright, Ominis?”

His shoulders tensed immediately.

“What have they said?” he demanded. “There’s nothing wrong with me!” Almost instantly, another flash of fear lit on his elegant features. “I-I��m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.”

Frowning lightly, Eleazar got to his feet, and the young Slytherin bolted out of his chair, taking several steps back. Alarmed, Eleazar followed, raising his hands.

“Ominis, it’s alright, you're not in trouble,” he said. Far from relaxing the lad, he seemed to become more agitated, his eyes darting around, as if he was seeking an escape he couldn’t see. “Come on now, come and sit with me, and we’ll have a nice cup of tea, and a chat about whatever’s bothering you, hm?”

Ominis looked terrified.

“You think he’ll be alright?” Dracaena said, following Sebastian through the castle. “I feel awful, like we were abandoning him.”

“Nah, He’ll be fine,” Sebastian said, the back of his hand occasionally bumping hers as they walked side-by-side. “Fig really helped me, more than I thought he would, and Merlin knows Ominis has some heavy shit to get off his chest.”

Dracaena sighed. “All the same, I do feel a bit guilty. He always seems so much happier when we’re with him.”

“Well, you,” Sebastian grumbled under his breath.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“Nothing.”

She chuckled, and took his arm, causing a blush to flow up the back of his neck. “So, what was that thing you needed to get?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Sebastian grinned. “I’ve been trying to get Ominis alone with Fig for ages now, and didn’t want to waste the opportunity.”

“Is that the only reason?” Dracaena teased, and the blush crept onto Sebastian’s cheeks. He glanced away.

“Fancy a walk?” he said, gesturing vaguely at the windows. “The weather’s good.”

They made their way down to the grounds and took an easy, rambling route, meandering up to the quidditch pitch to spy on the Gryffindor team’s practice for a few minutes before they were chased off by an irritable Madam Kogawa, losing ten points apiece for Slytherin. They decided it was worth it. Giggling together, they wandered off in the vague direction of Hogsmeade, before Sebastian glanced meaningfully at the Forbidden Forest.

“We've only landed the one detention so far,” he said casually. “I feel a bit strange without getting into trouble every now and then. How about it, Hoctina, you feeling brave enough to go in?”

Dracaena gave him a level look, trying not to grin at the cheeky smile on his face. “You do know I was in and out of that Forest more often than I was our common room last year, right?”

Sebastian chuckled. “Rubbish. Yeah I get that there’s a load of rumours about you, but you don’t need to make them up to impress me. We already did loads together that would scare the pants of most people.”

“So why are you doubting me?” Dracaena said, sufficiently rankled. She dropped his arm and marched over the tiny bridge, her nose in the air, Sebastian scampering along behind her. His free laughter told her he’d gotten exactly what he wanted, and she sighed, chuckling a little herself at how easily he’d played her. He’d always had such a talent for it.

“Hang on,” Sebastian said, after trekking down the path for a good ten minutes and occasionally blasting spiders out of the trees. “What’s this?”

Dracaena paused, peering at the tangle of thorns Sebastian was investigating. A battered pair of boots poked out, and she felt the familiar prickle of cold shiver up her spine, the same feeling she got whenever she saw a dead body.

“Careful,” Sebastian said, as she stepped closer. He held out a hand to stop her. “There’s a Devil’s Snare in there, probably what got the poor bugger. It’s hiding now because the sun’s up, but still, be on your guard.” He used his wand to levitate a few of the brambles out the way. “Looks like he was a courier, there’s a parcel there. Maybe we could deliver it on his behalf?”

“Good idea,” Dracaena said. “But why was he walking through the Forest if he was delivering something?”

Sebastian accioed the parcel into his hands and frowned as he turned it over, a light clinking coming from within.

“No address,” he said, and picked at the string tying the brown paper together. “I wonder what…”

The paper fell away, and Sebastian’s brows went up as several tiny bottles were revealed, all neatly packed together in a small crate. Each tiny bottle contained a swirling, white-blue substance that seemed to slide between a liquid and gaseous state.

“Bloody hell,” Sebastian said. “This isn’t good.”

“What is it?” Dracaena asked, huddling up to him as he picked out one of the tiny bottles. “Unicorn blood?”

“Nah, that’s way thicker, and the colour’s more silvery,” he said. “This is moonflower essence. It’s extremely rare, worth an absolute fortune, and very, very illegal.”

Professor Fig sat patiently on the sofa in the Room of Requirement, a leg crossed over the other, his foot tapping the air slightly as he sipped steadily at a lovely cup of tea. He was settled back against the arm, trying his hardest not to ask for the fourth time what the matter was with Ominis. The young Slytherin was sitting bolt upright on the opposite end of the sofa, clutching a cup of tea that he hadn’t touched. Half an hour had passed, and he’d not said a word aside from variations of “I’m quite alright, thank you,” despite the older man’s gentle probing.

Eleazar had his suspicions, of course. The way he’d reacted when he’d thought he’d spoken out of turn to a parental figure spoke volumes of the kind of trauma he suspected he’d endured, and he knew as well as anyone that Ominis had to talk about his past in order to be able to process what he’d gone through, to begin to heal. But he couldn’t force it, for that would only make matters worse.

So he sat, and he waited. Unfortunately, it seemed Ominis was far more accustomed to long periods of silence than Sebastian was, and he sensed that if he was going to get anywhere at all, he was going to have to prove that he could be trusted. But how? Ominis was mistrustful by nature, and it didn’t take much for him to dismiss those around him as a bunch of lying fools, even if he wouldn’t say such a thing about his elders out loud.

The best way to get Ominis to trust him enough to open up would either be through gradual increments over a very long period of time, or it would have to be through shared experiences. Eleazar had no desire to wait for possibly years for Ominis to open up to him that much, walking on eggshells and praying he didn’t inadvertently abuse the young man’s trust. But he had very little in common with the lad, in truth. From what he knew from the gossip amongst the professors, Ominis was the polar opposite of his family in every way, though this realisation had only really come to pass in recent months as his dear Dracaena practically dragged him out of his shell when they were together.

Ominis, it seemed, had not had a happy childhood. The fact he went to live with the Sallows the moment he could signified that. But Eleazar had had a thoroughly enjoyable boyhood with warm and loving parents. How could he connect with Ominis like he needed when they were so different?

Another fifteen minutes passed, and Ominis gave a long, almost silent sigh.

“Forgive me sir, but I really ought to finish tending my Flutterby Bush,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Might I be excused?”

“You don’t have to ask,” Eleazar said. “You’re not being kept here against your will, you know.” He paused as Ominis set his untouched tea on the low table and got to his feet, berating himself silently for not being able to help the lad when he so desperately needed someone to care for him. “Do you want some help? I might not be the most green-fingered of men, but-”

“I’m perfectly capable, thank you,” Ominis said, his tone carefully neutral, and Eleazar avoided swearing aloud by a narrow margin. Of course the poor chap would think everyone wanted to help him because they assumed his blindness rendered him helpless, and not just because they wanted to out of the kindness of their hearts.

But then, Ominis hadn’t known much kindness in his life.

“Well, perhaps you could talk me through what you’re doing?” Fig got to his feet as well. “I’ve always held a bit of a fascination with magical plants, but never really had the time to study them.”

He was keenly aware that Ominis wanted to be alone, but he couldn’t give up, not now. He had no idea how long Dracaena and Sebastian would be before they finished fetching whatever it was they were going to get (or rather, knowing them as he did, getting into mischief), and if he missed this chance to get through to Ominis, it was unlikely he’d ever get such an opportunity again.

Ominis’ shoulders moved with another silent sigh. “Of course, sir.”

Eleazar followed him down a corridor and into a rather glorious, long room, where Dracaena had conjured a number of potting stations at one end, the walls covered with tools, diagrams and cuttings, and at the other end were her cauldrons, where she and Sebastian occasionally experimented, with significantly more success than their Gryffindor friend, Garreth.

Ominis headed straight for the Flutterby Bush, a pretty little shrub whose leaves waved and shivered independently, giving the whole plant a pleasant rippling affect. Eleazar took up a station beside Ominis, clearing his throat a little to let him know where he was, and he clasped his hands, waiting patiently.

To his utter delight, this tactic worked.

Though Ominis’ speech was monotone and halting to begin with, he soon settled into his usual pattern of casual conversation, a small smile even appearing on his lips as he spoke about the shrub before him, how to care for it, nurture it, and what results Professor Garlick expected by the end of term.

After half an hour of this, Fig risked a question.

“What is it about Herbology that you enjoy so much?” he asked, crossing his fingers.

Ominis gave an elegant shrug.

“It’s predictable,” he said. “Magical plants generally won’t hurt you, and those capable of causing harm do so only as it’s their nature, and that’s easily avoided if you know what you’re dealing with. You don’t have to deal with dangerous plants if you don’t want to.”

“It’s safe, then?” Fig said, and Ominis hesitated, his fingers brushing the tips of the shivering leaves.

“Yes,” he said, slowly. “I suppose one could call it that.”

Fig clamped his lips shut, waiting for Ominis to continue speaking. He had to wait a while, but his patience was rewarded as he sighed, lowering his hands to the worktop.

“Plants don’t lie to you,” he said, his voice so soft Fig could barely hear it. “They don’t seek you out to hurt you. They don’t force you to hurt other people. They don’t ignore you and manipulate you and disregard your feelings out of spite.”

Eleazar leaned to the side, peering at him. Ominis’ face was set in a fierce scowl, quite at odds with his gently delivered words. He looked about ready to hit something, and his hands were white-knuckled on the worktop.

“I don’t know about you, but I could use another cup of tea,” Eleazar said gently, and to his delight, Ominis nodded, turned, and led the way back to the sofa.

“What should we do with it?” Dracaena asked, staring at the little crate of tiny bottles in Sebastian’s hands. They’d rushed out of the Forbidden Forest as fast as their legs could carry them and holed up in the nearby stately ruin lying along the road to Hogsmeade. Now, they were huddled up behind a stack of crates, and Sebastian had conjured a blanket to lie on top, shielding them from all sides. The space was quite small, and they were pressed up together. Dracaena tried very hard to ignore how warm he was.

“We could do loads,” Sebastian said. “By my guess, there’s got to be at least fifty-thousand galleons worth of essence here.”

Her jaw dropped. It was an almost obscene amount of money, enough for her, Sebastian and Ominis to buy a big house and live happily on the profits well into their middle ages, probably longer if they were sensible. Of course, Fig would live with them, and…

“We probably shouldn’t,” she said. “Bassy, if this really is worth that much and is as illegal as you say, how the hell would we even sell it? How would we explain where we got the money if we managed it?”

“Well… we’d need to launder it so the Ministry doesn’t get suspicious,” Sebastian said, rubbing his chin. “But that’d mean we need a business, and none of us are likely to do that until we’re out of school.”

“So we just sit on it? What if we’re caught with it?”

“Azkaban, probably,” Sebastian said, pulling one of the bottles out again and tilting it to and fro, his eyes on the swirling, liquid mist within. “A few drops of this makes for a powerful hallucinogen, giving you visions of blissful things. Easy to get addicted to, but the more you use it, the more you need, and the more you take, the worse the visions get, until you’re in a waking nightmare, but you can’t stop. People who get addicted to this end up wasting away because they forget to eat, cowering in a corner and surrounded by horrors.”

Dracaena bit her lip. “We probably shouldn’t sell it, then,” she said. “I don’t want something like this out on the streets where vulnerable people can be hurt by it.”

Sebastian shrugged. “Hey, if people want to take it, it’s not for me to tell them no,” he said. “Their body, their choice, right? And if it makes us rich in the process…”

Dracaena thumped his arm, and he chuckled, rubbing it.

“Take it easy, Sparks,” he said, teasing her with the nickname she hated, and she stuck her tongue out at him. His eyes flicked to it immediately, and his smile slipped for a fraction of a second. He wrenched his gaze away and back to the bottle in his hands, barely larger than his little finger.

“It’s not just used as a drug, it’s a really valuable potion ingredient too,” he said.

Dracaena laughed. “That's better. So we sell it to Pippin?”

Sebastian shook his head. “He’ll want to know where we got so much… even a single bottle of this would raise eyebrows.” He pursed his lips, and Dracaena found her eyes drawn to the shape they made. “The only way to sell this would be outside of Ministry regulations. If we own up and say we found it to anyone on the right side of the law, the Ministry would confiscate it, and maybe we’d get a ‘well done’ in the Daily Prophet or something. Now, I don’t know about you, but if someone asked me whether I wanted to take a risk and the result was fifty grand, or do the ‘proper’ thing and get a thank you if I’m lucky, well, I know which one I’d pick.”

Dracaena nodded slowly. “You make a good point,” she said. “But it’ll be dangerous. We should probably take it back to the castle and hide it somewhere until we know what to do with it.”

“Don’t tell Om-” Sebastian began, but Dracaena poked him hard in the ribs and he yelped with a pained laugh.

“Have you learned nothing? If we don’t tell him, he’ll find out anyway, then be upset we excluded him,” Dracaena scolded. “I’m telling him the moment we get back and Fig’s out of earshot.”

Ominis slumped on the sofa, his head hanging. His voice had returned to its monotone state, but for the first time, Fig was glad of it. He thought he’d heard the worst kinds of neglect when Sebastian had told his story (though he suspected Sebastian hadn’t quite told him everything), but the horrific abuse the young Gaunt had suffered at the hands of his family chilled him to the bone. It was a wonder he was even alive, and the story had only reached up to when Ominis was four years old.

“Marvolo used to put me on a broom for fun,” he said, speaking to his knees. “One might think that’s a brotherly thing to do, but once my feet left the ground, I had absolutely no idea where I was. I didn’t have my wand or even the barest hint of magic at such a young age, so I had no way of telling whether I was two foot from the ground or twenty. He used to love sitting in the sun with a book, listening to me screaming for help. It was music to him. He always did it when Aunt Noctua was away, because when she caught him at it, even my father couldn’t stand in the way of the beatings she’d give.”

A tiny flicker of a smile passed his lips. “I suppose it’s funny in a way, looking back on it. She used to frighten the daylights out of Marvolo, but I wished she wouldn’t sometimes. He always hurt me worse after she twisted his ear of whipped his behind bloody. I do miss her.”

“When did she pass?” Eleazar asked, gently.

“Oh, many years ago now. I think I was six when she stopped coming back.” A flash of pain crossed his face, swept away almost instantly by the carefully neutral expression he so often wore. “Ten years… I can hardly believe it.”

Eleazar raised a hand as if to place it on the young man’s shoulder, but he thought better of it. Ominis was a bit funny about being touched, he shied away from contact from almost everyone. Indeed, he’d only ever known Ominis to accept a brief hug or pat on the back from Sebastian, though he did seem perfectly content to lean on Dracaena when they studied. Not that this surprised him, she was a warm and likeable young witch, able to get on with just about anybody.

He tilted his head as Ominis sighed slightly.

“I apologise for going on so, sir, I don’t want to talk your ear off,” he said, his voice still low and dull. “It must be a frightful bore to listen to me complain so.”

“Nonsense,” Eleazar said. “It’s good for the soul to get things off your chest once in a while.”

Ominis shook his head slightly, turning away, and Eleazar bit down on a swearword. He’d been doing so well, and now he was pulling away again! He drew a steadying breath. Patience, Eleazar, let him go at his own pace.

“I could make us another hot drink, if you like?” he offered instead. “Perhaps something other than tea? A coffee, perhaps, or a hot chocolate? I might even have a little firewhisky on hand if you’re in need of a pick-me-up?”

Ominis huffed a soft laugh. “No thank you, sir,” he said, lacing his fingers together and leaning back until he was resting properly against the back of the sofa, his hands in his lap, his head pillowed, his crystal eyes gazing unseeing at the ceiling.

“Did you know that my parents tried everything they possibly could to fix this?” he said, waving a hand at his eyes, before it fell back into his lap. “Everything, I’m told. Gold no object. There was no Healer too expensive, no shaman too far away, no treatment too experimental.”

Eleazar, who had been about to take a sip of coffee, froze, the rim of the cup touching his lip. The darkness in Ominis’ voice chilled him to the bone, and he dreaded hearing what was to come next.

“None of it worked,” Ominis said, his head lolling a little to the side, his eyes closing. “All of it hurt. They’d make me sit there for hours, trying all these different spells, making me drink potions, rubbing poultices into my eyes…” he shuddered. “I think if I wasn’t blind already, I’d have lost my sight for all that they did. Apparently one of their experiments fused my irises together, not that it made any difference to me, but it made them treat me more like an outcast. ‘At least people will know right away that you’re broken, boy, and won’t trouble themselves with you.’ That’s what my father said when it happened.”

“Ominis,” Eleazar began, but the young Slytherin seemed oblivious to his presence.

“They used to give me a piece of chocolate once they got bored of trying to fix me.” He said. “I was never in the mood for it, I was usually in too much pain to think about eating anything. But they forced me, told me I was being ungrateful. I never could stand the taste of it after that.”

Eleazar shifted guiltily, thinking of all the times he’d made the trio a hot chocolate before sending them off to bed, the warm treat a favourite of his as well. Ominis had always accepted with polite thanks, and usually left more than half his cup undrunk once the other two had scoffed theirs. The few times it had been empty, the cup had been spotless, and Eleazar suspected he’d vanished the contents so as not to offend.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “Ominis, what you’ve endured is terrible. I don’t know how someone who was hurt so badly by those that were meant to love you has turned out to be one of the most well-mannered, kind people I know.”

If Ominis registered the gentle compliment, he didn’t react to it. Instead, he sighed.

“It gets worse,” he said gloomily. “Once I got my wand, and had practiced enough with it, they decided to let me join in on the family sport, something I’d always been curious about, until I found out what it was. Marvolo had always called it ‘hunting,’ and I suppose it was, in a way. The thing is, what they were hunting was muggles.”

“Ah, shit, they’re still in there,” Sebastian said, his ear pressed to the door opposite the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy. “Can’t hear what they’re saying, but it’s mostly Ominis talking.” He flashed Dracaena a grin. “Told you it’d work.”

“I hope you’re right,” she said. She’d been anxious about Ominis’ declining mood for a good while now, and she got the feeling he desperately wanted to talk about it, but didn’t know how to start. She was wise enough to know she was ill-equipped for helping him considering the little she knew of his past, no matter how much she wanted to be the one he bared his soul to. “But enough about that for now, where the hell are we going to hide the moonflower essence?”

“Shh!” Sebastian flapped his hand at her, glancing nervously along the corridor. “Anyone could be creeping up on us!”

“Revelio,” Dracaena said, her wand revealing nothing but them. “No, there’s no one.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t trust the portraits,” Sebastian muttered. “Gossips, the lot of them.”

“I guess we could hide it in your dorm?” Dracaena suggested, eyeing the bundle of robes Sebastian was carrying, the crate of essence hidden within.

“Why mine? If anything, we should hide it in yours, everyone loves you and would believe you if you said you didn’t know what it was or where it came from,” Sebastian argued.

“Because I can get into your dorm, you can’t get into mine,” Dracaena said. “If one of us is indisposed, the other should be able to move it pronto, don’t you think?”

“I could get into your dorm if I wanted to,” Sebastian muttered, then his cheeks flushed. “We can’t just keep carrying this around. Maybe if we just hid it in a suit of armour or behind a tapestry or something?”

“Too exposed,” Dracaena said. “We can’t risk someone stumbling on this. Knowing our luck, I bet Peeves would find it.”

As if he was summoned, the colourful poltergeist zoomed around the corner, cackling madly, his arms full of star charts he’d clearly just stolen. He pulled up short in midair with a screeching noise as he saw them standing there, and his little black eyes narrowed in malicious glee.

“Oooh, it’s feeble Fig’s new adoptees!” he cackled. “Up to no good, it seems to me, thinking a professor dad will save your skins!”

“Don’t,” Dracaena said, grabbing Sebastian’s wrist as he went for his wand.

Seemingly disappointed by their lack of reaction, Peeves glowered, his beady eyes lighting on the bundle of robes in Sebastian’s arms. His grin almost split his face in half when both students tensed.

“Oooooh, what’ve you got there? Is it foody or drinky, or something much more naughty?”

He swooped towards them, dropping the star charts, his hands outstretched. Sebastian swore and dived to the floor, holding the robes to his chest. Dracaena stood over him, firing hexes at Peeves as he soared about her, trying to get to Sebastian. She swore herself as he began throwing things at her, vases, potted plants, portraits that yelled at their unexpected flight, and more. She drew the line when he pulled a fat tarantula out of his pocket and flung it at her face.

Dracaena yelped and whacked it away, and unfortunately, it decided to take refuge down the neck of Sebastian’s shirt. He flung himself into the air as though he’d been electrocuted, the bundle of robes flying away as he scrabbled for his collar, howling like a wounded wolf. Dracaena avoided his flailing limbs and hurled herself after the robes as Peeves shot forward, cackling. He caught one end of the robes and Dracaena caught the other, and the wrapped package came flying out.

“Accio!” Dracaena yelled, and it shot into her hands. “Depulso!”

Peeves was blasted backwards, vanishing through the wall with a yelp.

“Get it off get it off get it off get it off!” Sebastian yelled, kicking and slapping at his torso. Dracaena spied the poor tarantula making an eight-legged run for it into the shadows, but delayed saying anything, because at that moment, Sebastian saw fit to tear his shirt right off.

She raised a brow, admiring the freckles on his shoulders, the light dusting of hair on his chest and navel, the tiniest hint of weight around his belly. He blinked up at her, caught her staring, and they both went as red as Gryffindor.

“No spider,” Dracaena said, clearing her throat and nudging his shirt towards him with her foot, averting her gaze. “Look, we better get out of here befo-”

The door to the Room of Requirement opened, and Professor Fig poked his head out. His brows flew up as he caught sight of Sebastian sitting half dressed on the floor, both he and Dracaena blushing furiously. To her surprise, she saw that his eyes were rather red.

“I hope I didn’t interrupt anything,” Fig said, trying to smile. “Did you get everything you needed?”

“Uh…” Dracaena glanced at the package in her hands, then at Sebastian. “Actually, Elly, there’s something pretty serious we need to talk to you about.”

Sebastian swore under his breath.

The package sat on Fig’s desk in his office as he stared at it the following day. Dracaena had told him everything about what they’d found, and he’d advised them both, firmly, that as tempting as it was to sell it and get a lot of gold for it, it would only end up in trouble for the lot of them. He would have to take it to the Ministry. Sebastian set up a fierce protest of course, arguing a passionate case as to why they should do things his way as Dracaena sidled over to Ominis and gave him a huge hug that he eagerly returned, burying his face in her shoulder.

Fig had already had a word with Aesop and written to Minister Spavin, and most of the little bottles would make their way to the Ministry for a small reward, about a hundred galleons or so.

He chuckled softly. It wasn’t fifty grand, but it was something. The other would be tucked away in Sharp’s private stores for his more difficult potions.

His smile slid away as he remembered all Ominis had told him before Dracaena and Sebastian had their fight with Peeves. He hadn’t been able to stop himself weeping, hastily casting a Silencing Charm on himself as he listened to all the poor lad had endured. Endless abuse, mindless torment, even torture.

But listening to him had helped him. Ominis had strode to breakfast that morning with a smile on his face, arm in arm with Dracaena, Sebastian on her other side, the three of them laughing and joking freely. Dracaena had caught his eye and mouthed a thank you to him. Fig had raised his goblet, hoping against hope that his youngest charge would feel more comfortable coming to him with any problems he had in the future. The first step, after all, is always the hardest.

Masterlist

[sallage]

TUFS Update: IcyHot Rage & Poll

Alright gang, I’m more than halfway done with the fic.

I’ll admit, remastering this series has been a little difficult. There are last minute themes I wish I could have integrated, and other stuff I wish I could have done.

Which begs the question.

I want to propose something; another poll. (Also, I and no one else can see who votes and for what so the poll is anonymous.)

Poll question below!

˚ · • . ° . ˚ · • . ° .

A) Would you prefer that I release individual fics that are part of a larger series immediately after finishing each installment, following my current approach?

Or

B) Would you prefer that I wait until I have completed the entire series before releasing any fics that belong to it, ensuring a cohesive and complete story? (I will use my own discretion for this & TUFS is not a factor, I will release the rest of that series as I have been)

Option B does mean a longer wait time (Save for one shots that I randomly get inspiration for) but I think it would be more appreciated because the story line is through and I would have a completed series that I would post on a fixed schedule. Ex: The completed series will be posted every Sunday at 9am CST.

Don’t be shy to vote! This will influence how I will be releasing future content on this blog.

Thank you! 🥰

[thewatercolours]

King's Quest Fic: "Paths" (Part 3)

Previous instalments here

Perhaps a single sleep-in morning couldn’t fix everything.

In the three days after coronation, Graham racked up an impressive record as king. First, he managed to shatter an oil lantern in the oldest, yellowest, crispiest part of the castle archive, bursting with looseleaf waiting to be bound. They’d saved most of the stacks. 

He’d written greeting letters to his fellow monarchs, including  the queen of gigantic Serenia, the cloutiest player on the political stage. By some oblivious genius,  he accidentally filled the whole thing with scathing double meanings about their countries’ future relationship, with a postscript that amounted to a casual declaration of war. The uncomfortable scribe had said nothing to Graham, but rushed off to check the letter with Royal Guard Number One. You could have knocked the new king over with a feather when the guard scornfully read the worst passages back to him. 

Twice he groggily (and purely automatically) showed up for his old night shifts, embarrassing everyone. He was late for half the meetings on his agenda. One evening he signed nearly two hundred documents he was supposed to void, before someone stopped him.

But nothing compared with what came to be known in Mannerly Stove in years following as “The King Graham incident.” 

Graham’s century old carriage rolled up the switchbacks. He drummed his listless fingers on the window. He knew at least two shortcuts he could have taken, if only they had let him ride his surefooted Triumph. But his old buddy was not a suitable steed for a king, or so they said. 

He tugged at this collar. The carriage might have been spacious, if his honour guard hadn’t stuffed in with him. Did they think they had to form a defensive perimeter even inside the coach? The air outside was damply hot enough, more like the stillness before the summer storms than a September day. And inside with the five guards? Every inch of armour fogged up like a mirror after a bath. 

“I’m not quite sure what the point of this is - ouch!” His temple struck the window as the carriage lurched wildly onto its two right wheels. The brow of his crown dug bluntly into the same place it dug every time. 

“A little more caution on those sharp turns, Number Two?” the captain called, banging a fist on the ceiling.

“Righty-oh,” came their driver’s muffled voice.

The king groaned. He shoved aside his seatmate, who had toppled right over him. His sharp armour bits were all caught on Graham’s formal black and red outfit. “I mean,” he grunted, righting his crown, “I have been to Mannerly Stove. Every time I’ve been sent on a quest outside the kingdom, in fact. I get my lunch at the Olde Yarblesnoof. I know half the people by sight. Is this visit really necessary?”

Number One fanned himself with his notecards. His voice was flat and already tired. “Sir Graham visited. Sir Graham is not here today. You are Daventry.”

 “Yeah, but, to an ordinary villager -”

The guard’s tone grew sharper. “Ever have the landlord knock on your door up in Llewdor?”

Graham swallowed. It had been a long time. Yet he was astonished how clearly he remembered his mother panicking, plastering on a smile for him and his sisters, rushing them out the backdoor, and telling them to play by the brook or in the woods. Just not near the house. She’d pat her hair and set  her jaw, walking determinedly to the front door. He could not remember what the landlord looked like, except that he was really big. He had to stoop to get in the door. Graham frowned. “Yeah, occasionally.”

“It means a lot to an ordinary villager, wouldn’t you say?”

Graham didn’t answer.

Number One went on, a little less sharp, a little more didactic. “You are about a hundred times all that the landlord is, and more. So today you are going to calm their worries. You’ll smile and mingle, and let them show you whatever they’re proudest of - probably the Tickle Rock. You’ll declare three months’ tax forgiveness, and call for a cask of ale to be opened for the people. And all this will be code for, ‘You’re just as much a part of Daventry as the people down in the valley, Mannerly Stove. I’ll show you I’ll be good to you. You show me you’ll keep my mountain pass open, my only real road in and out clear of snow, catch my brigands, warn me of invaders, ensure food and tools and supplies flow into into my country without trouble, and keep me connected to the outside world.’ So yes, unless you fancy dining only on lavender for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the rest of your reign, we could call it necessary. ”

“But does that also mean - agh!” 

The carriage slammed to an abrupt halt.  Graham and all the guards on his side were thrown into the laps of the guards across the way.  The coach became a writhing tangle of arms, legs, and everyone’s favourite curses. Graham’s boot toe somehow caught on the overhead luggage rack, while his nose wedged in the crook of Number One’s elbow. He thought he heard the captain mutter under his breath, “Really?”Then at the top of his lungs, “Open the door, for pity’s sake!”

Someone found the latch. Half the guards tumbled out in a dust cloud.. Graham could not look anyone in the face as Numbers Three and Five extricated him, and lifted him out of the carriage like a child - into the midst of a throng of chuckling onlookers.

Get it together. Think of lavender for every meal!

Graham stepped away from the guards.  He reached desperately for his dignity, or even just his coaching. Something came to hand. He lifted his chin, clenched his teeth into the most carefree smile in his repertoire, and waved a great big wave at the crowd of a hundred or so. “What’s shakin’, Mannerly Stove?” he shouted cheerily. 

Number One slumped, but the crowd whooped and applauded. Some were still laughing, but that wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Imagine if everyone had fallen silent.

A man of great girth, with a pentagonal hat and chain of office round his neck, strode forward importantly. As he stepped closer, Graham recognized him as Hector. He was more or less mayor, but spent most of his time selling artisanal cheeses over the border. Graham had stayed overnight at his house and beat him at hangman, back when King Edward had sent him to defeat a banshee.

Hector’s grin was enormous, but his eyes were humbly downcast as he swept off his hat with a flourish, and sank to one knee. “Majesty,” he boomed. “Here is a day that will not soon be forgotten in our lowly township.”

Graham sighed, wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his cuff, and pulled out formality. “The pleasure’s all mine, Lord Mayor. And thank you all,” he said, raising his voice, “for the warm welcome. It’s my honour to continue the strong relationship between the throne and this good village.”

More cheers. Well, that wasn’t too bad. Graham  tried to resist, but he could not help sneaking a peek to see if Number One approved. But by this time, the captain was standing to inscrutable attention in a row with the other guards. 

So they began. Speechlets, bouquets, a whirlwind tour of the town which Graham honestly could have led himself. A headache began as he boiled alive in his expensive outfit, but he soldiered on, oohing and ahhing dutifully.

At last they took him over the crest of the road and down into the mountain pass itself. In the distance, Graham could make out a colourful blur (zards, was his eyesight worse compared to his last visit? No, no, surely not,) which  he knew to be the Serenian flag hanging over a small border fortification on the other side. Halfway between them, close to the mountainside waterfall, stood the first thing Graham did not recognize from before. Something glinting here and there with metal, and painted in red and blue.

“Er, what’s that?” he asked, as Hector led the way, walking backward.

“That,” said Hector with relish, raising his voice to be heard above the crash of the waterfall, “is the  reason we insisted your people schedule your visit for today. We only finished putting it together last night. The pride of Mannerly Stove. This way, sire. Only, keep to the middle of the road. Safer.”

“Safer?” asked Graham, but the crowd was already bustling him down the slope toward the object. As it came into focus, he could make out sandbags, gears, a series of weigh scale bowls suspended from chains, and a long winding slide, about the right size for a marble. But none of the bells and whistles disguised the thing completely.

 “A… tollbooth?”

Number One somehow shot him a pointed look, despite his eyes being disguised beneath his helmet. “A very fine tollbooth, I’m sure.”

“A groundbreaking tollbooth,” said Hector. “Like no one has ever seen before, my king. Let us demonstrate.” 

To Graham’s annoyance, the excited mayor yanked him toward the window by the wrist, where a giggling assistant demanded five shiny gold coins. A scowl escaped him at the price, but Number Three leant over his shoulder and murmured something about how after all, he was really just dropping the money back into his own pocket. She asked whether he were smuggling anything, checked something off a list, and  turned a crank. 

The striped barrier began to rise. There was a  shifting and creaking that didn’t seem to come from the mechanism, but out of the earth itself. Graham could have sworn he saw the pebbles on the road rolling slightly. For a moment, an unnaturally straight crack formed in a portion of the road, swallowing dust. Almost as suddenly it disappeared, and all went still. The barrier stopped, at full height.

“Have a nice trip!” the assistant rattled off. “Just have a word with the Serenians at the checkstop on your way through.”

Graham took a few wary steps over the invisible border, but it all seemed solid enough.  He threw an uncertain glance back at the beaming group. “But I don’t actually, right?”

Hector chuckled. “Better not. We’d give the Serenians a good gossip if we sent the king himself through. On foot. All by himself and unprotected.”

Indignation flared in Graham's chest unexpectedly. He was seized by an impulse to power-walk over the frontier and give the people of Daventry something to gossip about.  All by himself and unprotected, indeed. But he slapped that thought away, and ducked to slip under the re-lowered barrier.

The entire crowd gasped as one. The assistant’s mouth went round as an O, and the mayor waved his hands wildly. “No, no, no!” he cried. “Back up! Back up!”

Graham scooted backward, his black satin cloak billowing round. He instinctively checked the ground, but nothing seemed to be moving.

Hector placed a hand over his heart and  heaved a sigh of relief. “Never,” he said, articulating every syllable, “ever try to pass while the gate is still shut. Or go around it. Or climb over it. There are weight sensitive plates everywhere, and if you did -"

“Raise that gate again,” commanded Number One with a firm nod at the assistant. She hurried to obey. The road began groaning again.

“- if you did,” Hector went on, “the entire border defense system would be triggered. Walls, saws, spikes, you name it. And if something of sufficient weight passes over one of those plates, like a cart, it can even set off two small landslides to block the pass on either side.” 

“Retrieve the king,” said Number One hurriedly.

As the barrier locked into its highest position, Graham’s six guards charged forward. They seized him by the shoulders, and  precisely maneuvered him to the very center of the road. They all but shoved him back to the Daventry side, even as they tiptoed, lightly as possible, on their curly boots. “Excuse me,” Graham growled so the crowd wouldn’t hear. “I am perfectly able to walk.” He dug in his heels before he could collide with Hector.

“Landslides?” Graham said aloud, righting himself and shaking off the guards. “That seems like a lot.”

Hector shook his head and waggled a sensible finger. “Nature’s trap for intruders. You see,  a few months back, we had some trouble with bootleggers sneaking past this stretch of road. The late King Edward gave us a grant to tighten security. This Domino Effect Tollbooth was our most brilliant minds’ answer.”

Graham rubbed his chin stubble. “But I mean, smugglers aren’t limited to this route. You could actually sneak into the valley from any direction, right?”

“But NOT through Mannerly Stove,” proclaimed Hector, thrusting out his chest pompously, as though that settled the question. “But you haven’t seen the really droll part of it yet, sire. You might be thinking that an offender might get through the defenses anyhow. That’s why we installed these.” Hector indicated a row of thin, brass pipes protruding from the underside of the toll booth. “These swing out, and blast the scoundrel with sixteen bright colours of paint! Good luck blending in after that!”

“Wow.” Graham scratched his temple under his crown. “You figure it needs sixteen?”

“Naturally! Two or three colours could just mean housepainting, or an artist having a clumsy day. But the odds of sixteen? I think not. In fact, our designer’s original plan was for two-hundred-and-fifty-six colours, but there wasn’t room in the budget. But,” (his smile broadened again - how was that physically possible?) “if I may make so bold, things have been looking up since you got those treasures back. And we, we have full confidence you’ll make the very best use of them. You see, sire, the taxes your officials have us down for are shockingly heavy for such a small town. It's something I’d hoped we could chat about before you leave - possibly expanding the grant.”

“I see.” Graham couldn’t quite stop a smirk from creeping over his face. “So you can have the two-hundred-and-fifty-six colours.”

Hector bobbed the slightest of bows. “That would be a start.”

The smirk spread as he mirrored the mayor’s bow. “Of course. It’s so… great to know the kingdom’s money would be put to such excellent -”

A  gauntleted hand clapped over the king’s mouth. “Bless you,” said Number One brusquely from behind him. “Just as you say, sire. Great to know security is being taken so seriously.”

Really? In what world did Number One imagine that was subtle? 

Graham spluttered as the guard released him, but before he stepped away Number One poked him sharply between the shoulder blades. Muscle memory kicked in. Graham found himself straightening up and putting his shoulders back, as he always did on the training ground when Number One corrected his posture. Then he turned and glared, meeting the guard’s gaze. He deliberately slumped his shoulders and let himself fall into the easy bow-legged stance Number One was always giving him grief for. Zards; what was even the point of dragging him out here if they were just going to be embarrassed of his existence? Maybe they should just put the crown on Number One’s head and send him round to smile and wave at smug villagers. Stars knew he wouldn’t mind taking it off for a while. The headache was morphing from a gnaw to an ache.

Number One held his gaze. And Graham noticed suddenly that everyone had gone quiet.

Hector laughed nervously. “Perhaps your majesty is tired. The heat of the day, naturally. Maybe…” He glanced at the brook rushing by the wayside, and upward at the roiling foam of the falls. “I know just the thing to cool us all down. There’s a staircase carved into the rock that starts just over there. It leads up to a little cliff about halfway up the waterfall. The view is really spectacular.”

“Great idea!” Graham cut in. Anything to shift focus.

The slate-blue steps cut from the side of the mountain were puddle slick most of the way up, pooling mist into water.. More than once Graham nearly lost his footing and had to grab at the fiery-orange foliage of the bushes that lined the way. The second time, Number Two had to give him a shove to get his center of gravity back. 

“You all right?” he whispered in Graham’s ear.

“I’m managing,” he said, trying to put some pep into it.

But Number Two didn’t pull back just yet. “Don’t think about who’s watching,” he murmured. “Not us, not them. Just think about one day when you’ll be old and stuck in bed all day, and can't climb mountains no more -and have fun with it now. That’s how it’s done.”  He patted Graham lightly on the shoulder. “Sire.”

At length they reached the narrow shelf - Graham, the guards, and Hector, who immediately pointed out that you could see his house from there. In fact, Graham could see all of Mannerly Stove from there, and a good stretch of the kingdom below, decked out in autumn glory. He was fairly sure the shimmering bit of white light was the castle pinnacle. But it was the falls that really stole the show, rushing down in magnificent sheets, and casting up snowy white froth. Graham gratefully stepped into the spray and let it play over his face and hands. He rubbed the cool water into the corners of his eyes. Who cared that his good clothes got a trifle wet? Anyone with an ounce of compassion would give him this. He wondered what temperature the guards had reached in their armour, and whether they were envious.

Hector swept another needless bow. “I thought your majesty might find it refreshing. Now, while we’re up here, it would be a crime not to show you the Tickle Rock. How do you like that?” He pointed a brawny finger toward the cliff’s edge.

Perched near the brink sat the most top-heavy rock Graham had ever seen. As tall as he was, and rather wider than his arm span at the top, it dwindled to a narrow point at its base. He could have wrapped his fingers round the bottom. This, at last,  was something to see.

“Perfectly balanced, as you see,” said Hector, taking a moment to hold his handkerchief under the waterfall and dab at his forehead. “It was the pride of our village long before the tollbooth. So, you see, it can never fall down. It’s been here as long as anyone knows. When the winds blow, it rocks a little, but it goes on standing.”

“And it can never fall down?” Graham asked, genuinely enchanted for the first time since his coronation.

“Never.”

“That’s incredible!”

“Miraculous,” the mayor agreed. He considered a moment, then seized off his hat and held it under the water  to fill it up. “Stars bless us, but it is a hot day,” he muttered. “Yes, miraculous. It can never fall down, because if it did, we’d lose half our fame. Although if you come to think of it, the really miraculous thing, even more so than the Tickle Rock’s perfect balance, is that no idiot has ever climbed up here and given it a good…” He looked up from his hat, and froze. “Sir Graham! No!”

A shining-eyed Graham had closed the gap between himself and the rock. To Hector’s horror, even as the words formed on his lips, Graham raised his hand. Pointed a finger. And poked the stone. 

It wobbled.

“What?” said Graham, glancing back over his shoulder in honest bewilderment. “Didn’t you say it can never fall?”

The rock lurched toward the precipice’s edge.

Hector screamed. The crowd below screamed. Nearly every guard screamed.

Graham’s blood froze, and his stomach turned a cat’s cradle. “No, no, no no no no no!” Without a thought in his head, except that the Tickle Rock must not fall, he clambered to get a hold of it, catching frantically at the air. His arms closed round its sides. He heaved backward, realizing just a moment later that if the stone came with him, it would land on top of him. But it didn’t. It wedged itself on the end of his boot, just a fraction away from his toes.  It tottered - tottered further - and righted itself in his arms.

Oh, gods. Oh, merciful gods. That had been unthinkably close. He heaved a sigh of relief, and could have sworn that sigh echoed through the whole mountain pass.

Then something shifted, and Graham and the rock hurtled over the edge.

He cried out. For a moment someone seemed to be tugging at his cloak, but they must have let go. He pulled his arms free of the rock, and found himself spinning somersaults and cartwheels in freefall. The crown flew off his head.  He reached, reached for something to grab hold of, but nothing met his grip.

Then he thudded into the earth.

The wind was knocked out of him, but his arm raised itself on reflex. With perfect timing, he snatched the crown out of the air. Well, at least he had that.

Five spinning skies resolved into one as he gasped breath back into his lungs. Dizzily, he raised himself on one elbow. He was laid out on his back, mere inches from the shattered chunks of the Tickle Rock. And on the other side of him, the tollbooth.

The ground began to creak and rumble under him.

Graham closed his eyes. “No…”

He launched himself into a roll just as the ground beneath where had been lying fell away. From the breach burst a circular saw, spinning so fast it  screeched. He broke his roll just in time, for an identical saw split the ground and rose from the other side. Earsplitting bells and horns rang out. He staggered to his feet, only for something - a spinning jousting target? - to swing at his head. Throwing himself into the arms of instinct, he ducked and weaved as more and more threats appeared, some from the ground, some on metal fixtures that came out of the tollbooth, some from who could say where. He swerved to avoid a procession of five tremendous wooden mallets, any of which could have sent his head flying like a croquet ball. Finally, a great wall of black iron, lined at the top with vicious spikes, leapt out of the ground, cutting off his escape toward the Serenian side. Graham dashed wildly toward Daventry, even though the spikes of the second wall had already climbed a good three feet. Throwing all his momentum into it, he leapt wildly to clear the wall. But the spinning jousting target snagged his cloak, and threw him back into the middle of the fray. 

He flattened himself against the ground, covering his head with his arms, and waited for something to squish or slice or stretch him. Somewhere, the rumbling grew even louder, until it roared.

Everything stopped.

He waited, then waited longer. But nothing more came. Slow as molasses in winter, he got to his feet and looked around. The saws were still, the mallets had fallen to the ground, inert, and the walls, while very much standing, seemed to have reached their full height.

He tilted his head back to look up at the cliff. Only Hector remained by the waterfall. His eyes goggled out of his  head, but he said nothing. The guards were nowhere in sight, though he thought maybe he could just make out Number One’s voice raised above the crash of the water. “Pockets!” 

“I’m -” His voice sounded weak and hoarse, and not nearly loud enough to carry. He tried again, a bit louder.  “I’m here, Number One! I -  think it’s all over.”

A blast of neon yellow splashed violently into his face.

He shut his eyes just in time. The paints soaked him with such force it was hard to keep his balance. He gritted his teeth, folded his arms, and leaned against the metal wall for support. Just stand and take it, and think what on earth you’re going to say to them all.

When at last the paint melee stopped, he cracked an eyelid and looked down at himself. If he hadn’t needed glasses before, he certainly would after an eyeful like that. Lime green, sherbet pink, tropical orange. This outfit was single handedly going to set the royal laundry on strike.

A helmeted head popped over  the wall. “Sire!” cried Number One anxiously, already grabbing onto a spike to vault over. “Are you hurt?” 

The ground had already spat so many things out; if only it could swallow him. He forced a limp, rainbow-coloured thumbs up. 

Number One was there in a moment, seizing him by the elbows. “Are you hurt at all?” He sounded beside himself.

Graham shook his head, grateful that his sopping blue and white hair hung down over his face, so that his eyes were hidden too.

“Can you speak?”

“Uh huh.”

Number One’s grip relaxed, and if it was a wave of relief that washed over the guard, Graham could feel it roll over him too. Just for a moment. Because the next moment the grip turned severe. If Number One had been any stronger he would have crushed Graham's elbows as he leaned in and whispered furiously, “What in bloody hell do you think you’re playing at?” Then he stepped back, and shouted clearly, “His majesty is not seriously harmed. Numbers Two and Three, prepare the carriage to take him home at once. My lord mayor, on behalf of the royal guard, we are deeply, deeply sorry for this unfortunate accident. Numbers Four, Five, and Six, we’ll be here overnight to… deal with all this.” 

Up on the clifftop, Hector shook himself from his stupor. “Uh - uh - uh, well,” he stammered, “well, I don’t think anyone’s heading home tonight. The, uh, the rock was, um, heavy. The landslides, they worked perfectly, on both sides. So you’re probably stuck here until, um, we can get the rubble crew in.”

Number One twitched, almost imperceptibly. “How long will that take?”

Hector began twisting his hat into a helix. “I don’t think the team has been, um, precisely organized yet. We - we only finished the tollbooth last night. Um, there’s a signup sheet on the town board. Can someone run and check on that?”

The last time Graham had stayed overnight at the mayor’s house, he’d slept on the sofa. This evening the two housemaids rushed about in a frenzy to get the master bedroom ready. They changed out the bedding, set up a side table with a pitcher of water, mints, and a bell, and covered the floor and armchair with towels and tarps, so the splattered king could drip as much as he liked.

Exhausted, he eased into the chair sorely. If his muscles were feeling that fall now, what would they be tomorrow? As for the headache, it had apparently decided to split expenses and housemate with a few other headaches. But a splitting head and aching muscles were things he could get over. He wasn’t sure about the rest.

The wash stand was just within reach. A linen towel hung over the edge. Improper it might be, but his handkerchief was a sodden mess of paint. Graham grabbed the towel and blew his nose hard. Even the mucus seemed to have all sixteen colours in it.

Number One marched into the room with the most precisely by-the-book march Graham had ever seen from him, but he only stopped the door from slamming at the last second. He stepped carefully around the colourful footprints, placed his helmet on the dresser, and stared at Graham. He didn’t exactly look angry. Graham didn’t quite know what that look was, except that it was intense. “What are you?” asked the guard slowly.

Graham shrugged.  “An artistic masterpiece,” he said dryly.

“No. What are you?”

“I know. I know. I’m an idiot.” He dragged a weary hand across his face, and it came away purple and brown.

Number One took a step forward. “No!” He emphasized every word. “You are Daventry. Daventry! You cannot be Sir Graham any longer. You cannot be an island, or a maverick, or whatever you think you are. And you cannot be a rebellious schoolboy.” 

Couldn’t he give it five minutes? “It’s just when he said it couldn’t fall, I took it in the sense that -”

“Daventry tumbled and scraped its way down a mountainside today. Daventry fell on its face in the dust.”

“I was actually on my back…”

“Daventry walked away wet, unsteady, and foolish, gagging up paint in front of the whole town, who will spread it round on our side of the border and over it. And the fault is completely mine.”

That got Graham’s attention. He looked up. “What?”

“You are as far from ready as you could be. And you nearly got yourself killed today.” Number One looked as though he might go on, but he abruptly stopped himself. He seized his helmet up, replaced it, and muttered, “I should be publicly flogged."

This time, he let the door slam.

[hiraethblack22]

Fire and Ice

(Bucky x ofc) series.

MASTERLIST OF THE SERIES: here.

SUMMARY: Thirteen is a HYDRA pawn, a soldier, a spy and an assassin. A wraith. Chosen because of her powers and transformed into the perfect weapon. (enchanted!reader) What happens when her mission becomes locating and eliminating The Winter Soldier?

IMPORTANT: I won't use Y\n but the lead character will be given a name and will be a fully formed character. Set in a time where everyone is still alive and Bucky is free of the hydra. Warnings: violence, blood, torture, and manipulation. Vulgar language. The story will contain adult content. Probably a whole lot of Smut.

CHAPTER TWO: US AND THEM.

Peace is an abstract concept made by powerful people to install faith in the institutions of the world that claim to keep crime and danger at bay. In all the years I’d been living, I quickly realised that it was indeed a false concept, a lie, considering that the same people who claimed to protect the world were installing the danger in it. The idea of peace is nothing but a facade that is used to manipulate the masses.

Hydra was claiming to cleanse the world from evil, but how could they pretend to act for world peace when they were responsible of the death of millions? Couldn’t they see the blood tinting their white vest of morality? How could they profess goodness when they were keeping dozens of slaves under their polished boots?

The Avengers were painted as heroes. Flying around to beat up the evil—that, yes, when they weren’t busy fighting among themselves.

There had been a time when I had hoped for them to come and rescue us, me, from Hydra. But, it soon faded; hope was dangerous, it only led to disappointment and despair. Instead, I focused on survival. I had waited, spending days laying facedown on the filthy floor of the cells and weeks silently witnessing the deaths of my cellmates one after the other. The years I had passed, fed with injections of syringes, and pumped up with synthetic drugs to accomplish assignments that were impossible for anybody else, had helped me to give up all hope, not just in the Avengers but also in the rest of the world.

I ingenuously thought they weren't saving us because they were fighting each moment to defend their values, as we fought every day for a cup of water or a bit of sleep, but no; here they were, drinking champagne in fancy dresses, dancing, as the world outside cried their names.

The fair of peace for the future was another clown show created by the government to show the citizens that the future was safe. The secretary of state had delivered a very long sermon on heroes and peace, licking the avengers' arses every two sentences, and delivering sexist remarks about the heroines of the team—that made my fingers tickle the trigger of my rifle more eagerly than I should have—but in between inaugurations and philosophical peace speeches, the secretary of state made sure he got an exclusive on the prostitution trade every single month, and on the remaining days he accepted bribes from Hydra. So, he would end up murdered, one way or another, but killing him wasn't allowed in my future.

I guessed I couldn’t even proclaim myself as a white knight of peace, not when I was currently waiting to bomb the shit out of it.

“I have eyes on the target.” I murmured into the radio, lowering the binoculars to eye the building where the fair was taking place.

My body moved without me telling it what to do. It checked the ammo, fastened a couple of guns to my legs, secured the daggers around the belt, and lowered the rifle behind my back.

"I hope you mean this horrible building," Marya's voice said in reply. The radio cracked with her voice.

The building was indeed quite horrible—a white oval with an awful lot of windows. It was not a safe place, not even with the dozens of security guards standing outside the building. The others had by now removed the guards and placed the explosives.

The orders had been made clear that it had to be set to trap everyone inside, and us inside with them. The roof was the way out. A soldier had infiltrated the rooftop guards to take control of the chopper when the time was right.

I lowered my hand, and as I willed it, a light flared beneath the skin, producing a flame on the palm of my hand. It swirled on itself, hissing like a wild animal. I allowed it to dance around my fingers with a smile. “It will burn down with the lot of them.”

Marya had been with us for what I imagined was a couple of weeks; sharing a wall of bars had quite made us close. It wasn’t friendship; I didn’t even remember what friendship was supposed to feel like, but we were accompanying each other on long missions and on the dark, cold nights at the headquarters—holding my hand in hers like a loving mother and whispering funny stories of her childhood, telling me how her family had always been loving and caring for her and the rest of her siblings. She often cried, remembering them, thinking about what they thought when they remembered her—I cried with her most of the time, thinking about my brother and the life we had lost.

I knotted the rope to my body, crawling down the side of the building in the silent shadows of the night.

As the other soldiers would trap them all inside, and I would be focused on The Winter Soldier.

The programme they implanted in his head was nearly perfect, certainly better than the one in my head; ours was injected with syringes and would fade away after some weeks, leaving us begging for more. I didn't know why these people wanted the soldier, but I was in charge of bringing his body back with me to the base. I wasn't in a position to care about the reason; the only thing I needed was for my brother to be safe.

I nodded to the other soldiers when I crossed the doors. As soon as I was inside, they all disappeared.

The people were all gathered in the big hall on the second floor, watching the performance. And I was going to give them the most beautiful spectacle—the one they were going to pay with their lives to watch. I distantly heard the noise of the bombs going off behind me.

I smirked.

The game was finally on.

The door of the big hall flew open. The people inside began rushing out, scarfs and clothes over their mouths, to block the smoke from entering their lungs.

I rolled my eyes—people really didn’t know how to save themselves. Running straight into the arms of danger.

I grabbed my rifle and fired shots against the walls. They all dropped in an instant, moving out of the way, and clearing the way for us.

He was in the back of the room. Beautifully swinging punches and kicks at the soldiers surrounding him, ducking out of the flashes of knives. I walked to him, taking my sweet time to extract my favourite dagger from the belt.

The soldiers didn’t waste any time, shooting and punching their way to the Avengers. I recognised a couple of them—I saw the widow jump straight for one of us, leaving him at her feet an instant later. The Captain was, as usual, throwing his shield at the enemies and shouting orders. An arrow flashed past me, grazing my cheek, but I paid no mind; somebody else would take care of that. I saw out of the corner of my eye the soldiers shooting in the direction of the Hawke without breaking the protective circle they had me in—if I didn’t grab a hold of the Winter Soldier, none of us would go unpunished. And then, finally, I saw him

One of the soldiers, S-32 was his number, was attacking too roughly, advancing too closely. He swung a powerful punch at the Winter Soldier, making his head shoot sideways. I saw his blood spraying the floor. Another soldier came, locking his arms behind him. S-32 raised a knife, arching down straight for the Winter Soldier’s throat. The knife flashed closer and closer and brushed the skin of his neck before it stopped.

S-32 stared at me in shock, his eyes wide. His mouth opened, but only a pained groan escaped his trembling lips. He shot his eyes where my hand was closed around his wrist, my skin glowing and his flesh fuming away through my fingers.

“He is mine.”

I kicked him in the chest, watching his body tumble to the ground amid the fight.

I nodded to the other to release him, and his hands couldn’t have dropped faster.

I stared at the Winter Soldier, bending my head to the side to study him better. He was panting in pain, but I couldn't feel any remorse. The power coursing through my veins was too intoxicating to resist. The first thing I noticed were his blue and intense eyes. They reminded me of the ocean, but with a dangerous edge that made me shiver.

I threw another knife from my holster, imbedding it on the floor between the Winter Soldier's feet. He stared at it, then at me.

I winked. "I'd hate for this to be boring."

The Winter Soldier's eyes narrowed, sizing me up and trying to figure out if it was a scam or not. I took a step forward, keeping my eyes locked on his.

"You know," I said, "I've heard a lot about you. The things you've done... they're pretty impressive." He didn't react, remaining frozen in the little bubble that had formed around us. I saw a flicker of something in his eyes. Recognition? Regret? It was hard to tell.

"I don't do that anymore."

"It's cute you think you can escape this," I mocked him.

I quickly turned around to face him, my heart racing as I braced myself for his next move. He lunged at me with the knife. I bent sideways, avoiding that flash of silver.

I didn't wait any longer and lashed out in attack. As I lunged forward, I felt a rush of adrenaline. My foot collided with his stomach, making him stumble backward. He doubled over, escaping from my attack like intangible smoke. He rolled out of the way, rising on his feet behind me, knife in hand and ready.

"Let's dance, doll."

In a flash, the Winter Soldier was on his feet, behind my back, immobilising my arms against my torso with his metal arm. He pressed me against his hard chest. The knife angled beneath my chin, and his breath caressed my ear as he bent down and whispered, "It's cute you think you can beat me."

I took a step back, my eyes locked on his, searching for any sign of weakness. He was quick and agile. Hydra had definitely wasted their time training this man, but they had done it with me too. With a sudden burst of energy, he charged at me again, his knife glinting in the light. I sidestepped his attack and landed a swift kick to his side. He stumbled backward.

The Winter soldier grabbed his side, slightly hunched on his side. I dove forward, sending my knife to slice the air towards his forehead. But the bastard grabbed my wrist, like I had done with S-32 minutes prior. His metal hand crushed it so hard that I felt my bones' wishes to snap. He twisted my wrist until my fingers spasmed open, and the blade clattered awkwardly to the floor. If any of my trainers had been watching, they would have whipped me into unconsciousness.

There was something in his voice that made my blood roar violently in my veins. I involuntarily licked my lips.

"If you're done flirting with me, soldat,” I hardly recognised my own voice, and that mocking smile that could be heard in it. “I'd like to kill you now."

I concentrated on my back, making the skin flare up with fire. He hissed. At first, he tried to hold on to me, but he stumbled back, surrendering to the pain. The knife fell, and I kicked it to let it disappear in the crowd.

As soon as there was space between us, I elbowed him in the groin. I laughed as he groaned in pain, finally rolling away, free from his hold.

With a quick movement, he lunged at me again, his metal arm glinting in the dim light. I dodged his attack and countered with a swift kick to his side. He grunted in pain but didn't back down.

We continued to exchange blows, each one more powerful than the last. As the fight dragged on, I could feel my energy waning, but I refused to give up.

The winter soldier's punch came straight for my mouth. The hit almost knocked me to the ground, but I managed to stay on my feet. I could feel the blood trickling down from my lip. The winter soldier smirked at me, his intense eyes now filled with a hint of amusement.

I knew that this fight was far from over.

I wiped the blood off with the back of my hand. My lips curled in a small smirk of their own.

"I hoped I didn't have to use this," I told him, showing him my hand, the fire rolling on my fingers, "Hydra won't be happy if I burn you to fucking ashes, but hey!" I shot a wave of fire, making it more solid than hot, sending him backward. I shrugged. "Accidents do happen."

I knocked him down twice, sending him further and further into the back of the room, right where I saw Marya keeping the door open for me. She was leaning against the door, using a small knife to clean the underside of her nails, unbothered by the chaos and destruction that was going on around us.

The Winter Soldier stumbled on his feet again, and finally, sending a last blast of power against his chest, he stumbled out of the room.

I nodded to Marya, and she moved to grab her two guns, diving into the room and locking the door behind her.

I took my rifle from my back, and pointed it straight for his heart. “It’s just you and me now, soldat.”

“You don’t have to do this,” he spoke, holding up his hands to show submission.

“Don’t I?” I asked, my voice rougher than I intended. “Are you going to appeal to my sense of pity? Because I have none.”

None I could feel; not at the moment. Not when whatever they shot in my veins was making my heart hammer so loud in my ears that my head felt like it was about to explode; not when I knew what would happen to me and the others if I failed.

“I can help you.”

His eyes were kind, almost sweet, but it was pointless. I didn't know how long I could resist the urge to give in to the voice screaming at me to complete my mission.

“Help me?” I laughed bitterly. “It is a bit late for that.”

I pressed my finger on the trigger. I didn’t know why I was entertaining his idiotic desire to speak with me. I didn’t know why I yet had to shoot a bullet in his heart—heart, not head—because, for whatever reason, my orders prevented me from performing my regular schedule.

“I know they control your mind. I can help you get out of their control. Let me help you. I have connections," he said, "people who can protect you and your loved ones.”

I shook my head.

I opened my mouth to speak again, to scream at him to shut up, to stop messing with my time.

“Nobody can save us,” I said. I heard the sound of the chopper igniting and taking off and the noise of screaming in the distance. The sinister whispers of the serum in my ears and the roaring of the fire.

“The building is on fire. You will die one way," I raised my rifle to aim at his heart, "or the other. Goodbye, soldat. Hydra sends its regards.”

Then everything exploded.

I felt my body flying, smashing against the wall. Then everything turned black.

“Thirt-” a voice broke the surface of the fog clouding my mind. “Thirteen…are you—”

My throat felt like sandpaper, it was aching, and it burned. I brought a hand to my head, as if to find out if I could feel something other than the loud ringing in my ears.

The hand came away stained with blood. I coughed, groaning in pain.

I couldn't understand where I was, couldn't understand why I was in pain. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, making the tears that had been stuck in my eyes fall, and tried to bring my surroundings into focus.

Everything was tinted in red, smoke was filling the room. The flames were slowly consuming the area around me, but my powers had squeezed me into the familiar protective shield, allowing me to breathe. The fire would not burn me, would not kill me—the scientists had tested it in any way they could think; they burned every part of my body, shoved burning iron on my body, in my eyes, in my throat, but nothing; the smoke would kill me, with time, and those damn powers didn't even give me the joy of an unexpected death.

My throat felt like sandpaper; it was aching, and it burned.

I lifted myself onto my knees, bracing myself with my hands when the world wobbled violently.

The screams in the distance were now drowned out by the crackling of the fire. I knew I had to get out of there, but my mind was still reeling from what had just happened. The sinister whispers of the serum echoed in my head, getting quieter and quieter. And for the first time since I had woken up, my head wasn’t heavy and my mind wasn’t blank.

"What the fuck is going on?"

For the first time in years, I was out of the base, and I didn't feel the black mask of the drug pushing me down. There was no constant pain that clutched my heart and mind, no voice in my head making me do things I hated. The world around me seemed brighter and more vibrant than ever, as if I were seeing it for the first time.

Tears rolled out of my eyes. I stared at the door, and I gathered myself to run out of it. Maybe I'd reach those mountains I had seen on the mission to Norway a few years back. I could finally escape and hide. I would be free. Free.

But then I saw him—the sergeant, the soldat, the Winter Soldier slumped on the ground, eyes closed and still as a corpse.

And I remembered the mission. The headquarters. The other soldiers. The fucking microchip they had implanted in my body, prevented me, even in my clearest moments, from escaping.

The rifle was lying somewhere in the room, but retrieving it was the least of my thoughts. I remembered all those words the scientists had shouted in my face, as they beat, whipped, and carved my body according to their pleasure. Michael. Michael would die if I disappeared like that.

I sobbed, mourning for the life I didn't get to live, for the things I wasn't allowed to feel. I took a deep breath and wiped away my tears. I couldn't let my emotions consume me, not now. Michael would be safe, and I would need to sacrifice my life for him. It was a small price to pay for the life of my only family. I had to get up and go back, no matter how hard it was.

But I had a choice to change things. To make them better.

I crawled to the soldier as blood began to trickle from my nose. I groaned with pain as I rolled him onto his back, placing my fingers on his neck. He was alive.

His words echoed in my head.

I can help you. I can help you.

I eyed the exit; it was engulfed in fire, and an escape through the windows was unlikely. "Soldat." I shook him from his shoulders roughly, but nothing. "Soldat. Wake up! Come on."

His eyes stayed closed. Shit.

I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself down. I had to think fast.

"Thirteen! Thirteen! Report now." I nearly ripped my belt off in my haste to grab the radio. Marya's voice came through, screaming at me to inform her whether the mission had been successful. "Is the target dead?" I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself down.

And I could make no other decision.

My heart was pounding as I took a deep breath and replied, "Affirmative, target eliminated."

"Meet us at the rendezvous point in ten minutes.”

I knew what her words actually meant, if I was not there in time, a squad would track down my microchip—whatever that thing was—and execute me for desertion. Mission accomplished or not. I had to move fast.

"Copy that."

I took another moment to stare at the man before me, looking so peaceful despite everything. He was strong enough to have survived that long in the smoke, in that moment, I had to be strong and pull us both out of this hell. "I hope you're worth it."

I wrapped my arms around the soldier and began to pull, nearly screaming from the pain in my muscles, but I had no time to find an alternative. I couldn't do anything else.

"Damn it, you're heavy." I yanked him with me, stretching the shield around both of us. “If we both die because you want to pull a Sleeping Beauty on me, my ghost will torture yours for eternity.”

The crossing was excruciating.

I dragged him through the big chamber, and then, kicking open the doors, I hauled him up the fire escape to the roof.

I collapsed on the floor beside him, desperately gasping for air. The soldier was still unconscious and unmoving, but he was breathing, and his pulse was steady. And that was enough. Enough to hope.

I lifted the sleeve of his jacket, exposing his arm. And being the only thing at my disposal, I began to write on his arm with my blood.

"You said you could help us." I gave him one last look. "Please do it."

I jumped down the stairs again, submerging into the fire and disappearing.

For the first time in years, the familiar bite of hope came back to haunt me, I only hoped not to be absolutely devastated by the consequences of my actions.

Please, Let me know what you think and if you would like to be tagged in later parts!

Disclaimer: all of my chapters will have a title with the name of a song. This chapter has the title 'Us and them', a song by Pink Floyd. It has no correlation with the story, but I thought it was nice to let you all know.

@mori1b2bpad @lady-bellyn  @thefandomplace @bonkyandsteebluver @billihill - let me know if you still wish to be tagged to the next parts or deleted from the tag list.

[absolute-immunities]

triggered by the Amars calling succession to the Presidency by Cabinet officers, rather than the House Speaker, “apostolic succession”

the succession to Rome is by election of the College of Cardinals??? it doesn’t just go to the favorite of the last Pontifex???

sure, Christ picked the Apostles, and the Apostles picked the bishops for particular seats, cf. Tertull. Praescr. Haer. 32; Iren. Adv. Haer. 3.3.1, but ever since the proper succession to any particular seat has been by election

see, e.g., Jerome, Dialogue Against the Luciferians, ch. 11 (translated by Peter Norton, Episcopal Elections, 250–600: Hierarchy and Popular Will in Late Antiquity (Oxford, 2007), 5):

The truth is, the men who are elected to the episcopate come from the bosom of Plato and Aristophanes. How many can you find among them who are not fully versed in these writers? Indeed everyone, whoever he may be, is ordained at the present day from among the literate class and makes it his study not how to seek out the marrow of Scripture, but how to tickle the ears of the people with the flowers of rhetoric.

Cyprian, Ep. 55.8.4 (Norton 13):

Cornelius was made bishop by the judgment of God and his Christ; by the testimony of almost all the clergy; by the vote of all the people who were present [de plebis quae tunc adfuit suffragio], and by the committee of senior bishops and good men.

cf. Cyprian, Ep. 67.3 (Norton 15):

the people definitely has the power either to choose worthy bishops or to reject unworthy ones [quando ipsa <plebs> maxime habeat potestatem vel eligendi dignos sacerdotes vel indignos recusandi]

Ambrose, Ep. 63.2 (Norton 13):

rightly it is believed that he whom all have asked for [as bishop] is chosen by the judgment of God [merito creditum quod divino esset electus iudicio, quem omnes postulavissent]

Apostolic Constitutions 8.4.2 (Norton 24):

and so, I, Peter say that a bishop to be ordained is to be, as we have all already commanded, without blame in all respects; a chosen person, picked by the whole people; and when he is named and approved, let the people assemble, with the presbyters and bishops that are present, on the Lord’s day; and let them give their consent. And let the principal of the bishops ask the presbytery and people whether this is the person whom they desire as their ruler.

And if they agree, let the bishop ask further whether he has a good testimony from all men as to his worthiness for such a great and glorious authority; whether all things relating to his piety towards God be right; whether justice towards men has been observed by him; whether the affairs of his family have been well-managed by him; whether he has been irreproachable in the course of his life.

And if all the assembly together act according to truth, and not according to prejudice, and witness that he is such a one, let them the third time, as before God the Judge, and Christ, the Holy Ghost being also present, as well as all the holy and ministering spirits, ask again whether he be truly worthy of this ministry, so that in the mouth of two or three witnesses every word may be established.

And if they agree the third time that he is worthy, let all be asked for their vote; and when they all give it willingly, let them be heard.

And then, after order has been called, being made, let one of the principal bishops, together with two others, stand near together, the rest of the bishops and presbyters praying silently, and the deacons holding the divine Gospels open upon the head of him that is to be ordained.

Leo, Ep. 10.6 (Norton 38):

Let he who is to be in charge of everybody be chosen by everybody. [Qui praefuturus omnibus est, ab omnibus eligatur.]

Leo, Ep. 14.5 (Norton 43):

When it comes to the choice of a bishop, let him be installed whom with harmonious agreement the clergy and people have requested; and where the votes of the parties are split among diVerent candidates, the future bishop will be he who, in the metropolitan’s judgment, is more deserving and has greater support, so that no bishop is ordained to those who do not want him or who have not requested him; and so no city which is not allowed to have the bishop it wanted will either despise or hate an unwanted bishop, and become less pious than is proper.

[Cum ergo de summi sacerdotis electione tractabitur, ille omnibus praeponatur quem cleri plebisque consensus concorditer postularit; ita ut si in aliam forte personam partium se vota diviserit, metropolitani iudicio praefuturus qui majoribus et studiis iuvatur et meritis: tantum ut nullus invitis et non petentibus ordinetur, ne civitas episcopum non optatum aut contemnerit aut oderit; et fiat minus religiosa quam convenit, cui non licuerit habere quem voluit.]

Cod. Iust. 1.3.41 (Norton 34):

with this law we ordain that whenever in any city there should be a vacancy for the bishop’s throne, the inhabitants should make a resolution concerning three candidates, men of sound faith and pious habits . . . so that from these the most suitable might be promoted to the bishopric.

apparently Gratian helped kill the tradition by mangling a letter from Pope Celestine, dated 428. see Kenneth Pennington, The Golden Age of Episcopal Elections, 1100–1300, 35 Bull. Medieval Canon L. 243 (2017)

Celestine’s letter originally read:

No bishop should be given to an unwilling flock. The consent and desires of the clergy, laymen, and senate are required.

[Nullus invitis detur episcopus; cleri, plebis et ordinis consensus et desiderium requiratur.]

but Gratian edited that down to its final sentence, and extracted from it the black-letter rule that “the people don’t elect their bishop”:

The people do not elect [their bishop], but consent to the election.

[Plebi non est eligere, set electioni consentire.]

The consent and desires of the clergy and people are required.

[Cleri plebis consensus et desiderium requiratur.]

that isn't what it says, Gratian!

contra, e.g., Lumen Gentium 3.20–22, which reads the Fathers for all they’re worth and, not finding its own doctrine in them, cites to them with a “cf”, and even has the guff to cite the Apostolic Tradition (ca. 215), which reads, in Botte’s edition:

and in Dix’s edition:

Romish guy, wise: “electus ab omni populo”? “consentientibus omnibus”? what could that possibly mean? ....... probably means the Pope picks them ......

it's an election, dumbass!

[xqueenybees-collection]

I Read Assistant to the Villain

Title: Assistant to the Villain Author: Hannah Nicole Maehrer Tags: fantasy, romance, grumpy-sunshine dynamic, office romance, mystery, humor Spice: None Cliffhanger: Yes CW: multiple forms of abuse, especially familial abuse and neglect, attempted rape backstory, attempted murder, prison isolation (let me know if I should add any) Read Below for Review (Spoiler-Lite)

Reading Assistant to the Villain by Hannah Nicole Maehrer tickled the part of my brain that watched Ella Enchanted as a kid and loved the visual world building of movie-Kyrria. It has a very fun fantasy-medieval world with modern conveniences like coffee and clocks. That said, the true stand out elements of the story, are the characters.

The titular Assistant, Evie Sage, is an overly optimistic and clumsy girl that ran into her most ideal job. She's an interminable busybody who keeps the office in tip-top shape to the point that it literally can't run properly without her after only a few months. She could very easily be really annoying, but honestly I think she resonates as very relatable, especially as you get further into the book and learn more about her parents and the situation they put her in. It's also really interesting to watch as her inner dark side becomes more and more apparent.

Her boss, the Villain of Rennedawn, is in my humble opinion, a lot more quirky and grumpy than he is actually scary. It's established quite quickly that the Villain is only truly heinous to those that deserve it, which is pretty common for this character archetype. A Villain with a heart-of-gold if you will. I really like him because he has a lot of little character details that make him feel more squishy, especially his love for sweet and milky coffee, get the boy a latte machine. His relationships with his family members, while brief, are quite enlightening and I'm curious to see how they will develop in the future. He has some things that he has done that I believe will come to bite him (or maybe not) in the next volume.

Evie and the Villain balance really well and have extremely fun banter and chemistry. I look forward to witnessing how their relationship will expand in future volumes.

Personally, I think this is quite a good book for a first time author with a unique idea. I think she had a really good grasp of the characters, which to anyone who has seen her TikTok videos shouldn't be surprising. However, I think the world-building could be fleshed out more as I would have liked to see and understand more of the anachronisms of this world and I hope she adds more in the next book. I am also looking forward to more time spent with the side-characters and how the relationship webs out even further (especially Blade and Becky). A lot of questions were raised and answered in this book, but just as many were left for the next installment.

I would recommend this book to anyone who has seen her skits and was interested in what stories these characters could get up to if properly developed. Also to anyone that was a nice and light fantasy book with light romance and a mystery.

[theluckywizard]

Sunshine from Beyond

In the Shattering of Things, Chapter 28: Sunshine from Beyond

A Dragon Age: Inquisition longfic featuring Rose Trevelyan x Cullen with a side helping of x Garrett Hawke

Varric has negotiated his way onto my walk this morning, despite my full throated warnings that I am a very early riser. He wrestles his way out of his tent, cursing the cold, cursing mornings, cursing the Maiden, cursing me.

“Conveniently omitting yourself from that list,” I tease him. “I didn’t ask you to join me.”

“The literary gods compel me,” he replies. “But Andraste’s ass, let’s make this a one time thing.” Last night’s installment of snow is wet and cumbersome and just grazes Varric’s thighs, prompting more spitting and cursing, so I trample the trail for him with precision stomps.

“You do this every blazing morning?” he asks me.

“Most of them.”

“And you talked a couple kids into joining you half the time?”

“They showed up one morning and talked me into bringing them.”

“Witchcraft,” he teases me. “Something magic about you without a lick of the Fade. It reminds me of someone else.”

“That would be the mark.” I waggle the fingers of my left hand  out to my side.

“Maybe in part. But that’s not what I mean,” he insists from behind me. “For all intents and purposes you present like a pretty ordinary woman. But for some reason I have this urge to confess secrets so deep they’re gathering cobwebs. To follow you blithely into some kind of madness. There’s only one other person that has that effect. And if it weren’t for his letters, I’d think I conjured him up for a story.” The absurdity of being compared to the Champion of Kirkwall catches in my chest in a laugh.

“I won’t go asking for your dirty laundry, Varric, don’t worry.”

“That’s just it. One day you’ll come to holding an armful of my dirty laundry and neither of us will know what hit us.”

“Then it’s probably a good thing I’m about to get blasted to bits under the Breach tomorrow,” I joke. Varric is having none of it.

“We’re going through the motions, Freckles, but I get the feeling your story isn’t done yet.” The vote of confidence feels like a spark inside me but it isn’t catching. I’ve been trying to rekindle that flame of optimism all week, but all the tinder has been expended.

“I believe I recall you telling me to run while I can because you know tragedies and you know where this one is headed. Well? We’ve arrived.”

“Yeah. And that was before you doggedly survived every curveball of batshit demon combat. That was before you sashayed into a horrific future and waltzed back out to nab the Tevinter magister tinkering with time. There’s something more going on here.”

“Are you going to start calling me the Herald of Andraste, now, Varric?” I ask and it’s almost a scoff.

“I’m just saying there might be something to the miracle angle. Don’t count yourself out just yet.”

“Better to expect the worst,” I say. He doesn’t press. I take the opportunity to explain my hunting process and how I involve the boys when they come with me. The snares are all empty, the growing population of the town having depleted the game to an elusive handful. I help Varric climb to the top of my rock and we perch there, watching for rams that I have no intention of taking today.

“So what does the Champion of Kirkwall think of all this?” I probe. Varric looks at me like I’m taking advantage of his admitted vulnerability beside me.

“He believes it's well in hand. He believes in you.”

“And how would he know anything about me?” I ask. Varric gives me a look and I puzzle it together. A thrill skitters through me that almost tickles. How absurd.

“I suppose you won’t tell me what you told him about me.”

“I told him the truth. That you’re disgustingly precious and I don’t know how you do it,” he says. I snort indignantly.

“Thanks, Varric.”

“Just peddling the truth, Freckles.”

“The truth? I’m shocked.”

“I don’t lie to Hawke. Couldn’t sneak one past him if I wanted to anyway.”

“He sounds kind of terrifying,” I laugh.

“Hawke? I mean– he is if he needs to be. But I think you’d find him to be a bit of a puppy. A puppy who could crush you at Wicked Grace, crush you in a drinking contest and crush you in general, but a puppy.”

“I’m telling him you said that. If I ever chance to meet him.”

“And I will stand by my words. He knows what he is.” (Continued at AO3)

Tagging the DAFF Crew

@warpedlegacy, @rakshadow, @rosella-writes, @effelants, @bluewren, @breninarthur, @ar-lath-ma-cully, @dreadfutures, @ir0n-angel, @inquisimer, @crackinglamb, @nirikeehan , @oxygenforthewicked

[postgamecontent]

'Touhou Genso Wanderer -FORESIGHT-' Switch Review

Regular readers will know that Shaun likes him a good Mystery Dungeon game. The Shiren games in particular tickle my fancy greatly, but I've enjoyed many a spin on the basic concept. The Touhou Genso Wanderer games have been some of my favorite Touhou games because of this, and we've now got a third game in the series on Switch. I wish I could call it the best one yet, but Foresight has a lot of problems specific to this installment that keep it from being all it could have been.

As is generally the case with Touhou Project games, the story here is a nigh-unintelligible mess to anyone who isn't already a fan of the characters and setting. So yes, if you're new to all of this, you might as well check out on the narrative immediately. Reimu is a powerful shrine maiden who gets called in to deal with all kinds of supernatural problems. She has a lot of friends from both sides of the proverbial line, and you'll be seeing most of the popular ones pop up here.

The story kicks off here with a future battle where Reimu is defeated, and then we head back in time to a more peaceful point. Reimu gets tricked by some fairies into doing a tutorial dungeon, and then she's soon called in to investigate some incidents. That's about all I can offer you. It's not amazing, and it mainly relies on you being excited to see your favorite characters showing up. But again, this is pretty typical for Touhou Project games. They're quite literally fan games, and the stories reflect that.

In terms of gameplay structure, this is a fully orthodox take on the Mystery Dungeon concept, right down to keeping most of the same control conventions. The one big twist is that you collect Danmaku Points that you can use to fire off a variety of ranged attacks, and as big twists go that isn't much. Consequences for failure are minimal, much like the Pokemon Mystery Dungeon games. That doesn't mean this is easy, though. Indeed, one of the bigger problems with this game comes from the difficulty spikes at certain bosses. It's nothing you can resolve with good strategy. You just need to grind until you're strong enough to pass the test.

The tedious grinding really hurts this game over the long haul. The procedurally-generated dungeons aren't spicy enough to keep you entertained for all of this, and the enemies don't offer enough variety. There are only a handful of different types, and you'll quickly suss out what you need to do with each of them. The bosses often start showing up as regular enemies, but due to their level-check nature they rarely present much of a real threat by the time that happens. You don't get many of the interesting interactions that make the Shiren games so tense and exciting.

You won't find much of note in the character building, either. There's a skill tree system in play here, but it's a very dull one. Mostly damage modifiers that are specific to an enemy type, and you'll pretty much have to waste resources doing a respec for each new area and boss to take advantage of their weakness. It's functional, and I guess it's better than nothing, but it's hard to get much of a fever going over damage modifiers.

Touhou Genso Wanderer -FORESIGHT- has some ideas, but the way it implements them makes for a far more tedious affair than its predecessors. You can find far better choices in this genre at the same price point, so unless you've fully exhausted those or are a huge Touhou fan, I can't really give this game much of a recommendation. It's not dreadful by any means, but it falls into just about every trap that can make a game like this feel tiresome rather than invigorating.

Score: 3/5

[ilopisara]

27.01. 21:48 | Ilo Pisara vs Die Bobers 8 - 7

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, let's break down the circus of a hockey game that just unfolded before our very eyes. Ilo Pisara versus Die Bobers ended in an 8-7 barnburner—a scoreline more befitting a junior peewee scrimmage than professional hockey. First off, Teppo Winnipeg—you puck-moving maestro—your defense was as absent as my patience for slow Wi-Fi but redeeming yourself with two goals and three assists? You're like that one friend who shows up late to the party but brings the best snacks. Keep tickling those twines! Sami Noddy! Six assists? Two goals including the game-winner? If you were any more clutch, we'd have to install you in a manual transmission. But zero hits?! This is hockey, not ballet; next time throw your weight around or so help me... Jani Saari... four goals on five shots—that's efficiency hotter than a ghost pepper sauna! However, thirteen giveaways—is this Christmas or are you trying to set some sort of charitable donation record? And Olaf Kölzig between the pipes... A save percentage barely over .500? What were you doing back there—playing Sudoku while pucks whizzed by? As for historical context: We've been crushing it lately (remember Trojans & Outlaw Rangers?), yet tonight felt shakier than a newborn fawn on ice skates. Future implications: Let’s tighten up defensively unless we want future games to resemble arcade shootouts rather than strategic chess matches. In conclusion: Offensively dazzling yet defensively puzzling—we skate away with another W but leave much room for improvement lest our pride gets checked harder than Sami avoids body contact. Onward Ilo Pisara!