#i need my companions to lie to me and omit things a little bit. just a little.

[commanderofthegrey]

if i were to rewrite the companion quests in veilguard i would definitely focus on giving at least some of them things they actually did that they regret (given that's apparently supposed to be the theme of the game) instead of just survival's guilt or things they could not have possibly prevented. and this is how my initial "bellara purposefully killed/abandoned cyrian + is hiding it and feels horrible about it" theory can still win.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Cold As Ice. 

Word Count: 3.3k

Pairing: Fae!Yandere!Todoroki/Reader

Synopsis: Todoroki, the King of the Fae, seems to have lost his vulnerable, helpless, idiotic little mortal. He's as displeased as you'd expect, and he does plan to make his anger known.

TW: Graphic Violence, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Animal Death, and Imprisonment. 

One of Shoto’s greatest pleasures was recalling the spring you’d first met.

Parts of it were true. Fae couldn’t lie, but they could omit, and he never failed to find a new detail to leave out whenever he recalled the months he’d spent in the mortal world. He told his court of the weeks you’d spent attending to his wounds and soothing his pain, or the charming cottage you shared and how quaint human civilization had become, since his last visit. With a small smile, he would speak of the livestock you’d tasked him to feed and the herbs you’d mixed into your tea, creating a concoction his fleet of servants could never seem to replicate. His favorite memory was the kiss you’d shared when he was finally healed, before he departed to return to his mysterious ‘homeland’. He loved you, and you loved him in return. It was something out of a fairytale, for him.

He didn’t tell them of the translucent blood that stained your hands for days after you freed him from the thawing ice, or the strange symbols he drew in the snow until it dissolved under the warmth of the spring sun. He never saw fit to mention the mare he beheaded, whose organs he carved out and jarred and kept in your pantry, if only to remind you of your companion’s slaughter. He wanted to make you seem like a willing partner. A sweet mortal who didn’t know better than to love a fae, a soulmate born into the wrong world. But, soulmates didn’t have to be held down to be kissed. They didn’t have to be threatened into returning their admirer’s affections. They didn’t have to be dragged into a land they did not know and thrown at the feet of a man they did not love. They should not hate their lover, not as you hate Shoto.

They should not run as soon as they’re given the chance to.

Shoto thought you preferred him to death. That was his mistake, his underestimation. He thought, if you were given the option of throwing yourself from the window of your tall, lonely tower, you’d be more scared of the inevitable injury that would entail than spending another day in your captor’s company. Now, with a hand clasped to the numb, throbbing shoulder that’d broken your fall and the bare soles of your feet beating harshly against the frozen ground, you thanked whichever gods were listening for his assumption. The forest, with all its winding roots and outstretched branches, was your safe-haven, the brisk air filling you with a sense of freedom, of strength. You weren’t sure how to get back to the human plane, not without magic, but a damp, dark cave would be a sanctuary compared to Shoto and all his fineries. You would be content with misery, as long as you were the one to choose it.

But, it was a hopeful dream. Already, you could hear the crack of hooves against soil, the soft footfalls of those agile enough to chase after you without a mount. This was just another hunt, to them, and you were an animal to be tracked and captured, to be skinned for your fur and declawed and thrown back into the wild because they thought that was better than putting you out of your suffering. Your revenge came in the form of boredom, in how easy you were to catch, in the refusal to indulge their desire for clever prey. Rather, you ran blindly, searching for a hole to hide inside of, a frozen lake their horses wouldn’t be able to follow you across. Simple methods, but fool-proof ones. Strategies even you wouldn’t be able to blunder.

A woman called out, a bird of prey screeched, and you spotted a knock in a barren cliffside, a deep hollow in an overlap of rock. It would be a tight fit, but if you held your breath and worked quickly, you might be able to find your way inside. You’d almost overlooked it in your panic. Surely, if you were quiet enough--

You never got a chance to finish that thought. Without warning, a gust of ice-cold wind washed over you, and something sharp and burning embedded itself in the back of your calf, your knees buckling as soon as the arrow found its mark. You collapsed, catching yourself with your injured arm out of instinct and screaming as a bright, primal burst of pain etched itself into your bones, your flesh, your being. But, that didn’t stop the hilt of your aggressor’s sword from colliding with the nape of your neck, cutting the sound short and sending you back to the ground. You didn’t try to catch yourself, this time.

With some effort, you roll yourself onto your side, gritting your teeth and tilting your head back to state up at the two faeries who surround you. Your found the woman first, a knight with a sword at her hip and a small, tight-lipped scowl. Yaoyorozu, the leader of the hunt, her hair darker than the night sky and her skin pale enough to put the falling snow to shame. A beauty, like all her kin, almost human if you looked beyond her swirling eyes and the pointed tips of her ears and nails. You had to remind yourself that she was one of the reasons for your current vulnerability.

Beside her was Shoto, a bow slung over his shoulder and an arrow missing from his impeccable quiver. His expression did little to betray him, all regal neutrality and flawless perfection, but his anger was present in his wings, outstretched and taunt behind him, in his white-knuckled grip on his chosen weapon. You met his eyes, and in a moment, his hand was around the shaft of another arrow, ready to send it through your chest with little more than a flick of his wrist. When he realized what he was doing, he dropped it, a fleeting look of self-scrutiny and pity passing across his expression. You could try to convince yourself that it’d been a reflex, that he didn’t truly want to be more destructive than he had to be, but you’d be lying if you tried to say there wasn’t the slightest hint of hesitation. Just another sign that his generosity wasn’t the reason for his delicacy.

He simply didn’t want to break his newest toy so quickly.

Yaoyorozu spoke first, addressing her ruler rather than her prisoner. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been treated as more than an extension of your captor. “I can call the others,” She said, her gaze flickering vaguely over the blood pooling underneath you. “We’ll need a healer if you want your pet to walk without a limp. I didn��t think to bring one, but the castle isn’t far.”

“I’ll handle it,” He replied, kneeling beside you. So close, you could make out the thin lines running through his translucent wings, flowers of ice and glass that deserved a better place to bloom. The corner of his left-most wing was scarred over, burnt to a leathery crisp, not unlike the matching scar over his nearest eye. In the back of your mind, you fantasized about what it would be like to rip them from his back, to crush thin skin and impossible formations in the palm of your hand and render him as flightless as yourself. Shoto chose to pretend he didn’t know what you were thinking about. “This is my responsibility. Gather your pack and have a medic waiting for when I return.” He paused, letting his temper flare with a narrow-eyed glance in your direction. “You shouldn’t have to rush, I intend to take my time.”

Yaoyorozu bit the inside of her cheek, but she didn’t protest. Rather, she nodded, bowing her head as she turned, following her footprints back into the tangled woods. As soon as she’d disappeared into the darkness, Shoto took the time to sigh, to glare properly the next time he bothered to face you. His bow fell to the ground, abandoned and forgotten. You weren’t particularly concerned.  He had a dozen more waiting to be used on something helpless and disobedient.

“You humiliated me,” He started, his hand drifting to your injury, freeing his arrow before a gloved thumb drove itself into the open wound, his touch as agonizing as a hot iron rod against unprotected skin. You had to fight not to lash out, to condemn yourself to a fate worse than momentary discomfort. There was still a knife sheathed at his belt, and you could only be thankful he hadn’t thought to use it. “I trusted you to go without restraints, to go without guards, and the first thing you think to do is prove to my subjects that my lover would rather risk death than be with me. Tell me, does that sound like behavior I should reward?”

You didn’t answer. Your arm was going numb, equal parts due to the fracture and the chill, and you couldn’t tell him anything he wanted to hear. That’s what it came down to, in the end. How you could make Shoto happy, even if he claimed to be willing to return the favor.

He shook his head, pulling away from your wound and taking up your chin. His hold wasn’t tight, nor did he make an effort to force you into a submission more demeaning than your current surrender, but those small shows of grace were nullified by the feeling of your own warm blood beginning to stain your skin. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

You didn’t have to think. You barely had to open your mouth. As soon as your lips parted, the words were already falling from your tongue, a blunt, shallow river of things you knew you’d regret. Things Shoto would make you regret. “Eat shit and die. You can impale yourself on your own crown, for all I care.”

His frown barely wavered. There was a beat of silence, an idle evaluation of your current state, but his disdain was never vocalized. He didn’t bother to. He didn’t have to.

You didn’t see his hand move, not before the grip of his knife was making contact with the back of your head, your vision going black before pain had a chance to follow.

~

Your contempt for the Winter Court was the only thing that rivaled your loathing for Shoto.

It was a place of joyless, merciless conduct, of cruel smiles and stone painted with gore, although the colorless blood of fae rendered the violence a sightless affair. Two guards were flanked at your sides, but neither dared to look at you, staring straight ahead as they opened the massive oak doors of Shoto’s throne room. The quiet was heavy, tense, but you didn’t attempt to make conversation, not as the panels of wood slid away and a narrow carpet came into view, a rich navy to guide all newcomers to the elevated stage on the otherwise of the room. He could’ve easily come to you, sent a servant to alert him when you awoke or been waiting there himself, but he wanted a show. He wanted you to grovel at his feet, and he wanted his subjects to see you do it.

Oftentimes, you wished you’d been taken by a member of the Summer Court. You wished you’d never been taken at all, of course, but you couldn’t stop yourself from wondering what it would like to exist in a land without ice and sleet and stares that are only barely concealed. You’d visited their valley once or twice with Shoto, and although they weren’t any less wicked than their cold-blooded counterparts, they hid their malicious intent under charms and spells and tricks, traps that kept their victims rooted out of delusion rather than fear. It’d be a deceptive fate, but compared to the reality of the Winter Court, it couldn’t be unpleasant. If Shoto could simply invoke your name when he craved control, you wouldn’t be favoring your right leg over your left as you dragged yourself down the well-tread pathway.

There were sneers from the stands as you passed by, harsh whispers of rumors and tales that were just untrue enough to burn at their tongues as they spoke. You tried not to pay them any mind, but it was difficult. Your latest ‘betrayal’, as Shoto had put it, would only fuel their distaste for their ruler’s mortal partner. Perhaps if you were something else, they’d be entranced. If you were an abnormality or a beast or something dangerous, you’d be able to do more than run and make noise and disobey rules they hadn’t thought not to follow. But, you were human, so you were boring. A feral mutt whose tricks had long-since grown old.  

You came to a stop in front of Shoto’s throne, a massive structure of silver and velvet and ornate carvings of every woodland animal you could imagine. You didn’t attempt to meet his eyes, only dropping to one knee, assuming the position he’d force you into, if you didn’t fall into on your own. You didn’t speak, though, letting Shoto greet you with a tone so stoic, you had to wonder whether this was a punishment or an execution. “How are your injuries?”

“I’ll live, unfortunately,” You replied, under your breath, rolling your shoulder back, making an effort not to wince. You didn’t want to show weakness, not when he was already so far above you. “The healers say I’ll need a few days to recover fully. That won’t interfere with…” You trailed off, your eyes flickering around the courtroom. Searching for any sign of a looming threat. “That won’t interfere with what you have planned, will it?”

He huffed, a small pout pulling at the corners of his mouth, but he accepted the announcement without further argument, leaning back and letting his chin come to rest on a closed fist. With his free hand, he gestured for you to come closer, an indolent wave barely worth the energy it took to execute. Slowly, you pushed yourself to your feet, only pausing when Shoto tapped his thigh. Disappointment washed over you, but any shock was minimal. If he couldn’t have his revenge, then your shame would serve as a consolation prize.

You clung to your last scraps of dignity, keeping your expression stern and your posture rigid, but Shoto freed you of that with an arm around your waist, dragging you into his lap, your side soon flush against his chest and your back pressed against his armrest, your legs left to tangle with his. He was quick to deflate, to melt into you and bury his face in the crook of your neck, the affection intimate and sickeningly underserved. The tips of sharpened teeth brushed against your skin, but thankfully, abstained from taking root. The last thing you wanted was another wound to fret over. “Can’t you bring me the smallest relief?” He asked, chilled breath washing over your skin, earning a shudder. “An apology, words of remorse, a purpose, anything. I don’t want to be bitter with you, beloved. Any sign that you care for me is a sign I’ll take to heart.”

He sounded exhausted, exasperated. You attempted not to let his disposition faze you, keeping your gaze fixed on the furthest stone wall. “My words would bring you no comfort,” You muttered, more to reassure yourself than to convince him. “There’s nothing I can say to quell your anger. You saw what I did, and you know why I did it. An excuse would only frustrate you.”

You felt him grit his teeth, his hold around you tightening. His wings flickered before resuming their trained motionlessness. “You have no reason to despise me--”

“I have every reason.” You didn’t wait for him to finish, nor did you have any interest in letting him. This was a dance you’d practiced many times, a song you could identify from a single note. You would sing along, but you wouldn’t let Shoto act as if you’d never done so before. He didn’t deserve your patience. “I’m a prisoner here, Todoroki, I’m your prisoner. You provide for me, and I understand that you think you’re being kind, but no amount of luxury can make this place my home. I don’t belong here, I’m…” You were different. You were alien. You were lesser. “I’m not meant to be here. I’m not meant to be with you.”

Early on in your captivity, you’d convinced one of Shoto’s servants to smuggle an iron knife into your chambers, the weapon forged in the human world and stolen from a fae noble with questionable intentions. When Shoto next visited you, letting his guard down in favor of rambling on about his day and the ongoings of his court, you’d driven the dagger blindly into his chest over and over and over again, only stopping when one of his knights dragged you off of his limp body. You didn’t have to say it’d been useless. Cold Iron was effective on most creatures, but you’d need something much stronger to kill a fae as powerful as Shoto, whose veins took the shape of snowflakes and whose wrath bunt with the heat of glowing embers. The servant was killed by sunset and your knife was melted down into two nails, both of which were then driven into your heels as retribution. You hadn’t been able to walk for a month, but Shoto told you time and time again that he was being lenient, that was being merciful. You’d believed him. The fire in his eyes had nearly been enough to melt his frozen heart.

Compared to his current rage, his fury back then seemed like child’s play.

“A prisoner, you see yourself as a prisoner,” He spat, pointed talons biting into your hip, cutting through fabric and skin and drawing blood before he thought to stop. “I’ve never asked anything of you. I gave you a castle, beautiful clothes, a life befitting divinity, and you say you feel like a prisoner just because I urge you to tolerate me in return.”  He paused, scoffing, letting out a breathy, humorless laugh before he went on. “If you’re a prisoner, you’re a rather coddled one. That’s my fault, isn’t it? How can I expect you to learn your place when I treat you like a lapdog?”

“That’s not what I meant,” You responded, hastily, avoiding his question. “You know that’s not what I meant. I’m only trying to--”

“You’re trying to earn your discipline, apparently,” He warned, nearly snarling against your shoulder. His fingers found their way to your hair, taking you by the scalp and jerking you backward, just far enough to allow him to glare, to bare his teeth and growl. “I’ve kept you safe. I’ve let you live in leisure because I wanted to believe your pathetic human mind would let you be motivated by gratitude, rather than fear. I can see that allowing you to love me on your own terms isn’t an option, anymore.” He wretched you upward, forcing you to straighten your back, a pitiful whimper escaping from your lips before you could suppress it. “If you think you’re a prisoner, then I’d be more than happy to treat you like a prisoner. It’d be a shame not to give you what you’ve been begging for, wouldn’t it?”

You moved to argue, to apologize, to do whatever would sway Shoto’s resolve, but by the time you opened your mouth, he was already calling over his guards, metal gauntlets soon clamped around your forearm and your shoulder, ready to dispose of you at the slightest omen of their King’s will. Shoto only leaned back, watching as you lost your composure, as you panicked. He didn’t yell, nor did he lecture you further, but as always, his rage found a way to make itself known, if only in the grin that ghosted across his lips. Satisfied and decided. The smile of a man pushed to the edge and far too prepared to push back.

The smile a monster, finally ready to devour its prey.

“This might be a change for the better.” His tone was one of sterile contentment, a serenity that ran deeper than his voice could ever portray. You had a feeling you wouldn’t be able to shake him, again, not so easily. 

You had a feeling he wouldn’t give you the chance to, again.

“You might finally come to see how loving I’ve been, when you’re stripped of my favor.”  

[haberdashing]

i want you to straighten out my tomorrow (5/?)

The last thing Jon remembers is working into the night in the Archives in early 2016. Now he’s in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, Scotland, with Martin Blackwood as his only companion. Obviously Jon’s missed something along the way here…

Inspired by beloved of jon, though it can be read separately.

Note: self-harm content warning for this chapter! More details on AO3.

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5

on AO3

There were, in Jon’s mind, three possible explanations for his current situation and surroundings, three possibilities that he kept ruminating upon as he lay in bed, trying and failing to get some rest.

The first, of course, was that Martin was telling the truth, the full truth, and nothing but the truth, that every absurd thing Martin had said was nothing more than the unvarnished reality of his life in the years he couldn’t recall. It seemed unlikely on the face of it, but then, so did the situation Jon was in now to begin with, regardless of the underlying explanation behind it.

The second was that Martin was lying about all of it, that he was scrambling to explain the inexplicable and doing a rather poor job of it, and that the truth of the situation was something more sinister that Martin wanted to conceal at all costs. Martin certainly didn’t seem like some sort of conniving evil mastermind, but then, that’s exactly what an evil mastermind would want him to think, right?

The third was a combination of the other two, that Martin was telling the truth about the past in general but was also lying or omitting important details along the way. That made more sense, in Jon’s mind, than Martin lying about all of it, really--after all, if Martin wanted to come up with a lie to explain how Jon ended up here, surely he could have thought of something that sounded a bit more plausible. Martin might be infuriating at times, and incompetent at his job as often as not (though Jon knew that wasn’t exactly a Martin-exclusive trait), but Jon was pretty sure that he was not, in all actuality, a complete idiot.

Jon could try to logic his way through the possibilities, try to figure out what was most likely, but was there any way of knowing for sure?

Jon tossed and turned and thought and overthought, and every time he started to drift off into a nap he was jolted awake by a nightmarish image, though he couldn’t tell if it was the beginning of a nightmare or just a memory of the one he’d had that night. His head still hurt something fierce, and it only seemed to get worse the longer he lay there.

Martin had said that... that Jon had some kind of supernatural powers, right? If he could prove that that was true, it would verify... not everything that Martin was claiming, no, but a good chunk of it, including some of the most outlandish bits. But how could he go about it when he wasn’t even entirely sure what “powers” he was supposed to have, let alone how to activate them?

What powers had Martin mentioned? Something about... about making other people answer questions, tell the truth, right?

But Martin seemed to be the only other person around, and if Jon was hoping to find out if Martin was lying or not, asking him wouldn’t do much good. Maybe Martin would get supernaturally compelled to answer Jon’s questions, sure. Or maybe Martin would just pretend to be compelled to answer them, as part of his whole lying gambit. Jon couldn’t be sure either way, even if he did get that extra bit of evidence. He couldn’t know.

Jon wanted to know what was going on, not just to guess, but he felt like he knew nothing now. Christ, he hadn’t felt this unmoored even after uni, when Georgie broke up with him... he hadn’t felt this unmoored, he thought, since he was eight years old, since he’d learned the truth of the supernatural’s existence by nearly becoming one of its victims...

But wait, Martin had said something about- about him cutting a finger off and it growing right back, was it? Had used that as an example of how Jon was tied to the supernatural now, even, tied to some evil power he didn’t quite understand.

And even if Martin did have supernatural powers of his own now, the odds were good that those “powers” wouldn’t affect how someone else’s wound would heal...

Jon didn’t want to hurt himself, of course, but... but if Martin was telling the truth about all this, then none of it would last, right? Then he’d heal quickly enough with no lasting injury, and at least he’d have something approaching an answer. And if Martin was lying... well, he’d get his answer then too, and maybe having to seek medical help would lead to Jon getting help in other ways as well, or at least not being stuck in this tiny safehouse alone with his captor...

It was for the best, really. A little pain, a bit of risk... it was worth it, if it meant he would know what was actually going on here.

And he wouldn’t even have to cut his finger all the way off--that seemed a bit much, really--but if he went deep enough, kept a close eye on how the injury healed with time...

After all that laying in bed, Jon was very much ready to move, and he didn’t hesitate to get up, to move quickly but quietly towards the kitchen, to give the area a once-over and confirm that Martin was nowhere in sight (since Jon knew that, one way or another, Martin would be less than pleased with Jon’s current plan) before heading towards the knife block on the counter...

Jon looked over the knives for a minute, pulling each one out and examining it momentarily before returning them to the knife block, hesitating for a split second before picking the one that seemed most suited to the purpose he had in mind--it was thick, sharp, and clean, the metal blade glimmering even in the low light streaming in from the cloud-covered sun.

Jon picked up the knife, positioned it just so on his little finger (it wouldn’t be a glancing blow, exactly, but it wasn’t straight across the middle either, shouldn’t nick too many blood vessels along the way), took a deep breath and then let it out slowly...

Making the decision to cut into his own flesh wasn’t an easy one, and it took him a second to actually go through with it, to push the blade in until it broke the skin and sank in further, but once Jon had made up his mind, he wasn’t going back on it. It scared him, sure, but so did the not knowing, and he knew which he’d prefer any day.

“Jon, what are you doing?”

Jon hadn’t meant to cut quite that deep. He hadn’t been expecting Martin to pop up seemingly out of nowhere, though--perhaps he shouldn’t have lingered over the knives for quite so long--and the sudden noise startled him, made him lose control a bit.

And, as Jon quickly realized, there was a big difference between knowing that something would hurt and actually experiencing that pain.

The blood swelled up faster than Jon had expected, and while Jon had expected the pain, sharp and biting, it made him wince all the same, the combination of the sight of his ripped flesh and the cutting pain leaving Jon a little light-headed.

Jon only thought to actually respond to Martin’s question after a second or two, and all he managed was a weak, “Um...”

Martin shook his head. “Never mind, it- it doesn’t matter. What matters is you getting that cleaned up before it gets infected, because that’s the last thing we need right now.”

That we again. Martin and Jon being considered as one unit, one life. There was probably something worth examining there. Maybe Jon would examine it later, when the blood wasn’t running off of his finger and spilling stark red droplets onto the gray tile floor.

“Can you make it to the sink on your own, or do you need my help?”

Jon focused his gaze away from his finger, shook his head as if to clear his thoughts, took a tentative step and found himself none the worse for it. “I think I’ve got it.”

“Good, good. Uh, you should probably drop the knife before heading over there.”

Jon obediently dropped the knife onto the ground, it narrowly missing his foot and sending more blood splatters onto the floor, only realizing after the fact that Martin probably hadn’t meant his advice quite so literally.

“S-sorry.”

Martin shook his head again as he followed Jon’s lead in heading to the sink. “You don’t need to apologize. I’m- I’m not the one who got hurt here.”

Jon didn’t have a response to that, so he just kept moving in silence, keeping his gaze focused on anything besides the gash on his finger or Martin’s searching eyes. He ended up staring at the sink, his destination proving a neutral enough place to concentrate his focus, such as it was.

A few steps and he was at the sink, reaching up to turn the faucet on-

“You’re going to want to wash that with warm water and soap-”

“I know that much, I’m not an idiot-”

“I know you’re not, Jon.” Martin’s voice sounded... frustrated. Tired. Not angry, at least, which Jon supposed was a good sign. “But you shouldn’t get your finger more dirty first if you can help it.”

“What-”

Jon only then realized that he’d been reaching to turn on the faucet with the same hand that he’d cut, leaving a trail of blood splatters splayed across the sink in the process.

Jon took a deep breath and then turned on the faucet with his uninjured hand, putting his still-bleeding finger under the water. It hurt a bit, but then it hurt a bit without the water too, so he might as well go with the pain that came with a lesser risk of infection, right?

“I wasn’t thinking straight.” Jon noticed distantly that his own voice sounded a little tired now, too. “I’m sorry.”

“Again, you really don’t need to apologize to me. Actually...” Martin let out a long breath in a way that sounded a little like a sigh. “Maybe I should be the one apologizing to you.”

Jon’s eyes darted back to Martin’s face, his suspicions rising up again, only realizing that his hand had moved along with his gaze when he felt water falling onto the palm of his hand. He looked back just long enough to put his finger solidly back under the water before returning to meeting Martin’s eyes.

Martin still didn’t look angry, though, or... or like some sort of conniving evil mastermind. He just looked weary of dealing with the situation, and honestly, Jon couldn’t exactly blame him for that.

“What would you be apologizing for?”

“This...” Martin gestured vaguely to Jon’s hand, to his finger still under the faucet, though the water had stopped running quite so red now. “This is my fault, isn’t it? For, for what I said when you asked if you were evil now. I panicked, I, I didn’t choose my words well, but you’re not evil, Jon, I know you’re trying your best not to hurt anyone, and just because-”

Oh.

It hadn’t occurred to Jon how this would look to Martin: him picking out a knife to stab himself with, hurting himself for no clear reason right after such an emotional conversation...

“No, Martin, that’s not-”

“You don’t need to spare my feelings, obviously I didn’t-”

“Martin!”

Jon hadn’t meant to speak quite so loudly, had meant to use just enough volume to be heard clearly over the sound of rushing water, but, well, if Martin was staring at Jon with wide eyes now, at least he wasn’t rambling about his own guilt any more.

“This isn’t about me thinking I’m evil now. This was me testing what you said about how I grew back a finger.”

“O-oh. Okay.” Martin took a deep breath and let it back out. “That’s... that’s better, I suppose?”

“Admittedly, I wasn’t expecting it to hurt quite this much...”

“You stabbed your finger, Jon, I don’t know what you were expecting-”

Jon removed his finger from the water for a moment, giving it a good look over before bursting into laughter.

“What’s so funny?”

Jon held out his finger for Martin to examine; Martin hesitated before brushing against it softly with his index finger. (Was it just Jon’s imagination, or did Martin feel a bit less cold to the touch now?)

“It’s barely there. I’ve- I’ve gotten paper cuts worse than this.”

It wasn’t an exaggeration, though admittedly the statement said as much about Jon’s history with paper cuts (which was a long and storied one, a combination of being a bookish child and a bit clumsy when he got overexcited) as about Jon’s current injury. Still, there was no mistaking that the cut had healed significantly just in the few minutes since it was created--the bleeding had slowed to a crawl, the cut was little more than a shallow scratch...

Martin’s finger touched Jon’s for a moment longer before he pulled it away as he looked back up at Jon.

“You’d still better put some soap on this, you hear me? And I’ll get the first aid kit...”

“Whatever you say, Mum.”

Martin gave Jon a weird look at that, but as Jon made a show of rolling his eyes and Martin stepped away to get the first aid kit, Jon heard Martin let out a clear snort of amusement.

[tsukuna]

Side by Side

Summary: You wandered into Red Grave City to warn the “Legendary Devil Hunter” of a certain… negative shift in the area’s energy. It was an energy you knew to be demonic, and it grew stronger by the day. But on your way to meet with the intermediary, a noisy bird caught your attention. A noisy bird that would bring you to a frail man on the brink of falling apart.

Rated M • Female Reader • Before the Events of DMC V• Under the Cut • Part 2

The news began to speak of the Qliphoth, or the “tree shaped object,” that emerged in Redgrave City. No one, from the average citizen to local police, had a clue that a powerful demon lurked inside. Despite repetitive warnings to take shelter, crowds loved to gather around the base and just stare. Ignorant fools, all of them. 

You observed the horde from a helicopter heading into the den. There was you, V, and Dante of course, but an additional two women accompanied. One had short, ebony hair and an eye of green, an eye of red--not to mention an enormous arsenal. The other was a near carbon copy of the woman you saw on Dante’s desk, and she smelled like a demon. Frankly, it was all perplexing, but you assumed questions would receive no answers. They are beautiful though. You admired their deadly radiance.

While the three demon hunters chatted amongst themselves, you looked to V. His demeanor was entirely muted, and his face showed little expression. There was a decent understanding between you too at this point though, and you could tell there was anxiety building in him. You would have given him a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder; however, you had a feeling the gesture wouldn’t be too well accepted.

“So,” the black haired one drawled. “Who are you?” She eyed you rather intensely.

You introduced yourself. “What about you two?” You looked back just as intense. The names Lady and Trish rang out. “Your names are pretty,” you smiled softly.

“Pretty?” Trish was surprised by the comment.

“Mm,” you affirmed. “I wouldn’t have guessed them. But they match perfectly.”

“Ahhh, so you think we’re pretty, huh?” The girl named Lady tried to tease.

“Extremely,” you said with confidence, not allowing yourself to show embarrassment.

Both of them seem more than satisfied with your answer. “How come you never pay us compliments, huh, Dante?” Lady complained.

“I don’t want to inflate the egos of two crazy ladies anymore than they already are,” Dante replied with a shrug. That seemed to spark an impassioned, yet silly argument. It was an interesting display of friendship for you. I never knew it could seem so… fun.

The light air wasn’t meant to last though. Once the helicopter landed, it was business. “Hey, Dante,” Lady spoke up. “I haven’t even heard the target’s name yet.”

“Uuh… hey poem kid,” Dante seemed peeved.

But in juxtaposition, Griffon began to laugh, “Hee hee hee, that’s our wise guy Dante! What a memory! V, he deserves some praise.” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the bird. So extra.

“... some said, it is Urizen.” It was a name you proposed after you met up with Dante before the trip.

“How about Urizen?” Those deep green eyes looked at you with a curious expression. “I read the story in your little book,” you explained.

“Ah yeah, right.” Dante seemed less than enthused. “Urizen, Urizen. You people keep it in mind for me.”

“Not a problem,” you whistled a tune while exiting to wait outside Devil May Cry once again.

“I’m surprised you remembered the name,” V admitted.

“How come? I spent quite some time reading the book while waiting for you.” There was a small pause before you giggled. “I was even pleasantly surprised by how soft your hair was. I thought about doing a little braid.”

“I’m glad it didn’t come to that,” V placed his palm on his face, but it didn’t fully hide the amused smirk on his lips. In spite of what was about to go down that night, you were glad you could provide some bit of comedic relief.

The skepticism on Trish’s face at the name made you a tad nervous, but whatever she was thinking, she didn’t bring it up.

“Looks like the party venue is still open,” Dante announced as you made your way into the Qliphoth.

“Shit, gross.” Your nose crinkled upon moving forward. But why does it seem similar to V’s faint demonic scent?

Lady affirmed, “Oh, it stinks in here.”

“I know. Smells like hot garbage.” Dante fanned himself with an irritated expression. But was it truly irritation, or something else? You couldn’t help but remember his reaction to the true name of the demon. Vergil.

V suddenly crumbled forward, and you caught him just in time before his whole body hit the (disgusting) bottom. His face looked similar to when he was on death’s door. “V?” There was no hiding your concern.

“This is far worse than I thought,” he whispered underneath his breath.

There was no time for questioning before Dante called out. “There’s no crime in turning tail. These things might be a little too much for ya.” He continued to walk while looking at him, hands cooly in his pockets.

“... you’re right.” V gritted his teeth. “I’ll leave the rest to you.” He turned on his heel, leaving both you and Griffon to stare in disbelief. Immediately, the demon flew over to question him in a panic.

Dante’s eyes turned to you. “What about you?”

You did consider your two options. You knew you could fight, and you could tell they needed all possible help. But could V make it without you? It seemed as though his health took a turn for the worst in the blink of an eye. “I’ll go with him, just in case.” Dante nodded before waving goodbye unceremoniously.

It was only a short jog before you caught back up with V. “One must always have an insurance policy,” he told Griffon. Strange. V acknowledged your presence with a nod. It let you know you weren’t unwelcome or a hindrance to whatever he was planning. Had he not given you the clear, however subtle it was, well… you supposed you would’ve turned back to rejoin the other there.

“What do you mean, insurance policy? Wait… Do you mean that brat?!” Griffon quite literally screeched. “Hey, hey… he got his right arm lopped right off,” he tried to reason with V. “He won’t be of any use in battle!” V mumbled some sort of reassurance to him, citing the blood of Sparda. It offered Griffon no comfort. “I said not to fall behind Dante, right? And then you just leave! If they kill him while we are out fetching some greenhorn, we’ll...” the little demon trailed off.

V glanced back. “That… won’t happen. I think.” It appeared this situation was worse than imagined.

“Perhaps I should’ve gone,” you thought aloud.

“I believe you would’ve died,” he paused. “And that would be rather unfortunate.” While V often omitted aspects of the truth, he didn’t seem to lie about what he did choose to reveal.

You, Griffon, and V made your way back to Morrison and the helicopter. His expression was confused. “Well, that was quick. Where’s Dante?”

“Inside. Send the helicopter now.” It wasn’t a question.

“Right now? And send where?” Clearly, the intermediary was puzzled.

“Fortuna,” V stated.

Fortuna--it was a place you heard about in passing. Rumors of mass destruction caused by demons and the existence of cults in the obscure city floated about. Is this where that “brat” resides? The entirety of the Qliphoth was once more in view. It was a disappointment, leaving before you had done a thing about the demon within.

Clearly, V noticed your irritation. “It will be solved in time. It must.” Though he said that to you, it also seemed like he was reassuring yourself.

“I simply wish it will be sooner rather than later.”

You fell back into a lull of science. Until the pilot broke it with annoyed chatter about these “boonies” having no heliport and how he’d have to look for a little landing spot.

“There is no time. We’ll meet below. I’m going ahead,” V prepared to jump from the helicopter, causing the pilot to panic even further. He turned to you and offered his hand. You hesitantly took it. You had a suspicion Griffon would be the way down, but you were skeptical on how well he’d do with carrying the weight of two people.

You clenched your jaw when the air initially hit your face. “God, fuck.” V seemed to laugh under his breath at you before pulling you a bit closer to make Griffon’s job easier.

“While I don’t mind helping out because, y’know, my life counts on it… try not work me too hard,” Griffon bitched. His complaints were met with no words of remorse.

Before your feet hit the ground, V began to discuss his plan. “I’m going through the window.”

“Alright, I’ll wait outside.” The distance to the bottom wasn’t far, so you let go, landing on your feet softly enough. At least I’m stealthy.

Over 15 minutes passed before your ebony-haired companion made his way back down. You looked around for whatever it was he came for. “He’ll be here shortly.” So it IS the brat.

The rattling of metal had you turning around, your eyes catching sight of a boy with blue eyes and silver hair--very similar to Dante. He looked to V, who he already met, then you with skepticism. Regardless, he moved forward to join you. “You’re telling me that’s our ride? Talk about posh.” When you looked at the city streets you assumed that yes, it was posh in comparison to what other residents typically saw. “...Don’t get it too close, the others will wake up.”

V was irked by the comment. “Do I look like I can contact it right now? Try jumping and telling the pilot in person.”

“Yeah, sure,” the other boy rolled his eyes. The conversational-less void quickly turned awkward, unlike the time you typically spent with V. You knew nothing about this boy though, and it’d be a lie if you said you weren’t semi-interested.

While still staring forward, you said your name. The boy turned to you with a questioning look. “Your name?”

He seemed to consider whether or not he even wanted to give it to you at first. “Nero,” he finally said.

Immediately upon landing in the Qliphoth, Nero seemed ready to rush in. But V warned him of the danger that waited. Shortly after, a gurgling sound came out from what you noticed to be Shadow’s “liquid” form. “I’m leaving,” V looked over his shoulder. “I doubt you two would get lost here, but still… I suggest you do not fall behind.” And so he did go ahead, using Shadow as a mode of transportation.

Nero’s face soured a bit, making you release a short laugh. “Not very personable, is he?”

“I can agree to that,” Nero grumbled. It wasn’t long before demons began to spawn, creating little roadblocks in your path. “Get behind me.”

“I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t need protection, y’know?”

“I don’t see any weapons on you,” he eyed you.

You sighed. “Why must one waste energy and space by carrying physical items?” You gave Nero a peace sign before allowing white-gold light to envelop your hand. With a small shake, the glow around your hand turned to light throwing needles. “You take care of half of them, I’ll deal with the rest from a distance for now.”

The demons crawled closer and he grudgingly understood there was no time to ask more at the moment, but oh man, you knew it’d be constant interrogation once there was time. Whatever. A disgusting creature with both the face of a man and an ant’s body caught sight of you. You lazily threw a needle at it, watching it explode once it was pierced between the eyes. They were clearly bottom of the barrel demons. They were quick work for you, and clearly Nero as well who finished shortly after you.

“So you gonna tell me what the hell that was about?” He placed his shoulder across his back as you two continued walking.

“Don’t think that’d be right,” you drawled, “I haven’t even let V know yet, and I’ve been hanging out with him longer.” Nero huffed. “But I will let you know that light exists to extinguish this darkness.”

“How poetic,” he rolled his eyes, which warranted you to bump you first on his head. “Hey! What the hell?”

“Don’t be a douche, Nero,” you stuck your tongue out. “But y’know what? I won’t give too much away from myself, but I have to say, for a kid with one arm, I’m rather impressed by your sword skills.”

“Tch. You should’ve seen me when I had both,” it was funny how quickly Nero could go from brooding to cocky.

A sideways smirk spread across your face. “Would’ve loved to spar with you and kick your ass.”

You both continued to banter and deal with anything in the way. It was actually fun, and, surprisingly, the pair of you laughed together. It took no time for you to see V in the distance once again.

Nero stepped forward. “Huh? What, did you come back?”

The comment undeniably miffed V. “I told you, had I not? Your presence is needed.” You still didn’t quite understand why he needed Nero. He was strong, yes, but he still only had one arm. And if the reaction V and Griffon had earlier meant anything, this demon was far out of Nero’s league.”

Speaking of the devil (or rather the demon), Griffon piped up. “Hey, hero, you do know your role, right?” Nero quirked a brow at the bird. “What I’m saying is get going. We’ll take care of the grunts.”

“Whatever,” he turned around. But then he called out your name, which had a surprisingly colloquial tone to it. “You coming with?” Dante asked the same thing, and you would give the same answer.

“This seems to be your fight,” you shook your head. “I’ll stay back and help here.”

“Gotcha,” Nero nodded and began to move forward.

Griffon cackled, “Fast friends, huh?”

“He’s a funny kid. But how about we focus on the issue before us, hm?” The demons, which Nero had let you know were called empusas, bubbled up.

“Work, work, work!” Despite the complaint, Griffon charged then released cracks of lightning onto the demons. “Fuck yeah!” Huh, I guess I never saw what he did. The bird then chided V for not helping.

“Don’t rush me,” he voiced as he pierced one of the empusas. “Garbage.”

“He, he, that’s the spirit. We gotta catch up to the kid! Even she is helping out!” Griffon was ranged, you noticed, so you took a more melee stance this time (as opposed to your strategy alongside Nero). Instead of conjuring the needles, you created an elegant scythe of light. While the hacking and slashing was entertaining, being splattered by rancid demon blood was a major downside.

“Ugh, disgusting,” you at least wiped it off your face. V looked at you, startled and speechless. “No time for a Q and A, we’re needed ahead.” You grabbed his (warm) hand and began to run forward. “I can tell they’re right up there!”

The first thing you saw was Nero already bloody and beaten. “Fuck, Nero!” You rushed towards him and continued to scan the scene ahead of you. Dante. Lady. Trish. All of them lying on the ground in defeat. The demon, the monster, who defeated the famed devil hunters sat at the far end, appearing bored on his “throne.”

“He lost?! How did this happen?!” Griffon’s panicked screeches rang in your ears. “Oh no… oh no… This is it. This is the end.”

V softly murmured “Dante…” It was as if that conjured him back from the grave.

“Round two!” He transformed into a devil right before your eyes. Who the hell are all these people I got involved with?

“Heeey, what do we do?! We could lose an arm too V!” Griffon flew around anxiously. “Earth to princess V! Get yourself together!” You joined his chorus of yells, however… the words did not reach his ears. Tears rolled down V’s face and you realized just how dire this situation was for him.

“V!” You and Griffon shouted, but he continued to stare ahead. “V!” This time you took him by the shoulder and began to turn him around. “We need to go!” His eyes finally came back into focus and he nodded.

“Get Nero out of here! This was a bad move,” Dante yelled out.

“I can still fight,” Nero screamed in response but you were already beginning to pick him up and drag him away. “Tch, shit, back off!”

“You’re just deadweight!” By expression alone, you could tell that Dante’s words reverberated through his whole being.

Even as the ground collapsed, Nero shouted, “Quit messin’, back off!”

“We have to leave here!” You and V both tried to shake sense into the boy. “He’s far stronger than we could’ve imagined…!”

“That bastard called me “dead weight”?! Don’t underestimate me!” Nero screamed out Dante’s name.

Your eyes widened with shock as V threw Nero against a wall. “If you’re frustrated then think of ways to get stronger!” You had never heard his voice ring so loudly. “If Dante loses… I need you to defeat Urizen.” Nero’s face was full of scorn, but he seemed to finally give up fighting you and V off.

“Yes Urizen, the demon king…” He’s the demon king? Fuck. “That’s the name of the demon who took your arm,” V explained to Nero. It was news to you that it was Urizen who stole Nero’s arm. First question you had was why? What was so special about his arm that the demon king needed it to ascend? Perhaps I can barter information with him another day. I’m sure we shall meet again.

A crisp snap cut the air, and suddenly the black from V’s hair dissipated, leaving only white behind. An enormous creature crashed down and busted the rocks. Its appearance seemed to be made of rock (though that would be too simple) and it had a single eye. Another of V’s familiars, huh? But unlike Shadow and Griffon, especially, it didn’t seem to have any conscience. “This is Nightmare,” V  whispered to you. Good to know he thought that you may want that information.

The descent was over and once the familiar gurgled away, V’s hair became black once more.

“Where’s Dante? Hey!” Morrison exclaimed, voice full of confusion.

“He’s buying us time.. But it won’t last long,” V answered smoothly, not showing his despair to the other man.

Morrison was stunned. “Dante lost?!”

[umbraastaff]

@merle-casts-zone-of-truth

(well, this got out of hand! i was intending to write this concept as a much shorter, not-shipping fic, but then i decided to use this prompt as an excuse to actually write it, so here we are i guess!!!  --oh, and using the last name Hadar comes from the ideas ive seen on your blog, ofc. hey i love that a lot and i had to give it a shoutout!)

Overgrowth [a sort of companion fic to Harvest, though you don’t need to read one to read the other]

★ ★ ★

On Tesseralia, they say they’ll give over the Light when John makes peace with the enemy.

The Light of Creation is right at their fingertips for the 30th cycle. All it’ll take is a conversation with the omniverse’s most enormous, threatening force.

“If there’s anyone in any plane who can do it, it’s you,” Lucretia says.

John smiles wryly. “Yes. If there’s anyone.”

“If you can’t make peace, get information,” Davenport advises. “But don’t sell yourself short. You’re good at this.”

“I’m good at this,” John repeats.

★

The first sign of the Overgrowth’s approach is widening cracks in sidewalks and rocks. Vines creeping up mailboxes. Farms yielding crops a little faster, fruits a little bigger. The sun feeling a little brighter.

★

John fixes his tie, closes his eyes, and wills himself into a deathly vulnerable space. He opens his eyes to a bizarre scene. It’s a beach, because he’s standing in the sand by the ocean, with waves that creep up close to his feet, then slide away just in time to leave them dry. Across from the ocean, though, there’s a dense forest, and stray trees permeate the rest of the environment: standing in the sand, and even in the ocean, swaying with the waves. They aren’t even trees you usually find near beaches.

The whole place looks like a collision. It’s as if a forest and a beach decided they both wanted to be here for this meeting, and they both followed through, with no coordination. There are two suns in the violet sky, too, as if to drive home the idea that it’s two places mashed together.

And John is standing across from someone else, in the sand, in the point of contact between these two climates. He’s a dwarf in a bright-colored shirt with a tropical print. He looks like a regular guy. Like a dad, even.

The dwarf squints at John, blinks a few times. “Huh,” he says, in a voice that’s too gruff, too earthy, too real to belong to someone at the center of a universe-consuming mass of plants.

“Hello, sir,” John says, forcing the bewilderment to keep out of his voice. “I am John Hadar. May I ask your name?”

“Highchurch. Uh, Merle. Highchurch.”

“Highchurch Merle?” John says, extending a hand. “A pleasure.”

“Other way around,” Merle chuckles, shaking it. “The pleasure’s mine! This is real weird, though. How’d you pull this off?”

“It’s something called Parley. A technique for peacemaking, which is what I hope to achieve with you. It ensures that the guest-- that’s you-- is perfectly safe. I invited you, so I can’t harm you,” John explains. He omits the bit where Merle can kill him, but he’s sure the dwarf will pick up on it. Then he adds, hopefully, “Question for a question?”

“You already asked my name,” Merle says, but after a beat where John’s trying to come up with a response, he grins. “Kidding! Let’s sit down. Then you can ask whatever you want.” He gestures past John, and so the human turns around to see a picnic table. He’s absolutely sure that wasn’t there a minute ago.

They sit down. John speaks again. “So, this place… I don’t recognize it, myself, but I’m wondering if it holds any significance to you.”

“Never seen anythin’ like it,” Merle says earnestly. “But I figure it’s, y’know, a metaphorical space. I’m from the beach, myself, always loved it. And the trees… I like ‘em plenty, too, but that’s gotta be more to do with my whole situation… and Pan. I’m a cleric, you know. Well, was a cleric.”

“Huh. Do you mind if I ask--”

Merle shakes his head, interrupting. “I get another question, pal!”

“Ah, yes,” John says, very worried that he’s going to have to give away (or come up with a lie about) important information.

“Do you like chess?”

John raises his eyebrows. “Oh, er, yes. I do. Very much.”

Merle smiles. “You seemed like the type.” He knocks on the table, and a square platform of wood rises from it, with a checkered pattern appearing as it does. Then, a boardful of chess pieces appears in their rightful places: John’s set is made of wood, and Merle’s pieces are all made of tiny, woven vines. “So, what was your question?”

“Oh, right. I was wondering, since you were a cleric before, how did you go from that occupation to… this?”

“Funny you should ask it that way,” Merle says, “Since I probably wouldn't be here if I wasn’t a cleric in the first place.” He taps the table gently in thought. “People from my church, they… they found out something big, and they asked me to explain it. I asked Pan about it. And this whole shebang sprung from that event.”

“I… see.” John nods slowly, taking that in. He’s grateful for the chessboard: a perfect distraction to pad the conversation and keep his big questions from seeming too frequent. “I’m afraid I don’t know which of these sets counts as white or black, so I’m not sure whether to make a move or wait for you.”

“Oh! Who cares. You go ahead!”

They play for a few turns in silence. Merle is very slow, but he’s very good, and they’re about equally matched in skill. Finally, the dwarf says, “You mind if we get rid o’ the whole back-n-forth thing and just have a normal conversation?” With a cautious nod from John, he continues. “What really brings you here? I can’t imagine trying to talk things out with the plant plane was your first solution, if I’m causing so much trouble for you.”

“Ha,” John lets out a hint of a laugh at that. “No, it wasn’t. I only recently learned this technique. We just figured that it couldn’t hurt to try talking, right?”

Merle looks him in the eyes, looks through his eyes. It’s uncomfortable. John likes to be in control of what people see in him, and Merle looks like he’s reading an open book. “It’s more specific than that.”

John blinks. “Yes. Well, there’s also the issue where we won’t get the Light of Creation here unless I make peace with you,” he says, and only after it comes out does he realize how much he’s said, too directly. It was so compelling, in that moment looking at Merle’s eyes, to be honest. Goosebumps prick the back of his neck.

“The Light, huh?” Merle moves his bishop. Whaddya need that for?”

John hesitates. “We’re scientists. Er, my party. We want to study it.” Each of the last few words has to be forced up his throat, burning his tongue just slightly as they come out.

Merle meets his eyes again, looking disappointed this time. Like a parent of a kid who stole candy instead of, John reminds himself, an enormous eldritch forest that suffocates whole planar systems. “You don’t have to tell me,” Merle says, “But please don’t lie. Not in such a lovely place.”

So not even half-truths work. And it’s not as if John can risk trying a charm spell on a man with so much power. He’s just going to have to play the game: be honest, and try to get more information than he gives. “My apologies,” he says. “I hope you can forgive my caution.”

Merle nods. “You want the Light to get it away from me, right?” When John’s only response is a startled stare, the dwarf continues. “That’s good. I hope you use it for something better than we do.”

John blinks, but as he’s trying to find the right question about that, he feels a pressure on his legs. He looks down to see vines creeping up from the ground, locking his feet to the earth. “Uh, what’s--”

“Oh, shoot,” Merle exclaims, looking under the table from his side. “I think our time’s up. Is it possible for you to come back later? A while later. I don’t want you to be endangered here.”

“Ah, yes,” John says quickly. “Nice meeting you, Merle.”

“Yeah, yeah, nice chat, get outta here!” the cleric responds, voice lacking any real annoyance.

John closes his eyes.

★

The Overgrowth’s second sign is the death of small plants on the forest floor as the shadows of the canopy overtakes them. It’s the sidewalks crackling, home gardens climbing up the walls and through the windows. It’s people getting ill from non-native plants releasing toxins they don’t have the immune systems for.

★

Smoke hardens back into John’s form, and he looks up from his place on the floor. Everyone is still here: the crew, and Oriana. She looks down at him, question apparent on her face.

Back in his element, John pastes a bright, relieved smile onto his face. “The Overgrowth won’t be bothering us anymore.”

The crew stands in stunned silence, and then they break into cheers, with varying levels or sincerity. Oriana takes a bit longer to convince, but John says everything he needs to, gets ahold of the Light, and returns to the Starblaster with his crew.

Davenport speaks as soon as the door shuts behind them. “Well done getting the Light. What actually happened?”

“I played chess with the Overgrowth. His name is Merle,” John says flatly. Six pairs of eyes stare at him.

“You played chess with plant hell?” Taako clarifies. “For real?”

“So there was a specific person at the center of it all?” Lucretia asks, already writing.

“Yes. And he used to be a cleric of Pan. I think… it seemed like godly power was involved in the Overgrowth’s creation. I’m going to ask more later.”

“What? Why not just stay there and get the rest of the info back then?” Magnus asks.

“The plants there started acting up, and he asked me to leave. I was worried I’d die if I didn’t, and then we’d have no chance to get this world’s Light.”

Davenport nods. “Good call. Give it as much time as you think it needs, then get back in there.”

Lup finally speaks. “He didn’t kill you. Like, he actively tried to not kill you. That’s nuts.”

“Yeah,” John says.

★

In the Overgrowth’s later stages, plants start to animate. Roots wrap around the foundations of buildings and crush them. Vines overrun the streets and valleys. Touching any of them gets you dragged underground, locked in a dirt tomb until the world ends.

★

Since it’s only a month to the end of the year, and the heightened activity of the Overgrowth might distract Merle in later conversations, John decides to Parley at the next reset. He finds himself in the same place, with waves a little calmer than he remembers. This time, the picnic table is already in front of him, and their half-finished chess game is waiting. And on the other side of the table…

“Merle,” he says.

“John! Nice to see ya. Thanks for waiting.”

“Of course,” John says. “May I ask what cut our last meeting short?”

Merle takes a moment to think. “Hard to explain. When I’m not here, with you, I don’t have a body, or even individuality. I’m just part of the mass. And I’m sort of a reassuring force, because of my role in all this. So when I’m not there, they get… antsy? Like a bunch of kids,” he adds with a laugh.

John smiles. He can’t quite get behind the humor of calling the Overgrowth “kids,” but Merle’s shameless enjoyment of his own joke is sort of endearing.

“I gotta question,” Merle says, sitting down at the table. John joins him. “Whose turn is it in the chess game?”

“Yours, I believe. Was that your question?” John jokes.

“Ha! Nice try,” Merle retorts, using a pawn to take one of John’s diagonally. “I just moved between planar systems. Does this parley thing work across different systems, or do you have a method of transport? I know for sure you’re not hitching a ride with me.”

John considers how to answer that. On the one hand, Merle would probably let him decline to answer. But on the other, that could mean Merle refusing John’s questions later. And John has to be honest if he does answer, so… best to just keep it vague. “My friends and I, er, that crew of scientists,” he says, “We found a way to pass between dimensions just before you do. Using your portal, but not your plane.”

“Huh. That explains how you’ve done it without the Light in hand.”

John hesitates. “One more thing. During our first meeting, you mentioned that the Overgrowth-- er, that is, your whole plant plane, here--”

“Overgrowth?” Merle laughs. “Kinda on-the-nose! Better than mine, though.”

“Yes, well,” John continues, “You said it all started with someone asking you about… something. What was it?”

Merle’s expression falls, but before John can find out why, he realizes that his hand, resting on the table, has nettles starting to grow over and around it, with spikes that are precariously close. “Time to go, then, I suppose.”

★

It’s a few more sessions before John tries the question again.

“I just keep wondering,” John explains, “because what you've done is so… incomprehensible, so unique. I can't imagine what you were asked that made you create it.”

Merle closes his eyes. “When I was a cleric, back home, some members of my church found the Light of Creation. Young people, you know? The sort to ask big questions. Problem is, the Light had answers.” He takes a minute to make a chess move before continuing.

“They were scared of what they saw, so they showed it to me, looking for answers. And I- I saw--” Merle takes a shaky breath, and John realizes his eyes are glistening. “I saw everything. It wasn't just the concept of eternity, it was every single moment of it. And everything we do is so small, John. It was all so antithetical to everything I'd ever believed. I… I don't…”

John puts a hand on top of Merle’s, on the table. Merle looks up at him, some of the distress relaxing into gratitude. “John,” he says seriously, “With all your space travels and whatnot, don’t you ever lose sight of the little things. Don't zoom out so far into the big picture that you forget what's important.”

John’s lips quirk upwards. “Don’t worry. I’m a bard. I know every note is important.”

“A bard, huh?” Merle leans back, (not far enough to separate their hands), and he takes on a jokingly offended look. “You been holdin’ out on me? What do I gotta do to hear you play?”

“Sing, actually,” John says. Usually he’s not a fan of impromptu requests, but he finds he doesn't mind this one too much. “I mean, I do most of my magic with motivational speaking. But I sing sometimes, too.”

And then he does. He sings an old Dwarvish song that he learned on a previous world, something with a softer melody than most of their music is known for. He doesn't actually know any Dwarvish outside of the lyrics he's memorized, but he knows what it's about: A stone that falls and rolls down a mountain, who talks to all the animals and plants it passes. And at the end, when it's sitting still at the base, thinking it is alone, it learns it has befriended the mountain itself.

Merle is crying by the end of it, letting out any tears he was suppressing. “That was beautiful,” he says. “Thank you, John.”

★

The Overgrowth never appears in the sky. It climbs out from the core of the plane, a parasite, suffocating the world in shadow and cold as a cocoon covers it. And once the planar system is engulfed, it expands to its true size. The crew only ever sees it for a few moments-- an enormous mass of plants, with vines reaching out to them, before time freezes and resets.

★

“I’ve seen dozens of civilizations use the Light to pursue knowledge,” John says. “How did your use of it create the Overgrowth?”

“It wasn't in pursuit of knowledge,” Merle says. “It was… I led the church in a prayer. And because I had the Light, the whole world joined in as I called to Pan.” he sighs. “But I think that the vastness of eternity-- of real eternity-- was too big for gods, too.

“So Pan gave us his power. Or we ripped it out of him, I don't know. I don't think the light amplified his magic so much as… made its own version. Because, this--” he gestures to the forest-- “this isn't my Pan.

“Anyway, yeah. The Overgrowth began with that. We were all so afraid of being alone, being small andshort-lived in an uncaring universe. Of being nothing. But if we joined everyone together, if we became our own universe, we could be… something.”

★

“What brings you joy, John? Do you enjoy singing?” Merle asks, after another song.

“Yes. I like to... inspire people. And I like the way words and notes can be woven into any shape.” When Merle waits, John adds, “And… I love my crew, and…” They meet eyes.

“That’s good. Don't ever stop loving things, John, don't ever let yourself stop.”

“What do you enjoy, Merle?”

“I love your singing. I love our meetings. I love these waves,” Merle says, gesturing out towards the sea. “I wish I could remember any of that when I’m not here. Then, maybe… maybe I could stop all this. Stop… hurting everyone. Hurting you.”

★

In the ninety-second cycle, against the advice of the rest of the crew, John calls Merle for a final meeting. They've spoken in every cycle up till now-- multiple times in some of them, when Merle could manage it.

On the beach and in the ocean, there are more trees than there used to be. It's been a gradual increase over the decades, but it still feels like far too many, too fast. Above them, the night sky sparkles with stars.

“This may be our last meeting,” John says immediately. If he sits on the information, Merle will know something’s wrong.

Merle senses the weight of that statement, and so he doesn't endanger John by asking why. Instead, he says, “What, your friends finally figured out you're having an affair with the enemy instead of grilling me?”

John goes red for a moment before he relaxes and laughs. “You, personally, aren't my enemy, Merle.”

“Just look at you, hopelessly brainwashed!”

They laugh. John has mentioned before how he’s sure the crew thinks he's being Charmed, what with how happy he always leaves parley sessions, and with less new information each time. But he still fights against the Overgrowth just as hard as the rest of them, so they keep trusting him.

Merle speaks again as their laughter dies down. “I was wondering when this’d happen. You got any plans for our last day?”

Without really thinking, John starts to sing. He sings about the stars reflecting on the waves, about impossible wishes breaking the backs of meteors, about how far apart each star in a constellation is. He lets magic creep into the music, making the stars twinkle with different colors and having their reflections swirl in the ocean.

Merle faces away from John for most of it, staring out at the sea. “I loved that,” he says quietly at the end. “Where is it from?”

“I… I made it up just now. I thought you'd notice, what with all the stumbling and off-key notes.”

“It was perfect,” Merle whispers. They stare at the sky for a while, and then he breaks the silence again. “And you know I'm tone deaf, right?”

John laughs. “Oh, that's right! I forgot. Guess that part doesn't matter, then.”

“Yeah,” says Merle, and before they can fall into another silence, he adds, “Hey, you wanna know about these constellations? I think I still remember a few of them.”

“That would be lovely,” John says.

★

Seventeen years later, John drinks the ichor of a second voidfish, and he is overwhelmed by a sea of memories. In the emotional mayhem, he almost tries to parley. The thought is interrupted by the deafening crack of the moon base being torn through. The crew sees an enormous tree trunk grow straight up through a dome and then through the ceiling. There is a horrible, lurching tilt as the base's ability to stay airborne goes out, and it remains in place by the tree’s strength alone.

★

Not an hour later, John vanishes from a barely-functional elevator and finds himself in an almost-familiar space. His shoes are on sand, but he's surrounded by a fairly thick forest. He can see the ocean water to his side, glinting off the spots of sunlight between leaves. The picnic table is broken in half, with a tree dividing it.

And he sees Merle. “Holy shit, that worked,” the dwarf says. He's on his knees, surrounded by foliage. His right arm looks like it's made of wood, and his left eye has a flower obscuring it. John can't tell if it’s growing over the eye or instead of it. He doesn't want to know.

“Oh gods, Merle,” John says in a panic. “Fuck, it's been-- what's going on?”

“It’s this very original idea I had,” Merle grins, considerably less worried than John is. “I call it Parley!”

“What happened to your arm? Your eye? Merle--”

“Don’t worry about it. And what about you? Your complexion? You look awful,” he laughs.

“I had my good skin stolen by elves who played… electronic dance music.”

“The hell’s that? Can you sing it? Will you--” his tone drops to something a little more serious. “Will you sing for me? One last time?”

“I- I can't,” John says. “They took my singing, my… my sense of pitch. I can't sing.”

Merle looks at him for a long moment, and John expects something sympathetic, pitying. He doesn't want that at all. But before he can say that, Merle says, “You’re tellin’ me your pitch is stopping you from singin’ for Merle “tone-deaf” Hitower Highchurch, in a private parley area?” The trees around them seem to shift and creak. “What happened these last couple decades? The John I remember wasn't shy like that.”

“No, it's-- I appreciate that, Merle, but it's not that simple. I can't feel the changes between notes at all, and it throws me off my rhythm every time. I can't hold a tune.”

“John, if you won't sing, I will,” Merle decides. “And you're gonna hate it.”

“I doubt that,” John challenges.

And so Merle starts singing a loud, obnoxious shanty, wheezing every time it requires his voice to go higher. John realizes a few bars in that he recognizes it. It was broadcasted by one of the voidfish at Legato Conservatory.

As Merle predicted, John hates it, in an amused sort of way. He decides to try joining in, and he finds it's easier to keep up with the rhythm when he's being guided by Merle's (albeit terrible) singing. They yell the song to the sea, lacking any semblance of harmony or tune.

“See,” Merle says, “You still got it!”

John laughs. “I just didn't have any other way to drown you out, that's all.”

“You coulda killed me,” Merle says, tone far too flat. John stops laughing. The trees seem to lurch inwards around them, making John feel mildly claustrophobic. “This is parley.”

“What? No, Merle, what?? I'm not-- I won't kill you. I can't. Don't say that.”

“It might solve your problem.” As he says it, John feels vines creeping up his feet, tighter than usual. He tries to kick them off.

“And it might not! Jesus, Merle! We're gonna find a way, okay?”

Merle sighs. “Thought you might be like that. C’mere.” When John leans away from his inviting gesture, Merle adds, “I won't trick you into killing me. I'm not a jackass.”

John hesitates another moment before stepping forward, shaking the plants from his legs. He sits down in front of Merle-- with him cross-legged and the dwarf up on his knees, they're nearly eye-level.

Merle puts his non-wood hand on John’s upper arm. Roots are starting to twist over both of their legs. “John,” he whispers, “Do you wanna know the worst lie I've ever been told?”

John leans in. “Yes…?”

“It’s that love and moments and songs aren't worth anything because they'll be gone someday. And I've been living that lie for ninety-nine percent of my last few centuries alive. Except when I’m with you.” The trees are getting wider, taller. They’re starting to actually close in. The wind whistling through the branches sounds like a scream. “So I wanted to tell ya thanks for that, and I also wanted a minute here to cast-- Zone of Truth!”

The last words are a shouted spell, cast from his wooden hand, which has its fingers on the ground. The earth glows all around them, and then suddenly everything ignites. The arm, the trees, the vines. John expects the fire on his legs to burn him, but it just feels pleasantly warm.

As he's squinting at the blaze, John feels Merle squeeze his arm a little tighter and cough. He looks down to see vines constructing Merle's chest, aflame but too thick to be burned through yet.

“Oh gods, Merle, are you okay? I can-- Maybe I can heal--”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Merle wheezes gently. He moves his hand up to John’s head, running it through his hair. Then he presses their foreheads together, and they stay like that for a moment. “Destroy these bastards for me.”

And then John wakes up on the side of a dirt road.

★

At the end of the battle, John sees Merle once more. He’s sitting on the shore of the beach, looking like his normal self again. And there aren’t any trees in the sand or water-- only some vegetation scattered further away, where it would be on a normal beach. Far across the water, two suns are setting, one just slightly above the other.

Merle looks up and smiles at John, then pats the ground beside him. “Will you sit with me?”

John does, his mind swirling with questions and wishes and apologies-- something, anything to say to Merle before he’s gone. What does he say? Why can’t he get any words out?

“We don’t have to talk.” There’s an almost amused smile in Merle’s voice, like he knows what John’s thinking. “Let’s just watch this together.” He puts his hand on John’s, and they look out over the water.

When the first sun sets, and the other is three-quarters down, John feels the weight on his hand vanish, and when he looks over, Merle is gone.

Alone, he watches the other sun vanish, and then he is returned.

★ ★ ★

[speciousesgr]

Review: ThinkGeek Bag of Holding Tote

Disclaimer: This is a review unit I was able to get from the lovely people at ThinkGeek.

As anyone who has been viewing this blog for a long time, you’ll know one of my pet peeves in my digital life is that I struggle immensely with finding the right sort of bag for my tech. I’m not entirely a “and the kitchen sink” kind of person. But, with my daily commute and the amount I have to travel, I do have to consider seriously what bag will suit my purpose the best. That usually depends on what I’m doing. Am I flying? Am I just going to town? How long will I be waiting for one form of transport to another? Do I need to bring clothes? A myriad of question always accompanies all of these essential choices.

Most people would know that I swear by my Timbuk2 Custom Prospect messenger bag. It’s my regular go-to for travelling and day to day use. You can find more of my gushing over it in my Women Tech Bag Video.

So, with the ThinkGeek Bag of Holding Tote, there are a few things that are worthy to note about it before we get started.

Product Specifications

Convertible Tote of Holding

A ThinkGeek creation & exclusive

Comes with double handles and also removable backpack straps

Custom d20 print accent

Magnetic snap closure at top

Organizer built-in to lining (9 card slots, 2 open pouches, 2 zip pouches, ThinkGeek keyholder)

Metal feet on the bottom for durability

Materials: 100% polyurethane exterior; 100% polyester lining

Care Instructions: Hand wash

Exterior Dimensions: 13″ wide x 17″ tall x 4″ thick

Weight: 2 1/2 lbs.

It is a beautiful bag; its print accent is one of the most striking elements of the tote. It’s wonderfully detailed, and I regularly got compliments and comments from the passers-by who I encountered who were curious about where on earth I found a bag that had a pattern of a D20! It’s a testament to the care and craft of putting a bag together like this. Subtle details in the stitching and lining indicate this to the core. It’s challenging to find a rough edge on the tote, and that’s a testament to the craft of it in itself. However, that robust construction comes at a price in the form of its weight. It’s a good two pounds when its empty. So, if people are expecting this to be a light bag, I fear this may not be one for you.

That being said, I wanted to put it through its paces. I was off to a Ted X in Canada, and I decided since it was an overnight trip that I would need to bring a change of clothes for the event. I was also going to need to bring some form of entertainment, food. I made a noble attempt to fit all of these items into the tote but alas I failed to do so without leaving some essential items out. Which is a no-go for this bag to be used as my new travel companion. I’m not going to lie; I was pretty astonished that I couldn’t fit more into it, dimensions wise it’s a pretty big tote bag. Now, as my Youtube Review Video will show, I am bringing quite a bit, and arguably my packing cube for my clothes was the principal offender when it came to the space available. It was still none the less surprising though, as right now it’s not quite living up to my expectations for a bag that has the title of Bag of Holding.

My timbuk2 to had to resume its position for that particular trip as I had little issue getting the contents I needed there for my trip. Throughout my time bouncing from airport to airport to get to Toronto I was curious about what other use cases could I use this bag for? So, I decided I’m regularly in and out to college as well as the gym I would see if this would be a suitable all in one solution for this, as my Timbuk2 for those trips is complete overkill. Sadly, I ran into different issues when using this bag as a daily driver for my college and gyms trips.

Cardinal of all sins for me is the lack of a dedicated pocket for my laptop/tablet. This is something I’m quite pedantic about. I think if you’re creating any bag, it makes sense to have a dedicated pocket for your tech that needs that added bit of protection. So having something that didn’t even protect my iPad had me quite frustrated in parts. I was always second guessing where things were in my bag or worrying if my lunch box was going to spill and what that would do to said iPad.

I ran into the space issue on multiple occasions too, sometimes having to forfeit a bigger towel for the gym or a bottle of water to fit something else in for a particular day. Which, evidently, isn’t a great solution for things either. It’s not as if I’d be bringing a lot with me for these sessions, but I’d always feel like I was running short on space.

It leads to a more significant comment too which is after a while it can tend to make the bag heavier than you would otherwise think. Having a 2-pound starting weight then adding other essential items on top of that can rapidly make a significant weight change to the overall bag and limits your options on how best to carry it.

My go-to carry style was to use it by the handles on my shoulder as I was always overly aware in the backpack style that a small clip only closes the bag, and it would be straightforward to reach into the bag from that position pretty much unbeknownst to the wearer. So I didn’t have enough experience with the backpack style element to make a concrete opinion on it other than its relatively well executed but the straps suffer from the same fault that others do which is the straps are awful thin. This can lead to the straps cutting into your shoulders, and I am a women function over fashion. So, in my time of usage it didn’t get a lot of use, but as always your mileage may vary.

It might seem like I’m ragging on the Tote, but really, I’m not. I think I’d be more lenient on it if they’d omitted the title of it is a Bag of Holding. I think that’s where I’ve got the most of a mental block. I can’t view this bag out of the context of it being in its brand. The line is notorious for being compact but being able to hold pretty much everything. I’ve even seen the standard bags, and others in the range attest to this mantra. This, however, doesn’t.

Let me be clear; it is not a bad bag in the least. It’s incredibly constructed, aesthetically pleasing and works as a bag. But is it a bag of holding worthy of the namesake? I don’t think so.

from Review: ThinkGeek Bag of Holding Tote

[parabataiisms]

“You can always trust me.”

game of thrones ►season 6 prompts  (part 1)

Jace had always been a rebel,one to break the rules and play with fire and that was exactly how this started. In the era of your next companion being a mere swipe away loneliness was easy to chase away and besides there also was the thrill.

The problem being that Jace started to care and what started as mere fun had gone on a little bit too long to not talk to each other. Not that he would ever call this a relationship but they ended up talking, mere sex turned to sex and take-away and with the prejudice he was facing in the Institute he used any excuse to be away from it and somewhere else. Perhaps he wasn’t as good at hiding his emotions as he once was.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s that...” He trailed off with a sigh. No, he could both keep the secrecy of their world and divulge something as to signify that he did trust his companion. Not lie per say but omitting certain things. “Let’s just say the homelife isn’t great. I work with my family and I fucked up bad...really bad and things aren’t the same. People...I used to be admired and now I’m the family disappointment. I expected it of course but it still.. you know?”

Yes,he could divulge the issues without needing to mention their full extent.

@thetjhammond

[speciousesgr]

Review: ThinkGeek Bag of Holding Tote

Disclaimer: This is a review unit I was able to get from the lovely people at ThinkGeek.

As anyone who has been viewing this blog for a long time, you’ll know one of my pet peeves in my digital life is that I struggle immensely with finding the right sort of bag for my tech. I’m not entirely a “and the kitchen sink” kind of person. But, with my daily commute and the amount I have to travel, I do have to consider seriously what bag will suit my purpose the best. That usually depends on what I’m doing. Am I flying? Am I just going to town? How long will I be waiting for one form of transport to another? Do I need to bring clothes? A myriad of question always accompanies all of these essential choices.

Most people would know that I swear by my Timbuk2 Custom Prospect messenger bag. It’s my regular go-to for travelling and day to day use. You can find more of my gushing over it in my Women Tech Bag Video.

So, with the ThinkGeek Bag of Holding Tote, there are a few things that are worthy to note about it before we get started.

Product Specifications

Convertible Tote of Holding

A ThinkGeek creation & exclusive

Comes with double handles and also removable backpack straps

Custom d20 print accent

Magnetic snap closure at top

Organizer built-in to lining (9 card slots, 2 open pouches, 2 zip pouches, ThinkGeek keyholder)

Metal feet on the bottom for durability

Materials: 100% polyurethane exterior; 100% polyester lining

Care Instructions: Hand wash

Exterior Dimensions: 13″ wide x 17″ tall x 4″ thick

Weight: 2 1/2 lbs.

It is a beautiful bag; its print accent is one of the most striking elements of the tote. It’s wonderfully detailed, and I regularly got compliments and comments from the passers-by who I encountered who were curious about where on earth I found a bag that had a pattern of a D20! It’s a testament to the care and craft of putting a bag together like this. Subtle details in the stitching and lining indicate this to the core. It’s challenging to find a rough edge on the tote, and that’s a testament to the craft of it in itself. However, that robust construction comes at a price in the form of its weight. It’s a good two pounds when its empty. So, if people are expecting this to be a light bag, I fear this may not be one for you.

That being said, I wanted to put it through its paces. I was off to a Ted X in Canada, and I decided since it was an overnight trip that I would need to bring a change of clothes for the event. I was also going to need to bring some form of entertainment, food. I made a noble attempt to fit all of these items into the tote but alas I failed to do so without leaving some essential items out. Which is a no-go for this bag to be used as my new travel companion. I’m not going to lie; I was pretty astonished that I couldn’t fit more into it, dimensions wise it’s a pretty big tote bag. Now, as my Youtube Review Video will show, I am bringing quite a bit, and arguably my packing cube for my clothes was the principal offender when it came to the space available. It was still none the less surprising though, as right now it’s not quite living up to my expectations for a bag that has the title of Bag of Holding.

My timbuk2 to had to resume its position for that particular trip as I had little issue getting the contents I needed there for my trip. Throughout my time bouncing from airport to airport to get to Toronto I was curious about what other use cases could I use this bag for? So, I decided I’m regularly in and out to college as well as the gym I would see if this would be a suitable all in one solution for this, as my Timbuk2 for those trips is complete overkill. Sadly, I ran into different issues when using this bag as a daily driver for my college and gyms trips.

Cardinal of all sins for me is the lack of a dedicated pocket for my laptop/tablet. This is something I’m quite pedantic about. I think if you’re creating any bag, it makes sense to have a dedicated pocket for your tech that needs that added bit of protection. So having something that didn’t even protect my iPad had me quite frustrated in parts. I was always second guessing where things were in my bag or worrying if my lunch box was going to spill and what that would do to said iPad.

I ran into the space issue on multiple occasions too, sometimes having to forfeit a bigger towel for the gym or a bottle of water to fit something else in for a particular day. Which, evidently, isn’t a great solution for things either. It’s not as if I’d be bringing a lot with me for these sessions, but I’d always feel like I was running short on space.

It leads to a more significant comment too which is after a while it can tend to make the bag heavier than you would otherwise think. Having a 2-pound starting weight then adding other essential items on top of that can rapidly make a significant weight change to the overall bag and limits your options on how best to carry it.

My go-to carry style was to use it by the handles on my shoulder as I was always overly aware in the backpack style that a small clip only closes the bag, and it would be straightforward to reach into the bag from that position pretty much unbeknownst to the wearer. So I didn’t have enough experience with the backpack style element to make a concrete opinion on it other than its relatively well executed but the straps suffer from the same fault that others do which is the straps are awful thin. This can lead to the straps cutting into your shoulders, and I am a women function over fashion. So, in my time of usage it didn’t get a lot of use, but as always your mileage may vary.

It might seem like I’m ragging on the Tote, but really, I’m not. I think I’d be more lenient on it if they’d omitted the title of it is a Bag of Holding. I think that’s where I’ve got the most of a mental block. I can’t view this bag out of the context of it being in its brand. The line is notorious for being compact but being able to hold pretty much everything. I’ve even seen the standard bags, and others in the range attest to this mantra. This, however, doesn’t.

Let me be clear; it is not a bad bag in the least. It’s incredibly constructed, aesthetically pleasing and works as a bag. But is it a bag of holding worthy of the namesake? I don’t think so.

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