#nothing graphic but it is mentioned!

[2bu]

Do you have any ocs in particular you'd like to talk about whenever you read this? I love hearing about the things people create and I really like your character design of the few I've seen!

OUGH... thank u nonny so sweet of you to ask 🥺 I wanna say it's split between Cupid and Pacifica rn... as the beach besties that they are, they've been ruling my brain space...

I suppose it's worth showing here, but they both just recently got updated references (art by xlerotl)! I've been hype about it for like, weeks because it took me a very long time to find someone capable and willing to do the refs 😭

I've been thinking about Cupid mostly, though, because technically, in a few short weeks she's supposed to go through a pretty rough, life-changing patch for the sake of story purposes, and whew... it's gonna be rough!!! I really mean that. I'll put her story spoilers under spoiler!

Without getting too deep into it, well... she's going to die, and basically be brought back from the dead as an ascended cherub, which is her birthright as a daughter of Aphrodite.

This wasn't something she was aware of, and it's not something she's pleased with at all, because it will unveil a lot of difficult truths for her, and change how she perceives her adoptive parents, birth mother, and her life.

This is going to cause her to move away with her partner to live with her oldest brother and his wife out in the country for a few years to get space and... figure stuff out. She's around my age (25-27), and is in a similar position I'm in where I'm questioning a LOT of my life, my choices, and the things that have happened in my life that's lead me to where I am now... and I'm definitely projecting a lot of that onto her, though it was unintentional at first.

Of course, yes, in the near future all the same, she's going to be happy, and figure out what she'd like to do; with the support of her brother, sister in law, partner and friends (ie Pacifica).

I don't have a LOT of fun stuff to say, but I do enjoy taking time to talk about the gworls... so thank you for being kind enough to reach out and give me the space to go off... Usually I'm too nervous to do so, but I appreciate you giving me the chance to be brave and share. 🥺💙

[pillowspace]

Hi, it's like almost 4 in the morning, but I suddenly had an angsty Time Loop AU realization that was like semi-horrifying and I kept thinking about it, so.

It could be easy to write off Sun and Moon as not really having to face much trauma during the time loops, while just Y/N does. But when you take into account that Y/N's the only one who knows they'll be okay in the end, the loops in which Y/N dies are devestating on Sun and Moon. Because they're not constantly in virus mode. Moon has moments. A lot of moments, but they pass. The virus eases up. And the loops aren't dependant on Y/N, they're dependant on the day of the fire, meaning that they're just kind of in sleep mode until time's up to bring them back. So Sun and Moon just have to deal with the burden of what's happened to Y/N until time resets, and they're not waiting for that reset to happen, because they don't know it's coming. Sometimes it all went wrong early on, and those times were easier. Sometimes it all went wrong much too late when they already loved you, and those times broke them.

Maybe just the faintest phantom memory of what that loss felt like slips through on Y/N's next "first day" of the job (if we're sticking to Eclipse having the memories, then it'd be a fun thought to consider the tiniest of memories slipping through sometimes), and Sun and Moon are both confused by the sudden wave of relief-desperation-anguish-love-guilt-guilt-guilt they randomly feel upon Sun meeting you. The feeling's easy to discard, but they don't understand why it happened. They suspect it to be a bug. Just a quick second of confusion in the programming that runs what emotions they feel.

After the loops, Sun and Moon remember every single day they spent genuinely believing Y/N was gone forever, and that hurts. And honestly, I'm caught between saying "they never let go of Y/N afterwards" and "they're too scared to hold Y/N anymore." Perhaps it's both. Perhaps they want to hold onto Y/N, and Y/N is the one who has to help them learn that's okay. I did put post-loops Y/N down as "very cuddly," after all.

Mm. Anyway. I should sleep

[zofi-persson-quotes]

Chosen: If I had a nickel for every time someone imprisoned and tortured me, I'd have two nickels... which isn't a lot and DOESN'T PAY MY THERAPY BILLS.

[enigmatist17]

It was said that there was one clone on Coruscant that could make the Force tremble from his rage.

His name is Commander Fox.

He's a terrifying presence when shiny's first meet him, but by the end of their first week, the beskar reputation he's earned on Kamino is pretty much ruined. Fox is more mother hen than silent wolf in the few walls the Corrie Guard have to themselves, sharing what little he had to make sure his brothers could smile, even if just for a moment.

So when he finds a shiny hiding in his office, catching sight of tears that are wiped away too slowly for his trained eyes, the mother hen is there to comfort the trooper. They'd been cornered in a hallway by a senator who had felt the poor Guard up the moment they'd been alone until someone had come along and gave him a chance to slip free.

"They won't ever touch you again." Fox's voice is calm as he pulls out his special blend of tea that a Jetti had given him some time ago, and the trooper watches his commander make him a cup.

"How do we even stop them? We're property." The shiny swallows thickly as he tugs at the blacks around his neck, and before his mind can wander back to that hallway, a warm cup is suddenly placed in his hands.

"They. Will. Not. Touch. You. Again." Fox's voice is still gentle, but the shiny finally stops trembling as he sips the tea until it's gone far too soon. His office becomes a temporary bunk for the day, the trooper passing out after Grizzer seemed to be dropped off to become a convenient pillow.

The mother hen has vanished the moment Fox steps out of his office, and the wolf has taken over.

A comm goes out to everyone as Fox stalks the halls, and his fellow brothers single out the senator who'd made one of them cry. The senator doesn't seem to notice until Fox entered his office, and locked the door behind him.

"What do you want clone?" Their voice is one of contempt, but as Fox slowly stalks forward as if they were the prey he was after, they suddenly focus on that locked door.

"You do not get to touch my men as if they are playthings." The clone talks as if he were discussing the weather, and the desk between them is not big enough.

"You are property, y-you don't get to tell me what to do." The senator darts to their feet, but find they're trapped against one of those windows that overlooks the city below.

"We fight for you, and ask for nothing in return." Fox towers above them now, and when he debuckets, he has on a terrifying smile full of sharp teeth. "That does not entitle you to take what you please."

His voice has gone from cool and calculated to a snarl filled with rage, and the senator trembles violently.

"If I find you do it to any more of them, I will not be this nice next time." Every word from Fox's mouth seems to make the whole building rattle as the senator nods desperately, focusing now on the fact that the clone was trained to be an expert killer from the moment they could move. Fox finally moves back, slipping his helmet on as he regarded the terrified natborn before leaving as quietly as he had entered.

The shiny wakes up to find Fox going through paperwork, and after a short conversation, he's given a pat on the shoulder and the promise they could talk to him anytime they needed.

The senator flees when they see the shiny a few days later, leaving the trooper quite confused before they shrug and breathe a sigh of relief.

[coyotescribbles]

Something's Wrong With Frankie

Henry didn't understand it.

Frankie had always been a bit of a bastard - it was in his programming, a fundamental part of his character. He was supposed to be mean and scary.

Towards paying guests who wanted the challenge of trying to beat his obstacle course.

When he was "on the clock."

Not towards him.

Not when they were supposed to be off-duty.

It was almost like a switch had been flipped, and now his friend was... someone he didn't recognize. The guy who had at least tolerated him, and who even actively sought out his company sometimes, was gone without a trace - and where did you even start looking when it came to something like that?

Henry didn't have the first clue.

In hindsight, maybe he should have said something to the technicians. Maybe they could have found the problem before it became, well... a problem, and fixed it before it escalated and escalated and escalated. Maybe the park wouldn't have shut down. Maybe that twisted "game" never would have started. Maybe... maybe all those people wouldn't have died.

Or maybe they'd already known. Maybe they'd been told not to intervene. Maybe it was deliberate.

Maybe, maybe, maybe, so many maybes, almost as unbearable as the incessant ringing of the phones...

That was another thing that had started, not too long after Frankie's personality shift. All the phones, ringing all the time. The only escape from them was in the server room where they recharged, and he only went up there once a week. He couldn't hide up there all the time.

He didn't want to think that it was Frankie doing it, because why would his friend want to hurt him like that? But he was the only other person in the complex most of the time, and the phones never stopped ringing.

The years ticked by.

The place grew emptier.

Frankie grew meaner.

And Henry grew lonelier.

The day Frankie broke his face in was the last day that Henry even tried to approach him, withdrawing entirely to hide in the back hallways and the server room, and only setting foot in the maze on game days. It wasn't like he had guests to interact with anymore, after all, and few contestants ever made it as far as his zone. What was there even left for him to do?

He didn't want to deal with the gory mess that was his lobby. He didn't want to hear the constant never-ending ringing of the phones.

He didn't want to risk crossing paths with the thing wearing Frankie's face.

The only thing he wanted was to have his friend back.

[merao-mariposa]

I have your back, you have my heart

Day three of the pissa/death duo week! This au was the idea of @amymorningstar ​​in this post I really wanted to write about the Mafia Pissa and this was a good excuse for!

“Mafia + I promised you as long as I'm with you you'll never be alone again”

(…)

Philza Minecraft had been on the dark side of the streets for a very long, long time, since his first interventions dismantling brothels that were a little too... “flexible” with the idea of consent going to authentic inhumane places, all falling under the scourge of the Angel of Death until a man, a friend, appeared in front of him with the idea of dominating the criminal world, converting it to his ideals. That was a long time ago but corruption spreads like a fire in gasoline and Phil was there to suffocate it until it went out.

Maybe it was his cruelty in how he snuffed out the lives of those corrupt men that led him to pay the karma he was paying right now, he doesn't know.

The man sitting at his desk looked miserable for say the least, from the outside you feel the discord in the trademark half-twisted hat or the uncorked bottle of wine resting on his messy desk but you can see how the damage runs deeper than that if you know Philza well enough, the immaculate two pieces-suit stand out like a sore thumb on a man so casual and relaxed, the white shirt is buttoned at the neck almost restrictively, and his trail of beard is just a little more prominent than it has been in recent months.

The last few months, that sugar-filled almost year where mafia boss BOLAS had been closer to being an angel than he would ever be since he lived in what he could only call heaven.

His arrival in heaven was a young man with messy, dark hair. His purple eyes dragged him deep into the flames of hell now that they were no longer looking at him.

The fact that he had no one else to blame but himself didn't make it any easier.

But when Sinfonia appeared everything was perfect. He was reserved but easy to smile, aloof but with loyal friends, so pathetic (and cute) yelling at the slightest threat but he was a real threat in front of some of the most ruthless members of BOLAS, selective but had two beautiful kids who looked alike barely in the whites of the eyes, even his last name “Sinfonia” evidenced the harsh contradiction that surrounds the object of the crow's loves, a man as gifted in every possible musical instrument as if he had the Midas touch, and yet that very appropriate last name wasn't real. His Missa was a set of contradictions and embarrassing coincidences over knots in lavender stems.

Which in retrospect must have been a loud alarm, a siren announcing the disaster that his false moon left in its wake in the crow's heart.

It turns out that his love lied, the fire burning inside him to abandon important meetings for the sole purpose of sharing more time of his life with him as opposed to the absolute security of being understood as someone returning to his childhood home (beloved, cared, welcome) with the ease of riding a bike. All of that had been a waste.

The soft hugs that lulled him into deep dreams (chasing away the nightmares that Missa shouldn't know about for his own good) to the chaste kisses all over the face that released the negativity from his husband's shoulders (and if instead of being a result of his low self-esteem was his guilt taking charge?) to the private kisses that said “I miss you” and “one last time, love” without the words, all were nothing but lies.

Not that he had cared much about anything at that moment, he found himself focused on his children (because now they were also Phil's children) they were angels and he only had the head to raise them with Missa, who returned with a sweeter demeanor after his night walks and long work trips, he tenderly asked for nap together as a family.

He should have questioned more why Missa disappeared like that, coincidentally, just when Phil was paying for the services of the most dangerous mercenary on the black market, unlike the assassins he had on his payroll, this guy had the prestige of killing only with his touch, too lethal and above all cautious, Phil did not even met him in person, they only contacted through third parties who agreed on the service and only told about his violet hood and his skull mask. It is said; no one has seen his face and lived to tell.

Like I said before; Phil is old, he's been in the environment for years where only an intelligent man could live as long as he does, with that in mind how was it possible that he didn't know that his sweet husband was actually the most dangerous bastard in the underworld? Shocked by the discovery, in this kind of world, someone you trust can stab you in the back so how can you trust a man who lied to you?

And Missa knew who Philza Minecraft was, what his name means, he always knew, he did always know when something had gone wrong and Philza needed more comfort, always two steps ahead of his needs because he knew it.

The time after their fight breaks up, everything is a drunken blur in the crow's mind, he doesn't remember what they said, he only knows the screams and the revolver clicking in his left pocket while Missa, The Reaper or whoever it was have knowledge of the gun in his pocket and as soon as he pointed it at the man he said he loved time ago the gun was already on the ground, rolling behind this man who was unrecognizable to Phil, the shouting match continued more heated after the blonde pointed his gun at the helpless and clumsy Missa.

That was the last time he saw Missa.

Phil has been so distracted, tired and paranoid since then, even the security is a disaster ignoring the advice of the rest of BOLAS. Philza has scattered guards in unimportant areas, some stuck to him all day but the majority watch that Missa does not return or get close to the children (his children; Missa's own children) Chayanne almost bites him at the slightest suspicion of not being able to see his father, so his impenetrable fortress suddenly becomes a weak place.

Literally and metaphorically

He ordered several guards not to even dream of setting foot in certain areas of the family mansion (those such as the music room, the kitchen and the art studio, any room with traces of Missa must remain identical to how it was before his departure, as if they were waiting for him)

Philza feels betrayed and hurt but above all he is so confused, his rational mind tells him to defend himself, to put up the highest walls to protect himself, his organization and his family but his family is Missa. He is outside and Philza once promised that he will demolish every wall in the world that did not open its doors for the man with purple eyes.

And yet here he is.

Inside his fortress it can breathe the air of a broken family, the kids have believed him for the moment but the tension is felt increasing with every minute they pass without hearing from their papa. Inside the fortress are no longer him and his chicks but a greedy and lonely crow with two brittle shells and a broken heart.

The days pass in that agony until there is a surprise attack from which they cannot respond.

Tensions with the Federal mafia had gotten much worse in recent months, after his formal alliance with Soulfire he did not believe they were going to attack seriously.

But they did.

Thank his Goddess, thank The Lady for allowing Chayanne and Tallulah to be in the school while the white clad mercenaries broke down every door and shot at anything that moved.

At least Missa would get them back and they would be together again. Just as they should have been before he and his greedy hope for a family took that away from them.

As soon as his office door is kicked down one of those white masked sons of bitches puts his hands on him, something happens.

Penetrating in his vision when he sees him but there is stealth in his steps, he is the only one to notice his presence until two bullets (how quickly are repeated) knock down two of the men to dead, wound another in the shoulder, and the last one misses just centimeters away for paint the wall with Philza's skull.

Four shots, two fired before the reaction time of their distracted predators and attacked from the purest darkness, shots fly towards the door and if it was not absolutely broken after that rude kick it is now unusable, falling from its hinges under the siege and behind it are no signs of the mysterious shooter.

Tense seconds pass until one of the feds quickly puts one of his dirty hands in Phil's hair, pulling hard on the golden strands in a hissing threat and that's when he enters the scene.

The men on each side of the door were the first to fall, one quickly takes the place of his fallen companion, his gun raised, ready to shoot, followed by the one with the shot in the shoulder, unfortunately with that wound he is not able to shoot at time to prevent another bullet from the darkness from taking the life of the other one.

The bullets fly again while the threshold of the door swallows the corpse, dragging it out and soon, very soon, his savior enters the room with a constant step carrying the dead body as a kind of human shield.

A well-placed shot, other fall.

And the guy who touched him is one of them, his screams are muffled by his mask and by the gunshots exploding around him.

Phil hides under his desk as fast as he can but not before taking a bullet in the shoulder, it hurts like shit.

But it seems that it hurts them more because he can hear how one by one the white masks fall with sharp blows, they could barely scream in horror before fall with a fatal shott.

Fast, efficient and lethal

When it seems that the rain of bullets is ending, Phil distinguishes the voices from outside his office. That sounds like… Chainsaws? And laughs Phil knows immediately that his best people, who should be with his children, are on and from what he hears they are having fun.

He slowly peeks out of his desk, his hand warm from the blood dripping from his shoulder, and finally sees the reason of his recent insomnia.

Missa, or also known as The Reaper, moves almost with grace but the anger burns in his every movement, it is a wild spectacle as soon as the bullets run out, each man who even tries to get close to Phil is shot down with ease, he watch in trance as his husband smash anyone who tries to get close to him to pieces.

“M- Missa…?” he comes out as a dismayed whisper

The Reaper turns to look at him for half a second, which one of them takes advantage of to kick him in the stomach. Missa lets out a grunt of acute pain but holds the guy's leg with his hands, taking advantage of pushing him forward, knocking another of them against the favorite glass table.

The two guys are left on the floor, one on top of the other and one's suit is now full of glass.

And just like that Missa goes for the next one and Phil can only watch in shock.

Missa is The Reaper, The Reaper is Missa. They are both the same person; they have been forever.

Missa, his Missa is his mercenary and his mercenary is his husband.

he approaches, slowly, as slowly as he can with a bullet embedded in his shoulder. The cacophony of screams shakes the floor and Philza suddenly realizes that he must have gone down to the panic room.

The weight of not doing so clings to his shoulders, the clear implications trying to cross the capo’s tired mind like a malicious whisper makes him feels so wrong, so manipulative.

But he was waiting for him to save him

Of a thousand people in this aggressive environment who swore their loyalty to him and finds himself depending on the arrival of the one who not only never swore anything to him but also betrayed him.

Oh well, who betrayed who?

After yelling at him for lying to him when he also lied, pointing a gun at him and taking him away from his own children, he knows that the Philza of the past would have sent him to hell for ruining the things with Missa.

Missa knew who he was before, he knew it from very early on and that affected Phil, it made him feel cornered and at a disadvantage. He realized at that moment that he was afraid; he didn't fear the hitman under his roof as much as he feared the man under his sheets. feared he was so vulnerable letting him walk around the red mafia's base of operations, taking the children to school every morning, training Chayanne and hearing Tallulah's flute in the distance did terrified him, his worst nightmare was in how his heart was warmed by them so soft and gentle in the reaper's expert hands he could take out his heart and the worst thing is that he would have left it in order to see the children and Missa every morning when he woke up.

My God, he was crazy, he went crazy when he fell in love with him and even crazier when Phil sabotaged his own happiness.

Loneliness tasted bitter on his lips, power and honor became poison with the diffuse days, with his cold bed at night, with his absence piercing his chest.

The last man fell and with the elegance of a dancer stabbed by a steel dagger into his chest, he did the same with the other two men on the ground. The Reaper left no witnesses or loose ends.

He could hear in the distance Baghera and Cellbit stopping their chainsaws which was a good sign. The Federation had basically sent a mini army to his grounds and he partly wondered if his men knew that Missa was there with him.

His name tasted salty when it finally left Phil's lips in a whisper, it tasted like the tears he shed every time he was sober to remember his absence. Behind that mask it is almost impossible to perceive the purple eyes but he knows well that look that is hidden in front of him.

Missa wipes the blood on his own pants with slow movements, the dagger pressed against his thigh until it's clean enough.

“Missa…” Phil insists, he shouldn't insist to the man who has the dagger, especially when he is hurt.

The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as he feels (not sees) the intense gaze on his shrunken figure, well, at least he now has his attention. The purple eyes that he loves so much scan him from top to bottom and a wave of shame hits the stunned and guilty part of his subconscious as he remembers how he looks even worse for being in the middle of a fucking shootout. That wasn't how he would have wanted to see him again see but it was the most likely way to meet again now that he knew they were in the same work area

His eyes seem to linger on the wound on his shoulder and if he could see his husband's face, he would say he was not pleased with it.

“…Phil” Missa's voice sounds like a late greeting and is focused on him.

Goddess, how he had missed that voice

The professional, and infamous mercenary approaches, a little more hesitant than he should for a man of his reputation and a wave of affection breaks over Philza, he too takes a single step closer and they are looking at each other as the first time, feels like looking at the moon at its peak or the sun descending. He can't, he doesn't have the right to act like a wet cat after tearing up his enemies and expecting Phil to be normal about it. Missa just can't do that to him, he bites back a light laugh and takes another step in his direction. noticing that there is blood on his clothes and some cuts on it but if I had to guess I would say that most of it is from the others and Phil is already losing blood himself.

Missa takes another step, knowing the bleeding has stopped and believing the bullet grazed but he won't be sure until he concentrates on something other than mustering the words to ask him to fucking take off the mask.

Fortunately, he seems to read his mind as Phil doesn't even finish taking another slow step towards him when the mask is finally gone, The Reaper has officially left the room and his husband looms in front of him in his place. Is it strange to say that death is good for him? His face, his hair and the sparkle in his eyes or is the blonde just delirious?

Be that as it may, it doesn't take long for them to find themselves in the middle of the destroyed office as if it were his own world.

"You went"

“You kicked me out.”

“You still shouldn't have left” he replied very intelligently and Missa smiled, a little nervous.

“Does it hurt so much?” The black-haired man worried, looking at his injured shoulder and Philza wasn't having his partner distracted just like that.

"No, no. It doesn't hurt" He responded, knowing that lies were not the best for the relationship at this time.

Missa frowned like a kitten about to sneeze but he allowed this one for him, just for now.

“You… you're right Philza” Missa lowered his head in shame and a confuse “what?” died in the blonde's throat.

"I shouldn't have left-"

“I pointed at you with a gun, mate” he interrupted, feeling guilty and a little freaked out by whatever that means, it all was his fault, why was Missa saying that?

“Still, I should have stayed, I wanted to stay” hesitantly he noticed how Missa’s arms floated loosely around him. They weren't very elegant clothes, just good enough for work and Philza wanted to focus on that and the stains of blood all over his man instead of the new confession, after everything he did, but how could Missa still wanted him?

“Missa…”

“I promised, right?” Phil raised his head suddenly, searching for his gaze between the strands of black hair that escaped from his messy ponytail. “I always keep my promises, dear”

When the members of Bolas made sure they had the entire area clean, they advanced, covering the entire perimeter until they climbed the stairs that led to the red leader's office, they found themselves face to face with the splintered frame of the door, an office in an absolute disaster. with the imposing doors thrown next to the lifeless bodies and in the eye of that past storm was the mob boss.

Philza was leaning against his desk (which was out of its place) the purple cloth acted as an improvised tourniquet and in his arms was the waist of a tall man with black hair that they had trouble recognizing at first if it weren't for the clear display of affection, unaware that they had company. Now Phil kept his face buried in the taller man's torso as if he were afraid to let him go again and Missa hummed, deeply satisfied with having his little bird in his arms again, he carefully avoided the other man's shoulder but remained attentive, didn't want to leave that wound out of sight until he could drag his husband stubborn ass to the infirmary. Ignoring the living and dead audience, the couple was trapped in their own world, little giggles that didn't seem to go anywhere, dying and returning with each other's laughter in a vicious circle, finally together.

“I promised you, I didn’t? as long as I'm with you you'll never be alone again, cuervito”

EXTRA:

“You look pretty good with that ponytail you know, mate?”

“Philza!”

“So, guys, do I tell Jaiden that there will be no divorce?”

“Shut the fuck up, Charlie”

[wuxian-vs-wangji]

How can I bribe you into helping me get a job in the industry, other than promising my undying love, which you already have <3

The industry is horrible and awful, low pay, long hours, no real chance of advancing.

Whenever people touring the station or new interns ask me for advice, I always tell them to change careers lol

[gacha-incels]

[helluvaandhazbinarelife]

can we talk more about how Glory is literally absurdly abused

like, all the dragonets had terrible childhoods, but I believe there is specifically a line in book three that says”so any time any of the guardians had a bad day, someone did bad in battle training, or they simply remeber they had a useless Rainwing instead of the skywing they were supposed to have, Glory was a perfect target for a harsh blow.”

And like, no one is talking about this? My girl is up there with Qibli Winter and Peril for most abused children in this series in my opinion. Can we bring this up more?

[strange-doll-child]

Mmmmoooreeee of The SLG Organist parenting, lmao, him and his daughter

[gbee-writes]

Amours Deception

Chapter One

---

Henchman stood in line with the others, chest heaving as sweat practically poured off of her. The training day had been grueling and long but that was nothing new. Most days were, though they were more rewarding that way. Even so, she was still dying for it to end so that she could hit the showers.

"Well, I'd say that was an acceptable show of skill today," Villain strutted in front of them like an illustrious peacock. His ego was more grating than usual in that moment. "For most of you."

She grit her teeth as he made direct eye contact with her. Henchman would tear his arms off and beat him with them if she could.

His eyes moved away, "You are all dismissed; be here tomorrow at five am sharp for the heist. Anyone lagging behind will be used for next week's target practice."

As her coworkers filed out she felt a hand on her arm. Against her exhaustion, and desire for the showers, she turned around to face Villain. He waited until the door shut before pulling her into him. Henchman wasn't in the mood for his antics but she let him pepper her face with kisses anyway, reluctance clear in her stiff posture.

"Oh come now, don't be like this!"

"I don't want to deal with you tonight Villain."

"Why is my favorite henchie being so cold? Was it the extra laps?" His light tone only further raked against her broiling nerves.

Henchman yanked back as he went in to kiss her lips. "Don't. Don't mock me like this."

Villain stared incredulously at her a moment before shoving her away with a disgusted grunt. She stumbled slightly, not expecting the shift in weight. "Mock you? Since when have I mocked you?"

"Since we started-!" Henchman gestured wildly. "-whatever this is!"

"If you think me showing you affection is mockery that's not my fault. I thought you would like being treated nice after a hard day." His soft brown eyes burned with fury.

"You mean after you insult me in front of my peers? Embarrass me and then make out as you please? Yes, I love the mixed messages that sends. They make me feel very liked and not at all confused!"

Villain's shoulders bunched up, face twitching as his anger threatened to break out violently. "Well if you would apply yourself in training I wouldn't need to embarrass you any more than you embarrass yourself!"

Every ounce of blazing rage extinguished in a moment. Henchman turned and yanked the door open. "I'm taking my shower and going home. Have a nice night."

The door shut on his sputtered response.

Her fellow henchmen were starting to file out as she made her way to the locker rooms. A few of them whispered well wishes, assuming Villain had held her back to chew her out.

How she wanted that to be the truth. It would be better then dealing with a sickening pool of emotions Villain stirred in her gut.

A haze filled her mind as she stripped from her training clothes, grabbing her soap and hair products from her locker before going to the shower farthest from the door. The hot water pulled her out of it just enough to notice one of the newest recruits staring at her.

"What?"

The girl, Marcy was her name, gave her a wavering smile. "I think you did great today. I couldn't take down any of my opponents."

She remembered. The poor girl had been bodied in less than a minute three rounds in a row. She managed five minutes at one point but it was clear she wasn't a very physical kind of person.

And Villain hadn't gotten after her once.

Bile burned Henchman's and she let out a hollow laugh. "Takes practice. You'll be breaking bones soon enough."

"Probably not," Marcy shut off her shower. "I think I'm going to get a transfer. I don't like all the physical stuff. Not good at it either. You are though!"

Henchman sighed a bit. "Not how Villain sees it."

"Well he's stupid not to." Henchman turned to look at Marcy again. Her auburn hair was plastered to her face but when they were training the short locks had constantly swished in front of her eyes. Probably one reason for the lack of skill actually.

Her eyes were an oddly distracting green, earnest and so painfully trusting. Henchman ignored the squirm in her guts as Marcy blinked innocently at her.

She let out another sigh. "Tell you what, I can give you some extra lessons. Maybe wait a few weeks before you decide you're no good for this part of the job?"

"Really? Oh, thank you!" Marcy seemed to forget they were both in a vulnerable sort of state, rushing forwards to give Henchman a hug. She quickly pulled back with blush going up to her ears. "I am so sorry, I wasn't thinking! I'm just-...Maybe I should-...I need to head home. But thank you for the offer!"

Henchman watched her go with a smile tugging the corner of her lips. That girl was going to get eaten alive eventually. Hopefully she could push that off.

Once the showers were blissfully quiet again she turned the water up until it turned her skin red. Better to get a shower this hot at work, considering her crappy water heater at home couldn't handle it.

It didn't take long for Henchman to end up sitting on the bench to give her aching muscles a break. Unfortunately her mind wandered back to Villain.

Their...situation had begun a few months before. He'd pulled her aside and praised her for her work. At first she had been suspicious but he hadn't stopped snatching her away for stolen moments.

His honeyed words didn't last long. After the physical side of their relationship started a month in he was always quick to go in for a kiss but his words, especially in front of others, were harsh. Henchman found herself reprimanded more than the others. Sometimes for slips that hadn't happened!

Rage and confusion and desire sloshed around inside her, only succeeding in making her feel sick. Just when she was sure he only saw her as a bit of fun he would bring back the compliments and she would fell back into it.

Maybe he didn't see her that way but he only noticed that it bothered her when it got to the boiling point. That's what she told herself often.

He wasn't toying with her. She was just expecting too much softness from a man who routinely murdered people. It was her fault.

But it still felt like she wasn't anything more than stress relief. After fights, before big heists, especially when Hero taunted him. A part of her hated that woman for it.

Henchman watched the water flow off of her and head for the drain. Steam started getting thick enough to block off quite a bit of her vision.

So lost in thought she didn't notice the figure moving towards her until it was almost on her.

"Henchman?" The voice was gentle.

An undignified shriek slipped past her lips. She quickly went to trying to cover her bare body, unsuccessfully at that.

"I've seen you naked before." Villain's tone was flat.

"That was with my consent you creep!" Henchman hissed as she threw the bar of soap at his head. He dodged it easily.

Villain was finally close enough she could see the remorseful expression he held. "I just came to apologize. What I said...it was uncalled for. You're not embarrassing."

Her anger tapered down. Villain rarely apologized; there was no reason to keep being hostile to him. She felt more sure about that when he stepped forward, soaking his perfectly quaffed hair and pristine suit, and cupped her face reverently.

"Do you think you can forgive me?"

She leaned into the touch. A part of her wanted to say no but he looked so pathetic sopping wet that Henchman couldn't help laughing a bit. "Yes, I can forgive you."

His smile lit up her insides. Henchman pushed forwards for a kiss, leaning into Villain more as his fingers tangled into the locks on the back of her head.

It was only when she made it home and collapsed to her rickety bed that Henchman felt the overwhelming need to cry. How had she forgiven him for speaking down to her like that again?

---

Hero rolled her eyes as Superhero wrote down a few notes of her report.

"And you're sure none of them suspect you? This offer for lessons could be a trap."

"Superhero. You trusted me with this mission; trust me that I haven't blown my cover in the first week of it."

His nostrils flared. "I do trust you, but we can't underestimate them."

"Oh please," Hero snickered as she remembered Henchman's face stepping into the showers. "That woman didn't notice anything outside of her miserable self. I think her and Villain are having some relationship issues."

Superhero laughed with her. "Of course she is, she's trying to get close with Villain. That's just asking to be used. Not that it will matter much soon, when we manage to get them all in cells."

"Actually, I think we could put Henchman in the rehabilitation program. She'd be a decent asset to the agency." Hero said with a thoughtful nod.

Her superior snorted another laugh. "I'll note it, but that I doubt. Go ahead and head home."

"Yes sir."

Hero was grateful when her front door came into view. She hadn't accounted for how tiring it would be to fake incompetence in a professional setting.

She wiped all thoughts of work from her mind as she stepped through the door into her living room. The babysitter she'd hired jumped to his feet.

"Mrs. Duller, you're a little late. Everything okay?"

"Yes, just got swamped at work. How's Daughter?"

"Sleeping like a bear in winter." He said with a bright smile. Hero returned it as she paid him and bid him goodnight.

Just as promised her little darling was curled under her covers, snoring just a little. Hero placed a kiss to her forehead. It took quite a lot not to laugh as Daughter scrunched her face at the contact.

"Sleep tight sweetie." Hero whispered before making her way to her own room.

She had to get a lot of sleep before the heist the next day. Especially because she had to try to thwart it without becoming suspicious. Something told her Henchman might not be so easy to fool when it came to actual jobs.

First | Prev | Next Chapterlist Masterlist

[running2reanimation]

Illness

Caring comes in many forms.

King scrunched his face up as he felt the light hit it, rolling over to waking. But the the soft whine that followed had his eyes shooting open.

Gold was standing in his bedroom door, clutching his blanket. Now that King was awake, he could smell it before Gold even said it, “I threw up.”

King looked at the clock; he’d only been asleep for two hours. Oh well, time to get moving now.

First order of business, stripping Gold’s bed and pyjamas and putting them in the wash and cleaning Gold’s floor while convincing the feverish Gold to rest on the couch.

Once that was cleaned up, it was time to take his son’s temperature. Gold whined about it, curling away from the thermometer, “Come on now, under your tongue, there you go sunshine.”

Well, that was definitely high, but not dangerously so. Not rush him to the hospital high. King shuffled his way to the medicine cabinet and pulled out the fever suppressant and something to settle Gold’s stomach.

He read and double checked both bottles before measuring out the doses, two tablets and a glass of water.

“Here you go, yes both of them, no not at the same time if you don’t want to, down the hatch,” King steadied Gold’s shaking hand and helped him tilt the glass to his lips.

“There we go, good job,” King soothed, settling Gold back onto the couch, “Try and get some more rest, alright?”

And he could hear the washer come to a stop, so off he went to move the laundry along while his son slipped in and out of fevered dreams.

At least it was first thing in the morning and not midday, making calls and getting the day off wouldn’t be too much of a hassle. Of course he’d do what he could at home, so the day wouldn’t be a total waste.

Not that taking care of his sick son was a wasted day.

He still hadn’t had a cup of coffee yet. At least that explained the growing headache.

By the time the sun was up, Gold’s bedding was dry and King remade the bed and scooped up the now deeply asleep child - who was soon to be too big to pick up - and tucked him in.

King placed a bucket next to the bed and a glass of water on the nightstand, just in case.

Gold slept most of the morning, crawling out of bed to sit at the kitchen table, “‘M hungry and out of water.”

“Okay, well, I want to check your temperature again, but you’re looking a lot better than earlier,” King got the thermometer again, and Gold was a lot better about taking it this time.

Definitely going down, but still a little warm, “How’s your stomach doing? You said you were hungry, how about some toast and a banana?”

Gold nodded and King went to work toasting up two slices of bread and cutting up a banana, “Don’t force yourself to eat it all.”

He managed to finish one slice of toast and few bites of banana, to which King nodded in approval before giving Gold another dose of medicine and sending him back to bed.

King ate the remaining toast and banana and considered that his lunch.

When King went to check up on Gold later, he found his son sitting up in bed, playing one of his video games, eyes bright and alert, “You look like you’re feeling better.”

“A lot,” Gold nodded as King laid a hand on his forehead. No longer felt feverish, that was good.

“How does supper sound, nothing big, maybe some fried rice?”

“Sounds good!”

“Good,” King let out a breath and felt himself finally start to relax from where he’d been tense all day.

——

King arched an eyebrow as Purple marched from his room, bedding in arms, to the laundry room, “Purple?”

“Just a minute,” Came the all too quiet response; once the washer was going Purple joined him in the kitchen, “Sorry, I was just a little bit sick this morning, don’t worry I’ve got it cleaned up-”

“Have you checked your temperature yet?” King chided, already getting up to fetch the thermometer from the cupboard.

“C’mon Baba, do I have to? It’s just a normal stomach bug…”

“Humour me, please?” With a whine, Purple stuck the thermometer under his tongue.

“Okay, so it’s a little high, but it’s not dangerous ‘rush me to the hospital’ high. Don’t worry about it Baba, I’ve got this. I’ve been sick like this before, I know how to take care of myself,” Purple reassured, swaying as he stood up on trembling legs.

“Okay. I’ll try, but worried is one of my default states these days. I do have some medicine if you would like to take some.”

“I… yeah, think I would. Up in the medicine cupboard, yeah?” Purple asked swinging the cupboard door open.

“Let me get that for you, I think you’re too short to reach,” King reached up and grabbed the two bottles of medicine.

“You’ve got to stop being so tall.”

“Unfortunately, it’s a curse I must bear for the rest of my life.”

Purple measured out the pills, swallowing them dry and making King cringe, “You should probably have some water.”

“Once the medicine starts kicking in and I’m sure it’ll stay down,” Purple nodded, moving to go back to the laundry room since the washer stopped.

“I’ve got it, you go lay down in my bed for now and get some more rest.”

“But-”

“Purple, go rest. Please.”

“Fine, but only because you said please.”

—

King hadn’t really been in Purple’s room before, he wasn’t expecting it to be so sparse as he made the teen’s bed. A few purple things and a cherry blossom bonsai, no books or anything.

He’d have to get Purple some more things to help make his room more homey.

And now that the bed was made he scooped up up Purple - who was definitely too big for him to carry like that - and tucked him in with a bucket and a glass of water for the bedside.

Purple woke up not too long afterwards and headed to the kitchen, “Making some toast and applesauce, if you want some.”

“No thanks, do you want any help?”

“I got it, thanks,” Purple’s tone was a little snippy, but he caught himself pretty quick, “Sorry.”

“It’s alright, you’re not feeling well.”

“I am not,” Purple agreed, munching on his single piece of toast, “Gonna take some more medicine and head back to bed to ride this out.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

[dootznbootz]

https://www.tumblr.com/qualitydonutnightmare/748852794223706112/alright-im-gonna-share-my-epic-theory-now-anyone?source=share

everytime i see a "odyssey canon odysseus was unfaithful" i want to scream, blocking liberally ofc but sometimes one or two slip past and it starts all over again

Yeah, :'D I sadly usually just check on the Odysseus tag as...most people in there are FANS of him lol. And ofc I block liberally for my own health. :'D I don't even care to go in the Epic Tag sometimes because I'm so fucking tired of stupid people. (could be misinformed, yes. but honestly at a certain point...shut up. This is not Hamilton in which he willingly had an affair only to get blackmailed later. It was ALWAYS blackmail. It was Always Coercion.)

I think it comes from a lot of ignorance on how SA actually...goes down or happens?? Like people will blankly look over those parts of the Odyssey and not realize the distress there because idk, they've never gone through it, or are just so "This cannot happen to men." that it doesn't even register. As it is SO goddamn clear to me.

I said it before, I'll say it again. You can simp for Circe and Calypso without making fun of their victim, aka Odysseus.

[hyaciiintho]

✖ How has Tumblr RP changed since you started?

Munday Meme | ✿

🌸｡*ﾟ+. A LOT more graphics and fancy stuff floating around. Before it was more common for people to have just. Plain icons, no borders or anything-- no fancy filters, no answered ask banners, etc etc... But now it's like... almost a weird requirement as an RP blog that you must have some sort of graphics. Mobile banner and promo at the bare minimal. Answered Ask banners were born from when tumblr asks were broke, so we came up with a creative way to post asks again. But then they stayed after it was all fixed.

Which is perfectly fine! I'm just getting at... before it was more common to see the every day RP blog with bare bones plain stuff. Now, you would rarely find an RP blog without some sort of personalized banner for their mobile theme, or people don't take them seriously as an RP blog. And I don't mean like... just any graphic. I mean personalized, as in... it has their URL, their muse, and some sort of aesthetic to it.

So yeah, that's at least what I've observed!

[oliveskylarks]

okay can we finally talk about how strongly it’s implied that the ripper sexually assaulted hotch that time in his apartment

[the-shattering]

Chapter 17: Blood

Theran and Lovac returned with their report a while later, Lovac spoke as soon as the duo approached Caleste and Emmon.

“We found bootprints, loads of ‘em. Reckon a force of twenty or so,” he said in his usual clipped tone, “Headed south.”

“There’s no sign that they have any mounts,” Theran added, “We didn’t see any hoof prints at least.”

Emmon and Caleste exchanged a look.

“They couldn’t have gotten far then,” Emmon said, “Though I’d imagine if this was some kind of raiding party from the Southern Kingdom then they’d have ridden in on horses at least.”

“Perhaps they thought the terrain too rough,” Caleste surmised, “In any case, if they truly are on foot then we should be able to catch them.”

Emmon looked unsure, “They have us outnumbered two to one. We should get reinforcements.”

However, Caleste knew that going back to get reinforcements or recruiting extra hands from whoever was left in this forsaken valley would take too long. They had a chance at finding and catching whoever sacked Odrum, a chance that was rapidly slipping away as they sat and chatted. Her hands itched as if they were desperate to wield her halberd in battle once more. She’d be more than happy to indulge.

“As if that’s ever stopped us before?” Caleste raised an eyebrow at Emmon, “We’re the best warriors this side of the Barrens with the best mage on the continent. Do not underestimate you or your men’s skills … and more importantly, do not underestimate mine.”

Emmon shrank slightly under her gaze and after a few tense moments he finally nodded, “I’ll get our men ready.”

“I want to leave within the hour.”

She turned and walked away before Emmon could respond. She walked by Edrahn who was kneeling next to the ruins of a house with one of her hands planted on the ground in the still hot ashes. Her wife showed no signs of discomfort despite the smoke rising from just under her palm. Her brow was furrowed as if concentrating on something.

“What is it my love?” Caleste asked.

“I’m not sure,” she admitted, “I can sense traces of magic in these ruins.”

“You think there’s a mage with them?”

That information wouldn’t change Caleste’s decision about going after these raiders, though a mage may require a slight change of tactics.

“That’s the thing,” Edrahn stood up, the same strange expression on her face, “I can sense magic all through these ruins but it’s not … it’s not ours.”

A sense of unease crawled down Caleste’s spine at that. She had never seen her wife so spooked. For a moment she wondered if she was making the right decision to go after the raiders instead of returning to Caleston to bolster her forces and inform the queen. Almost immediately she shrugged off the thought, annoyed at herself for being worried.

Everything would be fine.

She placed a hand on her wife’s shoulder, “We’ve faced worse,” she said, “Between you and I, these raiders don’t have a chance. Strange magic or no.”

Edrahn flashed her wife a grin, “I know.”

***

Within the hour they were back on their mounts and following the trail the raiders had left behind. Caleste rode in front with Emmon and Lovac while Edrahn stayed further back in the middle of the column, flanked by Theran and another knight. The sun was high overhead though Caleste could barely tell. The smoke and the thick forest canopy mostly choked out the sunlight. Their world was reduced to a hazy, unnatural twilight and Caleste could see only a few feet in front of her in the murk.

Her sense of unease hadn’t abated since they left Odrum, a nagging voice that had been once a whisper in her head was now practically screaming at her that this was a very bad idea. She ignored it for the most part but kept a sharp watch for any signs of danger. The forest was dead quiet save for the sound of their horses.

The haze only thickened around them.

Caleste noticed her horse was lagging and its breath came out in a harsh wheeze. She turned to ask Emmon if his horse was having any difficulties when a surprised yelp and a loud crash broke the unsettled quiet of the forest. Everyone turned in alarm to see what caused the disturbance:

One of the knights near the rear of the column was now on the ground, groaning and rubbing his sore shoulder. His leg was trapped under his horse that now lay on the ground barely breathing. Immediately everyone stopped, Emmon began barking orders, “Stay sharp - Theran, Meris: Get that horse off his leg.”

“What happened?” Caleste asked. She felt her horse swaying unsteadily under her, it was the only warning she got before it too dropped. It was only due to her quick reflexes that she didn’t get trapped under her steed, she hit the ground and rolled out of the way before the horse could land on her.

Her mask became dislodged as she did so, and she got a lung full of the air that surrounded them. Almost immediately her throat seemed to seize up on her as the overpowering stench of sulfur filled her lungs. She hacked and wheezed; her stomach roiled in protest at the strong odor.

She scrambled to put her mask back on and turned to Edrahn, “Clear this out.”

Her voice barely came out in a rasp, but Edrahn heard her. Edrahn wasn’t well versed in wind magic, she was much more of a fireballs out of your fists kind of woman, but she still knew the basic principles behind the action. She began whispering to herself as she concentrated. The branches in the trees began to sway and creak as the wind picked up all around them.

Edrahn was staring upwards at the canopy and the clear air she hoped was above. Over the roar of the wind Caleste couldn’t hear their attackers and didn’t notice them until it was almost too late. The only warning she got was the glint of blackened metal from behind a few trees. Almost immediately after an arrow came screaming through the air at her. It was buffeted by the strong winds and knocked off course, skittering harmlessly over the maille that covered her arm before embedding itself into the tree behind her.

Slowly the deadly fog cleared out from around them and the haze dissipated enough to reveal their attackers. There were around twenty in total, wearing varying amounts of the strange black metal armor and wielding weapons made of the same material. Caleste noted that while some were wearing armor that looked more or less intact, the majority were practically wearing scraps.

What made her heart stop though was what the creatures wearing the armor looked like.

They were not human, not entirely, she thought to herself. Their skin was a pale gray and pulled taught across their cheekbones. Their eyes seemed clouded as if they were blind … or dead. She half expected them to stumble and stagger when they walked; she was shocked when one of them leaped at her with a burst of speed and brought its ax down on her head.

She barely dodged to the right, the ax slammed down onto her shoulder and clove through the metal of her cuirass. The maille underneath provided enough protection to keep her from losing her arm but she felt the force of the blow through the gambeson she wore. She kicked out at her attacker, knocking its legs out from under it. It went down with a mighty crash.

Caleste was on top of it before it could stand up, she withdrew her dagger from her belt — it was a long and stiff-bladed weapon, used for stabbing between gaps in plate or breaking through maille. Her attacker wore neither, clad in what she deemed a sorry excuse for a gambeson and a brimmed helm like the one she saw in Odrum.

She slammed the dagger into its chest. It opened its mouth as if it wanted to scream in pain, but nothing came out, instead it gripped her arm so tight she swore she could feel her bones creak. With a grunt she managed to wrest herself from its grip and yank the dagger out. The next time the blade came down it went into its neck. Nearly black blood oozed from the two wounds and after a few feeble attempts to fight back, the creature finally lay still.

Caleste had no time to process what had just happened as there were still more enemies to fight. All she really gathered in that moment that she had been wrong: These were most certainly not raiders from the Southern Kingdoms.

She was pretty sure they weren’t even human.

She took a few moments to grab her halberd from the ground where it fell after her horse had collapsed. Around her the small battle raged: Lovac was already down with an arrow to the chest, Theran and Meris had taken up guard near the soldier who still had his leg pinned under his fallen horse. Emmon had moved next to Edrahn, protecting her as the winds continued to swirl around them.

A large figure stepped into her periphery and Caleste raised her halberd to block a blow meant to kill her. It was the best armored of the bunch and Caleste surmised it must either be the leader or at least of a higher rank than its companions. Its eyes seemed to gleam under the visored helm it wore. It brandished a long two-handed sickle-like sword. She had managed to catch the blow on the long handle of its sword rather than the blade.

It pressed the sword into the haft of her halberd and shoved, knocking her off balance. The wicked point of the black blade came dangerously close to her face before she managed to regain her footing. She stepped to her right while raising her right arm and letting her left arm drop. Her foe, still putting a considerable amount of force on the blade, stumbled forward as it suddenly met no resistance. She let go of the haft with her right hand, letting the halberd pivot backwards around her left hand.

The head of the halberd slammed into her foe’s chin, the armor it wore was the only reason it didn’t have its jaw cloven in two. In fact, the moment that Caleste’s halberd hit the creature, it felt like she had slammed her halberd into the side of a mountain. Her hands tingled painfully as the force of the blow reverberated up the haft.

“What the?”

The creature seemed unfazed by the blow and stood up with a grunt. It attacked again, swinging its blade viciously at her and this time the edge of the blade caught the haft of her weapon. She watched in astonishment as the blade broke the wooden haft in two.

The creature’s shoulders shook as it made a rasping noise, as if it was laughing at her predicament. She dropped the useless half of her haft and clutched what was left of it in both hands. She wasn’t going to go down without a mighty fight.

With a loud cry, Caleste moved in on her foe with her broken halberd raised — giving it an opening to attack. The creature lunged.

Caleste dodged the thrust at the last second, stepping off to the side as the blade carved into her cuirass. Instead of striking it directly (she had certainly learned her lesson from before) she delivered a savage kick to the back of its knee as it stepped forward and it collapsed as its leg buckled beneath it. She put all her strength into driving the point of the halberd’s spike to the creature’s back. Once again, its armor stopped the blow, though the strike certainly had put a dent into the metal.

The creature slammed its hand on the ground. Almost immediately Caleste felt the ground heave beneath her, and she lost her balance. Her ankle rolled painfully as the unstable ground gave way and she fell to the dirt on her hands and knees.

Caleste noticed more activity in the woods around her, but she paid no attention to it as she focused on the immediate threat. The creature staggered upright with a grunt, favoring its uninjured leg and raising its sword.

“Caleste!”

Caleste was now knocked completely flat onto her stomach as a huge gust of wind slammed into her and the creature. The creature was pushed back several feet and into the trunk of a pine tree. Caleste looked back to see her wife with her staff raised and the air swirling violently around her. Her expression was apoplectic as she stared down the creature.

“Stay away from my wife.”

She had said it quietly but with the winds carrying her voice through the clearing it might as well have been a shout.

Caleste looked around her and saw there were many more people in the clearing than before - many more human people. Warriors in nasal helms with aventails that obscured their faces and golden scale armor were now amongst those battling the creatures in black. One of them grabbed one of the creatures and the air shimmered around the two.

She heard its bones crack before it crumpled to the ground in a twisted heap.

Caleste turned to face the creature she had been fighting only to see it stepping back into the woods and disappearing into the brush and thick haze. She stood up and hobbled after it while ignoring the pain that shot up her ankle. Air rushed past her as Edrahn cleared out the smoke that obscured her path, but it was no use.

There was a low rumble, a slight jolt in the earth, and the creature was gone. A disturbed patch of ground was the only sign that the hole it had disappeared into was there at all. Caleste lowered her broken halberd with a scowl and limped back to the clearing. Edrahn was at Caleste’s side in moments, offering her shoulder for a tired and injured Caleste to lean on.

“Thanks honey,” Caleste said as she sagged against her wife taking the opportunity to kiss her gently on the temple. She couldn’t express how relieved she was to see Edrahn unhurt.

“Any time dear.”

Emmon approached them, next to him was a man clad in the golden scale armor — he had taken his helmet off and had it tucked under his arm.

“What are you doing here?” Caleste asked.

“Same as you it seems,” the man answered, “We were chasing those damned things. They’ve ravaged several of our towns ... We thought we’d never catch them until we found they were attacking you.”

“Thank you,” Caleste said, though her thanks was more out of polite obligation than gratitude. She stared around the now calm battlefield and saw what the battle had cost. Lovac was most certainly dead, as was the soldier who had gotten pinned under his horse who now had his chest caved in by what appeared to be a blow from a mace. Theran was leaning against a tree; she yanked off her ruined vambrace to reveal a bleeding wound underneath.

There were varying other degrees of injury she noted but aside from Lovac and the soldier under the horse — no one else seemed to be dead.

“What were those things?” Edrahn asked quietly, her voice shook slightly, “They felt …”

She trailed off and Caleste could feel her shudder.

“Whatever they were,” the man said, “They’re not human and they’re ruthless.”

“Their armor was strong too,” Caleste said, “Whatever metal that was made of — it can’t be normal iron or steel.”

She took a moment to examine the broken halberd still in her free hand. The spike was visibly deformed, the sharpened point made dull by the blow she had landed on the creature’s armor. The blade of the halberd where it had met the creature’s armored jaw was similarly deformed. Her eyes wandered down the wooden haft; she had thought it had snapped in two as it certainly wasn’t the first time that had happened — though she had just gotten the damn thing replaced.

Her eyes widened as she finally examined the break.

It wasn’t a break — the haft had been cut cleanly in two.

“We should alert the queen,” Emmon spoke up, “She needs to hear of this.”

Caleste’s grip around her broken halberd tightened and her expression soured. They had been made to look like fools in this battle! She had been knocked flat and injured, her weapon broken as if it were a toy. The only thing that hurt more than her ankle was her pride.

Talk to the queen? Tell her what happened here? No. She wouldn’t do that.

She had already asked for help once and she wasn’t about to do it again. What kind of ruler was she that she had to ask for help to handle such a small problem as this? No. She could handle this. She could prove her worth.

Her reply was short and harsh.

“No. We can handle this on our own.”

“M’lord …,” Emmon began but she cut him off.

“We’ll take our wounded and dead and ride back to Caleston,” Caleste said, “We raise an army, and we scour every inch of this damned countryside until we find these … things … and show them that we don’t run — we win.”