#i really only made their fur/hair linger and gave them eyelashes to make them both fem

[lilbitosunny]

Someone asked for sapphic narilamb asleep together but I accidentally deleted it from my inbox 😭

BUT SAPPHIC NARILAMB

[wistfulcynic]

bound by sand and salt and sea

This is @courtorderedcake​‘s fault. I was all set to write something completely different (poor, lonely WIPs) and then she sent me this: 

So now we have selkie!Emma and Killian who is... well, you’ll see. 

AO3

—

bound by sand and salt and sea: 

It wasn’t as though he fixated on the blonde from the very moment she entered the restaurant, draped in a thick fur stole of the same captivating pale gold as her hair. Not really. It was just that the table she took was next to his, and the angle of her chair afforded him a perfect view of her—crossing her long legs gracefully as she sat, fingertips brushing along her collarbone as she spoke, peering up at her date from beneath long lashes and smiling at him with soft lips painted a deep berry red. 

Something about that smile had Killian Jones wanting more. 

“Real fur,” sniffed his own date. Arianne? Emily? Ariel? Yes, that was it. Ariel. “Not very politically correct.” Killian nodded absently. She seemed lovely, this Ariel, but she did a lot of talking, and he was struggling a bit to keep up. Even before any stunning blondes had entered the picture.  

“Hmmm,” he replied with another glance at her, a more overt one this time since Ariel was looking too. His gaze lingered and he felt his throat go dry. “Perhaps it’s a family heirloom.” 

“Maybe,” said Ariel. “Still.” 

Just then the blonde, without so much as a flicker of an eyelash to indicate her intent, whipped a pair of handcuffs from out of absolutely nowhere and snapped them smartly on the wrists of her ‘date,’ while two men dressed in the kind of suits that only police detectives ever wear stood up and moved in to take him into custody. The woman’s lips curled in an entirely different sort of smile as she watched them go, one Killian would swear he felt echo in his soul. 

In all the confusion the woman’s fur, still draped across her shoulders despite the warmth of the room, had fallen to the floor. Without a thought, Killian leaned forward and picked it up. 

“I believe you dropped this,” he said, in the smoothest voice his parched throat could manage. 

She turned with a laugh that died on her lips as her eyes met his. Met and locked and widened. Green eyes, was all Killian could think. Shimmering sea-green like the deeps of Tahitian waters, exactly the colour of... his thoughts grew muddled and he gave his head a shake... her cheeks flushed pink and then she smiled... a soft smile this time, slightly awed... he’d give anything, he thought, to learn each one of her smiles... 

“Thank you,” she whispered, taking the fur. Her fingers brushed against his. “I’m Emma.” 

“Killian,” he replied, his voice hoarse. 

“Killian,” she repeated. “Do you want to get out of here?” 

He glanced back at Ariel. It would be a terrible thing to do, the worst he’d done in ages. Definitely a top ten of all time despite his countless years of extremely poor decision-making. He found he didn’t care. 

Ariel gave a shrug. On your head be it, the gesture seemed to say. 

Killian turned back to Emma. “Where did you have in mind?” 

—

The next morning Killian awoke to bright sunlight shining in his eyes and gilding Emma’s hair where it curled against her skin. He raked his fingers through it and her eyes fluttered open. She smiled. 

“Good morning,” she said. 

“Good morning,” he replied, kissing her smile as he trailed his fingers down her body, over the contours of breast and waist and thigh. 

She hummed her pleasure into the kiss but when he moved to deepen it placed a hand on his chest to stop him. “Killian,” she said softly, “before we… again I mean... there’s something I have to tell you.” 

“I find when a woman says that I’m rarely in for a pleasant conversation,” he quipped, still smiling despite her solemn words. “Can’t it wait, love?” 

“Not really, no. I should have told you last night, but... well...” 

“Aye, I remember.” He smirked. “I could hardly forget.” 

She laughed and lightly smacked his chest. “I’m trying to be serious here!” 

“Very well, darling.” Killian settled back into the pillows. “What is it?” 

She bit her lip and he fought not to get distracted by it. “It’s not a big thing, not really,” she said. “I mean it is kind of important, but I hope you don’t—I mean I hope you can—” She broke off helplessly and he gave her an encouraging nod. 

“I’m a selkie,” she blurted, then released a heavy breath.  

He sat bolt upright. “What?” 

“Ah.” She twisted her hands nervously. “You see, selkies are—” 

“I know what bloody selkies are, I’m a—er, I work on the sea.” Killian raked a hand through his hair. “But you—but how—” 

Real fur, he thought. He should have bloody known. 

He took a deep breath and forced himself to stay calm. “How are you on land?” he asked. “And free?” 

“My pelt was taken when I was very young,” she explained. “The man who took it—I thought I loved him, so I let him... I went willingly with him. He was a liar and a thief, I learned that later, but by the time I did it was too late. My pelt was his, and—I think you know what that means.” 

“I do,” growled Killian. 

“When he died I got it back,” Emma continued, “but though I felt called to the sea I chose to stay on land. I couldn’t go, knowing there were men like that here, walking free. I couldn’t just leave, not when there was something I could do to help. So now I work with the police to catch criminals, men like the one who used me.” Her hands were fisted tight in her lap and Killian covered them with his. She twined their fingers together with a grateful smile. “I will go back,” she said. “Someday. I know I will, I have to, but it’s just never felt right…” 

“He didn’t return your pelt,” said Killian gently. “Not truly. He just died, and you got it back by default. You never had any closure with him.” 

She nodded. “I think that’s it,” she whispered. “My time here felt unfinished. But then last night… you gave it back to me. My pelt is mine again, and you and I”—she cast him a quick glance from beneath her lashes—”are bound.” 

“Bound?” 

“Bound together.” She shrugged a delicate shoulder. “Look, I don’t make the rules.” 

It occurred to Killian that while she might not make the rules she was interpreting this one rather loosely. “I only picked your pelt up off the floor,” he pointed out. “It’s not like I was the one who stole it from you—” 

“Doesn’t matter.” Emma made a decisive slicing motion of her hand through the air. “It’s done now. I can feel the binding magic. Can’t you?” 

He could. Killian stared at her helplessly, alarmed by how not alarmed he felt. “We should probably get married,” he heard himself say. “The human way, you know.” 

Emma beamed, bright and glorious—a new smile to add to his collection. “I’d like that very much,” she said.

—

They were married on the beach at sunset, in a simple ceremony with none in attendance but the old sea captain who performed the rites and one witness for each of them. Killian’s was Ariel—a lovely woman, he’d always said so, and a surprisingly good sport about the whole thing. Especially after being introduced to Eric—Emma’s cousin and the second witness. 

“A selkie,” said Ariel as they danced together after the ceremony, with a small shake of her head and a speculative glance at Eric. “I should have known.” 

“Likely we both should have known,” agreed Killian. “And yet.”  

“Are you okay with it?” she asked. “Truly?”  

“I suppose I’ll have to be. I returned her pelt, after all.” 

Ariel frowned. “I’m not sure that’s how it works—” 

Killian made a decisive slashing motion through the air with his hand. “It’s done,” he said. “We don’t make the rules. And anyway, we’re married now.” 

He’d married Emma with a deep-sea pearl, darkly iridescent and set in raw copper. It gleamed on her finger, lit by firelight, and he smiled. 

“Yes,” Ariel agreed. “So you are.”

—

“Let’s go for a swim,” said Emma as they sat curled together on a rock after the others had gone. She slipped from his embrace and reached for her pelt. “A proper one.” 

Killian toyed with the slender bracelet on his wrist. It was carved of ormer and set with black pearls and it shone in the moonlight. 

“A proper one,” he repeated, then slid the bracelet off. 

—

The sea was calm that night, its gentle waves broken only once—by the sleek arc of a golden selkie and the green glimmer of a merman’s tail. They flashed bright in the moonlight, circling each other, then dove deep and swam away and the sea was calm again. 

—

@spartanguard​ I have a feeling this might be right up your street. Also, the usual suspects. @thisonesatellite​ @ohmightydevviepuu​ @katie-dub​ @mariakov81​ @stahlop​ @optomisticgirl​ @shireness-says​ @kmomof4​ @teamhook​  @captain-emmajones

[writeblrfantasy]

a king and his knight | part 2

the prince made that face of confusion again. “i’m sorry?”

“the enemy will be here soon. i want you out of the castle before they arrive.”

“shouldn’t you be out fighting with my brother’s men? they have everything under control. you shouldn’t be here.”

“your brother’s men and the enemy will wipe each other out. i don’t want you anywhere near the fighting. i want to keep you safe.” the knight swallowed, clutching his helmet tighter under his arm. “i know a place. please come with me?”

his heart threatened to beat out of his chest as he awaited the prince’s answer. the knight was surprised he hadn’t broken his composure yet.

“okay,” the prince said. “okay. give me a moment to gather my things.”

the knight watched anxiously out the window for signs of fighting, but he could only hear it echoed in the distance, slowly growing louder. the prince slung a small bag over his shoulder, and in his other hand, the straps, the books the knight had gifted cinched within them. the knight carefully schooled his expression.

“would you like me to carry those?”

“they’re not that heavy, thank you,” the prince said. “you don’t need to.”

that sounded like politeness instead of a firm no. suppressing a smile, the knight said, “are you sure? i’d be happy to.”

the prince hesitated, then said, “okay. i--thank you.”

the knight had never been happier to juggle his helmet, the prince’s bag, and the straps, as well as his own provisions.

there wasn’t a soul in the hallways, all the knights were out and the servants and residents had either fled or were hidden away in their own rooms. the knight tapped down a spark of anger that no one had thought about his prince’s wellbeing. he should��ve been evacuated to a faraway fortress with a score of knights to protect him, but the knight was secretly, selfishly pleased that he was the one who got to do it. wasn’t this what he’d always dreamed of, protecting the knight, carrying his things?

the knights had taken all the horses but a few. the knight pondered his options. “if you don’t mind, i think it’d be safer to take just one horse. but if you want your own, that wouldn’t be too hard to manage.” it would be, as he’d constantly be looking over his shoulder at the prince and watching out for threats, but he couldn’t pretend he didn’t also have a selfish desire to ride with the prince.

“whatever you think is best,” said the prince. the knight helped him mount the tall brown horse that was big enough for two, and followed in front of him after filling the saddlebags. the prince’s arms went around his waist, and the knight knew it was just so he wouldn’t fall, but his breath still hitched. even through his armor, he could feel that the prince was cold, from his freezing hands to his chest through their clothes. that fur coat and the prince was still cold? he concentrated on the terrain instead of saying anything and making a fool of himself.

the prince remained quiet as well except to ask once, “where are we going?” the knight told him they were going to a small cabin that he’d found hidden in the countryside as a boy. he’d never taken anyone else there, but he didn’t say that.

he knew they were running away for a grim reason, and that this was no reason to be happy, but the peaceful, quiet air of the country and the warm sun contrasting the prince’s cold arms around his waist felt better than anything he’d had in years.

“how long are we going to hide here?” the prince asked when they got there after a few hours. the knight caught him as he slid down the tall horse, and had to restrain himself from letting his hands linger.

“a few days, until the fighting ends,” said the knight, carrying the prince’s things inside.

the prince’s bootsteps followed his. “is there something more i should’ve done than flee like a coward? should i have helped my father and brother in some way?”

how to answer that? “no, i don’t think so. your father and brother wouldn’t want you dead.”

the prince shook his head and took in the small house. it was sparse, with only a wooden table, two chairs, a counter, and a bed with an old batch of furs. dust coated every surface. the knight hadn’t had a chance to come here in months since the time he’d stopped here to rest on his long journey to the beach.

“i believed them when they said everything would be fine,” said the prince. “i had no reason not to. but you’re so confident.”

“i’ve seen things like this before,” the knight said. “everyone makes mistakes, let their greed and their pride outweigh their logic. your father and brother have never lost a battle before, why would they lose now? but i have seen the other army at work, and i know what they’re capable of. we’re lucky they have matching numbers instead of greater. you did nothing wrong.”

the knight waited, wondering if the prince would say anything else, but he didn’t.

the knight made them a fire outside the cabin and a dinner of heated jerky and fresh bread and cheese. he filled their waterskins from the river nearby, but he wasn’t brave enough to attempt a stew yet. the prince seemed to like the humble meal just the same, and the knight got to admire the reflections on his eyes in the firelight, the golden light of sunset in his hair.

the knight settled on the floor beside the bed, slightly cold without a blanket and knowing his back would kill him after the sleep on the hard floor, but this was a small sacrifice to make. when the prince climbed into the bed and saw where he was, he said, “what the hell are you doing?”

“uh,” the knight said, unsure of how to answer.

“there’s room for both of us. what kind of royal would i be if i let my knight sleep on the hard floor with no blanket?”

my knight. the knight tried not to let that go to his head. he knew sleeping in that bed would kill him more than the hard floor would kill his back, but he couldn’t think of a good excuse. he was grateful for the dim candlelight, hopefully hiding the blush he could feel overtaking his face.

“you’re not seriously going to sleep in your armor,” said the prince in horror as the knight placed one knee on the bed. he knew and saw now just how small this bed really was. there wasn’t room for them to sleep apart.

“knights in the field are required to incase a threat strikes in the middle of the night,” he said with a shrug, struggling to keep his voice casual.

“well, you’re not in the field. no one is going to find us here, they’re all too busy fighting my brother. if they even know or care i exist, anyway.” the prince’s face contorted into a scowl that the knight desperately wanted to smooth out. “take your armor off. it’s cold.”

you’re cold, the knight thought, but obeyed. he felt like he’d taken the armor off of his heart, vulnerable to the prince.

he still slept with his sword propped against the wall, inches from his head, and was hesitant to close his eyes, somewhat because he wanted to take in the beauty in front of him, since he knew he’d likely never get another chance. the prince slept facing him, which did a number on his nerves, and his long eyelashes covered his cheeks, his hair adorably mussed. the prince called the knight out for sleeping in his armor, but he slept in his blue coat. the knight felt like his heart would burst, and he was tense with the effort of keeping himself and the prince from touching,

the prince, to the knight’s disbelief, cuddled up to his chest in his sleep. was he asleep? “warm,” he murmured. “you’re so warm.” he burrowed  as close as he could, tucking his face and his cold nose into the knight’s neck--how was he still so cold? and grabbing the front of the knight’s shirt with both hands. he was cold all over, his legs brushing the knight’s, attempting to intertwine them. the knight took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment, praying for some relief. what was he supposed to do here?

he arranged the furs on top of the prince and himself, keeping his arms limply by his sides, though they itched to touch. the prince seemed to be taunting him, he kept wriggling, unable to get comfortable. the knight was happy to be used a pillow, and it was clear he wasn’t going to get any sleep. he finally gave into temptation and wrapped his arms around the prince, moving onto his back so that the prince was laying on his chest. he was certain the heat in his cheeks was there to stay. at least the prince began to warm up, and under the smell of horse and dust, the prince smelled like something sweet, probably soap. this was where the knight wanted the prince, close, where he could protect him.

eventually morning came, and the knight indeed did not get a wink of sleep. to make matters worse, the prince clung onto him when the knight tried to get up. it took every ounce of willpower he had to struggle free of the prince’s grip and plant his feet onto the cold floor. the prince clutched the knight’s pillow, making the knight’s heart clench.

the prince rose a bit later, coming to sit by the fire the knight had built. he was buried in his coat and shivering. the prince ached to take him back into his arms. “you look tired,” the prince said.

“uh, bad dream,” the knight said. “couldn’t sleep.”

“oh. alright.” he looked around. “see? you didn’t need your armor. not a threat in sight.”

none but you.

part 3, the last part, will be up sometime today, i just don’t want to put everything in one post. thank you all for reading again, i haven’t had so much fun writing something like in a long time.  this type of story is the type that made me giddy as a child and makes me just as giddy now, i will never get tired of fluffy gay fairytales.

[admin-cock-creations]

Take Care

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Fandom: Red Dead Redemption Pairing: Flaco Hernández / F!Reader Summary: You’ve always taken care of whatever jobs Flaco has for you. Maybe he should return the favor? Length: 3,972 words Warnings: (18+) Sexual Content Other Locations: AO3

What kind of twisted mind did you have to think this was even remotely a good idea?

Your long-coat was lined with dense fur, but it did little to nothing to keep warmth in your bones as you pressed on through the blizzard. Whether by pure memory or dumb luck, your horse seemed to recall the familiar path through the snowy wilds that lead up to the frozen lake. Snow clung to your eyelashes in thick clumps and frozen, effectively prevented you from seeing more than a foot or two in front of your horse’s head. You could only pray that the blizzard had deterred the wolves from leaving the safety of their dens, because there was no way in hell you’d be able to get a proper shot on any of them with how violently your body shook with chill.

As the pair of you quickly ode through the small creek, you winced and again asked yourself why on earth you made the journey out here?

Maybe it was because you liked money, or killing, or both. Maybe it was because of the warmth that tingled your fingertips every time you returned to the small cabin in the middle of nowhere with a smoking gun and a few more numbers on your body count. Maybe it was that grin you got every time those gloved hands hands you a fat stack of cash for each job you completed without fail.

Or maybe, it was purely Flaco Hernández.

Yes, you were deep in cahoots with the infamously wanted outlaw and gunslinger. You’d met him by accident one evening, coincidentally also during a blizzard. You’d effectively gotten completely lost on your way to meet a man by the name of Hamish Sinclair and found yourself up to your knees in snow. You’d almost cried aloud when you stumbled upon the little cabin nestled in the trees by the frozen lake, quickly rushing over and settling your mount in a makeshift stall next to the building before pushing inside. Whether it was a good or rather horrible twist of fate that you had found yourself face to face with the barrel of a gun that day, you still couldn’t say. Though, in a way, the outlaw had saved your life. He’d sent you right back out into the blizzard after deciding you were much too small and pathetic to pose a threat, offering a small reward and the name of one of his enemies who was camping nearby in exchange for a night’s rest in the warm shelter of his little home.

Only an idiota would have turned him down.

But that wasn’t the only way Flaco had saved your life.

It was purely dumb curiosity that brought you back the second and third time, wondering what had brought the rough-edged man up to such a remote location. A man of his caliber certainly wasn’t about to willingly turn over his life story to some stranger who’d stumbled into his hideout. So it started out with jobs. Each trip you made up the mountain was a new job opportunity and a chance to learn a fraction more about the gunslinger. At first, it really was just bits and pieces of information you had to piece together, but the longer you lingered around his ankles like a lost puppy, the longer his stories grew. He even allowed you to stay and warm up in his cabin now when he had initially shoved you back out into the cold after handing over your payment and little bit of trivia from his life. His stories sent you to distant places you’d only heard about, making your head swim with images of horses thundering through deserts and skies filled with gun smoke.

You’ll never forget the first real story you got out of the outlaw. A tale of forbidden love and stolen horses that brought a gleam to his eye and a deep laugh in his chest. You had been curled up on the floor close to the fire he’d kindled to life after you’d returned from a job with blood spattering your face and clothes. Knees were pressed up to your chest and an awestruck look rested on your face as you listened intently to him spin his story, much like a child would. Never again would you see a gleam in his eyes like that until you found a cigarette card bearing his resemblance at the end of your pack of smokes.

Holding it up for a moment, you lifted the cigarette from your lips, bringing the card closer to your face until your brows lifted in surprise. Darting your gaze between the man cleaning his gun at the table and the shockingly handsome young man in the artwork you wondered if the image was anything similar to what the outlaw had been like in his younger days.

“Whatchu got there, retaco?”

Slowly handing over the card, eyes still glued to the image, the dark-haired outlaw placed aside his gun before plucking it from your grasp. Sniffing a bit, the card was turned a few time between his finger before that wonderful gleam you’d caught before returned.

“Voy a ser condenado, I can’t believe those fools are still making these things. Ay, I had the looks back in the day but they should update it with mis miradas madura, eh chica?”

The smirk and wink he offered brought a warm flush to your face, unable to form a response or even so much as nod before he threw his head back and laughed. He leaned forward a bit and tossed the card back to you, making you fumble to catch it as he spoke with a chuckle.

“Loosen up there, chica. I’m only having a little fun with you.”

You were certain that he was, but that didn’t stop you from pulling the card out of your coat pocket once you mounted your horse again and began to leave, filthy and sinful images running through your head that made you shiver and quickly shove the card out of sight once more.

In truth, you hadn’t a clue when you began to find the outlaw so attractive. Was it when he handed over enough cash to pay for that new thoroughbred you had wanted after a simple mission to intercept a supply wagon? Or maybe it was when he muttered that single ‘thank you’ when he’d caught you leaving two fresh elk carcasses outside his cabin? Whenever it was you’d decided upon the wanted man’s attractiveness, you would never admit your desire for him loud, especially after that night in your tent when you were left with just your sensitive nerves and wandering thoughts.

Snapping out of your thoughts, you found yourself leaning forward quite a bit in the saddle, meaning you were on the telltale slop leading up to Cairn Lake. Your frozen fingers gripped the reins as tight as you could and you nudged your horse on a bit faster, wanting to reach to potential fire as quickly as possible. Even through the horrendous blizzard, you could faintly see a fire flickering through the small window of the cabin as you reached the top of the slope. Trotting over the ice sheet, you more fell out your saddle then slid off, leading your horse over and tying him in the little makeshift stall. Unfortunately, you were too frozen to even think about spreading some hay for the beast right then, so you shoved your hands under the armpits of your coat and waded through the knee deep snow to the door.

You opened and closed the door as quickly as you could, not wanting to risk an angry Flaco berating you for letting the snow and cold in, but you were quite surprised with what you did receive from him.

“Ay, look what the cat dragged in! Quickly, sit. I had a feeling you would show up.”

Flaco Hernández expecting you to come? And preparing for it?

Turning from the door, you were met with the familiar sight of the outlaw in his favored chair, carving away at a piece of wood while the fire roared warmly. There was a new sight by the fire, though, which was a large pile of rather warm looking furs. As was that… coffee? Certainly you were dreaming. This couldn’t be the outlaw you’d spent the last year and a half doing dirty work for.

“Well? Going to warm up or do I have to toss you back into the snow?”

You shook your head quickly, teeth chattering as you made your place by his feet at the fire, taking up an armful of furs and wrapping them snugly around yourself. Flaco gave what seemed to be a content grunt and returned to his carving, the cabin going silent for a few moments aside from the fire and the wind howling outside. Eventually, he broke the silence again with the thunk of his knife as he drove it into the wooden table. Carving in one hand, he reached through the number of bourbon bottles strewn about and retrieved a shining coffee cup, reaching it out for you to take with numb fingers.

“Get some of that in you before your bones freeze, eh? And get that coat off, let it dry and you stay under those pelts. Can’t have my pequeña asesina up and dying on me over a blizzard.”

The way he chuckled as he spoke sent a different kind of chill down your spine, but you listened to his orders. Dropping the furs for a moment, you placed aside your hat that had somehow managed to stay on through the blizzard before beginning to unbutton your coat, only now realizing why the cold had you succumbing so easily. With an embarrassed flush rising to the bridge of your nose, you made sure to look away from the older man as you slid off your coat and tossed it aside, revealing the silk and lace top you wore that exposed nearly everything.

“Well, now. What’s this, chica? A gift for me?”

You couldn’t tell if the man was poking fun at you or not with the way he leaned forward in his chair and gave a sultry grin. You had an excuse for the top, though your lips seemed to be frozen shut at the moment, leaving you unable to explain your infiltration job and how you had been required to dress like a lady for the evening. That last thing on your mind when you left was changing out of the top, all you had thought about that evening after several disgustingly rich pigs had groped and attempted to flirt with you was Flaco. You’d daydreamed of how he’d swoop in and scare away those swine with a curl of his lip and a snarl before leading you off somewhere more private.

Now the daydream made you feel utterly ridiculous, not only for forgetting to change your top, but for even imagining that the gunslinger would protect you like that.

A cup of coffee was finally in your grasp and the furs were around your body once more, sincerely hoping the warmth that you felt flood your face wasn’t too visible as the outlaw continued to stare you down with that damn smirk. You dared not look at him more than a glimpse from your side-eye, wondering if he was thinking as hard as he appeared to be. Had your silence thrown him off guard? Or was he thinking up a job to send you out on for intruding on his home in the middle of a blizzard? You got your answer as he finally leaned back in his chair and spoke again.

“I know you came for work, and I just so happen to have a very special job that only you can help me with.”

You perked up at the offer of helping him out, having grown so accustomed to working for him that you found great pleasure in killing in his name. The furs slid from your shoulders a bit, and you slightly lowered the mug you held, giving him an attentive look that made him grin and chuckle once more.

“Someone is eager, eh? I like that. Now, come here, I don’t bite.”

Come closer? You’d never been closer to Flaco than the distance between the fire and his feet so you couldn’t help it when you moved rather sluggishly. Was he about to attack you? Had he finally decided no one who knew so much about him and his life could live? Nonetheless, you stood, allowing the furs to fall from your body and taking a half step towards where he sat like a king in his throne. He smirked at you, leaning back a little more and allowing his legs to spread a bit. You knew better than to take it as an invitation, but the sight and indecent thoughts that flooded your head still made you swallow thickly.

“Closer.”

Another half step.

“Almost there.”

Finally, a full step, and you were positioned between his boots, looking down at him as his eyes gave you a once-over.

“Good, good. Sit on my lap, won’t you?”

You blinked in surprise, almost choking on how thick the air had grown in the cabin, and your expression made the man smile and reach out to place a firm hand on your hip.

“I’m not going to hurt you. You still need warming, I can help.”

Oh god, oh god, oh lord. This had to be a dream. No way was this real. You were dreaming this, dreaming of the Flaco Hernández holding your hips and pulling you closer until you were straddling his lap. You were imagining that seductive glint in his eyes and the way he licked his lower lip as your hands pressed to the firmness of his chest that rested beneath his thick fur coat. You wished it was a dream, yet there was no dreaming up how slowly the gunslinger removed his gloves. There was no imagining how those murderous hands reached up and stroked the side of your face and cupped your cheek like you were the most valuable thing in the world. You could never picture the beautifully dreamy look on the man’s grizzled features as his thumb brushed over your lips.

Your eyes fluttered shut as he spoke, he hand that still rested on your hip gripping a bit tighter and almost rocking you into his lap.

“You think I don’t notice how you look at me, chica? How often you come running up here to see if I have work for you? I may be old, but I have seen desire before, and you have got it bad.”

The second pull was harder, managing to make you gasp this time as you felt the line of his shaft through his trousers.

“You run off so quickly, killing whoever I ask, whenever I ask, and rush back with that smile on your face and your gun still smoking. You like taking care of old Hernández, eh?”

You didn’t dare speak, not wanting to risk shattering this too-good-to-be-true moment and simply nodded, savoring in the warmth of his chuckle as he brought his lips close to your ear.

“Well, perhaps it’s my turn to take care of you, princesa.”

The moan that escaped your lips was one of pure surprise and excitement, your hands withdrawing slightly from his chest as his hands moved to work open your pants. He clearly knew what he was doing, drawing soft gasps and whines from you as his fingers teasingly stroked you through the denim of your pants and his hot breath lapped at the sensitive spot right behind your earlobe. Unable to stop yourself, you found yourself seeking out more friction and reaching one of your own hands between your legs in an attempt to press Flaco’s fingers harder into the seam of your pants. Unfortunately, that action stopped him entirely, and he hummed bemusedly as his larger, calloused hand wrapped around your own.

“Ah, ah. None of that. Let me work my skills and you enjoy the ride.”

Whining indignantly, you allowed the outlaw to place your hand back upon his chest and resume his ministrations. His lips moved down your neck as he teased you, the scrape of his facial hair on your frost chilled skin combined with his touch drawing pleads for more from your lips. It seemed he wouldn’t be listening to your demands anytime soon, so to sate yourself at least a little, you worked his fur coat open and found the broad expanse of his chest hidden beneath a faded green shirt with just a peek of dense hair emerging from the open collar. Your wandering hands explored as much as you could reach, feeling his barreled chest through the thin fabric, allowing your fingers to slip underneath and find a rather lovely happy trail and more scars than you could count on both hands. It seemed the gunslinger was enjoying your curious touches, though, as he offered a pleased growl against your skin.

“Such a curious little thing, prying into my life now exploring my person as you please. It’s only fair that I explore you in return.”

Oh, you enjoyed the sound of that.

Every nerve in your body was alight with anticipation and you found yourself holding your breath as Flaco’s hand finally found the inside of your pants and your awaiting cunt. As those magical fingers slowly dragged back and forth across your lips the breath you had been holding was released in the form of a shaky moan, your hands bracing you on the man’s chest and preventing you from collapsing into him entirely. His mouth was off your neck now, leaning back to watch his handiwork and admire the delicious expressions you gave. Your eyes were blissfully shut as you rocked your hips into his rhythmic movement, slowly looking down at him and feeling your heart jump at how he licked his lips again. Oh, how you desperately wanted to kiss him, not just to wipe that grin off his face but to finally know if he tasted like the whiskey he drank or not. Before you could voice or act upon that desire, however, a large finger was slipped inside you that made you cry out the man’s name.

His digits were much larger than your own and easily felt a dozen times better. He only had one inside you and was simply working it in and out, yet you were already putty in his hands. Every nerve in your body was on fire, sweat had begun to form on your brow now and the blizzard you’d trudged through to get here was far from your mind. All of your senses had been enveloped by the infamous criminal, and it seemed he’d become quite taken with you as well.

“Your thighs are shaking so much, hermosa. How long have you been wanting this? How many nights have you cried my name into the dark?”

Words were failing you at the moment, leaving you unable to do more than keen loudly in response to his questions. The truth was too long and too many. You’d wanted the man shortly after having his gun in your face for the first time, and now, with his fingers working wonders on you, you were no longer ashamed to admit that fact to yourself.

When a second finger joined the first inside you, your arms gave out, leaving you clutching at Flaco’s back from under his coat and resting your head on his broad shoulder. He found great pride in having you moan and beg for him so close to his ear, and that grin he wore only broadened when the rough pad of his thumb found your clit and you had to bury your face into his coat to muffle a scream. He was good and he knew it. Too good, in fact. The combination of his thumb on your clit and his fingers curling inside you left your entire body trembling and the knot in your gut winding tighter and tighter. No longer could you moan, only gasp and keen as you grew ever closer to the precipice of pleasure.

Until suddenly he stopped moving.

Your eyes shot open, leaning back to give him an indignant look only to be met with a serious glare that had you practically melting. The hand holding your hip lifted to your chin, holding in firm between his fingers as he brought your face so close to his you felt his hat being pushed back and your noses brushed together.

“Who do you belong to? Who is the only man who makes you feel this good? Tell me, chica, and I will let you cum.”

Swallowing the excess saliva that had formed in your mouth, you finally spoke.

“You...”

“Qué?”

“You do.”

“I don’t think I quite heard you, little one. If you are too shy to answer then I suppose I can’t finish the job.”

Gripping the front of his shirt, you felt his fingers curl inside of you slightly and that was enough to get you to shout the answer he was looking for.

“You! I belong to you! Every bit of my body, every drop of my blood belongs to Flaco Hernández! You’re the only one I want!”

His hold on your chin tightened as he pulled you in to meet his lips, his fingers finally getting you back to work and bringing that wave of bliss rushing closer. His mouth easily overtook yours, tongue claiming dominance you didn’t bother fighting for. He tasted like spices, cigar smoke, and his signature bourbon. He could tell how close you were, and when you both were out of breath and your climax was near, he pulled back just enough to growl against your mouth.

“Cum, mi princesa. Cum for Flaco.”

And so you did.

His name falling from your lips and your entire body tensing as lava flowing through your veins and fireworks burst behind your eyelids, you let yourself fall apart in the hands of one of the most wanted outlaws in the country. He urged you through your orgasm with gentle praises and soft caresses along your pussy, making your body twitch with aftershocks and causing you to moan softly. Finally, once the waves of pleasure had subsided, you collapsed fully against the man’s chest, your arms loosely wrapped around him and your face pressed against his neck. Watching as Flaco took the time to lick his fingers clean, a soft tremble of want wracked your body again, one that he felt and couldn’t help but chuckle at.

“Are you satisfied, little one?”

You nodded silently, fighting to keep your eyes open now. The powerful orgasm had taken what little energy hadn’t been sapped away by the blizzard, and the warmth that crept through your limbs made it incredibly difficult not to fall asleep then and there.

The gunslinger took notice of this and adjusted your position in his lap so he could take you in a bridal hold, standing with a soft grunt before he crossed the cabin and laid you upon the soft pelts and blankets that lined his bed. His ungloved hand found your face again, caressing your cheek with the tenderness of a newlywed husband and allowing a smirk to cross his face.

“Rest. I’ve got another job for you when you wake.”

Through your lidded eyes, just before they embraced sleep, you caught sight of him palming a rather noticeable bulge in his trousers, and you decided it definitely wasn’t a mistake to make the trip up in the middle of a blizzard.

[runningwolf62]

@wardencommanderrodimiss @pachelbelsheadcanon

Happy Phoenix gets disbarred day, have this. Hopefully Tumblr doesn’t crop it.

Credit to my brother for the “Dahlia commits tax fraud” joke.

Larry runs his hand through his messy brown hair and looks to Maya. She has too much experience in burying relatives. He wishes he could do this on his own, like Godot talked about. Protecting Maya for Misty. But this was too much for him to carry on his own.

“A small ceremony for just family and friends might be wise,” his voice is rough and Maya jumps a little when he speaks, “we can have a large, what do you call it for funerals? Is it still a reception?”

“After the funeral it’s a reception, before it’s a visitation,” she replies tiredly, Larry gets to his feet to head to his kitchen and get them both a drink of water.

Maya barely acknowledges it when he puts it in front of her, simply staring blankly at the papers before her. Larry sits down next to her and lets out a rough breath. They are too young to be doing this. Maya should not have had to bury this many family members.

“I- shit I have to be one to give all the speeches don’t I?” He’s only known her three months but that was more than Maya.

“I could channel my sis I guess but-” Maya swallows and reaches for the water, Larry moves to sit next to her.

“If you’re gonna channel people why not channel your mother to do all this paper work,” Larry jokes, Maya glances at him but doesn’t laugh. She doesn’t seem more upset though so Larry takes it.

“I could you know.”

“Huh?”

Maya is staring at her water not at him, “channel her. If you want to talk to her.”

Larry stares at Maya and hesitates. What does he say? He wants to see Misty, he does. To ask for explanations, to say goodbye, for any final guidance but Maya looks exhausted.

“I think we’ve all had enough of channeling for a bit?” Larry says instead and Maya huffs softly in what sounds like agreement.

“I would like to talk to her, at some point. But not now.” There’s so much to say to her but so much to now.

Larry pulls a paper to him and starts trying to fill forms out.

“Are you mad at Nick?”

Larry looks up from the form he’s trying to understand to Maya, “no? Why would I be?” He and Nick have things they need to talk out but now’s not the time when he’s this exhausted emotionally and Nick’s busy.

“For defending Go- Diego.”

Larry sucks a breath in through his teeth and sets the paper back down. “Not really.” He runs a hand through his hair and tries to find the words to explain, “I’d- I don’t know how mad I am him honestly. Like yeah he killed her but she-” he cuts off and looks away from Maya.

“What?” Maya pokes his shoulder with one finger, “What?”

“She died trying to save you,” Larry mumbles as though that will take the sting out of his words. Maya looks startled but not hurt so maybe it does. “If anything I’m mad at her I think! Like, how is this fair?” And that’s what it boils down to, Larry doesn’t know how to feel about the fact that he knew Misty better than Maya had.

That she’d had the chance to meet her daughter and instead died for her.

Not even his fanfiction can help with this.

-

Stripes?

Hey Wolfman

Don’t die, funerals are a pain in the ass to plan

I will become immortal just for you

‘ppreciate it

-

Larry stops off with Maya at Nick’s office, it’s not like Godot is sitting there drinking coffee, he’s in jail and it’s just Nick sitting in his office, probably avoiding paperwork.

But the smell of the coffee lingers on Nick’s shirt, or maybe just in Larry’s imagination, and he’s quiet as Nick and Maya talk.

Honestly they’re all quiet. Maya’s trying to get excited for something she and Nick are talking about, Steel Samurai or something, but Larry can see her struggling.

He coughs quietly, “I’m gonna go.” Edgeworth’s lent him a couch in his apartment while Larry and Maya deal with the funeral and cleaning out Elise’s place and Larry looks into moving somewhere new because he doesn’t need to live close to Elise now.

Misty.

Fuck.

Nick nods and Maya wishes him a good night. He gives a small smile and wave and heads out. Maya and Nick will help each other.

He flicks his phone to see that WolfDragon is still offline (good he should be sleeping) and send Edgeworth a text that he’ll be there soon.

He slips the phone back in his pocket and stands outside the Wright and Co offices a moment longer, wondering that if he just started screaming until his voice gave out if Gumshoe would just let him off with a warning.

Deciding luck has not been favorable towards him lately he heads for his car instead.

-

Edgeworth looks up from the book he’s reading as Larry comes in, “have you eaten?”

“No. Nick and Maya were talking about getting something but…” Larry felt like he was imposing. Edgeworth just hums and points to the fridge.

Larry opens it to find Edgeworth’s snagged him leftover spaghetti. He debates just eating it cold but the knowledge that Edgeworth would never let him live it down convinces him otherwise.

He watches it spin around in the microwave, Edgeworth still silently reading.

“Did you stay up just to see that I got back?” He hesitates, is Edgeworth starting to squint at the page? “Maybe you should take a break, let your eyes get some rest.” Had his dad needed glasses? God Larry couldn’t remember anymore.

Edgeworth shakes his head but sets the book to the side, “I had reading I wanted to do. However yes, I may have positioned myself to make sure you got in safely.”

Larry shakes his head, “you can just say yes Edgy.” He turns to check the time on the microwave, “thanks man.”

There’s a pause before Edgeworth says, “You’re welcome.”

The microwave beeps and Larry pulls out the plate and sets it at the counter across from Edgeworth who’s gone back to squinting at his book. Larry’s not going to be the one to tell him he might want to think about glasses.

He tucks in and after a few bites his appetite returns full force and he has to struggle to not shove it down his throat in a horrifying display that would undoubtedly end with Edgeworth throwing him out.

Edgeworth says nothing though, simply continue to read, Larry finally takes in the book he’s reading.

“Edgy?”

“Yes?”

“Are you reading about how to do Oragami because-“

Edgeworth snaps the book closed to glare at him and Larry shuts his mouth. He looks away from Edgeworth first.

“You’ve heard that story about paper cranes right?”

Edgeworth lets out a sigh, “who hasn’t?” He shakes his head, “I doubt folding a thousand paper cranes is any more likely to grant a wish than eyelashes or pennies.”

Larry nods and pushes his plate to the side, “I guess it’s just nice to think, you know, if we put that much passion and energy into something we could somehow seize control of our fate for just one moment.”

Edgeworth startles a moment before nodding. He sets his book to the side and visibly wrestles with something before he finally speaks.

“I’m sorry. It’s very clear that your apprenticeship was good for you and that you’ve grown as a person and I’m sorry that it was, that she was taken from you.”

Larry wants to thank him, to cry, to scream, because god, that’s all he’s wanted; the respect Miles is showing him now.

So of course something else comes out of his mouth.

“Do you ever,” Larry pauses and takes a deep breath, “do you ever feel like you killed him?”

Miles pauses and looks to Larry, “what?”

“Your dad. And I don’t mean the part where you thought you’d caused the gun to go off like-”

Miles considers it and looks over at him, “yes. I’ve been told it’s a normal part of grief.”

“Who told you that?”

“A therapist.”

Larry lets out a weak laugh, “maybe I ought to get one. I just worry they’d get murdered and I’d be accused of doing it.”

“Larry.”

“You said it yourself, I bring misfortune down-”

“Larry-”

“I can barely look at Maya and I worry Nick blames me you know? Like it’s not my fault but Maya should’ve gotten to know her mom and didn’t but I did and I know he holds that against me-”

“Wright does not-”

“Objection!” Larry looks at him now, Edgeworth’s pushed the book to the side and his steel eyes have softened, “do you really think he doesn’t hold that against me Edgy?”

“It would be utterly illogical to hold that against you,” Miles replies firmly, “Misty Fey made her choices and you were as much a victim as Maya.”

“You’ve seen Nick in court he doesn’t use logic.”

Miles laughs at that but looks at Larry gently, “but he reaches the truth all the same. You are not responsible for what happened. Any part of it.”

Larry wonders what it would be like to be as in love with someone as Edgy is with Nick.

“Thanks.” He runs a hand through his hair and kind of shakes himself, “I didn’t mean to unload all of that on ya.”

Edgeworth shakes his head though, “it is… wise to talk about these things.”

Larry reaches over and claps Edgeworth on the shoulder, “still. Thanks.”

Edgeworth actually smiles and Larry pulls his hand back and lets out a rough breath.

“We’re thinking of making the funeral a private affair and having a reception for other authors, friends and fans.” Larry lets out a rough breath. Shit he’s got speeches to write.

In the silence that follows Pess stirs from next to Edgeworth’s legs and comes around to see Larry, her claws clicking on the floor.

“Hey girl,” Larry runs a hand through her soft fur, she’s like a big walking cotton ball, “you’re so big and fluffy.”

“She’s a puppy still actually,” Edgeworth gets to his feet as Larry continues to play with his dog, “my sister recommend I get one for companionship and emotional support and a breeder she’d bought from had just had a litter so…”

“Wait.” Larry looks up from the dog now, “is this the sister that has the niece that has the dog named Phoenix?”

“It’s her daughter technically-”

“You know what I-” Edgeworth shuts him up by showing him a picture of a young girl with her arms wrapped around a fluffy orange dog.

“Oh my god it’s adorable.” He tries and fails to smother a laugh, “smaller than Pess though.”

“They’re two separate but similar breeds and the breeder my sister got from has lines for both.”

Larry glances at Pess and considers that this dog is likely worth more than he is, “I see.”

“Yes, my niece’s dog is a German Spitz while Pess is a Keeshound.”

"A Casehond."

"Keeshond."

“Case Hound."

"No."

“Case Haunt. Croissant.”

“Stop.”

Larry is laughing though and while Edgeworth is shaking his head Larry gets the impression he’s not actually angry at him or his antics.

Edgeworth considers his dog a moment longer before he looks at Larry. “Come on, she needs a walk and-” Pess shoots to the front door, “and some exercise would be good for both of us.”

“Alright.” Larry gets to his feet, he wouldn’t mind spending some time with Edgeworth and just kind of roaming.

-

Larry walks alongside Edgeworth, the silence just slightly awkward but neither of them seem eager to break it.

“We all just have shit luck with mentors,” Larry finally says, Edgeworth smothers a laugh.

“You aren’t wrong.”

Larry looks at him and his mouth twitches, “someday I’ll say something you’ll have to admit is right.”

Edgeworth looks unconvinced but Larry is pretty sure it’s with some fondness. He needed to work on rebuilding his friendship with Nick like this. Get to a more comfortable place.

The park is largely deserted at this hour, the unseasonably cool air must’ve kept most people inside. Larry drops onto a bench and pulls out a small sketch book and a pencil.

He normally didn’t like people watching him draw but he makes no effort to shoo Edgeworth away as he sketched the city skyline through the trees. His goal is just a messy sketch finished in five minutes, the focus on shapes and conveying details without fine details.

He shows the finished effort to Edgeworth, “just a drawing exercise, no body flying over a burning bridge…”

“You’ve got a lot of talent,” Edgeworth smooths the awkwardness of his morbid joke, “I’m glad to see you using it.”

“Thanks Edgy.” He smiles slightly, “I’ll be honest though, I should really work on faces, not backgrounds.” He had gotten a lot better but he needed to keep at it.

“Oh?”

“Yeah Nick was always better at faces, I did backgrounds really well.” Because he was trying to avoid drawing cats. Occasionally he’d slipped big cats into his art just to use those skills- oh Big Cat AU. That would be a fun drawing exercise and produce some content for his fanfic.

“I wanted to ask you about that.” Edgeworth seems to hesitate before he sighs, “about Dahlia.”

“Oh fuck her,” Larry sprawls out, “in life she was a bitch and death didn’t stop her.” He leans his head back, “okay so you know Nick became a lawyer to save you right?” Which was one of the gayest things he’d ever heard.

Edgeworth nods and Larry looks over at him, “so he’s studying law… on the side.”

“I read the case file.” Edgeworth cuts in, Larry grins at that.

“Oh okay stop roasting Nick got it.” He runs a hand through his hair, “so what do you want to know?”

Edgeworth shakes his head, “how none of you noticed and why… why after all that he’d still go to such lengths to defend Iris?”

Larry snorts and shakes his head. “Look I know you studied at the finest schools in Germany and all that,” he shifts his leg so Pess can get under the bench to sniff around, “but for those of us who went to public university in America it is simultaneously the smartest and stupidest times of most people’s lives. No I didn’t question the girlfriend Nick was always with, thought it was grossly sappy and I didn’t think they were gonna get married or anything.” He makes a face, “and the pet names were disgusting but look man, Nick’s not bad looking, and she was pretty too. They seemed to like each other. No I didn’t think she was secretly the twin of a psychopath or- no Dahlia’s just a petty- anyway no.” He lets out a rough breath, “kicked my own ass for that enough. My best friend gets framed for murder by his girlfriend, who tried to poison him, and I never even thought anything was wrong.”

Pess shoves her head between his legs, Larry ruffles her ears and then shifts before she can tangle the leash around his legs.

There’s a moment of silence and then Larry adds, “and the whole time she was committing identity theft so-” and that makes Edgeworth actually laugh.

Larry joins in and Pess adds a happy bark, her tail wagging furiously behind her.

“Hey hot shot prosecutor does that count as tax fraud or…” Larry wheezes and Edgeworth is clearly struggling not to laugh harder.

“You cannot accuse Dahlia Hawthorne of every crime that ever existed.”

“You can’t prove she didn’t commit arson.”

“Larry!”

It’s not funny, it’s really not but it’s the way Larry’s trying to make this conspiracy theory work and the way Edgeworth can’t keep a straight face long enough to be his straight man that makes it hilarious. Or maybe it’s just that he needs something to laugh at in all this.

Once they pull themselves back together Larry rubs at his eyes. “I think you had another question?”

Edgeworth pauses and Larry cuts in, “and not ‘what’s wrong with you’.”

“I would not have-” Edgeworth shakes his head, “why after all that Wright would do so much for Iris?”

“She didn’t commit arson.” Larry loses the battle against his grin as Edgeworth glares at him, before he answers more seriously.

“One of Nick’s strengths is his loyalty,” he gestures between the two of them, “it’s why he still puts up with us.” Despite all the Edgeworth had done and Larry’s own various shortcomings. “I don’t know if he just sees the best in people or if he’s too stubborn but Nick’s loyalty is hard to lose.” He would know.

Edgeworth nods in agreement and Larry leans back against the bench. “But as loyal as he is to friends there was only two people Nick would've done anything for," Larry glances over at Edgeworth, "Dahlia was one of them."

"Who was the other?" Edgeworth asks and Larry takes the moment to reflect that he was considered the stupid one of the three of them.

"Come on Edgy don't make me spell it out for you."

"Oh of course. Maya."

That's it Larry is going home. Or back to Edgeworth’s apartment. Shit. He just sighs and leans back against the park bench to watch the sunset reflect off the city buildings.

-

The funeral is… something. Larry gives a speech, he remembers writing it, but he does not remember what he says because he looked over at Maya and just hated that he’d gotten to know her mother for four months and that was more than Maya had been allowed to have.

The visitation is alright. He knows some of the authors that show up. He’s glad Maya can stick close to Nick he wheels through the crowd playing host and hoping no one can tell he just wants to scream.

They bury Misty next to Mia, Maya cries into Nick while Larry stares blankly at the grave. It’s real. This is real.

The next thing he remembers clearly is waking up on the floor of Edgeworth’s kitchen. Pess licks at his face and whines, he groans and forces himself off the floor. Well he’s clothed so that’s good. He’s also not that… hungover… Oh.

He looks to see Edgeworth sitting at the kitchen table and rasps, “please don’t judge me.” He’s entitled to, Larry spent the time after the visitation crying himself almost sick, did maybe two shots of vodka, laid down on the floor to cry more and passed out.

Edgeworth looks up from the newspaper at him, “that was hardly the worst thing I’ve ever seen anyone do in the name of grief.”

Larry slowly pulled himself to his feet, his head throbbed in tempo with his pulse.

Edgeworth got to his feet and got out a glass, Larry flinched at every sound but gratefully downed the glass of water Edgeworth put in front of him.

“Between the crying and the drinking you’re probably dehydrated. There’s advil in the medicine cabinet.”

Larry blinked gratefully at him, “do you mind if I lay in bed all day and maybe steal your dog to pet?”

“Take a shower first.”

Larry runs a hand through his hair and groans, “sounds good.”

-

Are you handling things okay (edited)

Stripes?

Hey Wolfman

Sorry for the late reply, you’re probably asleep but yeah. The funeral was rough. But yeah I’m okay.

Do you want to talk about it

No

Tell me about Warriors

Bramblestar has rabies is the hot new meme

What?

We got the description of book 2 of series 7 and Bramblestar’s going to lose a life and start acting weird and the fandom decided he has rabies.

I read enough 2006 fanfiction to know that he’s obviously been possessed by Tigerstar’s ghost.

I will stage a revolt and establish you as the series’ new writer if they bring him back again

Okay please tell me that exhaustion is making me misread things and one of the protagonists is not named Shadowpaw

Unfortunately he is

WHY

It gets worse

Oh no

His parents are Dovewing and Tigerstar the second

Oh god no they made him leader

Larry has gently encouraged Wolfdragon to ramble, well rant, about Warriors for half an hour when Edgeworth knocks at the door.

“I’m not dead,” Larry calls back, Edgeworth pushes open the door.

“Are you up to eat something for lunch?”

“Not Eldoons I don’t think,” Larry glances to his phone, Wolfdragon’s still typing something about wasted character potential by bad plots and back to Edgeworth, “but yeah probably.”

-

Sorry, gotta go, but if they kill Bramblestar in a bullshit way I’ll get rabies.

If you or a loved one has contracted rabies from Warrior Cats you might be entitled to financial compensation

Pfft See ya Wolfman

Night Stripes!

Oh yeah it’s like close to midnight for him. Edgeworth is waiting in the hallway when Larry stumbles out, his head hurts less and he aches in his chest but he could do lunch. He can pretend to be a human.

“Who are you texting?” Edgeworth asks curiously, Larry shrugs slightly.

“A friend.”

“Who is she?”

Larry gave him a dirty look, “he’s just a friend. We talk about books and shit.”

Edgeworth lifts his eyebrow, “what books?”

Larry steps back, “what am I, on trial?”

“You’re hiding something,” Edgeworth replies firmly, “and I am…”

“Aww are you worried about me?”

“Given the spiel you said in court, yes.”

Oh. Well that is his fault. Larry hesitates a moment, debating and lets out a breath. “You… can’t tell Nick okay. I met this guy writing fanfiction.”

Edgeworth looks so incredulous a moment that Larry regrets it immediately. “You…”

“I know.” Larry shoves his hands in his pockets, “but that’s why I thought about writing in the first place and he encouraged me to try and then Misty took me as her apprentice and he’s been checking in on me.”

Edgeworth is just staring at him and Larry is tempted to start rambling again but he’s afraid he’ll confess that it’s 1) Warrior Cats fanfiction 2) he may have accidentally caused a bunch of people online to ship fictionalized cat versions of him and Nick and boy that would be a mistake.

“It’s not Steel Samurai fanfiction is it?” Edgeworth’s voice is strained and Larry stares at him a moment.

“Oh my god.”

“Answer the question.”

“You used to read-”

“Answer the question!”

Larry’s head hurts as he laughs, Miles Edgeworth read Steel Samurai fanfiction. “Don’t worry,” he finally wheezes out, “I don’t write Steel Samurai fanfiction, you’re not secretly my number one fan.” He grins at Edgeworth, “no shame Edgy, it’s a fun hobby.” Just not one he expected Edgeworth to have.

Edgeworth looks away, “I expected as much, I would read the meta people put forth and occasionally someone would… run with an idea.”

“And once you get a taste for good fanfiction it’s kind of addictive,” Larry agrees easily, “even in a good series there’s moments to explore or just things there wasn’t enough time to explore.” Ah, Edgeworth probably read gen fic then. He rubs the back of his neck, “yeah I’m up for lunch. Nothing too strong and somewhere quiet…”

“I was thinking of going to Wright’s office to talk with him and Maya.” Edgeworth glances at Larry, “to check in on her.”

Larry nods and bumps against him, “yeah.” They need each other right now.

Pearl isn’t bouncing around the office but she does chirp a greeting to them. Larry makes a note to ask later if she wants to finish Into the Wild at some point.

Maya’s still quiet, still subdued but she offers them a small “hey.”

They make some small talk, all very subdued, before Maya gently tugs on his sleeve and Larry follows her away to the hallway.

The moment they’re there she wraps him in a hug, Larry starts before he returns it. She shakes against him, Larry wants to say something but that’s part of why he likes writing. He has time to think out the best words.

“I’m so sorry.” Is what he settles on, Maya clings to him before stepping back.

“Nick, Pearly and I are gonna go back to the Kurian Village for bit I just… I need to take care of her house, can you-“

“I can help,” Larry agrees immediately. “We should probably hire some cleaners,” he thinks about it, “let them uh, clean out all the trash and food and things and then just- we’ve got this.” It’s not as steady as he wants it to be. He’s not as steady as he wants to be.

Maya nods and swallows, “two more favors.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh, Pearly mentioned reading a book with you?”

“I was going to ask about that!” Larry perks up at that, some of the pressure in his chest easing, “I was just trying to distract her, does she want to borrow it? I’ve got most of the series but it’s just collecting dust, I’d love to give it to her so they actually get read and loved.”

Maya claps her hands together, “you would?”

“Yeah, I loved them and I’d love to see someone else love the series too,” Larry rubs the back of his neck and grins, “I hope she does.”

Maya nods quickly, “and I think she’d like to read with you again before we go.”

“I can do that.” Larry let out a breath, nothing bad. Nothing hard.

“One more favor.” Now Maya looks nervous and Larry swallows. Something prickles at him and he’s not sure he wants to agree to whatever Maya’s about to ask of him.

“I- The trial’s over. Nick got him 15 years on Second Degree Murder.”

Larry doesn’t know how to feel about that and nods jerkily.

“I want, I want us to go speak to him. Maybe have you talk to Mia or Mi- my mom.” Maya looks at him worriedly and Larry lets out a rough breath.

Despite himself he nods, “yeah. Yeah I can do that.”

[mazurah]

Lost in Time Ch. 42: Paranoia - An Elder Scrolls Fanfic

Chapter Summary: Ma’zurah and Fayrl plan a murder and visit Morvunskar.

Cross posted from Ao3. Chapter Rating: T for canon typical violence.

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Lost in Time Chapter 42: Paranoia

They appeared behind the Bannered Mare in Whiterun. Ma'zurah blinked, adjusting her eyes to the sudden bright sunlight; it was a startling change from the deep cloudy shade of Witchmist Grove.

Fayrl shaded his eyes. “I don't know if I'll ever get used to that sensation.”

He turned and kissed Ma'zurah softly, then with more force. “It would be best if we cleaned the rings before we returned them. The stench and dried blood may raise some suspicions.”

Ma'zurah nodded in acknowledgement and closed her eyes, biting her lip and leaning forward in Fayrl’s arms, begging him with her body language for more kisses. It was barely midday and she was already so tired. Injuries and healing would both do that to a person, but his arms felt so nice around her.

Fayrl stroked Ma’zurah’s back, noting the look of fatigue upon her features. “Perhaps it is best if we find a place to rest first.”

He picked her up in his arms with a grin. “Let me transport you this time.”

“Ai! Fayrl! Ma'zurah can walk just fine on her own!” She rolled out of his arms with tail flailing and fished in her pack for a waterskin. “Here, wash the rings.”

Fayrl pouted. “You never let me have any fun.” He retrieved the rings and held them out to her.

Ma'zurah grinned at him and poured water over the gold bands in his hand. “Ma'zurah lets Fayrl have plenty of fun,” she told him in a suggestive tone.

“Well, we could always have more.” Fayrl glanced down and noticed the blood drying on the fabric of his velvet tunic. “By Azura’s arse! Can I not have a single garment free of blood for more than a day? Why, this tunic is absolutely ruined. I am going to have to purchase yet another outfit!”

He had bought new clothing in Windhelm, but he was trying to hold onto the newer outfits for a couple of days before dirtying them. Now he would have no choice but to wear them. Life with Ma’zurah in the fourth era was terribly hard on apparel. He grumbled under his breath and pulled his tunic over his head.

Ma'zurah burst out laughing. “Fayrl should wear his armor or start using that bow, and maybe Fayrl’s clothes would last longer!”

Fayrl frowned. “The armor is ridiculously hideous! I do not wish to be seen in it. I can make a fool of myself perfectly fine without looking like a jester.”

He folded his tunic neatly, setting it atop a water barrel against the side of the inn, and giving it a sorry look. “A shame. I think it was a good color on me.”

“Fayrl!” Ma'zurah huffed in exasperation. “Just wash the clothes! If Fayrl does not like the armor he can modify it to his taste! It has a resist frost enchantment on it. Fayrl should really wear it more. Does Fayrl really wish to die for fashion?”

“If one cannot live beautifully, is it really worth it?” Fayrl asked stubbornly. “I don’t think there is any way to modify that ugly pile of carcasses to ‘suit my tastes’. I really should trade it in and get something more decent looking. I’d rather be seen in a sack than that fur trimmed monstrosity!”

“Well if Fayrl dislikes fur so much,” Ma’zurah snipped, “Ma’zurah will just cover herself up completely for Fayrl, so he does not have to be seen with her tacky fur!”

Fayrl gave her a confused stare. “What would give you the ridiculous impression I do not like fur? The fur is the best part of that pile of shit! It is the only flair it could ever hope to achieve. It is the construction and overall appearance all together that is so terrible.”

Ma’zurah snickered. “Sometime Fayrl should get Ma’zurah to tell the story of the Spotted Dreugh and the most hideous set of armor that Ma’zurah has ever seen!” She began walking around to the front of the inn, gesturing for Fayrl to follow her.

Fayrl picked up his pack and walked after her. “You mean there is armor more hideous than that Nordic pile of buffoonery?” He laughed. “I should very much like to hear that story. Perhaps over a drink and a hot meal.”

“Ma’zurah thinks that sounds lovely. But perhaps Fayrl should trade a story of his own for Ma’zurah’s stories. One true tale for one true tale, fair?”

Fayrl laughed again. “I promise you the tall tales are far more entertaining and believable than the true stories.”

They rounded the corner into the market square. Ysolda spotted them immediately and began walking towards them with determination in her step.

As soon as he saw Ysolda, Fayrl smiled widely. He really did not want to deal with the woman again so soon.

“Well, have you got my coin or rings back?” asked Ysolda in a voice only vaguely masking her anxiety. “I think I have been more than fair in my patience. But I have a trade deal I wish to make with a caravan that’s due to come through soon and I cannot afford loose ends.”

“Yes, we just returned from retrieving the rings,” Ma’zurah replied. She gestured to Fayrl to give them to Ysolda.

Fayrl handed Ysolda the two gold bands, placing them in her hands.

Ysolda lifted them up and inspected them in turn, scrutinizing each ring carefully. “They appear to be as they were given to you.” She produced the ring Fayrl had given her as collateral. “I can see you appear to be in need of some clothes. Perhaps you would care to sell this heirloom so you might afford a shirt?”

Fayrl smiled at her, taking his ring back gently. “It is a very kind offer, but I am afraid that the ring is priceless to me. I have felt its absence deeply and do not wish to be parted again so soon after getting it back.”

Ysolda nodded. “Very well. Your loss.” She paused. “Look, for what it’s worth, I am sorry it didn't work out with you and your ladies. I know how excited you were for the wedding. You kept saying it would be a huge ceremony at Morvunskar. You said you even had some magic staff there that would handle all the guests. Maybe you two should think about one another instead of other people?"

Fayrl looked to Ma’zurah. “Perhaps,” he said.

Ma’zurah turned to Fayrl and fluttered her eyelashes at him. “Ma’zurah does not know, does Fayrl think Ma’zurah is pretty?”

Fayrl turned his head, acting bashful. “I have always thought that,” he said. “Have I not said?”

Ysolda smiled. “I’ll leave you two to talk then.” She walked off with a soft giggle and a pleased expression.

Ma’zurah smiled after Ysolda then took a step closer to Fayrl. “No, Fayrl has not actually said,” she teased, “But Ma’zurah thinks Fayrl is very pretty.”

“How very careless of me then,” Fayrl said, turning back to her. “I think you are more than just pretty. You are beautiful, radiant as the moons and stars combined, dazzling as the sun’s glint off the ocean. What can mere words do to describe a beauty such as yours? They fall short in mastering the proper depth.”

Ma’zurah gave him an unimpressed stare. “Fayrl is teasing Ma’zurah.” She turned away to head for the inn, but paused upon hearing a distressed voice from the other end of the market.

“Mikael, I have told you for the last time! Leave! Me! Alone!”

Ma’zurah turned to look and spotted Mikael the bard leaning into a dark haired woman’s personal space next to a stall of vegetables. “You can’t fool me, Carlotta. I know you love the chase just as much as I love pursuing you. Your fiery temperament just makes the flames of my passion burn all the brighter for you.” He leaned forward as though to kiss the woman.

The woman slapped him across the face and stormed to the other side of her stall. The bard bit his lip with a devious expression, and turned to go back to the inn. “Mark my words, lovely Carlotta!” he called over his shoulder. “I will conquer you as a true Nord conquers any harsh beast!”

Fayrl’s eyes narrowed. He could not stand seeing that sort of behavior. He was not going to tolerate it. He still had the man’s lute--a perfect bargaining chip, and perhaps a way to win the man’s trust.

Warmth radiated from the Ebony Blade strapped to his side. He looked down at it. It felt as though it was smiling at him. “Are you thirsty?” he asked the blade.

The blade seemed to pulsate with energy like an excited child promised scrib jelly or a sweetroll.

“I will prepare the perfect meal for you then,” he promised it. He turned to Ma’zurah. “I have a new friend I should like to make before we leave.”

Ma’zurah nodded firmly, a look of disgust on her face as she watched the retreating bard’s form. “How can Ma’zurah help?” she asked in Dunmeris.

“How much would you like to lead a fool towards justice?” Fayrl asked in the same language, his hand lingering on the hilt of the Ebony Blade.

Ma’zurah glanced at the blade, then up at Fayrl’s face. “Ma’zurah will help however Fayrl thinks is best.”

Fayrl’s face lit up. “You will? Truly?” He felt himself growing excited at the prospect of them working together to dispatch the foul man.

“That man,” Ma’zurah nodded in the direction of the closing inn door, “is disgusting. Ma’zurah thinks Fayrl has picked a perfect target for the Lady’s task.” She pressed her lips together in anger.

“Well, I think the easiest way to get him to do as we wish is through seduction. Though, that may be asking a lot from you, my dear.”

Ma’zurah hesitated. “Is there another way that will also work?”

“If you allow me use of one of your dresses, I can take the lead. But a man like that has one very glaring weakness and I have every intention of using it to bring him to his knees and regret only too late the mistake he has made.” Fayrl did not wish to ask anything of Ma’zurah she was not willing to do. If need be, he would take care of it on his own.

Ma’zurah nodded. “Fayrl is free to use any of Ma’zurah’s belongings he pleases, even the Moon and Star if he is careful and explains why first.”

Fayrl was surprised by her offer. It was far more generous than he had expected. “I hope you will use my things as you need as well, though I would caution you against using anything in my hip satchel without asking. There are many purposefully mislabeled items in there and it can be a deadly game to simply use things without knowing exactly what they truly are.”

“Shall we get a room and find out where this Morvunskar place is first?”

Fayrl walked toward the door of the inn. “Oh, the fort? I know exactly where that is. Just south-west of Windhelm. Two, maybe three hours walk? But as for the bard, if we should be seen to retire for the evening and then be seen as other people entering the inn, I think it will keep us from being caught so long as we lure the fetcher away. But we can discuss that once we have a room.”

“Oh? Fayrl knows where this Morvunskar is?” Ma’zurah glanced at the sky. “It is only just midday now, we could go check it out and teleport back this evening. What does Fayrl think?”

Fayrl sighed dramatically. “And I so had my heart set on our very first act of treachery together. Alas, I suppose business before pleasure.”

Ma’zurah giggled. “Come along then, silly ketriit!” She held out her hand and led him back behind the inn to where they could teleport without being observed. She paused to allow him to put a shirt on, then held him close and cast the spell to take them to Windhelm.

---

They appeared a little ways down the road from the Windhelm stables and Ma’zurah took Fayrl’s hand and started down the road heading to the west.

Fayrl shook his head. He felt a slight chill and tightened the lacing on the front of his tunic. “I’m never going to get used to that.”

The silk tunic felt particularly thin for some reason. He must have been cheated on the quality. It had looked like it was fine, but perhaps after a millennium it was easier to make something cheaper look like it was nicer.

“So how shall we avoid the suspicion of the guards for this task of Fayrl’s?” Ma’zurah asked as they walked. “Ma’zurah would rather be able to return to Whiterun unimpeded, and she is not sure she is comfortable getting into any sexual situations with anyone not Fayrl.”

“Oh, well all of that is quite easy to accomplish,” said Fayrl, brightening at the discussion of murder. “So long as it is not us who are seen entering the tavern, there is no record of us not still being in our rooms. We may wish to refresh people’s memories on that point closer to the time of the murder, best to establish a proper alibi.”

Ma’zurah thought for a moment. “Well, we could teleport in already disguised. Nobody will know we are in the city to begin with, and we could teleport away before any suspicion arises.”

“Yes, perfect. We should.” Fayrl laughed and slipped his hands behind his back, rubbing them together, they felt cold. Fetching teleportation.

“So we enter in disguise,” he continued. “I shall be dressed as a lady of some means. We can use a veil and cloak for you not to be so readily spotted. You can simply remain mostly silent, laugh or whisper Dunmeris to me if you wish to speak. I will say you know little Cyrodillic. I can translate for you and make you seem all the more alluring for your mystery. A man like that does love himself exotic beauties and mysteries.” He gestured to himself.

Ma’zurah looked skeptical. “Unless Fayrl plans to dress Ma’zurah as a veiled Velothi Wise Woman with the thick cloth veils, it will be very difficult to disguise Ma’zurah’s Khajiiti nature.”

“Oh, you worry too much. There are plenty of ways to disguise someone. Why, I once passed as Ohmes for two months. I mean, it did involve having my skin dyed and my face painted daily, but if I can pass as Khajiit, you can pass as not.”

“Fayrl once disguised himself as Ohmes?” Ma’zurah’s face lit up. “Fayrl will have to tell Ma’zurah about it! But after we finish these plans. Please continue.”

“And I shall. Later. So, as soon as this so-called bard seems the most interested, I, your humble handmaiden, shall invite him to follow us out to where we are staying for a more… intimate gathering. We lure him away from where any might find us. Perhaps to the hall of the dead. A fitting place, don’t you think? I am sure a dirty minded fool like him will enjoy such things. And then we dispatch of him properly. I will do any of the work that is sexually required. I need to prepare him for my Lady after all, don’t I?” He laughed.

Ma’zurah looked concerned. “Fayrl really wants to touch such a despicable person? We could take him down before it becomes necessary. Perhaps Ma’zurah can teleport Fayrl someplace, and return and teleport the wafiit to Fayrl.”

Fayrl raised his hand. “No, I would prefer to refrain from teleporting when it is not necessary. Besides, I am well suited to such work. They may be disgusting scars upon the face of Nirn, but I do so love absorbing their essence. It makes the entire experience worth it. Plus, it is all the sweeter gift unto my Prince if it is in the middle of their reaching their pinnacle of desire.”

Ma’zurah cocked her head. “Absorbing their essence? Is this a ritual of Mafala?”

Fayrl looked surprised. “Do you not know? Have you not learned of the exchange of essence?”

“Khajiiti culture is very different from House Dunmer, and Ma’zurah was not with the Velothi long enough to learn all the secrets.” She cast him an apologetic look.

He waved a hand dismissively. “My apologies, I should not have assumed. You see, traditionally the fluids one exchanges during sex are imbued with your energy, your unique essence. They are a part of yourself that you offer to your partner. And by sleeping with these foul creatures, you can absorb their energy and make it your own. You can take their power and make it yours.”

Ma’zurah nodded. “That makes sense. It is not the Khajiiti way, but it makes sense. So for something like this, taking their fluids is stealing their essence, and for partners like us, it is sharing?”

Fayrl smiled. “Precisely!”

“Alright, but if we are to fulfil this task of Mafala’s to the fullest, we should get him to trust us completely before we take him down. Is it not true that the more he trusts you, the more the betrayal will energize the blade? Perhaps we can make him become indebted to us.” Ma’zurah gave Fayrl a devious smile.

Fayrl licked his lips at the look on Ma’zurah’s face. He was instantly turned on at the prospect of them sharing this task so thoroughly. “That is always the best and most fun way, yes. I did not expect you to be so excited to share in this revelry though. My apologies for underestimating your appetites.”

Ma’zurah gave a self deprecating smile and glanced down. “Ma’zurah has only ever killed in self defense or honorable duels. She never had a good reason to be an assassin. It is not a task Ma’zurah has a taste for. Anger is not a good reason to kill. Money is hardly a good reason either. She would not do it for anything less than the will of a god. Fayrl is the one that makes it exciting. Fayrl excites Ma’zurah.”

Fayrl took Ma’zurah’s hand in his and pulled her towards him. “If you keep up that sort of thing I am going to need to make a stop before we arrive at the fort.”

Ma’zurah grinned and groped Fayrl through his trousers. “Ma’zurah did say she would assist Fayrl in his prayers,” she whispered in his ear. Her tongue flicked out and caught the edge of his ear. “Why not now?”

---

Fayrl had thought the fort looked different from how he had remembered it when it first came into view in the distance. Yet the closer and closer they got to Morvunskar, the more it did not look like the fort he had been to so many times before.

Where were all of the tall walls? What had happened to all the buildings? It was not even half the size it had once been. Of course he had not expected to see Pact soldiers anymore, but he had assumed it would still have been in use. What had happened? There weren’t even sentries up.

They had said they were getting married here, were they not? What had happened to all the attendees?

“Hail and well met!” he called, in case anyone was around. Then immediately regretted it. What if they had been killed by bandits? He was being careless, unthinking.

Ma’zurah took in the crumbling walls of the fort, and glanced at Fayrl doubtfully. “This is it? It looks like a ruin. Why would we choose this place?”

A figure came in sight on the walls and a fireball flew in their direction. Ma’zurah hastily pulled Fayrl back down the path.

“Shit, sorry,” Fayrl whispered as they pulled back out of the line of fire. “Let me go around and take them out. I’ll be right back.” He made himself invisible and crept forward.

“Wait, Fayrl! Ma’zurah is coming too!” She cast a detect life spell, then cast invisibility on herself, following Fayrl back toward the ruined fort.

By the time they had come within a stone’s throw of the fort’s walls, two mages in dark robes had appeared to investigate their arrival. One had a significant lead on the other and had moved out of direct line of sight of the second behind a boulder as he searched the fort’s perimeter. The second was only just emerging from the gate. Fayrl smiled. He teleported forward, intent on appearing behind the first mage, only, something went wrong. Halfway between the mage and where he had been standing his teleportation failed, and his body turned visible again.

He didn’t have time to think. He rolled to the side and threw a dagger at the man’s face. It caught him in the cheek and he flailed, screaming, trying to get the blade out.

Fayrl dashed forward, drawing his sword. He slit the man’s throat in an attempt to silence him quickly, but it was too late. A swirling cloud of snow and ice came barreling towards him from the second mage. He jumped out of the way, pain stabbing into his head as he went. He cursed whatever had happened to prevent him from using his skills properly.

Ma’zurah gasped and ran forward, grabbing Fayrl’s shoulder and casting invisibility on him again to pull him into the shelter of the fort’s walls. “Shh! Do not move!” she hissed in his ear. More mages had appeared, and she didn't think it was wise to try to take them all on.

Fayrl nodded, and then regretted that too. His head was pounding. What could have caused such a reaction in him that did not also affect Ma’zurah?

As far as he could tell, the only thing they had done recently that he seemed to be feeling the effects of worse than she did was the teleportation. Perhaps it was not fully doing… well, something. He didn’t understand exactly how this magic worked--or any magic, really. He waited for Ma’zurah to signal the all-clear, giving himself the time to try and suppress the pain. It was temporary. He could control it, mind over matter.

The mages fired spells in the general vicinity of where Fayrl had disappeared and prowled the walls, searching for sign of them. Four of them retreated into a huddle in front of the gate into the fort. Ma’zurah took the opportunity to pull Fayrl back down the road to regroup. She stopped behind a large boulder, well out of earshot of the fort. “What happened back there?”

“It’s your fetching teleportation spell!” Fayrl snapped, more out of pain than true anger. “I got cold after the last one and it’s only gotten worse.”

Ma’zurah shook her head. “The teleportation spell Ma’zurah was performing has a safety mechanism built into the casting,” she explained. “The spell either works completely, or it fails completely. There is no in between, or else the spell would be too dangerous to attempt. It cannot be the teleportation. Was Fayrl poisoned?”

“Oh, great, poisoned again!” Fayrl huffed. “What is the fetching point of taking daily doses of poison if they aren’t going to fetching work? Probably some new-fangled poison from this era.” He grumbled and pawed through his satchel for a cure poison potion.

Ma’zurah cast a spell to cure the poison for him. “Any better?”

Fayrl did not truly feel any different. “Well… I think so.” He stood up, ignoring the headache that had not faded. It did not matter, they were here now and there was little that could be done. Best to push through for now. “I should be fine now to keep going.”

Ma’zurah cast a worried glance at Fayrl. “Shall we sneak up there and try again?”

“I think that’s for the best.” Fayrl started down the path. As soon as they drew near to the front gate, he called the shadows to him.

Immediately a splitting pain ran through his head as if someone was trying to cleave it in two with a dull and rusty axe. He ceased being invisible nearly as soon as he had managed to disappear. “B’vek!”

Ma’zurah glanced up at the walls warily and cast invisibility on both of them. She drew Fayrl back down the path. “What happened?” she asked again.

Fayrl growled. His head had not stopped hurting. “I don’t fetching know!” He was growing increasingly frustrated. He had never had any issue with his abilities before. Why should they be a problem now? And why so suddenly? “Are you feeling anything?”

Ma’zurah shook her head. “No, Ma’zurah feels fine… Is Fayrl in pain?”

“Of course you’re fetching fine,” he grumbled. “It’s always my place to be getting hurt and poisoned and the like. Cursed blood, cursed race. As if I don’t already bloody well know. Fetching Almsivi.”

“Ma'zurah is cursed too,” she reminded him. “Is Fayrl in pain?” She was not going to let this go.

Fayrl began creeping back toward the gate, not even appearing to have heard her.

Ma’zurah grabbed his hand. “Fayrl?”

Fayrl turned back. “Hmm?”

“Ma’zurah tried talking to you three times! What are you doing?”

“What?” Fayrl did not understand. “When?”

“Just now. Ma’zurah asked if you were in pain twice, and said your name a third time.”

“Are you jesting? I swear I did not hear a word. Are you sure you spoke aloud?” If she had spoken he would have heard her. His hearing was pretty good.

“Yes…” Ma’zurah said slowly. “Ma’zurah is worried. Are you sure you want to keep going right now? We can teleport back to a city and get some rest if you like.”

“No teleporting!” Fayrl roared. “I refuse to be party to that haphazard magic any further! I am in enough pain as it is!”

Four mages came running out the front gate in response to the sound of Fayrl’s shouting, all preparing spells in their hands. Ma’zurah shoved Fayrl behind her and cast a bubble ward around herself, stepping forward and beginning to cast a whirling ice storm between her hands. The mages were close together, she could use that. She snapped off the ice storm in their direction just as four fireballs ricocheted off her shield, knocking her backwards.

Fayrl watched as two of the mages took the full brunt of the spell and froze solid. The two on the outside managed to get out of the way. One of them ducked back behind the gate, while the other rushed towards Ma’zurah, volleying more fireballs towards her.

Fayrl ran forward, summoning thorns to subdue the oncoming mage. The thorns appeared then vanished, and the searing pain shot through his head again. Adrenaline took over and he pushed through the pain, brandishing his sword and dagger. He ran full force into the mage’s side.

A wave of fire slammed into him as he struck the mage. It actually hurt. He was Dunmer. Fire wasn't supposed to hurt. The two of them stumbled back, and Fayrl swept his blades sideways, lodging them into the chest and abdomen of his foe. He landed atop the mage, and staggered back to his feet. His body seemed to be lacking much of its usual strength. He tugged to remove his sword from his foe’s ribs, but it was stuck fast.

The final mage peeked out from behind the gate and shot a huge fireball at Ma’zurah just as she regained her feet. Her bubble shield blinked out of existence as the fireball bounced off of it, knocking Ma’zurah onto her tail again. She bared her teeth and hissed at her assailant, and sent a handful of ice razors in his direction, lacerating his face and chest. One razor caught him in the neck and he frantically started trying to heal himself. Ma’zurah rolled to her feet again.

Fayrl pulled out another dagger. He could swear it looked like his opponent was reaching out towards him, ready to cast another fireball. Fayrl stabbed him through the hand pinning it down into the ground with the most force he could muster. He took another couple of smaller daggers and started stabbing the man in the chest. “I won’t let you, fetcher!”

Ma’zurah regained her balance and began crystallizing an ice spike between her hands. She shot it towards the mage, catching him in the chest just as he finished healing himself and turned his attention back to her. The mage fell.

Ma’zurah shot a rapid glance at Fayrl. He seemed to have his assailant under control. She ran forward and examined the mage she had downed, ensuring he was dead before turning back to help Fayrl. She blinked in bewilderment at him. He was stabbing the dead mage under him repeatedly with a pair of small daggers. “Fayrl!” she called.

Fayrl did not stop. Every time he stabbed, the mage’s hands seemed to rise up again. Fayrl couldn’t allow the mage to get away with this, he wouldn’t let him hurt Ma’zurah. He refused to.

Ma’zurah cautiously approached Fayrl. “Fayrl, stop! He is dead!”

Fayrl turned at the sound of a voice, his daggers raised towards the approaching figure. “Stay back!”

Ma’zurah froze, startled. She had the creeping suspicion that something was very, very wrong; he did not even seem to recognize her. “Fayrl, it is just Ma’zurah.”

“Ma’zurah?” She came into focus. Fayrl breathed a sigh of relief. “Let’s question this guy. He’s been fighting hard, but he might be useful.”

“Fayrl, he is dead.” Ma’zurah’s tail twitched nervously behind her.

“Dead?” Fayrl turned back to his opponent. He did not appear to be moving. “Damn! Looks like he finally went down. Ah well, let’s get going, shall we? You’re not hurt, are you?”

“No… is Fayrl hurt?” Ma’zurah took a step forward cautiously, still unsure of the situation.

“Oh, you know me, a couple of scrapes and bruises perhaps, but I am perfectly fine, my dear.” He smiled and wiped his blades off before putting them away. “I could use some help getting my sword out of this s’wit’s chest though. I managed to get it in a bit deep to the bone.” He tugged on the hilt to demonstrate.

Ma’zurah nodded. She was still a bit nervous about his behavior, but at least he did not seem to be in danger of failing to recognize her anymore. She moved forward and pulled Fayrl’s sword from the mage’s chest with ease, handing it back gingerly. “How is Fayrl feeling? Is he still in pain like before?”

“Thank you, my dear.” Fayrl cleaned and sheathed his sword. “It’s nothing I can’t handle. A little pain’s good for the mind anyhow, right?” He checked that all his weapons were accounted for then began walking cautiously to the gate of the fort.

“Hold on!” Ma’zurah called. She rifled through the mage’s pockets and discovered a pair of petty soul gems and a small coinpurse. She tucked them into her own pockets and moved on to the other mages, discovering a total of three more small coinpurses, a minor magicka potion, and a lesser soul gem. She caught up to Fayrl.

“Is Fayrl sure he wants to keep going? Ma’zurah is very worried about Fayrl…”

Fayrl laughed. “Of course I am, my dear.” He gave her a chaste kiss on the lips. “Come on, I am sure there are plenty more vermin to exterminate inside as well.”

“Ai! Fayrl, wait!” Ma’zurah caught his wrist. “What are we doing here exactly? We were supposed to have a wedding ceremony here, right? And we wanted to find more information about Sam and that staff Fayrl won, but we do not know why there are mages here who attack us on sight. Those,” Ma’zurah gestured behind her at the dead mages, “were self defense, but barging in and killing them… what does that achieve?”

“They are hostile! Anyone who we may have brought here for our wedding must be inside. I am sure we will find ourselves with either guests or their captors. Or… perhaps worse. If there were five guarding outside, there are likely to be at least as many inside. We will just have to kill them all.” Fayrl’s tone was easy, as though he was talking about a preference regarding how he liked his meat cooked.

Ma’zurah’s brow furrowed and she shook her head. “Ma'zurah does not know who these guests might be, but better to try to sneak past and see if there are any hostages first before we try to take on an entire fort ourselves. Ma’zurah will cast invisibility and muffling on the both of us. Ma’zurah’s best invisibility spell lasts a long time, so it should not be a problem. Alright?” She squeezed his hand.

Fayrl squeezed back. “You worry far too much. We are unstoppable together. We’re blessed by the Three and you are the fetching Nerevarine! What can some puny mages do against all that? No, it will be easy. We shall paint the floor in their blood, retrieve our staff and go home. Well, we’ll help anyone who was captured. Though that hardly seems likely.”

Ma’zurah pressed her lips together. After Fayrl’s earlier display, she couldn’t afford to trust his ability to fight at the moment. She was not going to take any risks, or put him in any situations in which he might fail to recognize her. She was frustrated that he seemed insistent on continuing forward. “Ma’zurah did not stay alive as long as she has by being reckless. We will scout the place with invisibility first. Fayrl will not use any of his abilities; he will use blades only, and he will allow Ma’zurah to lead any attacks. He will not break the invisibility unless Ma’zurah breaks it first, and he will not let go of Ma’zurah’s hand. Does Fayrl understand?”

“Yes, yes, of course, of course,” Fayrl agreed. Ma’zurah was not giving him enough trust. What happened to all that guarshit about them being equal? Maybe she was trying to take advantage of him. What a perfect spot, out here where no one knew where they were. He would have to keep an eye on her.

Ma’zurah’s face softened. “Ma’zurah is just worried about Fayrl. He should not be in any pain at all. We will do this the smart way, and then we can get some rest.” She leaned in and kissed him, squeezing his hand again.

He smiled at her. “Alright, let’s go murder some evil mages.”

Ma’zurah gripped Fayrl’s hand tighter. “Fayrl… scouting first. No breaking invisibility.”

“Yes, yes, of course, my dear.”

Ma'zurah cast muffling on their feet, then cast invisibility, first on Fayrl, then on herself, and led him forward towards the front door of the keep.

Fayrl held onto her hand. As soon as he saw one of those fetchers, he didn’t care what Ma’zurah said, he was going to take them down. No one was going to keep their wedding party from their revenge.

Ma’zurah ducked into the front door. There was one mage in the entry hall, yawning and scratching his side, back toward them. Ma’zurah began leading Fayrl around the mage toward a door in the far wall on the left.

Fayrl dropped Ma’zurah’s hand and slipped around behind the mage. He covered the man’s mouth and slit his throat. The only noise escaping his lips sounded like a single sigh.

Fayrl smiled as he lay the body gently on the floor.

Ma’zurah cast a life detection spell as soon as Fayrl slipped out of her grip. She couldn’t prevent him from killing the mage without alerting anyone nearby, but as soon as he straightened, she slammed him against the far wall. “Fayrl! What! The! Fuck!” she hissed in his ear. “You just agreed not to break invisibility!”

Fayrl smiled as he was thrown against the wall. “So you show your true colors at last. Are you going to kill me now too?”

“ NO! ” she hissed emphatically. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Fayrl?! Did you lie to Ma’zurah when you agreed not to break invisibility?!”

Fayrl laughed. “I didn’t lie exactly… just, think of it as misleading the leader. Asserting your individuality from within the mass.”

“Fayrl, that was a blatant lie! Ma’zurah cannot believe what she is hearing! You promised!” She fished Fayrl’s amulet of Azura out from under her collar. “You promised to trust Ma’zurah’s judgement and always tell her the truth! You gave Ma’zurah this as a token of your sincerity! Was that a lie as well?!” Ma’zurah was furious and hurt and close to tears. She bared her teeth at Fayrl and shoved the amulet in front of his face.

Fayrl continued laughing. “It wasn’t. But it might as well be.” The pain in his head kept growing into a huge pressure that spread outward, searing the corners of his vision. “Goodbye, Ma’zurah.” He forced the shadows to come to him and pushed past Ma'zurah.

This time the invisibility stuck, though it felt like it took the entirety of his being to maintain it. Every step he took hurt like stepping in lava. His vision started to fade, but he kept willing it to stay. He was going to slip away from her and… and… his brain wouldn’t finish the thought. He had to concentrate on staying invisible. He could feel the shadows trying to abandon him.

Just a little further. Just a few more steps.

Everything went black.

End Notes:

Fayrl’s tumblr: @talldarkandroguesome

Screenshot of Fayrl Screenshot of Ma’zurah Check out my art tag for more pictures of Fayrl and Ma’zurah.

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