#magic is. a topic i will return to quite a few times i think

[homestuckreplay]

A Hole in the ACE: Anderson, Caveney, Egbert

[This is a deep dive into the pages of Harry Anderson: Wise Guy by Mike Caveney, seen on Homestuck pages 629-630, and its role in the story. About 2.5k words, somehow. A transcript of these pages can be found here.]

=> Read book. Be the wise guy.

Harry Anderson, born in 1952, was a real magician and comedian who achieved mainstream television success in the 1980s and 90s with starring roles in sitcoms and appearances on Saturday Night Live. A street magician since his youth, he continued to tour and perform magic shows well into the 2000s, and opened both a magic shop and a nightclub in New Orleans with his second wife. Wise Guy is the name of a one-man show he presented in his own nightclub beginning in 2005, although he may have used the phrase earlier.

Mike Caveney, born in 1950, has similarly been a magic enthusiast since childhood. As well as performing, he has written over 50 books about magic and its history, including Magic, 1400s-1950s (2009) and of course Harry Anderson: Wise Guy (1993). This is a real book documenting the secrets behind Anderson’s most famous tricks, interspersed with personal anecdotes. John Egbert is lucky to own this – it’s currently out of print, and secondhand editions sell for over $100.

In my attempts to find an online copy of Wise Guy, I found a PDF that billed itself as the book’s introduction, but quickly devolved into a plot summary of Stephen King’s IT. While clearly not the actual introduction, I later learned that Anderson played Richie Tozier in the 1990 television adaptation of IT, which at least explains the connection.

Unfortunately, very little of Wise Guy’s text is available online. One excerpt survives, and accompanies several online publishers’ listings for the book – for example, here. This excerpt describes Harry’s trick ‘The Finger Chopper,’ with his early-career assistant who happened to be missing half a finger. I am almost certain that Andrew Hussie doesn’t own a copy of this book, but that they found this real excerpt, and used it to write their own entirely fake pages for Homestuck.

Some specific phrases appear in both the real excerpt and the Homestuck pages: ‘Here is a perfect example of how Harry could…’ ‘the close up room at the Magic Castle’ and even the full paragraph ‘[he] had one of those little wooden finger choppers that Micky Hades used to sell. The kind where the blade could be removed and clearly shown. It was a very convincing little guillotine that did not look like a novelty store toy. Harry would get a guy to examine the chopper and then cut a cigarette in half. Then he held the guy’s hand up and told this silly story.’

The Magic Castle is a famous performance venue that Anderson really performed at, however it's located in Los Angeles, not New Orleans as the Homestuck version suggests.. Micky Hades is another magician 25 years Anderson and Caveney’s senior, best known for writing and publishing books and magazines on magic. An unverified primary source says that he invented the Finger Chopper while working deep underground in the freezing cold Yellowknife gold mines, which is definitely cool if true.

The rest of what's in Homestuck is invented. In Caveney’s book, Anderson’s trick is successful, no audience members are harmed, and Anderson is presented as a charismatic entertainer in control of the crowd. In Hussie’s version, Anderson’s trick goes horribly wrong, and is presented as overconfident, unpleasant, and ridiculous. There’s a flip back and forth from praising and criticizing Anderson, painting he and Caveney as jilted former business partners who maintain professional respect, or toxic ex-lovers who can’t let each other go.

Hussie also refers to a ‘two foot, six inch height differential’ between Anderson and Caveney, with Anderson implied as the shorter party. Anderson was 6’4”, and while I can’t find a source for Caveney’s height, I think it would have been well documented if Caveney was almost nine feet tall.

Hussie’s version states that once Anderson’s finger chopper trick was successful, he achieved ‘fame, fortune and the crowning position in the television judiciary.’ This refers to his starring role on the sitcom Night Court as Judge Harold T. ‘Harry’ Stone, a 34-year-old night court judge appointed to the bench when none of the other applicants were available to answer their phones. Harry’s methods in the show are unorthodox, including flipping a (secretly double-headed) coin to decide if a woman should go to jail, suggesting in 1984 that the three members of a love triangle try polyamory, and giving a man dressed as Santa information from two teenagers’ government records so that ‘Santa’ could trick the teens into believing in him.

I’d never heard of this show before reading Homestuck, and neither has Rose Lalonde, but John mentions it on p.636. The show appears fairly well received during its original run, winning eight Primetime Emmys, including four consecutive Best Supporting Actor wins for John Larroquette (who withdrew his name from the ballot for future years). I watched a few episodes before making this post and thought the pilot was really great, with subsequent episodes either not living up to its promises, or already feeling stale. It’s over-acted in a way that makes it feel older than its airdate, and definitely tracks as a cheesy thing for John Egbert to enjoy.

The other name mentioned in Hussie’s edition – Blind Willie ‘Buttermilk’ Stubbs – is not a real person, but a legendary jazz musician from Problem Sleuth. This is most likely a reference to the real 1900s blues musician Blind Willie McTell, or the Bob Dylan song of the same name. However, there’s an outside chance it could be another Stephen King connection, as he has a 1994 novella named Blind Willie.

The second trick described in Homestuck, ‘A Hole in the Ace,’ doesn’t appear to be a real Anderson trick. It’s not on this list of the book’s chapter titles, and while I have found evidence of Anderson tearing up cards as part of tricks, I couldn’t find anything about him punching holes. In general this second page is more artistic license and less connected to Anderson’s real life than the first. It seems like this hole-punch trick was invented by Hussie purely to give John the inspiration to advance his alchemy. Narratively this works really well, because John’s not somebody who would come to these ideas by careful thought, but it’s also not satisfying to have Rose always give him the answers.

We’ve seen another Harry Anderson property in John’s room – the fictional video game Call My Bluff, seen on the CD rack (p.31). Although Anderson never had a show named Call My Bluff, in 2000 he hosted an unsold pilot episode of What’s My Line? for Mark Goodson and Bill Todman. Goodson & Todman were famous for creating a variety of TV game shows, including 1965’s Call My Bluff. Is this a coincidence? I genuinely couldn’t tell you.

I really love what Hussie has done with this book. I’d say this qualifies as a transformative work – taking the real text and premise of Wise Guy and mixing it with established MSPA lore, mimicking Caveney’s original writing style while using it to paint a far more absurd picture of Anderson, using it to advance the plot while still feeling like this book could really exist, at least in the Homestuck universe. It shows how much work gets put into Homestuck, even while some plot elements (possibly even John’s decision to read the book) are decided by readers.

=> Read Colonel Sassacre’s text.

Wise Guy is only one of John’s two favorite books. The other of course is Colonel Sassacre’s Daunting Text of Magical Frivolity and Practical Japery, and we’ve now seen inside both. They’re fairly different overall. Sassacre’s is a lot more overwrought and soaked in Southern stereotypes, written like it’s trying to squeeze in as many old-timey Southern words as possible, while Wise Guy focuses on telling a story and creating a character. Both texts lean into some grosser imagery than Homestuck usually goes for, with Sassacre’s describing ‘wriggling regency of rubber bugs, plastic parasites, squirming serpents, pliable pests…’ and Wise Guy mentioning ‘a bloody sausage sized piece of a guy’.

The most direct link between the texts is the uncommon phrase ‘listless octoroon,’ which appears in both. Used in the mid to late 1800s, an octoroon was a social and sometimes legal word for somebody who was one-eighth Black. It’s an offensive term that definitely should not be used to describe a real person, and I don’t think it’s funny in fiction either. It reads like another example of ‘post-racial humor’ where Hussie, a white author, uses Blackness as a joke due to a mistaken belief that racism is a thing of the past. This isn’t the first time this specific brand of humor has appeared in Homestuck, and it’s worrying that it’s becoming a pattern.

Sassacre’s, the ‘family tome of humor’ passed down through Egbert generations, focuses on pranking friends and family members, taking those around you by surprise. Wise Guy, which appears to be John’s own interest, is about performing tricks for an audience – both descriptions of the trick and of the mannerisms surrounding the trick that make it successful, leaning into the draw of the professional magician and the cautionary tale of their failures.

Colonel Sassacre’s relevance to Homestuck has so far been as a physical object. It’s what killed Nanna in her human life, it’s been a heavy item in John’s sylladex that he’s used to set off smoke pellets and slay an imp, it was teased as a Tier 2 sprite prototype, and it was found hidden inside Dad’s safe. In contrast, Wise Guy’s relevance has been about the text inside the book, and John’s interpretation of that text.

Which of course makes me wonder about other books we’ve seen in the story. Data Structures for Assholes, the second book of John’s that’s about A-holes, is clearly written to be so over-the-top it becomes funny (like Sassacre’s) but is used for the same purpose as Wise Guy, teaching John a new game mechanic that helps him advance his own story. Other books we’ve seen but haven’t opened are The Fatherly Gent’s Shaving Almanac, found in Dad’s safe, and the writing journals Rose keeps under her bed. Finally, we’ve seen inside Rose’s Grimoire for Summoning the Zoologically Dubious, however as this book is written in the eldritch tongue, it’s hard to offer meaningful insights.

All of these books have been highlighted when they appear, and are more than just a spine among a bookshelf collection. My guess is that all of these will become relevant to the story at some point, whether as objects or as texts.

=> John: Punch card.

Wise Guy first appeared on p.8 of Homestuck, as part of the contents of John’s MAGIC CHEST (now and forever on the roof), which also contains a picture of Anderson stuck to the inside of the lid. John being an ‘aspiring AMATEUR MAGICIAN’ came up even earlier, on p.4. John claims to love this book, which is ‘one of [his] favorite books of all time’ (p.123), but in truth he only likes specific aspects of the book. In real life, Caveney had great respect for Anderson and wrote his book as a tribute, but this isn’t true in Homestuck – Caveney’s ‘ambivalent attitude toward your favorite magician in these anecdotes always struck [John] as a little weird,’ suggesting that John doesn’t enjoy criticism of his heroes and doesn’t want to engage with the more complex and emotional parts of the text.

John ‘mostly like[s] to look at the diagrams for all the cool tricks.’ Given his aspirations, it makes sense that he’d use it as a manual similar to Sassacre’s instead of a biography – but he’s not reading the book as the author intended. If he did, he’d like it less. In most webcomics, any text is contained within the panels themselves, and any blocks of text below are commentary that isn’t necessary to enjoy the joke or story. MSPA is fairly unique in having narrative text that’s story critical, and I wonder if there are some Homestuck readers who just look at the pictures and think the text is ‘weird’ or extraneous. John’s method of reading Wise Guy fits with the fact that he flits from one thing to another, giving up quickly when something is too much effort, whether that’s hole punching through several cards at once or reading stories that are critical of his hero and hard to understand – but it could also be meta-commentary on readers of Homestuck.

John’s relationship to magic, both past and present, is something I’d really like to see explored in more depth. Now that he has unlimited captchalogue cards and engages with them as physical objects, the possibilities for card tricks are off the charts – and the reasons John likes magic aren't yet known. A magician is a showman, somebody who surprises and delights an audience, but can only do this by concealing much of what they’re doing. A magician has to be a master of their craft and in control of the situation both socially and technically. Magic is believed to be among the oldest performing arts, and while magicians are often thought to be secretive about their tricks, Wise Guy is just one of a huge number of books containing detailed instructions for magic.

John's not usually the character we'd expect to want an air of mystery around himself, but he often tries to hide his emotions, with various degrees of success. He also likes the idea of coding, which is a type of magic - producing an effect (a website) while concealing the methods (lines of code) that went into it. There's not much he's good at yet, but he has the manual dexterity to play piano well, which could translate into sleight of hand tricks. I can see why, as someone who struggles with basically everything, John likes the idea of having a high degree of mastery over something and of making it look effortless. I also see how someone who feels like they're always performing their role in the world, instead of actually embodying it, would gravitate towards being another kind of performer. However, that's just some initial instincts, and as I keep reading and re-reading I'll be on the lookout for more connections between John and stage magic.

Additionally, John now has access to real and powerful magic via alchemy. This is magic that can’t fully be explained by sleight of hand and diagrams in a book, and it’s magic that can provide a shortcut to achieving goals, conjuration instead of illusion. Now that John has this power, will he become disillusioned with the artifice of practical magic, or will he lean into it even harder? Will there continue to be connections between alchemy and the tricks John already knows? Instead of always putting that bunny back in the box, will he start pulling that bunny out of the hat?

Finally, it is surprising that John’s never talked to Rose about Harry Anderson before. Given the depths of his interest, I’d expect it to have come up, but Rose is clueless. When explaining who he is, John says ‘EB: he's awesome EB: that's really all there is to say on the matter!’ which directly calls back to what Dave has said about puppets on p.537. In Dave’s case, he’s trying to convince himself he thinks this, but it’s clear he actually doesn’t. Is it possible that deep down, John actually doesn’t like Harry Anderson? Is magic too close to Egbert family traditions of clowning for John to really feel good exploring it? Is John’s greatest trick of all convincing us that he loves magic?

[sleepiexx]

Valeria Garza x fem reader. Reader and Valeria were once lovers until one day she disappeared and a few years later on a mission to capture El Sin Nombre the reader finds out what she has been doing all this time.

Back When I Loved You

Valeria Garza x fem!Reader

Link to Pt.2

Note: so sorry this took like for-fucking-ever, I’ve been working so fucking much I never write anymore 😭😭 I’m so glad I got this done, I needed to write this. Also, I switched to y/n instead of (Y/N) bc I did a survey and it said most ppl prefer y/n, tell me if u think that’s dumb

Summary: It’s been years since y/n had been stationed in Las Almas, returning opens some old wounds she hadn’t realized never healed.

Warnings: death mention (no one actually dies), soap is a slut, uhhh not much else rlly

Word Count: 3345

Quite a peculiar phenomenon, “the one that got away.” The idea of an old flame that was never allowed to fully ignite and crackle into something beautiful, never quite coming to fruition. The kind of love that leaves you wondering what could have been had circumstances been different, desperately yearning for even the slightest taste of something more.

The topic came up one day as the task force sat around at a bar drinking, waiting for the assignment that they would inevitably have the next day. It started as Gaz recounted the story of how he met a girl before graduation and fell madly for her. Their story ends there with the fact that the moment Gaz realized how he had felt for her, he was being shipped off to boot camp, never to see his lost love ever again. He spoke of how deeply he regretted not pursuing a relationship with her, and how every time he goes home to visit his mother, a tiny part of him hopes to see her again.

Soap went next. Lord knows the man had many, many regrets and many stories regarding his love life, yet one took president in his mind. “She had the softest skin,” he had said, story veering off the main point and getting caught up on the details as it had nearly a million times, once about her hair, three times about her eyes, and now about how “baby soft” her skin was. Eventually— with a little pushing from the others— he told the full story, how he was on vacation, a rarity for him, and how he’d hit it off with this woman. Usually with his one night stands, it was purely sexual, no emotional connection whatsoever. Yet this time, Soap had found himself enchanted. After what he described as a “magical” night, she’d disappeared, and he never got the chance to give her his number.

“What about you, old timer, I’m sure you’ve got an old flame who escaped ya’,” Soap beamed, turning the conversation towards Price who smiled and nodded fondly to himself.

“She was-“ he sighed, “well, she was something.” No matter what he did, he couldn’t escape the smile that creeped up his cheeks as he told the story. A kind lover, she was. Made him breakfast in the mornings, listened as he complained about work— he was just a Lieutenant back then, but she listened. And she was always there. Until she wasn’t. The Captain’s story ever so slowly changed from happily reminiscing and took on a much more somber tone as Price recounted the fighting that led up to his break up with the woman. He had been coming up on the end of his contract with the British Army and she had wanted him to stay with her, start a family, but Price had been in the military for a long time. He had no clue what life would even be like outside of the Army. And so he reenlisted. He spoke about how deeply he regretted that, how there were nights that he woke up and just imagined how his life could have panned out had he stayed with her. Would he be awoken by their kids pouncing up and down on him, rather than the ever-present nightmares he gets as his current wake up call? He would never know, and that would haunt him to this day.

Price took a big swig of whiskey at the melancholy thought, turning the attention toward y/n, “What about you, kid? You’re still young, hopefully no sad stories yet?”

Y/n shook her head, “I don’t see it as sad, more so I see it as I’m happy I got that experience. Yeah I’m upset that it never went anywhere but I’m glad that it happened period.” She smiled, happy with her answer but the others stared on with shocked looks. “What?” She asked.

Soap’s eyes were wide, “Well you can’t just say all o’ that and then just not tell us the story.” He shook his head, flabbergasted, “We all told you, save for Ghost but the man’s already very private, so now it’s your turn.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, “yeah, yeah,” she took a sip of her drink, a little liquid courage to help loosen the story out of herself, “I was stationed in Mexico for some time. Beautiful country, beautiful people, I loved every second of it. Every night I would go out with my American buddies on the town and we would just fuck around, have some fun. Well one night I’d gotten separated, maybe it was the alcohol, maybe they ditched me, I don’t know, we don’t really talk anymore so I don’t think I ever will. But anyways, as you do when you’re drunk and alone, I found trouble. Some man came up to me with a knife, tried to rob me, I was really in no state to fight back, but in comes this woman to defend me. I’d seen her around the base before, she was Mexican Special Forces, I knew that. I also knew how goddamn hot she was. With her tattoos running all up and down her toned arms, and how enchanting her deep brown eyes were.”

The team immediately got chatty at that, hyping her up. “L/n with the moves,” one of them had teased. She laughed, feeling blood pumping in her face.

“So anyways, she jumps in and fights the guy for trying to rob me while I was so drunk. I was absolutely slack-jawed. I’d never had anyone fight so fiercely for me in my life, especially not a stranger, and even more especially not a stranger I had a huge crush on. I remember her turning to me, once the dude was down for the count and just saying ‘you okay?’ I can remember her exact tone and god, it made me melt. She walked me back to my barracks and I was done for. The very next day I sought her out and told her I’d buy her a drink to make up for it. Thus started an epic romance.”

Y/n grinned as the others piped in with their little comments, excited to finally get to talk about her lost love after all this time.

“For months we went out together, dancing, talking, drinking, everything else that comes along with a relationship,” she smirked at that, face only dropping as she got the ‘getting away’ part, “and, uh, we were happy, y’know. I could see myself having a future with this woman. But as life has it, I was stationed elsewhere while she had been on a mission. I tried calling the base a few times.” She stopped to collect her breath, “but, uh, I was told that her and her squad went MIA on that mission. Likely killed in action is what they said.”

She sniffled a little bit, hoping it was unnoticeable by her teammates. Shaking her head as she finished her drink, and began to stand she turned to them for a final time, “I’m gonna turn in for the night it’s getting late.”

The rest of them nodded, waiting until she was gone to quietly chat amongst themselves. She was the topic of choice, of course. How bad they all felt for her. How guilty they felt for bringing it up. Ultimately it wasn’t their fault but they felt awful. Not too long after, they themselves all turned in, awaiting what the next day would have for them.

Months later, after many missions, and after the conversation they had had slipped away from them, the task force found themselves on their way to Mexico in search of the infamous cartel leader, El Sin Nombre. No one dared to mention y/n’s past, but of course, they weren’t completely discreet with their fleeting looks.

Despite their knowledge of y/n’s deployment to a base in Mexico, they were still shocked to see that the Colonel as well as some of the soldiers of the Las Almas base knew her.

“Y/n! Long time no see, last I saw you, you were still just a private.” Colonel Alejandro Vargas said, patting her on the shoulder in greeting as the group got off their chopper.

Y/n smirked, “could say the same to you. Wonder who died and made Lieutenant Vargas into the colonel of the Mexican Special Forces.”

Alejandro rolled his eyes and went to counter, but the man next to him made himself known with a contagious laugh. The task force could see sparkles in y/n’s eyes at the sound.

“Rudy!” She shouted, happily enveloping the giggly man into a hug.

“Hi, y/n.” He smiled, hugging her back just as tight.

In the midst of it all, Captain Price couldn’t help but clear his throat to get the group’s attention. “I hate to break this up,” he said, thick British drawl dragging out every word, “but we really do have some pressing matters to take care of.”

Y/n and Rodolfo split, standing at attention. Alejandro spoke for them, “you are right, there will be plenty of time to catch up once this is all over.”

They each nodded in agreement, eager to get to the task at hand.

It was no easy feat. Despite not really keeping up with the news in Las Almas since she had been gone, y/n knew just how bad cartels could get. That paired with the frustration that seemed to radiate from Alejandro every time El Sin Nombre was mentioned, he had to be some bad, bad motherfucker.

Soap went in under no guise or cover, walking right up to the front door and presenting himself like meat to hungry wolves. Y/n and Alejandro, on the other hand, terminated nearly half a dozen cartel soldiers, stealing their masks and outfits to fit right in to the party.

They surveilled Soap throughout, following closely behind, making sure no actual cartel soldiers noticed him. They followed him right to the third floor, right to El Sin Nombre. When the name Valeria left Soap’s mouth after looking through the snake cam, y/n and Alejandro made eye contact, both feeling a similar nausea at the thought.

But they shook it off.

It couldn’t possibly be her, right? She died on a mission targeting the son of La Araña, didn’t she? Sure she was officially determined MIA but a person doesn’t get lost this long, not like this.

Sure enough, as the door burst open, through the hail of bullets being shot across the room both to and from cartel higher ups, there she was.

The shock was evident on y/n’s face as she saw the woman kneeling on the roof. She saw short, dark hair and shook. It’s not her, it can’t be her. But it was. She could tell by the dark eyes carefully watching her every move as she walked behind the woman, pulling her hands down around the woman’s body and behind her back to cuff them.

Y/n prayed the woman couldn’t feel the tremor in her hands, but she knew all too well. Once upon a time the dark-haired woman knew every detail about her, it almost seemed as though that hadn’t changed.

Few words were uttered on the chopper back to the Vaquero’s base— save for a few “shut up Graves,”’s since the man refused to stop talking all smug, as though he was the sole reason El Sin Nombre had finally been caught— but a million things went unsaid as y/n avoided the Vaqueros’ gazes. The rest of the 141 were none the wiser to the fleeting looks that the Vaqueros shared.

The waiting period was long and drawn out as the woman was processed. Of course she had to have her prints and DNA taken, it’s never as simple as getting to talk to her first.

The anticipation was getting to y/n, who was anxiously chewing her nails down to the beds, leaving them jagged and slightly bloody.

The door clicked open, catching the room’s attention, “She’s been fully processed, whenever you’re ready you may begin the interrogation.” The soldier in the doorway stepped aside, clearing the path for the 141, the Colonel, and his second in command to pass.

They walked swiftly and with precision as they borderline-prowled their way down to the storage container that held the woman. Price took the lead as y/n and Alejandro fell behind, dragging their feet. Rudy followed behind the two, making sure neither avoided the inevitable.

Graves was the first to open his mouth, gesturing to both Alejandro and Valeria, “explain how you two know each other?”

Words, glares, and taunts were exchanged as they began the story.

“Go on, tell them.” Alejandro commanded.

Valeria scoffed, “I don’t take orders anymore, even the dogs in Las Almas know not to bark at me.” Valeria’s eyes caught y/n’s hesitant form as she spoke the last part.

Alejandro angrily shook his head, “she’s ex-military, we served together.”

Despite their distances, and their long time apart, the two shared a perfect flow when telling the story.

“Different squads, same unit.” Valeria began, “you were the wild ones, huh? Los Vaqueros.”

Alejandro grinned at her words.

Her gaze once more shifted to y/n, “my squad was clean cut señoras y señores.”

“Until the raid on the son of La Araña,” Valeria smirked at the sentence, Alejandro continued. “Her team was told to cordon of the city to ward off La Araña’s enforcers and prevent the bloodshed.”

“That’s exactly what we did,” she smiled.

Alejandro’s anger only spiked at her smug face, “What, you kept out his enforcers because you were his enforcers, eh?”

Her voice was taunting, “he was escorted to the mountains without incident, also to prevent bloodshed.”

Y/n felt her stomach turn. All the time she spent sobbing over Valeria and yet all the while the woman was running around doing all sorts of illegal activities.

Rudy piped in, almost as shocked at the realization as y/n, “he was supposed to go to prison.”

Graves grabbed Valeria’s shoulder, pulling her back, and further pissing off y/n. “So you killed him. And you took over.”

“I created a power vacuum, and I filled it. Las Almas needs me.”

The moment his hands looked as though they were about to wander, y/n was upset, nearly growling out a rage-filled “hands off.”

Graves lifted his hands off of the woman as if he’d been burned, holding them up. “Woah, woah, woah. What’s with you getting all feisty over the prisoner?”

Y/n just glared, gaze unmoving.

“Holy shit,” Gaz whispered, glancing between y/n and Valeria, “It’s her, isn’t it?”

Y/n’s eyes softened in confusion, turning her attention to Gaz, “Pardon?”

The rest of the team seemed to come to the same realization as him, moments before he spoke, “Her. She’s Her. You said you had a romance with a soldier while stationed in Mexico, a soldier who went missing. With what Alejandro said, the stories line up, Valeria is the woman you were in love with, isn’t she?”

Y/n broke eye contact, slightly embarrassed, still enraged, altogether hot in the face as she stared at the floor. “Yeah,” she admitted hesitantly, “yeah, it’s her.”

Valeria’s eyes were stuck to her down-trodden form, smirking at the fact that she now knew; y/n had talked about her. Y/n talked about her to her team. A sweet little thought.

“Nothing to be ashamed about,“ Valeria spoke cockily, “you sure weren’t ashamed of it when we were in love.”

When we were in love.

The words stung. The wound was old, yet here it had been ripped open as if it had happened mere days ago.

“Yeah, well that was before you left me to join the cartel.”

Valeria scoffed, “Join it? Please, I fucking run it. Besides, I think you forget that you’re the one who left.”

As the tension rose between the former lovers, the atmosphere in the room became rather awkward. The 141, the Vaqueros, and the few Shadows who were in the room sat staring dumbly at each other, wondering just how long they should let this go on

“You wanna go there? As I recall, you left weeks before I was deployed on what I thought was a mission. Turns out you went off with your little druggie friends to play gangster. I called the base a million times, they told me you were dead!”

Valeria stood from her seat abruptly, causing everyone else in the room to reach for their guns. Neither y/n, nor Valeria stood down. Y/n gestured for the others to leave the room, they hesitated but eventually followed her command. Now face to face, feeling each other’s breaths on their cheeks, the two seethed.

“I bet you would have liked that, huh?” Valeria started, eyes set into a deep glare, “me being dead would have made this so much easier for you, no loose ends.”

If y/n didn’t know any better, she would think this was Valeria trying to get y/n to kill her, death before snitching after all. But y/n knew her, knew suicide wasn’t her calling. This wasn’t a plead for death, this was a challenge. Fuck with me, I dare you.

Y/n’s lips turned downward into a gritty scowl. Even through her anger, tears managed to slip their way through her glaring eyes at the thought of her ever wanting Valeria dead.

“Never.” She whispered, voice cracking, “I cried every night for you for months, Valeria. I loved you so much, god, I still fuckin’ do.”

She reached into her shirt, pulling out two sets of dog tags and gripping tightly onto one of them. The ones she held, Valeria knew very well. They matched the ones she kept tucked under her shirt. An old pair that she had given to y/n way back when; they were the ones she was issued as a sergeant, before she reached lieutenant status and received the ones she currently wore all these years later.

And all at once, Valeria felt her heart shatter.

All these years she had spent letting her anger toward y/n fester and grow, thinking she had just abandoned her. All these years and yet all the while, y/n was devastated. They told y/n she died. Y/n thought she was dead. Y/n mourned her, cried for her, hurt for her. And here was Valeria, yelling at her.

She softened her stiff posture, cautiously reaching out for y/n. Valeria cupped y/n’s cheek, and for a while they just sat there like that. Time passed but it felt like nothing compared to the eternity they had missed together. Y/n finally looked up. In one fell swoop, Valeria crashed her lips to y/n’s

The kiss was all consuming, destroying any distractions in its path as the lovers made up for lost time. Caution was thrown to the wind with neither girl worried about their positions and duties. In this kiss they were not El Sin Nombre nor Sergeant l/n, they were just lovers. Just Valeria and y/n, reunited.

What felt like a million hours were lost in each other’s lips. As they separated, Valeria’s eyes opened, y/n’s stayed shut. Valeria stared, waiting for y/n to reveal her gorgeous eyes, yet when the moment finally came, it hurt. Y/n’s eyes shined with sorrow, something Valeria could see very clear.

Valeria tried to reach forward, but y/n stepped back, clearing her throat, “this,” she sighed deeply, fighting internally with herself, “this cannot happen again.”

She turned her back toward Valeria, knowing it would be too hard to look her in the eyes. Knowing she would lose all composure and fold. But she stayed strong, and in a few short steps, she was out of the room.

[gilded-garnet]

Torturous Teachings

F!MC x Sebastian Sallow

WC: 1.3K

Summary: MC has had feelings for Sebastian since 6th year. Bored during a study session, MC asks him to teach her a new spell, and he can't resist the opportunity to make her flustered.

Notes: It's been a while! I've read a lot of fics lately about flustered Sebastian, so I wanted to write a fluffy something featuring flustered MC!

(MC is Gryffindor in this fic, though it's only mentioned.)

After almost an hour of attempting to summarise the potential side effects of improperly brewed Felix Felicis, she was at her limit. She huffed, throwing herself back in her chair and rubbing her sore wrist. Seventh year was rough. She felt like she hadn't had a moment to breathe around the amount of assignments she'd been set. Every time she handed one in she was given three more.

She looked across the table at her study companion. Sebastian remained engrossed in his writing, eyebrows slightly furrowed in that way that she loathed to admit made her insides just a little bit mushy. She had long since come to terms with her feelings for the Slytherin, which had hit her quite suddenly halfway through sixth year. However, despite being a proud Gryffindor, she was ashamed that this was something she couldn't bring herself to act upon. He was her first and closest friend and they had literally been through hell together. No, she had concluded, she would simply suffer in silence. If Sebastian wanted her to be anything more than a friend, she was sure he would have made it known; he was hardly shy.

Great, now she was frustrated as well as bored. In desperate need of a distraction, and because she felt compelled to take revenge on him for absolutely no logical reason at all, she transfigured some spare parchment beside her into a paper bird. She flicked her wand under the table to send it soaring straight into his hair, where it became snugly lodged in his curls.

To her disappointment, he barely glanced up from his note-taking, though he did reach up to extract it from his hair, holding it loosely in his fist as he continued to scribble.

She huffed. Despite his well-earned reputation as a serial troublemaker, she had found that he could be incredibly studious when he wanted to be, particularly if it was a topic that interested him. She'd never met anyone with the ability to digest books and scrolls like he did. Still, she was still bored and her stubbornness rivalled his own.

She transformed a few more paper birds and sent them flying into him. One bounced off his forehead, whilst the other collided with his chest. He sighed, irritated, and muttered: "Oppugno".

Suddenly, the three paper birds launched into the air and flew towards her. She squeeked in surprise and indignation as they swarmed her, bumping repeatedly into her forehead, hair and cheeks. She raised her arms to swat them away, but they danced out of reach just to return with a vengeance. Though she was preoccupied, she noticed that Sebastian had finally stopped writing to savour her torment, a smirk on his face. Git.

"Protego!" She cast, and the birds bounced harmlessly off her shield to finally settle on the ground.

"What the hell, Sebastian?!  She accused, attempting to tame her now unruly hair.

He shrugged, looking smug. "You started it."

"What was that spell just now, anyway?" She asked.

He raised an eyebrow at her, surprised. "You don't know that one? It's pretty basic."

She rolled her eyes. "Are you forgetting that I missed out on four years of magical education? Those extra assignments didn't teach me everything, you know."

He smiled, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "You know, I don't think I should teach you. You don't need any more spells to use against me."

"Oh, come on. I know you love playing teacher."

"Alas, you're right. I can't pass up an opportunity to impart knowledge to the needy," he replied as he stood up from his chair, stretching as he did so.

"Alright, on your feet. This shouldn't be too challenging to master for the Hero of Hogwarts." He emphasised the last part with a mock bow.

She rolled her eyes as she stood. He knew how much that title irked her, which - of course - meant he used it often.

"So, as you know, the incantation is 'Oppugno'. It allows you to direct objects or creatures to attack the target. This is the wand movement..." He demonstrated slowly for her to mimic, and he nodded, satisfied. "Give it a try."

She looked down at the stationary paper birds and recited the jinx, waving her wand as demonstrated. The paper birds twitched slightly, but showed no sign of further movement. She frowned, looking at him accusingly. "Did you teach me wrong on purpose?"

He scoffed. "Please, I take my role as teacher very seriously, thank you. Your wand movement is slightly off. Here..." he walked towards her, and she suddenly felt incredibly nervous. This feeling only magnified ten-fold when he came to stand behind her, his hand loosely taking hold of her wrist, guiding it so that her wand was outstretched before her.

Her heart was hammering in her chest, the hand on her wand suddenly felt clammy and her mouth was dry. All in all, she was a wreck, and all he'd done was hold her wrist. Pathetic, she chided herself. She had faced down goblin rebellions, taken out more poachers and Ashwinders than she could count, but this is what made her knees shake?

When he spoke, she could feel his voice vibrating in his chest as it pressed agains her back and his breath as it fanned against her neck. "You're flicking too much. It's more of an arc, like this..." He directed her movements with his own. "See?"

"Mhmm," she responded. It was all she could trust herself to say in that moment, and she desperately hoped he hadn't noticed her no doubt flaming cheeks. If he had, she hoped he assumed it was just embarassment at not being able to grasp such a simple spell on the first attempt.

Still, she seriously considered messing up again, just so he'd remain exactly where he was, but quickly convinced herself that the thought was insane. However, it didn't stop the feeling of disappointment that curled in her chest when he released her wrist and stepped back slightly to give her more room.

"Oppugno!" She cast, and this time the paper birds burst into life, rising into the air to shoot towards Sebastian, attacking him mercilessly as they had her. He put up with it for a moment, no doubt to give her the satisfaction, but soon flicked his wand to turn them into harmless confetti.

"Well done!" He said, wearing that proud smile he wore every time he taught her something new, and she felt a warm glow in her stomach at the praise. Get a grip, she chided herself.

"Yeah, thanks," she smiled back. "You were right, though, it was a mistake teaching me this. You'll have to keep your wits about you from now on," she teased. It was easy, she thought, to fall back into their usual manner. Though it hurt a bit, too.

He chuckled, and she thought it might be one of her favourite sounds. "I have seen you transform a poacher into a chicken. I don't think adding paper birds to your roster makes you much more dangerous," he said, and she laughed.

"Anyway, as enjoyable as making you flustered was, I do have an assignment to finish," he said, brushing past her gently, as if it was nothing. He was wearing a very self-satisfied smile.

She gaped at him, mortified. "I was not flustered," she retorted, her worst fears realised. The bastard had noticed.

He reclaimed his seat at the desk, raising a cynical eyebrow up at her. "Darling, your cheeks were on fire."

"That...that was because I was embarassed at failing the spell the first time."

"Your hand was shaking."

"No, it wasn't!"

"And you definitely pressed back against me, ever so -"

She wanted to scream, for the ground to completely swallow her up. This couldn't be happening. "Shut up! You have no idea what you're talking about." She stuttered, haphazerdously scooping her books and parchment into her satchel. "You are insufferable!"

The rich sound of his laughter followed her long after she had fled the room.

[zeldahime]

Highway to Pail Day 15

[Day 1] [Prev] [Next] @do-it-with-style-events

February 15: What did the duck say when the waitress came? Put it on my bill.

Aziraphale and Crowley were lingering at a beautiful café about a block and a half from St. James's Park, enjoying the rare sunny summer weather in their outdoor seating. Crowley's blazer hung on the back of his seat, sleeves rolled up to just below the elbow and top three buttons of his shirt undone, all the better to bask and, though Aziraphale was sure it wasn't his primary intention, all the better for Aziraphale to admire his lovely corporation.

In fact, seeing Crowley so beautifully turned out for the sun reminded him of a trick he'd seen carried off at an outdoors magic show, just a few months before. The assistant who had carried it had been slender and red-headed and wearing, well, rather less clothing than Crowley was now, in point of fact. It had been a marvelous trick.

"Did I tell you," he asked excitedly, "about the show I saw at Hyde Park, back in April? The young man was no Houdini but he was quite the showman, and he and his assistant carried off this variation on The Devil's Torture Chamber that was really rather clever!" Crowley was already rolling his eyes and groaning ("Devil's Torture Chamber, angel? Really?"), but nevertheless, Aziraphale persisted. "When the spikes pressed her down, though they don't really, as you know, it's a trick box, at the time the assistant is normally revealed to be unharmed, she was instead replaced by an animal! And I was thinking, if I were to adopt that trick—"

"Oh no, no no no, don't even think about it angel—"

"—I would use a duck, rather than a dog, you know how Harry feels about dogs—"

"Harry's fine with dogs, he's not the one who got bit in the '50s—"

"The 3750s BC, Crowley, you know I'm quite over it. Using a duck would be a wonderful twist though, don't you agree? They're adorable, and quite trainable, and I wouldn't have to keep it in the shop!"

"You'd be using a duck from the duck pond in your magic act, would you?" Crowley sneered derisively.

"Exactly!" Aziraphale beamed, purposefully ignoring his tone.

"And what happened the last time you used a bird in your act?" Aziraphale's beam stuttered briefly before he regrouped.

"And then, this is the difficult bit mind, they reversed the trick so that the dog, which would be a duck, turned back into the assistant! I do wonder how they got the dog to sit so quietly in the box during the trick, it did seem rather solid and I do think dogs need air, I wasn't part of that division but it does seem a rather universal trait."

"Don't stuff a dog in a box, angel."

"I wasn't going to, Crowley."

"Or a duck."

"My dear boy," Aziraphale said haughtily. "I am describing a trick I would like to do, not one I have immediate plans for."

Crowley crossed his arms. "Box. Don't stuff it."

"I shan't stuff a snake in a box, if it makes you feel better. Especially a curmudgeonly snake who is insisting on being very difficult."

Crowley stuck out his tongue, which he forked specifically to be contrary, and the conversation meandered to other topics.

A while later, Crowley got up to take a phone call regarding an ongoing wile ("Sorry angel, been trying to tempt this guy for weeks, he's impossible to catch even with literal miracles"). Aziraphale was unimpressed when he returned several minutes later as a duck.

"Really? Crowley. Really," Aziraphale said to him as he settled back into his chair, legs folded neatly under him. "I thought I told you, the assistant doesn't literally change into an animal. She doesn't need to." Crowley looked back at him doubtfully.

"There's at least one false chamber inside the cabinet, you silly thing." Perhaps explaining the trick more explicitly would help Crowley cotton on, or at least admit that literally transforming into a duck to be difficult was somewhat unbecoming for a 6,000 year old occult entity. "The assistant, the human assistant rather, well, ducks behind the curtain where the animal assistant is waiting, the animal assistant moves in front of the curtain, and the animal who replaces her is shorter than the point at which the spikes stop so is in no danger during the switch."

Crowley nestled his head inside his wing, as though to say, "and why would they bother?"

"It's a good illusion, Crowley. You know humans love their animals; it's got the "aww" factor!"

Crowley did not say anything about it being the "awe" factor actually, because he was a duck. Aziraphale pursed his lips anyway.

Their waitress, a lovely young lady named Jessica who was reading Religion, Philosophy & Ethics at King's College and had a little pet marimo moss named Odysseus, came by to ask if they were ready for the check. Aziraphale looked over at Crowley, who shook out his feathers, then back at Jessica. "I do think so, my dear. Take your time, of course." He smiled at her, then turned to glare at his companion. "Oh, I do hope you have a plan to carry your own things while you're transformed like this, you old snake."

A voice came from behind him. "What on earth are you talking about, angel? I've got hands, haven't I?"

Aziraphale turned around, and there was Crowley, wearing his human corporation, hands in jean pockets and dark glasses perched on his nose. Crowley walked on, to his seat, where a duck sat settling in for a bit of a ducky nap.

Crowley grinned wickedly.

"Aziraphale," he said, drawing out every syllable with demonic glee, "have you been talking to a duck? Did you think that duck was me?" He hit the constants on the word duck with his entire, very long, tongue. Aziraphale pouted as Crowley began to cackle. "Can you imagine, me, a duck? I'd at least be a black one. A duck."

By the time Jessica returned with the check, Crowley was in full hysterics, draped over his chair and three-quarters of the table in fits of laughter. Aziraphale tipped her very well.

[anotheruserwithnoname]

12 favourite things about Beetlejuice Beetlejuice

So I saw the Beetlejuice sequel over the weekend. I saw the original in the theatre nearly 40 years ago. And I admit was a bit nervous about whether the film would live up to the original, or would it be derailed by so many of the things that have caused remakes or continuations of legacy properties to fail in recent years. (Those factors vary from person to person but often boil down to either failing to recapture lightning in a bottle, or going against the spirit of the original in some way.)

I'll put in a spoiler break before I pass along my favourite things about the film, but the tl;dr is I had a blast, and I should never have doubted Tim Burton.

The following includes not only plot spoilers for B2, I also have to mention a major spoiler for the Wednesday series, so you are warned.

Favourite things about B2:

Jenna Ortega

Michael Keaton has managed the near impossible - reprising a role from decades ago without losing anything. It makes me sad that we'll never see his proper return as Batman in the now-lost Batgirl movie. I won't name specific names, but with only a couple of exceptions (most of them in Deadpool and Wolverine), so many times an actor reprising a role from years past has either failed to recapture the magic or does a good job but is still missing something that makes their reprise feel lesser in some way. You could splice together scenes of Keaton from B2 with scenes from B1 and you would be hard-pressed to tell the difference.

Jenna Ortega

Winona Ryder is terrific as the older Lydia. I loved the fact they made her a "paranormal-reality" TV star; I figured Lydia would have grown up to be either that or a goth-rock singer. I am not in favour of always darkening characters when they return after a while, but I think the idea of Lydia being haunted (literally) by her past and seeing dead people was well handled and does put a bit of a dark spin on the happy ending of B1. But in a way that works.

Jenna Ortega

For reasons best left to a google search, Jeffrey Jones was unable to appear in B2. His absence was well-handled by way of photographs, having his character lose his head, and a very clever and unexpected stop-motion sequence that at times looked like it was one of those wild AI-generated shorts.

Jenna Ortega

The change of style - the stop-motion, and the Italian art film pastiche that served as Beetlejuice's origin story - were a couple places where the film distinguished itself from the original. Same with Beetlejuice pulling a Deadpool a couple of times and talking to the audience.

Jenna Ortega. OK, seriously, she's a lot of fun in this and is a highlight of the film. My only complaint is they're not completely successful in separating her from Wednesday, both when she gets involved in a Beetlejuice-driven dance sequence, and a subplot where her character falls in love with a boy who turns out to be a villain - which is identical to what happens in Wednesday; the actors even look similar (there is the big Wednesday spoiler I warned about). That's one of the only major criticisms I have with B2, made a bit more glaring as Burton produced Wednesday and I think the film and show used the same writers. Jenna is in danger of being typecast which I'm sure she wants to avoid. I hope her star just continues to rise.

Bob. 'Nuff said.

Burn Gorman of Torchwood fame makes an unexpected appearance in the film as a preacher. He's quite funny to watch in his few scenes. He's become quite a good character actor over the years.

The Disney joke. Aside from the fact I know it'll play well with the many who have been turned off the House of Mouse for various reasons (including their treatment of various franchises and the never-ending Snow White saga), it has a different meaning when you realize that reportedly Burton had a bad experience making the live-action Dumbo for them, so this wasn't just a topical dig at Disney (like we saw in Deadpool) - this one was personal. When film scholars of the future write their books examining Burton's films and he and everyone else involved in his movies have collected their copies of the Handbook, the joke will probably get covered in quite a bit of detail, even though it comes and goes so quickly on screen.

One criticism I have is that Monica Bellucci's character doesn't really do too much. Reportedly Burton and Bellucci began dating while making the film so at least those two got something out of it. But her end was a bit overwhelming. I also felt Willem Defoe's character was underused. But if someone decided to do a spinoff of his actor-turned-underworld cop character, I think it could do well. I know both Bellucci and Defoe were playing plot maguffins - their purpose was to push things along to get to the Beetlejuice/Lydia reunion. But there could have been more. (I also didn't care for the fact no one thanked Beetlejuice for saving the lives (and souls) of Jenna's character by dealing with the boyfriend and everyone else by helping dispose of Monica. That's the only part of the film I disliked, but a minor point.)

Is B2 better than B1. I would say no, but it is an excellent film. I don't know if a third movie is justified, but the prospect of releasing a film called Beetlejuice Beetlejuice Beetlejuice may be too much temptation to ignore.

[amelias-zelda-calamity-quintet]

Magic evolution, divine blessings, and the Gerudo :]

(I already had this drafted so it's going first)

Magic Evolution, Divine Blessings, & the Gerudo w/ Princess Zelda & Hamuus

Zelda: "A curiosity in how the different races came to be? That is an immensely complicated topic. I think perhaps it would be better if I handed this off to my colleague. With his experience, he could make this more approachable than I can. Hamuus, would you mind?"

Hamuus: "Not at all, my friend. I would be happy to illuminate these lovely people. But first of all, introductions! Sav'a and salutations, I am Jeif Il Hamuus of Dirjaan, professor of arcanum and practical magics at the University of the Forum. I imagine you have some questions. You have a...Hyrulean perspective on myself."

Zelda: "I think perhaps you will be the first Gerudo man most people meet."

Hamuus: "Ah, but can you imagine a world without a face this beautiful? The sky would be dimmer, eh? But I imagine there is expectation there. Normally it is fun, the little jokes with the Hyruleans when they learn there is a world outside their borders. But in these times, I think explanation would serve us better. Let me begin then.

"First of all, we need to start the discussion with a recent science out of the universities in Rahaal, genetics. It's a matter of traits, passed down between parent to child. You most likely think of these things in terms of hair and eyes and complexion. But there is another matter to it, and that is the matter of, for the sake of this conversation, species. And for that matter, we have reason to believe that divine traits are passed along genetically as well.

"What do I mean by divine traits though? Clearly in need of explanation or one would assume I have them all. I kid, only a little, but I kid! No. At the beginning of time, the Goddesses gifted their followers with certain abilities. These divine traits are most easily identifiable among humans and the branches from them, the Hylians, the Gerudo, the Sheikah, and the Dreeka. Where each is from is not quite relevant to this discussion, but for the point, it is important to know that these divine traits are always dominant, they'll always appear given two options. Which is why when you have a human father and a Gerudo mother, you have a Gerudo child. The Gerudo's divine trait will be dominant.

"Of course, then you ask 'But Hamuus, how has the world been blessed then with your beauty? I heard there is only one Gerudo man every hundred year.' A wonderful question, I love the enthusiasm from this audience. My students should take lessons, you should charge."

Zelda: "I'm sure."

Hamuus: "But to your question. Because there is not a singular lineage to the Gerudo. Let me tell you a story. Back during the Creation, the peoples of the world were created and then sent out to be. They scattered to the winds, and built kingdoms and countries and cultures all around. Some went to the desert. There, they petitioned Din for Her blessing. She gifted it to them and so became the Gerudo.

"But we are not one people, we are many. Some, within their caravans, traveled beyond the desert. Some went out to sea, some across it, others further beyond. And some went to a kingdom you know. Hyrule. There, before the Sacred Door was closed, the magic of the Sacred Realm still spilled out from the Creation. Thus came the Hylians. And, for the Gerudo who stayed, a second blessing.

"This, so new in the world, Din saw issue. She returned to these caravans who had stayed and She said thus 'To accrue Power demands the need for sacrifice. I will give you the chance to return to what you were, or I will give you a mantle to carry to keep both.'

"Some did, they abandoned the blessings of Hyrule and became Gerudo once more. But some, led by the Dragmire family, kept both. The price that the Goddess took was the Hundred-Year King, the story you know. But only a few carry it. Of course, with two blessings, Gerudo of these families will always have children, chiefly daughters, of their lineage.

"And that brings us back to the present, and how you have been blessed yourself to come to know me, my friend. The Dirjaani, my people, we have a word for this. We call it Ivarkah, a blessed person. It can be a lineage, like the Hylians or the Gerudo, or it can be an individual, like the Hero and the Princess. From there, you have the distinctions in Gerudo. You have those with only the blessing of Din, like myself, Ivarkaq'Saya. And then you have those you might call Hyrulean Gerudo, the twice blessed, Ivarkaq'Siyu."

Zelda: "There is another lineage, isn't there?"

Hamuus: "Ah, yes, there is. Though it is not so common. As I said, divine traits are typically dominant. In an instance where both parents have traits of equal standing, it can go either way. But, because the magic law exists for the Gerudo to be Ivarkaq'Siyu, there is a chance, a very slim one at that, that a child of a Hylian and a Gerudo might have both. Ivarkaq'Si'a. Chance-blessed. In the last generation, there have been maybe ten in all of Rahaal. I cannot speak on the rest of the world."

Zelda: "That would be quite rare. Of course, even rarer is the questions on our current Ivarkaq'Siyu generation. And their missing member."

Hamuus: "Zelda, I wish I could give you better news on this. I cannot confirm anything. The man who you ask after disappeared into the Barren Lands a decade ago. Now, someone claims to be him. I cannot tell if this is truth he speaks or one evading reason's beckoning, but I will let you know when I know more. Of this, I promise."

Zelda: "Your help is appreciated, Hamuus. And your lesson as well."

Hamuus: "I hope so! And perhaps a wider view of the world for the rest of you. Should you be looking to travel it any time soon."

Zelda: "Maybe I'll have the opportunity to soon. If not me, then someone at least."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mark of a Hero (Updates on Tuesdays & Fridays, 1 of 9)

Hyrule is at peace, or so the Royal Family would have its people believe. Something is afoot in the kingdom, and someone needs to do something about it. Least likely would be Marksmen Link Sayre- a mercenary and monster hunter doing his best to get by. Until a job goes wrong, and he gets roped into the secret plans of Hyrule's princess. Now Link must play the part of the Hero to dive deeper into the mystery, and maybe stumble into a legend of his own.

AO3 - Wattpad

[isfjmel-phleg]

July 2024 Books

Magic Most Deadly by E. L. Bates (reread, sort of)

It's been a while since I read the original version, so I couldn't minutely compare the two while reading the revision, but I did find this version more succinct and better-flowing. An enjoyable start to the series.

The Last Unicorn by Peter S. Beagle

I think this is one of those books that I'm going to have read a second time to really get it? Very beautifully written, a lot more going on than my exhausted brain was ready to handle (not the book's fault, but mine).

Skylark and Wallcreeper by Anne O'Brien Carelli

I did not choose this book. Quite a while ago, I had ordered several used books from an online vendor, and this one came instead of one I had selected. They couldn't or wouldn't send what I had originally ordered when I reported the problem, so I was stuck with this one. Perhaps for the better, since I ended up ILLing the book I had tried to order and ended up hating it. This book wasn't...bad, but the two storylines didn't work well together for me--their tones were very different. The WWII plot was a bit underdeveloped. There were some oddities, such as the treatment of some characters' not having a passport as a sign of their being practically agoraphobic/unhealthily opposed to travel. (Quite a few people in the present-day US don't have passports, for a variety of reasons that usually have nothing to do with abnormal psychology--and often have a lot to do with class and finances--so I don't know what reality this narrative is living in.)

Piranesi by Susanna Clarke (reread)

A July craving. Always a pleasure to revisit.

The Luminous Life of Lucy Landry by Anna Rose Johnson

I wanted to enjoy this one more than I did, but I struggled to warm up to the protagonist, and some developments of the climax pushed the bounds of suspension of disbelief too much for me (our heroine is suddenly able to do something she has been afraid of, something that requires physical skill and wouldn't just become possible to one the moment she stops being afraid, and after almost an entire book of only incidental religious references, her faith suddenly becomes very important to her--this could have been set up better from the beginning).

Power of Three by Diana Wynne Jones

I liked this one, it had some fantastic twists as Jones stories do, but for whatever reason it took me approximately 80000 years to finish it (and it's not even that long, under 400 pages) and the slow pace meant I kept getting lost, which is not the book's fault but mine. This will need to be a reread at some point.

The Gammage Cup by Carol Kendall

I enjoyed the social satire of the beginning of this book, but the ultimate plot didn't do much for me, and I was baffled by the antagonists. We never really got to understand who they were or what they wanted; they just showed up, were the bad guys for some reason, our people killed a bunch of them, and we were supposed to be thrilled about that. Yes, this is a children's fantasy, and I'm not asking for complex villains, but I'd at least like to know what these people did that was so villainous besides get in our heroes' way.

Pax by Sara Pennypacker

Beautiful writing, beautiful characterization, sometimes over-simplistic in its themes. (War is a complex topic to develop, especially in a children's book, and oftentimes this narrative does that well, but I'd like a little more nuance than implying that anyone who voluntarily enlists in the military does so because they crave violence.)

Comics

Various issues of Damage (reread)

I have a lot of Grant thoughts sitting in drafts that I haven't had the energy to unleash on the world yet.

Impulse #50-53, 62-67 (Thad Thawne's original appearances, including the Mercury Falling arc) (reread)

Another July craving. Lots of thoughts on this one waiting in drafts too. If I ever have energy again, it's all over for you guys.

The Flash 1987 #74-79 (Return of Barry Allen arc) (reread)

Reread because I wanted to compare it to Mercury Falling (both are stories about a Thawne impersonating an Allen for motives rooted in envy while the hero has a personal crisis about believing that he doesn't meet expectations). Full observations at some point in the future. This arc is one of writer Mark Waid's best, his answer to hidebound fans who complained that the current Flash wasn't as good as his predecessor. The character development is significant and transitions Wally into a stage where he is no longer viewing himself as only Barry's legacy but a hero in his own right.

This arc is also notable for introducing Max Mercury, Waid's reboot of an obscure and underdeveloped Golden Age speedster. He gets dragged out of retirement, drops some insight bombs on Wally, helps save the day, and slinks back into the shadows--very on-brand. Until the next time, when he's dragged back out to raise a kid that no one else knows what to do with...but that's another story.

[kingmagnificoofrosas]

good day King Magnifico, I'm glad to be here again ^^ I have a few more questions that I would like to get answers to :3

1. Do you know any other sciences that are not related to magic? or don’t you divide them into different parts and think that magic is connected with every science?

2. have you tried to fly using magic? In general, what is your magic best suited to: telepathy, creation of objects. Do you associate magic with the spiritual power of a person or does the physical body also influence?

I also have more harmless and vital questions:

1. Do you have a favorite food? Do you even know how to cook and are there any details that should definitely be included in your diet?

2. how do you take care of your hair?

3. just honestly, maybe there is something that you would like to change about yourself? (you are gorgeous)

and the question is more of a clarification, can Queen Mirah herself answer the questions? Thanks in advance for your answer, have a nice day :3 I hope my questions are not a repetition of others🥹

Hello again! Are you enjoying your stay in my kingdom so far? Has Julie shown you around yet? Our local spring festival will last until the end of this week.

The very fist things I learned as a young boy were biology, alchemy and astronomy, since my father knew those. Later on I studied herbology, different kinds of materials, stones and such.

Magic, as I used it, wasn't necessarily tied to science but you could devide it into the elements for one. Fire, water, earth and air. I mostly worked with those elements.

Come to think of it, when I didn't create things, I used the control over the elements to aid me. Making objects levitate or bend things to create something. Earth and stones for example. That's how I built my palace mostly. Of course you have fire too. Oh I remember forming the colorful glass for my windows was a lot of fun!

The magic, like most folks call it, is absolutely a spiritual ability. My late teacher called it gifting! Because it is not by your power alone but it is something given to you by the great father. He can give it and take it. You only learn how to use it correctly. Yes, it does impact your body. Over all, this is a topic I could talk hours about.

No, I never used my abilities to fly. *chuckles* Let me put it that way - I prefered to stay on the ground.

Do I have favourite foods? Oh .... actually I'm not that much of a picky eater as long as the dish is served right.

Oh ... but I don't like snails ... oysters, frog legs and similar monstrosities!!! *shutter*

Blergh. Never understood how people can eat that stuff. Surpringly I can tell you more about the things I don't like to eat.

How do I take care of my hair? *laughs* guarded secret my dear.

He has his selfmade shampoos and stuff.

Shush! Weren't you working on things, Julie?

Mememeh 😗

*clears throat* My dear asissant. Charming isn't she.

Is there something I would like to change about myself? Deep question. Yes. I would like to be in better control of my emotions. Everything I feel, I feel very intensly. Sometimes that is good. Sometimes it feels like a heavy burden. Be less fearful ... you know ... I know healing from a trauma that intense takes time but ... sometimes I wish I could be more open ... more trusting. It got better but it's not quite how I'd like it to be.

Thank you for the compliment. I appreciate it.

Of course you can ask my wife questions too. She'll be thrilled to answer you! And don't worry. I don't mind answering questions that have been asked before. There is always something new to add.

Now, that felt like a little interview. Thank you for your interest. I hope my answers helped you. Have a nice stay! *smiles at you before turning to return inside*

[queensparklekitten]

I found your web weave about last online 7 years ago and scp 1762 (And I Love It), and I noticed it said you can’t reblog unless you were from the SGE site. What is that exactly?

*looks up from my drink, in the corner of the bar*

So. You wanna know about the SGE site, huh? Well.

Once upon a time, there was an online community.

Fandom forum, though the Open Chat one (equivalent of a #general channel in a discord server) was by far the most used. You got a book you read when you were 12 that changed your life? SGE's the acronym for what was that book for me. You might've seen the movie adaptation on Netflix a couple years back. I really waited seven years for that... I'm getting off topic. Back to the website.

The userbase was in the 8-17 age range, 90% girls, many of us the kind of people who devoured books like it was nothing in our then-ongoing preteen years. The few moderators never even looked at us unless we reported a glitch, spammer, or bigot for them to deal with, so we had no adult supervision.

Open Chat was used for, among other things, the most chaotic unhinged roleplay you can imagine. We got really into it. Wild parties that lasted days, food fights that quickly escalated into the hunger games, everything to do with those living shadows, Bob the alien, the Potato Kingdom, many of us had pets or imaginary friends doing this alongside us, I'm barely scratching the surface here, if I were to try to explain it all we'd be here for weeks. Quoting the Bee Movie script or singing certain songs had a tendency to cause all hell to break loose paranormally, one time it opened a portal to the underworld. It was the most fun ever. There was a reason we'd greet newcomers with "try not to die".

Aside from the chaos, there was contests where we'd reply with images of dresses or cute animals or what else have you, lots of clubs based around various things, people would sing (post song lyrics, sometimes roleplaying whole flashy performances) and post fun questions for everyone to answer and stories and neat videos we found and really good poetry and so, so much more that we didn't archive because we just assumed it would always be there.

It's where I met a lot of my closest friends- hell, it was the only place where I regularly got invited to participate in anything. I don't think there's anyone on that site who didn't forge friendships there. It's also how I got into quite a lot of songs and books and shows, and how I learned HTML formatting. That site was my home. It was the best part of my life for years.

You know how online friends are, though. Sometimes they disappear without a trace, a warning, or an explanation. Or their parents forbid them from going on the site because they think online chat rooms are dangerous.

I joined at 12. By the time I was nearing age 15, most of my friends had disappeared without a trace, never to return. I was one of the very few users to join in 2016 who was still active. The site wasn't abandoned, there were new people everywhere, but...

I don't pretend to understand the why of it, but the magic just. Started fading, I suppose. The community was falling apart. The roleplay got more stale and repetitive and often died down before it went anywhere. It all slowly declined and decayed and became a shell of itself. A hollow mimicry of what we once had. It wasn't really fun anymore, and I found myself wondering what was left to stay for. Just got worse in this regards, up until the website's final days, even after the rest of the userbase started becoming aware of it.

Eventually one day, the Open Chat started glitching hard. It had done that before, many times, and always been fixed. That time, though, it went down for repairs and never came back up. They said they'd bring it back, and they never did. Here's the thing, though- our posts all disappeared. When other forums on that website got closed around then, we could still see the posts by going through our post histories, we just couldn't reply to them. Open Chat and every last record of what we did there just vanished entirely, like it never existed.

It never even got crawled by the Wayback Machine.

...Now that I mention it, tomorrow's actually the anniversary of when Open Chat went down... how the FUCK was that five years ago it does NOT feel like it's been anywhere near that long.

Anyways.

During this time, the very few (like, there was maybe 2 at most) moderators had begun responding to drama by banning offsite links, followed by, several months after we lost our Open Chat, banning off-topic (non-SGE-related) discussions entirely, which sparked riots and a petition and they knew what it meant to the userbase, even to newer people who'd only known the comparatively lifeless version, we told the admins as hard as we could, and they did nothing. Well, other users told them anyways. I knew the site was beyond saving and thus didn't do anything but listen to music and make "let me guess, your home?" memes.

We also lost the ability to make posts in our profiles that weren't in any forums but could be seen if you went through the user's post history.

The official end was the "revamp" of the website, that was just a shutdown. They deleted everything that was left of it and all the records of what we were, and made a completely new website that the old one's url now redirects to. Though at least this time they had the courtesy to announce it a month and a half in advance so we could load as much as we could of what remained into archive.org during those weeks. There's no forum feature on the new site, and user data wasn't transferred. I never made an account on the new site. Why would I?

You can probably guess by reading those lyrics and asofterworld screencaps that I, and at least some other users I'm still in contact with, never really got over the death of that community.

That last image in my webweave is a screenshot of the page that now comes up whenever you type in the url for a forum or an old site member's profile and hit enter.

[aladaylessecondblog]

Mousetrap, pt. 7

Tav was eager to latch onto any topic that wasn't Raphael, eager to find anything to think about that wasn't that well coifed head turning its smug gaze in her direction. And the first thing she could think to latch onto that wasn't the road ahead or how far off Cald was flying was, oddly enough - what Minthara had said.

Zes'diira...

...your own sister...

She thought back to the druid grove, the first thing she remembered. They had nursed her back to health--a smiling dwarf named Redleaf foremost among them, a dwarf with vitiligo like her (the same face the Emperor chose to wear later) who was happy to answer her questions. Happy to fill in the gaps he could from her absent memory.

"You are a Seldarine who nearly fell in battle against the recent Lloth-sworn drow raid," he'd said. It had been told to her so often she assumed it must be true. "The rest of those with you passed in the same battle...you are lucky we managed to save you."

Her injuries had been many, and grave ones too, but they were healed up well enough, though it took her some time to fully recover. A little progress at a time, Redleaf had said. He lead her outside to bear the sun that still scorched her sensitive eyes, dismissing her confusion at the pain as being from burn wounds or allergies. He it was that taught her to speak to the animals, to feel the life growing around her...

...and now she wondered, these years later - had he lied? Had the entire grove lied?

Was she...one of them?

She put her hand into her pocket to reach for her flask and tensed up when instead she felt the devil-faced brooch Raphael had given her.

You know I can give you all the answers you need, Tav could almost hear him saying the words. She clenched at the brooch, but looked ahead--saw Halsin, and quickened her pace to catch up with him.

"I hate to ask this of you, knowing...what you went through," she said in a quiet voice, "But the drow in charge of the goblins...mentioned someone...and I want to know if it's someone we--we should be concerned about."

"Hmm? What do you want to know?"

The woman was a Baenre, so...

"When--when you were held in Menzoberranzan, did you ever hear of a Zes'diira Baenre?"

"Hear of her!" Halsin gave a laugh. "If Zes'diira Baenre is to join the cause of the Absolute then truly, we must worry for all our lives. The woman was a fearsome thing to behold, from what I heard the matron say. And as much a plotting snake as any other priestess of Lloth in that city. I would venture to say - even worse."

"Worse?" Tav gulped slightly.

"She was always plotting something, the matron would say. She was a Baenre from lower on the family line, but had grand ambitions of being Matron...and many of those above her died mysterious deaths. Poison, falls..."

"How did they hear so much?"

"She worked with the Matron that held me, briefly...to obtain some particularly quick poisons. It was whispered she used them on some aunts of hers, to remove another few obstacles between her and the position she coveted."

"A kinslayer...that's--that's awful."

(Her hand was clutching at the brooch, her fingers moving over its grinning surface at a constant rate.)

"If there was a priestess of Lloth to embody all the evils that would come to mind when one thinks of such clerics, it would be her."

Tav nodded, slowly. "She...she sounds like pure evil."

She looked down the path ahead, and then glanced back.

"We will reach the swamp soon, my home isn't much farther."

"The hag's home, wasn't it?" Halsin asked.

"It was, but I took it for my own and put it to better use." Tav smiled weakly, and having noted that the others were a short distance behind, whispered then, "I knew the nautiloid would fall after a few years, so...I thought here the best place to wait. I'm quite at home in the swamp, the grove in which I learned my druidic magic was settled in one."

"Have you never tried to return?" he asked. "After...you came back, I mean."

"I didn't want to travel with a child..." she shook her head, "Cald was only three when we came back in time, and...I wanted to keep him safe."

"You would do anything for his safety," Halsin replied in a soft tone.

"I have done anything...everything...for his safety," Tav replied.

It all makes sense now, my ill luck in love, in everything I value in life. It is no more than I deserve. If I was Zes'diira Baenre...I...I was...am...a monster.

It made sense, too, why she felt Ilmater's demands for mercy so keenly. If she had been shown it despite everything, how could she not show it to others?

Her hand felt suddenly wet, and she drew it out her pocket to see--blood. She'd been clutching the devil-faced brooch so tightly its horns sliced into her skin.

"Here, let me--" Halsin reached for it, and lay one hand over her blood-smeared palm. "It's good to see your face again, to...I know it couldn't have been anything but painful, to realize you weren't remembered. Still, I wish you would not have bought my memory with your agony."

"It was nothing," Tav shrugged, and kept her gaze on her hand.

"It was not nothing," Halsin said as they went on, "That devil--"

Tav cringed slightly; the word seemed to echo in her head when he spoke it. But he didn't seem to notice, and went on.

"--he will tear you down if you insist on seeing it that way. I don't want to see you harmed because you overestimate your ability to withstand Raphael's..."

There he trailed off.

"...attentions." Tav finished. "It's not nothing, but I...I could bear it enough if it meant no longer being alone. I was willing to pay nearly any price for that."

"And well he knew it."

There was a pause.

"This husband of yours, have you done it for him? I can only guess he would feel as I do."

She shut her eyes and walked a little ahead, noting that they were getting close. The tricky footwork in the mud was nearly at an end.

"No. My husband wouldn't want me if he knew Raphael had been at me." She knew it, knew it in her bones as deeply as she did that she was a drow, could already see the look of disgust on her Enver's face. Even if it had been done to keep Cald safe--

(you know he would never want you again)

"How could someone who claimed to love you possibly blame you for--" Halsin stopped there, as Wyll came forward.

"We should form a plan to deal with Raphael, ahead of time," he said, "As a devil--"

(Again, that strange warped echo in her head, solely with that one word.)

"--and knowing he remembers, he will no doubt have taken extra precautions this time around. Encounters with him can only be more dangerous."

"Of course." Tav nodded. "I should be sure to take Shadowheart with us, but at the same--what happened the last time, I don't want to risk Halsin or Astarion losing their heads."

"Mind you, that was because of Orin, who is on our side now, far as I can see," Wyll countered, "But they employed a large number of shapeshifters, so...so we should be careful."

"We will be." There was a pause. "Ah, here we are."

Tav stopped where she was once they reached what had been her home, and directed everyone indoors. "I can gather us some things from my garden, and...much as you may not care for the taste, catfish are plentiful here."

"I can handle that," Wyll said with a slight grin, "I learned the art of noodling from someone on my travels, and--"

"Just don't let the catfish swallow you whole. Some of them out here grow to monstrous size," Tav replied.

She didn't want to lose them...any of them. Even by accident. Especially not by accident.

She directed them down to the little waterfall lower down to refill their waterskins and canteens, and took one of her baskets outside and headed into the vegetable garden. It looked like someone had been by to take a few things, but left enough for those that would come after. Perhaps the tiefling group...

Tav took a deep breath and went for the root vegetables first. Something about digging in the dirt felt...appropriate.

A few footsteps. She stood bolt upright, and turned to see--

--a Gur?

Of course. Of course, they were always going to meet one, weren't they? There had been one the first time she had been here. He smelled of something vaguely foul, metallic, and yet sweet at the same time, in a sickly sort of way. Her nose wrinkled in slight disgust.

"Ah, stranger...forgive the aroma." The Gur gave a slight smile. "Powdered iron-vine. An old hunter's trick. Most monsters will think twice before making a meal of me."

"Would that I had some to give you, but I've never grown such things here."

"You're a...monster hunter?" Astarion's sneering tone sounded suddenly off nearby, and went on with, "I'm surprised. I thought all Gur were vagrant cut-throats."

Wanting to keep things cordial, or at least less hostile, Tav said, "I've heard many terrible things about the Gur, but I've met enough to know the talk is--well, let us not speak of that. Did you say you were a monster hunter? What is your quarry at this moment?"

"I'm hunting a vampire spawn," the Gur said, "And it is a little too bright for any of you to be my prey. "Oh, and a drow of...particular appearance."

There was a pause. Tav tensed at his study of her face.

"Tell me about the vampire spawn you're hunting," she said.

"His name is Astarion, but I fear he's gone to ground. I was hoping the hag of these lands could help me, but--"

"The hag is no longer living," Tav said quietly, "These are my lands now, and she shall not plague you. When you find this Astarion, you'll do what...kill him?"

"Not this time. My orders are to capture him."

"Oh, and bring him where, exactly?" Astarion piped up.

"Baldur's Gate. My people wait for me there."

"Only a spawn?" Tav questioned, and shifted on her feet.

"Well, a spawn can still rip one's throat out if he chose," Astarion went on.

"Only weak - when compared to their masters. During the day, we have the advantage. But at night, when they hunt? You will not find a more deadly quarry. I have heard, too, that he is in league with this drow."

"What do you know of this drow?"

"The phrase 'bleeding heart' was used in conjunction with her name, that she displays a kindness expected from those who worship Ilmater...that she hides from a vampire lord of Baldur's Gate...and..." The Gur shifted himself, and put his hands in his pockets. "That she looks painted, from the effects of vitiligo."

"Astarion, what do you think of this?" she asked suddenly.

"That's Astarion?" The Gur looked shocked, and prematurely drew the dagger from his pocket. "No, impossible."

"These days I'm making the impossible look easy," Astarion gestured vaguely. "May I?"

He gave her a look. She knew that look--the last time, they'd been able to avoid this. There hadn't been so much at stake, Cald hadn't even existed...and her next thought was her son, lost to Cazador's clutches, used as part of his ascension--

Fury burned in her chest, but she clenched a fist and managed to only give a nod.

"Excellent."

It was over quickly--Astarion cut the Gur's throat and at Tav's urging dragged him behind the treeline to finish the job. With shaking hands she went back to her vegetable gathering, and relaxing only when Astarion returned.

"Is he well hidden?" she asked timidly.

"Well enough. None of our little party is going to look back there, I'm sure, unless Halsin decides to...look about."

"We shouldn't need to worry about that as yet." She paused, and feeling the need to appear more at ease, added, "So...there's a monster hunter after you."

"Well...not anymore. Which is all that matters, really."

"Suppose there are others?"

"Oh, I'm sure there will be. If Cazador sent one peon after me...or us I should say, he'll send another."

"I've seen worse," she said, digging up another bundle of carrots, "But rest assured, no Gur is going to touch you in my company."

"How kind of you. Honestly, would you make that offer if Cazador weren't after you as well?"

"I would," she looked up. "Whatever sins you may have committed, his are tenfold at least. And he was responsible for my husband's death, by freeing the--the maniac that killed him. I have reasons of my own to want him obliterated. And trust me - he WILL be. You're safe with me."

"Ha - safe! You think I'm safe! Do you know the power a vampire lord possesses? He can change shape, turn into mist, call wolves to do his bidding, like they're nothing. He could walk into our camp tonight like it's nothing and kill you with his bare hands. And you'd be lucky if death was the worst thing that happened to you."

"Cazador will be lucky if death is the only thing I do to him," Tav replied in an icy tone, "Daylight is a very effective tool against a vampire lord - I've used it before. How would you like to see his eyes burned out? How would you like him blind, so you can take him apart yourself?"

"Have you been drinking?" Astarion gave a slight laugh. "That's the sort of overconfidence that will get us all killed."

"Believe what you will," she replied, "I fear only one man in all of creation and it is certainly not Cazador...as far as myself is concerned. Were he ever to lay hands on my son - I would rip through Ao himself, if I had to. For his Rite of Ascension--"

"Rite of what?"

She paused then, looking with shaking hands down at the basket of vegetables. The gap of silence was deafening, and she felt swallowed whole by it.

"When I rescued the spawn that set Cazador against me, I saw a set of scars on his back," she said, "He had briefly mentioned you, and that you had the same scars he did."

Tav took a deep breath.

"Would you like to know what they say?"

Astarion was quiet for a minute or two, and his tone stayed in a similar fashion when he spoke, "What do they say?"

Tav explained the Rite of Ascension, and what it would enable Cazador to do. Explained, the purpose that the numerous victims Astarion brought to his master would serve. "You are to be a tool in his quest to ascend the limitations of his current state."

"Of course I am. Of course I am!" Astarion gave a despairing sort of laugh. "Oh, you have definitely stepped in it, haven't you, my dear? You stole one of Cazador's tools, I hope you know what you're getting into."

"I do," she replied, "And I hope you see why our staying on friendly terms is so important. Speaking of...I assume you won't need to feed again tonight?"

"Why, because of the Gur? You think I would let my lips touch one of their necks?"

"Forgive me for assuming," she said, "Just let me know if you need it again. So...was there something you needed, when you walked out here?"

"Halsin thought you needed someone watching your back, and he seemed to think I was the perfect one to do it. Given your inability to produce an ounce of care for your own skin, I can see why he thought so. You need someone to teach you self-interest."

"My interest in others is what keeps me safe."

"Safe?" Astarion laughed. "You think you're SAFE? With that tadpole in your head? With Cazador after you? I don't know if you're brave, deluded, or just plain stupid."

"No," she said, standing up with her basket half-full. "I'm backed against the wall, and if Cazador thinks he's taking anything more from me than he already has--"

Tav stopped and took a deep breath. It was hard not to unload everything on him, but this was not the Astarion she had known before, not by a long shot, and spilling all of it now would do neither of them any good.

There was still something of the old feeling there. Ember-dim, though, and burning low.

"You're impossible," Astarion said. "I'm going back inside."

"Just as you please."

---------------------------

They stocked up quite well with what was in her stores but she insisted on leaving some things behind for any who may need room or board later. They would have all set out right away, but a storm rolled up with such a downpouring of rain that there was no choice but to stay the night. Everyone seemed of a mind to make their beds in the upper floors, which agreed well enough with Tav.

"Ch'k," Lae'zel said, looking out the front door, "We could make good time...we should make for the creche tomorrow, as soon as light breaks. Regardless of whether or not the rain has ceased."

"It will be easier that way, than trying to travel through a swamp in such ugly weather," Shadowheart said.

"Darkness might be your ally in any other circumstances, but here..." Tav shook her head.

"I couldn't even fly in this weather," Cald said.

A watch was established, and those who weren't on it went straight to sleep - save for Tav, who mentioned wanting to look over some potions she'd left down below.

Down she walked, past where Auntie Ethel's victims had once made their home, past the little waterfall, down and down and down until she reached the place where Mayrina's cage had been.

She took a deep, shaky breath, and reached into her pocket.

Tav knew it was unwise, especially so soon after--what had happened after the tiefling party.

But she wanted answers. She wanted to know if there was a chance she was feeling unnecessary guilt. She wanted to lighten the already overwhelming burden on her shoulders, if possible. The yoke that he would lay on them was - burdensome, but familiar. She knew how to bear it better than this gnawing uncertainty.

She choked back a sob, lifted the devil-faced brooch from her pocket, held it between both hands, and spoke.

"Raphael."

Tav regretted the word as soon as it left her lips, but she had to school her expression quickly, for the devil himself appeared not thirty seconds later.

"My, my, it certainly didn't take you long to come running back to me, now did it?"

She didn't answer for a moment, but knowing he'd demand it said, in a voice that shook despite all her effort, "I don't want memory restored, I want...I want to know--can answer any of my questions?"

"I believe I just did."

"I mean--" Tav took another, shakier breath. "I spoke to Halsin today about...something Minthara said, about...who I might have been."

"Oh?" Raphael's smirk only deepened. "Yet you do not want that memory restored, if it in fact exists?"

"No."

"Of course not. You are a virtuous little cleric, aren't you...faithful to all the ways of Ilmater. Surely one like yourself would never have stooped to the level of the Lloth-sworn."

"Can--can you answer my questions or not?"

"I have a rather pressing engagement to attend to at present," Raphael replied, "So I will spare you three questions, and ask nothing more of you in return than answers to three of my own."

"And if I should refuse to answer?"

"You know better than that, little mouse."

Yes...I do, don't I...

"Do you agree?" he asked, after a short silence.

Tav gulped. "I agree."

Raphael then gestured, indicating she should speak first.

"Am I...am I Zes'diira Baenre?"

Raphael looked at her with an expression that confused and frightened her, for she could not explain it. Sympathy. Or at least more sympathy than he had ever shown her before. It was false. Of course it was false.

"You were."

The sentence hit her like a physical blow, even though it was only two words.

"Are you afraid of me?" Raphael asked, himself unmoving.

"I am. I'd have to be stupid not to be."

"Have I...have I been..." She was trembling now, and found she couldn't stop. "...have I been a kinslayer?"

"Many times over," Raphael replied, before pivoting into his own question, a question which crushed her utterly, "How does that make you feel?"

"Like a monster," she answered in a faint voice.

"You were only willing to do what you had to do, to get what you want. No worse than many others. I'm rather proud of you, you know."

She wanted to turn away, leave the room, run, felt she was ready to leap out of her skin.

Tav stayed where she was.

Eyes closed. Eyes open.

"What lead to my being--in the druid grove in the first place?"

"You lead a surface raid in the fashion of many others conducted by the Underdark drow," he said, "You were betrayed by your own kind."

A pause. He looked over her, expression unchanging until he seemed to get an idea.

"What do you want?"

"What do you mean?" the question was so unexpected she couldn't think of another way to answer it.

"I mean," Raphael said, his voice sinking into a purr, "To give yourself peace of mind, right now, to make you utterly content, what do you want?"

"I--I don't know," Tav stammered, "I would say that I wanted my old life back, but..."

"The Archduchess of Baldur's Gate...pearls and silks, enough wealth to shower the beggars in kindness, and enough guards to keep your boy safe for all time. That wretched Banite at your side, and in your bed. Everything just as you had it before...oh, but that would require three of your friends to be dead, wouldn't it? And you would never wish for something of that sort."

He paused, and fix her with an absolutely diabolical grin.

"Would you?"

She was under no obligation to answer, she knew that. But she might as well have been, for on sight of the grin all she could do was answer.

"No."

"Oh, look at me. Indulging my own curiosity," Raphael gave a little laugh, "And nearly breaking our agreement! The things you do to me, mouse. Now, I really must be going - but ask me something, quickly. We have played this game before, you and I, and I shall not let you trick me again."

She cast her mind about, and thinking of him, of the House of Hope--

"If I handed you the Crown tomorrow, would I be no better off than Hope herself?"

"If you handed me the Crown tomorrow, you would never want or worry again."

He lifted one of her hands to his lips, pressed a kiss to her knuckles, and a moment later he was gone.

He seemed to know she would not hand it over in the deal he had originally planned. Yet he seemed confident she would give it to him at some point...

Why?

She let the question consume her mind as she made the long walk back up, back to the bed that the rest of the party had kindly left empty.

(A look down at his smirking face, the feel of his hands on her body, of his--)

Tav choked back a gag, and turned away, dragging the blanket and pillow to the floor. The blanket was pulled over her head and she wept silently until sleep rose to claim her.

[ivorydragoness44]

Murtagh Morzansson x Reader: Time

Word Count: 5,016 Warnings: nsfw (Minors do not interact), me hating on the elves a little bit (sorry), a bit of a whump in the beginning (Murtagh is kinda exhausted from his day), shower scene, fluff, unprotected sex (they have magic though, they should be fine, right?) Summary: It’s about a week past their wedding and Murtagh and the Reader feel as though they’ve had less time alone together, but now they found at least more than one moment together. A/N: My first Murtagh smut fic. Um, so I went ‘chronological’ with this, being that I’ve only ever written as far as the Reader and Murtagh cuddling. So, this was my attempt at what Murtagh may be like for his first time with his s/o. ALSO! I tried to keep the Reader as gender neutral as possible like with most of my xreaders on my blog.

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  In the meeting room in one of the towers, the sun outside had already set. Murtagh continued to sit to Eragon's right at the table.

  The room held an equal amount of each race. This was true, with the exception of the elves, who had insisted on these evening meetings. They had reasoned that it was best to gather after a day of training and such. Apparently this was their way of being considerate. Murtagh strongly thought otherwise, all considering that they had this supposed change of heart nearing the eve of his wedding. Now it had been over a week since then, and he was far beyond reasoning with the elves for the remainder of the month.

  None of this was unknown to his love waiting at home for him each night. For this, he refrained from glaring, keeping an oddly specific request to his partner. Thorn, however, had made no such promise.

    All matters of discussion had been seemingly resolved, dwarves too shifting in their seats from the time spent.

    Eragon was the first to speak up after a few moments of silence amongst them. "If there is nothing else regarding the trade with our neighbors... I think we can save other topics for another day."

    Murtagh inspected his brother's appearance then. The way he vaguely slumped into the back of his chair, and had been occasionally shaking his leg beneath the table the past hour was obvious to him. Quite honestly, he did not blame him. At least he knew that he was not the only one that found these necessary meetings rather tiring. Especially with as many as they have been attending.

    Eragon peered around the room. The attendees nodded collectively in agreement.

    As Eragon took a breath before uttering a dismissal to the group, an elf interjected.

    "There is still the matter of dragon housing," they began, making Murtagh dig his fingers into the armrest of the chair. "They are at a constant state of growth, we must accommodate for that."

    If looks could kill, the elf would have dropped to the cold floor from Murtagh's piercing eyes.

    Likewise, an urgal opened their mouth to speak, but a loud gutteral growl rattled the windows, silencing every being in the room. Murtagh hid his smile behind his hand as all eyes dared to look out the window into the darkness.

    "Unfortunately...I believe that we should wait until a later date to go over the dragon housings," Eragon concluded. "Sleep well."

    With a nod, everyone stood, beginning to make their way to the door.

    Murtagh stood, relief trickling through his veins, but paused, seeing Eragon smile at him. "What?"

    "You don't look like you want to throw someone out of the window anymore," he spoke in a hushed voice as the others filed out of the room.

    "I might change my mind yet."

    Eragon laughed, "Don't run home too quickly. You might startle them."

    "I would transport myself in a flash if I could."

    "Good night, Murtagh."

    "Good night, Eragon."

    In his relieved and still slightly annoyed state, he rushed home, accidentally splashing his boots through a muddy puddle as he did so. He grunted in his agitation. The last thing that he wanted to do was track mud into their home. However, he was just happy he was going to be able to return home before his partner fell asleep.

    Jogging up to the front door, Murtagh magically wiped off the mud. He saw no reason in wasting time doing it manually when he was so close to being in his love's arms.

    Thorn yawned widely and both dragon and rider exchanged their nightly farewells.

    Quietly padding through the house, Murtagh made his way toward the bedroom.

    Pulling the last of the curtains shut, the only source of light in the room came from the oil lamp on the nightstand. You had figured Murtagh would arrive home late into the night again, as was the case since you had married. Which led you to leaving the low flames ignited, for him not to stumble in the dark. Not that he ever had.

    There was a muffled sound, but you thought nothing of it. As you released your hold on the curtains, then did you hear the hushed call of your name. Freezing in surprise, a bright grin took over just as easily. Spinning around, you saw Murtagh standing in the doorway.

    "Murtagh!" Your voice breaking the silence of the room that had been there for far to long.

    Skipping toward him, he strode over to meet you halfway. You reached out and cupped his face in your hands, nearly letting yourself crash into him. A gentle kiss in greeting was reciprocated before he spoke.

    "I'm sorry for my less than clean state," he said, eyeing the light strain on his trousers.

    "As long as you're here."

    Holding his face adoringly, you noticed he looked exhausted. His eyelids half closed and his stance was not as upright as usual.

    "I know these meetings are important...but I can see the toll they are taking on you. At least five more of those hours long sessions and I'll have to prepare you a pillow and blanket for them."

    Giving a tired smile as you smoothed over his cheekbone with the pad of your thumb, he said, "I'll try my best not to collapse asleep in your arms."

    "Why don't you clean up, then you can relax for the rest of the night?" The water could be quite soothing, especially in a safe place. Thankfully, after all of his years, he had somewhere he could feel safe.

    "That is a lovely idea."

    Looping your arm around his, you unnecessarily helped him to the washroom. Unfortunately, the light from the lamps in the other room did not reach. A solution appeared, or rather Murtagh's voice, creating an orb of soft light to float by the ceiling.

    It came as a surprise to him when he looked down to find your fingers making easy work in removing his tunic. Not one complaint left his lips, nor did he refuse you as he lifted his arms up and leaned over as so you could pull off his shirt as well.

    "I'll start the shower for you," you offered, leaving him to pull off the rest of his clothes. "I doubt you want to wash with cold water at night."

    He chuckled, "You're right. It does not sound appealing."

    Reaching into the shower, you began to adjust the knobs on the wall. Some seasons, it took some more fine tuning as to not shiver or burn off your toes.

    While you were fiddling with that, you could just hear the little laundry basket in the corner being filled.

    You both had seen one another without clothes. It was not entirely new. When one or both of you were changing into other outfits; day and night, but not often, you had gotten more comfortable with one another being in what usually felt like a vulnerable state of undress. It was safety, and it was trust.

    Testing the temperature of the water cautiously with your fingers one last time, until you thought it was optimal for bathing, and you flicked off the water droplets. You turned to notify Murtagh, who you now saw completely nude.

    You swore you could never find a finer man, in or out of Alagaësia.

    Blinking, you darted your eyes back up to his face. It was of the tiniest fraction of a second, but you knew he had noticed.

    "The water is warm enough now."

    "Thank you. I won't be long." He gave a sure smile before stepping into the bath.

    All the while, you were internally debating whether to join him or not. You eagerly wanted to spend more time with him. That, and you could tell he was hiding his mild exhaustion.

    By the time he had both feet in the shower, you said, "I'll join you." It may have sounded rushed and hesitant all at once, but you were not about to take it back.

    He turned, meeting your gaze.

    "If that's all right." You asked to be sure, feeling your heart beat against your chest.

    Murtagh's face softened more somehow; it must have been quite a meeting. Giving a nod, he stated, "I welcome your company."

    Small but cute smiles were shared and he stepped closer to the falling water, behind the curtain and out of your sight.

    The warm rush of anticipation ran through you like a wildfire.

    You already cleaned yourself up for the day, planning on hopping into bed just before Murtagh had arrived. But, you did not mind going back in there again. This was especially so since you wanted to help him relax from his day, and quite honestly, the past few days.

    Shedding yourself of your sleepwear, you stepped into the shower; Murtagh's hand quickly finding yours to assist you before water had the chance to touch your skin.

    Once in the shower, you noticed that he had already lathered up his washcloth with soap; holding it with his other hand.

    Upon seeing that your legs were steady on the wet floor, he released your hand, his eyes now trained up to your own.

    Neither one of you had done such a thing before, so it was all a bit quieter than usual. A different kind of quiet. Hesitant and unsure.

    "Here," you said, reaching for the washcloth, "turn around."

    Releasing the cloth to you, he did as you softly instructed. With his back to you, the tension in his back and shoulders were much more noticeable than you had previously assumed they would be upon his arrival. Spending time talking business, politics, trade, and anything else, especially with elves that had their minds set on such topics usually resulted in a less than desired situation.

    Placing the cloth to his shoulder, you began to gently smooth the fabric over his skin. As you drew the cloth down to his shoulder blade and across his back to the other, then did you begin to feel the muscles beneath his skin lessen their daily strain.

    Murtagh's shoulders rose as he took a breath. "Thank you." His voice was low and heavy.

    "It's the least I can do," you said, washing down his back, not following the twisted line of his scar, but stopped in line with his hip bones. "All considering you have had the same look on your face for days... even before the wedding."

    "Your face had mirrored the same expression," he gave a laugh.

    "Have you discussed it with Eragon?" You asked, moving his arm towards you to get him to turn around.

    "About the elves and their sudden desire for daily meetings?"

    You rose your brows at him and he continued.

    "I plan on doing just that tomorrow...but I wanted to be with you this evening instead." His eyes softened, instinctively reaching up to rest his hands on your waist, but hastily withdrew them.

    "You will hear no complaints from me, I assure you," you said, bringing his hands back up to you before focusing your attentions on washing his arms. "I sincerely think that we have seen less of each other since our wedding."

    You heard a huff of air leave his nose at your comment, leading you to look at him curiously. "What?"

    "I believe that is debatable at the moment."

    "Hilarious," you smirked, leaning in to peck your lips to his.

    Humming contently, Murtagh kept his eyes closed, resting his forehead to yours.

    Once finished washing his arms, you moved on to wash his chest. The washcloth seemed to not lose any suds as you continued lathering his body.

    He inched closer, his toes lightly bumping into yours.

    Eyes down from his proximity, your thoughts were engulfed with nothing but the man in front of you. Years of training and surviving in general had led to a very disciplined appearance, by the way he had a toned physique. It made you wonder if he was aware of the extra time you were taking to rub the cloth delicately around his torso. Even so, you washed down to his naval, and just a fraction lower.

    His thumbs began rubbing small circles over your skin. And his voice was but a whisper. "Sometimes when I'm with you...I feel as though my heart is going to burst."

    The kind and loving nature that you shared with him was nearly too much for him to handle at the beginning of your relationship. But now, with time, a lot had changed.

    "And yet, I feel so calm...I am calm," he declared, peering at you through his eyelashes.

    "Good," you smiled, coiling your arms around his middle.

    Featherlight kisses from Murtagh's lips were placed over your face. The tenderness in his actions were proving to make your smile permanent.

    Delicately, his palms slid up your back, cradling you to him in an embrace. His face traveled over to rest in the crook of your neck. There, the two of you remained for some minutes. Simply enjoying the other's company and the safety that came with your love.

    "I should finish bathing," he breathed against your neck, "lest we run the water dry."

    A laugh bubbled up and escaped your grasp at his words. "That would be difficult to explain."

    "We do not have to explain anything to anyone," he said simply, pulling away from you with the cloth from your hand.

    He made a good point, you had to admit. Sometimes you would forget that socially, things were different here. Cultures were shared as well as point of views. It was nearly shocking at times to learn or be a part of such a situation, while also so refreshing during others.

    Murtagh hastily got to work on washing the rest of his body while you occupied yourself with adjusting the curtain that had managed to bundle in on itself at certain points.

    As Murtagh stood back under the water to rinse, you stepped up behind him. Sliding your hands across his back, you vaguely helped to guide the water toward the remaining soap suds. It was a valiant effort, you were sure.

    When no more remnants of soap lingered, you placed a soft kiss to his back. He was warm, smooth, and smelled remarkably better than whatever he had trudged through.

    Turning around, Murtagh tilted his head back down, only for his face to be met with your hands. You hastily wiped water droplets away lest they streamed down into his eyes. He blinked, but otherwise made no comment.

    With your fingers combing through his hair, his eyelids became heavy with each pass. A ghost of a smile laid claim on his lips. And nothing else could come to mind except you.

    When you had stopped practically massaging his scalp, you poked the tip of his nose with your finger cutely. Before you could retract, he kissed that same fingertip. The action sparked some giggles out of you.

    "I never knew something as mundane as a bath could become one of my new favorite activities."

    "Neither did I," you agreed.

    With newfound confidence, you brought your arms up to rest over his shoulders. "We should do this more often, Murtagh."

    Kissing his lips with his instant return of affections delighted you far more than anything else.

    Murtagh placed his hands to your back, leisurely caressing up and down. His head tilted and you found yourself arching into him. His kisses held less restraint, firmer in his determination.

    You had a growing need for him; his closeness, his love.

    Unfortunately, the time in the shower had to come to an end. Water had to be saved for future use and the need to have your skin mirror that of a raisin was not there. But considering the circumstances, you would not mind as much. It would have been worth it.

    Since you were closer, you had reached for the towels and gave Murtagh his. Drying off did not take nearly as long as your time under the flow of water.

    Carefully stepping out of the shower, your ache had not subsided. Focusing on it, you began to gradually realize what it meant. This brought on a curiosity as to whether or not Murtagh felt the same way.

    With the towel tied securely around his hips, your thoughts became more rushed. He would have to retrieve his sleepwear from the bedroom. Holding your towel to ward off any shivers, you did not dress just yet though your clothes waited.

    Attempting to find the right words to ask, Murtagh's attention snapped to your quiet expression.

    "Are you still incredibly tired?" Your voice smaller than you had intended.

    His eyelids squinted in the slightest. The question could still be mundane, but it was likely not what he expected you to ask.

    Eyes staring into yours, he was careful to respond, not knowing what was exactly on your mind.

    Voice low and calculated, he said, "Not incredibly...I am at ease. Why do you ask?"

    "I thought that perhaps we could..." Taking a pause from the sudden shake in your voice, you tried to form the right words.

    He had instantly seen your apprehension and slid closer. There was nothing more that he wanted than for you to be at ease. Placing his hands gently on your arms, he caressed tenderly to reassure you.

    Getting to your eye level, he said, "You may speak freely, my love. You will find no judgement from me, least of all here and now."

    "Love me, Murtagh," you breathed out.

    A split second of surprise sparked in his eyes, but they remained sincere and as kind as ever. Kissing your forehead, he smiled and said, "I love you, and I shall love you forever. If you want me now, then I am honored by your trust and love for me."

    Placing your hand at the back of his neck, you pulled him close. Kissing him, you deliberately weaved your fingers into his hair. The way he melted into you made your heart sing.

    After some moments, Murtagh snapped into a realization. "Wait just a second. I'm sorry," he said, kissing you once more before striding through the room.

    Standing there, you watched as he shut the bedroom door and muttered the name of names.

    Returning to see your quizzical expression, he explained briefly. "I placed wards on the room to block people from scrying...and to keep anyone from hearing us."

    The efforts he took to ready the room were very much appreciated. Grabbing his face to kiss him, you heard Murtagh stifle in a breath through his nose in surprise, the orb of light in the washroom extinguishing.

    Steering him towards the bed, careful steps were taken. The covers and blankets had already been folded down from your nightly routine earlier, so there was one less thing to do.

    When the mattress hit the back of his legs, you both stopped. Dropping your towel, the two both of you then reached for the bundled knot on his towel, letting it too fall to the floor.

    Playfully pushing him against the bed, he gave a laugh before he climbed up first with you following close.

    Murtagh hardly laid on his side when you gently pushed down at his shoulder to have him lie on his back. Giving his temple a kiss, his body sank contently into the mattress, getting distracted by the softness of your actions and the plush bed. His eyelids drifted closed for a time as you made your way on top of him.

    Straddling his hips, you leant down and kissed his sternum. It was brief, but it was one of the many acts that had crossed your mind. Sometimes, like this, you could hardly phantom the idea that you had found one another.

    After getting situated, your eyes landed on his.

    Murtagh gazed up at you as if he were seeing stars for the first time. Complete awe.

    You let out a giddy laugh and grabbed his hands, interlocking your fingers with a gentle squeeze. It was then that you each looked at your wedding bands, smiling at the memory. After a some time, you slipped your fingers away from his, placing the palms of his hands onto you chest. His throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly. A chill ran through you, sending tiny bumps littering across your skin. You continued to hold his hands there until he finally yet gingerly kneaded your skin there. You hummed contently, gliding your hands down to his wrists to allow him to roam your body freely. However, his hands remained there for a moment longer before caressing down your abdomen and up your sides, making your skin prickle delightfully at his touch along your ribcage, a delicate and sensitive area. Moving over again, he rested his hands on your hips.

    All you could hear was his and your quiet breathing.

    "You're stunning."

    His name hung from your lips as you smiled bashfully.

    Murtagh in turn took your hands, gliding them up his torso, and to his lips. There, he tenderly kissed each fingertip.

    The smile on your face crept up again. Leaning down to lay on top of him, he released your hands, and all the more kisses were exchanged. His arms wrapped around you and his hands swiftly proceeded to delicately trail his touch down your back. One of his hands went further than the other to cup your butt.

    All the while, you had plenty on your mind. Running your hands all over his chest in an attempt to memorize him felt like an essential. The way his chest rose with each breath and pressed into yours.

    Diving your hands between his head and the pillow to weave your fingers back into his dark locks of hair. You felt him hum against your lips, making you smile into the kiss.

    A light squeeze came to your cheek, resulting in a surprised squeak from you. Leaning out of the kiss, you looked at him with amusement, "Murtagh."

    He looked down sheepishly, a shy smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

    You pecked a kiss to the tip of his nose, getting him to return your gaze. "Do it again," you whispered.

    Grinning, his hold on you tightened. Rolling the pair of you onto your sides, laughs and kisses were shared. He squeezed you again but his hand soon leaves your skin cold as he trails down your thigh, ensuring that your leg was promptly over his hip.

    You gave his hair a short tug, and Murtagh pushed his hips against yours, igniting a new friction more into the forefront of your minds. Pulling him closer, you deepened the kiss. And for a short while, that is how you remained, your bodies gently rocking against the other.

    The ache was there now. Everything had you literally throbbing for him. If you paid any mind, you could feel your own heartbeat pound against your chest.

    Rolling the two of you the rest of the way over, he was on top. You trusted him to take the lead in the motions. By doing so, you could sense that the air between you had shifted. You took a steadying breath.

    Looking into your eyes, he asked in a breathy voice. "May I?"

    You nodded. "Yes. I wish you would."

    He pressed a kiss to your lips, and you were not sure if that was his way of thanking you or simply out of love again.

    Murtagh propped himself up onto his hands, a chill drifting over your skin as his warmth left you. Looking down between your thighs, it appeared as if he was considering his next move. Then, slowly, he guided himself to where you needed him most. Easing himself inside with such caution it was driving your body wild in impatient anticipation though you appreciated his weariness.

    Lifting your hips, you intended to help, and simultaneously alleviate your need for his touch.

    When his hips meshed with your own, he took a breath in pause. Looking to you, he wanted to be sure that you were all right. "Does any of this...me, bring you discomfort?"

    "Hardly. I think we're doing well so far."

    He nodded, as if satisfied that you were being completely honest with him. He began to move steadily with confused swivels of his hips and a crease appearing between his brows.

    After nearly a minute, you spoke up. "Perhaps you're thinking to much, love. Take your time. We'll figure this out together." You offered a light laugh. "I'm certainly in no hurry."

    You beckoned him closer, and gave a soft kiss. Extending out your consciousness to meet his, he let you in. Letting him get a sense of the sensations tingling through you from his actions, and now you his.

    Foreheads together, feeling the other's breath. A quiet moment of peace. Murtagh moved his hips slowly, seeking a rhythm that was comfortable for the both of you.

    Coiling your arms around his back, your hands splayed out, able to feel his muscles contract and stretch.

    Murtagh kissed you once more before placing his face into the crook of your neck. His breath seemed hotter there, but still very controlled.

    After some long moments, your legs quivered beside his.

    "Are you all right?" He asked, halting his motions.

    "Yes, Murtagh," you replied, breathier than you had expected.

    Wrapping your legs around his waist, he returned to his soft gyrations. A recurring thought kept you, how he made you feel amazing and so well loved. Another stray thought and your body arched up to meet his, breath hitching.

    Murtagh placed firm kisses from your collarbone and up your neck until his lips enveloped yours in a deeply passionate kiss.

    Fingers digging into his back, pressing so firmly into his skin that you were afraid of leaving a mark. But it was an amazing kiss. Rare, but very much welcomed.

    As your confidence rose, you moved your hips in time with his. But all to soon stopped as a shiver ran through you, breaking the kiss.

    "It's alright. I'm here." He assured through less than controlled pants for air.

    You leaned your head beside his, finding comfort in all that was him.

    A strangled moan burst forth from his lips. The natural sound tingled your ears and ran down your neck. His back felt like a smooth stone under your hands as his body tensed. There too was an additional warmth as he released into you after each shakey pant.

    His body shuddered, and all you could hear was his breath.

    You had never heard him breathe so spastically before.

    Murtagh took a long calming breath and you felt a wetness on your neck. "Murtagh," you called to him softly, stroking the back of his neck. Facing you, you saw it. Tears. Tears lined his eyes and streamed down his cheeks.

    "I'm alright," he sniffled with a reassuring smile. "Are you?"

    "Yes, but... the need is still there. It's impossibly stronger."

    He nodded and tucked his forearms between you and the mattress, his hands hot on your back as he nestled close to you. Then, he circled his hips and your eyes closed. Pressing his forehead to yours and feeling his breath fanned over your face.

    "Breathe, darling."

    The pit of your stomach tightened and you pulsed around him.

    He moaned out your name like a forbidden whisper.

  Softly, he spoke more clearly. "Look at me."

    In a drowsy flutter of eyelashes, your eyes locked with his adoring ones.

    "I love you."

    You were barely able to utter a single syllable in return as the throbbing clenched, stunning the pair of you for an instant.

    Murtagh's hips were flush against your own, unable to move from the overwhelming rush of new sensations; both his and yours.

    An immense amount of relief and a physical lightness coursed through your body. It sent chills running across your skin.

    Releasing a sigh, you relished in the moment. You blinked dreamily as Murtagh placed gentle kisses along your face.

    "I love you," you finally replied, not that you could have managed it beforehand. It, however, was only the verbal recognition. Through your linked minds you knew he felt the emotions before the words.

    Murtagh nudged his nose to yours before shifting his weight. Carefully, pulled himself out and away from you. Eyes took a brief survey of what you had accomplished together.

    "Would you mind if I help you clean up?" He offered. "You had done the same for me earlier....I would still ask even if that was not the case."

    "I don't think I could move, even if I wanted to," you laughed quietly.

    Using a few words in the Ancient Language, he magically removed and dried the bodily fluids that had leaked out.

    "I'll return in a moment. I'm going to get you something."

    Sliding off of the bed, Murtagh retreated into the washroom. When he came back, he had a cloth in his hand. Resting himself beside you, he started to dab the fabric over your face. It was cool and damp. And soon, your body's temperature was guided back down.

    "We may have to take a quick bath," you stated, Murtagh tending to your legs with the cloth. "I did not know such an activity would have sweaty results."

    Together, you shared a laugh. You meant what you had said, but your body still felt rather weightless. "Though, I do not think I'm ready to stand on my own two feet just yet. My head feels like I'm flying in the clouds."

    "As do I," he agreed.

    Extending out your arms for him to rejoin you, he obliged.

    With the cloth all but forgotten, Murtagh crawled back up to you and snuggled close. You both would find yourselves in the shower once again, but for now, you were more than content in being bathed by the other's love.

~~~~  ~~~~

Thank you for reading! Wow, if you’ve read this far, also, thank you, and I hope you enjoyed it.

[aretaix]

Don't Go Where I Can't Follow

Chapter 1: A Reunion

A few years after graduating from the School of Sorcery, Lala receives a letter from an old friend requesting her aid in a dungeon-crawl. Set in an canon-divergent universe following Final Exam.

Read on SqWA

Topics: Lala/Arle, Lala & Camus, Camus & Arle, unrequited love, canon divergence, canon typical violence

There will still be some references to the Puyo Puyo continuity.

Word count: 1.6k

It all started with a letter. A letter from beyond the village, at that. Lala had never stepped foot outside of the village all of her life -- nothing besides a few odd jobs on errands to nearby villages. So a letter from outside of town, addressed to her of all people, was quite unusual. Though now she was regretting even opening the thing in the first place. Sitting in a dingy, dark pub wasn't how she'd been planning on spending her afternoon off. But... It's not like she really had plans.

Her life had devolved into a monotonous routine: help her parents at the temple, help out at the school, do errands and run deliveries here and there, and on it went.

It really had become dull without Arle to entertain everyone with tales of her adventures. ...Lala didn't realize just how long she was going to be away.

"Is Lala here?" A familiar voice came from the entrance. It wasn't the voice of the blue armor clad girl she was thinking of, but the voice of a dashing young man with dark hair and blue eyes that matched his magical earpieces. "Thank you," he thanked the barkeep and approached Lala's table, waving at her. "Lala! It's good to see you." He approached her for a hug, which Lala awkwardly returned after scrambling to her feet.

"Camus!" Lala blushed, "Wh-what are you doing here?" Camus let go of her and pat her head, causing her cheeks to redden more. "I received a letter in the mail today, can you guess who it was from?" Lala hid her dumbfounded expression, she thought Arle had only asked for her! Her letter never mentioned Camus!

"Uhh, was it your grandma?"

"Hahah! An excellent guess, but no, no, it was from our friend Arle! She's coming back after all this time, and she wants me to help her on a nearby dungeon crawl!" Camus looked like he was about to burst with excitement. Sometimes, Lala felt like she was the older between the two. He really hadn't changed even after all this time, always bombastic and wearing that stupid, silly, dreamy smile on his face. He had been their senior at the School of Sorcery, but he never had any dreams of exploring beyond his village to expand his knowledge. Somehow, he seemed perfectly happy staying behind to assist with running the school, and at this rate, he was on track to become the next headmaster.

"Oh, what a coincidence!" Lala turned around to hide her reddening face and pulled her own letter from her satchel. "She sent me one too!"

"She mentioned you in my letter, that's why I was looking for you." Lala's head turned around quick as lightning.

"She what?! She never mentioned you in my letter..." Lala frantically skimmed it again. This was so embarrassing...!

“I think she wrote mine after yours, haha, it sounded like she was worried that you wouldn't come along without...some kind of incentive?" He shrugged.

"Not sure what I have to offer you, though." Lala grinned in an effort to disguise her gritted teeth.

"Great," she said sarcastically. "Damn it Arle! And damn it Camus! How can you both be so boneheaded in two different ways?!" she thought to herself.

"Well, it'll be fun to see her! Let's both do our best, Lala!" He struck a pose that could be called...heroic if it wasn't so lame. She sighed, dreamily as she could. Though she couldn't shake the feeling that he'd just become lamer and lamer as the years went by.

"Yeah, let's give it our all," Lala said halfheartedly.

"Hey, you two!" The two mages turned around to see a familiar face. Arle grabbed Camus' hand and pulled him into a one-armed hug, who returned it gladly, and then did the same for Lala, who returned it...awkwardly.

"It's so great to see you after so long!" Arle beamed at them. Her skin had tanned from being in the sun so long, and her hair had a certain glow to it that it lacked before. She looked the same and yet, something about her almost blinded Lala.

"So, how have things been? I've really wanted to write more, but you know how I am."

"Things have been peaceful around here," Camus said. "A bit too peaceful, if you ask me. I was delighted to receive your letter the other day."

"Good!" Arle clapped her hands in delight. "I saw this dungeon was just nearby, so I knew it'd be perfect to invite you two along. And it's the best way to catch up."

"Guu!" A mysterious voice chimed in, and Lala realized that a small, furry creature with long ears and a strange jewel set into its forehead was standing attentively at Arle's feet.

"You're still hanging out with that...thing?" Lala pointed hesitantly to the yellow-furred creature.

"Huh? You mean Carby? Of course it's still with me!" Arle scratched its forehead. "I go everywhere with it. I don't think I could imagine adventuring without the little guy anymore."

"It's excellent to have a companion with you on your travels, I say," Camus exclaimed and raised a tankard. "Arle, would you like a drink as well?"

"Camus! This isn't a time to be drinking," Lala scolded before Arle could respond.

"What? It's a special occasion to see an old friend. Besides, we're old enough now." Camus nudged one of the containers against Lala's shoulder, but her nose wrinkled at the bitter smell of the alcohol.

"Haha, well, I suppose it wouldn't be any good for a temple girl to be caught drinking in the middle of the day." Lala rolled her eyes while Camus and Arle both laughed, her ears turning red from the conversation topic.

"Hahaha! Man this really brings me back, but I'll have to turn you down on the drink offer, I'm kind of getting sick of the stuff really..." Arle refrained from saying more when she felt the daggers from Lala’s glare.

"A-Anyway, let's get down to what I really wanted to ask you guys about!" From her worn bag, she pulled out a map covered in familiar and unfamiliar runes. Evidently, a ruin was unearthed near their home village and word was traveling fast! Adventurers were already flocking to it by the dozens, and Arle wanted to be among the first to get there before everything cool about it was snatched up by treasure hunters and merchants. It was unusual for her to dungeon crawl with others, Arle had always been a solo player, but it seemed that she wanted some extra muscle and support to back her up in case things got hairy.

"So? What do you guys think?" Lala and Camus looked at each other, then nodded back at Arle.

"Of course we'll help you," Lala reassured her.

"Yes, yes, anything for a friend of ours," Camus chimed in.

"Thanks, I knew I could count on you guys!" The three cheered and joined hands, and Carbuncle jumped onto the table and put his paw in with the rest.

******

The sun sunk below the treeline, tinting the sky a rich red. Together the party of three adventurers left the pub and walked to their respective homes. Arle was eager to see her mother again, so she dashed on without the other two. With Carbuncle in tow, the other two mages watched her bound off with the energy of a 6 year old girl. She found herself almost wanting to chase after her, but stopped when she realized she was with Camus. Her. Alone with Camus. She just registered the situation she was in. With her hands gripping her skirt, she looked up at him and smiled, grateful that the low light was hiding her flushed expression.

"Shall we head home?"

"Yes, let's." They walked side by side, occasionally interrupted by other villagers making their way home and by children playing in the low light, trying to make the most of the sun before it went to bed. Lala's breathing gradually steadied and she stole another glance at his face. He'd grown into such a fine young man, and her parents had always asked her if her childhood crush would ever bloom into a true romance, but...she'd never managed to work up the courage. The question could just never come up naturally, and there was always an apprehensive feeling that followed her when she thought of her love for Camus...

"She's certainly grown, hasn't she?" Camus broke the silence.

“Huh?"

"Arle," he clarified. "She's the same at her core, of course but it seems her time away from home has truly honed her into a fine sorceress."

"I suppose so... She could still stand to learn some manners," Lala harrumphed and turned her nose up, only for Camus to laugh.

"Ah, but then she wouldn't be Arle, would she?" "...You're right," Lala murmured dejectedly. The tomboy who just won the spirits' favor by sheer luck was really Arle, through and through, always going wherever the wind took her -- but something about her now really blinded Lala...metaphorically.

Somehow, the way she had grown in the few years she was away from the village made Lala want to see more of her. Unlike Camus, who had stayed in the village his whole life and was right there for Lala to have a life with, there was an urgency for her to be with Arle's side. Where had this come from?

“Ah, here I am. I'll see you tomorrow, bright and early!" Her train of thought was interrupted by Camus taking his leave and walking down the path to his home. She waved wordlessly to him with a small smile stuck on her rosy cheeks, but unlike earlier, she felt no desire to chase him down the path.

[malsfefanfics]

OC Tea Party Guide: Medee

Tea Preferences:

Crescent-Moon Tea

Bergamot

 Four-Spice Blend

 Chamomile

Almyran Pine Needles

Ideal Topics

A dinner invitation…

Books you've read recently…

The Opera…

Close calls…

Dreams of lazy days…

I heard some gossip…

I'm counting on you…

Past laughs…

School days…

Monastery mysteries…

The view from the bridge…

The library's collection…

Hoping for your future…

Heart-racing memories…

Advancements in Faith magic…

Topics that will end the tea party early:

Being the perfect knight…

Cute monks…

The existence of Crests…

First crushes…

Final Comments and Valid Responses;

"Two men row to the center of a lake. Only one returns in the boat alive. A fine tale, isn't it?"

Laugh

Sip tea

"You know, you have the makings of a decent witch. I could teach you everything I know. What do you say?"

Agree

Disagree

"Oh, these weary bones do grow tired more by the day. Perhaps the life of a hermit after the war would be ideal."

Disagree

Admonish

"Potion brewing and the preparation of food and drink is one and the same, when you stop and look at it step by step."

Nod

Agree

Sip Tea

"You know, you remind me quite a bit of my younger brother. He too was a soul of few words. And he was also quite the heartbreaker."

Sip tea

Blush

"You truly are too trusting for your own good. I could have poisoned the tea at any point and you would be none the wiser until it is too late."

Laugh

"I cannot stay long, you know. As the war drags on, I am needed more frequently with the other medics. It has started to affect my research. Perhaps we should discuss this with her Majesty?"

Praise

Agree

Commend

"Apologies if I am not the most lively of conversation. I was just thinking of my lost kin. I wonder, if they saw me now, what would they say?"

Commend

Sip tea

"Moments of silence like this are so rare. We need to appreciate them while we have them."

Agree

Nod

PERFECT TEA TIME!

"I think you for this invitation. Allow me to treat you in the near future."

[vendily-blog]

Mario & Luigi: Brothership Announcement Trailer Analysis

Okay okay, I'm done with making gifs for right now. I still can't believe it's real. And releasing in November too.

As per usual, everything goes under a read more.

So first things first. The Brothership.

It seems to be a floating island, and brings to mind the Starship Mario (the "Faceship") from Mario Galaxy 2.

At the front of the ship is the cannon, which the brothers use to launch to other islands, as you can see the sail and the cliffs behind it in this shot.

I wonder if this means we'll get a slightly less linear adventure, since there's clearly a selection for islands using the telescope mounted to the cannon.

If so, I wonder if it'll be a world map type thing, where completing an island gets you the path forward to more islands (Galaxy 2 style), or a central hub style, where you upgrade the ship to reach farther islands (Galaxy 1 style). It could go either way honestly, and there's not enough evidence either way to say yet.

What I do have evidence of, is the selection screen for different overworld Bros Moves! The Japanese trailer is very slightly different from the English one, and we get a much clearer view of the icons before they use the UFO spin one.

So it seems that Bros. Ball is back! It doesn't quite look like Ball Hop from Dream Team, it has little speed lines, so I think it really is the version of the move from Partners in Time!

We can also see there's at least 1 more action yet to be unlocked. Maybe it's a burrow action?

Speaking of UI, there's a few shortcuts in the corner. Interestingly, the top two options, a thinking bubble and a golden pipe, don't appear in the middle screenshot, which may be from early game, given the low coin counts (2201 coins, 98 coins, and 476 coins respectively). A hint system, Return to Brothership, and your normal menu to adjust gear and use items perhaps?

Speaking of currency, there's 2 of them in the game.

Seems like magic sparkles, and standard coins.

Sparkles might be used to upgrade the ship? We see in other shots that Connie seems to be a gardener of sorts and the ship is partially organic.

She has this seed or lightbulb shaped symbol on her head and there's other garden equipment here, like the trowel.

Speaking of important characters, Princess Peach being here is a fun surprise!

It seems the the Princess also ended up in this otherworld too, but not at the same time as the brothers, as she's picked up her own crew, and Dorrie. I wonder if she'll join along on the Brothership once you find her, or if she has her own adventure during the course of the story (sort of like Minion Quest/Bowser Jr.'s Journey from the Superstar Saga and Bower's Inside Story remakes).

It's also interesting that Bowser's here. He might not be behind this plot if the princess is here, he's not one to go sending Peach to alternative dimensions. Maybe he's followed them here because the Princess disappeared.

And perhaps a bit of fighting with the bros for good measure. It seems he fires upon the Brothership here, but he might not be working with the Extension Corps.

They share the same electrical theming as the other NPCs we've seen so far and their plot seems to revolve around these odd generators, which we can also see in the pre-bossfight intro here.

I suppose their plot might involve powering something. Or maybe they're taking something from these generators, given they seem to be spread out.

On the topic of battles though, either we get stat upgrades through food items, like the various coffees from Superstar Saga, or we get random rolls back (maybe both) because there's some variation in the stats of the bros at times between the JP and EN trailers.

Left is from the English video and right is from the Japanese one during the Headphone Jack Corp Boss. Which is odd, because every other part of the videos has tried its hardest to be identical save for the language change.

Same deal for the Gorumbla boss. Left English, Right Japanese.

It just seems like a rather odd decision to do the boss on different levels for the video, so that's why I think the fluctuation is from random rolls. But there could still be a cooking system, as we have this shot of the brothers and they may be in a kitchen of sorts?

I have other questions for the battle system too. We never see any battle action selection so it's hard to say in any particular way, but all the attacks we see seem to be duo attacks.

This Hammer move has an extra effect, "Kaboom Attack" but I don't know if it's an effect of the Bros. attack (it'll always do this) or a special effect of an equipped hammer for instance (much like how you could equip gear that allows you to stomp on spiked foes or spawn a spike ball to do extra damage afterwards).

On the overworld, it seems like Luigi is the one to come up with ideas? The Exclamation mark that denotes Luigi interaction is slightly shaped like an L, both in the animation and in the overworld afterwards.

Luigi retains this green glow whenever he's currently doing a Luigi action for lack of a better term.

It visually reminds me of Luiginary Works in Dream Team. I'm not sure if it's specifically a mechanic in the plot (Much like Dreamy Luigi was), or just a tool to show you Luigi is preoccupied.

(Also yes, Hammer on X and Y again, I missed that so much.)

Anyway rapid fire random thoughts before I stop.

I like the Mario Odyssey inspired Mushroom Kingdom, with the towers around the main castle.

I suppose the plot starts because they're just such good bros to each other, but that doesn't quite explain why Princess Peach and Bowser are here? I also don't see much involving this odd sparkle hand power outside the intro, but it just seems too important to ignore.

I like the one off movement abilities, just like how you had climbing pipes in Superstar Saga or the bike pads/gonzola.

[tieflingtareon]

There's Nothing Wrong Contemplating Gods (You're in the wind, I'm in the water)

[A 'My Love, Are You the Devil' prequel]

Chapter 1 | Words: 4.1k

Summary: "The past is lost to you. Let me clear up some mysteries, then. We share so much history." The history between Tir'yal, Child of Bhaal, and Enver, the Chosen of Bane explained in a non-linear format.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51625999/chapters/130498312

Tir’yal circled the desk slowly, his dagger dragging across the edge of the wood ever so lightly. Enver was late. Again. He’d been absent for several days now, and it was beginning to grate on his nerves.

He wasn’t sure when he started to expect letters. Coded or otherwise. Usually coded. Enver was well studied in the art of languages, just as he was well studied in most things. Machinery, magic, politics — there wasn’t anything that man couldn’t learn to do with his mind or hands. It was…admirable. Tir’yal rarely met anyone who was on his level when it came to intellect. Enver always provided stimulating conversation, even on topics Tir’yal did not care for.

It had been a tenday since he had a decent conversation with another soul, and it was making him irritated. Irritation made him more prone to slicing throats to shut up dimwitted fools. Enver praised him for his self control, but it was held on a fine leash at all times when it came to any other but him, and Father, of course.

“Oh Vile Master, you’ve been brooding far too long! Shouldn’t you be out there, striking fear into the hearts of mortal men?” Sceleritas appeared at his side with a tut of disapproval. Such a mouthful of a name for a butler. Tir'yal usually just called him 'Fel'. “Your Father thinks you have been wasting too much time in the office of Bane’s worshipper this season. You could be out in the street, wetting your blade, continuing your experiments. Oh, your lovely experiments - your pickling methods are quite divine." He laughed.

“I’m waiting for him to arrive. Experiments can wait. It’s unlike him to be absent from his office for so many days.”

“Perhaps you should take it as a sign, Milord…?” Fel offered and Tir’yal glared down at the butler with murderous intent, making the butler chuckle. “Oh please, Young Master, be reasonable. Your Father only ever asks blood and worship of you. Surely you can spare him a single night? You've been distracted, slacking, but we can get you back on the path of shameless barbarity in no time!"

Tir’yal rumbled a growl low in his chest but considered it.

“Find out where Enver is hiding, and I will spill enough blood tonight to make up for the nights I have been absent to Father’s call. Will that satisfy?"

“You know he does not like when you bargain like that, Milord.” Fel sighed, but Tir’yal already knew he’d relent to his wishes. He was his butler after all, even if Bhaal created him, his purpose was the serve his son. “A nasty habit you’ve gained since meeting that Banite.”

“It is a skill most useful. I’d be a fool to say otherwise.” Tir’yal quirked a brow, waiting for Fel to give in. The butler sighed and popped away, leaving Tir’yal alone to wait on his return. He used his dagger to clean the grime from beneath his claws. He hoped Father was not too disgruntled with him. He did intend to keep his word, but he knew he’d be in no mood for bloodshed if he didn’t have answers. Enver never remained far from reach, and to have his contact limited in such a way without any warning…It bugged him.

After a few minutes, Fel returned, giving a gracious bow.

“Bane’s Lordling resides within his God’s temple, to the east of here.” He informed and Tir’yal frowned.

“And what was he doing?”

“I’m afraid I cannot say. I am not permitted to enter the grounds of another God, Milord. All I know is that his stink lingers there." Fel pulled a face like he'd smelt something disgusting. His butler always did have a sensitive nose, remarking on the foul stench of many.

“I see…Thank you, Fel. Take leave.” Tir’yal slotted his dagger away and made for the window.

“Where are you going, Master?”

“To visit the temple of Bane.” Tir’yal answered, shutting the window sharply behind him as Fel started up with his worrying babble about Father being displeased. It was obvious to him that the only way he’d get in contact with Enver is if he went to the temple himself. Father may not like it, but if he’d learnt anything from his partnership with Enver, it was that connections mattered in the real world. Keeping connections strong was key to successful alliances.

Not that he had many of those. He didn’t have use for many others. Enver was an exception. He provided him with easy kills, and Tir’yal provided him with an extra step on his ladder of dead and ‘missing’ persons to the top. Ever since their first heist together, he knew he could trust Enver as far as he could throw him, which was far enough to be out of range of a thunderwave, so it was good enough for him.

Tir'yal remembered very little past the age of ten, but after the first heist and a few cups of wine to celebrate, Enver had told him they'd once been good friends as children. He figured that alone was good enough reason to ally themselves together. He may be okay with killing those he cared for, but he doubted Enver would betray him given their past. Not without good reason at least. Humans were sentimental like that, and Enver wasn't stupid. Enver knew they had a good alliance going. They were both useful to each other, and they benefited from working together.

Tir’yal had never been to the temple of Bane before. His own home, his own temple, was locked far out of reach of others. Not even Enver knew it’s location. Tir’yal only knew the location of Bane’s because he followed the man once before to the place. Enver himself rarely made an appearance in the building from his knowledge, so to be there now struck him as strange. Had he been there for past tenday, hidden from the world?

He looked at the temple hidden in the side of the mountain and walked up to the steps without hesitation, despite the baneguards outside. One looked ready to draw it's blade before it paused. Tir'yal tilted his head at the skeleton.

"Yes?" He waited to see if the creature would strike, but it didn't, instead stepping aside for him to proceed inside. He wondered if that was by Enver's order. The creatures may have been raised by the clerics of Bane, but they seemed to take orders from Enver, and by extension Bane, these days. Though, he was no adventurer or scavenger, and maybe they knew that. Maybe that made him an exception to the ones they'd usually skewer.

He continued inside with his head held high, surveying the hallway. He doubted any of the worshippers there would halt the infamous son of Bhaal either. He received a strange look from one clergy, and a small glare from another the deeper he went, but as he predicted, nobody stopped him. Perhaps they knew he would not hesitate to cut them down. Well…he might. These were Enver’s fellow cultists after all. Would he take offence if he reacted in self defence? Was it truly self defence if he knew he could kill them with ease?

He turned to a worshipper in a dark robe and held the hilt of his sheathed dagger, tilting his head at them.

“Where does Lord Gortash reside?”

“You are not welcome in the Dark One’s temple, Bhaalspawn.” The woman looked at him from beneath her hood, eyes as dark as coal and her face covered in ink. “You may wonder, but you are not owed answers. The child of a slave is still bound by the same chains.”

Tir’yals stared down at her and smiled even as white hot rage burned inside him.

“If you ever insult my Father like that again, I’ll flay the skin and muscle from your bones.” He did not need to snarl or growl to get his threat across. The ice in his voice and the smile on his lips was enough. “I’ll take your tongue and feed it to you, extract your innards and hang them from the torches in your halls to honour my creator. I’ll only ask once more. Where is your most faithful? Do be quick. I don’t typically give third chances. Though, I’m happy to give you more if you allow me to take a finger and toe every time you fail to provide information.”

The woman was silent a long moment, her face hidden by her hood, her hand wrapped around the hilt of her own sword. Tir’yals patience was growing thin, the Urge stirring with ravenous hunger, clicking his dagger free as he heard footsteps. Familiar ones he had long ago imprinted to his memory.

“Why...what a surprise.” Enver clapped his hands together, genuinely looking a little caught off guard. He hadn’t been expecting him. “Child of Bhaal, standing before me in the Dark One’s temple. Have you finally come to swear your allegiance to the more powerful God?” Enver chuckled and Tir’yal huffed, stowing his blade away and glaring at the cloaked woman.

“My Father’s power rivals Banes own. Do not insult me by asking such a question.” His eyes ran over his figure. His white and silver robes had been replaced with an outfit as pitch black as a moonless night, lacking embellishments. The pleated robe remained untied, the pants likely an expensive leather from what Tir'yal knew of the man, his black shirt draping over his frame and open wide at the collar, the cloth looking like a delicate chiffon a nobleman would wear to bed. He looked both comfortable yet dressed up all at once, his dark hair tied back from his face, the short ponytail curling around one side of his neck, and a single dark silver bead hanging from a thin braid. That annoying long yet short part that couldn't stay with the rest of the ponytail or match with the length of his bangs.

“We can leave that debate for another day.” Enver mused and patted his back. “Come, come, I was just on my way to the prayer hall.” He guided the Bhaalspawn along with a hand on his back, cane clinking against the stone floors. His knee must have been acting up, to use it in front of his fellow cultists. It was colder in the temple than in his office. Enver treated his cane like decoration on the days he had to go into public with it, but more often than not, he left it in his office or chambers and bore the pain of the old injury with a calm smile.

“What in the Nine Hells brought you here, Tir’yal?” Enver asked, voice softer now, more inquisitive. Less boastful when it was just the two of them. He liked hearing the difference between the way Enver spoke with him and with everybody else. “I’d think your Father would rather hang you than let you step a foot into this temple.”

“I made a bargain.”

“Oh?” He sounded intrigued.

“I’ll kill some extra people in his name tonight. To appease him.”

“He is easily appeased, that Father of yours.” Enver drawled as they entered a dimly lit room. The artificer conjured up a small flame on the tip of his finger and lit a few more candles, the orange glow of them illuminating the shiny coat of the black gauntlet.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Tir’yal stated bluntly and Enver’s eyebrows raised, but did not jump. Like he was expecting his words.

“Now, why ever would you think that?” Enver blew out the flame on his finger and stared at him with dark, murky eyes, waiting for him to respond.

“…You haven’t sent a single letter to me in a tenday. You haven’t been in your office in the evenings, like you usually are.”

“Has your sister really bored you that much in my absence that you had to come here?” Enver smoothed his fingers over the table and rubbed away the faint layer of dust on his skin with a purse of his lips. Somebody was slacking. “Alas, it's my duty to keep a watchful eye over this place. Make sure it’s tidy. Keep it orderly.”

“Orin is Orin. I need not get into that." Tir'yal suppressed an eye roll. "Duty or not, you are never out of reach. I don’t like it when you disappear so suddenly, without a word. Should something happen, we need to remain informed.”

“Dearest, if you missed me, you can just say so.” Enver smirked.

"Have you been here this whole time?" Tir'yal ignored his flirtatious commentary. He'd seen him use the same line on plenty of noble men and women before, and he would not allow it to get beneath his skin.

"Ah, well...not the entire time, but yes. I've been...called here, I suppose. Bane has not yet told me why, but all we can do as the faithful of Gods is have patience. Heed their calls and wait for their commands." Enver pursed his lips. "Though, the space here for my work is tediously small in comparison to my office, or my workshop."

He waved the compliant off, like it didn't really matter in the grand scheme of things.

“Come. Come close. Fill me in on your eventual tenday without my company while I pray.”

“I shouldn’t be here to begin with. I serve my creator, my Father, not Bane.” To stand in front of another God's altar was blasphemous enough. He was only glad Fel couldn't follow him inside and keep his prying eye on him for Father.

“What difference does it make if you aren’t the one praying? Bane may not be your God, but he is mine, and you are encroaching on time that is reserved for him.” Enver scowled, not taking kindly to Tir'yals flippancy in his Lord's temple. “You’re already here anyway, against your Father’s wishes. Usually I do not mind praying in my office, but I worked hard to build this temple up from the rubble it once was in this city. You can go, or you can stand and wait. Neither are of concern to me.”

Enver huffed and with the help of his cane, he came to kneel before the altar without buckling, placing the cane in front of him and folding his hands over in his lap, eyes falling shut. He bowed his head to the black gauntlet, promptly ignoring the other. Anyone else wouldn't dare turn their back to a Bhaalspawn, but he knew Tir'yal well enough that he could keep his compulsions in check. For the most part, unlike his darling sister, Orin.

Tir'yals lip twitched, the urge to snarl back barely repressed. He supposed Enver was right. He usually was. It was hard for a literal genius to be wrong. He huffed softly and leaned back against the wall by the door, watching the other.

Bane's altar was different to Bhaal's. There was no sacrificial slab, nor blood or gore...the room was fairly pristine actually. No clutter. Even with all the offerings on the table before Enver, it was organised. Something he knew the man instinctively wasn't from what he'd seen in his office and workshop. His eyes wandered along the walls, the grand statue behind the gauntlet of the one who once made a servant of his own Father.

Bhaal knew making allies after his resurrection was necessary, but he didn't have to like it. His Father reminded him often of how much he disliked the Banite he kept as company, even if he was useful to them, and would continue to be. Tir'yal could feel it, the restlessness in his Father as of recent. He wasn't one to question him, but he was curious to what Bhaal was planning. He rarely kept secrets from him, or so he liked to think. Father loved him, much more than any other of his children, and he loved him back with ferocity, even when he forced his hand with the Urge.

Tir'yal did not dislike murder, but there was...he supposed he didn't like purposeless murder, even if he enjoyed the gore. Which was ironic, given who he was. His compulsions. Murder needed a reason, and Enver gladly provided reasons when he gave him his targets, but Tir'yal also liked to feel things when he murdered. Not his Father's bloodlust or the cultists cold detachment, or Gods forbidden the maniacal joy Orin derived from it. There was so much more satisfaction in killing those who invoked rage in him, who made it feel like more than an itch scratched, like the first time.

There had been reason for his first true massacre. Bhaal's love. An expression of devotion to his creator, who could have taken back what he gave in an instant. There had been feelings when he did sunk his blade into flesh, intense, soul crushing feelings that made the deaths mean so much more. The grief he felt, mixed with the desperate worship had felt addictive. Nothing had ever compared to that, as much as he tried to replicate it. Nothing could compare to watching the light leave the eyes of his parents who raised him from infancy, or the blood-choked sobs from his brothers lips upon the altar. The betrayal that he had felt from them and even himself. Bitter and sweet all at once.

Their deaths had been necessary to start over, to become Bhaals. His family had tried to change him, to shame him for his compulsions, for his true nature, even as they repeated how much they loved him, how much they cared. And he had cared too, in his own way...but the only one who would accept the true him was Bhaal. His real Father.

The grief had been worth the unconditional love of his creator.

So he gave in. Sure, there were times he refused to kill, but that was because of his own weaknesses. He lived as a human too long before he accepted his true destiny, and Father said it left a stain on his soul. But that he could cover it with blood and let it be forgotten beneath the viscera of others. So when he weakened, when he failed, those were the times he paid his penance in blood. Often his own. He was happy to give it, to cover the stains of humanity on his soul, to try and cut and bleed it out of himself. All in the efforts to be Bhaal's favoured son.

And he was. He was Father's, made of his blood and divine essence. There was nowhere else he could go, no one else he could be. Bhaal was everything, and he belonged to him. His purpose was to be his, his executioner, his slayer, his blade - his heir.

It was the greatest honour that could be bestowed upon him.

His eyes fell to Enver as the man raised his head and turned his cheek to his shoulder, his eyes not focused on the other, but to the darkness of the room. The glow of the candles caressed his features, and Tir'yal admired the curling and flickering shadows across the humans face.

"He's near. Can you feel it?" Enver tilted his chin up, dark eyes clashing with the glowing eyes of his companion. "He’s getting closer every day, speaking to me more and more clearly, rather than in whispers." Enver's eyes shone in the low light, enraptured by the heavy presence cloaking his shoulders, unseen but known. Bane was with them, with him.

"My peers think him a distant god, but I know better. He and I have a connection like no other.” He turned back towards the gauntlet and bowed his head, using his cane to help him stand back up, back straight and head held high. Tir'yals tail gave a small flick as he approached slowly. Cautious. The air in the room had changed, now that it was brought to his attention.

“A decade of worship...and not once has he truly left me." Enver smiled. "I knew one day he'd reward my efforts in his name." The candlelight warped, flicking wildly as Tir'yal came to stand beside the other, eyeing the statue wearily. Enver did not seem concerned in the slightest even as the shadows of the room seemed to bleed further towards them, towards the tinkerer. Tir'yal gripped the hilt of his blade tighter on instinct.

"Don’t you feel it too?" Enver's smile only grew wider, his grin crinkling the bags beneath his eyes. A bitingly cold breeze past over Tir'yal and he sucked in a sharp breath, Enver's robe rustling as the man exhaled out a cloud of mist. "The presence of our Gods are getting stronger each day. They feed off our work in their name. And we only help them grow stronger.”

The flames of the candles extinguished with a gust, leaving them in pitch black. Enver laughed, warm and full bodied.

"Tonight. Tonight, I think we reap the benefits of our labours." Enver whispered an incantation, the blue dancing lights coming from his palm enveloped in shadows, turning it a dark grey colour. Enver's eyes shone, and Tir'yal was certain he would be the only one who would ever see pure elation on the artificers face. There was fascination in his eyes, something he only held for his precious machines.

Enver's hand flexed and with a crackle, the twirling lights becoming laced with golden accents.

"Tonight, we become more than servants to our Gods." Enver looked up at him and Tir'yal couldn't help but stare. Enver looked otherworldly, caressed by the golden flickers of his spell. "I have no doubts your Father awaits. You should go to him."

Enver extinguished the light with a flick of his wrist and took Tir'yals arm, acting as the lead between them towards the door, but Tir'yal knew he was the only one who could actually see in the darkness, guiding the man out of the main prayer room.

Beneath torch light, Enver looked even more windswept, hair messy and robe near slipping from one shoulder. He could see in his eyes that he was much too preoccupied mentally to even notice. Tir'yal pinched the seam and righted the robe before stepping away from him, Enver's attention coming back to him.

"Go. I will see you tomorrow, in my office. I imagine we'll have much to discuss. I have a good feeling."

"If you say so..." Tir'yal hesitated before turning his back to the Banite, his claws rapping against the hilt of his dagger. He found his way back to the front entrance of the temple and made his way down the steps, Fel appearing before him.

"Oh Master, you stink!" The butler complained. "Like smoke and burning metal. I knew telling you where Bane's faithful was was an awful idea." He tutted. "You didn't even come out with any blood on you!"

"I think I'm ready to spill some though. Thank you, Fel." Tir'yal smiled and looked back at the temple. Something about tonight was special. Enver was certain about it.

Tir'yal would be a fool to believe the man wrong.

He smiled, mind stuck replaying the look of elation on the Banite's face, the warm fingers curled around his bicep, the near see-through material of his bed shirt, soft against his skin. It felt only right to kill the first dark haired man he saw, relishing in the warm blood as it poured over his hand, his blade, twisting it in a sharp turn of his wrist before pulling out half way, thrusting it back in deeper.

The choked cry from the man made his skin burn, but it wasn't quite the right note he'd been hoping for. He'd have to find someone else to finish the melody in his mind, to satisfy the tune he was creating as he spilt blood and hummed all the while, waiting for just that perfect pitch that would scratch the itch.

He didn't find it that night before he retired to his chambers, still painted in crimson. He thought maybe he'd find it in his dreams. Yet, all he found was a haze of red, his Father's presence wrapping around him, clinging to his skin.

"My Son," He whispered, calling him closer to sink into the pool of red, to let it envelop him. Growing louder as Tir'yal walked into his bloody embrace. "My Chosen."

When he opened his eyes the next morning, the first words on his lips were a reverent whisper of his Father's name.

But his first thought was of Enver Gortash, Bane's Chosen.

[beautiful-songbird]

Hello! Hi! I see that you are an avid book reader and I am here to kindly ask for book reccomendation reccommendation recommendations. I at long last have some time to return to the wonderful world of reading and I very much long to hold a book in my hands and get lost, but alas I cannot find one that piques my interest. You look to have good taste and I would love to hear your thoughts on this.

Yours sincerely,

Snurt

P.S. <3333333

P.P.S. Why is "recommendation" so hard to spell?

Hello friend! You don’t know how happy seeing this made me! 😆

Be warned this is going to be a long post because I read a lot of books last year that I loved…so…yeah…

I feel like I need more to work with than just “give me a book rec” butttt 🤔 I suppose we can make this work

I mostly read fantasy but I assume you knew that since you follow me 🤨👀

(Unless mentioned otherwise these are all trilogies or duologies)

If you like puzzle games I’d definitely recommend The Inheritance Games 😌 I thoroughly enjoyed that trilogy and it made my puzzle mind go brrrr

As for fantasy, I have quite a few to recommend

If you’re into classic fae (as in…darker stories I suppose) I’d recommend The Cruel Prince and These Hollow Vows. They both have deeply romantic undertones but they’re more heavily focused on the politics that the stories revolve around.

*The Cruel Prince also has two novellas that go with it and a sister duology about the main girl’s younger brother, so if you’re looking for a world to get immersed in and keep reading, I’d seriously recommend reading that entire world.

If you’re looking for more whimsical fantasy I’d recommend Caraval and Once Upon a Broken Heart. They’re sister series that are semi-connected and they both have very immersive fairytale vibes. These two are heavy on the romance aspect but they also have great plots that carry them!

If you’re into low fantasy where there’s a bit of magical element in the plot but it’s not overwhelming, I’d recommend Six of Crows and Defy the Night. Both of these books have amazing plots but they focus more heavily on the relationships between the characters and how they trauma they’ve experienced has shaped their personalities. Six of Crows is a lot heavier of a read, so if you’re looking for something lighter, start with Defy the Night.

If you’re looking for fantasy that’s just a bit fun, I’d go with Assistant to the Villain. This book was very silly and fun while also dealing with serious topics. It was, however, to my dismay, a trilogy with only one book out…so…be warned.

If you’re into dragons and war colleges I’d recommend Fourth Wing, but keep in mind that this one has smut and lots of swearing. Despite the fact that this is one of my favorite books, I give this recommendation very loosely because of the content in it.

As for standalones, I have a few great recs:

- The Forgetting

A sci-fi (?) mystery about a city where everyone loses their memory every 12 years. Lovely characters and great plot.

- The Half-Life of Love

Absolute tragedy of a story that you know will end awfully from the start but you read it anyways and then sob your eyes out.

- Greymist Fair

A paranormal Brothers Grimm-esque collection of related stories. The town of Greymist Fair is very enchanting, and the way the stories all tie together is so much fun.

- The Stars We Steal

This was sci-fi and I read it in 2020 so honestly who knows what happened in it but I remember really enjoying it 🤷🏻‍♀️

If you want to see everything I read last year and my reviews of it all, you can go to my 2023 reading recap

I also have a short list of sappy modern romance novels if you’d like, so send me another ask if you want those too! This post is too long already 😆

P.S. I think recommendation is so hard to spell because it sounds like it should have multiple double letters…hence why I say “recs”.

P.P.S I love the way you type. Very eloquent and lovely use of words.