#keepin the torch lit

[sassyandclassy94]

Luke and his not-so-welcome castmate🐝

[crystalninjaphoenix]

Scary Stories

A Horror Septics Short

“...and all that was left were the bones! Ooooo!” The teenage storyteller lowered the flashlight, looking around at his audience—three other teens, all of whom looked very unimpressed. “Well? Not even a ‘oh no’?”

“I saw that coming from a mile away, Derrick,” said one of the others, adjusting her pointed glasses.

“Oh come on.” Derrick frowned. “You could’ve at least pretended to like it.”

“Your voice isn’t really cut out for horror, anyway,” said another, poking the campfire with a stick. 

“Well, can any of you do better?” Derrick looked around at the circle. The four friends were sitting on chairs, set around the central fire pit. There was a picnic table nearby with a kerosene lamp providing extra light, and a large tent big enough to fit all four of them. The campsite was a bit isolated, surrounded by large trees that hid the light of other fires lit by other campers. 

“Honestly, I don’t think any scary stories can get to me anymore,” one said.

“Oh really?” Asked the one in the glasses. “Why’s that, Winston?”

“Don’t say my name like that,” Winston scowled underneath the brim of his baseball cap. “And it’s because, Lilah, I know it’s all not real. I mean, yeah, if the story’s good it’ll come back to haunt me late at night, but that’s when all judgement has been abandoned. I can’t find a story anymore that’s good enough to freak me out as it’s happening.”

“Creepypasta has ruined you,” the last one muttered.

“That it has, Charlie. That it has.”

“Okay, I got an idea. Derrick, pass me the torch.” Lilah reached over and the flashlight, shining it under her face as was typical of scary-storytelling, though the illusion was a bit ruined by the sparkly pink ribbon in her hair. “Let me tell you an actual, real-life scary story. Let’s see if that rustles your jimmies, Win.”

“Let’s see if it does.” Winston smiled, settling back into his chair.

“So. You all know my cousin Eve, right?” Lilah started.

“The journalist one, right?” Derrick asked.

“Well, kinda. What she does is she writes articles for a travel magazine. So she goes around Europe, finding cities that don’t have much of a tourist industry and looking for things about them that would, like, draw people to the place. Also she had a partner, Kyle, who she had to write articles with.”

“Ugh, Kyle,” Charlie commented. “What a name.”

“Oh yeah, Kyle sucked. Whenever the family met up, Eve would always complain about him.” Lilah shook her head. “He was like, the kind of guy who always thought he knew best, and when people contradicted him he’d be all like, ‘yeah, sure.’ Then he went ahead and talked shit about them. She always had to double-check their articles before they went up to make sure he didn’t add any bullshit. Needless to say, he didn’t like her much either.”

All the teens muttered among themselves. The disapproval was clear. “Anyway, Eve and Kyle get assigned to go to this city in Germany,” Lilah continued. “And it’s like, a nice place. Clean, has some neat museums, the hotel they’re staying in is pretty swanky. So far, Eve is taking some favorable notes for the article. Kyle is annoyed at everything, though, bitching about how the service is terrible even though there’s nothing wrong with it.”

“Okay, so that’s the set up, what happened to change it?” Charlie asked.

“So, end of the first day, dawn of the second. Eve’s taken notes of everything they could do in town, and she goes down to the hotel desk to get advice on what’s best. The hotel clerk is friendly, answers all the questions. It all goes normally, until right at the end of the conversation, when the clerk said, ‘oh yes, you und your frund vould do vell to be off ze ztreets by nightfull.”

Winston suddenly burst out laughing. “Is that supposed to be a German accent?!”

“Yeah, what’s that supposed to mean?” Lilah said defensively.

“I’ve heard more realistic accents from children’s shows!”

“What, can you do better?” Lilah muttered.

“Ah, in fact, I can!” Winston said, putting on an accent. “And I say your accent is simply terrible, Fraulein!” 

“Hey, we’re not here to judge by the quality of the accent, only the spookiness of the story,” Derrick said. “Keep on keepin’ on, Lilah.”

“Thanks, Derr,” Lilah said, grinning. “Anyway, the clerk says not to be on the streets after nightfall. Eve asks why, and the clerk says, ‘it gets very dangerus out zere, zat iz all. I vould hate for anyzing to happen to—’”

“Oh my god, stop, it’s hard to hear!” Winston groaned.

Lilah made a face in his direction, but obliged. “ The clerk says, ‘I would hate for anything to happen to you and your friend.’ Which is a bit sketch, and Eve knows it. She mentions this to Kyle, because even though Kyle’s a bitch she doesn’t want him to get physically hurt, and he’s just like, ‘This clerk was a girl, right? Of course she doesn’t want to walk out late at night.’”

“Ohhh, fuck this dude,” Derrick said.

“Fuck it sooo muuuch,” Charlie added.

“Right?!” Lilah nodded furiously. “Like, at this point with Eve telling this story, I was like, ‘I hope this dude gets eaten by a wolf.’”

“Wait, where did the wolf come from?” Winston asked.

“Shit, I forgot about that. Anyway,” Lilah continued. “They go throughout the city, visiting restaurants and these museums and looking around at the local architecture. At dinnertime, they go to this seafood place, and get chatting with the waiter. They mention they’re from out of town, and that they’re writing an article on the city to hopefully help out tourism. The waiter says, “Vell—sorry, well, if you are from out of town, you should know not to stay out after dark.’ Eve, having heard this for the second time, asks, ‘Why, what happens?’ And the waiter says, ‘Uh, well, we have some problems with wild dogs. They hunt at night.’ And Kyle says, ‘Well, that’s not gonna bring in the tourists.’” Lilah paused while all the others groaned. “So, after dinner, Eve notices it’s getting late, and convinces Kyle to go back to the hotel with her. But of course, he complains about it, and says that they have to check out the nightlife in town and see if there are any after dark specials running.”

“Well, from a business standpoint, he’s got a point,” Winston said. “I mean, he doesn’t have to be an asshole about it, but that is their job.”

“And I’m sure Eve would’ve agreed with you,” Lilah nodded. “But she’s noticing something weird. Most of the local shops and businesses are closing up. Not any of the chains, like McDonald’s or...I don’t know, chain clothing businesses. But the businesses unique to the city, that she’d usually be checking out and putting in the article? Closed. So she thinks there might be something to this. And, in the morning, she goes down to the lobby and there’s a local woman there. Eve starts chatting with her, and eventually the woman says ‘Oh, you are a visitor? Make sure to not go out after sunset, there are some gangs in the area that roam around after dark.’”

“Wait, what?” Charlie perked up, at attention. “Two different excuses? Ohhh that’s not a good sign.”

“Eve thought the same thing,” Lilah said gravely. “And she drew two conclusions. Either there are both wild dogs and street gangs, or the real reason why you shouldn’t go out at night is much worse than either of those. So it’s the third day they’re there, and it goes generally normally, but Eve and Kyle keep getting the same sort of thing whenever locals find out they’re not from around town: don’t go out after nightfall. So, most people would decide not to go out that night, right? Wrong!” Lilah jabbed her finger in the air. “Because here’s Kyle, an asshole who thinks he knows better than anyone else who’s ever lived. He starts to leave the hotel room, and Eve tries to stop him. Instead of doing literally anything sensible, Kyle blows up that she’s always been jealous of him and has always tried to stop him from succeeding, then storms off.”

Winston let out a long, low whistle. “Let me guess, he died?”

“Hmmm I didn’t say that,” Lilah said slowly. “So, Eve goes down and tries to stop him, but he’s already left, and it’s after sunset at this point. The clerk is like, ‘I saw your friend run off. Poor guy. Anyway, would you like some room service?’ Clearly trying to bribe her into staying in the hotel. Eve’s a bit nervous about Kyle, but she really doesn’t want to go out, so she stays in the room. Kyle doesn’t show up the next day, and she calls the local police, worried something happened. They say they’ll get on it, but in that tone of voice that suggests there’s nothing that can be done about this.”

“So, the Kyle guy just disappeared?” Derrick asked.

“Oh, no, not at all.” Lilah’s voice turned low and serious. “About a month later, she’s back home, she gets a call from this out-of-country number. And it’s a police officer from this German city. They need her to come in real quick so she can identify this head they found.”

There was a sharp inhale throughout the circle. “Just the head?” Charlie asked.

“So, Eve goes down to Germany,” Lilah continued. “She sees the head, and yeah, it’s Kyle. Missing his eyes and teeth and with a big hole in the back of the head. She asks the police what happened, and they found the head in a dumpster, along with a bunch of...flesh. And itty bitty pieces of shattered bones.”

Charlie covered their mouth. “Oh my god…”

“That is so fucked,” Derrick muttered.

Lilah looked over at Winston. “Well? What d’you think, Mr. Horror Aficionado?”

Winston adjusted his cap. “Pretty good.”

“‘Pretty good’?!” Lilah repeated. “This guy disappears, and the next month, he’s in pieces!”

“I’ve heard it before,” Winston said, a little smugly.

“Yeah, in stories, I have too!” Lilah put down the flashlight, and put her head in her hands. “This is something that actually happened to a guy my cousin knew, worked with a lot! And they never caught whoever did it, apparently!”

“Wait, how do you know they never caught them?” Derrick asked. “Do you just go down to—what’s the city name again?”

“Ah, I don’t remember,” Lilah shrugged. “Something that started with an A.”

“Do you just go down there regularly?”

“Well, no, but most serial killers don’t get caught, and given how everyone knew about this shit happening in the city, I’m assuming that’s what it is.”

“Where’d you hear that, Buzzfeed Unsolved?” Winston asked.

“Oh, speaking of which,” Charlie jumped in. “Did you guys see the last one? Of the last True Crime season? The finale?” The other three made various negative noises. “Oh.” Charlie shrugged. “I just thought it was funny.”

“What’s the case?” Winston asked.

“Oh, a recent one. I mean, like, two years ago. A YouTuber disappeared. And the boys went on this whole tangent about what if they disappeared.”

Lilah frowned. “How do YouTubers just...disappear? Wouldn’t people notice if they stopped uploading?”

“Not if it was a kinda small one,” Derrick pointed out.

“Well, this guy wasn’t small,” Charlie said. “He had like...ten million subscribers. But a few months before he disappeared he said he was gonna take a break from uploading and other media, so I don’t think the community noticed when he actually disappeared. Though, I guess they started wondering eventually...and that’s why it’s a famous case. Dude straight-up left. Why? The case remains...unsolved.”

“Maybe he just got tired of YouTube drama,” Winston muttered.

Charlie frowned. “I don’t think so. Personally, I think he went kinda crazy. Like...actually had problems or something. After watching the Unsolved episode, I went to look at his last uploaded videos and they were...weird. I’d link you the episode and the video, but y’know. No wifi.”

“Feel free to send it later, sounds interesting,” Winston said. “Anyway—”

“Do you guys hear that?” Derrick interrupted.

“Hear what?” Lilah asked.

The group fell silent. After a few seconds, Charlie said, “I don’t hear anything.”

“Exactly.” Derrick frowned. “There were, like, crickets. But they just stopped.”

“...huh,” Winston said. “That’s weird. Why—”

“Oh my god!” Lilah pointed at something. “What’s that?!”

The group all turned, and saw a shadow, flickering against a tree in the light caused by the campfire. It got bigger, and shifted, and a large man rounded out from behind one of the nearby pine trees. “Sorry, did I frighten you?” he asked in a low, rumbling voice.

“Uh…” Derrick looked around the group, then back at the man. He looked a bit like a lumberjack, with a big bushy beard and a flannel, but the illusion was ruined a bit by the patterned pajama pants. “A little bit, sir.”

“Hmm.” The man nodded slowly. “It wasn’t my intention. I heard you kids discussing...scary stories?”

“Um, yeah,” Charlie said, picking up the stick they’d been using to poke the fire. “I mean, not exactly stories. True stories, I guess.”

“True stories,” the man repeated, nodding again. “I see.” He walked over to the picnic bench and sat down, stumbling on the last few steps. “Well, I have a few true stories of my own. Would you like to hear one?”

The teens exchanged looks, clearly uneasy. Lilah slowly reached into her pocket, seeming to grab something. “Uh...sure, mister,” she said.

“Excellent.” The man leaned forward, the firelight casting deep shadows on his face. “This is a true story, as well. It took place over a hundred years ago. There was a...person.”

“You don’t sound too sure about that,” Winston muttered. All the others instantly made shushing sounds at him.

“There was a person,” the man repeated, unphased. “They were a dollmaker.” Winston rolled his eyes quietly. Of all the group, he was the only one who was unphased by the appearance of a tall, burly man in the middle of the woods. He seemed more interested in critiquing the story’s cliches. “What did they do with these dolls? Which one became evil?”

“This is not a story about dollmaking,” the man said, suddenly stern. “I’m telling you what they do so that you can better understand. The dollmaker puts—put pride and care in their creations, trying to make them last as long as possible. Their life was average, for what they were. Until one day. The dollmaker was home, just about considering going out and starting on another doll, when the phone rang. Now, this was odd. This was long before phones could be carried about in your pocket, and in fact, phones were a new device. A phone had to be wired to a house, and the house the dollmaker was in had no phone wires connecting it. But they were curious, and thinking a friend had found a way to call them, they picked up the phone. ‘Hello?’ they said. But there was no answer. Just the vague crackling of static before it was called so. And after a moment, the dollmaker heard their own voice repeated back to them. ‘H-he-he-hello-o-o?’ Strange. Though the dollmaker said more, the other end never said anything else. So they thought it was a mistake, and dropped it.

“But the next day, the phone rang again. The dollmaker answered it again. And there was indeed a voice on the other end this time, but it was breaking, barely able to be understood as a voice and not just some strange noises. The dollmaker was not dull, it—they knew something strange was happening, knew something was behind it. But they were overconfident. They believed that whatever was calling could not touch them. The phone rang three more times over the following week, and they didn’t answer it at all.

“Then, one day. The dollmaker returned, having been out all night making a doll. And the lights of the house were flickering. Strange. The dollmaker went inside, and the phone started ringing once more. This time, they picked it up. The same voice was on the other end, though they still couldn’t understand what it was saying. Uneasy, the dollmaker dropped the phone. And then they looked out the window.

“There was something there. A many-eyed something, pressed against the glass, smearing blood across it. And it smiled at the dollmaker, and said something that was utterly incomprehensible, but somehow—somehow understandable. ‘I will make you mine,’ it said. ‘I will take what is yours and use it.’ And the dollmaker was frightened for the first time in m—in their long life. So they ran.

“They ran for three years. No matter where they went, the many-eyed thing was always right on their trail. Sometimes it caught up, and they had to fight it, and barely got away. After every conflict, they grew weaker. And the next time it caught up, they were not prepared. They were hiding in a house up north, alone with a single doll who they eventually lost. And when the many-eyed thing showed up, they couldn’t run fast enough. It took...them.

“It was nineteen years before they could find their way out. By then, they could not speak. They could not walk. They could not do half the things they once could, and spent one year with their friend in the wilds, finding new ways to do what they needed. And the many-eyed thing was still out there. Decades passed, and they heard of similar things happening to others, including a doctor who is very like themselves. Nobody and nothing is safe. The eyes continue to lurk.”

Complete and total silence fell. The group of four stared, wide-eyed, at the man. Even Winston, so cocky and unafraid before, was speechless, looking around as a chill ran down his spine.

The man stood up, the movement so quick it caused the four teens to jump. “Well, I’d best be going. You kids here for any longer?”

After a moment, Derrick cleared his throat and answered, “We’re going to leave in the morning.”

Suddenly, Charlie shrieked. Everyone tensed and looked over at them. “S...sorry,” they said. “I just thought I saw something...there.” They pointed at the tree behind the man—or rather, above the man, at the branches above his head.

“Don’t worry about it,” the man said dismissively. “There’s all sorts of wildlife out here.”

“It looked...big,” Charlie said hesitantly.

“Then it was your imagination.” The man tilted his head, and turned on his heel. Without another word, he left.

The total silence continued for a few moments more. Then Charlie jabbed their stick at the fire, and it started crackling again, the crickets chirping once more. “Should we...go to bed?” Lilah asked.

“Maybe some of us...but not all of us,” Winston said slowly. “Just to be...safe.”

Nobody said what they were trying to be “safe” about. Maybe none of them knew. But slowly, the group dispersed, and over time, fell asleep.

When they were leaving in the morning, they passed by a woman talking to one of the rangers, practically frantic. Her husband had disappeared last night. Nobody had heard anything. Anything at all.

[leoswritingcorner]

an oracle in olympus pt. 3

i’m sorry for how long this took, but i’m back at it again! shout out to @headcanonsfromanelfblossom for being my beta and all of you for inspiring me! <3 part 3 of ?

Olympus, the home of the gods. Mighty and grand, and in all its splendor!

...basically looked like something out of a vintage Aspen postcard. There was no plumes of clouds swirling over golden roads. Chariots and pegasus weren’t racing across the skyline. There wasn’t even a single Corinthian pillar in sight. 

Lucky shoves her hands into the pockets of the 90’s print neon windbreaker Lucy lent to wear over her party dress from the night before. The wind is chilly, even for late Summer. She looks around, taking in the sight of the mountain ranges in the distance, and the closer rolling hills lined with pine trees. In the center of it all, a simple looking town laid there.

So far off from what she would draw of Olympus as a kid.

“Luce, just take Avernus Lake Boulevard, it’s the easiest way.” Jamie says, fishing her phone out of a glittery clutch bag.

Lucy shakes her head. “Alkyonian Lake Drive is what I used before, so I’ll use it again.” she argues. She swings the door of her Volkswagen open and looks to Lucky. “Ready?” She calls out. “We gotta hurry, traffic is a killer around the breakfast rush.”

Lucky looks away from the town with a pout. “Olympus is just like Aspen?” She asks a bit disheartened. “That’s another thing, why aren’t y’all in Greece?” She questions, climbing into the car.

In the front seat, Jamie buckles herself in. “We go back, like, now and then. But ever since mortals lost sight and belief in us,”she trails off and shrugs. “We just roam around, but Ran- er, Zeus took a real liking to Colorado so, we’ve been here for, like, the last hundred centuries.” She explains easily. 

“Oh.” Lucky says nodding. “Looks like y’all like keepin’ it modern, too?”

Lucy starts up the car, pulling out of the driveway. “Well yeah. You’d expect us to just be in the Bronze Age forever?” She asks back. “We like a bit of modernism, too.”

A sheepish look crosses Lucky’s face. “I guess that makes sense.” She says quietly. Lucy chuckles, catching Lucky’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

“But sometimes Zeus feels nostalgic and we’ll have a day or two when this place looks a bit more how it used to.” She adds. 

It would have been a quiet ride into town if it hadn’t been for a Gary Newman song blaring on the speakers.

Lucy taps her fingers in beat to the song on the steering wheel. Jamie’s own fingers tap rapidly the screen of her phone. Lucky leans up slightly, catching a glance of the name of who she was texting ‘A❤️💖 💝💘💗💞💕💓😍’ 

Smiling slightly Lucky slumps back down. ‘A’, she had a slight idea who that might have been. Absently, her hand lifts up and her fingers brush the lines of the splotchy birthmark on her chest. 

What if she really was some reincarnated oracle from Ancient Greece?

‘No.’ Lucky pushes away the thought. ‘No, I am not Tyche. I’m Lucky.’

For the briefest and scariest second, a sense of uncertainty fills her. 

‘Aren’t I?’

“So.” Lucky speaks up to stop her thinking from going any further. “Y-Y’all have mentioned some guy named Clyde. Who is he?”

The song comes to an end and finally silence fills the car. 

Lucy draws out a long “Uuuhhh…”

Jamie pats her friend’s shoulder a few times as if to reset her. “He was, like, a good friend of Tyche.” 

“He was a really good friend of hers.” Lucy adds, her voice dipping a little at ‘really’.

Before Lucky could respond, Jamie claps her hands. “Oh, let’s stop at Tweek’s!” She suggests. “We need to, like, make change and I could go for, like, some pastries.”

Lucy nods, flipping on the turn signal. “Good idea.” She agrees. They pull into a small plaza that sits nestled in the shadow of a mountain. Lucky leans forward, peering from between Lucy and Jamie. She hadn’t even noticed they passed by the town and were nearing a mountain range, a more shadowy looking one of all of them. Lucky starts to feel a heaviness grow in the pit of her stomach as they cruise by various shops in the rundown plaza.

‘Grief Counseling by Penthos’ read one sign. Next to it, another sign read ‘Geras’ Old Age Vintage Shop’. Lucy pulls up to the end of the shops, passing into a drive through. ‘Tweek Bros Coffee’ was painted across the window, the word ‘Curae’s’ had clearly been scraped off.

Rolling down the window, Lucy leans out as a static voice yelps from the drive thru. 

“Gah! H-How can I help you?”

Lucy lifts her sunglasses. “Hey, Tweek. Give me and Jams our usual, please.” She orders. Turning to Lucky, she asks. “Want anything?”

“Uh.” Lucky blinks. “N-No. I think I’m okay. Don’t have much of an appetite right now.” 

Lucy shrugs, calling back out. “And that’ll be it.”

“Y-Your total is f-five dollars. Aw, jeez!” The voice exclaims. Lucy zooms around the corner and plucks the ten dollar bill Jamie hands to her. At the window, a young man with wild blonde hair stands twitching and trembling. 

“How’s it going, Tweek?” Lucy asks politely, taking the cups of beverage and bag. Tweek shakes, looking over his shoulder.

“Awful!” He cries. His head twitches and his eyes shut tight. “Pete!” He points to one of the shops in the plaza. “He’s going to kill me and take my shop, I just know it!” The girl follow his finger to look to the store front simply marked ‘Phobos’ where a sullen young man with dark hair stood, staring right at them. 

Unblinking. Unmoving. 

All three grimace and look away.

“I’ll try and talk to him.” Lucy offers. “We’re gonna see Cherry, Tweekie. Can I get coins as my change?”

“Rrgh.” Tweek replies, taking the money. He fumbles with the register before dropping three silver coins into Lucy’s hands. “Here!”

“Thanks, Tweek.” Lucy says sweetly. She gives a wiggly-fingered wave and drives off. Lucky finally finds her voice.

“That...that was Curae? Anxiety?” She asks, her voice pitching slightly. Lucy sips at her drink.

“Mmhm. Not a lot of mortals know that.” Lucy nods, making a check shape in the air with her finger. “Another point for the reincarnated Oracle!”

Lucky scoffs. “I have a Bachelor’s and Master’s degree in Classical Studies, majoring in Greek Mythology. I’m also working on earning my PhD in the field as well. And!” She lifts her pointer finger. “I was just hired as a docent at the Denver Art Museum heading the Greek Mythos exhibit so…” She makes an exaggerated air check mark. “Point for Lucky Siddalee Day, girl who worked her ass off in college!”

Lucy and Jamie peer at each other. 

‘Nerd’ Lucy mouths.

Lucky folds her arms over her chest, looking out the window as the mountain comes closer as the Volkswagen drives on. “But, um, those names back in that plaza.” She says hesitantly, pointing over her shoulder  “Those...guys are the ones you’d kinda meet before…” Lucky trails off, unsure if she wants to even think of finishing the sentence she was about to speak.

The looming shadow of the mountain covers the car. Lucky looks out the window and feels her heart leap into her throat.

An immaculate sign made of white stone greets them. It’s black letters carved meticulously, into it, reading; 

Welcome to Underworld Co.

A cool chill seems to settle over the Volkswagen as they drove further down into the cavern of the mountain. Any traces of the sun vanishes completely, and only the light of torches lit with flames guide them along. Rows and rows of cars occupy the parking spaces; cars ranging from decade to decade. Lucky swears she sees a Rolls-Royce 10 hp as they drive by.

Lucy turns the steering wheel left, then right, then left again. “Dick!” She exclaims when a wall comes up. Lucky blinks and rubs her eyes. Was that wall there before? Lucy shares a few choice swear words in modern English and ancient Greek as she throws the car into reverse. 

Again, she turns left, then right...right one more time. Jamie shakes her head as another wall seems to magically appear. Lucky looks around. “What is all this?” She asks, ignoring Lucy’s agitated grumbling.

Jamie looks over her shoulder to her. “Parking garage. If Lucy, like, took, Avernus Lake Boulevard like I told her, we would’ve had valet parking.”

“Jamie.” Lucy rolls her eyes. “The last time I used valet, the harpies practically tore my car to shreds. And- aha!” Lucy veers the car to a sharp left into an empty spot. “See? Barely took us even twenty minutes.”

The three climb out of the Volkswagen and Lucky looks around the parking garage. It was a maze. Literally. The ramps shifted and turned, while walls appeared and vanished. A car zooms by them and screeches as the road turns and sends it crashing into a dead end. Lucy winces. “Hope they got insurance.” She comments lightly. The three avoid more cars speeding by and make their way to an elevator. 

A wispy ghostly figure of a man is there to welcome them as the elevator doors slide open. Lucky yelps, covering her mouth. He turns his head and Lucky winces when she sees the gruesome way he met his end, with a long slash stretches across his throat. Lucky is sure her chest is pulsing visibly with each pound of her heart. Jamie easily catches her from tumbling off the curb.

“Going down?” The ghost asks politely. Lucy nods, as they step in. She passes a silver coin to the ghost who smiles. “Ah, going way down. Elevator Styx to Main Lobby!” It calls out, cranking a lever. The doors seal shut behind them, and Jamie grips onto the railings, bracing herself. Lucy does the same and looks to Lucky.

“Better hold on tight.” She warns.

Lucky isn’t sure what is more terrifying, the elevator plunging downward or the sound of the muzak cover of Lady by Styx blaring over the speakers. Either way, her screams echo the entire way down.

*

Lucky can barely appreciate the Corinthian columns she thought she would have seen earlier. She clings tightly to Lucy’s arm as they walk down the hallways of white marble walls accented with ebony and gold designs.

It was all so elegant, and yet, so cold.

“Oh, poor Lucky.” Jamie says, gently trying to push down the curls of Lucky’s hair that stuck up on end from the elevator ride. “It’s, like, taken me over, like, a thousand years to get used to that drop. Are you going to be alright?” She asks

Lucky nods. “J-Just waitin’ for my soul to catch up with my body.” She replies weakly. 

A high pitched nasally voice speaks up as they step into the main lobby. “Welcome to the Underworld Co, what d’ya want?” 

Lucky jumps, and looks up to catch sight of a harsh looking woman sitting at the front desk. Her hair seemed to slither, but not with snakes. Her skin was a pale grey and her hallowed eyes stare the three visitors down, as if they interrupted something very important.

“I said.” Comes her nasally voice again. “What. Do. You. Want.” She bites out, pointing her nail file at them with each word. “All My Demigods is on and you’re wasting my time!”

“Hey, Erinyes, um, One?” Lucy greets. The woman’s eyes seem to darken more. “Two.” Lucy corrects herself quickly. The woman relaxes a bit and goes back to filing her claws. “We need to see Cherry.”

Erinyes Two snorts. “Yeah? You and half of Olympus and the Mortal World. You’ll need tah schedule a meeting with the boss like everyone else.” 

Lucy frowns slightly. “Listen, can you just tell her that Dionysus and Aphrodite are here to see her?”

At that Erinyes Two gasps over dramatically and puts a hand to her chest. “Oh, we have name-dropping gawds here! I’ll get right on that!” She nods. Lucy narrows her eyes as Erinyes Two smirks. “Sit down, wino-head. I’ll see if the boss can squeeze you in.”

Lucy takes one, two, and three breaths as Jamie guides her away from the front desk and to the waiting area. The chairs- actually, chaises were comfortable at least. Lucky sits down between Lucy and Jamie. Lucy sat nearly seething.

“I can’t stand dealing with Erinyes. Any of them.” She says, snatching up a magazine titled “Better Hearth and Home”. Across the room a wide screen flat TV showed the scene of a gorgon woman, slapping a Minotaur across the face.

Erinyes Two cackles. “He had that comin’” She says mainly to herself.

Lucky sits back. Lucy wasn’t kidding when she said that Olympus was keeping up with modern times, maybe even a bit more advanced. A wisp of another ghost floats down the hallway, a woman who appeared to be from another time and age, followed moments later by a man who looked like he stepped out of a 1950’s movie set. At the desk Erinyes Two sighs dreamily as he passes.

Lucky’s jaw drops slightly and she turns to Jamie. “Was that…?” She whispers in astonishment. 

Jamie glances up from her phone and nods. “Yeah, that’s him.” She replies, there’s almost a hint of a sigh in her voice as well. “Who knew a ghost of a mortal would be such a star here in Olympus too?”

Another hour passes and Lucky begins to feel restless. There’s only so much daytime television that one can watch, in the Mortal world and Olympus. She feels like she’s read through all the magazines on the table; Demeter’s Fine Gardening, Chronos, Olympus Weekly. But Lucy and Jamie seem barely fazed by the dragging of time. That must’ve been one of the perks of being a goddess.

A loud banging of a door opening wide shakes the room. Erinyes Two jumps and stands at attention. “Good Afternoon, sir.” She greets politely. Any and all traces of the rudeness that she had greeted them with early disappeared entirely.  

Lucky leans forward to see a man coming in. As wide as he was tall. He wore a black suit, designed with tiny floral prints of blood red roses, and twisting green stems. If one looked quick enough, hints of skulls could be caught between the prints of flowers. Was...was this Hades?

“Ooooh Koooore.” Lucy sing-songs teasingly, standing up.

At that, the man blisters and whips his head around towards them. There’s an angry color on his cheeks as his eyes narrow.

Oh. Oh no. Oh no freaking way.

Lucky giggles in disbelief, and covers her mouth to hide the sound. It’s too late, Persephone heard her. 

“Who the hell are you?” He demands, storming over. Lucky stumbles, dropping her purse as she goes to stand up. Persephone is before her, practically towering above Lucky. There’s a light scent of flowers followed quickly by almost metallic smell. Lucky holds her breath and peers up at him.

Persephone pauses, his eyes widening slightly before his steely glare returns. “I said who the hell are you? Speak up, mortal!” He snaps- literally snapping his fingers with each word.

“Oh come off it, Kore.” Lucy cuts in, gently tugging Lucky away from his imposing figure. “Where’s Cherry?”

Persephone grunts in frustration. “Stop callin’ me that, you dumb drunk. Did you come here just to bother me?”

“Dear.” Comes a new voice. Soft and light. It’s spoken in a tone almost above a whisper, but it carries so well across the marble walls. At the voice, Persephone’s anger melts away, replaced with a charming smile and light in his eyes.

“Darling.” He calls back. “Your friends came to visit, seems they brought us another stray.” He shoots them a secret look, just before a woman comes around the corner. 

Lucky stares in awe of the god of the underworld. Hades.

The very picture of elegance in a black dress of lace and satin, designed to match her lover’s; twisting patterns of vines and skulls. The red curls of her hair twisted carefully into a pilat crown.

Her gaze is slow, careful, and observant as she looks over Lucky. In that moment, Lucky isn’t sure if she should bow or curtsy. Or faint. That’s what she really felt like doing. 

“Cherry.” Lucy greets, smiling. She’s standing by Lucky now, hanging an arm over her shoulders. “This is our new friend. We need your help.”

Persephone makes an agitated grunt. “You know we don’t spare mortal souls.”

“Eric.” Cherry says. So that was his name. Lucky thinks it suits him a bit more than Persephone. However, Persephone did have it’s darker meaning. Cherry gives her husband a gentle smile. “You are right. We do not spare souls so easily, however, she is not dead.” Her eyes look to Lucky again.

Lucky smiles weakly. “Well, guess ya wouldn’t be the ruler of the underworld if ya didn’t know that.” She jokes, hoping to ease the growing tension. Eric seems to bristle again.

Cherry doesn’t laugh, but her smile doesn’t falter either. “What is your name?” She asks.

“It’s…” Lucky begins. Her tongue nearly betrays her when she feels the letter T forming on her lips. “Lucky.” She says quickly. “It’s Lucky. That’s my name.” 

At that, Cherry lifts her eyes to Lucy and Jamie. Lucky doesn’t see the way the two goddesses nod. 

Jamie speaks up. “Cherry, do you think, like there may be a chance, like, she could be…”

Cherry turns her stunned gaze back to Lucky. “Tyche.” She says in a whisper.

Eric’s eyes grow wide. His body seems to freeze on the spot. He barely hears the way Cherry asks the three visitors to follow her to the Archive Room. He watches the short brunette follow after them. It could not be her. He regains feeling in his body and finally his brain begins to think again, saying the first thought that came to him.

“Oh, shit.”

*

The Archive Room is not unlike any other office space. Save for the floor to ceiling filing cabinets, long ladders and winged monsters soaring back and forth.

Lucky sits across from Cherry, watching as the goddess takes a box from one of the monsters, nodding her thanks. “I apologize for the mess.” Cherry says. “We are beginning to go...digital.” She finishes with a sigh.

Eric is not too far, drinking a large cup of mead. “It’s going to really help us be more organized and keep track of all these souls and more.” He points out. “It was my idea.” He adds grinning.

Lucy snorts. “Humble as always.”

Eric shows her a view of one of his fingers in a quick motion.

“These are the T files. Tyche’s name should be here.” Cherry’s fingers barely seem like they even graze the tips of the file tops. Lucky glances to Jamie and Lucy nervously. They smile back to her, and Jamie takes her hand, giving it a small squeeze.

“Don’t worry.” Jamie assures her.

Lucky watches as Cherry wordlessly scans the file from top to bottom. Her eyes moving in a swift but steady motion. Eric downs his mead and swallows loudly, watching the scene closely.

Cherry inhales sharply, her movements coming to a halt. “I do not...understand.” Cherry says. “Tyche is not listed here.”

“What?” Lucy, Lucky and Jamie all blurt out at once.

Eric is quick, he comes to Cherry’s side and takes the file box in his arms. “We’re in the process of going digital remember?” He points out. “Maybe her file was just taken out of order.”

Lucy doesn’t seem to accept the answer. “She has a mark. The one mortals carry if their souls return.”

Cherry opens her mouth, but Eric is the one to reply. “That rarely ever happens. Even then it takes a mortal nearly thousands of centuries of penance.” He explains quickly. “Your friend is...just some coincidence.” 

“Yeah, I think we came here to talk with Cherry.” Lucy growls. “You know, the actual ruler here?”

Eric’s face goes red. “What makes you so sure about her anyway?!” 

Lucky shoves away from the table, and stands. All eyes turn to her as she snatches the windbreaker up, “If no one has answers. I want to go home. Oracle or not.” She says. With a swift turn, she storms out of the room.

Jamie and Lucy begin to follow before Cherry lifts her hand to stop them. Wordlessly, she follows after Lucky.

*

Lucky leans against the wall, her head tilted back. Her eyes trace the patterns of gold traced through the marble. She counts to ten and closes her eyes. Still a strong unease racks her body. 

What and why the hell was this happening to her? 

This week began so, well, normally. Now all of a sudden…

“Dear, will you be alright?”

Lucky gasps and opens her eyes. Cherry is standing beside her. There’s a concerned look on her face. “I am sorry about everything that happened back there.” She continues. “I can only imagine how overwhelmed you may be feeling.”

Lucky grunts. “I am beyond overwhelmed.” She mumbles, crossing her arms. “Nothin’ is makin’ sense anymore. In the span of nearly 24 hours, I feel like I’ve been thrown into a bad dream I can’t wake up from. Suddenly, I can’t stop...doubting who I am.”

Cherry listens carefully. “You are having doubts. Do you feel less like yourself?”

“Ever since I heard Tyche.” Lucky sighs. “Tyche...Tyche. Lucky…” She pushes a hand to her head. “I can’t be some ancient oracle. It’s just ain’t possible.”

“Yet, you are here. The Underworld, Olympus…” Cherry says, motioning around. “Lucy says you are clear of drunkenness.”

Lucky laughs dryly. “My stars how I wish I was.” She rubs her arms and looks around the hallway before looking back to Cherry. “Do ya think I’m...I could be her?”

“It is possible. Yet, I would not understand how. Eric may be...severe. But he is correct. The way souls can return is quite rare.” Cherry explains. “However, something does present itself as odd.” 

Right, the whole issue of Tyche’s name being missing. Maybe her file was replaced or lost in the transition. Lucky hums and closes her eyes.

“There is a way.” Cherry speaks up. “If you truly wish to find out if you are Tyche or not.”

Lucky looks to her again. “How?” She asks. 

“Drink from the River Mnemosyne.” Cherry replies. 

Lucky breathes in. Of course the River Mnemosyne could help. If she was Tyche, her memories would come back. She’d…

She’d no longer be Lucky.

“No.” Lucky says quickly. “No, no. I can’t” She shakes her head. 

Cherry nods in understanding. “I respect that. Yet, you should know...word spreads fast in Olympus. Oracle or not. Your presence here is known.”

Lucky pales as Cherry finishes her warning. She seems every bit of the goddess of the underworld as her eyes seem to darken and her voice sends trembles through Lucky’s very bones “Some gods and goddesses will be eager to know the truth, my dear. Take care.”

*

Lucky breathes in the scent of her apartment. Cinnamon and worn books.

It’s so comforting. 

Jamie thinks so as she lounges across the couch. “I’ve never stayed a whole night in the mortal realm in, like, years!” She says happily. “Or been to a sleepover!”

Lucky rolls her eyes and presses the popcorn button on the microwave. “Let’s not make it a habit.” She says. Lucy opens the fridge and takes out a bottle of root beer. 

“I can make this wine, you know.” She offers. Lucky goes green slightly at the memory of the night before. Lucy shakes her head. “I guess not. Hey…”

“Hm?” Lucky prompts, fishing in a cabinet for a bowl. 

“I’m sorry.” Lucy apologizes. “I got a bit extra with Eric and the news. Also, kidnapping you to Olympus.” She adds sheepishly. Lucky turns to Lucy and smiles slightly.

“Thank you.” She says, coming up to Lucy. “Promise you’ll ask me next time? And...keep helping me find out the truth? Slowly.”

Lucy grins tugging Lucky into a tight hug. “Promise.” She says. Lucky laughs, pulling away as the popcorn finished. They all pile onto the couch with Jamie and start the movie. Back to the Future.

After a while. Lucy lifts her hand. A long slender blunt is balanced between her fingers. “So...we’re against getting drunk. But, what about high?”

Jamie and Lucky share a look. 

“Oh, what the hell.” Lucky sighs with a shrug. “I may or may not be some reincarnated oracle.”

Lucy lights it up, smiling. “That’s the spirit.”

*

Lucky sits on the floor and at the TV, the credits rolling. Behind her on the couch, Lucy and Jamie lay deep in their sleep. Their high being slept away slowly. They miss the way Lucky’s green eyes cast a slight glow in the darkness.

“Alas.” Lucky speaks up, her voice distant, reaching across time. “How mistrust will lead to misfortune. A great shadow hovers over Olympus. Ruin and dust shall be the gods kingdom.” 

The TV goes dark and Lucky slumps over.

[cuthie]

Omru: Stuff

  The Vol’dun sun was baking the sand beneath Omru’s paws, not a cloud in the sky to grant even a sliver of reprieve. Sand, sun and danger were the three most common elements of home, so far as Om was concerned. Not that anyone ever truly became immune to their effects, regardless of how ‘used to it’ they were. Chewing on his nails, the little fox boy trotted his way through the dunes, his free hand reaching reflexively for a knapsack that wasn’t there. Those slithering scaley bois better not have taken off with his goods. He had weapons, clothes, knick knacks, trinkets and all kinds of cool stuff in his pack when he had been abducted.  Exhaling through his nose, Omru’s bright orange eyes flickered towards Pazaz. Om was used to the heat, but even the trolls of Zandalar tend to sweat buckets out here. How was the green guy in the blue hoodie not sweltering at this point?

“Does your kind sweat?”

The goblin turned to look at Omru over his shoulder, not bothering to stop walking, “Yeah, of course. Just like yous guys, we sweat through our fuggin tongues.”

“Oh. Wait, what? Through your tongues? I don’t get it.”

  The cackle that came in response sounded almost mean to Omru’s ears. It wasn’t, in intention, it was just.. A wicked laugh. He wasn’t sure if that was something unique to Paz or their species in general. “Yo, just yankin yin’s chain kid. Lil dog humor, s’all. Nah, we sweat. Hell, back home my folks is mostly made’a sweat. Sweat an motor oil. Nasty lil boogers, most of’em. They don’t clean up so good like you an me.”

“Oh. Just used to extreme temperatures, then?”

  Paz shook his head, turning his attention forward again, “Nah. Told ya, elementals friendo. My babe, Luft, is a formless elemental. Best friend I eva made. She’s keepin’ me cool. Like my own private A.C.”

“What’s an A.C.?”

“Air conditionomatic machine. Makes hot places mo’ cooler. Goblin invention, don’t let tha gnomes tell ya otherwise.”

“Gnomes?”

“Short little nosy brats who get punted out of bars for bein’ dung beetles. They build stuff that’s second rate. The Alliance engineers, kindy like what us Bilgewater is for Horde.”

“Bilgewater?”

  “Oh my wow. You really just don’t know nothin’, do yous? Bilgewater Cartel. Like one big dysfunctional family what steals from one another and is always stabbin someones in the back. Tha only goblins what joined the Horde. Plenny’a cartels out there. Mo money in remainin neutral in this war.”

“You were talking about that earlier. Your Horde is fighting the Alliance. Burned down their homes and killed their children in a fire, right?”

  It was Paz’s turn to sigh, “Yeah. It’s complicated. Horde and Alliance has been at war since forever. But we got ourselves a real asshole for a warchief. Like, she’s downright evil. Trust me, you don’t want nothin’ to do with her. Keep ya head down til this is all over.”

“If you’re so against it, why not leave?”

“Ain’t so simple. All my friends and family is Horde. Whether they’re innocent or not, Alliance gonna be out for blood, kennit? I don’t wanna hurt nobody what don’t need they’s asses kicked, but I can’t just shove my hands in my pockets and read about my friends deaths in the Obits, ya know?”

“What’s an obits?”

  Paz pivoted on his heels to turn around atop a swollen mass of sand, “This is the problem with hermits. You may as well be a fuggin Pandy. No, at least they was social. Had cities and stuff. Kid, ya gotta million questions, but even if we talk all week, ya ain’t gonna get edjamicated. Ya know? If ya really -really- wanna know about the world, ya gotta get out of Azeroth’s largest sand trap. We gotta expression where I live, it’s called, ‘Where ya been, livin under a rock.’ And for you folks, that’s literal!”

  Omru folded his hands behind his head, daring to look up at the sky as the smallest of baby clouds came out of nowhere to dip beneath the sun. Woo, that’s a good luck sign. “They’re called burrows and they’re comfy. Buut, I can’t lie. Your way of life sounds way more interesting. Why don’t you take me with you?”

  Paz shrugged his shoulders, “I mean, iffens ya want, sure. I could use the company. I gotta list of errands to run, but I can always pick ya up. Besides, yous people helped the Horde out, Horde helped you out, we made fast friends. Could prolly put you on a boat.”

“You know, it’s not exactly uncommon to hear of a vulpera who abandoned the sands for a life at sea.”

  Paz grinned, “Yeah, I know. I been to Tiragarde. Anyways, check it out, we’re five minutes from where I found yous.”

  As the goblin pointed ahead towards the mountain ridge, Omru’s gut knotted up. How long had he been enslaved? A few months, for sure. Maybe longer. Slavery wasn’t just a Setharak thing. Humans did a lot of it, Trolls even more so. As they traveled closer and closer to the slave mine, Omru went over it again for perhaps the hundredth time. He had been looking to scavenge at a small stone building, could have been the beginnings of a small temple. The sands had a way of hiding and then uncovering all kinds of lost architectures. One minute he had been eating a popkin, a sandwich of sorts, the next he had been fighting against half a dozen snakeholes. They had stripped him of all his gear and brought him here, to the mines.

  A pair of shadows crossed the sky, but as Omru looked up, there was nothing there. Whatever it was had moved fast. Or maybe this place was just putting him on edge and he was seeing things. Only thing up there was that little baby cloud.

“How’s the clothes fit, by the by?”

  Omru grinned as Paz looked back at him again. “Little loose, but I tied it all down well enough. I’ve worn baggier. Just lucky you rescued me and not some hulking Tortollan. Though, their kind only help people in exchange for stories. Not that they’re jerks or anything, they’re just ancient and nosy.”

“Everyone’s nosy, kid. Just the way of the world. You uh.. Gonna be okay in here? I could poke around for yins, if ya.. Ya know. Can’t do it.”

Omru bit at his nails again, snipping just the tiniest chip off his index fingernail and spitting it out onto a hardened tan rock. “Thanks, man. I’ll be alright.”

Paz nodded, then lit up a torch and stepped inside.

  Omru had spent three nights recuperating with Paz. He had been reduced to fur and bones by the time the goblin had saved him, but the rejuvenation magicks from the water totem had been no joke. Over that time, the two had shared plenty of tales, including Om’s capture. How he had been working the mines here with a dozen other vulpera. How he had rebelled time and time again, perhaps once a month for half a year or so? He managed to kill one of the guards on his last attempt. Then, as he had finally found his necklace and put it on, everything had went black. He had woken up in chains, stretched out and unable to activate the wooden totem.  If they were smart, they would have killed him, especially considering the magic he had used against their sorcerers back at the maybe-a-temple. However, when push came to shove, their magick was simply stronger than his had been. Bunch of dicks.

--

“Is you sure at’s all yours? Seems like a lot, s’all I’m sayin’.”

  Omru patted himself down, smoothing out the leather armor, adjusting his belt, feeling his pouches, his weapon hilts and the heft of his knapsack. He had found everything in just a few short hours. In a sing song voice, he piped up, “Got my grappling hook, check. Got my swords, my daggers. Got that acidic bug juice, got a naked troll woman carving. Never know when ya might need to bribe a perv. Got a few books that I know the Tortollan will wanna barter for. I gotta pistol that fires golden bullets.”

“Wait, golden bullets? Where did ya get that?”

“Humans down south. They’re mining down there and making really interesting weapons.”

“Ugh, Ashvane. Sorry, keep goin, I know ya proud and whatnot. Just, do me a favor and walk n talk, kay?”

  The two continued out the mines as Omru listed two or three dozen more items, “And this shovel has a shorter handle than most. Somehow that makes it easier to dig holes? I can’t remember the whole story. Oh and these marbles make fart sounds when you smash them open. I thought it was hilarious, traded a chicken for them. Don’t ask me where I found the chicken. A real desert delicacy. Oh and I got this--”

  On and on he blabbed. Stuff he had. Stuff he used to have. Stuff he wanted. Stuff he heard of. Stuff he saw one time. Stuff he dreamt up that didn’t exist yet. Each item held his curious eye at one time or another. Clearly there was an emotional attachment to his ‘stuff’, and by having found it all, his spirits had been lifted incredibly high. From the mines all the way back to their little hidey hole hours away he chatted about his things, his friends, his family. Where he found the totem necklace, what he had actually been -looking- for when he went scavenging that day.

  As the sun was going down and Paz was starting up a small fire in their home away from home, he couldn’t help but grin at the kid. The boy loved his stuff. It was more than garbage, more than things. They were memories. It probably made nomadic life in the desert a little less lonely.  “Yo, Ommie. I did ya another solid, helpin you find ya things today. Tomorrow, you take me to Keyi, okie?”

  Om plugged a thumb’s up, paired with a wink, “You got it, dude.”

[abra-ka-dammit]

AU That Should Never Happen Pt. 3

:-)))

(pre-warning for some horny scenes, but that’s just par for the course in this AU)

[Part 1] [Part 2]

“And who might this be?”

The Grand Warlock was strewn lazily across his gilded stone throne, one leg hanging off the side and kicking back and forth idly as he eyed his surprise guests.

General Catfeetz grinned wide, his sharp white teeth shining from behind dark lips.

“I’ll tell ya who it is,” he said, pride obvious in his voice. “This here’s the Steelknuckle boy.”

“Oh?” Gremix’s brows rose and he flipped himself upright, landing softly on his feet and striding down the steps to take a closer look at the prize.

This “Steelknuckle boy” was, at best, pathetic. The son of a trade princess? No way. Short but beefy, one would think the guy tough; but there he stood, sobbing loudly, hardly coming off as an adult with tears and snot streaming down his face. Gremix grabbed the collar of his shirt and tugged it down to reveal the characteristic Steelknuckle family flower tattoo emblazoned on his chest. Yep, he was the real deal. Somehow.

“How did you get him?” Gremix asked in fascination.

“Scouts caught him tryin’ to steal a boat, probably meanin’ t’ escape th’ harbor.” Catfeetz snickered. “Easy catch, too. This guy’s a joke. Didn’t even fight back.”

“Hm,” Gremix muttered, scooping the prisoner’s chin with his fingertips to lean his face up to his own. “Identify yourself.”

With a loud, disgusting sniffle, the crybaby choked out “Zubert, sir.”

Gremix smiled ever so slightly. Not often they came in pre-respectful.

“He should be a good bargaining chip for taking down Zippa. If I remember anything about that bitch, it’s that she only has one family member, and it’s this bozo.”

“Seriously?” Catfeetz scoffed. “She should’a had another after this loser popped outta her cooch. Li’l “Zubert” here ain’t fit to lead a cartel; can’t even escape from an island in the dead ‘a night, shit.”

“Please,” Zubert muttered, giving another sniff and peering with frightened, watery eyes between the two overlords, “I don’t have any money, Ma cut me off. There’s no point to keepin’ me.”

“Money?” Gremix barked a laugh, Catfeetz in turn grinning his nefarious grin. “Please; I melted down all the gold I owned to gild my palace.” He raised his arms, gesturing to the room around them, where not only his throne but all the pillars and even the stairs had intricate golden designs decorating the stone. “Money means nothing to us anymore.”

“Who needs money when ya rule th’ world, eh?” Catfeetz said with a chuckle. “Nah, we don’t want yer momma’s dough, kid, we want her dead.”

“Wh-what?!” Zubert’s eyes widened. “Don’t kill my mom! There’s gotta be—I mean, can’t ya jus’ negotiate, or, or…” He swallowed hard, the tears welling up again in an instant.

Gremix rolled his eyes. “What’re we doin’ with him for now?” Gremix asked.

Catfeetz tugged the ropes that bound Zubert’s hands in front of him, leading him closer to the warlock. “Don’t ask me, Boss figured I should give ‘im to you. You got a much less, uh,” Catfeetz squinted one lichlight eye in thought, “open floorplan at your base.”

“I see.” Gremix considered Zubert for a moment. What was he supposed to do with the bawling young man? There was plenty of dungeon space, of course, but if he wanted to use Zubert to negotiate with Madame Steelknuckle, he’d need to stay in decent condition—at first, at least. More could come if she refused to cooperate; but for now…

“Drixzy,” Gremix said flatly. “Come to me.”

The fel-infused rogue was nowhere to be seen in the throne room, but within moments the fast clicking of boots echoed from one of the stone halls and she entered.

“Yes, Master,” Drixzy said, stopping at Gremix’s side and kneeling into a bow. He patted her gently on the blonde head and Catfeetz gave a sharp whistle.

“Well how’d you train her t’ do that? You psychic now too?”

“Hardly,” Gremix laughed, motioning for Drixzy to stand, which she immediately obeyed. Gremix took her hand in one of his own, lifting it to display the golden cuffs that decorated her wrists. “I’ve been working on some fun toys, however.”

Catfeetz gave a vaguely impressed nod. “You’re weird as fuck, brother,” he said. “But whatever floats yer boat. Now take this idiot so I can get back t’ important stuff.”

Gremix turned his head ever so slightly, peering at his faithful servant. “I have a pet for you, my Drixzy.”

Drixzy’s light brows could be seen rising just above the cloth tied over her fel-glow eyes. “For me?” she asked.

“Yup,” Gremix said, Catfeetz handing the confused woman the rope that bound Zubert. She rolled the rope around in her hands, face tilting as she looked at the young man through the unnatural sight granted by her Master. He seemed pretty cute for a guy that had all sorts of gross fluids running down his face.

Gremix raised a hand, placing it gently on one of Zubert’s cheeks—Zubert flinched, but stayed in place, squeezing his eyes shut in fear of whatever the hell was going on. But to his surprise, the hand was warm and inviting… perhaps almost supernaturally so. His body relaxed, his mind emptying of all those worries that had plagued it merely moments before, a warm bliss expanding through his body from his cheek. The longer it stayed there the more unfocused he became, until he felt almost as entranced as he would during a really good fuck. There was a snap in the back of his mind and his focus returned, Zubert finding suddenly that he had been so lost in pleasure he’d almost forgotten where he was. Gremix’s hand had lowered, which he determined to be the cause of the abrupt end to that bizarrely wonderful feeling.

“Wh… what?” he asked, blinking slowly. He wasn’t sure what was going on anymore; but at the same time, he did. The faces around his blurred and came back into focus repeatedly until finally settling into normalcy and he focused on something concrete—Drixzy. She was staring straight at him, Gremix having already left to return to his throne and the general already out the great stone doors. Or, he thought she might have been staring, but surely she couldn’t see him from under that blindfold.

“Take good care of Zubert, child,” Gremix said. A sly smirk sneaked onto his lips as fel-tinged magenta eyes watched the silent exchange. “He’s yours; do as you wish with him in your idle hours. But keep him in okay condition for me, alright?”

“Yes, Master,” Drixzy said, giving a curt nod. “I am ever grateful for your gifts.”

Zubert could do nothing more than blink in puzzlement, his mind still trying to reconnect the dots that all fell apart the moment Gremix touched him. The rope around his wrists tugged him forward and still in a minor daze, he plodded along behind Drixzy as she led him away.

Gremix watched them leave, then casually flipped himself around to lay upon his lavish throne once again. Maybe this will be good for Drixzy, he thought. She’d gotten so moody since his own little “pet” had shown up, after all. Maybe having a little boytoy of her own would keep her quiet, considering how little interest he found in “playing with” her these days. Oh, forget the smooth curves and soft skin—all he could think about was the dark path of tummy hair leading down to the unmentionables of the ex-rebel Rusco; who since leaving, permanently collared, had not shown hide nor hair around the palace. But Gremix knew he’d be back. He bobbed his foot up and down once more, humming a tune to himself as he stared up at high ceilings, lost in pleasantly distracted thought.

Drixzy had brought Zubert to her quarters, but she puzzled over what exactly to do with him. Gremix had never left her a charge, after all. Zubert quietly peered around the room. It had stone walls like the rest of the palace, lit by torches that displayed floating, glowing green crystals instead of fire, a soft blue carpet on the marble floor and an impressively large, luxurious looking bed draped over with sheer canopy… but very little sign of character. There were no wall decorations, no furniture aside from the bed and a dark wooden wardrobe, no knick-knacks, nothing. Was she just a really boring person? Oh, no, it was probably because she was blind, right? Zubert shrugged, turning his attention to his captor.

“Uh, Miss…. Miss Drixzy?” he asked quietly.

Drixzy glanced at him, frowning.

“What?” she snapped.

Zubert flinched at the cold, careless tone of her voice, swallowing.

“Uh, I won’t…. I promise I won’t try nothin’, I swear; so could you untie me?” He raised his bound hands in front of him to emphasize. “My shoulders are crampin’ somethin’ awful an’ I’d love t’ get a good stretch in.”

Drixzy considered him with distrust. “I’m not an idiot,” she hissed. “Now be silent. I need t’ think.”

Zubert wilted a little. “But I—okay…” he muttered. He looked around again but finding no furniture had magically appeared since last time, he just flopped down onto the ground, folding his legs and staring down at his lap miserably.

Drixzy paced the room, her demonic hoof-design heels not issuing their characteristic clicking steps in the downy carpet of the room, leaving the two in an eerie silence as she thought.

What was Gremix expecting her to do? Was this some sort of test? Or was he really just letting her have a person? But why? She was naught but a servant herself, surely she didn’t deserve such a thing. There had to be something else…

A sniffle interrupted her thoughts, Zubert still suffering mild sinus drainage from his earlier cry. She sighed in annoyance.

“Alright,” she said, conceding and striding over to him as she pulled a large dagger from her hip. Zubert perked instantly, holding up his hands with grateful eagerness so she could saw through the rope. As the bindings fell to the ground, he stretched his arms out to his sides with a huge sigh of relief.

“Thanks, Miss Drixzy!” Zubert said with a big smile, continuing to sit. She watched him, but he just… sat there, smiling like a doofus.

“If you so much as raise a hand to me—” she started, but she was cut off quickly by a startled “goodness, no!”

She cocked her head questioningly.

“I’m sorry, that was rude a’ me t’ interrupt, but I swear I wouldn’t ever hurt you, miss. I mean, I know I’m like, a prisoner a’ war or whatever right now, an’ most people would try an’ get away, but, uh…” He chewed his lip a little bit before continuing. “Ma kicked me out, so I wasn’t livin’ nowhere anyways. I don’t got anywhere to run away to, so I think I oughta jus’ comply an’ make it easier for both of us. You don’t gotta worry about me pullin’ nothin’, I’ll jus’ do whatever you tell me to, an’ get to sleep under a roof again.”

Drixzy’s face screwed up in befuddlement. “What? You’re just… acceptin’ your capture?”

“Yup, pretty much,” Zubert said. “If I try ‘an run for it, I’ll definitely get attacked an’ maybe even killed, but if I listen t’ you, I don’t, right? I’m not the best thinker, but even I can see what my best option here is.”

Drixzy nodded slowly, re-sheathing her knife. “Yes. But I don’t trust you, nevertheless.”

“Fair,” Zubert said almost understandingly. “You jus’ met me, after all. But I’ll show you, I’ll be a real good, uh…” he squinted. “D-did that warlock guy say pet?”

Drixzy pursed her lips. “That warlock guy is my master—and by extension, yours as well—The Grand Warlock Gremix Rivensoul, and you will address him with proper respect.”

Zubert hunkered down a little in shame. “Oh, sorry. But th’ question remains… what exactly am I?”

Drixzy let the question bump around in her head for a while. What was he, indeed?

“We’ll see what you prove yourself to be,” Drixzy decided. “It’ll be up to yourself to determine how you are treated, so act mindfully.”

Zubert nodded enthusiastically. “I’ll do my very best!” he said with a big, stupid smile. Why did he keep smiling? It was almost annoying Drixzy; yet at the same time, there was something about the dopey face and big kind eyes that she couldn’t help but find kind of cute.

“Can I ask you some stuff?” Zubert inquired. “T’ get used t’ the way things are here an’ whatever.”

Drixzy sighed. She had nothing to do right now anyways; the family was between ambushes and waiting on something she wasn’t told of (upper management info only, after all). “Fine,” she said, crawling onto her bed until she could plop backwards into the lush pillows. “Ask what you will.”

“Cool!” Zubert chimed. “So firs’ thing’s firs’… uh, can you…. see?”

“Yes, and no,” Drixzy said. “I can see normally, but blindfolded I hold a special form of sight much more intricate than what your own eyes will show you; yet it also conceals some things from me that you can see.” She shrugged slightly. “It’s hard to explain, but for all intents and purposes, just keep in mind I am watchin’ you.”

“Oh!” Zubert exclaimed. “That’s pretty cool. So what do I look like under there?”

Drixzy scoffed. “If you aren’t gonna ask relevant questions, then just keep yer mouth shut.”

Zubert wilted a little again. “I’m sorry, I was jus’ curious.” He pondered a moment. “So what was, uh—” he squinted, trying to find the right words—"what th’ heck happened t’ me out there? Th’ Grand Warlock guy touched my face an’ I got real dizzy an’ weird feelin’.”

“That was a gift,” Drixzy said, her voice softening as though the words were a happy sigh. “The Master’s Blessing is the promise of sheer bliss as reward for obedience. All who follow him melt at his tender touch.” Drixzy’s voice wandered off dreamily, the goblin seeming to zone out for a second. Coming back to herself, she continued, “when you do good, he rewards you with more. If you do poorly…” Drixzy frowned. “Well, just don’t anger the Grand Warlock and you’ll never need to find out the rest of that sentence.”

Zubert gave a curt nod. “Noted,” he said. He thought for another moment, then posed his next question. “Who’s that guy that brought me here?”

“General Catfeetz leads the military side of the family,” Drixzy said, crossing her legs comfortably. It was strange, but she was finding herself enjoying talking to Zubert—she couldn’t remember the last time she just had a conversation with someone that wasn’t instructions, commands or other work issues.

Zubert stifled a laugh but a pfffft escaped his lips anyways. “C-catfeetz? That’s the dude’s name? Really?”

Drixzy scowled. “He’s no laughing matter.” Her face dropped once more into a stern serious look. “General Catfeetz is powerful, ruthless, and cruel. He leads through fear—his soldiers know that dyin’ in battle is a merciful end compared to what he’ll do to them if they fail or betray him.”

“Yikes,” Zubert muttered. “Okay. He was pretty buff so I didn’t wanna mess with him anyways, but that’s probably good to know.”

Drixzy breathed a laugh, then tilting her head back such that she would be looking at him down her nose, she said “come up here,” patting the bed beside her with one leisurely hand.

Zubert’s ears flicked upwards, the tips noticeably reddening along with his cheeks. “Oh! Uh. Are you sure? I mean, that’s your bed and—”

“NOW.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Zubert leapt to his feet, almost falling over in his haste before scrambling over and onto the bed. Crawling over, he warily laid beside her–not because he was scared, but rather, uncertain of her boundaries.

“Do you have any more questions?” she asked him.

“Lots!” he said with another dumb smile. And those… cute dumb… biceps. A thought crept into the back of her mind. Did Gremix hand over this tiny beefcake to preoccupy her? She wasn’t sure if she should be hurt or happy for the gesture if that were so; sure, maybe he was trying to make her feel better about his own lack of attention, but shoving another man at her to do it for him? She rolled onto her side, leaning her head into a hand to look at the guy as he went on with another question about the palace. There was something so nice about just talking, though—she would worry about that all later.

To Drixzy’s surprise, the young Steelknuckle heir did in fact stick to his word. She left him untied in her bedroom for hours at a time and when she would return, he was sitting there waiting patiently for her. Sure, she’d left a guard at the door just in case, but it became clear in short time there was no need. For some reason, Zubert was genuinely just going along with it all. She was baffled, having seen so much resistance against Gremix’s rule from those who were brought in since the uprising. But here was this guy, brought in against his will, just cheerily doing as she said without batting an eyelash over it.

Oh, and she told him to do things. Before long, he was following her around the palace to do her bidding at a whim—lift this, move that, and for the love of the Light, please take off your shirt first. Over time she chose to decorate him: clasping a sparkling gemmed leather collar tight around his throat, combing his hair up however she liked, painting his nails, and dressing him in tight pants and minimal other clothing. Slowly but surely, she became accustomed to the idea… he was hers. Her pet. Her toy. Hers to do with whatever she pleased. And she wanted to do some things, admittedly. But a thought nagged at her.

She was Gremix’s.

And so it came, an awkward conversation she was about two convincing words away from not going through with:

“May I have sex with him?”

Gremix stared blankly at the blindfolded blonde from behind the war table, where maps and notes and other miscellaneous papers were spread out and pinned with meticulous planning.

“What?” Gremix asked. “What do you think I gave him to ya for?”

Drixzy’s shoulders rose in embarrassment, her ears pinning. “O-oh!” she said quietly. “It’s just that, Master, my body is yours, an’…”

Gremix strode around the table, approaching her and laying his hands on her cheeks, drawing her face close to his own, his touch enough to make her hitch a breath.

“You are, and always will be mine,” he agreed in a low voice. “And since you are mine, you are mine to treat; and the Steelknuckle boy is your treat. I care not what you do with him. Sleep with him or hang him upside-down from the ceiling with a burning candle shoved in his ass for 12 hours, it don’t matter to me.”

Drixzy swallowed, giving a tiny nod.

“After it all, you will still be mine,” Gremix said, dropping his hands to her waist and moving his face in closer until their cheeks brushed together and he could speak directly into her ear in a near-whisper that sent a shiver down her spine, “because I do it better.”

Drixzy gave a nervous laugh—the closeness had her heating up in an almost pavlovian response to his physical attention. Oh, why Zubert? Why Zubert when her master was here, so warm, so gentle, so full of that delicious power that seeped in through her skin and made her sigh in pleasure and press her body into his. Gentle kisses on her neck were enough to drive her crazy normally, but oh, when he put his Fel into it… She simply wanted to dissolve into him where they stood.

“Master,” she said breathily, “please…”

A quiet chuckle in her ear denied her request, and Gremix backed away, to her massive disappointment. She felt so hot and her heart was pounding, and she wanted him so badly—but he shook his head.

“I’m very busy, silly girl. You’re hot an’ bothered now, ain’tcha? Go use it on your little pet. I bet he’ll appreciate it.” He gave her a smile that almost seemed kind, and in that moment, she thought of the doofusy grin of the foolish loyal man set away in her boudoir, no doubt cheerily awaiting her return. She gave a quick nod.

“Thank you, Master,” she said quietly, and left him to his planning.

Probably needless to say, Zubert had no complaint when the woman returned, her calm steps devolving into a near sprint when she had the door closed behind her, then becoming a leap that resulted in her tackling him onto the mattress. He only blinked up at her and gave one of those stupid, cute smiles of his. Damn that smile! She would be rid of it, by pressing her mouth to his.

And oh, what a kiss—at least, for Zubert. There was that feeling again. That dizzy, almost orgasmic fuzziness that Gremix’s touch had caused. There was no need to convince the more-than-willing young man, but had he been resistant before, he surely would have caved in to her desires as the wave of pure, unadulterated, unnatural bliss came over him.

She pulled her face away only barely, and without bothering to catch her breath as his eyes dazedly cracked open, she panted out a simple command:

“Fuck me.”

“H’okay.”

Didn’t need to tell him twice.

And so things continued; Drixzy freely indulging herself for satisfaction from the frustration that Gremix’s continued general absence caused, with whom she decided to call her “attendant”. After all, he did attend to her every need, there seemed no better term. Zubert liked it better than “slave”, anyways.

But it wasn’t just his servitude, sexual or otherwise, that kept her interest. For some reason, he liked to just talk. And it continued to seem so strange to her, just talking, about anything. Zubert talked to her about ships, about Steelknuckle isles in their heyday, about the ocean and fish and food he liked and something funny his friend said once… She herself kept quieter, content to just listen to him and interject when he asked her something. She would openly answer most things about the family but wouldn’t speak of her past. He’d only brought it up once, but her sharp, instant demand that he never inquire again ended that line of curiosity right quick.

Months passed by as such. Zubert became a palace-wide spectacle: guards would snicker at his slutty outfits as he passed by, plodding along behind Drixzy as she went about her daily business. Others whispered rumors of who he might be or where he came from—perhaps simply a hapless commoner Drixzy found attractive? A relative of one of the generals? One such rumor that wasn’t held by many as true said he was in fact the heir to an entire cartel. Nobody asked, however. After all, nobody dared talk to Drixzy about anything besides work.

“New batch of prisoners, here!”

Catfeetz’s lieutenant arrived with a posse of guards to the castle, a string of captured rebels in tow to be offered up to Gremix’s forces. As per the usual routine, they were brought to a dungeon and stripped to their underthings, chains around their necks hooked to the stone floor ahead of them, keeping them kneeling uncomfortably as a pair of shackles attached to their wrist from another short chain behind them kept them forced upright. It was a pretty typical bunch of rebels, some jeering and spitting when their gags and blindfolds were removed, the others solemn and quiet. One by one, Gremix offered his “Blessing”, and they either accepted it or were killed. Drixzy stood by—and as she did, so did Zubert—much to his horror, as he watched those who rejected the Grand Warlock quickly offed by a skilled slice of Drixzy’s poisoned blades across their throats. Luckily, it seemed the more common answer to “do you want to die or live in heavenly bliss serving me” tended to lean to the latter, but the blood oozing over the stone floors from the first who’d denied the gift was enough to make him feel ill.

The Grand Warlock was halfway through the set of rebels when the next one he approached was a rather tall, fluffy-white-haired goblin who was sobbing hopelessly into his gag, hiccupping and rocking himself back and forth the little amount the chains would allow. Gremix rolled his eyes, and removing the gag and blindfold from this one, was met with what was probably the most terrified face he’d ever encountered during a conversion.

The goblin didn’t jeer or spit; in fact, he said nothing, only making a tiny throat squeak as he tried uselessly to liquify into the floor and away from the green glow that pulsed within the warlock’s pupils.

“Don’t be afraid,” Gremix started, gently, as usual, but he didn’t get very far before the captive broke into full bawling again. He gave an agitated sigh, standing and patting dust off the robe at his knees.

“This one’s defective,” he said, waving a hand at the crying mess to signal Drixzy to end him as he stepped over to the next goblin.

Drixzy drew her blade and started towards the young man, who was all but balled up now. But she only made it one loud-clicking step before she felt a tug—a hand on her arm. She looked back to see Zubert with a panicked expression. He didn’t know what he wanted to say, and even if he did he didn’t think he could get words out without puking at the moment anyways, so he just shook his head over and over, beseeching her with pleading eyes.

Gremix, noticing the uncharacteristic hesitation, looked back at the two with a scowl. “What’s keepin’ ya? Get to it, Drixzy." Drixzy glanced at Gremix briefly before inspecting Zubert’s desperate head-shaking once more.

“Yes, Master,” she said, brushing Zubert’s hand from her arm, the musclebound servant wilting in hopelessness as she left his side to do the deed.

The crying captive lifted his head only slightly to see his oncoming killer, and for just a moment, his eyes met what would have been Drixzy’s, were they uncovered—but the moment was the same regardless. The tearstains streaking his cheeks, face and eyes red and puffy, afraid… Drixzy suddenly understood why Zubert wanted to stop her. He was just another Zubert.

“Master,” Drixzy said, tentatively. “I’m sorry if I am oversteppin’, but…”

Gremix’s eyes narrowed as he eyed her with suspicion.

“May I have this one?”

The suspicious look fell to make way for one of surprise instead.

“What?” Gremix peered down at the chained goblin, who was still apparently attempting to burrow into his own being, head once more tucked down into his chest. Gremix made a disgusted face at the wretch before letting his gaze return to Drixzy. “You… want that pathetic thing?”

Drixzy fidgeted with her dagger. “Do you… remember when your Rusco was here?”

Gremix remained silent, so she continued; “He was defiant, but you didn’t have me kill him, because you looked at him and saw something you liked, right?”

The sobbing continued, but tear and terror-filled eyes were once again barely peering up at the people openly discussing his fate. His gaze wandered the room, where it then met that of a person the bound goblin hadn’t noticed before—Zubert stood back in the shadows, wringing his hands anxiously and giving the guy a forced hopeful smile before he burrowed into himself again.

“So you’re saying you see somethin’ in this trash heap that you like?”

Drixzy’s mind buzzed as she flipped through every explanation she could think of, trying to find the one that was truest.

“I have a thing for beta males,” she decided on, pointing behind herself with a thumb directed at Zubert—the comment said so flatly that Gremix couldn’t help but bark a laugh in return.

“Fine, fine.” Gremix said, shaking his head in bemusement. “You’re not getting another until one of these ones die, though, got it?”

“Yes, Master,” Drixzy said, glancing back at Zubert who had perked up significantly, and was now eagerly bouncing in wait for her word.

“Take him to my room,” she said to Zubert. “Chain him and return to me here.”

Zubert stood up straight, puffing out his chest and giving a firm salute. “Yes, ma’am!” he said, then hopping over to the person whose life he had just saved to unlock the chains.

“Wh-what?!” came the first words from the mouth of the crying but otherwise until now silent prisoner.

“Gag him,” Gremix said with an apathetic wave of his hand, and Zubert paused, picking up the cloth that had been dropped to the floor and re-tying it around the head of a now somewhat struggling goblin.

It took some doing, but he got it on, trying to reassure the frightened goblin that he would be safe and shouldn’t worry… but panic set in, and the captive was having none of it anymore, now desperately pulling against the chains he had no chance of escaping from. Zubert held the chain key tightly, giving an uncertain glance to the others.

“Oh, for the love a’…” Gremix sighed. “Hold him still.”

Zubert nodded, obediently moving behind and holding firmly the shoulders of the soon-to-be “blessed” man. Wide eyes watched in abject horror as hands rose to his face—he tried to jerk his head away but a strong grip from behind turned it back to the Grand Warlock and his warm hands cupped sharp cheeks.

The prisoner choked some sort of noise from behind the gag as green flames burst from the hands on his face, squeezing his eyes shut just to reopen them in confusion a moment later when he felt no burning.

Zubert watched in fascination—he’d never seen the Blessing from a third-party perspective, only having experienced it himself. The flickering flames looked terrifying, but no sound of pain came from the unwitting convert; of course not. After all, it didn’t hurt when it happened to him, either.

“It’s alright, see?” Zubert said quietly, a slight flick of ear the only indication he had been heard.

The flames seemed to be sucked into the held skull, a bright green erupting from behind tear-filled eyes as the convert stiffened—muscles in his shoulders and back twitched feverishly, but it was as though he could not move. The flames gone, Gremix lowered his hands, and the guy slumped forward into himself once again; but this time from sudden wooziness. Heavy, deep breaths came from him like convulsions and with one last horrified glance up, the Fel glow faded from his eyes. A calm seemed to come over him, the shaky anxiety and fear all but nullified.

“I don’t like blessing unwillin’ parties,” Gremix said, rising once more. “You will repay me for havin’ t’ do that later.”

“Yes, Master,” Drixzy said. “Anything, any time. I thank you for allowin’ me this gift.” Her attention turned to Zubert.

“Take him now. And be back quickly,” she said, “you will need to remove the bodies of these insolent rebels when Master finishes the conversion.”

Zubert swallowed hard, not entirely enthusiastic about that specific task, but ever faithful, he unlocked the chains and led the dazed and confused stumbling beanpole of a goblin out of the chamber.

It was quite a while before Zubert returned to Drixzy's room again. When he did, however, he came with a tall glass of water in one hand and a crumbly buttered biscuit in the other.

“Hey!” he chimed as he closed the door behind him with one stubby leg's foot.

Chained to the stone wall in the corner of the room, pressing himself as far into the joint of two walls as he possibly could, the goblin Drixzy had spared eyed him warily.

“Don’t worry,” Zubert said, approaching slowly such as not to startle him. “I’m not gonna hurt you or take you away anywhere. This is where you’ll be staying now.”

The bound goblin shook his head indignantly. Zubert shrugged.

“I mean, you don’t have much choice, y’know? If ya just behave an' listen to Drixzy and the Grand Warlock's every command, you’ll be perfectly fine, like me! Drixzy might even unchain you if you prove you won’t pull any tricks.”

The other man did not look convinced, but Zubert, a few feet away, placed the water and biscuit onto the soft carpet and raised his hands slowly in front of himself.

“Look, don’t kick me or nothin', okay? I’m gonna ungag you, Drixzy said I could. I also snuck you some water an' food, an' it’s the cold water I’m not supposed t' take, too. Figured it might be nice after havin' that thing in your mouth so long.”

A wary nod signaled that Zubert could come closer, though there was still a untrustful stiffening of his shoulders in preparation for some sort of trick… but the cloth loosened and Zubert pulled it away like he said he would, then backed up a few steps and gave him a goofy smile.

Zubert looked him over—the guy was scrawny, and not entirely impressive sitting there in threadbare boxers, but Zubert had to admit he had a thing for tall, lithe people. But more importantly, this dude clearly couldn’t feed himself, arms bound behind his body, so Zubert concluded he had to assist. Well, that was his job, according to Drixzy, right? Helper.

It was a clumsy event, Zubert tilting the glass to a very dry, desperate and eager mouth, such that between the two of their efforts a notable amount of water ran down his chin and onto the carpet; but with a relieved sigh and smacking of finally moistened lips, it was obvious that he’d had enough to satisfy, at least.

Zubert sat beside him, taking the biscuit and breaking off a piece to offer up. The captive sighed, but opened his mouth such that the crumbly bread could be popped into it.

“I’m Zubert, by the way,” Zubert said. “Zubert Steelknuckle.”

Swallowing, his companion simply said “Stix.”

“Nice t' meetcha, Stix!” Zubert said, breaking off another bite-size piece of biscuit. “We’re roommates now, so I hope you’ll stop lookin' so scared of me soon.”

“I don’t wanna stay here,” muttered Stix. “I don’t know where I am, I don’t know what’s going on, I don’t know who any of these people are n' I wanna get outta here!”

He looked the muscley and… tightly panted goblin over pleadingly.

“Y’ have the key, don't'cher? Let me outta here, c’mon.”

Zubert frowned. “No, Drixzy has it. And even if I did, I’m not allowed t' let you leave. If you try to run, I’m just gonna have to escort you back.”

Stix made an agitated sound, opening his mouth for another bite of biscuit, which he chewed in thought for a silent moment.

“Sho then, yer jusht one of ‘em, choo,” he decided, food still in mouth.

“No,” Zubert said with a chuckle. “I’m being held for ransom!” He paused, the cheeky smile on his face slowly dropping until he sort of just looked distressed. “Y’know, t' get my ma out of hidin', so they can kill her.”

Stix balked. “Why do they wanna kill yer mum? And who are they?” He really did seem genuinely confused about everything going on.

Zubert scrutinized the tone of Stix's voice, brows lowering in concern. “You mean, you have no idea about th' Gutshot Takeover?”

“Th’ what? No!” Stix looked appalled.

“Where the heck have you been?”

Stix nodded upwards. “Zeppelin. In fact, I was riding one jus' yesterday for a delivery, and then…” He scowled. “We we’re just passing by th' harbor when a ton of flyin' machines showed up outta nowhere and shot us down!” The goblin's ears lowered slowly. “I… I don’t even know if anyone else…”

Zubert perked; oh no, was Stix about to cry again?

“Hey, hey! Don’t worry. They uh, they like taking prisoners more than jus' killin' folks, cuz they make them join the troops, an' then there’s more of 'em.”

Stix looked horrified. “That doesn’t make me feel any better,” he groaned.

“Oh. Sorry.”

Silence befell them for a few minutes as Zubert fed Stix the rest of the biscuit. As he finished the last bite, licking crumbs from his lips, Stix decided to speak again.

“So, er… explain this whole takeover thing?”

“Oh, sure,” Zubert said, sitting and leaning back against the wall nearby Stix. “I don’t know all the details from their side, but, uh… I guess there was this mafia my ma was makin' deals with, an' they got a little weird an' started talkin' about takin' over Bilgewater's whole thing. Ma cut ties with 'em cuz she thought they were bonkers! But she was a big financial investor, so I think they got mad at her.” He scratched at the side of his face with a ponderous look. “Guess they were serious about takin' over, cuz the Grand Warlock and General Catfeetz are somehow ridiculously powerful, an' all the Bilgewater guys started following 'em because they were toutin' that they would slay Gallywix an' make things better for goblins everywhere. But then it just twisted more 'til they straight up decided they were jus' gonna take over th' whole world, an' now everything’s a big, scary mess. They’ve taken basically all of Azshara, killed Gallywix, an’ I’ve heard some of the followers say there’s a big plan coming to fruition soon.”

Stix looked as though the blood had completely drained from his face. “What the fuck?” he said under his breath.

Zubert shrugged. “I dunno, man, but I didn’t get too bum a deal outta it, so I’m jus' mindin' my own business here, y’know?”

Stix looked pensive for a moment, squinting down at the soft blue carpeting beneath him. “So… if I stay here, I’ll be safe?”

“Yeah!” Zubert said. “Miss Drixzy’s real good to me, an' I know she’ll treat you just as nice. Just you wait.”

Stix nodded, then gave a sigh and sunk into the corner.

“My shoulders hurt,” he grumbled.

Zubert tilted his head, peering at Stix. “Want me t' give 'em a rub?”

“No.” The reply was instant, and Zubert got the feeling Stix wanted minimal contact, so he shrugged it off.

“When's she get in?”

“Miss Drixzy?” Zubert pursed his lips in thought. “Heck, I don’t know. I haven’t seen a clock in so long, I don’t even know what month it is anymore. She don’t have a regular schedule though anyways. Jus’ kinda shows up when she shows up.”

“Oh.”

Silence fell once more, and Stix zoned out, staring at nothing on the ground, probably lost in thought. Zubert figured so, anyways. He certainly didn’t seem to want to talk though, so Zubert just sat there with him quietly.

“You. Up.”

Zubert snapped awake suddenly, blearily blinking and looking around as he lifted a head that had drooped to one side as he unintentionally dozed off. As he came to, he realized the speaker had been Drixzy, and he scrambled to his feet.

“Yes, ma’a—”

He didn’t get to finish his word, as warm lips pressed into his own. He didn’t mind, though, his eyes closing as he happily reciprocated the surprise. Drixzy pulled away and, as though only now remembering the guy, turned her head to Stix, who was staring wide-eyed at the two in what could only be described as pure confusion.

Zubert gestured to Stix with one hand, stepping back to introduce the two.

“Miss Drixzy, this is Stix. He’s a’right.”

“Stix.” Drixzy stared quietly for several moments before Stix leaned closer to Zubert and whispered, “Can she see us?”

“Oh, yeah,” Zubert said.

“How?!”

“Um… magic?”

Stix scowled at the unsatisfactory explanation, peering nervously back at the demonic woman. He couldn’t see half her face, but the tight, thin purple leather of the odd but sexy leotard she wore accentuated all the right things. Maybe this wouldn’t be all that bad.

Drixzy, seeming to have satisfied her staring, once more faced Zubert.

“Unbind his arms.”

“Yes ma’am!” Zubert said, approaching Stix, who cautiously scooched around to face his back to Zubert. The knot took a moment, but soon enough Stix’s sore arms were released, and he pulled them around to his front to rub the ache from his shoulders.

“Th’nks” he muttered, backing into the corner again and glowering his distrust.

“I expect Zubert has caught you up with your current situation?”

Stix glanced to Zubert, who only smiled. Looking back at Drixzy, he gave a single nod.

“Good. Now, I ask if you plan t’ be compliant. You will live well cared-for, and The Master’s blessing will bring you joy. If you choose not to comply, then I will revoke my decision to spare you.”

Stix frowned, giving no answer for several moments.

“Stix,” Zubert said in a gentle, hushed voice, “please answer Miss Drixzy.”

A dirty look was tossed his way, but with a deep breath, Stix finally answered.

“I guess so.”

Drixzy’s stern face gave way to just the faintest hint of a smile. “Prove so and I will let you roam the room freely as Zubert does.”

Stix sighed, leaning his head back to stare at the ceiling, where eerie shadows were cast by the fel-light gems that lit the room. He watched with fascination as one of the shadows seemed to flicker and shift a little despite the still nature of the light. His brows creased, and he decided not to look there anymore.

Drixzy, in a contradictory motion, elegantly flopped onto her soft bed, giving a gentle sigh as she sank into it. Zubert glanced between her and Stix, unsure who he should be near at the time. That was answered for him soon enough, as one of Drixzy’s arms rose and gave a come-hither finger wave.

Zubert shuffled over, crawling up into the bed with her, where she rolled onto her belly and said into the blankets “massage.” Like a good doggie, Zubert obeyed, shifting over to straddle her lower back to get a good angle to start working her shoulders with firm, strong hands.

There wasn’t much else to do but watch, so that’s what Stix did. Watched. Watched as Zubert kneaded at the back of a sexy woman, the cut muscles in his bulky arms flexing noticeably with each movement. Stix was pretty sure this was how one of the smut books he’d read started.

Zubert scooted back a little on top of Drixzy as he moved down to work on her upper back, then eventually moved a little further to work on the mid-back… By then he was straddling her butt, and Stix squinted as he noticed Zubert’s crotch moved against it as he rubbed her. Now he wasn’t “pretty” sure; Stix was 100% sure he’d read this one.

Pleased little “mmm”s escaped Drixzy here and there as Zubert worked, and she squirmed beneath him ever so slightly—Zubert flinched, trying to choke a gasp as a soft, barely-clad behind pressed against his accidental excitement. The woman’s head turned away from the face-smothering position she’d been resting in, and a sly smile could be seen on her lips.

“Pleasure me.”

Stix balked; these two were seriously about to do it in front of him? He glanced around frantically. Was this weird? Should he look away and pretend nothing was happening? Should he watch?

Zubert gave a nervous chuckle. “Uh, y-yes ma’am, but, it’s just…”

Drixzy’s brows furrowed. “What?”

Zubert glanced behind to Stix, who looked startled at the sudden attention.

“I mean, someone’s here.”

Drixzy scoffed. “Then pull around the curtains, you baby.”

“That’s not…” Zubert took a deep breath. “Yeah, alright.”

Stix cleared his throat, mumbling a half-hearted “I mean, it’s, uhm, it’s fine.”

Zubert’s ears perked, one brow lowering in consternation. The gears in his head took a moment, but finally he barked a single laugh, turning back to Drixzy.

“Never mind,” Zubert said, fingers trailing up her back to the small zipper tag at the top of the neck of her leotard.

Stix swallowed. Yup. Zubert was just gonna let him watch. He wasn’t sure if he was excited or mortified, but all things considered, it was hardly torture to watch two very attractive people have sex. Just like the books; except instead of words, it was—he choked on a bit of spit as Zubert tugged down his pants. But… he supposed now the tiny goblin had to have something going on to compensate in some way for his unimpressive stature, and that was it.

The act was certainly something. Drixzy, despite being “bottom”, stayed entirely in control, guiding Zubert’s every action. He was fast to catch on any time she changed what she wanted; Stix, trying to ignore other feelings, thought about how strangely in-tune they were with each other. Did they just have good sexual chemistry?

By the time it was over, Stix was hugging his legs as tightly to himself as possible; his hot, red face nestled into his own knees.

Breathing heavily, the very much naked Drixzy—well, naked but for the blindfold and the golden cuffs on her wrists which glowed faintly with fel runes—sat up and turned her attention to the man in the corner, who swallowed hard, his eyes very much unable to meet her unseen gaze, as they were lost on so many other things.

She ran a hand down the front of her body, tilting her head to the side, curtains of long blonde hair cascading down off her shoulders.

Stix couldn’t say a damn thing. A pathetic sort of squeaking whimper was all he managed, burrowing his head further into his knees, though he simply couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.

Zubert, who had flopped down and not moved even a little bit since they finished up, finally shifted around, pushing himself up onto his elbows to peer over at Stix as well.

“Good show, buddy?” Zubert gave a cheeky grin.

Stix’s hands finally rose to cover his burning face and he curled into himself like a dead shrimp.

“If you behave yourself,” Drixzy said, leaning back into her pillows with her arms folded behind her head, “perhaps I will let you have some fun as well someday.”

A hopeless breathed laugh came from the center of the Stix-ball. “A’right,” his muffled voice could be heard saying. “A’right, a’right. This can’t be real. This is a weird wet dream. Wake up. Wake up.”

Zubert pouted. “You ain’t dreamin’, Stix. Well…” He glanced to Drixzy with a sideward smirk, “…not yet.”

A slight smile crept onto Drixzy’s lips. “Oh, you little ham,” she muttered.

Zubert winked at her, and Stix pulled his head out from the depths of his body to give them both a disbelieving look.

“This is ridiculous.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Zubert said with a content sigh.

Something told Stix that wasn’t true.

Well, he had sort of been wrong. Not entirely, but he became more relaxed over time, though internally terrified still; something about Zubert’s ever-present smiling mug perhaps? Or maybe he was just coming to terms and accepting his fate. Drixzy began to dress him about as strangely as Zubert, and was slowly but surely chipping away at his defensive shell with coos of adoration and compliments. He wasn’t comfortable around her, but she was always a looming figure in this caged life he couldn’t avoid.

He stayed silent, mostly. Zubert would press him for conversation, but more often than not was harshly denied. Sure, he may have been settling in, but he wasn’t gonna be happy about it. He would barely let either Zubert or Drixzy touch him willingly, either—Drixzy would lay a farewell kiss on his angular cheek every time she left for an extended period of time, which required a gentle but firm Zubert to hold him still as he tried to squirm away from it. There was always something about those kisses. They were so, so warm. And for several moments after she pulled away, he would think, maybe this isn’t all so bad. And that thought horrified him more than anything.

The chains stayed. He was too twitchy—Drixzy was hesitant to trust him. Not because she was worried he’d get away, obviously; they’d find him before he even escaped the palace, and that would only be a death sentence. But as he had at least complied as much as to not attempt to claw Zubert’s eyes out when he approached with food and drink, Drixzy decided to offer him a modicum of freedom, via a classic combination of ankle shackle, chain, and an immensely heavy metal ball that couldn’t have been anything as simple as iron or steel. Zubert, shocking nobody, was able to lift the ball without too much struggle, but much as he tugged, Stix couldn’t make it so much as budge, only managing to cut up his ankle trying to pull away from it when the others weren’t around.

This new form of bondage was at least better than before—he was now allowed to be led around the palace by Zubert, who would tote the ball so they could sit in the gardens for fresh air, or to the mess hall where they’d try to haggle the actual good food away from Gremix’s followers, who generally just regarded the two with befuddlement before ignoring them.

One garden trip resulted in, to Zubert’s surprise, the lanky goblin whipping out a half-empty pack of cigarettes and a lighter, which he seemed very excited about.

“Where’d ya get that?” Zubert asked.

Stix wiggled his fingers as he said “cafeteria,” his other hand already popping a cig between his lips.

“You stole it?”

“Duh.”

Zubert looked displeased, but he said nothing more, deciding he would keep quiet about the contraband to Drixzy. At the very least, Stix seemed more relaxed as he smoked than Zubert had seen him in all the time he’d been there.

How long was that now? Weeks? Months?

Zubert’s eyes rose to the sky above the towering garden walls: grey and smoggy as the harbor always was. He had no idea what the date or time was, every day blurring into the next and becoming one conglomerate concept. With a twinge of concern, he realized that he had almost forgotten he hadn’t always been there, there were times before the palace; the memories of which were faint and fading. Steelknuckle Casino, the isles, his mom… Large ears lowered, and his brows knit. Zubert wasn’t often very critical of his current living situation, but sometimes, a creeping realization like that would sneak up and…

“You, uh, ready t’ go back in, ‘r what?”

Zubert seemed to snap out of a daze, blinking over at the floofy-haired thief, who was snubbing the last nub of his cigarette out against the delicate marble seat of the bench they sat on.

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” Zubert hesitated for a second, squinting one eye. What… what had he just been thinking about, again?

Zubert slipped off the bench, and grabbing the chain just above the ball, hefted it up and they headed back inside.

How much time had it been?

Stix stared at the bottom of the bed’s canopy in the dark. He didn’t like it, but what choice did he have when Drixzy wanted him to sleep in the bed? Zubert would haul his ball onto it, the short chain not giving way for escape to the floor.

How much time had it been?

Drixzy rolled over in her sleep, a soft arm coming down atop Stix’s chest and he hitched a breath—but it was nothing, as usual. His eyes dropped to her arm. Slowly, carefully, he pulled one of his own from under the blankets, hovering it just over her green skin in a hesitant moment before gently laying his fingertips upon it. She didn’t react, so he let his palm slide down onto her arm as well; yellow eyes watched her through the dark to be sure she didn’t wake. But then, he stopped.

He had meant to carefully lift and move her arm away, but as his hand rested there, a warming calm came over him and he opted to just leave it resting there. What an odd feeling. What a nice feeling.

His eyelids began to droop, sleep overtaking him.

How much time had it been?

Who cared?

“So what color are your eyes, Miss Drixzy?”

Zubert lay on his belly, his feet kicking back and forth behind him, face perched in two hands as he leaned onto his elbows.

Stix was there, too, his ball and chain keeping him stuck on the bed with them. But he was starting to think he didn’t mind it so much anymore. He’d started talking a bit more, and though he was still uncomfortable with touch, he was much more willing to be within a handful of inches of both Drixzy and Zubert.

“Green,” Stix said. “You can see it through her mask, can’t’cha?”

Drixzy chuckled softly, petting a hand through Zubert’s hair as she relaxed. “You’re right, they are green, now.”

Zubert pursed his lips.

“What color were they before?”

Drixzy frowned. “Before what?”

“You said “now”, didn’t you?”

Drixzy was silent for a few rough moments.

“I don’t… recall.”

“Bet’cha they’re still that color, but just glowy, right?” Stix offered. “Like th’ Grand Dickhead’s, his’re pink but th’ green shit comes from inside, yeah?”

“Oh yeah!” exclaimed Zubert. “We could jus’ look an’ tell you!”

Stix sat up in interest. He had no idea how long he’d been there anymore, but in all that time, he’d always wondered what was beneath the blindfold—and Zubert did too.

“You can’t,” Drixzy said, defensively. “I mustn’t show my eyes to anyone but The Master.”

Stix scoffed. “How’s he gonna know?”

“Yeah, jus’ for a second! It can’t hurt, right?”

Drixzy’s hand paused its petting motion. Admittedly, she had been desperately curious to see what the two boys looked like in the real world; what she saw through the blindfold was vague, forms and shadows of depth, the concept of facial expressions, but not true to life. She chewed her bottom lip for a second.

“Fine, but just for a moment,” she said quietly, sitting up and raising her hands to the back of her head.

Zubert and Stix leaned in, eagerly awaiting the answer to their burning question.

Untied, the strip of dark cloth fell to Drixzy’s lap, and long-lashed eyes slowly opened.

“Holy fuck,” Stix yelped, backing away quickly.

“What?” Drixzy asked, glancing between the two of them. Her eyes were adjusting to the light she so rarely saw, but they tried to take in her people-pets’ forms anyways.

“Your eyes,” Zubert said, his tone low and serious, “they’re so bright with the Fel that I can’t tell.”

Drixzy rubbed at her eyes, blinking away the stars. “Really?” Finally, her eyes focused and landed on Zubert. Oh. He had such a cute baby face… but then from the neck down, was hot. She had not seen that disconnect before. Charming. Her gaze turned to Stix, who swallowed and leaned away as much as he could without falling over. Stix, unlike Zubert, was skinny, tall, and seemed, in a way, slightly worn out; like an old letter from a friend, or a well-loved paperback.

“Your hair is white,” Drixzy stated.

“Y-yeah,” Stix said.

“I could never tell,” she said softly. “I can’t figure out colors very well with this—”

A loud bang interrupted her, and she froze in terror. She was facing the opposite direction, but she was more than aware that that sound was the door being slammed open. Two guards with sharp polearms entered, followed by none other than the Grand Warlock, who walked in calmly, hands folded behind his back.

She had never felt so afraid in her life. The dread was almost tangible; her breath seemed caught in her chest, as though she were choking on the very air. Zubert and Stix could feel it too.

They done fucked up.

“What, exactly, do you think you’re doing, my dear Drixzy?” came Gremix’s voice from behind her back.

Zubert looked frantically between the glowing-eyed woman and the eerily collected warlock, interjecting; “W-I mean, I convinced her t’ take it off! Please don’t be mad at her, it’s my fault.”

“What’re y’ doing, idiot?” Stix hissed under his breath. “You’re gonna get yerself killed!”

“Silence, both of you.”

Zubert’s ears drooped; the command had come from Drixzy.

“Come here,” Gremix said flatly.

Drixzy, swallowing a lump in her throat formed of sheer fear, obliged. Gradually, she backed up to the edge of the bed closer to the door, only turning to face her master as her feet found the floor.

She’d only met his gaze for a split second when she gasped in sudden, sharp pain, stumbling back a step and shooting a hand to her cheek—which was now red and stinging from an unexpected backhand.

“Hey!” Zubert shouted, making a move as though meaning to go defend Drixzy, but Stix grabbed his shoulder and tugged him back.

Tears welled in Drixzy’s eyes and she regarded Gremix fearfully. Despite literally having just slapped her, the warlock seemed just as cool as the moment before, his stern expressionless gaze locked on her.

“I’m sorry, Master,” she said quietly, her voice barely a squeak.

“You certainly are.” Gremix looked over his shoulder, nodding a head to one of the guards. “Take the slaves.”

Drixzy’s ears whipped upwards. “What? Why—they didn’t do anythin’, Master, please!” Despite her objections, the guards headed deeper into the room, seizing Zubert and Stix; the latter trying to make some sort of resistant effort, but Zubert, as ever, allowing himself to be directed without a fight.

“You will put that blindfold back on immediately and wait here for my decision about what happens next,” Gremix said, glancing aside to the guards as they escorted the two young men away. “You will not leave this room; d’you understand me?”

Drixzy wrung the cloth in her hands for a second, but gave a slight nod, and lifted it to her face to tie on once again.

“Do make sure to actually obey my instructions this time,” Gremix concluded with a note of venom as he turned on his heel and strode out after the guards.

Drixzy watched as more guards outside saluted him, then closing her door and, assumedly, guarding it.

Her knees seemed to give out, and she sat on the edge of her bed, trembling.

What had she done?

They stood still, eyes lowered. They didn’t look but they could tell he was staring them down. The warlock’s gaze felt like needles on their skin; Stix, for the first time in quite a while, had begun to shiver.

“It’ll be okay,” Zubert said. “We’ll be okay, don’t worry.”

“Is that what you think?” Gremix asked from where he lounged upon his throne. The guards held the two goblins before him at the bottom of the lordly steps for his consideration, and he’d been picking his brain for the best way to go about his intentions.

Zubert swallowed, not responding. A shaky breath shuddered from beside him. Every instinct told Zubert to pat Stix’s shoulder, or hug him, or anything… but Stix probably wouldn’t have wanted it, anyways.

Gremix observed the two for a few moments, deep in thought. Then, fel-tinged magenta eyes flicked to Zubert.

“Steelknuckle.”

Zubert flinched, but raised his eyes to meet the warlock’s gaze.

“Punch him.”

Both Zubert and Stix looked taken aback.

“Stix? W-why?”

“Jus’ do it. Hard as you can. Straight in the face.”

Stix whimpered, a fearful look tossed Zubert’s way. Zubert shook his head incredulously.

“I can’t punch him… he didn’t do nothin’ to me.”

“Are you defying me?” Gremix asked, one brow raised.

“Uh…” A chill ran down Zubert’s back. “No, no of course not, but, it’s jus’…”

Gremix gave a disappointed click of his tongue.

“And here I thought Drixzy would have done a better job on you.” He slumped back in his throne, stroking his jawline in thought.

“Ah!” Gremix sat up straight suddenly, snapping his fingers before pointing at the guard holding Stix’s ball. “I’ve got jus’ the thing. Why don’t we playtest that lovely new whip I was given last week?”

“Excellent choice, master,” the guard said.

“I will retrieve it for you, Master,” piped up a follower who was coincidentally walking down a hall to the side of the throne room.

“Thank you, child,” Gremix said with a head nod towards the follower, who saluted and jogged off in the direction from which they had originally came.

Stix looked like he might faint.

Zubert raised his eyes, giving Gremix a pleading look. “D-don’t hurt him…! Please.”

Gremix simply stared at him, blinking slowly.

Zubert’s eyes welled with tears. “Please! I—I told him he’d be safe! I told him he’d be okay if he stayed here!” Zubert swallowed back a desperate sob. “Please, he didn’t do anything.”

Stix peered aside at the pleading goblin.

“Don’t… don’t make me a liar.” The tears, having no room left to well, began running down the soft curves of Zubert’s cheeks.

“How odd,” Gremix said. “His face is leaking.” His gaze drifted to the guard holding Zubert. “He should see the doctor to get that looked at, I think.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Master,” said the guard. “I will deliver him.”

Zubert’s brows knit in confusion. “Huh? Doctor?” He got no explanation, however, and was tugged away down a hallway, glancing back at Stix as he turned the corner—their eyes met for just a moment, and Zubert could only feel his stomach sink to his feet. He looked… betrayed.

“No, please,” Zubert sobbed one last time, but the guard jerked him forward and he disappeared from sight.

“Here it is, Master,” said the follower from before, now toting what could only be described as several strands of rusty barbed wire braided together on one end to form a crude steel whip.

“Ah, lovely,” Gremix said with a pleased smile. “Guard, will you do the honors, please?”

“Of course, Master,” the guard behind Stix said. He placed down the heavy ball, stepping away to take the “whip” from the other follower, who then giddily approached Gremix, bowed, and received a gentle brush of his hand on their cheek; a blissful sigh was the last thing from them before they returned to whatever business they had been tending to before.

There was no forewarning, and no words for the feeling, Stix yelping loudly as the steel wires lashed across his back unexpectedly. Fabric and flesh tore, and his eyes overflowed with tears of pain as he tried to gasp his breath back. Suddenly dizzy from the shock, he fell forward to his hands and knees, shaking and huddling into himself. Hateful eyes rose to see the Grand Warlock lounging upon his seat, looking nothing more than bored.

“Why?!” Stix whined. “What’d I do t’ deserve this!?”

“Oh, silly boy: nothing, I’m sure. I’m punishing you…” Gremix said, leaning his cheek into a hand, elbow propped onto the arm of his golden chair, “…but the punishment is not for you.”

Stix’s ears pinned, but he had no time to parse that as the wires struck his back once more, cutting and gouging at already tender, bleeding flesh and causing him to cry out in pain.

Gremix smirked. “Let’s do twenty, shall we?”

“Yes, Master.”

Somewhere deep within the mazes of stone hallways that led underground, Zubert trudged along with his guard. It was creepy enough in the dank, empty halls, but even worse, he kept hearing an eerie screeching sound echoing from somewhere distantly behind.

It seemed they’d walked forever. There was no way Zubert was going to remember the route back… though a nagging voice in the back of his head said that might not be a concern soon. Finally, the guard stopped him, creaking open a heavy metal door plastered with warning and hazard signs, revealing a large room full of whirring medical equipment, steel tables with long sheets of tissue paper spread over them, and…

“Oh, a doctor. I got it.” Zubert said.

“Well, they don’t call me that much anymore,” came a smooth voice from the corner. “No respect, these lot.”

Zubert whipped his head around to identify the speaker. Behind a cluttered desk sat a goblin man with long, fiery red hair pulled back into a ponytail. He was chewing on something and leaning back in his chair with his feet on the desk, clearly comfortable in this odd, chemical-smelling, machine-riddled room.

“What’s this, then?” asked the supposed doctor.

“Test subject.”

The doctor’s brows rose, and his eyes shone excitedly. He kicked off from his desk, chair rolling back enough for him to hop to his feet.

“Can I—?!”

“Non-fatal only.”

The doctor’s cheery face dropped into a disappointed scowl.

“Fine… but I’m never gonna get anywhere on Serum K if you guys don’t give me some expendables!”

“Yeah, yeah,” groaned the guard, shoving Zubert forward into the room. “I’ll let the Master know your concerns.”

The doctor crinkled his nose. “Yeah, sure ya will.”

The guard gave a final wave and a sarcastic “have fun!” as he left, sealing the door behind him.

The doctor turned and gave the tied-up Zubert a strange smile.

“How d’you feel about needles, little man?”

Drixzy hadn’t moved an inch from where she sat. Hours had passed, but she felt frozen. What was going to happen to her? She had spent so long following Gremix faithfully, catering to his every demand for years, and in one foolish moment had thrown that all away. What was she thinking? Why would she do something so stupid?! She rubbed at her temples, mind racing. It was Zubert and Stix—something about them. She was becoming weak for them, forgetting her place… and theirs.

Drixzy gasped, startled from her thoughts as her bedroom door opened once again. A guard’s head popped in.

“The Master calls you. He wishes you to clean up an unsightly mess in the throne room.”

Drixzy, puzzled, stood from her bed to follow the guard out. A mess? Was he making her do chores as punishment?

As soon as she crossed into sight of the throne room, she found herself wishing that true.

She cried out in despair, running into the room with loud, fast CLICK CLICK CLICKs of her boots on the stone. Reaching the center below the throneward stairs, she fell to her knees, hands shaky and unsure of what to do to what she found there… an unsightly mess, indeed. Stix was unconscious, his shirt shred to pieces and his back all but mutilated and losing him significant amounts of blood. She turned her head to the throne to see Gremix seated there, staring down at her, expressionless and cold.

“Master--!”

He raised a hand, flicking his wrist to toss something down at her. Drixzy caught it skillfully, whatever it was, and she brought it close to herself to see it. Small, green, and lightly glowing, it appeared to be a minor healthstone.

“Embed that into his back, an’ clean him up; you might have a chance to keep him alive yet, my pet.”

Drixzy swallowed back tears, brushing one hand’s fingers through bloodstained hair—hair she now knew was white. And this is what he got for her knowing.

“Oh, Stix, I’m so sorry,” she muttered into his ear as she stooped down to lift his limp body. Plenty of guards and other followers were around, and they watched her quietly, some whispering to one another, but not a one offering to help as she hurriedly part-carried, part-dragged the significantly taller, bloodied goblin away.

His eyes didn’t open right away when his consciousness returned to him. Stix pondered in the darkness of his mind if he was dead. Was he in the afterlife? The afterlife felt like a very comfy bed. But slowly his senses returned to him, and he could make out quiet noises. Little subtle sounds that signaled that another person was around. Well, he certainly couldn’t be dead, then; his happiest afterlife, he thought, would be free from dealing with other people ever again. He was already not keen on most people, and recent events were really only setting the roots of that feeling even deeper.

Recent events?

His eyes finally cracked open, just to see nothing but darkness. Wait, was he dead? He lifted his head—no, he just had his face in a pillow, after all. Damn.

He regretted the movement instantly.

“Nnngh--!!” Stix groaned as he winced, plummeting his face back into soft feathery pillows.

“Don’t move!” came a concerned voice from somewhere nearby. Drixzy’s voice.

He only groaned again.

“You’re injured, just lay still and rest,” she said. Her voice was soft, delicate… sad.

He didn’t want to feel bad for her—he was the one who suffered for her! And yet, the tone of her voice seemed to tug at his heart. What annoying, confusing, conflicting feelings he’d had since entering this palace.

“Stix,” Drixzy said, walking over to the side of the bed where he laid, “do you know where Zubert is?”

Stix thought about it. His memories of what happened before he passed out were fuzzy… what was that word again? It had seemed such an odd thing that Gremix said. Oh--

“Doc’r,” came his pillow-muffled response.

Drixzy stumbled backwards as though she had been shoved by the invisible force of his voice.

“D-doctor?!”

“M’hmm.”

“Stay here!” Drixzy said, turning to make a dash out her door, but she paused. “I mean, you probably can’t go anywhere right now if you’d wanted to, but…” Oh, what was she saying? She was in a rush!

The clacking of her boots as she sprinted down halls and around corners echoed throughout the lower chambers. One might have thought that cacophonous sound would be enough for people to keep an eye open, but Drixzy still nearly mowed someone over in her rush. She didn’t stop to apologize. Did she ever stop to apologize? She didn’t remember being polite to followers ever. Why wasn’t she polite to them?

The warning-adorned door smashed open with a loud BANG!, Drixzy immediately yelling, “BAZLEE! WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM!?”

The doctor, this Bazlee, blinked at her, apparently having been in the middle of an experiment; syringe in hand, surgical mask over nose and mouth, and someone green and struggling bound to the metal table before him. Her heart sank. It wasn’t Zubert.

“Hello to you too, Drixzy. Why yes, I’ve been lovely, thanks for asking!”

“Where is he?”

Bazlee looked puzzled. “Whom?”

“Zubert!” Drixzy shouted, fear straining her voice. “He’s—he’s short, an’ has black hair, an’ tattoos, an’ really sexy arms!”

From somewhere deeper in the room came a weak chuckle. Her ears perked and she dashed towards the sound.

She went around a large, humming machine of some sort to find Zubert sprawled out on a stained bedroll on the floor.

“You really think my arms are sexy?” he asked. His voice was but a scratchy wisp of strained breath, his face pale and eyelids drooping.

Drixzy knelt beside him, placing a hand on his cheek. He was cold as ice. She swallowed hard, ears pinning.

“Are you in pain? Can you move?” she asked.

Zubert took a bit to respond, seeming to have to gather the energy to over time.

“Badly. Can’t move.” He gave a weak smile. “I’m sorry, Miss Drixzy. I failed you.”

“No, no, of course you didn’t, don’t say that,” she murmured, cupping his cheeks in her hands.

“He ain’t gonna die, you can chill. Probably, at least. …Maybe.”

Drixzy turned, scrutinizing Bazlee, who had snuck up behind her at some point.

“How do I help him?”

The doctor pursed his lips to one side, giving an exaggerated “hmmmmmmmm…”

“Bazlee! This is no time for your crap!” Drixzy snapped.

He snickered and shrugged.

“I dunno, honestly. Warm him up? I design the poisons, not the antidotes.”

Drixzy huffed. She scooped her arms under Zubert’s back and tried to lift, but with a groan of strained effort, she realized that while the bottom half of Zubert was within her limits, his upper body bulk was far too heavy for her to heft all the way back to her bedroom.

Zubert gave another weak chuckle. “Sorry…”

“Stop apologizing,” Drixzy said, rubbing her hands down her face. What was she going to do?

She scanned her surroundings, seeking anything that could give her an idea—and her eyes landed on Bazlee, who was no longer paying attention to her, instead pulling bloodied rubber gloves from his hands to dispose of.

“Bazlee,” Drixzy started, her voice softer than it had been any time she’d addressed him before, “please, will you help me?”

The doctor eyed her.

“Please—we used to be friends!”

This puzzled the red-haired man, whose brows lowered in concern. “What? When?”

Drixzy paused. When? She could have sworn… her head pounded as she tried to dig up where that thought had come from.

“I… I don’t know.”

Bazlee gave her an incredulous look, but shrugged it off.

“I guess. That useless idiot they just gave me died before I could get anythin’ done, so I could take a break…”

Stix had dozed off, pain wearing him down into sleep again and again, but a clattering awoke him. The sound of the door opening, and what sounded like squeaky wheels…

“Thank you,” Drixzy said, taking one of Bazlee’s hands in her own with a grateful squeeze after they had moved Zubert from the wheeled stretcher they transported him with to the bed.

“Yeah, well,” Bazlee mumbled, pulling his hand away from hers and shaking it off like she’d gotten water or cooties on it. “Next time one of your dudes ends up in my lab, I’m not doin’ this again. Jus’ for the record.”

“You will never see them in there again.”

Bazlee laughed, and taking the stretcher, wheeled it out of the room. A few moments after he closed the door, fast wheel-squeaking could be heard from the halls, along with a “YEEEEAHHHHH!”—then very soon a “WAIT, NO—” and a crashing sound.

Drixzy pursed her lips—she had no time to go attend to the doofus doctor who she could only assume just tried to ride his stretcher down the halls.

“J’fnd’m?” came a muffled voice from pillowed face.

“Yeah,” Drixzy said. “I found him.” She placed a hand tenderly on Zubert’s chest. His breathing was slow and weak.

She tried piling blankets upon blankets upon blankets over him, but nothing she did seemed to warm him, and it seemed the color was completely draining from his body—she’d never seen a green so white. She searched her mind desperately, staring down at her hands. Useless hands! They couldn’t even save her… pets? No, they weren’t pets to her. An ache in her chest denied that term, and she longed for something else. Her eyes drifted from palms to the golden cuffs around her wrists. The fel runes on them flickered and glowed, seeming to move and shift around the surface. She hadn’t quite figured out what these were, but she knew that Gremix had created them, and somehow had been summoning her through them—not by sound, but a strange feeling that emanated from them and crept into her mind when he called her name. Perhaps there was more to the shackles than that. Maybe it was a two-way thing.

“Master,” she whispered. “Please… let me save them.” Zubert watched her, pretty sure he was dying and thus slipping away from reality because Drixzy was definitely talking to her own hands.

Nothing happened—until something did. The runes’ glows shone brighter in a burst of sudden green energy, then faded, the color turning into a vapor that dissipated in the air. What did that mean? What kind of help was that?

But then she felt it. A tug in the back of her mind—like when Gremix called for her, but ever so slightly different. This feeling was not saying “come here.” Instead, it simply said “kiss”.

She was too desperate to question, so she leaned in, and laid a kiss upon Zubert's cold, pallid lips. It was then she understood.

A warmth came from her hands, rising up her arms and into her body. It was the touch of her Master—but not being given to her. It was siphoning through her, and as it rose to her head, she heard a gentle inhale from the near-frozen goblin.

Stix, curious of the quiet shuffling, turned his head just enough that he could peek over with one yellow eye. What he saw, he couldn’t quite explain. Well, he could explain the part that was Drixzy smooching Zubert like she tended to, but the fel glow overflowing from beneath her blindfold and bursting in waves from her wristbands was another thing. The lights seemed to materialize into a green fog, which then drifted around Zubert, where it seemed to then be sucked into him. Miraculously, color was rapidly reappearing in his skin, starting with a golden red in the cheeks and ears signifying not just life but that he was quite enjoying what slowly but surely became a much deeper kiss. Regaining his ability to move, Zubert sat up—hands met faces, silent pleased noises escaped them, and the fel clouds continued until finally Drixzy pulled away. Zubert, half lidded eyes making him seem entranced, tried to lean to follow her, but Drixzy put her hand on his face and for a few seconds they just sat like that. With a twitch of an ear, Zubert seemed to find himself again, though looking confused, and Drixzy lowered her hand.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

Zubert looked down at his hands, turning them around, then moved his arms around a bit. “Yeah! I’m kinda achey, but way better now!” He gave her a perplexed look. “What did you do?”

“I d'no, but I don’t like it,” came a muffled voice to the side.

Drixzy frowned. “Stix, let me heal you too.”

“Hell no!” Stix said, wincing as the slight chest movement only served to reopen barely-scabbed gashes, gushing hot blood into the bandages wrapped over practically his entire torso. “Keep that demon stuff away from me.”

“You’re bleeding profusely and in so much pain, though,” Drixzy said, voice low and concerned.

“Don’t care.”

Drixzy sighed. “I’m sorry. This is all my fault, I failed to take proper care of you both but just ended up hurting you.”

“That’s not true!” argued Zubert.

“Yeah,” Stix agreed, brows lowering into a look of disgust. “You didn’t hurt us, that monster out there on his shiny chair did!”

“Do not speak that way of The Master,” Drixzy said disapprovingly.

“Seriously? How c’n yer stand up for that guy?! Don’t y’ see he’s terrible?” Stix asked indignantly.

“He isn’t,” Drixzy disagreed, slipping off the bed and walking around it to Stix's side. “You don’t know him like I do. You don’t know how he is when we’re alone.”

Stix blinked in disbelief. “Are you even hearin' yerself?”

“Stix,” chided Zubert. “Jus’ stop.”

“No! This is insane, this—nnh!”

He had started to try to push himself up, forgetting until too late that every single movement stung like a razor down his back.

He felt hands on his face, which gently turned his head in the opposite direction, towards Drixzy.

“Don’t,” Stix said. “C-c’mon…”

“It really works, Stix, I feel way better now,” Zubert said, trying to offer some reassurance.

“I’m only helping,” Drixzy insisted.

“I don’t want yer help.”

Drixzy scowled.

“Well, I don’t care what you want. You’re mine, and I’ll do as I will.”

Stix couldn’t exactly back away or fight her off, so he just squeezed his eyes shut as she leaned in, twisting to meet his pillow bound face, and pressed her soft lips onto his.

She hadn’t kissed his lips even once; Stix figured she just had Zubert for that kind of stuff. He certainly didn’t think she’d kiss him, and he certainly didn’t think he would have enjoyed it so much. There was a strange warmth that seemed to seep from her lips, tapping into his own body. His mind became vague; were they using tongue? It was as though his consciousness had left his body to float in a liminal space. It was a painless place, an anxiety-free place. So nice. So heavenly.

He blinked, suddenly finding himself once more in his broken body, strewn across Drixzy’s bed. He felt dazed, yet renewed. Shakily, he pushed himself up to sitting, and Zubert gave an excited applause.

Stix still looked worse for the wear, having lost significant amounts of blood, but as shown by Zubert carefully peeling bloody bandages off the skinny goblin, the horrendous mutilated flesh had closed up quite a bit, thick scabbing holding the cuts closed as though it’d had several days to heal already. Stix shuddered as the cold hit his now-bare torso, then hissed sharply through his teeth—“fuck, it still hurts.”

“Still as much?” Zubert asked concernedly.

Stix considered himself carefully before answering.

“Nah. Less, but it still hurts.”

Drixzy peered down at her bracers, but the runes had died down to their usual faint flickering glow. “I don’t think I can do any more. I’m sorry.”

Stix grumbled, but Zubert, much more enthusiastic about not feeling like he was freezing to death, chimed in with a “you’ve done plenty! More than we could have asked for.”

Drixzy gave him a weak smile, and the door creaked open behind her. She glanced over to see a guard simply holding it open. For a moment she was puzzled, but then she realized why he was there as the back of her mind prickled: come here.

She peered at her boys, both better but tired.

“I’m being called for. Try to get more rest, you two.”

Zubert nodded, Stix giving no acknowledgement of her even having spoken.

Drixzy turned and strode out the door. The call wasn’t coming from the throne room this time. She could sense his power even from afar. He was in his chambers.

With a deep breath, she started down the halls.

She entered slowly, warily. The dim, fel-lit room was same as it always was: cold, slightly spooky, and containing the one thing she was truly afraid of…

Gremix.

“You called for me, Master?”

“Yes,” he answered from where he lay, casually leaned against the strikingly carved and engraved headboard of his luxurious bed, arms crossed behind his head. As usual, he wore a delicate, fancy robe, which spread from his crossed legs like a fish tail.

“Join me.” He pulled his arms from behind to pat the mattress beside him. “You’ll be sleeping with me tonight.”

Her heart skipped a beat—it’d been so long since Gremix had let her sleep with him. She wanted to be excited, but a pit in her stomach warned her that Gremix was probably still very displeased with her. Cautiously, she came forth, hefting herself into the soft bedding and crawling over to lay beside her master. An uncertain hand lifted towards his chest, but she hesitated to touch him.

“It’s fine, dear,” he said with a smile that didn’t look quite genuine.

She laid her hand softly on his chest, scooting in close to him and nuzzling into his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, Master,” she nearly whispered. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“Bygones, bygones,” Gremix said, combing clawed fingers through her nearly-white blonde locks. “What’s up with you lately, huh? Of everyone, I never would have thought you would disobey my direct command.”

She burrowed further into his shoulder in shame.

“I’ve been feelin’ so strange,” Drixzy said. “I keep getting confused. I told Bazlee we used to be friends”—Gremix’s brows furrowed immediately—”but that can’t be true… I don’t remember that, nor did he. I don’t know why I said it.”

“I see,” Gremix said, no note of concern in his tone despite the betrayal of a distressed face. “That’s very silly of you. You never met Bazlee until the Palace.”

“I know… but for a moment, I was so sure.” She frowned and shifted back to look entreatingly at the warlock. “What’s wrong with me, Master? I feel like I’m losing grip on myself.”

Gremix pursed his lips, scrutinizing the woman’s face a moment. Reaching up slowly, he lifted her blindfold up and off her head. She opened her eyes, and as usual, they glowed with unholy intensity.

“Don’t worry, my dear,” Gremix said, a soft tone to his voice that Drixzy hadn’t heard in so long. “I am going to fix you.”

“Thank you, Boss.”

Gremix froze, and the abrupt stiffening of his muscles indicated to Drixzy that something she said was wrong. Her eyes widened, and her hand shot to her mouth, covering it in confused horror.

“Wh… why did I…”

Gremix's ears pinned, slight movements in his jaw a sign of clenched teeth.

“Never. Call me that. Again,” he said, some sort of powerfully serious frustration seeming to bubble inside of him.

“I-I'm sorry, Master—oh!”

Drixzy found herself suddenly flipped onto her back, the warlock hovering above her on his hands and knees. She couldn’t remember the last time Gremix had looked so upset. Or had he ever looked upset?

“Master,” Drixzy started softly, swallowing a lump in her throat, “how… long have we been here?”

The Grand Warlock’s hand slid up the front of her body and he leaned in to her ear, his warm breath giving her goosebumps.

“Always.”

Zubert and Stix had waited a while for her, but Drixzy did not return that night, and they fell asleep sprawled out in the spaciousness of the bed. When they awoke, she still had not returned. It wasn’t until a while after the door guard brought them dinner that the blindfolded young woman came back.

There was something about the way she was walking—hips swaying, each heeled bootstep like a step down the catwalk. Her lips were tight and straight, her posture immaculate. Expressionless.

“Welcome back, Mi—” started Zubert, practically a dog wagging its tail at its owner’s return.

“Silence.”

Zubert paused. Her voice was flat, cold. He glanced aside at Stix, who returned his troubled look.

“On the floor, pets. Where you belong.”

Both guys seemed to wilt a little, scooching themselves off the comfy linens in disappointment. What happened? Drixzy seemed to have completely changed overnight. Zubert thought it felt familiar… Like how she was when he first arrived.

“Drixzy—”

“I said silence.” Drixzy sneered at them, her voice carrying a malice that chilled them to their cores. “I have failed my Master by being too soft on you both. You will learn your places, or else be destroyed.”

Stix paled. Killed, sure; but “destroyed” sounded—somehow—worse.

“Do you understand me?”

Stix and Zubert both nodded fervently.

A smile crept onto her lips, but not the soft, tender smiles from before. It seemed, in a way, sinister. As though merely watching them fear her was a pleasant joke. A horrible realization crept up on both of the guys.

She was smiling just like him.

[tusklovethebook]

CHAPTER II: The Smell of Smoke

         Skies greyed over and as rain drops hit the back of their necks, Vulri and Mizara could swear ash had come down with the downpour. The half-Orc held memories of times long past at bay; the sight of columns of smoke and faded hues of orange were a trigger Mizara wanted not to remember. So, she nuzzled her head on her lover’s neck, letting her mind be filled by Vulri’s sweet susurrus—it made her feel like that scene was not the same, and that she was truly no longer that person.

         “I don’t know what’s goin’ on o’er the hills, but there’s no way in the Nine Hells I’m keepin’ on this track. Yah!” Vulri exclaimed with a pull of the reins.

         The contents of the wagon could very well had been thought worthless to the likes of Vulri and Mizara, but the half-Elf knew bandits found ways of justifying their actions more often than naught. While arms and rations would inject them with enough hot blood to awaken a sleeping ogre, the prospect of selling unusual wares at a steep price to nobles would surely be inspiring.

         As such, they decided to make their way over Felderwin instead of through it. It would cost them time, surely, but the half-Elven mercenary had spent enough time in arduous situations to invite them warmly her way. With Mizara by her side, Vulri had become extra cautious, especially due to the way she looked up at her in times like those.

         Petrichor had settled now, as the rain began to pick up; Vulri’s wood Elven ancestry relished in the way nature found her way to cover up the smell of smoke that filled Vulri’s nostrils half-an-hour before. She inhaled sharply and sighed, water tracing long lines across her tanned face. Mizara perched up, bringing the hood from her cloak over her damp hair.

         “You’re going to catch a cold if you don’t cover yourself up, Vee. I didn’t bring that much medicine with us, yeah?”

         “Yeah, yeah. Not of’en you tell me to cover myself, though.” Vulri said grinning proudly.

         “Vee. I love you very dearly, but if you get sick on this forsaken cart, I will leave you by a ditch as a lesson. Let your ranger ass help you then.”

         “Fineeeee…” Vulri’s cloak was a weathered shade of green, like a poorly-kept painting of an overgrown forest. Her hood fell over her hair, both dripping wet. Mizara inspected the smile underneath. “Happy now, baby?”

         “Don’t baby me, baby... You cheeky bitch.” Their laughter let no tension build—no relationship between half-Elves and half-Orcs would be complete without bantering foreplay.

         They had travelled together often before settling in Zadash. Hupperdook was where they first met, first kissed and first made love. For a woman like Vulri, it had always surprised her how every time they embraced after that, it still felt the same. She knew then, it was time to settle down. Mizara’s history was something Vulri learned with time, and while the half-Orc feared Vulri would turn her back on her, she stayed. Vulri always told her that she was prouder in her honesty and resilience than Mizara could ever be of Vulri’s anything. Of course, she poked fun of Mizara’s tears shed in response, only by kissing her cheeks dry afterwards.

         Vulri remembered that along the northern road lied a modest-looking inn. Sunkissed orange roof tiles, flaking white walls with dark oaken beams framing the whole building. She had never been inside with Mizara, but she remembered their service. Sufficient.

           There they would rest for the night, with the cart tarp-covered and paid for out back. Vulri made sure to not mention the nature of the cargo or even point out its importance too much. Wanton ears were always perched for outsider talk, and this inn would be no different. The inside was warm and welcoming, despite The Spotted Dog’s exterior. A central fireplace was lit—its bright flames slowly baking the freshly-made loafs of bread sitting on a tray. Cast-iron sconces held repurposed torches and patrons all around spread their merriment and alcohol all over the inn’s floors.

         “Where you wanna sit, Miz?” Vulri stepped aside, a barmaid ploughing through with a tray of empty mugs reeking of honey and bitter fruits.

         “I uh, don’t know, somewhere quiet…er? Seems bit too busy around here.” Mizara tugged on her cloak, hiding her dress underneath.

         Mizara could deal with the busy streets of Zadash easily, as she was accustomed to the sounds and people. The colours and smells made it all more interesting, and nothing about that city compared to Hupperdook. The chaos was what first drew her to it, along with following the Crowmen, a personal favourite Gnome bard band. Tight, crowded places however, were never Mizara’s favourite. They felt like vines around her neck and her ears felt they could pop at any second. Her jaw tensed and she could feel her tusks dig into her upper lip. That inn was just the same.

         “Here…” Vulri grabbed her hand and slowly led her to a side room, watching her head on the overhanging beams.

         The warmth from the common room lingering past the door frame, but the further in they walked, the colder it got. A few farmhands and adventurers sat sporadically across multiple tables, and yet a small table stood defiantly alone at the end of the room. Vulri and Mizara picked up their pace and soon sat on the same side, cuddling on the sturdier bench.

A barmaid made her way towards them soon. After taking their order, she crouched down by the end of the room and began to pile up a couple of logs of wood. As she lit the small twigs and dried leaves underneath, she looked to Mizara and Vulri with a smile.

         “Seems strange to light fires here, y’know? With what’s goin’ on in Felderwind.”

         “We saw the smoke,” Mizara replied quickly, “do you know what happened?”

         “War’s comin’ closer and closer, love. That’s what happened.”

         She bowed her head, her lips pushed together into a tight smile. Vulri cleared her throat and brought Mizara closer, their cloaks still damp from the rain outside. There was only so much she could do from there, and if holding her loved one close was an option, she would do that in a heartbeat.

         Food came in hot but later than expected. The inn had become busier in the common room, which somewhat relaxed the half-Elf and half-Orc that managed to hide away, tucked by the corner of a side room. Honey-glazed carrots, fried dumplings and roasted vegetables, complimented by fresh bread and rice. That was the last of Vulri’s silver off her pouch—but well worth it. They devoured what was in front of them at their own pace, letting the sweetness of the carrots linger around their tongues before filling their mouths with bread. Soon, Mizara was licking her fingers clean while sighing happily. Vulri however, still took her time, while simultaneously pecking away at the remains from her lover’s plate.

         Night had slowly come to rest outside, the dark veil covering the sky fully. Inside The Spotted Dog, the side room was somewhat poorly-lit by the wall sconces and the dimming fire put together by the barmaid an hour or so ago. Before Vulri could stand to fetch another round of drinks, Mizara laid her hand on her shoulder, and another on her thigh. Vulri looked around, inquisitively. Most people had gone into the common room or left, and the ones that stayed paid them no mind. As Vulri opened her mouth, Mizara squeezed between the bench and table and kneeled underneath the weathered wood surface. By then, her cloak was not only dry, but encompassing all of Vulri’s lower body.

         “Uh… Miz?” Vulri’s voice was a whisper that none but Mizara could hear. She adjusted herself on her seat, before feeling the tug of the half-Orc’s hands on her breeches.

         The laces were undone and slowly, the half-Elf’s breeches began being pulled slowly down to her ankles. Hands crawled up her legs, nails tracing lines up to the side of her buttocks. There, Mizara squeezed heartily while pulling her close. Vulri lost her composure and cleared her throat, a hot flush covering her red cheeks.

         “Oh, my fuck.”

         “Sshhh...”

         Vulri felt her breath between her thighs, her kisses climbing up to the peak that she crowned with a faint moan. The half-Elf coughed again, drawing the attention of the barmaid who stepped in with an empty tray.

         “You alright, love? Can I get you anything?”

         “I uh, hah, uh, no, I’m good.”

         “You sure? Another round of drinks perhaps? Where’s your friend? The half-Orc lady.”

         “Round of drinks sounds nice, uh yeah. Oh, she went to the loo. She’ll be back in time for drinks.”

         “Alright. Want me to stoke the fire for you?”

         Tusks sunk into her thigh. Vulri yelped and laughed.

         “Yeah! I just got a shiver down my spine. It’s gettin’ a bit chilly!”

         “Right? Ugh, cold nights this side of the river, love. I’ll do that after I’m back with another round. More of the same?”

         Vulri could feel her tongue parting her lips, the hot air exhaling through Mizara’s nose. Vulri looked down at her plate being taken away and nodded aggressively.

         “Yup, mmhm, thank you.”

         The barmaid smiled and turned on her heels, tray now filled with dirty dishes. Slowly, Mizara crept up from underneath the table with a wide, wet grin.

         “You’re welcome… love,” Mizara kissed Vulri’s bright red cheek, ignoring her furrowed brow. Before she could retaliate, Mizara sucked on the half-Elf’s earlobe and whispered gently. “I want you to sit on my face tonight and I want us to be pissed drunk. Let’s worry about work tomorrow.”

         Vulri growled under her breath, a smile forming on her lips. “Your wish is my fucking command.”

[huntergoebel]

Week 3 SOMD Intimacy with God and Blazing Foxes

Ywam Los Angeles

So last week I gave you guys a really lengthy (but necessary) origin story to my walk with God.  This week is different!  This week I've been practicing a better "Outward Mindset" to right my wrong relationships, but not just for my sake or theirs, but for the sake of His kingdom being built here.  

My week started out with a new speaker at my school.  Kenny Peavy was his name, and his topic was somewhat of a mystery.  To this day, I still don't know what he was actually supposed to talk about. However, he ushered in the Holy Spirit and from there it was awesome every session.  He immediately got us in the temperament of letting the Spirit lead his lectures, our mindsets, our prayers, and eventually our character.  For me, the Holy Spirit showed me an intimacy with God that was unknown to me, but still felt extremely familiar.  The first night, Kenny challenged us that anytime the Holy Spirit speaks, He moves us to a new place, whether that’s in attitude or spirit or both.  I've really been caught up in believing I had already "peaked" in my knowledge of how exactly He does, and always will, interact with me.  Dang, I was so wrong.

In worship that night, God asked me if I could kneel in prayer to him, which I don't really remember ever doing in prayer, or worship for that matter.  I did kneel, and then had one of the most intense encounters with the Holy Spirit I've ever had.  It wasn't as if the kneeling itself was some mystical solution to an equation, rather it was a way of submission and of response to him taking my heart to a new place.  I heard God clearer than I had in quite a long while and when I asked, He answered.  I felt like a son.  I thought I had separated my idea of God from my idea of my earthly Dad, but I guess i hadn't.  My dad wasn't harsh but he was always so stoic growing up, he never really wrestled with me, and he avoided things like hugs and touchy affection.  I knew dad loved me to death, but he just was not affectionate.  

Now, everybody talks about God being "Papa" which made me super uncomfortable, and still does.  People talk about his Spirit being intimate and playful and close, which I just figured was how he was with 'those' people; not me.  As soon as I got on my knees, God met me in the affectionate way that I had wanted to dream about. I called him “Dad” for the first time and it didn't feel like I was talking to some hard-boiled Dad like my own. It felt like I was talking to to the actually gentle and intimate Dad that God is to us. The biggest feeling I felt that I'm able to describe perfectly is “rest”. For the first time in years, I felt like my soul was in a state of actual rest, amidst all my sin and angst and clouded hope.  All that inner confusion, stress, and bitterness was gone and I just got to be God's child for a little while.  That would've been enough for me, but it doesn't stop there.  I know I can feel that intimacy all the time if I let Him.  To make that happen, from now on, He’s not just my father, He’s my Dad.  Since then, 6 days prior writing this, I've done it!  I've been letting God make me uncomfortable in order to bring me comfort.  It’s really tragic and really beautiful.  I'll tell you know more about how it’s going in blogs to come.  

Next on this weeks agenda, we went camping.  Not just camping, but hiking. Not just hiking, but climbing a mountain, with all of our supplies. I'm not built for hiking, but I did it.  As a matter of fact, I hiked 21 miles all weekend, up and down Mt. Wilson like nobodies business. We learned a little bit about contemplative prayer, which God did a lot more work in me with the whole “intimacy with God” thing.  It was a great trip!  I needed the work out.  I’ve been real flabby the past couple years.  The hikes pushed me past what I thought I could actually climb.  I hurt all over, but I got to know my class really well.  If I ever have to hike or climb or scale any more mountains, I hope i get to do with it with them.  It sounds a bit cheesy, but they really did inspire me to keep going at times, and I can only hope that I was able to help them when they needed it.  

Also I read Ruth, Judges, and 1st Samuel, which are a few of my favorite books to read.  People were weird back then.  In case you forgot, one time Samson caught 300 foxes, and proceeded to tie there tails together in twos.  Oh yeah, WITH TORCHES ABLAZE BETWEEN THEM.  Don't worry, it gets better. Somehow the guy finds a way to transport and coordinate 150 PAIRS OF FOXES with LIT TORCHES through multiple philistine fields; standing grain, vineyards and olive groves to be exact.  Just imagine, you got your little Hebrew tunic attire all hiked up, you're sprinting at full sneak speed around the dry Canaanite wilderness, catching maybe your 2nd fox?  You just put it in the 2nd wooden fox cage of 300 cages you've just made, maybe bought.  Who knows?  From somewhere in your masculine spirit you are deriving enough ambition to seek out and capture an additional 298 (fairly elusive) foxes to fill the other 298 wooden fox cages you've acquired by questionable means.  During this jubilee, do you ever stop and wonder how many foxes there may possibly be in this area you've chosen? Fast forward like, Oh, I don't know, several days of fox catching, in which you've had to probably feed these foxes smaller (potentially more elusive) rodents you probably also had to catch.  Suddenly you are faced with the dilemma of delivering 300 cages of foxes on your families hand-me-down donkey-drawn cart across a desert like environment.  After 30 or so trips to that weird and annoying neighbors fields, you alone, make 300 torches capable of being tied to live animals.  After trial and error, you finally utilize a way to tie all these lit torches, to living, snarling, (depending if you've fed them, very hungry), very pissed foxes, two at a time.  Your arms are bit up, several of the foxes have excreted out of fright, and you are at your wits end (clearly), but you’ve proven you can pretty much tame a few hundred foxes.  Then the final task ahead of you; to direct the foxes with the perfect trajectory to burn your weird neighbors grain, vineyards and olive groves.  After the maybe first 6 or 7 pairs of foxes, you notice that they’ve only made it 20 yards in random directions before they’ve set themselves ablaze. You ignore the whiling fox screams and keep on keepin' on because you're a man and you can't let your people down.  You've made it this far; don't stop now.  Finally, fox pair number 13 has actually rain into a field and it's started a small flame.  There, a little satisfaction in the fire that is reflected in your pupils.  A slim grin can be barely noticed through your filthy beard.  Only 137 pairs to go...

[newportbutane-blog]

Tiki Cocktails 🍸 are on fire, @mimo__prohodil Keepin it lit 🔥 Find the perfect bartending butane torch lighters at NewportButane.com/lighters Make sure you follow @NewportButane for more #tikicocktails (at New Orleans, Louisiana) https://www.instagram.com/p/Bsq0UcxBsNI/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=15dngyupyf0m3

[nydisciple]

🎶There is a light that shiiiinneess special for you aaannnddd me🎶 Much love to Lightworkers, Healers & Empaths for keepin each other's torches lit thru tornadoes...Y'all the real MVPs 👏👏👏 #ADopeSoul